#let the rats smoke in the sewers

[kryptonbabe]

I hate the Power Pack kids - they're just your typical white privileged kids who are easily disgusted by rats, the sewers and cigarettes

🚭

[qin-qin16]

Congrats to 400 followers, wonderful mutual ✨🎉💝

I want to... Uhm. Request CrossDust.... I think anything about them is fine, since I also don't have anything in mind but. Like... You don't have to do it if you don't want to, though, no pressure ♡⁠(⁠Ӧ⁠ｖ⁠Ӧ⁠｡⁠)

Dust is a nicotine addict and he smokes a lot, so Cross tries to get him to stop and finds solutions for it? Like working out (Dust is terrible at it) or chewing candy. Hell maybe in the end Dust just gave up and coaxed Cross into smoking with him. Can be romantic or platonic, please have fun!

Extra-bowscarf geno

Death's kiss

Pairing. Cross x Murder Content. SFW! Smoking, fluff, mean skeletons that want to make out, no puppy cross this time, uh dramatic writing? Dust is called Murder here because I like to change sometimes lol A/N. GENO KSWJDEWKJDEW I LOVE HIM!! AND THE BOW SCARF 🥹💖💖

"What the hell is this?" Murder didn't even glance at Cross, remaining seated on the ground with his knees pulled up to his chest, a cigarette dangling between his teeth like a lollipop that had been chewed on for a long time. "Why don’t you just eat it already? It’ll be faster." The words were spat at him, but all Murder felt was a faint buzzing in his nonexistent ears, like an annoying mosquito.

Maybe on another occasion, Cross would have been more gentle, letting his gaze linger on Murder’s slumped figure with a hint of admiration, but not now. Now, all he could feel was a familiar weight pressing on his shoulders – the same eyes that had haunted him now joined Cross, scrutinizing every small movement of his body like vultures, waiting for the final breath.

"Aren’t you going to say anything?" Cross snarled, slicing through his thoughts like a dull blade, trying desperately to dig into his insides.

Murder, ever so silent, simply gestured with his fingers for the other to come closer, the cigarette still hanging between his teeth. Cross seemed to pause for a moment, and although he was fed up with the lack of response, he obeyed the silent command, crouching down to the relaxed skeleton on the ground.

"What do you wa-" Before he could even finish his sentence, Cross was yanked by his shirt, his teeth colliding with Murder’s in a sharp, loud clank.

A fine layer of dust sprang from Murder, like a ghostly veil covering his hood and shoulders – a sight that should have terrified anyone else, but not Cross, not when his eye sockets stayed wide open, fantasizing about a future unreachable for both of them. A foul stench surrounded them, the rancid smoke of the cigarette creeping into the holes of Cross’s face like rats sneaking through a sewer.

The click-clank of their teeth didn’t stop for a second, not even when a low growl rose from Cross's throat, nor when Murder’s dilated eyelights turned completely white.

Cross didn’t even think before placing his hands on the other’s face, caressing it like a lover. "You really need to stop smoking." It was his last words before pulling Murder into another kiss, even though he hated the bitterness and burn of the cigarette against his tongue.

[aroturier]

And a short-short i wrote a couple weeks ago...

“Bard? What happened to you? You’re white as a sheet!” Mey Rin asked as she stepped into the manor kitchen.

Bard looked up at her from his seat at the table, an expression of horror stamped on his rough features. “Tanaka around?” he asked softy “Don’t want him to hear this.”

“Why? Cried Finny, suddenly concerned enough to stop stuffing his face with the young master’s luncheon leftovers. “What did you do now?”

Bard let out a windy sigh and lit up the stub of a half-smoked cigarette he’d been keeping behind his ear. ”Think I just ended a three year relationship.”

“Wow,” Finny whispered. Where’d you find time to get a girl? You’re always working here with us!”

Mey Rin put a comforting arm across the man’s drooping shoulders. “I’m so sorry Bard. I didn’t even know. You okay?”

“Hm?” grunted the manor’s chef’ who seemed to be just snapping out of a daze. “Oh yeah, I’m fine, no worries.” he waved a careless hand and barked a dry laugh. “Wasn’t my relationship.” He took a moment to fetch his secret stash of bourbon from behind a nearby basket of produce and poured himself half a glass. “Last I saw of them, the young master n’ Sebastian was upstairs rolling around on the floor, tearing each other’s hair out.”

“What really?”

“Really. An me? I started it…somehow.”

“Wow!” Finny repeated. “Is Mister Sebastian gonna hang you up by your thumbs in the garret again?”

Ignoring Finny, Bard asked” You ever fight hand to hand in front of that kid Mey?”

“Why?” asked Finny, his eyes as big as saucers.

“What? Course not! I’m a sniper, I am. What do I know about hand to hand fighting? I plug ‘em from the rooftop, then go hide in the garret and bawl me eyes out!”

“He hooked a couple fingers up that butler’s nose-holes and took him to his knees*. Sebastian. To. His. Knees, Mey. Where’d the kid get that from? Never seen such a thing! That boy is not to be messed with. Fights like a sewer rat!”

“Wow,” Finny said yet again, for want of anything substantive to contribute. “I bet he learned that from Mister Tanaka.” And from out in the passage, they heard a faint but hearty “Hoh, hoh, hoh,” come echoing down the hallway.

“’S got really sharp ears for an old fella too**.” Finny said pensively, starting in again on his cold collation.

[chaifootsteps]

As an Arackniss historian, the reason why he's not named after a drug is because he was the first of the spiders to be designed as a standalone Zoophobia character. Angel was made afterwards and seems pretty obviously meant to be his opposite.

inb4 Viv making Arackniss homophobic in Season 2.

Oh god, please don't let Arackniss show up in the series. He was never my favorite character but he's too good a chain smoking little sewer rat for this mess.

[galos-writing]

hey, y'all, uh sorry for my absence but i was so damn busy with uni im sorry T_T i had completed a request i received a long time ago but i accidentally deleted the message, fortunately i copied n pasted the request above the ff itself, so for whoever asked it to me, im so sorryyy and i hope the ff arrives to you Q-Q enjoyyy

Request: Hi! May I ask for Arthur Fleck x gn (*gender neutral) reader where the reader has green eyes and how would he react? Thank you!

You were standing right in front of a vast apartment block completely dumbfounded, you couldn’t believe such a majestic building could erect in a trashcan of a city like Gotham. Indeed, the poor lifestyle was mirrored by the appearance of what would become your new home: broken windows, a neglected shared yard full of trash bags, roaches and sewer rats, and the paint outside grayed or even consumed in some spots. 

You made a face at the view, but it was all you could afford at the moment: you would have surely moved as soon as you would have found a job with a good salary. However, the luggage you were holding reminded you that you weren’t living somewhere better than this. You could almost dare to say your new home would be a mansion if compared to your parents’ house; even the rudest flatmate would be nicer than the ones who were supposed to love and support you no matter what, but that instead kicked you out, not even letting you collect all of your stuff. ‘Just your clothes’, they said, ‘and then get the fuck out.’. 

Their words were carved in your memory and will probably be forever, you took a deep breath to hold back tears. 

You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the taxi driver behind you, until he honked, startling you. You turned to him, he was visibly pissed, angrily smoking his cigarette butt and then throwing it at your feet, not even putting it out. 

“Ya deaf, pal?! I fuckin’ said it’s 50 bucks! Ya gon’ pay me or not?”, he shouted at you, sticking his hand full of rings out towards you, expecting his money on his callous palm. You turned pale at how angry he was and quickly pulled out your wallet to give him his money. 

Your anxiety turned into full panic when you saw your wallet was completely empty. Fuck. You were sure your brat of a little brother stole all your money, oh how you wish you were still at your home to strangle him. 

“So?”, the taxi driver insisted, pressing on the accelerator to increase the price according to the taximeter. His judgmental beady eyes were scanning you while you started emptying your backpack, in a desperate attempt of finding a single cent in the bottom of it. Nothing, just old stuff, some comic book and clothes. You let out a defeated sigh that made him visibly angrier, and your lips quivered as you opened your mouth to speak the only words he was hoping not to hear. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t…”

You got cut by a bony and shaky hand extending next to you, handing some banknotes at the taxi driver, who smirked and snatched them from it.

“H…Here…”, a thin male voice shyly stuttered before the money had been literally ripped off his hand. The driver filled his thumb with his gross saliva to start counting the bills, and when he was over he just left in a hurry, not saying a word. 

You were at a loss for words due to everything that happened so quickly, but you managed to snap out of your trance and looked at the guy who just saved you from an unpleasant situation. 

You were stunned when you saw the appearance of your saviour: a short and slender man who was still standing next to you, his arm was still extended and his eyes were wide open, staring off into space. He seemed to be in his mid-forties but you weren’t sure.

He flinched when you touched his shoulder, and slowly turned his head towards you. His eyes looked so sweet, but they were now so wide, still in shock at what just happened. 

“Hey…”, you softly called him, trying to calm him down by awkwardly stroking his shoulder. “A-Are you okay? I’m so sorry you had to get through this, really… I’m willing to give you back your money, for sure, sir.”, you kept telling him, your tone was soft to sooth him, and you sketched an embarrassed smile when he looked at you. He first babbled some letters, as if he was starting the engine of his brain to reconnect and formulate a correct sentence, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. His gaze soon flustered you, making you look away. 

“Well, then… It's been a true pleasure to meet you. Thank you again, sir.”, you politely saluted, grabbing your bags and walking to the entrance of the condo where the landlord was waiting for you. 

As weeks passed by, some threatening letters from your father didn’t manage to break the new cocoon of comfort you built up all for yourself. You were so proud of your job of house decorating that you couldn’t resist but invite some friends over. What an idiot you felt by seeing your fridge was empty, how were you supposed to have guests over with no food in the house? 

You found yourself forced to go emergency grocery shopping the day before their arrival. As you were walking to the grocery store, you had the crippling feeling of being observed, but the thing didn’t scare you too much: lots of people in Gotham were weirdos, or just envious bored fellas who enjoyed watching others to judge them without a reason. When you arrived at the cashier to pay for your stuff, your eyes met a familiar face: the nice nervous man who paid for your taxi! You instinctively smiled and poked his shoulder to catch his attention. When he turned around towards you, his cheeks turned a deep red as you joyfully waved at him. 

“We haven’t talked much since you helped me that day, huh?”, you giggled, holding your bag of groceries as you were walking out of the store, followed by Arthur. He didn’t respond, he was too flustered to speak. You turned to him, tilting your head, your face showed concern. For a moment, you decided to ignore your worry and resumed smiling, extending your hand at him.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way. (Y/N) (L/N). We didn’t manage to introduce each other. It’s a pleasure to know you. We do live in the same condo, right?”, you happily asked, patiently waiting for the man to shake your hand. But he didn’t. 

“I-I’m Arthur, Arthur Fleck… nice to know you too…”, he shyly murmured after a few seconds, trying to avoid eye contact. You worriedly looked at him again.

“Hey… are you okay? Did… did I say something that offended you?”, you asked, trying to approach him, but he stepped back. 

“I have something to confess to you. I, uhm… I followed you… like, stalked you for a while. It’s better you immediately know, I don’t want you to find it out by yourself and get even more scared…”, he admitted, making your face turn pale; that explained your feeling of being observed all the time. 

“... why?”, you just asked, feeling numb. You were confused, that man seemed so kind, silent and polite during condo reunions, you couldn’t believe someone like him could do something like that. But you appreciated his honesty, despite the fact you were definitely creeped out by him. 

“I… just wanted to make sure you were real. And, y’know, not just some… some kind of delusion.”, he bluntly answered, as his face turned even redder. “It’s just that…”, he kept saying, “ … you quite… caught my attention, not gonna lie. You feel like a fresh breeze in this trash-stuffed pit.”. 

His words hit you like a hammer, those were the first kind words someone outside your friends group had told you in weeks. Your eyes filled in tears, but you firstly refused to let them out, giggling. 

“I… I don’t know what to say… Just… Thank you so much, Arthur. I’m glad you’re my neighbor. You’re the kindest man I’ve ever met in a long time.”, you told him, touching his shoulder. Your words made him blush even more, but this time a relaxed and genuinely joyful smile appeared on his thin and scarred lips. 

“Why did you come to live here, though…? You’re so pure and joyful, your kindness doesn’t belong here…”, he asked, blushing a bit. His question upset you more than you wanted to admit.

“... my parents kicked me out because I refused to work for their shitty business. I wanted to escape that narcissistic and toxic environment to start all over again. And for now living here is all I can afford.”, you gloomingly explained. 

He got silent, nodding a bit. His silence made your anxiety grow more than when you announced to your father you had no intention to work for his company. 

Arthur noticed you were observing him, and stopped nodding. “ …what?”, he asked.

“What?? Aren’t you gonna say nothing?!”, you asked back, in full panic.

“What do you expect me to say? (Y/N), if there’s something I learned by living in this world is that insecure people will insult everything outside their range of comprehension. But believe me, it’s not worth your tears until you’re happy. That’s life.”, he just said, taken by a moment of confidence, he felt oddly comfortable by speaking so openly to you, for once he didn’t feel unfitting or out of line, he felt heard and he knew his words could be helpful to someone he cared for that was struggling.

“And, in all honesty, I wouldn’t be taken by surprise by your family situation, yet… by, uh…”, he kept going, struggling a bit to say what he was thinking of, but just by looking at you, he suddenly found the courage. He was feeling good by spilling all that out right now, and wanted that wellness to keep going. 

“Yet by the fact yours are the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen.”, he suddenly blurted out, making you heavily blush. You looked at him, you could see his wave of confidence disappear to make him blush as well, so much he had to pull on the collar of his shirt. 

After some awkward second of silence, you smiled. “Do you mind if we… get back home together?”, you asked. Your proposition took him by surprise this time, making him slowly nod. The two of you walked back to the condo, in complete silence, drowning in fluster, but so happy you had met each other at that moment.

Tags: @darknessisafriend @werewolf-and-go-wild @indieblair @pursuit-of-comedy @ajokeformur-ray @fly-like-a-phoenix @five-miles-over @hebimoonlightwrites @jokerflecker @callmejokerr

[novashelby]

Tommy and Cindy

"Your boat leaves at eight tomorrow morning, Miss. Walsh," Tommy said, blowing a cloud of smoke. His tongue swiped at his bottom lip. It took a lot not to blow a hole in the woman's head. If it was a man, he would have with certainty. "I suggest you leave for London tonight-"

"And if I don't," she tested, sitting back wearing that smug grin on her face.

Tommy's jaw tightened, the revolver calling to him. "Let me make this clear to you, Cindy." Dropping all pleasantries, he leaned over the table and grabbed her jaw. "I fucking catch you in Birmingham tomorrow beyond eight." He paused, slipping the revolver from it's strap and shoved it against her temple. "I'll fucking kill you." Cindy let out a raspy laugh. "You'll kill a woman, Mr. Shelby? How noble of you-"

"I don't see a fucking woman," he retorted, pushing her back and wiping his hand clean. "More like a sewer rat. Now." Tommy reached in his pocket. "Take the fucking train ticket, the fucking ferry ticket, the fucking whiskey, and fuck off."

[kit-williams]

Night Out

Female Lead: A necromundian named Smoothie Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Yandere Space Marine Canon Status: I dont have any Yandere Custodes so not canon yet?

Note: This one was HARD because I don't exactly have any Yandere Custodes made. I'm still figuring out how to portray the Custodes and how much from Fanon/funny vas (like DreadAnon/My Golden Buddy/TTS) I'm going to be incorporating. (But this is less about how it is and more of what I'm trying to do)

She missed Necromunda that much was obvious as some glammed up tall boy told her she was going to be the cause for some great triumph. Yeah Smoothie heard that one before of some drugged out man getting higher then the spire. That was some really good shit she smoked too!

She crawled up the vent as she was going up and away from the area that made her nose bleed. She lived in a hive long enough to know if something was making you bleed you were most likely already dying but hey a little bit of radiation here and there wasn't going to kill her any faster. Though she was confused as she fulfilled what she needed to do... she had a kid... gross little thing with a grosser man but whatever if the Throne man said her kid was going to become important then she'd do it.

The glam man had asked her a funny question. Why she wasn't so torn up... a kid should be something that brings good memories about a good time. Everything in the lower hives was about survival and well having a kid was no easy choice like those upper hivers getting to have kids like its no one's business. She wasn't torn up because she didn't really care about the guy she had the kid with.

Maybe she shouldn't have answered and just fucked off then she wouldn't have been dragged to Terra. She grinned as she knew he was probably trying to find her, serves him right for putting trackers into her.

Smoothie crawls up the vent before kicking the gilded piece of metal open and breathing in the relatively clean air this high up. "God my tits are freezing." She mutters as she pulls herself up and stretches as she sits down on one of the golden gargoyles and waits for. "There you are big guy took ya long enough to find me."

She feels his massive hand grab the back of her jacket just like he did back in the hive. A man doesn't grab a lady like that for no reason... hell the rations he got for her always tasted better and she'll admit she was getting pampered here with some fancy golden collar. She smacked his hand, "Fuckin sit down feather brain." She says in reference to his plume.

"Smoothie." His voice rumbled with some slight annoyance.

"Just fuckin sit with me and enjoy the night out." She says lighting up some scum lho as she looks out at the golden sea. "Its pretty aint it..."

She feels him wrap her in his purple cloak as she is plucked from the gargoyle and into his lap. "Why did you need to come all the way out here."

"When we were coming in the first time I saw this... first time I saw anything from so high up." She says and her eyes sparkle with the same glow that she held when they were above terra at night when she was arriving. "I'm so use to being under everything seeing all the wires and the ugly underbelly and all the shit they try to hide but this... " She lets the blue green smoke roll out of her mouth. "It's pretty... and not so gaudy like everything else here. Who the fuck even decorated it's so much gawkin gold." She says with a chuckle as his massive arm wraps around her.

"Thank you for giving me a reason to... have a... night out." He says with a sigh as his stuffy demeanor melts a little as he holds her tightly and Smoothie just chuckles.

"Of course big guy I mean least this sewer rat you brought home can do for you." She kisses his faceplate grinning as she leaves a neon green kiss mark on the gold.

Fluffuary Taglist: @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

[rustbeltjessie]

Thanks to @blind-the-winds for the tag!

This is from my novel-in-progress. I'll try not to over-explain, but: it's loosely based on events from my own life (with a lot of straight-up fiction thrown in), and stylistically I'm aiming for something like "if Kathy Acker wrote Jack Kerouac's On the Road." There are the main narrative sections (which hew more closely to the structure of OtR), but then there are all these interludes and meta-fictional weirdnesses and... Anyway, this is one of the main narrative sections.

I buzzed her in, and she said: “And I brought a joint. I thought maybe you’d wanna get high.” Hell yeah, I wanted to get high. “Let’s go out,” I said, grabbing my jacket. I knew we couldn’t talk or smoke like we wanted in front of my boyfriend, who sat noodling around on his guitar in the next room. He’d take one look at Rat Hole and decide she was a bad influence, and he hated weed, too. We headed east on Irving Park Road, towards the Brown Line Stop. Rat Hole cupped her hand around the flame of her green lighter and lit the joint, took a puff, passed it to me. We walked in silence for a bit, passing the joint back and forth, keeping an eye out for cops. Soon everything was a stoned symphony of sound and color, the headlights of passing cars bending and refracting in our blurry vision, their tires wsssshhhing over the wet, salty streets. We got so high we forgot it was still cold; our blood was warm and everything felt like spring. We took the el to Belmont Ave. and it was Rat Hole’s first time on Belmont, and ever after that place became a symbol of our friendship. I thought of my ode to Belmont; the night was like a living version of it. They were all there: punks with six-inch tall Day-Glo mohicans, Jesus People proselytizing, drag queens in their feathers and spangles, goths in their big black boots, suburban spare changers, pickpockets and prostitutes in the Punkin’ Donuts parking lot, and all the sounds, bass booming behind doors of dance clubs, car horns and stereos and hey fuck you, buddy! And all the smells—donut grease, car exhaust, smoke (sewer, cigar, incense), hot dog water, deep dish pizza, grime—an Eau d’ Belmont.

I'll tag @belialjones @endreal @kurnutus86 @hthrrloooo @chucklingpecan @big-low-t @dee-the-red-witch — and any other writer pal who'd like to participate. (But don't feel obligated! And P.S. feel free to use any recent work, be it poetry or prose, fiction or non. I've put poetry in these things before.)

[vault81]

Jack Cooke's Travel Log: Grayditch - 22/08/2277

(prev) (next) (master)

"Oh hey! It's finally working again! I knew a little percussive maintenance would fix 'ya It's been a few days since my last entry, so I've got a lot to fill you in on!"

"Firstly, I was able to get that landmine back to Moira! You should've seen the look on her face! I've never seen anyone so excited to handle a mine before. She practically snatched that thing out of my hands and started stripping it down, eventually she handed it back to me in the form of a lunch box... Apparently it's called a "Bottlecap Mine" 'supposed to pack more of a punch than 'ya average fragmentation mine, It's a nifty 'lil gadget I have to admit! She even gave me the plans to make my own!"

"After that, she wanted me to test out a new invention of hers. It's supposed to repel mole rats! I don't even want to know how she made that thing, it fucking glows green and smells like ozone or ammonia… I'm not even sure it was safe for humans, let alone mole rats! She pointed me towards some sewers in D.C to test this thing out… That was before I got side-tracked by some kid…"

"I was down by the Super-Duper-Mart when he came sprinting 'outta nowhere like a bat out of hell! Poor thing was shaking like a leaf, could hardly catch his breath, kept raving about 'monsters'. I was able to get him to sit down, have some water and calm down. Said his name was 'Brian Wilks' and that he came from a nearby settlement called Grayditch, that it was under attack from these 'monsters' and that he needs help saving his dad.. This kid and I.. we're in the same boat.. It was tugging at my heart-strings just to see that… I mean, what kinda heartless bastard would I be if I said no? So 'course I agreed to help! 'Don't worry, I'm strong! I'll save your dad!' I still can't believe I said that, but it seemed to calm him down enough at the time.."

"It didn't take us that long to get to Grayditch, you could see the smoke from miles away, and that smell.. God, that fucking smell.. I can't even begin to describe it.. I know what death smells like, what decay smells like. I'm kinda used to it now, I'm ashamed to admit.. But nothing prepares you for what burning corpses smell like.. And for a fucking kid to witness that? That poor fucking kid..."

"Giant fire-breathing ants, that was not what I expected when I went deeper into the settlement. At worse, I thought maybe those 'Super Mutant's since we're close to D.C.. That was just plain fucked up.. But it also made no sense? I'd encountered Giant Ant's before and none of them spat fire... I didn't like it.. Something about it wasn't natural.."

"I managed to find Brian's father in an old town house.. What was probably their home.. Ya'know, I've seen some messed up things in my few days being on the surface, but... that was probably the worst.. He was slumped up against some wall, just.. Blackened and charred, his eye's had melted so it was just hollow sockets staring back at me.. I couldn't stay in the house after that. I felt dizzy, my ears were ringing something awful.. Never felt so nauseous in my life.. I managed to get back into the house and cover the body with an old sheet, I don't want Brian to stumble across that, he's been through enough. It's got me thinking though.. Is this how I'm going to find my father? Dead in some ruin? Savaged by some wasteland creature? He's a vault-dweller like me! He has no idea how to survive out here! I mean, what're the odds that he made it to Megaton? Hell, that he even made it down the hill from the Vault? Ever since I saw that, I couldn't stop thinking about it.. Am I ever going to find him alive again? But uhh- I think what's worse is not knowing, so I'll keep going.. For now.. And just hope I don't end up like the Wilks..."

"Brian took the news well, as well as anyone can, let alone a kid. I wish I could just let him mourn.. But I also had to learn more about the ants, make sure this doesn't happen any place else. Of course, had no idea where they came from, but he pointed me toward a shack his father built instead. It was owned by a scientist that recently moved into the town, a 'Doctor Lesko' according to his terminal, he wanted to shrink the ants back down to their smaller size and had set up a lab inside the nearby metro station. So, I decided to check on the laboratory, maybe see if the doc was still alive and if he wasn't, maybe put down the ant colony's queen."

"Honestly? A part of me wishes that I didn't go down there. I managed to find Doctor Lesko.. He was in his lab, not expecting any visitors. I confronted him on what happened to Grayditch.. His response made my fucking blood boil.. He didn't care what happened to the town, 'necessary sacrifices' to further his own research! As far as he's concerned, he isn't responsible for what happened, nor does he feel any remorse. What a fucking bastard! An entire town wiped out because of his incompetence, a child is now fatherless because of it, not to mention the trauma he has to live with now! I was so close to putting a bullet in him, hell, I fucking should've. Instead, I decided to 'help' with his experiment by clearing the way to the ant queen so he could adjust the mutagen he has using. I won't lie, I was tempted to kill the ant queen, ruin his experiment and make this can't happen to another settlement. But I didn't, I bit my tongue and did what he asked... The prick wanted to 'reward' me for my work, I told him he can fucking sit and swivel on it and left."

"Which leads me to now, I can't have Brian staying on his own, it's too dangerous. I'm walking him back to Megaton, he can stay with Moira for a bit while I track down his aunt in a place called 'Rivet City', I'll ask around for its location when I'm back in town.."

[newwavenosferatu]

[Confirming SchreckNet VPN...]

[SchreckNet VPN Confirmed. Do Not Deactivate]

Evening Sewer Rats and Creeps alike. It's quiet tonight, both Kindred and Kine seem content to stay in their own little homes and havens. Given my uh... recent transgression against the Masquerade I thought I would stay in and tend to my Spawning Pool. After checking on the rats and other beasties, I fed on a few and headed back to the one little area of my haven with any electricity: my desk and computer. So, I have decided to regale you with the story of my Embrace, and how I came to be what I am tonight.

I was born to a French-Irish immigrant family in a small town in Indiana. My life was unremarkable, filled with novels and music and very little else. One night in September of 1984, I was walking home from a goth night held at some dingy house venue. I was on a horrid blend of alcohol and diet pill speed, slowly making my way back to my place. I heard someone call my name, and I stopped, turning around to see if maybe someone from the party was trying to get ahold of me, maybe I left something behind, I don't know. I turn around to continue walking and see movement out of an alley I was about to walk past. I tentatively go to take a look, foolishly walking further down the alley. I feel a weight on my back, and thin, almost skeletal arms and legs wrap around me. I feel this rush, almost like sex on acid. This euphoric rush spreads out from my head, all the way down to my toes, and I go limp. I felt myself fall onto the concrete.

When I awoke, I was in some dingy room, with bricked up windows and full moldering furniture speckled with ancient dust. The room I was in was lit only by a single oil lamp. letting of a foul smoke that filled the room. Piles of books, newspapers, old TVs and radios were stacked against the walls and piled on tables. Scrawled writing on stained papers formed a makeshift carpet on the floor. The worst part? There was no door, only a hatch in the ceiling. It must have been at least 20 feet up to the hatch.. Just as I am fully realizing the gravity of my fuckup when get a look at myself reflected on an old 50s TV set. My skin has turned a sickly greyish blue, an is covered in lesions and cuts. As I scream in horror I see all my teeth have elongated, especially my incisors. My eyes sunken in my face and colored a milky black. My ears had begun to point. I collapse to the floor, completely overwhelmed. I howled and cried, only more disgusted when my tears are streaked with thick globs of blood. After what seemed like days. I felt my body slowly rearrange itself into this new, grotesque form. I felt my organs shrivel, my muscles tighten and atrophy. My skin shrunk, like I needed something to make me more skeletal. My teeth moved, stretched and sharpened into a maw of fangs, with my incisor teeth like long daggers poking out of my lips. I looked like a bad Halloween costume , a kitschy Count Orlok and Siouxsie Sioux mash up. My makeup was gone, but with eyes twice their original size in sunken eye sockets, I didn't need anything to make my eyes any more dramatic. My once carefully maintained teased hair matted and full of bits of trash and debris.

Eventually, I heard a squeaking clank, and was met with dozens of live rats falling like rain into my squalid new home. I found my teeth sunken in to one of the poor things neck before I even knew what was going on. When I came to my senses, I was covered in gore and bits of fur, met with the sight of many tiny corpses covering the floor. The hatch was closed once again. I cried harder then than I ever have before. This time my tears were crimson, running down my face and leaving scarlet lines as they drip down. Looking at myself again, it became clear to me human was no longer a word I could use to describe myself. No longer wrought by pain, my metamorphosis seemed complete. I began to actually look around my filthy prison cell, reading what I could of the scrawling in the books and sketches. Over and over, the words "Embrace", "Kindred", "Nosferatu", and "Camarilla" popping up all over the place. When I heard the hatch begin to turn open I scream at my unseen captor. "Come on fuckface! You did this to me but don't have the balls to face me? I'll rip your fuckin' throat out when I find you!" I was met with eerily jovial laughter, and a rope ladder fell from the hatch. I climb up and am met with a face looking just like my new visage.. She was tall, with almost comically large pointed ears and half of the skin on her face missing.

Over the next few weeks, I was instructed in the nature of what I am, what it means for me, and what my new "life" was going to consist of. I was told of the enigmatic Ivory Tower, the rebellious Anarchs and fanatical Sabbat. I learned of many clans of Kindred and what else is lurking and scheming in the night. I drank the blood of a woman my Sire had turned into a Blood Doll, and learned to savor its taste. I was taught in the arts of Obfuscate and Animalism, and how to use them to survive these nights. My sire, who by the way is called Signe, eventually introduced me to the local Camarilla one Elysium, and I felt an uncomfortable mix of dread and excitement. This new unlife is surely to be infinitely more complex than my simple mortal existence.

I stayed with Signe for most of the 80s, and learned a great deal from her. Over time however, she began to expect so much of me, and one night I fled. Like a child running away, I returned to her hours later, and professed my apologies and embarrassment. She was heartbroken however, and told me of a Childe of hers who left her decades ago and went Sabbat. We cried together and I tried to explain all my complex feelings, but the damage was done. She told me it was time to get a haven of my own, to learn what it really means to be Kindred, to be a Sewer Rat. I left, wandering the city at night, hiding in sewers during the day until I met Tufts again.. She was as close as I ever got to a friend in life, and we became even closer in death.

Well, I suppose that's enough rambling for tonight. Stay safe, Kindred. I have a strange feeling tonight.

[End of Transmission]

[lesp1een]

17 or 20 for bret and shawn??? whichever you prefer

Hi! I'm really late to this one since I just started writing again after a bad writing block but here you go!

Angst writing prompts, number 20:

"You look like hell"

Content warnings: Mentions of addiction and body image issues

It was so very hard to get rid of the stench. 

He tried to open up his windows, letting in the breeze of that cold winter night to wash away every proof of his miserable habits out of the room. 

He had never experienced such a freezing winter before. It was cold enough to seep into his bones and leave him burning. And yet it felt almost refreshing, to feel the pain on his skin as he brought himself out in the balcony, hands moving by themselves into his jeans pockets to reach out for the almost empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He bought those cigs when the sun was starting to disappear behind the harsh silhouettes of those buildings only places like New York City could manage to build so tall, they looked like they could break into the sky, and by the pitch black night the pack was almost empty. 

He was lucky that hotel was old enough not to have fire alarms installed, and by the look of it, many people had spent their stay smoking cigarettes to turn the once white wallpaper into a sickly yellow. 

It was nauseating. The smell, it was all over his clothes, the smoke so thick it covered his room in a sickening stenching haze. 

He was living in it; that fucking haze he couldn't get rid of, no matter how much he tried to scrub his shirts and pants with soap and water until the color was washing off of them, no matter how much he brushed his teeth, so hard it hurt, so rough it made his gums bleed. 

His teeth were rotting. 

Not that he could see it, but he felt it. Everytime he looked into the mirror, examining every single one of them, he didn't seem to find anything wrong. They were alright, maybe a little yellow, nothing a dentist appointment couldn't fix. 

Yet he felt it. Aggressively gritting and obsessively licking every tooth, he knew he was rotting. 

One time he was kissing this woman in a club. He wouldn't usually remember a lot of it, because kissing a woman in a club implied that he was drunk off his ass and maybe on something else too, but that night was still vivid in his mind, taking a place in his memory so high it almost shared a seat with the time he learned on the news that John Lennon was killed, which was pretty traumatizing, and the first kiss he shared with Bret Hart, which was even more traumatizing. 

This one, it was more miserable than anything else. He and this girl were having this sloppy, drunk makeout session, and it was going alright, maybe he could even shoot his shot at her and bring her to his hotel room. 

"Your breath is terrible" were the only words that left her mouth after that, looking at him and giggling like it was no big deal. It was a big fucking deal to him, and he was sure no man after a kiss would like to be graced with nothing else than another, more heated kiss. 

After that night, he sometimes still checked if it was true or not that his breath was bad. He couldn't tell, at the same time he didn't kiss anybody on the mouth after that to prove it wrong. 

Shawn only smoke Newports. The taste of fresh menthol would delude his own body that he wasn't poisoning himself. Unless he was out of them, at that point no beggar was more miserable than him, looking out on the ground for a half smoked cigarette.  

Out of the ring everybody knew he was a loser, and that snorting cocaine and smoking flavoured cigarettes instead of cutting heroin only made you a posher junkie, but still a junkie. 

New York never slept. At night it was more chaotic than ever, with her glowing lights and the invasive sound of the still busy road. It was during nighttime that the people more similar to him were around. They left their house at the same hour the rats came up from the sewers to invade the streets.

His friends were those kinds of rats, just like him, and he was sure they had already found a place to party and bang some women. Razor was shocked when Shawn refused to join them for that evening.

"Are you okay, man? You seem kinda pale, chico…" 

Shawn wasn't sure whether he really looked that sick, but he sure felt like it. He told the man he felt like he was catching a fever, that it was nothing he couldn't fix with some paracetamol and two hours of sleep. Razor was dismissed with a reassuring pat on the shoulder and told to have fun before Shawn could close the door behind his back and spend the rest of the evening not doing any of the things he told him he would do. 

There was something strange going on with his body. Everytime he tried checking for his temperature it was alright, yet he was always freezing cold, having to ask every hotel staff for extra blankets to be able to sleep without shivering like a little dog. 

He was somatizing his own misery so much even his body was trying to tell him to go fuck himself, that it would make him suffer for it, for he was unable to escape its fate of being bound to him. 

Just like all the people he tried to hook up with during the past, they all had some sly way to get rid of him without him even realizing it until they were gone. His body was doing the same, and Shawn was left to wonder if death would come to fuck him and leave him cold the same way his men did. 

It was freezing cold and he was still outside, his body betraying him by reaching into that pack of cigarettes until it was empty. A sudden rush of panic surged through him as he felt nothing under his touch, and suddenly, he was out in the streets, making his way along the sidewalks only to find some place to go buy a pack. 

He wouldn't smoke them, he promised himself, he only wanted to make sure he had some. That was all a bunch of bullshit, having to go out in the cold for a smoke, selling his ass and pawning all of his expensive watches for a pound of cocaine. 

Everybody there knew he was an addict, they loved to use his name to feel better about themselves, because they would never end up like that. They loved to bring up how much of a mess he was in every argument as much as Shawn hated to even let himself remember about it. 

He wouldn't usually give a damn about what everybody said behind his back, at least he knew he had his friends. They were the only people he could trust because they were just like him. He could recall all the times he and Razor were getting high on cocaine in some shitty club's bathroom, he could remember all the times Razor saved his ass from overdosing. 

"You almost died, man… You almost died. Fuck, don't scare me like that again, don't do it again." Razor was almost screaming in tears, and he had never seen him cry before. To reduce a man so strong like him to tears was Shawn, softly held in his friend's arms on the floor of a dirty bathroom stall, in the most miserable impression of Michelangelo's Pieta. 

He should have been grateful Razor was with him, yet as his pale skin regained its original color, the only thing he wished for was that he never cried for him again. 

He was scared of losing them, yet he couldn't stop doing stupid shit like going down the street in the middle of the night, walking around a district he didn't know, only to feed his own destruction. 

He eventually found an open drug store, and bought a pack of cigarettes before heading back to the hotel.

By the time he was in the building, shaking in his boots at how cold it was outside, he had already smoked two of them. 

He was sure the place was empty, because everybody had the habit of going out partying every night during their tour stops. It was an eerie feeling, to hear only his own steps echoing through the hall. 

He was sure he was alone until he was not. He hopped into the elevator, and as soon as the doors were closing, he saw the glass doors of the entryway open.

"Thanks." 

Shawn stopped the elevator from closing with his foot only to let Bret in.

"It's fucking cold outside"

After he was given no response, the man glanced in Shawn's direction with a confused frown. There was a moment of silence broken by the static sound of the elevator, during which the two of them simply stood next to each other. 

"Yeah, I'm not used to it." Shawn's voice came out deeper and rougher than usual, and he cleared his throat as he was not used to speaking, which would be untruthful. 

Shawn spoke, even too much, as somebody like Bret would say, so to hear him so avoidant of conversation was concerning. 

"Are you not?" 

"I live in fucking Texas, dude." 

"Right…" 

Bret almost sounded hurt by his passive aggressive responses, as if they liked each other. As if they were friends.

It was even more unnerving to see his scrutinizing gaze upon himself like he was trying to read his thoughts. He made sure to visualize a big middle finger for him to see before the silence was broken again. 

"You look like hell, Shawn." 

Bret's serious tone held the same amount of emotion as those pre-recorded speeches coming from automated phone lines. It was impossible to understand whether he was concerned or straight up insulting. 

He had a condescending aura about him, like he was the grown up and Shawn was only a spoiled child to shake his head upon. 

"Whatever. Go fuck yourself, man." His own growing frustration was alleviated by the sound of the elevator reaching their floor, and as soon as the doors opened, he dashed out of there as if he was escaping a potential threat. 

It wasn't like he was chickening out. He wasn't a coward, and above all that, he wasn't scared of Bret. 

However, he must not let anything slip out of him. He was aware of the way his gaze softened, he could feel his own weakening body. 

Bret didn't like him, that was for sure. He always made it clear, it didn't matter how much he tried to be nice or hold a conversation whenever they were alone. 

He saw him as a threat, only because Shawn was younger and slowly making his way to the top. Shawn was too arrogant for him, too cocky, too libertine, too carefree to stand for his respectable values. 

So carefree Shawn was, as he obsessively stared at his own reflection in the full body mirror, hard enough to feel those pale eyes piercing through him with disappointment.

To say he looked like hell was an overstatement. He didn't look that bad, didn't he? 

The sudden need to smoke guided him out on the balcony again, reaching for his pack of cigarettes to unwrap it from the plastic and open it. 

Looking out, the only other room with the lights on was two balconies far from him. It almost seemed like he and Bret were the only ones populating that place, and suddenly he wondered if Bret always came back to his room so soon. He couldn't know, usually at that time he would be in the club with his kliq. 

Sometimes he liked to imagine the lives of the people living inside those lit windows. Perhaps a lot of them were having sex, or watching tv, or reading a book. He was sure more than half of that district was having sex at that moment. Bret wasn't having sex for sure. The man was married, and he was surely loyal to his wife, which was rare for people such as them who traveled all the time, because he didn't show any interest in any woman. 

He didn't have time to fully register how weird it was to think about his co-workers sex life, for his attention was caught by the reflection of Bret in the open window and he saw him come out on his balcony too, only some feet away from him. 

They didn't share any glance to know about each other's presence, and it was so dumb of him to think of that as something close to intimate, by the way they lit their cigarettes at the same time.

The fresh menthol sunk into his throat at each draw and he was silent, his eyes glued on the sky in front of him to avoid any chance of the other thinking he cared about him being there too. 

Shawn didn't even know Bret smoked, but that was only one of the many things Shawn didn't know about him. 

It was true that he avoided the man, yet he felt the sudden need to not be alone, sitting in his room all night in utter silence like a loser. His friends were out partying and having fun and he was there, having a depressive episode and craving some kind of interaction with someone he didn't have anything to share with but mutual dislike. 

"You smoke?" He made sure to raise his voice to let the other hear, but his words were completely ignored by Bret, who simply stood there, far from him, looking out with his arms crossed on the banister.

A rush of irritation surged through his body at the scenario of the man ignoring him on purpose, until he saw him pull out a tape player attached to his pyjama pants and remove his earphones.

"Are you talking to me?" His voice was loud and clear, and Shawn was relieved. He hated it so much that he was relieved. It made it clear how lonely he was, it showed Bret how weak and pathetic he was to seek his attention. 

"No, why?" 

"Nothing. I thought I heard something."

An usual awkward silence came after that, the wind bringing to Shawn's nose the familiar smell of weed. 

"Is that a joint?" 

"Yeah."

"What?"

"I said I smoke it to sleep!" Bret raised his voice, turning his whole body towards Shawn as if it would help to hear him better. 

"What?!" At that point Shawn was only fucking with him, finding that situation so funny he mocked the other by leaning over the balcony and grabbing the iron rail with his hands, screaming like they were talking from miles away just like Bret did. 

Doing that, his half smoked cigarette slipped from his fingers, falling down on the ground and disappearing in the distance. "Motherfucker!" He tried to catch it without any success, looking down with horror as if he had just witnessed the fall of a person.

That made Bret laugh apparently, he heard him as he raised his head towards him and somehow saw in the distance that stupid smile. 

"What are you laughing at? I spent thirteen dollars on those motherfuckers!" 

"You're so fucking dumb, goddammit." And he laughed again, louder, something that was unusual coming from Bret and was probably only happening because he was high off his ass. It didn't really matter why it was, because Shawn found himself smiling at him after telling him to shut his mouth. 

"By the way, didn't mama teach you that sharing is caring?" 

Shawn didn't expect for Bret to actually invite him in his room to smoke weed together until he found himself sitting on a bed that was not his own, sharing the fattest joint he ever smoked in his whole life with Bret Hart. That was without a doubt a strange outcoming for that night, to laugh at some stupid story the other man was telling him. 

The tv was on the MTV channel, showing some random late night R Rated cartoon, and besides the little lamp on the nightstand, it was the only source of lighting in the room.

Bret told him this story he didn't understand anything about because he was too high and Shawn laughed only because Bret was laughing too.

"So there was this time… I was in a foreign country, hanging out in this club and shit… and I told the guy that was with me to go tell a girl I thought she was hot  because I didn't speak their language-" Shawn took a hit from the joint before passing it to Bret, with his head rested on his own arm, and he listened. 

"Later I found out that he told her that I was his, that he already put his eyes on me and stuff like that… I was like man that was kinda flattering but I don't swing that way…" 

"He was sure into you" His slurred answer was followed by a weaker laugh than the other, as he tried to mask his own discomfort at those last words behind the excuse of tiredness. Of course Bret wasn't a homosexual, it had been years since their first and only kiss. They were drunk and didn't know better, and Marty had probably put something else in their drinks too. 

Not that it was a good kiss. As a matter of fact it was sloppy and disgusting and they both regretted it when they sobered up, but that didn't take away from the fact that there was a time when Shawn was sure he was in love with Bret Hart. 

Because he was beautiful and talented and he was everything Shawn aspired to be. 

Shawn still thought that Bret was good-looking, but he never really did anything about it except from acknowledging that Bret never really liked him and that he was, in fact, married to a woman.

All those thoughts were cut off when the topic of the conversation changed and they continued to endlessly talk about everything and nothing at all, until Shawn was so thirsty he emptied half a water bottle.

He had just finished telling Bret about that time Diesel saved him from being arrested, and he was watching the man roll another joint with half lidded eyes. He felt cotton in his mouth and his head was spinning a bit, and he was now so close to the other he laid with his head on the pillow next to his body. Bret was sitting with his head on the bedpost, so to be able to see his face, Shawn had to look up. 

He lit up the joint and passed it to the blonde to take a hit. 

"Speaking of Diesel, why aren't you out with him and the others tonight?" 

It took some time for Shawn to answer, only because everything was going so well and he didn't want to spoil the mood. Bret didn't need to know about his misery and how messed up he was in the head. He laid there smoking in silence for a good minute, his eyes glued on the ceiling.

"I don't know… I've been feeling like shit lately and I wanted to be alone." 

Bret took the joint from his fingers, and Shawn looked up at him only to meet his reddened brown eyes staring back from above. 

He was laying there, on Bret's bed, getting looked at, and perhaps he was too high to really register things the way they were but he was sure there was something close to intimacy in that gaze. 

Perhaps too much intimacy. 

"So you came into my room to smoke weed…" The irony of it all made both of them smile at each other, and Shawn shook his head, rolling his eyes up on the white ceiling again, for it was easier to speak deeper words without feeling those eyes on his. 

"I didn't want to be alone alone, I just didn't want to go to a club. Lately they've been going to strip clubs only because they're horny and looking for some chick to bang and honestly… I don't wanna bang any chick."

"That's news." 

"Oh, fuck you. Besides that, last time I hit on a girl she told me my breath stank and laughed at me and…" It was indeed childish to fuss over stupid stuff like that. But he was high on weed and every slight change of humor affected him worse than it should, so he felt tears in his eyes that could easily be mistaken for irritation from the smoke that filled the room. "... As you said, I look like hell."

That was probably the deepest conversation he ever had with Bret, and after a moment of silence, he heard him sigh deeply. 

"Shawn… I meant that you looked like you were about to cry. I don't think you look ugly or that your breath stinks, you just look sad." 

Shawn was miserable, he was a loser, he was pathetic, but he never thought of himself as sad. 

Sad was a new word to him to describe himself with, and somehow it was a better word. It implied that maybe that was all a temporary thing, and he was sad, but if he was sad, he could be happy too. 

He breathed deeply until that heaviness in his chest dissipated, so he would be able to talk without bursting into tears like a kid. 

Like a child he felt. A child who busts his knee and cries, a child who desperately cries into his mother's arms. And she comforts him, she tells him it's gonna get better soon. She tells him the pain is temporary, and that his knee will heal. 

She will kiss the pain away. 

By the time he opened his eyes again, they were dry of any tears. 

"So you don't think that my breath stinks?" 

He was able to joke about it, only to earn a little slap on his head and chuckle about it. 

"You're a child." 

"No, seriously… Does my breath smell bad?" 

"How the fuck would I know?" Bret shrugged as if it was nothing important, leaving Shawn wondering if he left him disgusted as much as that girl was, when they kissed each other. 

He would have told him. Shawn was sure he would have told him, if he had a bad breath. Bret never missed the opportunity to remind him how impossible it would be for Shawn to even try to reach his level. 

He never smelt bad, he never had that stench morbidly attached to his core, as a matter of fact Bret was a stable man. With a nice breath and a family waiting for him at home. His fingers were not turning yellow, and his teeth weren't rotting.

Such a good example of a man reduced to being compared to a messy thing like him. To have to work with him everyday, to see Shawn reach his same heights of success, to stand next to him everyday, next to a man who represented everything a role model like him should condemn. 

No wonder why Bret didn't like him all that much. It was strange enough to even see him smoke weed knowing how much shit they got for that from their boss. 

"Come and smell it then." Shawn teased. He smoked that joint until there was nothing left but the filter, and passed it to Bret to throw it away.

"I'm not smelling your breath." 

"Why not?" 

"Because that's fucking disgusting" 

"Oh, come on, you're a pussy!" 

Shawn elbowed him in the guts with enough force to initiate a slightly painful play fighting, which resulted in Shawn trying to breath in his face and Bret pushing him away with his hand on his face. 

"I'm gonna beat your ass for real if you don't stop!" He had him in a chokehold, his eyes so dark he could see his own face staring back. As it usually happened between them, things escalated quickly. No matter how high he was, Bret was still Bret, and Shawn could feel the thin thread of his patience rapidly break down by the growing strength he used to hold him away, like he was ready to put to use some of his old man's teachings.

His reaction was to roughly pull himself out of his grip and back away from Bret like he was avoiding the incoming bite of an angry dog. "C'mon, I was fucking with you."

"Yeah, don't do it again." They were in front of each other now, Shawn busy massaging his own aching jaw as they stared at each other in bewilderment. Bret was pissed off, he sure was for a little, but his gaze slowly softened as he calmed down, and they both laughed. Hearing Bret laugh did some things to him, and even though they were good, the tension in the room did not dissipate, and the relaxation of moments before had disappeared by the time Shawn had put his hands on him. 

He had tried all night to not think about it. About him and the way he was still so breathtakingly beautiful in his eyes. He had never seen him that relaxed, let alone speak and smile that much to him. 

Bret seldom smiled when he was around him. He made it very clear when he didn't like someone, even if he was always trying to be nice or hold pointless conversations. 

Maybe it was better off like that. To be treated like nothing but a co-worker, not even one he would share a beer with. 

Because, as he was sitting in front of him, he couldn't think about anything but those lips. Smiling, and pointing right at him. No matter how bad their first kiss was, he was still attracted to him to the point it was dangerous, because he knew Bret could tell. He could tell by the way he slowly let himself closer to him, only to feel the ghost of his warmth. It was pointless to turn his gaze away from him, and so they remained staring at each other in silence. He knew Bret could tell, for there was no wonder in his eyes, as he let go a sigh of resignation. 

"No, Shawn…" It almost sounded like yielding, the way he spoke softly, not even trying to repel Shawn from making his way up to sit on his legs. 

He was surrendering himself to him, and Shawn could tell what his desires were by the slight opening of his lips. So he swore on those lips, so close he could almost taste them as he spoke.

"It's gonna be good this time. I swear it's gonna be better." 

[corpus-incorporated]

my oc’s

CW for discussions of: murder/cannibalism/drowning/undead/terminal illness/etc

Nathaniel “Nat” Corpus (he/it/she)

the son of a billionaire and the heir to his father’s fortune and company as the youngest of six but the only “male heir” available. Nathaniel is unfit in every way to meet his father’s expectations and will always find himself failing whenever he tries.

nat struggles to control his impulses, one of them being his tendency towards violence. when he does allow himself to unleash himself he will go as far as to commit cannibalism in the process of dismemberment since he likes to use his teeth. he is not human no matter what he looks like, and it is at moments like this that it is the most apparent.

he is not human, but he is also divine. he does not work from our moral framework. he feels no remorse for killing a man, just shame that he lost control and fear for how he might be punished next. should we shame him for a nature he cannot change? what does it mean to be loved when who you are is unforgivable?

could you love yourself?

could you bear it?

diagnoses: autism, schizophrenia, anxiety, substance use disorder

gender: none

orientation: homosexual

(6’4 muscular build 24-31) art

Anthony “Tony” Wolff (he/him)

tony was forced to become friends with nat when he was a child in order to help his father integrate into the corpus family with their companies’ recent merger, although he grew to become fascinated with him. he is also the son of a billionaire, but one who made his billions rapidly within his lifetime, which comes with its own social realities their family and tony himself is compensating for.

Tony will do anything for the upper-hand, and yes, that means killing someone if it’s as convenient as asking your lover to do what he wants in his heart to do anyway. he may regret it for a moment but it never stays long. he’s doing what he needs to survive.

gender: male

orientation: aromantic bisexual

diagnoses: npd

(5’9 thin & bony 24-31) art

Anatole “Toli” Lamarque (he/him)

i have four different versions of this guy so he’s hard to explain. he’s a liar and a thief and a survivor to the core. he is a sewer rat. he has a genie deadbeat dad. in one version he was raised in a cult where children are human sacrifices to save their parents’ souls and he escaped after seeing his crush die trying to escape. he stows away on ships. he owes mountains of debt to the mafia. he is constantly coming up with scams. he’s a fire genasi that looks like embers and smoke. he’s french. he smokes weed.

names we call him: marq, lam, the mark, lame mark, lam R Q

diagnoses: adhd, ptsd

(5’7 very slim but athletic 18-19) art

Octavian Ghens (he/him)

human clone doomed to not survive to adulthood, wether he knows about it or not. he was made by a scientist in her hubris, competing against her lover and rival in their field of research, and due to his “mother’s” deception, she was able to keep his clone identity a secret even from her lover, who knew it couldn’t be her’s either.

octavian has big dreams of changing the world and the drive to do it if the world would just let him. he is persuasive and measured but persistent and driven. he was raised by academics and has a profound love for philosophy and the natural sciences.

he fell sick when he was 12, his time running up and a man approached his mother with a bargain. more time and all he has to do is write his name in this book. so he did. six more years. his time is running short and the more his body starts to decay the more magic it takes to keep him upright the more it spills out of him by spells he is able to cast. he is rotting and he doesn’t know it.

he wants to run for president when he grows up.

gender: male

sexuality: bisexual

diagnoses: bipolar 2, probably also npd i’m not gonna lie. with his everything.

(5’5 average build 18) art

Bitter Sweet (she/they)

pink teifling loves the swamp loves her mom loves her friends the undead she accidentally summoned. wants to be best friends with everyone, trusts everyone, and is easily fooled. she was thrown overboard by her traveling group for being too much of a bother, and is only still alive because she was revived by her underwater patron. they are the embodiment of a stuffie left on the playground, trampled and covered in dirt but still with an unyielding smile.

gender: sort of a girl

orientation: [INCORRECT BUZZER NOISE]

diagnoses: autism, adhd

(5’4 average build 16) art

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

Chapter Twenty Two: Don't Fear the Reaper Pt. 5

 “This way to the elevator! Come on! We don’t have a lot of time until the blaze hits where we are!” Lust shouted as she ushered the group through the passage way towards the sewer elevator. “This is all Dante’s fucking fault!” Envy screeched in frustration that the underground was burning and quickly thanks to Dante. “Well no shit Envy! I’m just glad the prune gave this girl and her child a mask to wear in all this!” Lust shoved Envy right through the passageway, not wanting to deal with bitch screeching while there’s a fire happening.

 “It smells like cheese in here ... .why does it smell like cheese!?” Freddy yelled from inside of Alphonse’s chest cavity before getting punched by Edward.

 “Shove it Face Fur, be glad you smell like fucking cheese instead of being a piece of charcoal to the flames right now!” Envy growled right back as they frantically bashed at the elevator’s button.

 “Lust, the door isn’t budging a single inch!” Hughes attempted to pry the door open by hand before being put aside by Lust to open the door up herself. “Are you kidding me right now!?” Edward yelled from within Alphonse, pissed that the door was jammed in this emergency situation. “Fucking hell! We don’t even have a stairway up either!” Envy gave a massive kick at the elevator door, leaving a dent out of frustration at the whole situation. “Stand back..” Gluttony started making his way towards the elevator door, his white void eyes shining with determination. “Gluttony…what are you doing?” Lust stared in disbelief as Gluttony looked over the elevator door for a moment. “Fixing a problem.” Gluttony opened his mouth wide as his acidic saliva worked its magic on the elevator door as he ate a hole into it, attempting to make it big enough for the others to get through. “Way to go Gluttony! Keep going buddy!” Envy’s eyes light up as Gluttony went to town on making a massive hole through the door towards not being burnt in a toxic blaze of horror. “Thank god for Gluttony and his acidic saliva.” Hughes just simply watched in awe of Gluttony and his fine work of getting everyone out to safety.

 The others sans Edward and Freddy watched in awe of Gluttony creating a massive hole through the door and motioned for everyone to get inside right away, Alphone letting Edward as well as Freddy out of his chest. With the group packed in like tightly packaged brined fish in a tin, the elevator started pulling its way upwards to the up above sewer as the fire came roaring. The heat could be felt from the floor of the elevator as the machine made its destination to the sewer, forcing everyone inside to flee from its chamber. The blaze’s intense heat overtook the elevator with Freddy unfortunately being too close to it as the fire burnt Freddy’s eyebrows off. The sewer had started to come to a shimmer as swarms of sewer rats started running over the fleeing team from the fire and the potentially plague carrying vermin. Envy had to keep ripping the rats off and throwing them to the side as they kicked the door wide open to the outside world that was drenched in toxic smoke. It was like the rats fleeing the sewer system, the homunculi and the three other humans in their group started to make their way out of the burning city. It had never occurred to the participating party that there were others who had been hunting for the Fuhrer nor had it occurred that this would include a very specific Colonel. 

 “Hughes!?” Roy cried out once more, still in shock of seeing his best friend throughout their shared military career back from the dead.

 “ROY!? Holy shit Roy what are you doing here in this hell hole!?” Hughes called out, just as shocked to be encountering Roy this soon given everything that has been going on.

 “I want to know why you’re still alive! I SAW YOUR BODY IN THE COFFIN!” Roy was in near hysterics upon seeing Hughes alive once again and having a hard time processing everything. “It’s a long as hell story Roy…I’ll tell yah once we’re out of this blaze.” Hughes said as he quickened his running with everyone else as more of the streets started to crumble away.

 “There, common sense. I see the exit coming up now.” George grunted as he started to pick up the pace to get out of the crumbling inferno city.

 “Come on, we’re going to make it out of here!” Joel yelled out as a massive explosion erupted right behind everyone as the underground fire had managed to hit a gas line.

 Back at the villa, Greed, his chimeras, Ernest, Dorian, and Dolly had remained stationed, waiting for either the phone call from the others that the job was done or to be the backup group to execute Dante should she show up. It had been a bit of a show up at Dante’s, looting and raiding all that the ancient alchemist had owned during her extensive lifespan with Dolly watching in awe of being able to see some items that she hadn’t seen in a very long time. Ernest and Dorian, on the other hand, had taken to the fine old art of vandalism as they both started to tear down the rather expensive looking curtains. Greed and Dolly sat at the parlor, watching the horrible clay lions cause property damages as they enjoyed these fancy importanted pink champagne truffles the size of tennis balls. While the fancy chocolate did help a little, Dolly still felt uncertain about how the underground team was doing. “It’s been hours now and we haven’t heard a thing from Envy or the others.” Dolly said as she took a bite out of the truffle. “I’m sure they’ll be just fine, Dante is just one very rotten person up against many she made an enemy with. I think I know what might cheer yah up while we wait on them.” Greed finished up that massive truffle as he got up from the chair and made his way up the stairs. “Do I dare ask?” Dolly watched on as Greed disappeared into a room upstairs with plenty of clattering noise to be heard. “Trust me, it’s been something I wanted to do for ages now.” Greed called out as he prepared something ridiculously brilliant.

 “If you say so..” Dolly could only sit, wait, and enjoy an expensive sweet while she stayed put. “I bet it’s a box full of ugly jewelry.” Dorian said as he chewed on a rare ebony curtain pole with little regards. “Oh please, it’s gonna be some sort of hideous outfit that could be salvaged for cash.” Ernest snorted as he eyed that very delicately etched window with malicious ideas of smashing it with a rock.

 “You were both wrong! IT'S A PUPPET DANTE!” Greed popped into view once again, his hand done up like a face with lipstick smeared onto his thumb and index finger to resemble lips with a crudely drawn on angry eyes. 

[kulturegroupie]

And um sorry if Jimmy is “rancid” then why did groupies fight over him? There was a story about two groupies getting into a fist fight over yardbird Jimmy. I’m sorry would they want him if he was smelly? And why is it that Pamela said he would get ready in the mirror like a girl. Smelly people don’t get ready and put curlers in their hair. And he also smelt like Pantene. Or that time that jimmy’s girlfriend Charlotte was talking about how pretty jimmy was while she was showing a fan a video of him at one of the zeppelin concerts (this is one of the times she let someone in because Jimmy wasn’t there and she felt bad). What I want to add to that is that smelly people aren’t pretty. So if he is considered pretty by other women than he probably had some good hygiene. And how he would like to light candles in his hotel room. Ok maybe when he was drinking or smoking he probably didn’t smell as nice, but that’s because of the alcohol and the cigarettes they smell bad. Ok um that’s it sorry for the rant lol.

dw anon, i feel you. tbh i feel like jimmy's one of those people you either absolutely adore or can't stand. also he's considered pretty by a lot of folks, but he doesn't adhere to beauty standards and i've seen a lot of people call him ugly as well. i remember someone said he looked like a "sewer rat" on pinterest and someone else called him the real-life version of a muppet (😭??). i thought very few people actually liked him looks-wise before joining the tumblr fandom. he's such a cute man, and very charming, in my opinion, though apparently not everyone in the classic rock fandom thinks the same. robert is way more popular among casual fans.

[jasonvalley]

For the pressures built beyond thy ribs. I pull at teeth one last time. My palms can only carry the weight of these words ever so much. Yet, actions alone have screeched volumes greater than words ever could. I've heard the roars of thunder while dancing and stomping on the heart of this world.

This might not make sense to you, but I am stuck in a dream on the hill. It makes sense now thinking about how my friends and I were able to levitate when we were young. There are time loops from the energy that we release at some moments in our lives. Think, déjà vu. So look, I realize my words could be convoluted and jumbled, as are the memories I spoke of here. Like puzzle pieces, read carefully, as these are not fables. But enigmas in text. And I do mean, read carefully. I might spell things wrong & sometimes skip letters. Dots and dashes can only go so far within a file of images. Like stepping on the glass shards I'd once bitten into. It possibly upon a few re-reads out loud, makes more sense. I now know how to levitate again. These are snippets of what I wrote to create my new album. The full of the writing spans over 50 pages currently.

I'd wanted to float behind those walls. Heavyweight among the pressures of fuel and air. Under the rust in front of a quarter-inch wire. In the dark before my thoughts. I'd play through without perfection. To get my words out quick. To hear those words out loud, speaking back to me, to not let go. It felt like a dream. Driving through the nightlights for hours on end to rest on the floorboards as a party played out. Headfirst into a world of concrete slabs. People watched tears run through the tunnels daily. One Valentine's Day, I'd come across a body laying lifeless. Red roses carried my view unto a bolder where tears would shed uncontrollably. The waters ahead of me and that bridge to my right within my blurry view. Sometimes, I still feel it. What sense to have of perceiving empty spaces? I loom through the tunnels of rats and heat. The odds to be on one's side. Torn to shreds on the wide pavements of the night. Pulled by the pushes straight out of dread. Places of pits, smoke, and sweat. I linger thin as ice. Melting in the lights of an avenue while the shutters close. Faint, my words rumble in a distance. As ink is spilling what I wish I'd wrote. Pages under the blue painted skys. Where no food is allowed, where you are hushed from an echo. Ode to the air beneath my heavy walk. Stories of Salt Creek and violence beyond my walls. Just after settled silence of when I'd pull him off the concrete slabs with a bloody palm. He was hospitalized for such a time that'd we'd lose contact during the aftermath and repercussions of a car hitting him on his bike. I pictured it as it happened on the same road I'd see a body lay at my bus stop on New Year's Eve. The reasoning behind my fear for driving on that day. I remember the stains on the ground where a hat was lost within shards of a broken windshield. Screaming scenes among the joys of being a preteen. Faces of remembrance from whom I feel for. Peace withers in the murky waters. I remember when. I remember when he crept into the abyss of the sewer drain. Double dares and snakes surrounded our denim. Multiple shouts with points of dirt filled nails. Bloody lips to smile at me. I see all. Archive the waves and soundscapes of envy. Passed out joy arriving to meet the roads where once repeated. An empty seat beside me. As one passes through the trees, collecting winds I would breathe out. Crisp slow taunts. Candy Cane cries. Children of electric boxes. Hallways of recession paths. Pillow-talks of pen pals. Depths of water as the elders yelled out a name. Lost again with the rust. David spoke of plastic bottles in a bag. Wrestling friends on both asphalt and carpet stains of Lemonhead fragments. Twisted words out he whom breathes basement hazes. Kind but oh his name fit the picture we'd witness. Sharp his words. His tongue, a sword of sorts to threaten one's brother. Never had I ever felt so at loss than in that cornfield maze. What's a boy to do with a blade to his chest? Like a candle before my gut. I'd see haze turning into dust in the house of cigarettes. I'd know that he'd go overboard. I'd tiptoe among the overflow. We climbed those fences. We balanced on the train tracks at 12. To meet echoes of one whom his friend would soon pass in her sleep. The halls felt silent. I feel for her and her friend I'd meet. Smoke climbed up to the level were I would run from the police. Out of breath but out of mind. I gasped for fresh air into my lungs in the shadow of a dumpster. Our long hair drenched in sweat. All I wanted was a friend. I'm pulled apart as I re-meet them words. Pulled apart, I'm aching.

Sometime later, Jenny was actually a friend of mine. Spoke of hot topics and purple nail polish. Ode to Aim, to bite one's adolescents. Doors would creep open. Doors would slam shut.

I still picture ***** with the rolling backpack. Two girls would make fun and called out a prep in a negative way. Not knowing of ****** deep interests in underground music movements. Our friendship had grew as quickly as it had ended.

I often wondered if they were also dragged and pulled into the ether. It was like moments of particles being pushed into the next episode of a everlasting series for educational entertainment. I asked another if she also understood this feeling. Like these moments are within your palms. It seems like there is a common understanding regarding what I hold onto. As if these were passed but shared experiences. Remember when? Remember when this, that, and this person did this and that? We could ask those on different ends of the world, yet something does meet at a point in time. I could tell something was off within those years of adolescents. I could just tell. I hadn't told anyone as it makes no sense. There is a group of those to be asked. Sadly, some are out of reach in this dimension.

I know one who has taught how to levitate. Do you remember the feeling of a spider crawling on your skin? It's close to the same. Sometimes you'll hear witness of them through the glass. Sometimes, I levitate too. There is a bridge where I once stood upon the water. There was a sunset.

I miss the glow of the pixels. I miss the glow of text behind the glass. Recalling when I first met the glass. It was placed on wood in a basement corner of a friend's home. It belonged to his older brother. He ate cicadas on record to upload on the Internet. My friend was joyous. Was often asked why he'd smile a lot. I spoke very little of him throughout the rest of my life. As though I'd wanted to forget what we'd face. Shocks of scenes where one layed on a wooden board on the water. Panicked as we all witnessed anguish. There, I recall why I'd dismiss pretorn jeans. I remember now. He belted out his lungs as metal met his skin. We all stood silent. We ran across the woods as we carried him to his mother. And to those whom hath surrounded our friend, I miss them still. There are peaks where I would witness why we must have not spoken again. I picked at the thoughts during evening loiters in the Midwest. I cry for the boy I'd give a high-five the day before his death. I remember a friend giving me a bloody face on my birthday. I remember a friend giving me bloody hands at six. I remember watching the flames from across the yard. The sirens shadowed the screams. I can still picture their pain. Matt and I would often dig holes in the muddy pits, we wanted to dig a hole to the other ends of the earth. After school, I watched that house engulfed in flames. I'd never see him again after that day. I remember bloody knuckles at lunchtime. Curses through chapped lips. Pacing through the halls during the aftermath of a humiliating incident in front of me and a friend I'd never see again due to a violent attack in his home. I remember notes from the school being sent home. I remember what she'd said happened in an apartment below. She told me and her friend but we were young and didn't understand. I cry for her still. I cry for another beyond my wall. My guess now is that we couldn't hear her gasp for help under the weight of her husband's yells. Details come back more often than before. Like as the guns layed on the glass as we ran in the field and stood on the seats of a swing set. I feel bad for their youths. Of plenty. Yet, I remain in awe at the questioning as to why. What's a boy supposed to do?

To be honest, a lot of people would talk about those like us in these rooms, tucked away in a place behind a curtain. I wish I told this person how much they'd meant to me even just knowing them as a teen. Not even distant yet old close friends know of whom I speak of here. I don't think anyone does. I believe at the time that I was pressured to shy away from this person who I looked up to as an artist. This person had expressed kindness and openness to different mediums and forms of expression. This person was a year older than I. When I felt I had to shy away, I was devastated. I'd written about a conversation that I believe we would had held within the dark room we would sit in during our lunch hours. I'd been grasping at all the words within my throat for nearly a decade.

I rip apart those memories of **** without ease or fault of blame. I hope this world has not come close to eating away at those that'd been left after the experiences I'd hold witness to. Formalities can go as far as unnecessary after situations like we'd share. Question to ask if I'd dreaded unto the weight of another who'd fallen to death too soon. Was there a reason I was met with reports? Had I burdened the mind of one who'd been troubled beforehand? I will never know. Sad to say I was genuine within my curiosity of making a friend. Years later I'd find a peer who'd share musical interests in. I'd later find that he'd pass away a couple of years after loosing touch. I'd see his birthday wishes from loved ones shared and posted.

The cool breeze drives and breaks in the parking lots. Isolated in leather under a negative wind chill. The nights went from feeling so empty to finding a friend who'd share tones and whispers throughout endless nights. Cloth to share on one's back. Cloths to shimmer in the streetlights. Sunrises to feel like nightfall. Compressed MP3 streams across I-55. I wish I'd been taught to bite myself to a lesser extent. I'd bite my tongue when I had my tooth strung to a doorknob. Slamming it shut, the waves rattled my jaw. I'll never forget that letter. I cried in the back of a car wondering if there were cameras always watching my every move. I'd look for the cameras as a child. I'd struggle with this within my adolescents until I could remove myself with those that would surround me. I'd never mention this to others. I thought my whispers were being watched as a kid. Summer never felt so alive. And yet, as pushes meet closer to the edge, it still doesn't. Cold, my nerves tremble as I view the steps we'd pace. Burns to the touch, your eyes pierced back at me. I pull at my teeth ever so often. I never knew I could have a friend like that. There are many of those who wouldn't have been spoken about again. Why wouldn't one attempt to contain growing pains? Second guessing the weight of the words within my throat.

I remember cries on an avenue. Reminder to when I worried for Marie. I teared for her fall on the road I once skated on with those boys. I could still feel the bass of the drums across the street in the attic of a home I was dared to drink water out of a dog bowl on the floor. I stood up to see an old friend choking in a bathroom doorway. We soon became neighbors but hadn't spoke again since. But what was my life witnessing? A garbage bag full of bottles that'd be hidden under a bed. I cried for her. It was like watching dominoes fall. I do regret jumping out of that window. It was a harder pain from the time I'd jump off of their garage roof as a kid.

I hold remembrance that I wish others could know. The complete opposition of screaming aloud on 26th street. I recall the vomit spilling onto the cold leather seats when I was thirteen. Though, the air felt colder in twenty seventeen. I felt the negative of this feeling sometime three years later. It rushed through the waters and spilled into the roads that I'd walk down at a 5am night. The air was no longer cold. Can you remember the time you once felt bliss? Strangled at the paragraphs I knew I would place upon somewhere eventually. It takes more tons to bury one's feelings. I'd felt as though they were in a hold that my friend and I had dug. The pit of a heart in the yard that flooded. You must reach for years in order to grasp at those wounds. It takes swimming lessons to find the way to that place. An area were I would climb a tree. As a child, cried when it's leaves would fall. I'd later read in a book handed to me by a loved one that it's branches were reaching out for help. They reach out their arms like I should have earlier. Other trees will reach one another to ensure it's longevity. This is what should be taught sooner than later. It's not easy to levitate for a long period of time. During a short timeframe in my life, I would levitate with my friends in a forest. I wrote a short story about it in highschool. I was constantly trying to find a way to share the experience but no one seemed to care to understand. When I was away for summers I would attempt to levitate on my own. There is a weightlessness to the unrest. Reaching out to the branches in the distance could lengthen the longevity to grow.

I found butterflies around that tree. Where I would travel to in a colder place near a lakeside, there was an old concrete building with large steps. I'd walk past a glass panel where they were propped up for knowledge. I almost cried to see these. Only one knows of this incident as it isn't shared often. I remember the winds near the water of the lake. I'd wanted perfection after the pressures of this world would set upon us a great distrubance for years. I tear for missing the smiles I'd only witness within the smiles of those eyes.

Why was his face bloody? Who followed him? I remember the gold chain around his neck. Where is it now? I cry uncontrollably when something reminds me of those that I feel pain for. I remember those kids sitting on the wooden planks that would be consumed by the oxygen of their grandfather. I wish I could take it away from them. I can still picture my view from my window. And as days go by, I miss more people. They'd all been on my mind for so long. These memories weigh on me terribly. I feel horrors taunting across like a sweeping skyline clawing at many moves of misdirections. I wish to pull the sorrow out of them. I should have pulled ******** hand higher. I feel like I'd let him down. It wasn't his fault, he was just a kid. I shake being cornered by the surrounding sound waves of being held under that blue sky tarp. I once looked up above to the pale diffused blue light. Under the gym lights as a bell rang loud. And to witness a dance like no one else. I'd dance on a heart. Pressures close beyond the rust. There was something in the air. It hollows it's way through some. Please don't forget it. Don't forget that feeling. Always yern for it. I feel for you and you are loved.

[preaching-to-the-fire]

Preaching to the Fire (HH Adam x OC fic)

Chapter 2 - Trip down the sewers

Masterpost (info, tags and index) | [~1 460 words]

They make their way through the streets of Hell, Adam dragging his guitar behind him with one hand. The world around him is blurry, as if everything is going too fast for him to focus on anything. He only catches glimpses : fire, screams, twisted laughs, music and tires screeching, the stench of rotten flesh in the air, smoke burning his throat — it’s hurting all his senses.

He still feels in danger from being so unusually exposed, vulnerable. Being so tall doesn’t help. He wishes he could shrink so as to go unseen but, hell, the rat girl, Valska, she practically disappears under his arm already, which she’s carrying for him. And the fucking irony is, he’s not even the worst sight around — nor the tallest. Actually, one could say he pretty much blends with the crowd. He doesn’t wanna think about the implications.

Sera will be there for him soon enough anyways, he knows that. He winces. She’s going to be such a pain in his ass after all this.

Wincing at the headache, he focuses back on his rescuer. Or something. Whatever she is.

A few strands of back curls escape from under his robe’s sleeve. She looks so fucking small under him, he’d laugh or mock her if he only had the energy. Back there in the alley, she had to use both her hands and dig her heels in the gound to pull him up on his feet. Then, she’d positioned his arm across her shoulders and taken it upon her tiny self to carry him through the streets, all the way to--

Wherever it is she’s taking him to. Somewhere safe, according to her. Adam can only hope. And for fuck’s sake, he hates it.

Despite the worry digging through his gut, she leads him along a few blocks without raising anyone’s attention, and this part of the neighbourhood seems a bit calmer, cries and noise subsiding. They engage in an alleyway. Another one, Adam thinks with a pucker.

At his side, the rat girl lets out a relieved sigh : “Fucking finally.” Sounds like she’s about to crumble any time soon, too .

They stand on a manhole cover, a rather large one. She stomps her foot against the metal and suddenly they’re moving downwards. Like an elevator. And just as suddenly, they’re standing in a fucking sewer.

The stench catches in his throat. Adam nearly pukes again.

“If you throw up on me, I’ll drag you back to that dumpster for the rats to eat.”

He can’t tell if she’s being serious.

… He gulps it back. Just to be sure. Better not to risk the devil.

The sewers are vaulted, brick-walled tunnels, with green spotlights dotting the way, which they follow at Adam’s slow rhythm. At some point the ceiling lowers and he koncks his head right into it.

“Ah! Seriously? Watch the fuck out bitch, you’re the one leading the fucking way!”

She tenses under him and a sound echoes through the tunnels, like he’s on stage and someone has just plugged a mic in. Unless it’s just the noise in Adam’s mind. He wouldn’t be surprised.

They come to a stop before… An elevator? Down in the fucking sewers?

As the doors open, the rat girl — Valska, right — lets go of him and gestures widely, encouraging him to step inside with a grin. Not a friendly one. Eyes on her in mistrust, Adam takes a step and knocks his head again.

“Ow!”

“Oops. Watch your head,” says Valska behind him, voice cutting and dripping with satisfaction.

The shiver of rage climbing up his spine is drowned out in the pain, so he can’t think of anything to shoot back at her. When she walks past him and leans on he elevator’s wall, he quite automatically follows and slouches against the opposite wall, across from her.

The elevator’s doors close and the cabin starts moving. Adam blinks. He’s positive he didn’t see her push any buttons.

He takes a good look at her now that she’s standing there, arms and legs crossed, in the dim light — not cloaked in the darkness of an alleyway or under his goddamn armpit .

Two rounded ears pop from each side of her skull, lost in an ocean of black waves, cut right below her jaw. One strand covers her left eye. The other is, uh, badly ringed to say the least, unless it’s the makeup giving that impression. She’s got red eyes, as does everyone down here, he knows. The rest of her colour palette is black and yellow, like she’s dressed up as a fucking wasp or something, from the plaid skirt around her ass — small, he notices, shrugging to himself — to the black shirt with short, puffy balloon sleeves, golden hem and rustling on the front so he can’t tell what size are the boobs there (or if there is any at all, really) under suspenders made of the same black, shiny leather as her gloves, which start way up her elbows but seem to have been cut at the fingers, to let her claws through — painted black. Obviously. Looking further down, he notices the fishnet knee-socks under her black rangers.

She doesn’t just have the ears of a rat. There’s also the whiskers. Three on each cheek, they stretch far on each side of her head, complete with golden freckles on her turned-up nose.

And the cherry on top? She has the tail.

Adam shifts his weight, using his guitar for balance.

He likes the whole pet vibe. He knows by experience they’re heavenly in bed, with all that raw energy to them — and the noises . He fucked a girl with bunny ears and tail at a concert once. Bounced like anything. Awesome fuck.

He realises in other circumstances he definitely would’ve nailed the rat girl on that wall.

He would’ve given her his best predatory grin, enjoying the sight of her recoiling, shrinking in his hold. He eyes the hem of her dress and pictures his fingers running up her thighs--

Then he finally notices she’s been eyeing him up and down too. Her bratty smile has now melted into a closed-lips, pensive expression. And again, in other circumstances, he would’ve revelled in the attention, he would’ve sneered something about how she just can’t take her eyes off him, watching as she’d blush, except--

Except. He’s not wearing his mask. And she’s looking straight at his face. He feels naked. Vulnerable. The Old Man only know how fucking miserable and pitiful he must look right now. Any horny feelings wash away as quickly as they’ve kicked in. Any emotion feels so intense, he feels exhausted.

He averts his eyes. Buries his head in his shoulders, hoping the high collar of his robe is hiding most of the mess he is.

She tilts her head. The doors open and Adam breathes again.

A small, horned and pointy-tailed demon appears in the doorway as Valska disappears under Adam’s armpit again and steps off the lift with him.

“Everything ready for our guest?” she asks the tiny creature.

“As you asked!”

“Good. Open the door for me.”

They walk down the corridor of what seems to be an apartment. Not that Adam can see much of it but at least he’s still got instinct. He takes in as much of his surrounding as he is able.

The hellish creature opens a door.

It’s a bedroom. A rather large one.

“ Come over here. Let’s lay him down on the bed.”

Adam twists his neck to try and see the creature before it can touch him but he’s suddenly reminded of the pain.

“Fuck!”

His feet falter. He slides off Valska’s shoudlers, loses hold of her. The lights are too bright, the pain is too strong, and everything is so much more intense. He starts panicking.

They settle him on the bed as he starts wrestling.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he screams, his voice hoarse and high-pitched at the same time. He throws a fist in the air, blind with rage and fear.

He knocks the creature off its feet and sends it flying across the room. Valska leaps backwards in an attempt to protect herself.

“Man, really?! I just hired that one!”

Adam tries to stand up, instinct kicking back in. He let go of his axe. Where is it?

Valska jumps at him and grabs both of his wrists to hold them at the sides of his head.

“LET GO OF ME YOU TRASH-EATING BITCH!!!”

He’s about to send her flying acorss the room like he did the tiny demon, but suddenly he feels something other than her hands is grabbing a hold of his wrists and is holding him down. Last thing he sees is Valska’s floating hair and glowing red eyes above him before everything around him fades to black.