#my poor eardrum rip

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

✦✧✦ CHAPTER 5 ✦✧✦

Poor Goldilocks, Nothing Is Just Right

Warning this part contains: Mania, Self- Harm (wanting to remove your skin), Body Pain, Blood & Bleeding, Pain, Cursing, being held down, minor drugging (just to make you eepy) Dark Theme, becoming pwd , mentions of being crippled or disabled, manipulations/manipulative actions, platonic kisses(?), tons of typo, barely proofread and Evil Reader

Note: I forgot to mention but In the previous chapter MC is 8-9 and in this one MC is 10-11 years old, The scary part is only in the first part, second is me just giving you a Victor treatment and a very nice sort of closing for Bruce's part, also again forgive me if Bruce is OOC it's hard to see Bruce/Batman as a cold person when the batman I knew in my childhood is selfless and compassionate and yes batman cries he cried plenty of times before what do you mean?.

MASTERLIST pages ↻4 , 5.....➢

NOW PLAYING ↻◁ ||▷↺ 4ÆM - Grimes ılıılıılılılıılıılı

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My body aches, bones feels like they're breaking and healing again, my skin is so heavy and itched, it itches, it's itchy, I want it off, I want to rip it off, I GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF ME!!!!.

My eyes opened with a sharp jerk of my body I screeched out in disgust, jumping from where I was laying as I used my hand to scratch and scratch and scratch till my nails dug through my skin and let blood seep out from the wounds.

'EVERYTHING IS WRONG! RIP IT! RIP IT! RIP IT! WE DON'T WANT THIS! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF!' We scream and yell as the room reverberates from my voice and the pounding in my head. The shadows rush, bouncing off the walls, and it seems like there's a shift in reality as I feel my soul and body splitting up into many, many pieces.

I can feel my veins pumping too much blood, traveling around and not being received properly, my eyes almost pop off from how hot, searing, and boiling my new blood is inside of me.

'I DON'T WANT THIS! IT'S WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!' They yell out more as they use my hands to hit my head and try to pull the hair out of my scalp.

The room kept spinning and everything seemed to glitch out in my brain as I fell off from something high and landed smack on the floor their hand gripped the back of my head and pulled it back preparing to smash my head on the ground.

As my forehead nears the hard surface, a sudden force tackled me. I become aware of a pair of hands pinning my wrist on the floor making my legs kick out in the absence of my hands in retaliation and raging out trying to twist their hold as my spit mixed with blood foams on my mouth as I yell for them to not touch me.

Another pair then reached out to trap my legs down, hearing someone else voice whisper to me as I slowly became weary and groaned in the ache of the harm caused to my body, focusing up as my vision came back clearer, as air fills up in my lungs and settling my breathing again, my eyes make out the head of Bruce as he stares down at me while my vision gets better.

He was peering down at me wearing a look of fear and guilt on his face as I caught the movements of his mouth realizing that he was talking directly to me, I calmed down, and slowly my body slacks on fatigue as he let go before moving to scoop my body up.

He lays my head on his chest making sure it won't move before standing along with me in his arms and laying me back to something soft and cushiony under my form, I stare back at him with my eyes half-lidded and tired while he sits on the side from what I can discern as a bed.

'It's too fluffy and silky for my taste, this isn't my bed, it's not right' I thought as I watched Bruce study me with a look of sadness as someone was moving behind him, Alfred holding a tray of glass with a pitcher of water walk towards Bruce's side -noting the patchiness of my throat- and setting it down as I observe the two talk, the pounding of my head muffled their voices to the point it's the only the vibrations of my eardrums I can hear.

I kept eyeing them until Alfred moved, pouring the water, and reached out to tilt my head before slowly tipping the glass assisting me to drink and feeling my body weight like lead.

Bruce then leans down and lays a kiss on the top of my brows surprising me even when I'm deep on falling asleep as he holds my limp hand and holds it under his warmer one, gripping it and squeezing in broken rhythm with a thumb over the pulse on my wrist, either to count my heartbeats or maybe to make sure if I'm still alive? I couldn't care less.

'You aren't supposed to notice me, you're not a part of this, you shouldn't be anywhere near me, you don't belong in my new family'

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Staring at the beautiful wooden handcraft cane, I reach out and caress the squeaky clean polish to the head where soft leather wraps around its handle along with a cute carving of a tiny baby bat on top.

Picking it up from the opened box with the fancy brand name printed over the cover where it was situated on top of a black cushion, I held it on my lap and tested its weight on my palm.

A brand new cane made just for me he said, to help me walk around since after the dip in that pit only my right leg was the casualty in the accident, it was all new, and with no study from what it truly is, it's hard to know what really causes the damage on my leg.

Which was confusing since from my basic understanding and knowledge from before, The pit was filled by Lazarus and weirdly enough it's the Joker who found it, even more suspicious is the location of the pits are only a few and the one I was tied to was never near the original one here in Gotham before.

Not only that Lazarus was supposed to heal, to resurrect the dead even give someone powers or just the simple physical enhancements, so why did I become crippled instead? why did it become the opposite instead?!.

Gripping the cane tightly, I huffed and screamed as I threw it away from me proceeding to thrash everything on the table.

"This isn't supposed to happen!! I didn't want this! all I wanted was a normal life and I ended up becoming a handicap!" I punched the wooden surface before kicking myself off the chair.

As I try to get even just one step, My right leg completely fails to carry my weight causing me to fall and painfully drop on the carpeted floor ending me just curling down and wailing in anger.

In the corner of my eye, I pick out their form standing in the corner of the room just staring at me blankly before blending back in the shadows when Bruce entered the field of my vision and kneeled in front of me.

"Hey hey hey you're ok, everything we'll be fine". He lifts up my upper body and hold me close.

"I'll find away to fix this, ok?" He said as he tried to comfort me but I just snap at him and tried to push me away.

'Liar' they slither out behind him and sneer lowering their head on the side of his face and going back like the way they came out as my vision glitched before me.

"Fix? Fix me?!" I shout slapping his hand away. "How?! huh? Tell me how?! This wouldn't even happened if you just listened to me in the first place!".

"I never wanted to have a stupid debut! I never wanted to be kidnapped by that goddamn clown and this is what I get?! becoming a fucking limping idiot for the rest of my life?!"

"Because of you! It's because of you I ended up having my leg practically useless! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!". I spitted out as I balled up my fist and started hitting him anywhere my hands could land.

As I holler and shriek at his face, he just closes his eyes and takes my hits head on not even trying to defend himself.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I wish I never stayed here! I wish I never met you! I wish you just left me in that orphanage and let me rot ther-".

"That's enough! I know it's my fault that I was too late to save you and I shouldn't have forced you to do anything". He cut me off by grabbing my hands and stopping me as he looked me in the eye.

"But I promise to do anything I can to make sure you live a better life, you're my child and I am your father, you are my responsibility and my only priority from now on". He declares as he lowers his head and lays his forehead on my small knuckles.

They sneak in there and put their hands on top of his as they shake their head 'no' to me before moving out of my sight.

"Don't hate me for only doing what's right for you, I only want to do what's best for you because I am your father, so give me one more chance to make things right". He pleads as I feel small droplets drip on my skin and I see him quietly crying.

I watch him in disbelief, listening to his words and seeing him cry in front of me, for me. He never did that before, not ever Ha! Not even once in any of my resets! this is different, everything about this is different.

'Somethings not right'

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Bruce was acting more and more strange these couple of days, He kept checking up on me, staying or lingering around me and where I went, and even smiled more often when he went out as Batman.

Not the typical Brucie shit smile but a genuine one, a simple soft looking one, and the scariest part it's always on his face when I'm anywhere near him.

'You can't stay here anymore' I hear their voice again in the back of my head but I barely see them anymore.

What's more weird is that the voice keeps getting quieter each time I hear them, the little drawings and the hallucinations start appearing less and less.

I don't know what's happening and I don't have any idea what to do, I lived through many lives before and nothing like this ever happened, What the fuck?

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Staring dumbfoundedly at him and then back at the wrapped present in his hand, I blinked in bewilderment at his words.

"W-what? A portrait? For what?". I asked him as he gently placed the box on my lap as I sat on the leathered couch located in the more private living room in the mansion, A family room I think?.

"An official portrait of just the two of us since the old one with your grandparents looks a little bit lonely by being on that wall alone," He says as he sits on the other cushy armchair next to me.

I follow where he is looking and see the large portrait of a younger him wearing the equivalent of a boy's suit and a big boyish smile on his face in the tapestry with him was his mother, Martha Wayne wearing a simple yet fashionable creamy white dress as she wears her iconic pearl necklace around her neck and lastly was a man behind them, Thomas Wayne who just like Bruce was wearing an expensive black suit and an award-winning smile even for a doctor.

The three look so much like how a happy family should be, all smiles and comfortable just being together and complete.

"As for your present, you can take a look now if you want," He said as he leaned over to look at my reaction I carefully opened the box but not before sending him a weird look.

"It's something for you to wear for the portrait next week" He stated before standing up and standing next to the end of the couch near me.

"I know I might be asking a lot but a portrait is one of the things that comes in tradition for this family" Kneeling down as he lays a hand on top of my head.

"Something that lasts longer, to remember the memories again and I want you to be a part of it, a memory we can always look back on, something nice and has a great sentimental value for us". He disclosed to me before leaning down and pecking the top of my head before ruffling it, walking away, and leaving the room afterward.

Looking down at the clothing on my lap I rub the fabric together and deduce that it's an expensive one based on the silky feel then back at the painting again and study the old portrait on top of the fireplace, the fire's light illuminating the brush strokes and their still faces.

"How funny, I never was in any of your portraits before, was I?" I whisper a smirk curling on my lips as make the decision in my head.

"Well then, maybe this won't be so bad". Grabbing my cane, I get off the couch and slowly walk till I'm standing directly under the painting in front of the fireplace.

"After all a family needs a father right?"

"I'll just have to make sure you become the perfect one first, my new family, my rules". I smile looking at the younger version of Bruce before walking out as well.

"You're not the only one good at manipulating, Bruce".

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Patting out any dust or wrinkle on my clothes I stare at my reflection on the new dresser in my new room that Bruce renovated near his -do I have to call him Father or maybe Dad now?.

Observing my appearance as Alfred was fixing or checking anything on my clothes, I noticed a sudden change in my look, I was the same as always between from before but healthier and less drained, upon inspecting closer I caught a brief glow of something green under the real color of my irises.

'Lazarus Green'. I hear their voice making me smile as I spy them in the mirror, they stand just behind the large bed curtain over my new bed peeking their head over then vanishing in the blink of my eye.

After that, Alfred handed over my cane and led me to a studio-like room a little bit further inside the mansion we entered and saw Bruce talking with someone who I guess might be the painter seeing a large canvas along with some paints and brushes beside them.

Smiling I headed towards Bruce as he introduced me to the painter who greeted me with a hello and a nice compliment in their French accent, I looked at Bruce with a raise of my brow as he just chuckled and smiled down at me.

"What? I wanted the best painter to make our family portrait". He remarked before sitting on a fancy armchair with a red cushion back and cushioned seating fixed on it.

He then pats a stool with a similar design and red cushion seat that perfectly partnered with his chair and helps me sit on it, an exception for me since I can't stand for too long, The painter then walks forward and fixes our poses as we talk.

"And there are many incredible painters here in Gotham as well-" I countered before hesitating and gripping my cane when the painter positioned in over my lap to hold.

"F-......Father, if you wanted to start making Gotham a better place, maybe you should look into the lives of the people as well, it's only fair after all" I convey what I meant then look into his reaction.

There he sat with his eyes widened in fascination and surprise before changing it with a large smile and reaching out to caress my cheek.

"Smart thinking kiddo". He then held my small hand in his as the painter asked for us to look at him to start with the painting.

A perfect Father looks out for his Family, Batman looks out for Gotham and this city is my first family, won't be too selfish of me to use you right, Father?

I'm just making sure everything is just right

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yeesh the plot is leaving my head but yes this is the end of Bruce and MC finally now we can head to the rest of the fam.

I don't like some yandere fics out there that straights up just let's MC be captured or under control of yandere's I want to have something different for a change, No hate to the other yandere writers out there y'all are amazing because I know yandere genre is all about that I just want a little twist in mine.

In the end, Y/N will be using what the fam did to them and use it against them to get what they want, Like I said I wanted Y/N to be mature, and calculative and use people to their advantage, their old and hopeful version is no longer with us.

Taglist are still open my peps.

[house-of-angst]

Y'all mind if I talk about Present Mic's quirk for a second? Great.

So, my partner and I have been having Erasermic brainrot lately, and while we were binging content with them, I became interested in Hizashi's voice quirk. I began searching stuff about how sound/volume works, and linking it to his canon stuff.

I'll just say, the info I found makes him a pretty scary guy. It's a shame he's so underused in both canon and fanon.

Frequency

First of all, I want to talk about something everyone knows about him: his quirk is potent enough to shatter glass. Now, when it comes to decibels, it's always important to consider the time and distance a certain note is held for, since these can impact the "hit" a certain sound wave can have when influenced by effects such as the air or vibrations.

(Please keep this in mind for the reminder of this post)

When it comes to glass, however, it breaks almost instantly under the pressure of his voice. Our most constant example of this is the man's poor lenses, but there is a scene I'd like to talk about the most, it being he one where he completely shatters Shigaraki's tank.

One might argue that the glass was already weakened from Mirko's kicks, but that's honestly part of something that makes this so impressive to me; Mirko's legs are strong enough to straight-up rip a high-end Nomu's head clean off, yet this tank was tough enough to withstand two attacks from her - including her ultimate move - before starting to leak; and the fact she was heavily injured doesn't fly here, as we very clearly could see she wasn't holding back one bit.

Now, let's get technical.

According to Google, a normal tone of voice would be around 50 decibels, while the required to shatter glass would be a minimum of 105. For comparison, that's roughly the same volume as a jackhammer. Now, you might be thinking, "Oh, that's not so bad! Some singers can do that!" and you'd be right, but there's also some other things to consider. Allow me to explain.

Some singers can reach a pitch that can make glass vibrate enough for it to break, but I've personally only heard of this happening if the person has their mouth close to a smaller, empty cup, and even then the volume would be distributed around. Hizashi, on the other hand, was standing several feet away from this reinforced tank and was able to shatter it immediately, using the directional speaker around his neck to aim the volume. This would naturally require for him to hit even higher decibels, specially when you take into consideration that one's frequency must match the glass' for it to vibrate, which drastically increases when it's dampened. (Read next topic for more info on this)

And then there's his glasses which, like I've stated before, are the most common thing he breaks with his voice. Obviously, this is not directed and it's not a total shatter, but there is something to be observed; say, did you know the necessary volume for lenses to crack, when not being directly aimed at, would be that of a nearby shot from a highcaliber gun? That's roughly 140-170 decibels.

Harm factor

Boy, oh boy! I'm betting most of you were looking for this part when you clicked the read more, right? Look no further, I've got you covered, you just better remember what I mentioned before about distance and duration.

Hizashi's parents were unfortunate enough to have a mutant child that was born with his quirk already active, and I'm willing to bet a newborn doesn't have the slightest bit of control over a power as destructive as a sonic-powered voice, which immediately resulted in everyone in the room bleeding from the ears.

Sound-related ear bleeding is most commonly associated with a ruptured eardrum, which can happen at around 150 decibels and is about the same as a jet engine taking off. While a baby most likely unleashed his maximum voice power on the first breath, I believe something like that would, thankfully, only develop fully after puberty, just like with non-powered people like us, since his quirk is a drastic intensification of a common function and not a new ability altogether.

With that being said... The Finals Exam.

In this, Hizashi was standing very far and, even with the directional speakers, there were many obstacles in the way that kept him from landing direct soundwaves on the students. Regardless, Jirou's ears bled in less than 30 minutes being exposed to this.

This could have happened due to the fact that she has a hearing quirk, which would make hers much more sensitive, but let's study this, shall we? We don't have the exacts of what happened there, but the students are visibly uncomfortable upon the first soundwave, which would suggest it was at about 120 decibels upon impact (with 85 already being enough to cause damage to your ears) and being emitted even higher by him, considering distance muffles volume. Still, I think all that would be nothing compared to the scream he let out after those bugs started crawling on him, with how unfiltered that was.

With Jirou, it comes to no surprise this volume at this distance and time almost rendered her deaf, and realistically would take several months of healing time. How much do you want to bet Hizashi got a solid scolding from Shouta? I mean, it was supposed to be a challenge, but homeboy came this close to breaking her quirk.

Another thing I want to point out is that his voice is powerful enough to actually fucking launch people, and this only happens due to an event called acoustic trauma, basically meaning Hizashi can surpass supersonic levels. Although, it's important to note that this effect is caused mostly due to pressure and not so much as sound, so while it's not freakishly loud (about the same as thunder), it can still cause hearing and psychological damage.

! WARNING !

The following part contains graphic mentions of injury, and death. Do not proceed if these are sensitive topics for you.

Now, we look at the disturbing side of Hizashi's quirk. Buckle in, because it's a wild ride.

Remember what I commented earlier, about him having to hit even higher frequencies to be able to shatter Shigaraki's tank? First of all, as the doctor was sent flying, this qualifies as supersonic, but that's not all. To shatter such a protected tank, with liquid inside increasing the density, he'd have to hit over 200 decibels; which is considered extremely dangerous and most definitely fatal, as the threshold of pain is of 115-140 - this can cause damage such as crushed ear bones, ruptured lungs, or embolism. For comparison, this would come close to standing right next to a Saturn V Moon Rocket during launch, and is no longer considered a "sound" due to the vacuum.

With that being said, the man came very close to dying by Hizashi's hands (voice?) twice. Not only was he so close during the lens incident, literally being inches away from his face and in risk of getting his eardrums ruptured already, but if Mic had decided to raise his voice even more during his rage, it'd be possible for the frequency to make the doctor's inner organs malfunction, or straight-up burst from the pressure.

But that's not the worst part.

After establishing that the lethal amount of over 200 decibels would be necessary to shatter the tank given the circumstances, if he exceeded 240 and the doctor happened to be in the way of this, it would be enough to cause his head to explode upon impact. That old man better be grateful that he was standing a feet few away, and that the supersonic blast blew him away a bit more, or it'd be an immediate game over.

With all this being said, how devastating would it be for this guy to scream his rage out?

(Please keep in mind that many of the extreme cases in this are actually impossible to happen in a real-life scenario and are purely speculation!)

[hirukochan]

Blindsided

A Severus Snape x fem!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: Complaining to your friend about Snape's complicated presence in your life ends up with you being pulled into the battle of Hogwarts. Will Snape survive?

Warnings: Smut, some degradation, angst, blood

Wordcount: 6300

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

“I don’t know!” You whine and drop your head onto the counter.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’ how can you not know why you fuck someone?”

“It was a lapse in judgement.”

“A huge bloody lapse that must have been.�� Aberforth grunts and dries a glass with a dirty rag. “Severus fucking Snape - his name is almost as feared as you-know-who’s these days.”

“I know!” You peer up from the counter. Aberforth looks grim - but he always looks grim. In your sixth year, you once and for all decided the Three Broomsticks is too crowded and unpleasant to be in. The Hog’s Head already had a terrible reputation back then, but you didn’t care as long as it was quiet. A sorta friendship developed between you and the barman after that. “Do you hate me now?”

Aberforth grunts. “Hate you? Ridiculous girl.” He turns to put the glass back on the shelf to the other glasses that were never used. “What would I hate you for?”

“I slept with Snape.”

“And?”

“Twice.”

“I repeat, and?”

“He- he killed your brother…”

“I’m certain he has killed a lot more than just my brother and as you know Albus and I haven’t spoken in years. When you are as old as me you don’t view death as something so terrible anymore. Anyway, I heard he was sick. Caught some nasty curse or something.”

“I’m a terrible person.”

“Don’t flatter yourself! There are way worse people out there. Snape for example.” He makes a sound that distantly resembles a laugh. A rattling  humph  sound. You glare at him, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitch.

“Was it at least good?”

“That’s the worst part.” You groan and prop your head up against your hand.

“That bad?”

“The opposite.”

“That good, hm?”

You blush and quickly take a large gulp of your drink to hide it. 

“You know, I’ve said it before you should-”

“I’m not joining the resistance, Aberforth!” You groan. “I have nothing to bring to the table. I was decent at best in Defense. I’d get myself killed within the first few days.”

“You know Snape.”

“I fail to see the connection.” Aberforth raises a brow and you shrink a little under his intense ‘are-you-kidding-me’-gaze.

“A spy in their midst would be useful.” He says gruffly and places another glass on a shelf.

“I’m no spy! I can’t fool Snape! We can hate him as much as he deserves to be hated but you have to agree that he’s a bloody genius! I could never fool him.”

“You said he broke into your flat while fatally injured. Even a genius is sometimes just a man thinking with his cock.”

“I’m not whoring myself out to-” Your outrage is cut short by an ear-splitting scream outside.

“This damn Caterwauling Charm!” Aberforth roars and hurls his dishcloth to the ground. You press your hands to your ears to shield them from the scream. It rips through the night like a sharp knife through skin, tearing at your eardrums and every nerve in your body. It is like the caster of the charm is standing right next to you but the terrible sound clearly comes from outside.

“What is this?” You shout over the wail towards Aberforth.

“Curfew’s been broken! They were boasting about being sent here to catch Potter. Seem to be thinking he’d be stupid enough to come here and they seem to be right.”

You get up from the bar stool and follow Aberforth to the window.

The wailing stops. You take a relieved breath and drop your hands to your side. Multiple Death Eaters dressed in dark robes are storming out of the  Three Broomsticks . They are talking about something, but you can’t hear.

“Poor Rosmerta.” You grimace at the thought of having to serve those monsters at your establishment. Instinctively you grab your wand in your pocket. Dementors flood into the village. You tense.

“Bloody fool!” Aberforth growls. A shimmering blue stag runs through the town centre, fighting off shadowy dementors. Potter’s Patronus. You gasp, clasping your hands over your mouth. So Aberforth is right. Harry Potter is here in Hogsmeade.

“What would possess him-”

Aberforth stalks through the room and rips open the door. 

“Potter!” He hisses. Wind tears at his robes and what sounds like three sets of hasty footsteps cross through the room and up the trickery wooden staircase behind the counter. You see nothing. If it weren’t for the steps you’d think nothing happened. 

“Invisibility cloak.” Aberforth mutters over his shoulder, but his attention is suddenly pulled away by multiple hooded figures reaching the pub. You take a step back, disappearing in the shadows. 

“So what?” Bellows Aberforth in response to something you didn’t catch. “So what? You send dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at’em! I’m not having’em near me, I’ve told you that. I’m not having it!”

“That wasn’t your Patronus! That was a stag. It was Potter’s!” A Death Eater shouts back, sounding rather childish you note.

“Stag!” Roars Aberforth. He draws his wand and you tense, grabbing your own tighter, your knuckles going white. If they attack Aberforth you’ll- jump into a fight you’re gloriously outnumbered in? “Stag! You idiot - Expecto Patronum! ”

Aberforth’s large goat Patronus jumps from the tip of his wand. Head down, it charges toward the village centre, and out of sight. 

“That’s not what I saw” says the Death Eater, sounding less convinced than before.

“Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,” Another Death Eater interrupted the first. “Someone was out on the streets against regulations-”

“It was me.” You say and step forward, out of the shadows like Snape always used to when catching you out and about in the castle after curfew and the thought almost makes you laugh hysterically considering what you’re about to do. “When I arrived that horrible sound started.”

“You set off the charm?” The first Death Eater says confused. His eyes roam over your body, causing a cold shiver to run down your back and a foul taste to spread in your mouth. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself to hide from the hungry stares of the dark wizards.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here at this hour, beautiful?” The second one purrs in a sickly-sweet tone of voice. You somehow manage to keep your blatant disgust from showing on your face. You square your shoulder and raise your chin, looking down at the men with nothing but disinterested arrogance.

“That is hardly of your concern.” The men look at each other, snickering mockingly.

“‘Hardly of your concern’?” One sneers. “Princess thinks herself too good to follow the rules.”

“Perhaps we ought to teach her a lesson, boys.”

“I am-” you raise your voice to drown out their beginning discussion of what to do with you. “-here to see Severus, so do yourself the favour and fuck off, yes?” A murmur passes through the Death Eaters. Saying Snape’s first name feels weird.

“The headmaster doesn’t receive walk-ins - especially not at this hour, even if they are as pretty as you.”

“He’s expecting me, you moron!” He is definitely not expecting you! He said he hopes you’ll never have to see him again!

“She sounds just like him.” One of the figures murmurs.

“Wait-” Another interrupts him. “I recognise you! You’re Snape’s little whore! Yes! The one in Diagon Alley, you remember boys? The shop that’s off-limits. I wondered why a pathetic bookshop would be off-limits until Wilkies said he was sent to get Snape from there and who do you think opened the door?”

You keep your chin held high and your clenched fists hidden in the pockets of your coat you had not taken off in your hurry to get out all the things weighing on your chest. Aberforth catches your gaze. His brows are knitted, an unspoken question in his eyes. You give him a tiny nod. 

You can do this. 

If Potter is here, here, there must be a damn good reason for it and if you could keep Snape distracted long enough-

Something in your chest tightens painfully at the thought of deceiving the man, which is ridiculous! He’s a Death Eater and a murderer!

He said this will all be over soon and while he probably meant that you-know-who will kill Potter soon - you have the chance to help the resistance here, help Potter. Everyone says he’s your only hope so here goes nothing.

“If you’re done wasting my time, then!” You growl, pissed off by the way they speak about you right to your face.

“You’re not going anywhere alone!” The Death Eater who recognised you says sharply. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost on your way to your…” His eyes roam over your body and he licks his lips. “ Date .”

It’s hard to resist the urge to claw his eyeballs out with your fingernails but you succeed. Somehow. 

He steps to the side and gestures for you to lead the way. “We’ll escort you.”

You shoot him a snide glance and leave behind  The Hogshead  and Aberforth and the pretended safety you have been surrounding yourself in ever since Albus Dumbledore died.

Your stomach drops further with every step you take towards the imposing castle looming over the quiet village. You are flanked by two of the hooded figures. Your mouth feels dry and fuzzy and not even the sight of your beloved Hogwarts with its glimmering windows can ease your anxiety.

What if Snape blows your cover? ‘Expecting her? Why would I be expecting her?’  What if he decides to play along? Or maybe he’ll ask why you lied?

You take a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air into your lungs, focusing on the way they expand in your chest.

Snape came to  your  flat when he was fatally injured! Aberforth is right, that has to mean something! It just has to…And Potter is here for a reason! They say he is the only one that will be able to defeat you-know-who and while placing your fate on the shoulders of a seventeen-year-old sounds ridiculous  you  will certainly not defeat the most powerful Dark wizard to ever live! But you can distract Snape. Yes. You can keep him busy and buy Potter a chance to do whatever he is here for- 

Or Snape sees right through you and Potter doesn’t have a plan.

You can’t even begin to tell yourself you don’t want to distract Snape like that because your body is already working against you.

You reach the iron gate. It opens with a shrill squeak and your feet once more hit the grounds of Hogwarts. Even with your nerves raw and plotting an escape from your body to save themselves while you walk to your doom. There is light in Hagrid’s hut. The treeline of the forbidden forest is cloaked in shadows, thicker and somehow darker than normal shadows and just like when you were a student here you feel like eyes are watching you from between the trees. The water of the Black Lake splashes against rocks and while in your teenage years you found the sound soothing it now only serves to unnerve you further. 

You don’t look up to the headmaster's window. 

You’re also shamefully aroused and your heart flutters at the thought of seeing Snape’s endlessly dark eyes that look so cold and apathetic from a distance but when you were standing right in front of him they had looked so soft and filled with emotion you could not dissect and you wonder if they always looked like that. Perhaps you had just never stood close enough to him to notice? A vein part of you whispered that it is all for you and no one else. 

You squash the voice.

Your steps echo in the entrance hall. Your eyes catch the piercing gaze of Professor McGonagall, the strict head of Gryffindor house and Transfigurations Professor. Next to her in the doorway to the Great Hall stands Professor Flitwick. As soon as they see you and your escorts they hastily end their hushed conversation. They stare at you in quiet recognition and shock and you fail to conceal your fear from them.

“This way, beautiful.” One of the Death Eaters sneers and grabs your arm. You rip free and glare at him, barely resisting the urge to punch him. “Headmaster must be waiting already.” He grins, bearing his yellow teeth at you with unabashed ridicule. Disgust prickles over your skin, sinking into your stomach.

“Don’t touch me.” You hiss because you can’t help yourself. Without looking at your former Professors again you turn towards the grand staircase. Each step worsens the brooding feeling of inevitable doom that’s waiting behind the Gargoyle and then you’re standing in front of him much sooner than you ever would have expected or been ready to.

Snape is sitting behind a large desk, bend over a stack of parchments, greasy black hair falling in front of his face like curtains. He is holding a raven feather quill with a sharp silver tip which is gliding over the parchments with quick, elegant motions. He doesn’t bother looking up. He doesn’t seem to think the Death Eaters worthy of his attention.

You look around the round room. You were a good student - or at least a boring one. You’ve never been called into the headmaster’s office. The walls are lined with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses and you feel transported back in time, just another student flinching at the stringent eyes of her professors. Dark leather-bound books adorn the many shelves and you can’t help but wonder whether Snape has read them all.

“I seem to remember you having been assigned to guard the village.” His deep voice cuts through the silence with taunting indifference and the way the words roll over Snape’s tongue and vibrate in his throat has you pressing your thighs together.

“This one claims you’re expecting her.” At that, Snape looks up. If he is surprised to see you, he doesn’t let it show. You shrink under his intense gaze no matter how much you told yourself you wouldn’t on the way up to his office. His eyes are cold…empty somehow. A man who has seen too much horror to not have lost some part of his humanity along the way. 

He’s even skinnier, the shadows under his eyes deeper. You feel the overwhelming need to hug him despite everything he has done.

“And?” The other one says impatiently. “Are you?” 

“I was waiting for you to leave but it appears I need to spell it out for you - unless you were expecting a treat for fetching what is mine like good guard dogs?”

He- he didn’t- he is playing along?

The hooded men grumble a few unsavoury insults and slam the door shut behind them. The sound leaves behind an eerie silence that Snape doesn’t seem too interested in breaking.

His gaze drops back down onto his parchment and he begins scribbling again. The portraits share looks and whisper with each other.

“Hi…” The word gets stuck in your throat and sounds far higher than you usually talk - you doubt he understood more than a gurgle. You clear your throat and take a hesitant step forward, closer to the man who these days is as feared as you-know-who.

Snape sets aside his quill and steeples his fingers. His intense gaze seems to burn right through your forehead and has you squirming. Something in his eyes softens, a change so miniscule you almost missed it.

“What are you doing here and why are you lying?” He asks. He speaks softer too. Less cold, less sardonically.

“I kinda…tripped the Caterwauling Charm when I arrived in Hogsmeade and…there were Dementors and Death Eaters and they said some things…I got scared so I kinda told them….you were expecting me-”

His lips curl. “‘Kinda told them’ ?”

“I did- I did tell them.” You let out a nervous laugh.

“Why were you in Hogsmeade to begin with?” Suspicion flashes through his eyes. You take another step forward.

“I- I missed you.” Not exactly a lie. You do miss him for some fucked up reason! You’ve been thinking about him every day since that stupid blind date stood you up and his eyes haunt you every night when you close your eyes. The memories of what happened in that exact bed you were lying in came back to you and more often than not ended with you panting his name as you made yourself cum - knowing your own touch would never compare to his.

His eyes darken, his jaw tense as though he can- 

You blush.

He can read your mind. He told you at the restaurant! You try not to think about Potter, but trying not to think about something always leads to thinking more about it so you bring your thoughts back to you in your bed. Covered in sweat, clutching your pillow-

“You missed me?” He asks, pretending to not have understood you but the subtle taunt in his voice betrays him. Perhaps he wants it to betray him. “And so you…what? Thought you’d go to Hogsmeade and try to get into Hogwarts? You could have sent an owl, dear.”

“The thought didn’t occur to me.”

“My, my…oh well, you’re here now aren’t you?” He pushes back his chair and spreads his legs. “Show me how much you missed me.” Mischief and an unspoken challenge glitter in his eyes and for some reason it turns you on further.

As though caught in a trance you move, rounding the desk and closing the distance between you and Snape. Distantly you are aware that the portraits are watching you. Your stomach churns and flip flops and the liquor you had at Aberforth’s turns out to have been a huge mistake. 

Snape undoes the buckle of his belt. Something in the way his hands move and his shoulders are drawn into a tense, straight line tells you he doesn’t expect you to go through with this.

Joke’s on him.

You’re not at all against this turn of events.

Not now that he is in front of you, so close you could just reach out and press your body against his, feel his hot breath on your neck or his lips against your breasts.

You push your coat over your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground as you sink to your knees between his legs. His eyebrows rise and lips part, his eyes following you.

“You’ll have to teach me though, headmaster.” You purr. A smirk pulls on your lips. Snape’s surprise lasts for another few seconds before it flickers and morphs to sombre satisfaction.

“Take out my cock.” You can’t help the trembling of your fingers when you reach for the buttons of his trousers. It’s not fear, rather the opposite. You bite your lip and slip your hand into his trousers. He inhales sharply when your fingers close around his cock. He is already half hard and throbs in your hand. Gently you free him and then look back up, waiting for instruction.

You’re not stupid. You know the basics - kinda. You’ve never done this, after all, a fact Snape seems to relish in.

“Dumb slut can’t even suck cock, hm?” He snickers. His insult should offend you. You should get mad and insult him back and get up, storming out of his office in a cloud of rage - you don’t. You get  wetter . An uncomfortable wet spot in your knickers - the testament of your decaying moral compass. 

‘Fuck it’, you think. ‘Potter is here - we might all die today.’

If the world ends today what does it matter if you’re a traitor? A terrible, depraved, morally corrupt woman that is drawn to you-know-who’s second in command? A man almost as feared as his master?

“Lick it.” His voice cuts through your thoughts. Cold and sharp like an icicle falling from a roof, large and fast enough to pierce through a person. You part your lips and swipe your tongue over the tip of his cock. Snape groans under his breath. He reclines in his chair. The old leather creaks under his weight.

He tangles a hand into your hair, stroking your head as though you’re his loyal pet, seeking its master’s closeness.

You press your flat tongue to his cockhead, licking several hard, broad strokes over it. You place kisses just beneath it and work your way down his shaft, alternating kisses with licks all while dragging your thumb gently over the underside of his cock, just by his cockhead.

Snape’s groans get louder with each pass of your tongue, his grip on your hair tightens. 

“Ahhh-  fuck….what a good girl- a filthy, dumb slut satisfying her headmaster, huh? Or at least trying. You’re giving this your all, aren’t you girl? How pathetic you are.” He tears at your hair, pulling your head up and pressing your lips against his cockhead. Beads of a milky liquid are gathering at the slit. “So desperate for cock you come all the way here in the middle of the night on the off chance I might be willing to fuck you again.” Keeping your eyes trained on his you catch the liquid with the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t taste as horrible as you feared it would. Salty, kinda bitter.

“Open your mouth.” You do. You obey without hesitation. Snape looks like a king sitting on his throne and you’re the new addition to his harem, learning to please her king in all the ways he likes.

Snape brings your head closer, pulling on your hair, keeping iron-like control of your head. You grab hold of his trousers, clutching the fabric between your still-trembling fingers. 

His cock slips between your lips, forcing you to open wider to him, your lips stretching around his girth. Snape looks at you with a mixture of admiration, tenderness and roaring lust and your chest swells with something akin to pride. Pride that you caused such a shift in a stoic, controlled man like Snape. And perhaps hope that Snape is not merely the barbaric Death Eater he is appearing to be. Perhaps there is more to him.

“That’s it, girl-” He groans and drops his head back against his chair, grabbing your head with both of his hands now, forcing it down on his cock. Force is unnecessary of course. You wouldn’t stop doing this even if he wasn’t holding onto you.

You drool over his hard cock while Snape bobs your head up and down, muttering words you can’t hear over your own sputtering and choking and the blood pounding in your ears. Your knickers are ruined at this point. Your cunt clenches around jarring nothingness. You’re so aroused it  hurts . There is an unbearable need deep inside you and you can’t- can’t-

You let go of his trouser, dropping your hand between your spread-out knees and under your skirt. Never have you been so wet. Your fingers slide into you without any resistance. You moan around Snape’s cock. 

He opens his eyes, blinks as though he isn’t quite aware of his surroundings. His eyes meet yours. You must look pathetic. Drooling over his cock, tears and snot smeared on your face while he uses your mouth to pleasure himself.

“Are you touching yourself, dear?” He coos, his lips curling into a smug grin. Your eyelids drop shut and you moan again. Snape pulls on your hair, plucking you off his cock. You whine both at the sting and the loss of contact. Before you can fully catch up with the situation Snape has gotten to his feet, pulling you with him. He smashes his lips against yours. His hand is securely tangled in your hair, pressing you closer to him while also preventing you from pulling away.

You don’t want to.

You missed him so much. Even though you don’t really know him. Even though you really shouldn’t. He was your teacher and he is a murderer and you don’t give a shit.

You mewl into the kiss and cling to the front of his robes.

“You’re fucking beautiful.” He murmurs against your lips. His hand leaves your hair. He grasps at your arse, squeezing your cheeks in his large hands that have slipped under your skirt. He is grinding you into his erection. 

“Snape-” You moan. He forces you back. Your thighs hit the edge of his desk. Snape lifts you up on it and drops to his knees. Your hands tangle into his hair instantly, pulling him closer, parting your legs for him. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He repeats, sounding almost dazed. He kisses your knee, trailing up your thigh, inching teasingly, torturously towards where you need him most.

“-Snape…”

“I don’t want to die without knowing how you taste.” Your mind is too far gone, too useless, too lust-drenched to register his words or the pang of worry you would normally feel at hearing them. Just a few minutes earlier you would have noticed the certainty in the word die. Like a man on death row, walking towards his execution. 

Snape tears at your knickers, pulling them roughly down your legs.

Hot. His tongue is so hot- heat that sears at your skin, killing and saving you all at once. 

You grip his hair tighter and throw your head back. Snape laps at your cunt, licking broad, hard strokes over your folds, pulling moan after pathetic, whimpering moan from you.

Much too soon he stops, leaving you just on the edge of release, suspended in the air, surrounded by heat and desperation and roaring pleasure.

“Snape.” You rasp, your voice strained.

“You’ll cum on my cock or you won’t cum at all, dear.” He says. He probably aimed to sound teasing, in control, smug maybe. But control has long left this room. Neither of you possess a single ounce of it and he sounds equally as needy as you feel. You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him closer.

“Yes, headmaster.” You say. His Adam’s Apple bobs with the hard swallow he takes. He closes his eyes and his jaw tenses.

“Vixen.” He growls and pounces at you. One second you’re sitting, smirking at Snape, the next you’re buried under his weight, pressed down on the desk. He enters you in one thrust, a truly sinful groan falling from his lips. He fucks you rough - much rougher than the last two times. You’re kissing, clicking teeth and gasping for air. Snape pounds into you, his thick cock stretches you open, hitting all the right spots. You cling to Snape, grasping at his sleeves and collar, desperate to touch him, feel him. 

Last time Snape clung to you like a dying man to life - now you’re clinging to him like life not ready to let death take what is hers. 

“Snape!” He sucks on the delicate skin over your throat, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“I had made my peace with never seeing you again.” He rasps in your ear between feverish kisses. “I don’t- I can’t-” Whatever it is he wanted to say, it’s lost to your shared pleasure. Snape presses his face against the crook of your neck, panting and groaning and you cry out, pressure mounting inside you. Ripples morph to tidal waves, swallow you up, pull you under and lift you up all at once and Snape murmurs something against your collarbone you can’t make out. 

You can feel it’s important though. 

Crucial, world-changing, momentously significant information and you sob. The worlds slip through your fingers like sand in an hourglass and you hold onto Snape tighter, tighter so perhaps those words aren’t lost- he isn’t lost-

Snape lifts his head and kisses you. Soft, gentle. A stark contrast to before. There’s longing in the kiss, regret and pain and you weave your fingers through his hair and kiss him back, begging for him to shatter your worries because something isn’t right here! You can tell- something- 

What aren’t you seeing?

Droplets hit your skin.

Are you crying?

An explosion tears you apart. It’s in the distance, muffled through the many ancient walls separating the headmaster's office from the source. Both of you look up. Snape at once composed, his eyes once more distant. Wetness lingers in them. 

“Stay here.” He orders.

“What’s going on?” Is Potter here? Snape has meanwhile straightened up and fixed his clothes and hair.

“Stay.”

“Snape!” You push your skirt down and jump from the table, following him towards the door. He pauses. Tension drawn into every muscle, in the very way he stands, unable to face you. “Please-” Your voice breaks.

“I need you to stay here.”

“Please talk to me.” Now you’re definitely crying.

“I told you this will be over soon. Today’s the day.”

You shake your head. Can he stop being a fucking enigma and just be honest with you for once! 

He wants to leave, but you grab his hand and hold him back. He’s trembling. You couldn’t tell before, but touching him now- 

He’s scared.

You wrap your arms around his waist and press your face to his back, sobbing. 

“I need to know you’re safe. Please- I’m begging you- stay here.” His voice is heavy and crack at the end.

“Severus-”

He swirls around in your embrace and cups your cheeks before kissing you. The kiss tastes of salt…

“It’ll all be over and if it goes according to plan you’ll be free. You’ll be safe. It’ll be over. Promise me- promise me you’ll find happiness. That you’ll live, that you’ll find love and have a family of your own and- that you will be happy  and safe  and loved !”

“Severus-” Snape presses his lips to your forehead before leaning his own against it. He has his eyes closed.

“Promise me.” He sounds like the words physically hurt him. “Please! ”

“If you promise to come back to me!” You’ve grasped the front of his robes again. Tears stream over your cheeks. Snape doesn’t answer. He gently disentangles your hands from his clothes and with a billow of his cloak he is gone.

You clasp your hands over your mouth and sink to your knees, shaken with silent sobs.

This can’t be happening- this can’t be real. You feel numb. There is no fear left, not even pain which you had expected. You feel empty. Like Snape took a part of you with him when he left.

For a long time, nothing happens. You gather your pathetic self from the ground and drag yourself over to Snape’s chair. Aimlessly you open drawers in search of some liquor. Snape surely would have liquor in his desk, right?

“Bottom drawer, dear.” A warm female voice says. You flinch but quickly remember you are in fact surrounded by a bunch of portraits. You don’t even have it in you to blush.

You open the suggested drawer with more force than necessary. A bottle rolls over the bottom of the drawer. It’s some fancy whiskey. Not that you care. You pick up to bottle and are about to unstopper it when-

A picture lies in the drawer. It was hidden underneath the bottle. With knitted brows, you set the bottle aside and pick it up.

It’s you.

You are in front of the bookshop. Wind is pulling at your hair and snowflakes are falling down on you. You’re laughing and trying to catch them with your tongue.

Why does Snape have a picture of you in his desk? Why is it in his whiskey drawer?

Your mind pictures him sitting here, taking swigs of his fancy liquor and staring at the picture of you.

You should feel uncomfortable. This is- weird. It should  be weird. 

It’s not.

It doesn’t feel like it at least. It feels of suppressed longing, of a yearning for something he can’t allow himself to have but is unable to let go of.

You can’t stay here. You have a terrible feeling about all this. Something terrible is going to happen. 

Leaving Snape’s office you stumble into a war zone. Hexes and curses flash through the air, there are screams and shouts. You duck, draw your wand and join the battle. 

It’ll all be over today .

Snape’s words play on repeat in your head. Everything blurs together. You send your nastiest curses at the hooded Death Eaters all while looking out for greasy black hair and slimmer than they should be shoulders. 

You don’t find him anywhere.

Out of breath and scared for your life and everyone around you, you wind up in the Great Hall. You’re bleeding from a wound on your head and several gashes all over your arms and upper body of varying severity. 

And there you spot him. He’s standing in the middle of the room. The battle seems to come to a halt. The remaining fighters have gathered around the walls of the former dining area. Next to Snape stands Harry Potter and they’re facing you-know-who together- 

Wait.

Snape is facing his own master?

A blood-soaked bandage around his throat Snape glares at the pale, noseless monster. He is hunched over, his breaths seem to be laboured.

There’s a duel. Halfway through you-know-who’s red eyes lock with your own. The intensity of the sheer cruelty in his eyes knocks the air from your lungs.

“How ill-conceived of you to bring her here, Severus.” A pale, long wand is aimed at you. Snape swirls around. His eyes widen with shock and fear and accusation.

Everything goes quiet.

Green light speeds towards you. You-know-who turns towards Potter. Snape runs towards you. Potter’s spell hits you-know-who’s in the air.

Snape shouts your name. Droplets of blood fly through the air.

And at once the sounds return, smashing into your eardrums with deafening force. You throw yourself down on the ground. The curse hits the wall behind you. It bursts into shards of stone that fly through the air. Some hit you. Some hit others. You look up, your heart racing in your chest, your fingers tremble from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

You almost died. 

Fucking Voldemort almost killed you!

Quickly you look up, gripping your wand tighter, prepared to defend yourself if necessary-

There��s cheering. Voldemort is dead, they shout. You spot the pale figure on the floor with Potter standing over him.

He is dead?

Truly dead?

It’s over-

You let out a laugh somewhere between hysteria and pure joy.

“Severus-” Where is he? He was running towards you- “SEVERUS!”

Heads turn towards you. 

Snape is on the ground, surrounded by his black robes, a puddle of deep red blood growing around him steadily.  “HELP! HELP! SEVERUS- ” You sprint towards him, dropping to your knees even before you reach him and slipping over the ground. “SEVERUS! SEVERUS! PLEASE-” He is still warm. You gather his slack body into your arms, cradling him to your chest. No no no no no no- please-

“Severus- Severus-” Warm blood sticks to your hands. Too much- way too much.

“Please please- no- Sev- no-” Arms wrap around you, tuck and pull on you, tearing you away from Severus. You scream and flail around, trying to hit whoever is trying to take him from you, take you from him- no-

“SEVERUS! LET GO OF ME! SEVERUS- ” 

Madam Pomfrey rushes towards Potter and Snape. She sinks to her knees and waives her wand over Snape’s lifeless body. You give up your fight. You sob and cry and whimper Snape’s name, pleading with whichever deity is listening to you to not take him- no- not now-

“He was on our side all along-” Potter says, his voice cracking. “Dumbledore asked him to kill him- He was on our side-” 

You watch the healer work with bated breath. Magic flows out of the tip of her wand in a steady flow, battling whatever had Snape bleeding. Potter has fallen to his knees in the meanwhile. McGonagall is silently crying.

“He’s stable.” Madam Pomfrey says, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “For now at least.” The hands holding you, release you and you scramble off the floor. Snape is lying in a cot the healer summoned. She is already gone, hurrying towards the next victim of this battle needing healing. You have no strength left to care or to even consider helping anyone. Nobody asks you to.

You lie down next to Snape. 

“Please don’t die-” You whisper the words again and again until your voice fails you and you just watch his chest rise and fall because as long as his chest is still rising and falling he is still alive. 

Your eyes fall shut.

You let them.

For just a moment. A moment of rest.

“I- told you to…stay-” You startle awake. “You never listen…” Black eyes blink at you. Tired but alive. So alive.

“Severus!” You sob and crash your lips against him. A hysterical laugh of relief escapes you. 

“Ow- careful-” He groans.

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Quickly you back off. “You’re alive.”

“It would appear so. Believe me, I am as surprised as you are.”

“Idiot! You fucking wanker! How dare you almost fucking die on me again!”

Snape laughs, but it sounds horrible. Like nails on a chalkboard. You heard that Voldemort’s snake tore open his throat and Potter just about managed to save his life.

“I apologise.” He rasps. “Allow me- allow me to take you to dinner. Proper dinner. With at least five courses and wine.”

“As long as you actually show up to the restaurant.” You chuckle and wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“Only a fool would waste the opportunity of a date with you.”

[ananxiousgenz]

HEY Y'ALL YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT THIS IS!!!!! (it's more cowboy au FINALLY)

it has been. A Time!!!! @percy-mawce-arts and i have been getting our asses kicked by life so this au was sitting on the backburner for a while but we finally got this chapter finished and reviewed (after it had been sitting for like two months whispering creepily into my ear at night while i tried to sleep-) and we are SO very excited to show y'all the next chapter of When The Land Was Godless And Free!!!!

this chapter is a BEAST (word count says it's around 3.4K) and takes place right after arthur helps john out after being shot.

tw for brief mention of cauterization!!

Sometimes, John really fucking hated being human. He’d decided long ago that it was simply a hassle. That it would be easier to be a lizard, or a coyote, or a hawk. And from the day of his birth onward, life had only proven that theory correct. There were days where the pain, stress, awkwardness and confusion just made him want to crawl out of his skin. Days when he would rather rip off his fingernails than spend another minute talking to someone he disliked or asking for help he should have handled himself. 

The past week had just been chock full of those days.

The first few of them John couldn’t recall with much clarity. He had the strangest idea that his mind had been tampered with, leaving him only able to remember bright, blurry moments of the days he’d missed with a feverish sort of quality. Searing pain in his side as the stars twinkled like diamonds above before he slipped away into blissful unconsciousness. His cheek pressed against Akke’s silky mane, watching the distant blue horizon tremble with motion. A wooden door opening with a creaking that felt like it was stabbing through his eardrums. A shaft of sunlight falling across his face, illuminating motes of dust in its path as someone hummed a distant melody. Pain, always pain, throbbing in his side and never letting go. 

After so long swimming in half-darkness, stuck between awake and unconscious, John finally pulled himself fully out of limbo and into the unpleasantness of the waking world. His eyelids almost felt like they had been glued shut, and it took considerable effort to pry them open and see the world again. Once he had, he almost wondered if he was still in a dream, a shifting moment in the winds that would be blown away the second he blinked.

The stuffy room he was in had dark walls, lit by only a window with simple calico curtains to his left. He was lying tucked into the corner by the window, in a real bed with blankets and pillows and a nice mattress of all things. He hadn’t slept in a real bed since… Christ, at least since boarding school, and even calling that a “bed” was generous. A wooden bedside table sat at his right,  with unused bandages and half-eaten bowls of soup scattered atop it, and a chair beside it. It was unoccupied, with only an empty gun holster hanging over one side of the backrest, but it didn’t take much for John to guess that it had seated a recently seated a person. John guessed it was some time after noon, seeing as the sun was still high and bright enough to illuminate the room. It had been night the last time he was awake, hadn’t it? Evening, maybe?

He couldn’t remember for the life of him how he had gotten here, much less why.

John made the poor decision to try sitting up. The moment he so much as tried to lift his head, the muscles in his abdomen tensed and a sharp pain shot through his side (that’s right, he had been shot, hadn’t he?), forcing him to collapse back against the pillow with a groan and a cough.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the ambiance of the structure where he was currently sheltered, a cabin of some kind. It creaked slightly in the wind, which he could hear rattling away at the window panes. But otherwise the room was silent. He could hear no footsteps, voices, moving furniture, crackling fires, records being played, nothing to indicate that another human being was anywhere in his vicinity. He was alone. 

No, he wasn’t. In a moment of blind panic, John remembered Akke. Where was she? He didn’t hear any horses outside. She couldn’t have been left behind, she would have followed him… wouldn’t she? 

Despite the roaring pain in his side, John fought to sit up and look out the window with gritted teeth, bracing himself against the windowsill with a white-knuckled grip. There was no sign of her, just a wooden fence, empty land, and miles of clear blue sky overhead. 

John’s breathing began to speed up. Akke had been the only sure thing in his life since he left boarding school. She had saved his life in more ways than one, and he would do anything to keep her safe. If she was gone… Well. John wasn’t sure what he would do to whoever brought him here, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a wince and braced himself for the pain that would hit when he put weight on his feet. He was going to find her. Screw the pain. Screw the nauseating, dizzying pain splitting through his abdomen as he rose to his feet. Screw the way the world tilted and his vision began to fade. Screw the way he swayed on his feet. He had to make sure she was safe, he had to… he…

He hadn’t realized he was falling until a pair of strong arms stopped him from hitting the floor. His side pulled and searing pain had him screaming through gritted teeth.

“Calm down, John! Christ, what were you thinking?” That voice, John knew that voice. Smooth, with a fucking British accent. It was the Sheriff. What was his name, Adam? Alistair?

“Arthur?” John managed, trying his hardest not to throw up as Arthur helped sit him down again. “Arthur what… where-where…” Where am I? Where is Akke?

“You’re alright, John, you’re alright,” Arthur said, quietly, brushing a strand of hair from John’s eyes. His hand was like a cool balm against John’s forehead, and it was only then that John noticed how hot he was. It felt like he was lying in a furnace, he was sweating like a pig and his chest was heaving (though that was partially from panic). Arthur frowned and pressed his hand to John’s forehead more intentionally, then his cheek, then his neck. John couldn’t help but sigh every time his comparatively icy hand broke the heat radiating off of his skin. “Or, you will be. You’re safe, at least.” 

“Safe…” John mumbled. His brain felt like it was melting. “Where’s Akke?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Akke?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, your horse? She’s here, John. She’s out front, being fed.” 

John let his eyes slip closed with a relieved sigh. Normally he might argue. No, he definitely would. He would demand to see her, refuse to cooperate until he knew for sure she was safe. But something about Arthur’s voice, something about Arthur, compelled John to trust him. Besides, his head was swimming with heat and pain and he could barely hold on to a clear train of thought. He might die before he got to see her again if he didn’t lie back down. 

“Come on now, John,” Arthur said gently, his voice filled to bursting with kindness and concern that somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, John knew he didn’t deserve. “She’s alright, I promise. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

John swallowed thickly and nodded, the action making the room twirl like a falling feather. One of his hands flew up to his forehead in a futile effort to brace it, but there was no need. He was lying back down with his head on the pillow before there was any real danger of the world slipping out from under him, guided by a gentle hand attached to a seemingly gentler man. 

Though his vision was slightly obscured by one eye being mashed into his pillow, John examined Arthur again. He looked just about the same as John could remember from that night by the fire, but this time he seemed more… on edge, like a nervous kangaroo rat, waiting to be snatched up by a raptor. More than that, John noted as Arthur sat down in his chair with a quiet sigh, he seemed utterly exhausted. The circles stamped beneath his eyes were the color of mountain larkspur: a dark, nearly midnight purple. And the way his body slumped into the chair like a sack of grain spoke of more than one late night of worry and no sleep. 

Why did Arthur look so stressed? Had they been followed? Were they not safe here? Maybe they were in danger, but John had been too sick to move. It was a real possibility, given how little of the recent days he was able to recall. God, how long had he been here? He knew it had been a few hours at least, but some inner timer ticking away towards his own personal doomsday said it had been longer. Without meaning to, the question slipped past John’s feverish lips.

“How long?”

“Hmm?” Arthur hummed in response, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he leaned back against the chair. “How long what?”

“How long,” John repeated, turning his head slightly so his mouth was more exposed, “have I been here?”

Arthur blew out a long breath and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t… I’m not sure. Maybe about 4 or 5 days? I’ve lost track, to be entirely honest.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t missed much,” Arthur chuckled. “It’s been quiet. A lot of me trying to wash out your wound and keep the fever down while trying to take care of the horses and the chickens and whatnot. A lot of you sleeping and mumbling and crying out whenever I try to help with your bandages.”

John hummed into the corner of his pillow, letting his eyes slip closed as he listened to the soothing baritone of Arthur’s voice. 

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

John creaked one eye open. “How did I get here?”

“Well,” Arthur said, a faint smirk on his face as he shifted his weight in the chair to lean a bit closer to John, “I brought you here.”

“No shit,” John muttered, suddenly realizing how crusty his voice had become at a lack of use. He coughed once or twice to clear his throat, making the room spin again. “I’d like a bit more detail than that.”

“Ah. Well, I managed to get you up onto your horse– Akke, you said her name was? And then I led her back here, and managed to drag you into bed and rebandage your wound before the fever set in. You’ve been fairly incoherent since. Haven’t said much, but what you have said has been… well, calling it interesting might be a bit generous.” Arthur leaned back in the chair, that same faint smirk settling over his face. “Getting you here wasn’t easy, you know. You’re quite heavy, friend.”

There was an easy confidence in Arthur’s face and voice now, a swagger meant to disguise his exhaustion and fear and make it seem as though everything was just sunshine and clear skies. Probably meant to keep John calm, so he wouldn’t pass out from exertion or the fever or blood loss. But John had already seen the truth, already knew what was lurking behind that mask. Arthur was worried and tired, clearly running on empty and on the verge of collapse. But about what, John couldn’t say, and it was beginning to nibble away at his nerves like a mouse at a block of cheese.

“‘S all muscle,” John mumbled in an (admittedly fruitless) effort to send that mouse skittering off into the depths of his subconscious.

“I did wonder once or twice if you had eaten an entire buffalo right before deciding to attempt a double murder.”

“A buffalo?”

“Mmmm. I imagine you swallowed it whole, much like a rattlesnake. Horns and all,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

The idea of someone swallowing a whole buffalo was, to say the least, a bit silly. John snickered at the idea of it. Arthur’s smirk grew into a broad grin in response.

“They can’t taste terribly good that way, though,” Arthur continued, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Those things smell awful, I can’t imagine the flavor is any good.”

John chuckled. “How would you go about it, then, if you know so much?” Arthur smiled.

“The same way you eat an elephant,” he said, with the kind of familiarity that implied a joke he’d told before. “One bite at a time.”

John couldn’t help himself. The simple joy of such a silly idea bubbled up from the bottom of his heart and he was powerless to stop it. He laughed, hard and loud.

And almost immediately regretted it.

The pain that shot through his side in response was like a white-hot fire, searing him from the inside out and blurring his vision with boiling tears. A strangled noise fought its way out of his throat, caught between a gasp, a hiss, and a language only his subconscious knew now.

“Ataa!”

Through his misty vision, John saw Arthur’s face hovering in space above his own, a clear furrow between his brows as his mouth was set into a deep frown.

“John?” There was a trembling note in Arthur’s voice as he spoke.

“It hurts,” John whined.

“John, listen, I know it hurts, but I need you to stop moving, alright? I need to check if you reopened the wound. Try to lie still.”

John blew out a sharp breath and did as he was told. A moment later, cool fingers lifted his shirt, undid his bandages, and grazed along the throbbing epicenter of pain in his stomach. John was surprised at how little the contact hurt. Arthur’s hands were rough and calloused, to be sure. The life of a sheriff in a land like this didn’t exactly leave room for soft hands. But he was so gentle, barely hovering above John’s skin like the sweep and swish of prairie grass. Almost like he cared.

Arthur sighed quietly as he began to retie the bandages. “Alright. I think you’re okay, John. Just take it easy. No more laughter. It was hard enough trying to close you up the first time.”

The first time. The pieces were beginning to fit together in John’s mind. Arthur had taken the bullet out of his stomach. Arthur had cauterized the wound. Arthur was worried. About John. And not only was he worried about John, he chose to take him back to this cabin. Chose to take him in and heal his wounds. Arthur knew about John’s connections to Larson and his gang and the danger he could have been in as a result. He could have left John for dead out in the desert, and no one would have been the wiser. So the question still remained: why did he do it? Why go through the trouble? What did John matter to Arthur in the grand scheme of things?

“John? John, what’s wrong? Does something else hurt?”

John realized  hot tears were slipping from the corners of his eyes again, accompanied by sniffling that he couldn’t quite stop. “Why?” he croaked.

Arthur looked deeply confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you bring me back?”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Why did you keep me alive? For fucks sake, Arthur, I tried to kill you. I did kill your friend. You should have let me die. Why am I here?” John growled, swiping the tears off his face like they were burning him.

Arthur went silent, and John could almost swear he saw the gears turning in Arthur’s head as he considered his answer. He finished with the bandages and sat down, nibbling on his thumbnail as he thought. After a long moment, he looked up in John’s direction, his expression strangely hard.

“Because you’re human,” he said quietly.

John blinked in surprise. “What?”

Arthur nodded, a determined set to his eyes shining like the sun bouncing off metal. “You’re human. And in pain. Leaving you behind would have been cruel, even if you did try to kill me.”

John was, for the first time in a long time, completely speechless. Arthur thought he was something worth saving. Something that deserved to be taken care of. Something that didn’t deserve to die. In the back of his mind, a little voice whispered, The King wouldn’t have helped you. Larson would have let you die. He knows what you really are.

“You know nothing about me,” John choked out. “You don’t know what I know. What I’ve done.”

“Well, I rather figured you’d tell me something when you got better,” Arthur said with a vaguely guilty grin. “I figured if I kept you alive, I would get some good information out of you regarding the King’s whereabouts.”

“If I tell you about who I am and what I’ve done for that man, you’ll regret keeping me alive. You’ll kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” John said, staring blankly at the ceiling the way he knew imagined a corpse would. “I’m not exactly a good person.”

“I never would have guessed,” Arthur muttered, and John watched him roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. “The man who shoots my deputy and tries to kill me, a bad person. Unthinkable!”

John snorted in spite of himself. He didn’t laugh much (it was simply how he’d always been) but somehow, it felt natural around Arthur.

“John, look. You’re not the only one here who has done unforgivable things in the name of survival. I’m not asking you to like me, or even offer me any information about yourself. I’m asking for information on Larson. That’s all.”

Arthur’s face was polite, but as he spoke, his gaze grew sharper, cold with the threat of an avalanche lurking in the back of those bright hazel eyes. John knew that look. That frigid anger. The cold fury that seeped in through cracks of vulnerability, leaving a thick crust of ice over a person’s heart and a layer of frost on everything they touched. He’d seen it on the faces of dozens of Native kids in Larson’s gang after they’d been told just what atrocities they had to fear from the law. 

Arthur wanted revenge.

And he would do just about anything to get it.

“Just tell me where Larson is, and when you’re healed, you can go. I won’t hunt you. I won’t send anyone after you. I swear, I will leave you be for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to leave.” 

The words left John’s mouth before he had fully finished thinking them, but as he turned them over on his tongue, he realized they were the truest thing he had spoken since meeting Arthur. He didn’t want to leave. Arthur believed that John was human enough to save, to care for, to let live, despite how little he knew about him. That was more grace and humanity than Larson ever showed him, or any of the kids in his shitty gang. The longer he thought about it, the more John realized he was sick of it. All the lies, the manipulations, the nightmares, all that time living in limbo between terror and fury while fighting for a cause that would sooner see you crushed beneath its heel. He didn’t want that. More than that, he didn’t want it for anyone.

Arthur looked completely baffled. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave,” John repeated as the words rang through his mind again like chiming crystals. “I don’t want to go back to Larson and his gang.”

Arthur simply stared.

“Look. You want revenge on him, don’t you? I saw the look on your face when you talked about him. You want him locked up, and I want his fucking gang disbanded and freed. I’m not going to leave you, not when we have a common enemy we want gone.” A hard edge was creeping into John’s voice as he spoke. “Between your sharpshooting and my sight, we could bring him down. Two heads and all that.” Arthur seemed apprehensive still, which was fair, John thought. Having empathy for the man who shot your deputy was a far cry from trusting him. John sighed. 

“Arthur, vengeance will eat you from the inside out. Believe me, I know. I can see it wearing you down.” Arthur averted his gaze. “This is too big a foe to handle alone. Too big of an elephant to eat whole.”

Finally, Arthur smiled, looking up from where he’d fixed his gaze on John’s quilt. “So we eat it together,” he said. John nodded. 

“One bite at a time.”

[ellabsprincess]

Hi sweet pea.Could you write something about reader being in a famous like rock or metal band and basically being a total slut but then she gets a girlfriend (Ellie) and tells everyone she has a girlfriend but not showing anyone what Ellie looks like or telling them her name and then one day reader is doing an interview with another band who they are on tour with and talks about having a girlfriend and the other band is like wtf no u don’t ur literally a whore and then reader brining Ellie out to show them

it’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable doing this okay bye love you <3

omfg sweat pea??? literally marrying you rn cause that's so cute!! also i literally LOVE this idea like rockstar ellie has been on the brain!!

also i followed the main inspo of your ask, but changed it slightly, sorry!! i just think it fit better as i was in the middle of writing!

enjoy my love!!

p.s. love you too!!

"rock n' fucking roll" (rockstar!ellie x rockstar!reader)

word count: 3.5k

warnings: 18+, lowercase intended, switch!ellie, switch!reader, marijuana use, ellie is kinda a loser for reader, twinge of angst from ellie, smut, they fuck while high but they're like barely high, ellie has a happy trail and a hairy pussy, cunnilingus, nipple sucking, fingering, relationship talk, love confessions, mutual pining, reader has nipple piercings bc i'm living vicariously through this

also i am not really knowledgable of bands, music, or performing, so if something is inaccurate, you saw nothing...

important note: ellie and reader are referred to as "sluts" in this fic. that is simply for the purpose of the story and because the anon asked for that specific element. i do not encourage or condone slut shaming of any sort

tags: @m-3-ijiworld @seraqhites @uraesthete @hehatesmati @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @elliespookie @dropsofs4turn @millersaurora @jjmaybankslittleslut @lonelyfooryouonly

wanna join my tag list? click here

can't stay at home, can't stay in school

old folks say, "you poor little fool"

down the streets i'm the girl next door

i'm the fox you've been waiting for

hello, daddy, hello, mom

i'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb

the music is deafening in your ears as you begin to perform. singing your heart out to the angry and aggressive beat, with ellie by your side on bass, and dina behind you on drums.

the venue was dirty and full of drunk and stumbling people, but you didn't care. not when the sound of the bass was nearly rupturing your eardrums as you swayed your hips in your miniskirt and pranced across the stage, mic in hand. your thighs were adorned with provocative garters and ripped tights, and your shirt was a 90's baby tee with some alt band's logo plastered on the front. you were a perfect mix of girly, provocative, and alt, just unashamed to be yourself when on stage.

ellie was quite the opposite next to you. her dirty and beaten black converse stomped the floor to the beat of dina's drums. she wore ripped, tight jeans, with a vintage flannel opened over a white wife pleaser.

her guitar was cherry red, almost the same shade as the lipstick you were wearing, and she had her signature rainbow guitar strap slung over her shoulder.

pouring your soul out into the lyrics and feeling the music, you fell to your knees on the dirty stage, whipping your hair around messily as you stared into the audience. you felt ellie get closer to you, standing just above you and looking down at you with a nefarious glint in her eyes as her fingers flew over her guitar strings.

the song finally came to an end, and you sung the lyrics as you continued to hold ellie's gaze.

hello world i'm your wild girl

i'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb

cherry bomb

cherry bomb

cherry bomb

cherry bomb

cherry bomb

ellie strung her guitar a few more times, letting the sound echo through the room before reaching her hand down to grab you by the chin, pulling your head upwards and signaling you to stand up. her signal of dominance sent the crowd into a frenzy. cheers and screams filled the room as you heard distant comments like "i love you ellie!!" and "top me please ellie!"

you just rolled your eyes at the panic of the crowd. you were used to ellie's stage antics at this point, and you knew it was for nothing more than attention and crowd engagement. besides, you always had your own fans at the shows. finally standing to your feet and catching your breath, you spoke into the mic.

"thank you all so much for coming out tonight, you guys were amazing! have a great night!"

you, ellie, and dina all threw up peace signs at the cheering crowd before retreating backstage. the three of you were exhausted, all covered in sweat but high off adrenaline and the praise of your fans.

you all entered the green room and found yourselves collapsing into the nearest chairs. ellie handed you and dina bottles of water to ease your sore throat and dehydrated states.

"wow, what a fucking night," ellie commented.

"yeah, i think you made about half the girls out there drop their panties," you teased.

"oh shut up."

"come on, don't act like you don't know what you're doing," dina chimed in.

ellie could only laugh and roll her eyes before letting her head roll back and rest on the plush chair, too tired to argue with the both of you.

after a few minutes of reflecting on the night's show and wolfing down water and snacks, you noticed dina making her way out of the room. when you asked her where she was going, she explained that she had made plans earlier with her friend jesse and was going to be out the whole night. how she had the energy to go out after that show, you had no idea, but you honestly didn't care in your exhausted state.

you suddenly realized how much pain you were in, and how uncomfortable and sticky your outfit had become, and you felt a need to change immediately. all you wanted was just to go back to the band trailer and slip on some comfy clothes and relax the rest of the night.

ellie clearly had similar ideas.

"hey, wanna go back to the trailer and smoke and chill the rest of the night?"

"fuck yeah"

back at the trailer, you wasted little time before making a beeline for the shower. you nearly moaned at the pleasurable feeling of washing away all the sweat and exhaustion from your skin. you probably wasted too much time in that small room, but you didn't care. stepping out of the cramped bathroom in nothing but tiny sleep shorts and a tank top, you found ellie relaxing on her bunk. she had stripped down to her wife pleaser and some black boxers, and was scrolling through her phone.

hearing you move towards her, she looked up at you, sitting up to grab and light the blunt hastily thrown on the table near her bunk. as you crouched down to sit next to her, you didn't notice how she looked you up and down, staring at your chest through your thin top.

were those nipples piercings?

her thoughts were interrupted as you held out your hand to take the blunt from her, taking a long drag and turning your head to blow the smoke away from where you were sitting. you took another, shorter, drag before passing it off to ellie. she took the blunt between her fingers with a shaky grip, and nearly choked on her inhale as if it was her first time smoking. she couldn't take her eyes off of you.

she shamefully stared at your soft thighs barely hidden and covered by your short shorts and your tits perfectly in her eye level as you relaxed and enjoyed the beginning of your high. you looked tired, but blissful and almost angelic. her heart ached and longed for you, tired of her desperate stage antics just for an ounce of your attention, and a second to stare into your pretty eyes.

she wanted you so bad. she wanted your body, of course, but she wanted your heart even more. her chest twinged with pain every time she heard you laugh loudly at someone else's joke, or when she pretended to be asleep as you got fucked by some random chick in your bunk after a show. your moans were just too pretty to sleep through, and she wanted to commit them to memory so she could imagine it was you under her every time she had a quick fuck on a bathroom counter.

she always left those girls satisfied, and she gained quite the reputation as a good lay among the fanbase, but it was never enough. every time she made a girl cum on her tongue, or fucked someone until they were dripping all over her strap, she just imagined it was you. not as a one-night thing, but as her girlfriend.

of course that would never happen. you didn't do relationships. you were a rockstar and you were on the road constantly, who had the time? you only wanted to get off and forget a girl's name the next morning. you would never want ellie. you would never love her, never belong to her, never moan "i love you" as she fucked her strap into you over and over-

"earth to ellie?" you looked at her concerned, your eyes wide.

"oh shit, sorry. my bad." she had drifted into her own mind, and had been holding the blunt, sitting and dreaming about you for the past few minutes, without addressing you or caring to even pass the blunt back.

"it's fine, are you okay?"

"yeah, m'good."

"okay, will you pass me the blunt then?"

ellie didn't know what came over her. maybe it was her starting to feel her high, the slight fuzziness in her brain, or maybe it was just exhaustion.

"actually, no."

"no??" you responded, looking both offended and confused.

"no, we're gonna talk instead."

"ellie we can talk and smoke-"

"no, i need you to hear me."

"okay, els, you're freaking me out." you backed away from her slightly, your eyes narrowed, confused by the change from her usual kind nature to this abruptness and rudeness.

"sorry, i don't mean to scare you, i just..." she sighed. "i'm fucking tired of this shit. i'm tired of what's going on with us. it needs to end." shock was evident across your face.

"ellie, what? are you tired of the band, a-are you tired of me?"

"no! i mean, yeah, but that's not it."

"ellie just fucking spit it out!"

"i'm in love with you!"

your eyes softened, and your mouth gaped slightly.

"i'm in love with you and i have been for a while," ellie's voice quieted, and she looked down at her lap, unable to meet your gaze. "i'm tired of pretending like i don't want something with you. all those stage antics, fooling around and flirting with you in front of our fans? i just want you to look at me. and i fuck around with the fans because i have to distract myself from you or else i'll lose my mind. and i'm fucking tired of hearing you fuck other girls out there when i know i could treat you so much better. i just want you, and i'm tired of pretending that i don't." ellie sucked in a deep breath, almost winded from her rant. she slowly looked up, to find you looking at her with tears in your eyes.

"wha-," she started before you were practically leaping into her lap. you grabbed her face in your hands, forcing her to look at you.

"els, you have no idea how long i've waited to hear that."

you crashed your lips onto hers, meeting in a messy and desperate kiss. she whined into your mouth as you licked at her bottom lip, relishing in the fact that you were finally able to kiss her. pulling away, you left her breathless.

"sooo, you feel the same way?" ellie was flushed bright red, but all you could stare at was the love in her eyes and the prominence of the small freckles all over her nose and cheeks.

"yeah, i do. i love you, els."

"fuck me..."

"planning on it," you quipped back with a giggle and a smirk on your face.

"oh no, i didn't mean- we don't have to if you don't want to. we can go out on a date first, take it slow if you-" you stopped her ramblings with a kiss.

"els, i've been wanting to do this for so long. we're gonna this right now, okay? unless you don't want to, or?"

"no no i definitely want to i just wanted to make sure you didn't feel like we were rushing this."

"not at all, baby," you said with a smile, returning your lips to hers as as the kiss quickly got heated. ellie was whining into your mouth as her hands found your hips and your hands started to travel up under her wife pleaser. you started to tease her, finding that she had gone without a bra as your fingers brushed the underside of her small tits, making her shiver. her hands traveled lower on your body, cupping your ass and massaging lightly as you both moaned quietly, full of desperation and overwhelmed from the relief of the pent-up tension between you.

"fuck, els, go ahead and lay back for me,"

ellie looked up at you with a puzzled look on her face. "what, oh no, you really don't have to, this isn't about me."

"i promise i want to, okay? now lay back and let me play with that pretty pussy."

ellie nodded reluctantly, before laying back on the bed. you slid down to the floor so you were kneeling between her spread thighs, taking in the sight before helping ellie slide her boxers down her legs.

you could've cum from the scene before you. ellie was looking up at you with pure need in her eyes, desperate to feel your mouth, your fingers, whatever you would give her. she was absolutely dripping, so worked up just from kissing you, and her pussy was so pretty. she had a gorgeous happy trail leading down to her hairy pussy, and you couldn't believe it was all just for you.

"again, you really don't have to, girls usually don't-"

"shut up and let me taste you"

you dove in, your tongue finding her clit and causing her to moan above you, her thighs closing around your head before your grabbed them and pinned them to the bed. you finally reach her needy hole, already clenching and dripping for you as you start to fuck into her. you were moaning at the sweet taste of her as she pleaded above you.

ellie feels like she's in a dream. the girl she's been miserably pining over for months actually loves her back, and now that girl is between her thighs doing magical things with her tongue. already she's overwhelmed because no one's really ever pleasured her like this before, and she still can't believe that it's you that's making her feel like this.

"gonna use my fingers now, okay?"

ellie can only let out a high pitched whine as you take you hand off of one of her thighs, and bring it to her hole as your tongue finds her clit again. you suck lightly on her throbbing clit as you plunge your fingers in, slipping in easily from all her arousal and your spit.

you look up at her, making eye contact as you find that sweet spot inside her, speeding up the pace of your fingers to hit that spongey spot over and over again. ellie was seeing stars, and she was already embarrassingly close to cumming.

"fuck...gonna......cum....fuck"

"shh, baby, just relax. cum on my face els, i know you can do it baby."

without warning, her thighs tremble uncontrollably and she gushes all over the lower half of your face. you fuck her through her orgasm, slowly pumping your fingers in and out as you lick up her juices and carefully leave feather-light kisses all over her sensitive pussy.

she sits up on her elbows, smiling down at you as you finally pull away from her, putting your soaked fingers in your mouth and sucking, tasting her once more.

"holy fuck, baby. you're gonna be the death of me," ellie teases breathlessly. "now get your ass up here so i can return the favor."

you obey, climbing up into her lap. she smirks knowingly when she feels the wet fabric of your sleep shorts touch her thigh. her hands find the hem of your tank top, meeting your eyes for permission before slowly pulling the clothing off of you. she gasps when she sees that her suspicions were correct.

adorning your pretty puffy nipples are cute heart-shaped nipple piercings. her mouth gapes wordlessly, and you start to get worried at her silence.

"do you not like them?"

"oh my god, no, baby, i love them, i'm just speechless because they're so fucking pretty."

"oh," you giggle at her astonishment. "do you wanna suck on them?"

ellie doesn't even answer you before her mouth is latching onto your left tit, bringing her hand up to circle and pinch your right nipple as her tongue starts to flick deliciously and she starts to suck lightly.

you moan and gasp at every suck and lick, the pleasure almost overwhelming on your sensitive nipples. you grab ellie's hair harshly, pulling her hair impossibly closer, and feeling yourself soak your shorts even more when ellie moans at your roughness.

you start grinding yourself on ellie's thigh, seeking pleasure and relief from the wet mess that is now between your legs. "ellie…mmmf….need your fingers baby."

only continuing to worship your tits, ellie takes her free hand and snakes it down into your pants, moaning when she feels how you've dripping down your inner thighs. she circles your clit lightly before finding your hole and sliding two fingers in. her fingers move slowly, as she wants to savor the moment and the feeling of your puffy nipples in her mouth.

she continues alternating between your tits, making them shine in the light from all her spit. you move your hips to the rhythm of ellie's fingers, fucking them deeper into you. ellie is relentless on your tits, absolutely fixated on them as well as the feeling of your dripping and clenching pussy on her fingers.

you moans start to get louder as you let our desperate pleas for your release, babbling incoherently.

"ellie, please let me cum, oh god i just wanna cum."

ellie detaches from your nipple for just a few seconds to answer you, "cum for me baby, never said you couldn't."

and so you do, feeling your release drip all over ellie's hand as she enjoys the last few moments of her mouth on your tits, sucking on them through the waves of your orgasm before finally moving away, not wanting to painfully overstimulate you.

you're both speechless, just enjoying the bliss of your orgasms that is heightened by the few hits you took earlier.

"wow," you say, your thoughts too flighty to think of a more coherent statement.

"yeah, wow." ellie agrees.

wordlessly, she kisses your forehead and moves to place you down on the bed. she grabs washcloths and clean clothes from your bunk, cleaning you and herself up, wiping away all the sweat and cum. she helps you into your new clothes, and she dresses herself in comfortable sweats before moving to lay down next to you.

your mind is now clear of the fog from your orgasm, but the exhaustion has finally hit you, and you feel yourself drifting off as ellie pulls you into her muscular arms.

"love you els"

"love you more than you'll ever know, baby"

1 YEAR LATER ...

"thank you so much madison square garden, you've been amazing! have a great night, we love you new york!!" you call out in the roaring crowd, signaling the end of your show as you make your way off stage, ellie and dina in tow.

you enter the green room, in disbelief and still riding the high of the show as you're met with the sight of your opening acts relaxing and enjoying the refreshments and peace of backstage.

"holy fuck babe, i can't believe we just played the garden!!" ellie comes up behind you, scooping you up in her arms and kissing you passionately.

"i know els!! i'm so proud of us!!"

"get a room you two," dina grumbles, making you roll your eyes playfully.

"babe? that's a surprise," a voice calls from the other side of the room. your head whips around to find it belongs to the lead singer of the first opening act for your show.

"excuse me?" you ask, your tone clearly full of annoyance and surprise.

"well, sorry, just never thought that either of you sluts would commit to a chick," he comments, smiling devilishly at your surprised look.

"what the actual fuck is your problem dude?" ellie shouts, before you can even think of a response.

"in my book, once a slut, always a slut," he taunts, causing a small chorus of laughter among his bandmates.

you and ellie move in sync towards the man, but a flash of dark brown hair is faster. dina steps in front of the man, winds up, and punches him clean in the nose, causing him to stumble backwards and fall as he trips over his own feet.

you and ellie stare in shock at dina's actions.

"i'd suggest you get the fuck out of here," dina says, seething. the band members quickly scramble to the feet before practically sprinting out of the room. "oh, and you're never opening for us again, you sick fucks!"

dina smiles as they exit the room, before turning to you and ellie as you're both still frozen in shock.

"what? no one messes with my favorite couple."

<3 <3 <3

hope y'all liked this!! i honestly love the rockstar au and i'm totally willing to do more fics and drabbles with these characters!! send me some asks if y'all want more :)

[kittwix]

Punk In Luv

Hobie Brown "Spiderpunk" x Fem! Reader

word count: 2,278

tags: first kiss, friends to lovers, please excuse my poor use of british slang i tried, some violence but its not graphic, implication of harassment but nothing happens

You felt cornered. The group of men who had harassed you earlier have followed you and when you decided to make a quick turn down the alleyway, you were only met with a brick wall. Of course this happens to you, just when you thought luck was on your side, you kicked it right back in its ass and now it came to bite you back. It was hopeless, the only thing you could do was hug yourself and shrivel up to the corner of the cold wall as the three men slowly approached you. 

“Why the long face, toots? We ain’t gonna bite.” One of them called out to you, licking his lips as he stared at you like a starved man. 

“Unless you want us too.” Another one of them added, having a similar expression.

You trembled with fear, refusing to even look at any of them. For a moment, you truly did believe this was the end for you and that you would have to spend the rest of your life suffering with whatever these men plan to even do with you. Honestly, you’d hope they would just kill you already, you’ve already dealt with enough stress as it is, perhaps this could be the nail in the coffin to finally seal in your fate. In that moment, trapped with your own melodramatic thoughts and impulses, you heard a voice from above. 

“Now, is that really a way to talk to a woman?” 

You quickly looked up and so did the group of men. Your eyes widened at the sight of a man wearing latex, a web-like pattern sewed into the material and he wore a denim jacket over his shoulders along with ripped jeans and long sneakers that reached up to his knees with laces looped and tied together tightly. What stood out to you the most from his bizarre appearance were the notable spikes on his head and the way he was casually standing on the wall. 

All your racing thoughts finally came back together and you concluded that you were familiar with this guy. You’ve seen him before actually, the Spider-Men or Spider-Punk is also how people have recognized the hero. He was a big deal actually, this town was known to be a big shitshow with everybody going on with their own miserable day to day life and how big the crime rate was and how terribly the prime minister was. 

This city needed a change, a big one at that and coincidentally came along the Spider-Punk and how he manages to save the day and rescue civilians from harm, all while carrying that guitar of his and strumming it loudly that’ll blow away anybody’s eardrums. Yeah, you were familiar with him all right and you were relieved to see him here. The group of men that had followed you all glared at the vigilante, glaring and scoffing at the words coming out of the masked man. 

“Who the hell do you think you are, punk .” One of them spat and this only granted for Spider-Punk to click his tongue in annoyance, shoving his hands inside the pockets of the denim jacket he wore as he slowly walked down the wall before kicking his feet off and expertly landing a quick front flip as his feet planted flat on the concrete floor. 

“I should be the one askin’ you that same question.” He responded back. “You think I'm really just gonna let a couple of narcissistic pigs like you get away scotch free?”

“Heh, you really think we’re scared of a punk like you?” One of them spat back. 

“More like a Spider-Punk, nice costume, freak!” The three of them laughed together and you could only watch in fear at how the web hero stood there, acting unbothered by their comments. 

“And what of it? Nice, Innit? Customize it myself and all.” The hero boasted, showing off his costume. “I think you should worry more about how I'll knock the three of you out and watch you do your bird for harassment, yeah?” 

“Oh piss off, Spider-Punk!” The group of men grind their teeth together at the insults being thrown at them, not taking too kindly of how they were being told off by this guy. Just from their reaction alone granted a small chuckle from Spider-Punk and you swore you saw the way his eyes squinted in amusement but those thoughts were soon caught off by the way he reached over to grip the handle of his guitar that rested on his back. 

“Nah, mate. And for the record,” He trailed off, extending an arm as he shot a web at one of the men’s faces before quickly jogging past the other two and knocking them out with a punch and a swing of his guitar. “Don’t call me, Spider-Punk. ” 

It was like in a blink of an eye, those men that preyed on you were now injured on the floor as they rolled around in pain. One of them was knocked out cold and you feared that the spider hero had actually killed one of them, though it didn’t really seem like he cared and now he was standing in front of you with a somewhat curious look despite wearing a mask. It definitely caught you off guard now meeting your hero face to face like this, just a few seconds ago he was already throwing punches at their jaws. You didn’t realize just how tall and lanky he was as well, though you were still able to make up all the muscles around his body and especially by his chest to which you didn’t want to stare at for too long as not to make a rude impression. 

“Bit rude to stare, Innit?” He teased, his accent was thick but there was some real charm to it that made you smile warmly. “You alright?” 

“Huh? Oh.. Yes, I’m fine!” You blurted out almost in an instant, prompting Spider-Punk to let out a low chuckle at your mannerisms. You were certainly an oddball but so was he, he hates normality and would do anything but follow what the rules and norms of society were. “You saved me.. How can I ever repay you? Really, I owe you one! Is it money? What abo–” 

Your sentence was caught off at the way he reached up to grab his mask and pulled the latex off of his head, revealing his face to you at once. You gawked at the way his wicks perfectly sculpted his face, how his brown skin glistened underneath the moonlight and the silver piercings on his lip, nose and eyebrows made him all the more cool. If he weren’t a hero, you would’ve guessed that his daytime job would be modeling just by how gorgeous he was to look at. By your reaction alone made him smirk a bit as he lowered his hand that still held the mask he was once wearing.

“Maybe seeing a familiar face would make you feel less worried now.” He said before turning around to make his leave. Before you could even stop him, he swung away and you stood there dumbfounded by what had just happened. One thing was known for sure and it was that you wanted to see him again, no matter how long it takes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You have come to figure out that the beautiful web-slinging hero who you keep running into and he keeps on saving you was named Hobart “Hobie” Brown. For the past few weeks, the two of you had hit it off greatly which resulted with you having to see him more often and you got to know each other pretty well. You learned about his extreme philosophy of being anti everything and it was admirable about how much he cares, especially in a broken city like the one they live in now needing a desperate change. Not only that but he was very humorous as well, cracking jokes and making smart remarks here and there that made you want to poke at his side and pinch at his cheeks. It was crazy just how fast the two of you quickly became friends, but of course you’d expect your feelings to be just as confused about where you stand with him. Of course you consider him a friend, you depended on him so many times for not only saving your ass but also giving you a place to stay and suggesting helpful advice that may or may not be aligned with his own beliefs. Though, you still appreciated his efforts. 

Just now, you were sitting around in your bedroom as you had invited him over and he brought his electric guitar along with him as well. He was sitting by the edge of your bed, tuning his guitar a bit as you ranted about a show you had just gotten into recently. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a very dramatic slice of life kind of show that left you on the edge of your seat after every single episode. What you had failed to notice, however, was a little smirk on his face as he heard you go on and on about the series.

“God, it was like a plot twist that I didn’t expect to happen!” You continued, it was almost like your eyes sparkled every time you talked with him, though it might also be the reflection of the light in your room too. Hobie chuckled at this before shrugging his shoulders at this.

“And what? Is that where the season ends or something?” He asked and you could only nod your head at this frantically. 

You were about to say something else until you heard Hobie’s watch go off and this made you wanna tilt your head to the side in confusion. You’ve recently started to notice that damn watch that he now has around his wrist that seems to go off from time to time and he always has to leave after hearing it go off. To say it upsets you would be a bit of an understatement, it always happens at random and you don’t even get a final word in before he’s already out the window wishing you a goodbye. You were well aware that he was Spider-Man and that he gets busy from time to time but it still made you feel just a bit disappointed when you’re having such a good time until he needed to leave.

Hobie got up from your bed and stretched his limbs out for a bit, turning his head to look at you and he always had that serious look on his face but everytime his eyes fell on you he couldn’t help but feel himself softened just a bit. He took a few steps towards you before having a hand cup your face a bit as he forced you to look up at him in the eyes.

“You know I’m a bit busy but I’ll always come back, Luv.” He spoke, already feeling how warm your cheeks had gotten and he stifled back a chuckle from even noticing. “Hero’s duties, get what I mean?”

“I thought you hated labels.. And you hate being called a hero.” You teased back with a playful pout and he laughed at this dryly before giving your head a little pat before opening your bedroom window and pulled his mask out from his other pocket as he slipped it over his head. 

“I don’t believe in consistency.” He said before jumping out the window and swung himself from the roof of your house. Your eyes widened, already scrambling to get out of your bed as you poked your head out and turned to see him still standing on your roof looking cool as ever. You gave him a little glare, a bit offended that he was already gone without saying goodbye.

“Hey!” You called out to him, to which he leaned him back and started hanging from your roof upside down. Even with the mask on, you could tell he was smirking underneath it. “You forgot something.” 

You could tell he was a little confused by this and before he could even say anything, you acted quick and reached to pull his mask down enough to where you could only see his lips and nose. Without giving yourself a second thought, you leaned in to press your lips against his own pierced ones, making sure to cup his cheek before pulling away. You could tell he was stunned by this, by the way his lips stayed parted when you pulled away and how his body was damn near frozen in place.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now, I like you a lot.” You spoke again. “Please come back soon to visit me, I just want it to be the two of us.” 

“Damn, Luv. Since when were you this poised?” He chuckled before tugging at his mask to cover himself up again. “I dig it, you really are just free-spirited and do whatever that's on your mind. I knew you were an anarchist the whole time.” 

And with that he gave you one last kiss on your cheek through the mask before swinging away to do his own thing. Your heart was still beating fast and your ears were ringing and you could practically feel yourself wanting to melt from how utterly charming he was. Even the little pet name he gave you really made your stomach do backflips as you hugged yourself and smiled like an idiot all alone in your room now. You couldn’t wait to see him again.

♡

+ back to masterlist

[the-kr8tor]

Real stuff but now I just know Hobie has callouses all over has damn hands from playing guitar after my lessons today.

This man CAN run AND play guitar? LucKY BASTARD???

Just Hobie trying to teach you guitar and having to guide all your movements every second, bonus points if you're not together and it's just soft little touches being shared with one another.

Hobie as well helping you out when you go to the music store, showing you what he likes and what you could maybe like since he's seen/helping you learn how to play.

Even better when you consider that he always makes the time to teach you in the end, sitting you in his lap and not caring for the close proximity more than he has too. Until he notices how shy you get sometimes and that just makes him grin, so he'll just tease you by whispering in your ear how to position your fingers.

The only metronome being used here is his fingers tapping at your thigh ever so gently.

-🪦 (rip my fingers tho fr I will never feel them again, rip my eardrums as well the amp killed them)

Yeesss I stand by the fact that Hobie has callouses from playing the guitar so much!! (Also I stand by the fact that he has millions of picks around his houseboat bc he keeps losing them and ppl keep giving him some!)

I have a fic where he teaches you how to play guitar!! It's in the first req masterlist I think!

Oooh going to a music store with him would be so fun!!

Him tapping at your thighs to keep rhythm 🥴😍😍

Noooo not your poor fingies

[lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit]

reader is adopted by zib headcanons? (but more of like an uncle then a parent if that's okay!!)

also wanted to say that all your posts are a really fun read!!!

Since I'm in a fluffy parental-figure mood now why not knock this one out too

TW for mention of stabbing and bleeding. (It's not what you think, I promise; Zib just sucks at making a stuffed animal)

Zib can hardly look after himself, let alone a kitten. But this scruffy little mongrel who couldn't be older than 5 reminded him of himself so much that he opened the door for you anyway.

Now-Zib is not a kitten guy. He's more of a young-adult guy. So picking up a kitten and declaring "this is mine now" on a semi-hungover whim probably wasn't the smartest idea that he's ever had. However one panicked call to Mitzi later (while leaving you to play with the old clarinet he gave you in a desperate attempt to keep you happy. Oh, his poor ears will never recover) and he more or less knows what he's doing.

First call is a toy. He's one step away from throwing the clarinet out the window at this point; so he grabs some clean socks, rips open a pillow for it's fluffy innards and stabs his paws bloody with shitty sewing skills to make you something that vaguely resembles a toy.

It, remarkably, works. The awful shrieks and creaking of a broken clarinet being played by a total novice has ceased. Now that he's not getting his eardrums blared out, he can think straight.

Step two is food. You need to eat. He's not giving a kitten the normal liquid breakfast, lunch and dinner. There's some bread in the fridge and the toaster still works, so he hopes to god that you're not lactose-intolerant and makes some toast with butter.

Step three...

He falters there. Mitzi had told him to call the police and tell them that he had picked up a homeless kitten, but he and the fuzz weren't exactly on good terms at the moment and he didn't have it in him to send this admittedly adorable little firecracker to an orphanage where they'll force them to clean up their act, wear cute little outfits and spend their days learning manners that nobody in the real world uses anyway. No, this kitten who's currently playfighting an amalgamation of socks wouldn't fit in. He'd be sending them off to be bullied into becoming a proper member of society.

They're not a proper member any more than he is.

Another call, this one to Ben. He's got a daughter at home, maybe he can think of something.

The phone call is essentially Zib going: "Hi, Ben, so I have a kitten now. No, they're not mine. I swear, Ben, they're not mine-no, they're not Mitzi's castoffs, either. Good god, tomcat, she pays you to-okay, yes, I know, she hasn't paid us yet. But-back to the point! I have a kitten here and my place is a mess. I just made them some toast. You have a girl-sorry, a daughter. I meant daughter! You have a daughter. Can you give me some pointers? What do you mean you've coming over-"

Turns out Ben's little girl is the same age you are. She's also a sweetheart. She brings some toys over to share, doesn't laugh at Zib's pathetic attempt at a toy for you (which is already falling apart) and offers to let you pick one or two toys of hers to keep.

Meanwhile Ben pulls Zib aside and the latter has an anxiety attack over what he's supposed to do with you. Bringing a kitten home when he can barely afford the basic necessities for himself? Is he crazy? He can't even blame this decision on drunken stupidity, he was completely sober (albeit hungover) when he brought you in. You'd have better luck with literally anyone else!

Ben gives him two choices. Either you come home with him, or he takes you to an orphanage. He might as well have punched Zib in the gut, since he had already gotten attached to you; so Ben makes a compromise: he takes you home, but Zib can visit whenever he wants to, he can take you out of the house if you agree to go and he'll bring you to the speakeasy so you'll at least see him every night. This sooths Zib enough to agree.

Ben keeps up his end of the bargain. After settling in to your second new home of the day, you're in a third new place-the Lackadaisy speakeasy. Zib is lazing at the bar when you see him but he perks up pretty quickly at your voice.

He has a shadow for the rest of the night. Every so often a cat will ask him if you're his and laugh, like the idea is ridiculous to even mention. Zib will just give them his rare cocky smile and ruffle your fur, saying "well, yeah, they are. For tonight, at least."

It becomes an inside joke between you. You'll attach to him like Velcro when he's not needed on stage and you'll be "his for the night". However as you grow up, you see him as more of a very strange equal than adult figure. You're on the same wavelength, to an extent.

Zib never thought he'd be a surrogate family figure of any kind. Now he's a little hard-pressed to imagine the Lackadaisy life without you in it. If he's lucky and it lasts long enough, maybe you'll be able to join Ivy in the crew and he'll see you every day, too.

Just please god don't grow up to be a rumrunner he sees the kind of stress that puts on Viktor whenever Ivy goes out

[mastersofidolworld]

yeah! you want "those games" right? so here you go! now, let's see you clear them!

shit tier mobile games

the music harms my eardrums

poor cucked cash run wife...

ok! since this is a minigame collection we're gonna share our Thoughts on each game! yes I know they're supposed to be shitty on purpose but idgaf

pin pull: honestly I feel like the timer moves too fast. and it's annoying having to replay each level again once you figured out the answer. idk. its whatever

number tower: YAWN i hope the sequel has the version of the shitty ads where you're running and killing zombies with numbers or something because this is just. so slow paced man. boring

parking lot: what can i say. a bitch loves the board game rush hour ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

cash run: WOAHH OK WE GOT A LITTLE OBSESSED WITH THIS ONE IM NGL. dai saw the gambling mechanic and was like. alright im here now. quote of the game "all gamblers quit right before hitting big so let me cook rick" he's right. let him cook rick.

color lab: ok. ok I will admit. I did at one point have the sand version of this game on my phone. it was a good way to ground myself. if this didn't have a timer I'd enjoy it a lot more. it's added stress to a game that Should be chilling me out

🥀 Personal note: The music was so godawful it made me feel like ripping my ears off. This game could be used as a torture method, maybe.

in conclusion this game is fun except when it sucks but it sucking is the point. also don't listen to the music if you have a migraine. we have a migraine.

main media consumption post

[girlreviews]

Review #293: Last Splash, The Breeders

FUUUUUUUCK I love this record, but it permanently damaged the hearing in my right ear. I caught their show at Blackheath Hall in 2005. I put myself right at the front because I really loved them that much and I wanted — no, needed — to feel the heaving guitar in my chest, it felt like, to even continue on. I was seventeen so you know, everything felt a bit extra. I might as well have been hugging the PA system. Anyway, I didn’t anticipate what would happen during the part in Cannonball where Kim sings (yells) “WANT YOU, LITTLE CUCKOO” into the harmonic mic with all that distortion. Yeah, it’s loud. It’s so loud. My eardrum burst. I’ve had tinnitus ever since. My poor left eardrum suffered the same fate two weeks later at the Reading Fez (RIP), during a Mew show. Respectable, but so much less cool than its audio peeper partner in crime. Wear earplugs my friends. It’s not a joke.

Kim Deal founded The Breeders while The Pixies were on hiatus. Well that’s not true, she had been doing both but never able to focus on The Breeders, until 1993 when went Frank Black abruptly announced The Pixies hiatus live during an interview without informing the other band members first. The hiatus was kind of due burnout from recording three albums in two years and touring the hell out of them. Really though, Kim was not getting along with Frank. Here’s the thing — nobody really gets along with Frank. I love the Pixies. I do. But I will get into a fist fight with anyone who wants to insist that they’re better than The Breeders. They’re not. And the thing is, everyone has listened to The Pixies, while most of those same people haven’t given Kim and her band the same time of day. And you know why that is? Because they’re women who are playing heavy rock music. That’s all there is to it. I won’t hear anymore about it, I won’t say anymore about it and I’m not gonna fucking argue with you or anybody else about it. I’m right. Frank Black is a man, he fronts a band, so he gets paid more attention and listened to, and his shitfuck behavior gets dismissed as creative genius. The songs are great but that doesn’t mean you’re not an asshole, Frank! I’ll die on this hill but I’ll also throw hands before I do. Come at me.

I present to you, No Aloha, which actually, beautifully illustrates my point. It is also both beautiful and knockout punch effortlessly cool. It’s dreamy, and also like “we’re here to fuck shit up”. How can I express that it’s lovely and also ass kicking in its vague but biting commentary on being a woman in the music industry, and trying to make it in a band made up of all women (I think they’ve had a dude drummer in their line up from time to time to be fair, but still). It’s about how people that gave her the time of day during her Pixies tenure don’t give a shit about her now “No bye, no aloha, gone with a rock promoter” and how the perils of womanhood impact her creative output “motherhood means mental freeze, freezeheads, no aloha”. Think about what no aloha means. No hello. No goodbye. The disrespect. Ugh. Fuck yes to putting this out there unabashedly.

Obviously, Cannonball, the song that exploded my right ear, is iconic. If you don’t immediately recognize its bassline then I regret to inform you that you need to brush up on your general pop culture knowledge and you stand literally no chance of ever placing at any kind of trivia night. But most importantly, where have you been, and what have you been doing? And are you okay? Genuinely, you’re missing out. The whole thing about them is that musically they are just making some NOISE, and rocking so hard, but Kim’s voice is also so gentle and smooth. Like warm molten wax, or thick maple syrup and butter soaking into a perfect pancake. And she’s harmonizing with her own twin sister, who has the same voice? It’s too many textures but they’re polar opposites. It overwhelms and soothes at the same time. It’s quite an experience. So get it in your ears already.

There are some really lo-fi dulled down tracks, that are really tender and only a band of women could make them. Do You Love Me Now? Literally a low energy bass-led ballad earnestly asking someone if they want to get back together. It’s heart on sleeve girl bravery: I still love you and I don’t care if this doesn’t work out for me, I’m gonna say it. Such a poignant question, followed by a command:

“Does love ever end?

When two hearts are torn away?

Or does it go on?

And beat strong anyway?

You’ve loved me before

Do you love me now?

Come on come on come back to me

Right now”

It finishes with this cascade of harmonies. And I adore it.

My favorite track, and favorite story. Drivin’ on 9. A little ditty! Who doesn’t love a ditty? Again I need to talk about Kim’s voice. It’s like. It’s like. What is it like? When you toast a marshmallow and then squish it between a graham cracker and melted chocolate. It’s like, a smooth whiskey, probably (I don’t like whiskey). It’s like a tiny bird just landed on your hand for the briefest moment. It’s so delicate and precious and you don’t know how such a voice comes out of anyone’s mouth, but especially not hers, because she’s so tough and cool. The strings in the song make me want to die in the best way. Like when people say they died and went to heaven. They pluck it AND they use the bows. Why do I love it so much? Probably because it’s a song about driving and thinking. That’s my favorite thing to do.

“Drivin’ on 9

Lookin’ out my windowsill

Wonderin’ if I want you still

Wonderin’ what’s mine”

I last saw them play at Cannery Ballroom, and the most wonderful thing(s) happened. Firstly, they played this track, so I was happy to begin with. But there was some issue, like one of the violins was missing or broken or not able to be mic’d up correctly or something, I forget. So, Kelley Deal SANG the violin solo. And got it dead on. I cried. These women are just the coolest to ever do it.

I write these reviews because I fundamentally have a problem with the makeup of music critics being made up of men. And I notice looking back how these records and tracks are interconnected with trash men who have acted trash to me or others. I have things to say. I take issue with how they’re written as though their subjective opinions are gospel to be consumed as objective fact. This dynamic can make or break someone’s career when it’s their art and creative output that they’ve poured their heart and soul into. It’s no coincidence that music overall, but rock and alternative music in particular is made up of majority white men, too. Some with self-proclaimed “good taste” can just label it good or bad when it’s not necessarily made for someone that looks like them. These reviews are my experience and my opinion and it’s okay with me if you do or don’t agree, if you love a record that I hate, or if you hate a record I love. But more voices are important and remembering that they’re subjective opinions is pretty fucking important. Hearing someone’s passion (or lack of) about a record is more valuable than hearing their self-importance or gravitas. The Rolling Stone Top 500 is fundamentally flawed in how it’s compiled because of who it’s compiled by, and so I’m deconstructing it one review at a time, noting that as a white woman, the addition of my voice isn’t the full answer or even a big part of the answer. But like I said, I have things to say, and I hope if you have things to say, whoever you are, you’ll share too. But here we are: it’s just proving my point. I’ll be writing one review of The Breeders, but two for The Pixies.

I’m just doing what Kim did when she got sick of the bullshit with Frank Black and The Pixies and decided to do it her way. Nowhere near as loud, nowhere near as cool, and I expect your eardrums will survive my reviews in tact.

Signing off with these words from my favorite “girl” band:

“I see a boy I know

His hair's on fire

The whole world I discovered

If you're so special, why aren't you dead?

I just wanna get along

I just wanna get along

I just wanna get along

Wave bye bye

Cus it ain’t never coming down now”

[whumpster-fire]

More Threats and Insults

"Son, you're dumb as dirt and you ain't half as good looking."

~

"What, is this supposed to be some sorta joke?"

"Yeah."

"Hilarious. You're about to be the funniest corpse at the cemetery."

~

"Jesus. I was about to say you're as useful as a slime mold, but you've made me reconsider. At least a slime mold can solve a goddamn maze, and I don't think you could find your way out of an empty room if they opened the door and knocked down the other three walls."

~

"Milford! Fetch me my ass-kicking boots! It seems I have some riff raff to deal with! Now, why don't you three take a seat and consider the poor decisions that got you into this situation?"

~

"When they throw you in prison they won't even have to lock the cell. They can just put a handle on a door that opens by pushing and you'll be there 'til the day you die."

~

"Put that thing away, kid: you'll do more damage to your own eardrums than you will to me."

~

"Attention: Driver of the blue Kia Sedona! If you go any slower there'll be tectonic plates overtaking you! Get the FUCK OUT OF THE PASSING LANE!"

~

"I'm sure you've all heard the stories about me: the conqueror of Keratopolis and Telfon, the destroyer of Marazzo. The man who slew King Aribaldo and drove his legions into the sea?"

"Yeah. We've heard. That's why we're here. But your army isn't here to save you now, are they? Just give it up and come quietly."

"My army? Oh, you silly, naive children. Think back to those stories more carefully... did they ever mention me having an army?"

~

"You're talking shit about my face? Bro, you look like a taxidermy accident. Look in a fucking mirror, why don't you?"

~

"You're like a bank robber trying to use a gumball machine. Too many dollars, not enough sense."

~

"Hey, Cap'n Crunch: you sure you're qualified to pilot that fucking ocean liner?

~

"If you fuck anything like you fight, you must've disappointed a lot of women in your time. I've already taken one weapon from you, now stay the fuck down or on all of their behalf I'll remove the other."

~

"Hey, man, when's the demolition derby you're training for? I wanna buy a ticket."

"What the fuck are you talking about, there's no demolition derby!"

"Shit, could'a fooled me the way you drive."

"Fuck you, asshole."

~

"From what I hear you couldn't shoot yourself in the foot if you used a revolver as a shoehorn."

~

"Well, I guess I gotta give you credit for having the balls to say that to my face. Now you're gonna see why you shouldn't."

~

"I'm gonna rip your arm off and beat you to death with it, and the last words you ever hear are gonna be 'Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?' If you think that sounds like an embarrassing way to die then better get outta here fast."

~

"Why don't you make like a tree and shut the fuck up? You know, because trees don't talk."

~

"You best hope your feet can cash those checks your mouth's writing, 'cuz I'll tell you right now your fists are insolvent."

~

"Why don't you make like a tree and get slowly eaten alive by beetles over the next 3-5 years until the city declares your rotting corpse an eyesore and has you cut up, run through a woodchipper, and hauled away?"

~

"Oh my God, I don't have time for this. Look, here's some crayons and a juice box, go keep yourself entertained and let me do my job, you arrogant little prick."

~

"Why don't you make like a tree and stand still while I make like a lumberjack?"

~

"Jesus Christ, 'non violent conflict resolution,' who the fuck do you think I am, Mr. Rogers? I can practice nonviolent conflict resolution from my fucking office: if you make me come all the way out here to deal with your shit I'm not having a beautiful day in your fucking neighborhood."

~

"You're about to find out why they used to call me 'Undefeatable-With-Conventional-Weapons Melvin' in high school."

~

"Just take the bus in February dude, you handle unexpected ice like the fucking Titanic."

~

"I'm gonna kick your ass so hard you choke on your own tailbone."

~

"If you were a Monopoly piece you'd be the thimble. Or the shoe, or one of those other shitty pieces that are only in the box so somebody can get screwed over before the game even starts."

~

"I'm gonna kick your ass so hard the shock wave travels up your spine like a Newton's Cradle and your head flies off."

~

"The other day I saw a coffee mug that said 'This End Up,' and it made me think of you. I was going to buy it for you, because I thought you could use something like that since God knows you'd never remember the open end goes on top otherwise, but I didn't want to assume you could read."

[therealestwizard]

excerpts from my writing that i enjoy (pt2)

"He drags his bare legs across the stony beach and watches the lukewarm waves roll their murky bodies over the sandbar. Dark and messy figurines dart through the distant surf. Some are bare, their wet limbs and drenched hair catching the shine of the white hot sunrise through the pellets of water on their skin. Others sport wetsuits and clutch longboards close to their chest. Their hair is clipped, piled, braided, tied. Piran drops to the ground with an absent arm strung across his scratched and sandy knee. She stands tall beside him, her gaze trailing past the early swimmers and into the belly of the fogbank that encircles the beach. It’s an impossible, milky white void– endless coffee creamer and hair of an infant calf. It pulses over the limestone cliffs and across the marble-sheet of the seastrand."

"There is a blinding light that qualifies the sky as war does. My mother’s eardrums burst, and soon there is not only blood racing down her legs, but out of her ears. She remembers screaming in a tone that harmonized with the boom– or perhaps it was so deafening that all sounds became one, and the torn vibrations of her own chest-organ were all she could hear. Who knows. But once the shockwave receded and the blindness faded, she found herself in Hell. Debris everywhere. As if the Blitzkrieg had fired up within the hospital itself, rearing its ugly jowls like the fierce grim-hound it is.  My mother blinked through the swirling dust and looked down. There I was, a sick-coated infant, lying between her bruised and swollen feet, yowling my poor little lungs out. She rubbed her raw red eyes and cradled me in her arms. She tells me that her skin was so ripped and bloodied that holding her daughter became​ a second explosion within her body– a stinging on all of her senses as her exposed ligaments rubbed against the rise and fall of my brittle ribs.”

"My mother tells me that she had the sudden urge to get up, that she swayed and stumbled with her splintered, aching ankles to the smoking hole in the wall that was the dead window. She stared out at the harbor, howling infant in hand, umbilical cord still attached, and stared in wondrous horror at the pillar of creation before her. A tower of smoke so unparalleled to human construction that it could only have resulted from the destructive manifest of man.” She licks her lips, tasting taffy. “It was a ship. But she could not tell it, for the land laid out before her was inferno incarnate" [...] “Did your father survive?” He asks hesitantly. Her head bows. “Yes,” she says, her voice sullen. “Without his eyes or his voice, but yes.”  “...What happened to them?” “The glass rained right into his eyes,” she says factually. “But it was no physical force that stole my father’s will to speak.” She cranes her head to the brightening sky. “I think it was simply the horror of it all. That deep and awful human feeling that trails tragedy. That thought of…If I live after all of this Hell– then what is to be my sacrifice?” “His sight wasn’t enough?” Piran asks. She shakes her head, laughing bitterly. “God,” she whispers, “he considered it his gift.” She stares Piran dead through the needle of his soul. “What divine providence that he should never have to witness such suffering again?” 

[iamdrowninghelpme98]

Entry 14:

2024

~~~~~~~~~~

September

It’s been a couple of months since I left him again, but it’s harder than I thought it would be. I keep waiting for the whole “it gets easier with time” thing to kick in, but it hasn’t. I’ve only seen him once during that time- recently, when I had to go back to his home state for a previously scheduled doctors appointment. He invited me over for dinner, said I could take more of my clothes and other things if I came by. We’ve only really communicated through texts before that, just here and there. I know I shouldn’t be talking to him, and I definitely shouldn’t have seen him. But I felt like I could handle it.

When I arrived back in his home state, my mindset wasn’t great. The appointment that brought me back to him was because of him. A while back, he hit me so hard that my eardrum ruptured. At first, I was told it would heal on its own, but then, two weeks later, he did it again during another fight. Since then, I’ve never heard the same out of that ear. The muffled sounds, the ringing- it’s like a constant reminder of what happened, what he did. All because my male coworker gave me a ride home, my husband was too high to come get me, and I was too weak to attempt to walk. So now I can’t hear right. I couldn’t afford to get the procedure done back then, and I sure as hell can’t afford it now. But at least I had it looked at by a doctor when I got there. They told me I could get a low-duty hearing aid for cheap, but even that’s out of reach. I don’t even have a dollar to spare.

Money is so tight. I’m so fucking poor. Normally, I’d just go back to the strip club and do what I have to do. But I can’t now. It’s too dangerous for my sobriety. It’s too soon. Every day is still a battle to stay clean, and I’m not ready to be in that environment. The club is full of men, and other dancers, constantly putting drugs in my face. Even if I could be strong enough to resist, I can’t stomach the idea of working there sober. It’s depressing. The things I have to do there? I can’t survive doing them with a clear mind. I can’t. But I need money. I’m already not eating every day- what else can I cut out? I’m in over my head. And still, I can’t go back there, not yet. I don’t want to, I’m trying to hold out.

I don’t want to relapse again. I really really don’t want to relapse again. I’ve come so far. I’ve even thrown away my “emergency baggie.” That baggie had a gram of heroin and fent in it. I’d kept it hidden for weeks- just in case. But I flushed it two nights ago. That was the first time in a long time I felt proud of myself. A victory, even if it was a small, quiet one. No one was there to share that moment with me, but it meant everything. A few months ago, I would have done anything for that baggie. Those drugs were my life. But I’ve worked so fucking hard to make it this far. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t want to be a junkie. That life is hell. Absolute fucking hell.

At this point, I’ve made it past the physical withdrawals, and I never want to go through that again. I don’t think I’ve ever been sicker in my life. I honestly think I would have died if I hadn’t gotten help and gone to rehab. The vomiting, the shaking, the constant pain- I went through that for days. I was burning up and freezing at the same time. My head was pounding, and the withdrawal felt like it was ripping through my whole body. I couldn’t even sleep. I pulled out clumps of my own hair, screamed, cried. I couldn’t keep water down, couldn’t even take care of myself. So many times, I almost gave up.

On one of my worst days, this guy who had 100 days sober stopped by my room and said, “Give it 30 days. If you don’t like sobriety, you can trade for all your pain and misery back.”

Pain and misery. That was the life of a junkie. That was my life. Every day, waking up, wondering how I was going to get my next fix. The shaking, the full-body fucking shaking when I couldn’t get my hands on what I needed. And I needed that reminder, because it wasn’t any better back then.

I celebrated 60 days sober recently- 60 days without heroin or fent. I still can’t really believe it myself. It feels so good to say it, even if I’m just typing it out. Kind of a bummer, but no one came to my 60 day ceremony. I asked a few people, but no one showed up. I of course couldn’t tell anyone how much that hurt, but it did. They all had other things to do, that’s valid. But deep down, I fear they just don’t want to be part of this process, maybe because they think I’ll let them down again. I understand, but it still would’ve been nice not to be alone.

Everyone else at the ceremony had someone there. Family, friends. I was happy for them. Not all addicts get abandoned, I guess. It was heartwarming to see. I ended up Ubering to the ceremony myself. I wasn’t even going to go at first, but I’d worked so hard for those 60 days. I didn’t want to miss it. I didn’t want to let myself down. But of course, I couldn’t even afford the Uber ride back, so I walked for over an hour on an empty stomach, but it was so worth it.

It would be nice to have a sponsor. Someone who could have been there with me. Someone who would be proud of me. Maybe then I wouldn’t have felt so alone. But I don’t know who I would ask, that’s not exactly a position anyone is dying to fill.. and I don’t blame them.

Dinner with my husband was… okay. He brought takeout to his house, and I was so relieved to see a big meal. I hadn’t eaten in three days, but I couldn’t let him know that. So, I forced myself to eat slowly, trying to hide my enthusiasm. The whole time, I felt like a starving animal pretending to be civilized.

During dinner, he made me a proposal: come back home, stop divorce proceedings, and we start over. He said we could go to counseling together, but in exchange, I would have to give him my phone. For how long, he didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. He gave me a month to decide, but if I came crawling back after that, he said he wouldn’t go easy on me. He never does anyway.

I’m almost certain he stole my ID out of my purse that night. When I got to the airport, I couldn’t board my plane home. I had to scrape together what little non-existent money I had left for a bus ride. That’s just him- trying to control the situation, to keep me from leaving, I should have expected that.

And now I’m sitting here, wondering if I’m actually considering his proposal. I don’t know. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m too tired to fight anymore.

[deggdegg]

get to know me

i have absolutely nothing of relevance to post on here buttttttttt the lovely @doka-chan tagged me so here i am!!!

Tag ten followers you want to get to know!

Name : sophie

Star sign : taurus

Current wallpaper? :

Ever had a crush on a teacher? : YESSSSSSSSSS so many??? i have Issues

If you could be someone else right now, who and where would you be? : i’d be someone out there with nice skin and hair living in an exciting city utilizing their creative talents and snogging cute guys and living their best life

Coolest Halloween Costume : i’ve literally never been anything cool for halloween. for the past two years i’ve dressed up as telltale characters and when i say telltale characters i mean i’ve just thrown on a wig and drawn lines on my face and gone as no one in particular

Who was your last kiss?  ex-work crush who is now dead to me because i finally stopped being self destructive and started making good choices

Favorite book : i could never ever pick one favourite so a book that is currently stuck in my head is after dark by murakami which i binged in about 2 hours and haven’t stopped thinking of since lmao. i literally read it last month and could easily read it again right now idk why i liked it SOOO much? it was just so atmospheric and ogihsdoighso i want to write an essay on it but i already have an essay i’m ignoring that i have to do for my qualification sooooooooooooo....... i Won’t

Fav 90’s TV show : friends and seinfeld and the x-files and twin peaks

Every been to los Vegas? : no! i’ve never been to america in general.... one day

Favorite Shoes? : bitch i’d kill for a pair of balenciaga triple s’s or the off-white jordan 1s but alas, i am unlucky in both love and shoe raffles. my fav shoes i actually own are probably my doc martens, my converse, my vans, or my yellow nike AF1s

Favorite Fruit? :  flat peaches and strawberries. and bananas and apples and mandarins and just all types of orange really. and grapes but only seedless ones. and pomegranates which i realise are nothing but seeds so why the seedless grapes? we just don’t know

What is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done ? : i literally do stupid shit every day. like at least once a day i’m guaranteed to do something dumb as hell. this week’s episode of majorly stupid shit that deggdegg does centres around the fact that i went too hard listening to BTS’s new album and literally (LITERALLY) burst my eardrum. rip

i tag @simmingwiththetide and literally anyone who wants to do this!!!!!!! tag me so i can get to know you :D 

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

III ║ Conjecture

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

{ << Part 2: Contrite | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 4: Contingent >> }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Before Dieter goes away to Sundance Festival for the weekend, he gives you a lift to Pete’s birthday party. What happens in the back of his limo, stays in the back of his limo... or does it?

Warnings: Angst (!), fighting, jealousy, possessiveness, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, phone sex (sorry Pete), fingering, protected sex, car sex, mention of oral sex, soft Dieter 🥺, Dieter smoking/drinking whiskey comes with his own warning, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4300ish

The butt of his cigarette glows red in the dim. Plucking it from his lips, he stubs out the light in an ashtray, his eyes never leaving yours.

He licks his lips and then says with an edge of mockery. 'Bet the poor bastard thought you didn’t wear panties for him. Bet he thought you were wet for him.'

It's Week 4 of production, and Dieter Bravo is everywhere.

He’s even started eating in the canteen during lunch. He's always with Tobias, the director, or the producer. Sometimes Brooke joins them, or one of the nameless suits from the studio.

When you look up, you invariably find his eyes on you.

He doesn't speak to you though, nor you to him, except during rehearsal or on set.

Like nothing happened last Friday night. And that's okay with you, that's what you want.

You're good at compartmentalising. The things you are currently trying to compartmentalise into their respective compartments are -

Dieter Bravo ate your pussy like an absolute hero last Friday night; and

Two hours after, you slept with post-production Pete.

Did you regret it? Yes and no.

Yes, because it was Pete and not Dieter.

And no, because it was Pete and not Dieter.

The work week goes by with minimal of hitches and it's Friday night again. It's Sundance weekend, Dieter is going to the festival along with some of the studio big wigs to promote his last movie. The whole crew has the Monday off until the star comes back to work on Tuesday.

You need this break. Knowing that Dieter Bravo will be physically two states away in Utah is a bonus.

It's also Pete's birthday tonight. Most of the crew are going to a bar somewhere downtown, and you have a change of outfit waiting in your locker. You've promised to share an Uber with some of the costumes and makeup girls, but the post-production crew will have at least an hour's head start on the fun since they don't need to wait for the filming to wrap.

You're in a good mood and you're excited. It's been a while since you've let your hair down, you could do with the distraction.

There’s no intimate scene to film tonight, that was done on Thursday, but you still have to be on call. You don’t mind - if you have to admit it, you do enjoy watching Dieter Bravo act. It's the one time you can watch him without worry of getting caught, or being on the receiving end of a knowing look from him.

You jump when someone taps you on the shoulder.

'Hey you,' Pete whispers with a grin and holds out a paper cup. 'You looked tired so I got you a coffee. Don't want you bailing on my party now.'

You grin, grateful for the caffeine. 'You think I'm that kind of gal? Happy birthday, by the way.'

'Thanks. How are you getting to the bar later? Do you need -'

'NO POST ON SET WHEN I'M WORKING!'

The roar comes out of nowhere. You can hear the terrible screech of feedback from Dieter’s mic, and everyone who has headpieces on are doubling over in pain at the ungodly sound.

Before you can make heads or tails of the situation, several people from post-production have already shuffled out, confused but not willing to risk being yelled at again. Pete stays put, albeit a bit bemused.

And Dieter is glaring straight at him.

In your peripheral vision, you see headpieces literally being ripped off left and right before Bravo could do anymore eardrum damage.

'I SAID, GET - THE - FUCK - OUT, PETE!'

To his credit, Pete seems more excited than anything that Dieter somehow knows his name.

'See you later,' he kisses you on the cheek before jogging off.

You think Bravo might lose his shit again like last week, but he doesn't. He gives you one last glare, then goes back to work as if he didn't just run every post-production crew off the set for apparently no reason.

Well, you know the reason. For fuck's sake.

Filming finishes at a very respectable hour of half past eight. You don't even spare Bravo another glance before hurrying to your locker to get changed.

On your way back, you bump into one of the girls, who says, 'I just got Dieter out of costume, give me five minutes to put some clothes on!'

'No rush,' you assure her. 'I'll wait for you in the break room and I'll let the rest know.'

Preoccupied with texting the other girls in makeup, you walk straight into Tobias when you make the final right turn to the break room.

'Oof, I'm so sorry!' you exclaim.

'Oh good, there you are!' he says, clasping you on the shoulder. 'Come have a night cap with us, it's a little tradition we have in the studio when we wrap Week 4. We got a couple of hours until Dieter has to get on his flight to Utah.'

Your heart drops when the said actor comes into sight a few steps behind, in a shaggy brown coat and a sweater in a loud print.

You gesture behind you vaguely. 'Um actually, I have to go -'

The director claps his hands together and proceeds to ignores you. 'Perfect! The drinks are at the executive suite. Bet you've never been there -' He trails off when catches sight of another person. 'Hey, Tom! Drinks now, suite on the third floor -'

Stealthily, you turn on your heel with the full intention of sneaking off, only to be confronted by Bravo's (very broad) chest.

He smiles down at you pleasantly, head tilted to one side. 'Going somewhere, sweetheart?'

You cross your arms, hugging your jacket to your chest. 'Yes, actually.'

'I can see that,' he lets eyes linger on your dress. 'Another date?'

'A party, actually. It's Pete's birthday.'

'Aww, how sweet,' he scorns, giving you a condescending look over the top of his sunglasses. 'Too bad, you're coming with me.'

'No, I'm not,' you protest. 'The director won't even notice I'm gone.'

Dieter rolls his eyes. 'Sweetheart, do you think this is just a night cap? The executive chairman, studio head, casting director, producers will all be there - from other studios too. You still want to go eat cake with post-production Pete?'

You want to kick yourself for how naive you must sound to him. You pinch the bridge of your nose, then shaking yourself, you concede. You hold up one finger, sternly. 'One hour, and then I'm leaving.'

He smiles at you. 'Yes, ma’am.'

------------------------------------------------------

You're still there three hours later. And begrudgingly, not entirely against your will.

When you first stepped across the threshold, your whole body had seized up with nerves as the faces in the crowd registered.

Dieter sensed your trepidation. One hand on the small of your back, he said by your ear, 'Relax. They're just people.' He had to near wrestle your jacket from your fingers, which you were hanging onto as your security blanket, and handed it to one of the attendants milling about.

'C'mon sweetheart, I'll introduce you to Kathy.’

He didn’t leave you alone until you'd found your crowd, at which point he’d asked under his breath, You okay on your own? and waited for your nod affirmative before he went off to do his thing.

Why does he have to be so damn sweet.

You watch him discreetly across the room. He has a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, his rings glinting as he moves, schmoozing easily with his usual air of nonchalance. Despite his apparent boredom, his captive audience obviously hangs onto his every word.

You're exchanging numbers with the casting director of another studio when he ambles back into your periphery.

'I'm just going to borrow her for one second,’ he says and draws you to one side. 'Having fun?'

You've had a few glasses, and you can’t help beaming at him. 'I gotta say, this is pretty amazing.'

He mirrors your grin, then knocks his drink back, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his strong neck. Exhaling through his nose, he cuts his bottom lip with his teeth, his brow wrinkling at the fire of the whiskey.

You’re pretty sure you’re openly gaping at him now and you’re too tipsy to care.

He studies you with dark eyes, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he offers, 'You want a lift? I have to leave for my flight now.'

'Yes sure, thanks,’ you nod, polishing off the last of the champagne and setting the empty glass on a nearby table.

'I'll grab your coat.'

Does he have to be such a gentleman too?

You follow him out of the suite, the building now quiet in its emptiness. He helps you with your jacket, his hands lingering on your shoulders while you shrug it on.

He watches you fiddle with the collar. 'You look good, sweetheart.'

Hands in pockets, you bump him softly with your elbow, not meeting his eyes when you answer, 'So do you.'

He stays close to you as you make your way towards the exit, and you feel the warmth from his chest as he puts a hand on your hip to direct you towards the parking lot reserved for talent. 'My car is this way.'

It is January. It's not a harsh winter night, but still, you shiver at the breeze as you exit the studio. Dieter draws you closer to him as you approach - surprise - a limo, a smartly dressed driver standing by.

'Subtle,' you quip.

'I travel in style,' he says with a wink and opens the door for you. 'Where are you headed?'

You double check your phone for the address. 'To the Mayhem Bar downtown.'

The driver assures Dieter that it's on their way to the airport, and it will take half an hour or so to get there.

You make yourself comfortable in the roomy backseat, the driver closing the door behind Dieter. He sits next to you, shedding his coat and you follow suit. It is warm in the car, and the lighting cozy in the enclosed space. The driver is on the other side of the closed divider.

He lights a cigarette and holds out the packet to you, but you shake your head no. You quit years ago. The comforting smell of nicotine washes over you and you take a deep breath.

Dieter pours you a whiskey instead from a fancy hidden drinks compartment, cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, his rings clinking against the glass, the tattoo of a triangle outline peeking out from under his sleeve.

He hands you the heavy crystal tumbler, his fingers brushing yours, before he settles and drapes his left arm on the back of your seat, his warmth grazing your bare shoulders. 'Still going to that party, huh?'

'Night is still young,' you reply, allowing yourself to relax into him.

You admire his profile when he turns his face to breathe out the cigarette smoke. He smirks when he turns back to you. 'So, it's Pete's 17th birthday tonight, huh?'

You narrow your eyes at him, but you're smiling. 'You're a funny man, Dieter Bravo.'

'Has his voice broken yet?' he carries on playfully.

You can't help but give an exasperated sigh and you elbow him in the ribs. 'Even his balls have dropped, can you believe it?'

He chuckles. 'I mean, I've flirted with danger, but… underaged sex?'

You slap him on the thigh in rebuke. It's a very firm thigh. You don't move your hand away and he doesn't seem to mind. 'He's thirty one, lay off him.'

'You got him a present?'

You shrug. 'I'm gonna buy him a drink.'

He frowns disapprovingly. 'A drink? After you turn up sans panties to your date last time? What a letdown.'

You feel the tips of your ears grow hot, and you take a big gulp of whiskey. You sense that you’re straying into dangerous territory. 'Not by choice. You took them.'

Is it just you, or is he suddenly really close?

'You didn't ask for them back.'

You snort in disbelief. Seriously? He thinks that you had the brain power to string together a sentence, let alone ask for your panties back, after he ate your pussy like that? You're honestly not sure if you've ever come so hard - you felt it in your cunt the whole weekend.

You jump like a live wire when you feel his fingers trace the top of your shoulder blades, and you look up at him.

His gaze is so intense that you can't help the tremour that runs through you.

Oh shit, did you just say all that out loud?

The butt of his cigarette glows red in the dim. Plucking it from his lips, he stubs out the light in an ashtray, his eyes never leaving yours.

He licks his lips and then says with an edge of mockery. 'Bet the poor bastard thought you didn’t wear panties for him. Bet he thought you were wet for him.'

His dirty words heat your cheeks. You challenge, 'Why don’t you just ask me if I fucked Pete?'

Dieter leans in, his nose nudges your cheek, teeth catching your ear lobe. 'Why do I care if I can fuck you right now?'

You stop breathing.

'Can I?' he whispers, taking the whiskey from your hands and setting it on the floor. 'Please?'

Your noses touch, his fingers tangling into your hair to turn your face towards his fully -

Then the screen of your phone lights up and the ringtone breaks the silence.

PETE (POST) CALLING

Pete has the worst fucking timing.

Taking advantage of your distraction, Dieter lifts you up and deposits you on his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.

He stares into your eyes and orders, 'Pick up, now. Put it on speaker.'

Your pulse races. This is so wrong but your body remembers the last time this happened and you're on autopilot. You press the speaker button and place the phone on the top of the backseat so you can both hear. 'Hello?'

Dieter’s lips find the side of your neck and his hands dive under your dress, sliding up and under your bottom, dragging his nails on your sensitive skin.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

It's loud where Pete is. You can barely hear him above the thump of the music in the background. Hey, babe! Are you on your way?

You fumble with Dieter's belt until it loosens, he lifts his hips and shoves his pants and boxers down, releasing his hard cock. You swallow hard at the sight. You've wanted to touch him for so long - has it really been three weeks since you first -

Dieter pinches your thigh when it takes you too long to answer. You absent-mindedly say in the general direction of your phone, 'Yeah, um, I'll be there in about thirty.'

And then you wrap your hand around him. Finally feeling the weight of the thick, velvety head in your palm. Dieter lets out a shaky exhale through gritted teeth, the air warming you as he yanks the neckline of your dress as far down as he can to suck on your collarbone.

Pete replies, Oh great! How are you getting here? Prices are crazy on Uber surge, I just checked.

You only know that Dieter is still listening when he rolls his eyes so hard his head lolls back. You shouldn’t reward his petulance, but you tighten your grasp and give him a few hard strokes to throw him off balance.

'Shit,' he mutters into your cleavage, his hips thrusting into your hand while his big hands come up to palm your breasts, his rings digging into the plump flesh as he squeezes you desperately through too many layers of fabric. You weave your other hand into his hair, holding his lips to your skin while you grind down on his thigh.

You know what? Hang on a sec babe, let me check the prices on Lyft.

Dieter’s fingers slide between your legs, drawing circles on your clit through your panties before hooking his index finger along the seam, and he yanks the fabric to the side. You breath stutters when his knuckles graze your already slippery folds.

He groans a bit too loudly for comfort and you press your hand over his mouth, shooting him a warning glare.

Except he likes it. Of course he would. He hums deep in his chest cavity and laves the heart of your palm with his hot tongue until you tremble.

It’s still ridiculous on Lyft. Guess I'll have to try Bolt.

You feel fingertips dip experimentally into your entrance, and Dieter braces himself at the wetness he finds there. Ripping your palm from his mouth, he leans up to rasp in your ear, 'Show me how you’d ride my cock, sweetheart.'

You can’t help it, you mewl, praying that your phone is too far away to pick up your noises. You lift yourself up and push down onto two thick fingers, until you feel the cold bite of the ring Dieter always wears on his index finger, as your pussy swallows his digits whole.

'Fuck, sweetheart, fuck. Missed this wet pussy,' he whimpers into your ear. 'Missed it so much.'

Your pace falters when he digs the heel of his palm into your clit. In return, you reach down to cup his balls, his mouth falls open in an obscene groan that borders on dangerously loud and he has to bury his face in your neck.

Pete pipes up. Oh actually, Bolt prices are ok. You want me to call you a cab?

For fuck's sake, Pete’s still there?

'Um,' you stammer when Dieter bites down on the pulse point between your neck and shoulder unexpectedly. 'Actually, I'm hitching a ride.'

Dieter pulls back to raise an eyebrow at you, surprised at your admission to Pete. His cock twitches in your grip. 'Quite a ride, huh?' he teases, voice low in your ear.

Oh yeah? From who?

'Mr. Bravo has offered to drop me off on his way to the airport.'

Dieter's brown eyes widen. He likes that Pete knows you’re in his car. He likes that you’re talking to Pete while he’s knuckle deep inside you. He likes that Pete's none the wiser as you fist his throbbing cock.

Pete exclaims in disbelief. Holy shit, that's dope! Is he coming to my party? Then he obviously pulls back to shout excitedly at all his friends. Guys, Dieter Bravo is coming to my party!

Dieter rolls his eyes when cheers fill the phone, and you slap him on the shoulder to get him to focus. Condom, you mouth at him.

Single-handedly - your pussy still has his fingers in a stranglehold - Dieter struggles to reach into his back pocket. You don't make it easy for him, kissing his neck and rocking against him, desperate for friction.

'Actually,' you finally say into the phone, just as Dieter tears open the packet open with his teeth and you help him roll the condom on his leaking cock. 'He needs to get on a flight, so he can't stop by.'

You nearly gasp when Dieter unceremoniously pulls out from your cunt, his fingers shining in the darkness when he grabs your phone, smearing the screen with your slick. Notching the tip of his cock at your entrance, Dieter rasps into the receiver, 'Happy fucking birthday, Pete.'

With that, he hangs up and enters you in one thrust.

And you're pretty sure you black out for about ten seconds in the immediate aftermath.

If he didn’t stretch you open just so with his cock, you’d be thinking how it is the epitome of tacky that you’re fucking a movie star in the back of a limo.

But he does.

If he didn’t groan with such filthy satisfaction at the sound of your pussy practically squelching around his length when you start sliding up and down in earnest, you’d be mortified by how your slick is trickling down your thighs and most probably staining his pants.

But he does.

If he didn’t stare at you with such wild abandon, pupils blown under furrowed brow, teeth bared and bottom lip caught in his teeth, you’d be anxious that you’re not riding his cock well enough.

But he does.

'That's it,' says Dieter coarsely, squeezing the flesh of your bottom as he starts to piston up into you. 'So tight - knew you would be - been thinking of this pussy all week, sweetheart -'

‘Yes yes yes,’ you slur as he starts hitting a spot so deep your eyes are rolling back. ‘So good, Dieter, so fucking good -’

Then out of the blue, he asks, ‘You fucked Pete, didn’t you?’

You barely manage to push the words out as he bounces you mercilessly on his length. ‘Thought it - thought it didn’t matter.'

Gripping the back of your neck, he forces you to look at him. ‘Tell me I'm better. Please, sweetheart. Tell me I fuck your cunt better with my cock.'

His eyes are so warm and so vulnerable, you can only be honest with him. 'Yes, you are - you do. You make me feel so fucking good.'

His whole body shudders as your words hit home. Heat hits the shell of your ear as he pants, ‘I’m not gonna last, sweetheart. Touch yourself. Make yourself come for me.’

With what strength you have left, you push back arm’s length from him so that you can reach down between your thighs. It’s wet and sticky and messy and your back arches when your fingers find your clit.

‘That’s it, pretty,’ coos Dieter, his hands now supporting your whole weight, dragging you up and down at a punishing pace. ‘I want to feel you come around my cock.’

It doesn’t take much before you feel the first pull in your stomach, and your voice catches in your throat in a gargled whimper.

‘I can feel you,’ Dieter growls, bucking into you wildly. ‘Come on, sweetheart, let me feel that tight cunt come for me -’

One rough hand grabs you by the face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. Your foreheads bump together as you come apart, hurtling over the edge with a broken sob. White noise fills your ears, deafening, until Dieter's harsh groans pierce the fog. His hips jerk erratically as he spills into the condom, and he grunts fuck - fuck sweetheart!, his grip on your hips bruising, before he collapses back into the leather seat, taking you with him.

It takes a moment for the world to stop spinning and one more for you to realize that the car has stopped moving.

You start when soft lips brush yours in an almost kiss. You taste nicotine and whisky on his tongue, and you feel his fingers push into your hair.

Gingerly, you extract the hand that is still trapped between your bodies. Catching your wrist, Dieter draws your fingers into his mouth, sucking on your digits with such ferocious focus that it steals your breath away.

He presses a kiss to the heart of your palm, his beard tickling you. He murmurs, 'Come away with me this weekend.'

You pull your hand back. 'What?'

'Come to Sundance with me,' he repeats, his hands smoothing down your thighs. 'I got a jet and a penthouse for the weekend.'

You look away first, your knees weak when you push yourself off his lap. He falls out of you and you pull the hem of your dress down, sitting back on your behind.

Dieter reaches down to pull the condom off him, knotting and throwing it carelessly on the limo floor. He frowns at your lukewarm reaction. 'Sweetheart?'

'Don't do this,' you bite out, fussing with the neckline of your dress, which is beyond crumpled.

Dieter pulls up his pants, but doesn't bother zipping up, not hiding the confusion on his face. 'Don't do what?'

You jerkily pull on your jacket, jamming one arm in the sleeve. 'Whatever the fuck it is you do with women you work with, that you're now trying to do with me right now.'

He grabs your wrist, searching out your eyes, but you refuse to meet his. 'Hey, hey, look at me. What are you talking about?'

'I've read the stories,' you say, accusingly, snatching your hand back. 'The torrid affairs, on-set girlfriends, whirlwind engagements. Don't think you can pull any of that shit on me.'

Dieter scoffs, obviously bewildered at your sudden change in demeanour. 'You don't know me.'

You zip up your jacket. 'What I know is that three weeks ago, you were asking me to watch a girl suck you off, and now you want me to go to Sundance with you.'

'I didn't know you then!' he argues heatedly.

'And you don't know me now!' you shout back, shoving your phone in your bag. 'Just because we fucked doesn't mean I'm going to sack off my friends, drop everything and go away with you.'

Dieter lets out an exasperated noise, throwing his hands up. 'I'm not telling you to, sweetheart, I'm asking you. I thought you'd like to.'

'Don't make any assumptions about me, thank you very much!'

Dieter snaps, 'Fine! Then don't come, I don't give a fuck!'

'Great,' you snarl, yanking on the handle to open the car door. 'Have a good fucking weekend, Bravo.'

The violent slamming of the door echoes emptily in his ears, the warmth from your body completely dissipated.

He watches you out of the window. Pete is waiting for you by the door to the bar, and you throw your hands around him to pull him in a hug.

He looks away, reaching out to grab his pack of cigarettes. He ignores the way his hands shake when he lights it.

Taking in a deep drag, he breathes out through his teeth.

Fuck this. Fuck you.

Dieter barks at the driver to make an extra stop on the way to the airport.

Half an hour later than scheduled, Dieter trudges up the stairs to his private jet, his weekend duffle in one hand, and a small bag of blow in his back pocket.

Oh yes. He will have a fucking good weekend.

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Taglist: @mandosmistress @gracie7209 @ezrasbirdie @adikas-anonymous @icanbeyourjedi @fuzzy-purple-crayon @elp-art @fangirl-316 @underwood0723 @axolotl-anonymous @green-socks @thisshipwillsail316 @dreamcatcher121 @hquinzelle @geekrenaissance @doin-stuff @hungrhay @harriedandharassed @allfoolsinluv @saffronpersimmon @vickytogisa @thirddeadlysin @rav3n-pascal22 @ezras-channel-rat @pepperpottsxxxx @babydarkstar @katiebits1 @xoxabs88xox @the-feckless-wonder @hello-itsbarbie @joelsrifle

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{ << Part 2: Contrite | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 4: Contingent >> }

Note: I am so, so humbled by the love my little fic has received from you loveliest readers! 🥺 I just hit 100 followers today, thank you every single one of you who has reblogged and let me know your thoughts, it's the greatest gift sharing our obsession with this adorable and very hot fool 🥵

As I mentioned in the sneak preview, I am getting married in a month but I plan on uploading at least the next part before I go on a little break. I expect this series to wrap in 5 parts, but I already have a bunch of ideas for one shots based on these two so don’t worry, it won’t be the end for this pair of idiots 💜

I hope you guys enjoyed this instalment. I only added the softness after seeing the movie, cos our Dieter is an unabashedly soft boi 🥺 I would love to hear what you think, reblogs and comments appreciated as always 💚

[tauritos]

hello @yhs-and-ts-ruined-me your prompt caught my eye. 1.3k of Yuki, Dom and Invader beating the shit out of Sam w/ a baseball bat. Warning for violence, swearing, and canon-typical Sam behavior

The screaming begins a few minutes before dawn breaks the horizon. Yuki had spent more than enough time sneaking around Sam and Taurtis' place to know what her rabbit looked like asleep, painted red in sunrise's embrace, snoozing soundly.

The silence is almost off-putting. She's so used to his grating voice scritching at her ears, his boisterous laughter, the heavy background of red and blue at his heel, that seeing him alone in bed makes him look like a new man.

But he's not. His nose twitches in his sleep like it does when he's awake. Brown ears flatten to equally brown hair as if he's upset, like he's screaming with a closed mouth. 

Grian's blood is still under his fingernails, from when Sam grabbed the other earlier, and if she pulls Sam's hand to her face, she can make out bits of earwax, smelling faintly spicy. Probably happened when he ripped Taurtis' headphones off his head. Yuki thinks they're all disgusting. Sam is the worst of them all, she decides. 

Maybe that's why she raises the baseball bat - Dom's, mahogany, shittily painted in trans flag colors in what Yuki bets was a poor attempt at rebellion - and brings it crashing down on Sam.

A sickening crack fills the air, and Sam abruptly wakes with a shriek, jerking up to meet Yuki with wide eyes then immediately falling back. She hopes she broke his ribs. Yuki moves forward and sits on his belly. His stomach puffs out as he wildly exhales, then deflates, spasming beneath Yuki as her weight prevents it from being able to take a deep breath.

Sam's hands claw at Yuki, raking down the rumpled fabric of her clothes. For such a monster, he's awfully weak. She stretches to his throat and presses down firmly on his windpipe, a grin splitting her face as the rabbit hybrid bucks up and wrestles and -

She's interrupted by a soft ding. Her phone vibrates in the depths of her skirt. Yuki leans back almost leisurely as she fishes the device out, only squeezing her legs tighter around Sam's torso when the rabbit hybrid struggles fiercely in response. It's a text from Invader.

blart's girl: u actually do it? 

blart's girl: Dom changed his mind. He wants in. omw

Yuki doesn't reply, instead taking a photo of Sam's face. He's long past the grogginess of waking up and is in full panic mode, shrieking and kicking the sheets. Sam must sense she'd switched to taking a video, because it's when he starts to use his mouth for anything other than eardrum-splitting screaming.

"Yuki, Yuki!" He yells, "What the fuck? I thought you were on our side! Why did you hit me? What did I do to deserve that? It fucking hurts! Get off!"

She smiles sweetly with a mouth full of knives rather than teeth. A tiny bit of blood must be weeping from where she brought down the bat, sinking wetly into her skirt, and Yuki decides it's not enough. 

She wants more. 

The bat finds itself back in her hand. Sam shrieks again, but falters when it comes to rest gently on his Adam's apple. It's a great tease for Invader and Dom, and Yuki is about to announce she'll let them do it when they arrive over video, only then Sam asks, "Is this a sex thing? I knew you girls were freaky! I bet homo-Soul's even crazier!"

And that pisses her off. Anger twists in her gut and builds up along her ribs like plague. Yuki tosses her head back and laughs. He'd never grow out of his bullshit. 

She yanks the bat forward and up, sending Sam's head flying back against the pillow. Blood beads along the impact wound. Yuki runs her hand along without a hint of gentleness and flaunts the blood coming off with it to the camera. 

Sam writhes and howls as she sends it to Invader. "Red! Red! Fuck, you're fucking crazy, red's a safeword, right?"

"I'll pick you apart, right down to your core, and sneer when I'm revealed with a egotistical, whining, baby bunny bitch," Yuki snaps back. "You are anything but sexually appealing, Samgladiator."

Sam's retort is caught in his throat as the window Yuki came in through is pulled open. Yuki swivels around, again slamming the bat down on Sam's ribs to keep him in place (she's almost certain something broke this time), and brandishes a knife towards the window. Dammit, she thought she'd found the perfect time to do this! 

Thankfully, it's Dom's head that pops over the windowsill. He's pushed through. Triple grunts fill the air, one from Sam, one from Dom whose ass lands up on the floor, and one echoing outside. Invader, she bets.

Dom's not in his usual outfit. Fit in white sweatpants that swallow his feet whole and only his binder, the only thing normal is the purple hat on his head, but even that's silver in moonlight. He pulls himself to his feet. He's no threat to her, nevermind when Yuki has two weapons at her disposal, so she turns back to Sam. 

Blood bubbles at his lips, coming up from his ribs. His cheeks bloom brilliant pink from strain and his rabbit ears shake erratically. Yuki closes her fists around them and tugs them both to their feet, handing the bat to Dom. She knows he won't do shit. 

Sam leans heavily against her, helplessly doubled over, head yanked to where Yuki's hands sat by her stomach. His legs still work, she inwardly notes. He'd probably be running if Invader wasn't standing in the doorway, large and as intimidating as her father.

"I want to remember this. Forever.," Dom says. He gestures to his white clothing. She can respect that. Sam moves fast enough to give Yuki whiplash, shrieking like he didn't know Dom was here. "I want to see the blood stains."

"Well, there's some on the sheets if that's your fancy," Yuki replies. She teasingly adds, "Or: we can start a new flow."

Dom's hands flap eagerly at the prospect. Yuki's dad would've killed her for doing something like that. She hums in question as he walks around her and Sam's hunched over, gasping form, and presents the pink-white-and-blue bat to Invader.

"Sure. I'd kill to get bunnyboy on his knees," Dom agrees easily, turning to Yuki. Next, he lowers his gaze, and bites out, "Sam, you're a piece of shit. You've done nothing but hurt and mock and take advantage of everyone around you. You're an attention whore, a liar, and honestly I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt anybody, because then I'd be just like you. But I've realized something, Sam. I'll never be like you, because you hurt good people. Grian, Taurtis, Salex.

"I only hurt bad ones."

Invader's hands meet Dom's, and for a second, Yuki stares with a look of confusion. But then they clasp together and the bat is swinging at Sam's knees, exposed as he shakes against Yuki. For the first time, she feels a twinge of sympathy for Sam, and grips him tightly back. A confused whimper fills her ears.

And they shatter. Sam's legs collapse beneath him. An open-mouthed sob ribs through him, blood pooling from his mouth, pouring from his knees. After that' Invader and Dom take turns slamming it down against his back, relentlessly for several minutes. Yuki starts to dread having to clean the carpet after. By the time dawn climbs over the horizon, the sunlight barely makes a difference, they're so drenched in red.

"I hate transphobes, and racists, and sexists, and most importantly you, Sam," Invader finishes with a final crack. Sam's unmoving on the floor. "I hate you." She echoes Dom.

Yuki pockets her knife and crouches down, prying Sam's face from the carpet. That's thick. No matter, she'd deal with it.

She tells Dom and Invader to steal some of Sam's clothes and go home. Dom's binder will never be the same again, and Invader's got a haunted look on her face. Between the blood drying on her clothes and the amount of bandages she'll have to apply if she wants Sam to survive in time for Grian and Taurtis' turn, Yuki decides they're not her problem.

Dawn breaks over a broken man. Good. He deserved it.