#ICE vehicle killer

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

Price of the first affordable electric sports car, the MG Cyberster, revealed

The Electric Viking

Price of the first affordable electric sportscar, the MG Cyberster, revealed...

P.S. It looks like Ferrari “killer”...

[nemesyaaa]

buffalo 66' au ! old!serial killer!rafe x young!sugardoll!reader (how they met, and their first night together.)

you were red and you liked me 'cause i was blue. but you touched me and suddenly i was a lilac sky.

warnings : lmfaooo this part always killing me but here it is....rafe being 90% of the warning part and the menace he already is, kidnapping, daddy issues, urge of sexualing your own self, slight of stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, dark!rafe, violence, mentions of threats, r being a missing girl, age gap, size difference, choking. rafe being mean to the reader. slight of daddy kink. sick attitude. dirty talk. attention whore. just minors DNI. (why it's bigger than my grocery list actually...). please carefully pay attention to the tags !!?

author's note : it's my first time writing a dark fic so don't expect too much 🙏🏿 you can read this without watching buffalo 66.

some girls were the trailer park princess, and others the queen of the gas station.

as the girl of the gas station, you were there all day on the road of these men much older than you, who had and drove pretty vintage cars who were literally bigger than you. those rich daddies surely had more money than your poor father who was always sitting behind the desk of his shop waiting for the night.

your father never gave you any attention, not even a look, he didn't care about what you did on your summer days as long as he never saw you. so you stayed all day at your playground queendom across from the pitiful, filthy motel where you lived. because here at least the men were looking at you.

of course they were looking at you, you always gave them something to look at with your tiny dresses that showed your naked thighs, your tits pressed together in that backless top. you always dressed in that soft and milky blue shades. as the sea and the sky, you were blue.

while their wives found you sick, you could feel their stares every time you leaned down to grab the keys that they forgot to give you each time. you could feel their eyes completely charmed by the way your summer dress rode up above your ass, and your panties stuck out.

fully bent over, you could hear the groans of these old men, the way they forced their hands themselves to not touch you when you wanted nothing more than to see them give in to the young temptation that you were.

you had a power in them and you loved to see them completely crazy.

you worked as a gas pump attendant. in reality, you did it behind your father's back because it allowed you to stay in the company of these men who only had eyes for you.

you always put on a show for them, and it always worked because you were irresistible.

but there was this guy every time, a regular customer, cold and short-spoken who never spoke to you.

he had a beautiful and luxurious car and you always wondered what job he did to drive such an incredible vehicle, and to spoil you so much with all this money.

he never said thank you for your service. after all, you were paid for it. his eyes were blue as you. he could park and glare at you for hours, sitting deep in his seat, a cigarette stuck between his opened lips.

he was so much older than you, so much to the point it was indecent. when you had first seen him, you had melted like sugar.

as you were coming back from the ice cream parlor, your lips sucking that delicious vanilla ice cream, you sat on the edge of the gas station, right in front of his car, your legs completely spread, white cream melting and dripping between your thighs. he rubbed his painful boner through his boxer.

you were sick, you let him look at you with this completely perverted stare while you let chunks of ice fall into your cleavage.

his eyes were all over you, but this time it was different, because this time it was him who was thinking about you while touching himself. this time it was him who was sick about you , him who had all these furious ideas about you. he pumped himself so hard, biting his lips harshly. and you continued your depraved show, while he jerked off, his big cock shaked and leaked in his own hand, his thick and already experimented fingers moved around his length faster and faster, the sweaty and dirty sound of his balls slapping, the squeaking noises of his chair, his arched back making the chair shaking. you thought of the veins of his dick engorged of blood pulsated against his hefty strength. that was enough to make you fully wet.

you wanted nothing more than to make this old man reach for you. but the problem was, you were too young and naive to know how mad he was, and what he really wanted to do with a pretty doll like you.

you stood up when you finished your ice cream, putting your dress back on neatly, and leaned down, leaning your porcelain princess arms over his car window.

you shuddered when he spread his cum on your face without any warning, smeared the remains of vanilla ice cream over your sloppy lips gloss with lick of drool.

he pushed his big thumb against your little mouth, pushed it into an o shape, and you closed her to start licking up the drops of his cum.

but like every time he came here, he never spoke to you. you had just seen the car leave, while you still had the taste of him on your lips. it was rude.

the next day, your father sent you out to do some groceries on a sweltering hot summer day, tired of seeing you around doing nothing. what he didn’t know was that this was probably the last time he saw you. and even shoupe that you had seen earlier in the morning, and who had told you to be careful, something with a killer around.

when you were done with the grocery, you started walking through the empty parking lot.

you thought you were alone, even though there were a few empty cars.

but it was a mistake, a terrible mistake that you were going to regret.

“didn't shoupe tell you to be careful this morning, sweetheart ? because i'm pretty sure, he did. ”

you screamed when the man grabbed you by the waist, pressing your little ragdoll body against his chest much stronger. the stranger quickly covered your mouth, and bruised your pretty lips with violence without any caring, shoved down his fingers between them to the point that you almost choked with your own breath and saliva.

“ you hurt..me…! ” you tried to say with a lot of difficulty, as his firm grip crushed against your breasts.

“ not yet actually, doll. but i promise, i will if you continue to fight. so beware, or i will fucking kill you. not a threat, sweetheart. it's a promise. “ and you knew that even god couldn't save you at this time.

you tried to bite him, but your teeth barely touched his skin. his lips hovered above your ear, you could hear his deep older voice warned you.

" bite me one more time, and i will break you. i love wrestle with you little girl, but i think you will really hate the way i fight. because when daddy fight sugardoll, he kills. and tiny things like you are so easy to wreck. and you dont want to die today, right ? you're too young for that. do you got it ? nod if you got it, yes. smart baby, understand easily that she needs to listen and not fucking run away. ”

his strength was heavy. you had stopped resisting a few minutes ago, even when he put you in his car.

he started driving, with a smirk, he looked in the rearview mirror before telling you.

“ what's the matter, sugardoll ? don't want to put a show for me, anymore ? ”

he had taken you to a shitty old motel down the road, where no one would be able to pick you up here. you knew he was intelligent, you knew it because you understood that every time he came to see you, he tried to learn more about you, but not to know you no, but to know when would be the right time to kidnap you. you knew it because he had stalked you carefully.

he had tried to tie you up while you tried to struggle one last time. but he had grabbed your jaw so violently that you felt your face shiver in his hands. “one more move, and i’ll show you how dolls are really treated, how i have no fucking bother to kill a tiny thing like you. ”

“i’m not going to run away.”

"i know.” he shushed you with a sick evil smirk. “ but it's not because you don't want to, sugardoll .but more because you can't.” he said, while releasing your jaw.

“ that's the small but important difference. i kidnapped you. do you even know what it means ? "

you started to cry, tears running down your cheeks.

“ you want a real reason to cry? fine. i can do that for you. i kidnapped you but you want to know the big part of all this? is that no one will come for you. your father doesn't love you , and that's why you work in this stupid gas station. you love the attention of these men so bad that you feel obliged to sexualize yourself to feel desired but me, i wanted you the first time i saw you. i let you do it, i let you play with them, but now it's all over. since i own you, this game is fucking over. ”

“shoupe will come after me ! ”

“but maybe you won’t be around to see it anymore.” he looked at you, and shushed your tears, while staring in your wet eyes. “ yes, i really like when you give me those tears, cry to me, little girl i'm the only men that really got you. ”

you glared at him as if he had fallen from the sky.

“ but now you have to be careful, don’t get on my nerves. i know it's hard for you, but don't do stupid things. ”

he placed your hand on his lower back, where you had felt the metallic coldness of the gun. and you shivered.

"yes, you got it. don't ever get on my nerves.”

“ how can i get on your nerves ? you don't really seems like a bad guy. more like a sweet guy ? ”

“ i'm not. and i'm not trying to be so watch your mouth. “

“ but i really think you are. can i hug you ? ”

“ try it, doll, literally try it. just try to touch me, i dare you. and i bet you will never tell me i'm the sweetest guy again. ”

“ can you at least bathe me ? ” you asked seriously.

“ jesus, do you think i'm your slave or whatever ? do you forget which position you are in ? in the captive one. so do not ask me those stupid things again. and don't try, no, never try to run away because, i can promise you that when i will find you, it will not be a pleasant time for you. and not even a little, but to the point, you will ask me to kill you. and i will be in a mood to accept your request ? yes, me. ”

you nodded as the kind and little girl you are who cannot argue against this tall man. he released your small face, and you were bathing alone. while you were taking your bath, alone in the tub, you heard rafe on the phone without being able to understand what he was saying but after that call, he left the room.

you had decided to buy some food with the little money you had at the food and drink vending machine.

with a happy smile, you went back up, hoping to please him. but you had found him on the chair in front of the TV.

“look, what…”

“i think you’re really nice. but not at your own good, sugar. ”

“ i just wan…”

“ get on the bed, now. ”

he couldn't help but relaxing when he saw how your blue dress was so tiny, already showing your soaked underwear.

" no whining. " he said as he shoved himself deeply in your tight abused cunt, your ragdoll body pressed down in the mattress, his thick stronger arms hugged your small waist, while thrusting harder and harder, your walls clenched around his fat cock. you can felt the size growing bigger in your wettering pussy, as he turned you into a real crybaby, tears flowing down your cheeks. you were caged by his beefy and muscular body on the bed, gasped on the edge. “ you wanted to act like a big girl ? then take it like a big girl. no fucking whining, i'm just giving you what you want. ”

he was literally buried inside you, snapping your hips, moving in and out. the atmosphere was hot, you felt the heat, there were trails of saliva around your mouth. “stop whining babydoll, daddy is not at his worse actually. and you don't want to see this happen.” you wanted to hate him but it was like you appreciated him being so mean to you, your pussy was dripping, your fluids drenching him, your sticky walls surrounded his girth. " yes, that's it. pull up some juices for daddy, make it easier for him to destroy you. "

everytime you runned away from him, he lifted your head with a grunt, and with a wild thrust inside of you, making you drip even more as his glistening tip reached your spot, the dirty and wetness sound of his moves echoed in the room, your body trapped against his taller one.

with a hand on your throat, you were arched to the point where he could see your wetted eyes rolled up. "try to run away again, and you will have the fucking pleasure to be a momma, as well as a missing girl. i'm not asking you to take my cock better.” he said with a threat. “ no, i'm telling you to do it as your fucking job. ”

all teary, you could bet that rafe didn't know how big he was for telling you this. you were trying your best actually. he was rutting in you, holding your tiny size with one big hand, getting so feral everytime he saw your small body twitching when he pushed himself further. your moans were loud, as your squirted more than one time on him, your dripping walls clamped his hard cock. even when your third orgasm flowed against your bulging pussy, creating a mess at the surface, he continued.

" you know sugardoll, you better work faster for my cum, because i will only stop when i will see how creampie your pussy is for my dick.”

he stuffed your puffy messy cunt, while your pumped his fingers who slidded deep down in your throat, your warm and bullied tongue fighting to not dropped them.

you slobbed more with the overstimulation. you felt like this man was insatiable. rafe loved to see you, his sugardoll in pain, taking so much for him.

when he finally stopped teasing you, and fighting himself to not cum, and clearly toying you, he exploded, making you cried out. all your body was filled with spasms.

you expected something from rafe when he pulled out, a little soft spot, or at least, just one look but he just went to the bathroom. alone.

you expected him to be sweet for you, like the sugar you were for him. and you knew, that you will work for this later.

when he came back, you looked at him, always attracted by his charisma, the way he made you felt so tiny by his big size, the way he was old enough to make you feel like a little girl, just the way his raised voice made you feel so small.

“ can i sleep with you ? ”

“ whatever. just don't touch me. ”

“ you're not gonna be my big spoon ? “

“ what the fuck is this ? i'm not gonna be your spoon. jesus, can you just sleep and not ask for any stupid things that you think i will do because you're already so obsessed with me ? and give me your hands. ”

he tied them up on the bed with your little blue ribbon.

“ just in case you think you can escape me. ”

“ i can't sleep like that ! ”

“ i fear it's not my fucking problem, sugardoll.”

“ fine. i will talk and talk all night. ”

“ i can fuck you all the night too. but one of us will not survive this. so stop being so damn annoying. ”

“ what if i want to pee in the middle of the night ? ”

“ you're strong enough to hold it. and you fucking better be strong enough to hold it. ”

“ why are you so mean to me ? why you kidnapped me ? ”

“ sugardoll, listen to me. look at me, yes. eyes on daddy right now. i swear, and you need to listen carefully because i will tell you once, just once, so your dumby brain need to pay attention, if you're talking another time, even if i see your lips moving, just a twitch, i will put my dick right in your mouth, making you suck it for without a break until the sun rises again. and i can promise you that after, you will never talk to me because you will never be able to open that mouth again. do you got it ? nod your head if you got it, doll.”

and you nodded.

as a doll, you were conditionned to listen to your owner, even if he was so mean to you. but you were as soft as sugar, always melted around, already thinking he was the best guy around.

“ sweet dreams, sugardoll. ”

i promise one day i will write something very good, just give me a chance. i think the only sweet thing in this work, it's rafe calling r " sugardoll ", he's so mean please 😭😭 i think i make him a little too dark to the point, i'm questionning about how he can be sweet to the reader now ????? but i guess, it's part of the game. tysm @bunnyrafe and @fae-of-prey me a lot !

[littlebigmouse]

List of Small Things™ I enjoy about Fullmetal Alchemist in no particular order

Everyone in FMAB/manga is just Some Guy™ and very human and I love that so here goes:

Falman getting stuck with a serial-killing suit of armor in his appartment for days and his reaction to it. It may have been weeks. He's been on sick leave the entire time. He's a guy in his early thirties with a flock of early-greying hair because being in a dead-end-role in the military is stressfull, ok. He gets stuck at home with a funny little serial killer (and eventually some foreign body guards, and a foreign prince?? lighting signal fires in his backyard?? like man what a week)

The whole military ambush against the Devil's Nest was yes, kind of kickstarted by the gang kidnapping Al for Greed, but it was mostly kickstarted because Ed was down south to do his yearly official report and Bradley and Armstrong just happened to be present when he was informed Al had gone missing. Greed's entire operation was done in by a teen doing his paperwork

on that note, Greed really decided to spend his immortality wisely by pursuing absolutely none of his supposed ambitions and just decided to settle down with a bunch of buddies. An offshot of the buddies he was initially made to guard, too. I don't think Greed is aware of this either

everyone on that radio building. The radio host 100% down to get some coup-shenanigans into his station to drive engagement. The guys sympathising with Mrs Bradley and taking care of her. Breda taking control of the narrative with a perpetual frown by the skin of his teeth.

I know the story of how the Bradleys met is technically not canon(?) but Mrs Bradley slapping her future husband upon their first meeting because he got his flirting tips from his siblings will never not be funny. Idiots. All of them.

EVERYTHING about Darius and Heinkel. They lost their jobs and became wanted criminals upon helping out some scrawny 15 year old. They have families they miss dearly. They haven't looked back since. "You guys don't HAVE to help me save the world" - "It's not like we have anything better to do"

i was going to say the Ice Cream Truck, because it's iconic, but actually, when told to disguise a vehicle, 15-year-old pinacle of edgelord fashion Edward Elric turned it into a colourful nightmare of spikes that barely resembled a car but might be closely related to the worlds deadliest parade float. None of this was necessary. Ed is just like that.

Hawkeye growing her hair out after meeting Winry, and Winry getting piercings after seeing Hawkeye's

Denny Brosh bursting into tears when he sees Maria Ross is still alive. Dude managed to not quit his job despite working in the same city (department?) where his best friend's killer was his supervisor. They were also very real for showing us that this is a guy who oversleeps and is older brother to at least three younger siblings. There was no need to give us more on Denny Brosh but every little detail hit so hard when they reunited.

okay so remember that time Ed and Ling ate Ed's shoe. Remember that Ed spend some time on a "deserted island" as a kid. Gluttony's stomach had nothing on him. Izumi raised some anime-ass boy-scouts. 100% Farm boy behaviour. These kids are so 15 it makes me want to bite things

immortal, soul-spliced dwarf in a flask got rid of his Sloth and still managed to procrastinate on his world domination plan until the last minute. Most Human disaster.

the entire half-episode they spend on Dr. Knox and his regrets and family. FMA is so good about humanising everyone.

everyone bullied Yoki because he was a small town fraud exploiting workers for his own benefit. Simply a jerk. He also hit Pride with a car in an epic rescue, and cried and screamed the whole way through

that one shot of a kid curiously poking a soldier they found bound on the ground with a stick

(I know it's technically not canon, but-) "I'm trying to save your life, asshole!"

Edward Elric

[a-killer-obsession]

PITCHING TENTS ⛺️

Kid Pirates x AFAB Reader Modern AU Campground Series

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

It wasn't something you'd ever admit to those who knew you, they all made the reasonable assumption that you went camping to spend time alone. At first, that had been the case, but you'd quickly come to learn that other single men your age were doing the same thing, and you found yourself loving the thrill of a romp with a stranger.

Masterlist || AO3 || Part One

PART 4/6 - GODDESS (Heat)

CW: sex with a stranger, afab reader, drug use, public sex, semi-public sex, outdoor sex, face sitting, p in v sex, body worship, roleplay, foot fetish, squirting, cumshot, mutual masturbation

WC: 4k

Taglist: @nocturnalrorobin @bbnbhm

The rest of your neighbours pulled into the carpark as you happened to making your way down the shop ramp, bag of ice in hand. Killer, behind the steering wheel of the noisy vehicle, noticed you immediately and pulled up beside the ramp with a shit eating grin on his face. You waited for him to roll down the window to talk.

“What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here on your own?” He joked, playing like he'd never met you.

“Getting ice for your friend's dead body,” you laughed back, feigning a cruel smile and holding up the bag of ice, “poor Kid couldn't handle me”

“Damn, you got him to shut up?” Killer snorted, “Hop in, we'll give you a ride back to your tent”

The passenger on your side in the back, Heat you now knew he was called, shuffled over so you could jump in the door closest to you. You had to almost throw yourself in with how tall the truck was, but you managed.

“Heat, Wire, this is [y/n],” Killer introduced you quickly before pulling up next to the gate to swipe his access card.

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled sweetly, sitting the bag of ice on the floor between you and Heat.

“Hey, do you come to this site often?” Heat asked, “I was wondering if there was anywhere for a bonfire you knew of”

“Oh, yeah absolutely,” you replied, “there's a field near the hiking trail that has a somewhat permanent burned out patch where the teens like to set a bonfire around New Year's. You gotta watch for the sheep if there's any in the field but the farmer doesn't seem to care about bonfires. You planning on lighting one up tonight?”

“Yeah, did you want to join us?” he asked, a little shyly. It wasn't hard to notice the way he was eyeing your exposed thighs in your slightly hiked up short dress, and you made no move to pull your dress down.

“Absolutely, Kid owes me a beer,” you smiled knowingly in the mirror at Killer.

“Oh does he now?” Killer smirked back, clearly catching your meaning.

“Met him in the pool,” you explained, mostly for the benefit of the other two, “kept the poor lonely man company since you lot left him here”

“The poor baby,” Killer snorted, noting the fresh marks on your neck and chest through the rear view mirror.

Heat grabbed the bag of ice for you as Killer parked in their spot, carrying it over to your own site without even having to be asked, what a gentleman. “Where you want this?” He asked as he followed you. You unzipped the tent door and opened the cooler for him.

“Just in here, thanks for carrying it,” you smiled, sitting on the edge of your tall blow up mattress. Heat spilt some of the ice as he noticed the large dildo sitting casually on the covers, right where you'd left it after pleasuring yourself before heading to grab ice. You knew full well it was there, and made no attempt to hide it, curious as to how he would react. Flustered, was the answer you got.

“Fuck, sorry,” he stuttered, kicking the dropped ice out the tent door before it could melt. The small room wasn't quite tall enough for him to stand, but it was pretty close, a damn lot taller than his own shitty tent. An average height man would no doubt fit easily in here, but he was absolutely taller than average. “I should get back,” he scratched his head, awkwardly standing sort of bent over in the first chamber of the tent.

“You don't have to,” you purred, opening your legs just enough for him to get a flash of your lace panties, “but if you have to, let the others know it's about a ten minute walk to the field, come grab me when you're ready to head out later”

“Okay, yeah, no problem,” he coughed, fleeing with a vibrant blush on his face that made you giggle at his bashfulness.

You weren't surprised when Killer presented you with a plate of barbecued meats and deli salads before you even had a chance to make your own dinner. A thanks for ‘keeping Kid company’ he said as he left the plate with you. A few hours later and the blue mop of hair belonging to Heat appeared at one of your mesh windows, having been inside your tent to watch some more trashy tv on your laptop.

“We're gonna head out soon if you're ready?” He asked awkwardly, trying not to look in the window in case you were… doing something.

“Thanks Heat baby,” you cooed back, closing your laptop and grabbing a small backpack you'd filled with the essentials, aka snacks, a small blanket, condoms, and a bluetooth speaker, in case they didn't have one.

“We have plenty of booze in our cooler if you just want to drink what we have,” he suggested as you zipped your tent shut behind you.

“That'd be fantastic,” you hooked your arm around his and could already see the pink blooming on his face. “Shall I lead the way?”

The other three boys collected their things, Killer carrying a large cooler, Kid and Wire carrying bags of store bought firewood, and Heat grabbing a backpack and slinging it over his other shoulder before letting you lead him away. You led the boys out past the camp store, now closed, locked up and abandoned for the night, through past a old wooden sign marking the start of the hiking trail. The first ten minutes of the trail was actually just regular grazing fields, and Heat being a gentleman helped you over the wooden stiles that allowed for easy passage over the wire farm fences. You almost lost your footing on the uneven ground a few times, the grass full of small holes from the cattle and sheep that were occasionally rotated through the fields. As you approached the edge of the forest you veered off to the side, leading the small convoy to a decently sized circle of rocks in the middle of a secluded field, the middle of the rocks filled with ash and the remnants of old fires. Around the rocks were several small wooden benches that someone had added a few years ago, you weren't sure if that was the farmer's or camp owner's doing but it seemed they had some sort of agreement regarding the bonfire field. The boys dumped their things around the ring and set about starting the fire, the daylight quickly fading as the sun disappeared behind nearby mountains on the other side of the valley that the campgrounds were sitting in.

“Nice quiet spot,” Killer noted.

“Yeah, teens like it cos nobody gives a shit if they underage drink out here,” you explained, “this time of the year nobody comes out here though”

“And you said there's a hiking trail nearby?” Wire asked. You wondered if it was the first time you'd heard the tall man speak.

“Yeah, we passed the sign for it on the way in but its not well known since you gotta be in the camp carpark to see the sign, only locals and avid hikers with guidebooks come out here.” You pointed to the thin dirt trail that disappeared at the edge of the forest, “real trail starts just over there. It's about a three hour hike from start to end,” you looked at his long legs, “maybe one and a half for you,” you smiled at him, “and ends on the other side of the camp, through a few more fields. Then you just gotta make a ten minute walk back up the road to get back to camp. I prefer to just get to the summit and come back the way I came though, there's a lot of trucks on that road that couldn't care less about hikers, and no real path, just grassy shoulders.”

“Noted,” he mumbled, sticking his hands in the pocket of his hoodie as he sat. He looked a little ridiculous on the short bench given his height. In fact, they all looked a little funny. Apart from the bench you were forcing Heat to share with you, your arm still linked with his, the others had all opted to claim their own bench each. Just as well, you weren't sure these handmade benches could handle more than one of them at a time. Big boys. Big… big… boys, you smirked to yourself. “I'll probably check it out tomorrow, if the weather is good,” the hooded man continued.

“I was planning on heading up myself,” you replied, “you want company?”

“No,” he replied sternly. You rolled your eyes, grumpy man. You had a feeling you wouldn't be climbing that particular tree this holiday. No matter, you had Kid and Killer, and Heat was looking promising.

Hours passed and among good company you'd managed to get a good buzz on. The fire was roaring, but the last of the wood had just been thrown on. Wire, being the grump he was, had already excused himself and headed back half an hour ago to head to bed. You felt like you hadn't learned anything additional about the man, who had spent most of the time sitting quietly while everyone else talked.

At some point you'd managed to cheese your way into Heat's lap, sharing a joint with him while he stroked your bare thigh. His hands were so very warm, they left goosebumps whenever they moved and exposed your thigh to the cool evening air. One of your hands was buried in this hair, scratching the back of his head, you swore you heard a small whine from him when you first did it.

“Come on Kid, these two have more than enough company,” Killer laughed, a little wobbly on his feet from drinking as he stood.

“What, but I wanna see her tits again,” Kid complained.

“Again?” Heat blinked. You snorted a laugh at the whole situation.

“Kid, if I show you my tits will you leave?” You offered. Kid pondered for a moment, his shaved brows furrowed in drunken thought.

“Only if I can give em a grab,” he decided. Killer rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Alright, deal,” you stood and pulled your dress over your head, and Heat made a surprised little gasp as your tits fell loose from the fabric, having not worn a bra. “You don't mind, do you Heat?” You purred, making yourself comfortable in his lap again, this time with your back to his chest. He'd been half hard underneath you all evening but now he was twitching to life. You encouraged him to wrap his arms around your waist, mostly because you were cold now without your dress and he was so very warm.

Kid smirked and raced over, taking one of your tits in his hand enthusiastically and groping you. You were certain he would have stayed there forever if Killer didn't drag him away by the ear with a disgruntled “come on big guy, let Heat have a chance”, but not before taking a cheeky grab for himself. You got up just for a second to turn in Heat's lap as the others finally left, not that you wouldn't have gladly fucked Heat in front of them anyway.

“Finally I have you all to myself,” you smirked, rolling your hips against him. He let out a shaky rasp and grabbed your ass, fondling the soft fleah and leaning back a little as you grinded against him.

“Are you… are you sure you want me?” He asked nervously, not meeting your eye as his confidence suddenly faltered. “You wouldn't rather go with them?”

“And miss riding this pretty face?” You cooed, running your fingertip over his fascinating facial scars, “you will let me ride it, won't you pretty boy?”

“Yes! Of course,” he replied enthusiastically, his confidence reignited. “Please”

“I love your enthusiasm,” you purred, your lips so close to his he could feel your breath against them, “but I wanna get a taste of you first, before you taste like me”

He groaned and squeezed your ass as your lips crashed against his, his tongue greedily hunting for yours immediately. The groves on his scarred lips felt nice against yours, an interesting new texture, and his tongue was strong and hot against yours, saliva and moans exchanged as you rolled against him. He let you dominate the kiss, a refreshing take for you. Nine times out of ten, when offered a willing hot wet hole, the strangers you pulled liked to dominate you, and you had no problem with that. You loved the rough fucks they gave you and the dirty degrading things they called you while they filled you. But once in a while came along a rare gem like Heat, soft and sweet and ripe to take a juicy bite from, an opportunity to flex your more dominant side.

“You're so cute,” you mumbled against his neck as you broke the kiss to nip and suck at his tattooed neck, tracing the inked maroon thorns with your tongue, “so unbelievably sexy as well, I think I'd like to ride that pretty face now though”

Heat made a soft moan and swivelled on the bench so his legs were either side of it, pulling you with him. He laid back and you took the opportunity to properly grind yourself against his erection now that he was flat. You could feel the wet patch in your panties as you rubbed against what felt like yet another massive cock, what luck you were having. He admired the way your breasts bounced slightly with every movement, he wanted to suck on them so badly but he'd be patient for now, he knew he'd get the opportunity later. You stepped off him for a moment to remove your panties, leaving you entirely naked in the field. Heat thought you looked like a goddess as you straddled back over him, the orange light of the fire making your skin glow like you yourself were a deity made of fire, your hair shiny and wild in the firelight like it was set a flame.

He watched with hungry fascination as you sat on his chest, your pussy within eyeline, glistening in the flickering light as you spread yourself for him with your index and ring finger while your middle finger ran circles on your clit. His hands travelled up your sides, making you shiver, till they found your breasts and grasped them, his thumbs flicking over your pert nipples, making you buck slightly.

He stuck out his tongue for you, begging for you to ride it, wide and hot and wet, and you smiled fondly as you accepted his invitation, lowering yourself onto his face with a moan. His hands moved to your thighs, wrapping around them and holding you down tight as he lapped at your pussy, bullying his thick tongue inside you. One hand reached around to play with your clit, and you leaned back with your hands on his strong thighs as you savoured his mouth on you.

“Ohh that feels so good pretty boy,” you moaned, one hand burying itself in his hair “good boy Heat, good boy”

He whimpered against you and doubled his efforts, your hips rolling and rutting against his tongue and nose on their own accord till you shook and came on his face with a short spurt of fluid. He nosed your clit as he used his tongue to clean you, moaning as the aftershocks of your orgasm rocked through your body. You shuffled off his face to sit on his midriff, leaning down to kiss him and tasting yourself on his lips, still wet with your release.

“Fuck,” you said with a shakey voice as you sat back up, “and here I was intent on riding that dick too, but you made me cum so damn hard my legs are jelly”

He gave you a proud grin as he sat up, moving you down to his groin with strong hands like you weighed no more than a bag of grapes. He pushed your hair out of the way to kiss your neck, running his tongue up it and tugging on your earlobe with gentle teeth. “Let me take care of you then, goddess,” he mumbled against your neck.

“Goddess? I like that,” you purred.

“I'm gonna,” he kissed down your chest, “worship,” kiss, “every,” kiss, “part of you.” You moaned as he took your breast in his mouth, running his tongue over your nipple and sucking on the malleable flesh before letting it go with a pop and moving to the other, his groans vibrating against your skin as you eagerly grinded against his clothed erection, leaving a wet spot on the front of his pants. God you wanted him so fucking bad.

“There's a blanket in my bag Heat,” you moaned as your hands threaded through his hair. Never before had you ever felt so intimate with a stranger, but the way Heat touched you and laid soft kisses over your chest and neck made you feel like you were with a long time lover. “Lay me down and make love to me”

“Whatever you want, my goddess,” he groaned against your bare skin. You slid off his lap and grabbed your bag, handing him the blanket. He laid it over the grass and offered you his hand, and he helped you lay on the blanket, the fire still lighting you in a warm orange that made his dick twitch at your beauty. So smooth and soft in the firelight, bare to him like you'd emerged from the fire itself just to sate your lust with him, a humble devotee, blessing him with your mere presence.

You watched with hungry eyes as he removed his clothes piece by piece, devouring him with your eyes as more and more of his muscular body was revealed to you, a hand between your spread legs to touch yourself as you watched him. The firelight made small glints on the underside of his large cock as he stood in front of you stroking it, the two of you getting off on watching each other get off, and you bit your lip as you realised he was pierced and the glints were the light catching on the metal ball bearings. His cock was somehow longer than Killer's, wider towards the end, a set of three piercings like a ladder up the underside.

Enjoying the goddess roleplay he was setting, you leaned into it, slipping off your sandals, the only items you still wore, and lifting a foot to point it towards him. “Come worship me, come show your goddess how devoted you are”

He stepped closer and took your ankle in his hand, running his tongue up the sole of your foot, making you squirm at the tickling sensation. He groaned as he took your big toe in his mouth, sucking on it and watching you with a dark look in his eyes that made you unbearably wet. It was quickly clear to you that Heat enjoyed feet, you often found that men were more willing to let themselves go to their kinks when it was with a stranger, and you were happy to indulge even if it wasn't really your thing. Your other foot lifted and pressed against his cock, pushing it up against his abdomen so you were stroking him with the sole of your foot. He whined against and bucked against your foot, the piercings feeling strange and pleasant against your sole. Desperate to feel your wet heat on his aching cock, he kissed up your ankle, lowering himself to the blanket like a man kneeling at your altar as he kissed all the way up your calf and thigh. He stopped for a moment to enjoy your pussy, already craving that taste again like a man addicted, before you pulled on his hair with a whine, needy to have him inside you.

He took the hint and quickly fumbled around in his discarded pants, kneeling between your legs while you stroked him languidly and he searched his pockets. He pulled a condom from them and threw the pants aside. You let him go so he could put the condom on, and you spread wide for him as he lowered himself over you, his tip pressing against your entrance.

“Come worship me, Heat,” you moaned, your eyes locked with his as his brows furrowed and he sunk inside you. “Oh fuck, yes~”

His hands and mouth drifted over your body as he started to thrust into you, kissing and touching whatever he could reach, the pull of your walls on his cock driving him insane with lust. He leaned back and tucked his hands under your ass, forcing it upwards, the new angle making you whine as he supported you above the ground effortlessly while still fucking you hard at a rapidly increasing pace.

“You're so beautiful goddess,” he whined, “so fucking beautiful”

“I want your cum, worshipper,” you moaned, “show me how much you love your goddess, make me cream on your cock and paint me with your sacrifice”

He let out a throaty groan as his thrusts became irregular and desperate, fucking into you with everything he had. You reached down and rubbed your clit furiously, crying out as your orgasm crashed through you and you squirted, the hot liquid splashing against Heat's abdomen and dripping down his thighs, glistening in the firelight and soaking into the blanket beneath you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pulled out and tore off the condom, raising himself slightly to jerk himself off over your stomach, “I'm cumming goddess, fuck, accept my sacrifice please”

Long ropes of cum shot out over you, spraying over your breasts and neck with wet splats as he threw back his head and let out a carnal groan, one of his hands gripping your thigh for support. He crumbled on himself as he finished, his hand still wrapped around his softening cock, panting hard. When he finally came back to earth enough to admire his work, you ran two fingers up your stomach and swiped the cum, sucking it off your fingers with a satisfied hum.

“Such a good boy for me Heat,” you purred, “come lay with me, your goddess is pleased”

Heat collapsed on the blanket next to you, uncaring that you were covered in cum as he draped an arm over you and pulled you close. The two of you laid there for a while longer till you began to shiver, and Heat made quick work using his shirt to clean you up, only bothering to put his pants back on while you redressed yourself. He snuffed out the fire and carried your bag for you as he led you back to the campgrounds hand in hand. He was prepared to go back to his tent alone, but you insisted he stay with you, so the two of you curled up in your bed and you fell asleep with his warm chest against your back, his leg trapped between your thighs, and your fingers intertwined over your chest.

[NEXT PART]

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.7)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary: Kidnapped, heartbroken, and thoroughly pissed off, you become a one man team- breaking through restraints, into houses and cars to find a way back home.

Warnings: 5000~ words, light swearing, blood, violence, torture.

A/N: these chapters keep getting longer and longer it seems. I will try and hold back my yapping... anyways! hope you all enjoy! :)

Masterlist | Taglist Request | un-edited.

Body bruised and scraped from being thrown around with the various landscaping tools around you, your head slammed against the door as the vehicle came to a halt. You took deep breaths in and out, picking up the dead-fish smell in the air. You were near the industry sector and by the sounds of the gravel crunching beneath everyone’s feet, you were upshore. 

Three slams against a metal door and it creaked open and you pushed inside, stumbling with the bag over your head and losing balance as your feet were chained together as well. Shuffling back to a stand, the men above you laughed before a bucket of ice cold water was drenched over your body making you instantly shiver. 

Breathing in through your nose sharply as the bag was then torn off your head, you found yourself lazily strapped to a wooden chair- it creaked everytime you shifted your weight. Eyes blurry to the newfound light, you blinked a few times before the once blob in front of your face turned into features and a broken-toothed smile was gracing just before your lips. Their cigarette breath causes bile to rise up in your throat yet you kept a natural expression, staring between their eyes to the crooked bridge of their nose. 

A cigarette was being lit to your left side, they flicked the ashes on your suit as the sparks burned against your skin. Taking a quick glance down, you tried not to frown seeing your once beige suit now a tattered mess of brown and grey with various cuts breaking the soft plaid pattern. The head man, the one to choke you in the first place, takes a step back and sits on a metal chair behind himself, taking a drag of the shared cigarette before mockingly dangling it in your face. “Want a drag, dearest?” 

You make no comment, just staring off past his shoulder, silently observing your surroundings for more clues. You press your head against your shoulder, mocking a scratch behind your ear as your comms flood your eardrums once more. Samantha is crying and losing her actual shit as John raises his tone at one of the nearby officers- not allowing him to check the security footage. That makes sense as to why Samantha is currently losing it- more unnecessary work to hack into the system. 

Thinking to yourself, this is more relaxing, getting to sit down and take a break, being on the receiving end of the saving than being the sole savior. You can’t help but produce a small smirk as you roll back your shoulders and lean back into the chair, spreading your legs for comfort. “You gettin’ comfortable there? Good, enjoy it while you can. God knows- I know- the work you’ll be doing after this with a body like yours.” 

You chuckle, foot now dragging up his leg and positioned in his lap. “But why go through all the hassle, sir? When I could stay, just, right… here” you foot ghosts over his lower abdomen, you relish the sharp intake of breath that signals success. “Mmm, well as good as that would be for the both of us…” he takes a drag of his cigarette, finishing it off on your leg as it places a burn mark on your ankle. “...my brothers could use someone like you, a fighter, a killer of their own. Takes a special kind of fucked up to do the things you have done…” his hand now drags up your leg, fingers dancing over every cut to touch the skin of your leg as you stay still. 

“...and if you remain that kind of person for em’, I can only promise rewards beyond your imagination,” he finishes with, stopping his chase of skin at your upper thighs before carrying your leg off his lap and standing. “Now before we get started, is there anything you wish to tell your newest contractor?”

“And what information would that include?” you press forward, blinking twice. “Anythin’ you are wishing to share before I force it outta ya, making both of our jobs easier.”

“Ask your men to leave and I’ll be an open book, can have a nice date about it,” you counter-offer, smile returning to match his one. With one motion of his hand, the room clears outside of the warehouse, the rusty door creaking closed to a slam. “Speak.”

“I was contracted to Greece in order to capture that royal you were after-”

“Who was your contractor then?” They lean forward, as if smelling your hair as you face forwards, tone even. “Undisclosed- manager wanted utmost privacy and I respected that, which made the job easier in the end.”

“And if the job was as easy as you said, why waste tears over a tool to be used for the bag?” They whisper into your ear, you swear to feel them smirk as a bead of sweat drips down your forehead, racing towards the muddied floors below. You wrap a leg around your chair, your hands almost free from the cheap rope they used from the gardiners truck as you access the best way to take this man to the ground and to make your escape. 

“I am loyal,” you state, the one truth you have slipped today. “Well that is a blessing and a curse, we have a dilemma on our hands already with you…” His hand drifts up, resting on the back of your neck. You pray that Samantha shuts the fuck up in your ear, unknowling if he can hear her screaming or not. “...Very, very loyal it seems. I am disappointed. Seems as though you already need a lesson, a shame.”

And with that, his fist slams against the bag of your head as you fall towards the floor, finally freed. You snake your feet around his ankles, forcing him down with you and cover his mouth with one of your hands, racing to unhook your necktie as you force it around his throat, trying to buy yourself more time by muffleing his pain. He uses his body weight to roll out from under you, slamming a kick to your side as you curse out. The tie falls around his neck as he wobbles to a stand and you begin to run, hearing the doors slam open as your hand just graces the exit. 

Bullets are flying around your head as you duck and weave over the various barrels in the room, looking for a window as another set of guards burst through the door you were just about to use. Quicking throwing yourself back around, you twist your arm with the motions, a series of knives falling from between your suit's fabric and directly between their eyes. Pressing your hand to your ear, “I need immediate evac, industry sector, meeting at south rally point when available.” 

Glass cuts across your face as you fly out the window and roll into a run. Trees rip past and blur your surroundings as you follow the sun above you. The sounds of the sea call to you as you make a sharp turn in their direction, their shouts muffled by the ringing in your ears as you hear your shallow breathing, feel as if time is moving slowly for you once more as your body jerks forward. A dull aching feeling against your back, they managed a shot. 

The sound of a boat horn slams through your consciousness as you slip down a hill, lengths over extending as you race onto a rammed road filled with cars against the coastline. Drivers honk as you race between cars in the road, policemen call after you, guns raised as well as you race to the front of the accident. A series of cars wait, driving slowly past the crash, the car nowhere to be seen but the rip in the divider separating road from sea as you shake your head before ripping over a divers door.

The woman shrieks at you scream out apology after apology, ripping the keys out from her hands before slamming on the gas and racing down the seaside. Sirens sound from behind you as you see the red and blue lights flashing in your rearview mirror as you curse out. Drifting around a corner as the radio decides to start itself in the junk of a car you managed for yourself. 

You roll your eyes at the “white girl” music plays through the radio as you find yourself soaring through another seaside town, car picking up the various displays set on the small street as lights attach to your side mirrors, carrying them down the street with you like a “just-married” car. 

You make a sour face at the thought, eyes saddening as look around your surroundings for directions to the nearest rallypoint, the cops in mad pursuit still behind you, some even sneaking up the road in front. A spike trap sounds, popping your wheels as sparks behind to fly, you punch open the window as the song finishes to your bumper crashing into the side of a building. You fall out the side of the car, running up the skin as your legs and lungs burn. Adrenaline causing your hands to feverishly shake as you climb up the lattice of a townhome and crash into their living space. A little boy screams at you as you hold your hands up, pleading that you do not mean to harm the small child before you race down the galley kitchen and slam into the wall, turning to find another glass door to a balcony where the next apartment appears empty. 

Jumping across the balcony and onto the next, you break the glass door, and feel for the door handle on the other side. It is dark and sparsely decorated. You feel around the kitchen for a cup, taking a minute to take a sip of water from the tap before throwing the glass to the floor- trying to hide any biological evidence of yourself before looking wildly for the stairs downstairs.   

You fail to hear your communications during this chase, your radio buffering in and out as you curse out to Simon's concerned voice asking for an update to your location. You finally find the stairs, emerging onto the town streets once more as you hide yourself in an alleyway. Watching as the blue uniformed men and women carry up the street. Looking over the various backdoors, you find a logo with a dress on it and softly open and close the door to what appears to be a storage room. 

You shuffle through the various boxes, finding a range of formal garments and finally at the back, a box of clothes to be donated; shoes and casual wear alike, as you strip yourself of your tattered suit and force it into the bottom of the box. You press your hair down, taking out your earring- knowing that they would make you some serious cash from being pure gold as you strip off your watch with a sad wince. Note to self, no longer wear gifts on missions. 

Walking back onto the street with a more casual stride, you find a pawn shop a few blocks down as your stomach gurgles and gain a few thousands dollars that you stuff into your pockets as the shopkeeper does not bat to fucks to. Clothes, Money, check and check. 

You just needed food, a good drink and a car out of here. Thankfully you found a small street-side vendor as you ordered yourself an espresso shot and breakfast sandwich as your mouth salivated at the sight of it. Humming out contently at the taste of it as you walked back down to the seaside to examine your destruction- stealing a hat off a rack as you walked down the streets. The fedora covered your features as you pressed your head down, taking another sip of your drink while eyeing around for a phone. 

A tourist couple was just about to pay for a bill- perfect. “Excuse me,” you smiled brightly at the two of them, “Is there anything we can help you with?” The woman asked kindly, her charming posh british accent relaxing your features. “Yes, would you mind if I made a quick call to my spouse on the phone- I can’t seem to find them down here.”

“Ah, no problem dear! Here you are, take as much time as you need, we are just finishing up here.”

“Thank you so much!” You flash another smile back, turning your back as it drops just as quickly, your fingers fly across the digits as two rings pass and Kyle's voice sounds in your ear. “Who is this?”

“Oh Kyle darling,” you fake a loving tone, breathing out an exaggerated sigh of relief as your eyes scan the streets. “I can’t seem to find you anywhere, see I am waiting at…” you look up to see the restaurant's name. “... Lola’s, where are you currently?”

You humm to every word he speaks, nodding your head lightly as you grip the phone, smiling at an officer that passes you by with a tip of their hat. “The team and I are about thirty minutes out from your location, are you able to keep this phone?”

“No, sorry dear, I do not see you, ummm, is there a place we could meet up between the both of us?”

“I am dear now?” Kyle chuckles out, “What happened to darling?” you roll your eyes, coughing for him to cut the crap. “Walk 10 minutes east through the alleyways till you see Pearl Bar and Shop, silver car.” 

“Alright! Heading over now, see you in a few sweetheart!” and you end the call, sending a thanks to the couple before making your way back into the town core. Various scooters race past you in bright colours, kids kick their soccer balls around the fountain as mothers sit on its ledge, snapping pictures happily. You smile sadly at the sight, your eyes drifting back to the sea, to Whitby, as a cold breeze snaps against your skin as you stumble from the pressure of its ghast and slide back into the alleyways- towards the meet point. 

--

“You look like shit,” Soap comments ever-so-kindly with a chuckle before offering you a sip of beer as you sit at the back of the plane on your way back to headquarters. “Well you kill fifteen guys, one of them your potential spouse, get kidnapped, traumatize a child and then sit on a plane with four men for the next few hours.” 

“Well when you put it like that…” you shove his shoulder, walking further up the plane and check up on Simon in the cockpit. “How much longer we got?” you groan out, pressing your head against the doorway as Ghost takes a quick glance back at you, setting the plane to autopilot. “You holding up alright, Handler?” Not answering your question as you send him a glare. 

“What do you all fuckin’ think- you all seem to high and jolly with this shit-”

“And you appear like it's not affecting you all that much-” 

“WELL WHEN ELSE HAVE YOU SEEN ME A DISHEVELLED MESS IN A FEDORA AND SANDALS?” you scream out, taking another deep sink of your drink, sliding against the wall and to the floor as Gaz unbuckles himself from his seat to kneel in front of you. “I am sorry you have had to go through these things, Dee…” you shake your head at his words. 

“No you all don’t understand-”

“No, we do Daniels, and here's the thing. It only gets more fucked up from here on out, you lose the ones you love, you hate yourself for it, you want to fucking kill them yourself for making you feel guilty, kill everyone, kill yourself. We all wanna do it, we all have people we are fighting for- livin’ and dead but here's the thing. Its a job at the end of the day, no matter how fucked up it is, no matter how much we cry and bitch about it- we do our job so that other’s hands stay clean,” John states, turning around from the other piloting seat as he now leans against the doorframe, looking down at you. 

You stay quiet absorbing his words as he continues to speak, “we will mourn the loss, he was a good man- a great man to all the good he did for others but he wouldn’t want you this way. Not even right after his death- he always cheered on your fight. Now the decision is up to you, are you staying to fight or are you gonna wallow and retire?” 

You nod your head along before slamming your head back against the metal wall, needing the coldness to ease the tension in your muscles. “I’m gonna fight,” you speak in a soft tone- still trying to convince yourself of the idea. “... thank you, John. You’re the first person to not sugar coat my losses… needed to hear it.” 

John hums out, leaving down to give your shoulder a squeeze in an awkward side hug before taking control of the plane once more as Simon moves to take a nap at the back of the plane. “Want another beer?” Johnny yells as Simon throws a pillow in his face. You press your hand into a thumbs up, leaning so the signal is visible from down the hall as the glass bottle rolls to your feet as you and Gaz take sips while in a staring contest with one another.

--

12:00 PM | Spring | Eglinton Funeral Home and Cemetery 

You are severely drunk at Whitby's funeral, his parents stand to the side, unknowing to who you and your entourage was that stand at the back underneath a willow tree whose branches drift off towards the sun's rays. 141 and you are dressed to the tens in three-piece suits, pure black accents - you all are shadows of yourselves. Watching as the family and friends walk away you step forwards and stand in front of the open casket, the first thing you notice is his missing glasses. Fixing a hair on his rested head your fingers shake over his cheek before grasping his hand one last time. To your surprise when you unravel it, a diamond ring falls out into your palm as you chuckle back a sob and place it into his suit pocket- right above his heart. 

You bow your head, whispering a prayer before taking one last look and finally turn your back on the past. You stumble in your shoes over the uneven pavement stones towards the event hall where ushed cries and somber music play with trays of fresh fruit displayed against the back wall. You blow your nose into your handkerchief before guzzling down a glass of water as Gaz pats your back reassuringly when a family member walks by, glaring at your group. They all didn’t know the shit you both got up to together, how close you were- close to so much more… 

Shaking your head, John came back with a plate of fruit for you all to pick at as Whitby’s will is read aloud. You need to sit as you fumble with the buttons of your suit, suddenly feeling too hot as the rest of your crew stands around to shield you from the curious stares of the fellow funeral goers. “Friends, Family, and those connected to Sir Wyatt Whitby. We gather here today to remember a man of great strength, who served his country and had a great sense of humor.” 

A series of posh chuckles sound around the room as you feel yourself mentally drifting further and further away from this moment. You would have never fit in with his family, if you ever were to tell them of the danger you put their son into… you probably wouldn’t be breathing any longer… and with that thought, there was a deep part of you that believed you deserved such treatment from your more recent history. 

--

In the few months leading up to the funeral, Whitby’s body had been frozen and preserved so that the headquarters could stage a more believable death to the agent for his remaining family and outside friends. This violently disgusted you, having to see him every time you went to check biological evidence with the scientists in the west wing. Yet John’s words were concrete, pouding in your skull, “fight like he would want you to…” and so you did, and rather brutally at that. 

You forced yourself back onto the field, demanding it from upper management- refusing promotion after promotion as Samantha became your new Handler in this turn of events. You often wore dark blue navy suits to hide the blood that drenched every part of the fabric as you shot and hacked away at various bodies on your missions. No witnesses to be left between you and the goal. You will never forget the fearful eyes of that one politician as you gripped their shoulder into the helicopter, your bloody hand staining their crisp white shirt and some of it began to drip into your eye from your hair yet you could not care. 

Management was thoroughly satisfied with your independent work- you were the most requested contractor. Money was following in- so much so that you lost reasons to spend it, letting the stacks build under your floorboards and in your jacket pockets before you were floating between bodies, drugs, and the bottom of empty bottles with glasses smashed against dust on the bartop. 

You were far gone, everyone at headquarters joked that you had taken form to a rockstar as you flipped them the bird. Sitting at your desk as you choked down a coffee and pain medication, your head still pounding in rhythm to last night's DJ as you swirled around your desk chair, looking up at the ceiling as if you were dancing. 

Laswell had called you endlessly, begging for you to reply after every night so she knew you made it home alright, that not another one of her close friends was gone in this line of work. You Stopped replying, 141 never showed up for their last mission, and when you looked at yourself in the mirror- you were as good as dead. Severe bags under your eyes, sex hair was your new hairstyle as lipstick stained every shirt you wore- matching the deep reds of your suits. You were fighting to keep yourself alive, is this what Whitby would want? You chuckle darkly to yourself, calling out to the new secretary that you would be taking your break at the storefront as you lit a cigarette, tapping the embers to the street as your ankle burned in memory. 

You leaned against the bright building, blowing the smoke to meet the clouds above as you savoured the bitter taste in your lungs. Your throat burned for more drink, your eyes dry but when a shadow overtook the sun, you opened your eyes- surprised to find them closed and saw a masked-face man tilting his head down at you. “Hello Simon, come to tell me off?” you press, throwing your cigarette to the ground and stopping it down with your boot. 

“No. But I am here for our last mission.”

You humm out, trying to rack your tired mind as to when you have received a new debrief. “Fill me in them,” you state, feeling around your suit for another distraction before a gloved hand grips your wrist gently, pulling it out of your suit jacket and down to your side. They do not let go, just looking over your shoulder before leading you back inside the building where Laswell waits, leaning against the counter as she speaks to Samantha. Gaz views the various ties in the display cabinet as Johnny forces himself not to touch the various new products in the windowsill. John observes everyone from the front door and you can’t help the heartache that bellows in your stomach to the scene before you- so reminiscent of your first meeting together. 

Laswell runs over, pulling you into a hug as her nose scrunches up at the bruises against your throat and the cigarette breath you breathe. You pat her back stiffly before she pulls away, wiping away a few tears as you lean against the stair railing that leads to the supplies room upstairs. Simon stands still behind you, giving Samantha a nod as she turns back around the counter and disappears into the back. 

John walks slowly up to you, replacing Kate as he frowns at the sight of you. You wince at his features scrutinizing your every decision that leads to now before looking down at your boots, unable to meet him in the eyes any longer to the guilt that consumes your being. “I would say it's good to see you again, but I was worried you would be something like this when we got called back-”

“Thanks John, just what I wanted to hear…” you interrupt sarcastically, moving around the man to hug Gaz and Soap in greeting before sitting on top of the counter- right beside the till. Laswell leans against the wood beside you, looking through the various emails on her phone as you start to tap your nails against the treated wood. 

“... I fought, long and hard I hope you all know. But now… now I think- I don't actually think,” you laugh to yourself as Gaz winces, looking towards his Captain who had yet to drop his attention from you. John walks up to you once more, holding up your chin so that your eyes meet. You cast him a cheesy fake smile as he hums out, “I’m sorry…”

“What for?” you raise a brow, not clicking in his somber tone as Laswell stares sadly into the side of your head- thinking that you are unknowing. 

“For not showing you what to fight for. It's one thing to say something, another to not follow through,” John finishes speaking, dropping his touch as you hold your head up more clearly as you look around the room. “Not your fault, everyone!” you announce, clapping your hands together as you move to stand and walk around the counter, trying to move back to headquarters- brushing off the words. “Sorry for making you all come back here, I’m still here, no need for worry or anything…” 

“But that's just the thing,” Soap comments as you snap your head back to face him. “We are staying here for our next mission.”

“Then what is this fucking mission?” you stress back out, pinching the bridge of your nose as the nicotine has started to wear off. 

“You,” Gaz states simply, throwing a tie your way with a smile. 

“Now it's time to get to work,” Laswell announces, shoving you through the door as you begin to protest and that's how you found yourself here, at this funeral with a bunch of strangers unknowing to his actual death and task force 141. 

--

Your attention snaps back to the will presenter at the sound of your name, “And to my dearest-Dee, thank you for teaching me that the present is enough of a gift that you need not worry about the past or future. I love you darling, and maybe one day we will dance together again but for now- it's time you took some lessons and find a new partner, I will be waiting to see all your new moves and maybe then you will finally tell me your first name.”

You burst out laughing, it echoes throughout the hall, cutting through every tear, sob, and face filled with sorrows. Your shoulders bend up and down rapidly as you clench at your stomach, folding yourself in half as you almost fall off your chair. Soap was not there to place a hand to your shoulder to halt any further movements. You look up to the ceiling, watching as the sun casts through the skylights above as you blink away your tears, trying to even out your breathing while fanning your cheeks with your hands as the reading presumes once more and you make your way outside.

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt @no-lessthan3 @cod-z

[bettyfrommars]

Death Becomes Us Part 4: I Love the Darkness in You

vampire!Eddie x supernatural!fem!Reader

Part 3 was a smut extra and you can find it here

Summary: Several new ST characters are introduced in this part, as you come to terms with the fact that you're living next to a cold-blooded killer. We learn more about what Eddie does for a living, and just when you think you're the loneliest person on earth---he comes to your rescue again. Word count: 5.7k

Series Masterlist

18+Only, Pls no minors, mature themes, there are some dark themes in this part (this whole series in general) including addiction, previously inflicted wounds, and mention of child neglect. Mention of a murder, grand theft auto, smoking, loneliness, please read warnings for each part.

A/N: For the sake of this series, all of the characters are the same as the show, but some have different backstories. The Upside Down is a place, but everyone exists as if the events of the show never happened. You do not have to be acquainted with True Blood to enjoy this, but those who are will notice some familiar terminology and situations pop up.

------

Part 4: I Love the Darkness in You

------

The next morning while you were at the kitchen window, watering the one house plant you had managed to keep alive while you lived in your hearse, the news on the TV mentioned something about the Klemp family. Needless to say, you almost broke your neck trying to dart across the dark orange carpet in your bare feet to turn the sound up.

The news anchor woman with a bob of dark hair looked into the camera as images of the three people in question appeared in the right-hand corner of the screen. “...the remains of Angela Klemp, along with her stepbrothers Doyle and Clyde, were found unresponsive at the bottom of Burns Ravine this morning. Police speculate that they were driving on Highway 96 near Dead Man’s Turn, when their vehicle lost control and went off the edge of the cliff: none of them survived. In other news, Police are asking questions about the…”

You backed up so far, you kicked the coffee table and spilled your cup of soda and ice, cursing as you did so. Sopping up the mess with a few paper towel before it could get on the carpet, your mind returned to the night before when you’d watched vampire Eddie end each one of their lives in a blink of an eye. A blink of an eye, a twist of the wrist; movements that seemed to take no more effort than for a regular human to dial numbers on a phone.

Eddie was a killer.

But then you remembered how vulnerable he’d been while at the mercy of nothing but thin, silver chains that pinned him to the ground and sapped his strength. Angie Klemp and her brothers had obviously been very skilled at trapping and draining vampires, but the risk was huge, and so the payoff must’ve been worth it. You had a flashback of the man you called father; the sound of rattling of pills in his desk drawer, and how he would stay up for days on end. And then there were the other pills in a locked cabinet in his bedroom for when he needed to sleep. He had his own laboratory in the basement and that is where you could find him if you ever really needed anything---but it had to be an emergency. You’d spent many a birthday and holiday alone in your room, reading your books, until your father finally rushed up the stairs, flustered, begging for your forgiveness, and ready to take you out for pizza or whatever; but by then, it was already too late.

He was always very sorry, and you always forgave him. It had just been you and him for as long as you could remember, and there were a few warm, happy memories that you clung to in those lonely days.

With the wad of wet paper towels in your fist, you found yourself staring over the back of your TV, through the far window, at the daytime silence of Eddie’s trailer. If not for the vehicles and motorcycles parked near some of the homes, you’d think that it was an abandoned lot; no sign of life anywhere. But, you could hear the soft lilt of a Neil Diamond song, letting you know that Dolores had her radio out on the porch while she got a suntan on her face with the aid of an aluminum shield braced under her chin.

You didn’t have to work that night, but you had a few things to cross off your list, so you jumped in the shower. This was your second shower since the run-in with the Klemp family the night before, and you were having hard time feeling clean enough. You wrapped a white terrycloth towel around you at the end, dripping onto the bile-green tile, continuing to forget you needed a bathmat, and tried not to slip as you dried off. When you were finished, you dropped the towel on the floor to soak up the water and put your foot up on the toilet to begin the standard ritual of tending to your scars with vitamin E.

You had arrived at a point in your life when you didn’t think about the fact that your body looked like it had once been cut into pieces as often, but in the bright, artificial light of the bathroom, the long scar that crisscrossed over your left knee and went all the way up your thigh to your hip bone, felt so hideous that you had to look away. Wishing the bottle of thick, sticky liquid in your hand was magic and would erase the marking on your flesh forever, you flipped the top and squirted some onto your finger, massaging it along the gnarled fissure with care. You’d been tending to them all this way for a few years, and you had only noticed a small difference, but at least it was something.

The last one you always took care of was the one on your cheek from the corner of your mouth to your ear, and as you were applying the ointment, there was a knock at your door.

You’d been so caught up in your thoughts that you jumped. You were naked, so you quickly snatched the towel off the floor and wrapped yourself in it.

“Who is it?” You called down the hall.

“Chief Hopper,” a deep voice returned. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

-----------

Earlier that day, at the crack of dawn, Jim Hopper sat at the end of his bed, shirtless, in a pair of unbuttoned jeans, and rolled his neck from side to side. There were empty beer cans on the dresser, and a small glass vile of dark red liquid in the ashtray next to a smashed out butt with lipstick on it. He groaned as he stood, fastening his jeans, snatching his pack of cigarettes off the bedside table as he went.

A smoke and some coffee first, maybe some aspirin, and then a shower and shave. There was gray coming in his beard stubble now and he was reminding himself too much of his old man to just let it grow out, even though he knew a beard would help to disguise the double chin he had going on as he entered his 50’s.

“Age is just a number,” is something Joyce would say, and to that he would reply: “Yeah, well why do I feel so fucking old, then?”

Joyce Byers hadn’t aged in a decade; that’s the one gift vampirism bestowed upon its victims. Being immortal? Living forever? Jim couldn’t imagine a worse fate. If someone turned him against his will, he’d give himself over to the sun immediately.

Joyce had chosen the vampire life, though, and for that—a part of him would never be able to forgive her. Sure, their fling was long over, and she’d been with Bob for a while now, but goddamn��he used to be able to daydream about growing old with her later in life, and now he couldn’t even do that.

He cursed as something fell out of his pocket while he was searching for his lighter. It was another small glass vial full of dark liquid—but this one was almost empty---and he held his cigarette between his teeth as he bent to catch it before it rolled under the bed. Picking up the vial, he regarded it between thumb and forefinger so he could get a good look at how many drops were left.

God, he hated this about himself. He hated the way he measured the days of his week around how much he had left in the vials. Every morning, he promised himself that he’d quit, as soon as work wasn’t so stressful and he had some time to himself to stomach the withdrawals.

The kitchen was cold, and it sent a pang through his heart, making him wish there was someone there to make a pot of coffee and sit with him for a few minutes before he left for work. He’d give anything to hear bacon sizzling in the pan and smell fresh squeezed orange juice again while cartoons played on the television. Those days were so long gone, but he could feel both his wife and daughter there as if it were happening in that moment.

He felt the emotions rise in his throat and choke there, making him dig for the vial in his pocket. He knew there was another full one in the ashtray in his bedroom, but he had to make them both last until next week, and it already wasn’t looking good. He tore a tiny corner off of a paper towel, and then bent to unscrew the cap and tap two drops onto the paper, watching the dark red liquid bleed into the fibers. He then placed the square of paper on his tongue and let it dissolve with a hard swallow and some sink water to wash it down.

He squeezed his eyes closed, knowing that relief would be coming soon, if only for a few hours.

----------

The Chief?

You mouthed it to yourself, panic prickling your hair follicles.

“Um, just a second,” you gushed, scrambling to your bedroom to find something to throw on.

You couldn't help but think this had something to do with the Klemp family, and your mind raced to think of what you would say if he did ask. A pair of loose, worn jeans and a t-shirt were the first two things you grabbed, and you were halfway to the door when you realized that the shirt was inside-out and backwards with the tag sticking in your chin, but the Chief was already knocking again, and you decided to leave it.

Standing tall and broad on your porch, Chief Hopper was handsome and road-weary; brown hair slicked back with gray at the temples and a few strands of gray in his mustache. His posture was intimidating, but his eyes were sad. He took his hat off as you answered the door, brushed his hair back, and then settled it back in place at the crown. He looked like he hadn’t slept well in years.

He asked your name, and introduced himself properly with a firm handshake.

Dolores was standing a few yards away on the dead grass of your yard with her arms crossed, watching the interaction with a frown; probably wishing you’d invite her up on the porch so she could hear every word.

Hopper had a small notepad in his hand that he squinted at before lifting his gaze back to you. “Does the name Angie Klemp ring a bell to you?”

Your voice came out as a squeak, but then you cleared your throat. “Yeah, I just saw on the news that they were….that they didn’t…”

“But, you met her yesterday, correct? At the bar where you work?” He pretended to need to check his notes as if he wasn’t sure of the name. “At Main Vein?”

You hadn’t been the one who killed them, but still your nerves were twitching. “I waited on their table, yes,” you admitted, trying to act nonchalant by putting your hand in the front pocket of your jeans and bracing your forearm on the door frame. “But, what is there to investigate? I thought their truck went off the road?”

You knew maybe that last bit was too much, but the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“Well,” he let out a huff, flipping his notebook closed. “A witness said they saw them draining a vampire in your parking lot. Do you know anything about that?”

Your bottom teeth gnawed on your top lip thoughtfully, as if that was a scenario you would easily forget. “No, I’m sorry,” you blinked a few times, innocently. “They paid and left, but then I went back to work and I never saw them again.”

Hopper’s poker face was set. No one had confessed to seeing the Klemp’s try to drain a vampire in the Main Vein parking lot---but he knew that was a crime they were rumored to participate in. A vampire scorned easily had the strength to snap their necks and send their car off a cliff with its bare hands. Plus, Angie’s body had bite marks on her throat, and most of her blood had been drained. Sure, a fatal crash off a cliff could snap some necks, but how had her blood miraculously been drained to the bone without a drop of it anywhere at the crash?

“What about your neighbor?” Hopper lifted his chin in the direction of Eddie’s place. “He was there last night too, did you happen to see him interact with them at all?”

“No,” the answer was possibly a bit too quick, but you followed it with. “He was there, but he left before they did.”

You wondered how this line of questioning would go if Eddie’s blood hadn’t done the magic work of healing you so quickly. You’d have a rope burn around your neck, a black eye, a broken skull, and a few crushed internal organs.

He asked a few standard questions after that, like how long had you lived there, and a phone number to reach you if he had more questions. He took another long look at Eddie’s trailer before reaching in the front pocket of his shirt to pinch a cigarette out of the soft pack.

He slid the cigarette to the side of his mouth and snapped the pocket closed. “Okay if I ask a personal question?”

“Depends on what it is, I guess,” you answered, convinced he was about to bring up your scars, or perhaps ask if you knew your shirt was on inside out and backwards.

He inclined his head to the rest of the trailer park. “What the hell made a nice girl like you move to a place like this?”

You stepped back into the trailer, about to shut the door, but then you paused. “Maybe I’m not a nice girl, Chief Hopper.”

---------

Later that day, once you were back from running errands, you took out the stack of Polaroid’s you’d taken so far and spread them out on the walnut coffee table in front of the orange and brown wagon wheel sofa. There was Argyle giving the peace sign in one, offering a no-teeth smile with his eyes closed, the sleeping beige dog at Robin’s bookstore, a stone frog in front of a row of red tulips, an extreme closeup of Bob’s face when he tried to take a photo of himself, and a green Buick with the bumper sticker that said: “God Hates Fangs”.

You smiled to yourself as you looked at the others, lining them up in two rows, realizing it was time to put new film in. Your eyes stopped on the one at Robin’s bookstore, at the ass end and tail of the dog that slept on a large pillow behind the cash register. Was that the same dog who had come to your rescue in the alley way?

You’d gone by there again that day, because you liked bookstores, and found the smell of books comforting, but you were also starting to like Robin. Besides Bob, she had the friendliest face in town, and you felt oddly comforted in her presence.

She was up on a ladder when you walked into the store, putting some hardbacks away on a top shelf. She had on a thin white shirt with buttons all the way up to the neck, a long, fitted chocolate corduroy skirt passed her knees and slouchy leather boots that went up to mid-calf. Her glasses fell off her nose when she turned to look at who had just come in, but the beaded chain around her neck caught them as they flopped to her chest.

“It’s you,” she beamed, tucking hair behind each ear, descending the ladder. “I was hoping I’d see you again soon. I have something for you.”

“For me?” You couldn’t contain the shock in your voice. You’d barely just met her and you weren’t used to strangers being so generous and open-handed with you.

She stepped over the dog to get behind the cash register, and you bent down to get a better look at the dog’s face. Its eyes were closed, chin resting on its paw, but it was definitely the pit bull terrier that had rescued you the night before. You squatted down to pet the animals head.

“Have I introduced you to Lucy?” Robin asked, referring to the dog.

“I think we met by accident last night,” feeling the warm, velvet of her soft fur. “She came to my rescue, I guess you could say.”

You stood straight to find that Robin had been watching you pet Lucy, but then her gaze shifted away quickly.

“Lucy gets off her leash sometimes,” she told you. “But here, I found this tucked away in one of the used book boxes.”

You watched the long, graceful fingers of her hand, adorned in silver rings, slide a book across the top of the desk to you. It was the third installment of the series you’d been looking for. You picked it up and ran your thumb down the image of a woman in a hooded cloak on the front, flanked by two wolves.

You decided to browse around, and at one point, Robin came up next to you as she organized books on a shelf. “Did you hear about what happened to Angie Klemp and her bothers? The whole town’s been talking about it.”

You held your breath on an inhale for a beat and then, “Yeah, I heard about it on the news this morning. I just waited on their table last night and now this.”

Robin walked around to the other side of you, brushing into you a little with her arm as she went, her intense body heat blazing you like a flash of 90 degree heat. “I know you’re new here,” she began keeping her eyes to the books. “But I feel like I wouldn’t be a decent friend if I didn’t warn you to keep your distance from the vampires around here. I know a lot of them are nice, and are trying to do their best to integrate, but they’ll always be dangerous.”

You didn’t say anything in return, and so she continued. “I know I’m basically a stranger, and you have no reason to trust me, but I just want you to be safe.”

“Thank you,” you responded in a whisper. “I generally keep everyone at arms length be it vampire or human, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” You chuckled a bit self-consciously at the end, and Robin continued down the isle with her armful of books, wondering what she could say to make you stay and talk for a bit longer.

-------

Back in your trailer, with the Polaroids spread out in front of you while you put new film in your camera and watched an episode of Forensic Files, you hadn’t noticed the sun set until you heard the door to the trailer next door open and slam shut.

Vampire Eddie was up and about.

Not that you cared.

But you stood up and moved like you were going to the kitchen to see if you could get a glimpse of him anyway.

Of course, he was looking up at your window as he took a pull on his cigarette, and your eyes met. He bucked his chin at you, grinning, knowing that you’d probably had a dream about him already, and he wondered if you’d enjoyed it.

You went to the kitchen to slap together some cheese and crackers because you didn’t have much food in the house, but then you realized you probably should let Eddie know that the police had come around asking questions so that he wasn’t caught off guard. You went out on the porch, but didn’t see him anywhere. Had he gone back inside? He’d just been standing there 3 seconds ago.

“Eddie?” It was barely a whisper, a sigh on a stolen breath.

In a flash, he appeared; standing below your raised porch balcony, tilting his head back to look up at you, hands in his pockets. “Yes, madame? You called?”

“How did you---oh, never mind,” you shook your head. “Do you want to come up?”

He squeezed one eye closed, tilting his head. “Are you inviting me in?”

“No,” you clarified quickly. “I’m inviting you up, to this porch, so that I don’t have to shout at you for the whole trailer court to hear.”

He made his way up the steps like a normal human would, sauntering over to perch his elbow on the railing. You weren’t afraid of him, not like most humans were, and it made him feel like he could relax around you in a way he hadn’t felt in a decade. Like the two of you were just a couple of humans neighbors, having a chat about the weather.

“Chief Hopper came by to ask me some questions earlier,” you rested your back on the side of the trailer, across from him.

Eddie rolled his shoulders under his leather jacket. “Yeah, I figured he might. What did you tell him?”

“I told him…” you were whispering and glancing from side to side to make sure no one was around. “...the truth. That I was their server, but then I never saw them again that night.”

“Good girl,” Eddie praised, pulling the pack of cigarettes out from inside his leather jacket. He tapped it on the palm of his hand. “I told you not to worry about it.”

You licked your teeth. “Well, I’m not worrying because I have no idea what they did after they left the bar.”

“Damn,” he smiled around his cigarette. “You catch on quick, and I didn’t even have to Glamour you.”

Your forehead pinched. “Glamour me?” You asked, not understanding the phrase.

“Yeah,” he flicked his fancy silver lighter and ignited the tip. “Haven’t you heard of it? It’s a vampire thing. We can wipe out a part of a human memory to make them forget things.”

You considered that, wondering if you’d been Glamoured already and just didn’t know it.

He lowered his chin and looked up at you from under hooded eyes. “Do you want me to Glamour some parts of that night away from you?”

“How do you do it?” You didn’t want him to do it to you, but you were curious.

“Like this,” in a millisecond, he had bridged the distance and was inches from you; full, soft lips parted, golden-flecked brown eyes landing with purpose onto yours. You took in the lines of his face, his long lashes, the slope of his nose, the smell of nicotine and cinnamon on his breath. Without blinking, he seemed to be trying to stare into your soul, but then he clenched his forehead after a few seconds, confused.

He took a step back. “That’s weird,” he mumbled.

“What’s weird?” You blinked a few times. “Did you do it?”

He dropped back against the railing, frowning at you. “I couldn’t Glamour you for some reason. It usually always works with humans.”

You turned your head away at his words, wishing you could just be normal for once, and to your surprise, he let the topic go and didn’t ask any questions.

“I gotta jet,” he said, clearing his throat and flicking his smoke. “Duty calls.”

He was trotting down the steps, wallet chain jangling at his hip, when you called out to him. “Duty? What duty? What is it you do, anyway?”

He lifted his arm in a backwards wave, and that was when you noticed a different car parked at his trailer. It was dark red, and you couldn’t see exactly which make it was...an Audi, maybe? He got in behind the wheel, and after a few minutes of him bent over the column of the wheel, the engine sparked to life, and he sped off, kicking up a dust cloud behind him. You also notice that there were no identifying plates on the vehicle.

------

With his cig held between his lips, Eddie hot-wired the car that was very much stolen and on it’s way to the chop shop, and then he sat up and adjusted the rear view mirror so that he could get a look back at you standing on the porch.

He couldn’t figure you out.

He was starting to resent the fact that you were neighbors now because it seemed he’d never be free of the curiosity hold you had on him. He didn’t know a single human who would’ve risked their life trying to rescue him like you had. Partially because everyone assumed vampires could always take care of themselves, and also, Eddie had pushed everyone away who ever tried to stay close to him. Especially since he was turned.

The people he cared about were better off without him in their life.

--------

A few days went by of you adjusting to your new place, your new job, and figuring out where everything was in town, but you didn’t see hide nor hair of Eddie. You figured he was waking up when you were going to sleep, and back in his trailer before you got out of bed, but one night you noticed he never came home at all. You visited with Robin again at Nightshade Bookstore and on your way to grab something from your vehicle before you went into work, there was a guy cupping his hands to look into the windows, inspecting it.

“Can I help you?” You asked from the sidewalk.

He was tall with broad, with muscular shoulders and arms; white tee under his black and red flannel just a tad too tight so that you could see the outline of his pecs. Worn jeans, work boots, and a thick head of caramel brown hair, and it was slicked back, just long enough to tuck behind his ears.

“Sorry,” his generous mouth spread in a smile as he came around the front toward you. “Is this yours?” He gestured at the hearse.

You nodded without saying anything, waiting for him to explain what he was doing.

“’79 Cadillac, yeah?” He asked it like he was familiar with cars, but you had to correct him.

“76.”

He had a disarming way about him and you started to relax as he backed up to look at the front grille. “My grandpa loved Caddy’s,” he mused aloud. “And I’ve never seen a hearse up close before.”

“You’ve never been to a funeral?”

He turned his head and looked you up and down, dark lashes rimming cherrywood eyes. “Sweetheart, surely you know that not everyone gets buried the same way when they die,” he dislodged the piece of gum that was in his cheek and began to chew it again. “We deal with death a bit differently where I’m from.”

You took the bait. “Yeah, where are you from?”

That was when he turned with his hands on his hips, inclining his head up the street, in the direction of the mountains. “My family are all up in the hills. Private people, we stick to our own. Names Steve,” he winked at you. “Steve Harrington.”

You told him your name, and there was a polite exchange before you you moved to unlock your door and he headed down the side walk in the opposite direction. You both turned back to peak over your shoulders at each other at the same time, just before Steve disappeared into the bookstore.

--------

That night at Main Vein, a family of four tourists came in with hopes of seeing a vampire, but Argyle was the only one in the building, so Bob begged him to show his fangs and take a picture with them. You took the photo while Erica shook her head in the background.

Erica mentioned being frustrated that she couldn’t meet up with her friends at the movie theater, and since it wasn’t busy, you offered to finish up and take her tables.

“You’d do that for me?” She asked with a squint, waiting for you to have some reciprocity in mind.

“Of course,” you shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t have a life, remember?”

“Well, I’ll try not to make fun of you for it next time,” she reached around to untie her apron and gave you the glimmer of a smile.

Things got so quiet after midnight that Bob gave you and Argyle the okay to close up early.

“Where are you off to tonight?” You asked as you wiped down tables. “Hot date?”

Argyle always looked stylish, but he was particularly flawless that night.

“Nah,” he pulled a joint out of his front pocket and stuffed it behind his ear. “My buddy Jonathan is in town. We’re gonna get blitzed and watch Mystery Science Theater.”

“Is Jonathan a---”

“Vampire?” Argyle finished. “No way. He’d make a good one though. He loves the hours we keep.”

“Let me know if this is too personal,” you went over to the bar where his was. “But how did you become a vampire in the first place?”

As far as you knew, there were only two ways people turned: either they were forced via some brutal attack, or they chose it willingly; there really wasn’t any in between. You didn’t just accidentally wake up a vampire one day.

He folded his cash tips from the night and shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans. “The how and the why are the same, I guess,” he admitted. “And neither one of them matter anymore,” he added on a sigh. “But, why does a fool do anything? I did it for love.”

---------

Argyle walked you to your car, but you waved him off a bit too soon, because by the time he was already in his orange VW Beetle and buzzing down the street, you realized with a burst of panic that you’d locked your keys inside the hearse when you went out on your break earlier.

“Shit,” you cursed, dropping your head, hands balling into frustrated fists, trying to decide what your options were as you stood alone on the shadowy side of the already dark street. Just a half a block down the sidewalk is where you were attacked by the Klemp family, and it made your hand move reflexively to your throat at the visceral memory.

Argyle had the keys to Main Vein, so you couldn’t use the phone in there. Even if you could, who would you call? The fact that you couldn’t think of a single person you could count on at the drop of a hat made the bell of loneliness ring louder than ever before in your ears.

You stepped back to get an idea of the street, and see if maybe there was something you could break a window with. You’d didn’t have the money to get your window fixed, but you’d seen people who drove around with a piece of cardboard sealed with duct tape to make up for broken glass, and maybe that’s the type of person you’d need to be for a while.

You had no idea where the nearest payphone was, and you weren’t about to start knocking on doors to ask a vampire if you could use their landline. Reluctantly, you started looking for a rock or brick heavy enough to bust the back window out. You were just about to bend over and grab a piece of metal pipe near the parking lot when the sound of approaching music made you freeze.

The sound had a dark, heavy beat, and it was getting closer. Pretty soon, you watched a black Pontiac GTO muscle car swing around the block at high speed and than jerk to a stop in front of you; big engine purring, windows open, music blaring.

It was Eddie.

“Need a ride?” He called out to you.

You looked down at the pipe you were about to grab. “How did you know I locked my keys in my hearse?”

“I didn’t,” he said, turning the music down, leaning over to make eye contact with you through the passenger window. “I just felt the bat signal. I could tell you needed help.”

Well, okay, I guess this ingesting Eddie’s blood thing had some benefits.

“Get in,” he told you, stretching over to unlock the door. “I’ll take you home. I know a guy who can get your keys out tomorrow.”

Eddie had the tools and the skill to get your door unlocked for you in that moment, and it would only take him a couple seconds, but you didn’t know that about him yet, and he’d decided that he wanted some company that evening.

From the looks of it, he was a lunatic behind the wheel, and you had no idea where he was getting these cars from, and for what---but you really didn’t have any other decent options.

You slid into the soft leather seat next to him, and you felt like you were in an episode of Night Rider. The inside smelled like strawberry air freshener, nicotine, and the pleasant spicy whiff of Eddie’s cologne. His hand was cupped over the gear shift, metal rings gleaming, and some type of skull design on the back of his hand.

“I was just on my way to do this one work thing, but then I’ll take you right home after,” he had waited to tell you this until the car was in motion, tearing onto the main street. “It’s on the way.”

You clutched your bag to your lap. “A work thing?”

“You’ll see,” he assured you. “Have you ever heard of Sacrament? It’s a real vampire bar.”

“No,” you swallowed, watching the scenery whiz by, thinking that a broken car window really wouldn’t have been so bad. “But why do I have a feeling that’s about to change?”

“Yes, Princess,” he took his eyes off the road for what you considered to be way too long to look over at you. “That’s all about to change. Some of the vampires at this place are old fuckers. Been around forever.”

He turned the music back up a bit, brought his hand down to shift, and then turned the music back down again.

“Hey, but no one will fuck with you, okay? I promise,” he kept his eyes on the road this time. “You’re with me tonight.”

Part 5

----

Thank you so much for reading!

[wolfjackle-creates]

You're post since you're already sitting on a couple of asks for Bring me Home, so I hope you don't mind a third request for it.

I absolutely do not mind! Enjoy. ^.^

-----

Danny hummed as he took stock. Touching the injuries had obviously come with its own pain, but the area was now under a numbing coolness that helped beat back some of the pain. “Better,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Great!” said Tim. “Do you want anything else? Let’s try to get you a few spoonfuls of ectoplasm and yogurt. You need your calories if you’re going to heal at all.”

Danny frowned, but acquiesced. “Fine. But I want another piece of ice when we’re done.”

“You’ve got it,” agreed Tim readily.

“Well, looks like it’s back to driving for me,” said Kon. He stood and stretched before heading back to the front of the vehicle and out of Danny’s sight.

This time, with the salve numbing him and the nightmares still haunting him if he closed his eyes for more than a blink, he ate much more. He finished an entire vial of ectoplasm and half the yogurt before he couldn’t stand the thought of eating any more.

“Talk to me?” he asked before taking the second piece of ice.

“Of course. What do you want me to talk about?” asked Tim.

“Anything,” admitted Danny. “Just need something to distract me.”

Tim hummed in thought. “Well, I know I’ve talked about Gotham before, but it’ll be different now that you’re coming with me to live there rather than visit. You’ll be moving in with me to my civilian apartment. It’s a penthouse downtown near the Drake Industries offices. My dad may have nearly ruined the company, but Bruce has been helping me build it back up. I’m not officially in charge, but as my dad was the owner, I’ve got a controlling interest.

“There’s lots of places to eat nearby. My favorite is this little hole-in-the-wall Hispanic place run by a Puerto Rican family. You have to try their empanadas. Simply to die for. I’ll get us take out from there when you’re finally up to eating something more solid than smoothies or yogurt. There’s also a killer pizza place down within walking distance…”

Danny let the words drift over him, and this time, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t see images of his parents or the lab.

[signanothername]

UT/UTMV Asks Masterpost (part 1)

This will only include silly asks

*tip! Those in red text will contain an explicit discussion/visual display of some sort of trigger/content warning, these could be blood, emotional or physical abuse, emotional manipulation, death, self destructive behaviors, implied or discussed suicidal ideation, suggestive content or other sensitive topics

*tip! Those in orange text will contain an implied or mentioned trigger/content warning but no explicit discussion/visual display

*tip! Asks with 💬 are without art, only text

Let me know if I missed color coding anything :)

haha short nightmare short!! shorty!!!

obsessed with how u do killer btw.

I WANT TO EXPLODE YOU

Could you draw a Nightmare sitting on a cut tree trunk (their mom)?

Just wanna say keep up with the angst

Mean girl Nightmare

He’s just a silly little girl causing some chaos <3333

Could I please have a little sketch of nightmare "protecting" Dream from Cross

Bad Sanses reaction to Shatter Dream?

When confronted with his future self, Passive's first instinct is to push Dream behind him 💬

*Explodes but not in a gay way*

*Returns back just to explode in a gay way*

I forgot to kiss the homies goodbye.

What do you think about swapdream?

Why do you like Killer 💬

If you had to give your favourite sanses vehicle modes what would they be? 💬

Nightmare, do you still love your brother? If you don't why don't you kill him at all?

Consider nightmare in grunge fairycore fashion

Killer with kitties

What gave it away????

if there‘s a „Something New“, is there a „Nothing Old“

opinions on skeleton appreciation day :>

cat socks

Color spectrum duo

Guest offer

i’m so happy to see ccino getting more attention!!

ccino our cutie pie <3

i thought nm was doing the mr beast pose for a sec lolol

opinions on Asylum Sans (Asy)???

do you like afterdeath??? Can we get some?

Gaster’s Horrortale request

REQUESTING FOR MURDER!SANS ART

A tiny Nightmare sketch

Shapshifter

do you have any other plans for misplaced hatred? im kind of really obsessed with it

Do you think you might add more onto the misplaced hatred comic soon?

Silly sneak peek

Murder sketch

Nightmare sketch (foreshadowing????)

Bitty Nightmare

Bitty Killer

POKE HOLES IN THE TOPS OF THE JARS

Doodle without context

doodle with your non-dominant hand

Burnt at the stake

Mad scientist Killer

fugly ass heels

Yummy angst

Frenemies

Friend dynamic

Nightmare angst

Fresh

What if the Apple incident was more historically accurate for the time

Sci

Wips and sketches

Ink has certain devices that helps him in warning that he's ruining low of paints

can you do a doodle of nightmare with his hood up please?

Gay

Killer stress ball

What if Nightmare had hair

Consider Nightmare

Hey Dream can you make something or someone health Nightmare's legs or make some mental legs for him?

Frisk and Chara

Ccino and Nightmare

Ink and the Nightmare gang

Horrortale

who is your favorite utmv papyrus?

i love your work so much man it's like the highlight of my day when you post ‼️‼️‼️

That's mean that Killer is probably a Sugar Daddy

i love how you're just THE killer sans person now

I want somebody convincing Dream to smoke

What do you nightmare does, keeps Negativity balanced or he just spread Negativity 💬

What kind of music do you think the bad sanses listen to

bro i'm such a fan of error just massively shitting on nightmare 💬

If Killer are interrest by Cross’ blood and Souls, did he’s interrest by Cross’ unique soul ? 💬

If Nightmare's an ice-cream flavour, what would he be? 💬

What do you think is Killer's favourite ice cream flavour? •w• 💬

Something about Killer is actually scary to me 💬

His fire burned out a long time ago 💬

Golden flower tea 💬

Wait, I'm sorry but in the comic where Killer almost cuts someone's eye out, is that Color or Nightmare? 💬

the short kings go for the kneecaps 💬

Hey, do you think it'd be funny if Killer and Nightmare gossiped about other people together? 💬

nah i can't belive killers just resting his head on nightmares lap like that while nightmare pets him 💬

If Nightmare knew about every spectrum he was on 💬

they, for no particular reason, are wearing cat ears

Cat coded Cross 💬

What is your opinion of Killer with freckles

Silat Sans

I think Toga and Ochako are very Colourkiller

Soriel

I was wondering if there were any nightmare ships you like? Romantically or Platoniclly 💬

Killer costume change

What do we think of apple twins being able to do photosynthesis because their mother is a tree💬

either think THEY'RE the taller twin and that's what they tell everyone

What do you think everyone smells like? Especially killer? 💬

do you think NM could grow or make shift wings out of his tendrils or goop?

Killer and lil Paps

Human Nightmare and Dream

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 4: Semi-Charmed Life]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, veterinary medicine, delicious Thanksgiving nomz, ANGST and let me repeat that last one in case you missed it ANGSTTTTTTTTT!!!

Word count: 5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario​ @meadowofsinfulthoughts​ @ladylannisterxo​ @doingfondue​ @tclegane​ @quartzs-posts​ @liathelioness​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @thelittleswanao3​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @b1gb3anz​ @hinata7346​ @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ @eddies-bat-tattoos​ @minttea07​​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Here’s the thing about the Ice Fisher: he doesn’t have a type. Ted Bundy liked girls and young women. John Wayne Gacy liked boys and young men. Juan Corona liked farm laborers, Belle Gunness liked suitors who answered the marriage ads she placed in Chicago newspapers, Robert Hansen liked sex workers who he would set loose in the Alaskan wilderness and then hunt down with his Ruger Mini-14. Everyone has their preferences. But not the Ice Fisher.

The first victim was a burly mid-fifties logger and recreational hunter named Josiah Wolfenstein. The second was nineteen-year-old college student Tammy Miller; she was from Sitka and studying psychology, a choice that now strikes you as ironic. The third and most recent victim was Carol Philips: forty-three, Garth Brooks superfan, amateur baker, and beloved soccer mom. They have nothing in common except for their manner of death. They reveal no pattern. They shed no light on who the Ice Fisher is targeting, and conversely who can consider themselves safe. Everyone is a potential victim. And there is no such thing as safe.

In between veterinary appointments, you watch the local news coverage on the grainy tv in the clinic lobby, your arms crossed instinctively over your chest, your face grim.

“You want some bear mace?” Jennifer says, showing you a small black cannister attached to a keychain. “My boyfriend buys a new one for me every time someone gets murdered, so now I have extra.”

You take it tentatively. “Bear mace?”

“Yeah, but it works on people too. It has a 30-foot range. You can spray that Greek guy with it.”

You laugh and clip the bear mace to your purse: a Coach patchwork saddle bag that your parents bought you a few Christmases ago. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chief of Police Eugene Baker, a high school classmate of your parents, is holding a press conference on the television screen. “We believe this killer to be an adult male with considerable physical strength and knowledge of the outdoors. While the first two victims were found in Dredge Lake, Ms. Philips’ remains were recovered from nearby Crystal Lake, complicating the investigation. Police are patrolling the Tongass National Forest, but we simply do not have the manpower to surveille all Juneau-area lakes at all times. We therefore will continue to ask for the public’s cooperation in submitting tips and identifying possible suspects. To this end, we have set up an anonymous 24/7 hotline staffed by volunteers; the phone number is displayed at the bottom of your screen. We advise all Juneau residents to stay vigilant, particularly around strangers, and avoid leaving their homes alone after dark…”

Outside in the violet-and-amber afternoon light, there is the sound of tires slipping on ice. Aegon’s 1985 Chevy Nova drifts sideways into a parking spot; or, rather, into a position improbably straddling three separate parking spots. He and Sunfyre exit the vehicle.

“Oh, great,” Jen grumbles. She hides behind the reception desk so she won’t have to interact with Aegon. She busies herself with cutting pieces of paper into snowflakes, impaling them with paperclips, and arranging them on the miniature Christmas tree that you obtained for the clinic.

“Hey!” Aegon announces merrily as he breezes inside. He is dressed in his light-wash Levis, black Converses, and an oversized pale green sweater with holes in it; the white of the T-shirt he has on underneath shines through the gaps like stars. Overtop he has thrown the black parka you gave him, unzipped and peppered with melting snowflakes. Half of his hair is pulled back in a messy bun. Sunfyre—still wearing his cone of shame—trots along beside him, unleashed.

“Hey,” you return, smiling. “You’re early.”

“We weren’t catching anything, there was an orca pod in the bay this morning and it scared most of the fish off. So we docked the boat after lunch.” His spots the new addition to your purse. “What’s up with that?”

“It’s bear mace. For bears…or serial killers…or you. I haven’t decided which yet. What’s up with your hair?”

“It’s a man bun,” he says, somewhat defensive. “They’re very popular in Southern California.”

“That sounds fictional.”

“I’ll have you know that in the acclaimed feature film Mulan, love interest and all-around badass General Li Shang had a man bun.”

“Literally fictional.”

“Are you going to take the stitches out of my dog’s face or are you just going to mercilessly bully me? I’m very sensitive, you know. As an Aquarius, I hide this beneath a thin veneer of rebellious behavior and inability to commit, but at my heart I am a profoundly fragile man. I’m forever just a few seconds away from disaster. I’m a Christmas ornament in the unsteady hands of a five-year-old high on the jittery, saccharine rush of Kool-Aid.”

“Tropical Punch?”

“Cherry. But knowing you, every cup would have to be a brand new flavor.”

You’re still smiling; you haven’t stopped since he walked in. Aegon smiles back. Jen peeks over the top of the reception desk with wide, curious eyes. Sunfyre whines and scratches at his cone, as if to remind everyone about the true purpose of this visit.

“Bring the beast,” you say, leading Aegon back into the exam room. He scoops up Sunfyre with a grunt and places him on top of the table; the dog’s nails click against the cool, reflective metal surface. You liberate Sunfyre from his cone, then numb his muzzle with lidocaine and remove the stitches one at a time, snipping them with surgical scissors and then pulling them out of the flesh with tweezers. Aegon watches you with his hands in his parka pockets, his expression strangely vacant.

“He’ll have a scar, won’t he?”

“Yes, a small one. But that will just make him more rugged and attractive to all the lady-dogs. Or gentleman-dogs, whatever Sunfyre is into.”

“A scar on his face,” Aegon murmurs, then shakes his pensiveness away. “What should I bring to Thanksgiving?”

“Probably nothing. I think my parents have it covered…the appetizers, the dinner, the desserts…and also, you do not strike me as someone who cooks.”

“Yeah, I eat a lot of Lunchables. But I feel like I should bring something.”

Your eyes flick to his, playful. “Are you worried about making a good first impression?”

Aegon smirks, shrugs, says nothing. Sometimes you make an appearance at Ursa Minor, sometimes you don’t; sometimes you pick up when he calls, sometimes you end up spending hours in his apartment watching the X-Files or Law & Order or 60 Minutes. Other times, you fill your time with work, family, friends, flipping through the tower of travel magazines you have stacked beside your bed. It’s not that you’re ignoring Aegon. It’s that you’re trying to figure out what being with him would be like: what you would gain, what it would cost. He hasn’t tried to touch you since that night under the Northern Lights. You haven’t tried to pry into his many mysteries. But each unanswered question is like a landmine one careless step away from eruption, and they’re filling up that space that stays between you on his threadbare floral couch. At this precise moment, Aegon seems sober, which is highly unusual. There’s something quiet and boyish about him when he’s like this, something almost vulnerable. You can picture him wandering aimlessly through the Foodland, staring at mounds of Idaho potatoes and cans of gooey apple pie filling, having no idea what to do with any of it.

“My mom really likes flowers,” you say. “And obviously she doesn’t get to see them a lot this time of year. So if you want to bring something, bring flowers.”

“Okay. Deal.”

“No rum and Cokes today?” you ask, still removing stitches with sure, deft hands.

“Not yet. But I’m counting the seconds until we’re done here, believe me.”

You recall what he told you as you sat together in Ursa Minor under Christmas lights and strands of shimmering silver tinsel: I don’t do well when I’m sober. You pull out the last stitch and pet Sunfyre’s soft fluffy head. He pants happily, his tail thumping against the table, his trusting dark eyes gazing up at you, tiny starless universes. “Why did you buy the Nova if you’re almost always too drunk to drive it?”

“So I can take Sunfyre up to the woods on nice days. He loves the trails.”

“Um, I don’t think you should be hiking out there alone.”

“Relax. Killers never get the people who deserve it.” Aegon flashes you grin, digs around in his parka pocket, tosses you a gold key that you catch in fumbling, cupped palms. “Here.”

“What is this?”

“It’s a spare. Just in case you ever want to stop by and hang out with my dog. Or, you know. Me.”

You gawk at the key, at Aegon, back to the key. “You’re giving me a…? Why would…? How…?”

“Just so you know it’s an option,” Aegon says. He lifts Sunfyre down from the exam table and leaves like the sun at dusk.

~~~~~~~~~~

You love waking up at home on holiday mornings. There is the noise of clanging pots and pans, the scents of bacon and pancakes and rising Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, the sound of one of your dad’s rock albums spinning on the record player in the living room. Today, his Thanksgiving preparation background music is Third Eye Blind; you bound down the stairs as Semi-Charmed Life drifts through the house. After a swift breakfast—your mom has already set out a plate for you, along with a glass of ice-cold orange juice and a Flintstones multivitamin—the real work begins.

The turkey is slathered with butter and herbs and placed in the oven. The neck and giblets are boiled to make stock for gravy, and then you set them aside for Sunfyre. The rolls are baked, the potatoes are mashed, the yams are smothered with brown sugar and marshmallows, the green bean casserole is topped with French’s fried onions, the stuffing is Stove Top out of the box, the cranberry sauce retains the precise shape of the aluminum can it was jiggled out of. Once you and your dad have finished setting the table, you tell him you’re heading out to pick up the mysterious friend who will be joining you for dinner.

“Your friend doesn’t have a car?” your dad asks, not critical or suspicious, merely intrigued. You have been uncharacteristically cagey about this particular friend, and with good reason. You know practically nothing besides what your parents have already surmised: male, probably single, inopportunely sexy.

“No, he does. I just told him that I’d give him a ride.” In case he gets too hammered to drive himself home, which is almost a certainty.

“Okay, ladybug,” your dad says, folding the red cloth napkins into inelegant triangles, his scruffy grey eyebrows knitted together. “Whatever floats your boat.”

When you knock on Aegon’s apartment door, he appears dressed in his most festive attire: a blue Hawaiian shirt, black jeans, combat boots, a gold chain around his neck, his white-blond hair neat and mostly straight. He is holding a bouquet of roses that have been dyed a deep sapphire color, like the ocean, like biting winter cold.

“Wow,” you say. “You look like Leonardo DiCaprio in Romeo + Juliet.”

“I hope I get a happier ending.” He calls Sunfyre over. The golden retriever pads into view. He is wearing a meticulously groomed coat of fur and a blue bowtie to match Aegon’s shirt.

“Hey, buddy!” you squeal in delight, squatting down to scratch Sunfyre’s ears and cover his scarred muzzle with quick smacking kisses. “You are going to be so psyched when you see what we have for you. There’s a nice turkey neck…and a heart, and a liver…and a delicious gizzard…and maybe even some nice juicy kidneys…and I’ll slice it up all up for you into easily chewable little bites…”

“Calm down, Appletini,” Aegon says, grabbing his parka. “You wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re the Ice Fisher.”

Back at your parents’ house, your mom and dad dash to the door to meet your enigmatic friend, clamoring like teenage girls at an Enrique Iglesias concert. Aegon beams and shakes their hands, thanking them graciously for the invitation. Your dad shoots you a furtive grin: This friend IS sexy! Sunfyre presents himself for pats and high-pitched coos of adoration.

“I’m Vince, and this is my wife Debbie,” your dad says. “But you can call us Mom and Dad, that’ll make things less confusing. That’s what most of my daughter’s friends do.”

“That is so totally cool of you. I’m Aegon.”

“Aegon?!” your mom blurts out before she can stop herself.

He sighs. “It’s Greek.”

“Oh, how exotic!” she recovers tactfully, then gasps when he hands her the bouquet. “For me?!”

“It’s the absolute least I could do. I hope you like roses. The options at the Foodland were roses, roses, or…let me think…oh yeah, more roses.”

“They’re lovely,” your mom purrs. “And such a unique color!”

“They reminded me of Alaska, all the ocean, and ice, and big open sky…and also Appletini. Because I always give her the blue mug.”

Your parents blink at him, confounded. “…Appletini?” your dad ventures, smiling.

“It’s a long story,” you say, suddenly shy.

“Well, come on in,” your mom courteously deflects. “There are deviled eggs, salmon dip, Ritz crackers, and pigs in a blanket just waiting to be eaten.”

As your mom and dad bang around the kitchen putting the final touches on dinner, you and Aegon assemble your appetizer plates and loiter in the dining room, nibbling and chatting, bathed in the flickering golden light of the woodstove and humming along to the red Third Eye Blind vinyl that is still rotating on the record player like a bloody planet. There are three unopened bottles of wine on the table. Aegon keeps glancing at them, his eyes gleaming and famished.

“Would you like a tour of the house?” you say. “An authentic Alaskan house? Come March you’ll probably never have this opportunity again. You’ll be jet-setting off to some other far-flung destination, probably somewhere warm where they have plentiful Taco Bells and internet.”

“I’m not a fan of the internet,” Aegon replies, piling a Ritz cracker worryingly high with salmon dip. “But Taco Bells are a must. Yes, lead the way, oh wise and prophetic Madame Appletini.”

You show him the kitchen where your parents are laboring (floral wallpaper), the study (more floral wallpaper), the living room (wood paneling), and the backyard (adorned with a salt lick for the friendly neighborhood cow moose). Then you take Aegon upstairs to your bedroom. He ponders the details for a nerve-rackingly long time as he gnaws on slightly-too-crispy pigs in a blanket: your stack of travel magazines, your veterinary books, your dark blue bedding, the photographs taped to your mirror, the plethora of posters tacked to your walls.

Aegon speaks without looking at you, still investigating. “Has Trent ever gotten to enjoy your extensive collection of Ricky Martin posters?”

“Not yet. Preferably not ever.”

Now Aegon turns to you; he is smiling. “I feel so sorry for him.”

“Dinner’s ready, kids!” your dad shouts up the stairs, and you obediently report to the table to eat until you are in agony, which to your understanding is the primary objective of Thanksgiving.

“Drinks?” you mom inquires as she lights the tall red candles. The blue roses are in a vase at the center of the table. “There’s Tang, and Snapple, and water of course, and Pinot Noir. Martha Stewart says that’s the best wine to pair with turkey.”

“Wine, please,” Aegon says. She fills his glass. It vanishes almost immediately.

Aegon is the perfect guest: he samples everything and offers enthusiastic compliments, even when he is clearly horrified (as he is by the green bean casserole): “The turkey is so moist and flavorful!” “The yams are like dessert!” “It’s so fun to poke this cranberry sauce!” “My, what a creative use of cream of mushroom soup!” Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sunfyre feasts on a plate of turkey organs and a few slices of white meat. You have a glass of wine, and so does your dad; your mom has two; you lose count of Aegon’s glasses after four. He becomes increasingly uncoordinated, giggly, fogged like a window. Your parents do not encourage him to drink, but they don’t try to stop him either; they ignore his drunkenness like a ghost that stands in the corner of the room, silent, waiting, set ablaze by firelight.

“Do I detect a British accent?” your dad asks Aegon pleasantly. “So this must be a new experience for you. Did you grow up abroad?”

“I grew up everywhere.” Aegon smirks evasively, swigging his wine. “And yes, my exposure to Thanksgiving is extremely limited. But I like this. I like this a lot. I’m going to have to do it every year, wherever I am. Sunfyre will rebel if I don’t. He’ll call PETA to file a complaint.”

“You do quite a bit of travelling, I gather,” your mom says. She watches Aegon with an intense, mesmerized sort of interest. It’s almost unnerving. It’s like she is searching for something: fingerprints dusted at a crime scene, gold nuggets sifted from a river.

“All over. All the time.”

“What do you do for work?”

“Everything,” Aegon says. “Here I’m salmon trolling. In San Francisco I was a dockworker, in San Diego I was a lifeguard—you don’t want to know how little training it takes to be a custodian of human lives, it’s absolutely horrifying, they’d let a great white shark be a lifeguard if it looked good in red—in Phoenix I did construction, just outside of Denver I got a job working on a cattle ranch. In Dallas I picked cotton. In Portland, Maine I caught lobsters. I’ll try anything once. I just like to keep moving. As long as I can make enough money to have somewhere for me and Sunfyre to sleep at night, I’m happy.”

“You’re just like Jack Dawson in Titanic,” your mom sighs, smiling in a way that brightens her whole face. “All you need is the air in your lungs.”

“You work on the same boat as Heather’s brother Trent, is that right?” your dad asks.

“Oh, Trent!” your mom says. “He’s a hunk. He looks just like a long-haired Matt Damon.”

You squint at her. “Yeah, if Matt Damon did steroids.”

“He’s a nice boy, that Trent,” your dad says. “I mean, he won’t be winning Who Wants To Be A Millionaire anytime soon, but he’s solid.”

Your mom nods in agreement. “Dumb as a rock.”

“He’s a great guy,” Aegon says diplomatically. “Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless that fly was a salmon.” He laughs overly-loudly, sloshing red wine out of his glass and staining the tablecloth like blood on snow. Your parents pretend not to notice.

After dinner, your mom brings out dessert: one pumpkin pie, one apple pie, one plate full of Tongass Forest Cookies. Aegon samples both pies and gobbles cookies until his Hawaiian shirt is littered with crumbs, washing them down with more wine. Then he gets up to pull on his parka and let Sunfyre outside. Aegon lurches as he moves, clutching walls and counters and the backs of chairs.

“I’ll go with you,” your mom offers before you can. She helps Aegon down the icy porch steps and then plays with Sunfyre in the backyard: chasing him through the snow, throwing sticks for him to fetch, tossing snowballs for him to snap between his jaws. Aegon, wobbly but in good spirits, participates as much as he can. And the way that your mom looks at him…it’s an expression you can’t recall ever seeing on her face before. It is fascination and fondness and grief all tangled up together. The light in her eyes is beautiful; it is also breathtakingly sad.

Your dad taps one of the empty wine bottles. “He’s got a problem, ladybug.”

“I know.”

“You can’t fix that for him. He has to want to fix himself.”

“I know,” you say again, your voice a brittle whisper.

Your dad sighs deeply and clasps his hands together, stares out the window, contemplates something heavy and unseen. At last, he speaks. “I’ve loved your mother my whole life. And when she and Jesse got together, I thought it was going to kill me. It wasn’t the fact that she was with another man. It was what he put her through. There were fights, there were bruises, and then there were promises and apologies, past-due bills and handmade birthday cakes, locked doors, open doors, kicked down doors. I couldn’t get her to leave him, and I couldn’t watch it keep happening. I tried everything to get away from your mother. I joined the goddamn Marines to get away from her. Four years in Vietnam and I still couldn’t sweat her out. I came back to Juneau and used my G.I. Bill to go to the University of Alaska, and…I would never admit this to anyone except you, but you need to hear it…I waited for that marriage to fall apart. And it did, but it took Jesse drowning in the Gastineau Channel.” He looks at you with miserable, glistening eyes. “Watching the way your mother suffered with a man like that was hell. Watching you go through the same thing would be unbearable.”

There is silence: a silence as thick and perilous as the ocean. Your dad studies you, searching for understanding, for a rational consensus to be reached. You study the lines in your palms. There is nothing rational about what you’re feeling. Alaska is flush with eligible men who are not temporary, not secretive, not unrepentant alcoholics: pilots, truckers, fishermen, loggers, oil riggers, scientific researchers, park rangers. You don’t want any of them. You’ve never wanted anything the way you want Aegon. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

The back door opens, and your mom and Sunfyre—elated and covered in snow—romp into the house. Your mom is giggling as she grabs a dishtowel from the kitchen and begins to clean the snow from Sunfyre’s fur. “You might want to…uh…retrieve Aegon,” she tells you. “It’s pretty cold out there.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Making snow angels.”

“Oh. Great.” You put on your own parka and head out into the afternoon twilight.

“Hey,” Aegon says from where he’s sprawled on the ground. He’s sweeping his arms and legs back and forth as stars rise in the sky.

“Hey. Are you having fun down there?”

“Yes.” His breath is a cloud in the frigid air. His arms and legs go still. “I love feeling small like this. Nothing matters. Not our pasts, not our accomplishments, not our mistakes. We’re all just bones with memories. We’re all just future space dust.”

“You don’t want to be remembered?”

“God no. What would be worth remembering? I want to be a whisper. I want to be the wind that blows over the ocean.” He cranes his neck to look up at you, thoughtful in that glazed, drunken sort of way. “You can remember me, I guess. I’ll allow that. But only you. No one else.”

“Assuming I outlive you.”

“You will obviously outlive me.” He holds his arms up in the air and you pull him to his feet.

“I think it’s time for you and Sunfyre to go home.”

“Oh no.” His face is filled with abrupt realization. “Do your parents hate me?”

“No, they like you. They like you a lot. They’re just worried about you.” And they’d be a lot more worried if they knew about the track marks on your arms or the fact that you can’t stay in one place longer than six months without being descended upon by maybe-metaphorical ghosts.

Aegon laughs wildly, almost hysterically. He reaches for your shoulder to steady himself and then stops short. He sways in the late-November air, his hair dripping from the snow, his hazy blue eyes all over you. You tuck his ever-errant lock of hair behind his ear. I love him, you think helplessly, like when you know you’re dreaming but can’t wake up. “Worried about me,” he muses without elaborating. “Worried about me.”

Your parents send Aegon home with warm hugs and Tupperware containers full of leftovers, including extra turkey meat for Sunfyre and a truly ludicrous helping of cookies. You drive to Aegon’s apartment building slowly so Sunfyre can stick his head out the back window and bark gleefully at every car you pass. It is dark when you get there, the sunset come and gone, the constellations visible in a rare clear sky: Gemini, Orion, Draco, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor. Your Jeep idles under the lusterless beam of a streetlight.

Aegon asks, a ghost of a smile on his lips: “You want to come upstairs with me?”

“Yes,” you reply. And if you do, you won’t leave until morning. “But not until I’ve talked to you about something first.”

“It’s important,” Aegon says softly, not a question but an observation, reading your face like a weather forecast: chance of sun, chance of storms.

“Yes, it’s important.”

“Okay. Let me take Sunfyre inside and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t kiss you goodbye, he doesn’t even hug you. He reaches out with one hand and dusts his calloused thumbprint across your cheekbone, marveling at you like you’re a radiant horizon, like you’re ancient ruins: cave paintings older than the pyramids, pillars of stones and secrets. Then he gets out of the Jeep and staggers into the apartment building with Sunfyre scampering along beside him. He reappears moments later, his hands buried in the pockets of his parka. You were too anxious to wait in the Jeep; you pace back and forth beneath the dim ochre streetlight. Aegon watches you from several yards away, waiting for you to begin.

“Look,” you say. “I like you.”

“Cool.”

“No, I mean, I really like you.”

He smiles like the sun, like the Northern Lights. “So you are applying to be my Juneau girl.”

“Yes. But I need something from you first.”

His blue eyes are calm beneath the streetlight, beneath the starlight. “Name it.”

“I need you to get help.”

Aegon shakes his head, not understanding, his smile slowly dying. His lock of bone-white hair cuts his cheek in half like a scar. “What are you talking about?”

“You can go to rehab. I’ll help you find a program, I’ll take care of Sunfyre while you’re away.”

Everything about him changes, like the phases of the moon: his face darkens, his eyes go steely and sharp, everything you love about him is eclipsed. “I don’t need rehab.”

“Aegon, you obviously need rehab.”

He glares at you with savage distrust, with betrayal.

“I need you to get yourself together,” you plead. “I want to be with you, I want to let myself care about you, but I can’t do that when you’re killing yourself right in front of me.”

“I don’t see how it affects you.”

“It does. It will.”

“I’m a lot better now than I was two years ago.”

“It’s not good enough, Aegon.”

He looks down at his combat boots, then back at you. You barely recognize him. “So I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not what I said—”

“It’s what you meant, it’s what this whole fucking conversation is about, right?” he flares. “You not being satisfied with the kind of person I am. You thinking that you get any say at all in who I am. Are you delusional, are you that goddamn narcissistic? Have you staked some claim to me that I’m unaware of? Are you Christopher Columbus here to strip me bare and claim you discovered me?”

“Are you listening to me?! I’m trying to tell you that I l—”

“No, you don’t like me. You like some hypothetical version of me that you’re trying to convince yourself exists.”

You stare at him in heartbroken disbelief. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help.”

“But I thought…if you would just…we could…”

“When the fuck did I ever promise you a future?” Aegon flings like a blade. “When did I ever promise you anything? You think I showed up here to build you some cabin on the side of a mountain, get a desk job, give you Christmases and kids? That’s not me. That’s never going to be me. I’m not yours to use. I’m not a Ricky Martin poster to keep tacked up on your wall. I’m not the impetus to bail you out of your spineless, unfulfilling life.”

“Please stop.” Your throat is burning; there are hot tears slithering from your eyes. The icy wind stings against your face. “Please just stop.”

“I’m not the one who fucked this up,” Aegon hisses. “It was you, it was you, because I told you the truth but you refused to believe it. I’m not yours and I never was and I’m never going to be, so you better get that through your thick fucking skull. I’m not yours.”

“And why would I want someone like you?!” you scream into the darkness. He flinches away like you’ve hit him. His eyes are huge and glassy. “An alcoholic, an addict, a coward who runs away from anything worth living for? I’d rather die than waste my life on you. Wait, my mistake, waste the next four months on you, because then you’ll be fleeing to go terrorize some other girl in some other city. I don’t want you. I can’t wait to forget you.”

“Then go!” Aegon roars over his shoulder as he turns away. “Just fucking go!” He storms off into his apartment building; he disappears like the end of summer, leaving a jet-black endless void.

You retreat back into your Jeep, slam the door, and sit there under the silver-cold moonlight sobbing into empty, trembling hands.

[macravishedbymactavish]

Someone to You (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader mostly Platonic)

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2019 / 2022 Masterlist |

Kyle comforts you after you get stood up on a date

TW for some light angst, being stood up, swearing

“You look amazing.” Kyle commented from his spot on your bed. Taking in your outfit as you smiled at him from in the mirror.

“Hope so, I'm nervous. I need this to go well.” You sighed, rubbing your palms over your thighs as you turned to face your best friend. Wiggling your shoulders as he chuckled, standing up and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Leading you toward the front foyer.

“Now, if you need anything, you give good ol’ Kyle a call. A ride, an escape, an alibi, or a pep talk. I'm a phone call away.” He explained, releasing you momentarily so you could put your shoes and jacket on. “You look drop dead gorgeous. Nothing to worry about.”

Smiling widely, you pulled the man into a tight hug. Thanking him before walking out the door, hands shaking as you walked to the restaurant. 

Tears poured down your cheeks as you walked home. Shoulders slumped forward as you wiped your face, inhaling deeply to keep from sobbing. 

You felt like a fool.

Silently stepping through the threshold, you heard Kyle laughing in the otherwise silent livingroom. Signaling that he was playing online with his friends.

“One sec, mates. Gotta see how date night went, I'll be back on shortly.” You grimaced at his words, squeezing your eyes closed as you slumped on the couch beside him. “So, when are you and Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome going out again?”

Kyle's demeanor shifted when he saw the tracks of tears covering your cheeks. Shoulders now tense as a frown pulled on his mouth.

“What happened?” He asked bluntly. Waiting quietly as you shook your head, sniffling as you finally made eye contact.

“He was so handsome and charming when we met.” You sniffled, shaking your head as your frown deepened. “I just don't know what I did wrong. He didn't even show up tonight.”

You felt the couch beside your shift, as your best friend was now up. Walking into the kitchen with heavy foot falls. Leaving you to cry on the couch, wondering why you just couldn't find a romantic connection with anyone. 

Kyle returned a moment later, placing a large bowl of ice cream on the table in front of you before returning to his seat. Both of you eating in silence for a minute before he spoke up.

“You know what, fuck that. Charming is overrated. You know who was charming? Ted Bundy.” Kyle scoffed, flicking his spoon.

“Ted Bundy is a whole ass serial killer. If you ask me, you dodged a bullet.” He continued, shifting so his body was facing you.

“Kyle!�� You snorted, wiping your cheeks once more as he stood. Bowl disregarded on the table as he began pacing the room.

“What vehicle does he drive?” The man asked, laughing after a second when you didn't answer. Too busy giggling and wiping your cheeks on the couch. “Really, what vehicle?”

“Does it matter?” You asked, voice distorted by your laughter. Stomach and cheeks both aching as he slammed his hands flat on the coffee table.

“Yes! It matters!” Kyle, holding back his own laughter now stared at you. Leaned over the table as he kept his expression serious.

Clearing his throat, he looked at you. The tactical stare as you once called it. “Now, we need to know what vehicle he drives. If it's a Volkswagen, we have a copy cat killer on the loose.”

A beat of silence passed between you two, before both of you broke into laughter.

“Kyle! That's horrible.” Fresh tears still poured down your cheeks, long forgotten now as your best friend continued to tease.

“Killing people is horrible!” He yelled back, “you dodging a bullet with Mr. Fred BundtPan isn't though. “

He watched as you fell back into the cushions, shoulders shaking with laughter. Silently, he once again made his way over to where you sat once the shaking transitioned from laughter to pain.

“I really liked him, he seemed like such a good guy.” You whispered, wiping your cheeks once more as you played the embarrassment of sitting alone at the resturaunt over in your head.

“I know. He's a daft cunt for giving you up.” Kyle whispered, pulling you into his side as he rested his cheek atop your head. Listening to you pour all your emotions out, not once letting you go.

“At least I didn't get murdered by Fred Bundtpan.” You whispered toward the end of the night. Now leaning fully against your best friend as grogginess overtook your mind.

“That's very true. Fuck Fred Bundtpan.” Kyle nodded, thumb rubbing circles in your forearm as you sleepily echoed the end of his sentence. A smile tugging at the corners of his lips when you fell asleep against him. 

“Fuck Mr. Bundtpan indeed.” Kyle whispered into the dark. Wondering how mindless a man would have to be to give you of all people up.

A mistake he wouldn't be caught dead doing.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[slasherbat]

Bunch of random Richie headcanon's because I love him, and been thinking about him since I watched NPMD.

(Also projecting a bit)

• Transgender and uses He/They pronouns, but doesn't mind Xe/Xem

• Panromantic and Demisexual

• Horror enthusiast, that man loves sci-fi horror films and slashers. Especially 80s ones, Aliens is his favorite film franchise.

• 100% a fan of metalcore also, his top artist would be Bring Me The Horizon (Drove Paul & Emma mad with how much he looped Kingslayer by BMTH & Babymetal)

• Also a fan of Ice Nine Kills (He will force Grace to listen to the Orchestrated version of Welcome To Horrorwood, and is delighted when she likes The Shower Scene)

• His music taste also includes, but isn't final to: The Killers (Emma got him into it) Ghost and Pals, Sidewalks and Skeletons. He has a very interesting music taste, it's kinda all over, but he likes what he likes.

• DOG PERSON, he wants one so bad, and would name it after one of his favorite characters from an Anime 100%

• He's got a really shitty Attack On Titan Stick and Poke on his leg

• Paul got him his first binder for his 16th birthday and he cried while he was telling him how to bind safely.

• He's been best friends with Ruth since 2nd grade, Pete since 7th.

• He cannot drive, or be trusted behind the wheel of any vehicle (especially Golf Carts)

• He also can't swim, and has an incredibly big fear of large bodies of water of any kind, and the beach is a huge sensory overload. He despises sand with every fiber in his soul.

• Cannot stand Coffee at all, even the smell makes him feel like he's suffocating. Absolutely suffering in the mornings while getting ready for school.

• He's got a scar on his right leg from when he crashed a Golf Cart. The first thing he said to Emma when she showed up was that they matched now.

• Richie has trouble sleeping at night, and falling asleep, so sometimes he'll just dye his hair during the all-nighters. If he's not trying to do that, he'll binge watch some of the shows on his watch list.

• Ruth will paint his nails a new color like every day during lunch or when they are hiding in gym class. It calms Ruth down when she's stressed, giving her something to focus on, and Richie likes having his nails painted since he's horrible at it himself.

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

ICE cars are dying FAST! But the ENTIRE FLEET of 2.5B cars are about to be disrupted!

BestInTESLA

[half-oz-eddie]

The Widowmaker (Serial Killer! Billy Hargrove)

Warning for slightly graphic content

They call him the Widowmaker. He only kills a very specific demographic. Remarried fathers, particularly over the age of 30. He has traveled to 15 different states, and killed over 20 different men, leaving wives without husbands, turning them all into widows. He usually spends a few weeks in each town, stalking his mark, before killing them all the exact same way.

He strangled them with a belt. The same belt his father used to beat him with. Then he carves PUSSY across their forehead with his earring.

He never stays in any of the towns long, and always does all of his transactions with a fake ID. He could be John from Kansas, Andrew from Colorado, Brian from Maine, but he was never Billy. Billy was left behind in California a long time ago. His father had beaten Billy out of him.

He thought he was never going to be Billy again. Only The Widowmaker. He got a thrill from destroying families. Sometimes he’d spy on the child that clung to the stepmother, or their real mother, proud of himself for doing what he thought was saving a child from a broken family.

Billy enjoyed listening to stories about his killings on the radio, and warning fathers still happily married to the mothers of their children to “watch out, there’s a psycho on the loose.” They would thank him, and tell John, or Dave, or Adam to drive safely.

When Billy was passing through Indiana, there was a terrible storm. The storm caused him to lose control of his vehicle and hit a tree in the outskirts of a small town.

This tree was part of someone’s property. The property owner quickly came to his aid, helping him out of his vehicle, and into their house.

Billy didn’t like to be helped. He didn’t like to be worried about, but passing through a small town will subject you to that tight-knit sense of community. This man brought him, a stranger, a killer, into his home, offered him ice and bandages, and even a cup of coffee.

“We only have one mechanic in town, so you’ll need somewhere to stay until your car’s fixed. I have some extra beds here.”

“Thanks. You live here alone?”

“No. I have a son. His mom and I divorced and it’s my weekend to spend time with him.”

Steve was almost his type—almost. He hasn’t remarried, and he wasn’t 30 just yet. What was Billy going to do?

“You haven’t touched your coffee at all. You a beer guy, maybe?” Steve continued. “I’ve got a few cans in the fridge. Help yourself” he offered.

“Thanks.” Billy accepted.

“I’m Steve by the way. Steve Harrington.”

“You got a nice house here, Harrington. I’m—“

Who was he going to be? John? Adam? Mark? Dave? Pete?

“I’m Billy.” He shook his hand. “Billy Hargrove.”

He decided not to kill him after all.

Part 2 ->

[scrumpyfan43]

A weird trope I really like is Space Platforms

My working definition of a Space Platform is something that satisfies all of these criteria:

Artificial

Terrain (used primarily as a surface to stand and/or build on )

Suspended in space or high in the sky

Despite objective local gravity such that you could fall “down” off the side

Some things that are and aren’t Space Platforms

Stacraft’s Space Platform terrain, probably the purest example of it:

You walk on them, you build buildings on them, and there’s ice cream shops built into the walls (also they’re literally called space platforms):

Wube had planned on but eventually abandoned space platforms for Factorio that are very clearly inspired by Starcraft:

Gryphon Station in Tyrian has standing water and jungles exposed to the Space Air:

Motos I’m pretty sure explicitly refers to the environment as a series of space platforms; there’s no buildings (unless you count Nabicons) but the platforms are clearly artificial, they’re thin enough that the only thing you can do is stand (and jump) on them, and the objective of the game is to shove enemies off the platform and into the void:

Skyroads consists of driving and jumping a space car along treacherous space platforms:

Final Destination in Smash Bros.:

They seem to be a lot more common in games than in other media, but they’re out there. Most famously probably is The Jetsons:

The truck stop in Spaceballs is a fantastic space platform:

The Wander Over Yonder episode “The Box” has people milling about on space platforms (but contrast with “Duck Dodgers In The 24½th Century” later):

The ring city from Treasure Planet is a weird one because it’s the only one I’ve encountered that doesn’t have a uniform up and down, but unlike the rotating space stations it’s meant to evoke, you still experience objective gravity while standing on your ship next to it

And last, close to my heart is the floating platform “Cool Lightning” from the lost comic Monster Killers (which was heavily influenced by video games):

Now for some things that are not Space Platforms, even though they’re great in their own ways.

1) Floating Islands (they’re terrain, but not artificial terrain):

2) The RLS Legacy from Treasure Planet and other tall ships in space (vehicles, not terrain):

3) Buildings with lots of interior volume and no walkable surfaces, such as these buildings in The Jetsons:

and the Cloud City in Star Wars:

4) Artificial terrain that relies on centrifugal artificial gravity, such as Ringworld, the Halo Installations, O’Neill Cylinder, Stanford Torus, etc. These more or less obey real world physics and aren’t magically levitating, and while you could “fall off” one, you aren’t affected by gravity unless you’re standing on the surface:

And now for some borderline cases.

Neverhood. Hoborg constructed it, but does his divinity mean that it’s natural rather than artificial? Aesthetics are more “floating island” than “space platform” but the lore points the other way:

Death Egg and Doomsday Zones in Sonic & Knuckles. The interior seems to contain most of the important stuff, but Sonic spends most of the time running around on the exterior:

The walkways in Duck Dodgers In The 24½th Century. They’re very similar to the Wander Over Yonder platforms, but they’re not extensive enough that I’m happy calling them “terrain.” Space Balconies maybe.

[blindseer0]

Echo X Magic the Gathering: Colors, Themes, and Legendary Lands

Been busy so no new Echo analysis, but because I can't help myself, I've decided to combine two of my brain worms and make custom Echo MtG cards. To make things even more difficult for myself, I've decided to make a set of five commander decks, one for each Route character. That means a deck each for Carl, Leo, Jenna, TJ, and Flynn and because I love cycles, I've decided that each will be a different three-color shard/arc combination:

Carl

Colors: Black/Red/Green

Theme: Food and Treasure

Comments: Probably one of the more controversial character/color choices, I decided early that Carl fit most in Red/Green (being a stoned artist) and that as the rich heir of an Ice Cream company Treasure and Food tokens were a natural fit. Black might seem an odd choice, but it plays into the fact that you're sacrificing tokens and allows for the inclusion of everyone's "favorite" gay ghost serial killer.

Leo

Colors: Red/Green/White

Theme: Vehicles (?)

Comments: Like Carl, Leo wants to be Green/Red (and is definitely not Blue). While I think he could also be Black, I thought White was much more fitting for him and could lead to more interesting designs down the road. The theme is still in flux, but I like the thought that the mechanic does things with vehicles, so hopefully I can come up with some good designs.

Jenna

Colors: White/Blue/Black

Theme: Hand and Deck Manipulation (?)

Comments: Jenna is definitely core Blue, and while you could argue for including Red or Green, I think her repressing her feelings/trauma and rejection of her biological family/hometown lend themselves more to Esper. As a psych major, Jenna being able to know what the other players are doing just seems like the obvious route, but we'll see if there's enough fun design space there.

TJ

Colors: Green/White/Blue

Theme: Group Hug

Comments: TJ, obviously White, and going full Bant for him just makes sense. His whole route it about how he can't help but help, so Group Hug was the natural choice. This is the other theme I'm most sure of and the deck I have the most designs for.

Flynn

Colors: Blue/Black/Red

Theme: Investigation (?)

Comments: I don't think it's controversial to say Flynn is primarily Black, and as the character I most connect with, he gets my favorite color combination. His route is all about trying to find the truth of what happened to Sydney, so clues and investigation seem like the perfect fit.

Overall Comments: I tried multiple different types of color combinations, including wedges, four-colors, and a mix of wedges and shards, but ultimately the shards fit the most characters the best. Some of the themes are still up in the air, but I'm excited about what I have so far.

And lastly, actual cards; a cycle of legendary lands, one per deck (Everything, especially how much the abilities cost, is subject to change):

Hendricks Manor

Legendary Land

Tap: Add Colorless.

BG, Tap, Sacrifice a Creature: Create a treasure token.

Echo Trainyard

Legendary Land

Tap: Add Colorless.

RW, Tap: Exile the top card of your library. Until the end of turn you may play the exiled card.

Jasmine Street

Legendary Land

Tap: Add Colorless.

WB, Tap, Exile a card from your graveyard: Create a 1/1 colorless spirit creature token.

Lake Emma

Legendary Land

Tap: Add Colorless.

GU, Tap: Mill a card. If a land is milled this way you may put it onto the battlefield tapped.

Echo City Hall

Legendary Land

Tap: Add colorless.

UR, Tap: Investigate.

If you happen to share my combination of brain worms or just find this interesting let me know what you think. Would you have chosen different color combinations and/or themes? What do you think about the cycle of land? What would you like to see? (I'm continuing along this path regardless of if I get any responses because it's too late for me, but it would still be fun to hear what others think.)

[azure-firecracker]

X-Files Season 1: MVA Awards

So I’m aware that my most popular post on here is about Mulder and Scully not being the best agents in the world all the time (and I love them for it). That being said, they do have their moments, so I decided that every time I wrap up a season, I’ll be giving out MVA (most valuable agent-not motor vehicle accident) awards for each episode.

Since I basically only have 2 characters to choose from, this won’t be too surprising, but I thought it was important to acknowledge our agents’ good agent-ing.

Some of these choices will be obvious, some less so. Feel free to comment YOUR favorite MVA moments:) Awards and explanations under the cut.

Pilot: Mulder-For solving the entire case based on very little information (still don’t get how he figured it out), and for explaining UFO phenomena to Scully and, by extension, us.

Deep Throat: Scully-For taking the air base agent hostage and exchanging him for Mulder (this was iconic!)

Squeeze: Mulder-For figuring out all the supernatural weirdness (a trend across basically all episodes), and for saving Scully from Tooms.

Conduit: Honestly they weren’t doing too great this episode, but I’ll give it to Mulder for saving that kid from the motorcycles (he’s FAST).

The Jersey Devil: Scully-For bailing Mulder out of jail and for later scaring away the Jersey Devil before it could kill him.

Shadows: Honestly neither of them were doing anything in particular this episode. I guess I’ll give it to Mulder for helping find the evidence in the office.

Ghost in the Machine: Scully-For fighting her way out of the vent/fan death trap and rescuing Mulder from gunpoint.

Ice: Scully-For generally being the most levelheaded one there, and for figuring out how to neutralize the parasitic worms.

Space: Our agents didn’t do a ton in this one, so I’m going to give this MVA award to a one off character, Michelle-for basically running NASA Mission Control by herself for much of the episode, even when everything was going to shit (and after being in a car accident!)

Fallen Angel: Scully-For bailing Mulder out of jail (again), and for scrubbing in at the drop of a hat to help all of the burn victims.

Eve: Mulder-For realizing that their drinks were poisoned and for catching the twins.

Fire: Scully-For basically solving the entire case on her own while Mulder was…emotionally occupied, and for taking care of Mulder after he was fire traumatized in the middle (also for putting up with all of Phoebe’s shenanigans in a very professional manner).

Beyond the Sea: Scully (obviously), for protecting Mulder after he was shot, for striking up a potentially dangerous connection with Luther Lee Boggs, and for chasing the killer to his death. All while she was grieving her father, if you believe that.

Genderbender: Mulder-For saving Scully from the weird seductive gender transforming alien cult person (honestly the only scene in the episode where they didn’t massively fail at everything).

Lazarus: Mulder-For figuring out the body swap insanely fast, for successfully finding Scully when she was being held hostage, and for leading the charge into Lula’s apartment (it is her apartment right?)

Young at Heart: Mulder-For overcoming his trauma, shooting John Barnett, and saving the cello player.

E.B.E: Scully-For that great « the truth is out there, but so are lies » speech (this was another episode where our agents did not actually do many things).

Miracle Man: Another episode where not much was done, but I’ll give this one to Scully for her autopsy skills.

Shapes: Another one off character-this one goes to Sheriff Tskany for making sure Mulder and Scully got the information they needed, and for shooting the manitou and saving them both.

Darkness Falls: Mulder-For making his deal with Spinney, which was the only reason they all got as far out as they did and were able to be saved.

Tooms: Scully-For being simultaneously professional and snarky to FBI superiors, for keeping Mulder sane on his stakeout, and for pulling Mulder out of the escalator den just in time.

Born Again: Mulder-Once again, for figuring out all of the supernatural weirdness based on very little information and somehow getting everything right.

Roland: Scully-For getting through to Roland at the right time, and for being seemingly the only one to have any idea of how to interact with autistic people.

The Erlenmeyer Flask: Scully-For breaking into a government facility and risking her career (possibly her life) in order to steal evidence and save Mulder, and for being ready for anything during the bridge exchange. I’m convinced Mulder may have died on the bridge if she hadn’t been there.

Let me know if y’all like these, I’d love to keep doing them for season 2!