#jean jacket with unknown pin

[tyforthevnm]

IG story of Frank and Mikey at Fender’s Custom Shop on December 19, 2019 | source

[callmeblake]

2013 Kerrang (X)

[ratridingaskateboard]

Tear You Apart

Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader!

TW: 18+, wet dream, p in v, cursing, bdsm, sexual acts, sexual fantasies, etc.

A/N: The trigger warnings would be too long if I mentioned every sexual act ever done in this story. We would be here all day!!

Synopsis: Eddie has had a crush on Y/n since the day she stepped foot into Hawkins High School. After constantly fantasizing about her, will fantasy finally become a reality?

-

The second Y/n waltzed her way into the main hall of Hawkins High, Eddie was awe-struck. She was clad in a bleached jean jacket capped in patches and pins of metal and rock bands. Many of them Eddie hadn’t even heard of. The Black Sabbath t-shirt she wore had been ripped to shreds, showing only a tanktop underneath. Her plaid red skirt swayed as she walked and had boys and girls anticipating for a gush of wind to reveal what was hidden under that scanty piece of clothing. To no one’s surprise, within minutes of walking in she was quickly pulled into the principal’s office for dress code violations.

The hall had erupted into gossip over who this mystery girl was. No one at Hawkins had a single clue who she was or why she chose their school to be graced with her presence. Eddie had never seen anyone like her in Hawkins, if he had he would’ve known. Just seeing what she was wearing made the blood rush to his cheeks but the second he saw her patched covered jacket he was practically on his knees.

This was his chance to finally get with a girl who he shared similar interests with. Don’t get him wrong, Eddie loved getting laid no matter what type of girl it was. But most girls had little to no interest in Eddie, they just wanted to see what it was like to fuck the school freak. They didn’t complain but they didn’t speak about it either. He was, to put it simply, a conquest. Now he had the ability to be around someone who, he hoped, wouldn’t shun him away like the others.

Eddie’s friends gathered around him at his locker, passing comments about the new girl and her clothing.

“God- I hope they don’t give her a pair of pants to wear.” Gareth hissed under his breath.

“I think I saw her bra underneath her shirt” Jeff added.

“The second you guys see a girl you are like dogs! I am surrounded by barbarians!” Dustin was quick to be the voice of reason. It was hard for teenage boys to view any girl as a person much less a girl who showed a little skin.

“You’re right Dustin. Did you see her jacket? It was covered in Metal patches. She seems cool.” Eddie finally added.

“Sorry Eddie- I was a little busy looking at other pieces of clothing she was wearing.” Gareth said.

Eddie rolled his eyes. One of the things Wayne had taught Eddie once he had reached puberty was to be a gentleman. Apparently, Gareth was not given this pep talk. Obviously, Eddie was attracted to her but he had to push down the want to tear her clothes off in order to form a relationship with her.

Hours had passed and she was still no where to be seen. Eddie assumed the principal must have sent her home with the list of violations she had achieved on the first 15 minutes she was inside the school.

Lunch was no different than usual except for the extra chatter of the mysterious new girl and her fondness for revealing clothing. Eddie pushed the food around on his lunch tray, disgusted by the unknown meat with the rancid smell.

“Hey-“ A gentle hand pressed against Eddie’s shoulder. The smell of cigarettes and vanilla filled his nostrils. Eddie looked up to see his friends wide eyed, staring at this unknown figure behind him.

“I like your Dio patch. That’s my favorite album by them.”

Eddie moved his neck to look at her but he found himself too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. Instead, his eyes focused on the jacket she wore, naming each band in his head- trying to get his mind off the absolute fool he was making of himself.

Shit, her hand was still on his shoulder. His face turned to a shade of red he didn’t believe was possible to achieve unless in scorching hot weather.

“Don’t mean to be an asshole but your sewing isn’t the best.” She traced a line with her finger against the trim of the patch. Eddie could still feel the softness of her fingertips even through the denim of jacket and cotton of his shift. Suddenly, Eddie felt the warmth of her breath against his ear.

“If you ever need someone to teach you, I would love to.”

Her hand moved back to his shoulder and lightly squeezed it, sending spikes of electricity through his spine. Then, she was gone.

Eddie’s face remained just as red as before. His fellow Hellfire members tried to help him regain consciousness but Eddie remained silent. He was stunned. He had never felt so weak. She toyed with him and he didn’t even fight back. He had never felt so powerless. In most situations he had had with girls, he was the one who approached and the one who lead. But, she… she was different.

“Eddie, dude, you should probably go to the bathroom.” Jeff patted Eddie’s shoulder, finally getting his attention.

Eddie looked down to find his dick as stiff as a board in his pants. Jesus Christ, he needed to get his shit together. This girl was messing with his fucking head.

After a moment in the bathroom, Eddie was able to go about his day as normally as he could. He still stumbled whenever he thought of the softness of her hand or the smell of her perfume. But as long as he didn’t see her he was fine. Right?

After Hellfire, Eddie returned to the trailer he shared with his Uncle and plopped himself on his bed. God- was he exhausted. Didn’t know being teased by a girl would make him so tired. His eyes fluttered closed and he gave in.

“E-Eddie please,” Y/n wimpered, looking up at him with big doe eyes, her hands restrained behind her back.

“Please what?” Eddie persisted, his leg pushing in between her thighs, feeling the warmth of her.

“P-Please fuck me!” She huffed, grinding her hips against his thigh. She seemed so helpless now. Her dominance was subdued by him and she had become a mess of herself.

“How much do you want it?” Eddie whispered in her ear, her perfume smelled even stronger when he was this close to her neck.

“I-I want it so bad, Eddie! Please I’m begging you!” She wailed.

He loved seeing her like this. Fuck, it made him feel like he was gonna cum in his pants. He couldn’t make her wait any longer and neither could he.

He started to reach his hand under her shirt when-

He woke up. It was a dream. It was a fucking dream. And one thing he knew about dreams like these, they always end the same.

Eddie lifted his comforter to find his boxers covered with jizz as well as the sheets underneath him. Eddie’s face crumpled into a frown. He had to get her back for this.

-

A/N: Dont worry there will be a part two coming soon!!! Hope u enjoyed

[thevillainswhore]

Spoiled and stuffed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Bucky surprises you with a gift on your birthday.

Warnings: Smut (use of a d-ildo fem receiving, c-lit play, a little exhibitionism/mirror kink?), established relationship, Bucky is a warning himself, okay?

A/N: Beta’d by @lunarbuck - thank you so much my love, especially on such short notice 🥰 dividers by @saradika, also wanna give a special thank you to @flordeamatista for helping me with the colouring of my moodboard and in general being so supportive 💗

A little something for one of my nearest and dearest 🥰

You dig through your wardrobe, hair styled to absolute perfection, and make-up flawlessly applied to compliment your features, searching through your clothes to figure out the perfect outfit to go out tonight. Why?

Because it is your birthday.

Bucky refuses to let you stay in tonight, already having treated you like a queen for your special day with numerous gifts and loving gestures throughout the day. A gorgeous breakfast spread put together by him to kick off, with an extra surprise of you spread over the table for seconds.

It’s fair to say he has gone all out.

The result of your gifts from him means a mountain of new stuffies are now placed carefully into their respective homes in your shared room, chocolates overflowing your sweet stash, and an overwhelming amount of love in your heart for your man, who’s been making sure he doesn’t fall short of making you happy.

You love him with your whole heart. Birthday or not.

Hearing the door open, you know Bucky is now in the room with you, not thinking to take any notice as he’s probably just coming in to check how you’re getting on.

So, as you stand in only a towel, trying to mentally match colour choices and style options, you’re too focused on your current task to see the glint of mischief in Bucky’s eyes as he walks further into the bedroom.

Already dressed in his signature combat boots and leather jacket with all-black jeans and tight shirt fit - an outfit he knows you go crazy for - Bucky can’t help the predatory glare he pins onto you as he gawks at the fabric of your towel inching up your thighs. He honestly can’t get enough of them - marks from a week ago still staining your skin, placed there from your wild night that the thought of still makes a shiver run down his spine.

Wanting to update him to make sure he knows you're not going to be late for your reservation at the restaurant you’ve been gushing about for so long, you slightly turn your head over your shoulder - not enough for him to totally come into view - and tell him, “Hi baby! I promise I’m almost done, just gotta find something to wear and then I’m ready!”.

Bucky’s been crazy for you all day. Never mind that he wants to treat his girl on her birthday - he’s ravenous for you all the time, and now that he’s got a little extra surprise for you, he’s excited to see your reaction.

He wants you. Bad.

And he’s gonna have you.

Unaware of the tension in the room, you carry on with your quest, even without a response to you, too busy with your clothing dilemma to question your boyfriend’s antics and unusual silence. You want to pick the perfect outfit to look pretty for him after all.

Soon enough though, you're snapped out of your concentration when a sudden screech from behind you startles you enough to stop you from what you're doing and look towards the sound, only to see Bucky dragging one of your wooden chairs across the floor in your direction.

His azure eyes, fixed intently on you, never leave you as his combat boots, that hold vivid memories of you riding them, thud menacingly against the floorboards, moving closer as he doesn’t say a word.

The dead silence has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, anticipation bubbling inside of you with the arousing fear of the unknown.

Once it seems Bucky’s happy with the placement of the chair, he walks around to the front, eyes still never leaving you as he slowly sits down and spreads his thighs, licking his lips and finally speaking for the first time since he came in.

“Come here.”

It’s simple. Yet, the authority lacing his gravel baritone has your whole body on edge, hands already trembling at his deep voice and allure that’s screaming at you to do as he says.

You still can’t help but question the meaning behind his aloofness, stuttering with nerves, “B-Bucky? What’s g-going on? What-“

“I said - Come. Here.”

You gulp.

You know that tone of voice. You know what it’s led to before.

Clarity soon hits you. The look in his eyes, the tightening of his fists against his thick thighs, deliciously wrapped in denim that strains against him. It finally makes sense.

He’s going to turn you into his ruined little mess.

Taking careful steps towards him, nervous and aroused for whatever is about to happen, your legs feel like jelly as you walk to what you know will soon turn you into a puddle, knees almost buckling with each timid tip-toe in his direction.

As soon as you’re in between his legs, Bucky smooths his huge, calloused hands over the back of your thighs, going slightly under the towel to feel the crease of your ass as he grips the meat of your legs, groaning at your soft, smooth skin and the scent of your lotion applied after your shower.

Before you can even process it, Bucky yanks the end of your towel, your breath hitching as it drapes down your body, revealing your naked form.

“Bucky!”

Your shriek goes ignored as Bucky licks his lips, eyes taking in every single delicious inch of you as he slowly runs his thumbs over your hips. The cold air hardens your nipples, heightening their sensitivity.

Did he just growl? You swear he did.

Oh, you’re gonna be so fucked.

Literally.

Turning you around and gripping your bare waist to bring you down and make you sit on his lap, you can’t help the way your chest heaves as he brings your legs over his, forcing them wide by intertwining his boots between your feet - your cunt open on display for him and him only.

You’re already panting as Bucky starts to kiss all over your neck, hands smoothing over your thighs as you feel the rough denim of his jeans against your silk-smooth skin.

It’s torture not togrind your clit against the rough texture.

A violent tremor stuns your body as his deep timber ripples through your ear. “Daddy’s got another present for you, baby girl.”

Your whines are music to Bucky’s ears. He adores how worked up he’s got you already, but he doesn’t plan to stop there.

This is just the beginning.

Reaching around, somewhere you don’t see as your eyes are already half shut in apprehension for the pleasure you know he’s about to bring you, an extra weight added to Bucky’s already huge hands brings you back down to earth a little.

“Look, sweetheart.”

You do as you're told, slowly bringing your gaze down to see what’s in his hand. An unexpected moan bursts out of you at the thick, long piece of silicone he’s holding.

“You like it, baby? Daddy had it specially made, just for his birthday girl - look familiar at all?”

Of course it fucking did.

The recognisable girth. Veins bulging down the shaft that you loved to lick and tease. The unmistakable length that hit spots no one else had ever before. Even the colour was perfect - a pink tip rounding the whole look perfectly.

An exact replica of Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck.”

You can practically feel the smug smirk on the bastard’s face, too dumbed out already to call him out for his wickedness.

It’s sinister, the grin that crosses Bucky’s face. He’s proud of how well his gift has gone down with you. “That’s right, baby. You’re gonna fuck Daddy’s cock, while I watch and enjoy the show.”

Not even having the chance to prepare yourself, Bucky begins rubbing the fat tip of the toy up and down your cunt, your now soaking pussy coating it in your juices and easily sliding through your slit, catching on your hole each time.

How Bucky found a fake dick that felt so realistic was beyond your belief. Nothing could ever compare to the real thing, but right now, you’re on the verge of begging for your boyfriend to fill you and soothe the ache.

Trying to catch the tip of the dildo on your cunt, Bucky takes the utmost pleasure in making sure he moves it away just in time before you can sink down, your needy whining hardening his cock even more.

“Daddy, please please please, I wan’ it so bad.”

The strain of your legs being forced wide by Bucky’s boots has you drooling before the main events even begin. The exposure to your naked form, contrasting against your boyfriend’s fully clothed one, surrendering yourself to his control entirely.

Your head is spinning, in the best possible way, lost in the dream that Bucky is.

“I know, I’m sorry, baby girl.” But he really isn’t, his seductive chuckle, forcing your pussy to clench as he goes on to make you even more dizzy. “Daddy just fuckin’ loves watchin’ how desperate you get for me.”

With no warning, Bucky thrusts his fake cock to the hilt, your walls fluttering around the shaft as it sits deep in your cunt. Your mouth hangs open in shock to experience the same stretch only Bucky’s cock has ever given you. The veins in your boyfriend’s arm bulge from the exertion of holding you down to stop squirming and the effort to keep himself collected, inflicting torture upon himself from not having his cock in you.

Once you’ve managed to get your breath, your head falls back onto his shoulder, too heavy from the fuzzy feeling swirling through your head to carry any longer.

But Bucky’s not finished revealing all the tricks up his sleeve.

Gripping your jaw to force your head back up, Bucky coos in condescension at how dumbed out you look, gently shaking your head to try and bring you back to the present.

“Aw, baby. Don’t tell me you’re done already. Why don’t you look ahead, hm?”

And so, as Bucky keeps a firm grip on you, you look forward to the direction your man has made you face, opening your eyes a little more to get rid of the blur of your surroundings when it becomes clear as to what else has got him so giddy.

A mirror.

A perfect view of you draped over Bucky’s lap, completely bare, with a cock held inside you.

Sly fucker.

Bucky placed the chair strategically in front of your full-length mirror just so he could add an extra element to your delicious reckoning.

Whispering into your ear, his breath causes goosebumps to break out onto the curve of your neck, “You see what I see, sweetheart? How well your pretty little cunt takes Daddy?”

You do. You can see everything. The pride in Bucky’s eyes, the feral beast hiding behind the blue that’s dying to come out.

And as he holds your gaze, he finally starts to thrust the silicone cock into you. His strokes are slow and tantalising enough to make you need more. He’s always loved finding how much you could take before you snapped.

It didn’t mean he would go easy on you just because it was your birthday.

The force behind the pace of the cock gets faster, harder, your moans and whimpers causing Bucky’s grip to tighten on your arms - no doubt leaving more bruises for him to admire next time.

You would normally be embarrassed by the loud squelching from your pussy, wetness flowing from your stuffed hole as Bucky continuously fucks his silicone cock into you. But, you can’t find it in yourself to care in the least when you’re so close to your high.

“You wanna cum?”

You don’t think you’ve ever nodded so fast in your life, words escaping you as you become boneless in his hold.

That doesn’t satisfy Bucky, though. Evident in his snarl as he growls into your neck. “I want a fuckin’ answer. Do you want to cum?”

“Yes! Yes yes please, Daddy, please!” You’re almost screaming, past experiences leaving no time to be silent any longer, knowing your man will easily leave you on edge the whole night should you not answer.

Bucky must be on the same wavelength as you, that damned twinkle in his eye, proud of his girl for learning so well.

But you think you might die as he leans forward, his gaze unwavering from yours in the mirror as he states clearly, “Fuckin’ give it to me then, baby.”

And with a couple of taps to your throbbing clit and the tip of the dildo hitting your cervix just right, giving him your cum is not a problem as you practically vibrate in his hold. Belly jittering from a little overstimulation as he slows down his strokes and eventually comes to a stop.

The room is quiet apart from your heavy breathing. Bucky gives you a second for the adrenaline to ease off before slowly sliding the fake cock out of your pussy and placing it somewhere you don’t care to check right now.

Bringing his arms around your waist after untightening his grip to lean you back into him, Bucky snuggles you, allowing you to come down from your high as he obliterates your face with dozens of kisses and whispers praise into your skin.

“Did so fuckin’ good for me, gorgeous. Daddy’s so happy you like his present for you.”

Your delirious laughter is nothing new at this point for him. The energy zapped out of you enough to have you on the border of going a little loopy. Bucky would normally carry you to bed and take care of you as he tells you stupid jokes to make you giggle. But his birthday girl deserves a good night out, with some food to settle her appetite for what is to come for the rest of the night (little did you know).

The last of the sweet kisses pecked into your silk skin have you melting into his embrace. Bucky’s delicate way of taking care of you warming your heart even after his wicked antics just before you had to go out.

“Now, I’ll give you a couple of minutes, and then we’ve really gotta get going so we don’t miss our reservation, sweetheart.”

Relaxing back into bucky, you’re almost pieced back together enough to get on with your next steps, but the feel of a huge wet patch on his pants has you immediately embarrassed and stuttering to try and explain to your man how you’ve ruined his outfit.

“Bucky, - your jeans. They- they’re um, a little… wet.” Cheeks going hot as you duck your head in shyness, you attempt to get the rest of your words out, “You might need to change before we go.”

Bucky already knows the result of fucking you with your new toy has left him with a little something on his jeans.

He can’t help the dangerous chuckle he lets loose at your sheepishness after what he’s just done.

Placing his pointer finger under your chin, turning your head towards him until you look in beautiful blue eyes, he smirks, and you know what’s about to come out of his mouth won’t be good for your health or your pussy.

“Oh, pretty girl. You really think I give a fuck? I’m not gonna change, wanna know why?”

Kissing you once on the lips, your heart begins racing again, his mouth hovering over yours as he whispers, “Because this way, everyone will know who you belong to - who made you cum so hard.”

And Bucky wouldn’t truly be your man if he didn’t proceed to kill you with his final words.

“And who’s cock you’ll be taking in your tight cunt later on when I give the birthday girl her last present of the night.”

[olsenmyolsen]

Chapter Two: A Place To Work and A Place to Live

The Farmer's Daughter - (A WandaNat Story)

Masterlist

Summary: Natasha stumbles upon a man looking for someone to work on his farm.

Word Count: 2K

Content: Erik and Magda are the sweetest

It turns out it was just as easy as Natasha remembered because she and her bike were three hours away when she pulled off the road to get some refreshments and gas. Plus, she needed to change. Her uniform wasn't quite suitable for the road anymore.

So, as she pulled up to a pump, she turned off her bike, kicked out the stand, and placed the keys in her front jacket pocket. Under her last name. Romanoff.

"Restroom?" She asked the lone man behind the counter as she entered the small building. He looked up from his iPad and glanced at Natasha. "In the back," He pointed and returned to his iPad without another thought.

Natasha nodded and went to where he pointed. Taking note of the snacks she'd pick up on the way out.

Removing her pants and ugly brown boots to switch them out to her black jeans and second pair of boots was easy.

The hard part came after she folded her jacket and was left staring at herself in a white tank top. Her dog tags resting above her breasts. Natasha lifted her green eyes from the silver and moved her hair to the front. She always wanted bangs, and for a few minutes in a gas station, she would have them before she pulled her hair into a ponytail later.

Natasha's eyes found her left arm, which had scars from years ago. Her right fingertips brushed the skin before they found the bottom of her tank top. She lifted the white to reveal a healed bullet wound.

She was part of an escort team that was moving a valued member out of the Middle East when her squad was attacked and pinned down for three hours.

An unknown assailant killed him through Natasha as they were on the way to the rescue helicopter.

It was one lucky shot.

Bye-bye, bikinis.

She lowered her tank top and turned her attention to her black leather jacket she began pulling out of her bag. It was small but perfect for Natasha.

She shoved her uniform into her bag, put her bag on her shoulder, and rubbed her thumb over her dog tags before exiting the bathroom.

Natasha quickly found herself in the candy aisle. Sour was always her favorite, but she was feeling chocolate for some reason. So, as she was deciding which sweet treat to pick, she noticed something happening from the corner of her eye.

Natasha saw an older man leave the store in a huff. She turned and watched as he began walking to his truck parked next to a pump.

"Everything okay?" Natasha asked the gas station worker as she set down the chocolate and sour candies on the counter.

The guy whose name tag said Flash looked up as he scanned the goodies. "Oh, Erik?" He gestures to the man outside with his head. Natasha nods. "Yeah, I'm fine. He's fine. The middle of Summer is right around the corner, and his son will be abroad for some time, so he has no one to help him on the farm. I have prior plans, so I told him I couldn't do it."

Natasha looked from Flash to Erik as he started pumping his gas. Older man. Ring on his left hand. "He's a farmer?" Natasha asked. Flash nodded. "Just enough for him, his family, and the fresh market. But it's not easy work. Especially when Wan- hey, where you going?!"

Natasha ran out the door towards Erik as it seemed like fate had brought her to this moment. She had nowhere to go and needed work. And this man needed a hard worker. Natasha was the perfect candidate.

Or she thought she was.

"Excuse me, Sir?" Natasha spoke up as she got closer to the man's truck. As Erik turned around from pumping his gas, Natasha noticed a black and white dog in the cabin of the truck.

"Yes?" The man's voice was slightly accented. European. He was tall and had a muscular build to him. The hair on his face had recently been shaved, and the top of his head was a mix of salt and pepper hair. "Can I help you?" He asked.

"Actually, I was hoping I could help you," Natasha said as the gas pump stopped. "I'm new to town and looking for work. I heard you have a farm and-"

Erik stopped her with a raised hand. He turned, put his gas cap on, and twisted it. "Your tags." He said and pointed. "Are those yours?" Natasha nodded. "Yes, sir." He looked Natasha up and down.

"Small for a soldier, no?"

Natasha bit her tongue. "No, sir."

Erik hummed. "How long did you serve?"

"Eight years."

Erik nodded. He wanted to ask her more or see if he could get under her skin because if he could do that, then there was no way she could cut it on the farm. But he left it alone. "Follow me, and you start today. Till sundown."

"Thank you, sir." Natasha stuck out her hand, and Erik regretted questioning her work ethic when he felt her grip on the handshake.

"The name's Natasha Romanoff, sir."

"Erik. Erik Lehnsherr."

After returning to the store to pay for her goodies, she followed Erik's truck for twenty minutes until Natasha and her bike finally hit a dirt road that stretched for half a mile before pulling up to a multi-acre farm.

A barn on one side. Cattle and chickens in between that and the house. A shed along the side, and in the distance was a tiny house with an extension. Lucious grass and flowers were sprouting up from the ground as Natasha parked her bike next to Erik's truck.

Next to his truck was a red SUV.

"You use this. That's no good." He patted his truck and looked at Natasha's bike, shaking his head after she removed her helmet. "Yes, sir," Natasha said before hopping off her bike, putting her bag on the handlebars, and following him and the dog that jumped from the truck.

"This is Sparky." The dog tilted its head at its name before running past Erik to the main house. "She's a good dog and didn't bark at you, so you must be good." He laughed to himself before Natasha and him stopped at a broken part of the fence.

"Storm from the other night did this." He pointed to the fence that wrapped around the property. "You'll start here and check along the perimeter." Natasha nodded. "But first, let's meet your friends for the summer."

For the next hour, Erik showed Natasha all around the property. She got friendly with the cattle and chased some chickens before stopping at the tool shed, greenhouse, and tiny house.

"You have nowhere to go, so you can sleep here."

Erik pulled out a key and opened the door. Natasha's eyes looked around the small wooden space. A full bed was in one corner, while the extension was in the other back corner. Natasha walked in and opened the second door, which revealed itself to be a bathroom. She exited the room and noticed a mirror and sink pressed against the door Erik opened. A dresser was next to that with a lamp on top.

"Sir, this is too much. I don't know if I can."

Erik chuckled. "You come to me for work but with nowhere to sleep. Take it." He had Natasha there. She nodded. "Thank you, sir." He smiled and handed the key off to her before they left the tiny house.

"I have some tools in the bed of the truck. Return them to the shed when you're done or the sun sets." Erik spoke.

As the two walked on the trail from one place to the next. Natasha took her jacket off. Erik noticed the definition in Natasha's figure but also the sacrifices from war.

He did not comment on it.

Natasha dropped her jacket on the bike and headed straight for the truck once they got close enough. "Alright, I'll leave you to it." Erik nodded as he began to walk away before stopping. "Oh, and if you ever need water or anything else. My wife Magda is always a knock on the door away." He pointed back to the main house.

Natasha thanked him and watched the man head to the barn.

Natasha worked on the fence till the skies turned that specific pinkish-orange. She wasn't entirely done, but the last stretch could wait till morning. So, as the redhead returned from the tool shed, Erik stepped out of the house and stopped her.

"Romanoff." He spoke up and watched her turn around. "Yes?" She said completely okay with the use of her last name. Erik stepped off the porch that wrapped around the two-story ranch-style house. "If you work on the farm, you're welcome to home-cooked meal." He smiled. "Magda made some salad and pasta. I toasted the bread." He laughed at his last sentence.

Natasha smiled.

The more Erik spoke, the more he reminded Natasha of Nick Fury. A hard-edged man who was profoundly caring and soft once the walls started to wear down.

"I'll have to wash my hands first."

"Won't be a problem. Come on." He waved Natasha inside, and she followed.

The house had a look as if it had never been new. Always lived in. From the hardwood floors to the wallpaper lining the hallway next to the stairs.

An entertainment room to the left of the front door. The main living room to the right. In the middle was the staircase to the upstairs, and next to that was the aforementioned hallway that led to the kitchen. A door to the half-bath in the hallway. If you went through the living room and turned left, you would end up in the dining room.

The walls were lined with family pictures throughout the years, but Natasha did not pay attention as Erik directed her to the half-bath.

"We'll be in there once you're finished." He pointed to the kitchen, and Natasha nodded. "Thank you."

Erik left and met his wife in the kitchen. "Well?" Magda, an ambered-eyed woman, asked her husband. "She's washing up." He commented before grabbing out a third plate. Magda smiled and pushed her brown hair back. "She was working hard." Erik agreed. "She's got more muscles than some of the boys from town," Magda added, making Natasha quietly laugh before entering the kitchen after she had finished washing her hands.

Magda was the first to notice and walked up to the younger woman with a smile. "Hi! I'm Magda, Erik's wife." She stuck her hand out and noticed Natasha's roughness when they shook. "Please take a seat and dig in." Natasha nodded and sat on the opposite side of Magda next to Erik, who was at the head of the table pouring three glasses of water.

"Thank you. This is very kind of the two of you." Natasha said. Magda shook her head. "If someone is gonna work and live on our property, this is the least we could do." Natasha watched Magda sit down and begin putting food on her plate. "Plus..." Magda started. "It allows us to learn more about each other." Magda looked Natasha up and down, and like Erik, before she noticed the scars. "Whatever you're comfortable with sharing, of course."

Natasha appreciated that, but she held a vast majority of things close to her chest and kept the conversation light, and without them knowing it, she let Magda and Erik do most of the talking. Things like how long they've lived here since they immigrated to America. The jobs they used to have. About their son Pietro and how he's going to Germany over the summer.

"Oh, and our Wanda is coming home soon."

"Wanda?" Natasha tilted her head slightly at the new name.

"Our daughter. She's been away at the beach." Magda said with a smile.

"With her friends," Erik mumbled those last three words, clearly not impressed with how Wanda was spending the beginning of her summer.

Soon after, Natasha found herself back at the tiny house. Her home for the near future. She hung up her uniform behind the bathroom door and put away her limited number of clothing.

She quickly realized she would have to go shopping by next week.

But for now, she needed a shower.

Natasha grabbed a pair of bike shorts and a t-shirt Clint had given to her at the beginning of basic training. It was from a blood drive from some place in Upper New York. Which reminded her that she needed to text him that she wasn't dead and did, in fact, find a job.

But that could wait till tomorrow as Natasha pushed her exhausted body to the bathroom.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[wroteclassicaly]

Bravado

(Gator Tillman x Female Reader)

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, depression, anxiety, mentions of body hair, vaginal fingering, & oral sex (female receiving).

A/N: Listen, I know the show isn’t out and we have no real visual (besides that one pic), or any characterizations that are complete of our boy here, but this is just my take! It’s all in good fun! And I’m using this gif as a sort of visual for him, because we obviously don’t have anything else, lol. Dedicating this to my love Meg, @courtingchaos — I’m here and I see you, honey! Feel better! 🖤❤️

There’s a kind of explosive energy when he hears the front door slam — it’s worn, dust caked blinds slapping against a sheen of glass that could use its own cleaning. He prepares himself for a bantering battle, stubbing out the cigar’s end in the gun shaped ashtray you'd gifted him from your last summer’s venture to see your childhood friends in Virginia. He never has admitted how much he missed your presence, and not just because you kept shit running around here for him, kept his head on straight when his mind went galloping off at top speed — no, it was something else entirely that Gator Tillman was not ready to admit to himself yet. Uncrossing a boot clad ankle from the other, Gator lifts himself off the worn desk chair, uncaring as it hits the wall and makeshift cork board behind him. There’s more pressing matters.

His thick digits twitch at his sides, electric prickling at his fingertips. He’s ready to reach out and touch what’s his. And as he makes his way to the front where your back is to him, arms shrugging out of your thin leather jacket and discarding it on the office visitor rack — Gator feels an ache on his tongue. A longing to map, to explore, to taste, to lick every inch of your skin. You’re wearing a pale pink lace top with intricate buttons and blue jeans, but that’s not what throws him off, halts him in his tracks.

It’s your lack of hat wear. Every morning, each shift — without fail, you’d strut in here with your velvet cowgirl hat, delicate charms pinned to the tassel. Gator hated that damned thing, always loud and cliche, and you knew he did. He never missed a chance to tell you that either, until now. Maybe you’d already tossed it off and behind your desk?

His brows pinch together. That’s not right, something isn’t okay. He approaches slowly, uncharted territories. He’s unused to defusing you. Perps, yeah. But the woman he’s been having sex with for nearly a year and has known for much longer?

This is a new anxiety, one that temporarily halts that aching on his tongue’s tip. You turn around before he can say something, the leather in his boots giving his position away. He’s gotta fix that. You’re without makeup, but you’ve never looked more fucking perfect to him. A light dusting of perfume caresses your neck, along with a sheen of humid perspiration.

“Gator.” You’re sighing in exasperation, your own voice exhausted and demolished, incapable of anything more. “Please don’t start.”

For a moment’s pause, he wants to lash out, walk away from the unknown. But it’s you, and he can’t. He nods several times, licking the aftertaste of tobacco and stale coffee off his mouth, and he steps into your space and laces his fingers through yours, tugging. You don’t fight his grasp, you don’t complain when he adjusts the locks on the front door, you’re even silent when he walks down the small paneled hallway and nudges you into the pale blue painted bathroom. The tile flooring provides a little coolness to the room’s expanse, causing you to relax slightly.

Gator makes quick work of using the scratched metal towel dispenser next to the sink, dowsing what papers he collects in water, his large hand drifting into your sight. He knuckles scrape behind your ear, calluses on his fingers tickling the lobe. You let him maneuver you until you’re sitting on the oak dresser beneath the window, one dying fern beside you. He tilts your neck to the side and runs the wet towel over the sweat, mopping up the heat and instantly making you sway into his hold. You reach back and grip his wrist, nails rubbing at the bone, eyes closed.

He wrings it out along your flesh, his nose fitting into the curvature of your jawline, tongue finally filtering out to taste you. Every bead of water that rolls down your skin, he’s collecting, spreading around, leaving behind a trail of saliva in its wake. Once you’re more pliant and there’s merely wrinkled paper, he trashes them and pinches your chin between two fingers. “What’s wrong?” He’s not stern, but he is strong in his question.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lie.

“Bullshit, Bravado. Somethin’ is up your ass. And since it’s not me…”

Your head snaps up at that, a poor attempt at an eye roll getting lost on the both of you. Stupid fucker can read you like a book. There’s no need to hide it, you don’t feel like mustering the energy anyways. Shrugging, you give him your honest answer. “Everything. I don’t know. Just overwhelmed and over all of this. I’m tired, I need a break. And this stupid hell hole is hotter than Satan’s asshole. What do you want me to say, Gator? I’m just… I’m exhausted.”

He’s known you years before you’d ventured outside friend territory, so he automatically knows that if he pushes anymore — you’ll bolt. And hell, he’s been there. He’s been there multiple times in the past two weeks, but you’ve always been here to keep him together, get his ass in line… Make him forget. With a stern, bushy brow, you’re watching in bewilderment as his hand finds purchase on your shoulder and squeezes, an understanding tenderness that he hasn’t given you since he fucked you for the first time and you were extremely overwhelmed.

“I take care of my own.” He says it, a secret he doesn’t mean to let out of the treasure chest, a gift. His caramel enriched eyes swirl with mirth and self-shock. He doesn’t take it back though, just has his other hefty palm following suit and his fingertips trailing along your collarbone, toying with your blouse’s buttons, before settling on your other shoulder.

A helping hand, a brief understanding. Gator admires your ability to read people, it’s why you’ve never needed a polygraph in the office. You’re the internal ball buster. And he’s damn proud of you. You swallow harshly, throat glistening with his licks.

There's exhaustion, however, as a few seconds tick by. You don’t have the strength to pleasure him, to sink to your knees in these, on this dingy floor. But Gator is shaking his head, nose nudging the underside of your chin, lips pressing, a sentence filtering off smooth. “M’ not asking for everything. There’s only one question I’ve got for you, Bravado.”

Your voice is almost a whisper when you answer him. “And what’s that, Tillman?”

Without missing a beat, shards of green swirling beneath that glossy hazel — he’s there. “Are you gonna take your clothes off for me, or am I takin’ them off for you?”

He’s got something planned. Your stomach stirs, that pulsating ache slapping you between your thighs, webbing across your body and holding on, woven through every orifice, and latching onto every organ. He smirks at you when you try to decipher, waiting patiently. Your response is to lift your hands and sink them underneath his own, pushing your top off your shoulders, nodding at him, your hands meeting his on the buttons and undoing each one. His scratchy stubble bites into your jugular, his mouth at your neck the entire time until your shirt is coming apart and he can ease your bra cups below the swell of your breasts.

You begin to pant, struggling to stay still and hold onto the chipped wooden surface below you. He steps back to unwind his holster and secure next to your hip, his worn Levi’s dusted with fresh dirt and mud at the knees, ripped open and exposing hairy skin. There’s damp stains on the pits of his brown shirt when he raises his arms, your nails stimulating paths of goosebumps as you run your fingernails up his biceps, helping him discard the fabric. He smells so fucking good, just as he always does. That cologne has sunk into his neck, smeared in with aftershave and the hair gel he’s slicked his locks back with, and that layer of body odor he accumulates during the heat.

He sinks his pearly whites into his lower lip, pupils expanding — capturing the lush green and melting the caramel into a thin ring. His hairy chest is accentuated by his own sweat line that shines across his sternum, his gold chain pendant swaying back and forth with his brisk movements. You pull it into your palm and clutch, lifting your hips for him to get your jeans unzipped and pulling them off with your panties in one go, legs parting for him to filter in between. You’re like a buffet and Gator Tillman is ready to feast, whilst still keeping the task at hand — making you forget.

He helps himself to your breasts, big hands squeezing and jiggling, rolling your nipples until you’re arching your back and pleading. “Good girl,” he praises.

“Gator, please.”

“Got such perfect fuckin’ tits, darlin’.”

You hum your appreciation, a slight smile playing on your lips, your cunt awaiting attention, soaked every time you move — audible. Gator notices, of course he does. But what you aren’t expecting is for his hand to bypass you, tickling your inner thigh, already teasing slick, but not taking. He doesn’t break eye contact with you, his boots giving him away yet again (as if he’s not completely visible) as he lowers himself to the floor in front of you, his knees hitting the ground. Your tummy knots itself into somersaults, eyes glazing over.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You’re already pleading, demanding, encouraging.

He licks at his teeth and nods, his large hands looking diabolical clutching your knees and pushing you impossibly wider. His breath is warm across your thighs and soaked lips, making you jump slightly. He kisses you where your thigh meets you, inhaling like a starved man, running his fingers through your creamy curls. You both sigh in elation. He loves the way you look between your legs, unafraid to let your natural hair grow, always doing what you want, unlike a lot of the women he’s been with.

And when he’s finally able to taste you? It’s like a fucking memory that molds together nostalgia for him. The echo of a good song on a jukebox in an empty bar, how smooth his first drink he bought to celebrate when he became Sheriff tasted as it went down. You’re better than the celebratory cigar he planted between his lips and smoked as he watched you dance to that old song — drunk off your ass with your bare feet gliding along faded wooden planks. He thinks, he wonders, his finger gliding along the seam of you before it pushes inside your wet heat — that you’re feeling this all too.

You cry out for him and your legs drape down his back, thighs squeezing his head, pressing into his cheeks. That fucking day old beard burning your flesh. Gator mouths off one last time, before he dives in. “Tell me how much you need my tongue, baby.”

“Always need it, always need you.” You’re stammering and already close to exploding, everything hypersensitive.

The heat is boiling to a pressure point, and as Gator licks his way into your cunt, pulling your hips down onto his face, his finger finding your clit, he doesn’t object when you demand he take himself out and cum with you. He works you both in steady and easy rhythms, alternating, paying attention, not taking his eyes off of you the entire time. It’s intense, more so than you anticipated, and the coil tightens in your abdomen, seizing your muscles with a delicious destruction. He moans in vibrations against you, causing the high to drown you, your mouth opening and cries of his name dousing him, along with fresh waves of your arousal — hot and sticky on his tongue. With your curls tickling his nose, the fresh scent of your cum on his mouth, seeing you come undone and use one hand to grab your own tits — he spills all over the floor, uncaring about the mess, licking you through your orgasm while bucking into his hand to ride out his own.

He rests his head against your thigh, enjoying the heat. Your hands gravitate towards him, one linking through his own, the other combing through his now unruly mane. He has trouble standing, tucking himself back in, but you work together. He cleans you both in comfortable silence, helping you button your shirt and adjust your pants. You fiddle with his chain as he slips back into his t-shirt, accepting a kiss with your own taste.

Nothing more needs to be said, at least, not about the intimacy just shared. Gator, ever-the-little-shit, he has one more surprise up his sleeve. As you find your desk back in the small lobby and he unlocks the door, he leans into the counter on his elbows, leaving you with one last thing. “My place tonight. Steaks and drinks, so don’t be late, Bravado .”

// Eat me paragraph //

[a-halo-for-you]

Misreading

Leonard 'Bones' McCoy x Female OC

Fandom: Star Trek

Prompt: "You look like hell."

Summary: Dr Hermia Walker wallows in her grief before her best friend (and secret love of her life) Bones appears, changing the course of the evening abruptly.

Part 1 to a series I'm working on.

Word Count: 1788

Hermia leant in over her drink, the soft glow of the bar glinting on the rims of glasses, the room filled with the sound of softly playing music. The place was mostly empty, not unusual for when the ship was docked in at a starbase where the clubs and pubs were many and gave the crew downtime before setting off for the next part of their journey into the unknown. She took another sip of the rum in her glass, savouring the depth and sweetness with eyes closed, burning in her throat as she swallowed. 

The sound of the doors swiping open turned her head, eyebrows raised with curiosity and settling when her eyes caught the ones belonging to Bones. 

He was in his own clothes, a leather jacket and jeans fitted perfectly though Hermia would never say that outloud. She did her best to not allow her eyes to run over his body, turning back to face the bar while he sauntered over. 

“You look like hell,” He remarked, the hint of worry curbing the bluntness of his tone as he took a seat beside her, laying out his own glass and pouring himself a drink from the bottle she’d acquired several drinks ago. 

“Gee, you sure know what to say to make a girl feel special Dr McCoy,” Hermia lifted her glass, smiling surreptitiously before taking a drink, eyes still pinned to the glowing lights that haloed the bar. She wasn’t sure she should look at him, not with the way her heart stutters around him when she’s sober, not with the way her current sorrow may lead her to make one foolish mistake. 

“How much have you had?” Bones asked, clinking his glass with hers before taking a sip, she watched him relish in the taste from the corner of her eye, a smile of satisfaction overcoming him. “Well that is some good stuff.” 

“I like to think I know my rum,” She shrugged, “But you know that.”

Bones huffed a small laugh, “Yeah I do. We’ve known eachother 8 years, you’d think I’d know you by now.” 

The knowingness in his tone made her pause and she swallowed the lump that threatened to build in her throat. Placing the glass down she caught sight of the gold signet ring that rested just a little too big for her own index finger and rubbed a thumb over it. 

“It’s just a bit of a shit day that’s all,” She sighed. 

“You know your dad wouldn’t want you to be alone on a day like today right?” Bones nudged her arm with his, leaning in slightly to get her to look at him. 

“Even if I want to be alone?” She asked him, raising an eyebrow with as much muted grey sass as she could. 

“Especially then. From what you told me, your dad would want you to be surrounded by people who care about you if you can’t be with the rest of your family.” He replied swiftly, and she tried her best to acknowledge the words that fell from his lips. Tried her best not to think about kissing him and glanced away, reaching for her drink again.

“Herm,” Bones placed his hand on the one that reached for her poison- or antidote, she was too many drinks in to notice the difference. “What’s going on today? This isn’t just about your old dad is it?” 

She smiled briefly without joy, “He wasn’t even old. I’m just- I don’t know, it feels like time doesn’t pass when we’re up here but it does. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even doing what I’m supposed to be doing… With my life. Career. Stuff.” 

“That’s normal,” He reassured her, the gentleness in his eyes drawing her in close once again. “Everyone wonders about the what ifs in their life, hell I think about what it would have been like if I’d stayed on Earth sometimes- most times. But I know that this was where I was supposed to go in the end, cause thinking about my life any other way, I don’t think I could choose any different. And I know you feel the same deep down.” 

Hermia couldn’t help the softness in her eyes as she gazed at him, feeling the warmth from his proximity, the smell of his cologne, the spice of the rum between them. 

“How is it you always manage to make me feel normal when the world around me feels insane?” 

The words hung in the air for a few beats longer than she’d expected and watched as his expression flickered with uncertainty. Suddenly short for air she recoiled sharply and teetered off the side of her bar stool, slipping off with a thud and gasp before shooting to her feet, ignoring the bruising that ached in her hip. 

“Goddammit Herm, are you trying to concuss yourself?” Bones was already to his feet, hands checking her quickly while she swatted them away. They felt too good, too fitting on her body - it was awful in the best way. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. No pain at all,” She grabbed his hands in hers and pushed them back away from her space before stepping around him, the room swaying slightly as she did. “Oh wow, I’m drunk.” 

Bones sighed, an expression of exasperation usually tied to Jim’s antics now etched on his face. “You don’t say. C’mon then, let’s get you back to your room so you can hit the hay.” 

Within seconds his hands were on her again, one arm wound around her waist and the other pulling her arm over his shoulder. Her face burned, from alcohol, from embarrassment, from the heat that sparked from his touch - she didn’t know. 

The journey to her room was slow and the bruise on her side had begun to throb as they stumbled through the quiet corridors - or rather she stumbled and he held her up along the way. 

“Wait- Wait, let me just-” Hermia reached for the wall of the corridor they were in, leaning her head against it for a moment, his hands warm against the small of her back as he rubbed it soothingly, sending sparks up her spine and a heat flared to life inside her gut.

“C’mon Herm, your room is just around the corner,” Bones soothed, his voice soft, a secret tone he used sometimes that made her dig her nails into the wall slightly before turning to face him, blinking away the blurred lights. 

“Can we just pause for a second? I definitely drank too much,” Hermia sighed, managing a tired smile that he gave into with an aggravated sigh, rolling his eyes slightly. 

“Sure, let's just camp out in the middle of the hallway where any young ensign can see me pressing you up against the wall - that sure sounds responsible,” He ranted, sarcasm dripping from every word that made Hermia chuckle lightly. 

“Well when you put it that way, I’d hate to get you into trouble, Bones,” She rested her hands on his shoulders, righting herself up from leaning against the wall and stepping further into his space. 

The hands that were bracing her body tightened slightly and the way his eyes flickered between hers made her mouth go dry. 

“Then again, it’s not like I’m your subordinate or anything,” She whispered, watching the way he watched her, slightly frozen in place. 

“No, you’re not,” He swallowed, sounding- well Hermia didn’t fully hear how he sounded. The affirmation sounded too much like a confirmation to the silent question that had been burning in her head for the past few minutes and it pushed her forward. Liquid courage blazing in her veins as her lips met his. 

Bones’ lips met hers, reacting with a passion that took her breath away and the hands that held her gripped tighter, backing her against the wall in one swift motion. The heat of his body pressed against Hermia’s made her head spin and the flick of his tongue against hers made her moan softly. The fire in her raged on and she’d let it burn her for all she cared, she just didn’t want this to end. One hand raked through the scruff of his hair while the other pulled him closer, fingers curling into his jacket. One of his hands ran from her waist to her thighs, hitching one leg up to his hip and with a shudder she grinded against him, their moans stifled by their kiss. The break in the kiss came too soon as they separated for the sake of oxygen, and their eyes met in a burn of blue and hazel. Gradually the mist in Bones’ eyes cleared and the heat that was coiled in Hermia like a wire spring turned cold. Slowly he let go of her leg and took Hermia’s hands in his, unhooking himself from her as he took a large step back. 

The heat in his gaze was unmistakable but so was the regret, the shame and Hermia opened her mouth to apologise.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone tonight.” He beat her to it, breathing heavily as he watched her come to the paling realisation. His date. That’s the other reason why she was sad - he had a date. 

Dr Fiona Verne, a well-liked woman of closer age to Bones, a Georgian lady herself with plenty the two of them could talk about between themselves. She was elegant and lovely, Hermia liked her even, so the sharp sting of rejection was quickly drowned out by hot and acrid shame.

“Oh my god,” Her face collapsed into her hands, her last defence to shield herself from Bones. “I’m- I’m drunk.” 

She lifted her head to look at him, armour on, steeling herself from her emotions for as long as she could, whilst backing away further down the corridor. “I’m drunk and I’m sad and that makes for awful decision making. I’m so sorry. I-I- I’m gonna go- I’m gonna go to bed- Um, say hi to Fiona for me- Ah! Actually no, don't do that because that's- that’s weird.”  

She was turning the corner of the corridor before she realised, her legs happy to get her away from the situation as she almost ran to her room. Cursing herself to the seven layers of hell.

The doors closed shut behind her and after a few minutes of anxiously guarding her door to ensure Bones wasn’t coming after her, she burrowed her disappointment under a cemented layer of lies that quickly cracked when she reached up to trace her lips. After 8 years, she’d finally kissed him and it felt exactly how she had dreamt and also nothing like it at all.

[preciadosbass]

26/8/24 [skipped yesterday as there wasn’t much info, draft from monday — key + significant photo at end]

woke up at 9 and got ready as soon as possible to meet my extended family early at breakfast as today was their last day. i said goodmorning to boris, got dressed into my skinless outfit [skinless shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, wooden bracelet, panic! at the disco bracelet, mcr bracelet, two spiked cuffs [one with three rows and shorter spikes, the other with two rows and much longer spikes], my diy can tab bracelet, a leather skull-lined adjustable bracelet, taxidermy scorpion necklace, thrifted necklace with all/matching colours of my skinless shirt [the beads look like mushrooms], knee high converse, my mcr danger days zip up, and my pin decorated jacket.] and then packed my bag.

me, my parents and my sister met the rest of our family at our restaurant at around 9:30/40. i sat next to H, the other people on our table were RY, E, and R. i had a couple bowls of cereal for breakfast, and then had to move tables as RY had pancakes [ew] - after my food, while i was just sitting waiting for everyone else, i was sent a picture of boris by my hairdresser who is looking after him. it was an image of him and the hairdressers daughter that came along to meet him. its really nice that even though we’re away, boris still has company. i just hope that it isn’t stressing him out. we left breakfast at approximately 10:40 and headed to the fair.

once arriving at the fair, we established that most of us were having a go on the go karts and organised who was going with who. i decided to go with R as he drives fast normally, and my sister chose to go with RY; the rest went as singles. we spent about 30 minutes queuing and while doing so, i spoke to my dad & R about boris and the rollercoasters at thorpe park. i’m so excited to go with my cousins in september. anyway, me and R got on a green double kart and everyone else loaded themselves into their own. the doubles are allowed to go onto the track first, and as RY + my sister were infront of us in the queue, they were sat in the kart infront of us. they rolled onto the track and the lap started with our karts being neck and neck.

R’s legs didn’t even fit in the car and were getting stuck on the pedals but we ended up overtaking before the second lap started. my grandad and his fiancé were behind of us most of the time, and R’s girlfriend [E] was to our front. now, with this subject, i cant really get anything accurate from this point as the videos of us gokarting don’t show who we overtook next/i cant remember. so i’m going to skip to the end of the ride. right before it ended, we ended up overtaking E somehow, and had RY and my sister right on our tail. we both thought that we were going to be overtaken, but the staff cut the engines as the ride was over so they weren’t able to go past us.

there were a few other people unknown to us on the track, and they were getting mad at R for being at the front the whole time XD, at least we won! now we both just have to deal with my sister going on about it for years /hj - R in particular has a 10 year streak of winning go karting at this resort which i only was informed of after we won, so i’m glad i picked him. however this was the first time he’s been back at the resort since he was my age. he’s also really funny with things like this. the way he narrates things is just hilarious and he dosent even intend it to be half the time. after taking some family photos we all split up. my aunt and uncle said goodbye and walked back to their car, D [cousin #3] said goodbye and went off to the swimming pool to hopefully watch L and W [his partner and her son], and me, my parents, my sister, RY/H and R/E made our way to the beach at 12.

to get out of the fair, you can go through the arcade so my sister made my parents give in to letting her have another go of that minecraft game. [photo at end, ignore the blur my hair looked bad] afterwards, i went up to the beach a separate way from everyone else in order to not get my knee high’s sandy, but i ended up taking ages. once i’d finally gotten onto the path around the beach, we all started walking down it. everyone was just speaking about how our break has been and how much the resort has changed vs when my cousins were my age. i unfortunately didn’t get to change into my knock off converse’s before going to the beach, otherwise i would’ve been able to get some pretty shells.

the walk across it is very long, so i’d say we got about a quarter way down. we walked until we saw the two story accommodations and then headed back. once we did, RY, H, E, and R split off to go home, my mum and sister went off somewhere or another, and me and my dad went back to our chalet. on the way back, there’s an example of what the chalet’s would’ve looked like 80/90 years ago. so i went over to that and had a look inside. they for some reason look [design wise] better than the ones currently. however there’s not much to the interior/uncomfy looking beds/no bathrooms.

i attempted to write a little bit of my journal upon getting into the room, but i ended up falling asleep almost immediately. i slept up until 3 and while doing so my dad went back over to darts and my mum & sister carried on doing their own thing. once i woke up, i got my swimming things ready and all of us [my immediate family, now that everyone else has left] walked over to the swimming complex. there wasn’t any queue today as most people were leaving and the people arrived were still on their way so i was able to get undressed and just hop it within a small matter of time. i once again put on my swimming costume plus shorts and a t shirt.

the first thing we did was queue for the family flume. we queued up until we could pick up a ring and then my mum spoke to the lifeguard about the access thingy. it turns out that i was wrong and they do have an access organisation, they just don’t really talk about it. the way it works is they radio the person up top where you actually get into the slide, and you just make your way to the front of the queue. since the last time we’ve come to this resort, they’ve changed how many people you can have inside a ring at a time. it used to be four so all of us could ride together, but it’s now three. my mum offered to take a blue ring by herself so me, my sister and my dad could go together.

none of us officially agreed because we felt bad that she had to be alone, but we got to the front of the queue regardless. my mum went first, and we followed after she’d come out of the end. i resulted in getting absolutely soaked as the ring tuned right before you get off right where the largest body of water is. its been ages since we’ve been on a flume as a family [sort of, as my mum couldn’t be with us] so it was nice. i think i found it even fun-er as i genuinely couldn’t see where on earth i was going. afterwards, we queued up for the outside rapids. i say queued, but everyone just went in straight away.

i was freezing, mostly likely because my shorts & t shirt hold whatever temperature it is a lot more than just a swimming costume. i wanted to enjoy it but i couldn’t focus on anything other than how cold i was and how weird my throat felt from the stuffiness inside. my sister and dad tried doing our little game where you aim to be the last one out and everyone else tries pushing you/dragging you down the last drop, but i just slid down with my mum. hopefully another time it’ll be better weather and i’ll be able to play properly. i followed on with jumping into the adult pool while waiting for my sister and dad to come out of the rapids.

we barely stayed in there until we went over to the wave pool to see if it was working. it wasn’t the last time we came and it unfortunately wasn’t this time either. but there is still a small cascade of water that feels like what you’d imagine chocolate coming off of a chocolate fountain to feel. afterwards, we went round to the indoor river rapids. we went round two of three times, we’ll at least i did, until we went into the changing rooms. my dad found the locker and got everything out and i got dressed again. when id finished and came out of my stall, my mum and sister were gone. my sister went off somewhere so we had to wait until we could go to dinner.

when she finally reappeared we quickly walked back to the chalet so i could get my bag and brush my hair. once id finished and my sister finally let us leave the room [she wanted me to go to arcade with her], we went over to dinner. i had the stereotypical autism dinner [iykyk] checked on boris via my dad’s camera. i went back from dinner early and i stayed in my parents room for a while while scrolling on various platforms. once my parents arrived back, we set off to a show. we got into the correct venue and managed to get a seat right at the front to the left of the stage.

the show was a comedic ventriloquist performance. the guy had been on britain’s got talent before and got to the finals. i thought that the personality concepts for each puppet was good, but i don’t think that his jokes came across in a way that made them as funny as they could’ve been. the crowd was a little dead and my parents said they agreed but i still feel guilty for not being keen lmaoo but i don’t think it helped that i was really tired. i could barely process anything he was saying. during the show, i got a text from my aunt. it was a picture on boris outside, which obviously made me so happy. but near the end of the show, i realised that he’s outside - on the driveway; alone. so i started getting really worried.

conveniently, my aunt was on her way back to our house to get him inside as he wasn’t having it earlier. i got a text right before we started walking back to room saying that he’s inside and having his dinner followed with a picture of him eating. which was such a relief. i stayed in the chalet until 9:15 when i came along with my parents to see the light show that i also saw last night. i decided to go for half an hour so i’d have enough time to write this journal before having to do my questions about boris. the sound was better this time round as we were slightly further back and more towards the middle. and for some reason there was more cool lights, but i’m not complaining. the actual show started at 9:30 and i left to go back to the room at 10.

when i got back, i scrolled some more on tiktok and looked through some more jackass pictures on pinterest. when my parents got back, i scrolled through all of the pictures of boris on my phone which took at least half an hour. after, i wrote this journal, got undressed into my onesie at 12:20 and eventually finished asking my parents questions about boris at 1. i said goodnight to boris through a picture of him and went to sleep at 1:40.

🗝️ — boris/my cat, questions about boris/i ask my parents questions about my cat to verify he's okay + will be okay in the morning. its a compulsive thing and i'm hopefully going to be tested for OCD in the future.

have a good day/night O_o

[goldeneyedgirl]

12 kisses: march: scars, anathema.

Wow, it's been a hot minute since I posted anything. I'm kind of back? I've finished a semester successfully, just waiting for grades and information on next semester (I'm lowkey excited about my ofic that I'm writing for school), and just dealing with more health stuff plus I live surrounded by varying levels of Other People's Nonsense that I am involved in dealing with for an unknown reason.

But I'm back to writing fic, and thought I'd upload some stuff that's been marinating since February. First up, catching up on the 12kisses meme with something from Anathema. This looked different in my head but it's cute and it's building up Jasper's Anathema backstory, so I'm happy.

Asks will be answered, chapters will be finished,but today I'm just doing warmups and fic housekeeping.

12 kisses: march: scars, anathema

[ scars ] a gentle kiss on the partner’s scars

I’m frozen solid by the time we make it home, shivering under three layers of soaked clothing - I’m not entirely sure my puffer jacket is ever going to recover from this. It’s less ‘puff’ and more ‘soggy’ now.

“We need to get you warm and dry,” Jasper said, sounding stressed, as I fumbled with the house keys, my fingers numb. He’d been worried since he bundled me into the car; he was so protective of me. I might have been miserably cold, but there was no way I’d get sick from twenty minutes cold. But Jasper preferred to err on the side of caution - my human half - rather than risk me getting so much as a paper cut.

It was pretty cute, honestly.

“First stop, the shower.” I flipped on the lights as we went in; the entire house was dark. Freddie and Dulcie were at the conference in Seattle all weekend, and it had taken a lot of effort to convince them to let me stay home alone rather than going with them, or staying with the Clearwaters (not that I was on entirely good terms with the Clearwater since Jasper showed up. Sue was positively distant with me lately.) But I definitely needed to convince Dulcie or Freddie to let me get a cat - especially for nights when I was on my own. Not that it happened all that often. Hell, Dulcie had even offered to let me stay at her place, but I was happier here - especially since Jasper had upgraded my laptop and fixed the wifi.

Half-tripping up the stairs - my toes were numb in my boots with cold, I found the apartment was slightly more welcoming since I’d accidentally left the living room lamp on. My clothes were leaving a trail of water behind me, and my hands were shaking as I pulled out dry clothes and a towel, leaving a set for Jasper to dry off.

“Shower, Alice,” Jasper said firmly. “You’re freezing.”

“At least dry off your clothes,” I said, clenching my teeth to stop them chattering. “Use the dryer.” I could see him on the fence about that idea. “I can’t warm up and them get cold again from your wet clothing.”

“Go shower,” he said, and I knew I’d won as he gently pushed me towards the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, I was toasty warm in a giant sweater, leggings, and the socks that Dulcie had knitted me for Christmas. My hair was ridiculously frizzy and I had tried to pin it down the best I could, but it still looked childish.

I dumped my clothes in the hamper to be dealt with in the morning before I wandered back through the apartment and out onto the landing where Jasper was drying his clothing. Our ‘laundry’ was in a closet on the landing because we had nowhere else to put it until someone (most likely Dulcie) cleared out the second floor so we could use it again.

Jasper was standing there in his jeans, checking his phone as his sweatshirt dried, and I was fully intending on just enjoying the view - he was staunchly old-fashioned towards me, but I had quickly worked out it was a defence mechanism. It was easier for him to fall back into the vague social expectations of his human life right now because everything was overwhelming. I’d cheerfully bullied him into doing things like holding my hand, and curling up on my bed with me to watch a movie, but both of those things were done fully clothed and there was still a very respectful distance between us.

That is to say, I had never seen him shirtless. And I had wanted to mentally imprint the imagine on my brain for the foreseeable future (I was very doubtful that being defiled on a gurney downstairs was going to be come to pass before I turned thirty), except…

The scars.

I knew he hand them; there were some on his arms and hands that I’d see, a couple of shallow ones on his face. He’d told me about life in the south and everything that happened with Maria and Peter, but I’d always felt that he was holding something back.

Now I had proof. The scars on his back overlapped; they looked like claws had dug into his shoulder blade and travelled down to his opposite hip. There were nicks in the skin and bite marks and smaller scratches.

And when he put his phone back in his pocket, all the muscles and skin pulled tightly against the scar tissue; I inhaled sharply. I know bodies. I know how they fit together, how they move. Human bodies aren’t even the same as vampire bodies; I know that. The venom does horrific things to the tissue and the muscle and the ligaments and the joints… But all I could think of was how every time Jasper moved, the scar tissue would try to stop him.

Jasper turned around when he heard me, his eyes wide. And I got even more of an eyeful. The damage on his chest and stomach were… different to his back. Not better or worse, just different. At one point, it look like he had been torn open from clavicle down to his stomach. Scratches, gouges, bites littered his body and all I could do was stare.

It wasn’t like anything I had ever faced downstairs. Even the bear attacks or falls weren’t like this. Because no human had to go on living with the remains of those fates. Jasper did.

“Alice, I…” he began and I shook my head, already moving.

“Oh Jasper,” I managed, before I flung my arms around him. His skin was cold against my face, but it was reassuring - I had become used to the fact that he was always going to be cold, or room-temperature at best. It was comforting and familiar now.

He stood rigidly in my grasp for a moment, before I felt his hand rest gently on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t intend for you to see this,” he said so kindly I wanted to cry. “I just wanted to dry my clothing before you came out, I’m sorry.”

I frowned at him. There was a horrific scar where his neck joined his shoulder, and I could see the teeth marks at the edges. “Why are you sorry?”

“It’s not an easy sight,” Jasper said, and he looked away from me. “It wasn’t something I wanted you to ever have to deal with.”

Well. Apparently I grossly overestimated gurney-defilement at age thirty; Jasper had planned on it being never.

A million things raced through my head when he said that. Jokes about wedding nights, frustration that he thought I was too delicate to deal with reality, the insistence that it didn’t matter because it did, to him. He was apart of a family without blemish - some shadows from the scars that changed them but nothing even remotely close to what Jasper bore. Maybe it had been the Cullens that had taught Jasper to hide them, to cover them up, and I felt frustration rise up in me.

“I cannot stand the idea of you hurting,” I blurted out, my fingers twisting through the belt loops in his jeans. “Do they hurt now?”

He watched me, frowning, for a second. “No, they haven’t hurt in a very long time,” he said, and I felt the ghost of confusion drift over my skin. “They’re just there, they won’t ever fade.”

“But your back, I could see the muscles pulling,” I said. The idea that Carlisle, a surgeon, hadn’t done anything about Jasper’s scarring was stressing me out. I’d cut more than one scar through on the bodies downstairs, so that they could lay flat and look comfortable.

“I can feel some of them, but they don’t hurt or restrict me. Vampire skin doesn’t work that way,” Jasper said soothingly. “It simply moves with me. If there was resistance, they’d tear.”

A shudder that ran through me as I curled closer to him. “I don’t like that,” I said honestly. I’d see torn, cracked vampire flesh once, a couple of years ago when a nomad needed to be disposed of. It didn’t look real.

“We treated our wounds to make sure we didn’t lose movement, Alice.” His voice is kind and patient, and I hate that he’s comforting me. “It would be a death sentence otherwise.”

“How did they happen?” I asked, absently tracing one on his arm. “What animal did these?”

Jasper sighed; it was the kind of sigh that came from so much time and misery. “Newborns. Maria. Battles. No animals, just monsters,” he sounded tired. “I’m sorry Alice, I didn’t want you to have to see this side of us. Of me.”

I shook my head. “Sit. I want to know,” I said. Sinking to the floor, I immediately sat in his lap, curled against him. “You should have told me before.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Jasper replies smartly, grabbing my hand and stretching out my arm, to push up my sweater sleeve. Three scars along the arm that I never really thought about; they were smooth against the rest of my skin.

“That’s easy,” I said. “That one, when I broke my arm as a kid - bone tore straight through the skin, I screamed like I was on fire. Jeanie nearly had a heart attack when she found me. I only needed three weeks in a cast.

“That one was a dog bite. Mrs O’Brian, who owned the camping store before the Newtons moved to town, had this retriever. I’d never met a retriever that wasn’t super friendly. He just sunk his teeth into me and shook. I thought Freddie was going to kill the dog and Mrs O’Brian.” I shrugged. “And the last one - was getting ready to work on a body downstairs, and I had a vision when I picked up the scalpel. I fainted and stabbed myself pretty badly. Sue had to give me a bunch of stitches.”

Jasper’s fingers were cool against my arm as he traced the marks. “Any others?”

“I mean, there’s a burn scar on my stomach from when I leaned over my hair straightener,” I said. “A couple of shaving cuts around my ankles. One on my thigh from when I tripped in the forest. These are just living scars, Jas. Not like yours.”

Jasper nodded but was still focusing on the marks on my arm.

“It.. it wasn’t something we worried about,” he says, quietly. “Newborns were cannon fodder, it didn’t matter what happened to them. If they were too far gone, we’d just destroy them - we didn’t want to waste the resources to heal them up again.

“But I had to be on the frontline for us to win, to stay in control,” he continued. “I was a target; everyone knew that without me, Maria couldn’t control an army that size or hold her territory.

“Maria or… Peter would be the one to put me back together. Peter would try not to make a big deal out of it. But Maria, she’d tell me how bad it was. That I needed to fight smarter, that it didn’t have to be this bad. That I was wasting blood and time.” He shivered and looked up at me. “‘It won’t be worth keeping you around much longer’. That’s what she said to me at the end. As if I wasn't still winning, as if she didn’t have her territory.”

Jasper shook his head. “So I get to walk around like this.” The bitterness and self loathing in his voice was evident, even without the emotions boiling around him. “The Cullens, they made sure I stayed covered up for the first couple of years. Esme and Rose, they have histories with violence, and they needed to feel I was safe…”

I squeeze my eyes shut, and try to wrestle down the flare of anger I feel at the idea Jasper was made to feel like a monster, a dirty secret, because he’d been raised in a war zone.

“You deserve so much better, Alice.” The tenderness in his voice was heartbreaking. “If things were different - if I was stronger - I never would have let myself get close to you. A better version of me, in a perfect world. Someone whole and normal who isn’t like this.”

He buried his face in my hair, his arms firm around me as if he was holding on for dear life. And I am stricken. I am not an idiot, I knew that Jasper struggled. That the human facade and living this way was like wearing ill-fitting clothes for him. That I terrified him in so many ways, but especially how easily I had accepted him and invited him closer.

And his second life had taught him one lesson over and over again; that in the end, he would be alone. Cast out, broken, used up. Nettie and Lucy, Maria, Peter… the lesson had stuck. And a few months together wasn’t enough to erase those decades of misery, of bone-deep fears.

My lips press against the snarl of the scar on his neck, and I felt him shiver underneath my touch. I knew I was turning red - there was something so intimate about the gesture, even though I didn’t intend anything salacious.

“I need you to know I love you as you are,” I said, his face still tucked in my hair. “That this you is my you, and there’s not a single thing I would change about you.”

“To me, you are perfect,” I heard him murmur into my hair. I didn’t know if he was reassuring himself with words I’d told him before or telling that to me, but I didn’t get a chance to clarify; he looked up and tilted my head back, his thumb absently stroking my cheek.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, and there was something so sad yet so fierce in his gaze.

“And I’ve done nothing to deserve someone like you,” I replied. “We’re a perfect match. I adore you.”

Jasper chuckled, and there was a flicker in his eyes for moment as he seemed to lean closer… but whatever was going to be said or happen after that was lost as the dryer let out a thunk, a wheeze, and a chime to let us know that Jasper’s shirt was now dry.

“Time to go inside,” he said, the moment gone as he rose to his feet, helping me up before grabbing his sweatshirt from the dryer.

“I really was enjoying the show,” I said mournfully as he tugged his sweatshirt on. Jasper let out a surprised chuckle, and reached for me again.

“Time and patience, Alice,” he said in a funny way; all-knowing and reassuring but with a new warmth to his words. “All good things arrive eventually.”

I smiled up at him as he took my hand and lead me towards the apartment door.

For him, I would wait forever.

[loonaticskr]

Loonatics KR Bios - Jett Reighland

Art created by @segamarkii and character written by @mysticinternetdinosaur

Disclaimer: This character will soon be updated for the fic. I'd like you to please do not use or draw this OC without permission first to @mysticinternetdinosaur

Name: Jett Reighland (Otter)

DoB: June 10, 2747. Gemini (Age: 25)

Nationality: American

Relatives: Unknown

Personality: Violent, reckless, and a troublemaker. He is a total jerk to anyone who doesn’t meet his “standards.”

Appearance: He has brown and white fur around his body. He also has a small mohawk dyed pink. On his left deltoid, there is a tattoo of a strange sigil enclosed in a circle.

Outfits: 

Casual Outfit: His clothes have a gothic sense to them. He wears an oversized black & orange hoodie, baggy jeans, tennis shoes, and a syringe necklace.

Onstage Outfit: Thanks to access to the contestant’s wardrobe, he wears a black denim jacket with many pins and patches over a graffiti shirt. He also wears jeans with suspender straps and boots. 

Powers/Skills: N/A

Weapons: N/A

Other info:

He has Hazel eyes. 

He wanted a medical career but dropped out of college. Now works at a department store. 

He joins “T.V.G.T.” for easy money.

He’s Left-Handed.

[writingpromptsworld]

Prompt #28

The villain is watering their plants, when a car arrives on the pave way to their left. Their neighbor. They rarely sees them. In fact, for the three years since they’ve been there, they’ve never seen their neighbor’s face. They felt intrigued at the sudden appearance of the car.

The car came to a halt, as a cool breeze passed by. The villain shuddered, pulling on the hood of their jacket. They felt shivers run down their back. As if that wasn’t enough, they felt even more shivers with their face opening in shock. The “unknown” neighbor-who was no longer unknown-came out of the shadows. It was none other than the hero themself.

The hero’s eyes were plastered on the ground as their hands were packed in their jeans pockets. They didn’t even bother to look up.

The villain decided to speak up after, for god knows how long. “Hey!” They shouted. The hero glanced up, and their eyes widened.

“What are you doing here?!” The hero shouted back, their feet halted to a stop.

“I’m your neighbor.” The villain grinned as they stepped out of the patio of their house. They jogged to the hero, and reached out their hand. The hero raised a brow.

“Can we not pretend that we didn’t fight just this morning?” The hero asked, their voice hoarse. Scratched almost. The villain frowned.

“Are you okay? You seem tired. Did I went too harsh on you this morning?” The villain questioned instead, their hands moving to check the hero’s forehead, in case they had a fever. They doesn’t think they did. They didn’t fight much. Physically, anyway. It was more of a verbal back and forth. And then, some pinning and pushing. The hero swatted at their hand.

“Don’t. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” The hero said, their voice firm. The cold cut through their voice, and the villain felt the harsh wind of it.

“I was just trying to…see if you needed help.” The villain replied, feeling hurt. Their hands shook slightly, as they forcefully brought them down by their side.

The hero shook their head. “I don’t need your help. Thanks.” They moved their feet to the door of their house, and soon went inside without sparing a glance at the villain.

The villain frowned and went back to their house, their hand still feeling the touch of the hero’s hand swatting at it.



[callmeblake]

2013 Kerrang (X)

If you open this in another tab you should be able to read it.

[kas-the-unfriendly-ghost]

finally did some refs for these dudes

yep! these are my versions of the BTD/TPOF protags!!

basically, they come from different timelines; one where Kasper is the one Strade kidnapped, and another where it was Mickey instead.

these are, as y'all can Probably guess, their designs pre-games (aka Pre-Strade), so have some design details!

Kasper:

dog beastkin

21 (beginning of BTD 1)

dyed their hair (and tail) in "cotton candy colors"

general body shape, hairstyle, and body hair is actually inspired by me irl!

the outfit is the one he was wearing pre-kidnapping.

excitable puppy <3

jean shorts (Jorts, if you will)

5'6", but can and Will kick your ass. beastkin strength is A Thing in my opinion

exact dog breed is unknown; gladly calls herself a "mutt."

no shoes; claws are too long for a lot of shoes. usually only trims them around winter.

Mickey:

trans man

19 (beginning of BTD 1)

also 5'6". canNOT kick your ass unless he catches you off guard

the third, non-pride flag pin on his jacket is actually of his fursona; a bright orange and teal rabbit.

take a wild guess which fictional character this guy was technically based off of.

carries a messenger bag that contains several personal belongings, such as a sketchbook, art supplies, his wallet, a journal, and sometimes his phone if he doesn't have any good pockets.

hasn't started hrt yet, but does have a binder at this point.

leg hair = gender euphoria for this guy.

awkward lil guy

again feel free to ask me about these guys. i have Many thoughts about them

(i cannot Tell y'all how much i despise anatomy. i try my best though <3)

[monstershearts]

Fausto Damiano

Species: Dhampir (formerly human)

Age: 100 (turned at 21 in 1942)

Nationality: Italian

Ethnicity: Greek, Italian, unknown

Gender: Cis Male

Sexuality: Biromantic, Demisexual

Alignment: Neutral Evil or Lawful Neutral

Occupation: Army Field Medic (formerly), Antique Dealer (current)

FC: Damiano David

Appearance: Dark hair, brown(occasionally red) eyes, pale skin, several tattoos, 5'11", medium build. Usually wears a leather motorcycle jacket that he’s had since the ‘40s with several pins, patches, and enchantments on it(functions as +1 armor and a Cloak of the Bat), as well as ripped jeans, black biker boots, a studded black belt, several rings, bracelets, wristbands, tied handkerchiefs, and occasionally chokers. Also tends to wear eyeliner and smudged black eyeshadow.

Personality: Snarky, self-serving, a bit of a coward but for very good reason, flirtatious, clever, sharp wit, devoted to Hades and Persephone, cares deeply for humans but pretends he doesn’t, refuses to leave his humanity behind, deeply loyal, family is incredibly important to him, highly charismatic, somewhat socially awkward, high anxiety.

Powers/Abilities: doesn’t age, can walk on walls and ceilings, can cast healing and necromantic spells given to him by his gods, inhumanly fast and agile, vampiric bite, can transform into a bat because of an enchanted pin he always wears, will become a full vampire once he finally kills a human, immune to disease, talented cook, fashion designer, musician, and seamstress.

Weaknesses: Mortality, emotional manipulation

Mental Health: PTSD, anxiety, depression

Likes: Cooking for his partner, pomegranates, designing and making his own clothes, flirting, singing, dancing, guitar, bats, black cats, traveling the world, D&D.

Dislikes: Guns, fireworks, rich assholes, being used and manipulated, small spaces, fascists, bigots, most vampires.

Languages: Italian, Latin, Greek, English

Background:

Fausto Damiano was a soldier on the wrong side of a war that had no right side. A field medic with no love for violence and an outright hatred for those who used it to gain power over others, he did his best to help his fellow soldiers after getting drafted, but he could not find it within himself to truly believe in the cause they were fighting for. It wasn’t long before he made a plan to desert. His escape from the battlefield was nearly flawless; no one noticed him slinking away amidst the chaos and bloodshed, and he made it out unscathed.

He spent the next year hopping from town to town, village to village, stealing whatever he had to in order to survive and romancing every beautiful, naïve young lady he came across. He enjoyed the freedom he’d earned for himself without a care for what it might have cost others. However, in time, there was a girl he met who managed to catch more than just his eye. She was the daughter of a nobleman, already betrothed to marry another of her station, but she was far too good for that. To Fausto, she was every bit as radiant as Juliet was to Romeo, though she was equally as cunning as she was beautiful. As these stories are wont to turn out, she gripped his heart and became his downfall. He began to court her in secret, walking the streets by moonlight and sharing stolen kisses and secrets. It only took a month for Fausto to propose, and after careful consideration, she accepted…on one condition. The man to whom she had been betrothed had a mysterious yet incredibly wealthy benefactor who was rumored to be in possession of a very powerful amulet. She so coveted it, stating that it would make her happier than any engagement ring.

Naturally, Fausto set out to steal it for her, using all of his wile and guile to infiltrate the ancient mansion of the benefactor. He’d managed to get the amulet in hand when he was finally caught, though the fate that befell him was much worse, in his mind, than any prison sentence or death penalty. The benefactor and owner of the mansion was deceptively youthful and beautiful, appearing to only be a decade older than him at the most. Rather than calling for guards or law enforcement, the man gave him a crooked and disarming smile that made him question a lot of things about himself, then politely informed Fausto that his lady love had tricked the boy in order to make good on a deal they’d made. He then explained that he was a Vampire Lord by the name of Count Mortimer Ambrose, and that he desired to turn Fausto rather than kill him because of his inhuman beauty. Fausto tried to run, almost refusing to believe any of it, but the Count caught him easily, seducing and bedding him before feasting on his blood and transforming him into a vampire. A part of him died that night that he thought could never be reborn.

The half-century that followed was miserable for Fausto. He tried several times to escape, but was never successful, even after the Count moved his coven to America following the end of the Second World War. Forced to comply and watch as countless innocents were slaughtered by his coven, he eventually concluded that it would be best for him to simply play his part until the perfect opportunity finally came along. He devoted himself to learning magic in the meantime, leaning on the guidance of Hades and Persephone to aid him and give him at least some shred of hope.

Finally, on Halloween of 1985, Fausto managed to manipulate a group of college kids who were dared to stay the night in the manor into helping him escape, framing it as him helping them to survive his Maker’s dark machinations and escape with their lives. The group fought hard, having raided the armory with Fausto’s help, and the desperate Dhampir took the opportunity to extricate himself from the manor amongst them before disappearing into the night. He’s spent the last few decades roaming up and down the Eastern Seaboard, staying in certain places long enough to either grab a quick meal and a bit of a rest or blend in and lay low. New York is by far his favorite haunt.

[sam-is-running-away]

ok, first oc introduced is: *🥁drum roll🥁*

Crying figure

Basic info:

full name: Aaron Collins (I'll refer to him with this name when i talk about his past self, before "ending")

male (he/him)

24 years old (forever) (<- mofe info about it on my future AU post)

175cm tall (or 5'7" for my fellow americans)

Fisical appearance:

starting from the top, Cry has black hair cut really short, ice blue eyes with slight bags under them, pale almost white skin, rosey lips, slim long nose, and two angry red scars running from right under his eyes down to his jaw. for the body, we have a pretty underweight composition with ribs showing and joints pretty visible. on the right palm of his hand, he has a "⦻" carved into it. and apart from a few other bruises and scars running around, nothing is mentionable. (Face claim: Tsokkun on instagram)

Attire & weaponry:

he wears a white mask that covers his nose and mouth with a black tear drawn on the side of it. as clothes, he wears a white t-shirt under a black zip-up hoodie, black ruined cargo pants, combat boots, and a jeans jacket with white fur on the inside that's always unbuttoned. as a weapon, he uses a butterfly knife that he had bought when he was into blades and always carries a sewing kit with him to sew his victim' eyes shut.

Personality:

Aaron was a pretty reserved and calm kid. nervous around adults and older kids, but pretty friendly around kids his age. the older he got, the colder, closed off, and emotional he got (he cried easily). he started to totally avoid people of any age and rarely got out of the house, aside from school. he completely stopped talking to other living people (family included) after the incident.

after going insane, Cry turned into a manipulative and charismatic person. he talks to anyone he meets and can be your best friend. if you never break his trust. it's also easy to make him angry due to him being mentally unstable.

Story: (TW! violence)

Aaron was born on May 16th, 1991, somewhere in Tennessee from his mother and unknown father. His mother was a s3x worker who didn't have the finances to care for him, so, with a broken heart, she left him at the hospital she had birthed him at after nameing him and giving him her last name, Collins.

for this reason, Aaron grew up in an orphanage where he met Claire, a girl with his same birthday. that's what made them bond. the two were best friends for years, promising each other that they would only be adopted together. sadly, years later, Claire was adopted and the two could do nothing to convince the headmistress to send them together. so, on September 20th, 1997, the two lost contact of eachother.

the next year tho, Aaron was adopted by his new family and moved to Alabama, where he would live the rest of his life, but it was not easy. at school, he had a hard time at making friends, the other kids would make fun of him for being adopted, and the only person he talked to was his brother and friend Mason, who was 2 years older than him.

as time went on, things got worse. the bullying went from mere kids' teasing to severe fisical and emotional abuse. the name calling, the shoves against lockers, the fake rumors, and the punches became normal daily routine for Aaron. but one day, it became too much. on a normal day of tenth grade, Aaron was cornered by his locker by three of his usual bullies, a girl named Jade and two guys named Carter and Sean and all three of them did not have good intentions. Jade, the leader of this trio, took out a switchblade with a mischievous and evil grin on her face while her guard dogs pinned against the lockers. the girl procided to carve two straight lines on each side of his, going from under his eyes down to his jaw. she then took his right hand and carved a "⦻" into his palm, all while mocking him and wishing him that he died and that "Slenderman kills you and feeds off of your fear, crybaby!".

after this horrible episode at school, his parents took Aaron out from pubblic school and hired tutors to homeschool him and tried to make his life somewhat normal again. but it wasn't normal. no, it just couldn't go back to normal, his face was disfigured and the event had effected him so much that he complitely stopped talking to anyone. this made his parents worry and they took him to various doctor appontments, but the only thing they could diagnoise him was his autism. sure, knowing that helped communicating with him, but the two still couldn't get him to talk, even after booking him a therapist.

the only person, or thing, that he talked to was a creature from his costant daydreaming. a tall, faceless, white, slender thing wearing a black suit with a red tie. Aaron knew it was the Slenderman, but he didn't care. It wasn't as evil as people made it, anyway. for the longest time, the creature wouldn't answer, it'd only stand there and stare at the boy as he talked to, apparently, no one. no one could see it but him. but one day, when Aaron made a rhetorical question, it nodded. it agreed with him. the Slenderman agreed with the boy. this made him feel understood for the first time, and he was immensly happy for this.

years passed, and from just nodding, the Slender started talking, helping him with homewokrs, internaing him during his free time and giving him suggestions. not so nice suggestions. it talked about getting revenge on the people who made his life miserable. it talked about killing who made him miserable. in the start, Aaron was kinda creeped out from these offers, but the longer it tried to convice him, the more he thought that yeah, he needed to get his revenge.

so, on a foggy, cold night, after he had turned 24, Cry put on his infamous jeans jacked, grabbed his favourite butterfly knife and went off to kill about a quarter of his old high school. he paid particular attention to the three that had ruined him, ruining them back and making them cry blood for eternity, turning them into the brybaby he once was. and oh, how much he laughed when he looked into their terrorised eyes, filled to the brim with tears.

"Who's the crybaby, now?~"

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jeez, i didn't think i'd write this much

anyways, if you want to know funfacts or have some questions on the character, my ask box is open!

[ofxlilac]

(peter gadiot) [THE PROTECTOR]. Please welcome [ENZO CONTRERAS (HE/HIM] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [35]-year-old [VISITOR] who lives in [TOWN]. You may see them around working as a [DETECTIVE]. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

NAME: Enzo Contreras AGE: 35 BIRTHDATE: November 22 SIGN: Sagittarius LABEL: The Protector - a person who looks out for others, as they grow in their relationships can be seen as very protective. they don't want to see people get hurt. GENDER: Cis male ORIENTATION: heterosexual PROFESSION: Detective LOCATION: Huntsville

PHYSICAL

HAIR: dark brown, can appear lighter in some instances EYES: light brown HEIGHT: 5’11″ MARKINGS: a few scars, and tattoos on his left arm and neck

FAMILY

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single   SIBLINGS: younger sister (TBD) PARENTS: unknown

SKILLS - hunter more than a gatherer.

PHYSICAL PROWESS: he’s athletic and muscular, he is an outdoors kind of guy. you can find him helping out in the commune. he will help move things around. ABILITIES: Knows how to fight, and likes to keep the peace. But he can use his strength to pin someone down or break up a fight. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Spanish, and Italian. HOBBIES: He has a habit of riding motorcycles, so anything that looks dangerous, he more than likely would want to try it.

TRAITS

POSITIVE: Protective, smart, loyal, empathetic NEGATIVE: direct, calculative, impulsive, lazy

PREFERENCES

OTHER

FUN FACTS: has a motorcycle, used to be in a biker gang. wears black jacket and jeans. He's very nonchalant.

CHARACTERS:

MOVIE/TV CHARACTER: Avengers - Winter Solider The Originals - Elijah Mikaelson Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Spike TRIGGERS : none

BIO  - TW mentions of abandonment, death, blood.

Growing up in Aguascalientes, New Mexico, with his father, mother, and younger sister. They were a close-knit family, all living under one roof. As the eldest, Enzo often took care of his sister and helped his parents prepare meals. In his younger years, he was a bit of a troublemaker—pickpocketing and stealing food just to get by. Coming from a poorer part of the city, he didn’t have much choice. But as he got older, he realized that stealing was wrong and started to contribute to his community in more positive ways.

He worked any job he could find, from selling food to washing cars—it didn’t matter what it was, as long as it helped take care of his family. He studied constantly, determined to get good grades in high school, never caring what others thought of him. But when he graduated and was ready to head off to college, he returned home to find the house empty. His parents hadn’t told him they’d been evicted—or that they had taken all his savings and disappeared.

He was left completely alone, his parents having taken his sister with them. He didn’t know what to feel—just a deep, painful ache from what his parents had done. Despite everything, he managed to get into a college (Law) and study abroad. He spent five years in London before eventually making his way back to the States. While in Texas, at around twenty-three, he crossed paths with a biker gang. He was still young and figuring out life, and it was through them that he learned about loyalty, about protecting those he cared about, and what it meant to find a new kind of family.

It was there that Enzo met his best friend, and they often talked about their dreams and what they wanted out of life. Enzo was the type to chase after what he wanted, believing nothing was impossible. But being in a gang meant there was always an opposing side, and with that came violence and bloodshed. He’d experienced brawls and attacks before, but nothing could have prepared him for the aftermath of this one. He had stepped out for a while, only to return to find his entire chosen family wiped out—death all around him

He faced two choices: avenge his family by hunting down and killing the criminals responsible, or take the legal route and bring them to justice by arresting them for what they had done. He vowed to pursue the latter. Determined, he returned to school to study Criminal Justice. By the age of twenty-eight, he had joined the police department. Four years later, he became a detective. Through relentless work and dedication, he tracked down the group responsible for his family's deaths and ensured they were put away for good.

It was only on his drive through the states where he ended up getting stuck in Huntsville.

CONNECTIONS

Best friend - the friend that helped him, and pushed him to follow a career path that he loved.

Frenemies - this person likes to pick fights with him but he doesn't quite give in. He kills them with kindness.

Law enforcement - maybe he knows a few detectives from other states. He would definitely like to help out those in huntsville.

more tbd