#the one i have still works i just have to duct tape the bag thing closed so it doesn't fall out and sucks (lol) on carpet

[sidhewrites]

yeah can someone give me $400 for the vacuum cleaner on my wishlist, the $20 one i got from goodwill 3 years ago stopped working and i don't want to go look for a new one

[gutsby]

Easy to Please

Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader

Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.

Word count: 3.1k

You hate the face he makes when he cums.

You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.

You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.

‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’

What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.

Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.

The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.

“How’s the wrist?” he says.

You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.

“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.

You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.

“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.

You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.

It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.

Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.

You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.

And that’s where Joel comes in.

No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.

What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind

“O-ow!” you whine presently.

His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.

“You alright?”

“Fuck me!”

I will, he thinks.

“Want me to get an ice—”

“Let go-OW! FUCK!”

Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.

You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.

Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.

And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.

He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—

“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.

You look confused for a second, but you tell him.

“Twenty-one.”

Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.

“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.

“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink.

“You gonna take your pants off or what?”

And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.

Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.

More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.

Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—

“Oh.”

He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.

He tries anyway:

“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea.

Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs

Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.

On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.

Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.

Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.

And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.

“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”

From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.

Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.

“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”

Normally, Joel loves to hear that.

Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.

He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.

Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.

“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.

You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.

Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.

“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”

You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.

“Love me deep?”

And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.

Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.

“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”

You look like you might agree. He keeps going.

“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”

He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.

“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”

And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:

“Don’t.”

Joel should’ve known better.

He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.

It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.

Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.

“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”

“Shut up,” you snap.

Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.

Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.

His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.

“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.

Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.

His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.

“Sweet pea—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.

And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.

His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.

Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.

What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.

Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.

No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.

The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.

He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.

He won’t cum tonight, either.

He’ll finish something else.

You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.

Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.

Then you remember your own less than two months ago:

Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.

They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.

He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.

No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.

You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.

At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.

You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.

Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.

And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.

Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.

An envelope.

In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.

You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.

Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.

When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.

Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.

You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.

[angelicjackles]

— reckless heroine.

cw: fem!reader, best friend!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a smidge of fluff, injuries and blood descriptions — 2.2k a/n: this is the first time I've posted anything publicly in years so consider this a testing the waters fic, trying to find my groove and decide if i want to make this a regular thing.

summary: after a rough, but successful hunt, you and dean arrive back at the motel, only you were reckless and got injured, some duct tape patching up ensues from an angry dean.

The storm had arrived just as Dean and her pulled into the grimy parking lot of the Twin Pines Motel, how very Montana. The heavy raindrops pummeled against the windows like a stark warning. The sky rumbled with low growls, and flashes of jagged light illuminated the dim, rundown building. Inside their basic motel room, the air was thick with tension and the unmistakable smell of almost damp carpet—a cheerful welcome after a semi-successful hunt with a werewolf.

Dean slammed the creaky motel door shut behind them, the force alone almost enough to splinter the plaster around the hinges, his expression a maelstrom of anger and concern blended into one explosive temper as he flicked the lightswitch, the gross orange-ish glow of the overhead bulb highlighted the unsavoury nature of their accommodation. They’d come a long way from Kansas for this hunt.

Sam and Cas took off East together for a potential case, something something bizarre circumstances, frankly, there’d been little resistance offered when the duo took off to the east coast, leaving her and Dean to take Montana—although if they were real, they’d probably have taken anywhere over the east coast.

The door was barely closed for a moment before his gruff voice crackled through the air like a whip. “Did that brewing concussion knock all damn common sense out of your head?” Dean snapped angrily, his demandingly sharp voice rising above the impending storm. “You got a fucking death wish or something?”

She grimaced, carefully moving to sit on one of the twin beds, feeling the throbbing pain radiating from the gash on the back of her shoulder, the wound still steadily leaking blood, instinctively rubbing the spot on the back of your head that had collided with the concrete earlier in the night when he mentioned a concussion.

“Very funny,” she retorted in deadpan, infusing her tone with a touch of biting sarcasm that was quickly becoming a defence mechanism, and all but guaranteed to rile him up further. “The victim needed help, she was bleeding out and scared, and unlike you I actually gave a shit about more than ganking the mutt.” The implication that he didn’t care if the victim survived so long as they handled the werewolf wasn’t helping Dean’s mood, but the remorse she showed was negligible. “Besides, I handled it, didn’t I? And it worked—aren’t you always telling me ‘trust your instincts, your instincts are good’.” she added on before he had a chance to respond, putting an emphasis on the drawl of his voice. The mock only made that muscle in his jaw clench so hard it wouldn’t be a surprise if his teeth shattered. Heed the warning.

A growl bubbled in the back of his throat, but somehow he managed to keep it partially contained and tossed both his and her bags down onto the bed she hadn’t plopped down on. He may be pissed at her right now but that didn’t mean he was going to let his injured best friend carry her own bag. “Trust your instincts?” He gestured wildly with his hand, like that would somehow show just how worked up he was right now. She was getting to him, bad, and it was taking every ounce of willpower he was summoning from Chuck only knows where to stop from lashing out at her. “You were reckless and got yourself attacked in the process of playing heroine!” He rasped, his low voice reverberating off the thin motel walls with how loud his words escaped. 

Just for good measure he had to force his eyes elsewhere, just so he’d stop being faced with those claw marks on your shoulder, every glance at them made something in him coil and burn. Stomping towards the foot of the unoccupied bed, he aggressively unzipped his duffle bag and rummaged through it. Meanwhile she was busy shedding herself of the unnecessary clothing and gear, kicking her shoes off and abandoning them on the mysteriously patchy carpet next to the bed, unbuckling her belt and unlatching the clasp on the blade sheath on her hip, tossing both onto the lone chair off to the side of the beds.

Finally after a few long moments his fingers found the squished edges of the first-aid kit he’d grown used to keeping in there—the first-aid kit that only remained stocked up because she meticulously replenished what she, him and Sam went through after every hunt—Snagging it up, deft fingers were quick to unzip and flick through it haphazardly, plucking out several different medical supplies.

When he realised she hadn’t responded to his last few retorts, which was uncharacteristic for her, his eyes flickered back towards her, forest green eyes darkening at the blood leaking against her pale skin. “You put yourself in danger, again, and walked away with a souvenir I’m not too keen on.” He continued despite his better judgement, gesturing angrily at the deep werewolf claw marks on the back of your shoulder blade, having torn through her flannel and undershirt, soaking both in bright crimson and leaving her down to a base layer tank top.

The retort had her glancing over her shoulder, but able to see little more than the dark streaks of blood sticking to wet skin. The amount of blood she’d lost so far wasn’t enough to be life-threatening, but it was definitely a worrying situation that needed attention. God forbid the pair didn’t do their back-and-forth arguing before that though, not like she was bleeding out over here or anything. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” He grumbled, not so hotly as before, the edges of concern leaking into his voice. “These are gonna scar ugly...” The last part was more of an afterthought.

“More to add to the collection,” she mused out far too casually for the situation. “What did you ju—” He interjected, a warning hiss in his voice, but she was quick to wave a dismissive hand over her shoulder at him. “Forget it.” She brushed off, cutting off his warning remark.

‘It’s like she’s trying to piss me off,’ Dean thought to himself, and hell maybe she was. “For once, couldn’t you have followed the game plan, sweetheart? Fuckin’ hell…” His tone was a mixture of worried fondness and scolding terseness. Either way, she was quick to turn her entire body around on the bed to glare at him, ignoring the searing pain from her wound with the quick movement.

“Oh? Am I supposed to bow down to Dean Winchester’s expert advice? Follow orders blindly?” She shot back at him, a chilling kind of coolness to her voice. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s your speciality,” she added, venomously, the tension in her voice masking the discomfort that coiled within her body.

And she could have sworn she saw him flinch as soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, making a low simmering pit of guilt fester inside her, knowing she was out of line. Low blow. His gaze pained for a fleeting moment, pretty green eyes widening and mouth falling open the smallest amount like those words had quite literally taken the breath from his lungs; but it quickly hardened again as he stewed on those words, cracking open a bottle of antiseptic with more force than necessary. “Just— shut up, for once.” It was almost a plea, more of a pained demand, but she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Sit still and let me patch you up, okay? I may not be a doctor, but I can keep your ass from bleeding out.”

She rolled your eyes, watching as he pulled out a smorgasbord of supplies from the first-aid kit. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own medical emergencies. This isn’t my first skirmish with fangs and claws, Dean. I don’t need your help,” her voice came out more snapped than intended.

Despite the fact they both knew the precocious positioning of this wound left her unable to attend to it herself, she’d have to be a pretty fine contortionist to deal with it without help. Dean opened his mouth to inform his best friend of just that but thought better of it in the final second, slowly his mouth slipped closed.

A frustrated grunt slipped past his lips and one hand racked impatiently through his short, messy locks. “Well, congratulations on surviving past encounters, but this looks like a crime scene,” he replied tersely before sighing in frustration, the adrenaline of the situation beginning to die. “—plus, you’re bleeding on my marginally clean bed,” he added on, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, which pulled a scoffed laugh from her mouth before it could be helped.

His tense shoulders dropped slightly in relief when she responded by gingerly peeling the fabric of her black tank top away from the wound, letting it slip down off her slender shoulder so he’d have access. 

The next fifteen minutes were deafeningly quiet, the only sounds were the soft pained noises that left her mouth, and the heavy breaths of concentration from Dean as he worked at disinfecting and patching up the wound on her shoulder as best as possible - Would this be easier to do in the bathroom instead of on the bed? Absolutely, but here they were.

Thankfully the wound didn’t need stitches, the claw marks the werewolf had left her with were nasty but not deep enough to be genuinely worrisome—not that it would stop Dean from worrying like a motherfucker. They’d leave some impressively disgusting scars, and hurt like a bitch for the next couple weeks as they healed, and as much as he was tempted to suggest going to the nearest a&e to get her properly seen to, just to be safe, he knew what her answer would be, so that wasn’t a battle he’d win. His basic hunter duct-taping would have to suffice.

The mood wasn’t great, both seething with worry and anger and pain that blended together into a chokingly intense thickness that lingered like smoke in the air, so it was in everyone’s best interests that they shut up.

“Done.”

Those words out of his mouth seemed to break the atmosphere and she slowly glanced back at him over her shoulder right in time for his thumbs to smooth out the medical tape that adhered the thick, white dressings to her pale skin, his touch extremely gentle despite everything, ensuring the tape wouldn’t come loose.

Turning on the bed so she was facing him as he remained stood up, her shoulders rolled back slowly, testing out the movement with the fresh patch up, it seemed to be healing. “How’s it looking, doc?” She quipped, her voice slightly lilted, making a weak attempt to lighten the mood up, too damn tired to argue further with him. His mouth quirked up in what could be described as a lazy grin. “Think you might just survive the night, thanks to the tireless effort of your handsome doctor.” He teased, only because he wanted to see her roll her eyes in that fondly affectionate way, and he got his wish.

The way she made a point to shake her head at him was all he needed to see to know that the sparky atmosphere had diminished; even though it was likely due to the adrenaline dying out and the pain kicking in.

His eyes followed her when she pushed herself to stand up, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Mm, I don’t know, can’t say the bloody hands add to the sex appeal.” She hummed, eyes flicking down to his hands that were stained with her blood, hands that were now staining her arm in deep crimson too, her brows furrowing in distaste, but he didn’t seem in a rush to pull his hand back so she didn’t move to knock him off either. His gaze dropped to the offending hands in question, nose scrunching up at the sight of the blood as his thumb stroked against her elbow. “So… you’re saying I have sex appeal?” 

The tone of his voice in that moment was the most playful thing she’d heard from him in a long time. She couldn’t help but laugh, a real hearty ‘you’re such an idiot’ kind of laugh, the kind that had him grinning crookedly at her in return.

“Your ego needs no further stroking, I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.” She held her hands up in mock surrender, which only rumbled an amused laugh from deep in his chest.

“That’s my girl.” Dean beamed, running his tongue over his teeth with a soft sigh. The adrenaline had long since faded and now he was left with that anxious worry and tired stress lingering in his body. “Fuck… C’mere, you,” he beckoned suddenly, barely giving her time to register his words before he was pulling her in against his chest, strong arms wrapping around her in such a delicate way, careful of her injuries while somehow managing to squish her into him. The height difference leaving the top of her head tucked perfectly underneath his chin as his fingers carted through her messy hair.

“Look... Call a truce, sweetheart?” The gruff hunter muttered into her hair, his arms cradling her close to his larger body. “Truce.” She conceded, placing a complacent kiss against his clothed shoulder, which earned a soft little rumbly hum from him.

The storm raged outside, but within the cramped motel room, a warmth had blossomed between the pair of them—a reminder that despite all the chaos of the job, it was them against the world and in this tempest, as the thunder rolled across the darkening horizon and the lightning split the sky, they both knew they’d face them together, side by side.

[rifle-yes]

normally I love getting emails from students telling me my class helped or came up in their life in some way - but the number of emails I've gotten from students over the years telling me they used the evac shopping list or the bug out bags we made in my geo hazards class is pretty horrific and the reason I'm going to gently poke you all and ask you:

how much drinkable water do you have on hand if your water stops working? (aim for 3 gallons per person per day)

do you have a physical copy of a map with at least two evacuation routes should internet or your phones not work?

how much food do you have that is non-perishable and easy to travel with and are the expiration dates still good? (2k calories per person per day)

do you have at least two flashlights with fresh batteries and replacement batteries?

do you have a pair of more rugged clothes you can easily grab that you know will fit you and be weather appropriate for the season?

do you have a carrier(s) that fits (all) your pet(s) comfortably for long periods of time?

do you have a bag set aside with a dental hygiene and standard hygiene items you could easily grab?

is your first aid kid freshly stocked with more than just bandaids and checked for expired items? are your prescription meds easy to get to and add to this if needed? do you have pain killers, tummy trouble pills, antihistamines, splints, ACE bandages, medical tape, & alcohol wipes (these are my most used items in the field)

where are your important papers (passports, insurance papers, proof of ownership, birth certificates, important photos, etc) and are they ready to travel if need be?

if you're in an area with cold temps do you have thermal blankets or normal ones?

do you have toilet paper and menstrual items? because restroom restocking/cleaning is not a priority for most places in a disaster situation and sometimes you don't even get the luxury of having a restroom.

do you have a back up power bank?

weird items you might not have in your go bag but might want to consider:

PPE eye covers like lab goggles or even swimmers goggles if you're in fire zone - it can help prevent eye irritation in smokey areas

DUCT TAPE. DUCT TAPE. DUCT TAPE. ADD IT TO YOUR BAG NOW.

disposable face masks - don't breathe in smoke

silverware/utensils - you can eat food right from a can but silverware takes up minimal space

headlamps like hikers/bikers/ya girl uses - SUPER USEFUL and it keeps your hands free

a whistle

solar power stations (I have a Jackery brand solar power station for the field and this thing is a work horse - 10/10 do recommend)

chemical cold packs/hot packs

pocket knife

cash (apple pay and cards aren't always accepted in emergencies)

barter items (cash isn't always accepted or useful in emergencies) like tiny airplane bottles of booze, big bottles of booze, cigarette packs, extra medical supplies, batteries, duct tape, toilet paper)

pashminas/scarves/shemagh - useful in more than one way

& a question people sometimes forget: can you easily lift and carry the bag that contains these items? a 75lb/45kg bag of gear will do you no good if you can't pick it up and take it with you in an emergency.

[cripplecharacters]

Hey! So one of my characters has fibromyalgia and I have her using crutches for it. My problem is that I was on crutches a while aback and I remember them being like really painful on the hands (grip wise). Is there any way to like make the handles softer to stop the grip from hurting other than buying a custom set of crutches (from what I’ve seen they’re ridiculously expensive). Thanks for answering :p [emoticon of a smiley face sticking its tongue out]

Hello!

If your character is using crutches long-term (Such as for a chronic condition/permanent disability), they would likely be using forearm crutches, which are different from the kind of crutches you use for a temporary injury.

Forearm crutches are much better for longer use because they are more comfortable and can help prevent damage caused by long-term use of regular crutches.

That said, if you're referring to regular crutches, there are several options available to make them more comfortable. Virus mentioned a few products for padding below so I'll just add that there's also DIY ways to improve the comfort when using regular crutches.

One of the main ways that I've seen it done (And I've used myself back in the day) is to take a hand towel and secure it around the top via duct tape. It helped a lot to prevent bruising around my armpits/upper arms when using them.

Virus covered most of what I wanted to go over below so I'll end my part here!

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

Hello lovely asker!

I use regular crutches on and off! 😃 Forearm crutches and canes don't work too well with my body but normal crutches have always been comfortable for me!

They actually make these paddings that go around the part for under the arm and for around the handle part, usually secured with Velcro or a button clasp. Some have like memory foam, some are more of a stuffing texture (sorta fluffy), there's some gel ones, some are more like moleskin where they're not padded but they prevent friction, and sometimes there's a neat little bag that comes with that hangs on the side of them. Of course the hand made option is always very good too, which a lot of people do. Having the crutches decorated/customized is an cool option which I mean a lot of us do with stickers, washi tape, charms, keychains, other things that you can safely decorate mobility aids with.

But Icarus is very right though. I don't use my crutches everyday I use them whenever I injure myself or need support. My body is very loosy goosy for a lack of better words and so I often injure my lower body very frequently, so I often just need the support. But I also lean on everything around my house and use things for support. My old medical pole, I do this with my wheelchair, the counters, the handles on doors and the fridge. Most everything I named comes up to right below my shoulder or higher so I don't have to lean over to lean on anything or in an uncomfortable position.

I think this is an interesting to think of: does this work for your character?

If it's no, maybe not, and you still want to show regular crutches being used, one thing you can do actually is show the character start with underarm crutches and then change to forearm crutches as their long term aid. Or even show that they change in between them; using their forearm crutches for most of their movement/activities while using the underarm ones for something quick or as a quick grab or if their forearm crutches break etc.

But also if you're doing a situation where it's like post-apocalytic setting, poor area/the character grew up poor, or other situations like that, it is very likely for the character to use underarm crutches rather than forearm crutches. Forearm crutches can be about double to triple the price of what normal crutches are so they are a bit more expensive. These are all little factors to consider.

Hope this helps some and happy writing!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 11

I had an absolute blast with this prompt and I've been looking forward to it for a while. I should've gone and bought some wine so I could write being IDed from experience though. Unrealistic writing 😮😮😮

Convenience Store

Each item was set neatly on the conveyor belt.

A roll of duct tape. Kleenex. Air freshener. Trash bags. Zipties. Rubbing alcohol. Superglue. A bottle of merlot. Disinfectant. Sponges. Latex gloves. A wrist brace. Ibuprofen. A hammer. And a bar of chocolate.

A bright beep sounded as the cashier scanned each one.

“Doing some home improvement?” They smiled, placing the superglue onto the other side of the conveyor where one of their customers, the shorter of the two, was busy bagging with their head down. The other stacked the empty shopping basket with the others and pulled out their wallet.

“Definitely an improvement project,” they nodded back with a knowing look. “The whole thing just needs to be demolished and rebuilt at this point.”

“Oh I hear you. A pipe burst in my basement just last month and my spouse had to stop me from tearing the whole thing down then and there.” The cashier scanned the wine and paused. “Your ID please, Mx.?”

They flashed it with a toothy grin. 

“I’m flattered!”

“Just doing my job. Thank you.” They typed something into the system and picked up the next item. A few items later, a snort broke their calm demeanor.

“Hm?”

“Oh my goodness, I’m sorry Mx! Just had a funny thought.” The cashier scanned the hammer. 

“Do share! Lord knows we could use the humor.” They elbowed their partner who smiled meekly and nodded along, balancing with a crutch under their arm. 

“Well, sometimes home improvement supplies look a lot like premeditated murder supplies,” they giggled, and the taller one broke out into raucous laughter. The shorter just shook their head. “Sorry, I meant no offense.”

Realizing they were being addressed, they fixed the sullen expression across their face.

“Ah, none taken! I’ve just had a tough day, what with this shithead and all.” A playful poke to their partner who just laughed again.

“You’re in for it when we get home!” They stuck out their tongue.

The other went back to catch the items they’d missed in that time, slipping the chocolate bar in their pocket. 

“Alright, cash or card?”

“Card please.”

“Your receipt?” 

“Sure, why not.”

“Perfect. Have a good one!” 

“You too!”

The taller one took most of the bags, but the other still managed to carry one. They were almost out the door when a voice shouted out.

“Oh! Excuse me, I think you forgot one of your items!” The cashier held up the hammer, and the couple turned around. Neither came forward to claim it, but with a nudge and a whisper, the shorter allowed the cashier to drop it into their bag. “Can’t do any demolition without that, can you?” 

“Absolutely not, I’m glad we didn’t forget it!” The other didn’t say a word, struggling to lift the bag now, and then the two were gone. 

.

“Interesting what you choose to forget, darling.” A hissing whisper in their ear, so different from the friendly persona they put on in public.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re implying,” they averted their eyes as the trunk of the car opened. Fuck. 

Their captor’s foot landed on their broken ankle and they had to suppress a scream.

“I let you have one good leg for today. Don’t let me regret it.” The bag was taken right out of their hand. “In.”

They crutched up to the passenger door but a clearing of the throat stopped them.

“Childlock doesn’t work on that seat.”

Somehow, climbing into the back was more humiliating after that comment. The door was slammed shut before they could do so themself, and they felt the car shake with how hard the trunk was slammed. A horrible indicator of what was to come.

“I behaved around the store,” they grumbled when the doors locked and the engine turned on. 

“And then you fuckin’ ruined it.” 

“Black and white thinking much…” 

A fist flew against the passenger headrest and they were suddenly grateful to be flinching in the backseat.

“I’m buying a car with blacked out windows. That way, next time, I can throttle you in the backseat.”

[hoodsturnedheros]

Mar-Bit Babysitting Kat

It was late afternoon at the Curtis house, and Cherry Valance was brushing her fingers through her newborn baby girls red curls that matched hers perfectly. She was reminding herself that she’s making the right choice. It had only been a month and Sodapop and Cherry were both happy for their new bundle of joy but completely and utterly exhausted. Kat had colic, BAD. So a night out was something Cherry only dreamed of— in between Kat’s short sleep windows. But she’d been planning this night out for weeks—her first evening alone with Sodapop since the baby was born—and she was both excited and nervous.

“You sure you’re okay with this, Marcia?” Cherry asked for the third time, her eyes full of concern as she handed over a packed diaper bag. “Babies can be a lot of work.”

Marcia, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, gave Cherry a wide grin and waved her off. “Come on, Cherry, we’ve got this! It’s just one night. Besides, Two-Bit’s been dying to prove he can handle this kind of thing. Right, Two?”

From the living room, Two-Bit Matthews, lounging on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, nodded confidently. “Piece of cake, babe! I’ll have this little peanut laughing her head off before you two even make it to the drive in.”

Cherry bit her lip, still unsure, but Soda came up behind her, placing a reassuring hand on her waist. “They’ll be fine, Cher. We’ve got this night planned, and we deserve it. Kat will be in good hands. Plus, it’s only for a couple of hours.”

Cherry finally exhaled, giving her boyfriend a small smile before leaning down to kiss the baby’s forehead. “Alright, sweetheart, you be good for Uncle Two-Bit and Aunt Marcia, okay?”

Soda, giving Two-Bit a playful punch on the arm, added, “Just don’t let her learn any of your bad habits, man.”

Two-Bit grinned. “No promises.”

With one last look back at Kat, Cherry and Soda finally left the house, and Marcia stood in the kitchen watching them drive off.

“Well,” Marcia said, turning to Two-Bit with a mischievous smile, “looks like it’s just us and the baby now.”

Two-Bit stretched lazily on the couch before standing up and walking over to the crib where Kat lay, still quiet and content. “She’s not even making a peep. I told you, this is gonna be easy.”

Marcia raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Famous last words, Matthews.”

Kat stirred slightly, making a small cooing sound. Two-Bit reached into the crib and gently scooped her up, holding her awkwardly but carefully. “See? She likes me. I’ve got the magic touch.”

Marcia crossed her arms, laughing softly. “Don’t get too cocky. Babies can turn on you in a second.”

Two-Bit smirked. “Nah, not this one. Little Kit-Kat is too sweet for that.”

As if on cue, Kat’s little face scrunched up, and she let out a loud wail, her tiny fists flailing in the air.

Two-Bit’s eyes widened in panic, and he looked at Marcia like he’d just been handed a ticking time bomb. Moving the baby out to an arms distance. He stammered—“Uh... okay, what do we do?”

Marcia stifled a laugh and stepped forward, taking Kat from Two-Bit’s arms. “Let’s see if she needs to be changed first. Diapers are usually the culprit.”

Two-Bit looked visibly relieved as Marcia took control of the situation. She laid Kat down on the changing mat and expertly went through the motions of changing the diaper while Two-Bit stood off to the side, looking slightly out of his depth.

“How do you know how to do all this?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Marcia shrugged. “I’ve babysat before, remember? Besides, it’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.”

Two-Bit crossed his arms, watching with a mixture of awe and confusion as Marcia quickly changed Kat into a fresh diaper. “Yeah, well, good thing you’re here. I’d probably be trying to change her with duct tape or something.”

Marcia laughed, picking Kat up again and cradling her in her arms. “Let’s just say it takes a little more finesse than that.”

Kat had quieted down now, her wide eyes blinking up at Marcia as she yawned. Two-Bit peered over her shoulder, making funny faces at the baby.

“You think she remembers me from all those times I made her laugh?” he asked, his voice playful.

Marcia rolled her eyes. “You’ve known her for like a month, Two.”

“Hey, that’s a lot of time in baby years!” He leaned in closer, sticking his tongue out at the little girl. She stared at him with a look of confusion before finally giving a tiny smile, and Two-Bit grinned like he’d just won a medal. “See? Told you she likes me.”

Marcia shook her head but smiled. “Okay, Mr. Baby Whisperer, let’s see how long that lasts.”

They spent the next hour trading off responsibilities. Marcia took care of most of the practical things—feeding Kat her bottle, making sure she was comfortable in her crib—while Two-Bit kept her entertained with goofy faces, noises, and random jokes. It wasn’t long before the baby started to grow tired, her eyes fluttering as she fought off sleep.

“Looks like she’s getting sleepy,” Marcia said softly, sitting on the couch with Kat resting in her arms.

Two-Bit sat down next to her, looking at the baby with a strange mix of amusement and awe. “Man, it’s weird seeing Soda with a kid. Like, we were just dumb teenagers not that long ago, and now he’s got this whole... family thing.”

Marcia nodded, her voice softer now. “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy. But I think it suits him. He’s good with her.”

Two-Bit smiled, thinking about how much Soda had changed since becoming a dad. “Yeah, he’s a good guy. Always has been. I guess that’s why he makes it look easy.”

Kat stirred slightly in Marcia’s arms, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she just nestled closer, her tiny hands gripping onto Marcia’s blouse.

“You’re not so bad at this yourself,” Marcia said, glancing over at Two-Bit. “For someone who’s never babysat before, I mean.”

Two-Bit gave her a cheeky grin. “Hey, what can I say? I’m a quick learner. Besides, Kit-Kat’s not so tough. I could handle another hour, no problem.”

As the evening wore on, the house grew quiet. Kat finally drifted off to sleep in her crib, and Marcia and Two-Bit sat together on the couch, talking in low voices so as not to disturb her.

When Cherry and Sodapop finally returned, looking refreshed and happy from their night out, they were met with the sight of a peacefully sleeping baby girl and two very proud babysitters.

“How’d it go?” Cherry asked, her eyes full of gratitude.

Marcia smiled, standing up from the couch. “It went great. She’s a little angel.”

Two-Bit gave a dramatic sigh, leaning back. “Told ya I had it under control.”

Soda clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. We owe you one.”

“Just don’t make me change any diapers next time,” Two-Bit joked, his grin wide. “That’s Marcia’s department.”

Cherry laughed, her eyes softening as she looked at her sleeping daughter. “We’re so lucky to have you both. Really, thank you.”

As Soda and Cherry tucked Kat into bed and the house returned to its usual quiet, Two-Bit and Marcia exchanged a knowing glance.

“Guess we didn’t do so bad after all,” Two-Bit said with a wink.

Marcia smiled, nudging him playfully. “Not bad, greaser.”

With the night winding down, and Kat sound asleep, it was clear that babysitting wasn’t quite the disaster Two-Bit had expected. In fact, he might even say he had fun.

[injuryprompts]

how would you go about treating a sword through the abdomen?

Heyyy, I am so sorry for the long response time! I would not be surprised if you've forgotten about sending this in the first place.

To answer your question it's important to know if the sword is a through and through or not. Because you said "through" i'm going to treat it as such.

Then it's important to know if 911 is available. Because most sword wounds happened pre-emergency services, i'm going to write it like you'd 100% treat it yourself. Otherwise step 1 would be: call 911.

IF ANYTHING LIKE THIS HAPPENS IRL, ALWAYS CALL THE EMERGENCY NUMBER AND DO AS THEY SAY. THIS IS FOR FICTIONAL USE ONLY.

Now for the treatment of a stab wound to the gut:

First and foremost, DO NOT PULL OUT THE SWORD until you're ready to deal with the bleeding.

Step 1: Make the stabbed person lay down. Because the stab wound is probably front to back, make them lay on their side. This reduces the risk of falling after the adrenaline stops. Which could cause more damage, think head trauma, or disturbing the sword making the wound worse.

Step 2: Remove the clothing around the wound. This gives better access to assess the damage done and get a clear working area.

Step 3: Put on gloves. Easy to forget, but it lessens the chance of infection in the wound. If you can't at least wash them as thoroughly as possible.

Step 4: Prevent bleeding. Severe blood loss will cause shock or worse death. So any blood that can stay inside, should stay inside. If the sword hit a (major) artery the person could die within a minute when the sword is pulled out. WHICH IS WHY YOU LEAVE IT IN FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE.

Arterial Bleeding: The blood will be SPURTING out. It will be a bright red color.

Venous Bleeding: The blood will be oozing out. The blood will be a darker color.

Capillary Bleeding: The blood will slowly come out. It will eventually stop on its own.

To prevent bleeding, apply pressure. You can still apply pressure when the sword is still through the body. Just put pressure around the blade from both sides. and since the knife went through. pressure on 4 sides basically. Be careful not to move the blade too much as you do this.

Chest wounds should be sealed with a credit card/plastic bag/duct tape etc, that sticks on 3 sides, leaving it so air can go out but it cant go in. This helps prevent a collapsed lung.

Step 5: Remove the sword. Get ready to put real pressure on it as soon as the blade is pulled out, because it will probably start gushing. If its not that bad, you can wait until it stops. If not, the wound will need to be sealed/stitched. Now the abdomen has a lot of nasty things called organs in it. Lets hope we missed all of those, because if not, intestine contents can do horrible things to the rest of your body.

Close the Wound Under These Circumstances:

The wound is large and refuses to stop bleeding

The wound penetrated through the entire skin (you’d be able to see underlying tissues)

The wound has been open for less than 6 hours

The wound is over a joint or moving part of the body and won’t close by itself

The wound is gaping open and won’t be able to close without your intervention

You close a wound only when it's dry, preferably with butterfly bandages or adhesive tape, (sutures only by profesionals or in dire circumstances). Or if you want to go for dramatic, cauterization as absolute last resort.

Open or closed, it's now time to cover the wound. You should first use any form of antibacterial treatment, preferably conventional medicine, but if you don't have that, use honey. Its antibacterial too. Then you can cover the wound with a bandage, make sure to change it every so often for a clean one. Every 12 to 24 hours.

Open wounds should be covered by wet dressing. Closed with dry. Make sure to pack around the puncture wound. If you can't find sterile bandages you can boil rags before using them.

ENDING THIS WITH: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. ONLY USE THIS INFORMATION FOR FICTIONAL PURPOSES. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF IN A SITUATION PLEASE CALL YOUR LOCAL EMERGENCY NUMBER. THEY WILL TELL YOU WHAT TO DO.

[cryslut]

~ Yandere Dottore x Reader - No Escape

Content warnings - Yandere themes, kidnapping, laced beverage

i don't show off my fanfics a lot but i do hope u enjoy this one. i don't condone this type of behavior at all. n stay safe ♥︎

requests for fanfics are open so send them in if u would like

He was someone who messed with things a lot. He studied and studied hard throughout high school up until college. He wanted to be a doctor.

He felt as if his emotion wasn't really there. The only thing he cared about was himself, he was downright selfish and everyone knew it. He only cared about his dream job.

He didn't want to become a doctor because it was to help others. No, he wanted to become one because he knew he was going to see blood, part of him wanted to make sure any procedures and surgeries went completely wrong.

Because part of him didn't care. He wanted to see others suffer. The thrill of hurting and murdering others is the only thing he felt any pride or happiness for.

Other than that, he was completely numb. Until one day, a girl finally decided to join the college that he went to. She had her own interests and things she liked. Once he laid his eyes on her, he felt something completely different.

Something he never felt before, butterflies in his stomach, his heart felt like it flew right out of his chest, he finally felt.. emotion for someone. He didn't know if it was love, or a miracle.

All he knew was that if this was how he felt for her. He would hold onto her for dear life and make her his. She belonged to him, and she didn't have a choice.

He stalked her as much as he could. Finding out her secrets, her likes and dislikes, her name, her birthday, every little detail possible, he learned it.

He was apart of a chemistry class, he learned about chemicals left and right, combinations and what they could do. He conjured up a liquid that he could put into a drink of hers to make her very sleepy.

He was in a few classes with her. It was the last period and everyone was preparing to leave to go do their own things. The girl he loved and adored was only preparing to go back to her dorm alone while her roommate was out doing their own thing.

While she and the other students were nice and distracted and most of them were gone along with the instructor, he opens the vile and spills a little into her bottle, the liquid going down the straw into the drink.

He pretended like he was doing something. She was still putting her belongings away while writing further notes down. He admired her for her hard work and determination in the class.

She finally put the stuff away into her bag and took a drink out of her bottle quenching her thirst. She put her hand on her head feeling a little drowsy. And then as soon as she falls.

He grabs her, "I got you, don't worry, darling," He says softly with an evil grin plastered on his face.

~

⋄⊱ Your POV ⊰⋄

My eyes slowly flutter open. Feeling something tight around my wrists, I struggle. I look around seeing i'm in a bedroom, Im laying on a soft bed but my ankles and wrists are tied to the ends of each side.

I struggle more until someone opens the door, "Oh, you're awake, I've been waiting for you to wake up," He says smiling.

I recognized him, he's my classmate, Dottore. But why? Why does he have me like this?

I try to speak but realize my mouth is duct taped shut, "Oh, you wanna speak, dear, well if I remove the tape, you have to promise you won't scream," He says softly.

I nod my head in agreement. He then grabs the tape and rips it off slowly, making it barely hurting that much.

"There, what did you want to say?" His eyes looked like they were filled with lust, I speak out softly and quietly, "Why am I here?"

"Because your mine, all mine.. mine, mine mine mine mine," He starts to laugh, "Now that I have you here with me, I just want to say, I love you so much."

"I-I-I'm yours..?" I question. His eyes filled with something no one has ever seen as much on his face. He looked upset, "Yes, you're mine, and if you have a problem with that then-"

I cut him off, "I don't, I love you too, Dottore," I say to him. His eyes brightened and a smile grew on his face.

"Hearing that fills my heart with joy, I'm so glad, I've been waiting for this moment for so long, ever since I saw you," He smiles.

I struggle in the rope trying to signal it's uncomfortable, "Want me to untie this for you?" He asks softly. Getting close to my face, his lips almost touching mine.

His hand starts roaming from beside my hand and touching my skin going down to my chest, "Y-Yes," I say softly, "Please," He smiles at me untying the ropes from my wrists then to my ankles.

I sit up on the bed, watching his every move. Afraid of what he might do, I need to get out of here. I need to go get help.

He paced back and forth and then he sits down, "Where are we at, Dottore?" I ask.

"A house that I was able to buy, it's in the middle of nowhere practically. It's quite big, it's a nice house though," He says sighing and then grinning at me.

"I suppose you didn't bring any clothes of mine with you?" I ask him.

"No, I didn't think about it, but you can use a shirt of mine, it'll look like a dress on you," I nod my head in agreement to the idea.

Anything to bide me time. I just need to figure out a way to get out of here.

"Is it okay if I go shower? I just feel gross after school you know?" I ask politely. He nods his head, "Of course, I'll get one of my shirts for you to wear when you get out.

"Okay, thank you," I smile softly at him.

He gets up and walks over to a closet in the room, he slides a door open and grabs out a white collared shirt. It looked like something professional. It looked like it would cover a lot. He hands it to me and I grab it from him.

"I shouldn't be too long," I say to him, "Oh dear Y/N, the bathroom is down the hall to your left," I nod my head at him and then exit going in the direction he told me. I looked around slightly and found the stairs.

The front door is right down the steps. I can see it but would he hear me? I put the shirt on the counter and then exit the bathroom silently, closing the bathroom door to make it seem like I'm in there. I then tip toe down the stairs silently and softly.

I walk towards the door and grab a hold of the handle opening it up, "Where do you think your going?" I hear a stern voice behind me and then I get grabbed. Arms wrapped around me and a hand over my mouth. I struggle to get out of his embrace.

"Thought I warned you, didn't I," He says, his voice completely cold and void of any emotion. I then bite his hand and he lets go of me. I made a run for it.

Going through a corridor, and turning lefts and rights randomly. I can hear him behind me. I start to lose focus and trip over something.

I try to get up but get kicked to the ground, I wince in pain, "You were suppose to be a good girl and listen to me, but you didn't, now you're gonna have to pay the consequences," He says.

"O-Ow, pl-please, don't," I say trying to crawl away but I feel a shoe press down on my back.

He then grabs me by the arms picking me up and swinging me over his back. I fight and struggle back but he has no reaction and doesn't seem to care. He makes his way around the house going downstairs.

I hear hard metal clinking together. Then he takes my wrist wrapping something cold around it, I look over to see a chain and then struggle more.

He takes my other wrist wrapped the chain around it too. I struggle more and more but to no avail it doesn't work.

"I'll keep you here until you can learn to behave properly," His voice cold and stern echoes slightly through the basement.

I don't know how long I'll be stuck here for but I need to escape eventually. I need to build my trust up with him again. I don't know how easy that'll be. 

All I know for certain is, I'll be down here for a while.

[melpomenelamusa]

Bad Habits Pt.2 - Chimeras

~Original story~

Previous

CW: Kidnapping, bound and gagged.

The car finally stopped and with it Elafi felt his heart and breathing stopping too.

“Finally home!” said Scissors.

The car doors opened. Someone took Elafi by the arm and dragged him out of the back seat.

“Quick, put him in now!”

Elafi felt himself being lifted and he let himself be carried without any resistance. His fighting spirit had died during the car ride.

“Leave him there.”

Elafi was placed on the floor as if he were a simple mail package and someone removed the hood that covered his face. They were inside a messy garage. There was a desk with a computer on the left side, a gaming chair, three bean bag chairs, and various junk scattered in the corners. Near where they had left Elafi was a broken hose, a dirty mattress, and a dusty tire. Not to give himself bad luck, but this was nothing like what Elafi imagined the kidnappers' lair would look like. Roach's lab and Cazador's workshop were ten times scarier. He didn't know whether to ease up a bit or continue to worry. After all, he was still a captive.

"What do we do now?" asked Rock, dropping into one of the bean bag chairs. He took off his cap and ran his hands through his short, almost skull-length hair.

Paper appeared through a door at the back of the garage, with three cans in his hands: one of beer and two sodas, which he distributed among his companions.

"Well, the first thing is to prepare our victim well," said Scissors, watching Elafi. She took a sip of her drink. "If we want to get a ransom or sell him, we need to take a picture of him, so that it looks like he's really in danger."

“I'll go find something better to tie him up with,” said Paper, heading back to the door. “I want my belt back.”

“I'm going to check his cell phone,” said Rock, taking the device out of his pocket. He approached Elafi and took one of his hands so he could activate the fingerprint detector. “Damn, this's the emptiest phone I've ever seen. There're only three contacts saved, a few photos and a gardening game. Don't you have social networks or something, kid?”

Elafi couldn't help but feel somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed. Who were they to judge what he had or didn't have on his cell phone? He hardly used it anyway.

"Should we ask his parents for a ransom?"

"That won't work,” said Elafi with indifference and melancholy. “They're dead.”

Rock looked at the teenager with almost sadness in his eyes, and a certain uncomfortable tension seemed to form in the air between them.

"What about that man who chased us?" he asked, opening Warrick's chat. It's not like Elafi communicated with Warrick through it, but he had his contact just in case. "Could he pay a ransom?"

"Hey, idiot, we should first think about how much money we're going to ask for," said Scissors, spinning around in the gaming chair.

"I'm back," announced Paper. Under his arm he carried a plastic chair and a roll of thick silver duct tape.

"You two tie up the chimera boy, I'm going to investigate how much money we could ask for him."

The two young men grabbed Elafi and dragged him towards the plastic chair, which they placed in the middle of the garage. Although the deer boy knew he wouldn't be able to escape anyway, he twisted as much as he could, determined to make his captors' task as difficult as possible.

“Just let me go!,” he said, as they tied his wrists with tape behind the back of the chair. “You don't look like criminals. If it's money you want, you don't have to do this.”

“Well, it's a quick way to get money,” said Rock, tying Elafi's ankles. “When nobody gives a damn about you, not even your family, you have to do unpleasant things.”

"You've never seen someone like me, have you?" Elafi continued, weighing each of his words. "A chimera child. The vast majority of chimera children are scorned by their families. Many even end up dead. Not receiving support from the people who should care for you and protect you must be devastating... but that doesn't mean you have to become a bad person like them. You three seem like close friends. I'm sure that, if you work together, you could achieve great things! Without the need to resort to crime, I mean."

Although Elafi was talking to buy time, a small light of hope appeared in his heart when he saw the two guys exchange a guilty look.

"Honestly, this wasn't our plan at all," Rock said. "We were just trying to get some easy money: spy on someone who seemed defenseless and attack them. We didn't want to use violence or anything like that..."

"Our parents don't give a shit about us," Paper added. “We barely managed to rent this space, the three of us, and trying to live our lives is getting more complicated every day when only one of us finished college…”

"Maybe your parents don't support you, but you have each other," Elafi said, trying to appeal to understanding and morality. "If you become real criminals, you'll only be proving right to the people who doubted you. Besides, if you get caught, you'll end up in jail, and I think that would be a much worse life. But if you let me go, I promise to just go home and pretend this never happened."

The guys exchanged glances again, their indecision becoming more and more noticeable. Elafi thought he had achieved his goal, if it weren't for...

"Holy shit!" Scissors exclaimed, standing up with such intensity that the gaming chair rolled back almost a meter behind her.

"What, what happened?" Her two companions immediately ran to her side, watching something on the computer screen. Their faces soon turned into expressions of disbelief.

"That's a shit ton of money!" said Rock, bringing both hands to his head. "Are you sure this is real?"

"Fuck yeah!" replied the young woman, waving her hands in excitement. "According to this forum, a chimera child can be worth this much or more at the big auctions. Even selling just their organs or animal parts can get you an incredible sum! We could be rich!"

The gleam of greed flashed in the eyes of his three captors and Elafi saw his only chance of escape shattered.

"No, please..." he said, feeling panic rise again deep within his gut.

"Sorry, kid," announced Rock.

He took the roll of duct tape and cut a piece, which he then stuck over Elafi´s lips. With more tape, they wrapped the teenager's torso, sticking his arms to his sides and to the back of the chair.

"Oh, yes, I like it!" Scissors commented, taking out her cell phone. "Now he's perfect for some photos."

Elafi closed his eyes and focused on breathing through his nose. He felt that if he didn't, panic would overwhelm him. He heard the click of the camera multiple times around him, while his captors tried to take photos from different angles, with the intention of "showing the product well for their potential clients." The garage was filled with murmurs about fortune and success, with the laughter and fantasies of a group of rejects who longed for the advantages of money over their own redemption.

Maybe a couple of hours passed like that. It was difficult to measure time when there were no clocks or windows visible, so Elafi made his calculations based on the hunger and thirst that slowly arose within him and those present. 

"It seems that the food is already late, huh?" commented Scissors, typing on the computer.

"They better give us that free pizza," said Rock, playing on his own cell phone.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.

"Finally!" said Paper, getting up from his bean bag chair and leaving through the door that led into the house.

A notification was heard coming from the computer.

"Fuck yeah!" exclaimed Scissors. "This is the eighth offer we received for the chimera boy. I think it's a good time to review them all and choose one, don't you think?"

"Nm, mhmmhh...!"

Elafi's pleas were completely ignored. Scissors and Rock huddled in front of the screen, analyzing the numbers. They were so absorbed that they didn't hear the door open again.

"So I finally found you."

Elafi immediately turned his head as much as he could, recognizing the voice immediately, and felt as if his soul had returned to his body: Warrick was standing under the door frame with a weary expression. His eyes lingered for a moment on Elafi's, before turning to the kidnappers, who turned around with panicked faces upon hearing him speak.

"I-it's that guy!" exclaimed Rock. "Where's Paper?"

"I already got rid of your friend," Warrick answered, in an expressionless tone. Elafi couldn't figure out if he was joking or serious; but the important thing is that those words managed to intimidate the two criminals enough, who took a step back, terrified.

"Elafi?"

The deer boy turned all his attention to Warrick upon hearing him say his name, raising his ears.

"Did they hurt you?" 

"Mh-mh," the teenager replied, shaking his head.

"Well, at least that means I won't have to kill these bastards," Warrick said, turning his gaze back to his new opponents, while cracking the knuckles of his right hand.

Elafi could almost see Rock and Scissors' spirits leave their bodies at the menacing sight. It amused him, and almost made him feel sorry for them.

"Do-do something!" Scissors shouted, giving Rock a push.

The guy's legs seemed to be shaking, but he still walked up to Warrick and threw a punch, which the man easily dodged. Rock threw punches left and right, in a disorderly manner. It was clear that he had no real knowledge of combat. It didn't take more than a couple of well-placed blows for Warrick to knock him out on the ground.

"G-get back... Or I'll kill him!" Scissors exclaimed. She had positioned herself behind Elafi's chair and was pressing the sharp end of a pair of scissors against the boy's neck.

Warrick watched her with his dark eyes, like two embers about to catch fire.

"Get out of the way," the man growled.

The woman backed away, before letting out a scream and throwing herself at Warrick, holding the scissors like a knife. Warrick dodged the attack and with a simple blow of his hand sent her to the ground. She didn't get up again.

Warrick let out a tired sigh.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said, addressing Elafi.

"Ouch!" said the deer boy, once the piece of tape was removed from his mouth. "H-how did you find me?"

"Remember that app I told you I wanted to download on your phone? The tracking app. I guess the day came when it came in handy." Warrick took Scissors' scissors and used them to cut the tape that was immobilizing Elafi. Once free, they left the garage. In the living room they found a knocked-out Paper, surely the first victim of Warrick's wrath.

Right at the main entrance they came across a pizza delivery man. Warrick returned to the house and take the money that was left on the counter, paying for the food and taking it with them.

Warrick's pickup truck was parked nearby and it didn't take long for them to reach it. "Here," the man said, handing the boy his lost boot.

Elafi held it, but instead of putting it back on, he decided to take off his other boot and throw both shoes on the pickup's stretcher. Anyway, the street was empty and there didn't seem to be anyone in the area.

"Why is it so hard to protect you?" Warrick suddenly said, in a melancholy tone. "Why does it seem like wherever you go, you're always in danger?" 

His words surprised Elafi and a pang of guilt appeared inside him. He was always causing problems to Warrick. The man's life had been peaceful until he met him, now having to face endless threats and dangers because of him.

"I'm sorry," Elafi said, looking at the ground. The events of that day came flooding back into his mind, draining his body. He suddenly felt like a burden and a curse, which was why he was even more surprised when Warrick responded by wrapping him in a solid hug.

"It's not your fault," the man said, in a soft voice, running his wide, calloused hand through the boy's silky hair. "It is never your fault. It's this fuck up society that insists on continuing to see you as a trophy, a pet, or a phenomenon, everything before a person. It's so unfair."

Warrick's hug became stronger. Elafi felt overwhelmed by a wave of feelings. He moved even closer to the man's body, returning the hug and pressing his face against his wide, warm chest.

Warrick was a very good person. He reminded him of his dad. Elafi didn't want to, but he was crying again. Where could so many tears come from?

"T-thanks for saving my life... again."

"You're welcome," Warrick replied, pulling away from the hug after a while. "Now let's go home before the police come or those bastards wake up and find out we stole their pizzas."

Already driving on the highway, heading to the cabin in the woods, Warrick added:

"Elafi, I've been thinking about something. I can't change people's minds or say I'm going to improve society; but I can teach you how to survive. It was negligent of me not to have done this before. I want you to be independent, to be able to survive on your own. So I've made a decision. Starting tomorrow I'm going to teach you self-defense. You're going to learn how to survive on your own.”

Next

Taglist: @scoundrelwithboba @morning-star-whump @lancedoncrimsonwings @3-2-whump @whumped-by-glitter @string-of-broken-hearts @alyscat @oddsconvert @what-if-i-just-did @bacillusinfection @writinglittlepains

Have I told you that I simply love Warrick and Elafi? Sometimes I just wish I could leave them alone and see them happy, but the plot doesn't allow that. Many thanks to those who have read this far! Take a little star ⭐

[alouiadina]

Dark Clegan

Like I mentioned in the post talking about this, the idea came from reading @feyd-meowtha's It's a Scream, Baby, rewatching Leatherface (2017), and the original Bonnie and Clyde post I made a while back. There are two versions, and I'm putting both in here.

I know that people said they wanted this, but still. These ideas are heavy, a bit clunky, and long. I kind of which I put this out in October, when maybe it would be more accepted as halloween fic ideas. I know I'm rambling, but I do still have some anxiety about posting this, even though people have asked for it. It's not a great feeling, but it does feel great to finally have these out of my brain and out there. God, I hope you can feel my anxiety about posting this.

I also don't know if/think I'll write these, at least not anytime soon. I don't want to put more on my plate. So, like I said with my Reverse Amnesia Au, if this inspires you, go right ahead and write (just check with me first):

( @jjubilee-fluff @soliloquy-dawn )

Here's what they look like:

Plot Version 1:

Gale is a sixteen (almost seventeen) year old a volunteer nurse/assistant/whatever at the Casper Youth Reformery, mostly to look good on college applications. His home life isn't all that great, and he often has fantasies and dreams about killing his parents, but keeps that to himself, as he doesn't want to end up where he works. 

Bucky is there because he's seen as a danger to himself and others due to his sociopathic tendencies. He drinks and smokes a lot, burns himself, and killed the family dog and attempted murder of his father (which maybe did something for him). He also is a bit manipulative, erratic, impulsive, and reckless. 

Gale first sees Bucky, he's being brought in to the Youth Reformery to be held there before his trial, which Gale overhears Bucky'll be likely tried as an adult. The next time he sees Bucky, Bucky's in the bathroom, getting a blowjob from Blakely. He tries to duck away unnoticed, but Bucky notices. Gale stutters out something about changing the soap in the soap dispensers, and Bucky invites him in to do so. 

Gale does his best to ignore Bucky, but finds it difficult as Bucky is a yapper, a flirtatious one at that. Calls Gale "pretty doll" and stuff, all the while grunting encouragement to Blakely. 

Bucky develops a fuck buddies relationship with Blakely, while worming his way into Gale's head. Near the end of Gale's shifts, he admits to Bucky that he has fantasies of killing his father. It turns into a weird sex thing as Gale describes one of the scenarios to Bucky. (Blood kink, obviously, and they're in a storage closet or the bathroom)

Sometime after that, Bucky convinces Blakely to escape the night before Bucky's trial. They do and go to Blakely's house, where they kill Blakely's family, fuck, then Bucky kills Blakely in the car.

Gale wakes up to a knocking on his bedroom window. It's Bucky, covered in the Blakely Family's blood (mostly Ev's) and a shit eating grin on his face.

"Still want to kill your parents, Buck?" He asks as Gale lets him in. 

Gale, with fresh bruises forming from his father's latest boxing session where Gale was the punching bag, agrees. They set the whole thing up, with Blakely's body placed in Gale's bed, and using duct tape to tie his parents to the bed. Gale's dad keeps gasoline in the basement for the boat he has, so he douses his parents in it, while Bucky does Blakely's body, connecting them with a line of gasoline.

Gale's parents wake up as soon as the gasoline is on them, begging for their life. Gale goes on this whole monologue on how both of them deserve to die, Gale's father for abusing him, and his mother for sitting and watching. Gale's mother tries to appeal to Gale, saying that she was abused too. Gale assures her that he'll let her go, then slits her throat with a knife from the kitchen. Gale's father is horrified, to which gale brushes it off as him giving her an easy way out. He then lights a match and sets his father on fire, momentarily reviling in his screams of pain before rushing out of the house. (He also packed some clothes beforehand, knowing that the missing cloths wouldn't be noticed, and maybe also took the money from his parents underwear drawer.) It's late, so they find a motel to sleep at for the night, only after they have sex because they're both on a high from killing Gale's parents (and Blakely). 

The next morning, they wake up to news of their crime, and that Gale is actually considered dead because Blakely's body, like they planned, was confused for Gale's. They then go on a killing spree, mostly of people that wronged them, like family members of Gale's that looked the other way as he was abused, bullies, Teachers of Gale's that ignored the bullies, teachers of Bucky's that seemed to have it out for Bucky, stuff like that, as well as people that had a connection with Blakely, like his ex-girlfriend, Helen, and her new boyfriend, as to try to keep up the allusion of Blakely still being alive to help Bucky, and for Gale to be dead. (They kill people, then leave for a couple days, maybe a week, before coming back to do it again.)

Soon enough, the law is catching up on them, and it looks like they'll have to skip town for good, but Bucky wants to kill his dad before they do that. Bucky calls up an old friend Curt, who hides them in his parents house. Gale gets jealous of Curt's and Bucky's closeness, even more so when he finds out they have a past.

Ending Version 1: The night they kill Bucky's dad, Gale decides to kill Curt and his family out of jealousy.

Bucky finds out just as Gale slits Curt's throat. In a panic, Bucky kills Ken (who's Curt's boyfriend.) Gale denies jealousy, and excuses it as cleaning up loose ends before they left, then Bucky reveals that he planned on inviting Curt and Ken to come with them, as Ken is emancipated and Curt had graduated, so no one would draw suspicion if they went and left. They start fighting, Gale accuses Bucky of still wanting to fuck Curt, which is why he wanted to invite Curt and Ken along, to use it as some sort of segue to kill him and Ken so that he and Curt could be together again.

He goads Bucky into killing him, surprised when Bucky stabs him in the neck. Then Bucky starts freaking out. Yes, he is a bit of a sociopath, but Gale was the one person he actually cared for. So, he cradles Gale as he goes to the floor, fruitlessly trying to stop the blood spewing from his neck. Gale's dead, and for the first time in his life, he wants to throw up at seeing a dead thing. He ends up finding the gun he knows Curt's dad keeps in the back of his closet, and uses it on himself.

Ending Version 2: When they go out to kill Bucky's dad, Gale is actively planning the death of Curt and his family, but keeps it to himself when they pull up to the curb of Bucky's house. They sneak in, and both grab a kitchen knife from the kitchen, quietly walking into the living room where Bucky's dad is. He knows his mother and sister are out, which makes him a little happy knowing that he won't have to kill them. They end up knocking Bucky's father out, tying him to the chair, and torturing for a bit. Then they hear police sirens, assuming that one of the neighbors called them. Bucky panics, stabbing his father to death. Once he's dead, it's now about getting out of the house.

As they try to escape, Bucky gets shot in the neck, Gale catching him in his arms. Once Bucky dies, Gale rushes out of the house knife in hand, only to get shot down too, which was his plan. He dies in the lawn, a few feet from Bucky.

(A cheesier, worse ending to version 2: Bucky's last words to Gale aren't "I love you" or "Go down swinging," but "I kidnapped you," which Gale takes as "I love you, live for me." Which he does. He leaves the house with both hands up. He explains to the police that Bucky had kidnapped him after accidentally killing Blakely, and needing a way to cover it up. That he forced Curt to hide them in the couple days leading up to the murder, threatening to kill the whole Biddick family, plus Ken if he didn't. Btw, Ken didn't know about Curt hiding the two of them. Gale then finds out Curt was the one who called the police, and Gale makes Curt's death look like an accident. Ken has his suspicions, but doesn't make them known, fearing for his life.)

Plot Version 2:

This meant to be angry Gale and Bucky using their power/perceived authority to manipulate an escape, then slowly murder off the group with each outsider kill, but it slowly turned into a cult thing.

Gale, in this version is more of a permanent residence of the Casper Youth Reformery. He had reported his dad's abuse, but his dad convinced everyone that Gale said about him was false, and also suggested that Gale started showing signs of schizophrenia, y'know paranoid delusions, hallucinations, word salad (the stuttering Gale did on the stand didn't help this accusation), then other things that are also a sign of depression, like lack of motivation, social withdrawal, trouble focusing, making decisions, or completing tasks, stuff like that. And that the bruises, cuts, broken bones were either accidents or self harm that Gale "tried to pin on him."

After the death of his father, Bucky has been spiraling. Burning and cutting himself, getting into fights, doing drugs, stuff like that. He's also been having issues with his step father and his mother. He feels that they got married too soon, and his stepfather is showing his dick-ish side, now that he's married to Bucky's mom, and his mom is becoming a bit more neglectful to him and his sister. Because of his step father, his sister is sent to a boarding school, and he's sent to Casper Youth Reformery due to his behavior.

Some of the others are there too, like Crosby, who had a bit of a mental break after his boyfriend Bubbles died in a car accident he caused, Curt, who overdosed and is there for rehab, though he seems very outgoing. Brady struggles with depression and obsessive-compulsive tendencies, exacerbated by the pressures of his strict religious family. Blakely’s overly religious parents sent him to the reformery, convinced he was a sex addict when, in reality, he was simply a normal teenager. Meanwhile, DeMarco, Rosie, and Helen are volunteers, fulfilling school requirements. Ken works there for extra money after dropping out of high school. Douglass, a ward of the state, is placed in the reformery as he nears aging out of the system.

Bucky and Gale bunk together, Bucky being more steamed about being there than Gale. Gale has been there longer than Bucky, and has gotten to the point where he feels fighting back is pointless. Though, in a diary that he keeps hidden from the guards, nurses, and volunteers, he details various way on how he's going to get back at his father, all of which are murder.

Gale comes back to his room one day to find Bucky reading the diary. He tries to twist it out of Bucky's grasp, but ultimately fails. He's on his back, hands pinned over his head, and Bucky in between his legs.

"I think you should do it, y'know," Bucky tells him. "Kill your father. I want to kill mine too. Well, my step father."

Gale relaxes under Bucky's grip, his struggling fading into a stillness that isn't quite submission but more like resignation. He stares up at Bucky, breathing hard, eyes flicking between the boy's face and the diary still gripped in his hand. Something changes in the air between them. The call each other messed up before Bucky ends up dropping the mattress. Maybe Bucky calls Gale worse for writing it down, while Bucky only thinks about it.

After that, they slowly start developing a friendship. Gale writes more in his diary, his fantasies becoming more specific than they were, and allows Bucky look over them. He starts adding to them, saying stuff like "You should slit his throat first," or "What if you made it look like an accident?" his tone playful but Gale knows he's serious.

Over time, their dynamic starts to shift. Gale, who once felt like nothing more than a ghost in the reformery, starts to cling to Bucky’s rage like a life line, and Bucky's rage becomes more focused on Gale writing out his fantasies, and soon he's asking Gale if he can dictate his fantasies for Gale to write them down. Their relationship starts to get sexual around here, which is mostly just one giving the other head while the other is dictating a fantasy.

Then, the cult-like energy begins to form. The two of them sharing ideas, feeding off each other’s hatred until it feels less like idle fantasy and more like planning. Gale writes the words. Bucky gives them momentum. Others start to notice, and kind of want in on it, and it starts with Curt.

Curt’s inclusion is almost accidental. He’s in rehab for a heroin overdose, and though he’s outgoing on the surface, most of it is a facade. One night, he overhears Gale and Bucky murmuring in the corner of the common area. Their voices are low, catching Curt’s attention. When he approaches he cuts straight to the point:

“What’re you guys talking about?”

Gale freezes, instinctively clutching his diary closer to his chest, but Bucky smirks. “Revenge,” he says simply, daring Curt to judge.

Curt doesn’t flinch. “Sounds like something I’d be into.”

Over the next few days, Curt starts hanging around them more, slowly revealing his own dark musings. He talks about the people who abandoned him, the ones who dismissed him as nothing more than an addict. His fantasies are violent, graphic, and deeply personal, and they resonate with the simmering rage that fuels Gale and Bucky’s dynamic.

Blakely’s entrance into the fold is a bit less intentional. He’s bitter about being sent into the reformery for being a teenager. One evening, while wandering the dorms in a restless haze, he stumbles across Gale, Bucky, and Curt huddled together in the corner of the common area.

“What’s this?” he asks, his tone hovering between suspicion and curiosity.

Gale immediately shrinks back, clutching his diary as though Blakely’s gaze alone might incinerate it. Bucky, as always, is unbothered.

“Just brainstorming,” he says, leaning back with an infuriating grin.

Blakely narrows his eyes asking what they meant by that. Curt responds, a bit cheekily, making Blakely scoff, thinking it's all a joke, but soon realizes it isn't, which intrigues him.

Then there’s Brady. Raised in a strict religious household, he’s always been told that his depression is a lack of faith, a weakness that he needs to pray away. When he’s sent to the reformery, it’s supposed to save his soul. Instead, it introduces him to Gale’s diary and the whispered promises of freedom through destruction. Brady’s contributions are quieter, more reserved, but no less chilling. He starts suggesting ways to use their pain as a weapon, his voice soft and measured, like he’s preaching a sermon.

Crosby’s entry into the cult stems from grief and guilt after accidentally killing his boyfriend, Bubbles. He had a very public breakdown, which ended with him nearly throwing himself out a window, which lead him to the reformatory. The staff treats him as fragile, a ticking time bomb that could explode at any second. But Crosby’s fragility masks something darker: a smoldering anger at the world for not stopping him, at himself for not being better, and at everyone who pretends to care while keeping their distance. He had slowly watched Bucky, Curt, Blakely, and Brady start to rotate around Gale as if he were the sun and they were planets, and he wanted in on it. He doesn't really participate with the brainstorming of murder, but he thinks killing someone intentionally might cure him.

Douglass is the last to join, and his entry marks the moment when their group truly becomes something more than a collection of angry kids. As a ward of the state, Douglass has learned how to survive in a system that’s designed to break him. His calm demeanor masks a seething resentment toward the world that’s abandoned him. When he’s placed in the reformery, he’s just biding his time until he ages out. But when he stumbles upon Gale, Bucky, Blakely, Curt, Crosby, and Brady in the middle of one of their late-night sessions, he sees an opportunity. Not for revenge, at lest not at first, but for belonging. And when he starts contributing his own ideas, his voice carries a weight that makes the others listen.

The romance is kind of difficult to weave into this. Gale and Bucky have their weird murder kink, which gets worse when the murder actually starts.

Blakely's situation at the reformery limits what he can have. With Helen, he flirts, but it stays in the realm of light teasing, he knows that nothing can progress beyond that. Helen’s presence is a reminder of the normal world outside the reformery, and his fascination with her is a distraction from the darker parts of his psyche, especially when it comes to his internal struggles regarding his sexuality.

However, Douglass represents something more tangible. As Blakely’s interactions with Gale and Bucky grow more intense, Blakely’s relationship with Douglass becomes an anchor for him. Douglass provides the emotional connection Blakely craves, and Blakely’s romantic feelings toward him start to deepen. Their relationship becomes more than just casual flirtation, theirs sex and some feelings too. This leaves Blakely with a sense of belonging that he's never had before, further drawing him into the toxic energy of the group.

Crosby's relationship with Rosie starts before he joins the cult, and maybe even before the reformery, as maybe they went to the same school together. He's actually the first to not see Croz as fragile thing, but something already broken. Rosie had started piecing Crosby together before he joined.

Brady and DeMarco's relationship develops over their shared religious upbringing. Out of all the volunteers, he's more open to the idea of the cult, as he suffers from religious trauma (maybe). Maybe he used to be a patient at the reformatory, and never really got over the trauma he faced there.

Ken just kinda thinks Curt's hot, which makes it easier for Curt to manipulate him with the ideas of the cult, though not enough to make Ken turn on his family. And Curt does actually care for Ken, so much so that he starts to question it at some point.

The escape plan comes shortly after the addition of Douglass. Bucky had actually started to plan an escape as soon as he got in there, and only just got around to sharing it. The idea is to start a riot, maybe set the place on fire, and in the chaos, leave. And it works. They have some help from DeMarco, who willingly comes with them from the start. (Helen and Ken are dragged by their respective love interests and Rosie comes along for concern for Crosby.)

During the chaos in the reformatory, either Gale gives Bucky a blowjob or Bucky gives Gale one, but either way, both are made horny by the chaos, and the death, and the fire that happens. They steal a vw bus that the reformery had, and they leave. Then they start going up the list of murders, starting with Douglass'. The ones dragged on freak the fuck out, cus murder and all, and Bucky and Gale get freaky. This keeps happening as they move up the line and it could end in one of two ways.

Really don't have an idea on how this ends.

[sakurangelic]

Love Fool (2/?)

pairing: student!minho x student!gn!reader feat. student!seungmin genre: enemies to lovers combined with school au summary: Lee Y/N is the new student of the MAXIDENT university. Though, it seems like Y/N gets in some trouble with the popular guy, Lee Minho, right in the first day. Do they grow to hate each other or... love each other? warnings: none word count: 1.5k words (1,578) a/n: make sure to read the first part if you haven't done so! 1 | 2 | 3

"Thanks a lot for ruining my first day, Minho", you grunted and sat at a random desk in anger. You crossed your legs and arms, your tongue poking your cheek, as annoyance was clearly visible on your face. How could you not? After all, you got in trouble on the first day, all because of a stupid boy!

"You're not any better, Y/N", Minho growled and glared at you. He sat at the teacher's desk, placing his legs on it and crossing them.

You glanced over at him with a dumbfounded expression, slightly raising your eyebrow as you asked, "Are you even allowed to sit there? It's the teacher's desk after all; there are so many free student desks here…"

"Who?"

"Y—"

"Asked", he added.

You blinked. You were confused about his words and how any of them made sense. You rubbed the back of your neck, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Who asked, you bird brain." Minho mocked me and rolled his eyes, letting his head fall and staring at the ceiling. "Do I have to remind you? I'm Lee Minho."

"Yeah, right, okay…" you whispered, feeling a bit hurt about his rude attitude. Obviously, you wouldn't care about such a person with attitude issues, but it really ruined your mood and motivation that school in South Korea will go well. You still remember how excited you felt when you arrived at your aunt's house and couldn't believe you made it to MAXIDENT University, one of the hardest performing arts and dance universities to get into and the best one in South Korea.

But then you remembered. It's just the first day. You have so many days, months, and years ahead to experience. You can't let a jerk like Minho make you give up, especially after all the years of hard work and learning to get here. And coming back to a country where you struggle with the language, yet still doing your best. You were sure that, despite the language barrier, you were going to find your friend group and make good memories with them.

Internally, you smiled to yourself. On the outside, you kept the same neutral expression on your face. You didn't want the male to bring up the fact that you randomly smiled for no reason, in dead silence, and make fun of it till your last breath in this building. In order to help the time pass and distract yourself from the fact that Minho was quite literally standing in front of you at the teacher's desk that he apparently claims is "his own desk", you searched through your school bag for your notebook. In the metallic spiral ring, there was a pencil that was designed by you with colourful duct tape, which you later drew cute and small doodles on, such as hearts, cats, diamonds, flowers, and more. As for the notebook cover, it was filled with different kinds of stickers that you had collected throughout your childhood, and your name was written on it, both in English and Korean.

You took out the pencil from the metallic spiral ring, opened an empty page, and started doodling the first thing that came to mind: your aunt's collection of plants and flowers. It was no surprise when you remembered how much of a big fan of nature she is and how she's a botanist. You could only remember how she would always babysit you during the summer, back when you were little, because of your mom who was busy with work. She would show you her collection of books and encyclopaedias about plants, explaining them in a fun and charming way. If you were lucky, your aunt would sometimes even bring you to the botanic garden she works at, and you would always admire the different kinds of plants. Something she always told you and, till this day, you still remember it is: 'See how every plant is different, but beautiful in their own way? That's how we humans are'. Such words fascinated you at that age, and, well… they still do.

Reminiscing about these childhood memories definitely helped you feel better and forget about what happened moments ago. By now, you had finished drawing about four or five plants out of, who knows, how many your aunt had. You tried counting once, but you weren't really that bored to count till the end. You probably gave up after 10 anyway, from what you remember.

Even though you kept yourself busy with this stuff, when you suddenly stopped drawing, that's when you realised just how loud the silence was. Then the question popped: What has Minho been doing the whole time? You did tell yourself to not pay him any attention, but it just seemed so weird for him to be this quiet. While it was wrong to assume whether he's usually loud or quiet after barely meeting him, based on the impression you got and how hard he showed off the fact he's "really popular", you wouldn't be necessarily surprised for him to find himself always having to say something in any situation. Then, why didn't he continue the conversation from earlier?

That's when you realised you were feeling a gaze on you. Your eyes slowly travelled up and met Minho's. You were slightly shocked to see the look in his eyes. He was completely lost in his thoughts and seemed to try figuring something out as he was staring at your birthmark. Between your right cheek and eye, you had a small mole with a soft shade of cocoa, looking like a perfectly drawn circle.

"What?", You broke the silence with your sudden question before the male looked away as if nothing had happened.

An awkward silence (pun intended) fell, and you were staring at him, waiting for him to do or say something, as you slowly placed the pencil in your notebook. Suddenly, Minho got up, fixed the tie on his uniform, and put his hand in his pockets as he made his way out of the detention room. All you could do was just watch him leave, your eyes still waiting for an answer. The door shut behind him, and your eyes remained fixed on it for a minute.

You tucked your lips and turned your head to the clock above the board. A sigh of slight annoyance left your lips when you realised that you didn't check the time when you entered detention because you were too mad to think about how long you were going to stay here. Neither did the teacher mention how long detention would last for you two, unless it was an unspoken rule that you had no idea about. Everything felt frustrating; why were you lost about this stuff? You were starting to doubt how easily you were going to adapt yourself in this new environment compared to the people in your year who had an year to get used to it. - "So, Lee Y/N from 'S' Class (another pun), which is my class, why are you still not in detention?", one of the teachers that was apparently your homeroom teacher questioned.

You were standing there awkwardly, slowly smiling awkwardly, and trying to find a way to explain it. "Well, Mr. Ahn didn't tell us how long detention would last…" You paused for a moment and continued, "I'm new here, and I thought that if Lee Minho left, then that would mean detention was over." You bowed at her, nervous about her reaction.

"Alright, I'll let it pass this time. You're new here, and his leaving did confuse you. I would have preferred you to have asked Mr. Ahn before leaving; he tends to be forgetful and wants to quickly send students to detention to continue his lessons…", Ms. Kang slowly nodded and rambled on.

"But anyways, you said you needed help with taking your notes from the classes you missed during detention, right?"

"Yes, that's right. I haven't gotten the chance to make any friends in my class", you explained quickly, hoping Ms. Kang would find a solution and just let you go home.

"Oh, I have just the right student for you to give you the notes! He's the class president, Kim Seungmin. Here, this is his phone number, and you can text him to send you the notes", Ms. Kang showed you the number on her phone screen, and you added that number as 'Kim Seungmin'.

You once again bowed to her and gave her a sweet smile. "Thank you so much, Ms. Kang! And I apologise for the mess."

"No worries, but I expect you tomorrow to do better, Lee Y/N. See you tomorrow."

You watched as your homeroom teacher walked away, going to the teacher's room to grab her stuff. You sighed, tilting your head on the sides to crack it, and made your way home. - When you arrived home, you sat at your desk and went on your phone. You tapped on the contact named 'Kim Seungmin' and stared at the empty conversation. You were hesitating to text anything, but you knew that you really needed those notes. With a slight nervousness, you texted Seungmin. To your luck, he was quick to reply and send the notes to you. Thanking him, you went to write the notes and study them.

You wondered what would happen tomorrow. After all, Ms. Kang hoped that you wouldn't get into another trouble like today.

[thedemoninmywalls]

10 for the nsft kink prompts!! :3

- @freakkisser

10: Humiliation Fic under the cut! <3

After a long day at work, Aro was looking forward to coming home and making dinner. She hadn't eaten a thing since lunchtime, not even a snack. On her way home she was already thinking about what food she had and what to cook.

So she was pretty surprised to find, upon entering her apartment, that her kitchen was completely empty.

The shelves were bare and the fridge was all cleaned out. The whole kitchen was as empty and clean as the day she moved in.

Aro blinked, rubbed her eyes, and then looked again. She ran her hands over the counters and the shelves in the fridge. There was simply nothing there. She turned on the sink to get a drink of water, but even that wasn't working.

Her kitchen had been quite full this morning, but now there wasn't a speck of food or water in the whole apartment.

Of course, there was only one possible explanation for this. Predictably, Rire was sitting in the living room, sipping tea.

“What the hell did you do to my kitchen?” Aro demanded, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

“What? Don't you like how clean it is?” he smiled, feigning innocence.

“Where is all my food?” Aro asked in an exasperated tone. She could tell he was going to be difficult.

“Somewhere safe,” Rire assured her. “You’ll get it back if you behave.”

Ah. She should have known. He was gonna hold her food hostage until she did what he asked.

“What do you want?” she demanded impatiently.

Rire smirked, confident that he had the upper hand, as usual.

“Get your collar,” he ordered.

Aro made a face. “I hate the collar.”

“Then you won't eat tonight,” he replied decisively.

Groaning in frustration, Aro dragged her feet to the bedroom. She fetched the collar and its leash from the nightstand and returned to the living room.

“Just don't make it too tight, please?”

“Kneel.”

Aro kneeled, staying obediently still while Rire clasped the collar around her neck. It wasn't tight enough to choke her, but tight enough to press against her throat. With the leash tightly wound around Rire’s hand, it would only take a little tug to restrict Aro’s breathing.

The collar had a little metal dog tag that read “pet” and jingled whenever she moved. It was humiliating to wear, which was probably why Rire liked it.

“Now what?” Aro asked, pulling at the collar to loosen it.

“Now we will try something new,” Rire’s yellow eyes brightened with mischief. “I saw it online today and thought it would be just perfect for us.”

“What is it?” Aro was wary. Rire's new ideas were usually not very pleasant for her.

“It's better to show you,” Rire dug into a plastic shopping bag and pulled out two foam balls.

“Hold these and squeeze tightly,” he instructed, placing a ball in each of her hands.

Aro obeyed, unsure what he was getting at. Rire took out a thick roll of duct tape and wound it around her closed fists. Long strips of sticky tape, all around her fingers and almost up to her wrists. When he was done, she couldn't move her fingers an inch. Her hands were nothing more than useless balls of tape.

“Um…” Aro stared at her tape mittens bewilderedly.

Rire opened Aro's laptop and navigated to the sketchy dark web video site where he watched Ren’s livestreams.

“Come here,” he ordered gently, pulling Aro onto his lap.

She sat and watched as he pressed play on a torture porn video. By now she’d been forced to watch enough of them that she was starting to get desensitized. Now she hardly flinched when the killer onscreen smashed a woman's leg with a sledgehammer.

While they were watching, Rire’s hands sneaked under her shirt and began to play with her nipples. He pinched and rubbed the soft nubs of flesh until they were erect and stimulated.

From where she sat on his lap, Aro felt Rire’s erection beneath his pants, poking against her ass. He liked to make her needy and aroused while watching torture porn, so that she associated the pleasure with pain.

“Mmm,” Aro moaned softly, leaning into his touch. Unconsciously, she went to touch her sex - and remembered the tape around her hands. Without the use of her fingers, she couldn't get her skirt off.

“Mph…Rire…” Aro grinded herself against his lap, hoping for some friction.

“What is it?”

“I-I can't…” she lifted her tape mittens, humiliated by their uselessness.

“I want you to touch me…please,” Aro mumbled, red from embarrassment.

“Of course,” Rire effortlessly slipped his fingers under her skirt and entered her.

“My poor little pet can't touch herself when her hands are all taped up, hm?” He snickered in her ear. “How pathetic. You need your master to do everything for you, isn't that right, little one?”

Aro started to respond, but then Rire’s fingers rubbed against her clit and she gasped instead.

“Nngh - fuck -” Aro moaned louder, shifting her hips against his hand. He tugged on the leash so the collar pressed hard against her throat.

“Good toy…that's my good toy,” he breathed into her neck as he fucked her with his fingers.

She came after only a few minutes, her wetness spilling all over Rire's hand.

“What a mess,” Rire tsked. “Did you ever taste yourself?”

He poked his fingers into her mouth and made her lick his whole hand clean. The taste of her own cum was strange and reminded Aro that she was thirsty. She longed for water to wash the taste away.

“You humans are just too easy,” Rire teased as he turned off the video. “Just a few touches is all it takes to make you melt. So weak and worthless. You're good for nothing except pleasing your master.”

Aro slipped off his lap and turned to face him.

“I-I did everything you asked,” she whimpered. “Please, I need water…and food…”

“Of course,” Rire snapped his fingers. “Everything has returned to the kitchen. You may help yourself…”

He grinned evilly. “But you may not take the tape off your hands. If you try to take it off, I will hurt you.”

It was at that moment, of course, that Aro’s stomach growled quite loudly. Her insides felt pinched from hunger. If she wasn't starving, she might have defied Rire and marched into the kitchen, tape mittens and all.

But now hunger had eroded her dignity. It was humiliating to depend on him, but it would be even more humiliating to try getting food and water without the use of her hands.

Her vision blurred, and Aro realized that hot tears of frustration and embarrassment were running down her cheeks.

“Please,” she begged. “I can't do it by myself. Please help me…I’m so hungry. I just need a little food and water. I'll do anything.”

“Anything?” Rire's eyebrows raised in amusement. “What can you possibly offer me that I don't have already?”

“I don't know!” Aro sobbed. She tried to wipe away her tears with her useless tape mittens. She hated crying in front of him, but now that she started, she couldn't stop.

Rire watched her cry for a while before he finally felt pity. He stood up from the couch and led her away with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Come, my pet…let's get you something to eat.”

[beep-beep-sunny]

Reddie Week Day 5- Other media! I did Scream (1996). This is really short because it's just a test first chapter. They are murderers, so it's a bit OOC.

He would have loved to say he wasn't easy to convince, but when it came to Eddie, he folded as easily as a dinner napkin. It was much easier than he thought it would be at least. He kissed his mother on the cheek, stuck his tongue out at his little sister, and off to commit atrocities with surprisingly little remorse. 

Eddie always left his window unlocked, even before all this murder business. Growing up, Richie would show up most afternoons and Eddie would pretend he disapproved, but the window was always unlocked. Sometimes, Eddie would do this thing where he'd say outloud what he thought he was supposed to want, even if his actions told a different story.

"Took you long enough." Eddie said as Richie swung his leg over the window pane. 

"What? You said 7?" Richie pulled himself all the way in and shut the window. 

Eddie rolled his eyes and cut through the air in front of Richie's face with his hand. "It's 7:05." 

They held eye contact for several seconds and Richie started laughing. "Are you being serious right now?" 

"Yeah, asshole! If you're not gonna take this seriously we're gonna get fucking caught so fast." 

"Relax, dude. I don't think there's any kind of actual deadline with this kinda thing." 

"No, I will not relax, Rich." Eddie started to speak too loudly, so he consciously brought down his volume. "This isn't some kind of game." 

"It's not? That's such a bummer because I was hoping to get the high score." He winked. "A double kill is worth extra points, right?" 

Eddie rushed him, putting his hands over his mouth. "Sshhh, do not say it like that." He looked all around as though the verbal acknowledgement of murder was going to bring the police right there, or worse, his mother.

"What, Eds?" Richie's vocal volume raised a bit. "Does Mrs. K still not let you play violent video games?" 

Eddie took a second before smiling fondly. "I hate you." He said as though he meant something else. 

Richie's face softened. "Yeah, I hate you too, Eds." 

After a tender few seconds, Eddie jerked up and grabed Richie's bag. "You brought everything?" 

"I always do, don't I? Well, after … ya know." Richie rubbed his hands together, his thumb leaving a red indent. 

"Yes, thank you for bringing that up." Eddie said under his breath while organizing the things Richie had stuffed into his school back after removing the books and school supplies. They had rope, duct tape, a small mechanical box, a large cell phone, two identical knives, and two Halloween masks with long white faces and mouths open in the shape of a scream. "Good." He confirmed. "I have the robes ready to go. They're hung in the back of my closet behind my winter jackets." 

While Eddie was focused on explaining something about the logistics of their stealthy entry, Richie had slid one of the two masks onto his hand. When Eddie looked up, Richie looked over to his masked hand. "Well, what do you think of that plan Mr. Ghostface killer?" 

He cleared his throat and did his best to throw his voice. He'd been practicing, but this time he was actually performing for Eddie. "Let me think about that, Richie." Richie used his other hand as though it were Ghostface's hand and tapped on the mask's cheek. Richie was now able to do a convincing job imitating the sound the voice changer made with nothing but his voice if he did say so himself. "Such a cute little guy must only come up with good plans. I'd say I'd follow him anywhere." 

"You're so stupid." Eddie said, but he was laughing and smiling, so Richie smiled too. Mission accomplished. 

[tssdresses]

Update on Orange Poll Dress and Roman's Casual Look Mini project

Just a quick update for you all about how these projects have been progressing, plus a sneak peak on the next dress I want to make.

On both of these projects: I am heading back to school this week, and classes start next week, so they're on hold until I can get adjusted to the new schedule. Shouldn't take too long, but you should expect to hear about the Roman mini project before the poll dress.

Orange Poll Dress

So, this dress has had the least amount of progress since I last posted about fabric scavenging on 12/24. I haven't had the time to go and get some fresh fabrics, and the fabrics I have were really leaving me... uninspired. You'd think that a dress which I had other people pick out all the design elements for would be easy to make, but, uh... not really, unfortunately. I'm working on it!

It's on pause until I can go to a fabric store with some friends to get properly re-inspired and get a good idea going! I'm hoping to give you an update on it in the next month (so, mid February).

Roman's Causal Look Mini project

Okay, on the list of things to do for this project now includes getting a proper master post up, haha.

This outfit has a few elements that still need completion.

The jacket is done!

I started making a corset top via the 'wrap yourself in plastic and duct tape to make a pattern' method and it didn't go very well, so I'm scrapping that to try something else. The top still needs some editing.

I found a cool mesh shirt with floral patterns I'm going to use as an undershirt, though!

The skirt looks awesome and just needs to have an elastic waist put in, and then it'll be good to go.

I have the coolest boots for the outfit and I'm so pleased.

So, in short, I have minor adjustments to make on the skirt and a corset-inspired blouse to make, and then it'll be ready. I also have a tiara I've been wanting an excuse to wear so this'll be great.

My goal is to complete this cosplay by the end of February.

Upcoming project

Spring is coming! The next dress I make I am very excited for. It's going to be a sundress for Emile Picani, based on the fanfiction Love And Other Fairy Tales, mostly because I want a sundress I can wear. My goal is to make it in the month of March so it's ready for springtime in the mountains.

(No one say anything about Patton's wedding dress from LAOFT it's in a bag in the back of my closet begging me to work on it I'll get to it eventually I promise)

[wrathfulrook]

Wrathling - Chapter 4

Series rating: E

Ship: John Seed x Patience Ekner (deputy oc)

Word count: ~4.7k

Series masterlist

Read it on ao3.

Patience woke once again with her head lolling down, her neck sore, and her head in splitting agony. She opened her eyes to a harsh red lighting, initially so bright it hurt. The large room smelled like sweat, blood, and something worse. Trash bag and duct tape wrapped bodies hung from meat hooks like giant, sleeping bats. Dark puddles of mystery liquid had collected in places on the concrete floor. And directly across from her, bathed in the ominous light from an overhead antler chandelier (And really? A chandelier? Here?) sat Joey.

Joey who she hadn’t seen in weeks. Joey who had apparently been here that whole time, without reprieve.

The deputy tried to get her eyes to focus on her friend, watching her form waver back and forth as she struggled against her bonds. Joey’s hair was matted and tangled, likely not having been taken out of its braid since her capture. Tear streaks ran down her face, disappearing under the strip of duct tape that secured her mouth shut. There was a strong chance the ‘something worse’ odor she smelled was Joey.

Joey’s struggling became more frantic as Patience’s vision began to clear and she heard a faint, whistled tune. Joey screamed from behind her makeshift gag and pulled at the ropes securing her to the chair until Patience could see from across the room that her wrists were chafing. Following her friend’s panicked gaze, Patience turned to her right and saw none other than John Seed, himself.

He stood in front of a worn work bench, his back to the bound deputies while he whistled a tune Patience felt confident she could place had she not suffered a recent blow to the head. He opened a toolbox that she could not see inside of from her angle. Between the whistling and the relaxed, habitual seeming movements of his exposed forearms, John Seed exuded a casual ease and comfort that filled Patience with dread.

He stopped whistling, turned around, and leaned back against the bench. The genuine smile on his face unsettled her even further.

Joey’s cries turned to whimpers. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Seeing her always strong, often stoic colleague brought to tears by just his presence… It made Patience fear John Seed more than anything he, himself, could be doing.

“My parents were the first ones to teach me about the Power of Yes,” he began casually, conversationally, as if he didn’t have the two of them secured to chairs in a literal torture chamber. “One night, they took me into the kitchen, and they threw me on the ground, and I experienced pain after pain after pain…

“And when I didn’t think I could take anymore- I did.

“Something broke free inside. I wasn’t scared, I was… clear. I looked up at them and I started to laugh. All I could say was ‘Yes.’ I spent my entire life looking for more things to say ‘yes’ to. I opened up every hole in my body and when those were filled, I created more.”

Patience carefully kept her face still, unexpressive. But, honestly, what the fuck?

“But it was Joseph who showed me just how selfish I was being. Always receiving. Always taking. The best gift isn’t the one you get. It’s the one you give, and giving takes courage.” His voice was becoming less conversational, more proselytizing. “The courage to own your sin. To etch it onto your flesh and carry its burden. And when you have endured, when you truly begin to atone… To cut it out like a cancer and display it for all to see…”

He took a heavy breath, seemingly blown away by his own speech.

“My God, that’s courage.”

John Seed leveled his eyes with hers, and she swallowed at the weight of his full attention. He spoke directly to her, as if Joey wasn’t even in the room anymore. His volume rose as he spoke, not in anger, but in excitement. “I’m going to teach you courage. Teach you how to say ‘yes’ so you can confront your weaknesses, confront your sin.

“You will swim across an ocean of pain and you will emerge… free! For only then can you truly begin to atone.”

He pulled his gaze from her and glanced between both women, picking up a long icepick from the work bench and brandishing it before them.

“So who wants to go first? Hmm?”

He gave them a chance to volunteer. Well, gave Patience a chance, really, as Joey’s mouth was still secured shut. She opened her mouth, whether to ask to go first or to tell John Seed to fuck off, she wasn’t sure. But in any case, Joey’s wet eyes met hers and she shook her head frantically. The message was clear: Don’t.

“Which one? Hmm?”

Patience deferred to Joey, given that she’d been here longer, and knew more about how he would react in any given situation than she did. So she snapped her mouth shut and stayed silent.

“This is lesson number one.” His voice was getting harder. It was almost imperceptible, but he was losing his patience. “Someone’s got to choose.”

He turned between them, waiting for an answer, but both deputies kept quiet. He raised his eyebrows in question, but the rest of his face hardened. Patience felt her pulse quicken.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” He yelled, turning and flipping the bench onto its side. Joey cried out from behind her gag, and Patience felt her stomach sink with the unique and familiar fear of a man’s rage directed her way. “We’ll start with you!”

He advanced toward her, bending low so that his shining blue eyes met hers, all traces of his recent outburst gone. “You won’t regret this,” he said to her, so lowly she doubted Joey could hear. “I promise.”

Rising again, he announced to the room, “Now, before we begin, I think it’s only proper that Deputy Hudson goes back to her room.” He grabbed the back of Joey’s chair, wheeling her towards the door behind Patience. “Confessions are supposed to be private after all.”

Joey screamed and fought against her bonds again, and she was tempted to do the same. She’d give anything not to be left alone with this maniac.

“Shh, shh, shhhh,” he hushed Joey. “I am not here to take your life. I’m here to give it to you.”

Patience heard the door open, heard him hand Joey off to another person with orders to return her to where she was being held, followed by the door closing once again. She loathed him for what he’d done to her friend. She hated herself for the fearful tears that pricked at her eyes when she heard his footsteps approaching once more. She quickly blinked them away.

He walked past her, moving to the work bench. He worked to right it, grunting lowly with the effort. His lean muscles strained through his dress shirt, and she realized just how screwed she was. When the bench was righted, he leaned casually against it once more, and offered her a small smile, his hand over his heart.

“My apologies for the outburst.”

She scoffed, but immediately regretted the action. She didn’t want to anger him further. If he noticed, he didn’t let on.

“It’s difficult for me, how resistant you are to accepting my help.” He raised a single brow, cueing her to speak.

She didn’t.

He crossed his arms across his chest, amusement clear on his face. “You’re much more demure in person than over the radio, Deputy.”

“Well, I’m in a bit of a bad situation right now, and I’m trying not to make it worse.”

Don’t be a smartass, don’t be a smartass, don’t be a smartass.

A smile tugged at the creases of his eyes. “You think you’re in a bad situation?”

If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

She stayed quiet.

The mirth drained instantly from his features. It was terrifying how he could do that. “This is not a bad situation, Deputy. This is the first good thing to happen to you in a while, I’d wager. There will be pain. But the pain is necessary to confess, to atone. And in the end, when you are free of sin and filled with clarity, you will look back with nothing but fondness and gratitude.

“Nothing you can say will make this process any worse for you. In fact, you should be as candid as possible throughout your confession. You need to be honest with yourself, with me, with God. You need to truly confront your sin in order to be free of it.”

“And what if I don’t want to be free of my sin?”

He smiled kindly and spoke gently, “Sinners often cling to their sins. That’s why you need a baptist to help you. That’s why I’m here. It’s natural to be afraid. Though it will hurt, you won’t be permanently harmed, and you won’t be killed.”

She fought against the urge to roll her eyes, her ire at the man nearly overcoming her fear of him. “The only reason you won’t kill me is because you can’t. Joseph said that I had to be saved, or you wouldn’t get to ‘walk through Eden’s Gate.’ You can’t kill me without risking your immortal soul, or whatever.”

John Seed glared at her, and she wished she had never spoken.

“There are fates far worse than death, Deputy.”

He turned his back to her, rummaging through the implements he’d replaced onto the bench, settling for the long, pointed icepick that he’d brandished earlier. He offered her a kind smile that she didn’t trust for a second before he strolled over, pulling a chair behind him. He sat across from her, much too close for comfort while he twirled the icepick through his fingers. He leaned close, bringing his mouth to her ear, his dark facial hair scraping against her sensitive skin as she pulled away as much as she could while tied down.

His whispered lowly, almost seductively into her ear, “You will confess to me. Every sin you’ve ever committed, no matter how small, no matter how petty, no matter how you justified it at the time… You will confess.”

Before pulling away, his hot breath still on her skin, he drove the icepick into the meat of her left thigh. Then he pulled back slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, watching her react.

Patience had never been stabbed before. Not anywhere, not by anything. She’d once gotten a puncture wound from a sharp stick while running on the beach as a girl, but that was nothing. Nothing in general and nothing compared to this. She’d managed to make it through her fight with the cult so far with only bullet grazes, and one shallow bullet wound. She had never experienced anything like this.

She couldn’t exactly feel the metal that was stuck in her flesh. Her brain had no way to process it. But the area felt both ice cold and too warm for comfort. The pain felt both sharp and dull. Nausea was involved, somehow.

Her eyes were blown wide, watching John Seed, the man who had just stabbed her, lean back in his chair. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t scream. In fact, no sound at all came out. He didn’t react to her shock, and so she turned her gaze downward. The blue plastic handle of the tool stuck almost straight out of her leg, with only about two inches of the metal shaft outside of her leg with it. She was amazed at how it had pierced so cleanly through the denim of her jeans, the light fabric only barely stained red around the metal.

She was dimly aware that that was a stupid thing to be preoccupied with. Was this what shock felt like?

As she stared dumbly at the scene, a tattooed hand crept into her field of vision, wrapped its long fingers around the weapon, and yanked. He did not yank it straight out, and Patience noticed it snag on the hole in her jeans, and then so much dark blood spill out, before she felt any pain.

And then she felt the pain.

And this time, she did scream.

She screwed her eyes up tight, threw her head back, and wailed. This pain felt more tangible, less abstract, and she felt her awareness slam back in full force.

“FUCK! JESUS FUCKING-“ She gasped and opened her eyes, glaring at the man across from her. “Fuck you! FUCK!” She squirmed against the ropes and breathed harshly through clenched teeth.

“Now, Deputy, there’s no need to start with your biggest sin. We have all the time in the world.” He smiled as though he’d made a particularly clever joke. “We can start small. Ease our way in. Work our way up. So, I’ll begin with a simple question: What is your name?”

Her name? “What?”

“Your name, Deputy. I’m afraid that Sheriff Whitehorse had yet to push your paperwork through the system, to where our Faithful on the inside could access it.”

Fucking Nancy.

“So, I don’t actually know your name. I have almost no information on you, as compared to your fellow deputies.”

He gestured to the corner of the room, where a small stack of file folders sat. Nancy had actually passed the personnel files along to the cult, that bitch. Except for hers, apparently. She’d only been on the force for about two weeks before they went after Joseph. Here’s to Earl and to procrastination.

“Your name, Deputy?”

“Friends call me Rook. You can call me Deputy.”

He laughed.

“What do you have to lose by telling me your name?”

“Deputy,” she repeated.

In one swift motion, he rose from his chair, knocking it to the floor, and backhanded her across the face so hard that her ears rang.

When her ears stopped ringing and her head stopped spinning, she looked up to find him standing over her, fuming.

“Is this worth it to you?” he hissed. “Is the fate of your soul less important than keeping your name from me? Are you so prideful? Is that your sin, Deputy? Pride?”

She did not respond.

“Tell me,” he began, picking up a small knife, “is your soul worth so little to you? Why do you insist on refusing my help?”

“Help?!”

He dropped to a crouch beside her, grabbing her hand in one hand and forearm in the other.

“Yes. Help. The world is coming to end, my dear. The souls of the Project will be safe, underground, ready to enter the world again, into the New Eden.” He manipulated her arm in its bonds, so that the inside of her arm was facing up. The rope around her wrist was tied so tightly that it bit into and burned her skin as she was forced to rotate it. “Those who refuse the Father, well… They’ll burn.”

“And what if I don’t believe the world is ending? What if I don’t believe in souls?” She stared into his eyes, trying to bore a hole through him the way she felt he’d done to her.

Picking up the knife again, and bringing it to the thin, sensitive skin of her arm, he said, “I’m sorry to hear you aren’t a believer.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. He placed the blade against her skin, a few inches below her elbow, and pushed until it just barely bit into the skin, hardly deeper than a papercut. Patience had to look away when he, slowly, carefully, began to drag the blade down towards her wrist, making a long, shallow incision.

She pulled in a sharp, stuttering breath.

“Truly, I am. Those who believe in something, a god, souls, at least a caring universe, they find it easier. Easier to see the light, to confess, to atone. I take it if you don’t believe in souls, you don’t believe in God?”

The knife curved a bit, causing a turn at the very end of the incision. Strong, cold fingers gripped her jaw, too tightly, and brought her to face his cold blue eyes.

“Answer me.”

Patience paused before giving in. “…No. I don’t.”

“Hmm. Then this will be hard for you.”

The knife was brought back to its original position, and he pressed it back into her about a half inch to the side of the first cut. He made an identical incision, so, so shallow, parallel to the other. When he finished, he curved the knife the other way, forcing the two slices to meet in a v just above her wrist. She worked to control her breathing, to push through the pain, while he took the edge of the blade and dug under the point of the incision, poking and scraping until he suddenly stopped.

Patience heard the knife hit the floor and looked from his face to her arm. He had pulled up the v-point, until it was a thin, raised flap of skin. When John Seed produced a pair of pliers, she felt a flash of terror.

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that. No one, not even John fucking Seed, could come up with something so horrible. It was simply the panic at her situation that made her think that-

He moved to stand beside her, grasping the flap with the pliers. She froze, too afraid to squirm, even, to hurt herself by moving the wrong way. He adjusted his grip on the tool, and Patience was moved to begging.

“Please, please, don’t. Please, god, don’t-!”

He smiled. “I thought you didn’t believe in God?”

Then he pulled.

Patience screamed. She screamed so loudly that the sound reverberated around the room, so loudly that the noise hurt her ears. The pain was sharp. Searing. Indescribable.

Through the blur of her tears, she looked down to see the entire strip of skin between the incisions missing, going further even than the start of the cuts, up to the crook of their elbow. Small rivulets of blood ran down the sides of her arm.

“Yes!” he whooped. “Yes! The pain will bring you clarity. The pain will save you!”

He braced his hands on her arms in order to lean into her space, mindless of the agony that shot up her injured side as he did so. His eyes were wide and bright, searching her expression.

She spit into his face.

He laughed manically as he hit her again, almost toppling the entire chair with her this time.

“Ohoho, Deputy!,” he crooned. “I see you.” He paced back and forth in front of her, waving the pliers he still held as he gestured. “I see you! I see your sin. It’s so plain, so clear! Your sin… is Wrath.”

Patience mulled it over through the throbbing of her arm, leg, and head. If she had to pick one, which she really very much did not, wrath might be the best fit. She smiled at him through her pain, trying to match his jubilant expression. She made a show of turning her head to think it through, despite how that exacerbated the pulsing ache.

“…Could be. I certainly hate you. I love destroying your things. I may have guessed lust with the way the sight of one of your silos exploding makes me want to cream my jeans… but wrath makes sens-“

She was cut off when his fist collided with her mouth. The metallic taste of hot blood flooded her tongue.

“You,” he seethed. “You filthy fucking sinner.” He spit the word at her like it was a curse.

He hit her again, and she wasn’t sure whether she passed out or not. The next few… what? Minutes? Hours? Days? Were a blur of pain and disorientation. Sharp, glinting knives. The floor rushing up at her. Bruising fingers. John Seed’s manic laughter. She didn’t know what she said, what order she said it in, what prompted her to say it. She floated in and out of lucidity…

~

“…cut them out, Deputy?”

“Wh-what?” Her mouth felt too heavy.

“Why did you cut your extended family out of your life?”

~

“I want to go home,” she softly sobbed to the man in front of her.

He gently shushed her, brushing whisps of hair from her sweaty brow.

“Soon, my dear, just a bit more,” he soothed.

She nodded. She believed him. He would take her home.

~

“Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry…”

~

A single long, cool finger ran underneath her black choker, teasing the skin underneath.

“Choose your next words carefully, Deputy,” he warned her.

She didn’t know he wanted to hear. What did he want to hear?

~

She couldn’t breathe. John Seed threw her to the floor with a strength she would have never thought he could possess and now she couldn’t breathe. A shock of pain through her torso threatened to tear a scream from her throat.

The added kick to her ribs didn’t help.

She tried again to pull in a breath and found herself still floundering, the dark edges of her vision creeping in again…

~

Patience came to on the floor.

“Ahhh, Deputy, you’re back.”

She lifted her head to see John Seed, wiping down the tools he’d used on her. He met her eyes, made sure she was really paying attention before he continued.

“That is your sin. Wrath. To see it, feel it, externally… Do you see? Do you recognize it?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he shushed her instead. He came to her, helped her up, and deposited her back on the chair she had started in. She winced as her open skin pressed into the seat.

“Shh, shh, shh.” He smoothed back the hair that had fallen into her face. “Can you tell me, my dear, honestly, that you don’t recognize the wrath within yourself?”

Patience didn’t think she was overly wrathful. She did what she had to do. She was protecting the people of the county against the cult that would torture and kill them. Wrath had nothing to do with it. Whether she enjoyed it or not, she was doing what she had to.

She did enjoy it, though. Not the killing. Not really. But the destruction. She reveled in it. She enjoyed watching shrines and silos fall. She loved watching trucks go up in flames. She liked knowing she was the one doing it, and that the cult was suffering for it. She enjoyed that when she was pushed, she could push back just as hard.

Maybe that was wrath.

But it didn’t matter.

She told him as much.

“Of course it matters. If you can accept your wrath, if you can confront it inside you, then you can confess. And when you confess, you can begin to atone.

She shook her head weakly, the motion hobbled by pain. “The confession doesn’t matter. Even if I confessed to you, told you everything wrong I’d ever done in my life, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t believe in souls, or god, or the concept of sin. It’s not real.”

His eyes never left hers as he crept even closer, his face taking up her entire field of vision.

“Have you ever done anything you’re ashamed of? Something you still think about, that still bothers you inside? Even something small, something so inconsequential no one else even remembers, but still bothers you?”

They sat quietly while she thought. She kept her eyes on his. They seemed so earnest, so hopeful.

Of course they were. He was a hairs breadth from getting her to give in. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But more than that, she wanted this to be over.

“Once a little old man cut me off in traffic. Not a driver, just a guy. He stepped out onto the road to cross, and I had to brake. He was in a crosswalk but it wasn’t his turn. I was pissed. I flipped him off and yelled. He looked really surprised, like he didn’t know he was doing anything wrong. He probably just thought he had enough time to cross without me having to slow down.”

He just stared, slowly nodding. Listening intently.

Patience looked straight ahead, eyes dull and voice deadened. “I’m still kind of embarrassed.”

“That is the power of a true confession. Whether or not you felt you confessed to God is irrelevant. You confessed to me. And in doing so, you confessed to yourself. You confronted a wrathful moment in your life. And I feel confident it won’t bother you again.

“The goal is for you to be faithful. Without sin. Worthy of Eden. But faith does not have to be the first step of that journey. It is possible to become closer to God, to live a less sinful life, without believing. You can confess.

“Will you accept your sin, Deputy?”

She looked back into his eyes and could almost feel the excitement rolling off of him. She felt that she shouldn’t give into him. She didn’t want to give into him. But she could be done. She could feel better. She wouldn’t even have to compromise her beliefs, or pretend to have converted. She could just confess and be done.

He had asked her before if it was worth her pride. It was just one word. One tiny word.

“Yes,” she said.

He swooped in, placing a firm kiss on her forehead, before pulling back with a Cheshire grin.

“Yes!” he repeated, gleeful.

He produced a wet sponge, wiping and dabbing at her chest. When he was satisfied, he wheeled over a small table on which sat a tattoo gun and replacement needles and ink. He flicked the gun on, and Patience braced herself. She’d never gotten tattooed before, and didn’t know what to expect. Getting rapidly poked with a needle over and over… it probably wasn’t great. But compared to what she’d already been through…

When the needle touched her skin, she jolted. John firmly scolded her with a “Be still,” but didn’t look up from his work. She thought she should be bothered that he was staring down at her exposed chest, but she wasn’t. She was just hurt and tired and done.

She wanted to be done.

She managed to sit still through the rest of the tattoo, only marginally bothered that she’d now have the word ‘wrath’ on her skin for all time. She expected, and hoped, that she’d be angrier after she’d had food, water, and sleep. The process did hurt, but in a different way than she’d anticipated, almost as if he was pressing too hard.

“Tell me, Deputy,” he said as he finished, stepping back to admire his work. He rifled around in his toolkit once more, and she took a deep breath. It was almost over. Some more pain. Some more confessing. Then she’d be done. “What is your name?”

Power. Pride. It all seemed so stupid now. So not worth the energy.

“Patience.”

He spun around, forgetting his kit and the implements inside.

“Patience?” he asked through laughter. “Really?”

It was an uncommon name, sure, but laughable?

“Patience Ekner.”

He laughed again.

“That is too good to be true! Wrath herself? Named for its tempering virtue?”

He continued to laugh as she stared dumbly at him.

Composing himself, he explained, “Each of the seven sins has a corresponding virtue. One that counteracts it, so to speak. Sloth’s virtue,” he tapped his chest, “is diligence. By eschewing sloth, I become more diligent. But practicing diligence I can ward off sloth. Wrath’s virtue is patience.”

That did ring a bell, actually. She had heard that somewhere once, or maybe read it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Patience. Now, let’s really get to know each other,” he said as he reached back into the toolkit.

As he pulled out yet another means to torment her, the door creaked open, and John whirled to face whoever dared interrupt him, only to find the Father, himself.

“Joseph?”

But the cult leader ignored his brother, his herald, instead rushing to the deputy’s side. His eyes scanned her form as he spoke, but his words were directed to John.

“The Voice- I misunderstood- What did you do to her?”

Chapter 5