#cars under 4000

[18catsreading]

Izzy: if she had hit within five --

Brennan: yeah

Rehka: could i have had it

Izzy: what would have happened?

Rehka: 95

Brennan: you would not have broken your wrisy

Izzy: ok

Rekha: oh 🙄

Ally: great checks out

[cannibalisticskittles]

heard back about my car and it's not good lads

[storiesforallfandoms]

the hotel room ~ jschlatt

word count: 2341

request?: no

description: in which they stay in a $4k hotel room, so of course they have to put it to good use

pairing: jschlatt x female!reader

warnings: swearing, rpf, smut (fingering, oral m receiving, praising, unprotected p in v, lil bit of rough sex, multiple orgasms), yet another $4k hotel room fic

masterlist (one, two, three)

"You spent how much?!"

Schlatt merely smirked as he got out of the car he had rented for your Japan trip. You turned back to the huge hotel that stood before you. The look of it alone made you feel extremely poor, and now knowing how much he had paid for it made you feel unworthy of even being on the premises.

He opened the car door and nodded for you to get out. "Come on, we gotta see this fucker."

You followed him into the hotel, with Trevo following behind both of you with the camera in his hand. When you had asked him if he was staying in the same hotel on the ride over, he started laughing. Now you knew why that was his reaction.

The room was huge. Basically big enough to be an apartment. Which made sense because it was the price of rent for an average apartment in New York. Honestly, classifying this as a "room" felt like an understatement. You were almost afraid to touch anything because of how expensive it all felt.

Schlatt and Trevor filmed around the room ("Now it's a tax write off," Schlatt had joked) while you sat on the bed. Even though the room was so expensive it was intimidating, you had to admit it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid on. Even better than your and Schlatt's shared bed back home. You had also noticed the bathroom, which had a huge walk in shower and a jacuzzi bath tub in the shower, and you were beyond excited to get to use it.

The video concluded with Schlatt showing Trevor the terrace. You followed them outside upon Schlatt's request to see the beautiful view. You were tucked against his side as Trevor shut off the camera. His hand was idly running up and down your arm, so that plus the welcoming heat from his body was starting to lull you to sleep. You had had a long day of travel and you wanted nothing more than to get a hot shower then slip under the covers of that super comfy bed.

"I'm gonna shower," you mumble sheepishly.

"Okay babe," Schlatt said, kissing the top of your head. "I'm gonna finish my beer with Trevor. I'll kick him out if you go to bed before he leaves."

You chuckled. "You don't have to do that, but if he is gone by the time I get out, then I'll see you tomorrow Trevor."

You shut the bathroom door then turned to the shower. You were expecting it to be extremely hard to operate, but you were surprised that it was a very simple, single shower handle. You turned it to nearly as hot as it could go and undressed. You closed the shower door and stepped under the hot water, signing in relief as the hot water hit your body. You washed your hair, letting yourself enjoy the water as you washed up.

The hot water steamed up the shower door enough that you didn't see the bathroom door opening and someone slipping in. You didn't hear the clothes hitting the floor either. When the shower door opened, you yelped. Schlatt chuckled as he slipped in behind you.

"Is Trevor gone already?" you asked.

"Yeah, he also wanted to get back to his hotel and go to bed." He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against his chest. You tried not to notice his hard length pressing against your back. "Jesus, this shower is nice."

"It better be for $4000 a night," you said, leaning into his arms.

"You're not gonna let that go, are you?" he said with a laugh.

"Of course not! That's, like, the price of rent!"

You words were cut off by a gasp as Schlatt cupped your breasts. His fingers rolled one of your nipples between them as his lips lowered to your neck. You moaned as he nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck. It was getting harder to ignore the hard cock pressing against you.

"Have you washed yet?" he whispered in your ear.

"W-What? N-No."

You nearly whimpered as Schlatt pulled away, leaving you missing his body against yours. You watched as he picked up your body wash and squirted some onto his hand. He lathered up both hands and stood behind you again. His soapy hands cupped your breasts again, lathering them up in the sweet scented soap. One hand stayed massaging your breast while the other started moving down. It skimmed your stomach, moving in slow circles to keep lathering the body wash. He ran his soapy hand over one inner thigh, then over the other. Despite the hot water still running over you both, you were shivering with anticipating.

Two fingers ran through your folds before applying pressure to your clit. You moaned as Schlatt started rubbing agonizingly slow circles against your clit. His lips found their way to your neck again, kissing and biting you, undoubtably leaving marks. Your body jolted involuntarily and pressed your ass further against Schlatt. He groaned, his cock twitching against you.

"I think," he said, his mouth right next to your ear, "I should be very thorough in cleaning you."

And with that, he slipped a finger into you. You cried out in pleasure as he slowly fucked you with his finger. The palm of his hand pressed against your clit, picking up where his fingers had left off. You were quite literally putty in his hands. The hand on your breast moved to wrap around your middle, holding you up as your legs began to tremble.

"You gonna cum for me baby?" he asked. "I can feel you tightening around my finger. If I give you another one, will you cum for me?" You nodded, but he grabbed your chin and turned your head to look at him. "Use your words, toots."

"Yes!" you cried. "Yes, Jay. I'll cum for you!"

He smiled and slipped a second finger into you. It didn't take long for him to coax an orgasm out of you. You trembled in his arms, your walls spasming around his fingers. The sounds of your moans echoed off the bathroom walls. Schlatt whispered praises into your ear as you came down from your high. You whimpered as he pulled his fingers from you. He held his hand under the water, which had started going cold, to rinse your juices from them.

Schlatt reached past you to turn off the water. You turned to face him, almost immediately noticing he was still hard. You reached down to stoke his cock. He grunted as your hand touched his member. You pumped him a few times before moving to kneel, but Schlatt stopped you.

"Not here," he said, breathless. "Wouldn't want you to hurt those pretty knees on the tile floor."

He led you back into the room and sat you on the comfortable bed. Schlatt stood before you, stroking his cock as he looked down at you in admiration. He ran his free hand through your hair.

"Open."

You did as he commanded, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. He smirked at you. "Good girl."

He smacked his cock against your tongue before slowly pushing it into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around him, keeping your tongue on the underside of his cock. He moaned as you took him as deep as you could go. You looked up at him, his head thrown back in pleasure, beads of water from the shower still dripping down your body. You felt yourself becoming wet (or rather wetter) between your legs at the sight alone.

He was slow and gentle as he fucked your mouth. He didn't want to accidentally gag you or hurt your jaw (it had happened before and he still felt immensely guilty for it). He wanted to savor the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him, and the sight your beautiful eyes looking up at him. But god, he'd be lying if he said he didn't just wanna fuck your face until drool was running down your chin and he was shooting his load deep into your throat. You were so beautiful and perfect, and he just loved when he got to ruin you because you were his and his alone.

When the feeling of your mouth around him became too much, he pulled himself from you and said, "Up on the bed on all fours."

You wasted no time in doing what he said, a small smile on your face as you did. He chuckled to himself at your excitement as he climbed up onto the bed behind you. He put a hand between your shoulders, guiding you down onto the bed until your face was buried in the pillows and your ass was in the air, presented to him.

"The bed isn't against anything, so I can go as hard as I want without worrying about the headboard," he said, running his cock through your folds in a teasing way. "If I go too hard, you'll tell me, right?"

"Yes sir," you said, your words muffled by the bed sheets.

"What's the safe word, princess? I need to hear it before we start."

"P-Pineapples. Fuck, please fuck me, Jay. Please."

"Who am I to say no when you're beggin' all pretty for me?"

He pushed himself into you, filling you completely with one thrust. You cried out, muffling your noises with the sheets below you. As he started thrusting at a brutal pace, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head up from the bed.

"Don't you dare try to muffle those pretty noises," he growled. "I wanna hear how good I'm makin' you feel."

You had no intentions of holding back your noises, mainly because you didn't think you'd be able to. He had you so cock drunk that all you could focus on was the feeling of his cock abusing your g-spot. You gave him exactly what he wanted, your moans filling the room and mixing with the sound of his skin slapping against yours. Once you were able to focus on anything else, you had to admit you were impressed with how little the bed was moving even with Schlatt's roughest thrusts.

He let go of your hair, allowing your head to fall back onto the bed, to grab your hips with both hands. His fingers dug into the fleshy parts, definitely leaving more marks on you. Not that either of you minded. You loved when Schlatt marked you up. You wore the hickies that he gave you with pride, letting everyone know who you belonged to. With this new grip, though, he was able to pound into you harder, which you didn't think would've been possible. You cried out as you felt the familiar pressure building in your lower stomach again.

"Are you gonna cum again?" he asked. "Gonna cum all over this cock like a good girl, babe?"

"Y-Yes!" you cried. "Yes I'm gonna cum again. F-Fuck, it f-feels so g-good."

"That's it, baby, cum all over my cock. I'll give you want you want then, I promise."

He didn't have to do or say much else to get you to cum again. You were already on the edge of your orgasm, and you weren't sure you'd be able to stop yourself even if you tried. You gripped the sheets so tight in your hands that you could almost feel your nails digging into your palms through the fabric. You screamed Schlatt's name as your orgasm ripped through you, hitting you harder than your last one had.

Schlatt wasn't too far behind you, his thrusts growing sloppy and his cock twitching inside of you. He reached for your arms, pulling you up so that you were pressed against him once again. You turned your head to meet his lips as he thrusted into you one final time, spilling himself completely inside of you. He held you close, his body trembling from his own release. His hands wandered to and part of your body he could touch, until he finally settled on wrapping one arm around your waist and the other across your chest. He was whispering praises into your ear again as you both came down from your high.

Eventually, when he started to soften, he gently lowered you back onto the bed then pulled himself from you. You rolled onto your back, watching him as he disappeared back into the bathroom and came out with a wash cloth for you.

"I hope they don't charge for us using the fuckin' towels and cloths," he said as he passed you the warm cloth.

You giggled. "You already spent $4000, what's another couple dollars to clean up after sex?"

"I'll tell you one thing, this is the nicest fuckin' room I've ever had sex in. Nothing else will ever compare."

"You're right. We may as well just stop having sex once we leave this room."

He gave you a look. "Okay, I didn't say that."

You giggled again as he got into bed with you. He pulled you into his arms and pulled the covers up over the both of you. Your body immediately relaxed into his side, and into the most comfortable mattress you've ever laid on in your life.

It was silent for a moment, and you were starting to fall asleep, when Schlatt suddenly woke you by exclaiming, "There's a fuckin' button to close the blinds!"

You opened your eyes to watch Schlatt click a button next to the bed, and suddenly the large, black out blinds started to slowly draw shut on their own.

"Jesus, I fuckin' hate rich people," Schlatt muttered.

"And yet you're the one who booked this room."

"Okay, we've been over that. Time to move on."

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him before mumbling, "Goodnight, Jay."

"Goodnight, babe." He kissed the top of your head. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

[endivinity]

Hey yall!

it's been one of those weeks. a very, very expensive week. my savings will be completely wiped, but I can't open commissions, so it's not looking too hot for me right now. I'm not in any danger of eviction or other major consequences, but I can't front the costs by myself.

If you'd like to help out by chipping in a little bit, I've got the tl;dr over here! https://ko-fi.com/endivinity There's a pack of every public deathclaw artwork available through that as well, if you'd like a bonus incentive.

Long version and plan of attack under the cut!

I've been medically unemployed for a couple of years now. I've also been recently diagnosed with ADHD - inattentive. I was given an initial trial course of meds for them, which so far aren't working in any helpful ways. NZ has free prescriptions... but it does not have free mental health diagnoses, and especially not for adults. The initial diagnosis appointments cost me $1100, and there are at-cost followup appointments and other medical related costs that are chipping away at it. My medication will need reviewing and possibly switching, which requires more at-cost appointments. This was fine for me to pay! But. Miraculously, I barely self-medicated prior to diagnosis but when I did.... it was with sugary foods. I'm sure you can see where this ends up :'D

The other day I got hit with a dental bill that was not only staggering, but the treatment itself was a gutpunch. I'm not quite at root canal level but two of my teeth are tending towards it, even as the dentist commended my brushing and flossing. The quote is between $3200-4000 (give or take a couple non-priority preventative treatments). I can get government funding assistance up to $1000, and anything beyond that is a loan.

And unrelated I NEED new glasses, because the vision in my left eye from uveitis has deteriorated significantly. this costs less at i think $200-300, but the government does NOT assist with this for... some reason??

The plan of attack:

I'd - hoped, that the meds would let me focus more on owed work. I'd hoped I'd be able to clear the board. That's not the case right now. I'll keep trying, but for now I have to focus on the present.

So, the Ko-fi page is open! There's PWYW files of every deathclaw art I have, so if you'd like to help me out and get convenient lizards instead of browsing my posts, that's the option for you. I will also be making deathclaw designs to auction. I'd like to do customs in future because there's a hungry hungry market out there, waiting for me to do so, but that'd be a commission and I wouldn't complete it. So, premades it will be. My Inprnt store is currently barren; I will see about getting it filled. That'll be linked later. I can't mail out my print stock I use for cons, because I don't have a car or easy access to shipping packaging for larger prints. (And shipping would be immense because, NZ)

So far those are my only attainable options. If you have other suggestions though, please let me know! <3

[shalotttower]

Pholcus phalangioides

Title: Pholcus phalangioides

Fandom: The Collector (2009). Can be read as an original inspired by the source, because I took some creative liberties.

Summary: There's a spider in your bathroom, it lives under the mirror cabinet and you a) don't want to kill it, and b) are too scared to touch it, so now you can either keep giving it one side eye after another, or ask your neighbour for help.

Word count: 4000+

Characters: Asa Emory x Reader

Notes: yandere Asa, spiders and insects descriptions, stalking, voyeurism of sort - Asa watches Reader without her realizing it, kidnapping, vague hinting on body horror, non-con touching, Reader is socially awkward. Asa is not 100% in-movie-character Asa (he actually talks lol), a huge chunk of him is based on my headcanons.

You have this problem - a spider problem, to be precise. Not that it's too big of a deal, but...it also is.

Spiders are generally okay.

They eat unwanted guests, like flies and mosquitos or even other spiders. Make cool webs, which is probably one of the most complicated forms of art, not to mention a mathematical pattern to it - a combination of radial and circular symmetry. The golden ratio in nature.

In general they're important for keeping a backyard ecosystem nice and intact.

But.

But there is a spider in your bathroom, right under the sink cabinet, with thin legs, a long body, and of course - eyes. Quiet, kept to itself, really chill spider who doesn't move much except to crawl around a little and sometimes look at you when it catches you looking.

It probably lived in hiding somewhere, before deciding that dark spaces weren't up to its standards anymore and making an appearance. You haven't swatted it away, caught it, struck it with a paper - mostly because you're not good at killing living creatures, and secondly because the spider isn't doing any harm, just observing your every step, and generally being present.

When you check your makeup bag, it watches. When you brush your teeth, it watches. When you close the cabinet door it wiggles and your heart goes "ee" as if someone shocked it with a static charge. This yellowish-brown witness of your everyday activities, silently approving and judging, lately makes you feel like a nuisance in your own bathroom. You desperately wish there was a way to make it move to another corner. A less centralized one, less straight in your face. Yet the thought of touching it makes you cringe inwardly; your mind conjures images of different scenarios involving spider-related unpleasantries - accidentally squashing it, or getting bitten and dying a slow, miserable death.

It's gotta go.

Because the more you see it, the more your brain tries to assign it human features. And the longer it stares, the bigger the chance it might grow a pair of lips to say "get out of my bathroom".

The thought comes to you in the morning while setting a breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. The house is quiet, all windows are open and you stare through one of them at your neighbour's fence. You rarely see him, though the parked car is always a giveaway of his presence. Emory, that's what the mailbox says, and he has a neat garden, not an extravagant type, but everything is carefully trimmed and arranged into simple patterns.

There's even a stone bench by a small tree. Does it actually get used on sunny days? Probably no. He seems like a loner, from what you've seen so far: tall and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses and still grey eyes. Very focused and put together, a turtleneck and dark trousers kind of Mister. Never waving when passing by, though he does glance sometimes - sharp and attentive.

Once you caught him leaning over a bush with back straight and head hanging low. Your stomach gave this funny, nervous twitch, like when a stranger tries to start a conversation in public. He looked your way and then resumed whatever he was doing.

"Whatever" appeared to be something small, sharp limbs and a shiny body. It looked like a beetle, stretched to an absurd degree, and the way he held that thing felt strangely intimate. The same way you'd cradle a baby animal in your hands, rubbing its forehead with a fingertip. Emory put it in a plastic box, sealed it, and went into his house, not sparing you another glance.

This particular memory - of long fingers and a careful grasp - is what makes you think that maybe, possibly, theoretically, he could handle one pesky spider for you. You've seen him with insects a couple of times after, no doubt Mr. Emory is one of those who glue bugs to display boards. The creepy friend in the bathroom must be right up his alley then.

Five minutes later the two of you are staring at each other in awkward silence. Bothering barely acquainted neighbours isn't usually high on your list of priorities, especially if said neighbours look like they prefer being alone. You know it's odd, you know it probably crosses some boundaries, yet here you are.

With a crease on his brow and a tight mouth, Emory isn't thrilled at this sudden visit. Maybe he was in the middle of something, or is just uncomfortable with people invading his space. In any case, you clear your throat.

"Good morning. I live in the house across the road. The white porch? With-"

"I know," it's a dry reply. Not rude, more matter-of-factly; his eyes are fixed on you with a hint of unsettling peculiarity which makes you shift from one foot to the other.

He's not pest control, you think. Or obligated to help in any way. Emory can tell you to kindly fuck off right now and close the door, why did you even come here? It's stupid and intrusive. You're almost ready to take it all back and go home, pretend like nothing happened and just deal with that spider yourself, when he speaks again.

"What do you need?"

He has a quiet voice, a very even direct tone that doesn't encourage small talk, but prompts answers. Now and without pointless filling.

"I know how it's going to sound," you start, cringing inside, "and apologize in advance for bothering you, but I had an impression you collect...bugs."

"Insects. Arachnids."

"Right. So I was thinking if you'd mind removing a spider from my bathroom. I don't want to kill it, but I can't- I can't touch it."

His gaze slowly shifts from your face to the house behind you. As if Emory has an x-ray vision, or a complete mental map of your household layout. Ha, this would be ridiculous. There's no apparent disapproval in his pale face, but something else, a different kind of assessment. Evaluation of how much it is worth spending time on someone with an overgrown lawn? His eyes return back and you feel pinned down.

The longer he stays silent, the more you wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole.

"If you can't I totally understand-"

"What kind of spider?"

It's your turn to stare. How are you supposed to know, you've never studied spider biology. It looks like any other common variety, except creepier because it refuses to leave its spot and stay in the sewer where it belongs. "I...light-brownish, with long legs. Thin? Slender," there's more you could add but any further description will probably make you sound like a total dunce who can't recognize basic arachnids. "Kind of big."

You expect a 'sure', maybe 'I'll be there shortly' or 'no'. What you get is Emory moving past you and walking up your front porch. The scent of laundry detergent and soap, very clean, hits your nose before you rush to open the door.

"Uhm. Second floor," you explain, awkwardly shuffling after him. For the first time since the day you moved in, you worry about what someone might see inside the house. As far as clutter goes, your place is acceptable, perhaps a few forgotten cups around and yesterday's sweater thrown on a couch. Surely, it's not too bad.

Emory, however, doesn't seem interested in the surroundings. The staircase doesn't even creak under his weight, despite the house being around a century old. He steps over the little border which always makes you trip if you walk too fast, like it's not there. Like the corner you often bump your hip into doesn't exist either. He navigates your home with effortless precision, an inward kind of certainty that makes your eyebrows rise. Maybe...the houses on your street have the same blueprint.

Either way, he walks into your bathroom without hesitation, turning on the light. You hover by the doorway, unsure: should you offer something to drink, ask him if he needs anything else or just step away and leave him to do his thing?

The spider is there, hiding under the cabinet, when Emory leans over to observe it. He's probably seen many different specimens, you think, and this isn't interesting at all compared to the ones who have an intricate design or unique behavior.

"She's a part of the Pholcidae family," Emory says suddenly. Just like that there's 'she', instead of 'it', and the spider twitches and shifts. "Daddy long-legs. Harmless."

He puts his palm up close to its back. At first, it seems startled, but after a moment slowly calms down, and moves a leg - left then right - getting familiar with his hand.

"Docile creatures," Emory continues, while the spider walks along the edge of his palm. No running around, no random leaps, stick-like limbs touch and probe him with curiosity, much like you'd study something new. "They stay in the dark, hide in the corners while feasting on smaller things. Your intruder is a useful tenant."

It makes you feel slightly nauseous, how nonchalant he is about holding something that prompts recoil on instinct.

"Do you want to hold her?" Emory turns to you and there's a faint, strange smile on his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes and makes him look like an alien who tries to mimic human expressions based only on observation. His pupils are so dark that you can barely tell the difference between the irises and the rest. They seem bottomless, absorbing all light, but reflecting none in return. You take one step backwards, shaking your head.

"I'll pass."

He keeps staring at you for what feels like forever before returning his attention to the spider crawling on his skin. Emory reaches into his back pocket for a small container.

"Are you not setting her outside?" You ask. "She...she doesn't look like, uh, a rare species."

Not that you're an expert.

"No," Emory closes the lid with a quiet click. "She isn't one. But I'm going to keep her."

And he does. The little captive spider rests at the very bottom of a plastic case when you send the man on his way and thank him for the help. Emory accepts it with a nod, no further words, and then there's only his back when he leaves. The morning air rushes in, crisp and fresh, smelling like grass, tree leaves and soil.

*

It feels like you blink, and three days go by. You still keep an eye on the bathroom cabinet by some sort of habit, however there's nothing out of the ordinary lurking there, no creepy critters and definitely no thin legs scattering in multiple directions. All is well, now you can brush your teeth, take care of business and even lean close without fear something might fall on your head.

It's just a spider. You googled it later, and how common it is around the continents should be a bit ridiculous. Keeping it might equal to going on a beach and picking the most unremarkable pebble you see; Emory certainly could find hundreds more Daddy long-legs wherever he pleased - parks, gardens or forests.

So...why?

The question gnaws at you, together with that smile and cold grey eyes hidden behind glasses' frames. The weirdest part wasn't the expression, it was how you couldn't read it. Despite the obvious display of human emotion, however misplaced and alien, it failed to reveal anything. The smile was there, and yet nothing broke through it, not amusement, nor politeness - or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

Your neighbour is odd.

Not necessarily scary, though there's a sense of mystery surrounding him, it makes you feel like standing next to an iceberg and only seeing its tip. Or you've just read far too many psychological thrillers and your imagination likes to conjure up the wildest scenarios, trying to turn each and every thing into something sinister.

Maybe you should just chill and get some tea, and stop being so dramatic about a guy who came over and politely removed a spider for you.

*

They're not a unique species. Not even remotely uncommon.

He taps the container gently with his index finger, making the spider move back and forth. She doesn't have venom, no poisonous chemicals to injure and kill. Hiding in abandoned corners she does, patient and careful, waiting to catch the wrong fly.

You're just like her. Nothing exciting. Not unique.

Your movement patterns are similar, concealed in a different package you're still predictable: getting home from work, cooking dinner, watching TV shows. Everyday routines.

Fear is a part of your nature. Awkwardness which comes with socializing: you shuffle when uncomfortable, avoid prolonged eye contact and don't like confrontation, he noticed this right away. A quiet type, keeping mostly to yourself unless you need something urgently; and then you rush, like a scared Daddy long legs. There's this shiftiness, an inner desire to be less visible, but also a yearning for recognition because the lack of it hurts. And he saw all those small things, catalogued them one by one, as you moved into his street and became a constant presence.

Asa has never thought about keeping something - someone - so mundane before. Never. He likes rare things, spectacular, and those collected in the basement, they all are, especially when he's finished with them. They're extraordinary, displayed under glass cases and preserved for eternity.

He doesn't collect common species. Daddy long-legs are abundant everywhere around him.

But.

There's the way you linger by the kitchen window during the morning routine, slowly sipping hot coffee. When your lips purse and eyes lose focus for a moment. Or how the corners of them wrinkle sometimes when you have a genuine, amused laugh. It's something like warmth. There's no label for the feeling - positive, negative or neutral, it just is, like one single, meaningless element in an ecosystem.

He shouldn't want someone so average.

And yet Asa watches from the corner of your living room, crouched on the floor by a plant.

You don't hear him, too invested in your personal bubble. Well, he had enough time to polish his craft and figure out how soundless he can be when moving through spaces, how much weight he needs to place onto soles to avoid creaking wood and floorboards.

It's interesting to see you interact with your environment, unaware of being watched. There's an invisible pattern behind each action, even if you think everything is randomized. The web you wove around yourself is cozy, and Asa follows its threads while you check the phone and frown at whatever notification pops up. He is considering. Contemplating this impulsive desire he has yet to identify.

Would it be worth it? Keeping you. Adding you to the collection and seeing what comes out of it, how far his usual approach might take him with you in the same conditions. You're just a face with features. So...ordinary. He wants to pick you apart and look inside to make sure it's not some strange sort of mimicry, camouflage of a different nature hiding something else entirely.

There's this vague idea how those features may feel when touched. He can recall them accurately, even when you've never stood too close. Asa watches quietly from his hiding place, memorizing a displeased mumble and then a frustrated gesture.

You seem so alive.

Those below who are frozen in time now were too, before Asa decided to give them a purpose and make something special and worthy of his attention. They were alive like you, but now they're something better.

What purpose you have remains to be seen.

Asa decides then.

A plain trunk is nestled in the corner behind a coat hanger, no fancy latch or keyhole needed, only an ordinary padlock. You'll fit in nicely, squeezed in the cramped space, it won't be the most comfortable experience, but it's not for long and then...then he can show you the room where others stayed before, and where you'll be next.

Asa looks around one last time: the front door is locked, blinds down, lights off - you get up from the couch and head upstairs, right on the dot. Your house is easy to navigate despite the darkness; Asa knows his way around it, having been here already more than once. A step after a step he follows the soft padding of your bare feet, and when the steps halt, he pulls out a cloth. It's a heavy kind of pleasure to be able to stand right behind and admire your nape, there's a strange sort of vulnerability to it.

Something raw and very exposed.

It takes only a few movements, he catches your yelp into one of his hands and holds it clasped tightly as you thrash. Your nails dig into the fabric of his turtleneck but fail to leave any marks. He's never tired of it, the initial fear of his specimens realizing that their secure habitats are ruined. He doesn't mind this fight for survival.

"Shh," Asa breathes into your ear. "Shh."

The struggle doesn't last long - you're not a fighter - and when your body goes limp, he picks you up. Your perfume is surprisingly light, a very sweet and pleasant aroma, not overwhelming at all like he'd expect it to be.

It's nice.

He puts you in the trunk, a boxy space barely big enough to fit you curled on the side, it's going to take around thirty minutes to reach the hotel and another three to put you in the right cell. You'll sleep the rest of the journey, which is fortunate for everyone. It's always easier to deal with a specimen if they're resting.

The lock clicks softly - it's time to go home.

*

Something runs down your cheek - a drop, a bead of sweat, a touch - and you blink, trying to make sense of it. The surroundings are unfamiliar, blurry shapes with undefined outlines that stretch and wobble before your eyes. Your jaw hurts, clenched so hard that teeth grind together, and it takes a conscious effort to relax.

Where...what?

The living room, a TV program, a soundless whisper that froze the hairs at your nape, then someone was behind you. You remember a sickly sweet smell, and after that nothing but a haze and the dark, and the sensation of being squeezed into a shape. Your legs feel numb, arms too, like you spent hours immobile in one position. Slowly the world sharpens back into focus, but instead of relief there's only dread.

You're in a room.

No bigger than a regular bathroom and void of any furniture beside a cot-like bed, a toilet in the corner and a sink. The walls are a bluish-gray with thin cracks, tiny fissures that create uneven lines from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

And there's a man, observing you quietly through the thick glass.

You don't notice him immediately, too busy assessing your new location, and when you do the air feels heavier, difficult to move past your throat. He's wearing a mask. Black rubber or something, covering everything except his eyes. He presses two palms against the barrier separating you, the silence stretches into an eternity.

'Who are you? What do you want?' - these are kind of questions you should be asking, but they don't come out. You remain glued to the spot, counting the passing seconds by their painful tick-tock-tick-tocks. One minute turns into two, and he...just stares without moving a muscle in a beyond unnerving manner. Your gaze dips lower to check his clothes, perhaps find a pattern to identify this person later.

There's none. Everything is plain black, like a uniform made to be invisible - turtleneck, pants, even gloves and boots.

It seems that your silence somehow pleases him, because a few moments later he leaves without looking back.

You don't know how much time passes; there's not a window around, only a bare, stark bulb, yellowish in its brightness and casting unpleasant shadows all over the floor. Not a single sound. Traffic, voices of distant passersby or birds - all is absent and doesn't provide even a bit of understanding where the hell you are.

In the end, you...sit down on the bed and wait, because what else is there? Everything is eerily silent and very, very uncomfortable: this emptiness, the absence of noise, the endless ticking of an invisible clock. It's difficult not to cry, but you try your best, somehow it feels important to remain composed. There has to be a reason behind this. There must be one, and you repeat it over and over, like a mantra to soothe the nerves and present your mind with some semblance of logic: once you figure out what's going on, you'll figure out how to get out as well.

Pulling loose threads from your sleeve is poor entertainment, if anything, the strain of boredom and unease gradually grows into anxiety so sharp that you almost miss the sound of approaching footsteps.

He's back again, the masked stranger who stands in the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. A pair of light grey eyes is a splash of different color, but they are blank. They watch with distant curiosity of an animal trainer monitoring a newborn cub. The comparison makes something ugly squirm inside you. A part of you wants to make a run for it, the other keeps yelling that it would be immensely stupid.

One, two, three, four steps he takes into your cell. Your back meets the wall, the chill coming from its solid surface cuts right through the layers of clothing. Five, six. He stops only when there's less than arm's reach between you, then leans to brush away loose strands of hair sticking to your temples. Your stomach goes taut. This scent. Laundry detergent mixed with soap. The turtleneck, grey eyes, very collected kind of Mister.

A sickly shiver of revulsion shoots down your spine, making you curl tighter into a ball. Emory cups your jaw with both hands - they're cold even through the gloves material. This is too close, an unwanted and unpleasant violation of boundaries, and yet he continues to examine your face, like you're some sort of an object he can handle however he pleases.

Your cheek gets a light pat. Any theories about his identity stay unvoiced, mostly because you fear the reaction they might prompt. Something tells you that screaming is a bad idea too. 'Be quiet,' an insistent whisper says deep inside your skull, 'be still.'

His thumbs press to the corners of your mouth. "Open," he orders, and you can't not, even though the whole thing sounds and feels bizarre. "Wider."

There's a quiet click. A flashlight, of those small ones you can easily hold in one hand, shines right into your eyes, making them water from the unexpected brightness. "Don't bite or I'll remove all of your teeth."

It's a simple threat, delivered with such a calm tone, there's no need for yelling when words are that clear and straightforward.

He inspects your mouth, the edges of teeth and gums, your inner cheeks, and you let him, clenching your fists. There's not much you can do, at least that's what you keep telling yourself to ease the heavy, sinking feeling of powerlessness. Your mind chants 'too close' on a loop, urging to wiggle away; you stay. It's unclear what exactly he's looking for - dental or oral diseases, a sore throat, cavities, or the lack of them?

It lasts forever until he straightens back up and puts the light away.

"Good," Emory states. There's another pat to your head before he turns around to leave. "No biting."

The door panel slides with a soft hum, locking shut. And the silence, and the waiting, and the mind numbing monotony is back again.

[hiskillingjar]

Please plspls write sexed up abusive lesbians law x strade 🤞🤞

sorry lesbians, sorry dykes, this is a post for fucked up transfems and quasi-chasers now. sorry :(

4000+ words, cw for slurs, they are the worst grindr hookup in the world and i'm obsessed with themmmmm (this may have a part 2 if the people don't execute me)

also crossposted on ao3 give me attentionnnnnuh

"hey cutie, having a good night?"

Lawrence almost flinched after hearing the foreign notification ‘blllip’ on their phone. 

It was late, they had just gotten home from work and they were sifting through their saved videos (car crashes, open-faced surgery, execution porn and the like) to get to sleep, their body heavy on the mattress, their head heavier with drugged intoxication from a short smoking circle at the warehouse before they left.

They blinked sleepy grey (dead) eyes as they opened the app with a slide of their thumb, the orange-and-black interface unfamiliar, they used it so little.

Right. They downloaded this to buy weed from the new guy at work, didn’t they? 

Did they even have a profile set up? Apparently so, if someone nearby had found them.

They let out a short sigh through their nose, moving onto their back under the heavy, weighted blankets as they typed out a reply to ‘strade 36 verse’.

‘Verse’. What did that even mean?

"Hi."

Lawrence barely had time to rub their eyes before the orange bubble was typing again. 

"hi!"

An instant reply. ‘Strade 36 verse’ must have been online then.

They sat up with another sigh and their lips pursed in a thoughtful pout, wondering if they should respond further, and what to say if they did. 

They didn’t really know the etiquette of most social media, after all. The most exposure they’d had to it was a Tumblr account that was quickly taken down when they posted an especially gory work-in-progress photo of a new sculpture (for “violating community guidelines’ they said when they’d asked), and they’d left it at that, so this was new to them. 

It wasn't like they’d been on something as casual as a dating app before, so they had no prior experience or point of reference on how these kinds of interactions generally played out.

So, in place of another message, they decided to wait for ‘Strade 36 verse’ to reply again, to send the dreaded ‘double text’ or lose interest in their flaky response, before they did anything on their own.

They wouldn’t have to wait long for that, though.

"nice pics, you’re very, very cute." He praised, sending through a winking-face emoji and a blonde angel emoji, referencing the badly taken, but well-cropped mirror selfies on their profile, just so the weed guy knew who they were when they messaged. "are you down for anything tonight?"

Lawrence frowned, idly worrying their bottom lip between their crooked teeth as they pushed a hand into their greasy hair. They’d shower before work tomorrow. Or not.

They weren't entirely sure what ‘down for anything’ meant and weren't sure if they necessarily wanted to know either.

"Thank you.” They typed, well-trained to be polite to compliments. “Down for anything like what, exactly?"

"lol, you're adorable"

"like hooking up? lol"

Lawrence nearly dropped their phone at that.

Their face burned a hot red as they sat upright quickly, pushing aside their weighted blankets and ruminating in silence for several long moments on how to respond to Strade’s outright forwardness.

Was everyone on this app like this?

"I don't know you.” They wrote with another deep frown. “I only really use this app to buy weed. What do you want from me?"

"haha that's hilarious!" Strade wrote back quickly with a series of laughing emojis, which just made Lawrence frown even more. What did he find so funny? "cute pics for a burner account tho. what's that for?~"

They felt their face burning hotter and hotter as they stared at Strade's response, dumbfounded at his capacity to play along with such unwilling prey, before setting the phone down in their lap and pressing the heels of both hands to their eyes, too tired and (frankly) too high to make sense of what this guy was trying to do to them.

‘...cute pics...?’

They took a breath and picked up their phone again, trying to respond as normally as they could without cussing the guy out.

"What do you mean cute? It's just my face."

"it’s a cute face," He sent with a virtual wink.

They took another short moment, trying to collect themself, long, trembling fingers hovering over the keyboard on their phone, before they typed out another response. 

"I don't know about cute...but thanks, I think."

"you're so welcome~"

There was a pause as Strade typed another string of words, punctuated by an orange bubble and animated ellipses.

"if you're not here to hook up, maybe we could just exchange pics hm?"

"Pictures of...what exactly?"

"i'll show you mine if you show me yours," He wrote, punctuated by an eggplant emoji, a peach emoji and…a water spray emoji.

Lawrence didn’t need to be a genius in social media lingo to know exactly what that meant.

They tried to swallow the growing lump in their throat before reluctantly replying.

"What makes you think I'd send you a picture like that? I don't even know what you look like."

"i have a profile pic sweetheart," He wrote with another winking emoji, making Lawrence flush that they hadn’t even taken the time to look at Strade’s profile before they started talking to him. "but fair point! wanna make sure i’m not a catfish, huh?"

'Sweetheart...'

The nickname sent a little chill down Lawrence’s spine, but…not in a wholly unpleasant way.

It might have even been kind of nice to be called that, even if it was from a stranger on a dating app of all places.

There were a few moments of ‘silence’ before their phone ‘blllipped’ with a notification that Strade had sent them a picture, which they quickly opened. 

He looked like...well, he looked like a totally normal guy in his thirties, relaxing on a couch as if he’d just gotten home from work after a hard day. Tan skin, dark stubble, a handsome smile, everything people liked in a man. He was shirtless, showing off a soft chest and the beginnings of a slightly softer stomach, but that was probably the nature of the app.

"You're...very good-looking. Nice muscles." Lawrence typed honestly, a little hesitantly, staring at the picture for a prolonged moment before swapping back to the chat.

"thanks cutie," He wrote with a beating heart emoji, making Lawrence’s own heart tighten in their chest. "how are you looking right now?"

They idly chewed the inside of their cheek and looked down at themself. 

They weren’t anything special and never considered themself to be, wearing a pair of tattered pyjama pants and a loose-fitting top printed with the warehouse’s logo. 

That probably wasn’t the vibe for this interaction, was it?

"I mean, not good like you. I'm wearing pyjamas right now."

"maybe i'll decide what looks good, hm?"

"send me something."

They felt their face flush hotter when the second message popped up, bringing the edge of their phone to their mouth with a shuddering little sigh that fogged up the cracked glass.

This was getting pretty embarrassing, but, at the same time, it was...kind of exciting.

They’d never done anything like this before, certainly not with a stranger, and…Strade had such an authoritative vibe about him without even being in the room.

They felt almost compelled to obey him, even if there was no side effect to not.

Lawrence shifted over the side of the bed and reluctantly lifted the phone for a selfie, reaching up with their other hand to cover their mouth and most of their jaw, keeping the focus on their messy hair, their sleepy eyes, their slender neck, their collar bone, the low collar of their shirt…things that they guessed Strade might like in a conversation partner.

Once they had taken the picture, they sent it over quickly before they could think too long and change their mind.

Strade responded almost immediately.

"awwww~" He wrote, with a heart eyes emoji and another angel emoji. "very cute!"

Oh God, they really weren’t used to being called cute this much.

Their heart was racing as they read the short string of messages, their pale cheeks flushing and their dead eyes fluttering a little as their thighs pressed together tightly.

"You...really think so?"

"i know so~" He complimented again. "you’re such a good girl for listening to me too <3"

'Good girl-!?'

Lawrence's heart was beating even faster now, just from that one little compliment, and they found themself sinking back against the bed and staring at the popcorn, mould-dotted ceiling, feeling all the heat in their body rush right down to their cock.

It seemed kind of...demeaning to be called a 'good girl' in this scenario, but at the same time, it felt...so amazing.

They just hoped that Strade wasn’t getting the wrong idea.

“Thank you…but I’m not a girl though.” They typed when their brain started working again, resting their phone on their chest, their legs trembling and bopping up and down, nervously.

"oh no? apologies for assuming but you do have trans stuff in your bio lol"

"you look pretty enough to be a girl. figuring stuff out?"

The instinct to cringe subsided quickly when they clicked on their profile, noticing the absence of the gender marker that Strade had (‘M’), and their pronouns (‘they/them, any/all’) listed along with their location, the only information they had provided the app, barring their picture.

"That was an accident...I didn't know what it was asking me." They typed out, explaining their mix-up.

‘Pretty enough to be a girl...’ 

They suddenly found themself feeling…warm all over as those words repeated in their head, feeling the sincerity behind them, the authenticity behind them. 

Maybe they weren’t a girl, at least, not a girl they had ever been close to before, but there was the…well, the fact that Strade had assumed their gender incorrectly several times now, and they had done nothing to correct him. 

"happy accidents, eh?" Strade replied quickly with another laughing emoji, though this one felt more fond and affectionate than the others had been. "do you like being a good girl, law?"

They swallowed tightly and managed to type out a response, their hands trembling with excitement.

"Yeah…I mean, yeah I think I do."

"thought so." Another virtual wink. This guy used a lot of emojis. "can i see something else now, angel?" He wrote, like no part of that conversation happened, and even though it was phrased like a question, Lawrence had that good sense that it was not to be taken as one.

They felt their face burning hotter than ever as they typed out a response.

"What do you want me to show you…?”

"show me your body.” 

“do you have a mirror so i can see all of you?"

Lawrence had to stop and close their eyes, knees tightly pressed together as they tried to collect themself and slow the pounding of their racing heart.

They’d never felt like this before. It felt good.

It felt good. 

Why weren’t they used to feeling good?

They took in a deep breath, trying to calm themself down, before they got to their feet and walked over to their bathroom, hesitantly taking a full-body (or, well, as close to full-body as they could manage) picture in the bathroom cabinet mirror, using the phone to cover their face and focus on their body.

They looked so…boring in the reflection, wearing that old, baggy top and those loose-fitting pants. 

Strade can’t really be that interested in them, can he?

"aw, you're so little. like you wouldn't be able to fight me off if i pinned you down <3"

Those immediate words set butterflies fluttering around in their stomach.

They were definitely not tiny by any metric, standing at almost six foot and easily taller than most of the guys in the warehouse, but the idea of being...pinned down by a stranger of all people, was making their brain short circuit.

And fine, they weren’t sure if Strade meant it in an affectionate way or…a creepy way, talking about their body like it was a piece of meat and he was an animal feeding on them, but Lawrence couldn’t think of a reason to be scared of the obvious red flags coming out of their conversation.

They swallowed past the ever-growing lump in their throat as they paced back to their bed, sitting down and trying their best to keep their responses coherent as they typed out another anxious reply.

"Oh yeah..? Think so?"

"i know so..."

God, he was quick.

"mind pulling those pants down?"

They chewed the inside of their cheek again, hesitating for maybe a moment before they began to slowly pull their pyjama bottoms down their skinny hips, exposing their boxer briefs and the bulge of their cock. 

They felt so exposed, like someone could just walk in and see them right now, and yet...

They took another picture and sent it to Strade without a word, feeling the flush spread across their face as they did so.

"those look pretty tight, baby," He wrote after a pause. "like that cute girlcock is desperate for something its not gonna get. too cute <3"

What the fuck, girlcock-?!

Every word of the message made them shiver more and more, making the aching feeling in their chest that much more intense and tight, so tight it was almost painful. 

God, they couldn’t even begin to describe how this fucking stranger was making them feel. 

They were starting to feel desperate, like he said they were, their girlcock stirring and pressing even tighter against the taut fabric of their briefs, denying them anything close to relief.

They swallowed again, their tongue poking out to wet their dry lips as they typed a needy response.

"Please…just keep talking to me like that…”

"you're such a good girl," Strade continued to praise with another beating heart emoji. "spread your legs, make those panties nice and tight for me so i can see your girlcock press up there…"

They had to close their eyes momentarily and take in a deep, shaky breath to calm themself before they even attempted a response.

It was almost hard to type with how worked up they were, how much their fucking girlcock was stirring, how much their hands were shaking. They felt so submissive and helpless, like they wouldn’t even be able to think without Strade telling them to. 

They just wanted to do whatever he told them to do.

Their legs parted as far as they could (while still framed nicely in the camera) and they jutted their hips slightly, making the thick bulge of their cock the focus of the picture. Light blonde hair covered their tummy and thighs, and they almost felt self-conscious about it, for the first time in their life.

A girl shouldn’t have that there…at least, not a good girl.

"fuck, you're killing me," He wrote with that angel emoji again. "you little tease. what i wouldn't give to have you here now."

Lawrence closed their eyes with a soft moan as they held the pose, trying to imagine what it would be like if he was here instead of just ordering them around over the phone.

They were still trembling but they couldn’t help but smile coyly to themself as they thought out another response.

"What would you do to me if I was there right now?"

"you really want to know, sweetheart?"

They swallowed hard, their grey eyes wide and unnervingly alive, and replied, almost without a thought.

"Yes. Tell me please…I want to know."

…

…

…

"i wouldn't let anyone else even get the chance to look at you, let alone touch you, before i’m through with you, lawrence"

"i'd take you down in my basement and make you scream. hurt you. cut you. fuck you even if you fought me back. ruin that cute little body and torture your girlcock until you begged me to stop."

"and i wouldn't stop <3 even if you screamed and cried and behaved like suuuuch a good girl for me, angel <3"

…

…

…

"You’d do that to me…?"

…

…

…

"yeah. i like ruining pretty things." He wrote. "and you're the prettiest thing i've seen in weeks."

Lawrence could feel themself almost trembling as they stared at their phone, their hands shaking. 

They managed to type out a response, each letter in their reply feeling like a tremendous amount of effort when their fingers were shaking like jelly, just holding onto the phone.

"You really think I’m…pretty…?"

Their heart was pounding as they waited for a reply, waited for those tell-tale orange dots to move again, their once-dead eyes wide and alive and ready for more as their head spun behind them. 

It was like they were experiencing an entirely new high, one more dangerous and more pleasurable than any drug could give them.

They could see themself getting quickly addicted to it, and knew that this addiction was sure to kill them faster than any other vice would.

“haha you're kind of a freak law," Strade seemed to tease when his reply finally popped up, though it was lacking the emojis that typically gave his teasing nature away. "i like that a lot. pretty girls are never usually as filthy as you~"

Their head canted slightly as they read the message, wetting their lips again as they reached down and idly palmed their cock, feeling the hard flesh between their long fingers and wishing that Strade was the one doing the touching instead.

Freak. Filth. Words growing on them like mould grew on spoiled food. 

They were gradually getting infected by whatever disease Strade must have had to enjoy this, and they couldn’t have been happier

They flopped back heavily on the bed with a shaky exhale, that same feeling of twisted pride they got when he called them a “good girl” washing over them.

They managed to respond with one hand occupied (still squeezing their rotten cock that was enjoying every moment of this), their fingers still trembling.

"Yeah, I’m kind of a freak I guess…”

A pretty freak…a pretty girl…

Their cock pulsed hotter.

"yeah.”

“even the most poorly-adjusted tranny has the self-respect not to put up with all of this. what's the matter, law, you don't have any of that?"

They whimpered softly and bit their lip hard (so hard, they could practically taste blood), before rolling onto their side and bringing their knees up to their heaving chest as their cock twitched incessantly between their trembling legs, their slack body shivering all over as they squeezed their thighs tightly together.

Fuck, this was so awful. So, so fucking awful.

Then why was their head pounding, their chest heaving, their cock throbbing harder and harder (and harder and harder), the worse it got?

They swallowed hard, the lump in their throat almost painful to gulp past, as they read the message again, and despite themself, they reached down and started tugging on their cock as they typed, their heart continuing to race at an impossible pace from the mix of excitement and dread at feeling so vulnerable and exposed to this man.

"Why would I want self-respect if it means I can’t talk to you…?”

"good answer <3"

They couldn’t help but smile upon reading the new text, cradling the phone to their shuddering chest with one hand, as the other tightened the hold on their cock, the veins in their wrist pulsating as it jerked up and down their length. 

God, they were just completely hooked on this fucking stranger, addicted to his praise, his threats, his dirty talk (if it could even be called that).

They lay there for a moment, just jerking themself off with wet gasps and shifting skin on skin, trying to even think of what to do next. 

Their mind was so fuzzy and filled with thoughts of Strade, Strade, Strade that they could hardly concentrate, even without the initial fuzz the weed had given them.

It was a perfect sensation.

"what are you doing now, law?"

“I’m…touching myself.”

“show me.”

Like everything else with Strade, it was phrased like a question but Lawrence knew that they didn’t have the luxury of disagreeing with him.

Like they even wanted that luxury to begin with.

They obediently moved backwards, up their bed, lying flat on their back (belly up, like a prey animal offering itself to a rightful predator) and parting their trembling thighs again, wrenching their briefs all the down their legs and taking an awkward picture of their cock in hand, the flushed head and firm length framed by the thin, milky white pillars of their scarred thighs.

They were just glad that this app didn’t have access to their storage and that any pictures exchanged in the chat wouldn’t be saved.

That would have been incredibly fucking embarrassing. 

"haha wtf you're fucking huge," Strade quickly wrote back in response, making fun of them, though, again, the message was lacking his usual emojis (as had many of the previous messages, actually). "talk about wasted potential, eh, law?"

“What do you mean, wasted potential…”

“it means when i fuck you,” When, not if, when, NOT IF. “i'm not letting you top for a single day of the rest of your wretched, little life”

They licked their lips hungrily, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Is…is that a threat…or a promise…?”

"both <3"

God.

GOD. 

They felt like they were going insane.

They just wanted more and more of his words, wanted to take everything this man was saying to them and amplify it, make it worse, make it despicable, diabolical, disgusting, more, more, more-

“God, I hope so…” They typed, the jerking of their wrist faster as heat coiled up, hot and tight, in their belly. “You make me feel like I’m losing my mind…”

"won't need a mind for what i'm planning for you, sweetheart"

“Fuck…” They stammered softly to themself, words falling past their parted lips in a helpless whimper, as they squeezed their cock harder, a thick bead of pre-cum drooling over their bony knuckles. They didn’t touch themself that often, all of their saved videos were no longer able to scratch the itch of their deadened arousal, but now, they were feeling it, so close, so desperate-

“i want you to stop touching yourself now, law”

Their hand stilled instantly, their pale brows knitting together as another typing bubble popped up.

“you don’t work weekends, do you?”

They swallowed hard, typing out a reply while anticipating the next message.

“No, not usually…why?”

“you know the braying mule in town? just next to that new whole foods?” Donkey emoji, beer glass emoji, wilting leaf emoji.

Lawrence took a moment to think about the spot Strade was describing. 

It wasn’t too far from the warehouse, now that they were thinking about it, in a slightly sketchier place in town that was facing a wave of gentrification (hence the Whole Foods that they, unfortunately, did frequent for tea ingredients and discount granola).

“Yeah…?”

“are you gonna meet me there next saturday?”

Once again, phrased like a question but Lawrence knew there was no option to say no.

Like they would have said no.

“I guess I am.”

“good girl.” Angel emoji, beating heart emoji. “and are you going to give yourself anyyyy relief before then?”

He was teasing again, and the praise and indirect order was enough to send another pulse of heat to their cock, making it that much more painful and unsatisfying when they let go of it and lay back on the bed.

“I…guess I’m not.”

“she’s smart for a poorly-adjusted faggot, isn’t she?”

God, he was just so demeaning, and they were absolutely obsessed with it.

That warm, fluttery feeling in the pit of their stomach was back, and it felt even stronger than before. 

They almost had to resist the urge to bite their bottom lip and start jerking off again…and they could only muster the shakiest of responses.

“Yeah…she is.”

“such a good girl, law.” He wrote, and Lawrence could practically see the shit-eating grin on his handsome face. “i’m looking forward to meeting you <3”

“Me too…”

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.4)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary: Taking notes off the recent missions and getting pushed into another. More intensive training has your new relationships straining beyond what you imagined. You can only hope that they all will be with you for when the actual mission starts.

Warnings:4000~ words, light swearing, blood, violence, torture. A/N: a bit of a longer one stuffed with drama... Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

10:00 AM | Autumn | Taylor Tailors Headquarters 

Stuffed inside the private vehicle. Price was gripping the dividing wall in front of him as the car drifted slightly at the slurry forming beneath the tires. Winter had decided to come at a sudden and the team captain was restless not being the one responsible for the vehicle. A voice came over the intercom- only further irritating the man. “I do assure you agents-in-training that I have been driving for the company longer than many of your careers. Oh,” the woman laughs out, bright red lipstick reflecting in the windshield as she soars down the driveway and into the parking garage. “Stop pissing in your pants now, we are almost there- promise.” 

Riley shakes his head, leaning against the window as Johnny bounces across from him, bumping Price's shoulder repeatedly. Gaz inspects his suit, wondering where you all were headed- he was praying for something warm but from all the seemingly random items you forced them to back within their bags… he was still quite unsure of it all. 

The door is soon thrown open, Riley turns slowly- glaring into an eye-widened surprise to see Samantha who only sharpens her smile, lips turning into a thin smile. Her black hair shimmers under the artificial lighting as the car honks-locked. The group trailing and presenting their IDs to the scanner, the front desk seemingly empty as a phone rings softly from behind the wood. Johnny makes a joke reaching towards the phone before Samantha turns sharply back on her heel, tea and muffin in hand within the blink of an eye- slapping his hand away with a wink. “Hello Agent Whitby-yes. They have just arrived, I’ll send them your way in just a moment.”

Turning her head upwards, she greets them all with a handshake before another team moves their bags into the locker room. Samantha's heels click against the tiles as she ascends the stairs. Still stunned by the headquarters interior, Price bumps into Kyle who can only smile before admiring the tree sculptures of fighters into what appears to be an artificial sunroom. Whitby stands in the centre, his shirt misplaced as he fights off the AI people that swarm him. Their pixels crumble towards the floor as they are defeated just as another spawns in his spot. 

Samantha claps her hands, the heat leaving the room as an artificial voice speaks of Whitby's score. Smiling as Samantha hands him the muffin, she takes a sip of her tea- eyeing the way his shoulders rise and fall before turning and smiling at the rest of the men. “Have a good session you all, I will be at the front desk for the next few hours if you need anything.” The door softly clicking closed behind her just as the air conditioning comes in and benches emerge from the floors. 

Taking a seat while drying himself off, Whitby motions a hand over, “Handler D has sent me the reports from our last mission with some personal notes… nothing to be ashamed of really- just the things we do a bit differently here.” Snapping his fingers, scans of cards appear in front of the task forces faces as they read through the notes and look through the compiled footage. Like a sports play-by-play little arrows and sticky notes are displayed all over- highlighting the next steps and offering compliments for others. 

The task force all nods over each word as Whitby stands, the screens disappearing just as the sunroom scene displays once more. Heat enters the room as sweat begins to drip from John's brow. “We are going to Greece for the next mission, heat is going to be one of our biggest enemies. Get used to sweating and to drinking wherever you can while out on patrol for hours. Mission file states that our princess has been kidnapped from her guarded tower- guards are shitting themselves- running about like little headless bitches and we are gonna solve all… or well most of their issues.” 

“Alright!” Soap cheers, tearing off his suit-jacket and rolling up his sleeves as the rest follow suit. Whitby stalks around the room, adjusting their position independently and as a team throughout the various planned scenarios. He keeps looking at seemingly a normal wall, making multiple hand signals as the course changes. Kyle narrows his eyes, seeing through to a control room as Doctor Charlotte Derby stands, clipboard in hand as she whispers commands to the operator. The lady smiles and copies, mouth forming a smile as laughs seemingly are shared in the room before Kyle is slipping on the floor beneath him, slipping on the rain that started to fall within the room. 

Shrugging his shoulders he continues to race between halls as the rest of the boys improve upon their communication with the new tools they have on themselves. Time slipping by as late lunch emerges. “Are we going to be seeing Handler Dee at any time today?” Price asks, taking a bite of his meal within one of the restaurants the base provided. Whitby wipes his mouth clean with the provided serviette, taking a sip of his drink before clearing his throat. “Potentially, they are in a fitting currently- are there any concerns?” The agent questions, raising a brow and meeting each of their eyes. 

Slapping a hand on his shoulder, Johnny shakes his head before diving back into his meal. Whitby shuffles his suit back into place, shimmying in his seat before motioning Charlotte to join them. Standing himself up- offering the lady the booth seat, he pulls up a chair from an empty table, sitting at the end before conversation settles upon the files the Doctor spreads across the table. “You all made wonderful improvements, I’m sure Handler Dee is smiling ear to ear at the news from Samantha's call. There are still some mental tests I have to finish with you all today before we can let you board that plane tonight but you should all be proud of yourselves nonetheless.” She finishes with a bright smile, sneaking a bit of Whitby's food with a wink as he playfully glares back before motioning for her to hand him his drink. 

The group revolves into their own conversations as Whitby curses softly underneath his breath, “I do apologise everyone but work is calling, I wish you all a good start to your mission-”

“You’re not coming with us?” Simon asks, addressing the group for the first time today as Whitby has to do a double take, ensuring that he did in fact get a response from the man after hours of trying to spark conversation. “No sadly, though I do look great in a Swimsuit-” Charlotte smacks his shoulder. Taking the offensive hand, Whitby leans over, kissing her on the cheek with a cheesy smile before bowing and leaving out the door. 

John stacks everyone's plates just as Charlotte pays the bill and directs the group over to a private lounge. Papers already wait in a stack, the grandfather clock in the corner ticks lightly as Soap swears to see the eyes of a painting move in his peripheral vision. “Alright, you all have two hours to complete this basic intelligence quiz and I have the languages and mathematics set up for us till the dinner hour. I will be sitting just off to the side here if you have any questions or concerns, good luck you all.” 

–

Whitby quietly enters the fitting room, standing off to the side as he tilts his head- a small smile forming in his eyes before growing as he takes in your new uniform. Cream coloured with a linen dress shirt underneath, you are a cloud drifting its way towards his navy blue suit embroidered with small floral designs only seen underneath the warm lighting. An assistant shakes their head mocking as you step off the pedestal, making a playful runway walk towards the agent just as he picks up your hand, giving you a twirl before pulling you into his chest. 

“You look amazing,” he mumbles before pulling away, still holding your hand. Thomas and Evan wave their sewing materials behind you, signaling for your return as Whitby helps you to stand back up. He takes a seat in front of you, setting a timer on his watch, his head resting against his fist, arm following chairs to the edge in a 90 degree angle. “Anything outstanding to report,” you make small talk, watching as their hands masterfully work the fabric and smile when they remember all the little details you voiced in passing throughout the years. Another favorite to add to the closet, you think to yourself. 

“Nothing quite, love. They all served well- more field time will show everything I’m sure of it. Charlotte said their first written test results are coming out well for not going through our overly formal training. How many missions do we have with them again?” His knee starts to bounce as your eyes snap over to the movements, leading up to his glass-framed eyes as he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side in a cat-like motion- challenging you silently to a staring contest. 

Both your eyes begin to burn, competition brewing under each of your skins as Jason coughs, the head tailor looking bored at the exchange before signaling the assistant to take their breaks as he picks the work back up. “One more after this one and then Laswell and I are even,” you state, blinking rapidly just as Wihtby moves his glasses to rub his eyes. The room falls silent before Whitby stands, turning on the record player as soft classical music starts to surround the room. Humming to the strings, Whitby makes an exit- continuing his performance down the hall and towards the offices for his own mission. 

You watch his exit- eyes softening as a cough from behind has you rolling your head back as Jason squeezes your nose as you scrunch it up in distaste. “What was that for?” you question. “Say yes to that poor man already, you two have been dragging this charade on for a decade too long- who knows what will come first for you both, a new partner, another promotion, death?-”

“Jason!” you hiss out, “Please, not just before a mission- can’t have that especially on something like this. Its our future head of state for fucks sake!” you curse out just as Jason trims the last bit of string from your shoulder, marking the project complete. “Apologies, Handler but I just want to see my two friends happy in a job where temporary is the definition.” You nod your head in response, “Thank you for the suit,” you add in a lightened tone as Jason sends you an apologetic smile- waving as you leave the room and he begins to back up the supplies. 

–

6:00 PM | Autumn | Taylor Tailors Headquarters 

“HANDLER!” a voice shouts, your shoulders jumping up-tensing as you turn on your foot like a robot. “Handler D!” The voice shouts again, footsteps rapid as they turn around the corner, Handler Jacobs nears, a tower of folders underneath his arm, his tie over his shoulder as you help him to address his appearance- taking the papers from underneath his arm as you both make your way towards the lobby. 

“The reports from my side before I send it all over to the higher-ups. Would you mind if I stole the other 3 or so agents you have out in Russia? There has been an uprising in France, some internet criminals rising havac and…” You raise your palm as the Handlers rambles soon fall short. “Yes, Handler,” you state with a smile- eyes going wide as he pulls you into an energetic squeeze. You wince from the impact, the files flooding the floors beneath as you groan out, eyes searching the mess beneath as he lets you go. Slipping on the files in a daze and back down the hall. 

Sighing to yourself, you begin to work through the documents, leveling them back into a stack as a group of footsteps come from behind. You curse, cheeks firing red as you turn around, straightening your hair and kicking another folder off to the side, your eyes flash with horror as your newest agents stop in their tracks, looking at your off-guard appearance with curiosity before snapping towards the mess underneath you. 

Without a word or mocking comment, the men get to work, helping you to pick up the remaining files as Gaz helps you to arrange them back into the appropriate places. “How’d things get like this?” Simon questions as you blink up at the man kneeling beside you, handing you another bundle of papers as you blush in embarrassment. “An over-excited Handler.” Is all you say with a huff, beginning to stand. John rushes to place a hand on the banister above your head. You duck from the movement, standing up more quickly before looking at its placement. Sending him a warm smile, he only nods in reply as Johnny and Kyle split the papers, walking them over to the mailboxes with you. 

‘Thank you all,” you comment while singing off on the last document within the office before the parcel goes through the shoot and up towards the street level. “S’nothing,” Johnny states, eyes crinkling. “Coffee, anyone?” you ask the group once seeing the time on your wrist, a series of tired mumbles sound within the room as you make your way towards the nearby break room. 

Samantha stands in the room, leaning against the water fountain before standing to attention at your presence. “At ease,” you comment as she moves to sit down at an empty table. You take the orders of the room just as Simon helps you to bring the rest of the drinks over as you all sit. With hands wrapped around the warm mug's surface, you lean back in your chair, ankles crossing underneath the table as Samantha starts to read through her messages on her phone- seemingly lost in her own world. “So…” you begin, looking at each tired face with remorse. This is only the beginning…

“How was this morning's training? You think you are alright to finish the rest of the planned material tonight?” you ask softly before taking a sip of your drink, humming contently as the warm liquid floods your senses. “There’s more?” Kyle asks softly, voice carrying strain as Johnny groans beside him, having used all his energy this morning he leans his head into Simon's shoulder who grunts yet does not shove the man off. 

“Well, yes.” You state, “And the most damning of them all unfortunately. I will be walking you all through our captive training. How to live through waterboarding, to not suffocate in toxins. How to find your way outside of restraints in multiple positions and live to see another day,” you perform hands fling off your cup and into the air as you make grand gestures. Samantha looks up from her phone, as if seeing a ghost she rapidly shakes her head. “Good luck you all,” horror flashing through her eyes, “the utter SHIT you experience in there…” she shakes her head, seemingly unable to finish the sentence before standing up quicking and darting out of the room before you could comfort the woman. 

John looks to the group, trying to hide his growing worry as he scratches at his bread before looking back at you staring right through him. Placing a light hand on top of his formed fist upon the table, it uncurls and you pull your hand away soon after. “I will be with you all the whole time.” You state, eyes hollow as you hold out better than Samantha, everyone had to go through this training eventually- yet it stayed with you forever. 

–

You watch from behind the impact and bullet-proof glass. The room slowly starts to fill with water, you listening to their heart monitors flooding your room, raging above the waves. John is already directly out orders, looking around for an escape. The lights flicker, the electrical starting to become enveloped by the quick rising water before turning black. Fighting to open a case underneath the water, Simon rips out a flashlight, tossing it over towards Kyle who turns it on, pressing it in his mouth as he dives under, scanning the floors for a potential secret door. 

He emerges as the rest of the taskforce now treads water- the level almost reaching the ceiling. Each taking one last breath, they twist and turn, eyes wide and burning from the growing pressure. You step back from the glass as John swims up to it, trying to peer into the room as you make your way outside, greeting Charlotte who stands with warm towels ready for the next event. You both mentally count towards ten, the sounds of the glass shattering, the water pouring out underneath the door as you stand cold-faced and unmoving.

The boys stumbled out into the hall, adrenaline still pumping through their ears, their bodies shivering as they ran over to you, gripping a towel around their shoulders. Yet what you don’t expect is for Kyle to hug you seemingly out of the view before dropping you just as quickly. John watches them interacting softly as Simon stands behind him observing quietly as well. Johnny cheers out in celebration once realizing everyone is safe before slinging a still wet arm around the Doctor's shoulders as he bounces up and down. “You had done well to complete the first trial,” you speak in a monotone form that has Simon peering down at you, trying to crack your exterior yet you remain unrelenting. Understanding of your pivotal role during these times just as your past mentors have done so for you. 

“On to the next,” Charlotte announces, stepping away from Johnny before breaking a small shake of his shoulder in congratulations. A series of small separate rooms greet you, tears begin to well in your eyes from the horrors that you had witnessed. Shaking your head, you turn and motion for each man to pick a room as the door locks shut behind them before climbing up a ladder. Through the intercom you ask everyone to sit in the chair. You hear them yell out, former trainees from earlier in the day stand in the observation deck, looking down from the rafters and through the clear ceilings that you walk upon, observing them each, picking up a series of gas masks last minute, distributing a few to Charlotte before starting.  

The chair locks various restraints around their legs, arms, thighs and chest. Various different locks and chains of varying weights tug them into place. Your voice is shaking, “Your goal is to exit the room that will be flooded with gas. I am unable to enter the room while this session is in progress by any means- even in the face of potential death. Good luck, agents.” 

A loud horn sounds, the boxes flooded with red light as the soul illuminate, your grip your hands into fists as Charlotte stands across from you looking down, face falling and covering her features as she watches Simons eyes go wide as he stares up into her own before twisting himself in the chains forcefully, shouting as they allow for minimal movement. John's hands were shaking, the gradual lack of oxygen was going to kick in another 25 minutes and no one had made much progress. Kyle had unlocked the most- his and Soap’s bombs training seemed to provide the upperhead- one of their hands unlocked as they raced to unlock the other. 

A click can be heard, Simon had forced his wrist from underneath a series of chains, you wince at the blood and bruising of his fingertips- his gloves seemingly cut open as blood floods his suits fabric. He fumbles for a piece of his belt as you smile encouragingly down at him, happy that he remembered the hidden set of tools found within the buckle and by the sounds of Johnny's sharp intake of breath- he remembered as well. Looking down at your watch once more, you jump, the glass banging as each one looks up at the sudden noise. 10 minutes remain, Charlotte now grips your hand in her own, watching as the timer counts down.

A loud crash is heard, John is now laying sideways, his chair tipped over as blood seeps from his temple. Skull smashes into a chain just as he manages to kick his shoes off, shimmying off the chains of his feet and loops them around the legs of his chair, grunting before emitting a powerful shout as he tries to force himself back upright. Chair rocking back and forth as your drum begins to sound. Kyle had managed to unlock the remaining chains around his waist as he now stands, one left around his ankle yet he remains unbothered- repeatedly throwing his chair against the glass above- his door unable to open. 

Your eyes become cloudy, imagining yourself in his situation when you were in training. Your breathing becomes shallow, your palms sweating, dropping your tools rust as it runs down from your forehead, mixing in with your eyes as they burn. You cannot hear over your blood as it becomes less of escaping the room but of your panic instants. The drumming becomes loudly as you rush away from the glass as it shatters, you stumble back as Charlotte manages to hold you upright. Throwing the chair into the corner, the siren sounds and gas begins to rise from the floors and up into the air of the concealed rooms. Multiple trainees from the rafters above have fled the scene, throwing up in worry or to try and sleep away their own injuries.

A chain can be heard rustling above the siren, flinging over the side of the enclosure as Kyle pulls himself upwards. As soon as both his knees touch the glass, you are rushing over- slipping a gas mask over his face before Charlotte and a few other scientists pull him away to the final trail. You soon pull your own mask from resting on your neck. 

Much to your surprise, Simon is next out, he rips his mask to above his nose, taking in deep breaths before choking as the gas floods the space - condensing. You help him to strap on the mask just as another assistant tears him away from your grasp, out watch as he turns around to look at you with a panicked gaze before the door slams closed behind them both. In three more minutes, the remaining men would collapse from the lack of oxygen… you looked up into the red lights above, closing your eyes in a prayer before hearing more locks falling to the concrete floors below as you walked off the glass and onto a side stage. Johnny flings himself onto the glass, he does not even feel as it cuts through his skin, body delirious from the gas as his body is carried into the hall. John had two more minutes… you began to count them down, gripping the railing before falling to your knees as tears strained down your cheeks, fogging up your mask. A beep on your watch warned of the gas limit even with your mask on as a group of scientists forcefully removed you from the room as your nails scratched at their arms, you yelled out pleas. Brain seemingly lost to the gas- forgetting all of the formal qualities you were trained to possess for these torturous trials.

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt @no-lessthan3

[and-claudia]

Against All Odds pt. 7 (Joel Miller x fem! reader)

SHE LIVES!!!!!! Hey guys sorry it's been awhile!! This semester is crazy!! I got a little time off and was finally able to work on some writing!! I am still getting back into the swing of it so I am so sorry if this isn't my best quality!!

Warnings: more angst, allusions to SA

General Warnings for later on: The main story will have an age gap between Joel and the reader (Reader will be 25 once we get to the main storyline), this will also be your warning that it will eventually be an x pregnant reader (if that's not your jam, I'm sorry) there is also going to be more graphic/trigger parts later on so please always to be sure to read the warnings BEFORE reading. This story will also be 18+ and TO BE ON THE TAGLIST YOU CAN NOT BE AN AGELESS BLOG (i do actually check that) also there first hand full of parts are all prologue so Joel won't actually be in it for a bit

word count: 4000+ (shorter again, I know but I wanted to do the whole ambush part and the suburbs part together in one part, so the next one should be longer, but it may not be out until closer to Christmas once the semester is over)

Taglist Sign-Up (read my rules carefully before filling it out)

gif not mine

After we had all gotten a chance to clean up, Joel decided to go out and see if he could get the truck started. Meanwhile, I went around the kitchen seeing if there was anything salvageable to bring with us. 

“Truck’s ready.” Joel said as he walked in. 

“Good, I found a few cans of food in here. I figured I could check the garage too before we left.” 

He nodded before turning around and walking back out. I turned to Ellie who was throwing her bag back on. 

“You ready?” I asked. 

“Yup. I’ll help you look in the garage when we get out there.” She said as we headed for the door. 

“Thanks.” 

We got to the truck and tossed our bags in before taking one last good look around. There wasn’t much out here in all honesty. I was ready to just get in the truck and leave when Ellie called me over. 

“Hey, I found some more cans over here!” She hollered causing Joel and I to walk over. 

“What‘cha got?” I asked. 

“I found a few things, they were all under that crusty shirt.” She said pointing to it. 

When I saw it, my eyes almost bulged out of my head. I knew where that shirt came from, and it belonged to the man standing beside me who had a similar expression on his face. 

“Ellie, go wash your hands, we’ll get the cans.” I said and she gave me a weird look, “Just go do it.” 

She shrugged and did as I said. 

“Huh, never really expected to see that again.” Joel said tossing the shirt aside. 

“Yeah, me neither… Do you think Bill or Frank ever found it?” I asked. 

He only shrugged and started grabbing the cans to put in the truck. So much for a conversation. 

When Ellie got back, we loaded up the truck with everything we were taking. Joel got into the driver's seat, and Ellie got in behind him. Out of instinct, I went to get in the backseat with Ellie. I had never actually ridden up front ever. I was still in a car seat when the outbreak happened and then anytime I rode in a vehicle after that, I was always in the back. 

“What are you doing?” Joel asked. 

“What?” 

“Get up front.” He nodded to the vacant seat beside him. 

I shut the door and went to get in the front seat, “This is weird.” I commented but to tell the truth, I was kinda excited to ride up front. 

“Both of you buckle up.” Joel said, as he started the truck. 

“What?” Ellie asked. 

“This thing.” I showed her mine that I had pulled down. 

She glanced around herself before Joel turned around in his seat and reached back to help her out. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, it was really such a dad thing to do, but I tried not to dwell on it too much knowing it would only make me sad. Subconsciously, my hand went to my stomach. 

“Is it safe?” I asked as he pulled out of the garage. 

“Hm?” 

“Riding in the front when you’re pregnant, is it safe?” I clarified. 

“You think I would tell you to if it wasn't?” He asked as we began to drive away from the house. 

I shrugged and reached up to open the glove compartment. I found a cassette tape in it. It was too faded to read what was written on the side. I shrugged and opened it anyway. 

“What are you doing?” Joel asked. 

“Road tunes.” I said as I put it in. 

An old song started playing that I vaguely recognized. I reached up to change it to see what else was on it, but Joel stopped me. 

“No leave it, leave it. This is good. This is Linda Ronstadt. Do you know who that is?” 

“I don’t.” Ellie said from the backseat. 

“I’ve heard of her… I think my mom used to listen to her… This song sounds a little familiar.” I said. 

We pulled up to the gate and Joel stopped. He took a deep breath before pressing the button to open it. The sun was low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow across Joel’s face. I rested my head against the window as we drove. As the song got to the chorus I heard the familiar words “And I think I'm gonna love you, For a long long time” I couldn’t help but think of Joel… and as I sat there, eyes closed, I allowed myself to pretend, even for just a moment that everything was normal… that Joel and I were together, the outbreak never happened, maybe even we were the same age, going home to tell my parents about the baby, his daughter-no our daughters- sitting in the backseat. It felt so right. It felt like a dream… too good to be true. 

Progress was slow. Once every hour or so, we were having to stop to siphon gas out of abandoned cars. During one of our stops, I was looking at the map trying to help refine our route. I traced my pinky over a route that would take us longer but would ultimately be safer. 

“Why don’t we follow that one? 84?” Ellie asked pointing to a different interstate. 

“Because 84 goes to Hartford, the QZ there is in shambles. We’re trying to avoid it, but not take forever… so I’m thinking… stay here on 90, avoid Connecticut all altogether… only issue is, it does take us further North… so it’s going to take us even longer…” I said, scanning the map for any alternatives. 

“Well, we’re already taking forever, stopping every hour.” Ellie said with a sigh as she sat back in her seat. 

“I know, but we have to.” I said with a similar sigh just as Joel opened the door. 

“We have to what?” He asked, starting the truck again. 

“Stop every hour for gas.” I said. 

“But why? I thought cars were supposed to be useful. This just seems like a major inconvenience.” 

“They were. 20 years ago. But gas breaks down over time… the stuff I’m siphoning out of these cars is practically just water now. So to keep the truck going, gotta make stops. But it beats walking there.” 

“I think found us a route to take. It takes us North a bit, but it’ll avoid Conetticet completely. I think it’s worth it if it means we avoid Hartford.” 

“Let me see.” 

I showed him and to my surprise, he agreed it was the best option. 

“We got maybe two hours left of daylight… I wanna get past Springfield at least.” He said. 

I nodded and soon we were on the road again. We had already cycled through the tape and were now riding in an awkward silence. I glanced behind me at Ellie to see what she was doing and found her reading a book. 

“Whatcha reading?” 

She held it up to show me, “‘No Pun Intended: Volume Too’ by Will Livingston,” She said with a smile, “Get it? Volume Too.” 

“Jesus.” I heard Joel sigh under his breath, hearing our conversation. 

“Is there some good stuff in there?” I asked. 

She nodded and then scanned the page she was on to find a worthy joke, “Oh here, it doesn’t matter how hard you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationary.” 

I smiled, it was cheesy but good. 

“What did the mermaid wear to her math class?... An Alge Bra!” She said, laughing a little at it. 

I laughed some too and glanced over at Joel, he was shaking his head slightly, clearly not amused by the jokes. 

“I stayed up all night wondering where the sun had gone-” Ellie began another joke.

I knew this one and decided to push Joel’s buttons, just a little. 

“But then it dawned on me!” I said with Ellie. 

“No way, you know that one?” Ellie said. 

Joel looked over at me still not amused, “You can ride in the back.” He said. 

“You’re such a stick in the mud, you know that?” I said to him.

Thankfully Ellie got the hint that that was enough jokes for now and closed her book in favor of looking at what we were driving past. Both sides of the roads were covered in cars that had been forced off the road. 

“Must have been some truck.” Ellie said. 

“Yeah, they used to stick big-ass plows on them, and clear the roads for their tanks and such.” Joel said, not even glancing away from the road in font of him. 

“I wanna see a tank!” Ellie said. 

“I don’t.” I commented, talks usually didn’t mean good news. 

“You will. Tanks, choppers, all that stuff. But they’ll fight the wrong enemies. Just scattered around now.” He said, clearly bringing a heavier tone to our conversation than Ellie was wanting because she quickly changed the topic. 

“Oh yeah, I found this…” She said leaning forward and holding a new cassette tape in her hand, “This make you feel all nostalgic?” 

Joel glanced at it, “This is actually before my time.” 

“Great, even older, old music.” She said, sitting back.

“It’s a winner though.” Joel said, putting it in. 

“Found something else too.” Ellie said, pulling out a magazine from under the seat. 

She opened it and scanned the pages, “It’s light on the reading but it has some interesting pictures.” 

At that Joel and I both looked back to see what she had found. 

“No, no, no. Put that back.” Joel said immediately, meanwhile, I was just trying not to laugh.

During the whole exchange, I was just trying not to laugh, but then I was sent over the edge when I heard Ellie say, “Why are all these pages stuck together?” 

I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I started laughing so hard it was difficult to breathe. What made it even better was Joel trying to come up with a response. He stumbled over his words and couldn’t get an answer to form. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” Ellie said, before scooting over to the window and tossing it out. 

I was in tears by this point. 

“Dude, chill, you’re gonna piss yourself.” Ellie said. 

“I’m trying not to.” I said, whipping the tears from my eyes. 

After that, the drive died down. Every so often we would comment on what we saw. We passed some wild buffalo that had roamed more and more since the outbreak. We passed an old amusement park. You could see the old rollercoasters still standing tall. I had always wanted to ride one, but never got to. Joel told us about a few that he had been on when he and his brother went to Six Flags Fiesta Texas, a couple of my brothers had been there before too, I was just too little to go with them. Later on we saw the tanks that Joel promised. And just like the hundreds of cars we had passed, they were left abandoned on the side of the road. 

I was grateful when Joel announced that we had done enough driving for the day and pulled the truck off the main road, across a field, and into the tree line to keep us hidden. I got out and stretched. Sitting all day had made my knees stiff. 

“I’m gonna make us some food.” Joel said and I nodded. 

“I’m going to go find a place to pee.” I said, walking the other way. 

When I got back I could smell the food and it made my stomach rumble. 

“What is that?” I asked, walking over to stand by Joel. 

“20-year-old Chef Boyardee ravioli.” He said. 

“Could’ve left out the ‘20-year-old’ part.” I said, taking a seat. 

“You can raid what we have, it’s slim pickings though, but I guess if the smell or something is already making you feel sick.” He said. 

“Oh, no, I feel fine. It smells really good actually.” I said, happy that I didn’t feel like I was going to puke anytime soon. 

“Good. Here.” He said scooping some out and handing it to me, “Ellie, come eat.” He called the young girl over. 

Ellie took her portion and sat down with it then immediately dug in. 

“Slow down some.” Joel said. 

“This is good stuff, what is it?” She asked between bites. 

“Chef Boyardee.” 

“That guy was good.” She said, shoving another bite into her mouth. 

“I actually agree.” 

“Me too.” I nodded, taking a bite of my own. 

“So… how long we staying out here?” Ellie asked. 

“I figured I sleep tonight and drive tomorrow, all day, all night, get us to Wyoming by next mornin’.” Joel said. 

It wasn’t a bad plan, I just didn’t know if he’d be able to stay up that long without dosing off. Ellie must have thought the same thing. 

“Why doesn’t Yn take a shift driving? I feel like that’s a lot of driving for just one person.” She said. 

“I don’t know how to… well, I know the logistics of it, but I’ve never actually done it before. And don’t think right now is the time for driving lessons.” I said. 

She nodded before firing off another question, “Can we start a fire? I’m freezing.” 

I already knew the answer but Joel beat me to it, “Now why am I going to tell you no?” 

“Because infected will see the smoke.” She said with a sigh. 

“Fungus ain’t that smart.” He shot back. 

“We’re too remote now for infected.” I chimed in. 

“Okay, so people?” She asked and we nodded, “So what are they gonna do? Rob us?” 

“Oh, they’ll have way more in mind than that.” Joel said. 

Ellie nodded, understanding what he meant. A young girl, a woman in her 20s, and an older man wouldn’t be much of a fight against raiders, and if a big enough group got to us and overwhelmed us, they could easily have their way with any of us. It was a scary thought, but it was just the reality of what could happen. 

Conversation died off after that and we finished our meal in quietness. Then after that, we got ready to settle down for the night. We each grabbed a sleeping bag and brought them over to the lantern to set up. 

“Actually smells pretty good.” Ellie commented as she laid her’s out. 

“That would be Frank’s then.” Joel said. 

“That would mean you have Bill’s.” I said, popping the tag off of mine. I had found an unused one in one of Bill’s supply stashes. 

I hesitated as I thought about where to lay mine out. Yes Joel and I had a few moments today where we seemed like our old selves before we knew about the baby, but I wasn’t 100% sure where we were overall and I didn’t want to test my luck. So, I opted not to lay mine right next to his. We all got settled in and Ellie turned off the light. 

I was just about asleep when I heard Ellie call out for Joel. 

“Joel? Can I ask you a serious question?” She said. 

I was worried that something was wrong. 

“Yeah.” 

She took a deep breath and sighed, “Why did the scarecrow get an award?” She asked. 

There was a few beats of silence before Joel spoke up, “Because he was outstanding in his field.” 

I could see him fighting a smile. 

“You dick!” Ellie said with a laugh, “Did you read this?” 

“No.” Joel said, suppressing a laugh as he rolled over to but his back to us, “Now go to sleep. Both of you.” 

It was quiet for a few moments before Ellie spoke once again, “Those people you said… there’s no way anyone knows we’re here, right? No one’s going to find us.” 

“No one’s gonna find us.” Joel confirmed. 

“Okay.” Ellie said quietly. 

I fell sleep soon after that but was woken up only a few hours later. It was still dark out. I rolled over and saw Joel’s sleeping bag was empty. I glanced around and found him standing watch. I quietly got up and walked over to him, making sure not to startle him. 

“You should be asleep.” He said. 

“So should you.” I commented. 

He was silent for a moment, “I couldn’t… just paranoid, I guess.” 

I nodded. In the short time she’s been with us, I could tell the effect it had on Joel. I knew about Sarah. And I could tell that having Ellie around was bringing that all back to him. 

“Hey, we’ll be okay. Alright?” I said gently as I hugged onto his arm and laid my head on his shoulder. 

I could feel the way he relaxed some and let a sigh. After a few minutes of standing there with him a yawn escaped my lips. 

“You should go back to bed. I’m gonna stay up. Just in case. We’ll stop again tomorrow night and just get to Wyoming the next day.” He said. 

“Okay.” I let go of his arm only for him to catch me by the wrist gently. 

“I love you, you know that right?” He asked. 

I nodded, “I love you too, Joel.” I said quietly. 

And I meant it. Despite the shit show we’ve been through the past few days, I did still love him. I knew we would figure this all out eventually. It would take time, but we’d get there, together. I went back to my sleeping bag and slid back into it. When I woke back up the next morning, Joel was already heating up coffee on the camping stove. Ellie was just waking up as well. About 30 minutes later, we were loaded back up and on the road again. 

Joel had poured the coffee into thermos to drink on the road. In the past, I would’ve happily shared it with him. But now the smell was revolting almost. Ellie seemed to agree. 

“Is that seriously what the Starbucks in the QZ used to sell?” She asked, clearly disgusted. 

“Well, theirs was a lot fresher than what Bill saved up, but yeah, this what they sold.” Joel said. 

“Smells like burnt shit.” Ellie said. 

“Yeah, it’s gross.” 

“You love coffee.” Joel said. 

I shook my head, “Not anymore.” 

“Alright, eyes on the map, where am I heading?” 

“Keep headin' south until we hit 78, that will get us to 76, then from there we’ll get to 70 west which we will stay on for pretty much ever.” I said. 

Joel nodded.

“Where in Wyoming did you say your brother was?” Ellie asked. 

“Last contact came through a radio tower close to Cody.” Joel said. 

I scanned the map to find it and once I did I held it up to show her. 

“Wow that is deep in there… And what if he’s not there?” She asked. 

“Then odds are he’ll be near a settlement, probably close to another city out there. Ain’t too many of ‘em in Wyoming.” 

She nodded and I thought, more so hoped, that would be the end of her questions. I knew this was a touchy subject for Joel and I really didn’t want to upset him. 

“What’s his name?” She asked. 

“Who’s name?” 

“Your brother.” 

“Tommy.” He said. 

“Younger or older?” She fired off another question at him. 

“Younger.” “Why isn’t he with you?” 

I watched Joel for his reaction to this question. 

“Long story.” 

“Is it longer than 25 hours? ‘Cause I think that’s what we got.” She asked. 

I could tell Joel was considering his options of telling her or not. To my surprise, he began telling her about how he was a “joiner.” He told her that he enlisted in the Army right out of high school. Then after the outbreak, Tommy was the one who convinced Joel to join a group that was heading to Boston. He told her how Tommy met Marleen and how she convinced him to join the Fireflies. But last he heard he had quit that too and he was alone and that is why Joel was heading out there, to go get him. 

“If you don’t think there’s hope in the world, why bother going on?” Ellie asked. 

Joel glanced over at me for the briefest second before answering, “You haven’t seen the world, so you don’t know.” 

“You keep going for family. That’s about it.” He added. 

“I’m not family.” Ellie pointed out. 

“No, you’re cargo. And I made a promise to Tess. And she was like family.” 

I could tell the conversion was making him shut down. 

“What if you don’t find him?” Ellie asked. 

It was a legitimate question. One that I was too scared to ever dare ask. 

“I will.” Joel said firmly. 

“How do you know?” 

“I’m persistent.” 

That shut the conversation right down. 

“Hey Ellie, we got up pretty early. You can take a nap back there if you want.” I said. 

“I’m not even tired.” She said. 

But sure enough after about 30 min of silence, she was out. 

“Are you okay?” I asked Joel. 

He sighed, “Yeah.” 

“You sure?” 

He only nodded. 

I decided to drop it, he had already shut down, and there was no point in making it worse. Instead, I opted to also get some rest. Later that day, Joel had changed his mind and continued driving through the night. 

I could never fall asleep very long. I ended up dosing off and on throughout the night. When I woke up again, the sun had risen and we were approaching a city. Ahead of us was an overpass tunnel and from the looks of it, it was blocked. 

“Where are we?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. 

“Kansas City. Wait here.” Joel said, turning off the truck and going to get out but I stopped him. 

“Joel, we are way too close to the city for you to go out there alone.” I said, worried about Infected or even other people attacking him. 

“I’ll be fine.” He said and got out, then he grabbed the rifle from the back seat. 

I watched anxiously as he got closer to the tunnel. There could be anything in there. After a couple minutes of looking, he began making his way back. I didn’t take my eyes off him until he was back in the car. 

“Now what?” I asked. 

He grabbed the map to look for an alternate route.

“Screw it.” He said tossing me the map. 

“What’s the plan?” I asked. 

“We go back a ways, get off the highway, come back down, take the next ramp. Puts us back on the road, 5 minutes tops.” He said. 

I sat quietly as he drove but I began to grow wary as we got deeper and deeper into the city. 

“Where the fuck is the highway?” He asked. 

“I’m trying Joel!” I said looking between the map and the signs we were passing. They were all so faded it was nearly impossible to figure out where we were and him yelling at me wasn’t helping. 

“Quit looking at the state map!” 

“Joel, I am trying my fucking best! Quit yelling at me, I’m already freaked out as it is being this far into the goddamn city!” I shot back. 

“Well we wouldn’t be if you could just give me directions!” 

“I thought you had a fucking plan? 5 minutes tops, remember?!” I shot back. 

Suddenly Ellie yelled from the back seat, “Stop!” 

We did and turned to see what was wrong.

“Is that the QZ? Where the fuck is FEDRA?” She asked. 

Sure enough to our left was the entrance to the QZ with its gates wide open. 

“We need to get the fuck out of here.” I said. 

“Hey! Please help!” We all turned to the front to see an injured man stumbling towards us. 

“Both of you seatbelts, now.” Joel said, putting his own on too. 

“Aren’t we gonna help him?” Ellie asked, clearly confused. 

“No.” Joel and I both said. 

Joel turned the car to try and get away from him. I was scanning the area for anyone else, knowing it was a trap. 

“Joel!” Was all I was able to yell as I saw a guy throw a cinder block from a fire escape. 

It hit our windshield and shattered it. Joel kept driving. We ran over something and I could feel the car drop as it popped the tires. Then another man stepped out in front of us and began shooting. Joel swerved the truck to the left. I only caught a glimpse of the glass window before we went straight through it. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the impact I knew was coming. 

taglist: (if you filled out a form and aren't on this list that means either a) your blog is not coming up in the searches so I am unable to confirm that you are 18+, or b) you did not follow my rules for being tagged in this fic)

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[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

Hi😊 i hope you're having a nice day!

Could i request a Larissa/21-22 Student reader(young teacher if you're not comfortable writing it with a student)fic with prompts 1 and 50 please? (Smut)

R have a big crush on Larissa. One night, she was walking past Larissa's room when she heard moans, she couln'd believe what she was hearing, she stopped and decided to take a peace of paper and write #50 on it with a 💋 with her lipstic (yea she's dumb like that), not writing her name and slip it under Larissa's door and ran back to her dorm. Larissa had no idea who could've wrote that and she was very embarassed that someone heard her..yk... The next day when Larissa walked past R in the hallway, she thought she saw a weird look in R's face and then she saw the lipstic, that lipstic, and it just clicked in her head. She always thought R was a bit of a tease with her but she never thought anything about it, but now.. Larissa decided to go to R's dorm, not knowing what she would do when she'll reach it. And what she heard throught that door, she thought that maybe she could pay R back for what R has done to her.😉 She openned the door slowly so R won't hear her and closed the door behind her, then she wispered #1. And then it would end up full of smuth, you can add as many kink as you want, even toys if you like, please?😊 (was this request too specific? I hope not😕)

Thank you if you decide to write it, i really love your fics and i really wanted to ask one too! And thank you even if you don't, for reading this!💋

A way too shy anon😅

i took some liberties with your request, i hope you don't mind! i made reader a 27yo phd student and it's a non-magical au! also..... i know i was probably expected to write a short, smutty thing, but before i knew it had a plot and it was 4000+ words whoopsie please don't hesitate to leave a comment on ao3, it makes my heart sing! <3

without further ado, enjoy some larissa x reader smut :) tags: car sex, mommy kink and idk how to tag adkjfshgd

You walk through the dark, empty corridor that leads to Professor Weems’ office. Most people have retired for the evening — it’s late, way too late for an official meeting, but given that lately you’ve been getting rather friendly, you hope she will excuse the informality. You know you will probably find her there, as she often works long into the night — and you really need her help with this chapter. The deadline for your PhD is rapidly approaching and you are still nowhere near done. 

She truly is a great mentor — always happy to meet with you and answer any questions you have, ready to spend hours going through your work and analysing materials you brought her. You somehow always end up spending a lot of time together — more often than not ending up in deep and heated discussions about various subjects (that sometimes relate to your work, and sometimes don’t) after you’ve finished discussing your thesis. You feel like you could talk to her the entire day without getting tired — she is remarkably intelligent, knowledgable on many subjects — her taste in art exquisite, and her takes are often unique. She always leaves you with several book recommendations (“Read this, darling, I am very curious what you will think about it,” she usually says and writes down a title or two, “read it when you find the time for it, of course — you have a thesis to write,” she winks — you somehow always find the time, sometimes sacrificing those few precious hours of sleep). 

Larissa Weems is also very, very attractive. She is an unusual looking woman — very tall, imposing, with platinum blonde hair and a peculiar fashion sense — she dresses like a movie star from the 1940s — but she is ridiculously charismatic, expressive, charming. Her laugh is contagious, her eyes bright and sparkling — you can’t be blamed for being absolutely enamoured with her.

You thought about asking her out once you get your PhD— age difference be damned. You are a 27 year old woman — you are free to do as you please. It’s just that, well — she is your mentor,  at least for now, and even if she wasn’t, she is just way out of your league. You don’t even know if she likes women, (probably not, knowing your luck) — and if she does, there is no way she would like you (even if you did have a very interesting discussion about sapphic undertones in The Marriage of Figaro — that scene between Susanna, Countess Rosina and Cherubino is rather… sexually charged — she seemed to share your opinion).

Lately, you feel your relationship has reached a deeper level — your meetings would almost always end in a nearby bar, where you’d relax with a glass of wine and continue your conversation late into the evening. Last time, she got slightly tipsy and became rather touchy-feely (she seems to be one of those people who are get very affectionate when drunk)— putting a hand on your shoulder, brushing against your leg under the table (then immediately apologising and pulling away), and when you got back to campus, she hugged you before parting ways. You can still recall very vividly how warm and soft she was and how she smelled faintly of sweet perfume and red wine. Since then you can’t stop imagining her touch — in very inappropriate ways. You try your hardest not to get too invested, though — she is your mentor, first and foremost. 

For all those reasons, you conclude she won’t be terribly upset at you if you barge into her office at this late hour. Worst case scenario, she tells you she’s too busy right now. 

You are just about to knock on her office door when something stops you dead in your tracks — a sound.

A moan.

You stand in front of the door. You hear nothing for a couple of seconds and almost knock again, certain you’ve imagined it (because why would anyone be moaning here at this hour?), but then you hear it once more.

It’s coming from her office. Is she with someone (your heart sinks at the thought, and you immediately scoff at yourself — as if you ever had a chance)? 

You know the appropriate thing would be to leave immediately, but something keeps you there, standing in front of the door, listening. 

The moans continue, and there is no doubt about it — that is her moaning, and there is no one else with her. It’s very clear what she is doing.

You should leave, but you stand there, frozen, listening. You don’t really want to go. 

Her moans sound heavenly — they send delicious jolts straight to your core. You can’t help but wish you were the one making her moan. 

Later, when you get back to your room, you don’t know what possessed you to do what you did. Might have been sleep deprivation, caffeine overdose, or lack of proper meals from days of working on your thesis non-stop, might be that she is the most attractive woman you have ever had the pleasure of knowing and her moans were just too much for your tired brain to handle — but you take a piece of paper out of your notebook and write a very inappropriate thing on it.

I thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong — it's your moans.

You stare at the note for a couple of seconds. The moans coming from her office are getting louder — she must be getting close to… 

…your brain short-circuits at the thought.

Without thinking, you place a kiss on the piece of paper, leaving a coral-coloured lip-print on it. 

Inside her office, Professor Weems keens. 

You slip the paper underneath her door and run back to your room. 

You continue working through the night, falling asleep on your desk around 5am. You wake up at 8, and by then the whole episode feels like it might have been a fever dream.

You still need her help with the chapter, however, so you send her en email asking if she could squeeze you into her schedule today. You get an answer almost immediately.

I am terribly busy today, but I could see you during lunch break. We could eat out together and go over the chapter, if you’d like. Please send it to me beforehand so I can read through it and make notes! :-) 

Sent from my iPhone

(You find her boomer smileys very endearing.)

You try your best not to think about last night’s events. You are lucky she can’t recognise your handwriting, given that you always write everything on your laptop. 

You steal an hour of sleep, take a shower and put on some lipstick and mascara before leaving to meet her at cafeteria for lunch. If you’re lucky, you will succeed at pretending last night never happened.

You are not lucky.

You can’t stop staring at her mouth as she talks, as she chews her lunch, imagining all types of lewd sounds coming from it. It’s downright erotic, the way her lips move — no one should look that sexy chewing food.

“Darling? Are you with me?” she asks, making you snap out of your inappropriate daydream.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just a bit spacey today,” you answer, embarrassed, wondering if she caught onto your staring.

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the last couple of days, darling?”

“Uhm… in the last three days, I think I got about ten hours combined.”

“You really should take better care of yourself.”

“I know, but there’s just so much work to be done,” you sigh. “Is it supposed to be this hard to get your PhD?”

Professor Weems chuckles (the loveliest sound). “I’m sorry to inform you that it is — at least if you want to do it properly.”

“How was it for you? When you were getting your PhD, I mean? It’s hard for me to imagine you going around disheveled and sleep deprived. You always look so put together.”

“Ah, darling, it’s one of the perks of reaching a certain age — you can finally afford some of life’s little luxuries, such as sleeping six to eight hours a nigh. However, I absolutely did go around disheveled and sleep deprived. I was living off of caffeine and salted crackers — I was a rather pitiful sight. I’m glad I did it, but I’d never go back.”

“So you’re telling me life is easy in your forties?” you tease.

“I said easier, not easy. I do still get terribly stressed about things. I was rather stressed yesterday, as a matter of fact. I have so many things to do today, and I will be working late again.”

“And what do you do to relieve the stress?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You know very well what she did yesterday to relieve the stress.

“Oh, this and that. Usually I watch something that takes my mind off work.”

(“Porn?” you think.)

“I think we should get going though, darling — lunch break is almost over. Let me just fix my makeup,” she says and pulls her signature red lipstick and a compact mirror out of her bag. She fixes the edges of her lipstick expertly.

“Do you need to fix your lipstick, darling?” she asks, handling you the mirror.

“Oh, I might, actually. Thanks.”

Only when you’re done fixing your makeup and you hand the mirror back to her do you realise she has just watched you put on the same lipstick you used to leave a lip-print on that wildly inappropriate note you slipped under her door. 

You look at her, your stomach twisting with anxiety, searching for any sign of recognition on her face.

Her face is unreadable, but you wonder if she holds eye contact with you a little longer and a little more intensely than usual. You might just be imagining things, though — you are terribly sleep deprived.

“Thank you, darling,” she says, giving you a bright smile. “Shall we?”

The cafeteria door is a bit narrow, so you step back to let her pass first, but she puts a hand on your waist and gently pushes you past her. Your shoulder brushes against her as you do so. Being this close to her makes your heart beat faster and your limbs turn to jelly.

You look up at her (she is so tall). She’s smiling at you. It’s a bright, toothy smile that makes your insides melt and your brain become mush. 

“I will be working late tonight, so if you need any help you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

“I can spare an hour for my favourite PhD student.”

“Your only PhD student.”

“You should just accept the compliment, darling.” She squeezes your shoulder and winks. “Good luck with your research. Try to squeeze in an afternoon nap. Ta-ta!”

She turns around and walks in the direction of her office, leaving you standing in front of the cafeteria like an idiot. As she walks away, you stare at way her hips move in the tight skirt pencil skirt she’s wearing. After a couple of seconds, you realise your mouth is open, so you quickly close it before anyone notices you are behaving like a horny teenager. 

You slowly drag yourself to your room. As you sit down and start going through the notes she gave you during lunch, your thoughts keep drifting to her ass in that pencil skirt. You sigh.

This is going to be a long day.

By the time evening comes, you are nowhere near finished with the chapter that was giving you grief yesterday. You know what needs to be done and you have finally found the right source to support your argument, but you have a hard time concentrating, and that makes you work in an excruciatingly slow manner. Your thoughts are scattered and you keep thinking about the deadline that looms over your head. Stress and sleep deprivation are truly starting getting to you (it also doesn’t help that your thoughts keeps drifting to Professor Weems and her tight pencil skirt). You wonder if you should take a quick power nap, but you are so caffeinated and anxious you doubt you could sleep if you tried, despite being exhausted, so you continue to push through.

It’s around 9pm that you hear a knock on your door. Before you can react in any way, the door opens and Professor Weems is standing in your room.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, darling. I just wanted to check how you’re doing before I retire for the evening.”

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I am nowhere near done with this chapter. I know what I need to do, it’s just that it’s going so painfully slowly.” You bury your head into your hands and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry I’m being so whiny about this. I am just so stressed.”

Professor Weems approaches your desk and sits on it. Her thigh is just next to your head. You look up at her.

“Darling, you are working yourself too hard. I would tell you if I thought you are terribly behind with your research, but I honestly think you’ll make it. Don’t forget, I have to sign my name on your work — I would never lie to you about your progress to make you feel better — so trust me when I say you should let this go for tonight and come back to it when you’re less sleep-deprived.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come on, I am taking you out for a glass of wine. You should relax. It’s painful to watch you like this.”

You would never decline a glass of wine with Professor Weems, so before you know it you are sitting in that bar near campus having a glass of red wine (that turns into two and then into three glasses). The alcohol is getting to you, since you haven’t eaten that much today — you feel warm and fuzzy and slightly drunk.

Professor Weems seems to be getting tipsy as well, because she is getting very touchy with you again. She laughs at your stupid jokes (her laughter is one of your favourite things about her — loud and unabashed and melodious) and touches your shoulder often, sometimes letting her hand linger way longer than necessary. At some point in the evening her leg touches your own underneath the table.

She doesn’t move it, nor does she apologise. 

“You were right, Professor Weems, I did need this,” you say. “I’ve been feeling really out of it for the last couple of days.”

“Oh, I told you already, call me Larissa, darling. Professor Weems is so formal.”

“Are you big on formalities, Larissa?” you ask. You decide to try and push your luck — your confidence is not that high, but you are not an idiot. You are pretty certain she is flirting with you, unless you are completely delusional because of sleep deprivation. 

“Usually yes, but as you’ve probably already concluded by my taste in literature, I do think life would be terribly boring without letting the irrational, passionate streak in us win sometimes. As is the case in many literary classics — the plot simply couldn’t move forward without one of the characters disregarding propriety and doing something reckless and passionate.”

“I agree. I often wish I had the courage to do something like that in real life — my life would be so much more interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling. I do think you have what it takes.” She gives you a big, bright smile. “Oh, wait a second, darling, your lipstick is smudged. Here, let me.”

She leans forward and takes your chin in her hand, then brushes along the corner of your lip with her thumb. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body hot with desire.

“That’s a lovely colour, darling. Coral suits you very well.”

She knows. She must know. 

She leans back into her seat. You decide to be bold.

“You know, I am still feeling a little bit tense. You said you like to watch something to relax — but I prefer more physical ways of relaxation. Do you have anything to recommend in that area?”

“Do give me an example, darling, what do you do to relax that’s physical?”

“Oh, I’m afraid what I do wouldn’t be appropriate to engage in at my workplace.”

There is a definite red tinge to Larissa’s cheeks.

“What’s life without a little excitement?”

“Very boring, I suppose.”

For a couple of seconds, there is silence. You are looking at each other, both of your cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol. The tension in the air is thick and heavy.

The next thing she says takes you by surprise. You didn’t expect her to be that forward.

“Tell me, darling, did it turn you on when you heard me yesterday?”

“I—” you open and close your mouth like a fish. You can’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth — to hear her say something like that is something straight out of a wet dream, something that would only happen in your wildest fantasies. 

“I usually do it to relax — it’s a purely physical thing, but lately I have found myself thinking about you,” she continues. “Tell me, do you think of mewhen you touch yourself?”

You look her straight in the eye. “Yes, I do.”

You look at each other for a moment. Desire lingers in the air. She is first to break the silence. 

“Before this escalates any further, I want you to know that the last thing I’d want is to put you in a difficult situation or make you feel like you are obligated to do something. If you don’t want this, just say the word and we shall never mention it again.” 

She pauses. She seems nervous — you’ve never seen her nervous before.

“And please know that whatever you decide, it will not affect your thesis in any way. I would hate for you to be under the impression that this is transactional. I am genuinely interested in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, but I am ready to put that aside and prioritise our professional relationship if that is what you want.”

Your heart breaks as you decide to do the right thing.

“Maybe we should wait until I finish my thesis, and then… continue with this,” you say. “As much as I’d like to, it really wouldn’t be professional of us.”

“Of course. That would probably be best.”

She moves her leg under the table so that it’s no longer touching yours —- you can’t help but feel disappointed. There is a moment of awkward silence. She clears her throat. “We should probably go then, not let this escalate any further.”

“Yes,” you agree. “Let’s go.”

The walk to campus is silent and awkward. 

“It’s rather late,” you say. “I do hope buses still drive. The night lines are scarce in this part of town.”

“Oh, I can drive you home, if you want,” she says quickly. “I didn’t offer because I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I mean, if you want to. We will have to spend time a lot of time together until I finish my thesis, we might as well practice not being awkward around each other. Not that I wasn’t awkward before,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood. “You always made me nervous.”

She chuckles and the air seems less heavy. “I didn’t know I was so scary.”

“You’re not,” you say, but you don’t elaborate further (what you want to say is you look like a movie star, you are intelligent and absolutely brilliant and I am nervous because I have a huge crush on you — but that would be inappropriate given the circumstances).

The drive to your apartment is silent. The tension that built in the bar didn’t dissipate into thin air when you decided not to act on it — instead it intensified — it lingers around, hot and heavy, clouding your judgement, making you sweat even though it’s a chilly night.

She parks in a free spot just in front of your apartment building.

“I’m sorry, I acted very unprofessionally,” she starts. “As your mentor, I should have ignored your advances, but instead I flirted with you and encouraged you.”

Her red lips move in the most delicious way as she speaks, and you find yourself staring again. You remember the sound of her moans. It’s difficult to think about anything else.

“I feel terribly ashamed. I promise I will maintain a strictly professional demeanour from now o—”

You pull her into a bruising kiss. She squeaks (you find that adorable).

Pushing you away, she tries to be reasonable. “We shouldn’t,” she says.

“What’s life without a little excitement? What a novel without the protagonist disregarding propriety and pushing the plot forward?”

“I—”

“Please, Larissa, I believe you when you say my thesis won’t be affected. We are both adults. We want this. Tell me, do you want me?”

She looks at you. Desire dances in her eyes.

“Yes.”

That is all you need. 

You kiss her again, then climb over to her seat, somehow managing to straddle her lap. She abruptly pushes the car seat backwards to give you more room — you gasp in surprise and she swallows your gasp with a hungry kiss.

The way she kisses you is passionate, ravenous, desperate. You grind against each other, your hands are everywhere, and her skirt is already bunched up around her hips (the sight of her soft, white thighs in garters drives you crazy). It’s hot, it’s dirty, and it’s not something you thought a put together woman like herself would ever be caught dead doing.

“I never imagined you’d enjoy a dirty car fuck, Larissa,” you whisper into her ear as she kisses your neck. She bites it and you gasp. 

“And I never imagined you’d be such a naughty slut, grinding your pussy against my thigh, but here we are.” 

She makes even something that cheap and filthy sound delicious. It shouldn’t turn you on so much, but it does.

“Say that again,” you breathe out, continuing to grind against her thigh.

“You like it when mommy calls you a dirty slut, hm?” 

She grabs your hair with one hand and slides the other one down into your trousers, feeling your drenched underwear. 

“Mmm, fuck,” is the only thing you can say.

“So wet and needy for me already, darling?” she coos at you. “Tell me, did you imagine me doing this to you as you touch yourself, hm? Fucking you with my fingers, fast and hard, like a common whore?”

She slides her hand inside your underwear and pushes a finger into you, then, when she feels how wet you are, two. You whimper. She curls them and you cry out. “Say I’m mommy’s little whore. I want to hear it.”

“I— I’m mommy’s little whore, fuck—”

She starts fucking you, fast and hard, and there are no coherent thoughts left in your mind. She is grunting and groaning with you — it make you delirious with desire. You want to make her moan like she did last night.

You somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to bury your own hand between her soft thighs and feel her wetness. She moans as you circle her clit and her fingers lose their rhythm for a second, which allows you to put together a coherent sentence.

“Like that, mommy?” you breathe out. “Did you imagine this when you touched yourself yesterday?”

“Yes,” she whines, “please, don’t stop.”

You have no intention of stopping. You continue to circle her clit even as she starts to fuck you harder. Her moans are obscene and loud and for a second you remember that any passerby could see you, and probably hear you, but you don’t care. If anything, that turns you on even more.

What sends you over the edge is her orgasm. Her body tenses up, her moans become hoarser and strangled, and a combination of swearwords and moans mixed with your name leave her lips as she tips over the edge of ecstasy. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever witnessed. She tries to fuck you through her own orgasm, but she doesn’t manage to keep the relentless, steady pace she had set before. It doesn’t matter — you grind on her hand and cry out as you ride out intense waves of pleasure that make your limbs tingle.

She gently pulls her fingers out of you. You stay still for a while, wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, your faces buried in each other’s necks. 

“Fuck, that was hot,” you say after a while.

She nods against your shoulder. “It was.”

“Wanna do that again sometime… mommy?” you pull away, looking at her with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“If you call me that any time we aren’t fucking, I will end you.”

You laugh, and after a second she laughs as well. 

She is so pretty when she smiles — you love how those little lines around her eyes become more prominent.

“I should probably go, though. We are in the middle of the street and it’s like, 3am,” you say.

“Yes, you probably should.”

Before you go exit the car, you kiss goodnight. It’s the sweet and soft — it makes your heart flutter.

“Good night, darling,” she whispers as you get out of the car.

“Good night, Larissa,” you whisper as you watch her drive away.

As you brush your teeth, take a quick shower and get cozy in your bed, the only thing you can think about is Larissa. When you fall asleep, you dream of her sweet kisses. 

When you wake up in the morning, you feel well-rested for the first time in weeks.

[handsome-john]

Color in Your Cheeks

Hi, this is some writing I didn't feel like putting up on my ao3 because it's for all intents and purposes its OC work. (I mean both of these characters are named on the SCP wiki for one line each, and then I abstracted a bunch of stuff about them from canon adjacent material)

Uh, this is about 4000 words, under the cut.

_

About two hours ago Alicja’s radio stopped picking up any signals, only getting a few staticky hisses when she felt like fiddling with the dials. One hour ago the road went from concrete to dirt, and to a few barely defined tracks in the dirt. On all sides she's surrounded by dense trees and underbrush. Were she a touch more sensible, she'd be concerned putting herself so far from where anyone could reach her.

Rocks and sticks grind under her tires, sending her on a very bumpy ride. She may already be at her destination if she didn't fear exceeding ten miles per hour. She’s always been cautious about reckless driving ever since she lost her brother. If just to have something to fill the silence, she flips on her recorder to get some of her thoughts down.

“I am Alicja Kondraki, and this is week fourteen, I believe, of my road trip across the country.” She pauses to readjust the map she has laid out in the passenger’s seat. “Hopefully I'll be reaching my destination soon. I've heard tell that this place is haunted by some sort of creature. That's cool! I love hearing about local creatures.”

Finally, she spots her first sign of people. She passes a few rickety houses, with people lounging on their porches or inside. And just like that, the forest folds open to reveal a whole town tucked inside. A small podunk community she finds herself eager to explore.

Her car comes to a halt off the side of the road, it'll be easier to make her way around on foot anyway. In her bag she double checks she has all of her important items. A water bottle, a notepad, her recorder, and of course a pocket knife and bottle of mace. Not that she expects anything from what she's sure are lovely folks, but she's been doing this job long enough to plan ahead.

Slinging her bag around her shoulders and making sure to hang her camera around her neck, Alicja steps out. Her track boots dig into the dirt. It's hot out, around mid noon, the smell of wood smoke wafts through the air. She runs her fingers through her short hair and puts on her green flatback.

She feels eyes follow her. Another thing she expected. There's not a chance she'd pass as a local in these parts. Taking a moment to look herself over in her side view mirror. She wants to give herself a messier look, someone unprofessional, someone you'd feel comfortable walking up to and sharing your thoughts with.

There's a man sitting on a lawn chair outside of a grocery store. He's wearing sunglasses, but she can tell his eyes are on her. She approaches, from an angle so it doesn't look like she's walking straight towards him. 

“Hello!” She says. The lights buzz, a long low drone, and little bugs tap, tap, tap against the glass. He regards her with a neutral expression. “My name is Alicja Kondraki. I'm a reporter from out of town. You may have heard of me from the news or from my radio show.”

“We don't get the radio out here,” he says, voice thick. Alicja squints, sunlight reflecting right off the window into her eyes. 

“Well I heard rumors that you've had some local cryptid sightings! Made enough of a splash I heard about it from three towns over.” She laughs, hoping to come off as playful. His expression remains the same.

“This’d be the place, ‘ay,” he says with a curt nod.

“Would you care to give a statement for my report?” She pulls out a pen and pad.

All at once, he stiffens, sitting up straight with his teeth clenched. Instinctively, Alicja stiffens up too, ready to defend herself should it come to that. 

“Now don't go believin’ that I'm out here believin’ in that hoodoo monster bullshit,” The chair creaks as he leans in to snap at her. “And I ain't about to let you paint me a crackpot fool!” 

The store’s front door opens with a soft bell chime. Out steps an older woman with gray streaks in her hair holding a broom. She prods at the man with the bristles.

“Marion if you don’t shut yer damn trap imma hit you!” Her gaze lands on Alicja and softens. “Oh my! Now I don't think I know you!” 

“I’m from out of town,” Alicja says, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Well why don’t you come on in! I’ll get you some ice tea!” She holds the door open.

The mechanical buzzing is even louder inside of the store. Alicja would prefer to get out there and get a few different statements before she loses daylight, but she’s not one to deny an ice cold drink on a day like today. Marion huffs as the door closes behind her.

“Have a seat, sweetheart! I’ll be right with you!” the older woman, Henritte according to her name tag, disappears into a room labeled Employees Only. She returns moments later with a pitcher and two glasses of ice. 

“Thank you so much!” Nothing like southern hospitality to make a road trip worth it. 

“Now did I hear correctly that you were a reporter?”

“I am a reporter! I was hoping to do a report on your Blackwoods Beast as I’ve heard it called?”

Henritte clasps her hands together. “Oh this is so exciting! We call it that because it only shows up when the woods are pitch black,” she says in a low tone. “You know I had a run in with the beast once!”

“Is that so? Would you like to tell your story for my report?” Alicja asks, brandishing her recorder. 

“Would I?!” Henritte exclaims, perhaps a little too eagerly. Alicja clicks the record button. “It was the middle of the night, when I heard this rustling in the backyard. And there I see it! Hunched over my garbage! It looked at me with the biggest glowing eyes I’ve ever seen!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a bear?”

“No! It stood up right and walked like a man! Ran off when it saw me watching too!”

A vagrant then, Alicja thinks, but decides not to say. People tend to tell better stories when you don’t try to pick too many holes in them.

“Everyone in this town has seen the beast stalking our streets or in the woods! Yet no one’s had the guts yet to confront it directly, lest it eat them!”

Alicja nods. “Do you have any reports of people getting attacked or hurt by the beast?”

“Penny next door claims she got into a fight with it! Barely escaped with her life!”

This is how Alicja finds herself practically led by the arm to every person in town with even a vague recollection of the beast. A lot of excitable folks looking to find their name in the next issue of the paper, and a lot of stories that are most certainly made up on the spot. It’s about par for the course when it comes to projects like this. 

“I really appreciate how much you’ve shown me around today,” Alcija says, “but I’m looking for somewhere I can stay the night?”

“My dearest Ava will let you rent out a room for the night!” Replies Henritte, pointing towards an older looking two story house. “Let me introduce you!”

Henritte marches Alicja boldly into the old house. Past the threshold Alicja is immediately hit in the face by how cold it is in here, and by the sweet smell of tea and baked goods. In the back of her mind she recalls a horror story of a man who checks into a suspiciously cheap yet very nice hotel and is poisoned and taxidermied by the kind looking owner.

“Can I help you?” Alicja jumps, noticing now the older woman sitting in a rocking chair beside her. She opens her mouth, ready to rattle off her name, profession, why she’s here-

“This is my friend Kondraki! She’d like to rent a room for a few nights,” Henritte says, squeezing Alicja’s arm. 

“Just two nights actually, I can pay upfront.” 

“Go ahead and sign your name in the guestbook.” The old woman, Ava Alicja presumes, points to a gilded notebook sitting on a coffee table. Alicja, curious as she is, flips through the other pages for recognizable names before writing her own. “Twenty dollars for the two nights.”

“That’s really cheap for a place like this,” she says, pulling out a wrinkled twenty.

“Your room is on the third floor, bathroom is across the hall, try not to make too much noise,” Ava drones on, long and slow. 

“Alright, well thank you very much! I’ll try to be considerate.” Alicja makes her way upstairs, leaving the two women behind. She shrugs off her bag, makes of pile of her stuff in the corner of the bedroom, and lays down on the little bed pushed up in the corner. 

After gathering info from the locals, Alicja’s next step was, of course, finding this beast herself. She likes to consider herself a very prepared woman, she keeps a shotgun in the back of her truck as the ultimate just in case. Still, after getting some rest, she finds herself popping into the local hardware store for extra flashlight batteries and a box of shotgun shells, should it really come to that. 

“Don’t I know yer face from somewhere?” Asks the man behind the counter as Alicja sets down her items. Freddie, the smudge on his nametag reads. 

“I’m a reporter,” Alicja says. 

Freddie snaps his fingers. “I seen you in the papers! Y’know it’s the darndest thing, I grab my paper every morning but it dog gone disappears before I can read it!” 

Do you think the beast is stealing your papers? She wants to joke, but she has some restraint. “I hope you find where they are,” she says instead, taking and pocketing her stuff. “Have a nice night!”

“Now you stay safe out there!”

…

It’s exactly a quarter past midnight when Alicja steps out of her room and into the night. She waits until she’s outside to slip on her boots, so as to not make too much noise. She pulls her jacket tightly around herself to keep the chill away from her. 

When she first explained her plans to her boss, the biggest question she got was why. She, through her own wit and determination, made a name for herself in a line of work that didn’t favor women like her. Why does she care about these stories? Why waste the time on a risky venture? Why even bother when she was doing just fine where she was? Now, she wishes she could’ve explained that this is why she had to do this, had to put herself in places no one else would.

With a thunk, her trunk pops open and she draws out her shotgun. Last resort, she reminds herself as she gets the feel for it in her hands. 

“This is Alicja Kondraki,” she says into her recorder. “About to begin my field report. Should this recording be recovered and myself not, I request that this recorder and all my writings be sent back to my boss. The shipping address is-”

Something big crunches behind her. She jumps, finger slipping and ending her recording. A bit early in the night to get so jumpy…

With some tape, she fumbles from several minutes in the dark trying to tape her flashlight to her shotgun. It’s something she’s seen in her hunting TV shows and it seems useful to try tonight. Her flashlight adds too much weight to the end of her shotgun for her to hold it out comfortably, but she’s determined to stick with it. 

They weren’t kidding when they called this the Blackwoods, even with her flashlight it’s hard to see what’s in front of her with how thick the trees are. A cold wind blows through the trees, it sounds like a howl. The distinct smell of an animal den wafts through the hair, telling her to change direction. Alicja twists her ankle tripping over the thick tree roots and faceplants into the ground. She tugs her jacket tighter around herself and carries on.

There’s shoe prints in the mud, she almost didn’t notice them. She lifts up her own foot to double check that these tracks aren’t her own. Nope, the pattern is different, there’s another person here in the woods with her. She could follow where the footprints are going, but she decides instead to follow where they came from.

It’s a long walk. One of those many moments where she wishes she had her brother by her side in this. Alas, she’s been by herself for quite some time now. 

Without fanfare, a shack appears. There’s no way Alicja would have found this place by pure happenstance, she’s not even sure which direction she came from. She circles it a few times, noting how every window is boarded up and the sharp spikes buried in the ground around it. It’s completely pitch black, but in the quiet of the night Alicja can hear the buzz of a generator. 

She gets a few pictures, once again struggling with both the flashlight and the camera. She hops over the spikes and ascends the porch steps. There’s fresh dirt on the wooden steps. She presses her ear against the door, picking up a shuffling noise inside. Taking a deep breath, she knocks on the door. 

All noise stops. Alicja clears her throat. 

“Hello! Sorry to bother you at this hour! I’m a reporter from out of town!”

Nothing.

“My name is Alicja K-kondraki. I’d like to ask you a few questions?”

Nothing. Had she misheard? Was she shouting at an abandoned building? Should she-

“You should go away!” Comes a muffled voice from the other side. “Don’t come back here. Forget you ever found this place!”

“I want to ask some questions for the paper. I’m writing about strange occurrences in-”

“I don’t want to answer questions! Go away!”

Alicja takes a step back and digs through her backpack. She draws out one of her old published papers, being one of those people who keeps a record of everything she’s ever made. 

“I’m serious. Look, this is me.” She slides the paper under the doorway and waits. 

After a few moments she hears the telltale sound of several locks clicking. The door opens a crack, still held shut by a few chains, and Alicja can see a hint of reddish orange light inside and an eye. 

“Let me see your face,” says the stranger on the other end.

“Oh uh…” Alicja rips her flashlight off her gun, tossing the gun out of her reach so she won’t seem so threatening. She points the light at her face and tries to give a kind smile. 

The door slams in her face, followed by several more clicks as all the chains come undone. When the door opens a hand shoots out, gripping Alicja by her jacket collar and dragging her in. In thirty seconds, the shack’s resident redoes every lock. 

The shack itself is reminiscent of those homes Alicja sees in Hoarders. There’s barely any visible floor among all the newspapers and garbage. It’s surprisingly warm in here, the room is illuminated by a single lamp. Hanging on the wall is a pinboard absolutely covered in newspaper clippings and red string. Alicja takes a big step over some junk to get a better look at the wall, recognizing some of her own writings. 

“You’re alone right? No one followed you?” Alicja’s host asks, pressing her back flat against the door. 

She can’t be that much younger than Alicja herself. Running past her shoulders is long brown-ish hair filled with twigs and rat’s nests and tin foil is wrapped around her forehead. The coat she’s wearing is so thick Alicja sweats just from looking at it, and she wears the thickest bottlecap glasses Alicja has ever seen. There’s a single crack across the right lens. 

“I’ve heard your voice on the radio, it really is you.” Alicja spots a radio on a windowsill, disorganized wires spilling out of it. The first radio she’s seen since she’s got here. 

“I’m sure I’m alone. Can I ask you a few questions?” Alicja pulls out her recorder and it immediately disappears. 

“You’re recording!” She shouts, holding up Alicja’s recorder. The look in this stranger’s eyes reminds Alicja of a frightened predator and she reconsiders the situation she’s put herself in. 

“No! No see, it's off! Look!” She points to the little LED that lights up when it’s on. “I was going to ask if I could record. For my paper?” Alicja holds her hand out, afraid that her precious recorder is about to get destroyed. 

“No recording! No one can know I’m here! No pictures either!” She says, pointing a shaky finger at Alicja’s camera. Alicja brings her arms up to cover it.

“I can remove the batteries if you want. I won’t do anything against your will.”

“I’ll remove the batteries.” She pushes past Alicja and grabs a screwdriver from her desk, crudely disassembling Alicja’s recorder. Hesitantly, she returns it to Alicja who pockets it.

“Alright. Alright,” Alicja says, feeling oddly winded. She takes out her notepad and pen. “Can I get your name?”

“No! Don’t write my name down!” 

“That’s alright, hey! I can do this anonymously if you want, I don’t have to put your name on anything, okay?” Alicja raises her hands in defense. “Can I at least have your name so I can call you something?”

Alicja’s host awkwardly shifts on her heels. “Jessie.” 

“Alright Jessie. Why don’t we sit down? Do you mind if I touch this?” Alicja nudges a pile of papers on a stool, on top of the stack is a plastic keychain of a UFO. Jessie shakes her head and Alicja sets it all down onto the floor. 

“I’ll stand,” Jessie says, eyeing her wearily. While certainly concerned that Jessie looks like she might just fall over, Alicja doesn’t say anything. 

“Alright. I’m going to ask my questions now, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“Are you familiar with the Blackwoods Beast that’s said to reside around here?”

Jessie’s expression twists into what Alicja can only describe as bashful. “Yes.”

“... any elaboration on that?” 

She lets out a shaky breath. “It’s not what the people of this town should be afraid of. I thought it would be enough to keep people away.”

“What is it that you think people should be afraid of?”

The floorboards creak. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Alright. How long have you been living out here alone?” 

“I’ve been here for five years, but I’ve been alone for much longer.” 

“How come?”

Jessie bites her lip and Alicja wonders how much useful information she’s actually going to get out of a paranoid hermit. 

“I’ll tell you my story but you have to promise that none of this will be tracked back to me. I can’t risk that.”

“Oh? If you’re involved in something illegal I can promi-”

“No, no!” Jessie waves her hands in the hair, making a crossing motion. “There’s people who I know would recognize m-” her head suddenly jerks towards the window. Alicja tries to follow Jessie’s gaze, listening in for any sort of noise. 

“Have you ever heard of Zach Callahan?” Jessie whispers conspiratorially, looking everywhere but Alicja. 

“No? Who’s that?”

Jessie lets out the heaviest sigh of relief, resting her hand on her heart. “Alright. Thank God. I used to live with my brother, back in… we were both artists but he did most of the work keeping us… housed I guess. And while I was living with him there’s the name I kept hearing. Everyone I knew grew up with or went to school with someone named Zach Callahan!”

Jessie gestures to her pinboard, as if any of these contextless newspaper clippings mean anything to Alicja. She recognizes what looks like a few large schools, and some abandoned buildings, and the several companies that seem to have no connection. What could Spicy Crust Pizza, Sasha’s Cleaning Products, Sunny’s Cream-filled Pastries, and S&C Plastics possibly have in common? 

“I was onto something! I know I was onto something because of this!” She pulls out a newspaper and pushes it into Alicja’s face. EXPLOSION IN ART GALLERY! “I was in there when this happened! Only the room I was in collapsed! Someone, he, knew I was onto him and tried to take me out!” 

It feels like she should be writing something down right now, but what? She’s met her fair share and conspiracy lunatics, and she’s yet to find the perfect format to work with them.

“And then what happened?”

Jessie swallows thickly. “Well, I knew they were after me, and I knew they’d keep coming after me. I didn’t want to put my brother or my friends in danger, so I disappeared. Until I ended up here.” She makes a vague sort of gesture with her hands. “I don’t know where my brother is now, I hope he’s safe though. I’m telling you all this because I’ve read your work, I know you understand that things aren’t what they seem out here.” 

Unsure how to respond, Alicja nods. Her hand trembles ever so slightly as she makes a note. “You haven’t tried to contact him?”

“Don’t know where he is. Can’t risk it either, don’t want to lead anyone to him, or to me. Especially now that I can’t move around so much.” Sadness seeps into her voice. “Besides, it’s been so long, I’d just be reopening old wounds.”

Alicja offers a gentle kind of smile. As a journalist, she tries very hard not to let too much of her personal feelings bleed into the facts, but she feels comfortable being open with Jessie. 

“You know I used to have a brother. This whole thing I’ve been doing, finding stories like yours, was really his idea. He loved travel and photography, and together we had this dream of running a paper together.” Jessie gives her an odd yet intrigued look. “Then of course, during college he dropped out and I lost contact with him. Next I hear, he’s dead in a car wreck. I don’t even get a body to bury. Sometimes I think I might find him out there, somewhere in these stories I’ve been writing.”

She coughs into her fist, swallowing down her emotion. 

“My point is, that your brother probably wants to hear from you, even if it’s been so long.”

Jessie shakes her head. “It’s not the same, there’s too much risk.”

“You don’t think he can help you?”

“He never did believe in what I told him. There’s nothing he can do for me, and I won’t do that to him. I’m probably putting you in danger too by telling you all of this.”

“It’s alright, none of this has to make it into my report if you don’t want.” Alicja stands up, gently placing her hand on Jessie’s shoulder. 

“I wish that I knew if he’s doing alright.”

“I wish so too. Hey! You say he’s an artist, if you give me a name maybe I can look him up and report back to you!” 

Confusion and hope fill Jessie’s eyes. “How would you contact me?” 

“I’ll write a column on notable artists, get it published. You’ll find it in the papers.” 

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course!” A pause. “Can I ask you one more thing? Before I leave you here.”

“What is it?”

“You’ve mentioned something else in these woods. Something you believe the people should be afraid of and prevents you from leaving. Would you mind explaining what you think that is?” 

Jessie’s expression drops. She pulls off her cartoonish glasses to wipe them on her shirt. “It would be easier if I showed you.” She bends down, reaches under her cot, and pulls out what Alicja distinctly recognizes as a flamethrower. “You might want your flashlight, and your shotgun.”

A step behind her, Alicja follows Jessie around the shack. Sticks and brush crunch underfoot. Alicja keeps the light as steady as she can. 

About thirty, maybe forty feet away from the shack, Jessie holds out her arm to stop Alicja. She points, and there, bright red against the blacks and browns and greens, crawling across the ground and plant life like veins, are thorny roots. 

“I found this infection when I first came here, it wasn’t a fraction of this size then. It’s been growling towards the town.” Jessie pulls the trigger and flames burst out. Alicja has to cover her ears as a scream echoes through the woods. “I keep trying to push it back, but it’s faster than me. Sometimes I see groups of animals traveling in packs, all of them moving unnaturally and in unison, their eyes red.”

Alicja uncovers her face. “Why don’t you tell people about this? Warn them if you’re so worried about this.”

Jessie regards Alicja with a cold look. “Tell me, do you truly believe every word I’ve told you tonight?”

“I believe that some of what you’ve told me is true.” Alicja wants to make some sort of defense for herself, about how she’s a journalist so obviously has to take every statement with a grain of salt, like she has to explain herself like that to someone who’s still a total stranger. 

“It wouldn’t do the people of this town any good. They won’t care until it’s impossible to ignore. All I can hope to do is keep it back before it has to come to that.” Her feet stay planted on the ground and Jessie starts up the fire again. She lifts up her camera, getting the perfect shot of Jessie illuminated only by the flames. 

“Thank you for your statement, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Here,” Jessie says, placing Alicja’s batteries into her hands, “My brother’s name is Joseph Tamlin, if you do actually want to look him up for me.” 

“I will!”

The barest hint of sunlight is peeking over the horizon by the time Alicja makes it back to her car. She drops all her stuff in the passenger’s seat and reassembles her recorder.

She flips through her limited notes, unsure what to do with them. What is she supposed to write for her report? That the Blackwoods Beast is just a lonely woman? Is she supposed to lie and say that she found nothing in her investigation? Should she tell someone about the infection in the woods?

Joseph Tamlin. Scribbled hastily at the bottom of the page. Perhaps Jessie has offered her a better story instead.

[thehomophobe]

Trouble comes in Threes Chapter 2: Oh Me! Oh My! Oh Miami!

Written by me

After their little revolution, the brothers immediately went home. Taking the car back to their cramped apartment near the downtown district. Quitting their jobs was something they would never do without a logical explanation mandated by Moon, but it seemed like the boys ran out of rational excuses and replaced them with idealistic ones mandated by Sun, who’s now deemed the most “delusional” of the three.

Doesn’t matter, they’re free and that silly little joint is left in the past. Right now they need to pack for their “business trip”. Eclipse already handed over the check for the 4000 they earned, the money currently stuffed in a white, unlabeled envelope and placed on the desk. Sitting on the singular suitcase, Eclipse waited for his brothers to emerge from their shared bedroom. He’s glad those two got a proper room to sleep in. When Sun was born, his parents had to put the crib in the bathroom because of the lack of space. (Don’t worry Sun knew that) At least he turned out to be a good kid. 

“Alright, that’s everything.” Said Moon he hauled his suitcase out, followed by Sun with an excited smile on his face. 

“I can’t wait to go to Miami! You think there’s any chance we could a find a lady for each of us?” Eclipse raised a brow.

“I thought having only one of us getting hitched would be enough.” A hand held his head up. 

“I agree. Three broads running around the same place would be a lot.” Moon adds. “It’ll be safer for one of us running around.” 

“Ok then—” Sun dropped his suitcase. “I’ll do it.” He said proudly. It was his idea so it’s only fair if he’s was the bachelor. While the argument was sound, Moon and Eclipse didn’t seem to concur with that. 

“You? You’ll crumble the moment any broad talks to you.” Eclipse teases.

“And stutter like an old car engine.” A sly grin emerged from Moon’s face. “Besides, who’s gonna like a guy who’s shorter than a slot machine?” He stands side by side with his younger brother. 6’1 vs. 5’8; it’s clear who won this one. Moon ruffled Sun’s curls in jest. Sun swatted the hand away, upset of his brothers’ teasing.

“I’ll do it.” Moon said. Eclipse let out a quick laugh, did he really think he could get away with that? 

“As if you’re any better. You don’t even like talking to people. Just one look at you and they’ll run away.” Moon scowled as Sun chuckled a little. He may not be a people person but he could have a chance, if the lucky lady ever existed.

“I’ll do it.”

”Tch, as if you’re any better than us.”

“I am. I’m tall, dark, and handsome. What every gal dreams of.” Eclipse boasts. Judging by their faces, Eclipse’s younger brothers didn’t seem to agree to that idea either. In reality, they all wanted a dame as Sun said; the perfect wife for each of them. But brothers all struggle when it comes to love.

Moon’s introverted personality doesn’t bode well with crowds, nor does his appearance make him look charming. Sun may have a heart of gold and a way with people but the mere sight of a beautiful woman alone would make him turn red. His balance would be lost and his tongue would grow five times its size. Eclipse had charmed some women in the past, but committing to a real relationship…that’s something out of his league. Silence’s mist flowed through the room as the question hung in the air like a helium balloon. Who would be the rightful bachelor to this ruse of theirs? Clearly they can’t decide, so Eclipse had a better idea. 

“We’ll pick sticks.”

“Can’t believe I got the short end of the stick again.” Sun huffed as he carried the bulky luggage down the street. He was already sweating under the summer heat, the black suit he wore didn’t help as it was soaking up the perspiration. In front of him was Moon, who donned a navy blue suit, a fedora and red glasses. He ignored the cries of his younger brother and sprinted off to catch up to Eclipse. The fake bachelor was chatting with someone while he waited for the other two to arrive.

 “Ah there they are.” Eclipse welcomed the incoming noirette and the tired blonde. “This right here is Mr. Maurice Lunargrove, my secretary.” An arm wraps around Moon’s left shoulder in jest, his glasses slipped while a hand held the fedora up. “Maurice, this is Mr. Dyson Jules, head of this resort.” Dyson smiles at the man as he greets him with the same energy.

“How do you do.”

”How do you do.” Moon muttered. Goodness was he not good with people. And he hated his pseudonym; what the heck kind of name is “Maurice”?!

”Secretary huh? Can’t keep up with yourself Stellato?”

”I am a busy man.” Eclipse jest.

”You must have it rough with all those schedules.” Dyson looks to Moon, who was too deep in thought to respond quickly. 

“Uh-yeah. Yes it is.” He fumbled. But before Dyson could continue, the sound of heavy luggage collided with the concrete sidewalk. With it is a collapsed Sun, panting exhaustion. Luckily, the bellboys arrived to safe him the trouble, the cart picking up the luggage and carrying it inside.

“Oh right, I almost forgot my loyal servant.” Eclipse helped Sun to his feet as he dusted off the sand of the sidewalk. “Mr. Jules, my butler Mr. Sullivan Sonnenberg.” He patted his messy hair. “Ever hardworking he is.” He gleamed. Sun greeted the manager with a tired but steady voice. Dyson was about to start another conversation before Moon stepped in.

 “I think it’s time for you to head to your room, Mr. Stellato. Before it gets dark.” Gritted teeth seethed the final words of his warning. Eclipse huffed quietly at his brother’s impromptu action; oh how he hated small talk.

”I’m afraid he’s right Jules. Can’t have ourselves burning daylight. I’ll be seeing you.” Gripping his side, Moon walked with Eclipse inside. 

“Aw~. Someone’s shy~.”

”Shut your trap and keep walking.”

“Put ‘em in the bedroom.” Eclipse ordered the bellboys. The room was lavish and comfortable. The walls were painted a plain but serene blue. The curtains were open, revealing the sunset skies. The living room had all the fine furniture you could think of, marble tables, chairs made with exotic wood, tiles shinier than crystals. Stuff that only the boys could dream of. 

“Miami…” Sun said as if he was walking in a dream. Looking at the window, the light of the sun glows through. His hair turn gold, resembling the celestial body he was named after. 

“Yeah, this is some joint!” Moon comments. A little too loudly in fact. Eclipse clears his throat and a shot a glance at his younger brother. 

“Maurice, take care of the bellboys, will you?”

”Sure thing Mr. Stellato.” Moon satires, an eye roll was caught in the act. Eclipse waltz himself into the bedroom. It had similar luxurious features as the living room with the bed as the centerpiece. The ornate headboard emblazoned warping branches of the wood it was used to make it. The bed look incredible soft and pillowy, like sweet pound cakes. In a couple of minutes, Sun managed to meander through the foyer and into the master bedroom. 

“Is this our room?!” Sun flopped on the bed as a moan of delight emitted from him. “Mmm..so soft.”

”Ay! Shoo! Get off! This room’s mine.” Eclipse shooed the youngest out of his bed. He hoped the bellboys didn’t hear him yelling at his employee. Can’t have his image ruined. “Yours is in there.” He pointed to another door in the room, to which Sun followed and opened. Meanwhile Moon came inside after dealing the bellboys. 

“Those chumps are finally gone.” He noticed only his big brother was here. “Where’s Sun?” 

“I’m in here Moony!” Just as Moon said his name, he cried. Following the golden voice, the elder brothers were met with a smaller but still opulent room. Two smaller beds were set side by side, each equipped with the same pillows and bed sheets. The only difference was a certain blonde laying down on one of them. 

“Having fun?” Moon asked teasingly as he sits on the unoccupied bed. “What’s next on this plan of yours?”

”I thought I wasn’t the bachelor?”

”Don’t tell me that’s all you thought of.” “

Settle down you two. I have something.” Eclipse assured his brothers.

“There’s a little shindig happening here and I plan on sneaking out.” A toothy little smirk was on his face. 

“And you glared at me for calling this place a joint in front of those bellboys.” Moon muttered. 

*Knock Knock Knock* 

“I’ll get that.” Sun hurried out the room for the door, leaving the two men to wondering who it is. 

“Champagne for Mr. Stellato?” A friendly voice answered. Both brothers peaked their heads out from Eclipse’s master bedroom. A woman dressed in a maid outfit spoke to Sun, who was currently confused by the suddenly arrival. 

“Huh?” Uh oh. Sun’s freezing up again. Quickly Eclipse stepped in before his baby brother gets tongue tied and makes a fool of himself

.”Good evening dear.” Eclipse greets.  

“Compliments of Ms. (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Really? And, uh, who is Mrs. (L/N)?"

“She’s the lady who lives across the court in bungalow "A".”

“Oh. Did he see me arrive?”

“No, she just told me to take care of everybody.”

“Oh.”

“She's the one giving the party. You might have heard it.“

"Sure we have.” Moon added. 

“Sounds like quite a clambake.” Sun commented happily before covering his mouth in fright. Eclipse chuckled sheepishly before commanding Sun to fetch the glasses.

“A party like that must be costing Mrs. (L/N) a small fortune.” Moon thought out loud. He saw the prices of this resort.  Absolutely bonkers!

“To her, a mere pittance.” The maid quips. Even though all the brothers knew that the amount of a pittance isn’t the same for the woman. Sun came back with the glasses as a the woman poured each men a drink. 

“Does, uh, Mr. (L/N) like it?” Eclipse swirls the champagne.

“There ain't no Mr. (L/N).”

 …

Those five word sparked something in the brothers. Not only was the host a woman, but single. And incredibly rich! Jackpot!

”Well. To Ms. (L/N)!” 

“To Ms. (L/N)!” The brothers toasted and drank.

…

Sun and Moon both choke on the champagne. Eclipse drinks it with ease. (Experienced ✨) 

“Are they alright?”

”Oh they’re just lightweights.” Eclipse says mirthfully. “Thank you for the champagne miss…?”

”Claire Barker. And you’re welcome Mr. Spazio.” Claire said politely before leaving. 

“Yeesh…Can’t believe this is what the rich drink.” Moon pours the rest of the champagne down the kitchen sink. 

“Oh forgot that! Did ya hear what she said?! (Y/N) (L/N), the lady a few doors down, isn’t taken!” Sun smiled. “This is your chance Clipsy!” 

“Exactly. Which is why…” Eclipse eyes the note attached to the bottle. Just his luck; a phone number was written on it. Taking the card, heading for the phone and dialed the number. “I’m invited her.”

”You’re inviting her to her own party?” Moon raised a brow.”A party’s better if you had a date.” Eclipse held the phone. Silence entered the room. 

“Hello?”

...

"Hello, Ms. (L/N)”

…

“Mr. Stellato.”

…

“Yes, I just arrived today. Bungalow "C".”

…

“No, no. We've never met. I would like to thank you for that champagne you sent, Ms. (L/N) and I was wondering if…you come over tonight.” Sun and Moon looked at their older brother with shock.

…

"That is if you have the time…”

…

“Well then, Bungalow "C". Yes.” Eclipse hung up the phone with a grin on his face. His brothers didn’t mimic it though. 

”You asked her to come her?!”

”What were you thinking?!”

”Relax you two. This is all still part of the plan.” Eclipse fixed his suit. “Now go get dressed. I’ve got a date.”

[blubushie]

is it accurate to hc sniper as having a lot of junk orrrrr?

Uh.

Explanation under the cut so this doesn't take up a bunch of room in the TF2 tag (sorry folks).

There is NOT much space in here. My camper is a '78 btw, Sniper's is a '68 at the youngest which makes it even more cramped.

Also it very much depends on the size of the junk?

If you've been here more than a week you might remember me mentioning something about a GVW/GVWR—"gross vehicle weight" or "gross vehicle weight rating". This is how much weight a vehicle can carry while still maintaining its factory-level performance. LEGALLY, YOU CANNOT OPERATE A VEHICLE OVER ITS WEIGHT RATING. People do it anyway, but it is ILLEGAL and will void any manufacturer's warranty as well.

Now, if we're getting TECHNICAL, cars can take quite a bit over their rating. The rating is just for how well a car can operate in "extreme conditions"—ie, how well it can be controlled while driving over things like ice or rough terrain. By Ford's standards, the max weight that Mattie can bear while still operating reliably to manufacturer-guaranteed standards is 7500#. But if we're being technical, that is a VERY LOW ESTIMATE. Car manufacturers rate them low to avoid liability if someone puts the load higher and loses control. Technically, a '68 F250 alone can handle anywhere from 4000#-5500# in the tray without damage. With Mattie being a Camper Special, she's rated on the further end of that range. So while I won't damage her with my crap, I WOULD be operating a vehicle illegally.

And sure, there's a lot of road laws I don't give a shit about, but I obey them anyway cuz actions have consequences and I like having a driver's licence.

Tilly, the camper alone–

–Weighs 2400# dry. Mattie, the truck you see in the photo, has a GVWR of 7500#. Mattie herself weighs in at around 4100#. This brings the current total weight to 6500#, 1000# under the GVWR. But when you fill up the water tanks in Tilly fully, this bumps our total weight up to 3204# wet.

This gives us a difference of only 196# for the weight of my body (~130#), the weight of Misty (~40#), my clothes (~5#), my food (??, at least ~30# in tinned goods), and any equipment I have, like my rifle (~9#)—which would bring us over the limit.

So I don't fill my water tanks fully. I only keep things I NEED unless the difference is nonlegible (like a lucky coin in my wallet).

All this is to say that no, I don't reckon Sniper would have a lot of junk. He wouldn't risk damage to his vehicle by overbearing it, or risk his Good Driver status by ending up with a revoked licence for overbearing. He might have some bits and bobs stashed away in a lockbox somewhere, but he'd keep the total weight of them fairly low.

Also—telling you right now, wall decor does not last. That shit WILL fall off. The wall decor you see in the photo? Yeah that's hotglued in. And I still have to hotglue it in every few months again. I've tried those sticky frames and shit, nothing works against the bounciness of outback—or California—roads. It's a bitch! Keep in mind that Sniper would have to completely clean off everything on his countertops and stove and put them away in his cabinets in order to not have shit go flying everywhere. Which makes lack of storage even worse, lol

[pillow-anime-talk]

Congratulations on reaching 4000!! I read your TG Drabbles and absolutely fell in love with your writing so I was wondering if I could get prompt 24 + Urie 💕💕 fem! Ghoul reader x quinx member Urie!! Thank you :)

# tags: scenario; kinda enemies/lovers and current relationship; light romance; drama; angst; ghoul!reader & quinx!kuki; crying, vomit and blood mention; dead body; kinda ooc!kuki (but not much); suggestive

includes: female reader ft. kuki urie {tokyo ghoul}

author’s note: hi! thank you very much for this request! i really like kuki and i am really happy that i can write about him! love u

24. “I’m a monster! Can’t you see it?!”

Your blood-stained long T-shirt, tears on your cheeks flushed with heat, a few strands of hair on the dirty floor, and the fear in your eyes seemed to the young Inspector an image that was downright terrifying, even nightmarish; however, not because of your appearance and the look of the room you both were in, but because of how scared and sad you were at that time. How much your eyes shone with self-loathing and how damned deep down you wanted to disappear and never be born.

“I’m a monster! Can’t you see it?!”

Of course he knew you were a ghoul. The walking grotesque, his enemy, the walking death, humanity’s greatest failure. A abominable monster.

He knew and watched you for months, studying your whole body and your behavior – he believed that he would eventually find a magical solution that would restore your humanity. He has kept you as a secret for a long time from the rest of his co-workers, from his command and from his own family. Although he knew every day that you could attack him, he bravely endured your outbursts of aggression and murderous desire, insatiable anger.

He was there when you vomited trying to eat a tomato and cheese sandwich, he was there when you cried into his shoulder, begging him to kill you, and he was there when you felt too human, wishing he would love you and stay with you for ever. He was in your worst and nastiest moments, but he was also next to you when you smiled slightly as you laid the last wild draw four card on the table and shouted a loud, almost carefree ‘Uno!’. He was always there and will always be.

It was hard for him to bear the sight of your hands in the dark liquid, your torn clothes and the traces of murder that were right under his feet. You killed an innocent woman who got a promotion in the family business two days ago. You killed a person who probably had a family who loved her, children who had to be kissed before bed, or even a dog who was eagerly waiting for her to put some of his favorite food in his bowl. You ate half of her firm, sweet flesh with tears in your eyes, and when Kuki caught you in the act, you nearly ripped out your own windpipe to relieve your own suffering. If there’s one thing you hated, it was definitely being a ghoul.

The silence between you two was interrupted only by your painful crying and the sound of cars driving down the street a few floors below. You looked alternately at the dead headless woman and at the man you loved, once again begging him to finally kill you. Of course, he didn’t do it that night, nor when you begged him to do the same three days later, clutching his shirt in a tight grip; behind you lay the lower limb of some five years old child.

It was hard for both of you to live with the thought that you loved a human and he loved a being he should have killed the first time he discovered your true colors. But he couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t.

You were both weak and pathetic.

[hirocimacruiser]

Part of an article where Kazuyoshi Hoshino (former racecar driver for Nissan and founder of Impul) drives and rates some cars from the opposition. This section he is evaluating the Tommi Makinen EVO VI and the Subaru Impreza WRX STI version VI.

Section 2

"I wanted to ride it once!" First test drive

In the Heisei era's game description of the Lancer Evo VS Impreza battle

Japan's fastest man makes a decision!

Even though I lost my voice due to the intense power,

dissatisfied with handling.

The famous Heisei game, Lan Evo vs Impreza, is a standard showdown plan even for the best cars. After repeated wins and losses, the current models of both cars eventually became the current final models.

The models prepared this time are the GSR Evolution VI Tommy Makinen Edition for the Lan Evo and the WRX STi Version V Limited for the Impreza.

Hajime Hoshino will judge this showdown.

Righteousness. I have never driven either car before, so this will be my first drive. The actors are ready!

Kazuyoshi Hoshino said, "Well, I've always wanted to try these two cars," and let the two big monster 4WDs run to their heart's content. Let's reproduce the impression immediately after the test drive.

■ LANEVO

(I got out of the car and was at a loss for words for a while). This is amazing....... To put it bluntly, this power is not normal. This is no ordinary car. Power!

Too much! And the steering is weird. The power steering is too effective and there is no response, and I can't grasp the feeling at all. I hate it because the steering always has the same weight no matter what the situation. Feeling like an old American car.

PIC CAPTION

A thorough test drive on two cars that "I wanted to ride once"!

I can't grasp the feeling of grip. The engine is abnormal. If you tell me to praise you, I will praise you, but this is beyond praise. I wonder if they are boosting up. I can't believe it's the power of a commercial car.

The clutch also seems to be a racing specification (equipped with twin plates for the test vehicle), and the sound of the differential is also worrisome. If you wear a helmet and run hard on the circuit, you won't notice that, but if you're on a public road, you'll notice it.

Like a 4-wheel drive, there is a sense of security when turning the power on and off, and the front-to-rear balance is good, but the steering doesn't give you a good grip.

That's why I ran with suspicion. Whether the grip is still there or is gone, I was fumbling around and couldn't figure out the limit, but I just kept running like I had power!

It would be nice to say that the style is rough like running on a dirt road, but it doesn't feel urban. It's a bit too rugged for my taste.

■ Impreza

Suspension is Lan Evo

This one is more like a juggling horse

It's pretty mild.

I feel enough power.

It gets a little dull from 3500 to 4000 rpm, but there is a lot more than that and it turns around 8000 rpm.

Rather than waiting for a 9000 rpm engine like a Honda to reach the top, this engine

3000~7000 like

Use about 4000 rpm

It's easier on public roads. However, although the response is good and the sound when it revs up is also good, I don't really like the sound of misfiring at low and medium speeds.

I think the suspension should be a little stiffer on both bumps and rebounds so that the car doesn't roll over. The Lancer is harder and has better athletic performance.

The Impreza is a little too soft and becomes unstable when attacking hard. But I don't want to make it too hard, so if possible, it might be interesting to make the rebound side a little stronger. The driver's control center differential feels very different depending on how you adjust it. If you put it in the front (differential lock), the front torque will be stronger and the steering will feel more responsive. Conversely, the rearmost (differential free)

If you do it, the response of the handle will be Get out, under

Sorry but power over

be. You can change that beautifully just by adjusting the dial.

So if you're afraid of running out of power on a slippery road, you can bring it forward, and the weight of the steering wheel will change dramatically, but it's all free like FF or FR. You can. This is the first time. Interesting.

■ Judgment

If it's a time attack, the Lancer would be a few tenths faster. But the Impreza's control differential and horizontally-opposed engine are quite tasteful. Which one is better? Impreza is more interesting. In terms of speed, if the suspension could be made a little harder, I think it would be on par with the Lancer, but the Lancer's suspension is better.

The Impreza is my favorite conclusion.

PIC CAPTIONS

Hard suspension Lancer Evo and mild suspension Impreza. 4WD monster sports boasting unbeatable speed!

Although they have the same 2-liter turbo and 280 horsepower, they are the super units of Lancer Evo and Impreza, each with their own characteristics. Demonstrate power that surprises even the fastest man in Japan!

[jenroses]

Working on making my space more accessible means short term intense effort for long term ease.

So the "before" was roughly this:

(the pictures are described in the text for those on screen readers.)Adjustable bed, janky bedrail with a squishmallow between me and it, messy shelf, laptop mounted on a slightly precarious wall mount, upright mouse on pillow, keyboard on lap, squishmallow under knees. Adjustable bed was awkward because the legs were not secure. They are now stabilized with car jack stands rated to 4000 pounds and it feels very secure. Price? $25.50.

Janky bedrail replaced with a smaller, sturdier, strapped-to-the-bed version: $39.99. The laptop lived there continuously for like five years without being de-mounted more than a couple times. So it was replaced with a desktop mid-tower with a larger monitor. Note that the screen is well aligned to my head and neck, and has a shelf mounted above it for the speakers and webcam. On the wall you can see a little basket, and empty shelf space for a plate of food and a jar of lemonade. There's a smaller pillow under my left elbow, a grey faux large sheepskin "rug" from Costco under my shoulders and head, and a colorful blanket over my lap. My knees are on the squishmallow and the mouse is on a sturdy memory foam pillow with a dark tencel pillowcase.

Here are some of the little quality of life improvements.

Today's project was a little basket! $11.99 and required a drill and about 10 minutes of futzing including getting the tools. In the basket are the bed remote, the air conditioning remote, a nail file, a sewing kit, fancy eyedrops, my distance glasses, some double stick tape, some lite salt, and my bendy straws. I can mend things lying down now.

Here, at the bottom of the computer, we have a new second on-off buttons so the monitor doesn't have to move for me to access the on-off switch. $7.85 and took five minutes to install.

This is what I see of the speakers and the webcam. They're mounted to a Vesa-compatible shelf mounted behind the monitor. The shelf was about $25 and was VERY difficult to get mounted correctly, requiring a lot of thought and I needed a lot of help to get it done. But it's sturdy. The mount for the webcam was $8. The speakers are up there in an extremely janky fashion and if you do something similar you should probably get speakers that are able to be mounted with a bolt or tripod mount. I got an etsy printed part and basically double-stick gorilla taped it up there to hold the speakers and it mostly works but only mostly. I'll figure something better out when I have another couple spoons to rub together. next project: Cable management.

[thewormsarchive]

PSA: Scam "Donation" Warning:

Kathleen "Finch" Ladd AKA "Galahawk" AKA "Shining-Latios" (& other alts) has, for the past several months, appealed to many people for an accident fix via GoFundMe. In previous years, they also operated another GFM account aimed towards their student loan debts. *edits below*

They have shown that coasting off the hard work of others and indulging in simple pleasures is what they care for most. To hell with improving their own situation, KFL would rather be co-dependent on many other people with their own problems in life.

2023 was a very busy travel year in private for KFL; multiple trips all around several cities/states in the USA. A new residence is being setup along with their partner later in 2024. Appealing to others for financial help in the meantime. Choosing pleasure over being responsible yet scolding others for not helping enough so many times... not like KFL has actually truly thanked anyone outside of canned pre-written messages, mind you. Going so far as to trash gifts given to them because it was not to their personal liking is such a terribly selfish action. Indeed, it has been shown that KFL will trash those that have DIRECTLY DONATED MONEY to their various online accounts. Willingly tossing people under the bus, but KFL expects everyone to bend the knee to them.

Oh, well, there was the anon that dropped 4000 USD (!) on the second GFM. I suppose there was a very brief response to that...? It's a funny thing though: As those around KFL suffer, KFL ends up taking resources that could've gone to their "friends". It's okay to take from those lesser, apparently... as long as KFL is comfortable, no one else matters.

X X X X X

KFL is truly not living down the self-centered WASP allegations.

--

I advocated in the past for people to donate to their GFM, thinking that it would somehow lead this person to a more positive giving mindset after their car accident. Expecting those who already do not give towards others to suddenly do-so is also foolish, isn't it? Sadly, KFL has chosen to only give to themselves & take greatly from others. I can only apologize and offer this warning as a way to make up for such a terrible error of judgement.

In good conscience, I cannot recommend anyone else to give this person any money as of this post. They have declined not only to work their way thru life via online commissions, but also turned down an actual paid graphic position their military father found for them. Part-time at the grocery store was far more viable to them, yet they claim struggle. The art degree that was obtained with that large amount of debt is also rotting away. I'd imagine there are so many teachers out there so eager to have that document - eager to improve the lives of children currently growing up in worsening conditions.

If KFL is not choosing to improve their own life, why should others contribute their own livelihoods for someone that does not care? So many chances to find a way to thrive outside their current environment ... Hell, KFL insists on using their govt name for mail, not even having the strength to use their wanted name. Being an abusive lazy narcissistic thief isn't really a great look to have no matter how many lies they hide behind. The lies will be interesting, I'm sure, given how much someone like myself likes quiet/privacy after my own child abuse survival stories. It was easy for them to get away with it for so long; taking advantage of people who have private lives thinking they wouldn't say a thing.

--

Karma comes for everyone, so keep laughing while you can. It will come to each and every person involved with such selfishness - and there's a lot it seems! Each of them may keep hiding behind 'activism' (irony of that) and nonchalance all they'd like. While karma will not be swift, it will be brutal; best prepare for it.

--

E:::

Zero growth. Absolutely no remorse in their actions; almost sociopathic. "We're not a good fit" is all they've said to stealing from others; from stealing from those in far worse situations than they've ever experienced. ... Don't think they actually realize there are more people involved in the issue, too. Indeed, there were quite a few people to offer help - those are the people I speak of with this. ... If I were to actually count up the offensives & the WASP rudeness from KFL, there would be a lot. Not wanting to center myself though, because, well, there's such a thing as a ripple effect. Many other people feel down and awful because of this one completely toxic self-centered person.

The things KFL complains of is 100% the problems they face about themselves. They are their own worst enemy. Such a terrible pity to see so much waste as KFL has created. A total crybully created from a military couple from the USA - from the start they lie and ruin themselves immensely.

I suppose though, when those in charge create such a system for its people, what can be expected from such fruit they've bore?

(Ko-Fi mirror)