#not dreading it not excited but a secret third thing

[boabel]

work tomorrow.....

[lifeintheworldtocome]

less than a month till. my birht day !

[blood-mocha-latte]

just watched the masters of the air trailer....... indescribable feelings

[joelscruff]

truth or dare (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

notification blog | kofi | in honor of my bestie han @swiftispunk who recently celebrated her birthday (and in honor of spooky season starting 🎃) i thought i'd step outside the boundaries of what i usually write and try something new. i'd also like to give a huge shoutout to @toxicanonymity whose entire masterlist greatly influenced my desire to try something like this. please heed the warnings!!! and as i said this is my first time writing anything like this so pls be kind 🫠

summary: a harmless game of truth or dare ends with you tied up in a certain mysterious neighbor's garage. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dubcon (reader is given a choice to leave, but not immediately), dark!joel, age gap (reader is college age, joel is in his fifties), unprotected p in v sex, use of restraints, ropes, spanking, degradation, sir kink, dirty talk (use of 'little girl' as a pet name), face fucking, rough sex, creampie, brief anal play, humiliation, inappropriate use of a household item (he puts a flashlight up her cooch), marking (with a sharpie), size kink (joel is much bigger than reader and can lift her), pls lemme know if i forgot anything word count: 8.3k

Your palms are sweaty, fingers sticking to your skin as you stand at the edge of the property with goosebumps already blooming along your flesh. The air is chilly, that end of summer evening air flooding your nostrils as a car drives past through streams of leftover rainwater, headlights blurring your vision for a moment. It passes quickly and you're alone again, standing on the street corner with a mixture of anticipation and dread filling your trembling body.

Everything had been fine about twenty minutes ago. A typical party with your hometown friends, one last hurrah before everyone splits off for the third year in a row to go back to their respective colleges, back to long lectures and underwhelming frat boys. It had gone the same way it always does when you get together - shots, secrets, schemes. No end of summer party could ever be complete without a game of truth or dare, not for your crowd anyway.

It had started simple. "Which one of us had the best glow-up this year?" "I dare you to text the last guy you slept with." "What's the kinkiest thing you've done with somebody?" "I dare you to show us the last nude someone sent you." Typical borderline adolescent challenges, things you all still followed through with despite being too old for the game - it's the principle of it, to indulge and pretend, if only for a little while, that life is as simple as it once was.

"Who's the last person you had a sex dream about?"

You'd twisted your hands awkwardly in your lap, felt heat rush to the apples of your cheeks. Usually a question like this wouldn't make you hesitate, but the subject of the answer had been a slightly embarrassing one. As soon as the name Joel Miller had fallen from your lips, you'd been met with screams and squeals and excited chatter from every direction.

"He's so fucking creepy though," one of your friends had said with wide eyes, palm over her mouth, "He gives off serial killer vibes."

"Oh please, he's not that bad," another had chimed in, "He's just a loner, kinda mysterious. I see the vision."

"Are we forgetting the part where he's old as hell? Dude must be in his fifties, at least."

"But that means experience."

"It could also mean limp dick."

"You guys are disgusting," you'd moaned, leaning back on your hands, "It was one dream, let's move on."

And they had. Briefly. Until it was once again your turn and they'd all rounded on you with cheshire cat grins and glinting stares. You should have known what was coming when you chose Dare.

"I dare you to go over to his house."

You'd resisted, of course. The dare itself didn't even make much sense; what were you meant to do? Go over and ding-dong-ditch his front door like a twelve year old boy? But it had only snowballed from there, all five girls tossing in their own thoughts and ideas, talking and giggling over each other. "She should ask him on a date." "She should just flirt a little bit, see how he reacts." "She could see how far she can get with him, maybe?" "Oh shit, that's good."

You could have always said no - there was no way any of them could force you to do it, even if it would have ended the party abruptly with grumbled complaints and a slammed door. But the more they talked the more you found yourself listening, letting the concept sink in, the images of the dream you'd had the other night flooding to the front of your mind. Mysterious and elusive Joel Miller, big hands covered in the motor oil he uses to tinker with his truck, trailing his messy fingers between the swells of your breasts...

They'd managed to convince you just by the reminder alone, though also due to the fact that they'd each tossed in a twenty dollar bill and stated that simply getting a kiss on the cheek would warrant a win. The prospect was intriguing; it would be a testament to your own desirability, your game. How far can you get with your quiet neighbor who probably hasn't touched a woman in years? Who'll probably fold the second he realizes someone as young and beautiful as you is interested in him?

"I'll do it," you'd said with a smirk, rising from the hardwood, "How hard can it be?"

Harder than you thought, apparently. Because now you stand a few feet from Joel Miller's house, loitering soundlessly at the edge of his front lawn, hesitating. The sun has gone down, turning the hedges along the side of his property into frighteningly tall shadows, dark and menacing. A light breeze flows past and you wrap yourself tighter in your well-worn maroon cardigan, shivering, staring at your boots and wondering if you can really bring yourself to do this.

It'll be so humiliating if he rejects your advances. On the other hand, will it somehow be less-so if he returns your flirtatiousness and you then have to reject him once you've gotten what you came for? How will that make you look? You're not even really sure why you care - probably because the man has done nothing to you whatsoever, nothing that would warrant such a foolish prank as this being played on him. It makes you feel bad, in a way. As much as you and your friends make fun of him, he really is just a man who keeps to himself - perhaps this is going too far.

You notice light flickering nearby, a reflection of fluorescents in the puddles of his driveway. You figured he'd be in his garage - it's where he spends most of his time, bent over the exposed hood of the truck he's seemingly been working on ever since he moved in at the beginning of the summer. You've never seen him drive it, never even seen him leave the property, but you've passed by the house on more than one occasion. You've seen the way he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, forearms splattered black and grey, expression focused on the task at hand while sweat drips from his greying temples.

Having a sex dream about him really shouldn't have been that shocking, now that you think about it. The man is a mystery, sure, but he isn't ugly by any means.

You swallow down your qualms, picturing the faces of your friends more than likely smooshed against the living room window a few houses back, watching. As soon as you turn the corner, you'll disappear from view, obstructed by the hedges and the sudden darkness of night. You take one more deep breath, one last burst of chilly evening air into your lungs, and accept your fate.

--

He doesn't notice you walking up his driveway, taking slow and meager steps as you assess the open garage, the truck with its hood popped as usual, the flickering of the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. He doesn't notice you, but you notice him. You spot a pair of steel toed boots and long denim clad legs sticking out from underneath the truck, hear the clink and clang of metal against metal while he tinkers with something down there, unseen. As you reach the garage it becomes apparent that you still have one last chance to end this before it begins, turn around and take the loss.

But you don't.

"Excuse me," you offer in a weak voice, teetering nervously at the edge of the garage door, neither inside nor out - neutral ground.

The clinking stops, replaced by the steady pounding of your heart in your chest, the heaviness of your breathing. You try to loosen your hands from their fisted forms and unclench your fingers, focusing on the stretch of flesh and bone while the legs beneath the car slowly begin to inch forward. He's not laying on any type of support, one of those wheeled contraptions you've seen other people use - no, he's simply got his back to the ground, a back and body that's slowly coming into view.

His black and green flannel rides up where he's been laying on it, as well as the grey t-shirt he wears beneath; as he slides out from under the car you spot a bare sliver of skin just above his waistband, a patch of hair that trails down into his jeans. A lump forms in your throat. When he finally peeks his head out, you swallow around it and try to remember to breathe.

Greying hair slicked back behind his ears, cheekbones smeared slightly with something black, scruff lining a strong yet soft jawline, a plump bottom lip, and those eyes... dark brown, almost black. It's the face that's practically been haunting you all summer, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.

His brow furrows as soon as he sees you, "Can I help you?"

It's not the first time you've heard him talk, but it's certainly the first time he's ever spoken directly to you. His accent is stronger than you remember, words slipping smoothly past his lips like butter as he eyes you from the floor of his garage, knees up, hands still hidden in the darkness. A few seconds pass before you realize he's asked you a question.

"Oh, um-" You haven't thought this through very far, that's for sure. What the fuck do you even say? You take a breath and remind yourself that you're good at this, have seduced your fair share of frat boys in the past two years with minimal effort and have never heard the word no. Sure, Joel Miller isn't a frat boy - far from it - but underneath his cold exterior he's still very much a man, and very much capable of falling under the spell of a beautiful woman. You hope, anyway.

"I was just taking a walk," you lie, "Saw your light on, thought I'd come say hi."

He stares at you blankly, like he's unsure exactly how he's supposed to respond - or perhaps he's already seeing through your façade. You take a step into his garage, poised at the edge as you lean casually against the opening.

"Honestly, um-" you push some hair behind your ear and attempt to look shy, though it's not a huge jump from how you're actually feeling, "I've been meaning to talk to you, before I go back to college."

At your words he raises an eyebrow and slowly brings his hands downwards, palms pressing flat against the dark concrete. You watch as he eases himself up and out from under the truck, and god he's tall - tall and broad and huge compared to you, a fact that sends a little flutter into your belly. He takes a step toward the work bench against the wall, eyes still on you as he reaches down and picks up a rag to wipe his hands, big and wide and streaked with oil. You remember your dream and feel a twinge in your underwear.

"Talk to me about what?" he asks, massaging the rag against his fingers.

You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, taking another step inside his garage, closer to where he stands at the work bench. You cross your legs in an attempt to show them off, stretching your ankle toward a spare tire on the floor and accentuating the sheerness of your black tights, the little run that splits the material at the inside of your knee, the hint of bare skin that peeks out beneath.

"Nothing in particular," you say, keeping your voice soft and steady but doing your best to keep that shy girlishness present, "Just... wanted to." You peer up at him from under your lashes and bite your lip, then reach out your hand for him to take. You say your name.

He assesses your hand but doesn't take it, brow still furrowed. "Joel," he replies, "And I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment. Don't really have time to talk." His voice is cold and gruff, absolutely no sign of interest or attraction - dammit.

"What're you doing?" you ask, tilting your head.

He continues to stare at you blankly, "What does it look like I'm doin'?"

Okaaaay, then.

You shrug again and take another step, turning to look at the wall next to you. Tools line the shelves, wrenches and screwdrivers and the like dangling rather precariously here and there, smeared in motor oil and dust. It's a mess but you'd be willing to bet that it's organized chaos, that he likes it this way.

"What's this?" you ask, pointing to a particularly large object, something that looks like a mixture between a pair of scissors and a wrench.

"Bolt cutters," he supplies you monotonously.

"Ohh," you say with a nod, leaning a bit into the confused pretty girl stereotype and hoping maybe he's a sucker for it, "And what's that?" You point toward a small cylindrical object, black and tactical, only a few inches long.

"You never seen a flashlight before?"

Oh. Right. "Woops," you giggle, "Sorry."

You turn your face to look at him sheepishly and he's still watching you, big arms now crossed against his broad chest - impatient. Well, this is clearly not working either. He's frowning, eyes so focused on your face that you feel almost naked beneath it, like he's staring into your soul. You clear your throat awkwardly and tug your bottom lip between your teeth, breaking your own gaze away from him and trying to find something else to comment on.

"So you've been working on your truck," you state, gesturing toward the vehicle as if only just noticing it was even there, "What's - uh - what's wrong with it?"

He's clearly not buying into whatever the fuck you're even trying to sell. He remains silent, eyes still on you, and suddenly it's like you've never even interacted with a man before - and to be honest, maybe you haven't. Frat boys are certainly not men by any means, and nowhere near in the same league as Joel Miller by a long shot, probably almost triple their age with a dark and mysterious aura that feels almost suffocating. He just stares at you, slightly unnerving, but also seductive in its own way, almost like he's challenging you.

"What do you want?" he asks blankly.

"I-I told you," your voice is already faltering, losing its flirtatious edge the more you realize how dumb of an idea this was, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I got that," he says stiffly, "Why?"

You've already exhausted the avenues you thought might work, which means you've got one last chance before he sends you packing. With bated breath you take the final few steps toward him and - averting your gaze - you reach your hand out to touch his forearm with your fingertips. It's feather light, but you're suddenly very aware of the goosebumps that rise on his freckled flesh, the way the thick hair on his arms seems to stand on end the second your skin touches his. Okay, now we're getting somewhere.

"I think you're handsome," you murmur softly, feeling warmth rush to your cheeks when you realize that it's not a lie. And it really isn't. As your gaze gradually tilts up you catch a glimpse of the hair on his chest, peeking out from under his grey t-shirt. You spot his pecs beneath the fabric of his flannel, see the throbbing veins in his neck, the coarseness of his scruff, the sharp curve of his nose, and those fucking eyes - looking at you with a darkness, a lust, that wasn't there before.

He's not just handsome; he's fucking gorgeous.

"What're you doin'?" he asks you, that gruffness still present but being taken over by something else, something darker.

"Nothing," you breathe, still trailing your fingers along his forearm until they reach its apex and dip into the soft part behind his elbow, damp with sweat. You swallow, throat going dry as you stroke his skin with your thumb.

"Doesn't feel like nothin'," his voice is quieter, matching yours, and he tilts his head slightly as he continues to stare into your eyes, "Why're you really here, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. The word sends a burst of warmth to your chest, a smile to your lips. You unlock your eyes from his bashfully, watching your own movements as you trail your fingers back down toward his hand and wrap them around one of his fingers, so thick compared to your own. You squeeze gently, biting your lip again as you peer back up at him. Here it is. Moment of truth. You tilt your head up slightly, eyelashes fluttering as you lean forward to connect your lips with his.

Except, they don't connect.

Instead he pulls his hands away from you, brings them upwards and wraps them around your upper arms, squeezing tightly. Your eyes widen, confusion flooding your features.

"Turn around and bend over."

"W-what?" Shock doesn't even begin to describe the ice cold feeling that now makes its way through your body, edged with something else - something you can't explain.

"Turn around," he repeats, his big hands squeezing your arms even tighter - relentless, firm - as he peers down at you with a dark hunger in his eyes, glinting black beneath the fluorescents, "And bend over."

He does not give you another chance to obey - you're too frozen in surprise and confusion to do anything yourself. Instead, he uses the force of his weight on your arms to spin you on the spot, shoving you against the work bench. You feel one of his hands move from your arm to your back, pushing hard until you fold, warm cheek coming to rest against the cold wood.

"Wh-what are you doing?" your voice is meager, weak, and you feel him wrap one of his hands around both your wrists like it's nothing, pinning them against your back like they're simply twigs in his wide palm.

"What you're clearly fuckin' beggin' for," he replies gruffly, and you feel his other hand at your skirt, feel the brush of his fingertips at the hem as he reaches upward to grip the band of your tights. Your eyes widen and instinctively you pull back, pull away - he just pushes you back down.

"I'm not-" you begin, shock quickly being replaced with fear when you realize how easily overpowered you are, how fluidly he's able to tug down your tights and expose your ass to him, clad in only a black thong already lost between your cheeks.

"Oh, you're not, huh?" his voice is cold and stoic, angry, "You think you can play games with me, little girl?" His hand comes to rest against the swell of your behind and you suddenly feel his breath above you, hot in your ear, "Tell me why you're really here."

You try to lift your head up to look at him better but he just shoves you back down again. Panic floods your body, mixed with the unmistakable burn of arousal. You feel yourself twitch in your underwear, feel a sudden gush of warmth spill inside the fabric as he begins to trail his finger up and down the thin line of black cotton.

"I-I'm..." You're at a complete loss for words, unable to articulate anything, unsure of what exactly is happening - or about to happen. Two minutes ago you'd been sure he was about to tell you to leave, practically kick you out of the garage himself, and now you're not sure leaving is even a possibility.

He pulls his hand back and you cry out when it comes down to slap against one of your cheeks, a sharp sting and burn you hadn't been anticipating.

"Tell me why you're here," he repeats - authoritarian, firm.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out except a frightened squeak, something which clearly eggs him on even more. He spanks you again, harder this time, palm flat and wide against your pebbled flesh. The sound that slips past your lips is somehow akin to a moan of some sort, guttural and deep.

"I'll just make it harder and harder, sweetheart," he says then, and the pet name no longer contains the warmth it did mere moments ago; instead it's cold and detached, mocking. You're still reeling when his hand comes down to slap against you again, even harder this time, and your hands ball into fists behind your back as you let out another low moan. More slick gushes into your panties and it's impossible to deny that somehow, despite the fear twinging in your heart, you're so fucking turned on.

"M-my friends," you gasp out, and you feel him squeeze your abused ass cheek which you're sure is already dark with his handprint, "They- they dared me to see how far I c-could get with you."

He lets your words sink in for a moment, squeezing again - tighter, so tight that it hurts. You whimper against the wooden top of the work bench, legs shaking.

"So you came here to get fucked," he finally states.

"N-no, I swear, I-"

"Wasn't a question," he interrupts, and you feel his other hand tighten around your wrists, "You came here to get fucked so you're gonna get fucked, end of story."

"But I-"

Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, the rough denim of his jeans pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. You gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his dick between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat beside your head against the work bench.

"You feel that?" he asks, voice suddenly quieter but still full of that ice cold malice, "You feel that cock?"

Fuck. "Y-yes," you breathe, "I feel it."

"You have five seconds before i close this door and stuff you full, understand?" Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it presses painfully against the wood. He's giving you an out.

"I- I-" you swallow, brows furrowing when you feel his hand slacken around your wrists. You could pull away now, yank yourself out of his grasp and sprint down his driveway, return to your friends. Forget this ever even happened.

It's your last chance.

"Five," he begins, breath warm against your face.

Run. Just run.

"Four."

But why?

"Three."

Why don't you want to run?

"Two."

Why do you want to stay?

"One."

He pulls his hand up from the work bench and hits a button on the wall, eliciting a loud mechanical noise to your left as the garage door starts to close. You watch with wide eyes as your chance to leave slowly vanishes inch by inch until it's gone completely, and yet no part of you itches to run, to escape. There's nothing to escape from, you realize. You want to be here. You want him to fuck you.

As the reality of your situation starts to settle, his grip around your wrists tightens once again. You sense him reaching up somewhere above you, and you suddenly feel the harsh texture of what feels like thickly braided rope wrapping around your wrists. The realization that he's restraining you sends another pool of release into your panties, another faint squeak past your lips.

"You gonna stay still for me?" he asks, voice dark and clearer now in the silence of his garage, no sounds of rain or cars to disrupt you, "Huh? You gonna be a good girl?"

"Yes," you breathe, nodding against the wood.

"Say it."

"I'm gonna stay still," you promise, "I'm gonna be a good girl."

He finishes knotting the rope around your wrists, tight and uncomfortable against your skin. He pushes his groin up against your ass again, brings his now free hands downward to reach through your cardigan and squeeze your breasts. Your nipples are hard beneath the soft cotton of your shirt, no bra between the layer of material and your bare skin; he tweaks them in his fingers and you shudder.

"These are mine," he whispers in your ear, scruff nuzzling against the side of your face, "These tits, this ass," he drops his hands from your breasts to squeeze your cheeks again, "and this pussy." His hand drops to the puffy shape of your lips beneath your thong and you whimper. "Understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

You're not sure what he's asking for, what he wants you to say. You take a guess. "Yes, sir," you whisper, and you feel him smile against your ear. Bingo.

He doesn't bother to pull your tights down the rest of the way; instead, he rips them, pulling them apart in his big hands and reaching inside to curl his index finger around the thin strip of your thong. He pulls it - hard - and it rips from you with a rough tearing sound and a painful sting, eliciting a loud gasp from you which he rewards with another spank.

You feel his finger slip between your lips for a moment, gathering some of your release before he pulls it away. "Juicy fuckin' pussy," he mutters, and you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone, vulgar in the quiet room. You have no time to ask about protection, no time to even really process how quickly this is already happening, before you feel the warm tip of his cock pushing against your twitching hole. You gasp again, hands furling under the ropes.

"Shh," he quiets you, stilling for a second, "Don't squirm."

"Sorry," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "I'm sorry."

"What're you sorry for?" he murmurs, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises falling past your lips. It's so fucking big, bigger than you'd anticipated - it feels like he's spearing you, splitting you in half, especially without much preparation. It stretches and burns, but the warmth of it, the way it pulses as it invades your body, just makes you gush even more. "Hm?" he continues, "What're you sorry for? You sorry for squirmin' or sorry you pissed me off?"

Your eyes roll back as he bottoms out, his pubic hair pressing coarsely against your pussy lips, heavy balls firm to your ass. You try to speak but it's hard to get the words out when you're so full, the wide tip of him pushing into your cervix.

"You a virgin?" he asks you then, voice changing for a moment, like for the briefest of seconds he's wondering whether he should have gone slower.

You shake your head quickly, "N-no," you manage to gasp out.

"Feel like a fuckin' virgin," he grunts, pulling out and then immediately slamming back inside. Your head bumps against the work bench, a groan falling from your mouth as he makes a home inside you. "Christ," he mutters, "Tight little thing. You feel me in your stomach, baby?"

You're not sure he wants you to answer, but it becomes clear when his hand slaps down on your ass cheek again and you cry out.

"Yes," you moan, then quickly amend, "Yes, sir."

"S'what happens when you come in here, actin' like a little slut," he suddenly reaches for your cardigan and yanks it off - it catches on your restrained hands and he simply rips it and tosses it to the floor, "But then again, you're not actin', are you? Huh? What's a slut like you doin' wearin' all these fuckin' layers?"

"I'm s-sorry," you repeat, already mourning the loss of your favorite sweater, now ripped to shreds at your feet.

"Sorry's not good enough, little girl," he breathes, thrusting into you again so hard that you yelp, cheek still pressed into the splintered wood of the work bench, "That's it, fuckin' take it."

He fucks you without any reservations, any inhibitions. Your legs shake and you can hear the slap of his hairy thighs against yours as he pounds into you relentlessly. You have no choice but to take it, the stretch of his huge cock becoming less painful the more he gives it to you over and over, the room full of the wet squelch of your pussy gripping him. He grabs your hips, fingertips digging into your bare flesh as he takes and takes; you wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's fucking you, getting his pleasure. The thought makes you whine, tears streaming down your face as your body moves back and forth against the work bench.

It feels fucking amazing. You've never had a cock as big as his before, never been fucked so deep and so hard, like he doesn't care if he breaks you, makes you cry. He hasn't touched your clit and yet you already feel you could come from just this, just the relentless push and pull of his dick inside you. Unfortunately, just as soon as you feel your orgasm starting to build, he pulls out. Your brow furrows.

"Stand up," he orders, "and turn around."

You obey, relief overtaking you as soon as you're no longer bent at such an awkward angle. The moment you turn to face him you barely get a look at his face before he's reaching down and tearing your shirt in half - easily, like it's nothing. You don't even have time to wonder how the hell you're gonna get home with all your clothes ripped to shreds when his mouth is suddenly wrapped around your left nipple, and you whine at the sensation. You peer down at him, biting your lip and watching his wet lips suckle around the hard bud, beard scratching deliciously against your skin. Your hand aches to cup the back of his head but it's still pinned behind your back, tied tight beneath the rope.

"Fuck," you whimper, and his dark gaze flashes up to meet yours as he sucks, the hint of a smirk on his lips when he pulls away.

"Feels good, does it?" he asks, and seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them, "You like bein' used?"

You nod almost immediately despite never having experienced anything like this in your life - though admittedly you've undeniably wanted to experience this, ached to have somebody take control, tell you what to do, make you do things. It's like you've somehow known subconsciously all summer that Joel Miller could be that person for you, despite never having said two words to him. It was just a feeling, an instinct, and that dream...

"Yeah?" he continues, and suddenly his hand comes up to cup your pussy, thumb finally pressing against your clit. You cry out, tears still trickling down your cheeks. "Said you were in college, right? You take any college dick up here? Be honest now."

You nod again, "Y-yes."

"How many?"

"I... I don't know," you breathe. It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him. He presses his thumb harder against your clit, two fingers slipping up inside of you.

"'Course you don't know," he murmurs, pushing them as deep inside as he can, making you whimper, "You wouldn't know, would you?"

Your thighs tighten together - squeezing his hand - and he just smirks again, curving his fingers and making you moan. Your lower back digs into the work bench as he stands, pushes you up against it and peers down into your eyes again with a hunger that's only getting worse. You assess his expression, the pout of his lips as he fucks you with his fingers, the focused lines creased into his forehead. So fucking handsome.

"You're not a good girl," he breathes, nose brushing yours, "Knew it from the day I saw you. You're just made for takin' cock. Am I right?"

"Yes," you whisper, nodding shakily and bumping your lips up toward his - he pulls away again and you can't help but feel disappointed, aching to feel his lips against yours.

"Tonight you're made to take my cock, that clear?" he continues, and you watch as his other hand travels downward to wrap around it - just out of your periphery. He's too close to you, crowded so much in your space that you know he won't like it if you break eye contact. You can tell by his arm movements that he's pumping himself at the same speed he's fucking you with his fingers, inhaling deeply, "I'm gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not."

"Y-yes sir," you whisper, voice squeaking when he speeds up his fingers and pumps them in and out with fervor, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Yet again he brings you almost to the edge and then removes his hand completely, stepping back with a low chuckle when you whimper pathetically.

Your disappointment only lasts a moment because now you can see him, see the girthy length of him that's already been inside of you hanging out of his zipper, glistening with your slick. He's huge, tip dark and intrusive, beads of his own arousal dripping from the slit; your mouth waters. His eyes cast down to where you're looking and he smiles, dark and mocking.

"Never gonna see another dick like this, darlin'," he breathes, "So you better start showin' your appreciation." His eyes glint. "Kneel."

You're practically already on your way to kneeling before he says it, in awe of the sheer girth and shape of him. The second your bare knees hit the cold floor he's crowding you again, hand coming around to hold the back of your head.

"Open wide, baby," he murmurs.

Your jaw drops and he plunges inside your mouth quickly and seamlessly, making you gasp around his length as your eyes widen. You can't breathe, looking up at him with more tears already fogging your vision as he immediately slips into the depths of your throat with no hesitation. You gag, eyes bulging as you attempt to swallow around the intrusion, find your breath, but it's impossible.

"Yeah," he breathes, both of his hands cradling your face and holding you still as he lets his cock sit unmoving in your throat, "Yeah, that's it. That's what you're made for."

He only holds it there for a few seconds but by the time he pulls it out you're gasping for air, coughing and spluttering as tears stream relentlessly down your cheeks. He keeps cradling your face, tuts to himself as you try to get your breath back. The head of his cock bumps softly against your bottom lip.

"Not off to a great start, are we?" he murmurs, "Let's try again."

He pushes his cock past your lips again and you try your hardest not to gag, a little more prepared this time. The pulsing head of his cock situates itself firmly in your throat, the pubic hair at the base tickling your nose while his balls bounce against your chin. You look up at him with pleading eyes, watch as he stares down at you with nothing but malice in his expression, contempt. You're just a hole to him, nothing more.

He pulls out and lets you gasp another breath before he's shoving himself back in, hands moving back to hold your head firmly as he fucks your face. You don't move - you don't need to; he does all the work as he drags your head back and forth along his cock, hitting the back of your throat over and over again until you're gagging and practically sobbing for air. Your knees ache against the concrete floor and you know you'll have bruises tomorrow, know that you probably won't be able to swallow properly for a few days either. Somehow, you don't really care.

When he's gotten his fill he yanks himself out and allows you to catch your breath for a few seconds, throat constricting around nothing while you choke and gasp.

"Stand up," he orders, and even though you're still gasping for air you manage to bring yourself back up, legs shaking. Saliva drips down your chin, drooling from your mouth in long strands, but with your hands tied you can't make any attempt to clean yourself up - he probably wouldn't want you to anyway.

His wide palms are suddenly on your hips, and he picks you up and places you on top of the work bench with minimal effort, arms bulging. You're completely naked now save for your ripped tights while he's still fully clothed, dripping cock still peeking out past his zipper, covered in your saliva. He steps between your legs and pushes your thighs open, then slips inside of you once again in one short push, making you yelp.

"Oh, please," he grumbles, gripping your hips tightly and pulling your bare body taut against him, head hitting his chest, "We both know you can take it."

It's not like you have any other choice at this point. He fucks you harder than he had before, now that he has easier access, can pull you so firmly against him that his entire length is continuously swallowed up entirely by your dripping pussy. His nails dig into your skin as his cock fucks up against your cervix over and over, so relentless it's almost painful. It's overwhelming how huge he is, not just his cock but his body in general, the way he towers over you and watches your expressions as he takes what's now his.

"Poor little thing," he mumbles, bringing one of his hands up to thumb the tears on your face, "Never been so full, huh? It's okay, shhh," his finger finds your lips and pushes against them almost mockingly, like he's chastising you, "Shhh, this is what you asked for, remember? S'what you wanted." You shake your head but he just nods, "Yeah, it is. You wanted that cock and now you're gettin' it."

Suddenly you're being lifted from the workbench, carried in his embrace with his cock still buried deep inside. You cry out, wrists straining against the ropes, itching to wrap your arms around his neck and hold yourself up with more stability. His arms come up to stretch along the expanse of your back, holding you still and pulling you even closer. As if on instinct your legs bend upwards to wrap around his waist, curling around his lower back while he pistons inside of you without restraint, without mercy.

"Fuck," you almost scream, feeling the rough denim of his jeans scratching against your ass, the heaviness of his balls slapping against you over and over again, "Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Yeah, there she is, there's that little slut," he says, a smile spreading across his face, voice somehow calm despite the fact that he's pounding into you over and over, "Nothin' like gettin' fucked stupid to sort ya out, huh? Needed to be punished, didn't you, sweetheart?"

You don't answer, can't answer, eyes rolling back as he fucks you with abandon. Of course it's not a surprise when he lands a hard spank against your ass, grips your cheek tightly in his palm and growls roughly in your ear, "Answer me, little girl."

"Yes," you force yourself to gasp out, head tilting back, "Yes sir, yes."

"S'right," he mutters, and you suddenly feel the pads of his fingers against your clit, rubbing at an aggressively fast pace that sends depraved noises spitting past your lips, "Come on that cock, tighten up that little pussy even more for me, baby, come on."

It only takes seconds for him to make you come, your eyes rolling back as your body shakes and writhes in his grasp. He doesn't slow his movements, keeps fucking you deep and hard as your legs loosen at his waist and you flop like a ragdoll in his arms.

"Chokin' that dick," he murmurs, "Had so many cocks in this little hole and you're still the tightest thing I've fucked," his brow furrows as he watches your face, watches as your eyes flutter open and your jaw slackens, "And what about your other hole, baby?" You feel one of his fingers prod against your asshole, circle the rim as he continues to bounce you up and down, "Ever had a cock in there?"

You tense up a little in his embrace, eyes widening. At your reaction he slows his movements, still holding you upright and allowing you to just sit on his cock for a moment while he continues to prod your asshole, "I'll take that as a no," he mutters, "Think my cock'll fit up there?"

"It won't," you whisper immediately, shaking your head.

He assesses your expression, eyes trailing up and down your face calculatingly, like he's weighing the pros and cons. Your heart stutters in your chest and you feel that fear from earlier slowly begin to creep back into your psyche, hands shaking under the rope.

"I won't," he states, and relief floods through your body; you relax in his embrace, becoming aware again of his cock still buried deep inside you. He very carefully prods the tip of his index finger inside your asshole and your eyes go wide again, mouth opening in protest. "Yet," he amends, smiling coldly at you, "I won't yet. Not today."

He pulls his finger out and walks with you to the work bench again, places you down gentler than before and peers at you with something in his gaze that you can't place, a curiosity that wasn't there before. It's gone in an instant though, and then he's fucking into you again without warning, gripping tight to your hips and slamming back and forth until you see stars.

"You thought this'd be so funny, didn't you?" he growls, looking at you again with that detached contempt, black eyes locked with yours. He brings his hand down and starts rubbing your clit again, not caring that you only just came a moment ago. "Thought you'd come here, have your fun, and leave again. But it's not so funny anymore, is it? Huh? Is it funny?"

"N-no," you gasp out, overstimulated to the point of even more tears as you squirm and writhe on the work bench, pussy aching from the insistent way he's pounding you and the relentless rubbing of his fingers against your clit.

"S'the last time you show up here tellin' lies," he mutters, "Understand me? Any time you come into my house from now on you're gettin' fucked, got it?"

"Y-yes," you cry, hands futilely attempting to ball into fists behind your back, and he shakes his head.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir!" you scream it, and just as the words pass your lips he stills inside of you, cock twitching as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open as his hand sends you into another climax just as he reaches his. Your head falls against his chest and you hear him groan above you, feel the way his cock pulsates and throbs and spits his cum in long and heavy spurts. Your thighs twitch and you feel his hand at your back, pulling you in close as he cups the back of your head.

You stay like that for a moment without speaking, your heavy breaths the only sound in the garage other than the rain now pelting heavily against the door. You swear you can hear his heartbeat.

"Good little girl, warmin' my cock," he murmurs in your ear, and you're still catching your breath, eyes closed, sobs wracking from your throat repeatedly. "Full o'me, huh? You feel all that, baby?"

You can only nod against his chest, wrists still straining against the rope as your toes curl somewhere below you and your body continues to shake. His cum settles warmly deep inside and your eyes roll back a bit when he pushes in further, like he's trying to keep it inside for as long as he can.

"Guess I found a new little cum dumpster, huh?" he whispers, carding his fingers through your hair, "I'll have to say thank you to your friends, or -" he pauses thoughtfully for a moment, "maybe I'll just have to send 'em a little message back with you."

You pull your face back from his chest, peering up at him with tired confusion. He reaches down and pulls out one of the drawers of the work bench, coming back up with a sharpie. You watch with fluttering lashes, unable to stop him - and not really wanting to - as he uncaps the marker and pushes your hair out of the way to write something across your chest, the cold tip making you jolt slightly.

"Shh," he murmurs, "It's okay, I'll untie ya in a sec."

It doesn't take him very long to finish writing whatever it is on your skin, and then he's slowly pulling his cock out of you. You whimper at the loss, thighs twitching as you peer down and watch his softening length slip past your hole, followed by a steady stream of his cum. He quickly reaches up and pushes what he can back inside, thumbing it back in carefully while the reality of what's just happened really begins to settle. You just let a man in his fifties tie you up, use you, come inside you, and write on your chest.

"Can't have all that slippin' out yet," he mutters, "Now, what can we use?" His eyes dart up to the shelves above you and he reaches up to grab something; when his hand comes back down you see the pocket flashlight from earlier, see the slightly flared base and know almost immediately what he's planning on using it for.

For some reason - whatever reason it is that you stayed here after he gave you an out, whatever reason you really came here in the first place - you don't protest.

He brings the flashlight downwards and quickly removes his hand from your pussy to replace it with the wide end, slipping it inside with only minimal resistance. You whimper and he hushes you, brushing his nose against yours as he assesses his handiwork.

"That should do it," he murmurs, then peers back up at you and pushes some stray hair out of your face "You keep that in there 'til you get home, okay?" His eyes have softened a bit, looking more similar to the way they did when you first showed up - is this the real him? You honestly have no idea.

You don't say anything, just nod slowly, feeling the anxiety from earlier begin to sink in yet again. How are you going to get home when you have no clothes? How are you going to explain to your friends what happened? How can you tell them - or show them - what you let him do to you?

These questions are clearly none of his concern. You watch as he backs up and gestures for you to stand with him; you do, with beyond shaky legs and the cold metal of the flashlight between your thighs.

"Turn around," he orders.

You feel him untie the rope from your wrists, essentially ending your time here - whatever it even was. It somehow doesn't feel real. You let them hang limply at your sides, feeling embarrassment flood your cheeks as you turn back around to look at him. He's watching you with a smirk, arms crossed - his dick is back in his jeans. He looks no different than he had when you arrived.

"Now get the fuck out," he says, dark eyes glinting once again under the flickering fluorescents, "before I change my mind."

--

The air is still chilly. The road is still wet. But thankfully, there are no cars.

You don't know how you manage to get home without anyone seeing you - hunched over, naked in the darkness, avoiding the streetlights, trying to ignore the ache between your legs and the icy intrusiveness of the flashlight still lodged inside of you - but you do. Your palms are sweaty again, heart pounding at the thought of your friends coming to greet you at the door, for the shock and confusion and screaming to begin - but that doesn't happen.

The moment you're back in the house you pull a jacket down from the coat rack and cover yourself, tiptoeing past the living room and waiting to be accosted by the friends who put you in this situation to begin with. Instead, they're nowhere to be seen. You hear the faint echo of laughter from the kitchen, hear the sounds of glass clattering and a fridge being shut. It's like they've already forgotten you even left, like the game meant nothing, and they've already found something new to entertain them, something better.

As if your futile attempt at getting a kiss on the cheek from Joel Miller is already something lost in the past.

And, you think, as you shakily climb the stairs and creep into the bathroom, tear the jacket from your shoulders and stare at your bare chest in the bathroom mirror, see the dark permanent lines that read TRUTH OR DARE...

Maybe that's how it should be.

[demonpiratehuntress]

third time's a charm

Kaku x F!Reader

summary - he finds out you're Lucci's sister and is absolutely terrified of asking you out

warnings - none

a/n: more Kaku content because the Kaku fangirls are STARVED (i know, i am one)

Secrets were common among the World Government's top agents. They practically lived on secrets, as their very existence was supposed to be hidden from the entire world. But amongst each other, they thought, there shouldn't have been any.

The only reason suspicion grew that there was a secret amongst them was when you spent an unusual amount of time with Lucci, something none of them had ever seen before.

And a certain square-nosed member was starting to get jealous.

Now, Kaku was by no means a jealous man. He was confident in himself, his skill, and his abilities. He had never had a reason to be jealous of anyone else. That is, until he started developing a bit of a crush on you - one that was now complete infatuation. He was usually wary of other men talking to you, but Lucci was an entirely different story.

He had been the most sought-after foreman in Water 7 after all. Almost every single woman in that town had thrown themselves at Lucci's feet, so Kaku was well aware of how attractive he was to women.

And so, naturally, his first conclusion was that you liked Lucci.

Which set him back quite a bit, if not completely.

You first noticed his change in behaviour when he couldn't look you in the eyes anymore, or when his eager and excited greetings became more of a necessary, formal "hello" and nothing else. It confused you, because he was normally so sweet and happy around you, and seeing him like this was strange. You wondered if you had done anything wrong to deserve these new, distant interactions.

That didn't seem right.

Tired of Kaku's inability to focus when you and Lucci were together in the same room as them, standing close or sitting next to one another, Khalifa decided to just rip the band-aid off and ask for the stupidly shy swordsman.

"(Name), you've been practically hanging off Lucci's arm these days. Is there something you're not telling us?"

Her question caught you off-guard, and you frowned for a moment, thinking that there actually was something you were supposed to tell them. Everyone looked at you curiously, interest piqued.

"You didn't tell them?" Lucci turned to you, raising an eyebrow.

"I...may have forgot," you laughed nervously, before turning to the rest of the group. "Lucci is my older brother."

Out of all the things Kaku expected you to say, that had been nothing close to what he thought he would hear. His eyes widened, both relief and dread filling him in that moment. He was relieved that there was no romantic connection between you two, but also...absolutely terrified about what this new detail meant for him. If he'd been nervous about confessing before, he was absolutely terrified of doing it now.

"You..." Jabra gestured towards you, then Lucci, "and you...are siblings?" He let out an obnoxious laugh. "Yeah, right. You're completely different."

Lucci rolled his eyes, exasperated, "Yes, can we move-"

"She's so much better-looking than you are!"

The room went dead silent. Kaku would have slapped Jabra himself for that inappropriate comment, knowing full well what he'd meant - and it was far from innocent. But, as Lucci's gaze travelled to Jabra's laughing form, he realised that Lucci also realised Jabra's explicit intent. And the look that he gave Jabra was a look you all knew too well.

"Dismissed," Lucci finally spoke, his eyes pinned on Jabra. "Except you, Jabra."

A million thoughts ran through Kaku's head. Was he to suffer the same fate if he just complimented you or called you pretty? And what on earth would happen to him if he decided to brave this and ask you out? Would he even live long enough to find out?

"Hey."

Your soft voice brought him out of his panicked mind, and he turned to see you standing there with the gentlest of smiles on your face. However, it didn't quite reach your eyes and it looked almost forced, turning Kaku's panic into concern.

"Yeah?" He breathed out, unsure if he could manage anything else.

"Can we..." You sighed. "Can we talk? I think we need to."

This made him nervous, but he nodded and followed you to somewhere quieter, anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach. What were you going to say? What was this about?

"Did I do something wrong?" You finally asked, looking up at him.

Kaku blinked. Wrong? No. You hadn't done anything wrong, so why were you-

"You're not the same," you cut his racing mind off. "You don't act like you used to around me." Your face seemed to fall. "I just wanted to know if I've upset you or anything, because if I have, I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong, (Name)," he replied carefully, thinking of how to approach this situation.

"Then why are you different?" You asked.

"(Name)!" Lucci called from outside.

You sighed, looking down for a moment before taking a deep breath and walking right past Kaku. He had a half mind to just grab your wrist, stop you and show you exactly how he felt, but he let you go. He was afraid.

Not of you anymore, but of Lucci.

-

The first time Kaku finally worked up the nerve to ask you out, he was trying to mix it with an apology for his recent behaviour. He'd noticed you had also started being distant with him, and he didn't like it. So one day, he found himself standing in front of your room door, nervously clutching flowers and your favourite chocolate to his chest.

Cliche, maybe, but Kaku was completely new to this. And from what his research had told him, women liked flowers and chocolate.

You opened your door just as he was about to knock, surprise crossing your face, "Kaku?"

He swallowed thickly, about to open his mouth to say something until he heard footsteps approaching and turned, quickly hiding the gifts behind him when he made out Lucci's figure. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he shot you an apologetic look before rushing off, almost tripping in the process.

"What was that?" Lucci asked you when he stopped by you.

You watched Kaku retreat, amusement in your eyes, "I have no idea."

-

The second time Kaku tried to ask you out, he made sure to find a time when you weren't needed by your brother. He was so sure that this time would work, that this time he would finally tell you, but he was about to find out that it wasn't so easy.

He knocked on your room door again, and you answered with a smile.

"Kaku, come in."

He stepped inside, then saw who was with you and immediately shoved the giftwrapped box of jewellery into his pocket, his eyes going wide as he swallowed thickly.

"Kaku, what a surprise," your brother spoke, looking up. His gaze then shot to the bulge in Kaku's pocket, "Is something the matter?"

"N-no," the poor, panicked man managed to squeak out. His palms were getting sweaty again. "I'll-I'll just go." He was gone before you could protest, and you shot a glare at your smirking brother.

"He's trying to be a gentleman, you know!"

"I know. I just want to see how serious he is about dating you."

"You're horrible," you laughed, shaking your head.

"Maybe, but my sister deserves only the best."

-

Third time's the charm, right? That's what Kaku tells himself. Nothing can go wrong this time, he's sure. He even watched Lucci leave the building, so he would definitely not be in your room this time.

So Kaku approached your room more confidently this time, and knocked on your door with a sense of relief and satisfaction.

That changed when your bright smile nearly knocked his legs out from under him, and when your voice melted his brain along with every single thought he had.

"Hey, Kaku. Come in."

He did, and was so relieved to find that Lucci really had left. His tension eased, and he slowly sat on your bed after turning to face you. Then he held out the newly-purchased flowers and chocolates, as well as the smaller, giftwrapped box, to you.

"These are for you."

You blushed, taking them and admiring the effort, "Thank you, Kaku. This is so...this is really sweet." You felt butterflies bloom in your stomach.

He smiled, "Only the best for you."

You stilled at his words, eerily similar to Lucci's. But Kaku's were more...romantic. A different kind of feeling settled in, and your butterflies only seemed to grow as you turned to smile at your crush after setting his gifts down.

"That's even sweeter."

He took a deep breath, before standing up again, "(Name), I'm sorry for how I was behaving before...I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought...well before we found out you're related...I thought you liked Lucci." He sighed. "And then after, I thought Lucci would kill me if I tried to make a move."

You giggled at his explanation, moving closer as well, "He was just testing you these last few weeks. Overprotective as he is, he wanted to see how committed you are to me."

Kaku's heart almost stopped, "And is he...did I...?" He wasn't sure how to phrase it.

"Mhm, he's satisfied," you smiled. "That's why he's not here. He figured if you didn't try a third time, you weren't serious. But you did, so he left us alone for a bit." You moved even closer, so close that Kaku's familiar and knee-weakening scent filled your nostrils. Flustering you.

Kaku, in his relief, relaxed and gave you a warm but silly smile, "I was planning to try until he gave me a chance to be with you."

That's it. You needed to kiss this man.

You stepped forward and grabbed him by the zipper of his jacket, pulling him towards you. Forgetting he has a long nose. When it poked you in the eye, you giggled and pulled away.

"Sorry," he said quietly, his cheeks turning the cutest shade of red.

"It's okay," you smiled.

Then tried again. This time you angled your head in a way that would make it easy for you to reach his lips, and you smiled when they finally met yours. The kiss was slow, sweet, and passionate. Kaku pulled you close to him, showing his adoration for you by affectionately moulding his lips against your own. With a gentleness only Kaku owned.

"I like you too, Kaku."

[captain039]

PART 3 Intertwined with a mortal

Ascended Vampire Duke!Astarion x human!reader

Bridgerton x Astarion 👍🏻

Warnings: Olden times, swearing, age gap, tension, slow burn, vampire Mates, vampire things, angst, sexual, harassment, bigger reader, fat shaming, 18+, angst, Astarions trauma, anxiety, depression, learning to touch and love, big dislike for children lmao, AOB, artist reader, manipulation

Previous part <-

Gods you may be going insane, your dreams were so sinful it would make the faithful cry. You danced with him twice and now he’s in your dreams caressing your body and sending you waves of pleasure you didn’t know was possible. Your books didn’t help either, you always snuck a lewd book in your bag from the library when your mother would go, now you were reading with the duke in mind and yourself as the main character. You thought a nice day of painting would send your thoughts away till you began sketching his face in your book. You’d slammed the thing shut and threw it with wide eyes and a pounding heart, gods what was wrong with you.

The third party of the season had arrived you wore a light blush coloured dress, a fan to match in your hand, it was a warm night. You found Jen easily enough and then Karlach joined as you all began talking and smiling. You enjoyed being in their company, having not seen them in a while due to their own life challenges. What shocked you though was the duke Ravengard coming up to you to sign your dance card with a charming smile. It left you confused as Karlach nudged you with a giggle. After the duke signed a total of five more potential suitors signed and you were left baffled and staring at the names. Problem was, you didn’t feel excitement, you felt dread and a horrid churn in your stomach. You found yourself scanning the crowd too often hoping to see a familiar white haired elf ready to sweep you to the dance floor. When the dancing started though your heart dropped and you realised he wasn’t coming. You shook those thoughts quickly though, gods you didn’t even like the pale elf why were your thoughts all about him. As you started your dance with a young beta named Kye, blond curly hair and pale blue eyes, soft flushed cheeks, he was rather adorable, seemed too boyish to be dancing with lady’s. You kept your polite act up as you tried to ignore the churns in your stomach with each touch, you found yourself looking for the elf even more now. His scent wasn’t horrible, he smelt comforting in the ways betas do, you missed the coldness though.

“Are you alright Milady?” The beta asked.

“Yes sorry my lord, just a little distracted, the heat” you chuckled softly giving him your best fake smile you could muster. You danced and danced till alpha Duke Ravengard, you were exhausted and defeated as you didn’t see your pale elf. Your? He wasn’t yours for gods sake. Before the dance started Duke Ravengard was interrupted quickly and you froze and felt your heart jump at Duke Ancunin taking his place quickly. You felt relief flood you as you began the dance with him. You didn’t know what to say, just knew you felt ease where you were. You wanted to comment on his lateness, saying he took his time, how dare he, but you were the one always leaving him afterwards.

“I saw the way you danced with the others” he suddenly said and you frowned he was here the whole time? Bastard.

“Tense, looking around for someone, dare I say for me” he smirked lightly and you flushed.

“You’re wrong Duke Ancunin” you fought.

“Am I?” He chuckled.

“You’re not looking around anymore, you’re at ease in my arms, your scent is calm” it felt like he knew your every secret, had you been so obvious.

“I assure you it is nothing like that” you said trying to keep up an act. You glanced to Karlach and Jen on a certain turn, Karlach gave you a wink while Jen smiled. You looked to your mum next who was probably planning your wedding, honeymoon and next fifty years of your marriage, by the swoon smile she had. As you stood close to the Duke you let out a small sigh, he’d been on your mind all week and now he was finally here. You hated yourself for thinking like that, you’d already swooned over him, you didn’t even know if he was an alpha or beta or omega. Hells you didn’t even know if he was looking for marriage. Your face must’ve shown your emotions, because the Duke spoke up.

“What’s got you deep in angry thought” he teased with a chuckle.

“A lady is allowed her secrets and thoughts” you said curtly making him grin.

“Of course she is, however you’re scrunching that beautiful face so hard it must be bothersome” he commented and you felt your cheeks go hot. You cursed him silently and his piercing red eyes as the song ended and you bowed your head. Gods you needed air.

After five dances you were feeling lightheaded, two betas two alphas and the pale elf Duke. You hadn’t felt any connection with the other dancers, your heart didn’t thump loudly in your chest with desire. You sighed leaning against the cold railing, you didn’t want to go to anymore of these, maybe you could just slip away. You glanced back into the party your mother chatting happily with some other older lady’s. you glanced around to the guards seeing them unaware of your existence. You hurried to the garden swiftly dodging any eyes or lights before you found silence. You sighed debating if you could lie on the fresh grass, best not ruin the dress. You sat down in the bench instead finally alone with your thoughts.

“You always run off, little pup”

Or not.

You looked up seeing the duke you just danced with, did he follow you? You’re sure you were sneaky. You stood up out of nerves as he smiled at you.

“You shouldn’t be out here” you stated.

“Neither should you” he said back and you cursed silently. This was wrong, being alone with a man at such a time like this.

“Please be clear with me Duke Ancunin” you said and he frowned giving you his attention again.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Why’re you dancing with me? Why did you push Duke Ravengard aside? You’re not known for wanting marriage, and Duke Ravengard is a respectful alpha-“ before you could finish the duke was in front of you quickly hand holding your throat gently making your heart stop.

“Respectful he may be, but, you feel nothing towards him” he said low his eyes burning into yours.

“Marriage isn’t for love” you muttered sadly, but nervously.

“Or feelings” you added your hand holding his wrist. He didn’t choke you, just held you in place as he stared at you.

“No, but you feel this” he said quietly and leant forward. Your eyes closed without thought thinking he’d strangle you, instead cold lips pressed against yours and you gasped. You felt a noise leave your throat as his hand moved to cup your cheek and jaw tugging you closer.

“How I burn in your mind” he whispered kissing your jaw and tilting your head.

“Your thoughts are clouded with nothing but, me” his lips ghosted over your neck making you shudder in delight. You felt overly sharp teeth scrap your neck and felt your heart jump before he lifted his head again.

“You didn’t answer me” you said breathlessly as he smirked.

“This doesn’t mean anything” you added though your mind screamed at you.

“Doesn’t it?” He asked head tilted slightly, white curls blowing in the breeze that passed.

“Gods why’re you here? If someone saw us” your mind began to panic as your eyes rapidly darted around.

“Omega, calm down” his voice held authority as you looked back to him and steadied your breathing breathing in his scent. You pulled away from him and he frowned as you shook your head.

“If this is a game, stop, please” you begged jaw clenching as you held back tears.

“I need to find a husband, before it’s too late” you said surprising even yourself as you quickly left back to the party.

Astarion stared at the spot you were just in, his dead heart would be jumping if it could. You weren’t scared when he held your throat, slight nerves, but you trusted him without even realising it. He’d watched you the whole way through the hall his hands clenched in white knuckled fists as he watched those other men throw you around in what they called dancing. He felt your nerves, your discomfort, smelt your sour scent from here. When Duke Ravengard approached he couldn’t handle it, he took over, felt your relief and that sweet omega scent of yours went back to normal as you began to dance. He’d been late from needing to feed, his body already on edge from the killing, a simple low life nobody would miss now whisked into nothingness. It was stale and horrid, nothing to what your sweet blood would taste like. He found himself unbalanced and wanting more, you dancing in his arms was what it was meant to be, not other school boys barley out of their training diapers. You needed an alpha, someone able to take care of you. With his confliction he had no rank, though the way your body reacted to him suggest that perhaps in his past life he was an alpha destined. He was toying with you, till now, now he felt raw need, raw need for your body and soul to be his, devil strike any hand that lay upon you again.

Next part ->

Also

GUIIRRRLLL DINNNEERRR

[maleyanderecafe]

Domestic Dread (Visual Novel)

Created by: epykslion, Leo Azari

Genre: Horror/Mystery

Dang, it's pretty cool to see epykslion make a game since I've only seen him play yandere (and horror) vns most of the time, but here we are! Domestic Dread is made for the #72HourMurderboyMayhem so currently it's in a demo state, but it does have a moment where you can bake cookies with the main guy, so that's always fun. It has an air of mystery to it that makes it pretty exciting. You can learn about it more here at @domesticdread.

Vinny is the default name for the MC so I will be referring to them as such.

The story starts out with Vinny waking up in a bed. Unable to remember who they are or what they are doing here, they end up freaking out when they realized that they're in a cabin above the mountains. A man they don't recognize comes to see them, worried about their condition, and introduces himself as Marcelo. He explains that Vinny's boyfriend, Brandon Cooragain was the one who almost got them killed, then explaining how much of a jerk he was. He gets Vinny to follow him to the living room where we see Brandon, beat up and tied up on the floor. He tries to get Vinny to kill Brandon, but they refuse, causing Marcelo to get angry. He calms down and proceeds to leave as he has something he has to do first, telling Vinny to clear their mind before deciding what to do next.

If Vinny decides to follow Marcelo, we get to see Marcelo taking out burnt cookies. Regardless of if Vinny tries to eat them or tries to throw them away, Marcelo apologizes for his outburst and bring them back to the living room.

If Vinny decides to check the room, they will find a journal detailing their past, which reveals that Marcelo was telling the truth about Vinny complaining about how much of a jerk Brandon was. However, they also realize a lot of their complaints were pretty menial and can't seem to believe that they would want to kill Brandon over something so insignificant.

If Vinny decides to check in the bedroom where they woke up, they'll find a scrapbook with Brandon and Vinny together hanging out. We find out that Brandon was about to marry Vinny before the incident happens, which makes Vinny question about what's actually going on.

When Marcelo comes back, it's time to make a decision.

If Vinny decides to kill Brandon, they will stab him repeatedly with the knife, causing him to wake up and scream as he dies. Marcelo comforts Vinny afterwards as they're still in shock after killing Brandon.

If Vinny refuses, then Marcelo will kill Brandon in front of them. Marcelo reprimands Vinny for always choosing others before themselves, with Marcelo having to fix everything afterwards. He tells Vinny that he won't stand for this and will make the decisions for them.

If Vinny remembers after reading the scrapbook, then refuses to let anything happen to Brandon or Marcelo. Vinny is able to prevent Marcelo from stabbing Brandon.

Starting out, it's really cool to be able to see a mystery like this unfold for us since even with the pieces of finding out that Vinny has been complaining about Brandon and finding the scrapbook of Vinny and Brandon, it's not completely clear on what Vinny felt for Brandon, but it is implied that it's not nearly as bad as Marcelo makes it out to be. Still though, there is a lot of contradictory evidence on what Vinny actually feels for Brandon, though it is noted that Marcelo's reasoning on why he might be helping VInny carry out what's happening isn't necessarily a lie, but something that has been built up for a while, as noted by the notebook filled with complaints that VInny had. Still though, like Vinny noted, a lot of the complaints were very small offenses that shouldn't amount to Brandon dying. So either Vinny was a very petty person or Marcelo is blowing things out of proportion. Or it might be a secret third thing! Who knows.

It's pretty obvious that Marcelo is likely using Vinny's amnesia as a way to get rid of Brandon, though it's likely just to pull through from before Vinny lost their memory, since it does mention that the two end up going in the mountains somewhere. Its kind of cute (?) that Marcelo ends up trying to make cookies for Vinny before they woke up though it does seem pretty nonchalant considering that Vinny kind of just lost their memories and could possibly have sustained brain damage or just have never woken up but I guess it could be just something that Marcelo is just trying to take care of. That being said there's still a high probability that Marcelo somehow convinced Vinny to get rid of Brandon in some capacity and is now using the amnesia to go through with it, either with Vinny killing him themselves or Marcelo killing him Either way, the three of them are stuck on a cabin on top of the woods so they're basically in self confinement.

Overall though, while a short demo, a pretty interesting premise. I'm curious to see where this will all lead up to and what Vinny as a person was, and what their relationship between Marcelo and Brandon were.

[ajshabsxxwife]

Yayyy so I’m such a George girly.

I was wondering if you could write about a very pregnant y/n being featured in a useless hotline episode and she has been having Brixton hicks contractions over the past few days but George and y/n aren’t worried that she is going into labour it’s just that they know things are progressing.

I feel like George would be giving worried looks over at the different table and pausing to ask her if she’s alright and she would just be pretending like everything is fine cause she’s quite stubborn and she’s trying to answer questions while she is massaging her belly or something. And max and Callum give each other looks about it as they are equally worried as well and is asking if she needs a water or tea to help with it.

Sorry if that was annoying to read my mind just started flowing with thoughts 😂😂😂❤️❤️

I have never written a pregnant fic so im very sorry if this is not very good or what you expected🙏

also i am very sorry i didnt get to this sooner i have been quite busy ❤️

Contractions - George Clarkey

Today was my time to shine on the useless hotline podcast. Me, Max and George have had this planned for months and we are finally getting round to doing it!

I sat down opposite Max and George, holding my massive stomach. “First and obvious question, how many weeks are you?” Max asks with excitement in his tone. “I’m 27 weeks, so just started my third trimester.” I say with a grin.

“Oh my gosh! It feels like you only just announced your pregnancy yesterday.” Max sqeals.

“It really does feel like yesterday.” You agree.

“So we have quite a few questions about pregnancy, ones we have dug up from your comments on instagram and tiktok, and then we have a handfull of questions about your childhood and where abouts you’re from.” Max summerises.

“Sounds like a plan.” You say as you hold your womb as you have a false labour contraction. “You okay?” George asks as he looks at someone off camera to give you some water.

You take the bottle of water greatfully. “Yea, Yea im fine it’s just a false labour contraction.” You explain.

Max looks at George, confused but none the less moves on. “Second question, Are you having a boy or a girl.” Max smirks at the camera as he already knows but none of their fans do.

“Well i’m actually keeping that a secret until I have given birth to the baby.” You chuckle a little bit. “Understand.” George nods

“Have you picked a name yet?” Max looks intrigued. “Nope, me and George keep having disagreements.” You giggle.

“Cause you have horrible baby names.” George bickers “I do not, you pick old victorion names.” You bite back.

George just simply rolls his eyes. You hold your womb again as you quietly groan out in pain. “Are you sure your fine?” George asks again.

Max gives Callum a look. “I’m fine!” You sqeal at George.

20 minutes go by and they have just finished all the pregnancy related questions which you’re quite glad about but now they are moving onto questions you have been dreading.

“Childhood. it’s a big part of your life isn’t it Y/n?” Max asks. “Yes it really is.” You agree.

“Many people did mischievous things as a kid, were you one of them?” George asks you, staring right into your eyes. You look away as you get a little flustered at the eye contact.

“Yea I was a bit.. rebellious you could say.” You smirk at the camera, soon giggling as you can’t keep serious. “What was the worst thing you did as a kid?” Max asks.

“Uhm.. I don’t really know.” You answer.

“Whats something you do remember?” George asks.

“I don’t remember much as a kid but i do remember one thing, which is I ding dong ditched pretty much every house on my street.” You sigh.

“What about as a teenager?” Max asks.

“Sneak out of school with a bunch of boys and smoke, get high? sometimes drink if one of us could get alcohol.” You said.

“Basic.” George grumbles. “What about fights?” George asks, clearly not happy with your boring answer.

“Nope.” You answer.

You jolt forward as you get a very sore contraction, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Do you wanna lay down for an hour or so?” George asks you, clearly very concerned. “Or we can maybe film next week?”

“No, no it’s fine.” You reply.

Soon 2 hours go by and in that 2 hours you had very sore contractions but you got through it, now you’re in your bed.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Really dont like this as I have never written pregnancy before…

beta squad masterlist is being posted after this. and i will make a other yt masterlist on saturday (if i remember!!) 🫶🏻

[klausinamarink]

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 7)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 next: Part 8

spoilers but a phone call gets through!

“You’re a thousand percent sure?”

Mike groans as he checks down the school halls, “Yes, Lucas. How many times do I gotta tell you that?”

“Well, maybe until I’m positive that we’re not having a collective auditory hallucination or the weirdo isn’t tricking us.” Lucas crosses his arms. Beside Dustin, El mutters “auditory hallucination” to herself with furrowed eyebrows.

“You guys hear that?!” Dustin exclaims too loudly, earning equally loud shushes. “Sorry, but El just said a scientific word without mispronouncing it! She really does have superpowers…”

“Not now, Dustin.” Mike hushes as they finally get to the AV club. He unlocks the door and lets everyone inside after peeking in. He guides El to sit in front of the radio while Lucas and Dustin turn it on.

Dustin won’t lie - he’s super excited to see El use her powers for the radio. He couldn’t believe it when she made Will’s voice come out. Will! Alive and singing!

But he’s still confused over Mike’s news of Will being with someone named Eddie. Eddie who? is their biggest question but El can’t say because she doesn’t know his last name or how to describe him.

“He’s a friend.” She keeps telling them.

Dustin prays it’s not Eddie Tremblay from fifth grade. The little sucker doesn’t deserve to be Will’s new friend after his football landed on their rocket project last month.

“Aaaand we’re in!” He announces, hopping behind El. Mike and Lucas squish against him even though they clearly have much more space.

El closes her eyes and listens to the whining static. Then the static changes through channels, voices quickly overlapping until they get more comprehensive. Then the voices get compressed into six, four, two-

“-Control to Major Tom..”

Dustin shoots his hand forward and grabs one of the speakers. But so does Lucas and Mike and now they’re slapping each other’s hands until Lucas finally takes it and yells, “Will, can you read us? Over!”

“‘Your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong..’”

At the sound of the second person, Dustin’s first thought is oh thank God, it’s not Tremblay. Then his second thought is hm, this Eddie guy sounds kinda cool. Then his third thought is oh my god, we gotta talk to Will!

“Will! Do you copy? Over!”

“Will, where are you?”

“You feeling a bit better so far?”

“Tell Eddie we’re saying hi! Who is he? Over!”

“I’m getting cold again..”

“Me too. C’mon here.”

“Will! We’re right here!”

“How the hell are they not hearing us?”

“I wish I could go home…”

“So do I…”

El gives out a painful gasp and the radio explodes into flames. Dustin manages to extinguish it before the rest of the room catches, but the fire alarm goes off.

They all stare at the now-ruined transmitter, their only chance of connecting with Will and his mysterious new friend.

—

Eddie’s definitely missing.

It’s a fact that Jeff grows more sure of every day since Wayne Munson had asked him for Eddie’s secretive hideouts.

He keeps trying to ignore the seed of dread in his stomach, but it’s impossible now with the slightly somber atmosphere in the school after the morning announcement of Will Byers’ death. The fact that Eddie hasn’t shown up for classes or in the cafeteria again today isn’t helping either.

“If Munson’s still gonna be on his bender, he should’ve at least cancelled this week’s session.”

Jeff takes a half-open Skittles bag from Maya’s tray and throws it at Evan, making the two members jump. Maya because those are her Skittles and Evan because the bag hits his chest making more pieces fly out on the table.

“Eddie’s not on a bender.” Jeff hisses at Evan. Across him, Frankie is giving him one of his Don’t-Make-This-Any-Worse looks.

Evan huffs and crosses his arms, “Oh, yeah? Then where the hell is he?”

“Definitely not on a bender of any kind!”

“Gee thanks, that clears things up.”

Jeff’s about to snap back, but Frankie discreetly kicks his leg with a warning glare. It might be a good call because Jeff doesn’t know what to say next. Another defence of Eddie, for sure, but nothing to quench the rest of the club’s antsy-ness.

“Maybe he’s gone to a concert. Like hitchhiked to Indy or Chicago?” Maya asks after picking up her spilled candy.

“But he has a van?” Daniel, the senior member of Hellfire and their current drummer, frowns pointedly.

“What concert could’ve he gone to? Is there even any band playing in this bum state?” Evan raises his eyebrows.

“I dunno, Dio?”

“They’re touring in the UK right now.” Frankie says. Jeff shoots him a bewildered look that’s the equivalent to screaming are you kidding me? Frankie gives him a Play-Along-With-It look.

“Well, that settles it.” Evan raps his knuckles on the table. “Munson’s saved a fucking ticket to the goddamned Iron Lady’s territory and is breeding chicks in Dio’s mosh pit as we speak.”

Jeff stands up, no longer feeling hungry. He throws his half-eaten sandwich at Evan. The other boy gives out a disgusted shriek as the mayonnaise hits and stains his shirt. “Dude! What-”

“Shame on you.” Jeff keeps his voice even, just quiet enough for only Hellfire to hear him. Maybe it would somehow reach Eddie wherever the hell he is right now. “The only good thing about Eddie being absent is that he isn’t ripping the skins off of you and your characters right now. Especially you, Evan.”

He stares Evan down, who visibly gulps. “Eddie took you in the club’s open arms because he saw you were a loner who needed the right people to hang out with or you would’ve been one of the bullies. And this is how you thank him?”

He looks at the rest of the members and points at them accusingly. “When Eddie comes back from whatever he’s doing, I hope that rest of y’all feel guilty for thinking he doesn’t care. Because he absolutely does.” Then he grabs his bag and leaves the cafeteria without a second thought.

Outside is chilly as usual and the breeze helps relax Jeff’s nerves. For a while at least.

He stands at the parking lot, trying to think what he should do when he hears someone running over. He looks up and groans.

“Frankie, leave me alone, man.”

“So you haven’t heard anything from Eddie?” Frankie’s voice isn’t accusing but his look might’ve been.

“No. Not since the band practice days ago.” Jeff walks away but Frankie still follows him. “Then his uncle came and asked if I knew any places Eddie frequents. I told you guys that already.”

“Doesn’t stop Evan’s stupid theories.” Frankie mutters.

“You should’ve shut him up!”

“Are you kidding? You did better than what I could’ve done.”

“Words are stronger than death looks.”

Frankie snorts. He goes quiet as they reach the end of the school parking lot. Then he says, “Are you going to search for Eddie?”

Jeff stops. Turns and stares at him. “Uh, yeah? I mean, from what he said, Wayne’s probably already doing that. So, I dunno, I’m probably gonna do the bare minimum. Like where am I going to look, dude?”

Frankie doesn’t answer. His face is strangely pale and looking at something behind Jeff. He follows his friend’s phase and feels the dread well up in his mouth when he sees a poster on a nearby telephone pole.

He doesn’t need a closer look to recognize the black and white photo of Eddie from two months ago grinning at him or the large word MISSING written in Sharpie above it.

He tries very hard not to notice that it’s stapled right below Will Byers’ already wrinkled poster.

It’s a very strong feeling to see your best friend’s missing poster a few days after you last saw him alive.

Jeff forces to tear his eyes away from Eddie’s captured monochrome cheeriness. “Know what? Fuck it. Let’s find him. Wanna start at the woods?”

—

There’s something about singing quietly in the nightscape hell mirror version of your bedroom that makes Eddie’s fingers twitch to jolt it down somewhere.

After the meltdown at the house, Will had grew more quiet. Eddie had rocked him until Will complained of motion sickness and then Eddie had held him even when they slept.

After piggybacking the kid and singing “Should I Stay Or Should I Go?” (at least until Eddie admitted death by earworms and convinced a change to “Space Oddity”) on the way back to Forest Hills, Will seemed to be back in his original spirits. Still quiet but no longer on the verge of tears next to Eddie. Although his coughs started to sound more wet and shook his small frame like a leaf.

Eddie prays to god that he can speak to Wayne this time. He hopes his uncle to come up with a cooler code system than Mrs. Byers and maybe get them out somehow.

But the trailer is quiet, save for Will’s whistled breathing as he sleeps in Eddie’s arms, the old itchy quilt cocooning them both. He has to stay up. Keep a lookout for the demogorgon in this hell land and for Wayne in the real world. But he feels so tired. If he can rest his eyes for just a moment…

The sound of muffled crying wakes him up.

—

The longer Wayne stares at the posters, the bigger the impulse to rip them up grows.

After Hopper left, he had went back inside and started on making the Missing posters for Eddie. The hardest part of it had been trying to find the right photo of his nephew and he had held back tears at how much Eddie had grown. How happier he looks.

He had printed copies at the library, keeping his head down from curious and pitying eyes. Christi Waldon was nice enough not to charge him for the fees.

Then he started putting the posters up and Wayne had felt like he was making a mistake.

Nobody never said anything how difficult it is to go around town again, putting a poster with your child’s face silently begging strangers who may disliked them to find them, and to do all of this without the police helping.

Wayne had printed 100 copies. He only managed to put up 18 of them before it became too much and hurried home.

Now there’s a pile of 82 posters with Eddie’s face staring up at him on the table. Wayne can’t bring himself to rip them up no matter what his mind demands it. He has a new superstition that if he does, Eddie will never be found alive.

He checks the time. Seeing it’s only after six, he sighs heavily and takes out his cigarette. He’s briefly overcome with the memory of catching a fourteen year old Eddie trying to smoke and how his smart cookie of a nephew swallowed the lit cigarette, immediately threw up, and sobbed while Wayne had to sit down so he wouldn’t break his own ass from laughing so far. After they’d both calmed down, Wayne showed him how to smoke properly and said-

He said…

What did he say?

Something erupts from his mouth. He clamps a hand over, suddenly worrying that he just got sick. But there’s no taste of bile. Only wet salt. He takes his hand off and, ah. He’s crying.

Wayne gives a wet laugh. Then it gasps into another sob. He covers his mouth again, unable to hold the tears back.

Above him, the lights flicker.

It feels almost comforting.

Wayne sniffs, watching as the bulbs hang on to its dear life of electricity. Then one of the lamps next to the couch start flickering as well. Slow and rhythmic.

The sadness does go away, but it makes Wayne feel the back of his neck hairs stand up.

—

Eddie drops his hand from the lights, stomping over to the phone. “Fuck this, now’s the chance.”

Will glances at him from where he’s crouching by the lights, still tired from being jostled awake so soon, “Eddie?”

He turns to him and says, “Little Byers the Vanished, how does one make a landline in the Vale of Shadows?”

“You, uh, just pick it up-”

Eddie does exactly that.

“Wait! It won’t even last-!”

—

The phone rings with a shrill.

Wayne snaps his head over to it. He’s breathing slowly, watching the landline like it’s his childhood spider.

The atmosphere in his trailer feels suddenly colder. As if there are ghosts present. Waiting.

The phone rings and rings until it gets to voicemail, his gruff message for the last decade. “You’ve reached the Munsons. Leave a message after the beep.”

There’s nothing after the beep.

Wayne looks at the lights again. The ceiling light has stopped but ones over the kitchen and door are flickering this time.

The phone rings again.

He stands up slowly, walking over to the phone. It rings louder to his ears now. He tries to ignore the sudden sense of a presence behind and beside him as he picks the phone up and holds it to his ear.

He hears static as if the caller has a bad connection.

He clears his throat and speaks, “Wayne Munson speakin’.”

The static crackles with some kind of harsh breathing. It’s loud to make Wayne cringe away and hang up-

“..Wayne..”

He freezes. The anxiety vanishes in an instant. “..Eddie?” He chokes out.

“..Wayne!”

“Oh my lord…” Wayne clutches the phone closer. “You’re alive, right? Eddie! Tell me where are you!”

“..I’m-”

The phone bursts into literal shock. He drops it with a yell and it clatters to the ground, dead.

That was him. That was Eddie’s voice.

Breathing raggedly, Wayne’s gaze snaps up to the lamps flashing maniacally. The air around him feels desperate and sinks down upon him. Anxiety comes back as quick as it comes, squashing on the brief spot of hope he felt.

“Nah, fuck this.” He mutters as he swipes his keys and runs out of the door. He can’t deal with more ghosts at this hour.

—

“Nonono—NO!”

Eddie slams his hands against the lights too hard. The pulsing glass bulbs nearly crack under the pressure.

None of it stops the sound of the truck engine starting.

“Wayne, it’s me! Can’t you hear me?!” Eddie’s throat is already dry from screaming, but he doesn’t care about it. “UNCLE WAYNE! JUST STOP AND LISTEN TO ME!”

He runs outside to the ever barren yard. He tries not to think about Wayne leaving just like how his dad did in his very last visit. How he had tried to chase after his dad’s car until Wayne stopped him. How he had been a crying mess while Wayne told him that both of them will stay together from now on.

“WAYNE, PLEASE! YOU PROMISED TO STAY!”

The truck drives away, farther and farther. If Eddie can catch him-

His lungs constrict themselves again. He stumbles, scraping his knees and palms on the ground. He coughs, gulping in too many shaky breaths that almost tastes like glass shards. He calls out-

“Come back! Come back!”

It comes out as a hoarse whisper.

His throat hurts.

The truck disappears. The sounds of the trailers’ muted everyday life and his own painful wheezing replace it.

Eddie is vaguely aware of Will shuffling up next to him and wrapping his arms around his shaking shoulders.

-

Taglist: @unclewaynemunson @steves-strapcollection @hellion-child @sidekick-hero @mmmmwaffles94 @demolitionjetstar @hbyrde36 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @soaringornithopter @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber @little-trash-ghost

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 24

Here's the next chapter! Enjoy! <3

Summary: When two girls fell into Middle Earth, excited at the prospects of living through their all time favourite novel, they find things are not as they seem. Something is watching them, as if they're being dared to reveal their secrets. How will they survive the challenges of the journey, dealing with the darkness that follows them, alongside certain two princes who are fascinated at everything they do, and a brooding, grumpy king who begins to suspect that they aren't telling the whole truth.

Where were they from, really? They did take the rabbit hole down, after all.

Tags: Kili x oc/reader - Fili x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 4038

Warnings: Swearing.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 23 // Chapter 24 // Chapter 25 >

Part 3: Chapter 24 -

30 Different Ways To Fuel Yourself Off Of False Hope.

Kismet (Definition): A hypothetical force or personified power that determines the course of the future events. Fate, Destiny.

(Noun / Origin: Old Turkish / kis·​met)

Bag End, Hobbiton, The Shire – T.A. Tuesday, 26th April 2941 of the Third Age (Trewsday, 6th Thrimidge, 1341 in Shire-reckoning)

Waking up on the day we had spent over a year of our lives waiting for was certainly less invigorating than I assumed it to be.

A month ago I would have been practically vibrating in my seat, beaming with enthusiasm at the thought of my favourite story come-to-life happening, and that I would be able to take part in it firsthand. Now that feeling had been flung out the window, my jitters of excitement were replaced with nervous ones. Sickness and dread filling the empty pit of my stomach as my mind filled with all the ‘what ifs?’

What if they don’t let us come? What if Gandalf can’t convince them? He’s already gonna have a hard time trying to get Thorin to understand that Bilbo is – somewhat – capable of surviving and adapting to the wild.

What if they start yelling about women not being strong enough and how mad they are that Gandalf told us about a ‘secret’ mission? And I start crying because I can’t handle yelling and being rejected which will make them even MORE stubborn about not letting us come? Even if they did let us come, would Thorin sulk and hate us for months?

Oh God.

What if HE doesn’t like me?

My eyes unconsciously dragged over to the bow leant against the corner of the parlour as my thoughts drifted to him. Blurry flashes of wavy brown hair and a cheeky smile danced across my vision. I let in a deep breath, before frantically pushing the waking nightmares of all the insecurities and terrible outcomes that would possibly happen this evening into the depths at the back of my mind.

Giving my head a small shake and rolling my shoulders, I returned my sights to the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I bounced my leg erratically, spinning the quill in my hand between my fingers and staring at my looping handwriting with vigorous intent, but barely taking a word in.

About an hour ago, in order to try and take my mind of things and rid my stomach of it’s sickening feeling, I had started a checklist. A feeble attempt of a distraction to try and use the attention of my already racing mind to guess the contents of what I was bringing, rather than dwell on the probability of my year-long plans collapsing before me.

I had also spent my morning trying to find comfort, and enjoy everything the best I could, making sure to not take everything around me for granted as I had realised today could be the last official day that we enjoyed comfort. A proper bed, proper meals, a steady routine, and the reassuring bubble of safety and peace the Shire gave. The thought of leaving it all behind made me want to tear up.

Despite my distraction attempt, I found myself constantly glancing out the open window in front of me, my nerves having woken me up just before dawn, and I had sat here by candlelight long enough to watch the sun rise and the birds begin their morning call. Now the candle was extinguished, smoke wisps trailing up and out the window into the crisp spring air, the wax beginning to harden as I leant back in the wooden chair, thankful for the cushion studded onto its base.

It was still relatively early, and I figured it was only about 6am, not bothering to get up and double check the grandfather clock in the other room. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I spent the next hour extending the checklist, until Kay stumbled in, copper hair and nightgown askew, mumbling about how my shuffling had woken her up too early for her comfort. Leaning back in my seat, I watched (as another distraction attempt) Kay, whose eyes were still slightly swollen and half-glued together by sleep, as she felt around for the kettle, hanging it on its hook above the fireplace before clumsily setting some wood down and lighting it on fire with her wand.

Slumping onto one of the dining chairs, she rested her forehead in her hand, groaning with fatigue weighing on her figure.

“What time is it?” she mumbled, eyes closed as she looked ready to fall asleep again.

Turning back to the window, I lifted my feet onto the chair tucking my own nightgown over my legs as I stared out at the glowing, orange beams of the morning sun that cut through the clouds and trees. “Like 7? I haven’t checked since I got up.” I answered, hooking my chin over my knees.

“What time did you get up?” she yawned.

“Uhh,” I squinted, watching a deer drink from the river down at the bottom of the hill whilst everyone still slept. “I think it was quarter to five? I couldn’t get back to sleep cuz of today.”

“Jesus Christ.” Kay breathed as she got up and joined me at the parlour table, brushing a hand through her knotted hair. “The hell have you been doing this whole time?”

“Anything but thinking.” I sighed, seeing Kay curiously reach over and drag the piece of parchment I had been writing my checklist on towards her.

“About today?” she suggested, twisting her head to scan the words.

“About everything that could go wrong.” I groaned, leaning my head back to glare at the ceiling.

“Now why are you worrying about that?” she vocalised, pushing the paper back to me as she leant on her elbows. “The worst that could happen is that they say no, and then we – plus Gandalf – simply gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss Thorin into being a feminist and letting us come.”

Snorting in amusement, I lowered my head back down, absentmindedly scratching my fingernail against the texture of the parchment. “How’re you so calm about this?” I questioned, glancing up at a suspiciously mellow-looking Kay, despite the craziness of her fresh-out-of-bed appearance.

She shrugged. “Honestly? I think I’m disassociating so hard that my brain simply doesn’t have the capacity to conjure up anything other than the fact I’m about to meet my future husband.” She simply explained, a cheshire grin wide on her face.

“Oh Christ alive.” I agonised, leaning forward on my elbows and proceeded to drop my face into my hands. “I forgot about that.”

“And you’re about to meet yours~” she sing-songed, prodding at the hands hiding my face. I let out a strained laugh, both amusement and anxiety ridden between. “You already made some odd noises when you had to deal with meeting Gandalf, I can’t wait to see what on Earth you’ll sound like when you meet him.”

“C’mon Kay, it’s not like I’m gonna marry the guy!” I whined in anguish, dropping my head from my hands and onto the table. “I barely have a crush on someone who is technically a complete stranger who I know next to nothing about. Look at what happened with Bilbo! We’ve watched the movies hundreds of times and we never knew stuff like how he preferred fried eggs over poached until we ended up here!” I was basically sobbing my smushed face into the wood at this point.

Twisting my head so I could face Kay, I looked up at her with wide, wet eyes. “What if he turns out to be nothing like I expected or he finds me weird?” I muttered pathetically.

Within a flash, Kay had rolled up my piece of parchment, and swatted my head with an outraged expression. “Have you forgotten his apparent type?? Miss ‘5’9 potential model who’s been mistaken for an elf multiple times??’ He’s gonna walk in, take one look at you and have the fattest fucking aneurysm, because we are the hottest people in history to exist in Middle Earth.” She paused in thought for a moment. “Except for Galadriel of course. Can’t disrespect my milf wife like that.” She patted her hand over her heart and blew a kiss out the window.

Huffing a laugh, I took another glance out the open window, spotting the mail-hobbit-man as he began his morning route. “What on Earth do I even say to them all?” I almost whimpered, beginning to spiral. “What if they get weirded out about how well we remember all their names??”

“Alright, stop.” Kay emphasised with another swat at my head. “You’ve got a whole day to get through before dealing with that, so before you send us both into a mental breakdown, let’s go get ourselves ready so they don’t walk in on us looking like a hundred year-old mops.”

As soon as the words left Kay’s mouth, Bilbo stumbled in scratching his nose whilst he made use of the preboiled kettle. “Market trip today.” He declared halfway through a yawn, stretching his arms up. “Need some fish and veg for tonight’s dinner and whatnot.” Sliding into the chair beside us with a fresh cup of chamomile, he took in the morning scenery through the window with a content sigh, seeming to have completely forgotten (or forced himself to) about yesterday’s affairs. Shifting his head, he gave us both a once over. “Fancy coming?”

--

The sereness of Bilbo’s mood that morning had been shot into the stratosphere when the clock hit half nine. I hadn’t missed the strain that had begun to grow in the hobbit’s smile the closer he got to swinging his blue coat on, and by the time we were out the door, his face had dropped completely.

Despite his much smaller stature, we found ourselves jogging to keep up with the frantic hobbit as he practically jogged down to the market, head swivelling around like an owl as his eyes determinedly scanned everything they landed on.

Settling into a speed-walk, I sidled up next to him as he continued to scurry on, leaning down to keep my voice lower. “I doubt Gandalf’s gonna be hiding out in the market waiting to scare you, Bilbo.” I attempted to reassure, knowing full well the wizard was still off somewhere collecting our not-so-unexpected guests. “There’s no need to worry so much.”

Bilbo blinked up at me, forcing a bewildered look upon his face. “Worried?!” He scoffed, faking a chortle. “Why on Earth would I be worried? Hahaa…”

“Because you look as nervous as a mouse about to steal a crate-full of cheese right under someone’s nose.” Chimed in Kay as she caught up on Bilbo’s other side.

“Mouse–?” Was all he could sputter out in offense to being compared to the rodent before he sprung a foot in the air, startled when another hobbit called out to him, wishing a good-morning. Opening his mouth, he went to retort, but his mind seemingly ran elsewhere, and he simply spun on the spot to march over the stone bridge ahead.

Giving each other knowing looks, Kay and I trailed not so long after, mixing into the throng that was the Tuesday morning market. Kids scurried after each other with shouts and screams, looping around us until they took off in another direction.

Lifting my head, I took in the scene before me. Hobbit-men roaring with laughter as they puffed out smoke-rings under the tents and pavilions scattered around, a hobbit-woman thanking someone as she received a payment at her market stall, handing over a sack of whatever the other hobbit bought with a grin moments later. Snapshots of the everyday lives of some of the most peaceful creatures in Middle Earth, and I knew I was going to miss it.

Zoning back in, I brought my gaze further down, to where it landed on the back of Bilbo’s coat as he conversed (though rather distractedly) with one of the local fisher-hobbits, thanking him as he was handed his packaged goods – I presumed it was the fish he had spent the last 24 hours raving about not getting.

As Bilbo continued around the market, Kay and I temporarily went our separate ways, grabbing a few final things to stick in our bags. Meeting back about a quarter of an hour later, we spotted Bilbo who seemed to be trying to hurry back, eager to return to Bag End with his now-full basket of goods. Peering over his shoulder, he surveyed around until he caught our eye, and gestured for us to follow.

Jogging forwards, we hurried to catch up, only to slow down to a stop as Bilbo’s path was blocked by who we recognised to be Master Worrywort, his appearance giving a sense of Deja vu. Hauling his wheelbarrow stacked with produce, the older hobbit paused as he spotted Bilbo, his eyes lighting up.

“Hello, Mr Bilbo! Ah! And of course the lovely ladies.” He greeted us all, reaching into the pile in his wheelbarrow to pull out a very large-round vegetable that looked like a weird cross between a potato and a turnip. “Here!” He held it up in front of Bilbo. “Have a feel of me tubers.” Reluctantly, but willing to appease him, Bilbo briefly gave the vegetable a touch. Glancing up, Master Worrywort eagerly gestured it towards us. “Nice and firm they are. Just came in from West Farthing!” We both reached to politely prod and pinch at it for a moment, giving satisfied nods.

“Very impressive, Master Worrywort.” Bilbo complimented, eager to shift the conversation along. “Now, I don’t suppose you’ve seen a wizard lurking about these parts?” He asked, squinting against the sun as he gave the marketplace a once-over for the hundredth time.

Master Worrywort frowned in thought, placing the vegetable back in his barrow. “Tall fellow?” He suggested. Bilbo went to reply, when something caught his eye, his face paling as the other hobbit took no notice and carried on. “Long grey beard, pointy hat? Can’t say I have.”

Looking over my shoulder, I spotted the basket of grey wool that was being carried behind some of the stalls, my height making it easy to decipher that it was, in fact, not a wizard. Turning around, I went to assure Bilbo, only to find he had already taken off before Master Worrywort had finished speaking. The three of us scanned the area in confusion, looking for the missing hobbit.

“Where’d he go?” Wondered Master Worrywort.

Continuing to peer around for Bilbo, Kay answered. “Christ knows. He hasn’t been feeling himself lately.” She lied – though it wasn’t completely so.

Unbothered, Master Worrywort simply shrugged, before tipping his straw hat and bidding us adieu. The second he picked up the handles of his wheelbarrow to carry on, we shot off, crossing the bridge to see Bilbo step out, a dazed look on his face. Checking behind me, I saw that the basket of grey wool had revealed itself to be nothing but that.

“C’mon.” I sighed, patting the weary hobbit on the shoulder. “Take yourself back home and grab some tea and a book, then relax. Me and Kay are gonna run some errands.”

Still staring behind us, Bilbo nodded, not moving until we gave him a slight nudge, and off he went stumbling back up the hill with his basket.

Once he was in the distance and we were sure he wasn’t about to have a nervous break, the two of us spun on our heels and crossed back over the bridge, taking the path to the stables.

--

“You’re leaving?? Why?!”

Bertie looked up at us with wide eyes, clouded with confusion as he absorbed the news.

“We’re going travelling for a bit.” Kay offered, which technically wasn’t a lie. “Might see if we can find our families.”

He gave a slow nod. “Is Bilbo going with you?”

I opened my mouth to say yes, but paused, realising that despite the future events on the horizon being very much canon, Bilbo still had free will and the right to refuse to come.

“Maybe.” I suggested. “We’ll have to see.”

“Well I hope he does!” he exclaimed, looking almost saddened at the thought of Bilbo not going. “He’s awfully fond you both, y’know.”

Blinking, I glanced at Kay, only to see her respond in a similar way.

“Right.” Stated Bertie with a clap and a rub of his hands, startling us back into focus. “If you are both going, I wish you both the best of luck.” He gave us a warm smile, which quickly morphed into a tired one. “But for the love of Yavanna, please take those… beasts with you.” He pleaded in exasperation, gesturing at Calhourn and Hecate who were munching on a hay bale in the corner of the building. The latter raised her head to fix poor Bertie with a very prominent stare, and the hobbit shifted back a few steps, grumbling and cursing under his breath as he went to prepare their saddles and the rest of their equipment.

--

The sun was at its highest point in the sky by the time we started to head back to Bag End, our half-explanation for leaving having been given to the stable owner, who had kindly insisted that our jobs would still be here whenever we came back. Now we were halfway there, and I was panicking when I had realised I had forgotten to do something I considered rather important.

“Ah crap!” I cried. “I still need to write the letters!”

Kay glanced over at me, brows furrowed. “Whatever are you needing to write letters for?” She questioned.

“I need to write to whoever’s going to presume Bilbo dead and try to sell out Bag End!” I exclaimed, and Kay’s brows rose in realisation. “Otherwise he’s gonna come back to one hell of a nasty surprise. Oh! And also one for Gladiola to say we’re leaving and that she’ll have to find other babysitters, and whoever is–uh-crap –”

Kay quickly grasped my shoulder, swiftly brining my stressed rambling to a halt. “Girlie you’re going to give me a heart attack with how much you’re stressing out!” She breathed. “How about, when you get back, I’ll find out whoever does the house auctions and you write the Gladiola. Then we’ll see if anyone else needs one as well.”

I nodded silently, refusing to speak anymore in case everything came out uncontrollably in front of the shrew-faced Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that was sneering up at us from her front garden when we pattered by.

Reaching the front door of Bag End, I sped ahead of Kay, eager to snatch some parchment and a quill, then ran to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

--

Reading over then re-reading again, I double checked the letters now fully completed in front of me. Kay had slipped in earlier, sliding over a small shred of paper that had the address of the hobbit that would be auctioneering in a couple years’ time when everyone would think Bilbo to be missing and most likely dead. The other one was for Gladiola, explaining – but not giving away too much – about what was going on, apologising for the last minute notice, but pleading that no one tries to sack Bag End (‘punch the Sackville-Bagginses for us, if you must’ I had underlined boldly).

Sealing each letter with a wax seal, along with the box of little gifts and knick-knacks Kay had precured for the Greenfoot’s as part of the apology, I gathered everything up, and slipped out of my bedroom window as quietly as I could.

The evening had begun to settle in when I hurried down the hill, the sun turning the sky into a flurry of oranges and purples as I tried not to trip over any grass mounds. Minutes later, when I had reached the house of the Greenfoot’s, I peered through the small window by the door from where I was stood behind the gate. The candles were lit, but no silhouettes came into view, so I quickly twisted the handle of the letterbox, the handprints of paint we had helped the kids stamp on still yet to be tarnished by the weather, and I felt guilt creep up in the pit of my stomach.

Before I could turn any more miserable, I hissed out a curse when the lid let out a creak. Shoving the parcel and letters (I had asked Gladiola in her letter to deliver the other one) into the box, I gently eased the lid back up, thankful it hardly made a squeak. Glancing up at the window, I jumped when I spotted Gladiola, but let out a sigh of relief when I realised her back was turned.

Without a second thought, I dashed off, skipping the paths as I took a beeline straight up, resulting to crawling on all fours up the steep parts at some points. Reaching the top, I turned around, taking in one of the last views of Hobbiton beneath the final rays of the vanishing sun with a weary sigh. With a stretch of my back, I went to walk towards my window, when my eyes were drawn to a short but unusual looking shape in the distance. Squinting, I watched as it made its way through one of the paths between the crop fields near the outskirts on the other side of town.

“I know that silhouette…” I thought to myself, before my eyes widened and I let out a gasp.

Dashing round the bend to my open window, I narrowly missed a drunk hobbit as he stumbled along swigging from the flagon of wine in his hand. I practically dove through, earning myself several bruises along my arms and legs as I clumsily battered them against the furniture whilst I struggled to clamber to my feet.

Sprinting across the floorboards, I almost slipped several times as I hauled my bedroom door open and bent over to avoid the beams as I half-jogged/half-stumbled through the hallway in my woolly socks, grasping the wood lining the archway to the kitchen to skid to a stop. Though that didn’t stop me from headbutting the chandelier.

“Ah, fuck!” I cursed, rubbing at my forehead before I ducked through.

Kay was staring up at me confused from where she sat at the kitchen table, quill poised to continue scribbling away at whatever was on the parchment in front of her until I interrupted. Bilbo was across from her, bent over the stove as he prodded and flipped the fish on the pan in front of him, too used to our antics at this point to bother looking up.

“Evening jog?” Kay muttered, keeping her voice quieter than the sizzling of the cooking food as I flopped down next to her.

Chest still heaving, I turned to look at her. “Huh?” I furrowed my brows.

She gestured at my face with the quill. “You’re cheeks’re pink and your hair’s frazzled.”

Sitting back, I absentmindedly reached up to pat down my face and hair. “Went to deliver the stuff.” I breathed. “Then decided to climb up the hill and ran when I saw someone in the distance.”

Kay’s eyes widened, and she took a glance at the still distracted hobbit. Giving me a look to show she understood, she returned to her parchment when Bilbo swivelled around, taking turns picking up the three plates that already had the boiled slices of carrot and potato ready to go, along with a small bundle of herbs, to shovel a freshly fried trout onto each one.

Sliding a plate in front of the two of us, we picked up our silverware as Bilbo tightened the sash round his waist that held his dressing gown over his night-time robes. Settling down in his seat, the hobbit let out a content sigh.

He glanced up at us with a smile. “So,” He started, tucking a napkin into his collar. “What did you two get up to in town after I went home early?” He asked as he reached over to take a pinch of seasoning from the tiny wooden bowl between us.

The two of us stiffened, watching intently as Bilbo began to season his food in an all-too familiar way.

And that was when the doorbell rang.

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

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[alexanderlightweight]

hello~ wensday prompt: what happens if alec was 6-7 years older. he wouldn't be parabatai with jace because he will be 18 and jace like 12 ? or he start date magnus much earlier before clary show up?

I hope you doing great! also have you seen "bodies bodies bodies"? great comedy horror. recommend to see it~

thank you for writing all of these prompts 💕

Hello! you are not the only person to be interested in that idea and i love it! in my opinion, an alec who was 6-7 years older than izzy wouldn't be raised by maryse and robert. alec and jonathon were born during the circle, after they left. so this is part of a universe called walls of adoration, claws of desperations

there is another porition of this written and jsyk it's alec and magnus secret relationship.

also valentine wants soldiers and experiments, he'd encourage his soldiers to keeps the kids, maybe even convince them. but maryse wouldn't take a toddler or a baby with her, it would be a tactical error and distraction.

in my opinion and headcanon, alec is left with the trueblood or lightwood grandparents and if i'm going to go with either, i'm gonna go with the trueblood tbh. i'm biased cause i like maryse better than robert. alec has been living in idris with the disgrace of circle member parents because this is before its hidden. he's about to get his first rune and he's been raised loyal and to disdain his parents because they're traitors.

he's going to refuse to go with them and he's about to get his first rune and maryse is pregnant and will have another heir and the truebloods need one.

so yeah, thats kinda my meta for the background and hows and whys of this.

i am doing great! thank you so much for asking and today has been lovely and i have so many prompts i'm excited about.

I really am enjoying them so you're welcome and thank you for sending in a prompt

also i have not but it is now on the list!

<3 lumine

-

Alec prefers the parts of his life that are him living in the outskirts of Alicante. His grandparents have passed and while he is sent to train hunters at Institute’s across the world, he’s had no real interest or reason to officially be called to serve as a Commander.

At least until now.

With Maryse and Robert Lightwood being recalled to Idris, Alec is the only one related who has the qualifications and the right background for it. Robert and Maryse won’t be able to claim the clave is trying to strip the Institute from their family, not when Alec is heir to one of them.

Which is fine, it’s not the worst thing Alec has done and while he dreads the tedium of bringing an entire Institute full of hunters up to his personal standards, it’s not the worst thing he’s done.

It’s a bit annoying to have to stop his current study and projects and while Aline promised to keep him updated, Alec hopes that Sebastian will help remind her. Otherwise, he’ll be hearing about things once every six months.

Alec isn’t interested in politics the way his parents are.

He’s seen what they did to Maryse and Robert and now that he’s older, he understands things better and dislikes them more.

So, it’s with indifference that he goes to New York and it’s with prejudice that he kicks shadowhunters back to New York.

Izzy thinking she’s a shadowhunter informant at fifteen and that she can seduce information from seelies is the ridiculous thing Alec’s ever heard and while she wails and begs, he ignores her petulant whining. She’s her parent’s princess and he knows she’s rarely been told a ‘no’ that she didn’t ignore.

Jace is just as stubborn and the third time he gets himself and other shadowhunters injured, Alec has him with Izzy, Starkweather, and about a fifth of his Institute ready to be shipped back to Alicante.

“It’s a conflict of interest.” He tells Jia with a smirk over the video call that night. “They’re my precious little siblings, Jia. How could I put them through the same kind of training as the others?”

“You just don’t want to deal with them.” Jia accuses, having apparently already found out how much of a headache the two are.

Alec merely raises a brow because it is a conflict of interest and Jia knows it. Everyone knows it, which is why it’s hilarious that she’s still trying.

“Fine. But did you have to send us Starkweather? This is a mess, Trueblood.”

Alec simply hums and signs off, because at least now it’s not his mess.

[rnanqo]

Bree, Bree! As a fellow author, am I allowed to ask what you're writing? 👀💖

yes absolutely!!

the main project is Book Draft. it is a fantasy novel about two gentleman rogues seducing a lady so they can steal her big magical tornado. to pull this off, they will have to convince this lady they’re completely normal about her big magical tornado, completely normal about each other, and definitely not that pair of guys who’ve been in the news for trying to steal big magical tornadoes (they’ve been plotting and scheming and never succeeding). they will also have to ignore a variety of glaring red flags from the lady herself, who mostly seems interested in using them for hard labor and might also be creating an army of statue people. oh and her big magical tornado is in danger of breaking free and wreaking destruction over the land. can our heroes act like normal dudes long enough to fool this lady, seize her big magical tornado, and make sure it doesn't break loose? or will their obvious codependency and inability to admit their own mistakes be the death of them both???

(it will be a secret worse third thing, and I’m VERY excited to get there)

beat for beat this is an expanded version of a 15k thing I wrote last year. which i could not sell because when a story is that length you run out of places to send it VERY quickly. luckily I have always been a novel gal anyway so I was like lol time to write everything that comes after this lil 15k episode! and then when I had like 80k of followup I tried writing a query letter about it, realized I was trying to cram a trilogy into a novel, did some soul searching, and now we are here, on book 1. hopefully I can start querying it sometime this year!

i complain about it under ig tag. i collect relevant memes for my own dread purposes under whimsy tag. @mercyisms even made a meme about what is now book 3!!

other than Book, im renovating the ending on another possibly unsellable 15k novelette, working on a short story that revolves around a stupid pun, and writing on a narrative podcast about building pyramids in ancient egypt! all very exciting and fun. and the cause of wrist tendonitis

[marypsue]

what has griffin mcelroy taught you about the dreaded middle of a story, if you don't mind me asking? i've listened to taz and i feel like i have the barest memories of this being mentioned, but for the life of me i can't remember the details

So I have to apologise, because it wasn't something that he said directly or a piece of advice that he gave, exactly. And I don't know that I can say that everything about what I learned came directly through TAZ Balance, or if TAZ Balance was just a lens through which I could finally see and understand some things that had been building up for some time before that.

BUT.

For the longest time, I had a bad habit of getting hung up in the middle part of any story I was working on. I had a vague sense that Something had to happen between the inciting incident and all the 'ooh, what's going on?!' of the first third, and the big reveals and explosions and fanfare of the final third. But I had absolutely no idea how to map out what actually had to...happen, in that middle third. So I mostly just...didn't.

This, as you may have realised, is an excellent way to get hopelessly lost and mired in the Dreaded Middle, and never make it to that fun exciting ending that you have in mind.

I'm not sure why it was TAZ Balance that unlocked something for me. Whether it was the fact that I was listening to Griffin's Baby's First Long-Form Narrative unfold as it was written, or if it was the collaborative TTRPG format, or what. But there were two important things that I figured out about the Dreaded Middle as a result of listening to TAZ Balance.

First, that I had some secret rules about the Dreaded Middle, that even I hadn't realised I had. One of those rules was also a misconception about outlining - I felt like I had to know exactly how everything in the Dreaded Middle was going to go, how it was all going to play out, before I could write it. I felt like I couldn't put a problem in front of my characters that I didn't already know the solution to.

But listening to some of the big TAZ moments - the train crash in Rockport Express, Hands Outstretched - and The The Adventure Zone Zones about them, and realising that Griffin set up an interesting problem and then let his players figure out the solution, and that sometimes the solution they came up with was not the solution he'd had in mind, but actually ended up making the story better, really illuminated it for me. I didn't have to be all things to my story at all times. I could break it down - come up with a fun and interesting problem to put in front of my characters, and then come at it from the perspective of my characters and try to figure out how to solve that problem and get to the next big interesting thing to happen in the story.

(Jettisoning this secret rule has also really helped me embrace outlining, which has helped me improve hundredsfold as a writer. With my previous secret rule in place, of course outlining felt boring and soul-draining and like it sucked all the fun and spontaneity out of writing! Because it did! Because I was trying to plan out every single little moment, down to the last detail, in chronological order, instead of figuring out what my big problems were going to be first, and then going through and brainstorming what possible solutions there could be to them and what I would need to add to or remove from the story to allow each solution to work!)

The second thing that I learned from TAZ Balance was that I was thinking of a story in three parts: beginning, middle, and end. And I had a sense of The Middle as a place where stuff had to happen in between The Beginning and The End, so that the story would be long enough to feel satisfying. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I had this sense of The Middle as...well, basically filler.

I cannot put my finger on why, exactly, TAZ Balance was the thing that broke me out of that mindset. Maybe it had something to do with how each individual story arc was, well, its own story with rising action and a climax within the larger, overarching story? Maybe it was just that everything that happened was so much fun, even if it didn't necessarily feel...connected to the larger, overarching story in a way that was easy and natural to parse? Maybe it was the fact that Griffin threw everything and the kitchen sink, genre-wise, at it? I don't know.

But for some reason, listening to that show was the first time I really got that the Dreaded Middle was not really a separate, discrete, modular piece of story, but just...the beginning and the ending running into each other. Yeah, it has its own fun problems - and they can get weird and apparently unrelated to the Big Overarching Story! - but it also is just the place where all the 'ooh, what's going on!?' of the first third flows almost invisibly into the reveals and explosions and fanfare of the final third.

I had a secret rule here, too, about how long the story had to go on before certain types of big reveals and dramatic moments could be 'allowed'. And, while I didn't identify it and jettison it immediately after finishing TAZ Balance, I know that TAZ Balance contributed. No part of the Dreaded Middle needs to be filler. Stuff can just happen. This isn't Disneyland, you don't have to hang around waiting for your FastPass time. The story doesn't have to have boring stuff you have to get through to get to the interesting bits. The interesting bits are the story.

So! In a nutshell, that is my advice for dealing with the Dreaded Middle, thanks to Griffin McElroy and the shenanigans of his family. 1) You don't need to know the solution when you come up with the problem, that's what the writing part's for, and 2) if you're getting bored and bogged down in the Dreaded Middle, make one of the things you're looking forward to happen.

[mintywolf]

A Long Road Home - Author Notes

Page 25

Oh no, I made the whole Bradbury family adorable. (I guess it’s hereditary.)

I’m not sure exactly how old they’re supposed to be; by the time she’s 20 they’re both described as looking “older” but that was after 5 years of Bad Times Whitestone under the Briarwoods. So I’d guess early-mid 30’s? Kinda late (for the setting) to have a toddler. I like the implied fairy-tale motif of a couple who wanted a child for a long time finally ending up with a really weird one.

Imogen and Matilda both had unusually lonely childhoods because, despite both growing up on a farm, they don’t have any siblings. With Imogen it’s explained by Liliana leaving when she’s still a baby and Relvin never remarrying (and since he’s described as in his mid-late 40’s with a 28-year-old daughter, they got married pretty early) but with Matilda I suppose either her parents either couldn’t have more children, or, after all the difficulty they had with her, didn’t want to risk any more. :/

Sooo . . . okay okay okay. If you’re familiar with the show you’ve probably figured out what’s going on here. (If you’re not, don’t worry, Imogen doesn’t know either so it still has to be explained to her as well as the audience. You’re not totally out of the loop here.) There have been a few hints along the way, and a few clever readers picked up on it in advance. (Gold star!)

After Episode 37 I got really excited about the possibility that Imogen coming into contact with Laudna’s soul in the little memory vignettes we see in the shadow realm might have changed, if not the actual past, the memories themselves. (Idk how many people remember this short comic I drew on the subject in between 37 and 38.) Episode 38 did confirm that they managed to influence at least one; she remembers feeling their presence when she was building Pâté, so that a little bit of all of them ended up in him. (Which, given this table, explains a lot about his personality.) But I think, though, that by “it rewrote that memory a little bit” she probably means her experience reliving it in the Domain of Dread and not the actual memory, because she says with them there “it didn’t feel so lonely that time,” so she still has the original memory.

I got really attached to the idea though, and as with my last comic I had kind of wanted to include a slight road-not-taken AU element, something just to the left of canon but within the bounds of possibility presented by it, so it’s not just a straightforward retelling. (Incidentally both twists involved the characters being bonded on a soul-deep level.) Here it’s that Laudna can remember Imogen, in what is still the future for her, meeting her in her past.

That throughout all the loneliest parts of her life she had the memory of this loving presence and a voice that had spoken to her with kindness and told her it was going to be okay. That when she awoke, terrified and alone, from death the first time it was with the memory of having been told, “when it starts to get scary, you just come find us. We’re gonna get you home.” That even in her 30+ years of wandering the earth being chased from hovel to hovel she knew that there was a home somewhere out there in someone who needed and loved her.

I just . . . have a lot of feelings about Episode 37.

It ended up fitting really well with another recurring theme I have planned/written for Laudna in this that will become more apparent as she continues to share her story with Imogen, in that she isn’t a totally reliable narrator, even when she’s letting her into her mind, and she has contrasting memories of why things are the way they are. (Did she, for example, name herself “Laudna” after gothic literature drug of choice laudanum, or because of what she used to sing to Pâté, or, a secret, third thing . . . because it’s what Imogen called her in the past?)

It also, narratively, gives her a reason to come to Marquet in the first place, and gives some direction to her three decades of wandering around. What she said a few pages ago about having been searching for Imogen her entire life wasn’t just romance novel-inspired sappiness. She has actually been searching for her for that long!! (That whole page is probably worth a reread now that you know the thing.)

There have been a few other dropped bread crumbs along the way, which a couple people noticed right from her first appearance when Imogen overhears her thinking that “it probably isn’t even the right town,” implying that she’s looking for one in particular. On the next page there’s also this panel, which, when unblurred by a concussion, looks like this:

Not that significant-looking but it’s also from Episode 37 (and which I only deploy for purposes of inflicting suffering, haha, it is uttered by a 1 hp Matilda in Remember Us too) when Imogen reaches out to Matilda’s mind for the last time and she reaches back in recognition to lay her hand up against hers on the other side of the window.

I think this particular Past Matilda encounter, chronologically the earliest, actually makes the best case for Imogen and the other Hells having reached through the veil somehow. All the other memories they see involve some notable event in her life — she’s creating Pâté, she’s being betrayed and having her heart broken by her first crush, she’s getting ready for the dinner party that’s about to change (and end) her life. But when they meet Matilda at age 3 (an age it’s rare to have many coherent memories of to begin with) she’s not doing anything but playing by herself in the barn. The most memorable thing about it is that it’s the first time she met Imogen.

Now, here’s the conversation from the show with Baby Tillie taking place in panel 1 of this page:

Imogen: Laudna? . . . Matilda? Are you there? Matilda: Yeah? Imogen: I want to find you and help. Can you show me the path? Matilda: I’m just playing by myself. Imogen: Where are you? Matilda: I’m playing in the barn. Imogen. The barn. Is that outside of town? Matilda: Usually. But not today. Imogen: Can you see the tree, honey? Matilda: No, the tree scares me. Imogen: What does the barn look like? Matilda: Well, it’s kind of red, and it’s tall. It’s got big doors on it. I’m up at the top of it. There’s a ladder you take, and I made some dolls. (Pause) Imogen: We’re coming up, honey. Orym: Hey, Matilda. Hey. Are you by yourself here? Imogen: Who are the dolls, honey? Matilda: They’re . . . I made a nice woman, and I made a bird that can take me away from here. Imogen: We can be that bird for you. We can take you away. Matilda: Where will we go? Imogen: Home. Somewhere safe. Is there . . . is there a mean woman around here? Matilda: Yeah. She won’t let me leave. Imogen: Have you seen her lately? Matilda: She’s sort of out that way. (points towards the tree) Ashton: Matilda? Can you tell me about this drawing? It’s interesting. What were you thinking? Matilda: That’s what’s beyond the city. That’s what everything is now. Imogen: Have you tried to leave? Matilda: The tree won’t let me. Orym: You’re going to come with us, Matilda. We’re gonna go. Would you like that? Matilda: The tree won’t let me. (discussion about escaping the barn) Imogen: Matilda, do you have a secret way out of here? (She disappears)

For when we see it again here (which we will eventually) I rewrote it a bit to fit onto a single comic page (and also so it seems less like Bells Hells is attempting to abduct a toddler haha D: ) but the emphasis is the same. She’s alone and scared in a nightmare place and a benevolent presence tells her, “Come home.”

The title of the comic probably makes more sense now. :)

(Kinda mad because I had “Imogen is Laudna’s home” as an overarching theme long before FRIDA slid into Imogen’s DMs with “home can be a person” and now it’s going to be in everything, ever but oh well! It’s been here since the title page.)

[abiiors]

hey baby, since youve just woken up.

Game night in the household, competitive and overly loud, its become tradition for us all to sit down with dinner and try and best the others at only connect. Usually Ross of Adam would win with George in a close second every time, we like to joke hes cursed to always be in second place for these things. Tonight though, Matty has resolved to win, by any means necessary, because he was sick of coming in last. It had been pointed out if he paid attention he could win but he claimed that was too hard to focus on. So here we were, shitty indian takeout from down the road on the table before us, all bundled onto the couch.  

Matty’s arm is wrapped around my shoulder pulling me into him tightly, fingers trialing up and down my bicep tickling a little. its chilly tonight so a blanket is splayed across us both, my arm across his middle, head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm and the way it picks up excitedly when he gets something right, clinging to his warm body when a draft comes from under the front door. trying to best each other with every passing question. Arguing arises amongst the boys when they start gloating about how many points they have so far, george insisting hes in first, hes not, and everyone is happy to tell him, joining in myself because i refuse to let george believe hes better at this than me, pulled from my argument however when Matty’s hand ventures up my shirt, laid flat to my stomach just below my chest, hidden by the blanket pulled to my shoulder and wrapped tightly round me.

Looking up at him with a glare, annoyance that his cold hand is on my otherwise warm self, however all the courage i had drains away when i look into his eyes, almost hungry, I shy away when he leans down, almost flinching as his lips brush my ear, the other boys still distracted, whispering huskily into my ear

"make this interesting yeah? You get it right, I please you. I get it right--well it'll be fun" 

Suddenly georges voice peaks above the rest and he points at us both accusingly, getting the other attention, "Oi you two, no secret collaboration"

Nodding curtly in his direction we both giggle a little, and i find myself unconsciously curling closer to matty, hiding from the chill the open window lets in. the tv screen lights up in blue and the new grid appears, the first group is apparent, all elements in group 1, thank god for my year 7 chemistry teacher. 

"They're all in group 1 of the periodic table"

"Ok nerd" george is growing evermore bitter the more he loses his lead and it shows, if i wasnt so nervous id giggle

"Fucking loser" ross is grinning from ear to ear regardless, he just thinks its good fun, of course hes never come less than third place so he wouldnt understand the stakes,

 "Good job bloo" adam of course, ever the supportive one, 

But I wasn't really listening, not in a meaningful way, instead tuning into matty’s shallow breathing and the way his heart hammered against his ribcage, almost as if desperate to escape, hes nervous too, or maybe just excited if the the tent in his trousers is any indication. Lithe fingers slowly teasing my chest, circling pebbled nipples without touching, flicking across them every so often, Matty watches in amusement as I pull myself tighter to him in the hopes it stops me from giving something away, another whisper to my ear, discreet 

"good girl, so smart aren't you?" Pinching the perked bud between thumb and forefinger and relishing in the way I bite my lip trying to stifle the desperate noises that threaten to escape, to prevent alerting the others, and to focus on the next row. 

"I think they're all bible references?" 

"Nope. All beginnings" the smug smile on his face fills me with dread, settling on my shoulders and weighing me down, slumping down further 

"Fuck" group chatter drowned out, all i can focus on is his reactions, the soft tsk noise he makes, something so small and its all i can hear, 

"Disappointing. I was hoping you'd get that one" spoken with a lower tone, disappointed, he was disappointed. I cant help but feel bad, i want to do well, make him proud. And yet i know he wasn't hoping id get that one right; I know that the moment his other hand takes mine, underneath the blankets and presses it to his lap, his other hand stilling, fingers digging into soft flesh of my chest but avoiding touching where I crave most, gently guiding my hand to knead him through his trousers, 

"your going to have to earn that pleasure back" 

Ripped from our little bubble matty looks up at the sound of ross’ voice "Oi matt you want a drink?" 

"Yeah mate; can you get me a coke, with ice?" 

"Sure" with a quick nod ross is off to the kitchen leaving more room on the long couch now, a 6 seater couch, which made it a little easier to be discreet about this, not like i had much choice, i didn't want much choice though in all honesty. This was fun. 

WHAT THE FUCK!??? EVIL EVIL BOY, evil of you to send me this after I’ve just woken up. I also know the periodic table very well so WHEN IS IT MY TURN HUH????

in all seriousness, I have always wanted to play the jackbox games with the boys but this is a smuttier version of my fantasy so I approve 🤭

[scrapyardboyfriends]

The whole nicky and ally stuff is beyond awful. There's been no build up to this so called great romance. There's not even the slightest bit of chemistry between them. The dialogue is toe curling. Both actors deliver their lines as if they're reading off an autocue. Wooden as hell. Second no third rate attempt at reinventing robron. Epic fail. But so this current production team. Shoddy and very poorly done as always

I find them so frustrating. Because there is a story there...or there could be, with Nicky anyway. But there are so many blanks to fill in like I rambled about in my other post.

But there could be an interesting story with Nicky if we understood what his relationship with Ally was prior to him showing up. If we understood if he was gay or bi or figuring things out. If we understood whether or not he's out to Caleb and if not, then why he's not. If we understood their relationship more and why Caleb is so hard on him. If we understood his family situation in general more, like this situation with his mother or if he does have other siblings and what their involvement in this might or might not be.

Sure we can see his frustration with Caleb and this scheme and we know he doesn't want to marry Gabby and we know he's doing this for his mother I guess. But there is so much more they could explore and they're just...not.

Not to mention the fact that there are still so many gaping plot holes in Caleb's story too. Namely, how does he even know Frank was his father? Who is his source for all of this Tate gossip? Why does he care quite this much? What is his actual plan other than maybe vague financial ruin? And I'd like to think that all of these questions will be answered but this show has a bad track record so I'd rather have more of this information now.

In general, I just really hate their insistence on telling stories this way. It's one things to hold off until a big reveal, even though that drives me crazy too a lot of the time, but they've had their "big reveal" with this story already, well one big reveal I guess. But with so much missing information, I just struggle to get invested in anything because I just don't know why people are doing what they're doing. And I can only deal with that for so long, because it is very plot driven and not character driven.

It's like they think characters having a secret is the compelling part but I'd rather dig into who the characters are because of the secret and I feel like that part is always either left out or barely touched upon because they're too busy chasing big reveals they can put in spoiler headlines.

Add to the fact, with Nicky and Ally, that neither actor is stellar, Nicky especially. They've had zero on screen development. Ally is a complete blank slate. It's hard to even tell if they have chemistry because the acting isn't there and the dialogue is pretty dreadful. I see people getting excited over them on twitter and I'm like ?!?! What are you watching? I mean, I'm mildly interested in them because I want to fill in the blanks and I know there is a story there even if they're not telling it, but that's only going to carry me so far.

It's like Marcus and Ethan, people got excited over them briefly too and then they did absolutely nothing with them. Same with Aaron and Ben. It take more than just shoving two gay characters together to make me care. I worry about Arthur and Marshall too since they've already declared each other boyfriends. Do the terrible trio even know where to go from there? Or from Nicky and Ally's sudden love confession?! I don't have a lot of faith.