#until he eventually kicks the bucket one way or another

[ersatz-colubridae-888]

i also made this little doodle tonight. hello

[blkkizzat]

COME PUT THAT MILLI★N D★LLAR PU$$Y ON ME, MAKE ME RICH!

FARMHAND!TOJI X BIMBOBUNNY!READER

☼ summary: au. a quiet farm life and a young pretty thing—what more could an ex-con want? you're a bit of a brat, but that can be fixed too. ☼ wc: 4.0k ☼ cw: age gap, panty flashing, voyeurism, brat!reader, fantasizing, spit play, biting, hickies, breeding kink, olfactophilia, teasing, perverted toji, morally ambiguous toji, creampies, squirting, unprotected, pet names: Bunny and standard p in v stuff. ☼ a/n: idk y'all farmhand!toji possessed my mind. literally did this all in tumblr drafts again today. Lets see if tumblr actually lets me post this or cucks me again.

FarmHand!Toji who only got the job in the first place because of a prison rehabilitation program. It was either work on a farm or rot in a cell for another 2 years.

Toji chose the farm.

The work wasn't easy, but Toji couldn't complain. It was a very large farm, secluded and he was paid well—but most importantly?

It kept his fuckin' P.O. off his back.

Toji works on the farm for three grueling months until you, the farmer's niece, arrives for the summer to also work.

Well, 'work' wasn't really the right word, because you never did any thing of the sort.

Barely, 19 and kicked out of your house for smoking pot. Your parents sent you to your uncle, hoping the hard work and the ex-cons he had working for him would scare you straight. Additionally, due to the fact your Uncle had no wife and no kids, the sole owner of a large farm, the old bastard was pretty well off. As the only child of your dad, his only sibling, farm would eventually be left to you.

Everyone (not like you had a say) agreed you should know how to run it.

But the thing is—you suck at everything.

You're too flighty to work with the chickens, too prissy clean the pig cages and you'd complain you'd break a nail just from lifting an empty bucket—so milking cows were also out of the question.

Yet you still managed to get your work done.

Precisely cause you weren't the one doing it.

Aware of your youthful looks and charms, you don't hesitate to use them to your advantage.

Your shapely curves are always clad in some in a thin wispy dress, which would turn damn near see-through at the smallest bit of moisture. Wearing no bra and the tiniest of panties, you were always giving a show.

No you weren't scared of these ex-cons in the least bit.

Evident by the way you flounce around the farm, unabashfully, pretending to do the chores the women-starved prisoners were too eager to do for you.

For their efforts you reward them with smiles, blown kisses and sugary words. Sometimes for rewards came in the form of a peach you would sneak them from your uncle's grove.

Always bringing one for yourself you'd sensually bite into the ripen fruit. Allowing its juices to linger on your cherry-glossed lips and dribble down your chin—the slurping noises are the perfect fapping fodder for them.

Yet the best prize of all—and only if you were feeling particularly generous—a flash of panties.

Toji though had not fallen for your charms though.

Not that he wasn't susceptible to them, hell naw—he wanted to bend your pretty ass over the nearest fence and roughly fuck some decency, along with manners into your haughty lil' cunt.

But Toji, as well as any of the prisoners, knew better than to touch you. Not only were they risking their freedom, with even the slightest offense here was enough to send them back to the pen—they were also risking their lives.

Your uncle was no fool. The older man regularly carried a sawed off shotgun slung over his shoulder, which used to be a pistol before you arrived.

The farmer didn't make it a big announcement, simply reminding them it was prison or a grave if they fucked this opportunity up—but the underlying message was crystal clear:

He'd blow anyone to hell who even thought about touching his niece.

Oh, but Toji did think about touching you—alot.

Often staying up late in his shared bunk room—jerking his cock to a frilly pair of panties of yours he'd stolen off the laundry line—once he was sure the others had gone to bed.

Toji wants to teach you a lesson badly.

Not for your benefit though, it be payback for all your goddamn teasing.

Toji isn't a pushover for you.

Nicknaming you 'Bunny' since you were such a clumsy lil ditz. He often made his silly lil bunny do whatever work he was stationed at when you had chores there—yours and his.

And oh, you hated that. You only tried harder when none of your pouts, provocations and seductions move him. It was pure hell, but Toji had resisted every trick you had. An unintended benefit however, was that he'd likely seen every pair of panties you owned by now (which is why he had stolen his favorite).

At one point, when you were particularly annoying one day, Toji even tried straight up ignoring you.

Yet that didn't work either.

You only upped the ante, 'accidentally' spilling a whole bucket of cow's milk on yourself. The very color of your perky nips are clearly visible, poking through the now transparent fabric which clings to you like second skin.

Staring Toji dead in his eyes, a coy smile on your plump lips as your pink manicured nails rubbed circles over your soaked nubs.

It took everything Toji had in him that day not to force you down to the dirt floor, fucking your pussy open just as hard and flithy as you'd been asking for.

Turning away from you, he threw a hay laden blanket over you and told you to go back up to the house n' clean up.

Toji didn't miss how badly you pouted, even though he pretended not to care. You reluctantly listened to him, leaving the barn and back to the main house up the hill.

You were both playing with fire.

Yet from that point something broke in Toji.

He still never crosses the line to touching you, but he'd starts pushing your buttons.

He wants to rile you up just as you had him.

As a result, Toji is working around you without a shirt more often—sometimes even with a raging hard on in full view. Also he doesn't hold back any longer from any of the vulgar thoughts of you that cross his mind. Regularly vocalizing them with a smirk, making overtly perverted comments towards you.

This was even something the other prisoners were too pussy to do to, given the very real threats of your farmer uncle.

Yet Toji wouldn't be a two-time ex-con he is if he didn't mind gambling with his life for a big reward. Toji relishes in your flustered, indignant reactions, loving to see how your face heats up everytime without fail every time he teases his lil' slut, his sultry voice whispering things like:

"I bet y'er cunt is riper than those peaches, Bunny."

"Bunny—think your pretty pussy can squirt more milk than these cow udders?"

"I wonder if my lil' Bunny can actually ride dick, since she's not half bad on a horse?"

You'd call him a 'perverted old man' like you weren't anything more than just a causal cocktease yourself—obviously you get some sick satisfaction knowing you had every man on this farm but Toji at your beck and call.

In reality, you were just as twisted in nature as him.

Still you were stubborn.

And as retaliation for his resistance, you play all manners of pranks on Toji. Doing anything you could so it was harder for him to do his job—from stealing his work gloves, boots and tools—to more serious ones like letting a weasel loose in the chicken coop when it was his shift to collect the eggs.

You deemed it your right to punish him for teasing you, for not becoming one of your simps and most fiendish of all?

Making you actually do work.

You harass him so often, it's not long before Toji realizes you're seeking him out intentionally.

Not even bothering to visit the other workstations where your chores are, they would get done by your lil'fan boys regardless, in favor of following him around all day like a lost lil' chick.

On a particularly hot n' sweltering summer day, Toji is stuck with the job of moving machinery from one side of the farm to the other when the sun is at its highest.

Like usual, he's since removed his sweat-drenched work shirt—remaining only in unhooked overalls and his briefs.

Toji hasn't seen you though, which isn't surprising given how broiling it is outside. Someone with as delicate a disposition as you, who also happened to be as manipulative, probably convinced your uncle to let you laze around inside the house, away from the heat—and Toji.

But you were a needy little thing, always seeking attention. Toji occupies his thoughts for most of the morning imagining you growing so bored, not having him to harass and all day.

With idle hands and absolutely nothing else to do, you'd start playing with that plump lil' pussy of yours, wouldn't you?

A supple girl like you had to overflow like a dam. Toji would bet money you'd already be wet enough, even untouched, to drench his fingers—just from palming your ripe pussy in his hand.

He wouldn't mind taking more than a sip of you on a miserable day like this to quench his thirst.

Continuing his work (and lewd thoughts of you) until his break, Toji discovers he's misplaced his work shirt.

Searching for it in the heat proves annoying—it's not on the grazing pasture fences, nor in the workshed by the machines. Tsk, he swore he had taken it with him to his last station near the horses.

Passing by the cow barn, Toji hasn't had a shift in there today but he absentmindedly remembers there's was a water hose in there. He could at least cool off for the remainder of his break—maybe even rub one out to you.

However, upon sliding open the Toji's smirk grows almost bigger than the hefty cock in his pants.

Looks like he hit the jackpot, today.

There you were in the middle the of the barn, on your back in the hay, thin dress bunched up past your hips and panties dangling off one of your shapely legs—all while feverishly fingering your fat wet lil' cunt.

You salaciously had even dripped a dark sizeable puddle on the dusty floor beneath you.

But the cherry on top?

You're quite shamelessly moaning out cries of his name, uncaring of who could happen to passby and hear you.

'T-Toji!'

'T-Toji, fuck me harder, Daddy!'

All while your pretty angelic face is twisted in pleasure, eyes closed and nose buried deep in the fabric of his soiled work shirt.

Daddy? Oh how fucking filthy of you—God you were perfect slut, just his fuckin' type.

Solely focused on cumming, your hips thrust up desperately to meet your fingers as he stalks closer to you—looking every bit of the predatory ex-convict he is.

"Well, well look at what we got ourselves here doll....n'here I thought the only degenerates on this farm were us prisoners?"

Your eyes widen in shock, but you don't stop your fingers right away. You were so close to your release before Toji suddenly appeared in front of you, there's no way you could physically stop chasing it now.

Not when it only takes a lingering glance at his dark features, muscular tanned sweat slick body, and the painfully obvious way his dick jumps in his pants to have you falling over the edge. You gush, mewling as you cream around your delicate lil' fingers.

"You've been a very naughty lil' bunny..."

Sheepishly pulling them out, covered in your slick, Toji's eyes zero in on the way your hole still gapes open. You're cunt quite literally throbbing for more, you'd cum but she's still left unsated.

You clearly needed something much bigger and harder than your flimsy little digits.

You unconsciously back up deeper into the bushels of hay around, putting distance between you as Toji gets closer.

"Tsk, tsk, nuh-uh Bunny, none of that shit. Not when I just caught you being such a whore for me."

You gulp, your heart racing as he crouches over you. Toji removes his work gloves, discarding them as he forces you to lay back on the soft hay.

“How sweet of you to prep yourself for me babydoll. But, Bunny, you dumb little girl, you’re too careless. What if it wasn’t me who walked in 'ere and saw you playing with my pussy?”

You didn't think of that, when you had so brazenly snuck up without him noticing to nab his work shirt.

Initially, you wanted to just be annoying to him again, too bored of being in the house all morning. At first you recoiled when you touched his soggy shirt, yet that all flipped once you caught of whiff of his scent.

Toji smelled of a farm but somehow that smell mixed with sweat, musk and notes of his aftershave hit you straight in your cunt. Your panties becoming just as drenched as the shirt in your hands.

You didn't realize Toji, grimy from farm work, could still smell so good.

Knowing it was far past the time for anyone to come milk cows, you headed straight to that barn. You just wanted some alone time, where you'd be free to touch yourself while thinking of the ridiculously sexy ex-con farmhand.

To say Toji had been plaguing your thoughts and dreams for the past few weeks would have been a massive understatement. You were obsessed with him. Him and his irritatingly smug expression, accentuated by his scar that made him appear all the more dangerous—you wanted him to fuck you—your uncles warnings be damned.

"You tryna get me to do more time, girl? Ya know Bunny, I'd kill anyone who touched you, if your uncle didn't get to 'em first."

Your face is hot with embarrassment but your cunt is also burning up—thinking you might die if he doesn’t actually touch you soon.

Letting his coveralls drop unceremoniously to the floor, he shrugs off his remaining clothes.

Toji's calloused hands, smudged with oil and grime, grab your hips and yank you to him. You yelp and his cock twitches even harder at your cute lil noises, smearing pre on your already soaked thighs.

Toji presses his sweaty body onto yours. It's cool in the barn but Toji's heat is so intense you feel like you are out in the sun again. Having him on top of you like this finally is overwhelming your senses. Toji is intoxicating and you're so feral with need for him it makes you dizzier than a heatstroke.

Fuck, you looked so ready for him.

He'd love you take his time to really break you in—make you fall apart until he's screwed every word out of your head but his own name.

Tch—but there's about 10 more minutes left of his break—and a good 15 or so more after that before anyone notices he's not where he should be.

Toji would reluctantly have to make this quick. Snatching your dress off overhead, he tosses it across the barn.

Mouth latching to one of your stiffened nipples, Toji simultaneously bullies his cockhead past your entrance, sinking into your slippery cunt.

Both of your collective groans fill the barn.

Goddamn, you're fuckin' tight.

Your eyes go wide and moisture pricks your vision as the sting of his girthy cock splitting you open nearly brakes you. You weren't a virgin by any means, and you knew Toji was huge—but shit—it was way bigger in thickness and length than you could have imagined.

Toji has to physically take your legs and wrap them around his body so they stop convulsing.

You whine for him to wait a moment but he couldn't—he didn't have the time.

Toji cups your face, unintentionally smearing dirt across your warm pristine lil' cheek.

"Daddy doesn't have time to wait for ya Bunny, can't get caught by y'er mean ole uncle, yeah?"

"*sniffs* I-I know, b-but—"

"No buts, baby—you want me to fuck ya, rite? Then just lay back and be good doll—promise I'll make ya feel good, eh?"

You can't stop the tears that roll down your cheeks, the burning still evident in your cunt as your walls spasm around him. Toji nuzzles your neck, grunts fanning across your sweetly scented skin as he begins moving his hips.

Soon the sounds of wet flesh smacking, resound in the barn with every harsh thrust of Toji's broad hips. The sloppy squelching noises your pussy cries out has Toji feeling like she's talking directly to him.

Sweat drips off his brow and onto your face as he pulls back a bit to see just how well your slutty lil' hole is globbling him right up—you already frothing a ring of cream around his base like such a good girl—like you were made to take his dick.

Your teeth bite into his shoulder and your nails rake red streaks across his back when his fat cockhead brushes against your g-spot.

Instantly, the shocks vibrating in your cunt overtake any remaining discomfort from your pussy accommodating his massive cock. Your tiddies bounce violently whe he picks up speed rocking into your cunt—spurred on by your cute bites gnawing into him.

Toji would mark you up similarly.

God you were so fuckin' wet though, milking him so well.

For all the trouble you gave him your lil' pussy was obedient as hell once she got a lil' dick in her.

"T-Tojiiiii, puh-leaseee k-kiss me, Daddy!"

Slurring, you gaze up at him, eyes blown out in pleasure begging for more of him—for anything he'd give you.

"Yeah, baby, Bunny wants Daddy to kiss her, hm?"

You frantically nod, your whole body is tingling. You just want to feel him consume you completely, all parts of you.

"Heh, of course I'll kiss my lil' bunny—only if ya let me cum ya—m-motherfuck—ya know how long its been since I had pussy this good doll? Gotta cum in 'er."

Mewling under him, you're easily left at his mercy—yet Toji would show you none, devouring you just as greedily as you wanted him to. Your body responds so well to his praises, so needy for them and Toji doesn't mind indulging you when you're being this sweet for him.

Throwing your legs onto his shoulders, Toji raises your ass off the hay onto his knees as he folds your body in half—fucking into you deeper, abusing your cervix as he smashed his lips onto yours.

Truthfully, there's no way in hell Toji would pull out now.

Making the decision for you, the kiss Toji gives you is searing hot. Sucking on your tongue, Toji has you melting you completely under him, your pussy clamping harder around him. His deviant tongue and heavy cock fucking you into submission.

Hell, she was begging him to cum in her even if you weren't or couldn't—you looked absolutely gone—like not even the smallest thought lived in your fucked out lil' head.

Even when Toji pulls back to allow you air his lips never leave yours, biting your kiss swollen bottom lip almost to the point of drawing blood.

You tighten even more than Toji thought possible in the moment once he forced your mouth open and spits into it and your instantly swallowing it—sticking your tongue out for more.

Oh? Bunny becomes such a dirty whore once you're fucking her silly, eh?

Toji wonders what else of his you'd swallow. He'd save that for next time though.

For now Toji had to finish you, he was running out of time. Besides, he was speaking true earlier, he really hadn't had good pussy—pussy at all—in literal fuckin' years. Toji didn't think he could last much longer in a hole with as much wet suction as yours, even if he did have more time.

Slipping a hand between your slick bodies, Toji is now furiously thumbing circles on your sensitive clit.

"C'mon, Bunny baby, cum for Daddy, yeah? Squirt on this dick, just like you did your fingers earlier, doll."

Your body, utterly under the spell of his engorged cock which was currently digging into your kidneys, can't do anything but obey him.

Tumbling over your peak, you do as he asks, splashing fluids onto his pelvis, abs and chest with how much squirt he has gushing out of you.

Your head lulls back and Toji has to clasp his hand over your mouth from how loud you started screaming.

His own release follows soon after. Pumping his extra-thick load, all built up and saved over the years for a pussy as sweet as yours, into your well-fucked-open cunt.

Curses and swears pour out of Toji's mouth as remains side you, still pistoning in you with fervor through both your orgasms. Toji doesn't leave the snug warmth of your gooey core until you squeezed out every single drop he had to give you.

Pulling out, Toji immediately rolls over next to you as not to crush you further. Yet, like a magnet, his needy lil' bunny is curling up against his side, a sleepy sated expression on your angelic face.

Toji hated to leave, but he had to haul ass now if he wasn't gonna get caught.

A crude form of aftercare, but Toji hoses the both of you down.

The cold water snapping you from your lethargic afterglow immediately as you pouted and whined—the brat in you almost instantly returning.

But Toji couldn't just let you sleep ass naked, covered in his cum in the hay for your uncle to find you or worse—another prisoner to find you.

Toji was serious. He really would kill someone if they tried anything with you, he'd taken many innocent lives before as a former hitman—he had no qualms killing some no good convicts.

Setting you upright, Toji finds your dress in the hay and puts it on you. It's soiled and dusty but he straightens it enough so you're at least halfway presentable.

Toji knows you're clever enough to think of a lie if questioned further.

Although, you'd better back to the main house quickly, in case those hickies he gave you start showing up. Toji smirks to himself.

Sending you on your way with quick sloppy kiss and a firm smack on the ass, he lets you leave first.

After waiting a few minutes, Toji exits the barn, grinning devilishly upon seeing you.

You're halfway back up the hill to the house by now, but you still steal glances back at him every few paces. Still panting, you're too shy now to meet his own eyes for longer than a second with your coy smiles.

Toji chuckles.

He had you hooked.

Hah, a slut like you? You'd probably be begging for his cock all throughout the day from now on.

However, Toji knows if he keeps fucking you like this he'll soon get you pregnant.

But ya know? That might not be half bad though.

This simple farm life had been a nice change of pace.

And who wouldn't want a young n' tender cunt like yours to dump in daily? Toji would keep you stuffed full, belly round with his kids and soft tiddies full of milk—for his consumption only.

Toji muses once he had finished fucking the brat out of you, Bunny, you'd become the perfect lil' wifey.

It be good for Megumi to have a mom again and some siblings to keep em busy. Toji would finally have a decent place to raise him too, away from the city and his toxic as fuck family who'd Megumi had been with since the first time his dad got locked in the slammer.

Not to mention—the farm was a perfect cover for his con activities that he couldn't wait to back start up.

He'd only able to do so much with the burner phone Shiu smuggled-in for him, concealing in a shipment of animal feed.

Heh.

All Toji needed now was to knock you up, apply pressure on your strict, God-fearing parents to agree to the marriage, and then orchestrate an 'untimely and unfortunate accident' for your uncle. Thereby leaving the farm and the substantial inheritance to you—and by proxy—to him.

Yeah, FarmHand!Toji planned to become Farmer!Toji real soon.

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

☼ a/n: y'all toji be making me write the most twisted nastiest things for him. i realize soft toji just don't do it for me like depraved toxic morally corrupt toji does, i really would let this man ruin my credit fr y'all, he can have it all.

i didn't expect to write this, all in a day but im at the beck and call of my main mans. otaku!gojo and nerd!gero lovers dun hurt me. taglist in reblogs.

☼ comments and reblogs appreciated ‪‪❤︎‬

[twst-drabbles]

Heartslabyul 6

Summary: While you didn’t go out trick-or-treating like Crowley wanted to, you did get a bucket full of candy. A little too much candy. You decided to throw some of the excess to the plant nymphs.

(Hehehehe, I made a neocities website right here. I’ll be loading all my writings up there eventually for safe keeping. But yeah, check it out!)

“Alright, ready for the next round?” You asked from your lawn chair, fingers drumming against the big and overly fancy black pumpkin bucket you got from Crowley for Halloween, “I think the next layer is white chocolate.”

Ace jumped up high, shaking his arms and legs, almost screaming in impatience that you won’t just start already. Deuce was stomping around in excitement, ready and revving to catch some candies and added them to their combined pile.

“Don’t scream, you’ll blast my ears out,” you deliberately slowed yourself down as you rubbed at your ear, dropping your scoop of candy right back into the basket just to annoy Ace further, “though, I am getting sleepy. Maybe we should do this another day.”

Then, you heard something else fall into the candy treasure trove you have. Looking over, you saw a pair of leafy legs wiggling about. Righting himself up, Trey presented the wrapped sweets high above his head before throwing it towards Ace and Deuce. Trey turned towards you with the sweetest look on his face, giving a little determined chirp before patting a little fist against his chest.

Leave it to me, he’s probably trying to convey. Adorable. He thinks you’re actually falling asleep in your chair and is trying to take up your duty for you.

“That’s alright Trey, I was just kidding,” you gently grabbed him before setting him down, “Go on. Grab some candy of your own before Ace and Deuce make themselves sick with it.”

As Trey walked to the candy zone with a nod, you shot your arms out and captured the basket that was in the process of being carried away by Cater and his clones.

“Stop that Cater,” you flicked one of the clones legs. It tripped and puffed into smoke, “I know you hate sweets but you can’t destroy them yet. Wait until the game’s over.”

The true Cater planted his butt on the table, kicking his legs out in annoyance. You patted his head.

“I’ll get you something nice later, alright? So stop with the tantrum just because I only have candy right now.”

Cater turned his head away from you, as though that wasn’t enough.

You tucked a finger under his chin, guiding him to look at you. “How does that new spicy ramen I found sound?”

Only then did Cater perk up and clap his hands with a trill of chirps escaping him. He hopped right up, dusted the dirt off his knees and ran off towards Ace and Deuce, probably to mess with them.

“You want to join in, Riddle?” You looked to your shoulder as soon as you felt a weight press upon it. You had a scoopful of small candies in your palm. “Those roots of yours will throw better then my hands ever could.”

Riddle’s little face creased with curiosity. He bent down and grabbed a candy, turning it this way and that before commanding a root to wrap around it and throw it over the heads of Ace and Deuce. Deuce decided to be a little menace and tripped Ace before speeding off towards the candy.

You snorted and Riddle gave a soft laughing trill of his own. A rope of roots grabbed each individual candy from your hands and threw them in high and wide arcs. Trey spotted something he liked bounce on the ground and slide under a tree’s roots. He slid right there with it, getting his butt stuck.

Cater had his clones at the ready to grab as many candies as possible, but one heavy lollipop bounced on his head, then onto the heads of the rest of his clones in succession.

“Whoops,” you said with a sigh, “threw it a little too well, Riddle.”

Just to ease the worried look on your Roseling’s face, you unwrapped a strawberry cream candy and held it to his face. He only took one sniff before practically wretched it from your hold.

Adorable. They’re all adorable.

[that-random-outsider]

Bridgella Heather's Au

TW for mentions of Murder, Suicide, Blood etc I'm not going to add anything that wasn't already in the movie so if any of those themes make you uncomfortable in any way I suggest clicking off this post.

So the idea is basically, Ella and Bridget have been childhood friends since kindergarten. However around their freshman year Ella moved because of her father's death. Her stepmother had acted as if it was because that house held too many 'memories' but in truth she just couldn't wait to blow all the new money she got from Ella’s father's will. Bridget begged her to stay, she didn’t know how to survive without Ella by her side. She tried to fit in, make friends, be a good person just like how she’d always imagined. But she quickly realized high-school wasn't like any of the movies she'd seen. It was kill or be killed, and Bridget wasn't ready to die. So she started lashing out. Ignoring her homework, avoiding her moms tantrums, yelling at teachers. All that anger, that madness she'd been suppressing since Ella had left just finally seemed to overflow when she almost killed a guy. Charming. He'd been friends with her and Ella back when they were kids. Ella was always so enamored by him. If only she could see how much of an asshole he'd became after she'd left.

It was no surprise really, rich kid flirt always looking for another heart to break. If anything she was surprised she'd hadn't seen it earlier, still she hadn't meant to hurt him. Bridget was just trying to get to her next class when Christopher approached her looking for trouble. He kept messing with her, despite her telling him she wasn't interested in his stupid quest to take out every girl in school. Of course he just had to keep insisting and they were both starting to get upset when suddenly he said something he would immediately regret. "What still holding out for if Ella comes back? Because we both know she would've chosen me." Bridget lunged at the boy anger in every strike until someone had to pull her away from Charming’s beaten body as she fought the grip of whoever was holding her back wanting, no needing to finish the job.

Of course she was expaled from school and labeled unstable by the district forcing her to move county's to some place where people didn't know about what happened to finish high-school. Her mom was pissed about Bridget ruining her reputation and no one had the time to home school her so eventually she found herself at the place she'd hated most for all these years. The place that took her bestfriend away from her. The place she'd sworn to watch burn to the ground for ruining her life. Westerberg high.

Okay now some background on how Ella’s been doing since the two were separated. After her father died and their family moved to Ohio Ella quickly realized she’d be on her own. She thew herself into her studies knowing that the moment she turned eighteen she'd be out on the streets. Her stepmother never wanted her, and if it was her choice Ella would have been gone the moment her father kicked the bucket. But just because her stepmother couldn't get rid of her doesn't mean that she couldn’t make her life hell.

They piled every thing on her from chores, to bills, to anything else she could imagine and some days she’d just want so badly to run and never look back, but she wasn’t an idiot. She had no money and nowhere to go, if she ran away she'd just have to return to a closed door that had no interest in taking her back. So instead she studied, she spent every waking hour making sure to pass exams keeping up college courses, doing other people's homework for money. Anything to get a scholarship and get out of there. She wanted nothing to do with the hell hole she'd been forced to call home.

She wanted nothing to do with the assholes who treated her only friend like shit, and she wanted nothing to do with the only three girls who could protect her for the rest of high-school. Well, okay maybe she did. Uliana, Anastasia, and Drizella. The most popular girls in school, two of whom where her step sisters unfortunately. Not that anyone at Westerberg knew of course, seeing as they were embarrassed of the fact. However when Ella manages to impress Uliana with perfectly forged hall pass and history assignments she offers her a free pass to what first sounded like a drama free school year. And of course whatever Uliana says goes so even her step sisters backed off a bit at school. It wasn’t perfect but it was livable, and without so many distractions she was managed to get some work done. Or it was at least until a familiar face walked into the cafeteria one day.

Ella didn’t recognize Bridget at first when she first locked eyes with her. She couldn’t help but feel like there was something specific about her that she couldn’t quite place as she took a seat in the back away from everyone. Even after Bridget’s eyes moved away from her old friends at the loss of recognition, Ella's eyes couldn’t help but linger on the new girl. Bridget however recognized Ella right away, she was the first thing she searched for when she entered the school she watched with growing rage as her friend was peer pressured into bullying some girl in a blue sweater vest.

It made Bridget’s blood boil, her Ella would have never done that, not if it meant hurting someone with a good heart. She had to get Ella out of that place so they could watch it all burn together. Ella eventually approaches Bridget as the bell rings and finally Ella understands why she felt so familiar she'd dreamt of seeing Bridget again for so many nights but she had to forget her to face her new reality one that ended with something more practical than a happily every after. So she goes to the party with Uliana and her sister's and has a horrible time until she can't take it anymore. She tells Fay about the stupid prank and makes Uliana look like a fool in front of everyone causing the whole school to turn their backs on her.

There was no way she could go home and face her step sisters house, but after what she did to Fay there was no way she could face her either. Besides in that moment there was only one person she truly wanted to see. The person who'd she’d wished to see for so long but forced herself to forget. Bridget. Her legs lead her to her house as her arms forced open the window to Bridget’s bed room and she was met face to face with her bestfriend, someone she'd longed to be more than just friends with for so long, but forced herself to hide it in fear of what others might say. Someone who she could no longer continue to hide how much she loved her from.

After Ella tells her everything Bridget decides right then and there that the first one to die would be Uliana. Ella goes to visit her along with Bridget the next morning claiming to need her protection if she was going to survive the next week, and the thought of Ella feeling the need to grovel at anyone made Bridget sick with fury. So when Ella accidently grabbed the cup with rat poison instead of the hangover cure, who was she to point it out? She deserved it. They all did.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Quick Warm Up for A Long Marathon

This is literally just being silly. I know it's super short, but honestly for this part of the story? I think it's just hilarious. I love how this story turned out! Anyways, enjoy some hybrid!CoD

TWs: None, except König being an ass

Wordcount: 800

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

A Quick Warm Up for A Long Marathon

So the cafe was a disaster. Well, not every idea can be brilliant. You'd hoped to break the ice between you, but so be it. You’d still keep trying with König, even if it killed you. Of course with how determined König seemed to shut you out, it started to look like you’d be taking yourself out pretty soon.

You’d dealt with difficult hybrids before. You’d dealt with a tokoloshe shifter that had been determined to undermine any and every attempt to get through to her. You’d eventually won her over by providing her a plethora of fruits from South Africa and two weeks of vacation to visit her aunt during the summers over the holidays, and after that, it was smooth sailing. Maybe König needed something similar? He seemed so closed off all the time. Maybe it was because he was just overworked?

The thought helped calm you. It was a light at the end of the tunnel to look forward to. The knot that had worked itself twixt your shoulder blades started to unwind as you walked down to the gym. You wondered if maybe König would actually be a bit more relaxed once in the gym. Usually, a bit of light jogging was enough to clear your head, so maybe your hybrid might be more friendly when he’d unwound a bit. That, or he’d be particularly bristly. It was a coin flip, really. Not one that you really wanted to hedge your bets on either. You’d really rather not have to put your fate in somebody else's hands, but König had a firm grip on you and he was happily dragging you down to the bottom of the crab bucket.

The walk to the gym led you winding round the base until you came to a wide door, which in turn led to what seemed more like a stadium than a gymnasium. Inside, you turned around as you walked to get a full lay of the land. Around you was a giant track while the ceiling was lined with hoops for hybrids to duck through or swing off of. Hurdles lined one end of the track while a great obstacle course took up the center of the room. Finally, you spotted the equipment lining the far wall. There, you made your way to the back corner, where a small group of hybrids were training using punching bags and kicking pillars. At the end of a line of ten sandbags, König was practising his hooks.

“Hey!” you held up a hand as you walked over to where your colonel stood, “sorry about being late. I got a bit busy.”

König glanced over towards you before focusing back on the red punching bag.

You looked at the bag and then back at him, “So, do you need me to hold some pads for you?”

König stilled, then slowly turned his head towards you. He didn't bother hiding how his eyes squinted as he looked you up and down, “You think you can do that for me?”

You scoffed, “Of course I can! I’m your handler. It's my job.”

König gave you another once-over before dropping his stance. He shrugged and said, “Try your best.”

You turned away to hide your eye roll, but you figured it was time to finally prove your worth as a handler. If you couldn’t get to him on a personal level, he could respect you as a trainer. You’d dealt with plenty of hybrids before König, how could he be any different?

You sauntered back to him with a hefty body bag over one shoulder, your other hand swinging easily by your side. König tilted his head back, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one foot in a perfect show of bemusement. You snorted to yourself as you held up the pad to your side, shifting to a proper front stance as you readied yourself for the blow.

“Ten roundhouses on the right, ten on the left,” you declared, “sound good to you?”

“What about stretching?” König countered.

The tips of your ears were flushed as you scrambled and sputtered, “I mean, you were doing some exercise earlier, so didn’t you already do some?”

König shook his head, “I did, but did you?”

You paused. He had a fair point.

“Okay, um, can you give me fifteen and I’ll come back to you?” you asked.

König shrugged, “I’ll be here.”

Good enough.

A good fifteen minutes later, you were fully stretched and ready for whatever König was about to throw at you. You picked up your body bag and returned back to your place by König’s side.

“Alright big guy,” you gave him a wicked grin, “I’m not letting you put off leg day anymore!”

König glanced down at his legs, then back at you. The fact that his thighs were thicker than your head was left unsaid.

“So, remember, ten on one leg, ten on the other, alright?” you hoisted the pad up, “starting on the right. Ready?”

König nodded and fell into a comfortable front stance.

“Alright, one!”

Boom.

With one swing, you were sent clean across the gym. You fell into a jumbled mess of limbs, scrambling for traction on the floor mats as you sprawled out. When you managed to find your footing, you stumbled to your feet and turned to face König.

“Maybe you should use the pillars,” you mumbled.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that König was grinning behind his mask.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universe Stories

[raccoonspooky]

Don't Buy The Entire Pig For Just One Sausage

Bo Sinclair X Fem Reader, NSFW 10k words. Rated E. Y/N Device is not used in this fic. Second Person, Bo POV. Full list of tags on ao3, highlights include: Unsafe sex, stranger sex, Bo is having a great time until he is not. This fic is not kind to Bo. Bimbo! Reader Nothing is safe or sane, consensual yes but hmm..

*Alternative ending included!

You’re overly confident and the dominance you think you deserve is pulled directly out of a delusion. Bo’s sure that it wouldn’t take much to teach you your manners. Someone failed you somewhere down the line. You were either given too much freedom or not enough, and now you’re running about wearing hot pink in biker bars; lifting wallets like some kind of whorish raccoon.

Full fic under the cut, or on ao3!

Last month, the grimy old dive bar Bo frequented for twenty damned years decided to kick the bucket. The place was run by some old git who either was the son or the grandson of the original owner and Bo imagined the fucker just curled up and died in whatever shithole he lived in. Ain't like he had family left to close the place proper, it locked up one night and it’ll stay locked up till someone decides to pry open the casket.

No one ‘round these parts had any concept of legacy to cling to, most folk were just sitting around with their thumbs in their asses, sitting in their graves and watching the world die around them. Figures that this shithole of a bar would eventually run dry. Bitter as he was, Bo knew it was a long time coming. Place was standing longer than most places lasted round these parts, it’d seen the birth and death of multiple nearby towns, it’d seen that big ol fire that burnt down the mill in Ambrose.

It wasn’t all that hard to find another place that suited him, it was closer to Baton Rouge than he would’ve liked but sometimes a man’s got an inherent need to get some pretty thing drunk. Back home, it’d been slim pickings recently; no tourists, no one on the road. Bo was stalking further and further away from home and every inch he stepped away from his front door added a new crick in his neck. One day, he’s gonna put Mama’s dream on the maps and he needs more materials to make it a reality. He’s got work to do and this fuckshit corner of the world is trying his fucking patience.

Sitting in his truck in the parking lot, white-knuckled on the wheel and glowering at nothing in particular —as if his bitterness had hypnotized him into staring blankly into space like a goat— a dancing gut punch of pink floats past his vision and Bo snaps into focus. The single-braincelled goat becomes a coyote in an instant and his fingers uncurl from their death grip on the wheel and finally steps out of his truck. He gives himself a once over in his driver-side window’s mirror before taking his hat off to smooth down his hair. When he first got into his truck, he wasn’t sure where he was going and now he regrets not finding an outfit better suited to picking up chicks.

He sucks his teeth audibly before spitting on the ground after clearing his throat. His skin itches in the way it does whenever he’s got the scent of something good in the air. No one would believe him, but Bo’s always thought that he had some sorta sixth sense on top of all the looks and charm. These blessings keep his dick wet and fill Ambrose with all kindsa new wax neighbors. Mama always said he stole his brother’s face, but Vincent wouldn’t know what to do with it. Dumbshit ‘ain't the same kinda predator he is.

As he heads inside, he sorta elbow pushes the door open while pulling his pants up a little as he looks around for the pink thing that had his arm hair standing on end. He doesn’t see you right away, but he’s already got a picture of you in mind. So far all he knew was that the blur of a person he saw was that it was vaguely feminine, walking stupidly, and likely some kinda whore. The rock solid assumptions are backed by years of work in this field, therefore he’s sure that this night is gonna end up in the exact same way it always does.

The case he’s building on you quickly begins to bloat. First of all, any unaccompanied bitch in a place like this must be some mix of stupid and a slut. The second biggest wedge in the mental piechart that he’s currently working on building is branded with four big bold letters spelling SLUT. You come in here, some dirty fuckin sticky floored joint that smells like sour beer and piss dressed in pink? You lookin’ to suck some hillbilly cock?

Of the few times Bo’s visited this place it’s been full of dusty old bikers and their floppy-tittied old ladies with sour cunts that smell and look like leather. Sometimes he’s seen some real fuckin backwater bushes folk, but girls sure don't frequent this place, sure there's lot lizards and other night stalkers like them but those don’t count as women. They’re more like walking fuckpockets full of rotting meat that’s more or less shaped like a woman.

Mindlessly, Bo finds himself with a cold beer in his hand and a tinge of agitation beginning to blossom behind his left eye. The routine that he’s kept to all these years right now feels like a collar buttoned too high up, one of those stiff starched church shirts where his mama would tie his tie damned near to choking him. He wants to rip it off and run at you like a bull, fuck the rules. It ‘ain't fair to keep someone like him contained by all this bullshit. This is a dog-eat-dog world and he ain’t the bad guy for being the first one to bite most often. Whoever you are? You’re prey and you know it walking in here in what he assumes is a pink dress. Maybe you have a death wish? Maybe you’re one of those dumb sluts who’s coasted through life with batting her eyelashes and shoving your tits at your problems. Over the years, Bo’s mastered breaking apart girls exactly like you, and from the way his throat tastes and the twitch in his eyebrow, he’s sure that you’re exactly what he assumes you are.

Bo saddles himself at the furthest end of the bar where he can get the best viewpoint of the whole place, there’s a pool table to one side and a forever out-of-order cigarette machine that’s got a nest of roaches inside. First time he came in here, he jiggled the machine just to see if anything would come out and a big fat roach fell out of it dead right atop his boot. Everyone else here looks blurred, he’s got tunnel vision and everything he can see, smell, and hear is pushed to the background in favor of setting all his focus on you.

His ears pick up on you before anything else, which is weird ‘cause he sure as fuck took a look at the group behind him and he didn’t see no pink thing in the mess of bald-headed fucks. You jingle as you walk, the sound of metal on metal and clothes shifting together and in another moment. You all but skip past him trailing some skinhead looking motherfucker behind you. Bo didn’t get a look at your face but he got an eyeful of everything else and god damn is there a lot to see. Your boots clip clop on the floor and they cling tight to your calves despite the pointed cowboy toe of ‘em. They’re shiny looking, like the vinyl seating of an old car. Bo’s mind registers legs, naked skin, the general shape of your body, and just as he’s on the cusp of a full thought, the most annoying voice he’s ever heard spouts from your lips and you chirp, “Follow the leader!” with a singsong voice at the asshole behind you.

So far, Bo was right in his assumption about you wearing a dress. Well… it’s some kinda skirt and a little shirt but that’s the same thing. Your lower back’s bare and he can see the hint of a tramp stamp peeking out of your waistband, it’s frilly up top like old lady bloomers or something but it’s got that sorta floaty look like in old movies. It might look old if it wasn't barely covering your ass. Bo’s not taken a single sip out of his beer and all he can do is stare at the back of your hair, dry swallowing and feeling his blood turn acidic in his veins.

Who the fuck are you? You’re like something that crawled right out of a trashy porno and into this shack as if you were summoned by the stench of ball sweat and violence. You sit atop a stool near the bar, sitting on your knees so you can sit higher and lean over toward the grizzled woman working the taps. You squeal something high-pitched and Bo feels his brain rattle against his skull. That fuckin’ noise reminds him of those fish bitches who sing dumbasses to their death, luring them with their fish titties while wailing them to their graves. The tone of your voice is gratingly annoying but he’s already imagining what other kindsa noises you could make. There's a perfect moment between three points of hurt, scared, and needy that Bo’s got several tape recordings of. He’s already thinking of what to label your tape with.

— “Pleaaase? I have to pee so bad and I just got over a bladder infection.” You press your hands together in a mockery of prayer after slamming your giant purse onto the counter with a thud. “You gotta know how it is! Cranberry juice for days and it’s not all that good of a drink when there’s no liquor in it!”

The woman at the bar huffs, surprisingly amused, and Bo glares. He’s tried charming the fuck out of that old gator but he’s never got so much of a twitch of a smile out of her. Old ladies fucking love him and that old bitch was completely immune to everything he was laying on. You continue to beg for a bathroom and it comes to Bo’s attention that sitting like you are, leaning over like that… there’s no way that you’re not just showing your panties to everyone who cares to look. There ain't anyone behind you and he gets up to casually walk your way to take a gander. No one’s looking at him, so he doesn't care to make a show of why he decided to get up and move to a booth directly behind you.

Bo’s convinced that anything he assumes is correct and raking his eyes up your exposed thighs and up to the slope of your ass. Your skirt giving him a good eyeful of ass is all the proof he needs to convince himself that he’s the smartest man in the universe. His assumption that he could take a peek at your panties is correct, sure he had to squint and pretend to pick something up off of the ground but he’s able to see just a hint of white fabric.

Fuck, white panties. Something about ‘em makes his dick jump to life in his pants. You think you’re some kinda sweetheart huh? With the frills in your skirt and your Barbie pink boots, d’ya think you’re some kinda doll? Plastic cunt hidden away by painted on panties? He remembers using scissors to cut the hand off of one of his mama’s childhood dolls; it didn’t have the same thick weight of slicing through meat that Bo’s come to enjoy in the years since then. You’ve probably got dainty lil hands, soft and with manicured nails. Bo’s fist clenches around nothing and he realizes that he left his untouched beer at the corner of the bar. With a huff, he gets up to retrieve his drink and you shout across the L-shaped counter,

“Ha! Pretty boy like you shouldn't be leaving his drink uncovered, c’mon that’s like rule one of being hot.”

In response, Bo coughs. And then he coughs again. He pounds on his chest with his fist and you giggle at him. He’s not looked at your face yet and glaring at you down feels like a nightmare he once had of his mother dragging him through some department store while glitter-faced makeup ladies from the counters laughed and pointed at him for being a grown man holding hands with his mama. What the fuck did you just say? Was that a threat? You think he’s…. pretty?

Instinctively, Bo latches onto the closest semblance of composure he can find,

“Speakin’ from experience sweetheart?” He sneers while finding his seat in the booth again.

You blow him a kiss and the gator behind the counter hands you a key and points. The big guy behind you stumbles and you hop off your stool with a sickly sweet smile that’s almost convincingly real. To anyone less versed in fake smiles, it might’ve gone undetected. Behind you, the guy looks woozy. The guy behind you shuffles as he walks, you stand him in front of the door and he steps away as if uncomfortable and you pull on his belt loop to force him closer. Bo can’t hear your command exactly, but it seems as if you were using the guy to guard the door as you took a piss. Fucking weird.

When the door opens again, you basically slam it into the neanderthal guarding you and he barely reacts. He turns around like a lurching zombie and your face screws up in mock concern.

“Are you feeling okay, big guy? I thought you were gonna show me your Harley!” You leave him for a moment to return the bathroom key and the dude slowly collapses into the nearest seat. You make a show of putting your hands on your hips and huffing, you nudge his boot with your own and sigh when he groans you roll your eyes, big lashes making the expression cartoonish. “Nighty night then lightweight!” You say cheerfully before basically skipping away from him with a big grin on your face. You hold your big bag low at your side and Bo notices for the first time that it’s bulging and looking as if it’s barely able to zip closed.

He can’t take his eyes off of you. Fuck you’re the most annoying thing he’s ever fucking seen. You seem to feel his gaze on you and Bo only challenges your “I caught you” expression with a raised eyebrow. You’re a fuckin loud ass flamingo with tits, of course he’s looking. Why would you dress like that if you didn’t want people to stare? He tilts his bottle at you, (still barely sipped) in invitation and you prance your ass over to him like a pony.

“Are you gonna buy me a drink? Cause otherwise I’m going home.” Your tone is completely bitchy, and you reach into your dumb little shirt and presumably your bra to dig out a tube of lipgloss. Your lips are already glimmery and Bo takes a slow drink from his bottle while imagining ‘em wrapped around something long and hard. Not everyone has his higher than average people reading skills, but any fuckin’ moron could look at you and determine that you’re good at sucking cock.

“I heard that guys who prefer bottles over cans have daddy issues.” You blow a small bubble with the gum he hadn’t noticed you were chewing and your sentence ends with a snapping noise as you pop it with your teeth. Your lipgloss disappears back into your tits and a lightning strike of rage splinters up his spine. He could slam your face into this fuckin’ table so quickly that you wouldn’t be able to so much as cry about it before you’re choking on your teeth! In a place like this, no cameras, cash only you’d be one more face in a god damned Walmart’s missing people plastic box by the return center you fucking bitch.

Ignoring his facial expression and the general violence radiating out from his person, you sit next to him which cages him into the booth without any escape.

“Where do you get off sayin’ this shit huh?” Bo spits, low and dangerous. You’re so fucking dumb. Usually, Bo’s got a little more tact when it comes to finding someone for one of Vincent’s new projects. He knows how to sweet talk, Bo can put on the fuckin’ ritz for every dumbass type of bitch in the world but you’re tearing apart every bullshit line he could pull on you as if you knew that he was barely keeping it together in the first place. You don’t know fucking shit about him, you’ve got it all twisted around you bitch. He’s reading you, you’re the prey here. Not the other way around.

“Hmm.” You look upward, thinking. “Where do I get off? Ummm…. my bed usually. Where do you? Are you an alley pervert?” You speak before he can. “Oh! No, no ways. You’re like one of those guys who takes sneaky upskirt pics.”

Fucking what? Bo feels like he stumbled into another fucking dimension. “The fuck is wrong with you? Jesus.”

Your laugh is grating, a little nasally. “You seem like a photo guy is all. Everyone has their things. You asked where I got off, so I told you, duh.” You roll your eyes and Bo imagines how good your pretty makeup would look running down your face. You wouldn’t be all that sassy while bleeding out in his basement. The murderous thought is sliced clean through by your suddenly meowing phone, you unzip a pocket of your bag and dig around for a good minute before you find your phone and flip it open to answer the call.

“Nuh-uh!” You partway scream through a laugh as Bo just… stares at you, mouth breathing. He spent every last Thursday of every month buying two lotto tickets and treating himself to a burger and maybe some pussy, and he hadn’t won shit from the lottery in the twenty years he’d kept to the damned ritual, he hadn’t scratched off the tickets yet but with your stupid ass he feels as if he’s got a million dollars folded up in his wallet.

—” Oh you bitch! You did not,” You snort, actually fucking snort. “Did it hurt? What about lube?”

Bo clears his throat and you hold up a finger, “Ugh alright, fineee.” You pout into your phone, “Talk later babes, I forgot there's a guy next to me.” You pause for a moment and then turn to Bo to look at him with an analyzing expression.

“Hmm, he’s like a solid seven. Hot in a DILF way.”

Bo’s breath jumps up a few notches and he feels a growl building in his throat. Something is fucking wrong with you and you’re a gift from fucking god at the same time. He imagines your limp body, legs bruised, blood seeping from beneath you. You’d beg him to kill you in the same way you’re gonna beg for his cock. Bo blows a slow breath through his nose and shifts in his seat, resisting the urge to adjust his dick that’s steadily swelling with blood the more you run your stupid slut mouth.

In a flash of movement, your phone is put away and you unzip your purse just enough to get your hand inside to pull out a worn brown leather wallet. It’s a bizarre contrast compared to the rest of you, it looks cheap but not cheap like you. You smell like dollar store perfume and your jewelry sure as fuck ain't valuable. Getting by as he does, he’s gotten good at figuring out if jewelry and shit is worth any money. You use the tip of your pink rhinestone-adorned talon to dig through the bills in the wallet and your eyes go wide as if surprised to see what was in there. Two twenties are removed and you curl them lengthwise as if offering money to a stripper.

You wiggle the bills toward him and Bo scoots further away from you, scowling. The only thing he wants to do is wrap his fingers around your neck and squeeze, he doesn’t want to waste any words on you because right now they’re in short supply. He’s unraveling at the seams and beneath his exterior he’s an animal thing desperately in need of a good fuck or a good kill.

“C’mon pup, get me a drink? Please? You can keep the change! My treat!” You flutter your eyelashes. Throwing money away like it’s fuckin nothing to a stranger? You don’t seem like a rich girl, but the thought pisses Bo off just the same.

“That ain't your wallet and I ain't a whore.” Bo decides on a safe response to spit out. He’s yet to fully comprehend that you just called him “pup.” as if some sort of mental barrier simply wouldn’t allow him to hear it otherwise he’d suffer a series of incoming strokes.

“Debatable.” You hop out of the booth and you point to the bar while blowing another bubble with your gum. “Something with a cherry in it?”

“Aint no fuckin cherries here girl.”

“Wine..?”

You look so miffed that Bo chuckles, he gets out of the booth and plucks the money from your fingers before pocketing it. It takes a tremendous amount of effort but he manages to even out his breathing. He’ll get what he wants, he’s never learned to be patient but if things go right he shouldn’t have to wait long.

“I got wine at my place.” He offers, putting on his best attempt at charm. If he could just get you back home things would work out perfect and he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind and either fuck you right here or now or break every bone in your body with a fucking audience barely ten feet away.

“Sure!” You grin, “We both know we’re gonna fuck in your car anyways. Might as well pretend it's headed for wining and dining.”

“Confident ‘aintchya?” Since the moment he set eyes on you Bo’s imagined about thirty detailed plans for what he wants to do to you and most of ‘em don't end up all that good for your well-being. He’s never met a girl quite so fuckin glib about shit like this, but he’s beginning to think that you’re missing a handful of marbles and your skull is full of cotton candy and cum instead.

You meet his gaze with big, moony eyes and there's a distinctive moment where your gaze turns sharp. The expression barely surfaced but Bo easily saw the face he’d be wearing if it weren’t for all this stupid pretense. Your big ass bag is hauled up and you hold it in front of yourself, “Carry my purse and maybe I’ll swallow.”

What the fuck would keep him from taking your purse and leaving with it? Your stare oozes nothing but confidence and your smile is an obvious challenge. His cock twitches, more blood surges through him and Bo swallows dryly. He used to volunteer to carry his mama’s purse when he was a kid, mostly cause he wanted to root around in it for candy but secondly, because he liked feeling important. Doing things for her was the only way she’d give him any ounce of positive attention and your tone cuts through him in a way you’d sure as fuck never live long enough to understand. Bo takes the stupid fucking purse and you preen, “That’s a good boy.”

You’re fucking lucky that you mentioned swallowing because otherwise, wrapping his hand around your throat as your mouth’s stuffed with cock and watching your face turn purple and your eyes bulge red sounds pretty goddamned good right now.

Bo has to push past you somewhat as you begin to walk ahead of him, as soon as you’re both in the dirt lot outside, it's clear which car is yours. An eyesore of a blotchily painted rattletrap is parked some ways away, one of its doors is a completely different color and the entire car is tilted as if your tire pressure’s low. There’s no doubt in his mind that if he were to turn on the engine, the entire dash would light up with every light there is.

He leads you to his truck and you giggle, “Man I thought I was driving a real shitbox. Look at this dinosaur!”

Bo’s jaw gives an audible cracking noise and he wrenches the door open to forcibly shove you inside. He doesn’t give a shit if it hurts if your surprised yelp is anything to go by. Your bag is tossed in next and he wastes no time in crawling over the bench seating and forcing your legs up to make room for himself. You’re like a dead bug on its back and he hates that you were right about him being a “photo guy” because he’s sure that he wants to remember you but he hates the idea of proving you right. This part of the show is easy, he feels more in control of the situation now that he’s found out how to get back on track, he’s barely aware of his thoughts as his body remembers who and what he is.

His hold on your thigh relents in favor of working on his belt and you contort your body, sitting with your knees over the back of the seat and your side twists as you unzip your purse. You tut an annoyed tone and then lay back to set your purse on your stomach, you tuck your chin to look into it and the angle causes an avalanche of shit to tumble out onto the floor.

“The fuck are you doing?” Bo grunts out, the conscious flow of thoughts to his brain cut off just about when he saw that blur of pink disappearing into the bar. It’s been weeks without any pussy, nothing’s stopping him from taking it by force, but he wants to savor the motions he has in plan for you. It’s a long ride home and it’d be easier and a hell of a lot less messy if you’d go compliantly. Maybe he’ll keep you around, fuck you for a few days till your cunt’s worn out. That’s the best a girl like you can hope for and that’s the highest offer he’s willing to place on the table.

“Looking for a condom, I dunno where you’ve been!”

Mentioning a condom is an instant boner killer and Bo shakes his head no while watching your purse spill more and more shit out. He sees makeup and a couple of wallets. Two belts, what looks like an entire outfit change, and countless receipt papers. “Girl you’re fucking killing me.”

You scoot a bit, bending and squashing yourself until you can sit up after seemingly giving up on your search. Fluidly, you lean closer into him and up close your perfume is almost cloyingly sweet. It tickles his senses, not enough that he wants to sneeze but enough that he wants more of a sample to determine whether or not he likes it. For someone who looks so sugar-sweet, who wants to smell like a lollipop you’ve sure got a fuckton of presumably stolen wallets. You’re a sticky-fingered little freak and a fucking cunt to match. Easy girls are never good ones, someone like you couldn't have possibly been raised right.

Slowly, your head tilts and you assess his face curiously. Bo only allows it because lately he’s been pushed past desperate, he’s fucking starved and he doesn’t want to know what the fuck comes after he’s skin and bones. He needs this to work out right, he needs a fucking win. It’s been forever since he’s stolen something he wants to play with and without that distraction, his mother finds her way in to bitch and moan at him from beyond the grave.

Your lips slant over his before Bo realizes what you’re doing and his stomach twists in disgust. Kissing is for pussies and your lipgloss is tacky against his mouth. Your tongue tastes like bright citrus, like an orange creamsicle and he feels you manipulate your gum to sit between your teeth and gums. The thought is gross and Bo grimaces against your kiss, you manage to straddle his lap without breaking the kiss, and on instinct his hand reaches to cup your ass, squeezing hard while using his other hand to hold your hip

The candy-mouthed kiss feels all kinds of wrong but pulling away from you is far from his thoughts while you grind your hips down, rubbing yourself against his undone jeans. Your breath hitches when he slides his hand up to one of your tits and he pinches your nipple through your shirt, hoping to hear you complain about it. He’s made aware immediately that your tits are pierced and he’s unable to keep himself from groaning into your mouth. Your pussy could feel like a sandpapered ant hill and he wouldn’t give a single shit about it if you’d let him slot his dick between the perfect tits in his hands. Unfortunately for him, you pull away from the kiss which leaves him fat-lipped and dumb. “It’s a total bummer that we can’t fuck.” You sigh, speaking plainly, sounding almost bored.

“Why not?” He almost spits, his tone takes on defensive but it comes out sounding bitchy. If he was anywhere but here, he wouldn’t have to play this stupid fucking game. He could just take.

“Hello? Weren’t you listening? We need a condom and I can't find one.” You cross your arms, looking every bit the bratty doll that you are. Remembering that doll hand that he severed that got him locked in a fucking cabinet for a day makes his cock throb. His daddy woulda called him a sissy for playing with dolls, but the old man might’ve keeled over and died he caught wind that his son was about to fuck one.

“I haven't slept with anyone since my wife died.” Bo lies, settling on a random story for who knows why. It’s the first thing he landed on and a familiar face he often wears to garner some pity pussy.

“And you’re a forty dollar whore. Maybe your wife was a slut like you are huh?” Your garble out with genuine venom. It’s completely random and Bo blinks at you, surprised by what the fuck you just said.

Your bottom lip quivers and you suddenly slump over him to wail into his neck, he doesn’t know what the hell is happening but he doesn’t fucking care. Not when he can feel the heat of your cunt just a few thin layers away from where he wants you. Your shoulders shake and Bo wonders if he could reach under his seat and find something to get this over with before you’d even know what was happening. He had to have something… a knife, a syringe, a piece of broken glass. Just as quickly as your sniffling came, you sat up with a bright smile though your eyes look blown wide and manic. “Sorry.” You glance to the side, “I hate hearing about other girls. I just went through a breakup and everything still hurts y'know?”

God damn it. For some reason your insanity has his cock barking like a damned dog to get inside of you. If he just slid it in, maybe you wouldn’t notice? Your claws come to curl around his bicep and girl you’ve got a fucking grip on you. You wriggle your hips as if in frustration and Bo finally forces you to sit up so he’s able to reach between your bodies to free his dick. He strokes himself just once and closes his eyes, praying to god that he can hold onto his patience. You’re too good to waste on dumping you in the bayou. You’re a crazy fucking bitch but your mama blessed you with a face worth preserving and a body torn out of his favorite porn searches. Curled over him like this, tucking yourself in to be as small as possible makes it difficult to get at your tits, unfucking fair.

“—I thought he loved me.” You whimper though you confusingly begin to grind on his dick again. “I would’ve been so good, if only he gave me a chance. I would’ve been a wayyy better girlfriend than his slut wife and I wasn’t wrong for putting water in her gas tank. If you’re in love you’ll do anything right? So what about chemical burns and a missing poodle!”

Through your ramble, you readjust yourself and Bo takes the opportunity to pull your panties to the side. He wants to take a look at your pussy but right now it seems like a better idea to treat you like a wild animal, like one wrong move would have his head ripped off. You’re officially one of them one flew over the cuckoo��s nest sorta bitches but Bo can’t give a single fuck about it right now. Your body figures out how to slot his dick between your lips and you sigh, eyes closing, pussy soaking his length as you move. Seeking pleasure even while you continue to run your stupid mouth. On Bo’s end, he barely hears you and he’s pretty sure he mumbled for you to shut the fuck up, though he might’ve choked the sentence to death while fighting back the moan that wanted to croak out of him.

The truck’s cab ‘aint all that big and you lean back, blindly reaching behind yourself to press your palms against the dashboard, your dumb frilly skirt rides up on your thighs and you whimper when you manage to figure out how to move to rub his cockhead against your clit. “Fuck that’s so good,” Your voice comes out small and your face is adorably screwed into a pout.

“Look at me and shut up.”

Stubbornly you shake your head no and your eyes scrunch as if forcing them to stay closed. “No thanks, you’re too pretty.”

Bo lifts you to stand on your knees and takes hold of his shaft to position it between your lips, his cockhead just teasing your entrance. He can’t see your pussy on account of your skirt, Bo supposes he could easily look but little freak shits have been making Barbie get naked for decades and he likes the idea that he’s the first smart fucker who figured out how to use the bitch’s plastic pussy. If he looked, maybe all he’d see is the flat mound that other dolls have.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He finally remembers to speak after letting your previous words marinate. “Your mama drop you on the head or what?”

You open your eyes to glare, “I mean that you’re hot and if you ask nicely I’m gonna do something stupid and let you fuck me like I want you to.”

He can’t help the shudder that racks through him in response, girls ain't supposed to be forward and Barbie sure as hell ‘ain't but call him handsome all you want, he’ll allow it. He leans up to graze his teeth over your collarbone before easing you to raise your arms and get rid of your shirt and the cupless flimsy thing that’s apparently a bra. Your tits spring free and Bo wastes no time in pulling you toward his mouth. His tongue curiously flicks the hardening bud and he’s not shy to nuzzle into the soft flesh against his face. All points of contact of his body against yours are met with soft tits and skin, the slick glide of wet pussy, and hard, cold metal against his tongue.

Vaguely, he’s aware that every man on this planet knows the golden rule about sticking your dick in crazy but no one ever fuckin’ told him that crazy had the most fuckable, ruinable body all done up with perfect tits to match. Even now he’s barely able to resist baser urges, if he can't hurt you in the way he wants, he needs to at least gore out your pretty cunt with his near painfully hard dick.

It’d take a while but he wants to cover you head to fucking toe in cum, his stomach feels tight as if he’s going to cramp up if he doesn't bury himself inside of you right fucking now, his throat works the taste of steel down into his gut and no one would be able to resist you wet and writhing on his dick, telling him he’s attractive and downright begging for him to fuck you. Not even you could fault him for holding your hips and forcing you down to take his cock. He can't find it in him to savor your surprised gasp and the way your body yields, biology taking over delusion. His inner monologue clears away any conscious thought besides a desperate chant of hot-wet-tight.

Everything you are can be summed up in a simple “What the fuck.” Three hard thrusts in and he stammers, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he fights back the pressing urge to blow his load. He needed this more than he knew and your walls squeeze and suck at him as if trying to keep him deep inside of you, reluctant to let go. His fingers dig into your hair and Bo pulls you down to kiss him again, he wants to fuck your mouth with his tongue because he doesn’t have enough cocks to shove one down your throat. Your teeth clack against his and your hand slips on the dash, blindly you reach for the wheel and whatever you did causes the damned thing to click in a way that would normally have him bursting a gasket. All he does is mask a moan with a savage bite to your bottom lip instead.

“W-wait,” You pull away from him panting, “I didn’t give you permission—”

“Nuh-uh. Your pussy was fuckin’ begging for it.” He says smugly, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.

Your brattiness finds its way back from wherever Bo managed to fuck it from you and you cross your arms. “Only my boyfriends get to fuck me raw.” You poke him in the chest, enunciating your words with poke after poke. “You. Are. Not. My. Boyfriend.”

He takes your hand, unable to take you seriously. You’d look so much better with some fucking respect spanked into you, “Who’s your boyfriend? That fucker you left in the bar after you robbed him?” His thrusts slow and you sit up to hold onto his shoulders for leverage as you lift your hips until actually pulling off of him before sinking down inch by inch as if to take in every detail of the undoubtedly perfect fit.

You snort, “I have lots of boyfriends. Just most of ‘em don't know they're mine…”

Bo’s palm finds your lower back, his fingers slip into the waistband of your skirt and he traces the raised texture of your tattoo with his thumb. He’s still not seen it yet, but he wonders if you were dumb enough to get some asshole’s name branded above your ass. Over the years, Bo’s known plenty of stupid and slutty, or slutty and stupid… he’s not yet met a mix of slutty, stupid, and batshit until you. If he knew that girls like you had pussies that felt like they were manufactured for the sole purpose of draining his soul out of his balls, maybe he would’a snagged a girl like you years ago.

“Some of them think they’re taken. They’ll figure it out soon enough,” You continue, snapping your gum again and Bo takes your face in his hand to squish your cheeks and he uses two fingers to physically remove your gum from your mouth. Your only reaction is a pout and he sticks your gum onto your discarded shirt. He would’ve assumed you might’ve bitched about that but you’re already caught up in an incoming rant.

“Nobody’s gonna break my heart never ever again, I’m not gonna let them.”

Ugh, Bo closes his eyes and does his best to ignore your words because he couldn’t give less than a shit about them. Your already piss-poor job at riding him slows even further and you reach next to you for a moment before one of your hands comes to rest on the side of his neck where your nails just barely dip into his hair, your breath is hot against his ear and the unrelenting heat wrapped around him squeezes hard as if for his attention. Your teeth graze against the shell of his ear and the smallest murmur of a moan escapes his involuntarily parted lips.

“Do you wanna be my boyfriend, pretty boy?” You whisper, and your sharp nails curl around to the back of his neck, “I’ll be good to you, let you fuck me whenever you want. You can cum inside right now if you say yes…”

With a mind of its own his cock twitches inside of you, agreeing to any and all unspoken terms. All you fucking do is run your mouth and half of what comes out of it ‘aint fit for a lady and the other half is batshit insanity. You don’t get to claim him you dumb whore, but he can play along for now. If he can bite back the twisting wave of hate, all he has to do is behave for thirty-some miles back to the house. Once you’re in Ambrose, you’ll play by his rules and learn your fucking place. You’re overly confident and the dominance you think you deserve is pulled directly out of a delusion. Bo’s sure that it wouldn’t take much to teach you your manners. Someone failed you somewhere down the line, you were either given too much freedom or not enough, and now you’re running about wearing hot pink in biker bars and lifting wallets like some kind of whorish raccoon.

He can domesticate you. He’s always been decent at fixing shit, and he wants to put you back together so it’ll be all the more satisfying when he breaks you apart. Of course, he nods to your question, he’d be a right fuckin fool to say otherwise.

“Ah-ah,” You tut, “Out loud. Tell me.” The hand not on him shifts next to your side.

Lying is one of the things Bo does best. It’s effortless to look at you and spread a slow smile over his lips like sizzling butter sliding toward the edge of a pan, it’s greasy but it melts easily. He schmoozes hard enough to tilt his head to press his lips against your inner wrist. “I ain’t makin no promises tonight darlin’, let's get to know each other huh? Tell ya what, if you come back to my place tonight, I’ll take you out tomorrow.” His tone drips and oozes.

“A date?” You gasp, grinning. “Oh! That’s great! And here I was, ready to ride you at gunpoint till you said you’d be my boyfriend! This works out so much better, I think you’re gonna be my favorite.”

Bo jolts with the first mention of the word gun and you bring your right hand up, finger on the trigger of a cutesy little derringer that you must’ve pulled out of your purse. You didn’t have a condom but you had a gun? He’d wonder what was wrong with you if it weren't for his kit of zip-ties, xylazine, and duct tape beneath the seat. Instinct tells him to fight, to wrench your arm back until it cracks. You point the thing at him, squinting an eye closed and he feels as if some sense of self preservation should activate. “Bang bang!” You laugh, finger still on the damned trigger and Bo’s stomach flips, his cock surges and he growls, frustrated with the fact that you’re just sitting on him as his dick all but begs for movement. He should give you a taste of your own medicine, show you his own kit of weapons if you’re so excited to play show and tell…

The gun in your hand is so ridiculously small, it looks like a toy and you’ve seemingly stuck a few stickers to it here and there. Hello Kitty adorns the tiny barrel and a yellow dog thing decorates the handle. You’re so… stupid, god it’s like you can’t get any dumber, any more ridiculous, and then here you are, sitting on his dick and demanding that he hand himself over to you on a silver platter. You’re fucking lucky that he’s desperate, if he wasn’t so starved for an ounce of pussy this might’ve ended the moment you stepped outside the bar. Your body would’ve been hauled limp into his truck bed. You had no idea who he was, but he knew everything about you. his nostrils flare and his pulse races every screaming ounce of his sanity tells him to get rid of you because it’d be a mercy to put you down. Y’aint right, you’re fucked in the head… you’re a violent, demanding little psycho bitch who throws pussy around like you don’t care where it ends up and—

Bo unleashes an almost animal noise as the frustration building inside of his gut erupts into sparking violence. Your wrist is cruelly twisted and your fingers spread out to drop your weapon, Bo picks you up to slam you down onto your back, he thrusts back inside of you and the instant gratification nearly has his eyes rolling back in his head. Sure, you’re meant to take cock but you sure as fuck aren't supposed to take it while thinking that you get to decide whether or not it's for your benefit or his. No. He decides whether or not you’ll get it and bitch you’ve been asking for it since your stupid ass got dressed and got in your ridiculous fucking car to drive down here.

“Mm… You’re strong huh?” Your giggle clips into a moan, your weapon falls to the floor and you don’t pay it a second glance. Of course, you’re vocal. Hell, likely no one’s ever told you to shut up before tonight. Bracing himself with one knee on the seat and one knee on the ground, he uses the back of the seat for leverage while the other finds your throat. Feels fucking good to squeeze down, it’s just a taste of what he wants to do to you but for now, it’s enough. You choke on a half-spoken syllable, and every time he drives back into your cunt it’s as if the longer you’re without air, the wetter your sloppy pussy gets.

“Y’like it when it hurts sweetheart?” He lets up from your throat and you suck down needy lungfuls of oxygen. You only grin dumbly, neither confirming or denying his question or maybe you just didn’t hear him. Your body is unfair, your tits bounce against the force of his thrusts and he wishes he had some way of recording this. You’re all smiles, eyes half-lidded as if loving this treatment. Your body seems to understand what it’s made for even if your mind’s skipping around the maypole twirling a gun by the trigger around your fingers while thinking you’re anything but a living fuckdoll. Absently, Bo wonders if your so-called boyfriends ever thought of lobotomizing you or if he’s the first genius to cook up the idea. He can’t imagine being able to stand being around you for more than a parking lot fuck. Good ol’ Doctor Sinclair’s still got a handful of tools in his dusty old office. Maybe that’ll be step one into your redesign.

Whoever you were going on about must be some sorta delusion of yours because there ain't no way in hell that any man could listen to you and submit to whatever stupid bullshit you demand of him. Your pussy’s too tight, too perfect to have been stretched over anyone else. Hell, anyone besides him wouldn’t be man enough to take on a piece of work like you. Bo’s always wanted a fucktoy who ain't got right or reason to think herself a person and with a body like yours, you might as well be the best bet for a walking, talking cocksleeve.

Thinking about you floating through his house all dreamy-eyed and soft smiles, constantly available and with nowhere to go, your dollar store perfume a permanent feature of the place seems so fucking right. Hell, he can get rid of you whenever he feels like but Bo thrives on having goals. He might not want that forever but it might be nice for a while. If he plays his cards right, you might not even need the good ol icepick to the eye socket.

“You like my cock better than your “boyfriends”?” Bo emphasizes his disbelief in the concept and your sleepy fuckdrunk eyes brighten into coherence. Your lips twist and you bite your lip, thinking and Bo immediately regrets asking.

“Third maybe? We’ll have to try out some other things before I’m sure.”

“Wrong answer sweetheart, try again.” He sneers, hating how he’s been biting back his orgasm since the first thrust inside of you.

“But—” Whatever you were going to say is cut off with an open palmed slap to your cheek. He didn’t hit hard, there wasn’t any wind back but your attitude changes in an instant. You blink up at him, wide-eyed and your mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Your expression just about melts and you shudder beneath him, breath kicking into little high-pitched gasps. That’s it, Bo can just about see the pretty little fuckdoll right beneath your skin. You just needed someone to put in the work.

Your inner walls constrict and Bo grunts, feeling as if your cunt already knows who it belongs to and it doesn’t need to be taught a thing about being a good girl for him. Your legs twitch outward with an almost funny tremor and after another savage thrust, your back arches upward and you hiccup out a jumble of broken sounds that coagulate into a throaty, low moan. The moment your orgasm began to build in intensity was the breaking point of Bo’s pulled-thin restraint, a lightning strike of heat spits through his cock and he buries it deep inside of you with a feral need to drive impossibly deeper into your body. He can't stop, he can’t keep going, his orgasm seems pissed at him for the fact that it’d been too long since the last cumdump and he pulls out of you, groaning only to immediately thrust back inside because the loss of your body is an almost jarring sensation.

“Christ” Is all he can say as his brain threatens to leak out of his nose.

You hum, looking up with starry eyes and you speak after a long moment of quiet. “Did you like it?”

Bo takes a deep breath, “What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Yay!” You clap your hands together excitedly, “I wasn’t sure what I stole from that douche I roofied, figured it looked like coke so I decided to take a test run on it when I went to the bathroom.”

After coming as hard as he did, Bo can barely comprehend what you’re saying. You’re everything he’s been raised to hate and he sits up to lazily stroke his flagging shaft, already wondering if he can force his way into another quickie.

“I’ve never been able to come without anyone touching my clit before, so I think a little bit of coke in my pussy definitely did the trick.”

Immediately, his eyes threaten to bulge out of his head, and a vein bulges on the side of his neck. “Wh—” His shock turns to anger and Bo shoves you, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Fuck!” The world around him threatens to cave in, crushing his skull with the weight of a lifetime of American morals and a Christian upbringing.

“I told you that I wanted a condom. You’re the one who decided to fuck me like a rabid dog! And I loved it, but you have no right to be pissed at me, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy feels like an insult and the truck cab that’s usually his happy place begins to feel like a coffin that’s steadily being covered in dirt. Genuine dread keeps Bo tight-lipped and quiet. Someone needs to do something about you but you’re vermin rather than prey. You’re a pest. Despite the cold shoulder, you roll your eyes and laugh right in his face. “Are you seriously mad? You’re so cute!” Your bottom lip juts out obnoxiously, “It’s a joke! I’ve tried that before, it’s only good for like thirty seconds.” You giggle and for some god-awful reason, a hateful breath of heat tickles his cheeks. He’s not embarrassed if that’s what you’re getting at.

You pull your shirt over your head without your bra and do your best to get the gum off of it, the wad of orange is tossed to the ground and your purse makes a weird beeping noise. Looking like Winne the damned Pooh, pantsless and likely dripping cum onto his seat, you pick up a bright blue egg-shaped thing from the floor and press two yellow buttons.

“Ugh!” You whine in a high-pitched wound of a noise, “My Tamagotchi died! I take a ten-minute fuck break and the little shit poops itself to death!” The little egg’s screen is shoved into his face and Bo grabs your wrist, glaring.

“God damn it girl, how much of a dicking do you need for you to shut the hell up?” You don’t seem to think you need to respond to his words and you take a moment to pull out a pad of paper from your ridiculous garbage bag purse you hum while scribbling a few things down. When you’re finished the sheet is torn out and you place it in his lap, after patting it a few times.

“The fuck is that?”

“Read it if you’re so curious!”

He swallows the number of things he wants to say in response and Bo picks up the paper, he reads as far as the list’s header before crumpling the paper up and throwing it behind himself. The only thing he needed to read was “Rules of being my Boyfriend.” and that was enough.

You’re more or less dressed soon enough, all your shit is hastily stuffed back into your bag. “Can I get a goodbye kiss?”

“You’re sayin’ goodbye? Thought you were coming back to my place?”

You answer with a laugh, “Oh, you’re adorable. I’m not that dumb pretty boy.”

Bo sneers, patience broken and he hastily reaches over you to push the lock down on your door. It clicks satisfyingly and the incoming sense of gratification has his tone dripping toward bitchy. “Nah, here’s the thing sweetheart. I thought we had a damned agreement.”

“Oh! We do! I wrote it up for you!” You respond cheerily as if not quite understanding the threat you’re under.

He’s not listening, Bo grabs you by the hair with the intent of either knocking you out via asphyxiation or slamming your forehead into the dashboard. The violence he’d been uselessly sitting on all night roars to life and—

Something velcro rips apart and cold metal is shoved beneath his ribs, moving faster than what should be possible. A button clicks and his vision warbles in and out before splintering like glass. Piece by piece it all begins to crash and cut him apart and he chokes on a gasp, tongue feeling too thick to let him open his mouth to suck a lungful of air down his throat.

His door is forced open and you hop out, once again reduced into a pink blur of a person, and a sparking pink rectangle spits lightning, still sharply crackling in your hand. Through insurmountable effort, he manages to force his body to slump forward and just as he regains the general concept of feeling his fingers and toes, a cloud of stinging, whipping heat seemingly rips through his eyes and mouth and he gags, coughing on the gaseous fire that seems to get worse the longer his mouth stays open.

“Oh, I really wish you hadn’t grabbed me like that. I hate when guys get handsy!” The sound of a zipper is the only thing he can discern, Bo tries to open his eyes only to be met with another dose of wet acid that begins to melt his flesh from his bones. Fuck it fucking hurts.

“Toodles babe!” You chirp, “Pleaaase read that paper you crumpled. It’s got my number on it! Rule number one to being my boyfriend, call me or else!” The last word of your sentence is heavily emphasized but Bo barely hears you, all he can do is curl up into a ball to rub his involuntarily leaking eyes into his seat, his freshly tased mind is only able to rely on instinct rather than conscious thought.

Gravel crunches beneath your boots and you walk away unhurriedly, the general pattern of your footsteps is off kilter as if you’re skipping. “Call me!” You yell from a distance repeating yourself for emphasis, “Don’t make me say or else again! No other girls, No fucking around! I’ll know!”

Your sing-song voice is a tornado siren and Bo can’t help but feel as if he just stuck his dick in the eye of a storm. Everything hurts. He can’t see, his mouth and nose are on fire and his bones feel as if he shook hands with god. You’ll be hearin’ from him alright, count your blessings there sweetheart.

ALT ENDING (If you told the truth over whether or not you actually bewitched him with pussy cocaine)

Course you're a druggie. Figures. You're everything he's been bred to hate and you used him. Violated him as if his body was yours to ruin. He feels dirty for the first time in his life.

“Rule number one of being my boyfriend means you have to kiss me.” You wave your hand in front of Bo’s face and all he sees is buzzing flies and rot. Every southern superstition he ever laughed at currently taunts him in his mama’s tone and inflection. She spent her life warning him about how easily the devil finds its way inside of you and he never thought it would feel so fucking good to let it in.

“Okie Doke,” You quip after hearing no response. “You’ll call me then. Rule number two.” You tap the paper on his thigh. Bo wonders where your sissy little pistol went and if he’d still get a usable corpse out of you if he plugged a bullet through your skull but he knows that a clean kill won't be enough for him.

He fucked up. He was stupid and strayed too far from home and look where the fuck he ended up. Already, he wants more of you, and every deluded thought he had about making you his still felt like the best idea he ever had. Fuck you for taking that from him and fuck you in general. Your stupid bag unzips and the distinctive sound of a knife flipping open pulls him from his trance.

Quickly, you hop out of his truck and before he can think to react, you shove a pink, automatic switchblade into his fucking tire. It sinks in again and again as if you’re somehow used to knifing tires.

The dread withers away into animal rage and Bo launches out of his vehicle, seeing blood red pulsing in his vision.

“There’s a three-strike rule! It’s on the paper!” You yell, running at a full speed away, your stupid platformed shoes thwacking the ground while Bo lumbers after you with his pants undone and every nerve ending in his body on fire. Usually, he likes a good chase. He likes to win, but you’ve already scored several points over his tally, and at first, it was cute but now it ain't acceptable anymore.

“Strike one, you didn’t wanna kiss me… so you don’t get a tire! It’s only fair!” You stop running once reaching your car and Bo cracks his neck, thanking god for your stupid little brain for thinking the chase is over. You might think this is a game, but it sure as fuck aint a game to him. Your purse is dumped in your passenger seat and before you can close your door Bo shoves his hand in the way, which hurts but he reacts only by flaring his nostrils. Using every ounce of strength Bo fights to wrench your door open but you let go, causing him to stumble backward.

The hammer to your dumb little pistol clicks backward and you smile, “I’m sorry! Ugh I hate fighting on first dates, it’s uncute.” You turn your key in the ignition and your engine sounds like a croaking frog, subconsciously he’s sure that your radiator’s fucked just from the sound of it but right now he cares about killing, not cars.

“ I promise I’m gonna be good to you.” Your voice is pleading, “Don’t worry! Now walk back to your truck like a good boy now,” Your fingers wiggle and you jut your chin toward his truck, “These things are hard to aim and it’s only gonna kill you if you’re up close. I’m running low on boyfriends so I’d really hate to have to shoot you. That’s usually a third date thing!”

The little gun only has two bullets in it and Bo rushes you with a growl, hoping to catch you off guard. There’s a low chance you’ll get him bad enough to kill him and—

Your pink knife finds its way home right above his knee and Bo crumples. You take his moment of shock to slam your door. His leg refuses to respond to the urgency of the situation, he can move it but it comes with blinding pain that intensifies as you peel out of the parking lot. The way he fell seemed to have dug the blade in deeper and he can only yell in outraged agony as your trashy pink car gets smaller and smaller in the distance.

Thanks for reading all this! I opened a year old single paged draft and just spat out 10k words lmao. I love the idea of this bitch in his home, Tamagotchi beeping like the fkn telltale heart like just fkn HAUNTING him and he doesn't know where the beeping is from. I also love the idea of her smelling some other cheapo perfume on him and having a fkn meltdown because she'd NEVER wear such a trashy perfume!! Like she's fine with the MURDERING but how dare he even look at another vaguely feminine person, he's a cheating!!! HORRIBLE PERSON!! Jail! Jail for boyfriend #5 for one thousand years!

[ashestoashes7]

Hiii might I request some fencing au?

Yes <33 (kind of hilarious to me how we haven’t reached the actual fencing but we’ll get there eventually)

WIP Wednesday

- Fencing AU -

When fencing was introduced in juvie, he chose it simply because it was the one the person presenting the options seemed the most nervous about. They didn’t want him to pick it so, of course, he just had to. He didn’t really care one way or another, but Aaron liked it so when Tilda kicked the bucket—a tragedy, truly—he enrolled them in lessons with part of the inheritance.

To a degree, he had miscalculated. Seeing Aaron with a litany of bruises wasn’t made any easier with time, but they weren’t from fingers or vases or hands from a woman who had never been Andrew’s mother. Not anymore.

He had not forgotten the side effects of fencing, but they hadn’t been prevalent enough in his mind to keep his blood from freezing the moment he saw Aaron painted in familiar colors. A faint yellowish brown dotted his legs like malevolent constellations, deep purple darkening his collarbone and one point on his arm that hurt to move.

Andrew was in front of him in a matter of seconds. Inspecting, reminding, and watching as Aaron’s face slipped into knowingness. Gold met gold and for the first time since Andrew had met the boy who so hopefully sent him that letter he saw nothing but truth in Aaron’s assurances.

The smile sold it.

Aaron didn’t smile, not really. He tried it sometimes. In mirrors, in the face of too many questions, in the moment Andrew swore to protect him and Aaron shook his head lightly but locked his denial between clenched teeth.

But he was smiling then, something real and raw and free that bubbled up until the laughter spilled out too. His own surprise was mirrored in his twin’s eyes. Aaron laughed and didn’t look like he was covering up how much he ached to scream. It was an odd sight to imagine reflected on his own face, but it fit Aaron more than forced silence ever did.

Andrew didn’t smile, but he had drawn his hands back and ever so lightly brushed Aaron’s shoulder. In time, he hoped Aaron would learn them to hold the same meaning. He is still hoping.

<—Prev || Next—>

[happy-beeeps]

Hi love! Could I request a Rex X reader where reader can’t sleep so he stays and talks with her?

Hi lovie!!! Tysm for the request! It makes me so happy to answer these especially when they're about Rex. I actually struggle with insomnia so this is like a very real occurrence for me, so I hope you love it!! Also the way i'm posting this at night aw it's like a bedtime story this has so many layers

Bed Time

pairing: Rex x jedi!reader

Summary: You have a hard time finding sleep, so Rex finds you instead

Warnings: None, this is tooth rotting fluff for my sleepy girlies (gn)

WC: 1.2k

* * *

You’re a monster when you’re low on sleep, according to everyone in the Jedi Council and most of the GAR. For being a Jedi, you’d think you’d be well equipped to handle low sleep, but to you, sleep is currency. There’s a running gag of all the places you’ve dozed off when trying to catch up on lost hours (the current favorites being Master Yoda’s council chair, at Kix’s med station, and inside the youngling’s training room.) You’re bristle and groggy when you’re low on energy, and everyone jokes of the time Anakin had proposed one of his haphazard “plans,” and you had looked at him, eyes sullen, and placed a hand over his mouth. “I’m going to need you to stop talking.” You grumbled.

He got over it. Eventually.

This lack of sleep is how you find yourself here, padding through the jungles of Felucia in nothing but your sleep shorts and tunic. When sleep struggles to find you, you’ve found it best to seek a quiet spot away from your bed and do something, anything, to calm your mind. Meditate, read, once you have even scrubbed the entirety of the 501st’s gear. So now, you settle on a quiet spot overlooking a valley, out of sight from where you’ve all made camp, but not too far that you’re in any inherent danger. It’s hard to focus here, the air is thick and soupy and you swear if you swung your arms down fast enough you’d catch water droplets on them. Still, the quiet hum of wildlife around you allows you to ground yourself in the moment, to pretend you’re not at war. It’s calm, peaceful even. Of course, until the peace is corrupted by the crunch of footfall, and you spin around to face the intruder, though your gaze softens as it lands on him.

Rex walks in through the bushes, holding a canteen and a scrap of fabric in one hand, and his bucket in another. He’s dressed only on the bottom, opting to just wear his blacks across his broad chest. “Fancy seeing you here,” he smirks, then moves to settle next to you, offering you the canteen of crisp water.

You graciously accept it, drinking as much as you can muster in one breath, hoping to replace everything you’ve just sweated out. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

“You know, some might even say I was made for you.”

You roll your eyes at the quip, sending your shoulders gently into his. He takes the movement as an invitation to open his arm, and you happily settle your weight on his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck.

“What are you doing here,” he murmurs against your hair, and you make a movement that resembles a shrug.

“Dunno. Couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

He laughs, and you can feel the rumble down your spine, “Right, so we’ll be paying for that in the morning.”

You look up at his smirk and stick out your tongue at him, and he responds by pressing a warm kiss on the back of your cheek near your ear, swinging his arms around you to hold you firmly across your chest. “How can I make it better?”

“Master Yoda would say by leaving me alone,” you joke, and you know he gets your jest, as he only holds you tighter. “Can we just talk? I don’t know why I’m so unsettled right now.”

“Of course, about what?”

You shrug again and nudge your feet outwards, kicking Rex’s helmet as you move. “What are your marks for again? Tell me about them.”

“Those?” he gestures his head towards the helmet, “For missions I’ve successfully completed. Course, I’ve had to start counting by fives.”

Your eyes land on the newest cluster scrawled on his forehead and you count seven dashes. 35 battles won. You don’t know why that fact impresses you, considering you’ve been at probably half of them at least, not to mention the other missions you’ve completed. Then again, everything Rex does impresses you.

“You ever think about what you’d do without it all, the war, the missions? When it’s all over?”

He hums, pulling you in closer, “Nah, not much use in it. I’m not meant to know anything but war.”

You swat at his chest, “Don’t say that, you know I don’t like it." There’s a blissful silence that falls around the two of you after that. Not quite enough for you to get sleepy, but enough for you to melt into his arms a little bit more, to meditate a touch and use his breathing as an anchor. After a few minutes of this, you start up again. “I know what I’d do.”

“Oh really, General? I’m all ears.”

“First, I think I’d rescue this one dashingly handsome clone captain I worked with, if he’d have me,”

“He would, always, but go on,” and he trails kisses up and down the back of your neck, wherever he can reach.

“Then I think I’d settle on a system somewhere warm, with a beach maybe.”

“Like Naboo?”

“Sure, we can go to Naboo. Then, I think I’d be a teacher.”

“Like a Jedi Master?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’d teach all the kids in our town and then I’d come home to my captain.”

“I’m sure he’d be very happy to see you.” And he is. Rex pulls your chin in for a kiss, not fueled by lust or urgency, but a slow, easy kiss that’s meant to put you at ease. “Do you mean it?” he asks, eyes searching yours for any deception.

You yawn. “When it comes to you, always.”

He grips you tighter, and sleep threatens to overtake you now. “Mesh’la,” he murmurs, running his fingers up and down the sides of your arms, sprouting chill bumps in his wake. “Put this on.” And he passes you the black fabric resting beside him.

You unfurl it and open it to reveal one of his black undershirts. “Rex,”

“I just washed it, it’s clean. It’s designed to wick sweat so it’ll keep you cool,” he nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck now, “sides, it’ll be like I’m sleeping with ‘ya.”

“Won’t that look suspicious? What if Anakin says something-”

“I can guarantee you that he won’t.”

You do as you're told, and settle into the warmth of his chest once more, surrounded by him and his scent. You must drift off in a matter of minutes, and Rex scoops you up carefully, holding you with both arms and carefully bending down to pick up your lightsaber. He walks the short distance back to camp, and meets a smirking General Skywalker at the flap of your tent. The Jedi puts his hand up before Rex can say anything, “Whatcha got there?” he smirks, opening the flap for Rex to place you at your bedroll, you still fast asleep. He ducks back out to face Anakin, who just gives him a knowing look before placing a hand on his shoulder. “Goodnight, you two.”

Rex rolls his eyes but grins at his General, before turning back to face your tent. “Goodnight cyarika.” He murmurs, the sound quick and fleeting, floating away on the warm, Felucian air.

[allisluv]

COMING CLEAN

Chapter one: Thumper

WC: 5.5k

Finnick O’Dair x OC

Dahlia Holloway sat quietly on her porch as morning dawn approached over the horizon. The events of the 67th Hunger Games had followed her back to district nine and almost a decade later, it continued hanging over her head like a black cloud.

Over the years, she had tried every trick in the book to stop the constant buzz of thoughts; writing down what she felt, walking aimlessly through the fields of wheat, having the shower turned up so hot that skin peeled off of her bones. Out of all the things she had tried, knitting was the only hobby that worked.

Every morning, when she had grown tired of staring at her ceiling when it was so apparent that sleep was not coming, she would creep downstairs and slip out onto the patio. It was peaceful and the one place that she could knit without the fear of someone intruding.

It was a neat little way to make money too; while her district was more commonly known for grain, cotton had become another popular crop over the years. Her brother often came home with baskets full of it and she would use it to make clothes.

It failed in comparison to the clothes that the Capitol citizens wore daily but the residents of district nine had more important things to worry about than attaching gems to their cloaks. So long as they had something warm for the winter, they weren't fussy.

Sunlight was beginning to creep up through fields of wheat and grain. Mockingjays had begun to wake up and whistled melodies back and forth while squirrels scurried up tree branches.

"You're determined, huh?"

Dahlia involuntarily flinched before casting a glance over her shoulder, fingers picking up their pace with the needle again. "One of us has got to bring money into the house," she teased lightly, the tension in her shoulders dissolving.

Her eldest brother, River, had always been light on his feet and he shot her a lopsided apologetic smile. A part of him forgot that she would never completely recover from her time in the games. Nowadays, they had to announce their presence rather than sneaking up on her. He had learnt that the hard way and had a broken nose to show for it. "Couldn't sleep?" he leant against the wooden bannister of the porch. She pursed her lips and shook her head. "Me either."

Dahlia silently continued working on her patchwork, refusing to meet his gaze. She felt as though it would burn a hole through her soon enough. Ever since she could remember, River had always been the one who wriggled answers out of her.

It wasn't intentional but he had these intense, prying eyes and sometimes, it felt like he could look straight through her soul. He would undoubtedly be met with the darkness in her chest and thirteen names carved into her heart but she tried not to think about that too often.

Most mornings started like this. Dahlia rocked back and forth in her chair, basking in the sunlight until River eventually graced her with his presence. Those were the mornings where everything felt quiet and she didn't feel so alone anymore.

Dahlia huffed out a sigh and ran a hand through her chocolate curls, flexing out the muscles in her legs. "I better check on the others. I swear to gods, if any one of them has kicked the bucket, I'll lose it," she failed to hide the bluntness in her tone but her brother had become more than accustomed to it.

Pushing through the back door, she slipped inside the house and busied herself with getting everything ready. Grabbing two wicker baskets from under the sink, she began stuffing day-old loaves of bread into them. River had to duck to fit through the doorframe and he grumbled under his breath, disappearing into his bedroom.

For once, she was grateful she had stopped growing before hitting the six-foot mark.

Dahlia crammed strawberries and blackberries into two jars, making sure there was enough to keep her fellow victors going for a little while. Just as she was wrapping up the goat's cheese and containers of fresh water, River shuffled out of his room.

"Here," he held out a packet of frosted cookies and slowly inched them closer to her. She blinked up at him, waiting for an explanation. "I got them from the bakery. Cost me five squirrels. Just leave one for Ivy and split the rest," he explained, running his tongue over his bottom lip impatiently. "I'm trying to be nice so... take it or leave it."

The corners of her lips quirked upwards and she dug her bony elbow into his stomach. "Aw, don't worry, I can take the credit. We wouldn't want you losing that reputation you worked so hard for," she stood on her tip-toes to lightly smack the side of his face, cackling like a mad woman.

He scowled down at her but she could see the hint of a smile trying to break through. Shoving his sister off of him, he narrowed his eyes jokingly. "I thought you were meant to be making sure our neighbours are still with us?" he arched a brow and shooed her out of the house, shoving another loaf of bread into her already overflowing arms.

The door slammed in her face before she had time to spew back a witty comment. He underestimated how soundproof the door was because she could still hear him laughing on the other side. "Bastard," she hissed.

It took some manoeuvring and wobbling on one foot but Dahlia somehow managed to loop the handles of the wicker baskets through her wrists. With a loaf of bread under one arm and a piece of (shoddy) needlework under the other, she trekked towards the other victors in their village.

She passed Juniper Sinclair's house, deciding that it would be easier to bypass it for the moment. Juniper was more than capable of taking care of herself for an hour or so.

Wyatt Riley on the other hand... well, he hadn't been doing too well lately—— and by lately, she meant the last ten years.

Despite her desperate attempts to return some of the light and joy to his house, it never stayed around for very long. His patio was littered with rotten, maggot-infested apples and Dahlia swore that the damn tree had some personal vendetta against her. They'd have to be dealt with later.

Rapping her knuckles against the front door, she didn't bother waiting for an answer. No one else ever visited and this had become a daily routine, so Wyatt wouldn't be caught off guard. Pushing her way inside of the run-down house, the floorboards creaked in a form of protest. "It's just me!"

Another broken mirror lay at the bottom of the staircase and splinters of glass crunched underneath her leather boots as she ventured further inside. It was safe to say he would not be receiving any more mirror-shaped presents from her at this rate; that one had only lasted a week.

She waded her way through rubbish and glass before forcing her way into the kitchen. It was almost pitch-black but there was nothing new there. Fumbling her way around furniture, she easily found the table and set her wicker baskets down. Now was the hard part; finding Wyatt.

Sometimes, the twenty-seven-year-old would be spread out on the floor and other times, he would be tucked behind the fridge. She supposed that he found relief in knowing that no one would find him in his hiding spaces. It was strange but acting oddly came hand in hand with surviving the games. She knew that better than anyone.

Dahlia wasn't in the mood to hunt for him and she let out a sigh of relief when she found him buried in blankets on the sofa. Flicking on the light switch and arming herself with a fire poker, she stood a short distance from the sofa. "Wyatt," she gently prodded him with the poker and waited for an answer. "Wyatt." He snored obnoxiously. "Wyatt!" she groaned, jabbing his ribcage with the poker.

Wyatt jumped out of the sofa with a gasp, wielding a kitchen knife in his hands and blindly flinging it into the air. Dahlia ducked and the knife lodged itself in a cupboard behind her head (and this was why the fire poker was part of their morning routine).

She clutched the fire poker in both hands and held it out in front of her, waiting for the adrenaline high to wear off. After a second, he seemed to get a grip on his surroundings. "It's just me. Are we good?" she arched a brow and brushed stray strands of hair out of her eyes, slowly lowering the weapon.

Wyatt nodded sheepishly, his adam's apple bobbing as he took deep breaths. Running his shaking hands down his face, he quietly muttered reassuring words to himself. Purple bruises were beginning to blossom on the olive skin of his knuckles. Dahlia guessed that was where the broken glass in the hallway had come from. Her heart constricted in her chest and she had to bite down hard on her cheek.

Sometimes, she wondered why she burdened all this extra responsibility on herself. Hell, sometimes she'd much rather let Wyatt rot in his house than deal with him. But then, there were moments like this, when he would mutter into his hands and she knew giving up on him wasn't an option.

Wyatt Riley was the victor of the 66th Hunger Games at eighteen years old. Dahlia remembered the day of his reaping—— she had stood with a crowd of other fifteen-year-old girls, each of them waiting with their hearts stuck in their throats, hoping and praying that they'd make it through another year.

Jasper Riley had been called and suddenly, someone from the crowd was screaming that they volunteered as tribute. The utter desperation in Wyatt's voice had been enough for people to allow him to pass through and then, he was stumbling onto the stage, clutching his chest as though it was going to give out on him.

He had volunteered for his younger brother who had been fourteen when his name was called. Jasper and Wyatt Riley were strangers to Dahlia at the time but she did know that they were kind people— until the games, that was. Wyatt smiled for the cameras when he returned home but there was something different. Something missing.

He used to radiate sunlight. His smile used to reach his eyes and laughter had come as easy as breathing to that boy. But that boy had died in the games. Hollow eyes and frown lines were all he was left with.

She had seen his light return once. Only once; after the games, when he got to reunite with his family. It was a fleeting moment but it was there. Dahlia saw it in his eyes——he had spun his wife, Violet, around in a circle, laughing and giggling as he captured her lips in a kiss. When the newlyweds finally parted, Wyatt had scanned the crowd and practically bolted toward his daughter. Every camera panned in on ten-month-old Isla and her father as he held her close and cried into his wife's shoulder.

She had never seen the light in his eyes again.

When Dahlia was reaped the following year, she was sure she would die in that arena, just like he had. The only living mentor for district nine was a man three years older than her. A half-dead man.

But even with her doubt and her scepticism, he had pulled through. He gave her pointers on appealing to the crowd and an angle to work with. He convinced the sponsors to root for the underdog. He gave her hope. No matter how difficult she made his job, he refused to give up on her.

And she wouldn't give up on him. Not now, not ever.

"I brought you some stuff," she cleared her throat and dug through the first wicker basket she laid eyes on. Kicking her foot at one of the wooden chairs, he obediently sat, a tired look in his honey-brown eyes. Berries, loaves of bread, goat's cheese, water, fresh eggs and cookies were unpacked from the basket. "I'll find some meat later. Swing by if you run out of food."

Wyatt nodded quietly, eyes surveying the mountain of food on his kitchen table. "Thank you," he tugged on his dark curls anxiously, keeping his eyes trained on a broken floorboard beneath his feet. To say that he was grateful for Dahlia Holloway would be a huge understatement. On mornings when exhaustion left him tied to the bed and grief seeped from deep in his bones, she never let him go hungry. And how did he repay her? By aiming a knife at her head.

Dahlia didn't seem to mind, though. She hummed a tune under her breath as she buzzed about his kitchen. Small talk had never been their strong suit and they opted to sit in silence instead. The knife hit the chopping board as she carved the bread into thin slices. Finding a jar of gooseberry jam in the fridge, she slathered it on two of the slices and slid it across the table to him.

"Eat," she ordered, tongue quickly running over the excess jam from the knife. She was sure he would happily starve if she didn't force-feed him.

Wyatt gingerly took the bread, muttering a soft word of thanks. In the time it took for Dahlia to sweep and restore a bit of order to his house, he had finished off another two slices of bread. He got to his feet to help but Dahlia glared over her shoulder and he sunk into the chair again. He was older but he also knew better than to argue with her— talking to a brick wall would be easier.

Pushing herself onto a countertop, she leant forward and cracked open a window to let fresh air in. Dahlia hopped down and wiped her palms in her dark jeans, spinning around to look for Wyatt. He had reclaimed his place on the sofa, curling into the far corner with a baby blanket clutched in his grasp.

She softly padded her way towards him and perched on the edge of the sofa, gently ruffling his dark curls. "It's okay," she whispered, the pad of her thumb running over his bruised knuckles. "It's all okay," she soothed.

They sat like that for the better half of an hour until Wyatt's breathing evened out and he fell asleep. She draped a fluffy blanket over the exposed skin that his baggy sweatshirts didn't manage to cover and started gathering up her belongings.

Balancing the lighter load in her arms, she managed to slip out of the front door without much noise. She kicked the rotten apples off the porch and hoped that the birds would take them off her plate.

Dahlia retraced her steps, trekking towards her final destination of the morning. Pale pink tulips bloomed in the flowerbeds outside of Juniper Sinclair's house, brightening up the young girls' front lawn. Before she could even knock, the door swung wide open and she was almost flattened as Juniper tightly hugged her.

"You're late today," Juniper pointed out, rocking on the balls of her feet as she grabbed Dahlia's hand and pulled her inside the house. A fond smile tugged at Dahlia's lips as she kicked the door closed behind her and followed the bubbly blonde into the kitchen. "Do you want me to take Ivy scavenging today—"

"What the hell is that?" Dahlia cut in, dark eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline as she stopped in her tracks. Hastily throwing the basket down, she chewed on a fingernail and watched with reproachful eyes.

Juniper squealed excitedly as she bundled the rabbit into her arms, stroking its black and white fur with a gentleness that resembled a mother holding her newborn baby for the first time. "It's a rabbit! My rabbit. His name is Thumper," she explained proudly, wisps of sleek blonde hair framing her face.

Dahlia resisted the urge to roll her eyes—— the last thing she wanted to do was upset the seventeen-year-old. If she had learnt one thing about Juniper, it was that the victor was easily upset. At the start, it got on her nerves but she grew more sympathetic when she realized that it wasn't an act—— it was simply part of who Juniper Sinclair was.

Instead, she folded her arms across her chest, eyeing the rabbit suspiciously as if it would launch itself out of Juniper's arms and start attacking. "Alright, cliché name aside, whats it doing in here?" she asked flatly, waving a dismissive hand about. "Please don't tell me you wanna keep it, June," she groaned, digging her fingers into her temples.

Juniper wrinkled her nose in confusion and the freckles dotted across her cheeks dipped. "Well... I've named him now," she frowned, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm keeping him," she paused as if she was hesitating on speaking. "I get lonely in this house. It just reminds me that I'm alone, I guess," she admitted, ducking her head to hide her flaming cheeks.

Dahlia's stomach was doing flips and bile burned the back of her throat. Memories raced through her head at the speed of light; kneeling on the grass outside of Victors Village as Juniper buried her face in Dahlia's jacket, sobbing and screaming.

Now, a year and a half later, she felt crescent moons forming in the skin of her palms as she tried to stay tied to the present. She couldn't dwell on it. Falling apart wasn't an option at this point.

Regardless of whether they kept it together or not, it wouldn't bring back their loved ones. Wyatt wouldn't get back his wife or his daughter. While Juniper may have managed to escape the clutches of the repulsive Capitol men, she was still an orphan.

Dahlia, on the other hand, had refused to sell herself to snobby Capitol citizens and in turn, traumatized her younger sister when she watched their parents be slaughtered. The final nail in the coffin, really, was that Snow had still managed to keep her under his thumb.

All he had to do was flaunt the threat of harming Ivy or River and before she knew it, she was being pulled back to her hotel room by a man who left bills on the dresser instead of saying goodbye.

Rolling her shoulders back, she clenched her toes in her boots and cleared her throat. "Alright. So long as you look after it, I don't mind, June," she shrugged a shoulder and turned her back but not before Juniper pumped her fist in the air excitedly. "What's a rabbit meant to eat anyway?" she mused, rummaging about inside of the wicker baskets.

Juniper placed the newest member of her admittedly non-existent family into a cardboard box and slid up onto the countertop beside the baskets. "Haven't got a clue," Juniper yanked her cream-coloured cardigan up over her slender shoulders. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand and Dahlia shot a pointed look her way. "I'll figure it out! He might like ice cream or bread or something!"

Dahlia's mouth fell agape and she had to fight back a laugh—— Juniper may have been cunning and a fighter, but god she lacked common sense at times. "June, if you want that rabbit to stick around, you don't feed it ice cream," she started searching the cupboards and checking expiry dates. "I think they eat grass and lettuce."

"Are you sure you're not trying to kill him?" June raised an eyebrow and tapped her fingers against her kneecaps as Dahlia chucked a gone-off banana out of the window for the birds. "Five minutes ago, you told me to get rid of him and now you're telling me about his dietary restrictions."

Dahlia snorted at the comment and playfully swatted her in the face with a tea towel. "I'm not trying to kill him, you idiot."

There was never a dull moment in Juniper's presence and today was no exception. As Dahlia restocked the pantry, she rambled on about every thought entering that little head of hers. Every so often, she would ask if she should stop talking and every time, the woman insisted that it was fine. She couldn't begin to imagine how isolated June felt at times.

Despite her bubbly personality, Juniper lacked in the friend department. She was the victor of the 73rd Hunger Games but, unfortunately, it didn't win her any brownie points with teenagers her age. Most of them claimed she was too much, too exhausting to be around, and her friendships usually fizzled out after six months.

Ivy was the only exception——Dahlia's younger sister and Juniper were like two peas in a pod. Both Dahlia and River had been slightly worried that it might end in tears but so far, they had been best friends for two and a half years (despite the two being polar opposites).

Once the cupboards were stuffed full of juicy berries, gooey pastries and tins of ripe tomatoes, Dahlia eyed up the rabbit once more, trying to make up her mind on it. So long as she didn't have to take care of it, she supposed it didn't matter. She didnt have a say in the matter, technically speaking, yet June nearly always ran things by her anyway.

Maybe it was because Dahlia had been her mentor in the games. In the last two years, she had grown fond of the younger girl, to tell the truth. Or maybe it was because Dahlia was the closest thing to a mother that she had left. Either way, she wouldn't tell her what to do unless it was something irrevocably stupid—- and a rabbit didn't exactly fall into that category.

She dragged her attention away from the rabbit and back to the girl, who was too quiet for Dahlia's liking. "What's wrong with you?" she interrogated, hands on her hips. "Come on June, spit it out," she impatiently dug her fingers into her hipbone.

June hesitated, slowly starting to rock back and forth on the counter. "Do you think our tributes will stand a chance this year?" she murmured, green eyes staring blankly ahead. There was no answer and she cracked her knuckles to fill the silence. "I mean, it's a quarter quell, isn't it? What do you think the catch is gonna be?" she shuffled back on the countertop until her spine hit the wall.

"I don't know," she muttered truthfully. Her answer did little to soothe the blonde's nerves. She didn't have all the answers but she backtracked all the same. "Well, it's four months away. I haven't thought about it, really."

She leaned against the oven, close enough to feel the lumpy dials digging into her pelvis. "Hey, at least it's not us," she teased, draping an arm around the girl's shoulders. "We're gonna do what we do best—- we'll teach them how to fight and we'll work our pretty little asses off to win them sponsors. That's all we can do. Got it?"

She chastely kissed the crown of Juniper's head and squeezed her shoulders before struggling to her feet. "Now, are you walking me out or do I have to do that on my own and all?" she raised a dark brow jokingly.

If Juniper was still upset, it didn't show. She hopped her way to the front door, dragging her feet along the tiles and grabbing hold of Dahlia's bicep when she remembered something she so desperately forgot to tell her.

Dahlia knew what she was doing—— it was obvious that she didn't want to be left on her own for the rest of the day (and, let's be honest, subtle was not in that girl's vocabulary). Nevertheless, she hummed when it fit the context and nodded without missing a beat.

If the years she had spent socializing with the people in the Capitol had taught her anything, it was how to fake a conversation she had absolutely no interest in. After an agonizing ten minutes, she stepped onto the porch and into the warm stream of sunlight before a shadow got in her way.

"Hello, hello, hello my darlings!"

District nines escort, Malaki, traipsed his way down the driveway, flashing the girls a dazzling smile as he approached. Once he was close enough, he grabbed a hold of Juniper's hands, squeezing them gently. "My god. You need to stop growing, Juney," he tutted. There was no malice in his voice—— there never was, not when it came to Malaki.

He turned on Dahlia next, picking up a few limp and loose strands of hair. "Bloom's gonna kill you, y'know that right?" he frowned, letting his hands drop to his hips once more.

As if on cue, a blood-curdling scream came from the woman behind him, followed by the frenzied clack of eight-inch heels.

Bloom clutched at her chest and Malaki had to slip a hand around her waist to keep her steady. "Oh my god, I need a drink already," she murmured between heavy breaths.

Within a split second, she was manhandling Dahlia, angling her head and prodding her cheekbones. "You need to give me something to work with, darling. It's the same every month," she complained, rubbing the crease between her brows.

Bloom began ordering about her gaggle of assistants, hysterically screeching that they were at least twelve hours behind schedule now. Dahlia chanced a glance at Malaki and it took every ounce of self-control that she possessed to not burst into laughter. That would certainly send her stylist into a breakdown.

Bloom's entourage of assistants were drenched with sweat from hauling bulky suitcases from the train. Admittedly, the train couldn't be any closer to Victors Village, but Bloom couldn't fathom the concept of packing light and it showed.

With aching arms and forceful pants of exasperation, the assistants began carrying the supplies up the hill leading to the Holloway house. Dahlia's house wasn't far— less than a minute away from June's, to be exact— and it was more a slope than a hill but with the amount of equipment her stylist had packed, she wasn't surprised by their lack of enthusiasm.

"Don't tell me you forgot about today," Malaki raised an accusing brow in her direction but she brushed him off with a roll of her eyes. "You're lucky Bloom hasn't caught on yet," he continued, checking his golden watch to double-check how long they had to pack. "You may be able to fool our little redheaded friend, but not me, my darling. I know everything."

Dahlia suppressed a smile by clamping her lips shut. He was right. He nearly always was. She had forgotten and Bloom would lose it if she found out.

Malaki always knew people better than they knew themselves.

If Bloom was fretting over a new outfit, he knew how to put her mind at rest. When Dahlia was searching for an escape route out of a particularly painful and uncomfortable conversation, he would glide onto the scene and sweep her away without anyone batting an eyelid.

Malaki wasn't scared of calling people out when they were in the wrong. He knew what to say and when to say it.

"How long does the Capitol need me to stay for?" she couldn't hide the bitterness in her tone as she kicked a pebble into the air. She narrowly missed hitting the back of Bloom's shins and made a mental note to keep her anger at bay before her stylist tripped in her ridiculous heels and broke an ankle— or worse, a nail.

"A week," Malaki replied, choosing to bite the bullet rather than sugar-coating the truth. He didn't scold her for her tone, not when her anger was directed in exactly the right place. "Since our star-crossed lovers won the games, there's been parties in the Capitol all night, every night."

He paused, fingers moving to toy with his lip ring. If he wanted to approach the subject, he needed to take precautions. What she was forced to do on her visits to the Capitol was a sour and sensitive topic and one that she didn't talk about. "I know it's not gonna be a lot of comfort, my darling, but at least you somehow managed to escape some of the parties until now."

She didn't answer for fear of what would come out of her mouth. She knew that he was trying to make her feel better but the reality was that nothing was going to ever make this better.

She sucked in a steadying breath and tried to remain focused as her house grew closer with each step that she took. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks," she choked out the words, offering him a tight-lipped smile.

Malaki gave her a curt nod. He didn't push her for a further answer and chose to walk in silence while the pair caught up with Bloom and her assistants.

Dahlia worked her way through the miniature sea of people gathering at her front door, each one of them slightly skittish. She couldn't blame them— Ivy and River had a history of being... hostile when it came to her prep team.

She debated asking them to wait outside but decided against it. Hopefully, she could gather her things and leave as quickly as possible. Ushering the group into the warmth of her hallway, she racked her brain for a plausible excuse that would satisfy her brother.

"What the hell are they doing here?"

Looked like she was out of time to think. Closing the door behind her, she let out a sigh and turned to face her brother's temper. "Dial it down, for gods sake," she huffed under her breath, returning his glare with just as much discontentment. Shoving her brother out of the back door and onto the patio, she left her team to their own devices in the living room.

River's eyes were blazing with anger but she knew it wasn't directed at her. No, it was aimed at the people who were associated with the Capitol, a group of rich and selfish people who had stolen his parents from him. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it ached. "How long are they here for this time?" he snapped, knuckles white from holding onto his bicep.

"Not long. I have to go to the Capitol for a week," she folded her arms over her chest shamefully. "I can tell Ivy that I have to do planning for the quarter quell or something," she pinched the bridge of her nose, head throbbing with pain.

While River knew about her... arrangement with the president, Ivy was unaware of why she was called back to the Capitol every month.

Ivy was seventeen and her older siblings had agreed that there was no need for her to know. She was still so young. She had a couple of childhood years left—and Dahlia was damn certain that the Capitol didn't get to take those, not when they had robbed her family of so much already.

River's eyes softened ever so slightly and he sighed through parted lips. "I'll come up with an excuse for Ivy. I'll look after Wyatt and Juniper, too, there's no need to worry about them," he said softly, rubbing at the crease between his brows.

"Just—— be careful, yeah?" he dragged a hand down the length of his face. He moved a bit too quickly for Dahlia's liking and she flinched without thinking. He muttered an apology under his breath, taking a step out of her space. "You better bring me back those scones I like, alright?" he teased, trying to break cut up the tension in the air. He lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

His touch began to burn and she wriggled out of his grasp, grinding her teeth. He didn't take it personally; between the Hunger Games and the men in the Capitol, she couldn't stand being touched.

Dahlia endured the physical contact whenever it was asked of her but if she could avoid it, she did. Ivy and River had witnessed one too many of her episodes to bother being offended at this point.

She wrung her hands together anxiously and craned her neck to peer through the glass panel in the back door.

Malaki ran his fingers over a painting that hung on the wall while Bloom hastily dashed about, scolding her assistants for messing with precious valuables.

Dahlia pulled her sleeves over her hands and turned her attention away from her prep team. "I should get going before Bloom pops a blood vessel." She made a start for the door but paused. "River?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't let June feed that rabbit ice cream."

[luffythinker]

Ah man, can i tell you about my KiriKami/Monoma & platonic Bakugo?

Ok so at first Bakugo hates Monoma but he comes around to being his friend after the last war, Monoma saw him kick the bucket so i think they are allowed to be friends after that. Monoma and Bakugo became friends he visited him in the hospital to apologize in his own way for the sports fes thing but Bakugo tells him not to and they just have a moment together

like this doesn't matter but he feels bad about it now and they seemed like they were friends in the endgame, Monoma using Bakugo's quirk to make explosions for their graduation cause his arm is messed up

Now, Kirishima and Kaminari they were dating like it was a bro thing but it evoled one day and the classmates were like "are you guys dating??" and they were like "No? i don't think so?" and one day Kaminari asked Kirishima if they could kiss MAYBE THEY WERE PLAYING SEVENMINUTES IN HEAVEN AND GOT LOCKED IN THE CLOSET TOGETHER? or maybe they were just sitting in one of their rooms together and Denki is just thinking real hard about "do me and Kirishima really look like we're dating???" and he needed to confirm it.

They kiss and it's magical so they start dating

Monoma and Kirishima have this weird relationship of Monoma keeps actively getting on his nerves and is really the only person practically on the planet who can make a nice guy like Kirishima truly mad. This somehow leads to him coming over to the 1-A dorms alot and this is mistake number 1 cause he starts going in Kirishima's room and one thing leads to another one day he wakes up in Kirishima's bed with Denki and Kiri and it's like huh, cause we are a poly now.

Monoma is just a snooty Bakugo so i would like to think of their dynamic as so cause Monoma/Kiri is just KRBK when you think about it, Bakugo and Monoma are so the same, they need somebody to make mention of certain subjects to get the ball rolling for them to speak, like "I don't need your help but since you offered i wont turn it down" is what Monoma would say while Bakugo would say "YOU VOLUNTEERED I WONT STOP YOU"

same thing another font.

i don't know if anyone as ever spoken about KamiBaku hear but i think Monoma and Kaminari would get along well enough to keep the relationship stabled but it's mostly Kiri dating two guys who aren't really dating eachother but they still like are romantically alright with kissing and being labeled as so relationshipwise.

Bakugo's is the best friend but he's like platonic with them all.

He and they are perfectly ok with kissing either of them on the mouth or anywhere on the face or hands. Monoma was not on board at first but he got used to it when he became friends with Bakugo but Bakugo isn't going out go out of his way to kiss Monoma out of the blue at first if he just felt like it

Bakugo isn't in it he's just the platonic friend

do you see my vision?

anon i read this several times and woah i can see your vision

okay so katsuki and monoma being friends is something i have been thinking about this week, something about monoma seeing bakugo dying and not even being able to blink or take his eyes away from it all really changes his brain chemistry. it starts slow, but with the end of the war monoma just cant help but to have at least some empathy for him, so it starts with that until they eventually become proper friends, which means he's more around the 1A dorm

as for kirikami i love their friends to lovers pipeline, I'm so down for the idea that they just date without knowing and everyone is like ??? bros yall dating . and they're pikachu face :O cause woah they really are, so they just continue it because it feels good and it makes a lot of sense.

and for the poly with monoma, i can see it, i really do, but like you said i don't think monoma and denki would be boyfriends themselves, like they hold hands and all but its like they are dating Kirishima more than dating each other, they still have couples dates and throuple dates depending on the vibe !! i also loooove the idea that one day monoma just wakes up in bed with them, cause it implies probably some fighting leading to sex which is so on brand for someone like monoma lmao

so yeah i totally see that and now i wish i could read some more about them

[mpsansy]

I know I’ve been adding a whole lot of negativity to this askbox, so why not some silly?

I like to think while Doc’s still uh, cursed, that he’ll randomly astral projection, so he gets a taste of genuine ghost time without the whole kicking the bucket. The trio are not as enthused as last time because Doc is not an adept spook. The whole quartet (or is it quintet with Elizabeth? Hexet?) deal will have to wait until they can get him to stop phasing through the floor. The whole Experience is enlightening though, if not murder on Harvey’s back when he finally gets back into his own body. Though it’s nice that Casper can pass on some tips and tricks of his own to help Harvey. Though the first couple weeks is definitely Casper having to fetch Doc as he gets himself stuck. He’ll get the hang of it… eventually.

Ah, no it’s all good. I just love that I can talk about this whole big family. And something silly is just a lovely bonus!!

Now’s that’s a fun idea! Granted he might freak out and scare every person in the house by this new discovery. The trio hearing his echoing yelps as he falls in their rooms and many other rooms below. And for that idea of the quite large pair, Elizabeth would squash the idea in those dumb-dumbs heads on making him be the way he was. That man deserves to stay living as long as possible, and those three better act right now that she’s around. And you know what? The trio does, with no protest to the lady. Which she greatly appreciates. If any one is to knock some proper sense and make them behave, it would be her.

Off this matter, Elizabeth and Casper would love nothing more than to assist James Harvey. And a great way for her and her son to bond. By helping another person in need.

[rabbivole]

ah fuck i think space station 14 might kick ass actually

i got in right after the server reset so i got to be a janitor and apparently i was the only janitor who wasn't afk. the scientists called me down to clean up the biggest fucking mess ive ever seen. meanwhile a fucking mutiny started right outside the lab so im just mopping up a literal ocean of unidentified substance, ignoring the gunfire and grenades in the hall

but i didn't come prepared so i ran out of water in my mop bucket. and i don't have clearance so one of the scientists had to wander around the science department with me until we found a sink and a drain. and then i barely got back to work before all the scientists and multiple lab monkeys got fragged through the windows. and then the '300 seconds until nuclear detonation' alarm went off. so i go up to one of the terrorists and talk to him through the door like 'cmon man i'm just a janitor' and he eventually takes pity on me and lets me out like 'ok. evac's this way, boy, let's go'

except they blew holes in medbay and i didn't get a hardsuit on account of being busy cleaning up the science mess so i immediately started dying. and when i pass out he's like 'god fucking dammit' and starts dragging my body to evac. also there was a rainbow slime following us for some reason. another terrorist stabbed me with some kind of med hypo, i think? i guess they felt bad for me. i couldn't see what was going on, on account of having half my screen covered in 'YOUR HEALTH IS POOR' effect, but he got stuck somehow. so he shoved me into a trash can, climbed in after me, yelled at the slime to get in, and we died in nuclear fire together

it's a shame the job slots don't scale with player count because the Big Good Server ends up with 75% of players being unemployed and missing out on the fun. that's my only complaint. also the controls are Obtuse but like, i expected that going in, there's no way around it

[falconcoast]

new year’s kiss | tighnari x reader

a part of the tighnari college/modern au - part iv.

it’s new year’s eve. you and tighnari slip out of a party to celebrate the new year on your own. 

a/n: i got an ask asking for christmas tighnari but i didn’t look at my inbox until recently TT_TT forgive me!! anyways happy birthday to my favorite boy!!

warnings: alcohol is mentioned briefly!

partying and drinking on akademiya grounds was not on tighnari’s bucket list, but it sure seemed like it was on yours.

there was only half an hour left until midnight, indicating the start of the new year. quite frankly, he didn’t understand the need to go out and party for a celebration as simple as new year’s eve. he could do that in the comforts of your shared apartment, thank you very much.

nonetheless, he was still at some acquaintance’s house in the suburbs of the city, sitting on the couch. he cringed as a couple got fairly handsy next to him, and he scooted away. sighing, he pressed a finger to his temples to ease the headache he knew was coming on.

he had lost you a while ago. you two had stuck together like glue (much to his friend’s noticed teasing) until you went to talk to some other friends and disappeared into the crowd. tighnari’s mood was noticeably sour after that.

the heat of the room became unbearable for him. close proximity to everyone made his ears twitch with displeasure. standing, he got up and wriggled his way outside of the house. sumeru was mild at the end of the year, where the air was neither warm nor cold. he crossed his arms in an attempt to sustain warmth. sitting on the sidewalk, he languidly stretched. the other condos down the block were alight, warm light illuminating the dark night. at the end of the neighborhood, he could see a few families celebrating in their front yards.

“thought i might find you out here,” a voice announced from behind him.

turning, he was pleasantly surprised to see you behind him. “y/n,” he breathed softly. “i thought you’d be the type to stay inside. you were the one who wanted to be at this party in the first place.”

“it isn’t much of a party if my favorite person isn’t there,” you shrugged. before tighnari could even react, you crouched down and offered him a hand. he took it gratefully. playing with your still-entwined hands, you looked at him curiously. “do you wanna take a walk?”

“sure,” he accepted. neither of you made a motion to break away from the other’s touch.

the walk began without much fanfare. to quell the awkwardness, you spoke up.

“so…” you began as you both trailed down the path. “did you know there are gonna be a few fireworks set off at midnight?”

“really?” tighnari responded, tilting his head. “i didn’t know.”

“yeah, it’ll be really nice. it’s down the road from here, if you want to see them. i think it’ll be far enough that your ears won’t hurt.”

“that would be nice,” he agreed.

leading him along the path, you walked out of the neighborhood with him. the suburbs revealed another endless row of houses. you weaved in and out of the streets, happily recounting your night out. he stared as you dragged him along, admiring the way that the night contoured your features softly and the wind accompanied your voice.

“is there something on my face?” you asked when you turned and looked at him.

“no!” he replied instantly, smacking a hand over his mouth. you laughed at his flusteredness.

“well, if you were getting bored, we’re almost there,” you cheered, pushing him on further.

eventually, you came across a park, where a hill sloped above a playground and trees. it was empty, as everyone else was home to celebrate. a sea of dainty flowers decorated the hill; white carnations, he recognized. they waved in the breeze, jostled by a passing wind.

stopping, you stared at your roommate deviously. “what now?” he asked, tilting his head.

kicking off your shoes, you picked them up and took off. “race you!” you exclaimed. with a laugh, you ran up the hill, threading through the flowers and rushing past the thicket.

chuckling, he chose not to race you, but to walk up the hill steadily. clearly, when you wanted something, you couldn’t be stopped. he took his time to get to the top, taking in the sound of the grass crushed under his feet and the floral scent of the carnations.

when he arrived, you were sprawled out on the dirt, as if trying to become one with the earth. your eyes were closed as if you were asleep. he admired you for a moment, before quickly snapping out of it.

he took a seat next to you, crossing his legs and leaning back. “you’re going to be sore when we have to climb down and go back home, you know,” he astutely observed.

“oh, shut up,” you remarked, but there was no bite in your voice. sitting up, you scooted closer to him. “so, do you have any new year’s resolutions?”

“not particularly,” he shrugged his shoulders.

that was a lie. he wanted to be bolder with your relationship, to actually be able to say his feelings towards you. long before you moved into your shared apartment, tighnari recognized that he felt something different for you. after nearly two years, he realized that something had to change.

“oh, really?” you replied. “me neither.”

you twisted a carnation out of the ground, so focused that you didn’t even react when another cool breeze swept by. his ear twitched and his tail wagged slightly.

you were lying. he chose not to call you out on it.

it started softly, but he could hear it: the soft chant of a countdown. at the same time, you looked at your phone. “it’s 11:59,” you stated, looking at him. chuckling softly, you continued to play with the flower. “i bet everyone is dragging someone to have their new year’s kiss.”

thinking of his resolution, his ears and tail became pin-straight. “it’s important to honor tradition,” he said.

“wait, are you saying what i think you’re saying?” you asked, turning to face him. “are you asking me to be your new year’s kiss?”

clearing his throat, he covered his face to hide his blush. it was not very often that he had to explain himself, especially when it came to important matters like yourself. “n-no?” he squeaked out pathetically, attempting to backtrack. “i was just saying that it’s interesting that people kissing on new year’s eve happens to be tradition.”

raising an eyebrow, you got ever closer to him. “that’s not what you said,” you pointed out softly. “you said it was important to honor tradition, the tradition of kissing to welcome in the new year. we better do our part, right?”

if he could, he would have taken off, running down that hill. paralyzed by your gaze, he could only sit and stare in place. the tone of your voice meant that you didn’t just mean that you wanted to fulfill a tradition, but you earnestly wanted to kiss him. you looked at him expectantly and then pulled back. “sorry,” you said, a bashful look on your face. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to. we can just watch the fireworks.”

“wait--” he attempted to say. you turned to look at him, eyes wide with a glimmer of hope. the countdown was nearing its end, and he made up his mind.

his thoughts scrambled around as if trying to rationalize what he was about to do. while your offer was romantic, what if you truly meant that you just wanted to kiss him for the tradition? what if it was so bad that you were going to leave your apartment the next day? what if you didn’t like him back when he was pouring all of his emotions into one action? what if your friendship was forever ruined because he had run his mouth?

placing a hand on your cheek, he heard the sharp whistle of a firework going off. as if on the beat, he softly pressed his lips against yours as the sky illuminated with a golden shimmer. smiling, you reciprocated the action with equal fervor. it was awkward and new and nothing that he expected it to be, but he found himself enjoying it nonetheless.

pulling back, you shyly looked to the ground. he tucked his knees to his chest and attempted to calm his beating heart. the dynamic of your friendship changed forever at that moment. resolving not to talk about what just happened, you sprawled out on the grass again. softly, you pulled on his arm and encouraged him to lie down on the ground beside you. he did so, enjoying your presence beside him. the quiet was filled with repeated explosions of fireworks.

looking over at you, your eyes were glued to the colorful display in front of you. before long, your gaze caught his. turning to face you completely, he picked up another flower and placed it behind your ear. you grinned, admiring it with soft affection. your hand inched close to his own but didn’t touch it.

“happy new year, ‘nari,” you whispered.

imagine if they still didn’t get together after this under the pretext that “everyone kisses their best friend on new year’s if they don’t a partner” laugh out loud

[neutralcha0tic]

tonight, KANG JAEWON of clan RAVNOS hunts for their next meal. the 11TH + THREE HUNDRED year-old cainite, embraced when they were TWENTY-SIX, will use their disciplines of PRESENCE and OBFUSCATE to make quick work of their prey. JAEWON has pledged their loyalty to THE ANARCHS, and in the wake of the prince’s announcement, they’ve chosen to DEFY the fragile peace he cemented so long ago. zone 3 warden

nana 21+ gmt+0 discord available per request

like this post if you’d like to plot with jaewon

kang jaewon, borned on some random day in august 1724, is a 11th gen ravnos vampire, embraced at the age of 26 in 1750. he was a delinquient during the joseon dynasty, well, part of the social banditry. him and his group lived in the country side, targetting the welathy or corrupt officials. due to their resistance against the system that left them with few opportunities thanks to the economic hardships, jaewon and his group were seen as sybmolic figures of resistance. which lead to promises of a similar lifestyle forever, fighting against the oppression. boy was too quick to agree to this promise, but boy did he not think of the consequences of his own actions.

him and quite the chunk of his group got embraced by a ravnos sire. some of them were quick to accustom and continue on with their rebelious acts until the end of the joseon dynasty.

others, like jaewon, struggled with the new found situation they were in and hid in the shadows for years to come.

it took him a good chunk to get accustomed to whatever being a vampire was, but eventually in the late 1800s he got released from his sire and rejoined a some of his old group of outlaws.

he continued doing that until the end of the joseon dynasty, and eventually moves to the anarch movement because that was literally the next best thing. how was he supposed to stop doing the only thinge he knew?

in 1999 he went through a little existential crisis due to the antediluvian ancestor awakening and slaughtering most of his clan. so he was not having a good time for the next following years. literally tried to hide away but he was already apointed warden of zone 3 so he really couldn't.

dude was literally tweaking with how closely he kept trying to knock on deaths door. he is doing ever so slightly better but he could use a therapist

tldr;

anyway, enjoy some chaos in your life! jaewon literally refuses to let the bad things in 1999 and onwards stop him from being true to what ravnos have always been so he is a bit on the weird side about it if you look at the rest of his clan. he is surprisingly smart and a quick thinker due to being a rebel for so long. he still speaks before he thinks, but that is exactly why he isn't a baron but a warden. someone has to throw hands and bump heads. dude loves lurking as much as he loves throwing hands, so the shadows are literally his best friend. he is also a bit too nosy, but its for the greater good he promises! on most days he really is chatty and smiley and loud and proud, because again, he refuses to wallow in self pity. on most days.

wc

others from his little bandit group that joined got embraced at the same time. they could have stuck together, lost connection and relinked further down the line. negative, positive, neutral give me all of them!

partner in crime, he needs one or two really, could be linked to the idea above or someone he met along the way. would be best if it was another warden or a baron, even a sweeper

someone that helped him get back on his feet when the ravnos started getting slaughtered. a very good buddy of his that checks up on him regularly, makes sure he hasn't actually kicked the bucket

a dare-devil buddy! doesn't have to be ravnos, so anyone would be fine someone he is contantly butting into their business, not because he actaully needs anything, but just because it annoys them

anarchs! all the anarches, he joined almost as soon as they were formed after the joseon dynasty ended and has been with them since then. he tries and recruits people on the regular

someone he bumps heads with a lot, would be fun if they were in the court? anyone he doesn't see eye to eye with, which would probably quite a few vampires

someone try and make him their information broker? a cat and mouse game? you always seem to know where he is, but never why and what he's actually doing, jaewon is always within an arms length but one step ahead

some songs that have jaewon vibes:

hollywood undead - bloody nose hollywood undead - riot glaive - fuck this town hollywood undead - war child hollywood undead - bad moon my chemical romance - i'm not okay mindless self indulgence - shut me up justus bennetts - bad day joshua basset - secret blackbear - me & your ghost andy black - we don't have to dance onerepublic - everyone loves me

[julius-novachrono]

Been meaning to put this out there for some days but because of who I am as a person I just keep forgetting, but anyways CAN WE GET AN AMEN UP IN THIS BITCH FOR THE LAST SEASON OF VINLAND SAGA? The entire arc was *chef’s kiss*

Thorfinn’s redemption arc is one of the most well written and wholesome I’ve ever seen??!?! Man went from being a rabid teenager blinded by rage

to a shell of a human who had given up

to a kind man who sought to resolve conflict via dialogue and compromise

And not only did he vowed to never use violence again unless it was absolutely the last resort, but he also discovered his life’s purpose: to find and establish a land free of the pain and suffering brought on by war and slavery. A place where the souls of those whose lives he took can finally rest in peace. 10/10. Protect him at all costs.

Also SHOUT OUT to my man Einar for helping Thorfinn find his way out of the shadows. What started of as an acquaintanceship between slaves evolved into friendship and eventually brotherhood. These men found each other when they needed it the most and became one another’s rock. There’s no better testament to their relationship than the fact that Thorfinn hadn’t smiled let alone laughed out loud since he was a little boy until Einar came along.

The side characters in this arc didn’t disappoint either! While at first I didn’t know what to make of Snake, he turned out to be a pretty cool dude. I wished we had gotten to see more of his background and the reason that he was exiled from his home though. Also wished he had gone with Thorfinn and Einar bc imo he had no reason to stay at the farm anymore, considering he paid back the hospitality they showed him by fighting against the king to protect the land. I’m going to miss seeing his fine ass in the next seasons :(

Old Sverkel was THE man cuz imagine pushing 100 AND almost kicking the bucket yet still getting up at the ass crack of dawn to do farming shit?? Couldn’t be me. Also man was down for the cause ✊🏼 cuz he helped Arnheid and Gardar escape. A king without a crown but a king nonetheless!

Speaking of which, RIP Arnheid and Gardar 🪦 they deserved better.

Olmar’s arc?? Quite nicely done. It took almost losing everything and hearing Thorfinn say that no one has enemies (after getting the shit beaten out of him for a whole episode) to bring some sense into him, but better late than never amirite. Now he’s a man worthy of taking over the reigns of his family’s farm. Love that for him.

Also FUCK Ketil. His fake “nice slave owner” persona broke apart the moment shit hit the fan, and when Arnheid wasn’t there to console him (read: letting him abuse her) he took his anger out on her and killed her like bitch ass men tend to do. I hope he keels over soon.

And last but never least my pussy has not known PEACE since Canute’s glow up??? This man went from looking like somebody’s shy sister to looking like a god-like stud so he gets a pass for the imperialism and all that.

The progression from S1 and its themes of revenge, hatred, anger and violence to S2 and its themes of forgiveness, kindness, friendship, love, compassion and redemption is surreal. It’s a gentle reminder that the light will shine on us again after our darkest hour. I can’t wait to see what the next seasons have in store for us.

[aemondslefteyeball]

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

[Modern!Aemond x Fem!Reader]

[Warnings: Substance use, gore, spooky shit]

[Summary: Origin of the McNugget]

(See you next week bbys drink water have a good time)

Word Count: 5.9K

Chapter 6

The cold winter air nipped at every exposed part of your face. Lys had the closest thing to a perfect climate– according to tourism boards– but you had always longed to watch the snowfall. You pulled the squirming kid into your arms before the two of you settled onto the rocking chair. You rested your head on Jaehaerys’s, the wool fibers tickling your chin. “That one is called Pleiadys.”

“Why?”

 By this point, everything you said was met with the same response but you found yourself endeared by his curiosity. Raising a gloved finger to point at the constellation, you moved an arm to cradle the boy as he shifted to look. “It means the seven sisters.” Jaehaerys nodded eagerly, face alight with curiosity and a thousand more questions. “And that one, right there.” You moved your hand across the freckled sky, pointing to a new target. His gaze shifted to the general area to which you were pointing, but you knew it needed a finer eye. Wrapping your hand around his, you gingerly led it to the exact one. “Is Rigel. It’s my very favorite star.”

“Why?” As you continued babbling about the constellations, you caught sight of the toddler’s eyelids starting to grow heavy. His head rested against your chest as you tiptoed through the mansion before quietly tucking him into bed.

A tense quiet sat over the car. You found yourself wondering once again exactly what unspoken rule you had broken but decided to let your husband seethe just a little bit longer. “I specifically told you to not speak with him,” the low growl eventually emerged. You turned to see him gripping the steering wheel as hard as humanly possible. You rolled your eyes and turned back to the window, a small smirk on your face as you shook your head in disbelief. “You may be naive, but I know Aegon.” Sometimes it caught you off guard at how jealous he was, especially for somebody who spent so much of his time actively pretending you didn’t exist. If anybody could be upset over you tossing a child to another man, of course it would be him. 

Taking a deep breath in you thought for a moment more, gaze fixed on the street sign across the way. He stayed put at the red light for just a second longer before his eye snapped to meet yours. You didn’t grant him eye contact, knowing that if you did he would try to cow you into relenting once again. You just waited for him to hiss through his teeth and drive again. “Yeah.” Leaning back into the chair, you turned to finally look at him. “I’ll really convince your family we’re happily married, by ignoring all of your male relatives.” Silence fell over the car once again. It continued into the next few days until a gift bag containing earrings was draped onto your bedroom door handle. What a lovely gift from his secretary. 

You crouched next to a fern, putting your hands on your thighs before reaching out to tear a leaf off. “Seriously?” Myrielle stood and kicked a nearby bush, dropping the bucket on the ground with a clang. “How are there no fucking berries?” Rolling the leaf between your thumb and index finger, you pushed down the memories of a girl’s trip with Tanselle to the Highgarden Conservatory.

“Could be birds picking them off. Or like, mice.” 

“Gods, I could eat the fuck out of a mouse right now.” Sabitha mused, a chorus of disgust ringing out amongst the group. 

“You know some animals live off eating their own vomit?” You piped up, unsure of exactly where the compulsion to do so came from. Letting the ball of plant matter fall back to the ground, you suddenly regretted speaking at all.

“Okay, thanks for that image Y/N.” 

“Did the ghosts tell you that? Or do you just, like, talk about blood and stuff?” Ever since the seance it was like this every day with Myrielle. 

Smacking your hands onto your knees before rising, you shot her the most passive-aggressive smile you could. “Mostly we just chat about how Rymund Manwoody dumped you for his cousin.” You didn't wait for her to retort, walking off and ignoring whatever she shouted after you. You came to a small clearing, and behind a felled tree a stag bent down. Holding a breath for a second and thinking of the quietest way to get Baela’s attention, you took a step back. The stag lifted its head, horror bubbling within you as you saw viscera coating the antlers. Stealth damned, boots rustled softly against the dirt as you backtracked. 

“Hey, look, ignore Myrielle.” Sabitha reached a hand out to jostle your arm. Noticing your expression, she paused for a second longer. “You doing alright?” You simply nodded your head in response and looked back at the deer once more before walking back to the cabin.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinners with Helaena and the twins had come to be a ritual, and in a way, Aemond relied on it. It went the same way each time. She entered, fussed over him, and asked how therapy was going. The past two times he had simply ignored her, or answered with a hard stare. This time, he looked at her for a second before mumbling “Fine.” It was still a waste of his time, but he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t improving his work performance. Besides, the better he performed and the more people would realize that he was alright. After they continued their meal in relative silence, he looked at her. “They’re doing a scan.” He forked a piece of chicken and chewed on it, swallowing before he continued. “Over Moat Cailin.” 

Helaena’s gaze softened as she spun her chopsticks around in the sauce and rice mix covering her plate. “You’re really good at keeping up with the updates.” Aemond sighed tiredly, hoping this wasn’t a segue to unsolicited life advice. 

“It’s the right thing to do.” He moved his fork over to a piece of bell pepper, lifting it to his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. By this point, he had sunk more money than he was comfortable thinking about into the search efforts and strong-armed Aegon into following suit. Aegon, as per usual, seemed entirely unaffected by the lives of those around him imploding. He idly wondered exactly how Sara would react to seeing his brother again before his mind drifted to when he would reunite with you. 

“I think it’s good.” Helaena paused, her expression careful as she set her utensils down. “That you care about… doing the right thing.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The brush slipped through Barba’s hair effortlessly. Pulling it back before parting it into three sections, you began to braid her hair. The insects chirped as the two of you sat there. Barba’s gaze was tilted upwards as you worked on the sections at her crown. “Do you think survival training will be like this?” Barba laughed softly, her face lighting up. 

“I think we’ll have an edge up on everybody else there.” You sat for a moment longer, the braid laxing before you tighten your grip again and weaved the next few sections in. 

“Okay, but like.” Taking a deep breath in, you let your hands rest against her. “What about a psych eval?” 

Barba nodded, chewing on her lower lip for a second. “I don’t think we’re at the point where we need to worry.” She finally stated, her sing-songy voice comforting against the chirping of insects. “I think we’ve got a good shot at getting out of here.” You went back to plaiting her hair. “I have an idea.” When the final sections of hair were done, you wrapped it up and tapped her on the shoulder. Taking it as a sign to continue, she turned to face you. “The Cessna.” Her tone was laced with naive hope, and your stomach sank. 

“It’s not safe.” Shaking your head you brought your fingers to rub against your temples. The desperation in the camp was growing, and you were all starting to feel the effects of hunger. But human sentimentality was not so easily relinquished.

“It’s not safe for us to sit around and wait either. We’re on our own.” 

From a strictly rational standpoint, you know she had a few good points but couldn’t stop the fervent shaking of your head. “Barba, no. We have no clue how long that thing has been sitting there. We have no idea what condition the fuel is in…” She had set her jaw, pulling her long black braid over her shoulder. “With our combined flight hours, we’re not qualified to even apply for astronaut training.” The futility of the last few years suddenly dawned on you. All the early mornings you spent at the airfield, all the hours you cracked open books. And it was all fucking useless here. “And these conditions… the mountains would fuck up even seasoned pilots. We are grad students who go joy riding…” 

“Y/N.” Barba had sat silently while you had rambled on, her expression too calm for your liking. “The sacrifices we have to make?” Her icy blue eyes locked onto yours, her face uncharacteristically stoic. “That doesn’t just start when they hand you the helmet.” We can’t even be considered for wearing a helmet. Kids playing heroes.  She reached a hand out, rubbing your knee gently. “If I die doing this, it’ll be no different than if I die in space.” She pulled her hand back and grasped the weirdwood pendant on her neck. “The Gods are going to see us through this.” 

“How do you know, though?” Barba came to sit behind you, pulling your hair over your shoulders before she started to run the brush through your lengths. She was right, in that the career field the two of you had chosen was dangerous. But it wasn't a tangible danger. It existed as an abstract. 

“I don’t, but I also don’t think faith is mutually exclusive to knowledge.” You sighed, nodding slightly before she yanked on your hair in a silent command to stop moving. Quiet permeated the woods around the two of you as she continued. Upon completing the braid, she moved to sit next to you again. “Hey, I know you’re stressing about this.” She grabbed your hand. “But you’re going to do fine, if you’re really so worried just… edit.” Moving her hand, she reached to grab yours. “But I don’t think you’re crazy.” 

You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear somebody else say it, nodding quietly as you pulled your lips back over your teeth. “In your religion...” You let the words hang in the air for a second. Neither of your parents had been particularly pious, and your father’s funeral was the last time you stepped foot into a Red Temple. “I’ve been having really weird dreams.” Letting out a breath and gathering your courage, you faced her. “I think I’ve been having visions. You guys have like, tree prophets, right?” 

“We call them greenseers.” Barba corrected with a small smile. “But yes. The old Gods sometimes send visions to guide us.” 

“It doesn’t feel like being guided. It’s… disorienting.” Truthfully each time it happened it felt like your very soul was hungover. 

“Well, they could either be a warning or a revelation.” 

“But how do I know I’m not just crazy? And even if I have some gift from the Gods, I’m just a fucking person.” The plastic bracelet twisted on your wrist. “How do I know I won’t fuck up the interpretation?” 

“I think, because the Gods gave them faith. Faith is the substance of things that are hoped for. And the evidence of things unseen.” She paused for a second, looking down. “I know people think I’m weird. Just as I know that no Maester has found concrete proof of religion or magic. Better yet, I know that we kind of just pray to trees. But I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that every culture on the planet has independently come to the conclusion that there’s something more than just the trees. But I know it because I believe it. I think it would help you to open yourself to that.” She lowered her eyes to yours, “Look. The Gods want us to do the right thing. No matter the religion, that tends to be a basic tenet.” You nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Even if praying to the trees isn’t what you want, there are lessons that can be learned from it. If you open your heart to greater things, they will help you discern the true from the false.” 

“I don’t…” You pressed your lips together. “But how would I even open my heart?” 

“I want to show you something tonight.” A smile broke out across Barba’s face as she stood up and headed back towards the stack of firewood.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond sat at work, tapping his finger against the mouse. There was some tune that was stuck in his head, but he couldn’t identify any lyrics. Or knowledge of where he had actually heard it. Huffing at the earworm, he went through his usual day. Have meetings, check to see if there are any updates on the search, lunch, emails, paperwork. Routine. His fingers tapped until he finally shifted them to the keyboard. His search finally led him to the website of a boutique tucked into the beachfront of Lys. Aemond Targaryen was a man of principle, and he had to rectify his mistake. To his chagrin, your duvet had stopped being sold years ago. Gladdened that at least the worst part of his workday was also the end of it, he sat in his car for a few moments. He started it but sat parked in the lot. He had known this was coming for some time, but a touch of guilt still tugged at him. Not enough to stop him from pulling up the familiar contact number and pressing call. 

“Hello?” Alys’s voice had the same seductive edge to it that it always possessed. Years ago it had excited him, but these days his life was too turbulent to keep up with all of it. Alys, sensing the ominousness of the time he took to answer, sighed. “Aemond. I’m busy.” 

“I don’t think you should come around anymore.” It shocked him how easily the words flowed from his lips. They hardly lived a white-picket life but they had still been sleeping together for the past few years. He should feel guiltier, but just couldn’t muster it.

“Okay.” Okay? Alys waited a minute longer before sighing once more. “I should’ve seen this coming earlier.” He could sense the disappointment in her voice, but he got the feeling it wasn’t because of him breaking it off. Rather that she didn’t have the power of breaking up with him. “You’ve been stringing me along for a dead woman you hated. For months. You’re an asshole.” Three little beeps sounded. Aemond supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised. He felt angry and thought about what Dr. Greenwood had said. He rolled his eyes in disbelief that he was actually falling for the bullshit she peddled. Figuring that he might as well make use of his money, he sighed and thought about it for a second. He knew he was an asshole, that bounced off him like rubber. It didn’t bother him that she pointed out him stringing her along. She was objectively right about that as well. ‘I want you to focus on what thoughts you’re experiencing when your anger starts to get above a five’ Aemond leaned back into the headrest, closing his eyes. You aren’t dead, and I didn’t hate you. I don’t hate you. He opened his eyes once more and shifted the car into gear, leading an uneventful drive home. Fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You coughed so hard you thought your lungs might burst out of your mouth. Waving the smoke away with your hand, you took another puff before passing it over to Sabitha. She inhaled deeply, before following it up with another hit. She passed the joint onto Aly and leaned her head back, half-moaning. “Fuck. I didn’t know how much I needed that.” Sabitha handled it like a champ but you, unfortunately, have bitch lungs and proceeded to hack a little while longer. 

Aly smirked at you and nudged your shin with the toe of her shoe. “Try not to die on us, yeah? This would be a really weird death to explain to your Mom.” The three of you laughed around the little fire. You came out here when you needed to clear your head. This evening Sabitha and Aly showed up with a much-needed offer for company, but more importantly, a joint. Since the plane was private, pretty much all of you had taken the opportunity to smuggle things airport security would normally confiscate. Thankfully for you, Sabitha apparently packed a garbage bag full of weed in her carry-on. 

Taking another two puffs off it before quickly passing it to Sabitha, you held it in a few seconds before a fit of coughing wracked you. “If I die, who's going to third-wheel for you two?” Sabitha nodded and shrugged before exhaling. “Do you guys?” The high had started to sink in at this point, your muscles relaxing. Your question was cut off by the next round of hits, coughing again before composing yourself. “Do you guys think you feel better or worse having each other out here?” 

The two of them looked at each other in quiet contemplation. Aly glanced back at you for a moment before she put the joint out. “I don’t think I’ve really thought about it.” Sabitha nodded in agreement. “It just kind of… is. You know?” 

Sabitha bit her lower lip in brief concentration before exhaling. “It fucking sucks that she’s in the shit.” She admitted, unable to look at her girlfriend. “But I don’t think I’ll ever not be grateful she’s with me.” 

Aly awwed and you pantomimed gagging before throwing a pebble at the two of them. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.” 

“Well if you wanna talk about rubbing…” 

Aly shot a look at her girlfriend, and Sabitha just smirked in response. Aly turned back to you, her expression soft. “You’ll see her again soon.” 

You wanted to believe it but just sighed instead. “I know it’s selfish.” You had grown up a Navy brat until your teenage years. A Dear John letter wasn’t a foreign concept, but you didn’t even have a fucking address here. Everything hung in limbo. “I just really hope she’s missing me, you know?” You steadied your breath before fiddling with your bracelet. “I know it’s not fair because we have no idea when or if help is coming. But I just want her to wait for me.” After your admission, Aly flicked another match and lit the joint again, passing it to you. Gratefully, you took an especially long hit before leaning back and exhaling slowly. You wondered what Emerson was doing– if she was sleeping well at night–  and took another hit. “I really fucking miss her.” 

“Hey, soon enough you can divorce Aemond, and the two of you can do whatever the fuck you want.” A smile broke out across your face at the thought, your forgotten wedding ring sitting somewhere with the rest of your stuff in the cabin. 

“God, that time could not come quickly enough.” You threw your head back and groaned, digging your heels into the dirt. 

“Aww, what? You don’t miss the hubby?”

“Fuck no.” Sabitha could barely finish her question before you spat out the response. The two of them wasted no time breaking out into laughter. “Seriously. I hope he gets kicked in the shins every fucking day.” You rolled your eyes and took your hits before passing it on once again. “You know he demanded that I start sleeping with my door shut so that his cat wouldn’t come nap with me?” The problem was only exacerbated when the two of you discovered that Vhagar could somehow open doorknobs as long as they weren’t locked. You had no fucking clue how, but at this point, you had accepted she was higher than you on the pecking order. It’s not like you hated waking up to a sweet old cat purring into your shoulder either. 

The two of them looked at each other conspiratorially before Sabitha spoke up. “Okay, but I have to know.” You furrowed your eyebrows suspiciously as soon as she said it. “You’ve met his girlfriend, right?” You sucked the air in through your teeth. Alys was actually pretty nice, as it turned out. The two of you had once chatted for a few minutes about the news before Aemond stormed in and put an abrupt end to whatever friendship could have formed. “You know. The thing is that.” You let the two of them wait on the edge of their seats, using it as an opportunity to take an extra hit. “She’s really fucking hot. Quick as a whip too.” You pulled your lips back into a smirk just as Sabitha broke out into laughter. 

“Okay, but you realize what you have to do though, right?” You gestured for Aly to elaborate, while she just smirked and turned to look at Sabitha. 

“Y/N entering her Mr. Steal Yo Girl era.” 

“Yeah, I got it” You giggled, nudging Sabitha with your shoe. “In the divorce, he gets the house and I get the girl.” 

“Rom-com in the making.” Sabitha japed, finally tossing the dead joint into the fire. Once the joint was tossed in, you poured a pail of water over the fire before the two of them went back to camp, and you went to the clearing where you had met Barba earlier. 

She held a hand out, the firelight from her torch flashing in her icy eyes. You hesitantly stepped forward and grasped it before she led you through deeper parts of the brush. After countless scratches and spiderwebs, she stopped in front of you suddenly. You were off the game trail and felt the need to watch each footstep. Almost running into her, you let go of her hand and raised your eyes. Before the two of you stood a massive tree. Blood-red leaves shone black in the gathering dusk, and red sap dripped down the sturdy branches. A strange feeling overtook you right then, an animalistic understanding that you were in the presence of something ancient. Something primordial. Torchlight danced across the terrible face carved into the tree, crusted red sap flowed down the forehead but the rest of the face was twisted in rapture. You stepped back, suddenly frightened. Barba caught your upper arm with her hand, shushing you softly. “It’s okay, the Gods want this.” With that, you took her hand and approached the tree. The two of you stood next to each other as you both stared at the ancient, gnarled thing in awe. 

“What do I say?” You looked at her for a second, a dull throbbing in your forehead. Ghostly blue eyes affixed on the blackening leaves once more. 

“You don’t have to say anything.”  Her head tilted back as she closed her eyes. She took a deep breath in and tapped the side of your hand. “Listen.” The expression on her face was placid, and she reached out a single hand to put on the tree. As you closed your eyes, you took a deep breath in and held it for a few seconds. “Open your heart.” That’s when it started again, the dull chanting that whispered beneath the surface of the breeze. A gale burst through the canopy of the forest and howled through the Weirwood leaves. You reached your hand out and placed it on the bark. 

The first thing that registered was the lack of gravity on your body. You were falling but with no force. Blackness enveloped the void you had found yourself thrust into. Your hands waved and your breath bubbled. Bubbled? Every instinct screamed against what was happening. But panic didn’t overtake you, just acceptance. 

Water pooled on the floors of the stone tunnel. You put your right hand onto the wall. Flashes of dragonfire licked through every crevice of the mazes. Dragons roared in the sky as Andals turned to ash before you. Stepping back in horror, you looked at where your hand had been and held back the urge to wretch. Scoured into the maze wall was the humanoid form of somebody dead centuries before your birth. You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself, nails digging into your palms. As far back as you could remember, your Dad had been a huge horror buff. Shortly after you turned eleven, he finally deemed you old enough to watch The Shining with him. ‘There’s a trick, you know.’ Your heart beats harder at the memory of his voice. ‘Keep going right.’ Unclad feet splashed through the puddles on the floor as you continued onward. That’s when a familiar silhouette entered your peripheral vision. A stag raised its head to you when it finished lapping at the pools of brackish water. It led you to a staircase that had candles interwoven with the spiral of the structure. Your calves started to ache as you ascended. A sense of foreboding twisted in your gut and you knew better than to open any of the doors that shifted along the sides of the staircase. Those few doors that were open showed you things that made your stomach churn. Doorways kept moving, and candles continued to flicker as you ascended to the clouds. You looked down and a vast structure of oily black stone rested at the base of wherever you stood. Disoriented, you turned back from the balcony to enter the room. A shrine sat on the opposite end of a new room. Dozens of candles burned, filling the air with the sweet scent of lavender. In the middle stood a terrible black cylinder. You reached a few fingers out to touch it and hissed when they came back coated in blood. A few droplets ran down the blackened glass, and you sucked on your finger for a moment before looking back to the surrounding candles. Taking a wooden lighting stick, you held it into the flame until the end curled and turned black. You lifted the stick to the top of the glass candle and lit it before blowing the stick out. Queer colors flickered across the room, white light burning your eyes from the intensity. Yellows danced across the walls as gold, and the shadows sank into an abyss that awoke primordial fear in you. The light of the glass candle grew brighter, as a form started to emerge from it. Barba’s hand was on the back of your neck, a warm smile on her face as she greeted you. Her face darkened to shadow as the light of the candle overtook it. Blurred into a humanoid form, light overwhelmed your field of vision. Joining it after came a flash of flames, burning in a halo around her concealed face. You screamed as her face twisted in concern. 

“Y/N?” You wrenched yourself from Barba’s grasp as quickly as you could, chest heaving as you ran to put distance between you and the tree. “What is it?” 

Your hands shook as you started to rub them against your neck, shifting your weight between your legs. “I saw fire, and light.” Your voice cracked, but Barba’s lit up. She felt as if you had been touched by divinity, you felt as if you were being eaten alive by something within. 

“That’s the light of the Gods, Y/N.” She pulled you in for a hug, beaming in the darkness. “You’ve let them into your heart.” Her thumbs rubbed circles into your shoulders, and you stared over her shoulder into the terrible face of the weirwood.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond hated strangers being in his home. From the first day he met you, up until now when he was forced to accommodate a whole party’s worth of strangers. His Mother talked to one of the radar techs, her face twisted in worry. Helaena met your gaze with a small smile. Aegon had his face buried in his phone, and between them sat the team that had been giving updates since the disappearance. At the very edge of the table, Emerson was being emotionally supported by Taenys. Your girlfriend at least had the presence of mind to look worried, her friend just made doe eyes in the brunette’s direction. As his singular eye met Emerson’s hazel ones, hers shifted away immediately. Emerson usually didn’t miss an opportunity to fight with him, which told him everything he needed to know about how her life had been evolving. Her presence here was a formality after all, as far as the search team knew she was your wife’s close friend. His eye bored into her for a few minutes more until techs finally spoke up. “We’ve been given permission to repurpose military equipment for the search.” A smile fell across his Mother’s face, relief written on her features. He didn’t understand why she was so attached to you. She wasn’t particularly close to his cousins or nephews either. “But the conditions in Moat Cailin aren’t ideal for this kind of thing, you have to understand.” The happy look on Alicent’s remained there, but the hope in her eyes dimmed. “It’s likely that the plane crashed there, but the plant life effectively turns it into finding a needle in a haystack.” It was bleak, but by this point, almost every meeting had been the same. Some vague solution is proposed before they come up with another excuse for their own failures to find you. All the while they found a way to avoid telling the families that they weren’t expecting to find much other than remains.

“Why do you guys think it crashed in Moat Cailin?” Helaena piped up, running her middle finger along the rim of her glass. 

The man who had been explaining looked over to Helaena, his face unreadable for a moment. “Well, drones have combed through every inch of the north from the Neck to Winterfell. If a plane carrying twenty people had crashed there, somebody would have noticed it.” His voice droned on, and the man made eye contact with him and Aegon as he explained. “So the area around Greywater Watch seems the most likely culprit for where a plane of that size could crash and go undetected for as long as it has.” 

Aegon was on his phone while the man was speaking, looking up every few seconds and pretending that was multitasking. Helaena chewed on her lip for a moment before taking a sip of wine. “What if you’re looking too far south?” She suggested, spinning the wine in her glass. “What if they’re further north than Winterfell?” Her eyes rested on the opposite wall, expression detached. 

The tech smiled for a moment, rubbing his face before turning back to Aemond. “Yeah, that’s uh.” He met eye contact with another tech there, raising his eyebrows at the other man. “We’ll look into that, Ms. Targaryen.” Slender fingers tapped against the wine glass before Helaena once more started running the pad of her finger along it. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You swore at that moment that Baela was salvation itself. The deer was being carried on a pole by your best friend and Jacaerys. Choruses of joy rang out from the group as they all crowded around the pair excitedly. When you took a closer look at the stag, your eyes widened in horror. 

“Whoa. That thing is gnarly.” Sabitha’s face twisted in disgust at the viscera hanging off the edges of the antlers. You took a few steps back, your calves brushing against the front of the log. 

“It’s like Freddy Kreuger and Bambi had a baby.” Nettles’s eyebrows wrinkled at the sight of it, her arms coming to cross over her chest. 

“I’m not eating that.” Luke’s voice rang out as he shook his arms, locking eyes with Jacaerys. 

Criston shot him a weary look. “C’mon, guys. Deer shed their antlers every season. It’s perfectly normal.” He crutched closer to where the dead animal rested on the ground, looking back toward the group. “Floris, do us the honors?” She nodded and grabbed the knife that Jace had passed to her, kneeling in front of the stag. Digging the knife in with a well-practiced cut, you held back the urge to wretch as the smell of rot filled the air. The abdomen of the stag was crawling with maggots, the flesh sloughed into a pinkish slurry. Floris lifted a hand covered in gore and insects, shaking it off before wiping it on a rag. 

“That normal too?” Sara crossed her arms and locked eyes with Ser Criston. 

You lowered yourself to sit on the log, pulling one leg up to your chest before looking to Barba. “I’m not crazy.” Her hand rubbed along your shoulder blade. 

“No, you have a gift.” 

“We can’t keep fucking doing this, you guys!” It was the first time you had ever seen Aly actually lose her shit. Her arms came up to her head, fingers weaving into her dark hair. “What happens when winter gets here? We fucking starve to death or freeze?” She gestured at the festering deer, the glop that was once entrails seeping out of Floris’ incision. “We can’t count on getting rescued anymore.” She shook her head, a threat of tears wavering in her tone. “All of us know that is not gonna happen. We have to save us. I’m heading south in the morning to go find help. Be there after breakfast if you want to get out of this fucking hellhole.” 

Sometimes dreams came to you in fractals, and tonight was one such night. You sat up in your bed, looking around yourself. Seeing Baela’s chest slowly rising and falling, you got up. By now you were practiced in avoiding all the creaky floorboards, and you looked back at the sleeping bodies in the cabin before grabbing a lantern. The stag’s head that had been mounted onto the wall decades before you got there stared emptily back at you. Shuddering once again at the memory– and smell– of the diseased creature you opened the door and stepped into the night. The moonlight lit the clearing in a glow that was almost loving, kissing against your exposed skin. Goosebumps rose at the chill slowly accumulating off in the distance, and you found yourself wishing you brought a hoodie. The smell of weed still faintly lingered in the air of the clearing, and you lowered the torch to your side before sitting on the log and gazing up at the stars. You sat and listened to the wind for a few moments. The whispers on the breeze bounced around the inside of your skull, and your head snapped in the direction of a sound you hadn’t registered prior. Picking up the lantern, you raised it and approached before finding the source in the tree line. There, Alysanne Blackwood was crouched in the dirt. Her expression ghoulish as she shoveled a fistful of dirt into her mouth, letting out feral growls only to replace it with the next handful.

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

Taglist: @chainsawsangel