#fuck hands and fuck mark's hair but i hide them via heavy shadow <- i am a genius

[thebrainrotsreal]

NO ITS ALL GOODIE!! It was getting super duper long. AND PLEASE TAG ME ABOUT ANYTHING IN THIS AU I FUCKING LOVE IT AND LOVE DISCUSSING AND DEVELOPING IT FURTHER. I am so sorry I am going to make this long because I am a prof yapper and forever incredibly excited.

so basically they'll stay the same size for about 500 years. this is what nolan meant when he said mark would suffer…

IM CRYING SJDDKSJDSK they will this make the other’s problem or die trying. Yelling at each other to shrink. Threatening to collapse the other’s spine.

ALSO WASP KNOWING SO MANY TINY DETAILS ABOUT MARK BECAUSE HIS HATER GAME IS THAT STRONG IS KILLING ME SJDKSDK. They’re so unbelievably petty. Plus the image of Mark having to handle any/all reports because Wasp would rather bite a bitch than talk to inferior beings? Yes. Wasp simply isn't allowed.

also the petty hovering and instant competition... im crying.

WASP DOES NOT GIVE A FLYING FUCK (pun intended), he WILL NOT touch the ground. Mark considers putting weights in his shoes just to be annoying so he won't HOVER in school. Wasp takes them out of his shoes and throws them at Mark’s head. He is trapped in this dimension and no one can make this mf stay on the ground. Gnawing at the bars of this dimensional prison.

He KNOWS Mark won’t hover while Civilian Form but if he gets Mark to do it, he “wins” in making Mark embrace his more Viltramite half. Mark socks him in the throat instead.

they do not expect invincible to just fucking bite him after 8 of those comments

SDJSKDJKS EXACTLY. I think at a certain point Mark’s brain shuts off from having to deal with Wasp for more than 5 minutes at Max before he just goes back to their language of violence. He forgets the cameras and just CHOMPS.

The way public perception of Mark is changing BECAUSE of Wasp b/c Mark is cocky with villains with taunts, but IS helpful, and on the rare moments he CAN talk to civilians, he’s got a slightly nervous smile (or let's be real exhausted), but let Wasp enter the picture and again, twin terrors of heroism. Fucking Confirmed Biter. Mark hasn’t even bitten any VILLAINS (yet), it’s JUST WASP.

Also Mark saving some kid’s life from getting slaughtered because he keeps asking Wasp questions?? DJKJKFD. Mark is trying to be polite but he just ends up yelling "RUN" while Wasp goes fucking feral.

it goes from throwing cars, to throwing real life dinosaurs (mark doesn't want to talk about it) (wasp absolutely does)

Wasp just whispering, “stegosaurus” and Mark looks instantly furious. Wasp wears a Dino shirt, grinning wickedly. Mark won’t elaborate or explain why he looks like someone just pissed in his cereal. Every time Wasp tries he gets thrown out the window. Rudy is practically shaking with curiosity, and Rex drags him away for his own safety. "But-" "NO." "BUT-" "I am not explaining to your little girlfriend you died because you're just THAT nosy-"

and wasp. cries (compliment him saving somebody)

AJSKJDKS. Literally one of the best ways to get at Wasp is this. Mf looks ready to CRY on the SPOT. Haunted. Heavily considers risking the painful noise just to kill someone and even the odds. Get his hands bloody and to “wash” away that hideous sense of Doing Right Thing.

Mark fucking grins so awfully wide when he hears about Wasp saving someone too. He’s not letting this go for YEARS. Wasp tries to strangle him right than there, Mark laughs is hard he almost consciousness.

or uh. they try. sometimes they'll start fighting each other too so it's less of a 1 v 2 fight and more of a… 1v1 V another 1 fight lol

Okay but that’s also so fucking funny, the Wasp will kick Mark to the moon for TRYING to battle the bad guy Wasp already called dibs on and it makes the bad guy SWEAT because,,, “wasn’t that,, your hero friend??” And Wasp just turns back with Murder on his eyes before getting slammed into the ocean by Mark. Some bad guys just try to flee at this point because if they do that to EACHH OTHER what are they going to do to YOU? Anyways it’s a 30/70 chance for good cooperation that slowly increases as they bond.

Wasp still does the whole grabbing the bad guy by the ankle and refuses to give it to the day he dies. Menace until the grave.

unless it's to like. bring the other to their side

Mark “I NEED you have a chance to improve because that means I do, that if I ever went that far I could claw my way back, that I can STAY kind”, VS Wasp “I NEED you to submit to the need for violence, the hunger for battle, the parts you neglect and shame because I CAN’T be you, you disgust me, you weaken yourself for inferiors, you CARE, I WORKED to be this, and I DESPISE I can unravel into YOU” . Mark and Wasp "This is me at my WEAKEST." Mark and Wasp hating each other because they hate what they could be, my beloved. Mark and Wasp loathing themselves. Looking away from the mirror because the glimpse is burning, a wretched horrid thing to endure.

it's easy to start viewing them as two separate beings, but they're really. not. they're evenly matched in everything. this is why wasp likes fighting mark. this is why mark doesn't like fighting wasp

Okay I know what I’m drawing damn the imagery is fantastic, wasp's “I knew you had it in you” DAMNNNN.

But Mark? Bro is operating on hard mode, he holds back, he tries to make sure people are safe, he doesn’t have training, he has to be careful, bo is exhausted always and WANTS a fight to just fucking END. Wasp will drag a good fight out for YEARS if he could.

Also thinking about the twisted sense of nostalgia Wasp gets when he actually gets injuried in battles, when he can lose himself in the fear/excitement/adrenaline, he got good enough injuries got less and less likely back in his dimension. Now it's just scaring the people who are as tough as paper.

not all the memories from it can be bad, right?

Wasp keeping the good memories close to his chest and only dishing them out to mock mark or win an argument, because it's what he cherishes at the end of the day. It's still his. And there'ss still this version of himself who FEARS and REJECTS IT.

Wasp thinking about his Dad when he had his first kill. Nolan who soothed all his worries and his guilt. Who told him how proud he is and getting ice cream after. Nolan teaching him out to fight. How to kill. How to win. How to bury the guilt. Wasp “how could you ever make me want to hate him?” Vs Mark “How could you do anything but?" (Lies, Mark still misses Nolan. They both do.)

But if Mark ever looks at Wasp with pity (ESPECIALLY if he ever shared these memories), Wasp will try to fucking kill him right then and there. Genuinely end his life.

"your handwriting sucks, don't hold the pencil like that" etc etc etc

What makes it even better is THEYRE THE SAME PERSON. THEY DO IT THE EXACT SAME WAY SDJKF

alternate version: gasoline gets them drunk

Im crying. The image of Debbie coming home to fucking Wasp and Mark SOBBING and smelling like gasoline and just like "???" She asks if they’re okay and they just burst into tears again. They’re punching each other while they do it, but it’s with like 0 strength.

It would fucking all me if they’re both sad drunks so it’s just two sad self hating idiots that can cry over literally anything in sight.

“I hate you” “I know… I hate you too” “I know” they kick each other and fall off the couch. They forget they can fly and lay there for half an hour until one of them shoves each other again and they float against the ceiling like a balloon.

"I love flying" "you're copying me." "i am you." "no. only me. you're like some.. stupid copy." "no YOU'RE the copy. fucking evil." "fucking pussy." this goes on for hours in loops.

also WIPS VIA UR LOVELY IDEASSSSSSSS.

@thebrainrotsreal HEY SORRY FOR TAGGING(? PINGING(? U, ITS ABOUT THE AU. I DIDN'T WANT TO MAKE THE OTHER POST THAT LONG LMAO

FLYING BEING NATURAL TO VILTRUMITES MY BELOVED

ASJDAJSD MARK TRYING TO GET AWAY W SLIGHTLY HOVERING(? IN A WAY THAT IS BARELY NOTICEABLE TO ANYONE BUT HE CAN'T DO IT WHILE HE WALKS BC HE JUST, DEFAULTS TO ACTUAL FLYING

mark and wasp are the same height, and they hate it almost as much as they hate each other. even if wasp is older than mark (read somewhere he could be 20, not sure tho), he'd still look 17 bc of the weird viltrumite aging thing

so basically they'll stay the same size for about 500 years. this is what nolan meant when he said mark would suffer...

ANYWAY. That thing abt them wanting to be taller than the other made me laugh and reminded me of a shadowpeach hc i posted on 2022(? LMAO

gonna use the same hc w them too

so. they're out as invincible (they still haven't decided on a name yet. wasp says he's stronger and therefore should be called invincible, but mark points out that he's the one in charge and also that this dimension is his. mark gets to keep it. they're still arguing about what to name wasp) ("why don't you just go by "vincible"?" "no.")

mark is talking to some gda agent or a cop or smth, when he notices that wasp (who is looking at the sky w the most bored expression he can muster, bc he genuinely doesn't understand why they have to talk to such inferior beings) seems to be just, a few milimeters taller than him (he may be shit at schoolwork, but if you hate someone enough you can notice the smallest details about them)

he, w/o stopping the conversation, answers to this by floating just a little higher, barely noticeable to the human eye

ofc, i said "human" eye

wasp notices. he flies higher

mark flies higher too

eventually he's screaming instead of talking bc of how far down the cop is

wasp laughs. now mark is screaming at him

they fight

ALSO WASP REFUSING TO STOP FLOATING AS A CIVILLAIN IS SO FUNNY AJDSHFASJ, IMAGINE THE AMOUNT OF TROUBLE HE'LL GET MARK INTO

PLS. THEM TRYING TO GNAW THEIR ARMS OFF BC THEY HATE BEING NEAR EACH OTHER SM ASJFHADJFH

most normal ppl r used to mark working alone as invincible. so since wasp really doesn't do interviews and he's usually too fast to see when he fights, no one really knows what his name even is

and everyone is used to invincible being. well. invincible. sure, the news say that when he's around this guy he gets a little meaner, but it can't be that bad!

it is that bad

wasp says smth mean n sarcastic. everyone expects invincible to answer w something equally sarcastic, but not as mean (maybe making fun of how his suit looks). they do not expect invincible to just fucking bite him after 8 of those comments

wasp keeps trying to kill This One Kid, who is either super brave or super stupid and won't stop asking him questions (they go from "what's your name?" to "what underwear do you have? do you even need underwear?" in a matter of seconds) for his weird school diary thingy

he can't get close, bc mark starts pulling the other way. besides, they're stuck together, and killing people would seem awfully annoying if it's with this guy

they can't punch each other, so wasp bites him. they bite each other a lot bc of the "no punching (or kicking)" thing

"Wasp throws a car at Mark which Mark instinctively swats away and then goes flying after it to prevent it from slamming into a building. Wasp cackles so hard it gets hit by a laser beam to the throat by some other bad guy." ASJDSAJDHDSJFAH YES THAT'S SO FUNNY

they mess w each other sm

it's funny bc they do the same things to annoy each other (wasp throwing a car at mark, mark hitting him with a tree, etc) , but lose their shit when the other does it to them

they're basically this:

mark, sleep deprived, flies straight into a lamp post

wasp laughs at him. he actually laughs so hard he runs into the same lamp post

there are a lot of compilations on youtube that is just them laughing at each other mid fight and running into things or being hit w stuff the other throws at them

they grow more wild every time

it goes from throwing cars, to throwing real life dinosaurs (mark doesn't want to talk about it) (wasp absolutely does)

"Cecil remarks Mark handled something well and he looks like Cecil just told him his entire family got slaughtered."

THISSS

"you did well today. hella efficient, quick and straight to the point. who taught you that?"

mark: D:

and also,

"oh, wow. you saved an entire family and their cat from a villain that wanted to turn them into zombies while mark was off fighting the bad guys? that's great!"

and wasp. cries

"oh no, no, you think I'm gonna help you?" THIS TISHTISHTSIHIST

this really feels like smth he'd say in canon. he'd say it w a smile, half-shocked half just pretending out of amusement

he'd laugh too

it's the same type of cocky tone of voice sinister mark/wasp used when teasing angstrom

"I gotta imagine if they tackle things separately, they are also allowing each other to do they want and like to do?" YEAH!!

it's hard 'cause wasp always wants to take the bad guys on alone, but mark also likes to fight (just not w the same brutality) and he doesn't want to be just a lifeguard

it takes wasp a while (a LONG while) to stop tackling mark when he's about to attack to get to the enemy himself, or to kick mark into the next country, etc etc etc

but eventually they settle on mark getting everyone to safety while wasp stalls the bad guy. then, after he's sure no one's here anymore, they both fight the villain together

or uh. they try. sometimes they'll start fighting each other too so it's less of a 1 v 2 fight and more of a... 1v1 V another 1 fight lol

"Mark's own reaction that truly confirms it to be true"

he gets the episode 8 levels of anger and anguish

HE'S JUST SO MAD

wasp is talking shit on tv and he just loses it

he immediatly flies off and tackles wasp into fucking space

i mean, they do say that actions say more than words, right?

mark is usually making the typical superhero noises when he's fighting, but now? he's just focusing all of his anger into This One Motherfucker

wasp loves it

it's a "see? i knew you had it in you!" type of moment

he's been longing for a real fight for a WHILE

they don't kill each other but it comes close

see, the things is. they are the same person. it's easy to start viewing them as two separate beings, but they're really. not

they're evenly matched in everything

this is why wasp likes fighting mark

this is why mark doesn't like fighting wasp (never ending battles are boring to him) ( he likes to win more than to fight. i mean it's not like he enjoys getting beat up)

we could dive deeper and start talking about the self-destructive tendency these two have to getting beat up. i mean, wasp's idea of a real, actually enjoyable fight is when the other is either able to beat him, or when he can kill ppl. and mark spends sm time out as invincible, neglecting his social life and mental health to the point he quits college, and he gets beat up a lot while doing it. so yeah--

self-destructive tendencies

"-having to confront he sees the exact thing in Wasp to a slightly different degree" i will ALWAYS love making them deal with the constant reminders that they're the same person

they deal w stuff in similar ways but to different degrees and realizing that gives them psychic damage like that magic squirrel in mca so they just preted they don't exist

unless it's to like. bring the other to their side

"you like fighting too. violence is in you, it's part of you. you're always covered in blood. all that's left, would be your hands" VS "you're me, and i'm you. we have similar thoughts, and that means i- y'know. but it means you are, too. you have a chance. and get that blood off you-- you need a shower"

COMICS!! AND!! WASP!!

yeah

HIM HAVING TO CONFRONT THE FACT THAT THE DESTROYING OF HIS WORLD HURT HIM TOO

because it is, in a way, his world too

he grew up in it. raised differently, yes, but still on earth

he was always different from the rest, getting his powers at an early age and all, but it's still the place he grew up in

not all the memories from it can be bad, right?

ANDDDDD... wasp reminding ppl of how strong he is regularly

"i could pull out your spine in a second." he says that out of nowhere, in a conversation that would've seemed normal to literally anyone else. he says it like it's nothing much. "i could kill you." you know he could, but you still wonder

would he? with how he is, with his inability to escape --- would he?

also he has fun when he watches the color drain from their faces

"Rudy has psychological profiles on all his friends he regularly updates like a diary, and he has one for himself too." NO BUT THIS IS SO IN CHARACTER FOR HIM

wasp talks shit about mark to anyone avaliable and rudy is no exception. even tho he finds him deeply annoying

honestly wasp is capable of doing p much anything to mess with mark

HE JST WOULD

the self-hatred is strong with this one too master!!! (sw ref again lol)

ASDJASJDSJAD THE BETTING POOL

wasp saying mark breathes annoyingly is such a sibling thing tho. "why are you chewing like that" "stop biting your stupid fork" "the way you cut your food is so weird" "your handwriting sucks, don't hold the pencil like that" etc etc etc

ANDD "he knew what wasp was going to say" DUDE YES??

he's talking and he gets. a feeling. and he turns to wasp, who is opening his mouth, and says "don't you fucking dare"

same w wasp. mark is annoying little shit too sometimes, he's also a teenager. so he infuriates wasp too

mark calls him a hypocrite

THE TWIN TERRORS OF HEROISM I CAN'T

imagine if ppl actually start calling them that tho

one day wasp calls mark to their? his? room and is like, "holy shit look at this" and shows him their? his computer

mark doesn't understand, until he sees the title and image of the video

"the twin terrors of heroism, terrorizing the terrorists once again" and its a picture of them kicking ass

"twin terrors of-- oh, come on, really?" "yes" "they couldnt have at least called us the invincibles or something?" "that'd be even worse" "...alright, i'll give you that" "..." "...." "they think we're like the fucking mauler twins" "oh you have got to be--"

ALSO this is so funny, them being like "mark/wasp" when they show up hurt or smth. everyone just learning to accept it. i mean what are they going to do. fight against two gods??

ha

AND YES YES YES DO TAG ME IN IT!!!! if i make anything about this au (posts, fics, drawings, u name it) i will tag u too

alcohol doesn't really affect viltrumites i think, but there has got to be something that gets them drunk

nolan could've taught wasp how to make it. if the ingredients are on earth, then he would maybe try to prepare it on mark's earth. mark shows up and sees that he's drunk. he goes "nope" and gets drunk too, maybe on accident maybe not. debbie shows up and sees her two superpowered sons sobbing over a bowl of popcorn

alternate version: gasoline gets them drunk

[uelden]

Vanity Fair interview translated

Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.

I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.

Translation under the cut

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021

"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything

With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.

In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.

It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.

To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon

"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas

"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano

From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight

"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria

The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre

"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano

Against panic – The stage as therapy

"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria

Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you

"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano

Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano

The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it

"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan

Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom

"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria

Sexism – A culture to be dismantled

"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano

Grow yourself – The only commandment

"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan

"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria

Love in progress – Music, girlfriends

"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan

"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas

"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria

"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano

The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection

"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas

I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]

"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano

Having touched the sky – The fears that remain

"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sam Holland - Don't Tell

A/N & WC - This is not meant to glorify or condone adultery in any way. I do not know Sam, nor do I claim to, this is a work of fiction. This was written before Sam posted about a new girlfriend: no disrespect is meant towards her. I do not believe Sam would do this: it is fictitious. 3.5k.

Warnings - Adultery, explicit smut, unprotected sex, swearing, reader is the other woman, swearing, brief allusions to SA. 18+.

Summary - When Sam booty calls you, you can't deny him, but will sexual satisfaction be enough? Or will you always want from him what you know you can't have?

THIS WASN’T HOW YOU’D PLANNED to spend your Saturday afternoon, but Sam called, and who were you to deny him?

‘Come over at 3.’ He texted you. ‘She’s leaving then.’

No kisses, no emojis, no frills, no sign off, nothing. You’re just a nameless number in his phone. You knew what it meant. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so you know the drill, it’s just not exactly pleasant.

With ample time, you left your house, your new place only a couple of streets over from the Holland household, and you walked as inconspicuously as possible. Your coat wrapped tightly around you, you refused to make eye contact with anyone on the whole walk there.

You know the drill so well by now that you know not to stick to the front of the house, but instead to head around the back—straight into his bedroom window—via the bins. Theoretically, with no one home and Sam in the living room, you could walk in the front door, but his room is safest since she has always refused to enter—’just in case.’

Your heart thuds against your chest while you hold your breath, praying not to be heard downstairs the second your feet land on his floor. You press yourself flat against the wall behind Sam’s door, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in your body clenched to the maximum. You’ve trained yourself to stay so quiet that the only sounds are your pounding, racing heart and the blood rushing in your ears.

Thankfully, before cramp can override you, you hear the words that give you the all clear.

“Bye, love!” he calls down the driveway, followed by a half hearted air kiss, a deafening crunching on the gravel driveway, and the front door at last clicking shut.

Your body finally relaxes, limbs falling loosely around you while you release one of the longest held breaths you’ve ever had.

You creak open Sam’s bedroom door, ready for him to meet you, and shrug your coat off, throwing it on the floor alongside your converse when you hear him coming upstairs. He gets like this, heavy steps and heaved breaths like they’re a strain on his body, and it usually means he’s extra horny.

“What took so long, lover boy?” you tease, standing scantily clad in his door frame, leaning against the painted wood.

His eyes darken with lust as he approaches you, his shadow from the landing already overpowering.

This isn’t like any sex or ‘relationship’ you’ve ever been in before. It’s risky, and that risk makes it so much hotter. Always leaving the door open just a crack so that the two of you could be found only by those closest to Sam, the chance of being caught together in the street on the off chance you go for drinks; after all, your reputation precedes you. But it’s the adulterous element of your relationship that makes it so fun. The fact that it’s usually after his girlfriend leaves that you’re called over to relieve his not-so-little ‘problem’, the little marks you trail across the hidden parts of his body, occasionally being risky enough to plant one on the juncture of his neck and shoulder just to test the waters.

After being together for over two years, she still refuses to do anything with him. Of course you respect such a thing: if she wants to wait till marriage and is able to resist Sam for that long, props to her. It’s just not always ideal for all party members. Sure, they’ve kissed, a little groping, but by this point, with how little Sam's lass has done with him, he’s immensely riled up.

He really likes his girlfriend, of course he does, and he’s spoken to her about this time and time again, asking why they couldn’t just do something more than a PG-12 touching session. She simply shook her head and smiled every time, “I’m saving myself for marriage, Sammy.” This infuriated him hugely. He’s been with a girl or two (or ten) before her, so is very expectant, but being twenty-two has its burdens. He isn’t anywhere near ready for marriage, but is increasingly sexually frustrated. So after an insane year of getting by with absolutely no action apart from the rare lap dance and make out, he knew he had to do something besides use his own hand to relieve the tension that was making him a complete prick.

He respects his girlfriend enough not to pressure her. Sam isn’t a bad person and so he isn’t going to coerce his girlfriend into sex she doesn’t want, seeing it as utterly immoral, so he did the only thing he could think of, and turned to the girl next door, quite literally. Not that it’s any more moral, but here you are.

As soon as he reaches you, the smirk etched upon his face is perfect, just what you expect, and his hands grip your waist tightly.

“You think you’re so cheeky,” he smirks, and his lips crash onto yours the next moment, his hands spanning your sides. His affection halts as he smacks the side of your ass. “I’ll show you cheeky.”

You don’t let him get another word in before you’re kissing him again, furiously this time, hooking one leg around his waist as the other flies to his neck, your clasp anything but gentle.

You’ve known of the Holland family for a while, living a street away, going to school with the boys and your mother having ‘neighbourhood meetings’ with the family. You, however, had had nothing to do with them, never getting involved in their ordeals, not really.

Keeping a resolutely ‘good girl’ demeanour all through school was difficult, especially when you wanted to rebel so earnestly. The first step was house parties, beginning when you were in year ten, everyone getting shit-faced and ending up giving sloppy hand-jobs in someone’s downstairs loo. That much you weren’t a fan of, so you waited until the end of school, A-Levels secured to be who you wanted to be. Trench coats, docs and chucks at every turn, short shorts and fishnets. Lots of hair dye came next, followed by a ‘scandalous’ collection of piercings, and a significant body count for someone your age, or so conservative old women perceived. Fuck them, your body your choice.

Times changed in a year and a half, though not that much. Mid way through your rebellion, you got a good job, your own place, and became a call girl, essentially. Sam’s call girl only, considering your regrettable soft spot for him.

You couldn’t care less though, even though it’s adulterous, Sam is incredible in bed. He frequently tells you the same.

“I think you’re rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, “even when she was kissing me I could only think of you.” His lips are inches from yours with your breath mingling in the confined space of his doorway as you pant.

He hasn’t touched you yet, or even moved you to the bed. You feel yourself blush a little, scared fractionally by what he’s saying but mostly flattered. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. It makes you feel like your old self is creeping in again, the girl next door that no one fell for.

“I like it when you get all shy on me, really naïve, shows me you’re a human and not just a sex goddess. My sex goddess.”

You pull his lips to yours with a burning passion, desperate to feel him up against you. Your palms settle this time on Sam's cheeks, angling his face to get the most out of the kiss, and your hold remains resolute so that he can’t pull away easily. This isn’t your dominance though, simply a ploy to hide your flushed cheeks from his prying eyes, the blush that’s been caused by his kind words. You want to keep him here long enough that you can claim the blush is from the breathlessness and the actions of his tongue slipping inside your mouth with an urgency you haven’t felt with him for a while. Is this the day that changes everything?

He backs you to the bed, walking unsteadily, and pushes you down onto the springy mattress. It pitches beneath you as he joins you, sitting by your side, his hand gravitating towards your thigh.

“Hey, what is it?” you ask, a slight hesitant stammer to your words.

“Nothing,” he sulks. “Just dunno how long I can keep doing this.”

His baleful eyes hover over your decolletage, and before you can protest and try to get him to open up about the whole situation, discussing the fact that maybe you should just quit while you’re ahead and come clean (because to be fair, it’s beginning to weight on your conscience too, even though you’ve never met said girlfriend), he kisses you, pinching your nipple through your bra until it forms a pebbled bud.

“Gonna take it all out on you,” he hisses, moving his kisses to your jaw. “All this pent up need from missing your body. God, feel so good beneath me.”

He swings a leg over to straddle your legs, and begins a ferocious attack on your neck with his teeth. You’ll have fun at work tomorrow, trying to hide them from your co-workers, one of them (on a temp basis, at least) being Sam’s twin. Harry cottoned on pretty easy, and won’t say a word, because he doesn’t want to deal with Sam’s temper when he’s been denied sex for too long. He likes Sam’s girlfriend, sure, but she doesn’t compromise on anything and looks down her nose at the lot of them, so he considers it fair play. And besides, with his track record, he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

Unwittingly, your hips buck up to meet his, feeling his throbbing need pressing against your pelvis, only for him to draw his body away from you, a bruising kiss being pressed to your lips the next moment. All in a flurry, your top is pulled down, your chest revealed to him.

“Bloody love your tits,” he purrs, a feral grin contorting his freckled face.

He rolls your pert bud between the rough pads of his fingers, palming at the other breast so as not to neglect it, only swapping when you’re beginning to writhe under him. His grin only increases.

“Sam… please.”

He knows what you want when you whine that way, so he sits up on his shins, and lets you tear his shirt open. Button by button, you watch as every inch of his pale chest is bared to you, his happy trail coaxing you lower.

“Get on with it, then,” he warns, clamping a hand around your hair in order to control your movements. He does this a lot, it’s his main power move. “They’re too damn tight now you’re around.”

You can definitely see that, the denim of his jeans pulled taut around his torso, the waistband of his boxers peeking above. He begins to pluck at your nipples again while you fumble with his buckle and zip, eventually tugging both items of clothing down at once. He stands, his lanky frame just a blur of white and freckles as he removes every last item, prowling back to you on the bed.

You, however, have other ideas, tugging him down with a grip on his shoulders until he’s helpless beneath you. In the time he was distracted with shucking his jeans off at last, you peeled your own shirt off and put your bra right. Sam’s a boob man, always has been, and takes great pleasure in fastening and unfastening your bras as much as he can, nestling into your chest for the time you spend together.

Since your last rodeo, you’ve gained some weight, and filled out a tad more, something Sam seems to notice right about now, especially as your chest hovers just inches from his face.

“Well? Are you gonna stare at them all day or take it off?”

This man… this man has the fucking audacity to lick his lips as one hand works on the hooks at the back of your bra, the other skimming the edges of the cups before it falls into his hands and he flings it across the room, knocking something off his dresser.

As soon as it's out of his way, he seems to forget everything apart from you, his eyes mesmerised by your chest, his mouth gaping a little, his eyes lingering on your hardened nipples for perhaps just a moment too long. You sigh to yourself, letting your knees dig into his navy comforter before your fingers wrap around his hand and place it onto your right breast. You know that, if you let him stare long enough, you’ll get nothing done. You need this release as much as he does. He takes the message, though, and begins kneading the flesh with a need you haven’t seen from him before. You even catch a wolfish grin when your face contorts into a silent ‘o’, overcome with pleasure. He tweaks your one nipple, and leans up to capture the other in his kiss-swollen lips, lavishing kisses around the sensitive area. You can’t help your nails leaving faint scratch marks in their wake over his freckled shoulders, tracing the silhouettes beneath his skin of muscle and bone, finding constellations within the freckles until he’s quaking beneath your delicate touch…

“Why’re you being such a tease?” he whines.

He has a point, you’re grinding down on his clothed cock in tandem with his playing with your boobs, your core hovering over his hard member, but it’s only fair with the stimulation he’s offering you. Just to shut him up, in one swift move you pull his boxers down and reach down to grasp him, stroking a couple of times before inching down, swallowing his aching length into your welcoming, warm walls.

Your moans create a heavenly sympathy, even as you stop for a moment to adjust to his size a little more, placing your hands on his pecs before grinding down on him. His hips begin to move, thrusting upwards and into you, finding a satisfying pace in tandem for you both as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.

“Baby…” he moans, reaching out with his lips puckered to wrap them around your exposed nipple, suckling viciously, hard enough to hurt just a little.

“Stand up,” you command authoritatively, with a softness to your tone despite.

He grows harder inside of you, barely suppressing a groan, but his plan fails from shock when you bend over, clenching the foot of his bed so tightly your knuckles begin to turn white.

Casting a sensual glance over your shoulder, you bat your lashes and coax him the only way you know how, a wiggle of your bum added to help convince him; “Fuck me, Sammy…”

Your gasp is shrill and loud when he enters your craving core from behind, your knees nearly buckling when a stream of expletives falls from his lips once he grabs your hips, settling there. You’re sure to have hand-shaped imprints there tomorrow, but you don’t care, and apparently neither does Sam as he continues to thrust into you at an inhuman pace.

Breathy moans escape your lips as your nails find purchase in the sheets, now crumpled in your clenched fists. The only thing that fills your ears other than skin slapping against skin is the myriad of colourful words spilling from Sam in a groan, right down your ear.

“y/n… please…” he hums nonsensically, his lips finding their way to your shoulder blade and neck, kissing you, suckling.

He’s such a hypocrite: one rule for him, one rule for you, just because he’s got a girlfriend and is too pussy to break up with her even though his needs aren’t being met. For a brief moment, your body being used for his pleasure—and bringing you simultaneous heavenly satisfaction—you’re able to forget the consequences of your fornications.

They slip your mind once again the second one of his rough hands slowly makes its way down your front, finding your clit as he begins to rub harsh circles on it.

“Fuck…” you cry out, only for the heel of that hand to press into your pelvis, the other snaking around to your neck, applying the faintest pressure. Your walls tighten around him at the double stimulation.

His hips begin to move faster, blissful moans filling the room in symphony as you both near your highs, his tip grazing your special spot on every single thrust.

“C’mon,” he purrs in your ear, “can feel how close you are…” the pressure on your engorged pearl becomes a constant, and your body begins to spasm with unbridled pleasure. “Come.”

You do, and fireworks spark behind your eyes, setting off a train reaction in your brain, your walls clenching and your body collapsing, chest first, onto the edge of the bed. You must’ve cried out at some point, but your scream became but a gasp with his hand snug around your throat.

His thrusts slow, and he aids you onto the bed by your waist, but you roll away from him, aware that he hasn’t climaxed yet. He follows you down as your fingers link around his neck, but he’s not satisfied with that—as the smirk playing on his lips, causing dimples in his freckles, tells you—so he hovers above you on his knees. The hairs on his shins grate against the duvet cover so he shifts, but your hands move from his neck to his cheeks, pulling him closer to tangle your tongues together. His erection teases your wet folds while you’re lost in the movements of your mouths, and before you know it, he’s entering you again, and your hands are getting lost in his dark, silky locks, his one hand roughly kneading your breast. His thrusts recommence at a slower pace than before, his heels digging into the mattress as his groans overpower yours in the otherwise silent room.

“Shit… oh my God—” he hisses.

He begins to move faster, so you tug at his hair, revelling in the praises he offers, eliciting various heavy moans from his preoccupied mouth in between kisses. His warm breath and the resverberation of the moan vibrate across your lips, causing your hips to rock further into his, your legs wrapping around his toned torso to give him better access to your eager core. His movements become deeper as your breathing becomes even more escalated with high pitched moans tearing from your throat each time he hits your g-spot so perfectly. The knock-on effect sends him into an even more euphoric state, and before you know it, he’s groaning your name down your ear, and painting your walls white.

“Yes, Sammy…”

Your nails leave scratch marks all over his back from the sheer height of pleasure you’re experiencing, and that seems to be what sent him over the edge, his cum seeping into you as you milk his cock. He throbs inside you, his pelvis hitting you perfectly as he thrusts lazily while emptying himself. With one final press of his long, skilled thumb and digits over your sensitive nipple and a harsh bite to your pulse point just below your ear, the bundle of lust in your stomach becomes undone as you finish once again.

Before you’re fully recovered, he’s pulling out and leaving you empty as you lie together for a moment on opposite sides of the bed, no contact other than your pinky fingers linked and overlapping in between you. Except… despite the pleasure, you’re not satisfied. Not at all. And you know, in your heart, that this can’t happen again.

“Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“As fucking if,” you mumble.

“You ok?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes, just fine,” you snap, and roll off the bed, beginning to ferret around for your clothes.

“y/n, no…” Sam moves to grapple for you, “why are you leaving?”

“Because I’m done being treated like shit by you. Used as your fuck-toy when you’re too much of a pussy to deal with your girlfriend… I’m done, Sam.”

He’s up and off the bed, shucking his jeans on with great force that causes him to trip back onto the bed as you adjust your top and zip your skirt back up.

“y/n!”

“What!” you bellow right back at him.

He shuffles his feet on the carpet, and moves to speak, but his jaw just hangs open like a fish, nothing coming out.

“Yeah, I’m done here, Sam. Don’t booty-call me again.”

A weary voice from behind you calls out, “Sam?”

Shit.

This is bad. This is very bad. But what can you do? You’re the other woman, he’s the one choosing to commit adultery: why is that your problem? He can deal with his (clearly very angry) girlfriend, so livid she’s shaking, once you’re gone.

“Yeah. Your ‘don’t tell’ plan worked real good, Sammy. Karma’s a bitch,” you spit, spinning on my heels and waltzing out the door.

You mean it: you’re done. At least until he breaks up with her and undoubtedly calls back. You want him, there's no question about that, but you want him all to yourself: and that's a secret you won't tell.

[barbarasbae]

Just a Taste- Bleeding Heart

Part 9 of Just a Taste

Vampire!Billy Hargrove x Fem!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: implied gang bang, blood mentioned, described gore, described violence, violence against women, dubious consent, some mild smut, feelings, sad Billy hours, 18+ please

A/n: I didn’t edit this one as heavily as I normally do so sorry if anything comes off as weird 

original gif by @leiaslo

That night they had written out the plan with Billy’s grandfather, going over ways to make fire and water sprayable, emphasizing the importance of either driving a stake through the heart or severing the head with a silver knife.The plan was to go to the boardwalk and act like Billy had convinced her to let him turn her, wanting the guys to think he had come to rejoin them and had a way to find even more victims. With wooden stakes in their jackets, the two slowly walked onto the boardwalk, Y/n getting nervous. “Pretty Billy.” A voice called, Billy reaching for her arm. The boardwalk was dead this early in the morning, no shops open. Only one or two fisherman and fog. “Hey, Jonathan. I brought you something.” Billy grabbed her hand, squeezing it. The vampire appeared before them, making the couple jump. “Cute. You bring me a snack?” He asked, hand on her throat before she knew what was happening. “No. She said she would let me turn her.” None of them had been able to convince a girl to turn, the one girl that Billy had seen the day before turned by force because Aaron was getting desperate for companionship. 

Jonathan’s nose was in her hair. “Shame. You smell delicious.” Jonathan almost growled, Y/n stepping closer to Billy, thankful when Jonathan finally let go of her throat. “I guess we should turn her the traditional way then, huh?” Jonathan animatedly talked about how boring it had been without Billy and how some girls who had been letting the group feed on them had been asking where he was, calling him the cute blond kid. The other guys made casual passes at her as they made their way to the cave, her swatting at them. Billy tried not to let on how nervous he was getting, knowing a little about what Jonathan had meant by ‘the traditional way’. Girls were usually property of a vampire clan, especially if the ratio of girls to guys was very low. So it was a tradition to turn them via an orgy of all things, as if standing in a room full of vampires wouldn’t get your heart rate up enough. Salt water rushed around their bare feet as they climbed into the cave, Y/n shivering as the cold air seeped into her jacket. They led them deeper than even Billy had ever been in the cave, the two sticking close together. “How long you been hiding her, Hargrove?” Chris asked, eyeing her up. Billy didn’t answer. “At least tell me she’s a good fuck, man.” He tried again, Y/n trying not to let her intense embarrassment show. “Fuck off, man.”    

“Eh,” he shrugged, “I’ll find out soon enough, right?” He winked. Y/n fake gagged, Billy trying not to laugh. They came to a large room with plush blankets on the ground, as well as a carpet (how it wasn’t pure mold, they didn’t know). She was pulled to the center by Jonathan, his hands settling on her waist. He reminded her of Patrick Dempsey, but with blond hair. It wasn’t...unattractive. Just a little odd. She was getting nervous. “You sure about this, sweetheart? Your heart rate is already high.”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. He went to push her jacket off her shoulders, Billy now standing behind her. “Oh, sweetheart…” He locked eyes with Billy. “You really thought you’d be able to get away with this?” He pulled the wooden stake out of her newly sewn-in inside pocket. He grabbed her chin, her watching as his irises turn red. She whimpered, a sharp-toothed smirk growing on Jonathan’s face. “What else have you got in here, sweetheart?” He dug through her pockets, grabbing a little silver knife she was also hiding. He pocketed it, her jacket thumping as it hit the ground. Billy inched closer, lifting her shirt and pulling it off of her body. The feeling of being a little fish in a circle of sharks was debilitating, her reaching for something to hold on to, grabbing Jonathan’s belt. “Pretty, isn’t she?” He asked to the open, the others inching in. 

The female vampire scoffed and pouted in the corner, not into girls and not liking to share ‘her boys.’ She squeaked, shorts yanked down her legs, Jonathan running the tip of his nose up the side of her neck, along her artery. Billy kissed the back of her head, trying to reassure her and to keep her calm. Billy pulled a silver knife out of his jacket and blindly thrust it behind him, hearing a deep groan of pain. He whipped around and stabbed him with the stake, the body falling to the ground. Y/n stared at Jonathan’s chest, trying to convince herself she could get through this, she could be able to help Billy fight them off. “Billy...just because you’re the prodigal son doesn’t mean you can just kill my boys.” He turned around. “I brought you a guaranteed good fuck. And she’ll bring you plenty of meals, man. I think I deserve to be possessive.” He said with a smirk, Jonathan looking up from where he had been marking up one side of her neck with a dangerous hickey. He winked at Billy, the blond smacking Y/n’s ass. Okay, now she was nervous. Was Billy lying to her all along? Another vampire went after Billy, angry at the death of his friend. He managed to land an exact hit on him as well, the body’s increasing. Y/n let out a fake moan, a hand on her ass. Billy then made the mistake of killing Jonathan’s favorite, Ben. He had been Jonathan’s first meal, Jonathan feeling such guilt he turned him to prevent him from dying. 

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Jonathan yelled, gripping Y/n closer to him, her reaching for his pockets. Jonathan grabbed the knife before she could though. He took a deep breath, seemingly calming down. The other vampires looked on in shock, but not moving in on Billy in case Jonathan decided to kill them too. “Billy, it’s a shame you left. You always knew where to find the best snacks.” Y/n sucked in air, Billy’s eyes widening in horror at the slick sound of the silver knife entering her body. Jonathan had stabbed her in the stomach, right below her rib cage. She grabbed the hilt, trying to keep him from pulling it out. “Smells amazing.” He hissed, licking up her neck. He bit her, Y/n letting out a weak cry, leaning into the vampire. “FUCK YOU.” Billy yelled, shoving Jonathan away from her, Y/n sinking to the ground. Aaron came to Jonathan’s side, snarling at Billy. The blond act as quick as he could, stabbing Aaron in the center of his chest. Y/n felt  someone roll her over, her yanking the blade out and stabbing the person in the neck. He wailed in pain, the smell of old blood punching her in the nose. Through her blurry vision, she counted four vampires, including Billy. 

The girl ran over, screaming that Y/n was a bitch. Aaron had been her mate and saw Y/n as the direct cause of his death. She sank her teeth into her arm, Y/n crying out and trying to push her off, Billy turning and kicking the girl in the head. Y/n’s limbs felt heavy, another cry filled the room as Jonathan watched Billy kill his clan. She slid a lighter over to Billy, the blond catching it with his foot. He bent down and grabbed it, Jonathan and Billy in a standoff. Y/n gasped in air, flames of pain rolling through her body, the blood loss getting to her. “Jonathan, you’re a son of a bitch, you know that.” He shrugged. “Always have been. What would you call me if I rip her throat out?” Billy turned, seeing her eyes fluttering shut. Jonathan was quicker than Billy, running over to the girl covered in her own blood, dragging his tongue over the wounds. Billy grabbed him by the back of his hair and pulled, dragging the older boy away from her. “Dead meat.” Billy said quietly, howling when Jonathan sank his teeth into his thigh. Billy turned the lighter on and dropped it, distracting Jonathan for a moment when his hair caught on fire. Billy planted his boot on the middle of Jonathan’s stomach, hesitating until he heard the wheezing breath of Y/n as she laid on the ground. He drove the stake into Jonathan’s heart with a growl before dropping the weapon. 

He ran over to Y/n, her eyes closed. “Baby, wake up. Baby look at me.” She couldn’t focus her eyes, but she lifted her head and made eye contact with what she assumed was Billy. “Baby, let me turn you. Please.” His voice cracked, Billy laying down with her. He knew he for some reason he hadn’t turned back. But he had come so close. He couldn’t lose her now. “Baby come on, stay with me. Please, please let me turn you.” She shook her head. “Y/n, baby please. I-I don’t know if I can get to the hospital in time. Please. I can’t-” A sob interrupted him, tears rolling down his face. She closed her eyes, not responding anymore. Billy looked over to see her clothes in a pile, sloppily throwing half of them on her, feeling himself grow weaker as he tried to flee the cave. The mid morning sunlight burned his eyes as he ran to the boardwalk. 

He ran into a crowd of people, not able to enjoy the sudden lack of heart beats he heard. “Someone call 911! Please!” He begged, finding somewhere to set her down. “Oh my god! what happened?!” He tried to rack his brain for something that would make since. “I think a shark. I don’t know! She was pulled under the water and now she’s not waking up.” A crowd gathered. “Please, Y/n, please wake up.” 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Please send me an ask or dm if you would like to be tagged in something. The last chapter of Just a Taste will be out by the weekened 

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[thelionshoarde]

sneak peek; just words - side story

honestly this stupid thing is gonna wind up stupid long this is the break up fic, okay, and it starts off right before the end of ch2 and then carries us into ch3 tho it’s not necessary to read but ANYWAY here are a couple of richard/shiro heavy scenes to apologize for the really stupid long wait??

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Nothing was, not when it was important and worthwhile, and maybe that was another point against the concept of soulmates. There had to be a reason why the whole world made such a big deal out of it -- couldn’t leave well enough alone; had to make it complicated, and messy -- because that was the real world, real love.

With spring coming in fast basketball practice become longer and even more grueling, and what time Shiro had left was taken up by his advanced classes -- papers and problem sets and readings and oral examinations and extra time in the flight simulators whenever he could squeeze it in -- and the end result was that nothing changed. Richard and Shiro met up here and there throughout the week; an afternoon on Saturdays, sometimes, or a quick hello in the library, strained smiles and stilted conversation and a hesitant holding of hands before it was back to the grind, back to life and its impossible, sweeping current, carrying them along.

But when February hit without pause and all Shiro got for Valentine’s Day was a headache and a B- on his pop quiz in Physics 202, Shiro decided he had to figure out a way to stand firm.

Fight for it, Isaac had said.

Shiro had thought that he was -- that all this time he had fought for it; refusing to give up, to listen to the dark and frightened thoughts that told him he wasn’t good enough to have this; stubbornly holding on to Richard and hope and a possible future that wasn’t preordained. But he hadn’t been. It wasn’t enough just to choose. He had to put in more effort than that.

He had to push. He had to try, even if the possibility of failure was terrifying.

*

| this isn’t doll anymore, Richard | he sent, and then cursed violently and hunched around his phone and added, | cool* i hate autocorrect so much omg |

| you are actually adorable | he got back a moment later, his phone pinging with Richard’s special text alert.

| i’m serious! i didn’t even get to see you on valentine’s day |

He didn’t get a reply to that for four minutes, and after staring between the waiting screen and the slowly changing clock at the top of it, Shiro bit back an unhappy growl. | i’m getting lunch | he finally sent, heart pounding. | and if you don’t want to SERIOUSLY piss me off then you’d better come join me | Then he fumbled the phone, hands shaking; shoved it into his pocket and hurried across the courtyard, heading for the commissary.

He listened for the text alert, but it didn’t come. He went blindly to the shortest lunch line, waiting, but told himself he couldn’t hear the alert over the chatter of the other cadets in the dining hall. He bought his food without registering what he selected, and sat at a table off by the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the courtyard and ate without tasting anything, his phone quiet in his pocket. Shiro was afraid to look.

When he only had an apple left, Shiro forced himself to pull his phone out, thumb it on, and see --

| study group until 1300 hours, starkid. what are you wearing? |

Shiro choked on his bite of apple.

| excuse you |

| babe | sent Richard | i hate study groups you gotta give me something or i’m just gonna expire of boredom and misery | and then, quickly, | i wish i was with you. i’m sorry about vday you know why i couldn’t make it |

| because iverson’s an ass | Shiro agreed, and then he realized that he was relaxed -- the painful tension in his shoulders releasing, his spine curving, his elbows on the table while he bit into his apple and half-smiled at his phone. This felt nice. Even with everything going on they’d at least always been able to do this -- banter back and forth via text like nothing was wrong, for as long as they had the time to spare before their attention was inevitably pulled away.

| soooo what are you wearing |

Shiro grinned, and ducked his head to hide it from any passerby. |  what do you want me to be wearing? |

Then he finished his apple slowly. But there was no response by the time he finished, and he sighed before tucking his phone back into his pocket, gathering up his book bag. Slinging it across his shoulder, Shiro tossed his trash and put away the tray, trying not to be disappointed at the long silence he was receiving but unable to stop himself from moving slowly, taking his time, lingering, like that might make some kind of difference.

Study group, Shiro reminded himself. People surrounding his boyfriend, demanding his attention. Work to be done, lessons to be memorized. There was a time and a place for everything, and sometimes even sexting had to be put on hold, surely, even when it had been nearly two weeks since the last time Shiro had gotten more than a half-distracted make out session and --

A breeze brushed against him; it wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm, and Shiro shivered to feel it. The trees groaned, mostly bare this early in the year, and Shiro looked up at them and the way they cut across the pale blue sky beyond, making constantly shifting shapes, never quite willing to settle.

(-- fight for it --)

Shiro pulled out his phone, checked the time, and sent | my room at 1330 or there will be dire consequences Montgomery |

Forty minutes later his phone finally dinged with the alert that made his heart skip a beat, every time.

| sir, yes, sir! |

*

“Hello, Commander,” Richard grinned, leaning against the wall outside of Shiro’s door. He looked tired; shadows beneath his eyes, skin thin and paler than usual; even his hair seemed limp. But still, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively even as Shiro rolled his eyes and stepped aside, letting him in. “Reporting as ordered. What do you -- whoa!”

Shiro had him up against the door, nearly nose to nose.

He knew what he wanted to say -- what he had to say, maybe. He had practiced in front of the mirror on the back of the door, the very same one that Richard was leaning back against that very moment, shifting so that the frame didn’t dig quite so annoyingly into his shoulder. We need to talk, Shiro would say, because I deserve better than this and I refuse to let you give up on us.

“Don’t leave me,” he blurted out, uselessly.

Richard blinked, eyes wide. And then his whole face softened. Shiro had jerked back a few inches in embarrassment at his outburst, face flaming, so he could see the transformation. It looked kind of painful, or maybe that was just the way Shiro’s heart felt, twisting at the sight of such open tenderness.

“Hey,” Richard murmured, and his fingers slipped over Shiro’s hips. “I -- Shiro, you don’t -- you don’t have to worry about that, you know? I love you.”

Shiro breathed unsteadily, watching him.

“Don’t -- God, Shirogane, your eyes should be illegal. Do you have any idea how weak I am to you? C’mere.”

Hands drew him closer, tugging. Shiro let them, not understanding why he was hesitating except for maybe because of how much he wanted this. Was desperate to fix it, to make it work and succeed, to have what he wanted and be certain of it. Richard tipped his forehead against his; they were of a height, now, and Shiro just breathed for a moment, feeling Richard breathe with him.

“I do love you,” Richard whispered, eyes closing. “I think that -- I think I get scared of that, sometimes. How much I love you and how much it’s going to hurt when you leave me.”

“What --”

Richard shook his head; a minute shake that Shiro felt as a pressure against his forehead. His own hands were tight on Richard’s shoulders, now, and Richard was distracted and tense enough that he was holding Shiro’s hips hard enough to bruise; painful, but grounding. A mark on Shiro’s skin that he would actually welcome, for once.

“I’m allowed my fears,” Richard said. “Don’t -- Don’t worry about it, all right? C’mon, just let me love you, okay?”

“You haven’t been doing a very good job of it, lately.”

“True.”

That was all he said -- no actual apology -- but the thing was that Richard sounded like he regretted it, and -- that’s enough, thought Shiro, heart fluttering. You’re forgiven, you were always forgiven, it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine. A tentative happiness -- an even more tentative feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction -- began to wind through him, dizzying.

“I love you, too. But Valentine’s Day still sucked, even if it wasn’t your fault.” This whole semester has sucked, he thought, privately, and even if Valentine’s Day hadn’t actually been Richard’s fault, a lot of the rest of it had been -- but he was happy to let it go. To release that frustration and move on, past it; to cling tight to this moment, instead. Shiro dared to ask, voice a low tease, “Are you going to make it up to me?”

Richard grinned, and now his fingers were rubbing little circles against Shiro’s hips, edging down toward his butt, the touch light and teasing. “Thoroughly,” he promised. “And repeatedly. You gonna let me eat you out?”

“Hng.”

Shiro blinked rapidly and wanted -- desperately -- to say something more coherent, like Oh, well, if you insist, or even, fuck yes!, but was entirely too turned on to manage. By the time the blood stopped rushing quite so loudly in his ears and he might have been able to articulate his enthusiastic consent, Richard already had the door locked behind him and was tumbling Shiro onto the bed with bright, warm laughter.

*

Spring break that year was in March, which Shiro knew, but hadn’t actually managed to factor into the scheme of things. “Sorry, babe,” Richard said, mouth pressed right up against Shiro’s hairline so that the words came out soft and moist. “We’ll miss you at the lake house.”

“Okay,” said Shiro, narrowing his eyes at the ceiling even though he felt loose-limbed and incredible. “Now you’re just being mean. Watch it, or I’m going to have to come up with a proper punishment.” He wondered if this was what make-up sex felt like -- intense and barely controlled; the deep relief of not only getting off, but feeling closer and more intimate with his significant other than he had in months.

It was a good feeling. He was maybe reveling in it.

That it wasn’t, exactly, make-up sex had more to do with neither Shiro nor Richard actually acknowledging a specific fight.

Fight wasn’t even the right word for what it had been -- months of increased tension, snappishness, frustration building and building without anywhere to go. But Shiro was still pretty happy about the resolution, regardless. Somehow, he had managed not to fuck this up just yet. He thought maybe there was nowhere else to go, now, than back to what they had been -- happy together.

“Oh, no,” Richard grinned, stretching showily against Shiro’s side. “That sounds terrifying. Consider me appropriately threatened. I shall now be on my absolute best behavior, scout’s honor.”

“What do scouts have to do with anything?”

Richard snorted and then flopped onto his back, one leg falling off the side of the bed. Immediately, Shiro felt the loss of his warmth and tried not to tense. Their clothes were only half-removed, rumpled wildly and sticking in places. Regretfully, Shiro began to put himself in order. Pants pulled back up, zipped and buttoned, shirt tugged down to hide his skin. Conditioned reflex, and no matter how he hated it he did it anyway; breathed relief when Richard, as always, let him have his boundaries without pressing, or prying.

He thought briefly of Josie, and felt both sorry and overjoyed that he had a partner who did not push, who respected him and his limits.

“I would have liked to see you in a swimsuit,” Richard said instead of answering, a little wistful.

Well, mostly he didn’t push.

Richard scratched at the dark blonde hair that grew in an unfortunately tempting line down from his navel, leaving that sentence up in the air for Shiro to do with what he liked. Shiro stared helplessly at the flat planes of Richard’s stomach, at his hips and his big, bony hand now languidly drawing meaningless patterns on his honey-pale skin, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth and trying to remind himself that they had literally just achieved orgasm five minutes ago.

Shiro said, “You could send me pictures of your swimsuit,” because he didn’t want to sour the afterglow with guilt about his lack of nudity. Thankfully, Richard only hummed thoughtfully, and then grabbed the waistband of his opened trousers with both hands and slipped them down his hips, toward his knees.

“I think I might,” Richard grinned, kicking his pants off and then twisting up, straddling Shiro. “Now grab the lube. We have two more hours before Sasha gets back and I really want your fingers in my ass, Shirogane.”

“Mission accepted,” Shiro gasped against Richard’s mouth, heat blooming anew within him.

Apparently, unofficial make-up sex for the kind of not-fight the two of them had been having for the last half a year required multiple rounds. Shiro was absolutely not complaining.

*

Rather than March 1st they celebrated his birthday on February 28th. It was more or less everything Shiro wanted -- not perfect, but perfect enough. Richard had gone to him late, near lights out, and kissed him so sweet and slow that Shiro had felt overwhelmed just from that. From a warm mouth and slick tongue and Richard’s hands greedy at the base of his neck, curled around his jaw. “Happy birthday, starkid,” Richard murmured, sliding cheek to cheek for a moment, nuzzling at the base of his ear and the heat between them was slow and dangerous for being so tender.

“Thanks,” Shiro had gasped, ragged, falling. It was dizzying, and he’d said a little stupidly, “Guess I’m legal, now, huh? We can finally have sex.” but it wasn’t too stupid, apparently, or maybe Richard was just stupid for him, because his boyfriend had just laughed, helpless, and kissed him again.

[lowat-golden-tower]

Bloody

AO3 Mirror

@caustic-synishade

When Mark regained consciousness, he was no longer strapped down to the table. Immediately, he felt relief, even if he could tell he was still restrained. It felt like he was sitting up, which was good, because it meant they couldn’t drown him anymore. At least, not easily. If that was still their end goal, Mark was relatively sure they wouldn’t have bothered moving him.

Though all the water had drained from his sinuses, he was suffering some lingering side effects. There was an excess amount of mucus clinging to his throat and inside of his nose; some of it having long trickled down past his lips. It was disgusting, but due to his latest set of restraints he was unable to wipe the mess away. Mark forced his eyes open and wasn’t surprised when he came face-to-face with more darkness. He supposed he wouldn’t have been able to see much better if there were lights, since his glasses were still missing. Either they’d been left in that corridor with the bear trap when he was clocked over the head, or one of the monsters had them. Mark doubted he was going to be getting them back.

Squinting through the heavy shadows, Mark was only able to make out silhouettes of his new predicament. He was definitely in a chair, which didn’t budge an inch when he threw his weight into it, which meant it must be bolted to the floor. He felt more than saw the fact his knees and ankles had been bound to the legs of the chair; the pressure hardly easing the pain in his still injured calf.

Mark whimpered, twisting his wrists against the ropes binding them to the arms of the chair. There were ropes looped around his stomach to the chair’s sturdy back, and more layered over his chest and shoulders to make absolutely sure he wouldn’t be arching off his seat any time soon. Mark could scarcely wiggle under the tight hold and he felt trapped; suffocated. A rag had been pulled between his teeth several times and wrapped around his head in a makeshift gag; forcing his lips apart. He could feel his heart pounding rapidly in his chest as the seconds ticked on.

How long were they going to make him wait? Were they even in the room? Did they know he was awake? What if they were just standing there, watching him squirm?

Mark’s head swiveled wildly in some effort to confirm or deny his suspicions. Briefly, he thought he spied two pinpricks of red in the darkness, but he blinked and they were gone. His hair was standing on end, goosebumps riddling his flesh, and the dampness clinging to his shirt did nothing to assuage his fearful shivering.

Abruptly, there was a soft click, and it was all the warning Mark received before a bright light splashed across his face. He was immediately blinded with a muffled cry and squeezed his eyes shut in some effort to soothe the instant pain in his retinas, but the flash was practically burned onto the backs of his eyelids. His face scrunched up as he cringed away from the light he swore he could still feel on his skin. The shadows moving through its broad beam were lost to him until it was too late.

A hand gripped roughly at Mark’s hair and jerked his head back with an audible snap. He cried out again, louder that time, but the gag cut through the sound rather effectively. The fingers grasping at his locks didn’t lighten up even an inch; leaving Mark’s throat utterly exposed. He wished he could say he wasn’t expecting the sharp edge that soon pressed against it, but he’d never been the most optimistic when it came to his rotten luck. He gulped loudly.

“Look how scared he is. I think he learned his lesson from our last little session.”

“I dunnoooo. He’s a pretty stubborn guy, Tyler! I think he’s still got a lot left to learn and as his best friends, it’s our job to teach him!”

The demented voices of his hijacked friends clawed into his auditory canals as deeply and painfully as they had before. Mark could feel another headache coming on as his neck was forced to bend back at such an uncomfortable angle. Hands came to rest over his wrists and weight was applied, though not enough to really offset the discomfort in his scalp and vertebrae.

“Maaaark. Hey Maaaaark! Look at me. Look at meeee~!”

Mark just whimpered again. He would have shaken his head, but Tyler’s grip on his hair was too strong and unyielding. At least, he assumed Tyler was at his back and Ethan at his front, based on the direction of their voices. The pressure on his wrists increased and Mark bit down into the cloth of his gag.

“Ruuuude!! I said look at me, you dickbag!”

Ethan’s childish shout dragged barbed wire through his ears and into his brain, but still Mark resisted. Though Ethan’s shadow was blocking a majority of the light that had been focused on him, his eyes still stung from the initial shock of it. It was also easier to tolerate the pain Tyler was supplying if he kept his eyes squeezed shut. Besides, since when was Mark the kind of person to just give assholes like them whatever they wanted? So far as he was concerned, they could kiss his fantastic ass.

Mark would immediately regret his bullheaded decision.

“I SAID LOOK AT ME, ASSHOLE!!!”

White hot, burning agony shot up through Mark’s arm and his mouth parted much as it could in a ragged scream. Were it not for Tyler’s iron grip on his hair, Mark’s reflexive flinch probably would have lodged the knife deep into his own throat. Thankfully, the gut reaction was suppressed, and Mark only twitched enough to create another shallow cut along his neck. That was the least of his concerns.

Forcing his eyes open and blinking back tears, Mark tried to catch a glimpse of just what Ethan had done out of the corner of his eye. The angle Tyler had his head pulled into made it difficult, but he knew he could see blood. Something glinted in a shaft of the bright light and Mark could only guess Ethan had gone and shoved another knife into his forearm. He’d missed the bones, but the blade had sunk all the way through to the wood and was likely the only reason Mark’s arm wasn’t a fountain of gushing blood. Nausea washed over him at the realization and he gagged again; the stench of iron and copper filling the air.

“Haha oops! Silly me. My hand slipped! If only you’d just listened like I mentioned earlier, maybe I would’ve been a little more careful with my toys….”

“You’re patching that up. I dealt with the last one.”

Ethan blew a noticeable raspberry. “IIIIIIIIIIII’m Tyler, and I’m too hyper masculine to play nurse to our plaything! Durrhurr, why do humans need all this blood in their bodies anyway? We should just suck it allll out!”

The only response Mark heard from Tyler at the teasing was a growl; deep, low and guttural in a way that made all of Mark’s primal instincts want to run and hide. Unfortunately, he was still stuck, and now there was absolutely no way he was moving that arm.

“Oh, let him go already, Tyler! At least his hair. I want him to see how pretty I’m gonna make him! I want him to see all the fun things we’re about to do to him!! I couldn’t see anything last time, but now it’s my turn, and I’m gonna enjoy every tiny second of it! So let go!!!”

Ethan’s voice, while still as bubbly and discordant as ever, reached a terrifying shrill at the very end. Mark felt his skin crawl and had to wonder if Tyler experienced a similar sensation, seeing as the hand left his hair rather quickly. The knife at his throat remained, but Mark was allowed to tilt his head forward again with a renewed whimper of slight relief. Part of him soon regretted the freedom.

Two crimson dots, burning like red hot embers at the very core of a wild blaze, met Mark’s exhausted and frightened brown ones. The red was utterly engulfed by pure black. It wasn’t the same black as a normal pupil, or the shadows still clinging to the room surrounding them. The closest thing Mark could compare Ethan’s sclera to was possibly the darkness of space itself; or a black hole. It was deep, endless and encompassing to the point it overflowed from his eyes to trickle haphazardly down his cheeks in narrow strings. The horrifying abnormality was accompanied by a face-splitting smile that showed no teeth, but still managed to be supremely unnerving. The entire display was made all the worse as Ethan slowly tilted his head.

“Maaaarkimoooo. I see you.”

Ethan’s renewed giggling grated once more on Mark’s ears while a hand reached up to gently brush the backs of knobby, pale fingers along his still bruising cheek. He shivered and shied away from the touch, much as the knife at his throat would allow. Ethan’s smile sunk instantly into an unamused frown.

“So. Fucking. Rude.”

Mark anticipated the ensuing open-palmed slap, and so was Tyler apparently seeing as he edged the knife away from Mark’s neck seconds before impact. Again, he narrowly avoided having his throat slit via jostling but the skin on his face and the bone lying underneath still throbbed unpleasantly from the sting. Ethan’s expression didn’t improve as he pushed away from Mark; the brilliant lighting at his back casting his front into deep shadow.

“Y’know Mark, I was gonna be reeeaaaal nice to you here with this one but I don’t think you deserve nice Ethan. So I’m gonna have my fun, and you’re gonna wish you’d kept that big, stupid mouth of yours shut! And that you didn’t test me. Because you know, whatever kind of patience he had, I didn’t keep any of it.”

A large crescent of white cut through the shadows on Ethan’s face and Mark shivered. He could feel his gut clenching with anticipation at those pitchy words. Ethan had already stabbed a knife through his arm, what else could he possibly have in store? Fiery red pinpricks left Mark for a moment to look over the top of his head instead. Ethan’s terrifying grin didn’t waver a millimeter.

“Hey Tyler, mind doing the thing while I go and grab another knife? Mark’s using mine right now.”

“Fine. But hurry it up. All this light’s giving me a headache.”

The knife finally left Mark’s throat and he relaxed minutely, even as he felt another bead or two of blood trickle down to soak into his dampened collar. He could hear the shuffle of footsteps behind him and could only guess Tyler had turned around, as Ethan was making mocking gestures in front of him. Sticking out his tongue, the blue-haired human-turned-monster walked off himself, presumably to do as he’d said. Mark didn’t like the idea of becoming a human pincushion and hoped no more knives would be getting stuck into him.

At the thought, Mark figured he should probably get a look at the damage now that his head was free to move around again. He immediately regretted it as his stomach did an outstanding somersault in his abdominal cavity and he came extremely close to vomiting.

A large knife, nearly the length and width of his forearm itself, was lodged directly in its center with the sharpened edge aimed towards his clenched fist. He couldn’t be completely sure, but if he recalled the few medical classes he’d taken for bioengineering before dropping out of college, the blade was likely resting squarely between the two bones lining his forearm. Just trying to move the appendage even an inch could spell disaster; as if the amount of blood steadily leaking from the lacerations wasn’t enough cause for concern. The current flow would take a while to pose any significant side effects or become an active threat to his life, but it was still unnerving to watch his blood once again drip down to the floor. His breathing was becoming more labored at he stared wide-eyed at the sight, but then footsteps were returning and rounding the chair to Mark’s front.

“If you think that’s bad, then you’re in for a real nasty time. Personally, I would’ve stabbed you in the shoulder, but he’s got a thing for playing too much with his toys. Better keep him amused unless you want a matching one in your other arm.”

Tyler’s words held about as much emotion as his expression- that being absolute zero. He was as stone-faced as the joke always implied and if any part of Mark’s childhood friend was still in there to care about his wellbeing, it didn’t show. Tyler had the same chilling eyes as Ethan, but Mark wasn’t sure if the blank slate staring him down from above was better or worse than Ethan’s slasher smile. Both expressions were proving themselves to be equal amounts of unpredictable.

Mark could only whimper and babble unintelligibly around his gag as Tyler knelt down in front of him. He’d been carrying some kind of device in his hands, but set it aside so he could reach for Mark. It didn’t matter if he didn’t have a weapon; Mark still tensed and flinched away after all they’d done to him. It looked as if Tyler might roll his eyes, but the fiery pupils remained stubbornly centered as hands, larger and meatier than Ethan’s, gripped at his shirt.

“Stop being a baby. I haven’t even touched you yet. I thought maybe, after our first two encounters, you’d be a little less pathetic than this. I love seeing fear as much as the next guy but yours is starting to irritate me. I think after this one you need a breather to let things settle in a little.”

Tyler worked diligently as he spoke, rucking up Mark’s shirt beneath the ropes still binding his torso to the back of the chair. Mark had no idea as to the “what” or “why”, but Tyler’s words were plenty enough to set him on edge again. Goosebumps rose immediately to his exposed skin in the chilly room as Tyler left the material bunched up around Mark’s armpits. Normally, Mark could care less about being “shirtless” in front of his friends, but this wasn’t a normal situation. Bound as he was, Mark felt far too vulnerable.

Then Tyler was picking up the device he’d discarded earlier and Mark muffled a frightened shout against his gag. His muscles tensed, sneakers scraping in increments against the dirty floor as he tugged and twisted his good arm against the ropes. He wildly shook his head as Tyler inched even closer, an amused grin finally breaking across his face. Apparently, unlike Ethan, he preferred watching Mark panic.

“No homo, all right? Trust me, this isn’t gonna feel good. Unless you’re a masochist. But I think we would’ve figured that out by now.”

Unceremoniously, a small, metal clamp was attached to each of Mark’s nipples; already hardened due to the temperature of the room. The pinch made him shout and jerk in his bonds, the cry immediately escalating into a slightly higher pitch of torment as his injured arm was jostled. Fresh blood was shaken from the chair to drip heavily onto the floor with the rest and Mark whimpered loudly around his gag; chest heaving. It wasn’t the clamps he was worried about.

Bzzzzt.

Mark screamed again, throwing himself back against the chair as electricity coursed into his chest from the two established points of contact. It wasn’t a pleasant buzz or even a light shock. Mark recognized the sensation from the shock collar challenge, possibly cranked up another few degrees just to make it extra painful. The fact it was hitting his body through such a sensitive place made it all the worse.

Bzzzzzzt.

Again he screamed, rough sobs slipping out from around his gag as tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. His body tensed and spasmed against its bonds but the chair didn’t budge an inch. All Mark accomplished was more searing pain in his arm, and more hot blood splattered onto the floor. Tyler chuckled somewhere in front of him but Mark, head thrown back from the pain, was once again squinting in the harsh light. He couldn’t see anything.

“Already having fun without me? Told you this was a good idea!”

Tyler’s chuckles abruptly ceased and he stood; briefly casting his large, imposing shadow over Mark. His face had returned to its expressionless mask as he shot the returning Ethan a look. “Shut up. I’ll control the remote. Just get to it already.”

“Fine, fiiiine~! Acting all grumpy like you aren’t enjoying yourself. Both of you are downers.”

Ethan practically skipped back to Mark’s front as Tyler retreated around to the back of the chair. The wires trailed in his wake, getting tucked up over one of Mark’s shoulders, and then the taller man was lost to him. He must still be in the room, but Mark couldn’t see or hear Tyler at all in his current position while Ethan positively beamed down at him.

Bzzzzt.

Mark muffled another shouted curse against his gag as he spamsed again; eyes squeezing tightly shut. He heard giggling, and then cold steel was being pressed to his cheek. Instantly, he shivered to a frozen halt as his breaths shortened with renewed fear.

“Handsome and more tolerable as you are gagged, I really wanna hear you scream. I wanna hear you make all the noises while we have our fun! So do me a big favor and don’t hold back, okay? If you try being all tough like Tyler over there, I might have to tryhard! And no one likes a tryhard….”

Ethan’s cooing echo slithered into Mark’s ear, prompting another shiver, but then his gag was being cut away. He hastily spat out the wet cloth from his mouth and let it fall around his shoulders. Gasping short, ragged breaths, Mark opened his eyes again to look at Ethan in obvious terror. The fist on his good hand was clenched tight, but he’d relaxed the other one in an effort to lessen the throbbing in his arm. When he spoke, his voice was scratchy and hoarse. “Wh.. what’re you gonna do to m-me?”

Ethan’s teeth returned as a grin split his face anew. Mark thought he saw his eyes flash with some kind of emotion, but it must have just been a trick of the light. “So happy you asked! Now you see? Being polite’s not haaaard. We’re gonna play a little… game, Markle Sparkle.” Ethan twirled and fiddled with the knife in his hand, which was smaller than the last but probably just as sharp. “I’m gonna open up your pores a little. Let in some fresh air- heard it’s good for the skin.” Ethan’s free hand trailed down the side of his own face, not disturbing the trails of inky black in the least, before moving over to mimic the action on Mark’s. He couldn’t suppress another shiver. “Y’know, ‘cause yours is just. So. Perfect. And ooooocasionallllyyy… Tyler’s gonna get bored, and he’s gonna make you dance. If it happens to be when I’m making a cut, well… oopsie-daisies! We can’t all be perfect, now can we?” Ethan’s voice pitched into a deeper register and Mark swallowed hard.

“You d-don’t have to do this. Look, I don’t know what you are, but just let them go. Let Ethan and Tyler go a-and… and I don’t know, we could work something out! Surely you guys have better shit to do than ju-” Mark’s reasoning was cut-off by another scream, now unhindered, as a fresh shock traveled through him. Tyler was ever silent, but Ethan’s giggling rang in his ears as the younger man leaned in close to whisper.

“Ethan’s here. Ethan can see eeeeeverything. He acts like he’s upset, but I know part of him likes it. Doing this stuff, it validates a part of him you like to step on. And I know that part of him is gonna enjoy this just as much as I am.”

Ethan brought the knife to Mark’s bicep and made a shallow cut. It was no deeper than the ones on his neck, and would probably only produce a few rivulets of blood, but it still stung. Mark’s lips pulled back into a pained grimace and he hissed; wincing as he watched the blood well up. Ethan merely hummed and giggled in delight as he cut again, then again, before shifting over to cut at Mark’s uninjured forearm instead. Mark twitched and whimpered as the knife bit into his flesh but really, it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Bzzzt.

The next shock hit as Ethan was carving an elaborate curve into the back of Mark’s hand. He shouted and jolted in his seat, jarring the blade still pressed into his skin. Half of the arc became a deeper slice that cut into the meaty side of his palm and Mark’s shout swelled into a scream of pain as Ethan laughed outright.

“Hahaha! Whoops! Silly Tyler, you know I’m doing delicate work over here! Shame on you.”

The finger wagging was hardly humorous to Mark when he could feel blood pouring out of his hand. Clicking his tongue like a disapproving parent, Ethan paused to grab the cloth still resting around Mark’s shoulders. He wrapped the still damp length around Mark’s hand to stem the blood flow.

“There, there. Your buddy Ethan’s got you covered, Markimoo. See? Alllll better! Now where were we…?”

“Please, stop. Stop. I’ll do anything just please let me go….” Mark sniffled, the tears that had been stinging at his eyes dripping freely now down his cheeks. His lips trembled as Ethan cocked his head almost curiously; watching him. He tapped the bloodied knife to his lips thoughtfully.

“Hmmm…. Let you go? Let you go? Mmmm… no. No, don’t think that’s a thing I can do. Sorry pal! We’re just having way too much fun and we’re not gonna stop anytime soon! So buckle up, buttercup, ‘cause you got a lot of skin and I got a lot of ideas!”