#he’s only appeased by hot dogs

[crazypantsjewels]

Spending my 4th of July watching Crimson Peak and trying to comfort my dogs.

[tsuiioku]

𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 「𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦」 ༉‧₊˚

characters. bungou stray dogs. osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, sigma.

content. f!reader. mentions of violence, mentions of suicide attempts (dazai), alcohol (chuuya), harassment (chuuya), cussing, general sappiness. not proofread.

author's note. this started as a writing exercise to get my writing inspo flowing again, and then i began working on it on and off for a week. so enjoy! this is also an attempt to nail some of their character's down, so hopefully it isn't too OOC.

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

synopsis. what nicknames do the bungo stray dogs boys call their girlfriend?

𝗢𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨 𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥 ⋆ 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗡𝗡𝗔 ⋆ (𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘)-𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡

The darkened alleyway had become thick with the stench of gunpowder and smoke, streetlights barely illuminating your path in the hush of night. You patrolled the area with quick, swift feet, hovering your gun near your hip in case of an ambush. Each step made your heart pound, sweat mixing with humidity to drench your skin as you inched toward the corner.

However, to both your dismay and prediction, Dazai wasn't taking this mission seriously—though he rarely did. It both aggravated and appeased you, knowing that if the situation became dangerous, he'd straighten up in a heartbeat. That didn't mean that his blissed smile and the skip in his step as he went on about the euphoria of death and the many methods he could die from didn't unnerve you.

Knowing him, he wouldn't mind getting shot.

"You know, my dear," he smirked, leaning close to your shoulder to whisper into your ear. "You're very sexy when you're serious." "Dazai," you chided, face stilled into an unamused expression. He fell back dramatically, flailing his hands into the air in surrender. "Oh, belladonna! That stern stare — I hope that beautiful expression is the last sight I see in this cruel world!" he cried, but much to his disdain, you had already rounded the corner, completely done with his antics. "(Name)-channnn!~ Don't leave me hereeee!"

𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗘 ⋆ 𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗬 ⋆ 𝗪𝗜𝗙𝗘𝗬

It had been a strenuous day at the office for everyone, including you—a plethora of insane missions always followed by mountains of paperwork that never seemed to end. It was almost too much to bear. You huffed, leaning against your hand as you desperately tried to not fall asleep due to your exhaustion.

A pair of large, warm hands rested on your shoulders, massaging just the right spots in your taut muscles. You sighed, allowing yourself to lean back in your chair and enjoy the temporary reprieve. However, the owner of those hands had different plans, hot breath blowing against your ear as he bent down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Dazai chuckled to himself, enjoying your immediate reaction to straighten up, eyes pointed to the screen in an effort to avoid reacting.

You were just too cute.

He cooed out a plethora of sweet nothings in a low, hushed timbre as he tempted a flustered expression out of your face. And one thing that everyone should know about Osamu Dazai—he always gets what he wants when he puts his mind to it.

"Heyyy, sweetie. How's the paperwork going?" You continued to type. "Why won't you pay attention to me!" he wailed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he slumped against you. "Come onnn, honey. Don't you love me anymore?" You typed harder. He sniffled. "My little wifey doesn't love me anymore." You paused. "Whaat? Too forward?"

𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗜𝗙𝗨𝗟

Only strays wandered the streets at this time of night, but Dazai found himself itching to join them with each passing second. Sleep never easily came to the former demon prodigy. He found that each time he closed his eyes, he was only met with flashes of the past and disillusions of the future. His sharp mind would continue to turn like a machine, processing every granule of information as if he were inspecting an hourglass—a process that had become routine for him.

"Osamu..."

However, your intrusion into his nightfall rituals had soothed his instinctual aches. His eyes glazed over your drowsy figure, admiring the displacement of your hair and the heaviness of your eyes with an emotion he could only describe as awe.

Because in these moments, you didn't even have to be awake and looking at him to make him feel invigorated—feel alive. And with you, he didn't hate being alive anymore, didn't hate acknowledging his human flaws and issues. He just embraced it, even for only a second.

The rational part of his brain dissipated when he felt your warm, bare skin brush against his bandages, snuggling up to him. He knew his brain became useless in your presence, overcome with pure adulation for your mind, your body, and your very soul. So instead, he pulled you close, nuzzling his face in your neck and listening to the rhythmic pulse of your heart as it worked to soothe him to sleep.

"Good night, beautiful."

𝗖𝗛𝗨𝗨𝗬𝗔 𝗡𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗘

The murmurs of the restaurant had been dampened by a luxurious and vast velvet curtain, enclosing the entire booth to separate you from the other patrons. Lights sparkled from a dazzling chandelier, creating ribbons of gold and white on the tablecloth. This was a special occasion since you rarely had dates outside of your apartment. Chuuya always wanted to take you out more often, to show you off and treat you to the finest, but there never was time. So even when you insisted you could stay inside for a date this evening, he had already planned on spoiling you rotten.

He watched your expression between folded hands, hiding his smirk as the waiter set down an extremely expensive bottle of red wine. You had insisted on getting the more recent and cheaper version, not wanting to splurge too much—which, of course, insulted him. How could he not provide the best for his partner whenever he got the chance?

"Stop gaping, babe," he tutted at your widened eyes, tone lighter than the biting edge it usually held. "Whaddya say we snap over the 1959 Chateau Latour, hm?"

𝗗𝗢𝗟𝗟 ⋆ 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬

You had been working the late shift at your office building, slaving the day away only to come out on the other side with an aching back and a small paycheck. Despite Chuuya's suggestion that you could quit your job and let him take care of you, you wanted to maintain your independence and some additional money, which he understood. So here you were, trudging home from the train station with heavy feet and tired eyes. Seeing the apartment complex in the distance made your heart soar, a pep in your step as you started to practically glide down the sidewalk.

"Heyyyy, baby. Lookin' good tonight. That outfit for me, huh?"

Grimacing, you ignored the disgusting cat-calls from the random stranger in favor of increasing your speed to reach the building. You could practically smell the woody cologne coming from Chuuya's jacket, but your blissful thoughts were interrupted by a set of hefty footsteps behind you. This would've been normal during the day, but no one else is out this late at night—except one person.

With tremoring fingers, you lifted your cell phone ever-so-slightly, finding that strange man walking at a brisk pace behind you in the reflection. It set off too many alarm bells in your head, and your walking turned into sprinting.

It just so happened that Chuuya was leaning on one of the pillars outside of your apartment complex. He never liked when you worked the late-shift, and he definitely didn't like when you walked home by yourself—however, you had insisted that you would be fine. He relented, enjoying the independent aspect of your personality, but he still had his precautions.

He straightened up with a passive expression when he saw your shadowed silhouette in the distance, but his eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tensed once he spotted the man who was running after you. Using his gravity manipulation, he pulled you closer to him and had the pervert sink into the ground, sizing him up with burning eyes.

His gloved hand went to your back, easing your trembling body. "Go inside, baby. You don't need'ta be involved in this shit." He watched carefully as you rushed inside the lobby, before slamming the man onto the hard concrete, a foot digging into his spine. "Listen, shithead. You ever look at my doll again, I fucking swear to God—" He never let you walk home alone after this, not like you were complaining much. And that man would never bother you again, if he was even still capable of walking.

𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦

It had been an absolutely draining day for Chuuya. With his position as an executive, you would assume that he wouldn't have to deal with the low-life freeloaders that the Port Mafia was bound to have, but it was exactly the opposite. He had been stuck for hours finishing a bunch of incident reports due to the destruction of properties on the southwestern side of Yokohama—incidents he was somehow not involved in.

He groaned as he entered the apartment, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it with his hat before a hearty aroma hit him. He followed his nose to the stove, finding an intricately wrapped dish with a note taped on top.

Make sure you eat before you go to bed. You need to grow big and strong. Love you! ♥

If it were from anyone else, he would've ripped the note apart when he hit the jab at his height—and he definitely scowled a bit—but there was a hint of endearance in his expression. He lifted the tin foil covering the food, feasting on the sight of penne alla vodka.

A raspy sound took him out of his ogling, his eyes scanning the darkened living room to find the one person he had been dying to see—you. And what a sight you were, drool trailed down your chin, a half-empty dish of pasta lying limply in your arms, and hair tousled as your neck bent at an awkward angle to rest against the cushions.

He couldn't help a small laugh at the sight, placing your plate on the coffee table and wiping the baby hairs out of your face, leaving a fleeting kiss on your forehead. In moments like this, with the disarray and train wreck his life had been, he found himself grateful for such simple, domestic sights. It enveloped him in a sense of peace, feeling at home for the first time.

"Hey, princess," he whispered with another peck to your temple. "I'm home."

𝗙𝗬𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗘𝗩𝗦𝗞𝗬 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

The pet names featured below are in Russian.

𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥

Fyodor rarely, if ever, used nicknames of any kind in public. With his specific occupation, it would be detrimental to reveal any kind of attachment to anyone, regardless of whether you were capable of defending yourself. However, rarely does not mean never.

It was an unusual occasion; a completely public date at a local café—you knew that he loved his tea and suggested it in the off-chance that it would possibly sway him to join you. You assumed that he'd say no, but he always found himself having a hard time denying you when you proposed it so sweetly.

However, you knew that you needed to be efficient with your time. You enjoy each other's company in a secluded corner of the café while also multitasking on your own work. The room emitted a wonderful ambiance that made you feel productive and inspired, though it was simultaneously cozy enough to relax in—for you, that was. Most of Fyodor's work required him to be in seclusion, so instead he enjoyed the view—both of the skies outside and a couple of stray glimpses at you.

"Drink for (Name)," a barista called.

Fyodor looked toward you expectantly, but you were far too in your own little world to notice. He would've normally broken your workflow, but he found himself oddly compelled to let you continue—he was awfully fond of the way your brows narrowed as you concentrated. So instead, he retrieved your drink, settling it on the table with a small clink.

"Here you are, dear."

𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗔 (милая) ⋆ 𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗡𝗔𝗬𝗔 (радная) ⋆ 𝗟𝗨𝗕𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗬𝗔 (любимая)

It was in the privacy of your shared home that his native tongue came out, engrossing you with his rich Russian accent—he knew the effect it had on you, so sometimes he toyed around with you by slipping it into everyday interactions.

You walked into his computer room, careful to not trip on wires as you carried in a steaming thermal mug of fresh black tea. He was often far too engrossed in his work to eat or drink, so you found the least you could do was to make him some tea whenever you weren't busy.

You placed it next to him, leaning over to take a curious glance at the screen—not understanding a word of it—and you were about to silently exit when he placed a cold hand on top of yours. Your brow raised, watching the smile that appeared on his lips.

"Thank you, милая." You sputtered over your words at the praise, watching in anticipation as he took a sip. He hummed at the nectarous flavor, slouching as the tea worked to soothe his throat. The tea circled in the mug as he swirled it, watching carefully as he could feel your composure melt away. "Delicious as always, радная." You mumbled a quick thank you, turning like a gazelle on your heel to escape his predatory gaze, but his hand pulled you back. Completely captive in his hold, you looked back, a knowing smirk on his face. "Stay for a moment, любимая. I'd like to hear your thoughts on something."

𝗠𝗬𝗦𝗛𝗞𝗔 (мышка)

You honestly had no clue how you had gotten into this position.

One moment, you were cleaning around various rooms, making sure everything was dusted and organized. The next, you were sitting in Fyodor's lap—though you couldn't say you minded. An occasional hum vibrated against the top of your head as Fyodor concentrated on a book in one hand, the other fastened securely around your waist, rubbing circles into the clothed skin.

It took every ounce of self-control you had to limit your face to a neutral glance, staring at the words in his Russian novel as if you were trying to decipher them—you were; you didn't know a lick of the language. You leaned against his shoulder, listening to the faint thump of his heartbeat as it lured you into relaxation. His eyes began to drift from the page, finding your internal struggle incredibly amusing. He titled his face, holding back a smirk when you made a startled noise from a kiss to the temple.

Cute.

In these moments, he felt human again. Everywhere else in the world, he was either treated as a god or a demon—and that was the way he had orchestrated it. But here, in the home you both created, he felt that he had finally received his sanctuary. A place where he sat, welcomed and unjudged for his sins.

"You're quite warm, мышка," he teased. "Perhaps you are developing fever. Hm?"

𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗜 𝗚𝗢𝗚𝗢𝗟 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

The pet names featured below are in Ukrainian.

𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗞𝗔 (ластівка)

The fluorescent lights above burned your eyes as you scoured the aisles of the store aimlessly. You were on your weekly grocery run but had decided to make something different for dinner this week. There was only one problem—you didn't know where the ingredients were. You normally would've just asked one of the staff members, but you had unfortunately come into the store at a very late hour. Every time you looked at an employee, their eyes were glazed over as if wishing for the sweet release of death. So you decided to search on your own.

You scanned the shelves for a particular dressing, not finding it in its usual spot. It was only with a quick glance to the top shelf that you found it, teetering on the edge as if tempting you. Gritting your teeth, you outstretched your arm as you braced your other one on a lower shelf, only to shriek at the feeling of two hands supporting your hips. You whipped around to find the pervert who had touched you but found nothing. And then you looked down.

Damn him.

Two familiar gloves emerged from golden portals, and a mischievous chuckle accompanied their exit from down the aisle. You looked the white-haired jester up and down, crossing your arms with a pout.

"Did you have to startle me like that?" "Ohhh, sorry, ластівка," he cooed. "I only want to say hello!~"

𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗞𝗔 𝗠𝗢𝗬𝗔 (маленька моя) ⋆ 𝗠𝗢𝗬𝗔 𝗞𝗢𝗞𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗔 (моя кохана)

How did you manage to get into this mess?

Oh yeah, Nikolai suggested it.

The classic jester, in his hobby of wreaking havoc everywhere he goes, suggested a fun date-night idea—to light bin fires around the alleys of Yokohama until the police caught on. At first, you had been chasing after him in an attempt to stop him, but it had all been in vain. He would let you grab him, only to chuckle as he teleported away with his cape. So instead, you opted to stick by his side and make sure he didn't cause too much harm.

You stood a couple of feet away from the blazing fire, your body resting in the tranquil glow of the chaotic light. Despite the oddities that came with the situation—and every situation that involved Nikolai—there was something so welcoming about the discord. Perhaps you had finally become used to Nikolai's antics. The aforementioned jester had been gaping at you for some time, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched your features through the fire.

"You look breathtaking in the glow of a flame, маленька моя."You stilled at his serious tone, fumbling over a response, but a crescendoing wail of sirens broke the silence. Nikolai smirked, grabbing your arm with one hand as the other went into his overcoat. "Oops!~ Looks like the police caught on. Come on, моя кохана! This way!"

𝗗𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗔 𝗠𝗢𝗬𝗔 (душа моя)

A refreshing breeze rushed past your face as you settled, watching the sun make its descent below the horizon of the city's harbor. Your legs dangled dangerously over the edge of a steep cliffside, yet you found no fear remaining in your heart. Perhaps you have become accustomed to a life of chaos; find beauty in the entropy and contradictions of life.

Nikolai couldn't help but stare at your face as it was outlined by the shadows of the dying sunbeams, awe-struck by your beauty. You were ethereal to him, everything he ever wanted to be and wished to have—so grounded and yet freer than ever. He knew that the relationship between you two, something neither of you had dared to label, should've made him feel constricted. It tied him down to the ground, and he should've been fighting for the skies.

But he didn't.

He felt free. And he knew that it was most likely his heart tricking him, stringing him to a relationship that would disappear with the wind—that he had truly become the fool everyone thought of him as. But he didn't care. Not anymore. Not with you by his side.

He snapped out of his philosophical contemplation as a soft hand cupped his cheek, thumbing at the performative mask that he wore. And he folded it like a deck of cards, removing it before placing a chaste kiss on your palm.

"Somehow, I feel freer than ever before. And it's all thanks to you, душа моя."

𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗠𝗔 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥 ⋆ 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧

It was a known fact that the Casino's manager had a rigid schedule, packed with meetings and event dates that he had to prepare for. Everything had to run perfectly inside his casino, and he would be damned if it didn't. However, Sigma always made it a mission to purposefully bump into you throughout the day. He had memorized your schedule easily, finding that there was only so much you could do in a finite building in the sky.

He would often find you either in the library or viewing deck, either in your own world reading a book or watching the real world from the skies. Even he had to admit that he could never get tired of the sight of the Earth from down below, contemplating the lives of those who lived on the ground.

"Good morning, dear," he greeted you at the entrance of the viewing deck, noticing a stack of books in your arms. "I see your trip to the library went well." "It was. I'm going to thumb through the newest shipment of fiction novels this afternoon," you replied, your hand already tapping on one of the hardcovers in anticipation. Sigma always made sure to buy the best books for the casino, and you knew he was often swayed by your own favorites. "I'm glad you're so interested in them." He knowingly smiled before a memory came to mind. "Could you hold off your reading for one moment, dearest? I've received a new layout for our casino's fliers and was hoping you'd take a look."

𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 ⋆ 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬 ⋆ 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧

The anxious casino manager often forgot to eat because of his destructive work habits, often going hours without consuming anything in order to constantly maintain peace in his casino. It was a terrible habit that caused more stress for both of you, so you decided to enact a plan. Whenever you noticed his workload was becoming too much or he seemed too frazzled, you'd step in to make sure he was getting everything he needed.

A small (underlying word: large) part of him secretly reveled in this, both having the opportunity to be doted on—and be simultaneously scolded—while also relishing in a couple stress-free moments with you. And he also gets to enjoy your cooking, which he personally found better than the casino chefs'—but that's because he was biased.

On his worst days, you'd prance into his office after the casino lunch rush, carrying in tow a small bento packed with his favorite comfort foods and a cookie for dessert. He would look up from whatever paperwork he was slaving away on, a small smile on his tired face.

"Thank you, my love." "You really need to eat more, Sigma," you lectured, placing the bento on his desk to take his face into your hands, analyzing his eye-bags with a concerned expression. "You're gonna get sick." "I'm fine, lovely," he replied, cupping your hands with his own. "You don't need to worry about me." You struck him with a pointed glare, crossing your arms and tapping your foot as he began to work on paperwork again. The clock ticked by a couple of seconds, your maternal scowl deepening with each moment that passed where he didn't reach for the food. "Sweetheart," he sighed before relenting and reaching for the bento. "Fine. For you, I'll eat some. But only until C4276 finishes his blackjack game."

𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗬 𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘

The casino had been blasting with the sounds of the band in full swing long into the night, people dancing and chatting amongst themselves as the casino reached the peak of its ability. This new gala had been an exhilarating success, drawing in new patrons as cash flowed out from dealers' hands. It had been perfect, but it was obviously a lot on Sigma.

That was the reason you insisted on co-hosting it with him. He watched in amazement as you worked the crowd tonight, acting in concert to keep the patrons happy and to maintain order. You had been his perfect match, which showed just how much you watched over the casino.

He found you later that night standing on your private balcony, pausing at the entry to fully take in how beautiful you looked in your formal ensemble. The stars seemed to drift to your body like a satellite, casting you in a distant heavenly glow. But everything was silent as if you two were the only ones left to watch over the world as the clouds wandered by.

The anxiety and fear he always felt had been pushed to the side, melting away with the utter sense of belonging that you had engrained into him. You had shown him that he wasn't a mediocre man but a capable and strong individual capable of loving and being loved. You turned as the balcony door shifted open, welcoming him into both your arms and heart.

And he fell for you even more.

"Ohh, love of my life," he mumbled, nuzzled into your shoulder. "What would I be without you?"

милая = dear/darling радная = dear любимая = beloved мышка = mouse ластівка = swallow (bird) маленька моя = my little one моя кохана = my love душа моя = my soul

TAGLIST: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @solandiss @ruru-kiss @sillyspookycat @kotysluny

© MUSAMORA 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[mekatrio]

cuz at first ajaa wasnt even meant to exist it was just meant to be the trilogy and thats it, then while theyre porting it over to the nintendo ds capcom gives them the green light to go nuts with a bonus pseudo-dlc case and By God Do They, making the longest case yet of RFTA with fully animated 3d cutscenes + an incredibly convoluted plot that makes the most out of aa1's 3 day trial system + fully modelled 3d rotational evidence, hitting heavy themes of police corruption and evidence forgery and whatnot like they went INSANE, cuz this was supposed to be IT. this was supposed to be ace attorneys big finale and farewell but SIKE oh my god the actual Ministry Of Justice has knocked on capcoms door and told them hey can you make some propaganda for us. so now the aa team has to make propaganda for them. right after burning themselves the fuck out from creating rfta. all that time spent on rfta which couldve been development time for ajaa.... too late. cant be taken back. apollo justice is designed in less than a week and theyre marketing this game while the team is still making it, takumi crazed madman that he is decides to not rely on old characters which while that is an artistic slay, sets up the stage for a marketing failure, and a new artistic team of infinite ambition goes nuts with creating derangedly detailed animations

⬆️ like oh my god are you insane. thank you so much BUT ARE YOU INSANE? all while still making 3d renders of evidence and random 3d animations and it looks so awesome BUT THERES NOT ENOUGH TIME, 3 wonderful cases are made but 4-4 falls on its face. 6 hours long instead of the usual 10 and only one cross-examination in the final trial and 2 whole main characters with no backstory like its bad. its going to be bad. but its too late. the most incomplete ace attorney game has to be rushed out of the gates and the sales are made But The Reception Is Bad. Real Bad. 2000s hater gamer crowds were the first of its kind, being massively fuelled by the internet, haters back then could sink their teeth deep into a company, which is what got nintendo scrambling away from their wind waker art direction to appease the gamers w twilight princess. so similarly when the hate for ajaa came on, cuz whattt phoenix disbarred and no 😤 old characters 😤😤, capcom scrambled to appease the masses. but oh oh whats this? takumi says 'yeahhhh Nah' and says he wants to make a game about his dog. OK. cant persuade him away from that. might as well let some new blood handle the franchise in takumi's place then, but for The Love Of God do not make an ajaa followup. the gamers will kill us. and so the aai duology was born....... cool........ first one's reception was so bad that localization plans were dropped entirely for the sequel. wow. takumi is fresh off from ghost trick but fucking what, 5 years has passed now, and the new hot console is the nintendo THREE ds. 3ds. wowwww. fucking... PROFESSOR LAYTON kidnaps takumi to make plvpwaa and ajaa continues to be left in the dust. fucking nobody wants him. poor orphaned kitten left in the street. all while the trilogy gets 9584948 million adaptations. and yamazaki twiddles his thumbs thinking abt making aai3 but after thinking it over hes like yeah ill try making aa5. capcom lets him and.......... its over........ they tell him sure go for it But Do Not Follow Up On Apollo Everyone Hates Him please make phoenix the protag. a recipe for disaster. and a disaster aa5 is. juggling THREE protags a complete mess and they do a popularity poll and wow would u look at who came first, fucking APOLLO. JUSTICEEEEEEE. its almost like.... gamers opinions..... are not valuable in the long run.. and popular opinion has never signified artistic understanding.... aa6 comes chugging along and yamazaki addicted to racism cranks out something even worse. both aa56 makes the sales it needs but mindless fanservice can only get u so far... its been nearly 10 years since the ajaa 'trilogy' titles released and the general consensus is that Aaja Was Good and aa56 Not So Much but what can you do now? heres the apollo justice trilogy please buy it and deeply lower ur expectations for coherent and cohesive narratives which have basis in reality thank u. bc u will not be finding that here. ajaa never stood a chance.. they werent doomed by the narrative. its worse. they were doomed by STUPID FUCKING GAMERS AND STUPID EXECUTIVE DECISIONS 😭😭😭

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Request daryl dixon x plus!size reader) so the reader and are married they have been together since before the world went to hell maybe when they make it to Alexandra some guys hit on the reader or make comments about her weight ( I couldn't decide which one to choose so you can pick) and early just gets really pissed off and he fights the guys Maggie is worried that one of the guys is not breathing but rick tells everyone he is still breathing and that rick almost beat him to death Daryl didn't care because they shouldn't say stuff to his wife or about his wife.

.⋆｡The Dress｡⋆.

Daryl Dixon x plus size reader

Spencer and his lackeys decide that they want to be pieces of shit and your husband teaches them a lesson they’ll never forget

Warnings: fat shaming, Spencer Monroe, some angst, fighting, protective!Daryl, swearing, blood, cat-calling, implied smut

WC: 1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Maggie was the one that found the sundress. It was wrinkled and smelled like dust balls but the blue of the fabric hadn’t faded and it fit you like a dream. You were hesitant at first, dresses had always been a bit of a sore spot for you in the past but you couldn’t deny just how good you looked when you finally caved and slipped it on (just to appease your best friend of course). 

While tight around your bust, providing you ample support even without a bra, it flared out at your wide hips, giving you a more hourglass figure. The colour suited your skin tone perfectly and the fabric was light enough that you didn’t feel constricted. Even you found yourself hot as you looked in the bathroom mirror. 

Maggie had just about lost her mind when you finally re-emerged into your bedroom and after she had convinced you to walk downstairs, you found that your husband was even more excited about it.

So on a particularly hot day in Alexandra, you decided to wear it as you went about doing your chores. You ignored the eyes that looked your way as you milled about, delivering parcels of food to different houses and collecting any clothes that needed to be fixed.

It was the whistle that finally caught your attention. A group of men were gathered outside of Deanna’s old house, Spencer led the charge. He was positively leering at you in what you assumed was supposed to be a ‘smoulder’ but really just came across like he was constipated.

You rolled your eyes and attempted to get on with your work but that’s when he spoke up. “Hey sweetheart how about you bring that ass over here and I can show you what a real man can do.” You cringed at his nasal voice. The three men behind him hooted as he smirked your way.

All-to-used to the cat calls of pathetic men, you kept walking, yet you couldn’t help but mutter under your breath. “I get a real man every morning with breakfast, fucking pig.” Evidently, you hadn’t said it quietly enough because suddenly there was an iron grip around your wrist and an angry voice in your ear.

“The fuck did you just say, fat bitch. I was gonna do you a favour by fucking you but now I wanna know something. How are you still so fat in the middle of the fucking apocalypse?” This started another round of side splitting laughter from his friends. Your hand flew to your wide hip, unconsciously searching for your knife which you had left on the hall table at home. “I know! That redneck that follows you around like a mangy dog must keep feeding you so you can be bait.”

Your mouth dropped open to retort but suddenly, there was a growl and the disgusting hand on your skin disappeared. You were startled for only a moment before you realised that your husband’s voice had replaced Spencer’s. “Shut yer fuckin mouth!” 

A sickening crack rang through the now silent street and you watched with morbid fascination as the man you called yours beat the ever loving shit out of the much taller man. Daryl’s blue eyes were wide with fury as he held him down by his neck as his right fist landed blow after blow to his face.

You stood frozen as his hand steadily became stained with red blood, only a distant shout from Rick broke you from your trance. “Daryl!” You pulled at his shoulder but he wouldn’t budge, too blinded by his anger. He landed another hit and you cringed as you heard Spencer’s nose shatter.

“Rick!” The sheriff was your last option and he delivered. He gave your husband one good punch to the jaw and Daryl was briefly stunned. Using that distraction, you pulled him back with all your might causing you both to roll to the dusty ground.

You threw your leg over his thin hips and grabbed his arms, pinning them to his chest as you sat down onto his thighs, effectively keeping him on the ground. You knew he could easily throw you off and lunge at the man once more but he stayed immobile beneath you, his chest heaving.

“You good?” You could hear others running up to where Spencer lay but your focus was on the man beneath you. His shoulders were still tense and his fists still clenched but his eyes weren’t as wild as they fixed themselves on you.

He grunted in reply and you breathed out in relief. “Are you gonna go after him again if I let you up?” He thought for a moment and then shook his head. You smiled before carefully getting to your feet. You offered him a hand which he quickly took, pulling himself up to stand next to you.

“I don’t think he’s breathing!” One of Spencer’s cronies whined but Rick just scoffed as he looked down at Spencer.

“He’ll be fine, just get him to the infirmary.” He dismissed, turning to you and Daryl who had slipped his hand into yours. “You almost beat that man to death.” 

Daryl spun the gold wedding band on your ring finger. “Shouldn’t have talked bout my wife like that.” He brushed off. You could feel the split skin of his knuckles beneath your fingertips- a reminder of the violence he was capable of for you.

Rick sighed in defeat and turned his attention to you. “Bring him home, I’ll deal with this. Just- just watch him please.” He begged, sounding like a tired father. Your free hand clutched Daryl’s muscular forearm in a silent signal for him to walk away.

“He’ll be right as rain tomorrow. Scout’s honour.” You promised and the ex-sheriff shot you a grateful look.

“By the way- you do look good in that dress.” A growl was your only warning before you found yourself thrown over your husband’s broad shoulder and he stormed away, presumably back to your house. Your laugh carried down the street with you as you clutched onto his strong back.

“I guess I shouldn’t wear this dress out again huh?” You asked jokingly as he kicked open your front door and thundered up the stairs.

He gently threw you onto your bed and as he stripped off his vest, he spoke once more. “Only if ya know ‘m gonna fight anyone tha looks at ya.” The dress stayed on.

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[swannieluv]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖꩜ Hide and Seek – (PLATONIC) Wanderer x Child!Reader

✦⸼࣪⸳𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 <3

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✦⸼࣪⸳ A/N: HI MOOTIE!! Hope you'll like this aaa <33

✦⸼࣪⸳@gayestsillybilly

"Peace, finally, peace."

Sumeru, a region known for its hot climate and vast forests. For those not used to high temperatures and humidity, it could be a stressful nation to be in. But for the inhabitants who had lived their entire lives in the region, or for a puppet who was not susceptible to climate change, Sumeru was tantamount to a tropical paradise.

It's undeniable that in the midst of daily tribulations, people need a break from the problems that surround them. Wanderer was no exception, looking for the perfect spot in the treetops to put his thoughts in order without the presence of idiotic people making noise and–

Smack.

A toy ball hit him right on the face. In disbelief, he put one of his hands on the hit spot and looked at the source of the attack.

"Hey!" He turned around with an annoyed face. It took a lot of courage for someone to actually hit him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to."

On a tree branch next to him was a child, a very familiar one who made him take a deep breath before saying anything. They had been following him for days. They were [Name], one of the children from a small orphanage in Sumeru.

When he asked Lesser Lord Kusanali for advice on what to do with his little stalker, he was bombarded with information about babysitting. Not that he was going to use any of her advice for anything anyway.

"Do you want to play with me? We can make flower crowns or play soccer together." They cracked a big smile, trying to convince him somehow.

"I don't..."

A small tightness came to Wanderer's chest, which was strange for someone who didn't have internal organs like humans. The child bore an eerie resemblance to one of the ghosts from his past.

"But I really want to play with you, I really want to be your friend!"

They put their hands together, making an abandoned dog face to try to soften his non-existent heart. However, as they did so, they lost their balance and slipped off the branch they were on.

"Waaaah-"

Their eyes closed tightly, preparing for the direct impact with the hard ground. If they were lucky, they might only end up breaking a few fingers or their feet, but if they were unlucky they would break their whole body this fall. However, contrary to expectations, the reality was somewhat different.

"Hm?"

A pair of arms caught them in mid-air, he had saved them. Using his anemo vision to fly, Wanderer left them in a safe place on dry land.

"Woah! That was amazing! Again, again!" They jumped in joy, their eyes shining with energy like stars in the night sky.

"How can someone as small as you have so much energy to spend?" Wanderer took the child in his arms again, trying to calm them down.

"I don't know, hehe."

They swung their legs and put their arms behind his neck for support. It was fun following this grumpy stranger, he always got annoyed but eventually gave in to their sunny personality.

"I'll take you back to where you live." His footsteps echoed in the empty woods. He had run far away so that [Name] wouldn't follow him, but apparently their willpower was so great that the little human caught up with him.

"But I walked so far just to play." They pouted, their eyes filling with small tears that were sure to give him more trouble.

"Wait, wait, don't cry!" He quickly tried to calm them down, lightly wiping the tears from their eyes with his fingers.

Wanderer was in a dilemma. Either he surrendered and spent his precious time playing childish games to appease them, or he could simply leave them in the orphanage where they lived and go back to living his routine. But Lesser Lord Kusanali's little voice rang in his mind whenever he questioned himself like that, saying something like:

"It wouldn't be nice to disappoint a child's pure heart. If they likes you, at least try to cheer them up!"

At times like this, following the advice of the Dendron Archon was the wisest thing to do, since he could end up doing something that would make this already complicated situation worse. Perhaps playing with [Name] would make them stop chasing him through Sumeru for the week.

"Hm... come on. What kind of game would you like to play?" He kicked the ball from under his feet into one of the surrounding trees, the accidental force he put into it breaking its branch.

"Oh. I don't want to play soccer with you, no." They watched the branch next to the toy, not wanting to become a victim of accidental kicks. "I'd rather play hide and seek."

"Hide and seek? What's that?" He was a little confused, he had never played or seen this game before.

"You don't know it? Then I'll teach you!”

They pushed him to a place where he could lean his head and not peek. A little smile adorned their face, happy that they had finally gotten him to play.

"You need to stay here and count to 10 so I can hide. Then you come and find me, it's easy!”

Wanderer closed his eyes, burying his head in one of his arms to start counting. A strong breeze made the light fabric of his hat sway, perhaps a sign of storm.

"One... two... three... four... five..."

[Name] started running, observing the area to find the best possible place to hide. The trees were too tall to climb in ten seconds, and the bushes too thorny and noisy to enter.

'He counts too fast!’

Their faces lit up when they finally found a perfect spot. The chance of Wanderer finding them there was very low, he would certainly have a hard time.

"Six... seven... eight... nine... ten... that's it."

Wanderer began to search. Opening up small bushes and using his vision to climb into the treetops, but [Name] was out of his field of vision.

'There's no way I can't find a child, this is ridiculous.’ He kept searching every nook and cranny, looking for some sign of where [Name] was.

"Hehe..." a chuckle echoed through the room, causing Wanderer to turn around, searching frantically with his head.

"Where...?" He looked up and was startled to see a child falling towards him.

"ATTACK!"

[Name] literally threw themselves at him. If it hadn't been for Wanderer's quick reflexes, who managed to catch them in his arms, they would both have fallen painfully to the ground.

"Haha!" They laughed at his face, being placed on the ground carefully.

"Isn't that against the rules?" He crossed his arms, his face slightly frowning after what had happened.

"There are no rules in hide-and-seek apart from not spying."

"I guess I'll have to accept that then..." Wanderer sighed, but without realizing it, a smile formed on his face. What was a smile turned into a big one and then into a hearty laugh. "Don't ever scare me like that again, please."

"You... YOU SMILED!" They shouted enthusiastically. "I finally made you laugh!"

"I... forget it."

The first drops of rain began to fall to the ground, wetting [Name]'s hair slightly. It was only a matter of time before thunder and lightning began to rumble through the sky.

"..."

Wanderer pulled [Name] under his hat, providing a cover for the smaller child. It was like a small space protected from the outside world, where the two of them could watch everything as long as the precipitation didn't increase.

"Do you dislike thunder?" they looked up to meet his gaze.

"Yes..."

"I don't like it either..." [Name] grabbed one of his hands, pulling him forward. It was an invitation to go with them. "So you're not alone, Mr. Wanderer."

Perhaps there was comfort for someone like him somewhere in the world.

✦⸼࣪⸳♡ BONUS:

"I was told your birthday was a few days ago, so I brought you a small cake."

"A... cake?"

The sweet in front of him was small, perfect for two people to eat. When Wanderer put a slice in his mouth, he couldn't help but feel the sugary taste of the food.

"Here, for you." He held out the piece of cake to [Name], who looked at him with a sad face.

"Don't you like it?"

"H-Hm? Of course I did, that's why I'm being generous enough to give you my slice. Take it soon."

And so, Wanderer successfully escaped yet another dessert.

[orions-choker]

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Serial Killers, Murder, Obsessions, Yandere tendencies, Gore, more to be added.

Chapter Eleven

A/N:This chapter is so much dialogue, less story progression more character progression. Spoiler both reader and Kirk are fucked up bad people. Sorry hope y'all enjoy <3

“You know, my summer break is almost over…” Y/N whispered into the dark. The whirring of the ceiling fan providing a steady white noise, it did very little to keep anything cool. Both Y/N’s and Kirk's bodies were bare, sweat cooling on their skin in a thin layer. They had their legs hooked around each other and didn't move to entwine any further in the dry heat that had settled over them.

She could feel Kirk tense beside her. His leg hooking around her a little tighter and his hand found hers. Pushing his fingers against her palm until they slid into place between hers. Even that much extra contact was too warm but Y/N didn’t dare pull away. “Oh,” He mumbled and she could hear that underlying anger masked in disappointment. “You’ll be leaving back to college then?” he asked quietly.

It was a facade, she knew he wasn’t about to be this gentle about it. He was playing up the sad pathetic act. She would have felt guilty under any other circumstance, maybe she would have even cried. It was only fear now, maybe acceptance? Either she was going to give up on going back to school and stay here to appease him, for however long that worked. Maybe it would stop any other murders from happening until the police eventually caught him, they had to catch him right? Would he have gotten bored of her and killed her before that happened? Or she could leave, try to at least? What would he do then?

The words were tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. Thoughts that had been bubbling up over the last couple weeks finally reaching their boiling point and spilling out. Hot and venomous. “Depends on if you’ll try to kill me if I do.” She bit at him. She was tired, tired of keeping this up. She had been silent out of fear originally, but what was the point now? She had resigned herself to the fact this wasn't going to end pretty. She had made peace with her death at this point, it was only an added bonus if she made it out of this relationship alive. Surely he wouldn’t kill her in his own bed? Her hand involuntarily tightened around his.

Kirk didn’t let go of her hand as he slowly sat up, resting his weight on his forearm as he peered down at her. He didn’t seem as surprised as she thought he might have been. Like he was well aware how much she knew. Fucker Y/N thought bitterly. Of course he had known, he was a psychopath, he was toying with her. She could only make out his silhouette in the dark of the room, his tangled curls falling across his shoulders. “Is that what you think I would do?” He asked gently, his voice dripping with sweetness and genuine hurt.

A sick feeling curdled in her stomach. She guessed maybe she hoped that she would have been wildly wrong about this. That somehow he could have proven everything was just one shitty coincidence after another. Would he have dumped her for accusing him of being a serial killer? Probably. But she could have lived with herself knowing at the very least she hadn't willingly been fucking a monster. “Yes,” She replied simply.

She couldn’t help but flinch as he leaned over closer to her. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as she saw his face more clearly. His big puppy dog eyes and pursed lips. He was frowning. Instinctively she leaned up and kissed the pout from his lips and he kissed back gently. To gentle, to tender. He had been toying with her this whole time but his affections felt real and that scared her. He pulled back and nudged his nose against her cheek. “I could never kill you Y/N, you’re different. You know that right.” He whispered against her skin.

There was the admission. She was pretty sure that hurt her more than a cold blade to the gut would. He had done every horrible, vile thing she had thought of. “When did you realize I knew?” She asked quietly. Her fingers trembled slightly in his grip but she didn’t let go, no she was holding onto him like her lifeline. He grounded her. Kirk’s head dipped lower and he pressed his lips gently across her neck, soothing soft kisses.

“I had my suspicions when that earring went missing from my car.” He hummed. “But you aren't a good actress Y/N.” He released her hand and pressed the pads of his fingers into the soft skin of her stomach, tracing mindless patterns against her skin. “You look so fucking scared of me all the time…you don’t have to be.” His teeth sank into the junction of her neck and shoulder and Y/N let out a soft gasp, her back arching slightly off the bed.

Of course he had known this whole time. Of course he would have seen that she stole from him. He knew, he knew the whole time. “Of course I’m afraid of you, you killed people, you stalked me, called me and threatened awful things.” She choked out. Her body felt heavy, she couldn’t move. No, she didn’t want to move. Was it fear or was she giving herself too much credit? She was just being selfish, basking in the affection. His hand slipped between her legs and he hummed in approval as he felt his slick coat his fingers. He knew, god worst of all, he knew she was getting off on this.

He didn’t keep touching her however, moving his hand to grip her inner thigh and squeeze affectionately. “I know, I know I’m sorry.” He whined into her neck, the vibrations making her shiver. “Just wanted to make sure you came to me, I wanted to be your savior.” He pulled his face from her neck again to look down at her softly. “I never would have hurt you, you have to know that right?” He asked pathetically with those wide doe eyes that made him look more like prey than the predator he was.

Y/N challenged him. “So you’ll let me leave to go back to school?” She asked as she shuffled up into a half sitting position. Resting all her weight onto her elbows, her leg knocking to the side and pushing his hand off her. Her hair tangled and damp with sweat, clinging to her forehead and neck. The smell of both of them was thick in the air, evidence of every sin she had just committed. “Right?”

Finally there was the flick of danger in his eyes that had been missing for a few weeks now. The corners of his lips curled into an unpleasant grimace and his fingers curled into his sheets so tight she could have sworn the fabric was going to rip. “Why do you want to?”. The look on his face only scared her because she knew what he was capable of, but it was hard to feel a true cold strike of fear in her heart when his voice was so baby-soft. “I don’t understand, why can’t you just be content here, fuck theres a nice little community college here, why did you even leave in the first place.” He rambled angrily as he sat up, pushing his hands through his hair and peeling the curls away from his moistened skin.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She barked back. Okay, so he wouldn’t hurt her, she would test how far that lie could be stretched. “This is such a dogshit town, only good for raising babies and dying pathetic and old.” She didn’t follow him up, remaining lying beneath him like sweaty and pissed off work of art. “Well and of course, now its good for being the murder capital of the goddamn state, thanks for that, your contribution sure did make it more interesting.” She hissed at him. Her eyes glowing with the warming ambers of pure untapped anger.

Kirk scoffed and quirked his lips up into a half baked smile. He stood up from the bed, pulling the black cotton of his underwear up over his body. Clearly he wasn't interested in having this discussion with his dick out. He tossed his shirt at her in a silent command to tell her to cover herself, which left her feeling more like a used whore than his girlfriend. She obliged anyway. “I wasn’t looking to make anything more interesting, just…fuck me Y/N! I don't have to explain myself to you.” He snapped.

She watched carefully as he paced across his room, finally throwing himself into his desk chair. He leaned back, clasping his hands across his stomach, glorious tanned legs spread wide on display. A perfect altar for her to crawl between and worship. She was fucking disgusting. His eyes pinned her to the bed when she swung her legs over the side, effectively stopping her from coming any closer. “Oh so I don’t deserve an explanation as to why my boyfriend’s a murderer? even worse than that one of those extra fucked up ones who only kills girls.” She scratched her blunt nails into the bare skin of her knees, scratching them raw to keep her present in the moment. She watched nervously as Kirk furrowed his eyebrows.

“You’re being a bitc-”

“Fucking finish saying that word I dare you.” Y/N hissed at him. Like shaking off the shackles of his gaze she pushed herself off the bed. Every fiber in her body wanted her to fall to her knees before him, run her hands up from his ankles across his knees to the thick of his thighs, place gentle kisses to the smooth skin of his stomach. He didn’t deserve that kind of tenderness now matter how much she yearned to provide it. “I think I deserve answers do I not, am I not now the accessory to your immoral crimes?” She was complicit now that it was all out in the open, no more hiding behind a false blanket of ignorance.

Silence settled in the room for a long moment aside from Kirk's heavy labored breathing. He hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t even looked up at her as she stood before him, his eyes hard trained somewhere between her stomach and sternum but he wasn’t really looking at her. “What do you want me to say?” He finally mumbled and it sounded like resignation. “Yeah okay I killed a couple chicks, I don’t feel great about it but I’m not going to apologize to you.” His hands were rubbing across each other. Self-soothing himself like this conversation caused him the same anxiety that doing a job interview might. It was almost cute that he was nervous. “I just couldn’t stand it, you left and every single one of them looked just enough like you to make me want to rip my eyes out.”

Taking a step closer so that she was in between his open legs, Y/N leaned down, grabbing the back of the worn desk chair to steady herself as she brought her face down close to Kirks. Finally forcing his eyes on her, she didn’t think she saw any guilt or remorse in his eyes, just a weird sense of shame that he was admitting this. “Then you should have ripped your eyes out.” She scoffed, her hot breath fanning across his face and weirdly she saw him relax. “You’re fucking crazy, I should call the cops, or maybe take up the mantle of lady justice and deliver it upon you myself.”

Kirk quirked an amused eyebrow at her. “Oh wouldn’t that be so poetic.” He hummed. “What do you see as a fitting punishment for everything I've done huh? Would you kill me?” Languidly he moved his hands from where they were clasped together over his stomach, and gripped her hips gently. His body seemed loose and comfortable once again as his thumbs rubbed soft circles into the divet of her hips. “Would it make you feel better?” He wasn’t mocking her, his voice was gentle and curious. “Would it erase my touch on you, make up for the fact that you love me despite it all?”

Her face softened at his touch. “No,” She whispered honestly. “It wouldn’t but it would be the right thing to do.” Her fingers slipped down to his shoulders before pushing up under the curtain of damp curls to cup the back of his neck. It was tender, longing as if she hadn’t just spent the last hours completely entangled in him. Slowly she moved her hands along the underside of his jaw, stopping when they were in place to make a quick swift turn, snap his neck, and be done with it. God what would she tell his mom? She would be righteous to do so, probably get off with the police under the guise of self defense once they collected the evidence. Still she hesitated.

Kirk relaxed in her hold, his big round eyes looking up at her affectionately. He smiled softly at her. “Do it then,” He whispered reverently. “Dying at your hands is the best way I could think of going.” She felt his head become dead weight in her hands, further egging her on. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for righteousness. At that moment he had never looked quite so peaceful and content. His resignation was one made of love that had her throat going dry.

Was this how God felt when he was forced to cast out his most beautiful creation? Did his heart break as hers was right now, cradling in her hands something so angelic and other-worldly. Did he weep and hesitate? How different would it be if the Morningstar had not fallen and become the definition of sin? She crumbled, her hands squeezing his cheeks as she surged forward smashing their lips together clumsily, as if this was her first time. The clacking of teeth was painful but she couldn't force herself away.

“I can’t, I can’t” She chanted against his lips through bubbling tears that stained both her cheeks and his. She climbed into his lap with all the grace of a newborn lamb, shaky and unsure legs that could no longer hold herself up. Not for a moment did her lips stray farther than a breath away from his. She spoke in soft wet whispers between kisses that she wasn’t even sure he could understand. “I love you, I hate you, what have you done to everything we could be?”

Gentle shushing sounds spilled from his lips, soothing her as his lean arms wrapped around her. Her head tucked into the crook of his neck by his shaky hand guiding her. Y/N could feel the rapid pounding of the pulse point on his neck. There was a gentle tremor in his body, poorly concealed by forced even breaths. He had been scared. “I know you can’t, your hands are too clean to be stained with blood.” He mumbled into the side of her head, his lips pressed to her temple. “I love you, I’m sorry.”

Y/N relaxed at the gentle pressure against the back of her head, his other hand snaking up the back of her shirt, running his fingers across her bare ass to the curvature of her spine. It wasn’t a sexual motion, just the pure almost innocent desire to feel her skin beneath his. If anything could be innocent between them this moment was it. “You never answered my question.” She finally whispered as she unashamedly wiped her tears and dripping nose onto his bare shoulder and pulled back to look at him. “Will you let me leave to go back to school?”

His own eyes were rimmed red, swollen pink-bitten lips that matched her own. She watched a slurry of different emotions cross his face. His lips twisting like he was uncomfortable, a crease settling between his brows. “I don’t want to…” His grip on the back of her head loosened as he gently massaged at her scalp, petting her the same way one would a docile cat.

Shaking her head Y/N frowned. “That doesn't answer the question,” She persisted. She rubbed at the wet mark she had left on his shoulder, smearing it until it dried. Her eyes flicked between his skin and his eyes. “Will you let me?” She asked again. “Or will you hurt me…hurt someone else?” That made her more nervous. She had made her bed, she could suffer through any pain he might want to inflict on her, but to know someone else would suffer because of her…again. No she couldn’t live with herself. Could she even live with herself now?

“Yes…yeah I-” He swallowed and she watched the strained motion of his Adam's apple bobbing. “I’ll let you go, I already told you I could never hurt you.” He dropped his head to rest his brow against her collarbone. His fingers still traced each bump of her vertebrae beneath her skin, like he was counting them to make sure each one was there. There was a soft pause before he nodded weakly against her. “I w-won’t hurt anyone else, I mean I already…I’ve done so good right? It's been almost a month.”

What kind of sick fuck was he that he expected praise from her for not killing people. Yet he said it so earnestly like a child who had gotten all A’s on his report card. She bit down on her lip to stop the gentle noise bubbling from her throat as she all but cooed at him. “Yeah, yeah I know.” It was the closest she could give him to real praise. There was a weird sense of calm that had washed over her now that it was all out in the open. No she wasn’t hiding behind ignorance anymore, but there was comfort in the truth from both of them. He was a deranged psychotic freak that was putty in her hands, and she was no better for loving him despite it all. All her fear simmered and dried out leaving her with only burning humiliation from her sudden lack of morals. It was a feeling she was settling into and she was coming to terms with the fact there would be a special place in hell waiting for her. No amount of repenting could wash away the rot he had infected her with.

“Why do you have to go?” He babbled softly against the fabric of her shirt, his lips tracing up across her neck to press underneath her jaw, coaxing soft uneven gasps from her. “I finally have you and now I Have to let you go, isn’t fair.” His voice dripped with honey-sweet desperation that had her folding. He tugged on her hair gently like a petulant toddler throwing a tantrum.

Y/N leaned down, nudging his head away from her neck to capture his lips. “Why should life be fair for you?” She asked like she was gently scolding him. He whined in response and licked into her mouth causing her eyes to widen for a moment as she moaned in surprise around his tongue. She pulled back letting a shiny glossy string of saliva connect them before snapping. “I don’t think you deserve fairness.” She breathed out, harsh and sharp.

“Do I deserve you?”

The question hit her like the stinging snap of a rubber band pulled too tight. Her whole body felt tight and red hot. Maybe the answer would have been no when she first came home, when she was still blind and sweetly innocent. The answer was in the simple fact that she wanted him to deserve her. She bit down on her lip until it was raw red and bleeding. “Maybe,” She whispered. That was enough. Kirk smiled at her all sharp and crooked teeth. This was enough.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 4 - Hagrid's Hut

@wolfstarmicrofic November 4, word count 406

Previous part First part

“Lord Sirius, where yeh goin’?” A deep voice called out before they could get too far into the forest. Sirius sighed, it was Hagrid, the groundskeeper and watcher of the forest. 

“Going on an errand, Hagrid, shouldn’t be long.” 

“An errand? You’ll be wan'in’ more than tha’ on Lord Sirius,” The giant of a man came into view. It always spooked Sirius at how the forest hid its carer, because no man Hagrid’s size should be able to creep up on a demon as high up as Sirius. “Come on; I’ve got some bits, yeh can borro’” They reluctantly followed Hagrid back out of the forest. 

As soon as they were past the tree line, Hagrid’s Hut came into view. It was a small stone building with an overhanging roof and a cloud of billowing smoke spiralling into the sky. Fires in hell were entirely for aesthetic reasons only, as hell is hot enough already, and fires were completely redundant. “Come in, come in.” Hagrid waved them in through the open door. “Go on,” He said to Remus, who hovered uncertainly on the steps. 

Hagrid wiggled past the huge Grim once they were all in the hut and over to a large trunk. He opened it and took out an overlarge brown coat that had numerous pockets. “I can’ remember wha’s in all o’ them, but I’m sure yeh’ll find wha’ yeh need when time comes,” He said, handing it over to Sirius. 

“Er, thanks, Hagrid, but I doubt I’ll need it. It doesn’t exactly get cold down here,” He chuckled stiffly. 

“Take it all the same, yeh never know when it migh’ come in handy,” He passed Sirius a tin full of rock cakes and a flask full of whisky. Sirius took the whisky eagerly. 

Hagrid reached out and patted Remus’s enormous head. Sirius was shocked. Most of Hell's inhabitants fled from the sight of the demonic hounds. But Hagrid was treating him as though he was just any old dog. 

“E’s a sweet lad this un,” Hagrid said, scratching under Remus’s jaw. Remus seemed to be enjoying it as he leaned into the touch. 

They left soon after, Sirius slinging the coat around his shoulders to appease Hagrid. It looked like an old-fashioned set of robes on him, the hem trailing along the ground. 

“Good luck,” Hagrid waved them off before returning to his hut. And once again they set off into the forest. 

Next part

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Bubble Baths and Blisters (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Part of the Purchase Your Time Universe

Summary: It's clear John doesn't take care of himself when he's at work, so you'll just have to do it while he's home.

Content warning: References to sexual content (erections, reader is a sex worker) Minors DNI/18+ only! 2.8k words

Masterlist

This driver didn’t speak to you at all on the drive to your meeting. You preferred it that way, curating your message to your friend with the address you spied in the SatNav.

At the front desk, you collected the key card then made your way into the elevator. Your new bag wheeled in behind you, a larger one to fit potential outfits you’d need in the coming days requested by your benefactor. It barely clipped your heel as you twisted around to select your designated floor. Muzak was your companion on the walk down to your room; you knocked three times and counted to four in time with it. The keycard found the slot in the door easily. It granted you entry to the room.

Already, the purple patterned wallpaper and sleek grey furnishings appeased your materialistic side. But it was the pair of shoes unaligned by the door and the outfit laid out on the bed that called you inside.

At the sound of a shuffle through the wall, you spoke, “John?”

“Just coming,” was your reply, accompanied by the flush of a toilet and a splash in a sink.

Upon the instant John emerged from the bathroom, you noticed the cut on his right cheek. It was wide enough to require tape stitch closures and thin enough to only have a few causes behind its creation. Your hands found John’s face.

“What happened?” You said, almost whining at him, as if he’d gotten hurt on purpose.

John attempted to wave you off, “Nothing serious, I’m fine.”

Still, you fawned over him a little longer, leading him over to the bed so you could get a closer look – and the longer you looked, the more you found to worry over. Split skin on his knuckles, semi scabbed over, worried you more than the bruise blooming beneath them. Those valleys of cuts scarcely healed were bound to welcome infection like a bellboy would a hotel guest.

Only reason you stopped was because John clasped around your wrists like the prettiest bracelets and squeezed so that your hands stopped using his jaw to tilt his head about for inspection.

“I’m okay,” He said, his voice firm but his eyes soft, for your benefit no doubt, and you felt the overwhelming desire to trust him. He’d make one hell of an actor.

For now, you switched to a neutral subject.

“Went all out on the room this time, didn’t you?”

“My colleague says I need to learn to relax. Thought this might inspire that.”

You cottoned on with a grin, “That’s why I’m here, right?”

A wince wrinkled John’s expression, and you were not sure if the cause was an injury or the comment, but the fact that he even let slip a reaction at all told you all you needed to know about his current state. Getting this man to relax and recuperate was your new goal.

“I thought maybe we could-” You stopped, watching John cringe again, this time pushing on his knees as he went to stand. Forgetting about your fancy clothes in your suitcase, you jumped with your gut instinct: “Let me run you a bath.”

“I didn’t call you here so you could watch me soak in my own filth.”

“You’re not that dirty.” John squinted at your through suspicious slitted eyes at your comment whilst you continued, “Besides, it’ll help you unwind, and we’ll have time after. C’mon, let me. Please.”

Begging was not something you did without being paid for it, hence why you were completely fine whipping out the puppy dog eyes now. With faux resignation, John acquiesced and, within the minute, you were filling the bath with all the bubble bath you could find, having demanded he get undressed whilst you prepare his tub.

As you swished through the water, blending the two temperatures into a pleasantly hot sting, John poked his head into sight. His naked arm pressed the door against him in case it decided to reveal more of him to you. A tattoo of a dagger speared through his bicep like it was still lodged into a slot made of skin. You stood quickly; the rush of blood from your head made you wobble and John made a move, revealing a hint of his chest to you.

“Normally, I’d light some candles, really set the mood,” You said just as fast as you’d stood. “Want me to turn around?”

Despite him shaking his head, as you “sorted” through bottles of body wash, you still glanced far enough away that his nude body was in your peripheral, blurred in your blind spot as he sank beneath the water and hid himself beneath the bubbles as much as possible. More tattoos masked beneath body hair like brick walls behind ivy vines, some linework slashed apart or speckled with more scars than there were bubbles in the tub, forming constellations. Other bruises of varying purples were contrasted by tape and gauze on his lower left shoulder. John remained upright, his back straight and arms balance on the tub’s rim. He shot you a look that told you not to linger on his injuries.

You ignored it, “Glad to see you at least went to a doctor before calling me.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I dread to think. Can I wash your hair?”

John hesitated for a split second: “Sure.”

You took one from the pair of drinking glasses beside the sink, scooping up bathwater and swiping the excess bubbles from the top. As you carefully tilted John’s head back, your hand defending his brow from any stray droplets, you made sure your touch didn’t cross paths with the string of numbers tattooed right above the top of his spine. The skin there was marred and raised; whoever tattooed it was not kind with their equipment.

Water slicked down John’s hair, then again and again, until hairs clumped together in thicker tresses. Your nails ploughed carefully through after each cupful. One occasion, it narrowly missed a hidden scab, which you added to John’s total of injuries.

A healthy dollop of shampoo was squirted into your palm, pressing it into your other and threading it over your fingers. Foam rose fast; you began to circle it into John’s uneven hair. Over the bubbles popping, you heard the fruits of your recently done-up nails as you scratched them through his head, parting locks like a plough tilling the land. His head rotated on its axis ever-so-slightly as you clenched and tugged on his hair.

As nicely as you could, you pushed on his forehead and received an open eye of curiosity as you tempted him to rest his head back on a folded towel. The eye shut again, satisfied, when youbegan to knead the dough of the fat thinly coating his right shoulder’s muscles. They were like dead roots, reaching far across his body and brittle with age left unchecked. Body wash slicked up the skin to ease your firm touch.

“Your coworker was right; you do need to relax,” You whispered.

“Don’t tell her. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It can be our secret then.” A firm dig from your thumbs beneath both his shoulder blades resulted in the first groan-gasp combination from John. “Good?”

“Divine. You’d make a great masseuse.”

“I would. But then I wouldn’t get to see you.”

John had already opened his mouth to speak again, but as you massaged parallel lines down his spine, his head drooped, dragging him forward a little so you could reach further, and his chin closed against his chest.

“Yes?” You prompted light-heartedly, only to be met with him groaning again, “That’s what I thought.”

“Cheeky.” Though his tone matched the words, the timbre of his voice was thick, like his vocal chords had been drizzled in honey.

“You love it.”

Refusing to let him slouched for long, you eased him back upright to resume rubbing on his shoulder. Your fingers avoided the bandage on his pectoral as you soaped him up and washed him clean. The barrier of your hand protected the gauze. Surprisingly, you caught John staring a few times, his go-to move to smile and close his eyes whenever you did.

Perched on the rim of the tub, you began to work on his arms. As you circled the tips of his fingers and travelled down each knuckle, John started to pay more attention to you again. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze, not to challenge, just to smile at him and for that smile to grow when you hit a sweet spot that made him grunt and look away first. John kept his hand in your lap whilst you worked on the other one, his thumb rubbing back and forth at the same pace as yours. It left you content to feel the heft of his hand growing as you eased the tension from each tendon. He was trusting you to look after him, giving more and more of himself over.  

So it was a risky move to transition your care onto his right foot. Nothing that spelt rejection of this area when you first took the limb from the water, propping it on yet another folded towel at the rim for ease of access. Still nothing from John as you kneaded and pressed. It was only when you were zoned in on his calf that, through gritted teeth, you heard John force out the word:

“Love?”

Your fingers ceased all movement immediately, hands retracing in surrender, because John had never called you that before. Crimson had rushed to his ears beneath the shampoo bubbles. He cleared his throat as you leant your head left in confusion.

Then you saw his cock standing proud and poking out the bubbles. It was hardly the first erection you’d ever seen: pretty impressive, but pretty normal for your work week. You drew your eye away from it easily whilst John attempted to cover his groin up with more bubbles.

You looked back at him, hands back on the rim of the tub, “Do you want me to stop?”

John ground away at the enamel on his teeth whilst he deliberated over his best course of action. His knuckles ripped apart a scab with the grip they had on the rim.

Not wanting to send him off to an emergency dentist or A&E, you offered, “How about I keep going and you tell me when to stop or move on?”

John took a deep breath and spoke in a gruff voice, like the one when he was just waking up, “When I say.”

“Of course.”

He let you get to his knees on both legs before requesting you move on. Message received, you finished up fast and shifted focus on washing the shampoo gently out from his hair. As you rinsed through his hair, you noted that he seemed to have… calmed down. But the opposite effect seemed to have been achieved as a tear rolled down John’s cheek and plinked into the waterline.

You withdrew from him, trying instead to catch his eyeline, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

But John turned his head with a sniff, water sloshing as he withdrew a hand from the tub to pretend to wipe his nose, no doubt an attempt to remove the stinging sensation in his eyes. However, he was still smiling , close-lipped and slightly strained under his bought of emotion.

“I’m fine,” He muttered, his hand melting beneath the water as he pushed up and down his thigh. You wanted to joke that “I’m fine” should become his catchphrase, but you held off. He was the most open he’d been with you at all, even if he was lying about it.

“Anything I can do?” You asked instead.

Shaking his head, John braced himself on the sides of the tub, “Gonna get out now. Could you…?”

“Sure.”

You practically fled the bathroom in an effort to do what would make him feel comfortable. Water cascading back into the tub echoed off the tiles and into the bedroom whilst you texted your friend to confirm you were still safe.

When he finally came out the bathroom room, steam rolling in like fog over San Francisco, he was cleaning out his ears with a complimentary cotton bud. His eyes held no signs of crying, and you hadn’t heard any further evidence as such, so you felt only a vague sting of guilt for ogling the way he tied his robe, granting you access to follow a stray drop of hair weave its way down through his chest hair.

Determined to let him know you didn’t care about what transpired – except that you wanted him to be okay – you stepped close to him.

“Okay, don’t laugh but I’m begging you to let me at least moisturise your face. It’s gonna crack like dry earth.”

John let out a short laugh as he sauntered over to the bed that clued you in on his answer: he was prepared to humour you. He tossed the cotton bud neatly into the bin – nothing but binbag – and took his seat, once against observing you whilst you gleefully collected your face cream from your bag.

Standing between his legs, you dappled blobs across his face with a practiced fingertip. Stippling across his face displayed the freckles that populated his skin in a flattering light. Working in delicate circles so as not to cause any further damage, you were aware that you were likely pulling weird faces for aid of focus, and you probably had been whilst you were massaging him, but John didn’t react to them besides his slow cat-like blinks that let him pivot his gaze around your face and his hands curving at the tops of your thighs.

Hecaught you in his grasp again just as you were finishing up, and you paused to let him speak.

Holding your eye contact as gently as he held your wrist, John murmured, “I think about you a lot when I’m away.”

Your thumb carefully dragged the last of the lotion across his cheek, vanishing it into his skin. “I think about you too.”

A couple of inches breathing room between you became too much, what with John’s eyes drooping to your lips for increasing intervals. You decided to toss your face lotion bottle on the bed before you kissed him. Hardly heated, you were gentle as before. Something sweet and simple to soothe him back to normal life.

But as John pulled away, you saw none of that. You saw remorse that ran as deep as the damage his scars hinted at. All he managed was a slight embellishment of a smile whilst he wiped away a smear of lotion that had transferred onto your face.

“What time’s our reservation?”

“An hour.”

Plenty of time.

So, instead of pressing him like your gut yearned to, you kissed his forehead and stepped away. You didn’t call out how he leant towards you, even tilting on his axis to follow your lips for more, or how he closed his eyes with his shoulders sagging and a sigh caged in his ribs. He probably didn’t want to be seen as the sad man who asked you to kiss him so he felt better about getting a boner over getting his hair washed.

You let John stick to his plan and thank you by taking you out to dinner. Despite feeling like you were making progress, knowing him a little more, he seemed to be digging into the Earth to create more distance between you both as he sipped at his drink and dodged your queries about what he planned to do with his time off. Distance was healthy, necessary even for your work. But much more and you might not be able to stomach it.

With his new found vantage point, John as your voyeur continued his new role throughout and past dinner. The only time you crossed into his territory again was once you’d completed your nightly routine under his watch. You crossed the shag carpet to stand between his legs, kiss him goodnight and thank him for treating you so well. Reminding you that you hadn’t lost all that progress, John squeezed your waist as he affirmed you deserved every luxury. His forehead rested against yours as he told you this.

But there was damage done still. John reached out for you in his sleep. His arms found your waist every time he settled, and every time he woke back up, he retracted his touch back to his side.

You didn’t hear from him for two months after that meeting, something with work he’d said. You still thought about him a lot. You wondered if he still did too.

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

AN: Thanks for your patience! You voted for a bathtime chapter; we got one! I've got a dark!fic au of this I'll post later on too.

[nouearth]

london fog.

pairing ; clark kent x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, superman. word count ; 1094. genre; fluff. rating ; pg. warnings ; awkward interactions incoming, male reader is embarrassing, clark is nervous and likes hot drinks on a hot summer day, didn't proof-read, sorry! my toes actually curled at how cringy reader was being, i'm so sorry.

“london fog for clark?” your voice is at ease and your motions even more so as you topped the hot latte with milk foam, capping the drink with a lid after. a smile that rivaled the sunny day has been brewing on your face since you took the familiar customer’s order and thankfully, things moved at a leisurely pace today, meaning you had a few more seconds than usual to spare with him.

“how come you still called my name even though there’s no one here?” his name is clark, often comes in before work or during lunch. but these days, he’s been doing both, which you couldn’t complain about. the man’s presence makes the opening shift worth it, even if you could only speak to him for a few seconds. 

as usual, he’s in his work attire, sans the blazer that you often see him wearing in the morning, and he still looks at you with that friendly smile of his, black hair whipped back with tiny strands falling downwards as his hair wax has obviously loosened over the day. clark’s presence never failed to prepare you for the long day ahead or comfort you after an intense hour of appeasing patronizing customers. adding in his ability to look effortlessly handsome every day, his generosity in tipping, and his amiable personality, it didn’t take too long for clark to become your favorite customer.

“i just like saying your name! clark! i’ve never met anyone named clark before.” you pass the cup to him as you maintained eye contact. a gentle brush of his fingertips almost breaks your gaze, but you catch yourself, only breaking to fetch and occupy his hand with a bagged sandwich. “on the house.”

“oh- hey, i can’t! let me pay for this.” you confirm to yourself that pretty privilege was indeed real and you can’t believe you fell victim to it, but… it isn’t so bad when the culprit is a genuinely kind person. 

after taking a sip, clark clumsily sets everything down on the counter to fumble for his wallet. the sound of pennies and quarters falling onto the marbled floor echoes and you could evidently see clark’s cheeks grow redder the more coins fall, but you stop him before he could empty his wallet out even further. he stares back at you wide-eyed and you couldn’t help but laugh at how cute he looks when he’s embarrassed, especially since he’s bigger and taller, a physique that you often associated with a bodyguard or some sort of superhero, and you don’t think those types of people tend to be flustered much… do they?

“it’s fine. we’re working on a new recipe, so consider yourself… a test rat!” you gather the fallen coins that managed to land on the counter into your palm before handing it back to him. a slight waste of time, only because clark slots them, along with a couple dollar bills, into the tip jar immediately after.

“well… uh… i’m happy to test anything if it means seeing more of you.” was he flirting? or was that a joke? maybe it was nothing?! your inexperience condemns you to overanalyzing his words, his tone, his body language, everything, and you’d figure you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight with these questions running rampant.

“oh- definitely! you won’t be disappointed, clark.” you’re flustered and that reflects in your voice. a voice that was once at ease not even a minute ago quickly becomes staggered. you stammer like a school boy confessing to his crush, and you could feel your eyes shutting for a moment in embarrassment when you realize how nervous you sound. “they work me like a dog so- i’m always here, hah!” 

you snort in midst of the awkward laugh that you and clark both share and you want to hide in a hole somewhere. maybe not too deep since you still want to be alive and breathing to see clark again, but somewhere far, far, far away from this painful interaction. 

a painful interaction that makes you all the more endearing, clarks thinks to himself.

“i-uh. yeah, well hopefully not too hard to the point where you faint at work or something.” clark adds onto the topic and god, you wish you could change subjects right now.

“haha, yeah! maybe i’ll signal for superman or something!” you don’t know why but you find yourself naturally stepping back as if there was a spotlight awaiting your tony-winning performance. 

“help, help! superman! i’m gonna faint! catch me!” 

and the recipient of the most embarrassing interaction goes to…

you’re red in the face, hot in the neck, clammy in the hands, and even clark’s wholesome laughter couldn’t save you from embarrassment. you force yourself to think he’s laughing with you (and he is), not at you, and that calms you down, just a tiny bit.

“great drinks and service, and now a show. i gotta come visit more often.” clark occupies his hands once again with his drink and sandwich, nodding you off. “thank you- again. i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“yea-“ the sound of a bell cuts you off and you look over to the source—another customer. “y-yes! tomorrow.” 

clark’s voice is faint when he bids you goodbye, but you were already off to the other side of the cafe, tending to the customer, and eventually too focused to notice his exit when a line of customers quickly forms.

you work quickly within the next few minutes, knocking the orders down in an impressive personal record, and a huge weight lifts off your shoulders when you call out the last order of the line, until that bell chimes in again.

three more hours to go. you sighed, tired on your feet as you walk your way towards the ordering counter, greeting the customer.

“hello! welcome to-“

“i’m sorry, i lied. not tomorrow.”

you slow your approach, taking a moment to register what the familiar man was saying. “wha- clark? what do you mean?” usually you’d smile when you see him—clark—but he seems conflicted, disheveled, a stark contrast to his usual friendly demeanor, and so you could only muster a soft half-smile out of worry.

“can i see you tonight?”

clark stands tall, but not confident as he waits for your answer, nervously shifting his weight onto on his toes and heel, hands dug into his pockets.

“i-uh. yeah. i get off at five-“

“five…” clark ponders for a quick moment before nodding, gracing you with that comforting smile of his. you're at ease again, if you ignore the incredibly annoying swell in your chest.

“i’ll see you at five.”

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[terrence-silver]

“It’s not a ‘trigger’! I don’t have ‘triggers’! There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m perfectly normal!” sounds to me like something KK3 Terry would say

The Elevator.

---

It was easily considered the biggest architectural eccentricity of the decade.

A fifty two story building looming over the skyline of LA reconstructed in such a way where each of its respective elevators were to be widened --- made bigger --- the shaft dimensions along generously altered from their usual 1850x1500 in diameter to a staggering 2000x1800, which meant of course, that perhaps the entire skeleton of the building itself, from top to bottom, its rebar, its wires, its reinforced concrete blocks, all had to be re-measured and rebuilt, notwithstanding the fact that an entire Skyscraper's worth of furniture and and staff had to be temporarily moved out first before the building could be virtually torn apart right down the middle. Gutted with the precision of a surgical knife. Reconstrued. Re-done. Re-calibrated. Re-fitted into place. The entire infrastructure of Dynatox's HQ remodeled, dissembled and re-assembled, solely to accommodate what they all claimed was a capricious whim --- blowing money for the sake of blowing money; a project that could go into the Millions. Tens of Millions for starters. That would require countless engineers. Man-power. Workers. Coordinators. Equipment. Shiploads of cement. Plans. So many plans. Journalists. News reporters. Pesky protestors outside of his building carrying signs saying how once again, Terry Silver's endeavors have not only polluted the planet but somehow managed to lead to urbanistic chaos amidst renovations, throwing the nearby city neighborhoods into disarray, shutting down entire streets and uglifying the vista for fuck knows how long. Did he at least have a permit for that, they asked? He was first name basis friends with Tom Bradley and they tended to golf together. He didn't need a permit, but if he genuinely wanted it, he could get it. He didn't give a shit either, though. In fact, all of it amused him profoundly. He wanted to ride around in more spaciously comfortable elevators and he would have his desire appeased too. He had the money to fund his own whims, and he would too.

Never thought much of it, until Margaret said what she said.

And then his desires began to itch.

-"Mr. Silver, sir. Forgive me if I inquire, but on the basis of employer-employee confidentiality, taking into consideration the vast sum of investment that'll go into this project ---"-

She adjusted the rim of her glasses perched atop of her nose and he already knew he had to brace himself for what she'd say next and prepare an even wittier comeback; finding his smile prematurely fading from his lips before he could even properly crack a chuckle across the precipice of his tongue. His secretary, like the incarnation of all wisdom and logic itself, looks at him, knowingly, similarly to how someone's grandmother or an aunt would've from across all the stack of building plans sprawled across the empty conference table, save for the two of them. -"But, it's not claustrophobia, is it?"- What? Without breaking a sweat, Margaret Spencer holds his gaze, one of the few people who could, as she clarifies. He knew what the fuck it was, but she chooses to explain anyway, giving him a clear definition with the precision of a Thesaurus, drilling the point home. Something pierces Terry's brain then, like a spiked, hot rod. He knew Margaret didn't do this to pin holes inside of him intentionally, but it happens anyway. He bleeds inwardly. Sees jungle red. -"The irrational fear of confined spaces. It is quite the serious trigger for some."-

On instinct, he finds his tone of voice growing low and dangerously cold.

He cocks his head to one side, assessing the word.

Like a dog assesses the bone between his teeth.

-"Trigger?"-

He seethes.

The term is unfamiliar.

Akin to a weird blank. Yet he doesn't like it. He loathes it.

Wants to tear into like, like a punching dummy.

Hit it until it collapses dead underneath his feet.

Was she implying what she was implying? That he was doing renovations, importing material, flying in engineers from as far as Korea, ready to blow the budget of a smaller country and all because he was too chickenshit to get into an elevator that felt slightly too small? Because it reminded him of 'Nam? Of the cage? She was infuriatingly right, of course, like someone who knew him for far too long could only ever be, and he hated it. Felt bared and seen by it. Felt the need to fight. Get defensive. So he does. -"It’s not a ‘trigger’!"- He hisses, getting up from his leather rotating office chair in a haste, sensing his own jaw tightening, finding he was speaking to the older woman through painfully gritted teeth. He relished the pain though, seeking more of it, because a soldier didn't do pain. He didn't do triggers either. Who invented that anyway!? What would John say about that if he knew!? Bullshit! Suddenly, his anger flares up to volcanic degrees. He's there, furiously pointing a ring-bejeweled finger at her, every trace of humor long since gone. -"I don’t have ‘triggers’, Margaret!"- He stands firm in that fact, but she sits there --- not judging --- but seeming stoic. Unconvinced. Folders and files neatly in her lap, the picture of professional poise and experience. Tricking Margaret Spencer was like trying to trick one's own mother; they always seemed to know better. He would've fired anyone else on the spot and issued a lawsuit their way, destroying every prospect of any further career anywhere, but with her? He felt the need to justify himself somehow. Convince her, from a strictly business standpoint, that they weren't sinking Billions into a building solely on the basis of him being afraid. He didn't do afraid either. There was no fear in this dojo. In this unit.

-"There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m perfectly normal!"-

He shouts suddenly, spittle flying from his mouth.

Once he realizes the outburst, he stops just as abruptly.

Straightens himself out. Halts. Re-takes control.

Stops pacing around the office like a feral animal.

It was technically her job to ask these things. Man, he was overreacting.

All of this seems funny out of nowhere, even though he was furious just a second ago.

Terry chuckles. Then, he cackles. His eyelids ache. He forgot to blink.

-"I'm fine. Lighten up, Margaret."-

He brushes it off, going for nonchalance, not feigning a single part of it, though, feeling it, in fact, in every part of his body; this unbearable lightness of being, filling his head with the high of an unexpected euphoria. He was fine. He truly was. By the end of year two since commencing the master plan programme, in a Herculean effort of unprecedented proportions, his vision is complete and his project done. Of course, Forbes writes about it extensively. So does Architectural Digest at a ribbon cutting ceremony. He rides a private elevator out of spite to commemorate the occasion, one of many and newly designed according to his specifications, going to the top floor of his building, right to the spire, where his office was overlooking Los Angeles, deciding to overcome himself once and for all forget what fear ever even meant by definition.

[ts2cambremon]

Character Profiles: The Baranim

Achemi Baranim (mage/true neutral)

Age: 55

Interest: Dogs

Traits: Family-orientated/Daring/Hot-tempered/Loves the outdoors/ Adventurous/ Neat

Sexual orientation: Pansexual

Mage power: 4 (from birth) + 5 (from spiders)

Mage vice: Childishness

Achemi's past is shrouded in mystery. It's not that she won't talk about it- she just gives a different version every time. However, something in her demeanour speaks of her past as a military commander. Life in exile has not been easy, but the wastelands are in some ways safer than what she's left behind.

Ansyl Baranim née Aramia (mage/chaotic neutral)

Age: 25

Interest: Dancing

Traits: Dog-person/ Loves the outdoors/ Rebellious/ Unstable/ Brave

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Mage power: 1 (from birth)

Ansyl was married off much too young, for the sake of a political alliance which never really materialized. She's always felt like she was playing a role as a lady, an ill-fitting suit. Lost in the woods after escaping her captors, she survived thanks to her resourcefulness, before being bitten by a direwolf. The Baranim have accepted her, but only Yakon knows about her shape-shifting when the moon is full.

Yakon Baranim (mage/lawful good)

Age: 20

Interest: Praying

Traits: Dog-person/Family-orientated/Vain/Animal handler/Handy

Sexual orientation: Heterosexual

Mage power: 2 (from birth)

Mage vice: Vanity

Yakon's very sensitive about the scars left-over from the skulling disease he suffered as a child. He was almost glad when his twin was disfigured after a direwolf attack- although he would never admit it to himself. Used to live in the shadows of his mother and Marek, he was the first surprised when Ansyl took a liking to him. Although he's the least magically gifted Baranim, he's the most spiritual, and is the one in charge of appeasing The Beast.

Marek Baranim (mage/lawful neutral)

Age: 20

Interest: Babies

Traits: Family-orientated/ Angler/ Loves to swim/ Loves the cold/Nurturing

Sexual orientation: Heterosexual

Mage power: 5 (from birth) + 2 (from spiders)

Mage vice: Sloth

Marek hides his soft side under a layer of arrogance and self-righteousness. He's grown up with an acute sense of missing out on what the world has to offer, and is somewhat embarassed of his ignorance. He loves his family more than anything, but he knows, and his prophetic powers have confirmed, that he needs to leave them to make a life of his own.

[brickbozo]

because it’s canon that he sees her that way; there’s like at least 3 instances of him literally saying she’s like a daughter to him. vs that one interview which is just showing that murdoc gets off on being choked/beaten up. it’s not specific to noodle, that joke was also made in an interview with him and russel. it’s not meant to be taken seriously. murdoc is a freak, that’s the joke. but he genuinely does see noodle as a daughter and has said so multiple times. I’m not against shipping btw, I don’t really care how others see them and I’m not trying to start anything or shame anyone. I’m just explaining why so many view their dynamic that way. It’s not just some random headcanon, it’s literally canon lol

I cant find any interview where they joke about it with Russel (not to say Murdoc isn't into being dominated), im also pretty sure the only instance Murdoc outright talks about Noodle being his daughter was like, once i.e. in his letter to el mierda

that was intentionally exaggerated to 'appease' him in saving Noodle (when there was no indication that she needed saving in the first place)

really ooc because its canon Murdoc has been using Noodle as his bodyguard and trusted her to protect him from demons, zombies, thugs and prison itself since the age of 13 (she also traveled the world by herself at 11 and lived with ex military convicts / yakuza)

part of the heavily retconned ending manned by the management i.e. the shitty/extremely confusing conclusion to The Now Now coupled with banked on overpriced merch

outright rejected by Noodle (in a phase 5 interview + q n a)

also debunked from a chat in freemurdoc

and Noodle herself reaching the inevitable conclusion

not to mention Murdoc's words aren't very reliable. He's insisted multiple times he adopted 2d / is his father figure .etc (unless you genuinely believe that too inwhich case you do you)

second off (and more importantly), if i knew a middle aged dude who's already known for being a sexually harassing creep (phase 2 'Hot Dog' incident) and who Russel warns all young ladies against, pop a boner because a young woman's trying to discipline him, then turns around and claims to see her as his 'adopted daughter/little sister' (plus include her in a Smash or Pass challenge on tiktok) i'd call the cops.

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 19

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

4.3k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: We're still in Angstville, but not for long, I promise.

19

It was official. Eddie was screwed. And not in the hot-and-heavy kind of way, either. No, screwed in the cosmic sense. Screwed in the ‘everyone is out for my blood’ way. Well, maybe not everyone. Dustin wasn’t. Neither were Nancy Wheeler (what), Robin Buckley (surprising), or Max Mayfield (shocking). Or even the king himself, Steve Harrington (what the absolute fuck).

He sat on an upturned bucket and watched the sunlight glint off the ripples of Lover’s Lake. He should find a better hiding place than under a shitty tarp in this boathouse. He really, really should. Yet he sat, letting his eyes unfocus and refocus.

Dustin had said the idea of Hawkins being cursed wasn’t far off. You’d said something was wrong with this town. That wasn’t a coincidence.

Jesus Christ, you’d known all along. Eddie should’ve paid attention. You were a witch, after all. You saw things no one else saw — or at least he didn’t. He hadn’t paid attention, though. Oh, he listened to you. He got inspired by you. But…

But he’d been a fucking idiot, even after you’d demonstrated magic was real.

In November — fucking November — you’d claimed someone had taken magic from you. He hadn’t known what you meant when you apologized and cried you wouldn’t look again. You hadn’t been apologizing to him, precisely. You’d been appeasing that someone.

Now he knew that someone was Vecna, a dark wizard from another world.

Before Chrissy’s death, he would’ve laughed at the things Dustin had told him on Saturday. Laughed his fucking ass off. Not anymore, though. He’d seen too much.

Like, he could accept magic was real. Your magic was real. It felt good, but the curse that killed Chrissy didn’t. That wasn’t like your magic. You weren’t like Vecna. You were good, determined, and intense. Maybe if you’d been there, you could’ve saved her.

Shit, Chrissy shouldn’t have been at his place. He shouldn’t have offered her harder drugs that afternoon, and he definitely shouldn’t have been kinda, sorta flirty with her.

With a snort, he thought he shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

He shouldn’t have paused the relationship with you. He’d ruined one of the best things that had ever happened to him. If he’d been less of a dickwad, he would’ve been with you on Friday. You and him could’ve skipped school together, gone for chili cheese fries and a huge cookies-and-cream shake. After, he could’ve played some new songs for you to show his dedication to getting the fuck out of this shit town.

Then he would’ve made up for lost time. He wanted to kiss you so bad, to feel your hands on him; your touch a sweet mercy he could call his own. He would’ve done anything you’d let him. He would’ve been anything to get back in your good graces — been your dog, your slave, your whipping boy.

At this point, he didn’t care if you’d respect him less. He respected himself less. He’d been such a coward by running away. As Chrissy suffered, he screamed and fell on his ass. He hadn’t tried to help her or wake her or break the curse. No, he’d left her to die in his uncle’s living room.

God, Wayne.

Wayne must’ve guessed why a cheerleader was there in the first place, and Eddie doubted Wayne thought it was because she was interested in him. For the most part, he kept the drug dealing away from the trailer. He didn’t want Wayne to get in trouble with the law. Wayne looked the other way, because he understood dealing was fast money.

Fast money let Eddie concentrate on music, and Wayne supported his pursuit. Also, Wayne believed he only sold weed. Wayne didn’t agree with outlawing a plant. He’d said, “God put that plant on the Earth and let humans find it and understand what it can do. Who are we to question God?”

While Eddie maintained his atheism, he couldn’t disagree with Wayne’s reasoning.

Now though— Now Wayne knew he sold more than weed. He couldn’t recall where the tin of ketamine had gone. He hoped no one had blamed Wayne for that. Or worse, if Wayne had covered for him. He’d never be able to pay him back for that.

A boat motor revved and started to drone closer. Eddie jumped to his feet, gaze darting around the boathouse. Climbing into the boat and throwing the tarp over himself would take too long. He tip-toed to the crowded, shadowed back wall and crouched.

A shabby fishing boat puttered by with two old codgers squinting and pointing at some sign of fish. They didn’t glance his way. Still, someone would eventually.

Yeah, he really, really needed a better hiding place.

-

The Monday evening news had disclosed the second murder victim’s name. ‘Fred Benson’ hadn’t rung any bells. You’d studied his class portrait on the screen, trying to place his face. Mom had asked if you knew him, but you hadn’t been sure. You’d moved closer to the TV before recognition hit.

You and Fred shared a Physics class. He sat at the front of your row. He was a gawky nerd who wore these horrible brown glasses and had a gnarly scar on his cheek that no one ever mentioned. The Fred on screen hadn’t had the scar or worn those particular pair of glasses. It must’ve been an earlier portrait.

The newspaper on Tuesday had a full write-up on Fred. He’d been a journalist for Hawkins High’s The Weekly Streak, which explained why he’d been in Forest Hills on Saturday. You guessed he’d been investigating Chrissy’s death or collecting quotes about her from mourners.

So, the connection between Chrissy and Fred wasn’t being seniors at Hawkins High, it was Forest Hills. If the killer had remained in the area for over 24 hours, the cops should’ve caught him. Forest Hills wasn’t a sprawling neighborhood. There was a main road that T’ed into a dead-end with the other arm connecting to a side road. The surrounding woods weren’t dense, either.

Unless the lazy fucking cops weren’t looking too hard because they were confident about who the killer was.

As the Monday newscast had continued to the next story, you’d thought of running away with Eddie to Mexico. You could drive during the day while Eddie took the night. To keep tears at bay, you named the states you’d have to drive through: Indiana, Illinois, Arkansas, Texas. Or, depending on the highway system: Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas.

You’d made yourself grin when you remembered how you always wanted to see more of America.

By that night, you’d found a locator spell. It hadn’t been ideal, but it was simple. There was ample attachment between you and Eddie to see where he hid. Unfortunately, you couldn’t identify anything. He sat at an unfamiliar dining table in the dark. All sorts of things littered the table, none of which were helpful.

However, there was water nearby. A body of water. It lapped at a shore.

When you’d pulled the local map from the kitchen junk drawer and spread it over the island, you laughed. There was an unnamed lake in the middle of your neighborhood of Loch Nora. To the north was Lover’s Lake. Going east was Tippecanoe, then Lake Jordan. Between them was Sattler’s Quarry. Not to mention all the little lakes dotting the woods. There was even a creek near Forest Hills.

You hadn’t thought Eddie foolish enough to stay that close to home.

You’d folded the map and returned it to the drawer. There were too many possibilities. You couldn’t knock on every door of every house by every lake in Roane County.

You’d seen the sun rise on Tuesday. The dream of falling between billowing dark clouds, of being bitten, of claiming and being claimed in return followed you into consciousness. The little creatures weren’t your enemy. They sought you. They bided their time until your return.

That was just dream logic, though. Creatures like that didn’t exist, but how you wished to summon them. You’d order them to find Eddie and lead you to him.

Since that was impossible, you’d changed into work clothes, went through your morning routine, and began making breakfast. Mom came into the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed in her own work clothes. She wanted to spring clean, insisting everything was dusty or needed a polishing, and had appointed you as her assistant.

You could’ve protested or feigned grief over Chrissy’s and Fred’s deaths, yet you hadn’t. After the previous night’s disappointment, you’d needed a break to gather your thoughts and devise another way to find Eddie.

Once your father had left for the day, you and Mom got to work vacuuming and dusting and rearranging. When he’d returned, he grumbled the house smelled like Pine-Sol. With a smile, Mom replied he was welcome to enjoy dinner al fresco all by himself if he wished. He said the house looked good and retreated to the master bedroom to change.

Mom had quirked an eyebrow at you and asked if you wanted to order Chinese for dinner.

-

Eddie didn’t know how he’d done it, but he made it to Skull Rock. Oh, he’d tripped over every fallen branch and nearly brained himself in the dark. He’d smacked his shoulders on every tree trunk on the way too, but he made it.

Leaves and burrs and dirt clung to his drenched clothes. Catching his breath, he shook the walkie. It sloshed and gurgled.

Yeah, it was dead, no more, ceased to be, bereft of life, kicked the bucket. May it rest in peace.

He tossed the walkie among the leaves and garbage.

The woods were quiet. He listened for the telltale rustling of anyone pursuing him, but nothing. He couldn’t blame Carver and his lackeys for staying behind. Seeing McKinney hoisted out of the water by absolutely nothing and murdered in the most vicious way tended to sideline a chase.

While he didn’t like any of those meatheads, no one deserved that. Chrissy hadn’t. Neither had Fred Benson. McKinney might’ve been an asshole — or kept company with a bunch — but Eddie never wanted him dead.

Jesus H. Christ, why did this shit keep happening around him?

Maybe they weren’t the only ones who were cursed. Eddie had witnessed Vecna kill two out of three victims. It was like Vecna followed him. Now that he thought about it, he should’ve asked to see you after Dustin had explained dark wizards and other dimensions. Surely, you had a spell or something that would conceal him.

God, if you’d even see him. You had to be pissed at him. Dustin reported you’d believed Chrissy had been there for drugs. That didn’t mean you weren’t done with him. Dustin also said you demanded to help, but he’d refused. Eddie agreed, wanting to keep you safe and out of this mess. That was sure to piss you off as well.

And yeah, he should’ve found a better hiding place. He should’ve moved on when the Scooby Gang figured out where he was, yet he hadn’t. Look where that had gotten him: eating two-year-old Uh-Oh Spaghetti-O’s, meatheads hot on his heels, and falling in a goddamn lake in fucking March.

Though the night wasn’t chilly, he shivered. From the adrenaline rush or the cold, wet clothes, he couldn’t tell. However, he knew he needed to get out of his clothes. He stripped to his boxers before wringing and draping each piece on the surrounding boulders.

By some miracle, his keys and lucky D10 were still in the pocket of his leather jacket. In the other interior pocket, his pack of cigarettes was soaked. He fished the lighter out and tapped the pack on the boulder. With any luck — ha! — they’d dry.

He played with the chain looping around the busted wrist zipper. You said you’d blessed it. He kissed the chain before crawling under the main boulder. He needed all the blessings he could get right now.

-

You pulled out the proverbial big guns with Agnes Jemimah Israel’s book, An Elementary Treatise, Formulary, and Encyclopedia of the Occult Sciences. Someone should’ve workshopped the title with her, because while descriptive, it was a mouthful.

Birds chirped in the tree nearest your open window. The morning sun slanted over the foot of your unmade bed and reflected off the floor. You were sure the light warmed it, but you couldn’t feel it.

Your parents had already left for work. Your father’s car backed down the driveway an hour ago. That gave you almost eight hours to ascertain where Eddie hid, pack what you’d need, and leave town with him.

That was, if you could find Eddie.

Lucky for you, Israel’s book was in alphabetical order. You read the exhaustive article on location finding, which referred to dowsing. You weren’t looking for anything in the ground, though. There was nothing on tracking or trailing, either.

You stood from the desk and paced your room. This wasn’t working. Eddie should’ve come to you and explained what had happened. He should know you wouldn’t judge. Things would’ve been so much easier if he’d just thrown pebbles at your window on Friday night. If you’d skipped school like he’d wanted, he wouldn’t have had to.

No, he wouldn’t miss D&D.

While he concluded the campaign, you could’ve told Mom you were spending the night at a friend’s and waited at Eddie’s. Then Chrissy Cunningham would’ve never shown up to be murdered because Eddie would’ve been rushing home to you. Or your dead body. Maybe you would’ve been the first victim.

You sighed.

That’s not what happened, though. And you couldn’t dwell on these potentials. They hadn’t happened and couldn’t happen.

You left your room, stomping all the way to the kitchen. Of course, you weren’t hungry. You hadn’t been hungry in days. You didn’t so much sleep as go unconscious. The plants you’d potted had no scent. Food was flavorless. Sunlight didn’t warm your skin. All because of some unknown enemy was cursing you nightly.

You slapped your hands on the counter. That should’ve stung. It didn’t.

You snarled.

Who the hell had you pissed off? Was it the one who’d stolen your magic?

It started Friday night—

Wait.

Chrissy’s murder had been on Friday night; Fred’s on Saturday night. You’d had nightmarish headaches both nights. Of course, that could be chance, pure coincidence, a fluke. Your 'enemy' could be cursing you right now. Which meant it wasn’t tied to either murder. Someone just hated you.

You drew the medicine bag from under your shirt. There was one way to tell…

Though, if you took it off and another headache incapacitated you, Eddie would be stuck wherever he was for who knows how long, and your parents could find you unconscious on the kitchen floor. On the other hand, there might be a link between the murders and your headaches. If you took off the medicine bag and were ambushed with pain, you’d learn that fact too late.

You pointed out the headaches only came at night. And the one who’d stolen your magic had only gotten to you when you’d used it to see into an alternate reality, like your world inverted and in ruins. You weren’t doing that now, and it was daytime.

Okay, so, if you took off the medicine bag and nothing happened, your headaches could be connected with the murders. If you took it off and suffered, well, the headaches probably weren’t. But you’d be out of commission. Which would put a damper on your plans.

You snorted.

“This is so fucking stupid.”

If your headaches were connected to the murders, you could do something. Maybe? You didn’t want anyone else to die. However, you’d been cut off at the knees with your innate magic gone. What the hell could you do? Really? You were a pie without the filling.

And yet, you wore physical evidence of magic. You had magic — just not the kind you were used to. So maybe you had a little filling in your metaphysical pie.

You sighed, thinking you could go around and around for hours with this argument.

“Fuck, fuck— Fuck it.”

You whipped the medicine bag off your neck. The world spun with heat and color and sensation. Your soft pajamas swayed against your skin. The satiny kitchen tiles chilled your soles. Your palms were warm from smacking the counter. Your legs buckled under the sudden rush. Dust motes rippled in the light. Mint from your toothpaste lingered on your tongue. Sweat gathered at your hairline, above your lip, on your neck, in the creases of your body.

Your vision narrowed and grayed. You landed on your knees, falling to the side. Your trembling arms couldn’t hold you upright. Elbows banged on the floor. You grunted at the dual twinges.

Now this close to the floor, you realized your father was right: the house smelled like Pine-Sol.

A metallic peal crashed into your consciousness. You hummed in question, rolling onto your back. Whatever was underneath you was blissfully cool and smooth. You starfished and purred. It really was nice.

The peal came again. You opened your eyes. The ceiling wasn’t your ceiling. A fridge’s ice maker rattled. Your room didn’t have a fridge. Because you weren’t in your room.

You sat, eyes wide. Your head swam.

The peal pierced the silence. That was the phone. You were downstairs. You’d taken off the medicine bag and fainted. The answering machine would kick on after the next ring.

You crawled below the phone and used the fridge’s paneling to steady yourself on your knees.

Before the phone could ring again, you yanked the handset from the cradle. It almost whacked you on the forehead. You struggled to make your hands work as you brought the handset to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Honey, it’s Mom.”

“Hey, hi…”

“We just heard on the radio the police have identified a suspect.”

You slumped to the floor, praying it wasn’t who you thought it was.

Not waiting for a reply, she continued, “We’re going to a town hall meeting this afternoon, but I want you to stay home. Alright? No going to a friend’s house.”

“Uh, sure.”

“We’ll be home early.”

“Okay, no prob,” you said, despite there being a major problem.

“Call your father’s direct line if you need anything. We’ll be here until about 1:30.”

“You got it. See you soon.”

She said she loved you, which you returned and ended the call. You rose onto your knees and placed the handset back in its cradle.

“Shit.”

According to the microwave clock, you’d lost nearly an hour and a half. That was time you hadn’t been searching for a tracking spell to find your idiot metalhead. You stood and dusted yourself off. At least, you thought, you weren’t suffering with a headache from hell.

The medicine bag lay on the island counter. You didn’t put it on. First, you wanted food. You made yourself the best turkey sandwich ever and ate it over the sink. The lunchmeat was juicy, mustard tangy, bread hearty. You drank apple juice straight from the carton. Before leaving the kitchen, you stole a few cookies from the pantry.

In the living room, you turned on the TV and changed the channel to a local station. Between commercials, the news teased information about another teen murder with a full report at noon. That was about a half an hour away.

You finished the last cookie, then rushed upstairs to change clothes and sort out your hair. There was still a chance you could find the proper spell and cast it before your parents came home. It was hard to imagine leaving most of the things in your room behind save for your occult supplies, purse, and what you wore. However, you’d do it — for Eddie.

Returning to the living room, you sat on the edge of the sofa and turned up the TV’s volume. The repeated dinging from The Price Is Right hurt your ears, but you wouldn’t lower the volume. You needed to hear the upcoming report.

After the commercial break, the newscaster opened the program by announcing the top story was another murder. They then segued to the crew at the scene. The reporter there had the usual spiel about breaking news. You rolled your eyes, wanting them to get on with it.

The report cut to the chief of police standing in front of a tan house.

“As you may know by now, the Roane County Line received a call after midnight reporting a homicide out here on the lake,” the chief said. “Officer Callahan here and myself arrived first on the scene. We made our way to the shore of Lover’s Lake, about ten yards from the house you see behind me.” He gestured towards said house. “It was there that we found the victim—” Flipping a page in his notebook, he read, “An eighteen-year-old senior from Hawkins High, Patrick McKinney. His limbs— His body; it had suffered identical injuries to previous homicides on Friday and Saturday night. There was an eyewitness at the time of this murder… We’ve also identified a person of interest—” He presented a large black-and-white photo of a face all-too familiar. “—Eddie Munson.”

The chief continued talking, but your ears rang too loud, too high pitched, to hear him. They thought Eddie was the killer. Your Eddie, who called his guitar ‘sweetheart’ and wore mismatching socks and constantly misplaced his homework and paled at the sight of blood. They thought he murdered a cheerleader and a nerd.

If the locals found Eddie, they wouldn’t bother with a trial. They’d kill him in the town square.

Your full stomach roiled. You choked, but you couldn’t tell on what. You tripped to the kitchen and bent over the sink. Nothing came out. A wrenching gag turned into a sob. It reverberated in the sink.

They would hunt him down.

Your face heated.

They’d take their fears out on him.

The sink blurred. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. What was the point of it all? You were going to lose him, and no one wanted justice. They wanted someone to blame, and he was an easy target, but you loved him, you loved him, and you’d never told him. They were going to take him from you, and there was nothing you could do. Spit and snot and tears dribbled into the sink. You were weak and powerless, but oh fuck, you loved him too much to let him go. You’d never let him go, even if you went down with him.

You gasped and keened and tried to inhale, but that only welcomed a fresh wave of sobbing. Your hands ached from gripping the sink edge. Your chest burned from lack of air.

After a deep yet stuttering breath, your tears slowed. You released your hold and turned on the tap to cup cold water in your hands. You wet your hot face again and again. The water cleared your head. You pressed cool fingers to your swollen eyelids, then ran them over your neck.

The cops hadn’t found Eddie, which was why they mentioned him. He’d evaded them. They hadn’t brought formal charges against him, either. All of those points were slight comforts.

You patted your face dry with a paper towel and sighed. At least one semi-positive thing came from that report: You’d been right about him hiding near a body of water. Of course, you hadn’t recognized the house or its contents. You hadn’t known people lived around Lover’s Lake.

If Eddie was on-foot, he’d be in the surrounding woods. You were confident the cops would conduct a manhunt. Well, you’d have your own.

With another sigh, you realized ‘hunt’ was the term Israel most likely used. Why hadn’t you thought of that? You weren’t trailing him. You didn’t care about where he’d been. You wanted to know where he was.

You grabbed the medicine bag from the counter, switched off the TV, and hurried to your room. Israel’s book remained open on your desk. You paged backward in the book until you saw H subheadings, then paged forward until you found the subheading for Hunt.

Your heart sank as you read the requirements for a basic hunting spell. You needed a corporal component from your prey. Not just a name or a picture or an article of clothing. Only hair, skin, nails, or body fluids.

Not only had you cleaned your room numerous times since Eddie had last been in it, you’d done laundry and cleaned out your backpack. You had a copy of Metallica’s latest album from him and three notes you two had passed back and forth in class. That wasn’t enough.

You couldn’t break into the Munson’s for a few strands of Eddie’s hair. It was the scene of a crime. You doubted the cops had allowed Wayne to return. There was no way some beat cop would let you, a non-resident, waltz into that trailer for anything. And only Eddie knew where he’d ditched his van.

What a fucking joke.

Eddie was less than ten miles away, but you couldn’t get to him.

You supposed you could hike through the woods around Lover’s Lake, hoping to stumble across him. Maybe you could dowse for him with, like, sticks, you joked. The area was no doubt swarming with cops, though — even with that town hall meeting starting soon. If they caught you, you wouldn’t know how to explain it.

You were a sicko. You wanted to see a dead body. You needed to drink from the cursed lake that killed Patrick McKinney, your sworn nemesis, whom you’d never met nor shared classes with. You sought to join Eddie Munson’s hellish crusade. Praise Satan, or whatever.

Putting your forehead on your folded arms, you laughed until you hiccuped a sob.

[darcyfangirlsfrequently]

Meet the Family - chapter 1: Meet the Brothers

Work/chapter summary: After Penelope's brothers reach out and she catches them up one what's been going on in her life, they invite her and her long-term boyfriend, Luke, down for a visit. Hearts are healed, promises are made, and everyone is happy again.

Chapter word count: 989

Can also be read here on Ao3

“My brothers reached out to me today,” Penelope said out of the blue one night as she lay in her boyfriend’s arms.

Luke was stunned. “Oh?” In the two years they had been together, and even two years before they’d gotten together, her brothers hadn’t spoken to her once.

“Yeah. They wanted my perspective on why I had done the things I had done. And apparently, they’ve all been in therapy about it and finally came to the conclusion that they shouldn’t blame me for our parents’ deaths.” “Because they shouldn’t.” 

“Okay, I know that, and you know that, but that’s a hard pill to swallow for them. They were so young…” “Just because you were legally an adult doesn’t mean you weren’t young either,” he argued. “I know, I know,” she replied, trying to appease him. “But anyways. We talked. Worked through it. They asked me what was going on in my life.”

“Oh, and obviously you told them your life is so plain and boring and you have no updates,” he teased.

Penelope shoved him lightly, laughing. “No! I told them about my boyfriend, who is super hot, and awesome, and totally in love with me.”

Luke chuckled deep in his throat. “Is that not how you described your non-existent boyfriend to me when we met?”

“I was predicting the future.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Okay.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so rude. Anyway, we’ve been invited down. They want to meet you.”

Luke’s eyes went wide. “They do?”

“Well, I mean, I mentioned we live together and are planning for the future, so yeah. Also, I’m not going there without you. No thank you.”

“Aw, you love me so much you can’t be without me?”

“No. I want my guard dog.”

He scoffed. “Wow, babe. Feeling the love.”

“Oh, hush, you big baby. Are we going or not?”

“Do you want to see them?”

“They’re my brothers. My family. Of course I do. I miss them. And I want you to meet them. I want my family to know I’ve found the person I’m spending the rest of my life with.”

“Then we’ll go.”

“Really?”

Luke held her a bit tighter. “Yes, Penelope. If you want to see them, you should see them, and wherever you go, I follow. Besides, I need to meet my future brothers-in-law at some point.”

Penelope squinted. “Can you even call them that if you haven’t proposed to me yet?”

“It’s coming. I promise.”

“Well, you’re sure taking your sweet time.” For someone who started the relationship unsure if marriage was ever something she would want, she was quite impatient for the impending proposal.

He kissed her lightly. “Patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait.” He totally wasn’t delaying because he still couldn’t find the perfect ring. Absolutely not.

***

Penelope was a nervous wreck their entire flight over and Luke, ever the doting boyfriend, did his absolute best to calm and comfort her and get her stress levels down. “What if we can’t work through things?” Penelope fretted, hands flapping a bit. 

Luke knew better than to try to hold her hand and prevent her from stimming. It was how she needed to vent her stress. He rested a hand on her knee instead. “Then at least you’ll have tried. If things go well, then great! And if they don’t, then you’ll have done everything you could. You won’t be stuck living with any regrets.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “You are very good with comforting words.”

“Well, I’ve only known you for six years, and been your boyfriend for two of them, and learned how best to make you feel better.”

She laughed dryly. “God knows I’ve had enough freak-outs in that time to give you plenty of practice dealing with me.”

“You’re not someone I have to ‘deal with,’ Penelope. You’re someone I love and choose to comfort and support.”

She groaned into his shoulder. “How are you so perfect?”

Luke scoffed in response. “You know I am far from it.”

“You’re pretty perfect for me.”

He smiled and kissed her softly. “I’m so glad you think so.”

***

Penelope was visibly anxious as they walked into the arrivals section after collecting their bags. Luke squeezed her hand three times, a silent reminder that he was there. He had her back. He loved her. 

“That’s them,” she whispered, gesturing with her head at four men who were standing off at the side. 

They saw her at the same moment.

“Penelope!” The youngest, Eddie, threw himself into her arms. He was only eight when their parents died and Penelope left, he had missed her the most. The rest of her brothers followed soon after. 

Introductions were made all around and hugs were given. Penelope was a bit worried that Carlos still wouldn’t look at her, but he wrapped her in the tightest hug.

“Hi,” he whispered.

She smiled and hugged him back. 

After all hugs and greetings were exchanged, Penelope found herself tucked back under Luke’s arm. It wasn’t even intentional. They gravitated toward that kind of touch now.

***

Much to Penelope’s relief, things weren’t awkward between her and her brothers. They were just happy to have her back in their lives and were happy that she was so happy with Luke. 

Luke’s presence seemed to lighten the atmosphere, or maybe that was just her perspective. Everything seemed lighter when he was around. 

Carlos began to tease her, which warmed her heart. Things had been the most tense between them, but it was a sign that they were getting back to normal. She had told him, or, rather, “complained,” about Luke when she’d been back for the hearing. Now, she was tucked under Luke’s arm, blissfully in love and planning her life with him. 

Penelope felt a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in years. She had her brothers again. She had Luke. Everything was going to be okay.

[luimagines]

*walks on in shockingly calmly for once, hands you a mug of hot chocolate and a basket of cookies without elaborating* Just passing by to say hello, I wish you a good day and thank you for all your work in the fandom, happy late two years! Plus dropping some stuff about thief reader, as well as Cattle Raider Reader with Twilight that won't leave me alone in between writing for the Fairy Tale au and trying to swat an Assassin Reader with Warriors away from this ask, life's been difficult and I've recently became a dog parent for the second time and me and my older dog can definitely sympathize with Time and Twilight as a result, the pup has as much energy as Wild on caffeine and energy potions.

Thief Reader's first reaction to Warriors is definitely "Aww Captain! I thought we had something special!" While still shamelessly running a check on Time to make sure they didn't hurt him too bad during the initial scuffle, ruffle Wind's hair because while they missed their second partner in crime but have no idea wether he'd be receptive to hugs, then promptly introduce themselves as "The one person who couldn't compete against Link's one true love."

Time, baffled and who low-key had a crush on their older self and their current self before they were separated during the War of Ages: "I'm sorry?"

Thief Reader, fondly rolling their eyes and whipping out a mask that looks suspiciously like a golden wolf with red eyes and placing it over Time's face, and probably giving Twilight a heart attack in the process: "Yourself, obviously. I knew I couldn't compete with the legend and your desire to help people, if Malon and her highness couldn't talk you down from it then what chance did I, a lowly thief have? I'm selfish, I couldn't keep you from doing what you loved if I tried, but I couldn't see you get hurt either." *Shrugs, looking away* "... Besides, I did basically force myself into your journey, I helped, but I also burdened my first friend, between you and me that day on the portal, of course I'd chose you to survive and go back home in a heartbeat. It's the least I could do for you." *In a heartbeat, moves on while winking towards the Chain* "Well! That's enough of that, so they're all yours in a sense, mhm? Thank goodness none of you got his unfortunate nose." *Starts passing around all of the stolen items back, pauses at Twilight with a hum, head tilted as they put his neckacle back over his neck and hands Wild his Slate* "Oh, aren't you lot just precious, can I keep them Link?"

Time, taking the mask off with an unimpressed look on his face: "I can't believe you actually kept it, and no. They're not pups, Reader."

Thief Reader, crossing their arms: "I know and you know that's not what I meant! Learn how to share, besides they're much more well behaved than that nasty shadow I swindled recently."

Thief Reader had a tendency to steal a lot of items from Mask and vice versa since he learned how to be light footed from them, Thief's Reader's absolute favorites were his cap, earring and the masks, they wouldn't touch most transformation masks because some lines you just don't cross, they only steal the FD mask out of them in order to keep a young Mask from overusing the transformation with Wind's and Warrior's help once they explained what was up with it, and they repeat that behavior now with the Chain, as a result they know the Fierce Deity well because even if they wouldn't use the mask they probably kept it close enough to their face to talk to him into protecting and keeping an eye on Link in case they couldn't. They don't care he's a deity they can and Will throw it into the ocean if they don't care of him. Their favorite being a golden wolf mask they got from appeasing a Wolfos, they couldn't give it back to Mask before they were separated, but they kept it well maintained all these years to give it back to Time with the excuse of 'It suits him better than it ever did them' as they used it as a replacement to cover their face once they got older. They used a scarf to cover their face during their tenure as a thief when young and Mask ended up with it, so he gives it back now that he can finally return it (though they still sometimes end up swapping them back and forth on accident still, force of habit), also Thief Reader is the only one who can listen to him when he gets sneaky and is the only person in the Chain who doesn't jump, just makes sure to spook him back or they get together to covertly mess with the youngsters (Warriors is onto them but HATES that he can't gather proof, it's the War of Ages all over again).

As for Cattle Raider Reader aka the cousin of the Wild West inspired rivalry enemies to lovers au that I'm still not elaborating on, in medieval times there was this whole thing where different tribes or villages raided each other's cattle, either as war practice or as genuine stealing when times were rough, the idea here is that Reader is from a neighboring village from Ordon that engaged in the practice in a competive way and since Twilight was one of the best with a horse around, logically they clashed a lot to match Reader (Reader being the leader of the offensive village with Twilight trying to get Ordon's cattle back or defending it), as a result they had a very fierce rivalry/enemies thing going on before the twilight came. Reader came around to scout things out in Ordon for the next raid only to find out Twilight, the village children and Ilia are missing due to monsters, decide that something having happened to their rival was absolutely unnaceptable and set out to look for him, incidentally they run into an injured Wolfie at the beginning of the game (since ya know, Rusl actually burns Twi if you're not careful) and while at first they consider walking away because it's a wolf, the eyes reminded them of Twi and so they cave and help fix him up enough to go back to the quest and Midna before heading out, leading Twi to go "... Huh. Maybe they aren't that awful after all." And after a couple more accidental run ins during Twi's adventure and a more or less proper reunion in Castle Town after Lanayru, where they connect the dots that "Oh wait a second this wolf doesn't only have Link's eyes it IS Link" after seeing him try to sneak into the castle again with Midna, they help him out on the condition that they aid him in this questing business because like heck they're having their rival not come back home by being reckless and Hyrule is their home too, they're gonna help defend it. Things just spiral from there.

Their first introduction to the Chain is probably when the Chain is overwhelmed in Twilight's Hyrule, Twi recognizes he's near Reader's village and also realizes he didn't tell them where they went and while they're probably undoubtedly mad at him that it's technically the best shot for them all to make it in one piece. So he leads them there and Reader, who had spotted the battle in the distance and recognize Twi's horse, saddles up, grabs a sword or an axe, throws it onto the head of the nearest Lizalfo near Twi with unnerving accuracy, then turns to Twilight with the "You BETTER have a good explanation for this or else you're next" glare, Twi, who is too used to this at this point is just "Missed you too Reader.", While the Chain is just confused in the back on how Twi knows this person and why he's so chill even when they look like they would skin him as Wolfie to make a fur coat if not for the situation at hand (meanwhile other Chain members are probably having an epiphany of where Wild gets his fighting style from, because Cattle Raider Reader is ruthless, a menace and will grab anything on the battle field to throw at the enemies if their weapons aren't nearby).

Or something, I don't know I kind of have a headache so it's probably not flowing clearly, really need to write this all out in full one day...

Anyway, that's that for now! Once again thank you for all your work in the fandom, I'll definitely be coming on by to gush more about your writing omce I can so uh, fair warning, I can get rambly XD.

Hope you're having a nice day!

-Just an Anon on A Stroll/WintertimeStoryteller 🐚

Ok first of all- I have so much to unpack here XD

Thief Reader is giving me some heavy vibes of a fic I read once but with the roles reversed. I don't remember the name of the fic. To Steal a Thief's Heart? (doubt it.) But in that fic Link was the thief and rogue and it was awesome. If you're interested I can track it down and send a link. :D

I love that Reader shows up on the scene and is instantly back to their shenanigans all over again. Time doesn't even seem all that phased for the most part- maybe them shoving the mask onto his face was a blessing in disguise. He could hide his shock and gaping mouth, lol.

Time crushing on them twice was cute though. Love that. <3

TELL ME ABOUT THE WILD WEST STORY!!!!! WINTERTIME!!!!!!!!!!

This is insane!!!! Don't dangle that in front of me DX

The torture. Not fair.

BUT FOR THE ENENMIES TO LOVERS

Y e s. H E L L O. I'm listening. Intently. Gib. Gib more plz.

My god, I could see that reunion in my head so clearly. The axe nearly taking Twi's head off, him ducking without a second thought. The charging rage of Reader where they retrieve their axe and point it at Twi. And he's got a stupid (if sheepish) smile on his face.

Also it's ok. I love your rambles. Literally feel free to come by any day <3

[mermaidsirennikita]

Weekly Book Recs: 9/22-9/29

Duke of Depravity by Scarlett Scott

A very classic historical--pair a drunken, PTSD-ridden war veteran duke with a takes-no-shit governess who's actually spying on him because he's suspected of treason? It's delicious. This is the first time I've read Scarlett Scott, and I love the heat to her books, the wit and sense of humor matched with melodramatic emotion. The air is a bit... Tessa Dare meets Elizabeth Hoyt. Which is a really good combo, I've gotta say. Will definitely read more from her soon.

The Billionaire's Fake Fiancee by Annika Martin

Annika Martin's Billionaires of Manhattan series always evokes the sense of a truly great cinematic romcom. A lot of "romcom" novels are not actually funny, and she has such an upbeat sense of humor in her writing, along with some serious sex appeal. I didn't love the third installment after super enjoying the first two, but this one was a return to form--it may be my favorite yet. You pair a hairdresser obsessed with daytime soaps and Hello Kitty on a yacht with her stern client who hates everything she represents (... or rather, he's obsessed with everything she represents) and force them into a fake relationship... You have magic. Actually, fake dating is so ubiquitous in contemporary at the moment that it often doesn't work--but here, it so does. A fabulous "grumpy hero has a love realization" moment included.

The Princess Trap by Talia Hibbert

Kind of wild that I've been bitching about being bored with fake dating lately, only to recommend two fake dating books back to back. But in my defense a) they're both really good and b) they both came out a few years ago, back before the trope was quite so exhausted. Anyway! This is great. I'm a sucker for a good royal romance, and this hits. Ruben's a very "nice guy in the streets, fuck you and leave (consensual) bruises in the sheets" type of hero, which is difficult to resist. And he's a Danish-ish prince! But where Talia Hibbert really excels is in writing great heroines, and Cherry is no exception. No nonsense yet bratty (in other words, the ideal match for Ruben) with a tough veneer that masks a very sweet, very kind heart. It's super hot--there's a moment where he tells her he likes to take control in bed, and has an "oral fetish", as if these are potential problems--but it has a soft center. TW: domestic violence (not between the couple). #23for23

Her Errant Earl by Scarlett Scott

A classic "marriage in trouble by way of his dipshittery" book, short and sweet--or not so sweet. I personally enjoy a cheating book. In this case, Will and Victoria never really had a relationship before he began cheating; he marries her to appease his father, sleeps with her once, and is off on his way for six months. But it doesn't hurt her any less, and so you have a lot of groveling, some secret keeping, and plenty of righteous anger on her part. It's not complicated, and it could stand to be a bit longer. But if you want a good long grovel with actual misdeeds to make up for? This is it.

Her Lovestruck Lord by Scarlett Scott

Another "low-down cheating dog" book, as the second installment of Scott's Wicked Husbands series (a series with a premise for me if there ever was one). In this case, however, Maggie's husband Simon never bothered to consummate the marriage before ditching her--because he was already in love with a married woman, who subsequently dumped his ass, leading him to accidentally deflower his wife at a masked sex party, during which she was planning on cucking him in revenge. Whew. And I kind of fucking loved this one. Whereas Will of Errant is a rake through and through, Simon is stern. And possessive as fuck. And so confused, because he does not love wife!!! But why is wife all he can think about??? Why wife so pretty??? This one is for the "alpha male is downed by love" crowd, with a charming heroine and a third act twist that I didn't love, but--I did love the subsequent angst. Definitely scratched an itch.