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[thatchickwiththecamera]

Hi!!

Can you write something related to Matt? I'm soooo obsessed with him lately.

Not a specific request, just Matt 🥺

Thank you!!!!

Author’s Note: Someone sent in two requests in one ask for Matt and Ruffilo. Since this wonderful anon didn’t specify what they wanted their request regarding Matt to be about, I am responding to the Matt portion of that double prompt through this request!

Check out my other writings here: MASTERLIST

Warning: Contains Smut, 18+ ONLY

The Shirt

The blazing rays of the morning sun were already bearing down on Olivia’s shoulders as she unloaded the bags of fertilizer and potting soil out of the trunk of her RAV4. Even at 7am, Texas in the middle of July was scorching and that heat would take a bite out of you really quick if you weren’t careful. 

As she was stacking the last bag on top of the pile she had made on the corner of her driveway, a truck drove up onto the concrete slab and parked next to her. The bed of the truck was loaded down with various gardening tools, cuts of lumber, and a number of plants nestled in their temporary plastic pots. 

Matt Dierkes, one of Olivia’s oldest friends, emerged from the driver’s side, his long hair covered by one of his signature ballcaps. He wore an old Bloodline tee with the sleeves cut off and a pair of athletic shorts with the name of their high school printed on them. 

Matt had the next three months off before his next set of shows with the guys and had agreed to help Olivia build her own garden and green space in her backyard. Gardening was a hobby he had picked up during the pandemic when the music industry shut down touring wise so she naturally turned to her best friend for help when deciding to start her own. 

Shortly after he stepped out of the vehicle a little blonde blur of fur hopped out as well and bolted toward where Olivia stood. She stopped what she was doing and scooped Matt’s yorkie Boo up into her arms and hugged him to her chest as he licked her face in greeting. 

She let out a laugh in response and lowered herself into a criss-cross sitting position on  the ground to continue playing with her friend’s furry child. Matt lowered the tailgate of his truck and paused, peaking around the truck to watch his best friend play with his dog. The view made him smile. Two of his favorites in one place.

They soon moved everything, including Boo, to the fenced in backyard and quickly got to work. The plan was to get as much done in one day as they could by sundown and then finish whatever was left tomorrow. The reward at the end of the project was a pair of tomahawk steaks and a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper that sat on the top shelf inside Olivia’s refrigerator. 

They finally took a break a little after noon. They had gotten the ground cleared and the three raised garden boxes built and lined with a weed barrier. Now, they laid down on the cool concrete of Olivia’s covered back porch. Olivia with a couple of pillows from one of the lounge chairs nestled under her head, Matt’s with his head propped up on the side of Olivia’s stomach, hat off, now covering his face. 

The ceiling centered above them steadily pushed warm air down over their bodies. Boo lay curled up on the elevated cooling dog bed that she bought specifically for him that she placed next to the door while they worked. 

The mixture of warm air and cool concrete made it tempting to drift off to sleep and take a nap right then and there. One of her Spotify playlists shuffled out various songs through the bluetooth speaker sitting on the edge of the porch. She hummed along to lyrics of an A Day To Remember song and found herself absentmindedly playing with the hair on Matt’s now uncovered head. She loved his long hair and dreaded the day he ever decided to cut it. 

“Hmmm, if you keep that up I am going to end up falling asleep.” Matt commented, voice partially muffled by the hat. 

He moved the hat slightly, peaking to look over at her with a smile. Her eyes were closed and a content smile adorned her face as she continued to fiddle with his light brown locks. He reached up with his right hand and poked her side with his thumb, knowing fully well how ticklish she was. 

She squirmed and tried to swat it away with the hand not currently occupied with his hair. He did it again and when she tried to swat at his hand, he grabbed it and pulled it toward him, trapping it in his own against his chest. She let out a laugh. 

“Matthew, if you wanted to hold my hand you could have just said so.” she said, now looking down at him with a smirk. 

He rolled his eyes, jokingly flipped her the bird before throwing the hat back over his face. Her hand remained in place on his chest, his right hand draped over it. She made no effort to move it. They fell back into a comfortable silence. She continued to play with his hair and eventually felt him start drawing slow gentle circles with his thumb against the back of her other hand. They remained that way until their stomachs signaled it was time to eat lunch and get back to work. 

By the end of the day, all three garden boxes were full of the proper ratios of soil, fertilizer, and mulch along with strategically placed irrigation hoses. Pre-grown sprouts had been transplanted from their plastic pots along with regular seeds into neatly organized and labeled rows in each box. In a few weeks Olivia would have tomatoes, various peppers, carrots, asparagus, sweet corn, and potatoes growing tall and green in her garden. 

They both agreed that it was too late and they were too tired, sweaty, and partially sunburnt to bother cooking and decided to hold off on the celebration dinner until the next afternoon. After loading the various gardening and power tools back into the bed of his truck, Matt turned and watched Olivia walk over with Boo in her arms. 

“Can’t he just stay here tonight since you’re coming back tomorrow anyway?” She asked, not wanting to part with the pint sized pup that she had come to adore almost as much as his owner over the years. 

“Liv, are you trying to steal my dog from me?” He accused, stepping closer to scratch the little dog's head before looking down at his much shorter friend with a smile. 

“I don’t have to try, he likes being here,” she defends. 

Yeah, he’s not the only one, Matt thought

“and besides, he lives here when you’re on tour and now that you’re home I miss him.” 

“Oh, so what you’re saying is you can’t wait for me to leave again.” He teases. 

“No, I’m saying that now that you’re home, I miss having Boo around.”

“So you don’t miss me when I’m on tour, but you miss my dog?” He asks. 

“I’m going to smack you,” she threatens, “you know what I meant asshole”

“Boo, are you going to let her talk to your dad that way?” he asks with a sarcastic gasp. 

“Boo, If I didn’t know any better, I’d think your dad is a little jealous.” She states, kissing the top of the dog's head, smirking at her friend. Blue eyes glowing with a hint of mischief. 

He rolls his eyes. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

“Lies,” She states matter of factly. “So can he stay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” he replies with a sigh. 

Everyone who knew Matt knew that he was certainly not a pushover. Quite the opposite in fact. He could be an outright ass sometimes. But there was just something about Olivia that made it hard to say no, even when they were younger. He chalked it up to her just being very persuasive and good at making a convincing argument. But as they had gotten older, he knew it was because he loved seeing the way her eyes lit up with excitement when she was happy. He liked being the one that made her happy. 

When he got home, he headed straight to the shower, wanting to rinse away all the sweat and dirt that had built up over the course of the day. From the shower he lazily went through the rest of his bedtime routine before seeking refuge under the comforter. 

Despite how much his body ached and longed for rest. His mind would not allow sleep to take hold. After a while he rolled over onto his back with a frustrated sigh and stared up at the ceiling fan. His bed was noticeably colder without Boo curled up next to him. His house was too quiet. It felt odd and out of place. Like something was missing aside from the obvious absence of man’s best friend. 

He used to love the isolation being home provided after months of time spent on cramped tour buses and in shared hotel rooms, but now he was dreading the solitude. 

Before his mind could ponder further he heard a familiar notification chime from his phone. He rolled over and grabbed the device off the nightstand, the light from the screen cutting through the darkness. 

Olivia: New Text Message

He unlocked his phone and was greeted by a photo of Boo in a bathtub, hair spiked up in different directions by the shampoo lathered in his hair. The message underneath read:

Olivia: Someone knocked over the trashcan while I was taking a shower and got caught red pawed with peanut butter all over him. 🙃

The message made him smile in amusement. Boo was notorious for knocking over and digging through the garbage if you didn’t keep the trash can secured in some fashion. He had done it many times when Matt had originally moved into his own place before he finally got a heavy metal can with a push pedal lid that couldn’t be knocked over.

Before he could type out a reply another photo popped up. This one showed Boo sitting, with freshly dried fur, looking up at Olivia through the mirror on the countertop next to the sink in her bathroom. The reflection showed Olivia smiling down at her phone screen behind him as she snapped the picture, hair dryer up and ready in her opposite hand. 

She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, which was practically a dress on her short frame. Not just any t-shirt. His t-shirt. His favorite Lord of the Rings t-shirt that he thought he accidentally lost. 

But there is was, and fuck did she look good in it. 

Olivia: Pupdate: Back to his clean handsome self! 😋

He zoomed in to see that she had gathered the pups hair up into a hair tie causing the free hair to stick up like a troll doll. His smile grew wider as he typed back a reply. 

Matt: You gave my dog a ponytail? And is that my shirt? 🤨

Olivia: Yeah! You guys match now! And I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lol 🤭

Matt: 🙄

Olivia: He looks cute and you know it! 🖕

Matt: So what you're saying is you think I look cute? And stop trying to avoid the question. 🤔

Olivia: I say you match and that's all you got out of that? 🙄

Matt: You didn’t say no. 😏

Olivia: 🤐

Matt: I’m taking that as a yes until you say otherwise and I want my shirt back. 

“Boo, I think your dad is flirting with me” Olivia said to the pup curled up under her arm, big brown eyes looking at her. 

Albeit she was flirting back, but they were both arguably kinda bad at it. 

Olivia: I plead the fifth and if you want it back you’ll have to come and take it. 

Matt: That can be arranged. 

Oh shit, maybe not as bad at it as she thought. 

Olivia: You’d like that wouldn’t you? 

Well, no turning back now. They’ve officially crossed into a territory outside of the realm of just friends. 

Three little text dots popped up at the bottom and then went away. 

Shit Shit Shit. 

She felt doubt start to form like a weight in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she read the messages wrong. Maybe he wasn’t flirting? 

Twenty minutes passed with no reply. She wanted to scream, and cry, and throw up all at the exact same time. Olivia was genuinely worried that she had just royally fucked up her friendship. 

She was anxiously pacing around her room, waiting for Matt to reply, when she heard her doorbell ring from downstairs. She looked over at the clock on her nightstand. It read 11:47pm. 

Boo let out a growl at the new noise. She tried to soothe the dog before leaving him secured inside her bedroom and headed downstairs to see who the hell was ringing her doorbell in the middle of the night. She was mentally chastising herself for not investing in one of those ring doorbell cameras that she always said she was going to invest in when she moved in two years prior. 

She stood on her tip toes and looked through the peephole. She let out a slight gasp by who she saw on the other side before quickly unlocking and opening the door. There on the other side of the threshold was Matt with a very serious look on his face, his brown eyes looked darker than usual. They both said nothing, a noticeable tension filled the air as she pulled the door open wider, allowing him room to step inside. She quickly closed the door behind him and re-secured the locks. 

“Matt, wha…” she started to ask, turning around to face him. 

“Shut up.” he interjected, stepping forward and connecting their lips in a searing kiss. 

They stood like this for a moment, before he took another step and the cool wood of her front door against her back caused her to part her lips in a gasp, allowing his tongue to slip inside. His hands left her face and traveled down the seam of her shirt. His shirt. Before he reached behind her thighs and lifted her up, legs wrapping around his center, as he carried them over to the couch across the room. 

That tension felt before snapped as hands found skin and clothing met the floor piece by piece. She didn’t have time to feel shy. The desire of it all was dizzying and they both craved more. He rolled her off his lap to where she laid across the couch and he began to plant kisses along her throat. Over her breast. Down her stomach. Watching her react with each touch as he made his way to her core. 

He looked up at her as he pressed gentle kisses against her inner thigh, silently asking permission to continue. She nodded and he didn’t hesitate. Her hand quickly found its way into his hair as his tongue worked deeper. Her head snapped back into the couch pillow as he gently introduced his fingers to her folds, falling into a steady rhythm as his mouth flicked over her clit. She tried to move her hips to match his thrusts but he firmly held her in place by snaking his free arm around her thigh. 

She let out a moan as she felt herself growing closer and closer to climax. The sounds of her moans and how she breathlessly whispered his name were like music and he was desperate to hear more. She looked down at him, his eyes borderline pitch black with lust. Their gaze remained locked as she felt her body coil tighter until it snapped and she screamed out his name in pleasure. Writhing beneath him as he continued to work his fingers in and out, while kissing the overstimulated bud. 

The sound of her voice as she fell apart made his dick twitch. She whimpered slightly at the absence as he made his way back up her body and attaching her lips to his in another deep kiss. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, her pupils blown with ecstasy. 

“Are you sure about this?” He said, seeking consent to continue. 

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into another breathtaking kiss. 

“Fuck, yes.” She breathed against his lips. 

She gripped his arms, nail leaving crescent moon indentions on the skin as he pushed inside of her. Sweat began to pool at the small of his back as she rolled her hips up to meet him, their bodies falling into a steady rhythm.

He placed his forehead against hers, eyes locked as he thrusts harder, deeper. Both chasing their high together. Olivia's eyes flutter closed as the pleasure builds closer and closer. 

“Look at me!” Matt demands. God the way he said that unlocked something in her. 

Her eyes snap back open to meet his. He picks up his pace with a grunt, alternating between deep full hilt thrusts and shallow ones that leaves her needing more. 

“Fuck, Liv, you’re doing so good for me.” He praises between his own moans. 

Her hands snake deeper into his mane of hair as they push closer and closer to the breaking point. He tries to hide his moan in another deep kiss. 

“Matt….” She whines, “so close..”

“That’s it, babygirl.” He praises, “cum for me, let me hear that pretty voice.”

She cried out his name in pleasure, star bursts dotting in her vision as he continued to fuck her through her orgasm. She writhed with overstimulation as he chased his own climax shortly after. He collapsed on her chest, both of them trying to calm their ragged breathing. 

Matt quickly got up and retrieved a wet washcloth from the half bath and cleaned both of them up before laying back down and pulling Olivia on top of him along with the decorative blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. She nestled her face into the crux of his neck, he rested his chin on top of her head. 

“Matt?” Olivia asks, voice muffled by how she was laying. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re still not getting the shirt back.” She says. 

He lets out a laugh. 

“Fair enough,” he replies, kissing her forehead, “It looks better on you anyways.”

[abiteofhoney]

The Vampire and The Devilspawn

3036 words | Chapter Navigation

Chapter 4

Magdalena wakes in a gasp, the instinct to fight for her safety pulling her out of the lull of sleep. She sits up where she’d been lying on the floor, and something heavy pulls at her neck, the dread-inducing sound of chains rattling as she moves. Panicked, she reaches up to grab at the collar, but touching it only drives the metal prongs deeper into her neck, not yet piercing her skin, but threatening it, and it hurts enough to get her to stop touching it. From the pronged collar runs a thick chain, snaking across the floor to where it’s bolted on the wall behind her.

Looking around, she finds that she’s in a nearly empty, concrete room. A metal door is set into the wall directly across from her, but nothing else. No windows. No other way in or out. 

Her legs ache as she maneuvers to her knees, her joints creaking and popping, and acutely aware of how she moves with the chain and collar. She feels too weak to stand up on her feet so she stays on her knees and eyes the door across from her. The chain doesn’t look nearly long enough for her to reach the door, so escape is not an option unless she can get the collar or chains off.

Magdalena turns towards the wall behind her, scooting until she’s directly in front of the bolted hook holding her chains to the wall. Even though it strains her stiff hips, she puts both feet on the wall on either side of the hook, and then grabs the chains and yanks with all of her might. A few puffs of dust cloud the air, but it otherwise doesn’t give. So she tries again. And again, and again, and again, until she’s sweating and she can hardly feel her arms. 

Defeated, she lets the chains fall and lies down where she is, trying her best to keep from crying through her frustrations. 

“Giving up already?” a taunting voice calls through the door, which opens a moment later. 

Magdalena sits right back up, turning so that her back is to the wall,  not to the black-eyed man walking into the room. He smiles at her, flashing a smile of pearly whites – too white and too straight to look natural. They shine too brightly in the dim room, only one single bulb hanging from a wire overhead. 

“Fuck you,” she spits at the cherry-skinned man. 

“There’s that fight. I like watching you fight, Mags. Thought you almost gave up on us there for a bit, but we fixed that, didn’t we! You can’t go dying on us now, and besides, you’re going to look adorable with fangs.” 

Fangs. 

She has some, doesn’t she? 

She runs her tongue over her teeth. Everything feels in place, her canines poking into her tongue, but there are no fangs. She remembers having some, biting those devilspawn with them, and she gets an odd sinking feeling like she might actually … miss them. 

They were so fun to bite with. The blood she drew tasted so good. 

She snarls at him, but he only laughs. “Oh, Mags, stop it. You just look ridiculous. Maybe you’ll be a bit more menacing once those fangs come in.” He ventures a few steps closer, and Magdalena wonders if she has enough slack in her chain to reach him. 

She studies him where he stands, struggling to see him in the dim lighting. He’s dressed in all black with dark red skin and eyes as black as a moonless night. That’s about all she can see of him, the shadows across his face obscuring any noticeable features. All she needs to see are those empty black eyes for her anger to spike anyway. 

“Fuck. You,” she repeats through clenched teeth, wanting nothing more than to rip into his flesh. 

Her wish is partially granted when he pulls a small blade out of his pocket and rolls up one of his sleeves. A wicked smile curls his lips as he drags the blade across his forearm. Her focus immediately zones in on the blood that bubbles to the surface as it assaults her senses even from across the room. 

On instinct, she lurches for it, fingers just scraping his skin as she’s yanked back by the collar. With a cry of pain, she falls to the floor, grabbing at the pronged collar as it digs into her throat. 

But when she touches her neck, there’s nothing. Her fingernails only find skin. Fighting for breath, Magdalena sits up, eyes wide as she looks around the bedroom. 

The bedroom. 

The events of the past day flash through her mind as she remembers where she is and realizes that what felt so real a moment ago was only a dream. Maybe a memory. 

The pain felt so real. The scent of his blood still lingers in her senses. 

Her hunger is definitely real. Her tongue finds her fangs right where they should be, sharp and ready to sink into flesh. 

She trembles from head to toe, using the wall to lean on so she can stand, the pain in her stomach near unbearable. She stumbles first to the door closest to her, but a strike runs through the center of her forehead like a jolt of lightning and Anzurin’s words echo around her skull: If you feel like you have to bite someone, you bite me. 

Her feet carry her towards the bathroom door instead. Numbly, she shuffles through the bathroom and into Anzurin’s room, keeping as silent as she possibly can. She walks slow and soft enough that her steps don’t make a single noise, and she opens the door handle with impeccable caution. The hinges don’t even squeak as she pushes it open. 

Anzurin’s bedroom, in the dark, seems to be mostly the same as her own, his bed positioned right where hers was, and he is peacefully asleep on it, his face towards her. Running her tongue over her flesh-hungry fangs, she sneaks right up to the edge of his bed, taking a moment to stare down at him and make sure she hasn’t woken him up. She studies his face, watching to see if his eyes open, but her focus doesn’t stay there, trailing down to his neck instead. Her tongue screams for another taste of his blood. 

Magdalena drops down to her knees and reaches out for him, but her hands only hover. Her mouth pools with saliva, her breaths shallow as she leans forward, sniffing. He smells so delicious. He tasted even better, and she feels like she’s starving once again. 

She sinks back on her heels when Anzurin moves, turning onto his back as he throws his arm over his eyes. The thin silk sheet over him gets pushed down to his waist when he turns, leaving exposed his bare torso, so much skin she could bite. 

Quickly but quietly, Magdalena hurries around to the other side of the bed and climbs onto the mattress carefully enough as to not wake him, making it all the way to his side on her hands and knees. To test how deep he’s sleeping, she reaches out, running her pointer finger down his arm where it lies on the bed. 

He doesn’t stir as she drags her finger from elbow to wrist, so she takes it a step further, sinking down into a fetal position so that her mouth is only a breath’s width from his arm. 

Then she bites him. 

Softly, she sinks her fangs into his meaty bicep and tries to keep from moaning as his blood touches her tongue. So sweet, so warm and delicious and filling. As his blood floods her throat, a memory touches her, a flash of what might have been her human life. A memory of sitting next to a roaring fire, ash and smoke filling the air with the sweet scent of marshmallows and chocolate, warmth and comfort in the gentle air of night. It’s more of a feeling than a taste, a comfort of something familiar and joyful. 

He stirs, grumbling something incoherent, but doesn’t quite wake, so she keeps drinking. She swallows mouthful after mouthful of blood, grateful for the warmth of it that fills the freezing hole in her stomach. Not even taking every drop of Herra’s blood satisfied her as much as his does. 

Losing herself in the taste of him, she sinks her teeth in further, grabbing his arm to hold it tight to her mouth. 

But then it’s brought to an abrupt end by a hand wrapping around her throat, shoving her back onto the bed. Magdalena blinks and Anzurin is directly above her, rage in his eyes as he glares down at her and snaps, “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Magdalena swallows the blood in her mouth, struggling to do so with his hand tight around her neck. “Hungry,” she gasps, more an airless rasp. 

“You have no right to come in here and bite me,” he seethes. “Don’t ever –” 

“But you said,” she cries. “You said to bite you.” 

Anzurin grumbles low in his throat. “I did not tell you to come into my room and bite me while I’m sleeping. That’s not okay, Magdalena.” He finally releases her, climbing off of the bed to head into the bathroom, saying over his shoulder, “At least you were gentler this time. Still a bit too rough, but better.” 

She sits up but stays where she is on the bed, licking every inch of the inside of her mouth for whatever blood still lingers. She sits there until Anzurin’s head pokes back through the doorway, peering at her curiously. “Well, are you coming?” She scrambles off of the bed and into the bathroom with him and as soon as she rounds the corner, he says, “I told you that when you’re hungry, I’ll feed you, but you have to ask me first, Magdalena. You can’t just sneak into my bed and bite me. One, that’s my personal space. Two, it’s dangerous to wake me up like that; I could have hurt you. And three, I don’t want to get blood on my sheets and things.” 

She stands by the door while Anzurin cleans off his arm, the wounds from her bite already healed, but the spilled blood still clinging to his ruby skin. It seems like such a waste to watch it run down the drain; she could lick it off of his skin. She’d get every drop, too. 

Briefly, Magdalena notices that the glass she’d previously broken is completely cleaned up off of the floors and vanity counter, though the shattered remains are still on the wall. She wonders who cleaned it; they must have done it while she was sleeping. How long was she sleeping? 

She looks around the room for a clock or something to tell her what time it is, but there’s nothing of the sort, so she asks, “Is it morning?” 

Anzurin shuts off the water and walks past her, back into his room, motioning for her to follow. “No, it’s probably about midday, actually, but it’s still ‘nighttime’.” He puts the words in quotes with his fingers. “You’ve only been asleep for an hour or so.” 

Magdalena nods along like she understands, but she doesn’t. How can it be midday and nighttime at the same time? Not to mention that it feels like she was asleep for a lot longer than an hour. She continues to follow Anzurin, just accepting what he says without asking any questions – not really sure what to ask. 

He leads her to the other side of the bedroom to a small, two-person sofa that sits against the far wall. Anzurin drops into the corner of it, a yawn escaping him as he gestures for her to join him. “Come on, come feed so I can go back to sleep.” 

Magdalena sits by his side, pressed right against him as she stares at his neck, waiting for the go-ahead, but Anzurin shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “No. I’m not letting you drink from my neck until you learn how to bite without tearing. Arm only.” 

She pouts. “I’ll be gentle,” she promises. 

“Prove you can be – on my wrist.” 

She whines, but relents and turns her attention to his offered wrist. Still trembling, whether from her lingering nightmare, or from her hunger, or just her excitement to feed, she grips his arm and sinks her teeth in, digging into his supple skin. 

“Alright, I can’t keep doing this.” Anzurin – for the last time – fists the hair at the back of her head and yanks, ripping her teeth from his flesh. 

She throws her head back, slamming his hand into the wall so he lets go of her, and snaps for his face, teeth just barely grazing his cheek. “Stop it!” 

Anzurin lifts his hand to the scratch along his cheek - not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark. “I needed you to stop biting –” 

“Ask. First,” she hisses through her clenched teeth, rubbing the back of her head to soothe the stinging. “I don’t like it.” 

The hard edge in Anzurin’s gaze softens and the tension leaves his shoulders. “Alright, that’s fair, I apologize. I just –” He sighs, then runs his long forked tongue across his forearm, repairing the damage her teeth did in the blink of an eye. “You have to be gentler, Magdalena. You can’t just keep taking chunks out of me every time you feed, and when you’re out on your own, you can’t tear apart everyone else you drink from.” 

She nods along, seeing sense in what he’s saying. It’s just that her hunger gets so overwhelming that she can’t help herself. And flesh feels so good between her teeth. 

Anzurin leans into her, putting his wrist in front of her mouth once more. “When you bite, Magdalena, only use your fangs. Pierce me once, then take your fangs out, and then you can just drink. Your regular teeth should never touch my skin. 

She frowns, gnashing her teeth. “I like biting. Tearing.” 

“We can find you something else to tear into later, but it’s not going to be me. Bite like I just told you, or don’t feed at all.” 

Too hungry to go without, Magdalena relents and does as told. Only her fangs pierce his wrist, and when she pulls them out, the flow of blood doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t flood her throat like she loves, but she draws out as much as she can, gulping it down to soothe the ache in her gut. 

That ache is the most familiar thing around her. The pain of hunger is the only thing she knows, the only constant in the fleeting mess that the last day has been. There’s nothing she remembers about a life before it. 

Finally, the roar starts to settle, and just as her hunger is fizzling out completely, Anzurin murmurs, “Alright, that’s enough for now.” 

She whines, but licks the two puncture wounds and then pulls her mouth away, but she doesn’t yet let go of his arm, pressing her nose into his skin and inhaling as deeply as she can, filling her lungs with the scent of him, the summer sweetness. 

Anzurin chuckles and smoothes his hand over her hair, brushing it back out of her face. “Good enough? Think you can go back to sleep now?” 

Her lips part and she grazes her fangs across his wrist, but she doesn’t bite. He told her to stop, and she promised she’d listen if he asked. “Nn-hng,” she mutters, nodding. Her tongue teases the wounds once more to lap up the blood that’s still drizzling out of him. 

“Not a drop wasted with you, is there?” he teases as he finally pulls his arm out of her grasp. With a quick flick of his forked tongue, he heals the puncture wounds on his wrist, leaving behind not a trace of her bite. 

“Tastes good,” she pouts. “Like s’mores.” 

“S’mores?” he laughs. “Those little marshmallow treats that humans like?” 

She nods, excited that he knows what she’s talking about - that she actually remembers something, anything, about a human life. “Mhm! Sweet, but - but fiery, too. Smoky.” 

“Many have fed from me, but I must say, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that comparison before. At least you like it, hm?”

“My favorite,” she purrs. 

He laughs once more, a bark of a noise. “Not Herra? You drained her.”

She scrunches up her nose, shaking her head. “Too sweet.” If she wasn’t as hungry as she was, she probably wouldn’t have killed Herra. The sweet, flowery taste of her blood would have driven her away sooner if she hadn’t been starving. And her blood wasn’t bad, but just too sweet for her taste. 

“What about Brem’s?” Anzurin asks curiously. 

“Sharp,” she complains. 

His head cocks to the side. “Like, spicy?” 

She shakes her head. “No, sharp.” She thinks about the way it stung her tongue slightly, trying to find a comparison, and finally, she lands on, “Like pineapple.” 

“I’m sure Brem will be interested to learn that he tastes like pineapple. I don’t think anyone’s ever bitten him before; he’s not a mentor so he’s never had to feed anyone.” Anzurin yawns once more. “Alright. If you’re fed, you should go back to your room and go to sleep.” 

She thinks about the dream she had, the reason she woke up so hungry, and shakes her head. She doesn’t want to go back there. She doesn’t want to see that too perfect smile and those empty eyes again. “I don’t want to sleep,” she refuses. 

“Well, I do,” he says, standing. “And you probably should get some more sleep, anyway, so just go back to your room and try.” 

Reluctantly, she does go back to her own room, but she doesn’t even attempt to sleep. In order to stay awake, she plants herself in the middle of the room, standing there with nothing to lean or sit on, staring at the bathroom door to wait until Anzurin is done sleeping. 

~~~~

I don't remember if I told everyone, but book one of this story is only 15 chapters, so we're just a chapter over being 1/5th of the way there!! only eleven more mondays!

taglist!! go to this linked post or let me know if you'd like be added/removed!

@pizzamanstan @leahnardo-da-veggie  @dyrewrites @trippingpossum @possiblyeldritch

@godsmostfuckedupgoblin @jgc-comeundermybridge @shortcircuitthegreat @seastarblue @bloodmoodtrash

@theaistired @korol--reznii @simonnebethel @danimia @written-among-stars

@lofiyaketyblr @quill-main @bellascarousel @alexanderflowerbird @lead-to-code

@annothersummerofsleep @saecarnell @albatris @solaristawrites @the-letterbox-archives

@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese @threedaysgross @corinneglass @fifis-corner 

[cutesyscreenname]

A Cowboy Like Me : Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Series summary:

I've had some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Javier Peña is a playboy, sleeping his way across Bogotá, never settling down. And he's used to being the only one. What happens when he meets his match? A friendly challenge between friends couldn't hurt, could it? Unless that friend is you...

Chapter Summary:

Javi is your friend, your coworker, your neighbor and a royal pain in your ass. He always thinks he has the upper hand but he doesn't know you have a little secret.

Pairing: Javi Peña x f reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, allusions to sex, drinking alcohol/being drunk, not much really

Notes: This is my first fic, I actually started another one but this Javi idea snuck into my head and we'll here we are. I just kept thinking, what if Javi was down bad for a fem reader who is as much of a slut as he is? A little turning of the tables? And what happens when they finally collide 👀 I don't have a concrete plan for how things end up where they're going so bear with me. I hope you enjoy it!

Playlist:

Rain assaulted the panes of your bedroom window seemingly from nowhere, a blitz attack to break through the standoff between humidity and air pressure. If it wasn’t so frenzied it would feel like a release.

You couldn’t take your usual leisurely stroll to the office this morning, considering the current weather. You silently thank the DEA’s preference for efficiency and budgeting as your corner apartment was sandwiched between those of your fellow agents, Murphy across the hall and Peña to your right.

Your appreciative mood sours when you get no answer from Steve Murphy’s door, realizing he likely had left already to afford his wife the same respite you were seeking from the rain and drive her to work at the clinic. You knew Peña would still be home, the catch was you didn’t know if his (very noisy) overnight guest would still be lingering this morning. Maybe it was just the expected awkwardness of meeting a coworker’s hook up or perhaps it was having to stifle the urge to look at them with pity when they practically purred to him “call me, Javi baby” as they carried their heels down the apartment staircase; either way you didn’t exactly enjoy meeting his conquests.

Preparing for whatever scene lurked behind his door that it was still too early in the morning to witness, you rapped three times on the wood beneath the peep hole. The tension in your shoulders subsided when, as soon as your hand pulled away, there he was in the threshold fully dressed and seeming to be on his way as well.

“Buenas, chiquita. Looking for a ride?” his small smirk and the spark in his eye letting you know he was expecting you.

“I don’t know, Peña, did you tire yourself out giving someone else a ride last night? Your friend sounded so grateful."

"Oh I’ve got plenty of energy, muñeca. You looking for a different kind of ride?” He stepped what would appear, to the layman, uncomfortably close to you but you don’t waver. It’s all a part of the game.

“En tus sueños, Javi,” you almost whisper before turning on your heel and bolting down the stairs as you yell behind you. “Last one to the car buys coffee!”

“Mocosa…” he mutters to himself, following behind you. He slides two fingers into the pocket of his button down shirt to find nothing there. You lifted his smokes before bolting to the car.

He sighs and shakes his head when he slides into the driver seat of his car that you’ve already let yourself into, both of you drenched just from the sprint to the vehicle. You think you catch his eyes gliding over your soaked blouse but quickly decide it’s more likely a glare of annoyance at your early morning antics. Javier didn't see you that way.

“You sure about that energy, Peña? Better hit the coffee shop post haste.” You tip the pack of smokes toward him in an offer, as though it’s yours, a lit cigarette already dangling lazily from your lips, a small smile tugging at one corner of your mouth.

Javi plucks the whole pack from your fingers and lets out a low chuckle, lighting one for himself before slipping them back into his shirt pocket.

“Fine, pendeja. The first round tonight is on you, though.”

And this is the way it was between you, a never ending game of wit and sarcasm, playing chicken and skirting the edges of propriety. Always in jest, always reigned in long before invisible lines were crossed, made easier by Steve playing mother hen to the two of you.

Always just a stupid game.

Sliding into the curved booth that evening at your favorite watering hole, you finally took what felt l like the first full breath of the day since stepping into the agency this morning. The moment your toe touched the speckled tile you and Javier’s easy expressions turned to grimaces at the mountains of paper work on each of your desks.

“Settle in, kids,” Steve grumbled from behind his own paper piles, “we’re gonna be here a while. I made coffee.” Endless stacks of red tape redundancies and dead end phone tips had your neck sore, eyes strained, and a dull ache settling between your temples.

You take a deep, cleansing breath as the time worn cushion gives way to your form and the dim lighting offers reprieve to your tired eyes. This is just what you needed after today.

“First round on you, kid, don’t forget.” Javi chides as he observes you sinking into the booth, Steve taking a seat next to you.

“Tell you what, Peña. I’m not moving for at least 20 minutes so why don’t you be a lamb and go grab those for us?” you say. It’s a statement, not a request and he rolls his eyes as you slide a few crumpled bills to him at the end of the table. “Quick like a bunny, sweetheart, or I won’t tip ya.”

Steve does nothing to hold back his laughter at his partner’s expense and Javi sends the both of you a death glare before snatching the cash and walking away to the bar.

“You sure know how to ruffle his feathers, man.” Murphy shakes his head lightly and chuckles, lighting a cigarette.

“Ah it’s too easy, he’s such a delicate flower.” Your eyes drift shut as you take another deep breath, enjoying the soft upholstery beneath you and inhaling the pleasant mix of liquor, leather, and smoke that permeates the small bar.

“Maybe more than you know.” Steve mutters quietly. You couldn't even be sure you were meant to hear it until you crack an eye open and see him looking at you with an expression that’s almost…solemn.

You open your mouth to ask what the hell he means by that but the words die on your tongue as Javi reappears, three whiskeys in hand and confusion painted across his strong features.

“Damn, Murphy, I leave for two minutes and she hurt your feelings already?” he throws a conspiratorial wink at you and slides into the booth on your other side.

The blonde agent’s face softens and he recovers from the moment so quickly you think you must have imagined it.

“Ah you know I’m sensitive, Javi. And this one’s just so damn feisty.”

“Yeah she is.” Javi pinches your cheek and you swat him away.

“Hey man I was napping!”

“Ah, ah, ah, cariño, I need my wing man awake.”

“Oh so I’m just dead weight?” Steve gasps, feigning offense.

“Second string, Murphy. I’m the MVP.” You jest, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid in your glass.

“Well now you’ve both hurt my feelings.” He pouts while you and Javi snicker.

The truth was, Javi didn’t need a wing man. Women seemed to clamor for a chance to fall into his bed; a never ending parade of Bogotá’s finest ladies rotating in and out of his apartment, keeping you awake with their…appreciation. It annoyed you endlessly, your precious sleep stolen as you lie awake thinking there’s no way he’s THAT good.

This is why you never brought your own conquests home. Why deal with the intrusion of your space, the prying eyes of your nosy partners, and the inevitable task of shooing them off? No reason to when you could simply whisper ‘lets go back to yours’ and get a night away from Javi’s theatrics before sneaking off to work early and slipping into the fresh shirt from your desk before Thing 1 and Thing 2 arrive to the office.

While Javi’s reputation was public knowledge, your escapades remained confidential and you preferred it that way. It kept things easy between you and the two men that had become your closest friends, maintained the dynamic that worked so damn well. Not to mention, you didn’t need it to be broadcast around an agency of frustrated men that you were no stranger to a one night stand.

You don’t consider yourself a centerfold by any means, but you know you must have a certain allure from the way that you never had to go home alone if you so chose. No need to give cause for the DEA bachelor’s club to start making pit stops at your desk to ask the time and look for files that don't exist.

You liked your little secret night life anyway, always one to keep your cards close to your chest, but after a couple more whiskeys (and a shot of tequila somewhere in between) your lips become looser.

“You know the more you two drink the more you start soundin’ like me.” Steve teases from his spot in the booth. As the alcohol warmed your cheeks and loosened your vocal chords, you and Javi both let your Texas drawls slide thickly over your words like honey from a road side stand.

“Hey now-“ Javi starts, but you cut him off.

A little more sauced than your cohort, and somehow even spunkier than you usually are, you point your finger at Steve with purpose. “Look it here, pal, we don’t sound nothin’ alike. Texas is a whooole different ball game. Did Tennessee used to be it's own country? Hmm? I didn’t think so.” You said with determination and a slight slur, ending an argument you were having with no one.

“I reckon she’s right.” The brunette man slung his arm around your shoulders in solidarity. Steve raised his eyebrows and smirked at the spectacle of drunken Texas pride before him, entertained by his friends that were much more inebriated than he was.

“Should we tell him?” Javi whispers to you loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Well bless his little heart, he don’t know?” You don’t know either, but you can see that it’s a part of the bit so you’re going to play along anyway.

Javi takes a dramatic breath before looking at the other man solemnly, “I didn’t wanna offend you, bud, but…”

He steals a glance at you and throws another wink your way, “turns out everything’s bigger in Texas.” Javi waggles his brows suggestively and you dissolve into a fit of giggles together.

“That’s what they say, isn’t it?” Steve leans back in his seat and sips the beer he’d switched to earlier in the night.

“Oh it’s what they ALL say, I hear ‘em every time I try to sleep at my place.” Both of the men next to you shoot you a surprised look, wondering what would come out of your mouth next.

“That can’t be true, I don’t have a guest every night,” Javier offers, “gotta sleep occasionally.” He's quipping back, playing the game as usual, but you’re just getting started.

“Well, seems like. I guess your nights off are just the ones when I’m not home, Casanova.” You tease, casually taking another pull of your drink that was mostly melted ice now.

“Not home?” Steve looks at you with his head cocked. “What’re you doin', playing secret agent without us? Girl’s out to catch Escobar all on her lonesome.”

“Nah, nah, naaaah. I’m doin’- like Javi does,” you stumble over your words, “entertaining my companions. He’s a cowboy. Like me.”

You miss the way that Javi’s jaw nearly hits the floor, unable to control his expression with the liquor coursing in his veins. Steve doesn’t, though.

“Well I’ll be damned, chica, who woulda thought it.” Steve laughs, still keeping a steady eye on his partner’s reactions.

Javier didn't expect you to be celibate, and maybe it was bit archaic to assume, but he never imagined you to get around like he did. And he really didn’t want to. Pushing the imagery from his mind, Javi set aside his shock and the little antagonistic twinkle forming in his eye has Steve standing up to try and wrangle you both home before something stupid falls out of his friend’s mouth. But it’s too late.

Neither of you are moving to follow him and before Steve can start his rounds of ‘its getting late’ and ‘let’s call it a night’ Javi pipes up.

“I don’t fuckin believe you, cariño.” He takes a thoughtful drag from the cigarette between his plush lips before tapping it on the edge of the ashtray. After a brief but pregnant pause he continues. “In fact I think you’re home every night. Ear pressed to my fuckin wall, apparently.”

Anger bubbles up hot and sudden in your chest. He was still playing, still jesting. So why did red suddenly paint your complexion and creep over your field of vision? This cocky bastard. Pendejo. You’ll be damned if Javi gets the last word here, especially if that last word insinuates that you sit like a sad puppy next to your shared wall eavesdropping on his sex life.

You lean in close to the man, catching the musk of cologne and sweat radiating from his warm body. His shirt is unbuttoned into a deep v, skin glistening from the humidity and the alcohol. Javi watches as your pupils expand just so, the slightest shade of blush blooming across your cheeks.

Doubling down, you poke his exposed chest with two fingers. He shivers and you think it must be your hands, cold from wrapping around your low ball glass.

“I’ll prove it to you.” You reach up to pat his cheek before leaning back into the booth with resolve. “After this next drink.”

When you stand to cross the room and falter it’s Javi’s strong hands that fly to your waist to steady you. A burning sensation flutters beneath your skin where he holds you in place. It feels like a leather car seat on a summer's day back home. The sear of the supple material, jarring at first on the skin that peeks out from cut off shorts, soon absorbs and melts into you, sweet like sunshine, until you have to peel yourself away at your destination. Like you have to peel away now from his grip.

Seeing his opportunity Steve takes your hand and begins ushering the two of you out towards his car. Javi, seeing that his ride is leaving, gives in as well.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can have another drink when we get home. Tell Connie all about your secret love life, how’s that sound?” your friend coos to you in an effort to put you in the car willingly.

“Steve - I fucking love your wife.” You manage as you all but fall into the back seat behind where Javi already sits in the passenger.

“Same here, kid. ‘swhy I married her.”

Before Murphy can even choose a radio station a faint snore floats up from the backseat, your eyes glued shut as sleep takes you. The men stay silent on the drive home.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged for this series, I'm starting a list ☺️☺️

[delcakoo]

Naurrrr I feel like crying for you 😭😭😭

Can I request midnight walks with Jay 🙈🙈

absolutely raven ml 🫶 (soft hours closed!)

12:27AM — how on earth did you manage to get your grumpy boyfriend outside and pacing down a dimly lit sidewalk at past midnight? you had no idea, but either way, you did it.

it took a whopping, record breaking six please’s to convince jay to walk to the convenience store with you, insisting that it’d be a cute date and more importantly; an opportunity for you to restock on your favourite instant ramen.

now, with one hand in yours, jay gripped the store’s plastic bag tightly in his grip, ramen and other random snacks tucked securely inside (no matter how hard you wrestled, he simply refused to let you hold anything).

“this is fucking crazy,” the male suddenly murmurs, scanning your pitch black surroundings anxiously. removing his free hand from the pocket of his puffer jacket, he reaches back to pull his hood up with a sigh.

you snort, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “babe, you’re fine. we’re almost there anyway, nothing will go wrong.”

yet seemingly right as the words tumble out of your mouth, a loud bang in the sky echoes down the sidewalk, water drops showering down onto the both of you with no mercy.

you both freeze, staring up at the sky in horror. “nice one,” jay deadpans.

feeling another gust of powerful wind hit you in the face, you cringe. “sh-shut the hell u-up.” involuntarily, your teeth begin to chatter as you try to keep up with the raven haired boy, feeling your hair and body get increasingly wet and cold.

perhaps you should’ve worn a coat with a hood. or maybe even checked the weather app for once in your life.

either way, the shaking of your body only worsened as you squinted your eyes, barely even registering the concrete in front of you as the aggressive downpour continued.

however, after only a few seconds of strange shuffling noises next to you, a giant warm cover is pulled around your body, two pairs of strong hands forcing you into the sleeves before zipping it up and pulling the hood on before you could question anything. without a moment of hesitation, jay continues walking as if nothing happened, now only wearing only a sweater in the pouring rain.

you’re glued to your spot in shock for a moment, before quickly jogging to catch up to him. “yah! get back here you dumbass,” you bark, unzipping the jacket immediately at the sight of him now getting soaked. “are you insane? you’re gonna catch a cold!”

jay defiantly grabs your wrist, “i’m fine, jagi. you were shivering, keep it.”

you roll your eyes, snatching your hand away to grab one side of the jacket, pulling it over his shoulder so that you were both shielded effectively from the rain. having two heads inside one hood was the opposite of spacious, but you didn’t mind it all if it meant your boyfriend would stay dry as well.

jay huffs speechlessly, and it tells you that he’s only bearing with this mess because it’s you. “geez, we look like lunatics.”

you scoff, a fond smile rushing to your lips as you both make your way home in the pouring rain, ramen secured and hands carelessly interlocked even as another bolt of lightning illuminates the sky. “well, i think this is pretty romantic,” you declare.

“yeah, and that’s why i’m in charge of romance in this relationship.”

jshdjd i love bf jay 🫶

[winterrsun]

An aversion to zombie brains

Mini drabble I cooked up

Blurb- Not long after the group arrived at Alexandria you feel a little off. Daryl thinks settling there has made you weak, but what if it’s something more than that?

Reader x Rick | some fluff, references to smut but no smut in story

Warnings: pregnancy references. Some gore. Language (f-word).

This just popped into my head and I had to write it out immediately instead of doing work like I’m supposed to be woops

“You sure you’re good to out today, you’ve been a little under the weather lately” Rick softly enquired as you finished lacing up your boots.

“How did you pick up on that, I haven’t said anything? And I’m fine, I’m itching to get out of here for a bit” you replied with a smile.

“I notice things” he smirked, “you haven’t been eating much. And you’ve been sleeping in later in the mornings. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am, I promise” you said, planting a kiss to his lips before leaving.

You headed through the gates of Alexandria with Daryl, Rosita, Carol and Glenn by your side. Glenn looked at the list in his hand of supplies you were all scouting today.

“Let’s head out east” he suggested, “and stick together for now until we find something concrete to search”.

It wasn’t a particularly fruitful run, unfortunately. You did run in to a small heard of walkers, 20 or so. Nothing your capable group couldn’t handle. However, as you plunged your large knife into a walker skull and the smell of its leaking blood and brains down your arm hit you, you experienced a visceral reaction as if it were your first time killing one of these things.

Your brain clouded with dizziness and you instantly gagged. Trying to shake it off you turned to the next walker fast approaching you, snapping its teeth, but couldn’t repress the heaving sensation making its way up the back of your throat. You pivoted away from the walker and threw your breakfast up all over the ground, while Daryl’s bolt pierced the skull of your would-be attacker, sending the walker to the ground in an instant.

The group picked off the last couple roamers with ease while you continued to retch, before shakily straightening up and wiping your mouth with your sleeve. You were mortified, you couldn’t understand why that had happened. You must have killed at least a hundred of those animated corpses by now, many in much more gruesome ways than a knife cleanly to the skull. You’d never had a reaction like this before. Maybe you had food poisoning.

“The hell was that?” Daryl asked. His tone wasn’t angry, but you still felt ashamed.

“I- I don’t know. I think it must’ve been something I ate?” You stammered.

“We’ve all been eating the same food though” Rosita replied. “Plus it’s way better than anything we’ve eaten in months.”

You shrugged helplessly. “I really don’t know guys. I’m sorry” you said.

Daryl scoffed a bit, “I think I know what it is. I think these sheltered Alexandrians are rubbing off on ya. Don’t go getting weak on us now.”

Your eyes widened, “oh come on! That is not it” you began in argument, but Daryl’s wide grin stopped you and he started to chuckle. He was just teasing you; one of his favourite pastimes.

“Youre an ass, Dixon” you grumbled.

The group made their way back to Alexandria without further incident. As you closed in on the last mile of the journey, making your way down the now-familiar path, Carol pulled you back for a chat.

“How long have you been under the weather?” She asked you gently.

“A couple weeks, on and off” you admitted. “I don’t really know what it is, maybe stress adapting to this place? Maybe my body’s having a fit now that the constant survival mode feeling has reduced a little.”

“Mmm, maybe” Carol replied after a pause. “I’ve noticed you not eating much, and being picky on what you will eat. I haven’t known you to be picky with food before” she continued.

“Yeah….well I don’t know….like I said I think it’s probably stress?” You asked it as a question, wanting her to up and reveal what she was getting at.

The two of you walked in silence for a couple of minutes before she continued. “How long since your last period honey?”

You looked at her, then straight ahead, as you tried to remember. You couldn’t really. You knew you hadn’t had one yet since arriving at Alexandria, and your group had been there over six weeks now.

You remember feeling thankful to not have one on the road for a while, because when you did get it on the road it was fucking awful.

“Couple months, at least” you answered finally. “That could be stress too” you pointed out halfheartedly.

“It could” Carol agreed, “but I’m not sure it is” she added.

She walked ahead back into the group, leaving you at the back with your mind racing a hundred miles a minute. You and Rick were careful, you tried to be at least. When you didn’t have condoms he’d always pull out. And while high school health class taught you that wasn’t a fool proof method, you also tried your best to keep track of your cycle and when you’d be at highest risk of pregnancy.

That was at the prison, when life had some level of structure and stability. You couldn’t keep track of anything on the road. You thought back to the few moments you and Rick had shared while your group travelled and survived. That time against a tree when you were meant to be looking for firewood. Another time under an old railway bridge. You hadn’t been very careful the last few months you realised.

As you re-entered Alexandria, you saw Rick approaching the group to welcome you all back, clapping Daryl on the back and smiling at Carol. He walked up to you and pulled you into his arm, kissing the top of your head affectionately.

You looked up at him, and suddenly felt very nervous.

“You okay?” He asked, brow furrowed as he looked into your anxious eyes.

“I think we need to talk babe” you replied.

[kodared]

Welcome Home Neighbor~ ✨ You and your friends enjoy passing the time exploring old and abandoned places and selling the leftovers for spare cash, but what would happen if things don't go according to plan?

Chapter 1/?

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You did not like this adventure one bit.

“Oh come on Y/N! What’re ya? Chicken?!”

Your friends Badgered you relentlessly as you all approached the tattered and run-down building. The once brightly coloured sign is now barely legible reading “Playfellow Workshops” In bold letters.

“I don't know guys... This building looks old anyways, I doubt there's anything in there worth taking”

Your eyes scan the shattered windows and brightly coloured “No Trespassing” sign, You don't know how you always get into these situations with your friends. It seemed whenever you were around it was always,

“Hey, I know a good spot to go to!”... or... “C'mon! We can use the money for a new Game!”

Nevertheless, your friends would never try to put you in danger... Right?

…

Yeah, nope they definitely would if it meant you guys could afford the new Nintendo game.

“C'mon, what if there's some vintage film in there? Think of all the possibilities Y/N!”

One of your friends shouted as he pushed you toward the entrance of the building. Your shoes made an imprint into the gravel driveway as you tried to stop yourself from going any closer.

You did not like the look of this place, the energy was off and bad vibes were lingering all around the already busted open wired gate.

However as you looked behind your shoulder, you knew from the looks on all of your friend's faces you weren't getting yourself out of this one.

So, with a heavy sigh, you marched forward past the tattered gates and steeled yourself for what you might find.

As you approached the giant red doors of the Studio, you remembered most places when they are shut down have the door bolted shut from the inside for this exact reason!

A small grin sneaked its way onto your face as you put one hand out and turned your head, ready to tell your friends there was no way to enter the building.

…

Of course, the door had to open flawlessly with a small push. Your small grin disappeared as fast as your friends had, with them nowhere to be found in your sight. They did that a lot though so you pushed forward into the studio.

First and foremost this place was big. It must have had many productions and props for it to be filled to the extent it was.

Boxes and cobwebs littered the concrete floor, a thick layer of dust coated the walls and plaques hung on the walls, the only light source being the dim light provided through the shattered windows.

You wouldn't get far without a flashlight though, as you searched your pockets for your phone your eyes found themselves scanning the walls for a light switch. Your efforts for a light switch proving to be for naught as you finally found your phone and clicked on the light.

Papers littered the floor, some covered with sketches of what you could only assume to be characters, and some with writing and... Was that a contract??

This place seemed to be in a devastating mess, even the concrete flooring felt unstable as you took steps farther into the Studio.

One thing caught your eye regardless, making you trek deeper and deeper to get a better glimpse. It was hard to tell by the dim light coming from your phone, but it seemed to be a Set used for the Characters to interact with.

A bright red house sat in the center of the room, its mechanical eyes shut with rust covering the surface. If the required items were remaining to get it to work, you knew by now there was no hope of restoring it.

You moved on to a farther corner of the warehouse, your curiosity seeming to reach its peak as you saw a door leading to an office. You rolled up your sleeve to wipe the dust from the door, it read

“Directors Office.”

Well… If there were any profitable things to be found you guess they would be in there, reaching for the door handle, it jiggled in your grip. Locked. Of course it was.

Dropping down onto one knee, you began to search your pockets to see if you had anything that would help with breaking into the office. Not very keen on returning to your friends empty-handed.

All you could find though was a wadded-up Five, a broken pin from your school backpack, and a soda tab…

…You considered yourself a very organized person.

Rising to your feet once more, holding the broken pin in your hand you began to try to finagle it into the lock, and by some miracle it... Worked?

You weren't one to doubt your talents but this just felt wrong, the lock should not have opened the door as quickly as it did.

The thought left your mind as you pushed forward, you didn’t want to be in here longer than necessary.

To your dismay, all that you could find were more animation and puppeteering sketches, they looked very intricate and old, with detailing on how to hold the strings for a puppet named Wally Darling and such.

From what you could gather from the scattered documents, this studio used to run a show titled Welcome Home, where the main Puppet named Wally would go and have adventures with his friends.

You ‘wished your adventures didn't always lead to trespassing’ you thought as your eyes landed on a rather cute piece of art containing Wally and his friends.

The designs were cute and simple, it was no wonder the show had its successes, one thought still lingered, why did this place shut down?

You understood the concept of bankruptcy, it was a common theme in your economics class, but this didn't make any sense.

The papers on the desk nonetheless clearly stated a bankruptcy claim, and a lawsuit file, with highlighted words stating there were OSHA violations, and rumours of puppeteers being harmed on the job.

It felt as if your mind was being run in circles the more you examined the papers on the desk,

Until you heard footsteps.

Your breath is caught in your throat. The footsteps sounded like they were coming from the front of the building, recognized by the sounds of glass being stepped on. Of course they had to be coming from the only known entrance to this place.

Your brain quickly jumpstarted back into functioning as adrenaline coursed through your veins. Clicking off your flashlight you picked up what papers you could recognize, At least you wouldn't be empty-handed. Making quick work of them and folding them into your jacket pocket.

Your hair stood up on its neck as the steps rapidly approached. You had that cold feeling running up and down your spine as you scanned the room for any sign of escape.

Other than the main office door of course there was no other way to flee. Your muddied shoes provided you with quieter footsteps as you crept towards the door.

The broken windows allow for minimal light to produce shadows of boxes and various rusted equipment.

One thing remained prominent in your mind, however,

Where were the footsteps coming from?

There was no shadow in the front of the building, yet those menacing footsteps kept crescendoing in your direction.

You had no time to worry about this, you needed to escape, and from the looks of it, this may be your only chance to do so. With a final deep breath, you shot from your previous place of hiding and took off in the direction of the doors.

The dim sunlight from the windows allowed you to avoid various boxes and obstacles in your path, You were not expecting however to feel the eyes of a predator on your back.

You tried your best to ignore it, but your breath proceed to become more laboured and panicked. Feeling as if you were a mouse caught in a glue trap. Your feet feel as heavy as concrete bricks as they hit the floor, where are you even running?

You couldn't tell. You tripped on what seemed to be your own feet, the world spinning around you, and you felt sick. What was going on? You felt panic proceed to grip your very soul as you felt the weak structure crack under your body.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

You wished you just stayed home. You could have minded your business and scrolled on the internet, but no. You had to be nosy and go exploring.

Your breaths became crazed and your eyes glued themselves onto the gray concrete. Not daring to look behind or beside you, in fear of making eye contact with what had frozen you with fear.

…

None of that seemed to matter anymore as the spinning feeling took hold of your brain. You could feel a migraine begin to pierce your eyes making your head throb.

Before you passed out,

you could have sworn the concrete was not this soft.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Taking Welcome Home Requests! The full story can be found on my Ao3 ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆ -

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[use-your-telescope]

E, your chapter titles for WEMTBB scare me. they look like you're going to break my heart.

We're No Saviors if We Can't Save Our Brothers

Who's Gonna Watch You Die?

🔫explain

You picked two absolute angst-loaded chapters, my friend - while this story does have a happy ending, it certainly hits some intense points before it gets there!

(ETA: there’s a chapter in this mix that I am waiting to see who gets the reference to… it is a song we’ve discussed with @sarahscribbles before… *cue evil laughter*)

We’re No Saviors if We Can’t Save Our Brothers takes place after a terrorist attack on the United Nations. Here’s a snippet:

Just like the night of the massacre, all she could do was watch. Watch as her city, her home, her life, everything she knew disintegrated to ash before her, scattered in the wind as billowing smoke colored the sky blacker than the darkest night.

In her grief, she didn’t realize she had been discovered until a soldier threw her Pépère’s dead body at her feet.

The soldier snarled at her, spewing curses and vitriol that Theo could barely hear over the crashing of buildings collapsing in the fires and the screams of all the innocent people who met an unjust fate.

He snatched Theo by the throat, fingers digging into tender flesh as he cut off her air supply. She fought, despite the voice in her head telling her it was pointless; she would never win, she could never change what happened. No matter how hard she tried, her story was always destined to end in failure.

Laughter - bitter, angry, leering laughter, echoed through her ears, mixing with cries that started off as distant, but as Theo’s lungs burned and her vision grayed out, it grew louder and louder, until—

“—up!”

Theo bolted upright, gasping for air between sputtering coughs and choked out sobs.

Who’s Gonna Watch You Die takes place after the mysterious event alluded to in Chapter 1, but it’s still before Chapter 1. Enjoy an angsty snippet:

The time Loki sat on the roof, palms digging into his eyes as he failed to stem the flow of hot, stinging tears, seemed at once a minute and a lifetime. And yet, he would have been content to stay there, pretending his existence was not a waking nightmare, except the faint sound of rubber sneakers scraping along concrete warned him that someone saw fit to disturb him.

Swallowing the lump clawing at his throat, Loki wiped his eyes one final time before turning to face whoever approached. In different circumstances he might have considered casting a glamour, but whoever sought him out undoubtedly would understand if he was less than composed.

Maximoff, with bloodshot, swollen eyes and a crimson-tipped nose, stood before him. At some point, she swapped her battle attire for a threadbare sweatshirt and pajama pants, though nothing about the way she carried herself indicated she’d partaken in any rest or relaxation since their worlds were flipped upon their heads. If anything, she seemed to take the recent revelations even worse than Loki had.

“Loki…” She attempted a watery smile, but it did not hold; she sniffed, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her sweater.

Loki’s stomach lurched - it was difficult to tell the reason for her appearance, and the inability to address him without additional tears seemed ominous.

“Is she–”

“Still alive, I think.” Maximoff sniffed, tugging one sleeve over her fist and using it to wipe her nose. “A nurse came out to let us know Cho’s going to give an update in a few minutes. We weren’t sure if you wanted to be there, but we at least thought you should know…”

Letting out a trembling breath, Loki closed his eyes and nodded. Despite the nagging thought that there was no reason to hear the update, that Theo always planned on leaving so it didn’t matter what happened to her and Loki shouldn’t bother - he rose to his feet anyways, silently gesturing for Maximoff to lead them inside.

Neither sorcerer spoke as they returned to the waiting room.

Perhaps it was foolish to torture himself with these updates; perhaps it was all for nought, and she was already gone. But desperation was a powerful motivator, and if nothing else he ought to know if his efforts were futile.

[grimalkinmessor]

afofa+horror+doll please <3

Your warnings are in the tags :)

AFOFA/Horror/Doll

———

Tomura isn't the most careful person in the world. He doesn't look both ways before crossing the street, and he walks around the shady parts of town with both headphones in and blaring. Sue him.

But to be fair, neither of those things are what leads to him being drugged and tied up in some freak's basement.

Tomura blinks his eyes open blearily, wincing when a bright fluorescent light sears right into his corneas. He hisses, shaking his head like a dog, and hears something metal clatter quietly somewhere in front of him. He turns his wrists and feels metal bite into his skin. Whatever's he's sitting on is metal too, cold and oddly shaped.

"Oh? You seem to have a mild natural resistance to sedatives. How unfortunate," a deep, jovial voice muses. It sounds vaguely familiar. "I would've preferred you to be unconscious for this."

A hand—latex-gloved, hell on his skin—skims over Tomura's forehead and pushes his hair back. Tomura jerks his head away, skin crawling, hands flexing. The person in front of him laughs.

Memories comes back to him in flashes. Tomura grits his teeth as he tries to parse through them. A bar, with Spinner. They went to celebrate, to get high and maybe laid if they were lucky. Tomura remembers a drink he didn't order, a sly smile from a well-dressed man in the corner. He remembers feeling flattered, flustered at the bold way the man came up to him and start to chat him up. Complimenting him, tangling gentle, considering fingers in his hair.

Everything after the third drink is blurry.

"Oh well. I suppose I'll just have to be careful. Wouldn't want to ruin the parts."

"What...the fuck," Tomura grits out, cutting his eyes open once again, ignoring the pain it brings to take in his surroundings.

He's cuffed into a steel chair, bolted to a clean concrete floor. Fancy dress shoes lead up pressed slacks to a white doctor's apron. Tomura notes, with a growing numbness, that the apron is stained rusty pink in places. Like whatever sunk into it just couldn't be washed all the way out. Tomura drags his gaze up to see rolled up sleeves, red eyes, curly white hair, and a mild smile.

It's the man he'd spoken to last night (tonight? today? yesterday?). Behind him is a black table covered in wicked looking surgical tools.

And behind that...

Tomura might be sick.

In a softer chair than the one Tomura is currently restrained in, a grisly corpse sits. It's a patchwork quilt of flesh, with several parts missing and more sewn carefully in place, the chest cavity open with a heart being mechanically beaten within. Mismatched hands, empty eye sockets, notched knees and elbows—and a blanket tucked over its lap, like it might get cold.

"You don't know how long I've been looking for the perfect shade," the man before him sighs, plucking up a lock of Tomura's hair and twirling it idly around his gloved fingers. "A bit more wavy than I'd like, but I doubt he'll mind. It's very soft, after all."

"What the fuck," Tomura repeats, his voice a wheeze. It grows in volume as he works himself into a panic, hands jerking in the clasps as he shouts, "What the fuck!"

To Tomura's growing horror, the corpse moves, as if stirred by the sound of his voice. The man glances back at it, expression blackening as he turns back on Tomura. Clicking his tongue, he sweeps up behind Tomura's chair, fiddling with something on the head. A second later, a leather strap is yanked between Tomura's teeth and buckled around his face, effectively gagging him.

"Look what you've done," the man chides irritably. "He's not ready yet, and here you are waking him up before I have him all the way assembled. Do you know how disorienting that is? How painful? And right when I'm about to put in a new part, oh—" He cuts himself off with a hiss, yanking Tomura's head back against the chair and locking another metal cuff around his neck. Tomura thrashes, but it does nothing but bruise him.

Both of them freeze when a low whine escapes the corpse's mouth, agonized. Then, in an anxious flurry, the fucking psychopath abandons Tomura to stride over to the horrible amalgamation in front of him. Gloved hands carefully raise the thing's jaw, a low, despairing moan gusting out of its mouth.

"No," it gurgles out. "Nno, Tak—d-on't..."

"Sshh," the madman soothes, picking up a cloudy glass of water and raising it gently to the thing's lips, urging it to drink. "Hush, Yoichi, hush. Go back to sleep."

The corpse—the monster—the doll, has no strength to protest. It swallows down the cloudy liquid with a whimper, and the man cradles its bared skull to his chest with a soft croon, stroking down the doll's neck as if soothing a frightened bird. Tomura can do nothing but watch as the whimpers trail off to nothing and the thing goes limp once more.

Creation safely asleep, the man whirls on Tomura with a scowl. He plucks up a scalpel from the black table, as well as a few other things before stalking back over to Tomura. "Of course one of the last pieces I need would be difficult," he says scathingly. Tomura struggles anew, screaming behind the leather strap as he tries to wrench his hands out of their restraints. A hand fists in his hair and yanks his head back, one large hand pressed ruthlessly against Tomura's forehead as the man glares down at him from above. "Unruly thing. No anesthesia, if this is how you're going to be."

He raises the scalpel and sets it to Tomura hairline, slicing in without hesitation. Tomura shrieks, muffled, as pain strikes across his brow and blood begins to spill into his eyes. The pain only spreads as the blade cuts across his skull, down his temple, and behind his ear.

Humming, the man above him smiles, as if the sight of blood is calming to him.

"Best pray that your heart gives out soon," he muses conversationally as Tomura's vision blurs, his mind nothing but a mirage of red hot agony. "If you're still alive by the time I'm done, well. Let's just say it won't be pleasant for you."

Tomura isn't religious. He doesn't believe in gods or goddesses, or even the inherent balance of the universe.

But now, he prays to whatever is listening. Prays that this bastard dies. Prays for the pain to stop. Prays that the thing in the corner, whatever it is, never has the chance to wake again.

But nothing answers him.

•°•

Izuku stands before Tomura's apartment, checking his watch. He frowns. Knocks again.

"Tomura-san? It's time for your appointment! You asked me to remind you, remember? You're going to be late!" Izuku calls, bouncing up on his tiptoes to try and peer through the peephole, even though he knows it won't work.

Huffing, Izuku rocks back on his heels and considers going down to the land lord for Tomura's second key. It's not like Tomura to ignore him completely—he didn't even shout at him to fuck off like he usually does. This silence isn't like him at all.

Brow furrowed with concern, Izuku turns to go back down the stairs, intending to get Ujiko-san to open Tomura's door—only to ram right into someone. Izuku yelps, staggering back, and looks up to see a tall, well-dressed man standing before him. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you," Izuku sputters, embarrassed. He takes a quick step back, but relaxes when the man laughs.

"No harm done. I just came by to drop off Shimura-kun's jacket." The man holds up an arm, and Izuku jolts when he sees that Tomura's hoodie is folded over it. "He left it at the bar last night. Is he in?"

"Ah—no," Izuku says after a moment, his concern growing. "You said he was at a bar last night? He's not supposed to be drinking..."

The man blinks. "Oh dear, that would explain some things. I suppose I'll leave this at the front desk for him."

"I'll come with you," Izuku blurts, hastily racing after the man as he walks away. "I was going to ask Ujiko-san to bring up his room key..."

"He's a friend of yours?"

"Tomura is...Tomura," Izuku sighs. "But I care about him. I'm really worried."

"I'm sure he'll turn up soon, there's a—" the man cuts off suddenly, and Izuku is startled to find the man staring directly at him when he looks up.

"What?"

His eyes widen, bewildered and a little flustered, when the man steps closer, a hand reaching up to brush careful fingers against Izuku's cheek. A brilliant grin curls the man's lips.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have the loveliest eyes?"

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

Are you looking for a #sleeve anchor that is easy to install, strong and reliable? Discover the advantages of FIXDEX & Goodfix expansion bolts!

[zeezed01]

Chapter Eight - Shadows of Conformity

The sun was harsh overhead as Percy and Leo moved across the camp’s courtyard, gravel crunching under their boots. Around them, men marched in organized lines, their faces set in grim determination. A large white flag bearing two concentric circles split by a vertical line fluttered at the center of the yard. The place had a distinct military efficiency that felt unsettling rather than reassuring. 

Percy’s hand brushed against the handle of his gun, strapped to his back, as his gaze swept over the guards posted at key points around the camp. “This place has got all the charm of a prison yard,” he muttered to Leo. 

Leo’s expression was tight, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, but at least in prison, everyone feels equal. Pretty sure that’s, like, rule number one of survival: don’t hand over your gun.” 

Ahead of them, a line of people was forming at a squat concrete building that Percy guessed was the armory. Guards flanked the door, rifles slung over their shoulders, while others inspected weapons being handed over at a steel table. 

“Turn in your weapons,” one of the guards ordered as they approached. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp blue eyes and a no-nonsense expression. His uniform was spotless, the crisp white armband on his sleeve drawing Percy’s attention. 

“Why?” Percy asked, his jaw tightening. 

“No one carries firearms inside the camp unless they’re on patrol,” the guard said. “It’s protocol.” 

Leo let out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, and it’s also how people get eaten. You think zombies care about your protocol?” 

The guard’s eyes narrowed, and his hand hovered near the pistol at his hip. “If you have an issue, you can take it up with someone else,” he said, his voice cold.  

Percy hesitated, his grip on his gun tightening. Around them, other guards had started to notice the exchange, their gazes sharp and calculating. 

“Fine,” Percy said through gritted teeth, pulling the gun from his back. He set it on the table with deliberate force, watching as the guard inspected it. 

Leo held out a few seconds longer, muttering under his breath, before pulling his pistol from his jacket. “You guys better not lose it,” he said, sliding it across the table. 

The guard didn’t respond, simply gesturing for them to move along. Percy and Leo exchanged a glance before heading toward the mess hall. 

“Great,” Leo muttered. “Now we’re stuck in this creepy Stepford camp without even a gun to our name.” 

Percy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ll figure something out.” 

The mess hall was cavernous and orderly, its walls bare except for the stark white flag they’d seen in the courtyard. Long metal tables were arranged in perfect rows, each accompanied by benches bolted to the floor. The room smelled of overcooked meat and disinfectant, the kind of sterile scent that set Percy’s teeth on edge. 

As they grabbed their trays—powdered eggs, soggy toast, and black coffee—they noticed the demographics of the room. Almost every face was that of a white man. The few women present were clustered together at one table near the back, their postures subdued. 

“See what I’m seeing?” Leo murmured, his voice low. 

Percy nodded. “Yeah. Starting to feel like we walked into the wrong camp.” 

They sat at the edge of one of the tables, their unease growing with every passing minute. Across the room, Nico was sitting with Clarisse and Luke, their heads bent in animated conversation. 

“You think we should talk to them?” Percy asked, nudging Leo. 

Leo snorted. “What, so we can get a lecture on how great this place is? Hard pass.” 

But Percy’s curiosity got the better of him. Once they’d finished eating, they made their way over to the trio. Nico glanced up as they approached, his expression unreadable. 

“What’s up?” Luke asked, leaning back in his seat. His relaxed posture didn’t match the sharpness in his eyes. 

“This place seems... strict,” Percy said cautiously. “Doesn’t leave much room for people to be themselves.” 

Clarisse scoffed. “People don’t need room to be themselves. They need discipline. That’s why this camp works.” 

Nico nodded, his face set in a firm expression. “Out there, you’ve got chaos. In here, we’ve got order. That’s the only way we survive.” 

Leo crossed his arms. “Sure, but what if someone doesn’t fit the ‘order’? What happens to them?” 

Luke’s smile was thin and cold. “Then they leave. Or they change. Simple as that.” 

The weight of his words hung in the air. Percy’s stomach churned, but he forced his face to remain neutral. “And by ‘change,’ you mean?” 

Nico’s gaze turned sharp. “I mean they stop being a liability. People who can’t follow the rules aren’t just useless—they’re dangerous. That includes anyone who thinks they’re above the system.” 

Leo bristled. “So, what? You’re saying anyone who doesn’t fall in line gets kicked out?” 

Clarisse leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “People don’t get kicked out. They either realize what’s best for them, or they don’t survive. You can’t afford to be soft in a world like this.” 

Percy’s hand clenched into a fist under the table. “And what about people who—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “What about people who don’t think like you do? People who are different?” 

Nico’s expression hardened. “Different doesn’t help anyone. This camp’s about survival, not tolerance. Out there, tolerance gets you killed.” 

The implications hit Percy like a punch to the gut. His gaze flicked to the women seated in the back, to the cold stares of the guards, to the rigid, military-like structure of the camp. It was all starting to make sense, and none of it was good. 

Back in their barracks, Percy and Leo paced the room, their frustration boiling over. 

“This place is a nightmare,” Leo said, running a hand through his hair. “They’re bigots, plain and simple. Did you hear what Nico said? Like, really hear it?” 

Percy nodded, his expression grim. “Yeah. And it’s not just him. It’s everyone here. The way they talk, the way they act... they think anyone who doesn’t fit their mold is expendable.” 

Leo flopped onto his bunk, his hands covering his face. “And we’re stuck here, unarmed, surrounded by people who’d probably string us up if they knew half of what we think.” 

Percy sat on the edge of his own bunk, his mind racing. “We need to get out. But we can’t just walk out the front gates. They’re watching us.” 

Leo sat up, his eyes narrowing. “Then we make a plan. We figure out how to get our weapons back, and we get the hell out of here.” 

Percy nodded, determination hardening in his chest. “We’ll figure it out. We have to.” 

But as they lay down that night, the weight of the camp’s oppressive ideology pressed down on them. Escape wouldn’t be easy, but staying wasn’t an option. 

Not anymore. 

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptober 2023 | Day 6 | The Bee’s Whumptober Masterlist

“Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

CW: li’l bit of blood, implied kidnapping, restraints

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

Caretaker did their best not to cry out as they were forced to the ground by a kick to the back of the knees and a firm downward force on their shoulder. A fist tangled through their hair and pitched them forward, slamming their face straight into the concrete with a dull thunk and bright bolts of color momentarily crowding their vision.

“Glad you could make it, Caretaker.”

They pressed their hands into the floor to sit back up, but a hand squeezed their neck and held them in a forced kneel, head bowed so they couldn’t see past Whumper’s polished dress shoes. Whumpee stuttered out a weak “No, don’t!” somewhere in front of them. A foot nudged Caretaker’s head gently to the side.

“Thought you’d be more of a challenge to subdue, though.”

“Fuck you, Whumper, let me go.” Catetaker hissed. Then corrected, “Let us go.”

The shoes disappeared from their view as the hand holding their neck squeezed more, making the world spin around them.

“I will. Eventually.” 

Caretaker heard the telltale rattle of chains as footsteps meandered across the room. Whumpee growled as the pacings grew nearer to them, only for them to walk right past to a different target that Caretaker could only guess at. They lurched for the second time to press out of the death grip on their neck, only to be shoved further to the ground, so their forehead almost kissed the floor.

“I’d stop being difficult,” Whumper called idly as the ratted through a box of something. “Unless you want to be next on the chopping block?”

“Yes, yes, let Whumpee go, they have nothing to do with this! It’s me you want anyway!”

Whumper paused, as if actually considering.

“Mmmm… After.”

“Wait, you can’t, please don’t, don’t–” Whumpee started gasping in distressed whines as Whumper sounded ever closer to Caretaker once more, before yelping out loudly by the footsteps taking a quick detour into Whumpee’s stomach and silencing them. Caretaker clenched their fists against the concrete, and the impeccably polished shoes appeared in their view again.

“I have something different planned for now. It’ll be fun. Let them up.”

The iron grip dug even more into their arteries and jerked them backward, so at least they weren’t lying prostrated before the madperson anymore. Who wears suits to a torture session? They finally got a good stock of the room they had been forced into: Prison grey cement walls, surprisingly well-lit considering the whole “torture room” thing. A cabinet of man-made horrors well within Caretaker's comprehension sitting to their right, and Whumpee chained to the damn wall across the room, half curled in on themself and staring at Caretaker with pleading tear-soaked eyes. Only a couple of bruises littered their skin, a single streak of blood running from their disheveled hair down their temple.

Then Whumper, crouched down right in front of them, looking expectantly into their eyes while holding something out for them to take. Their white dress shirt had its sleeves rolled up.

“What?” Caretaker spat, sizing up what Whumper was holding out. Some sort of camcorder. They had to manually unclench their muscles and instead glare daggers into Whumper’s soul, wishing they were sharp enough to kill.

Whumper shook the camcorder lightly and rolled their eyes. “Take it. I’ve been waiting just for you to do this. Fond memories and all. You’ll film the entire session, and if both of your friend and I aren’t in frame the entire time, or you stop it early, or god forbid you throw to camcorder away, I’ll up the ante accordingly on poor Whumpee accordingly.”

“And if I say fuck you?”

“Then I’ll kill them when I’m done.”

Whumpee’s face went ghost-white behind Whumper. To match Caretaker, they imagined. A chill ran down their spine. They searched Whumper’s face for any sign of a bluff, but their eyes hadn’t so much as twitched from the almost disinterested mask of vague amusement that marred their features.

Caretaker sputtered. “You’re joking. Or– Or you’ll do it anyway.”

Whumper craned their neck to look at Whumpee, and they whimpered, shuffling their feet on the ground and shoving further back into the wall as if they could phase through it with enough effort. Whumper turned back to Caretaker, brow raised. 

“You willing to take that bet?”

Caretaker turned their attention to Whumpee. They offered nothing more than a desperate pleading look. Help me. 

Caretaker swallowed. “Please, don’t,” they whispered with a shaky voice. “It should be me, please. Torture me, kill me. Not them. Not Whumpee. They’re innocent.”

Whumper didn’t move a muscle except to extend the camcorder further.

“Please, please, please!” they cried. They bowed their head and pressed their forehead to the floor, willingly this time. “Isn’t this what you want?! I’ll do anything, whatever you want! Just don’t hurt them, please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything!”

No response. Then Whumper gently nudged their face off the ground and forced them to look up at them, though Caretaker still hunched before them. Whumper breathed out. A microscopic narrowing of the eyes. A dare. Caretaker swallowed. Closed their eyes as tight as possible. Clenched their jaw. And snatched the camcorder out of Whumper’s hands, holding it close to their chest.

Whumper hummed, a rare smile tangible marking their voice. “Good. Good Caretaker.”

[idiotwithanipad]

Fated Meeting (Pt2)

After Amy and Humphrey have a moment together for the first time, its interrupted, which causes Amy to go back into hiding, only to be found by someone else🖤

(TW: Cursive Language, Mention of choking to death, Decapitation, Fear)

Robin’s turn😂🥰

"Aaand that's how it happened..." Humphrey sighed, aiming both his hands towards his neck in a 'chopping' motion, mimicking the swords that had ended his rein. Amy's wide eyes blinked and stared at the step beneath them where they sat. She knew that the Tudor had been beheaded, clearly, but she never knew how or why. Until now. 

"But, of course I didn't feel much pain, killed me instantly, those swords were very sharp and heavy, so it was a clean cut at least" Humphrey mused; he almost seemed completely unphased by his death. 

Amy scratched at her sleeved arm. 

"Yeah, wow-..." Amy's eyes flicked to the left, away from Humphrey and stared at nothing, barely able to imagine that kind of death. 

"You- obviously know how I-...died" Amy mumbled, still feeling a clench in her stomach to admit that she was truly dead despite days of fear and denial. Humphrey clasped his hands together again and turned his eyes to his feet. 

"I do. Mustn't 'ave been nice" He said with concern. 

"It happened fast, but- it didn't seem to end. My throat burned, my lungs felt like they'd been stuffed with concrete, my eyes felt like they were gonna pop out and- well, I couldn't breathe..." Amy reminisced, a far away look rising in her eyes. She tried to ignore the phantom sensation of the fizzing liquid bubbling in her windpipe and gargling from her lungs. 

"Does it- still hurt you?" Humphrey asked, a purr of concerned innocence in his voice, his eyes flicked over to her. He readjusted himself slightly to face her. 

"Not so much now- just, sore throat..." Amy said, wiggling her finger beneath her spiked leather choker and itching her neck. 

Humphrey could see the sadness in her eyes and nodded solemnly. Their moment dwindled down to silence, they neither spoke or looked at each other for many minutes, just taking in the information they'd received from each other. The voices from the next room over seemed to become distant echoes. Until one piped up. 

Amy's subconscious retreated and dove deeper, pushing her fight or flight back to the surface as the sound of shoes rang from before her. 

A stout and relatively short man in a scount outfit and glasses emerged from the room, the snapped blue arrow still speared through his neck. He mumbled something to himself before his gaze rose to Humphrey sitting beside a shellshocked Amy on the stairs. 

"Oh, hello, Humphrey. Didn't hear you come alo-...bloody 'ell..." The short man started, freezing completely once he noticed who sat beside the Tudor. Humphrey froze along with him, glancing to his left at the girl. 

"Yes- morning Pat. Uhh, this is- umm-.."Humphrey was about to continue when Amy rose from her spot beside him and bolted upstairs as fast as her platform boots would allow. Humphrey practically did a double take at her speed and made a move to stand up himself. 

"Ay-op, wait!" Pat called, rushing past Humphrey and up the stairs. Pat's cry had seemed to alert the others, as each of their heads appeared in the doorway beneath the staircase. Humphrey looked down at each of them with an awkward grin on his face. 

"That the new one, was it? She finally left that bally room?" The Captain asked harshly. Humphrey was caught off guard and looked between The Captain and back to the top of the stairs where Amy and Pat ran. Humphrey stepped down a few stairs carefully and joined the group. 

"Yeah, it was- but, she's scared, we had a talk on the stairs and she just seems lost and afraid" Humphrey spoke, more to himself than to the others, a shadow of pity flashed in his eyes which were still fixed to the top of the stairs. 

"What? Nonsense, sir! She'd converse with YOU?" Thomas interjected. Humphrey's gaze turned to Thomas, he looked almost shocked at Thomas's sudden interruption. 

Humphrey shrugged. 

"Well- she did..."

"Then we should go and find her before she hides again, I've been dying to have a new lady friend to talk to" Kitty beamed, gathering her dress skirts and rushing up the stairs. The others each dispersed and went off to find the new girl their own ways, Robin bolted past Humphrey and accidentally nudged him in the doorway, causing the Tudor man's head to once again, fall from its perch atop his neck. 

"Oh for- not again!" Humphrey blurted. His eyes refocused and tried to locate where his body was, but it had already shambled it's way deeper into the Common Room out of sight. 

"God, you move quick! C'mon, Pet, there's no need to run away, we don't bite" Pat panted, his long winded pursuit of Amy still continued. Amy rushed into a unoccupied room and ran through the bathroom door, taking refuge behind the shower curtain. 

Her breath shivered and wheezed with the remnants of the drink that killed her, but she ignored it, and the uneasy queezy feeling it left in her gut remembering it. The man's voice was then joined by others, only a few rooms down from where she hid. 

"Well, where is she, don't tell me you've lost her, Patrick?" A stuffy older woman's voice barked. 

"She's fast on her feet, I'll give 'er that" Pat replied, catching his breath. 

"She couldn't have gotten far, after all, she's only got the house and the gardens" The younger woman's voice chimed, she seemed almost too happy given the situation; her jovial tone almost seemed to make her even more disturbing to Amy. 

"Not enough discipline, that's the problem. If she had been raised properly, she would've stopped straight away" The older man's commanding tone rang. 

Their conversation and footsteps moved along the hall, past Amy's hiding room and further onward. Amy held her breath until she could hear nothing but the sound of the birds outside. She watched the shower curtain as though if she moved or made a sound, IT would attack her, nothing in this place was normal and Amy didn't want to risk being caught again. 

Amy sat down on the edge of the bath, her back pressed against the tiles behind her, she covered her eyes with her hands and wiped away the tears blooming behind her lashes. She wept, only for a moment; all of it was too much, she hated being sought out and hunted like an animal, she wasn't the biggest talker on the best of days. 

She dabbed her eyes dry with her cuff briefly before something caught her eye. She wasn't alone. 

Beside her, also perched on the edge of the bath with its back against the wall, sat the creature, the strange man-thing that jumped out and unintentionally terrified her almost every morning since her death. He stared in the direction of the door, hidden from view by the shower curtain. Once he realised that Amy had spotted him, his jaw opened and his eyes widened with glee. 

Amy dreaded this moment every day, and it happened NOW? Of all the times, it had to happen now? Amy practically slipped down into the cradle of the bath and let her mouth drop open to scream, when the creature's two fur clad hands swooped down, one clutching the back of her head and the other clamped over her mouth. 

Amy stared up at him in horror as his eyes shifted up from her to the door again, he stared with an unreadable expression: trepidation? Hate? Fear? 

Amy stared wide eyed at him as she tried to pull her head from his grip, the fur around his hand pressed into her mouth as she fought the urge to gag. His eyes flicked down to Amy's as he leaned down. 

"Keep quiet. Then they not hear" He whispered, the bottom of his wild beard tickling against her forehead. Amy tried to twitch her head away from him but his grip was iron tight and he wasn't giving up that easily. 

Amy gripped at his pelt wrapped wrist and tried to push away from him with her boots, also to no avail, when he leaned to the side and peered out through the shower curtain. Amy watched his silhouette through the thin material, his head seemed to be tilting from side to side, listening for something. 

After a few short moments, he drew himself back in and looked Amy straight in the eyes, leaning down to her again. 

"Okay. Me take my hands away now. You not scream?" He whispered, raising his eyebrows questioningly. 

Amy gave a swift nod and a mumble beneath the dirty furs still pressed against her lips. 

The strange man nodded back in response and peeled his hands away from her head and mouth, righting himself and dropping his arms to his sides. 

Amy gasped in a breath of much needed fresh air and shuffled back further away from him till her back softly thumped against the bath by the taps which passed straight through her. 

She drew her knees up to her chest in dread, almost a countermeasure, anticipating the moment he'd shriek something at her like he usually did. The caveman just stated right back. 

"What?" He questioned, looking himself over before returning his eyes to the girl who looked at him like he had two heads. 

"What do you mean 'what?' ? How the- fuck did you find me?" Amy whispered in annoyance, her hand coming up to adjust her headphones. 

"Easy. Running around house in big stompy boots of yours, can smell all sorts. Can also smell THAT..." He commented, pointing at her chest. It took Amy a second to realize where his filthy finger was pointing. Out of instinct, Amy coiled herself up tighter and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him in disgust. 

The caveman paused for a moment and shook his head, almost to rid himself of the realisation that he'd forgotten to elaborate. He brushed her arms aside and pointed again, at a more specific spot. The stain on the front of her hoodie. 

"Oh no no- not-not uh...that, that" He said in a flurry, his finger braced over the still wet stain. 

Amy's eyes glanced down to where he pointed, and her demeanour changed slightly, less offended. 

"Never smelled it before. But it strong. Smelled it when you died too" He said nonchalantly. 

Amy blinked and averted her gaze, the memory becoming all too familiar once again, she could practically feel the burning in her throat coming back. 

"Look.." Amy started, earning the cavemen to lean closer as if she were about to deliver a big secret. 

"WHY are you all stalking me?! Can't you just leave me alone?"

The caveman's expression fell and he leaned back away from her again. 

"I die here a long time ago. A really long time ago" He said, gesturing to his furs, then to Amy's more modern attire, pointing out the obvious generation gap between them. 

"I been alone for thousands of year. Too long. No one to talk to, at least no one who answer back. You not have someone to talk to soon, you go mad. Trust me" He warned, a cautionary yet stern gleam leapt from his eyes. He'd been there before, Amy could tell. 

"So what? That's gonna be you, is it? You're the confidant, are you?" Amy combatted, remembering all the times he'd scared her the days prior. The caveman leaned back against the wall again and looked towards the window. 

"Could be. But could also be the head. I hear you and him through wall earlier... " He commented. 

Amy froze and looked up at him. 

"How did you know I was-"

"Hey, I told you, I been used to silence for a long time. You don't spend thousands of year in complete silence and not pick up on even smallest sounds. Me just- didn't want get in the way. Sounded like stompy girl needed little cry"

[house-steiner-stays-winning]

Memory

Aim. Fire. Fwump.

The gauss rifle in Gewitter’s arm spits, firing its ferrous slug at several times the speed of sound. 

Aim. Fire. Fwump. 

The battle is loud outside, but Theodora can only hear the rushing of blood in her ears. An alarm sounds- incoming fire, SRMs. She dodges, using the jump jets with the utmost finesse to glide the 100-ton mech along the ground with ease. On the HUD, the source of the fire is painted in vivid red, standing out against the cool blues and greys of the battlefield. 

Aim. Fire. Fwump. 

The storefront explodes in a flare of choking concrete dust, chunks of rubble exploding outwards in a wave. Turning back to the objective, Theodora and Gewitter continue their march, towards the sounds of pounding fire that mark the enemy flank. 

Onward, she urges, feeling the throb of the reactor ramp up in time with the beat of her heart. The Atlas thunders down the causeway, shaking the very earth itself with its steps as it nears its prey. With a bestial cry, Theodora leaps, soaring into the air on streams of ionizing plasma, carried aloft on the lifeblood of her machine as she falls upon the enemy from the crimson sky. They number five, she is only one. They are utterly beneath her, they never stood a chance. 

With a single blast from the lasers, one of the light ‘mechs’ cockpits flashed into slag, pilot atomized before they’d had a chance to fire. The second managed to get a shot off, but missed entirely, the PPC flashing harmlessly over Gewitter’s left shoulder. 

Aim. Fire. Fwump.

The Marauder listed as the 200kg metal slug punched through its superstructure, fires sparking deep inside. 

Aim. Fire. Fwump.

It was dead, falling to the ground with the protesting scream of a collapsing building. 

Two more were upon her, close-range heavies equipped to kill at point blank. No matter, she was no one-trick pony, after all. She and Gewitter struck out, in unison as they delivered a tight jab to the rightmost mech, knocking it stumbling backwards. Next, a point blank shot with the ER lasers on the second mech, sending molten debris flying into the air as the high-intensity light burned into the cockpit at a range far closer than its designers ever intended. Finally, bringing the staggered mech into view, she delivered the Gnadenschuss.

Aim. Fire. Fwump.

As the smoldering wreckage of the engagement listed to the ground, Theodora took a breath, savoring the scent of scorching metal, tangy sweat and ozone that always filled the cockpit. 

Wait, she suddenly realized, with sickening clarity, and a sense of Deja Vu. There were five.

In an instant that seemed to last forever, she turned, so agonizingly slowly, to face where she somehow knew the final ‘mech to be. 

Just in time to stare directly down the barrel of an AC-20 as it fired. 

With a gasp, Theodora sat bolt upright in bed, loose hair flying wild as she clutched at her chest, then her missing leg, panicking until the here and now reasserted itself. Talabad was 10 years distant, now. She was on Helios, in the tent she shared with her wife, Melisssa. 

Speaking of Melissa, by some miracle, Theodora had managed not to wake her. She still slept soundly beside her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest and ever-so-slight whistle of her breathing like a melody to Theodora’s ears. 

Best not to wake her. Theodora thought. She gets so little sleep as it is. No sense in me adding to her stress.

So, she moved, quiet as she could, scooting to the edge of the bed. With ease of long practice, she slipped the soft fabric of her suspension sleeve over the stump of her leg, ignoring the phantom sensation that plagued her after remembering the battle that had taken it from her. 

Tomorrow would be another day of hell. But at least they’d face it together.

She grabbed the prosthetic, slipping her leg into into it with gritted teeth, letting out only a quiet hiss as the neural laces connected, sending a brief flash of searing pain up to her hip. She stood and dressed, in the SLDF uniform pants and black T-shirt she favored when off-duty, and exited the tent. 

It was quiet, at FOB Hawk. Quiet as the grave. After all, tomorrow, they would fight titans of steel, and they would win, or die. So Theodora did not blame them for getting all the sleep they could, while they could.

But, since she was yet awake, she walked, through the silent tents and burned-out buildings, to the place where the giants of ferro-fibrous alloy stood sentinel at the campus edge.

With all the familiarity of a path tread a thousand times, she marched through the tomb-like stillness to where her Gewitter awaited her, skull helm leering as it always had.

With a sigh, she slumped against it, reveling in the feeling of the cold steel against her back, so different from that day on Talabad, yet still the same in every way that mattered.

[someonewhodrawsstuff]

Abduction

His eyes were cold and lifeless as he stared at Hijuka. “So, you don’t know who I am? Do you?” The unknown person called out from behind the former child star that had yet to be famous. A slight whisper hum escaped from the child who was shackled from a wall.

The child had opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped herself. She suddenly fell silent. Moments passed and she still hasn't said anything to this unknown person. Her eyes locked on the syringe in the killer's hand. A rush of anxiety shot up in her chest, it felt like it was going to tear her into pieces if she did not say anything right now. If she could just say something, anything it would feel slightly better. “Don’t.” It was barely a whisper, but at least it was something.

“Then answer my question.” It didn’t really matter if the pop star answered him, he was going to inject the serum anyways. If he did that then his plan could be ‘complete’. Kai had already tested the serum on other people so he knows what will happen if the liquid is injected in her.

The girl took a moment to think. She couldn’t run, couldn’t fight, couldn’t really do anything but listen to this person. Who is this person? It had to be someone she talks to a lot or at least maybe online? The thing is she doesn’t have that many online friends. “I-.. I don’t…” Her voice caught in her throat as the man inched closer to her. “I said I don’t!” Her voice quivered as she yelled at him.

“Hm, I suppose you don’t.” The unamused killer put his hand over her shoulder, before speaking again. “Kai is the name they call me. Now just listen to me before things get out of hand.” Kai sweeped closer without a care.

Hijuka eyes quickly move towards the syringe again. Their limbs lurched uselessly against the shackles that were cruelly tight around her wrists. “Wh-what is that?” Kai didn’t answer, only a long pause awaits her. She demanded again, this time more sternly, “What is that?”

Kai rolled his eyes, then carefully rolled the others' sleeves up. He focused his attention towards the forearm as they pressed the skin with the needle around the veins to ‘test’ it. It’s funny how a thin piece of polish metal can become so frightening with one swooped motion. “It’s a serum, it is developed to… Let's just say, numb your body. I am told it can be excruciating if you fight back. So, I suggest you don’t struggle or it will be harder on you when you wake up.” The cold murder caught their expression and smirked. “It’s fascinating how it works.” He gave no mercy, never giving her a warning when he inserted the serum in her arm.

“W-wait-” She scrunched her face up, trying to think about something else other than what was happening right now. At first she felt a sharp pain from her arm, it didn’t feel like much after a moment, but when she tried to move her arm the sensation hurt like someone was jabbing her. Her eyes fluttered closed, as she tried to fight back the urge to sleep, there was a point she fell unconscious.

Pure pain…pure arching pain all over her body. That's what Hijuka felt as her eyes flickered open in the daylight from the window that was beside her. Her pale body was trying to adjust to the dark room before her. Another…Dark room, at least she had a little bit of sunshine streaks from the window. She figured that what happened last night or the day before was just a dream, she always had horrible dreams from her past. Once with her parents splitting up, her toxic dad and people in general, lately it has always been people kidnapping her. So the star thought it was just a normal nightmare and soon she will be in her comfy bed when she wakes up. Not a moment later her eyes fully adjusted to the room and her worst nightmare came true: this wasn’t a dream at all. The 15 year old found herself in a room, there were some things she could tell what they were but other things she couldn’t. The floor was completely made with concrete, there were rusty bolts and what looked like sharp surgery tools on a wall across from her. Rusty bolts and nails were in a corner of the room and a dark figure she couldn’t make out was standing next to the door, from this angle she couldn’t tell if it was the killer Kai or another person. Hijuka tried all she could to move her body, but she couldn’t. There were lists of things she tried to figure out what was wrong with her when finally, she remembered Kai injecting something in her body. It had to be that. The door creaked open and Hijuka turned her head to see Kai leaning against the door.

“I knew you would wake up sometime.” A soothing voice had spoken. Still she couldn’t tell if this was Kai yet. The guy walked slowly across the room. “Hey, come on… Don't be such a drag. We wouldn’t want that, right?”

No. She couldn’t look at this person yet. She wasn’t ready on what things he'd do to her. Hijuka immediately closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. Then when she was ready, she turned her head around and stared at this familiar face. So it was him, but this time he wasn’t alone. She had never seen this person before or at least she thought it was a human being. The mask and glowing eyes gave it away from looking nothing like a human being. Hijuka felt something was draining her. What was it? Her headache as with a ringing in her ears felt more and more aggressive once she noticed it. All of a sudden she found what was draining her, it was tubes, it looked like they were sucking her blood out. Now, this is when she started to panic. “Get- Get this off! I want-.. What the hell do you even want with me?!”

“What do I want?... Isn’t it obvious? I just want you. You are so pretty, and I want everything all for myself!” He pulled out a sharp object again from out of nowhere, this time it looked like another colour of liquid, she couldn’t really tell if it was purple or blue.

This guy is crazy! Why is the other person not going to do anything? He is going to kill me!” Hijuka thought, as she frantically stares at the murder. This time her vision was a bit blurred. Alright, well, she can just try to please him? Convince him to not kill her! “You..” She was going to say something but immediately forgets. How can she even convince this guy? She took a moment to think of what to say. “If you kill me, then I wouldn’t be alive. Meaning I will disappear. You don’t want that, right? If you take these things off of me, then I can be here forever with you.”

“No! I don’t want that! I need you. I need… I need you all for myself, if I do this, then you will be all mine!” He dropped the syringe. The liquid and the glass made a mess. “But I need you! Ghar, I can’t take it anymore! I need it!”

Okay, she just made it worse for her, what the hell can she do right now? Her hands are tied down, even her feet are tied to the bed. The only thing she can do now, is to hope some miracle would happen, not like it will happen. She tightly closed her eyes, knowing what was going to happen next, but nothing happen. She open them and saw the murderer on the ground.

“I don’t know how much time you have, but I will stay here and make sure to buy you some time.”

The unknown stranger had a subdued tone of voice, almost like the killer’s had. Hijuka paused and thought to herself, can she trust him? “Are you sure? We can help each other and get out! We can call the police together.” She tried to suggest to the other, but really she just wanted him to go with her so she wouldn’t feel so alone when she escapes.

“I said go! He might wake up soon, if you go now then there is a chance you can survive.” The man pushed Hijuka away before it dawned on her, she was already in the hallway. She sighed as she began to hurriedly walk to a door.

The door rattled as she tried opening a door, the door was locked. Hijuka didn’t think the same thing had happened again when she tried another door. Not until she realised the killer was doing this on purpose. An amount of anxiety hit her when she realised what the killer was doing and all she could do was play along with his game. So she did, until she found an unlocked door. As the door clicked open, muffled noises could be heard in the darkness. A slender body can be seen balancing or more like hovering onto what looked like a meat hook and a crowbar. As the body ceaselessly wail out, it became clear to Hijuka the other wasn’t just anyone, but her boyfriend. They were only dating for about a month now, she hasn't told anyone but her one friend online. She dropped onto her knees beside the hovering body. Her eyes manage to adjust to the darkness, instantly her eyes met with a stitched up body. It didn’t even look like a body with the stitch eyes and mouth, how could it even be alive to that point?

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. This was supposed to be a surprise, now you ruined it.” An elaborated voice sneered out from behind her. “It was pretty easy to trick you.. Acting like I was going to save you. Haha!” His laugh sinister, the corner of his mouth quirked up into a half smile. “Now it’s your turn to have your limbs cut off.”

The end.......or is it? Nah just kidding this is literally the end.