#you're going down bucko

[themeraldee]

We Play Pretend

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 2.6k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Roleplay. Consensual Non-Consent. Established Relationship. Dirty Talk. Degradation. Blowjob. Face fucking. Hint of aftercare at the end.

Written for cozy corner kinktober prompt #4 & #12: Roleplay & CNC

With an already packed schedule for the day you didn’t think to pencil in “getting mugged at 6pm”. Yet this is exactly the situation you find yourself in as you get pursued down an empty alleyway by a guy twice your size. 

You're fumbling around for your phone in a hurry and the stress induced tremor to your hands makes it hard to tap the right buttons and call the right number.

Your phone gets knocked out of your hand right before you manage to call for help but either the thug is incredibly ineffective at causing harm or he's dragging it out for the pure joy of seeing your fear.

He hasn't even managed to get his hand on you and yet you already hear a familiar voice going, “I wouldn't do that if I were you bucko.”

What’s a criminal's worst nightmare is your salvation as you turn your head to see the comforting sight of Homelander with his hands on his hips assuming his trademarked hero pose.

The wave of relief is unlike anything you've ever felt before and suddenly you're terribly grateful for your boyfriend's obsessive tendency of being attuned to your whereabouts and wellbeing. What seems stalkerish most of the time turns out to be life-saving today and worth all the hassle of never being able to surprise him or do things in secret. 

The thug utters a panicked, “oh shit,” and he runs for his life as soon as he catches the sight of the ominous red glow of Homelander’s eyes. 

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and you place your hand across your chest to soothe your beating hard now that the danger is gone.

“Homelander! Thank god—” He stops you, walking towards you step by calculated step as he waves a gloved finger in the air, disappointed at your choice of words.

Something about him is different and it has your brows furrowing with confusion. Until it hits you.

Is he really…?

“Nuh uh, not god, thank me.” His demeanor feels foreign. He’s not looking at you like his love was in grave danger. He’s looking at you like you’re an inconvenience in his day. Not having put any more effort into saving you than he would swatting a fly. He makes it seem dull.

Yeah. He is.

You once confessed your secret fantasy to him. How you think about being a nobody. Just another notch on his superhero belt. Nothing spectacular or remarkable. 

At the time he didn’t seem to understand the fantasy. 

Why would you want to be someone dull? You’re anything but.

You didn’t have an answer for it. But you continued anyway. What’s a thanks from another nameless figure gotta mean to someone who saves multiple people on a daily basis? Shouldn’t the hero get more for saving someone’s life? You described the fantasy of being brought to your knees in front of your hero, incapable of resisting and getting told what to do just so for once he gets something out of the arrangement.

He argued the point that he can do that to you anytime, not understanding the significance of you being a nobody to him. Back then you didn’t bother arguing about it, it was just a silly fantasy after all, and instead you kissed him and asked him to show you his way. 

And show you he did. The conversation has been forgotten about since then.

The realization that he’s performing what you��ve described has your jaw hanging. It’s only his expectant tilt of his head and a raise to his eyebrows that reminds you to keep up.

“T-thank you!” You stutter through getting yourself in character. Unlike him you’re not an actor and with no prep time you’re struggling to play the role of an unassuming victim rather than a terribly worked-up lover. 

“That could have ended reaaal bad for you.” He clicks his tongue before sliding it over his teeth as he shakes his head. His hands are clasped behind his back and with the menacing steps he takes right up to you, he manages to make himself look like a predator even to you.

Strangely enough that notion is perfect to get yourself in the role as you feel the rush of fear and arousal settling in your gut. There’s technically no reason for you to be scared yet you can’t help the way his unimpressed stare makes you feel powerless.

With two more steps he’s right in front of you.

“So don’t you think you should be a little more fucking grateful?” He places his hand right next to your head and although there’s an exit route you still feel caged in. Although play pretend, the tension makes it feel real. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” You furrow your brow, acting all the innocent victim you’ve imagined yourself to be. You do your best to look uncomfortable, ready to bolt at any second while the inside of you tells a different story.

“C’mon you can’t be this stupid.” He chuckles condescendingly as he shamelessly looks you up and down. 

“You mean…” you trail off and you drop your eyes to his crotch before snapping your eyes back to his. 

“That’s right.” He cradles your jaw with his right hand giving you a sharp predatory grin. His teeth make you think of a shark about to devour its meal. “Now get on your knees.” His tone holds a semblance of disdain but you don’t miss the excitement in his eyes. He’s enjoying it. 

“B-uh-b-but!” You sputter in protest, trying to push away at what feels like a wall of steel under your fingers but to no avail. He’s right where he was and you’re nowhere near closer to getting out. The unyielding strength of his body sends a shiver down your spine. You shudder at the feeling of your own insignificance. You rarely get to feel the extent of his powers and knowing that he’s barely using any of them is both arousing and terrifying. 

He could literally make you do anything. And he happily proves it to you.

“I said,” he grabs your shoulders and continues with a growl, “get on your fucking knees.”

Homelander pushes you down and while you brace for impact you find that your knees meet little of it. Sure, you still land on the ground but with much less force than he made it seem. All the stunt coordination he practices for his movies must have taught him how to perfectly handle people while acting like he’s using even a fraction of his strength.

“You should be kissing my feet that I even let you do this.” He grunts, his voice is turning more strangled by the second as he fumbles with his zipper, the hiss of it making you salivate.

He pulls his cock out, hard and already leaking precum. Clearly, you’ve not been the only one enjoying yourself. You choke on a gasp at the sight of it, already desperate to wrap your lips around the soft tip and deliver the best goddamn blowjob any man has ever witnessed. 

You slurp the saliva pooling in your mouth back. Remembering yourself you act put off while you want nothing more than to bury your head in his lap in worship. 

Homelander is less impressed with your impeccable control and through a stuttered intake of breath he squeezes the hollow of your cheeks making your lips part. “Don’t be difficult, I bet you’re just playing hard to get. Someone like you must be dreaming of getting this chance. So don’t fuck this up.” He’s not fooling anyone with the way his sentences are nearly whimpered out, already beyond desperate to feel the soft warmth of your mouth. 

You stick your tongue out when he parts your lips. Homelander immediately takes the opportunity to shove the fat head of his leaking cock right into the welcoming softness. Try as you might, you can’t stop the way your eyes flutter shut and a brazen moan kisses the head of his cock. The hefty feel of him is so familiar, comfortable, that a part of you forgets that there’s concrete biting into your knees and the smell of dirty alleyway wafting around. It’s hard to focus on any of that when all you can think of is him and how well you’re about to get used.

“Uh huh, fffuuck there y’go. You got it.” He says through gritted teeth as if it hurt. He shoves the rest of his cock in until it hits the back of your throat, letting out a positively salacious moan. “Knew you could do it.” His hands tremble with tension as he grabs your head. His hips stutter a bit, pulling out just a tiny bit before sinking back in as if he couldn’t bear leaving the wet warmth of your mouth for even a second.

The taste of him touches all parts of your tongue as he spreads his precum with each drag of his cock in and out of your mouth. You groan and struggle against him, especially when he gags you, jerking tears out of your eyes at the forced intrusion.

His moves are jittery and rather than a man in control he reminds you of one trying to hold off finishing too early. “Got a good mouth on you, ah fuck. Gotta be the only thing you’re good for, let’s be honest.” He gives you another mean laugh as he thrusts and thrusts, making the saliva drool out of the corner of your mouth. The wet slide of him is embarrassingly loud, only exacerbated by the gagging and choking sounds of your throat.

“Always wanted this, didn't you? Think I can’t tell you’re getting off on this?”

The thickness of him makes your jaw ache while you let him face fuck you till his heart’s content, accepting each degrading word as if it was served on a silver platter. 

He pulls his cock out, now shiny with your saliva and still rock hard. You wipe the corners of your mouth and you tenderly massage your jaw to address the ache. Again, Homelander is not impressed with the lack of attention he’s getting. 

“Did I tell you you could stop? Come on, it’s not gonna suck itself. It’s time you put some work in. Day in, day out I save all of you and for what? Can’t even get my cock properly sucked.” 

You whimper out something in between a sob and a moan and as you grip the base of his shaft you wrap your lips around him again. The sound your lips make as they slip and slide over the head of is cock is obscene. The wet slurp around his sensitive head is making you dizzy with your own need. 

“God—fffuck! Ah hah haa, now we’re talking. Now we’re talking reaal gratitude.” 

“Deeper, baby, take me deeper.” Each second he’s losing more and more of his composure, easily slipping out of character when he feels you take more and more of his cock in on each bob of your head.

He’s grunting, bracing his hand against the wall as you do a great job at sucking the life out of him. The pressure of him on your tongue makes your eyes water each time you try to take him deeper, gagging yourself only to try again and again. Eager to please you force yourself to accept his entire length, beaded tears gather at your waterline, wetting your eyelashes and clumping them together.

You look up at him, utterly wrecked, letting your tears glide down your cheeks with one blink as you swallow around him. The look on you along with the hot press of your throat is enough to unravel him.

When Homelander comes on your tongue it’s a whole body affair. The bricks he’s bracing his hand against cave in and crumble, his quads shake with the tension and his hands hold onto your head so he can give your mouth a few finishing thrusts, spilling himself salty and hot all over your tongue. His grunts dissolve into cries as you swallow his load, slurping around his shaft to clean it on its way out.

“Jesus fucking Christ, that was a hell of a performance.” Homelander catches his breath, the intensity of his orgasm exerting him more than any physical strain could ever attempt. You catch your own breath when his softening cock leaves your lips. “Maybe Vought should hire you.” He teases with a smile that finally feels warm and familiar unlike the demeanor he acted out your fantasy with just moments ago.

After he tucks himself back in, zipping up his pants, he helps you up to your feet, practically lifting you up and off the ground.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, immediately locking his sight onto your knees, assessing the damage with his x-ray vision. 

“No. No, I’m good… really good.” You wrap your hands around his neck. “Thank you for this. You were incredible.” You coo affectionately, kissing him when you pull away enough to capture his lips. He hums into the kiss, already preening at the praise as he squeezes his arm around you, bringing more of you in.

You are beyond aroused but the intensity of the scene was enough to drain you and really you crave a little bit of some soft loving before you get back in between the sheets to continue where you both left off. 

After your kisses dissolve into soft little pecks and you both indulge in the comfortable intimacy in between the two of you, you finally ask. 

“Did you plan this?” Thinking back to the start, the circumstances are looking more and more suspicious. You pull away from the embrace, instead picking up your busted phone that got knocked out of your hand when it all started. You assess the broken screen and shove it into your pocket.

“Do you really want to know?” He says with a cheeky grin.

“Probably not… Although, really? I could have been in real danger!” The idea that Homelander would use such a situation to his advantage was nothing if not in character.

“Oh please, you’re never in any real danger when I’m around. Plus he was an actor. No harm done.” He scoffs, waving off any of your genuine worries. 

“Say that to my phone. You owe me a new one.” 

“Done. Now how about we go home so I can take care of you, huh?” He’s already scooping you up, eager to take you away. 

“Hmm, let’s.” You hold onto him like you’ve done hundreds of times before and he flies you both back to his penthouse.

You’ve never had to teach Homelander the importance of aftercare like you’ve had to with previous partners. He already places heavy significance on casual intimacy, seeking it more often than not. So it’s not surprising that this time he carefully inspects your knees when you arrive, giving the sore skin soft kisses.

Because somehow you’ve tamed this beast of a man and now that he’s wrapped around your finger his inability to say no makes him fulfill your every wish. Whether you say it out loud or not. 

That’s how you find yourselves in the bathtub, soaking in the warmth of the water and each other, nuzzling into each other's bodies. Exploring, touching and kissing with the promise of more.

It’s in times like these you realize that he would do anything to earn your love and affection as if it wasn’t already given freely. He’d kill your enemies, decimate buildings, burn down cities if you asked him prettily enough. 

The world is lucky you don’t seek vengeance. Lucky that all you seek is the embrace of your lover. You know that should anyone disturb that, they’d be sorely regretful. But for now you enjoy the peace while it lasts.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander fic):

@infinetlyforgotten @rafecamsgirlll @nervoussystemss

@hom3landr @mrsdesade @nommingonfood @littlegaaby

[toxictigertonic]

Happy Halloween!! I was going to post this earlier today, but the past two weeks have been wack so I'm writing this the day of lol.

COYLE

- Hates Halloween bc crime increases Halloween night and he's sick of dealing with property damage calls. Though, he does like enforcing the law, so he does get a little enjoyment out if it.

- He'd walk into a Halloween party for a noise complaint and get mistaken for a male stripper 😔

- Finds people dressing up as a cop insulting. Little kids could get away with it, but adults? That's impersonating an officer, bucko!

- If someone asked if he was dressed as a cop he'd actually lose his shit and get into a screaming match with them. The disrespect!

- Not the biggest fan of candy, but he'd be the guy that actually enjoys candy corn. The monster /j

- A little old lady would offer him candy and he'd accept it with a smile, then immediately try to pass it off to someone else.

- He would NOT pass out candy. Fucker hands out apples and shit bc he likes to see the disappointment in children's eyes.

- Says some absolutely WILD shit to anyone in a sexy costume. Man or woman, doesn't matter, he's pointing out how you look in a very uncomfortable way.

- Kids would manage to prank his ass and handcuff him to something for the rest of the night. Good luck responding to calls, jackass.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- She loves Halloween, Futterman hates it with a passion for obvious reasons.

- She's cooing over the children's costumes. She'd give extra cute outfits extra candy (if Futterman let her hand out candy)

- Futterman makes her hand out apples and floss and toothbrushes and she feels a little bad seeing the children get sad. The babies deserve a little treat :(

- She'd secretly hide a piece of candy under the apple and dump it into the kid's hand with a not so secret wink.

- Futterman lectures small children who have big bags of candy and makes them cry. You're gonna get cavities!!

- In particular, if he sees taffy or candy corn or anything that's pure sticky sugar he loses his fucking mind. Screaming about plaque and tartar while the kids run away.

- Gooseberry is dressed up as a big friendly witch! Her pointy hat and heeled boots make her even taller and the children are in awe of this big friend. Futterman is her familiar. He's not impressed.

- If Futterman had a choice he'd be a weregoose. He's frightening children in more ways than one.

- I can guarantee she didn't get to go trick or treating as a kid. She should be allowed to trick or treat as an adult without Futterman giving her shit.

FRANCO

- Another child who didn't get to go trick or treating. Got to see other children receive candy but his dad 1. Didn't care enough to take him trick or treating, and 2. Knew it was far too dangerous to be out and about with his status as mob boss.

- This translates to a desperate need for him to go trick or treating. But, he'd be really iffy on wearing a costume. On one hand, he wants to really experience what he missed out on! On the other hand, he feels like he'd be mocked and that he doesn't need a costume, he just deserves candy.

- A little old lady would pinch his cheek and call his costume cute and he wouldn't be sure if he should cry or get pissed off.

- The amount of candy this man would devour would be terrifying for anyone to witness. Candy after candy, chocolate after chocolate, his tummy would hurt so bad by the end.

- He's NOT picky, either. Have a candy you don't like? Pass it to him, he'll scarf it down without even thinking about it. A couple of the sticky ones make his teeth hurt, though.

- The sugar crash afterwards would be legendary. He's face down on the carpet, half dead, shaking from the low blood sugar, with a puddle of drool under him. Someone clean him up and put him to bed.

- Costume wise, I can either see him going as an imp (the poster and bc he's my evil little guy) OR a unicorn bc of the line he has with Coyle. Pacifier comes with both outfits whether you like it or not.

- If you offer him some shit like popcorn balls or non candy when he comes to your door (or point out that he's an adult), he's pulling out Lupara. Don't test him, he's rabid.

- He'd be so excited if he could go trick or treating with Gooseberry. He'd hold her hand and feel like the most special little guy. One hand in hers, one hand on his pumpkin pail, paci in his mouth, he's happy as can be.

I love Halloween so much, everyone have a great night and enjoy some candy and the Geister event!

@thehalloweenspooks @millie-milkshake (thank you both for asking teehee)

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Some musings on how to write Stede. He's genuinely a tough one to pin down because his voice is very him, he'll say things like "methinks" just as readily as "here's the deal, buckos." But I think I've got a few things nailed down and wanted to share in case they help anyone else.

Biggest thing: if you're struggling with getting Stede's voice right, his voice is a hell of a lot closer to Ed's than it is to the Aziraphale-brand "generic posh British" voice. If he's been surprised, Stede's more likely to say "oh shit" than "good heavens," you know what I mean?

My guy is not going to say something like "good evening! I was wondering if you would be interested in doing intercourse with me this fine evening" unless, and this is crucial, it would be funny for him to say that. Sometimes when it comes down to him using a fancier affect your judgment call needs to be based on how funny that line is going to be. Like, that line isn't in character if it's meant to be an example of just how he talks but if it's Stede trying to awkwardly flirt over text then it's fine.

I think that's important so it bears emphasizing: if you're going to have Stede talk overly-posh and use unusually fancy words, it's okay if it's funny. This seems to be the main rule the show uses, too.

Stede is usually polite but he's not timid. He has very few qualms about being a bitch to someone if he knows them well already or if they were rude to him first. Think about him telling Jim that they're "welcome to borrow [his suit]...or, well, look at it." Let queen bitch over here be a bitch!

Stede is ruthless. This doesn't mean he's unkind; it means he's very good at seeing exactly how to get from Point A to Point B and he will commit himself to getting there. The threat Ned Low posed is already neutralized? Doesn't matter. He hurt Ed, he's going down.

Stede's voice is much more formal and flowery when writing than when speaking. Think about "we're joined to one another, intertwined. We wrote our names on each other in permanent ink" in his letter compared to a more simple "I love everything about you" when speaking.

Let 👏🏾 Stede 👏🏾 Say 👏🏾 Weird 👏🏾 Things!👏🏾 This guy is weird, he's a weirdo, he doesn't fit in. If you're thinking to yourself "why the fuck would you say that" you're probably onto something. Let him make weird choices. Stede, especially after a bit of character development, is very himself - if he's a college professor, let him drag a full comfy armchair up to his fifth-floor office. If he runs a sex toy shop, let him proudly show off his invention called "the Cervix-Slammer 9000" that'll leave Ed very satisfied but also unable to walk for a week. Let him be enthusiastic and weird!

[quixotical-lymbo]

howdy! hope your day is going well

if you're comfortable with it, could I please request macaque x reader general fluff headcanons?

reader is transmasc (or just male if you're not confident in writing that), chubby, very affectionate, and loves cooking.

thank you in advance. if you're unable to do this then I completely understand! ����🏿

Warnings/Tags: Post-S2, Trust issues, tooth-rotting fluff, brief implications of self-esteem issues, Macaque being an asshole.  Word Count: 900+ words 

 How you two met: It was an accident, honestly. Macaque wasn't even supposed to be hanging around people's apartments like some weirdo–but he had a bad run-in with a few old 'friends' in the neighborhood and he happened to pick the apartment with an opened window. Before he could leave the next morning, you had already seen him. Surprisingly, you offered to patch up his wounds and shelter him until they healed enough. Reluctantly, he agreed. 

First impressions: Macaque thought you looked weak and were too naive. Given by your rounder physique and softer features he assumed you wouldn't hold up against him in a fight if it came down to it. Those are some of the reasons why he agreed to stay with you at first. You thought this stranger was pitiful and lonely. Not only was he banged up badly, but he seemed…troubled and in need of a friend or two. 

How you two acted around each other as….: 

Acquaintances? Somewhat guarded, but that was a given since the two of you only shared each other's names before retreating to your own sections of your apartment. Macaque had the living room and couch, while you had your bedroom or the kitchen to whip something up for him. Basically, you two were unspoken roommates that rarely crossed paths unless absolutely necessary.

Friends? Warmer, Macaque still doesn't fully open up to you, but him cracking a few jokes here and there makes the mood between you two lighten up. It definitely helped that you took note of his favorite dishes and showered him in baked goods. 

More than friends…? Woah, woah, woah, bucko. Hold your monkeys! Macaque couldn't…no he shouldn't…why does he want to get close to you, but at the same time want to run away? What were you doing to him, was this some sort of witchcraft or something? Macaque definitely had a realization that he was getting wayyyy too comfortable around you and would be cold/wishy-washy with you for a few weeks until you confronted him about it. 

It was then he decided to take a leap of faith for the first time in a while and spill out what he was feeling (he definitely didn't say EVERYTHING EVERYTHING, but it was enough to get his point across). 

Thankfully, you felt the same way—confused, yet weirdly comfortable around him unlike anybody else you've ever been around. It was more than a comfy feeling when you were around him, more of a need to be in his good graces and wanting to be a bit more than 'roommates.' Macaque made you feel..safe, if anything. 

What does Macaque love like about you?

He likes how compassionate you are, but also hates how generous and naive you can be at times which he admits he takes advantage of sometimes.

He likes  how he doesn't even have to ask for things when you're already one step ahead and give him what he needs/wants, whether that's a hot meal, tending to his wounds, or even just being there for him. 

Another thing he loves about you is how unapologetically courageous you are.

You aren't afraid of most things normal would be afraid of (heck, you don't even kill any bugs that crawl in your apt.), and you aren't afraid of who you are. 

Sure, sometimes he witnesses you in a few bouts of self-doubt whenever you stand in front of a mirror, but he's always there whispering nothing but praises into your ear before slowly guiding your eyes to the parts of you that he loves. 

Macaque won't admit it out loud, but the fact that his man can cook, bake, and is a good person without all the ulterior motive bullshit makes him more smug than ever.

It's not that you're a prize, object, or anything, but the fact you actually want him seriously is an ego boost for him. 

My man, my man, my man 24/7 365. 

It's time for some fun lil' tidbits!

Macaque was confused when he saw your old family photos feature two adults and what appeared to be the girl version of you. When you explained to him that it was you before fully embracing your identity, Macaque understood and hasn't treated you any differently since, you're still his boyfriend even if he doesn't understand why you like him that much. 

Whenever you pepper his face in kisses, his body freezes and he is just a statue while his tail just starts writhing before curling around your waist. When you first did this, you were a bit startled by his reaction but after being reassured that he liked it (just wasn't used to so much touch, or rather physical touch that didn't involve being punched or choked) you continued. 

He isn't a big fan of being hugged from behind, which you quickly found out after being pinned against the kitchen counter–after a few apologies, you baked his favorite desserts and cuddled him for the rest of the afternoon. 

He loves teasing you about that one incident when you walked in on him undressing. It was hilarious watching you scramble around trying not to look at him. 

🍜 - Please let me know if anything is amiss, this is my first time writing for a transmasc reader. I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. sparkle banner(s) by @adornedwithlight !!

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Wishing On Golden Stars [1]

Welcome to Teyvat

genre: isekai, slow burn, fluff, hurt/comfort, humor(?)

warning(s)!!!: tenryou samurai being rude lmao (good cop/bad cop situation)

chapter w.count: 4k

a/n: welcome to the first chapter of my isekai, kamisato ayato series! buckle in buckos, it's gonna be a long ride c:

The final chime of the bell attached to the convenience store door rang as the shift lead more than eagerly crossed the room to lock the entrance for the day. Letting out a collective sigh of relief that the day was finally done, you both slump into less-than-ideal postures. You're left leaning over the counter, your company-issued polo feeling way too hot and uncomfortable from the amount of sweat it had soaked up from your last-minute rush of people who just had to wait until almost closing to do their shopping. Popping open a few buttons, you look up to see the shift lead heading back in your direction doing the exact same thing. 

“Thanks again for agreeing for the last minute cover,” the lead, who’s name tag read Max, comes to the counter and turns so his back is against it to lean and soak in the newly acquired quiet of the store. Max was a pretty good guy, taking college courses online on top of working himself to the bone for a company that would probably never remember his name if not for his badge. 

“It’s not like I was busy, so it’s fine,” you reassure. It wasn’t a lie anyway. Genshin had gone down for a 5 hour maintenance that day, and while you could’ve done something else to pass the time like watch a new show or even go out and walk, an extra shift for bringing in money didn’t sound like such a horrible pastime. Straightening out from your slumped over position on the counter, you direct your eyes to the flickering digital clock hanging on the wall that really needs new batteries soon. 

10:07 PM

Perfect. 

“I’ll make sure to have Sam cover for you tomorrow since she was the one who was supposed to work with me today.” Normally, this would be something you turn down since an extra shift would typically push you into overtime, and like it or not, that was more extra moola in your pocket. Still, the facts at hand were that the maintenance was finished and new stories and quests had been added to Genshin. And the kicker? New banners had just begun to run and you hadn’t been saving up for nothing!

“That’d be nice. I have some plans that take place far into tomorrow morning.” 

“Pulling another all-nighter on that one game you play?” 

“Yup,” you ashamedly admit. It wasn’t a secret that a big chunk of your down time went into your games. Why would you feel ashamed about something you like? Be it a game or tv show or anything else. It made you happy so of course, you’d work around it as much as you could. Besides, it wasn’t the only thing you did- you weren’t a complete shut in. It was also the middle of winter, so being outside wasn’t on your agenda. “The servers were down today, but it should be back up now. I’m going to be playing through some new quests.” 

Standing fully up, you stretch and start making your way to the back room where your bag and jacket sit patiently in a locker with your name on it via a tacky store-bought (and customized) magnet. You can hear Max’s footsteps fall in step with your own. You were sure he was eager to get home too. 

In the back, while you both gathered your things, mindless conversation that held no real topics came and went. Asking about how his classes were and if he had a paper due soon that he’d have to rush home and complete. He was more of a social butterfly than you, so he took the reigns on most conversations he found himself involved in. 

“Do you need me to walk you back? You live in a pretty nasty neighborhood don’t you?” 

“Oh, no, don't worry about it. I don't live anywhere sketchy like that.” You chose to leave out the fact that even if you don’t live in a sketched-out part of town, you do have to walk through one to get to your apartment though. If you told Max that, there’s no telling the lecture you’d get as he marches with you back home without argument. Besides, you’ve walked it hundreds of times back and forth already since you moved and got this job… and it wasn’t like you didn’t have pepper spray and a compact stun gun on you anyway. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Be careful!” He calls as you start the normal trek back home. Normally the only weirdo’s out at this time were drunkards you could easily kick in the groin and give a harsh shove into a wall to make a quick getaway. When someone comes rushing around a corner of an alley, you yelp at the sudden appearance. Their shoulder checks into yours and from the sound of their (his?) gasp, he didn’t expect someone to be around the way either. 

Both of you stumble, and you feel him grab your bicep and yank you so you don’t trip off the curb into the road. His fingers catch onto the strap of your bag that rests over your shoulder and in the midst of making sure he wasn’t going to start yanking you around some more, you neglect to see the small object drop easily into the pit of your bag. 

“S̶o̵r̸r̴y̴” he mumbles before he’s rushing off away from the scene. You stand there on the sidewalk for a moment wondering what that was all about and what his deal is. And why his voice sounded so... fake to you.

‘Is it me, or did he sound kinda… weird?’ You stand bewildered for a moment longer before dismissing it all. Thinking about it would only make you nervous, so shaking the thoughts away was the best course of action. You promptly spin on your heel and with a little more speed to your steps, high tail it home. 

Your desk chair never felt more welcoming. You drop your bag on the floor beside your desk and promptly sit yourself down to boot up your computer. The game resources would take a few minutes to download, so while that was running, you rush to get a few snacks and drinks that would make an all-nighter easier to pull off. Shutting off your main light, you flick on the desk lamp you kept beside your monitor. By the time all was said and done, you remembered you should probably text Max that you made it back safely. He would go full ‘big brother’ mode on you if you didn’t. 

Digging around your bag for your phone, you pull it out, and with your action, a small item flings out of your bag with it. Hearing it dully hit the ground, you push your chair back and see a small hard object under your desk. Dragging it closer with your toes, you pick it up and examine it under the desk light. 

“A piece of candy? No, maybe a trinket or… charm? Where did this come from?” Looking around your room, you look to see if maybe this small item- which with its colors of blue and lilac weaved together looked oddly familiar- had fallen off something you forgot you owned. Coming up short with theories on the origin of the piece of (possible) candy or knocked loose charm, you shrug it off and toss it ceremoniously in the trash bin under your desk by your legs. “Whatever,” you roll closer to your desk and after a click of your mouse, that familiar entry door into the game appears and allows you entry. 

Instead of immediately starting to pull on the now-running Kamisato Ayato banner, you decide to knuckle down on some quests and dailies for just a few extra primos to up your chances of that beautiful, easy, golden 5-star man. 

Ayato’s banner was one you have been waiting for. Playing through Inazuma (as painstaking as it could be) and meeting Thoma and Ayaka made you excited to meet the head of the family, Ayaka’s older brother. Playing through his character story, you were happy to see that he was as appealing as you hoped.

A cheeky and clever man who has been through more than his fair share of situations that try to lessen his imposing image. Being able to come up with plans that can not only put him in the place of playing ‘villain’ but also not directly involving himself was appealing. A man with the means to put together such a ploy and solely devote himself to the role- Teyvat better thank its lucky stars that he wasn’t an antagonist. Of course, it helped that he was a looker to boot. An exceedingly beautiful man if you’ve ever seen one. 

“I’m getting him, come hell or high water,” is the mantra you keep repeating as your grind session continues until almost 3 in the morning. Feeling the creeping of about the hundreth yawn in your throat in the last 20 minutes, you lean your elbow on the desk before opening up the Wish menu. Curling your hand, it pushes into your cheek as your eyes droop dangerously close to shut and you yawn... again. 

“Why am I so tired?” You mumble. Normally, pulling all-nighters wasn’t too hard for you. You could usually last until around 6 the next morning on a good day. Maybe work wore you out more than you bargained for since it was an unexpected shift.

You feel yourself slipping further into your palm as your head feels heavier by the second. Your finger clicks for yet another round of 10-pulls. You could hear the sound effects of the transition screen, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pry your eyes open again. A golden color lit up your room behind your eyelids but you were already far past the point of wondering if the five-star screen was always that bright or if maybe your lamp was about to explode from some random burst of overheating- even if it never had any issues before. Nothing else registered in your mind before you were completely falling asleep. 

It was noisy.

Your mind wakes up before your body does, and that is the first thought you have. The noise. It was so loud. Way too loud for your bedroom that you know you just fell asleep in. You were playing your game, so maybe you were hearing in-game sounds and ambiance. Of course, that didn’t explain why you were on your back. 

You could feel the hard surface of the floor against you, and while still only half-conscious at this point, it still crosses your mind on why it didn’t feel like your bedroom floor. It was like planks of wood were digging into your shirt and threatening your skin with splinters like anxious tiny spears against a giant. 

Maybe you had fallen off your chair. If you had though, surely the fall would have woken you up. You weren’t so dead tired from working that you could stay asleep through the tumble of the chair to the floor. Not to mention you must’ve slept through the last few hours of the night because you could feel the sun warming your skin to a near-uncomfortable degree. It almost felt suffocating with the misty humidity hitting your face and assaulting your senses. The sound, feel, smell- all of it felt like you were washed up on some wharf. 

Either you were lucid dreaming, or you had sleptwalked into the bathroom or something where you somehow turned the shower on. 

Still, there was one thing you could try and rule out, and that was the occasional rough prodding of something solid jabbing into you every few seconds. A jab to the shoulder. A jab to your stomach. A jab to your leg. Even a nudge to your head that tossed your forward-facing position onto your cheek and hit that same wooden surface you feel under your back. Then the shouting starts to finally register in your eardrums. 

“..up… ‘ey!” It sounded like a man? What was a man doing in your house? A police officer maybe? But that still didn’t make sense.  For the first time since your consciousness started coming back to you, you groan. Your sideways resting head twitched and somehow you found the strength to swivel it back to face the sky. Eyes wrinkling at the bright sunlight behind your eyelids. 

You feel small vibrations before hearing accompanying footsteps along the floor before another voice starts speaking. It was much closer than the one you could barely make out before. 

“Miss.. ‘ear me… ‘llo?” It was softer, almost nicer to try and listen to. Good cop, bad cop sort of vibe. 

You manage to crack your eyes open for just a moment before the closed-eyed warmth of the sun turns into a blinding flash bang that assaults your retinas. You hiss, chest jumping as your shoulders and arms twitch and tighten. The first signs of movement must’ve startled the people around you since you could feel their rushed steps in startlement through the floor.  Moving your head slowly, you rock it from left to right trying to will a cloud over the sun; or if you were actually in the bathroom, for someone to draw a curtain or something. 

You got your wish of shade when something hovers over your squeezed eyes. When the shade persisted with no signs of slipping away from you, you try once again to crack your eyes open. 

Your vision was blurry. You could barely make out shapes, the world just a blob of converging colors and textures that started to register in your mind like code being processed.  You must’ve hit your head way harder than you thought if you fell off your chair. Groaning was all you could do to communicate how uncomfortable you were in the current moment; that and the small shuffling movements of your limbs you could finally start moving. 

The way the world shifted from blobs to shapes then into objects was astonishingly quicker than you expected and soon enough you were narrowly looking at a face you hadn’t seen before. Though, this stranger’s clothes looked oddly familiar to you. A cone-shaped hat that tied under his chin with a symbol on its front. Dressed in a uniform consisting of shades of dark purples- parts of it almost resembling armor. Laying on the floor- which you now see are planks of wood outside, so more so laying on the ground- next to him was a long spear-like object. 

“Wha…” is all you can articulate at the confusion personified in front of you. The shade you had gained was given graciously by the man beside you lifting his hand to cover your eyes from the sun. 

Your lethargic state was quickly swatted away by a sudden and painful jab to the stomach. Lurching up with a choked ‘Oomph!’, you jump into a coughing fit. Your arms come to fold over your gut as your body positions itself into a semi-half sitting-up angle. One of your arms comes to perch behind your back, holding you up and keeping you from flopping back onto the wooden ground as coughs scratch up your throat. You were parched. 

“What are you doing?!” The man who had been crouching beside you this whole time had not only said a full complete sentence that you could actually understand but had shouted directly next to your ear. His bickering aimed at a man who had the same uniform and weapon as him. The standing guard- Bad Cop you’re guessing- had apparently grown restless and impatient as he lifted his spear and hovered it over your stomach before letting the butt end of it jam you in the gut. Hospitality was in the negatives with Bad Cop. 

You felt Good Cop’s hand come to rest on your shoulder and you instinctively shrug it off. The realization of something being wrong finally starts to dawn on you. Maybe Bad Cop’s little assault was a good wake-up call after all… even if it was a jerk move. 

Eyes wide with a fully functioning brain and processing intuition, you look beyond Good and Bad Cop and all around the area you were in. It was a dock… a port? On the edge of a small little town, there was a starting crowd beyond the wooden dock. Far off to the left up atop a cliff was a statue, one that was carved into the shape of a person, and even farther and higher than that were the beautifully pink and purple sparks of what seemed to be a shrine rising above all else. 

With a yelp of recognition, your legs kick out and scurry your body back until you're dangerously close to toppling into the water at the edge of the dock. 

“No way… there’s no way,” you mutter to yourself. “This has got to be some freaky dream. There’s just no way..!” That was clearly your denial talking. You’ve felt your fair share of pain- although none of it was lasting- to know if that this is a dream you would have woken up well long ago. Bad Cop, with a click of his tongue, stomps towards you and bends to snatch your arm in his palm before yanking. His rude attempts to get you on your feet are met with well-deserved resistance. 

“On your feet! You have some explaining to do!” His voice boomed in your ear like it was bouncing off the ocean waves and back again. “Who are you? Where did you come from!” 

“Let go of me!” His grip wasn’t gentle and you could feel your skin pinching painfully from his grip between his gloves. Since he had at least brought you to your feet, you plant them as firmly as you can into the wood beneath you before yanking back. He must’ve underestimated a washed-up person’s strength because you had ripped free easily, but all that power you put into your backward retreat lands you back on the ground. You hiss as you land on your side and scrape up your elbow. You could feel the burning sensation of broken skin and probable splinters making a new home in your arm. 

You look back up to Bad Cop and your eyes shine with a glossy frustration. 

“I don’t know how I got here! And what’s with your attitude! I’m not telling you anything with the way you’ve treated me- someone who's just as confused as you by the way!” That was a partial lie. In your heart of hearts, you know you’re in Inazuma. You have no idea how or why or what the hell is happening, but you weren’t about to tell him that.  Good Cop- who had been anxiously kneeling with his arm barely outstretched in a poor attempt to mediate? Maybe. At least he was more or less kind. If not a tad whimpy.

“Outsiders are not permitted within the boundaries of Inazuma by demand of the Sakoku Decree! Now, how did you end up here!” 

“I. Don’t. Know.” 

While you and Bad Cop face off in the most pointless round of shouting roulette, there was a buzz circulating from the crowd that had fully gathered to witness the whole debacle. You took no notice of it or the person who had emerged from that buzz to step confidently onto the dock along with the three of you. 

“Ah, good morning!” A bubbly, warm voice breaks the extremely tense atmosphere of the argument between Bad Cop and you. Shattered it so much that you were both rendered speechless for a moment before setting your sights on the newcomer. You choke back a gasp since any form of recognition was strictly off-limits unless you want Bad Cop to pick up on it and thus pick another fight. 

In front of you, behind Good Cop who had finally risen to his feet with a relieved expression, was the ginger haired Thoma. His happy and friendly smile was present on his face like it was natural to break up fights on the street (on the dock?) with his hand raised in a relaxed, quick greeting. The Fixer himself had somehow come to your aid... you hope. 

Being harassed by the Tenryou Commission and having Thoma show up and hopefully save your butt? You’re really getting the Traveler Treatment. 

Thoma struts up to the three of you and claps his hand on the shoulder of Bad Cop, a small signal of ‘back up my friend, let's talk about this’. His quick glance towards you finally makes your shoulders slacken- you weren’t aware of just how tense your body was.  Even your jaw started to ache from all the clenching you were doing. 

“Let’s start from the beginning. Now, what’s the situation?” Bad Cop goes through the trouble of explaining- in his harsh tone- the sequence of events. They had shown up to the harbor for regular routine checks, and had found you unconscious on one of the wooden docks. They had tried waking you up, he leaves out that he had used his spear on your gut, and that when you woke up you started verbally attacking them. 

“Now, hang on!” You almost screech when he finishes his spiel. His glare is overshadowed by the quizzical look of Thoma’s. “I did not ‘verbally attack’ anyone! I'm just as confused as you are and you slammed your stupid little spear into my stomach to wake me up. Remember that? It hurt you know! Of course I’d yell at someone so hostile!” 

As you both started bickering once again, Good Cop anxiously tried to get a single word in, that was always drowned out while Thoma just watched.  He couldn’t see a trace of deception on you; your face was the dictionary definition of confused and scared. Sure, you were full of fire at the moment, but given the opportunity to calm down maybe you’d realize just how you're really feeling instead of being so fired up. So, he saw no reason not to help you. 

“For the time being, why not take them into custody of the Tenryou Commission?” Thoma pitches and your jaw drops in betrayal. Prison? You? Before, you could open your mouth to defend yourself, he starts again. “If they really have no memory of how they got here, then the safest place for them is a monitored location defended by guards. Right?” He looks at you and your jaw shuts with a small clack of teeth. 

“You… might have a point.” A stupidly good point. “Fine,” you relent. There was no point in drawing it out. You really didn’t have anywhere to go, so at least a cell is a roof and protection from the elements. Bad Cop was fighting back a smug smile, you could see it tugging behind his teeth. “I’m not going anywhere with Ba- I mean, this guy though.” You cross your arms adamantly and mutter, “he’s been enough of a pain in more than one way.”

At your attitude, Thoma laughs. Even though it’s amusing, the calming atmosphere doesn’t deter him from the slight trembling of your hand tucked under your crossed arms. 

“Of course. You can have your other Tenryou friend here escort you there,” he gestures to Good Cop and you nod. You can get behind that plan. 

With little conversation left to be had, Bad Cop leaves the dock, Thoma speaks privately to Good Cop for a moment, and then soon you’re ushered off to Tenryou property where you’re expecting to be good friends with iron bars for an unforeseeable, undisclosed amount of time. The small wave Thoma gestures at you to come over has you walking cautiously his way. Once at his side, his back curves down as he cups around his mouth to your ear. 

“Just bare with it. I’ll help you the best I can.” 

He straightens back up and with a pat on the back, sends you off. Your first morning in Teyvat- as absolutely asinine as that sounds- is ending on a pretty low note. Jail time.

|- prev. / INDEX / next ->

a/n: its a slow start but you hAVE to trust me gang

[dizzy-after-dark]

Cauterized | Steve Rogers

BOOM MIC DROP: SMUT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR! Y'all didn't think I would not post once this year, did you. Well, here it is. I TRIED! Mwah; see you in 2024!

Tags: Angst (not really but yeah), SMUT, fluff

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Notes: UHHHHH 18+ BUCKOS; this is a continuation of Ignorant, which is the first part and angsty as FUCK but a personal fave of mine if I do say so myself; been really thinking about finishing my requests from over a year ago for Dinner At Dizzy's on my other account, @dizzydancingdreamer (masterlist linked if you're feeling peckish)

Warnings (what to expect, ig): oral (f recieving), fingering, sex (???), uhhhm lack of descriptive writing from a rusty author, sappiness, swearing, bad metaphors, shower sex, alcohol consumption (BARELY), size kink, over-use of the word "Stevie"

Word Count: 4.6k

She pushes the door closed, turning the shower on lazily. Her muscles ache as she twists the knob all the way to the left. Somewhere, sometime she was told about cauterization. You can seal wounds closed with fire— forcibly fuse the skin back together. She has no cuts. Nothing to fuse. And only hot water. However, maybe stepping into the scalding stream might fix the part of her brain that keeps replaying it all, over and over. 

Baby I— 

If anything, it might numb her. She would take that too right now. Hence the bottle on the counter, partially drunk and already open. She takes the first swig, the liquid like fuel to the inferno raging in her stomach, burning the rest of her in the process. The taste is acrid— she’s never been much of a drinker. She just wants to forget it all. Setting it down with a clunk, she strips out of grimey shirt, letting it puddle at her feet. 

Looking at the material, which at one point was a stark white but will now forever be a dingy gray, she laughs. Not really but, yeah, kind of— one of those half amused huffs, anyway. A pity laugh, for the state of her life. That shirt is practically trash. Even if she had the time, energy, or resources to wash it, there’s no way it’ll ever be the same. 

She should just throw it out. 

Is she even talking about the shirt anymore?

She kicks it into the corner, hands falling to the button of her jeans, swollen knuckles screaming as she fails a few times to push the little metal circle through the loop.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, and to the ghosts, and the spider she saw in the corner when she came in but didn’t have the heart to make the latter as well. 

She’s already made too many ghosts. 

“I, uh, I can help?”

None of those ghosts have ever answered before, though. 

Whirling around, fists balling in front of her face, she readies herself in less than a breaths time to send said ghost straight back to the grave—

“Woah, easy there, baby—”

Only to find Steve, his baby blues wide and a tad panicked but his hand nevertheless peeking through the crack of the door, reaching for her. Mind glazing over with confusion and, well, a fair bit of something russian and label-less, she blinks up at him and the damn door. She closed that— she remembers closing it… right? 

Her eyes flick down and the fire in her belly kindles a little more. 

“Are you kidding me?” She groans, the exhaustion an unwelcome guest in the cavern of her chest.  

His boot, right there in the doorway, holding the measly wooden traitor open. She never heard the damn click. Didn’t even bother to listen for it. Rookie mistake, honestly. She can’t even be mad, really. 

“Please just let me help.” Steve pushes past the door, both arms now extended towards her, but he doesn’t touch her yet. 

He’s waiting. She stays silent. Partly because she has no idea what to say— or what she wants— and partly because he hates it. He absolutely, agonizingly hates when she gives him the silent treatment. She watches his jaw tick, lips pressing together until they go white, and there’s a sick part of her that relishes in the cool satisfaction rushing down her spine. 

You made me like this.

But there’s also a part of her that mourns with him when he clears his throat, crystal eyes flooding over, liquid and glassy, and lowers his arms slightly. Not all the way. He’s hopeful, maybe. America’s sweetheart is always hopeful, that’s one of the things she fell in love with him for. 

That’s still Steve— her Steve. 

“I know—” Steve swallows, “I messed up. I just— you’re hurt, baby. Lemme’ help.”  

She huffs— why is it so fucking complicated? Why can’t they just be normal?

She is hurt. Nothing needs cauterizing but there’s no denying her mottled skin, blue-ish under the crappy motel bathroom lights. Her hands throb, joints screaming at her— when she turns to the mirror, she almost gags at the slight bald patch behind her right ear— fuck, that one had really stung. Absolutely ridiculous the way some people fight these days. 

Her silence is deafening. 

She wants to sob. It’s right there, in the hollow of her throat— she wants to scream. Maybe not at him but in general. She used to live in a penthouse, with all her friends, and the love of her life. Now what? She used to get hurt like this back then too but now it feels purposeless— what are they even doing this for if they have nothing. Have no one. It made sense when she still had him. 

Meeting his gaze in the mirror— disappearing a bit into fogged up glass but there regardless— she still has him. Kind of. But she still doesn’t say anything when she turns back to face him. The frown carved into her face feels vile— deep and disgusting and entirely real— but she can’t make it go away. She can’t stop the sniffle, either. Why can’t she just tell him she misses him?

“Fuck.” 

It’s mumbled under his breath. The Captain America, standing in some rundown wreck of a place off some lonely highway, is swearing. Because of her. Is this hell? It feels like hell. 

But, no, it can’t be, because his hands are so, so gentle as they cup her cheeks, thumbs softly dancing over the bruises, half assessing, half trying. Trying to do what, she doesn’t know. Wipe them away? Commit them to memory? She leans into his touch regardless, conceding ever so slightly. She won’t say it, but he can help. There isn’t a universe in which she would truly deny him. 

The first tear that falls isn’t hers, but his, landing on her forehead right before he buries his face in her hair, wrapping those supersoldier arms around her, trying and, well, failing not to crush her in the process. The tenderness in her broken body is worth it, though, because he smells like home, even if tinged with gunpowder and war. 

“I am so sorry—” he whispers, heartbeat erratic under her ear, chest heaving for breath— “I am so sorry I brought this on you. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”  

Complicated. She fists his t-shirt as hard as she can— fists in until her hands go numb. It’s not fair how complicated it has to be for them. 

Steve didn’t throw her into the fight, didn’t slam his fist into her eye, or rip her hair out by the handful. Steve didn’t even make her come with him when he left; that was entirely her choice. But he did lose his mind a little bit. Power tripped a little too hard. Focused so much on keeping them all safe that he missed the part where he was just supposed to hug her— and that’s what sucked most— but he is now, right?

That has to count for something? 

He pulls back and her fingers tighten, steeling, tensing. He can’t go, even if she isn’t sure what they are anymore. 

The agony in his eyes when he draws the line from her balled fists holding on for dear fucking life to her own, misty gaze is indescribable. “Baby I don’t know how to fix this. I want to, I—” he clears his throat again and her frown carves even further into her skin, eyebrows drawing together— “I want to so fucking bad.”

He plants his forehead against hers and it aches, the warmth of his skin. “I don’t want to make it worse. I need you to tell me how to help.” 

There’s a stinging in her throat where the words simply don’t manifest. What the fuck is she supposed to say? Nothing, at all, really, because she doesn’t even know how to fix her and she’s not mad so there’s nothing to fix… but isn’t there? Isn’t there something between them that desperately needs mending? Isn’t she mad? 

Is it anger? 

Or is it something much more primal. 

No, there are no words she can tell him. She could show him, though. Maybe that will work.

Letting his shirt go, she watches the breath catch in his chest, stuck and frantic. She knows that feeling well— that icy desperation to keep holding on no matter what. But she’s only grabbing his hands, not leaving him, and he’ll see that soon so she continues to drag him towards the stupid, little button that her useless fingers couldn’t seem to undo. In hindsight, maybe they were just waiting for him. 

Realizing, his forehead is off hers quickly, eyes seeking hers. “What? I don’t—” She flattens his palms against her stomach, engulfing the button, and he breathes the last word out— “understand.” 

Her brows raise, cheeks still on fire but now also burning— yes you do. 

“Are you sure?” He asks but there’s a little click— the same one she hadn’t heard earlier— as his boot clad foot kicks the door properly shut, and she’s pretty sure he knows just how sure she is.

All it takes is her thumbs on his, prodding them towards her arch nemesis— damn you, Levi jeans— and the soldier is moving, not rough in his quick actions, but determined. The button is no match for Steve Rogers on a regular day, but today? Now that he has a goal? A starting place? The button may as well have disintegrated under his fingers. 

Her own hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him as he tugs the blasted jeans off her legs, trying the best she can not to topple over with the sheer force of him. Material pooling at her feet, his palms smooth so slowly back up her now bare legs, rising goosebumps in their wake. She hasn’t been touched in ages— she feels kind of like an animal waking up from hibernation, disorientated and hungry. 

Grabbing at her hips suddenly, her ass is on the cool countertop before she even has the chance to get dizzy. Spreading her thighs with his own, he works on her bra next— this faded, hole ridden thing that if she wasn’t so engulfed in searing, licking desire, she’d probably be embarrassed about. But it’s gone so soon that she doesn’t have a chance and replaced instead with two, bulky hands that entirely engulf her breasts. 

They squeeze her skillfully— with purpose. Thumbs swiping delicious circles around her nipples, flicking this way and that, exactly how he knows she likes it— exactly the way that should have her as a mewling heap in his hold. But she’s not— she’s contained, even as her very skin thrums alive with anticipation. Is this revenge or is it just fucking complicated?

She can’t decide so instead she bites the moan clawing at her throat into small enough pieces to swallow, all the while tuning into something dark that sparks in his ever watchful gaze. 

She’s caught— he gets it now. 

“Really, baby?” He muses, palming her, squeezing just hard enough to give the touch a slight bite. His tone has her feeling like a deer in his headlights— like a freight train is barrelling directly at her and there’s nowhere to go— and she squeezes her thighs around him, welcoming the collision. “You think I won’t work for it?” 

She only blinks at him. Once… twice… 

Her panties are dropped somewhere into the abyss, long forgotten with the rest of her clothes, and his knees thud heavily against the tiled floor. Replacing his body, his head now hovers right in front of a different button, golden hair tickling her sensitive skin as he pulls her legs over his thick shoulders. His skin is warm but not as much as his balmy breath which hits her clit, teasing her into a mess, hands curling around the edge of the counter. 

Come on, Steve. 

But, no, he doesn’t give in to her just yet. First, he turns to her inner thigh, sucking her skin into his mouth with bruising pressure before letting it go with a pop. He peers up— nothing. Moving to the other one, he whispers quick kisses over her sex but never lingers, only biting into her flesh once more once across her mound, teeth almost teasing a whimper from her this time but no, she’s not budging. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t driving her crazy. Inside, she screams— she craves. C’mon baby just give it to me. Outwardly, her hands drunkenly find his hair, tugging at his soft locks. Now, now, now she chants furiously.

He unseals his lips from her thigh, peering up, less dangerous and back to being her ever hopeful boyfriend— is her her boyf— He kisses her folds, spongy lips lingering a moment, rendering her blank and feverish. Angelic— he’s angelic. From under his long lashes he all but begs her, his dark eyes starving and wanting, but his hands are so soft on her hips, massaging deep into her. It’s this mixture of puppy dog pleading and a knowing of sorts— he knows she’s going to cave eventually.

How does he do that? 

“Words? Please?”

She only pouts and, again, the switch flips. “Fine.”

The word is punctuated with the warm, wet stripe he licks up her center, flicking his tongue languidly over her clit. For as rushed as he’d started this mission, he’s truly never been one to speed through his meals, preferring instead to devour her slowly— expertly— tasting her thoroughly like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile her body pulses, teetering dangerously already on the knife-sharp edge of too much and too little as he masterfully carves her out. 

Her hands, which had moments ago tried to pull him closer, now use his hair as handles to keep herself from toppling off the counter when he slides her closer to him, burying his face fully into her heat. Heels digging into his back, she watches the spot where his shirt rides up intently, consumed not only by the harsh sucking on her clit but also the tanned, muscled skin peeking out and then disappearing below his own jeans, taunting her. Why hadn’t she taken it off him first? 

She doesn’t have time to think much more about it though because he’s ravenous and she may as well be ice cream, sweet and sticky, melting all over him, dripping down the sides of his face and fingers as they begin prodding against her. They tease, pushing into her but not quite far enough— hard enough.  

His gaze on her is overpowering— it’s deliberate. 

“Y’know,” he speaks against her, the vibrations making her tense, “you can just tell me what you want ‘and I'll do it.”

Her mouth is like sandpaper— her brain, uncooperative. This push and pull is becoming lethal, the next few pokes of his tongue honey slow and spine jolting. Please— she wants to beg. She’s so empty. So, so, achingly empty. Would his fingers even be enough? At this point, it’s as though he would need to crawl into her very chest to fill her up the way she needs to be. How could her words even convey something so needy? 

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.” 

They can’t, so they don’t, but for the sounds she refuses to make, he doubles in his own, moaning his frustrations right against her. If he can’t make her say anything, he damn sure is going to make her do something. That’s probably why he finally caves, pushing his fingers in to the hilt, and she was stupid to think they couldn’t fill her, the slight burn of them not at all foreign but definitely intense. 

As they bury themselves in her over and over and over again, she bucks against his hand, chasing the start of a little ball of electricity growing in the pit of her stomach, getting higher and higher with every twist of his fingers. Combined with the incessant flick of his tongue— she’s a goner. Stifling the moan, her teeth find home in her lip, biting so hard her mouth gains a slight tang that excites her even more. What’s she even doing? 

Wouldn’t it be more fun if she just let loose? Isn’t that what’s been missing the whole time? The fun? 

When she sees the glint in his piercing stare— impish despite everything they’ve been through— she gets it. It’s hopeless— she is and they are but they’re together and the fun isn’t gone— she’s done. He earned it.

“Stevie—”  she finally cries, animalistic; it doesn’t sound like his name but he must know it is because, even with the intense throbbing consuming her entire body, she can feel his shoulders soften under her thighs— “please don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“That’s it baby,” he coos against her clit, voice raw, compliant as he continues to pump his fingers in time to her squirming, “that’s my girl. I missed that pretty voice of yours.” 

At what point the first orgasm turns into a second, she isn’t sure. It’s all one big blur of her whiny moans, wanton and liquid body, and his hushed prayers against her flushed skin, tongue lapping relentlessly against her. More baby; I know you can give me more. She doesn’t so much hear them as she does become them, absorbing them into her skin. That’s it angel— so good, so good for me.

She can feel him drinking in her mumbled, jagged noises, some words but others mere syllables, coaxed out of her by tongue and fingers all the same. Steve— honey— mmph, fuck, right there— oh my— the words pour out now, dam broken beyond repair, and for some reason, or maybe a lack thereof, it spurs her on even more, a freed woman if ever there was one— 

“Oh my god, Stevie!”

It’s maddening— he’s maddening. 

He’s relentless. 

It isn’t until she yanks his still-eager mouth away from her, stomach iron-tense from way too much overstimulation, does he slowly draw his hand reluctantly back from her shuddering body. His other arm unwinds from where it’s been snaked around her knee, anchoring her to him throughout the duration of his worship. Now pushing him upright, holding him just near enough to where she can hear his labored breaths but not feel them, she shivers, cold as ice without his heat. 

He stares down at her, unmoving, and her heart jumps in her chest. She doesn’t understand— he’s just standing there while she shudders, breathless. His shirt is stretched, no doubt from her pulling at it, and in noticing the damage she remembers how she’s completely naked and he’s completely not. Exposed doesn’t even begin to touch how she feels. 

She wraps her arms around her chest, knees drawing up to tuck under her chin. “Steve?” 

She’d forgotten what it felt like to constantly have him next to her— to have his furnace like warmth melting into her skin almost every minute. Now that she’s had her first real taste of him again, she’s de-acclimated to being alone. She needs him.

“C’mere,” she begs, shaking and a bit confused, why isn’t he touching her still, “please, Stevie, come back.” 

When her fingers finally swipe against his shirt, barely snagging it, he flinches, coming back to her. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean—” 

She flings herself at him, heart off kilter and erratic in her chest as her lips press against his, swallowing his apologies and hoping beyond anything else that he just catches her, like he always does. He does, kissing her back fervently— reverently. His tongue, tinted with her essence, scoops into her mouth the same way he had been between her thighs. She welcomes the way he takes charge, knowing he holds her against him with every ounce of strength he has.

“—’m sorry,” he pants into her mouth, clearly not satisfied with the success of her attack, “so, so sorry baby.” 

He repeats the words deliriously. Presses them into her hair and against her temple, on her chin and both her cheeks. He especially feeds them to her, word for word, against her lips, soft at first and then rough, frenzied. He’s not talking about right now. He’s still back in that apartment; the fallen angel amongst the rubble, wings too broken to just leave it. 

It’s not complicated. And it’s not revenge, because she could never make him feel worse than he already does, nor would she want to. So, in between kisses and apologies, she answers.

“I know, Stevie.”   

“It’s ok— we’re ok, Stevie.” 

“Steve, stop— I love you!”

He stops. He sets her down, bare feet planting unsteady against the ground. He steps back. What?

“Stevie?” She questions, already moving forward, but his arms, sweeping over his head, towing his shirt up and off, halt her in her tracks. 

Oh.  

 Oh. 

This time, when she says his name it's only a breathy moan, fingers searching for his belt loops and hooking him towards her. In the time it takes for her hands to find the button— this one, thankfully, popping open immediately— there must be a god somewhere who didn’t abandon them in the rubble— he’s back on her, one hand carefully threading through her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, while the other pushes the rest of his clothes to the ground.

“I love you, I love— ah, fuck,” he hisses as her hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over his velvety tip.

For the first time, she smiles against his mouth, calm. “Language, Rogers.”

He pulls back, one neat eyebrow flicked up, but there’s humor in his eyes— no more tension. No more worry. Just fun. He leans down, nuzzling his chin down the side of her face, breath fanning her ear. Her hand stutters as it tugs on him, dragging up and down. He’s so hard— it’s been so damn long. 

“Thought I was Stevie, baby?” It’s an absent minded tease, blush lips parted even after the fact, glued to the way she touches him. 

In turn she watches his face, crowned in a mussed up halo of gold, some of which sticks to his forehead but most falling at every which angle, a product of her thighs sealing themselves around him. She can’t say that she’s never seen him this disheveled but she’ll never get used to it. He’s perfect— she makes him so messy. 

Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one enjoying herself, though, if the heaviness of him between her fingers, rutting into her palm is anything to go by. She squeezes harder, testing something, and he groans something almost inhuman against her neck. Guttural. He’s so close already. It fuels her like nothing else, tickling the part of her that just wants to please. She’s making reparations, too. Speeding up, she works him faster. Come on, honey.  

“Stevie—” she echoes and the next thing she knows, he’s pulling her off him, pushing her towards the steam which billows out from behind the curtain. 

From the moment her feet touch the warm, wet surface of the shower floor, everything is a blur. The water sprays over her harshly, but only for a moment, before he overpowers it with his own, massive body, just as searing against her skin. She registers the slick splat of her back against the wall, a grunt— missed this, baby, and her own feral howl as he slams into her. There’s no waiting, no tiptoeing, only his cock sealing them together furiously once more. 

One of her legs is hiked up impossibly far, hinging near his hip where his hand crushes her to him. The other leg holds her up— barely— heel raised, toes splaying for grip as she reaches higher. He’s just so big— so tall and so thick. So impossible to adequately open herself to without him fully lifting her but she wants to try so she does her best to meet his brutal pace, clinging around his neck desperately. 

If his fingers had filled her entirely, his cock is almost unbearable. She relishes it, though, the way she can almost feel him in her damn throat with each and every drag. It’s mesmerizing, the way there’s no need for adjustment— for remembering. He knows her body like it’s his own and it makes her drool with pleasure.   

The slapping of their skin together proves to be louder than the rush of the water, but not more so than Steve whose mouth is working over time, ladeling praises directly into her ear, soaked, stubbly chin grating deliciously against her temple.

“You look so pretty baby,” he hums, staring mesmerized at their bodies to where he slips in and out of her, “ look at you taking me so well.”  

And she does. 

It’s a lewd notion, the way she can see exactly where he is inside her by the way her belly ripples with his plunges, but one that makes her gasp nonetheless, spasming around him which is also visible to both of them. Loosening one of her hands from its vice grip on his shoulder, he places it on the exact spot, urging her to feel just how big he is. With every sloppy push and pull, she does feel it, and it sends her reeling.

“See that?” He rasps, and she can only nod, mouth agape enough for some of the water falling off his hair to drip into it. 

She swallows it, tongue somehow so, so dry despite everything. Her nerves are on fire, everything so much slower than it should be. 

The agonizing pull of his hand on hers, dragging her own fingers under his to toy with her clit. 

The little circles that take hours to complete but nurture the current running through her veins regardless. 

The fucking torturous in and out of his cock— taunting her, languidly pounding her for what feels like an eternity— she can’t think. She’s in the water but she feels under it, too, foggy and pent up. She just wants to cum—

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—” 

“—Stevie!” 

She breaks through the sluggish pleasure into electric and all consuming waves, head falling against the wall as his hips stutter against hers, pumping once, then twice, before falling still. Each time, she clenches harder, babbling something gritty and foul and incomprehensible. Something along the lines of holy fucking shit baby but its blurred with searing, pulsing pleasure.

There’s stars behind her eyes and steam in her nose as he falls against her chest, sopping hair tickling her hypersensitive skin. Him pulling feels like what two exposed wires touching must— all sparky and hot. It’s too much. 

“Mmm, careful baby,” she mumbles and he chuckles. 

“Of course.” 

The rest is truly a lull. Steve doesn’t bother gathering their clothes, only her, carrying her limp body to the bed and carefully setting her under the covers, dripping and all, before joining her. If she weren’t so sleepy, she would have scolded him. But she is and her eyes are refusing to stay open, let alone give him that look. It’s all she can do = to seek his warm skin once more, slithering against his body and rooting herself there. 

Cauterized, or something like it. 

[bubbleteasing]

Hello, if you don't mind, could you write about Sans motivating Reader to study?

I'm in college and it's hard to motivate myself without getting distracted by anything.

Been there, anon 🫠 good luck with that!

I'll give this a try... (I ended up making it a bit romantic, woops.)

"how are you still on the same page?"

You jumped on your seat, gasping as you looked back over your shoulder.

"I told you I needed you to stop coming into my room so I could study!" You frowned, covering your notes with both hands.

"let me see," he grabbed your wrist with one hand, resting the other on the back of your chair.

You pouted as he revealed your notes, covered in highlighted lines that you hadn't even managed to read yet.

"why're you still stuck with this?" He flipped a couple of pages with a bored expression. "seems fairly easy to me."

"Well, thank for your words of encouragement!" You grabbed your notes and stood up, walking out of your bedroom.

Sans followed you out, watching you walk into the living room and sitting on the couch, placing your notes on the coffee table and leaning your elbows on your knees to be closer to the notebook.

He leaned on the door frame as he watched you pout, shaking his head at you. "want me to read it to you?"

You sniffed, nodding at him as he walked towards you with a smirk in his face.

"ok..." he grabbed your notes, laying down on the couch and resting his head on your thighs, forcing you to fix your posture. "let's see if you can guess this one: it's a company that a marketing team can hire to produce advertising efforts across a variety of channels, like tv, radio, and print," he then looked up at you, "what's that?"

He didn't say anything about testing you, but the question was fairly easy so far.

"Advertising agency?"

"bingo," he winked at you. "now, this one involves a third-party referring visitors to a product or service on a digital platform, like a blog or podcast." He licked his thumb before going to the next page, "they earn a small commission if that referral leads to a sale."

"Affiliate marketing?"

"i told you it wasn't that hard," he rested your notes against his chest. "you probably remember most of these from class, right?"

You nodded, still avoiding looking at him. "I don't know why I always get stuck with the simplest things..."

"oh, is that how you talk about me?" He looked at you with a fake, offended expression. "had i known that you thought i was simple i would've never asked you out!" He crossed his arms dramatically.

You snorted, shaking your head before looking down at him. "If I remember correctly, I was the one who asked you out."

"were you?" He squinted his eye sockets with suspicion.

"After I took you out to dinner, remember?" You said softly as you scratched his chin.

"maybe you're right... that was so long ago..."

"It was last month!" You pinched the side of his skull warningly.

"not all of us have such a good memory as you, bucko," he closed his eyes, adjusting his position so his chin was tilted upwards.

You sniffed before crouching down a bit, giving him a kiss on his forehead.

He slowly opened his eyes, stretching his neck to get closer to your lips before you pulled away.

You cupped his face as you both kissed tenderly, trying not to complain about the uncomfortable position you were in with your bent back as the kiss went on.

Sans suddenly broke the kiss by suddenly putting his hand over your mouth, making you blink in surprise.

"we can keep going," he presses your notebook against your chest, "after you're done with this."

You closed your eyes, sighing in defeat through your nose before he freed your mouth.

"Ok," you agreed, "I'll keep studying."

"and i'll keep my eyes on you," he laid back down on your thighs, crossing his arms under his head.

"I won't disappoint you," you said decisively, "I promise."

"well, stop talking and marketing it happen," he hummed as you groaned at his pun.

[askbanishedknight]

"Oh, it’s totally the latter, my friend. I wander solo because... well, you know, I've been a bit exiled and whatnot..."

Banished Knight let out a sigh as the voices in his head continue to argue with each other.

"But... I reckon none of you fine folks are rockin' around with... Like... Three snazzy voices from your swords, plus another trio of melodious whispers from your inner emotions... Huh?"

"Oh, my esteemed sovereign... Could it truly be you...?"

"I... You... Goodness me, you appear rather intriguingly transformed since the last we crossed paths..."

- @askbanishedknight (or Guardian!Knight)

{OOC: BTW the three different colors of his text represent the three SFOTH swords he wields, Firebrand, Darkheart, and Illumina, and yes there's voices in his head.}

The sudden voice startles the King and his companions. At first, the Ice Dagger is raised- the King now protectively stanced in front of his three allies- before blue eyes widen in realisation.

"... Ah. I apologise, but I am not.... your ruler."

It seems to pain the King to even have to say it. But the Dagger is lowered, and a small smile falls upon his features. He bows his head in respect.

"It is a pleasure to speak with you, however. Stay as long as you wish. You are welcomed here, I assure you."

(ooc: avarice in the back making sure her own firebrand wasn't stolen LMAO)

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hey Aerie! Could I have some Vampdrew? I remember correctly Andrew licking (and kissing!!!) Kevin's hand in the hallway right?? That wasn't a daydream? Ugh I love them! I wish you a good week 🧡🤟🏼

WIP Wednesday (9/18) | Vampire Andrew AU (Part 179)

He stays there until Nicky comes to collect him. Neil's a bit offended Andrew's little group decided he needed to be escorted, but he'd be lying if he said was excited about this ride. In fact, he'd rather chew off a finger than have to sit next to Andrew Minyard for more than ten seconds. But he's got no choice, not really. So he obediently follows Nicky down the stairs.

When they get to the parking lot, Kevin and Aaron are in the car. Andrew is leaning against the back end of the passenger side with a cigarette sticking out of his mouth. His head snaps up and towards Neil. Eerily enough, it reminds Neil of a nature documentary. The way a big cat jerks to attention when a defenseless deer steps on a twig.

"Hey," Nicky says from beside him. "Don't worry, we don't bite." His face twitches in amusement, or something. "Well, not all of us."

"Which of you do?"

"Uh," Nicky's eyes flit from the car back to Neil. "That's a secret."

Andrew beams as they approach. "You waited for us, how kind."

"I'm a real sweetheart."

"I can tell," Andrew flicks his cigarette towards Neil, making him jump. "Oops, oops. Almost got you, Neil." He says with a smile, then it fades and he steps closer to Neil. "If you want to keep your tongue in your mouth, you'll refrain from mentioning Kevin's hand ever again. Do you understand? I will cut it out. You don't need it to play exy and the sound of your voice grates on my nerves anyway."

"That's your threat? You're going to cut out my tongue?"

"Yes. There are four of us," Andrew gestures to the car, where Kevin is looking out the window at them with a grimace. "And one of you. I think we could manage it. Do you really want to find out?"

Neil finally tears his eyes off Kevin and puts them back on Andrew. "My apology was sincere."

"I thought so," Andrew says with a look. "But then again, I also though you had black hair and brown eyes."

Neil gapes. It seems Andrew was clever enough to check between the slips. He stares at Andrew for a moment and the goalie doesn't blink the entire time. "I won't say it again."

"I know you won't. Now be a good boy and get the car." Andrew says, pulling the door open with a flourish. As if he's a gentleman and not a threat-making delinquent. No matter what Andrew is, Neil obeys and slides into the middle seat. Andrew completes the sandwich and slams the door shut.

"Andrew are you sure you can—"

"Drive, Nicky. Don't make me tell you again." Andrew says with a glare. Nicky peels out of their parking spot like he's just committed grand theft and Neil struggles not to lean on Andrew as he takes a turn.

"Andrew." Aaron says firmly, making Neil look from him to his brother. Andrew is wearing a toothless smile and wild eyes. Neil wonders if he forgot to take his medication. Or if he's been mixing it with something stronger than liquor. Neil makes himself look away and finds Nicky staring at them in the rear view mirror. Is Andrew really so unhinged that he needs constant surveillance? Before today, Neil'd only thought him strange. But now... He doesn't know what to think.

But as soon as Nicky gets them to the stadium, Andrew is all but diving out of the car and rushing inside without them. Kevin hurries after him and Neil watches them go. What the fuck is going on? Suddenly, Nicky's arm is around his shoulders. "Hey bucko, don't worry about Andrew. He's just a little—"

"Insane?"

"We prefer the term 'highly strung'." Aaron says from Neil's other side. Then he leans in. "Don't sit on the couch. Push the chair to the opposite wall and sit there instead."

Neil blinks at the strange demand. "Fine."

"Andrew's real particular about who sits where," Nicky says with a laugh. But it's fake. Neil lets them escort him inside, one on either side, then sits through Coach's meeting trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for their behavior. Anytime Neil lets his gaze wander it lands on Andrew, who's always staring at him first. Kevin snaps his fingers in Andrew's face and the goalie blinks before moving his jaw.

"Is that it, Coach?" Neil asks as soon as Wymack spills the beans. Half the room didn't react and the other half is outraged, but Neil is just... Overwhelmed. He's got to get out of here. There's too much weirdness. From the threat of the Moriyamas to whatever the hell Andrew's problem is, he can't quite breathe. Wymack nods in his direction and Neil rises to his feet. He hears someone stand up behind him and rushes for the door.

[howlingday]

The World's Greatest Spy

Blake: (Disguised, Thinking) I can't believe my rotten luck. I'm breaking into my daughter's school to fix her terrible grades, and I'm now working together with this idiot who has no idea how to be a spy! He's rolling on the ground, he tried to force his way into the student information vault, and he has his mission details written on his hand! Who is this clown?!.

Roman: Alright, time to try out this code I wrote for the vault... Huh?! Whattaya mean it's wrong?! Ah, forget it! I'm just gonna take a leak and clear my head!

Blake: There are no bathrooms in this building. Please don't tell me someone hired him to be an actual spy.

Blake: (Opens the vault)

Roman: THANKS FOR THE ASSIST, BUDDY! (Whacks Blake)

Blake: (Falls)

Roman: Why don't you come inside and take a load off?

Blake: (Unmoving) It's best to stay down until he's done. Who know what he plans to do?.

Roman: ...And done! Truly, I am a genius criminal spy mastermind that not even the infamous Nightshade could outwit!

Blake: If you're done, then just go home. Don't stand around gloating like an idiot!.

Roman: I can't wait to put this story in the papers! Wait, a spy isn't supposed to get their name in the papers, are they? Mm... Guess that just means I'll be the first! Time to sign my name on my handiwork!

Blake: WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU IDIOT?!

Roman: You're... awake?

Blake: Damn! I lost my cool and blew my cover!.

Blake: P-Please! I didn't see anything! I swear! I won't tell anyone!

Roman: Oh yeah?

Roman: WELL, YOU BETTER TELL EVERYONE! Tell them all the day you met Nightshade's greatest nemesis, Torchlight!

Blake: ...Uh-

Roman: See you around, bucko, and remember to tell everyone~! (Curls into a ball, Rolls away)

Blake: ...

[yellowhollyhock]

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

Raph is starting to feel like he's got this new place figured out, but nobody can get too comfortable with whatever connected their worlds tk begin with continuing to escalate

Donnie tapped furiously at his keyboard, eyes alight with a manic energy accentuated by inflated bags and empty pizza boxes falling at random behind him.

Raph stumbled as a rug appeared beneath his feet.

Donnie shot out of his seat. "Entry points are much more concentrated in space than time. Seems to only flow in one direction so far."

He moved about the room, unblinking, picking up objects at random to examine. He stepped on a plastic bag, went cross-eyed examining a bead bracelet. He ran his hands across the couch. Raph decided to intervene when he started crawling in circles around it, sliding his fingers under and even sniffing between cushions.

"How many hours did you sleep?"

Donnie didn't even look up. "Ridiculous question. I'm an adult."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because it just does," he replied simply, firmly.

Raph placed a hand over his face, holding in a frustrated sigh.

"Mikey said if you started acting funny I have to send you to bed."

Donnie looked up sharply with a stern frown. "Mikey--!"

He stopped, reconsidering his approach. "Mikey isn't here," he reasoned slyly, "We don't have to do what he says."

Raph crossed his arms. Donnie remained unmoved, expression calm, shoulders relaxed. He didn't break eye contact.

"Okay, fine," he changed tactics, "I'll wake up Raphael."

Donnie snorted, unimpressed. "Good luck with that."

Raph scowled heavily. Donnie paid him no mind.

He could always get under Leo's skin, but this wasn't Leo. Heck, this wasn't even the Donnie he was used to. He needed a different approach.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to channel his inner Mikey.

"You just seem tired," he mumbled, making his voice as pouty as he could manage.

"Yep," Donnie crouched back down and reached under the couch, lifting it slightly with his other arm. "And I will continue to be tired until we can figure out what is causing," he paused, eyes widening triumphantly as he pulled his arm out, holding up what he'd found, "this!"

It was a giant pen, almost as long as Donnie's arm, and for some reason had a bunny head on the end. Raph blinked. Donnie frowned.

"Actually, this might've already been there," he admitted.

"What if I just--" Raph stopped short, unable to think up any leverage. It was harder than he'd thought to channel Mikey. Maybe he could channel Donnie--his Donnie, that is. "What if I won't stop poking you until you get some sleep?"

Donnie's eyes crinkled in fond amusement. "It would be kind of difficult to fall asleep with you poking me."

"I'll break the TV," Raph threatened, balling his fists and getting into position.

Obviously he wouldn't actually break the TV, but Donnie didn't know him well enough to call his bluff. Probably.

"You're sweet," Donnie immediately proved him wrong, still infuriatingly calm. "But I honestly don't think I can sleep with--"

There was a loud crash as something fell on top of the TV, embedding itself into the screen.

"This going on," he sighed wearily.

It looked like a metal arm, from the car Don had fixed up. It felt like so long ago he was in that car with his brothers, chasing after Shredder with the hope to stop him from breaking out of jail in the first place.

Raph gestured at the mess in front of them. "Look, if that ain't a message from the universe--"

"It is not a message from the universe," Donnie said firmly, "But you have a point. I don't know what I'm doing and a nap might help."

"So breaking the TV worked," Raph observed, filing the information away for future use.

Donnie gave a short huff of laughter. "Brute force wins this round, bucko. I would say try not to get sucked into an alternate reality while I'm gone, but at this point maybe that would work in our favor."

Raph nodded once, ignoring a nervous lump in his throat. "Yeah. Things can't really get much weirder."

"Oh, I can think of some ways they could and probably will," Donnie said ominously.

With that, he disappeared into his room.

Raph paced for a bit, half-hoping he could simply pass through this dimension and finally finish his walk to the dojo.

That wasn't going anywhere fast, so he settled onto the couch, trying to get comfortable. Mikey wouldn't be home for a few more hours. Raphael wouldn't be up to spend a few minutes with them and then sneak out for still an hour after that.

He was starting to feel more at home here. The ceilings were high, his family was welcoming and warm. He still missed his own brothers and his own couch and his own high ceilings, but at least he didn't feel on edge all the time anymore.

"Where is Donatello?"

Raph startled, twisting to face Master Splinter. He was usually meditating at this time of day, and he hardly ever spoke so sharply. "He's not in his room?"

A grim frown made Raph's heart sink. "You are certain that's where he last was?"

Raph's shot up from his seat, heart sinking to the floor.

"He went to bed a few minutes ago."

"He is gone."

"Is there another place he might sleep?"

"I have checked all the rooms. He seems to have disappeared."

"What's going on?" Raphael asked, drawn into the living room by the raised voices.

Splinter's face hardened as he came to a decision. "We must leave, immediately. Raphael, call your brother."

"But--"

"Now!"

Everything was moving too fast; Master Splinter was ushering them out the door. One of the couch cushions disappeared. Skittles were pouring onto the kitchen table.

And Donnie was gone.

"I called Casey," Raphael announced as he snatched up a duffel bag and dropped his phone inside, "Mikey's meeting us at his place."

Raph didn't move. "What about Donnie?"

His words brought a heavy silence; Splinter and Raphael both shrunk under the weight of what they were about to do. But Splinter quickly got hold of himself, ears upright again, face firmly forwards.

"We will make a plan when we are all together."

"I'll stay back," Raph insisted, "If it takes the whole lair, maybe I'll end up back home."

"Or in some other random dimension," Raphael argued.

"We must stay together," Splinter said firmly.

"But this ain't staying together!"

"Look kid," Raphael whirled to face him, expression stern, "We got a responsibility, to you, to your family--heck, if Donnie found out you got lost on our watch--"

"He ain't finding anything out if we ditch him here!"

"What do you mean ditch him?" Raphael was losing patience. "He's not here!"

"Enough!" Splinter brought his staff down to silence them and command their attention. "We will stay together!"

They both stared at him, dumbfounded. Not by what he'd said, but by the scene they found behind him.

Instead of the staircase and the exit, they saw a crowd of humans, dressed in sweatpants and tank tops, who had turned when Splinter shouted.

But Raph barely even noticed the humans.

At the front of the room, demonstrating a yoga pose, was a mutant turtle, with a blue mask and an 'L' on his belt.

[aubreyeslll]

trump got convicted for using campaign funds to pay off a sex worker, which is an illegal use of the funds, which you would know if you could read. dont even know why im typing this out to you because you're clearly too thick in the head to understand it. good luck bucko

That's just about as stupid as the rest of the made up charge's they lied about! And I don't know why I'm wasting my time typing out responding to you if you're clearly that's ignorant so I guess when they all jump off a goddamn bridge you going to jump off right behind everybody right just because they say it don't make it f****** true and I don't really care about any of them but what I do care about is this country and I know when Donald Trump was President this country was driving this country was doing very well because of Donald Trump's policies and what he put into action and buying come in and close every bit of it down and burnt this country and we may never recover from Joe Biden and that don't seem to bother none of you God damn idiots does it matter if your country is here tomorrow because in the way it's going this country is not going to be here and you people think that this is the way to go if you like to so well just move to Europe move to China see how well it works for you

[dusty-pistol]

"Something's Gotta Give"

SELFSHIP SHORT STORY THING!

Prepare for some cringe writin about my sona with a fictional president. What an interestin sentence... Anyway, as usual, this is gonna be rather self-indulgent and a little sad. Hold onto your bootstraps, bucko!

Staring at an endless wall of large screens, that of which adorned the surrounding and otherwise dark area with a warm glow of yellow light, stood the robot who monitored it all. It stood before the screens, watching them and the flashing clips of different codes and notifications. But one notification caught his attention. The sound was different from the rest. Special, as he saw it.

Bringing the notification into its processor, it internally looked it over through his systems. It was a simple message. But the moment he read it, he closed it and flicked it back to the screens in a flash of electricity. He was needed somewhere else. Out of his own dimension, as per usual. But at least this time, it was a dimension he enjoyed. All because of a certain person who resided there.

The cervine robot snapped its hoofed fingers and projected a different, more professional outfit onto himself. It certainly wasn't a date or anything, but he wanted to look good and fit in with the times in which that dimension was set currently. He didn't bother putting on a humanoid illusion yet, seeing as he was only going to be seeing one person who had already seen his physical form.

Once he assessed his appearance and considered it good enough, he waved a hand and brought up a command box. Pushed a few buttons and took one more glance at the timeline moderation screen before activating the transfer.

It was quick. Quick and simple as if just connecting to the WiFi or booting up a program on a computer. Just a quick flash, and suddenly, the robot's surroundings had changed. It was standing in an office. One it had found itself in plenty of times before. And there across the room, sitting in a chair at a large desk, was the man he had gotten the notification from.

"You called, sir?" The robot's voice rang out as he stepped across the room over to the man hunched over his desk and fidgeting with his arm. He lifted his phone head to meet the robot's gaze and seemed to perk up a bit. At least, his cord tail did as it lifted and swayed calmly. "As punctual as ever, eh, fawn? And for the record, there's no need to be so formal. We're a little past the whole 'Sir' thing, don't you think?"

The deer faltered for a moment as he heard an amused chuckle leave the phone head's receiver. Watching him push out from behind the desk and walk around to the other side where it was standing. Those metal footsteps clanking against the floor up to him. "Right... Sorry, Cal. It's a habit I still gotta kick. Anyway, you needed somethin'? I got things to manage too, ya know. So I can't stay for long. Not to mention the damage I'm doin' to this dimension just by bein' here..."

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of your impressive and oh so important business that you need to get back to. But is it so bad that I just wanted a moment of your time?" The taller of the two replied with a dramatic sigh, holding a slight teasing hint to his tone as he lifted a hand to take hold of the other man's. His fingertips traced along the deer's cloven fingers and up past his knuckles. Finding its place intertwined with the other's. To which the eyes displayed on its screen rolled at the phone head's tone.

"...No, I... I suppose it ain't that bad. It's just- well- I've already explained everythin' to you before. If I stay here for too long, I could warp your timeline and ruin ev-" It was cut off by the president raising his metal hand to stop him from going on any further. "I know, calm down. All I'm asking is that you take a break from your job and join me for a moment. You won't destroy an entire dimension just by talking with me. Nobody knows you're here except me, so you don't gotta worry your fuzzy little head about it. Get me?"

Hearing it be explained so calmly, as if it wasn't a big deal, sort of soothed the robot's systems a bit. Just enough for him to relax his previously tense shoulders and give a quick nod of understanding.

"Alright, alright. I get it. I'm just worried, is all. What if someone does see me? I mean, I could always deploy a hologram to make myself look human, but -" Again, he was shushed by Callum. This time, by a hand covering his mouth. He didn't even realize he was starting to ramble about his worries until Callum had to quiet him a second time. Giving an apologetic look, he muttered a muffled "Sorry..." against Callum's hand before it was pulled away from his face, and instead, it grabbed his shoulder.

"I made sure to lock the door before I even called you, so there's no risk of anyone seeing you. You don't need to put on some fake face around me. I've got everything covered already. Just listen to me and relax, won't you?"

Giving a nod, the deer lifted his ears and stood up a little straighter, signifying he was ready to listen as asked. After all, that's partly what it was programed to do.

Seeing the change, Callum gave a hum of approval and patted the robot's shoulder. "There we are. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, c'mere, I've got something I wanna show you. I think you'll like it."

Still holding his shoulder, Callum guided his companion over to the other side of the desk and sat down in his chair. Pulling the deer down to sit on his lap. Which earned a little yelp of surprise from the cervine, as he expected.

Callum didn't wait for the other to regain his bearings before rummaging through the desk drawers and pulling out a file, and sliding a few papers out from it. "This is what I've been working on. Ya see, I've got a speech planned a couple weeks to a month from now, and I wanna know what you think of the script I wrote! Proofread it for me, if you'd kindly..."

Handing the papers to the robot, Callum rested the bottom of his phone head on the deer's shoulder and read the pages with him. But it didn't need to read the papers to know what was on them. He'd seen this all before on the screens back in the server room.

As baffling as having all of this shoved in his face was, he was snapped out of his stupor when he saw the script.

With a grimace, he pretended to read the papers and gave a little nod of acceptance. "This is very well written. Though, you should add a comma here so it doesn't turn into a run-on sentence." He said as he pointed to a spot on the page. Trying to focus on anything other than the actual writing and what it all meant.

Leaning in, Callum seemed to be squinting at the page. Looking at the small mistake with a little surprise. He gave a small hum of consideration before chuckling in amusement.

"Hah, see, this is why I like to have you around! You can point out all the little mistakes and mix-ups that I can't! You're an observant little bugger, huh fawn?" A smile could be heard in the president's tone despite not having a mouth to smile with. He wrapped an arm around the deer's shoulder and held him a little closer as some sort of appreciative hug.

Despite wanting to melt into Callum's embrace, the deer was visibly tense, and he held a small frown on his face as he stared at the pages in his hooves. Normally, he would've just ignored them and reciprocated the affection. But he just couldn't this time. Not when the future was catching up to him so fast. That script in his hands was proof of that much.

"Yeah... It's what I was programmed for..." The robot mumbled, still not tearing his gaze from the script. Which Callum picked up on the moment he heard the dejected tone.

"Oh, c'mon, I didn't mean it like that. You know what I meant. Just- Listen, you're more than just my editor or assistant. You know that." Callum tried to reassure, which only came off as if he was annoyed that his companion didn't understand what he meant. Whether Callum was annoyed or not was the least of the deer's problems, though.

Staying silent, he tried to come up with a response that wasn't something that could destroy the timeline. The only thing he could come up with was a little mutter. "Well, it's... This is a very good script, Cal. I'm sure the people will love it. You'll change lives with this speech. I just know it."

Despite the praise, he sounded upset and visibly full of dread. For good reason, of course, but Callum would never know that. The president took the upset tone as disapproval and sighed. Before he could explain his reasoning, the robot set the pages down on the desk and pushed itself up to stand. Pushing the president's hands off and stepping away as Callum sat up in surprise.

"Listen, Cal... You know you always amaze me with all your ideas. But, I just got a notification that I'm needed elsewhere, so I'll have to cut this short." The robot explained as its voice wavered with emotion threatening to break through. "I'm sorry, I really am. We'll talk later. Just-... I know you think you've got things good now. But something's gotta give eventually. Please, stay safe. I'll see you next week... I lo-"

Nearly halfway out of his seat and still reaching out, Callum tried to grab the deer by the wrist. But it was gone in a flash of electricity before it could even finish its sentence. Callum didn't get the chance to tell it to wait or stay. He was frozen in place for a moment until a sigh escaped him, and he slumped back into the cushioned seat. Running a hand down his metal face in disappointment.

Callum wasn't the only one sulking in his own disappointment, however. As soon as the cervine robot had gotten back to the server room, it turned the hologram off and started pacing.

Running scenario after scenario through its systems for any possible outcome where things would turn out alright. But nothing seemed to work. And that started to frustrate and overwhelm it. Everything eventually melded together, and all he could think of was Callum himself. The moments he'd miss all because he couldn't interfere with the timeline.

Feeling the frustration bubbling up in his chest got to an unbearable degree. So much so that he quit pacing and instead stopped in his tracks. Reeling back and thrusting his fist into the screen before him with a shout. The yellow glow flickering as the impacted area grew cracks in the glass accompanied by dead pixels.

He only spared a glance up at the damaged area to see the timeline laid out on the screen. Each important event marked along the vast line stretched out seemingly endlessly. A certain date now blacked out by his fist and dead pixels. The main event he'd been dreading ever since he first spoke to the man he'd somehow fallen so hard for.

The screen itself was an easy fix. A whole timeline was another story entirely. It was something he couldn't afford to interfere with. While the dreaded event would take the Callum he knew away from him, interfering could take Callum from him entirely. He refused to allow that to happen.

Removing his hand from the cracked screen, he lifted it and started repairing it with the All-Use Solver, threading the pieces back in place with a sigh as he walked away.

So much left unsaid. So much left undone.

[belost-the-watcher]

@steel-and-fire

The blacksmith felt a shiver down his spine, as two big, purple, painfully familiar arms wrapped around him from the back. "Belost, I swear to the Gods, let me go now-"

Belost was leaning firmly into his favorite draconic smith, squeezing him tightly, his head laying on top of the other's. "See I thought you might say something like that. But consider this: You're my bucko and you gotta feel the love. So. You feelin' it yet?"

[creepswrites]

RED CHRISTMAS (CH 2) | Billy Lenz

ah my favorite story Red Christmas time....... i love writing billy lenz character studies, it makes me so happy...

BILLY LENZ + SORORITY GIRLS

SUMMARY: Something stuck with her though: the name Agnes. Billy had mumbled it during his meltdown and it felt personal. It gave her something to work with though. She needed to know more, needed to unravel this man's mysteries. Both as a future psychiatrist and out of genuine concern.

He was strange. She needed to know more.

WARNING: discussion of graphic violence/child abuse

Phyllis Carlson had a lot of patience. She prided herself on being realistic yet understanding, all good qualities to have for a future as a doctor. Because she wasn't going to just be a nurse like her parents had wanted for their good little girl, always so condescending. No, she would be a proper doctor and a damn good one too.

However, sitting here on the couch watching some stranger whimper and cry in the communal kitchen while Jess tried to talk him down? She was reconsidering that whole Hippocratic oath "do no harm" part. "So let me get this straight," she rubbed her temples with her fingers, eyes squeezing shut in pure frustration. The Christmas tree still sat aglow, the soft lights the only light in the living room. It made her glasses-less sight all that much worse. "Some random dude stayed here after the party, attacked Peter, and suddenly Jess is going all psychology major on him?"

She kept her voice a whisper, shooting paranoid glances towards the kitchen, afraid to be too loud and be on the receiving end of the stranger's wrath.

Barbara Coard, in sharp contrast, did not appear at all stressed or concerned. "Good for him, honestly. Petey here can be pretty annoyin' sometimes." She said with a smirk, ignoring the glare the man gave her. "I like him."

Peter huffed in typical drama queen fashion. "He attacked me, Barb."

"Aw shut up and keep fidgeting with your ice pack," Barb scoffed, "And zip it, bucko, mommy and daddy are talking." She turned back to Phyll with an attentive look.

Phyll didn't give that any kind of response. "I'm just worried this guy is dangerous. I mean, I certainly don't remember seeing him."

"Neither do I," Barb said with another drag of her cigarette. "His voice is kinda familiar though, ain't it?"

The two girls shared a look before looking towards the kitchen doorway.

Billy and Jess had sat at the little kitchen table once again. He was staring ahead at absolutely nothing while she wrapped his knuckles with soft, white gauze. They'd started bleeding after hitting Peter and Jess had immediately fretted over the injury. She shushed and soothed his stammering and mumbles, not flinching when he had small, squealing outbursts. "It's alright, you're safe." 

Green eyes fixed on her with an unblinking stare as she worked.

"You really did a number on Peter, y'know. What, um, prompted you to even lash out like that?"

Still, she was met with only silence.

It was very odd to her, considering what she knew about the Moaner. She hadn't told anyone else about his identity yet because she knew without a doubt that that reveal wouldn't go over well for anybody. The memory of Billy's threats to kill them still lingered in the back of her mind and it kept her on edge.

Surely, if he wanted to hurt her, he would've done so by now.

As she finished wrapping his hands, she gave him a warm smile. "Well, there you go, all patched up."

Billy couldn't meet her eyes and instead stared across the room at the candy cane he'd sharpened. After the incident with the pillow, Jess had taken it away to throw out. But his hands itched for a new weapon, for something to distract himself with. The longer he stared at the candy cane, the more compelled he felt to stab someone with it. Whoever he could get his hands on.

She noticed his gaze and stepped away slowly, creeping towards the candy cane knife like she was worried he'd lunge if she got too close. But he stayed still, picking at his cuticles and nails anxiously as he watched her pick it up and throw it away.

His eyes closed as the voices in his head disappeared in a soft breeze of calm.

"Hey," Barb's voice cut through the serene silence of the kitchen. Billy let out a small yelp and scrambled out of his chair to hide on the other side of the table away from Barb. 

"Barb." Jess said softly. "We should, um, talk. With Phyll too."

The other girl nodded before giving a hesitant glance towards Billy. "You behave, alright?" She said, her cigarette hanging loosely between her fingers, a sharp contrast to the pink nightgown she wore.

He watched their backs retreat and hurried to turn off the kitchen light, plunging the room into darkness. Peter scoffed in the next room but Billy ignored the swelling urge to go kill him. Instead, he ducked under the table. Dark and quiet, just like the attics he was used to.

The attic.

The girl he'd left upstairs.

Jess's kindness would surely disappear once she learnt of the girl in the attic. Broken and cold, tied to the rocking chair like she was nothing more than a doll. She wasn't, as far as Billy was concerned. But she was still broken. A broken toy.

"Silly, silly, silly Billy, what have you done..." He whispered as he ducked his head between his knees, suddenly struck with a sick feeling in his stomach. "Billy, Billy, you broke it. Broke it. Broke it. Nasty, stupid Billy!" The words scraped his throat, mimicking his mothers voice. "Nasty pig bitch !" His voice cracked and he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Tears began to fall and he didn't know why.

"Jessie, I gotta be honest, this is a weird one." Barb said as she gestured to the kitchen, now plunged in darkness. "He's, uh, kinda strange."

"Kind of?" Peter protested with a huff. "You can't seriously be thinking of keeping him here."

Jess felt indignant. "Yes, I am. I think we should let him stay. At least for tonight."

Phyll gazed up at the Christmas tree, listening but not contributing. She seemed far away, thinking hard about something.

Their guest's voice was so familiar-

"I'm cool with him stayin'," Barb said with a shrug, "But, uh, no more screamin' episodes, yeah?"

Jess nodded, beginning to drift away to her own thoughts as Barb and Peter argued.

She was a psychology student. Being presented with a mysterious and clearly unstable man was, intellectually, fascinating to her. Had she not heard his comments about pigs earlier, she wouldn't even believe the man who sat in her kitchen and lost his mind trying to defend her from Peter could possibly be the same man who screamed lewd remarks at her over the phone.

How did these things connect? What happened to him? Where did he even come from?

She had to know more.

"He's familiar, isn't he." Phyll said more than asked. She turned to look at Jess, staring her down harshly as though searching for an answer on her face. "Kinda looks a bit like Peter. But I feel like I've heard him somewhere."

The two stared each other down. Jess tried to keep her expression schooled as Phyll searched for something there.

She knew. Or, at the very least, suspected. Jess wouldn't fold. She wouldn't say anything, especially not with Peter in the room.

"Bitch-!" They heard from the next room and Phyll's eyes widened in horror.

Barb didn't seem to notice. "You okay in there?" She called out, oblivious to the way her sisters seemed to have a conversation with just a look.

When Billy didn't answer, she made her way to the kitchen. "Wait, Barb, be careful!" Peter called out which only annoyed her.

"Relax, Petey, I can take care of myself." She sighed before stepping into the kitchen, the cold tile biting at her bare feet.

The limited light that reached the kitchen only faintly highlighted the face of the man gasping through sobs under the table. Green eyes were sharp and calculating, watching intensely as Barb sat on the floor in front of him. "Hey, you alright?" She asked softly, talking to him like one of the animals at the shelter she took care of.

Billy just stared at her, his hand still clasped over his mouth to muffle his crying and whining.

"Hey," she said softly, "You okay?"

He stared at her as tears ran down flushed cheeks. In the dark, the shadows danced menacingly on his face, making him look terrifying. Billy grumbled something though his words were muffled by his hands.

Barb just tried to smile. "You, um… You like music?" When he continued to just stare at her, she took a slow drag from her cigarette. "I've been really into makin' mixtapes lately. It's, uh… It keeps me busy, y'know? I've made a couple for Phyll and Jess too."

Billy continued to stare blankly.

"What's up?" Barb eventually sighed. 

Without hesitation, Billy crawled towards her till their faces were mere inches apart. Barb opened her mouth to say something but quickly closed it as his eyes began to dart back and forth between hers.

As quickly as he came, he recoiled like she'd slapped him, giggling and biting his lower lip as he tried to fight a smile. "You… good?" She frowned, scooting back a little.

He just gripped his hair tight, hanging his head like he'd done something wrong and he felt ashamed. "Silly, silly, silly," Billy whispered through his laughter. He couldn't help his staring. It was her fault, surely. Barb was pretty, he couldn't help but look. All the girls were but he hadn't gotten the chance to look at her properly. Jess had already been so close and he wanted to just get closer-

"Dude, what was that about?" Barb just chuckled good-naturedly. "If you wanted to kiss, all you had to do was ask."

Billy's head snapped up and he stared with his mouth agape. "K-kiss?!" His voice cracked into something higher pitched. "Kiss Billy? Kiss Billy?"

She just laughed. Laughed. Like Billy was funny, like it wasn't outlandish for someone to want to kiss him. Like he wasn't disgusting and ugly and-

Barb scooted closer, running her hand through his wild, curly hair to dislodge his hands. "I mean, you're probably less crazy than my ex boyfriend. He was a real psycho. Wanted me to run away with him to Europe. Like, dude, I have a life here. School 'n shit." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Almost did it. My mom's a real piece'a work. Might've done it if she didn't beg me to stay."

Billy's eyes were still wide as he listened. A white-hot flare of protectiveness shot through him but was quickly extinguished when she shrugged.

She sighed, as though the mere memory exhausted her. "Whatever. Wanna kiss? I mean, if that's what you were thinkin' about doing. Got real close to me, man."

No. He didn't want to kiss her.

He nodded anyway.

Mother used to insist on affection from Billy. This wasn't different, surely.

The way Barb looked at him was different though. Gentler than his mother. Bile rose in his throat as she scooted closer and he tried to focus on anything else. The cold tile under his palms where he knelt on his hands and knees. Her soft, pale skin and the pink nightgown that rode up slightly when she moved closer. His teeth ground painfully, he couldn't meet her eyes, and he felt compelled to dig his teeth into the soft flesh of her exposed arms or thighs just to make her go away.

But her hands were gentle as she held his face. He didn't want to look at her face, didn't want to see his mother's face looking back.

Her lips were soft when she pressed them to his. Bile threatened to spill and he wanted to scream. She was soft, too soft, and he couldn't help the way he trembled. It was everything like and yet nothing like when his mother demanded he kiss her cheek goodnight whenever he was let out of the attic. Barb was softer, kinder, and it made his skin crawl. If Barb was harsh and forceful about it, at least he'd know to be repulsed. 

This was so different. The repulsion was there because he didn't know how else to feel about kissing. But her thumb gently brushed under his eye and she tilted his head gently so their noses wouldn't bump and he wanted to bite her so she would be cruel to him. He didn't deserve this sweet kindness from a girl he'd only ever known through the floorboards of her attic.

When they parted, he was gasping for air and she just giggled. "What, never kissed a girl before?" Her tone was light, teasing, and she was still holding his face like he was fragile.

No, he hadn't. He'd never enjoyed it, at least. The thought he even enjoyed kissing her made him feel sick to his stomach though. Billy opened his mouth, ready to scream at her, scream at himself, anything but then-

"Hey." Jess's voice broke their little bubble and Billy nearly cheered from relief. He couldn't bear thinking about kissing her again like he so desperately wanted to yet was equal parts disgusted by.

"Hey yourself," Barb chuckled, letting go of Billy and standing up to brush herself off while pointedly ignoring the look Jess was giving her.

Jess just sighed and shook her head, looking down at a trembling Billy. "Phyll says you can stay the night, if you want."

Peter, like usual, was hot on her heels to disagree. "No, absolutely not! I don't care what you girls say, I'm not letting him be alone with you."

Barb's eyes could've pupped out of her head with how hard she rolled them. "Petey, as cute as your white knighting is, we're perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves."

"I'm calling the police." He said with such an arrogant finality that Barb felt the urge to smack him upside the head.

Billy lunged for him and only stopped when Jess got between them. "No, Peter, you're not," she said, pushing Billy back slightly. "We're fine."

Barb reached over to ruffle Billy's hair and smirked when he squealed. "We got a big, strong man to protect us from the bad guys, Petey. We're all set."

Peter looked angry and Billy snorted to himself at the sight. He hated him so much. Rude, dismissive of the girls, forced his will on Jess all the time…

"Sounds like we're having a sleepover," Phyll's tired voice came from behind them all. She stood in the living room with her arms crossed over her chest in attempts to warm up. The fire had begun to turn to flickering embers and it was beginning to become too chilly for the girls in just pjs. 

"I'll make popcorn!" Jess smiled, turning on the kitchen light.

Billy hissed at the brightness. "Popcorn," he popped loudly. "Pop pop popcorn." He mimicked her tone and smooth accent, snickering. "I'll make popcorn."

Barb snorted. "Yeah, crazy. You got it." She yawned loudly and let out a long sigh. "'m gonna go grab pillows 'n blankets from our rooms. And my cigarettes. Be right back."

"Alright," Phyll said as Barb walked past her and back up the stairs. Her eyes never left Billy though, staring him down like a hawk when he turned to hover beside Jess in the kitchen.

Something was off about their impromptu guest and she wanted to find out what.

Peter, despite everyone insisting otherwise, had decided to stay. Despite his wishes, Billy happily sat at Jess's feet as she took her spot on the couch with the girls. The fire was now roaring and some romance movie Phyll picked was playing. She and Jess were enraptured by it while Barb just smoked, quietly bored. Sometimes Jess would play with a curl of his hair absentmindedly, not missing the way he tensed. Jess knew he was obviously not used to being touched but she did it anyways, hoping to help him get used to it again.

Peter sulked in the armchair and glared harshly at Billy all night as though hoping the other would just combust. 

"Alright," Barb eventually said, sliding off the couch to join Billy on the floor. "We usually do each other's nails during sleepovers, so!" She set a little tray full of nail polishes in front of him with an expectant smile. "World's your oyster bud. Pick whatever you want."

A scoff coming from the armchair made Barb roll her eyes again. Billy snorted at the way her face immediately contorted from kindness to annoyance in the blink of an eye. She was really animated when she wanted to be and Billy couldn't help mimicking her face at Peter. "Guys don't paint their nails. Pretty sure that's for fa-"

Phyll threw popcorn at him with a sharp hiss. "Watch it. We're throwing you out if you finish that sentence."

Billy turned his attention to the little tray while Peter and Phyll argued. He'd never been given a choice before and it overwhelmed him. Was there a right answer? Did Barb want him to pick her favorite color?

She must've noticed his hesitation and took pity on him. "You like candy canes, right? Want me to do alternating red and white?"

"Yes." Billy said softly, poking gently at the red polish. Yes, he liked that idea.

Barb smiled at him and took out her nail clippers to get to work. Surprisingly, Billy had rather long nails for a guy, which intrigued her. They were chipped in places and cracking in others but she was able to clip and file them down to an almost almond shape. "You've got such nice skin," she sighed wistfully. "I'm kinda jealous. I get pimples, like, all the time."

Billy didn't know what to say to that so he didn't say anything. Jess's hand was back in his hair and everything felt a little overstimulating but he grit his teeth. Barb wanted to paint his nails and he was determined to tough it out. He didn't want her to be mad at him.

When she was done, though, Billy couldn't help but admire her work. They were pretty. It almost reminded him of the dark colors his mother would sloppily paint her toes with in the living room while on the phone with her friends.

Almost.

Suddenly, a sharp shuddering feeling wracked his body as Jess began to scratch his scalp in slow, methodical circles. He let out a yelp of surprise and clung to her legs like he would drift away if he let go. Billy trembled, biting his lip to keep himself from making a sound. Barb noticed though and gave him a knowing smile. "Hey Jessie, I think he likes that."

"What?" Jess blinked. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was-"

Billy whined, digging his nails into her bare legs and burying his face into the couch cushions beside them. It felt nice. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms and made him shiver.

So she resumed, scratching in slow circles with her nails, uncaring of the way his hair felt a little dirty. Billy whimpered and would occasionally bite on his knuckles - Barb had smacked his hand when he tried to chew his nails - and Jess was struck by how intimate this felt.

It didn't normally. But things with Billy were slightly different, more charged, likely because he was so overwhelmed by gentle touching and genuine care. She'd seen Barb kiss him in the kitchen, she knew there was something about him that pulled people in. It was interesting, in her opinion. She'd met many mentally ill people in her studies so it wasn't the strangest thing she'd come across.

Something stuck with her though: the name Agnes. Billy had mumbled it during his meltdown and it felt personal. It gave her something to work with though. She needed to know more, needed to unravel this man's mysteries. Both as a future psychiatrist and out of genuine concern.

He was strange. She needed to know more.

Jess woke up first. Light peered its way through the windows and shined bright in her eyes. She took in the room, noting Barb and Phyll cuddled up on one end of the couch with Peter slumped over in his chair. She became immediately aware of the soft snoring beside her though.

At some point in the night, Billy had climbed up on the couch and tucked himself against her. The two of them were pressed together, his head resting on her shoulder while her head lay atop his. His knees were bent up to his chest with his arms curled against his chest, like he'd tucked himself into a ball. It made her heart clench a little seeing how little space he tried to take up.

In the light, it was easier to study him. Dirt and dust covered his clothes and hair, now highlighted obviously in the morning sun. Long, thin scars littered his hands in places and it was obvious he chewed on his fingers a lot. He was freakishly pale with dark circles under his eyes as proof he didn't sleep very often. A few stray scars on his face or near his mouth likely meant he'd been hit a few times. The idea sickened her.

Gently, Jess reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. When she pulled her hand back, he was staring at her, his breathing never changing. "Hi." She kept her voice soft to try and avoid waking the others or disturbing the sleepy atmosphere between them. "Do you want to take a shower?"

He looked at her with slow blinks, reminding her of how Claud would stare at her.

She took his hands and pulled him up, leading the way up the stairs towards the communal bathroom. "Here, wait in there, I'll grab you some things." She said quietly before retreating to her bedroom to grab her toiletries and some of Peter's clothes he'd left the few times he'd stayed over. He was skinnier than her boyfriend was but they'd fit him better than any of her clothes.

Billy was easily coerced into taking a shower, giving her time to do some quick research.

Jess made herself comfortable at her desk in her bedroom, cracking her knuckles as she got to typing. Without a last name to go off of, she'd have to get creative. So, she tried a few key words: "Billy and Agnes." "Billy phone calls." "Mimicking phone caller." But nothing had come up yet.

A thought came to her. While it had been rude, Peter had made a comment about an asylum. It was a stretch and not an idea she particularly liked, she googled nearby asylums within reasonable driving distance, added Billy's name, and began to scan through search results.

On the fifth failed attempt, Jess hung her head. "Okay," she sighed, "One last try."

Harmony Heights Hospital... Billy...

Instantly, various articles popped up about a man named Billy Lenz. She straightened up and began scanning through the first few links…

CHRISTMAS KILLER SET FREE...

LENZ BOY LET OUT ON GOOD BEHAVIOR...

THE TRAGIC STORY OF AGNES LENZ...

What on earth was this…

\\\

LENZ FAMILY MURDERED by Axel Waters, Investigative Journalist

Many times over the course of a person's life, we face challenges that seem impossible. Our experiences change us and shape us into the people who we are. These challenges help us grow as people, be it for better or worse. For one Bill Lenz aka The Christmas Killer, things have certainly changed for the worse.

On Christmas morning, Lenz was found by police in his home, covered in blood and holding his baby sister Agnes Lenz. Upon his arrest, Lenz was pleading with the police to not take his sister and had fought so viciously that he had to be restrained in order to be taken to the car. The state of the home, dear readers, was horrific.

Both Lenz's mother and stepfather had been stabbed through the neck with sharpened candy canes. The man - Roger Dirkson - was face down on the stove with various knives lodged into his back, a passionate kill that chilled me to the bone. His mother - Constance Lenz - was far worse; her eye punctured with a sharpened candy cane with her head caved in by a frying pan that lay discarded nearby. Lenz had been vicious and brutal and had the nerve to huddle up with his freshly traumatized five-year-old sister.

Lenz is said to be institutionalized in the nearby Harmony Heights Hospital whilst Agnes is placed into foster care for the time being. While the date for Lenz's trial is not yet in place, I hope that the seventeen-year-old will be tried as an adult for these grisly murders.

\\\

Jess sat back in her chair, letting the words roll over her like smashing waves. Her body thrummed with terror and anxiety as she tried to process what she'd read. He was a killer? He'd killed his family?!

She checked the date of the article, swallowing when she noticed it was from nearly four years ago. Quickly, she began to search for anything more recent, praying for an explanation as to why he'd done it.

An article from a year ago caught her attention.

\\\

A DARK CHRISTMAS INDEED by Marilyn Lowell, Journalist

On a dark, terrible Christmas morning exactly three years ago, a young Billy Lenz was arrested for the brutal, unnecessary murder of his mother and stepfather. 

Or so we thought.

After a difficult trial two years ago, Lenz was found guilty by reason of insanity and was not imprisoned for his crimes.

How could this be?

Evidence later found by police showed overwhelming evidence that Lenz had been gruesomely neglected. Investigators say he was locked away in the attic for days at a time and, based on medical reports from Lenz's physical, it's likely that he was fed very little. He was, undoubtedly, insane. He was unable to form complete sentences and lashed out at anyone who tried to get close.

While it had been impossible to pull any kind of real information out of the traumatized young man, Sheriff Rowan Pierce had this to say about the situation: "He was screaming like nobody's business," Pierce said of Lenz. "All he kept asking was where was [Agnes], where's my sister, all that..."

Agnes Lenz, tragically, bore witness to the murders at only five years old. She was separated from Lenz and became a ward of the state during investigations. She has reportedly since been placed in foster care, far away from her home, her brother, and the horrors that unfolded. Police have refused to give any and all reporters her whereabouts.

Officer Jacob Fowling had this to say: "She's just a little kid. She doesn't need to be reminded of this every day. Anyone who goes looking for an interview with her is just heartless." 

Bill Lenz, now twenty, is said to be released from Harmony Heights this upcoming week. Here's a statement about Lenz, from Dr. Steven Fell: "Bill Lenz has been through a lot. People often overlook the results of a deep abuse like that and aren't understanding of what extreme measures a man can take to save himself. When he came to me, he was practically emaciated and you couldn't even get within five feet of him without him freezing up. It was horrible."

While initially the Lenz children were scorned when the crime was first made public, opinion has since swayed after the evidence of neglect became apparent. As far as I know, the children are both recovering and have reportedly not seen each other since the incident. I can only hope that they will heal.

I send my condolences to the two children and wish all my readers a happy holiday.

\\\

Jess let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She continued to skim through articles, jotting down whatever information she could on a small pad of paper beside her. Different articles revealed more and more horrific details. Some reports, however, were just trashy, claiming that Billy had eaten his parents' cooked flesh or that Agnes was both his sister and daughter. Clearly just written in hopes of capitalizing on a horrific tragedy.

But she was able to get a clear picture of what happened: Billy killed his family, had been locked away in the attic for most of his life, was physically abused, and cared deeply for his sister despite the favoritism. 

Reading through it, Jess found it harder and harder to be angry about him killing them. It was practically self-defense.

Agnes was difficult for reporters to find. The only article she could find was one about the trial where she'd been called to the stand and unable to recall anything of the incident, clearly having already suppressed the trauma. It made Jess's heart ache for the little girl.

But Jess was no reporter. She was a studying psychologist and she knew there were answers that only the young girl would have. If she could find her, she might be able to help Billy somehow.

Opening a new tab, Jess hovered over the keys. But, instead of Agnes' name, she typed in another: Dr. Steven Fell.

Call it a hunch, but she had a feeling he may know where Agnes went.

 Hot water ran down Billy's neck and shoulders as he hung his head in front of the shower head, staring down at his feet to watch the way dirty water began to run clear. He lifted his hand to chew anxiously on his knuckles and whimpered, mind racing.

After Jess had left, he'd turned the shower on but hadn't gotten in. Guilt gnawed at him, ate away at his stomach until he nearly threw up. Mother. Upstairs. The girl he'd hurt and broke and left to die in the cold attic. As soon as the others learnt what he'd done, he'd be in trouble - thrown out onto the streets or, worse, thrown back into his cell.

Bad Billy, his mother scolded him in his mind, naughty, stupid Billy!

So he'd crept towards the stairs, using the running shower to muffle his steps. Jess was nowhere to be seen and he couldn't hear any of the other girls moving about so he tried to be quick. Before he was caught and thrown away.

He opened the little door to the attic and hoisted himself up, tucking his legs in and shuffling towards the girl still tied to the rocking chair. She was still and cold and he briefly worried she had died in the night. But no, her breath came out in hot clouds.

Scratching at his wrists and arms, he studied her closely while untying her. Not broken then. Cracked, maybe, but not broken.

Billy lifted her up into his arms and carried her down the ladder carefully, making his way back to the room he'd found her in.

He took in the decor, giggling at the photos of naked women performing witchcraft on her walls. Billy lay her gently down on the floor, mumbling to himself. She fell. Yes. She was hit in the head and she fell but she was okay. He set a box nearby to make it look like it had hit her. Perfect.

The door shut with a quiet click behind him and he hurried back to the bathroom. She'd wake up and no one would know. Everything would stay as it was.

Which was where he stood now. Scrubbing himself off with a washcloth in water that was slightly too hot but he was too afraid to try and fiddle with the nozzles. He was just grateful he got hot water at all. Usually, mother wouldn't let him have that, even in the winter.

When he finally stepped out, he got dried and changed quickly, not wanting to see the scars on his body any more than he had to.

But he couldn't help looking in the mirror when he was done.

His hair hung in messy, uneven lengths, water still bogging down his curls that hung just to his shoulders. It felt good to be clean though, flushed warm from the shower and pink in the cheeks. Billy studied himself in the mirror, poking and prodding at gaunt cheeks, tugging around the skin around his wide, unblinking eyes. He looked unpleasant, just like his mother always said. Too tall, too skinny, too ugly.

But he was clean. That was a nice change at least.

The old band t-shirt and sweatpants didn't suit him at all but it was better than nothing. He poked and prodded at the small holes in the shirt, smiling when he heard the fabric snap as he made them bigger. Serves Peter right.

Quietly, he tiptoed out of the bathroom and back towards Jess's room, peering in through the slight opening of her door. She was already dressed in her day clothes and seemed focused on whatever she was writing. Billy didn't want to disturb her, so he just watched her. Bore holes into the back of her head as she wrote vigorously, glancing between her paper and the screen. Minutes ticked by and he wondered what she was doing. But, before he could creep in to get a better look, she turned her computer off, put the pad of paper in her purse, and stood up to leave.

Jess jumped when she saw Billy hovering in her doorway. "Christ, you scared me!" She scolded him as she caught her breath. She pushed Billy aside as she stepped out and took a deep breath. "Smells like Barb and Phyll are making breakfast."

"Breakfast." Billy repeated, mimicking her cadance. He liked the way her voice sounded, like cold water.

She gave him a slight smile and led the way back downstairs.

Peter immediately descended upon them. "There you are!" He rushed over to Jess, taking her by the shoulders to look her over. "What happened? Did he hurt you?" 

Billy growled as Jess pushed Peter's hands off her. She hated feeling coddled and knew his concerns only stemmed from the fact she was pregnant. "Relax, Peter. I was just upstairs doing some quick research while Billy was showering."

The man looked Billy over, scrutinizing him. "What's he doing in my clothes?"

"Nothing I had would fit him," Jess sighed as she headed towards the kitchen, Billy hot on her heels like a needy puppy, sad whimpering to match.

Soft music filled the tiny kitchen as Barb worked. For as troublesome as she could be, no one made pancakes better than Barbara Coard. Phyll was sat at the little table with a mug of coffee and a tired smile. "Morning Jess," she sighed as she took a sip, "And… good morning, Billy." She said, albeit nervously.

Jess pressed a fond kiss to the top of her head before noting the music. "I didn't take you for a Human League fan." She called over to Barb with a wide grin.

"Well, this is my morning mixtape." Barb said over his shoulder, giving Billy a once-over. "Fashionable." She teased him before turning back to the bacon and sausage.

Don't, don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me

Jess reached for Phyll's hands and, despite her tired protest, pulled her to the center of the kitchen and began to dance rather clumsily together. Phyll squealed with delight as she slid around in her socks and Jess sang along to the music without a care in the world.

Don't, don't you want me?

You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me

"Careful! Crazy kids," Barb teased good-naturedly. She noticed Billy standing there awkwardly and, taking pity on him, held out her hands. "C'mere, freak." Was the only warning Billy got before she took his hands and dragged him into the fray.

It's much too late to find

You think you've changed your mind

Alarmed, Jess went to protest on his behalf but Billy let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a laugh, clinging to Barbara like they were stood on ice rather than the sturdy kitchen floor. Neither of them were dancing, just spinning each other over their heads and Barb kept trying to tickle him, digging her fingers into his sides and relishing in the manic smile on his face. Soon enough, the four of them were all dancing around the kitchen and laughing.

You'd better change it back, or we will both be sorry

It was the first time any of them had seen Billy really smile.

When the song came to an end, Barb grabbed both sides of Billy's head and tilted him down so she could press an exaggerated kiss on the top of his head. "Thanks for the dance, crazy." She teased with a violent ruffle of his damp hair, hoping to fluff it out a bit more.

Billy meowed like a cat and escaped to sit at the table with Phyll, face bright red and beaming, oblivious to the strange look Barb gave him. "Breakfast's ready!" She said instead as she plated the pancakes, bacon, eggs, and sausage for them all to take from.

Billy politely refused bacon and sausage with another quiet meow as he drowned his pancakes in syrup.

"Real men eat meat." Peter mumbled under his breath, glaring at Billy.

"Stupid bitch." Billy shot back in a scratchy, shrill voice.

The other man's head snapped up. "Excuse me?!"

Jess sighed loudly. "Be nice, boys."

Jess stood at the sink, washing the dishes from breakfast as she hummed along to the music playing on the radio. Phyll and Barb had gone up to shower and Peter was watching television in the living room. It wasn't her turn to do dishes but she didn't really want to sit with Peter and risk him talking about the baby. Besides, washing dishes was methodical and let her turn her brain off. It also gave her the chance to consider her plan of action for the day: call Dr. Steven Fell and, hopefully, go talk to Agnes.

She wasn't… totally sure what she'd do when she got there. But she'd figure that out later.

Soft footsteps approached her and stopped just behind her, observing over her shoulder. "Do you want to help?" She asked with a fond smile. "You can dry them, if you'd like."

Silence. Instead, she felt Billy press his fingertips to her back and she had to hold steady to avoid jolting. The last thing she wanted was him getting scared and running off. Instead, she just resumed humming the song. "Do you like music?"

More silence. But, after a beat, Billy began to hum along with her. Jess smiled and set aside the last dish on the rack to dry. "Do you want to dance? And I mean properly dance, not just spinning around the kitchen." She turned to look at Billy properly, ignoring the glares Peter kept shooting them from his spot in the kitchen. Of course, her boyfriend raised his hackles if Billy so much as looked at Jess but the girl was so fed up she didn't even care.

Billy's eyes shot open in surprise and he began to chew nervously at chapped, peeling lips. "Dance…" He whispered as he stared down at his feet.

Jess took his hands and led him into the center of the kitchen and gave him a reassuring smile. When he floundered for what to do, Jess put his hands at her waist and set her own atop his shoulders. Billy looked a little green but let her move him how she wanted him. "Relax," she chuckled as the two began to sway stiltedly along to Let It Snow. "I won't bite."

Oh, the weather outside is frightful

But the fire is so delightful

Slowly, Billy began to relax and lean into the gentle swaying. It was basically middle school slow dancing - not enough movement to really be dancing but Jess was too afraid to do much more. He seemed easily overstimulated and she was just honored he let her touch him so much. She slid her hands up to loop her fingers around his neck and stepped more into his space, humming to the music.

And since we've no place to go

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

"Please don't," his voice came soft, barely audible over the music.

Alarm bells rang in her head. "Don't what?"

"Kiss me." He practically pleaded, green eyes finally meeting hers.

It doesn't show signs of stopping

And I've bought some corn for popping

The lights are turned way down low

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Jess frowned. "Why would I kiss you?"

Billy swallowed with a click of his throat. His eyes darted to Peter in the living room who had yet to notice their closeness. Because I want to, Billy's mind unhelpfully provided.

She just swayed with him in time to the song, her brain trying to wrack itself why he'd think she wanted to kiss him. "Is it because Barb kissed you?" She tried, biting her own lip now.

Billy jolted but still nodded.

"Barb is just like that," Jess sighed, thoroughly annoyed with her sorority sister now. "She doesn't read the room sometimes and has a habit of kissing anyone she wants."

The two of them flinched when Peter shouted in the next room, cheering along with whatever sport he was watching. Billy growled under his breath. "Nasty pig bitch…"

Jess couldn't help her laughter. "Yes, I'm beginning to agree with you."

Billy felt light and heavy all at once. He wanted to die when he saw her smile yet couldn't imagine a world where she wasn't happy. Peter deserved to die for trying to ruin her life with a baby.

True to her word, Jess didn't kiss him. Billy couldn't help the way his hands tried to follow her when she stepped away, already missing her warmth.

Jess paced her room, listening to the dial tone of the phone ring. She'd swiped the downstairs phone to try and call Dr. Fell in the privacy of her own room. The others were downstairs watching television and she took the opportunity.

She nearly gave up until, after the fourth ring, he picked up. "Dr. Fell speaking."

"Dr. Fell! Hello, my name is Jessica Bradford. I wanted to ask you some things pertaining to a patient." She fidgeted with the cord, keeping her eye on the door in case anyone decided to barge in.

A pause. "Ms. Bradford, I'm afraid I'm unable to provide any information regarding patients to strangers."

"Oh, I don't need patient information."

"Then what?"

"I… Need to know where Agnes Lenz is."

The silence that followed was deafening. She heard his chair creaking and worried for a moment he was going to hang up. "The case was closed years ago. And trying to get an interview through me is rather shameless." His voice was menacing and certainly threatened hanging up.

But Jess was fast. "I'm a friend of Billy's!" More silence. "He's… He mentioned Agnes to me yesterday and I felt compelled to try and find her. I- I don't know when's the last time he saw her but-"

"If you really do know Mr. Lenz, tell me: which of his ears has a chip in it?"

Jess bluescreened, trying to remember how Billy looked. Who paid attention to that sort of thing? She had a fifty-fifty chance… but she decided to take a gamble: "Neither."

Silence. Then a sigh. "Why do you care so much, Ms. Bradford? It's been years since the two have seen each other and even longer since the case was closed."

"I'm not a reporter." Jess insisted, clenching her jaw. "I'm a university student, I live in the Pi Kappa Sig sorority, and I go to school for psychology." A pause. "I want to help Billy."

"And you think reuniting him with Agnes is a good thing?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

Silence stretched on again, longer than any of the previous times. Jess almost worried he'd hung up before he spoke again. "Okay. But if I see anything in the news about an interview with this girl, I'll call the police."

Jess pulled out her pad of paper to scribble down the address.

"I'll only be gone a few hours." Jess sighed as she put her mittens on, trying to push Peter away from her.

Phyll, Barb, and Billy watched the whole tussle from their place on the floor, their game of Candyland temporarily put on hold in case Jess needed aid. Peter was convinced Jess was going to an abortion and all but grabbed her to try and keep her inside.

"Jess, please, don't do this!" He whined, standing in front of the doorway like a petulant child.

"I'm going shopping." Jess sighed, holding up her grocery bags. "Please, Peter, stop embarrassing me." She looked over at her sorority sisters as she pulled on her hat. "You two are find to stay with Billy?"

Barb chuckled and poked at said man with her foot. "So long as he keeps kicking Phyll's ass at Candyland."

Jess rolled her eyes fondly and pushed past Peter to head to her car, ignoring his protests as he tried to follow her. Thank god her lock hadn't frozen or he may have dragged her bodily back into the house. His fake crying was ignored as she pulled out of the driveway, content to let him think she was getting an abortion. She didn't care. Who knows, maybe she'd make an appointment later.

The drive to the little foster home Agnes lived at was about an hour away, giving her plenty of time to think. According to Dr. Fell, Agnes had visited Billy a grand total of twice when he was staying at the hospital. The two hadn't really talked but she didn't seem to hate him for what happened. She'd be around ten now and had been kept secret from any and all reporters. One had tried when Agnes had been seven but, luckily, police had been called.

She didn't seem to remember the traumatic night but both Jess and Dr. Fell didn't believe that.

Now that she was in the car and thinking about it critically, she wasn't sure what she was hoping to get out of this. Even if Agnes's guardians would let them talk, who knows if Agnes would even want to. All she could do was hope she'd talk if she mentioned Billy…

Did she even remember him anymore?

When she pulled up outside the house, she let out a little sigh, watching her breath become clouds in the cold air. It was like a tiny winter wonderland decorated with little white lights that cast flickering glows against the sparkling snow. Tiny snowmen and snow angels littered the front porch and Jess smiled fondly. Kids had certainly been out playing recently and it made her heart clench a little.

It wasn't like she never wanted a kid ever. Just right now wasn't a good time. How Peter couldn't even respect that was…

Shaking that train of thought away, Jess steeled herself and marched to the front door, reminding herself with every step that she had to do this. She had to get answers, had to try and help Billy in some way. He clearly needed it and she had a feeling this would solve a lot of problems.

The elegant green wreath stared her in the face as her hand hesitated over the warm red door. "You can do this." She whispered to herself and squeezed her eyes shut as she knocked.

The sound of footsteps running around became louder and a dog could be heard barking from inside. The door swinging open surprised her and she was met with the face of a little five year old girl stood in the doorway dressed in a cute little dress and holding a doll to her chest. "Hello," Jess said gently and smiled. "Where's your mother?"

All she got was a blank, terrified stare in response, like the little girl had opened the door on impulse and didn't actually expect anyone to be on the other side. "Um. Mm…" She mumbled, clinging tighter to her doll.

"Nora! What are you doing? Mama said you can't just open the door to strangers!" A voice came from within the house and an older girl came around the corner to shoo the younger girl off, watching as she scurried away shyly. She eyed Jess warily, holding onto the door as though preparing to slam it shut if Jess gave her an unsatisfactory answer. "What do you want?"

Jess felt her eyes widen as she stared at the girl. She looked different from the police photos but there was no doubt who she was. The little girl with wild brown curls that fell just past her shoulder, dressed in a soft white blouse and a navy blue skirt, who was staring down Jess with caution in her piercing green eyes…

...was Agnes Lenz.

[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 5/18 | 6/6

MS. OVEREAGER is happy to help you out with your problems- you need to do what, again? STALL AND REMOVE GEARS? No problemo. She'll get started right away! And by "get started", I mean "dissolve into nothingness because she was a hallucination masking an abstract concept"! You're on your own, buckos.

Okay, so... Adea thinks that this ODD TAIL AVATAR DATA VALIDATOR is after the gears that Walter ransacked from this place to heal himself earlier. If he can get them out, it'll probably stop chasing him. But removing them- even though they're clearly hurting him at this point- will hurt more, like pulling a knife out of a stab wound. He's going to need to stabilize somewhat before you can risk it.

Right here, with a Defrag Point to heal with, is the best place to do it- but he "healed" about 15% STINGY OUTLIER SOUL INTEGRITY earlier, so he should expect removing the gears to do at least that much damage. He'll need to stay there healing for at least enough time to go through two hunger, probably three, to not die on the spot. So it's a question of... how much time does he have to heal before the DATA VALIDATOR arrives and it's time to operate?

Zero. Zero amount of time. It's right here.

Five NOBLE BELT TUTS remain in the DENIAL OF SERVICE gun. Is it worth it to spend them fending this thing off? By the numbers, no. It's more efficient to just buy SOFTWARE PATCHes. But Adea isn't putting up with this thing chasing after her husband one moment more.

Error: architectural entity field 0x07CF referenced without blueprint key. Update loop deferr-

BLAM.

Error 403: resource reclamation process not configured for I/O operations. Interactions with entities other than entity with field 0x07CF rejected. Error 403: resource reclamation process not configured for I/O operations. Interactions with entities other than entity with field 0x07CF rejected. Error 403: resource reclamation process not configured for I/O operations. Interac...

Four left. The undulating thing is frozen in place. Slowly- achingly slowly- the Defrag Point starts knitting Walter back together. As it does, Adea pries clockwork out of his chest, causing him to shudder violently. It's slow, and harrowing, and every gasp of pain from her scrungly little man makes her wince- but she pulls out about a third of it before the thing finishes rattling off rejection messages for the packets.

Error: architectural entity field 0x0--

BLAM.

The two of you, on top of being injured, are practically starving. Adea suggests-

Walter says we absolutely not resorting to cannibalism on purpose! That was an accident! He wasn't in his right mind! No way no way no way!

Adea says fine, and Walter lets out a cut-off scream as she rips out a driveshaft assembly that was pretending to be his lung. She's got about two-thirds of it out, now- and she's got an idea to conserve ammo.

Error: architectural entity field 0x07CF referenced without blueprint key. Update loop deferred until resource is released.

Yeah, you want this stuff, right? Go get it, Adea says- flinging a gear like a frisbee. The DATA VALIDATOR swoops through the air after it, snagging the gear on a tooth with frightening speed. But... not so frightening that she can't delay it a little more with what she's got.

She hurls the lung-driveshaft like a javelin behind the thing, and then starts chucking the rest of the clockwork every which way, scattering it over a wide area. Like a vampire confronted with grains of rice, the DATA VALIDATOR starts scrambling for the pieces of its precious architectural entity field 0x07CF, twisting itself into knots.

While it chases down cogs, sprockets, gears, and springs... Adea hurries back over to Walter, and rips the rest of the machinery from his chest cavity. This one hurts. He's a huge baby about it and screams like that one time she accidentally bought chili oil instead of lu- uh, like it hurts a lot. This would definitely kill him if he weren't being actively defragmented. She tries not to think about that.

You were kind of hoping this thing would immobilize itself from tying itself in knots, but it's able to stretch itself out and slip through gaps in its own Gordian nightmare. It's all you can do to get the rest of it out before it closes in on you again.

Daintily, it pries open a hatch on the sidewalk with one tooth- and then, piece by piece, delicately reassembles the machinery that Walter mistook for spare parts earlier.

Update loop resumes.

With an audible TWANG, and the sound of rushing air, the tension in the DATA VALIDATOR's tail is released. The knot undoes itself, and its head shoots off backwards into the distance as it's recalled to its starting point in the blink of an eye.

It's gone.

...Now what?

The FILIAL TWINS are still here, and you could always go somewhere with a phone and participate in a NAIAD RUMBLE- but there's a few other possible priorities.

There's this moronic cook who doesn't realize he's not welcome. IDIOT CHEF WON'T GO, so you've got to do something to get rid of the jerk.

You could explore the CURVE HOUSE, a weird distorted funhouse-mirror version of a normal building with all its right angles. Seems disorienting!

There's this guy named Pete sitting on the sidewalk nearby who won't stop crying. EMOTIONAL PETER should probably go to actual therapy, but maybe the two of you can help?

There's a FIENDISH ELF ARISING, and it may or may not be your duty as legendary heroes to stop it from becoming a new Demon Lord or somesuch.

Mom's trapped! OH, RELEASE MOM! From her prison that happens to be here for some reason! ...Which one of your moms is it, anyway?

Continued