#i also happen to enjoy gritty colors

[yomeiu]

‘home’

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

ꜱᴛʀɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʙᴀʀᴇ

Summary: After your least favorite person on the planet manages to singlehandedly ruin your night, you find yourself waiting out the timer on a washing machine in the dusty laundromat of a lonely desert hotel. But the night is still young and yields some . . . unexpected results.

Notes: Ugh . . . this is like 17.7k words. Yeah, this really got away from me. Funny after literal months of struggling to write that a gritty possum of a man from an obscure 1987 vampire film would be the one to light a fire under my ass. But this is literally just word vomit and some porn.

Warnings: This is an 18+ post, so kindly go somewhere else if you're underage. Mentions of cannon typical violence, death, blood is referenced an obscene number of times, the reader is lowkey a bitch (but it is a very intentional characterization), both Severen and the reader are absolute dumbasses, feelings realization, fluff, blood drinking, they're both switches, like one spank, oral sex (f! receiving), rough sex. Lemme know if I missed anything!

This is so far the last part of an ongoing series but can be read as a standalone. Master List.

The noise was almost unbearable. The high pitched repetitive metallic squeal of a machine on its last leg. An announcement of its impending departure, a final outcry, a plea for help maybe. A damned migraine is what it is. 

You can't help the glare that you shoot it out of the corner of your eyes. That damn fan. Pathetically whining in the corner of the room while the head rotates on its stand, leisurely pivoting back and forth like it's not shrieking like nails on a chalk board. The colorful plastic array of tassels tied to the grill of the fan wave in the air that it tiredly spits out, sunny yellow, hot pink, a calm blue. All otherwise pretty colors that almost seem jarring underneath the sickly light that the old fluorescents cast. There's a bunch of dead flies stuck in the lights. Their poor withered bodies lie on the cloudy glass, almost as if on display. 

There's about a million other ways you would like to be spending your night. Perhaps strolling down an isolated street, peeking into the windows of people's houses from the sidewalk, smiling at or judging their choice of entertainment broadcasted from their television (it's still shocking to you the number of people that leave their curtains open) finally enjoying a moment to yourself, or maybe you could be at the local bar - what was it? The Oasis? . . . No. The Mirage. Yeah, that's it. One of the rare few bars that hasn't been desecrated and set alight by the Hooker clan. 

Your unfortunate victims are the ones that had supplied your group with the key to your current place of rest. The room has a strange beach motif. Which is odd because you're in the middle of the New Mexico desert and nowhere near the ocean. 

They had also provided you with the keys to their RV which Severen had fished out the husband's back pocket before promptly dropping his limp body on the floor. Like a crushed can of soda that's been sucked dry. Empty and useless.

You could be out right now. Enjoying the night, the cool air that follows the darkness in the desert. You could be sitting at the bar right now, sipping on a drink that you admittedly don't have much of a taste for anymore, but at least you'd get a buzz. Maybe you would have met a cute local by now if this hole-in-the wall town actually has any good-looking men. Not that you have your hopes up based off of the little settlements that Jesse or Diamondback usually stick to. Random, quaint towns that just happen to dot the backcountry routes you take. Unimportant, small, places that no one ever notices. That's why they're so great for feeding. No one pays attention to a body or two, or dozen or even a bar going up in flames in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. 

Again - great for feeding. But not for fucking. 

The people who populate these places are typically retirees in some facet of the word. Veterans of war, old ranchers and farmers, strung out criminals running from the law, or simply quiet people trying to escape the stress and noise of the city. But often times people around your age have already fled, ran off to greener pastures to make a life for themselves that doesn't involve the bored scrutiny that comes with tiny settlements or the same old routine of working at the local mechanics shop or building the same old fences. 

Maybe that's why Mae snatched up Caleb when she had the chance.  

Probably the first pretty face she's seen in a while. Plus, he has all of his teeth. 

You should be out there drinking, flirting and having fun. Pretending you're still fucking normal. And even if you didn't find some guy to take home (well not home. The bathroom or alley way is more than likely) at least you could enjoy yourself and unwind. 

But instead, you're here at 3 a.m. at night sitting on a hard plastic chair in the motel's adjacent laundromat, listening to that shitty fan sputter and squeak and the low churning of the wash machine. All because a certain cowboy decided that he has the manners and discipline of a five-year-old. 

Ever since crossing over you've done your best not to step on anyone's toes especially when it comes to the act of feeding. They clearly have a system for it, no matter how rudimentary it is. Structure in chaos or whatever.  Clear rules to follow. Who you prey on, where, when. But the act of feeding itself? They never seemed to have a fear of leaving evidence. Blood, carnage, panic. It all comes hand in hand with feeding. Any leftover traces would be burned to a crisp anyway. So why worry about how messy you are? 

But you do. Perhaps it's something you'll grow out of with the coming years. Why worry about tedious things like blood when you have eternity stretching out in front of you like an unpaved road? There are bigger things to worry about. 

But it's also about the hedonism. The blood, the hunger, the adrenaline, the heady scent of fear in the air while your prey looks down at you like a scared animal. They all got off on it.

And despite all of your new instincts yelling at you to drown yourself in the warm red, to lick it off of the floor like an animal without a conscious you've always managed to ignore it. Maybe you're just trying to hold onto whatever shred of human ideals you have left but leaving the scene of the crime drenched in blood never feels right. It's bitter. It's betrayal.

 The only time you truly let go of your inhibitions was the first time you truly fed. After holding yourself back from these alien instincts, these horrid dangerous thoughts and cravings, you caved. After three grueling days of ignoring the call, despite Caleb's words of encouragement (even though they came from a place of understanding) and clenching your jaw shut whenever Severen tried to pry your mouth open and spit his blood into your mouth you held back. Until you couldn't anymore. 

Despite the reality check that comes with being soaked in blood you also can't stand to deal with the mess. Unfortunately, as a bunch of traveling criminal vagabonds bathing can be few and far between, something that took a while to accept. Truck stops, rivers and stolen motel rooms serving as the only way to shower. So, you do your best to keep as clean as possible, often stealing a pack of baby wipes if you happen across a gas station that has them in stock or a 24-hour grocery store.  

You don't like the mess and the feelings that comes with it. It's easy to ignore your lost humanity when you're under the haze of hunger, the temptation of feeding, but when the drunken hunger wears off and your left with the startling clarity that you aren't exactly you anymore. You don't need any reminders. The others knew about your boundary. They respected it even if they didn't understand it. Apart from maybe Caleb or Mae. It was a line they didn't cross no matter how excited or caught up in the moment they were. 

Well, all except for Severen. Of course. 

The reason why you're washing clothes in the middle of the fucking night when you should be out enjoying yourself. Maybe you should take some of the blame for having expectations of a dog in a man's body. You would think that being alive since the 1800s would give you plenty of time to develop some manners. Who are you kidding, he wouldn't know a boundary if it sat on his face. It's your fault for expecting so much of him. 

Wait - no, no, it's definitely his fault. He knows how much you hate all the blood. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think that he waited to tear into the poor husband's throat just as you were passing by. If the way that he looked at you was anything to go by, you were correct in that assumption. 

He had made eye contact with you while his teeth sunk into the man's flesh, the crystal blue was electric with a depraved sort of glee. The corners of his bloody lips were perked up around the hold of his victim's throat, like he was privy to a joke that you weren't.  

When he tore into the artery the blood had splattered across the interior of the RV like something out of a low budget B rated horror film. It coated the fake wooden walls and the beige cloth seats. It also splattered over you. Staining your shirt and jeans. You had frozen, arms raised and tense in the air while you fought between the kneejerk reactions of either punching him or simply walking away. Gasping on oxygen that you really didn't need anymore, muscle shaking with restrained anger all while he chuckled and licked at the spurting gash. He looked so proud of himself. Truly the cat that got the cream. Smirking underneath a layer of haunting red dripping from his chin in heavy rivulets.

You cleaned what you could from yourself in the mobile home's compact bathroom, wiping the blood from your skin as best as you could with the roll of toilette paper provided on the boarder of the tiny sink, unable to find any washcloths or towels inside the restroom cabinets. Trying to forget the way that his eyes had gleamed at you in a sadistic shade of cerulean, the glitter of crimson across his cheeks and nose. His lethal smirk, all sharp teeth and bad intentions. Or the way that he always licks his lips clean after a kill- 

Take advantage of patterns like polka dots, rhombuses, squares and stripes to liven up your home - God, like you gave a shit about any of this stuff. You clutch the sides of the magazine tighter threatening to crumple up the pages, hard enough for the ends of your nails to leave crescent shaped intendents on the glazed sheets of paper.  The wash machine is still thrumming away, and the fan is squealing in the corner like a wounded pig but what's really getting you is the bastard behind a row of washing machines clinging to a laundry cart like it's an amusement park ride, launching himself down the aisle over and over again. Lurching down across the pale tiles until he meets the wall of dryers and pushing himself off in the opposite direction until he meets the same fate. Over and over again. Like that fucking fan. 

It really is a concept that you still haven't fully grasped onto. That he is the reason that your life isn't the same. That you'll never be able to go back to the person that you were before.  You couldn't let go of this life. Even if you wanted to. And he's why. Someone you used to fear. That you had looked upon with cold trepidation. He was unpredictable, inhumane, deadly. Still is of course but having insights to all of his little quirks has made him human in a way. Sort of funny considering that you've seen him rip out a man's liver with his bare hands and laugh at the carnage. 

But behind the bravado and rough jagged edges there's tiny little cracks in the armor that could almost make him endearing if he didn't have the personality of sweltering garbage cooking in the summer sun. 

The way he minutely cringes at the sound of pop music on the radio his eyebrows furrowing and lips curling like he ate something sour, usually followed by a wise quip; how he prefers the blood of someone who's in the noon of their life, not too sweet but not too aged; how he hates the taste of tequila and whiskey specifically; his extreme sensitivity to synthetic fragrances like scented candles and colognes. You all have more heightened senses now, but he seems to struggle with it the most often dramatically retching like he's going for an Oscar whenever he feeds from a person with a heavy aftershave or perfume.

He does still know some Dutch despite it being incredibly underutilized. Having no one to talk to in his parents' native language you've caught him muttering to himself in the secondary tongue. You once found him reading a book in the language and Severen never reads. You assume it's all in an effort to hold onto that tiny piece of his past despite how much he shit talks the fact that he used to be human. You were there when he had crossed paths with an old trucker in a grimy dive bar. Seen the way that he perked up when he caught hint of the mans accented English. You watched from the pool table, marveling at the sight in between the shots you took at the striped pool balls. You don't know if you've ever seen him so . . . casual? Seated across the from the lithe greying man, laughing at the trucker's jokes (you assumed they were jokes but you have no way of knowing for sure), the pair rambling back in forth in Dutch. There was a lively twinkling look in Severen's eyes. A young sort of excitement that you hadn't seen from him before. Not the sadistic violet sort of excitement but a sort of relieved childlike wonder. 

He did end up eating the man of course, but it was still sweet to see him in such a way. 

There's also his hatred for cops which is admittedly telegraphed by the number of badges stuck to the breasts of his jacket, but you've also gathered that the hatred was personal. And based of the tiny context clues that Jesse has given offhand, and little comments here and there from Severen, you've figured that a sheriff or marshal (or several) may have played a critical role in his human life. You had mentioned it once to him before, a mindless thought that had slipped your tongue and based off of the dangerous way that his body had tensed you had figured yourself right. 

But it still shocks you that this man is the cause of your new life. The man rolling down the aisle on a cart like a bored child, humming a choppy unrecognizable tune underneath his breath, sometimes outright shouting at random intervals. 

"Uh, why are you here?" Your voice cracks through the background noise like an indifferent whip. The fan, the washer, the dim whine of the laundry carts singular protesting wheel. You clutch the Better Homes magazine in your hands tighter as soon as you register your own question. Like a lifeline. You try and focus on the pale hum of the washing machine, the distant pulsating sound of the sun that's halfway across the globe, the troubling squeal of the fan but none - not even the sound of that heinous fan compared to the dull grind of the cart's wheels spinning slower and slower. Losing momentum one second at a time until it meets a complete dead stop in the middle of the aisle. His singing cuts off all together. 

You tear your gaze up from a paragraph declaring that baby pink was the way to go for your bathroom and regretfully gaze up for the pages and past the row of washers to see leather clad shoulders and a head of dark hair. 

He tilts his head down a bit lowering it just enough to peer at you from over his dark shades and fixes you with a stare. He's still clutching onto the bars of the linen carts hanging line. The nasty yellow fluorescents are shading flecks of gold onto his hair and blood still stains his wife beater. 

Thank God there aren't any security cameras in this place. 

That sadistic glint flickers across his face. That look he gets when he's got prey in his sights. A poor soul that doesn't realize the scope of the situation that they're in. 

It immediately sets you on edge. 

"Unfortunately, the girl I turned is a pussy who doesn't know how to enjoy a meal, " he taunts, gripping the cart before shoving it off into the nearby wall of dryers with a bang. Loud enough that you hope the neighboring rooms don't hear and complain. "Imagine that" he snarks, nudging his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. 

You can't help the scoff that escapes you plopping the magazine on the out of place mini coffee table next to your seat, a few sprinkles of dust shooting into the air from the impact. 

"Well unfortunately I'm here because a certain idiot I know has no manners, " you snap, nails digging into the palms of your hands. " And that wasn't an answer to my question." 

He's entirely still for a moment like a predator assessing a wounded coyote in its path, head cocked and contemplating. But despite the once over he's still smiling. Calm collected and cocky. Your least favorite version of Severen- not that there's any other version. 

"Since your still so timid and inept I worry about leavin' ya on your own, ya know. Someone might take a bite out of ya. " He chuckles and scratches at the tip of his nose. " Ya know.  Like I did." 

You nearly snarl at that little taunt having to physically restrain yourself from rising to the jab. And he knows it too. Licking at his chaps like a dog with a bone. But it's all bullshit and that's exactly his game. Since when did he give a shit about what you did? Ever since he turned you, he's constantly seesawed between emotions in a way that gives you whiplash. The most consistent he's ever been, was when he had first turned you. All of the interest that he had showed in you seemed to have come from a place of curiosity and personal entertainment rather than the genuine desire to help you learn your new, forced place in the world. You understand that it was an accident, something that neither of you had wanted but considering that he had agreed to take you in upon realizing that you'd turned your sympathy for him tends to fall short. 

He had been unwavering and aggressive in his attempts to get you to feed. Often tearing into the throat of victims himself and at times even his own wrist to take the blood into his mouth so that he could try and force feed you like some deranged mother bird. And you'd clench your jaw together with enough force that you'd worry that your teeth would break. And he would tear away from you like he'd combust if he stared at you for a second longer spewing swears and curses that would make a convict blush. 

It was often Caleb who would do his best to guide you with a gentle nudge. Not a desperate shove like Severen. He would come to you from a place of understanding. Being the most recently turned apart from yourself, his conversations with you came from a place of understanding. He would occasionally seach you out, like on the night uptop a travel trailer where you sat staring up into the void of darkness and the twinkling dots of light above like it might give you an answer if you searched hard enough. He had smiled briefly at the sky before turning to face you, who had yet to return the gesture but watched him from your peripheral vision. He went on to explain that Severen was the least understanding of the group - no shit - but it came from the fact that he simply couldn't relate. From what Caleb had heard of Severen's past, he had left his human life behind and accepted eternity with open armed enthusiasm. 

Maybe it wasn't Severen's fault for not understanding your struggle, but it certain wasn't your fault for not accepting your fate with the apparent joy that he had. To turn your back on yourself and the family you had waiting for you. Who you hoped was still waiting for you.  

"Jus' be careful, " Caleb had warned softly. " The hunger, I mean. It becomes unbearable. You think it's bad now. " He looked down at your hands shaking weakly in your lap, jittering from fatigue and the empty pit in your stomach. " But soon it'll feel like all you are is hunger. You won't know where you begin and where it ends. And it'll make you dangerous. " 

You should have listened. Maybe then you wouldn't have found yourself standing over the lifeless of a body of an innocent woman that you had apparently torn into like a mindless animal. Lost, alone and covered in blood. 

Severen has always used that horrid night in Texas as a reason to get you to feed. "At least know you can choose who ya kill, instead of pouncing on every poor fucker who crosses your path like a wildcat. " He's correct of course. That if you force yourself to drink every night, you'll keep the clarity to properly choose a target. But that's what angers you the most. That he's right. That if you had just listened to him and fed when he told you to that the innocent woman who just wanted to help. That in your attempt to keep your humanity, you had lost a piece of it. 

After the incident, your relationship with Severen became . . . odd. Not to say that it wasn't before. You've always been oil and water, but some of the trepidation he had previously felt for seemed to have thawed after you had succumbed to your urges and successfully fed. Though he still can't seem to decide where you sit with him. Flipflopping between being a sarcastic cold bully to a clingy and overprotective ass, regularly trying to join you on your hunts despite having proven time and time again that there's no longer a reason to suspect you of fleeing. He always tries to weasel himself in between you and your targeted victim for the night. Barreling in with the subtly of a bull, usually taunting the men into an unnecessary altercation just so he has an excuse to swing on them and steal your kill for himself. "They woulda been too much trouble for ya anyway, babycakes."

That's another one, all of the horrid, mocking pet names: sweetheart, sugar, honey, spitfire, wildcat, an obscene usage of baby. And kitten. All a means to get under your skin. 

It seems that you have blessing of dealing with clingy Severen tonight. What joy.  The disbelieving laugh that leaves you is unrestrained, purposeful even. You thread your fingers together, turning your head to admire the soda vending machine across from you, suddenly finding the array of soft drinks fascinating. 

"Oh, I think I can handle myself now, " you plaster a fake smile on your face reaching for the recently abandoned magazine. After all you still haven't figured out what a trendy kitchen from 1980 looks like. 

Then he's coming around the row of washers, all black leather, blood and self-assured swagger. Stupid, stupid man. You pick up the magazine anyway flipping to a random page - page 11 it seems - and based off of the paragraph and the picture that the text floats over in a white box it seems to be talking about a Mexican casserole. You can't even eat that. Would that even be good even if you could? 

Here's a way to spice up your casserole- The magazine is suddenly ripped from your hands and tossed across the room plopping on the floor like discarded clothing and suddenly your face to face with dark pants and a silver belt buckle glinting in the light. 

Then fingers with red still staining their tips and blood crusted underneath the nails are nudging the point of your chin up, directing your gaze upwards until you see his smirking face. Sharp teeth and danger. 

"Are ya sure?" He asks. And despite the condescending tone you can't help the slight nod that you give, catching yourself but it's too late. He's already caught the complacent gesture grinning and nodding alone with you. " I worry about ya baby. All still reluctant and helpless. " And then his bloodied thumb is skirting across your bottom lip, catching on the sensitive skin, dragging the scent of his victim's blood across like a lip balm. 

You catch yourself leaning into him then gasping at the clarity and clearing your throat. The humility skirts through you like a zap of electricity. It's like being doused with a bucket of cold water. What the hell was that? 

"I'll survive," you snap jerking your head back out of his grasp despite the tingling where he had his hand. You clear you throat loudly, further breaking the light fog that has invaded your brain. And like the ringing of a bell the churning of the washing machine rapidly declines until it's dead silent and the analogue digits are down to 0.  Finally. All of that for a single pair of clothes. 

You hop to your feet and skirt past Severen as easily as possible without touching him, lifting the lid of the machine and retrieving the sopping set of clothes. It always hits you like a ton of bricks to see what little you have now in terms of material things. A tight old T-shirt, a pair of jeans, a bomber jacket and a dreadfully work bra. You'll definitely have to pick up another one next time you get to another store. This all you have. Just the clothes on your back. Well, that and the backpack full of stolen perfume and little chachkis in the motel room. And the baggy sweatpants and sweater that you had to steal from the overhang cabinet of your recent victims RV but that's beside the point.  

You grab the clothes from the barrel of the washer and toss them into a neighboring dyer, filling the horizontal slot with 75 cents from your pocket and pressing in the settings before slamming the glass door shut. Anything to ignore the heavy presence standing behind you. Which is about as ignorable as a gun going off or a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse, but you've become desensitized to a lot these past couple of months. Almost a year. It will have been a year in August. 

" I know you think I'm prissy, " you huff without turning around, instead glaring at the muted reflection of him the pane of the dryer. " But unlike you I actually like to be clean instead of walking around in filth for days on end." You finally pivot on your heels meeting his amused gaze with your glare before slipping past and taking your place back on your seat, crossing your legs. "Anyways, shouldn't you be out harassing and seducing some poor sap?" 

 His head cocks loosely, practically flopping onto the shoulder underneath it. His eyebrows perk up from behind his sunglasses just a bit. " I am, " he replies simply like he's mentioning the weather conditions to a neighbor. You can't help but lurch back in your seat, the hard plastic digging into your shoulder blades. A rainbow of emotions running through you. Disbelief, confusion, anger and some other fluttering tingling feeling that you aren't ready to analyze. "Excuse me?"

You do your best not to shrink underneath the heat of his gaze. It's heavy, intense despite the fact that you can't even directly meet the startling shade of blue from behind the cover of his sunglasses. 

If you still had a heartbeat, you're sure that it would be thrumming against your rib cage like a bird behind bars. Suddenly he's moving forward, blotting out the glow of the florescent lights until all you see is him, the delicious splotches of red across his shirt, dark leather, and the gleam of old badges and snarling teeth. All you can smell is him. Intoxicating. The natural heady musk of him, notes from the smoke of a fire and cigarettes, the heady iron scent of blood, the faint dampness of soil, the oak of leather and something that's a little spicy.  It's suddenly all there, holding you in an inescapable cloud and you swear you could choke on it. 

Since when did Severen like you? You rack you brain for answers. Sure, he flirted with you before your accidental turning but based off of what you've seen flirting is one of the ways that he lures in prey. That and shit talking depending on his mood. So, you weren't a special case in that regard. If anything, he was a little peeved when he figured out that you had turned before he could fully feed from you. 

It was Caleb, Mae and then ultimately that Jesse persuaded him to quick dicking around and properly show you the ropes on how to properly navigate eternity and survive.

And yes, after the whole Texas debacle he did step up a little bit more (other than his usual overbearing antics). Whether it was from Diamond or Jesse ordering him to or if he genuinely wanted to help you, you aren't sure. But he taught you how to become better in tune with the sound of the sun, how to focus in on the feeling without it always being at the forefront. A reminder, not a distraction but not something to be forgotten either. 

He taught you how to properly pick a victim, not to get too cocky (that was rich coming from him of all people) and try and take on too many at once. 

And despite how he managed to grind every nerve in your body you often found yourself spending hours at a time with him, even when he wasn't the one latched onto you like a tick on a dog or being forced into his proximity by hotel room or an RV or car.  

Even though you're now fully capable to hunting on your lonesome the two of you always seem to end up pairing up to get food. 85% of it is you and Severen throwing sarcastic barbs and snarky remarks at each other wondering how the two of you wound up hunting again. Apparently unable to help yourselves. Especially considering that usually ends up being a disaster with the both of you debating on who's going to be the lure or accusing the other of coming on too strong and scaring the prey too soon. 

He even killed a man for getting to handsy with you at the bar. Even though you were intentionally seducing him. Someone you had intended to be your prey but when the young cowboy's hand had reached around to grip your ass suddenly, he was jerked back by his hair and tossed on the floor like a sack of potatoes with Severen's boot on his throat, the sharp edge of his spur digging into his skin with enough pressure to scar. 

"That ain't anyway to treat a lady, is it? " He had sneered, "someone outta beat some manners into ya pretty boy." 

But he's killed plenty of people for the rest of the family. Even for Homer when a man tried to physically remove the "kid" from the establishment. And it's no secret that Homer isn't particularly Severen's favorite out of the group. 

So, what is this?  Some sick little game to pass the time? A new tactic to get under your skin and humiliate you? 

The thoughts swirling in your head lights a fire under your skin chest heaving out of reflex. The audacity of this man will never cease to amaze you. Not only did he ruin your clothes and by proxy your night, but now he's assuming that you'd actually be low enough in character to fuck him. 

"My god you actually think I want to have sex with you?" You chuckle, but there isn't any humor in it. He leans up against the washers behind him not taking his eyes from you lazily propping his body up by draping arms across the machines. Relaxed like a cat lying in the sun. Your anger only seems to amuse him further and that only serves to piss you off even more. " You're disgusting." You seethe between gritted teeth. 

"Hmm have I ever told ya I love it when you talk dirty to me? " He tosses his head back with a low groan. The sound is deep and guttural and the fire under your skin flares up and burns hotter. It's anger you decide. Yep, definitely anger. And even with the smart half of your brain telling you that he's trying to joad you, to get you worked up you can't help but bite out even more insults. The filter between your mouth and your brain fully gone.  "You're a selfish, condescending, asshole with the emotional capacity of a dead roach." But he's only nodding and encouraging you to berate him with more jibes. "You couldn't pay me to touch you, much less have sex with you." 

"Careful baby yer gonna get me all worked up." 

"You're delusional!" You're rising from your seat again, a small way to feel like you're somewhat on even ground even though he easily looks down on you even when you're standing up as straight as you can. That final quip seems to hit some sort of mark because the smile that's there is a little less playful than it was before. "Yer about as subtle as a bull in a china shop sweetheart. " The confusion on your face has him releasing a hyena like little chortle, shoulders shaking. He drops his chin to his chest to gaze at you over his glasses. What kind of dick wears sunglasses at 3:30 in the morning anyway?

" I've seen the little looks you've been givin' me when you think i'm busy not payin' attention. "  

That dampened the anger in your chest. Dousing the heat from the surprise. You refuse to let it show up on your face though, doing your best to school your features into something calm and neutral. "You mean the glaring and the bitchy eye rolling? Yeah, I was hoping you'd notice those. " 

"Nah not those. " 

"Then what looks exactly?" 

"Like you wanna fuck me." 

It's so calmly spoken that it sends you reeling. Yes, Severen is naturally vulgar and he's flirted with you before. But all of that had been suggestions. Fun unserious banter. Not a direct accusation. It flips the entire argument on its head and leaves your jaw hanging open like a fish out of water. 

"Careful baby, " he croons, "you might catch a fly. " 

You don't even respond to that too busy dealing with the torrent of emotions raging inside of. You do not want Severen. That's not possible. To want the man who had altered the entire trajectory of your life, no matter if it was an accident would be the ultimate betrayal to yourself. Yes, your human life was directionless, a sham. You were lost when the Hooker clan walked into that lonely diner along the dusty Arizona backroad. A runaway future trophy wife who took off in the night to flee her lifeless relationship. A decision that was made entirely on impulse and months of repressed insecurities and ignored truths. 

They looked normal enough. A grungy set of ruffians. There were plenty of other people who looked like them. Far from the types you would run across while attending your fiancé's business parties. And you had mused how much they would stick out like a sore thumb among the bubbling champagne flutes, the twinkling diamond chandeliers that cost more than the average person's house, and the passive aggressive gossip tossed between the jaded wives and the young arm-candy of rich men. 

But out there in that worn hole-in-the-wall that stunk of burger grease and cigarette smoke they faded into the background. 

Or they would have if not for some primordial animal instinct that had warned you that you were looking at something beyond yourself and the human life you lead. There was a strange aura around the group. Something gritty and otherworldly. 

And you had noticed him first as if drawn to a magnetic field. Tall dark and handsome is how you could easily describe him. The jingling spurs, the leather, the cocksure grin. He looked like the type of guys that you fantasized about when you were in high school. Criminal bad boys that you and your friends would giggle over during sleepovers while you practiced doing each other's makeup and venting about acne, and boob sizes and gorged yourself on candy that your mother would have grounded you for. 

But then you grew up and met Samuel. Ambitious, well mannered, educated, sweet. But not loyal.  

He was the complete opposite of Sam. He strutted in like he owned the place while he scanned the room. The elderly couple a corner booth; the frazzled waitress behind the bar, her curly ginger hair was weaseling its way out of ponytail one strand at a time. The diner was practically dead, but you figured that the shouting match between her and the cook that you overheard from the kitchen had something to do with her stressed state. You had planned on giving the poor woman a good tip before you left. 

But then his eyes landed on you. He smiled wider and it was a warning sign in its own right. 

Maybe in the beginning there was something about him that you found interesting. Being the antithesis of your ex-fiancé, you assumed that you gravitated towards him because you were still hurt. Even though you never pursued anything with Severen there was still a pull there. On you try your best to ignore. He's cocky and selfish but he has a roughish charm, blunt sarcasm and is painfully nonchalance. But it's also a breath of fresh air. You spent too many years surrounded by people who spoke in double meanings and fake compliments. Every word was twisted until you didn't even know what the truth was anymore. 

But he was a passing fascination. There wasn't any feelings or desire there. Not for the first few months at least. 

So, you absolutely hadn't been seething last week while sitting at a booth with Mae and Diamondback, glaring across the cigarette clouded air while Severen leaned up against the bar, smiling and laughing with a gorgeous brunette. Her long slender legs stretching out from a pair of daisy dukes. Rich brown doe eyes peered at him coyly from underneath thick lashes. Then she placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm squeezing the sleeve of his jacket and stroking upward. Her eyes were on the patches and badges. Then her lips were moving. 

 Probably asking him about them. Like she actually gives a shit. A ploy to get into his pants. You nearly rolled your eyes at the gesture, how he used it as an excuse to lean in closer until their noses were practically touching. 

"Don't worry honey, " Diamondback's voice had rose over the dim chatter and rock music playing from the jukebox. " Just remember that she's not gonna be alive for very much longer. " 

That had snapped you out of it. Blinking and turning away from him to stare down at the watery magarita clutched in your hand. You didn't know how to respond to her insinuation. So, you didn't. You didn't care what Severen did. He could have slept with every patron in that bar, and it would make little difference to you. You weren't jealous. Right? 

Right? 

It has you thinking back to every little interaction. Running through the memories like files and zeroing in on all of the times that you watched him seduce men and women alike. The sting that would nestle in your chest like a hot coal. It was guilt, right? Feeling sorry about watching his helpless victims naively let him butter them up just so he could lure them away back to their houses or a seedy hotel room so that he could tear them apart. 

Sitting on the sidelines idly like you weren't aware of the danger that lies ahead of them. 

How your stomach would flutter whenever he throws an arm over your shoulders. How you'd stay up with him for hours listening to his stories of his life before he crossed over despite the fact that he's your least favorite person in the group. Letting him take you down memory lane. Back to the days of outlaws and robbing banks and coaches, pillaging the west and running from the law. And in you'd in turn share with him parts of your old life. The country clubs, the expensive parties, the private beaches with cresting waves, the penthouse apartment in Manhattan. And then you'd jokingly whack his chest with no real force behind it when he'd playfully mock you for being spoiled and spoon fed. 

Added together you've probably spent days alone with Severen talking about nothing. Sneaking into movie theaters and shushing him whenever he got too excited, loudly complaining whenever a character makes a stupid decision or whistling and whooping like drunken frat boy whenever a scene got even a little bit suggestive. 

And sure, you've caught yourself staring at him a few times here and there. He's an attractive guy. Ruggedly handsome. Just as wild as the lives you lead and equally as alluring in his own right. Sometimes downright overwhelming in the gravity of his charisma and the intensity that radiates from him whenever he has prey in his sights. Of course, you've noticed it all. The veins that bulge underneath the creamy skin of his hands, the dark hair that dangles above his eyes. It's a little taboo but can't help but admire him whenever he's splattered by the fresh blood of a victim. Drops and smears of red contrasting with the dark blue of his eyes. The dangerous crazed sort of glint when he's taunting his prey, and his body language becomes purposeful and lithe. It always sends a little thrill through you. 

He even does this stupid laugh every once in a while. It had thrown you off when you had first heard it. It seemed like a complete juxtaposition to his character. You never would have imagined that a man as imposing and unrestrained as Severen would produce a dumb noise that has an uncanny resemblance to Goofy, the stupid if not endearing hyuck sound - Jesus Christ you're so stupid! 

You're jealous. You're fucking jealous. And every time you saw him with another person even if they were a means to an end, a nightly meal, it got under your skin. Even though you had no right to feel that way, you couldn't stand to see him walk away with somebody else underneath his arm. 

You wanted nothing more than to snatch them by their hair or the scruff of their necks and take care of them yourself.  

You meet Severen's gaze struggling under the weight of it. Struggling to grabble the scope of your realization. But you're drowning. The shrieking of the fan, the spice and leather of his scent. The room feels so small now, tight, crinkling up around you like a soda can under a heavy boot. 

"I can't do this right now, " you just barely choke the words out around the sudden thickness of your throat and turn to exit. You only make it about three feet before there's a grip on your forearm and you're being spun around. "Wait, wait, wait baby, " he's cooing in soft voice, like he's trying to soothe a spooked animal. "You ain't gotta go and have a conniption fit, I was just playing with ya. " He drops your hand with a defeated sigh like he's not the one who decided to go and be an asshole. 

"What?" You snap heatedly. 

" Nuthin'. Didn't mean to go and get ya all worked up, " Yeah, like you believe that. Severen's entire M.O. is to cause trouble and stick his nose where it doesn't belong. "You just about got stream comin' out of your ears." He squints his eyes at you like you're a puzzle he can't quite figure out. "Why are you runnin' baby? " He asks cocking his head. Then he's stepping closer prompting you to move back to keep the space between you. 

"I'm not running, " you deny weakly. He scoffs at that pinning you with a glare that stirs up a thick warm feeling in your gut. And he's still stalking after you like he can't bear having even centimeters keeping you apart. You haven't felt like this in the longest time. Forgotten what it felt like to be pursued. Followed by an apex predator. To be the prey. And he seems to notice the shift in you because to the steady, cautious gate he was keeping suddenly shifts to that calculated tread that he has when he's hunting. "Oh, I don't know babydoll, " he rasps, voice taken on a thick tone. Heavy and low. It has tingles dancing across your skin. " I think you are. You aren't scared of me, are ya?  I thought we were past that. " 

Your back hits the wall just a few scant inches from the threshold of the open door. You could easily twist on the balls of your feet and slip out of the laundromat, leaving Severen alone and fleeing to the safety of the room. Homer's probably plopped in front of the TV watching some rerun and the other two couples are probably out enjoying some time to themselves. You could leave. Go and lock yourself in the bathroom and sit under the spray of the shower head and pretend that a night of washing clothes hadn't just changed the way that you look at not just yourself but the man that turned you. 

But you don't. You're glued to the spot. Helpless to watch as he eliminates the remaining space and now stands toe to toe with you. The tips of his boots nudging the rounded points of your scuffed sneakers. 

"No, I'm not scared of you, " you finally respond. And it's true. You aren't afraid of him. You afraid of all of these restrained feelings and urges that are now bubbling under the surface, straining against the lid you have kept on tight now that you've broken the seal and took a peek. 

"Then what are you runnin' from? " Hearing the same question twice doesn't make it any easier to stomach. Doesn't make it any less difficult to face. You are terrified in a sense. Terrified that you'll just be used. A passing fancy, just another hole to fuck when he can't find someone to fill the void. Used, discarded and forgotten. You've felt the sting of betrayal before. Blamed yourself for Sam losing interest. That you weren't pretty enough anymore, that you'd become too boring, that you should have been more attentive. You had spent hours lying alone in a cold empty bed wondering where you went wrong while Sam was spending his time screwing his secretary in his high-rise office.  

"I . . . " The words die in your throat hanging empty in the air. You couldn't tell him that it wasn't just all physical. How despite how pathetically blind you were to them that over the course eleven months you have managed to develop feelings for one of the most crude and frustrating men you've ever met. That as much as you wanted to grab him by the hair and fuck his brains out you also wanted to sit in his lap in public, to run down the streets with him at night and wreak havoc on the poor unsuspecting souls that cross your path, to hold his hand and kiss his bloodied lips after a successful hunt. It is undeniably corny, but you don't just want him. You want him to be yours. 

Taking notice of your internal struggle Severen reaches up to cup the sides of your face. His hold light and unsure but he doesn't remove them. The gesture is so out of character for him that it has you looking up at him in surprise. He almost looks nervous, a streak of vulnerability flashing across his face, but it's gone in a blink and he's back to looking poised and controlled. But you know that he's just as out of his depth as you are, and the realization gives you the footing that you need. This time it's you who steps forward eating up the remaining leeway until your chest is pressed against his and you can feel the metal of his belt buckle and badges digging into you. He drops one of his hands, the remaining one moving to sweep his fingers through your hair, tracing the edge of your jaw with his thumb. 

The energy has shifted. No longer pulled painfully taut, and awkwardly nervous. but charged. Still vulnerable, but electricity that steady rises in the air is welcome. The world was at a standstill, holding its breath in anticipation. It was stifling like the both of you had become magnetized and the heat in your abdomen spread further, burning the stagnant blood in your veins. Your nipples stiffen underneath the cloth of your stolen shirt.  Everything was too warm, and you hadn't even done anything yet. And the only thing that keeps you from being swept up in your embarrassment is that you remind yourself that it has been a month or two since you've actually been touched by a man. You're just a bit pent up is all. 

There's a hardness pressing against you through your sweatpants. That's definitely not his belt buckle. You have to fight to suppress a grin to know that he's already as worked up as you are. 

His hand at his side slips to your stomach rucking up the shirt to get to the edge of your pants, fingers stroking the skin there but not slipping any further. You nearly whine, but you still have your head screwed on straight enough to try and cover up the noise, instead opting to lowly curse him under your breath but he definitely heard you if the smug way that he snickers is anything to go by. 

"So, you gonna admit it? " The low Texan drawl has your eyes fluttering open. You didn't even realize they were shut. It takes you a minute to figure out what he's referring to. But you don't feel like giving him that sort of satisfaction. Not yet at least, the push and pull is already too fun, too good to give up so soon.  You look up at him, feigning ignorance while you nose along his cheek, skirting dangerously close to his lips. "What do you mean?" You ask against his skin, pressing up tighter against him to tease, propping your knee against the bulge straining underneath his jeans. He hisses through his teeth and the hand cradling your face moves to your throat faster than you can blink. His hold is firm enough to keep you pinned in place, but not enough to hurt you. You can't help the satisfaction you feel. He already looks like he's hanging on by a thread, eyes glinting in the light. There's a crazed edge to them that would terrify anyone else, but it has you clenching around nothing, and you have to hold yourself back from grinding on him in a mindless haze. It nearly surprises you how quickly you managed to set him on edge, but then again Severen's always been one to restrain himself. Self-discipline has always been something that he's avoided like the plague. 

"God dammit woman, its always gotta be a fight with you don' it." 

"You say that like you don't like it," Your voice is amused and breathless but apparently far too cocky for his liking. His hand finally slips past the waist band of your pants. " Well, momma did always say I had a knack for trouble," he agrees like he isn't slipping a dexterous finger against you, parting your folds with an experimental brush that has your jaw parting despite how delicate the touch is. " Hell baby, your gettin' all haughty but I ain't hardly done nothin' and you're already wound up tight. This little cunt's soakin' my fingers." 

Your cheeks burn at the remark, suddenly bashful again. It usually took a lot more than some light grinding and teasing to get you up and going, but if you're finally going to be honest with yourself Severen's always been able to affect you without having to do much of anything. But you've never really been one to let him have the last word. "That's funny coming from the guy who's about to burst out of his jeans, " you taunt around an airy moan. He starts drawing circles around your clit. Not enough pressure to bring you any real pleasure, but just enough to keep you hooked. It has the simmering heat in your belly flaring up in a delicious burn. "I'll give it to ya sugar. Ya just gotta say the word, save the both of us from waitin.' " 

He releases your throat, trading his hand for his lips, latching onto the soft sensitive skin and sucking. It has your head lolling, thumping back against the wall at the feeling of teeth nipping across where your pulse would have thrummed if you still had one. You tilt your head back baring more of your neck to him which has him purring against you with a pleased hum. You don't even notice the way that your hips have started to roll against his fingers in a desperate attempt to get some sort of friction. Something to hold you over. Just a little bit more please- he's suddenly pulling his hand out of your pants leaving you wet and wanting. You cry out weakly, a protest heavy on the tip of your tongue but you're too busy panting around useless lungfulls of oxygen so you fix him with a glare instead. Quietly seething as he removes his head from the crook of your neck.

His eyes lock with yours, the ocean blue stormy and dark with want and you nearly shake underneath the power of it. He raises his hand up letting you take in the way that the wetness that coats them glimmers under the old fluorescents and then he's slipping them into his mouth. Making a show of it, groaning and closing his eyes like he's savoring a rich wine. 

"Severen, " you gasp, fisting the lapels of his jacket in an attempt to anchor yourself. You have to turn the tables somehow. Get him just as worked up as you are. And if the way that he's still drooling over his cum stained fingers is any indication, slurping at the taste in a vulgar display of lust, it shouldn't be too hard. That's the thing about Severen. He's a hedonist in every sense of the word. Once he has something that he wants in his sights it doesn't take much for him to abandon reason and pursue no matter the consequences. Not even a shot gun to the chest can keep him from what he wants. It's a dangerous trait combined with how susceptible he is to his own desires. Running around like a mad dog sniffing after a wounded rabbit.  Severen operates off of emotions and desires rather than logic and reason. 

It's qualities that makes him a lethal, if not a chaotic hunter. Undoubtedly one of the most dangerous of the Hooker clan. But as commendable as his feral tenacity is it's also a fatal flaw. One that you're definitely going to exploit. 

Play your cards right and you'll have him eating out of your hand. Not really playing cards honestly. Severen doesn't require that much strategy. Not when he's already horny and thinking with the head in his pants. 

"Yeah, pretty girl, whatcha need?" He's grinning at you again, clearly basking in the affect he has on you. " All ya gotta do is say it." 

You grip him by his hair, knocking his sunglasses off letting them clatter on the pale tiles forgotten, drawing him into a heated kiss that lights you both on fire. It wasn't soft or sweet and sugary like the old you would have probably wanted for a first kiss, but this was just as good. Time around you seems to slow down before dimming out entirely as if it was sucked into a black hole, all of the background noise from the outside world now muffled and distant like your ears are full of cotton. 

It's sloppy, desperate and full of teeth and you're both squeezing yourselves together, joining like a rough puzzle. You let him lick into the heat of your mouth, shivering at the sweet taste of iron from his recent meal, the earthy musk of yourself on his tongue, angling your head to deepen the kiss, nipping at his lips and then he's moaning in a way that would probably embarrass him if he had the mind to care. 

It has you gripping his hair harder and suddenly his hands are all over you. Sweeping down your hips, up your back, reaching to squeeze the swell of your ass like he can't get enough and can't decide where to touch. Like you might disappear if he doesn't keep his hold on you. Nailing you tighter against the wall with his crushing weight. 

The firm line of his cock poking at you from between two layers of separate clothing gives you some clarity and you're squeezing an arm through the press of your bodies, which is a task in itself considering that it's near impossible to create leeway, being quite literally trapped between a wall and a hard place. Severen absolutely refusing to inch back to give you room to work, instead growling into your mouth like you're personally affronting him. The sharp nips of his teeth on your lips and the tightening grip on your butt punctuating the complaint. 

You finally get ahold of your prize in your blind search. Your fingertips slip on the slick metal while you hastily jerk the buckle undone, hand shaking despite the limited amount of adrenalin now available in your body. And you're thumbing the zipper down just as quickly, desperate to get it down before Severen can focus enough to realize what you're doing. Halfway down the zipper is catching on the worn teeth of its track but it's good enough to work with and you're cramming your hand down his jeans and are immediately met with the throbbing heat of his cock. Of course, he'd go commando. 

He breaks the kiss like he's reluctant to do it dragging your bottom lips between his teeth as he pulls away, looking down at you through a drunken haze, eyes already glassy and glazed over and the space between his brows are pinched in way that would make you think that he was in pain if you didn't know any better. Then you're gripping him, feeling the damp stream of precum that's been steadily leaking from his cock and squeeze the head and move up in a firm upward stoke, spreading the wetness up the length of him. Severen's groaning into the air, spitting an array of colorful words under his breath while mindlessly thrusting into the smooth heat of your hand. 

It has you burning, legs shaking like you're the one with a hand in their pants. But God you never thought you'd see the day. To have Severen, the guy who couldn't shut up if you paid him to, moaning under you. Arrogant, sarcastic Severen melted against you, barely holding himself up and desperate all from a little hand job. The thrill that you got was unparalleled, dowsing gasoline on your ego, on the inferno of lust already burning underneath your skin. You can feel slick already smearing on the inside of your thighs at the gritty pleasure-drunk groans that keeps spilling out of him. 

The angle is hell on your wrist, the lack of room available to move your arm has the muscles screaming. It doesn't help that he's the equivalent of a brick wall, clinging to your body like a desperate, horny leech. But you don't let up, focusing on making him fall apart, twisting your wrist around the stiff velvet of his cock, squeezing the head with each upstroke. 

You lick at the flesh underneath his jaw, swiping at the skin with the tip of your tongue, and his upper body practically liquifies while he exposes more of his neck, shoving the expanse of it harder against your lips like he wants you to bite him. Hmm . . . Hardly one to resist your curiosity, you do just that. Opening you mouth to lave your tongue over the chosen spot before sinking your teeth down, not enough to break the skin but enough for it to sting, just enough to test the water. And you aren't disappointed. "Fuckin' shit!" he chokes out, the groan that follows is completely debauched and unhinged, and the obscene amount of cum that leaks from him makes you worried that he might have already came, but he's still hard and pulsing in your fist. 

You thread your fingers through the inky strands of his hair, guiding his face back to look at you, admiring his blissed out, barely there expression. 

"That feels good, doesn't it?" You croon, still working his cock in a steady rhythm meeting the clumsy roll of his hips. "It can feel even better too. All you have to do is say the word." You can't help but throw his comment back at him, still riding the high of having him at your mercy, of the control you have over him. So, it admittedly catches you by surprise when he's tearing your hand away from him, securing an arm around your back like a lock. "Aw baby, " he snickers, a complete one-eighty from the desperate mess that he was only seconds ago. His grin is all sharp edges and predatory, and paired with the wild gleam in his eyes it sends liquid heat pooling in inside of you. Your toes curl inside of your shoes as eager as you are nervous to see where this goes. " You don' call the shots here. I do. " 

Then he's gripping your shoulders and turning you to shove your front down onto the defaced folding table that had sat next to you against the wall, the steel feet harshly shrieking against the floor. The change in perspective is jarring. Squinting underneath the artificial light, allowing your gaze to skirt around the room taking in the row of egg white washing machines, the set of ugly hard plastic chairs to your far left, and the built in dryers lining the pealing mustard yellow walls. The reality of it hit you with the force of a speeding car, humiliation flooding your system and stinging at the apples of your cheeks. 

Had you really gotten so caught up in the moment that you completely forgot that you were out in a public place? 

"Severen, wait- someone might see," you make to prop yourself up but he's placing a hand on the small of your back and pressing down, flattening your stomach against the cool surface of the table. " You were just jackin' my dick like there's no tomorrow. " He shifts closer, pressing himself into your backside shamelessly humping against the thick fabric of your sweatpants. "No one's been out here for hours. It's just you an' me." 

He's not wrong. The last you saw someone outside the motel was roughly after you had all settled into the room, figuring out the sleeping situation and showering after a few days of roughing it. You had finally been able to properly wash your hair after having to settle for awkwardly ducking your head under the sinks of gas station bathrooms. After picking up your soiled blood-stained clothes from the floor and shoving them into your backpack you had stepped out onto the dusty, dimly lit parking lot. The first thing you had noticed was how empty it all was. Apart from the stolen RV that Severen had parked close by, there were only two other vehicles. An older gentleman was sitting outside of his room, smoking a hand rolled cigarette and staring off into the night. But based on the way that he rose from the chair he had been sitting on and turned to snuff out the cigarette on the window seal, you figured he was on his way on his way back inside. And other than the amalgamation of scents that come with well-traveled spaces, there weren't any that have been accompanied by the potent metallic call of blood, or the pulse of a heartbeat. The town is quiet and asleep. 

It is just you and him. 

 A thrill bursts from deep inside you, spreading across your body and shivering up your spine. Something that he without a doubt caught given how tightly he was pressed up against your ass. You could feel the smugness radiating from him, basking in how he could turn you into mush by doing so little. His hands are on your hips now, slipping under your shirt and tracing up and down your sides with electricity following the path of his palms. His fingertips skim dangerously close to your breasts. You lift yourself up on your elbows in the hopes that he'd continue upwards and take them in his hands. But the tips of his thumbs rub across the soft skin just above the sensitive skin of your nipples. Humming a breathless whine your hips start to greedily roll back against his and in doing so the seam of your pants gets tugged up between your bodies and presses up deliciously against your swollen clit making your jaw drop open.  

A satisfied hum all warm and heavy dips into a fiendish giggle and then he's taking your invitation, squeezing your breasts into his hands. They're rough, worn from decades of use, calluses and old scars from his time as a human weathering the skin. The texture of them has you mewling and then he's rolling them between his fingers, strumming the unforgiving heat inside you. Your pussy flutters around nothing, reminding you of how devastatingly empty you are. 

"Ya know I could always tell ya were a bit sweet on me, " he admitted, leaning over you, followed by leather and spice. His words just barely make it through the thick red mist that packs your mind like stuffing, moving your head so that you could peer at him from the corner of your eye. You should be embarrassed by his revelation, insulted that he of all people (and apparently) everyone else had seen your little crush before you did. But the arousal is already too great. You can hardly focus on much else. But then he's leaning down so his chest is against your back, nuzzling into your cheek and pecking you with a kiss that's too chaste given your current predicament. "I could smell it on ya." 

That you get loud and clear regardless of the fact that you're still grinding down on him like a paid whore. Does he have to bring this up now of all times? Who are you kidding, of course he does. Severen would never pass up the opportunity to be petty and knock you down a peg or two. God, the thought of it hadn't even crossed your mind. Your senses have obviously become heightened since your turning, surpassing the human experience by unimaginable extremes. It was almost overwhelming when you were freshly crossed over. For one, you can follow a scent trail for miles, so the fact that you've apparently gone nose blind to your own scent is a bit jarring. A blessing and a curse most likely. 

And the fact that you didn't even think of Severen sniffing out your arousal both surprises and disappoints you. 

And it's even worse to know that the entire clan must have - nope! No, not right now. 

"You like to strut around like yer too big for your britches, but you were jus' achin for it weren't ya." 

"Severen, I swear if you don't shut up, I'm gon. . . na . . . " You voice trails off on a choked breath when he cruelly rips his hands away from your chest and the weight at your back lifts away, followed your pants being jerked from your hips and down to your knees with a quickness. The light chill of the room meeting the heat of your cunt has you gasping. "Ya know sugar, you talk too much for your own good. " Oh, that's the pot calling the kettle black. Then his hands are on the thick of your thighs, kneading the flesh between his fingers and kisses are being scattered across the sensitive skin, some with just the barest hints of teeth and your brain's turning back to mush. You can feel his hair brushing and tickling against you. His tongue runs up the inside of your thigh, cleaning up the slick that has been dripping from you and stopping just before he reaches where you need him most. 

You whine open and shameless rocking back to try and get him to do something. Anything.  A shocking sting erupts on the swell of your ass like it's been struck with a heated metal, a heavy clap ringing out across the room making you yelp. Feverous need burned hot in your stomach at the realization that he spanked you. He fucking spanked you. 

You nearly say fuck it; you almost throw your pride to the wind and beg but then without a word of warning he's spreading your lips open with his thumbs and the warmth of his mouth is on you. You barely register him groaning over the sound of your forehead slamming on the table beneath you, eyes rolling in the back of your skull at the firm press of his tongue grazing over your clit before swiping over your slit, collecting the taste of you on his tongue and swallowing. He burrows his face as deep as possible, drawing in a deep breath that's utterly filthy so that he could take in your scent while working his tongue inside of you, and his arm is reaching around your bucking hips so that he can drag tight circles around your swollen bud. " 'Amn ya 'aste s' good, " he grunts, absolutely refusing to remove his face by even the slightest degree. Groans muffled and slurred. " 'weet as pie." 

Your hands are reaching around the table clawing across the surface until you find the edge of the plastic, desperate for something to ground yourself down to reality while you try not to float away. His tongue is unforgiving, burrowing deep, lapping along your inner walls like he's trying to drink you down. Your legs are shaking and it's searing at your toes and fingertips. The muscles in your abdomen are already tensing and it feels like a wave is rising high. It was almost demeaning how quickly he's working you towards your climax. 

He removes his fingers from the swollen bundle of nerves, opting to spread you open with them instead so that he can play with your clit in delicious, practiced strokes with his tongue . . . Sharp repetitive shapes coaxing you closer and closer. It takes you a second to focus around the pleasure clouding your brain, but you catch it. Blunt capital letters crudely shaped by the curl of his tongue. An 'S' an 'E' followed by five more letters before being repeated. 

His name. The bastard is spelling his name on your clit. Then his lips are sealed around your slit, gulping down the wetness that smeared down his nose and chin and groaning wantonly, and you fleetingly wonder if he's touching himself from eating you out. 

The thought has you jerking against him, back bowing taut and he has to grip you with his free hand to keep you from wiggling free from his hold. Hard enough to leave a bruise behind.  The vibrations of his voice against your pussy, the scratch of his five o' clock shadow rubbing against your skin, the suction of his mouth, the unforgiving strum of his fingers, it's all too much at once. It's good. it's so, so good . . . Your hips snap sharply in a shameless grind, riding his face as the wave rises up, looming over you, dangerously close to sweeping you under. Fuck, just a bit . . . more . . . 

Then it stops as soon as it started, and your body is aching in an almost painful way fluttering and shaking violently around the loss of his tongue and fingers. But before you can berate or beg him, he's hauling you up by the nape of your neck and jerking you around to snag your bottom lip between the hold of his teeth, pulling you into a kiss that's hungry and burning. You melt under the heat of it like wax, compliant and wanting. 

He's reaches down to grip the swell of your ass and lifts you up like you weigh the same as a sack of feathers to deposit you back on the table, pulling back away from you, ignoring the helpless moan you emit so he can fervently start tugging at one of your shoes, swearing when it catches on the heel of your foot. He tosses it once he finally wiggles it off, the leg of your sweats quickly following. He doesn't even bother with the other sneaker, apparently deeming it too much of a hassle to remove, leaving the thick fabric of your sweats to bunch around the shoe and hang uselessly. 

You're tugging him closer by the lapels of his coat as he's done, spreading your legs wide, offering yourself up for him to finally take. An offer that he doesn't refuse, reaching to grip you by the throat and forcing you to look into the wide feral glint of his eyes. He looks like he's a man possessed, lips still glistening with the dewy gloss of your arousal, and he's never looked hotter. But you can't help but wonder if you're going to make it out of this alive. 

"As much as I love the taste of you, sugar, when you cum it's gonna be on my dick. " He growls, grinding the thick head of his cock against your clit, making your cunt quiver, still sensitive from your denied orgasm. It has strings of pleasure shooting deep and latching into the muscles and sinew of your body.  You secure the hold of your legs around his waist, panting and begging against his chest, hoping that he'd finally give in and let you have it. 

"Yeah, ya want it? " His voice is all condescending and cocky around its southern drawl. On any other night, in any other moment it would have absolutely pissed you off. It still kind of does, cutting into the lustful haze and striking a chord. But he's tapping the thick head of his cock over your slit in steady teasing motions, over and over like he's got all the time in the world. 

"Yes, yes, please. I want it." You beg, officially throwing your pride out of the window. You barely get the words out before he's pushing within the wet velvet of your cunt, the both of you groaning with shard relief at the sensation of him finally stretching you open. He doesn't wait for you adjust, and you're thankful that your already so worked up and ready because he immediately sets a brutal pace, punching into you without a shred of mercy, bottoming out with each stroke. All you can do is cling to his shoulders and do your best to chase the wild rhythm. The ecstasy is already boiling and pulsing up your spine. He takes a nipple in between his rough fingers while rutting deep, groaning into the junction of your neck with a faint hint of teeth like he might bite you.  

If someone had told you hours before that you would be getting railed in a laundromat at 4 in the morning by Severen, you would have laughed in their face. But now that he's actively turning your brain into liquid mush you can't help but mourn the fact the two of you probably could have been doing this regularly if you had just put your differences aside.  

"Ya gotta be quiet. " He huffs, nuzzling against your cheek. You hadn't even realized the increasing volume of your hiccupping moans. You burry your face into the hollow of his throat, biting into the skin in an attempt to muffle yourself, but it proves to be useless with the broken, pleasured sobs still escaping around the makeshift gag.  " Unless you wan' someone to hear. " Then like the devious bastard that he is he's shifting on his feet, spreading his legs wider to pour more power into his thrust, grabbing the meat of your thighs to hitch them higher around his waist so that he can punch deep and absolutely flay you open and pour molted heat inside, setting every singular nerve alight like sparklers.  

"Oh, fuck! " You cry brokenly, voice already raw. He's suddenly there, the drag of his cock repeatedly grinding against that devastating spot inside of you with deadly precision, like he's fucked you a million times. Like he already has every inch of you mapped out. Now you're just along for the ride, clinging to him helplessly while the pleasure lights up like a live wire thrashing across steaming water. Your back arches almost painfully and your fingers rake down the smooth leather of his jacket, no doubt leaving raged scratches across the expanse of it. You are a little disappointed that it isn't the flesh of back that you're slicing angry red streaks across - not that the scratches would last long either way, but it has the possessive part of you mourns the lost opportunity. 

He doesn't slow his rhythm in the slightest, delighting in the way that your body writhes and jolts. The laundromat fills with the lewd sounds of your coupling, the wet slap of skin on skin, the restrained moans and cries, the filthy, repetitive squelching of his cock filling your cunt.  

You aren't even in control of your own body anymore, completely enslaved to the burning syrupy pour of pleasure that courses through your veins and across each piece of you like lava, a mindless animal chasing after the high. You catch little compliments and curses under the ragged gasps of his breath, weak, wrecked sounds. Some have your heart going all melted and fuzzy, praising you so sweetly, but you're also gasping at the pure shameless filth that's pouring out of him like a fountain. You've never heard him sound so mindless, so gutted. His honeyed drawl is wrecked, frazzled around the edges while he pants in your ear like he's been wounded. And the fact that he's just as affected as you are, just as fucked out, has you clenching down around him like your pussy is trying to milk him for all he's worth. 

"God damn, yer fuckin' squeezin' me, " he groans, shuttering at the scrape of your nails across his scalp, leaning into it like a purring housecat. And then he's pulling your face away from the crook of his neck to stare you down, gripping you by the jaw.  The wild glare of his eyes is electrical, sharp and dangerous. A trickle of fear steaks deep across your frying nerves before swiftly mutating into an aching throb of lust. The satisfied wolfish grin that greets you tells you that he knows. "Feelin' good? Yeah, ya are. My good girl ain'tcha, takin' me so well. " The praise has you gripping his shoulders like you'll fall apart without the support. And right now, you probably would. "You're mine now." 

Not just 'baby' or 'sweetheart', but his. It has another feeling welling up, tearing at the walls, a possessive urge that you've been too been to ignorant, too scared to acknowledge. Months of pent-up jealousy and want. The need to stake your claim after standing on the side lines and watching just about every man and woman in the U.S flirt and feel him up. 

You meet him with an unwavering stare of your own threading your fingers through the dark strands of his hair in a jealous hold. "Then I guess that means you're mine, too, " and then you're yanking his head back and sinking your teeth into him just above his beaded necklace. Skin breaks underneath the cut of your teeth, splitting just as easily as warmed butter. Iron and smoked spice gushes across your taste buds, spilling into your mouth like a fine aged bourbon. The sinful flavor shreds your brain, sinking you deeper under the burned haze of need and want. His skin is vibrating under your mouth, shaking from the volume of his gutted moans. He grips you closer, jerking up inside the quivering heat of your cunt with rabid unrelenting thrusts. 

You preen under his desperation, swallowing around the tendons of his throat, gulping down mouthfuls of his spiced blood like its ichor. You haven't drunk his blood since the night you had crossed over and then you had been sluggish and confused under the stress of the night. But no matter how muddled your memories are you do remember his taste. You always blamed it one being recently turned, the foreign torturous hunger seizing your body that made him taste so good. But now you know that it's just him. Heat and cream and spice. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as you greedily gulp at the wound while the essence of him flows into your stomach. 

"You dirty fuckin' minx!" He slurs out on drunken words, barely forming them around the moan they chase. His wrecked reaction and the high you feel from successfully getting the upper hand on Severen has you smiling around the bite of your teeth. Now that you have knowledge of this little chink in his armor you can't wait to abuse the hell of it. But as good as it is you don't want to take too much and hurt him. So, with a great amount of restraint you remove your teeth from the meat of his neck, ignoring his protesting moan and reluctantly pull back just enough to lap the flowing wound, admiring at the way that it pours down his chest, joining the rest of the red that soils his wife beater. 

"You were made f'r me. Made for my cock, " he rambles somehow driving himself into you with even more vigor. 

The buckle of his belt is digging into the back of your thigh with each pointed thrust. It's messy and ragged and feral. Perfect.  It has the heavy, burning pressure steadily climbing up, your body tightening like a rubber band being stretched to its limits. The pleasure that looms over you is almost daunting, fizzling at your skin like a lit fuse burning closer to a stick of dynamite. "C'mon baby, I can feel ya, " he grits fervently.  He's pressing a rough thumb to your swollen clit, grinding it in perfect timing with the burning drag of his cock. But a part of you didn't want it to end yet, too scared to face what may follow afterwards. You couldn't help the bitter fear of rejection. That this was just a one-time thing. You don't know if you'd be able to forget tonight, to brush it off and pretend that it didn't happen. To just sweep it under the rug and face eternity. You willed your body to hold back, doing your best to extend the pleasure afraid of letting go of this moment. But he could feel it. "It's alrigh,' let go. I gotcha. " 

Then he's licking into the bloodied hollow of your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. It's messy and debauched and decadent all at once. It has you gasping into him, riding his fingers and cock in a wanton abandon, the fear that parades around in your head discarded to the side like useless, broken toy. The world spins on itself as the pleasure arches high. You could feel it there, taste it on the tip of your tongue like lightning and honey, a wave ready to take you under and drown you alive. 

"Lemme feel ya. Be my good girl and cum." 

Everything - the world, time, your body - seizes. Muscles shaking like you've been tazed, writhing under the sweetened, stinging claws of ecstasy as it tears through your body in unforgiving pulses. Fuck. Your jaw drops open in a silent wail, arms, legs and cunt tensing around Severen's body like bands of steal while he continues his heavy thrusts, intent on dragging out your pleasure until you can't take it. Everything is muffled like your ears are stuffed with cotton and your heads packed with fuzz, and you swear you've died, unable to form a single coherent thought. All you can do is feel.  You're a nerve of fire and electric heat. Suspended and lost adrift in the moment and an overwhelming cocoon of liquid euphoria. He still hasn't stopped. His cock is still filling you with sharp jolts, hellbent on wringing out every burst of bliss that he possibly can. 

"Sev, please. I want you to fill me up, I wan-" his mouth meets yours with the clacking of teeth, and you're drinking each other down. He only manages a few more sloppy, uncoordinated thrusts of his hips before he's burying deep, shoving himself against the cradle of your thighs and coming in thick heavy pulses while his body shakes and quivers. The raw, aggressive drag of his lips has melted into a softer exchange. Delicately nipping and pecking at each other's lips while he still rocks against you in lazy, unhurried drags. You're covered in blood and filth but it's still so sweet and sugary. You don't want the night to end. 

It has you stilling. The weight of your actions settling over you like a winter breeze. You had just fucked Severen. The man you're supposed to hate. You should hate him. You shouldn't be lamenting the very big possibility that he'll pull out, buckle his belt and leave you sitting in your collective mess to stew in your humiliation and guilt. You don't even know how you would cope living with him after tonight. Sleeping in the same rooms as him; listening to the that cute, weird little piggish snort that bubbles out of him when he tells a joke, to walk around and act like he didn't hold up a mirror and force you to acknowledge the feelings that you've been carting around for months on end. 

Worn hands are cupping your face in a delicate hold, like you'd fall apart if they gripped to hard, gently directing you to look up and meet a set of hooded baby blues. Concern melting into the lust glazed pools. "Why the sour look?" He asks, voice raw and strung out from use. "I didn't think I did all that bad." 

Despite the inner turmoil, the little joke has a smile weakly quirking your lips. You shake your head as best as you can while being restricted under the hold of his palms.  "Well, you weren't the worst if that helps, " you quip back, trying to block out the ice of your insecurities, even for a moment. " For a second there I thought you had killed me." 

His eyebrows shoot up dramatically, followed by an awed whistle. "Damn, knocked ya dead twice. That must be some sort of record. " 

He catches the playful punch you try to throw at his chest, nipping at the knuckles. You could lie to him. Tell him that you're fine and go on with your night. Even if he doesn't believe you there's a fifty-fifty chance that he won't pry any further. But . . .  You also don't want to walk around without closure. 

"It's just. . . the 'you're mine' thing . . . " Jesus Christ, you feel like a teenage girl again stuttering in front of your crush in the middle of the high school hallway. And the intent way that he's staring at you does little to ease the fluttering ball of anxiety in your chest. It's too much. And so, you look anywhere but him. Sweeping your eyes past him to study the old, questionably stained wall that has suddenly become very interesting. "Did you mean it or was it just sex talk?" 

The grating voice in the back of your head crooning that he's going to laugh at you. Call you stupid for assuming that he had actually meant it. You're waiting for the rug to be pulled out from underneath you and to be left to bust your ass on the cold floor. Alone, dumb, and useless. A girl with a crush. 

But he's gripping the exposed flesh of your thighs- god, he's still inside you. You're trying to be all vulnerable and he's still ins- and sweeping soothing circles across the stretch of them with his thumbs. It pulls you out of your head a bit, focusing you just enough to really look at him. His dark hair is tussled, hanging in front of the gorgeous blue of his eyes in a way that you always found attractive on him. Scarlett lightly stains his lips from the bloody kisses you had exchanged, making them glisten lightly under the light. The bite mark on his neck has yet to fully heal, ugly and blunt and bleeding, it has the possessive streak inside of you preening and strutting. You did that. You marked him, not someone else. He's ruggedly handsome, lightly panting from the exertion despite the fact that he doesn't need to. Just over a centuries old habit. 

"I said it didn' I? I meant it. " He says it so matter-of-factly that it makes you feel stupid. "It's you an' me." 

That has the ice thawing, snapping off to drift downstream and far away. You pull him to you again to peck at his lips, completely overcome and basking in the glow of it. The relief. Your chest is bursting, filling up with the sun. The sun before all this. Before the dark and the blood. Soft, and fuzzy and inviting and warm. A sun without consequence or death in its wake " Ya know- " Severen starts, talking between your kisses. " Yer about as dense as you are beautiful." 

That gives you pause, briefly wondering if you heard him right. You stare at him like he's grown a second head, eyebrows furrowing. There's that unforgivingly sharp tongue of his, always at the ready to strike. But it doesn't ruin the private moment between you, it just shifts gears. The jab is spoken much more softly than it would have typically been. It's more playful, lacking bite. It keeps you from heating up a cutting remark of your own. Instead of bristling and shaking out of his hold like the old you would have done you level him with a glare, a teasing warning all in its own, cautioning him to explain with no real gall behind it.  

"Oh, don't look at me like that, " He scoffs petulantly. " I've always been a bit sweet on ya too. I made it pretty damn obvious." 

"You did not-" 

" Hell woman, I killed about damn near every guy you ever flirted with!" 

Wow, he really thought that being an obnoxious douche and outright taking your diner was the equivalent of flirting. Like a bully pulling at the pigtails of his crush because he's too bullheaded to have a conversation. Figures that Severen would think that singlehandedly snatching your meals from you is a declaration of feelings.  "I thought you were being a dick!" You counter, " you're always stealing my food. " 

"I wasn't stealin', I always give the bodies back to ya. I was jus' . . . doin' the dirty work for ya. " You suppose that he is correct now that you think back on it. After tearing the unfortunate souls' throat out with his teeth or slitting it from ear to ear with a broken beer bottle or at times the lethal silver of his spurs (often saved for the people that piss him off the most) he'd discard the body at your feet like a feral barn cat dropping a hunted mouse on the doorstep of its owners front porch like a twisted offering, beaming at you with his mouth smeared red and his chest puffing out like a strutting rooster. Wait . . . offering. You always thought that his habit of killing your prey came from a place of malice. A way to poke and prod at you. A grim reminder that you still weren't as ruthless as him. That you still aren't a good enough hunter after all this time. 

But like a dumb ass you were reading it all wrong. Blinded by forced disdain and your own insecurities. But then again, it's not your fault that he's apparently allergic to simply sitting down and talking. Roughly two hundred years old and he still can't seem to process his emotions like an adult. You truly know how to pick them. 

But the sadist- the betrayed fiancé in you wants to hear the confession out of his own mouth. You need the confirmation for yourself. "Why?" 

His eyes soften around the edges, melting like slates of ice. It's a look you've only seen twice from him since the months you've been a part of each other's lives. And it's a soothing balm on the old scar that still hasn't fully healed inside you. 

"You've come a long way from bein' that scared girl, jumpin' at shadows like a cute lil' scaredy cat. I mean, sometimes the way you go after those poor bastards really gets my blood pumpin' down south. " His voice drops to a husky timbre, reminding you of nights spent in neon lit bars, filled with the high of adrenaline sizzling in your veins from a successful hunt, tinged with the sinful iron bliss of blood. That southern is twang rounding out and cutting edges, dripping with heat and melted honey. You feel him twitch inside of you, clearly enjoying the memories parading around inside his head. You almost worry that he'll try to use it as an excuse to ditch the current conversation and try to get in your pants again (like he still isn't inside of you and like you wouldn't enthusiastically indulge in another round regardless) but to your relief he doesn't. "But I can still see ya hesitate sometimes- drag it out longer than necessary. So, I figured it wouldn't do any harm if I stepped in from time to time and took care of 'em for ya. Not that I wantcha goin' soft on me. " 

He wasn't wrong. You have accepted your new life. Finally stopped struggling against the dark fate that's been set out before you regardless of your initial reluctance. Your outright refusal to partake in the night and the eternity it promised. Until you couldn't resist its call. Crawling to the whispered lure of the dark instead of staggering out into the morning light one last time like you had once promised yourself. But despite accepting your new family you've never completely been able to shake the guilt that comes with killing. Even though it's done purely out of self-preservation - at least on your part. 

So, sometimes you do drag out the flirty exchanges between the oblivious men at the bars. The men who come to unwind after a grueling day of work, the men who are just trying to escape the unrelenting weight of their lives, hoping to find reprieve at the bottom of a bottle; the men just out to chill with their buds and maybe get laid if they're lucky enough. People just living their lives. Diamond's always tried to reassure you in her own motherly yet blunt way. Tough love. "They're dead men whether you eat 'em or not.  They died as soon as we stepped foot in this place. No reason to go hungry, honey." 

Just a fact. But a hard pill to swallow regardless. They would be killed even if you weren't the one to eat them and so just like Diamond back said, you might as well as feed. They'd be bodies in a burning building either way. 

But the fact that Severen noticed and didn't pull on your hypothetical pigtails but opted to help you in his own crude, silent way instead. It had your chest warming like the morning sun was going to burst out of you. Perhaps some would see it as a small gesture. But coming for Severen, the guy who you had convinced yourself (well, not convinced- he was definitely more than on the fence about you when you were new and kicking and screaming) hated you, took your reluctance into account and decided to do something about it. Especially considering that he is the second eldest of the Hooker clan - apart from Jesse himself - and took to the bloodshed and violence like it was second nature. 

"Plus, they shouldn't have been puttin' they're hands on ya anyway. " You just barely manage to catch that little remark. Maybe you should be concerned about the happy little thrill it gives you, but you aren't. Instead, you pull him closer by the ornate lapels of his jacket until your chests are pressed together, smoothing your hands up until they meet skin. And a part of you silently mourns how the once gnarled mark on his neck has begun to seal closed, now a faint set of scars underneath a coat of smeared crimson. And you're a bit tempted to give him another. 

But you're too transfixed on the soft baby blues studying your face to try. "Thank you, " you responded with a smile, toying with the inky strands that collect at the nap of his neck. "We both seriously could have pulled our heads out of our asses, but seriously . . . Thank you." 

" Don' mention it. " He replies, a bit of mischief shifts through the sugar in his gaze. His smile turning from relaxed and sweet to quirking up a bit too sharply at the corners.  " . . . Kitten." 

"Don't start with that, " you warn, nose crinkling at the old nickname. "I'm serious." 

"Alright, twist my arm why don't cha, " he grumbles like he's annoyed but he's nuzzling against the rise of your cheekbone playfully, nipping at your jaw. "I'll spare ya. For now." 

You look over to the little wall of dryers, skipping down the rows until you find the machine containing your clothes, now idle with the black material of your shirt peeking out over the circle rim of the door. It all comes in one after the other: The faint buzz of the florescent lights above, the metallic squealing of the fan in the corner, the dull grind of the sun still somewhere on the other side of the planet but growing closer with each passing second. The gravity of it finally dropping on your shoulders but all you can do is laugh into his chest. The both of you had sex in the grimy laundry room of some hole-in-the-wall hotel like a pair of horny teenagers. Jesus, you could have been caught. 

"What?" He asks, now stroking up and down your bare thighs like if he quit touching you it would kill him. 

"Did we seriously just fuck in a laundromat?" You question like you don't already know the answer, a disbelieving laugh trailing after your words. Then he's chuckling in that goofy, charming way of his. "Better strike it off the ol' bucket list. " 

You swat him on the arm like you mean to scold him, but it does nothing to quell the little puffs of laughter that hiccup from his chest. Not that you want it to. "Have a list, do you?" 

"Oh, you have no idea, darlin.' " His voice is lowering in that sinful pitch again and it has a bit of heat pooling in your abdomen. " I could go on and on talkin' but we'd be here for weeks. 'Sides, I'd much rather show you." 

"As much as I'd love to take this table for another spin, I think we should save the fun for another time." You unlock your legs from their loose hold around his waist, allowing him to finally move back. You hiss lightly at the drag of his soft cock slipping free from your sensitive walls, a trail of cum pouring down your thigh. You nearly cringe at the feeling and now that you're no longer distracted by the haze of sex it finally sets in how disgusting you are again, smeared in blood and cum. Looks like another show is in order. The two of you are quiet while you straighten yourselves out, simply enjoying each other's presence. Severen tucks himself back into his jeans, securing his belt while you reach down to thread your foot through the dangling sleeve of your pant leg. You hop down from the table to work them over your hips but seriously underestimate how wobbly the relaxed and used muscles of your body are. Your knees shake and you have the fleeting thought that you might just crumple to the floor, but then a set of sturdy arms are looped around you, securing you to an equally firm chest. 

"Like a newborn fawn," he quips, oozing ego and smoky satisfaction. Jesus, he is going to become unbearable with that self-assured bravado. He's already dangerously cocky, walking around like the world spins for his entertainment alone but now that he's successfully blown your back out, you're never going to hear the end of it. 

"Oh, shut it. " But you smile regardless and the feel of the cold tiled floor underneath the thin material of your sock reminds you that he threw your left shoe somewhere in your mindless scramble to get to each other. 

"Well, speakin' of time, we've got a couple more hours a' dark." He says drawing your attention from its light search of the floor. " Wanna go kick up some trouble? Bust a couple headlights? Scare some drunks?" The grin on his face is boyish, displaying the charming gap between his teeth. And the excitement radiating from him is infectious, practically vibrating where he stands from all the chaotic possibilities running amok inside his head. No doubt ideas of burning buildings, of shooting fireworks into the night; of speeding down quiet desert roads in stolen cars, blaring music and howling into the air. Forever is a long time. And although you've only gotten a taste of it, of the long sleepless nights ushered by a devilish primal hunger that guides you to the steady pulsing heartbeats of lonely, unassuming people, you were never sure how much eternity you were willing to take. Would you finally crack after a decade of dodging the sun? Tired of taking cover inside seedy motel rooms and taping tinfoil to the windows of some unfortunate strangers' truck? Would it be fifteen years? Twenty? A century? Or maybe by then you'll be a completely different person who will scold the current version of yourself for not fully embracing the dark and all of its gifts. Maybe she'll be able to cut down her prey with the same deadly indifference, the same wild joy that the others do. Maybe one day you'll bathe in the blood of your prey instead of flinching from it before you regretfully gulp down the metallic nectar. You can't say for certain. Now that Severen's at your side it doesn't just null and void all of your fears and internal struggles for the present and future. But it helps to know that you have someone to lean on, even though he can't personally relate to most of your struggles. To have someone with you on your walk through eternity. And now that you think about it, you wouldn't want it to be anyone else. You can't imagine spending the rest of your time on earth with anyone other than the devious violent cowboy standing in front of you. His eyes lit up like a fresh blue morning sky, staring at you like you hung up the moon and set the stares alight. It's a look you've seen before out of the corners of your eyes. Too foolish to correctly recognize it, often presuming that he was looking at you to be rude. Mistaking the intensity in his gaze for annoyance. But now you melt under it, threading your fingers between his and squeezing his hand in a reassuring grip. Maybe forever wouldn't be such a long time after all. "There's nothing I'd love more." 

" . . . but first you need to find my damned shoe." 

[whispering-about-the-tmnt]

Can I get a quick summary of your thoughts/opinions on the 4 shows and the different movies? :3

Personally I'm a big fan of 2012 and Rise, and 2003 is good too but just never landed as much with me but I think I gotta give it another shot tbh. And I respect to 80's show, but not a big fan of cartoons durring that time as a whole.

And I love the 1990 movie, and the 2007 movie has amazing parts but as a whole is just pretty decent, and I absolutely love Mutant Mayhem :3

But it's always great stumbling across another tmnt fan while just scrolling my dash

Ah! Thank you for the ask!

I'll do them in chronological order, and I'm sorry but this is going to be long!

1987 - My first intro to the Turtles, way back when the show first aired! I totally fell into the world of Ninja Turtles back then, and wanted to consume everything having to do with them. I had posters all over my walls, toys, clothing, hats... you name it, I either had it or wanted desperately to get it. I was so into them that my dad bought me the first four (colorized) graphic novels of the original comics, and I still have them to this day. And I still love the cartoon! I accept now that they are kinda silly, but that gives them a certain charm. They were a huge part of my childhood, and when they came out on DVD I introduced my kids to them, as well. Honestly, I am who I am today because I happened to come across the show on a tiny little portable black and white TV while we were camping...

1990 - The first "event movie" I ever experienced! I remember how hyped I got when the first ads came out for it, with the tag line "Hey Dudes, This Is No Cartoon"... and how I told my dad that I wanted to move back to North Carolina (we were living in Massachusetts at the time) because I heard that they were filming it there (we didn't move, of course!). I also distinctly remember how excited I was waiting in line with crowds of people at Showcase Cinemas in Springfield, MA. I saw the movie twice in theaters (the first time I ever did that), and many, many times on tape. When I had kids, we all watched it together on DVD (usually while eating pizza). I love the gritty look and story line; and it was actually interesting to see, for the first time, the "rivalry" between Raph and Leo, which would later become a huge part of the franchise as a whole. In general, the movie represents the Turtles pretty well, though Mike and Don did kind of get pushed to the side (which has also, unfortunately, become a major aspect of the franchise). All-in-all, though, it remains one of my favorite movies ever.

1991 - The second TMNT movie (The Secret Of The Ooze) wasn't bad, in my opinion, but it never had as large a part in my life or psyche as the first movie. It was a bit silly, a bit slow... but it had Ernie Reyes Jr. in it, and I had a HUGE crush on him. In general, it was good, and I liked their new lair in the subway, but it was... just okay. I did love Tokka and Rahzar, though!

1993 - It may seem strange, but even with the costume downgrade and slapstick reliance and a bit of a silly story line, I enjoyed the third movie more than the second! For one thing, Casey was back (and I loved his apparent ancestor, Whit). For another, it was nice to see the Turtles out of their element, but also being accepted by people. There were some nice heroic moments in there, too, like Mikey and Leo saving Yoshi. It also made me wonder if the Turtles would, at some point in the future, go back even further and defeat Norinaga's ancestor, leading to the painting that was shown repeatedly in the movie. Oh, and I totally headcanon Mitsu and Kenshin being Hamato Yoshi's ancestors.

2003 - My favorite of the TV shows! I love how they can be gritty and serious or silly and playful. Their lair is amazing, and they have plenty of friends, but still are separated from humanity. I like the relationships the Turtles have between each other, and also how each of their personalities are distinct and add to the group. There are plenty of standalone episodes, but they all come back around and tie into the series as a whole -- and character arcs like Leonardo's 4th season self-loathing and recovery are the kind of thing I eat right up. All things considered, the series is my gold standard for the franchise, and especially for the Turtles' and Splinter's personalities.

2007 - Visually, it was great! I loved the voice acting and the atmosphere. However, they leaned a bit too hard into the aforementioned Leo & Raph rivalry (although the rooftop fight scene was amazing). I would have liked for Don and Mike to have a larger part in the story (although Don did do his techie thing and figure out what was going on, it was sort of a non-event). I did like the eleventh-hour Karai and Foot team-up with the good guys, though! Unfortunately, I am compelled to mention that Splinter in that movie is... not my favorite.

2012 - Completely honestly, I am an outsider to this series, and all that I know of it I have absorbed through Tumblr Osmosis. That meaning, although I do know a lot about it, I have never actually watched a full episode. It is my 12-year-old daughter's favorite version, however, so on her behalf I will be giving it a thumbs-up 👍🏼

2014 / 2016 - Bundling the two Bayverse movies into one, because I will be honest and say that the line between them blurs for me sometimes (not in a bad way, just like... they flow into one another in my mind). I will admit that I put off watching them for a long time because I disagreed with some of the creative decisions (I'll just leave that there), but when I watched them they turned out to be not as bad as I feared. Their lairs were fitting, and so were their personalities (even if Leo is occasionally a bit my way or the highway). Really, though, I don't have too much to say about them, except that some of the slapstick and more cartoony action tends to draw me out of the moment. Not my favorite TMNT movies, but not horrible. There's potential there.

2018 - ROTTMNT is another series that I haven't actually watched, and which I have gathered most of my knowledge on from Tumblr. However, I did watch the movie and enjoyed it very much! Honestly, the only reason I haven't watched the series yet is because I already have enough TMNT versions bouncing around in my head and I know if I watch it I will want to write fics for it, and I already have enough on my plate for the time being (meaning I will probably get a bunch of my WIPs done, then watch the series!). That having been established, I do like the way the Turtles are different species, and the overall exuberance of the series as a whole is a delight (again, from an outside perspective, but valid regardless!). Splinter's backstory is unique and interesting, and his relationship with his sons is enjoyable!

2019 - Batman Vs. TMNT is, without a doubt, one of my favorite TMNT movies ever! I loved the style, the atmosphere, the fight choreography, the relationships... everything. I also like how it earned that PG-13 rating (violence, swearing... you know... original Mirage Turtle stuff). It was nice how each Turtle got to shine, and how they each got a member of the Batfam to cling to. And Leo's fight with Ra's al Ghul is perhaps my favorite TMNT battle ever. I know it is probably too much to hope for a sequel, but I am nothing if not a cockeyed optimist!

2023 - Mutant Mayhem was fun! It was nice seeing the Turtles portrayed as actual teenagers, complete with gratuitous pop culture references. The animation style was interesting (in a good way!) and the voice acting was spot-on. I loved the soundtrack, too, and I had "What's Going On" stuck in my head for days after I watched the movie! The fact that the Turtles got accepted by humans at the end was nice, even if my preferred version of them is as outcasts; and their relationship with Splinter was believably complicated. I am excited to see how the story continues in TOTTMNT!

Is that all of them? I think that is all of them! Sorry this was so long, but I have a lot of feelings on the subject!

[facelessoldgargoyle]

what is wormblr

Worm + Tumblr. Worm is a web serial in the gritty superhero genre about a teenage girl who gets the power to control bugs, and about her descent into super villainy, and then her rise as one of the most powerful people in the world.

I really enjoy (a) the realistic way that it writes teenagers, (b) the compassionate and realistic description of the way being bullied is traumatizing, and the way that bullying is a manifestation of systemic injustice, (c) the cool fight scenes (d) the out of control lesbianism that the author keeps insisting isn’t lesbian. Among other things.

It deals with heavy topics around the ways that society fails children. There is an off-screen occurrence of semi-sexual violence. There is a lot of on-screen fighting, and violence that leans into body horror. I really recommend Worm, but those are the major content warnings that you should be aware of. If you have specific things you want to avoid in fiction, I could tell you about that. It’s a very long serial, so a lot of stuff happens in it.

If you start reading Worm, I will say that i don’t really like the first 3 sections. They’re pretty short, so I recommend sticking it out. But also, other readers do like the first three sections, so don’t let me color your perception.

In conclusion:

[indecisive-hermit]

Spoiler-y Arcane thoughts.

Win for the lesbians. I'll get more into detail but first... they maybe struggled with this from the start but it was more obvious towards the end; too many character arcs. Strange choices and unclear behind-the-scenes storylines. The season felt jumpy in an inconsistent way where some scenes felt like they lasted too long and took too many minutes off the air while some should have been given more focus and more explanantion involved.

I loved the story nonetheless. How things turned out for some characters, like Jinx. She had no place in this world and she made a worthy sacrifice in the end. They even gave us a glimpse of the 'alternate' timeline or whatever that was, where she got to live happily ever after with Ekko.

Oh, and the visual storytelling with Jinx cutting her hair more like Vi was brilliant. How she first made the hair on the little buddy like hers and then after did that to her own. I think she chose to be Vi's sister in the end and it was very beautiful.

The whole 'undercity part of the council' bits in the end too really tied the whole story together. My only wish would have been to divide each of these arcs to their own seasons.

Overall it felt rushed. Like they had all the time in the world to do the first season and then someone realized they can't spend another zillion years to polish the rest of the story. Some artistic choices felt extremely cheap, like they were from a different show or straight from the drafting table with some color splashed on top.

I get the chaos theme, the chaos itself kind of gives freedom for those artsy moments, but there were too many and it didn't feel consistent with the style of the first season.

Now back to the lesbians and their storyline. I don't mind how things turned out. Life is messy. Sometimes people find comfort in weird places and while I cringed at the blond one (lol, forgot the name already) in Cait's bed, it was plausible enough. It wasn't a huge deal. Though the story did progress too fast so I just had to make up in my head how this might have happened. Multiple seasons could have fixed this too..

Also Vi not giving a fuck seems about right. She doesn't seem like a person who would. Again, she left, made her choice and I think she'd be fine living with those consequences. Sure, the sex scene felt incredibly fanficcy, but c'mon that's why it felt right and it fit the story really well. And also tied their relationship arc back to where it began. Can't speak for all the lesbians but I felt their storyline was complete with all the gritty realistic bits in it.

Also, knew they were pulling off a fake capture stunt the moment Vi said "cupcake". No way Cait would choose the crazy power hungry old lady over Vi. Very excited for that specific moment, too bad they didn't do a short flashback or something to the actual conversation they had.

So many "fill in the gaps" moments I lost count. But in the end it felt like a complete story. Just a very rushed one.

As for individual storylines for Caitlyn and Vi, both got somewhat believable reactions to loss and what they went through. Frustrating, yes, I wanted to punch both in the face. I laughed at the angsty mcr look they gave to Vi but it was spot on. She really done did put the oil in their oil and water theme. Evil Kiramman also made me a total simp so I'm very satisfied. :D

But yeah. Might do a re-watch of this later. At least enjoy the fan content. Best characters are always flawed. Just saying.

[4ragon]

any book recommendations?

Dooooooont fucking do this to me ahhhh okay. Okay. I have read 72 books so far this year and I have been having a blast so you may be unleashing a monster, let me just look through my Goodreads and see what I’ve read. I’ll put it under the cut so no one murders me.

Also. Mostly fantasy, fair warning. I like fantasy.

First!!! Since I finished it yesterday:

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White

Debut novel, it’s a magical murder mystery romance with fun characters and magic and a bisexual main character, I had a blast with it. Plenty of twists and turns, some I predicted and some that managed to blindside me.

Also it literally just came out this year so no one else is posting about it. My library only just got it this month. Someone needs to talk to me about how fucked up some of this is.

(Also, I’d rate it M if it were on ao3. Lots of sex jokes. Suicidal characters. Be aware of that.)

The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson

Okay fair warning, every book in here is 1000 pages long. That is not hyperbole. Also some heavy themes, ie suicide, abuse, slavery, murder.

But this book is a MASTERCLASS in worldbuilding. Like. Holy shit this man puts so much detail in this series. I’ve only read through book 2 (well 2.5) and while it did take a bit to get through the initial hurdle of “I’m going to introduce a million fantasy concepts to you and you have to fucking roll with it” it’s well worth it. A lush world with some amazing characters. I’m enjoying the series.

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

It’s a bunch of heists in a magical gritty setting with a bunch of awful people and I loved it a ton. Though it did make me really anxious. So anxious. Heist movies make me anxious. I love these guys.

I do think it’s weird to have them be 17 but I choose to ignore that. It’s got a great cast, and it’s sooooo fun to watch a plot unfold. It’s really good at giving you just enough information to constantly be at the edge of your seat.

Here’s one a bit out of left field: The Color Purple by Alice Walker

A musical version came out and I wanted to read the book before even touching that. And guys. One of the best books I’ve ever read. But. Trigger warning times 1000 by page 1, REALLY heavy. It’s the kind of book that beats you down for a while before things get better.

But they do get better. They do.

Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

Queer as hell, angry as hell, basically mechs fighting aliens in a setting based loosely on ancient China. I was not expecting the romance to go the way it did but it made me very happy, and I’m so excited for the next book.

The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells

I’ve talked about this before. I love you Murderbot.

They’re all very short, action packed novellas. More serialized than I expected but that’s part of the charm! Plus Murderbot is such a great character. My favorite is the one actually novel length one but the whole thing is great.

Discworld by Terry Pratchett

This is a whole series you can read in any order. They’re genuinely laugh out loud funny and also heartfelt and beautiful . My favorites so far have been Guards! Guards!, Going Postal and Reaper Man

The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir

I know we’ve all run the “Lesbian necromancers in space” thing into the ground, but also Gideon may be one of my favorite characters in anything ever. She’s so fucking fun. She’s funny and crass in a way I feel like female protagonists rarely get to be. I love her.

Also. I have no idea what the fuck is happening. I think that’s part of the charm. Lots of worldbuilding going on in the background that makes no sense until the end and then you’re like holy shit. I love it.

A Most Agreeable Murder by Julia Seales

So mix Pride and Prejudice with a murder mystery novel and the ridiculousness of a Discworld novel and you have this book. It’s so fun. One of the background characters is clearly a werewolf and it has nothing to do with the rest of the plot.

The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune

I’ve already gushed about this book but it’s so found family. The absolute coziest feel-good novel I’ve read. Plus it’s queer as hell! One of my absolute favorites.

Light From Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki

This book was just beautiful. Another one with some heavy themes, but I loved it. Aliens and demons, queer, trans mc, about music and hope and found family. Plus it got be back into reading so! It holds a special place in my heart.

Sorry. That was a lot. That’s not even all of them but these were some of my favorites.

[st-highwind]

@redwlngs provided me with several more oc development questions, so here they are for Thrush!

What tarot card and its meaning do you associate with them? In general, when I think of Thrush I think of The Moon. Fears, illusions, worry for the present and future because of hurt from the past. It's kind of self-explanatory. Thrush is a chronic worrier.

On a different note, however, Thrush embodies Death (upright) specifically for Kain. Death upright is symbolic of change, transformation, the transition from one point in life to another. This is precisely how they first appear to him-- some reaper figure, a pale silhouette with a scythe-- he probably thought he was seeing some sort of apparition.

Who is/are their best friend(s)? How did they become friends? How did they get close? How do they look out for each other? Their closest friends are Rosa, Rydia, and Cecil. They grew close with Cecil simply by traveling alongside him for so long, and Rydia's return in the Underworld led to Thrush having a tent-mate to have long evening chats with. Rosa and Rydia both take great interest in the the mechanics of Thrush's harvesting ability. Cecil enjoys training with them.

They look out for each other in little ways both in and out of battle. Thrush frequently reminds the party to rest and happily mends clothes, bags, or whatever requires a quick stitch. Occasionally Cecil will over to sharpen Thrush's scythe, Rosa quickly rids Thrush of their frequent headaches, and Rydia's late-night conversations are invaluable. Thrush loves hearing about her experiences in the Feymarch. In battle, Thrush is frequently harvesting HP/MP for the entire party and is quick to use potions or ethers when necessary.

What are their sleeping habits? What kind of bed do they like? How many pillows? How many blankets? Naked or bundled up? Do they sleep better alone or with someone? Thrush sleeps best when they are holding something. They kick out a leg and bunch up their blanket (or some other soft material..they're not above bunching up their day tunic and holding it) to keep in one arm while the other covers their face. They naturally run cold, so number of blankets varies both on availability of such things and temperature where they're residing. When staying at an inn, Thrush tends to toss one of their travel blankets over the provided quilt for adequate warmth.

Despite running cold, they don't like bundling up in clothes for sleep. They sleep in a long, thin tunic that's been patched to hell and back after being slept in and washed over and over again. Rydia badgers them to get a new one. They refuse.

Are they tall or short? What is their approximate height? If they are tall, do they use this boon to their advantage? If they are short, are they teased for it, or coddled for their smaller size? Thrush is approximately 5'9" (175.2 cm), the same height as Edge and slightly taller than both Rosa and Rydia. Their height has never been anything that's been detrimental nor beneficial-- they consider themself just the right size.

What is their favorite color? Thrush is fond of all colors with deep appreciation for the greens of the Blue Planet's trees, shrubs, and flora, the many blues of the sky and sea, but their favorite color is the deep violet-black of Dirge's feathers. Sentimental thing, Thrush is.

Are they superstitious? (Ex. Bad luck for breaking a mirror/going under a ladder) Not really, not outwardly. Externally they are firm that whatever happens is meant to happen, however their actions say otherwise. They refuse to "split the pole", which is what everyone has seemed to pick up on. They'll also repeat superstitions they grew up with absentmindedly. Say they bumped into someone, they'll reply "Oh! Look's like we'll be together this time next year!", or if their ear itches, they'll say "I guess someone's talking about me." etc etc.

Any textures they dislike/like? Oh goodness yes. They despise foods that are gritty or overly viscous, and they loathe the feeling of velvet and starched collars. They will redo the ties of their arm bracers and boots over and over again if they feel the tightness and alignment are not symmetrical on their body.

What is their favorite time of the day? The early bird gets the worm, and Thrush is always up at dawn if not before. They prefer sunrises to sunsets. They tend to spiral at night and when able, goes to sleep significantly earlier than the others. They are a light sleeper, however, so rarely do they get good rest.

Do they have any ailments? Motion sickness? Near sight/far sight vision? They are prone to migraines and when one strikes, they're down for the count. Years of untreated migraines has given them quite a light sensitivity that flares up preceding a migraine. Luckily, after traveling and befriending Rosa, a quick puff of white magic alleviates their cranial conundrum.

What Sanrio character would they like? What Sanrio character are they most like? They would like Chococat, I think, possibly Pochacco. They are most like Cinnamoroll (based on the single Sanrio personality quiz I took).

Are they cold/hot body temperature wise? They run cold-- their hands and feet are always freezing. They aren't a good cuddle buddy for that reason.

How do they spend a downtime day? Far and few between as they are, Thrush will spend a day of downtime reading, sewing, eating fruits and cheeses, and napping beneath a shade tree.

Favorite season?  Springtime. They love watching nature revive itself in bright bursts of color and adore cool, misty mornings after a nighttime storm.

Are they competitive? How do they react to losing? Thrush is not competitive whatsoever and, if anything, enjoys losing purely to watch winners bask in their victory. They don't mind losing if it means others are happier. If, for some reason, Thrush is set on winning something but still loses, they take the loss personally and are sour about it for a day or two.

Can they hold their liquor? Thrush is not fond of liquor and oftentimes refuses drink altogether. Their tolerance is very low and they do not enjoy being drunk-- they much prefer to stay lucid and watch over others as they enjoy.

Feel free to use these questions for your own oc development if you so choose! This was very enjoyable.

[adel-memes]

Hello I decided to go ahead and think of future AUs and what I think each of the colors would like / fit to be when they're older based on elements :^)

Blue & Green - traveling heroes

Red - Scholar

Vio - Captain

And THERE IS A REASON FOR IT.

I feel like Green and Blue would fit more as traveling heroes because of their elements.

Green, being air, I feel like him being captain is too constricted. I feel like he'd enjoy more being free and outside. I think he'd want to be around others. I feel like he'd want to visit the gerudo and be able to go see Erune too. Etc. Etc. Green seems more social than the others too like with how he talked with Erune, how he sympathized and felt strongly against facing the knights, another thing is how he talked to Shadow too. He seemed more connected and wants to be around the people more so I feel like being a traveling hero is more fun idea to go with.

Blue, also a traveling hero but for a different reason than Green. Rather than being a free spirit, I think Blue would like to go out and be helpful. Being a knight / captain is too nitty gritty, there's protocol and rules to follow and while that's to help achieve the main goal, it can make him feel like he can't be as helpful as he wants. Being water, I like to HC he's water like in flexibility on how he acts around others and further more how he helps others. I headcanon that he likes being useful & helpful to others and like water being fluid and fit any cup regardless of shape & size, I feel like Blue would fit any role or task given to him so being a traveling hero and handling different issues & being what the people need? Fits him <3

Red, I like to think he'd be a scholar in magic studies. I feel like he'd get discouraged at first because he'd feel overwhelmed but Red is a fire element and fire is passionate and I do hc he is fond of magic so while overwhelmed at the start, just give him the fuel and tools to work with and he will rise for it. I feel like he'd start studying elements first and mostly light magic cause of Zelda but slowly shift to other forms of magic. I feel like he'd be a bit hesitant with fire because of what happened in that town and being accused but later becomes fond of it and realizes fire isn't that scary AND THEN... HEAR ME OUT. He realizes magic isn't that scary and gets curious about the more "looked down upon" forms of magic Aka dark magic Aka Shadow & Red hours <3

Vio, listen. I know it isn't expected but Vio as a captain is such a unique thought. He does what's necessary, he's loyal, he's good at planning on the spot and handling things as best as he could. But I also see Earth as a pillar of support and I do think Vio would want to be a pillar of support and him being captain and handling that "pressure" is him actually shielding and protecting Green, Red, and Blue from that grief. I think he'd take that title on not for himself but to shield the others and still be there for them.

[quetzalpapalotl]

Anyway, Energon Universe Transformers spoilers under the cut

Ok, so first of all, they fucking killed Bumblebee. Oh my god, if nothing else, I gotta admire the audacity of it. But I guess it makes sense, not just for the shock it would have for Transformers fans, but also because they're trying so hard to get non-tf fans to read this. Bumblebee is one of the few Transformers those people would be likely to recognize, so it's the best choice for it to have any sort of impact. I hope it sticks because otherwise it would feel really cheap.

(Correct me if I'm wrong but didn't they want to kill Bee in idw1 phase 1 and Hasbro said no?)

But also I fucking hate it, oh my god, that's my boy!!!! You gutted him like a pig!!! Why!!! I get everyone is tired of Bee getting the spothlight all the time, but you didn't have to kill him!!!

Well, it creates a link between him and the Witwicky's, which is as good as any hook.

Killing Jetfire does feel like a waste tho. RIP Ravage (is he actually dead) but nice that the Decepticons also got a fridged character so we can feel for Soundwave. Equality.

Now, for the most important thing, which is of course the man himself Optimus, he seems good. I greatly enjoy how much he's suffering and how troubled he is, but they seem to be sticking to a noble characterization. Not that I don't enjoy a gritty Optimus on principle, I just don't trust people to be able to do it right. Anyway, god, look at this man, I can already feel how he's regretting all his life choices.

The preview of issue 2 seems to imply that Optimus doesn't need energon to run thanks to the Matrix, which is cool and makes sense.

No trace of Arcee despite how prominent she's in the covers, but for that reason I'm sure she'll show up soon enough, very excited.

Speaking of covers, it's a sure thing Megatron won't show up at least until the first arc. Strascream is very vicious in this, so it'll be fun to see what happens when he inebitably returns.

What I'm interested in is how short the war seems to be. Strascream says they're been at war for a hundred years, I suppose he's not counting the years they were offline, but how much is that? I really hope is not millions of years this time, but on VD #1 Jetfire deduced he was stranded for millions of years (and he hadn't seen SS in centuries before that?) so the war could have started at any time after that.

Well, given everything they're saying and VD #4, it would make sense that it started due to lack of resources, which is supposed to be a component of the war in many continuities, but in this one you can really feel the shortage. If I had to guess, the most obvious conflict would be that the Decepticons wanted to exploit other planets for energy and the Autobots refused to do that, but even if that were true they don't seem to have actually taken the war to space given how unfamiliar they act with encountering other life forms.

That Squish typed in blood was really nice.

Anyway, it's too early to say anything, but this seems like a good start. I'm pleased with how the Autobots are in a really thigh spot, it actually makes me a bit nervous and excited to see what comes next. I don't really have any complaints expect that the Johnson still doesn't seem used to drawing robots and lot of the angles and poses are really awkward. Which is a pity because I would love to ogle at Optimus while he's in pain. Otherwise is pretty good, the flow, shots and general feel of it is very, vey good. The humans look better than anything from IDW and the colors are nice.

[freakattack]

How's it like for people to be generally accepting and adoring of your headcanons? I've been putting my stuff out there, but it isn't as beloved as yours or Jan Misali. Kinda intimidating to be honest, but I can see the appeal in your works. I look forward to seeing them and hope my works will be liked too.

Truthfully, I had no idea that so many people 1) accepted and adored my head-canons and 2) put me on the same level as jan misali of all people. I don't think i'm nearly as well-known as them (only one of us has a youtube channel with over 300k subscribers and it ain't me) but it's certainly an honor to hear that LOL.

When I started pumping out comics, i had no idea i would get this kind of a response; in fact, I had already made peace with the idea that i wouldn't get more than 5 notes before I even started posting!  So getting so much positive feedback was a huge surprise. I basically treat my online existence as a room to dance by myself in, and it just so happened that a bunch of people came around to watch.  I don't say this to gloat, but to say that I think the best way to have fun on the internet is to do what you love, and no matter how many people show up to join in you'll be happy.  Especially since the notes don't tell you how many people actually saw and enjoyed your stuff; even if you get a lot of likes and not a lot of reblogs, each like is one human behind the screen who really liked your art.  Some people might really like your art and not interact with it at all; you never know how many lives you touch just based on the numbers, so I don't focus on them too much.

If you're asking for writing advice, I think the 1 biggest thing that I try to do in my art is to be authentic. I notice that a lot of fan art tends to use "meme templates", so to speak; twitter screenshots, comic redraws, stuff like that. And that's fine and all, but that's not what I like to do. I love delving into the nitty-gritty of detailed characterizations: how would they react in this situation? How would they feel about this other character? What kind of problems would they encounter and how would they solve them? Stuff like that. Warioware in particular is like a field day for me because the characters are rich enough to have a lot to draw off of, but the slice-of-life format gives a lot of unexplored territory that I can color in.

As someone who grew up in the 2000s (where I set my comics - I broke this rule once to draw a nintendo switch but I try to stick to a pre-2014 setting), I draw a lot from my own experiences. People I've known, things I've done, interactions I've had with family and friends; nothing shot-for-shot, but ideas that can guide me when I think of the setting these particular characters live in and the situations they might find themselves in.  I love drawing from my own life because unlike the internet memes or movie screenshots that everyone's seen, that's stuff that only I can draw from.  At the same time, I think that approach also helps me connect with other people; I'm certainly not the only one who's gone on a wild family trip, or had a younger relative, or done goofy things at a friend's house. When I draw these silly scenarios, I hope that people can look at them and think, "haha! This looks familiar!" not in the sense that they've seen it before on a screen, but that they've lived it themselves.

This is a whole lot of words and I hope it doesn't sound as pretentious as I think it does. Basically, the first rule of art is have fun and be yourself. I hope that you can find some value in this spiel!

[rivvenofthelake]

Misunderstood Mischiefs: Types of Rats (2)

Disclaimer: I am not an essayist, or a formal educator, but I do enjoy teaching people about things I find interesting or important. I try to ensure any knowledge I share with others is true and verified, but sometimes I might make mistakes. Let me know if I do, but please be kind ♡( ◡‿◡ ) Also, unless stated otherwise, I do not own any gifs or images used in this post.

In my quest to research rats, I have found myself looking into the different types that there are.

Turns out, there are 56 types of rats in the world, even more if you count rats that have since gone extinct. I found that I actually was having quite a lot of trouble finding a list of these types. There was one article that listed 60-something rats species (including extinct ones), which I used for reference for a while, but I was finding very little information on specific species when I tried to look deeper into them. I ended up just searching 'Rattus' on Wikipedia, to see if it would lead to articles about species under this genus..and...

HUZZAH!!!~ So....now for the nitty gritty fun stuff.

Oh, and I should also specify that while there are many critters with names including the word 'rat', a true rat is an animal in the 'Rattus' genus. So, for example, the kangaroo rat (Dipodomys phillipsii) belongs to the Dipodomys genus, and while it is a rodent, it is not a true rat. If you ask me, being a rat should be all about vibes, but for the sake of science we will abide by this definition.

Fantastic Survivors

Part of the reason why there are so many types of rats is that they are really really good at surviving. There are estimated to be as many if not more rats on the planet than humans, though because there are so many of them all over the place it is really hard to get a more precise number. The most commonly known types of rats are the black rat (rattus rattus) and the brown rat (rattus norvegicus).

Fun fact: If you are a rat parent, you likely have a fancy rat. Fancy rats are the type of rat bred to be pets, and are a type of brown rat!

Now, I could go on for a while about each type of rat, but the fact of the matter is that for many of them there isn't a lot of information that I can find online about them, at least not in a short period of time. But I shall endeavor to do my best!

｡✧ 🎀 𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒𝓈 🏵𝒻 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝓈 🎀 ✧｡

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Black Rat (Rattus rattus) ♥

Aka roof rat or house rat; despite being called the black rat, it can be anywhere from black to light brown in color. This little fella was previously believed to have been the primary culprit in the spread of the Black Death, however this has been seriously called into question in recent years. It is believed that the bacterium (Yersinia Pestis) most likely spread from fleas via humans themselves. Though the rats certainly had some role in the spread, they were far from the main vector. That being said, they can be carriers for other diseases and should be treated cautiously. Black rats are a social type of rat, forming packs that are typically lead by the dominant females of the group.

2. (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Brown Rat (Rattus norvegicus) ♥

Another common name for the brown rat is the Norway rat, owing to its scientific name. It is bigger than the black rat, and that is one of the ways you can tell the two apart. I found a really good diagram from the LA Country Natural History Museum website that highlights the differences in a really good way.

Including the tail, brown rats average 16 inches in total length. They can weigh just over 1 pound.

Despite its name, the brown rat is not from Norway. Like most rats, it originates from Asia (native to northern China). Apparently they don't really know why this happened (the misnomer, not the rats themselves), but it is believed to have been the results of a misinformed scientist.

As I said before, the popular fancy rat is a type of brown rat bred to be pets. There are tons of different varieties of fancy rats. To do them justice I would need to post as many pictures of different types as I could, but to make this easier for the both of us I will just share the link to this National Fancy Rat Society webpage: https://www.nfrs.org/breeding_varieties.html

Fun Fact about Me: My favorite type is the dumbo fancy rat. See example picture, I need not explain:

Anyway, like black rats, brown rats are omnivorous and opportunistic when it comes to their dietary choices. According to the Smithsonian's article on brown rats, there was a study where one rat's stomach had over 4,000 different items in it. I didn't look super deep into this specific study, but my presumption is that these were small bits of different things....unless this was a really big boi...

Unlike their black rat cousins, brown rats form male-dominated groups, and dominance is determined by size. Also, where black rats are polygynous (males mate with multiple females, females mate with one male), brown rats are polygynandrous (both sexes mate with multiple partners). Brown rats breed incredibly proficiently, which is why they can have such an impact on the environments (natural or man-made) that they live in.

Again taking my info from the Smithsonian:

" Females go into estrus just 18 hours after giving birth and are capable of having seven litters a year. Females experience a six-hour period of estrus, during which they mate with as many as 500 times with multiple competing males."

And of course it really doesn't take long for gestation to complete (a little over three weeks) and litters average 8 pups/kits. A cool fact is that, likely due to the fact that there are probably multiple pregnant or nursing females in a group at any given point, females will provide for the pups of other females as if they were their own. From some of the rat owner social groups I have seen online, this can be observed in fancy rats too!

3. (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Nonsense Rat (Rattus burrus) ♥

Looking for a third type to mention on here, I came across this gem of a rat name. To my extreme and immeasurable dismay, there is very little information online about this species of rat. The nonsense rat can be found in a couple of different places, primarily the Nicobar Islands in India.

From the multiple sites I looked at, I could not really find any pictures or visual references to what this rat looks like, except for one picture of a deceased one. And that was like, the ONLY picture I could find that was listed as a nonsense rat.

Nobody really knows where the name 'nonsense rat' comes from. If you try to look up anything about this rat, the majority of sites are all copy pasted of the same text. That being said, I am not sure where the original text comes from.

The IUCN has this species listed as endangered, but even that has little information. I was able to find some suggestions that this could be due to human expansion and a recent tsunami.

Fun fact about the nonsense rat: It's latin name, Rattus burrus, means "red rat".

[yazzydream]

part 2 of parts im excited to see in Shibuya Incident arc. (pt. 1 here)

manga SPOILERS ahead.

i love how freaking dramatic and supernatural this feels. that baby opening his eyes with clarity and awareness is creepy af. i loveeee it.

the entire flashback with the curse user scrubs is actually creepy and gritty and excellent all around. but this scene...

im not even gonna pretend. i have a colored version of this page as my phone bg. i. will. scream. little!gojo looks like hot shit. a very scary hot shit.

legitimately the cutest panel akutami has ever drawn ever.

i don't even like toji! but how dare you resurrect his body's information to control his abilities! this man was a piece of shit, but his body and abilities therein were the only good things about him damnit. toji taking over the body of the one who tried to use him and murdering granny ogami was v satisfying. (also, going further into the discussion between body+soul is such an interesting theme in jjk.)

brief but beautiful nanami/nobara working together. this is an unusual team up kinda? let nobara watch a real man work. ugh, nanami and nobara are in my top 6 characters.

uggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh and then we know what happens to theeeeemmmm. im gonna be sick

all three of those people... (maybe all four? lol) are, well. anyway, this moment of lucidity... this is a moment of enlightenment. it's so antithesis to shonen heroes. i think it's great. (again, ties into my post of why i love yuji.)

This is another favorite scene of mine. it's so bizarre. lol

ugh, naobito's powers are cool as shit. i'm looking forward to seeing how animators animate animation powers. lol.

maki is also my main girl, so seeing her team up with nanami... just nanami + team zenin is cool and funny. it's like the straight man dropped in the middle of a dysfunctional family reunion.

happiness that i got to see him directly interact with my favorite ladies before... well.

seeing dagon and remembering grasshopper curse, and the both of them look like they came right on over from chimera ant arc in hunter x hunter. which is another one of my all time favorite arcs in shonen. great. shibuya incident is such a great arc!

my girl maki is 16-years-old. all this time, and in this fight too, there have been doubts, she must fight against it all the time, doubts that she can be as strong as any grade 1 sorcerer. she was alone, and yet. AND YET, here she sees toji who's just like her. it must've been reaffirming. it must've been encouraging! ahhh. toji being good for something for once in his life--death-- whatever.

ah ah ah ahh! this was so shocking! after all that, jogo comes and bodies nanami, maki, and naobito just like that.

one of the few moments where sukuna popping up made me wanna scream. fuck this is such a good shot. the arrogant condescending demand and expression. i could hear his voice. 💦💦💦

yikes. YIKES. YIKES. FUCKING BRUTAL. I WANNA SCREAM. it's just been ONE. THING. AFTER. ANOTHER. AHHHHH

...i'm beginning to wonder if i'm a bit of a sadist? ...nah. i just appreciate a good story. 😤 also mimiko and nanko showing up was a pleasant surprise. i've always liked their designs.

sukuna just fucking with them makes me laugh every time. THERE WAS NO POINT TO THIS. BASTARD WAS JUST HAVING FUN AT THEIR EXPENSE OMG. what a shit.

there's always something charming about flashbacks between megumi and gojo. then there's the little self-deprecation of megu's here too. idk idk! megumi is never complimentary about gojo except in these rare moments where he's thinking to himself, we get glimpses of his reliance on gojo. like, i remember in the yasohachi bridge case when megumi thought something like, 'gojo's coming back in a week, i can ask him for help.' very small moments that hint at their relationship.

also these little flashback sequences are all we're gonna get of gojo until like season 4, so i'll enjoy them wherever i can. lol.

i didn't particularly care about mahoraga until he showed up later, but rereading this appearance again is pretty exciting. and then megumi says, 'aight i'm out. take care of it yourself, fucker.' before passing out from blood loss. lmao

"hey brat, take a look." what a sadistic fuck.

the raw shock and devastation is incredible. i hope it's just as terrible in the anime.

cont. in part 3

[bicycleboyblog]

I would like to talk about my new favorite Webcomic - Bicycle Boy. A Review.

Submitted by @shakura-kazuki

The story is about a Cyborg named Poet who wakes up in the post apocalyptic desert surrounded by corpses with no memories of who he is. He starts wandering through the desert, finds a bike and just aimlessly travels around to find out what happened to him. He is then violently captured by bandits and from here on out, it just gets worse.

At first, I was drawn in by the character design - Poet is cute, no doubt, and really cool looking. I mean, as cute as a man in his early 30s can be. I love human characters who are out of the ordinary. Stonehenge is big and scary, but she means well. Machk is a kind heart but strong and protective. Darla is crazy, but she has her reasons. I like Skip for no particular reason, or maybe I do. there is a character for everyone.

The characters are realistic, you can empathize with them and their actions make sense, they are diverse and every one of them has their own problems to deal with. You don’t know who is a villain and who is not until more things have happened. An enemy becomes a friend, an ally becomes an enemy.

The art is phenomenal - it starts out good and only becomes better, every page just as detailed as the previous one. Most of the pages are drawn traditionally, scanned in and colored digitally which is quite noticeable at the start of the story, but less so on the recent pages, It’s almost unbelievable that it’s traditionally inked. And the colors are great, setting the mood throughout the story and showing how gnarly red some wounds are. The setting is sci-fi and stays true to it, not delving too much into fantasy - the apocalypse was 10 years ago, many people died, many people lost someone or something and they suffer from cancer, leukemia and radiation poisoning. The characters get wounds and scratches which only heal slowly, they leave scars and aren’t just magically gone. Poet still has most of his torso to feed his organic brain and skin with oxygen, blood and nutrients. It is unlikely, but technically possible for him to exist in real life right now or in a realistic future.

The art style is semi realistic, but not too gritty, the characters still look like comic book characters while having body hair, skin folds, fat and muscles, scars and wounds. Nothings beautiful, nothings clean, but nothings ugly either. Poets mechanical parts mimic real human muscles groups, radius and ulna arm bones and he’s got bone-anchored hearing aids while also having stupidly oversized kneecaps and silly cartoon robot antennas which whip and wobble when he moves. Solles neck folds, Darlas tattoos, Machks scars, Stonehenges peg leg. They all tell stories. You want to know them. You can tell who each character is by their hands, each of them is unique.

Poet is very much the “special snowflake” kind of protagonist and even though that might not be for everyone, I personally quite enjoy it. He’s unique and mysterious and doesn’t want to talk about himself. He locks his feelings away to not bother others, but here and there he reveals his hurt and his frustrations during moments of peace.

What really gets me is that Poet is not “just a cyborg” - it becomes very clear that he doesn’t feel complete, he knows he has no limbs, he can not feel his hands or feet. He’s a stump and he’s aware of it. There is ugly scarring all around his robot parts which makes it look disconnected and less in unison. It makes you feel awful thinking about it, it fills you with dread. You can empathize with him as a human so much. And there is so little of him left. He’s hurt and confused, a disabled man looking for answers. And everyone just calls him a robot and slaps him in the face.

And you, as a reader, do not know a lot more about Poets past OR the world he woke up in than Poet does himself. He is, kind of, the readers avatar so to speak of. Poet himself does not get flashbacks or suddenly remembers, unless in dreams and even then, they are mixed with recent memories and unclear. And that’s what I really like about this: the amnesia trope is there and is here to stay. No matter how disturbing or violent or how much his body remembers, his mind simply does not. He’s met with people of his past which make him trembling with fear, but he does not know why, the memories do not come back.

I told a friend of mine to read it and they told me “Poet isn’t talking a lot that’s boring” and while yes, Poet doesn’t speak a lot in the first 4 chapters, it gets better later. But also, he doesn’t need to talk. He speaks with his face, his emotions. There are many times where you can read his thoughts straight from his face. And that is also what makes him a good “readers avatar” because, you as a reader do not have much influence over the story either. That doesn’t mean Poet does not have any influence - his actions certainly cause him a lot of troubles. But he is not the one to tell the story, he narrates through it.

The story starts slow, but picks up in pace and gets more and more interesting the further it goes. The mystery of who Poet was and what happened to him to end up as a cyborg is, even after 450 pages, still a big question mark. We learn things about Machks and other characters past lives along the way. Things are implied, things are going forward and you want to know more, want to find out. There are no info-dumps and even if, they feel natural. But- and here’s the thing - you are not frustrated about it. The story goes it’s own pace and that’s good. It keeps you hooked BECAUSE it reveals only so little - and throws new questions at you with each reveal, like a hydra.

Your interest in the story isn’t driven by the question “what comes next?” but more about “what had happened before?” and the more you go towards the future the more you learn about the past.

And since I liked the comic so much, I read it again. And again. Until I slowly started to realize, that you can solve parts of the mystery yourself - almost every page has a little hint in it. These are scattered everywhere - from backgrounds, to dialogues, to gestures and visuals. If you know what you are looking for you will find them. Which is, simply said, AMAZING. The level of detail that this comic holds over the span of so many years is incredible. Every single page has a lot of thought put into it. Jackarais uses the visual and textual medium of a webcomic to full extent. Even in the alt text sometimes. 

So…

…next time you re-read Bicycle Boy… make sure to pay attention to the details. And question all of them.

There is a lot to unpack. Disturbing things. The more you try to figure things out, the more fucked up it gets. 

I’m burning to know and excited to see how the story continues.

I love this comic 11/10. Would read again.

0 Links

[pikahlua]

Honestly, seeing people nitpick this episode feels like they choose to do it for this episode because it was a Bakugou episode.

Seeing people complain about angles being wrong or the pacing feels off just sometimes rubs me the wrong way because I know that animating still images gotta take a lot of work. Given the deadlines, budget and the steps to take to just make a character's mouth move gotta be a lot of energy. Have make sure the mouth matches the dialogue, add color and music. It's not always perfect, but jeez. It's not a big deal. Capturing a still scene out of a book and making it move can't be easy.

I, for one, enjoyed the episode. The pacing didn't feel off to me, loved the music, the animation sometimes got me in my feelings. As usual, I'm excited the episode.

It is still fair to compare an animation studio to what its shown itself to be capable of in the past, but to say this episode was worth 1 star just because it wasn't worth 5 stars in every aspect is a little extreme to me. 3- and 4-star ratings also exist. But honestly there was nothing about these chapters that in my opinion merited devoting the sakuga budget to. These chapters are about slower pacing and the impact of dramatic beats, not fights and action (although today I now understand some people read these chapters very differently from how I do).

I get the feeling this is a high-concept vs low-concept preference issue. Some people are extremely focused on the details, while some people focus more on the broader picture. If you're gonna nitpick the details, you're going to like the highest quality production stuff (and only the highest quality production stuff). It makes it hard to enjoy slightly flawed (wabi-sabi!) things, and you end up missing the forest for the trees. There's nothing wrong with being that way, but like I said--it makes it harder to enjoy all the other things when you're focused on the nitty gritty. I enjoy finely-tuned details when they happen, but I would miss a lot of other great stories and such if I was too picky about every detail of their final products. To me, it's about what effects these choices have on the story rather than if they're the effects I want or not.

I'm also aided by the fact that I have a more Shakespearean perception of adaptations such as anime. No adaptation will ever be the same as the source material, and so I can enjoy any adaptation despite its flaws because it's just someone else sharing their interpretation while I know that my source material will always be there for me.

[thvnderr]

❀ *ﾟ kim mingyu. cis man. he/him. heterosexual. ⇝ hey, isn’t that Dae-Hyun (Noah) Moon? i think that the twenty-six year old from Bristol, United Kingdom works as carnival staff and clerk at the black dog motel, but outside of that people describe them as the faint laughter of children at that old victorian mansion late at night, dusty mats being dragged across an old floor and the heat of the spotlight, misplaced items and the slamming of doors at empty motel rooms. i hear they are closed-minded & anxious, but they are also known to be independent & reliable. consider giving them a visit at their home in seal harbor apartments and get to know why they’re called the unwilling witch.

Possible kidnapping tw, death mention tw

Mother and Father Moon fall in love after the circus is touring before establishing in Anchorage. The man comes from a rich family that certainly did not approve of the union, while the woman is part of the gymnastics act alongside the fortune teller tent.

Ignoring  family advice, the Father leaves with the love of his life and decides to join the circus life as well ( not without emptying most of the safe in the process ).

Unable to conceive at first, the Mother prays and prays every night to whoever is listening — God, the stars, deities, nature — until the miracle comes in the shape of a premature sickly baby that did not even cry after being born.

Doctors didn’t give much hope to the family so in one last plead for help, the Mother goes up to the highest hill she can find and prays to the moon the entire night for the health of her only son. Knowing she could not simply ask and not offer something in return, she offers the same she’s asking for: her son. “Have him!”, she exclaimed, “I will not be a jealous mother, take him in and let him be your servant. Save him and you can have him”.

                                                 And the moon listened.

In a few days the baby was healthy, his cheeks had color again and he was crying and eating properly.

Dae-Hyun grew up in the circus helping his Mother with the fortune telling and participating in some acrobatic acts as well, he helped to set the environment, move the mirrors and add the smoke when necessary, anything to make the act believable upon empty words and gibberish said by the woman. That was until the little boy interrupts to say something: an accurate reading. Something about someone’s mom leaving a personal item to them. Safe to say the person was moved to tears and soon, the word spread fast.

Many were coming to visit the witch boy as they called him to have their future read and everything was going good in general, until the gritty things started to came through. Disappearances, “fake” people, death. Things that people didn’t want to hear left the boy’s lips non-stop. Mother and Father decided to stop the act altogether when Dae-Hyun predicted the disappearance of his own Father.

A few years go by, most people seemed to forget about the crude readings, but when the boy was 7 years old and in need of a drink in the middle of the night, he saw the main door open. He peeked outside and saw his father apparently looking for something or someone in the dark. The boy was about to call for him when something snatched Father into the bushes.

The little boy stood there for a couple of hours in total shock; unable to really process what had happened, he simply closed the door and went upstairs to his bedroom. He definitely should have told Mother. 

Next day, he takes longer than expected to go downstairs out of fear of what he might or might not find; but when his Mother came upstairs to bring him down for breakfast, everything seemed normal. Father was helping with the breakfast and Mother hummed to the song they were playing on the radio.

Dae-Hyun wondered if it had been only a nightmare, but something caught his attention later that day. He enjoyed playing with his Father’s wedding ring, it had pretty blue stones that shone nicely under the sun and usually, the mark of the band would be clearly visible on the man’s finger after taking it off. This time, when the boy asked his Father for the ring, the man looked puzzled as if asking why a child would want the ring for; second, the son noticed no mark of a ring on his Father’s finger; and third... “Be careful with that, Dae-Hyun, you cannot be playing around with it”. His Father would never doubt the child’s careful nature in the past.     His stomach dropped.    This man, this... THING, was NOT his Father.

He tried to tell Mother about it, he really did, but of course she would not buy it; even if she was always participant of her son’s stories, this one had gone too far and for too long. He was taken to a child therapist who dismissed the issue as nothing more than an early rebellious phase and a little dissociation common in children with a lot of imagination.

Dae-Hyun became more closed-off afterwards, feeling quite ignored after the situation with “Father”; he too, tried to convince himself that everything he had seen and experienced was just part of a wild imagination and soon enough, he shut himself down to any kind of fantastical or paranormal happening — or at least he thought he did.

The boy kept on perceiving and experiencing unexplainable things, but it didn’t matter how odd or nerve-wrecking the situation could be, he always got sure to find a logical explanation for it as stretched as it could get. He still helped around in the circus’ acts but when he reached high school, his parents decided to send him back to UK to study there and have more of a multicultural experience.

He then came back to Anchorage with a heavy British accent sometimes accidentally infused into his Korean. He decided to study college online going for a double major in physics and theology.

Dae-Hyun has tried to keep to himself most of the time at both of his jobs with the occasional odd sightings and unbodied whispers in his ear and if you approach him better be to ask about how to find the bathroom and not if he’s the famous witch boy.

Personality wise he’s rather serious and even unexpressive sometimes unless he’s teasing you for whatever reason; he is proud of his fluency in sarcasm and clapback. He is not one to express affection out loud except for his circus family, he will instead go for acts of service if possible. Being a psychic has allowed him to be empathetic to people’s needs so he will most likely get you the thing you needed before you have a chance to express it, so this makes him a reliable friend to have. Very afraid deep inside of his abilities and the possible existence of clones, Dae-Hyun will deny over and over again any crazy ass theory you come up with. “We live in a physical world and a physical world only”.

FACTS

His western name is Noah and most acquaintances call him that. You can also call him Dae-Hyun and he will still respond without a problem. Some people might prefer to call him Moon, though. Goes on preference for each person and he doesn’t mind either name.

Moved out from his parents trailer and into seal harbor apartments because he needed the space for himself; at least this is what he tells people, he was also being stalked by a couple of ghosts and wanted out of there as soon as possible. Adopted a black three-legged-cat called Tripod.

While he’s not an active participant of the acrobats crew, he still practices the routines regularly to keep himself in shape. He will usually help with whatever is needed at the circus, whether it be reparations, substitute or selling something.

Has a tattoo of the moon phases across his upper back. He said it was as a joke of his mom offering him to the satellite, but he does feel affection for that story.

Is kinda superstitious and you will rarely see him cursing someone, he wouldn’t really like to see someone being hit by a truck.

Really good at handling spicy food and is the kind of person who will eat whatever his companion(s) left on their plate.

Spends a lot of time playing mobile games. Refuses to own a console because he knows he won’t be leaving the apartment.

You will find him doodling on napkins or pieces of paper nonsense to pass the time wherever he is. He will also scribble random words and I cannot stress enough about how these words will most likely not be as random as he thinks they are.

Witches have crows, he has a bunch of pigeons following him around bc he sometimes ( always ) feeds them.

PINTEREST

PLAYLIST

TL;DR Dae-hyun has the 6th sense and absolutely refuses to acknowledge it. Sees ghosts and accidentally predicts stuff. Empathetic. Will reply to that question you made in your head when he thought you said it out loud. That kind of jazz. Just trying to leave a peaceful life and Anchorage not letting him. Majoring in physics and theology as a way to try and explain what he sees/hears.

[brightbeautifulthings]

Hellblazer, Vol. 1: Original Sins by Jamie Delano

"'Yeah, well. Never look back's a good motto in our line of business. Too many bloody ghosts following.'"

Year Read: 2022

Rating: 4/5

Thoughts: This has been on my TBR forever because it's basically a darker Supernatural with a different protagonist. Between the comics, the movie, the show, and the rest of the Arrowverse, it would be hard to have no familiarity whatsoever with John Constantine. They're all quite distinct, all kind of do their own thing, and I sort of like having all the different versions in my head. Of the three, the comics are definitely the grimmest though, and this starts off with a one-two punch of pure horror. This is absolutely not a collection for younger audiences, and it doesn't hold back from venturing into some dark places. The art is all bright colors and cheesy 80s gore, which occasionally feels at odds with the horror going on, but it was a different era. The vintage vibe definitely adds something.

It's a bit episodic at first, with each issue more or less presenting and resolving its own problem, although there's groundwork being laid for the overarching plot of the collection. Some of them are hit and miss. I like that it's gutsy enough to take on issues like race, sexuality, and the Vietnam War (all a bigger risk back in the 80s than they would be now), but it occasionally comes over a bit heavy-handed. The Vietnam War one, in particular, feels a tad preachy given that John plays almost no role whatsoever in the outcome.

But that's also one of the things I like about this. It's gritty. Innocent people die, often in horrible ways. Sometimes John can outwit the villain, and sometimes there's absolutely nothing he can do. He fully embodies the morally gray limbo and cheerfully straddles the line between hero and anti-hero. There's no perfect, charming Clark Kent here. He's often an asshole, frequently takes the wrong approach, and sometimes does things for the wrong reasons, but despite his demons, he's still trying to save people. I really enjoy all the nuances of his character.

I flew through the middle/second half when the major plot started kicking in, and I was really invested in the characters. Unfortunately, like with a lot of collections, it isn't resolved here. Instead, the last issue or two takes a weird detour into Swamp Thing that feels irrelevant to everything that's happened so far (tw: rape). It's also extremely uncomfortable, in that Swamp Thing takes over John's body and uses it for non-consensual sex-- which, even more heartbreakingly, John seems totally unbothered by in the next issue. Normally, I'm all for a plant monster, but I'm pretty sure that turned me off the character forever.

Trigger warnings: Basically everything. Character death, child death, rape, implied pedophilia, possession, body horror, fires, abduction, violence, hate crimes, slurs, neo-Nazis, racism, homophobia, bug horror, bury your gays, war/war crimes, survivor’s guilt, strong religious themes.