#I honestly wonder if I could survive a day of no sleep

[ultralightpoe]

Sticky - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Yeah the fandom is EATING with this song and that trailer so I figured I might as well feed into my own obsessions. -Ultralight

Song Inspo - Sticky from Tyler The Creator

Word Count: 1851

Warnings: Fighting, reference to smexy times

Requests: OPEN [working on the first round now]

MAIN MASTER LIST

[Thank you for the gif @unearthlydust ]

Enjoy!

It’s the bitter laugh that no one wants to hear, that’s the moment when the realization begins setting in. The chill down his spine, locking in the fear as the cold sweat begins to form, knuckles tightening around his glass of whiskey. 

The room wasn’t cold, with the fire crackling just a few feet away, so there wasn’t really a reason for him to be shivering. But that cold embrace of fear was wrapping Declan Morarie like a blanket. He was a man coming to the realization he was about to die. 

It was Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sat at the end of the long table she hadn’t been invited to, in a home she hadn’t been welcome in but still sat in nevertheless. In the beginning of Declans career he always wondered how people remembered her full name, but watching the women now he understood. She was completely untouchable. 

“Oh come on now,” She teases, clapping her hands together in excitement as that same bitter laugh passes her lips. “I’m excited for the show.” 

“You think this is funny?” He bites out.

“Well from my seat I think it’s pretty great. I, however, would never want to be the one getting hunted down by Bucky Barnes and his fucking wife.” She chuckles, pulling a piece of lint off her dress. 

“And how….” He has to take a breath in to compose himself, slamming the glass on the table before him. “How did they get to me?”

“You tortured her for years, your very own project….. Well her and 20 others. Honestly it was only a matter of time before they tracked you down.” She explains, standing up and walking herself to the bartop. 

“And you didn’t happen to put my name in their ear?”

“Barnes will be my problem….. On another day.” She nods, pouring herself a shot and turning to him to cheers before downing it. “But today, he’s yours.” 

She slams the glass down until it splatters across the entire floor, her heels crunching into it as she waltzes to grab her coat. “I do apologize old friend, and I am….. Hopeful? Yes, that seems like a decent word, I’m hopeful you will succeed surviving.”

“I will.” He sneers, but even the words fall flat.

“Oh I’m sure you will.” She laughs, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Though I do hear things get a bit sticky when those two decide they want someone dead.”

- 

“Who would have thought that this… hunting down the bad guys of the world could be soooo… hmmm.” You tilt your chin up in a quiet contemplation as your husband frets over your suit. He busies himself with checking all the safety measures you both had designed for the suits when you decided they would be worn again. 

“Tiring.”

“Cathartic,” You hum back, sliding your hands down to snatch onto his own and bring them up so he can stop fretting. “You’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You are.” You argue, kissing the knuckles of his metal hand before doing the same to his flesh hand. “You didn’t get much sleep and now you’re tired and grumpy. I don’t like when you do this grumpy.”

“No more with the word grumpy. You have overused it.” He huffs, leaning to kiss your forehead. 

“Fine, ill-tempered.”

“Hardly,”

“Testy.” 

“Not even close.”

“Crotchety.”

“Really? We’re going that far?”

“Hmmmm. Waspish. How about that?”

“I….. will allow it if it means we can just get this over with.” He kisses around your face, using his metal hand to tilt your face for easier access while you fight off a smile and push him back. 

“You know what to do.”

“Straight to business then.” And though he turns his back to you he keeps you close while using the tech pad to monitor the halls of the building you both were about to enter. 

“He doubled up on guards. Someone warned him.” He analyzes, shifting a bit to show you the footage. “Valentina.”

“Hmmm.” You choose not to actually respond, allowing your husband to work through his own anger and suspicion while you watch the guards to begin learning the patterns. 

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.” You defend, passing the tech back. “But I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself. That is a hunt for another day.” 

“You ready?”

“Of course.” And it’s easy, the way you two fall to the plan so naturally, having worked together for years now. He lets you pass by him, his flesh hand catching a strand of your hair as you strut past, casting him one more glance before disappearing to find your entrance. 

Once you are at your mark you place the comm in, tapping it twice to make sure it works as you begin slicing the door with the silent laser. 

“Placed?” Bucky asks after a moment, meaning he had made it to his own mark. 

“You know it.” You mutter, pushing the door open in the small place you had cut before easily sliding in, your feet near silent on the ground as you watch the hall and begin trekking through. 

Moving like a shadow should never have been this easy, and yet it was, all thanks to the man you were here to kill. 

“будь в безопасности.” He mutters in your ear, his voice a soft caress in the first moment you hear steps approaching. ‘Be Safe’, his favorite thing to say since he knew you didn’t need luck. 

“être en sécurité,” You repeat his saying back to him, this time in french just to bother him since he could never speak it fluently. 

And then you finally meet the person walking closer, but before he can even prepare himself you are already sliding across the floor to kick out his legs before you swipe the overly large gun from his hip and knock him out with it, sliding on your knees to face forward with the stolen gun and raise yourself back to your feet. 

Each movement is a simple glide, one in front of the other as you trace the hall for movement. The plan was simple, meet in the middle and make your way up. You just had to shut down all the exits first. 

You started with the elevators, opening the first and shooting the controls until the light within it flickers and marking it useless and moving to the second one. When the doors slide open a guard moves to rush out, and you use his outstretched arm to heft him over your shoulder until you are throwing him to the floor and twisting until you hear a snap. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, kicking him away as you hear Bucky grunt within the comms as he finds his own issues. You mimic the movements you had used on the other elevator before rushing to the front entrance and using their own night time security gates against them. Locking anyone from leaving and keeping anyone from entering. 

And now that you were finished with that you began you started your way to meet your husband. 

It only took 15 minutes and by the time you do find him he’s leaning on the wall like nothing else mattered, tilting his metal hand under the light above him to admire the etching done for your wedding. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” You murmur, your tone seductive as you lean next to him. “What’s a place like this doing in a guy like you? …….Wait, don’t I have that backward?” 

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m sure we’ll find a lot of things backwards.”

“Oh,” You blink, staring at him. “I honestly can’t tell if that was sexual or a threat.”

“Then why can I practically hear your heart beating through your chest?”

“I never said I wouldn’t like it as either.” You huff, turning on your toes and signaling him to follow you. “You’re very beguiling.”

“Another big word. Should I be worried?”

“You got me the dictionary. Which I was slightly offended by.” You huff, twisting your body up the stairs as you see a figure in the corner of your vision, working with grace to pull him down and over the railing. “Stop flirting with me Barnes.”

“You stop flirting with me, Barnes.” He snaps back, making sure that guard stays down before using his gun and following you as back up. “Almost there.”

“Noted.” You murmur, shooting the tech pad to enter the door from the stairwell. The second the door swings open there are guards swarming you both, but it is lightwork when you both work together. 

The man that went to punch you met Bucky's metal fist before he could even make contact, the knife that almost hits Bucky’s mid section is easily lost the second you kick the wrist holding it. Like a bloody tango, every motion has a repercussion. 

“Любовь [love],” You huff, spinning to take out two men while facing Bucky. He reads your idea the second you make eye contact, allowing you to use his thigh as a stepping stool and throw one leg over his shoulder. 

He shoots the men in front of you both as he makes his way down the hall, you taking out the men coming up to flank you. 

By the time you reach the double doors holding the enemy within,  you swing off his shoulder with ease before an unknown figure rushes you both. 

You are thrown back, back meeting the floor as you slide while Bucky is thrown into the wall. 

“What the…..” He starts. 

“Fuck.” You finish, upon seeing who just hit you both. 

He was tall, with red eyes and a sneer on his face, yet another over drugged super soldier. 

Bucky is the first to regain himself, standing quickly and pushing himself into the soldier to knock the weight off and send him down. Only he pushes back, both men stuck in the hold, so you launch up. 

Your hands hit your husbands shoulders and you vault over him to lock your thighs around the neck of the soldier and twisting your body to send him flying back with you. 

Unlike you, however, he doesn’t manage to catch himself and falls on his back. Bucky is there, foot on his neck as you pull the gun and finish him off before moving to kick in the door and find Declan Morarie.

He doesn’t say anything, merely turning to the door with a bottle in hand as he staggers for balance. 

“Fuck.” 

“Fuck.” Bucky mocks, giving you a look before you both rush at him. 

-

“I think you need to go to bed.” You huff, watching your husband pull out the paperwork the second you both got home, after dropping your duffel bags by the doors. “No work.”

“I need to review her bills, she’s hiding something in plain sight-” His conspiracy theories about Valentina were interrupted by you slipping your shirt off and throwing it at him. 

“A hunt for another day then.” He amends, following you into the bedroom as quickly as he can.

[skillzissuez]

Im going to pull an all nighter (for the plot)

[yanderenightmare]

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[schrodingerscougar]

Note: Wow, the roommate!Simon story blew up. Anyway, here's part 2.

Following his conversation with Johnny, Simon begins to think. He begins to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he’s developing feelings for you. Why else would he be so protective and mad when the sergeant talks this way about you? The thought scares him at first.

For one, being near him is a death sentence, he saw that with his family. He can’t even imagine surviving losing someone he loved again. Then there is another thing, the fact he isn’t sure you would return his feelings. If you didn’t, as he suspects, living with you would be torture, and he’s honestly too lazy to look for a new place to stay.

The next time he arrives home in the middle of the day, the apartment is empty since you’re at your workplace most probably. Not seeing your face brighten at the sight of him makes his heart ache, but he knows you’ll be home in two or three hours, so he can most certainly survive that by lying down to catch up on sleep. He leaves a post-it for you on the small table next to the front door where you always put your keys, warning you that he’s back home.

He’s woken by the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet. When he checks the clock on his bedside, he notices it’s past seven, which means he slept a good four hours without interruptions. The new record of the past weeks as the most he slept peacefully was two hours tops. He climbs out of bed and goes to the living room, surprised to see you in the kitchen, humming a song to yourself as you admire the neatly cut brownies on the kitchen island.

“You’re awake!” you exclaim happily, quickly pressing a button on the coffee machine to make him some coffee too, then pick up an empty plate and put a slice of brownie on it. “Welcome home. Here, try this. I thought you might use some homemade things after being away for so long.”

That damn smile of yours. It’s wide, happy, and it easily warms his heart and makes him smile too. Your good mood is infectious and he finds himself stuffing the cookie into his mouth as he stands next to you, nudging your side with his hip playfully. “It’s perfect, thank you,” he says while chewing, earning a roll of your eyes. You hate it when someone talks with their mouth full, so he quickly swallows the remains and goes, “Sorry.”

You shake your head with a laugh then turn away to get his coffee. Simon can’t help but wonder if this is how things would always be if you were his wife, if you would be this kind and caring all the time. He certainly could get used to this. He wouldn’t believe he deserves all the love, but he would definitely enjoy your attention.

“What got you thinking so hard?”

Simon lets out a questioning hum before realizing he zoned out for a while. “You,” he replies honestly.

“Me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Before you could ask more questions, he moves in front of you, trapping you between the kitchen island and his body as he leans down to you. “I had an interesting conversation with someone and it got me thinking while I was gone,” he says with his lips moving so close he almost kisses you. “Do you have any idea how much I miss you when I’m deployed? How many times do I wonder what you’re doing while I’m away?”

It’s easy to tell, especially from this close, that your heart is racing and your breath is caught in your throat as you watch him. Your eyes are moving back and forth between his lips and his eyes, unable to decide what to focus on. You’re both under a spell that he doesn’t want to break, in fact he wants this moment to last forever, this anticipation before he finally makes up his mind to kiss you. He wants to do it, but he can’t help but think about whether or not you would be against it.

Maybe he thinks too much, maybe his brain is too focused on the negative thoughts, and before he knows it, you move your head to capture his lips with yours in a slow and sensual kiss. Simon is aware that he has issues. He understands that his brain is only on high alert because deep down he doesn’t believe he deserves your attention. After all, he’s not a good man. Well, not always. He does his job like a good little soldier, but the lines are blurry between good and bad.

He knows that you know this too. Shortly after he moved in and found out what he did for a living, you had a lot of questions, many that he simply wasn’t allowed to answer. But you probably sensed that he was keeping things to himself, certain aspects of this position that civilians would never understand. He didn’t want to scare you away, he didn’t want you to throw him out, so he kept his mouth shut. You knew that and never pried for more information.

When your nails dig into the skin on his back in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, Simon finally returns to the moment, returning your delicious kiss while his hands grab your ass and help you on the counter behind you. His lips trail from your lips to the shell of your ear, whispering praises until he feels your hands moving to his belt.

As much as he wants that, he knows he has to stop you. So he reaches down to grab your hands, pulling them away and lacing his fingers with yours as he kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet, love. Let’s go on a proper date first, yeah?” he asks you with a small smile.

You whine, then you beg for more, asking him why you have to go on a date when you've been living together for over a year now. He tells you that the reason is simple; he spent a bigger part of it away from home so you have to get to know each other.

“I know you, Simon,” you push on, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his forearm as you speak. When you see the determination in his eyes, you finally let out a sigh of defeat and say, “Okay, fine. Let's go on a date first. But don't even think about something fancy. Let's keep it simple.”

With a short laugh, he leans down to give you a quick kiss. “Understood.”

Later in the evening, way past eleven, the two of you finally say goodnight and he returns to his room. There's a message waiting on his phone, one that came from Johnny. “I’ll send her a DM if you won't introduce me,” it says.

“Better not. She's taken,” he replies.

[caraphernellie]

── 𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬.

your blood spills like a glass of fine wine.

pairing: vampire!ellie williams x fem!reader.

summary: Those ice cold hands ghost over your skin, rousing goosebumps in their wake, and your interest piqued from the moment she had proposed her idea to try something new while feeding. But this doesn't feel at all like a mere experiment, no, she's turned you into a feast—and it couldn't just be a coincidence that one of the many dirty fantasies you've had seems to be coming to fruition tonight, could it?

for your information: vampire!ellie, fem!reader. SEXUAL CONTENT. absolutely zero plot - straight up porn. messy, depraved, no decency. utter filth. established relationship. mind reading + dirty thoughts, allusions to reader masturbating. dom!ellie, sub!reader. reader wearing pretty panties. bleeding + blood (a lot of it), bite marks/bruises described - not in appearance/colouration, but the feeling of them. masochistic!reader. dacryphilia. biting. fingering (r!receiving), vampirism makes ellie very strong. there is an instance of face slapping. slight overstim. tribbing. reader gets very lightheaded and tired but still present and in clear mind. a little bit of aftercare. pet names used: good girl, baby, babe.

dear reader, you know i love me some vampires. i don't participate in kinktober because i don't have that kind of motivation + i'm picky with some of the prompts but i randomised some prompts to make something 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 for the start of this month. mostly written by candlelight. i honestly don't like this very much, but i'm sure someone will so i'm posting it anyway. beware, 'cuz she'll make you bleed ౨ৎ

　　WC: 3.9K | ELLIE'S MASTERLIST | BOYCOTT TLOU

Rain falls from the tenebrous sky outdoors, the perfect soundtrack to the book in your hands and the cosy bed you lie in. You haven't felt the need to get up all night, instead opting for a quiet, pleasant moment to catch up on reading. 

Since Ellie's turning last November, you dropped everything to be able to spend more time with your revenant girlfriend—even if it meant losing daylight to adapt to her newfound lifestyle as a nyctophiliac.

But still, you remain comfortable with the thunderous outpour, finding solace in the constancy of the noise and the safety of your bed. Escapism is necessary to your survival, as it's been difficult to navigate the changes, even now, nearly a year later. You'd turned your life nocturnal so suddenly, your family left to wonder why you and Ellie made the switch with no definitive reasoning. 

What exactly could you tell them..? The last thing you needed was their concern. 

God knows what they'd think if you told them who Ellie had become.

It's quiet nowadays, you and Ellie working nights and sleeping in days. Little time to see family or friends, the closeness you once had with them dwindling. You work from six to eleven o'clock most nights, and there's no chance of companionship in the office—you're treated like an outsider.

Life can feel drab with such little socialisation, but your setup is alright. It's comfortable. You can dream life away, easily ignore the loneliness and get lost in mystery novels instead. 

And that's the thing: mystery and doom has never been something that scared you. It is instead something that fills you with curiosity and interest. It was nothing short of intriguing to you when Ellie turned. It was devastating, and yes, it was a fearful time—but the changes she was going through were mystifying before anything else. 

It was fun to document the development of her fangs and play with mirrors. It was hard to get used to the touch that was once so warmly inviting, but now freezing. 

It was mildly disturbing to see her learn the ways of the undead now that her life had taken a turn.

It is, at times, unnerving when she becomes hungry. Purely animalistic is the way that her eyes glow in the dark of night, verdant and snake-like, dressed behind dense lashes. They anchor onto you, more specifically your neck. You had to laugh when a few weeks after her turning, she began senseless rambles about your pretty neck, how your pulse drums against your chest, wrist, or nape in a sweet rhythm.

She might catch a whiff of something coppery when you suffer any minor injury, and she'll be there in under a minute under the guise that she'd like to kiss your wound all better.

It's startling at times, turning around to find she had stalked you through the house without a sound, all in the name of requesting a feed. She follows only to beg for it like a puppy to people-food.

As far as Ellie has ever been concerned, she doesn't need to taste the blood of any other. It would be adultery of the worst kind, a pure betrayal not just to you but to her own interests; your blood is dulcet and delectable, the greatest thing Ellie has had the pleasure to taste in her life. 

Why should she need anyone else? Nothing could make her happier than you. 

Ellie truly has a deep appreciation for you. Everything you have done for her, especially in the past year since her rebirth, has been without hesitation nor the consideration of yourself. Never would she let you go unloved for such a thing. Only a vampire can love you forever, and although her immortality burdens her everyday, she intends to prove that statement true.

There are things she's never told you before, abilities she'd discovered on her own after her turning that she'd decided were better to hide from you, just to preserve your peace of mind. 

It's hardwired in her now—she can become easily overwhelmed just from being able to hear your tender heart beating rooms away. The constant, steady ba-bum, ba-bum. There are urges she gets from the sound of warm, delicious blood pumping around your body. Of course, this is all to be expected, but the extent of it is where the disconcertment lies, unbeknownst to you.

Pangs of hunger hit her like a kick to the stomach, vision zeroed in on the source of feed. Her feet feel inclined to walk her toward you themselves. It's a lucky thing that she tried her best to learn control.

Ellie's biggest kept secret, though, are your own secrets. Who wouldn't toy with the idea of living inside their partner's mind for a day? For a vampire, it's possible, under a specific circumstance. Just like one's resting place, a vampire can only enter under invitation, and each thought bearing her name is exactly that. 

It's advantageous for Ellie. She can hear when you think kindly of her, she knows when you're mad at her—and she can always right her wrongs, make it up to you when she has unintentionally acted like a douche. She somehow always knows just what to say.

"Hey."

"Fuck!"

She flinches at your curse, found crouched beside the bed and resting her chin against the edge of the mattress. She carries herself so silently. Once uncalculated and clumsy, her movements are now faint, unpredictable. Her presence is so startling, though it's partly your fault for losing track of time. She would have finished work in the last half-hour.

"Tch, sorry." Ellie snorts, reaching out to drag a finger down your wrist, up to the crease of your arm. She lets a delicate sigh fall from her lips, head tilting to the side to study you. "I'm home."

"Yeah, yeah, I can see that." Marking your book, you set it down on the nightstand. Her touch sends a rush through your mellow composure, so cold it's sometimes akin to the prick of a needle. You can see it in her eyes, the amusement she finds in your reaction to all her icy touch. "Hi."

Your hand adjusts a wayward strand of hair clear of her face, a gentle petting she hums for. Her grin is laced in mischief, but it's only the calm before the storm. 

Tonight is for Ellie to execute an elaborate scheme she's been preparing for weeks. 

Initially, when she discovered her ability to see into your mind, she had thought it was cute, if anything deeply flattering, that you thought in such lascivious ways about her. As months went on, it became amusing. 

Mundane moments of your shared life were overshadowed by your thoughts, how they could often be so clouded in lust. She's taken note of it all on plenty of occasions.

With her grip soft on your shoulders, Ellie pushes you against the mattress slowly and crawls onto the bed herself. All your brewing questions burn into Ellie's lips as she kisses you, as if she had known she'd need to hush you.

"C'mon." Her words are whispered against your lips, touch so eager she can't resist interrupting herself to place more and more indiscreet kisses now against your jaw. "Lay down."

"Mmh," you hum, watchful eyes peering down at her as she delves deeper into the crook of your neck. "You want a feed? It's early..."

"Oh, I know," Ellie murmurs, "more than that, babe. Just thought about tryin' something a little different, you know, if you're up for it..."

Her nose teases your neck, nuzzling close to take in your scent. Old bruises bitten into the skin pound with a dull sting when given attention, Ellie's hand joining her to rub over the small marks. She quickly takes notice of your heart beating a tad faster and before you can even say yes, she's laying a kiss on your collarbone and a hand over your breast.

"Mhm, so you're… experimenting?"

"I guess, yeah," Ellie purrs, her tone filled with the remnants of a smile. It's hard to keep said cocksure grin off her face at this point, hand trailing down to cup your mound. She eyes the dark, damp patch that grows beneath her hand, the white fabric mauled by desire. Lounging about in panties and a long-sleeve, so characteristic of you in the long nights in which you seek to be comfortable, yet so tantalising to Ellie. "But we can stop it if you don't like it. You tell me what you think."

There is just one particular fantasy you've had, and it stuck with Ellie the minute she heard your thoughts. She'd been having her routine feed many nights ago when you'd let your thoughts wander elsewhere. An idea of a concupiscent manner arose in the midst of a dreadful, painful situation. 

Feeding has always been an unpleasant process. Teeth breaking skin, your lifeblood sucked out of you and leaving you tired for days. 

What if she could make the pain feel good?

It spurred days of planning. After all, it was coming up to be a year since her turning, how else could Ellie celebrate? Is celebration the right call, even? One year of being dead? The morbid idea doesn't exactly spark joy for most. But it's almost like a new birthday, she can't do nothing at all or she'll run stir crazy. Perhaps this—over-analysing your dirty secrets, putting them to good use against you, would be the drop of much needed rain in the current self-proclaimed desert of her life.

"Think you should settle down," Ellie suggests. Her fingers fiddle with the elastic of your panties, pulling the band taut, only to let go and watch it snap against your skin. "You're in for a long night."

Settle down? You wonder just how long this is going to take—what's so special about this experiment? Knowing Ellie, she doesn't take kindly to the idea of waiting for a feed. It's most certainly interesting to see her transform this into something much bigger of a spectacle than the usual. 

Pert goosebumps rise along your body while knife-like fingers cut into your hips and elicit a shiver down your spine. Ellie's lips trail along your neck as she drags your shirt up your torso, revealing your soft breasts to her.

She rests her head in your caressing palm, her own hands sat over your sides. It's almost nonexistent at first, but then you feel it; wet kisses peppered over the swell of your bust, keen fangs grazing over your skin just enough for you to squirm, yet not enough for it to hurt.

The shaky sigh you give incites Ellie to continue, only this time her act is crueller, and she nips at the soft bud at the centre of your tit. Your hand grips her hair then, nipple growing firm at the attention. And Ellie offers nothing but a chuckle to fill her silence, clearly feeling herself responsible to not lose sight of her plan.

"Ah– Ellie." You gasp, her lips latching onto you. With her tongue rolling your nipple in her mouth, Ellie's eyes lock onto yours with a pleased sparkle in them, her thumbs rubbing your sides ever so gently—the starkest contrast to the way she's currently toying with you.

"What?" Ellie asks in the lowest murmur possible, pulling off for a moment before switching to the other side. A careless shrug of her shoulders accompanies her statement of the same tone. "Barely even doing anything to you yet, babe."

Her hands slide down your waist as she loves on your other tit now, fingers tugging below the waist of your panties. Finally, she has given you something to look forward to, and your hips lift all too eagerly to assist her. Ellie pulls back for a fleeting moment to slip the cotton down your legs and expose your wanton core to her. 

"Aw, look at that…" Ellie coos, hands pulling your thighs apart to take a look. You're glistening beneath the lamp-light, a sight not only so beautiful but so tempting to the vampire. Your heart is beating so fast inside your chest, so much so that for Ellie, your heart is louder than the thunderous weather outside. "What's all this about? Is there something you want, baby?"

"You."

"No, what do you want?" Ellie repeats, laughing quietly. The rubbing of her hands on your thighs is only to keep you present, her cold palms jarring enough to keep you from shying away. "Not who."

She knows exactly what you want. If it weren't for the way your thoughts echo in her head, it'd be blindingly obvious from the way your eyes flit to her hands. But being able to know what you want from her is only half the fun. 

It excludes the best part: seeing you shield your gaze out of humiliation, whispering your responses in order to keep everything hush-hush. 

"Your fingers," you mutter, looking at Ellie with your brows knit to the centre of your face. "Seriously, Els, stop tea–"

"You want my fingers?" She questions you now, taking in the puzzled look on your face. Her fingers press against the folds, tips teasingly dipping into your entrance but not quite, only to see it clench and weep. "You want them here? Or maybe here..?" 

Her thumb flicks against your clit almost as though it's a button, each circle her thumb makes around the bud evoking a tiny moan from your lips.

Teasing is where Ellie has always felt she was skilled. She's playful, always a fan of the occasional practical joke here and there, and without a doubt, it shows the most when she's in the bedroom. The reward for it is like no other; you turn into putty, begging her to give it a rest and take things your way for once. And she's certainly committed to giving you what you want tonight, but that won't mean she's going to be any less mean than she feels like being.

"I want–" God, you just can't get a word out, at least not without interrupting yourself with a broken moan every time you try. You swear on your humanity that you aren't that sensitive, but her fingers are so cold. The contrasting temperature of her hand compared to you is startling.

"Hey." She leans closer to you, dark hair falling into her face. She whispers against your neck, and finds it hard to distract herself from it now, knowing what awaits her patient tongue. But she has to remain controlled. "Tell me. Do you want them in here?"

Two slender fingers prod at your entrance again, and you nod. In fact, with little shame in it, you helplessly plead. And so she obliges hastily, slipping the digits in with ease. 

Her calloused fingertips prod at your inner walls, roughly thrusting in and out. Your hand reaches around her wrist, only to be pushed away within seconds. The once silent room is now filled with obscene squelching sounds and moans from your lips, all that accompanied by Ellie's quieter murmurs into your neck.

It should be mentioned that she is not yet biting you, but so meanly sucking your soft skin into her mouth. It can be hard to do so without those large canines pricking you—they get in the way far too often—but Ellie makes an effort just to keep you on edge.

Ellie knows that you're waiting for it, trying to anticipate the bite, and that's not good enough for her. She wants it to come as a total surprise for you. She wants you distracted, embracing the pleasure, only to daze you when you least expect it.

She is usually the spontaneous type, but she's proven herself meticulous when she wants to be.

Plump lips seek the last place she fed from, a small bruise felt in the shape of her teeth right at your pulse point. The thumping of your heart against the very spot leaves Ellie almost tempted to abandon her plan whole, give in to her hunger, but she refrains. Instead she litters harsh kisses over the spot, tongue laving over it desperately.

A loud yelp befalls you as she sucks the very spot, and she chuckles against your skin. "Oh yeah, you like that, baby?"

It should serve as a warning of what's to come later, but you're too far gone to comprehend it. Lost, lost in the speedily building high. Ellie's demeanour changes none, she continues until you can't take it anymore and finally pulls her slicked fingers from your cunt. It seems so final for a second that once you regain your bearings, you question her.

"I thought you were gonna f–"

"Oh, I'm not done, silly girl." Ellie laughs at you softly, pulling her shirt over her head in one fell swoop. She lets you have this mere moment to recuperate, stripping herself fairly quickly. "I'd quit questioning if I were you, and just relax."

She's leaning over you, meeting your lips as gently as she can. She spreads your legs again, wordlessly manoeuvring herself atop your pussy. Bare skin against bare skin, shiny and soaked cores kissing. 

She grunts a short curse, beginning to roll her hips back and forth against you. She's really not sure why she had never thought of this whole feeding-and-fucking thing before you did, but she's wholeheartedly thanking the stars above that she was able to get this idea from you.

"Mmh, Ellie, n- it's so much," you say between breathless moans, unable to muster anything else. That oversensitivity kicks in hard already, with you pawing at Ellie and trying to catch a break.

"Sh-shh, you can take it," Ellie quickly reassures, and she's trying her hardest to keep her composure, but it all goes out the window once you start writhing, pointlessly rambling because you aren't sure if it's too much or if you want more, and now getting handsy. 

At first, she isn't proud of her reaction—bringing her palm down against your cheek, that is, and slapping you hard. "I said, you can fuckin' take it."

Pathetic. The way your voice breaks and lets out a honeyed whine, it's pathetic, but Ellie's conscience feels guilty no longer. She's almost satisfied—and she'd been able to hold back, insisting upon not getting too far ahead of herself here, but she's lost her patience. Her hunger must be sated.

Ellie cages you between her arms, once again finding home in the crook of your neck. This time, she bares her teeth against your throat, finally sinking them in. She's hit with the most addicting flavour on the planet: your blood. A syrupy, warm, and delectably sweet liquid. 

She groans, beginning her feast far too eagerly. She isn't too focused on drinking it yet, still grinding her slippery cunt into yours and nipping all around your neck. Blood spills out of every little bite and trickles down your body. It stings, of course, but the feeling is far away. Underwater.

"You like that?" Ellie asks, voice gritty and yet a little more subdued now. The way that you look, shirt stained wine red and body a quivering mess, is entirely enthralling. Ellie is more than just a little proud of her work here. 

"It hurts."

"That's not what I asked, is it?" Ellie takes your chin in hand, facing you towards her. Shining teardrops streak your cheeks and pill against her hand. Since when were you crying? "Do you like it?"

"Yes." 

 "Good girl." The words are forced out of her throat at this point, struggling, because she's so close. It's filthy, watching you get so worked up over being turned into her very own living blood bag. "Good girl, I'm gonna– gonna fuckin' cum, baby, you feel so good."

She holds you still as she rubs herself over you, clit rolling over yours one last time before she snaps. Ellie moves faster as she rides out the high, glowing eyes rolling back. 

You're growing lightheaded, watching Ellie so intently. Her lips are stained with blood, her cheeks beginning to turn a more lifelike tone—one matching in colour to the elixir trickling from your neck.

And she seems to wait a moment. You think it's over. You sit against the headboard and spot the simplest grin on Ellie's face as she begins to lick up the mess on your collarbone.

"Better than a normal, boring feeding, yeah?" She murmurs, once again slithering her hand to feel the sodden spot between your legs. You attempt to close your legs around her, but she laughs, forcing them open.

It feels all too familiar now, her fingers rubbing your puffy clit in circles and tongue slurping up the blood on your body. She doesn't care to take it from the source, letting you bleed all over yourself so she can lap it up.

It seems so similar to a time you felt lost in your head, the girl of your fantasy off at work. You had been forced to resort to nothing but your imagination, rutting into your own hand—you couldn't help thinking about what would happen if Ellie were there to assist. 

You couldn't stop yourself from wondering what she would do if she let her instinct take over. Your mind overran itself with images of her penetrating gaze, face covered in a smattering of the blood she's so obsessed with, watching her play with her food. It would feel so fulfilling to be at her service in this way. And yet, it seems that it's coming to fruition.

"Oh!" You gasp, restlessly moving against her. "Ellie, Ellie, why're you–"

Never usually do more than a few red droplets spill and stain. Tonight, the ivory sheets are covered in them like a splash of paint.

"I'm just trying to make you feel good." Ellie hums lowly, licking a stripe from collarbone to the bite that's now beginning to clot. "It's working, yeah?"

Voice riddled with tremors, all you can do is reply half as loud as she. "Yeah, fuck, yeah."

"Good." 

Ellie's teeth repierce the nick in your throat, and this time she stays close, gulping down mouthfuls of your blood. You writhe less and less, head gaining that floaty, fluttery, dream-like sort of lightness the more that she leeches off of you. 

Days will be spent recharging, resting, and earning back your strength, but that's the price you're willing to pay. Ellie is a great caretaker.

"Close," you whisper, clear enough for Ellie to hear and pepper sweet kisses up to your jaw.

"You're a dirty-minded girl," Ellie murmurs, finally explaining herself. None of this was her own innovation. It was all you. "But so clever, aren't you? Now I don't have to worry about it hurting you when I feed. Isn't that smart, babe?"

You want to ask how she knew, but simultaneously, you don't really care—this experience is so overwhelming. You can barely lift your eyelids to look at Ellie, can barely speak or do anything but nod anymore. But you feel safe. You know you're in reliable hands, the strong-willed woman sure enough to control her darker urges.

The only words to escape you now are breathless murmurs of her name, and at last your body seems to calm itself after a final release of built-up pleasure makes its rounds through you. 

You are given moments to steady your breathing. A wet washcloth wipes the dried blood off of you, and she's soon encouraging a glass of water and a few sugary snacks into your hands. 

The healing process will be the same as it always is—but perhaps she might have to give you a little more grace this time round.

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #26

"Back off, bloodsucker, they're mine!"

You wanted to protest, but your words were cut off by squeals of pain as the monster's claws buried in your hair. You reached up, digging your meager nails into the fur-covered paws of the werewolf. They were no threat to the beast, yet you drove them as deeply as possible into his flesh in the hopes he'd let go.

How could it have come to this, you wondered, tears brimming in your eyes as you recalled the last few weeks. First, your long-term partner left you, so your friends suggested this trip to an old camping ground near a "haunted" mansion to get the edge off. And then you had been the only one who didn't hear how people fled the scene while you were knocked out from exhaustion, putting you into this situation.

You glanced over to the other figure that stood in the courtyard serving as camping grounds with you. Their paled skin shone in the moonlight, almost glistening, but the sight of their fangs protruding from their lips as they grinned, catching your eyes on them, made your neck ache, the blood slowly drying up from where they had bitten you in your sleep.

This other nightmare, a werewolf, had come just in time to pry them off you, and you awoke to the scuffle, realizing you were the last human left. But when you tried to run, the wolf had come after you, catching up and bringing you down to your knees with his overwhelming strength.

"And you are being so rough with them like a true monster. Look, they are already crying."

Waving their hand at you, the vampire pointed out your obvious discomfort, and the werewolf's eyes fell down, tearing away from his arch-nemesis and meeting yours briefly. You whimpered as they reflexively tightened their grip as they watched you cry. You wanted to take this chance, but the pain briefly robbed you of your senses before you could speak.

"P-Please," you whimpered. "Please just let me go..."

The werewolf growled lightly in discontent, getting down on one knee next to you. His hand fell from your hair to your back, brushing over it comfortingly, and you sobbed as the pain of being released hit you. You didn't feel soothed with the werewolf's claws repeatedly getting stuck on your clothes, chipping away at your only defense barrier.

"I didn't know... I'm so sorry for trespassing!"

Honestly, no one could have known this forest was the home of monsters. It still felt like a prank rather than reality. But it hurt even more, knowing your friends would leave you behind to fend for yourself like this. What good arguments did you have to make them keep you alive? How could you convince them to let you go?

"How about..." the vampire mused out loud, avoiding their eyes for just a moment to think. But when they looked back, you felt intimidated by their gaze, the deep red shining through even the darkness piercing into you. "We let them decide who to go with?"

A menacing smile crept over their lips, and you hugged yourself to shy away from the threat in their stare. Choosing between them? That seemed like a bad idea, almost as much as not choosing and letting them battle it out...

"You can choose the wolf and be dragged to his cave, where he'll tear you to shreds while he rampages every night. And the breeding season is near. If you make it that far, I'm not sure you'll survive that massacre."

"Or you stay with the bloodsucker," the werewolf growled, glaring at the vampire. "You won't even last one day before they empty you of your blood and life. Might wine and dine you first so you are proper lamb to slaughter, but your "friends" won't even recognize your body when they're done slurping your blood after hours of struggling and crying."

Gulping, you recognized the exaggeration in their words. Their dislike for each other was obvious, but from what you knew about these creatures, you didn't doubt the seriousness of their accusations. Accidentally or not, the werewolf was likely to hurt you—one way or another. It could last a lifetime unless you managed to escape, while your days were numbered with the vampire. They wouldn't keep you for as long as you could supply them with blood, would they? Even if they didn't do it that very night, you'd live in fear until they decided it was time, only for the torture to continue until your last breath.

You wanted neither.

You wanted to live.

This trip was not supposed to be your last one, and you wanted to continue living, no matter what. But how? How could you convince them? Convince them to keep you around at least long enough to try and escape. You thought long and hard. The werewolf's tail was like a whip, impatiently hitting the ground. But neither he nor the ever-smiling vampire, knowing he had all the time in the world, interrupted you, this challenge going beyond the worth of your life. It was a battle of dominance, one they both wanted to win. They wanted to be chosen by you, to have all the rights to you.

Thus, you thought, wrecking your head around the possibilities before you chose wrong.

[russellsppttemplates]

A blurb for Max Verstappen where he does his best to keep you and the kids away from the Drive to Survive netflix crew but wants you around the new docuseries being filmed about Max and his life off the track

"Netflix people are going to be in our garage tomorrow morning", Max said as he came out of the ensuite bathroom, careful with the noise he was making as the kids were in the living room area of the hotel room, the sofas turning into beds so they could sleep near you still despite the half wall that created a sense of separation between the spaces.

"So we'll just join you for the afternoon then", you added, showing him your understood what he meant, "have you spoken to them about us not wanting their faces shown in the show? You know how they sometimes record the paddock and other people show. I know it's inevitable sometimes, mas maybe blurr it out or something", you tried.

"Yes, I spoke to them this morning. They seemed understanding enough, although there was the usual comment of why and if they could do this or that", Max shrugged, getting in the bed next to you, "what did you tell them?", you wondered.

"Didn't let them get too far. They already know where we stand with you and the kids showing up, so there's not need to beat around the bush again and again. They're butthurt because you appear on the docuseries, but it sounds like it's a their problem and not ours, so I'm not too fussed. And neither should you be", he smiled, kissing your cheek and letting you snuggle up to him.

.

"Are you ready, Y/N?", one of the producers asked as they arranged the camera on your car so it could catch both you and the person asking the questions.

"I'm going to pick up the kids from school now, they're at a very good age now where it's not hard getting them to leave the house in the morning because they love going to school, but also not too hard to get them to leave school because they also love being at home and know they'll see their friends tomorrow", you chuckled, remembering Finn's tantrum when you wanted to take him home and he wanted to stay in school because he wanted to keep paying with his friends whose parents were running a little bit late to pick them up too.

"Is it hard juggling all of this with Max being away for some good chunks of time every now and again?", she asked as you stopped at a red light.

"It isn't as hard as before", you reasoned, "when they were younger and their needs were different, I relied a lot on my mother in law and my parents whenever Max wasn't home, which was really mostly weekends because he arranged the schedule and RedBull made it work. But now they're older and they're at a stage where they are a little bit more independent and, honestly, we just take each day as it comes and go from there", you smiled.

"How is parenting along with Max?", she wondered, "you know, there are many moments in parenting where you think 'this is definitely not the way we should do this but it works for now so we just stick to it' - and you really hope for the best in these cases -, but last week we both went to a parent-teacher meeting and both teachers said that the kids were doing well, they were kind, empathetic, respectful. - And what is there more to ask, you know? - we both got out of the meeting and we're like 'yeah, this parenting thing is going just fine',", you smiled, "obviously, we got home to our little girl having a meltdown about not being able to fly, but really? It's an amazing journey parenting with Max, even when he has to tell our daughter that that's not something humans do and let her mourn a capacity she never had", you chuckled.

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[acheronist]

to the ghost of henry peglar, congrats on writing your poem down 177 years ago!!!

to the actual academic scholars who have studied the pages before me....

so I took the royal museum greenwich's scan of the poem page (which is available online hereeee) and screwed around with its light levels in photoshop until henry's script was darkened enough to see more clearly. then I digitally traced over the darkened letters as best as I could, while also trying to discern his handwriting, and type up how I was reading it & this process took me about a week to get done between like... living my regular day to day life lmao.......

so when it WAS done, the final isabel acheronist peglar papers ["the open C"] transcript seemed a bit different than how I remembered the readily available russell potter transcript going ? (the poem is on the last two pages of that pdf for those of you who don't spend a billion hours a week looking at it btw)

it felt like I was getting more/different information out of it, compared to the potter transcript, which was kind of stressing me out honestly. so THEN I compared mine with barry cornwall's original poem and found more words that matched up? particularly in the second and third stanzas?

so!!!!! almost two hundred years later here's what I've landed on:

April 21 1847 the C the C the open ) ( it grew so fresh the Ever free the Ever free the Ever free without it without it covered it will Run to Earth above Re gions Round I love the C I love the C when I whare & I wish to be with and and silence whare Never go if a sailor should a Come and Make the meek What matter what matter Come Ride Or Sleep there was shores white and of red morn at the noisy hours knew I was ever near I was Born the [...] in felt Unto the Maid the wale the young dolphin ...... yet thes back of gold the Call of gods When I was on Old England Shore I like the young C more and more oftentimes time flew to a sweltering place like a bird thats seeks it mother Case and ware she was bird oft to me for have I loved a young and Hopen C

so then after going thru All Of That, I wanted to have a version of the original poem with parts that Henry did remember clearly highlighted for comparison purposes:

I know it's a popular theory that Henry was writing a dirty parody of the original poem? which if true, is funny as hell. me when i have to write cheeky victorian porn before i die.

But (serious voice) something about that hadn't ever seemed exactly right to me... IN MY HEART it seems more realistic that around 1847 he (and also by extension, the whole surviving expedition crew) were starting to experience confusion / brain fog symptoms from being ummmm quite physically unwell. the lead poisoning/scurvy combo would have severe effects on the brain's ability to function properly, and I started to wonder if Henry was trying to test his memory somehow? So he picked a widely known and popular Victorian era poem about being a sailor to see how much he could recall??? and he then got a little whimsical with it, and wrote in his own words to fill in the portions he couldn't fully recall, because it's his own diary and likely didn't expect anyone else to ever read it, much less have it turn into ONE of TWO surviving sources about the expedition?????

like... idk... this is probably the work of someone in the exact moment as they were starting to realize how bad things were, and then was trying to cope by using poetry. and That hurts my feelings enough as it is, but going through it was also just a very weird and haunting experience....... like, I can recognize all these tiny details in this dead guy's script and handwriting now. and to read his own account of his life in his own words, what stood out to him and what he recalled, what he wanted people in the future to know about him? insane. it literally felt like i was getting haunted by him for no reason. on top of knowing that Someone (#teamarmitage) loved this guy enough to keep his memory protected and safe, even though They Were So Totally Fucked And Going To Die There, unknowing if they'd ever be found again........

SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + CRYING A BIT HONESTLY

anyways thanks for reading this all. I don't think that this is revolutionary franklin expedition news by any means, and idk if there's a better different transcript somewhere that i've not found that already covers all this? but it's consumed a lot of my life lately lol and i wanted to share. because its the anniversary of henry writing it, and it felt...... important....? 💌....????

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge: Chapter 6

Chapter warnings: Talk of insomnia, torture, not eating, depression, brief hyperseuxual mention, physical and mental scars, nightmares (please let me know if i missed any or if any need to be added!)

“MIA”

The words bore into his mind, tore a hole in his frontal lobe. He felt like he was drowning, sinking deeper into a black pit, the dark whispers of your voice and the blaring words of black text against a white screen. 

“MIA”

They haunted him, day and night, hour after hour. when he blinked the words were there, when he ate the hologram of them passed in his view. 

Never, in his life had he had to suffer with someone being marked as MIA. he had dealt with deaths, he had survived both others trauma along side his own. He had watched teammates get blown up, shot down, stabbed dozens of times. 

They all recovered or died. 

None of them went missing. 

None of them haunted him like you did. 

Sometimes, he would hear your voice calling to him. He could be filing paperwork, sitting in the mess hall, doing fucking anything. 

And you were there. 

Asking him to double check your mission reports, wondering what he was doing, if he was hungry, wanted to get something to eat. Sometimes, he would swear on his boys life that you were behind him, sneaking up to scare him like you always did. and he would wait, see if you realized he had heard you coming from a mile away, heard you whisper “scare cam” into your phone camera. He waited and waited, till your calming presence turned into a threatening one, till you weren’t holding a camera but a knife, a gun to his head. 

Those were the worst. That and the nightmares. 

He had stopped sleeping since you left, to afraid of the version of you he saw in his dreams. You terrified him, and not in the good way you used too. You would kick and scream at him, say it was his fault for allowing the mission, his fault for not watching you closer, his fault you disappeared. You would scream and beg the Russians to leave you alone, sob that you didn’t know anything, you had no clue what was going on, who they were, that you just wanted to go home. 

You wanted your boys.

And you would scream for their help, call each of their names in turn. That’s what always got him, hearing your blood curdling scream as you were cut into again, burned again, slapped again. And every time he screamed back, every time he tried to move, tried to help you, but he was rooted in place, stuck in this hell forever. 

Yeah. Sleep became a foreign concept. 

The others noticed. Of course they noticed. Each of them had their own way of dealing with your disappearance, but it showed. Simon would have to double wrap his hands at the gym, Kyle stopped eating for weeks at a time. Johnny was just quiet. 

It scared him. Your loss scared him. It scared him how loosing one person was able to break apart his team, the men who made it through thick and thin. And he had seen these same men live without each other, on solo ops or when one of them was hurt. They missed each other, sure. And it hurt like fuck to not have the other fourth there, like a piece was missing. 

But not this. Never this. 

This was new. This was raw, this was foreign. 

This was hell. 

And as far as he knew, no one was lucky enough to crawl out of it alive. 

Exhaustion tugged at your body, dragging you down with every step.

sleep was a foreign concept, something you abandoned back at the Russian base. 

You abandoned a lot at that base. 

You abandoned them. 

You told yourself that they didn’t care, they didn’t give a fuck if you left the team. They wouldn’t care if you never came back, if you just disappeared without a trace. Protocol stated that, with the way you went out, you were to be declared as MIA for seven years before you could be presumed to be dead. It wouldn’t take you seven years to get back to base, but it would take you way longer to get over what happened. 

Much. Much longer.

It was an illusion, honestly. Something all basic magicians could perform, but not with a grenade. It was that or be shot down, although you were beginning to think being shot was the better option. It was certainly easier to deal with a bullet wound than second degree burns. 

Maybe. You had never been shot before, who were you to know? 

Anything had to be better than this. The burns scraped against the material of your suit, sending your body into intense amounts of pain with every step. It felt like someone was pulling you through a cheese grater, constantly, until you were nothing but shredded meat and skin. 

The price you have to pay to live. 

In order for the “trick” to work, you had to throw the grenade right at your feet. Which meant that your soles and legs were the most burnt, whereas your torso and upper body only suffered mild burns. Your hands were done for, completely charred to the point you could hardly flex your fingers anymore. 

The reasoning behind that was your escape. Once you had thrown the grenade down, you used the five seconds it bought you to flip over the drain cover you were standing next too, effectively falling into the sewers and out of bullet range. 

The cover, however, was red hot from the impact. 

You would take it over being a goner. 

Everyone else probably thought you were dead, or had died from the resulting explosion. You didn’t know if enough blood was left for it to be believable, you hoped so at least, that bought you some time. Immediately upon hitting the water you went radio silent, cringing at the disgusting slop that came up to your waist. Being in the water helped a bit, allowed the burns to be surrounded by something that was at least cool. 

Open air did the exact opposite. 

You weren’t sure exactly where you were, some rural town in Russia, that’s for sure. The only reason you could tell that was because of the signs that you saw every so often, each one written on in their harsh language. Of all the things you studied, Russian was among your least favorite, and while you were conversational you couldn’t read it to save your life. 

A fucking shame, really. 

Which left you to the next best thing, pray to some god for a way out of this hell. 

There was a list of things Johnny McTavish hated to do. It wasn’t a very long list, but it was there, in some corner of his mind. 

He hated being forced to stay still, he hated being told to be quiet when he was overexcited. He hated confined spaces, and— in the wrong situations— he hated being tied up. 

But the number one thing on that list, the thing he despised the absolute most was disappointing his boys. Tied, of course, with making them worry. Just the thought was enough to make him spiral, a fact that had been proven dozens of times. 

And a fact that was not helping his case right now. 

Truth be told, he didn’t mean to switch up on them. He understood that they were used to Johnny always being loud and obnoxious, that it was something they had come to love about him, how even in their worst moments he was able to at least make them smile. 

Which was the problem. This was a pretty bad moment, and he couldn’t even make himself smile. 

And he had tried, honestly. Not in front of the others— he couldn’t embarrass himself like that— but alone, he tried doing some of the things he would do on a good day. Drawing, dancing, cleaning his rifles. 

But he just… couldn’t. 

Johnny was no stranger to depressive episodes, he experienced them all the time in his youth. Of course, back then he would have a quick fuck and make himself feel better, or maybe a few rounds from a few different people, but now adays that old trick didn’t work anymore. Usually he would just stay with Simon, talk it through with him. 

But that wasn’t really possible. Not with this problem. 

He hadn’t realized just how much the team was dependent on your being there, how different things were without your presence. You balanced things out perfectly, acted as a moderator for the four of them. 

It was no surprise they fell for you. Anyone would have, after all. 

It kind of reminded him of some Shakespeare play, or like a hallmark movie. They found you, fell in love, never said anything, and they lost you. 

In any other situation that thought would have made him chuckle. 

Now it just makes him even sadder. 

He wants to help, he wants to do something. He wishes he could make the nightmares Price has go away, he wishes he could make Simon understand that no amount of training could prepare him for the situation you had found yourself in. He wished he could make Gaz eat something, anything, with the thought that you wouldn’t want him to starve, you wouldn’t want anyone to hurt themselves in the way the four of them were doing.

That didn’t stop them from doing it, of course, but he still wished.

Salvation came in the form of a video. 

Gaz had called a mandatory meeting, claiming it was something of the utmost importance. They all met in Prices office, cramping into the small space. 

Soap and Ghost took a seat on the couch, leaning into each other slightly. Price stayed at his desk, mounds of paperwork shoved to the side for Gaz to sit, perched as if he would have to make a run for something at any given moment. 

They stayed quiet for a while, all of them just drinking in the atmosphere. 

This wasn’t unusual, being called into the office like this. Usually it was by Price, who wanted to either scold them for their behavior or inform them of a mission. The only difference was your absence, your spot on the doorway glaringly empty. It felt like a black hole, sucking them deeper and deeper into their depression. The tense silence of the room didn’t help at all, and it was making each of them antsy. 

“Right.” Gaz said simply. “Gonna keep this brief, then.”

He removed a computer— which the others hadn’t noticed was there— from his lap and placed it on the desk for everyone to see. A video was pulled up, paused on a black screen. 

“Not before her junior year, but it’s bloody close.” Gaz mumbled, clicking start on the video. 

After a few seconds of silence, your face came up on the screen, sitting next to a girl they don’t recognize. She begins talking first, introducing herself as Amy. Your voice fills the room next, proudly saying your name and grade, the very beginning of your junior year. You opened your mouth to keep going, before Amy turned to you and laughed. 

“Fuck wait I forgot my grade.” You stared at her for a while, and then rolled your eyes, cutting the footage. The video resumed in much of the same fashion, and they realized what this was. 

A blooper reel, for something you had tried auditioning for. 

As the video continued, it slowly became more clear what the audition was— a performance at your school. You and your friend kept goofing off during the recording, resulting in multiple takes of one clip, regardless of how long it was. For some of them, you would press record and step away from the camera, then just start laughing uncontrollably. 

It took a long time to realize that they had forgotten your laugh. Having gone weeks without hearing it was hard, and watching a younger, clearly happier you laugh so freely was odd for them to see. Your face was just about clear, missing some of the scars you now possessed from your years of experience with field work. 

You were right, you did look different. 

“Where did you find this?” Price asked, leaning forward. The glasses he used to read had long ago been thrown on the desk, all his attention on the computer in front of him. 

“Did some digging.” Was all Gaz said. 

It was all the answer they needed. 

They watched the video all the way through the end, and when it finished they watched it again. And again. Till the sound of your laugh was engraved in their minds, till they were able to smile along with your jokes without having to wait for your explanation, till it felt like you were right in the room with them. 

Finally, the video stopped repeating, and the office was quiet again. Simon tugged off the mask and ran a hand over his face, signing loudly. “She’s got seven years before we can jump to conclusions.”

“I think if i tried to jump right now, I’d fall flat on my face.” Price said, leaning back in his chair. The office went silent again, before a quiet chuckle came from Soap. He covered his moth quickly, failing to suppress his giggles at Price's statement. 

If there was one thing the boys loved about Johnny it’s that his laughter was infectious. Once he started laughing, Gaz was smiling at him, and Ghost was smiling at Gaz’s smiling at Soap’s laughter. Eventually they were all giggling, each at each other in turn.  

“Fuck—“ Soap said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Even when she’s not ‘ere she’s makin’ us laugh.” 

“She’ll be back. Seven years couldn’t keep our girl away from us.”

“Our girl, eh?” Simon asked, throwing an arm around Johnny’s shoulders. Soap leaned into Simon’s side, smiling against his chest. 

“Our girl.” Price confirmed, nodding. “No matter what happens, challenge be dammed, she’s our girl. Nothing’s changing it.”

“Excuse me sir? Do you speak english?”

“We no take foreigners-“

“Please—“ You begged, looking at him with your best puppy dog eyes. You watch as his gaze trails up and down your body, stopping at the marks on your hands. "Please I really need your help.”

The man looks around for a moment, double checking that no one is around before he grabs you by your collar and pulls you inside harshly. He closes the door, grumbling for you to sit in the kitchen.

You follow his instruction, taking a seat in the too cramped space. You watch as he moves around the room, throwing things into a pot and getting different medicines from the cabinets, mumbling to himself in Russian all the time.

After a few moments of tense silence, the man places a small container full of white ointment on the table.

"Will help with burns," He says.

As if that explains anything?

You let it go, however and smile at him in thanks. The moment you put the cream on your hands you fight the urge to scream at just how badly it burns, opting instead to bite your tounge till you can taste the blood in your mouth.

The man watches you struggle, and takes a seat across from you.

“You American spy?”

“No, sir, I just work for the army.” 

The man nods, standing up “You will have more burns, I leave you to apply the rest.”

He walks out of the kitchen, and you hear the closing of a door some feet away. For a brief moment, you consider the thought that he might have cameras in the kitchen, that he's watching you on his phone through the system.

Just as quickly, you dismiss the thought. The man is absolutely huge, not Simon level but pretty close. If he wanted to do something to you he would have.

As it did with your hands, the ointment burned on each part of your body. It was like getting blown up all over again, and you kept your teeth grit so as to not scream out. Once you finish, however, you do feel better.

Slightly.

You leave the kitchen, wrapping the tatters of your suit around your body in a makeshift robe. Just outside of the room you see a set of clothes laid out, as well as a pair of gloves that look slightly too large for your hand size.

By the time you finish dressing, the man is back, carrying some vegetables with him.

“Who do you work for?” He asks, grabbing a knife from a drawer. You watch in awe as he makes quick work of the mound of food that was in his hands, throwing it into the pot without a second glance.

“A task force, sir.”

“The one four one?”

The room is dead quiet. For a moment, the only sound that can be heard is the boiling of water, and you take a cautious step back towards the front door. Running isn't something you want to do, and you're pretty sure it's not something you're 100% capable of, but if you had to get out of here you were willing to risk your health further.

Anyways, you still had that ointment. Technically that's all you really needed, and he wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't want you to use it.

“How did you-"

“Nikolai." He interrupts, holding out his hand. "I worked with them a long time ago."

You remember the name, it was heard in dozens of the stories Gaz and Price have told you about their missions before you joined. You take his hand, biting back a wince at the sting of your burns against the gloves.

“Do you think you could help me get back?” 

AN: VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION

Hey guys, so while technically this is late i was hoping we could just ignore that fact for a while. If you couldn't tell by the contents of this chapter, this fic is going to take a darker turn than i even thought (this whole thing is written on impulse, i only have the reader's backstory planned and that's it) Future chapters will feature mental health issues, and some abuse so i just wanted to release an early viewer discretion to warn anyone who wouldn't be comfortable reading that stuff.

I promise i'll give you guys a fluffy BTS to make up for this angst bomb. Hope you enjoyed!

My Masterlist

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 25 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

“Surrender to me. I will eat this sweet pussy every morning for breakfast. I will be your slave.”

You don’t believe him, of course, but there is a growing desperation in his pleas that fills you with warning. He’s been patient with you, but you wonder if someday this man will not snap.

He has you tied up again.

You’d watched him produce the red ropes earlier with resignation, but surprisingly, no fear. You realize that you have arrived at a place of relative numb, where you have accepted he will not satisfy you without your submission, but you trust him not to really hurt you.

Drive you absolutely batshit insane, maybe. But not hurt you.

You’ve had time to think about it, and you know there are so many things he could have done by now to really win your compliance. He could have beat you. Starved you. Drugged you. All the usual dirty tricks men have used to keep independent women in line over the millennia.

He has not so much as spanked you, really, except for that once the other day, and even you know that had been child’s play.

More and more, you have come to understand that this man has been through it. He’s told you more about his brutal past, curled up with his head in your lap, spilling his soul to you while you stroked his dark hair. You have discovered that once he feels safe, the taciturn Mr. Wick actually has a lot to say.

If you hadn’t been sleeping beside him, the signs of PTSD might have escaped your notice. But after over a week in his non-stop company, you have woken beside him when he’s riddled with night terrors, his strong hands gripping your body hard enough to leave bruises. Sometimes he zones out, and you know he's not really seeing the room you're in. 

After hearing about his training (as a fucking child soldier!) and the things he had to do to survive over the years working for the Bratva, trapped in a cycle of violence he had little power to escape or control, you honestly think it’s a miracle that he’s come out of it as intact as he has—and goddamn if there isn’t a part of you that wonders if you cannot bring him back.

You should know better by now, than to think you can fix a man with your love. It’s a mistake you’ve made before, in your younger years, and you should know that nothing lies down that path but disappointment and heartbreak. But…what else do you have to do with your time?

Take up knitting?

You had watched him with a distant fascination, as he looped your wrists in the cord, securing them with beautiful knots before affixing your spread arms to the metal headboard. You had thought the curled iron design of the bed to be very pretty, but now you understand the form of it is perfect for knotting ropes in various positions.

You’re not sure how long he’s been torturing you with his tongue, bringing you right to the edge licking your clit with his fingers buried inside you, before withdrawing right at the last moment. He always fucking knows, even when you do your best to remain still as a stone. You have been going through your days in a constant state of low-burning arousal, perpetually wet with slick and uncomfortably swollen. You feel where his body has been every time you sit down, keenly aware of what he’s done, and what he hasn’t allowed you.  

“My poor darling,” he continues to taunt you, taking a break to nip at the inside of your thigh, your soft flesh already riddled with little bruises. “Why do this to yourself, when with three little words I could set you free?”

You cannot hold in your ragged sigh. “It’s kind of nostalgic really, just like my first boyfriend in high-school. Getting fucked constantly with no real hope of satisfaction…”

Wick responds to this with a snarl, the way you knew he would. Jesus Christ but his teeth are sharp. Suddenly he sucks at your clit with a vengeance, making you squirm and cry out in surprise. Of course he stops before you even have the chance to make use of the friction.

“I do not want to hear about the other men you’ve had in your life,” he cautions you. “I’m the only one who counts now.”

“Could have fooled me.”

When he gets on his knees with a dark look, you do feel some satisfaction. You’ve learned if you piss him off enough, he’ll try to punish you by taking his pleasure and leaving you hanging. At this point, you’re just relieved that it’s over.

“That smart mouth needs filling,” he growls, guiding his tip to your lips, and you let him fuck your face, sucking his glans messily with a swirl of your tongue the way you’ve learned drives him mad. The only time he catches a hint of teeth is not your fault, but his, in his enthusiasm for trying to shove his cock down your throat. It’s not long before he cums, spilling hot seed across your tongue. Some of it dribbles down your chin, and he wipes it across your lips with narrowed eyes, daring you to spit it out.

You’re foolhardy, but you’re not stupid. You lap it from his finger like a good girl, watching the post-orgasm glaze take over his midnight dark eyes.

The monster will be sated, for a little while.

You’ve bought yourself time, but no real relief.

[getawayfox]

Happy birthday, darling @wolfpants! I’m bringing you a banner with Draco on it since you share a birthday with him, what a fun coincidence! When deciding how to celebrate you and your writing, I knew I wanted to do an author’s reclist but wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it because every single fic in your catalogue is worth a rec of its own. So I took inspiration from an ask game - a list of categories I could fill with my rambling. I hope you have a wonderful birthday full of nice things! ILY! 🤍

🤍 A fic I want to read again for the first time: Under Giant Mountains (Drarry, E, 34k)

I thought about it for a long time because I would give anything to experience all of them for the first time again but eventually, I landed on Under Giant Mountains. It feels a bit sacred to me and I think it’s because I relate to this Harry a lot; because it’s a gentle story about healing; because it made me cry but in that really good, cathartic way. I think it will do the same regardless of how many times I read it.

🤍 A fic I reread the most times: Pages of You (Drarry, E, 102k)

According to AO3 the fic I have visited the most is Pages of You, which is no surprise. Do I share how many times I clicked on that fic? Is it embarrassing? Probably. Oh well, here it is:

Look, it’s my comfort fic, okay? What can I say - an 80s coming-of-age story? Sign me the hell up. In all honesty, I don’t really have words to describe how this fic makes me feel - it’s like a safety net for my inner child maybe, or something similarly, horribly cheesy. It’s a book I want to own, have on my bookshelf, and return to it over and over again. Maybe one day it will be.

🤍 A fic that made me (re)consider a ship: Spellbound (Draco/Albus, E, 2k)

So here is the thing - I’m pretty faithful to my favourite ships and don’t often read outside of them, except when it’s a rarepair that catches my eye and then I’m happy to be persuaded. And Wolf is brilliant at that, honestly, they could talk me into anything. And so even when it comes to a ship I didn’t know I needed, like Draco/Albus for instance, I just know that in their hands, it’s gonna be layered and thought-provoking and just so, so delicious. Here is the proof: Spellbound, a Dead Dove fic that is just the perfect flavour of dirtyhotwrong. Yum.

🤍 A favourite rarepair fic: Galvanize (Scorpius/Ron, M, 1k)

Speaking of rarepairs. Wolf has a whole collection of kinkuary fics, which is a rarepair heaven, go forth and pick your poison. I’m gonna go with Galvanize, in support of Hot Ron Agenda ™. It’s an M-rated Scorpius/Ron fic and the dynamic here is unmatched - so innocent and yet. Gah!

🤍 A line from a fic that’s haunted me: Waiting for the Moon to Rise (Drarry with a hint of Bill, E, 9k)

This is hard because I can think of many (see QQR) but if I had to choose just one, it would have to be this masterpiece:

—his voice had been thick, Draco remembers that, because he’d been eating an apple stolen from the kitchens on their way outside. He kept trying to get Draco to eat it too, playfully pressing the bitten edges to his mouth, damp like a kiss, until Draco had pushed him off him with a laugh— “stop that, Potter, or I’ll shove it someplace where it’ll hurt ”—and all the while, his lips had tingled with sweetness, a phantom caress he would take to his bed later that night and think about with his hands while the rest of the Eighth Year boys would sleep and snore, none the wiser—

Which is of course from Waiting for the Moon to Rise, featuring an intimate friendship, lots of UST and Bill the matchmaker 😏

🤍 A fic that ripped my heart out (but it hurt so good): The Hollow (Remus/Draco, E, 12.5k)

Oh boy. We’ve all read The Hollow, right? Right. It’s one of those fics I think about so often it can’t be healthy and yet I can’t go anywhere near it again because I don’t think I would survive a second read. It’s so, so, so good. It’s so painful. It’s everything I want from the pairing. I never want to see it again. It carved itself into my heart and will stay there forever.

🤍 A fic that made me laugh: Romp and Circumstance (Drarry, E, 33k)

So. Many. Wolf’s banter in fics is unmatched but for the sake of this game I have to say one, so I’ll go with Romp and Circumstance - and as much as this fic is hilarious, it’s also so full of love and longing and romance. It’s so vibrant! A perfectly executed AU with characterizations that are just chef’s kiss!

🤍 A song I now associate with a fic: Everybody Hates a Tourist (Drarry, E, 52k)

I will always associate Common People by Pulp with Everybody Hates a Tourist. I remember sitting in a beach cafe last year and the song started playing and immediately transferred me into the holiday vibes of the fic. I’m obsessed with both Harry and Draco in this story: with who they are, separately, and eventually together. Their characters are written so brilliantly here; they’re both given space to grow into themselves, into what they want out of life and their getting together feels like the most natural thing in the world.

🤍 A fic that’s between me and my AO3 history: Seat You Higher than the Stars (Ron/Harry, E, 1,8k)

Ha! I have no secrets or shame. Nothing is just between me and AO3, I’m an open book and will shout about it, and especially about this fic I thought was fitting (pun intended) for this category - just look at the tags: emotional vulnerability and fisting (elmo fire emoji). This is Seat you Higher than the Stars, a Ronarry fic that has got to be one of my favourite things ever written. It’s so tender and beautiful! 

🤍 A fic that feels like a warm blanket: Thickets (Drarry, E, 17k)

That is *exactly* how reading Thickets feels. Oh, this fic. So gentle and mature, full of soft, quiet pining and second chances. It’s so atmospheric and nostalgic. Layered with complicated grief and vowed with humor and warmth, this fic is simply stunning. It’s a getting back together story that feels like a deep exhale. It’s melancholic and hopeful and it has one of my favourite characters of all time - a portrait of Young Draco to perfectly illustrate just how far current Draco has come.

🤍 A fic I want to be made into a film: Led by Light of a Star Sweetly Gleaming (Sirius/Remus, E, 53k)

My Wolfstar-loving heart could not forget this story - in a way a prequel to Pages of You but also a standalone fic set in the '60s. Wolf’s worldbuilding and attention to detail really shine here - it would make such a stunning film! But it’s not just that, it’s the characters, too, where the magic lies: completely in awe of each other and unbearably lovely. “You’ve no idea how much I want to worship you.” will be forever my favourite thing Sirius has ever said.

[itsgrimeytime]

The Nurse (Part Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part 1, Part 2

Taglist: @strnqer, @1985bitch, @curlycarley, @imaginemyfavoritefics,

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, hospital mention, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged! And this time is loosely based on S3, E5, where Daryl and Maggie go to get baby supplies for Judith. I will not be following the story to a T though, and will kinda carve out my own path, it's been ages since I've seen it so, any weird story omits or things I don't mention are just not happening here lol. And I know this is kinda fast, I'm just writing as I feel like it, so don't expect super quick updates all the time, but here's a treat. Thanks for reading!]]

You stopped, hand resting on a tree, just for a moment. Taking some deep breaths, you scanned the area, looking for anything familiar or anything that you could, at least, stay the night in. You were practically running on less than an hour of sleep, the pure adrenaline of surviving being the only thing forcing your eyes open.

Currently, your plan was to use some old lipstick you'd found in a purse - somewhere along the road - to mark trees. Leaving a trail, so you knew where you'd been and where you were going. It was simple, and would probably wash away in the rain, but it was enough for now.

With an exhale, you kept moving deeper into the forest - a hope for a cabin, deep in your heart. An unoccupied cabin.

It's not that you didn't want to help people. You truly did. And if you found anyone who needed it, you would - other straggling groups with limps and cuts and bruises. You'd give them advice on how to clean wounds properly, some regular items they could use. If an injury was more serious, you'd stay with them just for a while to watch the person, keep an eye on whatever you had to.

It never stuck, though. You found it easier to be alone, to be on the move. You could help more people that way.

Plus, there were... others. Driven to madness by the tragedy, brutally ready to kill at first sight for whatever fucked up reason they came up with. Some of them had used you for a while, providing you food and shelter, just to ship off wounded soldiers to you - ones they wounded themselves. It was eerily familiar to your previous job, and you almost fell into a rhythm - even thinking about it now, it snuck a knot of guilt in your stomach. One too many threats, and you found yourself back to traveling.

The scrubs you still wore stuck to your skin, hair matted and blood soaked - you imagined this wasn't one of your best days. But it honestly probably wasn't your worst either.

And then, you heard it. The snap of a twig.

"Fuck," you whispered barely even a breath, pulling your duffel over your side and readying your fire axe. (You'd grabbed it back at the hospital, all that time ago.)

There was something to be said about a single snap of a twig because the dead were noisy.

They were unaware - would continue down the path, crunching leaves and snapping more twigs, dragging their feet through the dirt. In different circumstances, they could sneak up on you. With the soft grass under their feet and the hum of the animals in the forest mixing in with their own tones, sometimes you had to rely on the quietest of noises.

But this forest? No.

Without thinking a second more, you spun behind the nearest tree, the red of the lipstick - grazing along your fingers.

"What, so-" a voice spoke, "-we just give up?"

"No," a gruff tone responded, hair a little overgrown, and what seemed to be a crossbow on his back, "-Just means we got some extra work to do."

The woman, who had short brunette hair and a pistol in her hands, said, "Yeah, and we're gonna do it. We... have to. She deserves a chance."

"Of course," the man responded, a little bit upset she even insinuated he wouldn't care.

You watched carefully, eyes following the pair as they roamed through the woods - before stopping in front of one of your trees, your marked trees.

"Fuck," you muttered, so soft, the wind could’ve whisked it away, exhaling carefully and turning around to face the other way.

"What's that?" the woman asked, a tone of mixed concern and curiousity.

There was a scrape, and you could only assume the man touched the lipstick mark, as he hummed, "Not blood."

"I think..." the woman muttered, the slight slur of her accent becoming stronger, "-I think it's lipstick."

The man huffed, his accent strong, "What for?"

There was more leave crunching, and the woman replied, "Maybe a path? I don't..."

"Hello?" the man spoke, and you heard the click of metal, like he'd moved his gun up, "Is anyone there?"

The woman seemed to keep moving, leaves crunching getting closer and closer to your ears, you knew they'd notice an end of the path.

You needed to do something quick.

"I'll give ya 'til a count of 3," the man spoke, the metal clicking once more, "-one."

Your breaths shook, as you debated your options, based on what you'd seen the gun the man had was long range. So, running was out of the question.

"Two," his accent lilted.

Your feet were almost rooted in fear, what if it happened again? What if all you were surrounded by was death? What if they used you and then killed you next? God, you couldn't die, not now. Not after everything you'd done.

"Three," he added, tone more aggressive, and the click of the metal once more sending fear down your spine.

You couldn't wait any longer, squeezing your eyes shut, you spun around, "Wait!"

Expecting the blossoming pain, you flinched. Yet, after a moment, nothing happened.

You cracked open your eyes, and saw two guns trained at you, the woman and man now in clear sight. Noticing now, the bags full placed at their feet, you wondered if they thought you were here for their supplies.

Without hesitation, the man straightened his gun and asked, "Are ya bit?"

"No," you answered quickly, flourishing your arms forward as if to show the lack of teeth marks, "-no, I'm clean, you can check."

"What's your name?" the woman spoke, tone solid and unmoving.

"Y-Y/N." you stuttered out, looking down the barrel of two guns wasn't exactly calming.

The man, a bit distant, replied, "What are you doing out here?"

"I..." you exhaled, trying to calm your shaking hands which were still caked in blood (as the rest of you were), "-I'm just looking for shelter for the night. Look, I don't mean you two any harm, just leave me be and I'll-"

The woman faltered, her green eyes flickering with emotion -just for a second, "You need shelter?"

"Uh, yes," you spoke, a bit bewildered that they were listening but too tired to question it, "-I haven't slept in 3 days, I just need some rest and I'll be-"

"Maggie," the man spoke stern and low, and you weren't sure you were supposed to hear it.

The sun was setting now, and if they had some shelter, this was your last chance for the night and you were just so tired. What else could you do?

Maybe you could bring something to the table.

Interrupting their hushed conversations, you began, "I... I heard you say a 'she' earlier, is there something wrong with her?"

The two stopped talking, the man's icy glare set on you, "Why you askin'?"

"I-If she's sick, I can help," you beckoned, "-I come from a hospital, I have all kinds of medical supplies. I-I can show you if you want. And-"

The man interrupted again, as the woman, Maggie you now knew, carefully watched you, "You a doctor of some kind?"

You paused, waiting for a moment before responding, "Y-yes. I'm a nurse, er well, I used to be. I... I worked at Harrison Memorial Hospital when it all went down."

The woman started this time, "And you're willing to help us?"

"Yes," you asserted, "-as long as I have a place to stay for the night. That's... that's all I ask."

"But you'll stay as long as we need ya?"

You furiously nodded, "Of course. I won't... I won't leave someone I know I can help behind."

The two turned to each other, before slowly pointing their guns to the ground. You exhaled a big breath of relief as your heartbeat slowed, muttering out, "Thank god."

The woman, held out her hand, "Maggie."

You hesitated for a moment, at the current state of your hands, before accepting it with a quick shake.

"Daryl," the man added, hand extended as well. You shook his, and began to follow in their footsteps -leading about west of where you were headed just earlier.

"Are you with a group?" Maggie asked, strolling along the woodlands.

"No," you replied, "-I... I come and go. Sometime people need a doctor so I help, but-"

The two looked at you, still watching you to say something wrong. They were still heavily armed afterall. The thought made your hands shake.

"I ended up in some shady places," you continued, "-because I stayed. So, I don't really stay anymore."

Daryl hummed in response, and Maggie simply looked at you with eyes of hesitant trust. Like she wanted desperately to trust you, but it seemed hard. You didn't blame her. Not really.

The last time you trusted someone, it hadn't gone well then either. This world is not one of trust, you knew that.

"We have a group," Maggie continued, walking in step with you as Daryl scouted ahead, "-it's small but we don't trust too well."

"Right," you murmured, expecting as much.

Daryl hummed, "We have a leader too. You'll have to meet him. You gonna be alright with that?"

Before you could even respond, Maggie interjected -an unsettled look in her eyes, "Daryl, is he even... in the space to do this?"

"Don't have to be," he responded, a little coldly, but you figured that was just kind of his tone at this point, "-he's gotta. I'll talk to 'em."

You furrowed your eyebrows, a question on your tongue, but found the following silence was not one to be interrupted. Without thought, you simply adjusted your bag and continued along. Their path was set as if this happened often, and the knowledge that you were going to a very settled camp irked you just a little.

A dynamic that felt substantial in this post-apocalyptical world usually wasn't the kindest. Oftentimes, it was 'kill or be killed'.

You knew that well, staring down at your hands (which had definitely dried by now) -you wished you had a way to wash them off. But the water was too precious to risk anyone's supplies, frankly. It reminded you of before, when veins would rupture, when hearts wouldn't beat, and everything felt like it was on the line.

An exhale, and you scrubbed your hands on your pants.

It felt immoral, as you held a fire axe in your hands. Weren't you supposed to save people? Wasn't that in the oath?

Shaking your head, you glanced ahead at the pair wondering how exactly this group operated -where they had a protocol for finding people. That wasn't... You hadn't seen much of it.

"This group," you questioned, "-how long have you guys been together?"

"Long enough," Daryl answered, curtly, "-prove yourself and you might just have a spot with us." Maggie hummed in agreement, pulling her pistol close to her chest, as a large barbed wire fence came into your view. And... were those... watchtowers?

"Is this...?" You trailed off, eyes taking in the surrounding concrete and the few stragglers either slowly trudging to the group you found yourself in, or mindlessly clawing at the tall fences as if it would do anything.

"Our base," Maggie finished, pulling her pistol to attention and shooting one of the dead just ahead of you -right in front of what you assumed was the opening gate.

"And it's a..."

"Prison, yeah," Daryl finished, pulling out his bow and killing the other one without a flinch.

"Right," you responded, a bit astonished, "-have you guys cleared the place?"

"Almost," Maggie answered, as the three of you stood directly in front of the gate. There was a watchtower to your left, and you could see the familiar glint of a scope shining down from the top.

"Glenn!" Daryl shouted, you watched as the dead stirred toward the noise, "-Let us in!"

There was a moment of hesitation, a breath of air catching in your lungs as the corpses made their way to you -slowly but surely. You knew a few weren't a threat, not with a group the size you currently were in, but you still felt this buzz of fear under your skin. Normally, you would be gone by now, vanished into the dust -not wanting to waste durability on a fight that would only bring more opponents.

Without warning, the door swung open and you assumed they had silenced the mechanism because no sound other than the screech of metal moving across the concrete filled your ears.

Which was not pleasant. At all.

The crowd there wasn't particularly large, but still seemed odd. Maybe you had been alone for too long.

A man quickly approached the group with a warm smile, rushing up to Maggie and scooping her into a hug. This figure hardly even noticed you or Daryl, now that you thought about it, but you doubted you would have either.

Daryl spoke, with a taste of disgust (you couldn't tell if it was playful or not) "That's Glenn, Maggie's boyfriend, you'll get used to it."

You nodded, pointing to a few stragglers around what looked like crops, "Okay, and... who are they?"

Without answering you, Daryl called out, "Rick out here?"

The older man who was tending to the crops looked up, eyeing you for a second, before answering, "I think he's inside, clearing out block F."

Maggie responded, "Daddy, can you see if you can get him out here?"

You blinked, absorbing the new information, Maggie's dad, right. The old man sighed, standing and brushing off his hands on his knees.

"I'll try."

Daryl nodded, not leaving your side, and it would've been comforting had you not known it was because you weren't fully trusted yet. Maggie guided you to a table, assumedly brought out from the cafeteria, and sat you down with a calm gesture to a chair. Glenn followed close behind, and Daryl merely observed.

You doubted he'd even blink while you waited for the mysterious Rick. He seemed the type to take his duty seriously.

"I'm Glenn," he held out his hand across the table, sitting just beside Maggie with curious but cautious eyes. It seemed he trusted Maggie's hesitant judgment of you.

"Y/N," you replied, accepting his hand, "-this is a lot, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Glenn continued, looking around the courtyard, "-finding the prison has been life-changing for us."

"I imagine," you laughed, a little in disbelief at the mere size, and looking over the two's shoulders to see the dead staring in through the fence. There weren't that many at all, but it still trickled in some of your solo senses.

Which were mostly bashing their head in before they get too close.

Maggie caught your eye, inquisitive almost like you were in an interview, "How familiar are you with the walkers?"

"You mean the dead?" you clarified, fingers trailing along the blood in the creases of your palms, "More familiar than I ever wanted to be, that's for sure."

Glenn opened his mouth to say something, but something bumped into your ankle and you were immediately on your feet. Prepared for the worst.

Instead of what you expected, there was a ball... An old deflated basketball probably from the court somewhere around here, you stared at it a bit incredulously. Like you'd almost forgotten it was a thing. You picked it up, brushing your finger along the bumpy texture.

"Sorry," a voice spoke. Squeaky and... familiar.

Your eyes snapped up and were met with those eyes 'You have to save him, please.' Breath caught in your lungs, your mouth moved but nothing came out. He was a little older now, with hair a touch longer and a sheriff's hat on the top of his head. But that was-

Daryl grunted, "Play somewhere else-"

"Carl?" you interrupted, tilting your head and dropping the ball to the floor; what were the chances?

Maggie stuttered out, a tone of protectiveness in her voice you'd have yet to experience, "You know him? Carl, do you know them?"

He paused, tilting his head in the same way you had just seconds before like he was trying to get a good look at you, "I..."

He looked into your eyes, eyeing your scrubs for a second -probably the same he'd seen you in so long ago. And the blue eyes that were so achingly familiar seemed to light up in recognition, he questioned, "Nurse Y/N?"

It was like a pin could drop, as the boy's gaze settled on you curiously, and every adult in the vicinity watched you like you were the most dangerous criminal in the world. A tension settling within the air that gave you uncomfortable goosebumps, and desperately made you want out of the spotlight.

Slowly, a grin slid across his features, his tiny finger pointing at you, elated, "You saved my Dad!" And before you could even react, the little boy had scurried up to you and wrapped his arms tightly around your middle - almost knocking off his hat at the force.

You blinked, a little stunned at the current predicament, but shook yourself awake. Completing the hug, you exhaled a sort of relief you hadn't known you needed. Seeing this little boy surviving such a terrible world gave you a spark of something. Like you'd been waiting to hear this.

"I promised I would, didn't I?" you hummed with a very soft smile.

Just as he let go, you crouched down and fixed his hat on his head, suddenly much more comfortable in a known presence, "Cool hat, kiddo."

He grinned even wider, but before he could even say another word, another voice echoed through the courtyard. Tone hardened and deep, this one could not be missed.

"Carl?" a breathy southern drawl -that you knew- interrupted, and your stomach flipped.

The tone was accusatory, dangerous even, so you stood quickly. A distance now established, you looked up into the figure. That couldn't be-

The blue eyes had burned into your head, so clear, so decisive.

"Rick Grimes?"

[that-house]

SATAN’S PERFECT IDIOT OR: POP MUSIC AND THE BATTLE FOR SURVIVAL IN NEW SPACE CITY OR: INVINO VERITAS AND THE DOCUMENTARY TO END ALL DOCUMENTARIES (AND THE WORLD)

To explain why for me, universally-beloved pop sensation Invino Veritas, being drunk on The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld was a bad thing would require copious context that I’m too lazy to give right now, especially when it could be revealed at a more interesting and dramatic time later. Suffice it to say the conversation had started bad, and was going worse.

“is that legal?” asked famous talk show host Blue Jerry Seinfeld, bluely.

“No,” replied famous pop star Invino Veritas (me, in case you forgot), honestly.

We both trailed off into an awkward silence, the sort of silence that two famous people trail off into when one of them confesses to double-parking a private jet in front of the fire escape of an orphanage on live TV, but in my defense building an orphanage near the corner store where I buy my menthols was poor civil planning on their part. Hardly anyone got hurt, anyways.

“While we’ve got you here, would you like to say anything about your upcoming album, Always Read the Fine Print?”

I batted my eyelids coquettishly, my seventeen thousand dollar UltraGlitter eyeshadow emitting enough light to temporarily blind (and in one case, as my lawyers would later tell me, somehow permanently deafen) the audiences at home. “Well, let's just say it’s still a bit of a work in progress.”

Blue Jerry Seinfeld stared at me gormlessly and bluely. As part of his ten year contract with The Every Night Show, he was obligated to stay awake 24/7/365/10, or actually more like 24/7/365.25/10 to account for leap years. It gave him a miserable earnestness that drew his guests in and inspired them to share things they’d never even admit to themselves. He didn’t need that for me, though, because I was drunk.

“I’m actually delaying on purpose,” I continued.

Blue Jerry Seinfeld’s sleepless blue eyes bored into my soul the way a particularly blue soul drill might similarly bore into my soul, only bluer. “Tell me more about that.”

“You see, Blue Jerry Seinfeld, you know how I’m with Morgenstern Records, you know, the record label owned by Lucifer Morningstar?”

“The guy from the bible, right?”

“Yeah. He did porn for a while, too.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen that. Good stuff.”

“Yeah.”

We trailed off into another awkward silence, the sort of silence that two famous people trail off into while thinking about the biblical Lucifer’s penis and its frankly ridiculous proportions. Thirteen inches length, seven inches circumference, by the way. I know you were wondering.

“Anyway, what about him?”

“Yeah, so you know all those stories about how someone makes a deal with the devil, and then they get totally screwed on the wording?”

“I’m familiar,” said the man who was contractually obligated to go ten years without sleeping. He was kind of ugly, now that I thought about it.

“I don’t think you’d really get it, actually,” I said, dismissing his lived experience the same way I dismissed my first butler for not excitedly running to come greet me at the door every time I got home. I mean, it wasn’t in Gerald’s terms of employment or anything but would it really have killed him to go above and beyond every single day? (LAWYER’S ADDENDUM: Gerald MacDonald had a rare and little-known heart condition which would have killed him if he ever felt any excitement or joy, and the depressive spiral he fell into following his termination likely saved his life. You cannot conclusively prove that my client, Invino Veritas, was unaware of his condition or that she specifically ended his employment for any reason other than to protect him).

Blue Jerry Seinfeld bristled in irritation, shaking his venomous quills as if to deter a predator and making a noise that sounded like a blue, be-quilled clone of a 20th century comedian muttering “fucking divas, man” under his breath. “As you were saying,” he said, more audibly and bluely.

“As I was saying, I made a deal with the devil and then I got totally screwed on the wording.”

You know what, to save time, let’s just assume that Blue Jerry Seinfeld does everything bluely going forward, and I can just say that he did a thing and you can add in the word “bluely” yourself, because the way he did it, whatever it was, was undeniably blue. So next paragraph, when I was going to say “‘Much like me and my deal with the studio,’ said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him, bluely,” I’ll just say “‘Much like me and my deal with the studio,’ said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him,” and you’ll just have to keep this paragraph in mind.

“Much like me and my deal with the studio,” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, making everything about him. Did you do it? Did you do the thing I told you to do? The super easy thing I literally just told you to do? Here, consult this flow chart:

Yes, I did as I was ordered by pop sensation Invino Veritas: good girl, or whatever you are. Keep it up!

No, I ignored the super easy request of a really hot woman: literally how did you fuck that up. The bar was so low.

“Sure, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. Whatever. Anyway, back to talking about me: so I have a seven record deal with Morgenstern Records, right? And in the last five years I’ve put out six albums, all to incredible critical and financial success. Selling my soul to the devil was the best decision I ever made.”

“But…?” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld (don’t forget).

“But… I may have neglected to Always Read the Fine Print. See what I did there? Anyways, it turns out that when the seventh album is done, I go to Hell, and so does everyone who’s ever listened to even a single second of my music.” And of course, due to my incredible popularity and sex appeal, my music is inescapable in New Space City, so every single one of the ten trillion people who live here has heard my music.

“What the fuck? My fucking kids love your music! Oh god! Oh god we’re all going to die! Oh god! Oh cruel and merciless god, all I have ever asked of you is the chance to dream again, and now it seems I will be denied even that!” Blue Jerry Seinfeld was having a panic attack, something famously pretty common in cheaply-made clones. He didn’t even have kids, he just had implanted memories from the 1990s.

It was frankly pretty embarrassing, watching this blue man break down and cry on the floor, and clearly the studio execs agreed. A crack team of clonehunters rappelled onto the stage and shot Blue Jerry Seinfeld until he stopped twitching. The corpse was dragged off stage, and The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld cut to commercial.

The commercial was an ad for dog food, and featured a few scandalously-uncollared dogs dancing at the club to my hit single I Literally Just Killed a Guy (So Let’s Make Out in the Back of a Cop Car), so if there were any dogs in New Space City who somehow hadn’t heard my music, well, they probably were going to Hell now, too.

A few minutes later, they’d defrosted a new Blue Jerry Seinfeld, and rammed an icepick into the part of his brain responsible for feeling fear. “Sorry about that everyone,” said the new Blue Jerry Seinfeld, oozing blue blood from a hole in his eye socket. “So, Invino, you were saying that we’re all going to Hell. I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

“Yeah, pretty much. Of course, if anyone kills me before I finish the album, I guess I’d be the only one to go to Hell.”

Why did I say that. Oh right, the context.

So when I was like, seven years old, I got into a wish-god’s windowless white van because he said he could turn me into a princess. When I told him my name was Invino Veritas, and that I lived at 3243293 Jelq Street, he started laughing.

I asked him what was so funny, and he said that he was going to turn me into a princess but then he had a way funnier idea, and cursed me so that I have to tell the truth as long as I have literally any alcohol in my bloodstream. It didn’t really affect me at the time, but once I reached the legal drinking age of twelve I started losing friends really fast because I couldn’t stop telling people that I thought I was better than them.

Who names their kid Invino Veritas, anyway? Like, that’s just asking for them to get bullied by an omnipotent, kinda pervy deity with a penchant for stupid puns. No one else in my family has a weird name, and still I got singled out for a stupid name-based curse from birth, the assholes. Whatever, I got to channel that rage into my music and I’m over it now. I’m over it.

“Could you say that again, for audiences at home?”

“Sure thing, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. When I finish my next album, every single person and dog and elf in New Space City will be immediately sent to Hell, unless I’m killed before it’s done.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to say, before a swarm of desperate fans looking to avoid eternal damnation storms the studio?”

“Just that I hear your complaints, and I’m listening, and I think I can delay the album for, like a year or two, so you should do whatever you want in the time you have before the world ends. Quit your job. Go on that vacation. Kill a guy and make out in the back of a cop car. Preorder Always Read the Fine Print, because I don’t think I can cash those royalty checks once I’m in Hell.”

“You heard her, New Space City. This has been The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld, and it will continue to be The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld until the world ends or my contract expires.” He turned to me, gripping my arm with the sort of intensity that you only get in freshly-defrosted clones. “You can escape out the back. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can. Good luck out there, Invino.”

Aw, that was actually really sweet of him. “Thanks, Blue Jerry Seinfeld. I’m sorry I called you ugly in my internal monologue.”

“Dying feels like falling asleep,” said Blue Jerry Seinfeld, still not releasing my arm.

“Okay, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.”

“Invino, even when I’m dead I don’t get to close my eyes. The cameras are always rolling.”

“Okay, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.” I tugged my arm free of his grip a little bit, but his grip was like magically-reinforced iron that was way stronger than steel or titanium, but probably weaker than magically-reinforced steel.

“The cameras are always rolling, Invino…”

“I have to go, Blue Jerry Seinfeld.” He let me go, and I sprinted out the back of the studio. Behind me, The Every Night Show with Blue Jerry Seinfeld cut to commercial again, and the screaming started.

[clangenrising]

Month 14 - Newleaf

“The desert?” Oddstripe stopped halfway through scoring his claws down the stones framing the entrance to the healers’ den to look at Scorchplume, unsure if he had heard her question properly. 

The ginger she-cat cocked her head and smiled. “Yes, you came from out east, didn’t you?” 

“Oh,” he melted out of his backbend into a more natural sitting position, “why, yes, I did.” 

“I thought so,” purred Scorchplume sweetly. He smiled back. He noticed the tired lines under her eyes had started to disappear. It seemed she was finally getting proper sleep. 

“I was wondering if you could tell me about it,” she continued. “I’m considering traveling that way and I’d love to know what I should look out for.” 

“Alright,” he shrugged, happy to be helpful. “Um, I’m not sure where to start though.” 

“Start with the basics,” she said, swishing her tail over her paws as she settled down. “I’ve heard they’re hard to survive in, is that true?” 

“They can be,” he said, thinking back. “You have to stay out of the heat during midday but you need to get into a burrow at night to keep yourself warm or you’ll freeze, especially during leafbare.”

“Really,” Scorchplume mused. 

“Oh, yes,” he nodded. “It’s sweltering in the day and shivering at night. Most animals come out around dawn and dusk so you’ll want to hunt then but also be careful for things like hawks and coyotes.” He shuddered at the thought of those massive, cackling things. He’d been lucky enough never to see one up close but their laughter was not something he could easily forget. 

“Coyotes?” Scorchplume’s eyes flickered over his movement. “Are they hard to avoid?” 

“Um,” Oddstripe frowned in thought. “Not terribly? If you’re hunting and you run into one, just leave the food and it won’t bother chasing you most of the time. I’m sorry, I’m not very familiar with them. They seemed to stay away from where I lived for some reason.” 

“Interesting.” Scorchplume’s eyes glittered coldly in thought. 

“I’d worry more about snakes, honestly. They like to hide in cool places so you have to be careful not to run into them when getting out of the heat.” 

“It sounds terribly dangerous out there,” frowned Scorchplume. “Why didn’t you leave sooner? Was there something dangerous on the other side?” 

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” laughed Oddstripe, flapping one of his paws idly. “I grew up there. It felt like home. When my mama disappeared it felt wrong to leave the den empty - it was such a nice spot after all - so I stayed. There were a few cats in the area, I tried to get to know them but they didn’t seem all too keen to get to know me. Until Stranger showed up, of course.”

“Stranger?” Scorchplume cut in, her voice edged with interest.

“Oh, yes!” Oddstripe brightened. “Stranger! She taught me everything I know about healing in exchange for a place to stay and help finding food. She’s actually how I learned about RisingClan! I guess she was from here?” 

Scorchplume nodded politely. “Yes, I remember hearing that. Redleaf, they said she was called.” 

“Yeah, that’s what Sagetooth said. She never gave me her name, though,” Oddstripe said, remembering her fondly, “not in the whole time we knew each other. So I just called her Stranger. She seemed to like it. Anyway, after she became my teacher cats stopped by more often to get help. Mostly we treated heat stroke and coughs. It was lovely. I hope she’s alright. I think she’s still there, in mama’s old burrow.” 

“Do you know what’s on the other side of the desert?” asked Scorchplume and Oddstripe pursed his lips in embarrassment. Of course, she was here for information, not to hear him ramble on about a cat she would never meet. 

“Not first hand,” he said, ears wilting. “The mountains run all along the north side. I think there’s a forest if you go far enough east but I’ve never seen it.”

“Mm,” hummed Scorchplume. “Thank you, Oddstripe. I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me.” 

“Of course!” he purred. “Let me know if you have any other questions.”

She nodded and excused herself, leaving him alone once more. He sighed a little and flexed his claws against the earth. Sometimes it felt like people only ever spoke with him when they needed a problem solved. He wondered what other people had that he didn’t. Even his kits were visiting less and less as they prepared to become warriors. It made him ache.

He finished scratching his claws across the stone, abandoning a few shed claws in the dust, and headed back inside the den to look at the stores again and see if anything needed replacing. After a brief examination, he decided they could probably do with some more borage and started out of the den. 

“Ah!” jumped Aldertail who had been heading the other way. “Sorry!” 

“It’s alright,” he smiled, stepping back to give her space. “What can I help you with? Are your legs bothering you?” Aldertail looked down at them and he watched her use all of her mental strength not to lick them. He kicked himself for saying anything. 

“No, they’re fine,” she said. “I was just coming to see what you were doing. It’s fine if you’re busy, I can-”

“No, no, I’m not too busy,” he said. “I was just going to look for some borage.” 

“Oh, okay,” she nodded, chewing her lip. “Um, could I come with you?”

“Oh!” he blinked in surprise. “Of course! I’d love to have you along!” 

“Thank you,” Aldertail smiled, visibly letting her shoulders relax a little. 

“Don’t mention it,” he purred, rubbing his cheek on hers as he passed her. “Come on, I’ll show you where the best patches grow.”

“Okay,” she purred shyly and scampered to catch up with him.

Oddstripe smiled to himself and led the way out of camp, glad for her company. He could always count on Aldertail to be there to brighten his day. He shook himself out, deciding to leave the moody thoughts in the past where they belonged. Today was bright and sunny and he had great company. What more could a cat ask for?

[yandere-sins]

So... Honkai Star Rail... have you met Dr. Ratio yet? I have literally seen him twice so far and he has my whole being in a vice grip. Man has either put me in direct danger or towered ominously over me and acted completely dismissive the entire time. I am not okay.

I have met him! (However brief that was because I'm not sure if there's more of him when you defeat the boss (and I struggle with the bosses because I don't build support characters, yes >-<)) I saw him and I knew this one is also going into my pathetic yandere shoebox with Argenti, and I wish I could see more of him because I so wanna get into his personality and yandere-fy him lol

All I can say is... since Argenti I am really into pathetic yans and Ratio just fits sooo good in that category.

Don't get me wrong, he probably started out pretty scary! He has that manipulative, confident, cocky attitude that will make everyone turn on you for being rude and conceited when you try to go against what he's preaching. He'll absolutely try to separate you from you friends and coworkers until he's that saint that still allows you to tag along with him. No one will really mind if one day he just doesn't bring you back to work. Keeps you snug and locked up and terrified in his private hideouts, enjoying that he gets to lord over you. He'll be so enarmored with the thought you now need him, you can't say anything against him, Ratio is the one you have to submit to if you want to survive in the paradise he's creating for himself.

The towering over you probably happens a lot (at night as he watches you sleep and trying to understand you) because he wants so desperately to be acknowledged by you, not even caring if it means he has to be creepy or a stalker watching the camera feed of your room. And when you don't do what he wants you to, he tries, he really tries to ignore you, lock you up and leave the whole planet if he must, but his thoughts are always circling back to you, his heart always wondering what you're doing and if you are lonely and thinking of him.

But the thing is, the situation is scary and all, but he's not exactly an example punisher from the beginning.

So yeah, I see him to a 180 after he has aquired a darling, no more pondering about science or math (I don't even know yet what exactly he is into even) but about how to make his darling like him because they really don't. Darling is just sitting their reading their book, throwing in a "mhm" - "yeah" - "sure" while he's talking, and Ratio is getting really desperate over the lack of acknowledgement and the kind of connection he wants with his darling. It's his own fault, considering he completely ignored all the reasoning and pleading you did in the beginning. And when there weren't as many awful punishments, you just grew numb to the fear of his presence.

I can just see him throw a damn fit about his darling ignoring him. Either in their presence or out of their sight, but this man hates hates hates not being in the center of his darling's attention when he demands it and he's being really pathetic about it.

The problem is just that he really expects too much from his darling. He'll be good and feed them and give them books (reluctantly even one that the darling wants and not only the other five he wants them to read so they can talk about his interests) and expect praises and teary eyes and so many thanks that honestly, he'll just be so heartbroken when the darling is "okay, thanks" and goes back to not acknowledging him or his good deeds.

And yes, he has his scary moments where he takes his darlings out on "dates" into situation that frankly would not end well for them without his presence. But he does not understand why they are angry and crying from stress and fear after he took them out and even defended them from dangers.

Ratio has times where he punishes his darling or forces them to do something they don't want to do mercilessly. Where he uses them as needed for experiments or puts them in dangerous situations, knowing it's wrong, but using these moments to put him into a better light with his darling. He might be cunning, but once he realises that really, what is the darling supposed to do except shutting down when they meet deaf ears with every other reaction? Ratio begins to panic and that makes him into such a sweet, pathetic yandere, desperate for his darling.

Anyhow, I'm sure he can be scary temperamental, but I also like to think he's just not entirely made for having the upper hand in a relationship. (Sorry, I had these thoughts for such a long time, hope it was okay to jump on yours! I know they are a little different but your thoughts about him are super valid as well ♥)

[creedslove]

OMG BESTIE YOU WON'T BELIEVE IT.

i had this dream where me, Joel and Ellie were in Jackson and him and I were together after years of surviving and then (I still don't know how) I switched to the no-outbreak time where Sarah is alive and Joel is in his 40's. We didn't knew each other and I accidently bumped into him while walking with my daughter Ellie (at that point I'm in tears) and we look at each other and I have this deja vu and he seems to have it too! We don't say anything, just smile at each other and then I wake up. (I hope it makes sense 😭)

I wish Joel was real. (especially with his silver hair and southern accent that makes my knees buckle)

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: omg bestie you got me screaming and crying and throwing up honestly! This dream is amazing and it sort of reminds me of X-Men Days of Future Past in which Wolverine needs to go back in time to save the mutants and prevent the extinction of mutants and humans! I like this idea so I turned into a headcanon adapting to the no mutation tlou reality hehehehe

• Joel thought the dreams he was having were beyond explanation at how weird they really were; every single night he would wake up in cold sweat, panting and wondering what the hell was going on with him

• his dream was always the same: he would dream about a world that had ended and for some reason he had survived, where monstrous creatures that seemed a mix of humans and some kind of fungus had wiped most of civilization and the world as he knew; in the dream Joel was a low life, a depressed, lonely and hard guy who had lost the will of living right after his daughter got killed and that was enough for Joel to snap wake and immediately tiptoe to her bedroom, just to watch her sleep and make sure she was alright and her bedroom was still pink and full of butterflies and not some ruin of what things used to be

• it puzzled Joel, because he had no idea where that was coming from; he wasn't one to watch zombie or horror stuff, reading books was definitely not his cup of tea and he seriously couldn't understand why kids like Sarah obsessed over watching TikToks, so he thought he didn't actually have the creativity for that

• maybe he'd eaten one of Tommy's suspicious brownies by accident?! It could be a possibility, but his brother was extra careful with these since Sarah was around

• still, it didn't matter the reason why Joel had those disturbing dreams, but the frequency they were happening, and not only that: he very often saw people he knew from his everyday life in the dream as well

• such as his former girlfriend Tess, his brother Tommy and his girl Maria, he recalls seeing those two kids who lived down the street from him... Henry and Sam, he recognized them from Sarah's school, the older brother making ends meet and always having to attend parent - teacher conferences and the little one being the gifted student his daughter told him about

• even that nut job from the other block, Kathleen showed up every once in a while, Bill and Frank, and several other friends and acquaintances Joel had met through his life and the city

• but from all the crazy shit his, what baffled him the most was that you and your daughter Ellie featured in his dream as well; he knew Ellie was a firecracker from all the school meetings he'd attended, which honestly amused him. He thought she was pretty strong and smart and it always made him chuckle when she put a boy back into his place

• but it was so confusing to him that he almost had a fatherly bond with her, at the same time he had a relationship with you. Joel had always found you attractive and he very often kept in the back of his mind his desire of asking you out, but he never went through it, and yet, in his apocalyptic dreams you were going strong, it was just odd

• Joel kept thinking of those dreams for a few days, he even considered seeing a shrink after Sarah told him he should do it, but being a stubborn Miller the way he was, he just shrugged it off and eventually, his sleep went back to normal and he got too caught up with work to pay attention to things like that

• it was only one weekend where he was taking a walk around the neighborhood with Sarah, he ended up running into you, smiling and waving gently, he felt his heart skip a beat, thinking of your apocalyptic romance and thinking of how crazy it would be to miss something he never really had

• when you saw your neighbor Joel waving and smiling from across the street, you immediately reciprocate, he was handsome and you would be lying if you said you didn't have the slightest crush on him, but he would think you were crazy if he ever found out you had the craziest dream about him, in which you both had to survive in an apocalyptic world while being a couple 🥴

____