#what outline who has an outline mine can barely be called that

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa’s story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

(7.5/?) (confused? Chapter 7 went up a little early, missing its second half. Here’s that second half now!)

~*~

The goblin made to stand, and its injured leg buckled beneath it. It fell, and Graham instinctively caught its arm to help. It growled at him, and Graham stepped back, wondering if he should try to carry the goblin in his pocket. Maybe not a great idea. It would probably find the key Graham had shoved in there, and be in prime biting location. But if it couldn’t walk...

The goblin reached for its broken spear before Graham could make up his mind. The pointy metal top was already snapped off, but it was interested in the wooden pole, which it used as a sort of support, like a walking stick. It tried another step, and this time it managed a few trembly steps. The goblin blinked up at Graham, eyes watering and button nose dripping, but it grinned and graveled something at him, gesturing at the tunnels.

“Do you...know a way out?” Graham asked, warily. Still not entirely sure if the goblin could understand him or if it had just like the cadence of the fairy tale.

It shrugged, pointed, gibbered again.

Well. It wasn’t like they could just sit there in the dark forever, either. May as well. “Do you need help?”

It growled again, and put its nose in the air, marching past with a determined air.

“...okay, then. I guess I’ll follow you.”

The fairy tale detritus of abandoned storage continued even here. They crept past more props: cat sized boots. Candelabras with wax dripped all down them. Broken lanterns perfect for runaway princesses to carry into dark woods. The goblin chittered and pointed these out also, like Graham should think about working them into his next story.

At one point, it picked up a smooshy, rotten apple, probably rolled here from a Snow White game above them, and offered it shyly to Graham.

(“While I was incredibly hungry, I was not that desperate,” Grandpa said wryly, eying the mirror king’s disgusted expression. “My stomach rumbled, but I knew that was not edible.”

The mirror goblin didn’t seem quite pleased with Graham’s non reaction. It grabbed the king’s hand, yanked him down to the goblin’s level, and mashed the fruit against his mouth. Gwendolyn yelped, “Ewww!”

“Turns out, beggars can be choosers!” Grandpa laughed. “I chose not to chew!”

“That’s disgusting, Grandpa!”

“I’m just telling it like it happened!”

“I thought you were an unreliable narrator. This story didn’t even have Acorn and Whisper in it originally! You could be unreliable about this part too! I don’t need to hear this!”)

After scrubbing his mouth with the back of his cloak, Graham took the goblin firmly by the free hand so it couldn’t go grabbing more props, and the two of them walked relatively peacefully for a while. Sort of peacefully. The goblin kept up a rousing chatter as it walked, expressing all kinds of probably fascinating things in goblinese, which Graham could only nod along to, occasionally muttering, “Oh, really?” and “Mmhmm,” as though he understood a single word. The goblin didn’t seem to mind one way or the other if he responded, and it kept babbling. And babbling.

(“Hey, Grandpa?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“This part is going on really long.”

“So it is. We’ll skip to the important bit, where I found the dragon egg.”

“The what?”

“Ohoh, that got your attention, didn’t it? Yes, the dragon egg. Although, I didn’t know that’s exactly what it was at the time. It just felt important.”)

It was hard to miss, what with what felt like a spotlight of glowing mushrooms. A bejeweled oval stone, tucked into a soft bed of moss. The goblin kept on chattering, apparently oblivious to Graham’s hesitation—the king had stopped and was staring at the stone, but the goblin kept trying to walk onward, its feet sliding on the floor with no forward motion, its hand still firmly held in Graham’s.

(“That goblin was going on and on. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel rude interrupting.”)

“Hey, what’s this?”

The goblin said something or other in incomprehensible goblinese, with dramatic arm waving.

“Right, of course. Yeah. Totally.” Well, if it wasn’t nailed down.... And it looked important enough. Graham picked it up, rubbing his hands across it. It felt smooth and scaly at the same time. A fascinating, flawless stone. It glittered in the light as he held it this way and that, nearly iridescent. Very pretty. And, who knew, such things could be handy. Whatever it was. It was heavy, and it was almost warm in his hands. It felt comforting, somehow, to hold it. He slipped it delicately in his cloak.

Just a rock. A pretty rock. Probably.

(“Ehehehehe,” Gwendolyn squealed. “Why don’t we have a pet dragon in the castle, Grandpa? Where’d she go? She definitely hatched, right?”

“You may find out, with patience.”)

The rest of the walk was uneventful. Once you’ve seen one moldering goblin-sized princess dress on a headless mannequin, you’ve seen them all.

Graham set his last glittering bean, and was about to suggest that they turn around, that his path marking had reached its end, when the goblin yelped in delight, tugging hard on his arm, pulling him toward...a door in the wall. It was properly buried under fairy tale detritus, in such a way that Graham probably wouldn’t have seen it if the goblin hadn’t pointed it out. It sort of looked like goblins just threw broken props through the door and shut it again. Out of sight, out of mind.

He pushed aside the props gently, trying to avoid getting hurt on splintery wooden wizard staffs, trying not to further break already cracked crystal balls. Bells rang, shoes clattered, and at least one very real mouse squeaked and ran for cover. The goblin clapped excitedly, pulling a small hand-carved...something or other from the pile. Maybe a donkey. It had four legs, sort of. It was badly done, whatever it was meant to be, but someone had lovingly painted a smile on it anyway. The goblin dragged it back and forth across the floor in a vague cantering motion, making cooing noises.

This was sort of like a puzzle, he thought, as he tried to balance things so they didn’t fall on his head as he worked.

(“This part of the tale gets a little rocky,” Grandpa said, watching the mirror king balancing a bucket on top of a ladder, which was already teetering unsteadily on a pile of stones.

Gwendolyn sat up. “Oh, no, don’t—”

The pile of rubble collapsed with a ringing clatter, burying the mirror king, who gave a strangled yelp as he disappeared beneath a pile of trash. The goblin, on the other hand, leapt safely out of the way and watched dispassionately. A tarnished silver plate bounced and rolled past.

“That goblin’s armor was slate of the art,” Grandpa announced proudly.

“Wasn’t this originally supposed to be a bedtime story or something,” Gwendolyn said grumpily. “You’re not going to scare me to sleep, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The puzzle reset in the mirror, as though nothing had happened. The mirror king tried something else, and again, the pile of rubble slipped loose and buried him. His hand clawed at the air for a second before a bucket clanged over it and he was gone completely.

“All I wanted to do was dig myself out of that hole!” Grandpa said.

“Grandpaaa.”

“Oh, am I bouldering you? I know what you’re thinking, that I’m out of rock puns, but give me a second to dig up some more.”

“Seriously, next time I need help sleeping I’ll just get warm milk instead of coming in here for a story.”

“Craters gonna hate.”

She groaned.

“Okay, fine. We should stop this story before it erodes any further. I didn’t stop to marble at my surroundings: I solved the puzzle first try.” And the little mirror king did so, this time, carefully scooting all the trash out of the way safely.)

Graham brushed aside a moldy piece of stage curtain, pushed open the door, and found a long tunnel. “This?” he said to the goblin. It chittered something, and it pushed him forward through the door.

The door led onto a steadily sloping path leading upward, well illuminated by the mushrooms. Newton stayed happily in his pocket, likely napping, and Graham and the goblin walked together. It was strange, Graham thought. To be walking peacefully with one of his jailors. Mostly peacefully—the goblin was still talking a million miles a minute, one hand holding the self-made crutch and the other moving the hand-carved toy up and down. Really, it was more like a child than anything else.

And it had been oh so easily distracted by a story. That was something well worth remembering.

Once they reached the top of the ramp, they pushed through a little gap in the wall, and Graham realized they had come out near the Frog Prince stage. He never would have spotted this entrance in the shadows. He might have been able to come here at any point—and in a route much less fraught than his discovered crack in the wall and slide down into darkness. Ah, well. Based on how forgotten it had seemed down there, Graham suspected the goblins didn’t particularly remember it existed, either.

He and the goblin parted ways, then, the goblin scarcely glancing at Graham as it hurried off to do whatever goblins did. And Graham, with his newfound coins, scurried off in the opposite direction, eager to finally get his hands on the best prize he could imagine down here.

“Merchant! How are you holding up?”

“These suspenders are helping.” The Merchant pulled himself up by his suspenders, and his very short shorts.

Graham made a face and sighed. “...thanks for that.”

“I mean, look. Our options here are 1: Buy, 2: Talk, 3: Move along. We don’t have infinite options here, okay? You want cute conversation, you go find that baker or something.”

“Alright, fine, option one, please.”

“Aah, what’re ya buyin’?”

Graham glanced over his shoulder before leaning in, whispering, “The good stuff.”

“It’s all good stuff.”

“Okay, the illegal stuff.”

“Me? With that? Never! Cross my heart and pray to all the saints and gods! Shame on you, boy, for asking for such things. Does your mother know?”

“Stars, Merchant, I just wanna buy that bow.”

“Oh. Right, right.” He plonked the case on the wooden slab between them. “Six shiny gold coins, eh? You got?”

“I got.” Graham spilled the gold out of his pockets.

The Merchant eyed the old coin with the queen’s profile warily. “It ain’t shiny, but I guess it’ll spend as well as anything,” he said, shoving it into some unknown depths in his trousers. “For your pleasure, Majestic, enjoy it. Don’t shoot your eye out.”

Eagerly, Graham grabbed at the wooden bow. It was rough, and ugly, and he missed Achaka’s bow all the more. This bow wasn’t worth six coins. It might not even be worth one. He tested the string with his thumb, tied it tighter, pulled the draw back, thought. He didn’t care for how it felt under his hands, and there was only one arrow, but with patience and a whole moat-full of luck, he might manage to make a single shot. Maybe. “I’m not going to be storming any castles with this,” he muttered.

“No refunds.”

[mrmeowski]

🔞˚✦𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐: 𝐂𝐚𝐫 & 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐒𝐞𝐱 | 𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧✦˚🔞

Synopsis: Once a month, you'd visit the human realm, accompanied by one of the demons and angels. It's a chance for them to experience the world you call home, to meet your loved ones, and to explore the unfamiliar sights and sounds of the human world. But today, with Mammon by your side, the excursion took an unexpected turn, spiraling out of control and reaching heights you never could have anticipated.

CW: Oral, cowgirl, drunk sex, car sex, scratching, hair pulling

Pairing/s: Mammon x M.Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Day 1: Sadism & Humiliation | Lucifer»

It was a rare treat to have one of the demons—may it be the brothers, the demon prince, or his butler—accompany you to the human world. This time, the second of the brothers, the Avatar of Greed, Mammon who had joined you on this adventure.

You had spent the day going around the city, laughing and joking together, and by nightfall, he had suggested visiting a particular bar. You had agreed, wanting him to enjoy his stay and experience the things he wanted to do.

As you entered the bar, his eyes lit up at the sight of the various drinks on offer. You had warned him to control himself with the drinks but he had simply laughed, insisting that human alcohol barely has any effect on him—a powerful demon. He had proceeded to order the strongest drink on the menu, and you had tried to keep an eye on his consumption.

However, it seemed like a blink of an eye, and he had downed glass after glass, each one disappearing in a single gulp. You had tried to intervene, but he had just winked at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You had taken your eyes off him for just a moment, and when you turned back, you heard a commotion from across the bar.

"Dooon't ya look at mah human like thaaat!" He bellowed at a random stranger, his voice echoing through the bar.

The poor man looked taken aback, trying to explain himself, "I-I don't know what you're talking about, sir." But the demon cut him off.

"No, no, no! I know that look! You think you can just steal mah human? Ha! I'll show ya... I'll show ya the powah of the Great Mammon! Avatar of—" You quickly intervened, grabbing him by his shoulder and pulling him back before he could reveal his true form.

"Mams! What are you doing?!" You exclaimed, glaring at him. You took in his disheveled state, his eyes glassy and unfocused, and sighed. "W-We should head back..."

As you pulled him out of the bar, his words slurred and tumbled out of his mouth, a drunken ramble of annoyance, "D'ja see th'way he looked at ya? He... he wanted ta take ya 'way from me... Thinks he can just waltz in here.. and steal my human? Ha! I'll never let that happen... You're mine, my human... my [Name]... all mine!"

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to scold him, your voice firm but worried, "What's wrong with you? You can't just announce to everyone that you're a demon! I told you to control your drinking!" You shook your head, exasperated. "Whatever... let's just head back home. We'll go back to Devildom in the morning."

As you helped him into the passenger seat of your car, he slumped against the window, his eyes glassy and unfocused. You got into the driver's seat, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb. The drive back was going to be a long one.

As you navigated the busy roads, his hand seemed to move of its own accord, his logical side warning him that it was a bad idea, but his drunken brain overriding his better judgment. He reached out, his hand landing on your crotch, and you flinched, a faint blush dusting your cheeks.

"M-Mams, what are you doing?" You asked, trying to sound stern, but your voice trembling slightly.

His hand continued to rub your crotch, feeling the shape of your now hardening cock. You could feel his fingers tracing the outline of your erection, sending shivers down your spine.

Before you knew it, his slender fingers had begun to undo the zipper of your pants. "W-We're on the road!" You protested yet he merely grinned lazily as he looked up at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hmm... so what? Jus' a little taste..." He worked his way around, pushing your pants along with your boxers down and freeing your cock.

"Mams—" You tried to push his head back, but he was too strong, even in his drunken state.

You could hear him faintly grumble, "Ya wan' it too... don't lie." His words were slurred, but his actions were deliberate, his mouth closing around your cock with a sloppy kiss.

Kisses quickly turned into needy, desperate sucks, and you could feel your control slipping away.

"Please..." Your voice was barely above a whisper, but you couldn't manage to continue.

Hearing your plea only fueled him, his head bobbed faster and faster, and you felt your eyes glazing over. Moans fell freely from your mouth, and you were powerless to stop them.

You were so close, and in a burst of ecstasy, you came, your body shuddering with release. He greedily swallowed it all, his mouth still working your cock even as you were shivering with aftershocks. You had to pull over to the side of the road, taking deep breathes as you tried to calm down.

"Your... a-ah crazy," you muttered, still trying to catch your breath.

You doubted the drunkyard even heard you, as he lazily licked your dick, his sloppy tongue sending shivers down your spine. Your thighs still flinched at his touch, your body still reeling from the intensity of your orgasm.

He on the other hand was far from done.

In a drunken, slurred voice, he muttered, "M' turn.. my turn nooow..." He pulled you into his side of the car, and you found yourself lying on top of him.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of embarrassment wash over you. You looked out the window, watching as cars and people passed by, wondering what would happen if someone saw you?

Before you could dwell on it for too long, a hand grasped the back of your head, pulling your gaze back to him. "Don' look at 'em... Focus on me, jus' me, mmk?" He slurred.

With a last deep breath, you began shakily unzipping his pants, letting his dick slicked with precum free. You reached out to touch him, He let out a moan, his body arching up towards you.

"Ah... p-please," he begged, " put it in..." You stroked his cock, just once, twice, and his hips jerked up.

He was already so sensitive and reactive that it makes you grin.

"[Name], put it ... I need it... I need ya..." You knew that you couldn't resist him even if you wanted to.

You began to lower yourself onto his cock, feeling the tip of his dick press against you. Though you didn't go all the way, teasing him instead. His body arched up towards you, his eyes rolling back in his head as he let out a moan of pure pleasure.

You slowly moved your hips in a circular motion. But it seemed that he didn't want it like that. He wanted it rough, he wanted it fast, and he wanted it now.

A hand grabbed your ass, pushing you down onto his thick cock. You felt a surge of pain mixed with pleasure as you were stretched to your fullest. He thrusts up towards you, his body meeting yours.

You gasped at the sudden motion, he didn't stop nor did he slow down. He kept thrusting, kept pushing until you were crying out in pleasure.

Your body was on fire, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of his pistoling inside you. You felt like you were being consumed by him like you were being devoured by his desire.

Everything around you became a blur. Your mind was a mush, and you were a mumbling, crying mess. You couldn't think straight, couldn't focus on anything.

His free hand slipped into your clothes, clawing at your back. You couldn't feel the pain anymore, besides the burning heat it felt on your skin.

Your hands, however, had found their home on his white sweat-slicked hair. You pulled onto it, your fingers tangling in the strands as you tried to anchor yourself. But it was no use. You were lost in the depths of his and your desires.

Request» Masterlist»

*•.𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃.•*

Day 3: Tub Sex | Leviathan»

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

vignette. strawberry candies.

parts: previously / next plot: while at your place, you discover that someone has hurt judith. you turn to the only person who can help. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, mostly bruce-centric, fluff, a bit of angst, bruce dealing with kids, mention of guns (no shooting), mentions of alcohol and smoking, bruce will get on this old lady's good side if it kills him. words: 3.2k. a/n: while outlining the next chapter, I thought up a sweet little filler chapter that takes place all in one day before and during the events of chapter 9. warning for the POV change after the first scene.

"Judith, what happened to you?"

The old lady feels your thumb brush the bandage above her eye and closes her fingers around your wrist, dragging it away, "It's nothing. It's nothing."

"Hell if it is," you rush her inside your apartment, shutting the two cops out with a kick to the door. You lead Judith to your couch, sitting her down as you kneel before her. Other than the bandage on her eye, she looks the same except for something small. You've noticed her nervous shakes before, never peculiar, but they were hard to ignore today. They rock in her lap as she keeps them folded, "Did you fall?"

She looks insulted at that, kisses her teeth at you for it. She'd had very few falls in the past, as sturdy and stubborn as a bull. But even as you examine her demeanor, you know it isn't that. Uneasiness sets in your chest. "No, I... I ran into some boys on my way home from church. That's all."

Your uneasiness begins to bubble into wrath, "Who?"

"It doesn't matter, child."

"Judith, I'm serious." Her eyes bore into yours, trying to show herself immovable, but you can feel yourself begin to tremble at the thought that Dimitri might have-

"It was some kids on the corner." She finally relents, looking away from you. "They wanted my purse, that's all."

"The corner where? By the liquor store?" Her eyes cut away from yours, guiltily, "Judith, what were you doing walking that far? You never get off the bus that early."

It was why she started taking the bus in the first place. People lingered on the streets that late, waiting for any easy target to snatch from or snatch up. With the rise in dropheads, people would take whatever money they could get, however they could get it.

The men on the corner usually kept to themselves though, nursing paper bag bottles and hiding out from the rain underneath the overpass. They usually cast a sneer and let you keep on walking if you ever found yourself around their side of town. You'd never gotten close enough for them to want to attack.

Judith frowns, "I missed it. I thought I'd walk."

"What did I tell you about walking home alone? If you have to, you call me, or you call one of the deacons, or a cab-"

"I did call you," Judith snaps, making your blood run cold, "and you didn't answer. So I called again. And then I figured you were busy or working late, so I walked on home. I'm old but I'm not senile."

Your frown deepens, "I didn't mean it that way."

"I even came to your door and you weren't there. So I handled it myself."

"You were right. I was working late." Your fingers brush your pocket where your phone lies dead, "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Proud as she is, she doesn't look you in the eye, but you feel some of her anger melt away over time. Her hand finds yours and squeezes it, "It's not your fault. It's mine. I should've known better."

You want to bite your lip until it floods your mouth with blood. You couldn't imagine what might have happened if she'd been hurt worse, left to fend for herself in the dark. If they'd been angry, looking for someone to take it out on, and she'd been in the wrong place...

And Judith with all her pride. You can tell she barely wanted to talk about it, had hoped you might not notice. "Listen, Judith," you begin, feeling her watching you from her peripheral, "I'm not gonna be around for a while. I won't be far, I'll still be in the city, but I won't be... here."

"You're finally getting a real place?"

You laugh, "Sort of. It's temporary. Look, I won't be right here anymore so I need you to take care of yourself. I'll come running if you need me but-"

You're silenced by her two, chilly hands cupping your cheeks in between them. Stern as ever, Judith fixes you with a strong look, "I'll be okay. Don't you worry."

"You sure? I don't wanna have to call the nursing home on you."

One of Judith's hands takes your cheek into a pinch and pulls, hard, "I said I'll be fine." Despite the pain, you smile all lopsided at her and she eventually releases you.

You make her tea, but all the while your eyes keep finding the white gauze above her eye, itching and itching at you until you think you might scratch yourself raw. You couldn't let this one go.

This feels decidedly more sinister, posing on an old lady's fire escape instead of yours. Bruce can see through the lace covering the window that Judith is still up, putting on a pot of tea, and he hesitates in knocking on the glass. He couldn't exactly walk through the front door, and if he came in through the rooftop, he'd risk being seen by neighbors in the hall. This was the only way, and it just might scare the living shit out of this woman.

Gently, he curls his fingers in and knocks.

Judith does not move from the stove. He knocks again, a little louder this time. Still, no reaction. He's seconds from asking you to call Judith to get her attention, looking away for just a second, when his eyes drift back to the window and there she is.

She's got a cast-iron skillet up above her head and the meanest mug he's seen this side of the east coast. It could put Penguin to shame.

They both stare at each other for a while.

When Bruce makes no move to leave, Judith yells through the window, "Go away, demon!"

Bruce had never gotten to know his grandparents on account of them all being dead. There was no old woman at Christmastime to spoil him with gifts and candies, no lovingly crafted wrinkles and sweet smelling perfume to remember a grandmother by. He had never been the type of person to walk old ladies across the street, either. He knew his place.

There was no way to make himself small enough for her to not see as a threat, and so they each watch the other, waiting for them to make a move. He certainly wouldn't be first.

After a good few (painstaking) minutes, she points the pan at the window and asks, "What do you want?"

"A friend sent me."

Her brows furrow, and then an even deeper frown overtakes her face (if that was even possible). "I don't want your help."

"Our friend is worried about you. And worried about anyone else those guys on the corner might hurt."

"Leave or I'll call the police!"

Bruce considers his options. On the one hand, she might call and they might show and think that he'd just scared the woman creeping by her window. He'd get a slap on the wrist and a reminder to take the roofs next time. On the other, he might get a trigger-happy recruit who'd need disarming and a detective who'd need explaining.

He figures he might take his chances with this one, if only to be a true glutton for punishment, "What did it look like?" Her eyes narrow in confusion, "Your purse. What did it look like?"

"I said I don't want your help."

Bruce hides a grumble in his throat. He has half the mind to just leave. He'd take the verbal lashing from you if it meant ending this conversation sooner.

But there would be a million more grumpy old ladies, and he'd be no better at talking to them then. "You used to keep a lighter in there. It was your husband's." Judith stills. Bruce feels himself getting a bit more confident, recalling what you'd told him, "He always kept it on him. I can get it back for you."

She doesn't say anything for a while, still holding her pan at arm's length. He feels a bit silly talking at her through the window, curtains still partially drawn, and he doesn't suppose he looks any cuddlier shrouded in shadow. But all she does is stare at him.

Bruce feels more elated than he expects to when the pan lowers.

"I doubt you'll find it," she starts, and he can almost barely hear the next part through the glass, "it was silver with our initials engraved on it. C and J."

Judith is looking away when she says it. It feels as good a time as any to get going, but he lingers there until she's looking at him before making his escape. He'd like her to know he heard.

It's not hard to find them.

A group of about five men are standing on the corner, all of them just as you'd described. They look inebriated enough to not even stand straight, and Bruce wonders how they'd had the brainpower to handle a woman like Judith just walking by.

Bruce hangs in the shadows, perched on a ledge above them as a train rumbles by above his head. One of the men flicks open a light to light his cigarette, and Bruce's eyes zero in on it. He can't see initials from this far, but its silver glints under the streetlight just so. It's enough to go off on.

Bruce drops from his ledge, catching only one of the men's attention as he lazily turns his head over his shoulder at the sound. He's slow to recognize him, but quick to gather close to his friends on the brick wall, "Fuck!" He shouts, slurring a bit, "Let's get out of here!"

The one furthest from him starts to run, but Bruce's grapple gun wraps around his legs and yanks him onto his back, dragging him further into the alley and closer to him. The others look loyal enough not to run off without him, but their fighting stances are weakened by their stumbling.

"Fuck you man, we didn't do anything." One argues, raised fists wobbling in front of his face.

"Yeah!" The others chime in.

The one held captive at Bruce's feet is whimpering and clawing at the wire digging into his ankles, pulling at it to no avail. Bruce places a boot on his chest and forces him back down, "I hear you've been stealing from old ladies."

"What? No way, man. We don't do that shit."

Bruce digs the heel of his boot into the space between his ribs, feeling him squirm in anguish, "Last night you did. You took her purse. Where is it?"

"I'm telling you, we didn't do that shit. We... we weren't even here last night." The man under his boot is pushing at it, desperate to get away. Bruce has the sinking feeling as he watches him, like a rat with his tail caught in a trap, that he's telling the truth.

"We're not the only ones who hang out on this corner, we swear," one of the bigger members of the group pipes up, looking worried for his friend, "some assholes beat us here yesterday. We hung out by the docks instead. Honest."

Another chimes in, "Yeah. Ask boss inside. He lets us hang all the time. He knows we weren't here last night." He gestures toward the liquor store and Bruce watches them for a moment longer, eyes probing. They had every reason to lie: they were all drunk off their asses, and his reputation preceded him. Even with the five of them, he'd have it handled.

But that sinking feeling comes back.

Bruce gives it a little bit before he finally takes his foot off the man's chest, and he watches him scramble to his feet, running back to his pack. Before they can run to safety, Bruce grabs the one with the lighter and snatches it from his grip, checking the sides. All silver, no initials. He tosses it back with just as much kindness.

"You know who they are?" Bruce asks, holding him by the scruff.

"You gotta promise not to rat boss out," he stutters, looking back at the store, "he knows the guys. One of 'em's his nephew."

A flash of irritation rushes down Bruce's spine. These things were never easy.

Bruce catches the store owner on his smoke break, seconds from lighting a cigarette before he makes himself known. The store owner shrinks back, and before Bruce can even ask, his voice comes out in a tremble, "Where is he?"

Bruce gets the feeling it would be better to say nothing.

When he doesn't answer, the store owner starts to beg, inching closer to him even as his expression contorts in fear, "You didn't hurt him, did you? He's just a kid!"

"Your nephew is the one hurting people."

The owner winces, but doesn't refute it. "Please tell me you didn't hurt him."

"Not yet," Bruce sidesteps the man, circling him in the low light, "and I won't if he stops robbing old ladies."

"He'll stop. I promise. I'll handle it."

"You knew what he was doing and you didn't stop him before."

"I... I've tried, okay? He doesn't listen-"

Bruce grabs the man's shirt and shoves into the side of a dumpster, the sound reverberating through the near-midnight air as he stares down at him. His name tag reads "Brian", and the sweat that slicks his brow is starting to coat the collar of his shirt. "Where is he now?"

A click sounds from behind his head. Bruce doesn't turn at first, but he already knows what's pointing at him from behind.

There's a kid there, no older than 17, holding a gun to the back of Bruce's head. He trembles like his uncle, "Let him go."

Being held at gunpoint doesn't get any less frightening, even if it happens to you every night.

There's still this primal urge clawing under Bruce's skin to duck and hide, something he shakes off the second he grabs the gun and forces it out of the kid's hand. The thing clatters to the ground and he kicks it away not a moment later, taking the teenager and shoving him into his uncle's arms. Bruce almost feels sick at the scared look on his face. As if he hadn't been the one about to pull the trigger.

Bruce leans down to pick up the gun and goes to unload the chamber, but there's nothing. His gaze coasts back up to the kid's and he feels his stomach churn at the sight, the thought. This kid had seen Bruce and still thought, even if it was a long shot...

Bruce holds the thing by the barrel, "You know how to use that thing?"

"Yes!" But Bruce doesn't believe him.

"Not loaded, but it's enough to scare old ladies, isn't it?"

The kid forces himself to look tough and mean, falling flat to Bruce regardless, "How the fuck would you know?"

"Her purse. Where is it?"

"What? What are you talking-"

"If you don't have it, your friends do. Do you want me to look for them too?"

A flash of fear. The kid hardens his expression but he's too late, "There wasn't even anything in it."

Bruce glances at Brian. He hasn't taken his eyes off him. He looks as if he'll jump between any blow he might throw at the kid. His eyes glide back to the kid's and he forces his voice to soften, "There was a lighter in it. Engraved. She wants it back."

Recognition replaces the fear. The kid is hesitant to move or say anything at first, but when his uncle places a hand on his shoulder, it's enough to push him forward. He swallows down his pride for just a moment, "It's in the store. Upstairs in my room. I... we spent the cash already but all the other stuff's in there."

Bruce stares at him, and without another word, the kid runs back into the store. Bruce listens for the sound of feet pounding against the staircase to make sure he wouldn't try to book it, but he returns just as quickly as he'd left, shoving the purse into Bruce's hands as if he couldn't wait to be rid of it.

A quick ruffle around in it reveals the lighter and a pocket Bible, among strawberry candies and pens. True to his word, the wallet looks and feels empty.

He wants to leave it at that.

But one more look at the kid and Brian and he's shoving the empty gun into Brian's chest, gritting through his teeth, "You clearly love him. Don't let him do something he'll regret."

Brian goes rigid. Fixes his jaw tight. He says nothing in response, but it's enough.

He'd meant to leave it at the window, but Bruce is surprised to find Judith still awake in her recliner, fingers twiddling with another copy of the Bible. No wonder she only mentioned the lighter.

Bruce knocks and Judith does jump this time, genuinely surprised. He holds the purse up and she moves as quickly as she can, prying open the window a crack. Just enough for him to slip it in.

He's careful as he slides it through and she snatches it from his grasp, digging through it until her fingers grasp the lighter. Bruce takes advantage of the opening to speak to her, quieter this time, "The cash is gone, but they didn't touch anything else."

She says nothing. She holds the lighter in her hands and it shakes, her lip trembling just so. Bruce feels his chest swell with nervous feeling. Three years of this and he was as if a novice all over again.

He's about to leave when he feels a hand tugging on the bottom of his cape and when he turns, he sees the window propped wide open and Judith's hand fixed into the material of it. She isn't crying but she's misty-eyed, holding onto him with all her strength. He forces himself still. He awaits a "thank you" or even a firm nod of approval, but in her other hand, she holds out a candy. One of the strawberry candies. His brows furrow. He can't make out where it's from, but he knows he can't refuse.

He plucks the candy from her palm and tucks it into his utility belt. Judith releases him, saying nothing more, but as he begins his descent down the fire escape, he feels her eyes watch him all the way down.

You stare at the candy in wonder, eyes twinkling. Bruce cannot understand why you're so excited, "This familiar to you?"

"You've been given the Judith seal of approval, just one step down from getting invited over for tea." Bruce frowns. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've never had one of these before. Everyone's grandma has 'em."

"I didn't know my grandmother."

Your eyes soften, chuckling nervously, "Ah, well. To be fair, your grandmother was in another tax bracket. She probably would've given you... I don't know, gold-flaked truffles."

Bruce narrows his eyes at you, though a smile creeps up not far behind, "Colorful imagination. Is that what you want for dessert tomorrow night?"

"Don't you fucking dare."

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A heart that hurts is a heart that works - Something Rotten sequel.

first part can be read here

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x afab!reader x Dark!Tess Servopoulos

Words count: 3829

Rating: Mature, absolutely NSFW and again, this shit is triggering. Please, read the tags carefully and if you're a minor don’t interact.

Tags/warning: This happens the morning immediately after the events of Something Rotten, pov second person, no use of y/n, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, heavy degradation, angst, smut, DUB CON/NON CON, reader is barely described, she has breasts and vagina, no mention of her skin tone, she doesn’t blush, she has hair but it’s not described, it is mentioned that Joel's clothes are too big for her (pics are just for aesthetic and don’t represent reader), the only thing is that reader's father died of lung cancer (like mine), depressive thoughts, as said in the first part: reader is held prisoner by Joel and Tess, on her leg is carved the word “pet” (Tess did it), use of a knife, groping, a large amount of bites, mention of wounds, mention of bruises, no kindness whatsoever towards reader, Joel and Tess are both EVIL, fingering (Tess receiving), oral (Tess receiving) spitting, nipples sucking and biting (it's not my ff if there is no attention towards nipples OKAY), unprotected p in v (both f receiving, wrap it up IRL), pussy slapping, cum eating, Joel comes on reader’s face, pissing, a little more scissoring, a little bit of chocking, squirting, brief insert of reader's thoughts in italics… I think it’s all 😅 If I notice I've forgotten something important I'll add it right away.

A/N: Title comes from a Placebo song called Bright Lights. It seemed right to continue with them since "Something Rotten" is also one of their songs. Anyway, I leave you the entire playlist that I listened to while I was writing both this and the first part and again thank you very much to those who recommended songs to me ♥️

There is something of my experience and pain in this so please be particularly kind. English is not my first language and I have no beta, I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much to anyone who reads it.

[I started a tag list, if you want to be added let me know, I never tag people because I don't want to impose anything on anyone but if you like it I'm happy too ♥️ ]

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

Your mind is completely clouded. You open your eyes and for a moment you don’t remember where you are, you rub your eyes, feeling your aching body awaken, the pain of every joint coming back to you. You reach out and press a spot on your stiff neck, a stab of pain shooting up your brain like a gunshot and then sliding down your spine, making you grit your teeth to stifle a moan.

You shut your eyes as images of what happened flash before your eyes, a piercing pain taking over your head.

You don’t know how much time has passed but when you manage to sit up, biting the pain between your lips, you see a bright light coming in through the dirty window, a speck of dust stirring in the beam of light that illuminates the messy bed, the crumpled sheets and the two people lying on it. Tess is on her side, her arms folded, her hands resting on the pillow, near her head. There is always a kind of tension in her, you see it even when she is sleeping, in her huddled body that seems ready to attack and unleash its claws on anyone. She is wearing nothing but panties and Joel’s shirt left open, revealing the outline of her breasts. 

She should disgust you, but instead as soon as you see one of her nipples poking out from under her shirt salive pools into your mouth. You put a hand to your forehead, overwhelmed by yourself, by what you feel and by a shame that creeps up inside you and makes your temples throb.

This is so wrong. Yet you would like to lace your lips on that little button and suck it, if only she would let you do it, if only she would let you lie next to her gently, allowing you to be the good pet she expects you to be.

Shifting your gaze to Joel doesn't help soothe your twisted mind. He’s on the other side, lying on his back, in his boxers, your eyes wander on the defined muscles on his chest, the softness of his belly, and a strip of sunlight hitting his abdomen highlighting hair leading to his groin. 

He seems carved out of a block of marble, skimmed by scars, exuding power and sex, the tips of your fingers graze your swollen lips and you still feel his taste, the weight of his cock on your tongue, his relentless thrusts, his hungry eyes on you. 

They must have fallen asleep, which gave you some respite even if you don’t feel rested at all.

You look at your thigh and it's still there, the pulsing sign that you should leave, just run while you can, sneak out of this place quietly and look for somewhere to hide. But you feel like a mouse in a cage, your body not moving an inch. You’re still untied; it would take nothing to reach the door and close it behind you. But what if they woke up? If they felt the bed lighten with your weight? You know they'd have you back in an instant. 

Your brain, you can't decide whether very stupidly or very wisely, thinks that it is better not to make any risky moves to stay alive. 

Helpless and desperate you lie back on the bed staring at the ceiling, the silence broken only by Joel's soft snoring.

Your arms spread across the bed as you sink into your thoughts and your fingers casually graze the knife abandoned on the sheets. The coldness of the blade sends a chill down your spine.

You have to do something for yourself. At least try. You cannot be so spineless. You move one leg off the bed, your eyes fixed on your captors, seeming not to notice anything so you move the other leg as well, letting yourself slide cautiously along the edge of the bed, finally resting both feet on the floor. You pick up the closest garment you can find on the ground, it's a Joel T-shirt, wide and long enough to cover your butt. You just have to get up, you can do it. Leaning your weight on your legs feeling your knees crack in the effort, you wonder what in your body is not sore. You are on your feet. Joel and Tess are motionless in the same position as before. You walk on the floor resting your toe and then your heel, silent and terrified like a prey trying to evade before falling into the lion's jaws, hoping that the wood will not creak under your gait. You reach for the door. You almost make it. Just rest your hand on the handle and lower it. A moment and you're out of here. As soon as your hand touches the cold metal you hear a voice behind you, “Where do you think you're going?” 

You feel your heart falling out of your chest, freezing where you are, your eyes at the door, your breath getting heavy.

“Turn around”

You do it slowly, praying you don't feel a blow immediately afterward. Joel is standing in front of you. “Please” your voice is a barely audible whisper ”please.”

Joel reaches out, grabs you by the wrist “no fucking way” 

He doesn't add anything more, he takes you back to the bed, forcibly lays you down and lies on top of you. His eyes look at you fiercely, he drops down next to your ear “maybe I was wrong about you, you're not the good pet I thought you were. Let me teach you your priorities straight“ he growls, his voice low, sharp. 

His body weighs down on you, completely overpowering you, his legs blocking yours, his hands resting on the sheets on either side of your face. 

"I give you credit for that. You were brave to think you could sneak away. But also incredibly stupid." His voice vibrates close to your ear, it is eerily calm and controlled, sounding as if it came from the darkest part of him, straight from his gut.

A lump rises from the pit of your stomach to your throat, sickening. "I'm sorry," you stammer, Joel's eyes lighting up with that sinister hue you now know like the back of your hand. 

He retrieves the knife from above the bed and places the blade under the fabric of the T-shirt, cutting through the sleeves and tearing it from the neck to the hem, reducing it to a shred of fabric lying beneath you. You tremble when the icy blade touches your skin.

His boxer-covered erection presses against your thigh, against your wound. 

Again you wonder what substance your mind is now made of because feeling him against you, demanding, claiming your body, makes your pleasure slide down your legs. You can feel it on your skin, a shiver, a wetness, a trickle of you leaving you to become his. You mold under him, relaxing your muscles, ceasing to resist, submitting to his stern eyes nailing you to the bed. 

He takes your hands and intertwines them possessively with his own as his legs push between yours, forcefully spreading them apart.

He crawls on you like a rabid dog, inhaling your scent on your neck, down to your sternum, reaching your breast, licking the skin above your ribcage “You were Robert's, weren't you?” 

His teeth close on one of your nipples, biting it, your back arches pushing against his mouth, demanding more. “This? It's mine now.” he whispers in a rough voice ‘This is mine too.’ he adds, twisting the other nipple, he moves one hand to your mound, grabbing it ”What about this wet pussy? She's mine too. I own you now. Make sure you don’t forget that, you little cock slave”

And you feel it again. The desire coursing down your body, clinging to your nerves, flowing into the middle of your thighs. 

It lingers on you deeply. And you’re pleading at that. Before you sense your own voice saying it, like it doesn’t belong to you, coming out of someone’s else body “Please” you babble “please, more” as he run a single finger through your folds.

Everyone you knew died. Every person you loved is gone, ruined by the spreading epidemic. Except your father, who passed away a few years before the pandemic broke out, obliterated by lung cancer. You still remember his jagged, exhausted breathing getting more and more labored, small and thin, until it died out completely. You still remember the smell of the hospital room, the dimness, your gripped heart, your silent tears. It was something you never wanted to see, the moment when death takes someone.  It stays inside, digs deep into you, rattles in the walls of your brain until one day it subsides and remains a creeping awareness you have to live with. A brick in your pocket that will forever weigh of absence, of pain, of lack.

And when you thought maybe you could make it, one day when the brick seemed lighter, pandemic came and your mother turned into a monster. From a fragile woman, still bent by your father's absence, to a ferocious beast with bloodshot eyes that tried to break your neck.

You had had to tear it down yourself, with your own strength, that thing your mother had turned into. And you couldn't explain it for days, or how you had done it, or what had happened. People were running around terrified, not knowing where to take refuge, not knowing if it would ever end. Until they came and loaded you onto trucks, promising to escort you to a safe area. What you were not told was that there was no solution, for some of you there was not even a place in the QZ. The epidemic took away not only the people you cared about but also your dreams, every hope you had for your future, every plan to become a good teacher, to accompany young minds in creating a better world. There is nothing left to create, only destruction.

You could have offered yourself as a teacher in the Qz but you had decided not to bow to a system that spread only government propaganda, instilling in kids that there was nothing else to believe in but FEDRA. 

And even in the face of desperation the cruelty had not stopped, some soldiers had tried to take you at night, traumatized and without strength, you had been saved only by the good heart of one of your neighbors who had defended you. You had jumped out of the truck, along with him and some other people, looking for an alternative that would never come. They had fallen like skittles, one after another. You were tired of seeing it, the cold hand of death reaching out to everyone around you. 

Your heart still aches horribly, but after all, a heart that hurts is a heart that works. And you're still alive. 

He takes the finger away and shoves it in his mouth, enjoying the taste of you and then he’s close to your ear again grazing you with his beard and graveling “I knew you were a little slut,” Joel's heavy breath warms your skin, driving your being back into your body. “When I'm done with you you'll want nothing more than to be my brainless whore”

You’re bucking your hips against him, mindlessly, while he takes your body with his mouth and hands, furiously licking, biting and groping your flesh, moving impatiently over you on the bed and waking Tess up. She takes a few seconds to focus, abruptly recovered from a deep sleep, but then you hear her dry voice, “oh, are you having fun without me?” 

Joel does not tell her that you tried to escape. which in itself is a miracle for you. He turns to her just a moment, leaving your nipple with a loud pop .

“Come” he tells her, and it's almost sweet. Almost. Tess comes crawling up on the bed like a feline and looks down at you, smiling cruelly. 

“Lie on top of her, make sure this bitch doesn't move” Tess nods, he makes room for her, and she crushes you with all her weight, her scarred back against your tits, as if you were a mat, clinging to your arms as Joel watches the scene smugly "Quite a picture" he growls.

He pulls down Tess's panties, tossing them aside. He does the same with his boxers.  “This is exactly what I want. Two pretty cunts all for me” 

He stoops to observe you both, his eyes roaming your sexes, his thumb touching you first, a creamy river in between your folds, and then Tess. She snorts “will you hurry up?”

“mmm you're not wet enough honey, but we can fix that”

“Honey”, you think he is the only person who can call Tess that. Anyone else would be out of balls in a heartbeat. 

He buries his face in her cunt and you feel Tess stiffen on top of you, her whole body reacting to the first touch of Joel's tongue. You seem to catch a glimpse of submerged fragility behind all that violence and resentment she always displays.

She grips your wrists in a vice as her hips rise toward Joel and a low, deep moan escapes from her throat. 

Joel's fingers run hard and calloused over your folds, collecting what drips from you and spreading it over Tess's pussy, mixing your essences, then returning to lick her. And you can feel her, crumbling on top of you, conceding willingly, every muscle in her asking for more.

Each lapping of Joel's tongue on her vibrates over your body like a wave, Tess's butt sliding over your folds, crawling over your clit, giving you reflex stimulation.

“Mmmm just like that, baby, that’s fucking good” 

She whines so sweetly under his ministration, an undertone so vulnerable and tender in her voice you almost think she turned into another person. And you are in the front row watching this, a silent witness to the other Tess, the one who still has a shred of humanity hidden within her.

It’s unique, you think, how sex with the right person, a person we care about, a person we share a path with, makes us. Defenseless, no mask to wear against the world. Even Tess, perhaps the coldest woman you’ve ever met. 

“Nice and drippy” Joel murmurs, nuzzling at Tess’s cunt “fucking gorgeous” 

He dips his nose in there, moving through her folds up to her clits, brushing the tip over it. “You smell so good, babe, such an nice mess for me to feast on” 

“Fuck” Tess gasps “just fuck me” 

“Yeah baby, I’m going to stretch you both so damn right” 

Tess rolls her eyes in twisted need, impatient like the bossy woman she still is and you whine like the shy mess that you are. 

So different and yet ready for the same cock. 

You noticed the way Joel’s voice soften when he speaks to Tess, the intimacy between them is palpable, in this moment you’re just an appendage. 

You want that desperately, belong to someone, to him, to her, to feel his voice and his whole body going unshielded for you. 

Joel spits into his palm and takes his cock in his fist, pumping it and then tapping the tip on her cunt, once, twice, three times, rubbing it on her folds, lubricating it with her juices, before getting it all the way inside her. Tess's body arches so desperately over yours, merging with Joel's as he begins to thrust inside her.

She thrashes on top of you, clinging to your forearms, pushing you back against the mattress, her hips swaying over yours again giving secondhand attention to your clit, now so swollen and needy that each thrust you emit a moan in sync with her, shyly participating in her pleasure. You bend your neck slightly to one side to look at Joel standing before you, bronze and sculptural, a cruel god who leaves you breathless. His chest glistens in the dim sunlight streaming in through the window, revealing tiny droplets of sweat beading on him, a grin painted on his face, brows furrowed, lost in Tess's wet walls, focused on pounding on her special spot again and again.

“You like that huh? You like this cock splitting you, yeah, I know you do, fuck you’re so drenched I could take a bath in it, all slippery and warm...mmm baby, just like that. Take it.”

He rests a hand on her belly to hold her more firmly, a sense of possession different from that manifested with you, purer and deeper, made up of silent, recurring gestures between them. It's as if you feel it all the way down into your stomach as he sinks into her, the forced closeness making you almost delirious, sensitive and wanting.

Tess is almost at her peak, sliding on you now unceasingly, her back kneading your breasts, up and down, your nipples impossibly hard against her skin, she stammers "there- there- I'm almost there- oh fuck"

"Not yet, baby, hold it back" he challenges her and she growls in disappointment and frustration, as he comes out of her. Joel brushes against you "it's time to put this slut in her place. You want it huh?" he roars as he looks at you "I can see it from here, you're flowing like a fucking river, clenching around nothing like a whore” 

His eyes sparkle with evil. He spits on your cunt, a glob of saliva right on your clit. He spreads it quickly over your entrance and thrusts into you unceremoniously, all the way down, in one breath-breaking stroke. "You're full now huh? Clench around my shaft, bitch” 

You feel your walls strangle his cock, eager to hold him inside, to belong to him, to be broken through. "Yes" you moan, not even sure why you had tried to run away from this anymore. Tess wouldn't even need to hold you with her whole body but you'll never say it, the way she bounces on top of you drives you crazy. You are back on the scene now, eager, drunk with a dark, all-consuming desire burning in your veins.

He grips your hips hard, digging his fingers into your thighs, going out and back in you harder, deeper each time, using your cunt as his personal toy, beating on your cervix as if he were to fill it with bruises. And you don't care, welcoming each thrust as if it were the last thing you will ever receive.

Your mouth proceeds alone, bellowing and wailing each moan like an off-key song you can't stop singing, irrepressible, obscene, feverish.

"You're tight for a whore, pet, but don't worry, I'll take care of it." Joel grunts, Tess echoes you, her harsh voice protesting uselessly to let her finish, her legs wrap around Joel's waist claiming him but he is focused on ruining you now with the cruel and unrelenting force he has not reserved for her.

Her nails sink into the skin of your arms, you feel them barely disconcerted by Joel's stabs but a tiny part of your brain knows they will leave more marks on you. 

There is nothing gentle about it, no attention, no care, just animalistic thrusts that make your body shake like an earthquake. 

You are less, obviously less, but you are still something.

Tess turns on you, looking into your eyes, lowering a hand to your clit, rubbing it furiously and then colliding it with her own, clit against clit, pressed together in sloppy kissing, hips rocking back and forth, sliding up to the point where Joel joins obscenely with you, seeking on her own the finish Joel has not yet given her by using your body.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she screeches, "here we go little slut, give it all to me" biting your skin on the marks Joel left, on your neck, on your tits, sucking your nipples between her lips, unrestrained. She's a wild amazon riding you, untamed, fierce and mean, teeth, tongue and hips demanding no permission and taking from your body what they want. 

And then again her hand descends between you to rub her clit as her knuckles press against yours, squirting letting out a guttural sound, flooding you, Joel's cock and the sheets. 

Joel growls at the vision “oh that’s fucking right, babe, yeah spurt all over me, FUCK, so good”

And you lose yourself, your sanity flying out the window with your attempts to escape, you are caged by Tess's body, hammered by Joel's cock, you feel their eyes on you looking fiercely, them calling you their slut again and again, that's all you can do. 

Tess pulls away from you, Joel holds you firmly by the hips, his face contorts into a grimace, he bites his lower lip as he thrusts himself possessively into you, reaches down and puts a hand around your neck, squeezing your pulse point, smiling cruelly as your air diminishes and your mind becomes rarefied “keep it up slut, milk me” and she scolds him “you can't cum inside her”.

“Fuck” he snorts "you're right". The grip on your neck loosens and you gasp, panting hard, trying to regain oxygen.

Joel slaps your pussy hard with his hand open, ordering: “on your knees, pet.”

You sit complacently on your lap on the bed, uncertain of what he wants to do. Tess is at your side, sneering. 

“Stick out your tongue for me.” He says harshly, Tess's hand bends your back, making you squat, waiting. 

“Good kitten” Joel grunts stroking his cock up and down, the angry red tip aimed at you. You don't realize it in time that long, thick, streaks of cum hit your face, your mouth, slide down your chin. You close your eyes just a moment before you feel his semen hit your eyelashes and run thickly down your cheek.

“Mmm now you look just like a proper slut” Tess giggles wickedly, then pauses "In fact no, we can do better". She grabs you by the arm, drags you naked as a maggot into the bathroom, and gets you on your knees inside the tub. “Hold still” she barks at you. You close your eyes, trembling, not knowing what to expect, until you feel something warm hit your forehead, run down your face, partially wash the cum off. An acrid, pungent smell makes its way into your nostrils. As soon as it reaches your lips you realize. 

You open your eyes, clouded by Tess's piss, her degrading gaze penetrating your bones along with Joel's laughter, standing in the bathroom enjoying the show. 

“Now you're perfect.”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape , @baronessvonglitter

[kiwinatorwaffles]

minecraft — legend of the white eyes

using the prompts in @redwinterroses’s fic writing challenge from… uh… 2021 LMAO whatever i’m late to the party but it’s ok!! i decided to go with minecraft because i love the lore :3

this is a full hotbar fic! it is exactly 579 words, as a full hotbar would have 579 items.

***

you are being watched.

or, at least you think so.

you can’t confirm anything just yet, but there always seems to be eyes on you. a quiet observer. you never see it, but you’re certain it’s there.

every so often, while mining, you pass by a three-by-three tunnel dug straight through a cave wall. you hear footsteps. when you approach, they stop. you cautiously place down a torch. there are no mobs. but there is something, somewhere, watching your every move. a chill runs down your spine as you stand still, waiting for it to appear and attack you. it never does.

each time, the mining trip ends with you digging your way to the surface as quickly as possible.

at first, when bringing it up to alex, she calls you ridiculous for suggesting so.

“of course we’re being watched,” she says. “there’s a billion monsters out there watching us every single night. that’s like saying a block is square.”

but it’s different, you swear. it’s not like any other mob. it’s something more.

“more what?”

you’re not so sure. maybe it’s the footsteps. or the tunnel in the wall. or the fact that it never attacked you. you always see a flash of white eyes. you assumed it was a stray the first few times, but you later realize that it isn’t. it always seems to be the same entity, over and over again.

but that can’t be possible. mobs despawn after time. villagers stick near their homes. you and alex are the only players.

at least, you think so.

that changes when alex bursts through the door the next day, eyes wide open when frenzy.

“you’re right,” she huffs. “there’s something out there. i saw him.”

“him?” you ask.

“i’m actually not sure. i only saw an outline of a man through the fog. but i know it looked like us.”

a player.

you both barricade the doors in your house afterwards, even though you know it won’t do anything against a player, who can destroy like you can. you’re not sure why you’re so scared. you’ve never seen alex this scared, either.

thankfully, the next day is sunny. you visit the village first thing in the morning, asking if they know anything about what you and alex saw. they can’t answer, instead referring you to the library. you spend the new few hours carefully combing through books, searching for any mention of caves, fog, or white eyes.

there’s only log recording strange occurrences in the world. trees without leaves. pyramids in the ocean. holes in mountains. but no white eyes. the sun has already set, so you thank the villagers and make your way back home. you’ll ask another village tomorrow.

the fog has settled in with the darkened skies. you quicken your pace, sprinting down the path.

you freeze once you spot a dark figure with glowing white eyes in the distance.

he doesn’t move. neither do you. he carries a glistening sword. his clothes are tattered and torn. his gaze pierces into your chest.

you barely see him, but even within the fog, you realize that you recognize his face.

it’s yours.

he says something, but you can’t hear it. a chill runs down your spine.

he steps forward. you blink.

when you open your eyes, he’s gone, like a shadow in the night.

as you stare into the empty mist, you finally hear his voice echo in your mind:

why are you here?

[orchideae]

The attire dissection, folks. (Part 1)

A friend of mine (@spiderwarden) sent an ask a while back about how Yelan would go about putting herself together in terms of attire, and I remember going 'christ', because how do you begin dissecting most outfits that look almost too maddening to explain, in an anime-style game where outfits are often ridiculous and not meant to be explained 'realistically'. But then I realized that this is miHoYo, and this is their Genshin Impact, which means that the devil will always reside in the details. And personally, I like this little devil a lot. Now, I'd always noticed a few things, but they initially seem tied into a whole bunch of illogical 'outfitting', but her outfit is really actually not illogical at all. Let me see if I can explain this coherently.

(Zoomed in version here) The subject in question: the beautiful Yelan— okay, okay, I'll stop fawning, fine. Any way, I always looked at her outfit as a two-piece, a full length bodysuit of some kind (what are those called again?), with an overcoat which holds all of those blue accents in her attire. And I was never sure whether her shoes were boots and if they were, where they ended because I saw no proper cuff/top. I was so torn, I even once thought they were somehow tied into the bodysuit, because I genuinely couldn't make out the top of them! Yes, welcome to the 'illogical anime outfit thinking', but let's be honest, it's done commonly enough in that area of media. But no, the basis of her outfit is actually not that complex at all, and is rather realistic. What is complex, is the intense amount of 'personalization' of each piece , the thought that went into them and what inspired them. But that will be for for part 2.

It is technically a three-piece, a bodysuit, an overcoat and thigh high boots. To elaborate: first up, at the very base of it is a halter bodysuit that has a very low-cut back and shorts, it looks very close to something like this in shape. On top of that, as you can see rather clearly in her outfit, it is entirely see-through/mesh and is customized with fish-netting, cut-outs and various other detailing on the front (some of which rather intricate I might add, as this bodysuit may have been chosen for practical reasons, but has in that light, been fully altered to her tastes). Yelan, as per a teapot voiceline ("I'm guessing you've fallen for the rumors about me being very wealthy and having high demands for my standards of living?"), isn't someone who spends mora on things easily, but when she does for practical purposes, it's when she may splurge a bit, but it's not without reason entirely. But I digress a bit, because that's a topic for another day. Secondly, is the overcoat, this is the piece that's most easily identified by all the blues and it covers a fair bit of the bodysuit, it is also secured around the neck in a halter-design, it covers the 'outline' of her upper-chest, leaving her back bare as well, and it hangs down towards the front, ending roughly where her bodysuit does as well. And then thirdly, there's the boots, which are thigh-high and end exactly where you see the diagonal lines towards the front of her upper legs (if you look at any of the sideviews, you'll note the difference in elevation between the shaft of her boot and her leg).

What draws me most though, is the bodysuit. It's incredibly aesthetically pleasing in terms of its design, with the decision of the mesh material, along with the very specific decisions on details (ie: the fishnetting on her right side, the cut-out on its left half, the straps across her hips hiding the more intimate item of dress underneath them, and especially the separate design on the front that you'd more so find on those high-waist old-school sailor shorts with the bigger buttons at the front). The fact that it's a halter design, truly offers a more secure hold than honestly anything else would, as shoulder straps tend to slip from your shoulders (and especially being slender as she is, it becomes increasingly impossible to find something that will never slip), and strapless is absolutely not doable with all of the movement that she does. In essence, a bodysuit of this sort of design would be skintight but stretchy enough to allow for proper movement as she's really rather agile, but considering how secure of a hold it offers, it also means that (apologies for the TMI), there may not be any need for a bra, as the bodysuit would offer it, in its stead. But this also plays into practicality: the less layers, the better. I also wonder about this latter detail, because there is no sign or trace of any bra straps anywhere at all, and a halter-design bra also would be apparent somewhere. Nope, I think that darker part that you see covering her breasts is actually part of the bodysuit, and very intricately designed. I think this damn piece of clothing might be one of the most intricate parts of her outfit. I actually did find a modder that removed the 'drape' part of the overcoat that covers her abdomen, but left the upper portion of it (but you can tell from the images at the top of the post that these two 'parts' are a one piece that overlaps, due to the difference in elevation)— any way, this mod actually shows half of the frontal design of the bodysuit. Again, be aware that the part covering her chest area (the blue on one side, white on the other) is not part of the bodysuit, and instead is part of her overcoat. If she took it off, those would be gone. Now imagine the boots to be gone (which again, go up to the diagonal stripe designs at the front), and you're left with the bodysuit!

Honestly, all of this draws a magnificent image for me in my head. The sight of when she retires either in her home outside of the city, in Yanshang, or the home I headcanon that she's properly bought in Qiaoying Village (properly purchased, mind you, to help the villagers) at some point, for the night. When she takes off her boots, it would be quite casual and relaxed to see her in the bodysuit and the overcoat that covers it. And if in privacy, or around those she's more at ease around (granted, there would be nothing 'sexual' about it, she's very practical and very realistic, and there's nothing intentionally 'sexy' about it unless she intends for it to be), she'd even forego the overcoat. Yelan, walking around preparing her tea, barefoot and with her legs almost entirely bare? The epiphany of peaceful, in my head.

And a little bit of an extraordinary and beautiful sight, but that's just me... sorry, I couldn't restrain myself any longer. Hi hello, my name is Sae, and thank you for having read part 1 of my lunacy in terms of her outfit. Part 2 will focus on the actual design of the overcoat and bodysuit, and what was likely used as inspiration for her. I'm unsure whether I'll add in her hair, and accessories into that post, it'll all depend on how long it gets. But there's the intention any way.

[swifty-fox]

2, 7, 13, 15, 18, 25 for the fic asks!

2.Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Pirates!!! I have some stuff in the severe backburner but idk when I will get to it

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

honestly this whole fic but this snippet from Bright Lights (my non canon little beasts overdose fic) was really fun and challenging to write. The nuance of John's addiction and status as a felon is so....idk it just feels so important to get right and treat with respect while also exploring it in a way that is satisfactory. I think I did an awesome job here

“Have you heard anything?” John asks, leaning tiredly against the glass.

“What the hell are we doing here, John? You been fucking your priest ?”

“He’s not mine,” John says, closing his eyes, “It wasn’t your business.” 

Chicks finger jabs against the glass, voice low and rumbling, “It sure fucking is if your giving him fucking opiates. Did Brady know this?”

John blinks at him, going cold, “I didn’t give him shit Neil. He took Frannie’s stuff I wouldn’t– I’m clean .” 

“Does Brady. Know.”

“Yeah – fuck – he fuckin’ knew. He knew I was messing around with him because that’s all that happened. Neil, I have my two-year chip . I was almost done with this whole thing in six more months why would I fuck that up?” 

Chick just stares at him, and John stares back, feeling every thread holding him up slowly be snipped one by one. It was one thing to have the police assume the worst, and it wasn’t quite like it looked anything but really fucking bad . But Chick had been the one to see every step of the fought for progress John has made. He knew, knew the work John had put in. 

“This is why it’s a fucking bad idea to have a sober coach be someone who you’re friends with, I never should have signed off on that, I should have known he wouldn’t be able to be objective–”

“ ‘M fuckin’ sober! ” John shouts, slamming his knuckles against the wall and then closes his eyes with a slow inhale.

“I’m sober,” his voice cracks, “He was staying with me after we got caught and left to take a shower. I got a bad fucking feeling and busted open the door to find him passed out next to the toilet.”

He’s talking slowly as he can, calm as he can manage because he knows rage will get him exactly squat. 

“I saw he’d taken a buncha’ pills and I called the EMT’s.”

“The only person who can corroborate it is in the hospital right now, unconscious. My hands are tied until he wakes up.” 

John squeezes his brows together, twists his mouth against the sharp flicker of fear and then looks back up at Chick, “You believe me though, right?”

Chick kisses his teeth, hands settling on his hips. There’s a purpling bite mark above his sweatshirt collar and John wonders who he’d been pulled out of bed with.

“I’ll see about getting those cuffs off you, John.”

“Fuck the cuffs,” he rasps, “Just promise you’ll tell me how Gale is the moment you hear anything.”

He’s never wanted pity, not once in his life and not even in his worst moments. He bares his teeth at the emotion baldly present in Chick’s eyes.

“Depends how the cards fall, kid.”

13.What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

it's actually drawing/painting advice but it really works for writing to and it's literally just. fuck it up as many times as you need to to get it right. Something not turning out? fuck it up. Paint over it. delete it. just Keep Going.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Outlaws au!!! I think it's the most concise strong story and also I think visually I had such a strong image it would be so fun to develop both parts.

18.Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

Not really! I outline for my collabs but that's about it. Sometimes I throw snippets or quotes or notes at the bottom of a doc

25.What do you look for in a beta?

answered this one already a bit but I like them to be a writer as well too!

[appleboxdog]

I would like to show some process or writing my comic story thingy that I’ve been working on for almost four years now!

So my main story, not Out of Bounds, is called SELINA, that’s about it.. it’s about a multiversal being going on a rampage and destroying a bunch of worlds/universes. Now a group of fools gotta stop her, basically it.

I made a first version of a comic in early April 2021 (plus some paper outlines the year before). There were a lot of things wrong with this but I’m going to focus on one aspect, the main character.

The main character was a man named Edd, who had a deep, deep past with the villain Selina. He was basically her best friend in every reality and world, almost like her sidekick. My first comic version already had a problem right from the beginning. I started it with “I don’t know how long it’s been, possibly two or three years… the day all the worlds were doomed..”

BOOOORING!!

Where’s the interest in that!!! Where’s the flavor!!! World info dumps at the beginning of a story? Worst move you can make!! And I did it.

See, the problem is that Edd has SO MUCH background with Selina and literally just in general that it’s hard for someone to connect! He goes on all like “we moved on… here’s a reference no one is gonna get….. I’m gonna kill her!”

So after 3 long boring chapters of a poor fast paced comic, I made half of a chapter with some improvement. This time Edd had no inner dialogue in the beginning and there was a HOOK!!

No story infodump, plus points for Apple. Anyways I ran into other problems with this version too. Although I fixed plot holes with the villain, there was no motive still. Edd still knew too much and the other characters kept talking about him which was more difficult, he’s such a fleshed out character with so much lore, how is it possible for someone to connect with that with zero knowledge? This is a multiverse story, Edd has lived thousands of lives, there would be too much for even flashbacks to show as a main character.

Now as a side character or second main character? I could work with that. Instead of the reader struggling to understand what this dude was on and what his deal was, he was just the mysterious character who he lore. It’s like if you started a show with the antagonists point of view. If my hero academia started with Todoroki or whatever his name is. Instead it’s Izuku, pretty much a blank slate!! Name one thing cool about him before he got his power. Nothing! That’s the point!!

For me, I needed a main character who was aware of Selina but didn’t have a deep past with her, someone who would be asking questions the reader might have, someone who is easy to see yourself as while still having a complex character backstory and design!

Behold.

Venus is a space traveler who travels the galaxy with her best friend Apollo in a space plane during a space zombie apocalypse. She’s immune and is going around the universe AND the multiverse/realities to help heal people with a cure made from her blood. She barely knows about Selina, she has questions, and the reader will still have questions about her!!!

When I talk about needing a “blank slate main character” I don’t mean just an insert, or that your main character should ALWAYS have questions. This is all only how I do it, and maybe it will change! I won’t know, but currently it’s easier for me to figure out a story with a character who has no clue what’s happening!

This story is a BIG work in progress, characters are still being made, storyline, plot, backgrounds, all of it. But I will be posting here about it, including Out of Bounds stuff!! If you see an OC of mine and are confused on which story they’re in, look for tags! You may ask anything (I’ll try to not spoil too much). I hope to see you there once I’ve made progress on this creation.

[thegodovereverything]

TMNTober

prompt: masks

gen: rise

ao3

@tmntober-2023

cw: angst, off screen death, on screen death, major character death, way too little editing

----------------------------------------------------------

The first mask was when he was ten. Raph had already gotten his own on his tenth birthday, which all three brothers called unfair. But then Donnie and his tenth birthday approached, and Leo couldn’t stop bugging his dad about it. 

“C’ mon Dad! Raph already got his own mask, now it's my turn! For mine, can you make it blue and less bandanady? I wanna look like Lou Jitsu! And Lou Jitsu has these glasses that look a bit like upside down masks. But can it be in blue? You don’t even need to make Donnie one! Please? ”

His dad always chuckled and said, “Maybe, Blue, if you’re good.”

Leo always pouted and left for a bit, only the next day with the same requests.

Dad had worked a couple days sewing Donnie and his masks. Leo had pretended not to notice when Dad had snuck into his room and tried to sneakingly mark Donnie and Leo’s eyes on the fabric.

He had placed them in their christmas stockings and the tails poked out playfully. Leo had instantly fallen in love.

He put it on and admired himself in the mirror. They reminded him of Lou Jitsu’s glasses, a revelation that made him squeal. Dad had listened to him! He showed off his mask to his other brothers.

“Look! Dad made me a different type of mask ‘cause I’m cooler than you!”

“Did not!” Donnie protested.

“Did too!” 

______

The second mask was much later. It wasn’t blue and it wasn’t his. Raph had, without Leo’s permission, gone on a mission with Casey Sr. and Mikey to investigate reports of a nearby village that had found a cure for krangification.

Leo had looked at the live footage their communicators broadcasted in the days that followed near obsessively. 

There were times where April would come into Donnie’s lab to get his brother to bed, only to find a different brother staring intently at the monitor. She would nudge Leo gently. He’d barely glance her way. The monitor at most showed one of his brothers or Casey Sr. walking steadily through the barren wasteland that their home had become, but Leo started to believe that if he didn’t watch them then something terrible was going to happen to them. Something he can’t control. She seemed to understand that mindset, as she asked Donnie to get Leo’s monitor in his room hooked up to the footage. She was certain that once Leo was in his own bed willingly, he might actually fall asleep. 

After three days, she was proved right. Leo unwillingly slept that night. It was something he regretted for the rest of his life. Donnie had recorded the footage, which Leo watched so many times that every miniscule moment was ingrained into his mind. 

First Raph, Mikey and Casey Sr. come into the village. It was surrounded on all sides by sheer cliffs, with only one slim path for them to squeeze through. A red fog had draped over the ground, only allowing the slight outline of a village through its misty grasp. 

Raph signaled for everyone to proceed with caution, and they all stepped trepidatiously into the village. The only noise was from what looked like a community center. It was quiet, almost so quiet that Leo didn’t notice it on his first watch through. Raph told them to wait while he went to investigate.

Casey Sr. and Mikey waited impatiently for three minutes before deciding to go inside. Leo wished they didn’t. Mikey was never the same after what he saw. 

Raph was holding an unconscious person, who had krang pulsating underneath their skin. He has smiled, assuring and comforting and everything he will never be again.

The person had woken up before anyone could say a word and screeched out wordlessly. Everyone in the world knew that sound. It told them that the infected were close and would all be moving towards that screech. They were not equipped for a hoard. They all knew it. 

“Run!” His brother yelled. Mikey and Casey Sr. were wired to his orders. Like a switch for a light, they didn’t question or hesitate. They ran. Raph had yelled a battle cry, the light from his ninpo reflected in the damp fog. 

Then Raph screamed, and the camera shook as Mikey stumbled. His younger brother steadied himself and turned. Then Mikey wailed. Chains rose up and blinded the cameras, striking through the chest of the krangified person Raph had been holding. The chains rose and used the still attached person as a makeshift Kusari-fundō, plowing through the fields of krangified beings that approached. It was the first time his younger brother had summoned the chains in combat. 

Casey Sr. ran to Raphs side, yelling her war cry. His plastron was completely cracked through where his heart laid and his eyes were without life. 

She called Leo, who instantly shot awake at the sound of his ringing phone. The monitor in front of him stalled his every thought. All he could see was his brother. Dead. 

He didn’t have time to mourn right then. He made a portal and got them home, including his brother's corpse. Mikey had instantly collapsed, exhausted. Leo tucked him into his bed, then faced Raph.

He took the mask off of his brother's face and wrapped it around his sword. No matter where he went, he’ll take his brother with him. 

_____

The third mask was much too soon. Donnie had gotten obsessed with revenge, with hunting down the Krang and making them pay . When he left, it was silently. Leo only noticed he was gone by the mask draped over his keyboard, with a note for Leo to go to the ‘Leo’ file on the computer. 

Donnie popped up on the screen.

“Leo, if you're seeing this I am either dead or you noticed my absence too quickly. In order to keep your attention on this very thoughtful recording, I have attached my vitals In the upper right corner of the screen. Please focus on what I say more than my heart rate,” Leo's eyes instantly looked up at the vitals that were on the upper right. His brother’s heartbeat pumped at 160bpm. Leo tried to pull up Donnie’s coordinates.

“And don’t think about trying to get my coordinates. I have deactivated that feature of my tracker.”

Leo sat back, horrified. Just what was his twin doing? And where the heck did he go?

“Now, I’m sure you’re wondering just where I’ve gone. I can easily assure you that I have made this decision with a clear mind and pure logic. My emotions do not cloud my judgment so easily. However, emotions have nothing to do with the fact that they killed our brother and that I am making them pay .” A strangled gasp escaped Leo's throat, “Although my projected chance of dying is only at 60%, I felt it better to prepare just in case. As you carry Raph’s mask around with you always, I thought I’d also give you the comfort of mine in case of my passing.” 

Donnie’s recording continued to talk in the background. Leo brought his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. The world became blurry as tears budded up. He had to do something, right? 

A shaking hand brought his phone to his face. The phone rang. His brother never picked up.

The heart rate that had been going so quickly suddenly stopped. Donnie’s voicemail lines and the still talking recording overlapped each other. His hand went limp and the phone dropped to the floor.

“I have taken care to keep instructions on how to continue to run the base in the ‘Instructions’ folder. And Leo, I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

He sat there for hours. Mikey had been the one to find him, staring at the still vitals as Donnie’s recording looped. His younger brother had collapsed, sobbing into Leo’s shoulder. Leo mechanically picked up Donnie’s mask and wrapped it by Raph’s. Another brother he wasn’t with when they died. Another brother to keep by his side.

______

The fourth mask was during an argument. Leo and Mikey were camped a bit away from the rest of the rebellion. Their campfire was at a gentle flame, at odds with the intensity at which both brothers were talking.

“I refuse to be kept to the sidelines! I am a mystic warrior , Leo, and I can’t be a warrior without fighting!”

“Mikey, please, you’re too important to just go out there! I can’t let you get hurt or…” Leo trailed off, rubbing the masks wrapped around his sword subconsciously. Mikey scowled at that.

“I will not be another mask on your sword!” Mikey tore off his mask and stomped over the campfire. He hovered the mask over the flame, holding it by the short bands. It dangled tauntingly over the flames.

“Wait, Mikey, wait–”

His little brother, his only remaining brother, didn’t wait. His mask went up into flames instantly. 

Little flakes of fabric rose up with the smoke, resting on the rocky floor. It felt like a sucker punch to Leo’s gut. He watched as something that in his mind has defined his family for so long got destroyed so easily. 

“Mikey,” He said his brother’s name softly, mournfully. 

Mikey gave a quiet sob as he swept away his tears roughly.

“I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, ok? So stop being such a mother hen and let me do what needs to be done. We both know that without my mystic prowess we will fall. I’m the only mystic left, so let me do my thing.”

Leo opened his arms, a silent offer. Mikey rushed into his arms. Both of their shoulders shook from their sobs as both brothers collapsed on the other. The mask went up to flames, but Leo’s brothers were still with them. And they always will be.

[morgana-ren]

https://www.instagram.com/p/C0rX6RIBuZH/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

Wanted to share the pic but also ask about fashion for your ocs! What's their style like??

Lmao the shirtless vests always get us. That and the tattoos. I am a fiend for tattoos, I will tell you that.

Alright, this is as good as a time as any to say that Nighty dearest (Nightmare) for various lore reasons, has changed his name. He is Corvus now. It fits him for a lot of really long and convoluted reasons but anyway, when you see me referring to Corvus I am referring to he who was Nightmare. I am trying to get the hang of it, please help me not confuse myself.

So, Reaver wears his typical rich people shit, fine satins and suits, but worse. Imagine the gaudiest shit you've ever seen, and add a huge stovepipe hat onto it. He's got the long double-buttoned coat, with the silk shirt, the vest with his dumbass insignia, the stupid gold pocket watch, all of it. He tends to dress somewhat monochromatically, preferring white and black, but he will sometimes dip into red and brown for accent shirts. He dresses very similar to how he does in canon, but with a little modern flair. He gets made fun of the most ny the others, but he does not care. He thinks he looks impeccable, and the fashion magazines are inclined to agree (or they'd be bought out, gutted, and their editor killed.)

He prefers his hair pitch black, gelled and cut clean, a bit longer in the front with a coif. It fits perfectly under his stupid hat. his bang slops down on his face when he sleeps and it reaches his chin and it's very funny. He's very clean cut, no beard, no mustache. How could you see his handsome jaw line if he had a mustache? (His words, not mine.) Don't forget the heart he has tattooed on his cheek.

Astarion tends to dress very similar to how he does normally. He prefers the finer things, but he's not gaudy like Reaver is. Occasionally Corvus and Reaver will dog on him for dressing in 'ye olde doublets' but eventually it got to him and he stopped wearing them as much (he still thinks they're fashionable and comfortable though.) Think his camp white shirt, tight pants, and high boots. Usually he's fairly casual, but always fashionable in the way you'd expect a vampire lord to be. He is partial to Corvus's clothes and that means leather. If he's going fancy, he might borrow a thing or two from the other lads, but mostly, he's very relaxed, so formal gear is different. Not quite as slutty as Corvus is, but still very suggestive vampy clothes.

Astarion keeps his hair mostly the same, but is open and partial to trying new styles. Same silvery hair, same elaborate styles. Clean cut as well. It looks longer than you'd think when it's wet or unstyled.

Corvus dresses like a prostitute started dressing like a pirate that started to buy into the act. Flowing, deep, revealing shirts, pants that are so tight that it's amazing he can move, velvet outer coats with filigree and intricate designs, and huge hats with feathers when he's feeling fancy. This man will call you a slut while you can see his whole ass chest and every curve and outline of his lower body. He does the 'whore' thing with his rapier-- you know, when you limply rest your hand on the hilt. He's willowy and tall, and he dresses like every pirate captain you've ever seen if every pirate captain was an unaware whore. Loves leather pants, and gets them custom with the tail slot for him. Loves loose, flowy shirts that bare his entire fucking upper body. Linen pants. You know, pirate boy shit-- if every pirate was a gigantic whore. He will dress in the finest he can when he wants to, but the lads and their formal gear are a bit different than their 'lounging about' outfits.

He'll have his silver hair back and braided with a lovely little matching ribbon, usually. Or just put into a low ponytail. He keeps his hair longer than Reaver and Asto, but not necessarily long. He's usually clean cut facial hair wise, unless it's one of those aus where he is just so exhausted that he cannot be assed to shave.

Ilya hasn't aged a day mentally since he turned 36. He prefers expensive long silk robes with metal cuffs and accents. This man dresses elaborately even when he's just sitting around the house doing nothing. He has one in every color. Sashes in every color. Jewelry in every color. He has special battle robes that offer a bit more protection. Just fucking robes and loose pants. When he's lounging lavishly, he'll just leave it open with his bare chest, because he's just like that. He has his hat in a multitude of colors. He has a huge closet with robes of all kinds. Bell sleeves. Regular sleeves. Sleeves with hidden compartments. Satin robes. Silk robes. Velvet robes. Robes that trail for six fucking feet behind him. He doesn't like jackets and shirts. When he goes in public, he will pretend to be a foreign dignitary. You will never see this man in one of Reaver's outfits. He's partial to leather pants because he likes the look, but mostly, it's his dumbass robes.

Ilya keeps his dark hair long. Very long. Waist to hip area usually. Brushed meticulously every day, cared for impeccably. Braided and pinned and kept beneath his hat when he's going out. Put into a bun or a braid or a low pony tail when he is at home or training. He will keep it loose sometimes, but it just depends. If you're trying to grow your hair out, you are going to hate seeing this man every goddamn day with his immaculate locks. Long and thick and slightly wavy and full. He's an asshole.

[selcouthself]

the light behind the door

i don't want to talk to You.

i'm in the dark and cold as a tomb.

demons pace back and forth

staring at me on all fours.

i don't want to show it to You.

i know that i can never undo

the damage i've done.

i don't want to bring it to the Light of the Son.

i can't look at You.

please, don't ask me to.

this introspective anguish

cannot be put into a language.

"you're a liar; you're a fraud,"

i scream and i panic and i claw

at the walls that i've built

but they're guarded by Guilt.

i sink into despair.

i don't dare lift up a prayer.

what if i'm never getting out of here?

will i let myself be commandeered?

what if You and i are never reunited?

can these wrongs be righted?

part of my thinks i deserve this

Hopelessness in the dark Abyss.

then i heart Footsteps at the door

like i'd heard a hundred times before.

i know it's You knocking.

Light outlines the rim of the door, startling

the voices in my head

they quiet, as though pronounced dead.

You whisper, "let Me win you this war,"

wiping my face, i cry, "You should not adore

me, for i am not worthy

of Your lavish gifts of grace and mercy.

this Love i do not understand; how can i take Your Hand?"

Your Voice, still gentle, whispers in reply,

"My child, be glorified

when you lay before the Throne

garments of sin that will no longer be borne.

"I promise My Presence,

a sweet fragrance,

shall cover you like wings

and thus be called a child of the King."

the Light behind the door is brighter still

filling the room, expelling the chill.

You knock once more, asking for permission.

i hang my head, and out of the tension

i whisper, "You can come in now,"

You say, "My child, My Love is a vow,"

I hear the door open and am blinded

by the Glow of Your Glory; i am surrounded.

with one glance from You, the demons flee.

can it really be so easy for You to claim victory?

i lift my head, and begin to crawl

You pick me up, and don't let me fall

drying my tears, You kiss my wounds

and sing to me Truth.

"you are safe now, you are Mine

you can leave the pain behind.

I will break down these walls

and help you sift the rubble after they fall."

i bury my face in the crook of Your Neck

breathing in the scent of You as perfect

peace envelops and robes me

i am rocked in Your Arms as if floating at sea.

in Your Embrace, i sense a stirring.

Faith, which has long since been buried

begins to flicker, the beginnings of a fire

Your Voice fans the flame; a crescendo! a choir!

here is where the dead come alive!

where bones grow flesh where once they were dry!

freedom is proclaimed and i am carried gently

into Your Courts, a triumphant entry.

surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses,

i lift my voice, and join the chorus of Heaven's citizens.

my eyes meet Yours;

for the first time since You opened the door. 

“do you love Me?” You ask,

i am laid bare, unmasked. 

i look away, fighting shadows of Shame. 

You touch my chin, and softly say my name. 

“do you love Me?” You repeat. 

the Shepherd speaking to His rescued Sheep.

searching Your Eyes, i am surprised to find 

no condemnation; these Eyes are kind. 

“do you love Me?” You ask, and I feel the weight.

“I love You, Lord, though I have made Your pain great.” 

You tilt Your Head, and gaze at me, 

as I recall the price paid upon that Tree. 

i bow and kiss Your holy Feet,

i praise You, for it was You who did greet

gladly the sin and burdens of mankind

though met with suffering, rejection, and sorrows combined.

You stand now in glory and victory

and somehow invite me into this mystery. 

oh what a wretched child that I am! 

to repay such Love with the selfishness of man.

knowing my thoughts, You kneel before me,

touch my head, and whisper slowly,

“My child, I do not require your perfection, though you may try.

I desire your devotion–every time.

“I shall eclipse you in the Last Days

so that when you stand before the Throne, the rays 

of My glory shall cover you. My Father will not see your shame

but remember My atonement– you bear My Name.”

[csoriginalz]

Shrimpy's Great Escape

I found this in my drafts and thought, 'Eh, can't hurt to post it. Give people a taste of my writing style' (even though this was written years ago).

When one thinks of tropical fish, small, bright colors darting around fake sunken ships and neon plants are generally what comes to mind. Yet, if one walks past all the oranges, yellows, blues, reds, and glow-in-the-dark vertebrates at a typical U.S. pet store, they’ll end up with tanks filled with the less flashy critters– dwarf frogs, hermit crabs, snails, and the like. The star of this story is even trickier to find; it’s better to scan the labels to locate the correct tank than to search for the creature itself. But, once found, it’s hard not to get drawn into the pure strangeness that is a ghost shrimp.

As with other ‘ghost’ or translucent animals, the shrimp are almost completely see-through. It’s only the yellow-ish tint of their bodies that makes their outlines visible. Around an inch long, ghost shrimp can rapidly disappear into the background. While these little creatures may not seem like an exciting addition to a tropical fish tank, I’ve always found them fascinating. Eventually, years after my first pass by their pet store tanks, I finally got a ghost shrimp of my own.

I named it Shrimpy.

(Admittedly, names have never been a strong suit of mine.)

The tiny shrimp had a casual ‘I-don’t-bother-you-and-you-don’t-bother-me’ relationship with the multiple fish in the tank, spending most of its time on one of the ship decorations. Shrimpy could swim around – delicate, thin legs moving as fast as they could - but it preferred to walk along the gravel.

But this post isn’t about Shrimpy in general. It’s about the one time the crustacean almost gave me a heart attack.

Now, anyone who has ever had to clean a fish tank knows how disgusting it can be. I’d clean the tank about once a month, taking all the fish out so I could remove and replace as much of the dirty water as possible. Using small plastic cups, I’d scoop out each fish individually and place them on the nearby counter with a few paper towels laid over the top to prevent any poorly planned escape jumps. However, the first time I took Shrimpy out, I didn’t bother with a cover. With the water about three-fourths of the way full in the cup, I figured that any climbing attempts would end right at the surface.

So, fish and crustacean safely out of the way, I went about my regular routine. Between the walls, decorations, and plants, it generally took about an hour to get the tank to an acceptable level of cleanliness. I’d take a few breaks to check on the fish during the work, but if my dad was around (as he was that day), I’d ask him to watch over the little aquatic creatures for me – mainly to make sure that my cat didn’t decide to embrace his inner fisher.

I wasn’t completely done with scrubbing the algae from the plants when I took a stretch break, making my way over to the collection of cups to check in. I can’t remember if I noticed the empty cup or the tiny, barely visible blob a couple of inches away from said container, but my mind quickly connected the dots. I do remember calling my dad over (he’d assumed that, since the cat was with him, he hadn’t needed to check on the fish at all) with an alarmed cry of “Shrimpy!” While my dad was processing what the little shrimp had done, I was panicking.

Apparently, Shrimpy had gotten bored while I cleaned the tank and climbed out of its cup. It even made it a fairly good distance for a shrimp out of water.

But, in the end, that was what it was – a little shrimp out of the water, collapsed between the cup and the edge of the counter.

As distraught as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to try and touch the little body. I’m sure I was starting to cry. However, my dad took the now-empty cup, held it below the edge of the counter, and gently nudged the little blob along with a finger. I’m not quite sure what he was expecting to happen – maybe the still-present water drops made him hopeful that Shrimpy hadn’t been out and exposed for too long.

What neither of us was expecting was that, the moment the tiny ghost shrimp plopped into the water, it immediately popped back into shape. Perfectly fine. Within seconds, Shrimpy was ‘swimming’ around the bottom of the cup, acting like it hadn’t just come back from the presumed dead.

Shrimpy went on to live what I assume was a typical shrimp life span, and I did end up getting one or two more over the years. Of course, no ghost shrimp was ever left in a lid-less container ever again, and Shrimpy remained safely water-bound for the rest of its days.

[omaticwriting]

Station 3: welcome to magic bootcamp

Hi there! sorry for the lack of uploads, before you read the chapter, art shown is made by [@disastrousfeline] give them a check! now onto the story!

----------------------------------------------------------------

After spending two weeks of training  I found myself in a crummy trench outside of the walls, I wasn’t sure what I was really going to fa-

[we wanna hear what happened to you in bootcamp]

Really? You know it’s going to be mostly uneventful time, not even sure if I remember most of what happened then.

(please?)

…fine, I’ll try to remember what happened… now, what was the first thing I remember about boot camp? Oh right…the cold and soaking sensation of cold water being dumped onto my entire body while I slept… “FUCK!”I jolted out of my sleep, barely able to register where or who decided to soak me in cold water, desperately trying to move only to fall onto the cold hard floor “SWEET JOSEPH CHRIST, WHAT THE HELL!” I yelled out, well less yell and more a shrewd mewl. I could only gaze at the perpetrators, two men in uniform, I noticed one on my left had a blue outline who just grinned at me with a small sphere of water with ice in it while the other leaned down, I don’t really remember what their faces looked like, but I knew the one who leaned down had a cap covering their eyes.

“Well, aren’t you soggy? You’re late for training.” They just gave the most smug smile while I shivered on the floor. “Best get up, or we’ll soak you again.”

All I could do was look at the two, but I did notice everyone left and had their beds fixed. Which sucked since I got singled out to get through this whole mess “oh fuck off” is the only word I can say before getting up. Nearly slipped from how cold and wet the floor was after they woke me up.

(...such jerks) I know, but at least they gave some decency to toss me a towel, granted it landed on my head, and some dry clothes, which were just a brackish green uniform I saw at the docks. And after that, I was heading to the cafeteria to get some eat and hopefully get through my shitty wake-up call.

I’m not going to describe what I’m eating, the food was just some sort of stew…last I heard no one really knows what’s in it, with some people tasting vegetables and others meat.

[how come?]

Because I never asked…mine did kind of taste like malt beer and… Honestly, I think it was shrimp…not sure, so that made me gag a little.

After stomaching a sub-par breakfast I and many others got to the firing range or what I assume was a firing range. The “range” was a closed area, a pretty gray room full of dummies made from what I could guess was wax and crude plastic, all to look like a durable zombie-looking dummy that hovered through some sort of magic, but those mostly stuck to the back; further ahead was floating rocks suspended by magic.

Behind was just a table lined with rifles. They looked about what I expected most wooded bolt actions to be, with only a single metal rectangle at the end to indicate the sight and an open bolt. 

What stumped me was the lack of a hole to fire bullets from, more so the fact it had no magazine.

[so like the same one Amisia has?]

Who?

(she’s someone we met, we’ll tell you after your story) …Alright, anyway while everyone talked and murmured, I walked over to the table and grabbed a rifle and a rectangular chunk of wood, surprisingly it was covered in beautifully carved runes, it felt kind of a shame to use it.

But that ended when I heard the door open. I looked over and saw the instructor glare at each and every one of us in the room. Their steps were heavy, and glare felt as though it could kill.

With narrow eyes, I quickly put the rifle down and got in line, the rest following and lucky too…I did not want to get into more trouble than I was in, no need for others to pull me down with them.

“Good, I got your attention” I heard the officer say.  I tensely watched as they picked a rifle and a block of wood from the back, almost having no regard for the unfortunate people in line, but hey at least they didn’t put them in punishment.

“Today, you’ll be training on shooting on the restless targets. You all get a hundred shots, am I clear?” they sternly said. I nearly jumped at how much ease they had when they gave a demonstration. 

I’d admit, but I was in awe of how much ease the guy had, firing bursts of three at the target’s head at a far good distance then moving to another to repeat the process all over again.

He had the focus and experience that anyone worth his salt was worth, and I wasn’t the only one with the whole room being impressed by the ease he could shoot that thing. “I trust you all will improve soon” and like that, he left us to our own devices and to look amongst ourselves.

I think I heard someone boasting he’d blow all of them out of the water or something, I didn’t listen all that much, but I heard someone fight while I took a rifle and `ammunition` and tried my hand at it.

“Okay, let’s get this done so I can get home already,” I told myself, trying to shove a block of wood full of runes into a gap of a magic rifle.

[did you try shoving it in?] 

Yes! Multiple times, it.  Just. Wouldn’t. Fit…okay deep breath…okay, okay.

(E-Eri-) I’m fine…I’m fine, it was just so…fuck me, anyway, I got fed up the longer the block of wood didn’t fit into the gap and it went on for so long too, gods…

But, I had met someone who I'd have a great time with through my training and much more.

[Better than Tram?]

…don't tell him that.

Anyway, after what felt like hours of trying to put a rectangle in an oval hole, I heard someone come to me, his voice was pretty robotic, but it sounded rather laid back. “You need to slam it in, if they don’t fit,” he said to me. And I just looked at the chunk of wood with the most annoyed face I could give the moment I slammed the piece of wood in with a satisfied click.

“FINALLY! Fuck me…” I muttered my satisfaction for the whole mess it gave, and I was itching to let it out on some of the targets, though I did plan to thank the guy who helped me.

And I don’t need to remind you that, the only problem was that he towered over me, about at eye level I would be staring at his waist.

The guy himself was wearing a special kind of training uniform I wore, with the addition of armor and an apron of some kind. He had short cyan hair and metallic…He’s just a human-looking robot with a visor that shows a pair of cyan rectangles to represent eyes; it’s honestly not hard to imagine.

[meknoid]

A what now?

[They’re called meknoids] 

Oh, uhh thanks? Anyway, he gave me this wild and crazy-ish smile, like he’d murder me if I looked at him in the wrong direction, and while I looked back with a look that would clearly say, `fuck off`, I still had to admit, he helped me, so I spoke. “Thanks, I suppose,” I think I said that. But the guy just gave this wider smile and landed his hand out to shake. “No problem,” I looked at him and then back to his hand, and honestly, I was hesitant to shake it, but slowly I did. I nearly cringed in pain from how strong his grip was, but he was a robot, so I shouldn’t be all that surprised. “ V1-ck, but call me Vick, nice to be acquainted” 

“Eric Burkham…” I hesitantly replied, with a lot of skepticism, but he did help, so ‘I might as well try to be friendly with the tall killer Robot man’ I’d think to myself as I went along with shooting.

Right out of the gate, I blinked when I noticed despite how heavy the rifle was, it had no recoil. At all, and that led to a few misses to the dummies that sped by rather fast for me to track.

Thankfully Vick was around, he helped me out on how to aim and hit my targets properly, and sometimes in turn, I’d tell him what life was like back at home…even if I didn’t want to then both in making a friend and talking about him, but over time in my two weeks, I grew to like the big guy and despite how I was, I considered him a friend, even if I didn’t really want to admit it in our first few weeks of meeting each other. 

From there it was mostly a blur for most of my training, it was just the same day of waking up, doing tasks, shooting, eating, and then heading to bed, and in those two weeks, they just blended together with only the occasional ramble of rivalry between the two recruit groups, one I long since stayed away from, those who were native to Elsvin and the other where we came from, honestly it was not worth my time and I just ate and headed off, I did not want the drama.

Other than that there were also my chats with Vick, which was refreshing, compared to everything else.

However, there is this one thing I did remember.

[what was it?]

Well, it was the time I “handed” him my revolver.

It was about a week into my training, and I was busy checking if my revolver still worked. I didn’t really worry too much about using it, given that the Isles already had firearms…Magicarms?

However, I was worried this thing would be useless once I used up the only ammo it accepts, so I'd be carrying deadweight and whatever I might face would take more than thirty-eight, much less than six shots worth of it even if make it count…I’m a decent shot, not a marksman.

I kept musing on it until a robotic hand took my revolver from my hands “Oh, what the fuck!” I lashed out. I avoided the rivalry, I was in no mood to deal with a bunch of assholes taking my stuff for some fragile ego.

Looking at the thief, I realized it was Vick. Inspecting my gun as if it was just  “this is an odd-looking revolver?” he spoke aloud. Looking at my gun while I just tried to reach for my gun, who kept it out of my reach by just raising his arms.

To say I was angry was an understatement…at least he’s responsible with firearms, I don’t plan on having my stuff break.

“Vick you fucking mechanical giraffe, give me back my gun!” I yelled at him while he paid no mind. Busy just looking at it, before looking at me, his curiosity did nothing to hamper my annoyance.

“Huh, I’ve never seen this sort of revolver before…” he spoke to me while he continued to inspect it meticulously. Opening the chamber, he delicately and briefly inspects the ammunition before sliding it back in “Why’s it only accepting physical rounds?” “We never had rune rack ammo!” I harshly explained. I was just done with him not giving my gun back, and I was close to blowing a vein or two “NOW GIVE IT BACK!”.

He just looked at me with a raised brow before closing the chamber and walking off “Follow me” 

Pretty much fed up with the mystery I grabbed his shirt with a pissed look “Not until you give back my gun” 

“You’ll get it back later. Now follow me.” He yanked his shirt from his grip and moved on. Whatever was going through his mind made him pretty focused, leaving me with little choice but to follow along.

“This better be worth it Vick…”

We walked out of the barracks past curfew. I wasn’t exactly sure where he took me, but we eventually arrived at a small, half-open bunker. Inside were tools hung up or lined up on a table made from the bunker’s rubble with a photo of two people, one I think was Vick and another was some girl in overalls standing there, while a smooth cuboid sat next to an impromptu forge made from a bed of debris. The forge had harsh orange runes that gave the semblance of a flame that gently lit the place.

“Vick…where are we?” I finally spoke after a long time I was silent for the entire walk, and even then he ignored me and removed the cylinder of my gun, looking at it back and forth before grabbing a large chunk of metal and looking it at the cylinder.

And finally, FINALLY! He gave it back, cylinder and all, quickly and harshly took it from his hands, and looked at him. I opted to stay then. I was probably curious or wanted a full explanation as to why he took my stuff and did nothing, but I got my answer soon enough when I heard a loud clang.

On the metal Cuboid was a chunk of metal, now glowing a bright orange and flattened down on one side, and Vick holding it down with one hand and in the other a hammer as he hammered it down. I sat down by the table while Vick did his project, not knowing what he was doing, but I at least got a closer look at the photo. It was him in a white tunic and apron while the girl wore overalls and a newsboy cap. It looked as if the bunker was still broken, but the two were a lot happier in it.

“That’s my mentor”  I heard Vick say while he gave shape to the metal chunk “She taught me everything I knew, and I owe her a lot for who I am” I don’t really remember it or it was dark, but I swore he smiled while reminiscing.

“Is she…” I paused. I do not really want to finish the sentence and sound like a further jerk than I was. I may be an ass then, but I know better than to ask those questions given my parent.

But he simply chuckled. “She’s asleep, but don’t tell her I made you this for free; she’s got my core for this,” he said in jest. I heard a hiss of steam coming from somewhere, but I didn’t dwell on it when Vick tossed me something. “You should be able to use rune racks now with that” he spoke with pride and I could see why. 

The cylinder that he gave was rather light despite the size it was when it was still a chunk of metal, six shots yet covered in intricate runes, I’d almost mistake it for a piece of art. But it was something that wouldn’t make my revolver useless and I wouldn’t need to spend anything.

After being silent for as long as I looked at it, I put it on my revolver while I pocketed my old Cylinder, with only a few words coming out of my mouth before the both of us headed back. “...Thanks, Vick”

“No problem Eric”

[iukasylvie]

From my personal experience, "a fandom that very much struggles with nuance and WILL come for you" aptly describes the The Owl House fandom. I'll just say it frustrates me whenever people accuse disappointed fans of Belos of being apologists and wanting him to be redeemed.

I barely interact with the Fullmetal Alchemist fandom on the internet, but my mother and older sister dislike Scar and an old friend of mine from TV Tropes, who happened to be a fan of Kimblee, didn't remember him - not even his encounters with Winry!

I wish more people had appreciated his character arc in the manga; he recovers his brother's research with the help of numerous surviving Ishvalans, survives the Promised Day, and is on a mission to rebuild Ishval alongside Miles. Mustang's reaction to Envy's death as outlined in the Tumblr post below about Mustang aptly describes my frustration at his ending in the 2003 anime.

Even on Pixiv, the biggest Japanese platform for fan art and fanfiction, I have noticed a shortage of content about Scar. I think his unpopularity might have something to do with his hostile relationship with Ed, who was a child at the time of the war of extermination, and the revelation that he killed the Rockbells even though they saved his and numerous other Ishvalans' lives didn't help. But I'm not sure the extent to which his ethnic background affected his popularity in my country.

Anyway, what is the source of the omake in which "[Scar] got a cellphone and then got sad when he realized he hadn't made any friends besides Yoki"? I don't remember it in the Japanese tankōbon release of the manga and I can't find it in the guide Fullmetal Alchemist: Chronicle either.

Your description of the omake reminds me of my crossover ideas with Scar and some of Spamton's dialogue from Deltarune such as:

LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE [[All Alone On A Late Night?]] ALL YOUR FRIENDS, [[Abandoned you for the slime]] YOU ARE? SALES, GONE DOWN THE [[Drain]] [[Drain]]?? LIVING IN A GODDAMN GARBAGE CAN??? (Spamton maniacally laughs then punches the dumpster in rage)

WELL, YOU'RE [$!$!] RIGHT! BUT DON'T BLAME ME WHEN YOU'RE [Crying] IN A [Broken Home] WISHING YOU LET YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON [Kill You] [...] WHAT!? YOU'RE CALLING FRIENDS!? YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME WITH YOUR FRIENDS' [Magic]!? GO AHEAD, [Kid]... CALL ALL YOU WANT! NO ONE WILL EVER PICK UP GO AHEAD AND [Scream] INTO THE [Receiver]. THE [Voice] RUNS OUT EVENTUALLY. YOUR [Voice] THEIR [Voice] UNTIL YOU REALIZE YOU ARE ALL ALONE THERE WILL BE NO MORE [Miracles] NO MORE [Magic]. YOU LOST IT WHEN YOU TRIED TO SEE TOO FAR.... ... YOU LOST IT... YOU MAKE ME [Sick]! MUTTERING YOUR [Lost Friends] NAMES AT THE BOTTOM OF A [Dumpster]! NO ONE'S GONNA HELP YOU!!! GET THAT THROUGH YOUR [Beautiful Head], YOU LITTLE [Worm]!

Speaking of Undertale, I think Flowey's confused reaction if the player spares him on a Neutral run, as well as the way he views himself as separate from Asriel as outlined in the Tumblr posts below, applies to Scar to some extent too.

I bet even W. D. Gaster, one of the most obscure characters ever from Undertale, is far more popular and has attracted much more content dedicated to him than Scar, a narratively and thematically pivotal character in Fullmetal Alchemist

Gaster probably has more stuff devoted to him than a lot of prominent characters just because people love a mystery, but Scar was definitely one of the most underexplored characters in the fandom from what I remember of it. Part of it is likely fear of messing up regarding how tied to genocide and racism and other heavy issues his character is, in a fandom that very much struggles with nuance and WILL come for you (if it hasn't gotten any better since I was active in fandom, which I doubt it has). That isn't a good excuse at all, but it's sadly something we see a lot as fandom's weak excuses not to engage with characters of color.

But wait! you can very much forget all that and also slot Scar easily into one of tumblr's faves- a trauma-ridden, prickly man who shows his nicer side when he helps and empathizes with a young child and also he has a weakness for cute animals? The internet should be all over that, and they aren't and the answer is clearly racism imo. If it wasn't we would definitely have people calling Scar May's Dad or whatever, but we've always been low on that sort of content.

I think that's also the answer for why Scar always scored so low in character popularity polls while actual despicable villains with less depth that also killed fan faves got much higher, something even Arakawa seemed to think sucked, judging how she constantly made gag comics where Scar lamented it or took vengeance on her for it. It's too bad!

(I also find it odd that no one runs with omake Scar as much as they do omake Al or omake Roy because he is legit the funniest and most relatable omake character. He's such a weirdo. He loves cats as much as Al! He got a cellphone and then got sad when he realized he hadn't made any friends besides Yoki! May thinks his internet addiction is embarrassing! He cried blood over not getting enough pages! He thinks his scar is his charm point!)

[queers-gambit]

Up and Out [part two]

part one: read here

prompt: ( requested ) weeks after Billy defended you against Neil, he feels safe enough to leave you at his house to run an errand with Max. when Neil and Susan return unexpectedly, things go sideways and it's up to you to defuse the time bomb that is Billy Hargrove's anger.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

collection masterlist: Poisoned Apple

word count: 4.8k

warnings: barely edited, cursing, abuse, Neil Hargrove, physical aggression, threats, uh - very very loose outline of "handling" domestic abuse. i don't even know anymore.

"Are you sure?"

I sighed again, turning from the stove to pin Billy with an unamused look as Max crossed her arms and rocked on her feet. "Billy," I spoke calmly, "nobody's home, and you said yourself, your parents aren't coming home for another three days."

"I know, but you could come with me," he sighed, leaning against the doorway. "Max can handle shit here. But turn the stove off, and whatever else."

"This is why Max is going with you and not me," I chuckled, reaching for the tea towel to wipe my hands as Billy shifted. "She knows what we need from the store, you're just the mule, baby."

"Oh, ha-ha," Billy mocked, rolling his eyes some as Max snickered. "All right, but how important is this?"

This time, I glared. "You're the one who wanted me to cook."

"Yeah, but I didn't plan on leaving you alone here," Billy perked a brow.

"Oh, afraid I'm gonna snoop?" I chuckled, leaning back on the counter. "The longer you fight this, the longer it's gonna take. Baby, I'm not leaving the kitchen, you're good to leave for, what?" I glanced at Max, who had the list in her pocket. "20 minutes?"

She shrugged, "Maybe 25 at most."

"Oh, scary numbers!" I grinned back at Billy with a look of fake horror. "C'mon," I laughed when he rolled his eyes, pushing off the counter to approach him and wrap my arms around his waist.

I heard Max mutter a quiet, "Nope," as she passed us to exit the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Send him out when you're done!"

I smiled at Billy as his arms moved to wrap around my shoulders almost begrudgingly, his taller frame allowing his arms to all but drape off of me. "Baby, it's fine."

"You know I just don't like leaving you here," he muttered as the front door closed upon Max' departure.

"I know," I nodded in understanding. "But that's why we said today was an okay day, right? You're off work," I smiled, "and your parents aren't home, and Max is willing to learn a couple of moves in the kitchen. It's nice," I squeezed his waist, seeing a smile tug begrudgingly onto his face.

"All right," he relented, making me squeal in victory. "But we're moving ass and will be here in 15."

"You're going to drive max twelve over the speed limit and get here when you get here," I argued, pointing a warning finger at him, recoiling slightly when his jaw snapped over air. "Hey now, save that for later."

He smirked, "Nah, you agreed that if I played nice tonight, I could tie your hands up after all this, right?"

I sighed comically, "Yeah, I suppose I said that. But I can alter the terms of our deal if you keep Max waiting any longer."

"You wouldn't."

I took hold of his wrist and swiveled myself against his chest while turning his watch so I could see. "I'm giving you... 30 seconds to get out that door before terms are being altered..."

"Wait, hang on," he whined lowly, nuzzling into my neck, "Max can wait a minute, right? We're alone, pretty girl, haven't been all day."

"You can survive," I giggled when his other arm wrapped around my waist tightly, his lips pressing repeated kisses to my neck. Having slight mercy, I amended, "All right, you get one full minute before you have to be gone!"

"Fair enough," he groaned, hearing the watch beep as the minute began and turning me to face him. I gasped when he pushed me back into the slim wall of the kitchen, hands almost pressing bruises into my waist as his mouth seared into mine - stealing my breath.

Kissing Billy was always exciting; tongue and teeth moving in a sinful dance that left lips swollen, puckered, (and sometimes bleeding). His tongue was a hound, searching for my own to wetly slide against one another as he pressed his body into mine.

He subtly checked his watch, my hands pulling up to the nape of his neck and threading my fingers through his hair before locking my fingers around his tresses to tug suddenly.

Billy groaned wantonly into my mouth, pulling down before away, "Got 30 seconds, baby."

"Better use it and get gone," I smirked, letting him press another kiss to my lips - a little slower, softer, and in his control.

He chuckled as his hand snaked under my sundress to palm my cheeks, earning a small squeal, "I'll be back soon."

"Drive safe," I nodded, breathing against his lips as I kissed him in parting, nodding as I patted his chest. "Go, goodbye, I love you."

"Take your panties off," he instructed when he pulled back and grabbed his keys off the counter. "Want you in my room when we get back for a quickie."

"No chance in hell, you horndog," I scoffed, pushing his chest away from me completely as he checked his watch again. "Go before I decided to switch the entire deal."

Billy groaned as he slipped out the door; it shutting just as I faintly heard his watch beep in ending. I paused for a few seconds, hearing Billy call in victory through the closed door, "It counts!"

I laughed, shaking my head and turned back for the counter space. It didn't take long to hear Billy pulling off and the silence of the Hargrove / Mayfield home to surround me. Staying true to my word, I didn't snoop and only left the kitchen to pee before washing my hands and returning to my station.

I might've even turned the radio on dimly to produce something in the background. It was around minute 14 (not that I was counting) when I heard two car doors in the driveway.

Not bothering to wonder why I didn't hear the roar of Billy's engine, I figured either something was forgotten or they were just really fucking fast.

However, when the front door opened and I wasn't greeted immediately by Billy calling, "Baby!", I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Not a moment later, the door slammed chillingly and I heard thuds of bags being set down. I lifted my chin in knowing when footsteps lumbered towards the kitchen; gulping when a sickening voice leered, "Well, well, well... Lookie here."

Glancing to my right, I clocked the distant knife and turned subtly against the counter to face Neil; trying to shift my weight and feet towards the knife. "Neil," I sighed, wiping my hands on the tea towel from my shoulder, "what're you doing here?"

"Funny, little lady, 'cause I was about to ask you the same," Neil smirked, wagging a finger at me as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Billy and Max - "

"Obviously aren't here," he sneered, "since those two stick to you like flies on shit, don't they?"

I sighed, "They'll be back soon. I thought you and Susan went on a vacation."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, some fucking vacation."

I furrowed my brows, glancing out into the dining room to see Susan cradling a casted-arm; indicating a break to a bone. "Oh, shit," I breathed.

"Mhm, 'oh, shit,'" Neil mocked. He turned for the refrigerator and pulled a beer out.

"D-Do you need something, um, Mrs. Hargrove?" I asked her, trying to understand what the fuck was happening.

"She don't need shit," Neil snapped. "Just spent the better half of the day in the fucking Emergency Room where she got all she needed."

"And, uh... How did this injury occur?"

Neil whipped around, swallowing the mouthful of beer, "What did you say?"

"I only asked what happened?" I repeated.

"Called it, 'an injury'."

"That's what she is, Mr. Hargrove, your wife is injured and I was asking number one, if she needed anything, and two, what happened. Is that no longer allowed?"

Neil straightened his spine, "I don't like your tone, girl."

"Neil, it's fine," Susan tried.

"No, no," Neil growled, "'cause there's nothing acceptable with what's been happening. You," he pointed at me, "have got my boy's head on backwards."

"I promise you, Billy's seeing clearly for the first time," I snapped. "Not because of me, or whatever, but because he's realizing you're just a piece of shit he doesn't have to tolerate."

"Neil," Susan tried.

"You've got some nerve," the older man seethed.

"You put your hands on me and I won't be able to stop Billy's reaction," I warned, understanding there was nowhere for me to go.

"I don't need to put my hands on you," he sneered.

"No? Only your son, then?" I snapped. "And possibly your wife now that Billy's not your fucking punching bag, is that it?"

"NEIL DON'T!"

I grunted and whimpered when the man surged across the kitchen, beer splattering to the floor for him to casually (and almost routinely) step over to step right in front of me. My hands wrapped like vices around his wrists as he all too easily grabbed me by my upper arms and shook violently, "What did you say to me!?" Neil hollered, red in the face; spit spraying across my cheek as I turned my head. "You know what you are? Nothing but a whore," he sneered, "and you've done enough to my boy! Hear me?" He squeezed tighter, shaking me again. With my arms crossed against my chest to hold his wrists and head turned, he took this as a submissive pose to continue in rage. "You're gonna leave him alone. Hear me? Boy won't listen to me no more, that's fine. He sure as shit don't need no loud mouth, no good whore tellin' him what to do. You don't know him," Neil seethed, breath fanning across my skin, "and you don't understand him. You'll leave him alone, you hear me? Leave. My boy. Alone!"

I whimpered and wrangled in his hold, "Billy's his own man, but you wouldn't recognize that since you're not one yourself!"

"You little bitch," Neil seethed.

"Hittin' your kid," I listed, "doin' God knows to your wife! Some man you are, huh?!"

"Neil!"

The sounds of Billy's engine was heard down the street, my eyes glaring into his, "If you know what's good for you, and for him... You'll leave my boy alone. And Maxine. You'll leave them both alone."

"You'll find they might have an issue with that," I sneered, sighing hotly when he pushed me back into the counter and let go. My hands fell away from his wrists, watching him glare and point a finger at me.

"You're no good for him," he panted. "And if he hears about this, see what I can do. I won't be as restrained if you wanna keep playing this game, little girl."

"Unlike you, I don't see people's emotions as a game," I snipped, trying to regulate my breathing to not give way to my fear.

"Clean this shit up," he snapped, looking over at Susan as Billy's car was heard much louder. "Let's go, Susan."

She bowed her head in shame and followed him with her suitcase (in her good hand) towards the bedroom. I panted and squatted low to the floor, trying to think in my head what the fuck just happened. Fear prickled my skin and I looked to my arms to find them slightly swollen from Neil's suppressing-grip.

Billy would know something was up but I needed to cover my arms and given the warm weather, I didn't have a sweater. But Billy did, right?

Dashing to his bedroom after hearing Neil shut his and Susan's bedroom door, I ripped open his closet and scanned the contents. Baby boy didn't have a lot of options but he had a few and I was yanking a draw-string hoodie from a hanger and trying to wrangle myself into it and get back into the kitchen in time.

I was not successful.

"Uh, baby?" Billy's voice called from the doorway, my wide eyes meeting his curious ones. "The hell's going on?"

"I was cold," I blurted out, still trying to pull the fucking thing on that just seemed to refuse to cooperate.

"Mhm... And the beer in the kitchen's... Yours?" He stepped into the room, turning to shut his door.

"Don't!" I yelped, his furrowed expression meeting my wild one. "You can't leave Max alone out there," I rushed to explain.

"Baby, what the hell's going on?"

"I um... I think I have to go, okay? No big deal - "

"Where's Neil and Susan?" He asked, watching my eyes widen. "I saw their car, pretty girl, c'mon. What'd he say? He say anything to you?"

"Um, yeah, no, no, yeah, I just you know - I just, I should go," I nodded, straightening his hoodie over my sundress before trying to move around him for the door.

"Nah, hold up," Billy paused me, hands reaching for my upper arms. I didn't realize how sore they'd be so soon and whined with a flinch when his hands made contact; eyes filling with panicked tears as his own reflected confusing panic. "Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, sweetheart."

"I know," I rushed. "But I um... I just, I have to go, Billy."

"Sweetheart, nah, wait a second and hang on," Billy paused by reaching for my hips, curious when I didn't flinch this time and drew me into his embrace. "You wanna tell me what's got you all upset?"

"I'm okay - "

"You're not, pretty girl, just tell me why. Is it Neil?"

I whimpered and pressed into his chest, feeling a few tears leak out. "I'm okay," I repeated a few times, squeezing his waist as his hands raked up and down my back. "Just a little upset, but I'm okay."

"What upset you?" He wondered. "C'mon, ma, I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Right? Isn't that what you're always saying to me?"

I chuckled, nodding, "It is."

"So, c'mon, pretty girl, talk to me," he sighed.

"I just... Can we leave?" I pulled back to look up at him. "Please? W-We can go to my place or something, but I just want to get out of here."

This made Billy suspicious, "Something happen while we were gone?"

"Billy," I begged in a whisper.

"Baby, listen to me," he shook his head, hands rising to cradle my cheeks so his thumbs could wipe the flow of tears, "I need you to be honest. He put his hands on you? Did he touch you?'

"Billy," I sobbed, unable to look into those beautiful blues.

"I'll fucking kill him - "

"No," I gasped when he pulled back.

"NEIL!" Billy raged, my arms catching around his waist to bare slow him down as he approached his father's bedroom door. "YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!?"

"Billy, I swear to God," I panted, trying to pull him back. I caught a glimpse of red. "Max, stay back," I warned.

"COME HERE, YOU FUCKING COWARD! FACE ME!"

"Billy," I begged, moving around him to push at his stomach as he still raged forward. "C'mon, baby, let's just go. See? This is why I wanted to go."

"Why?" He snapped. "So I wouldn't break his fucking neck?"

"Exactly that," I panted still, whining lowly as I strained to push against solid muscle. "Christ, you know, usually I'm all for you working out but for fuck's sake! C'mon, don't!"

"NEIL! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU - I PROMISED IF YOU TOUCHED HER I WOULD!"

"This isn't worth it, Billy, c'mon!" I begged again. "You'll get locked up for beating him to death and then what?" I snapped. "Huh? I gotta visit you in jail, jackass! Go, c'mon," I whined, pushing still as he budged a step. "Walk away, walk away, baby, this isn't worth it. I promise you, it's not worth it, c'mon, walk away, baby, please."

"Nah, I gotta fix this - right fucking now - NEIL - "

"No, no, no, new rule," I panted, still shoving him back with my full weight. "I'm not coming over here anymore, okay? No more encounters, we won't risk it. This was a fluke, baby, a fluke, but we're not leaving room for other errors. C'mon, c'mon," I managed to back him down the hall. "Max is watching, don't make her watch, and Susan's hurt - "

"My mom's hurt?" Max demanded as I finally got Billy to stand still.

"Uh, yeah, she... She uh, came home with a broken arm." Max's enraged eyes turned to Billy. "We don't know what happened, please, just - everyone cool off, okay?"

"He hurt my mom," Max pointed out.

"I know, but we should go to the police, okay? Hopper's a pretty good chief, I know him from poker nights."

"What - "

"Where do you think I am every other Wednesday?" I waved Billy off. "We'll all go get in the car and go see Hopper, okay? We'll do this the legal way, and even if your mom," I looked at Max, "doesn't want to press charges, I will."

"Woah, hang on a second, pretty girl." Billy shook his head. "The hell does that mean?"

"You asked if he put his hands on me?" Billy nodded slowly, like he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. "He did... And if you take me now, I can go file a report and that jackass can be outta here by nightfall."

Max looked at Billy, "We can't leave my Mom!"

"We can't leave you, either," I pointed out. "And I sure as shit am not staying here, and Billy's not allowed to stay 'cause he'll kill Neil. Like, actually."

"Let him," Max sighed.

"No, 'cause then you and me, Little Miss, are subservient to prison visitations and no justice is served. We go this route with Hopper, Neil will go to jail. Even for a bit from what he did to me, he'll be outta here. Susan can decide what she wants to do from there."

"You got it like that with the chief of police?" Max scoffed, crossing her arms and offering a look of indigence.

"If he wants his watch back next poker night, yeah," I nodded, "he'll make sure this happens how we need it to."

Billy ran a hand down his face, "We can't leave Susan."

"He's in there with her," I pointed out. "No way of getting to her with alerting him to what we're doing."

"How far is the station?" Max asked.

"Not far," Billy nodded, "if we go, right now."

"Hey," I grabbed his wrist when he moved to tug his denim jacket back on, "I-I'm so sorry - "

"What?" he snapped. "Why're you apologizing?"

"I didn't help the situation," I sighed.

"You did nothing to deserve whatever the hell he did," Billy assured, moving to cradle my jaw in his hand. "I shouldn't've left you, and that's my fault. Can you tell us what happened in the car?"

"Can you drive like a normal person?"

He sighed, "I can try to. Baby, it'll only take me a minute to handle him - "

"I love you, Billy," I interrupted, feeling emotion swell in my eyes. "And I want a future with you, but that can't happen if I let you go fucking kill your father. Please, please, let's just go to Hopper. Please, Billy, we can handle this swiftly and quietly, nobody has to know."

"I don't care about that - I want him to pay for what he did to you!"

"He will," I breathed. "Baby, he will. Don't underestimate Hopper, please."

Billy looked ready to argued before nodding slowly, sighing hotly, "Fine, let's just - let's go."

It didn't take long to get to the police station. And when I walked in with Billy and Max at my flank, Callahan looked over nosily as I all but barged into Jim Hopper's office.

He dully looked up through a thick cloud of smoke from the cigarette that hung limply from his lips. Once I ushered the others in and slammed the door, he perked up, "This doesn't feel like a social visit..."

"It's not," I breathed, wrangling the sweatshirt from my frame. I paused when Billy's sharp inhale sent ice into the pit of my stomach; knowing his father's hands had left bruises already from their intense grasp. "We'd like to report a crime or something?"

"Or something?"

"It's domestic, Jim, we want to keep it quiet."

Hopper sat up in interest, "And they're involved... How?"

"It's," I paused to look at Max with pity before over at Billy, his eyes already glazed over, "it's their father. He, uh... He grabbed me, and they'd like to attest to other acts of physical violence. There's reason for us to believe he's abusing his wife - she now has a broken arm."

"This is... Very serious, kids."

"We know," I assured. "Which is why we came here, to you. We need to be taken seriously."

Jim Hopper nodded, waving us forward, "Come tell me what happened... In detail."

I gulped, nodding at Billy as Max shied away towards the back of the office. It left Billy and I to lead the conversation with Hopper, who, as I assumed, sent a squad car to collect Susan and Neil.

Once separated, Susan came clean about her own accounts of abuse and Neil was booked to the jail. It was a long process that took most of the night and Billy let Susan and Max in his car before putting me in the passenger to drive us home.

He was silent the whole time.

Pensive.

Unsure.

Nervous.

Susan took Max to bed that night, letting her curl up with her mama as I took Billy in his room. Once alone, he just lowered himself to the floor in front of his bed; knees bending slightly as his eyes cleared themselves of any emotion and looked more closer to detached.

"Baby?" I sighed, sitting beside him and wrapping my arms around his denim-covered one. "Baby, hey?" I whispered, waiting until he turned his head. "You've been sitting here for 15 minutes, I'm starting to worry a little, my love. D-Do you want to be alone?"

His head shook, looking like words died on his tongue.

"Do you want to get in bed?" I was careful in my words and tone.

"What the hell just happened?"

I sighed, "Your father put his hands on me, you came home, threatened to kill him, let me convince you to go to the cops instead, and we got Jim Hopper on the case. Susan confessed to her own account of abuse from Neil, and it was enough in combination with our stories to book him. Okay? He's in jail," I reminded. "He's in jail, and he can't hurt you anymore. He'll never hurt you again, Billy..."

He looked panicked, "N-No, no, no, n-now I-I'm - no, baby, now it's on me - it's on me."

"Hey," I nodded, reaching for his cheeks and meeting his eyes, "you're okay, and the only thing we have to do is what we're already doing. Nothing more, nothing less. We've got this."

"I-I'm it," he shook his head. "T-The man of the house - "

"You are still a boy," I argued, "and are not expected to just step right into his father's place. Please, Billy, just get in bed with me. It really happened, my love, but you need sleep."

He nodded, brows crinkled and eyes tinted red from suppressed emotion, "Sleep?"

"Sleep," I agreed softly; reaching out to gently let my fingernails scrap over his skin as I slowly pushed hair behind his ear.

"Will you stay with me? Please, baby, I'm so - "

"Hey, hey, I'm not leaving you," I promised. "But how about we get your shoes and jacket off at least?"

"I just," he paused, "baby, it really happened. He's really gone, right? He's gone? It's done?"

"He's gone, my sweet," I nodded in agreement. "You're safe now, all right? He's not gonna hurt you again, and you're never gonna be alone. I know they're not the family you wouldn't chose, but Susan and Max are the family that's gonna support you now."

"It feels too easy," he whispered.

"Sometimes it can," I admitted. "But not everyone is as lucky like us."

"I get that," he nodded. "Fuck - I just, it's happening."

"It is, sweet boy," I smiled. "And it's gonna change everything, but you're gonna be safe."

"Fuck," Billy breathed, looking purely shocked and confused. "I just - "

"Hey, no, no, you don't have to think right now," I assured. "Let's just get in bed, okay? We've still got a couple of hours before sunrise, okay? Just get in bed with me."

"Yeah," Billy whispered, "yeah, okay, yeah."

It didn't take long for either of us to strip; Billy crashing to bed with the window cracked and the ashtray balanced on the windowsill while in nothing but his boxers. I took a second or two longer to just look at him as he lit up his cigarette before joining him in bed.

"Are you okay?" I whispered after a few minutes of silent smoking, careful not to let the ash fall over his bare chest.

"I don't know yet."

"I'll ask in a few days," I tried to sound amused but he only looked pensive. "Hey," I whispered, waiting until his eyes found mine, "how's about you and me go camping this weekend?"

It made his brows crinkle deeper, "What?"

I shrugged, "Yeah, just you and me alone in the woods for two days."

"I've never been camping," he admitted.

"Oh, you're in luck," I beamed. "My brother was a Boy Scout, so, we went on a lot of family-friendly Scout Troop camping trips."

He chuckled, "So, you're a pro, aren't you?"

"Oh, totally," I grinned. "Might even get your ass to go fishing. Like a real country boy, hmm?"

He let out a long breath, "Yeah, uh... Sounds kinda nice."

"I'm just trying to help get your mind off all this, baby."

"I know, doll," he smiled slightly, flexing his arm to bring me closer so his lips could pucker a few wet kisses to my cheek. "You're God sent, you know that?"

"Billy," I whined.

"Nah, I'm serious," he chuckled, looking over to set the cigarette down to smolder in the ashtray before rolling over onto me. "You, my beautiful, smart girl, are sent by God himself. You've gotta be."

I sighed, "Maybe with Neil gone you'll start to see how much you're worth."

"Maybe. But I don't know, I think I shine pretty brightly with you."

"I couldn't agree more," I laughed, reaching up for his cheeks. "I'm sorry it came down to this, but I'm glad I was able to be here with you for all of this."

"I just... I knew something felt weird leavin' you. I didn't want to. And you got hurt 'cause I didn't trust my gut - so, from now on, we're listening."

I chuckled, "All right, next time your gut wants to speak up, we'll do our best to listen."

"Good, all right," he sighed, pausing to look over my face with skittish eyes. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I just - I promise I'll protect you when I can. But for fuck's sake, I'm sorry for leaving you."

Knowing his guilt was clouding better judgement, I assure, "I forgive you. It's okay, I don't blame you, I love you, and I know it's not gonna happen again. You're about to be really clingy, aren't you?" I couldn't help but giggle, reaching to gently boing one of his forehead curls.

"You know it, sweetheart," he chuckled. "There's no reason for you to go anywhere without me, you know?"

"I have an OB appointment this week, wanna go to that?"

"I don't know what that is, but I'm game."

I could only laugh, "Okay, can we nap please?"

Billy sighed, moving to drop onto the bed beside me. He reached for the cigarette again, taking a sharp inhale. "Hey," he whispered, looking down at me when I curled back under his chin.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

I smiled against his chest, "Yeah, love you, too, baby boy."

And as we both laid to settle in for the night, I couldn't help but think back to Neil's words and how wrong he was. I did know Billy, I did understand him, and I felt something click into place in my heart when I settled on the idea that I'd never stop trying to understand him. No matter the damage Neil tried to inflict, I knew that with time and compassion, Billy would break free of the binds his father tied him in and he'd require understanding as he settled into his new life.

Turns out, I've got plenty to give to this boy.

[jobean12-blog]

Sweet Ruin

Pairing: Nick Fowler x reader

Word Count: 742

Summary: Is Nick really the kind of man you meet at a bar and go home with? (yes.)

Author’s Note: This is my last entry for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club Candy Hearts Club celebration and day 7 (feb 18th): Let’s Kiss, UR Cute, Go Fish, Saucy Boy. As usual no candy hearts but I focused on the UR Cute and the Saucy boy here. Nick is definitely saucy haha! Hope you enjoy! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my sweet @firefly-graphics Thanks so much!💕

Warnings: flirting and lots of tension. 

Gif NOT MINE: Credit goes to @unearthlydust​ 

You lift the glass to your lips and your eyes settle on the man across the bar. It’s not the first time tonight. You’ve been playing the staring game for the past hour but neither of you has moved from your spot.

His heated and intense gaze holds a clear promise and when you push off the bar and head to the restroom you can feel the weight of his stare.

You check yourself in the mirror one last time before walking out into the dimly lit hallway. When you turn to go back to the bar your way is blocked by broad shoulders and devious smile.

“Going somewhere sweetheart?”

“I was thinking about having another drink,” you reply as you lean against the wall and cross your arms over your chest.

“Let me buy it for you,” the man croons.

“And if I say no?” you retort.

“You don’t want to say no,” he answers, hovering over you.

You raise your brows and brush past him, sauntering over to the bar and getting the bartenders attention. You order your favorite drink.

“He’s paying,” you say when the bartender places it down in front of you.

The man standing behind you smiles and reaches back for his wallet, ordering his own drink before he throws down some cash. You take the opportunity to give him a good once over under the lights of the bar. His sculpted jaw is lined with dark scruff that’s peppered with gray and his eyes are the color of the ocean.

“Nick,” he says, holding up his drink to yours.

You clink his glass and introduce yourself.

“What are you doing here alone?” he asks.

“Who says I’m alone Nick?”

His mouth lifts into a lopsided grin and he watches you over the rim of his glass before he downs half of his drink. His tongue darts out to trace the outline of his parted lips and his eyes stay fixed on you.

“So. Who’s the lucky guy?”

You run your fingertip along the rim of the glass then lift it to your mouth to lick the moisture off. With a pop you answer, “maybe you.”

“Lucky me then.”

“We’ll see. I mean you are very cute.”

He laughs and it’s the first time he gives you more than just a sultry smile. His eyes crinkle at the corners and his nose scrunches up, both gestures causing you to have a wide smile to match.

“Cute. I haven’t been called that since High School.”

“Do you prefer devastatingly handsome?” you ask, leaning in closer.

His eyes drop to your lips and he tilts his head as if to consider your words.

“I’ll take it,” he whispers, now close enough that his warm breath caresses your cheek. “Especially coming from such a gorgeous woman.”

You focus on your next breath, working hard to remain in control of your reaction when he pulls away and assesses you. His scent still lingers in the small space between you and you risk a small intake of breath.

“Another?” he asks.

“One more won’t hurt,” you purr.

He grabs his chair and slides it closer, sitting with his long legs spread wide. The buttons of his shirt strain against his chest every time he shifts and you squeeze your glass tightly to keep your fingers from reaching out to touch him.

You notice the gun hidden at his hip and your heartbeat kicks up.

“How much longer are we going to play this game?” he murmurs, resting his hand on your bare thigh.

“What game? I thought we were enjoying our drinks?”

You lower your lashes and look down at his hand on your leg. His touch is warm as he brushes his thumb across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Leave with me,” he whispers.

“We just met. You could be a dangerous man.”

A knowing smile graces his full lips.

“I am a dangerous man…and you like it. Come with me.”

He holds out his hand and your hesitation is fleeting. His fingers close around yours and he lifts you from your seat. You collide with his chest, your face now close enough to his neck that you can smell his skin.

“I better not regret this Nick.”

He leans in and brushes his lips along the shell of your ear. “Regret is the least of your worries sweetheart,” he simpers before he ushers you out of the bar.