#he looks so stupid when he's around people in the daytime

[weirdo-from-bonesborough]

I love how the bats are known for having a million gadgets and being overprepared for anything meanwhile dick doesn’t have pockets

[goose-books]

The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.

“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”

“I am the—”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.

“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”

“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”

“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.

“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.

“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.

“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”

“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”

“There was a recession,” says the ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.

“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”

“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.

“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”

“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”

Which you knew.

“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”

“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”

That makes them look kind of embarrassed.

“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”

“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”

You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”

“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”

You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.

“How come you’re a man?” you say.

He says, “I think you know.”

“Fucking—go away.”

“I have something to show you first.”

“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”

He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.

“They went with the full name,” you say.

The ghost nods.

“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”

The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn’t care.

The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.

“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.

“Okay.”

So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”

You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”

“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”

“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.

You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.

[kleftiko]

❦ CAN’T GIVE IT TO ME

“your best friend has always been the person you turn to when times are tough. so when your shitty husband refuses to give you a baby, what else are you supposed to do?”

cw: infidelity, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding kink, pussy eating, squirting

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

It was never a surprise when you made a stupid decision.

Sometimes, people thought you were purposely being an airhead, not paying attention, or being reckless in your life because Satoru was always there to fix things for you. It didn't stop him from letting you know his thoughts on your actions, but he was always there when you called.

When you married your husband, Satoru told you he didn't like him. Didn't think you married for a good reason, either.

Did you love your husband? Maybe. Maybe not. But you liked the freedom he gave you—credit cards and a house to yourself most days—while he was constantly away on business trips. You could spend your days spoiling your girlfriends on a shopping spree and your nights in expensive clubs.

You don't know when you began feeling lonely and bored, though. But one day, you started noticing mothers with their kids. playing in the park, shopping at the grocery store, and taking photos on vacation, and you began to think that maybe you wanted something else in life besides waking up hungover to an empty bed.

So when your husband got home that evening, tired and immediately pouring himself a drink, you proposed the idea. The look he gave you said it all, but he still told you no. He was a busy man; he didn't have time for a family, and you should know that.

It's not like he ever fucked you anyway; for most of your marriage, your orgasms and libido were taken care of by vibrators, dildos, and your best friend.

Which is why when your husband left the next day, you called over Satoru.

He never had to try to look good, showing up with a plain shirt, sweatpants, and those signature glasses. You, on the other hand, changed three times before he arrived, not being able to decide which outfit was going to help you get what you wanted. The formal dress was too much for daytime, the skirt was a bit too juvenile, and eventually you just decided on shorts and a tank top, loungewear that to anyone else would look like you were just having a day in, but the way the short fabric loosely covered your ass told a different story.

Satoru accepted the glass of red wine you offered when he walked in the door and took a seat at the kitchen table, spreading his legs casually as he took a sip.

"I want a baby." You told him straight up.

Satoru smiled as he looked at you over his glasses and said, "Nice. Congrats."

"With you," you clarified. He raised an eyebrow.

"Seems like something you should ask your husband," he said, nimble fingers playing with the neck of his wine. "I'm just here for the drinks."

You pouted, taking a seat in the chair beside him.

"Please, 'Toru?" you asked.

His eyes drifted down to your fingers as they trailed lightly over his thigh, knowing exactly what you were trying to do.

"And why would I help you?" He smiled lazily.

You got up and straddled his lap, setting down his glass of wine in favour of moving his arms around your body.

"You've helped me before." You whisper, and he nods casually, as if that was a good point.

You couldn't count the number of times Satoru let you use his fingers or sit on his face when you were needy. Or how many times you repaid him with your lips around his dick or riding his thigh. But no matter how many times he made you cum, he never gave in to your pleas to stretch your pussy on his thick cock. He refused to, as long as you were married. Was it right? Probably not, but Satoru had his rules.

And you've never minded the mind-numbing pleasure he would give you with his hands and mouth until now. Because now, what you wanted required something else of his that was previously off limits.

"I've helped you a lot of times, sweetheart." He sighed in defeat. "And you always ask for more."

You were confused, not understanding the meaning of his words until his fingers slid between your legs. With a soft gasp, you instinctively start grinding yourself onto his palm, forgetting what he was saying.

"I'm at your beck and call when you need my fingers or tongue," he said, letting you continue your ministrations. "And now you're asking me to fill your cunt and expect me to be okay with our kid calling your husband 'dad'?"

With a harsh press to your clit, you freeze, and a small whine escapes from your lips.

"You think that's fair, sweetheart?" He asked, eyeing you with contempt.

But instead of answering, you try to move your hips against his hand again for friction, only to get a harsh pinch to your thigh.

You yelped, but answered him. "No, it's not."

He seemed happy with your response and said, "What's in it for me?"

You furrowed your brows. In all the years you've known Satoru, he had never asked for anything in return; he always gives, gives, gives. There honestly wasn't any answer you could come up with. But when his long fingers started circling your heat again, making you melt, you asked.

"What do you want, 'Toru?"

He grinned at how easy you were and let you rest your head on his shoulder in response to his fingers. "Say you'll leave your husband, and I'll fill you up as much as you want."

You whined in response, but with your body rocking against his, breathing in his cologne, and hearing his husky voice in your ears, it didn't seem like a bad idea. So you nodded, light gasps dusting over his neck as you breathed out, "Okay."

Satoru's strong hands then left your pussy, but you didn't have a chance to complain when he grabbed the back of your thighs and stood up. When your head leaned back to look at him, you saw a dangerous look in his eyes.

"Good girl." His voice was low as he said, "Let's make you a mommy."

With that, he dropped you onto the table, the wine glasses shaking beside you as a result. Satoru dropped to his knees between your spread legs and reached for your shorts. Already wet with your slick, they stuck to your heat slightly as he slid them off, and you hissed at the feeling of the cool kitchen air against your pussy.

His breath grazed your thigh as he licked a harsh strip up your slit. Your body trembled as his tongue traced its way up, sending shivers of anticipation through your entire being. The dangerous look in his eyes intensified, fueling your desire for him. You couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself fully to his skilled touch. As his tongue continued its tantalizing journey, your moans grew louder, matching the rhythm of his movements. The intensity of him led you to grasp at his soft silver hair in an attempt to ground yourself, but he smacked your hand away.

"You're gonna feel everything I give you." His sunglasses were discarded, so you saw every emotion in his darkened eyes. "And you're gonna take it."

After you nodded quickly, Satoru wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking your cunt against his tongue as he devoured you. His careful mouth probed every inch of your sensitive folds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. The way he smoothly flicked and sucked on your clit had you on the edge of ecstasy, unable to control the moans that escaped your lips. As his tongue delved deeper, you surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensations, losing yourself in the intoxicating bliss he was giving you.

In an attempt to warn him, you could only stutter out an, "g-g'nna."

But Satoru seemed to understand as his lips attached themselves to your bud, and one of his arms freed your legs so he could thrust his fingers inside your sloppy cunt. The combination of his skilled tongue and the added penetration sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Each thrust of his fingers matched the rhythm of his tongue, intensifying the pleasure and pushing you closer to the edge. As you reached the peak of ecstasy, your body convulsed uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the mind-blowing sensations he was delivering. You briefly understood your legs spamming as you painted Satoru's mouth with your cum.

It took a moment for you to calm down, your eyes opening to look at the ceiling as you realized your back was on the table. Unable to remember when you had laid down, let alone move your body on your own, Satoru pulled you to stand on your jelly legs.

His eyes held your gaze as he wiped his face and licked his lips clear of your cum. Before you could say anything, he gripped your hips, his wet hands sending shivers up your hot skin as he turned you around and pushed your stomach onto the table.

You looked over your shoulder at your best friend; his head was tilted back, eyes closed as he hissed in pleasure, the hand covered in your slick stroking his hard cock. The reminder of the fact that his dick was finally going to be inside you made you whine and wiggle your hips to gain his attention again.

Satoru looked down at you with a smile.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm right here." He lined himself up with your hole. "I'll fuck a baby into you," he whispered before slowly pushing himself inside you.

The sensation of him filling you up sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making you moan and bend your back in response.

"T-'Toru..." You drawled, unable to think of anything else, as he stretched you open.

"That's it, baby, remember who's gonna breed this cunt for you." He hissed.

Your mind became consumed with the overwhelming pleasure as Satoru continued to thrust deeper into you. Every movement he made intensified the sensations, leaving you completely lost in the moment. The sounds of his grunts harmonizing with skin slapping against skin filled the room, adding to the urgency of the experience.

Your eyes locked on one of the wine glasses beside you. The table rocking with Satoru's harsh thrusts caused the silverware to fall over, staining the beautiful tablecloth beneath your face. You don't know why, but the physical reminder of how hard Satoru was going inside you made you moan. The combination of the sensory overload and the unexpected disruption heightened the raw passion between you and Satoru. As your moans echoed in the room, you realized that every element of this encounter was pushing you both towards an adrenaline-filled climax.

"Sa-Satoru—please!" You babbled incoherently as he slapped against you, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips.

"Fuck!" He groaned. "You're gonna look so hot pregnant with my baby."

Your pleas only fueled Satoru's desire, intensifying his thrusts as he whispered dirty promises about knocking you up in your ear. The intense connection between you both grew, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. With each moment, it became clear that this intimate encounter would forever be etched in not only your memory but also your life. And it turned you on so much more.

"You gonna great your husband today with your pussy filled with my cum?" You whined at his dirty talk. "S'it gonna drip down your legs when you tell him it's over?"

You don't know why, but the reminder of the fact that Satoru wasn't your husband was what did it for you. You came to the realization that it wasn't your husband fucking a baby into you, but your best friend. This forbidden affair intensified the pleasure and excitement coursing through your veins, causing you to clench impossibly tighter around Satoru's cock.

He groaned loudly at that, folding his body over yours as he reached his own orgasm.

"You're all mine now, sweetheart." He whispered into your ear as his cum shot into your cunt, filling you up better than you could've hoped for. The intensity of the moment left you breathless as you lay there, sweat clinging to your forehead as the scent of wine and sex filled your senses. You whimpered pathetically when Satoru slipped out of you and crouched down to watch the globs of his cum drip out of your pussy with each clench around nothing. Your trembling legs couldn't stop him when he scooped up the slick and pushed it back into you with a dissatisfied hum.

"Don't think it stuck, sweetheart." He sighed. "Might need to fill you again."

[juuuulez]

carmy and his girlfriend who’s a celebrity chef

maybe you won one of those reality cooking shows and skyrocketed in popularity. a steady social media following, featuring on ads, before eventually getting your own daytime television show. it’s something cute, where you where a nice little outfit and apron, showing the viewers how to make restaurant quality dishes from home.

of course carmy knows who you are. it’s his job to know the local talent, and yeah, maybe you being so fucking pretty certainly helps. it’s a stupid crush, really. just someone attractive on his instagram feed, someone who also happens to be an amazing chef, and just has the sweetest, most welcoming smile.

your face has been printed out and taped next to a list of names to be aware of, different people of importance who’s opinion of the bear would be crucial. all the wait staff has been heavily trained for such an occasion.

but that doesn’t mean they’ll behave.

because when richie spots you? it’s over. he knows about carmy’s little crush, thinks it’s fucking adorable. plus, eva likes watching those cooking shows, you’re pretty good.

you’ve had a lovely meal, some wine, and find the conversation with him to be pleasant. it’s always flattering when the staff knows who you are, makes you feel a little less weird for dining alone. but richie being richie invites you back into the kitchen, and you being you, absolutely fucking loved that idea.

and you do try to stay out of the way, coat wrapped tight around your body as you step through the pass, making sure to look over the staff’s shoulders and not distract them. but carmen? oh, he has lost it. any sense of coherence has gone out the window, because what? you’re in his restaurant, in HIS kitchen?

you be polite and introduce yourself, offering out a nicely manicured hand for a handshake. carmen stares at it for a moment, before kicking into action, frantically wiping his palm on his apron to accept it.

and when you tell him your name? he says:

“i know.”

it takes you aback for a moment, brows raised in surprise at how blunt he’d been. carmy has enough sense to clock that his reply was strange, for he’s backtracking, trying to save the interaction.

“no, no, i mean— i mean, yeah, i know. you’re on, um, those ads, yeah? for the fucking.. the fuckin’, uh, french cookware.” he practically rambles.

it’s cute, so, so utterly cute. you save the conversation by complimenting the meal and how lovely the experience here has been, which has carmy flustered and red in the face. you decide not to torment him anymore, allowing him to get back to work and the kitchen return to its usual pace.

which, for the record, does not happen. carmy’s flow has been ruined for the night, unable to stop thinking about his embarrassing word-vomit.

it’s okay, though.

on the bill you leave a generous tip.. and your phone number, addressed to “that cute chef.”

[sitepathos]

Since reader has been living in goodsprings for four years now, has the mold started setting up new system roots in goodsprings? Can it use reader to spread its spores? Also how did the batfamily not notice a kid for four YEARS???? IM smacking them except alfred

For the first part of your question: the mold has only set up a sort of sub-colony around your house. As stated in Chapter 6, the Megamycete wanted to set up roots around your house to defend it. Should a thief be stupid enough to try to break in your house, he’ll find his leg tangled by a black moldy root that seems determined to snap it off. You can also use your quorum sensing to see through the roots and keep an eye on things while you’re away.

The roots also keep your lawn looking great, saving you from mowing the grass or weeding.

As for the second part, you’d be surprised. For this series, there’s three reasons why they forgot about you so easily. One: you joined at the worst time possible. Jason had died not too long ago, Bruce was so wracked with grief that he threw himself into his work as Batman, and Tim’s parents died, causing him to be adopted by Bruce. With all that going on, you kinda got put on the back burner.

Two: all of them are so busy with their night lives that it bleeds into their daytime lives. They’re too chickenshit to deal with their trauma in healthy ways, so they take the coward’s way out and throw themselves into fighting crime. They get so busy that they forget to take care of themselves and if Alfred wasn’t around, they’d probably waste away.

And three, the one that hurts the most: you’re ordinary. You’re not a genius, you’re physical prowess is average at best, you don’t turn heads when you enter a room, and you don’t have any skills that stand out in a family like the Waynes. And you were raised by your Momma and had a normal, healthy life.

And when you lost her, you grieved like any other six-year-old would and eventually learned to carry on without her (although it wasn’t easy since you didn’t have the emotional support of your family). You certainly didn’t put on some stupid costume and start fist fighting clowns (come on, that’s stupid).

As much as they’d hate to admit it (especially Dick), you didn’t have anything that made them give you a passing glance; you weren’t interesting. They all come from colorful backgrounds have have skills and personalities that make people pay attention to them while you blended into the crowd.

And in a family as prestigious as the Waynes, that’s an unforgivable sin. And you were punished by being turned into the black sheep, forgotten and neglected for years.

You don’t care, your life stopped revolving around them years ago. You have the Megamycete and your dream’s come true. You’re living your best life right now and they can’t hurt you now.

But little do you know there’s a storming brewing and Gotham and it’s heading straight for you. Now that they know the error of their ways, they intend to bring you back to the fold and show you off to the world as the most important part of their family.

However, they’ll soon discover that you’re no longer that Average Joe you once were. Maybe when they see what you’ve become, they’ll finally find you “interesting.”

[neetily]

request: whitney degrading+fucking a pc with no self esteem

this is such a perfect request for me THANK YOU for allowing me to indulge a little <3 also this one gets quite mean so like... if you're sensitive, please only read it when/if you're in the right state of mind! (not that i think this is horribly offensive but like... be aware of your own limits please!)

warnings: degradation, public sex, name calling (slut, whore, mutt), references to your dad, photo taking, anal, bullying, spanking, slight whump??? not really. wc: 2,016

"Gross."

The word comes to him so easily, spat out with such honest vitriol that even he's a little surprised with himself. Because he truly fucking believes it. Believes that you're so fucking gross, a disgusting little girl with next to no self esteem— so little, in fact, that you're allowing him of all people to abuse you in the wide open like this, balls deep in your stupid little hole with the flashing camera lights surely leaving you dazzled in the daytime.

You couldn't have picked worse, really.

"Stupid mutt," he follows up with just as much hatred for you, making sure you know exactly where you deserve to be my applying extra pressure to your upper back, intending on forcing your pretty face further against the dirty ground for your own perverse delusions. Face down and ass up, as all dumb dogs should be positioned, he thinks. And to be honest, he thinks that maybe even this position is a little too high and mighty for you. Like the literal dusty ground is too good for you to get fucked upon. Filthy fucking girl. And what's worse is that he knows you'd agree with him. Can't see how truly fucking pretty you really are, begging him like some sort of sentient toy to use you like the slut you are. "S'all you're good for, ain't it?" he smiles at the cameras before him, making sure to punctuate your depravity with a particularly rough thrust forward, humping you closer to the ground just to hear you make those pathetic stupid whines some more. It makes for good cinema, don't you think?

But it's difficult for him to deny your sadistic ways when you feel so fucking good too, in spite of his rude words. Only nasty girls get off so well to being bullied, right? Daddy didn't love you properly, did he? Faux pouting down at you to mock your own that he's absolutely fucking certain you're currently wearing, evident from the high pitched sounds that tumble out of your dirt covered lips. And the way you squirm and jolt on the end of his fat tip, fucking fast and slick into your too tight little asshole because sluts like you aren't worth a proper fucking, is all too tempting to ignore. The bright lights that flash before you certainly can't ignore your pitiful sounds of disgusting enjoyment either, capturing every sleazy detail of your sick and twisted pleasure as he defiles you from behind— you don't deserve to look at him, fucking slut.

Because you're but a mere toy for him. A simple object of desire, something for him to stick his dick into only to soon after forget about. It's what you wanted, isn't it? To be used and nothing else, a dark chuckle creeping past his lips with a click of his tongue at the thought. "Takin' abuse so well," like you were made for it, to be honest. Brought up on such an awful Earth purely to serve as a toy for him, the claw marks in the dirt below you catching his eye for a brief moment before his own nails dig into the fat of your hips and he huffs in annoyance. "Quit tryna run, know y'like this— deserve this, dont'cha?" he taunts you from above, keeping up the brutal pace to inevitably fuck you forward some more, just to place more blame on you for his own awful actions. Heavy balls slapping against your surely sore little cunt in rhythm with his fucks; bet you wish he was inside of it sooooo bad, huh? Wish he was creaming your pretty little pussy instead, making her all puffy and wet with the pre that spills from your tight ass— fuuuuck, and tight it is. Convulsing around his cock as if begging for a break, but the cameras just won't stop. Forced into your stupid sobbing face as you babble nonsense for him, all pretty and high pitched and fucking cute.

"C'mon," he bullies you some more, almost as bad as his cock bullies his imprint against your insides, girth splitting you in two at 12pm on a Sunday. Ridiculous, aren't you? "Tell me, tell the camera you deserve this—" he rudely prompts you, roughly grabbing at your hair to tug your face upwards for the money shot, snot and tears and dirt and all in the glory of the shutter sounds that surround you. Displaying your downright dirty nature on show for all the gawk and laugh at, all while he fucks his cock deeper into your top hole. Because that's all you will ever be to him— just a series of holes for him to fill.

For him to ruin, truth be told. A sickeningly sweet squelch filling the park to rival your own silly sounds, desperate for the depraved attention of not only your apparent adoring fans snapping every single second of your debauchery, but from him, too. Snapping his hips up eagerly against your ass, prompting you into bouncing back against his fucks with every unfair thrust forward. As if fucking you toward the camera, if not for the way his greedy paws pull you right back against him to meet his every thrust. Like the worlds noisiest pocket pussy, submitting to him, fucking back against him, making an absolute show of yourself for him. Like, he knew that your self esteem must have to be pretty low to come begging to him alone to feel good, but to enjoy this whole ordeal on top of things? To actively want him to abuse you in front of God knows how many viewers—live chat must be popping off about now, huh?—to show the whole world for all he cares exactly who you belong to and how fucking gross you are deep down in the perverted little unloved mind; you must be fucked in the head.

Which is probably what makes you so fun to play with, and so satisfying to abuse.

Because you're so receptive to it, crying over nothing like you understand intrinsically that you don't even deserve this kind of treatment. Scum like you? Nah, anal is too good for a whore like this. Begging and sputtering against the hard ground as he dribbles precum in your stretched out hole. Gaping for his fat cock aren't you? Useless beyond this one fact— you can at least take cock pretty well, even if you slobber all over yourself like some kind of bitch in heat.

Fuck, but ain't that hot to think about? Getting your tight asshole fucked raw from behind like a fucking dog, begging for a mounting because you can't do anything else right in your pathetic fucking life. Stupid slut, it's not your fault that you're incapable of anything besides laying there and fucking taking it. Poor mutt, you were just made to take a beating, weren't you? That's all the purpose you've got in your sad excuse of a life, isn't it? Writhing on the literal ground for more of his greedy cock as he suddenly lets go of his grip on your hair, smiling to himself at the way you immediately face plant with an obviously pained sob. The sound of which is like music to his ears, causing his cock to twitch with sheer desperate need to prove to you just how pointless your existence is beyond that of serving him, playing the sordid role of his own personal use toy.

Not that he hears you complaining as such, besides for the fact that your chubby cheeks now surely sting from kissing the gravel so harshly. But he bets you look real pretty with little stone indents and red scratches covering your stupid face, the thought of which has his hips faltering with the promise of marking you up some more. A sick little reminder of all that you're good for, though temporary for now, he'd like to leave a permanent stain of himself on your meagre existence soon enough.

But for now, a couple spanks will suffice. More pain than pleasure he's fucking sure, given how loudly you yelp and attempt to crawl away from his unfair smacks against your already used and abused ass. Hot red streaks of his fingers span across your cheeks, and he can't help but to furrow his brows and huff with affection at how well you wear his hands. Almost as if... It were pretty, which could never be the case for some mutt like you, right? Tears staining the dirt darker, unable to stop riding the fat cock that's currently humping your sore little hole raw— poor thing... You're weird, the lack of self respect as you display exactly just how much you're worth (which is very little, if anything at all) is disgusting. The way you whine and cry for something behind incoherent moans and gasps is awful, and he fucking hates just how nauseatingly obsessed he is with pushing you further down the dark depressive hole of your own self hatred. Addicted to the way you can't get enough of his tutting tone, or his grabby hands, or how he does nothing but mistreat your pretty little body.

Simply because you deserve it.

And it's as you let out a dumb little please; for what? He's not entirely sure. Doesn't think he cares too much either. But it's that single, pitiful plead for something that does him in. Like you're relying solely on him to give you purpose, which is a stupid fucking idea if you haven't noticed by now. Selfishly seeking his own high with stuttering hips and fast fucks, unprecise in his seeking of pleasure, but nonetheless offering you some more mishandling by placing a foul hand on the back of your head and shoving it down to shut you up for once today.

He doesn't even give you the enjoyment of hearing him moan your name as his orgasm arrives, instead spitting expletives down at you as he empties his balls inside of your thoroughly fucked open asshole. Filling you up with seed as some form of reward for not only debasing yourself in front of his friends, but for somehow relishing in the limelight too. That, and for offering him prime wank material later on tonight, his phone already buzzing with plenty sent images and videos of how truly fucking weird and icky you are.

Nothing stops him from continuing to fuck your tight ass as he's spilling seed either, not even the way you swat at his iron grip on your hips or your useless cries for a break. Continuing to fuck his fat load as deep as he can into you despite your protests, in the selfish hope that it'll drip out of you all day long to remind you of what a filthy fucking slut you truly are. That you're worth less than a proper fuck, unable to sit down fully until tomorrow where he'll just have to remind you again. Stretched little asshole twitching around him when he finally settles into a slow pace just before pulling out of you in one swift motion, a string of cum leaving him connected to you as you collapse the ground by his feet in a heap and he finally feels like he can breathe again with a heavy sigh.

"Gross." He repeats his earlier sentiments, wincing at the way you shudder and groan from his rotten abuse. Left in a puddle of fluids of your own making— you look awful. And he kinda loves it. Kinda hates how much he loves it, actually.

So with a final look at the ball you've turned into, all red and teary and rightfully pained, he's sure to give you a final nudge with his foot to make sure you're still alive and kicking. If only to secure you for tomorrows mistreatment too. And the day after. And the day after. And the day after— as long as it takes to fully fucking break you into the perfect little subservient slave.

Because you're no use to him otherwise.

[starzgaze]

CONCEPT: folk legend!sjw/biologist!reader

tw: missing people, stalking, implications of cult, really really itty bittt twinge of yandere if you squint really hard. also mostly word vomit i just wanted this concept out of my head oh god

Imagine you're a biologist who decided to go back to your little town that's located nearby an eerie mountain thats surrounded with equally eerie forests. You heard from your parents that there was a sudden shift in the wildlife and the animals seems to decreasing in population which concerns the wildlife protection department of your town.

So this piques your interest and you decided to visit your hometown. You were warmly greeted by the locals and you caught up with your old childhood friends by drinking in the local bar where you swung your first drink. After all that you shifted back your focus on the main reason why you went back, the wildlife is acting strange.

You decided to daytime observation first, quietly watching the remaining animals and see what could possibly be behind the sudden disappearances of the animals. This didn't work much to your dismay so that means you had to conduct night time observations. Your parents was worried but you reminded that you're a licensed researcher and you know what you're doing. Reluctantly, your parents let you go out into the forest.

But of course before you leave, one of the town's elders grabbed you the side and gave you a warning. A warning that you should probably back out and continue with your daytime observations and not continue this one... You of course don't listen, you're an adult! Why will you sway to the words of an old lady or a stupid legend that was made for children to keep them in check? You're an adult, a person of science and logic. Folk tales are neat but isn't exactly your thing.

Though.. honestly you wished you heeded the elder's warning. When you entered the forest you saw things that wasn't there in the morning. Strange tied up sticks that was shaped like dolls hanged in the trees or twine wrapped around the trunks that had pieces of paper stuck on to it. You were pretty sure this is not the doing of an animal but what sick person would do this? It all looked so... ritualistic. You crouched down on to the leafy floor and picked up a 'doll' that fell off from the tree, it had a poorly sewed clothes on it and black coarse animal hair glued on to its head, resembling a pretty shaggy haircut. It looked like an old friend. You looked at it, noting the little details of the doll. This suddenly reminds you of a time when you were younger that there was a series of missing people cases in this town.

One of those victims was your friend, Jinwoo, and he was the last person to go missing during that time. You remember you were adamant on searching the forest yourself to find him but your parents stopped you and locked you in your room just in case you tried to sneaked out into the forest. You honestly missed him but you shook your head, dwelling on the past will hinder your research. Stepping away from the ritualistic scene, you continued hiking into the forest trying to find a suitable place to observe the wildlife in the night.

After a while of wandering around, you found a good place to set up your gear. You unzipped your bags and prepared your things when suddenly you felt a shift in the air, a shiver went down your spine when you moved your head to see if there was anything there. You were told the locals rarely walk outside anymore especially past 7pm, a result of the cases back then. So no one should be out at this hour in the forest, you should be alone.

You decided to ignore it first and focus on finishing your set up. When you finished gearing up and prepping your things you got another shot of eerieness that made your body tingle. Just what the hell is happening? You felt you were being watched from every angle but when you look around you don't see anything. Were you being preyed upon an animal?

You readied your pepper spray that was stored in your pocket, animals typically stays away from you if you're deemed as the biggee threat. So, as long you know how to appear bigger and scarier you should be fine. You've been doing this for years now but something tells you there's something not right, it feels... like it's not an animal preying on you but you can't exactly explain it. Your mind goes back to the moment where you stumbled upon a weird place in the forest that had a bunch of ritualistic things and you touched a weird doll that looked an old friend, it might be related to that.

Before you could continue deducing in your head you hear a loud crunch in the dark. This is starting to creep you out. You started to try to calm yourself and rationalize your thoughts. You're a person of science you shouldn't be this scared just think of something that makes sense it might be just a wolf or a bear.. hopefully. As you tried to steady your mind the light from your gear suddenly shuts off and you were enshrouded in darkness.

This is where the sounds of footsteps and howling started to intensify, Your heart was racing as you didn't move from your spot. You were shaking as you held your pathetic little pepper spray and tried to block out the noises. How the hell are you supposed to rationalize this?! You were panicking hard as you finally dropped to your feet and covered your ears, still holding the spray in your other hand.

Then all the noise stopped but you can feel SOMETHING behind you. It doesn't feel human or something you could comprehend and your mind is running back to the little warning the old sweet elder tried warninfg you of. Is this the end? They said it was monstrous from the rare sightings. I think you remember the elder saying it started appearing shortly after the end of the series of disappearances. Your mind is fogging up from panick.

You felt it's hand on your shoulder, it's cold breath right beside your neck. It spoke and... you recognize the voice. You finally turned your head and you were greeted with a pair of deep purple eyes staring right back at you, it felt like you were starung back to the abyss. You called out it's name

"Jinwoo?"

[hellodaydream1111111111111111]

Some yummy HxH headcanons that are mostly Hisoillu

Hisoka is a pretty good cook and cooks for Illumi whenever he comes over however, when he’s alone the kitchen isn’t even touched and he just orders takeout.

Illumi is no longer allowed in the kitchen because he will burn water.

Hisoka is not getting his deposit back as he has painted all his walls pink, replaced all the doorknobs with heart shaped ones, stained the bathroom red with hair dye and most definitely messed up the ceiling above his bed by throwing cards at it when he’s bored.

Hisoka is a maximalist so his apartment is very cluttered it’s clean but there’s stuff everywhere, Illumi was appalled the first time he came over.

Illumi barely has anything in his room other than books but he does have a rather large collection of moths and beetles that he pinned.

Hisoka buys most of Illumi’s clothes, terrifying Kikyo.

Illumi has to set aside 20 percent of his assassin money to bribe Milluki and Kalluto, unfortunately when mother’s precious baby Kalluto is involved there’s only so much threatening he can do.

Silva has forbidden any of the Zoldycks from smoking however that doesn’t prevent Kikyo for running off into the forest, only to be caught by one of her children.

Kalluto is a clean freak and everything in his room has a place.

Milluki didn’t mind watching Kalluto when he was a toddler because he was quiet and didn’t pitch fits however he found it amusing that Illumi looked like a tried mom most of the time with Killua and Alluka both running about.

The Zoldyck children never really interact during the daytime however like normal siblings they find each other in the kitchen at 3 am making cereal and eventually end up in Milluki’s room playing Mario cart.

Illumi never told Kalluto and Milluki that he was married to Hisoka but Kalluto found to from the phantom troupe in ways he definitely didn’t want to, he swiftly told Milluki and they got enough pizza to send a horse into a coma.

Illumi wakes up really early but if he could he’d sleep all day.

During summer Illumi avoids the sun like the plague and Hisoka doesn’t put on nearly enough clothes.

Hisoka has a pile of magazines just on the floor next to his couch.

Illumi gets cat called a lot and Hisoka finds it hilarious.

Machi and Illumi dislike each other and Kalluto is stuck in the middle of their feud.

Killua and Gon like to sit in fields together and listen to music.

After Killua and Gon separated, Killua and Alluka met up with Bisky so Alluka could learn the basics of nen. Bisky yelled at Killua because he didn’t know how to do Alluka’s hair and she showed him how to braid it.

Since Kalluto is around the phantom troupe so much he’s started talking like them and Illumi constantly has to remind him not to use foul language.

Everyone talks to Kalluto about their problems because they think he won’t tell.

Illumi doesn’t know slang and so he is constantly confused when speaking to Milluki, he has to text Hisoka for answers who will gladly jump at the chance of causing drama.

Kurapika constantly gets emails from Hisoka about random stuff.

When Killua found out Hisoka and Illumi were married he was eating dinner with Gon and he immediately curled up into a ball and kept repeating “Im related to a clown…”

Gon gets grasshoppers and collects them in jars, he gets very sad when Mito tells him they are not allowed in the house.

Leorio makes a lot of gay jokes.

Hisoka really dislikes Kikyo.

When Gon and Killua have sleep overs, they usually get tangled in blankets and fall off the bed.

Whenever Gon does something stupid Killua tells him he’s “Engaging in fatherless behavior”

Chrollo stole an ambulance and named it the spider-mobile.

Chrollo drives the spider-mobile and every time they see one of those crosses for people who’ve gotten into an accident on the road he pulls over and prays for them.

Phinks bet Kalluto that he couldn’t eat a spoon of hot sauce with a straight face and lost 50 Jenny and his dignity.

[itsmeyaspider]

You are mine~

Yandere Risotto Nero x female reader x Yandere Diavolo/Doppio

Trigger warning: yandere, stalking, possessiveness, obsessive, forced kissing, drugs mentioned, cursing, blood and gore discribtion, Yandere Risotto and Diavolo are their own trigger warning

Notes: I'm back and I finally rewatched Jojo again! I can't believe how long it took me to write something for my all-time favorite Jojo characters !!! I hope you enjoy the story :D

Also a huge shoutout to my Italian friend who translated me some words<3333

It's a pleasant night in Napels, the moonlight shines in the dark alleyways and the only thing you can hear are the soft footsteps of the lost souls who are still outside. Most normal people wouldn't even think of going out at this time of night, the crimes in Italy are increasing day by day and even in the daytime you aren't safe anymore.

But none of that bothers a beautiful (h/c) haired woman, why should it? After all, she is a Capa in the well known mafia group Passione. Many people respect her, something she values very highly. Still, she doesn't like walking around Napels at this late hour, but we'll, she didn't really have a choice, the boss, who is the head of the organization, has ordered her too see him as soon as possible. This suprised her a lot, as she didn't know what he really looks like until today. She had contact with him by phone from time to time, but never ever face to face. So what the hell did he want from her?!

The woman who bears the name (Y/n), continues to walk in the direction that was directed to her. The boss is really overprotective when it comes to his identity, but she already understood that as she joined the mafia. (Y/n) changes sides of the street as she slowly and careful enters a dark alley. With a small, annoyed sigh she looks at the piece of paper with all the coordinates on it. Did she really get lost?! This can't be true...

She bites her underlip as she is about to turn back, maybe the house is in another allway. As she starts to walk again, she suddenly hears a strange noise behind her. What the hell? It's probably just a stray cat taking food out of one of the garbage cans. God, I'm so jumpy. But as she is about to leave, she is suddenly grabbed by something- no, someone. A strong, powerful grip pulls her back into this godforsaken alley.

Just as she was about to say something, she looks into ice cold, demon like black-red eyes. Her (e/c) colored eyes widen in shock, as she immediately knows which man stands before her. Risotto fucking Nero, the leader of La Squarda Esecuzioni. What is he doing here? Did he watch her?!

"What the hell are you doing here?! Let go of me, I need to-" but before the woman could continue, the stand user interrups her. "(Y/n).." His voice sounds rough, almost beastly. His gaze rests on her, like a brid trying to catch a worm and she almost notices a malicious, sadistic glint in it. "You shouldn't be here, bambola. There are a lot of dangerous people around at this time of night."

A sudden, involuntary shiver comes over her, something is strange, the way he looks at her, but above all..those words - those damn words scare her. "I-I can defend myself, no one is stupid enough to attack me." she says in an almost stuttering voice. "I don't see any of that."

The Capo's grip tightened as he pulls her closer to his muscular body. His other hand rests on her cheek as he suddenly grabs her chin and continues to force her to look into his possessive eyes. A gentle breeze blew through the alley, and everything about her wanted to run away, damn even her Stand couldn't help her right now. Not against him. "Mia. You are mine (Y/n). Do you understand that? Mine and mine alone. Since the day you joined the mafia, when you were a little fish in the water, I've watched you. And now after all these years I've been waiting for you..."

The black dressed man comes closer and closer, so close that she can feel his breath on her neck. Her (b/t) shaped body stiffens, as she is overcome by goosebumps. Surely, Risotto couldn't be serious...Is he crazy or perhaps on fucking drugs?! "Risottto, p-please let me go-." Suddenly she feels ice cold, rough lips pressing against hers, the woman tries to free herself, but the man doesn't even think about it. He puts his two hands on her hips, forcing her to hold still.

---

Meanwhile, a relatively short, pink haired man observes the whole situation. He hides behind a house wall as he glances at the woman from time to time. Anger erupts in him, how dare Risotto touch (Y/n)~chan like that?! He grinds his teeth as he suddenly hears an all too familiar sound. "Turuturu...turuturu" The man in the pink sweater looks abruptly around to see where the noise might be coming from. The boss is probably just as angry as he is- or even worse! He walks further into the the alley as he sees a banana peel lying on the ground, he picks it up as he holds it against his ear. "Boss?" He asks, only to be answered by an angry voice.

"Doppio, my sweet Doppio, make sure this filthy traitor keeps his finger off my principessa. Kill him for me."

The man called Doppio nods at his boss's words as he throws the banana peel on the ground. His light brown eyes darken as they twitch weirdly back and forth. After a little while, Doppio regains his composure as he slowly walks to the other alley where his beloved (Y/n) is being mistreated by a traitor. "You will pay for this Risotto. How dare you lay a hand on my (Y/n)!" His voice is no longer so cheerful and bright as usually, no this time it is filled with pure hatred.

The leader of the La Squadra Esecuzioni team immediately breaks away from the dominant kiss, as he licks his lips, he places the woman protectively behind him. "And who are you?!" (Y/n) no longer understands anything, first she was kissed by another Capo without her consent and now there is another man she didn't even know! What the actually fuck. The woman takes a few steps back, realizing the seriousness of the entire situation she is in. She crashes into a wall as she looks around, maybe she could find an escape route or anything to get away from this men's!!!

Doppio's eyes start to twitch again, but this time it's much worse than before, he holds his hands against his head, as he watches on the ground. His body appears slightly more muscular and much larger than before, a raspy, vicious voice can be heard. "I'm the one who will kill you. Do you think you can get away with this, Risotto? First you betray my organization and than you dare to steal my wife." The far too intensive green eyes shine with anger, how is this even possible? He clearly had brown eyes before!!!

Risotto crosses his arms as a small smile graces his lips. "So the boss is finally showing himself huh? I must have really hurt you then. But still, (Y/n) is mine, I will kill you and take over the organization myself."

The woman continues to search for a way out, unable to ignore their conversations. First it turns out that this pink Bimbo is the fucking boss himself and now he is also obsessed with her??? What the hell has she done in her whole life to end up there? Slowly she remembers the she only started out as a small drug dealer, she wanted to save some money for college. But now that she thinks about it, she has rises to the level of a Capa really quickly. Most of the people take years to climb the ladder in Passione, especially when you want to be a Capo. But she only achieve it in a few months.

'Shit! I'm an idiot!' She bites her lower lip, as she lets out a small sigh. She needs to risk everything now, the situation won't get better and she really don't want to stay any longer. The two men's are visible busy with each other and so she sneaks along the wall as inconspicuously as possible. Maybe, just maybe she will make it to the street and then her Stand could help her to escape, then she would he safe, or at least she thinks so. But before she could make another small step, she feels a sharp, unpleasant pain in her heel. A razor blade rips out of her now bleeding heel as she falls on the ground, she lets out a scream. The pain doesn't stop, it burns like hell, the red liquid slowly flows onto the stony ground.

"Where do you think you going bambola? Did I allow you to leave?" The voice of the black dressed man pulls her immediately out of her thoughts. Her now almost watery (e/c) colored eyes are filled with fear. The woman wants to say something, to tell them both to stop treating her like a piece of meat, but something inside her stops her from doing so. Is it the fear of being hurted again? Deep down she knows thar she don't stand a chance against any of them but still, she can't just do nothing! (Y/n) looks down at the ground as she really tries to get up, but before she finally manages to stand on both feet's again, she notices more blood running onto the floor then before. Suddenly she feels a strong hand on her shoulder and as she tries to look back at the two Stand Users, she realizes that the pink haired one is missing.

"(Y/n) you're not going anywhere, you will come with me." Her body immediately flinches, the dominant voice makes it clear that she has no other chance. Diavolo grabs one of her loose strands of (h/c) colored hair, as she starts to play with them. "I will kill Risotto now in front of your cute eyes and then I will take you with me. You will learn not to have such fooling thoughts ever again, otherwise I will make sure that you can never walk again."

Tears run down her cheeks as her hope slowly but surely fades away. This is madness, no matter which of these two psychopaths would win, she would get treated like an animal. She suddenly falls onto her knees as she inwardly prays for both of them to die! This couldn't be ture, this simply couldn't be. It has to be a fucked up dream, otherwise she will slowly break and will never be free again. 'I should never started selling fucking drugs.'

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

Here is a small drawing I did for this fanfiction! It's only Yandere Doppio but I really hope you like it<3

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"The nighttime brings promises I can't keep

Givin' in is the one thing that I don't need

Got ahead of myself, gotta retrace my steps'

Cause I lost me the moment I took a piece of you

And you may never believe, but I'm sorry

I never meant for it to go this way (this way)

Only wanted the best and I'm stickin' to my story

This was a moment for me, and this was all it could be"

Destin Conrad & Alex Isley –"Same Mistake"

The state of mental disarray Celeste lived in would've broken the average woman. Having a feral pack of vampires follow her home brought on a fear so acute that she fled her cottage that same night and stayed with Mercy until the next morning.

She didn't tell her friend about the encounter, knowing she'd be packed off to a mental ward, or at least temporarily placed under observation at the hospital where Mercy worked as a nurse.

Mercy wasn't stupid.

She sensed immediately that Celeste's distress was beyond the made-up story about a burglar trying to break into her house. Crime happened a lot in the Easy, and any normal person would call the cops and bitch about soaring crime rates. Nothing would come of it, anyway. Outside of homicide, the NOLA police department wasn't known to haul ass for a B&E —breaking and entering. Mercy's suspicions were affirmed by the way Celeste acted, peeking out of the window every half hour like the time an old boyfriend before Freddie harassed her with stalking and drive-bys to her old apartment. All of her clique knew Terry left the city. She told them he had his job to get back to and things weren't going to pan out long distance. Mercy's lips poked out like she was itching to know if Terry was the problem and the reason for running off to her place in the middle of the night.

Celeste slept on the couch in Mercy's apartment and stayed indoors there while her friend left early for work. Daytime was a safe time. Isn't that what the vampire myths claimed it to be? She stared at the old bite wounds on her neck, thigh, and breasts. How could she be so blind to what they were? Terry had her so twisted up in the fog of lust that she glossed over proof that bloodsuckers were fucking real.

She groaned and closed her eyes. Terry manipulated her trust to feed from her.

New Orleans was the popular gothic home of vampire lore in the south. Countless books, movies, TV shows and the like centered it as the breeding ground for supernatural creatures. People made stories about monsters to scare children into being obedient. Bloody Mary. The Boo Hag. Zombies. Shit, even Voodoo still gave folks around those parts the heebie-jeebies even though white people turned it into a commercial joke. They sold Voodoo donuts, Voodoo dolls, and even ran up and down the French Quarter pretending to be Voodoo Witch Doctors giving graveyard tours to visit Madame Marie Laveau.

Like her ancestors before her, Celeste knew Vodun was real. Hoodoo was real. African retentions stayed rooted in the diaspora, and New Orleans was the most African city in America, witnessing unspeakable horrors done to Black people. White people were monsters bringing them to southern American shores. Surely their monstrosity enabled wickedness to flourish on southern soil and everywhere else. Her people danced at carnival, dressed as skeletons, and masked to hide their true selves. What better city to feed in than one that openly courted secrecy, excess, and spooky vibes? If people disappeared or turned up dead, the law and society could blame it on American's natural inclination to be violent with one another…not anything supernatural.

Vampires walked among them.

She swiped the cracked screen of her smartphone, looking up old wives' tales about Terry's kind. None of them supported anything he would be averse to. He had a reflection in the mirror. Crosses didn't bother him. He shook a priest's hand and didn't freak out. Never even flinched when she wore her gold cross necklace. She fed him garlic in the shrimp she cooked. The only things that tripped her up was that he walked around in the daytime, and she never saw him with fangs. Obviously, his teeth were sharp enough to break her skin, but regular human teeth could do that.

Maybe he was a familiar.

Dracula had Renfield. Maybe Terry was The Deacon's Renfield, luring people to their doom.

Celeste rubbed her scalp and swallowed down the anger festering in her chest. She'd made a mistake trusting Terry. She let a pretty boy's face and five-star Michelin dick trick her into submission of diabolical evil. The only saving grace was Terry's absence from her life, and whatever else ran around the Easy that scared the vampires away. She heard them say Old Ones. Perhaps that's what landed on her roof, causing the bloodsuckers to flee. Whatever it was, it didn't harm her, so she had one less monster to worry about.

As long as she stayed active during the day and locked herself in for the night, the vampires couldn't touch her. Had they wanted her dead or sucked dry, they would've done it days ago when she came home from work at night. They seduced people easily. Moved fast. It wouldn't take much to kill her on a dark street. They wanted her alive for a reason: to get Terry.

She texted Mercy and told her she felt better about going home. Made up a story about getting a burglar alarm. While driving to her small neighborhood in Marigny, she kept her neck on swivel to check for suspicious activity. She spent the rest of her time sleeping. She was so tired lately. Fatigue came easy.

Come nightfall, she turned all the lights on in the house and carried a sharp meat-carving knife on her. In her bedroom, she watched the news on her laptop, feeling drowsy. She typed in the words Shelby Springs into the Google search bar and tried to figure out where Terry came from. He claimed that he lived not too far from the place where his cousin was murdered. Three other parishes surrounded Shelby Springs. Typing Terry's name in the search engine brought up pictures of other Terry Richmonds, all white and mostly old.

Going another route, Celeste typed in the name Michael Simmons with Shelby Springs, and a slew of articles filled her screen. She read about a corrupt police force and an attempted coverup. Not one article mentioned Terry's name. Stranger still, four of the officers involved in the corruption scandal had disappeared months after being charged to stand trial. The only members of the force still around happened to be a Black woman who was set to testify against her fellow officers. She quit the force and refused to comment on any of the charges with the media. Celeste wrote her name down: Officer Jessica Sims. A second officer, who had been shot by his own Police Chief, made a move across the country to work at another police force.

If Terry went to help his cousin, surely Officer Sims would have information about his address, or at least the name of the parish he came from. Celeste stared at the screen. Officer Sims' round face looked haunted by something.

Another thought occurred to her, and she grabbed her cell phone. She called her cousin Butchie, who was friends with Travis.

"Butchie, can you text me Travis's number? I need to ask him something."

"About?" Butchie drawled on the other end.

"None of your business."

Butchie sucked his teeth and twenty seconds later, Travis X's number appeared on her screen. She typed it in fast, hitting the send button.

"Who dis?"

"Is that how you answer your phone? It's me, Duchess."

"Sister Celeste? What's going on?"

"Can you tell me, or ask your brother, where Terry lives?"

"Who?"

"Terry. Terry Richmond."

"Who dat?"

"Whatchu mean who dat? Your friend you brought to the Indian practice last month…your brother Scubbie's marine buddy. The one with the green eyes."

"Scubbie was never in the marines and I didn't bring anybody to the bar with green eyes. Have you been smoking that funny herb?"

"He came with you outside when you lit up my cigarette. The pretty boy."

Travis stayed silent.

"Never mind. Sorry to bother you. I thought maybe you knew him. Goodnight."

Celeste tapped her cell phone against her thigh. Terry used Travis to get next to her. He probably induced some type of hypnotic state like those vampires tried to do at her house… Jedi mind-tricked Travis into letting him hang with them. Once he was no longer needed, the memory of Terry faded from his mind.

She shut off the laptop and curled into a ball with the knife in front of her face. Resting her fingers on the handle, she made plans to visit Shelby Springs the next time she had another two consecutive days off.

Celeste drank a red bull to perk herself up for work at the elder care facility. The new client who moved into Miss Irma's old room was a cranky white man who never seemed satisfied with his care there. He often complained that his room was cold and drafty.

"There's no draft and your room faces the garden, the sunniest and warmest part of the building," Celeste said, helping Mr. Crawley with the door so he could move with his walker better to get inside his room.

"I'm telling you people I have a draft in my room and it's too cold, even when I turn up the heat. I pay too much money for this place not to have controlled temperatures," Crawley said.

"May I suggest wearing one of your nice sweaters?" she said.

Celeste grit her teeth, listening to Crawley go off, but she assisted him and nodded her head as his list of complaints grew. She helped him sit at the desk near the window where he wanted to write letters and his autobiography. He probably complained about his life there, too.

"You feel that?" he said.

Crawley held his hand out toward the closed window where sunlight created a square of light on the teal carpet. He grabbed her hand and forced it into the light.

"See?" he said, his pale blue eyes pleading with her to pay attention.

She stood with her fingers splayed out, dust motes floating in the bright light. Where warmth should've been, there was only a cold spot. She moved her hand in different areas around the window and there was definitely an icy chill that shouldn't have been there. Glancing up at the air conditioner vent, she didn't hear it working at that moment. Only the fan whirred, giving a pleasant circulation of air.

"I feel the cold air, Mr. Crawley. I don't know what I can do about it. Is it bothering you?"

"If it stayed in that one spot it wouldn't be a problem." He leaned in conspiratorially, and she moved closer to him. "But it moves around."

"Moves around?"

Crawley's tone of voice lowered, and he genuinely looked agitated by Celeste's facial expression.

"The cold moves around in here," he said.

She glanced at the window and reached her hand into the suspect area. The sun warmed her hand up. The cold spot was gone.

"See? I told you. Now it's all warm and normal again, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Celeste retrieved a sweater from the hook on the door and placed it on the back of Crawley's seat.

"I'll be back to take you to lunch," Celeste said.

She left the room and worked without incident until she walked down the hallway carrying a bag of collected trash and passed near Crawley's room. A large, cold spot sat in front of his door. The chill startled Celeste. The air in the building had slightly warmed up, but not enough to need the air-conditioning blasting more than it was. She walked through an icy gust and gasped at the sudden drop in temperature. Crawley's door was open. He furiously scribbled at his desk. Celeste moved back and forth between coolness and frigid air. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed someone walking toward the employee break room.

Miss Irma.

Celeste stood cemented to the floor, and Miss Irma turned a corner and glanced back at her. A male co-worker pushed a cart of meds down the hall and stared at Celeste's confused face.

"You alright, Celeste?"

"Did you see someone walk past you?"

"Just now?"

"Yes."

"Nope."

She didn't want to walk down the hall. Ignoring a dead woman should've been easy, but Celeste moved along the corridor close to the wall. When she reached the corner, she prayed no one would be there.

"Oh thank God," she sighed, seeing another empty hallway.

She left the building out of the side door to throw away the trash in the dumpster outside. A supervisor named Diane met her back inside the break room. Diane snacked on a bag of chips and a bottle of coke.

"Celeste, can you get in touch with Terry Richmond? He hasn't returned my calls to collect his grandmother's personal effects," Diane said.

"I haven't spoken to him in a long time."

"Well…his grandmother has boxes in our storage room and I'd hate to throw it out. The clothes we can donate to Goodwill, but there are photo albums and books—"

"I'll take them to him. I get off at five."

"You will? That would be great. Do you have time now to get it and put it in your car? I can help you. Mr. Richmond was told that we can hold items for thirty-days and he said he would get them before he left the city. It's been past the deadline."

Celeste followed Diane to the large storage room, and in the back were four medium-sized boxes and two bags of clothes. They took two trips to her car, and she squeezed all the boxes in the back seat and the passenger side. She dumped the contents of an over-sized box into the trunk and folded it up to reuse later at her home.

"Thank you so much. This makes me feel so much better. There are photos and all kinds of irreplaceable things in them. I'd hate to see them dumped in the garbage," Diane said.

"No problem. I'll keep them at my house and he can pick them up the next time I see him."

Diane left her alone. Celeste grabbed her smokes from the glove compartment and took an extra break. She hid herself in the garden and sat on one of the wooden benches. Seeing Miss Irma unearthed troublesome emotions. She worried that her mind was teetering on the verge of mental collapse from the stress and fear. Seeing ghosts on top of vampires was too much. Puffing and fretting, Celeste closed her eyes. Feeling dizzy, she leaned forward, hanging her head between her legs. Goosebumps pricked her skin as the temperature dropped abruptly around her. She shivered in the direct blazing sunlight.

"It's the baby making you feel sick," an elderly female voice said.

Celeste kept her eyes closed and head low, too afraid to open them or move. Reeling, she prayed silently and hoped that she wouldn't pass out.

"Don't be afraid. You know I won't hurt you…I just have to talk to you."

Celeste opened her eyes and focused her attention on the grass beneath her feet. She looked slightly to her right and noticed a pair of feet encased in pretty yellow house slippers. Moving her gaze higher, she recognized the simple pink floral dress, and the pale wrinkled hands.

"I'm scared," Celeste said.

The hand of a dead woman pulled her up, and they looked at one another eye to eye on the bench.

"Is this real? Or am I losing my mind?" Celeste asked.

Miss Irma's eyes twinkled. She looked more alive and vibrant than her last days at the assisted living facility.

"Your mind is fine, baby. Just fine."

"You're really a ghost, then?"

"That indeed. May I?"

Miss Irma pointed to Celeste's stomach. Celeste sat back.

"You want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Miss Irma rested her soft hand on Celeste's belly. The warmth she exuded seemed so real. Ghosts were supposed to be smoky and floaty. Miss Irma sat next to her like the most solid and alive person on the planet.

"Well, now…Papa didn't waste no time," Miss Irma said.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are pregnant, child. It's still early, but you are about to become a mama for my great-granddaddy."

"That can't be true."

"Getting pregnant?"

"Terry being your great-granddaddy…he's not even…he's not…"

"You know it's true. I can see in your eyes you know his secret…what he is. On this side, they tell me that you've done the impossible, so now I must tell you something important…something I was too weak to say before I died."

Miss Irma cradled Celeste's hands, which shook so badly that the ghost had to clamp them down tight between her palms.

"You have my things. Look through them so you may know Papa's story. He was human once upon a time ago. I spent my long life documenting all I could for my grandson Michael, but he's gone and can't hold the secret for our family. Papa wanted me to tell his story. But my mind started fading and I couldn't finish my work. Now you have become my family, Celeste. There are beings in the world who mean Papa harm… and your baby, too. They hide in plain sight in other places, but because Papa came back here, they might come for him."

"Other vampires?"

"Les Gargouilles…gargoyles. They will seek him out and kill him. Their kind are enemies to Papa. Enemies to that child if they find out about you carrying a vampire's baby."

"I've seen a few gargoyle statues in the Quarter that were never here before."

"Oh no, then it may be too late."

Miss Irma rose from her seat and looked off into the distance. She paced in front of Celeste.

"They're not active in the daytime, so you're safe, even when they hunt at night. I've tracked many during my lifetime taking pictures of them all over the world. They protect humans and won't harm you because you're a child of God. The baby will be safe until it's born and out of your body…oh no…oh no…"

Miss Irma looked at her hands. They began to disintegrate, starting at her fingertips.

"Celeste! He loves you…he—"

Miss Irma's body broke apart and floated away like the graying ash of a dying fire.

Too stunned to move, Celeste sat on the bench for the rest of her shift. She wandered away only when the sun went down. Climbing into her car, she thought of what to do with the information given to her. After an hour of sitting in her driver's seat, she drove herself to the drugstore and bought an early detection pregnancy kit.

At home, she tested herself twice.

She was positive both times.

Chapter 11 HERE.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl17

@4pfsukuna

@yamst3rdamctrl

@sweettea-and-honeybutter

@comfortzonequeen

@theereina

@brattyfics

@prettyisasprettydoes1306

@megane96

@honeytoffee

@taurusqueen83

@mightbeher

@melaninpov

@carlakeks

@woahthatshitfat

@hrlzy

@theglamclosetsl

@liquorlaughslove

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for accidentally fulfilling a prophecy?

So... I am not sure where to start this. I, (adult M), have a younger brother (young adult M). He's always been shortsighted. Naive, starry-eyed. The dreamer type.

He's also had these awful ideas of running away from home for as long as I can remember. He thinks he could be some sort of hero, right? It's a lot of fairy-tale nonsense. He filled his head with stories as a child, and they never fell out as he grew up.

Well, one day he does it. Disregards everyone's advice, and runs away. It takes me all of five minutes to know where he's gone. You see, our people have been isolated for as long as anyone can remember. It has to do with the stories my brother filled his head with. In all honesty, there was likely a war or a coup, and our people were on the losing side.

So of course, my idiot of a brother runs to the capital city of the nation across a mountain from us. Right into the castle, and into a girl (also young adult). Like any overprotective older brother, I've been keeping an eye on him. He lies to her, saying he's not from our kingdom. He's a prince of our kingdom, so that's just incredibly stupid on several levels.

And what do the two fools do? Fall in love and convince themselves they're going to go reunite some divided halves, or whatever the stories say. I don't know how she doesn't put things together, especially when she begins to get sick.

You see, there's an old folk legend. If someone from one of the two kingdoms makes their way into the other and spends too much time around anyone, the other person will get an illness that will only worsen the longer they stay near each other. So instead of confessing to her, he decides to propose to her, take her to some folktale doctor who may not even exist, and 'cure' her there. Instead of just going away. Well, I follow them across their whole journey. Mountainous land, and serpentine seas. He doesn't tell her anything. They get to the doctor, and of course, he heeds no warnings, just barges in and almost sells the poor girl to this strange doctor just to cure the illness HE caused.

Long story short, I barge in and kill the doctor, because folklore aside, he's just a creepy old man. And these two fools defend their actions. It takes me forcing my brother to tell her he's from our kingdom and tell her that he's the reason she's sick to get them to do anything.

I admit, maybe I should not have taken the extreme option here. But I stepped in to kill her. It seemed like the only way to get him away from his flight of fancy and to go home.

And the fool jumps in front of my blade. He saves her, and I kill my own brother. And the worst part of it all is that we look up, and it's evening. I didn't think that existed. Day and night are cycling again, for the first time in centuries.

So he was right. He was the chosen one. He was meant to overcome the sins of the angel that founded our kingdom and reunite the world's divided halves.

Everyone is happy. Even the girl who he made sick. She mourns him. But our people have met, and it's a beautiful melding of worlds. She's the reason I'm writing this. Something about being unable to trust my own biased perspective.

Things are being created and there are festivals of thousands of lamps illuminating the newly-found night sky, and my people are marveling at the idea of daytime.

I suppose I did a good thing. But I killed my brother. Even if it was for the good of the world. Am I... am I the asshole? How could I not be? He was a fool, a child at heart, selfish and willing to lie and get the girl he loved killed for some childish idea of a prophecy. But he was right. And now he's gone. Forever.

[dagbert-endless]

with all due disrespect (which is all of it), I hate art I I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art I hate art!!!!! So here's my ocs but woe, picrews be upon ye

For context, the story is that these 5 were all at the same endowed school (St. Claire's) until one of them transferred to Bloor's in the 4th book.

In order from CotRK OC I made first to newest OC:

link to picrew

Starting with Tanya! Her endowment was to feel other people's emotions, which was toooootally not a ripoff of Gabe's lmfao. So I used the Springhole Superpower Generator and now her endowment is that she can detect when someone is (intentionally) lying. It's not the best power, but there's worse coming up so she's pretty mid as an ally.

Tanya is a basic bitch. She's a cheerful girl and incredibly fucking stupid, but also incredibly fucking optimistic.

At 12, Tanya's the youngest endowed at St. Claire's but average at Bloor's.

Tanya is one of two Good kids, so between this and her age she isn't close friends with any of the other ocs. She looks up to Annie, but Annie isn't interested in a twerp like her.

If Tanya moved to the King's city, it would be because her parents divorced and she followed her mom when she moved away. At Bloor's, she'd be in Drama but wouldn't be very good at it.

Tanya's impact on the canon story would be the most minimal. She'd get along well with the other Good kids, but lacks the power to change anything to come.

link to picrew

Second oc is Isadore. I made him when I was a kid and thought you could use moonlight to start fires the way you can with sunlight, so his endowment was manipulating moonlight and he used that to set stuff on fire. By 2020 I knew you could not actually do that. Instead, I opted to keep the endowment of "moonlight manipulation" but he starts fires the way any other person would, with matches.

Today, Isadore... isn't much different to his 2020 counterpart. The general idea behind his endowment is that it's actually pretty lame. He glows and at night he can move moonlight like it's something physical to wave around like a flashlight. His only use is saving the money on buying a real flashlight.

He is extremely nocturnal, and in the daytime he's always falling asleep somewhere. At St. Claire's, he is failing his classes and relies on his friends to keep him educated enough to not get held back (it is not working). At night, he stops feeling so drowsy and can actually Do Things. Unfortunately, most of the other kids are sleeping. One stays up late and one wakes up early to hang out with him, otherwise he misses out on most of what goes on between the endowed.

If Isadore transferred to Bloor's, it would be after he failed his entire grade and his parents decide to throw him in a different school as a weak attempt to fix it. At Bloor's, he'd be in Art. He'd be a decent artist, but only when he can do the project at night and turn it in the next morning. Otherwise, his paintings are all aimless squiggles where he passed out and let the paintbrush roll away.

Isadore's impact on the canon story would also be pretty minimal. He'd sit with the Evil endowed but not get to hang out with any of them very often.

no picrew link because I forced myself to draw this and I'm not wasting all the time I spent to not post it

This is Garnet. He's an oc that I revamped in 2020 to be a CotRK oc, but he wasn't originally a CotRK oc. So he was fandomless -> CotRK -> fandomless -> CotRK.

Garnet's the ""leader"" of the evil endowed at St. Claire's, in that he's one starting most of the beef and telling the other four what to do. His beef with the good kids is part them foiling his plots and part personal beef with one of the good kids not in this post.

Garnet's a shapeshifter. Because he needs to eat more to have the energy to shift (idea "stolen" from B lmao) + he stays up late, he doesn't often do much actual shifting. He can, but it's taxing the more he does it.

Garnet's family has an interest in "collecting" magical objects, and have been for many years. None of the kids are allowed to use any of them until they graduate school, so Garnet doesn't get access to them at any point.

A moderate amount of conflict, at either school, comes from Garnet deciding to steal from other people and the good side putting a stop to it.

If Garnet transferred to Bloor's, it'd be because his parents dragged him to the city while hunting for something mystical and probably not real. His parents only send him to Bloor's because of their Drama department; Garnet's siblings all go to normal school.

Of all my ocs, Garnet would have the biggest impact on the story. He'd be an antagonistic klepto whose shifting powers aid the Bloors well. Despite it, evil would still lose and his family would leave after the final battle.

Picrew link

Moving on to OCs I created just this year in a previous failed attempt to make CotRK ocs from scratch, it's Aneira (Ann/Annie for short).

Her endowment is control over ice, snow, and cold.

Annie and Azalea used to be girlfriends, and I'll elaborate on that later, but Annie is still bitter about the breakup and often targets both Aza and anyone Aza dates.

Unlike Garnet and Finley, Annie doesn't care about Isadore enough to stay awake to talk to him. She's a snob about endowments, if you don't have a powerful one she isn't interested in you at all. As a result, whichever side has the greatest amount of "impressive" endowments is the one she sides with. At both schools, it's the evil side.

If Annie moved to the City, it'd be because her parents found a nicer home their current one (probably in the Heights) and they moved. She would be in Music and be decent at it.

Her impact on the story would be minimal, though it's likely she'd delay things with a heavy blizzard or two if she got pissed enough.

by this point I'm sick of picrew so here's a quick shitty doodle from like May

Last but not least, Azalea.

This roll gave Aza her powers, but tbh talking about her with B is how she got fleshed out.

Azalea is a good kid. She's never killed anyone and doesn't wish to. If need be, she'll drain energy until someone passes out, but she won't hurt them.

Her endowment works by touch, and as a result she covers most of her body in clothing. Annie's the kind of girlfriend that clings like your tongue to ice, so it infuriated her that she couldn't kiss Aza for very long before getting drowsy, that she couldn't hold Aza's hand without someone wearing gloves, etc and she initiated the breakup.

Aza dresses like an edgelord, but she's really just a poser. She's quite nice and kindhearted and firmly on the good side.

If Aza moved to the City, it'd be because one of her parents had to relocate for their job. At Bloor's, she'd be in Music but only kinda meh at it.

She'd help the good side as much as she could, but ultimately nothing changes too drastically.

[a-hobit]

[Puts on pillows with duct tape and bicycle helmet]

You got any bkdk headcanons?

Lolol OKAYYY

SO Izuku is a morning person that can’t wake up vs Kacchan being a night owl who won’t allow himself to waste the daytime.

Katsuki has a full skincare routine he shares with Deku because he says he has bad skin but really because he likes taking care of Izuku.

Izuku is…possessive. That’s not new but he’s always the more jealous one of both of them. He’s still a little touchy about their relationship breaking down again and has no trouble politely telling people to screw off when they make a slight at their relationship or Katsuki himself. Katsuki has no problem letting him and preens at the attention.

Izuku and Kacchan spend a lot of time sparring and then going to bed together just to hold and be held.

Whenever Izuku lands in the hospital Kacchan is always there on his right side with a book in one hand and thumbing over Izuku’s scars with the other.

Katsuki is a seriously attentive partner. He wants to be sure that Izuku is secure in their relationship so he’s usually the one who plans dates, dinners, or goes all out on birthdays.

Katsuki’s safe place is with Izuku. After the war he always finds himself more at ease around him. He’ll usually have a hand in his at all times and tends to smile more and more often around him.

Katsuki confesses first (not a hc i just seriously think that’s going to happen)

Izuku is highly oblivious and even after becoming boyfriends has trouble understanding some of the simpler forms of Katsuki’s love for him.

Katsuki might be a little obsessed with Izuku’s right hand. If he’s holding Izuku’s hand it’s going to be the right one. If only he knows that’s the hand he refused to take years ago he’s okay with that. Izuku finds this sweet and always thought his hand must be rough to look at — let alone hold — but Katsuki tells him that’s stupid while holding that same hand to his cheek.

They get those fucking All Might cards signed at the same time.

Katsuki is gay/Demi and Izuku is pansexual. They both don’t really like casual relationships. Katsuki hates wasting time and Izuku is too heartfelt to have something so impersonal.

Game night is taken deadly seriously at their apartment. They pin chores on the loser. (Usually Izuku haha)

Izuku rarely wakes up before Katsuki but when he does he just lays there watching him until they both get up.

They visit All Might together often to ask him advice. He finds them very sweet together and lets them know to their endless embarrassment.

They tease each other constantly.

They often stay in at home together rather than go on dates too often. They do most of their outings with their friends.

God they just love each other so much it’s disgusting.

[lieutenant-teach]

Post fix-it (Anakin doesn’t go Dark and fulfills the prophecy, clones get civil rights, everyone is happy or on the way to it). Cody speaks about problems concerning clones’ and his own appearance. Hurt\comfort, romance, discussion of sexual harassment.

Only a couple of months ago Cody wouldn’t believe if anyone told him that the war would be over, and the Clone Rights Bill would pass. Yes, a lot of work is needed to be done – settling cadets and shinies saved from Kamino, helping the Jedi get back into ‘diplomatic’ style, figuring out what the veterans want to do with their lives – but right now Cody is content and doesn’t think about it. At least, he tries. Obi-Wan is sitting right next to him in a cozy loveseat, in front of the cracking fire, leaning into him and reading some news on his holopad. Cody promised himself that he won’t speak about heavy topics at night – they both have had enough during the daytime, and Obi-Wan needs some rest after he and other Jedi rummaged through Sith artifacts they found hidden by Palpatine.

But a couple of thoughts, doubts are nagging in the back of Cody’s mind.

And Obi-Wan must have felt it, because he closes the pad and turns to him.

Cody raises an eyebrow in a lame attempt to avert the attention.

 – What is bothering you, my dear? – Concern is written all over his face, and Cody hates it.

 – Nothing serious. Just some stupid thoughts, not important.

 – Which are so not important that your uneasy emotions emanate all around?

Cody remembers how hurt Obi-Wan was after discovering all the lies Anakin Skywalker had been hiding through several years – from negative emotions like fear and jealousy to secret marriage to murder of the whole Tusken tribe. Now he knows Cody’s also hiding something… Of course, it’s nothing as bad as it was with Skywalker, but the fact remains.

 – Well, sir… Obi-Wan, - Cody’s still not used to calling him familiarly. He shifts a little bit facing him fully. – I’ve heard some brothers mentioning that before, and, frankly, I still don’t know what is the right way to react and what to do.

Obi-Wan furrows eyebrows, but listen attentively, and more concern bleeds into his eyes. And Cody hasn’t even told yet what actually happened.

 – They weren’t complaining per se, just confused. They say when they come out onto the streets, sometimes, I guess, some not very polite strangers – some natborns comment on them. You know… appearance. Call them pretty or handsome or attractive while not being asked for any kind of such compliments. And… I suppose, we are attractive to some, though it’s hard to tell when you see your face every day and you don’t even need a mirror, - Cody lets out a small self-deprecating smile, but Obi-Wan only furrows further. – They’re confused – during the war we also walked around sometimes without our buckets on, but no one reacted like that. No one noticed any attractiveness. But now, as we’re still in the centre of attention, now suddenly they see us.

Obi-Wan opens the mouth, but Cody isn’t finished yet:

 – Today I was walking to my workshop to complete these wooden porg toys for younglings, when someone stopped me and started flirting with me. – He feels uneasy even thinking about it. He’s never felt so awkward before. Not even after he kissed Obi-Wan for the first time and then started mulling over – maybe, he was kissing badly, maybe, he had a bad breath – and not even when after this his former General began reassuring him everything was fine. No, it was a feeling similar to when after several years with the Jedi respecting them and teaching self-worth he looked back on their collective life on Kamino. They were created for the Republic. Units to serve. To be used and discarded. But then the Jedi insisted that they’re not units, but people. Everyone deserves respect. And they were mistreated both by the Kaminoans and the Senate. It was impossible to even start realizing that it shouldn’t have been like that. How must they react now to the previous treatment they’ve got used to? Especially these days, when they’re recognized as sentients? Quite often they were never seen at all or as furniture at best. But now they are at last considered, called pretty, so it is good, right? But why does it feel wrong? – And it felt wrong. I was looked at, admired for my physic, but I wasn’t seen at all. It doesn’t make sense, right? – Cody chuckles self-deprecatingly again, feeling stupid for not being able to figure out his own emotions.

 – It does. – Obi-Wan sighs. – First you’re not seen at all, now you’re seen as beautiful dolls. Two sides of the same coin. It shall take time for the general public to realize fully that you have the same rights of respect as anyone else. And it does make sense you do not feel good when called like that, especially when not asked for any kind of such attention. I think I shall talk to Healer Che and Knight Secura about it, maybe Master Tapal also – they can organize something for the Brothers, some lessons specifically about such situations. Mace should know, too – I think about political implications of addressing such attitude…

 – Isn’t it too much? Overreacting? – Cody doesn’t want any trouble for both his brothers or the Jedi. Catches Obi-Wan’s somber gaze and deflates: - I guess it’s not. Thank you for bothering.

 – Not bothering, it’s serious, - Obi-Wan’s eyes are immensely sad now. – I’m so sorry it happens to you all. Thanks for telling me.

One boulder is off Cody’s shoulders.

 – But there’s something else, right?

 – Yeah, it’s more personal… and really stupid, - Cody hesitates, then tugs his shirt, pulls it over his head and throws on the floor. Rolls his shoulders, straightening his back: - Who do you see?

Obi-Wan is obviously taken aback – both by question and by Cody’s actions. As they haven’t been that intimate. Taking time, not hurrying into naked business. So Obi-Wan hasn’t seen him shirtless… in romantic context, let’s say.

Cody likes the way his General’s… former General’s gaze wanders over him – quickly, not wanting to be intrusive. But clearly interested. But the doubt – unreasonable, as he tries to convince himself – rots all the joy.

 – I see you. Why do you ask?

 – Don’t you think about… Jango Fett?

Obi-Wan looks offended.

 – I’m his clone, I look the same, and you’d met him long before you met me, - Cody prods with some masochistic insistence. – You’ve told me I’m different in the Force. But our outwards are identical.

Obi-Wan sighs and takes his hand gently.

 - Will you believe me if I say I haven’t thought about him in what – three years? I never ever seen not a tiniest bit of Jango Fett in any of you. The Force signature, shall I say, impacts how we, the Force-sensitives, especially the trained ones, perceive the world…

 – But do you find me… handsome? – Cody interrupts him – he knows what Obi-Wan’s is trying to tell him. He’s heard it before – “You feel steady and warm, like a sun”. He never expected sex issues to be so complicated, he thinks to himself.

 – I do, - Obi-Wan sounds as if he’s saying a vow. – Cody, I have no intention to be insensitive, but do you presume that when I’m with you, I imagine… Rex instead of you? Or Waxer? Or literally any of your brothers?

The idea is the most moronic ever, despite Obi-Wan’s serious voice. Cody even laughs:

 – Course, not! – he catches the idea his Jedi is conveying and lets the other boulder fall. He smiles warmly, feeling easy: - I hate being beaten by my own logic.

 – I know it may be hard for you, darling, - Obi-Wan starts and then smiles back. Cody knows he feels the change in his emotions, because the concern on his face fades away. For now, at least. – Well, Cody…

 – Yes? – Cody is alert, as per usual. Obi-Wan blushes and ducks his head a little bit – Cody finds it adorable. – What is it, sir? – he teases, flashing a flirty smile. He already suspects what he’ll be asked about, and it feels gloriously absolutely opposite to what happened this day.

 – Would you allow me to touch you? – Obi-Wan doesn’t look confident – obviously remembers Cody’s not nice experience too. – Of course, the fact you took off your shirt doesn’t oblige you to agree, and it was rude of me to assume you’d enjoy hearing that, especially after today’s unfortunate experience…

 – I want it, - Cody doesn’t intent for Obi-Wan to feel as if he did something wrong. Because he didn’t.

Obi-Wan slowly stretches his hand and lays it on Cody’s chest. The touch is gentle and warm, very careful. His heart is fluttering, and there’s a funny feeling in the stomach – intensified by the intimacy of the situation.

Cody cannot take his eyes off Obi-Wan’s face, mesmerized by love written all over it.

 – You’re beautiful, - the hand slowly slides lower, on his belly, tracing tense muscles. – Dear, you are beautiful, - finger pads move up, circling chest muscles, brushing the nipple – the latter causes a tremor of pleasant vulnerability in Cody. The hand travels over his shoulder, mapping every inch of skin.

Cody presses his hand to Obi-Wan’s cheek – the beard scratches, but he likes it. Then he lowers it and touches the hem of his Jedi’s shirt, looking questioningly into his eyes. He’s not sure if he oversteps the boundaries – maybe, Obi-Wan is not ready to go this far as Cody is.

 – How can anyone say no to these puppy eyes? – Obi-Wan laughs quietly. – Not that I ever wanted, - he raises his arms, allowing Cody to take the shirt off and throw it away to his own.

Cody wants to have a look, but he only catches fair skin before Obi-Wan throws his arms around Cody’s neck, presses himself into him and plants a long and really nice kiss on lips. Cody isn’t stupid to complain about it – especially when he hugs him back, feels warmth and lean muscles under his palms, heat of chest and stomach against his own. And he moves closer, exploring Obi-Wan’s back, taking in all scars – his heart squeezes with ‘there could have been no scars, if not this karking war’. He interrupts the kiss only to press his lips to the shoulder sprayed with faint freckles. He feels like he’ll explode of tenderness. Feels Obi-Wan caressing his shoulder blades and neck, kissing his temple.

 – It’s all right, darling, it’s all right, - the Jedi murmurs into his ear, practically cradling him. Cody doesn’t like the somber in his voice, so he uses his weight to tackle Obi-Wan down into the loveseat. Hears delighted chuckle into his ear and grins, shifting himself to look into his eyes. Then leans for a kiss, and the initiative is met with vigour.

[justatypicalwizard]

Dream eater | Bakugo Katsuki

✦ Slight angst. Bakugo is an eternal living dream eater. Slight self ship when it comes to the readers character.

✦ Inspired by a Webtoon series which I strongly reccomend: Eaternal Nocturnal

✦ Word count: 2,7k

✦ Warnings: none

Thinking about Bakugo who is a dream eater. During the day he wanders the world with a physical body that doesn't need much to sustain it, he doesn't even have to eat if he's not in the mood. Using his abnormal persuasion skills on some random landlord he convinced them that he's a tennant so he doesn't even have to pay for it.

All of his daytime existence is just an endless stroll with nothing specific to do. Yet, this changes during the night.

Bakugo sleeps, that's when he enters his dream eater form. It's golden, celestial and slightly transparent with sparkling tatoos of the sun, moon and various spirals embeded onto his skin. He floats around the city trying to fulfill himself with dreams.

Back in the day when people were more superstitious their dreams were a whole different world. They thought of magic, wealth, happiness, demons and signs. They believed that dreams had meaning, they wanted to remember them when they woke up. Now they no longer care for them. Today's dreams and shallow and predictable. People don't see sense in them, often not even remembering them.

This very seriously starves Bakugo as he needs to gather more and more tasteless dreams to survive. This also made him starved emotionally as he sees no more sense into his eternal existence which only makes him more annoyed, the eternal nothingness.

It all changes when one night he stumbles upon your dream. It's something different. Rarely ever does a human produce more than one dream a night, but you? You popped out three whole, crazy dreams that filled Bakugo up to the brim not only in case of his starving stomach but also with satisfaction. When he looked down at you with his golden eyes he felt... good.

You never dissapointed him and so he started to visit you daily, feeding on your dreams while roaming through your apartment to look at various small tokens of your personality. He found it quite cute how overwhelming your place was. There were plants, books, stupid little things like a ruler with a face or a big, fluffy pen everywhere. It was also a bit messy but he learned to ignore that fact.

Dream eaters scarcely ever met one another. They signed up for isolation, not wanting to claim each others feeding place. Because of that no one told Bakugo how dangerous it was to play for too long with one human, especially the one with crazy dreams.

One night when he was dipping his fingers in the matery of your dream, ready to pull it out you suddenly turned your face to him and opened your eyes.

He didn't know what to do for a split second when you asked him a question.

"Are you a dream?"

He nodded, fixated on the thought of gettion out of here.

"Is this a lucid dream?" You asked once more, propping yourself up on your elbows and rubbing your eyes.

"Yes."

He answered, hoping you would buy the lie.

"Oh, I hate lucid dreams, I'm always so tired after them." You put your feet on the floor and Bakugo jumped away like from fire.

Even though it was his chance to run he still found himself standing next to you and looking at what you were doing. At first you pinched yourself a few times. When it didn't bring you back from you 'dream' you started to kick you bed frame. After a few 'ouch' and 'fuck' you were getting annoyed. How come you couldn't get out of your dream? You had to wake up early tommorow!

"Guess I'll just do the thing that always works." You sighed stepping closer to your balcony door.

When you were about to flip yourself over the handrail of your balcony Bakugo stopped you, grabbing you by you pijama's collar.

"Stop, just go back to sleep." You looked at him as if he was an idiot.

Go back to sleep... in your dream? Looking at the bed you shrugged and went under your cozy cover one more time. Soon you fell back asleep and Bakugo breathed out an air of relief. He could have literary killed you just now. He really forgot how stupid people are.

For the next few weeks he avoided your place but it's hard to give up on a sweet treat once you tasted it. Earlier Bakugo thought other peoples' dreams were bland but now, when he had a good comparison, he felt it deep down his stomach. No dream tasted like yours. He convinced himself that several days were enough for you to forget the whole thing, to become unaware once again.

That night he found himself inside the well known apartment where you slept sweet and soundly. It was supposed to be only a moment, he would just grab a single dream and go. Yet, your softly turning form mesmerised him. As he came closer and closer, reaching his hand out to tangle his fingers into your dream your eyes fluttered open once again.

Did you sense him? You shouldn't even see him, most people didn't. But your look was focused enough to tell him otherwise.

"Wow, I'm having the same dream once again. Is it also lucid this time?" You asked with somewhat a hint of excitement in your sleepy voice.

"Uh, yes. Just don't jump the fuck out of the window again."

"Okay, okay. So, what are you doing here my dream hot thing?" Bakugo wondered whether you'd be embarassed if you discovered it was reality.

"Eating your dreams." Why make up shit when you already think he's imaginary.

"Oh, what?" You gave that thought some time. "How do they taste?"

This time it was Bakugo who was thinking. It was hard to name a specific taste, at least one that a human would understand. Your dreams tasted like satisfaction, creativity, happiness and care. Bakugo didn't even have to talk to you to know what a person you were.

"They taste good."

"Will it do anything to me?" Why should you be concerned with such a thing? It was all a big dream for you, everyone knows that nothing can really hurt you in a dream.

"No. You didn't notice earlier."

"So you've been doing it for some time now?"

"Yep."

"Huh, great." You laughed slightly. "I'll have to write a fanfic about this when I wake up."

You turned your butt his way and snuggled into your warm covers. Guess you were no longer interested in him. Bakugo kinda regretted that he couldn't talk to you more.

Next time he went to your place at nigh a strong headache hit him the moment he crossed the threshold. A very unpleasant thing sat proudly above your head. A bluish dreamcatcher dangled slightly when Bakugo locked eyes with it.

Those damned things. Earlier people used them to secure their dreams from Bakugo's kind. Did you know about it? Did you actually know that what happened every night was reality? Did he blow his cover? Guess he can ask you because you were up once again. You were getting quicker and quicker in waking up upon his presence.

"What the fuck is that?" He asked, scrunching his nose at the pain and pointing at the small token.

"Uh?" You were still sleepy. "What?"

"Take that thing off!"

When he raised his voice you stared at him in awe but did as he asked. You stuffed the dreamcatcher in a drawer and looked back at Bakugo, unsure what to do next.

"What was that?" You asked as he massaged his temples to get rid of the pain poundering in his head. Now that the catcher wasn't directly above your sleeping form it had way less power but Bakugo still felt it slightly.

"Why do you have it?" At this point he was sure he blew his cover and you'd start to freak out any second.

"It was a gift, from a friend. I just thought it was cute. You don't like it?"

"How can a fucking dream eater like a fucking dreamcatcher?" He spat out.

Both of you were quiet for a while before you asked.

"Is this really a dream?"

There you are, he's overdone it. He played with fate and that's what he gets. It was the first time in his life when a human seriously suspected anything about him.

Before he knew your hand flew through his biceps, not stopping when it reached its surface. His unearthly body was untouchable for you but a small trail of light followed your fingers as if you were playing with sparklers.

"What are you?" Even though a weird creature appeared i front of you in the middle of the night you were not sacred wich supprised Bakugo.

"I've already told you dumbass, a dream eater."

"Then can you come and eat my dreams a bit earier? I've been tired lately because of this waking up in the middle of the night."

And so he did come earlier. Bakugo went to bed early but he started even earlier. He was at your place around 10 every evening and you'd spend an hour or so together. He had no idea why you accepted his person or why you weren't freaked out by him. Maybe you've done some research on dream eaters? Nah, that would totally scare you. Bakugo knew what type of bullshit people came up with on the Internet. Besides, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself he was in fact a part of your world - he wasn't. You couldn't have known anything about him. Then why did you greet him with a smile every time?

"So, you do have a body?" You asked one night, looking at his golden intangible form with curiosity.

"Duh, why wouldn't I have one?"

"Then why do you come here like this?" That question threw him off board.

Bakugo was not one to voice out his failures, even more so his fears. And it was fear keeping him from you. There were too many times when Bakugo would loose someone, some human that he felt a connection with over the fact that he had to hide his true identity. He could never stay the night because he feared something might happen to him during his deep slumber. He could never stay with someone because at one point it would spill out that he never ages. He never let anyone deep nor close because he had nothing to share, nothing that would sound fitting into the humans' world. He had no work, no school, no earthly hobbies as they all felt... out of his reach.

All he could ever achieve was short, fake love that ended as soon as they even tried to get closer. This was something Bakugo promises not to fuck around with but he would lie if he said he didn't, for a split second, think about comming to you in his physical body, about touching you and feeling you.

"So?" You were persistent in your questions and Bakugo should tell you off, scold you and leave this second but instead he found himself grunting and nodding.

It was normal for him to aimlessly wander in the daylight, yet this time he had a goal that kept him mind occupied. It felt detached to take the stairs up your apartment complex, real stairs. To hear his footsteps stop just in front of your door. He's never seen them from this side. He rang your bell and waited.

Soon your unfocused face showed up in the creak that emerged when you opened the door.

"What's the matter?" Finally you looked at who was disturbing you late in the afternoon. You looked the man up and down, he was not anyone you knew but also not a stranger.

"Let me in or I'll come later through your window." Bakugo grunted under his breath like someone was about to eavesdrop.

"No way." Your mouth hung open as you gave him another look before fully opening your door.

He quickly went inside, shoving hands into his pockets, feeling out of person. It was utterly stupid what he was doing.

"I'd never say you'd have piercing. I mean, I did thing you would be blonde but the piering and tatoos? Not a chance I'd guess that." The man heard your laugh from behind him as you navigated through your apartment. "Tea? I don't normally drink coffee at this hour, I can't fall asleep later."

"Mhm." He mumbled out looking around your place. He knew it well but felt as if he was here for the first time. It all looked so different, so much more real when he could finally touch it.

You placed two steaming mugs on the small table in the centre of your living room. Well, the cramped students apartment was whole a big living room but it was not important for him. You were the thing he came here for.

"So what'cha wanna do?" You plopped down on a could, holding up your knees to your chin.

He started to visit you even more often. Sometimes he 'stayed the night' falling into a deep slumber on your couch and emerging in a golden hue. You wanted to see it but it came out you spotted shit, expecting a witch-like transformation. Instead you blinked and there were two Bakugo in your room. It still blew your brain of course. You would babble about your day, what went on at the university, what your co-worker did at luch, how your friend got a new dog until the moment you fell asleep, Bakugo watching you all the time.

Before he had the opportunity to accept it, he was already living for those nights with you.

Every second he spent alone he was thinking about you. Sitting lonely in his poorly furnitured apartment, strolling up and down the street, floating through the night air. All this time he waited for your next meeting.

"How does your life look like Katsuki?" You felt relaxed enough to ask him such a question, though he had to admitt you were not one to hide your feelings or shy away from hard topics.

"It's..." He didn't want to pause but finding the right word came out difficult. "It's fucking long."

"I bet." You giggled. "How long have you been alive?"

"A long time."

"The XIX century or more like medieval times?" You gave him a scrutinising glance, scratching your chin.

"The fuck you wanna know that?"

You just shrugged in response.

The two of you sat on your small balcony, late in the night. Normally Bakugo and you would be asleep by now. You deep in a real slumber and him wandering your apartment like he owned it. Today it was different. Bakugo didn't feel like waking up in his celestial body. He didn't like the idea of loosing the ability to smell your shower gel and feel your weight on the opposite side of the couch. Now you were looking up, into the starry sky, laying your chin on your knees, hiding in your way too big sweater.

"I can't imagine eternity. I feel like a single semestr on the university is taking forever. How do you manage like that?" You look him in the eye. "What do you live for Katsuki?"

He didn't want to say it because it means he can loose everything earlier. If he won't say it then he can still come to your place, without earlier notice, without care because he's a celestial being and he has this whole world up his ass. He can leave it like it is, let it breathe longer before it suffocates under the weight of his being. He can finally have something in his life if he only keeps his mouth shut.

"Now I live for you."

You blinked a few times.

"Now?"

He shrugged, a small pitful laugh escaping his throat. "Someday you'll be gone." He turned to face you. "So now I live for you. Someday I'll live for nothing."

Again.

It was hard to properly process what came out of the unerthly, lucid creature that Bakugo was but it all became more clear once he pushed you into the cold tiles of your balcony. He was more physical than you could ever imagine.

Bakugo was there all the time, close to you, waiting for you, cheering on you and loving you. Sometimes you felt guilty for it, knowing that one day you'll go and you will never feel anything again but he'll stay here for eternity.

He knew, Bakugo knew about it but every second that you gave his life a meaning was worth it.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Why there are no phones or clocks in dreams:

(Morpheus x Reader)

The Sun always rises is usually used as a cheesy inspirational quote but there are times when it seems more like a curse, really. When the Sun rises, as one might assume, the night must end and with it, all Nyx's gifts: peace, rest, and most of all, dreams. Therefore, people can generally be assorted into two categories that already reveal quite a lot about their personalities. There are those who think of the night as an inconvenient but necessary transition between days. The other ones think of daytime as the agonizingly long hours separating them from the dreams that they crave so severely. You, little lamb, fall into the latter as far as I know:

Morpheus deserves credit for the level of detail he incorporated into parroting your own bedroom in your dreams. Or, you should be the one praised for your outstanding memory. In any case, the room you and he are in, looks uncannily like the original, making you ponder, somewhere in the back of your mind, whether you are actually asleep in the first place.

But would he appear this tender anywhere outside his realm, somewhere not only you can hear him? His sweet whispers, although welcomed warmly, are flustering and you finally realize what it actually means that he's the patron saint of enlightenment or inspiration - not even poets can speak so beautifully and yet fearfully about love. Dream's long, skinny limbs are tightly wrapped around you. The material of his robe is a lot softer than it looks, gracefully flowing off the lanky body underneath. Although you know that he'd be cold to touch, the thought of his pasty, thin skin can only make you feel warm. His neck smells like exotic fruits wrapped in antique parchment and you can't help but wonder why the entire world isn't soaked in this wonderful scent. Adoration is such a strange affliction.

His hand stops its soothing movement against your back when you shift on top of him, turning your head to look at the clock hanging on the wall - 6:30 A.M. Is it really ticking or just laughing at the lovers before it? The Sun peeks over the eastern horizon. Should you want to, you could just turn your head to the other side and admire the dawn but compared to the man brushing his lips against your cheek, it would be a terrible waste of time. Morpheus whispers something delightful into your ear again, bringing your attention from to clock to him - right where it should be. When morning comes, you'll leave his side but it made no sense to worry about it while there were still thirty minutes left.

Accidentally or not, he pecks part of your neck that tickles, making you giggle quietly. In a strange turn of events, Morpheus treats it as encouragement. Trying to get away from him, you squeal and squirm but his bony arms seem to be stronger. His lips, cold yet gentle, move towards your jaw and cheeks. Something changes about the way he presses his mouth against your skin like he, too, feels the time slipping through your fingers. The intensity of his kisses is almost desperate.

The alarm clock rings. It's loud and irritating, making the world of dreams fuzzy. With each second the sound resounds in the your-but-not-your bedroom, the more this delicious reality is turning muddy and unreadable. By all means, you're not ready to let him go just yet.

Reaching for the phone on the bedside table, you're ready to do something equally satisfying and stupid. "Oh, screw this," you murmur more to yourself than Morpheus. Swinging your arm as far as you can without getting up from your comfortable spot on top of him, you throw the phone right at the ticking clock, silencing both of them forever.

"Are you sure about this?" Morpheus asks. Quite literally, it's the first thing he's said in a few hours that isn't embarrassingly lovesick. You've almost forgotten he can be serious. The 'real world' may be calling out to you but, despite the consequences, you're more than happy to let it go to voicemail.

"Are you that eager to kick me out?"

He knows you're joking but that doesn't stop him from giving you an honest answer. "There's nothing I want less."

"Good," you answer. Somewhere between tender kisses, you manage to whisper: "'Cause I made up my mind ages ago."

Your phone in the waking world, however, is still ringing but at the moment it sounds like the annoying melody is played on an old radio two blocks away. A little too lost in the softhearted whispers and caresses, you don't even notice when it, too, silences. The next night, when you step foot into his kingdom again, you probably won't even notice the strange lack of clocks and alarms.