#the satisfaction of this being exactly 100 words

[emlovessid]

november 29, together, 100 words unofficial jegulus microfics with @onehundredflamingos

“Regulus and I…” James says, fumbling over his words. “We’re…”

Together?

Together doesn’t feel like enough to describe them. He’s the first thing James thinks about when he wakes up, the last thing he thinks about before he goes to sleep, and every moment in between. He’s not sure that he believes soulmates are real, like in the books where they only see in black and white until they meet them. But if they did exist? Life with Regulus is technicolour.

He meets Sirius’ eyes then, knowing exactly how to explain what he’s been trying to say, “He’s my Remus.”

[darlingsfandom]

what’s mine is mine !

pairing: emperor geta x fem reader!

summary: Geta has met his match.

tw: public fucking, p in v, unprotected sex, nipple play, jealousy , cream pie! Mention of hairy pussy! That’s not really a warning because hairy pussy is 100% natural and valid ! Not proofread.

Rome, the city of beauty, romance and lust the place you’ve called home since birth has expanded further than anyone could ever imagine including yourself , but over the last few years you’ve been feeling like it’s not what you need anymore. You need more!

The city was busy as always as you walked around on the cobble stones holding the bottom of your tunica with a smile on your face. Everyone knew who you were but never dared to challenge you. They would smile and nod. You were the grand daughter of one of the men in Geta and Caracallas senate and that’s how you found yourself constantly wondering around in the palace drawing the twin emperors attention. It was no shock that the two would fight over you but you never gave them the satisfaction.

As you walked back into the palace after your usual morning stroll you stumbled across Geta standing there looking out at the streets below.

“My Emperor.” You nodded your head before bowing just enough that he could catch a glimpse of your breasts. Geta straightened his posture and held his head high almost looking down at you. You placed your hand over your heart and gave him a gentle smile , but little did he know what was lurking behind your lips.

“And just where have you been?” Geta asked as you went to walk away.

“Out for my morning walk, as I do every morning MY emperor.” You spat on the word my making sure he understood that you meant business. Just like Geta, you were also a selfish, crud human being however you were able to mask the ugliness in a way that no would ever suspect. Geta walked up to you, gripped the side of your throat and made you look into his enraged eyes. His nostrils flared as your eyes softened.

“Try again.” His grip on your neck tightened making you gasp. His ears perked up to the sweet little sound. “Because you know that I know exactly what goes on in my empire.” He spat back at you.

“Fuck you Geta.” You spoke quietly since he had a grip. Geta raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Fuck me? FUCK ME? How dare you! You’re nothing more than a senators grand daughter…”

“Who was birthed from Venus herself! And raised as if Pluto himself was still around! You don’t dare mess with me Geta.” You gritted your teeth before shoving him with what strength you had left. Get scuffed at you before rolled his eyes.

“And you seem to forget that the gods speak to me! I am emperor!”

“That you share with your brother! You could never be an emperor on your own!” You huffed rubbing your throat before you felt your back against the wall as Geta shoved you backwards. His hands quickly gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Now I know you’re a sweet girl, what has you so worked up you dare tip toe the line to disobey me?” His nose rubbed against yours making you soften a little bit. Both of you stood silent looking in each other’s eyes. He could see the temper boiling behind them making him turned on.

“What’s mine is mine Geta! You are mine!” You lunged forward making Geta chuckle until he realized how what you just said was true. “I gave you my virginity many moons ago! Our souls are connected and you can not deny it. The fact I have to even say it like that makes me want to cry. The fact I witnessed you looking at a whore the way you look at me… what if I had looked at Caracalla the way I look at you? You’d have my head cut off in a second!” Anger boiled in your voice as your hands gripped onto his arms making him whimper a little since your nails were digging into his soft flesh.

Geta couldn’t deny what you were saying, he could easily have your head cut off but he also wouldn’t actually hurt a hair on your head. He was secretly soft for you and loved actually making love to you, yes fucking you was just as good but you were more than that, no one else was allowed to touch you the way he did. The issue between the two of you is that you’re both so stubborn but the difference is that you are actually acting upon your feelings for Geta. He stepped back and reached out to stroke your face as if you were made of glass. You titled your cheek into his hand.

“You my beauty, have no reason to be so jealous of such a common whore. I do not love her, she was a sight to look at. You, you’re a goddess and you know that. You are mine and only mine!” Geta ran his thumb over your bottom lip while you felt tears roll down your cherry cheeks.

“Then love me like you meant Geta! No more whores around the palace! No more staring at them until your brain is no longer functioning! If I am yours, then I want you to announce it to the gods themselves !” Your words were heard as Geta grabbed your face and kissed you hard. The kiss was nothing like you’ve felt from him before, it was making your stomach feel full of butterflies and your thighs clench together all at once. His lips moved away from yours so he could place his forehead to yours and look into your eyes.

“My beauty, I will do more than tell them and not just the gods, all of Rome will know who you belong too!” Geta pulled on your hand and took you out to the balcony. The people below stopped what they were doing when the heard the sound of Geta clearing his throat to speak but he did not say a word! You furrowed your eyebrows together in confusion as Geta put his hand on your back, pushed you over the edge enough that everyone got a good look at you and the crowd gasped when they realized it was you. As if the gods were actually watching, the sun poked through the dark clouds and illuminated your figure. Anxiety ran through your veins but your face would never show it.

Silence. Complete silence as Geta stood there holding you close until he opened his mouth.

“I will make this clear as I can so that no man will ever lay a finger upon MY beauty!” His words made you clench around nothing but your cheeks turned even redder by the second. Geta stood behind you , untied your tunica and let it fall exposing your naked body making the crowd gasp. “A true beauty shaped and birthed from Venus herself and she belongs to me. No one shall harm a hair on her head nor shall they try to make love in way to her, if anyone shall try then you will be meeting the gods sooner than you’ve thought.” He placed his hands on your breasts and massaged them slowly, rolling your hardened nipples inbetween his fingers while his lips kissed along your neck making sure to suckle on the delicate skin that made your eyes roll back.

Geta did not care who watched as he ran his fingers down your body until he reached your hips. He moved his lips along your shoulder as he moved his hands to your plushy thighs and spread them apart. His fingers trailed along your hairy folds. A soft moan escaped your lips as his finger slowly slid inside of you. Geta moaned at how wet you already were. The fact that he could easily fuck you in a public place and every other nasty kink you had made him feel proud. His finger slowly moved in and out of you making you bite your bottom lip to which Geta squeezed your cheeks with his free hand and made you open your mouth. You were melting into his touch.

Geta smirked as he leaned in and spit into your mouth making the crowd below you make mixed noises. You swallowed eagerly and Geta county deny how attracted he was to you. Who on earth would allow something like that? But that’s why he was attracted to you. His finger pulled out of your wet cunt and slipped into your mouth. You sucked softly on his finger as he spread open your legs, bent you over the railing and worked on lifting up his on tunic. His cock was leaking with milky pre-cum, the feeling of his wet head rubbing against your hairy folds made you moan around his finger until he pulled it away and wiped it on your cheek. You smiled until you felt the head of his cock pushing inside of you.

“Geta!” You whimpered as he eased into your warm hairy cunt .

“That’s it , tell them who is pleasing you so well!” He gripped onto your hips tightly as he pushed his cock all the way in making you grip the railing until your knuckles turned white. Geta groaned at stretching you out, the way you were mumbling below him made him close his eyes. He waisted no time in bottoming out before he railed you over the railing. The sound of his balls slapping against your wet cunt echoed to the people who were still watching below. A few of those people were also touching their bodies as Geta took no mercy on your cunt. You were a whimpering mess until Geta wrapped his arm around your waist and held you up straight so he could play with your nipples while his cock pounded into your cunt.

Sweat covered your skin as Geta praised how good you feel. His fingers twisted your nipples making you yelp at first before he pulled on them. His lips attacked your neck with kisses while his hand reached down and pressed his finger against your clit to rub it fast. The added pleasure had your knees buckling as your orgasm rushed inside of you.

“Geta , Geta , please , I … oh I feel..”

“I know you do, I can feel how wet you’re getting, how hard you’re squeezing me! Show them! Show them how good you’re feeling, let it go.” Geta whispered into your ear and nibbled on your ear lobe which sent you over the edge.

“GETA!” You cried out as your orgasm ripped through your body, making your knees shake and in a surprise your body was in a state of pleasure that you actually squirted against his cock, soaking him and Geta was beyond pleased. You were the first one to ever orgasm like that for him.

“What a beautiful sight!” He couldn’t hold back his own orgasm and groaned out as his cum shot into your cunt. You could feel him filling you up. The warm sticky liquid dripped down your thighs since he had such a big load. Geta used his fingers to scoop his cum up and shove them into your mouth that was panting. You suckled greedily as Geta stood behind you with a satisfied smirk while the crowd below cheered.

“Let it be known that what’s mine is mine and she is mine!” Geta clapped his hands as he did a loud boom of thunder sounded making him smirk. Geta got exactly what he wanted and so did you. You stood up slowly as he admired the number he did on you. Your neck was covered in purplish marks , cum covered thighs and pupils blown, a true beauty in his mind a beauty that belonged to him.

[byoldervine]

Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go

[judesmoonbeauty]

Jude Jazza's IF Prison Guard Story Set: "Lewd Punishment"- Story Two

MDNI. NSFW. This is part 2 of the story. Translations will include heavily cropped screenshots as mentioned here. Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

CW: Gagging, Brief mention of death, Dubcon/Noncon - Just in case. And probably the most awkwardly translated smut you'll read.

Kate: Ah…..Nn……ha!

Something hot drags itself inside me repeatedly, making me let out shriek-like cry.[1]

The enemy guard grabs me by my waist to stop me from escaping, and pounds his heat inside of me.

Before my foolish appearance, amethyst eyes glow dimly, and he smiles with satisfaction.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: At yer limit? ‘Forehand, when I gave ya my hand, ya said “It doesn’t feel good”.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Yer all bark ‘n no bite, small fry.

Kate: Ahhh…..!

He penetrates deep inside me, and just like that I hit my peak.

White sparks burst into my vision, my body trembling in the afterglow……after a period of time, he pulls out slowly.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..Ha, yeah that’s a good look.

I was a spy and now I'm a prisoner of war in an enemy country.

Even when I was interrogated by people from the enemy country while imprisoned, I never said a word.

— And the guard who couldn’t overlook that, began to punish me every night, by roughly embracing me.

(The guard hasn't come yet, although it's his usual time to do so.)

(Maybe something happened. Or perhaps he’s grown tired of me….?)

My body tingled when I thought of the guard — but then I can back to my senses.

(Was I…..hoping the guard would come just now?)

I thought I had a strong heart, but I’m sure we’ve grown closer.

The pleasure he’d given me was like a sweet poison, and before I knew it, I was addicted.

(….This is exactly what the other party wants.)

(If I’m going to go insane and give up information….then I’d rather die before that happens.)

Kate: Today, I’ll surprise you.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….Whaddya gonna do?

I smiled, open my mouth — and bit my tongue hard.

I could feel my teeth break through the  soft flesh, as the taste of iron spreads in my mouth.

(……….Huh?)

But no matter how long I waited, the pain never came.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….Don’t be so selfish.

When I looked, the guard was sticking his finger in my mouth.

Apparently it was his finger that I bit.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ‘N don’t chew off my finger. It ain’t tonight’s dinner.

I obediently opened my mouth and released the guard’s injured finger.

Kate: Why….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Yer life doesn't belong to ya or to yer country. It’s mine now.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I decide whether ya live or die. Don’t think ya can just die when ya want.

The guard said without hesitation while shooting me at sharp gaze.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….So, why’d ya do it?

Kate: ….

Kate: ….I, didn’t want to change.

Kate: I can't forgive myself for being addicted to the pleasure you give me, and waiting for you every night —….Mmph!

In the middle of my story, the guard kisses me and my eyes widen in surprise.

Kate: Ah…….w-what are you doing….mm

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Watcha said just now, sounded like a pickup line to me.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ya can’t be satisfied without me, ‘n it’s hard bein’ away from me, innit?

Kate: No! I just want it all to end.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I won’t letcha off ya for sayin’ that.

The guard spoke coldly, and forcibly gagged me.

It's probably one of the tools the guards carry around to prevent prisoners from biting their tongues.

(That's right... If I die, you won't be able to get any information.)

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Until ya no longer have the will to die, I ain’t takin’ this off, ‘cept for meals.

With the gag on, I could barely speak, so it was impossible to complain.

All I could do was glare at the guard with resentment.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ……Those eyes are excitin’, but it’s borin’ when ya can’t say anything.

The guard flicked the gag with his fingertip, then rolled me on the bed, disheveling my clothes.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Don’t need nothin’ today, so this is the only place I’ll touch.

The guard ran his hand over my chest.

Kate: Mmph……

Seeing my breasts change shape from the guard’s large hands was both erotic and embarrassing.

Since I was gagged, I shook my head no, but I was able ignored.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: The tips are already so stiff. …..Nasty woman.

Kate: AHH!

When he pinches my nipples, my body feels a sweet bolt of lightning. [2]

The guard’s head approached my chest as he twisted my peaks.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Hmm……

Kate: UGH…..haa…haa

One of them is kneaded and crushed by the guard’s fingers, while the other was attacked by his mouth.

As I’m sweetly bitten and sucked on strongly, heat builds up in my lower abdomen…..

…..And before I knew it, I was rubbing my thighs together.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Haa…ya can’t hold back anymore. Yer an impatient woman.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard:…Toldja I wouldn’t touch ya anywhere but here t’night.

(The only place he’ll touch are my breasts…?)

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ya tryin’ to lure me in by lookin’ like ya want it? Sorry but….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: If yer feelin’ lonely inside, then do it yerself.

(I can't do that myself...It’s too embarrassing…...)

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Can’t do it?

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ya say ya can’t do it unless it’s me, ‘n it’s hard when we’re apart,

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Even though I trained ya to cum here.

(I never said that….!)

Kate: Mmmhm…! Ugghh!

I tried to protest, but with the gag on I couldn't get any words out.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …Haha, why’re groaning? How cute.

The guard kissed my cheek, while still gagged.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Well, just once. ‘Cause yer so cute.

The hands that had been torturing my breasts reached between my legs and massaged me with practiced hands, and —

Kate: Ahh….!

A hot shaft touched my slick entrance, and penetrated me swiftly. [3]

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ya swallowed it right away... ..You've already memorized my shape, haven't ya?

Kate:Mmm…..ah…..!

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Oh, “I want it deeper”? Then it can’t be helped —

It was fabricated although I didn’t say a thing, and he thrust so deeply inside me.

Sparks fly around my vision and I nearly lose consciousness, but I endure it and glare at the guard pinning me down.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ha, that’s nice look….

Even that seems to be a source of excitement for the guard, and his rhythm becomes more intense again.

(Ooh, what should I do?)

(I mustn’t accept this, but….)

Entangling our legs and holding each other tightly…..

In the end, I surrendered to the pleasure that was given to me.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Haaah. ….Why would I become so absorbed with a woman like this?

The guard whispers to himself as he pulls out his heat from me.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..It's yer fault for not openin’ yer mouth. Thanks to that, I hafta punish ya every night.

There's something sweet and sad about the guard's voice that sticks with me.

(The guard is just trying to get me to reveal information……)

(It seems like you're attached to me.…..but, I'm sure it's just my delusion.)

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: As expected...ya haven't had enough punishment yet, so I'll have to do it one more time.

Kate: …..[Gasp]?!

Even if I wanted to protest, the gag wouldn't allow me to speak.

(….. Ah, but maybe it's okay to stay like this forever.)

— Things like liking you, or loving you.

This will prevent us from having to convey our confused feelings due to misunderstandings, as our bodies grow closer.

Yoooo, you idiots better both properly communicate in the main route.

Ftn [1]: Rubs was replaced with drags. Ftn [2]: For the sake of variety, I changed “tips of my breasts” to nipples because dammit that’s what they are. Ftn [3]: This was literally translated: “A hot ferocious stake applied to my muddy entrance.” I…..couldn’t. CHANGED.

[Master List] Dividers: @.natimiles

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[whateverloomis]

What if you did a Billy x reader x Stu where they’re like IN LOVE in love w reader but the readers just super oblivious and when they kill their girlfriends readers just like “oh shit I’m next” but they confess they’re love also reader could be gender neutral

(I’m sorry if this sucks I am NOT good at requests)

Don't worry anon, it's totally okay! I feel like I got way too dramatic with this lmao, but we need a little bit of drama to spice things up once in a while :P

Warnings: Hopelessly romantic Billy and Stu (lol,) stalking, mentions of murders, touchy feely Billy and Stu, kissing (nothing too intense here,) unedited

Word count: 1.3k

Reader: GN, no pronouns used

Casey, Tatum and now Sidney. You're most likely next. No, you are next, 100%. Why would the ghost face killer spare you? You're part of the friend group and you sure as hell aren't special. At least that's what you told yourself, but Billy and Stu thought different.

They were both painfully in love with you. They couldn't handle having anyone trying to hit on you and steal you from them. They were possessive and with each day it got even more intense and fucked up.

They's kill whoever showed any kind of romantic interest in you. It was unbearable to know there was someone else other than them who felt for you.

Billy loved to follow you to your house and make random apparitions when you least expected it. He thought it was so adorable when you did that little jump when he scared you.

"Billy! You scared me!" You said after gasping.

"Aw I didn't mean to." He said, eyes dark with amusement.

You looked around, anxiety evident since he triggered your fight or flight. What if there was someone else following you? What if the killer's stalking you without you realizing it? If Billy, your close friend who you could easily recognize could do it then a masked killer could do it too. You were terrified.

"It's okay I... Can you walk me home? It's getting kinda dark already." You asked and Billy smirked. He got exactly what he wanted.

"Sure thing."

•

Somewhere along the way he placed his hand around your waist while you guys walked. You didn’t think much of it since he obviously didn’t mean anything by it, so you thought. Instead, you expressed to him how scared you were because of the kills taking place in Woodsboro. It had been months since your friends were slaughtered and you got pretty good at suppressing your emotions and continuing your life semi normally, but it still got to you inevitably from time to time.

Billy and Stu were your primary source of comfort. After the kills took place they didn’t waste any time and became as close to you as they could.

“I understand your worries and fears, YN. Really, I do, but…” he trailed off. Billy didn’t want to exactly dismiss your words, he just wanted to play around with them a little bit so everything was in his and Stu’s favor.

“…but you have me now. Me and Stu. We’ll protect you no matter what. You’re safe, I promise.” Billy reassured and smirked in satisfaction once he felt you relax under his shoulder.

“You’re right,” you said softly as you climbed up the stairs to your front porch.

Billy stood in front of you, one step lower and leaned against the wooden rail. He looked into your eyes and for a second your heart skipped a beat, but you blinked quickly and looked away, composing yourself.

Billy is undeniably attractive but you couldn't go there, plus there was no chance in hell he'd be interested, so you brush any weird feelings away.

"You home alone tonight? I can keep you company if you'd like," the boy suggested and you definitely wouldn't have minded one bit. Being home alone wasn't your favorite thing especially after the murders. Much less being alone an entire week thanks to your parents being away on a work trip.

You hesitated for a moment, not knowing if it would be best to be alone or with someone in the house. What if Billy got killed instead of you? Or worse, what if you both got killed? In your own home? The irrational thoughts ran wild and Billy could see that you were lost in them.

"Hey" he said softly and grabbed your hand reassuringly, secretly seeking more physical contact with you; "It's okay if you don't want me to-" - "No, no it's not that I just..." you trailed off when you felt Billy touch your cheek with his free hand, looking into your eyes. Was he going to kiss you? It definitely looked like he was, but the boy got interrupted.

"What's up kiddos!? We having a party at YNs?" Stu broke Billy's moment as he approached from behind. The boy bit his lip in annoyance and glared at Stu as he made his way towards you and hugged you tightly, lifting you up in the process.

You inevitably giggled at his playfulness and placed your hands on his chest as he set you down.

"C'mon! Let's have a movie night or something! You got popcorn here?" Stu asked excitedly and you nodded. His cheerfulness made the idea sound perfect, so you took his offer and invited the boys in.

•

"Ugh, why is there always a lowkey love interest in horror movies? Everyone is gonna die anyways." You said related to the film you were watching.

Billy craned his neck to the side and looked at you, lifting an eyebrow in intrigue; "Why wouldn't there be? It makes things more interesting." He said and Stu hummed in agreement, lost in the sex scene that was taking place on the screen.

"Well, yeah but what's the point? Honestly." You replied and Billy gave you a confused expression.

"I mean, have you ever been in love? If you analyze it, it does make sense." Billy said and you thought for a second before replying; "Mm, no. I don't think I ever have."

At your words Billy shifted on the couch to face you completely. Stu paused the movie, too shocked to continue watching the film.

"Are you serious?" Billy asked and Stu looked at you in shock, his head resting on Billy's shoulder.

"No. It's not a big deal guys. Plus, nobody has ever been in love with me either so it doesn't really matter."

The boys tensed up at your words. Were you really that oblivious? The tension, the touchiness, the compliments, all their love languages spilled on you wasn't obvious enough?

"What if I told you that you're wrong?" Billy asked, his voice soft.

"The signs have been in front of you the whole time, YN!" Stu said, losing his patience.

You couldn't read their expressions or understand what they were trying to say. Were they admitting that they both love you? There was no way that could be true, right?

"Wh- What are you guys saying?" You asked and Billy had enough of your games, even though you had no idea they felt challenged by you.

The boy leaned in and kissed you. His hand immediately fell on your thigh and you couldn't help but kiss him back.

Stu stood up and sat behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing kisses on your shoulder.

You felt chills all over your body at the sensation of both of their lips on you. You never thought you'd ever be in this position, much less with your best friends. The only ones left after everything. The only ones who were there for you.

Your emotions were overwhelming. You were confused, excited and turned on all at once. Maybe you have feelings for them too and didn't even realize it.

"You don't know how much I've been waiting to get my hands on you." Billy whispered against your lips and kissed you a few more times before continuing; "Show you how much I feel for you... Fuck, how much we both feel for you." He bit his lower lip and kissed you again.

You moaned into Billy's mouth, his words were so promising. So real.

"Mhmm." Stu hummed softly in agreement next to you; "It's been driving me crazy, YN... Both of us." He continued and turned you around. It was his turn to kiss you now. You played with each other's tongues and moaned softly into each other's mouths before he finally said it; "We love you." He kissed you once more before continuing; "So fucking much." He finished as he squeezed your sides in excitement.

Billy wrapped his arms around you from behind, his limbs resting above Stu's; "So... So much, baby." He whispered in your ear and you just about melted.

You had so much to figure out. So much to address with yourself and so much confusion circling in your head, but all you could think about was how much you wanted them. How much you needed to feel them and explore their feelings further. How much you needed Billy Loomis and Stu Macher.

[feralwritings]

dissonance

part three

words: 4.2k

“I don’t care what he is, Gareth,” She cuts him off, “I’m just trying to get through this tour, okay? Corroded Coffin wasn’t exactly my idea of a good tour mate, but we play the cards we’re dealt, and I’m playing nice, aren’t I?” Gareth looks like he wants to retort, but she quells him with a stare and he raises his hands in surrender, the glowing bud of his cigarette waving through the air as he does. He turns to go back into the hotel, and she hears the sliding doors open, and then close. “He doesn’t hate you. I think you should know that.”

masterpost

taglist: @cam-peggio each notif you get for this fic must be a shock considering they're so spread out but i appreciate ya all the same hon

The arena in Phoenix is cold and empty when she walks into it, meandering towards the stage from the labyrinth of seats before her. When she finally reaches it, she clambers up, leaving her feet to dangle over the edge as she pulls out her phone.

This was the rehearsal space that Corroded Coffin had chosen for her to learn the song and practice it. They had a few options, seeming to narrow down on one. The one that she hoped beyond hope that they don’t choose, but judging by her luck, those lyrics are going to be ripped from her throat either way.

She’s here early, of course, alone in the quiet for a while. It’s almost peaceful, mostly haunting, looking out upon the rows of seats, thinking that she sees a phantom sitting in one before her eyes adjust, and it’s gone. Dealing with paranoia was never her strong suit, and she’s staring up at the nosebleeds, swearing that there’s movement up there when the stage rumbles below her.

She turns, seeing the boys wheeling equipment and instrument cases onto the stage. Eddie’s in the rear, and she smiles stiffly at each one as they pass by, allowing her smile to fall fully when Eddie looks at her.

She stands, quietly watching as they unload their gear, plug various cables into various panels, Joey, Jeff and Eddie tuning their guitars while Gareth adjusts the foot pedal for his kickdrum, giving it a few tests before nodding in satisfaction, drumming out a little fill, general rehearsal stuff.

And she’s there, in her hoodie and sweats, standing awkwardly downstage, waiting for them to tell her to do something, or even speak to her.

Of course, it’s Eddie who finally does, adjusting the height on his mic stand as he looks over at her, “We brought an extra mic, if you need it.”

She pulls out her own from her bag, waving it a little as she connects it to the soundboard, wired as opposed to not, easier to deal with for just a rehearsal.

“So,” she says, approaching Eddie, dragging a stand behind her, setting it a few feet away from him, as she slips her mic into the clip, “What song did you choose?”

There’s only a couple songs that feature another vocalist, and among those, none feature a female vocalist, so she can’t really think where she might fit into all this, if she can at all. The label said this might not work, it could end up being a one-off, something that she never has to do again.

“People love nostalgia, so we’re choosing one from our earlier years,” He says, bending to dig some lyric sheets out of his guitar case, handing them to her.

She reads the name at the top of the page, and her blood runs a bit cold.

It’s the song. The song that propelled them to stardom, the song that got them signed to a bigger label, the song that broke containment out of their sub-genre and reached the world at large, the song that sat at 86 on the Billboard Hot 100 for a month straight.

“You’re kidding,” She whispers, running the tips of her fingers over the printed ink, “You want me to sing this? With you?”

Eddie tilts his head at her, his brow furrowing, “Yeah, we haven’t performed it in a few years, thought it was time to bring it back around.”

She stares at him. She loves this song. Always has - even after everything went down, this was the song that she couldn’t quite manage to delete entirely from her library, simply removing it from her most frequent playlists, but it would sit there, like an old tome collecting dust. 

One of the reasons that the song broke containment was because of its rawness and vulnerability. The lyrics themselves, though steeped in excessive metaphor, paint a picture of devastating heartbreak. A heartbreak, though asked by every news outlet and interviewer and magazine and just about anyone could get a second with him, Eddie has never discussed. The fact that it's shrouded in mystery makes it all the more popular, superfans scrubbing through Eddie’s past, trying to figure out who it’s about. It starts off slow, building through the first chorus and into the second verse, and by the bridge it’s a cacophony of sound, overlapping bits of Eddie’s voice singing different parts, until they come into one succinct harmony during the final chorus. They haven’t made a song like it since. 

“Alright,” she exhales, “Where do you want me to come in?” 

“Was thinking near the second chorus, leading into the bridge. I could sing the harmony, you can sing the melody.”

Which, again, is a strange choice. Her voice, louder, higher than his will be what people mostly hear, and she doesn’t know if the return of this song, the song with her in it, is what people would even want. 

Eddie’s watching her, seeming to know that she’s mulling it over in her head. He takes a cautious step forward, and she snaps out of it, looking up into his face. 

“Listen,” he says, all tall, voice low, only meant for her, “We don’t have to like each other. Hell, we don’t even have to get along like best friends, but you and I both know this tour is going to suck ass if we’re always at each other's throats.”

She sighs, biting down on her cheek, “Yeah. Let's just…try and behave ourselves, I guess.” 

He nods, pulling his guitar from the case and slinging it across his shoulder. 

“Alright,” Eddie says, plucking out a little tune on the strings before approaching his microphone, “First verse.” 

***

She’s standing in the wings, tired from her own set but shaky about her part in this one. She can hear Eddie in her in-ears, can feel rather than hear the music, and as the lyrics inch closer and closer to her starting point, her heart rate jumps in her chest. 

Rehearsal had gone well enough, they’d decided that she would start singing when she was off the stage, and then walk on stage still singing. It’s a little Disney Channel, sure, but it didn’t really make sense for her to be on stage the whole time, awkwardly hovering by Jeff, waiting until it was time for her to sing. 

When the song had started, she could hear the cheers of the crowd, so loud that they had picked up on Eddie’s mic. He hadn’t really introduced it, just started playing the first few chords, recognizable enough that the crowd’s confused whispers had turned into a roar of excitement.

The second verse was finishing up now, the pre chorus ringing in her ears, Eddie’s raspy voice sending pins and needles down the length of her spine. He was a beautiful singer, there was no two ways about it, and try as she might to find more and more things wrong with him, with his music, with the band, with everything that had anything to do with him, she was coming up short, more and more. 

“Okay,” She hears one of the sound guy’s voices in her ear, Pete, maybe.

”Three.”

She takes a deep breath in.

”Two.”

She raises the microphone to her mouth.

”One.”

She starts to sing.

Her voice comes out stronger than she would’ve expected, higher, louder than Eddie’s like she knew it would be. Their harmony twists around each other, like both strands of a double helix around a DNA ladder, and judging by the way Eddie’s voice skips, he jerks his head to look at her, eyes wide, he’s just as surprised as she is. It didn’t sound like this in rehearsal, because they hadn’t been working together as they are now, off in their own worlds, in their own parts of the song, despite the fact that originally, the bridge was meant to be a cohesive piece.

It’s that way now, and as she walks out on stage, flashing a shy smile in greeting, Eddie holds out an arm in introduction, one hand off the neck of his guitar for a few seconds before it flies back, picking up the chords.

It goes well, considering.

For about thirty seconds.

When her in-ear cuts out, and she can only hear Eddie again, she figures that her mic is still on, and so she figures that she should keep singing, as the bridge is almost over. A quick glance at Eddie tells her that this is not the case, and she raises a finger to her mic in question, and he shakes his head, and then nods for her to come share his.

Which is quite literally the last thing she wants to do. She could just as well share Joey or Jeff’s mic, but they’re not even singing back up right now, and as the few seconds pass before she makes a decision, she can feel a lull in the crowd, and can hear, above all else, Stacy’s voice in her head, telling her to ride their coattails. 

She jogs up to Eddie’s side, having kept her distance from him this whole time. He moves to the right to accommodate her as she stands on tiptoe to reach his microphone, as it’s set just above her head.

She can hear herself again in Eddie’s mic, and she can feel Eddie himself pressed into her side, the neck of his guitar crossed in front of her like the blade of a sword, his elbow brushing against her as he changes chords.

The last few lines of the bridge approach, and her eyes slip to meet his. She can feel his breath on her face, they’re that close, and when the lights strobe around them, she can see the expression on his face in snapshots, apathy, then interest, then a softness that shows in his eyes, the way they half close when he looks down at her mouth, the way that the only thing separating their faces is the microphone between them. 

It’s over half a second later, Eddie’s turning back towards the crowd to sing the final notes of the song, and she slinks off stage in a way that she hopes isn’t obvious. Her job is done, she sang the fucking song, she can leave. 

She’s walking so fast back to Daisy Chain’s greenroom that she missteps and rolls her ankle in her shoe and falls against the wall, panting. 

The searing pain in her ankle is accompanied by a pounding in her chest, so loud that she can hear it in her ears. She sinks to the ground, putting her head between her knees, breathing deeply. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s there, breathing in, out, in, out. It could’ve been minutes or an hour, but sometime later she feels a hand on her shoulder, and jolts, head snapping up. 

It’s Steve. Thick eyebrows drawn together in concern, a small frown on his lips. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, pressing the back of his fingers to her cheek as if to check her temperature. 

“Yeah,” she chokes out, and he helps her stand. She puts a little weight on her ankle and it pounds, but not enough for her to not be able to limp back to the bus and ice it, “Just - got a bit -“

“Overwhelmed?” Steve offers, hand on her hip to steady her as she tries walking a few steps, “You seem to be like that a lot, lately. Is there something going on?”

She considers, for half a second, telling him. Telling him that her career, her livelihood and her passion hangs in the balance if she doesn’t play nice with Corroded Coffin, and with Eddie. That if she isn’t a good girl, that if she doesn’t stay on the marionette strings UDR has her on, she’ll lose the one thing she’s actually accomplished in her life. 

She also considers telling him that playing nice with Eddie is not as hard as she thought it would be, and that she wishes it was harder, so she’d have a reason, a tangible, solid reason to still hate him.

She shakes her head, though, gulping all of this back, “I think it’s just the adrenaline. That crowd was really loud.”

Steve nods, but she can tell that he doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. Despite his reputation for being a bit of a himbo, she’s come to find that he is actually quite perceptive. When she sees him, that is. She can count on one hand the number of times they’ve hung out on this tour, despite being almost a month into it.

He helps her back to the buses outside, and on the journey they talk a little. About the tour, about his music, about a little bit of everything and nothing at all. He’s on in less than 20 minutes, but he makes sure that she gets in okay before speeding away, into the waiting crowd of managers and crew, who all roll their eyes at him, in a fond sort of way.

She sheds what she can of her clothes, grabs a can of soda from the fridge and collapses onto her bed, resting the can between the wall of her bunk and her ankle. She stares up at the ceiling, and right before sleep takes over, she sees that flash of Eddie’s eyes again.

***

Her disappearing act doesn’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s salty about it during load out, tossing cables into his case in a pissy little way, so much so that she clamps her headphones over her head and ignores him for the rest of the day.

The girls had been concerned, telling her that they’d searched all through the venue for her before finally returning to the bus and finding her zonked out in her bunk. She gave a half apology and an even weaker explanation, folding in on herself like she always does.

They drive through the night to get to Santa Fe, having a few days to themselves before the show.

Both bands, and Steve spend this time apart, in their respective buses, and on day two, their hotel rooms. It’s nice to sleep in a full sized bed for once, even if Reader wakes up with Chrissy’s limbs wrapped around her like a koala.

On the third night, the night before the show, cabin fever sets in. It’s late, past 3 am when Reader moves Chrissy’s limbs off of her and pads quietly out of the hotel room and down the hall, tugging a hoodie on as she goes.

She just needs a little air, is all. She walks through the pristine hotel lobby and into the night, which has a chilly bite to it that has her pulling her hoodie closer around herself.

Stucco buildings tower around her. The hotel is situated on a quaint little street, with old fashioned orange street lamps lining the road, bathing everything around her in a warm, amber light that ignites a sad little twinge of nostalgia in her. Home, in Indianapolis, on crisp summer nights, biking home from band practice, throat sore and heart full.

She closes her eyes, the sound of distant traffic playing in her ears. Then, a much closer sound has her eyes flying open.

The click of a lighter sounds somewhere close, and she glances around, feeling an unearned and slightly misplaced terror that Eddie is lurking somewhere in the shadows. Her eyes eventually fall on a much shorter figure, and Gareth steps out of the alley between the hotel and adjacent building, and even from here, she can hear the music that is blaring through his headphones.

He startles when he sees her, eyes growing wide as he comically jumps back. She raises an eyebrow at him and he quickly collects himself, pulling his headphones off to rest around his neck before looking at her again.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, in a would-be casual voice, but there’s a distinct undertone to it that makes her mouth taste a little sour.

“Not really. Chrissy is like a furnace.”

He murmurs something around his cigarette, something that sounds a little bit like lucky but she can’t be too sure.

“What’s her deal, anyway?” He suddenly asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Is she like,” He makes a vague gesture that she has no idea how to interpret, “Single?”

Reader bites back a grin and shakes her head, “Nah, she’s got a guy back home. They’re crazy about each other.”

She can tell he’s trying not to look devastated, and a little pinprick of pity sparks in her chest before she remembers that she doesn’t like him, then it goes from sad to pretty funny.

“What about you? Or Nancy and Robin?”

“Robin and Nance have been together since they were seventeen. Me? None of your business.”

He seems to know that none of your business means that she’s as single as the day is long, and it's his turn to feel pity or vindication, whichever one he wants.

It doesn’t show on his face what he does feel, expression made carefully blank. He takes another drag off his cigarette and turns his gaze towards the street.

“Eddie’s been pretty pissy since Phoenix,” He says, rather suddenly, eyes darting to her before they dart back toward the road.

She was afraid of the conversation veering into this territory, not wanting to think about or talk about Eddie, as much as she could help.

“Boo-hoo,” She deadpans, “Not my problem.”

“He’s not as bad as you think,” Gareth turns towards her now, eyebrows scrunched together in a display of earnestness, “He-”

“I don’t care what he is, Gareth,” She cuts him off, “I’m just trying to get through this tour, okay? Corroded Coffin wasn’t exactly my idea of a good tour mate, but we play the cards we’re dealt, and I’m playing nice, aren’t I?”

Gareth looks like he wants to retort, but she quells him with a stare and he raises his hands in surrender, the glowing bud of his cigarette waving through the air as he does.

He turns to go back into the hotel, and she hears the sliding doors open, and then close.

“He doesn’t hate you. I think you should know that.”

The doors open again, and she’s left standing there, in the chilly night air that just got about ten degrees colder.

***

She’s frenetic tonight, never staying in one place too long. She’s gone up to the barricade more than once, allowing several hands to grasp around her extended arm, while security keeps a tight hold on her legs to keep her from being pulled under.

Song after song, lyric after lyric, Eddie can’t keep his eyes off her from where he stands in the wings, a post that he’s taken up a little too often as of late. He makes excuses here and there, but always finds himself watching some part of their set before he trudges back to their green room to do warm ups.

He watches in almost indecent fascination as she gears up for the bridge of the song they’re playing, filling her lungs with air.

When the bridge comes, she whips her guitar around her body on the strap, so that it’s slung across her back. She seizes the microphone and rips it from the stand, the honeyed tones of her falsetto reverberating across the venue. A slow drum line builds as she sinks to her knees, and the lights go crazy, turning the sweat droplets that cling to her skin into a thousand tiny jewels, sparkling as brightly as the shimmery eyeshadow packed onto her closed eyes. The crowd goes fucking wild as she tilts her head back, hair cascading like the branches of a willow tree down her back. 

Fuck, Eddie thinks, watching her from the side of the stage, watching as her brow furrows, watching as she bangs her head in time with the whine of the electric guitar riff that Chrissy’s shredding out.

She’s back on her feet again, slipping the microphone back into the stand, bringing her guitar back to her front, fingers sliding across the neck as she strums the rhythm section of the final chorus, grinning into the microphone as she sings, hips swaying to and fro, the curve of her ass peeking out from underneath her skirt as she bends at the knees a little. 

She’s so fucking pretty. She is so fucking pretty and Eddie can’t breathe. When the song ends, and she honest to god giggles into the microphone, the noise being amplified and echoed around the venue, and Eddie can’t help but feel like this whole thing has been specifically designed to make his knees weak. 

“Wow!” She exclaims, tossing a couple picks into the crowd, “Thank you so much! That tune is one of my favorites, and on almost every stop on this tour, it's gotten a bigger and bigger response.”

Robin drums out her agreement, and Reader looks over her shoulder with a smile, before turning to the audience again, introducing their next song.

And all Eddie can do is watch. He watches her dance to the beat, smile to herself, watches her fingers fly lovingly across her guitar. She’s a little firecracker when she’s on stage, always in motion, and it’s so electrifying, so fucking endearing that Eddie feels the hair on his arms stand up when her shimmering, graphic liner gaze falls on him for a millisecond. 

She sings about love. She sings about sex, about nostalgia and about the ocean, sings about the minutiae of human experience and heartbreak, each lyric captivating and masterful, tugging at the exact right parts of the brain, evoking what feels like a million different responses in Eddie, from skipped heartbeats to a tightening in his jeans to a hot sting in his eyes, and he can’t quite take it anymore. 

Corroded Coffin is next, he knows that, but he - fuck, he needs a minute. He ducks away from stage right and heads to their green room, pouring out a shot of whiskey and downing it, hands clenched around the edge of the vanity, head bowed towards his chest. 

It’s mystifying that this girl, who’s capable of such vitriol towards him, who avoids him at every turn, who has nothing but contempt for him can reduce him to this with lyrics and vibrato and sweetness reserved for no one else but the crowd in front of her. 

If he has to stand smushed against the barricade, metal digging painfully into his skin as sweaty bodies press into him to catch even a little bit of that sweetness, to catch a stray smile, he’d do it.

Which is so fucking ridiculous that it pisses him off. He’s got people knocking down the door for even a chance to fuck him. He could go out there right now, flash a smile at anyone and would probably end up getting his dick wet for it, a hot mouth against his. 

But he wants her, and it is infuriating, because he knows, he fucking knows that it’s never going to happen. She wouldn’t want him even if he was the last man on planet earth. 

He supposed this is what he deserves for that throwaway comment, and the utter lack of humility to go to her after, through text or DM or pull her aside as she walked into UDR, tell her that he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry and not only that, he’s an idiot, a callous, selfish idiot that had eyes and ears for nothing else but his own band, his own success, so much so that he was willing to step on her neck get ahead. 

If only he had known - fuck. How talented she truly was, would it have made a difference? Even if she sucked, even if her band couldn’t hold a tune it still wouldn’t have mattered, it wouldn’t have made that comment okay, in any way shape or form. 

It’s retroactively humiliating, but he knows, as he glares at himself in the mirror, hating himself, that his humiliation is nothing to what they’d done to Daisy Chain. 

He's so wrapped up in his self-loathing spiral that he doesn’t really register that the music warbling through the walls of the venue has stopped. He only comes back to his senses when the door opens and peels of laughter seep into the room, the clunk of platform shoes proceeding the girls, save for Robin and her keds, all smiling and sweaty.  

Reader’s eyes land on him first, and her smile disappears in an instant. 

Up close, he can see her makeup running a bit, can see the tired sorta droop to her eyes and he can smell her perfume mixing with her sweat, which normally would’ve been kinda gross but in this instance, sends his brain into a tailspin worse than it already had been.

Chrissy speaks first, “I think we have the wrong room.”

They do, as the bands were afforded separate green rooms, the one that Eddie’s standing in presenting a distinct lack of everything the girls own. 

They all file out after Chrissy’s proclamation. All except for Reader. 

She’s staring at Eddie, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Are you…” She hesitates, shifting her weight from foot to foot, “Alright?”

How uncharacteristic. Up until now, Eddie was under the impression that she truly didn’t care if he lived or died. So, it’s somewhat shocking that she’s displaying even a shred of concern for him, even if it looks like the words taste sour in her mouth. 

“Yeah,” he manages, straightening up, “Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

She nods curtly, “Good. You’re up, by the way.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the stage. 

And with that, she’s closing the door with a snap, leaving him alone.

[caesariawritesstuff]

Ok I'm sorry but I have to do this! Is there anyway we could get a small continuation of that Scarecrow x Detective short story you wrote? Maybe how Ed would react to hearing that Jonathan did something to the Detective? Or just noticing her acting off afterward? If not that is 100% ok!

Precious Heart

Summary: After learning about Detective's conversation with Jonathan Crane, Edward isn't too happy, and makes an effort to confront Crane himself. Continuation of the short fic, Damaged Goods.

Content Warning: Angst & Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Minor spoilers for Cat & Mouse

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This fic is a continuation of Damaged Goods, and currently not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse storyline.

Right about now, you could scream.

The sensation lingered in the back of your throat, building and building as you stormed down the hall from the morgue. Rage rushed through you as hot as dry lightning, sparking a fire deep in your belly – and a strange, lingering warmth between your legs.

Because here you were, suddenly turned on by Jonathan Crane.

Scowling, you threw a glance over your shoulder as you stopped in front of the elevator, glaring back down the hall. Bastard, you thought, a dozen curses ringing through your mind. How dare he put his hands on you? Slowly, you reached up, your fingers grazing across the question mark pendant dangling around your neck, resting at the delicate hollow of your throat. You could not believe the interaction that just happened, and you found yourself replaying it over and over again in your head, on repeat, a never-ending loop.

If there was one person in this damn precinct who had become an anomaly to you, it was Jonathan Crane. Never had you expected a man like him to be given a chance at reform as well, especially considering the fact that he’d caused so much chaos and destruction three years ago – but you supposed you could understand why City Council would want him to help on this case. Even you and Mack were completely and utterly stumped, out of your minds about who else in this damn city could be developing a horrifying toxin capable of melting people’s bodies from inside out. The thought sent a tremor of fear through you – and you cursed yourself under your breath again, at the very prospect of being afraid. Because deep down, you knew that’s exactly what Crane wanted you to be: scared. Fearful. Terrified. And you would not give him that satisfaction; you’d been through enough in the last few months, and you were not willing to let the Master of Fear get under your skin.

With a heavy sigh, you took the elevator back up the Homicide Divisions floor, but as the numbers ticked by as slow as ever, you caught a glimpse of your reflection on the wall: your wide eyes, flushed cheeks, the small pout to your lips. A strange sensation bubbled in your stomach, hot and writhing, causing an uncomfortable knot to form there. You had not expected the entire interaction with Crane to be…heated. Or for him to have such an effect on you, one you weren’t even sure you were even processing clearly. All you really knew was that that familiar pulsing of warmth throbbed in your clit, and it had been caused by a man who was, perhaps, one of the most terrifying people you’d ever met.

There had been something cold in his blue eyes, even though the right was damaged and milky, but the way he looked at you – studied you from head to toe as if you were a science experiment – wasn’t what bothered you. Neither did the white scars all across his skin, remnants of his reconstructed face, a stark change to the man who was hauled into the GCPD three years ago, completely out of his own mind on fear toxin. What bothered you was how easily he’d approached you, grasping at the pendant around your neck with care, asking you such blasé questions about your relationship with Edward. Questions even you had asked yourself over the last few months – because Crane was right. You did not know what a man like Edward Nigma had come to see you in, why he’d fallen for you, and Crane’s questions only furthered your own. But what you could not understand was why he cared so much to ask them – and why he seemed so content to believe you were ruined for anyone else, all because Edward had touched you, lied with you, had claimed you as his own. You were not ruined, and you would not let Jonathan Crane or anyone else think otherwise.

“Bastard,” you mumbled under your breath again as the doors opened and you stepped out, taking a quick glance around at the detectives and officers milling about. The room was buzzing with voices and chatter, phones ringing off the hook, you quickly made your way back to your desk, sitting down with a heavy sigh. You lowered your face into your hands, pain throbbing at your skull, spreading across your temples.

Shit. This wasn’t good – you should not let Crane be getting under your skin like this, or feel so…well, you weren’t sure what you were feeling right about now. Rage. Irritation. Annoyance. Pleasure.

Crap. The way he’d circled around you, a predator analyzing its prey, the way he’d grasped your pendant and stroked it at with his fingers – something about the entire movement caused your clit to ache. What was it about men like Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane that had you feeling such utter draw to them? Maybe you were beginning to realize that you had a type.

And, as much as you couldn’t help it, you found your thoughts beginning to wander. What would it have been like if Crane had bent you over that morgue table and had his way with you, fucking you into oblivion, his hand wrapped your throat as his cold, raspy voice whispered dirty things into your ear?

“Shit,” you whispered, but just as the words escaped your lips, a mug of coffee was set beside you. You glanced up to find Edward standing there, his own mug of coffee in hand, and he smirked at you, eyes studying you with slow intention.

“Thanks,” you said, taking the mug, but a heartbeat of guilt passed through you. You were with Edward for God’s sake – why were you thinking about another man?

Edward’s eyes narrowed, as if he immediately could sense something was wrong, and his gaze roved over you, making the skin prickle on the back of your neck. “Is something wrong, detective?”

“No, nothing,” you said quickly, the lie heavy on your tongue – but by the way Edward’s brows furrowed, you knew he didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t. Why was he so capable of reading you? You averted your gaze, quickly taking a sip of coffee, and burned your tongue.

Edward crossed his arms. “Come now, detective,” he sighed. “Tell me what’s happened.”

You looked up and around; Mack was gone from his desk, and everyone else was far too busy involved in their own cases to be bothering to listen to you. Sighing, you gestured for Edward to sit, and he took the empty chair at the desk beside you, waiting for you to continue.

“So…Jonathan Crane is…interesting,” you finally said, choosing your words carefully.

Edward quirked a brow, leaning back in his chair. “Did he say something to you?”

You were silent for a beat, but you knew there was no point in lying. “Well...I was down in the morgue when the power went out. We had an…interesting talk.”

“About?” Something cold laced Edward’s voice, curiosity in his tone.

“My relationship with you.”

Edward was quiet for a long moment, long enough that you could tell he was thinking through every possibility that such a conversation entailed. Finally, he sighed and asked, “And what did the good doctor say?”

“He…” You looked away, biting slightly on your bottom lip as you struggled to answer his question. The last thing you wanted to do was have Edward go storming down to the morgue and throwing a fit in a jealous huff.

Finally, you looked back at him. “He just wanted to know about us. You know, how long we’d been together. That kind of thing.”

Edward blinked. His face was like stone, a passive statue of emotionless. Finally, he smiled, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Well, can you blame him? Why wouldn’t he be curious? After all, you’re with me – the smartest, most handsome man in Gotham. It’s only natural for him to be curious about a relationship which is so great that he cannot even comprehend.”

“So great, huh?” you asked, unable to fight the smile threatening to curve at your lips.

“Of course, my dear. You’re with me, remember?” His grin didn’t faulter, but he leaned forward slightly. “And I am the best partner, the best lover, you could ever ask for. No need to deny it, detective, we both know it’s the truth.”

You rolled your eyes, a small laugh bubbling out of your chest. Well, at least his ego was still intact – you did not think that was one thing that could ever be taken away from Edward. But as you turned back to your desk, content to pour over the case files, another heartbeat of regret pounded in your stomach, spreading like wildfire through your bloodstream – but there was something else, too, something raw and real and terrifying that you did not want to admit.

Because, deep down, you knew that Jonathan Crane was right.     

Edward had completely, and utterly ruined you.

?

If there was one thing Edward come to learn long ago, it was that Jonathan Crane was a very deliberate man. He did not ask questions without purpose, without trying to learn something about someone, without trying to find their weakness or exploits. The man was a manipulative bastard, but he supposed he could say the same about himself. Perhaps that’s why they got along so well over the years. While Edward had often found himself at odds with the likes of Penguin and Two-Face, it was Jonathan whom he retained the closest thing to a friendship.

So having him here at the GCPD was quite the surprise – one that had even Edward questioning Jonathan’s own motivations for why he would accept a similar deal from City Council. But so far, Edward had been far too busy with his own tasks to find a moment to slip down to the forensics lab and have a moment to speak alone with Jonathan – until now.

A knot of uncertainty bundled in Edward’s stomach. It had been clear that you’d been hiding something from him when retelling your conversation with Crane, but Edward hadn’t pressed further – he wanted to hear the details from Crane himself. Clearly, he’d must have asked something to get under your skin. Probably some silly thing about fear or terror or whatever else Jonathan found so interesting, but Edward hadn’t wanted to press you too hard on the matter, not when you’d looked so shaken up. So as he walked down the hall and slipped into the medical examiner’s office, he narrowed his eyes, immediately finding Crane sitting at counter, filled with vials in an array of colors, lab equipment organized neatly around him. Dr. Collins was gone, thankfully, allowing Edward the privacy he needed, and he stepped into the room.

Jonathan swiveled around in his chair, his mouth opening slightly as if to ask something, but he quickly shut it when he realized it was Edward standing there. His cold eyes were narrowed, stoic, not an inch of emotion written across his face.

“Crane,” Edward said, stepping further into the room.

“Ah, Edward,” Jonathan said, his voice gravelly, cold, a raspiness to it. “I was wondering when you’d honor me with your presence.”

Edward smirked, but wandered over with slow, calculated steps. “Oh, you know,” he said with a lazy wave of his hand. “The Commissioner just loves to keep me busy. I hardly get a moment to myself in this place.”

Jonathan turned back to his vials, humming under his breath. “It must pain someone with such intelligence like yourself to be reduced to working in a place like this.”

Edward shrugged, but leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, only a foot away from where Jonathan worked. “It has its perks,” he said, his thoughts straying to you. You were the only reason this place was bearable in any capacity.

Jonathan’s cold gaze slid to him once more. “Ah, yes. Your…paramour. I take it she told you about our conversation?”

A muscle feathered in Edward’s jaw, and he met Crane’s gaze. “No. But I’m here to hear it out of your own mouth, Crane. What exactly did you say to her?”

Jonathan shrugged in indifference, once more turning back to the chemicals at hand, making a few notes on a pad of paper. “I was simply curious to the nature of her relationship with you. I’ve never known you to take interest in such primal desires, Edward. What is it about her that fascinates you so?

Edward frowned. There were many, many things that fascinated him about you – the way you carried yourself, spoke, the fire that burned so brightly in your soul that refused to dim, considering all that happened over the last few months. The way you tolerated him, laughed at what he said, gave yourself to him so wholly and completely. The problem wasn’t the answer to the question – the problem was why Jonathan wanted to know.

“What does it matter to you, Crane?” Edward asked, his voice low, concerned. Because he knew when Crane became fascinated with something, fixated on it, he would not let it go.

And if he was becoming fascinated with you…

Jonathan turned back to him again. His scarred lips were pursed into a thin line, but he finally set his pen down and rested his hands on his knees, leaning slightly back in his chair. “I’m simply curious, is all, Edward.”

“She’s not some science experiment you can pick apart,” Edward said, his tone testing.

Jonathan blinked at him, as if what Edward said hadn’t phased him at all. “You care quite a bit for her, Edward,” he said finally after drawing out the silence for a long moment.

Edward shifted slightly, gritting his teeth. “And? Your point?”

“An observation. You and I both know she’s simply your newest obsession, Edward. What will happen when you tire of her?”

Edward’s eyes narrowed into slits, and he frowned, staring down at Crane as hot anger pooled in his stomach, prickling across his skin. Yes, he knew the truth: you were his obsession. The thing he needed, wanted, craved at all hours of the day. But he did not imagine he would ever tire of you. You were like a drug to him, his addiction. And the truth was that he had come to a point where he could not imagine the rest of his life without you in it.

“Or, perhaps, when she tires of you?” Jonathan continued.

“An absurd insinuation,” Edward said, a bite in his voice now. How could you ever tire of him? He was the World’s Greatest Everything. There was not a universe in which you could ever tire of him, Edward was sure of that.

“Come now, Edward,” he said. “No need to be so testy. However, I’ve heard the rumors. People around here like to talk. I know what they call her, what they think of her. When you do tire of her, when you’ve thoroughly ruined her for anyone else in this city to want – what will she do then?”

Edward bristled, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “I don’t see why that’s any concern of yours, Crane,” he said, but his lips twisted in a smirk. “Why? Does it bother you that someone like her would be with someone like me?”

A flame ignited in Edward’s belly, a sick satisfaction twisting there. Of course Crane had to be jealous of his relationship with you. After all, Edward was just that much smarter, much more handsome, much more great. Crane could not compare to him one bit. Edward was everything and better – and he planned to hold that over the man’s head at every turn.

“Not at all,” Jonathan finally answered. “She is your paramour. You do what you like with her. All I intended was to get to know her, understand why a detective like her would with someone like you.”

Edward bristled at Jon’s words, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “Well, Crane, my capacity for self-improvement has grown well beyond what you’re capable of. Watch and learn, and you’ll be just fine.” He smirked at that, a sense of triumph racing through his chest.

“Of course, Edward,” Jonathan said, his voice low and cold. “You are this city’s picture of reform. I will do my best to follow in your footsteps.”

Edward’s smirk grew. “Good. I need to get back to work. Have fun with your chemicals, Crane. Try not to sniff your own toxin too much.” He turned on his heels, giving Jonathan a lazy wave, and headed back down the hall with confidence in his step.

But as he walked, his steps began to slow, and uncertainty twisted in his stomach. Now that he was alone in the silence, Crane’s words began to wash over him. His mind was spinning with questions, wondering why Crane would bother talking to you in the first place – and just what else he might have said that you could be hiding from him. Well, he’d just have to keep a careful eye on Crane, then. Whatever was brewing in the man’s mind, Edward intended to find out. But if it involved you…

Edward’s hands curled into fists. Crane could find you fascinating all he liked, but he would not allow you to become an experiment in his twisted little world of fear. He refused to let that happen – and if Crane asked you one more question that was out of line, Edward would not hesitate to put Crane in his place. If Crane was planning to use his toxin on you, Edward would shove his own toxin in his mouth before he had that chance.

Oh, yes, Edward was certain of that.

Crane could have his fun in any other way that did not involve you. Because, Edward knew with absolute certainty, he would not allow another man to swoop in and take your attention from him. You were his, and his alone, and Crane would just have to accept that you were with a man like him. He could speculate and theorize all he wanted, but Edward would not allow Crane to get under your skin, to make you question your relationship with him. Not when he finally had you, when he held your heart in his hands.

And he would not allow Crane’s ability to incite fear poison your precious heart.

[jojikawa]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘿𝙞𝙤: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙙 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨

WICKED EYES

MASTERLIST

This is dark romance with descriptions of violence, gore, racism, sexism along with NSFW themes. The reader is black in this AU but this story can be enjoyed by all walks of life ❤️

Immediate warnings: mild sexual content, manipulation

Dividers ✦ word count: 4.3k art

“Out of all the women in this world, the moment you come back, you go after me.” Your eyes were dead and your voice held no sign of happiness; only resentment. The person you had been talking to was enveloped in the moonlight but their face was concealed by darkness. You only stood there, not trying to show how afraid you were being in a strange place, surrounded by strange people. It was hot and the air was unbearably dry during the day and at night, the cold was bitter and it absorbed any sort of warmth your vampire body could produce. “The reason is that I don’t want other women. It’s been so long. I thought you’d be more excited to see your beloved.” Dio, finally, took a step forward. You took a step back. “Don’t come near me.” Your eyes were glossy with tears. You hated his voice. It was just like the night he first took you. He killed people. He made you feel bad for it. He threatened to kill more people if you resisted him. You didn’t even have a chance to run from him. 

“Why not? I want to see how your beauty has come to last over 100 years.” Dio walked into the moonlight. His appearance was properly revealed to you. He looked exactly the same but…different. Your memory of the past was fuzzy but he looked slightly taller. His neck had a nasty scar as well. “You look as beautiful as you did on our wedding day.” His cold hands rose slowly. It was like he himself was unable to comprehend you in front of him. Over and over while in that coffin, he imagined you. He imagined what you felt like, what you sounded like, what would you say to him? For so long.

Dio saw you grimace as his fingertips touched your jawline. They felt up to the back of your neck where your hair was. Your hair was extremely soft and your scent was like a drug. Having your face in his palms was the same as having a drink of water in the middle of the desert. “How did you come back…?” Your hands gripped his and you removed them from your skin. Dio showed resistance; not allowing you to reject him as such. “I believe it’s best to spare you the details. The last thing I want is to make my woman cry.”

“I’m not your woman.” 

You expected Dio to show his anger and lash out but…

“In time, you will be. I don’t mind waiting for you at all.” He gave you a smile of satisfaction as he broke free from your grasp. “I’ve learned what it means to be patient, especially with you. I have a gift.” Dio backed away from you, into the darkness. Not even you could see him once he was able to erase himself.

“Enyaba, please, bring in the dress you were so kind to craft for your Goddess.” 

Dress? Another dress?

The imagery of events from long ago flooded your brain. You laid your eyes upon the dress for the first time, seeing it in its full glory. It was red. That night. Those deaths. Jonathan’s death.

Your husband emerged again. You finally remembered that you two did in fact marry. Next to him was a short old woman. Her face was aged from the sun and she held your dress with two right hands. “This is for you, Lady (y/n). Lord Dio has blessed me with the chance to bring you this offering!” The elderly woman trembled as if she were about to collapse.

“Take it.” Dio commanded. “If you’d rather not, I’ll just kill her and fetch the next seamstress to make you another.” When he examined your face, he couldn’t help but smirk. This time he would properly coerce you into being his forever wife. One that would express her love without him asking her to. Without another moment to spare, you took the dress from Enyaba. The silk and fabric were native to Egypt. The lace was intricate and thin. You could easily tell it was made for Dio’s amusement.

“Try it on.”

Your heart sank. This man only knew how to go on and on; dragging things out and pushing the boundaries.

“Enyaba, I’m afraid you’re no longer needed. No one is allowed to see the unclothed body of what’s mine.” Dio’s eyes swayed to the right before looking upward. “No one except for me, of course.” 

“Y-Yes, Lord Dio!” Enyaba scurried off, quickly making it as if she weren’t there. “Oh, and fetch the arrow for me as well!” Dio called out to the woman who seemed to be long gone. “I’d like to use it.” He then narrowed his eyes at you with a smirk plastered across his face.

While young, Dio may not have been the best gentleman but he had patience and respect for the girl he crushed on. Up until this point, he had never seen your naked body. Even while in his stolen castle 100 years ago, he respected you in that manner. Things are different now. He deserved this. “Here, let me assist you-“

“Don’t touch me.” You muttered, stepping away. Your eyes held a particular kind of fire. One he had never seen before. He was glad your spirits were beginning to rise. No matter how much you’d fight, he wouldn’t break. It would be easy to convert you once you were tired. “And why not?” Dio questioned, the corners of his lips remaining upturned. Tears began to well up in your eyes. “I know how you lived.”

“Oh?”

“When Jonathan…killed you…” You swallowed in between your words. Hatred for your own intelligence began to fill your body, as you made sense of the situation. “…y-your head wasn’t destroyed. I saw you fall.”

Dio hummed, taking a seat in the nearby chair. “Yes, go on. The fall was rather painful.” He leaned back, making that chair his throne.

“But you never actually died. You came back the night Erina and Jonathan left for America. Erina wrote to me about you.” As you spoke, you gained your bearings, no longer feeling nervous about the words coming out of your mouth. “That birthmark on your back. The one shaped perfectly like a Star. Only Jonathan had that. I saw it when he collapsed in my arms after he first defeated you.”

“Does it anger you? I thought you would be more excited that your love went to such great lengths to see you again.” Dio’s smirk faded. He may have had more control over his emotions now but jealousy was something that he was unable to grow from. “You’re such a monster.” You cried silently. You closed your eyes, imagining what could’ve been Jonathan’s last moments.

Jonathan died protecting me. Now, I’m alone.

“Erina…” You whispered to yourself. You clutched the dress. Any harder would’ve damaged the article of clothing.

“We won’t speak anymore of Jonathan-“

“He was my friend!”

“If you couldn’t tell, my dear. I am trying to be patient with you. The love between a married couple is like a plant. It must be nourished or it will die.”

You shook your head. “I can’t be in love with a monster. Ever since that day at the apple tree…you’ve never been the same.” Dio chuckled before resting his hand on his palm. “You mean the day you abandoned me because of lies told to you by the wench, Erina?”

You gasped. Clenching your jaw, you took a large step towards Dio. You raised your hand, ready to strike this man across his face again until he caught your wrist inches before your hand made contact. “No. Not again.” Dio took you by your wrist and pulled you towards him, into his arms. He held you on his lap, taking in your scent as it brought him great comfort. “So quick to defend the honor of someone who owned you.”

“Erina didn’t own me. She was my friend!” You pushed against his chest but he refused to let you go. “Friend?” Dio repeated. “She was your friend but she still treated you as property. That girl never lifted a finger to do anything, did she? Why is that? Because her parents employed you too.”

“Dio!” You fought against him, trying to release yourself from his grasp. Tired of your flailing, his grip grew tighter. “But in order to be employed, you’d need to be paid, correct? Tell me, how much did you make playing house as the Pendleton maid?”

When you thought about it, you never really got paid anything. You worked for the Pendleton’s to make up for them taking you and your mother off of the street. “I-I…I didn’t make anything.” More tears left your eyes.

“Not a thing?!” Dio pretended to be surprised. “My own wife lived a childhood of indentured servitude to someone who she still sees as her friend? If Erina were your friend, why didn’t she give you the last name ‘Pendleton’, Hm?” His breath was warm against the skin of your neck as he held you close. “You would’ve been a noble woman but she chose to keep you where you were.”

“Dio, stop.” You resisted once more, finally making Dio let go of your wrist. His free hand wiped the tears from your face and his smirk faded. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be the one who uplifts and shows you that you’re worth so much more than what the world gives you.”

There was really no way of escaping Dio, was there? Not like this. You wanted to love him but the fact that he has killed many and would kill many more at the drop of a hat to get what he wants. That’s truly unlovable. Yet, you needed to adapt. Perhaps, if you began to play your part, you would find a means of escape or a way of stopping him.

“I said stop, Dio.” You removed yourself from his lap. “I need you to leave so that I can…change.”

Dio folded his hands in his lap. “And why would I do that? We are married.” He then made himself comfortable again, resting his head on his other palm. “Clothes of commoners shouldn’t ever touch your skin.”

A show is what Dio wants? Fine. You’ll give him a show.

Slowly, you began to remove your garments. It was probably better to wear the new dress right away. Dio’s hungry eyes never left your body. You barely got them off before you heard his voice cut the silence like a hot knife. 

“Come.” He beckoned you to come towards him. His pupils dilated. This was truly his first time seeing you naked. He needed to contain himself. “What is it?” You covered yourself with your arms and hands. There wasn’t really much that you could cover this way. You walked toward Dio, just out of his reach. His hand snaked up the thicker part of your thigh, pulling you closer. He spun you around and began to inspect you accordingly.

You felt his fingertips roam your backside. “I see you’ve been feeding yourself well.” He teased you, kneading your plump flesh and his palms.

“Dio!” You swatted his hands away before swaying your hips out of his reach. With unnatural speed, Dio’s hands found your hips. He pulled you down onto his pelvis. “And just where do you think you’re going? I don’t remember giving you permission to leave.”

“Permission?” You repeated. It was pretty apparent that Dio was needy but the timing…was ridiculous.

“As children, I’ve never thought of something like this but even then I knew it was you I wanted. We should be able to enjoy this happy reunion.” 

Your body began to heat up from this contact. Before all of this, you did dream of what it was like to commit such acts with Dio. Even during those years you ignored him but befriended his family. The scandalous idea of having relations with a handsome man you’ve previously had a falling out with. 

That was years ago. Now, you didn’t know how to feel. The body he was trying to seduce you with wasn’t his…

“We can’t. Not now. This is wrong.” You practically leap out of Dio's grasp. “Your body isn’t-“

“IT'S MINE NOW!” Dio shouted, visibly startling you. His face held a strong look of disapproval as he tried hiding it in the shadow. He was still one to lash out.

You swallowed before firming your voice. There was no way you would let him intimidate you. “Not. Now.” You stepped into the dress. It hugged your curves and felt much more comfortable than your previous attire. You’d never admit that.

“Fine. I will allow you to adjust. But a good woman knows not to reject her husband’s advances.” Dio rose from his chair. He could hear Enyaba’s footsteps approaching.

“Then I’m not a good woman.”

A second of silence passed before Dio let out a deep and velvety laugh. “So amusing. You’re only making me more eager to claim you as my own.” 

“I-I’ve returned, Lord Dio.” The elderly woman, out of breath yet again, entered the room with a particular-looking arrow. She had a bow as well. “Good job, Enyaba. I knew I could always count on you.” Dio took the items from her. “You may go.”

“What is that?” You eyed the arrow from a distance. It gave you goosebumps. The unpleasant kind. “Oh, this? A gift.” Dio smirked to himself, readying the arrow accordingly. You hadn’t noticed what he was doing at first. You tried to get the dress to fit better. It was rather tight. It was too late when you noticed that he was aiming it at-

“(y/n).”

You.

A searing pain of intense heat filled your body, the source of it being your heart. Dio let the arrow flew from it’s bow. You were in so much shock that you couldn’t scream. You fumbled over your words and lost the ability to stand. “D-Dio, h-how could y…”

You fell to your knees. Your body was numbing. This arrow wasn’t normal! 

“She’s not ready, Lord Dio!!” Enyaba screamed. “Th-The arrow will kill her!”

“The arrow can’t kill her.” He muttered lowly. “It’s painful but I know she can take it. She will live…she must.” He then slowly strode over to you, knelt down and consoled you as you fought for your life on the ground. The means were extreme but he vowed to himself that by the end of this you would be just like him.

You ended up passing out from the pain. The power of the arrow was still new to Dio. A puzzled look washed over his face when you stopped moving. The first thing he did was lift your torso before pressing his ear to your chest. 

Thump!

Thump!

You were still alive.

Dio smirked deeply and picked you up bridal style. “Enyaba, I’ll be off now.” 

The vampire man took you to his chamber, getting dressed for the occasion. He had a special outfit made. It was something he had been waiting a few days for. While spending time at the bottom of the sea, one of the things Dio regretted was not being fashionable for his role as a God. It was such a short time, he didn’t have any means of preparing for such a role. Now, he did. He had all the time in the world. 

The yellow fabric, the heart-shaped knee pads, the golden-colored shoes with curved tips. It was perfect for him. Dio barely got it on before he noticed you twitching. That meant you were beginning to wake up. It was clear that stress wasn’t your thing. You passed out from the pain of the mask as well.

“D-Dio…?” Your voice was small but he heard you well. You sat up, taking in the scenery around you. The moon was still as bright as ever. The room was lit well with candles too. 

“Yes, my love?”

“Why did you…shoot me? What did you do to me? What happened?” You hissed, not able to control the way you balled up your fists. “A gave you a gift. Something you’d cherish forever.” Dio turned to face you. He had a sickly smile on his face that reached his eyes. This made you upset. “What is it?” You questioned, unknowingly giving Dio joy with your feistiness. 

A humanoid figure emerged from Dio. It had a color scheme that aligned with his clothes, but it didn’t look like him at all. It had a familiar aura as well.

Dio examined your face. “Hm. So you can see it now.” 

The being floated over to you, touching you as if it were Dio himself. It seemed rather…interested in you.

“You have one of these too, you see? You must wield its power.” The stand held your shoulders, making talking motions except only Dio’s voice was coming out.

He told you everything he knew about stands, even teaching you how to manifest your own. This felt very different from the first time you spent with Dio. Yes, he still forced his own Will onto you, as he did before. It hurt. It was painful but…not enough for you to cry. Even in shock, you didn’t feel too afraid. Stands were like magic, somehow. You couldn’t understand and even with Dio’s further explanation, you didn’t know how Stands came to be. 

“When Enyaba came to me, she explained to me that if I trained my own Stand, The World, then I would be able to become God of this world.” Dio paced back and forth before eventually going to the balcony. “All that’s left is to put a baby in your belly. It would certainly secure my legacy.” Dio chuckled deeply. You raised your hand to your stomach and pressed on it softly. How far would you need to go with Dio to please him? To protect those who didn’t stand a chance against a vampire? A vampire who now had some humanoid creature that could touch you without you seeing it or even having one of your own? You’ve had enough experience with men but Dio has always been a wild card in every part of your life.

“Why a baby? What legacy? What is it that you plan to do?” You asked your questions, shifting your tone so that Dio could feel more at ease with you. You followed him out to the balcony. “Is this your way of asking to start a family…?” You barely got to finish your sentence when Dio let out a hardy laugh. Once that probably could be heard throughout Cairo. 

“‘Start a family?’” He repeated. “I guess that’s one way to put it. “I was thinking more of wanting to…destroy the last of the Joestar bloodline.”

Your eyes widened. “Wh-What?” You stepped away but Dio grabbed your lingering hand. You were still having whiplash from the different revelations. Dio was alive as a severed head on the body of a friend, you were given a stand, Dio wanted a child and now he wants to destroy what remains of Jonathan’s legacy.

“Why? They haven’t done anything to you. Don’t tell me you hate your brother-“ You stopped when Dio’s grip tightened on you. 

“He isn’t my brother,” Dio growled at you and showed his sharp teeth. But you’ve known him long enough.

“He is your brother.”

Dio’s eyes narrowed at you before he closed them. His forehead softened before he decided to open his eyes again. He gave you a soft smile. One to put you at ease. He may not have been smart for revealing his plans so soon. Now, it would surely be hard to get you to cooperate.

“Perhaps, he is. I did have my issues with him. I couldn’t stand the way he looked at you.” Dio was gentle when he pulled you close. He nuzzled into the flesh of your neck, taking in the scent of your body again. “I wanted to believe it was my imagination.”

You scoffed. “You’re still on about that?” 

Dio just ignored your statement. “But, Jonathan is no more and here I stand. He was kind to you and he’s been kind once more by allowing us to be together. Like this.” You felt his body relax into yours, almost dropping his dead weight onto you. He was very big and heavy. “I’ve always wondered what our kids would look like. Would you really be one to deprive me of that?”

“If I consent to this then I want you to leave the Joestars alone.”  

The room held a brief moment of silence. You know Dio didn’t like being told what to do by anyone. You knew this and you couldn’t even see the face of twisted anger he was making as he held you. “Is that all?” Dio asked in a smooth tone, his voice not at all matching his visage. He rubbed your back tenderly. 

“Y-Yes?”

“Good.”

Dio swept you off of your feet, bringing you to his bed in an instant. It took everything out of him to just not crawl on top of you and ravage right then and there. This is something that’s been on his mind for years on end. Did you stay a virgin the whole time he was away? No. That’s not something he wanted to think of right now. All that mattered was that you were here now, giving it to him.

Now, should he remove his clothes or keep them on?

“U-Um, Dio…”

Oh, he’ll just remove his shirt. He wants to feel your hands on his body as you cling to him.

“…we’ve never…actually done this.” You felt the pit of anxiety growing in your tummy. Being intimate…with Dio. The man was already able to tell you had such little experience. That’s okay. You didn’t need any. If anything, he preferred that you didn’t know how to do a thing. There was nothing more pure or innocent than that.

Dio topped you, slipping his hand up your dress to part your thighs. He closed the distance and placed kisses everywhere on your face but your lips. His mouth latched onto the supple flesh of your neck. You could feel the way his teeth played at your skin, nipping it and drawing blood from you. You eased into his touch, beginning to relax your body just a bit. The butterflies in your stomach became present as your face began to heat up. He was surprisingly…gentle. Even with the hickeys he left on your skin, they didn’t hurt. It tickled, almost. 

Suddenly, removed himself from your neck. You instinctively raised your hand to the marks he created. No piece of clothing in Egypt would be able to hide it due to where it was. He wanted people to know. Dio pulled you forward by your thighs, almost startling you at his eagerness. You mewled at his fingers rubbing between your folds.

“I’ve barely touched you and it seems that you already have trouble keeping quiet.” Dio chuckled darkly before inserting one of his clawed fingers into your cunt. “You’ve never been with a man like this before, have you?” A wide grin covered his face.

You grunted softly. You held a lewd expression; one that Dio would revel in for a lifetime. “Your face says it all.” Dio extracted his finger. If you acted like this from only one, he can only imagine how you’d be with all of his length inside. He spread your legs even more. He lowered his head down into your crouch. You felt his tongue fill your hole. His lips sucked on your folds, consuming the juices that would flow out. 

Your core began to heat up. You didn’t believe Dio was capable of such things. “Dio, please.” You cried, trying your best to move your legs but they didn’t budge. Your husband’s grip on your thighs was too strong. 

“Please, what?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Don’t make me beg.” You clenched your jaw at his contact. “Oh, I will make you beg.” Dio replied. “Tell me that you want me.”

Then you felt something…something else. He took out his cock, pressing its leaking tip into your sleek folds. He wouldn’t enter until you worshiped him the way he’s always desired.

“Go on. Say it.”

“Dio-“

“Lord Dio.”

Dio secured his hand around your throat. His fingertips pressed against your skin, his claws tangled in your hair. There was no way you’d get away from him. If you were a human still, he’d be able to end your life before you could even understand what was happening. He appreciated that.

You blushed, averting your eyes before giving him what he wanted yet again. “L-Lord Dio.”

Good.

“And this is why you’re perfect for me.” 

Dio didn’t waste any more time waiting. He pushed into you, filling you with all of his length, going in with ease. Without warning, he began his strokes. “Much tighter than I imagined.” He just watched in self-satisfaction as you bucked your hips and moaned those pretty sounds. He enjoyed the feeling of you finally submitting, even if it were for the sake of the Joestars. A win is a win.

And it felt good.

It was such a pity that he would need to lie to you from now on, but once the Joestar bloodline was completely erased, white lies wouldn’t matter.

Dio bred you well, fucking his cum into you once he was fully satisfied with your activities. He would make sure you carried any children you’d ever have. He silenced your soft moans with a sweet kiss. Not only are you his wife and soon-to-be mother of his children, but he also wants to make you just like him. You would be an expert at seduction, enacting violence whenever you please, and become a being of lust that he could use whenever he pleased. You would become his idea of what it meant to be the red goddess.

taglist: @z3r0art ♡

[hayscodings]

how do you think the actions from 3x06 affect lana? i dont rlly remember much but the best person to ask felt like you.

This is an excellent question. I started a google doc not too long ago to jot down my observations on every Svetlana scene and only got as far as her first three episodes, so I've given this some thought. I actually hadn't watched the scene in 3x06 since I first picked up the show, as I always skip it, but I needed to rewatch it in order to draw conclusions about how it affected Svet and, while I was doing so, I noticed some interesting things.

First, I think it's curious that all it took to get Svetlana to the Milkovich house was a call from Terry saying "It's Terry. Send the Russian." As far as we know, the girls at the spa did not make house calls. Which begs the question, why did Terry have the power to have her sent over with just five words?

Second, how exactly did Svetlana get to the Milkovich house? As far as we know, she never owned a car. She also couldn't have taken the L because she shows up without a purse. Is the spa walking distance or did someone drive her over? If so, who? Why would the people running the spa cater to Terry in this way?

Third, it is very odd to me that Svetlana shows up without anything on her person— no jacket, no purse, no wallet, nothing. She's not even wearing clothes with pockets where she could be carrying any personal belongings. Terry makes one quick phone call and there she is at his doorstep a few minutes later, heavily made-up in a short dress and very high heels. There's a metaphor to be made here about her not being her own person.

Which brings me to another point: Terry never calls Svetlana by her name. He frequents the spa enough to be able to summon Svetlana by just stating who he is over the phone, and he's been a client of Svetlana's before, yet he refers to her as "the Russian" on the phone and addresses her as "сука" (which means "bitch" in Russian) to her face. This could mean one of two things: (1) he either never bothered to learn her name; or (2) he knows her name but actively chooses not to call her by it. Both are equally dehumanizing in different ways.

Which leads me to wonder...what exactly was the dynamic between Svetlana and Terry like? We know he solicited her services (presumably) more than once, which suggests some sort of satisfaction with them, but we also know that he didn't believe that she was worth more than "a couple of bucks". As I mentioned before, he also never calls Svetlana by name, and at no point do we see him act particularly warmly towards her. Yet he specifically requests her when he calls the spa...why is that?

Perhaps the most interesting observation I made while rewatching this scene though, is that Svetlana never utters a word in it. Not to greet Terry at the door, not to ask him what she was called over for— nothing. There are no pleasantries exchanged between them. She doesn't so much as nod when he gives her his orders. This suggests that she knows how he works, knows that he doesn't consider her anything more than just some hand-whore, and I don't think it's a stretch to assume that she is probably scared of him. Everything about the way that Terry approaches the situation indicates that he does not view Svetlana as a person, but rather as a commodity— to use, to exploit, to rent as he pleases. And Svetlana acts accordingly.

From the moment she walks into that house she looks completely dead-eyed. The only time she looks anything other than 100% emotionally checked out is when she's looking between Ian and Mickey, taking stock of their injuries and piecing together the severity of the situation that she has just been dragged into. She knows Terry is responsible for what's happening, she can see that he has a gun, and she knows better than to protest or try and leave. The most accurate word I can think of to describe the way that she approaches the situation is: clinically. She looks completely detached.

Now, I know that deleted scenes aren't canon but I want to bring up the deleted scene where Ian goes to visit Svetlana at the spa for just a moment. In the scene, Svetlana tells Ian, "Your face looks familiar." She recognizes him enough to know that she's seen his face before, but she can't place why or from where. And while this might seem impossible given how horrifying that entire situation was, or even odd given that she clearly took note of Ian in that scene, it actually makes a lot of sense and clues us into how Svetlana coped with the situation: by suppressing it.

Back when the show was airing, Isidora said in an interview, "At the end up the day she is a victim of that event as well, and is traumatized in her own way." I think a lot of people assume that Svetlana wasn't affected by the situation because she never says or does anything to indicate that she was, but that's the thing— she never acknowledges it at all. Just like she tries not to acknowledge her father's abuse, doesn't stand up for herself when Kev refers to her having sex with Yvon as 'cheating' (he was threatening her— it wasn't consensual), and doesn't let is show that Kev and V pushing her around is actually getting to her until she finally reaches her breaking point and can no longer hold it in.

Svetlana copes by pretending that her trauma doesn't exist. She suppresses it, she ignores it, she compartmentalizes. And when someone brings it up, she either brushes it aside or attempts to downplay it. When Kev asks her if her father ever sexually abused her, she gets up and walks away. Then in a following scene she casually confirms that he did, as if it's no big deal.

She doesn't make a big deal of her trauma because she so badly needs it not be. Calling a spade a spade would mean actually having to face what she's been through, and she doesn't want to do that. It's easier for her to claim that her father "had good qualities too", and to respond to other people acknowledging the abuse that he subjected her to by correcting them on meaningless details ("it was three-hundred dollars", "it was potato sack"), than it is for her to confront the truth. Because deep down she knows that, if she does, she is not going to be okay. And she needs to be okay.

She needs to be okay because she is poor and she is undocumented and she has a child to take care of. She needs to be okay because she can't afford to not be. Because, if she's not, then where does she go from there? How does she manage to get up every morning? What happened in 3x06 was awful, but people need to keep in mind that that day was not so out of the ordinary for Svetlana. She was sold into sexual slavery when she was just ten years old, was being abused by her father before that, was married to an abusive man who used her for sex sometime during her teens, and probably dealt with her fair share of violent clients at the spa. She's been raped many times over.

It's hard to say, in so many words, how all of this has affected her, because, the truth is, I think there is precious little about Svetlana's personality, and everything that she does, that isn't a direct result of her trauma. Her hyper self-reliance, her inability to ask for help or lean on other people, the way that she grounds all of her decisions on practical bases forsaking any potential hurt feelings, the difficulty she has comprehending others peoples' emotional appeals, her need for security and some semblance of a functioning family, her willingness to forgive any wrong, the way that she accepts mistreatment from people she cares about, and, most notably, the way that she lives her life in survival mode even when she no longer has to. All of these things can be tied to her trauma.

It's easy to look at Svetlana, see how mature and responsible and put-together she is, and assume that she is okay. But, in actuality, all of the things that paint the picture of her being okay are indicators that she is very much not. It just so happens that the manner in which she chooses to cope presents itself in a way that makes her seem extremely high-functioning. But just because she isn't turning to a bottle to get through the day, or going on benders, doesn't mean that she isn't hurting. She is. And what's sad is that the fact that her suffering is so subtle and quiet actually works against her, because nobody ever sees her pain. They just assume that she's fine.

So if she's not asking for help or sympathy, and no one is offering her any, well...

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Would it be too strange of a request to request you specifically (yes you, hyper, not an x reader) and Sherlock?

I'm thinking you go in for violin lessons, and he's either being extremely pleasant or extremely feral for reasons that you're soon to find out?

(It can be an X reader in all honesty, but I'm very specifically wanting to mess with you and see what happens hehe <3)

Lmao welllllll...I don't know if this exactly counts because it could just be a first person OC but...this is kinda the best I could come up with considering self-insert is so very distinctly not my thing 😅😅 (Also did I say 50-100 words? Apparently I meant 300-500 words lololol)

(Set pre-canon, and for these purposes "I" live in Victorian times too hahah. And this is not self-shippy. it is very platonic. I have my limits 😅)

The second the door to the flat swings open I understand why the landlady had wincingly apologized as she led me up the stairs. The sitting room is, to put it kindly, a disaster. There is a strange chemical tang in the air to complement the mess. I glance back across the hall into the landlady’s mirroring flat and she rather pointedly dodges my gaze. When I’d contacted her about the ad in the paper, she’d agreed to play chaperone by keeping her door open: it might not be enough for some, but as an old maid of independent means, I find myself in the rare and enviable position of not needing to give a damn. I’d expressed as much to her, and she’d giggled charmingly and nodded her understanding.

The man I’ve come to meet is far younger than I’d expected, and exponentially odder. He emerges from behind a haphazard stack of books and bric-a-brac like a gopher from a hole, his hair escaping from the topsy-turvy remnants of a tail and his arms covered up to the elbows in thick leather gloves. He blinks at me as if he’s suddenly discovered a stag standing in his parlour.

“I’m here about the violin lessons?”

“Ah, shite—sorry—Right just lemme’ – Not t’alarm you, but iffya see a purple rat, don’t touch it.”

“Do you…need a hand catching it?”

I can’t say I’m enthused about the idea, but I’ve dealt with enough spiders and mice singlehandedly by now to know how to set aside any jumpiness when needed.

“Erm…” The man turns and rifles through a pile of random items on the sofa, coming up triumphant with a pocket-watch in hand. “Nah. ‘s’been ten minutes. Either it’ll be dead and I can dig it up later, or it’s not as dangerous as I thought and it don’t matter all that much.”

I wonder if particularly nefarious murderers lure their victims in with pretty landladies and advertisements about violin lessons.

“Should I come back another time?”

“No, no! ‘ell, Hudson’s ‘bout to ‘ave me on the street if I don’t bring in this month’s rent. Sorry about all this.” I am relived by at least the acknowledgment of the mess. “Been organizing boxes,” he taps the side of his head as if I should know what that means, “and all this out here got a little away from me.”

The man has a poisoned rat running loose in his flat and a Stradivarius acting as a paperweight and what appears to be a letter from the queen pinned to his mantelpiece with a throwing knife. I should probably leave.

“Why don’t I help you tidy up a bit?”

I’m surprised he allows this, though he does rather hover and fuss over the order of things. In half an hour we’ve cleared the sofa and the dining table and a pathway to every door, and he claps his hands together once in satisfaction.

“Much better, thanks. Now, should me move on to the violin?”

“Yes. But I really must tell you I don’t think it’s pupils you’re in want of.”

“Oh?” He plucks at the strings of the violin idly. “What am I in want of, then?”

I huff, half laughter and half annoyance, brushing lint from my skirts.

“You, sir, are in dire want of a flatmate.”

[transamorousnetwork]

How I EASILY Met My Perfect Transgender Girlfriend

I usually write posts about extraordinary results my Transamorous Network clients get. Today, I’m writing about my results. They’re pretty freaking cool. And they show how easy it is to meet our matches, whether we’re trans or trans-attracted.

That’s right, much like Hair Club For Men founder Sy Sperling, I’m not only the founder of The Transamorous Network, I’m also a client. In other words, I practice what I preach. The same things I tell clients to do in their lives, I do in mine.

Sometimes someone will ask me “if your approach works so well, how come you’re not in a relationship?”

The answer is complicated.

I’m in the process of my own self-discovery. That’s my priority. I am exploring my own gender expression among other things. A lot of “me” is under construction therefore. Yes, I’m 100 percent exclusive about being with a transgender woman. But I wasn’t clear what specifics I wanted in a partner yet. Because I’m not clear about me.

But then, Muriel happened (I’ve changed her name and some details to protect her privacy). That’s right. She came into my life unexpectedly. And, over time, I’ve developed a fascinating attraction to her. More on that later.

What’s important now is how this happened. I didn’t do ANY of the things others do to find their partner. I didn’t go to bars. Nor did I join a dating site. She literally came to me. That’s exactly how I promise my clients their partners will show up: with no effort on their part. I just kept telling positive stories. And then Muriel showed up. 

She wasn’t the only one

I wasn’t out looking for transgender girlfriend. Still, I would regularly come across them in town. Every so often, transgender women would hit on me too. That’s because I’m open and authentic about who I am. I embrace all of me, especially my transamory. Which is why the Universe brings me trans women all the time. That tells me I have my stories right.

Over the years, several transgender women have been so bold as to call my cell. Out of the blue, I’d get a call. I love it when transgender women are bold like that. I know when they are like that, there must be something about them that resonates with who I’m being. So when that has happened, I’ve reveled in the rendezvous no matter what happens after that call.

Not every transgender woman who reaches out is my type. But instead of focusing on that, I always reveled in those who were matches. So it isn’t a surprise to me that I eventually came across someone like Muriel. Someone who is, for the moment, a perfect match to my constantly refining desire.

Chasing is the hard way guys and gals

How many of you men have tried to get a trans girl’s attention, in a bar or online, and been ignored or ghosted? I know you’ve had that experience. I’ve had it too, when I was doing what some of you do. That experience sucks. Especially when some transgender women hold preconceived notions that all of us are fetishizers out for lustful satisfaction only.

When you’re out in a bar or online somewhere, it’s not easy to weed out those kinds of transgender women from the ones you want. You want trans women who want to be with you because they appreciate who you are. That’s why I tell my clients stop doing what every other guy (or trans girl) does. Instead, do something different: let the Universe bring the girl/guy to you!

Many guys think that’s crazy talk. They think it won’t work. Even some trans girls think that way. Maybe you think that way. Not my clients though. It takes convincing at first. But in time, life shows them how easy finding love can be.

Think I’m bullshitting? How do you explain these high quality girls, both of whom reached out to me recently. Both did so on their own initiative, with me not having any idea they were out there:

^^A high quality transgender woman expressing her affection…

^^And here’s another!

These are just two of the many transgender women who have reached out to me recently. Since starting The Transamorous Network, I’ve been approached my many more, through my blog and in person. But enough of that. Now, I want to lavish thoughts about Muriel, the girl I find myself fascinatingly attracted to.

An wonderful connection

She responded to a blog post I wrote earlier this year. Muriel and I see the world similarly. So I appreciated her perspective. I sent her an admiring reply. She replied with thanks. I don’t think either one of us had romantic intentions. 

But the more I read some of her posts, including those on Facebook, the more I realized Muriel was really, really smart. I don’t remember who initiated, but we became Facebook friends. From there, getting to know one another accelerated.

Now, besides being super, wicked smart, Muriel also looks great. At least I think so. I especially like that she proudly owns being a “woman with a dick”, as she puts it, which I think is the epitome of what it means to be trans. She doesn’t try to be a cis-woman. She’s proud that she’s trans. And I love that about her. I also like that she’s close to my age. And that she recognizes me as a staunch ally of transgender women, which I am, of course!

When Muriel first sent me racy pictures, I was surprised. I didn’t ask for them, but I did welcome them. Muriel responded with more, increasingly revealing photos. Along with them, we had wonderfully intimate and revealing conversations around sexuality, gender expression, what we like to do in bed and more. I love her self-assuredness. And I’m happy she trusts me.

Muriel also is married and has a child. Her relationship is open, though, which is perfect for me because at the moment, I prefer focusing on my self development. Still, I look forward to seeing Muriel in person. In the meantime, I love who she is. And I enjoy time with her.

The Transamorous Network approach works

My life shows me in so many ways that what I show my clients works. I’m producing the same results they get on the subject of relationship. But that’s not all. I also see other parts of my life proving this stuff I share works.

I’ve said this before: The best place to meet our match is in our daily life. Not at a bar. Not online. It’s more fun too. I always ask my clients this question early on: If you had your choice, which would you prefer: Meeting your ideal match spontaneously – doing what you love – or through an online dating site or in a bar?

Every client, transgender or trans-attracted gives the same answer: it’s just more fun meeting your match in that lovely, spontaneous way. The same way the Universe will give us everything else we want. But to have those experiences, we gotta tell the right stories so we become matches to what we want.

Then we won’t have to go out looking for our partner. She (or he, or they) will come to us. In the same way my clients experience it. And now, in the same way I have.

Want your perfect match to come to you? I’m here, ready to help.

[crescent-lunatic-wolf]

I don’t know what to call myself in relation to this otherkin/therian/alterhuman stuff. It’s still kinda new and scary TERRIFYING TBH. Half the reason I created this blog was to sort this out, though, so dammit if I’m not gonna try.

Once upon a time, I was a dumb kid with an extremely overactive animation. And I mean extreme. I had an imaginary friend that I could not get to ‘go away’ until i basically had an existential crisis and screamed at him.

Sorry, old buddy, but I was starting real school and I needed to at least look normal. Im sure you understand.

This was just the first of many incidents where I felt obligated to cynically crush my more outlandish thoughts into a ball and stuff them away in a corner forever.

Then later I figured out that I’m trans. A lot of things started to make much more sense after that: why I hated puberty so much, why I felt too ‘soft at heart’ compared to other ‘boys’, why I oh-so-despised how I looked…

That was over 8 years ago.

Now, much more recently, as in within the week at time of typing this, a bunch of old thought patterns kinda cropped up at once. I am certain that this had something to do with the recent super moon, though. I don’t know if it was something I subconsciously did to myself, or if talking about werewolves just unlocked the forbidden corners of my brain or what, but the thoughts are back and hoo boy.

When I was a younger, edgier, egg-ier teen, I loved werewolves, conceptually. The very concept of wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing except its more wolf-in-human-skin was, in a word, rad. I knew it was a mythological, fantastical concept (logically speaking, I still do), but oh my god how cool would it be to be that kinda monster?! I didn’t care how alienated it’d make me (though to be fair I was already kind of a weirdo outcast). Raw meat, hunting animals or even people by the full moon? Cathartic af. That sheer power, to be able to assume the form of a terror of nature, to be one with and at home with the moonlit wood… I would kill* for that level of freedom and… and…

*PAST tense, I’m not exactly a serial killer in the making here

What is that other feeling though? It was good, I know. Almost addictive. Satisfaction? Desire of some sort?

Whatever it was, it felt right. …and that’s exactly why I had to suppress it. I was only setting myself up for heartbreak by pouring my soul into this idea of being/becoming something that, by all means, doesn’t exist.

Once upon a time, I thought I’d never be a woman, either.

So fuck that noise. This werewolf-at-heart is back. I don’t care if its an unrealistic dream/goal/whatever-the-fuck, it makes me happy, dammit! Like on some kinda spiritual level or something.

So yeah. I think that makes me alterhuman, otherkin, and/or therian? I’m not 100% on the distinctions, but I want to find out. I can at least comfort in the knowledge that, clearly, I’m not the only one who feels this way. Hopefully at least some o’ y’all can accept me into the fold.

- C

[judesmoonbeauty]

Only Look At Me CE: Nica Schwartz

*Nica is calling Kate “robin” in German. Hence, each time he uses German, I will use quotation marks to denote that going forward in the story.

** Nica is calling Kate (robin) in English for this specific line. In other words, he is using the normal (komadori).

***The translation says "opposite" of him, but context suggests Kate is sitting next to him. That's how I interpreted it anyway.

This is a fan translation only. Not 100% accurate, so please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Dividers: @/adornedwithlight. Thank you for your support! ☾.

On my way home from submitting my report, I was stopped by an unexpected person.

Nica: Hey there, Miss.

One of the Vogel twins stood in front of me.

Kate: Is something wrong?

Nica: Actually, I got lost, would you mind showing me around?

As I nodded in surprise, his almond-shaped eyes narrowed.

Nica: Thanks. 

Kate: No problem, so where are you headed?

Nica: The chambers we’re staying in, you know the way right?

Kate: Of course, it’s this way!

I pointed down the hallway and started walking, with him chuckling as he followed from behind.

Nica: Meeting you here, seems like I’ve still got it. 

(I’m little wary because of what Harrison said.)

(He’s easy to talk and doesn’t seem like a bad person.)

Even though I know they’re lying somehow, I still don’t know if it’s a bad lie.

(It’s not good to judge someone before you know them.)

We arrived in no time as I walked and thought this.

Nica: Thank you for your help, “Robin.”*

Kate: “Robin”?

Nica: It means “Robin” in German.

Nica: Doesn’t Crown call you, robin?**

Nica: Hence, “robin”.

He sat down and looked at the empty seat opposite to him.***

Nica: Won’t you have a seat?

Kate: Huh?

Nica: Let’s have a chat while you’re here. I’d like to ask you about work and other things.

Despite my being nervous that we were alone, he propped his chin on his hand.

Nica: Besides, I’m interested in you.

Even though he was smiling, his eyes pierced me like someone who’d caught his prey.

As I slowly sat down, he smiled in satisfaction while calling a maid for some tea.

Nica: Well then, should I introduce myself again?

Kate: Oh, please do.

Nica: I’m Nica Schwartz, the staff officer of Vogel, an organization under the direct command of the Emperor of Germany. 

Kate: What exactly does a staff officer do?

Nica: I gather information, and support Dari in various ways by using my brains.

Nica: Details are a confidential.

Nica: Oh, by the way. You can call me Nica. There’s no need to call me ‘Mister’.

Kate: Okay then, Nica.

His smile deepened as I called his name, and then he pointed at me.

Nica: Right, now it’s your turn.

Kate: I’m Kate, a Fairytale Keeper. There’s several reasons why I got this job, but I used to work as a postwoman.

Nica: Hmm, then you’re well-informed about the roadways?

Kate: That’s right! We delivered all over London, so I could even guide you.

Nica: That’s great, next time I’ll ask you to show me around the city.

His words interrupted me as I reached for my teacup.

Nica: What kinds of things do you do as a Fairytale Keeper?

Kate: My job entails accompanying Crown activities and recording what happens.

(In reality, there’s a lot more to it than that…..)

I don’t want to say anymore than that because I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk in detail.

Nica: But you’re just an ordinary person aren’t you? Isn’t it dangerous?

Kate: The Crown members have promised to protect me.

Nica: Really….

He seemed to be thinking about something while listening to me speak, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but that feeling disappeared when his expression suddenly brightened.

Nica: You’re the verrry cute “robin” of Crown.

Nica: You’re cherished.

Kate: That’s n….

(It’s true that they treat me with respect but……)

It all started only because I witnessed them conquering evil with evil,

(I desperately didn’t want to die, which led me to where I am now.)

If I hadn’t said anything then, I might not be in this world now.

Nica: Dari probably wouldn’t like it, but it might be fun if Vogel had a Fairytale Keeper back home.

Nica: Oh, but Ring wouldn’t do well.

Kate: Wouldn’t do well?

Nica: Ring’s my twin brother, but unlike me, he’s doesn’t socialize with others too well.

(It’s true, the first time we met, he gave off a cold impression….)

While I was thinking of our first encounter, Nica looked into my face.

Nica: What, are you curious about Ring?

Kate: No, that’s not it…..

Nica: My - that’s. Don’t do that.

He put his finger to my lips, and he smiled with extreme charm. 

Then we talked about trivial everyday life, and before I knew it, the sky had turned deep red.

(It’s already that time….)

When he looked at the clock, his eyes widened in exaggeration.

Nica: Wow, it’s already this late. I guess it’s time to part ways.

Kate: Well, it’s was nice chatting with you.

Nica: Same here, let’s do it again.

I stood up, thanked him for opening the door, and was about to leave the room.

Kate: What?

He grabs a lock of my hair and places his lips upon its tips.

Nica: Until next time.

Even when my lips parted I was speechless.

Nica: Oh, did you forget your way home? 

Or do you want to stay locked up with me and not go home?

His inciting tone made me realize that I had been taken lightly.

(For Nica, this conversation was a wait-and-see thing, and if he got serious -)

-Then he could easily steal my heart.

Kate: Please, excuse me.

With my cheeks suddenly becoming hot, I started to run not caring if there were other people around.

Nica: Bis Dann (Later), “Robin”.

Before my heart is stolen by him.

As I lay on the sofa, my younger brother entered with a gaunt face.

Nica: What is it, did you get lost again?

Ring: Yeah….it’s so large that I couldn’t tell where I was.

Ring sat on a chair and sighed.

Ring: I wish I could memorize the layouts of buildings as quickly as you do Nica……

I laugh at his words.

Nica: It’s possible to get lost on “purpose.”

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Can't wait to tear this MF up /aff. GIMME!