#and one chapter of red strings everyday

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch7 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: around 7K

Warnings: non-con, somnophilia, handjobs, fingering, lactation kink, mommy kink (geto calls reader mamma)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59666119/chapters/153693205

It’s hard to look him in the eyes, but you know you don’t have a choice anymore. Bed time with Geto consists of him keeping you huddled close to you while he does some of his nightly reading. He looks so deceiving in these moments with you, ditching his traditional robe for casual clothes—an over-sized block cotton shirt and pants. He looks so normal. He looks like an everyday citizen who won the genetics lottery.

But you know that to be so far from the truth. You know the ugly that lies beneath the angelic features, and all those pretty lies he spews from those kissable lips of his. Beneath that mask lies a serpent prepared to strike its prey at any given time.

In another world, he may be anyone’s dream man but this is not that world for you.

Tonight he opts for rereading one of his epic fantasies that he adores to info dump to you. You don’t care to entertain him, wishing for it all to go in one ear and out the other, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here to fill some kind of void in his black heart—that is assuming he even has one anymore—and you’re not even sure if you’re fulfilling that role he’s forced you to play. He’s the one tugging at your strings, and while you can put up a bit of a fight, he’s quite the masterful puppeteer.

The punishment he’s inflicted upon you isn’t all that cruel, in retrospect, but you can’t feel much between your legs at all. You’re practically numb from the waist down. It’s the kindest he’s been since your captivity. After that ordeal, he’s still provided some semblance of aftercare—a little bit of a massage with some proper ointment, he’s even offered some chocolates if you had an appetite for them following something like that. After seeing him so disappointed with you when he’s just confessed to you that he’s found some kind of affection towards you.

You don’t find it flattering in the slightest, but if it means he’s going to show you a bit more mercy, you’re going to take advantage of it any way you can. 

“God, the protagonist in this book can certainly make questionable decisions,” Geto muses, wetting his thumb before flicking to the next page. “I can’t seem to make sense of it each time I get to this part of the series.”

You wish you could groan. You almost do, but that’s asking for immediate death.

Who fucking cares?

Instead of saying what you really think, though, you just hum, nuzzling your head into his shoulder, trying to appeal to him. Trying to make him happy because that’s what you’re here to do. That’s all you’re meant for now.

But you’re still going to find a way out or so help you….

“Getting sleepy?” Geto teases with a light laugh, but it doesn’t have that mocking tone to it. It’s….endearment. It’s sickening. You want to vomit. How can a man act like this when he’s just made you lose feeling in your lower body because he let his paranoia get the best of him (even if he’s kind of right)? “Rest, Mamma. I’m going to be up for a bit longer. Although…don’t be surprised if I help myself a little to you while you’re resting.”

Fucking psychopath. Of course you expect nothing less of him. This is all he does. He hasn’t stopped himself before!

But, you don’t protest, you know better than to do something like that now. You do something worse. You squeeze your eyes shut. You lift your head off of his shoulder. You pucker your lips, expecting a kiss good night, and he accepts your invitation, smiling against your lips as he hums in delight. You’re about to pull away but he catches your lips again, moving his languidly against yours, soft, fervent, desperate. Faint rustling of him setting aside his large red leather book as his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against your soft, buttery, supple skin. Geto almost seems to marvel at you, the way a follower may a God. He breaks the kiss barely moments later, lips barely centimeters apart as his forehead rests against yours, his violet eyes boring into yours as they soften the longer they stare. They shine so brilliantly that it might as well serve as the only source of light in the bedroom then, apart from the soft amber light emitting from the side table lamps on either side of the master bed.

“I adore you,” he whispers in a reverent tone, making your breath catch in your throat. In the worst way possible. “I don’t expect you to feel the same.”

Because you never are going to feel the same. He knows that well, all too well.

You don’t respond, turning away. His fingers slip away from your face and he doesn’t react as you rest on your side facing away from him. But you do feel him staring as you will yourself to sleep, clamping your eyes shut, desperate for the comfort of darkness to consume you. It doesn’t matter what he helps himself to while you’re in a blissful state of sleep.

Your body tenses as the pads of his fingers ghost up your arm, as he bites back a longing sigh. A part of you almost wants to pity him, but how can you pity a man as pathetic and lowly as him? Your mind can’t even register him as a man the way he can’t register the majority of humanity as worthy.

For someone as prideful as him, that must penetrate like a wasp’s stinger.

It does make your heart swell with a bit of pride, but it’s not enough. You need to deal a stronger blow; you need something that will really, really eat at him. What might that be?

He draws his body closer to you; you feel his lips ghosting the nape of your neck before he slides all the way down until he’s caught between your legs. You try to sleep, but a moan escapes your lips when his mouth closes over your folds, suckling on them with need.

“Suguru….”

“Rest,” he grunts, between desperate sucks and kittenish licks. You can already feel the slick beginning to build. “Mamma, I got it from here.”

You cling the covers to your chest, your fingers digging into the plush velvety smooth fabric as he suckles on your clit particularly hard. You try not to focus on the sensations. You try to sleep. You try to listen. He’s going to take what he wants regardless whether you’re awake for it or not.

Eventually, you’re lulled to sleep by the light squelching noises of his tongue sweeping along your folds.

Yet another visit from Tweedledum, never mind the numerous protests from Tweedledee.

It’s not like anyone can control what a grown adult does. These two beg to differ when it comes to you, but to them, you’re not an adult with agency. You’re just something for them to bend and to shape to their will and nothing more. Perhaps in Geto’s mind, you’re something beyond that. Perhaps something beyond a pretty pet, a gorgeous trophy, but you refuse to entertain the idea. Men like them, who believe they’re above humanity, above morality, even…is there any use trying to understand the world in which they hail from?

“Princess?” Gojo calls, patting the seat next to him on that plush velvet sofa. You can’t even hide the wince as you amble over to join him there, but keep a slight distance. Giving a displeased sound—it’s a terrible sound—he hooks his arm around your waist, digging his nails into your skin and scoots you in closer until your bodies are flush against each other.

“We don’t have to do anything all that scandalous today,” he says with a cheeky grin, his tone cheery as if he hopes that might lift your spirits a bit. He can tell something’s amiss with you, something other than the usual. He knows you don’t want to be here in the first place, that you’re already unhappy, but there’s something else he’s caught onto because Tweedledum’s smarter than you ever dare to give him credit for.

A shadow crosses his face when he doesn’t find your reciprocating like you normally do—especially since Geto isn’t in the dungeon presently. Still attending to some matters with his family so he’s going to be late. “It’s just going to be a nice, relaxing movie night, yeah? Lots of sweets to chow on, though you’re the sweetest of them all as always!”

“That’s nice of you to say, Satoru,” you manage to reply through clenched teeth. But you don’t do anything more. You don’t try to snuggle into him; you don’t try to kiss him or feel him up which he usually enjoys. Those blinding sky blue eyes of his glimmer with concern as the tip of his finger glides down the side of your cheek.

“Why the long face, gorgeous?” he whispers, tone solemn for once. It’s out of character…he seems almost…shaken.

That’s a new one. In another world, you might have been elated that you can get that kind of reaction, but after the other night… you don’t know whether you should wade through these murky waters.

“It’s nothing, Satoru,” you speak, your lips twitching into a forced smile.

“It’s Suguru, isn’t it?” Satoru growls, shaking his head. “What’d he do?”

“He was upset at something I did. That’s all,” you explain, “H-he thought I went against his orders.”

“Oh.” His lips purse. “He’s not supposed to hurt you. He can hurt any other non-sorcerers for all that I care, I can’t control what he does since he’s a grown man, but you’re supposed to be out of that equation. We agreed on that. I can talk to him, you know.”

“He didn’t hurt me. Not…not physically,” you say, a half-lie of sorts, averting your gaze to the television screen. Looks like it’s a Lord of the Rings night again and he’s just about to reach the middle of the third film, where Pippin climbs that tower in Minas Tirith and lights that fire. One of your exes has made you watch these movies as well as The Hobbit trilogy numerous times, so you know the scenes by heart. You can practically recite them line by line. You can do that with Star Trek and Star Wars too.

Satoru leans in, his weight dipping next to you.

“What did he do?” he growls into your ear again. When your eyes land on his, they’ seem to emit a glow. “We agreed—no harm is going to come to you. You’re supposed to help him.”

“I…” You gulp. “Satoru, it’s not important.”

“Yes it is,” he grumbles, gripping your knee, squeezing reassuringly. “You’re important to us.”

Oh, how you wish you can believe that. Gojo leans in to kiss you on your cheek, and then on your temple. They’re soft, fleeting, gentle, like he actually loves you as much as he claims to love you, much like Geto claims to love you.

But how can people who claim to love someone do things like this and expect things to just blow over?

Why do you think you have a right to be upset? You don’t have rights here. Not anymore.

“H-he just, um,” you stammer, hugging your chest. “He…he…um…”

“It’s okay,” he sighs in clear defeat. “I think I get what you’re trying to tell me. I’ll talk with him when he gets back down here. Okay?”

He kisses the crown of your head and you utter a low whimper. He glances at you with another concerned look on his face. You hate it.

As if this is going to solve anything…

“Satoru, I, um…” you begin, tentatively resting your hand on his lap, fingers brushing over his pelvis which makes his breath hitch. His sharp eyes darken in anticipation.

Should you do something to thank him? In case Geto does something?

“Can, I, um…” you gulp, sporting on your best determined look. You have to be a good pet, right? You can do that. You can definitely do that. No matter how much it permanently stains your pride. “Can I…touch you…?”

Gojo inhales sharply as he pulls out his cock, guiding your hand to it.

“Of course you can, Princess,” he coos while flashing you a toothy grin, stroking himself to hardness. You’re not surprised he was already half-mast when he pulled himself out. He’s just getting himself nice and ready for you. “You know I won’t say no, but you don’t have to, okay?”

“I-it’s fine,” you breathe, grasping his cock at its base. “I…I want to.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, raking his fingers through your hair. “You really are the perfect girl.”

“U-um,” you can’t believe it, you’re being shy, but he probably can’t blame you because you haven’t been forced into sucking dick since the first time with him. You don’t really know what to do, so instead of diving right into it, you lick a line up his shaft, which earns an eager whimper out of him. That encourages you to continue, to just pepper soft little kisses around along the skin, ignoring the salty tang hitting your tongue each time. You’ve come to find you’re not a fan of it, but maybe it’s because you’re not attracted to him in the slightest. Being attracted to him might help in this regard but this feels more like a duty as their pretty pet.

But you know the more you can please them, the more they’re willing to do for you. At least, that’s more true for Gojo than for Geto, regardless of what he says about his ‘affections’ toward you.

“I-is this okay? I don’t really, um, know what I’m doing,” you admit, laving your tongue around the leaking head of his cock. He bites back a little whine, jumping in his place.

“It—it’s fine. You’re doing great. Better than great, Princess,” he praises, lips parted slightly as he reclines a little bit into the couch. He’s not even focused on the movie anymore and all of his attention is on you. You kind of like that you can take control every now and then here. Even if Geto is off taking care of his own business, if he’s here, you have no real agency because he’s the one monitoring everything you’re doing with Satoru.

“I guess Suguru hasn’t done this with you much. He’s always been more of a giver in this regard,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling in fondness at the thought. “I should know.”

You don’t comment on that, suckling experimentally on his tip as more precum leaks out. He jolts in his spot again.

“Fuck, baby. That feels so good. You could just use your hands too, you know,” he suggests, much like a teacher.

Well, he does mentor students at wherever he works, so that makes sense, you suppose. But in this context, that feels rather odd.

“Oh…..um. How?” Gosh, you really are playing up the naiveté there, huh? As long as he believes it…

Gojo laughs, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he motions his own hand in a ‘jerking’ motion.

“Like you would a pump. Just pump me with your hand,” he tells you, grinning wide. “You don’t have to use your mouth, though it would be nice.”

You respond with another little suckle over his tip while using a hand to ‘pump’ him like he instructed. He throws his head back, groaning low, his hand reaching over to smack your ass in approval.

“Fuck yeah. Good girl,” he purrs, fondling your ass a bit too roughly which makes you squeak. He laughs.

Faint footsteps descend down the stairs, and you don’t have to look up. You feel Geto gawking a bit at the sight, a little disappointed that you’ve started without him but he probably expected nothing less, either. You don’t stop pumping your hand up and down his length, amazed at how silky and smooth it feels even this hard and swollen looking it is. Your fingers lightly squeeze his shaft, eyebrows furrowing at the texture. You feel like you’re doing a science experiment, but the results are more pleased groans erupting from deep in Gojo’s throat that are soon cut off when Geto twists his head and kisses him.

“It seems she’s becoming more comfortable with you, Satoru,” he murmurs into his lips. “Don’t take that lightly.”

“You know I’m not,” he breathes, his face flushed. “She’s a quick learner, you know. Her hands feel so soft.”

Gojo’s hand that swatted your ass earlier pulls the fabric of your panties aside, his finger teasing the tight ring of muscle of your ass.

“You must need a little attention too, Princess,” he grunts out, biting his lip as he glances down at you with a dangerous look in those sharp blue eyes.

“Suguru,” he drawls his lover’s name lazily, jerking his head to a direction. He gives your ass another playful squeeze and you let out another yelp. “No reason to hold back, right? I mean, she’s primarily yours. I’m just part of the package deal here.”

“I wonder if she’s ready for us both,” Suguru muses out loud with a raised eyebrow.

You feel your muscles tense, but you don’t stop attending to Gojo.

“Actually,” Suguru—thank God—retracts that idea immediately, likely upon seeing your reaction as if he gives a damn about your feelings, as if you matter to him, as he joins the two of you on the edge of the sofa, prying your ass cheeks apart to get a good view of either of your holes. You whimper as he spits into your asshole, his lips twitching into a devious grin as he dips two thumbs into the tight ring to stretch it. “It might be too soon for that. She needs a little more preparation. She still struggles to take my size when it’s just me and her. You might be a little easier to take, though.”

“You are definitely right there. Your dick is way too thick for her,” Gojo concedes with a hum, moaning as you glide your tongue around his length again. His dick twitches; he’s so close already. “We could just use more dildos or something. Get her used to it a little more.”

“True,” Geto replies, but something’s amiss in that tone of his. It’s softer. Affectionate, even. You don’t want to admit it, but it is. It’s missing that hidden layer of greed, of ulterior motives because a part of you still believes he can’t have any real feelings—not even toward Gojo.

You don’t like it for some reason. However subtle the change in Geto is. Sometimes you much rather he be cruel than considerate, because his kindness feels far too comical. Unnerving.

But maybe, once upon a time, he really may have been a considerate, kind, compassionate man. You don’t know anything about these two or what they do or what they’re capable of doing or why they have ended up the way they are.

You don’t really care to dig into that rabbit hole. It’s not of your concern. They say so themselves.

You suppress the confusing thoughts swirling in your mind like a vortex. It’s not something you should be focusing on, anyway, instead focusing on bringing Gojo to a climax, which, it already seems like he’s nearly there. You give a few more pumps, wincing at the wet noises the skin makes before shyly closing your mouth over his tip.

“Fuuuuck. That’s it, baby. You know just what to do. Don’t doubt yourself like that, alright?” he praises as seeds of his orgasm shoots onto your tongue. You wince again. You find it all far from arousing, but that doesn’t matter.

You keep suckling on his tip as he shoots more of his seed into your mouth, panting as he comes down from that electrifying hot high. His gaze flits to Geto who’s watching him with amusement twinkling in his darkened violet eyes but he’s still hovering between your legs, far from finished with you. Your body once again tenses; you do not like that he’s actually refrained from touching or playing with you the entire time you focused on pleasing Gojo.

Like he’s…being considerate, giving you breathing room.

It’s so unlike him.

You jolt in place as a sharp hand comes down to smack your pussy. You immediately pull away from Gojo’s cock, ignoring the light pop and the line of spit still connecting your lips to the tip of his cock which you break off with a swipe of your tongue as you meet his eyes.

He smiles down at you, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Your eyebrows flash in confusion. That’s a smile that doesn’t reek of deception or otherwise.

“We can stop here for today,” he suggests, “Besides, Satoru has other duties he should be attending to right now.” That gentle smile immediately melds into something a bit firmer, stricter, as he gazes at Gojo. “You do have to get back to Jujutsu Tech grounds before Yaga realizes you’ve been gone longer than you should have been, right?”

Whoever the heck Yaga is. His boss or something? That’s all you can infer from that.

“It’s not like it’s surprising to them if I show up late,” Gojo quips, “Besides, I want to stay longer with you, Suguru. We have to talk.”

Geto’s eyebrows furrow at that and you gulp.

You glance up at Gojo, eyes shimmering in concern. He doesn’t acknowledge you, keeping his eyes locked on Geto’s.

Uh oh.

Trouble in paradise, indeed.

Geto sends you off under Miguel’s watch, catering to the twins while he remains behind with Gojo elsewhere in the underground area beneath the temple. There’s another section you haven’t entered yet. This is not how he’s hoped to spend his quality time with the love of his life; he’s hoped for something more intimate and far less serious than this, but Gojo often did choose the worst times to be serious about something and apparently that something involves your well-being.

Which, of course, Geto has come to care about as well.

“Well talk,” Geto ushers, folding his arms over his chest as he stares Gojo down, his nostrils flaring. “We could be doing something else, but I’m forgoing our original plan to hear you out.”

“Something we should have done years ago,” Gojo mumbles, shaking his head. “Which is talk it out. You wont let me in. I just want to get why. But before that, we have to talk about her. She shouldn’t be afraid of you. I mean, she shouldn’t disobey you, but she should feel like, she’s, you know…”

“Part of the family,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

“So what the fuck, Suguru? I don’t care what else you do, but she’s supposed to help you sort your own shit when I’m not around. And I know once Yaga gets a hold of me I’m not going to be able to come back around as much anymore. I want to keep being your rock, Suguru, but to do that, you have to let me in.”

“So then,” Suguru scoffs, twisting around with his back facing Gojo for a moment. “If that’s true, then why did you vent to her about me first?”

Gojo’s eyes flashes. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Geto’s gaze flits back to him, assessing his features. He can’t stay mad at a face like his—even when he’s angry, he looks like a lost puppy who’s been mishandled. Geto ignores the way his chest burns at the sight. He hates hurting Satoru. Whether or not it’s unintentional is irrelevant.

“Why didn’t you trust me enough?” Geto demands, softening his tone as the muscles on his face relaxes. “If you had been so upset with me, why didn’t you just bring this up sooner?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Gojo claps back, glowering at him. Geto winces; that’s likely deserved, all things considered. Well…it’s obviously deserved. He has massacred hundreds to make a political statement and half for the sheer fun of it. “I wanted you to open up to me but when I tried you just told me it was ‘the summer heat.’ Summer heat my fucking balls.”

“So you did sense something, even that long ago,” Geto sighs, more and more guilt pooling into his stomach. How foolish he is to not give credit for Satoru where credit is due. It’s his fault for shutting everyone out, even Shoko; he has to admit to that fault of his.

“Of course I did! Obviously I just didn’t expect something like that,” Gojo replies, his shoulders sagging a bit. Geto takes a step closer, a hand reaching out to him. Gojo shuts his Infinity completely off during these moments but he doesn’t appear receptive to touch right then. Geto bites back a sigh. He doesn’t like to hurt those he loves, truly loves, and Satoru stands above everyone in his life. Now you are in the same plane as Satoru’s existence and he’s doing something wrong in trying to get you to lean on him, to trust him.

“What are you trying to say?” Geto replies, eyes downcast as his arm falls to his side.

“I’m trying to say why didn’t you just come to me in the first place?” Gojo answers, but his tone isn’t accusatory. He never has been with Geto. He’s always tried to understand. Even back then, he’s tried, but it’s Geto who pushed him away. “We could have worked it out then.”

“Now we’re going in circles,” Geto scoffs, gritting his teeth. His expression melds back into a softer one as he approaches Satoru, cupping his face. Satoru doesn’t pull away; he can’t, even if he wishes to, and Suguru should have seen that sooner.“It’s because of her, isn’t it? Perhaps we need to set the record with her. I already punished her once, but now she’s making you think you’ve done something wrong.”

“That wasn’t her doing,” Gojo counters hastily, “All she did was actually listen. Which, you know, I could do that too! If you let me listen. And like I already told you, she’s not supposed to be afraid of you, remember? This doesn’t warrant punishment. In fact, she should be rewarded because now we’re actually talking.”

“Satoru,” Geto starts, brushing his cheeks. “It’s not that simple.”

“It isn’t,” Gojo concedes, “But we can figure it out. Like we always do. Remember? And please, for fuck’s sake, go easy on her. She…really isn’t happy.”

“She isn’t?” Geto snarks, a little sharper than intended. He deflates when he notices how Gojo winces. “No, of course she isn’t. It’s foolish to think otherwise, but it’s not like I wish to bite. I don’t know why I do. I’m not an angry dog, you know.”

“You’re not,” Gojo agrees, resting a hand over one of Suguru’s. “You’re a cowardly dog. You bite because you’re scared. Just try wooing her a little, you know? You should have just taken the normie route and asked her out on a real date instead of dragging her into this.”

“That’s not my style,” Geto huffs. Gojo laughs, but it’s hollow.

“Proper communication? Yeah, I am well aware,” Gojo quips, grinning a little.

Geto glares at him.

“Satoru…” he warns.

“You know,” we don’t have to be arguing,” Gojo remarks, “I want to fix what happened. The charges may not be able to be lifted, but we can still…work around it. You know?”

“I know,” Geto relents, pulling Gojo in closer, so close he can inhale his expensive Prada cologne that he doesn’t find as nauseating and overpowering as his other scents. “But it’s too late to make amends for that.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gojo insists, practically on his way to getting on his knees for Geto, at this point. He may as well if it makes a statement. ““I can find a way around it. The only person who can execute you is me, but I can postpone that, obviously.”

“Postpone as in never allow it?” Geto interjects in a sullen, yet knowing, even teasing, tone.

“Exactly,” he exclaims, “Just think about it! You could just become a Sensei, with me. And you don’t have to worry about getting executed. Not with me on your side.”

Geto considers the options for a moment.

“No.”

Gojo’s confidence over his solution completely falters.

“The hell do you mean no?” he jabs, “No one else can actually kill you but me you know! And I obviously don’t want to, so there!”

“It won’t be on my terms,” he answers simply.

Gojo goes silent. His mouth hangs open for a moment, as if to counter with something, but then he shuts his mouth again as he ponders over what else he can say to convince Geto. There’s not much more to this, isn’t there? Geto doesn’t want to be a puppet; he’s made that abundantly clear. Gojo might find his resolve admirable if not for the lengths he went to just to prove his point.

“So is that what this is about?” Gojo mutters, sulking. “I guess I kind of get it. You don’t want them to pull the strings and you want to forge your own path. I gotta say, this was not the wisest decision, babe, but…I understand why. Kind of?”

“Precisely,” he affirms, “Let them think whatever they like about me, Satoru. I want no business with them anymore.”

“But…” he starts, but Suguru cuts him off with a chaste kiss. Satoru melts into it before Geto pulls away.

“Satoru, you shouldn’t play into their shit either. But you know exactly why I didn’t want you to follow me.”

“I know,” he replies with a frown. “But…”

“You shouldn’t have to be a puppet either, Satoru. You shouldn’t be a weapon to them.”

“No,” he agrees, “But for some reason, I find comfort in it.”

“Everyone—sorcerer or human—clings to what they find familiar,” Geto murmurs with a little grin.

“You know, regardless of being a sorcerer, you still are human, baby,” Satoru teases while matching his grin.

Suguru responds with a dark laugh, kissing him again.

“Don’t make me kill you,” he murmurs seductively into his lips.

You’re back in the bedroom when evening falls and Geto finds you splayed over the bed, flipping through one of his books sittig on the nightstand on your side of the bed. He beams at the sight, perhaps misconstruing it as a sign that you’re making yourself more at home here if you’re making more use of his belongings. He treasures his books like he does his adopted girls.

“Have you read that book before?” he asks as he shuts the door behind him, disrobing and setting the material aside. You don’t look up from the page you’re skimming, mostly because you’re not interested in seeing his pasty face but also because you’re actually quite invested in the mystery.

“Only heard about it,” you admit, “I understand why people are frustrated with the main character. She’s so obviously getting played by that guy.”

He chuckles, “It’s a frustrating thing to watch unfold, indeed. She doesn’t seem to pick up on that even when others have warned her.”

You shrug, stopping at the chapter you’re on to glance up at him as he settles onto his side of the bed.

“Love makes you blind, I guess,” you comment, gazing up at his face. “What did you and Satoru talk about, darling?”

“I should apologize,” he starts, frowning. “I’ve been harsh on you when I shouldn’t have been. I was wrong for that. I don’t expect you to forgive me so easily, but—”

“—it’s fine,” you reply a little too quickly, but you’re trying to stay in his good graces for a reason. You have only gotten a hint of what his ‘bad side’ looks like. You don’t want a repeat of it. “I’ve already forgiven you. I-I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“No, you weren’t,” he replies, “You did a good thing. You did what I should have done. You did nothing wrong, Mamma. I did.”

“O-okay,” you whisper, a little pathetic because a part of you is still frightened he can switch gears at the drop of a hat. And he definitely can and has. “I understand.”

A silence falls over the two of you for a few moments. Those few moments feel agonizingly long, drawn out like a scroll rolling across a table. But some rustling beside you breaks the silence as he loops an arm over your frame and snuggles you close until you’re nestled into him.

His finger fiddles with the gold chain around your neck, a fond smile playing at his lips. Yeah. Of course. You’re his pretty little thing, after all. Just his pet. A little appendage to his messy bond with Satoru.

His eyes dip lower, and that smile only widens. You’re bare all over; you’ve forgone clothes the moment you enter the room now as opposed to just stripping to your undergarments. Of course he’s pleased with the change; it just means it’s another way he’s going to misconstrue as you becoming more comfortable with being here, under his ‘care.’

He trails kisses along your milky collarbone, suckling on your softer, tender spots, and you clench your fists, grunting a bit. You have only just begun to gain some feeling back in your bottom  half from his punishment last night, and now he’s intent on making you lose feeling in your legs again if this goes any further tonight. And you know it will. That’s how it always is.

Just an appendage. Just a pet.

He doesn’t love you, no matter what he says, and it doesn’t matter that he tries to find other ways to accommodate you. He still takes what he wants in the end. One way or another.

He pulls away briefly, his tongue darting between his lips as his eyes trail down between your breasts.

He kisses the area just above them, and you freeze, feeling your blood run cold. You feel like you could crash right then and there; you can’t take another minute of this but you know you don’t have much of a say. It depends entirely on Suguru, whether he’s truly in good spirits or not and you can’t even tell half the time.

“Suguru, I…” you sharply inhale as he kisses lower, lower… humming to himself as if he can’t help it, marveling at you. You try not to sound too audacious when you decline this. “I-I can’t. I…”

“You’re afraid of me,” he remarks, lifting his head to stare at you, his forehead creasing as he frowns.

Your eyes widen.

“No!” you exclaim, but he only raises an eyebrow and you try not to deflate. “No, Suguru, no… nothing like… that…”

“I don’t want you to be,” he mutters, resting his face into your lap like a child, like a beggar, even, is more appropriate. Your eyes triple in size at this. Geto has never behaved this way before. He takes your hands into his own, running his thumb along your knuckles.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he goes on, resting his forehead against your hands. “Mamma, you are in my world now. I want you to feel like you belong here. The twins adore you like a mother. I adore you already. I wouldn't take that lightly. Satoru has come to find some kind of affection for you too, but the man is too damn prideful to really say anything to your face about that.”

You don’t have anything to say to that. (Not that you really give a damn, but as long as you stay in their good graces, can you really complain? It makes things less Hellish for you, ultimately.)

“Moreover,” You try not to groan, so he isn’t finished babbling then; he clears his throat. “He told me you were unhappy. Which is expected, given the circumstances. Unfortunately I don’t think anything will have gone differently if I had done things normally. While I can’t change the past, I can only hope you’re willing to let me make things a little easier for you here.”

This feels too easy.

You can’t anger him.

“Suguru,” you start, bringing your hand to his cheek and tilting his head. His eyebrows flash as he tries to understand what you’re doing, but he can piece together a situation very quickly as you present one of your stiff nipples near his face. His face flushes a little, eyes half-mast as he glances at you with pure adoration before slurping hard onto your nipple, making a gasp leave your lips.

He hasn’t used this in a while, so he must have really needed it today. As long as it means he doesn’t try to hurt you, because you don’t have to make this as bad as it is.

A hand finds your waist, steadying himself as he suckles hard on your nipple with more need, and your lips part, breathy, broken whines filling the room and seeming to encourage him. Because he chuckles against your skin, grinning.

“Does Mamma enjoy taking care of me?” he growls before closing his mouth over your nipple again with a long, lewd suck.

It’s like the typical routine now. Once he finishes with that bud, he pops off and latches onto your other one, milking you for all that you’re worth until he feels like he can carry the world on his shoulders again. Whatever these supposed burdens of his are, you don’t care, it doesn’t concern you.

“Suguru…” you utter softly, a bit embarrassed by your lack of real reaction, and his pupils roll upward to observe your face. You don’t realize how flushed and debauched you are, and he might’ve made a comment if not for how occupied he is sucking on your tit like his life depended on it like he usually did. But again, this has been the first time in a few weeks since he’s taken advantage of this. He’s been keeping distance, respecting your space, up until the moment where you crossed an ‘unknown’ boundary between he and Gojo.

The hand resting on the dip of your waist snakes lower to the fleshy, meaty part of your thigh, his rough callouses brushing against your soft skin. He hums against your little bud, nibbling slightly on it as he adjusts you, sliding you into his lap and groaning as your cunt brushes against the growing tent in his pants. He bucks upward, growling from the delicious friction and making you gasp, and he grins before pulling on your nipple with his teeth as he moves away. A little playful twinkle in his eyes as he does before he finally releases the oversensitive bud, licking off the leftover droplets of milk coating the corners of his lips, a bit dribbling on his chin.

He buries his face between your tits again, kissing the skin between them, biting and licking the marks he leaves behind as his other hand moves to play with your folds, already lightly soaked. He hums, obviously tickled pink at the discovery and you can’t find yourself to be more embarrassed by your physiological reactions. Two dexterous fingers slide easily into your slicked entrance and you breathe sharply through your nose, hiding your face into his neck which makes him chuckle.

“Don’t be so shy with me, Mamma,” he teases as he adjusts his position, kissing into your neck as his fingers twist and curl inside of you, making you jolt in your place. “You haven’t been whenever Satoru’s been around.”

The dark tone in his quip catches you off-guard. It shouldn’t, and yet fearful eyes meet his. Is he…?

There’s a deep scowl now in place of his malicious grin. You don’t know which is worse. Stone cold violet eyes bore into yours, and you feel yourself shrinking more from fear.

Hasn’t he just told you he doesn’t want you to be afraid? That he wants you to feel like you’re home?

Perhaps that’s still true, but…

“Regardless of you doing the right thing for us or not,” he grunts, plunging those two slender fingers of his deep into your spongy walls, making you wriggle in place but he secures his hold on you. Your walls are clenching around them. He doesn’t relent that agonizing pace, seeking your release. “Satoru isn’t supposed to be benefitting from this arrangement more than I, Mamma. Understand this- you belong to me. First and foremost. Satoru is part of the deal with me, yes, but that doesn’t mean he gets to toy with you whenever he wants to. Most of all you shouldn’t initiate anything with him—I’ve seen you. You mustn’t question my authority when it comes to this relationship.”

But it isn’t a relationship for you. It’s an obligation.

Between Satoru and Suguru? Sure, that’s a relationship. A weird one. The weirdest one you have probably ever seen in your life, but that’s still a relationship between them.

“I-I’m not questioning your authority over m-me, Suguru—!” You come in a hot flash, clenching tight around his fingers and at least that frightening scowl of his twitches into a satisfied, toothy grin as he fucks his fingers into your cunt for a few moments longer before sliding them out. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he groans as he sucks on your intimate juices; You can’t look. So you don’t. But then you hear the little whisper of clothes as he yanks his pants down, pulling out his fully stiff cock and patting the head against your slick cunt.

“Good,” he hisses as the head breaches your hole. “Then we’re on the same page. You’re mine, Mamma. Just mine. Satoru is out of the question.”

You answer with a pathetic whine as he plunges deep inside you. He laughs darkly, huddling you close, whispering disgusting little words to you as he continues to take everything from you.

[transgenderer]

A jitsuin (実印) is an officially registered seal. A registered seal is needed to conduct business and other important or legally binding events. A jitsuin is used when purchasing a vehicle, marrying, or purchasing land, for example.

The size, shape, material, decoration, and lettering style of jitsuin are closely regulated by law. For example, in Hiroshima, a jitsuin is expected to be roughly 1⁄2 to 1 inch (1.3 to 2.5 cm), usually square or (rarely) rectangular but never round, irregular, or oval. It must contain the individual's full family and given name, without abbreviation. The lettering must be red with a white background (shubun), with roughly equal width lines used throughout the name. The font must be one of several based on ancient historical lettering styles found in metal, woodcarving, and so on. Ancient forms of ideographs are commonplace. A red perimeter must entirely surround the name, and there should be no other decoration on the underside (working surface) of the seal. The top and sides (handle) of the seal may be decorated in any fashion from completely undecorated to historical animal motifs, dates, names, and inscriptions.

Throughout Japan, rules governing jitsuin design are very stringent and each design is unique, so the vast majority of people entrust the creation of their jitsuin to a professional, paying upward of US$20 and more often closer to US$100, and using it for decades. People desirous of opening a new chapter in their lives—say, following a divorce, death of a spouse, a long streak of bad luck, or a change in career—will often have a new jitsuin made.

The material is usually a high quality hard stone or, far less frequently, deerhorn, soapstone, or jade. It is sometimes carved by machine. When carved by hand, an intō ("seal-engraving blade"), a mirror, and a small specialized wooden vice are used. An intō is a flat-bladed pencil-sized chisel, usually round or octagonal in cross-section and sometimes wrapped in string to give a better grip. The intō is held vertically in one hand, with the point projecting from the carver's fist on the side opposite the thumb. New, modern intō range in price from less than US$1 to US$100.

The jitsuin are kept in secure places such as bank vaults. or hidden in a home. They are usually stored in thumb-sized rectangular boxes made of cardboard covered with embroidered green fabric outside and red silk or red velvet inside, held closed by a white plastic or deerhorn splinter tied to the lid and passed through a fabric loop attached to the lower half of the box. Because of the superficial resemblance to coffins, they are often called "coffins" in Japanese by enthusiasts and hanko boutiques. The paste is usually stored separately.

A ginkō-in (銀行印) is used specifically for banking; ginkō means "bank". A person's savings account passbook contains an original impression of the ginkō-in alongside a bank employee's seal. Rules for the size and design vary somewhat from bank to bank; generally, they contain a Japanese person's full name. A Westerner may be permitted to use a full family name with or without an abbreviated given name, such as "Smith", "Bill Smith", "W Smith" or "Wm Smith" in place of "William Smith". The lettering can be red or white, in any font, and with artistic decoration.

Since mass-produced ginkō-in offer no security, most people either have them custom-made by professionals or make their own by hand. They were traditionally made of wood or stone; more recently of ivory, plastic or metal, and carried in a variety of thumb-shape and -size cases resembling cloth purses or plastic pencil cases. They are usually hidden carefully in the owner's home.

A mitome-in (認印) is a moderately formal seal typically used for signing for postal deliveries, signing utility bill payments, signing internal company memos, confirming receipt of internal company mail, and other low-security everyday functions.

Mitome-in are commonly stored in low-security, high-utility places such as office desk drawers and in the anteroom (genkan) of a residence.

A mitome-in's form is governed by fewer customs than jitsuin and ginkō-in. However, mitome-in adhere to a handful of strongly observed customs. The size is the attribute most strongly governed by social custom. It is usually not more than 20 millimetres (0.79 in) in size. A man's is usually slightly larger than a woman's, and a junior employee's is always smaller than his bosses' and his senior co-workers', in keeping with office social hierarchy. The mitome-in always has the person's family name and usually does not have the person's given name (shita no namae). Mitome-ins are often round or oval, but square ones are not uncommon, and rectangular ones are not unheard-of; irregular shapes are not used. They can produce red lettering on a blank field (shubun) or the opposite (hakubun). Borderlines around their edges are optional.

Plastic mitome-in in popular Japanese names can be obtained from stationery stores for less than US$1, though ones made from inexpensive stone are also very popular. Inexpensive prefabricated seals are called sanmonban (三文判). Rubber stamps are unacceptable for business purposes.

[cardinalcanis]

Fire and Blood part 2: The intervention.

[Part 1] [Part3]

Summary: By Tyberos request, Ovidious agrees to try and speak some sense into Zadkiel.

TW: Some good old angst.

Word count: 2498

Collab fic with: @jaghatai-khock

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@kit-williams

@egrets-not-regrets

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ovidious Sulla, Head Logistician of the Adeptus Logisticarum, lit a cigarette on a candle cluster by the elevator remembering how he had promised Guilliman to reduce his amount of smoking. His beloved could relax as he hadn’t broken the vow, this was the only one he had smoked today, setting aside Sulla hadn’t been up for long still. 

He leaned on the railing, overlooking hundreds of floors down of never sleeping voidship activities. Crew, serfs, Space Marines, servitors, guards… the list of roles and positions that composed the lifeblood of the Macragge's Honor could reach the end of the fall if he let the full list unfurl from where he was standing. 

“If you would excuse me, Lord Logistician.” The gray giant accompanying him spoke in spotless high gothic, his tone sober and formal. “Would you specify what service does this indulgent stop provide towards our endeavor?” 

There was a time where the very presence of the so-called Emperor’s Angels would tie his stomach into a knot, but the frequent and intense exposure that his position and place of work provided made for the best shock therapy. Even though from time to time he had to re-adapt to the new ‘flavors’ of less populous chapters, as all things considered the sons of Guilliman were pretty ‘normal’ even if that normal cannot be properly used with Astartes. 

He inhaled more of that poisonous smoke that dulled his anxiety. Tyberos wasn’t Guilliman’s gene-son nor anybody he may have had the credentials to know of, after the uncomfortable silence he was met the first time he asked Ovid knew it wasn’t a good thing to repeat. Even with the Space-Shark’s eyes being orbs of pure black devoid of all light and his exposed upper jaw full of serrated sharp teeth; he didn’t unsettle him as much as Zadkiel did. 

“You are made so you would know no fear Chapter Master, I have no such thing backing me up.” He answered, strings of smoke coming out his mouth and nose as he spoke. 

“I have never heard of fumes that were capable of dulling fear, this is an interesting discovery you have brought to my attention Lord Logistican.” 

Ovidious let air quickly through his teeth in a hiss, unsure if the marine was being sarcastic or truly innocent. He was more on putting his money on the second one, it was surprising how little Astartes knew of normal everyday human life. 

“There is no such thing, Red Wake.” Sulla stepped away from the railing, approaching one of the many well polished Ultramar symbols on the walls where he could check on wrinkles on his clothes or if his hair was in order. Vanity to an observer but to Ovidious was an attempt at keeping a sense of control that would bring calmness.

“Your heart is beating at an accelerated pace Lord Logistican, your fear remedy seems to be a faulty version.” Tyberos kept observing him in stoic guard. “It puzzles me, if you could enlighten me, why is your chest experimenting with similar vibrations as if it were receiving the recoil of an automatic gun?”  

“Is called anxiety, Tyberos.” He answered. 

“I am knowledgeable about the fact that said emotion exists. But my interrogant goes towards asking why would your chest do such a thing, Lord Logistican?” The man pressed on. 

“Because I am anxious, Tyberos.” Ovidious answered with a degree of frustration, he threw his cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it close to where a servitor was sweeping the floor. 

“I see no reason for your anxiety, Lord Logistican.” 

 “Are you aware of the…” Ovidious grunted and exhaled, from all the possibilities of his future, being the grounding touch of reason for a gaggle of giant superhumans with complicated family history wasn’t on the list. “Come, we better find Zadkiel before a blood angel or Emperor forbid Guilliman gets in the room, the last thing I need is someone trying to step in and babysit the man from reality, again.” 

“There is to say, Lord Logistican, that the depths of my gratefulness towards you for attempting to confront my adored one about what ails him have no bounds.” Even with his size and layers of ceramite of armor, Tyberos walked with a level of unnerving silence. One could forget he was following if not directly conscious that he was. 

“There are many things about Zadkiel that worry me, this is not going to be the first battle.”

To say that Ovidious was terrified of Guilliman’s nephew was an understatement, there was a chronic lack of attention towards what really mattered about him. He was a feral beast wearing the skin of an angel, doing a forceful and conscious pantomime to act like one, feeding into his beloved and priest’s delusion alike. 

“The Lord of Ultramar did make a fine choice by letting you claim him as your bounded pair to mate with.”  

Ovidious turned around on his spot, the soles of his shoes crying on the polished floors. 

“I have no idea what Zadkiel told you about… that.” Ovid’s voice as much of a whisper as he could, he eyed around for nearby spectators. “But please speak no word of it.” 

The Space Shark tilted his head to the side, curiosity forming on his face. 

“About your bond with the Lord of Ultramar or that you are the one who…” 

“Neither, Astartes.” he interrupted. “Neither.” 

“Lord Logistician are you…?”

“Not the time for this conversation Chapter Master.”  His voice took the higher pitch on his registry, Ovid swiped in the air with his hands dramatically several times as he spoke. “Look, we are almost there.” 

As stated by the Astartes the hallways were empty of anyone who could overhear, but also anyone that could call for help in case things went south. He wished that Tyberos would be enough backup to protect him, even though he knew that the difference between a human and an Astartes was similar if not smaller to the one between a Astartes and a Primarch. As much as Roboute melted in his hands Ovidious was well aware, and had reported evidence of, that he was capable of punching the flesh off his bones faster than any astartes could react if those were his wishes.

That was another reason for his long list of traits that made him afraid of Zadkiel. Guilliman would not fight to the extent his own strength would harm him, just strike hard enough to get the desired result. From what he had read, from what the Lamenters had spoken of; Zad fought with no regard for his own safety, would break his hand with the punch if needed and would always strike at full force no matter the target’s size. 

Now in front of Zadkiel’s bedroom door Ovidious felt like the not even strong enough veal looking down the barrel of the bolt gun between its eyes at the slaughterhouse. Going by snippets from Guilliman’s confessions, sometimes he felt like the Emperor forgot to add the ‘emotional intelligence and regulation’ gene when he created the primarchs and made it the whole galaxy’s problem, and ten thousand years later he has been the one chosen on a holy mission to fix it. He asked the Emperor for forgiveness due to his thoughts every time it passed by, symbolized by the candle he lit everyday at the altar.

Tyberos grabbed his arm before he was able to knock, the gray giant stood in front of the skull faced terminal by the door and got showered by red light. It produced an approving sound when the authorized genetic imprint was logged, allowing the door to be opened. 

Guilliman was pragmatic and conservative with decor, but his nephew’s ‘minimalism’ was concerning. The room was almost bare, the ungenerous amount of furniture pushed to the corners leaving no way they could block the field of view. Any mirrors were turned or covered like if it were a storage room. Zadkiel’s gigantic bed was in the farthest corner with a view of the whole room, Ovid found the degree of childish flavor of it a bit disquieting for a man ten thousand years his senior. Colorful pillows, plushies and blankets were overflowing out of it, no idea how the lad was capable of sleeping on it. But knowing Primarchs Zadkiel didn’t need to sleep at all. Any spectator would be able to discern how old and worn down the plushies were, there was clear intent spent on keeping them in good conditions with plenty of attempts on mends and repairs. 

And there he was, just as the rest of the objects in the room he was hugging a wall. But the pose seemed unnatural, the man’s face was pressing straight into the walls in some kind of shaky and obscure trance. He turned to them at impossible speed, looking more like a distressed owl creature over its kill. With the same quickness Zadkiel’s gestures softened, a cold tingle overcame Ovidious by the impression that the Primarch’s bones themselves had morphed and rearranged themselves to put up with the appearance he was approaching them with. 

“What a delightful surprise, mine and my uncle’s beloved are gracing me with their presence right in my humble room.”  This new persona was airy and angelic, almost fluttering above ground with the fragile flutter of a butterfly. Ovidious recognized those gestures and poses, the paintings of Sanguinius descending gracefully upon his people. “What is the occasion? Wait, let me guess.” he smiled from ear to ear with naive glee, exposing his long canines. “You wish to help you propose to Guilliman don't you uncle Ovid? I have the best idea, we’ll need a proper white suit that is not as… conservative as what you tend to prefer, 10,000 blue roses…” 

“That is not the occasion.” Ovidious waved the concept of a proposal away with a polite yet awkward smile. “We wish to speak with you due to recent and past concerns Tyberos and I share. You see, Tyberos informed me of the… incident that happened to you recently…”

Zadkiel’s wings trembled slightly before the grandson of the Emperor looked for the next correct pantomime to respond with. The primarch fell to his knees in front of Sulla, his hands between his. He trembled with the thought of how easily Zad could crush them, how those arms could be as thick as his ribcage. 

“I am so blessed to have such caring men in my life.” His tone soft, eyes of a confused abandoned fawn. “I am feeling better, it was just a slip. Get in my shoes, not everyday I see living ghosts of my father, but I am at ease now. You need not to worry for me uncle Ovid, you already have so much to carry when helping my uncle.” Another pose and expression Ovidious knew from all the Ecclesiarchy’s depictions, Sanguinius kneeling and crying when first meeting the Emperor. 

Tyberos hadn’t moved an inch, what a great protector he had. Ovid tried to take his hands away with the least threatening gesture he could and politely put some space between him and Zadkiel. His fear was in the process of being eaten by an equally stronger force: anger and frustration. If someone had stepped in earlier the… man in front of him wouldn’t be forced into this ridiculous set of poses and canned soothing phrases. 

For the first time ever the Head Logistician looked directly into Zadkiel’s bloody red eyes, the pupils on those shrinked slightly into a slit at the sense of possible challenge.  

“Who are you?” Ovidious asked flatly, devoid of emotion. Making Tyberos raise an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean uncle Ovid?” Zad’s wings spread themselves on the ground, trying to give the appearance of a broken pigeon. “You know who I am, I am Zad.” 

“Who are you?” inquired again crossing his arms behind his back, eyes glued on Zadkiel’s. 

“This is ridiculous Uncle, I am Zadkiel!” Rose his voice the Primarch, breaking some of the halo effect around him. Back feathers rising slightly. 

Sulla noticed Tyberos by the corner of his eye, taking one step forwards. 

“Who are you?” Repeated Ovid, who could barely hear himself over the beating of his own heart at the base of his throat. 

“I am Zadkiel, Son of the Angel, Primarch of the Lamenters!” Zad’s nails left long jagged marks on the floor, his wings extending menacingly like an eagle descending over prey. “And I will not partake in whatever game that you have come up with uncle!” 

“I am confused,” Ovid said in a soft yet detached tone. “You say that you are Zadkiel, but all I see you present yourself as is Sanguinius.” He paused, “Who are you?”  

Zadkiel’s eyes opened widely, wings semi raised but stiff as a taxidermy. Only the sounds of the ship’s rumbling echoed across the room, worrying Ovidious even more. Direct anger is easy to deal with, is clear, but silence? So much uncertainty. 

“You do not know what you are talking about.” Zad said apprehensively, baring his teeth and hugging himself. Wings contracting to cocoon around his body. 

“Enlighten me then, because all I see is a forced attempt to…” 

“WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM ME THEN!” the winged Primarch screamed standing to full height. His wings extended shadowed both Ovidious and Tyberos who had gotten a bit closer to the human. “THIS IS ALL THEY HAVE EVER ASKED OF ME, ALL THEY WANT AND CLAMOR OUT OF ME, WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT ME TO BE UNCLE?” Zadkiel’s pupils had fully shrinked into thin slits. He walked as close to Ovid he could before the Astartes got in the middle, but walked past, he punched the wall and pulled the metal out as easy as peeling fruit. “THIS IS ALL I AM, A MONSTER, FERAL, UNLOVABLE. YOU WANT ME TO NOT BE LIKE MY FATHER BUT THAT IS THE ONLY PART OF MYSELF THAT I DO NOT FEEL REPULSED BY!”

Ovid’s ears were ringing due to the volume of the scream, he had to support himself off Tyberos for his legs not to fully fail him. This is it, they are looking at death right in the eye and it is angry. Zadkiel’s anger was primal, yet supported by layers upon layers of sadness. Under every screamed word there was the silent wail of a prisoner who had stopped fighting his capture way long ago.  

Afterwards, nothing. The Death Angel’s wings contracted back into his body as he himself was hit by a wave of… nothing, as if all the emotions had abandoned him leaving an empty shell where a man used to be. He moved with calm surgical precision in one single direction, towards his sword. 

Tyberos grabbed his bolter but to his surprise Zadkiel kept walking after grabbing the sword, closing the bathroom door behind him with a single metallic ‘click’.

[wandafiction]

Just Add 8 - Just Us Chapter 7

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1947

Series List | Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

================================

"Wait, how old are you?!" 

Ding. The bell of the elevator goes off informing the two of us that we have made it to the parking garage, so instead of answering her I place my right hand at the small of her back leading her out. Quietly, I lead her to the car I will be taking her home in. This is one of my least expensive cars, I don't think Wanda would appreciate driving around New York in anything too expensive, so the Mazda Mx-5 will do. I do love this car though. I open the passenger door for her, making sure she is in before shutting the door and getting in the driver's side. I keep the hard top up because it is raining outside, so the roof will most definitely be staying up. 

"How old do you think I am Wanda?" I break the silence I created, trying to decide whether I tell her or gauge what she thinks.

"Well now I think you're younger than I thought so you might take that as offensive." She fiddles with her fingers slightly looking down at her lap, as I start to car a gentle purr can be heard from the engine.

"I won't be offended, I promise. So how old did you think I was and why?" I pull out of the parking garage joining the morning rush of cars on the road. Traffic, gotta love it. 

"Well I think maybe it was the suit, the hair and the makeup. But also maybe it was the way you presented yourself, very certain and very mature. Also you drink whisky like an old man." I laugh at her last reason.

"That's why. What about the how?" I glance at her for a few seconds while sitting at a red light. 

"I would say mid to late 20s?" Her pitch in voice getting higher at the end, now very unsure of herself. 

"So like around 27, 28. That sort of age?" 

"Yeah. However, now that I'm seeing you in everyday clothes, your hair in a loose bun and little to no makeup, you do look younger than that. I don't know what it is, just seeing you all relaxed makes you look, I don't know...not so big?" She clicks her fingers a few times trying to think of the right words. "I mean you're tall, very mature, you seem to be certain of yourself, but you seem to have a childlike look when you're relaxed. No offence."

"Non taken."

"Wait, you're not a minor right?! You're not THAT young...right?" Wanda panics suddenly when she thinks about her last statement. 

I place my hand gently on her thigh, keeping my eye on the road ahead. "I'm not a minor Wanda, do not panic."

"Fucking hell, I scared myself for a second." She rubs the back of her hand against her forehead, calming herself down.

"Well I'm not a minor so nothing to worry about…" I look at the road ahead and realise I have no idea where I'm going, we have just been driving around New York. "Changing the subject real quick. Where am I going?" 

"Oh right. Do you mind if I input it into the GPS?" I wave my hand towards the touch screen in the car, so she leans forwards fiddling with it to set the destination.

"So now you know I'm not a minor, and that I'm also not in my late 20s. Any idea?" She leans back in her chair turning her body to face me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe trying to make an estimation.

"Can you not just tell me. Pretty pwease." Ah, that was so cute! She changed her voice to sound like a child pronouncing please. Now I can't deny her.

"So how old are the twins again?" 

"14. Why?" 

"Okay add 8 on to that." 

"22." She takes a second. "You're 22?! 22! 22! You're 22? Holy shit. I slept with someone 11 years younger than me." 

"Okay Wanda you're freaking out. Is it a bad thing." I'm kind of unsure of her reaction, I can't get a good reading of her emotions.

"No, no. Oh god no. Sorry. No." And now she can't string a sentence together, great. I peer over at her as I pull into her road only a few minutes away from where she lives. "No, it's not a bad thing at all y/n. Not a bad thing. Just a big surprise that's all. I mean I think the fact that you're only 8 year older than the boys made it sound worse." 

"Okay, so don't tell people how old you are by comparing your age with their children. Lesson learned." That earns a laugh from her and smacks on the arms. As she seems to calm down, I only just register what she said about your age. "So you're 33?" 

"I am." I have a smug smile on my face. "Why the smug look?"

"Because after the whole picture in the elevator, I figured you were about 32."

"Oh so you're smug because you didn't completely misjudge my age."

"Exactly." 

"You're hilarious really." She looks out the window as we pull up to an apartment complex, Wanda goes all shy again. "Well this is me, uhm. If you just want to pull in next to my car, the red one, I will hop out." 

"Okay sure thing. Do you want me to walk you to your door, or will the twins question my presence." I give her shoulder a nudge so she knows I'm only mentioning the twins in jest, don't freak her out y/n she has already had a few of those today. 

"No, the twins are actually at their dad's this week and the next." So I might get to see more of her, that's nice. "So no I wouldn't mind you walking me to my door." 

I nod, getting out of the car making my way around to her side opening the door for her. Being the gentlewoman I am, I offer her a hand as well to help her out. Wanda smiles up at me, turning to close the door gently, continuing to hold my hand as she leads me up the stairs into the complex. It doesn't take long to stop in front of her door: apartment 10. 

"So this is me. Can I see you again?" She moves her free hand to my free hand, now holding our hands in between us as I rub my thumbs across the back of her hand.

"You have my number, I would like to see you again Wanda. I enjoyed your company, not just last night but this morning too. Like I said, you have my number so you decide if you want to use it. I won't be offended, that much, if you don't." A smile down at her while she squeezes my hands gently. God I want her to use my number.

"I will use your number, but I am having a girls night, with Sharon, Nat and her sister Yelena so it probably won't be until tomorrow or something." 

"Well I look forward to it." She beams up at me, shuffling on her feet slightly as her fingers intertwine in-between mine alternating between standing on her toes to her heels. "What do you want to ask?" 

"Just. Can I kiss you?" Wanda asks sweetly, my heart practically skips a beat and the butterflies in my stomach seem to be very lively. 

"You can, you don't have to ask to kiss me." 

Wanda pulls our hands around her back, keeping her hands locked with mine, stepping up on her tiptoes; and leaning her head back puckering up her lips as her eyes stare intensely into mine. Only now do I see how green they actually are. The club lights were too dim to show them off, we were lost in lust last night and with my head between her legs a lot of the time I hardly had time to appreciate them, and this morning she was in the bath. However, I can see them for their true beauty now. Such a vivid green, like a forest in the middle of spring or summer. So alive with life that everything is a pure swirling mixture of bright and dark greens. 

Lost in the forest that are her eyes, I jump slightly when I feel her hands move up my arms to cup either side of my neck running her fingers along my jawline. 

"Lost in that inner turmoil again?" Her voice so soft, barley a whisper obviously aware of my little jump and not wanting to scare me further.

"No, no. Just looking at you." 

"You like staring huh?" She smiles as her thumb of one of her hands runs across my bottom lip.

"Admiring." Wanda playfully rolls her eyes, but keeping the atmosphere calm. "I was going to kiss you, but then I sort of got lost in your eyes, cheesy I know. But I haven't had time to see the true color of them." 

"Your right. That's cheesy, but I appreciate the flattery." I smile softly as I lean down, as she puckers up her lips again a playful glint in her eyes. 

As our lips meet we both let out a small sigh, closing our eyes and enjoying the moment. There is no fight for dominance or no sign of lust. Its just the two of us pouring everything into the kiss. I smile against her lips, which causes her to smile, basically breaking the kiss apart. I rest my forehead against hers, as her hands go from my neck and jaw to the back of my neck playing with my baby hairs. 

"I will let you get ready for your girls evening." She gives me a quick peck, smiling bashfully at me. 

"I will text you." 

"I can't wait." I peck her lips one last time as she removes herself from me, rifling through her bag to get to her keys. 

"You just going to stand there like a weirdo?" Wanda asks as she places the key in the keyhole.

"Yup." I say popping the P. "Well I'm a gentlewoman, so I got to make sure you get home safely."

"We are literally at my door." I shrug.

"And I might have left, and then you might have found out that you left your key at my place. But by the time you make it down the stairs I would have already driven away. And then you would have messaged me, which in turn would cause me to go home. Get the key. Come back. All that time locked outside your door, anything could happen. It's New York, unfortunately." A shit eating grin on my face appears after I finish my theory. 

"Well I'm Sokovian, so I can handle myself." She jests.

"Of course you can, I have no doubt. But you can never be too safe. So now that I can see your doors open, and you about to walk in. I will say by goodbye and turn around." I turn around as I say so, and start walking off waving behind my back. I smile when I hear her laugh shouting something like 'weirdo' down the hall. 

Sitting back down in the car I let out a whisper scream, in excitement, as my internal scream causes me to shake in excitement. Holy shit! That just happened! The whole night and morning. I can't wait to hear from her. I turn my car on, and start driving home. The smile never leaving my face.

================================

[crestfallenyh]

𖥨 alchemy of the soul: masterlist

“Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,

it's ancient tale of being apart or together.

As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,

clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.

You become an image of what is remembered forever.”

COMING SOON!!!

summary: loves comes in many forms. throughout our time, the soul will be steadily fed, by friends, by family, by lovers... but what if, eventually, your once in a lifetime comes around? what if, against all odds, for better or for worse, destiny will put you in the path of cosmic love?

or, a short series of exploring the ancient, destined soulmate trope.

pairings: reader x ateez. not poly, each part is assigned to one single member.

content warnings: majorly fluff and angst with the occasional hint of spice. each chapter will be tagged accordingly with appropriate warnings but keep in mind this series include mature topics, sexual talk, death and rebirth mentions, violence, lots of corny love and a lot of emotional hurt. chapters will not be posted in age order and updates may (will) vary in waiting times. please note that although this is a bunch of stories clumped together by a common trope, stories are not intertwined and are meant to be read individually. links to each chapter to be slowly updated.

𖥨 007. meet me in the twilight.

hongjoong x reader. a peek into the red string theory. a pirate and a princess will never belong into each other's world, unless there is something stronger than them pulling them together. where fate and duty play chess, only the smile of a carefree sea bandit can help lean the scale.

𖥨 003. dreaming a dream, every night.

seonghwa x reader. just two lovers who only get to meet through the dizzying daze of a shared dreamland and the glimpse of past memories. what's real and what's not? if they will ever get to feel complete by also meeting in this earthly plane, they don't know.

𖥨 023. run!

yunho x reader. in this world, physical injuries to a person cause equal pain to their destined partner. a mosquito bite or a bump on your toe with the corner of a sofa you can handle, but honestly... what in the world is your partner doing for you to feel such agony, almost everyday?

𖥨 015. shades of love.

yeosang x reader. pink for love, green for hope, yellow for joy. the rest is always grey. you can only ever see colors related to the emotions your alleged soulmate has felt throughout their life, a connection you cannot break or run away from as much as you would love to. you don't know this person, but you surely hope they're (not) enjoying your blues, reds and deep purples. a variation of the sunshine and sunshine protector trope.

𖥨 010. hope springs eternal.

san x reader. hope springs eternal, or that's what they say. san has never been a believer, after all, he's still an outcast who sees the world in a scale of black and white. quite literally. unable to see any color in the absence of what people call a soulmate, he's determined to trick destiny and find love in you.

𖥨 009. round and round, the wheel keeps spinning.

mingi x reader. in a world where soulmates are meant to live and die together of old age, a tragedy has taken his heart with your last breath. life after life, he will look for his heart in the smile of a stranger, hoping that one day, he will get to find you again and live his happy ever after.

𖥨 026. lucky strike.

wooyoung x reader. throughout your life you've always known that the only way of getting out of your imprisonment and reaching the outside is by finding your destined match, marked at birth. this regime was installed long before you or your grandparents were even born, you would never dare challenge it. as luck would have it, you're partnered up with the most anti-regime, most challenging human you've ever met and he is seemingly your only hope.

𖥨 012. last night on earth.

jongho x reader. in a world of war, love is never welcome or sought after. mass destruction and loss will harden the heart of even the most whimsical of warriors, and the slight faint of a tattoo no longer engraved in jongho's skin will only serve as a lifelong reminder of a forfeited future, of a missed promise.

[sherlockhomies-42]

Chapter 3

Lady come down

Meanwhile at the Hazbin Hotel

The princess sat at her desk looking over her plans for the hotel, employee forms and other miscellaneous paper works that were strewn across the desk, she heard small footsteps and knew who it was as the door handle turned;

She flicked her eyes up and gave a hasty 'Hi Vaggie' and a kiss on her cheek before she looked right back at her paperwork continuing to pick at her fingernails in nervousness whilst staring over the plans for the new hotel, and ideas for guest roll in.

Vaggie looked at her girlfriend with empathy and put a hand on her should to soothe her panicked feelings;

"Charlie, please stop worrying. You'll see we inspired demons across this ring to fight back for their afterlife, and now we really have a reason to fight for it." She says softly as she gestures to the newly installed painting of Sir.Pentious, clad in is armour looking quite noble.

Charlie looks at the painting feeling a new determination flow thru her veins as she thinks of his sacrifice and his love he never got to truly pursue...there in that moment Charlie felt inspired again.

She looks to her love and smiles " Thank you honey, I know we can do this. It's not just for him, it's for everyone who truly believes they have a chance to do better."

They two women embrace and Charlie allows her eyes to drift shut for just a moment to soak in the relaxing feeling.

But all in a moment she feels something, like a string lightly being tugged in the center of her chest that causes her to pull back from the embrace in confusion, which allows her eyes to settle on the small duck bobble head on her desk,

A gift from her father, after the rebuild of her hotel, a small step forward in opening up between them, Charlie had placed the duck right on her desk next to her coffee cup 'To look at and feel inspired by my Dad's belief in me everyday!'

Of course that belief was hard to keep up with as the constant taunting threats from Heaven, not to mention the other sins and the overlords but other than that nothing specific felt wrong;

Until she notices the ducks head bobbling a little, then a lot and then it seemed all at once the very foundation of the hotel was being shaken to it's core.

As expected the chaos from Heaven spread down thru the rings of Hell as well,

Of course at first it was no cause for alarm,

Hellquakes are a recurring thing and they don't normally last longer than a few minutes at a time, but the panic began when the rumbling got more aggressive and unstable, as if the very foundations of the ring they existed on was being thrown out of balance.

Down in the lobby, the patrons of the hotel were lounging around before the shaking threw them all into a panic.

Charlie and Vaggie appeared from around the top of the staircase, Vaggie swiftly helping the others in the hotel stabilize themselves and all looking on as with a wave of her hand, Charlie cast a large golden bubble (similar to the one Alastor had used to protect the hotel from the Angels initial invasion) with this one in mind not for defense but keeping the hotels structure as stable as possible.

Unknowing that by using such a large power output, She had basically set herself up as a homing beacon.

They all marched to the front doors which were thrown open by the shaking and hard winds blowing which caused small chunks of random debris to come off of the hotels gutters but otherwise the structure was kept intact.

As the winds outside the hotel whipped up harder and harder, Vaggie looked to Charlie in concern. Before she could even open her mouth, Charlie shrugged her shoulder as and shook her head; indicating a clear 'I have no clue what's happening'

The horror clicked in oddly enough when everything went silent, completely soundless like a void in space.

And then a small streak came across the sky, small enough that if you weren't paying attention to it at first you would miss it against the red sky and pentagram, but then it began to stretch out, spidering across the sky almost like a crack in a window. But it wasn't anything shattering yet, It seemed to be a shadow, swooping around the circle of Pride seeming to be looking for something, as it continued to circle it became bigger and bigger, and even Bigger until she realized in horror this... Whatever this was is larger then any demon she's ever seen, even when Alastor grew to a large size to defend the hotel, he never got that large.

She became even more alarmed when she noticed no one was moving at all, it was completely still, civilians on the sidewalk frozen in place in fear, people inside looking thru windows all the same, she looked away only for a moment to gauge the reactions of her friends and lover, only to see the same terror on their faces. (While also noting that Alastor was not present amongst those who had come outside at the commotion...very strange)

She looked back up in determination and was frozen in horror herself upon seeing the entity had stopped moving completely and was transfixed on her location thru the edge of the barrier of hell. Only the lape white outline of eyes and a menacing crescent shaped smile almost reminiscent of the exterminator mask but not the same at the same time. Her spine has a chill shoot down as she realizes the thing is Looking at her with it's hands pressed up against the 'edge' like it's pushing against glass.

Then, it raised it's clawed hand and tapped on the space Infront of it, it's finger making a small thump against the surface,

It then did it again, and again getting increasingly harder with every jab of the claw when suddenly, it began to fissure, then crack, then all at once a hole shattered into the Pride ring. As the denizen's of Hell looked on in terror, a collosal point came thru, and then another and another and another until there were four of them. Then it clicked; that is a HAND.

The first yelp of terror set chaos motion as denizen's left and right began to scream in terror and run in any direction the could looking for somewhere to hide the clawed hand seemed to grasp the edge of the shatter and stretch it open farther for a second hand to emerge from the inky blackness.

A shrouded face came into view which caused more panic as it began to push thru the barrier and into the Pride ring.

A face

Then it's neck,

It's claws grasped the edges of the hole to pull it's body and legs thru, landing with an earth shattering thud on the ground of pride. It's whole body in an inky mist of what looked like stardust against a black sky, like ever sunrise and sunset the universe has ever seen floating around it's from, making it difficult to actually see the things form clearly.

POV switch

(Just like real quick)

-Deaths pov-

'It's like watching glass fissure and get ready to shatter'

She thought whilst poking and prodding at the barrier between her and the Pride ring of hell.

She hummed in slight annoyance

'A little harder to pierce than I remember but then again I have been asleep for awhile, might just be rusty'

Then the glass like barrier gave way under her claws as she zeroed in on the power output she was feeling; 'Not angelic but definitely more pure than anyone else down here, No question that's his kid I'd recognize that power anywhere'

She pushed one, then both hands thru the hole she had made, making it wider so she could slip thru without causing too much damage;

'Barriers are a bitch to repair, might as well make it easy on myself'

She lands on the ground, wincing at the shaking and shuddering she feels now calming down as the environment adjusts to her presence after a millenia of sleep. She truns and drawks her hand up against the hole she had created and slowly the hole began to seemingly drip and reform itself like sculpting gkass and making it shiny again. soon enough the hols had closed and the entity sighed at the energy it took to do so but know in the logn run it was better to seal the hole now than let.... something ELSE creep in behind her.

Which reminds her of her task and she refocuses on locating Hell's Princess.

Which was laughably easy as she saw the golden bubble shimmer from outside the barrier and could feel the power output, so familiar and yet all together different from her Father, seemingly more, Vibrant, and alive like how she remembers Lucifers magic to be.

It's then that she looks down and realizes the panic and pandemonium she's caused, and of course, once again trys to calm the terrified little sinner souls. Unintentionally booming while still at a colossal size;

"Where is Charlotte Morningstar?"

[alphabetbill]

Macabre [ HEMLOCK GROVE ] - Chapter 8

~ description ~

A werewolf whose only skill is running from his fears and a half-upir with no idea of the true darkness lying inside of him, supernaturally bound to each other after the mysterious death of a girl they both knew, and the grim visions that haunt them.

Some secrets in Hemlock Grove should have just stayed buried. In a town that isn't so sleepy after all, monsters of all kinds are wide awake under the surface, crawling their way up.

~ warnings~

This story will contain mature and heavy themes that may involve potentially explicit content, gore and murder, talk of kidnapping and stalking victims, animal death, supernatural/paranormal/religious themes and trauma, any other themes not covered in the general description will probably be tagged here at the start of the chapters that other significant warnings apply to.

A list will be linked here upon completion and upload of each chapter:

Cicada and the Snake

Chapter 1 . Chapter 2 . Chapter 3 . Chapter 4 . Chapter 5. Chapter 6 . Chapter 7 . Chapter 8 .

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

c h a p t e r     e i g h t .

Roman Godfrey

<<>>

IF THERE WAS A SUMMER CAMP FOR SERIAL KILLERS, Roman and friends would fit right in.

It was midnight when the trio hiked out to Hemlock Grove's cemetery, moonlight glowering down. Clad in black and hoodies and beanies, it seemed they were all following in the steps of Peter's everyday example.

Hidden in the dead grass, crickets welcomed them on site as the teens scaled the fence one by one, dropping onto the limestone path beyond it.

"Fuck!"

"You okay?" Roman stopped to ask when Jude jerked her hand away from the wire with a string of obscenities, a gash across her palm. The blood seeping from the wound wasn't red, but a foul black jelly clotting around the edges of the tear like tree sap. He took her hand in his to inspect it, forcing aside both his natural instinct to gag and his intrusive one to lick it. 

"I'm good," she tucked her hand in her pocket, as if embarrassed by the sight of it.

Roman did not feel welcome on these grounds. 

The cemetery sprawled before him, a labyrinth of graves both new and neglected, some with nothing to mark them but mounds of dry, cracked dirt the group tried not to tread on. 

The air here seemed to hold its breath, and shadows crawled in ways they shouldn't have, slipping along the corners of his vision only to vanish when he turned to look. Even the crickets, despite their relentless song on the way in, fell quiet in this place as though they were afraid of what lay beyond. Roman's stomach twisted. It was as if the graveyard itself resented their presence as if it weren't just a resting place. As if it were alive, watching, waiting. 

It wanted them out.

Roman shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of his lighter, a comfort of a sort as he walked just a step behind Jude and Peter. 

"Alright, gang, this is where we split up and search for clues," he said, making light of the moment as he glanced around the expanse of the cemetery. "Peter, you take the creepy crypt over there. Jude, you've got the haunted mausoleum. I'll just hang out here by the gate and make sure no vengeful spirits follow us home."

Jude snorted despite herself, the tension in her posture softening. "Real brave of you, Fred."

"Hey, someone's gotta hold down the fort," Roman shot back, shrugging as though he wasn't bothered by the oppressive atmosphere. He nudged Peter with his elbow. "Besides, you're the werewolf here. Shouldn't you be sniffing for clues or whatever it is you do?"

Peter rolled his eyes, adjusting the shovel on his shoulder. "If I'd known digging up graves was part of the job description, I'd have sniffed out a different curse."

"Well, you're stuck with it," Roman said, his voice lighter than he felt. He scanned the gravestones, smirking like he wasn't cataloguing every shadow. "But hey, if a zombie pops out, feel free to take the lead."

Peter laughed under his breath. "Pretty sure you're the first one who's gonna run screaming."

Roman put a hand to his chest in mock offence. "I'll have you know I have nerves of steel. Just last week, I killed a spider."

"Heroic," Jude deadpanned.

It wasn't long before they found the grave. 

New and shiny, with a wreath of plastic flowers set beside it and some shrivelled-up ones laid across it. 

Judith Evergreen, loved daughter of Lance Evergreen, taken too soon.

That was it. That was all they had to say about her, about the girl he cared for, about the friend he loved. He wanted to carve out those words and write his own, all the things that came to mind when he looked at her. The audacity of her resting place being marked with things so trivial and meaningless, with no visitors and no love, drove an icy claw through his heart.

If it was hard for him to look at it, he couldn't imagine what it was like for Jude to see it. He imagined it would be something akin to a sudden dunk into icy water. Like you were seeing something you shouldn't, a place that was meant for you but a place you never found. 

The three of them stood there staring at the engraved words, silence spanning the distance between them. Peter hesitated for a few moments more before driving his shovel into the ground.

The first cut into the earth caused Roman to flinch. He pulled his lighter from his pocket, lit up a cigarette and offered one to Jude, to which she strangely declined. Roman wanted to say something—crack a joke, maybe—but for once, he couldn't find the words. Eventually he grabbed a second shovel and joined the effort. Jude stayed back, her arms tightly wound around herself.

At last, what seemed like hours later, steel hit wood with a hollow thunk. Peter and Roman bent down to brush aside the dirt, gripping the lid of the coffin from either side. With much effort, the two of them hauled it aside.

Roman peered into the casket.

Jude's corpse stared back at him.

"Shee-it!" Peter gasped.

"Shee-it," Roman agreed.

Rotted flesh bloomed over a once beautiful face, wearing away at once freckled, sun-kissed skin and those delicate lips. Her auburn hair fanned around her like a halo, her eyes closed and sunken. 

Jude took one look at it, turned away, and hurled her guts up on the nearest patch of weeds.

Roman grimaced, and after a few minutes, he went over to her.

She was crouched on the ground, trembling. Her eyes seemed to be stuck, wide and terrified, her chest heaving as though she had just completed a marathon. She sunk onto the balls of her feet, shovelling her hands through her hair in a repetitive, self-soothing motion. Her face was pale, as though she had seen a ghost.

"Hey– look at me," he whispered. "You're okay, you're okay– what happened?"

Jude's gaze, swelling with tears, met his frantically.

"I–" she choked, "I can't do this," her voice wobbled. Her eyes darted everywhere– everywhere but the girl in the box in the ground. "Please Roman– can you take me home?"

Things had been boiling to a breakdown for days now, and it made sense that her catalyst was now. The days following the visit to her house, and the encounter with her father, had been filled with a version of Jude that was much more resigned and quiet. Oftentimes she would space out when they were talking, eyes glazed wide open as though she had suddenly died again. Then she would zone back in, unable to recall what it was they were talking about. When she did talk, it wasn't about much, always deflecting his concern whenever he asked how she was doing.

He knew she wasn't fine, and that wasn't the worst part about it. The worst part was that she wouldn't talk to him. Not like she used to. Not like how she would always pester him whenever he was in a mood. 

A hand smoothing gently over her back, he parted his lips to speak, unsure of what to say.

"We won't stay for much longer," he tried to reassure her, "but we shouldn't leave Peter here alone. You think you can wait a bit?".

After taking a few minutes to calm herself, she nodded. "Mmjust gonna sit over here for a bit," she mumbled, pulling up a pew on a nearby patch of lawn. 

Roman didn't like the vacancy in her expression. He never wanted to see it again. He stayed to make sure she was okay, and eventually wandered back over to where Peter had set to work.

"Leaving me to do all the dirty work," the Werewolf chuckled from inside the grave, but there was no ill intent behind his light-hearted teasing as he plucked a blade from his pocket and set a large glass jar down beside him.

"You know me. Wouldn't wanna break a nail," Roman answered.

"She okay?" Peter asked, genuine concern in his tone.

"I'm not sure. I think seeing this really freaked her out. Or she saw something else."

"I don't blame her. Shit, I can barely look at it."

It. Like this corpse wasn't hers. Like it wasn't part of Jude, like it didn't belong to her, like it was something else.

Peter said some prayers, and performed the grotesque surgery as quickly as he could, piling intestines into the jar. At this point, Roman declared it best to look away himself, and once again found himself trailing back to his best friend's side.

"Hey–" he reached over, squeezing her hand with a smile. "How about we go to my place after this? We can have a couple of drinks, just hang out like we used to. Better than being stuck at Peter's place all the time right?"

She nodded, too worked up to speak.

In the early hours of the morning, the two of them were lying down on Roman's bed. 

"So, what happened back there?" he asked, his tone a gentle, hushed reprieve from the usual smugness that it carried. 

The girl opened her mouth to speak, staring at the ceiling with pretty, troubled eyes. It was a look of shame, of uncertainty that he knew well.

Nimble fingers moved without hesitation to push a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand dropping to squeeze her shoulder. "You can tell me."

Jude took a breath, her body stilling as though it took all of her just to conjure a worthy answer. When she exhaled, it released in fractures as though broken glass were spitting out of her throat.

"I was alive," she whispered. "I was alive when he left me in that ditch. When I saw.....," she cleared her throat, "when I saw her in the coffin, it's like it triggered a memory. I was seeing through her eyes, and I could feel myself dying. Lying there, in pain, slipping"

"That must have been awful," he whispered. 

Roman had a complicated relationship with the idea of death. He fantasized about it often enough that he couldn't say it particularly scared him, but after seeing what it had done to his girl– his friend, he felt his heart bleed for her. It was one thing for him to sit there and watch her waste away, and it was another for her to have lived and then died so horribly, so terribly that it forced her spirit to stick around and relive it all again if she wanted to remember what happened.

Jude didn't reply. Roman couldn't blame her for being so mentally exhausted after everything she had been through over the last few days.

"Who?" he asked after a while.

"Huh?"

"He. You said when he left you there. Who was it, do you know?" Roman asked. A stupid question.

"If I knew, we would be out there looking already," she whispered.

It was true and Roman hated it. Whoever did this to her would see a fate worse than death, he would make sure of it. Whoever took her, whoever killed her, desecrated and brutalized her. Part of him wanted to race out there into the night and find the bastard. 

The other part of him was a scared little rich boy who didn't know what to do. Who didn't know how to help her. More than she needed justice, she needed solace, and that came first before anything he wanted. The only thing he could do for now was let her get some rest.

Roman pressed his face into her hair, and stayed with her until she fell asleep.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

heh. balls

anyways here is the wattpad link if anyone would like to try and help support my writing!

[umenoyume]

Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight

✧Read on Ao3!!!

chapter one ✧ word count. 3.1k

✦“Are you scared?”

A grasp is felt on your jaw, forcing you to look at him. A cigarette now litters the already messy floor. His eyes feel like they are almost swallowing you."

Since birth Nikolai was cursed to be able to see the fabled red string of fate, everyday in his life he has the dreaded constant reminder of his wish for freedom. On a snowy night in Saints Petersburg, a drunken girl tumbles on onto Nikolai, he falls in love for the drunk girl who's destiny doesn't cross his. With his heart beating he knows that this will be his only chance for freedom, and one way or another he'll set you free too. Even if you don't want to be.

cw：fem reader, abusive/neglectful household, implied stalking, dead dove, mentions of feature "fixing", nikolai being nikolai, minors/ageless/ blank blogs dni

You wake up, the droning sound of the television playing at too loud a volume doesn’t bother you, after all you’re used to it. You do your morning routine mindlessly. You sit down near the shoe rack by the entrance, you pull out a simple pair of sneakers and put them on. A loud shout is heard through your home, you don’t bother to listen to the word spoken instead you instinctively cover your ears in an attempt to deafen the noise. It’s your father, he comes striding to you with a crease in his brows. His gaze moves down to you, you tense up. He clicks the roof of his mouth and walks past you without saying a word. You clutch your chest and let out a deep breath. He exits the home, with a pack of cigarettes and lighter in hand.

You silently mutter numbers to yourself as you count up the customer's change. You place the coins on the change tray and give a quick bow with the typical customer service smile. “And here’s your change–have a nice day!” As the customer leaves you briefly take a glance at the clock on the wall of the convenience store, it’s almost twelve in the morning. This is your second job and your shift is just about to end. The feeling of dread instantly sets in.

I don’t want to go back home.

The once quiet background noise of the clock ticking away has now become a horrid reminder of your homelife. Sweat begins to dampen your forehead. The closest thing you have to refuge is work, though that isn’t all joyous either, it's still better than what you have to deal with in your residence. You stay at work as long as you possibly could until you see your coworker ready to replace your position. You let out a deep sad sigh as you leave the establishment.

You walk into an alleyway near the apartment complex which currently houses you and your father. The alley wall is covered in all types of grime, dirt, and graffiti. All of the writing on the walls are just mindless scribbles, all but one unfinished drawing of half of a pairing of wings. You lean your back against the dirty wall, despite the filth, it’s more calming than being home. You’ll just say you had to work overtime if your father is still awake when you get back. You pull your cell phone out of your pocket and begin to mindlessly scroll. A faint sound is heard in the distance. Your ears perk, the lids of your eyes begin to rise slowly, a foreign coldness runs over your skin. As time passes the noise becomes more recognizable–it’s a person and they're getting closer. All your body could do was stare at the now blank phone screen, as it automatically shut off after sometime of inactivity. Your palms begin to get clammy. All you can see is the vague reflection of your face in the cracks of your broken phone screen.

“You got a light?”

A deep voice is reverberated into your ears. You jump back, your heart almost leaping out of your chest. You take a moment to calm yourself down.

It’s just a person.

You give a curt nod–you always carried a lighter for your father–despite being wary, you hand the disposable lighter to the person next to you. While handing the object to them, you get a better look at their facial features. A long scar goes across his left eye vertically, though what was more interesting was his heterochromia. His left eye is a dulled grayish blue while his right is green. His hair is a platinum blonde white, though it appears initially short, a longer section is tied into a braid that lays on his right shoulder. He lights a cigarette, covering the flame with his hand as he does so. He blows the nicotine laced smoke away from you before speaking. “You out of cigs?”

You shake your head, “No, I don’t smoke.”

He looks at you with a raised brow, his tone confused, “What’s with the lighter then?” He asks with his lips quirked upwards.

You slip your phone in your pocket so you can converse with him. “I’m not obligated to answer, am I?”

He stares at you, his eyes wide and unblinking as if he were taken aback. He lets out a dry laugh. “No… no, I guess you’re not.” The man places the cigarette between his lips. “Well, will you tell me why you're in this dingy alleyway then? This usually isn’t the typical hangout place for most.”

“I didn’t want to go home.” You speak simply, your answer is vague but it’s most likely enough to satiate the man. You repeat his question, “So why are you in this gloomy alley?” A hint of playful mocking is heard in your voice as you accentuated the word ‘you’.

“Cause’ I’m a serial killer Darlin’.”

He speaks with an unsettling amount of bluntness, his face is uncomfortably unreadable. You swallow your saliva nervously, his gaze feels like it pierces your eyes. His lips start to curl upwards, your heart beat increasing as follows. You begin to realize how much the man towers over you–he’s six foot tall at least. His build was large, in the sense that he was strong.

He slaps you on the back. “I’m kidding…!” He chortles, though a likely harmless joke, it leaves a hint of uneasiness in your system. He moves his hand to your head to ruffle your hair, seemingly in an attempt to calm your nerves. You flinch but you don’t protest, your face warms up, unconsciously you lean into his touch. “You’re cute you know? Like a little dove in a cage.”

He retracts his hand, your expression tries the hardest to convey discomfort but your face is nothing but a red blushing mess. An uncomfortable sense of yearning is gained in your mind from his actions and words.

What in the world is wrong with you?

You try to brush the feeling aside, you feel somewhat pathetic for your reaction. “…What do you mean?” The words spoken sound uncharacteristically meeker than your usual voice.

Faint, quickly fading sparks trickle down onto the ground as he tips the ashes off the end of his cigarette, “I envy birds, they aren't weighed down by anything. They live their lives blissfully, being able to fly to wherever their little heart’s desire.” His gaze falters down to the slightly damp alleyway floor. “But no matter how much a caged bird spreads its wings, no matter how much it believes it’s free, the only choice is to follow in servitude.”

“That’s quite the idea you got there…!” You state, your voice cracking at the end. You tuck your hair behind your ear, showing a hint of nervousness. It’s not like he’s wrong–you never had much agency in your life–you knew that, but it’s weird that a complete stranger is able to deduce that within less than half an hour of meeting you. Perhaps he’s just observant? You clear your throat, “But I guess I can somewhat see where you’re coming from…?” He doesn’t respond, instead he stares into you. He smokes silently, his gaze is focused on your eyes, reminiscent of the way one would gaze through the glass of a snow globe. It feels like he’s trying to see beneath your skin in a way, to see what your mind speaks. You try to avert your eyes from meeting him.

“Hey,”

He calls your name, his voice is raspy as it almost demands your attention.

“Are you scared?”

A grasp is felt on your jaw, forcing you to look at him. A cigarette now litters the already messy floor. His eyes feel like they are almost swallowing you. A familiar fear, panic rushes through your veins. You grit your teeth with your lips trembling, suppressing your urge to scream, in fear it would somehow anger him. If you had ears like a rabbit, then they would be pinned flat back.

He lets go of you, he puts his hands in the air as if to show innocence. He laughs for a short moment before looking directly at you, gauging your reaction. He pouts in a childish manner when he notices your expression and whines, “Don’t look at me like that, I'm kidding–!”

What a cruel sense of humor. You can’t believe you were briefly flustered by the same man just a few seconds earlier. You can’t help but think he gets at least some amount of sadistic joy out of his acts. You purse your lips and furrow your brows. “That’s not funny—!” You pause your sentence, a chill runs down your spine,

“How do you know my name…?”

He tenses up, his eyes widening for a moment before dulling. An odd glint of sadness is briefly seen in him but it quickly disappears. He quickly points at your chest.

You gaze down to look at your attire. Your mouth forms in the shape of an ‘O’. Sticking out like a sore thumb, a name tag with your name written on it lays pinned to your work apron. “Oh, forgot I still have my work uniform on.” You speak, the shakiness clearly showing that you don’t fully believe him. He’s getting more and more frightening with each second that passes. Every little word that escapes through his lips sets more alarm bells in your mind telling you he’s dangerous. You pull your phone out of your pocket to check the time, it’s 1 in the morning. If you don’t get home now you won’t be able to make it work on time. “Sorry, I gotta go.” You speak as coolly as you possibly could, secretly glad that you have to leave.

For once in your life, you ran home. You never wanted to be home more than you did now, though the want dissipates once you finally make it inside the building. You tiptoe through your own home’s hallways to not be noticed by your father. Thankfully you make it to your room without incident. You flop onto your bed, the springy mattress causes you to bounce slightly. Your breathing is ragged, your forehead is damp with a coat of sweat. You feel oddly safe, a sense of comfort in your own home was rare. It must be because of him, that man in the alley. You're still a bit shaken up by the encounter. You know that he said he knew your name from your stupid name tag and yet you can’t believe him. Everything points to him being honest and yet you feel like he knows far more about you than you would ever know. Even meeting him in the alley seems oddly calculated. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of the thought. You rub your sleepy eyes. You’re just overthinking… you should really get some sleep. You yawn as your eyes start to flutter closed.

Just who was that guy?

____

To have true freedom is to be free of the feelings chaining one down one’s desires. Feeling of guilt, pity, fondness, and attachment are only obstacles to true joy. Attached his very own hands was a web, though others would prefer the terms thread or string more. No matter what red fiber connected the fingers it was all the same to him. For what was supposed to be an old myth was Nikolai’s reality. On everyone’s fifth digit was an invisible red thread tying two together, the two bound together are said to be destined to be with one another. ‘The red thread of fate’, how sickening.

A few years back, on a snowy night in Saints Petersburg, a person tumbled onto Nikolai.

He laid stunned in the cold snow that covered the streets. The snow’s frigidness slowly started to seep through the thick winter coat he was wearing. He glanced down to see you red faced, it was clear to anybody that you were drunk. Your hands clung onto his chest, akin to a way a cat would knead at a blanket. Your hair was frayed, your eyes half lidded. The side of your face was pressed up against him, your cheek was squished up on him, you were treating him like some type of pillow. You looked utterly helpless. A tug was felt in his heart–adorable

He grimaced as he caught himself in mid thought. What’s more important was helping you. He pushed you off of him and got back on his feet. Seeing that you didn’t follow he let out a deep sigh. He kneeled down, swung your arm over his shoulders, and helped you up. He took you to a nearby bench. He sat beside you and spoke in a concerned tone, “Are you ok…?”

“Never been better…!” You hic, “Hey, you… you should get me another drink Mister…”

His mixed matched eyes stared at you dumbfounded, your speech was severely slurred, you're definitely too drunk to be walking out in the streets. He ruffled his own hair, he let out a deep slightly annoyed grumble. “You live around here? I’ll get ya’ a taxi if you don’t.”

You lazily gazed at him, you mind failed to comprehend what he said for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity to him. You seemingly pointed in the direction of your residence. As you pointed, Nikolai curiously glanced at the red thread attached to your pinkie finger. It leads in the direction opposite to him. Like usual, he no longer paid any more mind to the red thread. It’s not like the other people around him were able to see it anyways. “Just ‘round the block…” You managed to speak, You started to stare off into space a bit. “I-i think?” You purse your lips and your brows furrowed.

How utterly hopeless…

He frowned, “Just tell me your address and I’ll take you home ‘kay?”

“No!” You whined, elongating the ‘o’ sound. ”I’m not going home with a stranger!”

He mocked, “Looks like someone knows stranger danger…”

You confidently puffed out your chest, “Yep! My mom taught me that!”

Nikolai prompted his elbow on his knee, he rested his head against his hand. He inhaled, amused. He talked with a dash of sarcasm, “Woah, your mother must’ve been real smart huh?”

You chirped, “Yep!” You stared at him, akin to the way a bird would gawk at whatever made a sound nearby.

“Are you an idiot?” He asked rhetorically. Your brow furrowed, you pouted. The drunken red of your face made you look disreputable.

He gulped deeply, “Sorry, never mind that…” HIs gaze was averted, he buried the bottom half of his face into his palm. He cleared his throat. He straightened out his posture, sitting up straight. He nudged your forehead with his pointer finger. “What’s important is that you're too drunk to be out!”

You spoke lazily, “Nuh uh…”

You wagged your finger at him. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Are you kidding me–!” He nudged your forehead once more, this time harshly. “Your drunk ass toppled over some stranger!” He jeered at you, though not in a rude manner. You rubbed your forehead in an attempt to soothe the pain as he snickered at you. His demeanor quickly changed into a more serious one, “You’re going home and that’s final.”

Your eyes averted from his, your mouth remained closed shut. Your body language felt nervous. You shook your head, your hair swayed as you did so.

“…I don’t wanna go home.”

He grew silent, a part of him wanted to ask why, but he knew it was better to say nothing. He could already infer what you were trying to imply. He just sat by you and listened to your words.

“It… it’s horrible there,” Your drunkenness spewed on uneasy amounts of honesty. “I live with my father, he’s the only living family I have. But the thing is, he's a nightmare. He yells my ear off, beats me when I don’t get his beers in time, and steals more than half of my salary.” You rolled your eyes, “Whatever…! He’s just a stereotypically stupid deadbeat dad!” You crossed your arms and your lips curled downwards. It’s clear that you wanted to say more, but you forced your own mouth shut. You sulked for a while before your face softened into a more sad one. Your body moved closer to his, your hand was unconsciously placed on his lap. Your face leaned in close to his, your eyes were big like a sad puppy. “So, please don’t make me go home–” The hand on his thigh trailed up to his bicep. Both of your arms wrapped around him, your face pressed up against his shoulder. “P-please, don’t Mister…”

He spoke stiffly, “I won’t.”

Let go, let go, let go–

He could’ve easily pulled your weak grasp off, yet he couldn’t bear too. His chest felt heavy, chaining webs shackled him. You pulled away from him, the warmth from your grasp still lingered. He felt a stinging feeling in his chest. How pitiful of him, just one sob story and he was already filled with pity, no. Attachment. He pursed his lips, no this isn’t something as silly as attachment, just a simple attraction to your physical appearance is all. Speaking of your appearance, your face was bright. A wide almost child-like smile was spread across your lips, your eyes shone with a mix of awe and hope. You grabbed both of his hands and clasped them together between your own. Your hands were ice cold from the lack of gloves, but his cheeks were producing all the heat he needed.

“Thank you so much!” Your tone was sweet, a sweetness that he wouldn’t have felt if you were sober. He knew that this friendliness was nothing more than a drunken reaction but he couldn’t help but be enthralled by your warmth. Nikolai has known attraction, and yet when his heart beats for you, it’s different.

He gave a second glance to something he thought he would never look at more than once. Just as he saw before no thread of his was attached to your fate. The fact that you weren’t connected to him started to bother him. How pitiful of him, just one sob story and he was already filled with pity, no. Attachment. A queasy feeling filled his mind at a realization–if you were bound to him he wouldn't mind being stripped of freedom. His mind tried to calm.

I am free, I wouldn’t be feeling this way if I weren’t.

Right, the separateness of the two of you only proved to him that he was free. If anything you were in a cage, a cage set in since birth, not him.

He’ll just set you free, free like him.

[au-set]

Ranking Mahoyaku wizards as your roommate (HCs + some short scenarios)

its finally semester break, i promise ill read chapter 1.5 of the main story now...

Hey, dear Sage... we just never questioned how the room we will be sleeping in soon was another Sage's? THAT LAD PROBABLY DIED 2 HOURS AGO AND NOW THE WIZARDS ARE CLAIMING HIS ROOM AS YOUR NEW HOME THE SAME EVENING HE SACRIFICED HIS LIFE IN THE CALAMITY.

In the great name of fengshui, you insist on sharing a room instead.

"hm, is this worse than clothes-less knight drunk dancing at 3am..."

20th — Nero

There are certain pros to being his roomie, obviously, but HAVE YOU SEEN THE GUY’S ROOM? Nero does not own a kitchen; his whole room IS the kitchen. Each time after he cooks, the amount of water droplets from the steam would damp your bedsheets... soggy bed... Don’t get me started on the state of the shared bedroom when he decides to fry food. Furthermore, the head of the bed is facing directly in front of the fire stove. That is a fire hazard for your hair, sir. 

Pros: access to unlimited midnight snacks. Go steal yourself a few pastries off his shelf for supper; he won’t mind.

His roommate will always be the first person he shares his new recipes with, which comes with delicious taste tests too. Imagine laying down on the bed and brainstorming recipes with Nero from your original world, it melts my heart.

19th — Smelly Mithra

Mimi bought this place with the price of his pillows (or else he’d be last place). Look at his little moon, I will rob it from his grasp and never return it.

Oh, oh wait he has two... I AM TAKING BOTH.

Cons: holding his hand. I headcanon all wizards originated from the North, the inability to have sweaty hands, yet I think it’s uncomfortable. Sure, Mithra’s happy he got the convenience of amazing sleep everyday when you’re in the manor, I physically cannot think of a position where it is partially comfortable unless he’s hugging you or has you little spooned.

Incapable of doing chores, does he even know what cleaning up after himself means?

Oh and he doesn’t know how to use a napkin so I doubt he showers. Stinky uncle Mithra.

18th — Bradley

Do NOT wake up later than him, he WILL tickle you awake if given the mood. Like Shino, who has a rope beside his bed, this man just has an entire display of guns… Not as scary because it isn't right by his bed… I stand by my point. Throws his jacket wherever he wants, messy roommate (not as bad compared to Murr) in general. I cannot think of a single pro at the moment.

Does not own a bed but SLEEPS ON LEATHER(?) SOFAS??? Countless materials in the world, this is what he chose. Sages, we napping on the carpet for this one.

His love for taking in large amounts of tasty food at once is endearing, not much so when you start to take note of the dirty plates starting to pile up at the corner of your shared room. Habitually, Bradley will tidy it up when it gets overwhelming, you still feel disgusted once in a while.

17th — Faust

In spite of the dark atmosphere in his room, it feels more cosy rather than sinister to me… BEFORE THE SUN SETS. Curseworker or what not, no one should have more than two mirrors hanging in their bedroom’s walls. The only person you are cursing is yourself. Faust will be escorting the Sage (me) to the bathroom past 12am, no complaints allowed for someone who has his room looking like a ritual summoning circle. What if a monster emerges from the inside of the mirror and starts genociding? We take no chances.

Initially, Faust was incredibly against sharing his room with anyone. If not for the Sage’s request otherwise, you wouldn’t be here browsing through his street cats photo albums. So subtle, so slowly that you couldn’t pinpoint when the wise Wizard started bringing you along his trips to his garden.

Almost forgot to mention his feet stabber 3000 and sceptical tied red stringed straw star on the floor...

16th — Rustica

Leaves the door open, like just enough to not be closed or sometimes just wide open. Bugs you about his “hanayome” everyday and every chance. No, my paint palette is not your bride, leave it alone. During unpredictable hours, Rustica fancies hosting karaokes by himself; singing melodies from the bottom of his heart; hoping his "hanayome" will hear him and grace their appearance in the room. Which will most likely be this Nova person because who in this world can actually hear past the sound barrier...

Has the nicest smelling room out of all of the 21 Wizards. Man has plants growing from the cabinet, I bet his cutlery smells like herbs. When you use his utensils it makes dishes taste bitter due to that reason. I hate having bitter food so you’re getting a low ranking.

Having you as his roomie cut off Chloe a bunch of slack, you’re now in charge of buttoning up his clothes and tidying up his ribbons.

15th — Cain

The first thought that came into mind is how Cain periodically gets drunk and starts dancing naked and I don’t want to be chilling or half-asleep with the door slamming open for me to get flashed by a nude knight’s body… Other than that, flawless roomie, handsome lad, would blind your eyes at 8am every morning by opening the curtains then flashing you his sunny smile (hopefully with clothes on).

Potential Owen visits, Owen scary. 15th place it is.

14th — Shino

WHY DO YOU HAVE ROPE JUST LAYING NEXT TO YOUR BED??? IS IT FOR SOME EMERGENCY ESCAPE DOWN THE SECOND FLOOR WHEN ARSON HAPPENS OR?????? I do not feel safe sleeping in the same room as him. What if he tied me up and threw me out the window? NOPE.

Please store it away before I use it to tie you up and throw you out the window instead.

You’re both either arguing over Heathcliff-needs-or-not-to-be-kept-safe-in-my-pocket-related topics or in a mutual agreement of “tasty bread” “valid” “if I can cast spells I’ll name mine delicious blueberry cheese tarts” “great idea” “in Latin maybe” “yeah”. 

Makes every single house task competitive, who can throw out the trash the fastest, who has the tidier bed made (no wrinkles, no accidental folds, no drool marks). As long as a victory title is achievable, he will challenge you. The both of you have a tiny magnet board to keep track of every loss and wins.

Never fail to cook up something unique for you when Nero is away, his forest watcher survival skills shine through the way he freshly hunts the ingredients just to please you with a fresh meal. Totally not because he wants to be praised by the Sage to inflate his ego. 

13th — Shylock

Alcohol. Smells like alcohol and only alcohol. That sly bartender will cast you a spell if it does bother you though. Does not allow you to freely decorate your side of the room, everything you decide to put on your desk has to go through his ‘aesthetic approval’.

Charmed instantly when he puts his hair down before bed, no denials here. Shylock often, and, justifiably catch you admiring his face from seconds to minutes because of how beautiful he looks. And that my fellow Sages, is a pro. Sharing a room with a pretty man! Mwahs!

After showering, Shylock offers to blowdry your hair when he has time to spare. What was supposed to be a little blowdrying routine tends to always escalates to a whole self-care session with the abundance of products the wizard insists on using on your hair. At the end of each session, he would give you the best scalp massage, it usually helps you sleep better at night.

12th — Snow & White (They share a room in the game so I’m putting them together)

Very nice and spacious because they're tiny and they get stuck in a painting at night so the room is all to claim MWAHAHAHA- honestly though, their antics would keep the Sage entertained through boring days and will talk nonstop about their 2000 years worth of life story. One thing I worry about is White screaming at the top of his lungs when accidentally scared—I move around my house without any noises, I might get blood in my ears a lot due to that. 

Their self portrait on the wall is cute but chilling at night, there’s also no windows in their room?!

Ho... faceless Snow and White...

Be prepared for the old じじs to wake you up at odd hours into the night to tell you something completely irrelevant and grotesque: “White is dead as you know, don’t you like having a dead corpse pressed up against your body when you two hug?” Denies everything when you wake up, refuses to take responsibility for mental damage as if Owen hasn’t caused enough.

11th — Chloe

His room is so eerie at night, I would be scared. The walls are under-decorated and have an empty ambience in general. Would be the type to share a closet with you if you’re around the same size as him. If you're smaller, better. Except being terrified of him jumping at me at 3am, I think Chloe makes a cute roomie. 

Frequently returns with gifts that tickle his interests strolling downtown. 

Chloe illogically makes me think that he owns a pet rock and asks you to take care of her. Apparently, a lively human child gave it to him? One day the Westerner discovered the rock grew eyes—googly eyes; you thought it was hilarious and he decided to leave it on from then on.

10th — Murr

Type of roommate to whine for your attention whenever he gets bored, disturbing you from the Sage’s work. On cloudy days, Murr will convert the bedroom into a fort when given permission (or not, he doesn't care) to use your pillows and blanket as walls and roofs. To witness the ceiling turned into a galaxy with his magic; he squeezes beside you on the hammock and reaches out his hand at the illusion moon; hours of his wisdom steals away your sleep and the silence in the chaotic night.

Will start writing poetry of the moon at midnight and force you to listen to him vent about his profuse, lavish and longing of the beautiful moon. Gets zero sleep with him, always tinkering around gemstones late at night. Aren’t cats supposed to sleep through 80% of the day? Meow meow’s room looks super fun, there are many trinkets and magical artefacts laying around. Temporary forgiven. 

9th — Owen

Having him as a roommate is pretty nice in my opinion. Recalling how he enjoys chaos in the city, thus rarely seen in the manor is the highlight of his ranking. Majority of the time the room is all yours, if he’s around, simply endure a few teases and mental breakdowns. Other than that, yeah the room is yours. 

Seldomly asks you out for teatime, never fails to take you to taste the most delicious cream puffs in town. Intentionally forces you to stay up late at night with him so he can tell you all about his wonderful day of being Snow White.

When he comes back I will toss him out the window.

8th — Mitile

Please go to bed Mitile. Purposefully staying up after 12am after being influenced by Shino's superior nonsense. He is determined to prove to the Easterner that he is a 'big boy' too and doesn’t need a set bedtime and curfews now that he is the chosen Sage’s wizard. Will absolutely begs the Sage to keep talking to him to keep him awake even though he can barely keep his eyes open. I need sleep…

Afternoons with Mitile are similar to Rutile, he would act all mighty and knowledgeable whenever you inquired him regarding anything, I repeat, the smallest things in the world! Cheerfully hopping on the sofa with you, his slightly folded notebook on his lap and patiently explains to the Sage about what he has learnt from Dr. Figaro.

7th — Heathcliff

Bet his room smells like coffee and rain, that deserves a high ranking on itself. Very careful roommate, walks quietly when you’re already asleep and makes sure the door is closed at all times unlike some immoral swin-

Do you think he has like 5 heavy mechanical clocks in his room that goes “tick, tock, tick, tock, tick-” that are impossible to ignore? They never shut up, it is constant throughout the day, afternoon, evening, night—endlessly. I will go insane.

Look at his blueprints, I am certain there are clocks resting under his pillow because it's his wish charm.

6th — Riquet

Another desolated-looking room, please put up something more than the… pentagon drawn on papers (are those notes or something to do with his religion?). He definitely prays every night before bed and it makes me feel safe to be sleeping in the same room as him.

Under Bradley’s influence, Riquet learnt how to sneak into the (Nero’s) kitchen. Some mischievous nights, the two of you will blindly grab a few jars and packets of food from the pantry before carefully tip-toeing back to your rooms.

The rest of the night are experiments—cooking up distinguished dishes by mixing two random ingredients together and praying it doesn’t give unwanted stomach aches. When the colour turned out suspicious, Riquet and the Sage rock, paper, scissors to decide which one will be the ‘victim’ of their own Michelin star recipe.

5th — Figaro (hardest for me to write ;; i tried my best)

I would be scared of him doing something suspicious to the Sage—you had witnessed his room antics… he did swear to refrain from any funny business. Genuinely, Figaro is delighted that you chose to share a room with him. Will he feel less lonely to have someone an arm’s reach away at night…? 

Nosy roommate that hovers over your body whenever you’re occupied at the desk, similar to Murr but in a tamed way... as tamed as his patience can handle at least. Speaking of tame, you're again assigned with monitoring his drinking habits. Weekly routine of checking cabinets, beds and his unusually thicker coats.

One of these medicine bottles has to be replaced with alcohol.

Nags at you whenever he spots you have yet to make your bed in the morning, then does it himself. Victim of his endlessly cheesy flirts, needs your constant ratings and approvals as a facade for your attention.

4th — Rutile

I cannot find anything wrong with sharing a room with him, peaceful most of the time. Has a wall pinned with his proud drawings and I will boost his interest in drawing anytime I get. Gently wake you up in the morning, regularly have one-on-one study sessions to help you understand more about this unknown world.

 Not as bad as Cain assuming he will never start stripping while drunk, you’re still tasked with his well-being on festive days.

My little precious...

Enjoys leaving little cute sticky notes with reminders when he is assigned with missions far away from the manor: “I already did your laundry for the week ^^,” “do not skip your breakfast again >:(”. At the corner of each note, Rutile doodles on a chibi drawing of an animal (la cretura) when he has spare time and you get to guess what it actually is.

3rd — Oz

Hear me out, Oz has the loud dad snore that tortures you away from sleep- Ahem, he will put a partisan in the middle of the room separating the two of you alongside a noise barrier. No… he does enjoy your company, most of the time—fond of you even. I picture Oz as this guy who really treasures his personal space. Sharing a room with him grants you the same privacy he wishes. Perhaps after a few more small talks, he will consider removing the barrier.

Being the Sage is hard, a pledge forced upon fate. When things seem to get hard to keep up with your work, all your problems are magically solved. Papers neatly settled on your desk, a candy on top of the stack. “When Arthur was still young, he…” We all know how that goes. 

DON'T THINK YOU CAN BLOCK IT WITH YOUR BODY, OZ, I CAN SEE IT HERE.

Let’s not ignore the fireplace placement too, why is it right behind the bed again? Imagining all the dust from the charcoaled wood already makes me want to sneeze. 

2nd — Arthur

The Central Prince feels like the type of boy that’d be interested in storytelling at the end of the day, harmless chitchats about all the little happy things that had happened.

Brings back food from his professional, royal cooks sometimes and I’m here for that. On some nights, you find Arthur tossing and turning around his bed unable to fall asleep… you wonder why.

His justice and leader-like profile would not last long under your attentive hospitality; you were his ‘guest’ afterall, Arthur felt more guilty after you confronted him. Helping him find courage to open up his heart, letting all the dark thoughts eating up his self-worth inside brought your relationship with the prince closer than ever.

1st — Lennox

It’s bliss guys, you get to cuddle in a sea of fluffy white sheeps and a big guy protects you. Heaven. Please be my roommate. Cleanest room out of all of them, tidy and spotless. Voluntarily helps out with Sage’s paperworks countless times.

Although he might be awkward at first, I think after a few nights, you would comfort each other’s bad days and be each other’s listeners. Sleep so still you thought he died, when you poke him to make sure, his eyes shot open in an instant. Military men, man.

Slight choking hazard from sheep fur but we turn a blind eye to that hahaha…

Conclusion: everyone else is disqualified except Murr and Bradley because all of their beds are facing the door and that is not very fengshui.

If you made it here, thanks for reading~ ☆

[the-nerds-in-black]

If you don't mind me asking, what inspired your designs for the LiB human forms? Why did you give them the looks that you did?

I love this question!! I'll explain a bit of my design process. (Be prepared, it is a long explanation!)

First and foremost, I wanted to retain their color schemes, but sort of "normalize" them in a sense. The lords dress very bright and wacky, and I wanted to keep that but also make them look like someone you could just pass on the street. So, the first thing I did was assign them natural hair colors. A more natural blonde for Tinky, ginger for Wiggly (because I found it funny), etc etc..

I also tried to make their clothes more "believable". You dont really see a lot of people walk around in shiny, brightly saturated, monochromatic outfits in everyday life. Personally, I think we should normalize that, but whatever. So, I broke up and spread the color throughout their outfits. Pokey still has blue, but its only in his pants and tie. Tinky still has orange and a little bit of red, but he doesnt have those neon yellow matching jacket and pants combo like in canon. Basically the first step in designing them was making them look.. kinda normal!

Then the second part! Relating them to my pre existing lords designs!

Disclaimer!! These are old designs from months ago, and Ive been slowly redesigning them so they aren't exactly accurate to how I envision the Lords!

But anyway, then comes the easy part, making them look like my interpretations of the lords! Face shape, nose type, hair texture, body type, etc etc. I did accidentally make Tinky less husky as a nerd, which wasnt intentional, so when I draw him later he will be a bit stockier!

As for exact design choices for each of the Nerds In Black, this is how I designed them!

Pokey

His outfit is meant to resemble Paul's outfit by the end of tgwdlm. Its pure irony and I am a sucker for that! It also feels like something Pokey would wear casually: formal but not too formal. The little heels are purely for show. In the future I'd probably draw him with chunkier heels. The little streak in his hair comes in a later chapter!

Tinky

I really channeled nerd energy into his design. The short sleeved button down over a t-shirt speaks to me. Also gave him a watch because I felt it was the easiest way to allude to who he is. Plus, it matched the shape language of his glasses! (Which alludes to his goggles in canon) When I draw him in the future I am drawing him a bit chubbier and with messier hair. Also, ive never written about it or drawn it, but Tinky still has an overbite!

Wiggly

He is actually pictured in an outfit that will show up in the next few chapters! It's a dressier outfit than what he woke up in. The inspiration comes from a funny place actually: Grace's outfit. White shirt, cardigan vest, a little ascot resembling tentacles, its just a slightly more masculine (and green) version of her outfit. And this serves a purpose! For now, I'll say that Grace and Wiggly have a surprising amount of things in common, and they are sort of like foils to each other. It was also important to make him look non threatening, including his lanky frame and freckles. Basically, i wanted to emphasize his insecurities, the parts of himself that he believes make him weak, so that he can't avoid facing them head on!

Nibbly

I went a little silly for this one. PERSONALLY, and this is my opinion, I dont.. really care for Nibbly's outfit in canon, but I tried to keep the skirt, pigtails, and overall feminine expression. I feel like the dark sweater contrasted well with the skirt and peppermint inspired accents. Honestly, im not sure if this one is one of my favorites and I may rework it a little, but I still think its cute! Plus he has a little gap between his teeth! Also, the corset was a fun idea I had, and I think he will get it in a later chapter. The strings on the corset are supposed to resemble sharp teeth too.

Blinky

Being fr I have no idea what i was thinking with the polka dots on the hoodie. Maybe like.. eyes? Definitely going to rework that. Anyway, I wanted Blinky to be dressed very modestly. Its sort of meant to represent that he prefers to watch and not be watched. The face mask also serves that purpose, plus obscuring his mouth. I also kept his glasses, but made them a necessity. Its an added weakness, and worse, its a weakness that was once his strength.

In conclusion...

Overall, I think Pokey, Wiggly, and Tinky are my strongest designs that have a lot of thought into him! I will be changing a feel small things in the future, but for now I think they are fine.

And that's my design thought process! Thanks for asking about it :3

[notravensblog]

FRIENDS

Sneak peek of my new Armin x Female Reader Fanfic. Letting yall know now.. the guy in this snippet isn’t armin. IT WILL MAKE SENSE LATER TRUST ME.

LINK

DISCLAIMER: Car sex, Profanity, Oral, praising, and i guess that’s all you need. Read the rest on my WATTPAD. THANK YOU- raven

START: remember it’s A SNIPPET.

———

He wanted you too, and he knew exactly what you needed because he also needed to release some stress.

"I want you too baby, so be a good girl for me. Let me do my work, hmm?" he hummed while his fingers slid up your back unclipping your bra.

You felt yourself shiver letting the cold air inside his car make contact with your nipples. He pulled the bra completely off while looking down your chest licking his lips and pushed your body towards the steering wheel lightly bringing you up more to get a better view of you.

The music was still playing and then The Weeknd came on, Ironically the song 'What you need' came up. You giggled underneath your breath and he also did while turning it up just a tiny bit more.

Harry then unzipped his pants and you could see the bulge more visibly through his boxers. He pulled your back towards his face while licking your abdomen up to your breast.

You felt his tongue piercing, the metal piece reaching your nipple making you jolt up. You breast were sensitive and it made you wet.

He chuckled while kissing it and playing with your ass with both of his hands. You moaned while pulling yourself closer to him playing with his jet black hair.

Your head slightly being thrown back feeling his tongue swirl around your nipple making you more horny. Feeling how your pussy started to pulsate more intensely that it started to hurt.

He could feel you pulsating against his dick, they felt like heartbeats to him and he knew that you wanted it, he pulled back from your nipple with a string of saliva being sorta visible.

You looked down to him while reaching down to his bulge slightly massaging it making him go red and close his eyes.

His mind was going blank feeling your hand touch him, you then reached hand further down and opened the little pocket it had and pulled out his dick.

You heard him let out a small groan, "ah fuck... it's so cold in here" he whispered.

You giggled, "it won't be soon"

His hands were now around your waist and he stared down his lap seeing how your played with his tip with your thumb.

"You're so pretty Harry" you lightly said making him look at you shocked, his face being all flustered.

You grinned looking up from his dick to his face, you looked intensely in his eyes and started to move your hand up and down watching how his expression changed into pleasure.

You smiled knowing that you had him right where you wanted, you were the one in control and you loved it, "you like that baby?" you said while holding a bit more tighter seeing him squirm.

"y-yes" he stuttered out while digging his nails around your waist and throwing his head back.

You kept moving your hand up and down and grabbed his hair with your other slightly pushing it to the side so you could kiss neck to leave your marks on him.

He moaned out feeling you suck on his neck down to his collar bone, "baby.. fuck im so close" he whined out and you smiled hearing his whiny voice.

You stopped moving your hand and you could feel him grow disappointed, "sorry hun" you laughed while reaching down to his seat pulling up the little lever to push the seat more further back.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed your waist tighter lifting you up making you gasp and fall closer to him, you face inches away from his, both of you breathing heavily.

"You don't even know what you got yourself into, Doll" He whispered while pulling one hand away from your waist to hold his dick, "I'm about to make you ride me until I'm fully satisfied"

———-

Author's Note aka Raven

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

SO DO YOU LIKE IT SO FAR OR NAH!! First chapter is out and I will upload tomorrow too, I will probably update everyday if not then every sunday. Don’t be mad. THANKS AGAIN. Second time WRITING smut so I really don’t know how to feel because I wrote it. I’m lowkey better at angst.

[coletteblackwell]

This is my first story to post on here! I plan on posting more chapters but it can also be found on Wattpad under the same username :3 please let me know if you like it!! I need constructive criticism!

Red String Of Fate [Alastor X Reader] pt.1

                Every night at 7pm when your work ended, Alastor would be there, to walk you home. Even though you assumed Alastor had always seen you as possibly a younger sister, even he couldn't deny that you were one of the more beautiful young ladies in New Orleans. He worried about your safety, so everyday he made it his personal mission that no matter where he was, he would always be there to walk you home, he liked to know you were safe. This night however on the walk home, he surprised you with a bottle of whiskey. You both spent most nights together; laughing, exchanging silly stories, mildly abusing each other. On your travels home you decided to stop at the lake, the lightning bugs danced in front of you while you sat and adored them. Minutes turned into hours and it was now long past 10pm, the bottle now nearly empty. It was June 3rd, 1931. The summer heat coating both of your skin in a heavy layer. You sat together on the edge of a dock, drunk out of your minds. The air was warm, almost sticky. The aphonic atmosphere surrounding the two of you. The only light coming from a small lantern he hung from the aged wood boat post at the end of the dock. The wood was damp from the air but strangely enough soft underneath both of you.. You wore your waitressing outfit, a knee length dress with a button up bust, white in color, scratchy in material, with an apron tied loosely around your waist. Even though you both were adults, only three years apart in age, to any passerby's you both sounded like a bunch of giddy teenagers. The drunken giggling and joking to be heard from the surrounding houses. After a moment of giggling and soft sighs, you both rested your backs down against the wilted wood. Your hair was long and pooled underneath you, probably getting hooked in the pieces of decaying wood. Alastor laid to your right, wearing a white button up, his chestnut brown hair falling against his forehead as he relaxed on his back, his legs hanging over the edge of the dock, shoes just gracing the surface of the water. Your dizzy, drunken minds took a moment of silence, admiring the beauty of the stars above. So quiet between you two that all you could hear was the buzz of insects and the breeze in the low hanging trees. After a few moments of enjoying the stars and stillness, Alastor decided to break the peace, his tone soft, only slightly slurred.

    "Why do you still work at that shoddy place anyways?" He turned on his side to look at you better, to hear your response. He held his head up with his elbow, a curious smile on his face as he looked at you. When you looked back at him, you could only see his golden silhouette from the lantern flame flickering behind him. The rim of his glasses being illuminated. In this light you remembered why you had been so in love with him ever since you both were young, his toothy smile always found a way to warm your heart. He took a deep breath before speaking again, "It seems like every day it gets worse and worse there. You know you can just live with Mom and I." He offered genuinely, a tone in his voice where you knew he meant his words. Alastor met you when you were young, when you were 10, your parents died shortly after in the following year. Alastor's mother, Adelaide, was a close friend of your late mother's. She took you in as your own the best she could, if a heart could be crafted in the heavens, it would be hers. Since then you had worked hard, not going to school and working almost everyday, living in your parents home, trying to stay afloat. Alastor and his mother had always done so much for you, as nice as it would be to live with Alastor, you couldn't possibly accept such an offer. Alastor could see it in your face, you were preparing to decline his generous offer again. As you opened your mouth to speak, he cut you off quickly. "Before you say no, just... think about it. It could be so fun, you could quit that meaningless job and you know Mum would love having you around. She asks about you all the time." His words were so truthful with a drop of disappointment. Still propped up on his elbow he turned his head from you and looked into the water, the moonlight glistening on the water surface. The water rippled occasionally from frogs jumping in every other moment, or the midge flies resting on the water surface.

    You sat up a bit, matching his pose. "I can't possibly take more from you like that, you both have been so helpful towards me already. I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. Besides, the restaurant isn't so bad..." You spoke to him, still looking into his eyes as he looked away, the sparkle of the lantern made his brown eyes glow a bit golden, his tan skin only shone in a sliver from the silhouette of light behind him. His kind smile was now faded, your heart sunk at the sight.

    "That place is 'so bad' actually. You barely get paid and just from the things you've told me about those disgusting male customers, I wish you would never step foot in that building again." He whispered out the final words of his sentence with some venom laced in the tone.

    You giggled at his comment, you were always so kind to customers they often mistook that kindness for opportunity to harass you while in uniform. You secretly loved telling Alastor the stories of the baffling things men would say to you on a regular basis, enjoying when he would get protective or jealous. You let out a soft sigh, still smiling at him. "Oh its fine, they're harmless." You replied, "Besides, the nastier the customer, the better they tip!" You used your free hand to shove his shoulder playfully, trying to bring his smile back. "In all seriousness, I do appreciate the offer.. but you know I can't accept that."

    He suspired, returning his gaze back to you, a smile creeping back onto his face, his dimples being visible in the gentle light. "If your argument is that we have already done so much, why not just accept one more helping? Mom's been wanting to give you a job at the bakery, you'd make so much more money there... and there wouldn't be any men hitting on you~." He said with a smile, the words still slurring from the whiskey, a light blush on his cheeks from the heat from the alcohol. His words made you roll your eyes back at him, you both laid on your sides facing each other, propping yourselves up to meet each others gaze.

    "Come on, you know I cannot possibly accept another handout.." You said, your voice had a bit of sadness in it, ever since your parents died at age 11, you felt like everyone had babied you. You learned to hate the feeling of being helpless and weak. Now at the age of 22, it felt like you were in control. No more people making meals for you and leaving them at your doorstep, besides Alastor's mother of course.

    "I know you're stubborn. That's all I know about you." Alastor said, winking at you playfully. Although he blatantly flirted with you on various occasions, you were so engaged with the thought of Alastor seeing you as a little sister it never registered. You scoffed and rolled your eyes in response to Alastor's wink.

    "I am not stubborn. I think I've done quite well for myself this far, thank you very much!" You said in playfully offended voice. You still grinned at Alastor, then continued, "I'm thankful to have you and your mother as family. You both have already done so much, you know I'm forever thankful for that." You said, whispering out the last part of your sentence. A genuine smile on your face, but when looking at Alastor's smile you noticed that his smile faltered quickly, but returned to its full capacity within seconds.

    "Oh, yes... family." He nodded with his words, sighing quietly afterward. He cleared his throat before he spoke, "Alright now, I think its time for me to get you home now, don't you think?" He said, a smidge of defeat in his voice, he turned himself over, pulling his knees to his chest to support himself as he stood up next to you. Your eyes followed his movements slowly, your relaxed eye line meeting his ankles as he now stood over top of you. "Come on, Mon Chéri." He extended his hand out to you, his fingers spread as an offer to lift you off the pier. You looked up at him with a confused expression, it seemed early for you both to turn in for the night. You looked up at the moon and realized its position. You figured it was close to midnight and shrugged, agreeing to leave with alastor with your gesture. His words sounded playful, as they normally did. But there was a different dissatisfaction in his voice that always confused you. Without further understanding, you swung your arm up to interlock hands with him, accepting his help off the damp wood. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, him doing the same to yours. After you placed your heels underneath yourself steadily, standing next to Alastor. He looked down at you with a knee-weakening smile.

    Looking down at your outfit, you patted your clothes off. The pier collected moss and some mild pond scum which left a bit of a mess on your work dress. The heat from the whiskey still tinting your cheeks and making your head spin ever so lightly. His hand hovered over your elbow as you examined your exterior, not letting his arm rest until he could see for himself your balance being steady. Now, feeling a bit dizzy but sober enough to walk a straight line, you exhaled and returned Alastor's gaze, looking upwards into his face. For a moment it felt like all of New Orleans seemed to quiet down, the bugs hushing. All life seemed to pause in this moment.. you looked into each others eyes, the flickering of the flame glittering in your eyes. His hand rested onto your arm, the feeling of his touch in this moment made chills go down your spine regardless of the humidity. You looked into Alastor's cigar colored eyes, you both were locked into a moment of intense eye contact. You broke the moment bu glancing down onto his lips, curled into a cheeky smile, for a moment you thought this was something you were dreaming of, it felt like you were two young lovers in this moment, the heat rose to your cheeks quickly. Your breath hitched in your throat from the tension, so dense you could feel it. The seconds felt like minutes, the eye contact made the moment feel infinite. As you thought this moment couldn't be anymore perfect, the balance of your Comma heels wobbled slightly. The point of the heel sinking into the withering wood, your ankle slipped embarrassingly. Luckily enough, alastor had his hand on your arm to support your balance, expecting you to be horizontally challenged. The sudden movement seemed to immediately bring you back to reality, alastor chuckled at you as you corrected your foot placement. Embarrassed from the slip, you rethought the entire situation. You thought how stupid you could be for reading the moment like this, you'd always be a little sister to Alastor. Nothing more. Ashamed, you looked down, your lack of confidence in the moment now tinting your cheeks even deeper. "I'm getting off this dock before it crumbles underneath us." Your voice was cold, annoyed with your own mindset. You let out a soft shaky breath, looking downward at Alastor's brown leather shoes. "Let's... lets just go." You turned from him, pushing past his arm, beginning to walk away from the dimly lit pier where you both previously sat. As your heels stamped on the worn, soft wood, Alastor stayed for a moment. Still facing the direction you once stood. Your favorite way of dealing with awkward situations was fleeing the scene. His normally cheerful smile, now dropped half way, leaving a sorry smirk on his face. When he blinked and moved on from the moment he also thought you two were about to have, he refocused his vision back to you, making your way off the pier, your silhouette starting to be engulfed into the night. He quickly turned, grabbed the still dancing lantern off of its hook and followed after you with a small laugh escaping his lips. He figured your drunken ego was more fragile than he originally assumed.

    "Well, don't leave without me!" He exclaimed as he jogged slightly to catch up with you. Finally by your side again, he walked slightly ahead of you, still by your side. "What ever would you do without your knight in shining armor? Who to protect you from these dark and dangerous nights?" He strides besides you, extending his arms gesturing at the immense but familiar night in the well traveled trail ahead you. You still focus your eyes on the path, you tried your best to remain your composure, your chest ached with embarrassment from the previous thoughts you had. As much as you try not to, a smile finds its way up to your face again, still seeing Alastor's behavior as adorable. Especially when he went into theatrics like this. He spoke as he was attempting to sound like a valiant leader. Except, it more came out sounding like someone reading a children's story, desperate to keep children engaged. "Who else would guide you through these twisting, terrifying, ever so confusing streets? None other than.. me?" He said, his tone hushing at his final word. He waited for you to respond, his head leaned down, his shoulders tilted forward as he walked. Tilting his head down to look at your expression, hoping to get a reaction. Upon receiving no success with getting your attention back onto him, he playfully bumped his hip into yours, making you slightly lose your balance but letting out a closed-mouthed laugh. Finally, you looked onto his face again, he was smiling so brightly and proud to have won your attention back. His rounded glasses hung lowly on his nose, his brown hair fell over his forehead, dusting over his eyes. Your heart never failed to melt at the sight, you tried to resist the feelings that erupted in you from just the sight of Alastor smiling your direction. Unfortunately, you didn't stand a chance against his charm.

    "You're stupid," You said flatly, but a smile curling your faintly red painted lips. You tilted your head towards him as he gasped, faux-shocked at your insult, "But I guess you are pretty.. helpful to have around." You finished, moving your walking pace closer to his, taking your arm in his as you walked side by side through the night. The only light guiding your path being the flickering light from the sooty lantern and the illumination of the moon light. The path you took wasn't accompanied by streetlights. The faint sound of frog calls chirped through the air accompanied by the gentle kicking of gravel from both of your footsteps.

    Alastor let out a relaxed sigh as you wrapped your arm around his, the arm he held the lantern with between you both. With his free left-hand, he raised it from his side to place it on yours. His fingers were warm and calloused but still felt gentle. His thumb rubbed the back of your palm while you walked. It was a good ten minute walk to your house, then an extra five to his home, but he didn't mind, he enjoyed these moments with you. After all, you were his best friend, his other half, if you will. "Oh, you're such a charmer..." he whispered, just barely escaping his lips before he continued, voice full bodied and now a bit teasing and sarcastic, "-When you want to be." His long fingers squeezed your hand playfully and he tightened his arm that you held on to, pulling you closer by his side, your shoulders touching. You scoffed, still looking forward.

    "Alastor, I am a delight to be around and you know it." You said, nodding your head with your words, still locking your arm closely with his as he lead your way through the night. You couldn't tell where you were in this vast darkness, however Alastor always seemed to know where he was, vision or not, you always felt that safety with him. You looked down at your shoes, walking in matching strides as you strolled the empty street. The moon now in her highest peak of the night.

    "Whatever helps you sleep better at night, Mon Kè." Alastor said, looking upward confidently, his head held high. He shook his head chuckling softly with his words.

    "You know I told you I don't like it when you call me monkey, I'm not a kid anymore." You said naively and clueless to what the words he said. He laughed at your reaction, always the same.

    "I'm sorry, I know you're all grown up now." He said with sarcasm, a teasing smile on his face. When you looked up, you could see his face with a candlelight aura from the flame in front of you both. The panes of his glasses reflecting the shimmer, his dimples being shadowed almost perfectly in the light. You forgot to respond from just admiring Alastor, like you always did. Alastor did not mind the quiet however, he just figured you were exhausted from your day.

    As you approached your home, you regained awareness of your surroundings as you walked, passing by the familiar southern magnolia tree in your front yard. When you looked forward again you saw the faint light of your bedside lamp peaking through the curtained windows. You pulled your arm free from Alastor's, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your key. While you rummaged through your pocket, Alastor placed the lantern on the corner of your front step, out of the way but still illuminating the door. Upon finally finding the key, Alastor took it from your hand almost instantly and walked up your front door steps before you, unlocking the door and opening it for you. Alastor practically lived in your house from the amount of time he spent bothering you on your days off in your own home. When you walked in, Alastor locked the door behind you both. His mission of the day completed, he knew you were home safely now. You walked past him, used to this routine. You hung up your apron on the coat hanger and kicked off your heels with a yawn. As alastor watched you begin to unwind from your day, he leaned against the closed door. "So when do I get my own key?" He asked, making you roll your eyes. While you stood in the small entrance room, Alastor reached above, pulling the string on the light fixture on the ceiling.

    "Oh never, The day that happens will be the day I have lost all dignity." You teased as you walked now much shorter than him without your heels. He chuckled,a bit hurt in the ego but knowing it was just your own pride you protected so heavily. You walked into your kitchen, a short stroll down the hallway. The walls of the corridor adorned with pictures of your family, Alastor and Adelaide, and random memories. When Alastor joined you in the kitchen, he pulled the string on the light in the kitchen as well, its bulb emitting a dandelion yellow glow. You began to pour a glass of water, taking a sip before handing to Alastor, who followed you tentatively. He took a sip from the same glass, subconsciously making sure to place his lips on the same place your lipstick had stained the glass previously. You yawned again, more significantly, and stretched your hands outwards in a dramatic display.

    "Okay, Okay I get the hint, I'll get out of your hair~" He said placing down the small glass of water on your countertop. "You don't have to tell me twice, besides, I think you need to catch up on your beauty rest." He teased, raising his hands up like he was guilty of a crime. You gasped and covered your hand over your mouth.

    "Are you saying I look rough right now? How ever so rude of you." You teased back, taking the glass of water that you shared from where Alastor had placed it. Taking a sip for yourself, feeling dehydrated after the drinking you had done together that night. Alastor shook his head, a large and gentle smile on his face, his eyes still as piercing as ever despite being such a welcoming oak color.

    "Oh you know what I meant." His hand reached to the top of your head and then tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, petting down your hair before his hand rested on the side of your face. His palm against the end of your jaw, lower two fingers touching your neck as you still sipped water. While you finished your sip he asked, "Same time tomorrow?" With an endearing, warm smile. After finishing what you wanted from the cup, you placed it back down, the glass clinking on the countertop. From his closeness, his chin at the same level as your eyebrows you could experience alastor without the muddling of the outside elements. He smelled like raw vanilla and faintly of cigarettes.

    You nodded slowly, a blush tinting your face from his touch, it wasn't a new experience. However it never failed to give you butterflies. Alastor leaned in to kiss the top of your head, as he did every night. Gently, like you were fragile. His lips lingered for a second, getting a scent of your hair that still smelled like the outdoors and like the warm wood from the pier. He placed his lips onto your forehead for a few seconds before pulling back, dropping his hand from your face. A part of you wished in that moment he didn't make it so hard not to love him, unknowingly that he was thinking the same about you. He took a step back, stealing the rest of your water from the glass, placing it in the sink as he turned and walked out from the kitchen. Not letting you say a word before he exited the room, as he approached the door you exclaimed, "You're locking yourself out right?". He turned back to you through the dimly lit hallway with a playfully insulted look on his face.

    "You act as if I've forgotten before! Trust me, our nightly routine is more important than my studies, I could do it with my eyes closed." He opened the door in front of him, reaching up to turn off the light in the entrance room pulling the short string with a quiet click, turning to you as he went to close it, before shutting the door, he looked into your eyes one last time for the night, "Good night, Mon Ké." He looked at you, waiting for a response.

    You scoffed at his words, thinking he was calling you one of your childhood nicknames, "Goodnight, Alastor." You smiled at him, tone just gentle enough for him to hear down the hallway. At the sound of your words, he closed the door, the lock clicking behind him. A few seconds after, the letter opening in your door opened a sliver, your small gold house key falling through it. Landing quickly onto your door mat with a quiet clink. You listened as Alastor's foot steps retreated off your front steps, he picked up the lantern he left on the ground, and held it to light his own way home. You heard his whistle as he entertained himself through his quick walk home, the tune fading slowly as he strolled deeper into the night.

    At the final sighting of the golden glow of the lantern he carried disappearing into the air, muddled through the trees and fogged by distance, you let out a sigh. Your feet ached from the work heels that were a size too small for you and your clothes felt slightly damp from the humidity of the elements outdoors. You headed into your room, retiring for the night. Your room was small, the whole home was, but you loved it dearly. You still slept in your childhood bedroom, leaving your parents' master bedroom clean, as if they'd come home at any point. Next to your rickety twin-sized bed was your beside table. The only items on it being a miniature lamp, so worn with time that the once white lampshade was now beige, and a photograph of you in between your late parents in a frame with chipping pink paint. Taking the tips you made that day from your pockets, you reached down underneath the bed, feeling the underside of the mattress for your hidden envelope, taking the cash and tucking it into the envelope. As you placed the faded envelope back into its hiding place. You sat on the bed exhausted, you picked up the beloved frame, rubbing your thumb on the edge. A demure, sorrowful smile on your face. It will almost be 11 years this fall since their death, both dying from pneumonia. You didn't have much memories of them anymore, time fading the memory card of your brain. Without alastor and his mother, who knows what could of happened to you. Luckily enough, your family owned the land and as the last alive, it went to you. Regardless of not having many memories of them, you still missed them everyday. You put the frame back in it's spot, placing it with care. Continuing with your night as you prepared for your next day, not looking forward to the manual labor, but ready for seeing Alastor. Your daily routine was something that kept you going. The two of you barely spent a moment apart, regardless of your feelings towards him, Alastor truly was family to you. Him and his mother, Adelaide, being all you had left. Every day, thankful for their kindness and care. You sighed, gathering your work outfit for the next day, removing your dirty uniform and placing it in the laundry basket, preparing for your own nightly routine, already excited for the shift that hadn't yet started to end. Tomorrow was friday, the day you had dinner with Alastor and his mother, the highlight of your week.

[parkswritessometimes]

Escapees of IRIS CHPTR 4

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Chase stares into the shelves of produce, his eyes scanning every object but notfully comprehending what he was seeing. Rows and rows of colorful produce stare back at him. He groans and presses his head against the refrigerator door, letting the cool stainless steel soothe his forming headache. The thought of cooking dinner fills Chase’s chest up with dread. Recipes and random thoughts crawl over one another, battling to be the one that Chase’s full attention goes to.

It’s been a full three weeks since he “moved in” with Jackie and Marvin. It’s time he started pulling his weight, cooking, cleaning, things that should be super easy. But these simple tasks still feel like moving an actual mountain, maybe he isn’t ready for this. He grips the door’s handle with all his might trying to stop his hands from shaking like they were on a fault line. He knew that going sober was going to be hard, but at least the worst was behind him. The only benefit of the whole IRIS debacle was it kept him away from alcohol and started the road of sobriety. His head isn’t as foggy, and his skin was finally starting to clear up for the first time since his early twenties. While he still had the odd craving for the sweetness of being in a thick haze, blocking out any guilt and emptiness, he was starting to feel better. More whole. His hands still shake, and the brain fog can be so intense it would leave him bedridden, but it feels worth it.  Because everyday he is making his new friends proud. He is making Chole proud. 

“Hey, Chaser!” Jackie’s voice rings throughout the small apartment, ripping Chase’s attention from the produce. “Whatcha doing?” 

“Trying to make dinner but I can’t figure anything out.” 

“Oh, dude, it’s fine. Marv is gonna bring home some Italian place from that nice place down the street.”

“Oh, well, is there anything you need me to do?”

“Chase, it’s fine. I promise. You look tired man, why don’t you go lay down.”

“Jackie, I’m fine. And I’ve been living here rent free for almost a month now. You have feed me, bought me a whole new wardrobe, for fucks sake Jackie, you practically renovated your room for me! Let me do something.” “Alright, alright,” Jackie puts his hands up as he concedes the fight. “I have some files in the corner of the living room that I didn’t put away, why don’t you clean that up for me?” “Fiiiine.” Chase laughs, his headache having completely disappeares as he goes into the living room. 

The room was usually so clean the only word he could use to describe it was pristine, granted you have to ignore the blankets and pillows in random places, but other than that, not even a crumb could escape Marvin’s cleaning frenzies. But Marvin wasn’t here and Jackie made it today’s mission to completely redo his theory board. Well, Jackie preferres to call it his “superhero board”, but with all the string and newspaper clippings, and random placeholder photos, it looks like a crazy conspiracy theorist had gotten into their apartment.

Scraps of red yarn and remnants of newspaper clippings cluttered the corner of the room. Manila folders filled to the brim and ready to burst. Chase doesn’t even attempt to understand half of what was on the board. Faces he didn’t recognize, scientific terms that looked made up and cities he never heard of, litter the board. 

“Jackie, what even is all this?” Chase asks, his fingers brushing up against the newspaper clippings.  

“Oh, uh, I’m just tracking some people.” He calls out from the kitchen. 

Chase’s eyes scan the sections of the board. The first one is obvious, the demon. ALTR 114209. A static image of the red hallway sits right in the middle. Newspaper clippings, reports, transcripts and images stem from the portrait. Chase could feel his stomach twist and distort the longer he looked at it. 

The other two are a mystery to Chase. A placeholder image pinned in the middle of the board, and the name Jameson scrubbed just above it. Chase feels his heart ache at the clear desperation on the board. Pushpin holes decorate the top of each scrap of paper. IRIS reports that it looks like they’ll crumble if he touches them. Jackie’s notes are thrown up against the board, all asking where this person was.

If that section is full of love and concern, the last one is full of hate. Slashes and jagged cuts from the cutouts. Papers ripped and torn without care and thrown up onto the board. Pins in the faces of the scientist and fowl words scrawled across the articles. “IRIS scientists' son missing” the man’s eyes are full of false sorrow and pain. Chase knows the look of a broken man, and this isn’t it. His eyes hold a hint of sadism behind it all. Like he couldn’t care less, or even worse, that he was happy his son was gone. Chase feels the urge to call out to Jackie, to ask why this scientist was on his board, but his words are stuck in his throat. He has a feeling he already knew. He shakes off the disgusting feeling that has begun to crawl up his back, as he picks up the folders on the coffee table. 

“Where do you want these Jackie?” 

“Uh, fuck, where do I want those…um, just throw them in my room!”

Chase rolled his eyes as he smiled. Classic Jackie. 

“You gotta get like a bookshelf or a filing cabinet.”

“Hey, my system works!” 

“Barley!” Chase lets out a small chuckle as he opens the door to Jackie’s room. He begins to throw the folders on Jackie’s bed when he notices a familiar picture sticking out of one of the folders. He slides the folder out from the others, pulling it aside. His heart drops to his stomach, as he looks at the label. Every fiber of his being tells him to put it back with the others, pretending that he never saw it. But he has to know. His eyes scan over the document, skipping what little stuff he already knows, trying to find something that would fill in the gaps that are being withheld from him.

ALTR 114209 was subsequently freed by Dr.[redacted], letting the subject escape containment. We theorize that Dr.[redacted], was influenced by ALTR 114209. But until Dr. [redacted] reovers we will be unable to confirm.  The [redacted], that was used to contain ALTR 114209 was found scattered in said ALTR’s containment unit. 

Witnesses claim that ALTR 114209 was not fully formed, taking the image of a distorted green man, glitching heavily and erratically, a large gash in his neck and limbs phasing in and out of existence. Witnesses also claim that ALTR 114209 did not interact at all with employees or members of the CNC unit, instead going straight for the electrical cables.

ALTR 114209 will most likely use technology such as monitors, cables, telephone and electrical wires, to travel until it can find a proper host and/or vessel.  We will do our best to recontain the ALTR before it can attach itself to a host and/or vessel. 

Be on the lookout for-

Chase feels his entire body go numb as the folder slips out of his hands. His mind races as he tries to process all the information on that sheet of paper. He can feel his heart sink like a rock in the abyss that had become his life. 

“Holy shit.” Those are the only words in his broken mind he can manage. “Holy shit.”

 They let him go. They let him go. They let Stacy die. They let Chloe die! IRIS was to blame!  They could have done something, anything, but they let it go!

He wants to scream, to cry, to punch a hole in the wall over and over and over again until the drywall is embedded into his flesh, but he is just unmoving on the bed. He can’t breathe, he can’t blink, he’s as frozen and helpless as he was when that creature first arrived. 

He feels tears flow down his face, as the world starts to distort. He feels his mind start to leave his body, that familiar tingle beginning to crawl up his spine. He knows deep in his heart that this was him beginning to dissociate. That there is no way Anti can reach him here. But a part of him wishes the ALTR was here. He wishes the demon will take over his body and shove him into the depths of the void. Take his body someplace safe and quiet, before cutting and slicing into it. Letting the crimson red pain flow down his body, then let Chase clean the mess up once he was done using his body. 

Drink. I need-wheres my-I need-Drink. His mind yeared as his cravings hit him full force. Whiskey. Suntori. Where-I-I need it.  His hands pat the bed sheets, searching for the sweetness of his whiskey. It has to be here somewhere. It was always near his bed. Where is it?! Where is it?! Where is it?!

“Chase, hey, Marvin just came back, and-“ 

Chase looks up at the hero, words fight to reach his mouth, they clamber and reach over each other, desperate to be on his tongue. What does he say? Does he know?! Does he have the answer?

“Jackie,” He chokes out. “I-They,”

“Chase are you-“ Chase watches as Jackie’s eyes land on the folder on the floor. He can practically see the gears turning behind Jackie’s eyes “Oh…Chase why don’t we put that away and-“

“No. I-They killed them. They let it go. IRIS they-Jackie they-it-“ 

“Chase hey, I know, trust me, I know.”

“No the fuck you do not! You have no idea what that is like!” Chase screamed as he bolted up from the bed. “You didn’t-You didn’t have to kill your own child-and they-they could have prevented it! How many-How many people died because they let it go! Did you know about this?! Did you let it kill Chloe too?!” Chase’s index finger digs right at Jackie’s heart. He sees Jackie’s face contort into one of fear and sadness. Good. He needs this to hurt. He wants it to hurt.

“Chase, Chaser, hey, can you follow my breathing? Can you please help me help you?”

“No! I don’t want anymore of this bullshit! I don’t want-I don’t want you! I don’t want to be here! I want to go home and-and drink and I want to die!” 

Chase's chest heaves as he spat out the words. He can’t understand what he is saying, only that he was saying everything he needsto say to get everyone away from him. 

“Chase, hey, I know you don’t mean that,”

“Yes I do! You don’t know shit about me Jackie!”

“I know that people say things they don’t mean when they’re upset.”

“Well, I want to die! I want to drink! I want-I want this pain to go away! And you-you aren’t going to be any help in accomplishing that goal, so you can fuck off! ” 

Chase shoves Jackie aside as he storms out of the room. To small, to small. This room , this apartment, did he even ever leave IRIS?! Did Jackie and Marvin work for them?! 

The world beomes gray and slow as he walks out of the room. He feels his hands wrap around a set of keys, snatching them from the kitchen table. Jackie’s screams sound like distant ambiance by the time they reach Chase’s ears. Marvin’s desperate grasp feels like nothing as he rips himself away. And even the door slamming shut is nothing more than a simple vibration, running down the hallway. 

Fuck Jackie. Fuck Marvin. Fuck IRIS. Fuck everything and everyone. 

But mostly, fuck him.

[casicroaks]

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 2

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW JERSEY, 1984

“Honey, I’m home!” I said in a sing-song voice as I stepped into my apartment. Not that anyone would answer. I lived alone. I just liked saying that out loud.

I hung my coat and threw my heels off to the side, groaning from having to walk all the way from my workplace to my home. It wasn’t that far, but my last good pair of shoes had fallen to pieces a week ago, and I was still softening the new replacements. I knew I needed to go shopping one of these days. I had only three pairs of shoes: the new red heels, some indoor slippers, and the old leather boots which I was still figuring out a way to wear with my everyday outfits. I really had no excuse not to go get myself some new shoes… Especially since, once a week, I passed by the big shopping malls on my way back home, when it was all lit up with its neon lights and looking real pretty. I admired the clothes, the shoes, the jewelry in their glass cases, trying my best to hype myself up to at least consider buying myself something, like a little present from me to me… But there was nothing I really wanted. Despite working at a beauty parlor, I didn’t care much about looking beautiful anymore. I had the same dresses as before, and I was content with them. Not happy, really. I was never truly happy with the way I looked. Just content. And spending that money I was saving (and that I always ended up spending on groceries and rent) on dresses I didn’t have any interest in just seemed like a stupid idea. Still, I went to the mall every week, like a parishioner returning to the church. It was just something to do.

The little mirror I had nailed to the wall beside the front door gave me back a blur, and I silently chided myself for not stopping by to fluff my hair and check on my makeup. Just like the shoes, even if I had gotten my hair styled quite some months ago (as soon as I had my last break-up, actually) there was still a slight discomfort to seeing it. Like I didn’t quite recognize myself yet, and I didn’t know when I would. I had tried a new hair dye, for once: I had already been blond, brunette… Anything but going back to my original black color. So, red it was. Bright red, like my mother’s.

I read once that the reason women use red lipstick instead of any other color was to attract attention to the lips, since red’s the most eye-catching color in the spectrum. Going into my little kitchen I wondered, was I desperate for attention? Yeah, probably. Was I horny as hell, already tired of my own hand and too broke for a battery-operated alternative? That too. If there’s something I learnt from working at a beauty salon is that a change of image does wonders for a woman. Even something like dyeing your hair can help you feel like a whole different person. And for the first few days, it felt like that. I tried being happier, smiling more, adding a little skip to my step, doing all the bullshit self-help articles, radio therapists and motivational speakers on TV said one should do to be happy. Tough luck. I kept wanting to leave everything, my job, my apartment, change my name and start over somewhere else again (as if that would really change anything), or just skip town and scream in some field or abandoned grounds until my lungs gave up. Like that had worked so well last time. I was so goddamn pissed at everything, and there was a point in which I couldn’t just chalk it up to my breakup. The money always ran out, even when my pay wasn’t that bad, even as I tried to eat less, watch less TV, stop going to the movies, cut down on everything but the most basic expenses. And then, then I felt like I was starving, and it was a constant pull and push between spending my week’s earnings on convenience store snacks or loading it all inside my mattress, saving up for… Something.

Really, I simply had nothing to look forward to.

Maybe I should get a cat, I thought, opening the fridge and having a gulp of milk straight from the carton, before realizing it tasted sour and spitting it out. Well, maybe a dog, then… But I remembered what Arlene had told me not too long ago. A dog, a cat, a bird –they can and will all just up and leave when they get the chance. So much for loyalty. And cages were not cheap.

I remembered I still had some discount tequila left. I had been smart then, and bought two bottles. I was about to pour myself a glass, ready to change into my nightdress and spend the night watching TV, maybe order some Chinese food, and fall asleep in the couch, and do the same the next day, though most likely without the tequila. Or I could go straight to bed (I had heard that sleeping early did wonders for one’s skin) but I wasn’t tired, just exhausted… What I wanted most was to turn off my brain. Turn off my brain, and have a good screwing. By lack of a warm body to share the place, though, the best option I had was to lock myself up in my drab apartment, find the energy to try and finger myself, and watch TV. What else was I gonna do that night, and the weekend after that, after all? Listen to my mother’s voicemails? Eat three bowls of cereal for dinner again? Try to hook up with some rando who might just keep me occupied for a couple hours?

Yeah, that was exactly what I did.

I sighed, leaving the bottle on the cabinet, and went back to put on my coat and my shoes.

“Another night, another day goes by… I never stop myself to wonder why…” I hummed to myself, giving my lipstick one last touch up in front of the bathroom mirror. “You help me to forget to play my role…”

One could say I was looking for love in all the wrong places. And that was probably right. I knew I was looking for some sort of commitment, but… Let’s just say that searching for Prince Charming in a pig pen just isn’t the best way to go about it. I was ashamed of it, I’m not gonna lie. I had hoped I would never have to get into that sort of situations. After all, I was never interested in short-term-relationships, and I liked to think that I was better than casual sex… Not that any of the people I met up with were particularly, interestingly nasty anyways. I knew what I was getting myself into, what sorts of places I became a regular of. And, admittedly, I met some handsome men, a few pretty girls. Don’t get it twisted, though; always used protection, always checked they didn’t have the shadow of a wedding band. I was killing time, but at least I was gonna be careful about it. Just because I dyed my hair red and was feeling blue didn’t mean I became someone else completely. It just meant now I was a redhead, and feeling blue.

“I, I live among the creatures of the night…  I haven’t got the will to try and fight…” I sang quietly, biting down on my cigarette’s filter to keep it from being blown away by the wind on the street.

It was a cold October night, and I felt the upcoming winter on my bare legs. The shops were already decked out in their Halloween décor, to my delight. I had made paper garlands and a few other decorations to make the beauty parlor extra spooky for the festivities, but Shelley had told me that it wasn’t necessary… That people didn’t really care about all that when they went to have their nails done. What a bunch of bull. Everyone loved Halloween! And those who didn’t, they were just buzzkills. I hang the decorations anyway. But not even Halloween managed to lift my spirits.

Not too far from the dance floor of the club, just enough for me to people-watch comfortably, I nursed something called a Blood and Sand instead of my usual margarita, having decided to treat myself for once. All things considered, I was simply expecting a mediocre screwing, to be kicked out of some guy or gal’s house which I would never set foot in again, and to head back to my apartment just in time to eat Chinese and cry while watching All That Heaven Allows on the late-night programming.

I had no idea that this was the night that would change my life.

“Hey, Red –what’s new?”

I was approached by not one guy, but by a guy and his girl.

“… Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked the man who had made the question.

Of course, though, I knew what they had in mind. The blonde was kinda cute, with her big eyes and smug grin like a Barbie doll, in an easy-to-forget eye candy, background-dancer-in-a-music-video kind of way. But the guy, with the triple whammy of rather long hair, black suit and tie, and having somehow both childish and sharp features, had a much more interesting sort of odd charisma to him. He was a weirdo, no doubt about it. But I liked his style. I never told him this, but he reminded me a little bit of Heath. Maybe he just happened to be a bit high when we met, like Heath used to be constantly. Maybe it was the hungry eyes, or something in the smile… I didn’t know why, but even as I kept my sight on the girl, I was always aware of his presence, even as he walked behind us on the way to the hotel.

The blonde (I think her name was Leah, or something?) was clearly a newbie. It seemed like she had learnt anything about fucking a girl through some porn movie or something. She kissed me, but not much else; she moaned and sighed and giggled as if she was having a ball, writhing around me, rubbing herself against me. I had barely even touched her. All tease, no action. I knew her type all too well from maybe two or three bi-curious girls I had met through the same methods. Too overexcited, too self-conscious, too eager to please… Please herself, that is, and in this case, please the guy watching. She turned to glance at him every few seconds, as if she needed constant approval to continue. Didn’t seem to be thinking about me at all. It was easy to assume how that would translate when we actually did something. So much for the red hair, I thought, but I tried to have fun, regardless, as I pushed her down and climbed on top of her, pulling that tacky necklace off of her, showing her how it was done. I was a bit disappointed the guy had decided he was just gonna watch, but to each his own, I thought. Maybe he’ll come in later, when we’re already turned on, I guessed.

So… Well, if I was surprised by being approached at the bar by the two of them, I was straight-up baffled when the guy grabbed my shoulder and pulled me off the bed and onto my knees.

“Hey—!”

For a second I thought this meant we would be switching, which honestly was a relief, since despite my best efforts I was getting a bit tired of her. But then he put his hand on my nape and stood over me, and I saw what he had in his right hand. The least subtle knife I’d seen. Where and how had he managed to smuggle it in? I smiled. So that was the plan, I realized. I glanced at the blonde, letting it all sink in. Had I stepped into some kinky Bonnie and Clyde situation? Were they into some fetish stuff we hadn’t discussed beforehand? But then I looked back at the guy, into his cold blue eyes, and I finally understood this was no roleplay. He wanted to kill me, stab me until I dyed the carpet deep red with my blood. So that was what turned him on. No wonder he had seemed as bored as I was feeling so far.

And I was feeling rotten enough to actually be thrilled by this.

“Do it,” I told him, as soon as he held me by the back of my neck, pressing my throat with his thumb, before I could even think it over. And when I did, I just smiled wider. I really wanted it. After all, if he killed me… Well, at least that would spare me having to wash the dishes that night. And if my life was really going to be what it had been for the last year or so, then I didn’t care much if that was how it ended. And, if he didn’t kill me… Then –what a chicken, right? Who goes ahead and pops out a big-ass knife, ready to charge, with another woman egging him on, only to not do it? What can I say –I was curious. Besides, it would be almost hilarious; what would we even do then, if he didn’t kill me now? Would he apologize for the inconvenience and leave? Would we just go home, like when bad weather cuts a ball game short?

Did this guy really have that killer instinct? Would he actually go through with it?

And he still doubted. He kept looking at me all confused. I wondered if he had done this before, and whether he thought I was special, in some way.

“Do it to me, now,” I insisted, keeping the grin firmly drawn on my face. But I kept staring back at him, watching how he faltered. Seemed like there were a hundred thoughts rushing through his head, his hand unsteady, his eyes shifting, and yet they always went back to mine. It was strangely intimate, that balance we had going, him holding me down on my knees and threatening me, but with me having a kind of control over the situation. I wasn’t screaming nor whimpering, I wasn’t intimidated at all, and that clearly threw him off his rhythm; and it was all truly much more exciting than whatever whatshername had been trying to pull in the bed.

And, because she was being ignored and she just needed to hog the spotlight, Blonde started whining. We both glanced at her, having forgotten she was there at all. The man looked back at me for a moment. She was getting in my nerves, and it was likely she was getting in his, too. If he wasn’t gonna kill me, then I might just ask him to borrow his knife and get that woman to shut up—

But then, as if he had just read my mind, he turned towards Blonde –pushed her against the floor –and stabbed her once, twice, thrice, nice and deep, right between the ribs, with the quick, confident pull and push of a professional. Oh, he had killed before. He was not a newbie at all.

And without missing a beat, he turned to me, actually smiling. “Hey, Red, wanna play?”

This had been a test all along, I thought, barely containing my giddiness. He offered me the knife. He really trusted me with it, to go on with it… Even though Blonde was gasping her last breaths already. But still, even if it was just scraps, it was hard to say no.

I let out a giggle when I got my hands on it. With both hands, like I used to. I got closer, still on my knees, and looked down at her body spread beside us. Blonde sure didn’t look as smug anymore… And then I stabbed her. Push in, pull back, with that nice wet sound, with that warmness that came with the splattered blood. My hands remained away from her, grasping the handle, but it was as if the knife had become an extension of myself –yes, I could feel her guts, sinking a bit deeper with each stab, pushing harder and carving a space inside her for me to dig through, making sure to go as far as possible, to the other side of her torso, to let the blood flow freely out of her, for it to splash all over me…

Boy, had I missed it. And even as I focused entirely on my task, becoming more and more excited, I noticed him (Charles, Blonde had called him) out of the corner of my eye, moving along with me to the thrust of the knife as I stabbed her over and over and over –and the way he did so, back and forward, tensing when we went back, letting go when I pushed on, as if guiding me from the side…

I closed my eyes and let out a euphoric laugh in sheer exhilaration, covered in Blonde’s blood. What a pleasure it was. The coldness of the night was gone, I felt my skin burning, my heart pounding, and I had forgotten all about Chinese and TV night. My lust for life had returned. God –I felt alive.

“Wow… It’s never happened like that before,” I admitted with a giggle, looking back at the guy. It wasn’t my first time killing, of course, but this was certainly different. I never had someone beside me, warming it up for me, for starters. Never had a partner in it. Maybe I never saw it as a bonding activity before. It always had been just a slipup, an accidental thing, sometimes a way to blow off some steam, perhaps even a bit of an embarrassing little secret. And there I was, thinking I had left it all behind me a year ago…

But now there was Charles, kindly inviting me along. How could I possibly refuse?

I put a hand on my chest and I frowned when I realized just how different I sounded. “Is that me?” The pure glee of it had probably caused me to slip. Shit… I thought I had managed my voice so far. Found that perfect balance between cute and sultry and kept it up for years. Now, my original voice, my annoying little voice, was back. Shit, shit, shit. Just when I had found a guy I could be truly myself with…

“Oh, it’s definitely you,” he said with a grin and a snicker, coming closer, embracing me. I smiled again, biting my lip, tasting the fresh blood. He picked me up and took me to the bed, and finally, finally I felt that great special rush of adrenaline, that kick I had been looking for for years, there, kissing him, tasting the blood on his own lips. I pushed his hair back, slick now, wanting to see his face. Charles. His cheeky grin, the devious twinkle in his eyes, his boyish charm… I could see myself getting used to it. I could see myself growing to love that face of his.

“Boy, you really know how to show a girl a good time,” I chuckled, and he joined me with his own. He leaned forward to kiss me again, but I wanted us to be properly introduced to one another, to get that out of the way. “I’m Tiffany.”

“I’m Charles,” he replied, now in a different voice, a low snarl that sounded almost menacing. But I wasn’t afraid of him. Why, after that whole display, he couldn’t scare me even if he tried.

“Know what, Charles—” I said, taking a moment to catch my breath. “You should be Chucky.” It went without saying that it would be on account of how much he liked to laugh. And besides, Charles was far too formal. And now that we had shown each other the wickedest parts of ourselves, I felt it was only natural to become more familiar with the other.

“You know what, Tiff…?” Chucky said, raising his eyebrows, giving the body on the floor a quick glance. “… You should be blonde.”

Well, good news for him, then, I thought with a smile. Bleaching black hair was a lot easier than going full red. However, as I gripped his blood-stained shirt and pulled him back in for the kiss he’d been wanting, feeling just how eager he was to keep going, he would be stuck with a redhead for the time being.

You know that one song that was all the rage that October, Like A Virgin? It was like that. Shiny and new, indeed. Best fuck I had in a very long time, truth be told, if not ever. Not that I was gonna tell him that, get his ego that blown. I would have never guessed the weirdo with the hair and the suit had it in him… But Chucky was always full of surprises.

I’m not sure how long passed then. During the eventual cigarette break, bathroom pause, and one moment in which we raided the minibar, I noticed that there was light out the window, but when I checked later, it was pitch dark. Neither one of us checked on the time at any point. I guess neither of us had anywhere better to be than there. And it suited me just right.

Apart from the pit stops, though, we truly managed to keep ourselves entertained for quite a while. What broke the spell was, because it couldn’t have been any other way, Blonde’s natural decomposition. We had switched again and now he was on top of me. I was taking him in and kissing him back, sinking my nails in his back, not a care in the world –when there was the weirdest squeaking noise, loud enough to make both of us stop right then and there. Chucky and I exchanged a quick awkward glance, but decided to simply ignore it. We went right back to what we were doing –and there was the sound again, not a squeak anymore, longer than before. He moved back and let out a deep frustrated sigh.

“Hey… I promise I won’t judge you or anything,” I said, drumming my fingers on his thighs, looking up at him as he kneeled on the bed. “… But did you just rip one?”

“What? No!” he exclaimed. “Thought that was you—”

“It wasn’t me—!”

He let out a bitter chuckle. “Right, won’t judge you or anything…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” I insisted, leaning on my forearms to prop myself up. “Y’know, it’s… It’s totally natural and stuff, I guess… But it wasn’t me—!”

There was the noise again, and now that we were both aware of it, we noticed the direction it was coming from. Blonde had gotten bloated and her skin was turning waxy. And, in the silence we kept for the next few seconds, we got another toot, clearly coming from her body.

The two of us burst out laughing. I had heard of bodies becoming gassy after death from some documentary on TV, but I really wasn’t expecting it to sound exactly what gassy sounded like. And apparently it was the music hour, because she kept passing wind for a while –to both our disgust and amusement.

As funny as it was, we did have stinky worm food in our hands. Once we finally calmed down, he suggested stuffing it into the closet and forgetting about it. The issue kept turning in my mind though. And what a pity it would be if we were forbidden to return to such a nice hotel some other time, if some other time could become a possibility… So, I proposed to use his handy knife to chop it up, put it into a laundry bag and throw it into the garbage. That way, at least, there wouldn’t be a dead body to link us to it. Even if it would still be hard to explain the amount of blood.

We dragged Blonde into the bathroom and took turns to hack her up. Once that was done (and it took quite a while, since we also had to break a few bones) Chucky stuffed the slabs in the laundry bag while I hosed the bathtub to get it as spotless as I could. I also took a moment to rinse Blonde’s nice purple corset. I could easily mend the stabbing holes, she was more or less my size (maybe a bit smaller), and it would’ve been a shame to throw it away along with the meat. Only then, with Blonde’s parts finally packed up and ready to go, we realized that it would seem a tad suspicious to leave through the front door while missing one person, and now carrying a big stinking bag.

“What d’you suggest, then?” Chucky asked me. I looked at him, and then at the window behind the messy, blood-dotted bed, and smiled.

I opened the window, the two of us picked up the bag and, with some effort, raised it and tossed her out into the street where it fell on the pavement with a crunch! Luckily it was either really late or really early, and there was nobody on the street to notice our suspicious behavior.

“Did it rip?” he asked, peeking out the window, lighting a new cigarette.

Hard to say with the little light. Since no blood pooled around it, though, we concluded the first half of the operation was a success. Chucky gave me an impressed little glance as he put on his coat. I put on mine, smiling wide in my satisfaction, dangling my heels in one hand.

The second half of the operation was to run like hell out the emergency exit. We giggled like schoolkids as we rushed down the stairs. He was a bit faster than me, since I was practically bouncing barefoot on the concrete steps. I gave him a couple light kicks to tease him, slipping my hands on the handrails. We weren’t rolling around naked anymore, but I was still dizzy with excitement, unable to wipe the smile off my face. Once we got to the backdoor, which was partly locked (that surely had to be a safety hazard), it was Chucky’s moment to impress me. He handed me his cigarette for safekeeping, and with a sniff and a quick rub of his nose, walking a few steps backwards, he got the momentum he needed –hopped for a bit where he stood, as a sort of warmup –and ran towards the door –and gave it one hard kick –managing to get it wide open. He grinned proudly, turning back to see my reaction, and I laughed and clapped. We hurried back to the street, to the bag that was waiting for us, circled by curious stray dogs, which fortunately hadn’t managed to open it and which Chucky swiftly shooed away. He waited politely for me to put my heels back on.

“I’ve never been around a dead body long enough to see it rotting,” I admitted as we both dragged the heavy bag towards the closest dumpster.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he said with a little chuckle. “And… Well, it was pretty warm in that hotel room.”

I snickered, standing on the tip of my toes, holding the lid of the dumpster as high as I could. Chucky picked up the bag with a grunt, swung it and tossed it into the dumpster, where it landed with a thump!, and I dropped the lid, and the operation was then done. We had both now created and disposed of a dead body. Quite an achievement.

With a long, satisfied sigh, Chucky leaned back against the wall of the alley. He took a drag of his cigarette and then offered it to me. By the faint yellow light of the lamppost beside us I noticed the pinkish lipstick stains I had left on it. I gazed at him as he blew the smoke. It could just have been some leftover smudges of blood, but judging by the shade it seemed to be that he actually had my lipstick all smeared on his mouth. Something about that sent a chill down my back.

I smiled at him, giving his cigarette a puff. He smiled back.

“D’you have the time, Chucky?” I asked him, leaning against the wall beside him.

“No, I lost my wristwatch a couple weeks ago,” he said, sinking his hands in his pockets. “Why’d you ask?”

“Wanted to know if it’s Monday already.”

He snorted. “Busy day, Mondays?”

I smiled and looked down at my worn shoes. I should have brought the boots instead, even if they didn’t match my skirt and jacket. “… Amazing, isn’t it?” If they had any traces of blood, I couldn’t tell. “All you can do in just one night.”

Chucky sighed and nodded. He handed me the cigarette again.�� “Yeah, well, the night’s still young, Tiff.”

We both had to take a moment to catch our breaths. We had run a few floors, dragged a whole person in a bag, been fucking for an unspecified amount of time. Exhaustion was finally kicking in. We shared a cold but comfortable silence, and I closed my eyes, feeling the roughness of the brick against my back, the light sting of the bruises on my legs, the quick but steady beating of my heart, and listening to his breathing, and, far away, the sounds of police sirens and ambulances, of cars and trucks speeding by, completely oblivious to us and to all we had done. There really were no people on the streets, only the eventual flashing lights of a passing car. Somehow that made it feel like Chucky and I were the only two people in the world.

I returned him his cigarette. He took one last puff and flicked it into the curb. I wrapped myself a bit tighter in my coat, rubbing my cheek against its fluffy collar, shivering at a cold rush of wind, my knees trembling just a bit. Chucky looked out into the streets, stretching his neck, checking if someone would come near. Then he sighed, turned back to me and looked me in the eye. A moment passed. It seemed it was time for us to say our goodbyes. And neither one of us wanted to be the one to start.

“… I had fun,” I finally said, trying to hide my… My what? My apprehension? My sadness? My curiosity? I’m not sure. I just had this sinking feeling at the idea of never seeing him again.

“Yeah… Me too,” he admitted gingerly. If we hadn’t spent what seemed to be at least one whole day together I would have thought Chucky might have been lying. “It’s… It was an interesting surprise, I guess.”

I nodded, wringing my hands. “Same here.”

He nodded, rocking on the balls of his feet, glancing awkwardly at the sides, as if that were a particularly fascinating alleyway. “So… Well…”

I didn’t care if it made things weird, I wasn’t gonna be the one to say goodbye. I didn’t want to. And I had the feeling he didn’t want to, either.

His face lit up out of a sudden. He rummaged in his pockets and fished out an old receipt and a shaved-down pencil. “Hey, uh, I don’t know if… I mean, maybe…” He chewed on his lip, looking down, clearly embarrassed. “… I don’t know, we might… Get together again, one of these days, or something…”

“Oh—”

“You got a phone?”

I snickered. “Don’t most people?”

He laughed, dropping his shoulders, loosening up a bit. “Shit, you… You know what I mean.”

I chuckled, taking the little flimsy piece of paper, holding it against the dumpster’s lid, and scribbled my phone number in the biggest, clearest numbers I could write. “Here you go, mister.”

Chucky gave it a glance, still grinning, and stuffed it back into his pocket. If there was a good moment to declare that encounter over, it was then. I waited for him to take it. There was already a promise of a future meeting. I gazed at his face, examining it, putting all my efforts into remembering every part of it. He looked back at me, still smiling. He reached out towards my face –and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

That was it. I think that was when I really fell for him. My hair was caked with dry blood, my makeup was a mess, I was exhausted from the effort of running down stairs and pulling a bag with a dead body inside, and the late-night cold had me trembling like a shitting Chihuahua. But he looked at me, and I felt beautiful. I knew that, by the way he looked at me, he thought I was beautiful.

“Um… My place’s just a couple blocks away, you know,” I managed to blurt out.

Chucky’s eyebrows shot right up.

“I mean, if you’d like to wash up,” I said with a shrug. “We’re both looking like butchers, here.”

There was a pause. He seemed to be considering it. Maybe he was wondering if this could be his chance to try and kill me again, in a more intimate setting, somewhere where he might be able to pass it up as a gruesome suicide. Which I wouldn’t oppose, since, after all, anything would be better than to be unceremoniously killed in a random mucky alley. Maybe, though, he was just wondering if it was worth it.

“… Sure,” Chucky finally agreed. I grinned, noticing the smallest hint of a smile in his lips.

And with that, only stopping by the drugstore to pick up a few more condoms for good measure, I showed him the way to my apartment.

We didn’t really wash up, unsurprisingly. Once in the elevator he pulled me to him and kissed me again, and I held on to his shoulder and buried my fingers in his hair, and both of us already knew where this would end. I don’t know how we made it to my bed, but we did, and at least we didn’t have to share the room with a rotting farting corpse anymore.

At some point we did fall asleep, though. I saw Chucky’s eyes closing as he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. I had bitten him at some point (well, more than once) but that bite was probably most likely because I had been nodding while dozing off in the middle of a kiss. He let out a sigh, and there was the little glow of the cigarette butt he left on the ashtray on my bed next to his leg. As the smoke went up towards the ceiling, I could hear him breathing softly. It was strange, to think of him as anything near the word soft. I huddled against him, covering him with one arm, smiling to myself. I felt a warm hand setting on my shoulder. It was so comforting… Then, I finally fell asleep.

He woke up before I did. I yawned and dragged myself out of bed, my eyelids still half-shut by the smudged mascara, when I saw Chucky standing in his briefs and tee, holding his blood-stained shirt in one fist and a cigarette in the other hand, with his back to the bedroom. I walked up to him, just a little surprised at this.

“Trying to sneak out?” I asked him with a sleepy giggle, taking the cigarette from his fingers.

He glanced at me over his shoulder. I looked towards where he was looking, the chimney mantle, where I had set my doll collection. It was the best place to display them –as if I actually had anyone to show them to. It was small, but I was proud of it. All of them from garage sales, thrift shops, one or two found just lying around in the curb or in a dumpster, waiting for someone to pick them and fix them up. I had only gotten to gluing one of them back together, and the cracks were still pretty obvious: they would be, until I got some new paint to cover it…

I leaned my head on his shoulder. He had his eyes wide open, wide awake, his brow furrowed, staring at my dolls. He seemed to be trying to understand something. For the briefest moment I was nervous Chucky thought I was a psycho or something.

“You like them?” I asked quietly, slipping his cigarette back into his hand.

Chucky remained silent for a moment longer, looking at them carefully, and took a drag, taking his time to answer. I couldn’t read his face. I swear he knew I was anxious about his answer.

“… If that’s your thing, Tiff,” he finally shrugged it off.

I let out a little happy squeak and hugged him tight, giving him a loud smooch on the cheek.

“Well, we all need a hobby, right?” I said with a wink.

He chuckled, and gave me a little kiss on the temple. “Ain’t that the truth…”

Sunlight was already streaming through the window. I went back into the bedroom and put on my nightdress and slippers. There was the buzzing of the radio, and the voice of a newscaster announcing the day’s weather forecast. He already made himself right at home, I thought.

“You got yourself quite a nice little place here,” Chucky commented when I came back to the kitchen.

“Yeah… I’ve been meaning to paint the walls purple,” I said, pushing my hair back. “But my landlord won’t allow it. And I can’t afford to piss him off with rent being what it is…”

“Purple… I can see it,” he said approvingly, glancing around him.

“Where’s your place?” I asked him, letting the hot water run over the dirty dishes on the sink, hoping he didn’t mind the mess too much. “D’you live far?”

“Ridgefield Avenue, other side of the river. By the S46 Bridge.”

“Quiet part of town,” I said with a smile. “I assume there’s not a wide offer of clubs by those parts.”

“You’d be assuming right,” he snickered, fidgeting with one of the buttons of his shirt, scraping the dry blood with his nail. “It’s just where I’m staying for the time being, though. I want to move closer to where the action is, leave the sidelines.”

I nodded and let out a sigh, taking in the sight of my little apartment. It wasn’t that messy, I told myself. I had a couple bags and boxes lying around from when I moved back in after my last breakup, but mostly everything was in its proper place, and it was pretty clean, all things considered. The only issue was the kitchen, the dirty dishes that had piled up, all greasy and grimy and nasty. Chucky didn’t seem to notice; or, if he did, he didn’t seem to care.

“… What time’s it?”

We both turned to the clock. Two in the afternoon.

“Fuck, I’m starving,” he groaned, hanging his head backwards on the edge of the chair’s back.

As if agreeing with him, my stomach let out a low grumble. “We got some… Some cereal…” I said before taking the box out of the shelf and realizing there was just enough for a spoonful. “We had some, at least.”

He got off the chair and picked up the rest of his clothing. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, shooting me a sideways glance while I opened the fridge, bent over and checked if there was something for us to eat.

“There’s nothing in the fridge save for expired milk, one moldy tomato and some stale bread…” I sighed.

I really wasn’t expecting any visits, after all. Even less a visit that would be staying for a meal. Best I could do was some coffee, but that wouldn’t cut it on an empty stomach.

“Do you, uh, happen to have any money on you?” I asked him, closing the fridge and looking at him over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, zipping up his pants. “What d’you have in mind?”

I opened my eyes wide. Was he inviting me out? “… There’s a nice burger place ‘round the corner,” I suggested.

Before leaving the apartment and venturing out into the streets, though, we did have to wash up. I had forgotten about it already, but the two of us were covered in bloodstains, from the face to the chest to the arms and even some handprints on our legs. I wet a rag on the sink of the bathroom, sat on the toilet and washed myself off. Chucky leaned over the bathtub and rinsed his arms, face and neck, avoiding the shower just barely to keep his cigarette lit between his teeth. His stained shirt was a whole issue, which we ended up solving by me lending him an old Black Sabbath tee I had from my New York days that I wore to bed when my nightdress was in the laundry bag.

“I’ll take it with me next time I go to the laundromat,” I told him, examining the stains. They were pretty dark already. The cotton had probably already absorbed it fully. “And if that doesn’t take it out… Baking soda has never let me down before, at least where period blood is concerned.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve walked ‘round the street in broad daylight, red from head to toe, without anyone giving a shit,” he said, checking the tee’s fit, while I brushed the dry blood flakes off my hair. “It’s amazing what people don’t see.”

And so, finally looking like model citizens, we went out and had burgers and milkshakes. We were both pretty damn famished, it had to be said. We barely talked while we ate. Soon enough there was nothing but some dropped onions on our trays and ketchup leftovers on our fingers to lick off.

“I didn’t know about this place,” he said casually as he wiped his mouth. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?”

I smiled and nodded, tapping my nail against the half-empty cup. I watched him while he sucked on the straw of his strawberry shake, wondering what would happen now. Now that we both had cooled off for the time being, I was half expecting Chucky would decide that I was a loose end, and would try to find a good moment to tie that up. So far, though, everything seemed normal. Too normal. It was like an average date with just some guy. Seeing him no longer colored by the red glow of the club, nor by the bright yellow light of the hotel room, no more blood splattered across his face, and now enjoying a burger like your average Joe, wearing my old tee, it was almost as if everything that had happened had just been a weird wonderful dream.

Though, I have to admit, I was still kind of thrilled at the fact that I had met someone who shared my specific interests.

“Hey, uh… Hope you don’t mind me asking,” I said after swallowing my last bite. “… What’s your body count?”

“Boy, I lost track years ago,” he laughed as he leaned back. “Why, do you still have yours?”

“Um… Let me think,” I said, and got to counting with my fingers. “… Hm, Heath, Jordan, Maxine, Mimi, Kenny, Tony, Carole, Roy, Leanne, Gavin, Ronnie, Elliot… Mark… Uh, I think this one’s name was Zach… I must be missing someone, but I think those are the ones I remember the most… So, say around fourteen, fifteen. What do you think of that?”

Chucky hummed, resting his head on his hand. He thought about it for a minute. “… I mean, you know all their names, for one. So you clearly keep it personal.”

“Well, yes,” I frowned. “I’m not interested in total strangers—”

“But our first shared one was with a stranger, though,” he noted.

I blinked, a bit surprised by him specifying first. “Yeah, well—”

“Was that your first time with just, you know, a random person?” he asked, leaning forward, barely holding back a grin.

“I’m not telling you…!”

He let out a short but loud laugh. “So it was!”

I huffed. “So what if it was?”

“You’re, like, in your mid-twenties, right? So fourteen, fifteen’s not that bad,” Chucky shrugged. Now I was really curious to know his death count. I had the feeling he did remember it, but had decided that leaving that to the imagination was more impressive. “But you could do better. If you opened yourself to other options…”

I scoffed. I was thrilled, I was into him, yes –but I wasn’t that much into being talked down to. “So you say I should just go around and fuck up the first fella I come across?”

Chucky smiled even wider. “You did. I just gave you the chance. And hey, I’m no hypocrite, I won’t fault you for that. I’m just saying…” He leaned back on his chair, picking his cup and offering a toast. “It’s not exactly impressive, but you got promise, Tiff. Fifteen’s nothing to sneeze at.”

He probably knew I wasn’t really that offended, and soon enough I smiled back at him. Nobody had complimented me on my death count so far. We clinked cups, and I finally realized that Chucky wasn’t gonna kill me. There was something he saw in me that he liked. Or maybe he just wanted a side piece. I’m not a mind reader, I couldn’t know for sure. I just knew that I had fun with him –more fun than what I had had with anyone else –and that I liked the idea of staying around to see what happened next.

“I’d love to… You know, do something like this again,” I said, twirling my hair. “If you’re up to it.”

He tilted his head. “Go out for burgers?”

“No, silly,” I chuckled. “To… Meet again. Do something…” I just couldn’t blurt it out. I giggled, despite myself, becoming a bit flustered. “You got my number, so… If you ever, say, wanted to… To do something…”

“Are you talking about—?”

“Both,” I interrupted him, just as a mother and her child passed us by. “Both… Both would be great.”

Chucky looked at me, slowly realizing what I meant, and nodded. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, remembering when he did that, and fidgeted with my earring. We were no longer alone with each other. We were surrounded by other patrons at the burger place, by families with their kids, by people chatting on the street… But none of it erased what had happened when we were together.

I noticed that Chucky still had a little cut in his lower lip, where I had bitten him.

I smiled. Yes –it had all been real.

“What, do I have something on my face?” he asked me, scratching his cheek.

“No, it’s nothing,” I said, looking down, still smiling. “I’m just… I’m just happy I met you.”

We had already paid. It was about to be three o’clock. It felt like we had been together for a whole week. And still, we didn’t know how to say goodbye.

“Well…” he said, shifting uneasy in his chair. “… What’s next?”

“I –I got a job,” I blurted, immediately regretting it. “And, uh… I guess that—”

“Right.”

“So… Besides, you surely got your own stuff, your own life to go back to—”

“Yeah,” Chucky nodded quickly. “I’m a very busy man.”

I just barely stifled a laugh. “I bet you are.”

He shot me a glare, but then he smiled, too.

We got off the chairs and back onto the street. We walked a bit, just to get the circulation going. I wanted to take his hand, but he had both of them in the pockets of his coat. I already felt the sadness creeping in. I wondered for how long we would keep walking (hopefully all the way to Ridgefield Avenue on the other side of the river) but we stopped by my apartment.

“Well… See you around, Tiff,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face.

I smiled. “See you around, Chucky.”

He smiled back. I looked down at his mouth, at the little cut. Even at the risk of staining my teeth with lipstick, I bit down my lower lip, as if I was trying to give myself that same cut. I looked back into his big blue eyes.

And, somehow, we both knew. At this point, even if we hadn’t talked a lot to each other, I felt I knew him inside out. I knew him without saying a word. We moved towards the other –and kissed –and we embraced like that first night on the bed of the hotel room, not too long ago, but which felt like ages –and we kissed. Everyone else in the street disappeared in a blur. There was only us, and the warmth of our bodies, and the white light of day. I knew, right then and there, that this was love.

[cerseimikaelson]

1, 6 and 20, please!

Heyy, thanks so much for answering and the ask!

I don't know if you've read any of my fics so I will answer about them in general and not just about a specific one, hope that's okay.

1- Have any media sources acted as inspiration for your fics and which ones?

Well, I kinda want to say it depends. There have been influences, but not directly, more like in the worldbuilding process or in the background.

For example, in Collision of Parallel Lines (which started as a Maleficent/Diaval fic with two storylines and now has a life of it's own) I went for the modern fairytales/darker fairytales trope. At the time I had recently watched this show called Tell Me a Story, which is an anthology series featuring fairy tales such as The Red Riding Hood and Sleeping Beauty in a grimmer setting. Characters whose backgrounds are similar to Red Riding Hood and other fairytale people are a huge part of COPL (my OC Lyarra the main one).

I also use a lot of references to everyday culture in my fics (the lyrics to "My Jolly Sailor Bold" in COPL, String Theory was inspired by Taylor Swift's "I Can Do it with a Broken Heart" etc)

6- What is your favorite type of feedback and why?

It's kind of funny because I just yesterday made this post about the importance of validating an author's work and leaving comments. I am personally happy with any kind of acknowledgement. But if I had to choose, it would be a comment or a DM. I love people telling me what their favorite part of a fic/chapter was. A line, a scene, something that made an impression. I put a lot of detail into my fics, so it thrills me to know someone paid attention and little things stood out to them as they did to me. It's the best feeling in the world to know your writing has touched people.

20- Is there anything about my fics I want to discuss but haven't gotten the chance?

Only a million different things. As I've said in question 6, I am always eager to discuss things with my readers, headcanons, ideas, anything.

In When Violence Causes Silence I created a whole new branch of magic called Mind Magic that delves into people's memories and perceptions, complete with its side effects and what it does to a person who uses it.

In The Lucky One I introduced a whole bunch of OCs with their own personalities and storylines. I loved one of them, Veranika Bates (the ice queen with the sharp tongue that doesn't believe in love) so much that she is getting her own origin story and fic soon (which I am actually posting tomorrow hehe).

I am literally happy to talk about anything.

Veranika in String Theory is revealed to love almond croissants, I'd be thrilled if someone commented something like "oh, i love almond croissants too, that was a nice touch".

Ashara in There's a story left untold struggles with her identity and acceptance from others. I'd love to hear someone relating to her and feeling less alone.

My OC Viola from You're on your own kid faces difficult decisions in the entertainment industry. (she is also a badass that takes no bullshit from anyone and I love her to death)

Maleficent hurt Diaval badly in COPL, do people think it's alright to make choices on behalf of someone you love, even if it is to protect them?

I think interaction between authors is extremely important and having a supportive community at your back can do wonders. I love talking to my readers and other authors and it's amazing the things you can learn.

[evansbby]

I apologize for taking so many days to get to this. Please don’t take it personally. This chapter was phenomenal, and I loved that it was so long! Don’t ever apologize for thinking you wrote too much.

I’m going to get a few things out of the way before getting into the heavier stuff. 1st, Wanda is a horrendous friend to reader. She only pays her any attention when she hasn’t got a man around, and she’s way too much of a drinker, and a mean drunk at that. 2nd, Curtis is disgusting. It pains me to say so because I usually love a Curtis, but this one is just a pig. Trying to get reader at the party, then settling for Wanda, and stringing her along while he’s with however many other girls along the way. 3rd, as impossibly hard as it would have been, reader should have told Sharon the truth in the beginning. It would have been mortifying, and probably would have ended the friendship, but it would have saved them both a lot of pain, and reader a lot of guilt.

Now onto Ari and Steve. Neither of them would give her a breather so she could think things over, or figure anything out. She needed a break from both of them for that. The main difference I see between them is that Ari manipulates her, is sweet when she hits her breaking point, but doesn’t apologize or take responsibility for the havoc he’s caused in her life. Taking her on a picnic seems nice, but he basically kidnaps her, and brings her someplace completely secluded. She had no choice in the matter. At least he didn’t force himself on her. Steve apologizes, takes responsibility, and tries to explain his issues, albeit unsuccessfully. He does try though. He also tells her how he feels, and not just because he’s forced into it. He came to her in the window, he allowed her to stay in her safe place. Reader either misses or ignores red flags with each. She was the other woman for Ari, even if naively. Once a cheater, always a cheater. She was not his first, and likely wouldn’t be his last regardless of what he said. I know she didn’t understand the situation in the beginning, but she still continued on with it when she did. He told her repeatedly he’d dump Sharon, but led them both on for an extended time. Huge red flags. With Steve, he was on a ledge, drinking, and told her he’d taken medications. He said more than once he hoped he would stay comfortably numb, that it would be enough, that he didn’t care if it was over. He was crying out for help. She kinda got it, but not quite, and sent him on his way. That was as red a flag as could be. The wind was an ominous sign, and she even felt that it was. The night was not going to end well. I will give Ari credit for calling for help when Steve passed out. What Steve did to reader in his bedroom was awful. He attempted to rape her, and make her feel like she asked for it. I’m not going to excuse that. It was wrong. He has definite issues. He does seem genuinely sorry for it, and took responsibility for it.

Now for poor Kira. As soon as you first introduced us to her, I knew Ari had done something horribly wrong to her to change her and her life so much. He did that maliciously, and ruined her life. She will never forget that. It will be on her mind everyday. She doesn’t deserve that. That she was his friend’s little sister who trusted him makes it even worse. I think reader and Kira could be good friends, and help each other a great deal.

All that considered, to answer your questions:

1. Although Ari’s picnic had a beautiful setting, I prefer Steve coming to the window. It was more sincere.

2. Wanda is an awful friend. If she hadn’t been so drunk, mean and desperate she may have heard correctly that Curtis TRIED to have sex with reader, reader refused!

3. Sharon had every right to be upset with reader. Reader not only cheated with Ari, she didn’t confess when she should have.

4. I believe there were more than just nude pictures involved in what Ari did to reader.

5. After weighing the behavior of each, neither of which is anywhere close to perfect, and how they acted afterwards, I’m Team Steve. Please don’t kill him off.

Thank you so much for all your hard work in writing this chapter as well as the previous ones, and thank you for sharing your gift with us. 💝

Oh my gosh please do not apologise! It’s taking me ages to slowly get through all the feedback and I’m not even close to done so it’s good you took all the time you needed! I get that it’s a super long fic and I’m honoured that you and so many others read through it!

so you are staunchly team Steve as are many other people on here 😂😂 I feel like if I was a reader and not the author, I’d be on team Steve too just bc of how tragically he’s written hehe I’m a sucker for tragically written characters!

And you’re very right, Steve was crying out for help multiple times when he climbed through reader’s window… it was all just a big cry for help but it went over reader’s head. She can’t be blamed tho, she had problems of her own. But I get why she would blame herself 😭

As for Ari… well you really dislike him don’t you 😂 and I get why… he’s done a lot of unforgivable things! But one thing I will say is that he didn’t REALLY kidnap her I mean she clearly lowkey wanted to go with him and it did her good to get some sunshine and leave her dorm room where she’d been rotting! I mean sure it was technically kidnap but you know 😂😂😂

ANYWAYS, thank you so so much for this super long and lovely review! It’s always a pleasure reading what you have to say about my fics! Thank you soooo much 🥹🥹🫶🏼🫶🏼