#made three trips to the dumpsters

[yellobb]

Got a ton of shit done and now I’m having to FIGHT to avoid the desire to nap

[lifetimeoftired]

How to adopt a dead kid in three weeks or less

It's midnight and I'm hopped up on that ADHD juice. Been thinking on and off about this prompt and how things play out. Might clean this up for ao3 posting later but whatever.

Part 1 || Part 2

____

Danny can feel the weight of their stares like it’s physical. A last mournful glance at his pancakes- Actually no, fuck it. He grabs the last one from his plate, flashes the whole Wayne family a peace sign, and turns invisible. The pancake is eaten as he dashes out the door and away from the shouting and chaos he leaves the family in.

 -

“Where the FUCK did he go!?” Jason’s shout somehow made it above the din of the others- and got Bruce and Dick yelling ‘language’ back at him. The pricks.

“I say! Watch your tone Master Jason! As for the rest of you-” The whole family shut the immediate fuck up when Alfred speaks. His displeased expression more than enough to cow them into submission. “I expect you to clean up after yourselves today and a quiet trip to the batcave to find our new ward. Master Jason, you will be taking care of Master Danny’s plates, and I will hear of an apology from you for scaring that poor boy.”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes Alfred’ from the chastised bats, but Bruce- carefully mind you- presses.

“Alfred, how long has he been here? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“The young master has been staying for the past three weeks sir. And despite my best attempts, I have not yet been able to convince him to sleep in his own room.”

Bruce groans and rubs at his face before turning back to his other children, “Nobody thought to tell me!?”

The kids all look at each other, and then back at him with the most judgmental ‘are you serious’ looks they can muster. Except Cassandra, who very excitedly signs; New brother! All Bruce can do is sigh into his hands.

“We’ll discuss this later-”

“Why didn’t you notice then old man?” Jason grins, a little feral at Bruce’s dirty look but sue him.

“Okay okay, let’s hurry up and get this place cleaned up. There’s no telling how far Danny got- and the sooner we go after him the sooner we figure out what’s going on.” Dick said, quickly gathering his own plate. 

“And the sooner I can get all of you presents.” The entire family stops. Staring at Jason in shock. “Only the finest ‘World’s best detective’ mugs for all of you!” 

The groan he gets from all of them is perfect.

-

“I cannot believe you didn’t think to tell me either!” Batman scolds Oracle later. 

Everyone is out in force. Even Batwoman, Batwing, and Bluebird (after having a good laugh at Batman’s expense) had joined. They had all been searching for Danny the better part of the day. Batman had even agreed to let Red Robin and Robin join the search and skip school. That’s how seriously the kids knew he was taking this. And how important it was for one of them to get to Danny before Batman scared him off for good with his infamous paranoia.

“If you didn’t notice, that one’s on you Batman.” God Jason really loved Barbara sometimes. 

“Oracle would not have allowed a dangerous individual into our midst. She is thorough when it comes to such things.” Robin is moving fast, probably swinging right behind Batman. No doubt headed east where the nicer areas were and any sane person was bound to head.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, baby bat.”

“O, you wouldn’t happen to have a new update on Danny’s whereabouts would you? Or anything from his past?” Nightwing cuts in after Robin’s little ‘Tt’. He’s somewhere near the border to Bludhaven, in case Danny’s making it out that way.

“Nothing Nightwing.” They can hear her frustration, and concern, through the voice modulator. “The kid’s practically a ghost. All I can tell you is that he’s not from Gotham. What little I can find of his time here in Gotham is some security feeds of dumpster diving and sleeping on a bench.”

“He’s also definitely a meta.” Signal mutters, somewhere to the west and near the coast..

Jason remains quiet and lets them all talk. As funny as it is- and holy shit Jason will never let any of them live this down ever- it is a little strange this random kid would just... Show up out of nowhere. Meta or not. Alfred said he wouldn’t sleep in a bed of his own, but he also hadn’t left until after Jason questioned his existence. This ‘Danny’ had been around the manor, the bats coming and going, for weeks. He could’ve found out their secrets, and even if he hadn’t sold them out yet, there’s no telling who might pick him up and drag those secrets out of him. Or worse, if he was sent here by someone, then they needed to find out who. And fast…

….

Ugh. He sounded like Batman.

“Hey guys, how well do you even know Danny?” Jason pulls over near an abandoned apartment building. Cutting the engine to his bike to hear them all better. “He was there for a few weeks, pick up anything on him? Might help us figure out where he ran off to.” That last bit was added as an afterthought, not wanting to be too paranoid, but it was also true.

“I know how this is going to sound, but uh, well, he does seem really nice actually.” Signal helpfully offers. “Dick and I ran into Danny I think not long after he got there?”

“O’s camera feed tells us Danny arrived at the manor 28 days ago, Thursday night 11:38 PM. Looking at the records, he was picked up prior to that in front of Wayne Enterprises by one of our drivers- Archer Tenson. He’s reliable and honest, no record of any sort that would make him a suspect of subterfuge.” Nightwing rattles off the information pretty calmly, but they all know him well enough to hear the concern. “According to the records, he was going to pick up the caffeine addict after the cafe got an alert of his fourth Death Latte-” They all ignored Red Robin’s little ‘hey!’, “-and dropped him off safely at home.”

“Red Robin.” Batman’s parental disapproval was palpable through the comms. 

“There wasn’t a fourth Death Latte!” Red Robin protested from his place in the batcave. Aiding in the digital search and combing over the camera feeds over the past few weeks for any information about Danny. “The third Death Latte was the last one. An Alert at W.E. was the plan the whole night. Nobody made it back to the manor until sunrise and the cafe kept saying there wasn’t any more coffee and-!” He gasped, horrified! Outraged! And the rest were left to hold their snickers as Red Robin said, “He stole my last coffee!”

“That’s right, Danny said he was a caffeine addict too.” Batwing mused. Probably flying somewhere over the more open suburbia in case Danny was trying to make a break out of the city that way.

“Wait when did you meet Danny?” Spoiler asked- Jason knew she was patrolling nearby with Bluebird. Those two, Orphan and Signal were the only ones who were allowed to come close to Crime Alley. Mainly because they annoyed Jason the least, but also because they understood how bad the streets could get and looked the other way better than the others. Signal surprised him about that one.

“Start from the beginning.” Batman orders. “Nightwing, Signal, you met Danny when?”

“Looking back, it was actually the day after he got there it sounds like.” Signal sighs. “I was headed downstairs for breakfast, and saw Dick in one of the sitting rooms. I thought I saw our caffeine addict passed out on the couch and thought dick was going to wake him, so I went in to help…”

[bellshells]

A Promise of Grim Death

Hi! First, I’ve never written for Art before- but I loved it. 10/10 will do again.

Second, I wrote, edited and posted this on my phone. Times are hard bestie, we do what we can. So if you see any errors in there, shh no you don’t.

Third, there’s a few TW here; I’ll do my best to list them all. But surely to god if you’re reading Art The Clown anything you know there’s going to be batshit times ahead. Okay, love you bye!

TW: language, smoking (cigarettes), mentions of gratuitous violence, murder (only a little one and it’s not too bad I promise), thoughts of a sexual nature (Art remembers that fucking is a thing), suggestions of grooming, suggestions of familial death, stalking, masturbation, art??? Is he his own trigger warning?

Art had been trailing Sienna for hours. He followed her from Target to what he assumed was her new apartment, and now he sat in a parking lot downtown in a beaten up van. He had seen her go down an alleyway hidden somewhat on the corner of 86th and Maple a couple of hours ago, and whilst he waited for her to reappear, he thought of all the ways in which he could inflict the most unimaginable pain unto her.

He considered flaying, but that was too time consuming for very little pay off. He thought about some good old fashioned water torture, but he was still too impatient. Art was desperate to end Sienna. He wanted to watch the life drain from her eyes, the last thing she would see on this mortal plane was the smiling face of Art the Clown. He sighed silently, he didn’t miss talking per se, but he did miss being able to convey his annoyance. The bike horn had its charm; don’t get him wrong. But sometimes he missed being able to sigh, or grunt or scream. Screaming was also fun. After another thirty minutes of listening to Talk Radio, the only way to consume radio in his opinion, he decided to take action. Pulling his black bag full of items of his pleasure/your pain close to his chest, he exited his vehicle.

Rounding the corner to the alleyway, he surveyed his surroundings. The sun had long set and a low sitting fog had begun to settle. Art loved nights like this, he could often smell the fear of passersby before he could see them. For as they say, you never knew what could be lurking in the dark. For Art though, he could almost sustain himself off of the fear itself. Almost. He gave a trash can a big, jolly kick knocking it tumbling into two more. He genuinely found this very funny indeed, especially when the homeless man who was sound asleep between them jumped up in a daze. The man was all arms and legs, shouting incoherently. When he saw Art, a cold terror swept over his face and he tripped over himself trying to make his escape. Art was faster though, he gripped a handful of the man’s shaggy hair as he tried to run and pulled down, bringing his knee up to meet the man’s face in an expert blow. Art did this a further three times, with each connection to the man’s face, it concaved further in on itself until he was unrecognisable. Just a mass of blood and sharp pieces of bone, exposed cartilage and teeth. Lots of teeth.

A bang from further along the alley made him freeze. He dropped the homeless man immediately, and kicked him against the wall. Dodging behind a broken fire escape, Art saw a door open and a figure step out. He craned his head to see who it was, though he needn’t have. He knew it was her, opening a dumpster and throwing trash bags inside.

He eyed Sienna with a white hot fury as she closed the dumpster, his view partially obscured by the fire escape; but it was enough to see her fish a bottle of hand sanitiser out from an apron she wore around her waist. Art toyed with the idea of shooting her there and then. One swift bullet straight into her skull would leave such a pretty smattering of brain matter on the dull brickwork behind her, but no, he wanted to make this last. He wanted to hurt her. He took one step out from his hiding spot, but the sound of a gruff man’s voice behind Sienna stopped him.

“Get your ass back in here, we’re getting fucked in the ass behind this bar,” Sienna’s shoulders slumped as she turned to face the man, he too wore an apron and dried his hands on an off white towel.

“It’s almost like you want to drown in trash,” she said, the man gave her a sarcastic smile and held the door open for her. Art strained to hear what was said as the fire door slammed shut behind them, but the music emanating from within was too loud even for his sensitive ears.

He made his way over to the door and tried the handle to no avail. He pulled tightly and still the door wouldn’t budge, instead he decided to give it a swift kick. Fuck that door, he thought. Fuck it. Art wandered back onto the street, he counted back the buildings until he was sure he found the one that Sienna had emerged from. The blacked out windows of a bookshop confused Art, he was sure he heard music, and didn’t that guy mention a bar? A single flickering bulb hung limply above the entrance, it was a single framed door with a peephole that watched him as he studied the entrance. This had to be the place, but why did it look so sketchy? Art shrugged and pushed against the door, it opened slowly into a dark vestibule you couldn’t swing a cat in. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he noticed the walls lined with books were just a wallpapered effect. He brought a finger up and traced the seam where two panels joined. It was then that he heard applause, rapturous applause coming from below. He turned on himself, once and then once more until he could faintly make out a heavy black curtain hidden in one of the corners. Tentatively pushing it to one side, a narrow wooden staircase appeared before him. That familiar sound of music rose up from the stairs, and with one silent step, he descended them.

Art expected to find Sienna at the bottom, he deduced that she’d be behind the bar serving overpriced drinks to a newly gentrified crowd. And he did find that, but what surprised him was the unmistakable feeling of his heart pounding in his chest. Its beating was so ferocious he could hear it in his ears. It had been a long time since Art had felt his heartbeat. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he even had one anymore. But as he rounded the corner after the last step, he felt all too human indeed.

The bottom of the stairs opened up into a wide cavernous room with an arched ceiling decorated with twinkly lights. A bar on the far right hand side is where Sienna stood, chatting cheerfully with a customer as she wiped the bar top down. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Art didn’t care, for his attention had been entirely captured by the woman who stood on the stage. His black bag of goodies slipped from his shoulder and landed with a clang at his feet. This usually would have drawn attention, but the sound was disguised by the most beautiful sound he had heard.

She was tall this woman, not as tall as him of course, but she stood proudly in a red dress. Art couldn’t help but notice the way the velvet seemed to wrap around her body like an embrace. Her hair, long and the colour of fire pushed over her shoulders to expose her throat. He eyed it as she sang, the way it moved with each note. She was sultry in her movements too, her hands an extension of her voice, in her hair, on her hips, around her waist, thrust out into an equally captivated audience. Art swallowed instinctively and his mouth felt dry, he brought his fingers up to his lips and he noticed they were trembling. He stood until she finished her song, a long sustained note- impressive for any singer, but this was divine treacle dripping from her lips. The audience again were generous with their applause, this woman and her band, a drummer and some men with shitty jazz instruments basked in it. Art always took pleasure in killing musicians, artists or folk of that ilk. He enjoyed watching the life seep from them, their magnum opus often nothing more than a crimson stain upon his gloves. But this woman was wholly different, she was like a monolith of a bygone era. A penetrating gaze suddenly lowered, coupled with a flirtatious smirk of a red lip. A long white glove scandalously exposing the top of a bare arm, the most innocuous piece of flesh unexpectedly the most arousing promise of more. And boy did he feel that arousal.

It was foreign to him, alien almost. A dull ache in the pit of his stomach that had almost been entirely forgotten. He had once been a creature intent on satisfying his most carnal desires, and yet, in his contemporary memory- he was laden with an empty feeling of well, nothing. There was rage, and then, nothing. The only way in which Art could liken this feeling of sudden and irrevocable desire, was the desire in which he wanted Sienna Shaw dead. Not just dead, destroyed. Mutilated and destroyed and dead. Mutilated and destroyed and dead and finished. It was something that Art recognised deeply as an obsession, yet Art was also a master of getting what he wanted. What he wanted in that moment, was to hide.

Art noticed a small table set for two hidden partially behind a supporting pillar. He had a clear line of sight to the stage, yet he would be obscured from the bar. He would get to Sienna, he would, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, the threat of an erection that pushed gently against the front of his costume. Art’s first erection in a long, long time. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot. A flash of teenage panic behind his eyes. A memory of a girl with huge tits sitting in front of him on the school bus. A memory of another life.

He settled at the table and placed his bag in his lap, folding his hands over the top neatly. Art watched her intently, the way she interacted with her band, the way she fiddled with the cable of her microphone. He watched as it slipped slowly through her fingers, his dull ache became more of a throb. Art tried to skilfully cross one leg over the other without drawing any attention with as much grace a 6”4 monochromatic porteur de mort could muster. For the first time since Art had donned his costume all of those years ago, he tried to blend in. Act natural. He tried to be so inconspicuous he could almost be a waxwork in the corner. A forgotten project, or an antique put on display. Anything to not pull any attention away from this woman on the stage.

“This will be our last number,” the woman spoke into the microphone. The audience made noises of protest, but Art’s mouth ran dry once more. Her voice was like a gong in his ears, reverberating around his head. It was dizzying. It was thrilling. She smiled then, and Art’s chest deflated. His unfamiliar heartbeat arrhythmic, his brow sweaty. Christ, he thought, her smile was downright devastatingly lovely. He bared his bloodied teeth in response, a reflex responding to his unnatural thoughts. A defense against this monstrous vulnerability.

A couple of men on the table next to Art’s stood and moved toward the stairs, momentarily obscuring his view. Art banged his fist on the table furiously, the shorter of the two men jumped in fright and turned to look at Art, the shock on his face visible even in the dim light. Art shooed the man away with a flick of his wrist, his face twisted into a disgruntled snarl. These precious seconds lost, thought Art, she’s only singing one more song. He just wanted to look at her, he wanted to stare at her. He wanted his vision to be filled with nothing but this woman and the way her body moved to this number from the Great American Songbook. He remembered one of the nuns would listen to this song after hours, she would sit in the Reverend Mother’s office on the ledge of a large window. You could just about slip your wrist through the bars affixed on the outside, that was helpful if you needed to flick away the ash of a cigarette. Which she often needed to. Art remembered thinking this nun was rather pretty, for a nun that is. He would stand hidden behind a big filing cabinet and just watch her. She would pull her knees up to her chest and the skirt of her habit with them, letting the moonlight dance across her pale legs. Once, when he was fifteen, he remembered she caught him staring at her whilst she did this, instead of screaming for the Reverend Mother, she smiled and slowly pushed her stockings down her thighs, unclipping the suspender deftly with one hand. That same hand outstretched to him in silent invitation.

Art shook his head to clear his thoughts, he didn’t want to think about her. She was entire lifetime ago, two lifetimes ago even. No, he wouldn’t think about Sister Anne. Instead he would think about this other divine creature, this new one singing his favourite song. At least, it used to be. He was grateful that his little detour of memory had indeed killed his erection. A silent little breath of relief left him, he rubbed his eyes gently so as not to disturb his makeup. At least he could return his attention to the woman, he marvelled at her. She was beautiful, that was a given; but there was something else within her that drew him to her. Art found this physiological reaction complexing, he found it infuriating, but he also found it rather comforting in a strange way. It was like a piece of him that he thought had been lost forever. He supposed in fact not. He supposed that perhaps he just had a type, and his type was this one particular woman. Where usually he would look at someone; man or woman and feel the burning rage and desire to kill them in painful and obscene ways- with her, there was just this almost morbid desire to well, fuck her.

He remembered fucking too. He remembered liking it, loving it even. He used to fuck anyone that would let him, as even psychopathic killers have a line of morality they won’t cross. Boys, girls, nuns and everything in between. Art would fuck them. And he was good at it too. Perhaps a little sadistic, but he was good at making people cum. He wondered if he’d still be able to do it. He knew he still had blood in his veins, and his newfound ability of a racing heart was a not so unpleasant a surprise, but would his cock still work? Would it feel the same? Would he be able to-?

Art was drawn from his deep contemplation by a searing pain in his hand. He cried out, well, he would have if he had a voice. His eyes shot down to see a serrated blade used for cutting steak sticking out of the back of his hand, then a flurry of dark hair appeared over his shoulder. The maddening scent of apple and vanilla washed over him, it turned his stomach.

“You’re a real piece of shit turning up at my job,” Sienna hissed in his ear. Art moved his eyes to look at her menacingly, he brought a finger from his non-stabbed hand and pressed it to his lips and pointed at the stage. Sienna’s gaze wavered for a moment, flickering over to where the woman was finishing her song. Her last song. Art was furious with Sienna for ruining it. He’d add it to the list. “I won’t kill you in front of these people,” She said, “I need to keep this job, and it’s in your best interests if you go quietly. Don’t cause a scene, Art. You’ll regret it.” Art laughed at that, his shoulders bobbing up and down. Did she really think she could tell him what to do? Demand things from him? He swiftly pulled the knife out from the back of his hand and plunged it just as quickly into the top of her thigh. It was the fleshiest part so it wouldn’t kill her, she wouldn’t even bleed all that much. But it would give her a couple of hours in the ER, a minor inconvenience at best. He would have to be satisfied with causing her a minor inconvenience, there were more important things that required his attention. Sienna gasped with pain, her hands coming either side of the protruding blade. “Fuck!” She spat, her teeth clenched together. Art’s hand now ceased in its bleeding and would be right as rain come the morning. Annoyingly, so would Sienna. But that was by the by. “If you do anything to these people,” Sienna wheezed, “I will hunt you down.” Art gave a her a wave with his fingers, a saccharine smile plastered on his face. She limped off in the direction of the bar, the guy Art had seen talking to her in the alleyway rushed to her aid. He saw them talking animatedly, and he ushered her into a room behind the bar.

Art finally, finally returned his attention to the stage just as the woman finished her song. Art felt a sense of deflation as the final sweep of applause bounced off the walls. He joined them, quickly slapping his hands together. It was then, as the woman left the stage and the musicians started packing up their instruments that the house lights were raised ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the people around him to notice that there was a clown in their midst. Which on any day is odd, but on a cold late November night drew some raised eyebrows. The murmurs started then, and Art felt an unfamiliar discomfort. A heat raised on the back of his neck. He hadn’t felt embarrassment in a long time, even in his former life it had felt an age since the last time he had allowed himself to be embarrassed. Yet, as he heard the whispers and one interesting mention of Miles County he stood. He grasped his black bag and made his way silently up the stairs, acutely aware of the eyes that bore into his back with each step. Glancing over his shoulder, he longed for one last look at this woman, instead he found a poster haphazardly placed on the wall. It had her picture, her dazzling smile. Art gently pulled it from the wall and brought it to his lips, he didn’t kiss it, no, but he did run his lips over hers.

Back in his van, he produced the poster once more. It was an events poster by the looks of it, detailing all the acts playing at that bar, (which he now understood to be named The Speakeasy,) in the run up to Christmas. Art was derailed slightly by how impressed he was with the number of local acts on the bill, nodding in approval. He scoured the calendar at the bottom and found today’s date, November 20th. There he found three acts;

7:00- Sheena Morris

9:30- The Shortage System

11:15- Daphne Loveday and The Little Lovers

Art checked the time on the van clock, it was 12:45, that had to be her. Daphne Loveday. Daphne Loveday.

This woman, this holy apparition was due to perform every Thursday before Christmas. Art grumbled silently to himself. He hated the thought of not being able to see her again for a whole week. He could of course, follow her home tonight. See where she lived, observe her routine, get close to her even. But where Art’s usual vengeful fury lived, the familiar guttural need for blood was replaced with something else entirely. This feeling was not completely unknown to him, he had known desire and even love before. He loved his mother for instance, until he didn’t. He loved the Reverend Mother too, until her skull crumbled beneath his fingertips. He even had a minute softness for Vicky and well, yes, there was Vicky. But this was different. This was something else. This attraction, and he begrudgingly named it so, was an almost cosmic pull. Art had long since questioned his existence, human or otherwise, he knew better than to wonder why the things that happened to him happened.

Art turned the key in the ignition, resolving himself to no more play or plunder tonight. He felt that to take another life tonight would be disrespectful to her, to Daphne. No, tonight would be sacred to him. Whatever that meant. Sienna would have to wait. He pulled out from the parking lot and stopped just shy of the entrance to The Speakeasy, and saw Daphne’s band mates lugging their heavy equipment out of the front doors. They were wrapped up tightly in coats and scarves, the five men passed a lighter around them as they lit celebratory cigarettes. They chatted loudly, Art could hear their laughter as it carried down the street and through the slightly cracked open window of his van. He knew he was waiting for one last glimpse of her. One last glimpse and then he could go home. One last glimpse and he could go home and imagine the things he wanted to do to her. He refused to acknowledge the fact he didn’t want to kill her. He wanted to hurt her, but from the inside. He wanted to see the look on her face when that pain turned into blissful pleasure.

Focus.

Art watched intently as one of the men held the door open. Daphne emerged draped in a long green woollen coat, it hugged her waist and flowed just shy of the sidewalk, now glistening with the promise of a frosty morning. She pulled a large black suitcase behind her, getting caught on the frame of the front door. Before he could realise, Art was slamming the van door and in six quick strides he had grasped the handle of the suitcase and hoisted it over the threshold with ease. He collapsed the extendable piece and lifted it by its handle, waiting for further instruction. The musicians stood dumbfounded, he hadn’t realised that perhaps his silent approach and apparent theft of this woman’s suitcase would cause such an uneasy din to settle. The men eyed each other warily, each of them flashing a concerned look in Daphne’s direction. She, on the other hand looked surprised if largely unphased. This pleased Art. Pride swelled in his chest.

“Oh! Thank you,” Daphne said, her eyes alight with an almost humour. They were green, Art saw. She had the most beautiful green eyes. Art made a gesture for her to proceed and he would follow. Without looking at her band, she nodded and headed back towards the direction of the parking lot. Art followed dutifully behind her, refusing to glance back at the men behind him. He followed her to a silver minivan parked incredibly next to where Art had parked his own van. He could have just waited he thought, without outing himself so quickly. The rest of the band came around the corner as Daphne rooted her through pockets, producing a key. She unlocked the minivan and Art brought the suitcase to the trunk, opening it up and placing it gently inside. Daphne appeared next to him then and he caught a whiff of her. Incense and lily, and an almost metallic smell that he couldn’t work out. She smiled at Art again, as she rearranged some things already in her trunk, an old duffle bag, a pair of sneakers and a large black umbrella that almost took out Art’s good eye when she manoeuvred it. “Oops, sorry,” she giggled. Art thought he simply might pass away at the sound of her small laughter, once more he could hear his uneven heartbeat. It was thunderous. His stomach aflutter with the proximity of her body to his, twice she had accidentally brushed against his arm. Twice he felt the skin beneath his costume feel ablaze. “Thank you,” she said finally to Art. The other musicians had appeared and were adding their own cases into the mini van. Three of them had pushed the larger pieces into the body of the van, covering the back seats usually reserved for small children with black cased instruments. There was certainly no room for anyone else to sit, he wondered whether she would be going home alone.

“Oh fuck me,” said one of the men, he stood a ways off, tapping furiously on his phone. “The road’s closed between 75th and Main, there’s been an accident. Big pile up apparently,” he read from his phone, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Six cars, all dead.”

Yummy, Art thought.

“We’ll have to drive through Fair Creek to drop the stuff off,” said another, pinching the bridge of his nose. Daphne looked between them, Art stood back against the wall, hoping to disappear into the brickwork.

“That���s fine,” she levelled, “I have to swing by the ER anyway, see how madam clumsy is doing,”

Art shot a look at Daphne, she couldn’t possibly be talking about Sienna, could she? Fuck.

“I can take the van then,” said the first man, his hand outstretched for her keys. She dropped them into his palm and walked around the back of the minvan, she turned then.

“Hey, thanks for carrying my-“ she stopped short, looking for the clown. But Art had skulked back to his own van, headlights turned off and the window pulled all the way down. He could hear her perfectly, see her perfectly as she looked over her shoulder for Art. “Where did he go?”

“Who cares, that guy gave me the creeps,” said the new driver of the minivan. “Can we go? It’s fucking freezing,”

Daphne, still craning her neck to look for Art, acquiesced. He watched her climb into the backseat of a beat up Buick LaSabre with four of her bandmates. The other two in the minivan. Art tightened his grip on the steering wheel, he imagined how impossibly close she would be sitting in between two of those men. How they would be able to smell her, to feel her touch. He snarled into the darkness.

Art contemplated for a minute after he watched the cars disappear whether he should head to the hospital. He knew she’d be there, but he also knew Sienna would be there and he just did not have the energy to deal with the bullshit that would come from that. Instead, he drove toward the disused factory he called home. He had made a cozy, well for him, little safe haven in the very far corner of the roof. He figured somebody somewhere must still be paying for gas and water, because he was always able to get a hot shower. He didn’t really feel the need to eat anymore, but sometimes he would heat up a can of beans or a hot dog for old times sake. It was strangely cathartic for him.

He flipped the switch on his tiny, definitely shouldn’t still be working TV when he got home. He was met with a rerun of FRIENDS, he remembered how much Sister Anne had loved that show. How she used to sneak away during evensong to watch it in the Reverend Mother’s private apartment. She would tell Art about it the next day, and Art would recite the lines of characters he had never heard, just to make her laugh. He turned the TV off again. He made his way down to the shower block, stripping himself of his costume along the way. It really was cold outside now, he could see it in the whiteness of his breath as he exhaled under the heat of the shower. He didn’t necessarily remember what it was like to feel cold, but he liked to see the flesh pimple on his skin. He liked it when it happened on his victims too. Maybe it was an open window that did it, or his breath on their neck, but either way, it pleased him.

Art pulled at his mask, it resisted coming away from his skin and he pulled harder. Wincing as bit by bit, his flesh was revealed. It had been a long time since he had removed his mask, too. He let the water drip down his face, using his fingers to rub away months of neglect. In truth, Art had forgotten what he looked like. The mirrors in the shower block had long been smashed, and he had no desire to go outside without his mask, so he felt the contours of his face. His nose, nowhere near as pronounced, and cheekbones not as sallow. He recognised he was thin, as he moved his hands over his torso, he could feel his ribs under his calloused hands. Then, has he cupped his hands over his genitals to wash them, he remembered a flash of green eyes. Bright and dazzling in the night. The erection that he had fought so hard in the bar, reappeared and Art looked on impressed. Another thing he had forgotten about, the look of his cock as it jutted proudly, curving upwards slightly to better fill a pussy. Or an ass, he wasn’t fussy.

Experimentally, he stroked his length once. His head rolled back with a remembered pleasure. It all came back to him with that single stroke, how fucking good it felt. How fucking good it felt to be buried to the hilt in some sweet thing. How fucking good it felt to have someone’s lips wrapped around his end, gagging on his length. Art stroked himself again, this time letting his eyes flutter shut, this way he could imagine Daphne’s hand in place of his own. Imagine the kisses peppered down his back, and her other hand cupping and gently squeezing his balls. If he could moan, he would’ve and loudly. As soon as Art quickened his ministrations, he knew it would be over all too soon, so he stopped. He shut off the water and wrapped himself in a too small towel, trudging his way back to his room. There, he fished out the poster he had taken from the bar, a soft smile plagued his lips as he refreshed his memory of Daphne’s face. Climbing up onto his bed, or rather an old army cot he had found, he lay back, one hand on his cock- the other holding her picture up to the light. He gripped himself harder this time, like he used to like it. Art bared his teeth as he rubbed his finger over his tip, a surprising amount of liquid had emerged and he used it as a lubricant. Quickly, he moved onto his knees, he placed the poster of Daphne on the bed in front of him, and began fucking his hand. His hips moved quickly into his waiting fist, her eyes never leaving his as with a would be grunt, he ejaculated over his hand, spilling his cum over the poster. It dripped onto her face in big lumps. Years of his cock not being used, he deduced. He panted, exhausted. It was one thing swinging an axe around and another making yourself cum. Falling back onto the bed, he pulled the poster with him. Daphne’s smiling face now littered with his seed, inexplicably, he felt the flame of arousal burn deep in his core at the sight. He gently smeared it over her face, paying particular attention to her mouth, as if by some miracle he could shove it inside there. He longed to have her taste him, just as with that thought he longed to taste her. To have her wetness fill his mouth, cover his face and drip down his chin. He gently tapped his teeth, they were rotten, he knew that. But he wasn’t sure what Daphne would make of them, and in that moment he felt a pang of self consciousness. Resigning himself to sleep, he pulled his threadbare cover over his bare shoulders. He felt a contentedness he hadn’t felt since before he was, well, what he was. It felt different going to sleep that evening not full of rage, but with a lazy arousal that more than likely meant when he awoke, he could treat himself once more.

As he closed his eyes, he told himself that his plans for Sienna would have to wait. The rest of Art’s week would be spent in conserving energy for this next Thursday. He had a concert to catch.

[ratlikeclown]

WIP Wolverine x femReader 18+

“God, do you ever suck on anything other than Wade’s dick and cheap cigars?”

He leaned in close to your ear and growled,

“Ya lookin to find out Princess?”

x Deadpool kinda eventually lmfaoooo

FemY/n is mid 20’s - early 30’s

Tw for depression and like drug use mentions ig

🌶️🫵

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello 👋 This is the first fanfic that I have written in over 10 years the brain rot is so unbelievably real for wolverine and deadpool rn

its a little embarrassing tbh lmfaoo

—————————

I’m not really sure how to tag this tbh. I’ve never posted on tumblr. . It’s a little spicy and will get more interesting later. I just wanted to toss this small part out for readers to test the waters. Anyway um I’m not experienced writing y/n pov so please be nice.

Your friend, Wade Wilson, couldn’t take no for an answer. You knew that and yet you still had the audacity to tell him ‘no’ three times tonight. And about thirty minutes after you ignored his last phone call there he was, practically knocking down your door. It wasn’t like he couldn’t actually kick in your door, he was just being polite. 

The apartment buzzer went off. You sat up from your position on the couch, hoping he’d just give up and leave if you didn’t acknowledge him. Like a stray cat. Or a crackhead.

“Knock knock~” you heard his voice through the door. “I smell Hot Pockets and sadness I know you’re in there”

Gripping the arm of the sofa you waited hoping he’d have the common courtesy fuck off .You heard the door knob rattle. Dumbass.

With a click of the lock, your door swung open revealing Wade, grinning as he shoved his Baby Knife back into his coat.

“Wade, what the fuck? I told you-“

He clapped his hands loudly, interrupting you.

 “Let’s go Funshine Bear, the nights young and I’m not going anywhere without you” Wade marched past you, straight to your bedroom humming to himself.

“You look awful by the way, we’ll fix you up though.” He clicked his tongue and crooked a finger in your direction. You huffed angrily, sliding off the couch to follow him. 

You stopped in the doorway, almost refusing to step inside. He was elbows deep in your closet drawers, throwing clothes onto your bed, muttering his disapproval at every item he tossed.

You crossed your arms as you watched him. 

“Do you have anything that doesn’t look like you took it from the Walmart dumpster?” He pulled a drawer out from the dresser and dumped it on the floor. “You know the one I’m talking about, right? Where all the coke addicted bronies go to have a bone sess before band practice.”

You crossed your arms as you watched him. “Wade, I’m not in the mood to go out.”

You heard him sigh, but continued to riffle through your things. 

“That’s nonsense, the plot can’t continue with out you. Annnd we made these plans last week.”

He peeked at you from behind the open closet door. “I’m a little worried about you. You aren’t your chipper self lately”

“I’m just tired” You replied dismissively.

It wasn’t like Wade hasn’t been trying to cheer you up in his own way. For the last few weeks he’d text you obscure and quite frankly disturbing memes at 3 AM. Excitedly offer you drugs that he’s pilfered from the his blind roommate- (he knows you don’t do drugs, he just wanted to brag about stealing coke from Blind Al)

He’s also been sending you the strangest X-Men fan fiction. (His favorites were ‘old man yaoi’ including Professor Xavier and Magneto) Usually you eat that kind of stuff up, finding it funny that you knew some of the people that the fanfiction was written about, like a private joke between you and Deadpool. But worst thing he’s done has beencalling you almost every day and attempting to make plans with you, but you always seem to cancel last minute. So yeah, he has been trying. It just.. didn’t help.

Your eyes flickered to your wall of photos next to the closet door.  Pictures of your closest friends and family. Their arms around you laughing, smiling. Pictures of trips and silly outings that meant the world to you. You felt so much guilt and regret looking at them.

Depression was a bitch. It was like a rabid dog that wouldn’t let you get back on your feet. You felt it gnawing at you, causing you to lose interest in everyone and everything. You felt alone. Your eyes fell back to Wade, you watched your friend hard at work trying to match your shoes with a dress he had found. He was clueless. You couldn’t tell him any of this though, it would just make him worry more.

There was someone you did want to talk to though. To tell everything to. Someone that you had grown so close to the last few months.

You missed Logan.

This realization caused your face to heat and anxiety weld up in your chest. You balled your hands into fits thinking about that arrogant jerk. You’ve tried to be a friend to Wolverine. After all this wasn’t his reality. He was your timeline’s replacement. (Idk you should go watch the movie. I’m not explaining it.) and for a while, you thought you were friends.

Lately, if he wasn’t drunk and depressingly moody, he was angry and a massive dick. 

“Y/N? Look a little pink at the cheeks are you feeling OK?” Wade was now standing less than a foot from you, his brows furrowed. You hadn’t noticed him move.

Snapping back from your thoughts by Wades voice, you ran hands over your face as you turn towards the attached bathroom.

“Dude, I told you I’m just not feeling good-” You stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet “I don’t wanna hang out with-“

“Logan?”

“Your friends.” You finished. You felt your face flush deeper at his name being mentioned.

“That’s what I said” Wade followed you to the bathroom, but thankfully didn’t come in. He stood outside while you closed the door. 

“Trust me honey, I know he’s the embodiment of a sentient happiness starved cactus whose father never loved him but-“

You groaned, trying to avoid Wades ramblings you turned the water on full blast, drowning out the remainder of his sentence. You splashed water on your face and ran a comb through your hair. You heard Wade continue talking, almost to himself while also sounding like he was talking to someone else in the room  as well. Someone you couldn’t see. He did that often. It was creepy.

You swung the door open frowning.

“-sometimes he stabs me through the face to shut me up, but I know he does it because he’s not good with words.”

Wade smile faded when he saw your face. 

“It’s kinda hot”

“I don’t want to talk about it Wade.” You sat down onto your bed with a huff despite the pile of clothes and plastic hangers. You stared at your hands. You felt the overwhelming weight of your anxiety in your chest and stomach. Maybe you should go out. Maybe he won’t show up tonight. Maybe-

“You look like you wanna talk about it Friendo.”

Wade joined you by dramatically pushing all the clothes off the bed, making an even bigger mess of your room. He flopped down onto your bed stomach first, propping himself up by his elbows. He kicked his feet and smiled at you.

“I’m all ears.”

“I don’t know how to start” You admitted.

“Start with an ‘I feel’ statement” 

Another sigh escaped your mouth. How did you feel? It felt complicated. You met him a few months ago. At first he was rude and closed off. Then he slowly began to open up, sure you still bickered and fought like cats, but it had playful undertones. (‘Sexy undertones’ Wade had joked) When he was being genuine and open, it felt like you could talk to him for hours. Though he never spoke for too long, he would to listen to you earnestly. Up until a few weeks ago, that is.

“I feel like Logan hates me. I feel like he would rather huff paint thinner than have a decent conversation with me.”

Wade laughed. “Well that’s not true, I can’t get him to huff anything.”

You shot him a look.

“Listen, I invite Mr. Grumpy out every time. But he’s too busy sulking to get fucked up with us. He would rather get drunk and pass out in the floor of the apartment. He probably won’t even show up.” Wade gave you a reassuring look.

“If he does you’re gonna be there with me.��We’ll leave if you feel uncomfortable at all.”

He rolled over and sat up, putting an arm around you.

“I’ve just noticed your mood lately I need you to know that I love you.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze.  “-and I miss getting fucked up with you.”

“Will you stab him for me if he’s mean?”

“Of course. I always have Baby Knife on me.”

“Fine. Let me get ready”

He jumped off the bed excitedly.

You pushed Wade out the door to get dressed, pausing in the doorway. “Wade?”

“Yes Friendo?” He turned on his heel

“I love you too bud”

He squealed as you closed the door.

~~~

You never understood why Wade wouldn’t just buy a car. He makes decent money (he doesn’t) and could probably afford a nice one. (He couldn’t) At one point you recall him having a weird hyperfixation with the Honda Odyssey (he fucked Wolverine in one) (allegedly)

Instead, you were climbing into the back of a dirty beat up taxi cab that his friend, Dopinder, drove for a living. At least you didn’t have to walk. Dopinder was a sweet guy, if not a little unhinged every once in a while. 

“You look quite beautiful tonight Miss Y/N” He complimented you as you settled in the back seat. You smiled at him, appreciating the comment. Wade had picked out your dress and you felt a little exposed and out of your element in it. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a slick black dress with a low neck line. The dress was short, ending a little above the knee. The problem was the slit up the side. You wanted to wear tights under the outfit but Wade insisted on fishnets. ‘You look like a goth baddie’  he had assured you, ‘Like a Hot Topic clearance rack version of Morticia Addams.’

Wade hopped in the front and immediately started to flip through the radio channels. Dopinder usually had on pleasant sounding Indian pop music but Wade settled on some heavily censored 90’s hip hop. 

The drive was rocky. Wade, who almost never kept his hands to himself, would grab poor  Dopinder while dancing along to the music causing the cab to swerve. A lot.

Having made it to the bar in one piece, you quickly scrambled out of the back, thanking the young man for the ride. 

Wade waited for you at the door.

~~~

The bar was loud and dark. One of those typical bars you see in movies, filled with moving bodies and cigarette smoke. Music pumped through the speakers with some people lingering near the bar while others swayed on the dance floor. Wade bounced through the crowd pulling you along towards the bar, where his group of friends took up half the bar area. You scanned the crowd nervously. No Logan. Your muscles relaxed, and you moved with a little more energy.

Wade greeted his friends with various enthusiastic greetings and crude gestures. You smiled in greeting and waved at a friend you recognized but sat down on a stool next to where Wade stood, him blocking you from most of the other bar patrons. There was a part of you that was a little disappointed that Logan wasn’t here. It made sense if he didn’t show up here, this bar was honestly more like a club, upbeat and energetic. He’s used to dark depressing dive bars, places you can drink yourself into a coma and not be bothered. But the few times he had shown up here you had thought that he enjoyed your company, for a little while at least. During times when the others were off doing dubious shit somewhere, he’d sit with you at the bar. You even managed to get him to dance with you once. That all changed recently. Something happened that caused him to be distant and often rude for seemingly no reason.

Everyone seems to be so happy to see Wade and he, them. You didn’t really know why you were here. It already felt overwhelming. You used to love coming here. Drinking and dancing, playing pool badly and belting out shitty country music karaoke with everyone. Lately, things have felt different. You’ve lost interest in a lot of the things you use to enjoy, spending your days just working and rotting in your apartment. This was too much.

Wade touched your shoulder causing you to jump.

“Hey we’re off to play some darts you in?” 

You smiled at your friend. “You really wouldn’t want me to play, you’d end up as the dart board.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Sweetheart” Wade laughed, “we’ll be over there if you change your mind.” He made a heart with his hands and turned toward the group already making their way to the play area.

You sat quietly at the counter with a glass of something sweet and strong. You wanted to feel a buzz but you needed it to taste good. Your eyes scanned the crowd, people watching. You watched people dance and sway to the newest Kesha song blaring through the speakers. You witnessed a near fight over a pool game. You heard Wade’s laughter from across the room, his friends echoing along. You felt alone. It was your fault you told yourself. If you wanted to feel better you would’ve gotten up and joined your friends. But here you sat, being miserable on purpose. 

“Hey beautiful, mind if I joined you?” Your head snapped up meeting the face of someone you didn’t recognize. He was good looking, in a vanilla frat boy kinda way. With his backwards hat, sleeveless tank, skinny jeans and all.

But he smiled like a wolf.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to smile politely, but you had a twinge of anxiety growing in your chest. “I’m not really in the mood for company” 

The man smiled motioning to the bartender for a drink. “Can’t I just buy you a drink? “

“Really, I’m fine” You turned back to your drink, your eyes unfocused, hoping that if you just ignored him he’d leave. Your gut flipped when you heard him pull out the stool next to you. He wasn’t leaving.

“Come on babe, I can show you a good time”

“She said she ain’t looking for company bub.” A low voice growled behind you. A beer bottle came down heavily in between you and the creep. Your eyes trailed the hairy but beautifully sculpted arm to its owner, though you already knew who it belonged to. Logan. Even in this lighting you could see his rugged face. His hair was styled in its iconic cat ear shape. His beard was trimmed nicely combined with his thick muttonchops. His eyes were a little hazy but beautiful and dark. You met those eyes for a brief moment, he smirked at you before his gaze flickered to the other man.

 “Well?” He rumbled, barring his teeth.

“Naw, I was here first grandpa, you fuck off.” The frat guy stood up straight, trying to look intimidating.

“Trust me” Logan chuckled. He straightened cracking his knuckles before raising his fists and extending three razor sharp Adamantium claws from each hand.

“You don’t want none of this”

~~~

“You didn’t have to do that” you looked down at your glass avoiding Logan’s gaze. You heard him land heavily in the bar stool next to you. He tapped the counter signaling the bartender who was very clearly avoiding your side of the bar.

“I wasn’t going to have some limp dick creeping on you.”

“I was handling it” 

“You didn’t seem like you were handling anything Princess.” He scoffed.

You shot him a look. He smirked as he chugged his remaining beer, you couldn’t help watch his throat bob as he drank. He finished and loudly set the bottle down. He met your eyes and you looked away feeling your face heat violently.

“You thirsty princess?” He asked as the bartender set down two shots of something before scurrying away. He slid one glass your way.

“No thank you. I have my own drink”

You pushed the glass back his way. He eyed your almost empty cocktail and shrugged.

“Suit yourself” he took the glasses and knocked back both shots simultaneously slamming the glasses back down. After a few moments of silence, where you clearly felt Logan eyeing you the entire time, you sighed.

“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight Logan.” You admitted. Another beer had appeared in front of him, he took a swig. He eyed you, his eyes slowly trailing from your face down your body. They rested at the slit in your dress, exposing most of your fishnet covered thigh. You felt a ping in your lower belly, causing you to cross your legs uncomfortably. His eyes followed to movement. He licked his lips and met your eyes again smirking.

“Why didja miss me?”

You looked down at the growing piles of shredded napkins you had been anxiously ripping apart. 

“Yes” you said at last. There was no point in lying. You did miss him. Even seeing him now, clearly drinking away his problems, you couldn’t help but feel glad he was there with you. You were glad he scared away that creep, despite his now passive aggressive demeanor. You met his eyes again.

He snorted and tipped the beer to his lips.“You’re a fucking liar”

You felt your gut squeeze with anger. Why was he treating you this way? You didn’t ask him to step in to a play hero. You didn’t ask him for anything. You just wanted to get out of your shitty apartment for one goddamn night. You balled your fists and spun to face him fully.

“What. The. Fuck.” You clenched your teeth annunciating each word bitterly. “Is. YOUR PROBLEM”

“My PROBLEM,” he practically spat the word,

”is that I have to deal with your moody ass attracting the eye of every fucking creep in this place when you very fucking clearly don’t want to be here.” 

You threw your hands up angrily and gestured around the bar. 

“I didn’t want to deal with any of this Logan. I just wanted to go out with my FRIENDS, which I used to think you were one. I don’t fucking know what prick you had up your ass lately, but you sure as hell don’t act like you like me. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

He was silent for a moment, studying your face, making it turn even redder. Then he laughed. He shook his head laughing and sloppily chugged his second beer.

You had enough. You needed to get away from him. You shoved yourself back, tipping the stool over in the process.

“Come find me when you figure out what you want.” You turned to leave. You made it a few steps before you heard Logan’s voice call mockingly.

“Nice dress by the way” 

You didn’t turn to look at him.

“Fuck you, Logan”

~~~

You ran your hands under cold water, leaning over the sink you splashed the water into your face and sighed. You looked into your mirrored face. This was a disaster.

Maybe if you just stayed in the bathroom you can avoid everyone until Wade was ready to leave. You felt bad that you ran off instead of finding him. You would’ve felt safe with Wade.

Your head was swimming, from the alcohol or the interaction with Logan you couldn’t tell.

The speaker above you crackled playing the opening notes to ‘Dirty Diana’, a favorite of yours. A banger Wade would say.

Without warning the door sung open and Logan stumbled in. 

“You’re in the wrong bathroom you drunk asshole” you snapped. His eyes met yours from a brief moment before he swayed slightly and took a step forward.

He pushed past you wordlessly and began kicking open the bathroom stalls. They were all empty. 

“Dude get out” You gripped the sink behind you, watching Logan warily. You knew deep down he wouldn’t hurt you but you obviously didn’t want him in here with you. He turned to you, taking a step forward.

”I needed to talk to you”

“Yeah, you could have waited til I got out of the ladies room??” 

“No.” he growled before in one swift movement he was in front of you, his arms on either side of the sink trapping you between them. Your breath came out in a shudder and your knees wobbled. This honestly was a thing out of a fantasy, something that you were embarrassed to admit you’ve thought about. You had been fighting your feelings for this big stupid man, stuck between thoughts of friendship and lust. God, he wasn’t helping with the latter.

“Logan”

“I’m sorry” he said looking as remorseful as he could under the circumstances.

“What did you need to talk about that couldn’t wait Lo?” You swallowed, gently lifting your hand and placing it on his chest, pushing lightly. His hands moved to your legs keeping you from pushing him further.

“Ya told me to find you when I figured out what I wanted”

“Yeah” You scoffed. “Enlighten me”

~~~

“I want you”

Logan leaned over you, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His fingers dug in lightly, the movement making your legs feel like jelly. You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. He was so firm and warm under your hands.

His face was inches from yours, his expression unreadable in the low lighting. You smelled the smoke and alcohol on his breath.

“God, do you ever suck on anything other than Wade’s dick and cheap cigars?”

He leaned in close to your ear and growled, 

“Ya looking to find out princess?”

You felt a ping of desire sink into your lower belly as his hand moved from your waist.

Shivers went down your spine as his hands slid up your torso coming to a stop right below your breasts. One of his thumbs brushed upwards lightly, teasingly.

You sucked in a breath as he lowered his face to your neck and brushed a kiss to the sensitive skin. His facial hair tickling your jaw.

“Logan, you’re drunk.” You croaked out, pulling away slightly, your hands sliding from his shoulders. He moved with you.

You felt his lips brush your skin again, another kiss, before his thumb slid upward against your breast. Fuck. The wet heat between your legs was unbearable. You needed some sort of friction. You definitely noticed the pressure from his pants pressed against your stomach. So close, you just needed anything. You bucked your hips against his, almost involuntarily, causing a rumble to escape his throat. His thumb stroked again.

“That’s a good girl” His head bobbed lower dragging his tongue down as he kissed your neck. You could feel him smile as he sucked the skin of your collar bone in a way that would definitely leave a mark. Holy Hell. What was happening.

You were sick of your neck getting all the attention as you reached up to take his face in your hand. He practically melted at your touch, his breath hitching as you stroked his cheek with your thumb. You wanted him, needed his mouth on yours. You pulled his face up, a little roughly, to meet your gaze. You thought you heard him let out a little surprised chuckle from the movement. His eyes were half lidded as he met yours. He was drunk, and you realized, so were you. You leaned in, your lips feather light against his-

You jumped at Wade’s voice from the other side of the door, calling for you.

Shit. You dropped your hand away from his face.

Logan growled, low and angry. He abruptly took his hot hands from your body and leaned his head to your ear, you felt his lips against your skin.

“Some other time then, darlin’.” He pulled away from you swaying slightly, before grabbing his beer from the counter and yanking open the bathroom door.

~~~

Anyway, thanks for reading. I guess I don’t know if this is any good and I will be posting the rest on Ao3 eventually

[little-annie]

Just another @strangerthingswritersguild drabble.

G | WC 635 | Steve, Eddie & Robin

It was a typical Thursday evening in Buckingson home -as previously named by a very inebriated Robin and Eddie. Some random record playing on low, the small space lit by nothing but the orange glow of lamp light and candle flame.

To anyone it would sound like a peaceful night at home.

But not just anyone had Eddie for a live-in boyfriend and Robin for a best friend who also happened to be a roommate. And surely no one had the pair of chaos twins constantly bringing in stray animals to their home.

The first time it'd been a bird, some small feathery thing with a damaged wing that Robin carried into their home with her bare hands and made a nest for out of grass clippings Eddie had gathered in the park. They named the chirpy little thing Squeaker, and by the time it's wing had healed the small animal had been on several road trips and one memorable trip to the grocery store. He'd (?) joined the next migration and now every year since when his flock comes through the city, he'll perch himself on their balcony and chitter until Robin or Eddie come out to say hello.

Then there had been Bambi. A small abandoned fawn Eddie somehow managed to sneak past Steve and into Robin's room where the pair cared for the thing until a wildlife rehabilitation centre could pick it up. Steve didn't find out about that one until he answered the call from the rehab centre offering their update on the creature several weeks later.

There was also Bob the baby Racoon, Dorothy the dumpster cat, Roco the abandoned puppy and now, there was Pumpkin, apparently.

Steve had been in the kitchen slaving away over dinner when he heard the soft click of the front door and the insanely uncharacteristic whispers between Eddie and Robin.

And then there was a meow.

A wretched, croaky thing that sounded as if the newest addition to their home had the same nicotine problem as Eddie.

“Shhhh,” Steve could hear Eddie whisper as he continued to stir the pot of pasta sauce he was making, “Don't want Stevie finding out about you just yet.”

“We gotta bath you first baby,” Robin added.

Steve could only imagine the condition of this animal, let alone the event it would be for Robin and Eddie to bathe it.

But as he had a handful of times before, he pretended he hadn't heard a thing and let the chaotic two carry on.

Just the sound of them attempting to wash the cat was rather comical. Of course there was lots of swearing and one quite loud yelp from Eddie, accompanied by Robin's hushed placating. Funny enough they were still trying to be quiet, but Steve could still hear the murmurs of…

“Are you bleeding?”

“Of course I'm bleeding, Buckley. Did you see the claws on this thing.”

“Did you see the nuts on ‘em?”

“Unfortunately, yes. What the fuck?”

“Should they be that big?”

“I don't know. We'll ask Steve.”

“What do you think happened to his tail?”

“Probably froze off like his ears.”

Jesus Christ.

Twenty minutes, several yowls from the cat, one loud painful sounding yelp from Eddie later, Steve is introduced to Pumpkin.

He's a scraggly looking thing.

One eyed, half tailed and missing the majority of his two ears. The definition of a dumpster cat. Steve's sure the cat stunk before the bath the apparently three before him endured.

Robin and Eddie are soaked head to toe. Bloodied and bandaged. Hair in utter disarray. They look exhausted. But they also look to be just beaming with excitement.

The cat on the other hand, held tightly in Robin's arms looks less than thrilled.

“Steve,” Robin starts, joined by Eddie a moment later, “Sweetheart,”

“Meet Pumpkin.”

[vivwritesfics]

Run From Midnight

Chapter Three: The Lamp

Honey and lemon. All Bradley can smell is honey and lemon as he watches the scruffy, feral little thing using Bob as a human shield. He's in love, and so is Bob.

Top Gun Werewolf AU

Masterlist

The doorbell rang. Bradley's head snapped towards it, drawing in the three familiar scents. He stood and rushed towards the door as three of his packmates waited.

As soon as he pulled open the door, the smell of distress permeated the air.

Bob caught it first, head lifting as he breathed in the foul and distressing scent. But, when he went to walk into the house, Bradley's hand on the doorframe stopped him.

"Rooster," Bob warned, but his voice wasn't full of warning. It never was.

Bradley shook his head. "She doesn't need this right now," he answered, eyes moving to Nat and Javy.

They didn't know what she needed. Just like Bradley didn't, Bob couldn't help but think. But he knew, he knew exactly how to help a fellow Pack Omega. Helping her wasn't the present problem though, was it? No, it was getting through to Bradley.

He sucked in a breath. "You go in there and she's just gonna retreat from you or attack. I can calm her down, just like I did earlier," he said, hand on Bradley's arm.

"She attacked you earlier," Bradley reminded him.

(Nat looked at the Pack Omega with wide eyes. He'd certainly left out that detail when talking about his trip with Bradley).

Bob resisted a sigh. "If you want to help her, you need to let me in there. Please, Roos."

As the Pack Omega, it was almost Bob's job to know all of their soft spots, everything that would make them bend to his every whim. As soon as the nickname left Bob's lips, Bradley dropped his arm, letting the younger wolf through.

Bob disappeared up the stairs, and Natasha turned her attention to Bradley. "You let Bob get attacked?" She asked, tone accusing.

Bradley shut the door in her face and followed Bob.

As soon as Bob pushed the bedroom door open, the smell of distress only heightened. He searched for her, but he didn't see anything at first. But she was definitely there, Bob could smell her.

And then he saw it. Crouched between the bed and the closet, she held the lamp in her shaking hands, the base of it ready to swing at anyone that came near.

Cautiously, Bob approached her. When a terrified whimper left her lips, he stopped.

Stood opposite her, against the opposite wall, Bob stared down at her. "Hello," he said gently as he came to sit on the floor. Her hands only trembled more. "Do you remember me from earlier?"

There was a moment of hesitation. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded her head.

"I'm Bob," he said and reached his hand towards her. But she swung the lamp and snapped at his hand. "Got it," he said, placing his hand back on his lap. "Do you have a pack somewhere?" He asked.

"I-I'm not telling!" She cried. But, as she shook her head from side to side, her stomach made a noise.

That was what she'd been doing when Bob found her, wasn't it? Dumpster diving, searching for food. "You poor thing," he whispered. "Let me get you something to eat."

Bob retreated from the room, but her shaking didn't stop. She put the lamp down, arms already aching from how long she was holding it up.

As soon as that door opened again, she held the lamp up. The guy with the glasses (she'd never seen a werewolf with glasses before, but he definitely was one) sat in his seat against the wall opposite her. He had a plate full of biscuits and cheese. It wasn't the most nutritious, but Bob was gonna make sure she got something good later.

He pushed it away from himself and waited.

The lamp was back in her hands. But she pitched herself forward and stole a single cracker. She held it to her nose and cautiously sniffed. "How do I know you haven't... laced it with something?"

For the first time since Bob had arrived, she was looking in his eyes.

As the Pack Omega, there were things Bob could do that the wolves around him couldn't. His eyes became an icy blue as he said, "trust me, Pup. I just want to help you."

Gingerly, she took a nibble. But then she discarded the lamp and leapt at the plate, devouring everything on it like a feral beast. She finished it in a matter of seconds and retreated back to the space between the wardrobe and the bed. This time, though, she didn't brandish the lamp.

Bob cleared his throat and shuffled forward slightly. "Can you tell me if you've got a pack out there looking for you?"

Pulling her knees towards her chest, she shook her head. Bob took in just how dirty, tattered and ill-fitting her clothes were. "How long have you been on your own?" He asked gently, shuffling forward just a little more.

She shrugged her shoulders, cheek resting against her knee. "Ten years, maybe," she mumbled, "But I don't remember."

Bob drew in a gasp. Ten years, it was far too long for a werewolf to be on their own, especially one like her. But, if she'd been on her own for this long, she probably didn't know what she was.

Her trembling had stopped and Bob moved closer still. He moved the empty plate out of his way. "Can I ask what happened, Pup?" He asked gently.

Suddenly she was shaking her head furiously from side to side. She turned away from him, turning towards the wardrobe. "Puppy, I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice soft. "D'you... d'you know what you are?"

Slowly nodded her head. "Yeah," she mumbled, voice cracking slightly. Bob made a mental note to get her some water, as soon as he had settled again. A gently smiled at her, encouraging her to go on. "A werewolf."

His smile dropped. "Oh, no, that's not what I meant," he said, still in that gentle voice. "You're like me. Can you smell that I'm different to other werewolves?"

Closing her eyes she breathed in through her nose, drawing in his scent. Her shoulders dropped as she did so, body relaxing.

He smelled so comfortable, like clean laundry and an open fire. A whimper left her lips and she couldn't stop her body from moving towards him. Bob let her take his hand and lift it to her face, nuzzling her face against it. "That's it," Bob whispered as if she was a spooked animal.

Bob sat there with her. She breathed in his scent again and moved closer. And then she let Bob touch her, actually touch her. He touched the tattered bit of sleeve on her shoulder and placed his hand on her hip.

He didn't expect her to crawl into his lap. She closed her eyes as she laid her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. "I've got you, Pup," he whispered as his fingertips moved up and down her back. "Do you wanna take a shower?"

She nodded her head, but held his shirt tight in her fists, unwilling to let go. Bob wasn't going to force her to, either. All of that tension she'd been holding in her body had released in one big go; Bob wouldn't have been surprised if he slept for a week straight.

He didn't notice Bradley standing in the doorway. But she did. That distressed scent spiked once again, and Bob tightened his grip on her. "It's okay, Pup," he whispered against the top of her head. "He's a part of my Pack."

But she shook her head against his chest.

Bob stopped that sigh from releasing his lips as he turned to Bradley and shook his head. "Leave it, Roos," he said and Bradley straightened up. "She'll meet you when she's ready."

Bradley let out a grunt as he turned to walk out of the room. She'd smelt so... calm, that familiar scent of honey and lemon filling his home. But, as soon as he'd shown his face, she'd been terrified all over again.

"Let's get you in the shower," Bob softly muttered.

She nodded her head and climbed out of his lap. As soon as Bob was standing, she was at his side, holding onto him as he led her to the bathroom.

She stood there as Bob turned on the water. He kept his hand under the stream, testing the temperature of the water. When he deemed it to be just right, Bob stepped back. "Have a shower, Pup. I'll be back with some clothes," he said and headed towards the door.

But, before he could disappear out of the bathroom, she grabbed a hold of his arm. "You're coming back, right?" She asked with shining, terrified eyes.

Bob stepped towards her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and grabbed the door handle. "I promise, Pup." He said and disappeared further into the house.

As soon as she was alone, she pushed the bathroom door shut and twisted the lock.

Taglist: @biancathecool

@nurse-floyd

@gg-trini

@sebsxphia , this is for you!! I hope you like it, seb! This fic literally means the world to me (like, I have 60k+ of this in the vault bc I just can't stop)

[rosesradio]

Hi, do you mind if I pick your brain about the pro/antiship thing? I'd like to check first because it's a dumpster fire of a controversy in fandom spaces and I'd 100% understand not wanting to touch it with a ten-foot pole. But also cuz it mentions somethin triggering+disturbing.I've always wondered what another person might think but I usually try to stay miles away from fandom drama, but you seem like, not chronically online about it

lmaoo thank you, i try to make my blog a chill, safe space to come to despite me being. Not chill about anything ever 😅

so here’s the definition of each that i added to the poll:

Proshippers argue that shipping is all fictional, so there is no harm in shipping characters who shouldn’t be together in real life. Anti-shippers argue that fiction reflects and influences real-world beliefs and behaviors, so fans shouldn’t romanticize unhealthy relationships. You can be proship and not ship any problematic ships, or vice versa.

i got these definitions, with my own addition at the end, from a Reddit thread you might find helpful.

so i’ve been in fandom for many years, and up until around 2022 i was mostly what would be considered an anti-shipper.

within the (*gags*) sanders sides fandom, there was a ship called remrom. this was the ship between the characters roman and remus, canonically twin brothers. i never shipped it, not my thing, and it caused a lot of division in the fandom. people would often put on their wattpad (yeahhh wattpad era babey) profiles & even their fics “dni & leave if you ship remrom, go die” etc. i don’t think i put that on my own fics, but i was hostile & blocked people i found shipping it. because how could you ship twin brothers, that’s disgusting!!1!

…the funny thing about sanders sides, though, is that all of the characters represent fragments of one guy’s personality. roman is his creativity, remus is his dark!creativity, etc. the fandom shipped many other pairings with the (non-related) characters, the most popular being Roman and Virgil (anxiety). (Yes this is causing me physical pain to type out thanks for asking 🧍). so all that exposition aside…we were all shipping selfcest. and in a way, is selfcest any worse than incest? i suppose that’s subjective, but it just goes to show a bit of hypocrisy.

i also shipped some “problematic” pairings over the years, but changed them up to be “non-problematic”. for example, i had a billdip fic in which i made bill bodily 15 to match dipper & had him turn magically human (does this make the ship entirely non-problematic? hell no lmao, but as is the way of 15-year-old rose)

so that aside, i joined tumblr in 2022, in the cobra kai fandom. there’s a ship in the cobra kai fandom called silverusso, a ship between an insane(ly hot? don’t look at me 🫣) karate instructor named silver and the main character, daniel larusso. this ship is extremelyyy toxic on several levels. for one, daniel is freshly 18, while silver is assumed to be in his 30s(?) during karate kid 3 (please watch karate kid 3 but also be sure you’re sober when doing so because the movie is a trip, lol). for another, silver essentially seduces daniel into devolving into a violent robot, primed for silver’s command & corruption.

now for me…i’m not going to get into the details because i don’t want to, but i had experienced trauma somewhat related to the silverusso dynamic the previous year (only with minimal karate, lol). even three years later, i am still impacted by said trauma in small ways. i was honestly insulted by people shipping this ship, because it felt like they didn’t care about victims & were romanticizing and sexualizing situations i was having nightmares about.

that is, until i made some friends in the fandom. i bonded with them on our common interests, and then i got to see a bit more into the silverusso shippers’ heads rather than the horrible things i was hearing about them from others. i learned that they really weren’t that bad people at all, all well-intentioned & respectful of boundaries. some of them were even victims of trauma similar to my own, who used darkfic as a place to vent their emotions. considering i had told very few people of what happened, considering no one really understood, i felt safe.

not to plug, but this is a fic i wrote sort of in that space lol

so anyways, i learned more & more about proshipping ways, profiction, anti-harassment, & anti-censorship. i adopted the take that fiction can be a good place to explore complex emotions or even just compelling ideas.

(because you do not need to be traumatized to be interested in darkfic! in fact, the anti-ship take of “darkfic is okay if you’re recovering from trauma” is often harmful to victims, forcing them to out themselves for a stranger to judge if they’re “traumatized enough” to be “allowed” write darkfic. people should be free to write whatever with no explanation, just respect to others & proper tags/warnings).

i would like to think that the anti-ship ideals are in the best interest of others. they often do speak from a place of wanting to respect trauma victims (even if the hate messages they’ve sent me aren’t very respectful, lol). i can see how easy it is to be swept up into the moral quandary of it all because i’ve been there. in fact, if i saw trauma victims who were anti-shippers today, who felt the same resentment i did in 2022, i would feel sympathy for them and wish them the best in their recovery. darkfic has definitely helped me, though it is not for everyone. (though to those people i would also recommend they block bothersome tags and try to clear it from their mind).

i do wish people would approach actual proshippers to ask the way you are right now, anon. i think the spread of misinformation on how “being proship = shipping only problematic pairings” or god forbid “being proship = being a pedo” means a lot of well-meaning people obviously are disgusted and don’t bother to seek out the actual meaning of the term.

you don’t have to ship problematic parings or like darkfic to be considered proship. in fact, a lot of my mutuals here only like fluff & traditionally “healthy” pairings, but they support people’s right to ship and write whatever they want, provided it stays in its properly tagged lane. it’s just important to not push for censorship on sites like ao3 (one of the last safe spaces for every kind of fanfic), as well as not harass anyone in fandom for what they do with fiction. it’s not proper fandom etiquette, and it’s not a good thing to do.

fictional characters are dolls. real people are real, as are their feelings.

one last thing

i hope all of that answered your question, anon, and feel free to return with any more questions you might have 💌

[justlemmeadoreyou]

babee, could you write an angst about Harry being bullied but he kept it a secret from his girlfriend and one day she ended up seeing him being bullied by his colleagues? and then she helps him and when they get home she asks "why didn't you tell me before?" but then she comforts him and helps him

words: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of bullying, cursing, kissing.

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"Babe, I'm heading out for work. Love you!" Y/N called out cheerfully as she grabbed her bag.

Harry poked his head out of the kitchen, a strained smile on his face. "Love you too. Have a good day."

Y/N leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips before heading out the door. As soon as it clicked shut behind her, Harry's smile faded. He sighed deeply, dreading going into the office again.

For the past few months, Harry had been dealing with a group of co-workers who seemed to have it out for him. It started with little things - hiding his stapler, moving his desk supplies, that kind of thing. Harmless pranks that Harry tried to laugh off. But it quickly escalated into verbal taunts and nasty rumors being spread about him around the office.

"Hey Styles, where'd you get that ratty tie? The dumpster behind the Chinese buffet?" Andy, the ringleader, would sneer as Harry walked by.

His buddies Marc and Kyle would then chime in with cruel laughter and childish nicknames like "hairy" or "wanker"

At first, Harry tried his best to ignore it, not wanting to come across as weak or overly sensitive. But as the bullying persisted and intensified, it began to really wear him down. He started dreading going into work each day, feeling anxious and depressed.

The worst part was, he couldn't even vent to his loving girlfriend Y/N about what was happening. He was too ashamed and embarrassed to admit he was being bullied at his age. So he kept it all bottled up inside, putting on a brave face whenever he was around her.

Y/N, meanwhile, had no idea about the turmoil her boyfriend was going through at the office…

"Well, well, if it isn't the Idiot," Andy's grating voice rang out as soon as Harry stepped through the door.

Here we go again, Harry thought miserably as he made his way to his desk, avoiding eye contact.

"Having another bad hair day, Hairy?" Kyle taunted, sticking a foot out to try and trip Harry as he passed.

Marc joined in, making exaggerated gestures of tripping and falling down. "Oooh, better be careful! Wouldn't want to take a tumble and mess up that ridiculous mop!"

The three bullies cackled amongst themselves as Harry silently seethed, keeping his head down and continuing on to his workspace. He tried to focus on his computer and drown out their irritating voices, but it was difficult.

A few hours later, Andy sauntered over, Marc and Kyle in tow. He leaned obnoxiously on Harry's desk.

"So Idiot, word around the office is you've been putting in some long hours," Andy said with a nasty grin. "Trying to make up for being such an incompetent pretty boy?"

Harry felt his face flush but didn't respond, staring stoically at his monitor.

Andy continued his taunting. "What, cat got your tongue? Or are you just too stupid to form a decent comeback?"

"Hey babe!"

Harry's head snapped up at the familiar voice. To his horror, he saw Y/N walking towards his desk, holding a bagged lunch with a bright smile.

"Thought I'd stop by and have a cute little lunch date with my hardworking man," she said happily.

Andy, Marc and Kyle immediately stopped their jeering, putting on fake polite smiles as Y/N approached. Harry wanted to die right there on the spot.

"Oh hey Y/N, didn't realize you were stopping in today," Andy said in a saccharine tone. "Always a pleasure to see you."

He threw a conspicuous wink at Harry, whose face was burning red with humiliation. Y/N remained oblivious to the tension, giving the three men a friendly wave.

"Hi guys! I hope you don't mind if I steal Harry away for a half hour or so?" she said brightly.

"Not at all, not at all!" Marc replied jovially. "You two lovebirds have fun now."

Y/N looped her arm through Harry's and began leading him away towards the breakroom, completely missing the obscene hand gestures and mouthed taunts the three bullies were directing at her boyfriend.

Once they were alone, Y/N beamed up at Harry. "Surpriiiise! I know how hard you've been working lately, so I wanted to bring you a little pick-me-up."

She held up the bagged lunch enticingly. Harry felt a rush of love for his sweet, caring girlfriend…immediately followed by another wave of shame for not being honest with her.

"Babe, you're the best," he mumbled, forcing a smile as they sat down at a small table. "Thank you for this."

"Of course!" Y/N replied happily, unpacking the lunch she'd prepared. "Now eat up, I don't want those jerks working you too hard. Oh, speaking of which…"

Harry tensed, worried she was about to reveal that she'd picked up on Andy, Marc and Kyle's cruel behavior. But Y/N just laughed lightly and waved a dismissive hand.

"Kyle was going on about how he pulled a muscle in his back this weekend, such a drama queen. Anyway, enough boring office gossip! How's your day been so far?"

"Fine," Harry lied quickly, keeping his eyes down. "Just…y'know, the usual grind."

And so their "lunch date" continued, with Harry putting on an increasingly strained front as Y/N cheerfully chatted away, oblivious to his inner anguish. All too soon, it was time for her to leave.

"Thanks again for the amazing lunch, babe," Harry said, pulling her in for a loving hug and kiss. "I needed that."

"I'm glad I could provide a little light in your day," Y/N murmured, hugging him tightly. "I love you so much, Harry."

"Love you too," Harry replied softly, dreading having to return to his desk and face his tormentors once again.

After Y/N departed, Harry took a deep, steadying breath and made his way back out to the main office area. He had just sat down at his desk, trying to seem focused on his work, when he was roughly bumped from behind.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Princess herself," Andy's mocking voice rang out.

Spinning around, Harry saw the trio smirking at him, clearly intent on resuming their bullying now that Y/N was gone.

"Can't step away from your little girlfriend for even an hour without getting misted eyes," Kyle taunted. "So pathetic."

"Yeah, we were taking it easy before because the lady was around," Marc chimed in. "But now that she's gone…"

The three closed in on Harry menacingly until he felt backed into his desk, heart pounding with dread. This was not going to end well.

But to Harry's shock and the bullies' surprise, a familiar voice suddenly rang out.

"That's enough!"

They all whipped around to see Y/N marching back over to Harry's desk, fire flashing in her eyes. She had returned after forgetting her thermos, only to stumble upon the confrontation.

"Leave him alone, you jerks!" Y/N shouted angrily, storming up to the stunned trio before Harry could stop her. "I saw and heard everything! How dare you treat my boyfriend that way?"

Andy, Marc and Kyle exchanged uncomfortable looks, clearly not anticipating being called out by Harry's girlfriend. They quickly tried to regroup and reassert control.

"Listen sweetheart, this is just a bit of guy humor," Andy said in a patronizing tone, putting on an unconvincing smile. "You know how it is, we were just razzing Harry a little, all in good fun."

"Oh yeah, shoving him and calling him pathetic names? That's just real hilarious banter!" Y/N shot back, furious. She stepped protectively in front of Harry, staring the three bullies down defiantly.

Though his heart had leapt at her fierce defense of him, Harry also felt a surge of dread and embarrassment that she'd witnessed him being tormented like that.

But there was no deterring Y/N once her protective instincts kicked in. She jabbed an accusatory finger squarely into Andy's chest.

"How about this, asshole? From now on you treat MY boyfriend with respect, or you'll have me to answer to. Got it?"

The three men looked taken aback by Y/N's unexpected anger, exchanging uneasy glances. Andy quickly regained his bravado, puffing out his chest in an attempt to seem intimidating.

"Listen little lady, this doesn't concern you-"

"The hell it doesn't!" Y/N shot back, not backing down an inch. "Harry is the love of my life, which means anyone who messes with him messes with me. You got that?"

There was a tense silence as the confrontation reached a boiling point. Harry could only watch in amazed disbelief as his normally sweet girlfriend transformed into a fierce protector before his eyes.

Finally, Andy seemed to think better of prolonging the confrontation any further. With a snort, he shrugged and turned to walk away, motioning for Marc and Kyle to follow.

"Whatever, it was just a laugh. No need to get your panties in a twist, lady," he muttered in a feeble last attempt to save face.

As the three bullies skulked off, Y/N remained rooted in place, chest heaving with anger and adrenaline. It wasn't until they disappeared around a corner that she allowed some of the tension to finally leave her body.

She immediately whirled around to face Harry, grabbing his hands in hers as concern flooded her features.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you at all?" she asked urgently, searching his face.

Harry could only mutely shake his head, speechless at the ocean of emotions swirling within him - shame, humiliation, but also love and gratitude for the woman before him.

Y/N studied him briefly before speaking again, her voice taking on a softer edge.

"Babe…why didn't you tell me this was happening? That those jerks were bullying you like that?"

Harry's gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet the caring worry in her eyes. He shrugged helplessly.

"I…I don't know," he mumbled. "I guess I was just too embarrassed. Letting a bunch of immature pricks get to me like that…"

He trailed off, unsure how to properly  put into words the complicated emotions he'd been dealing with. How could he admit that their cruel taunting and harassment had left him feeling utterly powerless and insignificant? Like he was a useless joke not worthy of basic human respect?

Y/N seemed to sense the complicated inner turmoil raging inside her boyfriend. Gently, she reached up and cradled his face in her soft hands, forcing Harry to meet her tender gaze.

"Hey, listen to me," she said, "There is nothing, absolutely nothing, to be embarrassed about. You were being bullied and tormented by cowards who get their sad kicks out of tearing people down."

She paused, searching his eyes intently to make sure he was absorbing her words.

"You are the kindest, most caring, respectful man I know," Y/N continued. "And I'll be damned if I just stand by while some pathetic losers try to make you feel less than that."

Harry felt his throat constrict with emotion at her passionate defense of him. He blinked rapidly to stave off the burn of shameful tears threatening to fall.

"I…I should have told you," he croaked out remorsefully. "I just…I couldn't stand the thought of you seeing me like that. So weak and…"

"Hey." Y/N cut him off by gently pressing her fingers to his lips. "You are anything but weak, Harry Styles. Keeping something like that bottled up, dealing with harassment and staying strong through it all? That's not weakness, babe. That's courage."

She stroked his cheek tenderly, her loving gaze never wavering.

"I'm just sorry you felt like you had to go through any of that alone," Y/N said softly. "From now on, I need you to promise me - if anything like that ever happens again, you tell me right away so I can be there for you. So I can fight those assholes off and put them in their place." Y/N said this fiercely, protectiveness blazing in her eyes.

Harry couldn't help but crack a small smile at her ferocity, his heart swelling with love for this amazing woman. He nodded slowly. "I promise. No more secrets, no more hiding it. Although…" He raised an eyebrow teasingly. "I have to admit, watching you take those jerks down a few notches was pretty hot."

Y/N tried to maintain a stern expression, but her lips twitched with amusement. "Oh, you liked that, did you? Should I invest in a tight leather bodysuit then? Really play up the whole avenging girlfriend superhero vibe?"

Harry threw his head back with a loud laugh at the imagery, finally allowing the last lingering traces of shame and tension to bleed out of him. He pulled Y/N close, holding her tenderly as he nuzzled against her hair.

"You're my hero, no matter what you wear," he murmured, utterly sincere. "Just…please don't storm any buildings in a cape or anything. I don't think my poor nerves could take it."

Y/N giggled, tilting her face up to brush her nose against his affectionately. "No capes, got it. But I make no promises about keeping those bullies in line if they try anything again."

She punctuated her teasing vow with a slow, heated kiss that left Harry's head spinning. When they finally parted, he was looking at his girlfriend with unmeasurable adoration.

"What did I ever do to deserve someone as amazing as you?" Harry asked

Y/N smirked and poked his chest playfully. "Well, for starters, you can take me out for a fancy dinner to make it up to me. I did just save your scrawny ass from those jerks, after all."

"Whatever you want, my angel," Harry replied. He looped his arm through hers, guiding them towards the exit with a renewed sense of confidence. "I'll even let you pick the fanciest place in town - on one condition."

Y/N eyed him suspiciously, "What's the condition?" she asked.

Harry leaned in until his lips were brushing her ear, voice dropping to a murmur. "You have to wear that leather bodysuit you mentioned…"

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p.s. : if you ever get bullied, please stand up for yourself! bullies are just jerks, they're insecure people who thrive off on calling other people out. please never feel like you're alone, talk to someone.

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tell me if you like this! please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

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[pedrosprincesa]

Landslide

pairings: joel miller x afab!reader

a/n: I didn't mean to become the person that writes fics based on Fleetwood Mac songs, but here I am. I listened to this song yesterday and the idea for this hit me. I am a shitty writer usually, and I am definitely NOT good at writing smut so for now you will only be getting fluffy Joel from me. follow me if you enjoy i guess!!

warnings: fluff, age gap (reader is mid- to late twenties, Joel is 56), not proofread, no use of y/n that I know of, I'm still dyslexic

wc: 3327 <3

It's not that I expected to have a crush on this man that seemingly picked me out of a dumpster fire. He found me at the brink of death by a few raiders. Joel had a soft spot for women, if that wasn't obvious enough. When he saw me, I didn't look much older than Ellie. The fear in my eyes and how close I knew I was to death gave me more youth I suppose.

Whatever it was, I was grateful to see him after he took out all three men that had been hunting you down. He had blood splattered across his face, panting after the exertion of strength he used to take them out. I would never forget how beautiful I thought he was, just in that moment.

He never meant to have a third person join along on the cross country trip. Hell, taking care of Ellie was enough to wear him out.

Joining about fifteen miles outside of Kansas City, I was met with an unenthusiastic Ellie and a hard-faced Joel. I didn't get the details of the event that occurred right away, but eventually I learned quickly that unenthusiastic wasn't normal for Ellie, and Joel... well, he was hard-faced. After some inevitable conversations, we all got to know each other as much as we would allow. Keeping each other safe can do that. Joel found out I was in my mid-twenties and he stopped treating me like a child, almost. He was quicker to give me a gun as opposed to Ellie—which, best believe, she gave him shit about—however, Joel just explained it was because I was older. I also thought it was because he realized quickly that I was pretty good with it too. However, he still hardly looked at me in anyway, let alone that way, and I blamed some of that on my age.

Joel also dealt with my presence, because Ellie had someone else to share her jokes with. I was also the one that kept Ellie curious, giving her random facts about things as well as knowing how certain things worked that Joel couldn't explain. He might have even smiled a few times because of me. That was something to gloat about.

It took a bit for him to warm up to me, but long nights on watch, sleeping in the same place a majority of the time to let Ellie have the bed if there was one, both made it hard not to speak. When we really started talking, I could see that he would enjoy other conversations with me. I was older than Ellie, and I knew about some of the music and movies Joel grew up with. If I hadn't seen the movie, he'd explain the plot to me loosely. One night I told him I've only ever seen The Emperor Strikes Back out of the Star Wars movies. Ellie had never seen any of them, but she was ecstatic to listen to Joel explain the premise of the movies about space and cool aliens.

Star Wars was easy to get her in to. Over about the month trip, I taught her about Fleetwood Mac too. The songs didn't really get her attention too much, mostly because I was only really humming a lot of it, but she really got into all the drama that happened in the band. Joel didn't ever comment on it until one night, he finally just asked, "how do you know all of this? This stuff was happening before you were born." I couldn't help but laugh as I closed my eyes. "Reading, Joel. Magazines are still pretty easy to find."

When we made it to Jackson, Wyoming, the welcome was about as warm as the weather. Guns aimed straight at our heads. Joel and I both knew we would pass the test with the dog, but Ellie... I could feel my heart pounding, until I heard the sweet little girl's giggles as the dog gave her kisses. Joel mentioned we were out looking for his brother and one woman just seemed to know exactly who it was.

Joel got to reunite with his brother, which was sweet, and luckily that connection got us a nice house across from theirs. Joel let Ellie and I get the first showers. Maria gave us shampoos and conditioners, body wash and even some lotion for after the shower. I was faster than Ellie, and I came out with damp hair and the new, clean clothes that were just a bit too big for me. I looked up and I just saw Joel's face kind of soften when he looked at me. It felt like he was really taking me in for the first time. I really don't think he's seen me freshly clean. Sure we got river water here and there, but now I was clean, smelled good, and I felt like I could just sit back and relax. "I saved you some hot water. I didn't trust Ellie to." I told him with a little smile. He didn't even get a chance before Ellie came into the living room.

"Jesus Christ, I'm probably fucking bald. So much hair came out. Is that normal?" She asked me. I took a look at her head and she definitely wasn't bald.

"Not bald, honey. It just happens when you wash your hair after a long while." I assured her.

Honey. Joel liked it when I called her that. His face didn't change much, but he looked down at his lap for a moment, taking in a sweet, almost domesticated moment for the three of us.

"Now you need to get a bath, because you smell awful." Ellie told him, grinning widely and he only had a half smirk and rolled his eyes before he got up from his seat.

The first week of being in Jackson consisted of lots of rest, and lots and lots of food. Both of which we hadn't been used to in a really long while, so much that this felt like a fairytale. I was waiting on the moment I would wake up. Maria and Tommy let us have a few days to ourselves to sleep. We really didn't have to worry about anything sneaking up on us. Joel tried staying up late that first night, but he found himself in his bed, after obsessively making sure all the windows and doors were locked, he was asleep for well over fifteen hours. He was so exhausted.

During those few days of having three meals a day, and occasionally seconds, I noticed Joel was looking a little more fuller, as was Ellie. It made my heart swell that they were both getting healthy again, and we weren't living off of scraps essentially. I had a feeling I was really going to like it here.

At the end of the week, Maria suggested we all have dinner as a "family" since the first meal on our first day didn't go as well as I wanted it to. Honestly, I was pretty convinced she had the wrong idea about me and Joel. We had only talked briefly the day we arrived when she gave us the clothes and supplies and she let me know our house was stocked with everything we needed. In my clothes, Maria had graciously gifted me. Ellie snatched out the small, lace lingerie bottoms and her jaw was dropped. "Ew! What the fuck is this even covering, dude! Do girls really wear this?" Ellie scoffed at the ancient artifact at this point, Victoria's Secret lingerie. I could never wear those now.

I had to give Ellie a little pep talk (I actually pleaded) for her to say nicer things at the table. Just try to at least, and she seemed very serious about it. She actually did well for the most part. When she started to slip up and say a curse word, if it hadn't came fully out, she just switched it up. If it did slip out fully, she just gave a wide eyed look at the table, before glancing at me and I just gave her a secret little "it's okay" to make sure she didn't stress about it too bad.

After dinner was over, it was obvious that Joel and Tommy were still having a bit of fun so there wasn't much of a push to leave. I didn't think I'd ever seen him this happy, but he was also a few glasses in. Maria mentioned we move to the back porch to have a fire going, since the living room had become overwhelming quickly. We could actually have a fire now. That was new, but I would enjoy that heat as much as I could.

It was a night of the Miller brothers easily bantering about who could shoot the furthest, and Joel just let Tommy have that, being the selflessly older brother type. He didn't care too much to have the title, but he knew Tommy was full of shit. "Nah, Joel's good at stuff too. Fantastic carpenter in the day. Decent guitar player. Has he played guitar for you yet?" Tommy asked, motioning over to me and Ellie.

"Yeah, totally, whenever we find a working guitar in the woods trying to get across country." I responded sarcastically, making every everyone laugh a bit. I took the chance to see the him laugh. It was honestly more like a giggle. Tommy must've had something stronger than the watered down shit he got from the QZ. Or Joel knew this was a place where he knew he could indulge a little more now. Either way, I just relished in the sight of how happy he looked.

"Well lucky for y'all, I actually found one. Months ago. I sure as hell dunno how to play it, but I liked having it around. Gave me a little piece of my brother." He mentioned with a sappy smile before he got up and went to grab it. He came back with it, and it was honestly in good shape. "Think you can still play?" Tommy asked Joel, holding the guitar out to him by the neck until he took it. "S'been a while since I've heard live music. Not sure anyone around here as a musical bone in their body." He added before he took his seat again.

Joel held the guitar in his lap, trying to find the right positioning in. Once he found it, he easily slipped back into it. "Well, you're not gonna get much. I'm pretty rusty, I'd say." Joel told Tommy when he cleared his throat, just giving a prompt warning not to expect anything crazy.

"Thought you wanted to be a singer, man?" Ellie asked him, always giving him a hard time, but that was how these two bonded. I had never seen such a thing, but it was so sweet. Even the way Joel gave her a scowl back made me smile. "Good thing you can though." Ellie mentioned. The little mastermind knew about my crush on Joel, after so much interrogation, of course. I wasn't going to just give it up until she pulled out all the times she's caught my "longing stares" at him in any situation. I didn't feel like it was a bad thing, the staring. It was better than my other option. Confessing how much I cared for this handsome man that happened to be double my age, and then having to be rejected. That would've made traveling a hell of a lot harder. I was convinced he didn't see me that way. He had said it once before—Ellie and I were only cargo.

Joel glanced up at me when Ellie mentioned I could sing. He just spent a whole month walking across the country, protecting each other, killing for each other. We had all seen each other at our lowest, yet he didn't know I could sing? Not that it was his fault necessarily. I only did it a couple times when I was explaining how Fleetwood Mac songs sounded like to Ellie, mostly while he was asleep. I was too shy to do it otherwise. "You can?" He asked and I felt everyone's eyes on me.

Luckily the orange light from the fire completely give away how bad I was blushing. "A little—not much. I only remember one acoustic song and it's "Landslide"... by Fleetwood Mac." I cleared my throat, giving a side eye to Ellie for getting me into this mess.

"You know how to play that one! After Sarah forced yo—" He cut himself once he consciously knew the name that slipped out of his mouth in the moment. It got quiet. Ellie and I were so aware of how we were not supposed to bring her up. It was an unspoken rule at that point.

Joel only looked at his brother for a moment before looking away and he nodded his head. "I do know how to play it." He finally responded with a little nod. "Practiced so much, it's muscle memory." His lips curved up just enough, barely giving him a little smile. It said what it needed to. Sarah had made him learn how to play it for whatever reason, and it was a memory he almost forgot about.

He started strumming the song after tuning a few bum strings and Ellie nudged me to make sure I was going to sing the lyrics. She was so excited. I could do it for her.

It was a very surreal experience, singing a song about the changes and challenges of life, especially in a post-apocalyptic world, where each one of us had lost people, lost ourselves. At one point I could see a tear fall down Maria's face but I had to focus my eyes elsewhere not to start crying myself. The song ended and this time, it was Joel that had the longing stare as he slipped the instrument out of his lap. Ellie caught it and she got a little twinkle in her eye, having an idea that her plan was falling into place. This could be the start of her very own real family.

After that, once Tommy checked the time, he knew he should probably be getting to bed because he had work tomorrow. He told his older brother to come on out so he could show him a few things. We were going to have to work as long as we were here, however long that may be, but it wasn't bad. We've had way worse. "Oh! Before you go!" Maria said and I raised my eyebrows a little, Ellie standing close by and Joel was already at the front door. Maria hurried back with a CD and The Very Best of Fleetwood Mac was printed on the top. "Go ahead and learn a few more songs. Keep the music alive, and the joy that comes with it. There will be more where that's coming from." She told me and Ellie looked wide eyed at the CD. It had all the songs I was telling her about.

"Thank you so much." I told her softly, taking her in for a hug. Joel watched me hug her and smiled a bit again. He knew I was full of love, even after all of these years. i could find love for anything, the moon. the clouds in the sky, colorful weeds that lined the roads we walked to get there. That scared him. He didn't know if he was worthy of it, after everything he's done. He knew I would be able to love him. He did make a mental note to try and maybe flirt back to test the waters with me, see if I was serious—even though I was every single time I made a slightly flirty comment.

"Hey, do you guys have any of the Star Wars movies by chance?" Ellie asked Maria curiously, breaking a soft moment. She figured if they had Fleetwood Mac, they could possibly have the movies she wanted to see so badly.

"We have all of them, episodes one and two, and four through six. Which one were you wanting to watch?" Maria raised her eyebrow a little with a smirk when Ellie squealed.

"All of them! Please!" Ellie bounced a bit and I couldn't help but smile wider. "Hear that Joel? We're gonna be watching all of the Star Wars movies!" She turned back to him, just to make sure he was as excited as she was about it, but this was excited Joel for the most part.

"Sure, Ellie. But I'm not watching them all in one night. They're pretty long movies. I'm too old for all that." He told her, letting her follow him back over to the house across the street with his arm obnoxiously draped over her head.

"Thank you, again. And just drop off the movies whenever you can. She's gonna go crazy." I laughed a bit as I walked out the door.

"We will. Take care of him, alright? Well, both of 'em. But let him know it's okay to loosen up a little around here." Tommy told me as I walked down the steps. After tonight, it was obvious to him that I was something a little more special to his brother, even if no one else could see it. Tommy caught all the little glances he never thought he'd see Joel give again. I had a power over you that I would probably never know the extent of. Tommy knew he was going to give Joel hell tomorrow though. He didn't know why Joel hadn't already made a move.

"I will take care of them!" I waved to them as I made it out to the street, getting across to my new home. Tommy and Maria made sure I made it inside safely before closing their door as well.

Once I was in my bed for the night, in clean clothes, under an actual duvet and an actual pillow, I was so close to sleep. I had fallen asleep so quickly in the last week. Just as I could feel myself drifting off, I heard my door creak open.

"Darlin'? You awake?" I heard Joel's deep southern accent say in the dark. I could barely make his outline out in the doorway, sure enough he couldn't see my eyes well enough to know if I was still awake or not.

"Yeah, I'm still awake." I partly lie. I hadn't been quite at that point yet, but I'm pretty sure him calling me darling would've woken me out of anything. It only happened a few times, and each time he's said it, it's just felt like an accident, like it just slipped out. This time, though, that felt real. "What's up?"

It took him a minute to answer, like he was actively trying to think of what to say, like he hadn't been rehearsing it. I would've paid good money to get a look of the expression his face held right now. "I, uh, was wonderin' if you'd come to my room, to sleep? Got kinda used to having you at my side at night. This last week sleepin' in'a different room, it's been..." it was like he was trying to find the right words to say, so he didn't sound like an idiot at my door.

Little did he know, explaining himself wasn't needed. I was already getting out of bed hugging my pillow, and I slipped by him in the doorway, headed to his room. He was kind of stunned, like he was surprised his pathetic attempt worked. "Well, c'mon cowboy. I'm ready for bed." I ushered him before walking into his room.

He had his girl safe in bed down the hall, and his girl waiting on him to get in bed. Maybe this was a great place for him.

[stripedbanditscomic]

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Striped Bandits Comic | Chapter 2

Join Larry, Barry, and Terry, on their epic road trip in search for the most yummy snakity snacks ever made. You'll never expect what they find while dumpster diving at their local Seven 23 store.

Striped Bandits is a Web Comic that is appropriate for families with young readers. This light hearted, funny, wacky comic can be enjoyed by both parent and child, a perfect selection for bedtime reading.

Striped Bandits releases one new web comic episode a week right here on Tumblr. Make sure to follow the Striped Bandits page so you don't miss out on the next comic.

Striped Bandits is a web comic about three sibling raccoon who stumble upon a Frozino while searching for sweet delicious snacks at their local seven23 store dumpster. They discover the Frozino is a secret portal to Deliciousville. Now the only problem is getting another one. Join Larry, Barry, and Terry, as they hysterically try to figure out how to get another Frozino and more importantly, as they try and figure out this crazy world we live in.

[broodingheroine]

tmagp 5 thoughts

colin has locks on his office door and won't go near cameras. okay. paranoia. okay.

"its important we don't keep secrets here" WHATTTTTTTT?????

RESPONSE DEPARTMENT MENTION.

.....don't fill it in are you insane

SEVEN ADDRESSES?

horror dumpster dive. us.

"one man's trash is another man's terror" ayo mag5 reference?

a flim called voyeur. a guy who wants to watch people's fear (even if it's fictional) being recommended a film called voyeur.

ah private screening.

GETTING BABADOOK'D HA

"scratch the itch" he DESIRES the watching experience

the going back and forth between text to speech voice and more human voice is insane

please stop reminding me that alice has a little brother she's close to that is going to end miserably

klaus IT guy!!!! .......KLAUS IT GUY???

okay so I'm starting to lean into the theory that the fears are now more like desires in this universe. this guy wanted to Watch. and he got to.

also??? guy in the corner???? possible tmagp jonah mention? or an archivist equivalent? something new that's specific to tmagp? or was it the person who originally made the comment about voyeur. maybe it's a cycle of watching others watch their own lives and then THEY become part of voyeur and watch others?

so we know of three IT managers. klaus, then amelia, then colin.

presumably lena pipe murdered klaus, but that might not be the case. we know that amelia complained about klaus's work. perhaps its a gertrude sabotaging the eye situation where klaus was intentionally screwing with the system?

also, amelia being the older employee that alice saw go weird maybe? klaus was apparently gone before alice came around so.....

also ofc chester read the case file about watching and being watched

okay I think that's everything? God this episode was a trip

edit: I just now realized me live blogging thoughts while listening to this episode is very...... I would definitely have shown up to this private screening lmao

[not-that-fanartist]

New OC time!!

So…we all know Deltarune, right? ovo

As I’ve become viscerally obsessed with it over the years, it only makes sense to introduce you to an OC I’ve made for the franchise^^

Let me introduce you to Retra! The preppy, curious, fun-loving 80s themed printer girl!

Residing in the famed Cyber City, she spends her days making beautiful printer pieces for her cyber citizens! Living an artist’s dream. At night…

Sneaking away to meet someone…?👀

Ooo, mystery! (Except not really as is clearly depicted in the above picture)

This calls for a backstory!

…

The earliest of her memories…was not the most pleasant. Far behind in a long abandoned alleyway, a musical trio had been wandering around looking for scraps when they came across something heart-rending.

The three were shocked! It was a new face…roughed up and unconscious behind a sewer grate.

“What should we do? They need our help!”

But it was hardly worth pondering. You don’t just leave an unconscious person stranded in an alleyway.

“K_K, quick, help us take her back to the shop!”

“We can’t allow any mademoiselle to be left on the streets! Hurry! She needs us!”

They promptly ran her to their scrap shop. Soon, slowly, she came to. Awaking confused, but grateful for the rescue. It seems…she really remembered nothing. Not even what led to her being in such a scrappy state. Nobody seemed to recognize her either. A new face, no story.

Well, no point in dwelling on it for now. The trio happily volunteered to clean her wounds, give her plenty of refreshments and even offer her an old jacket of theirs to keep her warm.

They all got along very easily.

Spending some time together, she couldn’t help but reflect the best of their personalities. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little empty.

Then, a new proposal!

“Hey, we love you hangin around…”

“But why don’t we take a trip downtown!”

“We know some folks you might like to meet!”

“Can I come too?”

“You always go with us, K_K.”

And so they journeyed deeper into Cyber City, arriving to introduce their new friend…

To the Addisons!

Oh the adoration, the sympathies. It was like they had seen a lost puppy.

They were willing…no, insistent on taking her in! They treated her like she was one of them. And while Retra was always welcome back at the scrap shop, she felt like the city really gave her room to breathe! It was really her element.

Finally free to build her identity, the Addisons gleefully gave their new member of the Ad family a fresh makeover!

But their craft was yet finished! Soon enough, Retra was taught the way of the advertiser.

But their true ambitions were in the arts. So, confiding in their musical friends, they created their own print shop from borrowed scraps and started her journey as not only an Addison, but a commissioner!

And it's going smooth! Well, it was for a while at least. Since this strange "outage", business has been quite slow. But she aims to keep her head up high!

Something strange though... "Rose" Addison, at some point pulled her aside to warn her about a certain...someone. She was not allowed near THAT dumpster so long as she was living with them.

The warning was vague...just that this mysterious individual got corrupted somehow...and she doesn't want to see the same happen to them. A kind enough gesture, they supposed but...

Yeah it didn't go very far.

One night, deciding not to wait for the garbage person, they decided against the Addisons' wishes and took matters into their own hands. It was just one small trip after all, what harm could it do? Maybe something interesting would finally happen after a long streak of slow business and boring empty shifts.

And Interesting things happen, they did. Of course, this is where she met her scrappy little friend and well...perhaps that's a story for another time^^

The little retro rebel kept sneaking out to see him night after night, getting up to ridiculous shenanigans and wondering how the Addisons could ever keep her from such a funny little soul.

She just couldn't help but be drawn to him! After all...he reminded her of a certain someone else who once wound up stuck in the gutter...

...

<3

[lil-ms-darkness]

A Treasure Not Worth Finding - Bigby Wolf x Goldilocks!Reader

A/N: Okay, so here's the next part! Sorry it took so long, I had it sitting in my WIP folder for quite some time, just needing to be edited and instead of editing it, I started working on my manuscript. But, it's here now! Slightly based off Faith from TWAU video game. The music playing in the apartment can be anything you want, as it's technically YOUR apartment haha

Content Warnings: Mild angst, description of death and dead bodies, perceived reader death.

That about does it, hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment if you'd like

Lil_Ms_Darkness

“See you again, soon.” 

That was the last thing she’d said to him. Her voice was soft, light and her eyes matched. It unnerved him, but it was also a welcome sort of discomfort, a kind that he’d come to appreciate. After he caught the asshole trying to poison Snow White - weirdly enough, it was Leland Mouse, of the Three Blind Mice, glamoured into a man [Y/N] wouldn’t recognize, nor would she have suspected to be one of the mice. She had helped him find the perpetrator responsible for trying to take Snow White’s life, purely for greed and satisfaction of being the one to kill the Deputy Mayor for not prioritizing his cases, and for not bowing to his whim when he wanted. And, as she had asked, Bigby had returned to visit her. But, it didn’t become a consistent thing. He mainly visited for information, and was met with some kind of story, a conversation, a muffin or a slice of banana nut bread, she’d offered him a brownie once but he’d denied it. 

He hadn’t expected to see her again so soon, especially not like this. He had gotten a call from Jack about a body dumped into a back alley dumpster. He was nervous, having seen only a leg hanging out. 

Bigby arrived on the scene quickly and found the dumpster, a leg hanging over the lip with the lid flattening it. He grabbed the edge and lifted the lid open, looking down to examine the victim. He felt his mouth fall open in surprise, shock, and pure white hot rage. It was her. 

“See you again, soon.”

He carefully fished her out of the dumpster and laid her down on the rough asphalt of the street, hidden in the darkness away from the street lights. Her hair was soft in his hand as he held her head to lower her.

Now, he looks down at her face, her once golden hair is messy and pale as it cushions her head like a pillow. Her eyes are half lidded and lusterless in death, her skin lacking the warmth- her hands clenched tightly in fists. He notes the deep purple and black bruising on her throat, so thick that it couldn’t have been a cord. He crouches next to her, noting the various wounds around her body- she had fought back. 

He closes his eyes for a moment before he hears footsteps shuffling towards them and he looks up, spotting Jack at the mouth of the alley. The blonde man approaches him, a solemn and uncomfortable look on his face. 

“Any luck?” He asks

Bigby sighs and looks at the body again, 

“Did you see anyone around when you found the body?” The words felt like bile in his throat as he speaks them

“No, I didn’t.” 

Bigby isn’t surprised to hear that, Jack was about as observant as a thumbtack. He examines her hands, noting the clean fingernails, but there is bruising underneath- someone made sure to clean up any DNA traces. 

Damn

He takes a closer look at her throat, finding the rope burns in between the bruises and the broken veins underneath. He can feel his claws threaten to elongate and he actively keeps them retracted, turning his attention to her face, his eyes linger on her swollen, bluing lips. He can’t help but feel guilty, wondering if she’d been murdered because she was helping him. Whether it was to keep her quiet, or for some other reason, he’ll be sure to get to the bottom of it. He will find the bastard that did this.

 Bigby looks back to the body and notices her clothes now. She’s dressed in her Trip Trap uniform, an emerald green dress that was similar to Holly’s, with black wedge heels secured with a strap around the ankle. She had told him how she loved the dress, because it was high quality material without being too expensive and felt nice on her skin, but he can’t recall what material. Now that he can touch it, it’s smooth under his rough hands, thick but not scratchy at all- and it’s dirty from the garbage she was thrown into. 

“What were you doing over here, Jack?” Bigby asks, cautiously. 

“I was coming to visit a friend of mine.” Jack says, shifting from foot to foot.

“A friend?” 

“He said he was going to give me $1,000.”

“What a generous friend, what are you up to?”

“Nothing, honest!” Jack holds up his hands in surrender. 

Bigby looks from him, down to the body, then Jack again. He doesn’t have time to deal with the get rich quick fails of the century.

“I need to go see Holly, she should be working tonight, and Jack? Stay out of trouble.”

Bigby walks down the concrete steps to the heavy door of the Trip Trap, pushing it open and stepping through. Holly stands behind the bar, dressed in her brown dress. She lifts her gaze to look towards the door, preparing to greet a customer, but her face sets into a flat glare when she sees Bigby. Gren glances over his shoulder towards the Sheriff and shakes his head, looking back to his small glass of rum on the countertop. 

The sheriff approaches the bar and looks at Holly, 

“I’m not here to start problems, I just need to ask you some questions.” He says, simply and sits down at the bar a few seats away from Gren.

“You’re always here to start a problem, even when you don’t try to.” She digs her nails into the bottom lip of the bar. 

Bigby shakes his head, “When was the last time you saw [Y/N]?” 

“She was here for her shift the night before last. Why? What do you want with her?” Holly’s eyes narrow.

“She’s dead…” Bigby wills his face to be emotionless, as he watches Gren drop the glass to the counter, tipping over and spilling onto the bartop as Holly stares at him with wide eyes. Bigby couldn’t hope to understand what she was feeling- first, her sister was murdered, and now her friend was dead, the friend who was working with her so that she could grieve. 

“How?” Gren growls, fists clenched tightly on top of the bar

“She was strangled.” Bigby says, impassively, but inside he is anything but. Inside, he is raging and tearing apart all of New York to track down the next murderer, because who knows who may be next. And if [Y/N] was a target, with how likable she is- was- who knows who else may be on a list. 

“DAMNIT!” Gren  stands and turns on Bigby, who only regards him with a stoic guise, “How many have to die before you do your damn job?!”

“I am doing my job.” It’s all Bigby can do not to slam his face into the bar- his patience is fading, and quickly. “I’m trying to find the person that did this, and I’m starting by finding out the timeline of when she died, and where she was taken from. If she hasn't been here since two nights ago, then there’s nothing else that I need.” He stands and Gren steps in his way. Bigby squares his shoulders.

“Knock it off,” Holly snaps, and Bigby looks her way. She sounds sad, “just go, Sheriff. I need…need to figure out what to do.” She sighs and walks out from the bar, vanishing into the back room. Bigby notes a missing attendee-

“Where’s Woody?” He asks, still looking towards the room Holly escaped to for a moment longer before looking back to Gren’s fury laden face. 

“How the hell should I know?” He growls, “I ain’t his dad.”

“For someone claiming to want me to do my job, you’re making it awfully difficult.” 

Gren’s eyebrows twitch and his jaw sets, Bigby prepares to dodge a punch, but it doesn’t come, to the Sheriff’s surprise. “He hasn’t been here in a couple days. He left with [Y/N] after her last shift.”

Bigby’s not surprised that Woody left with her, but the fact that he left with her the same day she was last seen….

“And he hasn’t been back since?”

“No.” Gren bites out through gritted teeth, “Now if that’s all you need, get the fuck out.”

Bigby walks out without much of a fuss, and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He lifts one and lights it, walking down the street towards [Y/N]’s apartment.

He walks down the hall and stops in front of [Y/N]'s door, but something isn't right. He presses his ear to the door- music? 

That can't be right..[Y/N]'s time of death was hours ago, why was music still playing? 

He hears shuffling, and his teeth grit together. He grabs the doorknob and very slowly turns it- it's unlocked. 

He throws the door open and rushes inside, seeing the silhouette and diving on him. He shoves him face down into the carpet, wrists behind his back. 

"Hey hey hey!! GET THE FUCK OFF ME, WOLF!" 

The Woodsman

"Not until you tell me what you're doing here." Bigby digs his knee into the big man's spine as he squirms. 

"I was helping [Y/N]!" 

"Don't lie to me, Woody!"

"Fuck you, I ain't lyin'!" 

"What's going on- Sheriff! Get off of him!" Small hands grab Bigby's shoulder and he turns, ready to push them back; and he stops. 

He climbs off the big man and stares- 

"[Y/N]?"

"You listen here, Sheriff," she warns, her honeyed eyebrows furrowed in concern and anger as Woody stands up behind her, "out there you might be Sheriff Bigby Wolf and think you have to be mean to get your way, but not in my home! If you lay a hand on my guests again, you can forget about my offer to help you!" 

She's angry, so very angry, he can see it in her eyes, in the way the wrinkles between her brows crease her skin. The fire in her eyes. But she's here, standing, yelling, breathing.

"We found your body," Bigby says, carefully and the crease between her eyes lifts. "We all thought you were dead. And I came by to see if you'd been murdered here. When I saw Woody-" 

"You thought Woody killed me?" She frowns, incredulously, "He'd never." 

Woody puts a large hand on her shoulder. She looks over at him, then at Bigby again. 

"I'm not dead..." [Y/N] muses. 

"Clearly." Bigby huffs and can feel pressure forming behind his eyes. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes when her small hand covers his holding the pack. He looks at her. 

"I'd rather you didn't smoke in here. What with my work and all..." She says, quietly. 

Woody snorts and Bigby considers lighting one anyway- 

"Bigby does whatever he wants." He grumbles. 

Woody was right. Bigby did do whatever he wanted. But one look into her kind eyes and he resigns with a sigh, tucking the pack back into his pocket. He feels naked, and uncomfortable. He ignores it. 

Woody casts him a quirked browed look and Bigby ignores that, too. 

"[Y/N], where were you last night?" 

"Home? Asleep?" She shakes her head. "I finished dropping off orders early, stopped by the store to pick up some more fabric and flour, then came home and went to bed."

"And you, Woody?" He asks, moving his gaze to the bearded man. 

"I was at the Trip Trap."

"Really? Because Gren says he hasn't seen you in a couple days.."

"Bigby," [Y/N] warns and he casts her a cold look, warning her in turn not to interfere with his investigation. He watches her brows slacken a bit as her expression becomes one of concern. He looks back to Woody. "Let's try that again, where were you?"

Woody sighs,

"I was with a woman..." He grumbles. 

"Who was it?" 

"Can't a man keep his personal affairs personal?" 

"Not when he's a suspect in a murder." Bigby says and folds his arms. 

"I told you already he didn't do it." [Y/N] pipes up again and he ignores her completely. She was kind to him, but she is trying his patience. 

He looks at her, "[Y/N], a woman is dead. She could have been you-"

"But she wasn't.." she interrupts, her frown deepens, her look of concern deepening the wrinkles in between her brows and on her forehead. 

"-but it could have been. Doesn't matter that it wasn't, a woman is dead. Dead and gone. And I need to find the one responsible. Now you offered your assistance, but so far you've only made my investigation harder. Either keep it down, or I'll take him in to question him at the Business Office." 

Her eyes widen and she looks at Woody, then Bigby again. The hurt in her eyes was clear as day. She steels her expression and nods, once. She looks at Woody before she walks over and sits on the love seat, legs folded and looking out the window. 

Bigby feels a little guilty, but only a little. He shoves it aside and focuses on the task at hand. 

Woody looks at [Y/N], then Bigby again, a look of anger in his eyes.

"You're a piece of shit, Wolf."

"I hear that a lot, now who were you with?"

[velvet-paradox]

Heartstrings (Part Two)

Heartstrings (Part Two) Fandom: Sleep Token (band) Pairing: Eventual Vessel x Female reader, (brief) IV x Female reader Length: Short Warnings: Eventual NSFW, 18 + ONLY, reader discretion advised, strong language, alcohol consumption, tobacco use, supernatural elements, smitten Vessel, a quick smooch, a dash of angst at the end. This part is a bit shorter but there’s more to come so... yeah! Tagging: @synnersaint @megangovier20 @thesoundresoundsecho

ENJOY!!!

True to your word, he'd smile at a welcomed call of HELLLOOOO HANDSOME! or LOOKING GOOD BOY! something affirming that had Vessel walking a little taller that day, confident through your eyes, carrying himself with a higher weight.

That is, until you presented him with a necklace made of coins and tiny metal beads one evening at the coffee shop, sitting outside with a drink of your own during his break. Louie had taken an instant shine to you, even the bag under his eyes lit up when you hooked your arm through Vessel's, allowing you to snag a chocolate éclair; ion the house of course.

"Where the hell did you find that ratty old thing anyway?"

"In the dirt. Where else?" You scrunched up your nose, looking it over.

"The dirt?! Why-- wait. Why are you digging around in dirt?"

You shrugged. "Because you find things in dirt, why else? See, I'm thinking this thing has some sort of power to it, right? So what if it controls our destiny, our fate. You have it for... oh say three days tops, then it's my turn and we have to do whatever the other one says or we'll be cursed." You made a spooky sound that just might frighten a small child into sleeping with a night light for the foreseeable future.

"What are you nine?"

You mocked his suggestion and took a sip of your coffee, holding out the rank and blackened necklace across from him, he was quick to cover his croissant from any rusty or tetanus laden crumbs in your palm.

"Come on. It'll be fun."

"It'll be a disaster." Vessel grumbled but enjoyed the amusement on your face as you admired the thing. ....

"I'm not doing that!"

"You have to. It's my turn!" you seethed behind the dumpster of the basketball court at the college. "A dare is a dare, remember?"

Oh did he! You two had been at this twisted little game for years now. Egging each other on, upping the other to the most dramatic of ideas and pranks. Most of the time it was harmless little dares, mainly played to embarrass one another, to see the other fail in the most creative of ways but sometimes, oh God, sometimes either one of your would get downright nasty and force the hand of the other to do something diabolical. Not illegal, but it could sometimes feels that way.

Vessel had also began to express himself more so through masks than his attire. Always in black, head to toe, painting his nails and experimenting with body paint. He wished t blend in to the background of the world around him than participate in the grind. Thankfully Louie was understanding and let him try out new looks, as long as he didn't spook off the customers of course.

It was your turn, wearing the gaudy thing as you pointed out the biggest, broadest man on the court. Daring Vessel to slink around the benches, unnoticed obviously and creep under, tie his laces together so that when he stood up from his water break, he'd trip and fall in front of the whole court. What a riot, you exclaimed, waggling your fingers in his face.

You danced your eyebrows with a grin. "Are you game?" ....

"I told you that was a bad idea!"

"Oh calm down, it's not that bad."

Vessel pinched the bridge of his nose, scared that it might be broken and he'd only be making it worse, wincing as you held the underside of your shirt to his it. The skin of your belly, the purple underwire of your bra just within view.

"He could've taken your eye out."

"I wish he would've!" Vessel complained but the way you'd tended to him, more than once was a relief for a number of reasons. He'd never been this cared for, catered to, cherished like some dainty thing. He was too tall and gangly in middle school which transferred easily to high school and well after. Only after his mid-twenties did he feel like he'd grown into his features. Even with your constant approval that he was attractive, he was still on the bottom shelf of disbelief.

The praise was welcomed though. Cozy. You felt like home.

You moved your legs, standing closer over him on the bench, your legs shadowing over his own. You could easily just straddle his lap if you wanted. Not that he'd mind. It would be awkward as shit at first and with how you lived life, you might as well.

His mother, like Louie, was welcoming in your budding friendship in high school, happy to have a girl in the house, a daughter she didn't have. You were invited to family events, Christmases, birthday's and the like. Your pictures on their fridge. You were a part of the family.

Nothing sexual had been shared between you, though on one occasion you did plant lingering kiss on his lips when a girl that was after him and apparently wasn't hearing the word NO, gave chase at a party. He was panicked, looking for an escape, hot on Vessel's heels he finally ran into you and frantically begged for help.

He was giddy about it. Not even caring that his eyes were still closed when you pulled away and embraced him. He thought about that a lot.

He did feel a pang of jealousy when you'd come over to the house Vessel shared with his three best counterparts. You'd share a bottle of booze, if you were truly feeling frisky that night you'd drink it straight and pass it directly to III who'd either saunter over to you, while you danced or would pretend to lasso you to him. You never asked him to dance.

He'd watch though.

He was always watching.

Observing the night, logging things away in another fucked up notebook, scribbled down lyrics or events to remember later. A memory he might've otherwise forgotten. 

Vessel wrote poems, sonnets, haikus, little blurbs of life, clinging to them as if they'd save him one day, a token of appreciation maybe. A trade. An IOU for an unforeseen date.

Like the time he caught you wrapped up in the arms of IV, another night of dancing and drinking and laughing too loudly and not giving a fuck. You'd run off to the bathroom and hadn't come back. Vessel, drunk on his own had sought you out, toying with the necklace around his neck only to find the bathroom empty. 

The door to IV's room was cracked, red light screaming out into the hall.

He didn't know what he'd find behind that door but it certainly was not you, on IV's lap, grinding and kissing him in a way Vessel had only seen in softcore porn. All tongue and teeth, smiling and writhing against one of his best friends. Too lost in each other, neither one of you had noticed or had been bothered. Vessel ground his teeth and left the door the way he'd found it.

He meant to write it down but instead polished off back to back shots in order to forget it all together.

When you two rejoined them that night, Vessel didn't say a word.

If it wasn't him you were to be kissing and laughing with, maybe he should play into the advances of the women around him.

Maybe if he blacked out, he could blackout what he'd seen. Block you out.

....

The mug in his hands was scalding hot, coils of steam made his eyes water as he sat alone at the coffee table holding on to the necklace. The game, the chase. What once was.

"Soooo what are you going to do then?" Sleep crept around the table with his little red paws, leaving behind puffs of dust. Those inky black eyes fluttered up at Vessel.

"I don't know. I don't know what I should do." Vessel shrugged, thumbing over one of the coins.

The moonlight got brighter as passing clouds exposed its bone white surface through the kitchen window. 

"Play that little game, says I. See what she wants this time. It's been how long, my dear Ves?" Sleep questioned, floating up to rest on top of the refrigerator, tapping his tail on the ledge.

He had to squint in thought for a moment, images like passing train cars flashed behind his eyes. Stacks of journals, moving boxes, burnt plates of roast, pop-overs that popped too much over, Sleep slinking into his bed to sleep at his feet, a broken mirror and hell of a lot of tears. The accident. The bandages. The stares.

"Three years."

"Ah yes," Sleep hummed as he slid down the fridge and flopped himself over Vessel's shoulder. "That was when I came to you. A friend. A match to light your way. You just didn't know I was the headlight on the train of your deep dark tunnel you'd found yourself in," that admittance, even though positively true made him sick, Vessel didn't like to think about that. That was a whole other version of him he didn't want to introduce to anyone. "You are a different person now though, maybe your friend is too. What harm would it do, really?"

It took Vessel two days of wracking his brain around the necklace, stitched at one end making it whole once again. He touched it and whether he was just dog tired or Sleep had anything to do with it, he was now back transported to that awful place.

And he hated it.

Part Three

[chickensarentcheap]

The bookstore and its three legged, one eyed book store cat

@tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @watermeezer

Just a little flash back :)

The inside of the bookstore is perfectly Esme in every possible way. The aisles spaced the exact distances apart and the shelves neatly and methodically arranged and organized; chalkboards attached to chains dangling from the ceiling advertise the different genres. The wooden floors a light almond; sanded and polished in order to bring out all the stains and knots and making the additions of colour throughout ‘pop’ just how she likes. Arm chairs sit at the end of each book case; clad in different shades of leather and accompanied by an ottoman and brightly woven afghans neatly folded over one arm. A larger sitting area available; matching coffee and end tables atop a braided area rug; joining a rich purple couch, two bright teal chairs and a vivid yellow love seat. A storage closet, office, and a kitchen located at the very back; the latter used for both employee breaks and for preparing muffins, scones, brownies and other sweet treats after the ones made at home -and brought in for opening- quickly run out.

Her pride and joy however, is the children’s section. Closed off from the rest of the store with plexiglass that enables parents to still keep an eye on their kids; books stored on waist high shelves topped with various toys and developmental aides and take home packages of crayons, bubbles, and play-doh. Beanbag chairs and oversized cushions and pillows scattered throughout; taking the place of traditional furniture and giving a more relaxed, fun vibe to the space. An entire section called ‘Tanner’s Tales’ where the ten year old has copies of not only book reviews he’s penned, but copies of some of the stories he’d created; garnering him quite the fan base and bags of mail that come home at the end of every week.

Addie stands in front of the aquarium at the room's far end. Mesmerized by the various breeds of fish that swim throughout and accompanied by Clementine; the bookshop cat missing an eye and a leg who has become a local favourite during the last two years. Esme heard the then kitten’s cries from inside the dumpster out back and called Tyler to come and perform the rescue; the animal had likely been dumped on the street sometime before and attacked by an animal -resulting in its missing appendage- and then finding its way into or being tossed in the dumpster. A trip to the vet and a thousand dollars later to remove a badly infected eye, the aptly named orange kitten took up residence in the store and now lives like a queen. And currently enjoys her time in Addie’s arms; being cradled and talked to like a baby.

[thatndginger]

I'm still exhausted all the time (yay 50 hour workweeks) but I've finally had a bit of my creative spark return this week. So have a few page spreads from the Idiot's Guide to Moressau that I polished up over the last few days.

Two more sections to go (this whole thing would go a lot quicker if I wasn't making up 90% of it as I go :P)

Transcript under the cut.

First image:

The Idiot's Guide to Moressau

Provided Courtesy of Portia Beckham and The Pack

Second Image:

Shopping That Won’t Bankrupt You If you want to find some shopping that’s reasonably priced and not forced to keep up a bright and happy facade for the city’s ‘image’, then you’re going to want to check out the street markets. All local, usually handmade, and you’re far less likely to run into a stuck-up asshole. The really good ones don’t advertise their existence, you just have to know. Best practice: check the Arts or Lonewood districts on a weekend evening. You’ll find something that makes the entire trip worth it. Guaranteed.

Not in the mood for a stall crawl? There are a ton of unique stores around Moressau worth your time. But like most things, you’ll have to put in a little footwork for them. My personal suggestions are The Salt Well - a secondhand store covering three stories in the Arts - and Thistle & Rue - a local artist co-op that never fails to lighten my wallet with every visit.

Local Food Worth Your Time Moressau is far from an haute cuisine destination, but since you’re here you’re better off checking out some of the local offerings than settling for fast food. Trust me. Check out Jax’s Diner down in the industrial side of town. Open twenty-four-seven and the best breakfast plate you’ll ever eat in your life. Or if you want something fishy The Queen’s Catch on the Old Wharf is by far the best place to sample some of the sea’s bounty. Finally, if you’re looking for somewhere with both good booze and good food, you can’t go wrong with Island Goat or the Salt Beard Tavern. Just don’t ask to try the chef’s special at the tavern. Trust me.

The Historical and Creepy Look. All of Moressau is creepy. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. It’s dark and gloomy and you’re just as likely to get mauled by a creep as you are to get scared by a dumpster rat. If you don’t know what you’re doing, stick to the shit all the brochures tout. You’re less likely to die that way. There’s museums and tour guides for all of you nerds, too. That tour of Augustus Laroche’s mansion is actually pretty fun. They have paid actors and everything, but frown on self-guided tours outside of the usual routes. Just FYI.

I’ve heard of some walking tours that have popped up recently that seem safe, if you’re into that kind of thing. Word to the wise, though: avoid anything that mentions the Montrose Syndicate. They aren’t dead, and they don’t like being talked about. Whoever started that tour is going to end up at the bottom of the bay sooner or later.

Seaside Attractions (And Then Some) This is another one the brochures can handle for you. The boardwalk and lighthouse are safe enough, and there are parts of the preserved old wharves that aren’t too bad either. They were made with old shipwreck lumber. The founders were thrifty and morbid like that. Stick to the North Docks and Downtown if you want to explore more of Moressau’s seaside attractions. The Old Docks aren’t the safest place anymore, day or night. If you’re up for a bit of a hike, check out the original lighthouse just north of the city. It was abandoned in favor of the new lighthouse in the early 1900's, but whatever they made it with keeps it standing, even if the rocks around it have eroded away. It’s not as fun since the city took out the bridge connecting the lighthouse to land, but you’re brave (and stupid) you can still make it across the gap. Ask me how I know.

For some modern entertainment - or modern-ish - it’s worth it to check out Saltshock, the amusement park right off Harbor Boardwalk. It’s got some of those old wooden rollercoasters that are actually terrifying. The modern steel coasters have nothing on those rickety old things. The prices aren’t too bad, but definitely don’t bother buying any souvenirs there. That’s where they get you.

Oh, and since you’ll be in the area, keep an eye on the street art. I know a guy who paints some really cool murals around the Docks and Southside neighborhoods. Some of them disappear pretty quickly, since he never asks permission to decorate someone’s wall. He says there’s an internet group or something dedicated to finding his latest work. He’s usually full of shit, though, so I’ll believe it when I see it. Maybe he’s right. His art is good. So keep an eye out for anything signed “W S”.

Third Image:

VAMPIRES

If your entire reason for coming to Moressau is to meet a vampire then I have two questions for you: What the hell is wrong with you, and why bother coming here at all? Statistically, there is at least one vampire in or near where you live now. Chances are that if you’re only here to be a bloodbag, you won’t listen to my advice, so I’m going to write this for those of you who want to avoid some unpleasant new scars around the neck region.

How to Spot a Vampire Let’s get something straight right now. Vampires don’t sparkle. They aren’t incredibly pale. They aren’t indestructible. A freshly-fed vampire isn’t much different from a human actually. Warm to the touch - never hot - and no paler than the average person, just without the heartbeat that makes a human…. human.

That said, there are some tell-tale aspects of a vampire that are impossible to hide. You’ll know a vampire as soon as they open their mouth. Their fangs don’t do that stupid retraction thing like some movies claim. Vampires also have reflective eyes, like most supernaturals. A vampire’s eyes don’t glow, they aren’t blood red, they’re just eyes. But they’ll shine in the passing light of a car or a camera flash, that’s for certain. Lastly, vampires lack both a shadow and a reflection.

A vampire who hasn’t fed in a few days will have a chill to them like any other dead body. But a hungry vampire is faster, stronger, and much easier to piss off. A hungry vampire is more likely to drink you down to the last drop, too.

Where to Find a Vampire Typically, vampires can only come out at night. They tend to burn to a crisp within an hour if they’re exposed to full sunlight. It’s not a pretty sight. Luckily for the vampires of Moressau, the sun only comes out about 30 days of the year, so they can be out at nearly any time. Most of them keep to the night hours though. They’re nocturnal creatures by nature. They also tend to hang out in the Midnight Quarter. There are some vampires who’ve lived there since the city was founded, and if you’re looking for ‘night life’ then the Midnight Quarter is exactly where you want to be. Don’t let your guard down for a second there. The only places where regulations on vampire feeding are enforced are donation centers, and even those are iffy. Sure, the city says they oversee vampire parlors to ‘ensure safe conditions for both mundanes and supernaturals’ but they’re lying through their teeth.

Not all vampire parlors and clubs are terrible. Just most of them. Club Nomad caters primarily to vampires, but they’ll welcome anyone looking for a night out. The bouncers there are better than most about keeping an eye on the crowds. If you want exclusivity, then L’Sourire en Sang run by the Société de Keres is as old and exclusive as you can get. They’re pretty strict about who they let in - mundane and vampire both - but I’ve heard that almost every human visitor has left alive.

Last but not least, there’s Cameo. It hasn’t been around very long, but it’s already pissed off all the old, mouldy vampires in the city so it has my vote of confidence. I heard it’s run by a new coalition in town called the Strix Assembly, and they’re very concerned about keeping their bloodbags alive and well. Pampered, even. They don’t mind the occasional shifter or supernatural drifting through, either.

Finding Good Mosquito Repellent Vampires might be some of the deadliest supernaturals out there, but lucky for us mortals there are some tried and true ways to keep them off your neck. Or kill one, if you need to.

First, sunlight. We’ve covered this. Keep up.

Second, rowan wood. I don’t know what it is about rowan specifically, but it’ll burn any vampire who touches it. They hate the smell of it too, if you’re in the market for new cologne.

Vampires have an aversion to garlic, but it’s not going to stop a determined one. Pepper spray is useful if you can make a quick getaway. Don’t bother with religious iconography or silver unless you want to be laughed at before you die.

And finally… I talk a lot of shit, but most vampires are just like everyone else. Common sense and a nice attitude will go a long way. This guide is so you know how to handle the dangerous ones.

Shapeshifter taglist: @sunset-a-story @touloserlautrec