#but again why is it mostly and usually ONLY white people that take their anger and their pain

[maxellminidisc]

Reading this article about that former foriegn correspondent for tons of massive networks turning right wing conspiracist is wild but not surprising. Like white women truly cannot say they've never been instrumental to white supremacy because the minute marganilized people try to hold you accountable for your part or even when things just start going bad for you, you bitches do the same shit as white men and either lash out at communities who literally have nothing to do with you and your problems and eventually turn into nazis in the blink of an eye.

[yes0another0outsiders0blog]

SFW Alphabet : Dallas Winston

mostly SFW, mention of sex in cuddles and hickeys in jealousy

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Not very affectionate at all. Sees it as weak and stupid. Any physical affection is a display of ownership, basically only done to remind people that you're his and no one else can touch you. Usually just a hand in your pocket or around your waist.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

It would most likely start because he's hitting on you and you shoot back with something clever or surprisingly genuine. If he's saying nasty shit to you and you don't get too upset, but you actually take it and prove that you can actually twist it into a worthwhile conversation, he'll probably talk to you more and the more yall talk the more he'd actually start to enjoy you. It's all work on your side, prove to him why he should see you as a person and not just entertainment. If you would even care to get past the original phase of blatant disrespect.

Once you're close, friendship is pretty wild. Lots of ups-and-downs. Doing stupid shit together like trespassing (and getting caught), drinking, a lot of banter and friendly flirting, etc. He's still going to say you guys just know each other, that yall are hardly even friends, but you know damn well that it's your house he goes to when he doesn't want to tell the gang that he didn't get injured from the barfight that he got in but he very much did break his hand drunkenly punching the wall after.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Doesn't like cuddles at all, might pull you onto his lap if he's trying to show you off but that's it. The only time he'd properly cuddle is post-sex. Then, he'll let you lay on his chest as he plays with your hair a bit before he drifts off.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Cannot clean for the life of him. Cannot cook. Only eats restaurant food or, like, canned food that he doesn't even bother to heat up and white bread when he has to fend for himself. Won't starve, but "making dinner" means a plain lunch meat sandwich.

Sees settling down as a luxury that he isn't made for. Doesn't even entertain the thought, sees himself as someone that'll never stay in one place long enough to settle down. But wants to, in a weird way. Again, it's a luxury.

No matter how "settled" he gets, his survival instincts are always going to override it and he'll always be ready to leave "just in case," but he does crave having a home. He does prefer to stay in one place, he prefers to stay with the gang, he'd prefer to have a place to stay that's his own, when he's in a relationship he'd prefer to stay together. It would be nice. He just knows that things don't work out like that for him (made worse by his self-sabotaging tendencies), it's a luxury that he's never had and when he does get even a taste of it it's so uncomfortable and scary and he doesn't know what to do with it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

The breakups themselves are screaming matches, things get thrown, they're intense. A ton of anger from both sides, it's a big deal in the moment. After, Dally almost instantly ghosts his now-ex and acts like they didn't mean anything to him to begin with. Now that he's in a more permanent place he wouldn't, but he has been known to just leave town after a breakup because he just doesn't want to see "some bitch that screwed him over" ever again.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Would never want to get married, never would, not his thing. I don't think he'd actively try to be committed in any way, he needs to feel like he could easily go back to being on his own and doesn't like things getting in the way of that. No matter how good/stable life gets for him, Dally needs to know that if he HAS to leave it all behind again he could.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

In the negatives, not at all.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Hates hugs, like everything else even slightly lovey.

When you really need a hug, they're quick side-hugs. Really awkward, you probably have to ask for it and it's, like, a chore that he's only doing because he cares about you. You're distressed, you said a hug would help, so let's get this over with.

Other times, if you try to go in for a hug as a greeting or something, he'll either use it as an excuse to grope you and lowkey hoping that it makes you pull away real fast or he'll just stand there waiting for you to stop. If it lasts any longer than a few seconds, Dally's pushing you away and asking what the hell all that was even about.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Will never say it. Absolutely never, no matter how much he does start to love you, will he say it out loud. Love is such a weakness to him, something that he cannot afford to have, something that will destroy him. Loving someone would be so detrimental to the image that he has become to survive, and survival is all he knows. Love, and admitting to love, would be a death sentence for him.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Dallas gets very jealous. He makes it very clear that you're his through marking you in any way possible. When he's around, his hand is in your pocket. When he's not, you're wearing his stuff. His ring, of course. If he feels overly paranoid/jealous then you're getting his jacket for a bit and you aren't taking it off no matter how warm you get. If some guy was getting too friendly with you at the last party, you'll be covered in hickeys at the next one.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Rough, quick, and territorial. PDA is not really Dally's thing, affection even less so. A kiss is usually to mark you in front of others. Someone's staring at you for too long? Dal practically smashes his face into yours, or maybe your neck, before keeping a hand in your back pocket or around your waist for the rest of the night.

Privately, kisses are equally as rough, usually progressing into makeout sessions and more.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Hates kids, doesn't even try to be good with children. Actively bullies children, if any kid is even SLIGHTLY above "child just existing" level of annoying Dallas is going to beat them out of existence. Even when he's doing his very, utmost best to be good with kids (which wouldn't happen, but in the unrealistic scenario where he WOULD try) he's still the type of person to tell them to put their hand on a hot stove or something.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Dally wakes up late as hell unless someone wakes him up. Nothing is important enough to set an alarm for, if someone needs him they can wake his ass up. He'll complain about it so much, too. He prefers morning showers to night showers, so he'll take one "as needed" (in his very bias and fairly nasty opinion, every few days unless he does something that gets him particularly gross), throw on whatever clothes are closest, and follow you around as you get ready while he rants about random bullshit and makes endless dirty comments.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Probably quick. Most late evenings are spent at a drive-in or one of Buck's parties, or hanging out with the gang. Y'all don't get back until pretty late. Sometimes things get spicy from there, but this is the sfw alphabet so let's pretend you don't on this night. It's usually just a throw on pajamas/strip down to underwear, crawl into bed, and pass out for the night kind of thing.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Very slowly, very gradually, and almost never intentionally. Most things come out in "this reminds me of one time when..." type of stories. He'll mention something once and never again. If you want to know anything about this man you need to just pay attention to every passing comment and remember.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Very easy to anger and even easier to annoy. Will turn nothing into a big thing. Complains about every stupid little thing. Things go from "just joking" to a fight at random, and it's not at all consistent.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Dal remembers more than he'll admit. Won't reference things you said, but won't forget either. Thinks it's cheesy and would make him look like he cares too much if he actually mentioned remembering anything you say.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Getting to just watch you. Watching you do your hobbies, watching you at a party. Whenever you aren't looking. Seeing you and knowing that you're his and that, at least for the time being, you are stable and consistent and real and there. No particular time is his favorite, just watching you when you are passionate about something.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Very protective. Nobody is going to touch you. He will kick anyone's ass for even glancing at you, you are his and everyone is going to know.

Obviously, he'd DESPISE if you tried to protect him in any way because he can take care of himself. It's moreso protecting him emotionally/mentally, and you have to be subtle about it because if he gets so much as the slightest vibe that you're actively trying to take care of him it's a fight. But protecting him from himself, subtly talking him down from a fight, distracting him from doing something impulsively self-destructive, tricking him into caring about things? Necessary. He doesn't even consciously know you're doing it, but he (and honestly everyone else) does appreciate what you do, even if not actively.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Around average, a bit below. Anniversaries are probably completely forgotten/ignored unless you remind him. Dates are usually just going to parties or the drive-in, but they're frequent and he will be sure that he brings you along whenever he goes. Gifts are hit or miss. He'll steal you a blade so you can protect yourself when he's not around, or think to grab you a drink if he's heading that way anyway, or will always say yes when you ask to bum a cig off of him, but you aren't getting anything special. Everyday tasks are minimal. Again, he'll get you a drink if he's up anyway or will probably do random little things VERY sporadically. Like, that thing that's been broken for months that you've been asking Dal to fix? Took a half a year and for you to literally forget about it/give up asking, but the second you aren't nagging about it he will get around to it. (Partially because I headcanon him to have MAJOR pathological demand avoidance along with his general hatred for authority, so he's mainly not getting shit done BECAUSE you're asking)

He does try a bit. Harder than he ever would for anyone else, at least. He's just not very good at caring about people so the results are... lacking. He's doing what he would probably do without you, but now you're there too.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Just some?? Uh, let's see... Defensive as hell over the stupidest things, literally will not take criticism or admit to being wrong, physical altercations usually ensue over it. Believes he doesn't have any feelings whatsoever, anything proves him wrong and he's instantly angry about it and distancing himself as far as he can from whatever it is, he will ghost you in an instant if he starts catching feels. Insecure as all hell but, again, so violently defensive about everything that he'll never admit it or work on it. Irresponsible and impulsive. I could go on forever.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Very, but in the sense of looking tough rather than attractive. He looks like absolutely shit and doesn't care in the slightest, ugly as hell and if I catch anyone making Dallas Winston conventionally hot we are throwing hands. But you will not see this man looking weak or gentle or soft if he has anything to do with it.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Honestly, probably!! Not something you'd EVER catch him saying, I don't think that Dally would ever be a soft boyfriend. But I also think that if he's actually got feelings for you then he'd *try* to do better as a person in general and in a long-term relationship he'd probably gradually change enough that he'd be lost without you. You'd make him more human. Not a good human, mind you, but definitely more human.

You're a much needed safespace and moral guide for him in a lot of cases. He'll go on about how he's lived without you before and can do it again no problem, but it would honestly take a lot from him if he had to.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

OH, a TON. But, sticking to one... He can play piano pretty damn well. Tells absolutely no one, you can't torture this information out of this man, but growing up his mother was AMAZING at piano and between her pretty hard-core drug addiction and how abusive his father was some of Dally's only positive memories from childhood are learning to play piano from her. If it's available, he'll still practice, but it is NOT easy to get access to a piano without anyone knowing so he's more than a bit rusty.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Anything that he considers to be "weak," anything soft. Mostly due to personal insecurity. Man's the epitome of toxic masculinity, anything that doesn't fit that honestly kind of intimidates him (though he wouldn't admit that, he'd just say it's stupid or something).

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Sleeps like a cat. Often, but usually super lightly. If he does get into a good, deep sleep then he could be mistaken for dead. Opens his eyes at the slightest sound, but drifts back off well. Switches between sleeping on his stomach and his back, never a side sleeper.

[drama--universe]

Lie Detector Curse

Requested by anonymous: Hi, I picked up some idea from the foreign stories and came up with an idea for a request: How would Meng Yao, Lan Zhan, Zewu Jun and Wen Ning react to a reader who has something like a ''useful'' curse? Anyone near the reader lies, gets caught, gets hit out of thin air, has colored hair, longer nails, or has a colored aura around them...how would they react to a reader with this curse? Would they appreciate it or take it badly? Thx!

Pairing: Untamed boys x reader

Warnings: none, I think

Lan Zhan:

You can see auras of people

which leads to being able to see if they're dangerous or not

and also when someone is truthful or not

Lan Zhan is concerned about this

and honestly, I think he'd take it badly

because he thinks that you sacrificed something to gain such powers

it's not every day that you meet someone that can sense if someone is lying or not by seeing auras

it isn't until you explain that you had been cursed by someone else, that he somehow feels better about your powers

not fine really, because you still got cursed

he doesn't worry about them perse, he never lies

but he surely will ask for your help with some of his work that includes socializing with people

he's not good with people

and they tend to lie to him when he asks questions

and thus you follow

it makes his life much easier

and his journeys significantly shortens in time

so it definitely grows on him after time

just give him awhile

Lan Xichen:

your hair changes color depending on who you talk to

it depends on emotions

red for anger, blue for sadness, yellow for happiness, green for envy and black for nothing

but when someone lies, it turns to white

Lan Xichen definitely finds it peculiar

he isn't sure what to think

even after an explanation

he's mortified that someone would curse a child, mostly

he, honestly, finds it a bit funny at times

because you can't fully control it

which means that your hair changes at any time

even if you're talking to someone you barely know

and they always tend to run off after

he tries his best to hide his smile

but he's always quick to make sure that you don't take it to heart

he usually doesn't ask for your help regarding your curse/gift

only when it is absolutely necessary

which is often only when you jump in on your own accord

he's one of the four who really wouldn't care much in the end

Meng Yao:

you're a bit like Wen Ning

your appearance changes and your eyes turn black when someone near you is dangerous or lying

(you change immediately when you see him)

nonetheless, he never really lies to you

he learns that your powers don't take in account when he just leaves certain things out to avoid the actual truth

he finds a way to use your power for his benefit

because it makes his plans easier

he asks questions to people while you hide away

you can later tell him if it was the truth or a lie

he enjoys your powers to the fullest and you know this

hence why you stay by his side

because other people get frightened when they see you

Meng Yao never asks how you got your powers

because he honestly doesn't care

he's not here to be your best friend, he just needs your powers

when you couldn't help him out, he'll discard of you

maybe not, if you're lucky

Wen Ning:

your powers basically flip a person upside down if they lie

you can control it, you just have to look at the person as they talk

they lie?

they get thrown in the air and hung upside down

it isn't pleasant

you often don't look at people because of it

until you meet Wuxian

who loves it and lies on purpose

through him, you meet Wen Ning

who loves to see another person like him

cursed

he's practically a puppy as he talks to you

if he had a tail, it would be wagging left and right

always smiling near you

doesn't dare to lie, not that he ever would lie to begin with

he gets you more comfortable with eye contact again

soon enough you hold eye contact with everyone again

(Wuxian loves watching as you talk, waiting for someone to flip up again)

Wen Ning is just glad that you can go back to "normal"

at least conversation wise

he'd also make sure that you don't hate your gift

he calls it a gift, even if you don't agree fully

because he feels like it is a part of you and you can't hate yourself

[sxdomizer]

Ramble about anything and everything about your OCs?? I love to learn about them so much

Howdy anon! Happy to have you here, thank you kindly for your ask!

Hmm rambles rambles… I assume this is about my fortnite ocs, and I only have three at the moment, so I’ll do my best to include them all here! Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild ride

MOLOTOV

The silliest billy!!!

He wasn’t taught to write, so the way he holds utensils and supplies is similar to how a baby would. That is, with his fist. He can’t hold things otherwise, and he has tried. Old habits die hard.

To add to that, he’s ambidextrous! He constantly forgot which hand he was learning to write with, so he ended up learning with both!

Despite the fact that he constantly traded for cigarettes, he doesn’t smoke tobacco. He hates the taste. He did that as a way to get people to trust him, and as a conversation starter. You’d be surprised at how quickly a person can warm up to you once you do something as simple as offering a cigarette.

He does become a stoner later in life, though. That’s more up his alley.

He burned his hands constantly out of habit, and they became brittle and burnt in turn.

He lost part of his left pinky finger early on in his life, and later lost the ring finger of his other hand in a fight.

He was convinced into getting his hands replaced after that.

He can breathe, but mostly chooses not to unless he wants to smell something, talk, or smoke. Otherwise, he avoids it. He doesn’t have lungs, anyway.

He has extremely explosive anger issues that he quite effectively masks with his bubbly personality.

He has to get his eyebrow, moustache, and goatee repainted constantly. He paints his iris on occasion.

DENNY

The idiot that I hate

He’s a narcissist. Surprise!

He doesn’t have blood. It’s all maple syrup.

He’s sickeningly obsessed with his muscles. Maintaining them is easy, though, seeing as he’s a stack of pancakes. He’s all carb.

He smells wonderful— sickeningly sweet!

He’s buttermilk pancakes, to be specific. Don is bacon pancakes, Wendy is cinnamon, and Flapjack is blueberry!

He’s bisexual, but will deny it until he’s six feet under.

Out of the three, he’s got the highest alcohol tolerance.

He usually avoids consuming alcohol and smoking, though. Not too good on the long run, and the grind never stops.

He works as a mercenary, but most specifically he’s a sniper. He likes the anonymity.

Always takes time to admire the architecture of buildings that catch his eye. Very critical of modern architecture.

He misses his family.

Needs a punching bag. He’s too angry for his own good.

Also needs to get rid of his yee yee ass haircut.

BOSCO

Tumblr’s wife. The funnest guy

He comes off as quite intimidating to most. He’s a big guy, and he’s got quite a bit of power around his area.

He used to have long hair, but has since cut most of it off because it’s “more professional” that way. Disgraceful, society— do better.

He may or may not have a sibling. He doesn’t talk about them, for their own safety.

Partly deaf on one side. I’ll let you guess on which one.

He has a master’s degree in business! Smart guy, knows he could be doing better than Durr Burger; smart enough to know he has to keep a low profile, though.

A father figure of sorts to Heinz, who I still need to develop more.

He likes classic rock, but isn’t much of a music fan.

He’s got poliosis! That’s why there are white patches in his hair; he hates it, but has bigger things to be self conscious about.

He’s confident, but knows he’s seen better days. Misses his youth. Regrets getting into the mercenary business. Something something he’s kinda depressed.

The closest thing Denny’s had to a relationship.

Big romantic, but would rather not risk it.

That’s about it because i can’t quite come up with anything else at the moment,,,, gets gears turning, though, and now i know i have to draw them more

Thanks for your ask again! I’m more than happy to answer your questions ^o^

[dragonflightsoffantasy]

Dragons And The Names They Choose

Summary: Dragons don't understand the human versions of the concept of masculine and feminine. This leads to some interesting results when it is time for them to give an alias.

"You may call me Suzie," the dragon said. He was a medium-sized western male, one of the European breeds, his voice deep and rumbling as it echoed through his barrel of a chest, covered in ancient scars that could have been dated with most parietal art- an exaggeration, really, no dragon was that old- but then again, dragons often exaggerated.

Jason tried to process what had just been said to him. He blinked a few times, but his eyes couldn't clear it up. Then it hit him, all at once.

"...Your name," he said, slowly, "is...Suzie?"

"You may call me that, yes."

Again, he had to have a minute to process this, and then another minute of trying not to burst into hysterical laughter; this had to be some sort of mistake, an error in translation.

"No," he said, leaning back in his chair, "that's-" here, he couldn't help himself and ended up chuckling. He swallowed and tried again. "No, I'm sorry, but...Suzie? You're joking, right?"

The pale nictitating membranes fluttered over the dragon's blue eyes- according to the notebook on the table in front of Jason, this was a sign of confusion.

"Why would I joke?" He rumbled, "That is the name I have chosen."

Jason paused again. He tried not to laugh- it was never wise to laugh at a dragon, even in the midst of modern-day civilization. Maybe he could explain this.

"It's just...It's an unusual name for a male," he started gently.

The dragon's nictitating membranes flickered again. "Is it? How so?"

"Well, you know...'Suzie' basically means lilly, which is a type of flower. Flowers are usually associated with femininity- "

The dragon's brow furrowed. A low huff issued from his nostrils softly, in confusion, not anger. "How can a plant be feminine?"

Jason found himself at a loss for words. Why were flowers considered feminine? He thought on it for a moment, and then tried to scrape up an explanation.

"Well, because they're...pretty? And-"

"Human males cannot be pretty?"

"No- I mean, they can! I'm just trying to explain why people consider flowers feminine- or at least, why they were considered traditionally feminine. Obviously, times have changed- but 'Suzie' is traditionally considered a girl name, and many people consider it to be feminine to this day."

Suzie didn't say anything for a moment. Jason began to worry that perhaps he had made a major mistake in signing up for the sociology class's dragon studies program, when the dragon made a rumbling noise (his notes labeled this as another sign of confusion) and sat back on his haunches. His wings folded in more tightly. Then his front talons gently folded together, and he steepled two claws that he gently tapped against his chin in a very human gesture.

"...So you are saying," Suzie said slowly, so that his slight accent hissed out around his words, "that I cannot call myself 'Suzie', because it is a...'girl name'."

Jason nodded. "You're free to call yourself Suzie, there's no law against it, but as for the rest...pretty much."

The white dragon arched his neck forward, so that he could maintain better eye contact with him. His eyes were wide, brow somewhat furrowed- confusion and some consternation, in the body language of dragons, and mostly in humans, too. When he spoke again, he spoke even more slowly, pronounciating each and every word as if ensuring the human would be able to understand him.

"...What...Is a...'girl name'? How...can...a name...be...a 'girl name'?"

Again, Jason began to grow worried that he was causing accidental offense, and he realized that the more he argued with Suzie, the more he found fallacies in his own argument that could only be heaped up to tradition, the ancient 'because someone said so'. In taking this course of mild debate, he had backed himself unwittingly into a proverbial (and potentially dangerously physical) corner. He then rushed to explain.

"I mean...well, no offense is meant, and- again- you're completely free to call yourself Suzie, it's- er...it's a nice name, it's just always been associated with women."

"No offense taken," Suzie rumbled mildly, "I am only curious to know why 'Suzie is a girl name. Why is it associated with women- and why are flowers associated with women?"

"...I honestly can't tell you."

He fluttered his nictitating membranes down at the human in visible confusion, and then twisted his neck around, towards the back of the bookstore.

"Frank!" He called, causing some patrons to start and glare at him, "Come over here for a moment!"

A white draconic head, only a shade dimmer than Suzie's, poked up from the manga section. They put away the book they had been flipping through and then trotted through the aisles to the other white dragon's side, sitting on their haunches. Suzie chuffed at them, then turned back to Jason.

"This is my sister. Her name is Frank," he said.

Jason held his breath. It was a miracle that he wasn't even cracking a smile right now. He inhaled deeply. Tried to suppress any and all expression.

"...Her name is...Frank?"

"Yes," Frank rumbled, in a voice only an octave less deep than her brother's, "That is the alias I have chosen for myself, closest in meaning to my True Name."

And in an instant, clarity hit him in a moment of epiphany. Jason's mouth gaped open.

"Oh!" He said, internally cursing himself for having not asking sooner, "Oh! That's what- Oh!"

Both dragons flickered their nictitating membranes and cast a quick glance at each other, as if wondering whether or not they should be concerned for this human's mental stability. He smiled at them, tight-lipped; you never showed your teeth to a dragon.

"So you just choose whichever human name is closest in meaning to your True Name!"

"Yes?"

"And you don't care about gendered names- because your version of masculine and feminine is completely different from ours!"

"I suppose?"

Jason quickly picked up his notebook, scribbling down a few notes in relief; yet another barrier between him and understanding dragonkind came crashing down. Frank leaned in closer, her nostrils flaring lightly as she sniffed the ink, her eyes scanning the page with mild interest. She murmured in her own language, but the tone was thoughtful; Jason took it as a sign of encouragement, and resumed his scribbling with renewed vigor.

The dragoness made some rumbling noise and lifted her head again. "Well, I guess that clears something up for you. I don't understand why you needed to call me over here. I was reading."

Suzie leaned down to read the notebook himself, sniffing the page just as his sister had done, Jason turning it to aid him. He nodded once, and then nudged his sister in the shoulder with his nose.

"Yes, yes, sorry to interrupt your 'reading'. So much more important than my homework." Jason couldn't help but notice the sarcasm in Suzie's tone, so very much like human siblings; another thing for him to ask about later.

Frank grunted something in their shared language and nudged Suzie back, a little harder, and he almost lost his balance. His tail flailed out, almost catching a cardboard display- but he righted himself quickly. His head twisted about, a few of his front fangs showing, eyes wide. Frank blinked at him innocently, flicked her tongue in and out, and then trotted back towards the manga section again.

Suzie grumbled something Jason couldn't interpret and then snorted. Once again all of his attention was fully diverted to the human, as if nothing at all had ever happened.

"Well, I hope that clears something up," he said. "I chose Suzie because it means 'lily'- that was close to what my true name means. Frank chose her name because it means 'honesty'- same reason."

"But why Suzie particularly?" Jason realized that this sounded rude, and corrected himself hastily. "I mean- you're allowed to, it's a very, very, lovely name, it really suits you- I'm just wondering, since there are so many names meaning lily-"

"No offense taken! You're so shaky. I'm not going to bite your head off just for asking a question- and if I wanted to, I wouldn't do it in public. I can see why you needed to take this course."

Suzie made some sort of chuckling sound and shook himself while Jason sat in embarrassed silence. After a moment of preening, Suzie finally responded.

"Honestly, I just liked the way it sounded. I thought of 'Susan' or 'Lilly', and I almost settled on 'Shanna'- but Suzie really caught my eye. It has a nice feeling on the tongue. Sooooozzzzzieeee. I like it."

He made some sort of pleased chuffing noise that Jason had no notes on. Then Suzie bent his neck so he was almost at eye level with him, and pulled the corners of his lips and eyes back in something that looked like a human smile. And then Jason realized that he had a lot left to learn- and he wouldn't learn any of it if he didn't pull his nose out of his papers.

"What about you?" Suzie asked. "This goes both ways, doesn't it? I know Jason is your true name- but your parents chose it for you. Do you like it, or would you change it if you could?"

Jason thought for a moment. His hand laid under the cover of his notebook, pencil held rigidly in the other. Slowly, he put it down. The air around their small table space felt thick with thought.

"...I like it," he said, finally, and closed his notebook.

******

Author's Note: Finally finished this one! It took me awhile, and it's certainly not my best work, but at least I feel like I've accomplished something! Hopefully, this will be the first of many other short stories, snippets, and small articles on this blog as I begin to test my wings as a writer, most of which will (with even more hope and the grace of whatever god presides over writers) be posted more consistently. As always, thank you for reading, commenting, and critiquing.

May your wings always spread wide on your own flights of fantasy!

~ Draco S.

[subtletruamadumping]

A Pitch Black Room, A Velvet Ribbon, A Secret Box

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This was my first year doing NaNoWriMo. It started as a writing prompt (the title is literally just the prompt) and it's a collection of short stories from many different peoples' perspectives linked by various objects. I won this year but never looked back at it. In fact, I am kind of embarrassed by it but I try to remind myself I was literally a child. Instead of being broken up into chapters, it's broken into characters.

Written in November 2016

______________________________________________________________

Part 1, Fagan

Fagan watched as Cindy put the secret box away. He was still annoyed over the fact that they were able to get away from him this morning. And his leg hurt from where Cindy had kicked him. He looked carefully at the box, even though he only laid eyes on it for a few seconds. There was something about it that piqued his interest. It might have been that it looked like an antique, but he had ever really cared about such things before. Perhaps it was because he had never had a secret box before and this one looked like the perfect specimen. But the most likely reason it interested him was it was Cindy’s and he was mad at Cindy. He boiled in anger and thought about her and the box.

It was definitely something she would like. He knew that Cindy liked to collect rocks she found pretty on the playground (mostly because he would take them to thwart her) and the box would be perfect to keep them in. That must have been why she brought it to school today. She was going to put all  the rocks she found today at recess in the box so they they were easier to take home. What other reason would she bring a random box to school? And she had been showing it to Alice. This was more proof to him that Cindy loved the box. It must have been why they were running so fast, today. He thought to himself They didn’t want me to see the box. He suddenly set his heart on getting that box, no matter what it took. It was Cindy’s box and it would make her upset if he took it. Therefore, he needed it.

 Mrs. White began class, but he wasn't paying even the minimal amount of attention that he usually managed everyday. His thoughts were solely occupied by how he could possibly get that box from Cindy. He didn't like getting in trouble with the teacher, but he was willing to risk it. He didn’t mind getting scolded by the teacher, as long as he got the box. Yet, he didn’t want to get caught with the box. If he did he would simply be forced to give it back. If that happened, he would be embarrassed and the box would be heavily guarded. He had to sneak it out from under both the teacher and Cindy's nose.

Maybe he could take it to recess. After all, she would have it out so that she could put her rocks in it. There would more likely than not be a few moments when her whole attention would not be focused on the box. He could easily run up and snatch the box while she wasn't looking. He could completely ditch school after that. Who needs class, anyway? It wasn’t like he hadn’t ducked out of class early before. Then, no matter how much she complained to the teacher, he would get away scot-free. Even if there were precious rocks in the box, Cindy wouldn’t dare follow him. She was too much of a goody-to-shoes to come after him. And the teacher couldn’t leave school. She would just call his dad again, but it was worth it. Anything was worth it for the box.

~*~

The day had been quite dull for Fagan. The teacher had seemed to drone on and on about things he either didn’t care about or understand. How could anyone possibly enjoy school? Its hypocritical, persecuting teachers and the useless busywork that they make you do. If he could, Fagan wouldn’t go to school at all. Unfortunately for him, his dad informed him that the law said he had to go to school. So, here he was.

Finally, the appointed hour arrived. Recess. He waited impatiently as Mrs. White lead the class in single file line down the hall. He couldn’t easily see Cindy from his place in the back, but he was absolutely certain she had the box held close to her chest. She would have to set it down while she was searching for rocks that caught her eye. Then, he would have to take it. The minute he was outside bolted to the large oak tree near the back of the playground.

Cindy had gotten outside before him and he hadn’t been able to see which way she had gone. If he just looked for her, she would be able to see him and stay near the teacher, making any attempt at the box impossible. So, he climbed into the branches (which was actually an activity forbidden by the teacher) and scanned the area for her. His eyes chased each and every movement, looking for the target of his strike. He finally found her, with Alice, searching along the outsides of the playscape for specimen to add to her collection. He did not see, however, the box. He blinked and frowned, looking around her on the ground for any sign of the treasure. It was nowhere to be seen and he realized she hadn’t brought it outside with her. She must be worried that he would take it.

Frustrated, he jumped out of the tree. How was he supposed to get it, now? He couldn’t get into her backpack. It as always at her feet. She and Alice had and after-school art class, so she always left school first. He wouldn’t have another chance. Recess was the only time he wasn’t watched too carefully.

He stopped. That was it. He had a new idea. A new plan. Recess was the only time the backpacks weren’t guarded,. He needed to get into Cindy’s backpack, now. He ran over to the teacher.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” He asked in his most innocent voice.

“Fagan, you just went after lunch.”

“I have to go again.”

“Alright,” Mrs. White sighed “but you come straight back, understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. White” Then, he was off. He went in the door closest to the bathroom, then tore down the halls to the classroom, avoiding the halls he knew strict “no running” teachers were in. Coming upon the classroom, he slowed down and entered.

He went right it Cindy’s desk. The children kept their backpacks under their desks and he pulled her’s out and knelt down to unzip it. When this simple task was accomplished, he easily found it and took out the secret box. He held it for a minute in his sweaty hands, basking in the joy of it. He could just imagine Cindy’s face when she realized such a prized possession was lost. Looking down at it, he noticed that he did like the way it looked. All the more reason to take it. He zipped up her backpack and went over to his own desk. He secured the box in his backpack, discarding his homework folder to fit his prize. When he had set everything straight again, he hurried to get back to the rest of the class.

“Fagan, you took forever,” Mrs. White scolded when he came out “I know you were messing around in there.”

“I wasn’t!” He claimed.

“Don’t lie. If I hear any complaints about you, I’m going to call your father again, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mrs. White” He said rolling his eyes, then ran away before she could scold him again. He smirked over to where Cindy and Alice were, but they were too busy to notice. He occupied the rest of his recess stealing balls from people trying to play games to celebrate his victorious theft.

Soon, the class was called back in and the tail-end of the school day was now in full swing. Fagan couldn’t sit still he was so excited to further examine his new toy and was called out several times for it. He kept his backpack between his legs and kept glancing down at it to make sure it was still there. He was so excited, he was the first one to jump out of his chair when the teacher dismissed the class. Though he was also the first on to the door, he decided to hesitate there for a little while. He watched as Cindy reached down for her backpack, only to frown in confusion at how much lighter it was, now. She set it down again and unzipped it. Her look of confusion turned to horror when she saw that the bag was mostly empty. After looking around her desk, she made eye contact with Fagan. He grinned at her and pointed at his backpack,. Cindy now looked shocked, but that quickly turned to anger.

“Fagan stole my brother’s box!” she cried. Taking this as his cue to leave, he ran out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher calling at him.

Fagan didn’t go straight home, though. Fagan didn’t like going home. He rarely did when he got out of school. Instead, he ran to an old, abandoned house that was a few blocks away from both the school and his house. He knew the teacher would call his dad about the box, so he had to hide it. He crawled through a broken window and sat down on the floor. Then pulled the secret box out of his backpack and placed it on the middle of the floor. He would have to keep it here until his dad forgot about it. If he took it home now, Cindy wouldn’t get it back, but neither would he.

He ran his fingers over the box, taking time to enjoy some time with his new treasure. It didn’t have a lock or clasp or anything, but he knew he would be able to use if for something. In fact, he already knew what he wanted to use it for.

He brought the box over to a corner of the room the he normally visited. Here was a small pile of every piece of money that the had ever been in contact with. He now carefully moved it all into the box, counting every cent. He almost had enough. Almost the amount he was waiting for. He closed the lid of the box gently, then placed it in the corner. Then stood up, dusted off his pants and hands, then picked up his backpack and went out the window.

As always, his dad was watching T.V. when the got home. The noise of the thing could be heard throughout all of the house. Fagan tried to close the door as softly was possible and, miraculously, managed to enter the house without alerting his dad to his presence. The began to walk was silently as he could manage towards his room, but an unaccustomed creaky board dashed his hoped.

“FAGAN!” He heard his dad yell over the noise of the T.V. “Get in here, you useless brat!” Fagan hesitated, though, deciding whether he should go back out or not.

“I said GET IN HERE!” His dad roared, making up his mind for him. He hurried to the living room and waited. When his dad saw him, he pulled himself off the couch and glared down at his son.

“Why is your teacher calling me about some stupid box?” He asked harshly.

“I don’t know.” Fagan squeaked.

“What d'you mean you don’t know?” His dad snapped “That’s all you ever say when I get a call from your teacher. I told you I didn’t want to be called anymore, didn't I?”

“I didn’t do any--” Fagan was cut off as his father struck him across the cheek.

“If I ask you a question, you answer.” His dad snarled “Didn't I say I didn’t want another call?”

“Yes.” Fagan whimpered.

“Then, why did I get a call again today?”

“I don’t know!” Fagan cried, only to be knocked to the ground with another blow.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know!” His dad barked, grabbing his backpack “Is the box in here?”

“No.”

“If you’re lying to me--”

“I don’t have it!”

“You’d better not.” He threatened , then roughly tore open the bag. Of course, the box wasn’t in it, but that only fueled the anfer in his father. He threw the backpack to the ground.

“Fagan Tyler, you tell me where the box is this instant!” He shouted.

“I don’t have it!”

“I know you hid it somewhere! Tell me where you put it or I’ll whip your sorry behind until you have to go to school tomorrow!

“Dad, I don’t have it!” This time, Fagan tasted blood.

“You useless brat! All you do is get into trouble, steal other kid’s things, and bother me! What's the matter with you?! I never asked for you! Were you put on this earth simply to ruin my life?!” Fagan had heard this soliloquy so many times he knew he could escape during it. He grabbed his backpack and rushed for the door, hoping dearly he could outrun the clomping footsteps and angry shouting that came after him. He managed to get out the door and slam it behind him, he sprinted down the street to get away from the house.

He went back the the abandoned house and quickly entered through the window again, hoping no one had seen him and would tell his dad where he was. The odds of him actually looking were slim, but Fagan was still wary that his dad might find his hide-away. This rotting, dusty place had long been his safe-haven. A sanctuary when life got too scary or painful. He dropped his backpack on the ground and lay down against the wall. He would have to skip dinner again. It was a good thing that he had decided to pack extra snacks this morning before going to school. He could sleep here again tonight. He was so close to having enough money. He was almost here.

He looked over at the secret box. Fagan began to sob.

[thewickedxrp]

             WELCOME KANG SOOHWA

                                                         ⁠TO THE PROMISE LAND

DETAILS

age / age they appear: 1060 / 25  occupation: massage therapist group: none

PERSONALITY

always a curious thing, soohwa is, always observing and drawing comments on his head about what unfolds around him, always an inviting smile on his lips and saccharine words on his tongue. the world resolves around him, and how could it not when he feels like a god? he takes and takes and takes while giving almost nothing in return, and why would he when it's the universe that owes him? a young little thing that even though he thinks that he has seen and been around enough to know where he's standing, there's still certain audacity that comes with inexperience, a condescendence that comes with youth— aspects that are intrinsic parts of how he views the environment around him and interacts with it.

a child of chaos; that was what he was born to be and therefore that's what he'll always be. he's detached from the things and people around him because they're all ephemeral existences that he has seen die and reborn way too many times to count. gumiho are creatures fated to be alone with the only purpose of feeding their own existence; that's what he was born to be and therefore what he'll always be, unapologetic about his being and indulging about his needs no matter how brief or long lasting they are.

HISTORY

always a curious thing, soohwa is, from the moment that he was born into existence.

so he was always watching, always peaking through bushes and any other hiding places that he could find, being raised on his own, feeding off leftover emotions that human left around him, from heartbreak to eternal love, from fondness born out of loyalty to wrath born out of betrayal, from affection for something as harmless looking as a white kit to anger for the ingratitude expressed by the animal that abandoned them so easily even after they so lovingly fed and kept him warm through the harsh winter.

always foolish things, humans are, soohwa learns through the years.

foolish and not very resilient, prone to finding their ends way too soon either through illness or age, that when they weren't killed by their own kind over mostly petty things, but soohwa always found antagonisms amusing and conflicts entertaining to the point that he doesn't even mind that much when humans are stupid enough to let themselves get hurt, to have others wrong them, but still insist on the same mistake no matter how much their trust or heart — or both — are broken.

he also finds that perhaps this is the universe proven to him that soohwa's existence is one to be catered to instead of catering to others. humans are so easily fooled because by simple things, go through the same cycle of happiness and misery again and again until they rot under the earth because how else soohwa is supposed to feed? where else is he supposed to find amusement in his endless existence?

always a playful thing, soohwa was, but not stupid, not in the way that humans usually are.

because not everything that looks human is human. soohwa is the living proof of that and if not him, he has met creatures here and there that hid something else under the a cover of meat and flesh. because humans are too trusting with things that they find pleasant to look at so soohwa spends his time, from the moment that he can shapeshift, taking advantage of how easy humans fall in love and how fast they fall out of it as well, how they promise him eternal love and then wish him hell the moment that he gets what they want from them. soohwa takes advantage that humans are also prone to chaos as long as you push the right button.

always full of whims, soohwa is, and always too easy to get bored of things.

that's why he doesn't really stay in the same place for too long, never really felt like he found nor needed a place to call home, nor does he stays in the same job for too long and hobbies are picked up as easily as they're dropped again. routine and stability bores him to the point that he swears he can feel his soul dies slowly and painfully, monotony being his sworn enemy, so soohwa chances excitement or whatever else he is feeling in the moment wherever it might be.

always a chaos loving thing, soohwa is, and that's why he's attracted to it.

that's also why he ends up interested in jeju, hearing from one of the creatures he ended up befriending, but what catches his attention isn't the promise of somewhat of a safer haven for the supernatural due to the amount of nonhumans in the city, but the battle for dominance. after all soohwa has always found antagonisms amusing and conflicts entertaining, . he isn't even interested in who is going to stand on top in the end, doesn't wish it to be his own species either, soohwa wants to see the world burn simply for the sake of it and he might see just that while living in jeju.

[passi0np1t]

Jail Break

(The Riddler)

Part 1

Summary: More angst and fluff. After the gn reader visits Edward in jail he escapes and goes after them

Warnings: Depictions of violence and blood, breaking into reader’s house, light smut I guess

Notes: Part 2 to ‘Jail Bird’. I also wrote this up on my phone so pls excuse the shite formatting

—

Edward is used to solitude. Even when he’s surrounded by a sea of people bustling around the city of Gotham, eating stale prison food in a cafeteria, or rioting against prison guards, he’s always felt alone in the havoc and mayhem of it all; it’s a comfort to him now.

He stands by and surveys it all for a moment as the people around him throw fists and land kicks. The thought of joining in never crosses his mind, he’s the brains, after all, all his strength is in his head. They’re the brawn, the distraction.

He spares a brief glance to ensure no sentries have spotted him before turning back to the print scanner, the Joker gripping his shoulder in what he supposes is camaraderie as he presses the severed thumb into the black box. The former guard’s ID flashes on-screen and Edward inputs the code to open the double steel doors. A green light flashes and the mechanics spur to life as they pull apart to reveal an empty hallway. All the psychiatrists have fled to safety in the face of uproar, leaving a mostly clear path for them to escape the hellish Asylum.

Together, the two men sprint down the corridor, long legs taking large, desperate strides as their shoes slap against the linoleum. It looks like they’re going to make it to the supposed ‘Meeting Point’ when a guard leaps into their path. Edward skids to a halt, he’s defenceless, he doesn’t have anything on him, he’s doomed. And then the Joker springs into action, taking her out with a blink of an eye as he smashes her head against the formally white walls with a stolen baton. There’s the sound of a sickly crunch as the metal rod makes contact with the side of her face and then a spatter of blood that sprays the floor and wall and Edward’s crumpled uniform; he swears he even feels droplets of it hit his cheeks. Edward is unmoved though, he’s no stranger to violence, whether he’s the one witnessing it, experiencing it or inflicting it, he’s had his fair share of exposure. The guard cries out, falling to her knees and collapsing onto the floor, blood from her mouth and nose pooling around her face as the ground muffles her sobs. The crimson specked Joker turns to look back at his companion with a wide grin, manic laughter echoing around the halls and mingling with the woman’s screams as he turns tail and continues darting down the hall. Edward swipes the ladies baton, following hot on the heels of his friend until he reaches the end of the corridor. He blasts through the open doors, turning to find none other than Arkham psychiatrist Dr Harleen Quinzel swept up in the arms of the Joker, her usually neat ponytail free and hair mussed and she runs her fingers through the Joker’s limited green strands. So, that’s what the Joker had meant when he said has someone on the inside.

Edward has to look away, such a public display of affection makes his stomach curl with embarrassment and want, he feels like a voyeur, like it’s something he isn’t supposed to be seeing. But also, it reminds him of part of the reason why he’s escaping Arkham. Them. His love. His baby. They never visited again since the night of his arrest. Never given him the chance to explain himself. He grows hot with sudden anger and despair at the memory of it. If they won’t come to him, he’ll just have to go to them.

Finally, the two lovers pull apart, Harleen’s eyes hazy with lust as she offers Edward a little half-wave, “Oh hey sweets.”

He stiffly nods at her before turning to the Joker, pulling his attention away from the woman who he stares at with what Edward can only describe as an obsessive hunger, something more dangerous and sinister than Harleen’s lust or Edward’s love. He ignores it, it’s not his problem. He just wants to get out of here and to his own lover. “We need to go.”

Joker and Harleen lead the rest of the way, always finding a moment to graze each other’s bodies and faces in between taking out the few scattered guards left roaming the halls. Edward still holds his stolen baton, though he has no use for it, the two do all the dirty work for him, until at last, they’re in an Arkham transport van speeding outside of the gates of the asylum and further into the city.

From the back passenger seat, he presses his face against the window, taking it all in and appreciating the obvious flood damage that’s taken city officials weeks and months to clear up. And its all because of him, he thinks, smiling to himself, relishing in a feeling of accomplishment he hasn’t felt in a while as he settles back into his seat. Seeing the recordings and flashes of the damage on the grainy and minuscule tv screen in his jail cell hadn’t been enough, it isn’t like seeing it all in person, it truly can’t do his masterpiece its full justice, not like it can viewing it all with his own eyes.

The van continues on its route, taking back alleys and secluded dirt roads until a parked car comes into view. The Joker parks the van a couple of meters away, flashing the headlights in a pattern, and the car mimics, the front passenger seat opening as the form of a hulking man steps out and into the blinding view. Joker cackles in delight, their plan has gone off without a hitch.

•

You sit on your leather couch at home, fingers dragging through the plush coat of your cat's fur. He purrs in response, curled up beside you as he peacefully naps. Technically, he isn’t your cat. He was Patrick’s, or Edward’s, whatever. He told you he’d found him as a stray kitten in a dumpster behind his favourite diner. He’d plucked him out of the trash and brought him to his chest, cradling the small creature and wrapping his coat around him protectively as he’d carried the kitten home. He named him Domino, lovingly nursed him back to health per a vet's instructions, raised him and cared for him, only to abandon him months later when he bombed and flooded the city. The cat had been seized from his apartment by an animal rights centre and you’d taken the sweet boy in, trying your hardest to give Dom the best life you possibly can. You can tell he misses his dad though, his dark hazel eyes seeming to question you every morning and night as high pitched mewls echo out from his between his sharp teeth, “Where is he?” “Is he coming back?” You wish you can tell him but you don’t need to break his heart as well.

It’s been about three months since your first and last visit to Arkham Asylum to see Edward. You could barely stand to last more than five minutes, let alone see him again. Though the thought crosses your mind more than you like to admit. You long for him, for his touch and his laugh and to see the complete adoration and trust behind the glasses of his juniper green eyes, yet, you don’t feel as if there’s anything left to say or do now besides pick up the pieces and attempt to move on. Keyword: attempt. After all this time, of course, you still love him, and you hate yourself for it. He’s destroyed so many lives, caused irreparable damage to the already beaten and broken Gotham City. You can recognise his good intentions underneath all the anger and resentment and lunacy, but his execution was way off.

You exhale heavily, looking down at Domino once more as you brush your fingers delicately over the side of his face and he stretches to lean into your touch. Such a good, sweet boy, just like his daddy. You go to repeat the same movement along his jaw when the sound of the Gotham City news tune jolts you from your stupor, interrupting your nature documentary with breaking news. You huff, reaching for the remote to switch the channel when the headline catches your eye ‘ARKHAM ASYLUM RIOT LEADS TO MASS BREAKOUT & KIDNAPPING: MULTIPLE INMATES MIA’. Your stomach lurches as the words sink in. Your eyes glued to the screen as you wait for the news anchor to announce the escaped convicts. Unconsciously, your fingers cross as you pray to a God you don’t believe in that his name isn’t on the list. You don’t know what you’d do if you come face-to-face with him again, if he showed up on your doorstep one stormy night with a bowed head and a frown.

“Of all the escaped inmates, most notably is the self-proclaimed ‘Joker’, his henchman Bane Clayface, notorious serial killer Hank Hummard and the Infamous Riddler. It’s believed that together, Joker and the Riddler kidnapped Arkham psychiatrist — Dr Harleen Quin…” You watch as the news anchor’s mouth hurriedly moves to explain the situation to her viewers, but you can no longer hear her words, instead, they’ve been replaced by a high-pitched ringing in your ears, your gaze un-focusing until you begin to see two of her. You’re too afraid to even move, convinced that when you turn around he’ll be there, waiting behind you with bated breath.

You wonder if he’d be angry, or whether he’d throw his arms around you. Maybe both. Or perhaps neither, you’re not sure if you know who he is anymore. Or if you ever did.

You try to blink your gaze back into focus, tightening your grip around your remote control as you whip your head around. You find nothing, no one, and though at first, you’re relieved, you feel a pit of disappointment begin to settle within the lining of your stomach. Attempting to shake it away, you switch off the television and drop the remote on the couch, scooping up your cats still sleeping form as you shove your phone into the band of your pyjama shorts and move from your living room to the kitchen.

After the floods, you moved houses, you had no choice but to, your former home had been a ground floor unit in the heart of the city; completely destroyed by the water and bombs. You now live in a top floor apartment, a little further from the heart of Gotham, but it’s untouched by the Riddler; and besides, these days it’s hard to come by a top floor apartment, they’ve been in high demand in the last few months. The fact that he can’t possibly know your new address and won’t be able to break in without a struggle and great determination regardless settles you a bit. You feel a bit safer, or at least you tell yourself you do as you switch off the lights and begin to fumble your way towards your bedroom.

You reach the slightly ajar door and kick it open fully with your foot, stepping inside onto the edge of your rug and toeing the door shut behind you. You just need some sleep, you think to yourself, tomorrow you’ll figure out a game plan, a way to avoid Edward if he’s to come looking for you. With this in mind, you gently place Dom on the end of your bed, patting him down softly but it does nothing to soothe the boy back to sleep. He chirps, unfurling himself from his curled position. He comes to stand on his legs, paws indenting the throw blanket under his weight as his back stretches into an arrow; small body vibrating slightly as he yawns widely and then tiredly blinks up at you. You coo at him, leaning forward to place a kiss on his furry head when he suddenly turns from you, his head snapping towards the corner of the room. In the dark of your bedroom, you follow his gaze, squinting to see what’s caught his attention. It’s dim in here, the only light being cast is from the slivers of light that sneak in from the crack between your drawn curtains. You feel like you can’t breathe, like all the air has been sucked out of the small space as your eyes trace the figure of a person standing still in the corner of your room. They’re so statuesque you’re sure you wouldn’t have noticed them at all if it hadn’t been for the perceptive little cat.

As if confirming your worst fears, Domino leaps from the bed, meowing loudly as he clambers over to the figure, stretching and climbing up their leg. They drop down to a crouch, scooping the bundle of fluff up in their arms and cradling him to their chest. They don’t speak, just pat the cat affectionately, arms tightening securely around him as they flick their head back to face you.

You feel your whole body go cold, prickling alert with anxiety. You want to run, to scream, cry even, but you’re frozen; still leant over the end of your bed, arms holding up your weight as you stare wide-eyed at the Riddler. He’s found you.

There’s the sound of fumbling and then the room is cast in soft yellow-tinged light. Your eyes squint to adjust to the new lighting. You rapidly blink a few times in annoyance to see he’s moved to your bedside table to switch your lamp on.

Instinctively you jump away from the end of your bed, mouth agape as you both regard each other. He looks the exact same as he had before his capture. Though perhaps his hair is a little longer, the circles under his eyes a tad darker. He wears all black and he’s drenched from head to toe, leaving a trail of droplets around your room. Your bedding is soaked and from a darting glance around your room you can see he’s clearly tampered with your knick-knacks.

“Please,” you sputter, spinning to face him again as the floorboards creak under his shifting weight, though you’re not sure what you’re pleading for, whether it’s for him to leave or to come closer.

He pauses again, thick brows furrowing slightly at you in annoyance as a frown etches its way onto his features, “I’m not going to hurt you love,” he insists, his voice soft and low. He looks more than a little offended by the insinuation, sighing to himself as he plops Domino onto your bed.

The cat has no idea what’s taking place at the moment, he’s just happy to be reunited with his dad, large eyes switching between the both of his estranged parents curiously.

“What do you want?” You choke out, arms crossing protectively across your chest, suddenly all too aware of your more revealing pyjamas.

He takes a moment to look you up and down as if thinking the same thing, and you swear his cheeks colour slightly but you can’t be sure in the dim glow as he’s standing in front of the bedside lamp. His figure casts a looming shadow across your room, making him look more menacing than ever. You hate how tainted he’s become in your eyes now.

“I just want to talk to you,” he begins to explain, “You never gave me the.. the chance, at the Asylum,” eyes narrowing as he stutters his reasoning out through chapped lips. It’s obvious he harbours hard feelings for how it all went down, his head cocked to the side as he looks at you, as if expecting an explanation.

You can only roll your shoulders in response, unsure of how to respond, but when he doesn’t break his stare you know you have to say something, anything. “Edward, I-I couldn’t. I couldn’t see you again,” you begin, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth nervously. You’ve never been nervous with him before, this whole situation feels foreign to you now, like you’re out of your depth on the verge of drowning in it. “You really, you really hurt me. You lied to me. And you hurt so many people too.”

He continues to stare at you, as if expecting more, and when all you do is stare blankly back at him, he finally looks away, suddenly interested in the threading of your rug beneath his feet.

“I did what I had to do.”

You can’t help the sound of disgust that leaves your mouth and he withers slightly at the noise, “What? By killing people? How was that supposed to help the city?”

His jaw clenches, gaze downcast. He looks frustrated, pent up feelings simmering below the surface of his pasty complexion, “They weren’t innocent people, they-”

But you’re quick to cut him short, exasperated as you unfold your arms, hands fisted for a moment before flexing your fingers straight again at your sides, “I’m not talking about them. I’m mad at you because you lied to me from the get-go about who you really are, and then you bombed and flooded the city. Do you have any idea of the damage that you’ve done? To me? To the city?”

He doesn’t reply right away, instead, he seems to go through the five stages of grief, attempting to find the words to explain himself and ultimately failing as he keeps quiet.

Your face softens a tad as he looks to the ground, only just catching his green eyes watering up as he begins to fiddle with his fingers. When you were together you hardly ever argued, and when it you did it wasn’t bad; easily resolved and talked out. He hated upsetting you and you hated the tension. Now, tthe sight of him takes you back eleven months to when you’d first met at that mediocre diner, it was a stormy night and you didn’t want to get caught in the rain. The only interesting and worthwhile person there had been him, all shy and reserved over cups of coffee, pumpkin pie and riddles that he’d shoot at you. You remember how patient he’d been with you when you got them wrong, and then his excitement when you’d guessed correctly. How his cheeks flushed and he stuttered out incomplete sentences when your skin would brush against his or you’d readjust his glasses back onto his face. How months later when you’d finally asked him out and he’d said yes, he’d give you the warmest, bone-crushing hugs and how he’d burrow his face into your neck when you invited him into your bed. His sloppy kisses that grew more precise and how he’d groan when you’d tangle your fingers into his shaggy brown hair, hooded green eyes looking up at you with nothing but love and reverence.

You want so badly to take him into your arms now, to assure him that it’ll all be alright, but you can’t lie to him or yourself. That won’t be helping anyone. That won’t repair the damage done, you’re still not sure if anything ever will.

The room grows silent, only the sounds of his desperate breaths filling the space as he desperately searches for something to say to appease you but ultimately struggles to find the words. You try to put on a strong front but can’t stand to listen to it, you want to put him out of his misery. His name is on your lips when finally he blurts.

“I only ever lied to you about my name. I didn’t think it’d matter because I didn’t think you could ever love me back. But everything else, everything was, it was all true. I love you, I-”

He takes a step toward you and you have to fight the urge to back away this time. He sees that you don’t move and takes it as a confirmation to continue, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides. He’s so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off of his trembling body, the smell of prison soap and fresh rain water on his skin. Part of you forgets what you’re worried about, you can’t help it — you still love him as much as you did before, want him to stay close to you forever. You want him to touch you, to caress your skin and lose himself in your knotted hair.

He’s a mind reader, you’re sure of it, as he hesitantly takes your hands in his, skin warm and rough as he rubs his thumbs over your soft hands, “I’ll do anything, anything to prove that to you, how much I love you.”

You’re staring down at your hands in his as he speaks and he lets go of you, instead moving to gently cup your face, tilting your head until your gaze meets his. He’s so warm and soft, his palms caging in your face and holding you so delicately as his thumbs rub soothing patterns into your skin.

He can see that it’s working, even now, you’re unable to resist him. “I’ll turn myself in right now. I’ll kill for you, live for you, die for you. Anything. Please just-just tell me what I have to do.”

You can feel the love and devotion radiating off of him, or is it obsession? You’ve never been able to tell the difference anyway. Either way, you feel stuck on a moral crossroads. On one hand, you can pull your phone from your waistband and call Arkham to pick him up, on the other…

Your eyes drop to his parted lips, he waits with bated breath for your next move, unsure if you’re going to pounce or tell him to get out. Even you’re unsure of your next move. And then you just do it. You decide not to think, it hasn’t been doing you any favours as of recently anyway. Your hands move to wrap around the back of his neck and you pull him down towards you, meeting him halfway as you stretch upwards to plant your lips against his; your mouths slotting perfectly together as you draw him into a kiss. He reacts to you immediately, hands quick to roam down your body and settle into place on your hips, pulling you into him until your bodies are flush and deepening the kiss.

All thoughts of morality and the Riddler float away as you melt into his familiar comforting touch, if it's so wrong then why does it feel so goddamn fucking right.

Your fingers curl and tug into the hair at the base of his scalp and he groans into the kiss, his fingertips bruising into the plump skin of your hips as you force yourself to swallow back your whimpers.

You pull him towards you, backing up to support the intertwined weight of you both against your door, and he follows your movements in a rushed fervour, large hands hurrying to cradle your head as your body smacks against the wood.

You hear him mumble out an apology in between kisses but you brush it off, tugging his head back by the scrap of his hair as you trail your lips down the milky skin of his exposed neck. You’ve missed this, missed him. He’s so perfect in every way, so good for you, you think as you push away any lingering thoughts of his crimes, losing yourself in his desperate touch.

You don’t want to think about what’ll happen come morning time. You just want to exist here and now in this very moment, pretend that he never left, that he isn’t the Riddler, hasn’t lied and withheld and killed. You need to pretend at this moment right now that everything is still ok.

[oh-holy-slut]

Bloodlust

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, blood sharing, mentions of death, oral sex

Word Count: 2,6k

Summary: Stefan forced Damon to try his animal diet. Damon hated it, but didn't had a choice... until Reader makes a suggestion. Suddenly things get steamy.

Being with Damon was complicated. Him and Y/N have seen each other a lot in the past weeks. The two of them had a lot of fun; saw a lot of movies. Actually, Y/N was sure Damon secretly hated many of those. However, anytime Y/N suggested another dramatic, romantic cliché movie like "Last Song" - the vampire groaned, put his arm around her shoulder, let her head rest on his chest and endured every single second of the movie of her choice.

Damon even flirted and teased Y/N here and there, but didn't lead to anything more intimate so far.

Today was another of those days. Y/N stuck around at the Salvatore boarding house, brought a few of Damon's favorite groceries and a bunch of movies, of which she thought that they will suit his taste. Even if they were a little to bloody and brutal in her opinion.

"Pick one!", she demanded, holding all three Blu-ray sleeves in front of him. Damon just shrugged, not bothering to even look.

"Don't be a killjoy, Damon Salvatore!" Y/N sighed.

"Tell me what's wrong or pick a movie. You've got no choice. And besides that... Which number of drink is this?" Y/N frowned, pointing at the liquor in her friends hand. Damon usually consumed his beloved bourbon with pleasure.

But the man on the couch didn't seem pleasured at all. His facial features totally hardened and a look in his eyes like he was ready to rip someone's heart out.

You put the disc's back in your handbag, closing the zipper and put the bag on the floor.

"Fine. No movie night today. Who are we going to kill?"

A small smirk appeared on Damon's lips, finally looking towards Y/N.

"Stefan and his hero hair. He made me go vegetarian... well, for a vampire... and I can't get myself to eat one of those chipmunks, bunnies or bambis." He shook himself with disgust.

"And why did he count you in? You clearly aren't excited about the changing... So, why did you agree?"

"He said, he would kill me, which is kinda funny. But-" Damon made a wide gesture "he stole my daylight ring. And he wouldn't give it back until I stop feeding on innocent people - and kill them."

"So, you truly let your younger brother blackmail you like that?! Wow... I don't know how to feel about your dieting or your new path. Or whatever this is supposed to be."

"You don't like me killing people either", Damon maintained, while taking another sip of bourbon.

"Well, I don't", Y/N agreed, took a step forward, stole the glass from the vampires hand and put it on a small table nearby. "But I don't believe in forcing as a method to get people to change their minds. I believe that change for the better must be an intrinsic motivation," she added quickly, giving the vampire an innocent smile.

Damon's lineaments suddenly turned from annoyed to curious. "Any suggestions, little one?" The vampire raised an eyebrow and a little smirk showed up on his lips. On the one hand, Y/N blushed over the nickname, Damon called her.  On the other hand she felt skittish looking forward to making a deal with him. Not only a deal. It's far more than a simple agreement.

It's Y/N, actually giving Damon a part of her. The red elixir of life. She was about to give him total control of her body and she not even for a heartbeat doubt that Damon will use it against her.

"Actually... Yeah. There's something on my mind." Y/N said chewing on your lip. "I could open up a vein for you. I mean, you could feed on me. And since you have my permission, there's nothing for anybody to have objection about."

Damon frowned and gave her an incredulous look. "You would do that for me?" The vampire couldn't believe, he understood correctly. Why would Y/N want to get involved with him feeding on her? What's in it for her? Damon tried hard to connect the dots, but he wasn't able to. It all seemed to make no sense. Y/N wouldn't have an advantage of that. The vampire hesitated, pinning his dangerously blue eyes on the girl in front of him.

"Is it so suspicious of me, that I'm trying to help my closest friend?" It pierced Y/N's heart, realizing, Damon's trust in her was rather fragile. "Never mind", she waved the pain away and forced herself to keep her composure. "I only had a hasty idea; you really don't need to fee-"

Suddenly Damon appeared behind Y/N, using his vampirism. "Shhhh", he whispered softly. "I never said, that I don't want your blood. I'm thinking about if we are going to cross a line? Blood sharing can be very personal..."

"It can be? It is personal already. Believe it or not - I'm not gonna offer my veins to all the vampires of Mystic Falls." Y/N rolled her eyes, her arms folded on her chest to point out the indignation she felt right now.

"Kinda sensitive today, huh?" Damon gently stroke a strand of hair behind her ear, Y/N could hear this smug smirk through his words. It was a true 'Damon thing' to do. "I didn't mean it like that, princess." He sighed; unsure if he should agree or not. Damon didn't want to act selfish towards Y/N. He compelled a lot of girls for the purpose of drinking blood in the past. He literally used them as long as they weren't too annoying - and then he acted like they have never met. Damon Salvatore couldn't imagine this scenario with Y/N. They've been so close, the vampire couldn't stand loosing her. The offer was risky, but it also could bring each other even closer.

Damon tried hard to avoid any serious attraction between Y/N and him, afraid of messing up. Indeed, he found himself thinking, and even dreaming, about Y/N more than he wanted to admit. She was smart and had this special sense of humor, the vampire adored so much. She was the only one, who could make him feel good no matter what. Needless to say she had that glimmer in her eyes, when she did something she truly loved. In these moments she was even more pretty. Y/N was hard to resist.

And maybe now he could have her like nobody else. At least the vampire gave in. He wanted her blood. He wanted her.

Y/N flinched by the feeling of Damon brushing her neck with his lips.  "Oh, Damon", she gasped. "Bite me." Y/N almost begged for the vampire's teeth breaking through her skin. Damon loved the sound of her husky voice. In less than a heartbeat he turned into his vampire shape. "If you insist", he grinned devilishly, ready to place his teeth on to her skin.

Suddenly Y/N made a slight move forward with the intention to interrupt her friend. "Did you change your mind?" Damon was close to switching back to human, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. Mostly a lack of understanding, but also a little of disappointment and even anger. Was Y/N playing games on him? While Damon Salvatore was sorting feelings, Y/N turned around, standing now in front of him.

She was so close, not even a piece of paper would fit between them.

Y/N slightly exhaled breath, her eyes darting between the vampires eyes and lips. It was the first time Y/N saw him like this. The icy blue of his eyes, she loved so much, has turned darker. Purple veins appeared under his eyes; Y/N couldn't help herself. Damon's appearance fully intoxicated every fibre of her being. Her fingertips found their way gently brushing over his dark purple veins. She felt heat and softness, while tracing one of them.  It took her a few seconds to get out of trance, realizing what she had done. "Sorry", she murmured with a voice barely audible. "Don't apologize, little one." Damon tilted his head, his lips curled up in a self-assured grin, exposing a perfectly white vampire fang. "I never saw you like this before, you loo-"

"... look like a monster?"

Y/N shook her head. It was nothing like that. Yes, he did look unfamiliar. And she should be scared under normal conditions. Instead, his look hit her in an unexpected way. He looked hotter as a vampire, if it was even possible. 

Y/N cleared her throat, looking up at Damon. "I feel... attracted to you."

"So nothing's changed", Damon teased, raising his eyebrows. The girl in front of him softly slapped him on his shoulder; which was only possible because the vampire permitted. "You are always so full of yourself." She smirked, feeling more confident being to something, they have had been so many times before. Granted, he was terrifying accurate, but she wouldn't serve her feelings on a silver platter.

"I'm still into it. You can bite me; feed on me. I only needed to see you before..." 

A shockwave of electricity flowed through her body the second Damon took her hand and pulled her close.

"I'll be careful", he promised, nuzzling his head into the nap of her neck. Damon once again placed his lips on her soft skin. 

Suddenly a harsh pain made Y/N feel like in a kind of haze. She flinched and let out a groan at the same time, unintentionally biting her lower lip. 

During Damon embedded his fang deeper and deeper, she started feeling dizzy. Her hands searched for the vampires upper body, finally wrapped around his neck. She needed him to lean on. A narrow trickle of blood flowed down her neck. Let Damon feed on her felt like flames licking up every fiber of her body. 

With every passing second Y/N could feel her control slip away. Her body was now firmly pressed against Damon's, like she would want to merge them into one.

Damon noticed her staggering, wrapped his arms around her waist, supporting her.

Bloodlust already messed up the vampires mind, so he continued feeding on Y/N.

A tempting moan escaped her lips, but she didn't care to cover up. Y/N's heart was racing, her eyes flattering. It was almost as if he was about to push her over the edge, but in a different way. "Mmm, this...this… feels soo weird... and so good...", she whispered under a shallow breath.

As soon as Damon heard her fading voice, he abruptly

quitted drinking from her.

"Fuck!" He rapidly laid her on his lap and checked Y/N's vital signs, to make sure she was okay. Instinctively he bit his wrist, pressed it against Y/N's mouth. He knew his blood would heal her, but it wasn't going fast enough. A few seconds passed through, to him they felt like centuries. Y/N finally blinked and Damon was relieved. He cupped her cheeks, his gaze never leaving hers. "I thought, I'd gone-" Damon cleaned his throat. "I'm so glad, you are doing well", he whispered, while trailing her lips with his fingertips. "So, fuckin' glad..." The vampire exhaled a deep breath. 

"It... You made me feel good. Strange, but good", Y/N appeased and flushed over the memory. "Maybe you got a little carried away, but I don't mind. I wouldn't trade the feeling for anything."

Y/N quickly interrupted herself, before she could reveal too much.

However, Damon used his vampire skills, noticing that Y/N was hiding something from him. "Isn't there anything else you want me to know?", Damon asked without taking his eyes off her. Y/N shifted and flushed even more. "It's unfair. You use your vampirism to get everything out of me."

"Well, if that were the case, I could easily compel you." Damon shrugged and found back to his smugly self. "Tell me, what you are hiding". He said in a seductive voice.

"I wanted to get lost in you."

Her confession sent shivers all over the vampires body. At first he could not decide, how to handle this. "Are you sure that's what you want? I could really hurt you..." Y/N hummed.

In the next split second, Damon pinned Y/N against a wall, smashing his lips on hers, kissing her with all the passion he had to give. The vampire devoured Y/N with a new kind of hunger. He didn't know he could crave someone so much.

"Fuck me, Damon..."

The vampire felt him getting hard, only by hearing those little three words out of her mouth.

"Say it louder. Tell me, what you want me to do."

Y/N pulled him closer, gently biting his earlobe.

"Fuck... me, Damon." It took her a second to focus and forming the words again. After she was near to climax earlier, it wasn't a long way getting to the edge once more. "Make me cum... You almost had me there..."

A deep moan got over the vampires lips, once he understood, what Y/N was trying to tell him.

With the next blink Y/N found herself in Damon's bedroom, lying on his bed.

From now on there weren't many words needed. Damon's hand's found their way under her shirt, cupping her breasts and make her moan over and over again.

He closely listened to the rhythm of her heart, making sure he would be able to delay her climax to the point he needed her to.

"Don't cum yet... I want to taste your little pussy first."

Y/N grabbed the vampires head, running her fingers through his dark hair - pushing him down, since she was unable to form a single word.

As Damon got down, he didn't take his eyes off Y/N.

He used a hand pushing up her skirt and lightly stroking over her panties with his fingertips.

"My girl is so wet", he praised in a low husky voice."-and I barely touched you."

His dirty words in combination with his touch lead to another moan, almost turned into a scream.

Damon pushed the fabric aside, leaving sloppy kisses on the inside of her thighs.

Y/N's eyes fluttered, when his soft lips reached her middle.

Damon's tongue licking around her entrance was driving her nuts.

"...so delicious..." were the only words she was able to catch up. Damon knew, he couldn't thrill her forever, so he got back to her. He spit on his palms, stroking his hand over his crotch. In under a second Y/N finally felt this releasing pressure of his cock. It was like a switch went off in her brain and she braced herself for the hard thrusts that would follow.

Damon dimmed the whining noises Y/N made with a passionate, hungry kiss.

He cheated with his vampirism to give it to her deeper and faster, knocking out all the air of her lungs while Y/N screamed out Damon's name. Her walls clenched around him and made him twitch. It was like her pussy massaged his dick the best way possible.

Every time he hit her harder and rougher he was making sure he hit her spot with every thrust.

Damon gathered speed one last time and pushed her over the edge until she was a moaning whimpering mess.

With her last contraction around his shaft, Damon was cumming inside her.

"You are so tight, little one", he whispered under his breath. "We should make arrangements more often."

Please like or/and reblog if you enjoyed reading or/and want me to write more stories about Damon.

Thanks guys ❤️

[palemoonskin]

Fried eggs in the morning

smut, praise kink, fem reader, fingering, petnames, fluff

My first English smut, lol. Eh... Chubby! Black! Reader with self esteem issues gets eaten out by her bf Peter Parker. That's it. That's the story. And she plays animal crossing. My English sucks, I'm sowwy <3

4k words

The delicious smell of fried eggs fills the room and because your kitchen isn't really separated from your sleeping room, that is also your living room, you are sure he can smell it, too. Even if he sleeps. Your Apartment isn't really big, yet still better than what other people have to call their homes in New York. A big one room apartment, but luckily you don't have that many friends and you also don't get visitors often and therefore it doesn't matter that you sleep in your living room. A big, comfy bed, on the opposite of it a not so big flat-screen you had to get on a sale and the rest of the month you were only able to mostly eat white bread with… well, whatever you could find. 

But for you it's enough. 

For him, too. 

Peter Parker whose knocking took you out of your bed last night. He does that frequently, does it to be able to spend at least a bit of his busy schedule with you, after his patrol. Yesterday though, it seemed to last a little longer than usual. His excuse, or explanation, maybe, for waking you up in the middle of the night was that he missed you. And didn't want to wake up aunt May. 

She was worried enough already about the way things were. You also love May. She's sweet and friendly, courteous and whenever you visit her, she shines like the sun, so, so happy. She's so happy about her dear baby having found someone who loves him, cherishes him.

And how much you do. 

That's why the shock of finding out what your boyfriend does in his free time was so big. Webbing through the city, kicking delinquents asses, helping nice, old women to cross the street and show off to his fans with his occasional backflip. 

When you met him, he was more on the quiet and shy side. At least, the outside seemed like it. It didn't take you two long to get to know each other better and Peter started warming up around you. Around this time, when you started spending more time with him, you noticed something different. A warm feeling in your stomach, how it felt like twisting around, squirming, whenever he looked at you with these big, hazel eyes. You started searching, and succeeding, for more and more reasons to touch him, be close to him. And it felt like a dream, still does, sometimes. You never even dared to think that someone like him, someone so handsome, smart, thoughtful and sweet would ever show any kind of interest in you. 

You yourself are a shy girl; nondescript, being able to blend in with those around you perfectly. Not very popular and used to getting bullied because of your body. You're chubby. While your parents always told you that you're fine, you were never really able to believe it. All you've seen were these beautiful, skinny girls with pale skin and long, straight, silky hair and everyone seemed to love them. Whenever they stepped into a room, all eyes were on them. Or their pretty outfits you would never dare to wear, their hairstyles you would never be able to do because your hair doesn't work like straight hair, their shiny, blue eyes, the way they — 

„Ow!" 

Getting caught up in your daydreams all the time has a price. You burned your finger, yet again. You take it into your wet mouth, blow against it before you start shaking it a bit and hold it under cold water, trying to make the burning pain go away. Another trait of yours you deeply dislike. Not like the Spiderling who still sleeps in your bed, looking like he doesn't even know the words worry, stress or anger. 

He loved it. He loved you. 

The way your nose crunches whenever you laugh, the way your hair never seems to completely listen to you nor do what you want, the way your eyes lighten up whenever you see a cute animal, how he would sometimes wake up to 10+ new messages of you, just of memes. Everything others have ever criticized about you, your loud, hearty laugh, how you wear your heart on your sleeve —  people often calling you too sensitive — apparently was one more reason for him to love you. 

You turn the hotplate off, stir the fried eggs again which started to gain more and more similarity with scrambled eggs than with actual fried ones. You put it on the side, set the lid on it and wash your hands, before you take the chance to take another look behind you, on the bed. He's still lying there and you start to, yet again, wonder why, of all people, he chose you. Not just for the fact that you two are in a relationship, absolutely happy, no. He even entrusted you with his biggest secret. 

The corners of your mouth pull slightly up at the thought and on your tiptoes you approach the sleeping hero. The way he lies there it's hard to believe that he regularly beats up things that could kill you with a single hit. In a red-blue costume. 

You do your best to be as quiet as possible as you get next to him, but the bed still creaks underneath you. In less than a second your gaze focuses on him again but luckily everything you see is his relaxed, sleeping face, a soft snore from time to time. 

How adorable. 

Peter looks so pretty and cute and most of all innocent. Hard to believe he's Spider-Man. Smoothly your fingers go nearer and nearer his face, brushing a few brown hair strands away. And his eyelids twitch. Your hand pulls away fastly but is stopped by his fingers, wrapping around your wrist. He draws them in front of his face. Still sleepy and with closed eyes his lips come nearer, softly kissing the pads of your fingers, so gentle as if you were made out of glass. As if you could break at the simple touch of him. Your heart skips a beat and you truly feel like he could break you. In the most beautiful, artistic way. You would let him. 

He puts your hand on his cheek and you're not able to look away from him. He is so warm and soft, a little stubble that feels so, so good on your skin. So right. Like his skin was made to be touched by your fingers. 

„…  G-Good morning!", you stutter, obvious embarrassment in your voice. 

„Mornin'.", he smirks, using his free hand to rub his sleepy eyes. 

Your breath stops for a moment 

„Thanks for taking care of me last night.", his fingers run through his hair and he slowly opens his eyes, looking through long, thick lashes, still with this damn smirk on his face. 

„My Love." 

„… No problem…", comes out in a quiet mutter, your fingers touching the bed underneath you, trying to distract you, to find something that takes the embarrassment out of you. 

„I've made breakfast." 

You hear a gentle yawn, as he looks at you, the smirk turning into a big grin. 

And you can hear yourself gulp again. 

„You're too good to me." 

He stands up, making his way into the kitchen. The sheets fall down and you get a good look at his body; his defined abs, his muscular legs, his so, so strong arms which often held you, safe and secure, letting you forget about all the worries in your life. At least for a brief moment.

You blink a few times, trying to get back into reality and your eyes locking the bed underneath you yet again. 

There's a rustle, soft scratching from metal on metal and a quiet but still absolute lovely humming. It makes you feel warm on the inside and your lips form a firm smile. 

You love this dude so much. 

„ You ate already?" 

Your body does a little jump at the sudden question. Why were you so nervous all the time? 

„No… Not hungry." 

He opens the fridge and your fingers claw into your thighs, eyes piercing them. Don't look, don't look, don't - 

As if he could read minds. 

„You can look at me.", the door closes and he holds a bag of milk in his hands, „I'm your boyfriend, after all." 

He takes a big sip, right out of the box and if you weren't so love struck, on cloud 9 and tense, you would have scolded him. 

But not now. 

He puts the milk away, starts eating. At least it looks like it from behind. You finally manage to lift your gaze, look at his backside. 

You had no idea a simple, muscular back could make you feel like this. 

„You should eat something.", he says between bites, „My Love." 

Starting an argument is useless, you know that. That's why you don't say anything. You watch him in silence, how he stands in the kitchen, slowly rocking left to right, while putting the fork to his mouth and before you know it, he's done, plate empty. He looks over his shoulder, right into your eyes. 

For a moment, he just stands there and you feel a light shudder running through your whole body. A smile appears on his pretty, so kissable lips, inch by inch and your heart is beating like crazy, you feel like you can hear it ring in your ears. Like it is telling you it wants to jump out, right into his hands. 

But it already belongs to him. 

He runs his fingers through his hair again before he disappears into the bathroom and for the first time in what feels like weeks for you, you can breathe. 

You can hear the water running and your mind automatically does the rest. Imaging his toned body, his abs, his strong arms, getting all wet. 

Stop, stop, stop. 

Another breath, way louder and deeper than before and you let yourself fall onto your bed again. The mattress squeaks, you run your fingers over your sheets, feeling the cold surface of your switch. You grab it and turn it on, playing animal crossing. The happy music tootles in your ears, you lay on your stomach and your legs bob up and down. You hum to the music while you're trying your best to get a villager you really don't like to move out and you're so focused, so in your game, that you don't realise that he's already back in the room. You only react when the mattress goes down a bit and in the blink of an eye you're sitting straight on the bed. 

He's sitting in front of you, hair still damp. He changed his shorts, drying himself with a white, very soft towel. A few drops fall off his hair onto his chest, sliding down the rest of his body. 

And you swallow. 

He notices, smiles at you and leans into your direction. Your cheeks flush pink as you look into his face. 

„You're so cute.," soft voice, lovey-dovey, „When you're focused, I mean. How you were humming the music of your game." 

He leans nearer until his head rests on your shoulder and you instinctively brush through his hair. He closes his eyes and for a moment, you both are silent. 

„… What kind of game is it?" 

„Uh… huh?"

„That game.", he taps on your switch display once, „I often see you play it. What's it about?" 

„O-Oh. Uhm…  you wouldn't care, it's dumb." 

He looks up at you, into your eyes, deep, so deep as if he could see right into your soul. 

„No.", he breathes against your skin, making you shudder, „It makes you happy. I don't think it's dumb." 

He leans closer to your face until you can feel his warmth on your lips, „Tell me about it.," he mumbles against them, „My Love." 

But you don't want to talk about your game. You want to bury your fingers in his brown, soft hair, deep and tight, want to feel his soft lips on yours, his strong hands on your body, inhaling his scent, just be with him. Be with him the way no one else is allowed to. 

Regardless, you do as he wants. You talk about it. 

„Well, basically…  it's a game where you have your own island you can decorate however you want and there are these animal villagers and you're the only human…" 

He puts his head on your lap while you keep on petting his hair. 

„You can fish and catch bugs and sell them to get money for buying cool stuff like clothes or furniture…" 

You flinch as you feel his warm lips on your skin, your thighs. You're only wearing a grey shirt you got from him and pink panties. Not even a bra. 

Other girls would look so cute in their boyfriends clothes. They sink into them because pretty girls are small and petite and you're not. You're not and will never be and — 

„Keep on talking, Princess." 

You take in a sharp breath at his words and again as he starts to suck softly on your skin. 

„Y-You can get a bigger house…  a-and you can…  you…" 

He looks up to you and you see a grin. 

Enough to get tingles on your skin, a warm feeling deep inside your stomach. 

He laughs. Softly, low and the tingle of your skin gets worse, spreading through your whole body, your chest, your arms, your legs… 

Your center. 

„W-What's so funny?" you manage to ask him and he shakes his head. 

„Nothing."

Oh,okay . 

„You're just so pretty and cute and I love you." he says suddenly, he's fast, getting up again, his face right in front of you. 

And you stop breathing. 

Peter's lips kiss your cheek, your nose, find their way to your ear and you need to hold onto something. Your arms lay around him, grab him.

„I want to eat you out." 

These words make your wetness clench around nothing. You try to get away but he holds you still, softly sucking on your earlobe before he keeps sweet talking. You shudder and can hear yourself whimper. 

„Wanna make you feel good. Wanna hear you moan my name.", he kisses his way down your neck, his hands on the hem of your, his, shirt, slowly, so so slowly and gently pulling it up. 

„P-Peter…" 

And he stops, looks at you with worry in his eyes. 

„Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?" 

He's so considerate, nice, cute. 

„Do you want me to stop?" 

„No!" 

You want him to keep going. But you're scared. So scared of the possibility that he could be disgusted by you. That he could be disgusted by what he sees, by the things he has already seen dozens of times.

There has never been a single moment in the whole relationship with the Spiderling, in which you felt ugly. In which you felt undesirable, disgusting, or like he didn't want you.

He always made you feel loved. Made you feel good. Took his time to make you feel even better. 

„I just…" 

And he gets it. Like he always does. Like he was meant to meet you. 

„Babe, I love you. So much. So fucking much." 

You know.

„Nothing makes me happier than you. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you happy." 

Your head turns away and your cheeks turn into a deep red. His lips part, ready to speak again. 

„You can keep going.", you hear your own voice say. 

And he closes them, lips turning into a smirk. 

Peter nods. 

„My pleasure.", he murmurs as his mouth caresses your shoulders, his hands pulling the shirt up again, baring your stomach. 

You can feel his fingers putting weight onto you, pushing you into the mattress and your first instinct is to cover your now exposed tummy. It's not flat like the ones of the pretty girls in school. Not trained like the ones of the girls you see regularly in TV, magazines. Everywhere. 

It's soft and has stretch marks. It wiggles a bit when he moves you and you hate it. 

But he doesn't let you. 

„Stop hiding yourself." 

Peter holds your wrists into one of his hands, puts them over your head as he looks at you. Looks at you like you were the one who put the stars into the sky. 

And you feel yourself getting even wetter. 

„You're so pretty.", comes gently from him as he buries his face in the soft skin of your tummy, placing what feels like a thousand kisses on it. 

„Mhn. P-Peter…" 

„I'm gonna make you feel s'good.", mumbling against your warm, trembling skin. 

„So, so good, " he repeats, like a mantra, „Until you love yourself as much as I do." 

You breathe in sharply, his kisses going higher, his hands caressing your waist while he pulls his shirt up even higher. 

And you hate your chest. 

You wish you had perky, small breasts. Perfectly standing, not even a bit saggy. Small, pink nipples. 

But you didn't. And you hated it. 

„Peter…"

His chin rests right under your tits as he looks at you and you swallow. He's so pretty, so gorgeous, so handsome. And he wants you, wants to kiss you, loves you, wants to eat you out. This perfect face wants to be buried between your thighs, pressed against your wetness — 

Your cunt clenches once again and you can hear yourself holding back a moan. 

„Can I?" 

A moment of silence, a nod follows and he doesn't need to be told twice. 

„Thank you, Princess." barely more than a moan as he continues to expose the rest of your body. Your tanned, soft skin that felt like silk under his fingers. 

„Thank you so much."

And he pulls it up, over your head and you lay bare. You want to hide, hide your whole body. Your weird face, your fat tummy, your ugly breasts, your —

And he looks at you in a way that could make you cry. Like you were the most precious thing he has ever put his eyes upon. 

„So. Goddamn. Pretty.", his eyes hover over your body, stop at your panties. You want to press your legs together, but Peter holds them, looks between them and grins. 

„Gonna take care of that real soon. Don't worry about it." 

And your cunt clenches again as you feel yourself getting even wetter. 

He lets your legs be as he buries his face into your breast, sucking on your nipple, making you moan lightly. He takes his time, his hands drawing circles and hearts and shapes on your skin, occasionally touching your sides, your thighs just the right way. Just hard enough, grabbing you, showing how much he loves your body. 

„So… hot ….", you hear him mumble and you almost let another moan escape. 

Peter parts himself from your now hard nipple, looking at it. He breathes against it and makes you squirm at the sudden cold. Shortly after, another grin on his lips appears, his gaze searching for yours. 

„Gonna make you scream." 

His hands bury deeper into the soft, sun kissed skin on your hips. 

„Gonna make you lose your mind." 

His hands travel to your back. 

„Gonna make you feel like you're in heaven." 

His fingers bury deep, deep into the skin of your ass. 

„Let me.", a kiss placed on your stomach, „Let me eat that pretty pussy of yours." 

His hands travel to your thighs, grabbing them, holding them apart. His nose is rubbing against the thin layer of fabric against your pussy. 

„Let me taste it."

You can't hold back anymore as you squirm even more, moan slightly and with trembling hands you do your best to push your panties away, down your legs, throwing it somewhere in the room. Doesn't matter where. 

He looks at your wetness, licking his lips. 

„So needy."

„Peter, please -" 

„ Shush ." 

A kiss on your thigh follows, before you feel a finger on your mid, going up and pushing between the puffy folds, into your wetness, spreading it around your hole, your clit, making you moan. 

„ God , babe. You're so wet for me.", he laughs lowly and you can hear, almost feel, the admiration in his voice. 

With his other hand, he spreads your lips, looking at your wet center thoroughly. It makes you turn your head away, close your eyes. 

So embarrassing. 

Then he pushes a finger inside and your month goes agape. 

„Fuck.," he curses under his breath, „So tight." 

Another digit follows, spreading you wide open and you can slowly feel the pleasure eating you up. The warm feeling inside you. You can't hold yourself as you start to moan louder, your fingers grabbing into the sheets. 

And it rips as Peter starts sucking your swollen bundle of nerves. A low laugh vibrates through it, he has probably noticed it, heard it. The ripping. Oh, what he does to you. 

He sucks on your clit, moaning at your taste, brows frowning, cheeks turning red and his fingers starting to fuck you. 

More, more, more. 

Your hands travel down the sheets, stopping at his hair. Your fingers bury into the brown locks and your back arches. His tongue on your clit, exactly knowing what to do, the way you liked it, loved it, the way it drove you crazy. 

Your thighs tremble, push together, press his head even more into yourself. Into your hot wetness. 

„Fuck! Peter!" 

You feel him moan against your clit again and he adds a third finger, knuckles deep into your pussy, making obscene, wet sounds and you pull on his hair, pushing your cunt harder onto his face, slowly losing yourself. 

Peter, Peter, Peter. 

Fucking God. 

His hands grab onto your thighs, opening them a bit and you hear him take in a few breathes of fresh air. 

„I'm… Sorry." 

He immediately shakes his head, not looking away from your wet, trembling pussy. 

„Don't be. Its good." 

He licks your juices from his lips, looks at you now. You swallow, want to look away. 

„Please don't.", you hear him beg with pleading eyes and you clench around his fingers again. 

A smirk. 

„You look so hot. So pretty."

And you get even tighter. 

„I wish I could stay here forever. Making you feel good all day, all night." 

You moan. 

„Next time, sit on my face, Princess. I want you to use me." 

An even louder moan. With every thrust, your juice leaks out of you, wetting his hand, the inside of your thighs, the bed underneath you. 

“I-I'm gonna -" 

He comes up again, face to face, but before you can look away, you feel his hand on your jaw. Warm and strong and another moan escapes. 

„Look at me." 

He thrusts harder. 

„I want to see your face when you come for me." 

And you do. 

You moan his name, almost scream and you know your neighbors are gonna talk to you about it tomorrow. Again. But you don't care. 

You only care about his fingers fucking you, his pretty brown eyes devouring you, your hands in his hair. 

„Come for me, princess."

His mouth moves to your ear. 

„Let go. For me, pretty girl." 

And you go tight, so, so tight around his fingers, his words driving you crazy as your whole body twitches, your eyes roll back in your head, back arching again as your high eats you up. 

„Such a good girl. Good, good girl.", mumbling in your ear, „Coming for me. So loud. So wet." 

You fall back into the mattress, he pulls his fingers out and puts them into his mouth.

All while he looks at you. 

You hear yourself swallow and you turn your head away.

Embarrassing… 

Peter lets out a quiet, low laugh. So full of love, admiration. 

„I love you." 

If you like this, please consider liking or even reblogging it! It would mean the world to me <3

[thesunicarusfellfor]

hear me out yandere god Wilbur falling for Reader who is a dancer and even though Reader is a dancer they don’t worship the god of music Wilbur but instead a different god (whatever god of your choice)

Ughghg Gods make the brain go brrrrr I sweaaaarrrr I love writing possessive gods. It's so great. I want to see more God AUs of MCYTs.

Pretty lame compared to my normal writing tbh

Dance for Me (Yandere!God!C!Wilbur x GN!Dancer!Reader) Headcanon/Fic

(Hints of Yandere!God!C!Dream x Reader)

He wanted more parties.

He wanted any little excuse to see that little dancer again.

It didn't matter how much he hated Dream, if inviting him to his parties meant he brought that dancer over, by gods he would beg Dream to stay longer.

When Tommy told him he was invited to a massive peace treaty banquet, he dreaded going.

He hated so many of the other gods and honestly, it didn't seem worth the migraine.

But there was wine.

He must've been close to downing his fifth cup when he saw the most lovely figure he's ever seen.

They twirled around Dream in a perfectly rehearsed pattern, the green fabrics of their clothing swiping through the air with delicate grace.

He was pissed, seeing how the God was skillfully ignoring you to talk to George, missing the beautiful display you were putting on.

"I'm going to hate every second of this..." Wilbur murmured under his breath as he pushed open the door, a few of his dancers and servants in tow behind him, one holding his beloved guitar as instructed.

The massive golden room with a long grand table standing in the centre. Placed strategically around the dark oak table were dozens of thrones, styled to suit each god that was likely attending. There were quite a few dancers dressed in their gods' respective colours, as well as a few servants standing behind their gods' thrones, waiting for commands.

Giving a sigh, he dragged his feet towards his throne that was decorated to his liking and plopped down in it, immediately grabbing the glass of wine that was placed in front of his blank plate. Beside him, his father who was sitting on a black-feathered throne, chuckling to himself, "Long day, mate?"

"I hate here..." He mumbled bitterly into his glass, downing the scarlet coloured liquid as quickly as he could to make this event more bearable, "Why would I want to be in a room with Tommy AND Dream?"

Philza chuckled quietly and have him a pat on the shoulder, "Yeah, yeah, trust me, I know." He shook his head before adjusting his hat, "It'll go quickly, just focus on the wine and dancers. You'll be fine."

Once he got a refill on his glass, he began downing it again as people began to party and celebrate. Honestly, he couldn't chug the glasses of wine down fast enough, the party just got more and more annoying. Anything from Tommy's breathing being slightly too loud, to Techno's usual snippy remarks, even Dream's very existence, everything was filling him with unnecessary anger and annoyance.

By his fifth or sixth glass, he was about to stand up and leave, until the flowing of green fabric brushing past his vision caught his attention. Normally, he would just ignore it, as he was used to fabric always flitting around him (albeit his dancers were dressed in tans, golds and yellows) but the movements were so... different.

He lifted his head completely and stared in shock. There was an elegant figure twirling around Dream in a perfectly rehearsed routine, their lime green silken and chiffon fabrics with diamond and white gemstones tied perfectly around their smooth (s/t) skin. Their soft (h/l) (h/c) hair was neatly styled out of the way while perfectly accenting their flowing movements.

Wilbur's mouth parted slightly in shock as he watched the beautiful dance, which is more than Dream was doing. The idiot was ignoring such a beautiful dance to talk to George, which made him realize that Dream didn't need such a skilled dancer in his court. Wilbur wanted them in his court, and by the gods, he would worship them as if they were a god and he was a mere peasant. Whether they wanted him to or not.

Time must've passed very quickly because, by the time he had shaken himself out of his stupor, he saw Dream staring at him from across the table with a knowing smug grin and his hand on the dancer's mostly bare hip.

"Stunning, aren't they?" He smirked, looking up at them, "This is my lead dancer and my personal favourite of my worshipers. Introduce yourself to him, Doll, let the other gods know who you are. And how you belong to me."

Wilbur was almost trapped in a state of awe as they hurriedly went around the table before stopping at the side of his throne, immediately dropping into a bow, "(Y/n) (L/n), Lead dancer of Dream's temple. Thank you for allowing me to be in your presence. How can I please you, God of Music?" While their lines seemed a bit robotic and possibly more rehearsed than their dances, the God found himself melting at the sound of their voice.

"Please, continue dancing, and enjoy the party to your heart's content."

You honestly were quite tired from dancing all day and all night, but such is life.

Dream definitely wasn't the most merciful god.

But the praises you received from the harsh god made your heart soar. It felt nice to be treated so sweetly by someone who was considered cruel.

The banquet was filled with laughter and joyous music, dancers in different outfits and colours expertly twirling around their gods in an attempt to appease them and hold their attention for long enough.

You briefly glanced over in time to see the God of Music staring at you with his mouth parted in shock.

The amount of pride that filled you as you realized you had another gods attention was almost overwhelming.

Unconsciously, you found yourself dancing more elegantly and passionately, determined to keep his attention on you, and you only.

Your movements stopped immediately once you felt a calloused hand place itself around you and land on your waist.

Keeping your head down respectfully, you tried your best to ignore the murmuring of the two gods, but couldn't help but bite your lip at the praise Dream was giving to you.

After introducing yourself to Wilbur, Dream told you to follow his orders and continue enjoying the rest of the party.

"Name your price for them." Wilbur turned to Dream the second the dancer left his side, "Anything. Everything. Now."

"Eager, aren't we?" The man smirked, adjusting his position to lean forward slightly, "Is your attention that easy to grab, Wilbur? A mere dancer with skill and a tiny bit of green fabric?"

Hiding his growl in a sip of wine, the music god rolled his eyes, "They have immense amounts of skill, they should be worshipped rather than worship. Name your price, Dream, I want that dancer and I will do anything it takes to have them in my grasp."

"Hmm... I'm not sure... They are very good at their job, and I quite like their presence around my temple. Isn't your temple's independence enough? Or are you not satisfied? Always wanting more and more..." He shook his head in mock disappointment, "I'll give them to you... But just know, you owe me one of your dancers and a favour. Where I can ask for anything I want from you."

"Deal," Wilbur smirked, barely thinking about it. He would lay down his entire temple for that single dancer. With a quick motion, he signalled one of his best dancers over and told her that she now belonged to Dream, and in response, Dream called the lead dancer over and told them the same thing.

While the two dancers were surprised, they knew not to disobey orders and went around the table to meet their new gods more personally.

The second (Y/n) got close enough, Wilbur pulled them into his lap and held them close, gently holding their chin so they would look at him, "Hello, (Y/n), you're going to be worshipping me from now on. Now, let's get you out of this... Awful colour..." He gently grabbed at your lime coloured clothing, turning it into a golden hue after touching it.

Upon seeing their shocked expression, he smirked.

"Only gods are supposed to wear gold, my darling, and you fit the bill quite well."

[jinxxedwammys]

In celebration of 100 followers I present to you

Wammy boys in oddly specific AUs I found on pinterest and stuff.

Warnings: Swearing (mostly in Mello’s part as usual lol)

L

"I mistook you for my best friend and jumped on your back in public and now I'm embarrassed"

🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂

It was during the Kira case when L was closely investigating Light Yagami at To-Oh University that this extremely awkward encounter occurred. The sun was high in the sky, locusts and could be heard and cherry blossom littered the wide walkway leading into the school.

You had your heavy bag slung across your shoulders. It was filled with textbooks and papers (some of which you had forgotten to turn in) as well as a few personal items. You weren't really paying much attention to your surroundings until you spotted one of your male friends!

You hadn't seen him since the beginning of high-school. To say you were excited was an understatement. In your excitement you took a running jump onto his back knocking him to the ground. He let out a yelp and that was when you realized...

This man was NOT your friend.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry I thought you were someone else" you hurriedly said pushing yourself up and on your knees an apparent redness in your face.

He seemed to be unbothered for the most part, he turned to you, crouching in a sort of fetal position.

"It's alright I understand" He replied.

"No, no its not.. I'm an idiot I should have realized" you shoved your face into your hands covering how red your face now was.

"It is alright, I'm uninjured and it was an honest mistake" you frowned a little not entirely trusting his forgiveness, but this time, you took it.

He gave you a polite smile before standing up and helping you to your feet. He wished you a good day, and left, but not before sneaking a note containing his alias and phone number.

Mello

"I lost my little sibling Matt in Ikea and I need your help finding them"

🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫

"Fuck.... Shit... Motherfucker" You heard from the other side of the store shelf as you browsed through various decor items. This mystery person had been spewing profanities for the past five minutes. You sighed with slight annoyance placing the wooden model hand you had been staring at for God knows how long back, making your way to the neighboring isle.

"Hey, you've been cursing up a storm... what's going on?" You asked, hand on your hip awaiting a response. Mello looked up at you with a look of anger and exhaustion on his face.

"I'm looking for my idiot friend. He got hopelessly lost in the chair section and I've been trying to find him for like an hour now" He ran a hand through his hair pushing his bangs to the sides of his face.

"I can help you look for him!" You offered.

"You don't have to"

"I want to! I don't really have anything else to do, so it's fine. To be completely honest I don't know why I came here." He shrugged. "Oh my name's Y/N by the way"

"I'm Mello" He replied before setting off out of the isle leaving you to sprint a but to catch up. His pace was fast and he seemed to have some plan on how to tackle this, but you weren't exactly sure.

After what seemed like an eternity of silently weaving through the labyrinth of shelves and furniture displays, you spoke up.

"So... how old is your friend?"

"We're both 19... His name is Matt." You kept walking until he stopped directly in front of the office showroom section.

"He might be here, so keep an eye out for a tall brunette idiot with goggles." You nodded keeping close to Mello. Again you snaked through isles. Eventually your search devolved into looking into cabinets, drawers, anything that would open, but to no avail.

"Where the fuck is he?" Mello said under his breath as he slammed shut another cabinet.

That was when a tall brunette wearing goggles walked by dual wielding hotdogs... You sighed heavily before approaching Matt.

"Matt?" You called out gaining the attention of both Matt and Mello. Mello stood beside you before going on to scold his friend almost as if he were an unruly child.

"Sorry about that I hope looking for him wasn't that unbearable... would you like to meet up sometime again in the future?" Mello asked. You nodded in response.

"I'd love to! This was quite fun actually. Though let's not go to an ikea next time."

Near

"We both like walking In the park at night and I think you're a stalker so I accidentally attack you"

🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖

It was 2am, the night was calm yet you were restless nothing you tried allowed you to fall asleep. It was like this most nights. You would then go to the park near your house to get some fresh air and tire yourself out... and on a night like this, that seemed like a perfect idea. You didn't even change out of your pajamas before you left. As you entered the park, you felt... odd. As if someone was watching you and sure enough, as you turned your head to look behind you you saw a man following about two yards behind you.

Naturally your thoughts went wild with what ifs and possible escape plans. Yet you calmed your mind opting to check if this guy was really following you. With every corner you turned your heart sank. Panic started to set in and you rushed to get together an improvised weapon.... Your housekey! You gripped it tightly in your hand as if it were a knife and swiftly approached the man going to jab him in the eye, yet he caught your arm with ease, turning it behind you and pushing you to the ground, similarly to how a police officer would apprehend a resistant assailant.

"Why did you attack me" he questioned, plopping down just above your hips.

"Let me go, stalker!!!" You yelled at him thrashing around attempting to escape his grasp.

"What are you talking about? I'm not stalking you." He calmly said.

"That's exactly what a stalker would say! Let me go!" He sighed lifting himself off of you and crouching beside you. You rolled over and sat with your legs crossed.

"I swear to you, I was only out for a walk. I take nighttime walks sometimes, though this was the first time I've been in this park."

"Then how come every time I turned you followed?"

"I did? I'm sorry, I didn't even realize" He stated plainly. You sighed he seemed truthful.

"Fine... I'm sorry too, I probably shouldn't have assumed you were a stalker or something and attacked you" you admitted. He shook his head.

"It's alright, I understand... I can be scary" you snorted and laughed. The light of the nearby streetlamp lit his features. A frail, sweet looking man with long white hair who seemed to be somewhat reserved. You felt a little silly that you thought someone like him would hurt you much.

"You're not scary... In all honesty you're quite cute!" You admitted, reaching out a finger to poke his nose.

"Thanks, you're actually quite cute as well, maybe we could meet up here in the morning?" He suggested.

Matt

"I come here when I want to be alone and I didn't think anyone knew about it so where the hell did you come from"

🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮

This day was aweful. Work was extremely stressful. Your coworker put important documents in the shreader for the 10th time that week and you were the one tasked with rewriting, tracking down, requesting new copies and piecing together ones that couldn't be recovered otherwise. And of course your boss made every minute of it a nightmare. So after work, you drove to your favorite place. An abandoned warehouse off the highway about 5 minutes from your house.

It was virtually untouched by people now that the walls were covered in graffiti and the place had been ransacked for leftover valuable items. You made your way inside noticing something was off... there was a leather couch that wasn't yours, a coffee table... even a TV and game console plugged into a power supply, another handheld game on the coffee table next to an ashtray with a few cigarette butts, one of which was still smoking.

You were beyond confused. From the last time you were here someone had basically moved in... it had only been a week since you last came here. You warily approached the couch. Well... whoever left it here probably won't mind! you thought I just hope they didn't sabotage it or something. You then sat down noting that it was a perfectly normal couch and you were just paranoid.

That was when a guy came in, he was tall and lenky, had brown hair and was dressed in a striped shirt, a frankly hideous vest with fur lining, black pants and goggles atop his head. He had been holding a can of coke and a cigarette, yet those were both dropped as he saw you.

"Who are you?" He half shrieked.

"Who are YOU? You yelled back.

"I asked first!"

"My name is Y/N.. I come here all the time when I'm stressed and want to be alone I didn't think anyone else knew about it"

"S..Same but.. I come here to get away from a friend of mine... he can be quite aggressive and it's scary" He sat down beside you picking up his handheld game. "Oh and my name is Matt!"

"Hmm.. then let's share this space from now on, Matt!" He nodded in agreement.

"Yea! I hope we meet again soon"

Beyond Birthday

"We live in the same apartment complex and I accidentally leave my laundry in the washer for a minute too long and you decide to take out all my wet clothes to put yours in just as I walk in"

🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪

It was late night. You had been putting off laundry for the past week, but now you were down to a pair of underwear and your nightgown, so you had to do your wash.. you reluctantly gathered your clothes and made your way to the communal washer and dryer. You threw your clothes in and put a coin in the coinslot then set the washer to start.

You sighed and made your way back to your room to relax a little while your clothes were still washing. It had been about two hours and your laundry was probably done. The timer you had set went off and you gathered yourself and brought the remainder of your clothes as well as your box of dryer sheets.

The moment you walked in your eyes widened in horror. Some odd man sat frantically pulling your clothes out of the washer onto the dirty floor.

"What the hell are you doing??!!" You yelled rushing over to stop him. He peered up at you from his crouching position.

"You left your clothes in too long, its my turn now" You blinked

"Only for a few minutes... it just got done less than 5 minutes ago.. now my clothes are all dirty again.. damn it"

"Sorry" He said. His beady eyes were wide and innocent looking. "I'll let you do yours again... I'll pay" He said before shoving yours back in and starting it again.

When that was done he pulled a jam jar out of seemingly nowhere and perched on top of the washer dipping his hand inside the jar and licking his fingers clean of jam. It was disgusting... But you decided to not pay any more attention to it than you had to.

The rest of the time you spent with him was in silence, all you heard was the washer and his lip-smacking. When the washer finished you silently transferred your clothes to the dryer.. this time without your oddball fellow tenant interfering much. Though when he got his own clothes in he did crawl away which freaked you out.

[kaiqarker]

the watchtower’s lighthouse | stan vogel

pairing: stan vogel x reader

warnings: smut, swearing

summary: months after a disasterous first date with stan vogel, your paths cross once more when you’re lost within the depths of kern canyon national park during a thunderstorm and stan happens to have inherited a shift patrolling from the watchtower.

a/n: back from the dead because of this man. hope y’all enjoy :)

THE SKY EMULATED STAN VOGEL'S morals, consisting of gray unpredictability. If he was within the familiar walls of his assigned cabin, located along the grounds of Kern Canyon National Park, it would be an indication he wouldn't have to do much patrolling. Campers usually stayed put if there was rainfall, sticking to their own site and not off doing God knows what to the land Stan takes pride in preserving. Cascading a thick husk of superiority and knowledge was his favorite thing about the job, which is why he was disappointed he was stuck maintaining the watchtower for tonight.

The surveillance for the watchtower was run by a tight knit schedule of volunteers and the occasional firefighter that needed a change of scenery for a couple days. Needless to say with all the strange occurrences and sightings, there have been less and less people willing to take on the task. And now the duty was bestowed upon the park ranger— at least for tonight. He swore to himself that at sunrise he would be out of there and back to being the persistent, vexing gum stuck to the bottom of everyone's shoe.

Stan now sat in a wobbly chair, feet propped up on the desk and his trusty binoculars in hand. His surroundings were darkening, quicker than they would at his cabin because of the parade of trees towering over the area. He could mostly only see shadows and the outlines of the forest. His paranoia kept him on the lookout, knowing all too well what kind of perilous entities the park harbored, dark secrets he was trusted in keeping.

It was why his body jolted and he nearly fell out of his seat at a sign of movement. His hands itched to drop the binoculars and reunite with the shotgun propped up in the corner. His burst of anxiety was halted, however, once the lenses revealed a person. A wandering, soaked person clearly becoming victim to the thunderstorm that had been periodically easing and worsening for the past two hours.

Stan stood, walking over to the window with his binoculars hanging from the strap around his neck. He easily pried it open and stuck out his head. The drizzle of rain didn't reach him because of the roof stretching out along the perimeter of the watchtower, but he still felt the dip in the temperature. He estimated that it had dropped at least fifteen degrees since the start of the storm, the disappearance of the sun only escalating the drafty change.

He was about to shout down at what is most certainly a woman who had strayed too far from her campsite but then she twisted around, finally noticing the light emitting from up above. Recognization crumbles both of their attentive expressions. She becomes more than a drenched, carmine tank top, huddled body, and ropes of wet hair. He transforms into the exact opposite of a saving grace when his beige uniform and ironically angelic face are perceived.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is. Stalking your ex, eh?" Stan called down to her. The pattern of swift and drawned out words, swirled into a provoking and often mocking Australian accent, reached her ears over the light patter of rainfall.

She sighed, dramatically enough for Stan to see the rise and fall of her diaphragm. She considered turning around and braving the unknown of the wilderness again. If it wasn't for her sore feet and her prediction that she would develop some sort of hyperthermia if she stayed out in the cold, then she would've already been on her way.

"We went out on one date. You don't count as an ex," she clarified, craning her neck up at him. His smirk from knowing she was in a miserable condition and that he was the only one that could do anything about it ignited the first sense of heat she had felt in awhile. Her fists clenched against her crossed arms. "And you're the one with the pervy binoculars. On the prowel for half-naked campers, are you?"

He scoffed, winding his head to the side for a moment. "Enough with the bullshit. Are you coming up or not?"

In any other situation, he probably would've dragged their reunion out, teased her for being so helpless and naive. But she was shivering and looked so small curling into herself; it was a sight that played his heartstrings like a mystical harp. Even after a date gone wrong and the resentment that followed, he couldn't bare to see her like this.

She, on the other hand, still clung to some hesitation. Cozying up in a small, confined space with Stan where there were no other people around to ground her into the realms of sanity wasn't a compelling option. The both of them simply didn't get along. The nightmare of their date was very vivid in her mind, too, and she didn't want tonight to be a repeat of that.

Almost like nature could sense her doubts, thunder crackled and reverberated around the forest. Lightning flashed, incandescent and forbiding. The rain intensified, hitting her bare skin with a harsh force. Muddy shoes stumble forward a few steps but still don't gravitate towards the ladder.

"Better move your ass, sweetheart! Unless you'd prefer to get struck by lightning? Not to mention all the dangerous things lurking around that you haven't the slightest idea about."

Undeniable complacency was weaved into his taunt. However, it did get her moving. If she would've bothered to look up or if there wasn't such vast distance between them from their differing heights, she might've seen the concern nestled into glimmering, cobalt eyes.

Suffering through a climb where her wobbly legs and white knuckles were put the use, she eventually made it to top. Stan already had the latch swung open, bent down in the center of the room and waiting for her with an outstretched arm. Reluctantly, she took his offered hand and allowed him to pull her inside the watchtower.

"Crickey, you're freezing," he murmured. There was a softness to his features and the low timber of his voice. He'd even began rubbing over her fingers with his own, attempting to summon some warmth back into him, before he realized what he was doing and backed away.

"That's what happens when you get lost and separated from your friends and then get caught up in a storm," she summed up, monotonous.

"Your friends are idiots," Stan muttered.

She was about to deter the insults back his way until she suddenly felt a subtle weight on her shoulders. The scent combination of spearmint gum and lingering campfire smoke was sensed with a mere sniffle, and soon her hands were reaching up to pull on the sage green trim of his coat.

"You don't even know them," she settled for saying.

"They let you get lost, didn't they?" Stan's eyes found her wide ones, squinting slightly in familiar anger, but she could tell—this time at least—it wasn't directed towards her. "Yeah, bunch of mates, they are."

It was her turn to break the intimacy blossoming between them. She disconnects their stare that was inevitably going to convey all the unspoken feelings that still flourished inside of her to spare a glance over his shoulder. The furnace filled with a burning stack of dry wood lures her away from Stan, and she kneels down in front of it.

His hands go to his belt, elbows bent outward like he was posing as a chicken. He was unsettled by how consumed he was by his emotions. He wanted to give her space but then he finds himself reaching for her. He wanted to remain civil but the distaste in her tone and her infuriating, unreasonable glare casted towards him causes him to delve into his own hostile urges. The confusion of what to do and how to deal with her presence was boardering on insufferable.

But facing her, watching her beneath the firelight, the strain of his internal compass ebbed. He was no longer directionless or purposeless. The orange glare enducing a riveting shine to her hair and her tranquil countenance she upheld gazing into the flames had him feeling certain in just about every single thing that made the universe, the universe.

"You're staring," she whispers, a tremble in her reply she blames on recovering from the weather.

"And you won't even look over at me for a second." His observation coaxes her into peering at him, finding that he enclosed the distance between them by a few steps. A playful smile twitches across his lips. "What? Don't like a man in uniform?"

"I wouldn't be bragging about your outfit, Stan. You're a glorified Boy Scout," she remarks, rising from her position on her knees. Her thumb and pointer finger pinch the small, golden slate pinned to his shirt. "Even have badges and everything,"

"Get your grubby little hands away from my name tag. You're gonna smudge it," he grumbles, smacking her hand away; she lets out a humorless, short-lived laugh at his overreaction.

"Still an uptight asshole, I see."

"Still a mouthy brat, then?"

His retort makes her face harden. "Being honest doesn't make me a mouthy brat."

"Just inconsiderate?"

"You're preaching to me about being inconsiderate? You live off of ridiculing people. On our date, you insulted and humiliated our waiter because he didn't know the exact species of deer mounted to the wall."

"I was just taking a moment to educate him!"

"You called him a fumbling idiot who didn't know the basic fundamentals of biology!"

"Oh, like you were any better! Shoving your tits into the bartender's face to get free drinks!" He throws his hands up, easily overtaken by frustration and unresolved jealously.

"I know how much you make, Stan. You should be thanking me for that," she says slowly, deliberately, bringing up the one thing she knows will push him over the edge. He takes the bait, but she doesn't expect what he throws back at her.

"You're right. Thank you, sweetheart, for acting like such a slut on our first date that all anyone had to do for dessert was crouch down between your open legs."

Her mouth dropped at his statement. His exasperation dissolves to shock at processing his own harsh comment. He isn't able to focus on it for long, though, because she properly acts by allowing her palm to connect to his cheek.

Head snapped to the side, he can begin to taste a droplet of blood on his tongue, emitting from where his incisor pinched his bottom lip. He licks over the minor wound thoughtfully, heaving out a breath of false amusement. When he looks at her again, his face is dark and full of cruel intentions of revenge.

Stan surges forward and doesn't stop until her body crashes against the wall like she was just a bag of dismantled bones. His coat falls from her shoulders and slumps against the hardwood floor during the journey. His towering height and weight pin her in place, leaving her at the mercy of splayed hands and the relentless motions of his mouth against hers.

The awakening, leftover flavor of gum he must've chewed eariler just sinks in when he bites down hard on her lip. A whimper, the first sound she makes besides the ejection of a surprised gasp, is forced out her from the harsh gesture. A metallic taste replaces the one prior, one eager swipe of his tongue rolling past her parted lips.

The instinct to shoot her hands up and enmesh them in the soft, chestnut strands of his cropped hair is interrupted by an action of his own. He eases the intensity of the kiss, allowing her to breathe through languid, desperate puckers she reciprocates, but his fingers hook around both her bra and tank top straps, yanking them down her arms. She lifts herself out of them only to have him grasp the collar of her shirt and pull it down, her bra in tow, until they were just bundled material around her midriff.

Calloused hands fondled her breasts while his mouth diverts to her neck, sucking and nipping until her skin resembled the colorful patches of a quilt. She throws her head back against the wall, leaning into his touch and letting out the most delicate moans that had all of his blood gushing to the apex of his legs; she felt proof of it when he rutted himself against her.

Her forearms are squeezed between their bodies so she can reach the buttons of his shirt, manicured fingers working hastily and with not as much care she knew Stan would've liked, but he seemed to be too preoccupied by kissing her all over. Soon her hands were tugging up the white t-shirt he always wore underneath his uniform, and he helped her out by shifting it over his head and discarding it to the growing pile of clothes.

His chest was warm and inviting compared to hers. Her skin felt like cool marble underneath his fingertips, keeping her nipples pebbled and sweat from the heated exchange at bay. It was quite a contrast as their bodies continued to press together, her hands sliding along the expanse of his taut back while he concentrated on undoing her shorts.

"All mine," he mumbled against her jaw; it was certainly hard to disagree with him and all his handsy clutches and kisses that left her craving more.

"All yours," she confirmed softly.

The words barely left her mouth before she felt the heart-jolting sensation that was his hand sliding past her unzipped shorts and underwear. His fingers ran up and down down her folds, taking his time, ever the explorer. He often grazed her clit, encouraging her hips to arch into him for more direct contact, but he was careful to only give her a slight, fleeting amount.

"Stan." His name parted from her in a low whine—somewhat shamefully because she never thought she'd be in this circumstance, begging a hardass park ranger with a major superiority complex for a release.

"So wet for me. Awful naughty of you to get this soaked from one arguement with me, don't you think?"

She nuzzled her face into the side of his, nose brushing along his chiseled cheekbone. "Please."

"Aw, look at you. So sweet. You'd never think that you live to slander me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I am nothing but nice to you."

"Oh?" He inserts his middle finger into her, curling it precisely, while the heel of his hand grinds against her clit with every deliberate pump.

"Yes," she gasps.

Shallow pants gradually rack through her torso, and the ache of his throbbing cock becomes unbearable at the sight of her defenseless against his advances. He adds another finger, the grip and warmth of her slick walls causing him to shudder in anticipation.

"Such a little liar," he groans out after a particularly provocative contraction around his digits, one that rids him of whatever patience he had left.

He abruptly removes his hand from her shorts, something that makes her closed eyes flicker open. Her mouth immediately morphs into a pout and she squeezes his biceps in protest.

She isn't left waiting for long, hands on her hips guiding her away from the wall until the underside of her knees hit the edge of a cot. His mouth parts from hers once more, a sweet dragging of overlapped lips exchanged during the slow steps, so he can pull back the blanket. She looks over her shoulder at the neatly presented cot, which Stan must've brought with him along with his own fitted bedspread. She was now appreciative that he always came prepared.

Without having to be told, she crawled underneath the covers after ridding herself of the remainder of her clothing. Stan did the same once she was settled, becoming the final layer that draped over her body. The blanket and the crisp white of a top sheet stopped at the dimples of his back, and she was trapped in warmth, intensified by the glorious weight of his bare body on hers. Arms on either side of her head latch the cage as he leans down for another kiss.

"Don't mistake me keeping you warm as forgiveness. I'm still very mad at you. You drive me crazy," he sighs against her jaw, his eyelashes fluttering against the apple of her cheek.

"Don't mistake me moaning for you as an apology. You don't deserve one." Her strokes at the nape of his neck never faltered. Her thighs spread, legs winding around his, desperate for him to do something with his cock that laid twitching and swollen on her navel. "Well, you might if you fuck me hard enough."

"Shut up already."

Long fingers brick over her parted mouth in time with the repositioning of his hips, muffling the cries of consumption that came from him sinking inside of her. Eyes roll to the back of her head, almost completely sated by just the feeling of being filled. The head of his shaft glided against her most sensitive spot like a brush of shoulders, and her thighs tightening around his waist was her turning around, ready to chase shattering gratification.

Although slow, his thrusts into her were brutal. They held onto to each other like you would to ropes of a ruinous bridge connecting two cliffs, like they would be faced with a plummeting death if they were to let go. And yet, they were fighting along the wobbly planks, the semicircles of hip bones clashing together like medieval swords. It was all extremes, but neither of them would have it any other way.

He was making the most beautiful sounds above her. Through his ruthless motions, were breathy moans and whines of her name, the occasional praise intertwined into his enticing responses. Eventually, he allowed his hand to stop sealing her lips, sliding it down to clutch the flesh of her thigh with the promise of bruises. Her soft pleas and moans of euphoria joined his to create a symphony worthy of a ballet orchestra.

Strings of saliva conntected rouge lips to the marked skin of his neck, where she continued to suckle and playfully nip. The roll of their bodies picked up speed, both becoming impatient by the delicious ache they kept provoking, daring one another to spasm out of control. They craved for their muscles to become a tightrope and for the most intimate parts of them to pulsate from the finality of release.

"You've never looked prettier than you do right now. Your cunt squeezing me so tight, your mouth only able to form breathless whispers... completely wrecked. I love it."

"Please," she cannot help but beg, flickering eyes undecided on whether to shut her continue their hazy, half-lidded stare into his own.

"You want to come?" The inward pull of his eyebrows and the slight curl of his parted mouth way as well have been a mocking pout. "I know you do. I shouldn't even let you, though. You've been intolerable. I should just come all over your writhing body and leave you here without any satisfaction. Even if you were to finish yourself off, it wouldn't be enough. It would only feel subpar, and you know that, don't you?" His breath fans her face like the furnace had moments ago, and she can only whimper in reply. "Only I can sate you, sweetheart."

Her hands, whose nails had already inflicted damage to the freckled canvas of his back, sweep over his shoulders to cup his jaw. Her thumb strokes his jawline while the other ventures down the column of his throat, feeling the bob of his adam's apple with every constristing swallow he took. She could tell he was close, too, and decided to nod her head gently in agreement to his words, to wave her white flag.

Her surrender is reassured by fingertips dragging down her torso to her enlarged clit, granting bone-vanishing swipes that causes stuttered gasps and limbs going slack. It only takes a few seconds of coaxing rubbing for her release to erupt, the molten lava bursting from the pit of her stomach to electrify just about every nerve in her body. Her encompassing walls clutch around him so tightly that it summons a delirious climax from him.

His strenuous pace wavers, his hold on the cot becoming prudent, as if it was a buoy keeping him afloat through the thrashing waves of pleasure. White, sticky ribbons coat the inside of her thighs, and it's only when his heartbeat ebbs from his eardrums that he cracks his eyes open and collaspes into the small remaining space between her and the wall.

Stan speaks after catching his breath, remaining pants interwoven into his declaration. "This should've happened sooner."

"It would've if you weren't such a prick," she noted, sparing him a quick glance.

"Okay, maybe... I wasn't on my best behavior. But I was nervous. I liked you a lot. I wanted to impress you."

"And you thought bragging about how you're a know-it-all when it comes to plants and wildlife and the park's terrain was going to the trick?"She questioned, snorting at his logic. His nose twitch, an indicator of embarrassment, and she grabs his arm and tucks herself into his side. "You're such a dork."

He smiled at the gesture before she continued, "I'm sorry that I flirted with the bartender. I didn't mean to make you feel like you were second best or anything. Honest to God, I just wanted free stuff."

"Well, the cream puffs you got out of it were actually delicious," Stan admitted, tilting his head in her direction.

She smiled back at him. "I know, right?"

Stan may not be a prime example of a good guy but he had always took glory in being good at his job. That's what kept him going, that's what fueled him all these years. Now, he was considering what life entailed outside of that. Outside of the stressful responsibilities and government conspiracies and the never-ending studious tendencies. She came to him for refuge tonight, but, the truth is, he had been relying on her for a long time. To fascinate him, to stand up to him, to guide him back to where he belonged.

He felt like he was finally pursuing something that was more important than his duties here, than anything else he's ever experienced. He was an off-bound ship, cruising blind into the dead of the night, and she was a lighthouse, promising purpose and salvation from every bad thing that ever tried to sink him.

// idk who to tag but i think @sojournmichael @fckinsupreme & @instinctsxbaby might be interested (you’re all so talented)!

[deluluass]

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

 "Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers. 

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you. 

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

 It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be. 

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.  

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you. 

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that. 

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.” 

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again. 

You moved out of that school. 

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better. 

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally. 

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium. 

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes? 

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you. 

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then— 

“You,” he whispered. 

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it. 

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle. 

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!” 

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early. 

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience. 

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about. 

“They’re so mean to you.” 

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room. 

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows. 

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave. 

You disliked those moments with him. 

You disliked him especially when he played. 

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face. 

It looked like....anger. 

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again. 

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach. 

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away. 

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully. 

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself. 

 What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

 “Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face. 

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.  

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat. 

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!” 

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”  

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!” 

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa. 

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?” 

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice. 

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere. 

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does. 

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed. 

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.  

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer. 

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?” 

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don’t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this. 

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.” 

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?” 

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards. 

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it. 

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time. 

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru. 

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores. 

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations. 

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head. 

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you. 

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying? 

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason. 

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide. 

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth. 

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else. 

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed. 

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss. 

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.  

"Hey, where'd senpai go?" 

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say. 

You could answer that question. All you  had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first. 

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.  

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.  

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard. 

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you. 

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite. 

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this. 

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person. 

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs. 

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms. 

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh. 

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster. 

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours. 

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you. 

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips. 

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps. 

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?” 

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?” 

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left. 

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please. 

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. 

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear. 

“I hate you,” you rasped. 

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.” 

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together. 

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows. 

[blindbeta]

Hi! I'm writing a blind character who uses (among other accessibility aids) a seeing-eye animal. This is science fiction, and they're on an alien planet, so I don't want it to be a dog exactly, but I also want to make sure it could conceivably fill the same role. My ideas are ranging from "generic four-legged mammal" to "scampering lizard beast" to "literal alien bird." Is there anything I should avoid? Anything I should be sure to include? Any tips are welcome!

Title: Creating a Guide Animal a.k.a. Way More Than You Ever Wanted To Know About Service Animals, Emotional Support Animals, and Guide Dogs and Guide Horses Specifically

Hi! Thanks for the fun question! I wanted to apologize for the length of this answer. Take your time with it. Even if you already know most of the extra information I provided (which you probably do), I hope it can give you some idea of what might need to be emphasized or explained in your story. I wanted to be as thorough as possible for you and anyone else reading. Understanding more about guide animals will help you create one for your story.

Note: I use Service Animal and Guide Animal in this post. All Guide Animals are Service Animals (they are trained to provide a service to disabled people), but not all Service Animals are Guide Animals.

Okay, as always, this is going to be split into parts for easier understanding. Also, note: This is the perspective of someone who does not use a guide animal and is from a Western country. If someone who uses a guide or service animal AND is from a non-Western country with different laws, feel free to share them. Due to the nature of this question, I only want other blind people and/or service animal users to reply with information. I mostly focused on Western links and laws, as I feel these were easier for me to find sources for when I searched.

The Seeing Eye (trademarked) in an Alien World?

Fun fact! Seeing Eye dog is a specific type of dog trained in The Seeing Eye Inc in New Jersey, USA. The generic term is guide dog or service dog or service animal. I would stick with one of the generic terms, as Seeing Eye dog is specific to Earth. Not all guide dogs come from The Seeing Eye Inc. It would be inaccurate, possibly culturally strange, and take viewers out of the story if you use it. Unless you want someone to establish a Seeing Eye Inc on the new planet, although you could call it something else to avoid confusion, or address it in the text. The Seeing Eye is, thankfully, not the only training school for guide dogs. Although Vision Australia does call them “seeing-eye dogs”, I wanted to include this just in case it tripped a reader up. People will recognize the “seeing-eye dog” term if you decide to use it.

Question 12 on the Seeing Eye website says:

Only dogs trained by The Seeing Eye, Inc., of Morristown, N.J., are properly called Seeing Eye® dogs. The Seeing Eye is a registered trademark. The generic term for dogs trained by other schools is "guide dog."

Guide Dogs and Canes

This may not seem as fun to readers, but your character should follow most Earth rules when training. This is to avoid confusion for a public that tends to know little about service animals. You specificied the character would use other aids, which is great, so I’ll assume you already know this. Your character should already know how to use a cane before getting their guide animal. They will need to use these navigation skills because while the animal can help somewhat, they cannot replace the ability to navigate. For example, when crossing the street, the guide dog waits for the owner’s command to cross. In order to do this, the person must have experience with crossing safely.

Guide animals are also more expensive than canes, which can be free and easy to replace. Animals require food, toys, medical bills, and time.

My source on this is also the Seeing Eye website, which you’ll want to peruse because they have helpful information.

Other Helpful Research Tips

I have two links below about choosing to use a cane vs. a guide animal. They will provide you with information about the advantages and disadvantages of a service animal compared to using a cane. As I said before, blind people must know how to use a cane in order to qualify to get a guide dog. Therefore, it would be appropriate and helpful to have your character also know how to use a cane and to keep a cane on them often, such as in a backpack.

Reasons one might want to use a cane while having a guide dog include:

They want to interact with their environment more, particularly if it is less familiar or has changed

They don’t want to use the guide dog that day because it is too hot, the dog is sick, they don’t want to have to clean up after the animal, etc

They are between guide dogs

Those are some of the reasons someone who already owns a guide dog may want to use a cane. Some people even use a guide dog and cane simultaneously.

For more information about the pros and cons of getting a guide dog, read these articles, one of whom is by a guide dog user. You’ll want to keep these advantages and disadvantages in mind while writing.

White Cane vs. Guide Dog: Why or Why Not?

Guide Dogs vs. White Canes: The Comprehensive Comparison

Things Your Guide Needs

This is not a comprehensive list, but I wanted to include things your animal needs and general tips on how to treat the animal in the story.

1. It needs the ability to follow commands. How you do this is up to you. For research, watch YouTube videos with service dogs. Pay attention to the commands they give.

Here is a list of some commands taught by a school for service dogs, which you can probably use as a base.

Command Central: Guide Dog Commands

2. It should be trained to avoid obstacles, like benches or people

3. It should not be touched or distracted by other characters or animals - people will probably try to do so, and your character should explain that the animal is working and should not be distracted

4. It should be taken care of an given time off-harness, such as at home. It should be well-behaved as well.

5. It should be able to go anywhere. Transportation, hospitals, royal courts, sports centers, whatever is on this planet. Service dogs can go anywhere and saying they aren’t allowed somewhere in a story would be a problem. Some people do try to bar service dogs, such as restaurants, but they do so out of ignorance and not because the law is on their side. Some countries do not have protections in place, true, but because you are creating your own planet, service dogs— or in your case service animals— being allowed anywhere should hold true no matter what. Why? Because even in Western countries where dogs are seen as culturally favorable, service animals are turned away illegally, particularly at restaurants, hospitals, doctor’s offices, and public transport. This differs from an Emotional Support Animal, who are allowed only in housing, dorms, and airports. For more information on the differences between where Emotional Support Animals and Service Animals can go, read the article below.

Where Can I Take Emotional Support Animals?

Who Can Be a Service Animal?

I wanted to discuss this as well. Again, there is a lot of misinformation out there and this leads to a lot of anger directed at people with service animals.

Service Animals and Emotional Support Animals are not the same. They do not serve the same purpose, cannot go to the same places, and are not bound by the same rules. You have probably heard at least one irate person claiming someone tried to bring their service monkey into a restaurant. That person is misinformed.

To start, Emotional Support Animals can be any animal. A dog, a cat, a bunny, a bird, a turtle. There is no limit as to what the animal can be, although it must provide comfort and be beneficial to your mental health. It should be easy to train and not harmful to others. It should also be able to live in a house or be otherwise domesticated. Emotional Support Animals need a letter from a Licensed Mental Health Professional in order to qualify as an Emotional Support Animal, which should hopefully keep people from trying to keep wild or dangerous animals as pets and claim them as Emotional Support Animals.

Here is an article that goes over things what an Emotional Support Animal does, what qualities and qualifications it must have, and examples of good ESA’s and what they can do for you.

Types of Animals As ESA’s and Their Benefits

Remember, Emotional Support Animals are only allowed in any kind of housing (such as apartments or dormitories) and airports. They are not allowed in other public places where animals would not otherwise be allowed. ESA’s also need to be registered through a letter of support by a mental health provider. This letter should be shown to a landlord, as Emotional Support Animals require proof.

Next, Service Animals. Let’s get it out of the way. Service Animals (usually dogs) provide services to people with disabilities. This means a guide dog, medical alert dog, psychiatric service dog, etc. Service Animals are owned by individuals and are not therapy dogs or other working dogs. For example, dogs you are providing therapy to children in hospitals are therapy dogs. Search and Rescue dogs are working dogs. I don’t know much about either of these, but here is an article that goes into more detail about the differences.

Service Dogs, Working Dogs, Therapy Dogs, Emotional Support Dogs: What’s the Difference?

Dogs and Miniature Horses

Service animals can only be dogs OR miniature horses. Many people only think of dogs, as dogs are more popular and common in public than horses. However, a miniature horse has the same rights as a dog when in a service animal role. In the United States, Federal law recognized miniature horses as accepted service animals in 2011.

Service dogs or service horses can:

-enter any public place dogs and horses are not usually allowed

-can be trained to guide the blind or provide services for other disabilities

-can go on planes without a pet fee (provided they can fit by the owner’s feet and not block the aisle)

If we take a look at this article again:

White Cane Vs. Guide Dog: Why Or Why Not?

we’ll notice that “being denied access” is not under the disadvantages of a Guide Dog section. I think it should be. Is denying access illegal? Yes. Does it still happen? Yes. And it would probably be even more likely when someone is presented with a miniature horse - at least in countries where dogs are more popular. On top of lack of knowledge about service animals, people are not often aware that miniature horses can serve in these roles as well. Vision Australia discusses this denial of rights and laws protecting blind people with service dogs.

However, The Guide Horse Foundation reports that many people expirience better acceptance of horses as opposed to dogs. This is because a dog may be perceived as a pet or be an animal that was denied access before. A horse may not have this problem.

Some Places Service/Guide Horses Are Recognized

Canada - with laws and protections varying by province and definitions differing slightly from the U.S and Australia. However, this site specifically mentions guide horses as service animals.

Australia - with laws varying by state, but wider protections in place, which you can read more about at Vision Australia and Australian Human Rights Commission. Australian Human Rights Commission also defines a service animal as a dog or any other animal, leaving horses as an option. According to this page, miniature horses are catching on in Australia, where people generally prefer dogs. The page lists similar reasons to those I included below that someone might want a miniature horse over a dog.

The U.S - According to this page, miniature horses are the one animal that is allowed to be a service animal other than a dog. They are required to be trained and are expected to behave as well as a service dog would. The requirements listed differ little from those required of service dogs.

The U.K - This page reports that miniature horses are making their way as service animals, but I could not find any other sources about this topic, such as official recognition.

I tried searching and could not find proof that miniature horses were catching on in other places, though I found many, many places where guide dogs were popular. The point is that guide horses exist as well, and I think this can help people understand what makes a service/guide animal with more clarity.

Why a Miniature Horse?

Here is an article that discusses this in detail:

A Brief History of Miniature Horses And the ADA

According that article, a major reason people might prefer a horse to a dog is for balancing purposes. The DeafBlind community often includes people with balance difficulties (which I discussed a bit in my last ask) and miniature horses are better able to provide support, having more strength than a dog. They can steady someone when walking or help someone stand from a chair.

Other reasons someone might prefer a horse:

They live in a rural area

They or a member of their household are allergic to dogs

They live in a place where dogs are not favored, seen as dirty, or religiously unacceptable

They or a member of their household has a fear of dogs

They want a guide that lives and works longer than dogs (who work for about 6-8 years)

According to the website for The Guide Horse Foundation, horses have high stamina, do not get fleas or shed as often as dogs, and are conscious about safety.

Qualities Your Guide Animals Should Have

Using the dog and horse guides as references, here are some qualities I think your creature should have:

Trainable, both for commands and so they don’t pee where they aren’t supposed to

It should be specifically trained for this purpose, preferably by a group of some kind - this is your equivalent of a guide dog school

Good eye sight, good hearing, and strong memory at least

Relatively small, but not too small (you can use Labrador dogs and miniature horses as a reference

Good stamina for walking

Not territorial, aggressive, or dangerous- dogs can possess these qualities so I think it is okay if a wild version of your guide has these qualities. However, your guide specifically should not have them. For example, wild dogs may be aggressive, but a trained guide dog would not be.

Your guide should not be used for protection, hunting, or attacking others who may be a threat. While the presence of the animal can certainly act as a deterrent in real life and in the story, that is not the animal’s function.

Your guide should be calm, docile, and able to bond with your character

Your guide animal should generally not be seen by the people in your world as frightening, dangerous, or religiously unclean. Note that sometimes guide dogs fit these qualities in certain cultures and so they are not used there. If possible, give your world and its cultures a good working relationship with a few different animals. Pick one or two of these as possible guides people can choose from. You can possibly draw from your own culture and history for this if your culture has had good working relationships with animals.

Your guide animal should be able to be harnessed (a leash is not enough) and possibly wear something that alerts others that they are working (such as a vest)

The animal should have good navigation skills and possibly natural guiding skills. Because you are creating a species, you can possibly make these qualities innate. From what I read, horses guide by nature, able to act as guides for other horses in the herd if they are blinded.

Your guide animal should probably not fly, unless people fly or float in your world. Since it should be small enough to enter buildings and not accidentally crush children, I don’t know if having it be big enough to fly on would be a good idea anyway, as fun as that sounds.

Small enough to enter buildings and sit at the character’s feet, such as at a restaurant if your world has those

It should be able to be trained in “babyhood” and work into adult life. Dogs typically work 6-8 years and horses have a much longer lifespan and thus work longer. Create an animal that can live at least as long as a dog and thus work for some, but not all of that time. Give it a retirement phase in life, if your book ever got to that. Basically, use dogs and miniature horses as a base and work from there.

The animal should be domesticated on your world and not strictly wild (such as a lion in our world).

The animal should be comfortable on land. The ability to swim is fine, but it should of course be primarily a land animal.

The animal should have a common, available food supply and vet care even if you don’t go into this. If your guide is domesticated and possibly kept as a pet in your world (or a neighboring world, however your story is structured), this will be much easier and being easy to care for will probably be implied.

It should be allowed anywhere, including hospitals, and it should be well-behaved in those areas

It should not run away from your character and leave them alone

That’s all I can think of at this time. Generally, I think if this were set on Earth or an Earth-like fantasy place, I might suggest creating a dog- or horse-like creature, or possibly another domesticated animal that the culture favors in real life. However, since this is on another planet, I feel okay with getting creative with the type of animal, provided it has the same qualities and can serve the same purpose as a real-life equivalent. Some of this you can create with your world-building and some with research on real-life animals to use as inspiration. If anyone with a service animal disagrees, please add your opinion. It would be beneficial to me and hopefully to the asker as well.

Thank you again for the question and if you need more help, feel free to send me another ask or a message. I hope this can benefit you in some way. Good luck with your story!

Edit: I wanted to add this sensitivity reader, who can read for working with guide dogs and other blind stuff.

[erule]

The frat party | t.h.

Title: The frat party

Pairing: Frat boy!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1859

Warnings: OC Elizabeth (Lizzie), fake dating/relationship trope, language, fluff

Summary: Tom and the reader met at a frat party, but a year later they broke up because of some reason. Now, rumor has it that the reader is dating one of Tom’s friends and he gets jealous.

A/N: Hello hello, enjoy the new chapter! Sorry for the waiting, guys, but I hope that I made it up to you. Just let me know your thoughts about this chapter!

If you wanna be tagged in my Tom Holland fics, just let me know in my ask box! You can also find me on AO3 and Wattpad. Feedback is always appreciated by a writer!

Taglist: @webmeupspiderdaddy​

Read chapter 1 here!

Main Masterlist

Tom Holland Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

Story under the cut!

Chapter 2

Rumor has it

“So, guys, rumor has it that…”

“Stop!” Tom exclaimed, interrupting Harrison. “Everytime you say that sentence, something hurts me and I really wanna miss that opportunity today. I’m already angry at myself because of what happened with Oliver,” he said, lighting a cigarette while sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Smoking makes you even more annoying than usual, Tom,” Harrison said. Tom sighed.

“Oliver makes me like that. He’s still flirting with Y/N, even if he should know by now that she’s mine. I mean, she will be mine again. My girl,” he said, with a soft smile on his face. “Ouch”.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Tom answered, brushing his bottom lip where Oliver hurt him.

Jacob suddenly opened the door, a big smile on his face. Tom and Harrison looked at him with suspicion.

“What happened, Jacob?” Harrison asked.

“So, rumor has it that…”

“Oh, fuck me,” Tom sighed, laying his back on the bed. Harrison chuckled.

“I was saying: rumor has it, that there will be a huge frat party at the end of the year to celebrate the older students like us, that will graduate soon and Lizzie asked me to come with her,” he said, happily.

“Lizzie as in Elizabeth? Y/N’s friend?” Tom asked and Jacob nodded.

“She looked a lot like Y/N last year, I thought they were twins. Now she has changed her hair color, at least,” Harrison said.

“The most important things is that she likes me!” Jacob exclaimed. “Be happy for me just once, guys. I deserve it”.

“You’re right Jacob, you do,” Tom said, giving him a pat on his back.

Somebody knocked at the door. Harrison went to open it and found someone who Tom would have been very glad to see. In fact, he jumped from the bed instantly, throwing the unlit cigarette in the trash.

“Hey darling, what are you doing here?”

You sighed, looking at him.

“I have an unseemly proposal for you and you can’t say no”.

“A fake relationship?”

After Tom had sent his friends away, you sat down on his bed in front of him to discuss about the details.

“Look, I didn’t want to do this, but Oliver’s still flirting with me and I have to cut this. He would leave me alone only if he’d see that we’re back together, I’m sure of it. Also, you literally proposed this to me last time, so… Wow, that’s really unpleasant. It must hurt,” you said suddenly, staring at his lip. You moved a hand to reach the wound, but then you stopped. You gazed at him. “Can I?”

Tom nodded. So you brushed it with your fingertip, thinking about how much it costed him to protect you even after your break up. How much it hurt. You swallowed, melancholy threatening to eat you alive. He had closed his eyes for a second. A very long second. Like you at the party. Maybe standing this close to him wasn’t a good idea.

“Y/N…”

“So, what do you think?” You asked, withdrawing your arm.

Tom shrugged.

“I agree,” he said.

“Just like that? You don’t want something in return?”

“As you said, I suggested it in the first place, so I totally agree with it,” he said. Then, he got dangerously close to you, so close that you thought he wanted to kiss you on the lips – and, in fact, he smirked –, but he didn’t. He left you a light kiss on your cheek instead, before whispering these words in your ear: “I’m gonna get you back, Y/N. One way or another,”

You ran away from there like a wolf was chasing you to eat you.

***

You were looking at Zendaya, hands clasped in prayer, begging her to help you. You and Tom had decided to go out as in a date in order to convince Oliver that the two of you were, in fact, back together. Lizzie was already somewhere with Jacob, so you had just Zendaya left to pick the outfit for the evening. She didn’t like that kind of stuff, mostly because because didn’t agree to your plan, but you were too desperate to let it go. She would have helped you at the end. Well, that was your hope anyway.

“Please, Z,” you basically begged her.

She rolled her eyes, arms crossed, but then she nodded. You tried to give her a kiss, but she moved away.

“You know what? This will be a dumb outfit for a dumb plan,” she said, while opening your closet.

“Z, I just…”

“You know why? Because the second, the second, Tom will try to kiss you, you’ll fall for it. Again”.

“I thought that he was your friend too,” you said, showing her a dress, but she shaked her head.

“He is, but I don’t know if he’s the right pick for you. I don’t condone what you did to him,” she said and you gulped, “but he’s not exactly an angel either. He ruined a lot of relationships even before he met you. That’s who he is,” she continued.

You sat on the edge of the bed, while she was looking for something that you could wear.

“Maybe he’s not like that anymore. People grow up, Z,” you said.

“Oh, yeah? Have you?” She asked you, turning around. You swallowed. “That’s what I thought. Don’t come to me when he’ll screw things up again. Or when you will” she stated, then she showed you the outfit. You looked at it with a sparkle in your eyes. “We have found it”.

You showered, wore the outfit and prepared in less than an hour. You were trying to wear your shoes, when Zendaya opened the door to Tom. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a red flannel on it and some ripped jeans. You waved at him, while grabbing your bag. You told Zendaya not to wait for you and then you smiled at Tom, ready to go.

“Are you still smoking?”

“Sometimes,” he answered. “Where’s Oliver tonight?”

“He posted on Instagram an hour ago, so I assume that he’s still with Jacob and Lizzie somewhere in the campus,” you said, looking at your phone.

“Well, so we have some time,” he said with a smirk. He took your hand and you felt shivers running down your spine.

“What are you doing, Tom?”

“Come on darling, if we have to pretend, then we have to make it believable. What’s worse than seeing the girl you like having fun with someone else?” He asked and you noticed a lightning passing through his eyes.

Then, without even realizing it, you found yourself running with Tom all over the campus. That alone made you laugh, because you felt like a little girl. If you had to describe Tom in one word, you would have said he was light. Not because it was always sunny, but because of the way it managed to get you out of the darkness you found yourself in sometimes. He pulled you out of the darkness and made you feel alive, everytime. He was the only one who could do it. Sometimes you wondered why you gave up on him, in fact. Because you had given up on the light, you, who often felt like a full moon in a dark and gloomy sky. He brought you in a part of the campus that seemed a minigolf. Maybe he and his friends had created it, since Tom loved playing golf very much. He gave you a golf club, urging you to try your hand at it.

“I’m not a good player, Tom,” you said, shaking your head.

“I’m still chasing you, right? So I wouldn’t say so,” he replied, leaving you speechless. “I was joking. Come on, let me show you,” he said.

It seemed so cliché, letting him touch you, teaching you to play, celebrate with him every victory of yours… You could have had it, a year ago. That. Tom. All yours. But you gave up on everything. It was your biggest mistake.

“Tom, it’s time. I think that we should go back. Oliver and the others could be coming to their rooms right now,” you said. Tom seemed a bit sad at your words, but only for a moment. It was hard to see an emotion flash on his face.

He nodded.

“Whatever you want, darling,” he said.

You wanted to say something else, but you closed your mouth before you could actually do it. The two of you came back and fortunately, you found Oliver with Lizzie and Jacob still hanging out. You caught Jacob attention and waved him, while Tom was smooth to hold your hand. You turned around in order to tell him something, but he was quick. One second later, her was kissing you and there was something in your stomach, like a knot, that slowly loosened its grip. You felt a weird sensation, a sort of relief. You could feel Oliver’s eyes trying to burn Tom’s skin, Jacob saying Let’s go and your blood boiling in your veins like lava.

When Tom broke the kiss, he ran his thumb over your lips, looking at them with a sort of melancholy. Fake relationships are a beautiful dream, but waking up is from them a nightmare.

“Tom…”

“I think that he got the message,” he said, taking a step back from you. He lit a cigarette, clenching his jaw.

“This is not a joke to me, Tom. It’s not something I’m doing just for him,” you said.

“No? Then explain what all of this is to me, darling,” he replied, throwing out some smoke like it was his anger.

“Yeah,” you said, but then you bit your inner cheek.

“What’s stopping you, Y/N? What are you hiding from me?” He asked, scanning your face. “Are you ashamed of something? Maybe it’s what you did, you know, the whole cheatingthing… or maybe it’s admitting that you still have feelings for me that brings you shame”.

“No, I’m not ashamed,” you said, determined.

“Then talk to me, darling. What’s happening?”

“I can’t tell you, Tom, I’m sorry,” you said, looking around. It was like you needed some air, even if you were outside. That secret didn’t make you breath anymore.

“What? That you liked throwing all away? That he didn’t make you feel like I did? That you weren’t done playing with me? Just tell me something, Y/N, anything would be better than this fucking silence,” he said, raising his voice.

“I didn’t cheat on you!” You yelled. Tom’s eyes grew wide. Everything around you two seemed now quiet, motionless. You covered your mouth with your hands, maybe to erase what you just said. “Fuck”.

Tom stared at you for a good couple of minutes. He looked at your tired and tearful eyes, perhaps thinking whether to believe you or not, then he did something unexpected: he put out his cigarette. He walked over to you, raking your face in his hands and looked into your eyes, this time more intensely. He looked tired and incredibly older.

“Now you’re gonna tell me everything, darling”.