#THIS IS SO LONG IM SORRY BUT IT WAS IN LOVING MEMORY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

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Hiiii I’ve never requested anything on tumblr before but I love your EJ work so much I just had to! 💙🖤

Could you do a smut fic similar to peace offering and have the reader as a cannibal but is kind of more cocky about it? Like she thinks she’s as good if not better than Jack when it comes to that even though she’s a human. Also if you could make the reader like she came out of Texas chainsaw massacre that would also be epic. But for a storyline I’m open to anything, the more weird and feral the better! Cheers!

hiii!!! baby im so sorry this took so long. long story short, i wrote and rewrote it multiple times, and when i was finally happy with it and started the smut, i realized i didn't give her A CHAINSAW??? it's in the title bro. BUT ANYWAY HERE SHE IS LOL it's a beast, i hope you enjoy it and i hope it wasn't too extra for what you imagined :')

𝓓𝓸𝓵𝓵𝔂 (𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥!𝐅!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

BIG CW: where do i even start. VERY explicit mentions of violence, cannibalism, butchering, murder, gore; religious mentions, hallucinations and loss of memory, overall disturbing imagery. very dubcon hate sex (noncon if you read it with a magnifying glass), asphyxiation, violent and painful fr, fucking next to carcasses, little dialogue but degrading when it happens, idk what you'd call this but Jack forces meat into your mouth to shut you up?, also forced oral (f giving), orgasm denial — also reader is an arrogant cocky little shit

summary: you're the star of a southern family of cannibals, but uh-oh! you're too good, so you get kidnapped by a faceless cryptid, get your memory wiped and somehow, your god complex survives.

word count 11.5k

You were born into heat—thick, soupy, clinging heat that made your skin tacky before you could even walk. The kind that turned meat rancid in a day and made the flies come heavy. You knew the stench of rot before you ever knew perfume. It stuck to you like memories, no matter how hard you scrubbed.

That house, your family’s house, sat squat like a wound in the middle of nowhere—peeling clapboard, screen doors that whined like kicked dogs, sun-bleached and crusted with the filth of decades—choked by cornfields high as your shoulders and a forest that sat watching from far off, too dry to breathe, too dead to care. There were no neighbors, only travelers, and travelers didn’t last long.

Your family didn’t have a name for what you did. It wasn’t a cult. Wasn’t a tradition. Wasn’t some ancient ritual passed down through whispered Latin or scribbled symbols in books. It was just dinner. Just the way things were. You never questioned it. They were the food. You were the hunter. That’s the order of things. You knew it before you knew how to spell your name.

You mama called you her darlin’, your daddy called you the bait, and your brothers called you their lucky charm. Their sweet little thing, their pride, their angel. You were the face, the lure, the star. Your family handled the most, always. But you? You were the reason the food kept coming. And they praised you for it. Every time. Told you you were special. Chosen. That God had put you here to feed your bloodline, to keep the family strong. And you believed it. Why wouldn’t you?

You learned the weight of a cleaver before your hands could hold it right. You could slip skin from muscle with a flick of your wrist and a hum on your lips, peeling it back like wet parchment while flies buzzed thick around your braids. Your daddy showed you, patient and proud, guiding your little hand with his own—weathered and sticky with blood—through the fatty thigh of a man who’d screamed until his voice split.

"Gentle, now. Let the knife do the work, baby girl," he'd said, and you hummed while you worked, lips sticky with syrupy red. You’d make shapes in the sinew. Hearts. Stars. Sometimes you gave them names and talked to them while you cleaned them up, like dolls. You always had a tender touch for the dead.

Mama’d dress you up real nice—denim cutoffs, soft plaid tied at the belly, cheeks pinched pink and pretty. You had that Southern sweetness, that drawl that sounded like an invitation regardless of what you said. You’d sit out on the porch swing, cicadas screeching like rusty hinges all around, a pitcher of sweet tea beading with sweat at your elbow. Waiting.

“You’re real good at this, baby,” your mama would coo, running blood-wet fingers through your hair like it was a blessing. “Ain’t nobody bring in the meat like you.” And Lord, could you bring it in.

You got older. Sharper. Meaner. But you never lost that shine, that charm. You had a smile that melted asphalt, lips always painted red like roadkill, a voice like honeysuckle and smoke. The kind that made you feel safe even when the hair on your neck stood up. When they passed by—lost souls, truckers, drifters—you lit up like Sunday morning, looking every bit like salvation, inviting them in for cornbread and meatloaf. Telling them they could rest a spell, cool off from the heat. You watched their eyes soften, watched their guard fall, and you’d think: They don’t even know they’re already dead.

Other times you'd cruise real slow in your rusty, groaning pick-up, eyes trained to clock the thumbs up on the side of the road—sun-dazed hitchhikers that would inevitably trust the genuine sparkle in your eyes. Chatting it up the car while you drove a beeline off the highway and towards your slaughterhouse, saying you just need to pick up something from your place before heading for their destination.

“Won’t take but a minute, sugar. Just gotta grab somethin' from the house. Mama’s makin’ meatloaf. You’re welcome to stay for supper.”

They followed you right up that dusty drive with the smell of rotting meat already thick in their nose, but they never noticed. Not until the door closed behind them. Too wound up in the thought that this was the beginning of every porno they loved, buzzing on the possibility of getting a warm meal, a sweaty quickie and a ride home.

They never made it past supper.

They’d sit in the kitchen, drink sweet tea so strong it made their gums ache, eat meatloaf and cornbread and gravy thick as glue. You'd bat your lashes, laugh too loud, and the sound of it would almost cover the creak of the floorboards as your daddy snuck up behind them with a pipe in his fist. Almost.

And when they woke up, that’s when they met Dolly.

She was hanging there from her hook in the barn, humming with the memory of a hundred deaths, always crusted with the blood of the last dumb bastard who thought he’d get lucky.

You named her when you were thirteen. Called her Dolly because she sang when she worked. Because she was loud and mean and old as sin. Daddy gave her to you like a wedding gift, all proud and reverent, like he was passing down the family Bible.

You cleaned her every night. Talked to her. Told her secrets. Rubbed the oil into her teeth with a lover’s care. Dolly wasn’t a tool. She was kin. She was yours.

And the moment she roared to life—when that engine kicked and the barn filled with that screaming, gasoline gospel—that was your church bell. That was your moment of worship.

They always woke up screaming. Always. Bound up in rope, mouth gagged with rags that smelled like old meat. The barn was dark, walls sweating heat, rafters hung with hooks and chain and the slow drip of old blood. You’d stand over them, Dolly purring in your grip, teeth glinting in the sliver of sun through the boards.

Sometimes they cried. Sometimes they begged. Sometimes they pissed themselves. It didn’t matter. You never flinched. You just smiled, revved her once, and the sound alone was a death sentence.

You’d swing Dolly down and let her kiss bone. Blood fountained up like a prayer, slick and hot, painting your arms, your chest, your grin. Flesh peeled like bark. Bone cracked like dry twigs. You never aimed for pretty or careful. You were just putting down cattle.

You would sit at the table and pass mashed potatoes while their cooked flesh steamed on the platter, hands sticky with marrow and sin as they met your family's, saying grace with a sacred hush in your voice. "Father in Heaven, thank you for this food. Please bless Dolly to the nourishment of my family and guide her body to your service as you will. In Jesus name I pray, Amen."

And when it was done—when the blood soaked through the cracked earth outside the barn, and the dogs out back were licking it up like nectar—that’s when you'd go quiet. That was your favorite part. The hush after. The stillness. Just you and Dolly and the heat pressing down like God’s judgment.

You never saw it as evil. It was just life. Just survival. You were made for this. Built for it. Ain’t your fault the world was full of prey. It made you feel like a god. And maybe you were.

Somehow, somewhere along the routine, something started to change. It didn’t happen all at once. It crept in—like mildew in the walls or maggots in the meat. It started slow, a hiccup in the rhythm honed into your bones since childhood. First came the haze, thick and yellowed, like fat congealing in your skull.

You'd be carving, humming some old tune under your breath—something Mama used to sing when she made stew—and suddenly your hands would freeze, the knife halfway through tendon. Your eyes would go glassy. A pressure would build behind them, a high keening note that split your head open like a ripe melon. You’d stare at the meat on the table and swear it twitched. Like it was still alive. Like it was blaming you.

Then came the sounds. Wet squelching that wasn’t yours. Bones cracking from somewhere behind you when no one else was home. Screaming. Far-off at first—maybe a trapped coyote out in the fields, you told yourself—but then closer. Inside. Inside the house, inside the walls, inside you.

The hallucinations got cruel.

You'd whirl around in the barn and see the hooks swaying just a little too much. See the bodies that should’ve been still start to twitch and pull. Eyeless, jawless things, eviscerated and half eaten, ripping themselves free with sickening pops and tears, blackened fingers clawing at the air, slick with rot and rage. Their mouths opened in impossible angles, throats torn but still wailing—a wet, garbled shriek that filled your ears and slithered down your spine. Crawling, twitching, alive again, just to make you pay for what you did. What you loved doing.

One of the fresher ones lunged at you once—bloated belly splitting open mid-air to spill half-digested meat you fed him before your brother strangled him from behind, all across the floor—and you blacked out cold right there in the sawdust, piss-wet and trembling.

When you came to, your cheek was pressed to the ground, one side caked in dried blood that wasn’t yours. None of it was real, you knew that. Didn't you?

You started to get sloppy after that. Fucking up lures. Wrong cuts. You’d black out for minutes at a time, sometimes hours. Find yourself in places you didn’t remember walking to, hands coated in blood that wasn’t warm enough to be fresh. You started feeling watched, like something less than God was looming just out of sight, like an imposing spectre, waiting, assessing.

You stopped sleeping. Stopped eating. Everything tasted like rot. Every creak in the house made your heart jump into your throat. You thought maybe the devil was coming for you, but part of you didn’t mind. Part of you wanted to see if he’d praise you too.

You didn’t tell anyone, of course. Mama and daddy would’ve fixed it the old way—duct tape and a hammer until the thoughts stopped. You kept smiling, kept playing the part. But you were fraying.

It all came to a head one blistering summer day, the kind where the sun hangs like a dead thing in the sky, and the dirt cracks like bone under your feet. You woke up flat on your back in the field behind the barn, dry stalks rattling all around you, skin cooked red and hot. Your head felt like a wasps’ nest—buzzing, swollen, angry. You didn’t know what day it was. Didn’t even know your name for a minute. Just knew you were soaked to the skin, sweat or blood or both, and your jaw ached like you’d been screaming for hours.

Voices blurred in your ears. Cold slapped your face. You blinked up at sunburnt faces—your family, furious and frantic, splashing icy well water over your cheeks while your brother barked, “She let ‘em run, goddammit! We had—had 'em, and she lost it!”

The food had bolted. One of the hitchhikers—a skinny little thing with sunburnt arms and quick legs, barely enough to feed the lot of you—had run screaming into the fields. And the worst part? You hadn’t even noticed. You’d been out on your feet, blank as butcher paper, staring while he tore ass through the corn.

That’s when you heard it. Sirens. Real ones.

You’d never seen the law move so fast, not out here in God’s forgotten corner. Sirens rising in the wind like banshees. The sheriff’s car tore up that gravel drive faster than you could've prepared for, K-9s yelping, radios barking, boots pounding. It was like God decided to show up for once, and He brought a badge. Your mama screamed at you to run, but your legs didn’t wanna move.

Not until the first warning shot cracked the sky open. Your family scattered like roaches, and you bolted. Barefoot and ragged, tearing through the barn as a shortcut, past the flayed remains on hooks that didn’t even flinch this time—but not before your hand snapped out like instinct, like blood memory, and grabbed Dolly. Hung right on her peg by the door, rusted teeth still wet from last night’s supper.

Your fingers closed tight around her handle and you ran like the earth was coming apart beneath you. Out into the endless gold of the corn, the metal clanking of the shed doors echoing behind you like bells of judgment.

You ran until your lungs burned and bled into your mouth. Maybe it was from the effort, or maybe it was the rot inside you, the old meat you could still taste in the back of your throat. The stalks sliced into your skin as you crashed through them, hands out, eyes wild. The sun glared down so angry it felt like it was chewing through your scalp. You could hear the dogs behind you—barking, hungry. You swore you could feel their teeth on your ankles.

The corn gave way to the forest, and even the light seemed to die there. Trees like dry bones, reaching out, grabbing at your hair, your clothes. The ground cracked underfoot, brittle and dry, every step sending shockwaves through your skull. Dolly bounced at your side with every stomp, the weight of her a grim promise.

That’s when you noticed it. The static.

It wasn’t the radios. Wasn’t the dogs. Wasn’t the wind or the cicadas or the burn of your pulse in your ears. It was something else. A sharp, metallic screech like static from a busted TV, except it was inside your skull. Low at first, like a bad connection. But the further you ran, the louder it screamed. It wormed into your brain, burrowed behind your eyes, grinding against your teeth like gravel. Your balance gave out once, then twice. Your vision split down the middle. The trees started to hum as they grew thicker, the forest yawning open around you like a grave. Blood bubbled up in your throat, thick and bitter. You coughed, and it came up in ribbons, painting the dirt.

You stumbled into the shade, heaving and dizzy. Your ears screamed, the panicked pounding of your heart and the roaring static in your head a nauseating orchestra that blinded you. You tasted rust and rot. Felt wetness trickling down your neck from your ears, sticky and warm. You raised a shaking hand, smeared crimson across your fingertips right as your knees slammed into the ground. The last thing you felt was the heat of the sun leaving your skin, replaced by the cool touch of dry, cracked earth, before the world tilted sideways and got swallowed by shadow.

You had no idea what became of your family.

Whether they were dragged off kicking and hollering to rot in some high-security concrete tomb, or gunned down the second the cops laid eyes on the sun-bleached intestines hanging from the porch rafters like party streamers, never to be stuffed of minced meat for homemade sausages—you didn’t know.

You didn’t care. That whole world, that whole life, every blood-slicked summer afternoon spent in the back, feeding leftover fat or skin to the dogs, every bone-pile supper spent watching the faces of the people you were ingesting flash on the news, every praise-filled pat on the head and hissed warning under a bloody butcher’s breath—it was gone. Wiped.

Flushed into the deep, wet-black cracks of your memory, where even your own thoughts didn’t dare poke around too long.

Decades of ritual. Hundreds—hell, maybe thousands—of strangers with empty stomachs and full bladders, trailing dust and naivety through your front door. Their blood was burned into your nose, your throat, your skin. You could still feel the slick slide of raw tendon under your nails, the tremor of the chainsaw eating through bone, if you focused hard enough. But now? Now it was all buried beneath a thick, impenetrable fog. A swamp of forgetting. Of rewriting.

You couldn’t give a fuck even if you wanted to.

Nowadays, your mind was occupied by something much taller. Much quieter. Wrapped in a dark suit and a heavier presence—one that made your teeth feel loose and your spine ache like it remembered something your brain refused to translate. You spent your time in a rotting mansion deep in a stretch of nowhere, proving yourself to a creature that didn’t speak, didn’t blink, didn’t need to. One look—one twist of static in the air around him—and your guts curled like a dog showing its belly.

You didn’t remember the static from that day in the woods. Didn’t remember falling. Didn’t remember the way your body had gone limp or how something tall had watched from the edge of the treeline, invisible to your eyes but not to whatever still twitched beneath your skin.

But the static came back to you now. In waves. In pulses.

Sometimes it crackled in your ears at night, just under the cicadas and crickets. Sometimes it echoed in the corners of the mansion halls, where no footsteps should be. You caught flashes sometimes—split-second glimpses in the mirror, or in your plate, or in the blood painted on the chainsaw's blade right as it left your assignments. Faces. Fields. Screams. Hooks.

You didn’t ask questions.

Out of sight, out of mind.

The others here didn’t pry. Not really. You were the new one, sure. But something about you—about the way you smiled with that same corn-fed charisma as if the disfigured faces all around you didn't even phase you, about the way you cut meat like you were born with a boning knife in your hand—kept them quiet. Kept them curious.

And you were focused. On proving you belonged here. On ignoring the burning gaps in your past. On staying useful to something ancient and unknowable that hummed with electricity when it got too close.

Because deep down, you somehow knew. You weren’t dragged here. You were chosen. Right?

It wasn't long after making yourself known as a maneater that a name kept popping up again and again. Not many people around here talked for long, but when they did, his name always came up, followed by a change in temperature. Like it left frost on their teeth just to say it out loud.

Jack. No eyes, but always watching. Tall, quiet, moving like he’s part of the walls, like the shadows suck him in and spit him back out in different corners of the mansion.

They were warning you. Not in any outright way, but it was there.

They talked about him the same way folks used to whisper about monsters in the walls—like he was the thing people oughta fear in the dead of night, in the belly of the woods, in the hush between heartbeats. That still silence before a scream. THE cannibal around here. That’s how they said it. Like there was a fucking crown to wear. Like your years of blood-marinated living didn’t put you in the same weight class, if you could remember them.

One night, Jeff had told you that "you might wanna keep that shit quiet around here" when he walked in on you stuffing the ancient freezer in the kitchen with bags of meat slabs. You weren't stupid, you knew it was meant as a warning. And yet, all you heard was the treacly ring of a dare.

You didn’t say anything about it, not even when the mention of him started feeling like a ghost story told over and over with the same shaky flashlight under the chin. Chilling, sure. But you didn’t rattle so easy.

You played the part of the amused listener, lips curled and head cocked, never asking questions you didn’t need answered. You didn’t argue. But deep in your gut—down where instinct and pride still chewed on each other like dogs—you couldn’t help but smirk.

He had nothin’ on you.

You were the girl who could charm a man into gutting himself with a smile and a slice of pie. You didn’t need shadows and silence. You had Dolly.

It was cute, really. Like the others had conjured up a campfire monster to keep themselves entertained. Don’t go near the dark hallway, that’s Jack’s territory. Don’t bother him, don’t try anything. Don’t fucking stare. The usual superstition disguised as advice.

But eventually, the novelty wore off. You got tired of the little warnings they laced into conversation like it wasn’t obvious they were all just a little bit scared of their own housemate.

So when word came down that you’d been paired with him for a job, you thought that was just the perfect opportunity to see what the fuck all this fuss was about.

You didn’t bother waiting for the upcoming mission. That’d be too passive. Too obedient.

Late afternoon baked the walls of the mansion in gold and heat, dust floating lazy in the beams through warped windows as you strutted down the hall like you’d owned it since birth, dragging your fingers along the wall like a bored child, the ends of your smirk twitching like it could taste a challenge in the air.

His door sat at the far end of one of the hallways, quiet and colorless, wood grain faded to ash-gray like nothing wanted to stick to it. You rapped your knuckles against it—sharp, intentional. You crossed your arms and leaned your weight into one hip, smug and settled. You waited like you were entitled to be answered. Like he owed it to you just for having the gall to knock.

And when the door opened, all that smoke in your lungs twisted tight. Your smirk twitched.

He was taller than you expected—a lot taller. He had to duck a little just to clear the frame, and even hunched like that, he still looked like he could cast a shadow long enough to cover your entire goddamn body count. Broad like he was carved from raw stone, gray skin stretched over lean muscle, the kind of frame that made you feel human again just by comparison. But what got you—what rooted your boots to the damn floor—no eyes. Should've expected it, naturally, but it somehow slipped your mind.

Just two hollow sockets filled with something you couldn’t quite name—black, uneven, scarred tissue, as if the void itself had tried to fester in his skull and gotten stuck there. And still, they pinned you. Right to the floorboards.

But you didn’t flinch. You just grinned slow, tongue curled behind your teeth.

“Well fuck me sideways,” you drawled, voice syrupy with amusement, “guess the name came from somewhere, huh?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t tilt his head or shift or twitch like people usually do when they’re taken off guard. He just stood there, his entire presence like an open grave—still, silent, and full of something you didn’t want to look too hard at. His voice, when it came, was a low hum of disinterest. Cold. Dry. More formality than curiosity.

“Can I help you?”

God, that was it? No hiss, no looming shadow tricks, no growling threats or blood-curdling stares? The others had practically pissed themselves describing him. You half expected to be picked up by your throat and slammed into the wall. But all you got was calm.

Underwhelming.

You let your eyes drag over him, lazy, appraising. Like you were checking cuts of meat at a butcher’s. His arms looked strong. Veins coiled like roots beneath the surface. If he moved, you imagined it’d be slow and methodical, like some patient predator that never had to chase because the prey always came to him.

“Hm,” you hummed, tipping your chin. “So you’re the big bad shadow with teeth, huh? The one they keep whisperin’ about like a damn ghost story. I figured I’d come see for myself.”

He didn’t reply. Didn’t blink—couldn’t, you guessed—but the silence that followed felt heavier than a noose. You went on anyway.

“I just figured,” you said, casually flicking nonexistent dust from your shoulder, “if we’re gonna be rippin’ apart bodies together, might as well say howdy. You’re Jack, right?”

He gave a slight nod. Nothing more.

“They’ve been real poetic about you downstairs, y’know. Call you all kinds of names.” You let out a small laugh, dry and dismissive, rocking back on your heels as you gave him a look—half teasing, half challenge. “Can’t lie, I was kinda hopin’ for more teeth. Bit more snarl.” You tapped your chin, faux thoughtful. “Not complainin’, but all that talk? Feels like they’ve been talkin’ out their asses.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of reaction. Not a bite. Not even the courtesy of annoyance. You might as well have been talking to a statue.

So you smiled wider, letting the heat of your own pride seep through. Just a little.

“Maybe it’s time you think about retirement, old man. I’m here now. Meat-eatin’ business is in good hands.”

It was cocky. Downright disrespectful. You knew that. But you said it with a wink in your voice, like it was all in good fun—like you weren’t sizing him up just as much as he was you. Even if you couldn’t see it.

Jack just stood there, unmoving, unreadable, like a mountain that didn’t care what you screamed at its face. Watching you like a noise he was deciding whether or not to acknowledge. The silence stretched, bone-dry and drawn taut between the two of you.

Then finally, he spoke. Low, even, and colder than a blade left out in the dead of winter.

“If you need to announce your worth,” he said, voice flat as a sheet over a corpse, “it’s because no one’s seen it.”

His voice was smooth, not smug and final, like a scalpel against soft tissue. No emotion, no heat—just clinical dismissal. Just standing there like he was cataloging every fragile thread of your ego—and finding it… unremarkable.

The cockiness froze on your face like you were just whipped by something too real to make sense of right away. Bullshit, of course, wasn't it?

And before you could even open your mouth to snark something in return, he spoke again, so bored that you almost wished he beat the snot out of you instead.

"Next time you want to measure your cock against mine, do it somewhere where you can actually impress someone. See you at the mission."

Just like that. No venom in his voice. No snarl. Just ice cold water splashed in your sunburnt face, followed by the slightest nod that only came out of habit rather than a deliberate gesture of respect or goodbye.

And before your pride could even catch up to what just happened—the door clicked shut. No slam. No dramatic ending. Just a quiet, measured click that somehow echoed down the hallway like a dropped bullet casing.

You stood there, staring at it. Arms still crossed but now limp, jaw clenched so tight it started burning at the hinges.

Your ego stung. Not shattered—never shattered—but bruised like a peach left out in the sun too long. Because he hadn’t humiliated you. Hadn’t even tried to. He just... stripped the meat from your words and tossed the bones.

You turned on your heel with a muttered curse under your breath, that practiced smirk now twitching from the wrong side of your face. Heat flushed your skin. Not from embarrassment. No, not that.

From the slow, simmering burn of being dismissed. You didn’t even get the satisfaction of a good fight. You’d get him back for that. One way or another, that much was gospel.

And yet... You had been seething for days.

Not yelling, not pacing—but it burned in you anyway, deep and slow behind your ribs, the kind that made everything else feel sticky. Like Jack’s words were tar in your ears, repeating themselves in that bored, dispassionate drone.

He saw through you. Or worse—he didn’t see you at all. Just another loudmouth with blood on her hands and a chip on her shoulder.

You hadn’t slept since. Just laid in bed with your eyes open, sweat slick on your neck from the heat that never broke in this godforsaken place, thinking about every word he said. Thinking about how he didn’t even say them mean. He said them like he was reading off a grocery list. Like you weren’t worth the effort of tone.

So when the mission night came—Slender’s voice in your head, static clinging to the words like rot to meat, instructions bleeding through the fog—you were ready to prove Dolly's teeth were sharper than his.

The air outside the mansion was stifling and scratchy, moonlight filtered through a haze of pollen and heat like an old bulb dying out. The trees out here didn't rustle—they creaked, dry to the marrow, their leaves brittle and sickly yellow along the edges. The dirt road leading into the woods kicked up dust with every step, and somewhere far off, an owl called like it was mourning something.

Jack was already at the tree line, waiting. Silent and still, like something carved out of the dark.

You should’ve been behind him, chainsaw handle in your hands, waiting for his signal. That was the plan. He’d go first—quiet, invisible—scout the site, get them just where he needed them. Then you’d come in swinging. Loud. Messy. Ripping through screams and woodsmoke like thunder, while he tore into ribs and throats like a famished wolf breaking into a barn.

You should’ve felt the weight of it by now. The hum. That electric buzz up your arms, that promise of carnage curled up against your palms.

Instead, you were empty-handed.

You realized it halfway down the path. That the one thing—the only fucking thing—you were supposed to bring, the piece that would've proved you weren't just a child in a butcher's skin, was still sitting back in your room like a sleeping dog. Dolly. Your Dolly. The growling, howling son of a bitch you'd named and sharpened and carried like it meant something.

Forgotten.

You didn’t scream. Didn’t cuss. Didn’t turn back. Just kept walking. But the burn in your jaw from clenching too tight—that was real. The twitch in your brow. The way your footsteps hit the dirt too hard, too fast, like punishment.

You'd been too in your head, too hellbent on proving something, on making Jack eat his fucking words, you’d left the one thing that could’ve made your point loud enough.

Now, you were back to the role you’d been given by the Heavens, not the one your pride thirsted for. Play bait. Smile sweet. Talk slow. Let them think you’re lost and harmless and pretty enough to keep around. Long enough for Jack to sink his filthy, unworthy claws in.

It seemed easy enough—familiar enough. Like it had somehow been wired into your marrow, instinctual, natural. But it felt less than you. It tasted like surrender, and it tasted bitter.

The campsite glowed soft through the gaps in the trees, the air heavy with campfire smoke and burnt marshmallow sugar. Three of them. Two boys, one girl. Probably college-aged. Young enough to feel invincible, old enough to think they were clever for camping somewhere so isolated.

You stepped into the clearing like you'd always belonged there, face softening into something guiltless and trustworthy. No crunch of twigs, no heavy footfalls—just a sway of hips and a soft smile drawn across your face like honey on a blade.

“Evenin’, y’all,” you said, voice dipped in honey, that Southern lilt curling around the words like smoke. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Got a little turned around out here, you wouldn’t believe how easy it is to get lost in the dark.”

They turned, startled—but not defensive. Not yet.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” the girl asked. “Where’s your tent?”

You giggled. Giggled. Tilted your head and let your hair fall to one side like a trickle of molasses. “Oh sugar, I don’t have one. I was just passin’ through. Got dropped off a bit down the way, then my phone died and—well, y’know how it goes.”

They relaxed. Just like that.

You let them see you—dust on your legs, sheen of sweat on your collarbones, that subtle glint in your eyes that said not harmless, but not dangerous either. Just lost. Just a girl.

The fire crackled. Conversation swelled around you. They asked questions—where you were from, if you needed to use a phone, if you were hungry. You answered just vaguely enough to keep them wondering, but not so vague they got suspicious. You had them. Wrapped around your little pinkie.

And here you were. Drenched in moonlight. A rotten feeling bubbling in the back of your throat. No claws, no teeth. Just charm.

Your heart didn’t race—but your eyes did scan the tree line. Not looking for him, not looking for salvation. But a solution. A diversion. Anything to buy you time, anything to help you reach the finish line unaided.

You were still smiling, but your jaw had tightened.

It was subtle—just a flicker of tension at the hinge, a twitch of your lip that didn’t quite match the sugar in your voice. You crossed your legs, leaning forward like you were settling in for a chat, but your eyes kept straying to the dark behind the firelight. A little too often. A little too sharp.

“What’re you looking at?”

The question broke the air like a stick snapped underfoot. Not hostile. Not even wary yet. Just curious.

You blinked once, slow. Smoothed your palms against your thighs.

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” you said with that breathy, innocent lilt. “Thought I saw somethin’ movin’ out there, but… probably just a raccoon. Or a deer.”

You punctuated it with a soft laugh, a half-shrug, like it was no big deal. But you saw it—just a flicker of something in the girl’s face. That animal twitch of the gut. The what if.

You shouldn’t have looked again. But you did.

And this time, the silence that followed it was thicker.

The fire snapped.

The mood soured. Like milk turning in real time. You could feel it curdle, souring in their expressions, stiffening their postures. Something crawled down the back of your neck—hot, slow, primal.

One of the boys, the one who’d been crouched beside the logs, brushing embers back into place with a stick, didn’t even get to scream.

The sound he made wasn’t human. It wasn’t even a sound, really—just a choked, wet grunt, a stutter of breath that was swallowed up by the crack of bone splintering like dry kindling. You felt it more than heard it. A snap deep and wrong, like a wishbone being pulled apart uneven.

Then came the sound of the fire roaring a little louder.

You turned your head and saw the body—or what was left of it—drop half-way splayed across the burning logs.

There was no ceremony to it—just a heap of limbs and ruined flesh, the kind of thing that didn’t make sense at first glance. It took a second for the brain to register the shape. That the torso was missing something. That the head was at the wrong angle. That something had ripped into it.

It took a moment for the smell of burnt flesh and hair to waft in the air like a shroud. It took a moment for you to snap out of it and realize it was go time.

The girl screamed, a raw, high-pitched, guttural wail that split through the trees like a signal flare, before running straight into your arms. Poor thing probably thought you were a victim too.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your hands went for her throat like they were starved. She could only gasp like a fish on a dock, wide-eyed and stunned as your fingers dug in and your thumbs crushed her windpipe against her cervical spine, pinching the sound into a canid whine. You held her there, straining, gritting your teeth as she kicked, scrambled, fingers clawing at your arms, your face, your hair, but it was panic—sloppy and directionless.

You felt the pulse under your fingers hammering like a hummingbird’s wings. The wet gargle of her trying to suck in air around your grip. Her nails bit into your forearms, but you held steady, grounding yourself in the heat of it. The struggle, the intimacy. The kind of power and control you missed. The kind that started to slip through your fingers like sand.

Behind you, the clearing was chaos.

Jack moved like smoke. Like something ancient that had never forgotten how to kill. You didn’t see his face—you didn’t need to. You saw the aftermath. One of the boys—still trying to stand, trying to crawl away, his legs shredded like wet paper, a smear of red dragging behind him. He reached for a branch. Jack stepped on his arm with a muffled crunch.

Then came the claws—long, black, lethal keratine—sinking into the side of his ribs, dragging upward like peeling back the skin of a fruit. You heard the ribs crack and split, flesh folding open in ribbons.

The boy keened once before Jack’s second hand came down. Right into the soft spot of the stomach, reaching in and tearing. Steam curled in the air, viscera spilling onto the ground with a wet slop, like the forest was vomiting up something rotten.

You didn’t stop choking the girl, even as she went limp, face puffed up in sickly blues and reds. You watched him work, eyes narrowed, chest heaving with a feeling that poked and scratched uncomfortably through the high of power.

She sagged against you finally—twitching like a puppet with the strings cut—and you let her fall into the dirt like discarded meat.

Jack stood in the middle of it all. Calm. Composed. Painted in gore from collarbone to boot, untouched and unflinching. As if this truly was just another Thursday for him, another task to cross off a list, another mission he completed without breaking a sweat. While you were panting from the nauseating mixture of exertion, and envy, and an ugly, bubbling sense of failure.

He turned his head slightly, like he was listening to something you couldn’t hear. Then those eyeless sockets tilted toward you. And something deep in your chest buzzed—low and bitter and uncomfortable.

You’d come here to show him up, and you were beginning to realize you might not be in his league.

The forest was still again.

That strange, unnatural hush that came after carnage settled over the clearing like a second skin—thick, heavy, cloying. The kind of silence that soaks into your ears, makes your pulse feel louder than it should. You stood there in the red hush of it, heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt, chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow bursts.

One of the bodies was folded inside out against a log, limbs bent wrong, half his face missing. The other had his guts draped out like some sick garland, trailing behind him in a sticky line as he lay twitching, godless. And the girl, who should've been minced to unrecognizable pieces by Dolly's teeth, lay mostly complete at your feet like a physical manifestation of everything between ego and failure. Like it was mocking you.

Your hands were shaking.

The adrenaline was still flooding you, washing over the seams of your bones like hot tar. It burned, made your teeth grind and your fingers twitch. It had kept the anger at bay for a minute—just long enough for you to kill her, just long enough to revel in it. But now it was loud again, fast and unforgiving, rising like bile in your throat.

Because he’d stepped in before you could do it your way.

You weren’t stupid. You knew the fault was yours, your improvisation shallow, delivery shaky, the atmosphere turning too fast to play your hand. But you could’ve fixed it. You would’ve fixed it. Somehow. Right?

But Jack had ended it before you had the chance. Cutting you off again, like this was merely an inconvenience for him. Like you were just a minor setback. And now the anger was coiling tight in your stomach, bleeding into your limbs.

You turned to him.

He stood there, still slick with blood. Some of it glistened on the curve of his throat, some of it dried to a matte across his arms. The empty voids of his eyes were unreadable, as they always were, fixed somewhere through you.

“You couldn’t wait five fuckin’ seconds?” you snapped, voice too loud in the quiet. “Jesus, I had it. I was handling it—”

“You weren’t.”

It wasn’t even a rebuttal. Just a plain fact, said like he was pointing out the color of the sky.

Your spine went rigid. “Excuse me?”

Jack finally looked at you. Really looked—head slightly tilted, mouth in its usual flat, unimpressed line.

“You were unraveling. They noticed. I stepped in before you wasted more time.”

Your hands clenched. “I wasted time? You actin’ like I wasn’t doing what I was told to do—”

“This was supposed to be an ambush,” he said, cutting you off again. “You got sloppy. Kept looking for me when no one asked you to. Gave yourself away.”

“I was checking if you were—”

“You weren’t supposed to check anything,” he replied, and now there was just a hint of steel in his voice. “You were supposed to do your part. Wait and jump at my signal. But you couldn’t even do that.”

You stepped toward him. He didn’t flinch.

“You’re a real piece of work,” you hissed. “Walk around like you’re too good to breathe the same air as the rest of us, like you’re some apex fuckin’ boogeyman—”

“You forgot a weapon,” Jack said, louder this time. Still calm, still infuriatingly collected. “No... Chainsaw, was it? No blade. Not even a shard of glass. You came out here to prove something and brought nothing.”

You froze.

His words hit like dull nails hammering into your ribs—slow and deep and exact. Your chest heaved. Your hands curled and shook, but now it wasn’t just adrenaline—it was fury. Pure, pulsing. You could feel your lip curl, a snarl almost forming, and for a split second you thought about punching him. Just to break that lack of expression on his stone cold face. Just to prove that something about you could land.

You stepped up to him. Got close. Closer than you should’ve. Chest to chest—or, chest to his abdomen—chin tilted up so you could glare into that abyss of a face, your rage clawing against the inside of your ribs like a caged dog. You stared into that featureless calm and you wanted to set it on fire. Wanted to see anything there.

But Jack didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. He just looked down at you and said, so casually it nearly made your jaw unhinge, “Start carving."

Your breath caught.

“What?”

“She’s yours, isn’t she?” he asked, gesturing with one blood-darkened hand toward the body you’d dropped. “You choked her out. She’s yours to clean. Start carving. We don’t have all night.”

And then... silence.

Because you hadn’t brought anything.

You looked down at her body, pale and cooling, throat bruised but not broken open. Flesh still intact. Unopened. Useless without teeth or steel.

You didn’t move. Not at first.

His words hung between you like smoke, clinging, choking, bitter. Do your share. Like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. Just a faulty cog in the machine, a mouth that ran too hot and hands that brought no tools. That calm detachment of his stoked the fire already roaring in your chest—made it blister, made it seethe.

And the worst part? He still hadn’t stepped away.

Your chest—your whole front—was still pressed up against his abdomen, close enough to feel the slow, infuriating rhythm of his breathing. He was warm through the blood and grime and fabric. Solid like a wall, like something that had never been moved against its will. You tilted your head back just enough to see his face, that inhuman, blank slate with its tar-black sockets aimed somewhere over you, through you.

God, he was tall. And broad. And so composed it felt like mockery.

You hated him. You hated him and his restraint and his accuracy and the way he made you feel small without even trying.

So you did something stupid.

“Why don’t you do it then?” you snarled, your voice low, sharp with something almost trembling at the edges. “Since you’re so big and bad and feral. With your claws and your calm and your fuckin’—void eyes. Go 'head, Jack. Do it all. I’m sure you’ll jerk yourself off to how efficient you are later.”

And you shoved him. Not hard. Not really. Just a bristling, angry push to the chest. All bark.

And you should not have done that. Because he moved before you could even have the chance to realize what you'd done.

Your back slammed into the dirt with a thud, shoulder-blades skidding across leaves and wet moss and bits of stray flesh. His weight followed, crushing, one hand flat across your throat, just shy of cutting air flow. The other planted beside your head in the soil.

Your breath hitched.

The pressure was exact. Controlled. Terrifying in its restraint.

And his face was suddenly right there, above yours, looming in your vision like the sky collapsing, and this close, you could smell the meat on him. Metallic. Old. Wet. It clung to the curve of his jaw, smeared across his temple, soaked into the seams of his shirt.

You were caught between fury and something that shot white-hot through your gut and up your spine.

“You couldn't even bring your personality the one time it was needed,” he growled, voice low and even but taut now—barely containing something sharp, serrated. His breath ghosted across your cheek, steady and unshaken. “You sabotaged the mission to stroke your ego. You were sloppy. You were loud. You made it worse. And you have the nerve to bark orders when you brought nothing.”

You grit your teeth, rage bubbling up so hot behind your eyes it burned. But you couldn’t let him finish. You wouldn’t let him.

So you did another stupid thing.

You socked him in the jaw.

It was clumsy—sloppy—but it hit, sent his face turning just slightly on impact. You felt the shock travel up your arm, the dull ache already blooming in your knuckles. Satisfaction flared white-hot in your chest for half a second.

That half-second was all you got.

The shift in him wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It was a drop. Like something slipping off a ledge inside him, something patient shattering into something else entirely.

His hand on your throat, already hot and heavy, tightened. Slowly. Like he wanted you to feel every millimeter of breath leave your windpipe. Your eyes snapped wide as the pressure crept up and up, turning the inside of your head into a hot, ringing cavern.

You gasped. Tried to, but no air came.

Panic lanced through your spine, white and spiky and mean. Your hands scrabbled at his wrist, digging, clawing, nails useless against the iron band of his fingers. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He just leaned closer, until his chest was pinning yours to the ground and the blood on him smeared slick down your sternum.

Your vision started to blur at the edges, a dark vignette blooming with each thudding pulse of your heart. Your ears roared. Your legs kicked weakly against the dirt.

And then—then—he growled. Not a man’s sound. Not even an animal’s. It tore from his throat like it came from deeper, from somewhere hollow and starving, a sound that trembled through your ribcage and made your bones ache with a fear instilled in your marrow since Hell tore from the Heavens.

You tried to scream. Couldn’t.

The tips of his claws punctured your neck.

Pain exploded across your skin—white-hot, real, a searing twin stab on either side of your windpipe. You felt the exact points where they entered, where blood welled up in hot little trickles to meet his palm, and you couldn’t stop the choked, mangled sound that crawled out of your throat.

You were thrashing now. Legs kicking, hips twisting, teeth bared in an ugly, helpless snarl.

And still—he didn’t move. Not to ease up. Not to finish it. You felt your strength ebbing like bathwater draining slow—vision ghosting out, brain screaming in a static haze—and somewhere in that blood-slick panic, a thought skidded through your head like gravel.

Maybe the others were right.

About him.

About the way he moved. The way his silence held something much more disturbing. The way he killed. They weren’t exaggerating. If anything, they’d undersold it.

You were going to die.

You were going to die, and it was going to hurt.

But then—God—something twisted in your gut. A deep, low burn you didn’t understand. You were shaking, body failing, barely conscious, but the pressure between your legs was real, sharp, unmistakable. The dull throb of arousal that shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t exist, not now, not with him holding your life in his hand like a meaningless speck of dust.

You didn’t even notice the heat between your thighs, not until he did. His head tilted just slightly. Those eyeless sockets bore into you with a sudden, vicious awareness.

And his voice sounded like a death knell when it came slicing through the dark.

“Really?”

One word. Flat. Disgusted.

You couldn’t answer. You were barely breathing. But he didn’t need you to. He smelled it.

His grip didn’t ease, not even a little. His claws stayed embedded, his thumb pressed up under your jaw.

“You’re fucking dripping,” he said, voice low and cutting, no inflection beyond disdain. “Is this what you wanted? Hm? To get put down like a bitch in heat so you could get off on it?”

Your heart stuttered. Your breath rasped.

“I should tear your throat out and leave you twitching.”

He dipped lower—close enough for your blurred vision to catch the glint of blood drying on his chin.

“But you’re not even worth the cleanup.”

You were thrashing beneath him now, wild and raw and animal, but it didn’t do a damn thing. His body didn’t budge.

Your nails scraped at his arm, trying to claw him off, trying to find purchase on that cold, iron grip cutting off your air. Black spots flickered in the corners of your vision, pulsing in and out like a camera shutter—your pulse thudding so loud you couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, couldn’t—

You tried to spit the words out—fuck off, maybe, or get off me, something half-mangled and slipping through your crushed throat. But it was too late. The second your mouth opened, the second your back arched in that desperate, useless kick under him, he slammed his knee between your thighs. Punishment.

“Fuck off?” he repeated, voice low, detached.

It cracked up between your legs like a sledgehammer. Blunt, cruel, bruising. Pain screamed through your pelvis, throbbed through bone and flesh, made your limbs seize before they could go slack. You gasped—tried to—and your mouth fell open around a ragged, voiceless wheeze. The weight of him held your body taut around the pressure, your cunt grinding instinctively into the bone of his knee, something primal overriding the ache. Your hips rolled before you even realized it, before the mortification could catch up to your nerves.

Your muscles screamed to get him off you—and your hips ground into his knee all the same, frantic, obscene, desperate like they belonged to someone else entirely.

He fucking felt it. His claws dug in just a little deeper, blood rolling warm down your neck as he looked down at you like something scraped off his boot.

“You needy little hole. If I split you open right now, you’d die with your pussy clenched.”

You gasped again when he finally—barely—let you breathe, the grip on your throat loosening just enough for air to wheeze back into your lungs. It felt like fire, like dragging breath through razors, but you sucked it in anyway, coughing, heaving.

And then—like a fucking curse—you tried your luck again.

You didn’t know what possessed you to throw another hit when your lungs were still clawing for breath. Maybe it was the firestorm behind your ribs, or the bitter heat of humiliation pooling low in your stomach. Maybe it was that twitch of his lip—barely there, not even a smirk, just the absence of one—that made your blood howl.

Your fist didn’t make it far. He caught your hair like he’d been expecting it, a fistful of it gripped tight at the crown of your head, claws pricking your scalp so sharp your vision spat sparks. There was no warning. No preamble. No care.

The ground spun as he hauled you over like you didn’t weigh a thing, and slammed you face-first into the dirt so rough and fast your cheek split on a rock. Your breath left you in a choked grunt, lungs burning and the wounds on your neck stinging with the sweat that clung to them, limbs scrambling, half from shock and half from instinct.

You tried to cough but choked instead, nose crushed half into soil, throat still raw and burning. You should’ve stayed still. Should’ve let your humiliation rot into the mulch and swallowed it down with the blood. Still, the ever proud and defiant, you snapped your teeth like a chained thing.

"Big, bad fuckin' demon... need all that strength just to take a girl half your size."

He didn’t give you another second to think. You wasted your chances. One hand slammed down between your shoulder blades, flat-palmed and unforgiving, driving your chest into the ground until your ribs ached and your cheek split deeper against the grit. The other flew down between your legs, claws catching on the middle seam and ripping down.

The sound was awful, the feeling was even worse. Denim gave way with a shriek that made your teeth feel like cotton, flesh just behind it splitting from the sheer force, and your ass hit the air fully exposed, raw and scraped and red. A breeze passed and made it worse. You twitched, but he shoved your face down harder.

He didn’t prep. Didn’t spit. Didn’t warn. You didn't even hear when he unzipped his fly. Didn't give a single fuck about whether or not you had a change of heart at the threatening sensation of his head, thick and angry, sealing your fate as it pressed between your folds.

The shove of his cock was sudden, one long, solid thrust splitting you open from behind like a fucking sword. Too thick, too deep, too fast. The air ripped out of your lungs like you’d been kicked. Your stomach turned so hard you almost barfed, eyes bugging wide, mouth hanging open in a soundless scream against the earth.

Your hips jerked. He didn’t move. Just sank in until your cunt was forced to take every brutal inch of him. No stretch, no slick, just the bladed ache of it all, and the sick realization that he was rock hard.

The motherfucker was just as gone as you were.

But he wasn’t panting. Wasn’t twitching or thrusting fast, like someone caught up in the moment. He was still. All control. Letting your body struggle to make room around him, letting your walls twitch and flutter in panic. The wet squelch between your thighs was all you could hear over your own labored wheezing.

"What, can't take it?"

He started fucking into you. No rhythm. No mercy. Just the relentless punch of his hips slamming into the backs of your scratched up thighs, over and over, like he wanted to drive you through the ground. One hand fisted in your hair again, yanking your head back with zero care as the other kept your jaw pinned to the filth. The position twisted your back, bent you like the lifeless carcasses littered around you like godless spectators.

Each thrust forced you forward an inch, face dragging through blood and dirt, your knees scraping raw. The stench of blood and fresh meat curled up your sinuses as your lungs scraped for air against dust, the smell once sweet and promising a full stomach, now sharp and nauseating.

You tried to squirm away. Like you hadn't brought this upon yourself.

Your body was betraying you. Fingernails carved grooves into the dirt like a dying animal, grit and rot wedging under your nails, clawing at the earth like it could offer salvation, your hips pulling forward, trying to escape the merciless pounding of his cock against hour cervix. But your back arched for him, like your cunt was torn between fleeing and begging.

And God help you, your throat was pushing out these tiny, desperate moans, like it wanted to humiliate you.

Every thrust slammed you forward like you weighed nothing—hips bucking, back arching in a spasm as Jack drove you closer and closer to the heap of what was left of one of the campers, opened to the sky like a slaughtered pig.

Without a word, without giving your cunt a single moment to heal, Jack leaned forward. His chest skimmed your back, hulking weight pinning you harder into the rot and every inch of cock forced to the hilt in your stretched cunt until your breath left you in a wheeze. One hand stayed on your hip, claws biting into your skin through the denim like hooks, but the other reached forward past your head.

You didn't look. But a wet rip—a sound like thick silk tearing underwater—made your eyes snap wide open.

You tried to twist, but he was already looming over your arched body like judgement day, one palm flattening against the side of your head to turn it and force it still into the dirt. The other—dripping, gore-caked—pressed something still warm and yielding against your lips.

"Open up," he grunts through bruising thrusts, motion knocking you back and forth against the wet flesh in his hand.

"Eat— My shit," you spit back through gritted teeth, lips barely parting in an attempt to keep him from forcing it inside your mouth.

But that moment of bravery was quick to screw you over, like they all had been so far. You refuse to learn. You refuse to give in.

The fingers splayed on the side of your head started curling, so slowly, so calmly, tips of his claws pushing into your scalp like shards of glass until your mouth fell open on a failed yelp. He shoved the torn chunk past your lips and teeth, stuffing your cheeks with it like a Thanksgiving turkey, before slapping the same blood soaked palm over your lips with a stinging, wet smack.

You couldn't even tell what the fuck he even tore from the body—too spongy for heart, too fatty for liver, maybe lung—but it didn't matter. You wanted to barf. Not because of the taste, or the texture, or even the gesture—but because you fucking liked it. Your moans spilled through his fingers like the taste of sweet, tangy iron was the cherry on top to the relentless pounding of his cock into you.

Jack's thrusts came to a screeching halt behind you, balls deep into your pussy, twitching in angry throbs against your g-spot like even his cock couldn't stand the loss of friction. And you whimpered—fucked out and strained and desperate—like you were confessing all your sins. You were left raw and pulsing in the hollow absence of him, muscles spasming, skin clinging to the ground with sweat and spit and blood and whatever sense of dignity you had left wrong out of you. It all ached.

"...You have to be fucking joking." His voice was nothing like the steely, monotone mockery of calm that grated your ears until now. No. He was in complete and utter disbelief, that even with your cunt brutalized and your mouth stuffed to silence, you were still moaning, taking it, enjoying it.

"Get the fuck up."

But he didn't wait for you to obey—he knew you wouldn't. Couldn't. Not when your knees buckled under you the moment he pulled out with an obscene, slick sound, not when your pussy sobbed and clenched helplessly around nothing.

His hand knotted into a fistful at your roots, dragging you backward until your spine folded, your knees buckling and your ass hitting the ground in front of his hips.

You opened your mouth to snarl, spit, whine—and his cock was already pushing past your lips.

"Shut the fuck up. Shut— the fuck up."

No teasing. No slow slide. Just a hand on your jaw and a hard, bruising shove of his hips, stuffing your mouth full like it was owed to him. He held you there—hand wrapped tight around the back of your skull, fingers in your scalp, pelvis pressed to your lips so all you could do is take it.

Your nose mashed against the base of him, breath catching in your chest, throat convulsing. You were choking on your own slick, retching around him from the sheer pressure in the back of your throat, and he was dead silent, like this was just another means to shut you up.

He fucked your mouth the same way he fucked your cunt—rough, unforgiving, like he was trying to scrape something out of you.

And somewhere in that hot, wet fog of spit and gagging, with tears leaking down your cheeks and your body limp from the brutal rhythm, something shifted.

You looked up at him through your clumped lashes, through burst capillaries and glassy veil of tears, and you swore you were staring into hell. The black smears that pass for eyes, the sickly sheen of sweat on a face carved from stone, the teeth that flashed when he bared them like an animal losing patience with its prey. Breathing hard through his nose, jaw tense, every inch of him trembling like a thundercloud waiting to split.

You saw the Devil. And for one fractured second—just one—you saw your past. When days started blurring together into visions and rot and dread—and you thought the Devil was watching you. And you wanted him to be proud.

He wasn't.

He was punishing you with every violent slam of his cock that left your throat raw, with every yank of your hair when you choked and tried to pull away on instinct. And God, you couldn't stand the gaping hole he left between your legs, throbbing and needy because of him. Because of the taste of you on his cock, the feeling of your lips stretched taut around his shaft, the burn in your jaw.

So, without thinking, out of sheer instinct—your fingers found your swollen clit, slick and aching, rubbing frantic circles in a desperate bid for some fucking relief. Something to hang onto. But you didn’t even get to swipe twice.

His hand shot down fast—no warning, no hesitation—and caught your wrist in a bruising grip, tearing it away from between your thighs like you’d tried to steal from him. The movement jolted through you, and in the same breath—

Smack.

The sharp crack of his palm against your drenched pussy echoed louder than it should’ve in the blood-soaked clearing. Pain bloomed instantly, raw and stinging, your thighs jolting inward like your body didn’t know whether to flinch or clench.

He didn’t snarl. Didn’t raise his voice. His tone was low, calm, but ragged at the edges—like he was barely keeping it in check while balls-deep in your throat.

“You don’t get to come.”

That was all he said. Like it was a fact. A verdict.

You whimpered around his cock, drool sliding past your lips as your jaw twitched from the weight of him. He didn’t let go of your wrist. Just slammed it down into the dirt, grinding your palm into the filth like it didn’t belong on your body.

“You didn’t earn that, whore."

Then, just when your lungs started to ache from holding your breath, when the buzzing behind your eyes started to creep in—he shoved forward. Deeper. Until your nose crashed into his skin again, until your throat clenched around him like a vice and your body bucked involuntarily.

And he just held you there.

Fingers fisted tight in your hair, body pressed flush against your face, cock twitching at the back of your throat while you gagged and choked and couldn’t do anything but take it. Your nails dug uselessly into the dirt, knees raw, breath gone. Tears streaked your cheeks in slow rivers as your body trembled, cunt still throbbing and aching and stinging from where he slapped you—so close to breaking, needing, empty.

Finally, he pulled back with a slick drag of spit and heat, his cock sliding from your raw throat with a wet pop that left your lips open and twitching, jaw slack. You gasped, collapsing forward on your hands, spit and leftover blood stringing from your mouth onto your dirt caked shirt.

His hand slid down over your chest, steadying you with a firm press before he fisted your shirt at the collar and yanked it down the front of your body—until the fabric stretched taut over your belly, until it was all exposed and helpless and shaking beneath him.

Jack grunted—quiet, tight, barely audible—and heat splattered across your skin in thick, hot ropes, coating your chest, your stomach, your shredded shirt in streaks. His cum hit your skin like a final insult, mixing with blood and sweat like it belonged there.

You didn’t dare move. Not when he was still looming above you, not when your cunt throbbed in open defiance, empty and twitching with frustrated, raw need.

Your skin stung. Your chest heaved. And when the last drop dripped from the flushed tip of his cock, he tucked it away, zipped up, and turned.

Didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at you.

The crunch of boots in dead leaves was the only thing that told you he was walking off—away from you, away from the three corpses cooling nearby, away from the bloodbath he left you to clean up alone.

No blade. No bag. No help.

Just you. Your aching cunt. Your slick, sore throat. And three disfigured bodies you were expected to carry like penance.

You didn’t even have enough voice left to laugh, or to pray that you'd have the strength to get up and figure out a plan.

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gallifreyan85 · 2 days ago

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highkey im LOVING all ur agathaxreader fics im literally in a pool of tears when i read each one and I LOVE IT SO MUCHHHHHH ILOVEIT AND ILOVEUFORMAKINGIT,,, so pls dont explode anytime in the near future i need more fics, i literally need one everyday its now a drug ts insane i have a fic req, if u could make a 'tell ur baby that im ur baby' - i bet on losing dogs, where someone gets jealous that someone else is getting more attention that them, ex agatha losing her self bc she saw u hugging ur old teacher or reader crying themself to sleep because they think agatha likes billy more than them :) PLSPSLSPLSLPSLPSLPSLP I BEG OF U MAKE ONE IM GONNA DIE ILYSM IF U DO

Hii, I'm sorry if this took too long, I was traveling and then had college stuff, so I was in a bit of a hustle. I had started writing this and then kind of got off track a little (hence the title being different), but I tried to keep it around the whole reader thinking agatha prefers billy now, and all that jazz. I hope you like it, if you're not happy tell me, it has a bit more dialogue than my usual fics, but hopefully it'll be okay. Thanks for the request!!

Hurt Me and Tell Me You're Mine

summary: Summary: after Wanda closed the hex, things got complicated. Now you’re on the witches road with your mentor after not seeing her for three years, and she brought someone who you think might be your replacement (Billy.) With everyone reeling after what happened during the third trial, you try to talk to her and sort things out.

pairing: mentor!Agatha x reader

A/n: as always, more stuff at the end, this was originally supposed to be part 5 of (𝐼 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉) 𝒩𝑜 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 but I have something else planned for that sooo. idk. it's my bday tomorrow i'm a bit chaotic. enjoy!!

The Witches Road was no place for the faint of heart. You’d learned that the hard way, first getting drenched during Jen’s trial, then almost burning to death because of a curse during Alice’s. When Teen had gotten hurt you caught a glimpse of something in Agatha’s eyes, the way she lingered for just a moment too long after everyone had already made sure he was okay. It had been three years since you’d last seen her and you wanted to sit down and talk, catch up for lack of a better, less normal word, but time didn’t seem to be on your side. And it seemed Agatha wasn’t either. You’d been her student, if that was what you could call it, and she was relentless and strict and sarcastic, but she’d taught you things about magic no other witch ever would. You were sure of it. Her view on magic was all control and precision, yet chaos and power at the same time.

It was a lot.

It was unique.

But you didn’t regret it.

You still wondered if maybe she did. She never told you. In fact, ever since you barged in to find her and this other boy around your age in her house, along with a bunch of witches you didn’t know, she kept quiet around you. So you came along. Of course it would be dangerous, like everything else she ever did, but you could handle it. You didn’t spend three years perfecting your magic best as you could to flake out at the slightest opportunity of chaos. Maybe you were like her after all. And then her trial came along. You were there with the rest of them, on Teen’s side when the others tried to turn on her, and then her mother’s ghost was there, and Agatha was pleading with them, pleading, not to leave her behind, and Alice stepped in, and--

You shook the memory out of your head. Tried to clear your thoughts. It didn’t really work, apart from giving your already minor headache a boost, but you sighed and tried to relax anyway. Being tense would get you nowhere.

It was then that you realized the rest of the coven, whoever was left-- had finally stopped arguing. You turned to see Jen and Lilia talking to Teen, all three of them sitting down, not sparing you a glance. Neither Agatha or Rio were in sight. You sighed. While you did wonder about Rio, who she was and why Agatha seemed to hate her so much, you didn’t feel up to going to look for her. You wanted to find Agatha. And with the others preoccupied, this was your chance.

So, quietly, unnoticed by anyone, you slipped away from the path and onto a little clearing, hoping that Agatha didn’t go far. You’d learned that the trial would be ahead of you whichever way you went, but that didn’t mean you were eager to wonder around such a place alone. You had just spotted something resembling a small pond, or maybe more of a swamp-- it was covered with weeds and tall, wet grass hanging from overhead branches from the trees-- when a voice made you jump.

“You never were very good at following the rules.” Agatha stepped out from a dark nook you hadn’t even noticed, a distant smirk on her face, not quite reaching her eyes, “But then again, that was part of why I liked you.”

You turned around to see her striding towards you in a slow, seemingly composed way, hands shoved in her coat pockets.

“Liked?” you murmured quietly.

She chuckled.

“I did share my very vast magical knowledge with you. Be a little grateful.”

You stayed quiet. Her smirk, which you suspected was fake, fell into something of a contemplative expression. She seemed… less sure of herself.

It unnerved you a little.

“Stray not from the path,” she went on, her voice a teasing lilt. “And yet…”

“I was looking for you.” you murmured.

“Still, it’s no excuse.” she huffed faintly, coming to a stop next to you, blue eyes fixed on the muddy pond. “We’re already down one person. You shouldn’t wander off unless you wanna be number two.”

“Three.” you said faintly.

She gave you a confused look.

“Sharon Davis?” you gestured around the air to no avail. Agatha frowned.

“Who?”

You sighed. “The gardening lady.”

Her nose scrunched, a vague scoff escaping her. “Oh. Right. Two people then. But the point still stands.”

And then--

“Why are you here?”

You stayed quiet. She frowned.

“Pet—”

“You used to call me that all the time.” you said softly. She didn’t look at you.

“Did I?”

“Yes. Now you just use my name. It’s…” What was it? Odd, unnatural, distant-- too distant.

You knew she didn’t care for you in any soft, affectionate way, of course she didn’t, but you felt like she was purposefully being vague and quiet towards you. Maybe it was the three years of not talking. Maybe she already forgot about you. What were you really? A student? How many of those she must’ve had over the years, dozens, maybe hundreds, and you were just one in the long line of Agatha Harkness wannabes, making yourself think she had it in her to become fond of you.

Maybe she did. Or so you thought. The hope you held had slowly started to die out from the moment you stepped into her basement. When you turned to look at her her head was held high, one hand running through her hair, the other somewhere along her side, half hidden by that blue coat, fingers grasping around nothing as if she was perfecting an invisible spell.

“Did you get it back?” you asked quietly blurting out your thoughts.

She paused.

You weren’t sure if she was expecting you to ask about Alice, or what happened, why it happened, but you didn’t. Selfishly enough, you were meaning to keep on track for trying to get her to talk to you. To bridge that gap that was somehow there no matter how hard you tried to follow her, agree to her ideas, watch her when she was watching someone else.

“No.” she said flatly. “Not all the way, at least.” she raised a hand, twisted her fingers, and you watched as a small cloud of warm orange light slipped around her empty palm, swirled for a moment, and then vanished into a puff of smoke.

She wasn’t looking at it. Her eyes were fixed on some distant spot, far beyond the forest.

“That’s still something.” you tried to sound optimistic. “Something’s better than nothing.”

She scoffed, shoving her hands back into her pockets.

“You always were so cheerful. I suppose you’re right, sure. But this is nothing compared to—” she paused. You could see the inner turmoil in her eyes, that quiet fury mixed with longing.

“It’s different.” she said, turning away. “If it had been someone like Wanda—”

“I tried to find her, you know.” you said quietly.

You thought she’d at least turn to look at you. She didn’t.

“And?”

“People say she’s dead. I’m...not too sure. They didn’t even find her body, but…”

Agatha huffed. “You could’ve done something useful.”

You frowned.

What? Was she serious?

“I did it for you.” you said, firmly, a little surprised, almost desperate, “I was doing it to help you—”

“Well a lot of good that did.” she sighed.

You fell silent. Hurt. You saw her gaze flick over your face, and something sharp softened in her blue eyes.

“What did you think you’d do? If you...found her.”

“I would’ve asked her to lift that- that spell. Whatever it was.”

She tilted her head.

“Why?”

Because I wanted to help. Because you’re the only person I can call family, the only one who-

You decided to be honest.

“Because I-- missed you.”

She didn’t say anything. You thought you saw her huff, lightly, glance away-- but maybe it was all in your head.

She was turned away from you, her head towards the faint chatter of the others, Teen talking to Lilia, their voices carrying through the thicket of the underbrush. You felt a wave of frustration course through you.

“Agatha.” you said.

She turned. Perfect posture, perfect teeth, sharp smile in place.

“Yes?”

And no words left you. A part of you maybe wanted to scream. To ask her why she was acting like this, so distant, so unlike her to be gloating so much, the lack of teasing little taunts murmured to you in passing. Instead she was just… quiet. Yes, she teased the others, but you? It was almost as if she was ignoring you.

“Are you going to stand there and gawk at me or are you going to speak?” she asked, enunciating every word with clear precision.

That felt more like her. Something eased inside of you, a familiarity, a warmth, at her voice saying things you were used to. Things you wouldn’t admit you so dearly missed in your time apart.

You took a breath. “Why are you so curious about him?” you blurted.

It wasn’t what you were meaning to ask, your preferred response would’ve been something like ‘can you let me in on what’s going on’ or ‘are you mad at me’ and now she was looking at you like that, like you just asked her something very funny and amusing and she looked smug. More like the Agatha you knew. It hurt a little as much as it soothed. You wondered briefly if you would die with her one day, just like this, meet your end stuck in some nevereding loop of running after the affection of someone who might not even want you anymore, not in her coven, not as her student, definitely not as a daughte--

“Oooh.” she smirked, tilting her head, “is someone feeling left out?”

You crossed your arms. Your insides were screaming yes, yes I am, why are you so interested in him, why won’t you talk to me, I was there first-

Instead you just said, “No.”

She smiled. “No? Are you sure, dear? I do know you very well, and-”

“All this time you’ve been watching him.” you said, looking down at the murky water below, “I want to know why. And it’s not just boredom, you don’t look like that at the people you’re not trying to figure out. So why him? Is it the sigil? Or what?”

Agatha sighed. “And you’ve been watching me, have you?”

You were. You were always watching her, even before, when she was your mentor officially, watching the hand movements, the way she countered spells, cast shields and blasted hexes and walked around with that impeccable, unflinching flair.

“I just wanna know why you’re so interested in him.” you murmured. “He’s just some kid, same as me, and I was here first.”

She paused, lips curving just a little bit upwards.

But she didn’t answer.

You sighed.

Looked down.

Took another breath.

“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me. Just-- why-- at least tell me why you’re acting like this? What id it, what did I do? Did I do something wrong, are you- are you mad at me?”

At that, her expression changed. It was almost imperceptible, but you caught it easily, a softer shift in her stoic exterior.

“No.” she said after a moment. Her voice was quiet. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You felt something deep inside your heart unwind, relief flowing through your veins, a hope growing brighter-- “Then why?” you uttered, your own voice quieter too, slightly uneven despite your attempts at keeping your composure.

“Because,” she sighed finally, turning back to look at you, “you weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to come with us.”

You frowned.

“What?”

She pressed her lips together, frustrated.

“None of this was supposed to happen, toots. No trials, no—” she gestured blindly around, annoyed, “middle-of-the-woods cabins and ghosts and—” she met your eyes, “no Road.”

You paused, not following.

“What do you mean no Road?”

“The Witches Road, it doesn’t exist.” she said.

You stared at her. Blinked. Still didn’t understand.

“But-- it does. It does exist- we’re on it, right now. We’re here-- this is real.”

“Yes.” she nodded, something darker in her eyes. “It’s real. And the question is, who made it real?”

You followed her gaze over to the others. Stopped. Finally understood.

“You think he made the road?”

She waited. “I had my suspicions from the start, but now I’m sure.”

“You’re sure.” you tried to read her thoughts and came up blank. “So he’s a powerful witch, you mean. Powerful enough to make all of this? You think he made-- everything around us, right now?”

She nodded, quiet, and turned to meet your eye, voice low.

“Yes. That much power in someone so young,” you swallowed down a sting of something unfair, “it’s a precious thing. Needs to be handled carefully, or else…”

“Now you’re saying he’s precious?”

“I’m saying his power is precious, and that’s really sweet actually.”

You frowned.

“How much you seem to care what I think about him. I never took you for the jealous type, pet, but here we are.”

“I’m not—” you swallowed. “jealous.”

She chuckled. “No. Of course not. You’re just worried your dear old mentor might’ve found a new favourite student.”

“I’m your only student. And he’s not-- Agatha—”

“It’s alright, pet.” she murmured. “You know you’ll always be my favourite.”

You died there, maybe. Those were the words you needed to hear, however pathetic, however needy, they made something settle inside of you, the frustration-turned-desperation melting to relief, to ease, and more hope.

You hugged her.

She wasn’t expecting it, not at all, and made out a slightly startled oof- as you wrapped your arms around her so tight, holding on for dear life, face tucked into her coat.

“Why does everything have to be filled with sentimental nonsense when it comes to you, hm?” she asked, but you already felt her arms coming up around you, hands that pulled so much life out of others smoothing over your back in a comforting gesture. You didn’t know for sure when the tears gathered in your eyes, but before you had a chance to stop them they were falling down your cheeks, and into the mess of her curled, dark hair. You sniffled.

She let out a sigh, as if this exhausted her to the utmost level, and ran her fingers through your tangled hair.

“There, there.” she said, a little awkwardly, voice laced with exasperation. “You’re okay.”

And you nodded, because she was right, you were okay, and you were fine--

“I thought you-” your breath hitched, “you might be mad at me for- for not coming back so soon- I was trying- I t-tried—”

She exhaled softly, a thousand heavy regrets in her heart, and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter, darling.”

“But it does,” you insisted, “it does matter, I should’ve found a way-- and instead he—”

“He isn’t my favourite, only student, and he’s not my-”

“Your what?” you made out quietly.

“He’s not my anything.” she said. “You are.”

That was enough. Enough to ease your worries once and for all, all the untrue thoughts your mind had conjured up about you in the dead of night, that she might hate you, might not want you around anymore, that she found someone better- easier to teach, better at learning-

She pulled away from you with a quiet look, her eyes on you, studying your tearful face.

“What?” you murmured shakily.

“You really care, don’t you.”

“Of course I do-”

She turned away a little, only slightly, like she was maybe unsure if you should see. Her eyes were pale as always, blue and set like cloudy weather, and she had the look of someone so composed on the outside yet hiding a storm on the inside. That was most of her life, you realized at some point while staying with her before. Always so distant, yet so much emotion raging inside. You looked into her eyes and wondered if you were seeing a glimmer of regret. What she did to Alice was a reminder of who you were dealing with, that she wasn’t some friendly, smiling witch or sleepover buddy, but you weren’t about to turn your back on her like the rest of them. Not now. Not here. You might not agree with her morals, but this was something you knew when you begged her to let you join her. You knew what you were signing up for. Witchcraft wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows and Agatha Harkness wasn’t a cold-blooded psycho, not like everyone said or thought. You knew her. Deep down, quietly and from the sidelines, but you did. You believed that and you hoped she knew that too.

You wiped your eyes, quiet and careful, and stilled when she rose one hand and swiped off the liquid on your cheek with her thumb.

And you asked what kept lingering in the back of your mind since you all left the last trial.

“Agatha?”

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

She tilted her head. “Asked you what?”

“To give you my magic. Juice you up, whatever you call it. I could’ve blasted you with it.”

She stilled just slightly, an almost-smile on her lips. “And you would’ve let me?”

“If you asked me, yes.”

“How do you know I just wouldn’t kill you?” she asked.

The truth was, you didn’t. You hoped she wouldn’t, but it was all a slippery slope. You did trust her. Not just a little. Maybe too much. You definitely believed her when she spoke about being on the Witches Road before. And you would’ve let her take some of your magic too. Naively, maybe, you also believed she wouldn’t have killed you. That maybe, somehow, she would’ve stopped just on the brink, and it would leave you slumped over and heaving and panting but alive. You were so close to stepping in when Alice did it first. Would it have been different if it had been you? Would you have saved a life, or exchanged it for your own?

Beside, quietly, Agatha said, “You don’t know what it’s like, dear. All that power, surging into you, it’s like breathing air after being underwater for too long. It’s all you need to do until you feel better. Until you catch your breath. Some could survive that. Some couldn’t. But Alice never stood a chance. And neither would you.”

That stung.

“You think we’re too weak?”

But Agatha shook her head, the look in her eyes almost remorseful. “No. Not that. But it was three long years. Anyone to blast me with even a spark of it was guaranteed to…” she stopped. “It’s not an easy thing, this.” she said, quietly. “Most days I love it. It’s saved me more times than I can count. But it’s not always the easiest to control. Do you think you could make yourself stop breathing the second you took that first breath of air after being down for so long? For three years?I’m glad it wasn’t you.” she said, and you were surprised to her the firm conviction of her tone, “I’m not glad it was her, but I’m glad it wasn’t you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. There was a gentleness in her gaze you oh so missed, that soft look she gave you after saying something far too soft and indulging you in it. Her hand gently fixed your hair, tucking away a strand gently behind your ear.

And you didn’t know what to say so you just stood there, looking at her, feeling like you might cry all over again.

“So we’re on the same team?” you murmured. “Not like, the coven, them, and you and me. I just mean, us.”

She smiled. A fragile, uncertain smile, but it was there. Guarded. Healing. Safe.

“You and me.” she said back, “I promise, kid.”

For a brief moment, neither of you said anything. You felt the moment settle. Dissolve.

“We should probably get back to the others.” she said. “The sooner we finish this thing the sooner we can get home.”

Home? You turned to look at her, but she was already strolling away, posture poised, head up, back straight, that blue coat flapping behind her like a loyal apprentice, instead of you. You watched her for a moment, walking with her back to you, no doubt rather unwelcome now with the rest of the group.

You couldn’t blame them.

But you shoved your own guilt over it down. Perhaps they’d hate you for it, but you’d stay on her side. Just like before, just like always. There were times when even people like Agatha needed someone in their corner, and you swore to yourself you’d stay though the worst of it, where so many others turned their backs on her and left.

And so, with a purposeful stride in your step, you turned away from the lake and followed her back to the others. There was another adventure to come.

A/n: this wasn't proofread, i'm sorry. title is from Diet Mountain Dew (The Flight Demo) by Lana Del Ray. send me your thoughts on agatha or anything else, I love to talk with yall!!! I had a lot of college exams these last few days and tomorrow I'll be 21 (I literally do not feel old enough) but life goes on and what can you do. Thank you for reading and I hope you're all good and have a wonderful day!

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #marvel #mine #agatha harkness x reader #agnes of westview #marvel cinematic universe #mentor agatha harkness #reader insert #request #fic request

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verstappenalty · 2 days ago

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asking as a newbie max/f1 enjoyer, what races can i rewatch that show Max's skills/are entertaining/he wins? i know he was dominating the 2023 season and i plan on watching it already, but what else should i watch?

obviously he was showing his skills even during last gp, but it was painful when mclarens inserted themselves into Max's race and i want something where he is the it girl the whole time

hopefully it's okay to ask you of this :>

absolutely love this question thank you for asking!! I completely understand wanting to watch max HAPPY races, I'm simply never in the mood to watch other drivers succeed 🙄

this is a bit from memory so I will absolutely forget some banger races sorry (if people want to chime in their suggestions then please do so!!)

putting it under a readmore bc uhhh. it got long.

spain 2016: teen max holds off wdc kimi raikonnen on older tires for like 30 laps and becomes the sports youngest race winner. baby 🐐 showed off his tire management skills excellently here

brazil 2016: not a max win but he is absolutely the main character of the race. pits onto full wets with 16 laps to go, drops to the back of the grid and makes his way up. everyone and their mother thought this would be the best display of skill ever shown at a wet race in brazil. little did they know 😎 highly recommend watching the onboard on youtube of this - gp and max working together so beautifully is everything to me

2017 and 2018 I'm so sorry babes I'm skipping you guys to keep this list from being "every max verstappen race win ever" (that being said, 2018 austria is a race I enjoy rewatching)

austria 2019: max has anti-stall on the first lap and then HUNTS down the win and proves he is the hottest bitch to ever do it. truly just excellent racing from maxy

germany 2019: this is austria's flashy cousin. I just recommend this race bc it's so chaotic. everything happens all the time

brazil 2019: this is a max vs lewis race before we had THEEE max vs lewis races and wow it's so good. very cool strategy plays throughout the race too. honestly interlagos ALWAYS delivers

silverstone 70th anniversary 2020: this is the race where martin brundle famously says "thank god for max verstappen" bc he was the only one serving cunt against the mercedes that year. insanely overpowered car vs a max verstappen who refuses to give up (note there are 2 races in silverstone in 2020, this is the 2nd one)

2021 I could recommend basically every single race but I'm going to suggest just two:

sochi 2021: NOT a max win BUT he comes back from p20 to the podium and the last 5 laps of this race are absolute chaos. he is so superior in wet weather it is insane

COTA 2021: we know now that max was having vision issues at this point in the season and that COTA was particularly difficult for him. and he popped his whole pussy on track. he hunted lewis DOWN. the rest of the grid were nowhere, it was these two going toe to toe and FUCK it hits

okay this is getting very long im just going to choose one from each of the next years

hungary 2022: max starts p10, has a full 360 spin during the race, and STILL wins. very fun time

zandvoort 2023: this was the race where max was up for matching seb's 9-race win streak, and it was chaos from the very first lap. any other driver might have lost it. not maxy. not here.

brazil 2024: literally race of all time. my comfort race. I watch this whole thing in FULL more than I should probably admit to. max is a class above everyone else the entire time, and he is having FUN. bonus points for the happiest cooldown room and podium ever

and recently - japan 2025 was max demonstrating an absolutely flawless race. he didn't put a foot wrong the ENTIRE time. just a metronome of perfect laps.

okay this was um. VERY long but that is because max is MAX and keeps winning incredible races. there are definitely LOTS more but hopefully you enjoy watching these ones!!

ALSO for serotonin I would obvs recommend watching every race where max wins a championship but like. abu dhabi last 15mins onboard is the best thing in the world

#asks #race watch

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elliecutte · 1 day ago

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AHHHHHHH MADDY!!! @myokk 🤩😍🤩😍🤩!!!! THE HL AUTHORS ON THIS LIST HAVE ME ON MY KNEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NO BUT REAL TALK - @crushribbons ’ story Birdie HAD ME GLUED TO MY PHONE!!!!!!! I COULDNT LOOK AWAY, EYE STRAIN AND SLEEP DEPRIVATION BE DAMNED!!!! i had to finish it within 48 hours!!!!! THE PINING 👏 THE MANIPULATION 👏 THE NEEDINESS 👏 THE OBSESSION 👏 THE LOVE 👏 IT WAS EVERYTHINGGGGGG 😍😍😍😍!!!! (and now i’m getting the urge to re-read it…🫨🫨🫨🫨 BUT I MUST RESIST….SOMEHOW….BECAUSE i HAVE TOO MANY STORIES ON MY TBR LIST bahahahaha 🤣🤣🤣)

fun fact, @anto-pops’ oneshots were among the first ever HL written works i ever read in the fandom :D so this author and her fics have a very gery ery special place in my heart!!!! 🥹♥️💗💖💞 if im bored and not sure what fic i want to read, i always go back to an anti-pop oneshot even if i’ve read it 2839405 times 😌😌 AND THE SERPENT’S PARAMOUR IS GOD-TIER, I NEED TO BE RESTRAINED WITH EACH CHAPTER!!! 🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨

AND @applinsandoranges’ stories are a BLESSING!!!! the first long fic i read of applins was one with an MC called Stella Greenbottle but I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME REMEMBER THE NAME OF THE FIC (it’s 1 am and im getting delirious :D :D) AND IT IS ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITES BUT I CANNOT FIND IT ON AO3 AND IM FRESKING OUT BECAUSE I THOUGHT I DOWNLOADED IT BUT I GUESS NOT AND IF ITS DELETED I SHALL GO TO SLEEP CRYING 😭😭😭😭😭 BUT AHHHH her range is unbelievable!!!!!! then i read contempt and was absolutely gagged, then i read no good deed (praying for an update for that one 😔🙏)

***EDIT BECAUSE IM TOO LAZY AND TIRED TO DELETE ALL THAT I WROTE - i found it!! it’s called cursed legacy!!! ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVS!!! it was the second long fic i read, if i’m remembering correctly!! 🥹🥹🥹🥹 i love it i love it i LOVE IT - i’m honestly about to reread it and download it just in case BAHAHAHAHA CAUSE I ALMOST CRASHED OUT THINKING THE FIC WAS REMOVED 🤪🤪

DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON @writing-intheundercroft EVERYTHING SHE WRITES IS A MASTERPIECE!!! ITS A MONET AND A VAN GOGH BUT IN WRITING!!! 🤩😍🤩😍 okay i really should stop with the caps bahahahahaha 🤣🤣🤣 BUT when i tell YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU the night shift / this little life series HAD ME HOOKED!!! HOOOOOOOKED I TELL YOU!!!!!

AND ITS BEEN MONTHS SINCE IVE READ IT BUT I STILL THINK ABOUT IT REGULARLY!!!! 🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨 THE NIGHT SHIFT CHANGED ME!! I AM NO LONGER THE SAME PERSON I WAS BEFORE READING IT!!! I LITERALLY EVEN KNOW A FEW LINES BY HEART!!!! and when we’re older is on my tbr list :D and all my love is my guilty pleasure read!!! 😍🤩😍🤩💕♥️💞💖

@morelikeravenbore CREATES ART IN WORDS!!!!! 😍😍😍😍 i still think of the sebastian-skater boy and aura the prima ballerina oneshot - SO GOOD!!! 🤩😍🤩😍🤩 AND I AM RE-READING HOW TO MAKE A VILLAIN CAUSE I STOPPED AROUND CHAPTER 15 but i need to refresh my memory!!!! i’m also editing a comment that i am writing as an apology because i forgot to respond to Aura’s comment way back in october 😅😅😅😅 HEHEHEHE IM SORRY AURA :D BUT HOW TO MAKE A FUTURE HAS ME IN A FRENZY, *cue sleep token song* i am both excited and clutching my pearls for when i am able to read the first couple of chapters for last light!!! 🥹💖💖💗💕

AHHHHHH @sloanesallow’s STORIES LITERALLY HEAL MY SOUL!!!! THEYRE LITERALLY HEALING BALMS FOR THE WEAK AND WEARY SOUL 🥹🥹🥹💛💛💛💛 i’m a sucker for fluff, and i run away from angst bahahahahaha 😂😂😂😂 no seriously, i’m a very sensitive bean so Sloane’s fics always make me all happy and mushy and makes my day better :D :D im a bit shy to comment and i’ve only left kudos 🥹 but i shall ramble when i start reading Call of the Void!!! 🤩😍💗💖💞

i am excited to explore @hazyange1s and @rambling-tam ‘s fics and your non-HL recommendations!!! 🥹🥹♥️♥️♥️ thank you so much for putting this list together Maddy!!! 🥰🥰🥰♥️♥️💗💗💖💖💕💕

and hopefuly there are no typos in this because i’m too tired to proofread, woo! :D :D

The fics that live rent-free in my brain🫶🫶🫶

I was talking with @elliecutte yesterday about the fics I always recommend and think about long after I’ve finished them, & I wanted to document the list somehow♥️♥️♥️ I don’t have an otp and read for a LOT of fandoms so this is all over the place bahahahahahahahah

Unsphere the Stars by cocoartist (Tomione, M). This fic is genuinely my Roman Empire. I think about it CONSTANTLY♥️ It’s the most romantic, swoon-worthy thing I’ve ever read, and the Hermione and Tom are perfectly characterized. You can tell the author is SO well-read and intelligent, her writing is just the most beautiful thing ever, and I find myself just going to random chapters and reading them because I love it so much.

Birdie by @crushribbons ♥️ (Sebastian x f!mc, E). I know I’m so annoying tagging you about this BUT I GENUINELY LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH ‼️‼️ it’s manipulative/needy Sebastian at its absolute FINEST & I think about it a lot🥹 since the second I read it (when you only had part 1 out) I knew I was going to be in for a TREAT…the writing/prose is just 🤌🤌🤌 & the way you write Sebastian made me start to understand why people are actually simping for him😆🫠

One Hundred and Sixty Nine by Soupy_George (Sirmione, T). I read this SO long ago, before I had an ao3 account, and I think about it often. It’s actually much longer than I remember it being because I absolutely devoured it. Hermione travels back to 169 days before Voldemort kills James and Lily, and she has a short period of time to convince Sirius to help her out without seeming like she’s gone mad. I’m the ultimate Sirius fan but I feel like I’m quite picky with how he’s characterized, and this fic gets it right🫶🫶🫶

An Ever-Fixed Mark by AMarguerite (Elizabeth x Col.Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth x Mr Darcy, T). I don’t have much to say except this one, plus Unsphere the Stars are my favorite fics of all time. I think about it all the time, it truly is just beautiful♥️ the author DID HER HOMEWORK in regards to historical accuracy, and I go through every single emotion known to mad every time I reread it. The most beautiful depictions of falling in love and grief and healing and 🥺 I would recommend it to anyone, not just people who like p&p♥️♥️

we are the same underneath it all, aren’t we? by tookajourneytotheunknown (Jack Sparrow x Elizabeth Swann, T). I think this was the first fic I commented on, when I finally got my ao3 account🥰♥️ it is just absolutely BEAUTIFUL writing (do you see a theme here with what I love🤭), and I just think about it all the time😭🫠♥️ the best Jack Sparrow, I love love lovveeeeeeee how the author wrote him !!!!!!! PotC fics are really so hit or miss for me but this one was just amazing. All I can say is that it reads like a fairy tale in the best way possible.

When We’re Older by @writing-intheundercroft (Sebastian x f!mc, E). I simply adore this story🤭♥️ it’s SO WELL-WRITTEN !!!! I love her Sebastian, I love Theo, I’ve actually laughed out loud reading this (Jackdaw😤), I’ve teared up, I’ve wanted to shake some sense into all of the characters. She just does such a good job exploring how it feels to be young and think you know everything when you DON’T, the uncertainty of falling in love, how to navigate opening up your life to another person. I just love it♥️

All of @hazyange1s oneshots !!! & im sure fic when I start reading it🫶🫶🫶 I just adore your writing & every time I read it I’m like ?????? This writing is in our fandom???????? ITS JUST SO GOOD 😭🤌🤌♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

All of @anto-pops oneshots♥️ I’m so weird but I only read them with my morning coffee & it is a strange way to start my day but🫠🫠🫠 c’est la vie. Her Sebastian is so obsessive and manipulative and needy and aldkfksjgkjsjfjdjdjdjsjssjs literally her oneshots hit the spot every time & idk how she does it !!!!

How to Make A Villain by @morelikeravenbore (Sebastian x f!mc, M). I’m not done with this one (yet🤭) but I LOVE IT !!! Aurélie is already so dear to me, and I absolutely love love love how she writes Sebastian🫶 definitely not shying away from his red flags but…ngl I would fall for him too if I were her😔😍

The Call of the Void by @sloanesallow (Sebastian Sallow x f!mc, M). I love her version of Sebastian so much, goofy and dorky and a chronic over-thinker🥺 and Sloane is just such a sweetheart, I love her SO MUCH !!! I’m really excited to see where this story goes, and I’m obsessed with all of the pining between the two of them🤌🤌

Any oneshot by @applinsandoranges 🥹♥️♥️♥️ they’re always so sweet and spicy and aldkfjdhkcjdjfkkdlfkejdjdjdjshshs I’ve been meaning to go through your masterlist and just spam comment soon bc I love them all !!

@rambling-tam writing🥹🫶🫶🫶 I haven’t had the time yet to spam read everything (yet !!) but what I have read so far is breathtaking. Truly some of the best writing I’ve seen in this fandom🥰♥️

I reblog A LOT of the oneshots my algorithm graces me with (idk what’s up with it lately but I feel like I miss a lot🥲). But I recommend all of those as well♥️♥️♥️

#the entire time i was speed typing this i was listening to the meditative grace of nuns singing gregorian chants on youtube and LOWKEY????#LOWKEYYY??? it really helped me FOCUS?????!!!! i freaking wrote this in one sitting which is something i almost never do HAAHAHAHAHAH #i’m always starting and stopping and going back after like #after like hours but WOAH 🤩😍🤩😍 so productive and whatnot!!!#this list was FAB #it was like walking down memory lane!!!!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️#i feel nostalgic 🥹🥹🥹🥹#these are literal HL classics in my book :D #thank you for the listttttttttt maddyyyyyyyyyyyyy 💖💖💖#and THANK YOUUUU to all the amazing writers who have literally created MASTERPIECES and literally their own LORE!!!!#thank you for the time spent on creating your own little universes 🥹🥹 your stories have changed my LIFEEEEEEEEEEE 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

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fearmeeeee · 1 year ago

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If you're familiar with either Grell Sutcliff or Integra Hellsing, I think they'd look FABULOUS in your style! But really I am sending this ask because I want you to know that you're like my fave Sebek artist on the internet 💞💞 your work is truly so beautiful, thank you for sharing it with us!

HRGGG GRELLL

Thank you so much, you are so nice ❤️

#im sorry for taking so long to reply #i love grell sm #and integra but i havent SEEN hellsing so #i drew her frm memory bcause thats how I roll I hope she looks fine #your fav sebek artist <:'((( on the internet <:'((((((((((((((((( what if i cry #such a sweet ask ty #asks #thislittlekumquat #grell sutcliff #kuroshitsuji

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monkee-mobile · 4 months ago

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ough god, I cried over this

#the monkees #mike nesmith #michael nesmith #davy jones #micky dolenz #keep stickin around kid we all love you #micky will be such a hard one for me guys. paul mccartney will break my mom im sure but ill be in such hardcore denial over micky i know it #and like micky and mike make me emotional but micky and davy do too… and he had to include pictures of them in the 70s… before their #‘breakup’ when i tell you i thought about it a bit too long and then started to cry…#the monkees make me way too emotional but good god #cause it’s that one picture that’s like i think in the late 70s !! and they’re buddies !! and then… ough poor micky #and he has all these memories #(or maybe not cause they did tell him he had a good time lol)#and i cannot look at anything related to mike and micky in 2021. i will get very distraught. michael is too much for my brain to handle #i need to go to bed now lest i get to sleep too late again but i’ve been thinking about this post literally all day #like thinking of both mike and davy on the same day… if micky isn’t involved in the relationship i don’t care it seems so this post broke me #okay okay goodnight i’ll shut up ill shut up i cant even think too hard about it im just blabbing in the tags so so sorry #also that first picture is gorgeous #like they’re all so pretty but davy is serving hard and i don’t say that lightly cause im not usually someone who usually favors davy #over micky and mike #but that’s such a beautiful picture of the three of them and i will shut up now goodnight

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seawing-vibes · 2 years ago

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Finally did this !!! With Sora :) !! She’s one of my favs so I had to do her designs <33 The top row is more of ‘canon’ designs for her to me, so the graphic novel and wiki design’s + Liighty’s design will always prevail as the Sora I think of when reading the books lmao

The bottom row are all designs from artists on Tumblr ! All of these designs are soo good an all these artists are super great at designing so check em’ out !!

Liighty - Wings of Fire PMV: Sora: In Fact

@avianwofdesigns - Sora

@wofdesignhub - Sora

@daily-wof-designs - Sora

Here is the blank template if anyone else wants to do this!! Unfortunately I can’t find CanineDragons’ original post so this is a version I scraped together from the OG template !!

#Sora #Sora wof #wof #Guh sorry that Alt Text is long as hell <//3 !!#the word deisgn doesnt look real to me anymore #but this was super fun to practice with !! everyones so good at designing man ough !!!!!#hope I did everyones designs justice lmao #i planned a whole Sora PMV in my head while drawing these … if only I had the time and motivation to do a PMV #either way hell yeah sora time :) love her so much shoutout to her for the atrocities #tideart #designin #also pardon the poorly doodled Cranes on the side i forgot they were there and im not removing them now #they’re from memory so other bird enjoyers dont bully me 😔 /J

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abyssal-ilk · 5 months ago

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Hi! I'd love to know what your thoughts are on Viv as divine? Sorry if you've already covered this, I'm just excited to find someone who cares about her and I feel like you'd have a much better take than like. 90% of the people who talk about the divine options

Thanks for posting meta about her, she's one of my all-time faves!

hi!! so sorry this took me so long to answer, i have no excuse other than i saved it to my drafts a while back and it got absolutely buried. soo im brushing off the cobwebs on this thing and finally answering it

divine vivienne is, in my opinion, FUN. it's fun. her becoming divine is not canon in most of my wordstates but i love thinking about divine vivienne. the idea of having a mage on the sunburst throne is so GOOD. and not just a mage, but a mage who is 1) a free marcher 2) not white and 3) a master of the political orlais bullshit?? oh yeah. we're so back. we've never been more back.

vivienne as divine victoria is especially interesting to me in the case that she fails, though. which may be surprising because i am the mr vivienne enjoyer guy but. just imagine. she is ousted from her seat on the throne before she can cement her place as the divine. there is no recovering from that for her. any sort of political or social power she would have is GONE. a disgraced divine? a mage who dared to grasp for power in the wake of such death and destruction caused by magic, who wants to pull the strings of the pure and hopeful minds of the faithful to put more damned mages in control, so that southern thedas will be reformed into the likes of tevinter? none of that is true, obviously, but it would be what people would say about her. where would she go after that? where could she go? would she have any allies that have not forsaken her? any shelter that will not scorn her and set the templars upon her like dogs upon a starved stray cat just looking for scraps? hm. much to think about.

#ask #oh-no-who-took-my-sushi #dragon age #dai #dragon age inquisition #vivienne #vivienne de fer #scheduled #HIII SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. it got buried in my drafts and i have memory loss. sorry lol.#divine vivienne is GREAT even when she doesnt fail btw. like i love her. but i also love angst and drama #im running out of drafts to put in my scheduled posting oh no.#i will have a much more detailed post on divine vivienne when i come back. these are not my full thoughts obv #but i wanted to answer this ask bc its been sitting in my box for. so long.

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thesolaireslawyer · 10 months ago

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Have You Met Them Yet

TW: mentions of inversion, character death, implied character death, cursing, guilt blaming (I probly missed some.. please click off if you find something that triggers you!) mentions of characters' actions(good and bad) {I don't know any southern slang- don't execute me..} {the ending feels a little rushed- I'm ngl}

it's my mission to make you cry let me know I how did!

I had a lot of fun writing this.. so um enjoy your readings! (no joking triggers this is a bit more serious than my regular writing style)

I met a person.. My person and of course like most of my relationships in this cursed.. After life. It started on the wrong foot. It seems a lot of stuff starts on the wrong foot nowadays.. Hmm.. Mamaw.. I don’t know why but I called them Darlin’ it just slipped out.. Then I encouraged them to do something stupid instead of telling their alpha. In which he found out later, but for now I'll focus on the beginning, after we met and traded numbers.. I wanted to aid them in the search of that bastard.. I know you’re turning in your grave hearing me curse right now..

And I'm sorry for that memaw.. Speaking of Bright and Fredrick they’re doing better.. I’ve been repairing and trying to compensate for how I acted toward Bright.. I don’t know if the dead can mess with the living.. But I felt you pinch my ear.. Haha. I wouldn’t be surprised- if you alone could.. But southern grandmas are like that. But I'm getting off track, one night I called darlin’ with some information, however when I called. It sounded like they were in pain.. Nowadays these ears don’t miss much- then again, they didn’t miss much back then either... But turns out.. My darlin’ hm.. Got into a fight with some vamps… they survived but got badly injured. They were acting recklessly.. And maybe it was the healer in me- or something else.. But unsurprisingly I practically drilled them with questions and eventually got some answers. That didn’t stop them from making it ten times harder than needed. But you could say I liked that about them. After all, in a way, we were still strangers to each other.

Darlin was badly injured and needed some help and I’m pretty sure they were planning on bleeding out to death on their couch. And honestly, it seemed in character for them. That being said.. It wouldn’t have felt right on my conscious knowing I could’ve helped but sat around doing nothing about it. But I couldn’t just up and leave after all I chose to take responsibility for the newborns at the time. So I pulled some strings and got Vincent to look after them while I stepped out for a bit. You remember Vincent, right? Tall and annoying, with a heart in the right place- when he’s not being a little shit.. And now he’s got backup, that partner of his is just as devious.

Nonetheless, I made my way over there, you know my bedside manner ain’t never been as good as yours Ma. But it got the job done. Hell, I even made a little joke, if they stopped getting themselves in life-threatening situations. I’d improve my bedside manner… and for a while, they didn’t get in trouble. They called me and wanted to meet me. I didn’t know why at the time but they sounded troubled. So I went over, to figure out what was wrong. You know me Ma, putting my head where it doesn’t belong. And once again I put the newborns on Vincent. I’m slowly running out of favors with that boy. What we talked about was less than savory, Blood bonds aren’t rare but when they happen between a wolf and a vampire. After all, we tend to distance ourselves from each other… have I ever explained what a blood bond is to you Ma?

I don’t think so, but whenever a vamp and another vamp come into contact with each other's blood almost always a bond is formed. Between 2 vampires you always know where the other is no matter what. However, between a wolf and a vamp, it’s a little different because of the 2 different types of magic at play. In the rare case that a bond is formed you get something different. You only know the location when the blood is outside of the body. And it seemed my companion, and Quinn formed a bond after their last encounter. And with that in mind. I practically begged them to stay safe, before I could finish my ‘’ friendly ‘’ chat. William called and someone wanted to speak to me. Hah.. I didn’t know David Shaw wanted to speak to me. It was surprising and sightly expected.. I went back to tell them some make-shift excuse, that I had to leave. And when he called I answered- and he asked to speak in person. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intimidated. He’s much bigger in person then what they give him credit for.

Ha.. that night the only question he had for me was ‘’ Is My Pack Member Okay? ‘’ despite Darlin’ not feeling a part of said pack.. They cared about them. David wanted to get the full story/ at the time we only had parts.. David told me his and I told him mine. From what I learned their relationship with Quinn was more than friends if you catch my drift Ma; and my Darlin was done with him when they found out what and how he viewed humans. Not only did Darlin leave him, but they also reported him to the department. In return, he attacked their friend Darlin arrived in time to save them. But Quinn got away- though Darlin fed him the lie Quinn was caught.. He heard about Fred and Bright and got curious.. And surprise surprise the truth came to the light… hm.

David then told me he planned on confronting them that day after all he knew where they lived. I was given a choice- and I chose to warn them… I thought they’d hate me. I don’t know why but I did. But Darlin proved me wrong, they called and invited me over. When I got there they looked like a kicked puppy….Pun unintended.. I’m quite sure I’ve told you the story of Alexis repeatedly.. And god knows.. But because I knew the story of Darlin and Quinn I thought it’d only be fair for them to know the story of Alexis and I. how my descent into the after-after life started.

And next thing I knew we were on the couch and I was staring into their eyes. God their eyes.. Were so fucking beautiful that night. I think that night is when I finally realized I loved them. Maybe it was before that.. I don’t know- but at that moment, I let all those feelings out. And my darlin’ let theirs out. And we fell asleep there on that couch, ( and if you’re wondering it's the same couch they almost bleed out on. ) but back to the story.. The next morning we awoke on the couch snuggled up against each other. And the plan was to hopefully leave before the sun rose. But when you’re with someone you care about you lose sight of time.

I’ll save you some of the sappy details, that you’ve probably been told already.. Ha..- eventually I wanted to make Darlin some food just before our day of comfort and clarity ended. And well- they didn’t have anything and I mean anything. How do you have a fridge full of condiments? But no food.. My Darlin was always a confusing person. But I’m sure they had a good heart.. But before I left I wanted to make sure they had a least a decent meal.. You know me Ma.

I would’ve just taken them to the store… but this damn immortality and practical allergy to the sun. Made that impossible and they wouldn’t have gone on their own. So I pulled out the more reasonable idea and with all this damn tech. You thought it was confusing back then.. But it’s only gotten worse now, like how many iPhones does one person need? Then the whole controller vs pc argument. There's just so much and this old man can’t keep up with it. Darlin tried to help me with it..but the lord bless their heart. But with this little knowledge, have i learned how to use a delivery app. I’ll admit, I struggled a bit- but we got the food Darlin wanted ordered. And wasted the rest of the day cuddling on the couch.. A few days later, I invited Darlin over hopefully I could encourage healthier eating habits. Even if I had to roast them over the fire. At the time they knew what a fully stocked fridge and pantry looked like now. The newborns were finally adjusted in the best way possible.. I don’t think anyone could adjust best in this afterlife especially not the way the 2 of them were brought into it.

Just as the the newborns were getting used to being vamps Darlin was slowly but surely adjusting back to pack life. They used to say knowing they care about me doesn’t help me feel like they care about me.. They were just so used to doing it on their own but they were getting used to everything again.

In a random twist of events, darlin invited me to their pack solstice. You know the whole moon-bound sun-bound shit... We didn’t have to worry about that when we were alive.. After all, freelancers kinda go with the flow.. Nevertheless, I wasn’t expecting to get an invite to their pack solstice.. I didn’t want to invade their fun.. You know? A vamp at an all-wolf party?

I was hesitant till Darlin said David wanted me there. I didn’t want to let him down. Had I not encouraged Darlin to speak up instead of shutting down I probably wouldn’t have gotten the information.

And as much as I wanted to deepen our relationship. Mentally I couldn’t, darlin understood.. They always did. So in the upcoming days, I went to the solstice and well.. It reminded me how anti-social I am.. Ha, Darlin left to go get a drink and I nearly had an anxiety attack. The Shaw pack is good people they still are.. Even now with everything that has happened.. But Asher tried to make me feel comfortable.. And kinda made an ass of himself..

Milo came over as crowd control. And Asher of course made a short joke which in turn made Milo retaliate with an invite to watch Asher get his ass beat. At that moment I didn’t what to say. And eventually, they wandered off.. And David found his way over to me- he was glad I came. And made a joke about Darlin.. I wonder if they went out to in fact fight a bear.. But Darlin came back with a red cup- they went to get a drink we teased each other. And enjoyed the rest of the night.

The inversion is still hard to talk about nowadays.. David almost lost his Best friend.. Vincent’s partner had to give up everything or die.. Maybe at that moment, I felt a small jolt of jealousy.. They had that conversation.. They got the choice I didn’t and the choice bright didn’t get. Maybe in that moment.. I felt selfish.. I.. god.. Ma.. you’d think I was a bad grandson.. It was something.. But my Darlin was right there when that ward went down. They were right there, the look they had on their face was just heartbreaking.. Then again everyone they knew and cared for was trapped inside trapped in inside a ward. And the fucking department was no help. But that wasn’t surprising. Milo’s mate and perhaps a few others are the exception, they know how to do their jobs… and with all that had happened, I just went on a drive.

I just kept driving, Darlin was busy with everything else doing their best to help their family.. Even if they're still adjusting, they can be just as stubborn as me. But when it was my turn to get some of their care- which I wasn’t aware of at the time. They sat outside waiting for an hour for me to get home. So when I pulled back into my driveway and saw them standing there I realized. How much they cared about me, and in that moment after I handed them the key to my house.. I realized just how much time I was wasting, they weren’t going to live forever for this never-ending game of cat and mouse. So when I handed them that key, I gave it my all. I stopped letting the past dictate everything I do. I wouldn’t let losing you, my parents or Alexis ruin what I had in front of me.

And I guess Darlin thought the same. They called me their Mate that night. Hearing that would come out of their mouth was, something different. Knowing something like that and then hearing it come out of someone's mouth hits differently. That night I learned to move on. I learned to accept and grow.. And so did my darlin. And honestly everything was going fine. Till maybe a day or 2 later David called with some information, quinn was supposedly up north.

And as soon as those words left that man's mouth. Darlin shot up like a crack on ice, and when David hung up. They started thinking.. I could it in their eyes. They thinking how far they’d have to go.. How fast they’d get there and how fast they could take him down. I tried my best. Had I not been there, they would have gone after him that night. Had I known any better I’d think they would sneaked out that morning. Hell, they’d get pretty far.. But I should’ve known something was wrong. Maybe.. Just maybe… but I somehow calmed them down. I made them a promise if the department doing do anything.. We’d go after the rat bastard ourselves.. Yeah.. yeah not the smartest thing I could have said in that moment.. But I don’t regret what I said that night. Quinn had caused everyone pain. And he’d been breathing too much and too damn long.

And for the time being, things were fine. Darlin tried to teach me how to play Smash.. If you remember the last time. We talked about Smash, I lost.. Destroyed.. They beat my ass so bad. I never wanted to play that damn curse of a game again. But Darlin offered to teach me. And by teach they meant watching me struggle. And even laughed a little, as I said.. This old man ain’t used to this. After I got my ass beat a few times by the NPCs I won a game against a different group of NPCs.. everyone needs a break from the games.. Like I don’t know if I could take one more micro transition before losing my mind you know?

So introducing Darlin to old-fashioned horror movies seemed like the best way to wind down. My big bad wolf kept getting scared out of their fur.. This time the pun was intended. And at this point, we made a habit of falling asleep on that damn couch. But now I can’t stand looking at that damn thing.. Then again I haven’t ever cleared their stuff out of our home… even now that it’s been months.. I can’t bring myself to do it. We moved in together almost a year and some change ago. And every moment of it was bliss. Once again I’ll save you the sappy details. I'm sure you’re gonna get fed them. And other teasing details. I wouldn’t expect any less from my Darlin. Unsurprisingly I got roped into playing Smash again mainly because Milo wanted a rematch. But like I said the pack is good people, and they need a shoulder to lean on.. As much as I do too. The night went by soundly.. Darlin set me up more than once. Which hurts by the way! But seeing them interact with the pack soundly was amazing.

It was a fun night, but it wasn’t going to last forever.. I wish it did. Over and over.. Day by day.. But no one can change time, no one can fight destiny…. Pun unintended. Maybe a week or 2 darlin got a call from David. After I had to go to work… you already know I work as a restate agent.. Never thought It’d be a path I’d take but here we are.. I wasn’t expecting a lot of things. Quinn had been caught.. He managed to take out 2 of the arresting officers.. But he was brought in, only problem was he had a girl.. And she was on borrowed time.

And the only person he wanted to see was me. He was refusing Darlin's Acknowledgment.. He had already run from them once. Now he was taking this away from them again…but I knew they needed to be in that room. Somehow, they convinced me everything would be fine. That they’d watch from the glass

Every word that left his mouth hurt..like hot iron on the skin if I thought he was a monster before. Hearing him talk about Frederick.. And.. I, that girl was the only thing tying me to that room.. One thing I wasn’t expecting, was for him to air out his.. Romantic life with darlin.. You don’t do that to someone you supposedly love- then again he wouldn’t know what love is even if it slapped him in the face. It felt like hours before he shut up.. God I never wanted to punch someone so badly. Maybe that's a bit of a lie.. I’ve met a lot of people I’ve wanted to punch in the face.

At that moment he just took the cake. I sat there listening to it all cringing.. I wasn’t my Darlin there’s no doubt they thought I was judging them.. I wasn’t. I promise you, the last thing on my mind was judging them. I wanted to leave that room and just hug them, and never let go. Eventually, he shut up.. I guess he realized he wasn’t getting to me. And he told me where that girl was. And with that information, I practically ran through the door.

I needed to get to them. I wrapped them in a hug, they may have fooled the others with their poker face. But I knew. I saw through it like a glass door. I held them close in that moment. Kissed their temple even. I was doing my best.. I wanted them to feel safe. David helped them while I was in the room with him. He did his best. He promised them he’d get Quinn. I should’ve known the damage was done. I should’ve done so much more than what I did... because just maybe.. Had I tried a little more.. Maybe they.. Would’ve had..

They were already going through so much.. And it didn’t get better. After I tried to calm them down and make everything better.. Fucking David called.. With the worst news known to man. The girl was already dead.. She had been for 2 days. All the proof Quinn showed was fake, they were taken before he drained her dry. I was distraught and that creature.. Had taken another life, and his actions would claim another.

Darlin and David told me. Everything wasn’t for nothing at least that girl's family got closure. I know that should’ve been enough.. But it wasn’t and I hate myself for that.. Me and Darlin drove in silence… ha.. You know Ma.. I’m a bit of a crybaby nowadays..

Have you met them yet?.. God, you too would have so much to talk about.. That night when we got home. After David's phone call..we-.. we just needed each other. I hadn’t realized they holding on to so much more than I thought.. People tend to say Stress kills. I just didn’t believe em. Darlin fell asleep in my arms.. They didn’t even try to talk my ears off. They went to sleep with a smile on their face, I should have known.. I.. my Darlin..was gone. I should’ve known.. When their body went cold.. There were so many signs, and I just brushed them off. Had I, just noticed something sooner than I did.. You guys wouldn’t be meeting as fast as you are.. They had so many years left. Darlin.. Hearing that girl didn’t make it. Having to relive everything.. To be exposed like that in front of the people you care about.. You were under so much.. I should’ve done better.. But you can’t take back the past. Only learn from it.

I love you..you brought your light to this darkened cowboy's life. You showed there so much more to life. Then living in the past. So I came here, to tell you both.. I love you more than anything. And I would have loved to give you my last name in due time.

Sam stands and places Red Orchids on the gravestone. As his tears rolled down his face.

‘’ My big bad wolf.. With a heart of gold..’’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WC: 3.5K (or if you wanna get specific 3504) another thing. the flower choice was very specific

#redacted sam #redacted david #redacted darlin #this entire thing was inspired by First By Chase Matthew #redacted asher #redacted vincent #redacted bright eyes #redacted frederick #andd this is done.. it took a bit out of me.. I couldn't decide on the ending so this wasn't the original ending #i wrote the order of events from memory alone- thats how many times i've listened to Sam #the solstice parts I kept getting mixed up.. sooo yeaaaa hopefully you all like this #Stress kills.#redacted lovely #redacted audio #the other ending ended up with sam dying actually- in which the titled would have been '' reunited ''#im sorry this took so fucking long.. ADHD is a bitch-#redacted angst

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