#which gets fleshed out more in chapter two :) for now it’s just fun (but not for dick lol) trials and tribulations of kidnapping one (1) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

endless-ineffabilities · 4 months ago

Text

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 2) - August!

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this sweet one is set just before they broke it off (or rather, before the reader stomped all over his heart) in part five!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

August! (... slipped away into a moment in time)

It's a fine morning, albeit lazy, you and Ewan having done nothing but lay in bed and talk and cuddle.

Granted, you did a lot more than talk over the course of the night. And this continued in the morning, with Ewan gently coaxing you out of sleep in need.

He's been insatiable, not that you can blame him. You two are finally together, after months of dancing around each other, your friends in eager anticipation to see how the 'will-they, won't they' dynamic will culminate.

They'll be pleased to know that it all led up to the best date you've had so far, followed by a night of bodies burning for the other, marking their territory in the throes of pent-up desire.

Ewan was sure he would remain the gentleman, merely driving you back to your hotel and calling it a night.

But you had invited him upstairs for a nightcap. Maybe some tea, as the Brits do. Needless to say, the tea was quickly forgotten, along with any reservations he might have about simply having you.

The haze of it hasn't subsided. Clad in nothing but undergarments, your limbs are tangled with his under the sheets as you watch the newly released New York foods video he did with Tom a while back.

"Baby?" you say, running your fingers through his hair as he has his head propped on your thighs. The screen plays on, showing the lads thoroughly enjoying some New York City hotdogs.

"Hmm?" he responds, his voice hinting at how soothed he feels from your touch.

"You're such a baby."

"What?" He twists his neck to shoot you a look of betrayal. Adorable.

"I bet those chips weren't even that spicy," you say, rolling your eyes. "I would have devoured those jalapeño chips."

"They were spicy!" He leans against his forearm, which he quickly positioned on your thigh without thinking, causing your muscle to spasm from the sudden weight.

"Ahhh, Ewan!" you wriggle your legs. "Get off, get off..."

"Shit!" He bolts upright, immediately kneading the flesh with his palm. "Sorry, baby. Here, where does it hurt?"

You sigh audibly. "Oh, you." You narrow your eyes at him playfully, trying to look all tough, but apparently he takes it as a cue to press his lips to yours.

It's warm, a bit sloppy, your breaths stale from wine drank over the course of the night. And you don't mind at all.

He croons in your ear, "How do I make it up to you?"

"It's fine, I was only kind of messing - "

"Come now, darling, anything."

He gazes at you, awaiting an answer. In the background, you hear his voice saying, The Fuegos... I didn't like them, as the video comes to a close.

I saw your eyeballs sort of pop out your head a little bit, Tom says in response.

This is going to be fun, you think, smiling evilly to yourself.

Rising to your knees on the bed, you loudly declare, "Today, my love, you will conquer your fears and eat my favourite spicy food."

"Nooo!" He shakes his head right away, already plotting how to get out of this predicament. "Baby, please make me do anything else. I can't handle my spice!"

"My mind is made up."

"What if I do that thing that made you scream last night? When I buried my tongue insi - '

"Ewan!" Your face reddens, but you carry on. His face will soon have the same reaction, but for different, more savoury reasons. "I mean, I would like that but - "

"Alright, let's go baby, spread your knees - " he nods, desperate to placate you and your challenge, but also eager to get down to business.

You shuffle away when he tries to pry your legs open. " - I said I made up my mind! We're eating spicy food. We gotta eat anyway, I'm starving."

He groans, collapsing back on the bed. He runs his hand tiredly over his face, mulling it over. As if he actually has a choice. He wants to do this for you, seeing as how excited you're getting.

"Get up, ol' sport," you crawl on top of him, perching above his stomach. "We're gonna go get the goods."

"Hmm," he sighs contentedly, one look at you more than enough to quell his worries. For now.

"Okay, darling," he relents, then his eyes flash in mischief. "But before we get out of bed... how about I do that thing anyway?"

There is not a single chance in the seven hells that you could ever say no to that.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An interesting spread is laid out on the round dining table in your hotel suite.

Your stomach growls in anticipation, while Ewan is stiff as a board as he sits beside you.

"I'm hungry, aren't you?" you nudge him, but he only moans, throwing his head back in his chair.

"What if I'd already eaten? I can skip this?" he tries.

"And what the hell did you eat?"

He smirks, and even though his answer won't save him from what follows, it renders him gleeful all the same. "You," is his reply.

That prompts an eye roll, but you shake your head at him fondly. "What should we start with, baby?"

"Water."

"Come on."

"How about the strawberry milk?"

"Okay, then I'll pick." You clasp your hands, surveying the options. "Let's start with something easy." You settle for the bowl of Flamin Hot Cheetos and place it right in front of him.

You help yourself to a few pieces, before noticing that he hasn't moved a muscle, so you take one and bring it to his lips. "Open up, handsome."

"Mmmm," he tilts his head away on instinct, but he gives in after a second. He makes a face as the snack crunches in his mouth. "Not... bad, I suppose.... Urghhh - " he coughs a little, making you snicker at him between bites.

"That's not spicy at all," you say. "At least, it's nothing compared to what we'll have next."

The chicken wings are an unnatural bright red colour, covered in hot sauce and dotted with flecks of chili. You lean down and take a whiff, your nose scrunching as the strong hint of spice hits your senses.

Your placating smile does nothing to ease Ewan, who only looks like he is regretting his life choices on the spot.

"O-kay, dragonblood. Time to breathe fire," you remark in an attempt to inspire some confidence in him. Didn't he take pride in playing a Targaryen dragonrider? Surely some part of him would want to overcome the big, bad opponent that is known in our world as spicy wings.

"Breathe fire?" he exclaims. "That does not make me feel any better!"

"Do it for Vhagar, my love. Do it for Vhagar."

"I'm doing this for you," he corrects, before gingerly taking the smallest bite of a wing. He waits for the impact, confused when nothing unpleasant occurs.

So he bravely takes another, heartier bite.

Big mistake.

His hand gravitates to the glass of water, and he chugs it down like a lifeline. His once pale face becomes the same hue as the fiery culprit.

"Fffuck, ba...by," he hiccups. "I didn't like that at all."

You have a bite, wincing just a little when it hits your throat. It wasn't too bad, so you tell him to calm down.

He complains anyway, "I think I just saw my life flash right before my eyes."

You chortle at that, which unfortunately makes some of the spice travel up your nose. "Oh god!" You instantly take a huge gulp of milk. "Don't make me laugh!" you say, when the heat dies down.

"See?" he cries out in vindication. "Why must we torture ourselves, darling?"

"The food's tasty," you counter.

"Yeah, but is it worth the price?"

You grip his shoulder, dramatically saying, "We have to keep going, soldier."

"No."

"Yes."

"You won't break up with me if I refuse, will you?"

You pause, making it seem like you are seriously deliberating it. "Maybe."

"What?!" His expression takes on a more real sense of alarm.

"I'm kidding," you giggle, nudging his leg with yours. He leans his head against your shoulder, responding with, "You're mean."

"And you're dating me. What does that say about you?"

He lets out a weary laugh, "That I'm just really in love, I guess."

That almost makes you give up on the challenge entirely. You could just let him eat the pepperoni pizza you have saved as the actual meal. But it wouldn't hurt too much to tackle the grand finale. The final boss. Maybe it will even get his taste buds to crack and cross over to the dark side.

"Baby?" Here goes everything.

"Hmm?"

"It's time for the spicy ramen."

He sighs a true sigh of defeat and acceptance. "If I survive this, you have to swear you're never letting me go."

"That's your bargain? Easy, baby."

His blue eyes bore into yours. His cheeks are still red and he's still sniffling from the spice, but his sentiment holds weight. He shrugs, before his arm reaches out for the bowl of ramen, making it known that he has already accepted his fate.

You slide the glass of milk closer to him.

"Try not to get it on your lips as much as possible," you advise him, growing worried as the ramen pack did warn that it was '2x Spicy'.

You cringe inwardly as a forkful of noodles enters his mouth. He drops his arm, chewing slowly, and finally the food gratefully slides down his throat.

"Mmm," he clears his throat, trying his hardest to remain calm. His forced, blank expression is even more alarming than the alternative.

"Ewan?" He turns his head toward you, slowly. And you see the full extent of the damage. His eyes well with tears, and his breathing is shallow from an even more congested nose.

"I'm okay," he wheezes, trying to maintain a show of boldness for your sake. "I can do this."

"You don't look okay." You shake your head at him, as his face takes on an even deeper shade of red.

A pained grunt escapes him. "Maybe a kiss will make it better."

A cursory glace at the ramen sauce staining his lips compels you to protest without a second thought. "How about no? You've got it all over your lips."

"Darling, who cares? You're going to eat them too!" he says, scandalised.

"But I've got a technique. I don't let it touch my lips so it doesn't burn!" You inch away as he leans in.

"So you won't kiss me?" He uses his baby blues against you, eyes bright and shimmering as he pouts in disappointment.

"You don't need a kiss." He tries to grab you, making you stand from your chair to get away. With your palm outstretched, you implore him, "Baby, just drink your milk."

"Then I get a kiss?"

"Fine. Then you get a kiss."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Tom calls you a few days later, his tone animated from the moment you pick up. "Would you look at that! I didn't think I would get a hold of you lovers. Thought you'd be busy doing somethin' else, if y'know what I mean."

"It's noon here, Tom," you reply matter-of-factly, stretching your legs out on the bed.

"So? I reckon Captain Big Balls over there has got it in him."

"Wow," you let out an amused exhale. Tom always did have a way about him, being a Manc and all. "Well, he's in the shower right now if you wanted to speak to him."

"I'm surprised you're not in there with him, love! You guys are all over the news, bloody hell. Even out here, everyone's buzzin' about the hot new couple from House of the Dragon. And no, it's not Matt and Fabien."

You smirk at his last remark, "Are you sure it's not Matt and Fabs?"

"Positive," he says. "But we never know what could happen. Anyway, how in the hell did you convince him?"

You rack your brain for what exactly he could be pertaining to. "Convince him to do what?"

"To create a bloody Instagram profile, that's what!"

Your mouth falls open, and you quickly put him on speaker so you can scroll to the aforementioned app. Sure enough, it doesn't take long for you to sift through your new follower notifications before you find him.

His username is on brand - straightforward and no-frills - just ewanmitchell . Already verified with a hundred thousand followers and counting. In his following list, however, there is only one - your profile.

If the papparazzi pictures and tabloid stories and fan encounters hadn't convinced everyone yet, likely this will.

Ewan, notorious not only for his charisma and pure talent, but also for being steadfast in staying off social media, has sent the entirety of Ewan Nation into a tailspin with his profile.

Icing on the cake - he only follows you.

"You see, this is what convinces the public that you two are not PR," Tom says. "Because Ewan would never, ever get on the socials for just anyone."

"I didn't even know he made this. I haven't been online in quite a bit."

"Been busy, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Doin' a lot of stuff out there?"

"I guess."

"Like Ewan?"

"Tom, I'm going to lynch you when I see you."

He only laughs, having gotten his desired outcome from prodding at you.

The bathroom door slides open, and Ewan steps out with nothing but a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist.

"Who's that?" he mouths at you.

"Tom," you answer loudly, prompting Tom to greet Ewan from the speakerphone.

"Aemond the Fierce!" he bellows, the long-distance call doing nothing to stifle his personality. "I always knew you had it in ya. Ever since you laid eyes on her during the table read, I knew it was only a matter of time."

Well, isn't that a revelation. You had thought it was just you harbouring a crush in the beginning. "The table read, really? I just remember being so nervous," you say.

"I thought you were attractive," Ewan admits, scratching the back of his neck. "And you were reading your lines with such passion that I... "

Tom interrupts, "He ran over to me and told me to show him your social media."

"Not just that, I - "

"He wanted to see whether you had any pictures with a boyfriend or something."

"Alright, alright." Ewan snatches the phone from your hand, as if that will keep Tom from exposing him even more. "How are you, mate?"

"I'm good, lad, and yourself?"

Ewan glances at you, seeing that you've gone back to reading a script, your brow furrowed in concentration.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"I'm great. I'm happy."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

"Over here! Over here!"

"How's your evening going, you guys? How are you enjoying LA?"

The papparazzi needlessly try to make small talk and they flash their cameras in your face. You and Ewan barely have time to grimace at each other once you get inside his car. The restaurant where he took you to dinner hadn't been crawling with paps when you arrived. Someone must have tipped them at some point.

Ewan instinctively reaches for your hand when you've driven some distance away from the restaurant, a breath of relief exiting his lungs.

"That's Hollywood for you, baby," he says amusedly, putting on his best standard American accent.

The car speeds through the streets of LA. Heading to Mount Hollywood, you have the famous Griffith Observatory set as your destination.

You have always wanted to go, and it only took one mention to Ewan before he planned it for your next date.

It doesn't take long before the observatory's iconic structure comes into view. Its white domes seemingly gleam under the night sky, a sentinel watching over the city of Los Angeles.

Stepping out of the car, you take in the scene in awe. The resulting look on your face lets Ewan know he made the right choice in taking you here. He'd take you here everyday if it meant seeing you in a spell of childlike wonder.

The observatory itself is just a bonus.

The outer balcony stretches like a vertice into the vastness of the city, a sea of lights glistening down below. It seemed to sprawl on endlessly, a labyrinth of hopes and pains and dreams.

You stand there, drawn to the view like a moth to a flame. The evening breeze dances through your hair, and your face is aglow from the illuminated city.

Smiling widely, you turn and find Ewan lingering just behind, watching you.

"Come and look at this, my love," you wave him over.

He wants to capture the moment, so he does. He subtly points his camera in your direction. Your profile is partially visible, with your face turned out into the horizon. Your silhouette stands before a mosaic of the shining city.

But it's you that has his attention. You that pulls all of his focus into the frame.

He never thought he would have much use for a public social media profile like the one he created on Instagram, but hours later, as you're sound asleep beside him, he finds purpose for such a thing.

He uploads the first ever photo on his profile - the one he secretly took of you at the observatory.

Too conscious to think of a caption, he doesn't type in any, content to let the photo speak for itself.

Putting his phone away, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and falls into blissful slumber.

Ewan hadn't been aware of the phrase breaking the internet, and he's in for quite the rude awakening.

Even so, he doesn't let it faze him.

You're in shock when you discover the amount of comments under the photo, well past the twelve thousand mark when you wake up. Positive, negative, and everything in between.

Almost unheard of for an Instagram debut.

His reaction?

"At least everyone knows that you're mine now. What's wrong with that?"

You can vote here on the reader's hotd character name!

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff @onlyrealjoy (continued in comments)

The sad, angsty bits will be saved for the next proper chapter! What happens to Ewan's Instagram then? What happens to him?? 🥲💔

I was going to include the double date idea, but alas, my ideas ran dry.

I've got nothing but love for all of you that have followed this story to this point! If you've got scene requests, just let me know!

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #aemond targaryen #chemical override #ewan mitchell fanfic #hotd

620 notes · View notes

anim-ttrpgs · 2 months ago

Text

The Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy October 17th Beta update has launched today on itch.io for free!

Happy Halloween! We pulled out all the stops just to get the update out in time for you to prep and play it for your group’s Halloween game! The free adventure module that comes with it, “Horror Harry’s Haunted House”, takes place on Halloween after all! In it, your investigators will solve a “murder mystery” in a charmingly spooky haunted house escape room. It serves as a sort of investigation and survival training ground for you and your PCs to learn the ropes before jumping into more Call-of-Cthulhu-esque adventures where death is around every corner. (You can even get two more adventure modules over on our patreon)

Download the new rulebook here on itch.io! Even if you download it for free, just checking it out, talking about it, reblogging this post, etc. helps us out immensely. We are a diverse, largely queer team setting out to slay a dragon, we’ve already been working on this for four years, and we need all the community support we can get!

If you’re wondering what Eureka even is, watch this trailer, or read this post if you don't wanna watch a video.

youtube

If you’ve ever tried to run a murder mystery in D&D, what you really needed was Eureka.

If you’re coming from the August beta release, which I assume you are, lemme tell you that a lot has been improved. I’ll go over some of the highlights, and post the full changelog under the cut. It’s still free, but if you could throw a bit of money out way on the itchio page, even if you’ve paid before, that would be a massive, massive help. We’re actually a bit over budget even with the relative success of the Kickstarter, plus for one of us this is their primary source of income.

Trait Overhaul

There’s a few new Traits, and nearly every single existing Trait has been redone to make them better and/or more interesting. Each Trait will now have an even more significant effect on your gameplay experience.

Combat Overhaul + World's Best Grappling Rules

Combat in Eureka is now better than ever, and it was already really good - plus, now you can actually comprehend the dang rules! The previous combat rules, I admit, were a dense and confusing slog to read through, even if they worked really well once you understood them. Now, thanks to our editor, you can understand them! Instead of being split across four chapters, it’s now just two chapters. One chapter explains weapons and is mostly just for stat reference, and the other chapter is focused on telling you everything your character can do during “dangerous situations,” which are not just combat, but really just any kind of scenario where a character can get hurt. As a special highlight to the combat overhaul, Eureka now boasts the first ever set of grappling rules that are viable, realistic, and fun to employ at the table! I’m serious when I say I have never seen them done like this before, and think they offer an actual leap forward in something that TTRPGs have struggled with since early editions of D&D! I also put a lot of my own judo and other martial arts experience to work here.

Monster Overhaul

A lot of what I said about the pre-overhaul combat sections of the rulebooks were also true of the monster PC rules. They were dense, hard to reference, and disorganized. Well not anymore! All six playable monsters in Eureka have been completely rewritten using the skills I have gained as a game designer since first writing them, and, like the regular Traits, they have all been at the very least tweaked to be more interesting and have a greater effect on gameplay, and some have been changed entirely with all new subsystems! Witches brew potions now, fairies actually have stuff to do with the names they collect, and more! Plus, speaking of Traits, every monster can have more regular Traits now, to really help flesh out their personality!

CHANGE LOG

Copy-editing Progress: Thoroughly copy-edited up to p. 302. Half-ass copy-edited up to p. 322.

WHOLE BOOK

Stuck most of the $42+ kickstarter backer submission info into the very back of the book just to get it out of our email inbox and to allow the whole team to be able to more easily see it and work with it. Going to be doing more to integrate this stuff into the actual rulebook soon.

Changed the headings to hopefully be more legible. Please give us feedback on what you think of this change.

CHAPTER 1

Changed the limitations on how Comfort is used to restore investigator Composure.

Fixed a typo in the investigation example of play.

Made it so that Composure rolls for fears in the “Ridiculous” category don’t even always need to be rolled when these things are encountered.

Moved Character Health and Status, Grievous Wounds, Healing, and Healing Example sections to Chapter 1.

Changed Partial Incapacitation to give -2 modifiers instead of -1.

Overhauled the rules for injuries, incapacitation, and grievous wounds completely. A ton of it is changed.

Added codified rules for medical facilities and what to do in the case of investigator death.

Added “The Creeps” optional rule.

Tweak to When is the Party “Split” section regarding how long to go before jumping between groups.

Lots of new art has been added.

Tweaks to Be Prepared to Lose section.

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

Additions to the What is Eureka For section

Changed comforting factors and exacerbating factors for Composure rolls to be +/-2 instead of +/-1 so they make a real difference.

New snoop

Changed the font of the section headings in the Ticking Clock section. Let us know what you think of these headings compared to the other headings, because we are considering changing all the headings to be like this.

Better clarified some stuff about how Ticks work when an adventure starts at some random time of day.

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

More art has been added

Made travel take more time and matter more

CHAPTER 2

Changed the CQC skill to Close Combat, as this is more clear and obvious what that means at a glance

Made lots of copy-editing progress. Many paragraphs are shorter and convey the rules more clearly.

Changed the way the Burnout Trait works. It now causes the investigator to lose flat Composure each day rather than affecting their Composure rolls.

Changed the Death Wish Trait to not suck.

Changed the Elementary! Trait to use Visual Calculus instead of Social Cues.

Changed Go With Your Gut Trait to not suck.

Added that wallets and like basic clothing and stuff have a WP cost of 0

Added glasses to item list

Added rope to item list

Added hand warmers to item list

Changed Arithmomania trait to where it only gives a +1 base bonus to Paperwork, and the bonus for having a lower Ignorance of Quantity Tiers of Fear rating is more investigation points.

Changed Femme Fatale to add a +1 Seduce bonus instead of +2.

Totally redid the Hardy Trait.

Added -1 modifier to I’m Okay You’re Okay Trait

Redid the Just Built Different Trait. Now it allows a character “no sell” an incoming Superficial Damage attack once per Scene, reducing the damage to 0, among a few other things.

Added Renaissance Man Trait.

Removed Love Me Trait. Might try to reword it another time, but it was too similar to too many other traits and wasn't very interesting.

Completely reworked Lover Trait.

Many new snoops have been added.

Changed the Mad Genius trait to be called Lovecraft Protagonist and changed what it does.

Removed the investigation point cap on Man of Action Trait. Also changed the name to Ask Questions Later.

Changed My Glasses Trait to only provide bonuses to Knowledge Skill Investigative Rolls.

Changed Nightstalker Trait so that it provides a bonus to all Interpersonal Rolls while trespassing

Changed None of My Business Trait to suck less.

Changed Not Finished Yet Trait to suck less.

Changed Showboater Trait to suck less.

Changed Skeptic Trait to suck less.

Smalls is now a real Trait instead of just a joke Trait.

Removed the +1 Bonus from the Unpredictable Trait.

Changed Wicked Trait to not suck.

Changed Wizened Trait to suck less.

Woo-Woo Trait no-longer based on Blacked Out Skill.

Moved “Deadly Combat, Permanent Consequences” here and changed the title to “Disabilities are Disabling”

Changed Basic Physical Therapy on the Wealth Point Item List from 3WP to 2WP.

Added new section “People Change”

Made Blissfully Ignorant trait immune to “The Creeps.”

Made the Technically… Trait have a +2 bonus instead of +1.

Updated the Hard Boiled Trait to work with the new way that injuries and incapacitation works.

Moved the Hardened Hearts snoop to be the Wicked snoop instead.

Changed “Empath” Trait to be “Empathetic” instead.

Made “Did You Know…” a better and more usable Trait

Made Hard Under Pressure a better and more usable Trait.

Changed how the WP cost of an item affects the modifier for rolling for it in-adventure. The modifier is now half the WP cost rounded down.

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

Gave a proper name to the Wealth modifier attached to certain homes and vehicles, it is now called the Property Modifier(PM).

Lowered the price of firearm ammunition by 1WP

Lowered the price of desktop computers by 1WP

Lowered the price of cameras by 1WP

Combined various hand tools into one entry on the item lists and moved them to Misc.

Made hotels something that is prepaid in WP similar to food budget.

Made Large Apartment less expensive and Tiny Apartment more expensive

Moved Baseball Bat and Axe out of Weapons and into Misc.

Changed how Food Budget works.

Removed Net Skill Limit mechanic entirely

Edit to the duration of the bonuses for Femme Fatale

Changed Ninja Trait to a +2 bonus instead of +1

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

Made “Sleep On It” Trait give 1D6-1 investigation points, and still give Composure.

Added “Real Capybara Hours.” Sometimes jokes are just for us.

Added animals to item lists

CHAPTER 3

Moved the section “Deadly Combat, Permanent Consequences” into chapter 2.

More art has been added.

Moved Character Health and Status, Grievous Wounds, Healing, and Healing Example sections to Chapter 1.

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

Changed the name of Chapter 3 to “Dangerous Situations.” We are planning to put all the combat and other dangerous stuff into one chapter called “Dangerous Situations” and merge combat, chases, etc. into one thing rather than splitting it up and having it in a bunch of different chapters.

Made it so that the Speed mechanic works with Theater of the Mind as well, and removed that other awkward mechanic with rolling Athletics for how many turns it takes for a character to cross a large distance.

Complete restructure of the way the mechanics for movement and action are explained, as well as defining things as both Movements and Actions.

Created a Chapter 2.5. In the future when we are ready to shift the chapter numbers, Chapter 2.5 will become the new Chapter 3 and the current Chapter 3 will become Chapter 4. Chapter 2.5 currently houses the statistics of weapons and other combat items. The plan is that a first-time reader will read the weapon statistics in Chapter 2.5 before they read the combat rules in Chapter 3, which will inform the way they understand Chapter 3.

Changed damage value and special attributes of pepper spray.

Made brass knuckles do 1 penetrative damage.

Made stun guns do 2 superficial damage.

Made it so that bulletproof vests do protect against 1-damage weapons.

Moved and rearranged like everything from chapters 3-6.

Close range bonus for guns is now +2 instead of +1

Simplified Stopping Power rules (the actual way it works has not changed, we just rewrote it so that it gives the same mechanics in like a tenth of the word count)

Separated open-faced helmets and full-face helmets, and made it so that wearing a helmet along with body armor gives a -1 penalty to incoming attack rolls.

“Single Load” is now called “Internal Magazines”

Shotguns at extremely close range now have similar stopping power to a rifle, but at 5-10 yards they still have their double stopping power.

Changed how Rate of Fire works for guns. Just making it a number instead of distinct actions.

Made it so that Quick Cycling affects basically all guns except automatics, meaning characters with high Firearms skill can now fire semi-automatic pistols at 3 bullets per Action.

Streamlined Stabilization. It is no-longer a roll and instead a penalty that worsens the more bullets are being fired at once.

Made Bipods give +2 Contextual bonus instead of +1 to single stationary targets.

Changed Reactions and made them more broadly applicable and usable as a rule.

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

Overhauled Grabs, Throws, Holds, and Escapes to make them a viable option in a lot more scenarios.

Defined “On the Ground” and made it its own section.

Made knock out blows and throws ignore Armor. Knock-out blows are still somewhat penalized by helmets.

Added A Real John Woo Film Optional Rule

More art has been added

Hastily updated the random chase obstacle tables for the new Movement/Action system.

Updated the example obstacles to be more in line with how we designed obstacles for the obstacle tables.

Redid how Poison works. We meant to make it less convoluted but accidentally made it more granular instead. We did write it better so it will at least feel less convoluted.

CHAPTER 4

Merged this chapter with chapter 3

CHAPTER 5

merged this chapter with chapter 3

CHAPTER 6

merged this chapter with chapter 3

CHAPTER 7

Added “Psychological Warfare” mechanic.

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

CHAPTER 8

The Blacked Out Skill has been changed in two major ways. First we made it more obvious that the Blacked Out Skill applies even to knowledge of the supernatural that is not necessarily true. And also rather than working the way that every other Knowledge skill works, the Blacked Out Skill now gives leads to where answers might be found rather than immediate concrete answers.

THE GORGON IS FINISHED AND FULLY PLAYABLE!

Added that Alt. Witches have to make their supernatural ability composure rolls at +0 instead of +3. The +3 was a typo.

Started work on the complete monster overhaul.

Vampires have been completely rewritten. Most of their abilities and themes are the same, but the way the abilities work has been overhauled and improved in many cases, as well as now being formatted and structured in a sane and easily-referenceable way.

More art has been added.

Changed the +2 Contextual Close Combat bonus for the Werewolf Trait to a +1 Base Bonus

Wolfmen have been completely rewritten. Most of their abilities and themes are the same, but the way the abilities work has been overhauled and improved in many cases, as well as now being formatted and structured in a sane and easily-referenceable way.

Fairytale Witch is currently being rewritten/overhauled.

Changed Incredible Strength Mage Trait to have a +2 Close Combat bonus instead of +3.

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

Clarified that gorgon blood does not heal gorgons.

Changed the way that monsters interact with Composure and their Tiers of Fear during the act of preying on other people. Instead of just ignoring it or having a bonus (i somehow left both of those conflicting rules in and no one told me), a relevant Composure roll is still made when a monster eats someone, but they do not lose Composure points from it even in the event of Partial Success or Failure. This keeps the narrative benefit of a Composure roll to show the monster’s emotional state, but without making hunting numerically pointless.

Finished the complete fairytale witch overhaul.

Made the Close Combat bonus for superhuman strength be just +1 for the vast majority of instances. The only exception is wolfman forms. They get a higher Close Combat bonus because their transformations actually make them bigger and taller and this helps a lot in Close Combat.

Reduced Athletics bonus of Incredible Strength trait to +2.

Merged the Alt. Witch with Mage, and made Mage a Misc. supernatural category instead of its own separate thing. This is going to be a really messy transition for chapter 8 so please bear with us. I am making a brief run though the chapter to clean up the biggest discrepancies this change creates, but I probably won’t get them all until the editor and I have time to actually go through and copy-edit it.

“Mage” is now its own trait, and what were previously called “mage traits” are now called “mage powers”. Mages now have between 1 and 6 mage powers as part of their mage trait, with worse composure rolls the more powers they have.

When they engage in their True Nature, monsters now have a chance to recoup some or all of the Composure they lost as a result of using their powers to hunt prey.

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

Fully overhauled the fairy rules. Just one more monster to overhaul! Woo!

Changed the Curse of Slumber to take effect the next time the victim falls asleep rather than knocking them out spontaneously.

Overhauled the changeling rules to go along with the overhauled fairy rules.

Clarified something about the vampire’s In Lizard Fashion ability, they wouldnt be able to use this to stop a speeding truck.

Removed the hard limit on how many people a wolfman could eat at once, and also added rules for what happens if they shift to a smaller form with people in their stomach. Made similar tweaks for vampires.

More art has been added

Fully overhauled the Thing from Beyond, and that completes the full monster overhaul. All Monsters now consist of a single Trait, rather than needing a pair of Traits.

Gave vampires’ “wearing the evening” ability a maximum distance of 50 yards and also it is a Movement now

Made a few more adjustments to some of the monster sections to bring them up to date with the new Movement/Action mechanics.

Adjusted all instances of poison in the monster sections to account for the new poison rules.

105 notes · View notes

0vereasy · 11 months ago

Text

Life’s Creations and Love’s Manifestations - Dr. Ratio x Female Reader- Chapter 3

Summary: Your promotion as one of the heads of the Security Department at Herta’s Station was full of many headaches, one of the biggest being a visiting scholar from the Intelligentsia Guild, and delegate of the IPC, Dr. Ratio.

When you were forced to team up with him to solve several crises emerging at the Station, how will your tense relationship change? And what exactly is the Doctor hiding?

Taglist: @96jnie @boomie-123 @a2tral @ukiyo-ikigai @poemzcheng @kpopmenace143

Send me an ask, DM or comment to be added to the taglist!

ao3 link

Masterlist | Previous chapter

A/N: Happy New Year! Hope everyone had a fun New Year’s Eve - I spent mine in a way I think the reader would, drinking with friends. I’m officially back in Uni now, so updates will be slower (~1-3 updates a month) but my semester is lighter so I’m confident I’ll have the time to update. In other news, I officially finished pre-farming for Ratio! He’s gonna be the first character I max out traces for!

Chapter 3: Touch Deprival

“Question: Are you sure you are alright?” as usual, Screwllum’s voice was monotone and flat, sending no hints to reveal how he was feeling at the moment. Consequently, he had to express his feelings in other ways, rubbing your shoulders soothingly as you tinkered with the camera equipment in front of you, “Affirmation: it is your day off, you can easily save this task until tomorrow.”

You couldn’t have looked any more different from this morning, crop top and shorts now replaced with comfy sweatpants and a button-down white shirt which looked suspiciously similar to the one your robot companion wore under his suit jacket. Your back was pressed firmly against the front of his metallic body as you both sat on the floor in the Seclusion Zone in a room full of two things; plants and the little creatures that Ruan Mei abandoned after leaving the Space Station a few hours ago. A few of the little creatures hoped around freely, as if happy for the company, “Given all of this,” you gestured to the creatures around you, “we should’ve put cameras down here months ago,” you let yourself lean further back against your companion, savouring the feeling of his arms kneading your tense flesh, “might as well get it over with before someone else decides to run a fucked up experiment down here.”

He didn’t rebut the content of your statement itself, rather responding with a simple, “You did not answer my first question, dear,” his metallic hand trailed further down your back, massaging the space near your shoulder blade through the white shirt. You muffled a groan at the relief that shot through your body, a sign that had him continuing the motions with a firmer grip. You didn’t know how the robot managed to give the most amazing massages, but his hands were definitely missed whenever he was forced the leave the station.

“I mean, as good as someone can be after almost dying a few hours ago, I guess,” your tone was neutral, your gaze and fingers focused on the security cameras in front of you, which you were attaching to camera mounds to place on the walls around the Seclusion Zone. You knew if you dared to look back at Screwllum, he would see through your words in an instant. His title as a genius wasn’t just for show after all, “I mean, it obviously was scary when it happened, but I can’t take up more of your time. Herta’s probably already out for my head after you left your meeting with her early.”

“Affirmation, I did not tell her the reason of my sudden departure,” he replied, one metallic hand drifting from your back to your face, tilting your head so that, even from in front of him, you two were forced to make eye contact, “It was hard not to abandon my work when you texted me to inform me you were using the bathtub in my room with no context,” he let his hand drift from your cheek to cup your chin, “I care about you, my dear. I don’t want you to push yourself.”

Ah, the bathtub. It was silly really, how someone like Screwllum, who couldn’t use a bathtub in the first place, had one in his quarters while you were stuck with a shitty shower with absolutely no water pressure. It just so happened that all the guest rooms in the Space Ship were equipt with bathtubs, and though Screwllum was a frequent visitor of the station, he had no official permanent quarters of his own, though, at this point, the Station staff just gave him the same room in the Space Station anyway, making that particular room his unofficial permanent quarters.

Of course, when you finished cleaning the incubator room in the Seclusion Zone, hands covered in smelly bug guts, you had abandoned your computer and water bottle in favour of taking the elevator to the floor housing the living quarters and used your FOB to unlock Screwllum’s room solely for the purpose of his bathtub. With your one-track mind on trying to get the smell of bug off of you, you had neglected to check your phone after sending Screwllum a text letting him know about your tub use, which ultimately led him to check on and fuss over you, a pattern of behaviour that was still ongoing now.

“And I appreciate your company, as always,” you flash him a smile, pushing the camera you were working on to the side so you could turn and face him, straddling your legs over his own. You pressed a brief kiss to his cheek before pushing your body against his own, sighing at the familiar feeling of his hands wrapping around you, “But you’ve been with me all afternoon; go take a few hours, finish your work,” you let your hands trail down his chest, shuddering at the cold feeling of his metallic frame below his suit, “I’ll be here when you’re done - remember, you still owe me dinner and drinks.”

“How could I forgot?” Screwllum chuckled as you pressed another kiss to his cheek, though he made no movement to leave. You both knew why; the answer hanging between the two of you, but remaining unspoken, as if you two were playing a game to see who could avoid bringing it up the longest. To avoid doing so, you snuggled yourself into his chest, inhaling the scent of his laundry detergent as he rubbed a cold hand up and down your back.

“Ahem,” Screwllum’s hand stopped moving at the sudden sound of another voice breaking the relative silence, albeit the irregular mewings of Ruan Mei’s cat-like creatures, in the room. You forced yourself to sit up, regretfully removing yourself from Screwllum’s arms to face the new presence in the room. “Sorry if I am… interrupting something,” as per usual, Dr. Ratio’s features were hidden by the alabaster head, leaving only his toned body on display to you and Screwllum, who exchanged looks as you moved to sit beside the robot.

“You are,” was your simple reply. You forced yourself to grab another security camera from the mess of items you had scatted on the floor around Screwllum and yourself, attaching it to the camera mound to control your anger at the Doctor’s presence, “You can go away now.”

“How rude, to think you would treat a delegate of the IPC like this,” he placed his hand to his chest in mock offence. You pictured his eyes rolling underneath the alabaster read to aid to the sarcasm radiating off of his body, “I expected more from you.”

Noticing your anger and lack of motivation to carry on the conversation, Screwllum allowed himself to speak, “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced,” he stood up, you frowning at him as he took a few steps forward, sticking a hand out to the Doctor, “I am Screwllum, number-”

“Number 76 of the Genius Society, ruler of Planet Screwllum, leader of the resistance against Rupert I,” Doctor Ratio rambled out the list of title, counting each on his fingers like a child may do when trying to solve a math problem, albeit the Doctor’s action was clearly mocking in nature, “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Screwllum. I work for the IPC, of course I am aware of your identity.” He huffed, removing the alabaster head to reveal his own features, hair slightly out of place due to the action. He looked unamused, crossing his arms with another dramatic huff.

“Affirmation; your tongue is as sharp as your looks, as I have heard, Doctor,” Screwllum’s tone was even, though he retracted his outreached hand, which had gone unanswered, plainly and obviously, making the tension in the air obvious.

You resisted the urge to groan in frustration, instead stating, “Why are you here, Mr. Ratio? I’m sure you have better things to do than lounge around in the Seclusion Zone all day,” you resisted the urge to smirk at him, “keep this up and I may just report you to your employer for time fraud - its not like you’re doing any work around here anyway.”

“You’re the one who told me to come here, remember?” he questioned, leaving your quip unanswered and raising an eyebrow. He sighed at the blank look at your face at his words, as if disappointed, “Pity, it was quite a dramatic comment, I would have suspected you to remember it. What was it again?” he put a hand to his chin as if in thought, though the mocking smile told you the words were already committed to his memory, “Ah, yes, ‘We are definitely having a chat about this later’ that it.”

“Yeah, later, as in not now,” you said drily, pointing to the army of cameras surrounding you, “I’m clearly busy.”

“I seem to recall that you entertained a conversation with me just fine earlier today when you were also busy,” he sighed dramatically, leaning against one of the tubes full of plants cultivated by Ruan Mei, “I suppose idiots truly can only multitask for so long during the day; pity, I truly enjoyed our conversations.”

You opened your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue, but were silenced when Screwllum spoke first, “I do not mean to interrupt,” he spoke, glancing between you and the Doctor curiously, “However, I do need to depart to a meeting,” he turned from the Doctor, walking to where you sat and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “My dear, don’t you think allowing Mr. Ratio to accompany you may allow you to finish this task quicker? I’d hate for you to waste more time on this venture.”

Screwllum’s shining green eyes bore into yours, almost as if he was daring you to rebut him. You knew what he was playing at as he rubbed familiar, soothing circles into your flesh. It was another silent dare, for you to bring up what you knew was on both of your minds. Of course, you didn’t, an action you knew that your companion expected. Your eyes drifted briefly to the Doctor, who was watching you two curiously as if you were a math problem that he couldn’t quite solve.

“Fine, fine,” you relented, putting your hands in the air in mock defeat, meeting the Doctor’s eye, “I’ll let you stay, only if you help me put up these cameras once they’re ready.” You hated the smug look on the Doctor’s face at your words as if he had emerged victorious from the exchange somehow, his hands moving from being crossed at his chest to instead resting on his hips like some sort of superhero.

“Quite bold of you to ask a mere visitor to help you with such a menial task,” he started, though he walked towards you and Screwllum nonetheless, “However, if you insist, I suppose I can help. The Station will benefit from my adept hand, after all.”

“Ah, yes, I can already hear Lady Asta gasping in pleasure when she see’s your expert camera placement,” you rolled your eyes as you shoved another camera into its mound, earning a glare from the Doctor. Once again, Screwllum saved the day, breaking the silence before he could retort.

“With that settled, I will take my leave now,” he gave your shoulder a small squeeze, your eyes transfixed on the Doctor, whose eyes were equally as focused on the small act of intimacy, “Conclusion, I will see you later tonight, my dear.” He let his metallic hand remove itself from your shoulder after being sure to give it one last squeeze.

“Can’t wait!” you smiled at him, dragging your eyes away from the Doctor to watch your companion retreat, keeping your focus on his form until he was completely out of your sight, before you reluctantly dragged your eyes back to the Doctor. He stood a few feet away from you, as if unsure exactly where to go or what to do. You huffed at his reactions, “What, does a genius like yourself not know how to socially interact with people? Sit down already!”

“You must forgive me, the IPC doesn’t provide lessons on social etiquette regarding sitting on the floor,” he replied drily, awkwardly taking a seat next to you on the cold metal floor of the Space Station, his eyes looking over you as you continued your work with the cameras, “We sit in chairs, like civilized people. I do not understand your logic of working here.”

“Come on, Doc, live a little, sitting on the floor never killed anyone,” you shrugged, your voice light, but lacking the usual passion you preferred to give to your retorts. Too tired to really care, you ignored his gaze to continue your work, “Plus, it’s easier to work here anyway, saves me lugging cameras around later.”

“I must say, you lack your usual passion that you provide to our oh-so-delightful conversations” he scanned the immediate surroundings as if searching for something, “Is this what you’re like sober? I dare say you make a much more entertaining conversationalist when you are slightly tipsy.” It’s only then that you realized he held a bottle of wine in his hand, a brand you didn’t recognize, “Drink then, so we can speak like intellectuals.”

“Wow, aiding my alcoholism? You must be in a good mood,” you raised an eyebrow in suspicion, though you were quick the grab the opened bottle anyway, taking a few large gulps of the wine. It was a dry wine, definitely not your favourite, but it was strong, the red liquid burning your throat as you swallowed.

“You could at least pour yourself a glass first,” the Doctor shot you a glare, grabbing the bottle to wipe away the stain of your lipgloss at the opening, “I’m beginning to suspect you have no concept of manners.”

“Do you see any glasses around here?” you retorted, both you and the Doctor looking around the room, the only signs of objects other than cameras or plants being Ruan Mei’s little cat-like creatures. That seemed to be enough to shut up the doctor, at least briefly, as he spent the next few minutes watching you construct cameras and drink wine in silence. Of course, though, the Doctor could only stand to exist without hearing his voice for so long, leading him to break the silence.

“You did not answer my earlier question,” he replied, voice even, though containing less of an annoying edge than usual. Aeons, what was it with these men and their persistence to get an answer out of you today, “Why are you colder than usual?”

You shot him a glare, standing up from the floor in anger, as if you wanted to punch him right then and there. Of course you didn’t, instead allowing yourself to pace the room, a few of the cat-like creatures hopping alongside you as you did, “You really have to ask me that? And you call yourself a member of the Intelligensia Guild?” you scoffed, pausing your pacing to stare him down directly, thriving in the way he squirmed slightly in his uncomfortable seat on the floor, “Not only did you use your stupid looks to sneak into the Seclusion Zone, but you witnessed Ruan Mei’s psychotic experiment, knew what was going to happen, but didn’t tell anyone about it, instead basically sending myself and the Trailblazer to our impending doom!” Your words were cold, harsh, streaming out like a river, as if you couldn’t hold them back any longer, “I know were not exactly friendly, but holy fuck, draw the line somewhere, right?”

He held his hands out in front of him, arm muscles flexing as he did so, “I understand you are upset, however-”

“Upset?” you scoffed, a sarcastic laugh leaving your lips, “Wrong, I’m pissed off! Is my life a joke to you? A few more seconds of fighting that stupid thing and I wouldn’t be here right now!” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Imagine if we did die, huh? Were you just goint to lounge around the Space Station as if you didn’t send us to death without the tinest warning? Or were you going to celebrate since I was finally out of your hair?”

“I wouldn’t have let you die,” he replied, tone cold, disappointed even, as if you were in the wrong for claiming he would do such a thing, “I’m sure you noticed that I returned to the Seclusion Zone before you left.” You had noticed. Of course, you did. You had been forced to halt your cleaning job temporarily to get the Trailblazer back to the Storage Zone. Mysteriously, despite the Trailblazer never having pressed the button for the elevator, the elevator was awaiting your arrival, as if the previous user had taken it downwards to the Seclusion Zone, despite you having seen the Doctor taking it upwards before you headed off to your impending doom. The Doctor took your silence as acknowledgement, “I was prepared to aid the two of you in defeating the creature if required.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, processing the new information to add on to what you already knew. You weren’t sure of what to make of the elevator incident til now, not knowing if the Doctor came to help you or mock you. Somehow, you found the later to be more preferable than the reality. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you rebutted, sitting down on the floor again, keeping a few feet distance between you and the Doctor, “Knowing that you could help me defeat a monster that you failed to tell me about in the first place?”

The Doctor sighed dramatically as if he was a child caught stealing from a cookie jar, before beginning to speak, “I… apologize for my actions,” despite his extravagant sentiments before speaking, his words were surprisingly genuine, his usually snobby voice reduced to a volume barely above a whisper, “I was confident in your ability to hold off the creature, however I should have told you about the threat it posed… I am sorry.”

You blinked dumbly a few times before bursting out into laughter, scootching closer towards the Doctor to grab the wine bottle, taking a swig between your giggles, “Wow, it’s that easy to elicit an apology out of you, Doc?” you smirked, “I should’ve recorded that shit, ahhh it was so satisfying!”

“You-” he glared at you, yanking the bottle out of your hands in anger, “Were you faking that temper tantrum the whole time? Are you capable of holding any conversation without emotional manipulation?” You continued to giggle, laughs only edged on by the warmth rising to the Doctor’s cheeks, which he tried to hide with his hands.

“I mean, I was, and am still upset,” you shrugged, snatching the bottle again from where he placed it on the floor to take another swig, sighing at the taste as you pulled the bottle away from your lips “But, why would I let that get in the way of me teasing you?” she mused, “Maybe I should’ve took it further, hmm? Waited until you got down on your knees and begged for my forgiveness before-”

“Enough of this insolence!” he exclaimed, an angry blush on his clear skin, “I have never met someone with so much gull; someone so infuriating!” he again snatched the wine away from you, though he failed to take a sip from the bottle.

“Hey, hey, you deserved all that after what you put me through today!” you pointed an accusatory finger at him before standing up from the floor, “Now come on, Doc, these cameras aren’t gonna put themselves up, huh?” you grabbed two of the cameras from their resting place on the floor, gesturing for the Doctor to do the same.

“And why would I help you exactly?” he questioned, crossing his arms across his chest, “may I remind you that I am your guest? If anything, you should be grovelling to me to fulfil my every wish.”

“You would like me on my knee for you, huh?” you teased, raising your eyebrows suggestively, causing the Doctor to open his mouth in rebut, though you were quick to cut him off before he could speak, “But you told Screwllum you would help, so too bad.” He sighed incredulously at your words.

“That was before you tricked me into apologizing and embarrassed me!’ he retorted, breathing heavily, as if relieved to finally let a retort escape his lips.

“Embarressed you in front of who exactly?” you cocked an eyebrow, looking between the Doctor and Ruan Mei’s creatures, “I don’t exactly think they’re the type to spread gossip ya know?” The Doctor and you watched as the creatures continued to jump around aimlessly, “So come on already, the sooner we do this the sooner we can leave each other alone.” The Doctor sighed, though he picked up two cameras nonetheless, trailing after you as you made your way through the Seclusion Zone. Your first step was the area overlooking the primary home of Ruan Mei’s creations, who seemed to longue by a toilet-like device nearby to where you were sitting. You easily began positioning a camera at the corner of the wall a few feet away from the toilet, allowing the device to display a view of the whole area.

“May I remind you that I have no loyalty to the Genius Society; I do not owe Screwllum my word, nor do I owe you anything,” the Doctor rebutted after a few moments of silence, as if he had been thinking of the retort, “However, I will help you this time out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Wow, isn’t this amiracle,” you ensured the camera was at least partly secure before turning to face him, placing a mocking hand to your chest, “The asshole Doctor caring for others? I’ll make sure to remember this moment; make sure to have your ghost writer reach out to me for your next autobiography so that I can tell them all the wonderful times we had together!”

“You read my autobiography?” he raised an eyebrow at you, though you didn’t notice due to your back once again being turned to him. You sensed the change in his tone though; less snarky and self-centered and more teasing, “I never knew how much of a fan you were; you should have told me Ms. Y/N, I would have gladly signed something for you.” You finished positioning the camera, turning to glare at the mocking smile on the Doctor’s face, “Is your propensity to teast me related to your infatuation with my work? It would explain why you make it you life’s mission to cause me strife; its akin to a child pulling their crushes hair on the playground!”

You scoffed, the Doctor trailing after you as you walked to the other side of the room near some plants that had been cultivated in the Seclusion Zone, and near a place where a few other of Ruan Mei’s creations had been lounging. The creatures were quick to give you some space to position the camera, “You wish, Doctor, I just find your reactions amusing,” you mused as you fiddled with the camera, “Screwllum lent me the book; I’ve got to say, eight doctorial degrees? Like holy shiy, at what could you’ve possibly learned in the eighth that you didn’t already learn in the seventh?”

A moment of silence passed again, you figured because the Doctor was looking to retort again. You weren't complaining though, the silence allowed you time to realize how fuzzy your head was becoming from the wine, and allowed you to find a suitable spot on the opposite side of the room near a staircase to plant another camera. You briefly glanced at the Doctor as you grabbed one of the cameras from his hand, earning no notable reaction. With a shrug, you tuned and began to position the device before the Doctor spoke again, “If I may be so bold… what exactly is your relationship with… Mr. Screwllum?”

“Huh?” you weren’t expecting that question, nearly dropping the unsecured camera, which you barely managed to pick up before it hit the ground. You turned to face him, as if searching his face for the intention behind his words, “What, you’re worried I’m taken? I’m flattered, Doctor, this is the second time today you’ve implied you wanted me to worship you on my knees. You sure don’t hold back on your kinks, huh?”

“Are you capable of responding to anything seriously” he exclaimed awkwardly, brushing off your attempt to deflect the situation. His eyes scanned your figure, taking in Screwllum’s button-down shirt that trailed down to the top of your upper thigh, “You clearly have… some romantic relationship with each other. I am merely curious how a man of his standing has the ability to put up with someone like you.”

“Believe it or not, I’m quite a pleasurable person to be around, you just bring out the worst in me, Doc,” you joked, pondering if you should place the camera or focus on the Doctor, but opted for the latter after you determined your next words, “The relationship Screwllum and I have is pretty simple - were just fuck buddies.”

You weren’t exactly sure how the Doctor would react to that information, though you would have never expected the mere word ‘fuck’ would cause him to open his mouth like a fish, sputtering as if he was speechless, his face red with embarrassment, “W-What?”

“What, eight doctorial degrees and you don’t know what the term fuck buddies is?” you cocked an eyebrow, a smirk growing it’s way on your features, “Ya know, friends with benefits, a situationship, meaningless sex, booty call-”

“I understand the concept!” the Doctor practically shouted, as if begging you to shut up, his face growing redder, “I just cannot comprehend how someone like him would be in a… sexual relationship with someone like you.”

“What, like you can’t picture how we do it?” you questioned teasingly, curving your middle and pointed finger in a ‘come here’ motion, “Come on, use your imagination, Doc! I’ll let you know that Screwllum is great with his fingers!”

Your actions only seemed to spiral the Doctor further into an embarrassed mess, one of his hands moving to attempt to hide the heat on his cheeks, “That is not what I meant,” he sighed, frustrated, “I merely wish to understand how one of the most notable men in the universe ended up being close to a mere security guard.”

“Oh,” you shrugged, turning away now to refocus on the camera, “I mean, that’s nothing special really if I had to be honest. Screwllum visits pretty often, so naturally we ended up talking at some point,” you looked over your shoulder at the Doctor, “Plus, haven’t you seen him? Dude’s smoking hot, of course I’d flirt with him after we got to know each other. It’s as simple as that.” By the strange look the Doctor was giving you, you were pretty sure he didn’t share your enthusiasm regarding the attractiveness of robots, not that it really mattered - more for you to have after all.

“And yet you’re not dating,” the Doctor commented, trailing after you again as you once again wandered around the room to the wall opposite the stars to put up another camera. You barely glanced at him this time as you grabbed the last camera from him, quickly turning away.

“We're not dating,” you kept your tone as casual as you could, focusing your attention on positioning the camera on the wall. You doubted the Doctor was the best at picking up on emotional cues, but you wanted to be safe nonetheless by avoiding his questioning gaze.

“I see,” he spoke simply before continuing, “I suppose that’s self-explanatory,” he commented offhandedly as you continued to avoid his gaze while focusing ion your work, “You don’t seem like the type to commit to a long term relationship; both you and Screwllum must have greater satisfaction with this… arrangement.”

God, if he was going to make you talk more about your sex life, you definitely would need more wine in your system, “Ah, Doctor, falling into assumptions of character?” you murmured as you secured the camera, “I expected more from your eight doctorate degrees.” Not seeing a way out of the inevitable, you half-hazardously finished placing the camera before wandering back towards the wine to take a swig, the Doctor once again on your heels.

“I do not understand your assertion,” he watched you impatiently as you took some swigs, the bottle nearly drained before you forced yourself to stop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You were quick to grab two more cameras, motioning the Doctor to follow you once he grabbed two more of his own.

“... I was not the one who suggested our relationship be casual. It was Screwllum,” you once again kept your tone even as the Doctor followed you up the first flight of stairs, where you decided to place a camera beside the door to an experimental room. You looked at the Doctor over your shoulder after a moment of silence, “What, no witty remark for that one, Doctor?”

“I am merely confused,” he confessed, his tone curious. You preferred him more when he was mocking you, “I must admit, I am not familiar with your relationship with Screwllum, but he clearly showed care for you earlier.” Your mind wandered back to the robot, his touch on your skin, his reluctance to leave, the way his fingers expertly massaged your flesh, the way you were straddlingly him when the Doctor had found you. You shoke your head, as if to brush the memories away.

“That’s the thing,” you commented with a shrug, turning to face the Doctor now that the camera was secure to the wall, “At the end of the day, Screwllum will never seriously date someone because of who he is,” you shrugged, as if speaking those words didn’t pain you, “I obviously see him as someone extraordinary who is honestly a lot kinder than a lot of humans I know,” your eyes trailed down to the ground floor, eyeing Ruan Mei’s creations, “But at the end of the day, he’ll always be scared that he can never truly love me because he’s a machine,” you admitted, “Screwllum doesn’t think he’s capable of genuine love, so he won’t get himself in a situation where someone feels that way about him on a deeper level.”

“And yet you have feelings for him,” the Doctor commented as you walked into the experimental room after the first flight of stairs, placing another camera on the other side of the door. Your mind was foggy now with the wine, as if you knew you should stop talking but couldn’t. Maybe one of the Doctor’s degrees was in psychology, considering he seemed to know exactly how to make you spill your inner demons.

“I think I did at one time,” you said honestly, “But I accepted that whatever I wanted with him won’t ever occur, and I moved on.” With the camera secure, you turned to face the Doctor, “You’re awfully curious about my failed love life, huh? What ‘bout you? Some cute chick waiting back at the University of Veritas Prime?”

“I have no time for romance,” he spoke plainly, crossing his arms over his chest disinterestedly, “There are much more pressing matters for someone of my standing to deal with than something a fickle as a relationship.”

“Spoken like a true virgin,” you clasped your hands together with a mocking smile, “How sweet, Doctor,” you turned away from him, the Doctor again trailing after you as you left the room and walked up the second flight of stairs, “Though, honestly, if I had to deal with your attitude everyday, I wouldn’t fuck you either. I’m sure hearing your voice day after day everyday while getting a degree would be enough to drive me to drop out. I pity all the women who had to deal with you year after year.”

“Very funny,” he spoke, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “Unfortunately for you and myself, many women have the propensity to throw themselves at me,” he sighed, as if recalling the incidents, “They are dull minded and not worthy my time, attention, or energy.”

“Hmm, curious,” you commented, unceremoniously climbing on top of a few metal boxes at the top of the stair case to reach an adequate area on the wall for your camera, “And yet you seem to always find me for some obnoxious conversation? Does that make me special?” you turned, smirking over your shoulder.

“We simply keep running into each other, you are not special,” the Doctor brushed off your comment, shooting you a judgemental stare as you descended from one pile of boxes to make your way to another file on the opposite side of the landing, grabbing the last camera from his hands before climbing up the boxes again.

“Awww, don’t be shy, Doc,” you teased, eyes focused on the camera instead of him, “You know there’s more to it - you’re the one who sought me out this time, after all,” you looked over your shoulder once the camera was secure, “If you’re falling for me, might as well tell me now so I can reject you before it’s too late.”

You turned back to the camera, one foot taking a step back so you could better check the accuracy of the angle. You gasped when your foot felt nothing to rest on, flailing your arms as your body began to fall backwards, cursing the stupid wine as you did so. Through your drunken haze, your mind attempted to think of any solution to get yourself out of this situation, though any logic snapped away when you felt him.

Doctor Ratio was quick to react, arms wrapping around your waist as your body fell, pulling you away from the boxes and closer to him. He made a small grunting noise as your body collided with his chest, his warmth surrounding you as he pulled you close to him. In his arms, you truly realized the extent of his physique, feeling the muscles in his chest against your back, and truly acknowledging the size of his arms as he held you against him. His body was hot, almost unbearably so, your body used to the cold metallic arms of your usual partner. It was comforting though; as if you were wrapped in a blanket. What overwhelmed you most, though, was his scent. His clothes smelt clean, as if they were fresh from the laundry, giving him a soft smell, a harsh contrast to his more harsh figure. However, as if to cover the softness up, there was a hint of cologne, nothing too strong but definitely something there that tickled your nose as you inhaled the musky scent. His breath tickled your exposed neck as he breathed, giving you goosebumps despite the overwhelming scent surrounding you.

“If anything, it seems as if you are the one falling for me,” he whispered into your ear, voice lacking its usual arrogance, replaced by something you wanted to label as flirtatious, but were afraid to do so. He chuckled at your lack of response, “It does feel nice to finally have you at a loss of words - as if I’ve finally reached a checkmate against one of my opponents.

“No wonder women don’t like you,” you forced yourself to speak, voice lacking the confidence you wanted it to possess, “you just see them like chess pieces - a game to you.”

“I can reassure you, you’re the only one entertaining enough to resemble a challenge,” he laughed, making sure your feet were on the ground before he moved to release you. Your head was practically spinning then, a mix of the alcohol, closeness to the Doctor and some resemblance of dignity that was now absence after your tumble. You immediately felt cold at the absence of your skin, a feeling you usually were okay with. But now… now all you were craving seemed to be heat.

He let out a yelp when you pulled his body back to yours, your back against his chest again, “Aeons, this is embarrassing,” you muttered, before turning your head to look at him, “...but can you hold me a little longer?” He hesitated slightly, looking you in the eye as if to see if you were testing him somehow. When you merely stared back at him, no hint of a smirk on your features, he sighed, moving his arms to adjust to your body again. You sighed in relief at the feeling of his arms wrap around your waist again, resisting the urge to nuzzle back against him.

“How drunk are you exactly?” he groaned in annoyance against you, though he didn’t make a move to leave your side, “This type of behaviour is ridiculous, even for someone as idiotic as yourself.”

“It’s not my fault that I want some comfort!” you defended, words slightly slurred now from the alcohol “You try fighting some stupid mutant bug and washing bug guts off yourself for two hours, and get back to me about how you feel!” you huffed, forcing yourself to move away from him, “Just forget it, let’s go grab more cameras and-” You gasped when he pulled you back towards him again, this time picking you up bridal style. The feeling of his strong arms against your legs made your shudder, the less PG part of your mind wondering how they would feel in more skin tight pants compared to the sweats you wore now, “What the hell are you doing, put me down!”

“As if I’d let you walk after you almost cracked your skull open,” he scoffed, descending the stairs with you in his arms, his demeanour completely normal despite your weight in his arms, “Though I must say, your comments do make your behaviour this evening much more understandable.”

“I’m not some stupid puzzle for you to try to solve, bastard,” you resisted the urge to flail your way out of his arms, not wanting to fall on your ass again today.

He ignored your protests, continuing to speak, “I have to say, my intentions of asking about Screwllum were to try and dissect the curious behaviour you too displayed,” he began, descending the second flight of stairs, “If there truly is no romantic feelings between you two, why did he hesitate to leave? Why did he continue to touch you for as long as possible.” The Doctor carefully placed you down on the floor near the cameras before placing his hands on his hips, not batting an eye as you reached towards the wine, “It makes sense now; the anger, the reluctance to be alone, the mentions of fighting to the death.” He paused for a moment as if adding dramatic effect.

“You were scared. You don’t want to be alone. You want someone to comfort you - it is the only thing I can hypothesize behind Screwllum’s motives to suggest I remain here with you after he depart - he was worried about you.”

You downed the rest of the wine, bottle now empty as you placed it down, “Why do you have to be so smart? It’s annoying,” you murmured, the bottle falling to the ground as you failed to place it down properly, “So what if I wanna little comfort after almost dying, isn’t that normal?”

“And why, exactly, do you want this comfort from me?” he asked, cocking a curious eyebrow at you.

It was a question you asked yourself too - why him? In all honesty, your two, now three, interactions with the Doctor had all been a pain in your ass, keeping you from doing something else that you wanted to do to deal with tiring conversation with some pompous asshole who had no desire to do anything but insult you… Yet you had to admit, the conversations were fun after all. Compared to the other people you surrounded yourself with at the Space Station, Doctor Ratio was new; exciting. He wasn’t afraid to poke your buttons to see what response he would get, something that you couldn’t really say about any of the other researchers. You supposed to closest thing was Herta, but even she couldn’t be bothered to talk to people most days, too focused on the damned Simulated Universe to give a shit about you. That was it - it had to be. You were craving something, or rather someone, who could challenge you, and it just so happened that this Doctor could.

…Not that you were going to tell him that, though.

“I don’t exactly got a lot’a options here,” you gestured at the room, the only surroundings being Ruan Mei’s creations, “What, am I gonna rant to a stupid cat thingy about my fear of death?”

“You could have saved the rant for Screwllum,” the Doctor commented, eyes flickering from you to the empty wine bottle, “But you instead agreed to rant to me - you are smarter than to make excuses for your actions.”

You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, “Aeons, and you say I’m the emotionally manipulative one - how did your stupid fancy University teach you to get information out of people so easily,” she sighed in defeat, “I’m not the type of person who wants to reflect on my emotions, and you’re the type of person to give me a distraction, that’s all there is to it.”

“I see,” the Doctor smirked, confidently sitting down beside you on the floor cross-legged, his knee briefly touching yours as he readjusted, “I’ve got to say, this sudden confession of your feelings towards me has me flustered. Perhaps it is you who wants to grovel at my feet, despite you suggesting the reverse.”

“Oh shut up, asshole,” you groaned, wishing you had more wine to drown your sorrows in. You attempted to stand up, extremely wobbly on your feet, “Lets put the rest of these stupid cameras up so I can get the hell out of this place.”

The Doctor grabbed your wrist as if to steady you, though the action didn’t seem to cure the wobble of your figure, “You’re clearly not in the condition to continue working. Why don’t you rest here and continue work later…” he trailed off, as if thinking how to finish his sentence, “...when you’re not stumbling around like a light weight.”

“Lightweight!” you exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “You try drinking a bottle of wine and see how you act!” The Doctor ignored your words, gently pulling you to the ground, placing one of his muscular arms around your waist, as if to prevent your escape.

“Just go to bed, the Station will be better off for a while without you stumbling around down here,” he stated bluntly, repositioning you so that you could rest your head on his chest, the rest of your body curled up beside him.

“At least let me sleep in my room,” you groaned, wiggling against his grip, “No offence, but my bed is a lot comfier than you’re stupidly buff chest.” He snorted slightly at the comment, arm still firmly holding you in place.

“You can barely walk,” he reminded you, “And I do not think either of us would benefit from the rumours that would result from me carrying you towards your room,” you could practically hear the gossip now - its not like researchers had much better to do than start baseless rumours anyway.

“Ugh, you’re so stupid, Doctor,” you mumbled, accepting your fate and shifting your body slightly to get more comfortable, “You and you’re stupid eight Doctorate degrees, why are you so fucking frustrating?”

“Veritas,” he said softly, making you open your tired eyes to look at him. He gazed down at your figure from where you on his lap, “My name is Veritas. If we are going to be familiar enough to do… whatever this is, you may as well call me by my first name.”

“Veritas,” you tested the name on your lips, “First telling me to sleep on you, and then telling me your first name? What’s next, a marriage proposal?”

“Just shut up and sleep,” he huffed, holding you against his chest, letting you rest your body weight on him completely. You could hear his heartbeat as you rested there, a sound so unfamiliar to you considering your usual cuddling partners. However, somehow the rhythmic thumping was relaxing - a sign of life that showed you that there was someone by your side. It scared away any thoughts of that Aeon-forsaken bug that threatened to invade your mind.

“Dr- Veritas,” you corrected yourself sleepily, “You’ll stay with me, right?” your words were muffled as you spoke into his chest, eyes fluttering with the sleep that already wanted to flow over you.

“It is not like I have much of a choice given our current predicament,” he sighed, though his grip did not loosen on you. You smiled at his words, though your mind briefly wandered away for a second.

“I wanted to ask you,” you said softly, “Early today, you told the Trailblazer that you stumbled upon Ruan Mei’s research after coming down here for your own purposes…” you mumbled, forcing yourself to finish the question despite the desire to sleep, “...Why exactly were you down here in the first place?”

He was silent for a moment, though it was so brief that you wondered if you had made it up, “I will tell you when you awake, I promise.” You nodded, tired mind finding some sort of solace in his words, allowing you to finally let sleep overtake you.

It's only when you wake up the next day, Screwllum shaking your arm urgently, that you realize the Doctor went back on his word.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai starrail #honkai starrail x reader #doctor ratio #doctor ratio x reader #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #screwllum x reader #screwllum

244 notes · View notes

call-sign-shark · 1 year ago

Text

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Running from your past doesn’t work anymore now that you’ve been directly involved in the Vendetta. Between violence, threats and schemes, you understand that you will only retrieve your peaceful haven with Arthur if you get out of this war with blood under your nails. featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 7.5k

TW: alteration of canon events, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, SMUT +18, hint at gunplay, cockwarming, piv, non-protected , obsessive love, extreme co-dependent relationship. They are sincerely deranged, sorry about that. No proofreading, we die like men.

Notes:

✞ This is the last quiet chapter of Act II, shit will start to get real in the next part. Also, the smut is just a part of the chapter, not the entire thing.

✞ This is chapter 14 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The crackling symphony of burning wood whispered to the stillness, each pop and hiss forming the melody of a sorrowful farewell to John Shelby. Amidst the flickering glow you emerged, your white hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight around your shoulders to the small of your back. The firelight waltzed upon your features, bringing up the mesmerizing interplay of diamond dust and frost that composed you.

How many more?

The question flashed in your thoughts, leaving a trail of caustic soda that scorched your skull from the inside. How many more of your loved ones should you see burn, their flesh eaten by a voracious fire, until God decided He had enough fun tormenting you? Two faint dimples appeared on your cheeks as you gritted your teeth, the cold winter wind blowing at the black veils of your long and seductive black dress that floated elegantly behind you like the sinister drapes of the Reaper's cloak. In utter silence, Arthur lowkey shifted his focus from the vardo to you with concern and, taking notice of the destructive sparkle in your eyes, pulled you closer. The sensation might have been comforting but your body didn’t answer to his affection, remaining limp and disconnected. To be completely honest, you were feeling so physically and emotionally cold that you would have believed you were made of frost if his coat, which was resting over your shoulders, and his comforting hand, that was on your lower back, weren't there to offer you a bit of warmth.

As the scent of Arthur's reassuring cologne kept you anchored to reality, you finally woke up from your gluey negativity and instinctively nestled against your husband, who placed a discreet and tender kiss on the corner of your lips. The familiar ticking of his facial hairs on your skin sent a wave of comfort through your soul and reminded you that, despite everything that had been going on between the two of you lately, he had been, still was, and will always be your only saving grace. You wondered if, maybe, it was time for you to go back home. Not that his betrayal had been forgotten or forgiven, but you needed him more than ever. For a shit ton of reasons.

“You’re frozen, angel. You sure you wanna stay hm?” He whispered, the tender gravel in his voice clearing your morbid contemplation of the burning vardo, which brought to your mind the sickening memories of your mother and little sister burning at the stake. A long exhale escaped from your fleshy lips as you tried to keep the demons of your past on a leash — and ignore a sudden wave of nausea.

“I’m not going anywhere. If John is burning I might as well freeze.” Your reply was a bit blunter than intended, but Arthur got it. The way you watched the flames climb higher and higher left no doubt about the devastating anger raging inside. They will pay, you silently swore to John, convinced he could hear you from where he was. If bringing him back was out of your abilities, at least you could avenge him by bringing upon every single man who plotted his death a demise worse than death. Just like Thomas Shelby, they would soon know how much pain you could inflict with your tiny and delicate hands, the holiness of your appearance being nothing more than a facade to mask the methodical killer you were. To hell with the promise of not killing again, having blood on your hands seemed to be the price to pay for Arthur and his love. While you lost yourself in the meanders of your thoughts, the cacophonic detonations of gunshots roared in the quiet meadow.

You had barely heard them when, with movements nimble and quick, you pushed Arthur to the ground and stood still to protect him in a reflex you couldn’t fight. The booming sounds might have been loud, they didn’t made you flinch. Quite the contrary, your aquamarine eyes stared at the horizon in search of the slightest threat, just in case the shots fired hadn’t come from the Gold. For a very short while you had been the only one standing, all the Shelby clan on the ground with hands covering their head. Even Tommy, who had schemed the attack, played the safety card and remained covered just the time to make sure the shootings came from their side.

"For fuck's sake, Heaven." Arthur barked at you as he stood up on his long legs, ignoring Tommy in the background who was keeping everyone under his control by yelling. The lanky gangster's hand grabbed your fragile wrist firmly and pulled you closer to him again, steel blue eyes glowing with disapproval at your reckless behavior.

"That was Thomas’ plan right?” You simply replied, your reliable source of information being Aberama and Bonnie themselves -- it was a part of the many perks of living with them in the nearby woods.

“Come on, Angel! A plan ain't going to be always working ay. It could have been the Ital—“ The oldest Shelby brother, with his thick brows furrowed, could not finish his sentence for you hushed him by cupping his face with your freezing little hands. Falling silent, the wolf turned into a lamb as you gently pressed his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

"Chéri." You started, the pink tip of your tongue moistening your enchanting lips. Each of your movements seemed to bewitch him, to the extent that he almost forgot why he had been that irked, the inferno of his rage instantly cooling down, "I am fine see?” Despite the softness of your voice, he could sense a bit of impatience in your steady tone. Without leaving any time for questions or protests, you laid a small kiss on his cold lips, "We are fine." The melody of your voice was merely a whisper that vanished in the howling wind when your winter lips met his a second time for a deeper kiss. Soft and glossy flesh against rough one. A wild storm of happiness coursed through Arthur at the sensation of this long-awaited mark of affection tingling on his skin, and electrifying his heart. A rapture so strong that the world blurred around him for a moment — he would have probably slipped his tongue in your mouth if the moment wasn't inappropriate. When you pulled back from him, your lips curled in a faint but sincere smile before you squished his scruffy cheeks and released his face from your cold grip. After three years together, it was only at this very moment that Arthur understood that he wasn’t the true guardian and fellow protector of the couple. You were.

Fiercer. Crazier. And certainly far more dangerous.

"Put us out there on purpose... To use John's funeral fire as a fucking beacon!" Aunt Polly's outraged and trembling voice erupted from behind, her words stabbing Tommy like red-hot daggers. If they hurt, he didn’t let it show though. Forced to part from you before his brother and aunt went for each other’s throat, Arthur intervened.

"We were never in any danger, Polly."

"You set a trap. You set a trap with us as fucking bait." She blurted out, standing from her chair and walking to Tommy with steps so furious you were pretty sure she was going to plow into him. Indignation was radiating off her, her dark eyes wishing they had the power to kill. If it had been the case little King Shelby would have been already lying in a pool of his own blood, "Who's dead?!"

After his younger brother had tried to explain to the old harpy that the victims were two Italians, Arthur went on, "We got word to them about the funeral, the where, the when… Told them where to stand for the best shot."

"And Aberama Gold will do the rest." Tommy completed his brother's sentence as if he was an extension of himself — which was the case, you reckoned, when he wasn't busy criticizing you for breathing. From then, the voices only escalated, trying to overcome one another and win the argument by screaming louder than the other until someone eventually gave up. Which was a miracle that would never happen since we were talking about Tommy and Polly. Both of them were two equally stubborn mutts fighting for the same bone and how this argument ended had been predictable: The fierce aunt left, Hell shaking under her heels.

Now was the perfect opportunity to talk.

"Arthur," Your divine voice hailing him, resounding in the meadow like a haunting siren’s song, its unsettling melody sending shivers down Ada's spine. She glanced at you and, for a quick second, the memory of you covered with blood flashed in her mind. Years had passed since you murdered Father’s Hughes accomplice with a pair of scissors but she still couldn't forget what happened back then. She wouldn’t admit it but her trust in you had never been the same from this moment.

Snatched from his thoughts, Arthur turned around, frowning. The family argument had soured his mood.

"Hm?"

"Now I wanna leave." You stated, your seraphic tone as sharp as the razor blades in your man’s cap. This hostility wasn’t aimed at him though, but at Tommy for you had pronounced these four words while glaring at him, indescribable hatred burning in your frozen iris. You might have been aware of the plan, it didn’t mean you agreed with it: the idea of using John’s funeral still infuriated you but your mourning soul hadn’t the strength to fight it. "I'm going home.” Arthur's heart missed a beat, afraid of seeing you disappear again in the depths of the woods. It had been one hell of a harsh week without you and while he — hardly — understood that you needed space, his patience was growing thin, worn out by jealousy and overwhelming dependence. After all, if Aberama was a thief, why wouldn’t he steal his most precious treasure? Or worse, he’s son. Younger, healthier and so much more handsome than him, he thought with gritted teeth and hateful eyes.

"Oh yeah? " Coming closer, Arthur tried his best not to let his murderous jealousy talk and, instead, took a long black key from the pocket of his dark duffle coat "Home ain't with the Gold. Home's—"

"57 Watery Lane. I go there, lock the door and wait for my husband. S'that what you wanted to say?" You suggested, one eyebrow raised and your pale eyes staring at him like two fathomless and cursed jewels. Arthur swallowed nervously, the intense eye contact feeling like an eternity. Besides immediate regrets, the reason for his silence was that he was convinced he messed up again, judging by your sudden cold demeanor. So, afraid you’d lash out at him for his sudden jealousy, all he did was nod and try to keep his composure in front of everyone to pretend he was the one in charge. But you knew him too well not to recognize the sadness in his beautiful but vacant steel-blue eyes. You knew exactly what was going on in his head: he was expecting you to reject him in front of everyone, just like Linda used to do. “Alright” You articulated, and yet your reaction was the strict opposite of what he thought you’d do. Bringing your hand to his, you gave it a gentle squeeze before taking the key, "That’s the home I was talking about, love." You added, your glossy lips curling in a faint but oh-so-reassuring smile that made him swoon with indescribable fascination. Punctuating your sentence with a little wink, you finally turned your heels and left the meadow, your walk as elegant and confident as a fearsome lioness coming back from the hunt.

A predatory and frightful confidence that disappeared as soon as you reached your house. You had barely heard the sound of the door closing when, sick in the stomach, you rushed to the toilets and dropped on your knees to throw up.

"Fuck..." The curse escaped from your trembling lips as you quickly wiped them with a towel, tears beading at the corner of your aquamarine eyes. Polly was right: you did know when to pick your moment. As strong as you were, you had trouble coping with the news of your unexpected pregnancy. So much trouble that you couldn’t rejoice and that lack of enthusiasm only added a layer of guilt to your restless mind. “Fuck!” You snarled, teeth bared. Fuck you, them, all, and everything.

The sound of your platform boots' sharp heels echoed in the sanitized corridors of the hospital as you headed towards Michael's bedroom, your hips elegantly swinging to the rhythm of the silent savage drums of your heart. Tommy had called another lengthy and boring meeting to discuss both the Shelby Company Limited's new installments and the Vendetta, and as well as you dreaded his presence you had to be a part of it now that you were a Shelby. Moreover, the whole mess got even more problematic since Luca Changretta had managed to find a way to break into the Shelby factory and directly talk to his turquoise-eyed opponent for the sole pleasure of seeing a sparkle of panic in his eyes when he threatened to kill the rest of his family.

Surprising as it may sound considering your deep resentment for Tommy's long speeches and the man himself, you arrived pretty early. Not for him, but for Polly Gray. By coming earlier, you knew you'd have a bit of time to talk privately with her about the baby, for she had been the one discovering your secret pregnancy. “Hey Pol’!" You cheered, a wicker basket filled with pastries dangling at your wrist, "I've brought some croissants and éclairs. Thought it could help put up with today's meeting." The bright smile you bore soon vanished from your plumped lips when your winter eyes met with the dark silhouette of your brother-in-law, standing in front of you with his calloused hands in his pockets and his cold gaze staring at your angelic complexions with an unfathomable look. Turning into ice again, your small hand immediately reached for the door handle.

"Stay. We have to talk." He stated, his tone cool and composed. As much as he wanted his sentence not to sound like an order, he ultimately failed. As he talked, all the muscles in your body tense and you felt already irked by his presence.

"Don't." You snarled, your crystalline eyes squinting when they shot him a lethal glare, "Don't fucking come any closer." The sour and threatening expression on your face had been enough to stop Tommy. He was now clenching his perfectly carved jaw. Admittedly, he had never particularly cared about your personal space, invading it on every occasion he could just to push you to your limits and make you feel cornered, but since he had a taste of the ghastly and inhumane gift you had he'd rather be cautious.

"Alright," He said, pinching the bridge of his nose before rolling his eyes and moistening his lips in a surprisingly effusive pout. "No need to be that aggressive eh. Please have a sit." He instructed then, indicating a chair with a brief gesture of the hand.

"I ain't gonna sit. Polly tricked me.” You gritted through your teeth, spiteful at the thought of her betrayal. Your voice echoed through the room like sharp shards of frost falling from a winter sky. "You both knew that I didn't want to be left alone in a room with you anymore and still you schemed this twisted little plan." The cadence of your speech, though measured, carried an Arctic chill that made Tommy shiver. Even with the short distance that separated you, he could almost feel the ice you were made of burning his skin through the many layers of his expensive three-piece suit. In fact, you might be calm but Tommy could still feel the rumble of the storm hidden in that soft and enchanting lilt of yours.

"No one tricked you, and yes, indeed, I knew it. That's why Polly will be here with us. She's coming in any minute. Feel better now? Can you fucking sit?" Your only reply was a mocking snort that was quick to stir anger in Tommy's heart despite the placid expression etched on his face. But no matter how fine and cold the marble he was carved from was, you could see the tumultuous current beneath it. Maybe that was one of the main reasons why he hated you: no matter how hard he tried, you always managed to get under his skin and make him falter.

Silent fell in the hospital room, the two of you staring stonily at each other as you both attempted to decipher the opponent's intentions. "Seriously," Tommy was the first to move, coming nearer despite your warning — part of him did it only to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of you. As he approached, your sharp sense heard the faint sound of his heart beating slightly quicker than usual and his breath struggling to keep quiet. Closer he came, until he stood only inches away from you, the warmth of his body brushing your skin without even touching it, and the musky scents of his cologne ticking your nostrils. " I meant it you know ay. I meant it when I said we have to end this war between us," You remained motionless, eyes staring at him, "Shut the door on it". In the hushed ambiance of the bedroom, he started to move around you with a gait that mirrored the stealthy elegance of a beast navigating its territory. His steps were a silent predatory waltz, a calculated and deliberate one that could have been dizzying if he wasn't walking around you this slowly, "At least temporarily." The air seemed to ripple with a subtle tension as he circled you like a panther, hiding his fear of you behind an aura of primal confidence, "I'm sure we could both benefit from it, ain't that the truth." You slowly exhaled as he talked, realizing you've been holding your breath for a while.

"What about backing off me and shutting your mouth until Polly comes?" You whispered, your aquamarine eyes carefully following every step he took. Admittedly, there was an undeniable magnetism in the way he moved, almost too smoothly and captivating to be human. In a primal reflex, your lips curled and you showed your pearly teeth. Beneath the shared expanse of your untamed wilderness, a silent battle waged within, as his large and strong hand delicately found rest upon your arm. The skin-to-skin contact sent an unpleasant thrill through your body. Tommy was like a big cat facing another one, testing the waters and carefully studying the line he shouldn't cross for you to snap. All in all, it was a contest whose goal was not to be the first to shy away. His fingers ghosted over your arms, trailing down your skin with an unsettling tenderness. Unwilling to cause another scandal or murder him, you gathered all your willpower not to react even when he leaned above you, looking down at your seraphic traits with curiosity gleaming in his turquoise eyes, "How did it feel when we kissed?" His words, like tempestuous whispers, stirred a sudden symphony of panic and indignation within. "Because you've... Felt."

"I did." You finally admitted, tearing through the silence you've been walling yourself in. All the ice melted in a few seconds, and your face relaxed a little bit. Two hopeful details that ignited both Tommy's gaze and ego -- of course you did, he thought.

"Look at me." His voice turned a bit softer as you slowly raised your gaze to his face.

"Do you really need me to say it out loud, Tom?" As you inched dangerously closer to him, he heard the ambient sounds of the crowded hospital fade into a distant murmur

"I do." The drumming of his heart fastened as a faint smile toyed on your lips. The proximity of your mouth, bewitchingly close yet not quite touching, was killing him. Let alone the brush of your skin under his fingertips and the shared warmth of your breaths mingling in the same intimate airspace. How beautiful you would be together. How fierce. How... Unstoppable. That was all he could think of.

"Disgust." It fell from your mouth with the softness of a chainsaw blade cutting through his guts. Tommy's eyes widened, his ego crashing on the ground and shattering like a broken mirror. He didn't react at first, confused by your harsh words, which contrasted with your angelic smile, "I felt disgusted." You tilted your head to the side, your face turning into winter again, "Now you better move from the way if you don’t want me to crush your lungs."

Tommy was about to back off in terror when he saw you moving your fingers in that peculiar way he was too familiar with.

"Sorry for being late." Polly's voice erupted in the room, saving you from spending another minute alone with Tommy. God blessed her.

"Let me help you with that." He finally said, trying his best to keep his composure at the realization that he would never be able to predict you. Never be able to control nor to own you. His fingers closed on the basket’s handle, right above your reddened wrist, and they lifted it to relieve your frail arm from the pain before he quickly stepped away from you.

"Alright, glad to see the two of you didn't butcher each other in my absence. What a wonderful improvement."

"An improvement that is." Tommy replied, pressing his palms against the table now that he had put the basket on its wooden surface.

" I was talking with the doctor about Michael's health. We have a very short time left: he's almost done with him, and both Ada and Lizzie are coming. Heaven, dear, what about Arthur?" Polly inquired, her black eyes meeting yours.

"He's still in his office at the Shelby factory. But I must admit I thought that it would be only you and me." You stated resentfully.

"I know, love and I'm sorry about it but you wouldn't have come if I told you that Tommy was here." Her cold and sly hand gently squeezed your arm in a gentle gesture, so soft and full of motherly love that you couldn't really blame her anymore. Taking a quick look at the clock on the wall, you sighed and took place on a chair just like Polly did.

"Hurry up. Tell me what's about."

"Ain't going to keep you waiting,” Tom started and went straight to the point, motivated by the desire to see you leave this room as soon as possible, “ I want you to meet Luca Changretta."

"Thomas!" You exclaimed.

"No. You listen to me now," The gangster replied, pointing at you with his index finger, "As you know I've encountered him in the meeting room of the Shelby Company factory. We came to an agreement that stipulates that women and children shouldn't be included in the Vendetta. With that, we can guarantee a certain safety for you, Polly, Ada, Finn, and the kids."

"How... Quaint." You stated, pursing your lips in a bratty pout, "And what's the link between your deal and me potentially meeting the man who wants to see my husband dead?"

"Considering this, one of the women of this family can approach him. The idea was that Polly could meet with him and ask him to spare the family, especially Michael. In return, she would lure me into a specific place and at a specific time so that this bastard can set an ambush and kill me." As Tommy explained the original plan, you side-eyed Polly who nodded at each sentence in an attempt to reassure you.

"The problem is Luca knows the strong bond I have with my nephews. Even if I use the role of the mother ready to do everything to save her son, I fear it won't be enough to convince him. But you..." She left her sentence hanging, Tommy's raspy voice completing it. Shelbys, you swore. Sometimes you wondered if they had some telepathic shit going on between them.

"You despise me as much as Luca does but still bore the name Shelby. You'd be perfect." His gaze almost burnt you.

"Makes sense." You replied, fingers playing nervously with your dress' fabric under the table as you swallowed all the information just heard. Against all odds, his idea was impressively clever — Tommy might have a plethora of flaws but stupidity wasn’t one of them.

"Polly will help you arrange a meeting with him in a club. You talk with him, explain how you do this to save your husband, and if he asks more questions proceed with talking about our relationship." Now that they had finished revealing their plan, Tommy and his aunt were both staring at you, impatiently waiting for your answer.

"Well, I've heard enough." You simply said, getting up from your chair and making your way to the bedroom's door under the two pairs of confused eyes. Once you reached it, you grabbed the handle and watched them from above your shoulder, an amused but sharp grin dancing on your lips. "When Apocalypse comes, it seems like even Thomas Shelby wants the Devil on his team." You teased, entertained by the situation. No matter his neutral demeanor, he needed you. And that was a satisfying feeling. "That's fine with me." Your quick agreement was certainly not something Tommy and Polly expected, judging by the way they looked at you, and then at each other to make sure they heard well. But as illogical as it seemed, the reasons behind your will to get involved in the Vendetta were a matter of course: You were sick of playing the nice and fragile wife who nervously waited for her husband. You didn't come all the way back to Birmingham to be a quiet and patient little thing. You came to make them all shatter and shake at your fingertips. All you wished was to protect your man and show the world that they better fear Arthur Shelby's wife as much as him if it isn't more.

Polly followed on your heels when you opened the door, grabbing your arm and leading you outside.

"The hell you're doing?" You inquired, surprised by her sudden strength.

"One last thing. I need you to keep Arthur busy and to make him come too late for the meeting." The fierce aunt's grip closed a bit firmer around your wrist, making you wince.

"Why that ay? He has every right to attend it. He's the vice president deputy of that company as well as the oldest brother." If there was one thing Polly expected, it was you defending your husband tooth and nail. And yet she had many tricks in her sleeve.

"We don't want him to pull the trigger anymore. It's time for him to delegate and stay out of the battlefield. We didn't climb the social ladder this high to keep dirtying our hands."

Polly's speech made you blink, astonished one could scheme behind a family member's back. "Hey, that's freaking unfair for Art. You have to discuss the matter with him, it's his job we're talking. Ouch!" You whimpered when she squeezed you harder, her eyes begging you to listen.

"Think about the baby! It will need its father! We don't want him in danger any longer so please, please keep him busy just like we, women, know how to do. It's the modern approach, White Devil."

"Modern approach. Of course.”

"Oh, Angel." Arthur said, his gravel voice underlined with a light surprise when he saw you entering his office. He was putting on his long black coat, ready to leave for the family meeting. As soon as his piercing blue eyes landed on your delicate frame he walked towards you, "Why you here? You alright? " He immediately inquired, his protective nature had grown far bigger since you'd joined him in this cursed city. The soft glow of affection shone in your eyes as you looked at him, your glossy and plump lips greeting him with a bestowed smile so sweet and radiant with love that the hurricane of worries in Arthur's skull hushed down.

"Everything's alright!" You hung your coat on a hook.

"Ain't it good news, ay." He cheered despite being in a hurry, before putting his large and rough hands on your forearms with an adorable bluntness so specific to him and rubbing them to warm your skin up, "Well look, lovely to see you but I'm late for a meeting."

"Just five minutes." You asked, coming closer until your breasts flattened against his chest, "Five teeny-tiny minutes, please?" The way your eyebrows raised and your mouth pouted enlightened your angelic face with an irresistible bratty look that never failed to get him on his knees. Arthur quickly moistened his lips while weighing the pros and cons, but it didn't take long for him to make up his mind. Especially when gazing upon that woman-child face of yours.

"Alright, alright." His raspy voice blurted out. Arthur brought his fingers in your hair to slip one of your long white locks behind your ear with an indescribable tenderness. "Needy little thing already missed her husband eh?" He cooed with amusement, his strict facial traits melting as he talked to you, tamed by your presence.

"I did.” You purred with a quick but oh-so-sincere smile, “But I also need to talk to you. Sit, please?” You suggested, the amusement of your tone brightening up his dull day. Joining motion to speech, you gently pushed him back with your two index fingers pressed on his chest. Arthur followed your movements, a bewitched smirk etched on his mouth. Just like your own reflection, each time you took a step forth he took one back until the back of his knees bumped against the desk chair. Enthralled and with lust-dilated pupils, his eyes spoke a love that transcended words. Arthur’s body finally dropped on the chair, and if he was already focused on nothing else but you, the whole universe faded into utter insignificance when you sat on his lap, straddling him. The contact between your two hips ignited a vivid desire within, which spread through his bones like wildfire and got a satisfied “hum” from him.

“What it is ye want to say?” Arthur asked, the hoarseness of his voice carrying a softness no one suspected him to hide. Despite everything you’ve been through lately, including the indescribable disappointment due to his drug relapse, you had allowed your relationship to slowly heal. You had been crystal clear, now the ball was in his court. Arthur was obviously still on trial, well aware that he needed to outperform himself to gain your precious trust back but at least you came home right after John’s funeral, and that was all that mattered.

A very short but comfortable silence floated over the room at his question, your reply taking the form of your fingers losing themselves in his slicked-back hair, massaging his head.

“Are you really in a rush?” Your voice, a delicate dance of enchantment and teasing, wove through the air and left Arthur even more captivated than he already was while you relished on every little adorable of his face — his myriad freckles were surely one of your favorite features of him. Finally, a long exhale escaped from your nostrils. How much you would have loved to stay locked up here with him forever, just you, him, and the baby, far away from this cruel world… “Peu importe ce qui se passe tu sais que je serai toujours à tes côtés, n'est-ce pas?” (translation: No matter what happens you know I'll always stand by your side, don't you?)

"I know." He replied in English. The sensation of your fingertips applying the perfect pressure on his head combined with your haunting French got him definitely wrapped around your finger. The lanky gangster was at the very edge of purring, his eyes half-closed and his piercing and intoxicated iris looking at you through his dark lashes.

As he enjoyed your massage, Arthur made the most of your proximity and let his palms wander on your dainty body, unable to keep them off you. In truth, it was nearly impossible for him not to become all handsy when you were around, no matter the where and the when. His rough hands roamed all over your being, invading every part of you. He was everywhere, softly kneading your small breasts, then trailing down your ribs to finally end his exploration on your hips he seized more firmly, almost bruising them in the process “I must say ya one hell of a cruel witch, love. You come here all hot and bratty.” He cooed, the gravel in his voice rumbling. It was so low, so powerful that it didn’t even sound like a voice but a feeling. His peculiar tone was an inextinguishable fire that enveloped your body, scorched your core, and wrapped your tired mind in a comforting haze. “Makes me feel bad to leave without taking care of ya like a good husband would do, right here on me desk…” You replied with an adorable giggle and Arthur slightly bucked his hips to press himself more against you, just for the sole pleasure of feeling his body colliding with yours. It’s not enough, he thought. It was never enough. There was always too much fabric, too much space, too much of everything between you except when he was buried deep inside of your core, both of you making one as you were meant to be. Another wave of excitement coursed through you, and you had to fight against the irresistible haze he stirred within. Delicate as a feather, you put your two tiny hands on his cheeks and raised his face for your eyes to meet — flaring steel sinking in lethal frost. “But tell me, what's that important hm?”

“First you have to promise me to stay calm. Will you?” You asked, batting your eyelashes like an untamable child about to tell her dad she had just destroyed the expensive family vase. The kind of look that drove Arthur crazy. Sometimes he still found himself astounded by how your face could go from terrifyingly cold to adorably childish. Saying that your words didn’t awaken a bit of worry inside of him would be a lie, but one sole glace at your angelic traits was enough to keep his rage leashed.

“Gonna try me best for ya, hm.” His dark blue irises were enraptured by the movements of your lips each time you spoke — your words were blurring, and his attention was turning into obsession: He missed you. Body, heart, and soul. “Hev…” He sighed in delight as your small hands abandoned his face to strip him from his vest, unbutton his shirt, and then paw at his chest.

“You won’t interrupt?” You mused, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck and mouthing against his warm skin. Your thumbs were now tracing circles on his chest, smoothing his hairs.

“Told ya, angel. Your Arthur will try to be a good boy.”

“Well… I went to the hospital to keep company to Polly. I thought we would discuss trivial things but then she asked me to keep you busy.” You finally admitted, “She and Thomas wanted you to miss today’s meeting.” As painful words melt with the delightful sensations of your caresses, the sky in Arthur’s eyes darkened with black and stormy clouds. His body stiffened under yours.

“What the fuck that’s s’posed to mean?” He growled, anger already boiling in his veins like a dangerous geyser about to burst. Fortunately enough, your calming presence helped him contain his violent temper — such was your almost supernatural effect on him. Different and yet so similar, Arthur Shelby was made of destructive fire that burnt the people around him as much as him. And yet, his fire never really intended to hurt: quite the contrary, it sought to stay warm and inviting, like a low fire dancing in a hearth. When it blazed out of control, even he couldn't prevent the damage done. You, on the other hand, were made of water. Just like a dangerously cold ocean, you were terrifying, infinite, and relentless, your calm prone to silent but always deadly tempests. “Why the fuck would they do that?!” He cursed louder this time. Feeling your man’s temper wearing thin, you gave a gentle lick on his neck to snatch his attention from his corrosive emotions. Your flat tongue trailed up his sharp jaw to his earlobe — the wet and hot caress on his skin sent thrills of arousal all over him and allowed his mind to focus on something more pleasant than this cruel betrayal.

“Because they want you to stop pulling the trigger.” You explained as quietly as you could, gently rubbing your cheek against his like a cat looking for both affection and attention. It seemed to do the trick: his face was still distorted with latent rage, the thick vein in his temple pumping, but at least he wasn’t turning the office over with his fists nor was he yelling so, overall, it was still a win. “Modern approach they call it.” You added, using Polly's exact words to the difference that you peppered his lips with small pecs, talking between each pair of smooches to make the pill easier to swallow, “You become a general and Aberama takes care of Changretta… That’s their plan.”

Breathing loudly through his nose, the gangster pressed his lips together until they formed a very thin line, “Modern approach ay?” Anger coiled like a snake amids the hurricane of his resentment, its hiss echoing through Arthur’s skull. “They just wanna take me job away.” He stated, more for himself than anyone else, still digesting the news. “And they want to use ya against me? Bloody pricks.” Overpowered by an immense feeling of injustice, Arthur didn’t realize that he was digging his fingers in your thighs a bit more painfully than intended, but his roughness only fanned the flames of your own wickedness. Your skillful fingers explored him, nails brushing his ribs, then palms caressing his slim abs as if seeking to defuse the ticking bomb he was.

“I wanted to tell you everything because nothing in this fucking world will make me stand against you... I may agree with the idea of keeping you safe from harm but not at the expense of your trust.” You confessed, finally pulling your face from his neck and wrapping him in a relieving hug with your frail arms. If he hadn’t kept his eyes open, he would have sworn that it wasn’t your arms that were surrounding him but two soft and protective feathery wings. His rough hands, which hadn't moved, spread your thighs further to feel your warmth through the thin fabric of your lace thong. Fireworks exploded in you at the hard bulge that was pressing between your legs, making you bite your fleshy lip. Arthur finally let out a long sigh and shook his head, wanting the only thing that could wash away the rage that was eating him up — one of his hands left your flesh only for his fingers to slip between your parted thighs and shift your undergarment to the side.

"C'm'here," He ordered, his breathing increasingly louder and faster.

"Love, you should really go to this meeting." You advised, shivering at the feeling of his long fingers fondling your slit.

"To hell with their meeting, they don't even want me here eh. Need ye right now." With skillful movements, he unzipped his fly and lowered his trousers just enough to free his half-hardened cock and slid it between your sensitive folds, the pleasure and anticipation crashing against you like a rogue wave against the shore. "I feel me bloody mind drift again... And I know I'mma butcher someone if yer lovely lil' cunt doesn't keep me warm." The ghost of a little smirk danced on his lips, mustache lifting on the right side of his mouth when he noticed that his words had the effect he wished for: More of your wetness trickled along his shaft and you had started to grind against him, low key moaning. “I don't fucking know what I'll do without ya..." Without waiting another minute, the gangster lined up with your begging entrance and slowly pushed his swollen tip inside.

"Yes, f-fuck them." You sighed, your nails digging into his back and your legs quivering at the overwhelming feeling of him stretching you. Usually, Arthur wasn't the patient kind and, as it was the case at this very moment, all he wanted to slam his far-too-big cock in you in one forceful thrust to have you whimper and wiggle above him, and yet, he wished to keep it languid for now. It wasn't a rough fuck he wanted, at least for now, but sexual and emotional comfort. The first sweet fantasy that plagued his mind wasn't to cum, but rather to enjoy the blissful and addictive sensation of his thick length opening your throbbing walls inch by inch and filling you entirely.

"There, I know ye can take it all." He gently bumped your cheek with his nose while his smirk turned into a sharp-toothed grin pitching half between the remnant of his anger and satisfaction.

“S’too big…” You stuttered, eyes shut and the telltale of a blush painting across your doll face. With toes curling in your high heels and your arms around his neck, you rolled your eyes in the back of your head as he pushed further. It never seemed to end, and yet it always ended up fitting despite your size difference.

“Bloody Hell, how are ya so tight after years of me ruining ya?" His words were spoken with animal growls — The truth was he had always loved the fact you were too small for him in every sense of the term. Despite the pain, a frail whimper escaped from your mouth, soon accompanied by your legs naturally parting more, instinctively submitting to him and his needs. With a meaner thrust, Arthur had no other choice but to force the way one last time to fill you completely, and when it was finally done, he let out a loud moan at the way your tight walls hugged him. "Shh, shh, that's okay." His strong hands seized your hips stronger to keep you from wiggling and pulling them back in reflex, "A good girl ye are hmm?" You nodded. It was only when his length hit your deepest spot that Arthur stopped, buried inside of you, hard and unmoving, your bodies entirely connected. Another whine escaped from your mouth, a little protesting sound that drove him mad with lust and almost made him forget that his initial desire was just to keep you sitting nice and quiet on his cock. “C’mon love, t’wasnt that hard. Ye should be used to it.” The only reply he got was you rolling your hips to adjust to his size for a comfortable cockwarming session — the most effective thing you had found to tame his wicked tantrums or his adrenaline-fueled passions. The first time had been hell for him, who seemed to be unable not to pound you once he penetrated you — and yet he had learned to love every little thing of it: The intimacy, the constant but manageable pleasure, the cock-drunk and appeased look on your face…

"Missed you, Art'...'" You breathed and hummed, barely rolling your hips but still slightly moving on his cock to enjoy it massaging your velvety walls, "Aren't you angry anymore?" You asked a bit too sheepishly to be true, laying a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Nah, not anymore 'cause yer a nice angel for your husband,” He grabbed your ass firmly, long fingers adorned with cold rings spreading on your cheeks to have a wider grip “Making him find peace between your legs ay?” The stretch had become comfortable by now, and you were both fully enjoying each other, him completely high by your warmth and wetness. “Making him pray God with your holy pussy.”

“God…” You sighed, throwing your head back, feeling perfectly full — maybe a bit too much even though pain blurred with exquisite ecstasy. “B-But think about it, Arthur. What about letting Aberama do the job? We would stay locked up in the house and do nothing but fuck until the whole Vendetta is over and we go back home?” You suggested, flush burning your porcelain cheeks and giving them a rosy color. The melody of your words — along with how good he felt deep inside of you —snatched a low moan from him. Yet, as much as he yearned for your offer, his conscience needed blood.

“Got no choice, love.” His two hands left your body shortly to grab each side of your lace dress and take it out, throwing the garment somewhere in his office to have you exposed and vulnerable while he was still fully dressed. Once naked, he cupped your small breasts and started kneading them with blunt caresses that made you squeal: you were already sensitive due to your hidden pregnancy. “John wants me to do it.”

"Fuck!" You cursed when he moved along with you, your hips dancing together and intensifying the burning arousal that was saturating your senses. Soon, splitting you open and having you moaning on his cock wasn't enough anymore. His arms suddenly wrapped you possessively, pulling your two bodies even closer. So close the cold gold of his cross necklace on your skin sent thrills of pleasure down your spine. "He wouldn't want you to risk your life."

“It was me who shot the old man.” Arthur’s mouth, eager to find yours, crashed against your lips in a kiss so passionate that it took your breath away. One of them rough hands stroked your back in an overwhelming cocktail of caresses and scratches, waltzing on every inch of your skin while the other pinched one of your nipples. A second kiss captured your mouth, his tongue making its way into your parted lips to seek yours, not minding the thin trickle of saliva at the corner of them. “John is dead because of me,” He breathed between two savage kisses, “And I’m gonna make it right.” His voice was merely a low whisper combined with ragged breaths and low, gravelly moans.

"S'that was you want?" You managed to ask, losing your fingers in his hair and your mind in a fog of carnal delight. Forehead pressed against forehead, you reopened your frozen eyes and dived into his, words becoming more and more useless as a tornado of raw emotions and sincerity swirled in the blue of his iris: His need to avenge John was visceral and you understood that his mind wouldn't be able to find rest if he couldn't kill Luca Changretta, hence putting an end to the vicious cycle of vengeance. And you definitely hadn't the heart to deny him this unhealthy yet efficient way of exorcising both his guilt and his baby brother's death. “So be it.” You finally granted, endless love shining in your eyes. After all, if there was something you could understand it was vengeance. Torturing and butchering five men didn’t bring your family back, but the pleasure of watching life slipping away from them had nonetheless helped you put up with that excruciating wound, "But when you’ll kill that bastard put two bullets through his head. One for you, and one for me.” You concluded, shifting your body slightly to take the gun that was on his desk before wrapping his neck with your two arms again. And then the mask of the lamb fell, shattering on the ground and revealing the wolf you were. A wolf that was smiling and moaning, its thumb softly caressing the weapon’s metal.

"I'll do that, little one." A smile beamed on his face as you allowed him to carry on his personal vendetta — or as he felt the sensation of the gun resting against his back, his joy finding a delicious echo in his body. The circular movements of his hips turned into deep and full-length thrusts that had you throwing your head back and chanting his name.

“Mr. Shelby! “

“I’m fookin’ busy!” Arthur’s booming voice roared in the office as he slammed the door right at the man’s face. The access to the room might have been forbidden to him, but the cacophony of savage fucking and the noise of the office’s blinds being shaken left no doubt on what was happening. He finally gave up, well aware that nothing would make his boss come. It was only when he told him that two intruders had been spotted in the factory that Arthur stormed out of the room, disheveled, shirt quickly buttoned u,p and with a hammer in one hand. A bloodbath was coming and since nothing could be done to prevent it, Ben went back to work and tried to ignore the upcoming mess. With a bit of luck, they would manage to put down the rabid beast Arthur Shelby was. Soon after his departure, the white-haired girl left, snuggled up in her white fur coat and walking as elegantly as always, even if she was slightly staggering on her heels after what the gangster did to her.

“Poor girl.” Barney — another worker recently hired — stated, glancing at you as you passed by. “She’s nice. Y’know she brings us treats and pastries sometimes… What a shame that young lady had been forced to elope with this bastard.”

“Poor girl?” Ben replied to his colleague, almost choking. “Forced wedding? You’re really new here, mate. Can’t believe the doll blinded you. Something’s off with her. And forced wedding… All you have to do is pay attention to the way they look at each other and then you’ll understand. And it will frighten you.”

“Ya really talking about sweet lamb Heaven?”

Ben scoffed, “A lamb… When your eyes meet Heaven Shelby’s nobody can’t tell if she wanna braid your hair or eat your heart. Lamb she’s not. Don’t get fooled by the dresses and heels, she’s not playing doll. She only makes violence look better.”

Barney became silent at his friend’s sordid statement, the far away sound of Arthur yelling, bones breaking and agonizing screams resounded in the depths of the factory along with the machines’ roars. Amidst the smells of hot metal, sweat, and paint, lingered the spring-like fragrances of your perfume, which confused him even more.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick@kxnnxy @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd

#Arthur Shelby #Arthur Shelby x Reader #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby smut #Arthur Shelby x oc #peaky blinders smut #Paul Anderson #Heaven Shelby #Peaky blinders oc #John Shelby #Polly Gray

314 notes · View notes

pineappleciders · 5 months ago

Text

SPOILERS FOR OMORI MANGA CHAPTER ONE (it's the same plot p much as the game but go read it first if you haven't cuz the art is so cool!!!)

chapter 1 is already available in english and ohh my god. i took so many screenshots i couldn't fit them all so i might make multiple posts LOL

spoilers VV

already off the bat kel looking like a cutie pie, i just know my pfp is gonna be changing

the family photo😭😭😭

i lovee that we're getting more creepy mari

i LOVE how rhe artist gives sunny sm emotion,,, also suntan content om nom nom

they hold hands☹️☹️☹️😞😞

SUNNY POKING TO COMMUNICATE

i love how they look terrified seeing each other after 4 years, when in-game they barely even acknowledge each other

the photos of mari falling out of aubrey's pockets. ok im sobbinf

i like how they changed it to omori being the one to notice aubrey getting stuck and helping her out, when in game i think it was kel(?) that helped her out

ok i have so many screenshots but i can't post them all so i'm gonna give all my thoughts now ab chapter 1!!!

i really love the artists style and how they interpret the interactions in the game. they gave sunny a lot more emotion which is fun to see, i think it's SO cool that we basically get two different POVs from the game and the manga!!! like maybe sunny in the game expresses those emotions too, but he doesn't in his mind. like to stay more similar to omori

i also love the details of how mari looks more creepy, it makes her existence feel more mysterious. but i also love sweet caring mari so i hope we get more of that too!!! i already love seeing different people's perspectives on omori and how they portray the characters, so i'm super hyped to see all of the interactions fleshed out by a new artist!!

i'm SO excited for the next chapter, also super excited for it to be in shelves and i hope i can find it online without it being a bajillion dollars :,) also it's funny how omori was originally gonna be a manga but then it was a game and now it's a manga again, and the new manga looks nothing like the og aaggh it's so cool

#long post #omori #pineapple yaps #omori manga #omori game #omori fandom #omori art #ranting #pineappleciders

94 notes · View notes

abiteofhoney · 28 days ago

Text

The Vampire and The Devilspawn

Hello!! I won’t do intros/notes in the beginning like this every time, but for the first time, I have a few things to say! First off, thank you to everyone that reads this story and takes this fun journey with me <3 thank you and i appreciate and cherish you all :) Secondly, I hope you can have a bit of patience with me as this progresses and I figure things out. As of posting this, I am 16 chapters in at roughly 50k. I am a proudly proclaimed pantser, so while I have a general direction for this story to take, most of it forms along the way. We're just having fun here, anyway! Third, this is, of course, a vampire story with some romance, and will come with the usual content warnings: blood, violence, biting, angst. All the fun stuff :) It follows both Magdalena and Anzurin's third person POVs.

Alright, enough of me. Here we go :)

4,889 words

Chapter 1 - Magdalena

She sits on her knees, slouching and weak, held up only by the fist gripping the back of her shirt, with only two thoughts tumbling around in her broken head.

The first being her name. Magdalena Pierce. She knows that. There isn’t much else that she knows, but she knows that much, at least.

The second is that she’s hungry beyond comprehension. The ache screams alive in her stomach, an empty hole unable to be filled, even though she’s tried. Blood still coats the front of her, having run in waves down her chin and throat and chest as she fed, and she thinks that she might have spilled more than she drank.

They didn’t allow her to clean up before they attacked her, chained her wrists and ankles behind her back like she’s some type of animal. And Maggie just really doesn’t understand. The black-eyed woman told her to feed, so she did. She fed, and fed, and fed, and she’s still hungry. Starving.

She tries to tell that to the man holding her, only getting out, “So hun-” before he slaps the back of her head with vicious force. Her teeth snap together, her fangs poking into her lip and drawing a bead of blood that she quickly licks up, then she looks up at the man that slapped her and gives him a throaty growl, baring her blood-coated teeth at him.

“Should be stuffed, the way you fed. Now keep your mouth shut,” he snaps at her. Something about his empty black eyes and ruby red skin make her want to rip his sharp horns off of his skull.

Maybe he’s right and she should be full, but the hunger gnaws at her stomach, an empty pit that cannot be satiated. Her fangs ache in her gums. Her eyes burn with frustrated tears.

“Is he coming or what?” the same man barks at the two others standing across the room.

They’re smart to keep their distance. Their sweat smells so tempting, even from this far. The blood from these black-eyed devilspawn tastes so delicious, and she yearns to taste it again. It was so sweet on her tongue with a hint of smoke. It settled in her stomach so nicely, and she wants more.

“Anzurin should be here any minute,” one of the two answers.

Magdalena peers at the man holding the back of her shirt. His corrupted heart beats heavily in his chest, a nervous thrum behind his ribs, which would be so easy to break. She got through the last one’s ribs with ease – but that’s also what has landed her here.

She’s not really sure where here is. Where the lost causes go to get one more chance before they’re put down, the man holding her had said while they were transporting her, and she figured that sounds right. She did just drain a woman of all of her blood, and attack a few others that tried to stop her. Herra was the woman’s name, and Maggie only knows that because they wouldn’t stop yelling it at her.

Why’d you kill Herra?

She’d like to kill them, too. She’d like to drink their blood until they’re empty, carve through their red flesh with her teeth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” the man holding her barks, and the venom in his tone sets Magdalena on edge. It’s not her fault she’s hungry. It’s not her fault she’s like this.

She’s not sure whose fault it is, but she is almost certain it’s not hers.

Maybe it’s his.

Magdalena lunges for him, fangs bared as she lurches for his leg. He yanks back just fast enough that all she gets is a mouthful of denim. She releases a growl from between her clenched teeth, a vicious one that comes from deep in her chest, but it’s quickly cut off by a kick to her ribs.

A cry of pain falls from her as she tumbles to the floor, hands and feet still bound so that she can’t brace herself. Her shoulders and hips protest when she tries to curl in on herself, pain throbbing through her ribs.

“You little shit!” the devilspawn shouts, giving her another kick. His leather boot slams into her hard enough to send her sliding backwards a few inches, only stopped by the wall behind her, and it feels like the second kick to her ribs cracks something. “Anzurin had better get here, now, and take this worthless leech off of my hands. I’m not -”

He’s cut off by the door opening, somewhere near Magdalena’s feet as it shoves into them. “Hells below, Velur, have some patience,” a new voice drones. “I do have an entire coven to run, you see.”

Magdalena tries to move out of the way, scooting as much as she can but still crying through the pain in her ribs when the man kicks her again, not as hard this time but enough to move her out of the way of the door. She tries to bite the man’s leg even though she gets nowhere close.

The newcomer laughs. “Well, what’s going on here?”

“Fucking fledgling pain in my ass! She just tried to fucking bite me, and she’s already killed another devilspawn. Herra. Thought maybe you should knock some sense into her, but now I’m thinking that we ought to just put her down.”

Another chuckle, and then he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Covered in blood, the poor thing. Hers or someone else's? She looks positively hungry.”

The man scoffs, and a wet glob of spit lands on Maggie’s forehead. “Some of it’s hers. Most of its Herra’s, her mentors. Drained her dead. If the bitch is still hungry after that, then something’s wrong with her.”

Magdalena bucks at the insult, trying to break the chains around her wrists. If she could just use her hands again, she could sink her teeth into the black-eyed bastard’s neck before he could stop her. She snaps and snarls, throwing out hissed threats.

He stares at her with those wide and empty eyes, mouth hanging open in shock before his entire face twists up in rage. His leg rears back, and Maggie welcomes it, knowing that if he really goes for it, she might actually be able to get a bite in if he gets close enough.

But he doesn’t have the chance to send the kick when a voice cuts through the room. “Kick her, Velur, and you’ll be seen to.” It’s said so calmly, so casually that it doesn’t even sound like the threat it is.

The one named Velur sneers down at Maggie, spits on her once more, and snaps, “She’s your problem now,” before storming out of the room.

She tries to get him as he walks by, kicking his own legs out to trip him up, but it only yanks on her wrists. He gets away without a scratch, much to her dismay. Something about that man makes her just want to tear into his flesh, more than anyone else’s.

When Maggie looks around, the two horned men are still standing across the room, but the new one stands much closer, arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at her. He’s much like the others – red-toned skin and horns sharper than her fangs – only his eyes are slightly different. The rest of them just have empty black eyes, and his are mostly the same, but he also has glowing red irises that gaze at her, giving his eyes more life.

“Oh, dear, what are we to do with her?” the man murmurs to the two others.

“I don’t know, sir. She seems quite wild, yes? Maybe Velur was right and she’s just not made for the fledgling life. Perhaps death is the only thing that will fix her.”

The man moves in a flash over to the one that just spoke, and Maggie giggles softly when he reaches out and smacks the back of the man’s head. “Look at her. She’s just hungry. Shall I kill you the next time you get hungry, Brem? Go take her chains off.”

“You’re kidding. She just tried to bite Velur - more than once.”

“Are you frightened by a little fledgling, Brem? Take those chains off of her. I won’t ask a third time.”

Magdalena snarls at Brem as he dares closer, feeding off of the fear in his eyes and the shake in his hands. “Hells, please don’t attack me,” he whispers once he’s within reach. He grabs the chains around her ankles and moves her across the floor so he can reach the restraints behind her.

She jerks away from his touch. She wants to be unbound, but she also wants to rip into the next person that touches her. She tries to kick at him, spit flying as she growls and snarls and gnashes her teeth at him.

But that red-eyed man flashes across the room again, and in an instant, he’s kneeling over her, a hand at the base of her throat to pin her to the ground. “Knock it off,” he commands sternly. His striking eyes bounce back and forth between her own, black eyebrows bunched together as he studies her face, but her gaze is only on his neck, the pulsing veins under his garnet flesh.

She’s so, so, so hungry.

“We’re going to take the restraints off of you, but you have to behave yourself fledgling. Can you do that?”

Breathing heavily, Magdalena shakes her head. She truly doesn’t feel like she can control herself, not even a little bit. She doesn’t want to.

“Oh, I think you can. Brem, let’s go,” he says to the other red-skinned creature, and then instructs the third in the room to, “Catch Velur before he leaves and get him back in here. I have questions.” He hasn’t taken his eyes from Maggie, nor has she taken her stare from his throat. “My name is Anzurin, and we’re going to make sure you’re taken care of here. What’s your name?”

She doesn’t answer him, even though it’s probably the only time she will know the answer to anything. She grits her teeth together and runs her tongue over her fangs. They feel out of place in her mouth, new, even though she can’t remember a time without them. She can’t remember… much of anything.

All she knows is her name and her hunger, that she has fangs in her mouth and a need for blood. A hunger for red flesh. Thinking about sinking her fangs into the man above her sets her to wriggling again.

Still pinning her to the ground, he smooths his hand over her blood-caked hair, brushing it out of her face. When she snaps for his wrist, he chuckles softly and holds his arm out of the reach of her teeth. “You’re just starved, aren’t you?”

Once her chains are off, she’s going to bite him. She will. He smells so sweet, so tempting, she won’t be able to stop herself.

The man rolls her on her side so that the other – Brem – can undo the chains behind her. He doesn’t yet release her wrists or ankles, but at least detaches them from each other so she can stretch out.

“I’m going to sit you up, but you’re going to behave,” Anzurin says softly, but it’s not a question. It’s not a request.

Not promising anything, Maggie pushes against his hand on her shoulder, sitting herself up, and she sighs in relief when she can put her legs out in front of her. The jeans she’s wearing are covered in blood, especially at the knees, as if she’d knelt in it, and maybe she did. She can’t really remember anything more than the feeling of her fangs in flesh.

She tries to reach for the chains around her ankles without thinking about it, only to yank at the chains around her wrists still behind her back, her shoulders jerking painfully. An angry growl rips from her throat, wishing that she could rip the chains with her teeth like she so easily ripped through skin. She yanks on them again, this time on purpose, thinking just maybe she might be strong enough to break them.

But they don’t budge.

Brem kneels in front of her feet, eyeing her cautiously as he removes the chains from around her ankles. Her hungry gaze follows his every move, watching his wrists, his neck, salivating to think about the blood underneath. She bristles excitedly once her ankles are free and holds her wrists out to him, beyond ready to have use of her hands again. Saliva pools in her mouth as he slowly inches towards her side, nervousness radiating off of him. His black eyes shift to Anzurin.

“I’ve never seen one like this,” Brem murmurs. “What’s wrong with her?”

Anzurin grasps Magdalena’s chin, forcing her attention away from Brem. He searches her face for something – Maggie doesn’t really care what, because she’s stuck on his throat, unable to look away from it, unable to think about anything else except for how good it felt to flood her throat with that devilspawn’s blood. She bets his would taste just as good.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, is there, fledgling? You’re just hungrier than normal,” Anzurin coos to her. He lifts her chin, trying to get her to look at him, but she doesn’t. She can’t.

“So hungry,” she rasps. It’s a never ending hole inside of her, begging for more and more and more, a thirst unable to be quenched.

“I thought as much. Come on, we’ll get you fed.”

He hauls her to her feet, keeping a secure hold on her, but he makes no move against her, even when she tries to reach for his wrist, even when she bares her fangs at him. He only chuckles and guides her to the plush sofa against the opposite wall. Anzurin sits down first, then pulls her to sit at his side. He doesn’t have to guide her too much, as she easily follows his neck and wrists wherever they lead her.

Once she’s settled next to him, pressed close against his side, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and places his wrist just in front of her mouth. Instinct tells her to chomp her teeth into his skin, gnaw until she’s full and his wrist is nothing but bone, but she gets distracted by the heavy pounding in her left ear.

The noise comes from his throat, just inches from her face when she turns towards it. Wrists are dainty. So little would come out of it, compared to what would flow from his neck. She begins to lean in, but he jerks back and grabs the hair at the back of her head to keep her teeth off of his neck. “The wrist, fledgling, or nothing.”

He places it in front of her mouth once more and she can’t deny it a second time. She sinks her teeth into his rose-colored wrist with a starved fervor, fangs piercing him easily. Her mouth pools with delicious blood that tastes even better than Herra’s did. She was too sweet, almost like having dessert before dinner, but this… Anzurin… He’s a hearty meal. Savory and delicious.

She digs in further, ripping through his flesh with her sharp, sharp fangs, biting down as hard as she can. She drinks from him with greed, unable to take a lot at a time but taking as much as he will give her. She’s so entranced by his blood that she doesn’t even open her eyes when the door opens once more and someone says, “I have Velur.”

“Bring him in,” Anzurin drones. Maggie expects him to take his arm away any moment now, but he lets her keep feeding from him.

“Stupid to let her loose,” Velur snaps, “and even more stupid to let her bite you. Don’t close that door, Brem – we’re going to want an escape when she’s down gnawing his arm.”

“So dramatic.” Anzurin hums and brushes Maggie’s dirty hair off of her forehead with his free hand. “Sure, she’s a little rough with the teeth, but she’s starving. Insatiable, this one. Tell me about her.”

“She can tell you whatever you wanna know if she doesn’t kill you.”

“I think she’s a bit too distracted to answer any questions. I tried to ask her name, but she wouldn’t say.”

“Weird, since it was the only thing she’d say earlier,” Velur scoffs. “Magdalena Pierce.”

The hatred in his voice when he spits her name gets Maggie to open her eyes. Every time he speaks, she just wants to tear him into little pieces, so she tries. She shoves Anzurin’s arm away and lunges for Velur. She makes it off of the couch and across the small table, sending papers and items clattering to the floor. She reaches out for Velur, trying to grab him, scratch him, rip him apart with her teeth, anything she can do to hurt him like he’s hurt her. He’s the one that chained her up after she fed, and he smacked her and kicked her many times. She’s sure that his blood would be bitter, but she wants to taste it anyway.

But she doesn’t get to, ripped away by Anzurin’s arms closing around her waist at the last second, yanking her back against himself. He puts his wrist back to her mouth, saying, “Right here – feed,” but she pays it no mind, too wrapped up in her seething anger directed at Velur. She fights and kicks and scratches and bites to no avail.

“See what I mean?” Velur snaps. “She’s fucked! Just do us all a favor and put her down, Anzurin, before she kills another.”

Anzurin struggles to keep Maggie restrained, but manages to sit back down on the sofa with her. “I’ll be honest, Velur, I’m not sure she’s the problem here. I think you are.” He smears his blood across her lips, going as far as to grip her chin to force her mouth open to drip blood on her tongue, but she continues to fight against his hold to get to Velur. “Doesn’t even care. I think she just wants you dead.”

Velur scoffs. “Or you just don’t taste as good as you think you do, big shot.”

“So, what’d you do to her?” Anzurin asks and then brings his lips to Maggie’s ear to whisper, “I know you’re still hungry. Drink.”

And she is very, very hungry, so she gives up her fight - for now- and sinks her teeth into his arm once more, marking more of a mess of the already mangled flesh.

“Gentler,” he hisses through his teeth, and she hisses right back at him. If he were as hungry as she is, he wouldn’t want to be gentle either. She wants to rip and tear and gorge herself on both flesh and blood.

“She killed Herra,” Velur says incredulously. “It took multiple men to drag her off of Herra’s corpse, and a few of them even got bit in the process!”

Anzurin strokes her hair as she quits fighting and settles once more. “And?”

“Wh - And?! She killed one of our own! Do you not care?”

“Not so much,” he says with a shrug. “That’s the risk we take. She’s a fledgling, Velur. It’s her very nature to feed. To kill. Why would you punish her for it? Every part of her screams for blood and she shouldn’t be denied; she just needs to learn a little control, that’s all. How long ago was she changed?”

“Hells, I don’t know! Didn’t even know the bitch existed until she had to be ripped off of Herra’s neck today.”

At the insult that leaves his lips, Maggie lets out a growl and cuts a glare at him, but she doesn’t lift her mouth from Anzurin’s wrist. Her hunger never ends.

Anzurin laughs heartily. “Oh, she definitely just hates you. When’d she come into the coven?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. “I don’t usually handle the fledglings.”

“Find who does and bring them to me. I want to know where she came from.” He trails his touch down the side of Maggie’s face. He’s not even holding onto her anymore; she’s just happily drinking from him and not even trying to get away anymore. Her hunger is outweighing her instinct to fight, but only by a fraction. “She acts as though she’s gone weeks without feeding. And if that’s the case, I’m not at all surprised that she drained Herra. And she’s still going.”

“She -”

“I said to find who knows where she came from. Now. Not later.”

Velur grumbles angrily, but jumps at the chance to leave the room.

Once the door shuts behind him, a moment passes in which the only sound is Maggie drinking greedily and desperately from Anzurin’s wrist, but he soon says, “That’s enough for now.”

She doesn’t listen. Magdalena holds onto his arm tighter, taking bigger gulps. Her nails dig into his skin just as her teeth do, drawing even more blood. She just wants more, more, more, and it’s still not enough.

But then Anzurin fists the hair at the back of her skull and yanks. Her teeth rip from his arm, tearing flesh as he jerks her head back.

Magdalena snarls and tries to twist and bite the hand grabbing her, but Anzurin keeps his grip and stares down at her. Gently, but sternly, he says, “That’s enough, Magdalena. We need to go get you cleaned up and looked over so we know what we’re dealing with here. You have to control yourself.”

She whines, low in her throat. “But I’m so –”

“Hungry, I know,” he coos. He looks to Brem across the room. “Get me three bags from the fridge, please. Open one of them.”

Brem does as told, and all Magdalena can do is watch with Anzurin’s grip still in her hair, her head angled backwards. Brem goes over to a small black fridge in the corner, opening to the door to reveal two shelves stuffed full of bags of blood, but Magdalena hardly cares about that when the fresh taste of Anzurin’s blood is still stuck to her teeth. He grabs three of them as asked and brings them to Anzurin, who stuffs the first two in the pockets of his black coat while Brem opens the plastic spout of the third.

A small bubble of blood pools out of the top as the pressure is released, spilling onto Brem’s finger, and he freezes in place while his fearful black eyes flick to Magdalena.

“You know,” Anzurin murmurs as he takes the open bag, “she probably loves that you’re so scared right now. You know they don’t just feed on blood, Brem.” He waves the packaged blood under Magdalena’s nose, but the cold scent of it nearly makes her gag. She wants the fresh stuff, and tries to look for Anzurin’s bitten arm.

He jerks her hair. “No, drink this.”

The stinging in the back of her head is what makes her snap. Magdalena yanks her head out of his grip, leaving chunks of hair between his fingers. She claws his face and her fangs go straight for his neck. He tries to grab her hair again, but she’s faster, and slams it to the wall above his head.

On her feet, crouching next to him on the sofa, she uses her foot to pin his other hand to the sofa cushion, and that leaves a hand free to hold his head to the side so she can sink her teeth into his neck. She rips and tears, getting flesh stuck between her teeth, but filling her screaming stomach with his delicious blood.

But as her stomach fills, so does the room with shouts and yells and screams. Something wraps around her waist and pulls, but she claws back at it and it goes away, but then something cold is wrapped around her throat, and the chains that once bound her yank her back.

Magdalena loses her balance and falls to her back on the floor, but quickly turns on the one that pulled her off: Brem, backing away with large black eyes. Her rage swells into something unmanageable and she lunges for him, biting anything she can get her teeth in, which happens to be his upper arm, biting through cloth to tear at the rosy skin underneath.

His blood is sharper than the others, only a fraction of the sweetness, and Maggie doesn’t like it as much, but it softens the edges of her hunger, so she pins his arms to his side and gulps as much as she can. As she knew she would be, she’s yanked back seconds later, turned by her shoulder and slammed back against the wall with a large devilspawn body in front of her and his forearm across her chest. Something else wraps around her ankles, and she kicks at what she assumes is the chains, but looks down to see a red tail curling tightly around her leg.

“Stop it,” Anzurin growls at her, red eyes blazing. “Control yourself, fledgling, or I will do it for you.”

She tries to shove him off to no avail without the element of surprise on her side this time. He stays put, holding her down. Breathing heavily, she stares at his torn neck, his blood running down his throat and chest, soaking into his tan shirt. After a few moments of futile fighting, she relents and lies perfectly still to glare up at him.

Anzurin breathes just as heavily, touching his fingers to his bleeding neck with a sharp inhale through his teeth. “I’d like to be able to let you go, but I need to be able to trust that you’re not going to attack one of us again. Can we do that?”

In a jerking motion, Maggie shakes her head back and forth. She’s only stopped fighting for now because she knows it's a waste of energy to fight against him. As soon as he gives her even an inch, she’ll take it, but she’s saving her energy for that.

“Now, Magdalena,” he says with a tsk. “Do you understand what’s going to happen to you if you can’t control yourself?”

She spits a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva at him, which lands on his chin.

Besides clenching his jaw, he shows no other reaction and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his chin. “You’re going to have to be put down if you can’t behave,” he tells her. “I do not tolerate this kind of behavior in my coven, and you are too wild to go anywhere else. If you can’t control yourself, then you will be controlled. Is that what you want to happen? Do you want us to have to kill you?”

She doesn’t answer, unsure that she has an answer at all. Does she want to be killed? No, not particularly. But does she want to keep living? Maybe not, if this is the pain and treatment she has to endure. Her hunger is insatiable, fueling a need to rip and tear. She even thinks about biting her own flesh just for a taste of blood.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Anzurin murmurs in her silence, keeping his voice gentle and comforting. “We’ll feed you and make sure you’re taken care of, but you have to behave with us. With me, at the very least. I’m the one that will decide what happens to you, so I suggest you behave.”

Magdalena only grumbles unhappily and tries uselessly to wriggle out from under him, but his arm holds her shoulders against the wall, his tail around her ankle keeping her from kicking.

“Okay, you can’t keep denying that there’s something wrong here,” Brem says from where he stands nearby, chains still in his hands. “This isn’t normal for a fledgling.”

Brows creased, Anzurin studies her quizzically. “There’s something wrong with the situation, definitely. Something’s been done to her. Someone else did this to her.”

Brem dares a step closer. “What do you mean?”

“She’s starved, Brem. Her fangs are sharper than a new fledgling's should be. Hazarding a guess, I’d say that she’s a few months old, and I’m thinking that today is the first time she’s drank since she was changed. Am I right about that?” he asks her.

Maggie can’t remember anything before today, but she’s certainly older than just a few months. She’s a grown woman. But she does also feel like she hasn’t eaten or drank anything in quite a while. Maybe ever.

With his free hand, Anzurin brushes Magdalena’s hair out of her face. He then orders Brem to hand him the bag of blood that she’d turned her nose up at before. “You can’t keep drinking from me right now - I don’t have that much blood to spare - but you can drink these bags. I know they’re not as good, not as fresh, but it’s what you’re going to get right now. I’ll give you as many as you want – but only if you promise to try to control yourself.”

Against every fighting instinct, Magdalena nods.

—

Ending notes won't happen all the time either, but just a thing or two more to tack on.

I will make a chapter navigation post and link that here, to make accessing all chapters easier, and after this chapter, that link will go at the beginning of each post.

And my lovely taglist!! Thank you to everyone that has joined and shown interest in this story! I wouldn't have decided to post this at all if it weren't for all of you cheering me on, so thank you, and here's to you!!

@pizzamanstan @leahnardo-da-veggie @swollenkiln @dyrewrites @trippingpossum

@possiblyeldritch @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @jgc-comeundermybridge @shortcircuitthegreat @seastarblue

@bloodmoodtrash @theaistired @korol--reznii @simonnebethel @danimia

@written-among-stars @lofiyaketyblr @quill-main @bellascarousel @alexanderflowerbird

@lead-to-code @annothersummerofsleep @tragedycoded @saecarnell @albatris

If you aren't already on the taglist but wish to be, interact with this linked post right here, which has a little more information for you. If you are on it and want off, just let me know, no questions asked!

I think I've yapped enough for the first post, so this is the end lol. Thank you <3

#xena talks writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #the vampire and the devilspawn

36 notes · View notes

victoriadallonfan · 8 days ago

Text

End of Act 1 - Author Thoughts

So, this concludes Act 1 of Dead Eye.

It's been a struggle for me to write this afterthought piece, because I have learned so much from writing this original story.

This was not the first time I've written original fiction, of course. I had a brief attempt at a web serial back in late 2016 (I can't even remember the name of it), I've written numerous short fiction stories for Reddit Writing Prompts, and I've dropped some short stories here in Creative Writing in the past. Not to mention contest submissions over the years IRL (nothing gained unfortunately).

However, what made this different is that I actually committed to the act of finishing an entire arc and do my best to flesh out the characters as much as possible. I kept a plan, I followed it, and I tried to make it enjoyable for the readership.

Admittedly, going from the hundreds of likes and views of my fanfic to the thirty or dozen on these posts felt initially disheartening.

Initially.

But then I realized that I wasn't thinking about things in perspective. I was no longer using larger fandoms as a crutch for engagement or relying on readers already having a basic understanding of the characters: I was needing to WORK and gain the TRUST of the readers for a totally experimental project.

And bonus, I got amazing comments and analysis each chapter, with people seeming to really enjoy the mystery and action I wrote. I got people investing in characters in just a little under 30k words, which I think is pretty darn decent!

Is there room for improvement? Yes, absolutely. I ended up unhappy with how little screen time Milian got, but a lot of my plans for him involved future plot points that couldn't fit within 6 chapters that I challenged myself. I struggled a lot with describing the city (because I find building descriptions boring), and perhaps I made the tension between Sabra and Persa a bit too thick?

More things I could discuss on that, but there are also things I'm proud of. I really enjoyed the action set pieces and how I distinguished character behavior. I really like that my magic system (based on me noticing how special eyes are so prevalent in fiction, why not make an entire system set around them?) flowed so easily for me to write, and that it allowed me to do fun things with the world. Giant glowing eyeball in the sky makes me giggle all the time.

So, what is the plan going forward?

For now, there will be a small intermission. I would like to get back into Janus and HITF, maybe do some other fanworks too, just to flex my brain a bit from being in Persa's pov for so long.

The plan is that after a month or two, I will then return for Dead Eye - Act 2 for another 6 arc continuation.

Finally, I want to say: Thank You

Thank you to everyone who supported me, be it by like, comment, or Ko-Fi donation. It was you who kept me going, and made me achieve a dream of becoming an actual author of original fiction.

I promise I won't let you down!

#ridtom #ridtom web serial #ridtomblr #dead eye #dead eye web serial #web serial #web novel #urban fantasy #supernatural

26 notes · View notes

us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 20 days ago

Text

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 7

Ao3 | 2.7k Words | Darlin's POV

Milo is a drill Sergeant. Darlin' gets some emails. Angel washes dishes. Quinn is the type of asshole that flirts with teenagers.

TW: Stalking, threatening behavior, vomit.

“You’ve gotta put on some weight.” Milo tutted, his hands resting on his trim waist. Even two years later, Milo was a picture of petty tension. He hadn’t grown, despite the fact that he claimed people could grow into their mid twenties. He had built up a good deal of muscle in his back and chest, which served to make him look just a little bigger. He still had an air about him that made him seem two feet taller, even when you stared purposefully past the top of his head to piss him off.

Milo had started working you out as soon as Sam had given you the all clear, after you gave up on trying to avoid him. He was faster than you when he wanted to be, and staying away from him was so much less fun than just giving in to the familiarity of your quiet, playful arguments.

The workouts started slow; annoying, silent yoga, something his partner had gotten him into that left you infuriatingly loose and relaxed afterwards. Once you could do that without panting and twitching with pain, he moved up. Light cardio and weights. You’d managed alright with that. Your stamina was shot but you were strong. Now, Milo had moved on to C.P.A.T. specifics.

You’d passed the Candidate Physical Ability Test with flying colors the last time you’d taken it, but that felt like a lifetime ago. You were younger, stronger, fitter. What came to you naturally at eighteen made you wheeze at twenty-seven. Milo cast his gaze across the practice course before cutting those clever eyes back to you and your sorry state.

“There aren’t any weight class requirements for the physical.” You snapped.

“No,” Milo replied, “but you’re not gonna get through the endurance test like this. You’re gonna fall out.”

“I guarantee you I won’t.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, doll.”

“Call me that again and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

“Twenty?”

“Fifty.”

You won, just barely. Milo had a point, though. Running that course in full turnouts, hauling that ladder, scaling it, finding the hidden dummies in the fake building’s facade and hauling them back down, dragging the dummies and the ladder back the safe distance requirements; it was nearly too much for you. By the time you’d finished the run, you were gasping for breath, gripping at your protesting ribs, and dumping the dummies at your feet without a care for their ‘wellbeing.’ That part wasn’t new. It was a habit from your days as a probie you couldn’t shake. This time, though, it was done with some extra disdain.

Milo clapped a fifty in your hand and let you catch your breath before he tugged off your turnouts, up your tank top, and pressed his thin, clever fingers into your flesh to check your ribs.

“You’re gonna make me blush.” You gasped. Milo sneered.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you don’t give your body what you need. You have to eat to heal.” He shook his head, dark curls bouncing this way and that. You patted him on the head the way you knew he hated.

“You’re preaching to the choir. David’s already working on me.”

“He’s got the patience of a Saint.”

“No, he’s just force feeding me.”

“Good.”

You were eating three square meals a day, all packed with protein and healthy fats and carbs. Whenever David wasn’t putting out fires, both literal and figurative, he was cooking. He put more plates in front of you than you could manage in a day. It was the biggest bulk you’d experienced in your life, and even it was falling short of what your body needed. To be completely fair to David’s efforts, your body had always run on fumes. There had never been enough to go around. You had gotten used to making that work.

David surrounded you with abundance. The tension of your sort-of-fight had eased. He had started asking you questions. They were uncomfortable, and you were finding it harder and harder to dodge them.

You were going to spill your guts soon. You could feel it crawling up and out of you. You were going to lay down your load at David’s feet, unburden yourself through clenched teeth and let him take the weight. You’d done it with Gabe. David looked so much like him.

You hit the showers, scrubbing the sweat from your skin. The cold tile made your toes curl. The lines of your tattoos were raised with cold and irritation from the cheap body wash that was stocked in all of the shower stalls. You ran ghost-soft touch over all of them before moving on to your scars. The one over your side, the newest one, was still pink and new. If you pressed hard enough on the two inches of clean, stitched skin, it still hurt.

David caught you in the locker room as you slipped a D.F.D sweatshirt over your head. You’d slowly moved your meager belongings from your shitty studio to the last locker in the row at the 10-19. David had offered you plenty of his own clothes, but you didn’t like to wear them. Not the way that his spouse did, anyway. The little Shaw slid one of his giant tee-shirts over their head and wore it like a badge of honor, like a mark of ownership. You didn’t own David. You certainly didn’t plan on letting him own you. As it stood, the majority of your wardrobe was either covered in blood or stolen pieces from the D.F.D.’s lost and found.

“Hey,” you mumbled, pushing your still-wet hair away from your face, “are you done, do we need to go?”

“No,” David shook his head. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants. “I’ve got a few more hours. Look, I reactivated your D.F.D. email account. There’s a form in there for the next C.P.A.T.. Fill it out sometime today.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “When is it?”

“Three weeks.” David said. “I can get you back on the job within forty-eight hours if you pass it.”

“If?” You grinned. “I recall holding a record with my last one.”

“Yeah well,” David shrugged, “you were a spring chicken then. We’ve gotten old.”

“Speak for yourself, Shaw.” You flashed teeth. “I could still kick your ass.”

“Email. Form. Today.” David barked. You could tell, somewhere in your gut, that he was joking just as much as you were.

“Yes, Captain, sorry, Captain.” You clicked your heels together in a salute as he rolled his eyes and retreated down the hallway towards his office. A smile slid over your face as he left you alone in the cold, quiet locker room.

You D.F.D. email had two-thousand-and-seventy-three unread messages waiting for you once you’d managed to remember the password. You flopped down on a couch in the bunk room and sighed as you clicked into the newest one, skimming the form to sign up for the C.P.A.T.. Something about filling out that form, going to that test, made your chest hurt. It made all of it, being back here at the 10-19 feel… real. That was a dangerous thing for you. You couldn’t explain why.

November was drawing towards a close. The cold had long settled over Dahlia and into your blown, shitty joints. You could do the C.P.A.T., you could not do it. December would come on either way.

You clicked out of the form, out of the email, and back to your inbox. Maybe you’d feel more inclined to carry on with your future when all of the spam messages were gone.

Spam. Advertisement. Debt collector. Spam. Medical bill. Spam.

You almost swiped it right into your archives when your eyes caught on the subject line of a message from an email address consisting entirely of scrambled numbers and letters. That was usually enough for you to chuck the whole thing as bullshit. The subject, though, made your heart squeeze. You sat up on the couch, your feet hitting the ground. You needed your boots flat on the floor. You needed your legs under you when you read this. You might need to run.

Back home so soon, Precious?

Bile rose up in your throat, acidic and cutting. You swallowed hard and clicked on the address’s icon. Copy, paste, the address went into your search bar and twenty-odd unopened messages popped up.

California state employees’ email addresses all followed the same formula. Last name, first initial. It would be so easy for Quinn to find it.

You scrolled down to the earliest message and opened it up. The subject line made your hands shake; I’m never far behind, you know.

It was a picture of you from sometime in September. You were still black and blue from the fight you two had devolved into. You were standing in a gas station somewhere in Washington, staring at two different, overpriced painkiller options. You’d killed that bottle in less than a week.

You’d known, in your gut, that Quinn would follow you when you ran. You hadn’t noticed him. You thought for sure, if he was that close, you’d have noticed.

It was more of that. A picture of you in a diner, flirting with the waitress who gave you free pie. A shot of the back of your head in a Greyhound bus heading for California. You through the stained, narrow windows of your shitty apartment.

Sam and his EMT’s leaving the night you’d been stabbed.

Sam’s truck in the firehouse parking lot.

Sam at lunch in a plush restaurant with a handsome man in his mid-forties.

Sam sitting on the porch of his cabin, coffee cup in his hand. He looked so peaceful, his eyes closed and head tilted back against his rocking chair.

Vincent in his fancy car, kissing who you assumed to be his partner in a school parking lot. He’d mentioned that they worked in an elementary school.

Sam’s Probie walking towards a nightclub, their arm linked with a drop-dead-gorgeous man, surrounded by friends.

David outside of a fire, smudged with soot, directing the scene like a conductor.

Little Shaw standing at the sink, scrubbing the remnants of dinner from a plate, taken through the slots in the pantry door.

He had been inside David’s house. He had stood three feet away from them and taken that picture. He was close enough to hear the little songs they hummed to themself whenever it got too quiet.

You locked your phone, stuffed it into your pocket, and moved. You barely made it to the bathroom before you lost your lunch.

He could get inside the house. He had gotten inside the house. There was no telling how long he’d stayed there. He could be there right now, waiting in the shadows for somebody to pass by and make an example out of. You had to tell David. You had to make them leave, had to put them both somewhere safe and torch the fucking place. It was tainted. He’d been in there, and it would never be safe again.

Hands shaking, you replied to that last picture, staring at their tiny frame and estimating how long it would take Quinn to subdue them. Seconds. He could kill them in seconds.

What do you want?

The response was almost instant.

You.

He attached an address. You didn’t need to punch it in anywhere to know it. Max’s was familiar ground. The house ordered from there more than anywhere else, and Gabe’s accident had been just down the road.

It got dark early this time of year, and by the time you emerged from the bathroom, the sun had set and night shift had invaded the building. You could smell dinner on the stove and hear the chatter of the house through the walls. If you hung a left, you’d be surrounded by them. You could find David, ask him to talk. He would know what to do about Quinn. He would handle it.

Quinn was dangerous. David could handle himself, but Quinn fought dirty. David couldn’t win against him, not playing by the rules.

No, you had to handle this yourself. David was already in danger, his spouse too. Quinn liked to aim for the weakest link. He liked to strike where it was easy to do real damage without taking any injuries himself. That’s where he’d hit you. The only way you’d learned to make him back off was to hit him head on, to not even give him the chance to find your weak point.

He knew you just about as well as you knew him, of course. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t call your bluff. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t smell the terror rolling off of you in waves.

You retreated away from the noise, from the sounds of your house, and towards the ambulance bay. You could sneak out the backdoor, have it out with Quinn, and be back before David was any the wiser. You gripped your hand into a fist as you shrugged on your jacket and shouldered open the back door.

“Darlin’,” Sam’s voice called from inside. You stilled, boots just barely on the icy sidewalk outside. You turned, your hands still fists at your sides. Sam’s uniform collar was unbuttoned. He must have been getting off shift. “Where ‘ya running off to?”

“Mother hen.” You muttered bitterly. Sam smiled anyway, seeming almost… bashful. “Just going on. Meeting somebody. Shouldn’t be long.”

“Well, I’m off.” Sam reached inside to grab his jacket off the rack. “Let me drive you. It’s cold as all hell.”

“I’m fine.” You shook your head and stepped back. “Really.” You did not want to introduce Sam to Quinn. You didn’t want Quinn to make any assumptions. You didn’t want Sam to hear the things he was going to say to you, about you. Whatever you were, whatever parts of you Quinn had broken, whatever parts of you had always been broken, Sam didn’t know about them. You didn’t want him to see you and all of your broken parts in the naked light.

“Is it… um… are you going to see him?” Sam squinted at you, his jacket still in his hands. You swallowed. Your poker face crumbled. You’d never been a good liar.

“Sam,” you started, hands clenching and unclenching.

“I’ll take you.” He said decisively. You blinked, surprised. You were expecting him to try and talk you out of it.

“You… you’ll take me?”

“I’m sure as shit not letting you go alone.” Sam grinned like it was such a ridiculous notion that it was funny. “Come on, we can talk on the ride.”

You were quiet for most of it, your throat constricting over all of the warnings and defenses you desperately wanted to spew. Instead, you answered each of Sam’s questions steadily, one word at a time.

“How’d he reach you?”

“Email.”

“And he followed you here?”

“Yeah.”

“So he knows where to find ‘ya if you don’t go to him.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s liable to start a fight?”

“If not him, then me.”

“And he fights dirty?”

“He brings guns to knife fights, let’s put it that way.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” You turned to him from the passenger seat, your face pinched and twisted in concern. Your teeth worried over the scar on your top lip. Sam’s eyes caught yours, brown gone red with the street light.

“I do.” His shaking fingers tapped against the steering wheel in an awkward, unsteady rhythm. “Better than I can put into words.”

The parking lot outside of Max’s was full this time of night, so Sam parked across the street. You spotted him through the wide, bright windows. Quinn had taken up a booth at the back of the small restaurant. His feet were kicked up on the table, shitty, worn boots smearing dirt across the clean surface. He was flirting with the teenage server who was refilling his coke. She blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The guy behind the counter was eyeing the two of them nervously. Anybody who had ever known an asshole before could see right through Quinn if they tried hard enough. That was why he had to flirt with teenagers.

Quinn turned suddenly, stiff and aware. His bright, blue eyes caught yours through the window. His face split out into a terrible, toothy grin as he beckoned you inside.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted sam #redacted audio #redacted david #redacted darlin #redacted angel #redacted vincent #firefighter story #redacted quinn #redacted guy

38 notes · View notes

jeepersjpeg · 19 days ago

Note

u have like .. really good taste in media , so do u have any movie recommendations ?

my top favorites right now (in order)

1. I Saw The TV Glow (heartwrenching "coming-of-age"/psychological horror/wait.. he's "coming-of-age" so quickly--? Time wasn't right. It was moving too fast. I was 19, then I was 20, then I was 21. Like chapters skipped over on a DVD. I told myself, this isn't normal. This isn't normal. This isn't how life is supposed to feel. I thought about r-- really good movie if you haven't seen it already)

2. Possessor (trippy, violent sci-fi psychological horror. i wrote a song about this one. ive seen it around 5 times now and not a day goes by where i don't think of it.)

3. The Poughkeepsie Tapes (50% satirical mockumentary commentating on how america glorifies its serial killers, 50% found-footage horror, you'll need to look up warnings for this one [or just ask me, ive seen it 4 times, i can give you in-depth CW's without spoilers].)

4. Horse Girl (a girl's spiraling descent into conspiracy. trippy, mystery thriller)

other favorites in no specific order

• Antiviral (another Brandon Cronenberg film, sci-fi thriller, taking parasocial relationships to a whole new level)

• The PowerPuff Girls Movie (underrated and one of my favorite PPG-related things ever next to the now-banned rock opera episode, See Me Feel Me Gnomey)

• Longlegs (paranormal mystery horror film, an FBI agent gets more than she bargained for when delving into a new case. ASK ME ABOUT OZ PERKINS AND NICHOLAS CAGE'S PERSONAL CONNECTION TO THIS FILM AND HOW IT SAVED THE FILM ITSELF FOR ME AND MADE IT GO FROM "A WEE BIT DISAPPOINTING BUT STILL GOOD" TO "TOP FAVORITE" BECAUSE OF HOW IT IMPACTED THE WAY I VIEW IT... IF YOU DARE..)

• Catsoup (silent japanese cartoon, short film, you can find it on youtube! two cats go on a magical, somewhat dark, adventure. visually stunning)

• The Brave Little Toaster (the only disney film that will ever grace my favorites list. incredible. the anthropomorphization of objects is stellar, the characters i could go on and on about-- and the songs are fucking great. shoutout to mass car suicide [Worthless]. also this movie inspired one of my OC stories [Curtain Call].)

• I'm Thinking Of Ending Things (adaptation of my favorite book, very different from the book but i think it brings some excellent things to the table and tells it in a very cool way. psychological thriller, mystery. Jesse Plemons is in it, they grabbed him off the set of Breaking Bad and forgot to tell him he wasn't still playing Todd. [< compliment])

• Baby Driver (anyone who hates this movie doesn't know how to have fun. action-comedy, incredible soundtrack that is SYNCED TO THE HAPPENINGS IN THE FILM, main character is an autistic CODA who i love very much, i have a deep personal connection with this movie because of the person i watched it with and the impact it had on us.)

• I Don't Feel At Home In This World Anymore (action-comedy, crime, awkward girl and her awkward neighbor [who just met her but would kill and die for her] get in over their heads trying to retrieve a stolen laptop.)

• Poltergeist (1982, my ma's favorite horror film and one of mine too. paranormal, visually stunning, the practical effects are so fucking cool. also im decently sure it was inspired by Little Girl Lost, an episode of The Twilight Zone, because it's like a more fleshed-out version of that concept.)

• Home Movie (2008, it's on youtube, i can't remember if it's like overall good but it's the only instance thus far in which i think the "evil child" trope is done well so it makes my favorites list)

• Whiplash (ARE YOU RUSHING OR ARE YOU DRAGGING?!)

• Nightcrawler (crime thriller, guy's spiraling descent into abandoning all morals for the sake of his obsessive new project, and the gripping horrific ways that this choice affects those around him)

• Dread (2009, violent horror, guy's spiraling descent into abandoning all morals for the sake of his obsessive new project, and the gripping horrific ways that this choice affects those around him)

• Raggedy Ann And Andy : A Musical Adventure (on youtube, an animated childhood favorite that still holds up. shoutout to the blue camel)

aaaand some others im prooobably forgettinggg..? tried to include a bit of as many genres i could think of, since most of my favorites are horror :)

#jeepers speak #answered

24 notes · View notes

aislinrayne · 9 months ago

Text

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone. In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

“I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.

The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.

Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling. His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co.. For one, they’d gained quite the reputation. Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s. He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

Well, you get the point. It hadn’t looked promising.

Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough. Those days had been filled with anxiety. Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on. How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See? He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name. It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight. And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

George was the next oldest. Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once. He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident. In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself. With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases. If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade. The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her. They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down. She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date. In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation. George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling. Anthony felt like he might be sick. By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five. Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often. Then, another article in a larger paper. Followed by another, then several more.

Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps. The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time. In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach. Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life. How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field? Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again? Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss. Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay. Though, had he known–

A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey. The old building slumps under the weight of time. Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons. Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London. The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

“Ah, Mr. Lockwood! A pleasure, as always. How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.

“Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine! I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently? I’m here to pick up for her.”

After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from. When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.

“It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent. I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.

“Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet. We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening. I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

“Of course, I understand completely. Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”

It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept. He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.

Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed. Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room. Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents. What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs. Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on. It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge. When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house. Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.

When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone. Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down. As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention. At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds. It feels like someone’s watching him. Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing. Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings. The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.

Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper. All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab. Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud. He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind. Just… most of it. Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.

Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic. If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore. The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall. Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good. He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window. There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day. He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness. But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed. He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed. With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair. The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before. Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.

The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful. While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house. Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation? For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to. Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time. There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future. It’s nearly thirty minutes past six. She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.

Bloody hell, that is the final straw. He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour. If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy. He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger. Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy. However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn. Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–

An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path. The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene. If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated. He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn. Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage. The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved. When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns. Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right. His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open. He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house. Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space. To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls. Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter. Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control. Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside. And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance. He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

“Sorry it took me so long, darling. Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him. Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold. A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath. In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf. There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier. It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

“Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole! The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it. He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

“Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with? Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.

He knew this routine like the back of his hand. She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind. The silence is deafening. Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder. He’d been right about the look, at least. The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day. But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

Shit. He’s really fucked up this time.

“Y’know what? Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.” Time comes shuddering to a halt. His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears. If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

“What do you mean? What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury. The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him. He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length. So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

That was the plan, at least. But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances. He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison. Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs. He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

Then, it stops. It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.

“You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light. There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own. It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later. He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition. She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up. When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates. Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.

A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender. His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand. She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist. The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety. Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him. As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him. He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation. Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view. A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away. Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

“Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.

She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze. After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.

“Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom. Husband’s name was Harold Roland. There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen. Twenty quid says that’s the Source,” she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh! And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

“Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from. In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang. He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger. The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling. As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time. He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field. Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan. All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck. He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls. She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy. As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

“Follow my lead,” she says. It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment. He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him. So that’s what she’d been up to.

She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other room. In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something. Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them. He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls. A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth. She immediately dives for the floor and–

He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot. The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom. He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

78 notes · View notes

thechaoticdruid · 11 months ago

Text

[This Bites] (3)

Pairing: Astarion x F! Chubby MC

Content/Warnings: Sexual humor, suggestive content, animal death, blood, slight angst, no Brian yay!, Winnie freaking out again, fluff,

Quick summary: Winnie gets Star out of the house after being cooped up since his arrival. Vampire hijinks ensue.

Chapter Two: Go Back

Chapter Three: Stay here.

Chapter Four: Lets fucking goooo!

Check out this silly recreation of the chapter in The Sims I did.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Hiding a secret pet from your parents was stressful enough, but hiding a whole grown ass man in your room would likely be a thousand times as nerve wracking. Especially with a step douche who had a habit of barging into the room. Luckily for Winnie, her stepfather was never a quiet man, always stomping along the floor in thick combat boots. And her current stowaway was very perceptive. That still didn't cover all her issues. Winnie had searched all over Nexus Mods for that damn cheat mod she downloaded but could not find it again. It was as if the creator deleted it just after Astarion got out. To make matters worse the vampire was likely starting to get hungry. He'd been gazing at her more and more longingly each day since his escape from the computer. She'd need a way for feeding her guest which didn't involve anyone getting sucked flat like a caprisun. Of course she thought about offering him her own blood, but the idea honestly made her uneasy. In fantasy it was very appealing, having an extremely attractive and alluring man suck on your neck, what's not to like? There was the whole sharp teeth tearing into your flesh aspect, but in fantasy there was no pain, no need to worry about death. Just sweet sweet blissful fantasy. But that was not the case now. In reality if Astarion were to sink his fangs into her neck he wouldn't need to drink all her blood to kill her. She'd probably bleed out from her jugular being punctured alone.

Winnie stared over at him as he peeked out the window. Night had fallen and he didn't need to worry about the sun. At least not for a while.

Winnie sighed, “I have no idea how I'm going to feed you if I'm honest.”

“Since you're so keen on protecting our dear friend Brian I suppose that leaves me with having to go out and hunt for my next meal, well unless you'd be generous enough to offer me your lovely neck.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, but I guess my arm might be okay…” Winnie lifted up her arm to look at it.

“You love to take the fun out of things don’t you? But alright, I'm not about to turn down a willing meal.” Astarion's pupils practically dilated at the sight of the veins on Winnie’s arm. His mouth watering at the thought of her warm blood coating his throat and he couldn't help but lick his lips.

“Hold on! I didn't mean right this second!” Winnie hid her arm behind her back, her cheeks turning red at the hungry look he was giving her.

“Such a tease.” Astarion huffed and crossed his arms.

“I had some things planned for tonight and I can't do them if my head is spinning from blood loss.” Winnie said before searching through her closet.

She pulled out a large duffle bag and began to unzip it. Inside were some hoodies and other clothing. Grey and black T-shirts, some jeans and a pair of sneakers. “Here, these were my brother's, they’ll probably fit you.” Winnie said before tossing the bag onto the bed.

Astarion made a disgusted sound.

“These are so tasteless and drab!”

“We’ll get you something more suitable to your tastes later. For now you need to be able to blend in.” Winnie explained. Astarion muttered something under his breath before he started removing his purple doublet and exposing his pale muscular chest. He was so perfect, so flawless. Winnie’s brain honestly turned off for a moment as the elf then proceeded to slide down his pants. Her eyes nearly entranced by a certain large shape in his drawers, her face turning bright red.

“My eyes are up here, darling.~”Astarion purred, voice husky and soft.

“A-Ah sorry! I should….” Winnie sputtered before scrambling off into the connecting bathroom. Astarion chuckled a bit, watching the flustered female dash out of the room. He couldn't help but find her rather adorable. Winnie stood in the bathroom for a few moments, heart pounding as she pressed her back against the door.

Oh God, why didn't I walk out sooner!?

“You can come out now, my dear.” Eventually Astarion's voice broke her from her thoughts. The human girl let out an exasperated sigh before opening the door and heading back in. The clothes were a little tight around his body, making his muscles quite visible through the light gray tee. Winnie quickly grabbed a black hoodie and handed it to him. “Here, put this on.” She said, watching him slide the jacket on. Winnie zipped it up for him before leaning up on her tiptoes and pulling the hood over his head.

“Hey! My hair!” He whined.

“I'll fix it for you later. Right now I don't want anyone gawking over your ears.”

“Why would anyone be doing that?”

“Ah, right. You see, in this world there are no elves, no magic, no vampires….Just humans really.” Winnie rubbed the back of her head.

“Really? Gods, how dull. Not that I mind being the only vampire around. That actually sounds rather delightful.” Astarion smirked a bit.

“Please don't get in any world domination ideas. Just because there aren't any vampires doesn't mean there aren't people who can tear you a new one.” Winnie sighed before peeking out the door into the hall. “Okay, they're asleep. Now come on.” Winnie said quietly.

“Where are we going?” Astarion whispered, slowly following Winnie as they tiptoed out of the house.

“We're heading out to town. It's probably a good idea for you to get acquainted with the area just in case something bad happens.” Winnie explained, “plus I feel bad about keeping you locked up in my room for days.” She then took out her cellphone and shook it, causing the flashlight to turn on.

“I thought you said, you didn't have magic here.”

“We don't. This my fanged friend is technology. It’s a machine mostly for talking to people far away, but also does a bunch of other stuff.” Winnie used her phone to navigate in the dark as they began walking down across her driveway. Winnie’s neighborhood was quiet, each of the houses were fairly spaced out with plenty of trees and brush littering the terrain. Parked in the yard near her family’s cars was a purple motorcycle.

“Oh, and this is my trusty steed! Or well it's basically my personal source of transportation. Think of it like a horse but made of metal. To make it even better this won't decide to turn around and bite you!” Winnie said with a smile.

“As wonderful as that sounds. I'm not quite sure about climbing onto some strange metal contraption.”

“Well…If you'd rather walk….” Winnie said in a sing-songy tone, putting her phone into her pocket.

“Nevermind! Let's go!”

Winnie climbed on the bike, her hands gripping the handles as she glanced over at Astarion. He looked the vehicle over curiously, nearly jumping up in the air when the girl turned on the engine.

“Come on!” Winnie said. Hesitantly he climbed on and immediately clung to Winnie, arms wrapped around her plush waist.

“Oh, this is rather intimate.~” Astarion took the opportunity to nuzzle his face into her neck, growing a bit more comfortable as he held onto her soft form. Winnie immediately turned bright red, a shiver going down her spine. She didn't really think this through did she?

Focus! Do not let the incredibly sexy vampire elf hugging your back cause you to have a crash!

We are not dying because of horniniess goddamnit!

Winnie mentally scolded herself as she drove off. Not that she disliked his attentions, mind you. She was just very easily flustered, never having been in any kind of romantic relationship, physical or otherwise. Astarion sighed into her neck, The smell of lavender and cherry blossoms mixed with the delectable scent of her blood was absolutely heavenly. It took all he had to resist the urge to sink his fangs into her neck and gorge himself on her blood.

Winnie kept her eyes on the road, the headlights of her motorcycle illuminated the street as they zoomed down it. There weren't too many cars on the road so Winnie could be thankful for that.

They rode away from the suburbs where Winnie’s home resided, eventually until coming towards a small shop just outside of the city. A large sign that read ‘CornerStore’ sat atop the building and illuminated the parking lot.

“This is where I work.” Winnie said as she turned into the parking lot. She parked up front in her usual spot before turning off the engine and hopping off.

“Well this seems like a cozy little shop.” Astarion said, getting off. “What exactly could you precure here?”

“Mostly snacks. Some hygiene products and other things. Just stuff you need around your home really.” Winnie said, leaning up on her toes to fix his hoodie before leading him inside.

Winnie looked around the shop, thinking about anything she could get which would be useful for her new guest to have in the future. She couldn't get too much however. She only had so much room in the little trunk she had on her motorcycle.

Bandages would be a good idea, shampoo…. Though he'd likely complain if it was some kind of cheap smelling stuff….

Astarion looked over Winnie as she scanned around the store. His tongue flicked over his fangs as he couldn't help but stare at her jugular. The gnawing pain in his stomach was crying out, demanding to be sated. He backed up as Winnie became engrossed in the products that decorated the shelves. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small creature outside the shop. Almost cat-like, but with a longer snout, a ringed tail and tiny black hands. The creature appeared to be picking around in the trash outside. Not his first choice, but it had to at least be better than a rat.

Winnie kept looking through some hygiene products, wondering what her fanged friend would need when suddenly she heard what sounded like an angry raccoon. She quickly whipped her head around, heart nearly stopping when she noticed Astarion was gone.

Quickly she rushed outside and glanced over to see a dead raccoon fall to the ground. Astarion stood over it, blood dripping down his chin.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Winnie whisper-shouted.

“I was hungry…” Astarion shrugged, looking at her with round innocent eyes, mouth still covered in blood. Winnie grimaced, kicking the dead raccoon off to the side and out of sight before grabbing hold of Astarion and dragging him off. She pulled him into the store before making a beeline for the bathroom. She dragged him inside and slammed the door.

The young woman pinched the bride of her nose, on the verge of tearing her hair out.

“Please…Just please….Can you not do any vampire shit out where people can see you!?” Winnie said.

“No one was even around to see me. Sweetie, you worry far too much.” Astarion said, making a sassy hand gesture. Winnie crossed her arms and huffed, her eyebrow twitching. She turned before grabbing some paper towels and wetting them.

“You have to understand.” Winnie said calmly, “if people find out you're a vampire they'll probably try to kill you or worse cut you open and try to find out what makes you tick. Just please be careful.” She wiped the blood off his face before crumbling up the towels and burying them in the bottom of the trashcan. Astarion crossed his arms and stepped closer to her.

“I am a master of stealth, my dear. And if you expect me to just wait about for my next meal while you flaunt around that delicious neck of yours, I might not be able to control myself for long.” He said, running a clawed finger over her jugular making her shiver. His voice was playful, a bit flirty even, but the warning was still very clear. If she kept him waiting for too long he might not even be able to think before taking a bite out of her.

“I promise I'll figure out a way to feed you, just give me time…Please.”

“Oh alright, but only because you're so sweet.” He tapped her nose playfully. “And that little snack should keep me sated for now, ahaha.”

Winnie washed her hands before leaving the bathroom to continue looking around for some supplies. Astarion followed after her, red eyes inspecting the isles with interest. Some of the objects looked familiar, but somehow still foreign.

A couple of times he'd ask Winnie what something was, and she'd do her best to explain, but sometimes it was difficult. Especially with some technological items that Winnie herself wasn't even completely educated on.

She picked up a few things she deemed would be useful for hosting her guest, bandages, hygienic stuff and a burner phone. Winnie was about to go pay for the items when she froze, eyes widening in fear. Shit. Becca was working tonight.

“Darling, are you alright?” The vampire’s voice was gentle. Astarion noticed Winnie’s fear and placed a hand on her shoulder before looking over to what had her tense. At the cash register was a tall skinny woman with long red hair, round red glasses and a face full of freckles. There was a black visor around her neck with a name tag attached along with several different round pins, most notable ones being a colorful pin with a pattern of pink and blue with a purple line in between and a second pin with what looked like a mind flayer on it. She wore a casual blue dress and didn't look the least but intimidating so Astarion was rather puzzled as to what had Winnie's heart pounding so wildly.

Becca was probably the closest thing Winnie had to a friend these days, considering practically all her peers from high school had ran off to start their own lives (the fucking plebs) and the two were able to bond a bit over a common interest in video games. See where this is going? Becca was a gamer. A rather devoted gamer who was always quick to snatch up any of the hot new triple A releases. Winnie turned back to look at Astarion before quietly whispering, “when we go up to the counter do not say a word, okay?”

“Why?” Astarion asked.

“I'll explain it later, just stay quiet please.” She said before the two walked up to the register. Becca glanced up from the magazine she was looking over and smiled. Astarion held the small of Winnie’s back and stayed close to her. He was still not sure why Winnie was so frightened of this very simple looking woman. Though looks could be deceiving. She could be some kind of shapeshifter in disguise!

“Winnie! I didn't think you'd be stopping by tonight.” Becca said in a cheerful tone.

“Hey Becca!” Winnie greeted in a tone as perky as she could muster. “I…Just needed to pick up a few things I was running low on.” She said handing over the items. Becca’s blue eyes looked over Winnie’s face as she scanned the supplies.

She noticed her nervousness, but didn't seem too concerned. Winnie was known to get anxious quite easily. But then she noticed the male standing next to her and hummed. Becca noticed the white curls peeking out from under the hoodie he wore and took a long look at his very pretty face. He seemed very familiar, but she couldn't for the life of herself figure out why.

“Winnie,” She spoke up in a playful tone, “is this your boyfriend? He is cute.” Becca teased with a wink. Astarion couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

“A-Ah! N-No! We're just friends!” Winnie said, getting very embarrassed. Astarion suddenly snapped his head towards her, a bit shocked at her words.

WHAT?!

Winnie ignored him the questioning looks he was giving her. She leaned over towards Becca. “I'm just helping him out. He's really really shy….” Winnie muttered to her. Astarion stood there arms crossed as he glared at Winnie slightly, eyebrow twitching.

“Oh, okay.” Becca responded, scanning and bagging up Winnie’s things. “That'll be 29.50.”

Winnie paid for the supplies before walking out, Astarion stomping after her. She put the bags into the trunk of her motorcycle before she finally acknowledged his glaring.

“What?” She asked.

“Just friends? After everything we've been through, you and I are just friends?!” Astarion almost hissed out, but his tone sounded far more hurt than angry.

“We literally just met a few days ago.” Winnie said, a bit confused. She backed up a bit, flinching at his tone.

“I wasn't lying when I said I fell in love with you over and over! I..I…Did something happen? Do you not like me anymore?” His voice sounded a bit hoarse. Winnie’s heart shattered as she noticed he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“Astarion…” She said softly before approaching him. “I do like you. I like you a lot, but you don't really know me ... .The person in the game, the brave strong beautiful adventurer. That's not me.”

Astarion huffed, trying to blink away the glassiness of his eyes.

“I fell in love with the sweet person who saved me, nothing else matters!” He took her hands in his. “Please…I want to be with you…”

“Honey, you don't even know my birthday.” Winnie said with a sad smile. “And I….I'm really not sure. I know everything was probably quite real for you, but to me it was like I was just a spectator. Someone enjoying a good story. Hell I've never even kissed anyone in real life so the idea of jumping into a serious relationship out of nowhere is honestly terrifying…” Winnie said and looked off to the side. The silver haired male took a moment to regain his composure, wiping one of his eyes.

Winnie thought for a moment before looking back at him and gently squeezed his hands.

“Look, I don't have a lot of experience in this, but maybe we could start over? I could court you, maybe?”

“Oh….Y-Yes…Yes that would make me very…happy…” The vampire blinked away his tears before mustering up a smile. Winnie released his hands, before hesitantly moving in closer. She thought about going in for a hug before she noticed him lean closer, lips puckered.

Quickly she stopped his mouth with her index finger.

“I'm…Not ready for that just yet…” She said with a sad smile as he pulled back.

“Of course, apologies…I misunderstood.” He said feeling a bit embarrassed. Winnie quickly decided to just pull close for a hug before anything else happened. Astarion relaxed a bit, taking comfort in her embrace, and quickly wrapping his arms around her. It was difficult. His relationship had now practically been set back to stage one.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

After Astarion had calmed down and the two of them left the Corner Store. Winnie decided to keep her word about beginning a courtship with her flamboyantly fanged friend. The night was still young and a date was the perfect excuse for Winnie to stop somewhere to look for something edible to sate her own hunger. Unfortunately there was little the pale elf could enjoy at such establishments, but Winnie did have one idea.

Astarion looked over Winnie’s shoulder, his eyes widened in awe at the bright lights of the city. It was rather beautiful, making the night much more pleasant and allowing him to see so much more color than he usually would at this time.

Winnie eventually stopped, bringing the motorcycle to a halt as they arrived at a large pleasant smelling building. The air was filled with the scent of meat and other savory dishes.

Winnie got off the bike before quickly adjusting the hood on Astarion's head, making sure his ears were not visible. Winnie then took her vampiric companion inside before ordering a table for the two. She sat across from him in a booth, looking down at her hands shyly.

“I know it might be hard to believe with my charms and devastatingly good looks, but I've actually never been on a date before, not a real one anyway.” Astarion chuckled a bit.

“What about before you were turned? Surely you'd have been on a date then?” Winnie frowned.

“Perhaps, but I can't exactly remember much from before. It might as well not have happened.” He sighed, looking off as a waitress walked towards the table. She was rather beautiful, long blonde hair, blue eyes, a waspy waist and thick curves in all the right places.

“What can I get you both?” She asked.

“Oh, something full bodied and red.” Astarion said and looked back at Winnie.

“Red wine and a pinjacolada please.” Winnie said as she glanced up at the waitress, eyes staring enviously at her nearly perfect bodice.

“Ah and some fried chicken fingers, and um….Can you get maybe get us an extremely rare steak?” Winnie asked feeling a bit clumsy and embarrassed about how her last line was worded.

“An extremely rare steak?” The waiter looked at Winnie like she had grown a second head.

“I don't know if we're allowed to-”

“Be a dear, and fetch me something as bloody as possible won't you beautiful?” Astarion turned towards the waitress, his tone dripping with charm, his ruby red eyes almost hypnotic as he gave her a flirtatious wink.

The waitress’s face turned bright red.

“Y-Yes! Yes of course!” She sputtered, a giddy grin spreading across her face. Winnie felt a twinge a jealousy shoot through her. She understood why he did that, but it didn't make it feel any better. The pudgy female took out her cellphone as Astarion began to ramble on about something. Something about how dull all of the people here seemed, and how abhorrent their attires were.

Winnie began looking on Tumblr, noticing a notification about TheRespectfulBard posting a new BG3 fanfiction. Though something else caught Winnie's eye as she skimmed through the Bard’s blog. Apparently the bard was also looking for a mod that had been recently removed from the Nexus Mod page. However the modification they were looking for happened to be a mod that added a few new overpowered attacks to the game. Winnie quickly looked through the comments and reblogs to find someone saying the mod was made by a user named ShadowMommy69.

Oh God…….It was made by a simp…..

“Winnie? Winnie? Are you even listening to me!?” Astarion spoke up, sounding a bit annoyed.

“Ah! Sorry…I got a bit distracted….” Winnie hearted TheRespectfulBard’s post before putting her phone in her pocket.

“Honestly darling if you can't pay attention I might have to find a way to punish you.~” He teased, his hand reaching over to hold hers from across the table.

“Oh shut up.” Winnie rolled her eyes with a grin, her cheeks burning up. Astarion was just eating up all of Winnie’s overly flustered reactions. They were honestly all too cute. He looked at her with soft round eyes, wanting nothing more to plant kisses all over her pudgy little face.

“I've got your order!” The waitress from before brought in their food and drinks. Her hips swayed as she strutted over and set them down on the table. Blue eyes roamed over Astarion’s face and body, though he didn't seem particularly interested. The smell of blood from the meat hit him like a truck, making his mouth water. Winnie immediately began to nibble on her chicken, but her eyes were glued on that woman.

“I hope you both enjoy…. Especially you.~” The blonde said, seductively running a finger over Astarion's chest, making him stiffen.

“Um lady he doesn't like to be touch-” Winnie tried to object, though her mouse like voice was completely ignored.

“I'm getting off at ten just so you know.” She winked at him before wandering off. Winnie glared at her strutting form.

“Creepy bitch…” She muttered under her breath. That skank was so not getting a tip. Astarion cleared his throat before dusting off the front of his jacket, acting as if the waitress had got him dirty.

“Well, now that that's over. I think I have something to attend to.” His looked down at the streak which was practically dripping with blood.

Winnie bit her lip. She wouldn't lie. This was a bit gross.

Winnie grabbed her drink, slowly sucking it down as she attempted to ignore the vampire in front of her, cutting up the steak and sucking the blood off. She couldn't imagine what was probably going through the head of any on lookers.

“Oh my God he is so fucking hot.” Winnie’s ears perked up at the waitress’s voice as she gossiped with her friends.

“Who's girl with him? Think they're together?”

“Fuck no! Have you seen her? Probably his sister or something.”

Winnie rolled her eyes and glanced back at her food. She didn't really feel very hungry anymore. She looked down at her stomach. The round, plumpness of it made her feel so disgusting. It wouldn't be long before Astarion realized he had more options. Better looking options.

“Are you alright my sweet?” Astarion's concerned voice brought her gaze back up.

“I'm fine I guess…A bit tired if I'm honest…” She said tapping her fingernails to the table.

“Well then, perhaps we should get you home so you can get your beauty rest hm? Not that you need it of course! You're already the most beautiful person here.” The elf said sweetly.

“Yeah, let's go.” Winnie nodded, the two left their table and Winnie payed for the food at the register. She side eyes the waitress from before who was still gossiping with her friends. Winnie turned ready to head out the doors before she was suddenly snatched up by Astarion.

“I just want you to know once we get home. I am going to make you scream my name.” He said, his husky voice purposely raised loud enough for everyone to hear. Winnie immediately buried her embarrassed face into his neck. Despite being ready to faint she also couldn't help but let out a series of giggles at his bluntness.

The waitress from before looked over with a shocked and frankly pissed expression. The vampire smirked slightly before tugging Winnie outside.

It was around eleven o'clock when they arrived back home. Winnie got off her bike with a yawn before looking over at Astarion who's hood had once again fallen off due to the motorcycle ride.

Since they were home though, she saw no point in fixing it again.

“I think that was an absolutely delightful first date, my love.” Astarion said as the two walked over towards the front door. “Don't you agree?”

“Shit.” Winnie stopped in her tracks.

“Oh come on! It wasn't that bad! Actually I don't think it was bad at all!” Astarion crossed his arms with a scoff.

“No! Shit!” She pointed at the front door which was cracked open about two feet.

“Oh, oh dear.” The vampire exclaimed before his companion rushed inside. He quickly followed after her as she zoomed into her bedroom.

“Maddie!? Maddie!” She called looking under the bed and in her closet before checking the bathoom. Astarion went into the bedroom and inhaled, trying to pinpoint the scent of the sweet little kitten’s blood. Was it nearby? However, his red orbs suddenly shot open at the echo of barking coming from outside.

“Maddie!” Winnie cried in fear.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Note from The ChaoticDruid: Been so hyped to get this chapter out! We have a lead on who caused Astarion to suddenly become sentient and it looks like a Shadowheart lover lol. A Shadowheart simp if you will! Also I know a lot of people would probably think Winnie's crazy for not wanting to jump right into a serious romance with Astarion, but I just feel like there are some things we'd love to fantasize about, but might not be too sure about in real life. Besides the girl is very romantically awkward. If anyone has any ideas on how to hide Astarion's ears better I'm open to suggestions, oh and PLEASE tell me what you think of the chapter! I love hearing all the comments about stuff, really makes my day.

Also fuck, Maddie's in danger! Somebody do something!

Taglist: @astarioffsimpmain , @iamsexytrash , @tiedyedghoulette , @hp-art-studio , @gaymistakeboi @the-disaster-in-waiting

114 notes · View notes

pruneunfair · 2 months ago

Text

My feelings on: part 8, Tears on a withered flower: the most annoying fandom to date so far.

I ask if this one was really that great since I've been seeing it all over the place on tiktok and Instagram and reading it myself, I can see why it would garner an audience because it's another "working woman finds a better man after her loser ex cheats on her with a stupid damsel girl" type story. It's kinda good but in my opinion: it's not THAT good but there is only 23 chapters I read so far so I'll let it marinate before I actually start going after it for the plot.

What I really wanna talk about is the fanbase of tears on a withered flower because while the manhwa community does have a problem with internalized misogyny this specific fanbase takes the cake.

I don't like saying the term "glazing" but it's the only way to accurately describe the way they treat the FL Na Haesoo because they are absolutely feral. First off, I've seen them lose their shit over other fans simply saying "I think that this female character has a prettier design then Hae soo." And these stans reply with the most immature and even down right laughable comebacks. I took some screenshot of a tears of the wither flower slide show to give you an idea.

"Hae soon is the main character for a reason."

Who's gonna tell them that protagonists can be written poorly?

Trust me, I'm sure no one's jealous of a fictional character.

Okay the context basically was that Hae soos coworker was just being real with her based on what she knows about Hae soos life and apparently fans took that as her being jealous and when people who actually read the god damn plot and use their critical thinking to point this out, the stans basically go "nuh uh" and continue to scream even louder. Personally when I read that chapter i took it as brutal honesty, from her perspective Tae Ha was hitting on a married woman and the two barely knew eachother. A little harsh but she's not jealous of Hae soo 😭 like we barely know this girl!

I think the most complained about aspect of tears on a withered flower is the anatomy, specifically the anatomy of all the characters your supposed to really like/care about.

I don't mind that Hae Soo is built like that cause while her anatomy definitely is unrealistic it's also a cartoon comic and cartoons have lots of bizarre forms of anatomy that don't always need to be accurate. With that said I don't find it a coincidence that the FL who is the most fleshed out and only grown woman who isn't meant to be disliked or made fun of is a tsunade cup sized babe with big thighs, a tiny waist, a nice butt, and a baby face.

Yeah I'll say it: Hae soo is another example of authors wanting to make a non conventionally attractive woman since she's supposed to be older (like 33) who is also overworked so she doesn't take care of herself but in the end they didn't have the balls to actually go through with it so they not only gave Hae soo an amazing figure and hair but they also gave her a clear face, tiny lips and barely noticeable eye bags which I still can't tell if they're even eye bags or just her eyelashes.

When anyone even dares to point out that Hae Soo's design is weirdly propionate compared to the other female characters you get hid with the "Your just jealous that you can't have a man like Tae Ha!!"

look i don't mind disproportionate anatomy in cartoon comics but if you give me character designs with more accurate proportions, I'm going to choose the latter for prettier looking designs.

Another thing about this manhwa was the dialog. I like it at times because it can be so poetic.. and then they just throw in some comically evil sentences for the villains that most sane people would not make the public aware of in a modern day setting. It's not something that really annoys me I just thought it was fun to laugh at every now and again while reading.

conclusion: I think the best way to describe tears on a withered flowers fanbase is kinda like how Netflix treats Bigmouth. No, TOTWF is definitely no where near levels of uncomfortable as Bigmouth but it's in the way that it really isn't as good as everyone claims, it's okay at first and then it got old and some people started opening up that the thought Bigmouth was garbage only for a bunch of stans to barge in with "You just don't get it!!" People won't let it go, they keep insisting it's the best piece of work to exist and anyone who doesn't like it is a jealous loser.

#tears on a withered flower #na hae soo #beom taeha #Do heeji #Ari #Kang mincheol #webcomic #Manhwa

27 notes · View notes

lovebirdgames · 2 months ago

Text

Progress Update - October, 2024

It is time…the first Quarterly Progress Update for our next game starts now! And we're kicking it off with a title drop!!! Drum roll, please! Tom, if you will help me out...

That's right! Heartbreaker joins the fray!

For the record that’s not the real logo, just a temporary one that I slapped together.

Before we get into it I would actually like to glance back at the past and detail what our development timeline looked like for Band Camp Boyfriend. It's possible this one might look somewhat similar.

2015-2017 - Writing 2017 - Commissioned art, created social media presence 2018 - Demo released on Itch.io in August Programming hell 2022 - Demo released on Steam 2023 - Full game released

The good news is this isn’t our first rodeo and I’m hopeful there won’t be so many growing pains this time. We're also doing 4 routes and a shorter common route so that means less suffering for us. The bad news is I worked part-time 2015-2017 so I blazed through writing and now I work full-time…and I’m old…and my memory is failing me…but it’s okay, I’ve forgotten all the pain.

This time around we want to be sure we get all the writing down before we start commissioning art. We had the tendency to keep going back and asking for more because the game kept getting bigger (saving up money was also a factor). We’re gonna make sure we know exactly what we want this time. We’d also like to save casting voice actors for much later in the process so they aren’t waiting around for years on end. So the demo for this game will not have voice acting. I believe I wrote about this a little before in our post-mortem. We’re learning from our mistakes, woohoo!

That said, this is what we’re hopefully visualizing for Heartbreaker.

2024-2025 - Writing 2026 - Big art commissioning year, a more exciting project reveal, hopefully demo release later in the year! 2027 and on - Programming hell! Casting! Soundtrack fun!

…If this was to line up with BCB that would mean 2031 release. Oh God. No, I wanna release it in this decade, thanks. This is very tentative and we’re determined to not take 7 years this time.

Enough about that! Here is what we’ve worked on this year!

Concept art: Lite was absolutely awesome (as always) and let us have sessions with her in which we worked on concept art of the main cast together. It was super helpful in bringing our visualizations to life and it will definitely aid in writing the story. I can't go on enough about how wonderful Lite is to work with, and it was amazing to watch her go. She would whip up a number of poses, face types, or hairstyles for us to choose from. It was really fun and we're very grateful for the time she spent with us.

The demo: That's right, the demo is written! Woohoo! Unlike Band Camp Boyfriend with its twisting, long-winded common route, Heartbreaker’s common route is a single day! Alex can sigh in relief because that’s one less nightmare in programming for her.

The demo will contain the one-day common route and the first two chapters of two different love interests’ routes (the other two are locked at the start of the game so you’ll just have to admire them from a distance).

Brainstorming: Ahh my favorite part…talking long walks or going for coffee and coming up with ideas. Brainstorming is ongoing and includes character profiles, world-building, and route outlines. This game has a lot more lore and world-building than BCB, so it’s more of a challenge, but we’re here for it. I've already done a badly-drawn map of the setting. Just need to finish up some profiles for minor characters and do some of my own badly-drawn concept art. Then we move on to fleshing out the route outlines.

The first route: One goal I have is to try and finish writing the first draft of the first route by the end of the year! Which is insane because October is super busy for me, but I'm sure I can buckle down when it gets colder. It's a bit ambitious, but aim high, right?

That's all I got for now! Hope you're all feeling hyped and uh, patient, because we won't be able to show you any cool art for a while. ;v; Thank you so much for sticking by us and we appreciate every single comment that has mentioned looking forward to our next game! Enjoy the rest of 2024!!!

P.S. Today is my mom's birthday and yesterday was my sister's birthday, and also my best friend's birthday, HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAAYYYY to these very important people. <3

#heartbreaker #wah it felt weird to not type band camp boyfriend who even am i anymore #visual novel developer #otome development #indie game dev #progress update #heartbreaker otome

30 notes · View notes

darlingsart · 2 months ago

Text

OC-tober Day 9: Relationships

Okay I’m way behind on OC-tober BUT here’s the prompt from yesterday so let’s yap about Max’s relationships shall we? I’m not going to include the familial relationships because I think there’s already a lot of that in the fic so you all have a good sense of close Max is with his brothers and their parents!

Myles: Maximus and Myles are everything all at once, they are best friends, they’d die for each other, they’re literally soulmates, like an actual extension of each other. Myles is just as, if not, more chaotic than Maximus is, they feed off of each other’s energy, there’s no chill person in this friendship at all. They’re very comfortable with each other, so comfortable that he was Maximus’ first kiss because they’re two clueless teenagers who are just like ‘well everyone else is doing it’ lmao Myles is really the only one that Maximus can completely be vulnerable with, and I would even go so far as to say that Maximus feels like he can be more vulnerable with him that Pat and Achilles.

I’m going to try super hard not to spoil anything in these answers but the next work in this series is going to focus very heavily on their relationship and how it grows and changes as Maximus has to navigate his inevitable fate. Their relationship is so special to me, I’m excited to get more into it because there’s gonna be some twists there too.

Cenon: Okay Cenon is a very minor character (right now!) but he and Maximus have a very ‘we’re friends but you get on my nerves’ type of relationship lmao Cenon is like a year or two older than Maximus and they’ve known each other since they were 4 and 6. Cenon is arrogant and stuck up and very snobbish and while Maximus can subconsciously be those things (he is a prince after all, right?) Cenon can be very annoying about it and they sometimes bicker over nothing but at the end of the day Maximus still considers him a close friend and their relationship is going to also go through some changes towards the end of The Rest of Our Lives going into the next fic!

Thea: She was mentioned like twice in a previous chapter but her character is going to get fleshed out a lot more now. Again I’m going to try and not spoil things BUT Thea comes from a rich family who all want her to marry Maximus because he’s a prince and you know how that goes. In one of the last chapters, it was Peleus who brings her up first, he thinks they’re a good fit, she comes from money and noble family, her father’s a good asset to them, why not? So their relationship is a little complicated because everyone is pushing them to get engaged and eventually married which isn’t really all that fun when you’re 16 and have a whole prophecy to deal with lol

Eudora: Eudora is not a new OC at all, I’ve mentioned it before but I’ve had this entire series planned out for years and she’s always been apart of it but she’ll be properly introduced in the next chapter. I won’t say much about her to avoid spoilers but she and Maximus have a very special (and somewhat fragile) relationship with each other. I cant wait to get into their whole thing too because it’s really one of my favorites aspects of the entire series I wish I could blab on about it but I’ve already said too much 😭

#angies art #my ocs #this is my first time drawing Cenon he’s such a loser and I love him #and Myles my special little guy look at him #Maximus my little bisexual disaster he’s got a lot going on #he’s got more romantic interests but we’d be here forever and a day if I drew all of them lol

22 notes · View notes

voxofthevoid · 2 months ago

Text

*waves tiredly* Hi, it's Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #6. We skipped two weeks. The WIP Wednesdays should continue steadily from now on, but I likely won't resume posting regularly to Ao3 until November.

This fic's now 46k and maybe halfway into Chapter 8—which is one of the major turning points. Been having fun poking at that. But that's very spoilery, so here's Sukuna edging Yuuji for fun and profit from Chapter 7.

“You have some nerve,” says Sukuna, “tracking filth into my domain.”

Yuuji sucks in a sharp breath, trying to breathe or even think past an overwhelming sense of wrongness. Sukuna’s close enough that Yuuji could hear the soft rustle of fabric brushing fabric when he whipped around, but that’s all he heard. It’s not the first time Sukuna’s snuck up on him like this, but it never gets any less unsettling.

It’s like there’s a void in the space he inhabits, except Yuuji can feel his heat and smell his scent; only sound is lacking, but it’s an absence that claws open a pit in his stomach, sending his instincts into overdrive.

And Yuuji hasn’t listened to them since the first time he stepped foot in this church, but right now, he wants to more than usual. The very air is heavy, like Sukuna’s strange scent has its own weight. Every breath Yuuji sucks in coats his bones with wet lead.

Sukuna’s expression flattens further, and that’s when Yuuji really registers what he said.

“Filth?” he repeats, frowning up at him. It’s still there, the urge to break eye contact and back away and do something that makes him feel less like cornered prey, but Yuuji’s not cornered, he’s definitely not prey, and he’s not going to let this man’s weirdness fuck with him like this. Besides— “That’s rude. It’s just some sweat. I ran here, you know.”

The lines of Sukuna’s face collapse into screaming exasperation. “I can smell that too, fool, but it hasn’t washed your little friend off your meat.”

“My—”

The words die in his throat as Sukuna dips his head, his eyes narrowing into slits that gleam red, and Yuuji’s not proud of the way he heats up all over when that nose skims his jaw to drag down the line of his neck, burying itself in his fluttering pulse. It’s warm, almost hot against his skin, which is even colder than usual from the night air, but inside, his flesh and blood are burning. His cock pulses, and Yuuji can’t help thinking about the conversation with Fushiguro.

Addiction, he said, and there’s a reason Yuuji didn’t disagree. The blood rushing to his dick feels like further proof, but the way he’s already almost dizzy and panting with it is still embarrassing.

Sukuna inhales; the sound makes Yuuji’s gut clench.

“Filth,” Sukuna breathes out. “You’ve been straying, brat.”

“What are you on about now?” Yuuji asks breathlessly, gripping a massive shoulder.

Sukuna makes a disgruntled noise and straightens up. Yuuji doesn’t let go, stepping forward so they’re just as close, closer, and Sukuna sneers down at him like he’s all filth all over, but as always, he doesn’t step back or force Yuuji away.

“I can smell the boy on you,” Sukuna says flatly. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Smell the—” Realization is sudden and a little surreal. “You mean Fushiguro?”

Sukuna’s eyes glint. “Oh?”

“Forget that,” Yuuji says quickly. “You’re talking like I was sleeping with him.”

“Weren’t you?”

“Obviously not! He’s my friend.”

“Your smell says otherwise.”

“I was sleeping in his bed, asshole, not with him.” Yuuji narrows his eyes right back, but that doesn’t feel every effective when he just barely reaches this guy’s neck; he’s never wanted so bad to be taller. “Don’t be fucking weird.”

“His bed,” Sukuna repeats because of course that’s what he focuses on. “Did it keep you busy, I wonder.”

It’s not a question, Sukuna’s tone and expression just flat judgment, but Yuuji still has a lightbulb moment.

“Are you pissed because I didn’t visit for a week?” he asks.

Sukuna’s lips twist. “Don’t fool yourself.”

“Huh,” Yuuji says, incredulous and also…pleased? Something like that. It’s not like he was under the illusion that Sukuna would miss him, and he still doesn’t think that’s it, not with how Sukuna’s eyeing him right now, but there’s something strangely satisfying about the thought that his absence was noted and maybe wanted, even if it’s by someone as creepy as this guy. Makes all those hours Yuuji spent fucking his hand and his bed and even his pillow just a little less infuriating. “Wasn’t on purpose. I mean, I wanted to. Just couldn’t.”

“Your legs don’t look broken to me,” Sukuna drawls, “though that can always be fixed.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s complicated. I have school and a life and stuff, and you live out here in the middle of nowhere. I can’t just sneak out of the house for a booty call.”

“Naturally,” Sukuna says, his tone so sympathetic that Yuuji immediately knows it’s fake. “I’m sure you had no trouble handling yourself. You’re a red-blooded human boy, after all.”

Suspicion snaps up Yuuji’s spine. “Hey, did you…?”

“Yes? What did I do, brat?” Sukuna asks, all teeth.

“I haven’t come in a week,” Yuuji hisses. “If you—who am I kidding, of course it’s your fault, everything was normal before I fucked you, and now—”

“Now?” Sukuna echoes, still dripping faux sympathy. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t get it up for your pretty little friend?”

“Leave him out of this,” Yuuji snaps, shoving at Sukuna. The bastard doesn’t even budge. “That’s not the problem, and you know it.”

“Do I?” A large hand curls around Yuuji’s hip, blistering and bruising even through his shorts. “Let’s find out then.”

“Hey—” It shudders into a groan when Sukuna cups his crotch, the heel of his hand grinding in roughly, and Yuuji flinches back on half-baked instinct before pressing right back, grabbing Sukuna’s wrist—to keep it there.

Yuuji’s not soft at all. He can’t even remember the last time this guy had to actually touch him to get his cock throbbing. His scent alone turns Yuuji on, and his heat does the rest, and sometimes, just stepping into this church or even thinking of its unholy blend of shadow and light is enough to get him going. And tonight, all of it is a thousand times more intense, all the frustration from day after day of frustrated pleasure tearing through Yuuji to press up hot and hard against Sukuna’s mean palm.

Sukuna squeezes, and Yuuji shudders onto his tiptoes, only to slam back down with a violent buck of the hips, trying to fuck Sukuna’s hand.

“You’re pathetic,” Sukuna nearly croons, but Yuuji’s well past being insulted when this guy calls him pathetic or desperate or disappointing or anything of the sort. It’s not even that he gets off on that kind of talk, just that it’s pretty hard to be insecure or even bothered when Sukuna yaps like that while helping himself to Yuuji’s mouth or dick in a dozen different dizzying ways.

Like right now, that painfully clever hand making short work of Yuuji’s drawstrings, making his shorts pool at his ankles. His dick’s already poking out of his underwear, and a single curved finger is all it takes to make it spring free, right into Sukuna’s waiting palm.

Yuuji groans, the noise torn straight out of his gut.

Sukuna grip tightens, shifts—a long, languid stroke from the head to the base.

“Fuck,” Yuuji gasps, his legs going boneless for a searing second; it’s just a hand, just a lazy touch, not even half as good as how Yuuji can touch himself or, hell, how Sukuna sometimes touches him, but it’s been a week of just his hand doing absolutely jackshit to get him off, and those calloused fingers feel like sweet fire, pulsing in the inside of Yuuji’s cock.

Sukuna makes a noise that’s amused and derisive both, but Yuuji doesn’t give a fuck about that as long as he keeps touching him, and he does, his hand twisting like the world’s kindest vise on the way up, and Yuuji jolts forward, not fucking into Sukuna’s hand so much as chasing him—his hand, his touch, his body. The bones of Sukuna’s wrist cut into his palm, and his other hand is buried in thick cloth and thicker muscle. There’s the distant but familiar awareness that he’s not holding back at all, but something about Sukuna kills the instinctive restraint Yuuji built up over years and years, starting the moment he realized his body could break people.

Sukuna doesn’t break; he bleeds and bruises, but he wants it, doesn’t he?

Yuuji steps closer, letting go of Sukuna’s hand to grab his hip, and it’s better leverage like this, Sukuna’s body a looming mountain that doesn’t waver no matter how hard Yuuji clings or pushes, and he does cling and push plenty, fucking his cock into the hand that’s stroking it tight but slow, and even with all the precome there, it’s still dry and rough, the friction raking at his flesh, but the pleasure drowns it out. Every cell inside Yuuji is simmering red, like they know they’re about to get everything they’ve been denied—

Sukuna’s hand clamps savagely around the base.

Yuuji shouts, punching that thick shoulder in sheer reflex.

Sukuna lets go with a huff, and Yuuji stumbles back a step, cupping his dick protectively. “What the hell, man?”

“Surely you didn’t think it’d be that easy,” Sukuna says, closing the distance between them in a single stride, and this time, Yuuji does listen to the screaming urge to back off, mostly because it’s coming from his aching dick, but an arm bars the way, Sukuna pulling him close by the waist.

Yuuji gasps when they collide, and that’s a mistake, Sukuna’s scent mixing with his heat mixing with his sheer size to go straight to his head, his vision wavering at the edges.

Sukuna takes his cock back, a thumb slipping idly into the tip to smear the wetness around. It’s delicate until it isn’t, the searing stroke to the base ripping through Yuuji like some beast’s teeth.

He clings to the closest steady surface—Sukuna, his body barely contained in the circle of Yuuji’s arms.

#sukuita #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #wip wednesday #jjk snippets #my fic #divider credit: saradika-graphics #fic: mouth of the wolf

26 notes · View notes