#serial-writing

[corrodedbisexual]

Once more for those in the back.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Working at the mattress store generally means a lot of long shifts. Ten hour days are not uncommon. You come in, sit alone in a box for a long time, maybe sell a bed, it’s fine. It’s not usually an issue of safety, though, because who’s coming in to shakedown a mattress store? We have no cash and nothing really portable.

But there was one night where I was whiling away my time and a guy came in. He was a big guy, muscular and very punk, tattoos, piercings, the works. We got along fabulously and while helping him a middle aged white couple came in. I was pleased to have a livelier night than I’d anticipated. I bounced back and forth between the disparate parties, eventually finding beds for both.

I finished sooner with the couple but they lingered uneasily by the front of the store instead of leaving and eventually beckoned me over. I trotted along to ask if everything was okay and the woman whispered to me that they were scared to leave me alone with the guy. It was getting late and he appeared quite menacing to them. I wanted to laugh, he was an absolute sweetheart, but instead I assured them that all was well and they could go.

They departed and I immediately told the guy what they’d said. We both had a hearty laugh over it. He finished his purchase and went on his way.

In the last hour, I had my final customer. A young white man in immaculate clothes, button down shirt with freshly shined shoes. Reader, I wanted to bolt. The man had the discordant energy of a cracked bell. Something was deeply wrong with his vibes despite his polished exterior. I desperately wished the nice couple would come hover in the doorway and stare.

I gritted my teeth and greeted him, projecting a friendly and unconcerned air. It seemed clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t actually that interested in getting a bed, which alarmed me even more. I tried to go through the process of fitting him for a mattress but instead he would segue off into telling me about his life while making unblinking eye contact. He asked probing questions about me. I longed for the nice punk man to come back in with a question.

I soldiered onward, visualizing my panic button and refusing to show the slightest hint of unease to him. Eventually he told me that he played piano. He asked if I would like to see a video of him playing piano. I said okay. He then turned his phone over and showed me his screen. In it, he sat staring directly into the camera while playing piano. Above the screen he stared with the same intensely unhinged energy in the video, two sets of serial killer eyes fixed on my tiniest reaction.

I smiled politely, pinned in place by social niceties. After an eon the video finally ended. It was clear he was not going to buy a bed. I insisted that I needed to lock up. He asked if he could stay for that. I firmly informed him he needed to leave for that. With reluctance he drifted out the door as I radiated calm assurance of my own safety and power, locking the door behind him. I turned out the lights and crouched behind the desk in the darkened store, peeking out to watch.

He sat in his car for a long time. But eventually he drove away. I darted out to my car and got home as quick as I could.

The encounter remains one of the most unsettling I’ve ever had in retail. In my decade of serving the public I helped a parade of characters from the harmlessly eccentric to the genuine creeps but this man truly frightened me unlike anyone I’d ever dealt with.

[umblrspectrum]

i love learning cursive just to write text for exactly one character

[reachartwork]

Samantha "Sam" Small is a 14 year old high school freshman and superhero-in-training, recruited by the Delaware Valley Defenders to protect Philadelphia. Her powers let her bite through metal and smell when people bleed. Her interests include soccer, women, putting herself in danger, and Shabbat dinner with her Pop-Pop Moe.

Chum is a slice-of-life/action web serial, currently around 900,000 words. It has been described as "good enough to spend hours organizing info on it", a "beautiful coming of age story", and "a superhero story to rival worm". It's got dinosaurs in it. It's got heartbreak in it. It's got really good fight scenes in it.

Go read it on Royal Road or Wordpress and consider joining the Chumcord!

[sleipliir]

He really loves your stories!

[charliemwrites]

The Scottish Cabin in the Woods - last update: 4/4/24

"Let's go camping," Soap said.

"It'll be fun," Soap said.

"A lot of fun," the psychopathic serial killer said.

You didn't say anything, you were too busy trying not to get kidnapped - and failing.

Content: Serial Killer AU, Dark Content, Kidnapping, Violence and Murder, (Mentions of) Torture, BDSM Elements and Dynamics, (Mild) Pet Play, Predator/Prey Kink, Dacryphilia, Impact Play (Spanking), Humiliation Kink, Dub-Con, One (1) Ableist Slur (and the guy ends up dying)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[toxicanonymity]

This is a bit weird but hear me out. Truck driver Joel. Having to sleep in cheap motels and inside his truck. Picks up sweet, pretty hitchhiker reader, who ends up travelling the country with him and fucking in his truck, those cheap old motels, and in the middle of nowhere.

Giving joel handjobs and blowjobs while driving and joel fingering her while driving...

🫠🫠🫠

Trucker Joel. . . I love it. Sexy and fun.

A/N: Feel free to add HCs or write him. @tashibum sent the middle pic one time and I love the vibe. 💛

Fics - tag me if you write one and I'll add here

Overloaded by @katiexpunk

HCs

On the first day, you're riding in silence, and he keeps looking over, checking you out. To make conversation, you ask him about his load. His neck gets pink, and he clears his throat. "my, uh--" before telling you what's in the trailer.

You get a kick out of him being flustered so later you ask him what he's gonna do with his load. When he's flustered, he adjusts his net hat (his curls stick out under it).

He's proud of his truck. It's humble but he takes good care of it. He's made the cab cozy, but you can tell he did it himself, there isn't much of an eye for design. There's definitely only one bed.

You're fixing the fitted sheet on the bed in his cab and there's a bottle of lube under the corner of the mattress.

He has a TV screen set up near the bed and offers you can stream something but it accidentally opens to porn.

The first time you stop at a motel, he takes a shower, slicks back his hair, and puts on a nice t shirt and belt, and even foregoes the hat. He takes you to eat at a diner.

He doesn't like belts though. Before the motel room door is even shut behind you, he takes his belt off with one hand in one swift motion. He does a double take at your face and can't help but smile to himself at the effect it has on you.

When you're sucking him off and he's about to cum too early, he's like "whoa, back it up now, darlin'."

Maybe he calls you bambi cause he almost hit you like a deer before picking you up.

You might have to cockwarm him in the driver's seat sometime.

He gives you back-to-back cream pies, admires the mess, and says "damn near got you bundled out" (loaded to max capacity).

feel free to add or write

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Elite Serial Killer

Thinking about the rich hunting the poor plot of thousands of movies

Popular and inexplicably vain it’s a surprise he goes to your college at all

But because of his status and immense popularity you never quite got close to him

Only knowing about him because of gossip 

His existence doesn’t matter to you until the college plans to take everyone on a cross-country trip

That happens to be sponsored by an anonymous donor 

You somehow end up in a travel group with him and his most loyal groupies

You didn’t even know you were in the same class

But when the school asks for a payment he generously pays for all expenses

“If all it takes is a bit of pocket change to have these nerds do my homework, then I’ll pay for it!”

He scoffs in your face if you try to refuse 

having the principal tear your check in front of your face if you try to pay yourself

But you pack your bags prepared to get on the plane booked for the class only for one of the nicer groupies to stop you

“Uh, where do you think you're going?”

“To the plane?”

“Our plane is on the tarmac. We’re not getting packed in like a bunch of sardines.”

“But I already bought the ti-”

“Look nerd stop complaining before he leaves you.”

When you do get on of course it’s a shock to have an attendant nicely handle your bag 

Of course, you fidget as you watch the groupies casually sit in specific padded chairs

As though those were their designated spots 

You’re watching them so intensely you miss the grey eyes watching you

“You.”

“Huh? Me?”

“Where do you want to sit?”

“Uhm I’ll just sit over here.”

You randomly pick the spot farthest from them 

He scoffs again and snaps his fingers

“No, you won’t you’ll sit over here.”

The seat he’s pointing at is right beside him…

But a girl is already sitting there

You hesitate looking nervously at the girl who’s engrossed in her phone

Wille exasperatedly sighs before turning in his seat to kick the girl off it

“Ahh!”

Thud

It looked like it hurt

But no one reacts…at first

Before one of the groupies chimes in

“Move Piggie! It’s obvious Wille doesn’t want you here!”

The other’s laugh while ‘piggie’ slowly gets up moving her things she gives you a hard glare before moving to the row over

With Wille impatiently snapping his fingers you sit in the seat

Now being weirdly included in the conversation

Though it’s completely out of your realm of understanding they are seemingly including you

You don’t get the chance to ask  why he wanted you here but you couldn’t complain

When an attendant served you a hearty meal that happened to fit all of your likes and dislikes

You are made to hold someone’s bag or do the other’s assignments issued for the class but you can’t complain

Especially when ‘piggie’ is the one who keeps getting pushed around

Once the plane lands it’s constantly like this 

In museums, restaurants, and lectures 

The pattern continues and as expected you feel incredibly indebted to Wille

So of course you’ll look past the slightly demeaning tasks he sends you on

Or when the groupies need the opinion of a ‘commoner’ you answer

It’s never as bad as it is for ‘piggie’ 

Who ends up paying for some of the other groupies’ shopping sprees 

Or when someone deems their outfit ruined or out of style it’s ‘piggie’ who has to buy something new

You feel awful 

But you’re sure if you spoke up they’d absolutely leave you in this foreign country all alone

So you’ll try in another way

“Hey, I uh filled out an extra assignment if you’d like it?”

For once you might see them accept and start coming to you to talk

It’s nice 

To speak to someone more sympathetic to your situation

But things don’t really kick off until the last day 

And you by association are invited to the intense partying of your group who invite others from your college

There Wille demands that everyone in your group come to his vacation home where his family is 

To work off the hangovers and keep the party going he says 

He says it’ll be another week before you all head back to the college

Whether you drink or not you don’t mind the small extension on your trip 

after all, all of your expenses are paid for

So without being able to refuse you join the group  

a butler welcomes you as soon as the chauffeur drops you all off at the castle-like vacation home mansion

Unexpectedly there and looking at watching you all gawk are Wille’s family

His father, his mother, his older sister, and his younger brother

They all are just like him with long wavy hair and cattish grey eyes that seem to see all

They welcome the group but they’re honestly quite cold

You don’t mind all that much though

They’re polite enough for the first three days

But then as the end of the week approaches it just gets stranger

Not just for you but for the others as well

“H-h-hey did any of you guys notice Wille’s little brother has a lot of stuffed pets?”

“Really?”

“Well, did you see how that old man was looking at me? Creepy!”

Finally on the sixth day 

more accurately at midnight, the hunting really begins

Faced with Wille himself smiling wider than you could have ever imagined right along with his family with their own twisted faces

“You won’t believe how many social climbers cling to us like leeches! In our world. They have their protections and safeguards that stop us from bashing their brains in. But you–we could do that and so much more because no one cares about you. No one!”

It’s alarming, to say the least 

The dirt under your nails

The cries of the others

Wille continues

“But it's nice to imagine right? So we’re going to play a little game! You all get until midnight tomorrow to escape our property. If you do you get to keep your little worthless life. As a bonus, we’ll reward you an extra million for all the trouble! So, everyone ready to play?”

Screams are heard 

And a gunshot goes off

Someone else breaks down again

“Good energy, you have until sunrise.”

Like frightened deer you scatter

Part 2

[seraphont]

So how did J and Tessa's actual reunion play out?

leaving crumbs, I don’t want to spoil anything yet, but considering this au is going to be a slow burn, it went terribly LOL

[14dayswithyou]

Hi, Howdy! Hey! I really love your novel!! I got a little confused by the 4 day, may maybe you help me please? who is it? why we got the bad end staying the night in Ren’s apartment and he disappear of the home screen? I can’t understand “unset memory” game, sorry if I wrote smth wrong or smth sounds rude, I swear that I didn’t mean it if happened, I’m really a fan of the novel, I’ve been playing the game since day 1 or 2 I guess, probably day 1, english isn’t my first language, but I tried lol

⌞♥⌝ I hope you don't mind me answering these as bullet points!! ^^

"It" will be revealed later in the game! So I won't reveal too much right now.

You can only get the Dead End in Day 4 by staying at Ren's apartment — the rest of your choices before that don't matter. I'd also pay closer attention to the black smoke and Ren's reaction towards it!

Ren disappears from the home screen because he promised to help the player out (and stop them from getting the Dead End again). Try replaying the game again from the beginning for a surprise!

"Unsent Memories" was another visual novel (initially being written by @10chimes / @unsentmemory, though the project has since been dropped and handed back to me /pos) and is set in the same universe as 14 Days With You. Its storyline and characters are completely separate from 14DWY, so you don't have to worry about them while playing 14DWY.

[twilightkitkat]

how long do i have to wait for the poolverine fandom to reach the stage where it just starts making random shit up because it ran out of ideas? like the stage in fanon content where it stops being canon-centric and just completely builds on itself

don't get me wrong, i love canon poolverine, but how long until i can write a historical isekai transmigrated into an otome game dating sim poolverine fic and have people into it? how long until the serial killer x serial killer psychological horror fics? how long until i can make a zombie apocalypse survivor au where wade is the only one immune to the bites because of his cancerous healing factor? how long until i can roll them around in my hands like dice and spit them out in a random setting and people will read as long as they're in character?

i have ideas.... but now is not the era to write them. the world is not ready. but know i will be waiting patiently in the shadows clutching my insane wildly different from canon fics to my chest until the right moment comes...

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ghostbuster. || kidnapper!Simon "Ghost" Riley

[ FIC MASTERLIST ] || [ CHAPTER 2 -> ]

Rating: M + Dark Fic + DDNE Words: 4.2k~ Pairing: Serial Killer!Reader x Serial Kidnapper!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark fic, serial killing, serial kidnapping, torture, body disposal, death, murder (purposeful), murder (accidental), mentions of rape? (neither Simon nor reader rapes anyone!!!!!), blood, knife/weapons, gross abandoned buildings, police verbage. tags: dark fic, serial killer AU, no smut (for now), OOC Simon, you/your pronouns, afab!reader, reader & simon terrorizing the city of Manchester, Manchester geography/accuracy?. a/n: fully inspired by the post below, by @moongreenlight ; also fully a gift for @superhero-landing

"This marks the 7th body found in the Greater Manchester area in the last 6 months."

It's dark outside. Eerily so. Probably because, although the moon is high in the sky, full and bright, plenty of clouds hide it from view. The weather forecast speaks of heavy rains for the next few weeks, but you got lucky... It's not currently raining. It leaves the night feeling weirdly still and quiet, the roads long empty after people retreated into their homes after work.

But not you. Never you.

You turn your head to peer at the old box TV in the room over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed in on the screen where the news anchor talks about the police investigation at hand.

"The victim, a 24-year-old university student, residing in Wythenshawe, had been reported missing last month, on the 18th, after having not come home after a nightout with friends."

The old shop is dark too, barely illuminated by a camping lantern you've brought inside when you first broke in. The air is stale, almost unbreathable from all the dust; the floor, and counters caked in a layer of dried particles, courtesy of the decades' long abandonment the shop has suffered, as well as the ceiling panels having come loose, knocking down concrete dust all over the shop.

Shaking your head, you carefully click your tongue in displeasure, while you clean the tool in your hand with a rag, keeping your eyes and ears still honed into the broadcast. "Poor thing." You comment to yourself.

Your head slumps forward to reach your arm, and you rub the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and forearm, sniffling a bit to clean some of the snot dribbling down your nostrils due to the overly dusty air.

"The Great Manchester Police HQ has issued a warning on the brutality of the recent string of murders and their commitment to find the people responsible. The Police Chief urges that anyone who might have any information to please come forth."

Sighing, you turn your head away again, as the news anchor drones on about the funeral for the young girl who was just found. You step away toward the array of tools displayed, for your convenience, on one of the old counters, laid neatly across a black tool roll bag and carefully set the knife atop it.

The shop smells. It's not entirely unpleasant, but you've gotten used to it either way. You're pretty sure if you weren't, it'd smell horrendous, like it did in the beginning. Stale, dusty air, old blood caked into the gashes and knife cuts on the wooden countertops, tools that were abandoned and grew colonies of bacteria after enough time went past, old vent systems that haven't been cleaned, meat display cases that didn't get disinfected before the butcher shop went out of business.

Tossing the rag aside, atop the butcher's block countertop, you run a finger over the wristband of your black cooking gloves, the latex feeling sticky and damp due to the fresh blood caked onto it. Turning on your heel, you return to the center of the room and look down at the body slumped on the chair before you.

"That guy is a fucking sicko, isn't he?" You complain and crouch before the man tied to the chair, raising his bruised and bloodied face by gripping him around the chin.

The man before you looks like the rest of them, balding and with a 5-o'clock shadow of a beard. He was greying as well, as most of them tend to be. Old, perverted bastards... He's slowly paling before your eyes, the blood slipping down his abdomen, soaking through his clothes and flowing onto the drain below his rickety chair.

"You know, you've gotta be a particularly... Nasty bastard to kill women that young... To bathe and redress them post-mortem..." You trail off. The man before you doesn't reply. He looks groggy and languid, blinking irregularly, and his chest heaving. Barely aware of anything as his life, much like his blood, drains from him.

It's almost poetic to watch his blood stain the white tile of the backroom of the shop, the walls lined with racks and hooks meant to, in the past, hang carcasses from... Almost like this old cooler room is finally fulfilling its role again, to cool and drain a dead body of its blood, all of it flowing down the incline toward the drain...

"I believe I saw in a few Criminal Minds episodes that those types that... clean them afterward feel 'regret' for what they did." You shake your head and kiss your teeth in annoyance.

"They feel regret after it's done, but not while they do it. 'es it mean they gain a conscience after the fact?" You ask him. "Monsters, the lot of them..." You chide and scoff, letting go of the man's face.

Then, you smirk as you notice his breathing get shallower, his head going a bit more limp, hanging low, his chin pressing over to his chest. Leaning forward, you bring your mouth close to his ear, your lips almost grazing his ear. "Don't worry, I won't clean you up once I'm done."

-

Sitting in your dark bedroom, you lounge back lazily on your desk chair, chewing some bubblegum and tapping away at your mouse before scrolling down a forum page.

The room, much like the rest of your flat is dark, only illuminated by the bright blue-toned light emanating from your computer screen, even in dark mode.

The best part of the internet age is the fact people share, comment and gossip about everything. It makes your research so much easier. Though, you suppose it's human nature... to be curious and gossipy. Social creatures and such.

Clicking on one of the posts on the subreddit r/ManchesterCrime, you skim through the post, where the OP is mentioning how they live nearby to the location where the new body was dumped: the southside of Manley Park.

Grabbing your pink fuzzy-top pen and a couple of highlighter markers, you get up from your desk chair and lean over your desk to the corkboard hanging behind it.

You take your writing materials to the printed map of the Greater Manchester area which you had pinned to the cork slab, tracing the information you have so far:

Resident of Wythenshawe.

Captured somewhere between The Three Pigeons and home.

Dumped in Manley Park.

You set down your pens and grab some pink wool string and a couple more pins, using them to rig up a new line to connect the dots over the map.

Taking a step back, you look up at the map and sighed, shaking your head, feeling anger flowing through your veins.

You have been trying to figure out the killer's area of operation for months... Trying to triangulate it, find a pattern...

But nothing.

No convergence point for the lines; no silly little connect-the-dots shape being formed; no secret message being shared... Or maybe there is and you just suck at reading it.

So far, all you have is 7 pieces of string of different colors... 7 victims. All over Manchester, with no overlay.

Just... 7 young girls taken for weeks at a time, killed and then dumped like rubbish.

Has he been taking them to different secondary locations all over the city before slaughtering them?

Has he been driving about, passing by schools and homes and banks and shops, on his way to the dump sites... with a body in his car?

Allegedly, they were all bathed and redressed, with no signs of sexual trauma or abuse, other than a stark loss of weight and some rope burn around the wrists and ankles...

But who really knows?

You are no PI or constable, just a sleuth. Whatever information you have, you got from the internet and from the news... You have no way to be sure of anything.

It angers you to imagine what he had been doing to those poor girls while keeping them to himself.

The poor, terrified girls... someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's girlfriend, someone's friend... And he had been plucking them from their mundane, safe lives and murdering them?

Throwing yourself back down onto your chair, you stack your fingers together, elbows on the armrests, and swiveled side to side as you looked at the corkboard map.

You hate men like this.

Predators.

Taking and hurting and killing with no issue or hesitation... Sure, psychologists might allege that he feels regret and expresses it by caring for them after death... But you disagree with that interpretation.

You've never met a man who regrets hurting a woman.

-

It's almost funny how easy it was to play with a man's emotions.

They see a pretty face marred by running mascara and red, swollen tear-filled eyes, holding a thumb out for a ride on the side of the road, and they always stop.

From then on, you can just spin whatever sob story about needing a ride...

Men love to play the hero... and oh, how idiotic they are.

They always let you in, and within an hour you have a new warm body to tie up and toy with.

In a way, you are actually surprised by how long you've been able to get away with this for.

You're secretly thankful your murders have not been given any attention so far.

You suppose that's one thing you could thank that... killer for.

You hate how the internet had given him a name already:

The Ghost

because someone allegedly witnessed him dumping a body in Heaton Park, and then vanished into the shadows of the night like a spectre.

Don't they know what happens when they give these types killers nicknames?

How that embiggens and emboldens them?

Have they never watched a true crime show? Or even a fictional one?

But... regardless... as long as young women are being slaughtered by a maniacal monster of a man, and, therefore, kept in the eyes of the world... No one is going to notice the missing middle-aged men you'd been consistently murdering for the better part of 3 years.

Yet another way where men have the upper hand over women. Lady killers just don't get taken as seriously.

You think of that as you watch the body disappear under the water, the cinder blocks you had tied to his feet dragging him under.

You wait a few minutes after his bald head vanishes from view, making sure it doesn't re-emerge, your hands tucked into the pockets of your parka, dead leaves crushed under your hiking boots.

-

Another body; the 8th one.

This one got dumped much quicker.

A 26-year-old till clerk at a Tesco had been reported missing only 36 hours before her body got found.

The news spoke about the incident and the GMPHQ deemed it a separate occurrence. An accident. The girl had been a Type 1 diabetic and seemed to have had a fatal sugar crash.

But you know it has to have been 'The Ghost'.

You don't know why. But you can just tell.

And, for the first time, as you draw up the line over the map, to signal where she got picked up and where she got dumped... there's an overlay.

The pick-up site, somewhere between her job, and her home... and the dumpsite.. Alexandra Park, near Oldham. Both those locations were mere minutes away from where the second victim had been picked up months ago.

Has he gotten sloppy?

Has her sudden death thrown a wrench in his plans and caused him to panic and pick somewhere nearby?

Your eyebrows twitch and a smirk takes over your lips as you finally find something you can exploit.

"Got you, you fuckin' knob'ead." You say and can't help the proud chuckle that escapes your mouth.

-

Simon's pissed off.

He feels like shit after having gotten that girl killed on his watch.

Not that he hadn't gotten the other ones killed either, but this one had truly been an accident.

Between the stress and the fear, her blood sugar had dropped and Simon hadn't noticed before he left the house to pop to the shops and get them both some food.

And by the time he got back and made her dinner, she was just... gone.

It startled him.

Startled him more than when the other ones died.

While looking in her purse for a justification as to why she passed... like any medication he failed to give her, he found the insulin pen and the sugar monitor.

So now, here he is. Back on the street. Back on the prowl. With 8 accidental kills under his belt and a desperate need to fix his streak.

He drives aimlessly. It's a Saturday night and Simon was sure he was going to find some young, vulnerable girl wandering about and stumbling over her own feet, too drunk or high to even walk in a straight line without stumbling or having to lean on street lamps and walls for support.

He hates seeing girls in that state. Young, vulnerable, alone... Left to be preyed upon by some creep in the shadows... Their support systems having failed them...

What kind of friend leaves a drunk girl to find her way home alone when she can barely stand?

What kind of manager lets an employee walk home after dark?

What kind of parent, or sibling, lets a girl walk home from the bus terminal during a storm?

And then they wonder why girls get raped or murdered senselessly by dirty bastards in back alleys.

That only happens because no one protects these vulnerable girls.

They protect them as children, but not as adults? What kind of world does such a thing?

Probably the same world that misinterprets his actions as senseless killing.

He's not a killer.

He's... just very bad at taking care of the girls he... 'helps'...

He never means to hurt them. He's no monster. He just wants to protect them.

-

For once it's actually raining. Heavily so. The water has soaked through the slinky mini skirt and spaghetti strap top you're wearing, your heels are open-toed and slippery, and each step you take feels like you're about to fall face-first into the mud.

You've had your arm out-stretched and your thumb up for the better part of an hour, trying to flag down any car driving past, only to get no luck.

You're at your wits' end, and so so close to calling it a night and trying to stop baiting a driver into taking you in. It's that bad tonight. You can't seem to reel anything in.

The cold wind nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs, and you know well you'll spend the next week in bed with the nastiest cold of your life.

A car zooms past you as you walk and show your thumb, only to groan and protest when it doesn't stop...

But it does slow down to a stop not far ahead of you, having turned on its blinkers after spotting your outstretched arm and thumb up.

Rushing over to it, you stumble a few times and trip and slip with your heels on the wet tar of the road, before you come up to the passenger side door.

Look in the window, you find a young-ish looking bloke behind the wheel, looking at you with concerned eyes and knitted brows. He leans over and pops the door open for you.

"Get in, get in!" He tells you urgently when he notices you shivering like a wet dog in the rain.

Climbing inside the car carefully, you close the door behind you, hearing how the rain and wind turn muffled once you do.

It's surprisingly clean inside, the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror smelling of pine. It's also warm, so warm, the heater running at max temp and making the car so much more cosy.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for stopping!" You whine, forcing yourself to sniffle and hiccup as tears pour down your face. They're fake ones, warranted by you watching a handful of soldier-coming-home videos on youtube and using some menthol-infused stick in your undereye.

"You alright, sweet'eart?" The man asks as he looks at you with worried eyes. "Are you all alone out here?" He asks and glances out of the window.

He's younger than most of the men you usually bait out, but he'll do. He's also... more handsome than most of them too. Long, prominent nose, a long jaw and chin, pouty pink lips, and the biggest brown eyes, not to mention a crew cut worth of blonde hair.

"Yeah..." You sniffle. "My boyfriend he... we were coming back from a birthday party and we... he... we were arguing and he tossed me out of the car and... and...!" You explain. The practiced lie slips through your teeth quickly. It's been used on about 7 of the 20 or so men you've wiped off the map, and you say it as if you truly believe it, which helps sell it.

You also stumble over your words, as if you're starting to choke up, to make sure you sound even more distraught. Men love when you're hyperventilating.

"Alright, it's alright-!" He tries to reassure you and sets a hand on your shoulder. "God, you're freezing. How long have you been out there?" He asks you, concerned.

"I- I don't know! An hour?" You answer with a whine, your lip quivering as more sobs rack your body.

Your eyes are sharp, though. You're noting his every movement. How he quickly pulls away from the backrest of his seat and shrugs off his coat and wraps it around your bare shoulders. "Here. It's alright. You're alright."

You continue softly sniffling, tucking your legs to the side toward the door, while hiding your face in your hand.

"Where can I take you?" The blond man asks gently as he glances at you and slowly leans closer, resting an arm on the steering wheel, the other on the centre console.

"I don't... I don't know..." You whine and sniffle. "I can't... I can't go home... I can't face him right now..." You trail off. "I can't believe he'd toss me out of the car like that...!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, love, but he sounds like a right knob'ead." He says and carefully pats you on the shoulder. "How about I take you to the bus terminal? Or the station?"

"I don't know...!" You whimper. "He took my things with him... I can't even buy a ticket home to my mum..." You hiccup and try to clean the tears off the corner of your eyes.

He's handsome, he speaks calmly, hasn't tried to touch you longer than simply patting you for reassurance, and even gave you his jacket... You almost feel bad about doing this to him. Almost.

"Tell you wha'." The bloke says as he leans a bit closer, tilting his head to look at you in the eye. "I'll take you to the bus terminal and give you a couple more pounds so you can call your family or a friend to come get you, yeah?"

Sniffling, you shake your head. "No... you're already... doing so much! I can't... I can't even pay you back!" You add.

You really should earn an Oscar for this performance. The damsel in distress who's actually such a good girl that she doesn't want to impose on this man's money or take too much of his help.

"Don't worry about any of that." He tells you and waves his hand to dismiss the point, before leaning over and fixing the direction of the air vents on the dash, making sure they point at you to keep you warm. "You don't have to pay me back, alright?"

Nodding a bit, you try to stop crying and rub your eyes with your hands, causing an even bigger mess within your make-up, your fingers now also stained with mascara.

"Here. It's alright. No need to cry anymore." The driver says affectionately as he offers you a tissue from a pack, before he shifts in his seat and starts driving forward.

-

Simon watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives. Poor little thing, all alone, abandoned by her boyfriend, left on the side of the road...

It's like the universe had handed you to him on a silver platter. He couldn't not take you in! And, this time, he's not going to let anything happen to you.

He's not risking it.

And so of course he's going to soothe you, to calm you down, you, the poor little thing, that got left on a side road by your awful boyfriend, like a stray cat no one wants to feed...

That's the thought in his head as he drives down the wet roads, the windshield wipers working overtime to beat the pouring rain that decided to attack the city of Manchester even more aggressively than usual.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, making sure to drive carefully and steadily, and trying to spot the look in your face as he does.

You still seem stressed, frazzled, worried. The tears haven't stopped despite your breathing having settled...

He wonders if you've had anything to drink. You're definitely not drunk, but the amount of tears... maybe tipsy?

Maybe you won't even need to be threatened. You'll just... let him take you into his house, gently guide you into the bathroom and let you wash off the mud and rain...

He'll give you clothes, and food, and let you watch tv with him... And he'll keep you warm and safe, like everyone in your life has failed to, that got you to the moment you were now in...

Alone.

Afraid.

Abandoned.

He wants to tell you not to worry, that he's here now... But he holds his tongue. You'll hear it later.

-

"You should've kept going forward instead of turning right..." You say aloud, forcing your voice to still sound soft and meek, as you look out of the window.

You've been driving for a while. You've kept your head low, enjoying the warmth coming from the A/C, which helps with the genuine cold wetness of the rain that settled on your skin and bones.

You're not stupid. You know the way to the bus terminal and to all the train stations in the area...

He's not taking you to either. In fact, you're pretty sure you've taken 3 rights in the last 5 minutes, and are, in short, going back the way you came.

"Sorry. It's easy to get turned around with this rain, I'll go back to the main road." He replies. His tone apologetic, and his brow scrunched in concern... But his eyes... his eyes are hard.

It sends a tingle down your spine. For once, you actually baited out a man that has nasty intentions with you.

Had he not tried to do that, you would've considered letting him live... But no, of course, he's actually a creep...

What a shame... He's actually kind of cute. In a blue collar sort of way.

It gives you some weird sense of satisfaction, the realization in the back of your mind that you might have succeeded... that you might have bated him out... The Ghost.

Your hand carefully slips into the left side of the waistband of your slinky skirt, the side closest to the door, so he can't see, your fingers already wrapping around the handle of your pistol.

Your eyes remain on the street, the road, keeping an eye out as he returns to the main road and goes back over the area he has just driven past. A closed down shop, the post office...

And you wait.

You wait patiently for the next time he tries to turn right and put you back on course toward the area you had triangulated for The Ghost to live in or work out of...

And he does. He does just that.

Within a minute, he turns right again...

And you don't hesitate.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol handle and you rip it off the confines of your skirt, your arm hurling itself toward him, steadily pressing the barrel to his temple...

Only for you to notice his arm moving sharply at the same time and, you're suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

His eyes are wide, his brown irises nearly invisible from how wide his pupils are blown and he stops the car suddenly with a hard brake that jostles you both forward.

Looking each other in the eye, over the top of both your pistols, you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

The look of surprise, confusion and pure dread painted in his features, the way his brows knit together and furrow in displeasure, his lips already twisted into a scowl...

It's a sickly sweet pleasure, to spot the way that, just like the other ones, he's scared of your pistol... It's likely his first time... But an unfamiliar warmth forms in your tummy as you stare down his pistol too... It's also your first time...

"Well, well, well... Would you look at that?" You quip as a smirk takes over your lips. "Looks like I've busted myself a Ghost."

You don't miss the way his brows go from concerned and fearful to dropping low onto his eyelids, and his jaw clenches in disgust.

Got him.

[yammpi3]

𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. // 𝑾𝑪: 2.2𝑲

— feat. disassembly drone N x worker drone reader

synopsis. Since disassembly drones need oil to keep from overheating they kill other drones to consume it. But.. ever since the alliance between Disassembly and Worker Drones its been a bit difficult to acquire..It’s not a problem for V to randomly kill someone off but it’s a different situation for N now that his views have changed. AKA…reader supplies him with oil :DD

— content warning. Nothing 18+ just a few kisses, neck biting and N being in pain.. gulp?

— authors note. I fear this x reader is a bit..cringe then again that might just be me overthinking it..ANYWAYS tried my best for this, and still have no idea how to write for a robot. (N might be a little mischaracterized I’m not ENTIRELY sure)

At the end of science class, just when everyone was packing up to leave, you noticed N fidgeting more than normal at his desk.

 

"Is everything okay, N?" you asked.

 

He laughed nervously. "Who, me? Pshaw, never better!" But when he spoke, he looked anywhere but at you and the others.

Thad snickered. "Maybe his circuits are loose again." Lizzy giggled. "Lmao, he probably fried something.” Just as V was about to comment on his behavior..

N got up from his chair abruptly; he swayed unsteadily before catching himself upon another classroom desk.

 

By the time you registered what was going on, N had already ducked out of the classroom door, stumbling down the hall. "N, wait!" you called after him, hurrying to catch up. N was unsteady on his feet, swerving from side to side as he tried to put distance between the both of you.

 

His limbs shook with every step he took.

"G-Gotta...g-get a-away..." he muttered, though you weren't sure if he was even aware you could hear him. His eyes flickered erratically, barely being able to focus straight ahead as he tried to get away.

 

You picked up your pace, power walking down the corridor after him. "Slow down!!" you yelled out, but N was quicker, and before you knew it, when you reached the next corner, you lost him completely.

Your concern for N grew by the minute, so you started tracking him down since something was clearly wrong, beyond a normal glitch.

 

An hour had already passed since you last saw N, yet here he was in the maintenance unit stumbling blindly, crashing into something every few steps.

 

"S-sorry!" he slurred after bumping into a support beam for the third time. An unnatural static fuzzed the edges of his voice. Stubbornly, he scrambled back on his feet and lurched forward without seeing where he went.

 

Was he malfunctioning? But his murder drone programming should have kept him sharp, no?? Seeing him this disoriented was alarming.

 

You trailed him at a distance, hiding behind a variety of things as he walked on ahead. Where was he heading in such a panic? His vents were roaring torrents by now, and visible condensation soaked his frame.

 

Finally, he collapsed behind a supply crate, crawling the last few feet. Had he sensed you following? No, his optics were unfocused, so he couldn't have had.

 

Gingerly, you peeked around the crate to see N weakly clawing at his chest clearly in pain.

 

If you didn't act fast, he would shut down permanently. Steeling your nerves, you crawled to his side.

 

"N? Hey..hey! It's me, Y/N. Are you okay??”

 

When you gently called his name, N got startled so badly that his claws scraped sparks from the metal flooring he sat upon. His optics flashed wildly before settling on your face with a look of panic. "Y-Y-Y/N! S-sorry, but I don’t think you should be near me right now…”

 

N let out an alarmed wheeze that trailed off into a pained whine. It took visible effort for his optics to focus on you. You could tell he was losing some sort of control over his strength, but why??

"You don’t look so good..”

 

N broke into a hacking series of rushed laughter that ended in a groan. "Me? Pssh, n-no way! I'm t-totally fine, like I said earlier. Now please just leave me, yeah?” He waved dismissively, or at least tried to, but his attempt ended up flailing limply.

 

He knew he wasn't doing a great job at reassuring you when you glared at him.

"N-nothing to worry that pretty l-little processor of yours over, really.”

 

N's dismissive act was crumbling faster than his resolve. Another hacking laugh turned into a groan as his eyes started to flicker erratically once again.

 

"N, please. You're clearly not alright." You took his flailing claw gently in your hands. His plating was so hot it almost burned to the touch.

 

A whine slipped, “Crap..crap. It h-hurts,

Y/N. M-My core, it h-hurts so F̵̬̏́̏͆̀͝ų̸͙͋̿̃̌͋́̈́̆͑̕͠c̶̜̜̼̥͓̚k̷̫̺̝̈́̀̿̇͐̐͑ḭ̸̧̻̞̻͚̳̘̩̣͋̀̃́̔̊̋̚ň̵̞̪̯̼̟̗̩͈̖́g̸̩̤̩̼̘̪̀́͊͗̋͐́̇ much."

 

You've never seen N this vulnerable before…

"What can I do to help? There must be something." N trembled, fighting some inner battle. Finally, he met your gaze, his optics showing an agony of want behind the discomfort.

 

"T-there is s-something, b-but I shouldn't..." Strangely, another sound intermingled with the strain in his voice now.

Was that...hunger?

 

Stroking his plating gently, hoping to soothe, you pressed, "Please, tell me what you need." His vents hitched wildly. Then, in a strained whisper, he cracked.

"Y-your oil...I ne-need…it."

 

A shiver visibly ran through his frame. His optics darkened as they focused intently on your physic, more so your neck and wrist.

 

"I..." he began weakly, then stopped to swallow. His claws clenched tightly as if fighting the urge. You waited patiently for him to continue, showing concern but no sense of alarm.

 

After a long pause, N dragged his gaze with an effort to meet your face once more.

“T-tell me to stop," he whispered, his fangs peeking out as he talked.

 

"I so badly n-need it, but I don't w-want to hurt you.” His claws lifted toward your face but stopped only by his wavering will. You knew this would be the only way for him to cool down.

 

You looked deeply into N's eyes, past the haze of glitches that overtook his screen.

"I trust you," you said calmly without fear. His breathing became more ragged at your words.

 

In a flash, his restraint broke—but instead of lunging at your throat as you'd expected, his claws tangled in the fabric of your shirt, yanking you flush against his overheated frame. You gasped at the contact, feeling the waves of heat pouring off of him.

 

N buried his face in the crook of your neck, fangs tantalizingly. "P-please..." he stammered once more, sounding close to genuine tears. Raising a hand, you gently clasped the back of his head, threading your fingers through his silver hair.

 

"Take what you need," you told him firmly yet tenderly..After yet another hesitant pause, his screen displayed an X. Then, with a grunt of gratification, his fangs smoothly penetrated the sensitive wiring of your neck.

 

Your breath became unsteady as N's fangs pierced you. It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would—just a little bit of a pinch. His hands gripped your shoulders for support as he drank deeply, allowing the oily fluid to course through his system.

 

For several moments the only sounds were his gulping intakes and your own measured breaths; you kept still so as not to disturb him. You watched as the pained lines on his face slowly eased, his eyes returning to normal. His plating, which was boiling hot only moments ago, cooled down to a much safer temperature against you.

 

N withdrew his fangs from your neck, making a small trickle of oil leak from your wound.

 

He leaned back in hastily, swiping his tongue along the twin marks. You shuddered at the foreign yet not unpleasant sensation. But N paused, a flushed look appearing on his screen. “Ah g-geez, is this w-weird?”

 

He glanced away, clearly embarrassed  "What I mean to say is, um, my saliva can help the wounds close up faster? If, uh, you're okay with my germy mouth touching the injury I c-caused? No funny business, I swear! J-just bros being bros, p-patching each other…um up.”

 

N winced, realizing how that sounded. "N-not that we're actually b-bros, unless you want to be? Biscuits. Just—just let me do this, kay?”

With your consenting nod, N gave a short awkward chuckle and leaned back in. His tongue swiping over the wound. It began to tingle as the mark he had left slowly began to close up.

 

"It's strange to think your spit has healing properties," you remarked softly, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment. N hummed in agreement, laving one last swipe across the bite mark before drawing back to assess his handiwork. His optics flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of discomfort.

 

"How does it feel? Are you in any pain?" he asked, his tone laced with concern despite his own drained state. You shifted experimentally. "Stop worrying. Just a slight tingling.“

 

N searched your face anxiously. "Are you sure? Nothing else? No dizziness or discomfort?" His optics roved your features, taking in every subtle reaction. When you reassured him again that all was well, the tension melted from his shoulders—only to be replaced with guilt.

 

"Y/N, I could have seriously hurt you," he said quietly, horror creeping into his tone. "My systems went haywire; I had no control. If I had bitten down any harder..." He shuddered, unable to complete the thought.

 

"But you didn't," you said firmly. "You fought off the urge just enough to get the help you needed. I trusted you, N." He shook his head sadly. "Your trust may be misplaced in me. The overheating....what if next time I can't—can’t stop.”

 

N shuddered again at the dark thought. Seeking to ease his distress, you shot him a playful smile. "Well, if it happens again, we're in this together. At least now I have a cool vampire drone friend!! The whole sucking my oil thing was pretty vampirish.”

 

He cracked a hesitant chuckle. "Yeah, maybe I'll sparkle in the sun too." Feeling bold, you leaned in with a faux-dramatic voice, "I vant to suck your coolant..."

 

N actually snickered at that. You beamed, glad to lift his spirit, even if it was only for a brief moment. His smile faded as reality set back in.

 

"But seriously, what if next time I really hurt someone?” On impulse, you threw your arms around him in a hug.

 

N's eyes widened as you suddenly hugged him close. For a moment he sat stiffly, caught off guard. Then slowly, oh so carefully, his arms came up to return the embrace.

 

"Y/N...if anything happened to you because of me, I don't know what I'd do," he said quietly against your shoulder. You squeezed him tighter for reassurance. "Hey, it'll take a lot more than some murder instinct to take me out. Have a little more faith in me, will you? Stop being so edgy.”

 

“Edgy?" N scoffed, "Sorry, nearly ripping your throat out put me in a gloomy mood."

 

"Ripping my throat out?” You echoed with a wry grin. "Well, luckily that didn’t happen, did it?”

 

N huffed, “Maybe. But what if next time I lose it?"

 

You opened your mouth to respond, but he quickly shushed you.

 

“You just leaped right in like it was nothing. Do you have any idea how badly this could've ended?" He gestured vaguely to the drying wound on your neck.

 

"You drones are so..so fragile. One wrong move and I could've—" He cut off, unable to say the word. His arms flexed unconsciously, as if longing to wrap around something and squeeze. To protect, or destroy? Even he wasn't sure.

"You'd never hurt me, N. I believe in-"

 

Your words halted as he glanced up, his eyes searching yours with raw, wavering emotion. An urge welled within you, sprung from compassion more than reason. You leaned in to press your lips to his in a soft kiss.

 

"Mmmph?!" N made a muffled sound of surprise, his body locking up stiffly. Your tongue briefly caught the tang of the lingering oil before you pulled back with a slight grimace.

 

His faceplate shone a distressed yellow blush. "I-I'm so sorry, I should have wiped my mouth better!“ he stammered.

 

But you simply smiled and leaned in again, pressing your lips gently to his once more. Then, slowly, he began to relax into the kiss.

 

His screen switched to a loading screen. In that moment, all his train of thought derailed off a cliff. N's screen flickered back online, and one of his hands floated up to gently touch his mouth, eyes wide and staring blankly.

 

"Bwuh-wha...you...kissem—I mean, I kissem-no, we...kissed?" he sputtered

 

"We k-kissed. You k-kissed me," he whispered, his optics shrinking to pinpoints before dilating wide again. A nervous giggling burst out of him.

 

"Oh biscuits, what d-does this mean? Are we like..” his tone lowered to a soft whisper.

“Dating n-now?”

 

"Well, uh, I guess you could say we're kind of sort of datingish now," you replied bashfully. "If-if you want to be my boyfriend, that is."

 

N's entire face lit up. "Boyfriend..Awhh Y/N!! Id love that." He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around in excitement.

 

"N set you down gently, his optics still shining with unbridled joy. However, a hint of seriousness crept into his expression as he looked at you intently.

 

"This doesn't mean I'm not mad at you for what you did," he said, his voice low and eyes narrowed slightly. "You could have been seriously hurt, or worse. You really scared me back there."

 

You sighed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Next time, I'll call V or someone else—I won't try to handle things on my own and potentially get myself killed." You paused, then added with a wry smile, "I promise."

N's stern look softened, and he hummed contentedly. "Good!" Reaching out, he took your hand in his larger one and gave it a gentle squeeze.

© yammpi3 2024. All work belongs to @yammpi3. You can repost if you want to support my blog/writing! Please don't modify, translate, or plagiarize in any way on ANY platform.

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

Welcome to another episode of "I'm not a serial killer, just a writer"

[reachartwork]

"The Goon Economy: Why People Choose to Work for Supervillains"

Leslie Lester, for Psychology Today, October 2022

When asked why anyone would choose to work for supervillains, most people imagine costumed henchmen cackling maniacally while fighting Spider-Man. The reality is far more mundane - and more economically fascinating.

"It's just a job," says Former Employee X under the condition of anonymity, who worked security for a major East Coast villain organization. "Better benefits than Netsphere, better pay than private security, and yeah, higher risk, but you've got clear procedures for hero encounters. Most guys never even see a cape."

The numbers support this pragmatic view. While exact figures are difficult to obtain, conservative estimates suggest supervillain organizations employ hundreds of thousands of workers across the U.S., from direct muscle to legitimate business employees. The total economic impact likely rivals major corporations.

But why choose such high-risk employment? Dr. Sarah Chen, economist at MIT, suggests three key factors:

Economic Pressure: "In cities with active supervillain presence, these organizations often control major employment sectors - construction, shipping, waste management. Sometimes working for them isn't really a choice."

Risk vs. Reward: The average "muscle" for a villain organization makes 1.5-2 times standard security work, with comprehensive health coverage and legal protection. "When you're living paycheck to paycheck," Chen notes, "guaranteed medical care becomes very attractive."

Systemic Integration: Many workers start through legitimate businesses, becoming gradually involved in illegal activities. "It's rarely a conscious choice to 'become a minion,'" Chen explains. "It's more like finding out your company has mob ties - but you've got a mortgage and kids in school."

The psychology is equally complex. Dr. James Morrison of Harvard explains: "These organizations offer what many legitimate employers don't: clear advancement paths, protection from both heroes and rivals, and often a sense of belonging. They're filling gaps in our social safety net."

The rise of powers-based crime has only increased this trend. "Supervillain organizations have better protocols for superhuman encounters than most legitimate businesses," Morrison notes. "If you're working in a city where hero-villain battles are common, that matters."

[uzibrainrot]

YAYY VUZI DRAWINGG!! 2 vers because i like contrast :D (I will draw for the fanzine next >:3)