#a single roll of paper from one of those could kill a man

[hydenine]

Tumblr wanted me to buy one of these large format printers SOOOOOO BAAAAD today hahahaha

[lesservillain]

baby daddy!eddie x mom!reader

cw: smut, non established relationship, best friend!eddie as well, idiots in love

wc: 3.8k

Closing the door as gently as he could, Eddie tip toed down the hall of the trailer and rounded into the kitchen to get himself a beer. He’d played hard enough with Autumn that she could barely keep her eyes open through her bath, but that also meant he wore himself out in the process. So after cracking open a can, he plops his ass down and turns on the TV, ready to chill until he passes out on the couch.

Well, that was the plan. Just as he got comfortable, there was a small knock on the trailer door. With a frustrated sigh, Eddie jumps back up, mumbling something about people coming to his house so late at night.

“Listen, I’ve told you all I don’t fucking deal anymore—Woah!”

Instead of some annoying kids looking for weed, Eddie was met with your sniffling nose and tear stained cheeks. He immediately went into best friend mode, wrapping you in a big hug and letting you get those emotions out.

After some crying and a soaked shoulder later, you finally peel yourself away from Eddie and attempted to talk, but only babbling came out.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Eddie says, thumbs rubbing the tops of your shoulders. “Just calm down and tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head, doing your best to compose yourself.

“He-he-he g-got mar-married,” you hiccup out.

Eddie blinks at you. He knows exactly what you were talking about. Dustin told him back when that Harrington met a girl about 6 months ago and apparently they hit it off right away. The last thing he wanted to do was tell you about her considering your long time pining for him Especially considering he’s the reason Harrington would never ask you out. But you ended up finding out on your own, and devastated couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt.

It seemed soon in Eddie’s opinion, granted he would marry you tomorrow if you would say yes. When Dustin told him that he was going to be the best man that the wedding, Eddie had mixed feelings. He knew that it would kill you when you found out. That you’d react exactly as you were now.

Actually, you’re doing a little better than he anticipated.

“He came into the store and,” you blew your nose into the toilet paper he grabbed for you, “and I saw the ring on his finger when he was getting his money out of his wallet.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie says, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

“They haven’t even known each other that long! He’s such an idiot…”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that,” Eddie jokes, rolling his eyes.

“Oh god, what if--do you think it’s because she’s pregnant?”

Eddie’s pretty sure Dustin would have told him if that was the reason why, but it’s not an unreasonable guess.

“I don’t know, could be? Or maybe Steve Harrington is just an idiot like you said. And maybe they’ll be divorced by this time next year. Who knows, right?”

You sighed, leaning into Eddie and resting your head against him. “I don’t even know why I’m so upset. He was never going to ask me out anyway. No one wants a young single mom. Steve has his whole life to do what he wants, why would he be with someone who has so much baggage?”

“Hey, don’t say that about Audy,” Eddie scolds.

“No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant,” you correct, “I was talking about myself. I’d never be with someone who didn’t accept Autumn. Even Steve Harrington. I just…I’m damaged goods, Eddie.”

Eddie could feel himself getting upset but didn’t want to make things worse right now, so he took a few breathes to steady himself. He said your name sternly, pulling your full attention to him.

“I don’t like it when you say things like that. It makes me feel like it’s my fault--”

“Eddie,” you stop him before he can get another word out, “You know that you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve told you before that if I was going to get pregnant right out of high school with anyone that I wouldn’t want it to be with anyone else but you.”

Eddie knows this, and he feels the same. But it’s not what he wants.

Even though it was all a total accident, he hoped that night the two of you spent together was going to be the next step for both of you. And even though he was scared after you told him with tears in your eyes then that he had gotten you pregnant, he wished with all his might that it would bring the two of you closer together.

Which it did in a way. Obviously the two of you would be bound together for the rest of your lives, but it wasn’t in the way he wanted. You still were head over heels for Steve, and there was no way Eddie could even compare to the king.

“Yeah…I know.” He says somberly. Your brows pinch, making him worried he should have said something else.

Then your expression changed. You looked at him intensely for a moment, before your eyes became lidded and…were you leaning in?

Eddie thought fast, making a quick decision to put his hand over your mouth, stopping you in your tracks. Your eyes go wide as dinner plates, tears perching on your waterline as what hot embarrassment washes over you.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, suddenly regretting everything. This could have been his chance and he was an idiot.

You pull his hand from his mouth, sitting in silence for a moment before you begin to laugh. It catches Eddie off guard and he freezes.

“Eddie, I should be the one apologizing,” you say with giggles. “I’m the one who was stupid enough to try and kiss her best friend for a second time. We both know what happened the first time and the last thing we need is history to repeat itself.”

Eddie still felt conflicted. Your tone wasn’t sitting right with him, like there was some level of self depreciation in your words.

After a moment you stop laughing. Your face warps into worry as you stand from the couch.

“I-I need to go—“

“No, wait!” Eddie stands to grab your wrist before you could run away. He pulls you into him and hugs you tightly to him. You stand still before slowly wrapping your arms around him, gripping his shirt in your hands.

“Listen, I know you’re going through a lot emotionally right now, but…I’m here for whatever you need. Even if…” He trails off for a moment, knowing that he’s just going to hurt himself if he lets you use him. But he can’t turn you away when you need him. He’d rather you take advantage of his feelings than run off to someone else who would hook up with you without second thought.

“Even if it means crossing a boundary that we’ve already crossed before.”

Eddie feels you press into him harder, face buried in his chest. And when you look up at him, Eddie thinks he could melt into a puddle and let you mold him to however you’d like.

“I don’t think I should make any rash decisions right now,” you say with a sniffle. “I think I just need to clear my head. Let myself rot in my own misery instead of dumping it all on you.”

“Or,” Eddie says with a smile, “you could rot with me. I rented some movies and some beers in the fridge that have your name on them. I think we have some leftover pizza still, too.”

Your smile was so bright it was comparable to the sun rising. There was nothing in the world that could keep him down as long as you were happy. Eddie probably would have dropped out of school after his second failure if you hadn’t simply smiled at him and told him that he would graduate next year, for sure. He probably only did because you smiled at him every time he got a good grade.

The way you hugged him for a long time after a report card with no F’s on it kept Eddie’s head in the zone that last school year. And, well, the way your body felt under his when he finally graduated…

Eddie shook his head, wracking his brain for anything to keep his mind from thinking about that night right now. There’s no way him getting a boner while you were still holding on to him so tight would be good.

“I think that sounds like a good idea,” you finally say after staring up at him for several beats. But Eddie caught the somber look in your eyes. It was going to take a lot of distracting to get you in a good head space.

“You know, I think we might still have some popcorn, too.”

After a few drinks, some weed, and a movie and a half later, Eddie finds himself waking up on his couch at some point after falling asleep. The bright, staticy screen causes him to squint his eyes, turning his head enough to bump his chin against the top of your head.

Eddie looks down at where you’re leaning into his side. He vaguely remembers wrapping an arm around you before the two of you had succumbed to sleep. It pains him to possibly wake you but the urge to pee is what startled him awake in the first place, so he does his best to untangle himself from you and sneaks to the bathroom.

On the way back to the couch, Eddie decided to stop in his room and grab a blanket for the two of you. But when he returns, he finds you sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Hey,” you croak out, looking at him with squinted eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers back. “I brought us a blanket.”

You stretch before standing up from the couch. “I should probably head home, Eddie.”

“Sweetheart its,” he leans to check the time on the microwave, “3 in the morning.”

Your eyes go wide, hands running over your face. “It is? Fuuuuck.”

“Just stay,” Eddie says, walking over to you and wrapping you up in the blanket. You groan, feeling conflicted on if you should stay and sleep on Eddie’s couch or if you should brave the drive home.

“Hey, if you stay, you don’t have to drive all the way over here to get Fae in the morning.”

“Ugh, okay you got me,” you say, giving in. You sit back down on the couch and start to make yourself comfortable.

“Wait, you can sleep in my bed. Promise I don’t bite.”

That took less convincing as you pop back up, dragging the blankets behind you as you wobble to Eddie’s room. Eddie laughs as you plop into his bed, stealing one of his pillows to make yourself comfortable.

“Hey save some room for me,” he says, walking around to the other side to climb in. He lays next to you, adjusting in an obnoxious manner that has you giggling. You turn to face him and he does the same.

“I love you,” you say at the tail end of a giggle. It’s something said frequently between the two of you. Genuine as it’s spoken after years of friendship.

“Love you, too,” Eddie says with a sigh. Sleep soon takes you both over again. The only sounds that can be heard is the sound of the a/c doing its best to cool down the trailer.

Eddie felt himself waking once again, this time much more comfortably in his own bed. He yawned, shaking a bit as the feeling of waking overcame his body.

The sun peaking through the cracks of his curtains gave the room just enough light that he could see the room with a slight glow. Turning his head, he chanced to see if you were still laying with him. He had a dream that you’d left with Autumn and ran away with Steve that left a sick feeling in his stomach.

Much to his delight you were indeed still occupying the bed with him. Smiling wide as you looked at him, already awake where you lay.

“Mornin’,” he says in his morning voice, and your eyes flicker.

“Morning,” you squeak back. As Eddie turns to face you, your hand finds its way out from under the covers and reaches out towards him. Your fingers gently glide across his cheek, rubbing against the stubble as you push his hair out of his face.

The way you’re looking at him has Eddie’s tummy feeling funny, but in a different way from his dream. You’re looking at him the same way he looks at you.

Suddenly, you push yourself up on your arm, hand still on his cheek as you start to lean in once again. Eddie’s heart beats hard against his chest as you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss.

It lasts a few moments, and Eddie melts into it. It was a kiss like none he’s ever had before. Not even compared to the last time the two of you kissed before Autumn was born. This kiss felt like a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter morning, the warmth spreading to every part of his body as he drank you in.

When you pulled away, Eddie chased after you, not wanting it to end so soon unknowing if it would ever happen again. When you don’t kiss him again, his eyes finally open to meet yours. They’re bouncing everywhere, scanning his face as if looking for an answer written on his skin.

“Eddie…”

But Eddie doesn’t let you ponder much longer, hand snaking around your head to pull you into him once more. This time more feverishly, the heat palpable between the two of you.

You shift so that you can bury your hands in his hair, and Eddie takes advantage of this to move himself above you. Eddie kisses you into the pillow beneath you, long kisses turning into passionate smacking, poking the fire that was burning between you.

“Tell me to stop,” Eddie says as his lips begin to move down your cheek and to your neck. He says your name breathily, “Tell me now, because I won't be able to stop once this starts.”

“I-I can’t. I won’t,” you stutter, hands grabbing at his waist as he kisses and nips at your neck. Eddie breathes against you, body alight knowing that you wanted this as much as him.

“But,” you say, stopping him in his tracks. You give him a coy smile, nodding towards the door. “You better make it quick. You know she’ll wake up at any moment.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Don’t gotta tell me twice. Better get to work then.”

Eddie suddenly lifts the blanket above the both of you and disappears underneath it. Soft kisses leave a trail from your knees to the apex between them. Eddie slips his fingers in the hem of the sleep pants he let you borrow, pulling them down with your panties in one quick motion. There was barely any light to see, so he decided to just dive in tongue first.

He ate you out like a man starved. Your thighs try hard to wrap around him as he works you up on his tongue, but his strong arms hold you open for him. Eddie groans at the way your fingers grip his hair, tugging just enough to burn so good against his scalp.

Once he added fingers, you had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself quiet. It was like Eddie knew exactly what you liked, because not long after you were coming undone, riding his face as you did.

Eddie crawls up your body, head resting between your breasts as he pokes out from under the covers.

“Jesus, Eddie,” you pant, looking at him in awe.

“And that’s not even the best part,” he teases, making you roll your eyes at him. You grab his face and bring him closer to you, tasting yourself on his lips as you kiss him again.

Eddie rolls his hips subconsciously, and you can feel how hard he is as he grinds against you. You want to say you also forgot how big he was, but it’s something you didn’t want to admit you thought about often.

Your hand travels between you, fingers trailing against his skin as you reach the hem of his boxers. Slipping under it, you feel your way to his hard cock, taking it in your hand to pump him. He whines against your lips, hips moving faster in your grip. You watch with awe struck eyes as his beautiful face contorts in pleasure above you.

“Please,” he pants out as he fucks your hand, “Wanna be inside you. Can I?”

You nod silently, unbelievably turned on by your best friend for the second time now.

He works fast pulling his boxers off quickly, a loud thwaping coming from his cock smacking against his stomach after getting caught on the waistband. Your eyes go wide as you take in his size.

After almost 2 years you’re still shocked at what Eddie Munson is packing. Those dumb ass cheerleaders that picked the bone head jocks over him have no idea what they missed out on.

Eddie settled himself between your legs, spitting on his own cock to get it good and wet before rubbing it in your soaked folds. You had a moment of clarity, realizing that Eddie wasn’t wearing a condom. You opened your mouth to speak, but your words got caught up in a moan as Eddie pushed his way inside of you.

The stretch took your breath away. Eddie seesawed his way into your tight cunt, opening you up on his cock until he was balls deep inside of you. He placed his hands on either hip and started moving, holding you tight as he worked up his pace.

Every thrust felt like too much and not enough at the same time. The constant knocking against your sweet spot had you seeing stars quickly, still worked up from him eating you out. The pretty sounds that Eddie was making wasn’t helping either, but you still had enough mind to shush him so that he wouldn’t wake your daughter.

Eddie’s pace quickens, and he makes the fatal mistake of adding his thumb to the mix. It only throttles you to the edge for a second time this morning. It’s not much longer before your vision goes white, toes curling as your orgasm takes over. It's probably the hardest you’ve cum in a long time.

“Oh, fuck.”

You barely registered Eddie’s words, but you definitely felt the reason behind his curses. Eddie was cumming deep inside you, balls emptying into your pussy as you were still riding out your own orgasm.

In the moment it felt amazing, but the post orgasm bliss left you crashing as you realized the very real situation you were both in.

Eddie felt himself being pushed by you, taking him out of his own high as he stumbled back on his ass. As you open your mouth to speak, Eddie is hit with a wave of deja vu with every word.

“Did you fucking cum in me?” The words came out in slow motion and Eddie’s body broke out in cold sweat.

“I-I’m sorry. I was going to pull out, I just—“

“What? You forgot? Are you kidding me Eddie? Do you not remember what happened the last time?”

Right on cue, your daughter's whines could be heard from across the hall. You sigh, kicking the covers completely away from you and grabbing the pajama pants you had back on.

“Listen, I really am sorry,” Eddie says, looking at you with big, sad eyes. You groan, unable to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that.

“What are we going to do then, Eddie?” You ask him, walking out of his bedroom to get your daughter.

Eddie sits on the bed for a moment and thinks. He knows that you getting pregnant again while Autumn’s only and a half isn't ideal. Not that you being pregnant is ideal anyway, but honestly Eddie wouldn’t be mad about it.

He was so head over heels for both you and Autumn that he doesn’t hate the idea of another person to love is the worst thing. But he’s also not the one doing all the hard work. And if it wasn’t obvious the first time that having a kid wouldn’t fix any problems, then having a second would probably not make much of a difference in your feelings towards him.

The door opens again and Eddie watches as you enter with a squealing toddler on your hip, clearly happy to see both mommy and daddy.

“Morning, sweet girl,” Eddie cooes, scooping his baby up and smothering her with kisses, sending Autumn into a fit of giggles.

“I went ahead and changed her. If you want to dress her I’ll make breakfast.”

Eddie gave you a quick salute as you went to the kitchen, leaving him and your mini me to get ready for the day. It took a lot of wrestling but he was able to get the little one dressed, including hair done, and looking presentable for the day.

Fixing her up in her highchair, Eddie sat at the small kitchen table and breathed a sigh of relief. You shook your head at his theatrics, setting breakfast down for the both of them.

“Hey, I was thinking,” Eddie said, spooning some applesauce into Autumn’s mouth. “After we eat, why don’t I follow you to the pharmacy and we can pick you up a Plan B?”

You quirk an eyebrow in amusement. “You have Plan B money this time?”

“Ha ha,” Eddie laughs dryly at your reference to the last time you had sex, the both of you freaking out over having no money. Thankfully Eddie was able to get a good job at Hawkins Auto Body when you got pregnant. He makes pretty good money now considering he was able to get his own trailer. Money is still tight, but he can manage.

“Fine, better eat up then, or else you’re gonna have two mouths to feed instead of one.”

Eddie looks at your daughter, spitting image of him, besides your nose, and smiles. Maybe now isn’t the right time, but…maybe one day.

[bitter-me]

It's Punishment Time!!

Neuvillette | M. Reader

----------

"Now then, I've prepared a very special punishment~"

----------

They say you shouldn't break the law or else.

Even with that, some still do and ended up meeting their downfall. But what happened to those who committed a much more horrible sin? Surely imprisonment won't be enough.. an execution must be in order.

But this...

Isn't what they all imagine..

The executioner seems... A little to eager to do his job..

He smiles from ear to ear, sometimes he even laughs! No ounce of regret or sorrow in his expression as he does his job.

People began to call him a lunatic. A lunatic that enjoys killing each others. But is that really true? Is he truly a lunatic? Or was there more to him than meets the eye?

"Neuvi~"

The Chief Justice sighed at the voice he didn't expect to hear that day. A voice that doesn't have a single ounce of guilt. Such a carefree voice. A voice that doesn't suit the man who has it. "Don't call me that."

"Why not~?" The other ask childishly as his head peeked from behind the Judge's armchair, like a child "sneakily" watching their parents work. Neuvillette groans in respond, what did he do to deserve this? Why does he have to be stuck with this lunatic of a man? But as the lunatic once said to him "'What's a Judge without his Executioner?'"

[Name] giggles at Neuvillette's shift in mood. Oh how he loves it when the other is like this~ It brings such joy to his heart. "Come on, Neuvi~ relax why don't ya~" He says, putting his chin on the other's shoulder as he gave his signature Cheshire grin.

Neuvillette roll his shoulder to get [Name] off of him as he continues on with his paper work. [Name] huff in annoyance, fixing his stature he eyed the Judge's paperwork before crossing his arms and leaned his back against the back of Neuvillette's armchair as he looks at the window in front of him. The two stayed like that in silence. It's neither uncomfortable nor comfortable just pure and utter silence with only the sound of Neuvillette's pen writing on the paper.

As time passes, Neuvillette decided to initiate a conversation with the lunatic. "Are you truly a lunatic as they claim to be?" This caught [Name]'s attention. "Oh? and why is it suddenly a part of your concerns, Monsieur Neuvillette?"

Neuvillette could practically hear the smirk in [Name]'s voice but before he could reply [Name] spoke up. "Believe what you want to believe, Monsieur Neuvillette. I don't care what you all think of me."

----------

The whole room erupts in whispers and murmurs regarding the lunatic of an Executioner as he had just executed a man that had been declared guilty by the Chief Justice.

"What a madman."

"He's insane."

"Why isn't he the one to get executed?"

"How did he even become an executioner to begin with?"

Those words continues as those voices becomes louder and louder. Neuvillette taps his cane on the floor hard enough to the point the loud sound echoes throughout the whole room, silencing the courtroom. Every time an execution is about to begin. This always happens. The whole room will be filled with many whispers and murmurs of people wondering just how a man can be so unhinged and.. excited about executing someone.

This also.. drove Neuvillette to start questioning a few things.

No matter the day, the time.. that lunatic always have that Cheshire grin on his face, that insane, maniac look.

How does a human learn to know such madness and insanity?

[kombuuuu]

miles deflecting is so GOOD he makes me ILL!!!!!! i love ur writing <3 do u think we cld have like a short continuation 4 it?

Deflecting on you.

42!Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

“Would you hurt me?” “Never again.”

continuation to this C:

im infecting people with the 42!Miles propaganda cough cough 🗣️ ly2 pookie (also this is definitely not short)

A few days had passed now, and Miles had stayed his previous level of civil, bordering caring, with you.

He wasn’t glad with how easy he had let the two other kids get off. But when they were reduced to cowering forms in darkened corners whenever he was around, it brought a pinch of justice, pride to his chest. Although, James had a rather decent punishment, in his opinion.

Word had gone around that he’d gone insane, smashed his head against a desk in an old , deserted classroom until he’d passed out. Mangled his own skull, intended to stab someone, but couldn’t get up from the damage to his own self.

A tip to the cops surveying the scene, and the rumour was spread a little wider.

He had been wary with you, from the moment you both sat staring at the city life below you, in his bed.

In his room, his house with his Ma just outside. The domesticity of the moment making the ache in his lungs suffocate his heart. Squeezing and pumping out as much blood as it could, heart rate trying to keep up with the lack of air.

He’d thought back to it too often in the mere days since occurrence for him to simply brush it off, but he sure tried.

—

He tapped the rubber of his pencil along his desk, staring at the page below him. The words being said had been drowned out by his racing mind, something he fully knows would get him in trouble eventually for “lack of effort”. But it was maths, there wasn’t a single thing being told that he didn’t already know.

What had his current attention, was the faint sketch of you on his gridded paper. He hadn’t meant to draw it, he’d just—, spaces out and it was there when he snapped back.

Now he was at a standstill with himself, use the currently tapping eraser to get rid of the drawing, or live with the faint lines hidden between pages. It was obvious, rub it out. But the thing, the most difficult aspect—,

—Was how utterly gorgeous the drawing was.

How your hair framed the page, the shape of your eyes being shaded in led. The soft look you’d given him that night being practically pulled from his mind and placed on the cheap paper. He’d recreated it perfectly, he could feel the apprehension, the uncertainty.

But despite how bitter those words sounded, uncertainty was still consideration.

You were considering him. Not as an enemy, or a nuisance — as a stranger.

You can get to know a stranger.

You can get to know him.

Miles closed his eyes and groaned under his breath, rolling eyes at the hope rising in the back of his neck.

He flicked to the next page, promising to never open to it again.

If it ended up cut out of his book, folded neatly and stuffed in the hidden latch of his desk drawer, no one but him would know.

—

You hadn’t forgive him, of course you hadn’t — you’re not that naïve.

He hurt you, cause you an entire season of torment, sleepless night and stress filled days.

You tried to stay quiet, like you always had. Passing by crowds unnoticed and surfing under the noise with a cotton stuffed ear.

And he’d started a ruining of that.

Trying not to draw attention to yourself, despite him so clearly trying to put you in spotlight.

This whole ordeal was a domino effect from that damn kaleidoscope, and he was just another finger flicking the next tile.

Until he wasn’t.

And he’d near killed a man for you. Taken care of you, feared for your life.

He’d found you, from nothing but a gut feeling.

The way he would stare now, was less vindictive. His gaze no longer that of anger but of a man conflicted. Like he couldn’t tell what to think of you.

You lay over your ruffled sheets, quilt and bedding under you to not overheat yourself. You window was wide open, airing out your humid room. The soft sway of leaves sprouting from the vines crawling over your building was pleasant. Digging their roots in the crevices of your window sill like Miles had been digging into the crevices of your mind.

You put a hand over your head, stretching your back up and listening the the crack that came from it.

Dropping back down and huffing, you continued to watch your ceiling in mild disinterest, trying desperately to reach the essence of sleep, and let the way Miles’ lips curled into a smirk fall from your mind.

He hadn’t realised it, but his small rebuttal to your teasing that night in his room had made a permanent statement in your head, no longer able to forget about it.

“No, just you —,” Your mind hadn’t cared to supply the rest.

Every single thing about that scarring night had burned its way into your temporal lobe. Like giving it a searing kiss with memory stained lipstick.

A small clicking had caught your attention, like fingernails tapping glass. The clinks were rhythmic, had the coordination of a spiders legs.

Your focus on the plain ceiling was now broken, a curiosity replacing it.

You approached the open window without caution, Moonlight spilling through the glossy panes. Placing your hands on the sill, you leaned forward, and felt the small rush of wind over your shoulders, the breeze cooling your heated face. An urge to close your eyes and take it in almost over-reigned that new curiosity, but your self preservation thought better of it. Checking left and right either side as if someone was going to be waiting right there for you. Because that was a completely rational and not at all ludicrous thought. You scoffed to yourself, glancing at the skyline with glistening eyes before turning and heading back inside, to finally — maybe, fall asleep.

—

Miles released a quiet breath, braids swaying from his suspended position hanging from a rooftop. Your rooftop, of your building—.. Where he was watching you. It was coincidence, really. That somehow, running from guys he stole a cure his Momma needed for a patient from. And when grappling from building to building, using clips and hooks and zip lines to get away from them, he’d stumbled into your street.

He’d lie to himself and say it was just the street his Ma’s favourite Paella was made, but the one time he’d seen you, exhausted from school—, drag yourself into an apartment across the street from that very place..

His opinion hadn’t changed, so to speak. But there was an added motive, that’s it.

And he’s hiding, it’s not his fault if your apartment is high up. Or his need to see you is growing at alarming rates, or his heart was beating so loud in his ears that he hadn’t heard you approach the window.

So when your fingers had softly scraped along the sill of your window, he’d pulled himself above you — and prayed you wouldn’t look up.

You hadn’t, thankfully.

He’d watched the way your skin had shone under the city lights, your features illuminated and accentuated by the chaos the streets. You were so unbothered—, so calm, even amidst everything he (and everyone else) had put you through.

Like a stubborn stone keeping the whole wall from collapsing.

His admiration for you had grown, not only from the past months — which he realises is slightly sadistic — but from your tenderness that had only lasted mere minutes. Even the glimpse of a softer you, not the one covered in a satiated rage, hands squeezing lemons until the bitterness dripped not from the fruit broken skin, but from your own. The sting of acid only making your bloodied finger feel more justified.

Not that.

What he saw was a woman free of woes, no need to split her skin when her heart was already so vulnerable.

And he craved for a mere glimpse of that again.

Like old, your anger had satisfied him. Gave him those doses of you he’d fiend for, and had excited him to no end. Now, he’s found something stronger.

He can’t let you go.

He watches you scoff at yourself, his mask retracting from his face. You look towards the city’s edge one last time before turning and making your way back inside.

He sighs, adjusting his position on the buildings ledge, and grabs the waterspout running the side of the building, crawling back to the shadows.

His claws clink, like nails tapping glass.

—

There wasn’t a day of peace in the last fortnight.

You were still suffering the effects of your previous injuries. People knowing that something had gone down between you and James, seeing as he hadn’t showed up in two weeks. And the near-healed bruises on your face were a well indicator of your involvement.

So when you stumbled upon Keith, someone you’d basically owed your still-intact-body too, scrambling out of an alley. Bloodied and bruised, nose broken and face almost as busted as your was that day. Safe to say you weren’t exactly confused to what was happening.

He looked up, eyes meeting yours almost eerily fast, the blood from his nose coating his teeth a deep crimson. A sick chill ran down your spine and you stumbled back. A wet gasp for breath was heard, diverting your attention towards its gruesome origin.

Turning your body towards the darkened alley, vision blurring at the edges. Your breath escaped you.

Keith had started speaking, and over the ringing in your ears he’d begged for your forgiveness, scraping his knees while he clawed to get away from his friends continuous spluttered coughing.

“What—..”

Mathew was lying on the floor, avidly trying to protect himself using only his bare hands. While a figure you could only see the back of punched in a strict, repeated pattern — like they’d done this before.

“Miles?”

The man whipped his head towards you, blood dripping down a cut on his cheekbone, and a snarl over his face.

Said contortion quickly smoothened out, a rather *confronted look replacing it.

Keith was long gone by now, having dragged his bloodied body away from whatever mess you were now a part of.

“Chiquita, don’t freak out.”

The way your lungs seemed to refuse oxygen kind of refuted that command.

You were frozen still, eyes stuck on the barely conscious body beneath the subject of your recent intrigue.

Mathew was barely recognisable, eyes puffed up in bruises and bloodied flesh. Miles had taken near no damage compared to the other men.

“[Name], c’mon.” He was getting up now, shuffling off his opponent with a tone of apprehension.

Only when his movement shifted your frozen eyes, did you see the key details you’d missed.

Braids, Nikes, Jacket, Collar, Claws.

A spray painted logo you’d only ever seen one man branding.

The Prowler.

"No te precipites, Ma."

“Don’t act rash, Ma.”

Right as the endearment left his mouth, you turned on your heel and ran.

"[Name], Por dios — quedate aquí."

“[Name]! Oh my god — stay there.”

He waved nonchalantly to the definitely not-going-anywhere boy on the floor. Shifting his foot back and jumping at a wall, claws digging in and gripping the ledge to the roof, swinging himself over it and keeping the momentum in a run.

Darting through corner stalls and confused pedestrians, you tripped over yourself to get away.

A strong, persistent mantra of ‘Holy fuck.’ was circling through the forefront of your mind, and yet everything else was hyper aware.

Not a fault in your step as your grace seemed to come out in times of dire panic, like a dancer following their cues, every movement made around you was an instructors yell.

You turned into the alley leading to your apartment, a shortcut, when you heard someone drop down behind you. You spun around, fast enough to dizzy yourself, and gave one look to the neon mask of the vigilante before going to run again. A small noise of panic escaped your shaking form.

“No corras, por favor!”

“Don’t run, please!”

Your heart beat fast, reaching the door to your apartment complex, swiping your key card and launching yourself inside, the scuffle of shoes being heard just outside the slammed shut door.

“Please, [Name], let me in. We can talk this out, Ma.”

Miles begged, knocking on the complexs’ back door.

"They were gonna jump you, [Name].”

“I don’t believe you.”

Your voice came out shaking, confused and *scared. You’d known he’d been capable of violence. It was adamant in the way he wouldn’t flinch at a hit, or the scars that coated his exposed skin.

But this? A man who’s killed people? Who was going to do it again had you not been a witness.

“I—“ You whined, voice giving out and tears finally breaking the surface of your waterline. “I’ve seen you—,” The back of your head hit the metal door and you sobbed silently. “,—On the news.”

Outside the thin steel, Miles sighed, guilt weighing his chest down heavy. He got sloppy, and paid the price. His anger, rage toward these men. And what they’d planned to do to you — he’d say it was justified. You’d say it was monstrous.

“You kill people, Miles.”

His heart broke at the tone of your voice, the quiet sniffles and shortened sobs. The way your voice cracked and broke under the pressure of your open heart.

“Ma, I—“

“I don’t wan’ hear it.”

His hands rest on the cooled metal, forehead pressing against it as he sighed.

“Please let me in.”

“I can’t.”

“[Name]. Chiquita, por favor.”

He’d begged, ready to get on his knees and stand out in the 40° (104°) heat, and wait until you opened the door. Even if it took days.

Although,

“I’ll break in.”

“Wha—,” you cut yourself off in a sobbing laugh, rubbing at your tear tracked face. “Miles, That’s not a very good bargaining chip.”

He smiled, closing his eyes and loving the sweetened tone you held. You weren’t scared of him, you were scared of the Prowler.

“‘Made you laugh.”

His accent thickened over the words, dragging them out in a rasping hush. Something only for you to hear.

Your resolve was breaking, lungs slowing to a calmed lull as the adrenaline left your body. You didn’t break though— couldn’t.

“I can’t—,” You looked to the ceiling of your apartment’s ground floor, standing in an empty back room. “,—You’re not good, Miles.”

“You helped them, before.” Your brows furrowed, not of anger, but of betrayed desperation.

“You.. You just watched—“

“I know, baby, I know.”

He opened his eyes again, staring at the door like it had attacked you.

“Go upstairs, yeah?”

“Why—“

“Just go on, Ma.”

You huffed out a slow breath, fight draining from your being. You wanted to yell, to scream at him how wrong of a man he was. How he couldn’t risk everything he had for you, not now. Not as the estranged people you were.

You wanted to show the anger you never could, reach that brink of anguish until you’d finally given him what he’d wanted since your moment of meeting. But he no longer wanted that.

He’d always wanted you to break, now he just wants you.

“Okay.” You were breathless and tired, coerced.

He lifted his head quickly, hands splayed against cooled metal curling into fists, an excitement running through him like that of a promise.

—

A minute later you were opening the door to your apartment, and locking it behind you. Anxiously making your way to your bedroom, worried to see what was inside, When you stepped inside, you weren't exactly surprised when your eyes landed on Miles' face, what had surprised you though — was that he was hanging off your window sill with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Now will you let me in?" His voice muffled through the glass and you breathed out a quick gasp, "You— Miles, get down!"

"Down?" He smirked, letting one of his hands drop from the wooden sill. "Oh my god!"

You rushed towards your window, discarding your phone on your bed carelessly. You slid your window up, as Miles laughed, swaying from his one hand. "Jesus Miles— are you trying to kill yourself?!"

He crawled through and you grabbed his free hand, dragging him inside. "Get—.. get." Giving up on your scolding half way through, you quickly ushered him towards your bed and turned to close your window.

"When you said 'Go up.' I didn't think yo—"

"I'm sorry.'

Your hands were left floating above your windowsill, shaking in still air. Miles had come up behind you, hands resting over your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt. His face lowered towards your ear voice dipping with it.

"I know you're mad— hate me, all that. 'S okay. I know—,"

He slowly moved his arms further around your waist, watching your breath hitch and the feel of your pulse under the blow of his breath.

",—And I'm sorry."

"I don't hate you."

"You don't hate anyone."

You relaxed into his hold, tears brimming forth again.

"You keep—" "Scaring you." "Yeah." He dragged his left hand down, trailing his fingers over the skin of your arms and watching as the bumps rose along your flesh. You were entrancing.

"Are you scared now, Mami?" He grabbed your wrist in a gentle hold, swiping his bloodied thumb over your smooth skin. Your hand twitched, and his thumb stopped.

"No." You flipped your hand into his, linking your fingers together, careful to not agitate his bruises.

"Would you hurt me?" He reciprocated, closing his fist over your own, the flick of pain felt like nothing— not when the aching in his chest was finally being calmed.

"Never again."

—

DUDE MY PHONE IS FUCKING BROKEN LOLLL

no ending image today im on my laptop (fucking cries)

translator (bbg) @sataraxia

taglist!! @red-riot-rat , @stvrfir3 , @erensbbg , @umawooma , @wisteriaflowersss , @inejsknifes , @meowsannie , @manduse , @rainy-darling , @riya1161 , @key-zee , @toasttew , @em711 , @starsval , @gemma42 , @lovelymiaablogs

[stevie-petey]

hiiiiiiiii honey <3 could we get a blurb about bug telling steve about jonathan’s outburst towards her after he took the pictures of nancy and steve’s reaction to learning about it???? it would be so so appreciated by me <3 you’re the best ever <3 MWAH

(i am being held against my will to write this jonathan sweetie im so sorry) (i love u val) (u are evil)

i know this isnt necessarily what u MEANT but ,,, ive been dying to expand upon bugs kindness and how it may seem annoying and pathetic, but its hers ! its her kindness !!!

enjoy <3

"no way you guys havent wanted to strangle each other at least once." steve remarks one day as he watches you and jonathan work side by side at the cash register.

jonathan had been bored today and decided to join you and steve at work, something that you're very happy about, honestly.

"oh, ive definitely wanted to strangle jonathan," you say, writing down a new shipment receipt while the boy next to you doodles.

steve rolls his eyes. "old married couple squabbling doesnt count. im talking, like, full on betrayal and hurt here. you guys are always so... you, and it has to be an act."

jonathan snorts. "shouldve seen the fights we had last year. surprised y/n didnt kill me with her bare hands."

"i dont believe you."

"no, hes right." you look up at steve. "he threw a jacket at my face last year and then told me we werent family the night he took those pictures of nancy. then cried in my arms like a day later."

steve stares at you, shocked.

"i also then slept in nancys bed and lied about it. and tried leaving you behind a few times."

"that you did," you flick jonathans ear, causing him to wince in pain. "you deserved that."

"i did."

during this entire exchange, steve hasnt said a single word. hes still stunned, baffled by the fact that jonathan could be so cruel to someone so wonderful.

"wait a second," he looks between you and jonathan. "and youre still friends?"

"yeah." you both say at the same time.

steve cant fucking believe it. you do anything and everything for jonathan, that much is obvious, and sure. steve has seen jonathan do small acts of kindness towards you, devote the same back, but to throw a jacket at you and belittle you? and now here he is, joking about it alongside you. as if it was all okay in the end.

"youre too nice sometimes, y/n." the words leave steves lips before he can stop them. once he realizes what hes said, he looks up at jonathan and panics. "sorry, man. im sure you guys talked it out and... yeah."

jonathan shrugs. "no, youre right. she is and i was dick."

"im right here, you know."

steve winces. "sorry."

"its fine, honestly." you go back to scribbling shipment orders. "i am indeed too nice, but i dont ever really see the point in holding a grudge? i mean, jonathan apologized and i understood the stress he was under. sure, it didnt erase all the hurt he caused, but after almost dying immediately after being mad at him for not including me in something... i dont know. it felt silly to hold onto that anger after. childish, even."

jonathan and steve share a look, for once both seeming to think the same thing.

shes too good.

you hate that they do this. you hate that people view your kindness as a weakness. after the hell youve been through, long before monsters even came to hawkins, youve learned the hard way just how rare kindness is.

now you try to be kind to everything and everyone, no matter what it may cost you.

the kindness is yours, no one elses.

and if that makes you weak, then at least it made you better.

you tear two pieces paper from your notebook, scrunch them up into balls, and then throw them at steve and jonathan. "stop pitying me. im kind and i love that aspect of myself. i dont care if it makes me vulnerable or pathetic. its a piece of me, and i wouldnt change it. if you dont like it, then that belittles me even more than emotional outbursts ever could."

jonathan sighs. "youre right, bug. youre a very kind and lovely person and its what makes you a joy to be around, paper balls and all."

steve plays along. "definitely a better super power than spider-man, dare i say."

"okay, lets not get ahead of ourselves now," you giggle, appreciative of both the boys. they may not understand or like the way you view the world, but theyre at least trying.

its all you could ask for.

even if steve later on that day pulls you aside to whisper, "i think i can kick jonathans ass this time, if you ever need it."

and its enough.

[meowww-ffxiv]

About that new guy, Yukinko Sato.

.

(1) "Yukinko" was obviously a city name. It was what the non-Viera kids in the villages at the bottom of the Skatay Ranges called him when he was a child sneaking away from his own mother to play with them.

She always told him off -- they were straying close to these settlements to gather some herbs, not to be seen! -- but Yukinko never listened to her. After awhile, she rolled her eyes and let him be.

(2) Against his mentor and father's wishes, Yukinko left the Ranges when Doma was invaded by Garlemald, and journeyed to the country's hearts alongside some village youths in the hopes that he could fight.

He learned and quickly grew proficient in samurai arts, the teaching of which had been unrestricted by then as Doma scrambled to fill its ranks with more men while Garlemald bore down on them.

Unfortunately, it was not enough. Doma was conquered, and Yukinko along with his cohorts were captured and conscripted. What happened to those village youths who were his friends, he never knew... At least, not the ones who did not commit honorable suicide.

(3) The Crown Prince of Garlemald was seventeen by then, and had made an idle sport of killing every single tutor that he had. Varis was growing heartily sick of him, but he was almost eighteen and ready for the field, anyway. Amused by Yukinko's skills, he ordered him to be the boy's newest -- and supposedly final -- tutor.

Zenos thought of this stranger as a new round in a game of only the barest amusement. Most of his tutors taught him, but they also loathed him, and did not mind inflicting as many wounds on him as possible. He timed himself on how quickly he could pick up their skills, then kill them with it. The record was thirteen days, by this point.

But Yukinko, though he loathed his circumstances and loathed this scion of his enemies to some degree, was also utterly unable to inflict pain on someone he had authority over as a teacher. Mentorship in his culture was no less sacred or less heavy a burden than parenthood, and so...

So he taught Zenos coldly but sincerely, and was in turn skilled enough to survive Zenos's onslaught.

Thirteen days came and gone. It became a month. Then it became two months, and then four.

Zenos felt--

Not quite curiosity. But rather, pity. He pitied Yukinko. Like someone pitied a rabbit with a broken leg left to die on the side of the road. He could tell that teaching him pained this man, yet he would not be riled and he would not be pressed into explaining why he persisted. He did not rise to any of Zenos's remarks either.

Yukinko spoke only to correct him. Not harshly, not severely; fairly. But he never said a word of praise, and never wavered.

(4) Assassins making attempts on the Crown Prince's life was commonplace. Varis only staged guards because leaving his son undefended was bad press; everyone in the royal palace knew His Highness could kill a squadron of the Empire's finest soldiers if he so chose.

These assassins were a little different, however. They were not insurgents, but rather Varis's political rivals. And somehow, they made it all the way to Zenos's chambers.

Yukinko happened to be there, reviewing sword moves on paper with the young prince. Of course he defended him.

Killing six enemies was boring, so Zenos let him do it.

But it did stir some strange, heretofore unknown emotion in his breast, to see that man who so coldly despised him yet so steadfastly taught him, standing between himself and this perceived danger.

For a moment, Zenos saw a little of the world in a matter of perspectives and not banal truth. The danger might be minuscule, but still, someone -- this man in particular -- was still standing between him and its tiny, pitiful jaw.

Yukinko bled to defend him. When the assassins lay dead and he was flicking the blood off his blade, Zenos found himself saying, "Had you been stronger, you would not have been cut."

Yukinko only laughed. A hollow, bitter sound.

Robed in crimson, a mockery of Doman samurai robes adorning him, a magitek katana at his side, barefoot and spattered in blood, more of it artfully spattered in a halo of carnage around him, the splayed bodies of his enemies like grotesque rose petals...

Beautiful, Zenos thought.

The sincerity of that realization startled him. Beautiful.

But Yukinko was already walking away, to call for the guards.

Zenos stared at the dead bodies for a very long time. Contemplative. Regretful, even.

Then the servants cleaned them away. Zenos paid no mind to their trembling hands and pallid lips, though for once it was not because he did not care to. It was because he was distracted. Dreaming, still, of that splendid scene of red and white, and a different pair of pallid lips, curved so cruelly.

That was the first time Zenos had seen his teacher smile.

...Oh, but he must see it again.

(5) Yukinko would not let Zenos have it.

He was back to his frosty terseness right after, refusing to even grace Zenos with a frown, let alone that smile of hollow mirth. Let alone that laugh. And Zenos -- he hardly knew how to court it out of his teacher.

Realizing that there was a deficiency of knowledge about this man, Zenos took to observing him more closely. Yukinko's habits, his schedule, his philosophy, his art...Suddenly everything about him became possible areas of interest to Zenos. This was no longer a mere passing amusement. It had become a hunt, a true sport. And Zenos would understand the prey that he sought.

Yukinko, who had since grown to pity the young man in return, thinking of him as the product of his environment more than anything, was surprised at this sudden interest. But he did not recoil from it.

They traded words on more than swordsmanship, then. Yukinko was careful not to say too much, aware that Zenos would likely wield anything he learned from him against the Empire's foes, but still, he talked. He talked to Zenos about fate, and the cruelty of circumstances, and hakanai bi. Ephemeral beauty.

Beauty, he told that young man, was tied irrevocably to death and its inevitability. All which was beautiful shall one day fade, and that was what made it precious.

Zenos thought about the wreath of crimson and carnage, of bodies and blood spatters spread like petals around a red-robed, barefoot figure in white. About pallid lips curved in a cruel grin, a voice that laughed so sweetly, so hollowly.

He thought, Indeed, beauty is fleeting.

(6) There were more assassins.

By coincidence, or rather because Zenos had grown to shadow Yukinko too much, they were caught together by the enemies yet again. This time, before Yukinko could even reach for his sword, Zenos had dispatched of them all.

In one move, flowing as water, swift as a dream, a perfect replication of Yukinko's most profound maneuver as a swordsman.

And then, standing amidst all that slaughter, he turned to Yukinko and offered what he would never know was a genuine smile, probably the first in his entire life. And he asked, "How did I do, sensei?"

Yukinko's only answer was an expression of pure horror.

He drew his sword on that child. He did. He realized three things at once -- that Zenos was a monster, that Yukinko himself had raised and armed a monster that would serve the Empire's depraved dream of conquest, that he could not let that monster live.

But a look of confusion passed over Zenos's face, and Yukinko could not get his sword arm to move.

Palace guards burst into the scene then, and upon seeing the Crown Prince standing there amidst corpses with his tutor, sword drawn, facing him with such terror in his eyes... Well, they drew a reasonable if incomplete conclusion.

(7) Yukinko was sentenced to die immediately. Varis wasn't sure whether he was responsible for this attack, but he considered it an irritating breach of security that Zenos's security detail hadn't thought to suspect Yukinko for the previous attempt.

Zenos said, "You cannot kill him."

"Know your place," Varis answered, thinking to himself he better turbo-kill this rabbit harder before, heavens forbid, his heir continued developing sympathy towards savages.

In response, Zenos slipped in, murdered the guards, and set a bunch of prisoners in the same prison free. In their escape, they took Yukinko with them.

Because if Zenos could not kill his sensei, then no one shall get to do it. Zenos had killed every single other tutor of his, those sniveling old fools...but Sensei was different. Sensei deserved better.

No matter. They needed only time. Zenos shall find Yukinko again. And perhaps next time he shall smile again, for him.

He dreamed of their reunion. It would be magnificent. It would be beautiful, and fleeting. And it will be painted in red.

(8) Yukinko wanted to die for his shame, after.

But among the escapees who took him was a Viera, and she kicked his ass about being a coward. If he was really sorry, she said, he'd be working the rest of his life to assist everyone in repelling the Empire and not sit around wishing for the sweet fucking release of death.

She was right, of course.

For years and decades afterwards, Yukinko traveled across the many lands, moving on dangerous missions to thwart imperial gains anywhere he could. Five years ago, he arrived in Eorzea and stayed for the descent of Dalamud.

Five years ago...

Five years...

(9) What happened in those five years?

Yukinko wandered through a forest. Sunlight dappled the ground, bleeding softly through swaying leaves. He had an assignment. He was having a hard time recalling what it was, but he was sure that he did--

Oh, yes! He needed to get to Gridania, where a contact would meet him and... And tell him what needed to happen next. Yukinko knew they had failed. They had failed catastrophically, but there had to be a next step. Dalamud's fall no doubt weakened Eorzea; they must rally.

A carriage stopped by. The man on it asked him if he was alright, if he was lost.

Admitting that he sort of was, the man showed Yukinko some pity and let him hop on. They were going to Gridania anyway. They talked a little, and then.

And then Yukinko found out it had been five years.

The grizzled merchant gave him a weird look. "Maybe ye hit yer head."

Amnesia? Possible. The thought frightened Yukinko, but it was possible.

He thought to sleep it off.

But a crystal appeared in his dreams.

Hear...

Think...

Feel.

And the serpent had found its tail, that it could begin this devouring.

[riorangedeezguts]

(9> make em seethe, I'm playing with fire here lmao)

Okay, so your name's Rio Ranger...

But like... as in the term to arrange?

Just like how you rearrange your clothing with those of the deceased to appear more human for your liking? :)

Along with how you keeping switching those cards to rearrange your facial features and mimic a smile because you're physically incapable of making one yourself? :)

And how you keep arranging your pretty-boy personality to keep up with your father's standards? :)

Doesn't being referred to in such way make you feel more inferiorly inhuman?

(sorry this took so long to answer, anon! I've been thinking abt how I wanted to do it for awhile now, and I can safely say the ending is a bit disturbing lmao)

TW: a touch of body horror at the very end! (It's separated from the rest of the writing so you can't miss it, and the cut is for brevity since this is kind of a longer post. Enjoy!)

Tch. Look at the grating grin on this bastard...

"Hey, shit for brains! I'm the most human of all the dolls dad's ever worked on!" Ranger reminds you, flapping his expression cards against your forehead a few times in clear exasperation, as if to scold you the way a dog owner might lightly hit Fido with a rolled up newspaper. "Don't'cha know that means I'm the best of both worlds?" With a paper smile pressed to his lips, he goes on to explain why.

"First of all, I can't get sick and die like you losers, and even if the me standing before you became scrap metal, there's puh-lenty of backups for my code, my parts, my blueprints, my possessions... Dad's got alllllll of that junk on file in case something happens."

And yet, the doubt still creeps into his mind.

A masterpiece, huh?

What masterpiece constantly feels like shit?

"But I get it!" He exclaims, interrupting his own thoughts. "I get it! Really, I do! I'm sure it just gnaws you up inside knowing my dad loves me so much. Call me a gambling man, 'cause I'd bet big on you not thinking he was capable of it, what, with how stony faced he tends to be." Then Ranger pauses. "Say, whadda you think, bastard? Am I my dad's son?"

With the purposeful flick of his wrist, his mouth is no longer concealed by any cards, revealing nothing but the thin line of his lips behind them and the darkening whites of his eyes. Orange and yellow swirls of madness twist their way through the murk, pinning you in place beneath the weight of his gaze and the lack of a smile.

"The resemblance is uncanny, wouldn't you say?"

But something about the way you keep smiling at him says you expected this outcome. You think you've won, you cheeky bastard?

"What's wrong with being a bit inhuman, eh?" He asks tonelessly. He's asked himself this question a thousand times, because he is human in all the ways that count, isn't he? That's always what dad said.

"I'm a masterpiece with or without my humanity," he adds convincingly. You'd never guess he was trying to convince himself with those words too.

Why? It stings to question dad, but why?

Why was he made like this? Why does he doubt himself so much? Why aren't dad's answers ever enough? Every. single. time dad tells him the truth, and every. single. time Ranger squanders it.

He hates himself for it. But he hates you more.

"You're lucky your clothes are so damn ugly," he says to you at last, lazily eyeing you up and down once before turning on his heel to walk away, not even bothering to raise his cards as they hang dejectedly at his side. "You're not worth all the clean up killing you would require."

.

.

.

If only he could flay you alive.

Wear your frail, peeled skin like a mask, and see the look of horror in your eyes as the sight of your own face is the last thing you see. Skeletons can't smile back, after all.

But maybe, finally and at last, he could.

[the-smallest-star]

Clem sat in silence, tail bound to her wrists and ankles tied together. It was tight enough to hurt a little, but the imp knew Wraith was more than aware she could try and slip free if they weren't secure. Her face ached from his earlier grip, but she didn't say a word about it.

Wraith's office was luxurious, expensive old furniture in place while heads of his prized hunts sat on the walls. Some of them even sinners. The fireplace crackled in the corner, warming the room from the cool outside air and casting a dim light on the surroundings.

He was at least nice enough to turn on the lights shortly after, dismissing his subordinates before he took a seat opposite her. "Now we're in private, how have you been? You cut your hair." Wraith asked, though he was met with silence, "... not very chatty I see. Very well, suppose we'll drop the niceties."

Putting her file on the table he watched Clem's eyes flicker to it briefly and then back to him. "... you really made them mad Clementine. Its not often someone will want to list an imp with me. What on Earth was going through your head to kill Toby?"

"... He started it." Wraith rolled his eyes at the childish response. "I suppose he did. But you never do think things through do you, then again you have people who do that part for you." "Just like you have people doing your dirty work." Clem shot back.

His smile dropped, eyes narrowing.

"If you want me to do a job for you, you can forget it. I'm out of the business." Clem said, her own glare matching his. "You haven't changed a bit. You're fortunate I am a patient man." He warned, his voice low, "and those are big words from a lap dog." "What's that meant to mean?" Clem snapped, tail tip giving a twitch of irritation.

"A lap dog, you really think I wouldn't notice? You might be able to lie to yourself, but I see right through you." He commented, disgust clear in his tone, "you still have yet to make a single decision yourself, but you're incapable of it."

A questioning look crossed Clem's face, so he continued. "If it wasn't for your lizard friend, then you'd of never left Toby's side. It was just... expected of you after he crossed your boundaries. So you did what was expected and left. You had no idea how to do anything differently."

Rising from his seat he approached, Clem scooting back as he prodded an accusatory finger into her chest, "And then the Princess walked into your life, freed you from your tether. You see that as the moment you took your life into your hands, but I know that's a lie. You traded one master for another, someone who has no ability to be redeemed stayed to serve the Princess, even if it was minimal. You stopped the killing, you stopped the drugs. Because its what was expected of your new owner."

"Thats bull-"

"You can't make your own choices. In all honesty its not your fault, Toby's been in that head of yours since you were potty trained. You never learned how to be independent, and you have no desire to be. Even if its subconscious. So let me give you a dose of reality." His face lowered to be level with hers, his smile sliding back onto his face.

"People like you, will always serve someone. Because you don't know how to be any other way. You killed Toby, because he would of killed your friend. You did it for them, not yourself. And that is why Butch will kill you, because you won't kill someone who raised you. You'll never be free, and the sooner you accept that the more at peace you'll be." Rising back to is full height he brought out a piece of paper, letting it burn in the fireplace. "... I owed you a favour, from the last time Toby loaned you to me. I will not be taking your bounty... so that is my favour repaid. When you wish to have a new master, you know you're welcome at my door."

Clementine had fallen into silence again, but Wraith knew his words had sunken in deep. He known her for a very long time after all... he knew her. Reaching down, he tilted her head up gently. "Chin up dear, the life of a servant isn't that bad. Find the right master and it can even be comfortable, just don't lie to yourself anymore hm?"

"False hope doesn't suit you."

[bokettochild]

WIP Wednesday

Figured it was about time I did this again, so here's a sneak peak at my currently WIP AU of Linked Universe, AKA the TBBU rewrite.

As Marin described them, they look fierce. Brawny men. Taller, easily, then the songstress, although likely not as much as himself. Tattoos mark their faces, bold and dark, and beneath their still dripping cloaks, he can see the glimmer of armor and weapons. 

  He’s on his guard immediately, although he doesn't show it as he nods to them in greeting. “Welcome, gentlemen,” they look like nothing of the sort, “and who might I help you find?” 

  “Pardon?” the darker of the two asks. 

  “I’m assuming, based off the fact that you’re here, that you’re looking to locate someone,” and hopefully not try and kill him because please, he’s had a long day already and the carpet is already far too stained. 

  Zelda should have listened when he said to just make it brown. 

  “So,” he continues, not betraying any wariness as he turns his head back to his papers, grabbing a fresh sheet to begin writing on, “what’s the family name?” 

  “Um…?” 

  “Your father’s and your last name, sir,” he repeats, sparing them a brief look, patience already running thin after a long day of the same. 

  “How-” 

  “The family resemblance is strong,” he answers, catching how the younger looks to his elder in confusion and a bit of shock. “You’re fortunate though to not have gotten your father’s nose.” 

    The words draw a smile- rough and rugged and sharp, but honest in an odd way- from the younger. He looks like he could rip Link’s throat out with his teeth, but his smile seems more good-natured than anything. His elder meanwhile just rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh, as though he’s heard that particular comment a few too many times before. 

  “Now,” he tries, smile wooden and polite as he looks up at them, “what’s the name?” 

  “We’re looking for a Link Taylor.” The bigger of the two men answers, voice rich, but not nearly as deep as one would assume by looking at him. It’s nice, almost melodious, and to himself he notes that the man must be an amazing singer. Usually he wouldn’t notice that, but Marin and Tune had an ear for good voices and tended to point them out. 

  He scrawls out the name, trying his best to hold his hands steady as he does so. “A general description of the lad?” 

  “Tall,” the man answers, stepping forwards and settling one hand on the table, leaning over and watching him closely as he writes. Link doesn’t let it bother him; he’s seen plenty of men come in and try to intimidate him into giving them what they want, be it his help or something else, and he’s handled all of them before. Granted, this fellow bears a presence that itself is a warning, but he could take him if he had to, and worse comes to the worst, someone will be along eventually to come ask him for something, so if he somehow does get the lower hand, backup might still arrive before he gets killed. “About six three, six four,” the man continues, his single eye watching intently as Link writes out the words, “Blonde. Blue eyes, and he looks about a second from keeling over.” 

  He nods, not letting the crowding bother him as he glances at another paper, filled with names of those they’ve found dead and identified. The name, his own- although he wouldn’t be surprised if there were another Link Rochester Taylors out there- isn’t on the list. “Are there any defining birthmarks or scars that you can think of?” 

  The man shifts. He’s blocking the view of his son, but Link gets the impression the other is simply standing and watching their exchange. That’s nice. People who look like that don’t commonly behave themselves, so he’ll take that blessing as he can for the moment. “A burn on his left side, mostly to the arm,” the fellow chuffs, sounding irked at the thought, “and heavy scarring over his eyes.” 

  That makes him stop, glancing up for a brief moment at the man before back down to his papers. “Is he blind then?” 

  “No,” the man sighs, “but sometimes I wonder.” It’s a pointed thing, frustrated and pained, although not without humor. He wonders why. 

  “And I’m assuming by the name that he is a tailor?” 

  “No,” the man answers, and his son is still silent and standing, watching them, nothing being provided from the man. “It’s the family name. He’s a soldier.” 

  Ah. 

  He scratches out a note at the bottom of the paper, scrawling instructions for one of the other generals to follow when the note is brought to them. “I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place then, sir. We here reunite families of civilians with each other. All soldiers are handled by General Tangoro, down the hall a way,” he nods to the door in the general direction of the woman’s office. “I’d speak with her, although I can’t promise results. I’m sure you’re already aware, but not all soldiers made it home and some are still missing right now. We’re doing everything in our power to find everyone, but it may take time.” 

  “I already know where he is.” 

  “Well, I’m afraid I can’t grant you infirmary access,” he informs the man, handing off the file he’d been throwing together and the note for the general, “all visitation is under the supervision and command of Miss Feaflen, and if she denies you access then there is nothing that I can do about it. It’s for the safety of everyone involved.” 

  “He’s not-” 

  “If your soldier is currently in the prisons however,” he continues, clipped, setting his chin on his interlaced fingers and staring up at the man with no small amount of exhaustion dragging at his shoulders and beginning to seep into his voice and face, “all visitation is strictly forbidden. Traitors to the crown are not allowed contact with anyone save their guards until the court martial. For a date on court martials, please speak with the warden. He’s in a meeting right now but I’m sure someone can help you if you ask. Simply-” 

  “Captain,” The man snaps, not rough, but more stressed, as though he is the one with someone looming over him with hands big enough to snap his neck. “We’re looking for you.” 

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Sexual situations; allusions to r*pe; mental health struggles

A/N: I edited the chapter to remove the original content. My brain can't handle the drama that came with writing something so dark.

You were toying with your newly acquired crossbow when you heard him groan. Your new plaything. You had claimed him. He and his weapon were yours, and sharing was not an option with this one. You’d hate to see those horny bastards tear him to pieces just to get their rocks off. You’d seen that too many times before. 

It was the first time you’d actually laid a claim on a person. Sure, the boys would share but only because they wanted you to scissor with some chick or had a penchant for watching you peg some poor soul with new found sex toys. It hadn’t been all bad, but none of it had been yours. None of it wanted. Unbeknownst to your fellow group members, you were in it for survival. Regardless, Joe decreed that unless you specifically asked for someone else’s assistance, you and your boy toy would be left alone, the threat of being taught left unsaid. 

Your hands stilled on the stock, narrowed eyes watching the man across from you curiously. No one else would have heard the noise. While Joe made sure you were close enough to be able to see your fire burning, to be able to hear you call for them, he allowed you to be far enough away to maintain privacy. Most nights, you slept among the group. The old man had taken you under his wing all those months ago. The boys knew better than to touch you. You were the one thing that was always off limits. 

But as long as you had—what was his name? Daryl. As long as you had Daryl, they would grant you time alone to do with the man as you wished. 

And oh, did you have a lot of wishes. 

His head rolled back and forth against the tree in slow and jerky movements. He wasn’t quite yet in the waking world. Maybe he just needed a little—motivation. 

You placed the crossbow beside your leg, far away from the man—just in case. Taking out your zippo, you flicked the lid and struck the flint, igniting the flame in one swift movement. The paper of your cigarette sizzled as it caught and you flicked your wrist downward to close the lighter and place it back in your pocket. 

“Ugh.” You had nearly finished your smoke and he had stopped moving. It was taking entirely too long. 

You pushed to your feet, quietly advancing. With a long draw filling your lungs, you crouched next to him and turned your head to exhale the smoke in a dense billowing cloud while flicking your cigarette into the fire. 

You leaned in close—but not too close. You weren’t stupid enough to think he wouldn’t slam his forehead into your nose the first chance he got. 

A wicked smile that showed all your teeth made you look damn near psychotic. Maybe you were. The apocalypse alone provided enough justification. 

“Oh god—they’re gonna kill me!” You whisper-yelled, grabbing his rather impressive bicep to jostle him. “Please wake up! You gotta help me! Please!” The moment he jerked awake, you tilted your head. Watching bleary yet wild eyes search for the damsel in distress was beyond entertaining, but nothing would thrill you more than when you saw recognition seep into his crystal clear blue orbs. “Have a nice nap?”

He remained silent, jaw tight and nostrils flaring. Oh, he was mad. His arm muscles tensed, only gathering a single sliver of your attention. He was testing his bonds, the ropes around his wrists. There wasn’t much he could do to test the one around his neck that secured him to the tree trunk besides strangle himself. 

“I know how to tie a mean knot, pretty boy.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You aren’t going anywhere unless I say so.” You pushed on your knees to stand straight only to crouch over his thighs. His head barely made it a half inch from the tree before your palm slammed into his forehead and your handgun pressed into his chin. The hiss he offered was delectable. “Ah ah ah.” You tutted, shaking your head. “You’re a guest. Wouldn’t be to your benefit to break the host’s nose, now would it?”

He was trembling and you would bet your quickly dampening panties that it wasn’t out of fear. You released his forehead but kept your gun pressed uncomfortably hard into his chin. Dropping your knees forward, you straddled him, his bound hands trapped between his crotch and the apex of your thighs. 

Tilting your head one way and then the other, you smiled, your tongue darting out to wet your lips while you let the fingers of your free hand dance along his jaw. “You’re pretty, Daryl.” He recoiled as much as he could, his lip curled. “Come on, baby. Let me hear that voice.”

His lips parted, maybe to speak, but then closed again. Oh, he was a stubborn one. You would need to work hard to break him down, but it was the end of the world. You had nothing but time. 

“Maybe I’ll let you eat when you decide to be a gentleman and talk to me. Even take a piss.” You shrugged, patting his cheek harder than necessary while pushing to your feet. Walking back toward the fire with an intentional sway in your hips, you sat back down on your blanket and drew your knees to your chest. 

Rape wasn’t your thing. With the men you kept as company, it was something you saw often, took part in only because it was what the group did. If you didn’t participate, were you really one of the gang? Being a Claimer had kept you safe. The end of the world brought out the worst in people, yourself included. Sure, you’d tease, but you’d only fuck Daryl if he broke and begged you for it. 

Right?

You felt the switch flip in your brain, shining a light down into a closed off room in your mind where a woman stood, bound and gagged. You knew who she was and why she was silently pleading to be set free. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. 

This isn’t who you are. 

“Shut up.” You mumbled, pressing your forehead into your knees, tangling your fingers in your hair. 

You’re not him.

“I said shut up!” Your palms slammed down into the leaves, back straightening and eyes clenched shut. Your chest was heaving, a single stray tear dripping from your jaw. When you opened your eyes, the voice was silent. “Christ.” You sniffed and ran your fingers through your hair, glancing at Daryl once and then again. He was watching you with intense curiosity, those piercing eyes narrowed. “The fuck’re you looking at?” You barked. When he didn’t look away, didn’t speak, you grabbed a handful of leaves and dirt and threw it at him. 

Satisfied when he turned his head to avoid the mess hitting his face, you looked back to the fire. He was likely staring again. You could almost feel his gaze, but if you didn’t look, it wasn’t real anyway. Right?

“Go to sleep.” You said—a quiet demand. Grabbing your flashlight, you checked the perimeter lines and then placed it back inside your bag. Your sleeping bag felt more uncomfortable than usual, a soft prison in which you willingly wrapped yourself. Heaving a sigh, you forced your eyes closed and let sleep take you. 

Daryl was still watching. 

Morning came all too soon. Your nightmares had once again made sleep an elusive creature, your mind startling you awake after what felt like only minutes at a time. Dragging yourself out of the bag, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and shuffled over to Daryl, kicking the bottom of his boot none too gently. “Wake up.” His eyes peeled open, so clear that you wondered if he was even really sleeping. “One warning.” You muttered tiredly. “Don’t try to run.”

Your feet dragged and carried you around the tree, the knot difficult but not impossible for you to untie. The rope fell, and you pulled your gun from your waistband, unsurprised when he leapt to his feet and bolted. With little effort in aiming, you fired, the bullet hitting him in the left calf and sending him skidding across the ground.

“Told you not to run.” You heaved a sigh and lowered the weapon to your side, trudging over to where he lay, grunting and hissing. “Now I get to pluck out a bullet and patch you up.”  

When your hand wrapped around his bicep, he jerked away, using his fists—still bound—to push himself himself up, drawing his good leg up to balance on his knee. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!”

“He speaks! And it was so worth the wait.” You reached for him again only to be shrugged off. “Oh, stop!” You rolled your eyes.

“Need some help over there, sweetheart?” Joe called, barely visible in the distance. 

“Nah, we’re good! He’s just being a naughty boy!”

“Teach ‘im right, now but not all the way!” 

Waving a hand, you turned your attention back to Daryl. “Listen, if you give me a hard time, then I’m just gonna need some help. I’m sure the boys would be more than happy to give me a hand.” When he sneered at you, you gave his ass a pointed glance and raised an eyebrow. “I can’t promise they won’t each want a turn afterwards.” You shrugged with a feigned smile of nonchalance. “Who would I be to say no?” He continued to glare but the moment his resolve crumbled was obvious. 

It was difficult to get a man as heavy as him to his feet with an injured leg, but it helped you to appreciate how good he felt beneath your touch, lean muscles flexing as he attempted to pull away and make it on his own. “I just shot you and you’re not at least going to yell at me?” Pouting extravagantly, you refused to release your hold.

“Ain’t got nothin’ to say.” 

You relinquished your grip and let him hobble along. “Anyone ever told you that your voice is a panty-dropper?” Daryl curled his lip but refused to look at you. “That’s called a compliment, Daryl. The polite thing to do would be to say thank you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later.” That had his head snapping toward you, eyes wide. You just smirked and carried on. “Sit down there. I’m gonna take care of the mess you forced me to make.” Crouching over your bag, you watched him in your peripheral. He used his right leg for balance and bent it at the knee, sinking down with that single limb holding all his weight while attempting to not fall on his ass. He made it most of the way before he simply plopped down against the tree trunk. 

By the time you crawled over, there was a sizeable dark circle of blood-soaked leaves below his leg. He didn’t seem to be showing any symptoms of severe blood loss so you continued to take your time. He didn’t resist when you grabbed his knee to tilt his leg but his eyes tracked your hand while it went to the knife on your thigh. 

“Hands above your head, gorgeous.” When he didn’t move, you hung your head and sighed. Before he could blink, you had your gun to his temple and blade at his throat. “Maybe shooting you wasn’t enough. Maybe I need to do some real damage to get it through your thick skull that I am not fucking around.” Daryl grunted when you pressed the knife’s edge inward just enough to break the skin. “Hands. Above. Your. Head.”

If looks could kill, you’d have definitely been a walker. 

“I’m a surgeon with a gun, but I’m not half bad with a knife either. Don’t test me.” You threatened lowly. Your lips parted into a gleeful smile when you had to move back for him to follow through with your demand. “Good boy. Now, keep ‘em there.”

Your knife, always expertly sharpened, sliced through his jeans like butter. You only cut a small section, enough to give you access to the wound without fucking up his pants entirely. No warning was given before you splashed the whiskey over the bullet hole, watching with a twisted sense of satisfaction as he arched and hissed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?” Sarcasm dripped from every syllable not unlike the whiskey now dripping from your sterilized hands. “You’re gonna love this next part.” Daryl’s brow drew inward, his eyes finding and following your hand, too late to stop you from digging your finger straight into the wound. He pressed his head back against the tree with a shout. 

“Ssh.” You soothed so quietly that it almost sounded genuine. “Don’t want the dead to hear.” His breaths became ragged, skin growing pale the more you rooted around inside the injury. After what seemed like an eternity, your nail grazed over the metal. “Ah ha. There you are.” His leg was a mess by the time you pulled your finger, thumb, and bullet from the stretched disaster. You were staring at the projectile with something akin to admiration while Daryl fought to catch his breath.  

“Try to run again, the next one goes in your ass.” Head hanging, he glared at you from beneath his fringe of sweat damp hair. “I’d just love to dig that one out.”

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” He panted. 

“How much time ya got?” You shrugged, continuing the process of stitching and dressing the injury. He merely grunted. “You must be hungry.”

“Got other problems.” He grumbled immediately, his face flushing. 

You moved away from his feet, smart enough to know that one kick would incapacitate you long enough for him to get away. Not something you were willing to risk. “I could use a bathroom break too. Come on.” Gun in hand, you sheathed your knife and climbed to your feet. You reached for the rope around his wrists, but he growled and pulled away, finding a method of levering to his feet without your assistance. 

You led him away from camp—his limp profound—and waved a languid hand. “Go on then.” His brows shot up before drawing inward into a scowl. 

“Think m’gonna do it with ya gawkin’ at me?” He snapped.

“Can’t help it.” You shrugged. “You’re so shiny, easy on the eyes.”

“Pfft.” Standing by the nearest tree, he looked at you, raising an eyebrow expectantly. 

You huffed. “Fine.” You started unbuckling your belt, opening your jeans to yank them down, grinning when Daryl nearly fell over to turn away. 

“Th’fuck you doin’!?” You couldn’t see his face but the tips of his ears burned red. 

“I’m gonna take a piss too.” You peered at him, confused. Maybe you had forgotten something from the old world, but you always urinated with the other Claimers. Only one explanation made sense. “You never seen a pussy before?”

Daryl scoffed, but you noticed he didn’t answer. “Whatever.” 

You chuckled and squatted, watching him while you drip-dried. “Go on the other side,” you grinned when he angled his head to indicate he was listening without looking, “but remember there’s a bullet for your ass if you try to run.” 

After a moment, he sighed and limped around to the opposite side of the tree, granting you a wide berth. Listening closely, you stood, hearing his zipper at the same time you jerked yours upward. Biting your lip, you almost silently trekked around the tree, waiting until you were certain he was tucking himself away before springing around with a quick boo! 

“S’wrong with you?!”

“Everything, Daryl.” You laughed, observing him hungrily as he struggled back to camp. He dropped himself down by the tree, anger radiating from him in waves so powerful that you could feel it even with the distance that stood between you. 

And you couldn’t have been more aroused. 

With a whine and childish kick of your feet, you dragged yourself back to your sleeping back and plopped down gracelessly. You wanted to have fun with Daryl, but not that kinda fun. Maybe he'd actually want it eventually and you could oblige, but for now, you'd just continue to fuck with him in other ways.

"I think I'll call you Sir Hops Along." You smiled sweetly, tossing him a small bag of jerky before opening the other you had for yourself. He muttered something too low for you to hear, but snatched up the bag. Oh, he was going to be so much fun.

[echoestm]

❝His voice means to deceive you. My voice just wants to lead you.❞

Name: Stuart Macher Dr. Art Archem DOB: 07/21/1979 Sign: Cancer Gender Identity: cis man Sexual Orientation: panromantic pansexual Relationship Status: Single Profession: Clinical Psychologist specializing in trauma. Interests: Billy Loomis. Ghostface. Stab films. Horror films. Movie-making. Hunting. His own physical fitness. Family. Legacy. His private practice. The world of true crime. Gale Weathers. Masks. Aestheticism. The life and times of Hugh Hefner and the Playboy Mansion. Rock 'n roll. Tiktok. Vine. The Internet. Religious affiliation: None. he had only one god, once

Come the morning of the anniversary of Maureen Prescott's murder, Woodsboro's just got too many mangled bodies to handle on it's under-resourced hands. Living bodies, bloodied and battered, dead bodies so much worse. The Becker girl and Orth boy hadn't yet had a funeral and Principal Himbry was still taking up space in the morgue. Small town that they were, they just weren't built for a killing spree. It was the kind of thing that happened in fast-paced L.A. not sleepy little retreats for the wealthy like Woodsboro. There's nothing to do but call in neighboring counties for additional everything, cold storage, transport, ambulances.

Had he ended up in a local bus with Woodsboro EMTs maybe it would have been different. As it was, he was just another unconscious John Doe with a surprise pulse, pulled out from the mess of the Macher farmhouse. Stu wakes up in a hospital, sore, sporting a headache the IV drugs don't put a dent in, staring down nurses who want his name. The second he's alone he rips out lines and books it outta there.

Artus T. Archem

Not right away, of course. . . That'd be like asking to get caught. No, it's just a little something doodled on a long list of possibilities. Because he has nothing else to do while convalescing alone. Because idle hands are the devil's playground. Because… there's going to be a sequel some day. Revenge of the Ghostface.

For a long time he's nobody. Tim. Drew. Sean. A different forgettable single syllable in every new place he moves to— in and out while the scars are healing. Just long enough to make enough cash to amble along to the next place. Leslie helps too— after she gets the whole story out him. The Macher Cut. Bad Billy influence. In over his head. Running now from the obvious cover-up that Sid and that Gale Weathers are obviously in on together to better keep all those dirty little Prescott secrets under wraps.

Eventually there's a real name— a new one, to go with school and papers and a Montana driver's license. But he never forgets good old Archem. Sounds like Arkham. Like the town full of horrors Lovecraft wrote about. Like the Asylum that Batman fails to keep the nightmares locked up in. He likes that. Full of bats and ghosts and madness. Hadn't Billy said— we all go a little mad sometimes?

He'd sure felt like it, waking up post-op more bandaged than the Universal Mummy, dodging the question of his name from some tired looking nurse. If they didn't know that. . .

Far as he could figure after, they didn't. Not yet. There'd been too much blood, too much confusion, too many bodies. His among them— first piled with the deceased and then dug out when somebody heard him rasping for breath. John Doe #3 until claiming or confirmation could be found. A luxury he hadn't waited around to give them. Afterwards, the description of him had sounded like Stu Macher, but good old Sid had said it was impossible. She'd killed him. Not that she ever served a day for it.

He becomes a rumored mystery that the Woodsboro PD handwaves away like a stink they can't wait to be free of. The odor of their own incompetence.

Later, so much later, he changes his name one last time— so it's official on his paperwork when he graduates as Dr. Artus T. Archem.

He's learned SO MUCH in all those anatomy and psychology classes.

[grantgoddard]

Gonna make you a star/czar : 2001 : James Murdoch, Star TV

“I am sorry, sir, but you are not allowed in the tea room,” the head chai-wallah said to me politely but firmly. “It is OUR job to bring you cups of tea when you request them.”

I was learning that, in India, self-service was a social crime and servitude was still alive and well. I had wandered into this tiny room from my desk a few steps away in my quest for an alternative to the thick, sugary tea I had been served, reminiscent of the disgusting, syrupy ‘Camp Coffee’ my mother always drank in the 1960’s. In the ‘tea room’ was only one big aluminium machine on which there was a single large red button. Press it holding your cup underneath and it delivered ready-sugared, ready-milked tea. No options. Henry Ford would have been proud. Admonished, I skulked back to my desk, visions dancing in my head of unavailable herbal teas and a former existence in which I was allowed to make my own beverages.

My desk was on the edge of an open-plan space occupied by ‘Channel [V]’, a music video station whose ratings were failing to compete with ‘MTV Asia’. It was not hard to see why. Peeking over my desk divider I would observe the young, educated, urban team’s enthusiasm for American and European rock music which, for India’s largely rural audience, probably sounded as if it came from another solar system. At one nearby desk, a hip young man spent most of his day quietly strumming an acoustic guitar as if he were Dylan (the rabbit). This wing of the top floor of ‘Star TV’s building in Mumbai was as laid back as I imagined the Hunter Thompson-period ‘Rolling Stone’ magazine office to have been.

Why was I there? The team creating India’s first commercial FM radio network was so nascent that we had no office space of our own as yet and had to be squeezed into other channels’ unused corners. On the opposite side of my work station usually sat my young colleague, Sandeep Kapur. He was absent today sorting out paperwork that would prove he was not dead. This required him to purchase classified advertisements in several newspapers stating that he was, in fact, very much alive. After the stated period during which he hoped no objections would be lodged, he could then apply to the government for a ‘Life Certificate’, necessary for transactions such as a mortgage. In India it was insufficient to BE alive; you required a piece of paper to prove it.

At the end of every morning, the tiffin-wallahs arrived to deliver hot homemade lunches in circular metal lunchboxes to male workers at their desks. Each box was colour-coded, numbered and inscribed with symbols to designate a particular desk on a specific floor of our office building in the Andheri district. All had been collected from homes and conveyed long distances by bicycle, train and car within the previous few hours. Those of us unlucky enough not to have wives at home, or to be one of the organisation’s few female staff, could buy subsidised cooked lunches in the building’s ground floor canteen, at its busiest on Friday when the weekly Chinese fare was sufficiently admired to persuade men to forgo their wives’ home cooking.

Today had been designated a special day because the several hundred staff working in the building were to be addressed by the Great Leader via a live television satellite link. At the appointed time, I pulled up a chair alongside the hip Channel [V] dudes in a semi-circle around one of the many television sets affixed high on the corridor walls of every floor. There was an air of anticipation because we had been promised/warned that a major corporate announcement was about to be made. Reorganisation? Closures? Would a pink-slipped Dylan have to find another gig where he could continue killing his workmates softly with his songs?

The satellite connection flickered and we could see a fixed camera focused on a young man sat behind an ordinary office desk in Hong Kong. It was the very moment he started talking inanimately to the camera that the event started to become somewhat surreal. This man was chairman and chief executive of a huge media conglomerate broadcasting multiple television channels by satellite across most of Asia. He apparently had important developments to share with his workforce of thousands. So why did he have the air of a wayward son forced by his father to smile for the annual family group Christmas photo? Why was he oozing the reluctance of a boy ordered to attend his stepmother’s birthday bash and to bring a suitably expensive present that had not been manufactured in China?

I could not supress a snigger. My young Indian colleagues turned and stared at me as if it were heretical not to show the utmost respect to our ultimate boss. I realised then that they probably knew next to nothing about the twenty-eight-year-old James Murdoch who was addressing us or how he had been appointed to this job. His track record hinted at his posting to the furthest reaches of the Murdoch galaxy. Aged fifteen, daddy Rupert had given him an internship on his Sydney newspaper, only to find him photographed by a competitor asleep on a sofa at a press conference. Later on, how disappointing it must have been to buy your son’s education at Harvard to study film and history, only for him to drop out in order to launch a rap music company … which later you have to bail out.

Murdoch’s Star TV operation based in Hong Kong had been losing US$200m a year by 2000 so, naturally, it was decided to send a boy to do a man-sized turnaround job. What was the son’s new strategy to stem these losses? We learned from the television address that Murdoch Junior had come up with the amazing idea of changing the business’ name from ‘Star TV’ to … ‘Star’. I kid you not. This was apparently necessary because ‘TV’ was an outdated, fuddy duddy business while the ‘internet’ was the medium of the future, despite it having already existed for almost two decades. So it required us all to wave goodbye to the ‘TV’ brand and say hello to ‘….’.

This sounded remarkably like a rehash of Murdoch Junior’s lobbying of Pops three years earlier with his strategy that the internet was where it was at, resulting in News Corporation having submitted a $450m bid for online startup ‘Pointcast’. I had been an enthusiastic early adopter in 1996 of its application which downloaded news stories using ‘push technology’ onto a computer about topics and from leading global newspapers personalised by each user. Working months on end in Russian isolation, I would spend evenings redialling hundreds of times until my laptop’s modem connected to a landline good enough to receive the latest news stories to devour. The phrase ‘never look a Murdoch horse in the mouth’ must have eluded the Pointcast board who stupidly rejected Junior’s vastly inflated offer. Two years later, it sold the business for a meagre $7m to a different company that shut the news service after one further year of operation. Pops had been miraculously saved from a half-billion sinkhole dug by Junior on that occasion.

Quite why Junior’s ongoing affair with the internet demanded us to interrupt our work schedule for half-an-hour I had no idea, but we watched until the screens went blank again and then walked away … totally underwhelmed. I returned to my desk and found that fairies had magic-ed a hardback notebook with the new ‘Star’ logo onto every desk in the building. The change made absolutely no difference to my work. We were planning to launch our radio network with the brand ‘Star FM’ (though this plan failed once we found a competitor had already bagged the name). When I left the building that evening, I had to avoid a crew with a crane who were busy swapping the huge illuminated logo over the front door to one with the new name. Apart from losing the ‘TV’, the logo still looked much the same to me.

Less than three years after having banished Junior to Hong Kong, Pops called him back to manage a different part of his empire in Britain, claiming that his son had executed a hugely successful turnaround strategy during his posting to Asia. One Australian newspaper ran this story in 2003 under the headline ‘James Murdoch didn't shine at Star’.

[white--moon]

Those words are supposed to sting, he thinks. They do, but in a distant way. He doesn't care enough at the moment for them to have full effect.

He wakes up some time later, though he honestly doesn't know how long he's been asleep. He's also not quite sure what is waking him up at first. He cracks his eyes open, groaning a displeased sound at the light streaming in through a gap in his curtains. Their track is automated. They're on a timer. They should definitely be closed. He fumbles for the remote, finds it, and pushes the close button. The gears engage, but then the track holding the curtain clinks quietly against the end of the rail it's on. Closed, but still letting sunlight through.

Frowning, he sits up with the intention of figuring out the problem, but he's hit with an immediate, skull throbbing headache and nausea that comes with way too much alcohol and not enough food and water. It's way too early in the morning, or day, whichever, to be worrying about fucked up curtains and puke on his rug because of it, so he drops back down to the bed and rolls over to ignore the light. It's while his eyes are closed, shutting out some of the stimulation, and the pounding in his head is calmer, that he realizes there's also some kind of noise. It takes him too long to realize it's a commotion coming from downstairs. Which means it's for sure too early to be awake because his guards know to kick everyone out by a certain time.

How fucking obnoxious.

He's generous enough to not only throw a huge party, but let people crash at his place too, and the thanks he gets is being woken up early.

Growling an annoyed sound, he sits back up. There's no blanket to toss back, he never made it under them. He stands, an ache creeping through his hips and lower spine to remind him that that was in fact not a very lucid wet dream. Just that realization is enough to enough to have him half hard.

He tugs on his pants from last night, nearly falling over when his balance is shit from too little sleep and too much partying. As soon as he's halfway down the hallway and can see the open air space of the landing, he sees the crooked chandelier but it's not until he's up against the railing, looking down, that he can see why it's crooked.

He scowls at the body in dull, tired annoyance for a second, before looking down at the unfortunate guests that were below it. "Fuckin' Ichigo." He mutters, then, at the people still below. "Hey! Get the fuck outta my house and if a single one of you breathes a word about this to anyone else, I'll find you." It wont work. This will definitely get out. There will be all kinds of rumors circling by the end of the day. He doesn't really care. No one talks to cops, that's the important part.

He looks at the body again, seeing that corner of paper sticking out of a pocket. Right. A note. About someone trying to kill him. Ichigo's being awfully protective for a guy who doesn't like him anymore. Shiro has enough casual sex to convince himself that the sex last night could have been casual, no matter how much he doesn't actually believe that, but murdering a man for him is not casual. Even for a mercenary. Especially for a mercenary, who is supposed to be hired and paid for that service. He leans his forearms on the railing and scowls, but his thoughts, in between the throbbing headache, are swirling around Ichigo, not the fact that there's evidently a price tag on his head.

He autopilot reaches for his phone in his back pocket and- oh, hey. It's there. It never made it out of his pocket last night, that's why he couldn't find it. That tracks.

He types in Ichigo's number three times and deletes it three times. He finally shoves his phone back into his pocket and decides to see what the note says first, snagging a surprised guard (understandable, he supposes, since this body used to be their superior or however ranking works for them) and instructs him to start cutting the body down, preferably without breaking the chandelier but it's kind of ugly anyway so he won't be too upset.

The way Ichigo says that sounds so casually polite, like he's a guest in someone's home and spilled a glass or something. Not like he just fucked his ex. But maybe that's the point. This means nothing. Shiro snorts. "Mostly, yeah." That can't possibly be a surprise.

Enough of his high is wearing off, pumped through his system faster with all the adrenaline and activity, that he's starting to feel a little more like his sharp-tongued self. "I'm not easy to kill. You should know." He's not sure what Ichigo cares if he lives or dies at this point. In fact, he's just starting to realize it's weird that Ichigo came to warn him. Or maybe he noticed that earlier, but got too distracted to dwell on it.

Sure is such a half assed response. He suspects that means Ichigo wont be taking him up on the offer, but that's probably for the better. This is all going to be a mistake in the morning- or whatever time he rolls out of bed hungover and in dire need of a shower. Not the sex part, he'll have no regrets about that. It'll be all the renewed junk that's probably going to flood in behind it. Shit he's been trying to choke the life from for years now. What a mess.

He hears the sound of Ichigo leaving his room and refrains from sitting up. Instead, he heaves a heavy breath rolls overs, burying his face in his pillow and letting the dark he finds there loll him into a heavy sleep.

[rivwritesiguess]

Not Scared Anymore

Word count: 1685

Hurt/Comfort

Platonic!Newsies x reader

Navigation

_ _ _

  “Y/N! We’ve missed you, where’ve you been?” Y/N groaned internally. They had seen the Delancey twins this morning, and the day before, and the day before that, and every single time they say the same thing. The two knew it annoyed them, so they took advantage of it. Y/N turned away from the direction they were walking in, holding up a newspaper and calling out a fake headline. 

  “No need to be so cold, ya know,” Oscar said. Y/N continued to ignore them, not looking back at the two as an older man exchanged a paper for a penny. Y/N thanked him as he walked away and he only grunted in return.

  “Look at you go, selling those papes so quickly. We’re so proud of you.” One of the two put his hand on top of their head, shaking their hat around before taking it off and tossing it over to the other. Y/N sighed.

  “Just give me back my damn hat, Delancey,” They said once they had turned around. Morris shrugged, spinning the hat with his finger.

  “If ya want it back so bad, you’re gonna have to fight for it,” He said. The two brothers shared a laugh as Y/N tried to grab the hat, only for it to be tossed to the other.

  “You heard him, Y/N. Can’t make any exceptions, even for you,” Oscar said. Y/N huffed, turning around and walking away. They didn’t need their hat to sell the paper, they’d be just fine without it. And they did. They sold two papers in the next twenty minutes, glad to see the twins hadn’t followed them. However, the second they felt the relief, an annoying voice came from down the road.

  “Could you imagine walking away from a fight, Morris? I think that if someone does it says quite awful lot about them, what about you?”

  “Oh, I completely agree. I think it means that they’re a wimp, and they know they can’t win.” Y/N turned to tell them to screw off, only for Oscar to pull the papers out from underneath their arm and throw them to the side. They tried to go after them, but the two brothers blocked their path. Right as they exchanged a sinister glance, someone else butted in.

  “Delancey!” Jack called. The three looked over to see Jack storming over, David behind him with an obvious look of ‘I have to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone’. Further proving the theory of what the look meant, he grabbed Jack’s arm once they had got there and pulled him back slightly, not having the slightest trust in him. “Get the hell away from dem.” 

  “When will you learn to mind your own damn business, Kelly?” 

  “Once you two piss off.” Oscar scoffed, shaking his head. Morris rolled his eyes. He turned back to Y/N as Oscar started walking away.

  “Times gonna come when he doesn’t get here in time, and trust me when I say that both of us are looking forward to it.” He shoved the hat to Y/N’s chest, taking a final chance to glare at Jack before catching up with Oscar. As Y/N put the hat back on, Jack turned to David.

  “No, Jack.”

  “Yous saying those dicks don’t deserve it?”

  “I’m not-”

  “Let’s not argue about this,” Y/N spoke up before anything could escalate. Of course, it wouldn’t escalate too badly, but Y/N didn’t feel like hearing the two bitter back and forth while trying to sell the rest of their papers. They bent down, picking up the papers the Delancey’s had thrown to the ground. They groaned once realizing that none of the papers hadn’t fallen into the puddle, meaning they couldn’t sell any of them. No one wanted wet papers.

  “Dammit, Y/N, sorry we couldn’t get here any sooner,” Jack said as he and Davey helped pick up the soaking paper. Y/N shrugged.

  “It’s whatever. There’s always tomorrow.” Of course, both Jack and David knew that it wasn’t whatever, considering the money Y/N just lost and the small bit of dignity, but they didn’t say anything. The three walked back to the lodge house, Jack and Davey having already sold all their papers, throwing the wet papers away along the way. They walked in to see a few others had already returned, including Crutchie, Race, Specs, and Romeo. 

  “You three have already sold all your papers?” Jack said, skeptical of all of them aside from Crutchie. Race placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt.

  “Course we did, Jack, what do yous think of us?”

  “I don’t think you’d want to hear that answer,” Crutchie said, laughing at Jack’s nod to agree with his statement.

  “Hey, Y/N, what is yous doing back so early? Thought you liked to go watch the fishes or something?” Specs asked.

  “Yeah, Y/N, what’s up?” Romeo asked, not seeing the glare that Jack had sent Specs. Race, however, did.

  “It was them Delancey’s again wasn’t it?” He said, standing up as he rolled up his sleeves. “Two need to learn a lesson.” David grabbed Race’s bicep as he walked by him.

  “Go sit down.” Race groaned, turning around.

  “This is why no one likes you, Davey,” Race said as he fell back into the chair.

  “That ain’t true!” Crutchie said. “I like you, Davey, you’re a cool guy.”

  “Ok, everyone shut up,” Y/N said, making sure not to look at Crutchie when she said it, considering it was directed towards everyone aside from him. “Yeah, I had a run-in with the Delancey's, wasn’t a big deal. Got out of it without a scratch, no need to make a big deal over it.”

  “Y/N, the only reason you did was because Davey and I showed up at the right time.” Before Y/N could protest, David had to interrupt.

  “He’s right, Y/N.” Y/N sent a glare toward David, who sent an apologetic look back.

  “Hows about we teach you some tricks to help yous out when those pricks are around, might help you out a bit?” Specs suggested. Race lit up at the idea.

  “Oh, please say yes, I’ve been dying for an excuse to beat Romeo’s ass after he stole my customers from me last week.”

  “I didn’t steal shit, you’re just a lousy newsie.”

  “Oh really? Y/N, watch this.”

  “Shut your traps, both of yous,” Jack interrupted. He turned to Y/N. “That ain’t too bad of an idea, though, you wanna try it?” Y/N shrugged.

  “Don’t got anything better to do.” The second after they said it, Race jumped onto Romeo, calling for Y/N to watch and see how it was done. Jack groaned, pulling Race back.

  “Dumbasses.”

—

  Y/N had finished selling their papers for the day, walking back to the lodge house to meet with Crutchie for a game of War. As they walked, they got the sense that someone was following them, but decided it’d be better to just ignore it. So they did. Until someone grabbed them by their arm, pulling them into one of the many alleyways in Manhattan. Y/N quickly regained their balance to turn to see the Delancey brothers standing there, smirks on their faces.

  “Think you’ve been avoiding us, haven’t you?” Morris said, stepping forward. Y/N rolled their eyes, going to push past the two. Right as they tried, a punch was given to their right cheek, leaving a stinging pain that Y/N could only assume was from the ring Oscar was wearing.

  “You don’t get to leave after you’ve been so disrespectful. It’s time for you to pay up.”

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble, ok? I just want to get back to the lodge house and go to sleep.”

  “Should’ve thought about that before you changed your selling spot without us knowing.” Before Y/N could respond, the two stepped forward, swinging hits at them as they backed up. Once they hit a wall, fear struck them knowing they had nowhere else to go. Another punch landed on their stomach as well as their jaw. They ducked down as the next one was sent their way, kicking Oscar in the stomach causing him to fall back. Morris tried to take the chance to grab Y/N’s leg, but Y/N lowered it quickly enough and pushed him away. Seeing as both of them were now on the ground, Y/N went to run away before they could get up. However, Oscar grabbed their foot, causing them to fall to the ground, scraping their knees and elbows. They flipped over onto their back, kicking back at Oscar as he tried to grab them again. They threw a punch at Morris, who hadn’t been expecting it, and he stumbled back. Getting back on their feet, Y/N turned and sprinted the next few blocks. They got to the lodge house, where Jack was outside. Jack saw them coming and his expression changed, turning away from David and coming over.

  “Hey, hey, what happened?” He said, putting his hands on their biceps. Y/N was breathing heavily, shaking their head. “Y/N, are you alright?” Y/N nodded, and it sounded as though they were crying. “Y/N, talk to us, come on.” Y/N looked up, showing the cuts on their face, along with a smile.

  “You should’ve been there!” Y/N exclaimed. Jack looked back at David, confused. “They had cornered me in an alley but I fought back! I kicked them and hit them and got away!” 

  “Are you talking about the Delancey’s?” David asked. Y/N nodded, jumping slightly at their excitement.

  “You should’ve seen their faces! They were so confused, they didn’t know what hit ‘em!” Jack chuckled.

  “Hell yeah, Y/N, wish I could see them now,” Jack said, smiling down at them.

  “Yeah, but are you ok, Y/N? You’re bleeding,” David said, reaching up to assess the cut on their cheek. Y/N rolled their eyes, pushing his hand away.

  “I’m fine, Davey, never been better!” 

  “How about we goes inside and tell everyone about how you beat their asses?” Jack said. Y/N nodded.

  “Hell yeah!” As Jack and Y/N turned and ran inside, David rolled his eyes, laughing himself before following behind them.

[oh-holy-slut]

Bloodlust

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, blood sharing, mentions of death, oral sex

Word Count: 2,6k

Summary: Stefan forced Damon to try his animal diet. Damon hated it, but didn't had a choice... until Reader makes a suggestion. Suddenly things get steamy.

Being with Damon was complicated. Him and Y/N have seen each other a lot in the past weeks. The two of them had a lot of fun; saw a lot of movies. Actually, Y/N was sure Damon secretly hated many of those. However, anytime Y/N suggested another dramatic, romantic cliché movie like "Last Song" - the vampire groaned, put his arm around her shoulder, let her head rest on his chest and endured every single second of the movie of her choice.

Damon even flirted and teased Y/N here and there, but didn't lead to anything more intimate so far.

Today was another of those days. Y/N stuck around at the Salvatore boarding house, brought a few of Damon's favorite groceries and a bunch of movies, of which she thought that they will suit his taste. Even if they were a little to bloody and brutal in her opinion.

"Pick one!", she demanded, holding all three Blu-ray sleeves in front of him. Damon just shrugged, not bothering to even look.

"Don't be a killjoy, Damon Salvatore!" Y/N sighed.

"Tell me what's wrong or pick a movie. You've got no choice. And besides that... Which number of drink is this?" Y/N frowned, pointing at the liquor in her friends hand. Damon usually consumed his beloved bourbon with pleasure.

But the man on the couch didn't seem pleasured at all. His facial features totally hardened and a look in his eyes like he was ready to rip someone's heart out.

You put the disc's back in your handbag, closing the zipper and put the bag on the floor.

"Fine. No movie night today. Who are we going to kill?"

A small smirk appeared on Damon's lips, finally looking towards Y/N.

"Stefan and his hero hair. He made me go vegetarian... well, for a vampire... and I can't get myself to eat one of those chipmunks, bunnies or bambis." He shook himself with disgust.

"And why did he count you in? You clearly aren't excited about the changing... So, why did you agree?"

"He said, he would kill me, which is kinda funny. But-" Damon made a wide gesture "he stole my daylight ring. And he wouldn't give it back until I stop feeding on innocent people - and kill them."

"So, you truly let your younger brother blackmail you like that?! Wow... I don't know how to feel about your dieting or your new path. Or whatever this is supposed to be."

"You don't like me killing people either", Damon maintained, while taking another sip of bourbon.

"Well, I don't", Y/N agreed, took a step forward, stole the glass from the vampires hand and put it on a small table nearby. "But I don't believe in forcing as a method to get people to change their minds. I believe that change for the better must be an intrinsic motivation," she added quickly, giving the vampire an innocent smile.

Damon's lineaments suddenly turned from annoyed to curious. "Any suggestions, little one?" The vampire raised an eyebrow and a little smirk showed up on his lips. On the one hand, Y/N blushed over the nickname, Damon called her.  On the other hand she felt skittish looking forward to making a deal with him. Not only a deal. It's far more than a simple agreement.

It's Y/N, actually giving Damon a part of her. The red elixir of life. She was about to give him total control of her body and she not even for a heartbeat doubt that Damon will use it against her.

"Actually... Yeah. There's something on my mind." Y/N said chewing on your lip. "I could open up a vein for you. I mean, you could feed on me. And since you have my permission, there's nothing for anybody to have objection about."

Damon frowned and gave her an incredulous look. "You would do that for me?" The vampire couldn't believe, he understood correctly. Why would Y/N want to get involved with him feeding on her? What's in it for her? Damon tried hard to connect the dots, but he wasn't able to. It all seemed to make no sense. Y/N wouldn't have an advantage of that. The vampire hesitated, pinning his dangerously blue eyes on the girl in front of him.

"Is it so suspicious of me, that I'm trying to help my closest friend?" It pierced Y/N's heart, realizing, Damon's trust in her was rather fragile. "Never mind", she waved the pain away and forced herself to keep her composure. "I only had a hasty idea; you really don't need to fee-"

Suddenly Damon appeared behind Y/N, using his vampirism. "Shhhh", he whispered softly. "I never said, that I don't want your blood. I'm thinking about if we are going to cross a line? Blood sharing can be very personal..."

"It can be? It is personal already. Believe it or not - I'm not gonna offer my veins to all the vampires of Mystic Falls." Y/N rolled her eyes, her arms folded on her chest to point out the indignation she felt right now.

"Kinda sensitive today, huh?" Damon gently stroke a strand of hair behind her ear, Y/N could hear this smug smirk through his words. It was a true 'Damon thing' to do. "I didn't mean it like that, princess." He sighed; unsure if he should agree or not. Damon didn't want to act selfish towards Y/N. He compelled a lot of girls for the purpose of drinking blood in the past. He literally used them as long as they weren't too annoying - and then he acted like they have never met. Damon Salvatore couldn't imagine this scenario with Y/N. They've been so close, the vampire couldn't stand loosing her. The offer was risky, but it also could bring each other even closer.

Damon tried hard to avoid any serious attraction between Y/N and him, afraid of messing up. Indeed, he found himself thinking, and even dreaming, about Y/N more than he wanted to admit. She was smart and had this special sense of humor, the vampire adored so much. She was the only one, who could make him feel good no matter what. Needless to say she had that glimmer in her eyes, when she did something she truly loved. In these moments she was even more pretty. Y/N was hard to resist.

And maybe now he could have her like nobody else. At least the vampire gave in. He wanted her blood. He wanted her.

Y/N flinched by the feeling of Damon brushing her neck with his lips.  "Oh, Damon", she gasped. "Bite me." Y/N almost begged for the vampire's teeth breaking through her skin. Damon loved the sound of her husky voice. In less than a heartbeat he turned into his vampire shape. "If you insist", he grinned devilishly, ready to place his teeth on to her skin.

Suddenly Y/N made a slight move forward with the intention to interrupt her friend. "Did you change your mind?" Damon was close to switching back to human, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. Mostly a lack of understanding, but also a little of disappointment and even anger. Was Y/N playing games on him? While Damon Salvatore was sorting feelings, Y/N turned around, standing now in front of him.

She was so close, not even a piece of paper would fit between them.

Y/N slightly exhaled breath, her eyes darting between the vampires eyes and lips. It was the first time Y/N saw him like this. The icy blue of his eyes, she loved so much, has turned darker. Purple veins appeared under his eyes; Y/N couldn't help herself. Damon's appearance fully intoxicated every fibre of her being. Her fingertips found their way gently brushing over his dark purple veins. She felt heat and softness, while tracing one of them.  It took her a few seconds to get out of trance, realizing what she had done. "Sorry", she murmured with a voice barely audible. "Don't apologize, little one." Damon tilted his head, his lips curled up in a self-assured grin, exposing a perfectly white vampire fang. "I never saw you like this before, you loo-"

"... look like a monster?"

Y/N shook her head. It was nothing like that. Yes, he did look unfamiliar. And she should be scared under normal conditions. Instead, his look hit her in an unexpected way. He looked hotter as a vampire, if it was even possible. 

Y/N cleared her throat, looking up at Damon. "I feel... attracted to you."

"So nothing's changed", Damon teased, raising his eyebrows. The girl in front of him softly slapped him on his shoulder; which was only possible because the vampire permitted. "You are always so full of yourself." She smirked, feeling more confident being to something, they have had been so many times before. Granted, he was terrifying accurate, but she wouldn't serve her feelings on a silver platter.

"I'm still into it. You can bite me; feed on me. I only needed to see you before..." 

A shockwave of electricity flowed through her body the second Damon took her hand and pulled her close.

"I'll be careful", he promised, nuzzling his head into the nap of her neck. Damon once again placed his lips on her soft skin. 

Suddenly a harsh pain made Y/N feel like in a kind of haze. She flinched and let out a groan at the same time, unintentionally biting her lower lip. 

During Damon embedded his fang deeper and deeper, she started feeling dizzy. Her hands searched for the vampires upper body, finally wrapped around his neck. She needed him to lean on. A narrow trickle of blood flowed down her neck. Let Damon feed on her felt like flames licking up every fiber of her body. 

With every passing second Y/N could feel her control slip away. Her body was now firmly pressed against Damon's, like she would want to merge them into one.

Damon noticed her staggering, wrapped his arms around her waist, supporting her.

Bloodlust already messed up the vampires mind, so he continued feeding on Y/N.

A tempting moan escaped her lips, but she didn't care to cover up. Y/N's heart was racing, her eyes flattering. It was almost as if he was about to push her over the edge, but in a different way. "Mmm, this...this… feels soo weird... and so good...", she whispered under a shallow breath.

As soon as Damon heard her fading voice, he abruptly

quitted drinking from her.

"Fuck!" He rapidly laid her on his lap and checked Y/N's vital signs, to make sure she was okay. Instinctively he bit his wrist, pressed it against Y/N's mouth. He knew his blood would heal her, but it wasn't going fast enough. A few seconds passed through, to him they felt like centuries. Y/N finally blinked and Damon was relieved. He cupped her cheeks, his gaze never leaving hers. "I thought, I'd gone-" Damon cleaned his throat. "I'm so glad, you are doing well", he whispered, while trailing her lips with his fingertips. "So, fuckin' glad..." The vampire exhaled a deep breath. 

"It... You made me feel good. Strange, but good", Y/N appeased and flushed over the memory. "Maybe you got a little carried away, but I don't mind. I wouldn't trade the feeling for anything."

Y/N quickly interrupted herself, before she could reveal too much.

However, Damon used his vampire skills, noticing that Y/N was hiding something from him. "Isn't there anything else you want me to know?", Damon asked without taking his eyes off her. Y/N shifted and flushed even more. "It's unfair. You use your vampirism to get everything out of me."

"Well, if that were the case, I could easily compel you." Damon shrugged and found back to his smugly self. "Tell me, what you are hiding". He said in a seductive voice.

"I wanted to get lost in you."

Her confession sent shivers all over the vampires body. At first he could not decide, how to handle this. "Are you sure that's what you want? I could really hurt you..." Y/N hummed.

In the next split second, Damon pinned Y/N against a wall, smashing his lips on hers, kissing her with all the passion he had to give. The vampire devoured Y/N with a new kind of hunger. He didn't know he could crave someone so much.

"Fuck me, Damon..."

The vampire felt him getting hard, only by hearing those little three words out of her mouth.

"Say it louder. Tell me, what you want me to do."

Y/N pulled him closer, gently biting his earlobe.

"Fuck... me, Damon." It took her a second to focus and forming the words again. After she was near to climax earlier, it wasn't a long way getting to the edge once more. "Make me cum... You almost had me there..."

A deep moan got over the vampires lips, once he understood, what Y/N was trying to tell him.

With the next blink Y/N found herself in Damon's bedroom, lying on his bed.

From now on there weren't many words needed. Damon's hand's found their way under her shirt, cupping her breasts and make her moan over and over again.

He closely listened to the rhythm of her heart, making sure he would be able to delay her climax to the point he needed her to.

"Don't cum yet... I want to taste your little pussy first."

Y/N grabbed the vampires head, running her fingers through his dark hair - pushing him down, since she was unable to form a single word.

As Damon got down, he didn't take his eyes off Y/N.

He used a hand pushing up her skirt and lightly stroking over her panties with his fingertips.

"My girl is so wet", he praised in a low husky voice."-and I barely touched you."

His dirty words in combination with his touch lead to another moan, almost turned into a scream.

Damon pushed the fabric aside, leaving sloppy kisses on the inside of her thighs.

Y/N's eyes fluttered, when his soft lips reached her middle.

Damon's tongue licking around her entrance was driving her nuts.

"...so delicious..." were the only words she was able to catch up. Damon knew, he couldn't thrill her forever, so he got back to her. He spit on his palms, stroking his hand over his crotch. In under a second Y/N finally felt this releasing pressure of his cock. It was like a switch went off in her brain and she braced herself for the hard thrusts that would follow.

Damon dimmed the whining noises Y/N made with a passionate, hungry kiss.

He cheated with his vampirism to give it to her deeper and faster, knocking out all the air of her lungs while Y/N screamed out Damon's name. Her walls clenched around him and made him twitch. It was like her pussy massaged his dick the best way possible.

Every time he hit her harder and rougher he was making sure he hit her spot with every thrust.

Damon gathered speed one last time and pushed her over the edge until she was a moaning whimpering mess.

With her last contraction around his shaft, Damon was cumming inside her.

"You are so tight, little one", he whispered under his breath. "We should make arrangements more often."

Please like or/and reblog if you enjoyed reading or/and want me to write more stories about Damon.

Thanks guys ❤️

[barry-j-blupjeans]

12 or 19 with Taakitz? :3

12. “You brought me breakfast?” “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

--

Children, Kravitz thought, were designed to sniff you out at exactly the right moments, and pre-teens are even more viciously than the rest. Taako's school is large and slightly intimidating upfront but nothing can compare to being a grown man walking through the hallway as a bunch of eleven and twelve-year-olds rush by you, smelly and glaring and too speedy to even get a good look at their face.

Luckily, some of them have come to expect Kravitz. Unluckily, he had food with him this time.

"Is that Fantasy Wendy's?" a greasy-looking boy asked, falling into step alongside Kravitz. His friends followed, swarming around him. Kravitz held up the bag a little higher.

"Yup," Kravitz said. He turned a corner. He could see Taako's office at the end of the hallway. Almost there.

"Can I have some?" a girl asked from his other side.

"If she gets some, then I want some!"

"Just one fry," begged another. "I haven't eaten anything all day!"

"You just had breakfast, Derek."

"Well, he didn't know that!"

"No, you can't have any," Kravitz said. Several of them booed him. "Sorry! Try saving the world and then I'll get you some Fantasy Wendy's."

"No you won't," said the greasy boy, sourly. Finally, they reached the door. "It doesn't matter that Mr. Taaco saved the world, you'd get him breakfast anyway."

"True," Kravitz said. He knocked on the door and heard a sound from the inside, but wasn't really able to make it out with all the noise around him.

"Not even a single fry?" Derek asked again.

"You know what happened last time," Kravitz said. The door opened and, at long last, there stood Taako. He had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and the jacket he had left for work in was gone. The groaning of the kids around him died down. Taako looked from them, to him, to the food in his hands.

"You brought me breakfast?" he said.

“Well," Kravitz said, flushing, "you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

"Aw, babe," Taako said, and the children scattered at the mere note of affection on his voice. Well, all except the greasy boy, who had been trying to sneak his hand into the bag while they talked. Taako swatted him away. "Keep that up and I'll give you extra homework."

"You don't even teach me," greasy boy said. "And we don't even get homework."

"Do you want to have some?" Taako challenged and greasy boy backed down, muttering a little "no" under his breath and walking back towards his friends. Taako opened the door a little wider for Kravitz. "Come in, Krav. I've got some time to kill."

Kravitz stepped inside, eager to get away from the noise. The door shut behind him, muting it significantly. Taako rounded his desk, sitting at the large chair behind it, and Kravitz handed him the bag. He pulled up a chair for himself as Taako dug in.

"Y'know you can just like," Taako hand a motion with his hands like he was slashing at the air. "Portal your way into my office if ya want."

"I needed the cardio," Kravitz said, in lieu of the truth that he didn't wanna interrupt Taako if he was doing something important. At least knocking gave him a fair warning.

"Uh-huh," Taako said, unwrapping his sandwich. He took a bite, sinking back into his chair. Through a mouth full of food, he said, "Gods, I love bad food", though it came out more as "gowhs I wovh ba fooh". Kravitz sighed lovingly, propping his elbows up on the desk.

"Busy day so far?" he asked when Taako swallowed. Taako made a so-so motion with his hands, opening the orange juice.

"Technically speaking, I literally do jackshit here," Taako said. "But Ren forwarded some forms I needed to sign, so I've been doing those."

He gestured towards the pile of very unsigned papers at the edge of his desk.

"I can see how much those mean to you," Kravitz said and Taako rolled his eyes, taking another bite. "I should probably get going before Lup and Barry blow up another lair."

"Aren't-" Taako paused, swallowing. "Aren't you supposed to like, hang with them so they doooon't do that?"

"They're very convincing," Kravitz said. Taako snorted. "It's a little like talking to your students, actually. Only we're wagering confiscated necromantic objects instead of french fries."

"Exactly like the kids, then," Taako said, grinning.