#beg me one more time about how some poor sap is going to die without my hashtag rare B+ blood and I am going to lose it

[mortirolo]

istg nhs blood and transplant doesn't actually want me to donate ever again at this rate

[obsessivelycapricious]

18+ Jason Todd x fem!reader fic ramble.

Hey, so this is a idea i've had in my head for a while, but it won't leave me alone. I've kinda written the first part of it already? But idk if I'll finish it. I haven't worked out the ending yet either but a couple of lovely people were interested in hearing it so here goes! Thanks for the support! I'll tag you all separately.

Warnings: excessive torture, manipulation, gaslighting, rape, violence. kidnapping, interrogation, Stockholm syndrome, abuse. I dont specifically mention how old the characters are, but B-Man likes to pick them young so use your imagination to age them up a bit if you like. It's dark folks, and a super slow burn, though it might not be so bad written in brief here, but if those bother you it might not be a good idea to read it. (its hidden under the cut - PS it got super long - 2.5k words.)

You are Robin. Or, you were at least.

Batman picked you up out of crime alley, gave you a home and a purpose and trained you up to be one of the best deterrents to the crime in Gotham. You lived in the manor, and thought of Bruce and Alfred (even Dick) as your family. It's awesome and you love it!

Almost two years after donning the cape, something goes wrong. You get split up from Batman and taken by Jokers men. That night is the last night you see the sky for years.

Over the next three years, you are systematically abused, manipulated, gaslighted and tortured until you are a shell of your former self. Conditioned to obey his every whim, you micro dose of the small crumbs of affection Joker has to offer you. He gives you test after test, pushing you to your limit always in new and horrific ways. You don't hesitate when he asks you to shoot someone in the head or to beat someone to death. The consequences of fighting against him aren't worth it, you have learned that the hard way. He even doesn't always lock the door behind him and yet you don't try to escape.

You hate batman with a passion now, you regret ever having met the man, he has ruined your life and it's his fault that you are where you are now. He abandoned you. Used you for his games and then replaced you like you were nothing to him. It broke your heart when Joker showed you the footage of another Robin running along the rooftops. Your replacement. Heartbreak boiled over to fury and rage.

He passes you around his acquaintances, particularly Johnathan Crane who is eager to test his new strain of fear gas out. Under the gas you see the Bat sacrificing you again and again to get what he wants. If Scarecrow takes advantage of you while he has you in a vulnerable state, no one cares enough to stop him. He wants to know who the Bat is, but you know that telling him will put Alfred in danger and you'll do anything to avoid that

(Thankfully the joker doesn't want to know who the bat is, you're not sure you could defy him like that anymore.)

Then one day, a body gets thrown into the small cell you are kept in when joker doesn't want to play. Its a Robin. You panic, fear and anger confusing you while joker laughs in your face. You know it's another test but you can't figure out what the rules are.

This is where the fic starts. It's about Jason Todd's slow descent from a vibrant punk who loves being Robin to the dejected, abused shell of a boy who hates the caped crusader and will do anything Joker tells him. You know it'll happen, because that's what happened to you.

Only, Joker never does the same thing twice. Even if it works. You don't want to get attached to the boy, but birds of a feather and all that jazz.

Highlights (or lowlights) include:

Having to share a small confined cell with Jason.

Arguing about the Joker and escaping

"Don't you want to leave? Crazy bitch."

Finding out that Batman didn't even tell Jason about you:

“Why would he come for you anyway, huh? What makes you so special?” “I’m Robin. We’re partners. We’ve been through all kinds of shit together. We’re like this.” “Pah. You really believe it too, don’t you? Ya poor sap.” “What do you mean?” “Why go to the bother of finding a dumb punk like you when he can just make a new shiny Robin instead?” “He wouldn’t do that.” “He’s already done it. You ain’t the first.” “That Robin moved away, he’s doing his own thing now.” “I wasn’t talking about him. I meant the other one.” “What other one?” “The other one.” “There aren’t any other ones – I’m the only other Robin that there’s ever been.” “You motherfucker!”

Beating the shit out of Jason in a blind rage because he won't stop talking about how Batman will come for him.

“How long have you known Batsy for huh? If you know him so well.” “Nearly three years. How long have you known him huh? Oh that’s right – you don’t” “What? Three – Three years?” “That’s what I said. Look, I know this is scary, but I trust B-Man. He’ll come for me, we’ll kick all these guy’s asses, take Joker back to Arkham and get you out of here too. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.” “B-Man?” “Yeah, Batman.” “Shut up.” “What? Why?” “I don’t want to talk about him anymore so shut up!”

Jason finally figuring out who you are when Joker comes to punish you for denting his new toy.

Joker calling you pet names while manipulates you and you being terrified the Joker is going to replace you too

“Oh. Pumpkin, it’s alright. I thought we agreed we were over this, no? Batsy kicked you to the curb a long time ago. It’s old news! This shiny new toy of ours is your replacement.”. “What? You’re replacing me too?” “No, no no. I’d never dream of doing something so barbaric, Sweetheart. That’s the Bats’ M.O. You’re mine for keeps. I would never be that cruel, would I?”

Jason taking his anger out on you:

“Why do you hate B and not the Joker? He’s the one that’s doing this to you. He shipped you off to Crane and you didn’t even fight back.” “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “No, I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re screwed in the head. You’re a joke, you’ve given up. Some Robin you are. A real Robin fights back. You don’t deserve the title.”

Joker making you put your Robin suit back on to fight Jason for his amusement. Jason hesitates in the beginning but kicks your ass every time.

Jason trying to comfort you but being bad at it.

Joker asking your opinion on you what you think will break the boy:

"When he gets replaced. Show him."

Weeks of being beaten then long stretches of being left alone with Jason with no instructions.

Catching Jason staring at you when he thinks you're not paying attention.

Joker being caught and taken to Arkham so you both get knocked out and transported there too.

Joker ignores you the entire time he's there as he's being watched to closely, the separation sets you off into a panic when you think about it too much.

Most of Arkham is in on you being kept there. The prisoners who know about it are paid off by being able to play with you - and now Jason too.

Jason thinking in Arkham he would have more chance of being able to escape.

You being subjected to more of Crane's abuse and different types of gas.

Jason being brought back to your cell after being tortured by calendar man and offering him comfort for the first time.

Being cut open and tortured by Zsaz.

Huddling up in the abandoned wing of Arkham for warmth and comfort.

Remembering that you had met before, years ago in the Narrows before Batman took you to be his adopted daughter.

Jason taking care of you while you recover.

Giving Jason advice on how to cope and get through the different villains taking revenge on you.

Jason being hurt and tired and snapping at you, causing an argument where you lash out at him:

"I had to go through this all on my own, dickweed. I didn't have anyone to hold my hand and tell me I wasn't going to die. So fuck you! God forbid I try and help your sorry ass."

Jason being tortured by two-face and seeing Batman and a new Robin visiting Arkham. They don't hear him scream for them to help. It breaks his heart and his will to fight.

You knew it would happen, but seeing it first hand makes your heart break for him. You didn't want to be right. You hate Batman more for what he's done to Jason than what he's done to you.

"I was right there (y/n)! Right there and he didn't even look at me."

Talking about Alfred and how much he means to you both.

Thinking you might actually have feelings for Jason after all.

Being transported back to the compound when Joker finally breaks out of Arkham again only to be in separate cells.

Having major separation anxiety from not being able to tell if Jason is okay.

Joker being jealous of your attachment to Jason and doubling down on his control over you.

He tries to take you outside and you panic so badly you beg him to take you back because you're terrified of what being free will mean.

Joker telling you that you failed his test by getting attached to the boy. He tells you that he's going to kill Jason to teach you a lesson.

Being put back in a cell with Jason to find his face has been branded and he's just so utterly void of any hope or any life.

Sitting next to Jason in the cell with your head on his shoulder.

Jason knowing he's going to die without you having to tell him. His voice is quiet and resigned, almost with a shred of relief when he says:

"He's going to kill me soon, isn't he?" "I'm going to miss you, Jason Todd." "I'm glad I got to know you, (Y/N). I'm sorry I couldn't get us out." "It's okay."

You kissing his cheek as you drift off huddled together for the last time.

Joker forcing you to watch as he beats Jason repeatedly with a crowbar, ignoring your defiant cries and struggles for him to stop.

"Which hurts more Little Red? Hmm? Forehand? Or Backhand? I think (Y/N) would like to know!"

Joker blaming you for having to kill Jason:

"And all because of your silly school girl crush. What a waste. I'm very disappointed in you, Dolly."

Being dragged away screaming from his lifeless body and thrown into the back of a van just in time before the building explodes.

That's the first half. For the second half to the ending, I haven't quite figured out yet. I've got a few ideas, but I can't decide what would fit better, feel free to help me out here.

Batman could find her after all this time, new evidence being uncovered during the explosion and in his grief about finding Jason's body he could question that he never actually found yours. Of course then you'd be homicidal and try to kill him, resulting in you being locked in another cell, this time in the Batcave. You'd get to scream at him about all his failings and what a terrible person he is though so that could be cathartic. Alfred (And Dick a little) manages to talk you back to some kind of sanity but you are forever changed by this. You meet Red Hood at a later date: on your way to find an egg and cheese sandwich when someone pulls a gun on you. Seeing you again jars him out of his own homicidal rage long enough to care about the girl who he couldn't save, giving the BatFam an opening to reason with him some.

-Or-

Joker keeps you hidden away and the Bat still has no idea you even exist. It stays that way for two more years where you eventually become completely numb to everything he or his acquaintances do to you. Joker eventually gets bored at the lack of reaction and in his boredom he gets careless. A new vigilante takes it upon himself to blow up to compound and best all Joker's men, he escapes but the vigilante doesn't chase after him and instead he finds you. You resist his attempts to save you, knowing how angry Joker will be so instead, Red Hood punches you in the face, knocking you out. He carries out into the night and you wake up somewhere new and he tries to help unravel the fuck ton of issues you've got while dealing with his own. He'll probably enlist the BatFam to help once he's done wanting to kill them, unless you can talk him into killing the Bat together, after the Joker dies of course.

-Or-

One day, maybe a year after Jason dies, Joker decides he's bored of you and gives you one last curveball. After more than 6 years of being isolated and abused, you wake up in an alley on the streets of Gotham, alone. Abandoned again. After several panic attacks and not knowing if it was a test and that you should run back to the Joker or going to find Alfred because he's the only person in the world left that you trust, you decide to leave Gotham altogether. You make it out and somehow navigate your way to having an apartment, a job and even a quiet life in Bludhaven, away from the Bat and the Clown and the nightmares. Except that one day, while you're drinking your morning coffee in a café, Dick Grayson sits down opposite you. You're stable enough not to react immediately, and Dick seems to really care that you're alive and well. Turns out that the Bat found out about you and decided to leave you alone this whole time (which only serves to double down on your feelings of abandonment) Only the joker is out of control and they think that you could help them by giving them an insight into how the joker works. They've got a new Vigilante to deal with too so they're stretched pretty thin. You flat out refuse which is when it turns out it really wasn't a request. You are taken back to Gotham and confronted with the BatFam, helping them reluctantly when Red Hood breaks into your new apartment, demanding information. You argue, and it feels too familiar, setting off a panic attack when he ribs you about your complicated relationship with the Joker. Identities are revealed and you work together to take down the Joker.

The epilogue to this saga would be some time after any of those options.

Both you and Jason finally in a healthier place where you can actually acknowledge what has been growing between you two since you were paired together all those years ago. It's not a neat and tidy happily ever after, it's messy and full of arguments, fears and misunderstandings but it's also full of tenderness, softness and love. And the sex is really good too.

-

If you got this far, thanks for reading! Let me know what you think? Come chat to me anytime!

[blue-heronstairs10]

R&R quotes I tabbed

*RUIN AND RISING SPOILERS*

key:

{…} = thoughts in book

(…) = my commentary

*…* = action

emojis = expressions

[…] = my subtitles

italics = it’s italisized in the books

-…- = not actually said in book

——————————————————————————————————

Apparat: he should not address you so.

Alina: why not?

Apparat: it was the Darkling’s title and is unfitting for a Saint.

Alina: then what should he call me?

Apparat: he should not address you directly at all.

Alina: next time he has something to say, I’ll have him write me a letter.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: are you ever going to name that thing?

Harshaw: she has a name.

Zoya: Oncat is not a name. it’s just Kaelish for cat.

Harshaw: suits her doesn’t it?

——————————————————————————————————

{David and Genya kept falling behind, but he seemed to be the one responsible for the lag. finally, Toyla hefted the huge pack from David’s narrow shoulders.}

Toyla: what do you have in this thing?

David: three pairs of socks, one pair of trousers, an extra shirt. one canteen. a tin cup and plate. a cylindrical slide rule, a chondrometer, a jar or spruce sap, my collection of anticorrosives,-

Toyla: you were only supposed to pack what you need.

David: *nods emphatically* exactly.

Alina: please tell me you didn’t bring all of Morozova’s journals.

David: of course I did.

Alina: maybe they’ll make good kindling.

David: is she kidding? *concerned look* I can never tell if she’s kidding.

Alina: {I was. mostly.}

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: David is oblivious. he’s been babbling about mineral compounds for the last hour.

Zoya: maybe he and Toyla will just put each other to sleep.

——————————————————————————————————

Harshaw: *cuts the sides of his scalp so there’s only hair in a single stripe down the center of his head*

Zoya: *shrieking* what did you do? you look like a deranged rooster!

Harshaw: Oncat insisted.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: everyone okay?

Genya: never better.

David: *raises his hand* I’ve been better.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: I am becoming a blade.

————————���—————————————————————————

Ekaterina: I saw the prince when I was in Os Alta. he’s not bad looking.

Nikolai: *in the trees* not bad looking? he’s damnably handsome.

Nikolai: *still in the trees* brave in battle, smart as a whip. an excellent dancer. oh, and an even better shot.

Nikolai: *shoots Luchenko between the eyes*

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: first vomit, then tears. don’t tell me I’ve lost my touch.

Alina: I’m just happy you’re alive. though I’m sure you can talk me out of it.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: thank goodness we had the foresight to be captured.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: Saints, Alina. I hope you weren’t looking at me to be the voice of reason. I keep a strict diet of ill-advised enthusiasm and heartfelt regret.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: we’re heading into Fjerda.

Alina: oh good. enemy territory. and here I was starting to relax.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: it’s good to see you, Oretsev.

Mal: you too. thanks for the rescue.

Nikolai: everyone needs a hobby.

Mal: I thought yours was preening.

Nikolai: two hobbies.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: Baghra, how are you this evening?

Baghra: still old and blind.

Nikolai: and charming. never forget charming.

Baghra: whelp.

Nikolai: hag.

Baghra: what do you want, pest?

Nikolai: I’ve brought someone to visit.

Alina: hello, Baghra.

Baghra: the little Saint. returned to save us all.

Nikolai: well she did almost die trying to rid us of your cursed spawn. 

Baghra: couldn’t even manage martyrdom right, could you? come in and shut the door, girl. you’re letting the heat out.

Baghra: *turns to Nikolai* and you. go somewhere you’re wanted.

Nikolai: that’s hardly limiting. Alina, I’ll be back to fetch you for dinner, but should you grow restless, do feel free to run screaming from the room or take a dagger to her. whatever seems most fitting at the time. 

Baghra: are you still here?

Nikolai: I go but hope to remain in your heart.

Baghra: wretched boy. 

Alina: you like him. *disbelief*

Baghra: greedy. arrogant. takes too many risks.

Alina: you almost sound concerned.

Baghra: you like him too, little Saint. 

Alina: I do. he’s been kind to me when he might have been cruel. it’s refreshing. 

Baghra: he laughs too much.

Alina: there are worse traits. 

Baghra: like arguing with your elders? *turns to Misha* boy, go fetch me something sweet.

(I’m sorry it’s so long it’s just,,, they’re so iconic and cute)

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: how does Nikolai know you’re the Darkling’s mother?

Baghra: he asked. he’s more observant than the rest of you fools.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: I don’t reserve my friendship for perfect people. and, thank the Saints, neither does Alina.

(did mans just insult himself ?? 💀)

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: *talking about how David didn’t look at her before*

David: I know metal.

Genya: what does that have to do with anything?

David: I...I don’t understand half of what goes on around me. I don’t get jokes or sunsets or poetry, but I know metal. beauty was your armor. fragile stuff, all show. but what’s inside you? that’s steel. it’s brave and unbreakable. and it doesn’t need fixing. *kisses Genya*

Genya: 👁👄👁

Genya: *kisses David back empathcially*

David: *kiss ends* *😳😊*

Genya: *☺️😄*

(they’re the sweetest S&B couple don’t @ me)

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: you can introduce him to Ana Kuya.

Alina: I already unleashed Baghra on Nikolai. he’s going to think I stockpile vicious old women.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: but I guess I’m the same selfish ass I’ve always been. for all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want to do is put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man’s name. so tell me to go, Alina. because I can’t give you a title or an army or any of the things you need.

Alina: goodnight, Mal.

(😳✋🏼)

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: *hits the side of a mountain with the Cut*

Everyone besides Baghra: *claps and whoops*

Baghra: hmph. they’d clap for a dancing monkey.

Nikolai: all depends on the monkey. and the dance.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: does Morozova strike anyone as a little…eccentric?

Alina: if my eccentric you mean insane, then yes. I’m hoping he can be crazy and right.

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Nikolai is growing on me. he’s nothing like his father. and the man can dress.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: if you’re going to jump, at least give me time to compose a ballad in your honor. something with lots of sad fiddle and a verse devoted to your love of herring.

Alina: if I wait, I may have to hear you sing it.

Nikolai: I happen to have a more than passable baritone. and what’s the rush? is it my cologne?

Alina: you don’t wear cologne.

Nikolai: I have such a naturally delightful scent that it seems like overkill. but if you have a penchant for it, I’ll start. 

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: toss him over. break his heart cruelly. I will gladly give our poor prince comfort, and I would make a magnificent queen.

Alina: you actually might, Zoya. if you could stop being horrible for a minute. 

Zoya: with that kind of incentive, I can manage a minute. possibly two.

——————————————————————————————————

{they wanted a Grisha Queen. Mal wanted a commoner Queen. and what did I want? peace for Ravka. a chance to sleep easy in my bed without fear. an end to the guilt and dread that I woke to every morning. there were old wants too, to be loved for who I was, not what I could do, to lie in a meadow with a boy’s arms around me and watch the wind move the clouds. but those dreams belonged to a girl, not to the Sun Summoner, not to a Saint.}

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: the day I curtsy to you is the day David performs an opera naked in the middle of the Shadow Fold.

——————————————————————————————————

Baghra: I am Morozova’s Daughter, and the Darkling is the last of Morozova’s line.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: or a Ravkan heiress or a Grisha like Zoya.

Nikolai: Zoya? I make it a policy never to seduce anyone prettier than I am.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: I love it when you quote me.

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: you’re the prettiest walrus I know.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: turned out I needed a good cry.

Zoya: next time, invite me. I could use one too.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: do you know what Baghra told me at my first lesson with her? pretty face. too bad you have porridge for brains.

Harshaw: I sent fire to her hut in class.

Zoya: of course you did.

Harshaw: accidentally! she refused to ever teach me again. wouldn’t even speak to me. I saw her on the grounds once, and she walked right by. didn’t say a word, just whacked me on the knee with her stick. I still have a lump.

Nadia: that’s nothing. I had some kind of block where I couldn’t summon for a while. she put me in a room and released a hive of bees in it.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: same way Ana Kuhn got me to stop begging her to keep a lantern lit at night. 

Alina: really?

Mal: yes. told me I had to be brave for you, that if I was scared, you’d be scared.

Alina: well she told me I had to eat my parsnips to set a good example for you, but I still refused to do it. 

Mal: and you wonder why you were always getting the switch.

Alina: I have principles. 

Mal: that means, ‘if I can be difficult, I will.’

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: if you’re not up here before I count it ten, I’m going back to sleep and you can carry me to Dva Stolba.

Alina: Mal, if I murder her in the Sikurzoi, will you hold me accountable?

Mal: yes. 

Mal: that means, ‘‘let’s make it look like an accident.’

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: *being mad and realistic then apologizing*

Zoya: maybe you’re hungry. I always get mean when I’m hungry. 

Harshaw: are you hungry all the time?

Zoya: you haven’t seen me mean. when you do, you’ll require a very big hanky.

Harshaw: to dry my tears.

Zoya: to stanch the bleeding. 

——————————————————————————————————

Toyla: he watches her the way Harshaw watches fire. like he’ll never have enough of her. like he’s trying to capture what he can before she’s gone.

Zoya and Alina: 👁👄👁💓

Zoya: you know, if you turned a bit of that poetry on me, I might consider giving you a chance.

Toyla: who says I want one?

Harshaw: I want one!

Zoya: Oncat has a better chance than you.

Harshaw: *holds up Oncat* why, Oncat, you rogue.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: you really didn’t think they were ghosts, did you?

everyone: 😬

Zoya: I am surrounded by fools.

——————————————————————————————————

Harshaw: Oncat objects to the landscaping.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: Mal is the third amplifier.

——————————————————————————————————

[TW: hanging]

{the oak I’d once climbed on a dare still stood, untouched by the fire that had taken Keramzin. now it’s branches were full of bodies. the three Grisha instructors hung from the same thick limb, their kefta fluttering slightly in the wind- purple, red and blue. beside them, Botkin’s face was nearly black above the rope that had dug into his neck. he was covered in wounds. he’d died fighting before they’d strung him up. next to him, Ana Kuya swayed in her black dress, her heavy rings at her waist, the toes of her button boots nearly scraping the ground.} 

Darkling: she was, I think, the closest thing you had to a mother.

——————————————————————————————————

(unfinished)

[alias-b]

Super Freak

Billy Hargrove X OC!Camille Harper Smutty Drabble 🍒

Another deleted scene from my fic: Without The Lights. A shameless, hilarious & dirty request: “ Bruh I wanna know what Tommy H’s letter said😂😂“

About that one time local Hawkins dumbass,Tommy H, took a break with Carol and he drunkenly wrote Queen Bee, Camille Harper, a nasty love letter. Billy’s been waiting ages to read it and make fun, but things take a turn for the heated when he dives in. SMUT.

Thanks anon!! ❤️  Deleted Scene, no major fic spoilers. Just smut and dummies in love. READ THE FULL FIC HERE(X) 

   “Patience is a virtue, Hargrove.” Camille dangled the letter out of reach. Voice mocking his own sing song tone. She relished this. “One Tommy didn’t have clearly. I don’t think you’re ready for it.”

    “Hurry, just give it here. I’ve been ready.” Billy spoke in a huff, seated against the side of her bed. Camille savored this, swinging her legs. Playful. Inches from his head while she lie on her stomach along the mattress, propped up on her elbows. Folded note in hand. “I’ve waited weeks. This is early memory shit for us.”

    “Just behold it because your entire life is going to change. Big city Cali boy isn’t prepared for this prime time shit.” She winked and he snatched the letter. “Hey!” Camille reached over his shoulders. Smelled the products in his blond curls. “I wasn’t done teasing you.”

    “Never are. You taunted Tommy H about a drunken, dirty letter he wrote you at our first party together. This is relationship building shit we’re doing. Boyfriend gets access to filthy drone letters. Got it? I’ve only dreamed of what that dense as shit idiot wrote you. I’m reading it now.”

  “It’ll shock you. Tommy H was no poet but the boy had an imagination.”

  “We all do. Christ,” Billy just laughed, unfolding the paper. “I’m sure it was some silly Hustler bullshit. I just want to make fun of the sorry prick to myself. Let me have this. Got it? I’m reading this shit. I deserve to. Poor Carol probably never got off with the guy and he writes her damn friend a nasty letter when they took a break? Here it goes.”

  “Easy does it, you’re a wee lamb compared to this shit.”

  “Very funny.” Billy just rolled his eyes. Tommy H was a campy asshole who just talked big game. How bad could it be?

  Famous last words.

  “Dear Camille...” She’d jokingly recited. Billy finished the sentiment, diving in.

  “Listen, I’ll cut to the chase, you’re the hottest girl at Hawkins High.”

  “Yikes, I already feel bad again.” Camille winced. “Ugh. Asshole. And I was friends with the guy too. For years.”

  “Hey, I’m reading here.” Billy turned his head, the letter smoothed with both hands against his knee. Tommy’s messy, slanted penmanship filled the page with blue ink.

  “Geez, continue. I know this is the absolute highlight of your day.” Camille ruffled his hair in jest and earned a soft push.

  “I’m drunk. I’m so...drink…sorry, you’re too hot and I am...a drunk fuck. Just notice me. Could you ever look at me? Perfect Camille Harper with your soft skin and flowing hair. Princess shit. Floating down the hallways. Guys only dream of spinning you for seven minutes in heaven and we hang out but you don’t give my sorry ass the time. Shit, Cam. I’m drink as shit. Drink? Fuck, this guy kills me. Pathetic asshole.” Billy was still amused. Camille crossed her arms.

  “Told you, there were mistakes all over it.”

  “I still remember that pale purple-”

  “Lilac.” Camille rolled her eyes.

  “Guys don’t understand colors, Harpy, he gets a pass on that one.” Billy shrugged, reading on. “That pale purple shirt you wore last month. That lacy bra drove us all insane. So sheer that I could see your perfect nipples through the fabric. Man, did I want to kiss them all fucking day. I failed my math midterm over those babies. Worth it.” Billy snorted and peered up, his girlfriend shrugged.

  “I still have that shirt, you know? Legendary piece.” She had remarked, fiddling with a lock of brown hair. “And I’m sure my lovely chest was the only reason he failed.”

  “I mean, not to be a sap...but, your tits are dynamite.”

  “Aww. Babe, you’re such a romantic. When did I get so lucky?” She twisted his head away, entertained. “Go on. Might as well finish it. You’re getting to the good shit now.”

  “I’d open that silky shirt and lick all down your chest. Suck your little cherries until you couldn’t take it anymore. You’d beg, baby. I think about your fingers in my hair.” Billy shifted a little. Legs pressing together idly. The visual was kinda hot. Admittedly. Sue him for it. “Tear the...”

  “Oh, he spelled ‘buttons’ wrong.” Camille craned over his shoulder to see and Billy smelt the lotion and perfume on her skin. Enticing as always. A thin, red summer dress rode up her legs. He watched her bite into her bottom lip, enjoying this. Distracted him. “Well, go on.” The boy had to snap back, eyes on the page. Intent.

  “Tear the buttons off with my teeth. I think about how you’d moan, baby. Give me a chance and I’ll rock your entire world apart. Like that song about the hurricane.” They both broke to laugh. This was ridiculous. Right? Tommy H was just a horny asshole. Period. But, the boy could dream. “I’d keep sucking your nipples to perfect rosebuds and taste those big, slick lips. I get a semi when you apply that gloss in your locker mirror. Always thought you tasted like raspberries and cream... Well, he’s right there.”

  “Shut up.” Camille snatched the letter, blushing and entertained when Billy crawled over her to take it.

   “I wasn’t done with that, let Tommy speak. You know how hard it’ll be to not give him shit for this one?” He wedged his body against her own to keep her in place. A gasp filtered out.

   “You will never bring this up. I taunt, but this is deep shit here. Never to see the light of day.” Fingers plucked the note back so he craned his neck to the side and kept reading.

  “And yet, you kept it.” Billy licked his lips, head cocking.

   “Yeah, to laugh at him.”

   “Are you laughing now? ...Camille Harper, I’ve wanted you since sixth grade. I’ve wanted you since I knew what a dick could do. I won’t even fucking lie about that. Drop the asshole from the other school you’re seeing now and let me take you to the stars.”

  “Oh, god, this letter got worse with age. I can’t hear anymore.”

  Billy was heated and relentless at the present time.

  “I’d drive you up to Lover’s Lake. We could take a swim and get into the back of my car. I can show you a good time, just let me, babe.” Billy puffed, a crooked smile crossing his expression. Camille’s legs had shifted so he was pressed between them. Silence followed when his hips gave the smallest rut into her own. Oh. “I’d play with those perfect tits. Think about your big lips sucking me off in the back seat. Hair tight in my fist. God, I want you.”

   “Billy...” She gasped a little, suppressed a moan. His husky voice made it slightly less embarrassing. Slightly more hot.

   “...I’d make you feel so good. Get you nice and wet. Push your skirts up and slip my cock inside. You’d fit me like a fucking glove. Cry for more and I’d deliver.”

  “Ha. Funny, right?” Camille was breathless. Billy’s erection pressed into his jeans. Into her thigh. “Just...ridiculous. What an idiot.”

  “Ye...Yeah. Fuck this guy....yeah.” He swallowed a lump in his throat and scrambled off her. No fucking way was this shit working them up. Billy got onto the floor again. Legs still pressed. Tried to think of boring shit to cool himself off. No avail.

  “So stupid,” Camille crossed her arms. Humming idly. Eyes on the wall. Oh, no. Fuck this. “Let’s forget this-”

  “Hey, I’m almost to the end. Might as well.”

   “I mean, I guess. Whatever.” She blew air out her lips. Played coy. “If you insist.”

   “It’s whatever. I don’t care.”

   “I don’t either.” Camille scoffed at that. Billy only gave a snort.

   “The grammar, it’s killing me. I thought I had issues in school and...and ...I think about those tits bouncing when I’m trying to sleep at night. Always cum the hardest then. Bet you that my name sounds fucking amazing falling from your lips.”

   “Fat ass chance for that.” She scratched at her thigh. Left her palm there.

   "No shit. ...I’d...I’d make you scream it. Lick your entire body down until you let me eat that sweet pussy. Put my tongue inside you. Spit against your ass until… okay fuck, Camille. I’m going to say it. I’m fucking sick and I’m turned on… Are you turned on? Is this real?” Felt like he was going insane.

  “Psssh...no way!” Camille had one hand under her dress. Snatching it away. “Tommy H does...he doesn’t turn me on. Not in the slightest... Dumbass.”

  “He wrote some nasty shit here.” Billy squirmed. Eyes scanning. “Spelling mistakes aren’t turning me off though. Fuck.”

  “You’re...such a guy. It’s a good laugh, right?”

   Billy kept reading.

  “I’d even let you ride my face, baby. Queen needs her throne.” Billy went on, chuckling and fucking rock hard. He unzipped idly and slipped a hand into his jeans when Camille splayed back to see the ceiling.

   “The thought of your hot thighs wrapped around my head is a place I can die happy in. Just think about it, Camille, I’d...treat you like a fucking goddess. You got to open your eyes and notice me. I’d fuck you so hard. Make you beg for me. Maybe just once, you’d let me watch you play with yourself. Work those sexy fingers over your clit and nipples. I’d lick you up afterwards.” Camille’s hand was in her panties again, slipping against her soaked folds. Everything throbbed. Oh, this was wrong. Billy moaned, dropping the letter to work his own shaft.

  “Oh, fuck it. Come here already!” They both reeled, horny beyond belief. Camille was already digging for a condom to put on him. Dress hitching up. He didn’t even get his jeans off before she mounted him. Panties aside. Lungs gasping. Sinking down.

  “Shit, you feel so good.” Billy worked her hips into his, tugging her straps down to kiss her nipples. Hard buds between his teeth. “Fucker had a point. I hate him.”

  “Shut up, Billy,” Camille cried out, one arm around his shoulders. Free hand grasping his wrist while he palmed her bottom. She bounced, needy against him. Kissing his neck and mouth. Tongue sweeping flesh.

  “Fucking shit, I’m not lasting.” Billy thrust up, bucking like an animal into her clenched walls. He closed his eyes. Savored her. Head tipped back. Thought of her mouth. Thought of how she tasted and moaned when he touched her just right. “What...What did the rest of that letter say?”

  Photographic memory came in handy.

  “Camille, I want to fuck you so bad. Let me. Let me touch you.” She panted. Riding him hard and fast. Sunlight caught her face when it streamed between curtains. Illuminated. Billy was lost. “I’d make you come again and again. Treat you right. Just give me a chance. Oh, fuck! And I’ll prove it to you. All the cards are dealt, the next move is all yours. Wear that silky shirt for me again and I’ll know you want me too. I’ll be the one peeling it off later. -Tommy. Your willing drone, queen bee. Oh, fuck, shit, Tommy! Oh god, Tommy!” Truthfully, it didn’t sound half bad coming out. Whoops.

  “Don’t moan his fucking name while I’m inside you. What the shit, Camille?” Billy’s teeth crushed. He still didn’t let up. Grabbing a fistful of dark hair.

  “You asked! I couldn’t...help it.” She whined, mouth in his neck. “Billy! Just fuck me.”

  “Better... I’m there.” He groaned, unable to stop it. Mouth agape. Rare occasion when he came rutting early like the fucking teenage boy he was.

   Tommy H did this shit. Billy loathed that soft, freckled bitch.

   Climax rushed all through his veins. Made his thrusting erratic. Billy hitched with a loud curse, falling back against the side of her bed. This was not real.

   “Shit, Camille. Get up, I’ll finish you.” Hands pulled her off his shaft, forcing a whine from her lips. One smooth leg hitched up onto the bed, bent while the other stretched to touch the floor.

   Inches from his face, she quivered. The fabric of her dress was forced back up, ruin panties torn before he was nestling her folds against his lips. Sloppy kisses ached. Hands squeezed her thighs and Camille moaned louder, palms braced into the mattress.

  “Billy, oh...my god.” That wicked tongue lapped and swirled. Fingers pressed into her bottom so she was grinding against him. Riding his face. Bright eyes closed while he tormented her to no end.

   The way Tommy fantasized from the start.

  “Come for me, Camille, that’s it. That feel good?” He spat against her. Pushed two fingers inside, curved them into a sensitive spot. Roughly worked her while she clamped down around the digits. She played with her nipples and cried out. Lips opened to suckle her clit. His free hand still got her hips to move into him. Arousal dripped all down his chin.

   Queen needed her throne for sure. Oh, Tommy. No.

  “I’m going to fucking come,” her tone hitched up to warn him. This high was unlike any other they shared. Hips rutting until he could scarcely breathe. Trapped between her thighs and the mattress.

  Heaven.

  “Billy, don’t stop. I’m right...there. Oh, shit. Fuck. Billy! I’m coming!” Her voice just cut.

  Oh, Tommy. Yes.

  Billy fucked her with his fingers and lashed his tongue against her, kissing obscenely and suckling harder until her entire body locked. Quaking. Thighs shuddering. Fingers ripped for the comforter. Billy licked softer as if to clean her off and eased her back down into his lap.

  Camille was twitching and grasping at his shoulders. They shared a wet, lazy kiss. In Tommy’s honor, of course. Her head tipped back. Wet chest heaving.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah...holy fucking shit.” Billy swiped the letter aside while Camille got her breath back. Lungs leveling. They enjoyed the bliss of release and sighed together. “Look. Tommy fucking H...can never fucking know he did this to us. Ever.”

  “Oh, fuck, no he can’t. Prick. Never ever.” Camille was bright pink. She could kiss that idiot at this point. Billy’s chest rose and fell when she leaned into him. Burrowed in that scent she adored. Buried into his neck. “That shithead. His stupid letter. Could’ve make more mistakes.”

  “Guy is a fucking asshole.” Billy agreed when she came out from him. He licked his lips. Played it cool. “Did...he write you anything else?” Camille hummed, playfully kissing his lips.

  “You will never know.”

  “At least wear the famous shirt for me, babe.” Those baby blue eyes sparkled. “Come on, Camille. I’ll be so good for you. Your willing sex drone.”

  “As if that’s within your range of function.”

  “Have time to prove it to you.” He teased, mouth on her cheek.

  “The stupid shirt can wait, my legs won’t move.” Came her next whine. Billy laughed at that, nuzzling his face up into her throat to place more lingering kisses to sensitive skin. Teeth nipped once.

  “He can’t know about this, but I owe that fucker a beer.”

  “Can’t stand you,” Camille pushed off him to crawl into bed. Dress scrunched around her thighs when she sprawled out. Billy zipped up and joined her on his back. They shared the beat. He looked up at the fan spinning above while she took in his profile. Stunning.

  “What?” His gaze swept toward her own. Billy realized that maybe Carol had something to brag about with this fucker. Guy was creative. And giving it seemed. On paper.

  “Nothing.” Camille had suppressed a giggle, inching to curl into his body. One muscled arm came out to sweep her form into his. “Just a weird...but, also good day.”

  “No shit.” Billy’s free hand went behind his head. “Keep those freak fantasies coming. We can act more out.”

  “Not happening.”

  “You think he has like a whole secret spank bank dedicated to you?” Billy considered it. “I might have to kick his ass too...after the beer.”

  “Such a boyfriend.” Camille only mumbled into his shoulder. “I let you read the damn letter. You can stop whining about it now.” Billy shifted more into her. Smirking. Sly eyes alight and steady.

  “Camille,” he’d purred, “I’m thinking that a follow-up reading is coming. Just to, you know, really capture the spirit of it. I’m sure that I missed a few things. Mistakes and whatever. You get it?”

  “Oh, Billy,” Camille came up to kiss his cheek, “in your dreams.” Lips tugged at that.

  Yeah, he definitely owed Tommy H a beer.

  “You got that right, Harpy.”

[republictrooper]

Got into King of Dragon’s Pass cuz of some twitter buzz that’s been going around, and I like it. Figuring out who to put on my ring has been hard, but in an almost hilarious way? To the point it’s almost my favorite part of the game.

Like, trying to balance it out on who has skills at first seemed ok, but I would constantly get people saying like, hey, we need more varied worshippers of Gods on the team. Even if all my people were knowledgeable, I couldn’t use my magic well or get varied outlooks on events and stuff. 

So I started trying to switch more people in based less on skills and more on what gods I needed to fill out the ring.

So after my one Uralda worshipper died doing the Uralda Heroquest (I should have known she was getting too old, but my cows were hurting dangit), my only other Uralda worshipper was a young early-20s lady. I put her on the clan ring, but despite having excellent Animals and decent leadership she was a complete dud. She only gave general random jrpg town npc “People die if they are killed” type information, and when dragonnewts showed up on our land, she actively BEGGED to be taken off the ring because she didn’t want to deal with that. So I figured I’d be nice and do it, but she’s literally my ONLY Uralda worshipper. So I take her off and replace her with an Ernalda worshipper with decent animal skills as a hopefully adequate replacement. BUT I start seeing the downsides immediately. To start, I cant put as much magic into keeping my eternally on the brink of failing cattle herds alive. I can kind of keep them off the brink by trading with other tribes or asking for favors of cattle, but I generally seem to lose cattle every sacred time for a couple years. Then, I have some group of priestesses of Uralda come to my tribe and tell me I’m failing to respect her properly and my cattle will suffer if I do. So I end up spending tons of Goods to sacrifice to her AND putting my Uralda lady back on the tribe. 

So, Poor Uralda continues to not only give very basic info, but pretty much blames herself for everything that goes bad for the tribe because she thinks she gave bad info, and asks to be taken off the ring once again for a few things. I feel bad for her, but Uralda REALLY wants her on that ring, and I’ve already lost the game due to losing all my cattle once, so I’m not taking the risk again. She seems to finally be growing into the role a bit more since then, so I’m hopeful either she’ll blossom in her 30s, or I’ll get another Uralda worshipper so I can rotate the poor dear out and let her be a nice standard carl again.

Eurmal was the other one, if only because my trickster kept actually doing trickster stuff to other tribes and they kept demanding repayment, so I’d repay and take my trickster off the ring as punishment, only to have the other ring members talk about how much the ring could use a trickster, either for scapegoating or more Heroquest power. Finally that trickster died and I was without a trickster period for a few years, until a 20 year old lady worshipping Eurmal appeared in my list of ring members. I’ve put her on the ring because it could use more ladies and it’ll get the others to pipe down about needing a trickster, but she’s still way too young to give decent advice. Then again, I found the tricksters rarely did to begin with, so there’s that. And she hasn’t done anything as flagrantly horrible as the last trickster - yet. And regardless, my ring keeps telling me I NEED to do hero quests, so I need her for the extra point of magic in questing, if nothing else.

But the warriors, the Humakt fighters, those dudes have been really amazing. 

First of all, they’re pretty much always fixated on war. Singlemindedly so. They always want you to max out war points and keep reserve magic to use while raiding. If you’re hanging on your main clan page, they want to raid. If you want to send out diplomats or traders, they say you’d get more loot from raiding. 9 time out of 10 if there’s a war-related problem, they want to send warriors or start a duel (On the other hand, if they say it's not a good idea to fight, it's at least a good sign you’ll lose).

And I definitely tend to go through my Humakt fighters the quickest. My first one inexplicably went berserk while defending the tribe from some Horse Nomads and got killed. My 2nd decided we were getting too soft, and murdered a bunch of nobles from a neighboring tribe to try to start a war, so I had to Outlaw her to appease them. The 3rd died in a duel to a duck (which he demanded I let him do). I HAD told them first blood only, in my defense, but the duck just killed him outright. The 4th finally seems like he might die or old age, but only because I did a lot of work to keep him safe and sated, including wounding a couple of my healer ring members keeping him safe when he got reckless in battle. Hopefully he doesn’t feel too bitter about dying in bed.

On the plus side, my main Ernalda lady has been absolutely amazing. She’s let me know exactly how many hunters to keep around, can usually tell if Bandits will be a problem on the roads for trading and diplomacy, can sniff out decent deals on cattle, almost always give the best advice on quests (Except that one time she wanted to parlay with a spirit and it turned out to be an evil spirit that sapped her strength), and eventually became my queen. Now if she could stay alive for 10 years and/or until I finally get a person who can defeat the Orlanth and Aroka heroquest, I’ll be in great shape. She did almost die once after being cursed by a dress that may have been sent by a rival tribe, but she survived it after I sacrificed to the healer goddess, and now she’s in her early 40s and pretty healthy, so I’m pretty confident I can win the short game with her.

Anyway, if you haven’t played it already, King of Dragon Pass is pretty alright, overall.

[theimpossiblescheme]

Soooo I pounded this out in about an hour after finishing “The Creeping Flesh” and refusing to accept its downer ending.  I needed some rubbish self-indulgent fix-fic and figured no one else is going to write it, so... here are some father-daughter feels for a forty-year-old cheesy horror movie!  Enjoy!

It didn’t matter where he got the keys or how.  He couldn’t remember whether or not he’d plucked them off of a passing guard or reached painfully across the filthy stone floor to grab them or even if he’d bribed the attendant who always brought him fresh water to fetch them.  The point was, he had the keys.  And fumbling at the lock of his cell, Professor Emmanuel Hildren took his first step out into freedom… or what passed for freedom.  There was almost no one patrolling the hallways of the asylum, no sound save for the cries of a few poor souls lost in night terrors and drowsing fitfully on their straw pallets.  Doubtless the directors had all gone home or to bed.  He was, for all intents and purposes, alone.

But he wasn’t getting out of here alone.  Crossing the hallway in four paces, Emmanuel made it to another cell opposite, where a young woman with red hair lay stirring.  The poor darling never slept well—she was forever tossing and turning and whimpering as if she were trying to escape something even in a dream.  There were times he could hear her from his own cell, and she almost seemed to be singing, a tuneless little ditty only she knew the words to.  As soon as he turned the key in the lock, she bolted upright and made as though she were going to scream when he hurried over and gently laid a hand over her mouth.  She couldn’t understand… it was for her own good.  Everything he did was for her own good, even if neither of them quite understood how.

At the sudden sound of footsteps, Emmanuel knew he couldn’t stay there knelt beside her, nor could he take the chance that one of the other patients was sleepwalking.  So he firmly took the girl by the shoulders and nodded in the direction of the door; her eyes went wide with fear, but she nodded very slightly, as if scared to even move her head.  Throwing his coat over her, he walked her along ahead of him, and they made their way toward a very tight spot in the corner.  It was dark there so no one passing by could see them, but there was another feature of it that wasn’t immediately apparent.  Many a patient had escaped in his time here, or at least tried to, and not all of the slapdash escape plans had been exactly airtight. But among all the whispers that the stone needed a fresh coat of mortar along the northwest wall, the drafts that seeped in along the floor in the winter…Emmanuel struck upon an idea that just might be.  Digging his heel along the seam of the stone with all his strength, he finally managed to make a few of them budge.  A few further pushes revealed a small rectangular gap—certainly not enough for anyone to fit comfortably through… but maybe, just maybe, it could be a decent crawlspace for someone very thin.  For the first time in his life, he was almost grateful for the meager food in this hellhole. Gently lowering the redheaded girl to her knees, he prompted her toward the gap, which she initially balked at, her entire form trembling, but she eventually took the hint and shimmied her way through.  It was a very close thing, and the stone pinched at her waist so terribly, but she finally managed it and huddled herself in a clump of bushes nearby.  Then it was his turn.  First crumpling up the jacket that had fallen off of her and pushing it outside, Emmanuel lowered onto his belly and tried to squeeze himself through. His shoulders scratched horribly over the jagged surface, and he was certain both his shirt and his flesh had ripped and drawn blood, but in a few moments it didn’t matter.  He was free.  They were both free.  There was fresh air on his face again and wind in their hair.  And the dear girl was sitting among green things again… he’d almost forgotten what they looked like.

However, they couldn’t linger.  The journey still had a few miles to go… and it didn’t end back home. They had no home to go back to now, either of them.  At the very least, they needed a place to sleep and find medical attention, especially for the girl.  Lord knew how much she needed it…  Plucking her up off of the ground by her hands, Emmanuel led them out towards the main road passing near the asylum.  True to form, they were quite isolated, the better to discourage them from running; but when did that ever stop anyone in dire need of freedom? Once they were back among civilization, he flagged down a passing cab and, without waiting for it to stop, seized ahold of the side of the driver’s seat and stood up.  The horses whinnied and spooked at full voice, but he paid them no mind.

“I need your help,” the man croaked, his voice raw and hoarse from disuse. “I have a girl with me—she needs a hospital.  We must get there.  I have no money for you, but please—“

“Sorry, guv,” the cabbie replied curtly.  “No fare, no trip—I’m not running a hayride here, y’know.”

“Please!  Look--!” Emmanuel hoisted the girl up toward him, arms around her trembling shoulders.  “She needs immediate care—if she doesn’t get a blood transfusion she could die! Please, sir… I’ll match you everything I pay in medical expenses!”  How, he had absolutely no idea, but… “I promise you’ll get it, I promise!”

The cabbie studied the girl for a moment before grunting and nodding toward the carriage.  “Get in. You better make good on that, old man.”

The ride to St. Mary’s was long… too long for Emmanuel’s taste.  Every moment stopped for another cab to pass by was a moment potentially sapped away from the girl’s life.  Already the stress had proven too much for her as her head dropped into his lap and she began to doze again, still twitching madly.  At one point her hands came up as if to start clawing away at her own face, but he stopped her, tenderly folding her hands together under his and holding them still.  The sight of her, once so gentle and cheerful and now little more than a frightened baby animal sensing traps all around it… it was a miracle he didn’t weep. How had it come to this… how had he let it come to this?  If she ever got well again… was it any good to beg for her forgiveness?  After all the pain he’d caused her…

When the cab finally stopped, he was forced to carry her out, and he barely took a moment to note the number on the side of the carriage before rushing her inside.  The first nurse he saw through the doors he fairly collided with and was just able to shove the girl toward her and mumble out the words “ill” and “terrible” and “blood transfusion” and “soon.”  With a look of vague fear on her face, the nurse complied, and Emmanuel trailed after her, watching as the redhaired girl was laid down on a cot and only able to feebly protest when a doctor shooed him out so that the procedure could go on.

“Are you her next of kin?” the doctor asked coldly, readying his needle already with a slightly threatening air, as if he were willing to tranquilize the man in front of him if he interfered at all.

Emmanuel nodded frantically.  “Yes, yes, I’m her father.  And you must do all you can, you must.  If she—“ He couldn’t even finish that sentence, it stuck in his throat so bitterly.  He knew what he would see, and it was nightmarish.  “If she dies… I’ll never forgive you.  Or myself.”

The doctor merely nodded before turning on his heel back toward the room. And there he remained for what seemed like days.  Even weeks… that was how long it felt, so much so that Emmanuel nearly screamed with the agony of it.  How long did it take to siphon out bad blood?  How long were they insisting on taking… were they slowing down the process on purpose?  Were they sabotaging the process, making the girl even sicker?  Oh, if he ever got his hands on them… if she showed even the slightest signs of never improving…hell, even backsliding… how could she possibly get worse?  She was already terrified at the world, always seeing monsters around every corner, lashing out blindly at anything that stood the slightest chance of hurting her…

There was a scream inside and a heartrending cry, and he pitched himself toward the door.  What had they done to her?  Damn it all, she was scared and in pain, and he needed to be with her.  Why wouldn’t they let him be, damn them…  In desperation, Emmanuel threw himself at the door multiple times, but it didn’t give way.  His shoulder now throbbing, he tried every key on the ring he’d filched from the asylum, vainly hoping one of them would fit.  None of them did.  For God’s sake, why wouldn’t they let him in?  What had they done to make her cry?  What had—

The door suddenly opened, and Emmanuel was thrown off of his feet. When he scrambled back onto them, he could make out the words “see her” and “asking” and “done” before catapulting himself into the room.  The redhaired girl was sitting up in bed, arms outstretched, tears streaming down her face, her entire tiny frame racked with grief.

“I’m sorry, Father… I’m so sorry…”

“Oh, no… no, no, there now, Penelope.”  And he immediately folded her into his arms, rocking her the way he used to when she was a child.  “It’s all right now… it’s all right.”

“I remember it all now… it was so horrible…”  Her breath came out in shuddering gasps against his chest.  “I d-did—I did… I’m so sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Emmanuel quietly shushed her.  “None of it was your fault… if that wretched serum hadn’t…” God, why had he ever made the damn thing?  It only brought about pain, a new illness instead of a cure.  “Forgive me, darling… please forgive me…”

Penelope shook her head weakly over his shoulder.  “You didn’t ki-kill anyone, father.  I did… I killed that man.  And I couldn’t even…”  Her arms, so bone-thin and frail, embraced his neck as though she were afraid she might fall if she didn’t find something to hang onto.  “I’m go-going to hell…”

“No…”  Emmanuel took her hands in one of his and placed the other on her cheek.  So much of the flesh had been starved off of her bones, it was almost hard there… so different from the velvet skin passed down from her mother.  If only he could have given her his food, every morsel ever given him.  “God only punishes the willful, my dear child… you weren’t willful.  You weren’t responsible for any of it, do you understand?  None of this would have happened if not for me…”  God, how could he even look her in the eye now?  After he’d ruined her like this without even realizing it… and all that time she’d spent wandering the streets, what could have happened to her?  If anyone had laid a hand on her, so help him…

Still trembling violently, but leaning into his hand, Penelope could do nothing but stare up at him.  Her beautiful brown eyes seemed so sunken, so empty… Emmanuel wanted to beat every single guard from that asylum into the ground for reducing his little girl to this. For robbing her of what should have been a wonderful adulthood… the kind Emmanuel had been too scared to give her. Too hung up on what had become of her mother… it really was all his fault.  What was the use of blaming anyone else…?

“What are we going to do?” she asked, her voice so timid and quiet…

And this Emmanuel did have an answer for.  One that wasn’t mired by gloom and guilt.  “We’re going to get away from here, Penelope.  We’re going to run away where no one can find us.  We’re going to begin a new life, with new names if we have to.  And I promise you, darling… I am never locking you up again.”  He pressed a kiss to her forehead and managed to whisper out “I’m sorry” one last time before she hugged him anew, barely giving him time to embrace her in turn.  There was so much they’d left behind…so much terror and blood and terrible decisions. All of them his own at the end of the day… but they were past now.  Near enough now to still catch up with them, but that could be fixed.  He would send the money back to that cabbie once he found it—he’d have to find a new job in this new town, anyway.  And Lord only knew how they were going to find their feet again once they made it away, but those were matters for the morning.  They had a warm place to sleep.  They had each other.  And for once in a very long time, they had their sanity.  And that was enough.

[wri0thesley]

y'know that one post where it's like *best friend calls me and asks abt what color my dress is for prom so he can get a matching tie and i asked "since when were we goin to prom and he's all like "fuck i forgot"*? how about that but with josuke bc i can totally see that happening with him, sweet precious babby (please and thank you, i need more josuke fluff in my lif e)

Having a crush on your best friend isn’t easy.

Having a crush on your best friend, who happens to be one of the most popular boys you’ve ever met, who has girls falling over his feet and friends hanging on his every word and a cool and mysterious aura that makes people just want to be around him - that’s even harder.

You’ve long since accepted that Josuke Higashikata would never be interested in someone like you. You’re awkward and he sees you as a friend and sometimes when he looks at you too long you blush and pray he doesn’t notice - he treats you like he treats Koichi and Okuyasu. You don’t think he’s ever imagined you in a romantic way in his whole life.

Still, it doesn’t stop you from dreaming. You think about holding his hand and going out for ice cream together, about running your hands through his hair when he takes it down from the pomp and playing with the zippers on the front of his shirt. Sometimes he puts his hand on your shoulder and it’s so warm that you feel like you’d die if you ever got to cuddle him. Sometimes he smiles so widely it makes your heart hurt.

Josuke Higashikata is a ray of sunshine in your life and you’d never, ever tell him how you really felt in case it makes him act . . . strangely around you. Sure, it hurts a little that you’ll never get to feel quite how soft those full, pillowed lips are, but it’s worth it to be able to call him a friend. Josuke’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for.

You know it’s hopeless, but as prom approaches you can’t help but think about what it would be like to walk into the room on Josuke’s arm, as his date. You think about wearing little golden peace clips in your hair, about how handsome he’d look in formalwear, about it would be to kiss him whilst you slow danced--

After you’d found the date, you’d tried to teasingly lead Josuke into revealing who he was planning on taking to prom and what he was wearing. You’d mention it and he’d go pink, mess with his hair, try and laugh it off - after a week, you’d dropped it. Maybe he wasn’t going at all? It wouldn’t be like Josuke to miss a party, but you guess he probably did have girls begging him to accompany them--

For the past three months, he’s mentioned prom exactly once, when he’d sent you a text saying he wouldn’t be able to meet you for lunch at the cafe like he’d said because he was going prom suit shopping with his mother. Your heart had done a funny little twist - he’d just out and out told you he was going, and he was taking it seriously enough to buy a suit, and you had no idea which girl was about to be on the lucky end of Josuke Higashikata’s presence. It had stung a little that he hadn’t said, but you guessed you got it - maybe he didn’t want the poor girl to be the object of jealousy.

He’d added a smiley face to the end of his text so you’d added one to yours, telling him it was fine and you’d take a raincheck, and then you’d bought a pint of ice cream on your way home and watched a sad movie and kidded yourself you were crying because the impossibly pretty lead actress had just been dumped.

You buy a deep purple dress without even realizing it because apparently you have Josuke on the mind.

* * *

It’s two in the afternoon and you’re still in bed, but when your phone starts ringing you groggily begin to grasp around for it, hands closing around nothing a couple of times before you locate the source of the noise.

“H-hey?” You mumble into it, without even checking who the caller is. “Hey?”Josuke’s voice comes through the speaker, chipper.

“Hi!”

You’re instantly awake hearing his voice, a smile obvious in his tone even though you can’t see. The way he talks just makes you imagine an excitable puppy on the other end of the line.

“Oh! Josuke! Hi!”

He says your name with a light laugh that’s almost teasing, and repeats a greeting to you in a way that’s affectionately teasing and makes your heart twist with desire to hold him and tell him how you feel.

You don’t know when you turned into such a romantic sap or what it is about Josuke Higashikata that makes you act like your brain and heart have both turned to jelly, but whatever it is they should bottle it and sell it in stores.

(You think about the first time you’d teased him, when you’d first met him, about the way he’d blushed when a pretty upperclassman had asked him if he was alright and how he’d blushed and held up his hand and protested; “N-no! I’m not like that! I’m a love kinda guy!”)

“Why are you calling me?” You ask him. “Not that I mind! But aren’t you supposed to be out with shopping in S-City today?”

“Yeah! I’m out right now! I bought the best new pair of Bally shoes to wear from prom, I can’t wait to show you them--”

“Josuke,” you say, laughing, “come on. I know you didn’t call me to tell me about the shoes. I know you well enough to know that you’d wait until we were all together to make a big deal and bask in our adoration.”

“They’re really good, in fairness!” He says, cheerfully. Josuke always manages to be cheerful.

He’d mentioned he was going shopping with Tomoko this weekend, to pick up some final bits and pieces and because his Dad had sent over some money from the US to celebrate him getting good exam results.

“Come on, then, Fashion Boy,” you say, “what’s the situation?”

His tone takes on a shyness.

“I. . . uh. I guess I forgot to ask you? Or I forgot what you told me. Um.”

“Spit it out!” You say, shaking your head and grinning. His unsure voice is so fucking cute. You think about the lucky girl who he asked out to prom and how she got to hear that voice directed to him and you want to die. Does she even know how lucky she is?

“I forgot what colour your dress is and I need to get a tie to match so uh-what-colour-is-it?”

His words all come out in a garbled rush, so quickly that at first you think you must have misheard it.

“Josuke?” You ask, and he makes a frustrated noise. “I. . . don’t understand?”

“What colour’s your dress?” He asks, again, obviously trying to be a little slower. “I want to get a matching tie.”

“Josuke,” you say, eyebrows drawing in in confusion, “That’s. Generally a couples thing?”

“Yeah? I know! That’s why I’m askin’!”

“Josuke,” you repeat, trying to process. “You should probably maybe call your date and ask her? We don’t all like, convene to plan dress colours? She might be wearing something entirely different to me.”

“I’m talkin’ to my date right n--!” He starts saying, frustrated, but then his voice cuts out. You hear a very soft; “Shit.”

In the distance, Tomoko rebukes him for bad language.

There’s a moment between you two where nothing happens and you can practically see Josuke in your mind’s eye, biting on his plump lips and toying with the tails at the back of his pompadour, cheeks beginning to flush red.

“Josuke?” You ask, as the silence begins to get too much for you.

“Shit.” He repeats. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask you--”

“Ask me what?” You say, even though a traitorous part of your mind has already begun to celebrate. This can only mean one thing, right? Is Josuke going to--

“Willyougotothepromwithme?” Josuke says, voice out in a rush, words tumbling over one another so quickly you can barely make them out. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Will you go to the prom with me?”

You bite your lip to stop the smile from sounding too obvious over the phone, even though you’re longing to beam out to the world what just happened to you. This kind of thing doesn’t happen outside of a romance movie cliche, does it?

“It’s deep purple,” you say, and then promptly slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the excited giggles that seem to want to issue forth. “A-ahh,” Josuke says, “I-is that a yes?”

You want to scream out. Of course it’s a yes. Anyone who said no to Josuke would be a fool. But instead you just make a coy little noise of agreement and you swear you hear the whoosh of air moving quickly as Josuke presumably fist pumps.

You hear one last thing before he disconnects the call - the voice of who is unmistakably Tomoko, Josuke’s mother hissing;

“You FORGOT to ask her?”

[wolfofansbach]

“Daddy…I can’t sleep. Can you tell me a story?”

FP sighs. He puts down his bottle of beer. He’s not drunk, yet. A little buzzed. Jughead stares at him from the hallway. His big blue eyes shine in the dim light. His favorite blanket drags behind him, clutched in a chubby five years old hand.

“Buddy, go back to bed.” FP asks. The digital clock next to the television glares: 2:30 AM. Jughead shakes his head. His lip quivers. FP sighs again. Gladys is out cold, so he can’t pass this one onto her. “Alright, come here.”

Jughead’s face lights up. He bounds across the living room and all but somersaults onto the couch next to his father. He climbs into FP’s lap and looks up at him expectantly, round little face beaming.

“Yes!”

“What kind of story do you wanna hear, Jug?”

“A scary one.”

FP shakes his head. He reaches for his beer, but stops halfway there.

“Your mom will kill me if you have nightmares.”

“I won’t! I won’t!”

He sighs again.

“Alright, pal. A scary story it is.” FP clears his throat. “A long time ago, way back when Riverdale was new. Before the drive-in, before Pop’s Diner, before this country was founded, even…” Jughead’s mind whirls, trying to make sense of such ancient history. “The head of the Blossom family was a man named Armand.”

“Blossom?” Jughead questions. “Like Cheryl and Jason?”

“Exactly.”

The boy wrinkles his nose.

“They’re mean.”

FP laughs and ruffles his son’s hair.

“They always are, pal. And Armand Blossom was mean, too. He was greedy, and he didn’t care about poor people like us. But his children were worse. His son was a boy named Peter. Now, back in those days, the Blossoms were already rich, but they weren’t rich like they are now. They didn’t make syrup back then. They made their money off of furs. But Peter didn’t want to sell fur. He didn’t think there was any future in it. And he started to hate his father who wanted him to take over the business. He thought he was holding him back.”

“He hated his dad?” Jughead asks, excited.

“Yes, Jug. Come on, just listen. So, one day Peter was walking in the woods, thinking about how he was going to be stuck trading furs for the rest of his life. He wasn’t very happy, and he was getting to the end of his rope when he ran across a stranger. He’d never seen the stranger before, and back then Riverdale was even smaller than it is now, so that meant he wasn’t from around here.”

“You shouldn’t talk to strangers.” Jughead says, voice deep and solemn.

“That’s right, buddy.” FP replies, chuckling. “And you’ll find out why. So the stranger called to him, and asked him to stop and chat. And he did. And the stranger knew things about him a stranger shouldn’t know. And he got scared, but not scared enough. He stayed to talk. The stranger tapped one of the big maple trees with his walking stick, and he said: ‘I know you hate your father. I know you’re wise enough to see there’s no future in his business.’ Peter was arrogant and easily flattered. So he got curious. The stranger said: ‘I can make you rich beyond your imaginings.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means richer than he could even picture. And the stranger said: ‘I’ll make it so these trees give sap all seasons, even in the dead of winter. You will come and you will tap them, and you will sell their syrup, and you will be wealthier than your father ever was.’ At first Peter laughed, but then he remembered the things the stranger knew, and he realized this wasn’t an ordinary person. ‘All I would ask, is that you give me in return the blood of your firstborn child’. And it was then Peter knew he was speaking to the devil. But his greed got the better of him. Without a second thought, he made the deal. The devil pricked his finger and took a drop of his blood as a sign of their contract, and he was gone.”

Jughead flinches at the image.

“You okay? Should I keep going?”

“Yes!”

“That very night, his father died of a heart attack. Peter became the patriarch of the Blossom family. He sent out a crew to examine the trees, and just as the devil had said, the trees gave more syrup than any natural tree. At all times of the year. Spring, summer, winter, and fall. And Peter became the wealthiest man in Riverdale and even beyond. The town got rich. The years passed, and finally Peter got married. He had almost forgotten about his pact when his children were born. Twins, of course. And the devil came to collect. But Peter refused to give him what he had promised. He didn’t want to lose his children. The devil was furious! He said: ‘You’ve refused to give me the blood of your line, so I will curse all those who trace you in theirs!’ And he was gone again.”

Jughead furrows his brow at the archaic language.

“What does that mean?”

“It meant that the devil cursed his children, and their children. So Peter got old, and his children grew up. They never learned about the curse the devil put on them, and Peter never talked about it. The town got richer and richer as Peter sold his syrup. Then one day, his daughter Faith and her brother William were fishing in the Sweetwater River. They caught an ugly, weird fish. It was more like an eel or a worm. It was long and white, with red eyes and big fangs.”

Jughead’s eyes light up again.

“It sounds like a lamprey! In science we learned about lampreys, they la-“

“Okay, okay. Calm down, let me tell the story. So the fish frightened them, and they went to show it to their father. When he saw the ugly thing, he knew immediately it wasn’t any normal fish. He knew it was the devil’s curse. He died of shock on the spot. They buried him, and his children tossed the thing back into the river.”

“You shouldn’t hurt animals.”

“This wasn’t a normal animal, Jughead. Everything went alright for a few years, then the white worm came back. It had grown. Huge. Bigger than a horse. Bigger than an alligator, even. It could eat up a man or woman in one bite. It started to terrorize the town. Everywhere it slithered it left stinking slime behind it that killed plants and animals. Soon, the forest around Riverdale started wilting. The trees wouldn’t give sap anymore. The Blossoms were going to lose their fortune, but more than that, the entire town was going to die.”

“I saw Cheryl step on a worm once.” Jughead says.

“Mhm. Anyway, the town tried to kill it. They gathered up all their hunting rifles and sent groups of men out into the woods to find it. It ate up the hunters or sent them running back to town. They tried to poison out. It wouldn’t die. When they tried to rope it down, it just slipped out of the ropes. When they tried to burn it, it wouldn’t burn. They sent letters to the big city, begging for help. But they laughed. They didn’t believe the townspeople. Soon, it even began to take children.”

“Like me?”

“Just like you. Finally, Peter’s children learned of the curse from their mother. They realized the town was paying for what their father had done. They remembered the devil’s blessing, and they came up with a plan. They called together tons of men and women from Riverdale, and they lured the worm into a clearing. When it came, they poured barrels and barrels of syrup over it, from the Blossom’s stock. The worm was stuck. It couldn’t move. While it was stuck, they chopped it to pieces. But it still wouldn’t die. It tried to come back together. They realized that maybe they could never kill it. So they dug a deep pit, and they dropped the worm inside. They buried it. And over the pit, a group of men and women swore to dedicate themselves to keeping the worm sealed away forever, so it could never hurt our town again. They called themselves the Brotherhood of the Serpent.”

“Is that like the Southside Serp-“

FP motions for silence.

He smiles. “You’re figuring out the story before I tell it. Over the decades and centuries, a lot of people forgot. The town grew. Wars happened. Businesses were built. New people came, and old people left. The town was divided into north and south. And the Brotherhood of the Serpent became the ‘Southside Serpents’. A lot of Serpents don’t know anything about this. But some of us.  We know that the Whyte Wyrm is still down there, buried underneath the bar that has its name. We know it’s waiting down there, for the day when it can resurface and destroy our town for good. But we won’t let it. That’s our job, Jughead. And if we fail, then Riverdale is doomed.”

Jughead’s eyes sparkle. His face fills with wonder.

“Wow. Is that true, daddy?”

FP looks out of the window. The autumn winds howl. Beneath the foundations of Riverdale, cold and timorous, something ancient and impossibly evil slithers. Shivers. Waits.

“No, pal. It’s just a silly story. Get to bed.”

[darkredehmption]

Meetings

#SL #Part5 

#Meetings

Written with @PanwerePredator and @OfFeatherNFang

*~*~*~*~*

Hadrian:

The chill of the night air soothed the burns on my cheeks. 

The only thing greater than the pain was the humiliation. Amos walked beside me, his back straight, his gait fluid and graceful in a way he had no right to be. Not after that. Not when standing beside him soaked me in fear and loathing. 

Warning Zsadist had come with a price, as I’d known it would. My new Master, having thought himself generous until now, decided a harsher reprimand was needed. His silver blade had pressed, flat side down against my cheek, until the silver burned away my flesh in perfect bars and curved sharp lines, right to a point beneath my eyes. 

The marks would take weeks to heal. A constant visual reminder; a warning of what more could be done if I disobeyed him again. My fury pressed against my fear, the pair in combat with every step that took us closer to the warehouse. I could only hope Zsadist had beaten us there. Had brought his brothers with him. Anything to beat Amos.

As if sensing my thoughts, or even reading them, he spoke.

“If you disobey me in here, Hadrianus, I will make you kill your leopard vampire.”

My heart skipped at that, pain punching through me at the idea of my claws, my teeth, being the last thing Zsadist saw. 

“It is on you whether or not your friend becomes /our/ ally. Do not forget that. If you fail? You will be punished. And he will die. Will you fail me?”

I knew the answer even as bile rushed up my throat to taint the words on my tongue. As we paused outside the warehouse door, I took a second to swallow it back, trying to breathe. Bowing my head, I shake it briefly.

“No, Master.”

“Good.”

His voice was a velvet purr, before he turned and struck at the door. He didn’t need to poison me with his fear now; I felt the realness of it as my gaze flicked up to the camera I knew was watching the entrance. Without thinking, I reached back and tugged the hood of my jacket high, trying to hide the damage done to my face. Damage that would no doubt infuriate Zsadist. 

As the door clicked open, I felt my hand shake, before I curled it into a fist. This was it. Either I played my cards right, or it was game over.

Zsadist:

[The ride over to the warehouse was quiet. Though I had to say I enjoyed it. The angel allowed me to rest my hand on his thigh as he drove us downtown. Every now and then I would stroke his leg. Which gave me the satisfaction of hearing his laugh before he mumbled out for me to stop. These moments with him were always my favorite, and I needed something like this before I dealt with what could be a big issue. The thought of the shifter getting hurt made me feel sick inside. Fuck. Shaking my thoughts from my head as the car pulls up to the building. We parked about a block down from it. Once outside I let my eyes meet Mal’s]

I think it would be best if you took cover somewhere in the sky. [My eyes lifted to gaze at the large warehouse.] There should be a door on the roof. If not just come through the back. That way you can be used as an ambush if problems arise. It would be smarter than us both busting in. Just in case I get in a little bit of trouble.

[I gave the codes to the angel for the doors and gave him one last glance. Leaning in, I steal a quick kiss. Not caring if anyone passing by saw us indulge in a little PDA. I walked away and headed straight for the entrance. Punching in the code before reaching for the handle. It clicks open as I step inside. The room was dark, except for a few lights that were lit in the back, though my eyes adjusted just fine. I could smell him. Hadrian. Though he wasn’t alone. He was with a species that smelled similar to mine, but something was off. Fuck.]

Hadrian…[His name fell from my lips softer than I intended. But I couldn’t help it. I was concerned for him. If the other being is one of those vampires that he told me about he could be in some big trouble. Stepping forward until two shadowy figures come into view. Hadrian wore a jacket with his hood up, hiding part of his face to me. What I wouldn’t do to stare into his eyes right now and get a reassurance that everything was alright. But it wasn’t. I could smell it all over him. Something was off and I bet my life it had to do with the stranger standing beside him.]

Well, I don’t believe we’ve ever met. [My head inclines to the mystery male.] I’m Zsadist. But I have a feeling you know that already, don’t you? [I gave a sinister look as my gaze lowered. If this male was hurting Hadrian then he was going to pay big time. My hands curled into fists as I stood my ground. I wanted the shifter at my side and away from this fucker. Something smelled off about this whole thing.] 

Mal:

With Z’s kissing still lingering on my lips, I beat feet to the alley behind the warehouse. Using my Angel Invisible trick, I then summoned my wings and launched myself upward, landing by the entrance to the roof. Within seconds I was inside, soundless as I moved into place over the three bodies below. 

A hood covered his face, obscuring any impression I could make of him, but I knew who the shifter was out of the pair. Similarly, I knew that the other was a vampire, though not Zsadist’s or my half breed kind of vampire. This one could drink human blood, and no doubt possessed abilities that the Black Dagger Brothers and the Scribe Virgin’s race did not. 

That made him dangerous. 

My hand ghosted to my belt, reassuring myself I still had the weapons I’d need if this went south. If this new vampire took so much as a step toward Zsadist, I’d land on him like a ton of bricks and cut his fucking head off. No questions asked.

I stiffened as Zsadist spoke, my heart leaping in my chest. I could hear the concern in his voice, though I doubt anyone else would; I just knew that tone. Knew that he was furious that someone could be hurting someone he cared for. My knuckles went white as my grip tightened on the beam I was holding. 

Hadrian:

Zsadist said my name, so softly, yet I felt my chest tighten with sorrow and regret. I never should’ve let myself get involved with the Brotherhood. It’d be easier that way. It wouldn’t hurt so much to know they might have to kill me. Maybe Z’s black dagger should’ve done the job that night in the alley, and saved us all this moment…

There was no one behind him, and a fresh burst of anxiety went through me at the idea he was alone. I tried to smother the fear, though with Amos at my side it was considerably harder; all I could think about was the vampire making me kill Z if he felt like it. 

“Zsadist,” Amos purred, his velvet voice slithering through the darkness. “Peculiar name, that one. Family name?” He wondered, his head cocking to the side as he assessed the warrior before him. 

Z definitely had the edge physically; the Brothers were all incredibly huge males. Amos had still been human, once upon a time. Maybe that was what my new Master saw; a warrior to be used. A lethal blade to dispatch his foes.

“But yes, I know who you are. My name is Amos,” he continued, stepping forward just enough to emerge from the shadows and reveal himself in the patches of light. “Hadrianus has been most helpful in getting me situated in this city.” I felt his eyes on me, and reluctantly I stepped forward to stand beside him as well. As Amos continued to watch me, I felt my stomach tighten, my whole body tensing as he lifted his hand.

“Do not be rude, Hadrianus. Greet your friend.”

Then his fingers closed on the edge of my hood and twitched it back. I tried to hide a wince as the light hit my face, revealing the fresh burns pressed into both my cheeks. Amos’ first test. My eyes shot to Zsadist, knowing the second his golden gaze saw the damage, his shoulders locking. I pleaded with my eyes; begged for him not to move. Not to react. Because if Zsadist went for Amos, I’d be made to fight him. 

“Z. This is my master,” I choked out, hoping he understood. Remembered. If Zsadist attacked Amos, he attacked me. “Amos has made me his Animal to Call.”

Zsadist:

[My eyes narrowed slightly as I watched the mystery male step out from the shadows. I could tell by his body language that he wasn’t so friendly. His words spew out like venom as he removes Hadrian’s hood to reveal his face that held marks on both cheeks. Burn marks from the looks of it. And I couldn’t help but lift a hand to absently rubbing at the slave band I wore on my throat. Fuck. This was bad.] 

Yeah...something like that. 

[I say through gritted teeth. Biting back a growl as my golden eyes slowly turn black as I grow angry. It took all that was in me to not lunge for this fucker who hurt the poor shifter in front of me. But I had to hold back. My mind was a little fuzzy on it all, but Hadrian once told me that if a vampire had an animal to call then that animal would die if the vampire did. So I’m betting if I punched the fucker Hadrian would feel it. And that is something I did not want to do. Not when the poor sap was already wearing some fresh wounds.]

Oh he did…?

[I had to choose my words wisely. Every move that I made had to be done carefully. One wrong move could get the shifter hurt, and that was something that I didn’t want to do.] 

Well...I guess you beat me to it. [Hoping I could do my best to play it off as if I was one of him.] Though you should know that this area is my territory. I was hoping to find someone and I did come across Hadrian, but there aren’t any other shifters around here that I know of. So I suppose my next question is are you going to stay? 

[My eyes flashed over to Hadrian once again. Fuck how I wish I could read minds right about now. All I could do is feed off his energy. And right now he was on edge. Trying to give him a reassuring look before I turn my attention back to the vampire. I had only hoped that Mal had found a good place up above to take cover. Fuck maybe he knew what animal to call meant and knew that he shouldn’t attack if we were trying to save the shifter’s life.] 

Mal:

Fuuuuuuuuuck. My eyes narrowed as the shifter’s face was revealed, his whispered words reaching up to me. The maelstrom of emotions that rattled my chain was almost distracting. There was pity; I’d heard of an animal to call. Though I’d never met one, they were generally no better than a vampire servant. I could feel a faint lick of anger, the marks on his face clearly a punishment of some kind. Then came a sharp pang of realization that sparked regret; the shifter’s phone call to Zsadist, the words that had put us on our guard and ensured my male came with back up… had the shifter earned those burns for that? And if so… that meant he’d been ready to risk himself to protect Zsadist.

My animosity for the panwere dwindled as I watched the new vampire, my eyes dancing over every nuance of movement, every twitch of muscle. Killing him would be easiest, sure, but Hadrianus being his animal to call complicated everything. If I killed this vampire… I killed my lover’s friend. 

I wanted to fist pump when Zsadist kept his cool, though I knew every part of him must want to rip the vampire limb from limb, even as he played off ‘losing’ the shifter to another vampire. As if they were of the same nature. Buying us time.

I wracked my brain, trying to think of hunters that had ever dealt with vampires that had servants like these, what they’d done to kill the vampire and if their servant survived. I’d have to make calls… but I couldn’t think of anything right now, and I swallowed a curse.

Hadrian:

I breathed deep and knew Zsadist was furious, even as he kept his cool exterior. At his words I felt Amos connecting with me, and I thought of my leopard, of the way it mourned the idea of never laying beside Zsadist again. Then the connection was broken as he focused on Z once more and I wanted to sigh in relief.

Amos thought Zsadist a vampire as he was - I had to keep that secret for as long as I could.

“Yes, I noticed the area rather devoid of the supernatural. In fact,” Amos purred, his grin sly, “it is why I plan to set up shop, so to speak, in this city. It has no Master of the City. Or rather…” He reached a hand over to stroke my cheek, the skin stinging at the contact as I fought the need to flinch away, holding my ground. “It ‘had’ no Master of the City. That has changed as of now.”

He looked back to Zsadist, his smile the kind of thing a shark might give a minnow. I curled my fingers into my palm, nails threatening to cut into my skin as I watched the Brother. 

“Tell him, Hadrianus. Which of us is now strong enough to hold this city as a Master?”

I didn’t miss a beat.

“You, Master.”

Amos moved his hand away from the burn like it was praise, instead trailing a finger along my shoulder. It wasn’t a complete lie either; making me his animal meant that Amos was stronger. If he secured himself a human servant, he’d be even stronger again. Physically, Zsadist was the clear champion, but Amos wouldn’t base anything off physical power; he would use his fear, his metaphysical power, to kill the other.

“Indeed. But fortunately, I am very willing to take on vampires under my reign.” He said it so graciously, like he’d be doing Zsadist a favour… “Do you like this, by the way?” He asked my friend. My gaze flicked sideways at Amos, confused for a beat before he pressed his finger back against the burn and I hissed in pained surprise. “I am new to this… Moitié Bête thing, you see, but disobedience must be punished. Don’t you agree? A slave must know when to kneel.”

Zsadist:

[Narrows my eyes slightly as he mentions not only the marks he gave the shifter, but starts on the slave talk. Fuck. Shaking my head quickly before I mutter.] 

Yeah. Something like that. What I do know is that you just can’t come here and expect to take over. You think you are the new sheriff in town just ‘cause you bagged an animal to call.

[Snorts then shakes my head.] And maybe you’d have a little better control on him if you gave him rewards also. [Lowers my gaze then bites back another growl. I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t like the punishment. These vampires were clearly different and if I showed any signs of weakness he would take me out. And knowing that I could hurt Hadrian in the process I’d probably just let him. 

Yeah that wasn’t going to sit well with the angel if it came to that. I only hoped that the vampire would just finish up this discussion, take Hadrian, and go. Then it could buy us some time on getting him back. That and gather up the brotherhood for some help. Not that I doubted myself or Mal but fuck, this shit was not going to be easy. It also was a different territory that I was not used to. But luckily my loving angel was.]

Well, you got what you wanted. An animal to call. 

[My eyes flickered to Hadrian once again. What I wouldn’t do to have him by my side. I swear if he ever fucking gets out of this mess he is moving into the mansion. I don’t give a fuck what Wrath says I will bring him there myself and tell everyone to fuck off. Grunting as I shake my head.] And now you want to be the master of this city. Just like that. [Snorts as I tilt my head to the side.] What the fuck do you expect me to do then? 

Mal:

It took something special for me not to launch myself from the rafters and drill the fucker straight into the chipped cement floor. As the shifter flinched away at the pain of his touch, my jaw almost cracked with the effort of holding back a snarl, my gums itching as my fangs ached.

Yeah, sure, I may not have liked the idea of Z being around a were-animal before, but I liked bullies even less than /that/. And the only reason this ‘Amos’ was hurting the panwere was to provoke Zsadist into acting.

I almost dropped down out of reflex when he said the word ‘slave’. My eyes went to Zsadist out of instinct, the word no doubt hitting him hard. That he kept his feet firmly rooted in place and didn’t lunge at the prick made me all kinds of proud.

The fact he wasn’t giving Amos what he wanted was a problem though. The more Z held back a reaction, the more Amos would push for something, one way or another.

Hadrian:

My heart galloped in my chest, thudding hard against my ribs. I dropped my gaze again as Z suggested rewarding instead of punishing. The irony being Amos considered himself, ‘our’ new apartment, and all he was doing my reward…

Amos chuckled beside me, the sound condescending and making the hairs on my nape rise. I swallowed and glanced sideways at him, wondering what he could possibly do next. Zsadist wasn’t responding as he’d thought he would; he’d expected violence, aggression, and using me as a shield or a weapon. But Z wouldn’t do that, I realized numbly. He wouldn’t do anything that would risk… me.

“No, Zsadist,” Amos purred, shaking his head, “having a moitié bête certainly helps my goals. Particularly one with as many… talents… as Hadrianus has.”

My skin is /crawling/, FYI. I met Zsadist’s eyes, hoping he saw the misery, the apology. I hadn’t wanted to bring this to his door. Hadn’t wanted this to be his problem. 

“But what I expect of you is to fall in line, leave, or die,” he declared pleasantly. “Any of those three are fine. The third option comes with extra perks,” he added, his eyes narrowing as his smile turned monstrous. “Like feeling your heart explode in fear before you do.”

“No,” I whispered, realization dawning a second before I felt the crushing press of Amos’ fear directed completely at Zsadist. 

Zsadist:

[Shaking my head at the vampire in front of me. None of those were an option. Somehow I had to figure out how I was going to get this male away from Hadrian. Killing wasn’t an option. But I knew I couldn’t let my friend stay with this monster. I had to get him away from this beast. 

But before I could even respond to the vampire, I was hit with something. Something that made me freeze right where I was standing. Slowly my brows draw in as I watch the mistress appear. 

No.

Blinking a few times as I focus on the hazy image of the female as she walked towards the vampire who was smirking at me. This couldn’t be happening right now. I had to be dreaming this shit or something. She was dead. I made sure of it when I killed her with my bare hands and took back her skull as a reminder. Hell even had Vishous burn it with me in the backyard when I got my shit together. So if she was dead, why was I watching her lean on Amos, whispering in his ear as he laughed at me?

Shaking my head a few times then looks up to see her gone. What the fuck? Something wasn't right here. Fuck. It’s like my demons were out to play, but never this bad before. My hand lifted to scrub at my chest. Letting out a gasp as I watched Mal swoop down. The moment he is in sight Amos lunges and takes him out. Watching as my male hits the ground in a heap. His wings snapped off by the hands of this monster.

That’s when I let out a powerful growl that shakes the entire warehouse. My black eyes crazed as they lift to take in the vampire before me, but where was Mal?! Quickly I reached for a dagger. Clutching the weapon tightly in my hand. I could get him in one fucking hit. One throw right at his chest. Suddenly I remembered one big problem. Hadrian. My eyes flickered towards the shifter. I couldn’t hurt this vampire. No. Sheathing the weapon as I hang my head and let it all consume me.]

Mal:

Something was wrong. 

The energy in the warehouse shifted, like the shadows themselves were moving, undulating, and all of them contracted around Zsadist at the same time. As if darkness itself wished to stick to his skin. His reaction was almost instant; his entire body stiffened, his darkened eyes going wide. Then they narrowed, a growl vibrating in his chest that had me shifting, flaring my wings out in preparation of a descent.

His hand closed around his dagger, and just like that I let go, dropping from the roof to land behind him. He sheathed it as I let go of my wings, feeling the energy that conjured them fade. But so close to my male, I could sense it now; the kiss of darkness, of… fear. It emanated from the vampire across the room, like a sickly perfume, and I felt my own eyes narrow as I stepped forward from the shadows. At the same time, I let myself be seen, knowing the instant the shifter and his new Master saw me as they both stiffened and backed up.

Reaching out, I placed my hand on Zsadist’s shoulder, pushing my own energy forward at the same time. My Divinity flared to life inside me, my eyes no doubt glowing as the power rippled out to encase Zsadist in a protective bubble. The fear evaporated, and I let my lip curve up in a cool smile as I met Amos’ gaze. His type of vampire came to me from memory, though I’d never dealt with one before: Nighthag.

“Apologies for my tardiness. My name is Malys,” I said curtly, offering my vampiric name, even though this ‘would be’ Master of the City would not know what I was - hopefully something that would make him reconsider his next move. “Please, would you be so kind as to update me on what’s happened?”

My gaze flicked to the shifter, Hadrianus. His eyes were impossibly wide as they stared at me, and like his vampire master, he had no idea who, or what, I was. Something that would hopefully play in our favour, if this miserable fang could read his mind. Turning my head to the side, I looked to Zsadist, hoping to see his previous calm returning, trying to mask the concern in my own eyes for him. If this Amos sought to hurt my male again, I would have no choice; shifter or not, I would kill him to protect what was mine. 

Hadrian:

A new figure emerged, seemingly from nowhere. My anxiety for Zsadist after his growl was diminished the second this new figure put his hand on Z’s shoulder, as if he wasn’t affected by Amos’ fear. Malys. That was his name. A vampire name for the Brotherhood, and yet… he didn’t smell like them. Didn’t share the same size as the warriors. 

I felt Amos’ eyes on me in accusation, but there was no need to even pretend or try to hide my thoughts; I had no idea who he was. What he was. Where he’d come from. Amos read all that and more, turning his attention back to Malys with a kind of curiosity, edged with desire. To know him. To understand. His power flexed toward the stranger and yet Malys didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. As if fear was beneath him.

His cool smile certainly seemed to suggest as much.

“I am new to this city,” Amos purred, his smile now nothing but charm, “and I am endeavoring to make new alliances in my efforts to become Master of this city. My name is Amos. And this is Hadrianus, my animal to call.” He paused, his calculating stare sweeping Malys from head to toe. “I was unaware that Zsadist was anticipating any company. Certainly not anyone with such apparent… gifts.”

Malys smiled. It was warmer. Almost condescending. But it made the white glow of his eyes so much more vivid and otherworldly. Whatever he was, I had no doubt Amos wanted it. Therefore… he couldn’t push his attack against Zsadist. I actually breathed a sigh of relief, my knees all but shaking, grateful to this stranger I’d never met for becoming an obstacle for Amos killing my friend.

“If neither of you have made this city yours, then it is mine for the taking. As I told Zsadist,” Amos mused, lifting a hand to examine his nails, as if he could now conceal his intense curiosity, “either you leave, or swear fealty to me and mine as I establish order.”

He, not so helpfully, left out the part about dying. But I knew what he wanted now. He wanted their allegiance; he wanted a vampire as physically powerful as Zsadist, and whatever power Malys possessed. 

Zsadist:

[Stiffening for one moment when I feel a hand at my shoulder, only to relax instantly as I realized it was Mal. He wasn’t dead. Fuck. This vampire must have been messing with my head. The hell? My Brothers are definitely going to hear about this. 

His warm scent wrapped around me like a blanket. And if we were alone, I would have embraced him, and held him for hours. Suddenly everything seemed so much clearer with him beside me. 

Turning my head slightly to eye the angel as he makes his introduction. He relaxed me so much to the point where I wasn’t seeing those haunting images at all. I wonder if he had some powers of his own. Shaking the thought from my head as I turn my attention back towards Hadrian and the piece of shit beside him.] 

What makes you so sure we haven’t already claimed this city?

[Says as I smirk. Feeling like I had control over this whole situation once again. Fuck, I don’t know what I would of done if Mal wasn’t here with me. Probably be dead and no help to Hadrian at all. Snorting as I raise a brow.]

I mean, we were here first. And you clearly underestimate us.

[The only question was how were we going to get out of this mess? Tell him that we will leave or join him to buy some time? We needed to leave and regroup with a plan. I couldn’t just lunge at this guy in fear of hurting the shifter. There had to be some way of getting rid of this vampire without injuring Hadrian. He needed to stay safe. My brows draw in as I eye the shifter once again. I should’ve called him sooner. Gotten him on track with the Brotherhood. Then maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess that he was in right now.] 

Mal:

I glanced sideways at Zsadist, then gave the most fractional shake of my head, squeezing his shoulder then dropping my hand. If we antagonised him, he’d provoke us again, if only to see what else we were capable of. I wanted to keep a few tricks up our sleeves. For now.

“What my partner here means,” I say coolly, kicking my chin up, “is that we’ve been here a while. We ‘like’ the city as it is. Not having to serve a Master. But there are perks to a good Master,” I add, doing my best not to look at Zsadist or Hadrian. “So if you’re determined to take this city with your moitié bête, then we’ll need time to think about it. After all…”

Finally, I let myself look at Hadrian. Whatever else he was, right now, he was a victim. Made to serve thanks to a metaphysical bond he had no control over, and couldn’t stop. Zsadist was barely sheathed anger and anxiety beside me, wanting him to be free. So whatever move we made… it had to be a good one. We needed time.

“...you made a winning argument by involving someone we’re interested in,” I finished finally, looking back to Amos. It was clear he preferred the attention on himself anyways. “I’d like forty eight hours for us to assess and consider your proposal. At the end of that time, we’ll either step up… or fuck off,” I said bluntly. 

Hadrian:

I couldn’t decipher the look on the stranger’s face as his eyes met mine. It felt like I was silently pleading, but for what I didn’t know. Freedom? That was unlikely. Once the bond was made… there was no breaking it. None that didn’t involve death, at least. But maybe that was it. The reality that I’d rather be dead than serve Amos settled around my heart. When Malys looked away, I looked to Zsadist, willing him to see it. To hear my silent request. A quick death. A clean one. And then this wouldn’t be a problem for either of us anymore...

It wasn’t the answer Amos wanted, yet that had been with the idea that Zsadist was alone. Malys changed the dynamics, and I could practically feel my new ‘Masters’ curiosity as he weighed trying to kill them now with having them as potential allies later. The curiosity won out. His dark power retracted as he smiled, the kind of smile a politician perfected after years of selling you bullshit you kept buying. 

“Very well. But twenty four hours. Not forty eight. I’m impatient to begin, you see. Things must be done. Order established. You will call Hadrianus tomorrow evening with your answer,” he ordered, as if they’d already said yes. “And we shall strike forth from there.”

He turned on his heel, the dismissal clear as I backed up a step, then another, my eyes still on Zsadist. Pleading. 

“Hadrianus. Come.”

I felt the yank of his control on me like a chain around my neck, and reluctantly I turned, following him to the door. My hand reached up, rubbing at the scar on my chest beneath my shirt, wishing at that moment that Zsadist would take his black dagger just once more, and not miss... 

[themadpuppy85]

Summoning Candyman Epilogue ( Jumin X Reader fanfic)

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Rating : M  Summary: “Jumin Han, Jumin Han, Jumin Han” you repeated in front of the mirror. When you wished for Jumin to be real on Halloween night, you didn’t expect him to turn out to be a criminal lord with a strange pet fetish…  Keywords: Super AU, self-insert, loss of control kink, pet kink, creepy dominant Jumin, criminal setting, yandere, also some Yoosung X Seven and Jaehee X Zen Author’s Notes: Apologies to everyone who expected super filthy sex – after the last scene in chapter 8, my beta and I came to the conclusion that there was nothing left to add, so this epilogue is mainly to tie up the loose ends (though I remain open to the idea of an extra chapter of smut because who doesn’t love more of that, right? XD) That said, it transits nicely for the next project, which I let you discover at the end ~ enjoy!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

Chapter 9: Epilogue

“You know, I never understood why he chose to bury you here. It’s just so…not you” Simon stressed, then frowned at his inability to express himself better. He didn’t mean the emplacement of her grave, not really; no one could have argued that the place wasn’t as exceptionally beautiful as the girl it guarded. Delicate flowers constantly bloomed around the headstone, like each of them was a tear from the angel engraved at its top; even the leaves of the willows surrounding it seemed to weep with gentle elegance, which was everything Erika had been.  Gentle. Elegant. And weeping, though most of them were too jaded or tactful to remember that fact. 

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live in a world without suffering, Simon?..” she used to ask. Hopeful, at first, as all idealists are; no amount of problems ever seem too many for serious caritative work to overcome, especially once the cure for the lentivirus was found. Years and repetition, however, slowly moved her focus from those solved to those remaining, until simple math laid the truth bare; it’d never be enough.  For one tree of misery down, a whole forest grew in its place; and while a more philosophical person would have argued that it was even more reason to keep trying, Erika’s fire turned inwards instead.  Guilt for those she was unable to save burned her soul like a fiery sun, and whereas despair drove her mind to radical cultism in the first loop, here she just escaped her cousin’s fretful watch, picked a bunch of syringes and walked straight into an odopium den.

With predictable results, considering the crazed junkies inside, although he wasn’t sure she had anticipated just how utterly brutal a death it would be. If not for herself, then for her loved ones; he couldn’t believe she was so far gone that she hadn’t considered how traumatizing it would be for Yvan to scrap her remains off the floor.  Perhaps she had simply thought they’d choke or bludgeon her to get the drug, and that eternal darkness wouldn’t come first soaked in red.  

Or maybe she did know, and chose to do it nonetheless; it’s not like she left a note to explain any of it. V swore it had been suicide by proxy and nothing else, and though it had certainly had been, Simon liked to think there had been more to it; that her recklessness had in fact been defiance, like a giant middle finger to the Fates that governed this world. It comforted him like a mug of hot chocolate, whenever he thought too hard about his own predicament, to imagine there had been meaning to an otherwise pointless end; to entertain that perhaps she had known, too, and sought her own exit. The theory that her own script prescribed that she always brought people down with her could be as good as any, after all; it was possible that she tried a scenario where it didn’t mean for innocents or her fiancé to suffer needlessly.

Not that she could verify it or that it actually worked even a teensy little bit; as such, he supposed Jehan’s choice of scenery made some kind of sense, at least on a symbolic level. Erika slept forever in her little plot of paradise, and the path to it was bordered with hellish gore; people who were crucified, dismembered, hanging by their entrails in a chorus of agonized moans that could be heard all the way up to the bridge like supplicants waiting to cross to the other side, her side, where forgiveness and peace might wait.

They certainly wouldn’t find any on this side. Identifiable as Jumin as Jehan might be, he had none of his Christian faith or capacity for mercy; and while V might have once have the heart to influence his friend, this version actually thanked him for being so gruesome.  Simon would have called it a perversion of the established order, but the recent events made him doubt he could even cling to that as a reference to what was supposed to be.

Hence why he was here.

“I don’t know where to begin, to be honest” he said out loud. Thoughts were bouncing in his head like in a ping-pong game, and it was hard to pick what was the most important. “I know you’d say to start with the beginning, but there’s not much on that side. We found the Chinese goods – thankfully, God, we did, otherwise I don’t know how many people Jehan would have shot to motivate us, I mean he was so pissed when his pet had her meltdown—” he rambled, then winced at his choice of words. There was really no hope if even he had internalized her as pet rather than girl, which was both the crux of the problem and not.

“It broke Yvan, in any case” he continued with practiced detachment.  He wasn’t sure if he had seen the girl or not, but the crazed look in his eyes when he had raced in his apartment left no doubt that he had pieced enough to understand, and, well — Simon had done his best to distract him with his dick, but hadn’t been able to stay hard very long once Yvan suggested he could be his puppy.  It wasn’t just the frail way he said it, like he was trying to make the girl’s plight okay by embracing it too, but his own reaction to the idea; for a brief second, he had been tempted to agree. It’d be trading a scar for another, sure, but Yvan would be happy, and—

He had snarled in disgust, at himself, as a warning, and Yvan hadn’t understood and ran away in tears, and he had been left... not caring, because he really didn’t, but... wondering. For all the worsening of the loop, it was still the first time he thought Yvan could have been happy.

And the girl was happy too, from what he understood. It was a horrible kind of happy, but she was happy nonetheless, blissfully so, apparently. Rumour had it that she rolled at Jehan’s feet every night in an imitation of a cat begging to be played with, with no sound out her lips but mewls of delight. Not that Jehan ever confirmed it, but the walls weren’t totally soundproofed, and she wasn’t exactly discreet in her appreciation of him. And if that was truly the case, then…

“I suppose I should mention her friend too, before going any further” he sighed. It hadn’t been pleasant to go behind his brother’s back and check the logs of his “volunteers” – poor saps who didn’t know better and were roped in with promises of a fat paycheck and an entry point into Jehan’s organization. Once they realized they were to be used as lab rats for his odopium’s experimentations until madness ensued, it was typically much too late.

He wondered if Maria had known the risks and still soldiered on for the sake of her friend, or if her demise at been by design. Another wish gone wrong, phrased wrong, “please, God, give me another opportunity to reach her”, and the next morning in the newspapers, that treacherous ad shining like gold—

Not that it mattered. The only detail of importance was that she hadn’t succeeded, because the previous times her role had; and while he at first had chalked it up to the worsening of the loop, suddenly he wasn’t so sure. Her death, cruel as it was, had after all reinforced the chances of the girl becoming Jehan’s pet, and thus, happy—

And, well, what if the loop wasn’t worsening every time, as he first assumed, but just… reverting?

Which was easily the most horrifying theory he ever had. To think perhaps what he considered the first world was in fact the last, and that the pendulum was just swinging back to its previous status quo, and that everyone would soon become so… twistedly happy again?

He’d rather die than ever having to find out what that meant for everyone, though he suspected dying wouldn’t be quite enough.

“I thought you would understand best” he confessed to the tomb. Since she made the same wish, in her way, it stood to reason she would give him her blessings was she alive.

“I’m going to make another wish to be free of the loop, ‘Rika” he admitted at last, his voice strengthening as his will took shape. “But not for myself, this time. I’m going to wish that every fucked up part of ourselves go their merry way to have their own brand of happy, in their own bibbity bobbity universe, I don’t give a shit as long as it let us return to what is right. Jumin will turn back into that good old robot we all know and love, and his Jehan part will go fuck girls into his obedient pets in another dimension, and it if it means I’m condemning a whole galaxy to misery, then so be it. I mean we’ll never know, right? We’ll be happy. And you’ll be too, this time, damn it.”

There was sudden gust of wind, a gentle breeze like a caress against his cheek, and he smiled one last time before pushing the words out his mouth:

“I wish…”

///THE END (…?)

A/N: “Puppy, why did you end it so quickly? We were just getting to the good part!” I hear you say. Not because I’m tired of writing, fear not, but because as I wrote this story I began to be more and more frustrated by the restraints of it being a fanfic – meaning I had to respect Jumin’s boundaries as a character, no matter how much I twisted him, and that severely limited me in what I could do with him. I dunno for you, but I want more – I want a story with a Jumin-type character where I can go all out on the kink scale without having to hold myself back because shit that’s not Jumin-esque enough. I want him psychopathic. I want him creepy as fuck. I want him out of his yandere mind at power 100000000000.

And so, I thought…why not? Better yet; why limit myself to written words? Why not a drama CD out of it, so we can lie on our beds and hear a sweet maniac romance us into being his pet?

For those still thirsting for MM, fear not, I still have Sharing is Caring to complete! For those who love the idea though, I leave you with this teaser while I prepare further material:

See you all soon! <3

[phoenixryzing]

Another’s Pain

Freshuary Day 5: Emotion (Note: this is VERY long. Sorry in advance.)

“You never think, do you?! DO you ever, EVER, think about what it’s like for us? The torment you put us through? How’d you like it if it was you, huh? Tell me! How would you like it?”

“Brah, it don’t bother me none, you know that,” Fresh replied, before going back to ignoring the voice. The host.

He had heard it all. Death threats, curses, screams- so many screams. It didn’t bother him. Nothing did. Nothing could. He... actually liked the sound if it. It meant he was in control. Powerful. If they were quiet... he would wonder what was up. What they were planning.

Not like they could hurt him, but. It was a pain in the neck to deal with a takeover attempt. It tired them both out. Wasteful- useless. They never won. They never would.

Fresh heelied along, going nowhere in particular, just cruisin’. He didn’t have anything he needed to do, and... he didn’t feel like doing anything. The host had shut up, slightly worrying him. But their words... wouldn’t leave his head.

How would you like it?

Fresh hadn’t really ever thought about it. Why would he? What they felt did not matter. He knew, from a factual point of view, that the hosts were in incredible pain. That they often longed to die, to be freed from suffering. Fresh couldn’t understand it. No matter how painful their life was... how was it better than dying? Than non-existing? 

Their emotions... it confused him. Angered him, as much as anything could. It. was. so. STUPID. Why would anyone throw their life away? Why would they CARE? 

Caring was not an advantage, in his mind. He didn’t care- and he never wanted to. If it made him as suicidal and moronic as them.

But...

The host’s words wouldn’t go away.

He tried to push them aside. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.

He didn’t-

Fresh stopped rolling for a moment, and absently rubbed his chest, over where the soul sat. It... hurt. What... that wasn’t...

His closed his eyes and checked the soul. No, it still looked whole. It had a few cracks, but not many. Not enough to explain this. He... never felt pain... not soul pain. Not... whatever this was. 

What was going on?

Fresh opened his eyes, confused and feeling himself getting angrier. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Fresh quit rolling and started striding. He needed to stop this. This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t right- he wouldn’t put up with it.

If the soul was corrupted, broken, whatever- it didn’t mater. It would go. Flaws were not acceptable. Pain was not acceptable. This was not acceptable.

He was always in control. Of everything. But this... he couldn’t control it. So he would e n d  i t.

Fresh walked along, in predator mode now. He scanned for someone suitable for his needs, someone easy to take. He didn’t have time for this- he did not want to deal with this. But.

His soul ached more and more as he walked. What started as a dull pang was slowly growing to an all-consuming burning. Like all he was was burning away, being consumed. Soon Fresh started to wheeze, the pain too much to contain.

The pain angered him, but his cheap shadow of anger couldn’t match the burning. He could feel what little self-preserving emotion he had being overwhelmed by the pain. 

Fresh tried to shake his head, shake it away. Or at least to concentrate. He was starting to have issues thinking straight. This just angered him even more, but the pain... it was exhausting him. He wanted to just lie down and sleep, sleep for a thousand years... or just rip his soul out of his chest. Anything to end the pain. But he couldn’t.

Fresh pushed himself on, doggedly determined to find a new host ASAP. He could hear the host chuckling slightly, but Fresh ignored it. He had bigger concerns right now than whatever that shell was thinking.

Fresh eventually entered a city, staggering and slightly dazed. His eyes didn’t want to focus on anything, his mind didn’t want to clear the fog away. The pain was still there, but now the burning was dulled by pure exhaustion. He had no energy, to move, to think. He knew in the back of his mind that this tiredness was not physical, that his body had plenty of energy. It was something else entirely, something Fresh had never experience before.

He wanted to figure it out, figure out  away to stop it, but he couldn’t. He could barely stand. He had to focus on simply walking, one step following another. If anyone came after him now, he wasn’t sure he could defend himself, a thought which sent a pang of fear through him. He needed to stop this. Now.

Fresh staggered along, determined to pick the first poor sap he could possess easily. He scanned people, analyzing them as best he could given the circumstances. He wandered around for fifteen or so minutes before he saw someone.

Not a skeleton, not a candidate. A  younger girl, maybe a teenager. She was walking along, trying to ignore a guy following her. He kept on walking up to her, despite her speeding up to get away, talking to her. He finally got angry and grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around to face him.

Fresh paused, for a minute, watching the interaction. Bullying was totes unrad, and he had half a mind to walk on over and stop it, out of principle. But right now he didn’t have the time or energy, and what did he care?

He kept watching though. Slowly something started to change. He started to feel a bit like he couldn’t breathe, like his non-existent throat was closing up. He felt... like he was surrounded in liquid, trapping him in its suffocating grasp. 

Fresh coughed once, twice, to try and clear up the weird sensation. But it didn’t work. His breathing didn’t get worse, but. The feeling of drowning... of the light going away... didn’t end. It started to overwhelm him, causing him to start breathing raggedly,.

He had been facing the woman, who was still being harassed, but now he turned away, head in hands. He was trying to think. But slowly, he noticed something. When... he didn’t face her... the feeling of drowning lessened. What... no... what was this?

Fresh decided to experiment slightly. He turned back towards the scene, to see if the feeling came back. But soon he was shocked into stillness.

The man had the women almost pinned against the wall. She was... crying? and even from across the street Fresh could hear her begging him to go away. The guy just leaned in closer, whispering something indistinguishable to her.

The street was empty except for them. Fresh started to turn away, to leave- harassment was wrong but he was busy- when the woman cried out. Fresh snapped around again, and without thinking strode over to them.

The guy was... Fresh didn’t bother to check the details. He grabbed the guy by the shoulder and whipped him around. The guy’s face registered surprise, fear, for half a second. Fresh socked him in the face, hard enough for him to crumple to the ground.

He was breathing hard, a nervous energy running through him. His mind was racing- what was happening, why did he do that, that was stupid WHY DID HE DO THAT-

Fresh was always in control. But that... he didn’t think. He had just acted.

The woman was trying to say something to him, but Fresh pushed her aside. Started to walk off. She walked after him- Fresh heard her footsteps- so he. Ran. 

He ran through the city, till he was sure he had lost her. He was still breathing heavily- now from exertion- and shaking. From fear. 

He... didn’t know what was happening to him. He didn’t know why he was acting like this, how to stop it. How to control it. He always... he needed to fix it. But he was starting to fear... that he couldn’t.

He still felt like he was burning, his head all foggy. It still felt like the light was gone, like he couldn’t breathe. He... nothing was stopping it. What...why...?

“Not so nice to be on the receiving end, huh?” a voice said.

Fresh whipped around, but soon realized the voice came form inside. From the soul.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” Fresh demanded, fear igniting rage in him.

“Me? Nothing “brah”. It all you. Being burned away- isn’t fun, is it? Feeling yourself slip away, consumed. That nothing matters because nothing helps. That the sun won’t ever shine, because all you’ll ever know from now on is despair.

“Not so nice when it’s YOU, huh?”

Fresh... didn’t respond. He just stood, breathing heavily, trying to process it all. He couldn't. His mind wouldn’t work. And that thought scared him more than any other. 

He always was in control of himself. But now... he couldn’t do anything.

Fresh eventually found another host. But it was even worse.

He could hear the host screaming in pain, and felt like a dagger had been stabbed through him. The host pleaded, begged, for some- any- help, and Fresh felt like he was going to suffocate, collapse and curl up into a ball and never leave. The host cried- so much- and Fresh could feel the darkness returning, turning the bright sunny day into a starless night.

He didn’t have words for these sensations, he could only guess. Desperation, despair, pain... 

Everything the host felt, he felt.

And it wasn’t just them.

Fresh couldn’t walk outside anymore without being assaulted by new, horrible, experiences.

When he saw a little girl crying, his throat choked up and he felt like collapsing, and never getting up again.

When he saw someone shouting at another, he could feel himself burning, a smoky haze filling his brain, poisoning his thoughts.

When he saw someone back away in fear, or cower from another’s words, or quickly apologize to appease another, he could feel his throat close up, his body tense up, from the fear,

The fear was the worst. He saw it e v e r y w h e r e, and he knew it the most. It hadn’t been his nature to feel anger or sadness or happiness, but fear. He knew that emotion like it was a brother.

Fresh started avoiding people, avoiding going out. If he did, he just went to parties, places everyone was happy. Happiness he could deal with- it meshed with his rad 90′s self.

But the rest...

Fresh tried to ignore. Tried to walk without seeing, hear without listening. He avoided any contact he didn’t have to initiate. He tried to avoid feeling anything.

Because now he was cursed to feel everything.

...And he had no idea what he was going to do.

Fresh was made by @loverofpiggies​

Freshuary was made by @feth​

[becauseimsensational]

Killing Eve rewatch: "I'll Deal With Him Later"

Of course, Eve remains as tangentially relatable as ever during her meeting with Carolyn: from the five seconds of awkward stuttering that seem to last five minutes because secondhand embarrassment is a REAL problem, to the point at which she explodes in her learned polite, British manner, Eve's frustration leaps off the screen and demands attention. I have to wonder how many times she's tried explaining this theory of hers to Niko, or to Bill and Elena, and how many times they'd tell her she was insane and grasping at straws. For once, someone is listening to her, believes her, and isn't calling her crazy. The line, "It's like I've stepped into my brain!" is massively important for both Eve and the audience. It shows Eve's intelligence and tenacity with these cases, but it also gives her a sense of agency and validates the extra secret work she'd put in at MI-5 that's now paying off. (Side note: God bless Phoebe Waller-Bridge for casting Fiona Shaw as Carolyn, because that line about the rat drinking from the can of Coke is so absurdly funny due to her deadpan delivery of it, and I'm not sure any other actress would've been able to do that line justice.) That whole scene is also a massive turning point, because Eve is finally allowed to investigate what she wants to, and she's got no boundaries or dickswab superiors telling her she can't.

I think one of the most endearing things about Villanelle is her sense of humor and the deadpan delivery of some of her answers. The exchange with Konstantin about the bruise on her eye is undeniably funny, but it's interesting that a hardened assassin uses humor to deflect any possible kernel of truth, even with someone she's so familiar with. The assessment scene is wickedly funny, too, in true Villanelle fashion. The line about the photo of the hanged man having "good legs" should not be funny, but somehow it is. Villanelle subverts all expectations, laughing at and making light of things that "ordinary" people should not—but don't we all know someone like that, who laughs at awfully morbid things? Who uses humor as a mask for their true feelings? (I personally use dark humor constantly to cover the trauma I experienced in the past, which may be informing my feelings toward the assessment scene, but I digress.) The appeal of using dark humor in stressful situations is a sense of control that I think most of us crave. It's a control that Villanelle certainly has—until Konstantin makes Jerome ask her about Anna and shows her the sketch of the woman. For me, there are two possibilities here: either she's lying and the woman is Anna, or she's lying and it is actually her mother.

Either would make sense, honestly. It's very easy to lie and bite out the first denial that comes to mind, even if it's just a direct reversal of what the other person said. At this point, the audience doesn't know who Anna is, but we can assume she was someone important to Villanelle, or she wouldn't have had such a hard time getting back to using humor to control the situation. I personally think Villanelle was, for once, being genuine when she said the woman was supposed to be her mother. It could make sense, given the fact that she keeps staring at older women with dark hair. It could be an unfulfilled maternal fantasy, or I could just be talking out of my ass and she was actually joking about it being her mom. Also, we don't know how long Konstantin had that sketch in his possession for, so it's unlikely the woman in the sketch is Eve. On the off-chance it is actually Eve (or Random London Hospital Woman, from Villanelle's pov), maybe Villanelle sketched it because her hair reminded her of Anna's. But who knows? That scene is still kind of ambiguous to me.

After the assessment when she hugs Konstantin, I sensed a bit of a disconnect. The hug looked inorganic, forced, and like it was a spur-of-the-moment thing she remembered that people do sometimes. This is definitely coming from beyond the constraints of just this episode, but I'd be willing to bet she's never hugged anyone without an ulterior motive. Ever. Call me crazy but Villanelle just doesn't seem like a hugger. Someone pointed out to me that Villanelle is very similar to an AI, a comparison I hate (because robots terrify me lol) but one that makes sense. She has no moral compass or ethical code, she's an efficient killing machine and, most interestingly, she mimics other people's behavior to fit in. I truly think she has no idea how to be a "normal" human, which explains the smiling battle with the little girl on the ice cream shop from episode one, the awkward way she hugs Konstantin, and then mimicking the laughter she hears on the radio when she's out with Sebastian.

Oh, Sebastian. Adorable, sweet, sensitive Sebastian. I actually was rooting for him to stay alive, but…well, we see how long that lasted. While the sex scene didn't come as a shock to me at all, the logistics of it were weirdly refreshing. For once, the woman was on top, in total control, and the man was begging for mercy. For once, the man was being used as a sexual object for the woman's gratification. I found myself audibly "aww-ing" for the fifth fucking time because I'm a sap when Sebastian assured Villanelle he'd never hurt her, while her hand was around his throat. Never one for sentimentality, Villanelle's cold, vacant eyes and flat affect tacitly told us all we needed to know: "This was fun, but I don't believe you. And I'm not going to let you get close enough to find out if you're lying."

The subtle recognition in Eve's eyes in the bathroom speaks to the nuance of Sandra Oh's acting. It's clearly just a passing remembrance, because I'm fairly certain the traumatic memory of walking into witness the carnage in that hospital room would outweigh a nurse in a bathroom, but for some reason the encounter stood out to Eve. She's almost constantly fiddling with her luxurious mane, and probably spends most of her time trying to keep it out of her face. And then a random beautiful young woman stares at her for a little too long, then tells her to "Wear it down," which may have been the first time anyone's ever told her that.

THE KILL: It might sound demented, but I think this one is my favorite. Villanelle is a master manipulator and knows exactly what to say to get Carla to smell her perfume. Not to mention all the preparation that went into that kill? Mixing that toxic perfume, having the correct outfit and wig, the "three weeks of catering training" she supposedly did, and the tampon in her pocket as an excuse to get to her target? She really thinks of everything when it comes to her job, and that's a determination I can support! (Well, mostly, I mean she is killing people…) But then there's the utter fascination in her eyes as she watches Madame De Mann die, slowly and excruciatingly. And then, of course, Villanelle makes it laugh-out-loud funny by grabbing the woman's hand and waving goodbye with it, once again using dark humor even though she's had control of the situation the whole time.

Yet again, Sebastian's the sweetest guy who didn't deserve what happened to him. He's not an idiot, of course he didn't believe that Konstantin was her brother. Not to mention he literally walked in on him choking her against the wall? His willingness to protect Villanelle (AKA "Julie") is adorable and noble, but it was his curiosity and desire to support her in her perfume business that got him in the end, poor guy. Also, Konstantin's lazy, half-assed "I'm her brother" never fails to crack me up, along with Villanelle's "Dealt with" when they find Sebastian's body. PWB's writing and Jodie Comer's delivery are the perfect match, I swear.

The final scene of both leading ladies trying to research the other has to be one of my favorites of the series. In a way, it's a little like the moment in You've Got Mail when Tom Hanks realizes the perpetual thorn in his side is the woman he's in love with—but Meg Ryan's still in the dark for the rest of the movie. The instant oh shit look on Villanelle's face is priceless. She's relaxing in bed after a glass of champagne, googling Eve's name to see what comes up, and then…it's her. She probably never thought she'd see Hospital Bathroom Woman again, but there she is! On her screen, and leading a department just for her; the cocky grin she had when Konstantin first told her is nowhere to be found. On Eve's end, she's poring over every photo of every nurse at that hospital; it's late, she should be home in bed, but she can't sleep until she finds a photo of the woman. When she doesn't, it finally connects: "I think I've met her."

Random observations:

-During the assessment, Villanelle speaks of her mother in the present tense: "I'm joking. My mother has really thin, shitty hair." To me, that line indicated that her mother's alive. (Because I've seen this show in its entirety four times already, this will definitely come up again later but for now it's just something to keep in mind)

-Frank's still a dickswab. God I can't wait until I get to watch him get murdered again

-Why national anthems? Of all the genres of music she could have thrown out, why that one? She was born in a post-Soviet Russia, so the anthem's been toned down a bit; also, Konstantin told Jerome that she doesn't speak Russian anymore, indicating a disconnect from her homeland. But the French national anthem? That makes a little more sense for Villanelle to like. It's defiant, it's triumphant, and damn it's violent. But just because you like one country's national anthem doesn't mean you like them all, and most of the rest of them are boring "I love my country" rhetoric that are sorely lacking the mentions of bloodshed that the French have. She's just a constant surprise, I guess lol

-Sebastian's got a dressform in his apartment, which I think is cool because hey, he did actually make his trousers like he said.

-Villanelle eats on screen, which is so refreshing for a female character. And they're not like important meals, it's snacking and eating junk food like real people do. (Yeah, the bar for women acting like humans on screen is that low)

-Who would I be if I didn't mention that infamous champagne cork pop?! The placement of the bottle right between Jodie's legs, and the fact that it explodes right after Villanelle says Eve's name? Iconic. There had to have been some deity that blessed that take because…wow, it was perfect. And totally unexpected and unscripted, as Jodie confirmed on twitter.

-Even in the photo Villanelle finds of her, Eve's got her hand in her hair, messing with it as usual. Maybe it's a manifestation of Eve's insecurities, either about her appearance (for which there is no reason, have you seen Sandra Oh?) or about herself generally.

-If you pause the screen while Villanelle's googling, some of the search results are hilarious!

The first one (from the not at all made up website 'powbangsmash.tv') advertises "Horrific Wrestling Accidents" featuring Polastri Pulverizer, which is just so random, even for a fake google search.

The second is about Niko who, apparently, tutors people in the world's most boring card game AND was the national champion in 1998, because of course Niko's really really good at really really mundane things.

The third mentions the origins of the Polastri family line which: "BEGAN IN THE 1880S WITH ERIC POLASTRI, WHO HAD THREE WIVES EACH NAMED JANE" which is just bizarre

The fourth one, my favorite, is a One Direction Fan Fiction called "A Hallow's Eve in the wrong direction" from the site 'fanfictionsandhomemadetales.org' which, sadly, doesn't actually exist. (Yes I did look that one up)

The last one is about a house fire and how the dad saved the family's puppy, named Eve. Pets with human names will never not be funny to me, and Eve is just so odd-sounding for an animal.

[readbookywooks]

The Little House

Foolish Tootles was standing like a conqueror over Wendy's body when the other boys sprang, armed, from their trees.

 "You are too late," he cried proudly, "I have shot the Wendy. Peter will be so pleased with me."

 Overhead Tinker Bell shouted "Silly ass!" and darted into hiding. The others did not hear her. They had crowded round Wendy, and as they looked a terrible silence fell upon the wood. If Wendy's heart had been beating they would all have heard it.

 Slightly was the first to speak. "This is no bird," he said in a scared voice. "I think this must be a lady."

 "A lady?" said Tootles, and fell a-trembling.

 "And we have killed her," Nibs said hoarsely.

 They all whipped off their caps.

 "Now I see," Curly said: "Peter was bringing her to us." He threw himself sorrowfully on the ground.

 "A lady to take care of us at last," said one of the twins, "and you have killed her!"

 They were sorry for him, but sorrier for themselves, and when he took a step nearer them they turned from him.

 Tootles' face was very white, but there was a dignity about him now that had never been there before.

 "I did it," he said, reflecting. "When ladies used to come to me in dreams, I said, `Pretty mother, pretty mother.' But when at last she really came, I shot her."

 He moved slowly away.

 "Don't go," they called in pity.

 "I must," he answered, shaking; "I am so afraid of Peter."

 It was at this tragic moment that they heard a sound which made the heart of every one of them rise to his mouth. They heard Peter crow.

 "Peter!" they cried, for it was always thus that he signalled his return.

 "Hide her," they whispered, and gathered hastily around Wendy. But Tootles stood aloof.

 Again came that ringing crow, and Peter dropped in front of them. "Greetings, boys," he cried, and mechanically they saluted, and then again was silence.

 He frowned.

 "I am back," he said hotly, "why do you not cheer?"

 They opened their mouths, but the cheers would not come. He overlooked it in his haste to tell the glorious tidings.

 "Great news, boys," he cried, "I have brought at last a mother for you all."

 Still no sound, except a little thud from Tootles as he dropped on his knees.

 "Have you not seen her?" asked Peter, becoming troubled. "She flew this way."

 "Ah me!" once voice said, and another said, "Oh, mournful day."

 Tootles rose. "Peter," he said quietly, "I will show her to you," and when the others would still have hidden her he said, "Back, twins, let Peter see."

 So they all stood back, and let him see, and after he had looked for a little time he did not know what to do next.

 "She is dead," he said uncomfortably. "Perhaps she is frightened at being dead."

 He thought of hopping off in a comic sort of way till he was out of sight of her, and then never going near the spot any more. They would all have been glad to follow if he had done this.

 But there was the arrow. He took it from her heart and faced his band.

 "Whose arrow?" he demanded sternly.

 "Mine, Peter," said Tootles on his knees.

 "Oh, dastard hand," Peter said, and he raised the arrow to use it as a dagger.

 Tootles did not flinch. He bared his breast. "Strike, Peter," he said firmly, "strike true."

 Twice did Peter raise the arrow, and twice did his hand fall. "I cannot strike," he said with awe, "there is something stays my hand."

 All looked at him in wonder, save Nibs, who fortunately looked at Wendy.

 "It is she," he cried, "the Wendy lady, see, her arm!"

 Wonderful to relate [tell], Wendy had raised her arm. Nibs bent over her and listened reverently. "I think she said, `Poor Tootles,'" he whispered.

 "She lives," Peter said briefly.

 Slightly cried instantly, "The Wendy lady lives."

 Then Peter knelt beside her and found his button. You remember she had put it on a chain that she wore round her neck.

 "See," he said, "the arrow struck against this. It is the kiss I gave her. It has saved her life."

 "I remember kisses," Slightly interposed quickly, "let me see it. Ay, that's a kiss."

 Peter did not hear him. He was begging Wendy to get better quickly, so that he could show her the mermaids. Of course she could not answer yet, being still in a frightful faint; but from overhead came a wailing note.

 "Listen to Tink," said Curly, "she is crying because the Wendy lives."

 Then they had to tell Peter of Tink's crime, and almost never had they seen him look so stern.

 "Listen, Tinker Bell," he cried, "I am your friend no more. Begone from me for ever."

 She flew on to his shoulder and pleaded, but he brushed her off. Not until Wendy again raised her arm did he relent sufficiently to say, "Well, not for ever, but for a whole week."

 Do you think Tinker Bell was grateful to Wendy for raising her arm? Oh dear no, never wanted to pinch her so much. Fairies indeed are strange, and Peter, who understood them best, often cuffed [slapped] them.

 But what to do with Wendy in her present delicate state of health?

 "Let us carry her down into the house," Curly suggested.

 "Ay," said Slightly, "that is what one does with ladies."

 "No, no," Peter said, "you must not touch her. It would not be sufficiently respectful."

 "That," said Slightly, "is what I was thinking."

 "But if she lies there," Tootles said, "she will die."

 "Ay, she will die," Slightly admitted, "but there is no way out."

 "Yes, there is," cried Peter. "Let us build a little house round her."

 They were all delighted. "Quick," he ordered them, "bring me each of you the best of what we have. Gut our house. Be sharp."

 In a moment they were as busy as tailors the night before a wedding. They skurried this way and that, down for bedding, up for firewood, and while they were at it, who should appear but John and Michael. As they dragged along the ground they fell asleep standing, stopped, woke up, moved another step and slept again.

 "John, John," Michael would cry, "wake up! Where is Nana, John, and mother?"

 And then John would rub his eyes and mutter, "It is true, we did fly."

 You may be sure they were very relieved to find Peter.

 "Hullo, Peter," they said.

 "Hullo," replied Peter amicably, though he had quite forgotten them. He was very busy at the moment measuring Wendy with his feet to see how large a house she would need. Of course he meant to leave room for chairs and a table. John and Michael watched him.

 "Is Wendy asleep?" they asked.

 "Yes."

 "John," Michael proposed, "let us wake her and get her to make supper for us," but as he said it some of the other boys rushed on carrying branches for the building of the house. "Look at them!" he cried.

 "Curly," said Peter in his most captainy voice, "see that these boys help in the building of the house."

 "Ay, ay, sir."

 "Build a house?" exclaimed John.

 "For the Wendy," said Curly.

 "For Wendy?" John said, aghast. "Why, she is only a girl!"

 "That," explained Curly, "is why we are her servants."

 "You? Wendy's servants!"

 "Yes," said Peter, "and you also. Away with them."

 The astounded brothers were dragged away to hack and hew and carry. "Chairs and a fender [fireplace] first," Peter ordered. "Then we shall build a house round them."

 "Ay," said Slightly, "that is how a house is built; it all comes back to me."

 Peter thought of everything. "Slightly," he cried, "fetch a doctor."

 "Ay, ay," said Slightly at once, and disappeared, scratching his head. But he knew Peter must be obeyed, and he returned in a moment, wearing John's hat and looking solemn.

 "Please, sir," said Peter, going to him, "are you a doctor?"

 The difference between him and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was make-believe, while to him make-believe and true were exactly the same thing. This sometimes troubled them, as when they had to make-believe that they had had their dinners.

 If they broke down in their make-believe he rapped them on the knuckles.

 "Yes, my little man," Slightly anxiously replied, who had chapped knuckles.

 "Please, sir," Peter explained, "a lady lies very ill."

 She was lying at their feet, but Slightly had the sense not to see her.

 "Tut, tut, tut," he said, "where does she lie?"

 "In yonder glade."

 "I will put a glass thing in her mouth," said Slightly, and he made-believe to do it, while Peter waited. It was an anxious moment when the glass thing was withdrawn.

 "How is she?" inquired Peter.

 "Tut, tut, tut," said Slightly, "this has cured her."

 "I am glad!" Peter cried.

 "I will call again in the evening," Slightly said; "give her beef tea out of a cup with a spout to it"; but after he had returned the hat to John he blew big breaths, which was his habit on escaping from a difficulty.

 In the meantime the wood had been alive with the sound of axes; almost everything needed for a cosy dwelling already lay at Wendy's feet.

 "If only we knew," said one, "the kind of house she likes best."

 "Peter," shouted another, "she is moving in her sleep."

 "Her mouth opens," cried a third, looking respectfully into it. "Oh, lovely!"

 "Perhaps she is going to sing in her sleep," said Peter. "Wendy, sing the kind of house you would like to have."

 Immediately, without opening her eyes, Wendy began to sing:

"I wish I had a pretty house, The littlest ever seen, With funny little red walls And roof of mossy green."

 They gurgled with joy at this, for by the greatest good luck the branches they had brought were sticky with red sap, and all the ground was carpeted with moss. As they rattled up the little house they broke into song themselves:

"We've built the little walls and roof And made a lovely door, So tell us, mother Wendy, What are you wanting more?"

 To this she answered greedily:

"Oh, really next I think I'll have Gay windows all about, With roses peeping in, you know, And babies peeping out."

 With a blow of their fists they made windows, and large yellow leaves were the blinds. But roses -- ?

 "Roses," cried Peter sternly.

 Quickly they made-believe to grow the loveliest roses up the walls.

 Babies?

 To prevent Peter ordering babies they hurried into song again:

"We've made the roses peeping out, The babes are at the door, We cannot make ourselves, you know, 'cos we've been made before."

 Peter, seeing this to be a good idea, at once pretended that it was his own. The house was quite beautiful, and no doubt Wendy was very cosy within, though, of course, they could no longer see her. Peter strode up and down, ordering finishing touches. Nothing escaped his eagle eyes. Just when it seemed absolutely finished:

 "There's no knocker on the door," he said.

 They were very ashamed, but Tootles gave the sole of his shoe, and it made an excellent knocker.

 Absolutely finished now, they thought.

 Not of bit of it. "There's no chimney," Peter said; "we must have a chimney."

 "It certainly does need a chimney," said John importantly. This gave Peter an idea. He snatched the hat off John's head, knocked out the bottom [top], and put the hat on the roof. The little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that, as if to say thank you, smoke immediately began to come out of the hat.

 Now really and truly it was finished. Nothing remained to do but to knock.

 "All look your best," Peter warned them; "first impressions are awfully important."

 He was glad no one asked him what first impressions are; they were all too busy looking their best.

 He knocked politely, and now the wood was as still as the children, not a sound to be heard except from Tinker Bell, who was watching from a branch and openly sneering.

 What the boys were wondering was, would any one answer the knock? If a lady, what would she be like?

 The door opened and a lady came out. It was Wendy. They all whipped off their hats.

 She looked properly surprised, and this was just how they had hoped she would look.

 "Where am I?" she said.

 Of course Slightly was the first to get his word in. "Wendy lady," he said rapidly, "for you we built this house."

 "Oh, say you're pleased," cried Nibs.

 "Lovely, darling house," Wendy said, and they were the very words they had hoped she would say.

 "And we are your children," cried the twins.

 Then all went on their knees, and holding out their arms cried, "O Wendy lady, be our mother."

 "Ought I?" Wendy said, all shining. "Of course it's frightfully fascinating, but you see I am only a little girl. I have no real experience."

 "That doesn't matter," said Peter, as if he were the only person present who knew all about it, though he was really the one who knew least. "What we need is just a nice motherly person."

 "Oh dear!" Wendy said, "you see, I feel that is exactly what I am."

 "It is, it is," they all cried; "we saw it at once."

 "Very well," she said, "I will do my best. Come inside at once, you naughty children; I am sure your feet are damp. And before I put you to bed I have just time to finish the story of Cinderella."

 In they went; I don't know how there was room for them, but you can squeeze very tight in the Neverland. And that was the first of the many joyous evenings they had with Wendy. By and by she tucked them up in the great bed in the home under the trees, but she herself slept that night in the little house, and Peter kept watch outside with drawn sword, for the pirates could be heard carousing far away and the wolves were on the prowl. The little house looked so cosy and safe in the darkness, with a bright light showing through its blinds, and the chimney smoking beautifully, and Peter standing on guard. After a time he fell asleep, and some unsteady fairies had to climb over him on their way home from an orgy. Any of the other boys obstructing the fairy path at night they would have mischiefed, but they just tweaked Peter's nose and passed on.