#it burned down my house and stole all my belongings

[thebibliosphere]

I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?

I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.

I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.

We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.

If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.

Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.

They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.

And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.

The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.

So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.

That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.

Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.

They're not.

If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.

Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?

[honeylations]

YU JIMIN x FEM!READER

Prompt: You’ve dreamt of dating a cool, hot, sexy vampire, but why did the world decide to give you the biggest loser vampire?

Warnings/Notes: g!p Vampire Jimin, crack, eventual smut, loser Jimin, human reader, mommy kink, subby Jimin

It was 7am in the morning when you woke up to your alarm blaring in your ears, encouraging you to open your tired eyes. Sitting up, you saw your vampire girlfriend sitting cross legged by the edge while staring at you with a pout.

Right, you were angry at her for the stunt she pulled yesterday.

She baked you cookies as a reward for getting through your exams but your roommate, Huh Yunjin, ate it all like the fatass she was. Yunjin didn’t know they were for you but it didn’t stop the anger boiling within Jimin as she dragged your red headed friend to the backyard of the house and tied her to a tree with debris sitting beneath her feet.

Jimin said that in the vampire realm, anyone who stole another’s belongings were to be punished by being burnt alive.

You remember returning home that day from a lecture the moment Jimin struck the match, screaming at the top of your lungs for her to stop whatever she was starting.

Then remembering her sulking face and how she cleaned up her mess with pure sadness and fear after being scolded by you.

You haven’t acknowledged her presence since and Jimin has been trying to do everything she can to have you talk to her again.

“Good morning love!” Jimin beamed and puckering her lips for her good morning kiss but you stood up from the bed, completely ignoring her so you can wash up in the bathroom.

The vampire flopped face first into the bed and whined.

Yunjin heard the commotion and peeped through the door with crossed arms. “She’s still mad at you?”

“Yes and it’s all your fault!” Jimin’s loud voice was muffled from the mattress she was squishing her face in.

Yunjin caught the words though. “How was I supposed to know they were for your girlfriend?! How about put a note next time!”

“How about have some common human decency and ask before shoving everything in your mouth?! You mortals are dumber than rats!” Jimin finally sat up.

“Your cookies were shit anyways!”

“Shitty cookies that you entirely ate, FATASS!”

You appeared from the bathroom with frustration. “SHUT UP BOTH OF YOU!”

Both girls immediately shut their mouths, but Jimin continued on to flop her face back into the mattress to cry like a dying whale.

“Oh god, Jimin Unnie don’t cry” Yunjin sighed.

“Go sit in the corner Jimin. And think about what you did yesterday and why it was wrong for you to even try and burn Yunjin alive” You ordered, arms crossed over your chest.

Jimin shuffled out of the bed and obeyed. She dragged herself to the corner of your shared bedroom and sat down, leaning her forehead against the wall.

“And stay there until I say so”

“Yes ma’am” Jimin managed to squeak out.

The vampire pouted and played with her fingers to pass the time while you went out to your full day lecture on campus with Yunjin.

As you two walked down the halls, Yunjin turned to look at you. “Y/n, I know it was a scary situation but Jimin Unnie means well. She already apologised…well I mean because you forced her to but anyways, I forgive her and you can stop being mad at her now”

“I’m not letting it slide that easy Jen. She needs to reflect on her behaviour”

“Maybe you’re being a bit too harsh on her”

“You want to be sitting in the corner with her then?”

“I shall close my mouth and never speak again”

Yunjin’s words did echo in your mind throughout the day, making you reconsider the way you were treating your girlfriend at the moment.

You had to remind yourself that all Jimin wanted was to make you cookies but she let anger take over her decisions in the wrong way.

The thought got you dozing off during lectures, at lunch, and even as you were walking out of the campus with Yunjin still by your side.

“Stopped being mad at Jimin Unnie yet?”

You groaned into your palms. “I’m a horrible girlfriend”

“What? Hey no! What made you even come to that conclusion. Jimin Unnie thinks you put the stars in the sky!”

“I should’ve just talked it out with her instead of giving her the cold shoulder. She must think I hate her or something”

Yunjin grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you around. “Y/n please shut up. You managed to pull a vampire that wanted to kill every human she saw in the first place. Now all that vampire wants is to be by your side forever to love and protect you! I’m damn jealous about your wattpad life right now”

“I’m gonna ignore the wattpad thing you said”

“Apart from almost burning me alive, Jimin Unnie is one hell of a loser too. She’d do anything to make you happy even if it meant jumping off a cliff”

“Don’t say stuff like that around her please, she’ll literally do it” you face palmed after a memory flashed in your mind of Jimin almost throwing herself in front of a train just to prove she loved you.

“Now why don’t we put the past behind us and get your girlfriend bags of blood as an apology? I’m pretty sure she’d be hungry by now. You left her in the corner since this morning”

You froze on the spot and looked up at Yunjin wide eyed. It didn’t take a couple seconds for the red head’s eyes to match yours before you both started sprinting back to the house.

“We’re so dumb!”

Barging into the front door, you made your way upstairs to your bedroom and saw your girlfriend still sitting in the exact same position from when you left her. Setting your bag to the side, you hugged her from behind and took in a big whiff of her scent.

“Oh my baby, I’m so sorry for leaving you here”

Jimin turned around and buried her face into your chest. “Are you still angry at me?”

“No not anymore baby” you cooed, comfortably threading your fingers through her black locks.

“Are we going to be okay?”

You kissed her head. “Absolutely. Always”

“Do you still love me?”

“Yes of course! I’ve never stopped loving you, Jimin-ah”

You cupped your girlfriend’s face and repeatedly kissed all over it until she was covered in lipstick marks. Then you led her to cuddle with you in bed, letting her rest her entire body on top of yours.

She snuggled her head into your neck. “I’m still a little sad about the cookies, my love”

“I know, I’m sorry Yunjin ate them. Thank you for making it though”

“You studied so hard for the exams…I wanted to impress you”

Your heart was aching. How could you have yelled at your dork?

“Let me make it up to you, okay?”

Jimin was about to question you but you had already moved her to lay on the bed while you straddled her lap.

“Yunjin can you go buy some blood bags for Jimin?!” You yelled loud enough for your roommate to hear.

“On it! Be back in a bit!” Yunjin quickly answered from her own room, hearing her footsteps fade until she shut the front door and fully left the house.

“That should buy us enough time—“

A notification rung from your phone. You took a glance at the Lock Screen and saw a message from Yunjin which got you a bit confused until you read what she had sent.

[Yunjinnie 🐍: I already know where this is going. Enjoy that 7 inch vampire sausage]

“Fucking sick ass” you muttered, not noticing your girlfriend was looking at your phone too.

“Tell her I’m 7 and a half inches, babe. Not just 7”

You shook your head and softly kissed her. “Don’t worry about Yunjin, she’s a shit head”

“I’ve already established that when she ate your cookies”

Your girlfriend’s frown got you chuckling. “You’re still on about that? Don’t worry, we’ll bake them together someday. But for now, just sit back and relax. Can you do that for me?”

“Mhm yes ma’am”

You pulled your girlfriend pants and boxers slightly down just so you can whip out her cock and stroke it while staring into your girlfriend’s eyes. “Good?”

“M-Mhm…” Jimin hummed.

She bit on her bottom lip, clawing at the sheets when you sped up your hand fisted around her dick. “N-Not enough…can I please have it inside you, Y/nie? Please…” Jimin’s words came out breathlessly, trying her absolute best to look into your eyes but the pleasurable feeling was making it difficult.

“Such a good girl for saying please” you smirked that got Jimin dizzy.

“Please…I don’t wanna cum unless it’s inside you m-mommy”

You were taken back from the nickname even though your hand was still jerking her off crazily. God, your vampire really was a loser.

Instead of answering, you sloppily made out with the vampire, only breaking apart so you can strip yourself out of your clothes.

In a blink you were hovering your wet opening above Jimin’s hard cock, feeling like you were being torn in half when you sat on the tip. The pain gradually got worse when you were fully seated, head resting on Jimin’s chest whereas your hands were holding onto her shoulders for dear life.

“Ah w-what the fuck? H-Hurts so much” you sniffled as Jimin rubbed your back.

“It’s been so long since we made love, Y/n-ie. Don’t rush yourself okay?”

“I liked it when you called me mommy” you managed to giggle through the pain.

“Take your time mommy”

Jimin was so patient with you just sitting on her dick for a few minutes so your pussy could accomodate her size. It felt like you were having sex for the first time. Your girlfriend continued to kiss your neck even when you finally had the energy to move up and then sliding back down with an electrifying pleasure coursing through your body.

“O-Oh…Jimin you feel so good inside me”

“I wanna make mommy feel good”

“You are baby. Being a good girl for mommy” you gasped with an arched back.

Jimin took this as an advantage to suck on your tits like she’s been starved. Well she technically did kind of starve today when you made her sit in that corner and completely forgot about her.

“Fuck…mommy…my love..Can I fuck you? Don’t want you to get tired”

Oh your loser vampire girlfriend was such a gentlewoman. Who were you to say no?

Jimin leaned back with her feet planted flat on the bed so she could thrust her hips up in a fast motion that got you bouncing. Your moving tits got Jimin lost in a trance and she couldn’t help on sucking them again.

She was watching you throw your head back in pure bliss, mouth dropped open releasing Jimin’s favourite sounds. “Can I cum inside mommy please?”

“Y-Yes please baby. I want it all—Oh shit!”

Jimin was literally jack hammering inside you with that crazy vampire stamina she had. The pleasure was so overwhelming that you didn’t catch the way your girlfriend’s eyes began to turn red and were fixated on your exposed hickey-covered neck.

Her mouth began to open and her fangs were presented.

“M-Mommy…I-I really need your blood. C-Can I bite? I’ll make it better afterwards, I promise”

Hearing Jimin beg sent you over the edge. You held one hand on her nape and pushed her face into your neck. “Fuck yes! Bite mommy, baby. Drink my blood and fuck my pussy like a good girl!”

Jimin growled and didn’t need to be told twice in sinking her teeth into your neck. She moaned along with you as your blood flowed into her mouth deliciously. You clenched around her twitching cock and dug your nails into her shoulders when the hot ropes of cum filled you up.

You were creaming all over dick that it rained down her pelvis.

Your girlfriend pulled away as the orgasm died down, licking up the mess on your neck and finishing it off with a gentle kiss on the fang marks.

You fell limp into her body to catch your breath and Jimin’s hand was caressing your back again. “Are you okay, my love?”

“Better than okay, Jiminie…”

“Did it feel good?”

“The best, baby”

“Yay”

You pulled back and looked at her face in disbelief. “Yay?”

Jimin looked down sheepishly. “I’m glad I made you feel good, baby. I love you”

“Yunjin was right. You’re a loser stuck in a hot vampire body”

The vampire’s eyes went into puppy mode at your statement. “Am I your loser at least?”

“My one and only loser” you laughed and leaned in to claim her lips once again, getting a slight taste of your blood.

*Knock Knock*

“Heyyyy sorry to be like…interrupting, but I got the blood bags. I’m assuming you’re not hungry anymore Jimin Unnie” Yunjin spoke from outside the room, her voice slightly muffled.

Even with the door blocking you from seeing Yunjin, you can already see the smirk plastered on her stupid face.

“Nope”

“Rightio. They’ll be in the fridge. Hope you take that pill Y/n! You two are too young to be parents”

“Jimin is 600 years old”

“Yeah I’m 600 years old”

“And even if we did become parents, we’d be the best parents ever”

“Yeah, the best parents ever!”

“Yeah I didn’t ask. I’m not letting my best friend become a mom while she can barely pay her rent”

“oh fuck off Yunjin!” You screamed while Yunjin shrugged and indeed fuck off to her room.

[daistea]

I need to make that man jealous. I need to see him riled up. I need to see him lose his cool. I need to be the center of his focus. Kicking my feet, twirling the phone cord, rolling over in bed, giggling, like "What do you think he'd do to me if he found out?"

I got u. rubs my filthy trash hands together 

3,700ish words

tw violence, mildly unhealthy relationship dynamics, language, slightly suggestive, Fleki

gn reader x mithrun, established relationship

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

 There are layers to Mithrun’s possessiveness.

Layer 1: Caution

You looked nice. Too nice. While Mithrun had a habit of staring, he never gawked. To gawk would imply a certain sort of pathetic desperation. Mithrun was desperate for you, but not pathetically so. 

How you looked at that moment was gawk-worthy, though. He only tilted his head, gaze roaming over your body as you leaned on the dining table, organizing your belongings. Your legs, your hair, your chest, your arms, your shoulders, your back, your—

It wasn’t acceptable.

“You’re going to Cithis’s house, you said?” Mithrun asked. His voice was level, even, with no betrayal towards the slowly growing flame burning within him.

You nodded and sent him a smile, “Yeah. Did you change your mind about coming?”

Yes? No. Mithrun felt himself tense, “I’ll think about it.”

He had zero interest in a party. He had zero interest in drinking and listening to people chatter all night. What he was interested in, though, was keeping an eye on you.

Mithrun’s fist clenched. He dug his nails into his palm, causing a light sting to run through his nerves. You dressed like that for this party? He trusted you to behave, but he didn’t trust anybody else. The thought of people looking at you, their eyes raking down you; the thought of others desiring you… It filled him with a taut, vibrating anger. He was a rope pulled too tightly, about to snap.

Mithrun was definitely going to that party, and he’d stay by your side the entire time. With his arms around you and his gaze roaming the room, nobody would dare bother you.

He won’t get into fights, usually, he won’t be dramatic or loud, but you know when he’s feeling possessive. He gets a dark look in his eye, he holds you tightly, he watches people like a wolf stalking a rabbit. His expression and vibes are usually enough to scare away potential threats.

Mithrun isn’t jealous out of insecurity. He’s jealous because you’re one of his few desires and he refuses to lose you to anyone. Simple.

He’s very shameless about it. 

The next layer to his jealousy/possessiveness is slightly more intense, though, and a bit more rare. 

Layer 2: Enter At Your Own Risk 

The streets of Melini were more crowded as of late. New people had come to check out the nation, and it made shopping for simple groceries difficult. 

You’d given Mithrun the task of locating the vegetable stand. He went without question, doing as you asked and slipping through the sea of bodies. With a moment to yourself, you hitched your woven basket into the crook of your elbow and inspected the fabrics stall. The little house you shared with Mithrun needed new curtains. 

 You ran a finger over a certain fabric, admiring the weave pattern. Yet, a shadow cast itself over the stall and a sudden presence to your right stole away your attention. 

 “Hey,” a man said. You looked up to meet his eyes. He was just a guy, perhaps his smile was a little too confident, but he seemed relatively normal. “You wanna know what material I’m wearing?”

Not particularly. But before you could reply, the man continued, “It’s called boyfriend material. Wanna touch?”

That had to be the worst pick up line you’d ever heard. Should you even dignify it with a response? You felt your expression twist into one of disgust without realizing it. And the man tensed as he noticed his lack of success.

“Let me try again!” He pleaded, “I promise, I’m a nice guy, I just wanted to make you laugh. I saw you from across the street and I think you’re beautiful. I couldn’t not talk to you, you know? I just had—“

You didn’t hear the rest of his words. Your focus immediately turned to the approaching storm. It was like watching dark clouds roll in, hearing thunder shake the world. 

Mithrun lifted his chin a little. He clenched his fist. In his other arm were several potatoes, exactly what you asked him to get. The breeze ruffled his hair. It was the worst kind of anger in his eye, the calm kind. Mithrun’s head was clear. He knew precisely what he was doing. 

Slowly, you shook your head, shooting him a warning look.

Mithrun ignored you. 

He stalked closer as his good eye narrowed. His nose wrinkled just a little, betraying his fury. His shoulders were tense and his knuckles were white as he picked up and potato and—

“No!” You commanded. Mithrun froze, obeying you, but he didn’t look happy about it. The flirty guy also froze with wide eyes.

“No?” The guy asked.

“Not you,” you hissed, then pointed at Mithrun who stood behind the guy, a potato in his hand and only inches away from the guy's back. “Mithrun, I swear to god, if you use your teleporting magic to switch out someone’s literal beating heart with a potato again, I’m making you sleep outside tonight.”

Mithrun was pissed. But he knew you meant it. He turned his gaze onto you, challenging you, daring you to stop him. You maintained eye contact, refusing to back down. He could not brutalize the people of Melini just because they thought you were pretty. The guy was annoying, but innocent. 

Finally, Mithrun’s jaw clenched, but he backed down. He lowered the potato of death and took a step away. The flirty guy was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

Mithrun nodded his head to the left, “Go.”

“Yes sir!” The man said before scurrying away.

You knew your boyfriend was going to spend the next few hours a bit grumpy, a bit clingy and touchy, but… You actually didn’t mind that. It sent a thrill, a heat, up your spine.

He’ll calm down in a bit. It’s just offensive that someone would even try to take you.

Of course, you remind him that that’s unreasonable. That guy had no idea you were already in a relationship. 

Mithrun does not give a damn about reason and logic right now.

He can be a little scary. It’s nice…

Level 4: The Danger Zone

Due to being a loyal partner, purposefully making Mithrun jealous was not on your agenda. He would never do that to you, you’d never do that to him. It was cut and dry. Simple. 

Except, an old friend of yours was visiting Melini and had sent you a letter to announce his arrival. The handwriting on the letter was familiar, filling you with warm nostalgia. You hadn’t realized that you were smiling at his sweet words until Mithrun’s voice tore you from your thoughts. 

“Are they announcing another sale at the bakery?” He asked. It almost didn’t sound like a question with how flat his tone was. 

You looked up to see him in the kitchen nearby, his back to you as he slowly chopped at a green onion. His hair was pulled into a stubby ponytail, but locks of white still fell around his cheeks. You swore, sometimes that elf had eyes in the back of his head. 

“You think I’d be smiling like this at a sale announcement?” You asked dryly. 

“Yes, actually.”

He was right. You hated it when he was right. 

You always told Mithrun the truth, there were no secrets on your end. Mithrun, of course, had his little secrets that you would eventually discover. Like the time you desperately wanted a very pretty coat in the store, but someone else had already bought it, and Mithrun had Cithis brainwash the buyer into giving it to you. For months, you wore that coat thinking ‘wow how nice that they just gave it to me!’ 

Or the time the sequel to one of your favorite books was delayed. And Mithrun disappeared for two days without notice, then came back with an unbound manuscript of the book. You asked how he got it, he said he ‘knows a guy.’ In reality, he broke into the author’s house and stole the manuscript. 

The man was dedicated, you could give him that. 

Yet he kept secrets. Mithrun’s moral compass didn’t always point North and he didn’t care enough to fix it. You thought it was cute half the time, other times it caused a bit of trouble. In the case of your old friend, it would only cause trouble. 

So, for once, you decided to keep a secret. 

“No, it’s actually a sale at the butcher’s,” you lied, “buy one get one free on pork.”

Mithrun hummed in thought, “We could stock up and do a special on pork ramen.”

“We could do that, yeah.”

You hated lying. Now you had to somehow acquire an obscene amount of pork for the shop. 

You decided to tackle that challenge later. For now, your friend would be arriving soon, and you had to figure out how to meet him without raising suspicion. 

No matter how hard you try, suspicion rises like the tide. 

Mithrun isn’t paranoid about what you do in your time away from him. He has the tendency to be a bit codependent, but resists that urge (Kabru told him it was unfair to both of you to put all of his happiness on your shoulders. He begrudgingly agreed. Stupid Kabru and his stupid emotional intelligence.)

So, you go to do your thing. Whatever. He busies himself with one of his weird little hobbies, but Mithrun has a certain instinct for trouble. Something inside of him is telling him to beware, making him antsy. He doesn’t like these new feelings brought on by having a desire for you. It makes his knee bounce and his fingers restless. 

He looks at the fireplace. In the hearth, there’s the corner of a piece of parchment. Why was there parchment in the fireplace? Were you burning papers? Letters?

You were smiling so sweetly at the mail earlier…

He’s up and stalking across the house within seconds, out the door and into the streets of Melini. 

 Perhaps you were too trusting. Perhaps you were naive. Perhaps you were stupid. 

Ages ago, this particular old friend asked to marry you. You refused, of course, because you weren’t ready to get married and you didn’t feel that way about him. He asked again. And again. And again. It was annoying, but you decided to stay his friend because of your history together. 

Now that you had taken a moment to look back on said history, you realized…

This old friend had been trying to court you for years. 

“I heard you have a partner,” your friend said. His smile was tight and the grip on his utensil was even tighter. 

You forced a smile, “Yeah. Mithrun. He’s great.”

“Tell me about him.”

Where to start with Mithrun? It was a safe subject, at least. Your old friend knew about your relationship and would hopefully respect it. 

“Well, he’s—”

Your friend interrupted, “Is he handsome?”

Odd, but not unexpected. You nodded, “Yeah, I mean, he’s an elf so I don’t know if handsome is the right word. More like absurdly beautiful.”

Friend tensed in his chair. You saw his shoulders roll as if he was preparing himself for a fight. “Cool. Cool. Is he funny? Does he make you smile? Does he kiss good?”

You were definitely too trusting and naive. 

“Yes to all?”

“Is he good in bed?”

Your hands shot up as if you could physically repel the questions, “I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“You don’t want to talk about your boyfriend?” Friend asked, his eyes widening, “I thought you loved him. Is there perhaps trouble in paradise? You know you can always vent to me about it. I’m a shoulder to cry on.”

Had your friend always been like this? Surely not. You had good times together. There was that one time he made you laugh so hard you choked on water and he got so scared that he gave you the heimlich. Sure, his hands weren’t in the right place for the heimlich, instead landing on your chest, but—

Oh Lord. He’s always been this bad. 

With your food uneaten and a churning in your stomach, you began to stand up from your seat. “I don’t think this was a good idea, honestly.”

His eyes widened again, “Really? I think it’s a great idea. I came all the way to Melini to see you!”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. Listen, our lives have changed and I’m with Mithrun now and—”

Friend shot out of his seat, rounding the edge of the table before you could back away. His face was desperate and he was already breathing heavily. Nearby, the welcome bell rang as someone stepped into the cafe, but the usually pleasant noise was muffled to your ears. Friend put his hands where they didn’t belong, on your waist. That was Mithrun’s spot, that’s where Mithrun's hands went. He yanked you close and dread filled your chest.

This couldn’t be happening. 

His lips were on yours. You tried to pull away, your eyes squeezing shut. His grip was strong and your mind was racing with panic. Your hands landed on his chest to push him back and—

He ripped himself away. Or, rather, he didn’t rip himself, but he was ripped, like a yanked-off bandage. You opened your eyes to see Mithrun, and relief instantly flooded your system. 

But the calming, warm waters of your relief drained as you noticed the look on Mithrun’s face. He was naturally rather blank most of the time, yet at the moment, his good eye was narrowed, his mouth twisted into a scowl. He held your friend by his hair, ignoring the complaints and pleas and insults from the man. Without warning, Mithrun yanked on the man’s hair and began dragging him through the restaurant. It didn’t matter if your friend was bigger than your boyfriend, Mithrun had more strength and determination and sheer will to kick his ass. 

People gasped and watched with wide eyes. Someone panicked. Waiters and workers approached slowly. Yet, the situation resolved itself. Mithrun pushed the door open, the bell rang cheerily, and he yanked your struggling ‘friend’ out into the street. 

Your heart clenched. It felt as if someone had wrapped their cold fingers around your organs and squeezed. Your legs moved before you could give it a second thought, and you were out the door and chasing down your boyfriend instantly. 

Mithrun had dragged the man into a nearby alleyway and thrown him against the wall. Your ‘friend’ was on the ground, hands coming up to hold his aching head. Mithrun knelt down to wrap his fingers around his neck and—

“Stop right this instant!” You yelled. 

He froze, his eye widening. His hair was a mess and his pupils small with focus. Slowly, he stood up straight, taut like a bowstring being pulled. “Why?”

“Because I said so!” Your throat hurt from how desperately you’d yelled.

“That’s not a very good reason," he retorted through clenched teeth.

“Mithrun,” you seethed, “You cannot just grab people by their hair and drag them around.”

His expression darkened, “He kissed you. Against your will, I’m presuming.”

“Of course it was against my will!” You couldn’t help but wave your arms, a little manic and all-too-aware of the gathering crowd in the street behind you. “But that doesn’t mean you can brutalize him!”

Mithrun tilted his head and looked at you as if you were a child spouting nonsense. “Of course it does.”

“Make him pee his pants!” Someone yelled from the crowd.

“Pee his pants!” Someone else repeated.

“Pee! Pee! Pee!”

“Alright,” Mithrun agreed and turned his attention back to your ‘friend’, who was looking around as if he couldn’t believe what he’d been dragged into, terrified and shivering slightly. 

“Do not make him pee his pants,” you commanded, “I swear to the Gods I will—”

“Twist his dick!” Someone yelled.

Since when did the people of Melini get so violent? You glanced over your shoulder only to see that Fleki had arrived and was encouraging the act of dick twisting. Of course. 

“The ol’ dick twist!” She yelled again. 

Enough. That would’ve made you crack up under any other circumstances, but frankly you had no desire to see your boyfriend twist another man’s dick. Mithrun, being himself, was already kneeling down with the intent of twisting. You stomped up to him, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him away. He allowed it, only making a light noise of surprise and stumbling after you. 

The further you pulled him, the less you could hear of the crowd. They expressed their disappointment, but seemed to be dispersing, unwilling to follow you and Mithrun into the darker parts of the alleyway. You rounded the corner of a building and noted that it was filled with crates and relatively clean. A perfect place to have a fight with one’s partner. 

Mithrun read your mind. He straightened up and pulled from your grip, then folded his arms over his chest and glared--- which wasn’t very different from his usual expression if not for the slight narrowing of his good eye and the hard set of his jaw. 

You returned the look. Unwilling to back down, you met his ink-black gaze and lifted your chin. 

The air thickened. It felt as if your blood had started to thrum, to vibrate within your veins. A rock lodged itself in your throat as you forced yourself to hold the gaze. No backing down. You refused. It had been a horrible day so far and Mithrun’s murderous intent did not make it any better. 

(That was a lie.)

(You didn’t want to acknowledge it, but you wanted him so badly.)

Eventually, Mithrun broke the silence, a rare act on his part in these kinds of situations. “Don’t tell me you actually care about him.”

Your blood thrummed a little higher and you felt a heat rise within your stomach, though whether that heat was from pleasure or anger you weren’t quite sure. “He was my friend at some point, though I’m not sure why. The problem here is moreso that you can’t drag people around by their hair and attack them.”

“He kissed you,” Mithrun hissed through grit teeth. 

“And that sucked, honestly,” you admitted, “but he’s just a pathetic loser.”

“Is this the same guy that’s been in love with you for years?”

You blinked in surprise, “What? I’ve only recently figured that out. How did you know?”

His gaze flattened, “Every story you’ve told me about him gave it away.” Of course. Your cheeks felt warm and you did your best to avoid his quickly intensifying stare. When you had no response, Mithrun continued, “Why did you hide from me that he was coming to visit? Did you like that he kissed you?”

An unpleasant flash of horror crossed through your chest and you gasped, “Of course not!”

Did he even need to ask that? It was absurd. Yet, Mithrun took one slow step toward you. It was the calculated approach of a wild animal on the hunt. Without realizing it, you took one step back. 

Another step forward, and you backed up. Two seconds later, your back hit the wall and Mithrun uncrossed his arms. He pressed his palms flat against the brick on either side of your head.

“I think,” his voice lowered, “that you subconsciously knew he wanted you, that you’ve always known, and that I would be angry at you going to meet him.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Heat flared in your lower abdomen and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. He was so close and you were so weak. 

“Why would I do that?” You managed to ask, though your voice was strained.

“Exactly,” Mithrun said, gravel in his tone. “Why would you do that?”

Curses ran through your mind. The one time you keep a secret from Mithrun, and it ends like this. You’re never doing that again. 

One of his hands left the wall and instead trailed up your waist, slow and savoring. His good eye flickered down to your neck and you had the urge to tilt your head as if to offer him a bite. The thought of him sinking his teeth into you, his body pressed against yours… You were on fire. 

Perhaps you might do this again, on occasion. It could be fun. 

The brick wall was cold on your back. Mithrun’s stare was colder. He leaned in, holding himself up against the wall with one hand, his other hand digging into your hips as if he wanted to sink his fingers through your skin and grip your bones. Harshly, he yanked you closer as his lips crashed against yours. He might’ve drawn a little blood with his teeth. You might’ve had the urge to melt into him. Your legs might’ve almost given out if he hadn’t held you up. 

The heat was consuming. Mithrun’s touch was rough, his kiss hard and laced with the intent to prove a very important point. Every inch of his being was focused on you in that moment. Every ounce of him was yours, and he was determined to prove that you were his in return. He broke the kiss but wasted no time in attacking your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin, teeth and lips scraping down the length and to the curvature where it was most sensitive. As you made an involuntary noise, his grip only tightened. 

And there it was, what you’d been waiting for. He sunk his teeth in. Heat pulsed through your body and you couldn’t help but gasp. You felt what might’ve been his lips upturning into a little smile against your neck. 

But Mithrun suddenly pulled away and blinked, and stared, and let out a soft exhale. The heat died like water dousing a flame. You stared back. He didn’t look ruffled in the least. His cheeks were pale as always, his eyes dull. The only sign that you’d been kissing was the light sheen on his lips. Meanwhile, you were a complete mess. You could only guess how you looked at that moment. Judging by how his eye flickered up and down your body, it was probably a sight. 

Mithrun pulled back. He stood up straight and walked away casually. 

“Where–” the words lodged in your throat and you had to force them out, “Where’re you going?”

He raised a hand as he walked, “The butcher actually is having a sale on pork. I need to get some before he closes.”

Without him to hold you up, you slowly sunk to the ground, pulling your knees to your chest. 

No more secrets, you decided, feeling especially dead inside as you stared at a nearby crate. No more secret keeping. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[celestialwrites]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ fluffy romance dialogue prompts

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ “well you are cute, ah! i mean- you’re not cute, but you are? i’m just going to shut up now.”

♡ “um, uh-” “shut up and kiss me you big idiot.”

♡ “i hate you.” “you love me, don’t even try to hide it.”

♡ “you’re so cheesy.” “you love it though.”

♡ “i suck at telling people my feelings and all that sappy crap, but i like you, okay?”

♡ “(name) is half of me, i can’t imagine a day without them.”

♡ “stop flirting with me.” “sorry darling, i can’t, watching you get flustered is the highlight of my day.”

♡ “the second that grin spreads across their face, i fall in love with them all over again.”

♡ “you stole my heart the second you offered me that burnt pancake.”

♡ “in the words of taylor swift: you belong with me.”

♡ “(name) wrote me a letter for every single day we were apart.”

♡ “you’re my favourite.” “favourite what?” “everything.”

♡ “if you want to burn down a house or commit any crimes, darling, i’m right there with you.”

♡ “remember you love me?” “oh my god, what did you do?” “it’s a dog! i named it sparkles.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS <3

[farfromstrange]

Now That We Don't Talk | Frank Castle x F!Reader

BONUS FIC

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Read Is It Over Now? for better clarity.

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader (past Matt Murdock x F!Reader)

Summary: You go home with the guy from the bar, and he makes you forget about your ex.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "attagirl", slight Dom!Frank, song references, unprotected p in v, dirty talk

Word Count: 2.9k

A/n: You wanted a part 2, so you're getting a part 2! Anyway, I don't write Frank often, so I hope it isn't too bad. It's also not as spicy as you probably expected, but I wanted this to fit the vibe of the previous fic (link above). You don't need to have read it to understand this, but it is highly recommended because some references might confuse you. Thank you all for taking part in this event!

You believed that your life had ended when you lost him. He painted your world in the brightest colors, but by breaking your heart, he took them away. All that was left to see was a boring shade of gray in a sea of sadness. 

Matt told you from the start that being with him wouldn’t be easy. You were willing to try. He needed someone, and you wanted to be that someone to him. You accepted him unconditionally. 

In the end, giving everything wasn’t enough. He chose her over you, and the castle you two had built came crashing down on you while he stood idly by. 

You’re not a bitter person, you have never been, but he made you fall for him; he made you believe that there was hope for the future and that you would grow old together. He stole years of your life in which you were trying to save him from himself. In return, he took the best care of you, but that doesn’t matter much now that he has taken your heart and shattered it like a glass of red wine on a white cloth. 

When you left him, you thought the distance would kill you. You truly believed that this was the end of everything, not just your relationship with the man you thought was the one but yourself as well. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he said the day you found out the ugly truth.

“I trusted you,” you remember saying. You couldn’t even cry. The pain burned brighter than the sun, and it dried your eyes before they could even shed a tear.  

He argued with you that, “It was just a kiss,” but you not once believed him. 

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause if I ask Elektra, I’m sure she will tell me the truth.”

“No.”

It was at that moment you lost all of your trust in him—in what could have been or should have been the two of you, forever—and it was also the moment that Matt realized he had lost you. 

You believed that he took everything you ever were that day because your life revolved around him, and only him. 

You remember him opening his mouth, having the audacity to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said, begging you not to leave. 

“Fuck you!” you had never sworn at him until that day.

You still remember the way the necklace with his initial felt when you tore it off your neck and tossed it at his feet. He knew you better than anyone, and you felt like you finally belonged somewhere. That necklace was a symbol of your undying love, or so you thought, anyway. Now you know that he may have known you to some extent, but you didn’t matter enough for him not to climb into bed with his ex-girlfriend.

You couldn’t even look at the necklace. He told you, “This is a piece of my heart,” when he gave it to you on a snowy Christmas Day three years ago. You cherished it the same way you cherished his soul. He was broken, but he was your broken man. He was everything to you. 

Matt Murdock was your moon, your son, and your entire universe. It all seemed far away that you could ever feel about anyone this way again. 

You saw a future with him. Married, a house in the suburbs, and working with Foggy and Karen in their new law office after everything they’ve been through. You were a hopeful person back then.

Karen told you that he went to a party a couple of weeks after you separated. He didn’t look like himself. You wonder if he felt anxious, knowing his only source of comfort was no longer there. You wouldn’t know until you asked him, but you refused to answer his calls.

Part of you felt euphoric, knowing that he was broken too, but you also felt angry because he was the reason you found your heart beyond repair as he stepped on it like a burning cigarette, and in your mind, he had no right to feel this way.

You’re a fucking traitor, Matthew Murdock! I wish we’d never met.

“Another one for the lady,” a voice says beside you. 

Your empty glass of tequila disappears and a full one slides in its place. In your drunken haze, you see a head of brown hair, and his smirk makes you wonder if there’s more to him than he lets on. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, tipping your glass to the stranger. 

“Nah, don’t thank me.” He gets up from his seat and sits down on the empty bar stool next to you. “You look miserable,” he says.

“What if I am?”

“I’d tell you I know the feeling.”

You huff but offer the stranger your hand. You introduce yourself. 

He smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue effortlessly. “Frank,” he introduces himself in return. “Castle.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. 

You thought nothing and no one could pull you out of the dark hole your breakup tossed you into. You believed yourself dead and long beyond the point of redemption. You accepted it. You swallowed in your misery, giving up on finding a new purpose in your life because the one great thing you had was no longer yours. He fell into a grave that he dug for himself, and he dragged your relationship down with him.

Looking into Frank’s eyes now though, you no longer feel like a corpse. And you realize that you are not dead, not at all—you are very much alive. 

The door almost breaks off its hinges when Frank shoves you into his apartment and back against it. The decision to come back to his place was fueled by a lot of alcohol and the way he looked at you. You were desperate to feel something other than the hollow ache that has consumed you every day for months. His eyes told you that he may be able to give you just what you need, no strings attached.

The way he kisses you breathes new life into your mangled soul. He swallows your mouth and your needy moans with his own, and his tongue forces itself down your throat as your teeth clash in a fight for dominance. You’re both tipsy, but he seems to know just what he’s doing.

His calloused fingers burn against your skin. In the back of your mind, Matt is still so present. His hands are the ones you can’t help but compare him to. 

The way he used to kiss you before fucking you into the mattress for hours on end, switching between tasting and fingering you until you were whimpering and begging him for release might have screwed you up forever. He told you one night that he wanted to ruin you for any other man. Back then, you both still believed that you would grow old together.

It is truly ironic how fast things change when you are truly happy and believe that nothing can burst your bubble.

Frank’s large hands brace against the door on either side of your head. His lips disappear from yours. “Who is he?” he asks, his voice rough like gravel.

You meet his eyes, unsure of what to say. Your mind is everywhere but here, and yet it is right with him. Whether it is alcohol or self-loathing, you’re not sure. 

“What?” you whisper.

“You’re trynna forget someone. Who is it?”

He is a lot more perceptive than you thought.

You swallow, blood rushing to your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–” you didn’t what? Think? You feel utterly pathetic.

Instead of throwing you out though, like you expected he would, he reaches out to caress your cheek. His eyes soften as they gaze at you. “Whoever he is, he obviously didn’t treat you right,” he says. “If you want to go, I’m not stoppin’ you, but if you wanna forget whoever is fuckin’ with your head, I’ll make damn sure you forget his name by the end of tonight.”

There is something excitingly terrifying about the look in his eyes. A shiver runs down your spine, and your thighs clench at the thought of feeling his hands somewhere other than your face. Somewhere other than your hips and thighs. His kisses knocked the air out of your lungs. You want more, you need more, but you don’t know if you can take it. Not him—even though you’re also not quite sure if you can take him—but also the offer he is presenting to you. As lucrative as it sounds, fuck, you are not over Matt. And you’re not sure if you can ever forget him.

You want to though. You have to. And you want to be thoroughly fucked into the next day and forget the name of the man that makes you so fucking angry.  

“Talk to me,” Frank coaxes your head toward him. “Do you wanna forget the useless bastard that made you feel this way?”

“Yes,” you manage a breathless whisper.

“Did he hurt you? Break your heart?”

You nod.

“You deserve better.” His grip tightens, and his hand slowly slides to your neck. “I’m not, but I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget his name and scream mine loud enough for this fuckin’ city to know who’s making you feel good. ‘s that what you want, hm?”

He’s dangerous, but that has never turned you off, even when it should have.

And when you finally open your mouth and tell him, “Yes, please. Make me forget,” the switch inside of him flicks completely.

He takes his time to worship between your thighs. His tongue buried in your pussy, his lips sucking on your clit without mercy. He eats you out roughly but sensually, keeping you spread wide open for him with both of his hands and a force unmatched—like a five-course meal, and he has all the time in the world for you. 

You’re lost in the throes of pleasure. You want to buck your hips against his mouth because no matter what he does, you’re on fire and you just can’t get enough, but he is so powerful that you can’t fight him. He has you at his mercy, your body in his hands, and all the control in the world over you. 

You pull at his hair, moaning helplessly as he feasts on your pussy. You’re going mad, you’re sure. He’s doing this on purpose, driving you to the edge before stopping the wave. Frank waits until your orgasm is just far enough for you to last a little longer, kissing the inside of your thighs, and then he dives right back into your wet folds. He thrusts his tongue into your hole, licks up to your clit, and then sucks on the swollen bundle until your legs are shaking in his hands. 

“Jesus, Frank!” you moan out. A trail of sweat runs from your temple down to your breasts. 

Your hands search for something to hold onto, tangling in the sheets and the pillow behind your head before pulling at the fabric. You tried pulling at his hair, but he wouldn’t let you. 

“That’s right,” he growls. “Come for me.”

Your back arches off the mattress. His name leaves your lips in a desperate shout as your orgasm crashes into you. 

“Attagirl.”

Your brain is hulled into an endless fog, but Frank doesn’t stop. 

Soon, you’re on your stomach, gripping the headboard as he pounds into you from behind. He is long and thick, and with every thrust, he forces your face deeper into the pillows. Your eyes have rolled back into your head. He hits that spongy spot inside of you whenever he pleases, and the gurgled moans from the pit of your throat spur him on to speed up, change the angle and thrust even deeper. 

He pulls out all the way, thrusting back into you with full force until he is completely sheathed in your pussy. Your heat consumes him, and he sees red. But so do you. He has reduced you to a few incoherent thoughts, babbling his name in the wake of the drool that is dripping from the corner of your mouth. 

And when you come this time, it is pulled back straight against his chest with his fingers rubbing circles over your already abused clit. You come with a scream of his name, and nothing else matters but his cum in your cunt and the unbelievable depth of the feelings he is eliciting within you. 

You drop to the mattress like a wet towel, covered in his and your cum, and your sweat that has mingled with his. His smell lingers in the sheets as you bury your nose in it. He collapses on top of you. The crushing weight of him offers a sense of comfort that almost makes you cry. And he holds you as though you mean more to him than a One-Night stand he picked up to help forget a man who broke her heart. 

“What’d he do?” Frank asks into the silence later that night.

You are lying on his bed, covered by only his thin sheets. He’s sitting on the other side, nursing a glass of Bourbon. He held you, he cleaned you up, and he offered you some clothes, which you denied. He is kinder to you than you thought he would be, and it warms your heart in a way you can only deem utterly dangerous with how vulnerable you are. Broken people make dumb decisions, and you do not ever want to go through the same pain again. 

At least you know that you are still desired. That you’re not dead. Perhaps, there is still hope for a better future. You made Matt Murdock your life for the longest time, and maybe, as you realize now, that was a mistake. There is more to life than him, and you can live without him. That it took fucking a stranger after weeks of being miserable baffles you, but some things are just meant to happen. Maybe it was destiny, after all. 

You look at him when Frank repeats his question. “What’d the bastard do, hm?” he asks.

Where do you even start? 

When you last checked in on him through your mutual friends—you know it wasn’t the best choice, but you couldn’t help it—they told you that grew his beard, and he last had a haircut when you were still together. It suits him, apparently, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at a picture of him.

Foggy told you that he isn’t taking home girls when they go to a bar, even though he could have all of them. He’s sad. He drowns himself at work and beats his fist bloody every night. The old you would have jumped up to help him. And it is true that you will probably always love him, in a way, but you refuse to crawl back to him.

The more you gave, the more he took, and at the first chance at getting a woman he claimed to no longer love when she came back into your lives, he took her. He couldn’t have wanted you as badly as he claimed if that was enough for him to flush years of loving each other and going through hell together down the drain, knowing it would break your heart into a million pieces. That is probably the worst part about all of it.

You take a deep breath. Frank is still staring at you intently, waiting for an answer. “He fucked his ex,” you finally confess. “Four years of being together and it still wasn’t enough.”

His grip tightens around his glass. “Want me to pay him a visit?”

You chuckle, but you know that he would. “No. But thank you.”

Matt was fading long before you left. Even if you did choose to forgive him, you couldn’t be his friend, so things are better the way they are now. You paid the ultimate price for sacrificing your heart to a man who had too many struggles to deal with himself.

In the silence, you find a little light. “At least I don’t have to pretend to like Jazz anymore,” you say. 

Frank takes another sip, asking, “Jazz?”

“Yeah, Jazz. He loves it. He…He’s special. Well, he was to me, anyway.”

“Special? Fuck, the guy did a number on you, huh?”

You scoff. “You have no idea.”

The only way back to your dignity is to learn how to be without him. You have to turn yourself back into a mystery and learn how to trust someone again before your fragile heart breaks again.

“You still talk?” Frank asks.

You shake your head. “No. It’s over now,” you say. “We don’t talk anymore.”

“Told ya. You deserve better.”

“Nah.” You reach for his glass, taking a sip of the bitter liquor that you used to despise. Looking up at him through hooded eyes, you stretch his leg toward him. 

You need to keep forgetting Matt’s name, no matter what it takes or the reminiscing will surely kill you.

“Right now,” you murmur with an irresistible smirk that makes him leap at you as soon as the words pass your lips, “I just need to forget he ever existed by screaming someone else’s name.” 

Frank captures your lips in a bruising kiss, leaving you speechless and breathless all the same. 

Matt chased you, he caught you, and then he lost you. And now that Frank has you, you never want to look back. 

Now that you don't talk.

I don't have a tag list for Frank, so I'm just leaving this here.

[yandere-writer-momo]

I need some Karou Phantom on the Opera Headcannons, he lives in my head rent-free

Yandere Baki Short Stories:

The Phantom of the Opera

Yandere Phantom Hanayama Kaoru x Christine! Fem Reader x mentioned! Raoul Katsumi Orochi

Large hands lovingly traced up and down (your name)’s figure from the other side of the mirror. A dark eye observed her ethereal form prepare for her performance in awe. His beautiful muse, the Apple of his eye… his angel.

Hanayama pressed his lips against the mirror, his eye fluttered shut in bliss. Desire had him in its clutches and he had no interest in stoking the fires that burned within him. He desired (your name). He’s been alone for so many years, rotting in this opera house and he finally has an angel of his own… and he’d be damned if he let that Count Katsumi stole her away! All he had ever asked of her was her loyalty and he knew that devilishly handsome man had entranced her. Hanayama would not let her fall under Katsumi’s spell. He would save her!

Hanayama had prepared for his arrival in his dark dwelling for months now. (Your name) would be pampered and doted on endlessly. She would never need to worry about money or food. And certainly not about him having a fickle heart. Hanayama had plenty of connections to keep her satisfied beyond human comprehension. It’s the least he could do…

Hanayama had trained (your name) for months to perfect her melodic voice. She owed him… she belonged to him! And Hanayama would not let her escape his grasp when he finally has the love he’s always wanted within reach… (your name) was his for all of eternity.

Hanayama began to sing to catch his angel’s attention. His heart swelled with pride when she immediately responded with a bright smile. There she was! His obedient song bird…

Their voices perfectly sung together in harmony, his eye never left her form as she twirled in her beautiful gown in her dressing room. Just a bit closer to the mirror… there!

Hanayama pushed the mirror open and quickly snatched up his prize. His large palm pressed firmly against her mouth as he pressed numerous kisses to the side of her face.

“Oh my darling song bird… let’s go home.” Hanayama huskily whispered in her ear. “You needn’t this life any longer… you only need me and the music.”

(Your name) was still entranced by his magical melody as he pulled her through the tunnel behind the mirror. The mirror gently clicked shut behind the duo that would never be seen again.

This Phantom would never be lonely again… they have reached past the point of no return.

[elryuse]

Yandere Sister’s friend ahn yujin x male reader please?

ANSWER ME

Yandere Ahn Yujin X Male Reader

Genre : Sister's Friend Yujin, Younger Male Reader, Yandere, Manipulative, Horror

The first time Yujin swept into our living room, a whirlwind of designer bags and cascading raven hair, I was a scrawny teenager glued to the TV. My sister, ever the social butterfly, had snagged her famous model friend for a weekend visit. Yujin, with her sculpted cheekbones and pouty lips that seemed permanently painted in a bored indifference, regarded me with the disdain of a queen surveying a particularly dull palace jester. Me, in turn, was utterly smitten. Here, sprawled on our worn-out couch, was a creature who seemed to belong on a runway, not amidst the chaos of teenage life.

Days bled into weeks, and Yujin became a constant presence. She'd return from shoots, her aura a potent mix of exhaustion and untouchable glamour. I, a gangly mess of elbows and acne, worshipped the ground she walked on. Yet, there was a surprising tenderness beneath the aloof facade. She'd ruffle my hair, a fleeting touch that sent sparks flying, then spend hours patiently guiding me through a particularly challenging level in my game. A warmth bloomed in my chest, a confusing mix of hero worship and something more, something entirely foreign and exhilarating.

One stolen summer evening, I was lost in a clumsy kiss, the taste of cherry lip gloss and teenage rebellion sweet on my tongue. Pulling away, I breathlessly met the gaze of the girl I was tangled with. But then I saw her. Yujin stood frozen in the doorway, the ever-present smirk on her face replaced by a mask of such chilling fury that it stole the air from the room. The playful glint in her eyes, once the source of my nervous exhilaration, was now a smoldering ember, promising a terrible inferno.

The Yujin who emerged from that moment was a metamorphosis I never could have anticipated. The playful teasing morphed into a calculated seduction, her laughter laced with a dangerous edge that sent shivers down my spine. She started dropping by unannounced, lingering long after my sister retreated to her room. Her touch, always fleeting before, now lingered, a brand that burned even after she was gone.

"You deserve better, sweetheart," she'd murmur, her voice a husky caress against my ear as she ran a finger down my cheek. "Someone who can cherish you, who can protect you from all the nasty things in the world." Her words, laced with a possessiveness that sent a tremor of fear through me, chipped away at the lingering hope for a normal teenage life.

She became a master manipulator, crafting elaborate scenarios. A staged "break-in" where she'd "heroically" save me, a spiked drink that left me disoriented and utterly dependent on her "care." My world shrunk with each passing day, the lines between concern and control blurring into a terrifying haze.

One by one, my friends drifted away, subtly discouraged by Yujin's pointed comments and icy stares. My sister, oblivious to the undercurrent of danger, simply assumed Yujin's possessiveness stemmed from overprotective fondness. I was trapped in a gilded cage, the bars formed by Yujin's suffocating affection.

The night the storm hit, it mirrored the tempest raging within her. The power flickered, plunging the house into darkness. Yujin emerged from the shadows, her smile, illuminated by a flash of lightning, sent a jolt of terror through me. Blood stained the crimson silk nightgown clinging to her curves, a gruesome contrast to the way her lips, still painted a sinful red, curved into a predatory smile.

"We don't need anyone else, do we darling?" she whispered, her voice a chilling melody in the storm's fury. "They all just want to hurt you. But I... I will keep you safe. We'll be perfect together. Forever."

The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a sickening counterpoint to the frantic hammering of my heart. I glimpsed a glint of manic devotion in her eyes, a terrifying adoration that promised forever, but a forever defined by her twisted desires.

Over the following weeks, the house became my prison. Yujin cut off all contact with the outside world, my phone "lost," the internet connection mysteriously "down." I was adrift in a sea of her making, filled with whispered promises and a suffocating dependence.

She'd tend to my every need, her touch a constant reminder of the price of her affection. The forced intimacy was a twisted mockery of love, leaving me raw and yearning for a normalcy I wasn't sure even existed anymore.

The blood drained from my face, the stark reality of the clippings a sickening counterpoint to Yujin's crimson smile. I wasn't her only conquest; I was just the latest object of her affection in a collection marred by disturbing disappearances. Panic coiled in my gut, the weight of my situation threatening to suffocate me.

Confrontation was a terrifying prospect. Yujin could switch from seductive charm to chilling rage in a heartbeat. Escape seemed impossible. The windows were bolted shut, the doors secured with complex locks I didn't have keys for. I was a fly caught in a web, the silken threads deceptively beautiful but strong enough to steal my breath.

Sleep became a battleground. Nightmares, fueled by the horrifying discovery, plagued me. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, the image of the bloodstain on Yujin's nightgown seared into my memory. Each morning, she'd greet me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the cloying sweetness of her perfume a constant reminder of my captivity.

Days blurred into a monotonous routine. Yujin spent her mornings glued to the phone, arranging shoots and interviews with practiced ease. While she was gone, I'd scour the house for an escape route, a hidden key, anything. But the house, once a familiar haven, had transformed into a gilded cage designed to keep me prisoner.

The idea of escape started to lose its luster. The world outside seemed distant and unwelcoming, while Yujin, with her unwavering devotion (however twisted it may be) began to feel strangely comforting. She'd tend to my every need, whispering reassurances and promises of a future together. The isolation chipped away at my sanity, blurring the lines between affection and Stockholm syndrome.

One rainy afternoon, Yujin presented me with a bouquet of lilies, their cloying sweetness mirroring her perfume. "They symbolize devotion," she murmured, her voice a seductive caress. "Just like mine, for you."

The sincerity in her eyes, a flicker I hadn't seen before, snagged at my heart. Was it truly possible that her obsession stemmed from a warped sense of love? In the suffocating silence of the house, with the world a distant memory, the idea began to take root.

Weeks turned into months, the lines between captor and companion blurring further. Yujin's touch, once laced with possessiveness, now felt tender, almost apologetic. I found myself craving her presence, a horrifying realization that twisted my gut.

Then, one starlit night, as we sat by the fireplace, Yujin confessed everything – the staged break-in, the drugged drink, the "eliminated" women. But her voice, devoid of its usual chilling edge, trembled with a vulnerability I hadn't expected.

"They didn't understand you," she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "They didn't deserve you. Only I can love you the way you need to be loved."

In that moment, a horrifying truth dawned on me. I wasn't a prisoner anymore. I was a captive of my own twisted affection, a Stockholm pawn in Yujin's deadly game of love. The world outside had faded into insignificance, replaced by the terrifying comfort of her obsessive devotion.

As she leaned in, the scent of lilies filling my senses, I closed my eyes, a traitorous tear slipping down my cheek. I was hers, not by force, but by a love as twisted and dark as the storm raging outside. The cage, I realized with a chilling certainty, had become my home.

[acewritesfics]

In the Past | Tommy Shelby

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: from @runnning-outof-time

Fic Type: Blurb

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 713

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || TAG LIST SIGN-UP

“We need to start being honest with each other as well as ourselves,” Y/N stands before Tommy as he sits behind his desk. “And the truth is… I didn’t miss you as much as I thought I would.” 

Tommy looks at her, not showing an ounce of emotion or letting on to what is going through his head. This was the side of him she did not miss. The cool demeanour that accompanied him back from France.  

“How much did you miss me?” He asks, his voice also not giving anything away to what he’s thinking and feeling.  

“Not enough to continue where we left off,” she tells him. 

When Tommy had learned of Y/N’s return, he began to seek her out. They’d gone out for dinner a few times and spent the night in each other's company. Y/N hoped that spending time with him would reignite the flame that use to burn between them but the more time she spent with him she realised it was never going to burn again. She still cared for him, saw him as someone she could trust and rely on and supported him in any way she could.  

“You know I care for you, Tom,” she sighs, sadly. “But whatever is happening between us, it doesn’t feel right. It feels like we’re trying to relive our past. So much has changed between us that it’s just not there anymore.” 

“I understand what you’re saying,” he admits. “I feel it too.” 

Y/N reaches to the back of her neck and unclasps the necklace from around her neck. Tommy had given it to her not long before their relationship ended. She forgot she had it until recently. It once belonged to his mother who had also been like a mother to her.  

She goes to hand it back when Tommy stands up and walks out from behind his desk. He takes it from her but moves behind her to put it back on. “Keep it. You were like a daughter to her, and she would want you to still have it.” 

“But she told you to give it to the woman who steals your heart.” 

“Our relationship might not have worked out how we hoped it would, but you’ll always be the woman who stole my heart,” he admits as he turns her around to face him. 

Y/N looks down at the floor, looking and feeling guilty for not being able to bring herself to feel what she once did for him.  

Tommy places his hand under her chin and tilts her head up so she’s looking at him. “Don’t feel guilty for something you cannot control. The love we use to have for each other might be in the past, but I still care for you deeply as well.” 

Unable to think of anything more to say, Y/N wraps her arms around Tommy, hugging him knowing this might be the last time she gets to do so. She relaxes when he returns her hug.  

Eventually they let each other ago as there is a knock on the door. Tommy clears his throat and tells whoever it is to come in as Y/N collects her things to leave.  

As Polly enters her nephew's office, she greets them with a suspicious look. Y/N looks between Polly and Tommy and informs them, “I’ll be heading back to London tomorrow. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything.” 

“Same for you,” Tommy nods and tells her.  

She also nods, “It was lovely seeing you all again.” 

“It was lovely seeing you too, Y/N,” Polly speaks this time as she frowns slightly confused by what’s happening.  

Y/N gives them a brief smile before exiting Tommy’s office and going back to her mother’s house where she’d been temporarily staying. 

“What was that about?” Polly asks her nephew. She was left slightly bewildered by what just happened.  

“Sometimes things don’t work out the way we expect them too,” he tells her.  

“You’re just letting her walk away again?”  

“At least this time she’s doing it on her own terms,” he says walking back behind his desk, not letting on to his aunt that his heart is hurting a little more than it was 10 minutes again. 

TAGGED: @chapter-in-my-old-diary - @hanawrites404 - @goblinjnr - @halsteadbrasil - @forgottenpeakywriter - @star-ggirl - @iceman-kazansky - @alexxavicry - @galactict3a - @crispynutella - @il0vebeingdelulu - @nicole-19s-world

Bold means your @ didn't come up when I tried to tag you. Here's a post I found that could help if your not able to be tagged: WHY OTHERS CAN'T TAG YOUR BLOG

Sometimes your blog will be linked after posted but I don't think you get the notification. Tags have been weird lately. I might start putting the tags in the comments. Let me know if you get the notification.

[lvlyghost]

In the Midst of War

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Shadow!Reader

SUMMARY: Home is no longer where it used to be. Left with no one else you wonder who your friends and foes are.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

TW: blood, angst. Description of wounds. self-doubt. Reader's callsign is Vesper. some background for reader too. medical inaccuracy and poorly written action. future +18 chapters so mdni!

A/N: it's quite embarrassing the amount of time it took me to get this out, but between work and just my personal life it was so hard to find the time to write. i'm excited to see how the next chapters will play out✨remember english is not my first language so corrections are appreciated💕comments and reblogs add years to my lifespan 🌸.

Masterlist✨Masterpost

"𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒏."

The amount of blood coming from your wounds is mortifying. Your body hits the dusty soil beneath you while you try to breathe in as much air as possible. The black hummer you stole from the headquarters refused to keep going, no matter how much you tried to get it to start again. Certainly you'd die out here, in a forgotten highway in the middle of nowhere of a foreign country, where the sky was starting to set on the horizon.

Was this your fate? To die alone in a god-forsaken desert, far from home; simply because you tried to do the right thing?

Blue eyes stare back at you as you try to press one of the wounds on your stomach. The disappointment in Phil's eyes when you confronted him about the whole situation. As much as an asshole he was, he cared for you in his own weird and twisted way.

You were his favorite amongst all of them. And if someone were to ask him about it, you were the closest thing he ever had to a friend.

Your stomach contracts violently fighting a wave of nausea. It won't take long until you pass out from blood loss and exhaustion, your throat constricts when the feeling finally settles in.

Are you crying? A lone tear slides down your right cheek.

"Yep-yep." You choke out dryly. "This is how it ends." A sad ending for a sad life.

From the moment you became a part of the shadow company, you thought you had found a family, something you no longer had back in the states; the old victorian house didn't count. Thought you belonged somewhere at last. Why was it that when something good happened to you couldn't last.

You were damned from the moment you came into this world. The moment of your first breath.

It's the sound of screeching tires behind you that brings you back to consciousness. Eyes barely opening when darkness threatens to consume you, pulling you down to the deep slumber you'd certainly never wake up from. Rocks creak beneath heavy boots approaching. If only you had the strength to reach down for your gun and defend yourself. You cough and more blood splutters out of your mouth, coating your lips and chin. This doesn't seem promising, the voice in your head whispers. The bullets must've hit a vital organ.

A radio crackling you hear, indistinct voices and then a deep voice.

"That her, Price?"

The voice is distorted, a sudden waft of air carries the words away; it's starting to get cold. Is it supposed to be this cold at this time in the south? Even in your dying state another wave of nausea fills your stomach, bile threatens to burn you from inside out.

Seconds later you're being scooped up by an unknown force, almost too big, almost too strong to be real.

This is it.

You try to reach up, to move your arm but it stays the same; why can't you open your eyes anymore? The person that carries you is walking as fast as possible, trying to not worsen the open wounds. Whoever these people are, they know you might not get to see another day.

But sleeping now is what you want to do the most, and at least you wouldn't die alone.

-

The conversations come and go just as your consciousness. Brain fogged and head heavy. Aching body. You fight when the darkness threatens to swallow you whole; you've endured the worst. You've been through hell and back.

The constant beeping of the machine next to your bed, the tears that spill from your eyes rolling down your cheeks. The soft and warm breeze that comes through the open window, softly moving the curtains. Birds that sing a distant song. It's painful, to even fully open your eyes to take in the surroundings; yet beautiful.

A small cozy country house with vintage furniture. A rocking chair in the far left corner. The painting of a white rose with a golden frame. With a shaky hand you take oxygen mask from your face, breathing is still a challenge, it's as if the bullet wounds on your stomach would reopen if you dared to breathe. The medication is doing wonders nonetheless. Keeping the pain at a minimum. Eyes slide further away from the rocking chair and to the other side of the room.

Pupils widen at the sight of a man leaning against the wall, brown orbs squinting when he realizes you're indeed awake.

He doesn't speak nor move. His strong arms are crossed over his broad chest, face hidden under a black balaclava painted in white on the lower half. Your breath catches in your throat at the terrible realization of who that is.

"You..." voice barely above a whisper. You cough, your dry throat hurts and you notice as he sighs and moves around to help you, a glass of water in hand. Slowly you swallow down feeling the liquid soothe your throat. "Thank you..." it's a low response to which he just gives curt nod and then retreats. "Am I a hostage... of the task force?" The man... you don't want to truly believe it but even you know who it is.

"No such thing, kid. I need to report this." You try to stand up, regretting it instantly, whimpering as the stitches around your abdomen threaten to reopen. The masked soldier hisses and darts forward to —and surprisingly— help you lay back with soft hands. "Stop that. It's not gonna help, you're still healing."

"Why... why do you care?" You ask him, lips pressed into a thin line. You were far from home or anyone you could call family. "Why didn't you just let me die?"

"Laswell would've killed us all if we didn't."

"Kate?" You stammered, dumbfounded.

The man shrugs seemingly annoyed that he has to answer or to even talk.

"Said it was important."

A moment passed where none of you say another word. You have so many questions, but you also have the feeling he won't answer them even if you asked.

"You're him." He gives you a blank stare. "The one they call Ghost."

Unfazed by your statement he turns to exit the room. You hear him walking around the living room, the wooden floor creaks beneath his combat boots, you wish you'd make out what he's saying but his voice is low so you just wait for him to come back. He has to, you think.

Ten minutes later he's entering the room, making it look smaller than it is with his sheer size. A silver tray in his hands.

"Doctors said you must eat." He approaches setting it down. "Sorry about this but let me help you sit down. Put your arms around me yeah?" You can tell by the way the corner of his eyes wrinkle that he's just as disgruntled as you by the whole situation. Lifting your arms you oblige. "One, two..." and the he lifts your upper body, careful enough for you to adjust, checking on you for any signs of discomfort. When you unwrap your arms he pulls back, his heavy hand rests on top of your shoulder for a short moment before he's sure you'll be alright. He places the tray in front of you. Chopped fruit, apple juice and a sandwich. Your mouth waters at the sight.

"Ghost." You try, your voice is barely above a whisper. He halts all of the sudden on his way back to the living room. "I'm sorry. For what was done." And it's true. You never wanted to be a part of all this mess, and in some ways Phil tried to shield you from it, until he couldn't anymore. His favorite. You don't think he'll answer, but when he looks over his shoulder and his gaze bounced from the walls to your eyes he leaves you speechless.

"I'm in disadvantage here." His deep voice echoes across the silent room and reaches your eardrums.

Your heart begins to race and cheeks blush so hard you're mortified he might notice. There's something about his presence...

"Vesper, sir."

-

"You there, Ghost? That was a big mistake brother... son of a bitch." You hear him curse when you walk past the threshold of the facility. Eyebrows furrowed and a racing heart. You had been off-duty at the mexican special forces base. Sleeping for a good 5 hours before the sound of bullets ricocheting echoed through all the hallways and walls. You rub your eyes with your hand on your pistol as you come outside, it's raining and the first thing you see is Alejandro's unconscious body on the ground. Blinking rapidly you crouch down.

"Is he alright?" You ask, none of your team members answers but rather chuckle and murmur things amongst them, not minding the bodies scattered around the floor; you suck in a sharp breath. "Phil?" You look up from the man to find his blue eyes already fixed on you. "Sir, what's...-"

"Let's get you inside." He grabs you by the arm dragging you back into the hall. Shadows carry Alejandro's body God knows where. He takes you to the main office, locking the door behind him; Phil takes off his combat vest. "Our orders have changed, Vesper." He announces coming close to you. "And I expect you to obey accordingly."

Shaking your head you laugh humorously.

"What does that have to do with Colonel Vargas... and the 141?" Annoyance glints in his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why couldn't you just trust him?

"Soldier, just fucking do as you're told. None of that." He stops you when you're about to say no. "Now go get geared up and wait for my signal. We need to find those bastards first. You're in charge until I get back." When you don't move, frozen in place at what you just heard he barks again. "You're dismissed!"

Blinking you turn on your heels making your way to the dorm and getting dressed, leaving your Captain staring at your back as you leave, sighing long and deep. You hadn't met these guys personally, Graves was the one with direct contact but you knew they were on your side, why were they suddenly the enemies? You dart to your laptop and log in. Fingers typing on the keyboard finding your most trusted contact. If Graves wasn't going to give you the answers you'd personally search them. She's quick to type back and as you chew on your lower lip you read her reply, heart racing and clammy hands ghosting over the keyboard. Swallowing hard you shut it down, grabbing your things you step out, the device that he confided to you feels heavy in your pocket. Your comrades are starting to line up at the entry door, Phil's eyes squint, lips going thin and he asks if everything's alright; it's in that moment that you think you can't recognize the man in front of you.

The rest of the night is quiet, a contrast to what's happening in your mind. Phil did not only have Colonel Vargas under arrest but all of his team. Upon speaking to your contact yet again and gaining more information as the night went by you decided to pay the man a quick visit. One that wouldn't alert the shadows that were left behind, even so you were in charge so it wouldn't raise suspicions if you went to check him.

"Colonel?" Two soft knocks on the metallic door should be sufficient. He doesn't answer at first so you open the small window on it. It's pitch dark inside, safe from the moonlight that shines through the small opening up above.

"What do you want?" His voice is raspy, defensive. You don't blame him.

You take a quick glance to the hallways. No one's around.

"I apologize sir, for all of this. I don't know what's gotten into Graves but...."

He scoffs standing to his full height and slowly but menacingly walking towards the door.

"I won't ask again. Qué chingados quieres?"

Inhaling deeply you shift your weight from one foot to another.

"Not all of us are bad."

His face remains the same, unbothered. He doesn't trust you and you think if you were in his place you'd do the same.

"Then I suggest you to stop talking and do something about it."

Chaos unfolds. A hellish night you would certainly remember. You meet them although from afar. Hiding in the far tower of the compound under Graves' commands.

"Let them fight. But I need you alive, don't engage. Retreat until I get back."

You're certain you would've died on your way to hide. Because he saw you through the shattered window, and you saw him.

A quick glance where the world slowed for a short moment. Maybe he was too occupied shooting the other shadows, you'll never know; but if he hadn't been distracted by the bullets firing his way he would've gone after you. A fight you were bound to lose.

'They're too good' you pondered.

It's not that you weren't you thought you were amazing at your job, but the display of power and force shown by the 141 had made you rethink everything.

Maybe I'm not as good as I believed.

Silence settles once again, birds chirping outside when your Captain comes to find you, motioning for you to follow him. You oblige, adjusting the cap on your head. Phil is furious. Reminds you of a child throwing a tantrum when he didn't get what he wanted.

"I have to be out there Phil." You say, his blue eyes snap to you. "I'm not gonna hide and guide them through a radio." His jaw clenches. He knows you're right. "You stay. And be our eyes."

He hesitates, fingers tapping on the surface of the desk, considering his options; he comes to realize that he doesn't have many. And there's no more time to wait.

"Alright, kid. You go out there and guide the shadows."

Inhaling deeply through your nose you nod your head. As soon as you walk out the door it may be the last time you see each other. Despite his complicated persona he was always someone you looked up to.

Like a big brother.

But not anymore.

"Yep-yep."

With one last look into his eyes you walk outside and tighten the grip on your rifle.

It ends today.

-

More often than not you found yourself wondering if you had taken the wrong decisions. Both in your personal life and your job.

If I had taken the right turn to go through the shortcut I wouldn't have crashed. If I had studied enough instead of escaping with your boyfriend i would've passed the exam for college. If I had been smart enough I would have made it to the medical school and have a different life. If I had waited enough time mom would've woken up from the coma. If I had been a good daughter, and look after dad he would've been fine. If I had checked on my sister regularly after the tragedy she wouldn't have taken her life.

Life was a series of unfortunate events.

It's a series of what if's.

And the biggest one today was: if I had left sooner maybe I wouldn't be in this position. Hiding behind a concrete wall were bullets flew and hit the soft flesh of my body.

But none of that happened and that's why you're in the midst of war. A war that wasn't yours to begin with yet you'd pay with your life.

You bolted, desperate to find the way out. It was your last chance. A bleeding arm firmly pressed to your body, legs limping, ragged breathing.

And three bullets lodged into your stomach. The truck you readied prior wasn't far but getting shot not only once but thrice had made things more difficult. By the time you open the door your head's spinning and the bullets are whizzing right past you, turning the keys you feel it jerk to life; one last look through the rear view mirror and the chaos that unfolds you say goodbye to your team and to the man who took you under his wing, trained you and gave you a sense of family of belonging. You truly wished it didn't end like this.

But it did.

-

You hiss when the nurse takes the IV out of your skin. The sting reminds you of all the wounds left to heal. She changes your bandages in silence merely answering questions you ask her here and there.

Ghost, true to his name stays out of your dorm, walking in only when needed. Until you ask him to help you stand.

"I need to go to the bathroom." You explain to which he plainly stares you down, eyes hard. "And I could use some fresh air." He sighs but moves closer, standing next to the bed.

"Just hold onto me. I'll carry you. Don't want to risk your stitches opening up. Nurse won't be coming for a few days." You do as he says, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders; he lifts you with ease as if he was picking up a leaf instead of your body. Mind traveling back in time when the shadows used to tell stories about the SAS lieutenant. A low grunt leaves your chapped lips as he readjusted your body. "You alright?" He asks, face heating up when you realize you're just too close to his face. From your position you can make the blond of his eyelashes and the way the corner of his eyes crinke.

"Yeah." You murmur. Ghost takes one last glance at you before walking towards the bathroom. "Should probably get a shower at some point you know?" He lowers your body with so much care it's astonishing.

"Might as well do it now that you're here. I'll bring you some clothes and wait outside."

He does as he says.

It's difficult to even lift your arms, to stand for five minutes under the hot water, leaning on the cool tile walls you shower as best as you can given your condition. It pains you that outside this place there's nothing no one waiting for you. When you finish, your eyes red and the tears have long dried. You find the clothes neatly folded on the bed. A simple black t-shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants you put on with great effort.

The indistinguishable voice of the man who's been your companion for the last few days filters through the door, muffled and quiet; curiosity wins over. So far you've gotten zero answers regarding your future so you walk to the living room his back is turned to you, hand tightening over the disposable device.

"You better come up with a bloody solution then Price. You know how I feel about babysitting." He snarls

Your heart drops, it's not because of what he said but the feeling that wormed its way to your heart. That's what you've been your whole life: a burden.

"Could've just left me to die then." Ghost tenses when he hears your hard voice behind him. Turning to face you he ends the call, despite the voice of his Captain calling his name.

"Supper's in the kitchen." He brushed off your comment. Part of you wondered if there's even a human behind that horrendous mask.

"I didn't ask for the fucking supper." You snap at him. His eyes widening for a small fraction before he glares daggers at you. "I know what you must think of me, that I'm a poor pathetic shadow girl who needs saving, well I don't. I did not ask for this, don't want your pity."

"I do not pity you, kid."

"Then stop looking at me like that." A delicate finger from your hand pointing at him. "I earned a spot on that team. I am strong, I for once tried to do the right thing and look where it got me. Just put me on the first plane and fly my ass back to the States." It gets harder to breathe you don't know how but you've kept the tears at bay.

"Can't do that." He simply responds

"And that's why?" You demand, raging inside.

He crosses the distance between the two in three long strides, you feel the heat that radiates off of him, you stand your ground nonetheless.

"Because the moment you set foot on American soil they'll arrest you and get you court-martialed for deserting. Does your brain understand that? Bloody fucking hell." He seethes.

There were moments in life when you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders; but hearing the words coming out from his mouth broke the last hopes you had to at least go back to the only place you knew, it didn't matter how painful the memories would be. Ghost's looking at you frantically, waiting for your answer, for you to retaliate. He's eager even, to get some sort of reaction.

Hit him, scream at him, but none of that happens. And then he sees himself in you.

In those eyes.

The spark that he saw the very first day flickered, until it burned away.

Part 2

[queen-of-deans-booty]

There's No Place Like Home: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Charlie is back from Oz but she's not quite how Sam and Dean remember her. You're pretending to be on your best behavior, but you're making it clear that anyone who stands in your way is only going to end up hurt.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Instead of going right to the house Sam wants him to go to, he heads straight to a bar. He's trying to cut down on alcohol but he orders a glass of whiskey. He stares at it as if it's going to give him all the answers. You slink up next to him and order a double, downing it when the bartender gives it to you.

"Are you going to drink that?" you ask Dean.

"You ruin everything," he mutters but you hear him. A grin slowly spreads across your face the more he talks. "You ruin my life, everyone I am trying to save, and even all of your relationships. I look at you and I see a shell of the woman I love."

"Are you done?" you ask and he shakes his head in disgust.

"She's cute."

You and Dean look to your right and see Dark!Charlie in the bar looking at the female bartender.

"At this point... Leave me alone," Dean sighs.

"Something off about you, Dean. I know Y/N must be like me otherwise she'd smoke my ass with magic."

"You're not wrong," you shrug.

"I've made mistakes, but I'll pay for mine and you'll pay for yours."

"Come on, Dean. I'm not the monster here. He was. He got what he deserved. You know I'm right. Do you know what I learned about being dark? It sets you free. Part of you knows that's right, too."

"I like this version better than sparkles," you grin and wink at Dark!Charlie. The bartender comes back and pours you another drink to which you grin. "Thanks."

"Delicious," Dark!Charlie smiles at the bartender. Dean is about to speak but Dark!Charlie beats him to it. "There's no right. There's no wrong. There's just us and them."

"Yeah, well, there's not gonna be a you for very much longer."

"Uh-oh. Did princess me find a way back to Oz?"

"That's right. A former Man of Letters, retired, in Grantville which is two towns over. They're gonna fix the key to Oz, find the wizard, and put you back to where you belong."

"Back into Charlie? Is that where I belong? We'll just see, won't we? In the meantime, if you're not gonna ask her to dance, then I will."

Dark!Charlie follows the bartender who steps into the back to do something. As soon as she is gone, you start laughing as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

"Why are you laughing?"

"She played you, dumbass. You just told her where to find the one person who can fix that key." You grab Dean's drink and down it in one gulp, ignoring the burn on the way down. Dean immediately gets up and leaves the bar, and you quickly follow after him. Just as you exit the bar, you hear the squeal of the Impala's tires peeling out of the parking lot. "And she stole your car. Way to go."

Dean takes out his phone and calls Sam who picks up immediately.

"Sam? Dick Charlie just hot-wired Baby. She thinks she's on her way to you."

"What?"

"I told her the wrong town so I probably bought you a little time, but be on the lookout. I'll be there as soon as I can jack a ride."

"Thanks. Hurry."

"Okay, maybe you're not a complete dumbass," you shrug.

Dean picks a car that is unlocked and works on hot-wiring it. Seconds later, the car revs to life.

"Get in."

With an eye roll, you do.

Dean rushes over to the wizard's place before Dark!Charlie can get there. Looks like you beat her to the punch because the Impala is nowhere to be found. A gunshot comes from inside the house and Dean is about to go inside when he hears the rumble of his car approaching.

Dark!Charlie screeches to a stop in the driveway and steps out of the car.

"I figured you'd lie about where to go next. That's what I would do."

"What the hell do you want?" Dean glares.

"I just want to talk to her."

"Oh, you're not going anywhere near her. I'm not gonna let you corrupt her."

"Corrupt her?"

Both you and Dark!Charlie giggles but you stop when you see Dean glaring at you.

"If you take one more step, I'm gonna put you down."

"There's the Dean I love," she grins.

Dean is not in the mood to be tested right now, and he doesn't care if Charlie is a girl or not. She decides to take a step to see what he would do, and he punches her in the face hard enough to draw blood but not hard enough to break a bone.

"You hit like a girl who never learned how to hit," she smirks.

They both begin to fight but since she is all the bad parts of Charlie, she gains the upper hand pretty quickly. He keeps punching her and you know that whatever she feels, Charlie feels. The thought brings a smile to your face.

"Will you help me?" Dean yells at you.

"It looks like you have it."

"If I die, you die! Don't you get that!"

Fine. If he wants you to fight Charlie, you're going to fight her. You don't care if it's going to hurt the real Charlie. You grab her shoulder and yank her off Dean before throwing her to the ground.

"I thought you were on my side!"

"I'm on the side that keeps me alive and right now, you're not it."

She gets up but you punch her as hard as you can in the jaw. She tumbles to the ground again but catches her footing at the last second. This time, it's her against you. She runs at you and smashes into your body, making you crumble to the ground. She grabs your hair and yanks on it but you don't give her time to do damage.

You kick her off you and get up quicker than she can. She goes to punch you but you grab her arm and keep it steady. She locks eyes with you and you snap her arm in half like it's the easiest thing in the world. She lets out a scream of pain just as Charlie does inside the house.

Dean gets up and approaches Dark!Charlie, letting the Mark take over his rational thought. He punches her and tosses her onto the ground like she's a ragdoll.

"You hurt my friend."

"I learned it by watching you."

Dean gets on top of her and continues to punch her until Sam comes rushing outside with Good!Charlie in his arms. You were so busy fighting her that you didn't hear the second gunshot go off inside.

"Dean! Dean!"

Dean looks back and comes out of his trance when he sees the damage done to his friend. Sam lays Good!Charlie next to Dark!Charlie, and both of them look at each other with blood all over their face. You only have minimal scratches since you wouldn't let her get a punch in, but Dean is the one with a slightly bruised nose and busted knuckles.

He did most of the damage and it's going to haunt him every single time he looks at her.

"You did it, didn't you? You killed the wizard?" Good!Charlie nods and Dark!Charlie chuckles. "I knew it. The magic was in you all the time. Celeste."

Sam places the key to Oz in Good!Charlie's hand and steps back. Suddenly, blue magic connects the good to the bad and puts back the darkness inside the light. Soon, only one Charlie is lying on the ground as they merge into one. Sam immediately goes to her and holds her and she cries in his arms.

She looks up at you and Dean, seeing two different people before her. One has guilt written all over the face and one doesn't feel remorse. One won't be able to forget about this while the other will forget about it the very next day. Dean is almost in tears for what he did while you don't have a hint of remorse anywhere in your body.

Sam and Dean take you and Charlie back to the Bunker so she can rest and does so for two days. Two days of fighting with the Winchesters about you and what you've done. This is who you are now. They can either embrace it or let you go, and you know they won't let you go.

Sam is typing on his laptop in the war room while Dean is sitting in the library staring at the hands that almost killed his friends while you're sitting back and enjoying a drink from Dean's stash. Charlie walks into the Bunker with a sling on her arm from where you broke it. This is the best they can do until she can get to a hospital for a proper cast.

"Shouldn't you be resting up?"

"I think sleeping for two days in a row is probably enough."

"So, are you...?"

"Good? Bad? I think I'll just settle for balanced." She looks up and notices you and Dean. "Anything about the Mark?"

"Yeah, maybe. I found this book. It's a lore book called 'The Book of the Damned'." At the mention of that, you look up and watch Sam. If he found a book to get rid of the MArk, you'll have to find it first and destroy it. There is no way you're getting rid of it. "It's in a library somewhere in Tuscany. It might be a dead end but I figured--"

"I'll go check it out," she offers. "Look, there's no going back to Oz. With the wizard gone, Dorothy will be fine."

"So, does this mean no more adventure?"

"I think we have all the adventure we can handle right here."

"What about Dark!Charlie?"

"She's quiet. I just have to keep moving forward. We all do." She looks once more at you and Dean before walking into the library to deal with the after-effect of her almost dying at both your hands. "We are going to fix this. I'm not letting what happened to me happen to you two."

"What if I like being this way?" you ask and everyone looks at you. "Have you thought of that?"

"I refuse to accept that."

"You can't fix what already happened," Dean sighs.

"Cain found a way to live with it."

"After centuries of murder," you say.

"Yeah, well, there's one thing that you two have that he didn't. You're a Winchester. I forgive you, Dean."

"Yeah, well, I don't."

"I know. That's kind of your move." She turns to you and smiles sweetly. "I forgive you, too."

You set your drink down and stand up. Everyone is on edge just from that single move, and you walk closer to her in intimidation. It seems to work since she backs away slightly but she is a brave one. Sam goes to stop her but you hold out your hand as if to say, "Don't worry, I won't hurt her."

"Let me get one thing clear. The only reason you are still alive is because of them. Had they not been there, I would have killed you. I do not feel guilty for what I did. I actually liked it. Whatever part of me found you tolerable is gone. You better hope that you don't see me without them by my side."

You're not you. You're not this person. Charlie has to remind herself of that before she allows herself to get hurt because of you. She knows you're only saying this to hurt her so she doesn't let you know that your words do affect her.

"I'm gonna get you back."

"Let the games begin," you smirk and back away from her.

You leave the library and Charlie says goodbye to the brothers, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the library.

"We gotta find that book," Dean says. "I can't go another day of my wife being this person. I'll do my part and fix her soul but I need your help finding that book. We gotta end this."

"Then let's get to work."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[saturnine-saturneight]

Here Comes the Sun

Being that I'm now on hiatus from posting Reburial to work on Act 2, it feels weird not to post anything on Sundays at all, so I'm going to try and keep up the posts with behind the scenes and other material that I already have lying around. Hope you all have fun it.

To kick that off, I thought I'd post the very first version of Chapter 5 :) I wrote this 8 years ago now, in 2016. This and the other short drabbles I wrote back then have been the basis for countless drafts and rewrites, but this chapter specifically is close to my heart because it was the very first one. A lot of it is very different, and some things stayed very much the same. I think it's a very fun comparison.

If you'd like to read this, I would suggest you read at least up to Chapter 5 first. Consider this heavy spoilers, it covers the same ground. All content warnings that apply to the most recent version of Reburial apply to this as well.

1.

You spot the first mushroom while washing yourself in the bathroom of a fast food chain—brightly colored plastic chairs, the queen's face plastered everywhere, glory to the Empire—and Ron dashes into the room so fast he almost slips on a puddle of cheap hand soap. 

He asks you why you screamed, your face in both of his hands; so you show him the memento you got from Cherie, a small, bright blue patch on your tan skin right where your first rib starts. The two of you more cling to each other than you hug, and then you both take antifungals at opposite sides of the grody bathroom and try to work out a plan of action.

“I didn’t think this would happen”, you say around the small white pill under your tongue. You want him close again, but you sit on your hands instead. “I never would’ve done this if I knew. You know that, right? That I didn’t know?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah”, he tells you and rubs his hand over his head, “calm the fuck down, I know you didn’t go spore fishing on purpose.” Then he stares at a suspicious puddle on the tiles between you. “Fuck, though." 

"Yeah”, you admit, “Fuck.”

2.

The next one pops up as you’re unloading boxes from a van you stole, trinkets and tidbits and two pounds of liquor, and when you heave the last box up the steps that lead to your customer's house and go to wipe the sweat from your forehead, there’s a bright blue patch on the back of your hand. You scream again until you cry, and don’t stop until Ron soothes you down from it (he never holds your face like that) and you can barely see him through all the tears. He tells you it’s going to be okay, but wears a mask around you from then on. 

He’s scared, you think, but you’re not sure if it’s for you or for himself.

At least it’s quiet for a while after that. The mushrooms don’t go away, but neither do your flowers, and you regularly make sure that they’re still there, push them upright, pick the dirt off them. You have to count your blessings after all.

3, 4, 5.

The third mushroom brings a friend, two cerulean blue fans that bloom up from your torso, right where your binder starts. They itch, but not as much as the fifth one that follows two nights later. It turns out that scratching them off doesn’t do anything.

Your best friend hasn’t touched you since you last shared a bed, almost two weeks that you’re really not trying to count—eleven nights, exactly eleven—when usually, you’re almost always in some kind of contact, feet in his lap or head on your shoulder or wrestling him in the dust. It’s good that he’s staying away. He split the antifungals up for you right before he split up the rest of your belongings, his side and yours, and that’s good too. You can’t actually see his face now, but the crease between his brows reads terror. That’s not so good.

6, 7, 8, 9—

After that, it all comes in waves. First more mushrooms, sprouting up in a big, technicolor patch right under your sternum, one all the way up your arm, a few single ones on your forehead and your cheek (Cherie’s still burns cold against yours), all as blue as the sky on the worst days. They leave your beautiful blossoms wilted and brown and you cry some more. Ron starts chewing his nails again.

Then comes the fever, bright and hot (like the sun? No, like a fire, or—like something that’s hot), and you’re almost grateful because it makes you forget yourself so much that you barely even notice that you can’t bind anymore.  

Next comes the thirst. You don’t have a metaphor for that one, all you know is that you could drink the sea if Ron let you. His face reads something milder now. Worry again, maybe. (He’s not giving up on you, is he?)

End.

What really knocks you out is the hunger, though; two, maybe three nights after the thirst sets in. Your legs go weak under you, your stomach is hollow, even the crusted up red you left in your wake before Ron made you trim your nails is starting to look appetizing, even if you’re vaguely aware of how disgusting that is. He feeds you jerky, beans, and canned fruit, but it’s just not enough.

There’s nothing on his face now, nothing in his body language. You know this boy like the back of your hand—bright blue patches not included—and you can read him like a book. He’s going to leave you. Of course he is, no normal person would ever love a zombie.

So the next time the moons go down, you don’t sleep. It’s not like you would want to miss a single ray of sun anyways, but this time, you won’t lie down in the grass.

He sleeps in the dark in your backup tent, curled around his dog, hood pulled over his eyes. There’s fine, brown fur all over his clothes when you come closer, and when you crouch over him you see that his hair has gotten way too long. 

You’ve barely reached out to brush your fingers through it when something stops you mid-motion—he’s awake. “Nat?” Then, again, “Natalie?!” It’s way too loud for such a beautiful day, such a bright day, such a—you find that your mouth works in vain when you want to express that, so instead, you growl. He calls for you again, turns his head towards your tent—he thinks he’s hallucinating, so, like the good friend that you are, you show him that he’s not.

You aimed for his throat, but caught an arm instead, you discover when your teeth hit his ulna with a satisfyingly wet crunch—or his radial bone? In any case, you get a mouthful of blood. You just want to bite down again to make short shrift of this one when you discover that he has a second arm, the faithless friend, the fucking traitor—the dart in your neck won’t budge. Fuck him for looking so clueless while carrying elephant-grade tranquilizer with him. Fuck him and fuck his crocodile tears. 

Your jaw goes slack almost instantly, but at least you get a second bite in. On a shoulder, you note, hazy but not unhappy, before the world tilts and you go down hard.

Hi Reburial taglist 👋

@tragedycoded @cowboybrunch @fairytaleinagem @marlowethelibrarian @gioiaalbanoart

@davycoquette @cometkov @writingrosesonneptune @innocentlymacabre @noblebs

[swanmaids]

for the prompt list - failure and guilt!

They have come too late.

On his right, Gil Galad, still a green boy in his eyes, is sputtering out curses. Somebody behind him is vomiting. Somebody else is quietly crying. But he, Círdan, silently steers the ship into port, ties off, and begins his work.

All along the waterfront is wanton destruction. Sticky, drying blood pulls at the soles of his boots as he walks. The once-beautiful fishing fleet is a cluster of blackened skeletons, a small fire still trying to burn upon the water. He picks his way methodically through gutted and ransacked houses, finds a family huddled under tables, a child hidden under her parent's bed.

But mostly, he finds bodies.

Stacked up in entranceways, cut down where they stood on the boardwalk, floating, swollen, in the water.

Sirion's people have been felled as easily as pawns swept off a game board. The sea itself is turning red.

Overhead, the birds are crying as they begin to circle. They more than anybody, have won the day.

Elwing and Eärendil's boathouse is easy to pick out, even among the carnage. The windows and door punched out, the bodies of her two beloved dogs thrown across the porch. Círdan is ashamed to admit to himself that he quails. He does not want to enter this house.

He has failed her.

Círdan remembers when he first saw Elwing, when she arrived in Sirion - a lifetime ago for her, but so very little time for him. Her huge staring eyes, her girlish lisp, the terrible burden that she carried. Have they slaughtered her, too, these beasts in elven skin?

Have they even killed - oh, gods, say that they have not killed her children! She had written to him, when she had learned that she was pregnant. He had read her joy upon the parchment.

Círdan closes his eyes, presses his head against the doorframe. Tries to make himself cross the threshold.

"I'm sorry, my lord," says a voice behind him that Círdan vaguely remembers as belonging to Pengolodh, "she's dead."

The scribe's voice breaks.

"They stole her children. The invaders... she ran to the cliffs. I saw her fall. I'm so sorry..." Pengolodh breaks off into great gulping sobs.

Círdan wants to cry, too, but he cannot. He is hollow, like one of the gutted fishing boats by the shore. He lets Pengolodh bury his face into his neck, instead.

"Evranin lives," Pengolodh says eventually, "but Gereth was cut down defending our lady. She has taken the town hall to shelter the wounded. Will you send to her any that you find?"

He nods.

He carries on.

He finds two children, screaming, who think he is another monster come to kill them. A very young Haladin woman, shielding a baby. Another woman, pinned by a spear but still breathing, who begs him "please, please, let me go."

He brings down his sword. He closes her eyes.

He walks on through the bones of Sirion. The streets and boardwalks echo with the voices of those he was too late to save.

[samkat10423]

Capp Manor

I really, really hated the Capp manor in the Sims 2. It was one of the reasons I never played that family. So - while danjaley recreated it for her town and did a good job - I knew I would never keep it. I actually opened it up, took a look around, and said, "Yep, still hate it."

So in my town history, the old manor house burned down. Some sims whisper that those Monty boys had something to do with it. But, more likely it was Tybalt falling asleep while smoking his weed. In any event, if 'el cheapo' Consort supported the local fire district, the firemen wouldn't have taken that detour to the pizzeria when the call came in, saying his house was on fire. But he doesn't and they did. And the rest is history.

Luckily, the house was insured, so he was able to rebuild the place - bigger and better. Even had some simoleons left over to replace the non-existent horse barn he swore was on the property and lost in the fire.

Because he's older than dirt and stairs hurt his knees, his bedroom is on the ground level. It's a combo study, bedroom, dressing room, and bath.

And here's the rest of the floor.

The first bedroom, at the top of the stairs, belongs to Tybalt. It's also the biggest, because he's a guy and Consort is secretly patrilineal, even though he bowed to the Capp demand that he give up his surname when he married into the family. So, of course, his grandson gets the biggest and best room. Besides, Tybalt is the first male to be born into the family in several generations, so he IS the PRINCE!!!! And don't you forget it!

The two girls get what's left - Juliette in the one with the pink-striped bed and Hermia in the purple room. Juliette is actually happy she got the room she got, because it's close to the back stair, which makes it easier to sneak out. Hermia doesn't care. She's got her horse and that's all that matters to her.

Anyway, that's their new house. I do have to go back in and re-do the wallpaper on that one hallway wall. And fix the floor by the back stair case. But apart from that, it is what it is. I can't remember where I got this house. I think it was Mod the Sims, but it could have been TSR. In any event, I redecorated it inside and out. And I think it fits this family better. I do not plan on putting any family graves on this lot - like they had in the Sims 2. The Capps have a perfectly good church that they go to, that has an adjacent graveyard. So all the dead family members will go there. These aren't the Goths after all.

BTW, danjaley provided all the main families for this town - complete with their Sims 2 bios. Which is super nice. I have added to their stories here and there. Mostly to give more info on why they hate each other. For instance, Consort is a complete narcissist. He doesn't have a clue why his former college roommate and BFF got mad when he 1) secretly stole his fiancé and 2) ran off with her on the day they were to get married, leaving poor Patrizio standing there, waiting at the altar. Or why Pat got upset when Contessa and he talked her father into booting Patrizio out of the company he had helped build.

I have taken the sims into CAS - even though I hate it - because I use custom skins, hairs and make-up on my sims. Plus this was made a long time ago, and I decided to update their wardrobes a tad. But if you decide to use her world, she provides the families - and even a save file. I chose not to use the save because I knew I'd be making some changes to the town.

[groofz]

PART I: "Midlife Crisis for Dummies"

How would I describe a midlife crisis, in a nutshell? Complacency seeps in, slow and silent. Before you know it, you hate your job, your wife, yourself, and your life. The everyday routine that once brought you peace has turned on you. It sneaks into your home, screws your wife, and burns down the house with the kids inside—all in slow motion, right in front of you. And somehow, you've forgotten how to even find words for the feeling—not even to yourself. It's not like anyone would listen, anyway; you don't speak their language anymore, and they can't see you at all.

Halloween just passed, but that's not why I sketched the Invisible Man. I sketched him because I'm living through a three-year midlife crisis that started back in 2021 and hasn't let up. I used to think the "midlife crisis" was a myth. I mean, what could possibly top puberty? Many of us barely survived that as it is! But this feels a lot like puberty, minus the zits and hormone spikes (though there's still confusion, the feeling of being an outsider, and plenty of horniness and depression). After one of the most productive phases of my life, I lost touch with everything | ever believed in.

I drifted away, forgot how to connect with other people, lost my sense of self, my identity, my sense of belonging. Just like that, I was gone.

The first sign? An onslaught of angst and the overpowering urge to reread The Catcher in the Rye for what must have been the 25th time. At first, I wondered if this was puberty all over again-maybe thanks to the COVID vaccine. Once I started becoming aware of it, though, there was still nothing I could do. I got more depressed and suicidal than l'd ever been. Like so many creatives, I left art and comics behind years ago, focusing on a responsible, modest lifestyle, building a career and a family. By 29, I was an ordinary guy-content, or at least settling. Then life came along and sucker-punched me in the balls, stole my powers, and burned it all down. Out of nowhere, though, I felt the spark of something new. It was time to go on a quest.

PART II: "There and Back Again"

I wanted to draw the Invisible Man because that's exactly how I feel. I feel like Gregor Samsa, trying to murmur an "I love you" through my own twisted exoskeleton, only to terrify anyone who matters. I feel like Frankenstein, Godzilla, or Toru Okada in a surreal, postmodern search for meaning, lost in a dark hole. I am body horror-aging itself is body horror. It reminds me of that Cronenberg film Shivers, where an old man opens his trench coat to expose his shriveled body, croaking, "Even old flesh... is erotic flesh." It's grotesque, yet somehow, it's all part of this journey.

PART III: "How to Survive a Midlife Crisis (Or Any Crisis) "

How do you survive a midlife crisis—or any crisis? By diving into the toxic wreckage of this post-apocalyptic, dystopian nightmare we call life and finding the art buried inside. Let it in; let it take over like radiation or cancer. Become someone new-reborn, inspired, creating art and comics, and vomiting pop culture.

During the worst of it, I went back to my old survival strategy. I gorged on every piece of media I could get my hands on-comics, manga, art books, classics, film noir, vintage BDSM movies and magazines. I started drawing again, and fast. Now it's all coming together, fusing into something new. This is what I wanted. More to come?

P.S. Did I mention I might've jerked off 40 times a day and visited a few escorts in all this? Guess that should've been in here too, since I'm drawing hentai late at night.

Feels like this is going somewhere. I'll just have to follow my heart and see where it

[twistedshipper]

Did you share anything about "Burning Till You're Cold"? Because if not, I want to hear! :)

Thank you, Jacquelyn! I'm so excited that you asked me about this fic, as it's one that's been simmering in the back of my mind for a long time now (and one I hope to focus on once I finish SL).

The idea for the fic is actually older than SL and, unlike the other wips I have, is set in the verse of spn but without anything overtly supernatural; it's just the characters facing their real world struggles.

The fic is about Dean in his early twenties trying to look out after Sam and himself after the difficult upbringing they've had under John's roof since their mother died.

I'm not sure about much of the plot but I have the first chapter written. In it Dean takes a drive out of Lawrence to clear his head and winds up at a dive called Harvelle's (which is located closer to Lawrence than in the show), where he meets Jo, who likewise, has her own fair share of struggles (similar to the show she dropped out of school because she didn't belong there and is helping her mom out at the bar), and the two hit it off.

Other things about the fic is that Sam (like in s7) is a psych ward patient (and is inpatient at the start of the fic), going in and out of the hospital ever since his first psychotic break while he was away at school at Stanford (which I'm very attached to as an idea as it's inspired from the show as much as my own experiences).

There's also this dark undercurrent in the fic that deals with themes of abuse which would be a major spoiler to share here so I won't. Instead I'll leave some snippets from the first chapter:

It was his first time getting wasted (publicly, that was, and without company) and it was his first time at this bar, located at the outskirts of his hometown of Lawrence, Kansas, dead set in the middle of the U.S. Why he came here as opposed to his usual haunts, he didn’t really know, other than that creeping feeling on his skin that told him he wanted the hell out of home and anything that reminded him of the stench and stain of that old house, its memories: the good, the bad, and the ugly, all of it.  He so desperately wanted out, that in a flash of recklessness, one would call impulse, he stole his father’s keys as he lay passed out on the couch senseless and took his wheels, telling himself to keep on driving until he crossed the city limits.

Well, he didn’t get that far. He saw the flickering neon lights beckoning out to him from the roadside and on another whim, thought he’d pull in for a drink. He certainly deserved one after the last few days, even though a part of him felt guilty for the indulgence, knowing full well that his kid brother wasn’t flying so high and free.

Not that Dean was either; if anything, he was running, running from his family, his problems, his responsibilities, that weight he carried inside himself, pressing hazardously into his chest. Was it too much to ask for one night just to lose himself?  Like all those nights his father lost himself in drink?  A part of him felt hesitant, afraid even to become the man, but well, these were desperate times, times that called for desperate measures.  So going on nothing but gut, as he ever did, he pulled into the lot, parked, and pushed his way through the double doors into a haze of smoke and sorrows potentially worse than his own.

And here's an interaction between Dean and Jo (because I love them so much):

“What about you?” she asked after a pause.  “Why are you here on a cold Thursday night in November?”

“Ahh,” he began fumbling for words.  “You really don’t want to know.”

“Try me,” she said. 

He bit his lip.  “Well, it’s a tough situation,” he said, repeating her choice of word.  “You see my brother…” he suddenly stopped himself, shook his head.  “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but, um, he’s…” he turned away then, scared that he might just break down and cry in front of her, this girl he only just met.  He had to gather himself and quickly. 

“He’s okay, right?” he heard her ask, from where she stood, huddled in his jacket that dwarfed her.

“Yeah,” he said turning back to face her.  “Of course, he’s fine.  Totally.  But you know, it’s my responsibility to look out for him, and sometimes that’s hard.”

He stopped himself and caught her watching him with a look all her own.  “What?” he said.

“It’s nothing,” she said.  “Just…”

She was about to speak when suddenly an old pickup pulled up, bathing the two of them with its headlights. 

“Is that…?” she asked instead.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Dean said with an awkward wave towards Bobby who looked miffed in the driver’s seat. 

“Here, let me give you this back,” she said quickly, taking off the jacket and handing it to him.

He took it from her gently and she went back to crossing her arms, to protect herself from the cold.  “Thanks,” he said.  “You better get back inside.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling slightly, “and you better not keep him waiting.”

“Right,” he said, and turned to hop in the passenger seat.

“Oh, and Dean?”

He dropped his hand from the latch, turning back to face her.  “Yeah?”

“Take care of yourself, won’t you?”

He nodded.  In the moment it was all that he could do.

Bobby beeped the horn.

And the moment, whatever it was between them, was over.  He opened the truck door and shuffled in, and in the span of time it took him to fasten his seatbelt, she was already slipping through the front doors of the bar, as a pair of men came stumbling out.  A part of him, however drunk and senseless, hoped she would turn back and wave at him, but the door shut behind her and she was safe inside and warm.

So much for that, he thought.  Now it was time to face the situation at hand and he expected Bobby to smack him upside the head and yell at him for taking his dad’s car all the way out in the middle of nowhere only to get smashed stupid.

But Bobby didn’t speak right away as they pulled out of Harvelle’s Roadhouse and onto the road and that’s when Dean looking back at the old dive noticed that a light snow had begun to fall, each flake glittering under the streetlamps like a tiny iridescent star.

Thank you again for asking me about this fic. (I was hoping someone would.) You've reignited my interest in it and now I'm just craving to write it, haha. ❤

[elitebuster2012]

Penetrating the Double Zero: Part 3

(Here's the third part, and as far as I've written so far, as usual Characters and setting belong to @constellor, and feel free to follow to catch further chapters! TW: Suggestive)

    As the ship eased away from the hanger, doors closing behind it, Karo joined Orion in the cockpit, clipping the last of a couple earrings onto his ears. “By the way, you forgot this in the bathroom.” He dropped a crumpled up piece of paper onto the pirate’s lap. 

    “Wha?” He blushed after unfolding the centerfold of Karo lounging seductively on a bearskin rug. “Oh…Whoops? He chuckled as the ranger rolled his eyes, guiding the ship on its journey.

    “So then, Mr. Pirate, what’s your plan? You know that Don Vorban is gonna skin you alive if he catches you…like, literally. Nicolas Cage would be jealous.”

    Orion sighed, an unusually serious look on his face. “Yeah, I know. Look, you know I’m not a fan of “Laws” or “order”, but I’m not a murderer. Vorban is. I tricked some guards to get into his place, was wearing a mask and disguise and all that. The guy fed them to his pets, even after what they told him everything, then he burned down the building of the company I stole the uniform from, and then the owner’s house.” His hands tightened around the ship’s controls. “They had nothing to do with what happened, and he didn’t care. I don’t care about the money for the rest of the stuff, I just want Vorban taken down.”

    Karo looked at the other man, and part of him wanted to reach out to him, but he didn’t know how Orion would react. “So that stuff about “being free to sell the rest of the haul” was just a front?” 

    He shrugged. “Not entirely, but I can’t exactly tell the Rangers that I’m a big ol’ softie, can I? It would ruin my reputation.”

    “Oh, but you can tell me?” 

    Orion blushed slightly, not willing to lock eyes with the bunny. “Well you’re…you’re….you’re different, you know?”

    “Mhm…..” Karo sat back in his chair as the cockpit fell silent, that same part of him that earlier wanted to comfort his partner now strangely pleased that he thought so much of him. They stayed quiet as the ship approached their docking hanger in the shadow of the massive casino cruiser docked nearby, and packed up without much conversation before disembarking with their luggage. Once they had entered the terminal, it wasn’t hard to find their way, what with the advertisements for the maiden voyage of the Double Zero plastered on every wall and holoscreen they passed. Before too long, they were at the gate, which was specially built and three times as large as the other gates, and had a small stage set up in front of it.

    On said stage was their target, Don Alexander Vorban; at almost 7 feet tall, with handsome reptilian features and greenish skin with patches of scales, the man definitely stood out, and if the muscles under his suit were any indication, he could easily handle himself in any sort of fight. He was smiling, showing sharp carnivorous teeth, and joking around confidently with the other people on the stage as they approached, the newcomers melding into the crowd of people waiting around the gate area.

    After a couple of minutes Vorban approached the microphone on the stage, motioning for the crowd to quiet down. When he finally spoke his voice was deep, husky, and powerful, barely needing the minor amplification of the PA speakers. “Hello everyone, thank you all for coming! For those of you who may not know me, I am Alexander Vorban, head of the Vorban Group, CEO of Vorban Shiplaying, and now Owner and Operator of the newly completed casino cruiser, the Double Zero!” With a flourish he motioned to the windows of the docking gate, which had been up until that point covered up with velvet curtains. The shades dropped, revealing the sight of the truly massive vessel docked outside while the crowd clapped.

    After a bit, he motioned for them to stop clapping. “Alright, alright. Now, as you may have seen around the station, the ship’s official maiden voyage starts isn’t for a couple months, but this is a special treat: it’s my nephew’s birthday this week, so I decided to give a sneak preview of what we will have on offer to you wonderful people before me. Everyone here is either family, a friend of the family, or has been personally selected among critics, influencers, and travel bloggers to be one of the first in the galaxy to experience the luxury and hospitality of the Double Zero and share that with the world and your audience! And while what we have this week will be only a fraction of the final variety on offer when we are fully operational, the quality is guaranteed to satisfy! On behalf of everyone who has worked so hard to bring this project together, I just want to say thank you, and I hope you enjoy the trip!” He stood back from the mic as the couple hundred or so people in the gate applauded.

    “Hmph, I wonder how many of these people would be clapping for him if they knew what he’s done.” Karo whispered to Orion under his breath.

    Orion shrugged. “Half these people are “influencers”, they’d give a wet paper bag a standing ovation if it’ll get them a free trip and enough likes.” Karo sighed, knowing it was true. Before their conversation could continue, they were approached by a functionary carrying a tablet, and flanked by a pair of masked and helmeted guards.

    “Excuse me, we’re just doing a ticket check, would you mind showing us your boarding pass?” The attendant gave them a smile as she held up the tablet, wating for them to hold up their passes. 

    Karo and Orion looked at each other then back to the worker. Orion cleared his throat. “Well, we don’t exactly have tickets, but I was hoping I could have a word with Mr. Vorban. I’ve got something that I think he’d be rather eager to receive.” 

    The clerk’s smile didn’t falter, but it did seem a bit less genuine. “One moment!” She stepped away, tapping her earpiece and whispering for a moment. After a couple seconds, she turned back to the pair. “And what would that object be?”

    Orion gave a smile and a wink. “Unfortunately, that’s a bit above your price range dear. Just tell him, and I quote, “I won’t let the cat out of the bag, it’s for his eyes only, and he wouldn’t want to misss out and bust”, Ok?”

    She nodded, that same professional smile on her face even though she was wondering wtf his deal was as she turned away and went back to muttering. What she heard back clearly surprised her enough to break through her customer service persona, because confusion was evident on her face as she turned back to the pair. “Well, umm…If I could please see your wrists?” Orion and Karo held their wrists out, and she snapped a band around them before scanning them with her tablet. They beeped, a small screen lighting up on them and displaying the time. 

    “Please keep the bands on you at all times when outside of your rooms, as they’ll function as both your room key and your payment for goods and services on-board. There will be someone waiting to escort you to Mr. Vorban once you are on board the ship.” She motioned towards the gate entrance, which was currently blocked by a velvet rope with a line forming. She lead the two over to it, where another attendant scanned their bands and opened the rope, allowing them to enter and skip the line. “Enjoy your trip!”

    “Oh we will!” Orion waved back to her as the two walked down the long airlock tunnel that connected the cruise ship and the station. “See? Not a problem!” Karo rolled his eyes, still not convinced something else wasn’t gonna implode.

    When they arrived at the ship, an attendant gave them a bow and a smile, welcoming them aboard. They were fairly certain that this wasn’t the escort they were informed about however, since there was also a quartet of guards standing there looking rather menacing. “Come with us.” It wasn’t a question, but an order, and the bird & bunny men had no real choice but to comply. The halls and passages that they walked down were very sumptuous, with wide viewpanels along the outer wall looking back at the station they had just left. Soon enough though, they turned and headed deeper into the ship, into the heart of the cruiser.

    After a couple minutes, they arrived at a pair of wide double doors with attendants standing outside that opened silently at their approach. Within was a room that was better appointed than any room aboard any ship that either man had been on before. At the far end, wide windows looked out into the ship itself, revealing what looked like a shopping district in any resort town, complete with sunny blue skies overhead, walkable paths and greenery down below, shops lining the sides, and even a couple fountains. Over the shops on the sides were balconies, leading to the most expensive rooms on board. Both men were rather speechless at the sight. 

    “So I take it you like it?” The deep voice broke them out of their stupor, and they turned to see Don Vorban sitting at his desk on one side of the room. “I do hope so, after all…” the crimelord stood, removing his suit jacket and starting to roll up his sleeves as he slowly walked around his desk to circle Karo and Orion. “You’ve done so much to get in uninvited. You said you had something for me?” 

    Karo kept the fact that the giant handsome lizardman was more than a little intimidating down, and nudged Orion. “Show him what you got.”

    Orion nodded, throwing Karo a reassuring wink. “Why of course! May I?” He motioned to a small cart at the side of the room, and with a nod from Vorban, who had completed his circle to lean against the front of his desk, he pulled the cart over and placed the case on top. “I believe this is yours?” With a flourish, he popped open the case, revealing the opal bust.

    Vorban stood slowly, a wide and dangerous smile spreading over his face. “Well well well, I see that message wasn’t bluffing after all. You dinguses, bring it over here.” One of the guards pushed the cart over, and Vorban inspected the bust up close, lifting it and testing its heft. 

“I must say, when you said you had something I would be eager to have, you weren’t lying.” He placed the bust back into the case. “Now, I would be remiss in not asking why and where you acquired such a piece.”

    Orion gave his most charming smile as he replied. “Well, I’m in the business of…well lets say the “Import and Export of objects of great value and secrecy”, if you know what I mean. On a certain trip to acquire some of these objects, I heard a couple locals talking about a ship that had crashed nearby, and that the wreckage was in the process of being scavenged when some local wildlife decided that the people doing the scavenging looked tasty, and chased them off. I figured there might be something worth looking into, so I outsmarted the fauna, and recovered the bust from a hidden compartment in the hull that the earlier scavengers must have overlooked in their haste.”

    “Mhm…that certainly is an interesting story, Mr….?”

    “Starlor, Orion Starlor, at your service.” He gave an overdramatic bow and a smirk.

    “And your…friend? Do they have a name as well?” Vorban raised an eyebrow as he looked Karo up and down slowly.

    “I’m Kevo Blackwater, nice to meet you. Orion here promised that he’d show me a good time that nobody else ever could.” 

    “Oh did he now? Quite presumptuous of him.” Vorban chuckled, looking between the two. “Well Mr. Starlor, what is is that you came here for then? A finder’s fee perhaps?”

    Orion waved that away. “Nah, that would be asking too much.” Vorban’s smile as he said it showed that the Don very much agreed. “However, if you graciously allowed us to join you on this little cruise, it would be more than enough for me.”

    Vorban locked eyes with him, and was silent for a few moments before letting off a loud laugh. “Oh is that all? I suppose it would keep you around long enough to confirm your story, so I’ll agree to your terms.” He stood up and reached out to shake first Orion’s hand, then Karo’s. 

“You enjoy your stay, Mr. Starlor. And as for you, Mr. Blackwater, I hope you find your time here as good as he promised you.” This last line was punctuated by a gentle squeeze of the bunny man’s hand and a smile, and for a brief instant Karo imagined the feel of the lizardman’s large, strong hands on his waist before the handshake was broken. 

“Guards, put them in 713, that should be open. Gentlemen, welcome to the Double Zero.” The pair followed the guards out, and Karo could feel Vorban’s eyes on him all the way until the doors closed behind them.