#people are lacking names a bit but oh well

[bajibitch]

Silly me - Clark Kent

"Your name?" The receptionist’ voice pulled you out of the shock you felt being at the infamous Daily Planet. You managed to say your name but it came out a bit shaky and he let out a soft chuckle. "You'll fit in great." The space you'd be working in was small like you expected but seeing the surrounding work spaces was a bit intimidating. It was easy to get distracted picking up pieces of the stories they chatted about but the dizziness that came with it was enough to remind you to focus. Where would you start, how was it that people found stories again?

“First day?” Looking up from your desk, you met a pair of enchanting blue eyes on a beautiful face. The smile he wore didn’t make it any easier to turn away. Your face was hot from the lack of preparedness, hopefully, he didn’t think you were forming a crush, it’d be embarrassing, he’d be right but you wouldn’t admit it.

“Is it obvious?” You thought you were playing it off well given that you managed to type out an exaggerated amount of the food article with little effort. “What am I doing wrong?” Surely an employee wouldn’t interrupt your work for nothing, or so you thought.

“Nothing, you seem to have it handled.” He eyed the screen with your nearly complete work. “I’m still cramming in yesterday's story.” His laugh was going to be in your mind later. Although it was short it managed to sound so wholesome and warming in the small time it had. “It’s just, I've never seen you around before.” His arm was resting on the computer monitor, if he was anyone else it would’ve irked you but he had good intentions so you’d ignore it for now.

“I started today, used to work at a different company in Oklahoma.“

“How was it there?” You considered offering him a chair to sit in since it felt as if he planned on hearing your life story.

“Given that it was my first job in journalism it’ll always have a special place in my heart, but I wanted to be somewhere more interesting.”

“You didn’t catch any stories?”

“Nothing worth mentioning, I did an article on food and the impacts of-” Nothing worth mentioning but I’ll list every one. You put a hand to your forehead as you cursed yourself for not catching the prattling sooner.

“Why’d you stop?” He took a glance around the office and stared back at you. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you sighed and went back to typing out your work. “I just have to finish this.”

“I’ll be out your hair then. It was nice meeting you… I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t get yours either.”

“Clark. Clark Kent.” You stopped your typing and locked eyes with him once again.

“Y/n.”

“Well, y/n, I’ll catch you later.”

The strange thing for you is that usually when people tell you that, they never meant it. It was more like an, I’ll see you should we meet again kinda ordeal, not a follow you out of the office kinda thing.

“What is it, Clark?” You turned to see him not too far behind. His suit seemed a tad too big for him but it added a soft look to him.

“Just checking in on you. How’d you feel about the job? It’s not too much is it?”

“You aren’t from here either, are you?” He tilted his head and his lips parted but nothing came out. “You’re nicer than plenty of the people I’ve met so far. Some of them get irritated from my smile alone.” That’s why you learned to hold a poker face, the city lost its charm rather quickly when you arrived. His shoulders dropped and his lips had its default curve that made him sweet on the eyes.

“I used to live out in the country too, but as much as they tried, they could never break my smile.” Oh, you had to admit by now that he was hard to hate, not that you ever did. His spirit was almost contagious, the smile on your face showing he already infected you, maybe a harmless work crush wouldn’t be bad after all.

“Ready to go?” The both of you turned to the woman who needed no introduction, her work spoke for itself, she was a bit of a celebrity herself. You were shocked to see him kiss her with no hesitation and looked away from the affection. It was clear he had no qualms with showing his love.

“See you, tomorrow.” Fuck my life. When you buckled yourself into the seat and began to drive away, you couldn’t help laughing at how naïve you were to think he wouldn’t be in a relationship.

[charlieg1rl]

— 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝟎𝟏. 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

𝐰𝐜: 𝟎.𝟓𝐤

y/n didn’t hate lee felix.

she just… didn’t understand him.

why was he always smiling? why did he insist on talking to her, following her, and somehow managing to appear wherever she was? and more importantly—why did he act like she wasn’t one of the most cold, emotionally unavailable people on the planet?

most people took one look at her sharp tongue, blunt attitude, and general lack of enthusiasm for social interaction and took the hint.

not felix.

which is why, when she walked into the practice room after a long, exhausting day, she wasn’t even surprised to see him sitting on the floor, waiting for her like a golden retriever left outside a store.

“y/nnie!” his voice was bright and affectionate, dragging out her name in that signature whine of his.

she sighed, already tired. “what do you want, felix?”

he gasped, clutching his chest like she had just stabbed him. “why do you always assume i want something?”

“because you always do.” she dropped her bag onto the couch and stretched, rubbing at her sore neck.

“well, actually…” felix reached behind him, pulling out a small bag. “i brought you something.”

she eyed it suspiciously. “what is it?”

“cookies.” his grin was blinding. “i made them myself.”

y/n narrowed her eyes. “why?”

felix pouted. “why not?”

“i don’t even like sweets.”

“that’s a lie,” he shot back immediately. “i’ve literally seen you steal yuna’s chocolate more than once.”

y/n scowled, snatching the bag from his hands. “fine.”

felix leaned his chin on his hand, watching expectantly as she took a small bite. the moment the cookie hit her tongue, her chewing slowed.

“…they’re good.”

his entire face lit up. “right?! i made sure they weren’t too sweet, ‘cause i know you don’t like things that are overly sugary.”

that made her pause.

he knew that?

she swallowed, avoiding his gaze. “whatever.”

felix just kept looking at her, smiling that infuriating, warm, knowing smile that made her feel entirely too seen.

y/n hated feeling seen.

“are you just going to stare at me all day?” she grumbled.

“maybe.”

“felix.”

he laughed, scooting closer. “okay, okay. but seriously, you should smile more, y/n. it suits you.”

she scoffed, stuffing another cookie in her mouth. “and you should stop smiling so much. it’s exhausting just looking at you.”

felix didn’t look the least bit offended. in fact, his grin only widened. “if you think my smile is exhausting, that means you’re paying attention to it.”

y/n froze.

felix smirked. “you like me, don’t you?”

she scoffed. “absolutely not.”

“oh, you totally do.”

“felix, if you don’t shut up, i’m going to throw this cookie at your face.”

felix just laughed, resting his chin on his hand as he watched her eat. he knew she didn’t mean it. she’d never admit it, but she liked having him around.

and honestly? that was enough for him.

for now.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

[lovelykil]

hate─

killua ᯓ

oneshot

note; proof read tmr, shoutout to my wife who gave me this idea

who would've known the biggest jerk in your life was at the party of the year... supposedly. He hates crowds, people even more. What the hell was he doing taking on a guy in a drinking competition who looked like he was way too old to be at a high school party?

you push yourself through the crowd of sweaty, rambunctious teenagers to get to other side of the room where he is. Honestly, you could care less about the silverette but the fact that he was even here made you ridiculously curious. You could not take your eyes off of him when you spotted him, 20 minutes ago.

creep much? Maybe.

"killua, what the hell are you doing here?" You set your red cup down on the table with a smack, making the contents inside slip out of the cup. The boy finishes gulping down his beverage, probably alcohol, and slams his cup down.

"Leorio, you quitting already? Tch." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes focused on the guy from the other side of the table. Leorio, with flushed cheeks and a hot-tempered attitude already shouts in frustration.

"how DID YOU EVEN MANAGE TO CONSUME THOSE WHOLE BOTTLES OF ALCOHOL, WE USED CUPS!?" Killua smirks and stuffs his hands into his pockets, "years of torture." The old man-looking teenager flares his hands in the air in a fit of rage and storms off, bumping into people as he stumbles away.

you turn your attention towards Killua after the whole ordeal and watch him rock side to side slightly. Oh great. He was tipsy.

his eyes motion toward you in a slow manner, "what the hell are you doing here?" He asks, his tone gruff and rude yet puzzled at the same time. You cross your hands over your chest, slightly shifting your weight onto your hip, "I could say the same thing." You respond, matching his tone.

His eyes never leave your cold while your eyes are glued to his piercing intimating eyes.

his gaze locks onto you, cold and unrelenting, while yours remains trapped in the depths of his piercing, intimidating stare. And there it was—the raw, electric tension that swallowed the whole room, making everyone else fade into existence. The feeling was all too familiar, but for some reason, you didn't fret from it this time.

the relationship between the both of you was—complicated. The reasons why you both hated each other were unclear and never spoken about. One simple day he looked at you in a weird, irritating way and you took that as a clear sign he found you distasteful and absurd.

a bit dramatic but who isn't?

"never took you much for a party asshole." You finally speak. The sounds of people and music suddenly fade back into reality, causing the silverette to break eye contact. He turns and leans to grab a bottle of alcohol you barely cared to pay attention to the name and flicks off the lid, "I hate parties." The bottle inches towards his lips.

you lean off your hip, "why the hell are you he—"

"hey, we should have a drinking contest yeah? I bet I can beat your annoying ass." Before he could take a gulp, he set the bottle down to propose his grand idea. The idea makes your brow twitch upward, completely unamused of the proposal. But something complied you to take him on, maybe it was your competitiveness and the lack of affection you felt for him.. simply just wanting to see him lose and laugh in his stupid pretty face.

wait—pretty?

"what? You don't think you can beat me? Well of course you can't." Killua scoffs, taking your unresponsive state as an answer. You snap out of your thoughts grab the bottle that was near him and take a swig of it, glaring the cocky asshole right in the eye. His eyes widen but soon return to their state, narrow and intimidating as he reaches for a bottle of another alcoholic substance.

"first to finish a bottle wins then." He says before twisting off the lid and discarding it elsewhere. You squeeze your eyes and take deep, determined gulps of the vile beverage. Its acrid taste clings to your tongue, while a searing burn trails down your throat. The sensation is nearly unbearable... but you remain confident. This wasn't exactly your first rodeo... but that's a story for another day.

as a few more seconds pass by, groups of curious and loud people begin to surround the both of you, completely engrossed by the fact a girl is competing with a boy in a drinking competition. Soon there was a full circle and you could hear the loud chanting making your heart skip a beat.

the whole ordeal felt like forever but only lasted 65 seconds, you slam the bottle down on the table and shout in victory. The crowd, loud and proud cheers you on as Killua just barely finishes a second after you. You bathe in your glory, overwhelmed with glee that the nasty liquid is no longer murdering your taste buds and burning your esophagus.

you turn and face your enemy with a wide grin, "what were you saying about me not beating you?" He rolls his eyes, slightly stumbling. "shut up." He mutters, you snicker.

. . .

about an hour later somehow you were dragged into a small bathroom, the drunk frustration blabbering nonsense rolling off your tongue like nothing. The noise from outside was quickly muffled as the door closed shut behind you. You lean against the sink, depending on it for stability as you look at Killua.

"what the hell are we doing here, huh?" You watch him lean against the wall and look at you, he ignores your question. This makes you pissed.

"hey! I know you're not that drunk, you have crazy tolerance. Why did you bring me here?!" You shout, now growing frustrated. You were drunk but.. not wasted. He remains silent just fueling your anger more. You're about to shout once more til he walks toward you, 2 steps and he's right infront of you.

you pause, eyes widening as you look up at him. His drunken dazed eyes are the first thing you notice, then his soft lips... then his slightly exposed neck. That's when you feel it, your cheeks warming.

"I cant feel my neck, can you help.." He points to his button up dress shirt, his voice low and calm. You blink, then nod slowly. With careful hands, you reach out and unbutton the first two buttons to release him of his troubles. You can feel his warm body heat radiating off him like if he were some heater.

"Is that better?" You mumble. Killua lets out a hum of relief and looks at you. You stare back at him, both of you flushed in the face and dazed in the minimal-size bathroom. The tension was more apparent than ever before now, the electrifying spark between you was getting harder to ignore.

for unknown reasons you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling the boy closer. He gets the idea and his hands find their way onto your hips, gripping the plush of your skin softly. No words exchanged, the look of pure desire and affection spoke volumes.

you inch toward his face with a drunk smile and mumble something you never would've thought of saying.

"I've always loved your eyes, you know." Your unusual compliment rings in his ears, just causing the boy to blush. He looks away, but his hand caresses your sides tenderly.

"thought you hated me?" He looks back at you. You can't help but grin at his puzzled words. You bring him closer suddenly, your lips merely just inches away from contact with his. Your eyes slowly flicker from his lips to his gaze, the lingering intensity thickening in the air between you... each passing second adding to the unspoken tension.

"I do, so kiss me." You breathe. The drunken teen spent no time propping you on the sink and crashing his lips into yours like a hungry animal, devouring its meal. It was as if something inside him flickered like a light switch, all he wanted was you even though he hated you and you hated him.

something about the hatred you had for each other sparked something incredible and unpredictable, all it took was some alcohol.

the sounds of moans and groans erupting from the both of you drowned out the noises coming from the outside,

it was just you and him.

[white-wysteria]

Oh goodie! Another child.. You'll be great to our collection too..

[The dark, deep, inhuman voice of a schoolmaster echoed throughout the forest as it circled you like prey. This is no ordinary kid that got stuck here along with you, no, this was something else. A monster. A predator. His attitude may as well match yours.]

Oh, and another spoiled brat? Pft, how sweet, we already got 10 of them! Can we get more children like Ralph? Like Piggy? Oh, Piggy was a good boy. A good punching bag. You wouldn't like that, don't you? Gosh, you British lads are all the same.. All same, all same.. Can you get a bit more interesting this time?

”Interesting? You don’t find anyone here interesting? All these British lads on the island are the same to you? Yes, you would know and think that because you are a part of them. Do not think I do not talk to the horrifically batty boy named Simon, or heard the feverish whispers off of Wilbur’s tongue when he had a fever so high I thought he was to die any day.

I know that you are not real, and I am aware that you are running amuck attempting to recruit people to your little coven of insanity. You are in my head, probably from a lack of hydration and proper eating. According to Simon, you are simply a part of me I must live with. In which case, so be it. I shall live with you, and you with me since you have been bred into me from birth.

How horrible I would be in your filthy little collection of boys. All so innocent and wide eyed, eh? No one on this island wants off, but I do. Stay on the sand, cursed where you are, and I will lock you away inside of my mind.

None of these boys interest you, I am sure they would love to hear about that after you try and take their hands and guide them blindly to join you. Another pawn in your game, eh? Well I know the game, I have played it myself.

You may linger if you please. Perhaps one day I will spike your interest. You would be so very pleasant to keep around, but I have my own demons that lurk in my shadows and on my heels. I’m sure you’re familiar with creatures of Hell.

Keep me in your back pocket, demon. I shall allow you to grace my presence whenever you feel, but know that your words cut like a butter knife. A punching bag may only be so if you hit, and quite frankly, I am not willing to allow that.

You bore me with your vague insults and threats. I have places to be and people to meet with.

A demon only has as much power as you let it have.

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour”

[maleoventlover]

♱A Token of Blood and Gold♱

✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠

English Professor!Vampire x Human fem!reader

It was another day of class. Rain hit the aged auditorium glass with soft thuds as you sit within your lecture. You were an English Masters student, studying Rhetoric in Religious Literature from the 18th century. You specified in work from the Middle East and the Mediterranean, with occasional interest in main land Europe.

Your professor, a man seemingly in his late 30’s, early 40’s, spoke about the history of Manama and its importance in conversation such as religion, philosophy, and self expression. Professor Farsi was his name, and god was he beautiful. His hair was black and slicked back, a streak of silver etched into the many strands. His eyes were strong, beautifully brown like the perfect cup of coffee in the chilled morning air, glistening with wisdom from his years. His strong jaw covered in a sharp bearded goatee, gray strands running through the black hairs. His skin was a beautiful shade of honey.

The lecture would typically interest you, especially considering professor Farsi was teaching it. He had been your professor since your undergrad years. You figured as you moved to your masters his classes would decrease. Oh how your were wrong. People from around the world came to hear his lectures. Something about this made you feel a slight tinge of jealousy. You knew he was a well reknoened academic. Anytime he looked your way it felt like you two were the only people in the world. He made you feel something no other person had. The way his eyes gazed over you, you could’ve sworn he felt it too.

“That’s all for today class. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Everyone stood up, chattering about their first lesson with the captivating professor. You gathered your things and head towards the exits of the building, only to remember it was still raining. A sigh escapes your lips as you realize you forgot your umbrella. As your body becomes soaked with heavy pellets of water you hear the sound of an umbrella opening. The feeling of rain drops disappear, replaced with the feeling of a hand on your lower back.

“Miss Y/N, did you forget your umbrella again?”

“Professor. You know me too well.”

You hum. The smell of leather, musk, and amber. His scent was as intoxicating as his voice. Confident yet soothing, he always had a way with words.

Of course my dear. You’re soaked, let me drive you home

You could deny his sultry voice, his hand pressing in on your back, guiding you to his car. His other hand, gripping the umbrella shielding you from the rain.

Instances like this confused you. He was always so kind and giving towards you yet never confessed any feelings nor engaging in physical gestures. Yet, since your junior year if undergraduate there was always something.

Approaching the staff parking lot, your jaw jobs at the sight of an expensive black car, one a professor salary could definitely not afford.

Cadillac SOLLEI, black exterior and interior, a gift from a friend.

He mutters and opens the passenger seat for you.

Looking up at his face he looked a bit tired, something about the way his eyes lingered on you a second longer than they should. You smile awkwardly. It almost felt like he was sizing you up. Maybe it was just your imagination.

The next moment he is in the car beside you. You jump noticing his presence, you hadn’t even heard him get into the car. He laughs at your lack of attention, his laugh making you knees weak. Good thing you were in the car.

Soon the car jumped to life and he began leaving campus.

What is your address Miss Y/N?

You’re about to respond but stop. Your brain starting to feel good, relaxed. The rain gets louder, a little too loud. With every drop it pulls you deeper into this feeling of bliss.

khanam Y/N sadaye man ra mi shnevid? nah? khob

You don’t even know what he’s saying. You just smile as him, a giggle escaping your lips.

Your sight begins to fade. Black slowly creeps in from all sides, an all-consuming void. The last thing you see is Professor Farsi flashing a grin at you, but something is off. He had long fangs poking out from his mouth. Then you fade to black.

Your eyes shot open in a panic. Sweat slicked your brow as you sat up in almost complete darkness. A flash of light from the window shocked you, and loud thunder soon followed. A storm was raging outside.

“Outside…”

You murmur as you suddenly realize you have no idea where you are. Anxiety begins to creep through you as you look around. None of this looked familiar. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you feel your stomach drop. No. This was familiar, but not in the way it should be.

The room was decorated in a combination of 18th gothic Eurocentric interior and 18th-century ottoman interior. It was a spitting image of your dream room, a beautiful culmination of your studies and desires. You take in your surroundings more clearly. The bed you say on tested within a European bed frame carved from dark wood, intricate designs carved into its flesh. Beautiful, thin silk curtains rested on the sides of your bed, shielding you from air drafts and bugs. The room was adorned with religious and philosophical tapestries displaying stories from many religious texts you familiarized yourself with.

You slowly step onto the hardwood floor of the room, your legs and feet cold from the night air. Looking down at yourself, you gasp. You are not wearing the clothes you had on in class. In fact, you wore a night gown, your head adorned in a silk wrap to protect your hair from your restless slumber.

‘This is weird. Am I dreaming?’

You think to yourself as you walk around the dark room.

A candle and box, if matched, catch your eye as they rest upon the wardrobe in the corner. Quickly, you strike a match, the flame catching alight instantly. You lit the candle and promptly blew out the match.

Despite the weather outside and your better judgment, you decide to find a way out of where ever you were.

You jogged down the hallway to what you'd concluded to be a manor. The night sky adorned in thunderclouds slammed its assault of rain against the large glass panes that lined the walls of the hallway you traveled.

The need for escape coursed through your veins as you checked every door for an exit. Some were locked, and others led to dust-filled rooms, drawing rooms, and storage; it was all pointless.

As your legs carry you faster, your bare feet pattering against the cold marble, you see one room ahead. A soft, warm glow sealed from the edges. Something about it enticed you, drew you closer. Your jog became a walk, then a stillness. Reaching for the knob, you turn it slowly, carefully pushing the door open.

It was like something out of a book. A secluded personal library with a fireplace crackling as wood burnt to embers. Professor Farsi stood in front of the fireplace, holding a cup of amber liquid.

Y/N. I've been waiting for you sholeh ebdi man(1).

“Where am I?” You demanded, staying close to the door. Something was definitely off about the professor. You needed to stay close enough to the nearest exit in case things heated.

The door slammed shit behind you, a hush yet noticble locking noice could be heard.

You blood runs cold. How did he do that? What that even him.

Y/N, sholeh ebdi man, you need not fear me. I am merely making sure you do not run without hearing me out.

His back still faced you, the drink on his hand brought up to his lips.

“What do you want from me professor?”

The sound of him sucking his teeth and the shake of his head.

I do not want anything from you Y/N

He begins to turn. You blink, and suddenly, he's gone. You try to process where he went in less than a second. You feel a breath on your neck, causing you to jump and turn. He's standing right behind you, his stature tall and frame completely shadowing your own.

You are what I want. My deepest desire. My sun to my moon. My light in the darkest of hours.

His hand reaches upwards and caressed your cheek. You freeze in response. What is he talking about?

You are sholeh ebdi man, my eternal flame. At first I did not notice.

He began to pace around you, like he was stalking his prey. And honestly, you felt like a rabbit stuck in a foxes den.

It wasn't until I saw you today in class that I realized. You are the answer to my problems.

You could feel your heart racing as he steadily got closer.

My loneliness, my hunger, my desire. A mortal woman such as yourself woukd normally never peak my interest but…

His hands grabbed your hips and pulled you against him. Your back flushed to his chest. His rough and uneven breath hovered over your neck.

Your blood just smells so….divine!

The sound of his maw opening, something sharp snapping down onto skin, ripping through fkesh and muscle. Horror is etched into your face as a sharp pain erupts from the crook of your neck and shoulder. Large fangs dug into your flesh. His rough tongue lapped up your blood from the gushing wound. A scream rips from your throat as the man you admired feasts on your life source.

~fin-

sholeh ebdi man(1): my eternal flame

khanam Y/N sadaye man ra mi shnevid? nah? khob.(2): Miss Y/N Can you hear me? No? Good.

(A/N: Should I do a part 2)

[tuulikannel]

(part II)

The boy walked down the street, briskly. Every step that brought him farther away from that place made him feel lighter, and he would have wanted to run, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

“Good morning, Asano-kun!” someone still called at him in passing, and he waved his hand a little.

Asano-kun. Perhaps that really was his name. But if that man actually was his father… why had he called him that?

…perhaps because even he realized what a stupid name Gakushuu was and didn’t want to use it. The boy rolled his eyes a bit.

As the distance to the house grew, he started to calm down, and as he calmed down, he began to think. Maybe it had been a mistake to run away like that. He felt like he should have been able to handle this situation better. Now, he was out in the streets, without any idea where he was going. It was downright pathetic how he had allowed himself to be freaked out like that.

He patted his coat. There were a few bills and coins in one pocket, but that was all. He should have found more resources before he left. More money, or a credit card… he didn’t even have a phone. Well, that might be a good thing, at least they wouldn’t be able to track him via it.

They, he wondered as he spotted a bus and sprinted toward it, just about catching it. Who ‘they’? Who was he running from?

He used the coins to buy himself a ticket and sat down at the very end of the bus. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he had been hasty to leave the way he did. Had there been a laptop in the room where he woke up? He thought so. He could have used that to do some research. On this ‘Asano Gakushuu’ who he supposedly was. Maybe on the man who claimed to be his father.

Now… he was on a bus on his way to god knew where, and all he had was – he dug all the money out of his pocket and counted it – 4203 yen. He would not get far with that.

Oh well. He sat back, watched the view from the window and let the bus carry him through this city he could have sworn he had never seen before. He got away, that was the most important thing.

He rode on the bus for half an hour, then decided to jump off. The bus had arrived at a busy business district, and he allowed himself to be swept away along the masses of people.

Was this his home city, he wondered as he watched the towering buildings and their flashing advertisements. Had he lived here all his life? Why couldn’t he remember a single thing? As big as the city was, of course, it was possible he hadn’t been to this part of it… but he doubted that. This seemed like a pretty central area.

He paused to look at a shop window with Christmas decorations. So it was December? No wonder it was quite chilly… good thing he had taken the coat. If only he had grasped some gloves too… He buried his hands into his pockets and once again cursed himself for leaving so hastily.

As he turned away from the shop window his eyes stopped on a café, and he realized he was a little hungry. True… he hadn’t had any breakfast. He fingered hesitantly the few bills inside his pocket. He shouldn’t waste them in a café… there were other places where he could get something to eat for much cheaper.

Even so he walked in. Big difference… he’d be out of money soon enough, anyway.

So, what should he order, he wondered as he stood in the line. Coffee? Did he like coffee? And if he did, what kind? Black…? Maybe… he had a feeling he took it as strong as possible.

“Latte, please,” he still heard himself saying when it was his turn. He also ordered a sandwich and waved a sad goodbye to a thousand yen bill.

The latte was good. It seemed to have been the right decision. He took his time eating, trying to form a plan. The lack of money was truly a problem. He would be able to spend one night at net café, maybe two, if he found a cheap one, but after that… he’d be broke. And that would leave no money for other things, like food. He took another bite of the sandwich, savoring its taste. It really had been stupid to buy all this, hadn’t it? At least he should have found a cheaper café.

Still… could he really expect that the situation would be somehow fixed in a day or two? Unlikely. He didn’t know much about amnesia, but even though he was quite sure it could be temporary, he didn’t even know what had caused his. He touched his head, carefully. It didn’t feel like he had hit his head. Brain damage was unlikely. He felt quite healthy, too, so a high fever most likely wasn’t the cause either. Seizure? Great shock?

He lowered his hands to the table with a sigh. Who knew. But given how severe this was, he couldn’t trust that it would simply go away just like that.

So what were his options? Go to the police, or to a hospital? But… if that man had told him the truth, wouldn’t they just send him back to the place he had just escaped…

But what else could he do? He needed money, but without any kind of an id, without address, without a name, where could he find work? He was a minor, too, and even though he could lie his age, that didn’t remove the other problems. Perhaps…

“Look at that!” a voice exclaimed. “Is Ace-kun skipping school?”

He looked up and saw a redheaded boy, about his age, approaching his table. There was something familiar about him. As he stared at the redhead, trying to remember a name, the boy plopped down to sit opposite to him, grinning widely.

“Or are you here for some important presidential business? Huh? Ace-kun?”

“Ace-kun,” he repeated, tasting the words and ignoring the rest of the nonsense the redhead had said. Hmm. Well, better than Gakushuu, maybe. “Why… do you call me that?”

The redhead tilted his head a bit, watching him curiously. “Huh? You seriously asking that? You, the Ace of Kunugigaoka?”

“Kunugigaoka,” he repeated, again rolling the syllables slowly on his tongue. That name… was not without a meaning. He just didn’t know the meaning.

He looked at the redhead and noted that underneath his black coat, he was wearing a school uniform similar to his. So, they went to the same school? Perhaps they even were classmates. Kunugigaoka… would that be the school?

“Can I borrow your phone?” he asked, and the redhead’s eyes widened a bit at the sudden question.

“My phone? Something wrong with yours?”

“I don’t have it with me.”

The other gave him a long look. Then he shrugged a little. “Sure. But I want to see what you do with it.”

He took the phone, nodding slightly, and opened a web browser. He typed in Asano Gakushuu, and the redhead snorted.

“What, you borrowed my phone to google yourself?”

He said nothing, just scrolled down the search results that were quite numerous. So it really was his name. And he seemed to be quite an accomplished person. And the student council president of Kunugigaoka… well, it all made sense to him.

He added ‘father’ into the search after his name, and sure enough, that man’s face appeared on the screen. Damn it. So that was true, too.

Apparently his father was the board chairman of the school, and had made himself name as a reformer of education. None of that explained why he felt like he should stay as far away as possible from this father of his.

He gave the phone away. “Thanks.”

The redhead took the phone, watching him curiously. “What’s going on?” he asked.

The boy gave him a long look. Until now, the redhead’s tone had had a mocking quality to it. This question was serious.

If only he remembered who this boy was. Someone he knew, definitely. Someone…who got on his nerves? But even so…

He bit his lip, considering. He truly didn’t have many options here.

“I need a place to stay,” he said quietly. “At least for a few days. You have any idea where I could go?”

The redhead stared at him. “Wait, you’re asking me? For real? Ace-kun is asking me for help?”

He sighed, a little annoyed. “I know,” he said, and he did know. “You’re… a bothersome person. But nevertheless, still someone I… respect. So…”

“Have you hit your head or something?”

The boy shook his head. “I considered it, but I don’t think so. But… please. I can’t go back… home.” It still felt wrong to refer to that place as home, but apparently it truly was that.

“Why?” the redhead asked, and he said nothing. It wasn’t like he could have explained it.

“Does this have something to do with that psycho father of yours?” the redhead went on as the silence stretched.

Psycho, huh. So perhaps his gut feeling wasn’t that wrong. “Perhaps,” he just said.

The other just kept on staring at him, amber eyes unblinking and sharp. “I just don’t get… why are you asking me of all people? Why don’t you go to those minions of yours?”

Minions, huh, he wondered, feeling a little disturbed. But he needed to say something.

“Just because of that,” he hazarded. “It’s… unlikely that anyone would ask you about me.”

“True.” He nodded slowly, but something about his eyes said that he wasn’t quite convinced. Then he grinned. “Well, I got to say I’m intrigued. So… sure. You can stay at my place.”

“Really?” He hadn’t been expecting that. “Are you sure your parents are ok with that?”

The redhead shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, they’re not home.”

“Thank you, then,” he said gravely, and for some reason the redhead frowned, giving him a long look. “That is a great help.”

“Hmm.” The other reached suddenly across the table, touching his forehead.

He pulled back a little. Why did everyone do that? “What?”

“Sorry, just wondering if you’ve a fever or something.”

“I do understand if you think I’m behaving weirdly,” he replied, and he did. His behavior must be quite different from usual. Most likely their relationship wasn’t that good… perhaps it had been a mistake to ask this boy for help. He would have to be careful with how much he told him. “There are reasons for everything… but I can’t tell you details yet.”

“Even though I’m taking you in, huh?”

“Yes,” he just replied levelly. “I’m sorry,” he added then. “I really am thankful.”

The redhead blinked. “Fine then, Ace-kun,” he said after a short silence. “You’re welcome, I guess? But I’m sure you know this… I’m gonna do my damnedest to uncover your secret.” He flashed him a wolfy grin.

The boy shrugged. “Fair, I guess.” In all honesty, he was mainly relieved. This took care of the immediate problem of finding a place to stay, anyway. “It sort of feels like fate, don’t you think,” he said thoughtfully. “You know… randomly meeting someone I know amid all these people.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s just karma.” The redhead smirked a little, and it felt like this was some kind of a joke.

“What do you mean?”

A moment they stared at each other. The redhead blinked slowly. “You know… it is my name.”

“Karma?” he confirmed, just in case. The other frowned. Right. If they knew each other, he should have known his name. “Yeah… we both have sure been blessed with imaginative parents, haven’t we?” he just said dryly. “I’ve always found it hard to believe that actually is your real name… but I guess I’m not one to talk, huh?”

He wasn’t quite sure how well the redhead fell for his attempt to make it seem like he totally knew his name. At least the other – Karma – didn’t say anything.

He finished his latte. “Shall we go then? Or are you planning to get something?”

“Nah.” Karma shook his head. “I just came in cause I saw you in the window.”

They left the café. “So, you want to head straight away to my place, or…?” Karma asked.

He considered the matter. A place to stay, good. But money was still a problem. He should get some necessities, and it wasn’t like he could be wearing the same clothes day after day. Was it too much to ask Karma to get him something?

“Let’s go there for now,” he just said. He needed to think about all this.

So so so... I'm sick, and for whatever reason my brain decided that this is a good time to start writing an amnesiac Asano fic. I've so many other fics in the works that I don't know if I'll ever continue this, which is why I decided to post it here. Mainly I just had this one scene in my mind, and wanted to use this chance to have Shuu say something to his father.

But yeah. Here's a little untitled fic snippet for you, about 1000 words.

One cold December morning a boy woke up. He was lying on his back in a bed, and he remained there a good while, absolutely still, staring at the ceiling. Gradually, the frown on his face deepened.

Where… was he?

He sat up, looking at the room. A desk with schoolbooks on it, a bag on the floor, clothes set ready on a chair… were those his clothes? He touched them, hesitantly. There was something familiar about them, true…

Still confused, he decided to dress up. Whatever was going on, better not to face it in the pyjamas.

He gave the desk with the books one more glance and slipped quietly out of the room. The empty corridor behind the door was quiet and gloomy. He swallowed and started walking it down, instinctively stepping as quietly as he could. He took careful peeks into the rooms he passed, but there was nothing familiar in them, nothing to solve this mystery.

Ah, a toilet. That might be a good idea, no matter what was going on.

As he was washing his hands, his eyes fell on himself in the mirror, and he paused. Wait, was that what he looked like? Strawberry blond hair, violet eyes… He blinked, touching his cheek. Yeah. That was him.

Him…

He… who was he?

“My name is,” he started to say to his mirror image, but no name came to his tongue. “My name is,” he repeated more strongly, but to no avail. Nothing. His mind was empty.

His heartbeat sped up as he stared at himself, trying fervently to think. Who was he? Where did he come from? What did he do, what did he like?

He didn’t have a clue.

Also… what was this place he was in? His home? That would make sense, but… he pushed the toilet door open and shot a careful glance around.

This didn’t feel like home.

He didn’t know where he was, but he did know that he wanted to get out of there.

He came down the stairs, making his way slowly through the house, trying to spot a single detail that would seem familiar. Nothing. Step by step his nervousness rose, and he could feel his breath getting caught in his throat.

In the kitchen, there was a man sitting by a table, drinking coffee while reading something on his laptop. The boy paused at the doorway, wondering if he shouldn’t just go on, but the man had already noticed him. He gave the boy a curt glance.

“Sleeping late today, Asano-kun?” he said.

The boy blinked. “Asano… kun? Is that my name?”

The man lowered his coffee mug to the table, frowning at him.

“Is this some kind of a joke? Or are you implying you’re going to leave the family and pick a different name? Well, you’re free to do that once you’re an adult. For now, as long as you live in this house, you are still Asano Gakushuu.”

There was a long silence as the two stared at each other. The frown on the man’s face deepened as he looked into the boy’s eyes that reflected nothing but honest confusion.

“What are…?” he started to say, but the boy shook fervently his head.

“Are you serious? That’s my name? What the hell… why am I called ‘study’?”

“It’s written with the kanji for learning and excellence, you know,” the man started to explain, his tone hesitant, but the boy (Gakushuu? What the hell! He would not be called that) cut him off again.

“If that really is my name, I think I am gonna change it! It’s ridiculous!”

He was growing increasingly agitated. What was going on here? Was he caught in some strange nightmare? This house that made him so nervous, not to talk about this man… and that ridiculous name. This couldn’t be real.

“I’m dreaming,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. “This got to be a dream…”

A chair scraped against the floor as the man stood up. “Are you truly trying to say you can’t remember anything? Gakushuu?” A hand touched his forehead and he instinctively drew back. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring straight into the man’s. That unblinking, piercing stare made him feel cold inside, and he took another step back.

“Or is this some plot of yours?” the man went on, but he couldn’t really pay attention to what he was saying. Being so close to this man… made him even more nervous than this house. “What are you planning to accomplish? Amnesia is a serious matter, not something to joke about!”

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” the boy spat out, ignoring everything he had said.

The man paused. As he stared at the boy in front of him, the sterness on his face gave way to hesitation. “I… I’m your father,” he said then.

“No.” The boy denied it firmly, unhesitatingly, without even pausing to think about it. “No, you… you can’t be.”

“But…” Now the man seemed to be at a loss. Something about that amused the boy, but even so, he couldn’t help being on his guard. This man was dangerous. He knew that much.

“But,” the man repeated and swallowed. “If you don’t remember, how could you know…?”

“It doesn’t feel right,” he said. “I just can’t… can’t believe that you…” He shook his head. “There’s no way that’d be true. You’re not my father. Can’t be. You’re someone… I...” detest, he was about to say, but his voice trailed off. Was it a good idea to antagonize this man?

The man stared at him long and hard, his face utterly unreadable. “Wait here,” he muttered then. “Wait. I… I need to make a phone call.” He left the kitchen, fishing out a phone from his pocket.

The boy waited a moment, tiptoed then out and peeking into the living room, saw him standing by the window, talking with someone on the phone. Good. This was his chance.

Moving as quietly as he could he headed to the front door, put on shoes (interesting that there were clearly several shoes that could be his), grasped a coat and slipped out.

Leaving the house behind he finally felt like he could breathe again.

(tbc??? who knows, if I get inspiration)

[c-kiddo]

does una come back at some point? if she does, does she meet ava or owlva? are they still friends by then or do you not know yet?

una comes and goes because she has a place she's from and has work or college or something. friends there. dont super want to explore all that because i like keeping it focused on the one area and not big sprawling lots of characters. but she knows ava from emailing eachother and sending things back and forth. so she keeps in touch when she eventually has to go back. but she comes back to where ava is again because ava's messages are getting less and less because of basically autism burnout but in a weird surreal way. she cant look after herself anymore. una meets owlva when she goes back then and stays to help look after her with the ornithologist and [her partner].

[knifearo]

this year my challenge for everyone is to unlearn the association between love and morality. love is not something that is inherently morally good, and the absence of love is not something that is inherently bad. sex without love isn't morally bankrupt, it's just an action. people without love aren't less kind or less good, they're just people. when we can get past this false (and often unnoticed) dichotomy of good love/evil lovelessness then i think we are going to be able to take leaps and bounds in sex positivity, aro advocacy, certain discussions of mental health...

[pellucid-constellations]

I'd Answer

You've been gone. Azriel's been broken. Something has to change, and Azriel would do anything.

Part 2 of If You Cared to Ask

“This is for you,” Mor huffed, plopping down a small bouquet of roses onto the growing garden that seemed to have sprouted on the table. “What is that, number twelve?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t count them,” you brushed off, your gaze falling on the gifts for a fleeting moment.

Mor hummed. “Are they doing anything for you?” 

“Not particularly.” 

Your friend shuffled into the small sitting room and gracefully landed in the chair beside yours, her eyes piercing a hole in the side of your head when you refused to look up. She sighed, and then sighed again, making a show of slotting her chin in her palm and looking forlorn. 

The third sigh was your breaking point. 

You placed your book on the table and turned to Mor with your brows raised. “Yes?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she airily replied. “I was just wondering when you were going to give this up. You don’t have to forgive the guy, but at least put me out of my misery and let me tell him where you’re staying. I’m basically a delivery service at this point. He says sorry again, by the way.” 

“Oh, well in that case—” 

“More than just sorry, but I can’t remember everything he said. It was all rambly and his face was all gaunt.” Mor pressed her fingers up to cover her eyes. “I’m not even sure if he’s eating. Rhys had to stop sending him out because he almost fell out of the sky.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel bad?”

You hoped your ruse was believable because hearing that Azriel was doing so poorly did make you feel bad. Your heart lept up to your throat at the prospect of your mate falling from the sky from exhaustion. But he had had so many opportunities to make this right and you weren’t about to give up your anger so easily. 

Mor offered a sad expression that looked authentic this time. “Y/n, he loves you. He’s an idiot and the whole lot of them are mindless fools, but Azriel has never loved anything the way he loves you.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you snorted. “And he shows that love by forgetting me and then arguing when I’m clearly upset over it?” 

“I know. He told me how much of an ass he’s been. But, I promise you, I’ve known Azriel for a long time. He was just—just handling everything with Rhys poorly. He felt so so guilty when Rhys got trapped. You know that.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and avoided Mor’s gaze. “I know.” 

The lack of vitriol in your tone had Mor perking up. “And you remember how hard he tried to get him back—how broken he was when Rhys sent out his last message. Az feels responsible for everything when it comes to his family.”

You didn’t need the reminder. The tortured way he carried himself over the past 50 years was evidence enough of the truth behind Mor’s words. And you had been there to soothe that pain, to help run the court that Rhys left behind. 

When silence persisted, Mor craned her neck to catch your gaze. “I’m not saying what he did was right, but you know he’s been in overdrive since Rhys returned. He goes off on those missions when Rhys calls, but… y/n, he only leaves without notice when his informants…” 

Mor trailed off. 

Your gaze finally flickered up. “When?” 

Mor bit her lip and winced. “He told me not to tell you this part. He said he didn’t want you to think he was making excuses.” 

“Tell me anyways.” 

“Fine. But you can’t rat me out.” Mor sighed and leaned back in the chair, still facing you. “He does go on every mission Rhys proposes, and that’s… stupid, but he tells you about those ones, I think. When he just up and leaves, it’s because—y/n, it’s because they're about you. You know there’s a slew of people that want you dead for your involvement up in Illyria. He has a team of informants with the sole purpose of listening for you name.

“He goes on Rhys’s missions because he doesn’t want his family separated again, but sometimes, it’s because he just wants to protect his mate.” 

A stone dropped past your ribs and into your stomach. “But, he never told me—” 

“You know these overgrown bats think that suffering in silence is an honorable thing to do,” Mor rolled her eyes. “They overwork themselves fighting the good fight or whatever and seem to forget that the rest of the world is still out there, facing the consequences of their actions. And… I think he just wanted you to feel safe. I think he’s been scared.” 

Something sickly climbed its way up your consciousness. You looked down at your hands as they rested in your lap. 

You hadn’t seen Azriel in six days, and each day had more anger coursing through you, building up a wall that you thought impenetrable. Because you were so angry; Azriel had disappointed you time and time again, left you feeling abandoned and alone, and then he got defensive about it as if you were the one at fault. 

Part of you always knew it was a defense of some sort, but you had thought it a defense of something nefarious. You had tossed around the idea of infidelity a few times, and that rivaled the thought of him simply falling out of love with you. 

But it was this. 

It was him hiding how hard he’d been trying to protect you—however idiotic his tactics may have been. 

“You can tell him where I am,” you murmured clenching your fingers into your palm. “And leave the door unlocked, I guess.” 

Mor had left the small apartment on the outskirts of Velaris before you finished your sentence. 

It took approximately 7 minutes for a tentative knock to sound at your door. 

Mor had left it unlocked, but there was still a knock. 

You took a glance at the pile of flowers on the table before heading to the front door. The old floorboards creaked under your feet, a reminder of the rundown apartment you had sought out after you left. It was a frantic process, searching for a place to stay; you hadn’t cared much for luxury or comfort.  

Opening the door was jarring. Azriel’s wings were half-raised as if he’d just flown down and then forgot how to control them. His face was pallid with dark smudges beneath his eyes. His hair was windswept, expected from the flight, but it looked tugged at and disheveled beyond that. 

“Hi.” 

Maybe you’d been looking him over too long because Azriel’s voice cracked at the single word. He sounded unsure, verging on afraid, and all you had done was pass over his figure with your eyes. 

You tightened your grip on the door handle. “Um, hi.” Your tone was harsher than you meant it to be. 

Azriel flinched. “I’m sorry, Mor said…” 

“No, I—Come in.” 

You stepped back and pushed the door open to accommodate his hesitant steps into your rental. Azriel stood in the middle of the space and wrung his hands as you shuffled behind him, a slight tremor showing in his fingers. You leaned back against the door with your own hands pressed at the small of your back. You watched Azriel’s lingering gaze trail over the flowers in the corner of the room. 

“You didn’t like them?” he meekly asked. 

Something inside of you hurt. 

“They were okay,” you answered. “But I didn’t want flowers.” 

Azriel nodded and his lashes fluttered shut. His hands twitched. 

“I’m sorry—for the flowers, I mean. They were a pathetic reason to send Mor to you. You wanted to be left alone.” 

“I did not want to be left alone, Azriel.” You kicked away from the door, bringing your arms across your chest for some form of protection. “I wanted you. I wanted you to care about me.”

“I do,” Azriel stressed. He took a step forward and the wood beneath his boot creaked. “I do, y/n.  I care about you more than anything—I love you.” 

“Then why couldn’t you show me? Why did it take me leaving, me getting hurt, for you to finally listen to me and see how much I’ve needed you?” 

Your chest was heaving, each word from your lips a choked gasp. Azriel took all of it and absorbed your full meaning, seeming to wince at every insinuation that he didn’t love you. His jaw quivered and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

“Why did you stop talking to me?” you asked, a broken rendition of your anger. “Why—Mor told me… She told me things. Things that make sense. But why does it feel like I don’t matter to you?” 

“My love,” Azriel stressed. Yearned. He rushed forward, abandoning all reservations and gathering you into his arms as tears began making headway down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t—I’m so so sorry.” His words were almost lost against your temple as he held you, each apology a whisper of a kiss against your skin. 

“You weren’t there and Devlon—he—” 

“I know, angel, I know and I’m so sorry. Had I known… Had I listened.” He pulled you back from his chest, crouching down to meet your eye and wiping tears from your cheeks. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was keep you safe. I thought I was doing that. I don’t know what Mor told you—” 

“She told me everything. She told me you’ve been following leads about me and taking on too much. She told me you’re scared.” 

Azriel breathed and it sounded anguished. “I am terrified. We lost Rhysand and now you are in the throes of a society that almost killed me. I—I wake up every morning and everything is good and I am so afraid to lose that. I thought I was protecting you, protecting us. But I almost lost you and—” 

You let out a breathy cry. “You could never lose me, Azriel.” 

He pressed his forehead to yours, the wetness of his cheeks now apparent. Azriel’s hands were firm on either side of your head and his fingers laced up into your hair. 

Gods, you missed him. 

You missed him and everything hurt. 

“I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just please—please, don’t leave again. Please come home. Let me fix this.”

The want was overwhelming. It would be so easy to say yes, but it would be just as easy for nothing to change. 

“You can’t do that again, Azriel,” you stressed, shaking your head and causing your mate to draw back. Only a breath was left between you. “You have to tell me what’s going on. You can’t—you can’t leave me in the dark. You can’t make me feel like that.”

Azriel’s head shook in desperation. “I won’t. I promise I won’t.” 

“I need to know I can rely on you—trust you.” 

“You can, angel.” 

“I need to know that you love me.” 

A pained sound escaped Azriel’s throat. He licked his lips and reaffirmed his hold on your face, locking his eyes with yours in a beseeching gaze. 

“I love you more than life itself, angel. I couldn’t breathe when you were gone. I can’t believe I made you think that I don’t. You are my life. Let me show you. Please, let me show you.”

You tracked your eyes between both of his. “Okay, Azriel.” 

“I’m going to keep you safe.”

“I am safe.” 

“I love you.” 

"I know you do, Az. I know."

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[sleeplessdove]

— twist the knife

♡ ghostface! e. williams x fem! reader

synopsis: just how much cruelty is your girlfriend capable of?

a/n: old fic while i work on vampire!ellie stuff …

warnings: DARK THEMES! - toxic relationships, murder, death, im serious she is on a killing spree, masked killers, name calling, mocking, tormenting, ellie & r! are in college, fighting, verbal arguments, breaking and entering, crying, begging, threats of violence, many of said threats are carried out, pet names, knife usage, blood, hair pulling, falling, smacking, a gun again who else is shocked, forced affection & apologies, r! gets eaten out, fingering (r! receiving), mentions of love cause why not, gun fucking ... guys im sorry, blackmail, photos with a lack of consent, and lots more !

wc: 9.6k

Even with the calm sound of the leaves rustling from the light breeze, you couldn’t help but continue to look back over your shoulder to ensure that no one was behind you. 

It was a nervous habit you had picked up after the murders began in your small town. You felt as if there was no amount of caution that would protect you from the psycho killer that was brutally ending innocent lives. 

The thoughts had flooded your mind so much that you had momentarily forgotten your girlfriend was right beside you, her fingers interlaced with your own as she carried out her usual routine of walking you home after classes were over. 

Your head was still turned back so that you could observe the people walking behind you, only being met with the sight of a students who you had seen around campus a few times. Ellie must have been trying to get your attention for a while, as she finally waved her hand in front of your face to snap you out of your trance. 

“Jesus fucking christ, I thought you were listening to me that whole time. Did you hear anything I said?” she questioned, a light chuckle leaving her lips despite her harsh words. Your eyes widened in the slightest when her voice finally reached you, flinching momentarily since you hadn’t expected the sudden sound. 

Ellie quickly snapped her head back in the direction you had previously been looking in, her brows furrowing to convey her confusion before looking back at you. “You’re acting like we have a stalker or something. Do you know something I don't?” she asked in her usual joking tone, your body relaxing in the slightest from how at ease Ellie seemed. 

“M’ sorry for not listening, I’m just a little scared— you know? All the people who have been killed are people we knew” you mumbled, lowering your gaze towards the orange leaves that were scattered all along the sidewalk. Ellie couldn’t stop the light scoff that passed her lips, almost seeming too relaxed despite the fact that you were absolutely right. 

“We didn’t know them that well” she added swiftly, a slight smile creeping onto her lips before she spoke once more. “Plus, it's not all bad. Classes are canceled till those dumbass cops can figure out what the fuck is going on. And considering the fact that they only know what costume the killer is wearing, we probably won’t have to worry about classes for the rest of the year” she blurted without the slightest bit of hesitation. 

It wasn’t unlike Ellie to be so sarcastic but you couldn't shake the nerves that were flooding your body, a small frown appearing on your lips despite her attempt to ease the tension. “S’ not like they’re gonna be missed anyways. Those jock assholes got what was coming to them. Shit, maybe we should be thanking ghostfa—” she began, although her words never managed to connect in your mind. 

You were far too distracted, as you had finally looked up at Ellie only to notice the slightest bit of blood seeping from a small gash that was covered by her hair. “Oh my god, what happened?” you questioned in a worried tone, your brows knitting together as you let go of her hand so you could try to observe her injury. With careful movements, you pushed her hair back only to find that the wound was far worse than you thought. 

There was a purplish hue surrounding it, dried blood having collected into the roots of her auburn hair. You couldn’t understand why you hadn’t noticed it earlier, only being brought out of your thoughts when Ellie pulled your hand away from her face ever so gently. “S’ nothing serious, baby. Just got into a little disagreement with someone yesterday” she muttered in a careless manner, trying to play it off as smoothly as possible. 

It wasn’t as if it was the most incomprehensible idea, as Ellie was known for her short temper and rather aggressive approach to resolving issues. However, that didn’t stop the small pout from appearing on your features, your eyes still lingering on the cut as you spoke. “You told me you were going to stop getting into fights” you huffed, not taking hold of her hand before you continued to walk in the direction of your home. 

Ellie was quick to follow after you, catching up to you before you could get too far from her. “I said I would try to stop getting into fights. There is a big difference” she retorted, wrapping her arm around your waist before using the back of her free hand to wipe off the smallest bit of blood that had dripped down her forehead. You only rolled your eyes at her words, grumbling a soft “whatever” in reply. 

The two of you had finally reached your home just as Ellie was about to make another excuse, and you were already pulling away from her so that you could make your way inside without her. Ellie wasn’t having any of that, pulling you back rather roughly so that you were facing her. “Can I come over later tonight, bun? I was thinkin’ maybe we could watch a scary movie together” she muttered, attempting to make you forget the fact that you were upset with her. 

It didn’t work all that well, as you shook your head quickly at the request. “Not tonight” you sighed, squirming in the slightest from how tightly she was holding you. Ellie didn’t seem pleased with your reply, her sweet demeanor dropping completely as a frown took the place of her previous smile. “Why not? Are you seeing someone else tonight?” she questioned in an accusing manner, her grip only tightening as you tried to get her to ease up. 

“No— I am not having anyone else over tonight” you scoffed, looking at her with an unamused expression. “I already told you that my parents are gone for the whole week and you know their rules” you began, only to be cut off by a low groan leaving Ellie’s lips. “No having your girlfriend over after dark” she mocked the rule your parents had made up the minute the two of you began dating, her voice making her irritation evident. 

You shot her a quick glare but nodded your head nonetheless, watching as Ellie tried to find the right words to convince you to just disobey your parents this one time. “How would they even know? Promise I won’t tell on you” she said with a cocky smile, as she had lied to your parents faces countless times after helping you sneak out at night to come over to her place.

 “I can’t take any chances after they caught you coming in through the window last week, Els. They still have me on house arrest for that” you whined in reply, not wanting to fight with Ellie about this any longer. 

Ellie’s reaction was anything but sweet, as she rolled her eyes and finally released the hold she had on you rather carelessly so that you stumbled in the slightest. “I don’t fucking get it— you’re in college and they treat you like you’re still just a kid” she grumbled, not at all pleased with the fact that you always insisted on following their rules. 

Your eyes narrowed at her words, a small sigh leaving your lips as you took in Ellie’s annoyed expression. You usually made an effort to not bicker with her over small things but she had been frustrating you more than usual as of late. 

With the way she was constantly ignoring your calls and clearly lying about what she had been doing these past few nights, you knew something was up. You were just as upset as she was and you should’ve bitten your tongue and shoved it down as you usually did, but you just couldn’t. 

“Not all of us can do whatever we want to, Ellie. Don’t try to give me shit just because you don’t have anyone back at home to give you rules to follow” you spat without thinking, your eyes widening the moment the words left your lips. 

It had been almost a year since Ellie’s only father figure, Joel, had been killed, the case never being solved which had left your girlfriend with a massive sense of resentment towards everyone and everything. She rarely opened up about it to you, but you already knew how much it ate away at her. 

It was a low blow but it was all you had in that moment. You just wanted to shut her up or maybe just piss her off enough that she finally explained her strange behavior. Despite your nervous expression, you stood your ground and offered her no apologies for your words. 

Ellie had momentarily gone silent— her lack of response putting you on edge as you awaited her reaction. People continued passing the two of you by as you stood in front of your home, the soft buzz of their conversation sounding far away due to the deafening silence Ellie had left you with. 

Her previous expression already showed her irritation, but once your words finally set in it changed rapidly. A little crease appeared between her brows, her breathing suddenly becoming uneven as she looked down at your unremorseful expression. 

It was a strange sight, as Ellie was always quick to find some hurtful reply to hit you with before you could even blink. She leaned back for a moment as if to take you in before moving in closer, her nails digging into her own palms as she clenched her fists at her sides. 

Your body was tingling with nerves, your eyes darting around every inch of Ellie’s infuriated expression. Her stare alone filled you with guilt and you tried to finally push some sort of apology out, but she was quick to cut you off. 

“You are such a fucking cunt” she spat, the disgust in her tone so prominent that you felt beyond humiliated. Over the course of your relationship with Ellie, you had grown accustomed to her outbursts. Whether it be calling you names or her picking a fight with you for absolutely no reason— she always found a way to piss you off. And yet this time it felt so different, as you had never dared to talk back to her before. 

Ellie backed up after she spoke, her piercing gaze tearing you apart so that you were left feeling embarrassed and exposed as you stood before her. “You always pull shit like this. Someone needs to teach you to stop running your fucking mouth” she said in a low tone, not even giving you a chance to reply before she started walking away from your home so that she could get back to her own. 

For a moment you acted on instinct, taking a small step to follow after her. You snapped out of it after you moved, only letting your eyes trail after her as she moved away. On any other occasion you would have pleaded for her forgiveness, but you were done with putting up with her constant shifts in mood. 

It felt as if you weren’t even in control of your body as you moved towards your home, unlocking the door with a blank expression on your face while your mind ran rampant over how Ellie had spoken to you. She had reacted differently than she usually would, as she had a tendency to raise her voice just to prove a point. And yet, she had kept an eerily calm demeanor as she spoke down to you. 

Some part of you wished she would have yelled or made some sort of empty threat, as her quiet reaction left you feeling nauseous. You knew dwelling on it wouldn’t make it any better, a soft huff leaving your lips as you dropped your bag on the side of the couch so that you could lay down. 

You turned on the television to have some background noise while you checked your phone, the news playing quietly as you fought with yourself on whether or not to text Ellie. Your thumb hovered over her contact, a frustrated groan leaving your lips before you shoved your phone between one of the couch cushions in an attempt to keep yourself from even thinking about speaking to her. 

Ellie was the one who had started all of this— not you. She was the one who had been disappearing for hours on end with pathetic excuses as to where she had been. You didn’t owe her anything, even if you had momentarily slipped up and said something hurtful. She had said absolutely vile things to you countless times and you never reacted the way she did. 

If she really wanted to fix whatever the fuck was happening between the two of you, she would just do it. You couldn’t make excuses for her anymore, as you had grown tired of her constant anger. 

You were a bit dazed as you stared at the screen in front of you, the low volume making it hard for you to understand what they were even saying. It was as if your mental exhaustion was manifesting into something physical, as your eyelids were heavy with the need for sleep. There was no way you could be bothered to close the curtains in your living room, your eyes fluttering closed as you continued to think about Ellie. 

Maybe this was for the best— the relationship you shared with her was anything but sweet. There was always something off about Ellie that you couldn’t quite discern and in all honesty, you were somewhat scared of her. You loved her a little too much and you had spent too long making excuses for her.

This whole argument had blown up in your face, and even as you drifted off you couldn’t help but think about how this was beginning to seem like a means to an end. 

-

Your heart was slamming against your chest as you were abruptly woken up by the loud ringing of your phone sounding throughout the dark living room. The only other noise within the space was the quiet hum of the tv, your eyes flickering towards the bright screen to try and focus on what was playing. 

With squinted eyes you read the breaking news title that read ‘GHOSTFACE STRIKES AGAIN!’ in crimson lettering, the vibrant red and blue police lights flashing on screen as they played a live feed of what was going on. 

The sight alone had you sitting up straight, your phone long forgotten as you scrambled to find the remote. You held down the volume button so that you could turn it up, leaning your body towards the TV as the newscasters described the situation at hand. It was hard to make out the words in your sleepy state, your fist coming up to rub the sleep from your eyes as you did your best to listen. 

You could only make out a few words—- a real life horror movie, another tragedy, gruesome, unlike anything we have seen before, and yet another college student has been lost. All of the words sounded strung together and they left you feeling uneasy, your eyes zeroing in on the screen so that you could get more details that would inevitably lead to you being paranoid all night. 

A shiver ran through your body from how cold the room was, your eyes finally flickering away from the screen so that you were looking at the window closest to where you were sitting. The thin curtains moved with the small breeze that was passing through, sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin. 

Why can’t you remember opening that window? 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing once more, the sudden disruption making you let out a soft gasp. After you realized what the sound was, you let out somewhat of a nervous laugh at how dramatic you were being over the whole situation. 

There had to be an explanation for the window— as you did have a tendency to be rather forgetful and the phone calls were more than likely just scams. 

Nonetheless, you shifted around so that you could shove your hand between the sofa cushions, finally managing to yank your phone out so that you could find out who was insisting you at such a late hour. You were given no satiation to your curiosity, as you were greeted with the sight of No Caller ID instead of an actual number. 

It still provided you with a sense of relief, although some part of you had been hoping that Ellie was the one who had been so insistent on you picking up her calls. You declined the call, as you had seen too many horror movies thanks to your girlfriend's love for slasher flicks— and you refused to end up like those girls who die within the first 15 minutes since they pick up some unknown phone call. 

You dropped your phone back down onto the couch, doing your best to continue to listen to the news report as you made your way towards the window. Your hands were just about to push the window closed but you were distracted by what sounded like footsteps coming from inside your house. The sound made you whip your head back, your breath picking up within a split second. 

Fear was tingling throughout your entire body, your fingertips suddenly feeling numb as they pressed lightly against the window. The sound had disappeared just as quickly as it had come and for a moment you were able to convince yourself that it had just been some sort of hallucination. You had already been a little paranoid after seeing the latest breaking news and it was halloween time— of course you were bound to scare yourself a bit. 

Just as the tension was leaving your body, the silence was broken by your phone ringing once more. You flinched in the slightest from how startled you were, a quiet curse leaving your lips as you discarded your previous task to grab your phone instead. 

It was another blocked number and you momentarily thought about declining it once more, but curiosity was beginning to get the best of you. Against your better judgment, you accepted the call and pressed your phone against your ear. 

“Hello?” you called out in a meek voice, the quiet sound of breathing on the other side of the line being the only greeting when you first spoke. “Who is this?” the voice questioned, sounding somewhat distorted but you assumed it was just your shitty phone service. “Well who are you trying to reach?” you asked in return, settling down onto the couch. 

A low chuckle sounded from your phone, the person who was speaking to you seeming surprised by your question. “If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you who I’m trying to talk to” the disembodied voice quipped— and for a moment you could have sworn the person's voice was familiar. A light scoff left your lips, far too tired to stay on the phone with a creep who has nothing better to do than bother you. 

“Sorry dude, I think you’ve got the wrong number. Take it easy” you muttered in reply, already pulling your phone away from your ear so that they had no time to respond. You set your phone on the coffee table so that you close the window, your hands slamming down the window harshly enough that the sound of it seemed to reverberate through the eerily silent house for far longer than it should’ve. 

Just as you picked up your phone so that you could head upstairs to get to your bedroom, your phone began to buzz. You were growing frustrated with the calls now, your eyes narrowing as the lack of caller ID made itself known once more. For whatever reason, you picked up the phone once more and you were greeted by what you could only assume was the same voice of the person who was speaking to you before. “Why don’t you want to talk to me?” the voice questioned, their tone sounding a bit mocking which only added to your frustration. “Not a big fan of talking to strangers on the phone” you shot back quickly, your eyes focusing on the stairway that was just a few feet away. 

“There's no way you want to be left alone though” they said calmly, not giving you any space to add another snarky remark before they continued. “I mean, you’re all alone in that big house on the corner. Now that just can’t be safe for a scared little thing like you” they breathed, the words coming out so nonchalant that if you hadn’t been paying attention, you would have missed what was right in front of you. 

Your eyes widened once her words finally set in, your head immediately turning back to look at the window you had closed moments ago. “What did you just say?” you asked in a meek voice, your lips parting in the slightest so you could breathe a bit easier as your heart pounded against your chest. “Do you really need me to repeat myself, princess?” they questioned and this time you knew you had heard this voice before. Their condescending tone was something you had heard countless times, yet who had been the person to speak to you in such a way was barely on the tip of your tongue. 

Within a second of the fear finally taking over every last bit of your body, your finger was roughly pressing against your phone screen to end the call. You dropped your phone back onto the couch as if it was some sort of cursed object, your body seeming to move without your permission as you started rushing to each window you were near to make sure they were locked. It took a moment for you to gain enough courage to peer in the direction of the front door, the lock perfectly in place much to your relief. 

There wasn’t any time to relax, as your phone continued to ring as you moved around your home. It was all too overwhelming, the sound of the television mixing with the sound of your ringtone to create a garbled mess that only added to your already agitated state. You could feel a headache taking form as you practically tiptoed back towards the living room to avoid making an unnecessary noise. 

You knew it was idiotic to pick up a call from someone who practically confessed to knowing where you lived but some part of you was convinced you could still beg them to leave you alone. With shaky movements, you answered the call and backed yourself into the corner of the room so that you wouldn’t have to worry about someone coming up from behind you. 

“It’s a little too late to be making sure the house is all locked up, don’t you think?” the voice began the moment you pressed your phone to your ear, your whole body shaking from the shiver that overtook you. They were in your fucking house— and they were watching you. Before you had picked up the call you had the slightest bit of hope that this person was playing some kind of sick joke, but there was no way they could’ve just guessed what you were doing so easily. “Jeez, you’re already watching my latest hit. You must be a big fan of my work, huh?” they added on, clearly referencing the horrific news story that you had previously been engrossed in. 

Your chest began to heave as they revealed that they were the one person you feared the most, your nerves twisting with your rising frustration to create an awful mix of emotions that tore at your insides. “Listen asshole, my girlfriend is coming over any minute and she will kick your ass!” you lied, practically shouting into the phone although your voice shook in the slightest despite your attempt to sound intimidating. It wasn’t as if the person in your home knew what plans you had for the night, right?

“Oh no, not your girlfriend! I'm so scared” the killer said in a sarcastic tone, seeming completely unphased by your threat. Your brows furrowed at their reply, as you were done being toyed with. You took one final look at your surroundings to ensure there was no ghostly figure that was about to jump out at you before you sprinted towards the kitchen, your gaze landing on the set of large kitchen knives that sat on top of the kitchen counter. 

The space was only lit up by the moon that was shining through the window but you didn’t want to slow down to turn on the lights, your hand reaching for the largest knife and extending it outwards rather clumsily as if it would protect you from the invisible force you were fighting against. “Fuck you” you spat into the phone, already pulling the phone away from your face so that you could call the cops and get the fuck out of the house but your actions were quickly halted. 

“If you hang up on me one more time, I swear to god I will gut you like a fucking fish” they seethed, the threat making your hand tremble in the slightest as you brought the phone to your ear once more. It was as if all those horror movies you watched with Ellie countless times had taught you nothing, as all you could do was stand completely still while every part of your brain screamed at you to run out of the house as fast as you possibly could. 

The moment of silence was filled by the sound of creaking that now sounded as if it was coming from somewhere near you, your breath hitching in your throat as your grip on the large knife tightened. You couldn’t keep up a strong facade any longer, hot tears rolling down your cheeks before you could make any attempt to conceal them. Soft sniffles were all you could offer, as you weren’t exactly sure that speaking first was the best idea after the last words they had spoken to you. 

“Look at you, following my directions nice n’ easy. Your girlfriend must’ve trained you to behave so well” the distorted voice cooed, almost managing to sound truly affectionate. You let out a pitiful cry at the menacing words, the fight between you and Ellie that had occurred earlier in the day filling your mind. If you had just let her come over, none of this would be happening. All you could see was the look of sheer anger that had overtaken Ellie’s features when you had spewed those hurtful words to her and you would give anything to be able to take it all back. Tonight could’ve been spent curled up at her side on the couch with some cheesy horror movie playing on tv but instead, you were living in one. 

You just wanted to hear Ellie’s voice at this moment, to have her tell you what to do to defend yourself. She was always telling you that you needed to be able to fend for yourself but you had never taken her seriously and now you were left with the overwhelming consequence of your actions. The thoughts had consumed you so much that you hadn’t even given a proper reply, although your silence didn’t seem to offend the person on the other side of the phone.

“What? Got nothin’ to say now, baby? I wanted to hear more about that girlfriend of yours but you can’t even speak properly” they muttered in a false tone of disappointment, a small sigh passing their lips before continuing on. “How about we play a little game? If you win, I’ll leave you alone— but if you get it wrong, m’ gonna have to kill you” they spoke in a relaxed tone, making your death sound as if it was going to be nothing more than a chore to them. 

“I don’t want to play any games with you— please, just leave me alone. I won’t tell anyone about this, I swear” you pleaded, hiccups interrupting your words as you continued to cry. You were desperate to stop the tears, as they were blurring your vision further which made it practically impossible to see anything around you as you stood in the dark kitchen. A light scoff sounded from the phone which caused you to jump in the slightest, every little thing now scaring you beyond belief. 

“Well if you really don’t want to play, I’ll just have to kill you. It takes the fun out of it for me but if that's how you want to do it—” the voice began to taunt you once more and you were quick to cut them off, shaking your head feverishly as if they could see you, and in all honesty they probably could see you. “No, I’ll play!” you practically shouted, praying that whatever game they chose would be somewhat fair. 

Your eyes were darting around the dark space around you as if someone would jump out at any moment, your heart beating so harshly against your chest that you were almost positive it would burst through in a few seconds if you didn’t calm down. “Alright, make sure to listen cause I really don’t like repeating myself. There's four closets in your house, so go ahead and guess which one I’m in” they demanded, their confession of being inside already making your blood run cold. 

It was completely unfair to make you think at a time like this, your mind so muddled that you were practically whining at their question. How the fuck were you supposed to know where they were? You knew there was no chance of you making it out alive if you didn’t at least try to guess where they were hiding. It was only a little while ago that you had heard creaking downstairs— or was it upstairs? A frustrated groan left your lips, your shaking hand lowering the knife as you tried to think back to the moment when you had heard it.  

“Upstairs! You’re upstairs in my bedroom closet, the room on the left” you blurted without thinking it through, your eyes widening as you realized you had just taken your life into your own hands. “Ah— so close! But still wrong” they shot back quickly and you were almost positive they were smiling as they spoke. 

You were full blown sobbing now, raising your arm so that the knife was facing away from you once more as you tried to figure out what to do. There was a chance that they were still in the other closet that was upstairs which meant you could hang up on them, call the police, and run like hell before they had the chance to catch up to you. Or they could already be downstairs and there was no time to call the police. You remained silent as the options ran through your mind, the killer never once interrupting your train of thought which you were rather grateful for. 

After what seemed like hours of contemplating every little detail, you took a deep breath in and checked your surroundings one last time. Darkness seemed to consume all that you could see and that only caused your adrenaline to rise further. Your movements were done so quickly that you hadn’t even registered what you were doing until you were ending the call, shoving your phone into your back pocket before you took off towards the front door as quickly as you possibly could. 

You weren’t even wearing any shoes but you couldn’t be bothered to care with your life on the line, the knife you were holding remained in front of you in a defensive manner as you moved through your home. The front door was in your line of sight and it was so close— you could practically feel the cool autumn air that was waiting for you just outside the door. You were so close to being free, your tears continuing to fall but from relief rather than fear. 

This fucked up night could finally be over and you wouldn’t stop running until your lungs gave out on you. All you could think of was Ellie as you reached for the doorknob, already imagining how worried she would be when you told her about everything that happened tonight. Your hand was mere inches from the door, your fingertips barely grazing the cool metal of the doorknob before your motions were disrupted by the sound of a door swinging open. 

The cloaked figure lunged at you the moment they came into view, the sight of the white mask filling you with utter terror as they dragged you away from the door. You were screaming as loud as possible, doing your best to alert your neighbors about what was going on. They were far stronger than you were despite the strength provided by your adrenaline, as they were able to grasp your wrist so that you were unable to make any attempts to swipe at them with the knife you were holding onto. Before you could realize what the killer was doing, they grabbed your phone from your back pocket and slammed it against the ground so that it was reduced to a shattered mess that you were left unable to use. 

You were squirming around relentlessly, trying to free yourself from the bruising grip they had on you. They had gotten you pinned up against the wall to the side of the front door, knocking the last bit of air out of your lungs from how forceful they were being. It had taken an incredible amount of energy for you to finally manage to free one of your wrists from the hold they had on it, although it was devoid of any weapon. 

Your hand raised towards the ghostly mask, half expecting ghostface to kill you right then and there for making an attempt to find out who they really were and yet they made no effort to stop your movements. You finally grasped the bottom of the mask, a pained squeak leaving your lips as their gloved hands dug into your soft flesh to keep you in place. In one swift motion, you managed to pull the mask off completely and you were greeted with a gut wrenching sight. 

“Surprise, baby!” Ellie said in an all too cheery tone, her voice sounding a bit breathy from having to fight to keep you still. Her usually gentle features were splattered with blood, the metallic scent filling your nose due to how close she was to your own face. Her last victim must have gotten her mask off just as she sealed their doom, as that could be the only explanation for how she had managed to become covered in their blood. She must have come straight from her last kill— the one you had just viewed on tv. 

It felt as if your world had just caved in or even exploded, you really couldn’t decide. Finding words after realizing your girlfriend was the one person you should’ve feared the most was a rather hard task, your lips parting countless times to speak and yet no words came out. Your tears had ceased to fall as you took in her slightly amused expression, your shaky hand dropping the mask onto the floor as your mind ran a mile a minute. Despite the overwhelming fear you felt, the sense of betrayal was far too much for you to keep down and it gave you just enough momentum to finally do something. 

“You fucking liar” you spat, thinking of all the times Ellie had insisted that she had simply had her phone on silent or had fallen asleep early when you didn’t hear from her for hours at a time. You had confided in her about the fear you felt about all the murders that were happening in town and she had soothed you each time, insisting that she would be there to protect you if anything were to go wrong. 

All the while, she was the one who had been causing you so many sleepless nights and she was the person who had taken so many innocent lives. A sick smile was beginning to take form on Ellie’s lips after you had spoken and you could already tell she was about to give you some sort of snarky reply. Her grip on you had relaxed ever so slightly since she believed you were too frightened to do anything and you knew this may be your only opportunity to get away from her. 

Just as she was parting her lips to speak to you, you mustered up all your strength to tug your wrist up enough so that your hand that was still gripping the knife could make contact with her skin. You couldn’t reach very far due to her quickly realizing what you were trying to do, a grunt leaving her lips as she attempted to keep you still but she was too late. With a quick movement, you were able to make a swipe at her arm that was still making an attempt to hold you, blood rushing to the surface of her skin within the blink of an eye. 

Ellie released you once the warm liquid began to drip down her arm, instinctively bringing a hand up to cover her wound before she could think about what she was doing. You didn’t wait to get her full reaction, sliding from where she had you pinned against the wall and running as if your life depended on it— and at this moment, it really did. Soft whimpers left your lips as you desperately tried to think of somewhere to hide before she caught up with you, your hand taking hold of the door leading into the garage the second she began calling out your name. 

You hid behind the door, the knife still held tightly in your right hand while you clasped your other over your own mouth. Keeping your breaths quiet seemed almost impossible but you couldn‘t risk having any slip ups. The door was left slightly ajar on purpose, as you needed to be able to see Ellie as she moved throughout the house so you could make sure she was out of the way before you tried to get back to the front door. 

Her cloaked figure was moving slowly, your name leaving her lips tauntingly as she suppressed the pained groans she so desperately wanted to let out. You had managed to cut her fairly deep and the blood soaking into her cheap halloween costume was direct proof of that. “Get out here you fucking coward” she seethed, her head whipping back towards your direction when you accidentally let out a sound of surprise at her loud voice booming throughout the home. 

Your eyes widened at the realization of your mistake, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily as if it would make Ellie disappear completely. “If you come out now, I promise to play nice” she lied in a sickeningly sweet tone, her eyes narrowing as she got closer towards the very door you were standing behind. Her footsteps were heavy as she made her way towards you, your eyes beginning to well with tears once more as she got closer. For a moment you couldn’t tell what she was doing, as she had stopped so she could take off the black cloak completely. Wearing only a black tank top and jeans, you could now see that her body was littered with bruises, the gash you had just given her smudging her arm a dark red from her cloak pressing against her skin. 

Ellie had been wearing her hoodies constantly these last few weeks but you hadn’t thought anything of it, as the chilly weather was enough to explain it away. But it explained why she had been keeping her clothes on the last few times she had managed to get you alone, always insisting that she just wanted to make you feel good. She would have you completely bare while she remained fully covered and you had never even given it a second thought. You wished that you would’ve paid more attention to all the signs pointing to her being the culprit, yet there was no way you could have ever guessed that she would even be capable of such heinous crimes. 

After taking in her injured form, you watched her hand move towards her back pocket so she could pull something out. You could see something else that was tucked in the back of her jeans but you didn’t have enough time to get a look at it, as the sound of her switchblade flicking open had you focusing your attention back on her hand that now wielded the weapon. You felt as if the breath in your lungs was being stolen from you, your body backing up slightly so you could press yourself against the wall in the hopes that she wouldn’t see you. 

Just as she was reaching for the doorknob, a noise cut through the silence that sounded like a dish clattering. You did your best to not make a single sound as she turned away from you, clearly believing that you were the one who had made the noise. For a second you believed fate was finally on your side, as one of the dishes in the sink must have slipped just enough to get her distracted. “I’ve got you now” she taunted, swiftly making her way towards the kitchen. 

A quiet breath of relief left your lips once she was out of sight, your hand moving away from your lips so that you could take in a few gulps of air before making any sudden moves. Now that you could no longer see her, you could only assume her position in the house, her footsteps sounding far enough for you to open the door a bit wider. Your eyes darted in the direction of the staircase that was just down the hall, your heart pounding in your ears as you tried to decide if it was actually even possible for you to get upstairs without alerting her. 

You would rather go for the front door but that had already proven to be the wrong move and she would already expect that from you. After a moment of contemplation, you drew in a deep breath that seemed to cause your whole body to shake before you carefully pulled open the door and bolted towards the stairs before you could overthink it. 

You could spot your room as you reached the bottoms of the stairs, your body momentarily relaxing as you continued to rush as quickly and quietly as possible. You were so close— so close to being able to get away from whatever nightmare this was. 

And yet, just as you reached the bottom of the steps, an uncaring hand tugged you back by your hair. The cry you let out was pitiful, your head spinning as you tumbled to the ground. You already knew what had happened but that didn’t lessen the blow of having to see Ellie right above you, using her knee to keep the rest of your body held down as she kept a tight hold on your wrists. 

“You really are a fucking idiot, you know that?” she seethes, her chest heaving just the same as yours is. Crying would be futile at a time like this so you look up at her with nothing but betrayal and resentment. “Fuck you” you seethe, although your words only make her smile brightly. “Aw no, baby. We already played that game, remember?” she asks teasingly. You hated her more each time she opened her mouth and you wanted nothing more than to smack that stupid fucking smile off her face. 

“W— why are you doing this?” you ask abruptly, your eyes scanning her features for even the slightest bit of regret and yet you came up empty. The question makes her scoff, as she couldn’t believe that was what you chose to ask at a time like this. “You’re so unoriginal” she huffs, although her grip on your wrist falters as she begins to speak. “You should know already” she continues on, her eyes remaining focused on your fearful expression. 

“No one took his death seriously— no one. So why does everyone suddenly care when a bunch of asshole kids from a college get killed off, huh?” she begins, and you already know she is referencing Joel’s abrupt death. “I figured I’d give those cops something to do since all they’ve done is sit on their asses… those fucking bastards” she says, so lost in her confession that she doesn’t even feel the way you easily slip your wrist from her grasp and before she takes notice, you use all the strength you could muster to smack her, not giving two shits as to why she felt she had the right to harm others. 

The hit makes her groan, her head turning from the force of it as her whole body weakens for a brief moment, just long enough for you to shove her off of you and make another run for your bedroom. You could hear Ellie screaming meaninglessly as you sprinted for your life towards your bedroom, the sound of her footsteps right behind you making it hard to breathe. 

There was no time to slam the door before she got a hold on you again and she was going to make sure you knew she wasn’t fucking around this time. You were about to scream just to call attention to the house in case any neighbors happened to hear but you were quickly cut off when you felt a cool metal press against the side of your head. 

She had a fucking gun— that was what you had seen tucked in her jeans earlier. 

You felt as if your lungs were giving out, soft pleas beginning to fall from your lips as your body trembled in her hold. “Not so tough now, huh?” she questions, guiding you towards your plush bed and shoving you down on it, watching as you look up at her with teary eyes as she keeps the gun pointed at your head. 

The sight of you being reduced to such a pathetic sight made something blossom in Ellie’s chest, a sick sense of pride. She tucked the weapon into the back of her jeans before slowly crawling into bed with you, her body straddling your own as she looks down at you curiously. You can’t speak even if you try, the words dying in your throat as you watch her pull out her switchblade instead. 

She seems to relax, although you are tensing with each passing second as she brings the sharpened blade closer to your skin. You shake your head repeatedly, trying to reason with her. “Please— please don’t kill me” you begin to beg, the words leaving your lips countless times before they finally invoke a response from her. “Oh, angel. I don’t want to kill you. Just wanted to have some fun with you but then you had to make a big fuss, didn’t you?” she asks, her voice so soothing that you could feel your rational mind slipping away. 

“You really hurt me, baby” she sighs, beginning to use her blade to slice through the fabric of your top effortlessly. You whimper, a bit too loud for her liking. “Shut the fuck up” she snaps, cutting into the band of your bra next, her rough hand messily tugging the ruined material to the side so she could get a perfect view of your tits. You felt all too exposed, your frown deepening as you looked up at her. 

“So, are you gonna apologize for being so disrespectful?” she questions as she pushes up the material of your skirt, her blade catching on your panties. “Sorry” you mutter, squirming since her blade was uncomfortably close to your skin. Ellie’s patience was wearing, a low huff leaving her lips as she cut into the fabric. “Stop fucking moving!” she says exasperatedly, the loud words causing your body to still at once. 

She sighs as she pulls the thin fabric away from your body, her eyes shamelessly focusing on your cunt, her hand carelessly shoving your thighs further apart. “Say it like you mean it” she demands, not at all impressed. Her words make you burn with shame, your mind racing as she brings her hand closer to your cunt that was beginning to become embarrassingly wet. 

Just as your words began, her blade dug into your lower tummy in the slightest, barely enough to draw blood. “I’m sorry, Ellie! I didn’t mean it, I swear” you plead in a rushed voice, trying to focus on not moving at all so her blade wouldn’t push deeper into the soft skin of your stomach. Your chest heaved against your will and you were almost positive that this was the end for you, 

Seeing you all teary eyed and frightened made Ellie dizzy with power and she finally pulled away the blade, tucking it into her pocket before giving you a little kiss on your lips, not at all caring that you didn’t even have time to react to the action. “Was that so hard, sweet girl? Can’t believe you made me hurt you” she says with a mocking pout. 

All you can do is try to control your breathing, no longer attempting to struggle under the weight of her body. You knew your life was in danger but Ellie’s presence made it impossible for you to have any sort of rationality. 

“C’mere” she mutters calmly, finally scooting back so that you could sit up. She could already tell she had gotten you right where she wanted you so she felt no concern about letting you sit up for the time being. She carelessly removed your torn clothes so that you were finally completely bare for her. 

She couldn’t help herself, as her hand naturally lowered to deliver a few rough slaps against your tits. You flinched, the pain spreading quickly and making you huff a bit. It was hard not to be ashamed when you were completely nude and she was still fully clothed. Not to mention the fact that you were willingly allowing a ruthless killer to see you like this. 

No words were spoken as she laid you back down, not paying you any mind as she lowered herself so she could settle between your legs. You knew better than to move at this point, so you settled for raising your head in the slightest bit so you could peek down at her. 

Ellie didn’t bother to meet your gaze, her rough hands moving against your soft skin as she made sure you would be unable to press your thighs together. “Els…” you began, unsure of what you were even going to say. You didn’t even have the option to finish your sentence, as in the blink of an eye you could feel her warm breath against your cunt. 

You flinched involuntarily as she pressed a messy kiss to your sensitive clit, her tongue flattening to lick a stripe against your slit afterwards. She only backed away to speak a few simple words. “Just keep your mouth shut” she muttered before returning to her previous movements. 

The way her tongue sloppily moved against you showed a desperation you had never seen before, although the grip she had on your hips was proof of the anger that still lingered. You clasped your hand over your mouth, your brows knitting as you focused on how she would take little breaks to focus on sucking on your puffy bud. 

Your shaky hips rocked against her mouth, her own moans filling the room as she took in your sweet taste. “You gonna let me open you up?” she asks ever so calmly, allowing her middle finger to press into your slick cunt so she could fuck you with it. 

You were growing dizzy with a combination of guilt and pleasure, tears of frustration forming as she fucked you open. “Does it feel good, baby?” she asks, raising her head so she could look at your pathetic expression. You look at her for a moment, unsure if you were actually allowed to speak. 

The sight of your unsure gaze made Ellie grin in the slightest, not giving any warning as she pushed a second finger into you. “S’ fine, I wanna hear you” she says, granting you the permission you had been seeking out. Your muscles relaxed as you were finally allowed to let out small moans, your tears now aimlessly streaming down your face. 

“Mhmm,  I can feel it so deep” you whisper, curses slipping out as you press your head back against your bed. Your small movements quickly became erratic, your body writhing as endless pleasure built. “Need to cum, please” you beg, as something tightening in your lower tummy told you that you were getting close. 

“Not yet, we haven’t even gotten to the fun part” she hums, not caring about the shocked expression that took over your features. She halted the thrusting of her fingers to pull them out, your arousal still sticky against her skin. 

You momentarily believed that she had no intentions of letting you get off and you simply couldn’t bear the thought after all you had been through tonight. You needed to feel release, sooner rather than later. 

“I’ll do anything” you say quickly, your words so rushed that they almost don’t make sense to Ellie. Her eye refocus on you as she takes a moment to decipher what you had said, a smile making itself known as she reaches for an item still tucked into the back of her jeans. 

“I know you will” she quips, finally revealing what she had been reaching for. Ellie loved how heavy the gun felt in her hand and it offered her a sense of control she had never felt previously. Your heart nearly leapt out of your throat, your muscles aching from how harshly you were tensing up. 

The way you feverishly shook your head made you momentarily nauseous and you uttered the only words you could think of. “Please— don’t hurt me, I love you” you say breathlessly, feeling hurt at the way Ellie was quick to mutter a mocking version of your words. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you unless you make me” she states nonchalantly, inching the gun closer to your cunt but not before taking the time to spit directly on your pussy to ensure you wouldn’t be in too much pain from the stretch. 

You feel powerless as she finally presses the cool steel against your slit, the sound of her low voice reverberating inside your mind. “Make sure to keep still. You don’t want me accidentally pulling the trigger now, do you?” she asks with a sick smile. 

The two of you already know your answer so you don’t bother with a verbal reply, instead you close your eyes tightly and brace yourself. 

The barrel of the handgun eases into your cunt and you are thankful that she had the decency to make sure you were slick enough to take the weapon. Although that’s not to say that there wasn’t any pain, as low grunts were quick to leave your lips from how thick it was. 

“Keep taking it, just like that” she coos, now beginning to properly fuck you with it. You had fallen weak to your desires, as it dawned on you that you were truly nearing your orgasm due to the fact that you were being fucked with a gun. The thrusts were deep and fast, your moans becoming borderline screams as your pleasure continuously built. 

The barrel had grown warm from being within you and the way you were crying Ellie’s name let her know that you were on the brink of your climax. “Do it. Cum on my gun like the filthy girl you are” she mutters, rubbing your clit in time with the thrusts of the weapon. 

And you didn’t need to be told twice, as with one loud cry, you had reached your orgasm. Ellie felt pride swell within her chest as she saw the white ring of your slick that had formed at the end of the barrel. 

She eased the weapon out of your before using her tongue to shamelessly clean up the mess you had made on her weapon of choice. You were barely coherent, the exhaustion of all the fighting you had done catching up with you as well as the fact that your adrenaline was wearing off. 

You didn’t even notice as she stood above you, phone in hand as she took a flash photo of your worn down state. Once the light made you squint, you could hear her voice right next to your ear but you couldn’t even see her. 

“You tell anyone about what I did, I swear to god this picture will be plastered everywhere so everyone knows how much you love getting fucked by sickos. And if you ever talk back to me again, I’ll blow your brains out before you can even finish your sentence” she whispers. 

By the time you can see clearly again, she is gone, leaving you to clean up the mess she had made. But even with her gone, you swore you could still feel her eyes on you and you knew once and for all, there was no way she would ever let you get away from her. 

[found--family]

love how all the scenes playing are non-harvey scenes while misha talks about Harvey and more Harvey

Misha's interview with TV insider

From here

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 8: The Reunion

“Oh god, look at all these people,” you mutter, looking around the hall the award ceremony from your seat in the developer section, which is full beyond capacity. “Don’t think I’ve seen this many people before.”

The last time you saw so many people was your graduation night at Gotham Academy, but this makes that look like a small office party in comparison.

(There is no need to fret. You have polished your speech to perfection and have rehearsed it so many times you can recite it perfectly in your sleep. And when you are done, all will cheer for you.)

You smile at its words. No matter how uncertain you feel, the Megamycete always has your back. You’d hate to think where you’d be without it.

Well, without the Megamycete, you’d probably be dead.

“Wonder where Alfred is,” you wonder, looking around at the back of the hall. “He said he was coming.”

(We are sure he is here. The butler would swim through shards of broken glass to be here at the biggest triumph of your life.)

You’re so anxious to see the man; it’s been four years since you last saw him in person and you just know he’s going to bring up your lack of visits and probably try to guilt you into visiting since Gotham’s only three hours away, but you intend to stand your ground and go back to Goodsprings tomorrow.

“I hope he likes the suit I got,” you mutter, messing with your collar for the millionth time, not use to wearing such fancy clothes.

(He will. You chose from among millions of choices and made the best choice. Everyone in the room is no doubt in awe of your superior fashion choice.)

The day you were told you were in the running for this award, you drove to Vegas and spent well over an hour at the Men’s Warehouse, looking over and trying on countless suits. The salesman helped a bit, but many people in the Megamycete’s records included many upper class men, men’s fashion designers, and models, so you were more than capable of picking out a tasteful black blazer with a breast pocket perfect for holding your Momma’s pen, a white button up shirt, and matching black pants and dress shoes.

The clothes looked fine on the rack, but wearing them in public for all to see is something you had to psych yourself up for. You feel like a kid playing pretend with his father’s clothes and everyone knows it. Still, you can’t help but feel like a professional and take a little pride in it.

Just then, the lights dim and the audience cheers as the MC steps on stage.

“Hello, everyone,” he says. “Are you ready to kick off the Golden Games?”

The room fills with thunderous applause and cheers, yours among them. You’ve known about this event for years and have never missed watching it. When you first started your game, you fantasized about being at the Gamer’s Gala competing with your fellow developers for the Golden Joystick, but knew there was no chance your first game would ever make it to the first round of voting. Perhaps your second game. Or maybe your third.

But here you are, at this prestigious event with your first ever game in top contention for a prize so many covet.

You pinch yourself to make sure you’re awake and are pleased that you’re wide awake.

The ceremony opens up with the Golden Joystick for the Triple-A Game of the Year and awards for their various categories, like story, gameplay, music, graphics, etc.

“Alright, with all the big dogs out of the way, we finally get to the indie games. And boy, was this year a massive success for so many indie developers with over fifty percent of this year’s most anticipated games being indie games! Let’s go over your picks for this year’s Indie Game of the Year.”

You get a look at the trophy you and your peers are competing for: the Golden Joystick. As the name suggests, it’s a trophy in the shape of an old fashioned joystick made up of a gold material. For a moment, you allow yourself to visualize winning it and displaying it in your office. Hell, you had a spot on a shelf made for it when you got the email from the event committee that Salvage Rights was a candidate for Indie Game of the Year, even though voting was still ongoing.

The MC begins going through the list of games with said games and their developers being displayed on one massive screen behind him with the game’s team showing up on the other one. With each game mentioned, you think about your Momma; you can remember being at some awards ceremony years ago when one of her books was up for some fancy prize. Even back then, you could tell she was so nervous about getting up and making a speech in front of so many people and having it broadcast for all to see.

At the time, you didn’t understand because she would’ve been given an award and everyone could see. Unfortunately, she didn’t win and while she said she hope to win it, it was good enough to be considered for it, you were pissed on her behalf over it.

Being here, you understand why she felt that way. While it would be a dream come true to win the Golden Joystick on your first ever game, just being here, among your peers, is more than enough; knowing you’re skilled enough to make a game worthy of being judged among the best is a tremendous honor. Plus, the thought of having to make a speech in front of so many people makes you so nervous, you fear you’ll lose your lunch.

God, you wish your Momma was here. This is the biggest moment in your professional life and having her in the audience would make you feel better.

(We are sure she would give anything to be here for you. Wherever she is, she is no doubt watching this moment with unparalleled anticipation.)

“And last but not least, the game that exploded onto the scene a month ago and made a surprise cameo on the voting polls, Salvage Rights by Gould Games,” the MC announces as your game appears on one screen while you appear on the other, lit up by a spotlight.

You feel your face break out into a blush as the room fills with applause and cheers. To know that so many people hold you and your work in such high regard… it’s humbling to say the least.

You wave back and give them a big smile.

Finally, the room quiets down, allowing the ceremony to continue.

“Ok, everyone, with all the candidates on the board.” The screen on the right of the stage lists all the games and their developers, yours the last on the list. “We opened the polls for all gamers and had a record breaking ten-point-nine million ones this year for the Indie Game of the Year, guys!”

The room once again fills with applause and a girl runs from backstage, delivers him an envelope, and runs off.

“It took the Gala Committee a while to tally the votes, but when all was said and done, it was clear who the winner was.” He opens the envelope and a drumroll plays from the speakers to buildup the moment. As he pulls out the piece of paper inside it, you realize you’re holding your breath and your heart’s stopped due to the anticipation. “The Golden Joystick for Indie Game of the Year goes to…” He looks down at the paper and looks back up. “Salvage Rights by Gould Games!”

Your eyes become wide as saucers as you process the words, your heart resumes beating and your release the breath you’d been holding since the candidates were announced. You then realize you’re bathed in the spotlights as the big screen shows you at your seat; the room fills with applause and cheers, many people near you congratulating you.

You get up and walk to the stage, nodding and clapping hands with many you pass by on your way to claim your award. Finally, you make it on stage and shake hands with the MC, who gives you the Golden Joystick.

(This is the only way this could have ended. You worked tirelessly on your game and did not stop until it was the definition of perfection. You were more worthy than any other for this trophy.)

“Thank you,” you say into the mic, silencing the room. “I just want to thank my fellow game developers, the Committee, and especially the gamers, who gave me the opportunity to be here.” This garners more applause. “I have to say, when I first started working on Salvage Rights, I never in a million years thought I’d be here, in the most prestigious gaming event, receiving the greatest award an indie game can receive, but I guess I was proven wrong.”

The room fills with laughter and you sigh in relief. Good, they seem to be liking your speech.

(As they should. You revised it over a dozen times and practiced it in front of your stuffed toys at least fifty times.)

“When I first got into video games, it was just because I was a kid who was fascinated by being able to play on a DS anytime, anyplace. Now, I’m into video games because they are the new medium of art. Think about it, there are games out there that have stories that would made Shakespeare weep, music worthy of being performed in symphonies, and art styles that should be studied by artists hundred years from now. It’s a medium that transcends all others that have come before it.”

More applause. Good, they like it.

“I first started work on Salvage Rights not long after my fifteenth birthday, nine years to the day that I unfortunately lost my Momma to a drunk driver.” You see many people in the audience take notice at this, clearly not expecting to hear something so tragic. “At the time, I was living in a place that neglected me; from the day I first arrived, I was treated like I didn’t exist and any attempts I made to get their attention was ignored.” Clearly your words resonate with people, because you can see a few people tearing up.

“I had someone there I could rely on, and he made those times more bearable, but he couldn’t get rid of that feeling of loneliness that I had felt for years and all I wanted was for my Momma to walk through that door and take me back home. But no matter how much I hoped and prayed, she never came and my loneliness only got worse with each day.

“My only escape from those days were video games. While in real life, I was a nobody in that house, but I was able to dive into one game where I was a noble hero who was destined to defeat the embodiment of evil, or dive into another game where I tamed the mightiest of beasts and triumph over the strongest of champions, or dive into one game where i could master every life skill possible and bring light to a world facing eternal darkness. It was during those days that I learned that games provided an escape from the confines of reality, if only for a little bit. And that’s when I realized I wanted to create a game that could allow someone to escape reality and become the best version of themselves.”

There’s definitely a couple people on the audience crying at this point.

(You have them eating out of the palm of your hand. Time to reel them in.)

“So, I want to thank each and every one of you, both those in this room and watching across the globe, for giving my game a chance and allowing me to fulfill my dream. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

The room explodes into applause and cheers, even a few whistles. I shake hands with the MC once more walk off stage and cross the room back to your seat, shaking hands and receiving pats on the back the entire time.

(A resounding success,) the Megamycete says as you sit down. (They hung on your every word. After tonight, everyone will know of your talent and many will beg for the opportunity to work on their newest project, offering you the world in exchange for your expertise. As they should.)

“Easy, buddy, you’re gonna give me one hell of an ego at this rate.”

(It is only naturally to think so highly of yourself. Compared to everyone in this room, you are a god.)

The rest of the ceremony features trailers for games releasing in the near future and announcements for new titles, making a note to keep an eye on many of them for you to buy on release or pre-order when they become available.

After the ceremony, you follow the rest of the developers to the Developer’s Lounge, a room that’s lavishly decorated and fully stocked with a wide array of food and drinks being served by a dozen waiters, all of it courtesy of Lex Luthor, who is currently talking to a group of triple-A executives, his bodyguard close behind him; many of your peers and various VIPs are already eating, drinking, and talking with other developers, game journalists (ugh), or their personal guests. You gratefully accept a champagne flute from a passing waiter and make your way around the room, looking around for any sign of Alfred.

“Where is he,” you mutter to yourself, scanning the room.

“Mr. Y/N Gould,” a masculine voice calls out to you, making you turn to the source: a tall, blue eyed man wearing a pair of black framed glasses, a grey jacket over a dark blue tie and light blue button up shirt, navy blue pants, and black loafers.

(We sense a spike in your heart rate. Are you alright?)

Oh, you’re better than alright. Some attractive man knows your name and wants to speak to you.

(You are attracted to this man. This is the first time we have ever experienced infatuation firsthand. We look forward to seeing this interaction unfold.)

“Yes,” you say, managing to find your voice. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” the man responds, raising his hand and you accept.

It’s then you notice the feel of something metallic and when you glance at his hand, you see a gold wedding band.

Damn it.

(We grieve the loss of your potential mate.)

Oh well, always lots of fish in the sea.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Kent?”

“Yes, the Daily Planet was hoping to write an article on the winner of the winner of the Indie Game of the Year. Is there anyway I can talk you into doing an interview?”

(He can still be of use to you. By doing this interview, he can help you find you a worthy mate.)

Great, now you have sentient mold trying to play matchmaker. Well, at least you’ll be able to get more people interested in your game. The Daily Planet’s the biggest paper in Metropolis and has decent following around the country.

“I hope you can wait a little while for that interview, Kent.”

You freeze at the new voice, a voice you haven’t heard in over four years. You hope that, somehow, you’ve made some huge mistake and it’s not who you think it is. You then realize that the entire room’s gone silent, sans a few whispers, and now all eyes are on you and the newcomer behind you, Clark chief among them.

You realize that your breathing and your heartbeat have ceased, and the pit of anxiety and fear from earlier has returned, but there’s now rage included in that mix; rage you haven’t felt in over four years. Rage that finally went away when you finally escaped Gotham and put it and Wayne Manor in your rearview mirror.

You feel a hand grasp your left shoulder and out of the corner of your eye, see a tall figure come to a stop to your right. You slowly turn your head to fae the figure and look up to see your worst nightmare: Bruce Fucking Wayne looking down at you, his signature fake ass smile adorning his stupid mug and a champagne flute similar to yours in hand.

He’s dressed far too formal for an event about video games, wearing a designer black suit with matching pants that probably cost more than your car. You can dig through all your memories of the man and never find one instance of the man wearing anything casual. And that smile of his, the one he always flashes to his insufferable blue-blooded friends; you want to punch him so hard in the face that every last tooth shatters, but you manage to put a lid on that urge.

If only just barely.

(What is this shameless heathen doing here,) the Megamycete hisses. (The audacity of this creature to show up on the best night of your life and ruin it. You should kill him. Immediately.)

Right now, you’re really tempted to give him the Joker Treatment.

“I’m afraid Y/N and I have much to talk about.”

“Mr. Wayne,” Clark stampers out. “Do you know Mr. Gould?”

“I would say so,” he responds in that fake cheery tone he only reserves for galas and paparazzi, those “honeyed words” so disgustingly sweet and fake it makes you want to vomit. Preferably on him. He tries to pull you closer to him, but you’re able to resist it no problem thanks to the Megamycete. “He’s my son.”

And like that, the crowd around you descends into chaos, many of them loudly talking among themselves while others take out their phones and cameras and begin snapping pictures of the two of you, and so many media types are shouting questions towards you and him.

But all that doesn’t really phase you. Right now, you feel as if the world has crumbled around you and now you’re left free falling in an endless void, doomed to spend the rest of eternity in this sort of purgatory.

You’re frozen where you stand, unable to look anywhere else but at the face of the man you hate with your entire being and as you look into those eyes of his, every single memory of your stay at Wayne Manor flashes before your eyes; you’re overwhelmed by the feelings of sadness, loneliness, pain, and humiliation you were forced to deal with during those twelve long, horrible years. Right now, it takes every bit of restraint and willpower you have to not let all the thoughts you have of ripping this bastard’s head off and kicking it so far that every NFL team in the country would offer you fifty million in advance if you signed on with them become reality.

(You should do it. Kill this man. Teach him the meaning of pain. Let him feel all the pain he and his flock have caused you for years and despair. Make him regret ever taking you for granted.)

Ok, your usual voice of reason is now howling for blood. This does not bold well for you.

“Mr. Wayne,” you finally respond, finding the strength to keep your voice steady and not cause a scene (or at least a bigger one than he has already); you brush his hand off your shoulder, making a mental note to burn these clothes (damn it, you paid good money for these). “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, I’m definitely not your son. Perhaps you’ve had too much to drink? Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You should sit down before you make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of all these people.”

His smile falls and you can see the hurt shine in his eyes for a fraction of a second. He’s an expert at concealing his emotions, so for you to do something like that makes you giddy.

“Y/N,” he pathetically responds as he reaches out to you, but you take a step back. “I am—“

“You’re a sperm donor, nothing more, Mr. Wayne,” you hiss, revealing in the hurt expression that breaks out on his face. It’s probably fake, a stunt to pull for the crowd, but you don’t care. You’ve held all these feelings in for years and now that you have the chance to give this son of a bitch a piece of your mind, you’re taking it. “You’re not my dad and I’m sure as hell not your son!”

“Y/N, I know I wasn’t the best father to you, but—“

You lose it at that. All the abuse and misery and neglect you had to deal with from him and his kids for over ten years, and he has the nerve to say he “knows” anything about how you feel? In a swift motion, you throw your champagne at him, dousing his face in the clear-yellowish drink that quickly pours down his neck and soaks his expensive black jacket.

The crowd gasps at this, but you absolutely couldn’t give a shit. This was to be the best night of your life and he had to go and ruin it by daring to show his hideous face and dare to have a conversation with you. Fuck, he probably took Alfred’s place, so you had no one here to share in your big moment, something that makes you even more pissed off.

Throwing your champagne at him only made your rage burn hotter, demanding to inflict as much pain and suffering on this man that you’ve suffered for years. You quickly close the gap between you two, deliver a harsh right hook to the right side of the man’s jaw and follow up by shoving the man as hard as you can (though still holding back a lot of strength so you don’t reveal what you really are), causing him to topple to the floor, landing on his ass.

At this rate, you don’t really care what people say about you after this, all you care about is hurting him. You look down at the pathetic wretch at your feet and love the look of horror and pain etched on his face, reveling in the terror in his eye and the blood dripping from his closed mouth.

(Yes,) the Megamycete screams. (More. More. Make him hurt. Make him bleed. Make him realize who the superior one is.)

“Someone call an ambulance, this asshole’s gonna need one,” you growl, pouncing towards the man who made you lose the best years of your life, ready to pound his face so hard that they’ll have to rely on fingerprints to identify him.

Just then, you’re caught in mid-air and when you look behind you, it’s Clark, his arms wrapped around your waist in a surprisingly strong grip.

“Mr. Gould,” he says in a tone like he’s trying to soothe a startled animal (which isn’t too far off the mark). “Please, control yourself.”

You don’t want to. In front of you is the man who treated you like shit from the day you two met, making you wish you were in the car when your Momma died so that you never met him. This was suppose to be your night — your moment of triumph — and he had to go and ruin it. And you want nothing more than to put this man in a full body cast, and that’s you being generous.

But when you see the look of total shock on his face, and everyone in the crowd who has the same expression, your rage finally cools down. Not because you feel guilty over what you did to Bruce, you were ready to reduce him to a bloody red paste, but because everyone just saw your absolute worst.

You go slack in Clark’s hold and that’s when he finally lets you go, having to command the mold to reinforce your leg bones to keep you standing because without it, you’re ready to collapse form the burst of energy you just burned through.

“Is there a problem here,” Lex says as he emerges from the crowd, Mercy following close behind. He glances down at Bruce and a ghost of a smirk appears on his face.

“I have an axe to grind with him,” you say, doing your best to even out your voice. “I’m sorry for making a scene.”

“What about pushing Mr. Wayne,” Lex asks, motioning to the man.

“No, that’s something I’m very proud of.”

You can see Bruce flinch at that and it makes you feel good.

“Well, it’s always a pleasure to see Bruce Wayne be taken down a peg,” the man chuckles. He then turns to the rest of the crowd. “Alright, show’s over, everyone. Go back to your own business.”

Slowly but surely, the crowd breaks up and the party resumes, but you can definitely tell many of the media types are still looking at you and Bruce and are no doubt chomping at the bit to talk to either of you, many of them furiously typing on their phones, probably texting their bosses and sending whatever pictures and videos they took.

“Mr. Gould, I’d be honored if you would give me a few minutes of your time.” He extends his arm as if you were a woman. “I have much I’d like to talk with you about.”

You discreetly glance down at Bruce, who looks like he’s ready to do to Lex what you did to him a minute ago. You know that Lex is only doing this to piss off Bruce, his biggest business rival, and is probably using you in hopes of getting some speck of dirt on Bruce and maybe even some Wayne Enterprises secrets.

And god damn it if the thought of that doesn’t make you giddy.

“Of course,” you say in a sweet tone of voice, looping your arm in Lex’s. “The honor would be mine.”

He leads you towards a private area of the lounge and as you pass by Bruce, who’s still on the floor, you glance over at him and give him a dirty look, making it clear that you hate his guts and the next time he tries something like this, you won’t hold back.

You don’t know what Bruce wants and why he’s suddenly showed up after four years of your leaving, but chances are he’s only here to serve his own agenda and you want nothing to do with him or his crazy ass family. You have your own life and are finally happy for the first time in years, and you’ll be damned if you’ll allow all your hard work to be destroyed.

If it comes down to it, you’ll wage war against him and the rest of the Bats.

(Yes, clip their wings. Tear them to shreds. Grind them into powder. Tear down everything that they are and leave nothing behind so they are forgotten by the world.)

Bruce watches as you and Lex wonder off to some desolate corner of the lounge, simultaneously plotting an attack on Lex Corp that will hot Luthor hard and replaying his interaction with you, going through millions of different ways that could’ve gone better. Or at least, not ended with you almost tearing him limb from limb, the only thing saving him was Kent’s intervention.

Ok, maybe approaching you like Brucie Wayne, millionaire playboy philanthropist, was a bad idea, but it was the only way he could think of that wouldn’t scare you off. He really thought that talking to you with his usual charm and bravado would’ve at least given him a chance to talk to you.

All it got him was a look into your temper.

Fuck, the look of pure rage and disgust in your eye the entire time you talked to him. Right now, he just wants to curl up and die, but he also wants to scoop you up into his arms, hug you tightly, and beg for your forgiveness, no matter how much of a fool he made of himself or how much you bite, scratch, and hit him.

It’s then he thinks back on you shoving him and it’s then he realizes it doesn’t make any sense. He’s a solid six-foot-two, way taller than you and while he would never call you weak, you definitely aren’t a bodybuilder, so he should’ve been able to withstand your shove no problem. But he’s been fighting against beings with super strength all his adult life, so he knows the difference between a strong human and a Meta.

But you’re not a Meta, right? He’s spent the last twenty-four hours digging up every piece of information he can on you, your medical records from Southern Hills Hospital being one of the first things he delved into. When you were born, you were a healthy baby boy, no signs of illness and certainly no trace of the Meta Gene. He even has your medical records during your time in Gotham (Alfred being the one to take you to all your appointments because he certainly didn’t do it), and everything points to you being in perfect health.

So, how were you able to shove him like that, a man who goes toe-to-toe with the likes of Bane on a regular basis?

“Are you ok, Bruce,” Clark asks, extending his hand to help him up.

“I’m fine,” he responds, brushing the hand aside and getting up on his own.

“Pardon me if I don’t believe that, I could tell you were shaken up by that.”

If there’s one skill Bruce prides himself on, it’s his ability to conceal his emotions, able to hide his true feelings from anyone and everyone, even from telepaths such as Martian Manhunter.

But seeing how his son, his baby boy, feels about him made him forget his control. Him not being able to hide the pain he felt when you lashed out at him, clearly holding a lot of anger and resentment towards him, was one of the few experiences that has shaken him to his core.

“Mr. Wayne,” Vicky Vale says as she emerge from the crowd and approaches them. “Care to make a statement on what just happened?”

It takes everything he has to not let out a groan. Of course, Vicky Vale is always there whenever some drama happens to either him or his children in public. She had a field day with him when he she asked about his bruises and limp he got last time he fought Killer Croc and he had to play it off as some really kinky sex he and some supermodel had.

“Not now, Vicky,” he responds, leading Clark closer to where you and Lex walked off to. “I have a prior engagement with Mr. Kent here.”

“I didn’t know you had a son before Damian,” Clark whispers as they walk.

“Let’s just say I did everything wrong when it came to him,” he responds back, keeping his voice low. “I found out I screwed up and came here to try to make amends. You know how that ended.”

“I know, we all had front row seats to that. Also, I’ve been listening to his and Lex’s conversation the entire time.”

“What’s that bastard saying to him,” he hisses, pissed off beyond words that snake is talking to you, his baby boy.

“So far, Y/N’s just trash talking you, calling you every name in the book and angry that you ruined his big night.”

Bruce winces at that. He knew it’s Alfred you want here to share in your achievement, but he couldn’t miss this night, not when he’s missed so much of your life. To see you, smiling on stage and acting so humble after wining an award as important as that was absolutely mesmerizing.

Of course, your speech hit him like a freight train. He knew he wasn’t the father you deserved, but to hear you talk about your time with him so poorly was more than he was prepared to handle. Of course you miss your mother and he’s glad you think so highly of her, but is there really nothing he can do to make you reconsider giving him another chance? To give his family another chance?

“Lex is now offering to be a benefactor to Gould Games; Y/N have total creative license on all projects and would be given a massive office in one of Metropolis’ premiere high-rises.”

“In exchange for WE secrets, no doubt.”

The thought of you and Lex working together makes him sick. The man is a snake and wouldn’t hesitate to betray you if it benefitted him in any way. If you need money for your new games, he’d be more than happy to do it! You could be a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises with as large a budget as you want, with your choice of office in Wayne Tower or around Gotham. You’d have all the best computers and software that money could buy and if you need to hire more people, you can choose all the people you want and he’d personally arrange for them to be flown to Gotham, ready to work as soon as possible.

“That’s right,” Clark responds. “Don’t worry, he turned him down. Looks like you won’t be losing nay more money to Lex this year.”

“Y/N doesn’t know anything.”

As sad as it is, that’s the truth; you’d been shut out by all of them that you couldn’t give any of his secrets away. Hell, you don’t even know that you’ve been living with Gotham’s vigilantes.

“He’s been kept in the dark about everything,” he mutters as he looks at you, chatting away with Metropolis’ biggest wannabe.

Maybe he should tell you that he and your siblings are Gotham’s vigilantes? Not that it’s any excuse with how they treated you for yeas, but with any hope, it would make you more understanding on why they were always so busy and at least consider talking with them.

Just then, Clark winces at something Lex just said.

“What,” he snaps.

“Lex just invited him for dinner. And based off his tone, he has more in mind than just business.”

And with that, all he can see is red and he’s filled with rage at the bald bastard.

“Bruce, wait,” Clark calls out as he stops over to where you are.

“Bruce,” Lex says with a smirk as he approaches the both of you. “I hope you’re not looking for another beating from Y/N.”

He looks over to you, your expression clearly indicating you’re visualizing beating the hell out of him right now.

“Of course not, I just wanted to extend an invitation to him for dinner. It’s been forever since we had a father-son dinner.”

“We’ve never had dinner together before,” you snarl.

“His loss, I assure you,” Lex responds, giving you a look that makes Bruce want to punch his lights out.

“Y/N has nothing you want, Lex,” Bruce growls, trying to keep his anger from getting the best of him. “Leave him alone.”

“I disagree, Bruce. Y/N is charming, witty, and a delightful to be around.” He has a twinkle in his eye that makes Bruce even angrier. “He definitely takes after his mother.”

Bruce opens his mouth to spit some insult at the fucker, but you intervene.

“Yes, Momma raised me well,” you say, looking right at him before looking back at Lex. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Luthor, but I’m afraid I’m heading back home first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe the next time I’m in the area?”

“I’m certainly hoping that will be soon.” He pulls out a card and hands it to you. “My personal phone number and email. The next time you come to Metropolis, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me and I’ll see to it you’re afforded every luxury this city has to offer.”

“Thank you,” you responded, taking the card and pocketing it. “I certainly hope to visit again soon. Metropolis is way better than Gotham. Hard to believe that cesspit is its sister city.”

He winces hearing your clear disdain for his city, the home of his family. Your rightful home.

“Indeed,” Lex chuckles. “Gotham is so painfully outdated in every respect it’s almost funny. If I had my way, all of its archaic structures would be torn down and replaced for more modern and aesthetically pleasing replacements.”

“That style is Gotham,” Bruce growls, unable to put up with the disrespect of his city. “Gotham has resembled its current form for over a hundred years now. It’s a reflection of its storied past.”

“A storied past of misery and insanity,” you respond. “Gotham isn’t a place where good people end up. It’s a spiderweb that slowly drains everyone within it of all they have, leaving nothing but empty husks behind. Maybe all of it should be torn down.”

You say the words, but all he hears is his voice. When his parents were killed, he felt the same way about Gotham as you do. It took him years to finally shed his hatred and resentment for the city and see its beauty. As much as you’d probably hate to admit it, you really are his son.

“I’d love to stay and continue this riveting conversation, but I’m afraid I have an appointment across town. He turns to his bodyguard. “Mercy, ready the car.” She nods and leaves. “And Y/N, I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here in my city. Perhaps you’d allow me the honor of taking you to the airport myself?”

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Luthor,” you say, giving that bastard a smile that makes his blood boil.

“Please, call me Lex.”

“Ok, Lex,” you say with a chuckle.

Oh, he’s going to make Luthor suffer for this. When he gets back to the Batcave, he’s going to plant so many viruses into Luthor’s systems, he’ll spend months recovering a single piece of data.

Finally, the man walks away, leaving you and him alone at last.

“I’ll say this only once, Mr. Wayne,” you say in a tone that shows you mean business. “So listen close: I don’t know what you’re doing here or what you hoped to achieve here, but stay away from me. I’m finally happy for the first time in years and I won’t allow you to fuck it up for me.”

He winces at your words. And the fact that you’re calling him “Mr. Wayne,” like he’s a stranger (though with how he treated you for over ten years, that’s not too far from the truth). He knows that he has no right to be called “dad” or “father,” but you can’t even call him by his name like your siblings do? Do you really hate him that much?

“Y/N, please—“

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, cutting him off. “This is your only warning: stay away from me. I’m not weak like I was when I was first dragged to Gotham. Keep butting in where you don’t belong and I’ll personally reunite you with your parents.”

You go to walk away, but he grabs you by your shoulder. You quickly snap your head to look at him, your expression so full of hate and disgust. He knows this isn’t helping his case, but he can’t let you leave like this; he needs to keep you here so he can talk to you, to beg you for just a few minutes of your time.

You grab his hand with yours and begin squeezing so hard his hand begins to throb and he has to fight to hide his expression of pain from the crowd.

Not only do you not look you visit the gym, but this type of strength is something beyond what a normal human is capable of. Just what secrets do you have?

He meets your gaze and he has to suppress the fear he feels when looking in your eyes. There’s hate in them, no doubt about that, but there’s something else in them. Something dark. It also doesn’t help that you have his mother’s eyes and seeing them look at him that way cuts him to his core.

You shove his hand away from you and you storm off, ignoring as a dozen journalists come up to you and leaving him to stand there, watching you walk away from him and ignoring the throbbing of his hand.

“You ok,” Clark asks after walking up to him.

“No,” he mutters. He looks down at the camera in the Kryptonian’s hand. “Did you take any pictures of him during the ceremony?”

“Yeah,” the reporter responds, holding it up. “I was in the press section of the audience. I got a couple good shots.”

“Send them to me,” he orders while walking off.

Many reporters try to talk to him, but he doesn’t spare them a second glance. Right now, all that matters is planning his next move. You’ve made it very clear that you resent them for how they treated you while you lived with them and while he understands that perfectly, you need to understand that he’s your father and his children are your siblings.

He’s happy that you’ve made a life for yourself in Nevada and are successful in your career as a video game developer, but you’re a Wayne and all Waynes belong in Gotham, under his roof.

He gets his phone out and tells his children to be ready for a family meeting as soon as he returns in the morning. As much as he wants to find a way to bring you back to the fold on his own, he can’t do it alone. With any luck, your siblings will be able to reach you. Hell, he might have to call on Alfred to help bring you home.

He will uncover everything about you (including whatever what you just did) and when he does, he’ll use that knowledge to make you realize you’re son and your rightful place is by his side, where he can keep an eye on you and shield you from the dangers of this world.

One way or another, you’ll come back to Gotham and when you do, he and you’ll siblings will shower you in the love you deserve. And after that, they’ll throw the biggest gala ever, with you as the centerpiece, and show you off as the most important member of the Wayne Family; all of Gotham elite will climb over one another in hopes of courting you, but he and you siblings will never allow them to come anywhere close to you as you won’t need anyone but them to keep you company.

It doesn’t matter how long it takes or what he has to do, he’ll learn your secrets (as is his birthright) and lead you back to where you belong.

Even if he has to drag you back home by your ankles.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @v0idl1nq @diejager @solelifauna @bunbunbread @ratchetprime211 @ellaprime7 @fantasyhopperhea @exactlynumberonekryptonite @bellethesleepypotato @roseytheteacup @orbitingtraveler @lunaluz432

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Duncan Vizla X Reader: Too sweet for me

A/n: Mads has no right looking this hot

Warning: smut, porn with little plot, oral (f receiving) , face sitting, penetration (p in v), fluff, little bit of angst, age gap (not specified) no use of y/n, pet names (dove, darling)

“You must be bored out of your fucking mind.”

That's how you’d picked up his call. No ‘hello’. No ‘how are you?’. Just straight to the point. He supposed he deserved it. It had been his call to end all forms of contact and you hadn’t been too pleased with the decision. He had to admit he was starting to regret it too. The cold was making his miss your warmth and the silence that surrounded him, making him crave your voice.

“I want you to come here.”

“Where? To that fucking cabin in the middle of nowhere?”

You heard Duncan let out a sigh. He sounded tired.

“I miss you.”

Your brows furrowed at his confession. He had ended the relationship. It had been his decision. The reason being that he was too old for you and that the company was going to let him go soon, so there would be no need for you two to be around each other anymore. You’d fought him until you couldn’t take it anymore. Until you realized you were only breaking your own heart. And now here he was, calling you on the second day of his retirement telling you he missed you. The right thing would have been to tell him to fuck of. It's what he deserved for hurting you. But instead you’d hopped into your car and drove over to him.

He heard your car in the driveway, causing him to put down the cup of whiskey he had been nursing. He opened up the door for you watching you stomp your feet on the deck in an attempt to remove the snow from your shoes.

“Its fucking freezing. Of course you had to pick the coldest fucking place to retire.”

“The cold keeps people away.”

“And you just love keeping people away don’t you?”

The comment stung a bit but he brushed it off. He knows your mad at him but you came anyway which means you’re not as pissed as you had been when he first broke it off. You moved into his house shivering as you placed your bag on the ground. He watched you walk over to the chair he had been sitting on. You grabbed his drink off the table before throwing it down your throat. Duncan shut the door before making his way to you. You were glancing around the room, clearly judging the lack of decor.

“This place looks so depressing. No wonder you called.”

“I didn’t call you for a distraction.”

“Oh yeah? So why am I here then.”

He moved closer to you, his frame towering slightly over your smaller one. You looked up at him impatiently, waiting for him to tell you why you’d driven to the end of the world for him. Duncan placed his hand on your cheek. The coldness of his palm made goosebumps appear on your arms.

“I miss you.”

“Should have thought of that before you broke it off, old man.”

“Come on, don't be like that.”

“No fuck you!”

You push him away trying your hardest to ignore how your body craved him. Duncan looks at you with hurt eyes but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I said we could make it work. I told you i’d quit and go with you but you didn’t want that. You had to come with the ‘oh i’m too old for you’ routine. Well guess what Duncan? I didn’t give a fuck about that when we stared going out and i sure as shit don’t care about it now.”

You were moving from one side of the room to the other as you spoke. Duncans eyes followed your movements with an overwhelming need to tug you to him. But he knew you’d only push him away so he decided to let you calm down a bit first. You finally seemed to tire yourself out, your body leaning against his chair as you glanced outside. He moved over to you slowly.

“You know all I wanted was to be with you. And I thought you wanted that too but I guess I was wrong.”

“No, little one, you weren’t.”

You turned to look at him, your face slightly damp from your angry tears. He placed his hand on your cheek once again and this time you leaned into his touch. You closed your eyes as he caressed your cheek.

“I missed you too.”

You let out your confession in a whisper, followed by a small sigh as you felt Duncan press his lips to yours.

“Let me make it up to you, hum?”

“What were you thinking?”

His nose was pressed deliciously against your clit as he ate you out. You had your face pressed up against the cold wall, hands braced on the headboard. Duncans fingers dug into your thighs as he tried to keep you from squirming away. Your pussy was getting sensitive from his movements but you don’t want him to stop. And he didn’t plan to. You’re always worried he might not have enough air with your cunt resting on his face but the way he continuously tugs you down when you try to raise your body off his tells you he can breathe just fine. Unconsciously you rocked your hips against his face searching for your release.

“Oh Duncan…ah fuck.”

“Taste wonderful little one. Want you to cum on my tongue.”

You wanted that very much too but you didn’t know how much more you could take. This was the third orgasm he was trying to pull out of you and your thighs were starting to hurt. You could feel your release coming but something about it felt different this time. More intense in a way. You placed your hands on the sides if Duncan's head trying to remove your body from his.

“Baby something’s… I don’t know whats-”

“Shhh dove let it happen.”

Duncan suspected something was about to happen. He suspected your sudden need to get off him meant you were about to give him what he’d been wanting for a long time but had never manned to get out of you. You were about to squirt all over his face. His dick twitched at the thought. Your moans became more and more high pitched until you were screaming his name. Your hands wove around his hair as your orgasm washed over you. You’d barely had time to register what had happened before you heard Duncan groan beneath you. You looked down at him only to find his face covered in you slick.

“Holy shit.”

“Told you to let it happen.”

“What the fuck was that?”

“You squirted. So good for me, dove.”

“I didn’t even know I could do that.”

You smiled at Duncan causing him to give you a lopsided grin before releasing your legs. You groaned as you removed your legs from him. You laid down beside the older man, your hand moving to his face. Duncan let you tug him into a kiss, moaning into your mouth. You nudged his nose with yours as you moved your hand to palm at his dick. He called out your name in warning.

“What? Don’t wanna fuck me anymore?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then fuck me.”

He rolled over your body, trapping you beneath him. You felt his dick rub against the inside of your thigh before he lined it up with your entrance. You let out a small whimper as he pushed your legs up. Duncan gave a kiss to your temple rocking into you slowly. Your nails dug into his back being careful as to not touch any of his scars. Which was hard considering how many he had but you managed. He sped up his pace hitting your g-spot perfectly as he moved.

“Fuck i missed this pussy.”

“She missed you too.”

“I can tell. Sucking me in-ah fuck- Won’t last long.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t stop.”

Duncans grunts echoed your moans and pretty soon he was asking you where you wanted him to cum.

“Inside-ugh shit- cum inside.”

Two more thrusts and he was painting your walls with his seed. His body sagged onto yours, the exhaustion finally hitting him. You combed your fingers through his hair lulling him to sleep.

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee. You grabbed one of Duncan's jumpers not bothering to put on anything else before leaving the room. You made your way to the kitchen. Duncan had his back turned to you far to focused on the eggs he was cooking to notice your presence. You made your way to him, wrapping your arms around his frame.

“Good morning dove.”

“Morning. You cook breakfast now?”

“Thought you might be hungry.”

“You were right.”

You grabbed your mug off the counter taking a sip as you continued to watch Duncan cook. He felt your gaze on him causing him to look over at you.

“What is it?”

“Oh nothing. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“This feels awfully homey. Waking up to you cooking breakfast. In your little cabin in the middle of nowhere. Wearing your clothes. Got me thinking is all.”

“Come live with me.”

You raise your head to look at his eyes searching for uncertainty in his words.

“You mean it?”

“Why wouldn’t i?”

“Cause you’re too old for me. Cause you like to keep people away.”

“Not you. I never liked keeping you away. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“You really want me to live with you?”

“Yes. I really do.”

You smile at Duncan making your way over to him. He leans down to place a kiss to your lips causing your smile to grow even more.

“Okay then. Let’s do it.”

[ch6rm]

✧ ࣪˖ how angel!reader & dealer!chris met

˖ soph's note yayyy first blurb about this au, it's a bit longer than i intended (oops) but more coming soon i promise <3

the music thudded through the walls, the house packed with people you didn’t know. it wasn’t your scene—not really. your friend had begged you to come, promising it would be fun. instead, it was a bunch of people spilling drinks everywhere and messily making out in every corner of the house. not really your jam, but you made the best out of it.

you wove through the crowd, flashing friendly smiles and striking up conversations with anyone who didn't seem insanely drunk. you had no idea where your friend disappeared to—probably off to hook up with some guy. you figured you might as well make some new friends while you were at it.

after chatting with a couple of people about nothing in particular, you spotted a quieter corner of the house. as you approached, you noticed a guy lounging on a worn-out sofa, a back beanie on his head and a joint resting between his fingers. another guy sitting beside him slid him some cash before getting up and strolling away. it clicked in your head, and you realized they were probably doing some sort of drug deal. maybe you should have walked away, but there was something intriguing about him, and you found yourself walking over.

he looked up, anticipating the sight of someone wanting to make a deal, but instead, he was met with a girl who looked way too carefree for this scene, bright smile cutting through dim light of the room.

"can i sit?" you asked, watching as his eyebrows shot up in slight surprise. you almost expected him to say no, but after a moment he gestured with his hand and invited you to take a seat. you settled down beside him, the worn fabric of the couch slightly rough against your skin. he didn't say a word as you sat, fiddling with the lighter in his hand. you figured he probably didn't want some random girl sitting down next to him, no intention of buying anything he's got, but you couldn't help but steal glances at him, intrigued by his laid-back demeanor.

he finally looked over at you, and there was something in his gaze—a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. “what’s your deal?” he asked. you blinked at him, caught off guard by the bluntness of his question.

“my deal?”

“yeah,” he said, nodding toward the crowd. “why're you sitting here?”

you shrugged, offering a small smile, unfazed by his tone. "why not? i was bored of walking around.”

he hummed, taking a slow drag from his joint. the smoke curled up into the air, mingling with the heavy beat of the music. “so, you sat next to a stranger with a joint and a wad of cash? bold choice.”

you pursed your lips at his statement, before glancing around the room. after a moment of silence, you looked back at him and spoke up. "okay... well, we don't have to be strangers. what's your name?"

he raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. he had expected you to take the hint and leave. “chris,” he replied, the edge in his voice still present. “and you really think it’s safe to sit here?”

you almost laugh at his question, a smile finding it's way to your face. “safe?” you echoed, not missing a beat. “oh, come on. what’s the worst that could happen? you sell me some bad stuff?”

chris let out a low chuckle, clearly amused despite himself. “yeah, that’s definitely one way to look at it.”

“well, i’m not too worried about it. i don't get into that stuff.” you said, gesturing toward the table in front of him. a silence settled between you again, and you realized he wasn't much of a talker. that didn't stop you though. after his lack of response, you spoke up again and told him your name.

eventually, the tension in chris’s posture began to fade away—the edge in his voice disappearing as you began to chat. once you started talking, it was kind of hard to get you to stop. he didn’t offer much at first, but his occasional chuckles and quiet remarks kept the conversation moving.

“are you always this chatty with strangers?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"sure, but aren't strangers anymore, remember?" you say.

he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess not,” he muttered, leaning back against the couch and still watching you with that same curious look. "what are we then? friends?" he says, his tone laced with slight sarcasm.

you grinned, "yeah, friends.”

there was a brief silence as chris looked at you, like he was contemplating something. after a moment, he let out a quiet laugh. “alright, sure. friends it is.” he wasn’t one to make friends at parties where he was dealing—especially not sweet girls like you. but, for some reason, the idea didn’t seem all that bad.

as the night dragged on, you checked your phone, realizing it was getting late. “i should probably head out,” you said, standing up. chris looked at you for a moment before he stood up and flicked the ash off his joint, setting it in the ashtray.

“i’ll walk you out.”

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his proposition. “don't worry, you don’t have to-”

"it's fine, c'mon," he shrugged nonchalantly, already beginning to walk off. you smiled at his words, immediately nodding.

“okay!”

you both made your way through the house, the noise of the party fading as you stepped outside. the cool night air hit you, and soon, you were standing next to your car.

“well,” you said, unlocking the door. “i'll see you around, then?” you hoped you would—he was the only person at this party you’d actually enjoyed talking to, and you'd even forgotten the part where he was a drug dealer. normally, you’d be a little apprehensive, but with him, you didn’t feel an ounce of fear.

chris gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable as he watched you. "yeah," he said, his voice low. "see you around."

© ch6rm

🏷️ @sweetestpoetic | comment here or interact with this post to be added to my taglist

[solelyseeking]

AITA for trying to bag the new kid at my school? PART 3.

Due to the continued lack of progress, I am back, seeking help from the vagrant scum of this subreddit.

Dear basement dwellers and unwashed perverts: If even I, Tom Riddle, cannot get a date, then there truly is no hope for the rest of you.

Time to freshen up your cleaning charms and “lock in”.

For those of you whining about how I ought to just ‘approach him like a normal person’- I am not a normal person. I am a God, baptized in the blood of my enemies. Stop giving me meaningless platitudes, and start helping me smell his hair!

His little sycophant has been following him around everywhere, which has only made approaching him harder. Orion calls himself Harry’s ‘best friend’, but everyone knows Harry only hangs out with him because he feels so sorry for him. (Generations of inbreeding made one ugly baby lol!)

Harry’s very charitable like that. All the more reason to indoctrinate him into my cult, but he’s being weirdly stubborn about the whole thing?

“I don’t wanna learn dark magic, Tom.”

“I don’t believe in blood surpremacy, Tom.”

“Stop trying to take me into your murder dungeon, Tom.”

Isn’t that ridiculous? Anyone with half a brain would love to be invited into my murder dungeon the esteemed chamber built by my lineage!

Harry is very lucky to have so many muscles, as no one expects much brilliance from him. Still, I know he’s cleverer than he lets on. Just the other day, he noticed me cursing Grace Bell for lingering too long outside of the Quidditch changing rooms.

I was just looking out for him. And clearly I was right to do so, since I caught her creeping around while I was waiting for him to emerge, shirtless and damp, from his post game shower. Imagine the kind of obsessed weirdos he’d have to deal with if I wasn’t there to curse them all!

Still, other people would have been totally fooled- but not Harry. He gets me.

Clearly, he’s paying a lot of attention to me, so how can I capitalize on that? I tried spilling a bit of my potion on him in class the other day, so I could remove my shirt sensually and dry the liquid off of him. Only, then he started shouting at me about how I “wasn’t going to get away with this like I did with Myrtle.”

See- another example of how well he knows me! (That’s a girl I killed near my murder dungeon lol)

As you can see, this is a dire situation. Hurry up and provide me with some useful information before he kisses the incest baby.

Harry is very handsome, and I cannot afford to waste time. I have enclosed a photograph of him so that you wastes of genetic material understand the stakes.

[Harry_Potter_Riddle.Jpeg]

suziehiggins: oh, i get it. that guy is adorable

| OP: Stay away from my man, Susan.

Orion.Black: @harryjamespotterr

| OP: You will rue this day, you incestuous hellspawn.

harryjamespotter: Tom, is this some kind of prank?

| OP: Who is Tom I’ve never heard that name in my life.

| harryjamespotter: you literally posted a picture of yourself in the last update…

| ed_hardy: It’s okay, he was just catfishing

| OP: NO I WAS NOT

goonermachine: did you doodle Tom + Harry = Soulmates all over his picture?

| OP: I know you have eyes so I don’t see why you’re asking me such a stupid question. Yes