#i love her rat coat so much but this almost killed me LOL

[boombhauer]

snaps fingers

[tokyoghoose]

something that never was

pairing: daisuke kambe x reader

playlist: even if it's a lie - matt maltese*, a soulmate who wasn't meant to be - jessica benko, the less i know the better - tame impala, id rather go blind - beyonce ( cadillac records ), the house we never built - gabrielle aplin*, i cant make you love me - dave thomas junior, i go crazy - orla gartland, blow my brains out - tikkle me, hidden in the sand - tally hall

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating,

summary: the coldness he radiates gets the best of you, ultimately leading to the end.

announcements!

i dont really see daisuke cheating unless it was a misunderstanding or smth, but i liked the idea of this fic. Let me know what you think!

you can tell i didnt write this in a sitting lol. Im vv sorry if it's hard to follow!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

There's a warm body beside you, yet the bed feels cold. The arm around your waist feels almost as foreign as the face in front of you. It hurts to look at him, to feel him. It hurts to even be around him. He's so beautiful but he feels like half the man he once was. It's disheartening.

Maybe the saying, what you don't know can't hurt you is correct because you were feeling the repercussions right about now. Curiosity really did kill the cat, and at this point, you don't even know how to get satisfaction from it. How does one bring up cheating to their partner? Especially when the partner is like Daisuke.

He likes to brush things off without paying a price except for whatever was in his bank account, the type to hand you a card and say 'go get yourself something pretty.' And it wasn't like he was a bad lover, in fact, it was very easy to fall in love with him. He has a charm about him that's magnetic, one glance and suddenly it's impossible to look away. Or at least that was your experience.

With the final confirmation that closing your eyes will do nothing other than bringing pictures into your head, you turn your back to him and try and distance your body from his. It doesn't do anything to help when he pulls you closer subconsciously, except for maybe it makes you want to cry.

You'd confront him tomorrow, you decided.

If you need to.

———

The pace you set is leisure and if kt wasn't for the poor nail bed quickly coming to nothing, it'd seem like you weren't completely losing your head. It's all you can think about. Daisuke out with some girl—who you know for a fact isn't his sister, and who is all over him. He didn't even make a move to push her off! He hates that kind of attention so if he didn't object it, then he was asking for it. He wanted the girl on his side. In fact, for someone who insists the other person sits across from him at a restaurant- he looked quite comfortable with her nearly in his lap.

Maybe you're overthinking this, y/n.

The door clicks open and your ears strain to hear the sound of Daisuke's dress shoes. He's rather indulgent when it comes to dressing wear and the shoes were practically silent, even with the short heel on the back.

"I'm home." He says to no one particular, taking off his trenchcoat and hanging it on the rack beside the door. He stops his path to the bedroom when he sees you frozen in place and staring in the living room. He merely quirks a brow, going to take off his suit and tie.

Suddenly you can't speak and you have tunnel vision. It's unfair how calm he always looks—it's almost smug like he knows everything about you and more. Like he can read your mind and tell you your darkest thoughts and when you'll die because let's be honest, it'll probably be by his hand. Maybe you should back out now before you can say anything. Forget it all because what if you're mistaken? The more you think, the more weight is added onto your shoulders and the more it pushes you down, down further into the hole you want to crawl into. Maybe you should let it because all you want to do now is escape his piercing gaze. His eyes are studying you, taking in your form and the cogs in his brain are turning to find an explanation as to why you are standing there like a psychopath and not welcoming him home like you usually do.

You feel like you're drowning. Is the light getting dimmer? The black around your vision only seems to close in around Daisuke and you try to look anywhere else but his face. There's water in your ears, the popping of them only intensifies until you can feel it pounding into your head with faint static.

Am I going to pass out?

It's not until his hand comes down gently on your shoulder that the closing circle of vision widens out and suddenly all the imaginary water rushes from your ears. You glance down at his rings before back up him, barely catching the end of his words.

"Are you alright?"

He's never been one to beg, so you would have to answer now or he'll leave it be for the rest of the night and probably months after until you're like this again.

"I-can we talk?"

He eyes you suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and keeping his brow raised before nodding, slipping his tie off around his neck, folding it neatly into the palm of his hand. He gestures for you to start the conversation, going to the minibar curving around the kitchen and living area.

When you don't reply he urges you on, "Why so tense? Did something happen, darling?"

It'd seem like he didn't really care from how cold his voice was, but you've grown accustomed to the monotone to know that he truly is concerned for your health. He genuinely wants to know why you're acting so odd. It only makes this so much harder? You're wrong- you have to be. This must be a sick trick your brain has played on you. Or he must be playing some sick trick.

Anxiety settles itself into your gut and it seems like it won't leave anytime soon.

"Daisuke, are...- are you cheating on me?"

His eyebrows finally go lax but he doesn't look up from unbuttoning the cuffs of his white button-down. His fingers fidget at the buttons and instead of the previous loose form, his hand forms a fist.

"I- "

"Why—exactly, are you accusing me of this?"

His gaze sends chills down your spine. He's offended but he doesn't offer a defense. Suddenly your mouth is dry and you lose all your words? How exactly were you going to tell him you stumbled across him and some woman in a restaurant and practically stared them down for fifteen minutes.

You decide the bear it and swallow a lump that has formed in your throat.

"You were with a woman earlier this week snd well, the displays of affection that I saw were not very like you. You've been gone for long hours and even if you blamed it on the new job, Daisuke—you never tell me anything. Is she for a case? Are you using her for information? Go on, tell me about it. Give me a reason not to accuse you."

You regain your confidence but it falters when you meet his indifferent expression. You'd prefer it if he looked angry and the silence that fills the room is deafening and the tension suffocating.

"I can't tell you anything about our cases-"

"I'm your partner! What am I going to do? Rat you out to whoever is breaking the law? Why would I even how those connections, Daisuke?"

Daisuke inhales deeply through his nose like this whole conversation is a burden on him and you can't help but feel like a burden too. Was this relationship not worth the time to talk this out? One hand grips the bar and the other pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You aren't my partner, you're my fiance. My partner and I work together. So, no. I can't tell you about the cases."

You want to rip out your hair. This isn't about his stupid job or his stupid partner. This is about the dumb fucking restaurant and the dumb fucking woman who was hanging off him.

He can't actually be this dense!

"It's not about that! Either you aren't getting the point or you keep changing the subject because it's true!" Your voice rises in pitch, your confidence failing and turning more so into desperation. But you aren't crying yet. There are no tears and your eyes are dry and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of a Kambe.

It's like the beginning of your relationship all over again. A protective barrier around yourself so you don't get hurt and offended by his cold shoulder. Was it so bad to think you've moved on from that feeling? Why is it so difficult for him to just comfort you and push back those fears? Is he that emotionally stunted? You may not know much about his past and his family, but damn— at least you're trying to work through it with him. Can he put out a little more effort?

All he does is pour himself a glass. All he does... is pour himself a glass.

"You know what- forget it. If you're so entitled and so emotionally reserved that you can't even talk to me without a drink first, then I guess we'll talk about it another time—when you don't look like my voice gives you a headache."

Daisuke actually looks taken back by your words and you suddenly feel bad for hitting a sore spot. He may not have shown it often, but he doesn't particularly like not being able to show his true emotions; no matter the reason being.

"Y/N, wait.."

But you're back on adrenaline just as soon as he felt a drop, pushing past him to get to your coat. You just needed to calm down before you said something you'd truly regret. Words tended to stay in his mind much longer than they were intended to.

"I'm staying at my mother's. Don't call me, don't text me, don't come near me until you're ready to tell me what the hell you were doing with her. "

When he doesn't say anything more and you can practically hear the cogs in his head turn, you make your way out there door, making sure to slam it shut.

You slip on the coat angrily, slamming open the door without sparing him a glance but waiting for him to say something. Anything. Were you being too rash? You shake your head and scold yourself, mentally. You can't just turn around now, not after an outburst like that. He has to learn something from this.

Irrational or not, hopefully, his true colors would show.

[floggingink]

OH HERE WE GO LADIES IT’S RIVERDALE, CHAPTER EIGHTY: “Purgatorio”

I’m tuning in to be VERY entertained on the grounds that I missed almost the entirety of S4 and will not understand anything

we open with an incredible analogue comparing the football team to the Army, as men do construct rituals: football players get blown into the sky, etc., in a heartrending mash-up of Archie’s innocence + the American ideal/expectations/pipeline of masculinity

Archie Company is decked out appropriately to storm Hürtgen Forest

that art direction trope where a character’s hearing goes EEEEEEEEEEEEEE after an explosion……...delightful

the Vixens and friends cheering him on from the sidelines as if Archie can only process his unprocessable present through the lens of his past………...hits the spot

distressingly wood-based rifles for our purposes

Archie > Dawson: I don’t mind telling you I felt emotion upon Archie hoisting his war buddy over his shoulders to that quadruple-toned “Chivalric Archie Using His Strength for Good” tune, like when he broke his whole hand busting Cheryl out of Sweetwater River

WHEN HE SAW HIRAM LODGE, I’M TELLING YOU! 

Hiram’s dragon-scale gloves? absolutely savory; he would

“Yonkers” is one of those New York place names I don’t totally buy is real (Poughkeepsie is another)

the sepia-toned light in this hospital room rings true judging by all the Captain America fanfiction I’ve read; I also like the mint-colored hand towels draped on Archie’s bedframe bought, one assumes, using the Department of Defense’s Kohl’s Cash

Archie made Sergeant, which is the best ranking for a fictional character: important enough that they can be a leader, get into trouble; low-profile enough that you don’t have to write them in the room making terrible decisions; probably won’t die immediately, as a Captain or Private might be

Fifth period is AP English: Archie reads A Farewell to Arms to Corporal Jackson, a WWI novel by Hemingway that Jug definitely turned him onto

Christ, Archie looks good in that on-leave jacket thing

I like Jackson’s subtle graph paper-print hospital gown

Gay?!: was Jackson in love with Archie? is he gonna bus to Riverdale once he’s off his pain meds? RAS, is that you in there?

God you know I love that haunted-ass Exorcist wooden bench bus light lighting

how long has the WW been relocated under Pop’s??? I do NOT know what happened to La Bonne Nuit

Sexy, aesthetic Southside: Fangs’ hair? his Tony Stark glasses? the girls’ “I’m a Slave 4 U” Burmese pythons? Toni’s headdress and immaculate glossed lip? 

Sixth period is Intro to Film: the only part of From Dusk till Dawn I’ve seen is Salma Hayek putting her toe in Quentin Tarantino’s mouth but judging from that I figure I’d like the rest 

The female gaze: Jesus Sweet Pea still looks good

Toni’s stage is flanked by twin pillars of melting candles and I would like someone to track those down for my bathroom

if they lay one hand on Pop Tate…

Betty appears to be, on her own, running the FBI training course. Betty is such a freak

Betty’s FBI-appointed psychologist is “Dr. Starling,” wears a great yellow blouse; Betty eats what appears to be a mini-sized Milky Way

her blond FBI trainer-boyfriend (uh) Glen appears to be an unholy fusion of Jimmi Simpson and that one actor with brown hair and really sharp light eyes whose acting credits I can’t think of right now, you know who I’m talking about (not the guy from Vampire Diaries)

I quite like her patterned blouse and I hate his yellow (gold?!) and blue tie

Please protect Betty: obviously we stan the Silence of the Lambs shit even as it remains infuriating Bryan Fuller couldn’t get his hands in it

Betty’s cat’s crying was so disturbingly baby-like that I had to leave the room once I realized it was in fact a cat

I’ve watched the Elisa Lam tape too many times in recent hours to handle this hallway shot

REALLY GROSS LICKING NOISES

the Trash Bag Killer coming at her was scary :(

Betty’s lovely blue knit cardi with the puffed sleeves!

50 Shades of Betty: clearing her throat before the doctor quite finishes her sentence—Lili Reinhart continues to be great at conveying “slightly perturbing subterranean tension”

was Charles a serial killer too??? oh damn!

Betty has been successfully holding off giving Glen a key to her place until now, an era that must come to a close

fellas, “Do I at least get a kiss?” is a bad move

Veronica was rich: Veronica’s new digs: exposed brick, bougiely avant-garde chandelier; possibly an elevator door right there behind the dude?

Veronica has married Hiram, to no one’s surprise

Chadwick looks like Jimmi Simpson and brunet Evan Peters plus a jaw

Veronica’s single-puffled-sleeved gown…..madamn (she has absolutely been taking secret birth control pills)

Summer + Blair = Veronica: of course Veronica would be great at Howard Ratner’s job; I MUST know what “specialty showcase haute couture offense” Vinnie has committed

T-Dubbs’ green jacket

Veronica pretended she was working at like, a department store? but she MISSED the EDGE post-day-trading

their apartment is so expensive that their bedroom is totally exposed

oh my god, Hermione

Best costume bit: please get me these satiny green high-waisted slacks?! and ugh her blouse has shoulder tassels……..she’s flourishing

“That’s threatening to an alpha like Chad.”

yes, they have a private elevator. fine.

Glen and Chad get their ties from the same Men’s Warehouse

“When that helicopter went down on the way to Martha’s Vineyard…”

you know kissing is 4-real when one person cups their hand to the back of the other person’s neck all close

I don’t understand the drop of the Glamergé egg but I appreciate that there is one and that Veronica is like, get this the fuck out of my house

Veronica’s shiny cropped tweed two-piece, Yvonne’s weird feathery coat that matches her bf’s shirt (you know she’s supposed to be “too much” because she’s got big hoop earrings)

God, Jughead is next and I’m not gonna be able to handle it

OH GOD IT’S SO MUCH WORSE THAN I THOUGHT

Alphabet City?! the piano?? the fucking East Coast Beat typewriter shit—the day robe? I’m—READING CLUBMASTERS? FORSYTHE???

OH GOD HE’S DATING ANOTHER WRITER (she has nice pants)

Jughead eats: “that place you like” is a HOT DOG STAND in the middle of SOME GRASS

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: Jughead wears high-ankle light blue jeans, grey socks, and spectators that blend to create the illusion of wading boots. I’m going to commit a crime

Jughead doubts it: “So did Kerouac. And Hemingway. And Fitzgerald.” 

fuck yes I love Floundering Jughead, and his Pushy Agent who pronounces “career” like “Korea,” and the continuing tradition of Jughead getting kicked out of his house

I like Literary Grifter’s sweater

the Brat Pack, and most of the Rat Pack for that matter, were actors, but I assume RAS couldn’t resist the rhyme 

I was 100% afraid we were about to learn Cora was an uncomfortably-young undergrad

the musical cue as she reaches into her bag is absolutely as if she’s taking out a gun, and it might as well be! it’s the scariest thing in NYC: an unpublished manuscript

showrunners doing a classic I Love Lucy job partially concealing Vanessa Morgan’s pregnancy via medium close-ups, draping black clothes

Cheryl slowly turning to ask if doesn’t she look okay 10/10 icon

Cheryl’s pins: she has either a tiny spider or maybe a tick

Cheryl’s sheaths: the lacy red thing, amazing

why is Cheryl’s left hand gloved?

Cheryl’s a chaos angel from hell: Cheryl’s going to forge a Rembrandt, which unfortunately means she’s my favorite person on the planet (she does not look happy about doing this)

btw is Nana Rose an Immortal?

please tell me about Toni’s eyelashes

EXTREMELY HAUNTED DOLL?!

“Damn good coffee”: Archie’s earnest “Where are people gonna sit for the bus?” slayed me

fuck YEAH Ghoulies party house! terrible music but really good skull spray paint art

Jug looks LOW lol

Veronica’s blouse + buttons, impeccable

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: Tabitha/Squeaky

the hellscape semi’s red backlighting and its skeleton’s red eyes

I like Linette’s glossy bomber!

the trucker who’s about to kill her can’t also be the Trash Bag Killer….truckers have to stick to too much of a schedule….but he could be Betty’s meandering serial

I loved this episode

NEXT WEEK: Archie brings the FBI down on some people paying their rent :(

[firemblem-fics]

Hello, If you are still taking requests, could you write any of the prompts for Yuri please, anything is fine lol. Thank you! I love your blog uwu

betrayal. | yuri

50 Wordless Ways to Say I Love You: Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath

-> Pairing: Yuri x Female!Reader

-> Warnings: Cursing, Violence, MAJOR CINDERED SHADOWS SPOILERS

-> Genre: One-Shot (1.3k), Some Fluff, Mostly Angst

-> A/N: This is like as canon-compliant as I could make it with the addition of the reader idk, I’m sorry it’s not quite “original” as much as it’s me rewriting the scene

“Finally, you’re all awake. Good morning, sleepyheads. Or is it a good evening?”

Yuri’s voice pierced through your skull, making your head throb. You heard the other Wolves talking to him- they sounded angry- but you were too weak to even open your eyes. 

“You- you scoundrel!” Constance yelled, “You are unfit to speak with us, liar that you are!”

Yuri waved her off, seemingly uncaring about whatever the hell he was doing. You tried to keep quiet, fighting off a groan of actual pain, as you opened your eyes and peered up. Yuri was standing tall above the four of you, his sword in his hand. You, Constance, Balthus, and Hapi were tied up, lying on the ground in a chamber. What the fuck?

“What exactly are you trying to do here?” Balthus pressed.

“Aelfric intends to reenact the Rite of Rising.” Yuri sighs, then explains. “By offering up the blood of the four Apostles, you can bring someone to life. Saint Seiros attempted the ritual 995 years ago, but not enough blood was given, so the ritual was a bust. And now, through extreme persistence, Aelfric has found and gathered the four of us, with our Crests.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with Y/N? She doesn’t even have a crest.” Hapi asked. 

You were more awake now, gently sitting up as memories came to you. That’s right- Yuri had betrayed everyone. The Wolves, the professor, you… Your eyes burned with tears. The little bird certainly was only a rat. Yuri looked at you, a bit too long to mean nothing, and walked to the side, twirling his sword. 

“She’s simply too strong. To have her go free is to risk too much. Aelfric can’t let this ritual fail. He spent his years raising us in the Ashen Wolf house all to ensure that the Rite of Rising was successful.” 

“You mean to say that he intends to drain our blood? To kill us?!” Constance’s voice raised. 

“Yeah, no, count me out.” Hapi joined in, “Wait- the number four includes you too, right? You’re gonna die too?”

“Yep. That’s the idea.”

You’d had enough of this talk. Yuri- Yuri wasn’t like this. You refused to believe it. He had been nothing but sweet to you, was it all really just a lie? Struggling to find your voice, you finally cried out. 

“I can’t believe you!” Everyone’s head snapped towards you. “You- you filthy liar! You’re risking your life and everyone else’s for what? Some dead bitch? You’ve spent your whole life with these people to stab them in the back?”

“Y/N-” Yuri opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“No, no! Fuck you, Yuri Leclarc. Or are you lying about your name too? I can’t believe I trusted you- or any of us. You took advantage of everyone’s kindness and now you’re throwing everyone’s life away.” You spat at him. If you weren’t avoiding his gaze now, you would’ve seen hurt flash in his eyes. 

That hurt hardened quickly as he saw Aelfric watching from the corner. “Shut it. I've lived through Hell and worse. After clawing my way here, you really think I wanna die?”

“Then why throw your life away for the likes of Aelfric?” Asked Balthus. 

“Some things are more important than my own life.” Yuri’s eyes shifted back to you for a moment, “Some things are worth protecting.”

“You’re not making any damned sense-”

“It would seem that you want to be punished severely, Yuri.”

Suddenly, Aelfric revealed himself, walking to Yuri with a threatening aura. Yuri only scoffed, defiantly speaking back to him. You couldn’t understand much, now, your vision was spotty with your migraine. You felt like throwing up, but that didn’t seem quite appropriate right now. 

“-If I must, I will kill your mother alongside your dear people.” Aelfric finished his little speech as you focused on soothing your nausea. You kept blacking in and out between the conversation, missing bits of it. To focus on staying awake, you tried to grab the dagger that was strapped to your waist in order to cut yourself free. 

“The whole ‘evil villain’ outlook doesn’t look good on someone as pious as you, Aelfric.” Yuri laughed. You paused, wondering why he would insult his boss. 

“Yuri-bird, I could-”

“Not yet,” He hissed at Hapi. You continued to fidget, getting your ropes to the blade and beginning to saw through them. 

You were about halfway through when three figures, coated in masks and dark outfits came forth and took hold of the three downed Wolves. A fourth walked in front of you, raising his hand to knock you out once more. You flinched back, awaiting for the impact, but it never came. Opening your eyes, you saw Yuri holding the man’s wrist. 

“You will not touch her.” He threatened, “Or else.” 

The figure left and you could only sit back and watch as Aelfric sliced the four Wolves, spewing some goddess-awful monologue to Yuri. Bells chimed and Aelfric began to look panicked, much like you were. You said you hated Yuri, but that was far from the truth.

In the past time that you had gotten to know him, his sly, cunning antics had begun to grow on you. A lot. Before you knew it, you had found yourself becoming quite fond of the house leader, wanting to fight alongside him and spend your time conspiring with him. With as big of a crush that you had on the boy, it was only normal that you would feel so betrayed by him. Hell, you weren’t even going to die (yet, probably), and yet you were still just as upset as the other wolves. 

“Oh, and just so you know, I’ve been working for Lady Rhea since before I ever began working for you.”

Your utter surprise at Yuri’s words made you snap the last bit of rope that you had to cut. So, he was on your side the whole time?

“It matters no longer. The ritual is almost done. Just a little bit longer…” Aelfric tried to reason- with Yuri or himself, you couldn’t tell. 

Yuri scoffed and you began to stand up, drawing your weapon. “Don’t think for a moment-”

“That I’ll let anything happen to them!” You yelled, suddenly charging towards the man. Your fist collided with Aelfric’s jaw, knocking him to the ground as the other Wolves stood up. 

“Seriously, Boss, did you have to tie us up so tight?” Balthus complained, rubbing his wrist. 

“Sorry, Balthus,” Yuri laughed, “I figured those little tears would be enough for you to break through the rope.”

“I hate to interrupt the relief party,” You walked up to the group and shoved the blade of your weapon against Yuri’s throat. “But I’m still quite angry, and I’d like to take it out on some people I actually can beat up.” 

Yuri gave you a watery smile and gently pushed down the blade, tilting his head at you. “I’m sorry.”

You scrutinized Yuri for a moment before dropping your weapon and rushing towards him, knocking him back a few steps as your arms wrapped around him. You heard him grunt a little and you smile, squeezing him even tighter. Yuri eventually relaxes and wraps his arms around you as well, resting his head on top of yours. “Don’t fucking do that again.”

“Do you still hate me? I think you do, because you’re squeezing me so tight I can’t breathe. Not complaining, though.”

You looked up at him, ignoring the professor and the other knights as they filed into the chamber, ready to fight. “No, I could never. Even if you really had betrayed us…” You looked away from his gaze, but he tilted your chin back up. 

“I couldn’t betray you all. That would mean never getting a bone-crushing hug from you again and now that it’s started, I don’t want it to stop.” 

You laughed and tip-toed up, pressing a light kiss against his cheek. “Whatever, you sap. Let’s go kick some ass.”

[kathyprior4200]

Velvety Rich and Sickly Sweet

Once there was an African American girl who lived in a big city. Her name was Venessa. As a little girl, she loved playing with dolls and getting dressed up. Tea parties with her friends were a favorite pastime. She adored candy, cake and anything sweet, a craving that lasted for the rest of her life. She dreamed of becoming a famous celebrity.

 As Venessa got older, computers and phones started to arrive. It wasn’t long before she got into social media. She pursued a career in fashion and posted videos of herself in velvet dresses baking cakes and seductively sucking on candies for the males. Her videos went viral and she basked in the online limelight.

 But the more well-known she got, the more she distanced herself from her former family and friends. Venessa soon partook in gossip, laughing at other women and being a self-centered bully. She enjoyed the reactions of hurt people less well-off than her. This was especially true when she became a risqué model and dancer.

 Soon enough, all of Venessa’s actions came back full circle. Venessa soon found herself as a target of bullying and racism. She received one hate comment after another…from the n word, to bad things about her black curly ponytails. Some even called her fat and fake.

 Venessa was furious…so furious that she began to track down the bullies and kill them with knives. Childish laughter could be heard among the screaming victims. Venessa covered her tracks well…after all, no one suspected famous model to be a killer. However, she kept pictures of herself posing with her victims holding her knife.

 But she was soon found out, and almost got arrested. Venessa soon spiraled down into madness, having a crazed breakdown. Distraught over the mean comments, she overdosed on skinny creating drugs. Her body couldn’t take the amount and she died before she was discovered by the police. A mirror was in one hand while a headless doll was in another. Venessa died at age 22 in 2012, the same year as Vaggie.

 Venessa soon arrived in Hell and became known as Velvet. Velvet was a fitting name, due to both her wealth and her fondness for red velvet cakes. She even made an Instagram account called radvelvetcakes. Rad was a word meaning “cool” and “trendy,” the things she always aspired to be. With her status as an overlord, it was…well, a piece of cake.

 Velvet would’ve been demon food if not for two Overlords who decided to take her in. Velvet soon had two friends and fellow Overlords: “Daddy” Vox and “Daddy” Valentino. The former was a wealthy TV demon, who owned all the TV stations in Hell. The latter was a moth pimp, who owned Hell’s number one porn studio. Together, the three Overlords made a near unstoppable fearsome force to be reckoned with. They become known as the Triple Vs. The three of them often hosted lavish parties on yachts and in fancy soirees, electronic music and dubstep pulsing through the air. All three of them controlled the “stimulants” of Hell: TV, drugs, porn, social media and food.

 Vox had a flat screen TV for a head and wore a black suit with a large red bow tie and blue stripes going down the suit. He wore a black top hat with antennas and a teal Wi-Fi symbol on it, the same symbol on his chest. When he first came down to Hell in the 1950s, he had an old boxy TV head. But thanks to his power over electricity, he upgraded himself as the years went on. In his full demon form, the red eyed, sharp blue-toothed man could cause entire blackouts. Formerly a white man named Vincent, with black hair and icy blue eyes, Vox died from a TV falling and crushing his face. In Hell, he continued his sinful actions he did when he was alive: hooking up, doing drugs, and hosting gruesome TV shows for entertainment. TV towers were everywhere, looming like impenetrable metal fortresses. With his showman personality, he stood equal to Alastor in power, if not more.

 Valentino was a light purple moth pimp with antennas and fancy coats. He had a ring of fluff around his neck with small red hearts on it. His glasses were pink and heart-shaped. He was often found lounging on couches with female “clients’ in his lap, smoking red smoke from a cigarette. The smoke itself could drug demons and make them doped up. Cruel and greedy, he enjoyed using and abusing people for his own pleasure, in particular, his porn star and worker Angel Dust. He promised love and pleasure, both of them illusions in the long run. His victims would be helpless and obedient, unable to leave and think for themselves. Valentino was originally Vasilis, a dark-skinned man from Brooklyn who also did drugs, smoked and participated in human trafficking. Valentino had died in the 1970s…and his distant relative was none other than fellow moth demon Vaggie!

 And then there was Velvet herself. She was a black-skinned doll demon, short but very deadly. One of her favorite outfits was a velvet laced white dress with small hearts around it and black shapes. She wore black stockings and pink shoes with white puff balls on it. Her hair was dark pink and in two thick pigtails. She had red sclera and white irises with black pupils. Although she looked and acted like a child, she was in her twenties. Velvet was the Overlord of sweets and social media. If Harley Quinn turned into an animated doll who loved gossiping and tea parties, then that would adequately describe what Velvet was like. Velvet once sat with Vox and Valentino safe in the porn studio during the Extermination. She eagerly checked her phone and took selfies while sitting next to Vox.

 Velvet could go full demon form like the other Overlords, but her power was laced with an extra dose of insanity. For in her most powerful form, she could make deadly potions to use against her enemies. Velvet was skilled enough making regular potion for perfume and to use as beauty products. But she could also make poisons and noxious gas to defeat any demon who dared disobey her and her fellow Overlords. In her most extreme form, she could magically turn her victims into sweets, absorbing their souls as she ate them! Even Vox and Valentino steered clear from her when she was in that form.

 Like a doll, Velvet was doted on by Vox and Valentino, as well as her many followers. All three of them went back and forth from doting their workers to abusing them with deadly threats. Although Velvet enjoyed being spoiled, she often felt like she was treated like a child too much. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, even meeting up with Rosie and other wealthy ladies to eat demons in the streets. Velvet was also infamous for sometimes using demons’ blood and organs in her baking.

 Yes, Velvet was living a life of luxury, perhaps second to the royal Magne family and the Eldritch family. Imagine her surprise when she found out that the princess was running a hotel to redeem sinners. She laughed it off, calling Charlie absurd. In many ways, she was similar to Seviathan, Helsa and Katie Killjoy: self-centered individuals who lived on gossip, trends, fashion and putting others down.

 Velvet was frequently seen on and searched many media platforms in Hell: Voxtube, Voxflix, Voxbook, and Voxtagram. The movie and social media sites were all run by Vox, of course. His dimensional monopoly was getting closer to becoming permanent.

 There was her Instagram account: “radvelvetcakes. Fun with the Overlords! Follow and comment to keep up on moth-pimp, voxtagram 8k and me!”

 On July 6, 2020, Velvet posted a selfie of herself smiling on what appeared to be a dance floor decorated with green neon candy tiles.

“This is my newest account! Be sure to tell your friends! Ain’t I a cutie?”

 On the same day, Velvet posted a selfie of her and Vox. Vox didn’t look very happy.

 Vox said, “Chillin in the studio. Rad photo by my girl radvelvetcakes.”

 On July 7, 2020, Velvet posted a picture of Valentino and Vox eating hamburgers at Hell’s version of McDonalds. Vox had his TV mouth open, a hamburger and French fries on his lap.

 “Lol. Voxtagram8k is one to talk. He’s hardly as cool as he thinks he is.”

 A later picture showed Valentino eating a giant chicken sandwich messily.

 Valentino posted, “Picking up the goods,” as Vox and a smiling Velvet got into their limo after going to McDonalds. Vox had a bag in his hand, while Velvet carried two drinks. The McDonald’s M logo was upside down.

 On July 9, 2020, Velvet posted a picture of herself showing off her manicured nails. Her sharp nails were decorated with sparkles, diamonds and little bows. The nails were extended ones. In the background, it looked like Vox’s leg was breaking down a door.

 Later, Valentino mentioned that he would fuck up Velvet for posting bad pictures of him and Vox.

 “Bored and missing the boys so I decided to do my nails up pretty!”

On July 10, 2020, Valentino posted a picture of Vox letting his pet shark loose on a tripping Velvet.

 Valentino said, “Got her. This is the only time I’ll say this, but Vox having a giant demon pet shark actually comes in handy.”

  On July 13, 2020, Velvet was seen beaming in a picture along with Vox, Valentino and their blue pet hammerhead shark.

  On July 20, 2020, Valentino posted a selfie at his new club.

 Valentino: “New club, new pole, anyone else wanna give it a whirl?”

 Stolas: “No thank you. I’m sure even if things are new, the same slime is still around.”

 When asked if Blitzo would do a dance on the pole for Valentino…

 Blitzo: “No, no that won’t happen. I’m too busy with my horses and business.

 Stola: It would be quite the sight. But I wouldn’t wish to see Blitzy working in Mr. Valentino’s establishment.

 Stolas: Why would I ever want the rat to want such an excellent business venture?

 Valentino: Watch yourself, bird.

 Stolas: That’s a lot of talk for an insect.

 Velvet laughed out loud as she read the comments.

 On July 21, 2020, Velvet posted a selfie of herself about to eat a dirty green lollipop with a fly on it. Valentino stared in horror with wide pink eyes under his heart glasses.

 “Val stopped me from eating a lollipop I found on the ground. But what he doesn’t know is that I grabbed it after he tossed it in the bin! #FreeCandy. #LivingFree. #RatsEatShitOffTheGroundAllTheTime.”

 Valentino replied, “Stop, we have money! We can get you another one!”

 Velvet: “It’s mystery flavored! We can do what we want!”

 Vox said to Valentino: “I will not be the one cleaning the toilet tonight.”

 Stolas said, “Wonderful parenting there,” and added a thumbs down.

 Moxxie the imp added, “Why would anyone eat something that was on the ground?”

 On July 23, 2020, Valentino posted a selfie of himself smoking, his eyes glowing pink under his shades.

 Valentino said, “Dealing with Angel always puts me in a bad mood. Gonna go have some fucked up fun.”

 Velvet eagerly asked, “Oooh, oooh, can I join?”

 Valentino replied, “Sure, why the fuck not?”

On July 25th, Velvet went on a killing mission with Vox and Valentino. Velvet was seen in a picture, beaming while holding a knife in her hands. The blade was stained with purple cake frosting.

 Valentino said, “Thanks for the backup today, baby doll.”

 Velvet responded, “It was so much fun! Wish we could do it more often.”

 Valentino added, “Always up for a little messy fun.”

 On July 26th, Velvet posted a picture of herself doing a “duck” face while holding a piece of pink and teal cake on a plate. The rest of the cake was on a plate on a table, with suspicious bloodstains in the frosting. Nearby, a blue demon stood holding a piece while his right shoulder had a bloody bandage on it.

 “So it turned out it was cake!” Velvet posted. Apparently, Velvet had thought that the demon was made of cake, so she had used a knife to slice his shoulder. Then she sliced up the cake and to her delight, it was, indeed, cake. Velvet had gleefully watched videos on VoxTube that showed artistically made cakes that looked like ordinary objects. This led to a meme or an online joke that everything was secretly cake. Velvet briefly wondered if she was cake herself.

  On August 4, 2020, Velvet posted a video of a blue Vox writing down notes and a red Valentino screaming at him. Vox remained unfazed.

 Velvet said: “Laughing my fucking ass off!”

Valentino wasn’t happy and said, “The fuck? You were supposed to advertise my company, not, whatever the fuck this is. Cute drawings, though.”

 Velvet: “Thank you.”

 Valentino: “Lucky you’re a crazy cute bitch.”

 Vox said, “Ur lucky I have a built in mute button. Also, this is perfect! <3.” Vox was the more easygoing, “dad” type individual in comparison to Valentino.

 On August 5, 2020, Velvet happily posed in a picture, holding a pink balloon she was about to pop with a pin. In front of her was an illuminated cake that read “Happy Birthday Gasu,” in reference to an artist who made character art for the show. Valentino had a scowl on his face as his red jacket got messy, the hearts on his fluff turning into broken hearts.

 “Celebrated Gasuguma’s birthday with cake! Love his amazing pictures of Vox, Valentino and me! Happy Birthday!”

 Valentino complained, “Yeah some celebration, stained my fucking jacket. Cake was good, though.”

 On August 6, 2020, valentine posted a picture of Vox in a dark room with two cups of soda in his hands.

 Valentino: “5:30 am. I asked Vox to get me a strawberry iced coffee several hours ago. The fucker shows up now with half a finished diet soda! Do I kill him, yes or no?”

 Velvet was annoyed. “So that’s where my fucking diet soda went.”

 Valentino: “Oh my fucking god, he didn’t even buy it for me.”

 Vox: “I’ll send Vark the Shark to deliver your drink next time.”

  Valentino: “You just wanted to see me.”

    On August 7, 2020, Vox’s picture showed his TV screen cracked and one of his antennas crooked. Vox’s screen turned to colored bars and Valentino was grinning in the picture.

 Valentino: “Thanks for the soda, Voxy. Don’t fuck up my order next time.”

 Velvet sadly says: “My dads are fighting.”

 Valentino: “Don’t worry baby doll, not my fault, Vox is a dumbass.”

 Vox: “Velvet, you’re literally the same age as us, wtf?”

 Sir Pentious: “Ha ha ha, that’s hilariously evil, Valentino. Or may I call you Val, we should “hang” soon?”

 Stolas: “You can do better.”

 Vox: “Time to get a new screen. Ungrateful rat. #notmyboyfriend.”

 Valentino: “You woke me up. Sorry not sorry.”

 Stolas said to Vox: “I would say you could do better, but I’m not entirely sure you can.”

 Valentino: “Go fuck an imp.”

 Stolas: Gladly.

 Valentino: Sad.

 Stolas: What’s sad is traipsing around in a giant tacky coat trying too hard to be intimidating.

 Valentino: What’s sadder is watching you thirst over a tiny-dicked imp 24/7.

 Stolas: From what I’ve heard, he has a bigger dick than whatever you have between your legs.

 Valentino: From who? Lol. You obviously don’t have anyone, I don’t see nothing on your insta other than a thirsty dried old man.

 Stolas: …

 Stolas: You only like Vox because he can display glowing lamps on his screen, dirty moth.

 Velvet laughed out loud, this was the most fun she had in a while.

  On August 17 2020, Valentino posted another selfie.

 Valentino: “Got some business to take care of.”

 Stolas: I knew disco was dead, but I didn’t know it went to Hell.” Another successful roast.

 Velvet said: “Looking pretty dapper, Val. Don’t worry, I know Vox will see it!”

 Valentino said to Stolas, “Don’t hate me ‘cause you ain’t me, imp fucker.”

 Stolas replied, “Why would I want to be a rat?”

 Valentino: “Why are you so obsessed with me, baby cake? Want me to stop by? Help remove the stick from your ass.”

 Stolas: The stuck up my ass would be more pleasurable than anything you’ve got.

 Velvet was laughing so hard, tears came from her eyes.

 Valentino: Don’t knock it till you try it, baby. You know what they say about moths.

 Stolas: That they’re little pests obsessed with light bulbs? Owls eat insects, you know.

 Valentino: They can go all night.

 Stolas: Well owls eat rats. Wait this came out from the wrong particular situation…

 Valentino made an erotic face.

 Stolas: No.

 Sir Pentious to Valentino: “I own the same shirt, maybe we can do business and hang.”

[luckydicekirby]

*predicatable* the daudsider fic where daud gets killed by hc corvo...

LMAO honestly thank you i love talking about this fic…the original idea behind this was realizing that if Corvo kills Daud at the end of Brigmore Witches, it’s by cutting his throat. And that’s how the Outsider died, so obviously they should talk about it! Weirdly this ended up being kind of an afterthought in the fic itself, which is mostly just Daud being gay and sad, as is his legal right. I guess this is the only time I’ve really written Daud POV. Or actually Daud at all? I tend to mention him a lot in fics as a rhetorical device but he never really shows up, oops. 

wrapped around your ankles over the waterfall, for anyone else playing along at home!

Never let it be said that Corvo Attano doesn’t know how to handle a knife. He makes it quick. Daud hardly feels the cut as it crosses his throat. He’s already fading when Corvo tosses him over the side of the building. He doesn’t feel himself hit the ground.

There is like, something subtly wrong with the rhythm of this paragraph, it reads a little flat? Two of these sentences need to be combined and then I think it would be fine. Riveting commentary I know.

When Daud contemplated death—a common enough way to kill time, for an assassin—he liked to think it might bring him peace. Foolish, to expect that peace was something he could ever have.

Daud, I think maybe thinking about dying all the time is a YOU thing.

He opens his eyes. He’s lying on stone. The Outsider peers down at him, and around them the Void is no different than it’s ever been, gray and cool and harsh.

“It was a very pretty speech,” he says. “But Corvo Attano heard enough pretty words for a lifetime when he lived in Dunwall Tower. He spent his days learning that they only ever hid viciousness and cruelty, knives poorly sheathed. The Loyalists toasted him eloquently before they poured poison down his throat. Why should he have believed yours to be any different?”

I leaned more into like, shrine-style speeches than I usually do in the Outsider’s dialogue here, probably because that kind of dialogue makes him sound like an asshole. It’s SO fun to write. 

Daud sits up and presses a hand to his neck, the place where Corvo’s knife cleaved his skin in two. His hand comes away bloody. It looks almost black in the gloom of the Void.

“You saved me,” he says, voice shredded to pieces, and the Outsider laughs.

God the kind of implied hopefulness of this is really crushing, huh.

“I don’t take sides,” he says. The lying bastard. The moment Corvo Attano was Marked, the moment the Outsider decided he was special, the outcome of this day was decided. “You’re dying, Daud, your life slipping out from between your fingers. A fitting end for a man who spent his life spilling a river of blood. I wonder what you’ll do with these final moments. Curse my name?”

“Fuck you.”

Walked right into that one my dude. Also “I don’t take sides” NEVER stops being funny unfortunately. And ‘spilling a river of blood’ I think is just straight up from one high chaos Outsider shrine speech or another.

“Always so predictable,” the Outsider muses, and Daud hates him, hates himself, hates the sick curdling feeling he always gets in his gut when the Outsider sounds disappointed. Sounds bored. The same sickness that stayed with him for fifteen years while the Outsider ignored him, until Daud blundered his way into Corvo Attano’s life and suddenly became interesting again. 

That’s being in love, Daud. Sorry, in your case it’s terminal!

“You begged him for your life. I admit, Daud, that surprised me. And Corvo refused to give it to you. Your one last request denied. How does that feel, Daud? Like justice? Like redemption?”

And this is like, endgame narration style dialogue. Good times.

It feels like blood sliding through Daud’s fingers, spilling down his coat. Dozens of people have bled on this coat. Jessamine Kaldwin did. And now Daud will be the last. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

He wants it to be done. He wants the peace he knows he doesn’t deserve, but even now the Outsider won’t leave him alone, staring at him with his too dark eyes. It itches like bloodflies under his skin, the Outsider’s eyes on him, and yet Daud has never been able to hate it the way he should. He’s always craved it, as if he’s no better than the likes of Vera Moray, crooning to her rats about the black-eyed boy who will abandon her. Who abandons everyone, in time.

On the bright side, number of times Daud has made a guy into soup is still zero, so you’re still doing okay.

Corvo will feel like this one day. The thought should console Daud. It doesn’t.

“Of course it matters, Daud,” says the Outsider. He kneels down beside him and presses his hand against his throat, under Daud’s own. It’s cold, shocking enough that Daud starts, and the bastard laughs at that too. The Outsider has never touched him before. He would remember. “History is determined by men like Corvo Attano. By the men who kill Empresses and the men who take revenge. He could have let you live. He almost did. That future still hangs in the balance. A fish hooked but fighting against it. Soon enough it will have swum away.”

I love a good weird Outsider metaphor.

“So let me go,” Daud says.

The Outsider runs his thumb along the edges of Daud’s wound. It should hurt. It does hurt. Daud doesn’t try to move away. “My throat was cut, once,” he says. “The day that I was made what I am. It’s a terrible way to die. I can’t remember how I felt about it. I was going to do what you did. I was going to beg for my life. But they never gave me the chance.”

He must be telling the truth. This close, Daud can see the scar.

See I like, wrote the bit about them dying the same way and then all the subsequent dialogue I wanted to write was like, unrelated depressing gay bullshit, so I just went with that. I do like “I can’t remember how I felt about it”, it gets at everything that’s so fucked up about the Outsider’s like, whole existence. The most fun way to write the Outsider imo is just as a dude who fundamentally does not understand the human experience of anything, including his own literal human experiences.

The Outsider draws his hand back, covered now in Daud’s blood. Daud knows precisely how much blood the human body can hold, and he’s bled too much for anywhere but the Void.

I was like what am I talking about, is knowing about blood anatomy and assassin thing, but actually I think this is a joke (“joke”) about him having gone to college. 

“What would you have said?” Daud asks. He can’t look away from the Outsider’s hand.

The Outsider ignores him. He takes Daud’s jaw in his hand, smearing blood across his cheekbone, and tilts it to the side. He speaks into Daud’s ear. “Was it all my fault, Daud? Whispering in your ear, making you think you were somehow important?”

Does the Outsider ignore this question because he’s a bitch or because I couldn’t think of an answer? Who can say! 

Also the Outsider actually literally whispering in his ear is the kind of dramatic bullshit I fully believe he would do.

“You’re such a little shit,” Daud growls, and he has both hands fisted in the Outsider’s coat before he can think, before he can remember all the reasons that he has never dared touch the Outsider, no matter how much he loathes him.

“loathes” lol ok

The Outsider watches him, and does not let him go. They would be breathing the same air, if either of them were breathing anymore. “With my Mark, you thought you were going to change things. And you have.”

I still go back and forth about whether Mark/Marked should be capitalized. This ambiguity is the Outsider’s greatest crime.

I can no longer remember if there’s any canon basis for Daud ever having wanted to change the world for the better; it is my sacred duty to assume that everyone’s a sad former idealist though.

“From where I stand, the world looks exactly the same.”

“You killed an Empress, and saved her daughter. History peeled away from the curve of your blade like skin from a knife. I gave you what you wanted, Daud: the power to make your own regrets.”

Oh god what a gross metaphor. I like it a lot but also, yikes.

The Outsider slides his grip from Daud’s jaw back to his hair, and he yanks his head back. Daud chokes on nothing. He can feel blood dripping down his throat, can taste it on the back of his tongue. He clenches his fingers, and finds them too weak to hold onto the Outsider’s coat any longer.

Oh sorry I forgot the other reason I wrote this fic, “being kinda horny for people getting their throat cut” apparently. Like this blocking is so gross but, unfortunately.

“Are you going to let me die?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” The Outsider tilts his head. He looks curious. “Death made me what I am. I wonder what it would make of you.”

“A corpse,” Daud tells him.

“Daud,” says the Outsider, still so fucking disappointed. “Your problem has always been that you lack a grander vision.”

“Dead is dead.”

“Not when it happened to me.”

“I saw what was in Attano’s coat. If you make me into a thing like you did to the Empress—”

“If I wanted to cut out your heart, you would sit still and let me,” the Outsider says. “You can try to hide it with all the anger in the world, Daud, but you would do anything for me.” His voice is dispassionate, as if he were not filleting Daud to the very bone with his words.

I remember that I added this line in while editing, because Ruby got mad at me about it. “If I wanted to cut out your heart, you would let me” IS the most sarahcore thing I’ve ever written probably. Play to your strengths I guess!

Also can you imagine like, Daud style heart lines. Just miserable.

“A word from me after fifteen years, and you picked yourself up out of your guilt and grief to scour Dunwall from end to end. You didn’t have to kill Delilah to save Emily Kaldwin. You killed her because you were jealous. You thought you could kill Corvo too. But after you’d already murdered his dear Jessamine, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.”

“Shut up,” Daud says. A rasp from his ruined throat.

The Outsider kisses him, cold lips and colder tongue, and Daud makes the same noise people make when he slides a knife between their ribs.

I am pretty happy with how the tone of this fic is basically ‘getting stabbed but in a sexy way except you still very much got stabbed’. Seems right for the ship!

There’s blood on the Outsider’s mouth when he lets Daud go. Daud wants to kiss him again more than he wants to live.

God what a depressing line. I like it a lot but hey Daud? You good???

“You should let me die. You should give Attano what he wants.”

“But I am,” the Outsider says. He touches Daud’s cheek, like the parody of a lover. “Corvo wanted his revenge. But more than that, he wants to be the kind of man above needing it. The kind of man who can raise his daughter well, and teach her to be kind, and good, and all the things that Empresses should be.”

Of course. Daud bleeding out before him, and it’s all about Corvo fucking Attano. “So you’re going to save me for Attano’s sake.”

Daud is miserable and jealous: the fic.

“I told you,” the Outsider says, eyes more pitiless than the sea. “I haven’t decided yet.”

This line…is really good. I love a good snappy ending line and this is probably the best one I’ve ever gotten, tbh. nailed it past sarah! there’s also like, no universe where this fic ends in a less weird and ambiguous way, because like frankly I can’t even figure out what that would be. Like where do you go from here. Nowhere, you live in this terrible moment forever!

Anyway, sorry that the only daudsider fic I’ve ever written is mega depressing and half about the Outsider also being in love with Corvo, but he’s VERY mean to Daud so surely that makes up for it!

[liamakorn]

Spoopy Love

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (Ghost-Hunter AU) 

Warnings: None. It’s a fluff fest y’all. Seriously, hand me Peter Parker, and watch my heart explode. 

Words: 5,092

A/N: GUYS!!! I had so much fun writing this, you have no idea. Somehow, it turned into a Buzzfeed Unsolved AU, and I aint even mad lol. This is for the August AU Writing Challenge by @after-avenging-hours . Hope y’all enjoy it as much as I did, our smol awkward boy deserves all the love! 

I tried to keep it as short as I could, lol, but uh....I think I failed. Sorry XP 

------

“I am so not going in there.”

A small whine that sounded vaguely like your name left his lips, brunette curls shifting in the small autumn breeze.

“Oh, c’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?”

Glancing at Peter, you must’ve made a face, because now he was chuckling, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own. A small, handheld camera hung by a cord on his wrist, swaying to and fro with every movement.

You focused your gaze on the house in front of you, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. It was cold, the sun was setting, and you really didn’t want to be here. How you’d managed to let him drag you on this “adventure”, you’ll never know. Oh, wait, that’s right, he’d flashed those puppy dog eyes and you’d just melted.

However, this was a little beyond your comfort zone. The house was huge, three stories in all. But what it had in grandeur was ruined by the state of the building itself; exposed wood paneling, the rotted porch with hardly a pillar left, shutters barely clinging to their windows. God, you could smell the mold from here. You noticed a few rats dart beneath the cracked walls and nearly fainted.

After another nudge, Peter finally grabbed your attention, pouting at your expression.

“Oh c’mooon! We’re about to catch the only known footage of Eliza Cartwright’s ghost! Aren’t you at least a little excited?”

Allowing yourself one last sigh, you managed a nervous smile, readjusting the heavy bag slung across your shoulder.

“This is a health and safety hazard.”

Somehow, you put one foot in front of the other, forcing your steps closer to the hell hole you were about to spend the majority of your night in. After a few seconds, you noticed Peter wasn’t following, glancing back with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, c’mon, Dimples. This ghost aint gonna catch itself!”

The crooked grin you received was worth every discomfort this house could throw at you.

It’s not like you didn’t want to believe in ghosts. You would’ve loved to have had the same enthusiasm for the supernatural that seemed to flow through Peter every time someone uttered the word “haunted”. It just seemed like there was always a more logical explanation, an answer that made more sense than the supposed “paranormal activity”. Banging in the walls? Faulty pipes. Scratching noises and flickering lights? Mice. Doors closing by themselves? Wind.

Yet, somehow, you ended up a moderator on Peter Parker’s ghost hunting blog, staring up at a dusty old house, on a Saturday. Life sure did have a sense of humor.

Stepping through the creaky front door, you were met with a wall of what could only be described as old people smell, kicked up to eleven. You couldn’t help but cough, taking stock of your surroundings. Dust hung in the air, catching the last few beams of sunlight creeping through the slats of decaying boards, which were haphazardly secured to the windows with rusty nails. The walls were nothing special, decades old paint flaking from the plaster, faded and worn from years of neglect.

The furniture was coated with a thick layer of dust and dirt, making it nearly impossible to discern what color each item had originally been. The cushions seemed to be missing; you counted that as a blessing. Who knows what would’ve been living in there.

A sudden achoo! startled you from your thoughts, shattering the silence of the otherwise abandoned house. Spinning on your heel, you just caught Peter’s wince, the brunette lifting the camera as you pressed your hand to your chest.

“Give me frickin heart attack, why don't’cha?”

His smirk was almost shy as he apologized, chuckling when you lightheartedly shoved his shoulder. You plopped your bag onto the couch, a cloud of dust kicking back into your face. You dug around for your own camera, hiding your face from view and trying to calm your blush. Jesus, how had he wormed his way under your skin so easily? You’d only known each other for a few months, having become fast friends after you’d transferred to his high school at the very end of the year. It was an odd experience, walking into this new school the first day and having Peter and Ned bombard you with greetings.

One minute you were the weirdo loner girl who couldn’t keep up with the new curriculum because she’d moved in fricken June, and the next, you had two amazing friends who actually wanted to hang out with you. Hell, it was that first day of school where Peter had nervously approached you and asked if you wanted to come with him to check out this stupid house in the first place. 

You’d been inclined to say no, but after looking at his expression...you just couldn’t. He’d sounded almost scared, like you would make fun of him or something. Well, needless to say, you’d caved, and here you were, the day before Halloween, hunting a ghost. And, despite your best efforts, enjoying yourself.

Heaving out a sigh, steeling yourself, you turned to face Peter, unable to keep the smile from your face at his fascinated gaze raking the dilapidated living room.

“You ready, Parker?”

An excited grin stretched his features, brown eyes sparkling in the dim beam of your flashlight. His enthusiasm was contagious, and you soon found yourself just as impatient to explore as he was. Attaching a go-pro to the side your head, you noticed Peter staring at you with an expression you couldn’t read. He quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat and fiddling with the camera. You could’ve sworn you saw pink dusting his cheeks.

As happy as seeing Peter this excited made you, that was quickly dwindled by the borderline dangerous nature of your surroundings. Everything was either rusty, dusty, moldy, or all of the above. You noted the exposed wood of the walls, some of the panels rotted away completely, other rooms visible in some places. Meanwhile, your companion continued to monologue, recounting on camera the details of a grisly death.

“The first spirit we’ll be covering is Christopher Requaitt. He came from the incredibly small town of Seboeis, Maine, and had a relatively poor upbringing. And yet, somehow, he managed to graduate at the top of his class, earning him a job in the household of one James Cartwright. It was rumored that he had been working off a debt to Cartwright, and that, after it was paid, he was hired full time due to his incredible culinary ability. However, these claims were never officially documented.”

You hardly realized you’d stopped scanning your surroundings, completely enraptured by the way Peter’s lips moved as he recounted the tale. Even as you started fiddling with various settings and EMF machines, you kept an ear on him, glancing up every once in awhile, enthralled by the story he was telling. Although you were a skeptic, it was hard not to be interested in the lives of people before you, hearing their history sending a shiver down your spine.

Peter continued, the confident edge to his voice catching you by surprise.

“One night, Cartwright’s wife, Cheryl, became incredibly sick. It would soon be known that she was pregnant with her first, and only, child; but, at the time, she claimed to have food poisoning, contracted from undercooked chicken. Due to Requaitt’s incredible reputation and skill, many have speculated that the accusation was meant to get Christopher fired. She had made her distaste for the cook obvious, never missing a chance to denounce him to her friends and acquaintances.

It is widely believed, by both residents and historians, that James and Christopher had been in the midst of an affair, an incredibly taboo subject at the time. Cheryl, either jealous or afraid for their reputation, might have wanted to take drastic action to halt their activities. Although he was saddened by it, Cartwright had no choice but to fire the cook. Finding himself wracked with woebegone, Chris-”

A snort escaped your lips, earning a playfully annoyed look from Peter. You coughed, trying to disguise your giggles behind your hand. He raised an eyebrow, directing the camera at you, catching your amused expression.

“Something wrong, munchkin?”

You chuckled again, shaking your head.

“Nope, nothing, I’m good. Please, continue.”

Rolling his eyes, he readjusted the camera, a soft smile on his face.  

“Anyway. Finding himself wracked in woebegone-”

He stared directly at you as he emphasized the word, setting off a new round of giggles, prompting a wider grin to stretch his lips.

“-Christopher found he couldn’t live with James’ decision, stuffing his face in the deep frying, killing himself and burning his face off before they could make him leave.”

“Christ, Parker!”

He halted, furrowing his brows in bemused confusion. You tried for an aggravated expression, only just managing a mildly miffed look before a smile broke out.

“Could you be a bit more blunt?”

He chuckled, pink dusting his cheeks even as he shrugged.

“What? That’s what happened, what d’you want me to say?”

You released a huff of air.

“I dunno, Pete, just...you can’t speak ill of the dead, man, that’s like, rule number one in the ghosty handbook.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Oh, there’s a handbook now? Miss (Y/N) ‘I’m sure it was just the wind’ (L/N)?”

A flurry of giggles interrupted your sentence, covering your mouth to try and contain them. “I’m just saying, have a little respect, Parker!”

A victorious grin stretched his features, your heart skipping a beat when he let out the cutest laugh you’d ever heard.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Should I mention the fact that the only way they could identify him was by his clothing, because his features had melted together-”

You faked a disgusted face, covering your ears. His snickering sent a warm feeling dancing in your chest, the smile on your face lingering even as your chuckles died. You admired him for a moment, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes, dimples fully on display with his wide grin. Even in the dim beam of your flashlight, shadows dancing across his features; god, he was breathtaking.

After a few seconds, Peter cleared his throat, a touch of shyness flashing across his face.

“You, uh, you alright there, munchkin?”

Snapping out of your daze, you nodded, fiddling with the EMF meter at your belt.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s move on. You mentioned a little girl?”

That familiar sparkle returned to his eye, gripping your wrist suddenly and practically dragging you up the creaking staircase. You fought a laugh, heart pounding at his touch, no matter how minor. You really needed to get a grip on your crush.

You ended up in yet another dusty room, covered wall to wall in what was once a pale pink, but had faded to grey over time. The same confident tone as before overtook his voice, face stone serious as he began his spiel about the area’s most popular spirit.

“Here we are in the bedroom of James Cartwright’s six-year-old daughter, Eliza. She was born barely a year after the death of Christopher Requaitt, leading the residents of the town to question Requaitt’s death. Though nothing came of it legally, gossip and rumors of the supposed affair between Cartwright and Requaitt resulted in Cheryl’s eventual suicide, leaving James with Eliza when she was only four. Tragedy would strike again two years later, when Valerie Peridot would witness one of the many supernatural occurrences in the home. Only, unlike the others, this one was fatal.

“Peridot was the most recent in a long line of women James Cartwright dated after his wife’s death. She had only been dating him for three months before moving in, treating Eliza like her own daughter. But, as she entered the little girl’s room, she was startled to find the large window open, the child standing on the balcony railing and speaking to someone Valerie was unable to see. She seemed upset, screaming at the unseen figure to go away. When Valerie opened her mouth to scold her, Eliza jolted, as if she was pushed, flying from the third-floor balcony to the asphalt below”

Your eyebrows shot up, catching Peter’s attention for a brief second. The crooked half smile he sent your way was enough to catch your breath, hoping to any god out there that he didn’t notice.

“After Eliza’s death, Peridot was obviously suspected, her story of an unseen man shoving the girl out a window seeming preposterous. However, diary entries were found of Eliza’s, mentioning an imaginary friend named “Krissy". Law enforcement thought nothing of it, but spectral enthusiasts disagreed. It was speculated that perhaps “Krissy" was actually the ghost of Christopher Requaitt, enacting his revenge of what was the product of his demise. Eliza mentioned Krissy’s distaste for her family, specifically her mother. Even after her death, the spirit had apparently denounced Cheryl to the young girl, trying to convince her to “remind her father of his sins”. While these claims are somewhat far fetched, is it impossible to believe that Requaitt, heartbroken and betrayed by his lover, would seek retribution in the way of Eliza’s death?”

Peter glanced at you again, tilting his head slightly in question.

“Are you cold?”

You furrowed your brows, confused for a moment. You hadn’t even noticed your own arms encircling your torso, goosebumps rising on your bare arms, too engrossed in his story. Shrugging, you tried rubbing your palms together, the temporary warmth doing nothing to soothe the chill.

“I’m fine. Just a bit chilly is all, let’s keep moving.”

After a few seconds, he nodded, but not before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“We’ll only be a few more minutes. Just wanna use the spirit box and then we can head out.”

He lead the way towards a narrow hallway, just missing your intense blush. You tailed him, whining slightly.

“Can we not? I fucking hate that thing.”

He snickered, glancing back at you briefly; your heart fluttered at his bashful smile, slipping your arms into the sleeves of his coat. The fabric completely obscured your hands, filling you with a warmth that rivaled the pink on your cheeks.

Leading into the maid’s quarters was a rundown hallway, barely any plaster left on the walls. This area of the house seemed...moister than the rest, a distant leak echoing around the space. It sent shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Well....this is ominous.”

Peter laughed, pointing the camera at you once again.

“You scared, Munchkin?”

You lightheartedly shoved him, shaking your head. It was getting increasingly difficult to be annoyed when he flashed those stupid dimples. Peter began setting up the camera against a far wall, pulling out a small black gadget, explaining the mechanism simultaneously.

“So for those of you not familiar, what we’re about to use is called a Spirit Box. It uses radio frequency sweeps to generate white noise, which theories suggest give some entities the energy they need to be heard. When this occurs you will sometimes hear voices or sounds coming through the static in an attempt to communicate. It basically scans radio stations super fast to give the ghost a chance to roast us.”

Your chuckle is quickly cut off by a wince, plugging your ears to drown out the loud shrill given off by the hell box. After a few seconds of garbled syllables and static, you managed to catch what could’ve been either “starry" or “sorry". You decided on the latter.

“Sorry? For what?”

Peter shrugged.

“Maybe it’s sorry about the house?”

You snorted, trying to contain your giggles.

“Man, it should be sorry, this is a fuckin’ mess.”

Peter had the gall to look offended.

“Hey! Be respectful.”

That set off another fit of giggles, followed by a sarcastic tone,

“Oh, now you care about respect? Besides, what’s a pissy ghost gonna do?”

A sudden smirk found its way onto your lips.

“Ooh, maybe it’ll follow you hooome-”

He shoved you lightly, laughing nervously.

“Shut up! That’s not funny!”

You just giggled, vaguely paying attention to the spirit box. You could’ve sworn you heard something akin to, ‘I don’t want to go’, but you couldn’t be too sure.

After another few seconds of unintelligible nonsense, Peter sighed, switching the device off. Trying to hide his disappointed expression, he fixed the camera on his face, a small smile adorning his features. You began to pack up your equipment while he vlogged his outro.

“Alas, dear viewers, it seems that, while paranormal activity does reside in these walls, we weren’t able to catch much of anything tonight. Until next time, where we take a road trip to the Lizzie Borden Murder Hou-”

All of a sudden, a loud bang! followed by several shuffling sounds echoed from somewhere above you, startling the both of you nearly to death. Peter practically dropped the camera, eyes wide in what could’ve either been excitement or fear. Probably a little bit of both.

“What was that?!”

Your first instinct was that someone else had the same idea as you. Or a homeless man was squatting there. Or a wolf was hungry and craved the flesh from your bones. While some more far-fetched than others, none of those options seemed incredibly appealing.

You tugged Peter’s arm, trying to nudge him towards the exit.

“C’mon, Pete, let’s get outta here-"

Just as you said that, the shuffling got louder, swooping past your face and right past a terrified Peter. As the bird settled on an ancient chair, the two of you stayed silent for what felt like ages. Until the dam cracked, and the giggles you were trying to keep back came spilling out from your lips. When the terror had finally subsided, Peter chuckled a bit too, clutching his heart and leaning against the wall.

The giggles didn’t stop. Forgetting yourself, you’d stopped checking your surroundings, completely focused on Peter for most of the night. So, it’d be just your luck that you’d step right onto a spot of water damaged flooring behind you.

Good news? You’d found the source of that dripping noise. Bad news? Your foot went straight through it, sending you crashing down, banging your head on the wooden paneling. You might’ve heard Peter yell out, but your brain was swimming too much to notice, a ringing settling in your ears. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your foggy senses, only to notice the intense pain shooting up your leg. It was like somebody had taken your ankle and bashed it against a rock a few times. You were almost sure it was broken. You just hoped to god you weren't cut anywhere. The last thing you needed right now was tetanus.

After a few seconds of confused blinking, the rapidly spinning room finally came to a halt; coherent enough to notice your surroundings, Peter came into view, a worried look etched into his expression. His eyes were almost teary as he fussed over you.

Grabbing his hand, you tried your best at smiling, only managing a grimace as your head throbbed. His eyes snapped to yours, squeezing your hand a little too tightly, his free hand checking your head as lightly as he could. When it grazed over the welt right at the top of your forehead, you winced, relieved when he pulled his hand back to cradle your cheek instead.

“Okay, okay okay okay, you’re okay. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Blinking a few more times for good measure, you nodded, soothing some of the panic in his eyes. Slowly, as gently as he possibly could, Peter supported your upper back and waist, lifting you to a sitting position, jostling your leg as little as possible. Even then, you let out a slight whimper. The nausea hit you all at once, forcing you to grip Peter’s arm until the room stopped spinning. Although you could barely pay attention to anything but your swimming senses, Peter continued to mumble out loud; whether it was to calm himself or you was unclear.

“God, (Y/N), I’m so sorry, I was stupid to make you come with me, I should’ve just taken you to get some damned coffee like a normal person, now you’re hurt and it’s my fault, Jesus I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“Peter.”

He stopped altogether, eyes wide and terrified. Giving him another, more convincing smile, you sniffled, wiping your face on the sleeve of his jacket that you were still wearing. Taking stock of your leg, you couldn’t see or feel many splinters or cuts, which was a plus. However, your ankle didn’t seem to be faring as well, the throbbing having only worsened as the minutes rolled by. Getting it out of the rotted floor was definitely a priority.

“Alright...okay, Peter. We need to get my leg out, yeah? I’m gonna need your help.”

Peter nodded, visibly swallowing, clenching your hand to the point where it almost hurt. He reached down, careful not to impale himself on the cracked wood, and began to clear as much of the debris as he could. Although the thought of shifting your leg was nauseating, you tried to help as much as you could, knocking splinters away so there was a clear passage you could slip your foot through. 

Taking a deep breath, you squeezed Peter’s arm, cautiously lifting your foot out of the floor. Even that minor jostling sent stabs of pain up your leg, an unintentional cry escaping your lips. Peter tried his best to make the endeavor as painless as possible, supporting your leg and back, moving anything that could bump into the injury. You saw his pained expression at your cry, brows furrowed in worry.

Eventually, you managed to free your ankle, a sigh of relief escaping your chest. You hadn't even noticed you were holding your breath. Once able to shift without feeling like you were going to die, you released Peter’s arm, wincing at the red marks you’d left. He barely seemed to notice, cradling your ankle to assess the damage.

Despite the awful situation, you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. Cheeks flushed, jaw flexing every few seconds, a nervous tick you’d noticed over the past few months. His eyes were trained on you the whole time, a softness to his gaze that sent your heart racing a mile a minute.

Hesitantly, you reached up, tracing his cheekbone with your fingertips. His eyes snapped to yours, the blush you earned filling you with satisfaction. You had no idea where this sudden confidence came from, and you were sure it wouldn’t last. Still, you couldn’t help but make the most of it.

Your voice was barely audible when you whispered,

“You’re so pretty…”

If you thought he’d been red before. Oh boy. Now he was like a tomato, a shy smile stretching his lips before he could stop it. Catching your gaze briefly, Peter chuckled, continuing his examination of your ankle.

“You probably have a concussion. We should get you out of here.”

Giggling, you couldn’t help the fond look you gave him, a dopey grin on your face.

“You’re taking me out? Like, on a date?”

He grinned fully, 50 shades of pink, standing to help you up.

“Alright, you definitely have a concussion. C’mon, let’s go.”

Gripping his hands, you allowed Peter to lift you to your feet, shocked by his strength. Careful not to lean on your bad leg, you hardly noticed when you began to fall, the room suddenly spinning. Peter caught you by the waist, keeping his hold on you until you could focus on anything but keeping your balance. 

The both of you were barely an inch apart, your head the perfect height to lay against his chest. Which is exactly what you did, sighing as your senses began to return to normal. You could just about hear his heartbeat, thumping rapidly against his sternum.

God, you must’ve had a concussion. Or some sort of permanent brain damage. There’s no way you’d be acting like this in your right mind. Peter didn’t seem to mind, though, leaning his chin gently against your hair. It was so calming, you almost forgot about your ankle entirely, letting it droop to the floor absentmindedly.

Immediately on contact, you yelped, clutching Peter’s shirt in a vice grip. He sighed, keeping his arm circled around your waist to support you, becoming your crutch and letting you lean practically all of your weight onto him. Still, he didn’t complain, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Alright, Munchkin, let’s get outta here.”

When you showed up to his apartment, banged up from your adventures, May practically forced you into a cab, taking you to the nearest hospital to be checked up on. You didn’t end up having a concussion, thankfully, just some minor bruises and a sprained ankle, as well as a tetanus shot for good measure. You did, however, get what felt like an eternity of a scolding from Peter’s aunt. Which, to be fair, was incredibly valid. What had possessed the two of you to go to an abandoned ass house, on the night before Halloween, by yourselves, was completely beyond you.

You found it hard to be upset though, laying on Peter’s bed, watching him set up a pillow and blanket on his floor. It was far too late to go home, so you’d convinced May to let you stay for the night. You sighed again, pouting at Peter.

“You really don’t have to sleep on the floor, Dimples. It’s your bed, I can take the couc-"

He paused his activities, a tired smile on his face.

“Are you kidding? You think my injured friend is gonna sleep on the couch? We found that thing on the curb, you’d end up with god knows what.”  

He wandered over, fussing for the millionth time with your pillows and blankets, making sure you were comfortable. You rolled your eyes, groaning.

“You’re acting like I’m on my deathbed. A little fall isn’t gonna kill me, Pete.”

He just chuckled, and, after a few seconds hesitation, brushed some of your hair behind your ear.

“I know, I know. Just...let me take care of you, ‘kay?”

A heavy blush settled on your cheeks, rendered speechless by his sudden shift in demeanor. Wordlessly, you nodded, biting your lip to keep the smile off your face. His eyes caught the movement, focusing on your mouth for a few seconds before falling to his hands. Slowly, almost cautiously, he sat at the edge of the mattress, brows furrowing. As if he was thinking about what to say next.

“Listen…(Y/N)... I wanted to tell you something. And I’m not...well, I’m not exactly sure how to say it, but I feel like this is a good time, because realistically, I know you’ll be fine, but if you’d really gotten hurt in there, I don’t know what I would’ve done, I just-"

He cut himself off, keeping his gaze locked firmly in his lap. Finally, he seemed to focus, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I asked you to come with me on my stupid ghost hunting trip because, well, you’re just-”

Another deep breath.

“You’re kinda, sorta, basically always on my mind. And I wanted to hang out- well not ‘hang out’ but, I wanted to, y’know, ask you out, but I couldn’t find the words, and now you’re hurt and I-"

He kept rambling, but you barely heard it, too focused in on his confession to notice anything else.

Peter likes you.

Jesus, everything made so much sense now! How shy he was, how timid he’d been asking you to go with him. He wasn’t just asking to hang out. He was asking you on a date. Butterflies filled your stomach, a warm feeling settling in your chest. You couldn’t keep the grin from your lips if you tried. Peter likes you. Peter likes you.

Noticing your expression, he finally stopped ranting, an almost terrified look in his eyes. Clearing your throat slightly, you averted your gaze, mumbling softly.

“I, uh, I like you too Peter.”

His expression was almost comical. Eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar.

“W-what?”

You giggled, an affectionate grin on your face.

“I said, I like you too, you doofus.”

He visibly relaxed, features softening into a sweet smile.

“Oh.”

You both sat there, the silence of his bedroom settling over you like a blanket. You must’ve looked like idiots, sitting amongst his Star Wars sheets with lovestruck expressions, glancing at each other from the corner of your eyes. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat, blush never fading.

“So, um...do you, I mean, there’s a movie next week, would you maybe, uh, I dunno, um-"

“I’d love to, Peter.”

His smile widened even more, brown eyes sparkling as he nodded.

“Okay. Okay, good. So, uh...we should probably get some sleep.”

Peter moved to stand up, but stopped himself. After a few seconds of hesitation, he leaned over, gently pressing his lips to your bruised forehead. As he pulled away, you gripped his wrist, eyes fluttering shut to savour the moment. You were here. This was real. You felt his light breaths across your face, nose practically brushing yours. A breathy giggle escaped your lips, opening your eyes to see Peter already staring at you. You could see every small detail in gaze, golden flakes scattered in their chocolate depths. You kept your voice hushed, scared to shatter the moment between the two of you.

“Can you lay by me? Just until I fall asleep?”

His smile could rival the sun in its brilliance. A thrill went through you as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

“Alright.”

Careful not to touch your ankle, Peter climbed beneath the covers, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. Your head rested against his chest, steady heartbeat a little too quick to be casual. You smirked.

“You nervous, Parker?”

He chuckled, squeezing you in a hug.

“Shut up, Munchkin.”

God, you didn’t think you’d ever stop smiling. Closing your eyes, you breathed out a sigh of content. A year ago today, you never would’ve imagined you’d be here. A new school, ghost hunting blog, and sprained ankle later, and here you were, cuddling with the guy of your dreams.

Things were finally looking up.

Tagging: @captain-ariel-barnes @papi-chulo-bucky @after-avenging-hours @occasionalfics @aliciawentzshadows @writing-parker 

Sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged in this, lol, I just tagged anyone who I thought might like Peter fluff XP 

[inkuisitivskins]

LivMiles werewolf AU. 👀

1) Give me a pairing.

2) Give me an AU setting.

3) I will write you a three-sentence fic. OOPS LOL

Under a read more because.. this was kind of a long drabble I’m sorry :’) I’ve just been wanting to write an AU like this for quite a while

Warning for slight blood and body horror

He had noticed her growing more distant during the last few weeks. Distant, and moody. 

Many of her soldiers would joke about the monthly cause of her heightened aggression, though Miles knew otherwise. He also couldn’t help but notice how it happened on every full moon, and when he would politely question her about it, she would always avoid the question– which was unlike her. He had noted how she was always able to tell him anything, save for the reasons behind her hostility every night leading up to, and the eventual leave she took from the fort, the night a full moon rose into the sky. 

Miles was never a man to jump to conclusions, but he would admit to himself that he was growing increasingly worried. Every episode of hers would grow more vicious until this last time, where her absence from the fort had last longer than a single night. Frankly, her leaving the fort without informing him, her adjutant, her personal assistant, and her best friend, worried him– but an unexplained extended leave terrified him to the core. What if something happened?

She had assured him one of the earlier times that her absence was merely a nightly walk, and she did not leave the confines of the area surrounded by the fort, on the Amestrian side of the border, of course. She never “took a walk” in the no-man’s-land between Briggs and the Drachman border, yet Miles still grew increasingly nervous. Even in Amestris where there were no human enemies, the snowy mountain range around Briggs was still inhospitable; being inhabited by dangerous wildlife and even more dangerous, unpredictable weather. 

Sure, the werewolf myth had crossed his thoughts, and wolf chimeras were absolutely a real thing, but he paid no mind to it. If his general had been a chimera, he would like to believe that she would have told him, since the existence of chimeras was tied directly to the military and experiments it had done. Come to think of it, if she was, she most likely wouldn’t have kept it any sort of secret, since the fort was of military purpose, after all.

Still, he found himself quietly making his way down the elevator of Briggs, almost precisely at midnight, when the fort was still, except for the few nightly workers and soldiers who were given the graveyard shift. He didn’t know why he held an unlit lantern in his grasp– he had been tossing the idea around for quite a while, but he supposed he was finally, actually, going to go out looking for her. An absence of two days was far too long for comfort. 

He made sure the fur on his coat was snugly against the back of his neck to keep out any cold as he lit the lantern, exiting the iron walls of Fort Briggs. The night was dark, but the full moon cast an eerie light that reflected off the snow and caused it to look blue rather than white. He lifted the lantern and started walking– in what direction, he was not even sure. He just had to find her. 

Not much time had passed when he happened upon an unusually large footprint in the snow. Normally, he paid no attention to the animal tracks that would litter the snow once one drew far enough away from the fort to find wildlife, but this was even larger than a bear’s. Twice as large, actually. 

Miles didn’t notice himself staring in dumbfounded awe down at the huge print, until he heard a deer cry out nearby. His red eyes snapped up in the direction of the noise, and he immediately hurried over. One again, he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he loved animals, and if one was hurt, he may try to help. 

Maybe it was because something in the back of his mind knew what was going on. 

He topped a snowy hill, freezing in his footsteps when he saw it. A deer carcass sat in the snow, freshly killed, by what large, looming mass of fur hunkered over it. Its long, white fur stood out against the seemingly blue snow as it tore into its kill, too distracted to notice him.

Why, was unbeknownst to him, but he spoke out, “Hey!”

Immediately couldn’t even begin to describe how quickly the canine head swerved to stare at him. Its maw was bloodied, and its eyes seemed void of pupils in the way they reflected the light of Miles’s lantern. His heart stopped instantaneously, terrified. 

It lunged at him, knocking him onto his back with its long limbs– thankfully, the impact was soft due to the snow. The figure, however, pinned him, breathing heavily and snarling as its eyes remained locked on his, the iron stench of blood strong on on it as it clung to its fur. Heat seemed to be radiating angrily and dangerously off its large body, and Miles could only stare up at it in sheer horror. 

It was this moment, though, when it knocked the lantern from his hands, and he could fully see the color of its eyes. It’s pupils were visible slits now, but the irises were a bright, icy blue, that seemed to be glowing in the darkness of the night. There was only one living thing he knew that had eyes like that. 

“Olivier?” He breathed, chest heaving. Teeth still bared, the wolf sat up ever so slightly, its small ears pricking forward as he spoke. He watched in silence as its pupils widened and shrunk as it focused its sights on him, obviously in deep thought. It still seemed confused, so it bent down, frighteningly close to his face, and touched its nose gently to his cheek, sniffing deeply– the deep noise of its breathing loud in the major’s ear. 

In one motion, it straightened and leapt off of him, its heavy feet strangely quick in the snow as it fled. 

“W-wait, please!” The Ishvalan scrambled to his feet, losing his footing on the snow several times as he grabbed his lantern and hurried to pursue the creature. He caught a glimpse of it running along the treeline, noticing the moonlight on it– the light catching its white fur, seemingly reflecting off a golden hue. 

Thankfully, the snow was deep here, so it was not difficult for him to follow its tracks. Eventually, he came upon a clearing that was surrounded by snow-laden trees, where the footsteps seemed to stop due to the light snow that was now beginning to fall. 

“General?” He raised his voice, looking around. “Please, I want to help you! I’ve been so worried! I-I…” He continued, quieting down. In truth, he was always so protective of her because she was the person he loved most in this whole world. Not only had they slowly gained each other’s trust through their work, but they eventually became best friends, and around that time, Miles finally had the guts to admit to himself that he’d fallen in love with her.

And, in all honesty, if this was Olivier, this changed nothing. It was still her same soul, albeit clouded with a primal need to hunt, and he would give his life to keep her safe.

Heavy steps crunching in the snow behind him caused him to swing around, the force of which sent his lantern flying, since he didn’t have a good enough grip on it with his military-issue gloves. The beast was stalking him, its large paws seemingly moving in slow motion as it crouched. Even with knees bent, its height was that of a normal-sized bear. 

“Olivier,” Miles said again, his voice breaking slightly. He loved her, but he didn’t want it to end like this for him. He had grown up being told folktales by his mother, and one of the ones that stuck with him most to this day was the one about werewolves, where, when under transformation, they had no conscious control over any of their actions. He knew it wouldn’t be her fault, but he also knew that he had made a promise to himself long ago that he wouldn’t die before he told her that he loved her. 

“Please…”

It gained on him, still slowly, until it sank down into the snow, ready to lunge again. 

“Olivier, I love you…”

Instantly, it lifted its head, pupils dilating to circles. It yelped suddenly, the shrill noise not matching the large and powerful body, as it stumbled forward. It lost footing in the snow, tripping onto its stomach, yet already too weak to pick itself up again. Contorting in sharp pain, the beast seemingly began to shrink as the fur retreated into the skin. In a strangely human way, it hid its face in its large paws, its pointed muzzle still peering out between the paw pads, as the whole body lost fur and began to grow more human features once again. Bones were heard cracking as the spine realigned and the pelvis opened to also take on the shape of a person’s rather than that of a quadruped mammal; arm bones shortening from the length they were as not a pure wolf’s, but a monster’s. Blonde hair that matched the gold of the fur soon took over on the head as the canine snout disappeared. Soon, all that remained was the motionless figure of a woman, quickly being consumed by snow. 

Though he was in utter horror from what just transpired before his eyes, Miles shakily stood, urging his body to move despite the shock it was experiencing. Completely ignoring his lantern, he immediately undid the buttons on his coat and hurried to his superior, shedding it quickly. She was limp, so it was difficult, but he managed to prop her up enough to wrap his coat around her, swiftly lifting her bridal style, making sure all of her bare skin was covered by the heavy fabric. 

“Olivier?” He asked, panting due to the shock that remained, his breath leaving him as puffs of smoke in the cold air. He moved a hand to rest two fingers on the side of her neck, sensing a weak pulse– yet a pulse nonetheless. 

At his touch, her eyes fluttered, opening weakly. Though it was obvious how weak she was, his face immediately brightened at her sign of life. 

“I’m sorry,” were the first words that left her, her voice scratchy and soft.

“No, don’t,” Miles replied quickly, bending down to retrieve the lantern. She wasn’t very heavy, and he was rather strong, so he had no trouble carrying her. “Just please be okay…”

“I’ll be fine,” she rasped what sounded like a chuckle as the corners of her lips lifted into a weak smile. “Happens all the time. It’s always painful like this…”

“I’m sorry,” her adjutant responded, walking as quickly as he feet could carry him without fully breaking into a run. He smiled down at her gently, understandingly, “I just wish you told me.”

She shrugged gently, voice still faint, “Lycanthropy… runs in the family. Skips some members sometimes, though…”

“No shit?” Miles breathed, flashing her a small smile, just glad that she was making coherent conversation. He wanted to keep it up so that she didn’t slip back out of consciousness.

“Passed down the Armstrong line for generations,” she sighed shakily, to which he laughed softly. What he wasn’t expecting was the ginger, feather-light touch of her fingertips against his dark cheek, which drew his attention down to her and caused him to have somewhat of a surprised look on his face. 

She gave him the fondest smile she could possibly muster in the state she was currently in, “I love you too.”

—

I drew like all of the inspiration from this from that one post going around a bit ago about how in some legends, werewolves could be transformed back by confessing to them or throwing clothes on them or something like that? Even if that isn’t right and my memory’s failing me, that’s how it works in this AU HAHA

Anyway yeah, I already apologized but this drabble was so long x’D I’ve just been wanting to do a supernatural AU like this with them for a while so I was SO happy when you asked this haha. Either way, thank you so much, Katie!! I’ll be posting this in my Livmiles drabbles collection on ao3 if that’s cool!

ALSO I based the werewolf off the Wolf Beasts seen in Bloodborne. Basically wolves with long creepy limbs

Thank you so much!