#it was very hard to word this without having it sound like a serial killer wrote it

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Intruder

Jennifer Jareau x fem!reader Warnings: REALLY BIG trigger warnings for CM-style violence, including an attempted rape, general fear and alarm and danger, explicit language, gun violence, injury, happy ending (don't worry, I would never do that to you bbs), let me know if I've missed anything! Word count: 1.7k

Summary: When an at-large unsub with a grudge breaks into your and JJ's home, everything–and everyone–you hold dear is suddenly at risk.

You woke to the sound of breaking glass, soft and muffled but unmissable. You sat up quickly, as still and as quiet as possible. Maybe you’d imagined it? But then you heard the back door creak open and shut and fear shot through you like ice.

You grabbed JJ’s arm, shaking her shoulder, trying desperately to keep yourself calm.

“What, babe?” JJ mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Jayje, there’s someone in the house,” you whispered, voice shaky and high.

She shot up, listening closely, unconsciously moving her body to shield yours. There was no mistaking the creak of the hardwoods. JJ launched herself out of bed, quiet, brows furrowed, and you knew then that this JJ was not JJ your girlfriend. This was FBI agent JJ. This was taking-down-serial-killers JJ. Counter-terrorism-in-the-Middle-East JJ. JJ who had killed and would kill again without hesitation if she had to in order to protect her people. And you were scared. Not of her, but of whatever had come into your home and brought this JJ to the forefront. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

Keeping her eyes on the door to your bedroom, JJ reached into the nightstand to pull out two handguns and her phone. She checked the clips, then turned off the safety and carefully pressed one of the guns and her phone into your hands. Your breathing was frantic, and you were trying very hard not to cry.

She looked at you then, right in the eyes, and it was the only time in what felt like hours since you’d woken up that she’d made eye contact with you.

“JJ, I can’t,” you gasped, voice quiet.

“Yes, you can,” she replied firmly, molding your hands around the gun. “Call 9-1-1. And if you need to, point and shoot. Just like we practiced.” She directed her gaze back to the doorway, eyes adjusting to the dark, holding her own gun comfortably at her side, practiced instincts kicking in. “I’m gonna check it out.”

“JJ, no!” you begged, grabbing her arm, eyes wide. “Please.”

She pulled away, a little more harsh than she meant to be, but this wasn’t a time for sentiment. Someone was in her home. Someone who could hurt you. And she wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you.

“Point and shoot, baby” she repeated, raising her gun and walking out of the room.

You shook, hating the feeling of the cold metal against your fingers. You’d practiced with JJ, you’d been to the shooting range. She made sure you knew how to handle firearms. But you didn’t think you’d actually have to handle them. You clicked JJ’s phone on, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember her password. You silently cursed your panicked brain. You knew her password, you’d known it for years. What a time to forget. And yours was where it always was at night–plugged in on the kitchen counter.

You craned your neck, listening for something, anything. But all was quiet. You didn’t know what would be worse–the sounds of an altercation or this absolute silence.

But then you heard a crash, and you knew. Sound was much worse. Your stomach was in your throat as you listened for more, but the house had fallen quiet again. You started to hyperventilate. There were only two possibilities. First, that JJ had apprehended the intruder. But surely she would have called out to let you know it was safe? Second, that the intruder had apprehended JJ. And that stirred a fear so deep, so consuming it could swallow you whole. You felt sick to your stomach.

You waited and waited, breathing somehow both too much and too little, gripping the gun tightly. You watched the doorway, begging the universe for JJ to come around the corner. You saw movement and, for a brief moment, you were flooded with relief. But it was replaced by the most sickening, gut-churning terror you’d ever felt in your life when your brain registered that the person in the doorway was not your girlfriend.

It was a man. Tall. Broad. In a black ski mask. You thought you might vomit. From sheer panic. From the thought, shooting through your body like a bolt of lightning, that if JJ wasn’t here that meant she wasn’t okay.

Your chest heaved as the man approached you, so fast you could barely register him. You wanted to scream, you knew you should scream, but it was like your voice was stuck in your throat. You were frozen in place. You tried to raise the gun, but the intruder was too fast, wrenching it from your grasp with large hands. He tossed the gun to the side as if it were nothing, then shoved you into the headboard with such force you saw stars. You writhed and fought, but he was so much bigger than you, so much stronger. With one of his hands, he pinned your arms about your head and, with the other, circled your throat in an iron grip. You coughed, eyes watering. Somehow you still couldn’t scream, still couldn’t find your voice. But you had to fight somehow.

You raked your fingernails along the man’s wrist, pressing as hard as you could, hard enough to break through the skin. He growled and yanked your wrist back, snapping the bone. You screamed, and he pressed a gloved hand over your mouth, yanking off his mask. Tears leaked down your face as you took him in. Nothing special. A man, just like any other man.

He smiled at you, and you thought you might be sick.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Even if you could’ve answered, you wouldn’t. You had no idea who he was.

He sneered, moving his face so close to yours that you could smell his breath: stale cigarettes and something older, fouler, like a rotten tooth.

“Pretty girlfriend didn’t mention me, did she? Didn’t want to scare you?”

Another wave of tears streamed down your face at the thought of JJ. What had he done to her? Was she okay? Was she even alive?

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, and you flinched as he caressed the side of your face, his gloves rough on your skin. “I’m sure she’ll come around just in time to see what I’ve done with you.”

A panic unlike any you’d ever felt before flooded your body as he removed a glove and yanked down your pants before starting to unbutton his own.

“No, no, no!” you screamed, kicking, fighting, doing everything you possibly could to get away, but he was just so much bigger than you. The weight of him on top of you, his hand bending your broken wrist back so that you writhed in pain, his knees pressing into your lungs so that you could barely breathe.

The way he looked at you–like you were something to be devoured, to be destroyed and torn apart for his own enjoyment–you would never forget it. You pinched your eyes shut as he ran his tongue over your face. He grinned again, a nasty, leering grin, and sat up a bit to survey you.

But then–a bang and a red flood pouring from the center of his forehead. You squirmed away, shaking and gasping, yanking your pants up. Seeing someone else in the room, you grabbed the gun and pointed, whimpering.

“Y/N, it’s me!” JJ yelled, raising her hands. “It’s me, baby, don’t shoot!”

You were so relieved to see her you thought you might black out. Panicked sobs coursed their way through your body, and your vision swam with tears. JJ eased the gun out of your hand and placed her hands on the side of your head, frantically looking you over.

“Are you okay?! Are you hurt!?” she said, eyes wide and frantic as she wiped the blood from your face. You used your good hand to examine JJ’s head, her hair that was caked with blood.

“You’re bleeding,” you choked out, wondering how it was possible to be both so relieved and so scared at the same time.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice breaking. “Head wounds just bleed a lot.”

She sniffled, eyes wide with fear as she grasped your face. “Did he…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say it, the words stuck in her throat. She almost couldn’t bear to hear the answer.

You shook your head, and JJ let out a sob of relief, kissing the side of your head and pulling you into her.

“Okay,” she breathed, rubbing your back, hands all over you, as if to assure herself you were really there, really alright. “You’re okay. You’re safe, baby.”

She was assuring herself more than you. You let yourself rest on JJ’s shoulder, shaking, holding your swollen wrist to your chest. JJ ran her fingers through your hair, holding you so tight you thought she might never let you go. And you didn’t want her to. You never felt safer than when you were in JJ’s arms, now more than ever. She kept pressing her lips to the side of your head, breathing you in, feeling the solidity of you.

The blue-red lights of police and paramedics flashed outside your window, and you tilted your head up to look at JJ, her face illuminated.

“You’re okay, baby,” she said again and again, her voice shaky, tears still threatening at the corners of your eyes. “You’re safe.” Like a mantra, like something that could ward the evil away from your home, away from your bedroom where it had intruded on something pure and beautiful.

“JJ,” you whispered, cupping her face with your good hand. She stopped speaking for a moment to look at you–so much love, so much fear and relief in her eyes. “I’m okay,” you reassured her. “I’m safe.”

“You’re safe,” she repeated, as if she couldn’t quite believe it, like she needed you to prove it, confirm it.

“I’m safe,” you said again, your eyes shining. “You kept me safe.”

“You’re safe.” JJ let out a shaky breath, pulling you into her chest, and if you could stay there forever, you would.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

how does blanche pay his bills 😔😔

no fr tho where does this guy earn money ??

Tw: gore, violence

Despite having a mostly vegetarian diet, Blanche is scarily good at butchering animals, especially mammals. He knows where all the joints are, the right places to cut, and the correct technique to extract all the pieces whole. You thought that he obtained his skills from eating his chickens, but he would rather let them die from natural causes than slaughter them himself. It was rather strange to see him opening up a bag of store-bought raw chicken whenever you told him you were craving for some, while you knew he owns a coop full of those noisy fuckers a few minutes walk away.

He has no qualms about killing and butchering rabbits if you're craving for them. Blanche sees them as pests, munching on his precious lettuces and cabbages, it is scary how he has no hesitation while impaling those fuzzy little creatures with a kitchen knife. You wouldn't know this fact without having a suitable personality for it; as in, you will have to be cold and uncaring towards cute critters in general. If you have a big heart and a tendency to cry when living beings are hurt, you wouldn't know Blanche is a bunny killer.

Similarly, if your humanity is still intact, you wouldn't know that he is a serial killer and an organ harvester. The victims that he didn't beat into a bloody pulp are cut up into individual pieces and have their organs prepared and preserved in wet ice. Blanche's knowledge isn't only localized to creative endeavors or gardening, he also has a deep reservoir containing all things biology. Especially humans. He also has a good grasp of the value of organs in the black market, negotiating with his usually desperate or depraved customers to give him the highest payout possible.

How he sells them is interesting to learn; he would sell them through the internet. Blanche is well-versed with this shiny new modern toy enough to evade authorities for decades. Those who tried to trick him and lure Blanche into a trap were turned into piles of fresh organs for him to sell. And there is no shortage of those idiots who tried to best Blanche at his own game. Well, it isn't really a game, all he wanted was to make some extra cash for him to spend on you. He isn't in it for the power, notoriety, or anything.

Back then, he would have done his business through word of mouth, or even through phone calls. Getting a solid customer base was much harder but easier to hide from the law since Blanche had a lot more experience in pre-internet days. But he has enough luck and skill to become famous yet undetectable in cyberspace.

He understands his market very well. The majority of his sales come from patients who are willing to do anything it takes to get that transplant, but there is a handful who buy them for personal consumption. Blanche would sell organs that aren't as fresh or somewhat diseased to the former, as they're desperate enough to take almost anything. Cannibals would normally demand the best quality, Blanche isn't one to complain. They have the funds to afford them.

All this while you thought he earned his money through back-breaking hard work from his youth. You asked him what he did for a living back then, he described a life with no fun, only becoming a slave to his numerous employers, doing jobs that are as menial as paperwork, or as life-threatening as hacking a tree with a blunt axe until it falls. It made sense how he has this much money until now, it sounded like he doesn't even go home to sleep, eat or sleep. He does that at whatever workplace he was in at the time.

While there are some truths to that, he cannot deny that his organ harvesting business was what bought him the comfortable and romantic lifestyle he could only dream of achieving in his early years. He wasted away years being tormented by constant work, but that wasn't what allowed him to garden, knit and bake freely to his heart's content. Blanche's horrific crimes did.

[ariiloveskeanu]

I just read your Vincent de gramont head canons and I thought they were really wholesome!!! If you have the time (no pressure, lol) could you do a one shot where the reader accidentally walks in on Vincent while working (perhaps while he kills someone) and now he’s gotta console the reader

marquis vincent de gramont oneshot !

warnings: mentions of death, very brief mention of throwing up, mentions of blood, vague mention of nightmares

this is probably so bad so im genuinely sorry in advance :(( i tried using french pet names so if any of them are translated wrong pls let me know! i'm almost 100% sure i'm using the gender neutral versions but i apologize if they're not, though this is completely gender neutral! i've definitely written better than this and i'm sorry if the writing is kinda icky, it's 12 am where i love so im extremely tired :c i'm also very sorry to the ppl who have been requesting, i'm trying to make each one as good as i can without throwing out random words!! i lowk enjoyed writing this so i hope you like it and thank you for requesting!!

[Name] felt as if they owed vincent. They felt as if they owed him for all the kind things he's done for them during their transition back to normal life. They knew how hard he worked for them, how many things he's had to sacrifice to get them where they were. [Name] fixed him his favorites on a platter, taking their time and putting their care into it. [Name] knows he could easily have someone bring stuff to him as he pleases but, they missed him too much to miss the opportunity.

It was hard leaving their old life behind. It does things to you, being so desensitized to hurt and pain. It took them a while to acknowledge that. Years of nightmares plaguing their dreams of a better life are far behind them now. Vincent always made jokes about it, how they went from a cold hearted contract killer to his fiancé in a matter of 4 years. It was beautiful to them.

The sound of slippers pattering against the floor rung throughout the hallway, the only sound [Name] could make out as they approached his office. [Name] took a deep breath, shaking their head to rid themselves of their negative thoughts and the growing pit in their stomach. The feeling was far to familiar to go unnoticed.

One knock, then two, then three, that turned into four. Usually, he would call out and let them in. The silence was deafening and it was the sound of ringing ricocheting off their skull that brought [Name] back to reality. They hissed, feeling the sudden migraine. They balanced the tray in one hand, the other moving to push open the door.

The sound of glasses shattering rang through the large office as the heads of his guardsmen snapped towards the source.

There was blood everywhere. The metallic smell overwhelming their senses and nearly pushing up their breakfast.

"V-Vincent?" [Name]'s voice strained as they looked at the scene in front of them. Multiple bodies with multiple bullet wounds laying dead on the marbled floor, and their dear husband wielding the gun.

What were they supposed to think? It's not like it was anything they weren't used to, but life in the lap of luxury was almost too good of an opportunity for them to ruin by staying in the same old violent habits they had before.

"Now, now, no need to be so dramatic," Vincent said in a gentle yet seemingly dismissive tone, uncanny in comparison to the violent scene that lays in front of him.

It had been so long since they last saw something like this, so long since they last saw him do something like this. [Name] understands it's part of the job, they really do, and they thought they had been okay with that. But seeing the lifelessness in their eyes, the blood on Vincent's hands, and knowing that he had just taken lives was very different than imagining it and forcing themselves to forget about it. It all came rushing back to them, and the years of trauma and guilt they felt just for being a part of this violent lifestyle hit [Name] all at once.

"What did you do?!" [Name] says, their voice hoarse yet lowered as to not push him further. They step further into the room, looking around and letting their glassy eyes fall on the man they loved.

"I didn't mean to cause you any distress. We're just carrying out a business transaction. The client pays, we provide a service." [Name] nods shakily, watching as his bodyguards exited the room to give them privacy.

"I know, Vincent." They say, looking up at him the sound of his thick french accent. [Name] sniffles and wipes the few tears off of their face. [Name] ignored everything past his first sentence, inevitably yearning for his comfort.

They step over the bodies, walking over to him as he stood behind his desk. They wrap their arms around him, their head resting on his chest as he rubbed their back.

As flawed as they both were, [Name] knew that it wasn't worth getting upset over. As much as they tried to bury those memories, as much as they tried to forget that part of their life, [Name] knew it was doing more harm than good to just push it down instead of accepting it and moving on. He taught them that. Through their many breakdowns and slip ups, he would always be there.

"I know you're frightened, seeing me like this. I understand it. Let me assure you, mon chéri, I had no choice but to do what I did. I tried to reason with them, to avoid bloodshed, but they would not listen. Please know, mon amour, I would never hurt you."

[Name] rubbed his back aswell, nodding their head as they took a step back and wrapped their arms around his neck.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, mon cher. I chose to leave that behind, I don't get to make that choice for you." They reassured, feeling slightly guilty for making a 'big deal' over something that seemed so unimportant in their point of view.

"Don't feel guilty, love. You can't help what you feel, can you? It's what makes you, you." Vincent says, his previously cold demeanor softening as he rests his hands on their waist. He leans in to press a warm kiss on their lips. "I wouldn't want you any different, mon amour, truly."

[rzyraffek]

OH OH REQUEST IDEA....TAKING SLASHERS HOME TO MEET YOUR PARENTS BECAUSE THATS LIKW SUPER SMART

Billy Micheal and Jason are the only ones i care about but you can add whoever

Omg hi!! Thanks for request!

They/them, sfw and request open

Slashers meeting s/o perents

Billy Lenz

Why would you do that

No fr why would anyone think this was good idea

Guy cant say a sentence without swear words or weird sex jokes😭

But fr billy will be so nervous!! Lil baby doesn't know how to behave!

S/o has to give him tutorial how to act like normal human and not 3rats in trench coat

Perents will be... alarmed to say the least... like really?? You could pick anyone but you picked oversized goblin?? Wow s/o

If s/o has younger siblings, he will bite them btw

Usually perents want to have grandchildren but oh god oh no not with this guy please s/o think about it!!

Billy vibes tbh he likes s/o perents they goofy. He also ate raw pasta. All of it

He told s/o dad that he wants lego for chrismas btw

Micheal Myers

How much you drank to think thats a good idea

Soo you telling me you bf is a serial killer?

At least he won't say anything rude, and s/o perents are too intimidated to say something rude about him🥰peace

Micheal just stares really, hes harmless for now

Yes s/o mom will call them to make sure that they aren't kidnaped and this all stuff is acually consensual

Live laugh love dont get stabbed by Michael

Yall can't even eat a dinner together 😔my guy looks like npc. Like yall just sit nicley and my homie just🧍 he doesn't even eat he just looks at yall, he totally judges their outfits

Hide your pets away he might eat them. You have pet hamster? What hamster?

Jason Voorhees

Omg homeboy is stressed! What if they don't like him:((

At first their perents were intimidated by him, but s/o's mom and him got along very fast! They are baking cookies together! Also if s/o has smol siblings or animals o my god he is bff with them instantly

Their mom and him acually got along faster than s/o with jason when they met first time!

Helps with carring heavy stuff... you bought new fridge? Call up son-in-law jason to help out (s/o mom has him named like that in contacts in phone)

Perents kinda wonder where he lives, when s/o told them that he has vintage cottage in Forest they started to think that hes rich or something

S/o perents already hope that yall get married

Asa emory

My dude bought suit for that appointment

He promised not to talk about skinning people while yall are eating dinner. He is so dreamy

Got along very well with s/o's dad, they are talking about fishing or something idk what dads are into lol

Almost fell asleep when their mom was talking

I WANTED TO WRITE " when their mom was talking about that she wants grandchildren" BUT ITS SOUNDS WAY FUNNIER THAT WAY

He was scared to eat dinner, it looked.... suspicious... he never trusted cheesy lasagna

Anyways Asa and their dad are besties now, they will go fishing next week

He cried in car after meeting "S/O IM NEVER GOING THERE AGAIN IT WAS SCARY IF I HEAR YOUR MOM SAY ANYRGING ABOUT GRANDCHILDREN AGAIN IM GOING TO DOX HER SO HARD SHE WONT EVEN HAVE OPPORTUNITY TO SEE THEM"

I didnt write any headcanons for few weeks i hope it was good or at least readable

[glitterguts13]

Pregnant Rover going through some stuff in the boxes to find some of his old baby items when he came across his husband, Scar’s diary.

After reading it, he found out that Scar was a notorious serial killer and he was supposed to be his next victim.

He now has to play along as the good happy wife but Scar knows, he knew someone went through his diary.

YOOO actually tho, I like this idea so much, I think I'm going to do a long form fanfic about this at some point...but in the meantime hear me out.

Rover is around 4 months along in his pregnancy, just out of the exhausting and nauseating first trimester. He's getting some of his strength back, and while his doting husband Scar is out working, he decides it's time to start cleaning.

It's going to be the last deep clean before the baby comes, so he's getting into everything. Figures the best place to start is their shared closet. They tend to just shove everything in there, so it's time to throw out the junk they don't touch.

A few boxes in, and Rover notices even after emptying one of the boxes, it still feels heavy. He shakes it, doesn't hear any rattling and there isn't anything visible in it, but it's just *heavy.*

Fidgeting with it for a bit, he discovers it has a false bottom, and once it's popped out, an old worn-out black book falls into his hands. Curious, because it certainly isn't his, and he can't ever recall Scar owning something like this...

Naturally, he flips through it, newspaper clippings and crime scene photos great him. At first, he thinks it must be some sort of true crime book, but why would it be hidden? Scar is open about his love for horror movies and serial killer documentaries, hell he listens to a true crime podcast every night before bed! Why hide this book?

Slowly, Rover starts to notice, that it's not a book but a diary, and that's without a doubt, his husband's handwriting. It's a log of deaths in the area, people Rover has heard about on the news, people he's heard Scar listening to podcasts about. None of these murders had been linked together. All the victims were random, with no traits of history linking them at all.

Bile starts to rise in the back of his throat, dread dripping down his spine. These photos weren't from online, these photos were taken by someone, and far too graphic to have ever been shown to the general public. These pictures were trophies, keepsakes from Scar's crimes, and Rover loses count after the 34th page, hands trembling violently, unable to process what was happening.

The sound of a car door jolts him from his trance, and he quickly puts the book back the way he found it. Stuffing it back under the pile he'd pulled it from, and rushes to leave the closet. He couldn't hide the fact he'd been cleaning, there was already a pile of things to be thrown out or donated, with no time to put them back.

Scar comes in, all smiles, but his eyes lose all signs of life when he sees Rover sitting on the floor outside of the closet, with everything moved around.

"Darling~ You shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting, not in your condition." he chastises, still smiling.

"S-sorry...I just had this urge to clean. Gotta....get things ready for the baby, you know?" Rover tries to laugh it off, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't meet Scar's eyes. He knows he's being suspicious, but he's far too rattled to seem normal.

"Sweetheart, you look awfully pale, did you see a ghost or something~?" tilting his head, still looking just as cheery as usual, Rover could feel the underlying threat in those words.

"N...no, of course not," Rover huffs, prying Scar can't hear how rapidly his heart is beating, "I just...overdid it. I'm not feeling very well now." reaching down, Scar takes hold of Rover's arm, and pulls him to his feet for a little more force than necessary.

"Go on and take a nice hot bath! I'll finish cleaning up in here and start on dinner, ok~?" there was no room for discussion, and Rover all but tripped over his feet hurrying from the room.

Once his husband is out of sight, Scar's smile drops and he's clawing his way through the pile in the closet like a madman, shaking violently as he pulls his diary from the box, and takes note of how the papers inside are out of order.

Rover was the only one he'd spared.

Rover was the only one he'd loved.

Rover had to die now.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi Steph!! Hope you are doing well, and otherwise, have some hugs! (you can also have hugs if you are doing well xD)

Random question, because why not: any pet peeves you have when reading something? Mine is when I see a discontinued fic that is marked "completed", learned the hard way to check for the abandoned tag hahah

Hi Lovely!

Thank you for the hugs! I could be better, but just trying my best to go day to day <3

Ooo, I like random questions, hahah! Hmmm, ooooooof this is a tough one because I don't want to sound pretentious or like a douche, because everyone has a writing preference AND not everyone can have a beta AND not everyone's first language is English, so this is VERY VERY personal and subjective... Please don't take my word as gospel.

For me, immediately, it's primarily grammar mistakes that take me RIGHT out of a story. I love grammar and spelling. Biggest one for me is – and I KNOW this is a stylistic thing, but it's the easiest thing to spot right away – are stories written in ALL lowercases and no line breaks for dialogue. It bothers the snot out of me and will pull me right out. I don't read stories if I can see the first few paragraphs beyond intros (because sometimes it IS a style choice for the intro part of a story). The story has zero capital letters starting new sentences... I don't know WHY it bothers me, but it does. Lowercase titles don't bother me, just the full story itself. BUT a lowercase title usually has me clicking warily into a story. The lowercase stories with poor line breaks is usually the no-go for me.

Following that, also grammar-wise, is if the author uses "it's" vs "its". My brain always separates contractions, so I will stop DEAD in reading to try to make sense of "the dog wagged it is tail". I can't help it, I wish I could read past it without noticing it, but I do, and I can't fix my brain from doing that. In the same vein, is if the author uses "wary" vs "weary". I know "lay" and "lie" is big for many but it's one of the few that don't bother me. Basically, if an author uses the wrong spelling of a same-but-different-word.

And finally, because I got spoiled with AO3, is improperly-tagged fics, or when an author "tumblr-tags" a fic... With the latter, it just effs up the search results, stop doing it, I don't want to read through all of it to find the 3 actual tags on a fic for the fic, Tumblr-talk in the notes of your story, that's what it's for. For the former, I've read stories that "are worried about spoilers!" so they don't tag the big triggering event in their story and I've genuinely stopped and never read stories by authors ever again because of it. I GET not wanting to spoil a story, but I don't want to be reading a fic that is progressing along as a fluff and adventure fic and then suddenly Sherlock is a serial killer.

I don't know, spoiled, first-world problems, I know. AND I DO read fics that don't have tags, but I go into those stories knowing anything-goes based on whatever it's rated. It's when a story HAS tags, that doesn't tag certain things because "spoilers" well, it defeats the purpose of having a tagging system.

Again, pretentious douchecanoe, I am, I guess.

Bleh, aside from those, really nothing else... It's all mainly grammar issues for me.

AGAIN I want to stress – since I do have a few authors who follow me – this is ALL personal and NOT everyone has these issues, so take what I say with a grain of salt.

[22degreehalo]

So Oscar and Andy get increasingly close, and Andy starts crushing major hard, but in his affection-starved obliviousness just sorta repeatedly ends up word-vomiting at Oscar about how much he loves him, man, and how sometimes he feels like he's never known true happiness until the moment their eyes met and their lives became entwined mah broski (Andy KNOWS that this isn't gay because he was really worried he was gay for a while but then he made out with a random dude in a club and it sucked sooo Tuna's plan was foolproof, Andy is for SURE 110% hetero)

Anyway Oscar meanwhile is busy losing his mind. Because at first it had just been sorta eyerolling (like 'wow American straight men really are lacking for outlets for affection, lucky that has nothing to do with me lmao' but slowly it becomes clearer that yes Oscar actually is also That lonely and lacking in outlets for affection himself (due not to social norms but mere inability to get a boyfriend, which is even sadder tbh), and then he starts. Actually thinking Andy is great and fun and makes his life better and is someone he'd want to hear say these things for real if he could.

And eventually (probably at some kinda fancy restaurant or similar date-type thing) he hits breaking point and just. Tells Andy to shut it with the 'sometimes I think God himself beered you to me' shit. Because it's silly and he doesn't wanna hear that crap.

And Andy goes all quiet and hurt. And simply says that he learned a lot that day. And leaves.

And Oscar is. Trying to convince himself that that was the right call. He was getting in too deep, and the guilt he feels at Andy's cold reaction is only proof of that. He doesn't think about how much more boring his day is without him.

But eventually, Andy comes around. Almost entraps Oscar. Because he thinks they need to talk about what Oscar said. And he really thinks Oscar needs to hear this, too.

(And it's just. Oh god is Andy a serial killer??)

And what follows is. The beginnings of a long, drawn out lecture on masculinity and societal pressure against demonstrations of affection between men.

Because the thing Andy learned that day, when Oscar told him to stop saying 'anything that sounds like it could be lyrics from a cheesy musical final-act duet', is that Oscar is homophobic.

Which really sucks because Andy is starting to realise that he might be bi, hinself. And he never ever would have expected that the most homophobic person he knows would be his gay lifelong best friend partner.

(Of course Oscar is forced to clarify that he wants Andy to shut it because he's worried about FALLING FOR HIM, and Andy scoffs at that until Oscar is forced to prove that no yeah it is actually um. Kinda happening already. And the Andy goes very quiet and leaves the room for a long time.)

(Two days later they're dating.)

[theweirderstuffblogdontlook]

Tw for this fic chunk for the Bob Velseb possession au. This one is more scary and involves killing and cannibalism and stuff. Basically it goes more into the more upsetting parts of the dynamic and the more horror elements.

She had been dreading this.

Ever since she found out he could track her location supernaturally through the amulet. And found that if she went to the cops to get him, she risked getting trapped in his body and never let out again for potentially years as he rots in prison.

From that point on most of her interactions with Bob, including her escape attempts, had been to keep him occupied. 

Distracted….

Not out in the world. Not out killing people.

So far he had only gone out alone a few times, and come back with parts from the corpses of two people. And after that point she had managed to convince him that to murder too close to her home would paint a target on their backs.

So the protection for the people of the town around her, (excluding the ones he'd gotten already) was a welcome compromise.

But it just meant he had to go out further to "hunt". 

And more of a trip, according to Bob, meant taking her with him. 

She just wanted to go sit at a Cafe or in the car or something and try not to think about it.

But here she was, an invisible passenger in a serial killers body, who had just slit the throat of some innocent bystander, after having stabbed and slashed them multiple times, before chasing them into an alley and catching up to kill them after they collapsed from blood loss. 

Even trying not to watch it through his eyes, she could still feel an echo of what Bob was feeling. And the weird detachment from her own body she felt when she was, for lack of a better term, this deep inside of Bob, gave her even less than she would otherwise to distract herself and block things out with.

Leaving her feeling all the more stuck in a feedback loop of her own negative emotions.

At this point, with her demands made of Bob to stop doing this, or at least let her go, having fallen on deaf ears, she was past the point of dignity, and reduced to sad desperate pleading. 

"Bob?"

He hummed aloud as he worked in acknowledgement to her mental prodding. So he was listening at least.

She wasn't watching through his eyes like she normally would, but she could feel the texture of the dead man's shirt in Bobs hand almost like it were a memory, even as it happened in the moment. 

He was dragging the corpse somewhere.

"Bob….. I don't want to be here...."

Even without real words, she could tell she must sound like a kicked puppy right now. And Bob seemed to delight in that, taking a moment to chuckle darkly.

She tried to listen real close to the jumble of stimuli she could feel through her connection to Bob. But she couldn't feel anything resembling sympathy in Bob.

From what she could tell, Bob just felt excited, and hungry. She could feel him drooling.

She pulled back, feeling sick from the conflict of his emotions to hers.

And then startles even more, as Bob says aloud. 

"You know, I've been wonderin sugarplum. Can you taste what I taste?"

She goes cold. She hadn't thought that far ahead. But her panic spikes further as Bob goes quiet and still, head cocked to the side just slightly. Like he was listening closely.

Shit, he was doing the thing she had been doing just moments earlier. Examining her emotional state over the connection between their minds made by the amulets.

Which was not quite mind reading as much as body and emotion reading.

And with Bob having the commanding half of the amulet, he had often given the implication that the, for lack of a better term, “resolution” of the connection was much clearer on his side. Which made it very hard to lie to him.

Not for lack of trying though. Her mind started going a mile a minute trying to think of some way out of having to answer such a question in a way that would make this day even worse. As well as considering to what extent she can shut herself off from the experience even further than she was now, while also searching her memories to try and see if she had ever been able to taste something Bob was eating before.

Though this meant for Bob, she was spending so much brainpower on trying to manipulate the situation, that she hadn’t really considered his actual question clearly enough for him to be able to catch her in a lie. So he replies teasingly.

“That feels like a… maybe.”

He pulls his mind back from his examination of her and back to the task at hand.

Immersing himself too much in her mind while it was moving fast like that was a prickly sort of feeling for him, almost like being over-caffeinated, and he wanted to take this one nice and slow.

Kneeling down by the body, he skillfully flips the knife around in his hand, and cuts some sleeve out of the way. He was gonna let the blood drain for a bit longer so there would be less of a mess transporting the body back, but he wanted a taste while it was still warm and fresh.

As he starts cutting into the meat of an arm, he excites at the spike of horror and disgust coming from his little internal captive.

She’d been getting a bit too accustomed to his presence to be as scared as she used to be, so these stronger feelings were a welcome thrill to him. As was having a fresh set of eyes to really watch him from up close. It all got his heart pumping something fierce. He might have to kill a few more after this just to get his energy out.

Having cut a long slice of meat, he tips his head up and opens his mouth. And boy does that get the little voice in his head going.

Begging, scolding, pleading. Though he pauses as he gets caught on this one thing she tries demanding.

“Couldn't you at least COOK IT FIRST?!?!?”

He lowers the meat as he thinks on it a moment, before shrugging and it’s down the hatch.

The view shifts to a grainy security camera film being played on a computer screen, showing as Bob continues to cut up and eat the body, occasionally saying something,, laughing, or giving off a weird shiver of pleasure.

And a weary male voice comments….

“Yeah, that’s Bob all right.”

The scene turns around to show a light brown haired police woman sitting in the chair with her hands on the keyboard, and behind her was the sheriff and his partner, who either looked with a resigned exhaustion, or in the deputy’s case, an excited recognition.

“He really did get up and walk out of the morgue! Remember? I told you before…”

“Yeah yeah.”

And the sheriff lights up a cigarette.

The policewoman responds,

“This is from a security camera in one of our neighboring towns. Their local police had been on high alert ever since some unspecified man they captured escaped custody from two of their officers by somehow getting free of his restraints and biting the neck open of one of their officers, and then killing the other with a blow to the head.

So when someone came forward with footage of a man apparently eating someone in an alley, they assumed a connection and were all over it.

And since it looked like Bob Velseb, and our town has had the most experience with him, even though he's supposed to be dead they sent it our way too.” 

“I don’t know if this is some kind of cruel prank, but it’s a damn convincing one. Do we know if Bob had any close relatives? Any who could resemble him closely enough to fool people.”

“Not any that I'm aware of.”

Replied the policewoman, before the deputy interjects with.

“It could just be the same guy.”

“Jack, that man was shot over a dozen times, run over four times, and then given an honest to goodness autopsy. No way could it be the same guy.”

“Yeah, but he kept getting up all those times.”

“Jack, you aren't listening to me, even if it is true and that’s Bob back from the dead, we still need more manpower than what we’ve got now if we’re gonna take on the people responsible for letting him out in the first place last Halloween.

If we go out and say outright that a mass murdering cannibal has been resurrected, people are just gonna think we never got the job done in the first place, and that we lied to the public to cover our asses. We’ll lose all credibility. And without that credibility, at minimum we won't be getting any more support, and at worst we might even lose our jobs.”

“But wouldn't we be lying to them if we didn’t say so?”

“We don’t know that yet. So for now, let’s focus on what we can do about this this Bob.”

He examines the video closer.

“He keeps looking like he’s talking to someone. Did we see anyone else enter the alley?”

The policewoman responds

“From what I’ve seen of the footage no, it’s just been him and the victim. Though the angle for this security camera isn’t great, so we can’t rule it out entirely.”

The sheriff rubs his chin thoughtfully as he gets an even closer look at the screen.

“Yeah. And he’s facing the wrong direction for it too. If he were looking more directly at the camera, we could get someone who could read lips and have them take a guess at what he’s saying. But the pacing of it, it doesn't seem like he’s just talking to himself. Like see there? It looks like he’s actively listening to someone's response. Did the video not come with any audio?”

“Nope, just the video for this one.”

“Yeah I figured.”

He pauses thoughtfully for a moment. And the deputy interjects,

“Maybe getting run over all those times scrambled his brains and now he talks to an imaginary friend?”

Though the sheriff quickly dismisses that in favor of

“Or maybe he has a handler giving him directions over speakerphone or an earpiece or something. Whatever it is, I think this is something new. Back when we had Bob in custody the first time, he was a lunatic sure, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to talk unless he thought someone was listening. I’ll review some of the paperwork and chase down some records and testimony about his 3 year stint in prison though just to be sure. Let the other precinct know we’re on it, and we’ll be sending them what info we’ve got on Bob in return once we get a bit of time to put it all together. For now though, I’ll watch through the security footage over on my own computer and see if I can find anything else we could use.”

He turns to leave, though not before saying bitterly.

“As if I didn’t have enough things to have nightmares about.”

“You've got it boss.”

And the policewoman goes back to tapping away on her keyboard, as the deputy follows him out.

Back in the alley though, Bob was finishing up, and he hoisted the corpse onto one shoulder, and started walking off while licking his fingers.

While his captive was silent inside him.

Still kept pressed down inside him with that feeling of being a consciousness disconnected from her body.

But she felt like if she had hands, she’d be white knuckling them with a death grip. And if she had a stomach, she’d be throwing up. 

Everything about what had gone down felt horrible. She had never wanted Bob dead and gone more in all the time she’s known him than she did right now.

But then, in her disconnected state, she feels an odd sensation. She got an awareness of her shoulder, right where…..

Oh yeah, Bob had bit her earlier. She had almost forgotten. To be fair, she had scratched and bit him a whole bunch first trying to get out of tagging along with him for this. 

And he hadn’t bitten hard enough to have really done some damage, aside from the damage to her pride. It was probably just a bruise.

So question is, why the sudden awareness of it now? And why would that awareness be like a warm tingly feeling?

At first she questions if maybe she had an infection or was bleeding out or something. But got distracted as focusing on the shoulder to try and figure it out, helped her to gain control of her whole arm.

But moving it in turn caught Bob’s attention.

The whole reason he kept her pressed down in this weird limbo state and not squirming around in him, was because when she was more physically present inside him, she had a tendency to try and reach her hands into his brains and try to whisk them like scrambled eggs whenever he did something she didn't like.

Which somehow wasn’t fatal with how his body could apparently bend around her, but it was unpleasant in a way not even his masochistic ass could get behind.

He figures he must have been slacking, and prepares to shove her down again before she can whisk his brains. But pauses when she says in a meek and tired voice in his head.

“Bob, I think something is wrong with my arm.”

He slows to a stop, his face turning to one of concern. His feelings of wanting to torture and frighten for his own second hand high off her emotions, coming into conflict with his desire to spend nearly all his waking hours near her for the rest of his perceivable future.

“Wrong.... how?”

She pauses before answering.

“The place where you bit me earlier seems really warm. But I can’t feel any pain in it anymore. Just like this unnatural high fever.”

A look of recognition, and a smile comes over his face, and he lets out a deep unsettling laugh.

“Well I’ll be….. Works on you too huh?"

He shifts the body on his shoulder to be more comfortable.

"Lemme tell ya something jellybean. If you’re putting together a house, ya need materials to build it with right? Like lumber, bricks, roofing tiles..... But the more pre-built your materials are, the less time it’ll take to build that house.”

She doesn't answer beyond her psychic vibes giving off an air of confusion.

He starts up walking again before continuing the thought.

“So say the house is you, and the materials are the things you eat. If you’ve got a cosmic cheat that lets you build as fast as you can get the materials for it. What do you think would be the best materials to use to build a person?”

She’s already so strung out from the traumatic experience she’s just been through. But she still tries to put 2 and 2 together.

“So the amulets speed up your healing.”

“Mmmm-hmm.”

“But they don’t heal you out of nothing, it’s like a conservation of mass thing? It needs some physical material to rebuild you with? And the closer that material is to your existing body, the faster it can make the repairs?”

“Indeed.”

She pauses again. A feeling of dread settling in.

“So you’re telling me, I’m getting healed….by…”

She doesn't want to think about that right now, but Bob doesn't let the question leave hanging.

"Human meat...."

Shes still trying very hard not to think about it. But something else occurs to her.

“Is this… is that why you’re a….”

“Heh heh heh….No sweetpea. I’m not into eating people for the sake of being some kinda macho tough guy. I consider it more like…. a fun bonus. And maybe something I’ve taken advantage of a time or two tuh make some higher ups think twice about gettin rid of me.

Though it workin on you….

Now that's something to keep in mind for later.”

She didn't like the sound of anything right now, but especially not that.

Bob listened closely to her silence for a moment. She seemed too stunned and overwhelmed to try anything funny like whisking his brains, so rather than pushing her back down inside him, he instead let her out a little more.

Her consciousness reconnecting with her body like a relaxing muscle that had been holding a big rubber band.

And Bob biting his lip and huffing as he feels the satisfying weight of her re-appear inside him.

Before pressing on to drop off the body.

[wsbhonni]

Sanctuary (Chapter 5: Predicament)

*The room fell quiet once the lamp went dim, Arkin lays on the slightly stiff and probably dusty mattress he fixed up for himself- he doesn’t mind, actually it feels a little nostalgic since he used to sleep on this mattress before he could afford a proper bed. Arkin tosses and turns around, fumbling with the extra blanket to get comfortable, as the clock marches on somewhere in the room; only for him to take notice that Asa hasn’t moved for a while. He assumed the man was asleep, but considering his current health, Arkin decided to check anyway. “Hey, you awake?”- His voice rang out to the man on the bed next to him.

He can hear some shuffling before an answer can be voiced. 

“Mmh.”- Asa hummed. His tone makes him sound like he’s uninterested in talking. 

“Okay, just checking. . .”- Arkin closes his eyes to try and fall asleep. 

He put a hand on his stomach, then pulled the covers over his shoulders. His eyes open again, wide awake and unable to cut the stream of thoughts flowing through his head like clock-work. His guts won’t let him rest until he knows for sure Asa is sleeping. Mindlessly he let out a soft tired sigh- there’s not much for him to do without disturbing the other man, other than think. Arkin, seeing that there’s no way for him to bypass time, simply decided to indulge for a while.

Most of his nightly worries are the same things over and over again: bills, money, work, his ex wife, his daughter, some terrible life choices,. . . And now: A serial killer on his bed. 

He still remembers clearly Asa’s face “then”; Laying in a pool of his own blood, yet somehow his voice was soft while asking him about all sorts of things. Asa looked vulnerable then, as much as he does now- if only more stubborn. He drifts his gaze towards Asa, who’s lying motionless on the bed. Another pang of pity comes and kicks him in the abdomen as he recalls all the questions The man asked him… Even near death, he just wanted to know more about him. Arkin wonders why that is, and that he will ever get the chance to figure it out. 

‘He looked vulnerable then, and he is vulnerable now. ’- The thought circles inside Arkin’s head. 

He can hear Asa shuffling again, it seems like neither of them can sleep tonight.

‘ Vulnerable ’ huh? The word pokes at his side like a nasty gash on his morality. ‘Weak, and quite frankly, desperate’. Arkin tries not to think about it, he represses it by having a smoke or doing work extra hard, or just snuff it out by thinking about his financial situation. Arkin doesn’t like to admit it, so he just shoves it at the back of his mind like a crumpled up ugly shirt that you don’t want to wear, but someone bought it for you so you don’t have the heart to throw it out. 

The fact that Asa is actually here, on his bed, and is more -vulnerable- than ever, makes it worse. Not to mention he-...had seen the man’s body while trying to patch and clean him up, touching it in the process. A rather tasteful image appears in his head and Arkin suddenly has the urge to jump off a bridge. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 

 -Arkin nearly choked on his spit when the image first flashed in his head- the image of Asa and him holding each other while kissing. His imagination went vivid, tasting Asa's mouth, smelling his near scentless shampoo/cologne, and feeling his stubble grazing against his own. It was intense and passionate, if not a little hateful- spiteful even.

Teeth nipped and tongues fought, and only intensified the longer their make-out session would go on.

Arkin managed to snap out of it the second he pounced on Asa, pushing and pinning him down onto his bed.

Jesus- was he that horny- deprived even?! Why did he even think of that in the first place?  

No, he knew why.

Because he, very secretly, found Asa attractive- Asa was, unfortunately, exactly Arkin's type. Dark eyes, dark hair, piercings, and full figured- and physically strong. If Arkin didn't know him better- he would have approached him. 

For sex or a proper date? Depended on how Arkin would feel at the time.

If it were just for sex- Arkin would have told him to man handle him. Throw him on the bed, pin him down, bite him- do whatever he so wants to him.

However, now, Arkin's desires have shifted. Where Arkin was the one pinning Asa down. Where, the strong urge to beat Asa at his own game, punish him, put him in his place- became sexual rather than murderous.

The thought had Arkin salivating, as he turned onto his side. He felt a familiar heat begin to pool around his groin. He should probably stop thinking about that.

He looked over his shoulder, to Asa's sleeping form.

His body was soft- but a little firm. Asa had what many would describe as a "dad body"- perfectly soft yet still strong with muscle. Those thighs of his were perfect for cheeks to graze. To squeeze Arkin as he lays between them. 

Arkin's dick twitched for attention.

'Fuck it,' Arkin huffed in defeat.

*He snakes a hand down to his briefs and tantalisingly grazes over his unwanted arousal. How disgusting he feels to react this way for *The Collector* out of all people.’ Put him in his place’ . Arkin moves a finger onto the head to test if he truly needs to do this, only for it to twitch eagerly when he stroked down to the shaft.

  ‘Goddamnit.’ -Arkin exhaled quietly in shame, his face burning up as he felt. . . slimy. 

Arkin nervously looks over to Asa to check if the man is facing his direction or not: he isn’t. So he feverishly turns his back and makes sure the blanket is covering his embarrassment fully. Another image of Asa pinned beneath him appears in his vision- prompting the ex-con to breathe out slowly, steading his own impatience. He just wants this to be done, then go to sleep. He’ll just rub out a quick one and then forget he ever thought about Asa like “that”- it should be fine, it’s not the first time he did this anyway. 

He carefully tugs down his briefs without making too much noise, his hard-on springs out enthusiastically from the attention. A sort of guilt fills his conscience, but right now his impatience is urging him to just finish this off. So he quietly spits into the palm of his hand, and starts to stroke.

Asa stares blankly into the darkness surrounding him, curling into the new blanket that Arkin gave him earlier. The guy told him that he needs the old blanket because it’s weighted to help him sleep better, so he gave it up in trade for a lighter one- which he wonders why Arkin even let him have the other blanket in the morning. Part of him wishes Arkin would let him keep it for tonight.The first thing he did when Arkin wasn’t looking was sniffing the blanket, it smells nice of fabric softener. As much as he wanted it to smell like Arkin then, he’s glad the blanket somewhat relieved his mind when everything surrounding him has the man’s scent on them. Especially the pillow, he scoots down from the pillow, only to be met by the same scent lingering on the bed sheets. He can’t sleep like this. Perhaps the bed isn’t such a good idea. . . 

Arkin breathes through gritted teeth, biting onto his lips, sometimes a hand would cover over his mouth when he fears another round of groaning is coming. The other hand that’s too busy to stop, keeping itself in rhythm- up and down to the mental image of Asa’s plump body. The thought of The Collector squirming, face flushed with lust and denial yet so submissive, while him- the ex-victim getting his revenge, fucking the serial killer into the matress. Arkin wants to hear Asa beg for it. 

“Gh-” A moan almost escapes his lips, he stops pleasuring himself for a moment to calm down, only to achingly start stroking again. 

Ah, he gets closer each time another fantasy pops up in his mind- just a few more minutes and then he’d be able to sleep peacefully, and then in the morning he will-

A weight appearing on the mattress makes him jump. His whole body jolts in fear when the presence of a finger tapping on his shoulder. Arkin ceases his “activity” immediately, disappointed that he has to stop when he’s getting so close already, but the impassable horror of being caught is much, much worse- which puts a halt to his needs instantly. Arkin bites his bottom lip to stop himself from saying anything until his voice has calmed down. His stagnant hung dick hidden under the covers.

He dreadfully looks over his shoulder to see a figure sliding off the bed to greet him. It’s Asa. And Arkin hopes to GOD that the man doesn’t figure out what he was doing. 

“Hey,,”

Oh god, the man’s voice is repeating itself inside Arkin’s head, he can’t help but imagine how Asa would sound like moaning his name.

“Wuh- what? What do you want?”  Arkin answered as composed as possible, trying to sound sleepy to lure the man away.

“Can we switch?”

“Huh? wh-” 

“Switch beds, I can’t sleep on yours.”- Asa cuts in.

[gourmet-trash]

Ok I really like your hobrinthian fics and they really give me what I've been dying for- casual sweet slice of life shots. So tysm writing <3 what's your headcanon for how they all got together if you have one?

AH! thank you so much!! it thrills me to absolutely no end that other people enjoy the silly, easy little stories i've been throwing together. they've been a lot of fun to write!

and great question! i don't think i'm hard set on any specific head canon (currently, i make most of this shit up as i go lol) on how they came together for the walker siblings + chaos boyfriends series. BUT. having said that. i will also say that the "corinthian suggests stabbing hob to help rose with her homework" bit was a very direct mental spin off from a serial killer walks into a bar lol. very "what if my man chilled out a LITTLE BIT and got to do some stabbing and everyone was cool with it actually?"

so there's definitely a chance that that i am, without realizing it, writing the very beginning of this threesome-to-be and the fucking slice of life sequels to it lol. like...okay, so hear me out:

let's assume somewhere in the aftermath of a serial killer walks into a bar (which may have some writing for it already, maybe maybe), hob and the corinthian actually do become something. what is that thing? who fucking knows, cause corinthian isn't gonna put a name on it. but a something. enough of a something that somewhere along the course of the show's canon, corinthian maybe kinda sorta starts to...second guess some decisions.

don't get me wrong, he is still suckin and stabbin his way through whatever the hell he has going on, and he definitely isn't second guessing those decisions. but what started off as a plan to get the vortex and use her to deal with his very complicated god-daddy issues is now...tainted. he's used to blood stains, right? knows how to get them, what they mean, how to clean them off. but this thing with gadling is like fucking ink. the spread and smear is similar, but he can't pinpoint the source, and it runs darker, stains longer. it lingers in a way he isn't used to, eats under his skin and settles like a tattoo over the violence. giving it outlines and borders and structure. a new frame of reference, if you will.

so when he gets to jed, he was always going to be a little soft for the kid. recognize a little too much of himself, project a little too hard. but with the stain of gadling on him, he's got a better frame of reference for tenderness and affection. not a great one, mind, but better. he's also gotten a more up close and personal taste of possessive, and it's obviously different with the kid, but gadling left ink behind on him, in him, and he's stamping, imprinting more easily on the little human he finds, shockingly, that he gives a shit about.

but, you know, he also has shit to do, and while he's second guessing some things, he isn't gonna just stop. so he maybe alters the plan. just a little. makes a call he doesn't expect to make and asks for....help is a sour word, so he wouldn't use it, but a favor. a big favor. the 'i wouldn't ask if i had any other choice' kinda favor.

and gadling, who is too fucking much at any given time, would agree. because his friend (more than? something, something) asked, sounds sincere and maybe a little, poorly hidden desperate. so corinthian still makes stupid fucking choices and still takes a child to a serial killer convention. but he also gets gadling to fly all the way out to meet them there, because it's suddenly overwhelmingly important that corinthian has a backup plan for bright eyed, desperate-for-affection-and-safety jed.

and rose is important to jed, which means rose is now important to corinthian too. and sure there's a lot to gain here, but there are stains now - fucking empathy and sincerity and he can't scrub it off, not entirely - so he'll be fucking damned if he's going to stand back and just let anything happen to her. kills several people along the way to keep them both safe, because fuck kids are a handful. and he still doesn't have the details of whatever the fuck there is between dream and gadling, but there is something, and he needs a trump card, if not to pull for himself to shake out with the rest of the chips when it's all over.

so when dream and corinthian are finally having their head to head and when corinthian is on the cusp of being entirely undone, and of course he doesn't fucking want that to happen, but at this point maybe it should? the flaws are running deeper than dream knows. all the stress cracks left behind from his creation are now full of fucking ink like so much gold in kintsugi.

and that's probably about the time hob walks in and is like "the fuck is all this???? i ran into the kids in the lobby and got them somewhere safe but-- DREAM? IS THAT YOU? do you know each other?????" and an awful lot of yelling and chastising follows, because "what do you MEAN you made him??? no you can't UNMAKE people for making bad decisions, what the fuck? and YOU! YOU'RE A NIGHTMARE AND A SERIAL KILLER? when were you gonna tell me that, huh!? how many more times were we going to fuck before that came up? oh, i'm sorry mr. i-only-gave-you-my-name-finally-last-bloody-week, you don't get to have an opinion on my sex life now!"

and then some truly outrageous negotiations and bickering follow, which coincidentally go on long enough for our main bitch lucienne to crack the code on unity and when the dust finally settles on all that, there's a weird, unsteady foundation they can spend some time smoothing out.

......okay so turns i DO have a headcanon for how they got together! i am so fucking sorry anon, this got away from me.

[imogenleewriter]

hello hi, i've got a question, what keeps you going while writing? i admire your consistency!

Hey!

Super valid question that I'm not entirely sure I have an answer to. Or maybe I have too many answers.

I'm going to give short ones (because I keep trying to answer this and writing a novel) but if you want me to elaborate I can.

1) Deadlines. If I don't have deadlines, I just waste time staring at a blank screen, and that's more stressful than forcing myself to get words down.

2) Writing stuff that matters to me. Before ychiits, I tried writing 1000 things with amazing plots and could never finish any of them. If you think about it, ychiits actual plot is so mundane, but for that, the characters were what mattered to me and a complicated plot would have taken away from that. The two wips mean different things to me as well. Writing fanfiction falls into that as well. I have no desire to write original works because writing Larry fanfiction means more to me.

3) General techniques that work for me. I could probably write an essay on this, but basically, I have so many strategies to get myself to write based on my mood.

4) Comments. I doubt I'd be close to as productive without comments and interactions. I probably get over 250 comments a week across all four fics now, and it's hard not to stay motivated when that happens. But at the start of ychiits I was getting like 4-5 comments per chapter, and that was still as motivating! (So please comment on every fic you love).

5) Planning. ychiits has a full draft. My current WIPs are less so because I found I didn't copy a single sentence from ychiits so it seemed silly to have a 100k draft when I only referred to it for scenes/chapters. So now I just focus on a general plot. My study looks like a serial killer den because of all the posters and cork boards and white boards where I keep all the plans. So, if i get stuck on a chapter, I write out everything I want to include in it. The more stuck I am, the more I flesh out the plan.

6) Talking things through with others. I started Ychiits because I know anyone in the fandom at all, so I was completely alone and didn't have a single beta until the last chapter when @hereforh and @enchantedlandcoffee looked through it as readers to make sure it all aligned so you can definitely do it without this. But now, because I have friends, lol, if I get stuck on a scene or chapter, I have people to talk to and bounce ideas off them and check they think what I'm writing makes sense. I've mentioned in my AN, but @hereforh and I have a constant chat - different time zones - and at least half of the time we're talking about fic ideas etc. @nooradeservedbetter also gives me amazing advice when I'm stuck.

7) Privilege. I don't know how to talk about this without sounding like I'm bragging. However, my job is after-hours. So, I don't work during the day on weekdays. It's a well-paying job, so I don't work full-time - my hourly rate is about double what it was when I worked in a hospital. Some of my shifts are being on-call overnight. This means I spend 10 hours in my study but only have to work when I get a call (that being said, I'm not very productive after 2am, so it doesn't help that much). There is still a need for me to bring in income, and does still take away hours from writing, but I obviously have more time to write than I did when I was working full-time.

8) Lack of sleep. Okay, so realistically, I need just as much sleep as everyone else, I know that. But I seem to survive better than most people would on the same amount of sleep.

9) Supportive husband. I mean, he's never read a word I've written or anything, but he is supportive in the sense that he knows writing is something I value and doesn't talk down about it. I think he'd be just as supportive if I were actually making an income from it as he is about it being fanfiction.

10) ADHD diagnosis and meds. Even medicated, my ADHD is still a big challenge to writing. It might not seem like that because of the frequency that I upload, but it still does. For example, I'll click out of the document to google a word or something and straight away get side-tracked, and after an hour, I'll remember that I was writing and come back to the document and realise I still didn't even google the word and the process starts all over again. But knowing that my brain works differently helps - i.e I know I can only write in 20-minute blocks, and then I need a break. That probably falls more into point three, but I know my limitations now. And ADHD meds still help bring me up to a point where I can actually finish things.

11) Letting go of perfectionism. Could my work be 10x better than it is? Yes. But when I'm writing and uploading 20k+ words a week, I don't have time to try and get every sentence perfect. The thing is, perfectionism freezes me. I probably would give myself more time between deadlines if I was sure that I would use that time to perfect chapters. But I either would still wait until the last minute and not use the extra time, or I'd get too wrapped up in getting every word perfect that I'd still miss every deadline. There are plenty of "good enough" words, sentences, paragraphs, and scenes in my fics that I know could be better, but I just don't have time to spend twenty minutes trying to find the right word or the best sentence structure. I hope that makes sense.

Anyway, this is still long af but I hope it helps a little. Happy to elaborate on any points - because I could definitely right about this all day - but again, it's already long af and I'm not sure if it is helpful at all lol.

[clonemedickix]

Random fun questions to answer, then tag your buddies!

Questions:

1. What is your personality type? (Enneagram or Meyers-Briggs or DISC or whatever you like!)

2. What car would you like to own, if money were no issue?

3. Describe your high school self in five words?

4. What environment is your favorite and makes you feel most at home? A coffee shop, a forest, the Swiss mountains, home with friends, etc?

5. Describe your perspective on life in five words?

6. Which traits would make up the ideal best friend for you and why?

7. What is something in life that you get a disproportionate delight from?

———————-

Answers:

1. Enneagram: type 1 6w5

2. I have my dream vehicle - a Tahoe. Shorties gotta sit up high with power!

3. Reserved, talented, smart, athletic nerd, not one to follow the crowd at all. Loved Latin.

4. My office in my home, surrounded by my Star Wars lego sets and books, my knitting supplies and a comfy chair, where I can watch Star Wars or other shows at my leisure and draw or write at my desk.

5. I’m a very jaded individual after 20 years in the emergency/trauma/critical care field. I’m surrounded by death and suffering on a daily basis, and have to work to find some kind of light or humor to survive, as do all those I associate with. My role in healthcare is to keep a body alive in hopes they will recover from the brink of death they’re on, but to also play the medium to the angel of death when they can’t. It’s a fine line to walk, and survive without losing your own soul. I guess my perspective is, don’t pass up opportunities to find happiness when you come across them, and love as deeply as you can with the time you have.

6. Taking into account the answer from above, it’s hard to be my friend in person. A best friend for me would be also as jaded and twisted as myself, able to enjoy very dark humor, to understand why watching a serial killer murder documentary might actually be strangely relaxing. Someone who isn’t bothered by blasting music at live concert level decibels in order to drown out the mental sound of beeping and whirring and bubbling and the random human screaming, or constant requests for you to act on some request or order. A person that doesn’t pass out when discussing human functions over dinner. But in large part, a person who understands why its perfectly in character for you to be a better friend by text and IG messenger than in person, because you’ve run out of stamina to be around people after several shifts of giving all of your mind, body and soul to other people.

7. Drawing clones. I’m a complete sucker for a guy in uniform and for those who have been given the crappy end of the stick. I will watch The Bad Batch, The Clone Wars and Rebels over and over and over because I relate to those men so completely, they feel like family.

Okay! So yeah I’m a bit of a dark cup of caf there, I know.

Thanks to @lightspringrain and @freesia-writes for tagging me!!

No pressure tags: @king-chaos-world @starrylothcat @rain-on-kamino @arlothia @cursed-nurse

[choshasan]

massive rant about my being semi-illeterate..

I don't get people who can learn by reading like.. it's never worked for me, my brain just gets rly fucking overwhelmed or I just wind up spacing out/side tracked every couple of words and like.. I'm a pretty slow reader as well.. I've never been able to re read myself after I wrote an eassay or anything, and with every class I failed, the problem came down to reading, my native language being french, I was in a french class with extra support for most of middle school and highschool, and I failed/came very close to failing several classes where there was a lot of reading to do, I've always been great at science, math and art, but always fell short on projects/assignements where there was a lot of text to read because I couldn't get through it.. in french and english class, if we had to read a book, I'd have to have someone read it to me, or I couldn't get through it, and most books were like 200-300 small pages at bestb, whenever we got exams where we had to read a text / extract and then answer to questions, I'd skip the reading, read the questions first and then skim through the pages of text to find the extract I needed for the answer. And it's honestly worst reading in my mother tongue, french, than in english, hell, I've found times where latin languages, such as spanish, italian and portuguese, were easier for me to read than french, and I barely know any of those 3 langauges.

My handwriting's also been terrible my entire life, obviously as a child I wrote like a child, but it slowly grew into chicken scratch that has been compared to doctor's handwriting and serial killer's handwriting. I have no idea why reading and writing is so hard for me, like.. for french I get why it takes me more time, cuz I gave up on it as soon as I learned english, finding english simpler, and most of my friends speaking english as their 1st or 2nd langauges and french as theyr 2nd/3rd, it was easier to speak with them like that, and, whenever I'm reading french, if I find a word that I have no idea how it is pronounced, I'm just sounding it out, like genuinly, if I saw Wednesday in french I'd just be like yupp. That is wed-uh-ness-day. And like, I'm not Dyslexic, I can see and read letters perfectly fine, so that's not impairing my reading at all, I just can't *focus* at all.. and it gets to be exhausting. Like, I often find myself having to re read the same lines several times. But thennn, and Idk if it's related, but I can't watch tv without subtitles. Like.. I can't hear shit. I also have this problem where like.. I don't learn from my mistakes.. like.. no matter how many times I'm told, idk if it's Convinience/Convenience, so I just resorte to calling convinience/convenience stores by the japanese "Konbini" because that I can remember. And also, I've been hammered about it to the point its become very rare, but for most of my life I've written Very as Verry, and I tend to add a lot of double letteres where there aren't cuz.. it just seems like there'd be.. I also do this thing where.. instead of learning how to write a word, I'll abv it.. like Abv, that I have no idea if it has one B or two Bs, or Comfy, because in my head it makes no sence that it's actually spelled come-for-table.. because why the fuck is the word for something that's comfy.. COME. FOR. TABLE.?! I do also get very confused about words when I hear them pronounced a way I am not used to, but do recognised the word.. like.. I've been broken since John Mulaney's Baby J came out, because he pronounces Fearal as "Fear-al" and I've alwayd said it as "Fer-al" and now idk which one's right! There's also Tom Segura saying Whilst as "whilst' when I always read it as "While-st". But anyway, back to my not being able to read propperly, I can't really read anything more than a manga or comic book, because like.. images are entertaining to my brain.. they don't even help me understand what's going on better, like, I don't have aphantasia, I can picture a book without images in my head, I just preffer images, they're concrete, I *know* thats what the character looks like, good.

But anyway, even with manga, like.. I read one chapter and then I'm like.. help me god I long for death please this was torture.., I do sometimes get lost in a story and manage to enjoy it so much I don't even realise I'm reading, it's often happened to me with very good fanfictions, and with manga/manhwa,

But I'm like literally incapable of finishing a novel on my own... I've finished, in my 18, soon 19, years of life, 1 novel on my own. It was the poison apple book "the dead end" by mimi mccoy and it took me 3 months, for refferance, I was 12 and that was a 174pages book... currently, the one novel I have gotten myself to read, is the 1st Boku No Hero Academia School Breifs, that I bougjt, not knowing they were novels, and I have read 1 chapter. I bought this book like 1 or 2 years ago? Started it I believe end of 2023, begining or 2024... we're in july..

I also am reading the delux edition of killing stalking, the first book, (rip me for buying a book that has errors and mistakes in it) and, I have made it 1 chapter in.. I have read the entire story online, but for some reason, the physical copy, I just can't... and like, I have this problem online too, I often give up on reading tublr posts that are too long, like.. I'd never read my own posts if I wasn't the one posting them.. and I preffer to read one shots rather than fanfics because fanfics tend to be too long for my brain to stay engaged, same with reading manga/mamhwa online, sometimes I can't even stay engaged for the full first chapter... and its not that I dont like it, my brain just gives up on reading..

And like, yes, I could use audio books, but those throw me off becauae the voices are always wrong to me, so I get literally grossed out by it and give up.. and even TTS fucks me up, I can't follow what it says without reading..

I also can't read if there's noise, but I can't read if there's no noise at all either.. whitenoise throws me off, ASMR as well, music just ends up with me signing / dancing, or feeling overwhelmed, and people speaking is the absolute worst because I get so thrown off and have to restart over and over again..

And like.. idk... I just can't read propperly.. I know my father isn't that great at reading / writing either because he learned to sound out words to spell them too, and never learned propper english, but he does enjoy reading as far as I've heard and can read at a pretty average pace, my brother reads pretty slow and has a bit of trouble writing because he just never learned to spell words either, but he can read well, and he somewhat enjoys it.. like.. he doesn't LOVE reading, but he doesn't dislike it, when he gets into a book, he reads it to the end.

My mother, is a slow reader, but she *loves* reading, my entire life, she's owned 100's of books, her favourite author being Mary Higgins Clark. And my mother was that kid that was always top of her class in french and english, and she even works as a translator, and has a degree in translation. (Yes, she finds great despair in her kid being so bad at reading / writing, but she does her best to find a way to interest me in it and find ways to help me, like doing word search puzzles with me, or bribing me with manga in french, english and japanese, because she knows that I'll gladly read those, she also enjoys playing those games where you have a circle with letters in it and you have to connect the letters to fill the grid with words on mobile..)

Anyway, back to what I was saying, I *am* AuDHD if that helps in anyway? Like.. ik I have a short attention span and that falls down to that, and my constant being overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time, but.. idk if its that that makes me unable to propperly read, or if I'm just dumb af lmao..

Anyway, all this rant was just to say, I'm trying to learn japanese, amongst other languages, and even 5 or 6 years later?? I still can't propperly speak, read or write in japanese,

And I was given books to learn korean today, from one of my brother's friend who already can speak read and write in korean, and like.. 1. My chicken scratch trenscends languages and alphabets, 2. I'm not learning shit at all and I can't get past the 1st pages of text, so I just have fun doing the caligraphy exercises entirely wrong because fuck stroke order as long as I can replicate the shape well enough that you can tell what it says and I'm not breaking my wrist, idc. But like.. the reading part breaks me..

Like to this day, I have not memorised either katakana or hiragana or hangeul, despite seeing them every single day of my life because I surround myself with japanese & korean media.. and don't get me started on Kanji, I know TWO. And those are 愛 and 月

Which is Ai (love) and Tsuki (moon) and I learned those, because I see them very often.

I know more japanese words than I can read / write, like, obviously I'm familiar with the typical anime lingo, Kawaii, sugoi, subarashi, daijobu, tatakae, boku, anata, ore, atashi, watashi, shojo, shonen, seinen, neko, inu, tori, daisuki, aishiteru, sukidesu, suika, Yandere, tsundere, ETC... and thanks for anime and japanese youtube, because that's where I've learned the most like

Midoriya taught me Midori means Green, and youtube taught me that green light is Ao (blue) light, because back in the days (...)

Kaminari taught me that's the name for lightning/thunder

Tsuyu taught me that frogs say Kero instead of Ribbit in japanese

And I can really go on, like I've learned so much from anime and youtube..

The one thing I haven't managed to learn, is sentance structure! Like..

I know that if I wanna say "I ate an apple yesterday" it would ve "apple eat", thanks to the japanese lessons I took back when there was a website I won't name that wasn't a bitch locking content away behind a paywall and was totally free :/

I also used Duolingo back in the days it wasn't shitty and didn't use AI rather than actually teaching some level of langauge and wasn't only poppular for it's semi-funny social media presence..

Uhm, anyway.. this is getting really long..

The point is in the end, I can't propperly read or write, in any language.. and idk why, maybe I'm just someone with a low learning capacity :P (am dumm)

Oh btw.. this doesn't impair my capacity to take in information btw, like.. I'm not some dumbass who half reads an article and then assumes shit from the part I read.. I just have to have someone read it out to me, but from there, I'm very capable of understanding things. (And yes, I *can* mostly, tell fake news from real news, and I check sources)

Anyway.. thanks for reading, no matter if you made it all the way through this :]

[chickenfics]

Security Blanket

Relationship: Loki x GN!reader (SFW)

Summary: The reader can’t sleep thanks to a true crime podcast. In their anxiety, they seek out comfort from a certain God of Mischief

Word count: 2.2k

Content warning: Okay, so, this isn't a heavy fic by any means, but it does contain discussions around true crime, murder, and what could maybe be considered home invasion. If that will make you uncomfortable in any way, I would suggest maybe skipping this one. Instead, I can offer you The Best Medicine which is a similar story, but without the murder bits

Masterlist   Also on ao3

You wrung your hands together, groaning softly before dragging them over your face. It was nearing midnight. You’d tucked into bed hours ago, and still sleep hadn’t come. Though, whose fault was that?

Yours. It was definitely yours.

When would you learn to stop listening to true crime podcasts before bed? Or reading scary stories that you were ‘sure you could handle’ because ‘they’re not that scary.’ When would you learn that your anxiety would use any excuse it could get -- even if the chances of you being abducted and murdered by a serial killer was one in several thousand?

When would you learn your lesson? Not tonight, apparently.

Because you had done just that, and now it was five past twelve and you were still awake, had checked that your window was locked three separate times, and was wondering how easy it would be for someone to break into the compound.

It was ridiculous, really. Thanks to Tony, the building you were fortunate enough to call home was probably the safest place you could ever be -- especially considering who your neighbors were. You suspected that if a murderer even did manage to infiltrate Stark’s million-dollar security system, the likelihood of them getting past two super soldiers, men with fancy suits, an assassin, and a few supernatural beings was… pretty damn slim.

So why did you feel so afraid?

Your heart was racing in your chest, and you could feel the edges of your body floating away from you, out into the darkness of your room as you tried to listen for the smallest of sounds. But of course anticipating them made your blood run cold at things you weren’t even sure you'd heard.

Throwing your head back into your pillow with exhausted annoyance, you groaned again. You weren’t going to get any sleep at this rate. You’d be lucky if you didn’t wind up having an anxiety attack. Really, when would you learn? No true crime cases after dinner.

Feeling tears of frustration prick against your eyes, you dragged yourself to your feet. Were you really going to do this?

“Whenever you need me, darling,” the voice echoed in your head. “You know where to look.”

A feeling of dread settled in the pit of your stomach. Dread and guilt. But you could also feel your nerves fraying at the edges, and he had said whenever you needed him. If he’d actually meant it, well… you were about to find out.

Grabbing the blanket from off of your bed, you wrapped it snugly around your head and shoulders, pulling it closed just beneath your chin. You felt ridiculous but couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were too exhausted for that.

Slinking up to your door, you cautiously clicked it open. The hallway stretched on either side of your room, dark and looming like a gaping mouth. You felt your heartbeat flutter and swallowed hard.

Stepping out into the abyss -- really just the hallway -- you tugged your blanket closer and turned left, making a hasty beeline for the room four doors away, sending endless thanks out into the universe that he was close. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you had to venture to the whole other end of the compound.

But you didn’t have to wonder because soon enough you were standing outside his door. You would have turned around and left, giving in to that feeling of guilt at the very thought of waking him up, but your brain was pulsing with anxiety. At this point you weren’t even sure what you were worried about, you’d gotten so ahead of yourself.

So, taking a deep, trembling breath, you knocked twice. It sounded so loud in the silence of the night that it nearly made you jump.

When the door abruptly opened, you did jump.

“Oh dear,” Loki mumbled, tilting his head as he took in the state of you. His hair was ruffled, curls furling out in a bedhead so beautiful it was practically a crime. He had obviously been sleeping, and that guilt inside you grew.

“I am so sorry.”

Loki simply raised an eyebrow, stepping aside and swinging the door open further to let you in. You hesitated for only a moment before entering. Almost instantly the dread that had been gripping you in a chokehold all but drained away, allowing you to breathe again.

“Did Wilson talk you into another horror movie? I told him to stop doing that.”

You shook your head, and he swung the door shut.

“True crime podcast,” you managed, your voice only trembling a little. “This guy would break into people's houses while they were away and then hide in their attics so he could murder them in their sleep, or whatever.”

Loki pulled a face, something between a wince and a look of disgust.

“That’s…. distasteful.”

“Yeah.”

You stood there in silence, then, and shifted from one foot to the other.

“What if they didn’t have an attic?” Loki suddenly asked.

“What?”

“The people whose houses he broke into. What if they didn’t have an attic?”

“I… don’t know,” you muttered, then gave a hoarse, wobbly laugh. God, you were so tired. You rubbed your forehead, staring at the ground.

“It’s really got you, hasn’t it?” Loki seemed to realize, and when you nodded, eyes still glued shamefully to the ground, his demeanor shifted in an instant.

“Alright, it’s alright,” he murmured, stepping closer to you.

Your arms were crossed tightly around yourself. Loki held out a slender, pale hand. After a moment, you accepted it, laying your own hand against his soft palm.

“It honestly didn’t freak me out, but then my anxiety started acting up and I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and…” you took a shuddering breath and tried not to burst into tears.

“Alright, you’re alright,” Loki softly assured, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. Then, a bit awkwardly he asked, “Is… this one of those times I should offer you a hug? I never can tell…”

You thought for a beat, then nodded. You still hadn’t lifted your eyes from the floor, and Loki hooked a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting your face until you were staring into his ocean-green eyes. They were unusually soft in that way they always got when you were together.

Giving you a quick smile and a reassuring wink, he pulled you into his chest, tugging you close and leaning over you like he wanted to swallow you whole. Like he wanted to keep you safe from the whole world.

“I don’t think you need to worry, love,” he eventually spoke up. “After all, we haven’t got an attic.”

At that, you burst out laughing, the sound of it muffled against his shirt. You felt his chuckle against your skin as it rumbled through his chest, and his hand slid up between your shoulder blades.

“And anyhow,” he continued. “Even if an intruder did manage to make their way into this miserable fortress Stark has created, they would be dead before they even had a chance to lay a finger on you. I’d make sure of it.”

You inhaled deeply through your nose, filling your lungs with Loki’s familiar scent. One of peppermint and pine, and that lavender shampoo he claimed he didn't use.

“I know,” you whispered into his shirt. “My brain’s just being dumb--”

“Uh-uh, absolutely not. That beautiful brain of yours is not dumb,” he firmly insisted. “Though, perhaps you should rethink your pre-bedtime entertainment.”

He had you laughing again, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him for it.

“Thank you, Loki. And I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Never apologize, my darling,” he rubbed another hand up your back.

“Can I… can I stay here, tonight?” You sheepishly asked, voice sounding small. You really didn't want to be alone right now, with your mind running rampant and creating monsters out of shadows and creaks.

“As if I’d allow you to leave,” Loki scoffed, grabbing your legs and hoisting you into his arms, blanket and all. “There might be a murder in our attic, I can’t let you wander the compound unprotected.”

“Loki,” you groaned as he carried you towards the bed. But his teasing didn’t make you more anxious like it might have -- like it would have if it was anyone else -- because you knew that he really did mean to protect you. And, as silly as that was, it made you feel better.

He tossed you gently onto the bed. Grabbing your blanket, he wrapped it firmly around you until he’d effectively cocooned you inside it.

“There,” he announced, tapping your nose. “My precious little mortal.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t have denied the grin that spread across your face. A grin that only widened as he crawled in next to you, pulling his own blanket over the both of you. You didn’t miss how he’d put you next to the wall -- how he’d positioned himself between you and the door.

“Rest assured, love, no one will harm you tonight.”

You groaned again, more out of embarrassment than anything, and buried your face in your blanket burrito.

“No,” you peeped, agreeing. “Not when there’s a very strong, very dashing god here to protect me from any serial murderers…”

Maybe it was because you were hiding your face already. Maybe it was because you were so tired, or half-giddy with relief now that the adrenaline had fled your body. Maybe that was why your tongue had gone loose and you’d let yourself gush about how amazing Loki was.

But when you peeked out to find him blushing furiously, his usually pale skin tinged pink at the ears, you realized that Loki needed to hear it. Wiggling yourself sideways, you looked adamantly at him, determined to make him listen. You waited until he looked at you with a mix of dread and annoyance before continuing.

“Thank you for looking after me. You’re the best there ever was.”

“Stop it,” Loki insisted, glancing sideways before reluctantly meeting your eye again.

“I mean it.”

“You’re delusional with fright.”

“No,” you insisted, and you would have smacked his arm had you not been burritoed up. “You’re lovely and strong and amazing -- my hero.”

Now it was Loki’s turn to groan, but you could see his jaw twitch as he fought a smile.

“You live in a building full of actual heroes, and yet you come to me when you're afraid. You know I’ve surely killed more people than that man who hides in attics?”

He wasn’t trying to scare you, you could tell. It was more of a friendly -- and very confused -- warning. That was fine, you could understand for the both of you.

“I already told you, Loki, I come to you because you look after me. And I’m fully aware of your past, thank you very much. Nothing will change the way that  I feel safe with you.”

Loki stilled, eyebrows knitting together ever so slightly as he sought for something in your face. You could see the conflict behind his eyes -- he probably wanted to tell you how foolish that was, how you shouldn’t feel safe with a monster like him, but yet, he didn’t.

“Besides,” you continued, hating the way he looked so… broken. “You never lurked in anybody’s attics waiting to brutally murder them in their sleep.”

It did the trick and Loki laughed, short and breathy.

“No,” he tilted his head. “No, I suppose I didn’t. That’s too… slimy -- even for me.”

You smiled, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. When you let out a content sigh, Loki looked at you with eyes full of tenderness. Hesitantly, he reached out and began to fiddle with the edge of your blanket.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes,” you blushed, snuggling further into your cocoon.

“Good. I hate to see you so tense.”

“Awwe,” you sighed, scrunching your nose at him.

He rolled his eyes and covered your face with his hand, but you could hear him laughing softly.

Once you'd fallen still again, he very slowly removed his hand. Peering back up at him, your breath caught as he traced a finger along your cheekbone before hovering just above your skin.

It was a bit of a struggle, and required a fair amount of squirming, but you managed to wrangle your hand out of the blanket. Lifting it halfway, you let the tip of your finger brush his. He froze, his hand stilling, and you couldn’t stop yourself. Your touch trailed down to his knuckle, and your middle finger lightly grazed his pinky.

He scoffed like he couldn’t believe what you were doing, and definitely couldn’t understand why. Furrowing his brows, he reached forward and softly poked your cheek, letting his fingertips rest against your jaw for only a moment before pulling away.

“You baffle me sometimes, you know that?” he whispered. “But… I’m glad you came.”

Your face split into a grin, and you had just opened your mouth when Loki interrupted you.

“Ah-ah, don’t say anything,” he waved his finger through the air like he might press it to your lips. “Just… sleep, alright? You can continue baffling me in the morning.”

You snorted, tracing a line down his wrist as you dropped your hand onto the bed.

“Alright fine.”

As if on cue, you yawned loudly. Loki chuckled, tugging the blanket tighter around you. There was no possibility of escape now.

You’d never slept so well in your life.

And though there were no serial killers hiding in the compound's nonexistent attic, Loki still wrapped his arm protectively around your waist.

Just in case, he told himself.

[pagesfromthevoid]

A Fucking Duck | a.c | 1

Adrian Chase x Batfam!reader

Requested: @ladybug023

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Violence. Language. Adrian Chase in general needs a warning I think

Author’s Note: Yeah so this is gonna get a part two sorry not sorry. It was getting long and I have. I have so many ideas.

Series Masterlist | Talk to me!

It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult to take him down. He was some B-tier criminal from bum fuck nowhere. All she had to do was swoop in, kick his ass, book him and drop him off at the police station. Get him off the streets so that the tiny town he was fucking around in could sleep a little more soundly at night.

It was punishment for having almost killed Joker last month; Batman sent her away to cool off. Deal with something small while she got over her anger issues. She had argued that out of everyone that should probably be killed, Joker was absolutely the one. After what he had done to Jason…She felt it would have been justified. Batman argued that no one dies with the Bat name attached to them.

She argued that maybe she didn’t need the Bat mantle then. He didn’t take too kindly to that.

So he forced her hand, leaving her in the bum fuck town of Evergreen with the mission to stop Vigilante. What should have been an open and shut case, however, had taken up about three months of her goddamn life.

She was definitely part of the problem; she had underestimated Vigilante and his abilities quite a bit. He was quick; and very willing to fight until they were both bloody. But he was also quick witted. Or maybe he was just weird; the comments he made whenever they were in a fight always threw her off. Distracted her, which usually led to him getting in a solid shot (whether it was a literal shot or a punch, it didn’t typically matter) and taking off.

Tonight was no different, with the comments practically being thrown up every time she swung at him. He’d broken her cross bow, which really pissed her off.

“You’re a shitty superhero,” he said as she went to kick him in the face. But he grabbed her boot, flipping her to the ground. “I thought the Batman gang was way better than this.”

“There’s not usually this much talking when I’m fighting someone,” she snapped at him as he stepped on her chest.

“Where’s the fun in that? I thought we were friends.”

“On what fucking planet would we be friends? You’ve stabbed and shot me several times!”

“I mean you’ve also stabbed and shot me!”

She groaned in anger, letting her head fall back into the ground. “Because you’re a serial killer!”

“Hey! I only kill the bad guys!”

“Teenagers who spray paint walls don’t deserve to die!”

“Uh, yes they fucking do. That’s against the law. It’s called vandalism. Do you not have vandalism laws in Gotham?”

She huffed, grabbing his ankle now as he was distracted. The sudden movement made him fall back and she pounced, jumping on him. Pinned to the ground, with her sitting on top of him, Vigilante made an “oh” sound as she pulled out her cuffs.

“You don’t have to be like this, you know. You could actually be a hero. Without the whole murder bit,” she explained, digging her knee into his wrist to hold it down. But he wasn’t exactly fighting back anymore. “Like actual criminals need stopping. Not some bored kid with a shitty home life.”

Vigilante wasn’t responding, simply staring up at her through his visor. She couldn’t make out any distinguishing features with the mask on. But his sudden silence was becoming unnerving as she gave him a whack against his cheek. But all he did was make another “oh” sound. She gave him a weird look but suddenly was shoved off him, being thrown to the ground.

He was manic, standing up frantically as she sat on her ass and tried to understand what was happening. While it wasn’t necessarily obvious to her, to him, it was almost painful how turned on he was by her sitting on top of him and having smacked him. The hard on he was trying to conceal was too much.

“Let’s do this again sometime,” he offered, though his voice suddenly cracked. He cleared his throat. “Any other time. I’ll kill you next week, that sounds fun, right?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She yelled as she scrambled up.

But he was taking off and she was standing there with the cuffs in her hand, very confused.

“What the fuck is wrong with this town?”

*****

The ache in her back was enough to make her cringe as she slid into the booth of Fennel Fields. The shitty upholstery was sticky, probably from a lack of cleaning, but the hostess was sweet as she left the menu on the table. Honestly, there wasn’t a need for the menu. Not anymore. This was the only halfway decent place in town, though it still wasn’t great. Not compared to the food she ate in Gotham.

But she came here every Tuesday night and got the shitty breadsticks and a chef salad. Tonight, she ordered a cocktail with her dinner, though it wasn’t nearly as strong as she’d like it to be. She was documenting her latest meeting with Vigilante, updating Batman with the progress she was making.

Or, well, the lack thereof.

That last fight was weirder than usual, with how abrupt the criminal dipped on her. She almost felt ghosted; which was fucking ridiculous because he was her goddamn enemy. But enemies were still something.

“Hey!”

She looked up from her laptop, giving a small smile at mess of curls that waved her way. Adrian was one of the few locals who had welcomed her to their small ass town without too many questions. Well, no. He asked a stupid amount of questions. Just none that were intrusive to her personal life.

When they first met, there at Fennel Fields, she had been there up until closing time. Laptop out, emailing back and forth with Bruce about what she’d learned about Vigilante since arriving. Adrian had walked by her table several times over the course of the night, finally being prompted by one of his coworkers to go get her to leave.

“Hey, uh, hi,” he had awkwardly stammered out. She had looked up, slightly surprised by how cute she thought he was, but simply smiled politely. “So we’re getting ready to close and I know you’ve been here forever and that’s totally cool but —“

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” she had replied, closing her computer. She started digging around her bag for her credit card. “Yeah, no, let me pay and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I don’t mind you being in my hair, like fuck you look like you’re a spy or something, but everyone else —“

“I’m not a spy,” she has laughed some, shaking her head. She wasn’t exactly a spy; though she certainly didn’t belong there. “Let me go pay. Seriously. It’s fine.”

By the time she had finished paying up front, everyone else was walking out the door with her. She had apologized profusely, leaving a big enough tip to hopefully make up for it, as the bus boy fell into step with her.

“If you’re a spy, are you here because of Peacemaker?” He had asked suddenly, pulling off his uniform hat.

“I’m not a spy,” she repeated as she walked towards her car. He followed.

“Okay but that’s exactly what a spy would say.”

“A spy would have killed you by now for following them to their car,” she had pointed out, grinning at him playfully.

He had considered that thought for a moment and realized he had, in fact, been following her. “Oh fuck, wait I’m sorry —“

“Dude you need to relax,” she had told him, leaning against her car door. She held out her hand, introducing herself. “I’m from Gotham. Nothing in your podunk town can scare me.”

“Adrian.” He took her hand with a grin, shaking it. “If you’re from Gotham, have you seen the Batman?”

“Yeah, fuck him though,” she had scoffed. “It’s Crossfire you should be afraid of.”

“That’s the other chick, right?” But Adrian definitely knew who she was. He had met her the night before, when she tried to stop him. Her stupid crossbow ripped his suit. “Nah, I don’t know about that. She’s so short. Like a little duck.”

She had looked at him, brow raised. “A duck?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Because she’s small and cute and why would you wanna fight a duck?”

She had just stared up at him in confusion. That was the weirdest thing she had been called in a long time. A fucking duck.

“It was nice meeting you, Adrian. Try not to piss off any ducks. I hear they can be vicious.”

That first meeting developed into him coming to talk to her every time she came in for dinner. Every Tuesday, he’d come by, say hi, work his shift. Then they’d walk to her car together when the restaurant closed, with him peppering her with questions about being a spy. Tonight was only slightly different as he slid into the booth across from her, wearing a sweater and T-shirt.

“Off work tonight?” She asked, sipping her cheap martini.

“Yeah but I felt bad missing our usual hang out so I figured I’d come hang out outside work.”

“You consider walking me to my car hanging out?”

“I mean you spend like three hours here every week, doing spy stuff.”

It didn’t matter how many times she corrected him. He insisted she was a spy sent from Gotham. Though he couldn’t determine why she’d be there, especially with Peacemaker in prison. It was enough for her to simply roll with it; Adrian’s thought processes were not ones that she wanted to delve too deeply into.

“You got me there, Chase.”

The waitress walked by, giving Adrian a weird look as she handed him a menu. “I thought you called out sick?” She asked. Adrian turned red, shrugging. The waitress rolled her eyes and walked off, no doubt to go rat him out.

“You called out sick and still came here?”

“Okay so you caught me. Kinda wanted to hang out with you outside of work.”

She motioned around them, giving him a funny look. “We’re still at your work, Adrian.”

“Well then let’s go do something else!” He leaned in some, grinning at her. “I know this cool abandoned compound out in the woods —“

She looked between him and her laptop, brow furrowing as she finally shut it. “Sounds like somewhere you’d take me to kill me.”

“I don’t kill innocent people,” he quickly corrected her. Then he realized what he said, and quickly corrected himself next. “I mean I don’t kill any people ever, that would be super fucked up, but like I especially don’t kill innocent people —“

“You need to chill,” she reminded him for the first time that night —it probably wouldn’t be the last time — and started packing up her laptop. “What else is there to do in this town? I’ve been here three months but I spend 90% of my time doing school work. Or being here.”

He hummed a bit as he slid out of the booth. “There’s an arcade that I like a lot. Or Gary’s comic shop; I used to play dungeons and dragons there for a while.”

“You don’t play anymore?” She asked, following his lead as she got up.

He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t have time.”

She found that hard to believe, honestly, but didn’t question him as they walked out of the restaurant. There was a comfortable silence between them as he followed her to her car, like he always did on Tuesday nights.

“I assume I’m driving then?” She asked, looking back at him as they stopped outside her car.

“Oh, well sure. I parked next to you.” He pointed to the Sebring, smiling at her still. “I can drive though. You’ve been drinking. Wouldn’t want you to get taken out by Vigilante for drinking and driving.”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing up at him. Then, it was her turn to hum before she nodded. “Have you had any run ins with him?”

Adrian opened the passenger seat door for her as he stammered some, looking away. “Uh, he’s saved me a few times. He’s super fucking strong. Like a real hero. I bet he’s hot under that mask.”

She climbed into the car, making a face. “He murders people, Adrian.”

“I mean yeah, but crime rates have dropped here since he started protecting Evergreen.”

Adrian moved to the drivers side, hesitating a moment himself. He needed to change the subject, honestly, because she was getting antsy and he was getting antsy and now he was wondering if this was a super bad idea to hang out with her alone. But she was in his car and it was too late and maybe this would just be a one time thing.

He kind of didn’t want it to be a one time thing, though.

[satellite-evans]

Ohana means family

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Summary: finding out the true meaning of family.

Word count: 2.320 words

Warnings: angst, social anxiety, mention of depression, fluff

A/N: Hello everyone! I hope everyone is happy and healthy. I'm back again with another Chris story. Hope you all love it!

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammar mistakes. Feedback and requests are always welcome!

This is an 18+ Blog. I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

You cared for your family so much. It had everything you've ever wanted. Chris and your precious 3-year-old Ayla was the best thing that ever happened to you. They gave you love that no one ever gave you. Even your own parents.

You grew up in a toxic family. Your parents are strict and very mean. They never allowed you to make your own decisions or go alone. When kids your ages got drunk and made friends, you stayed at home and got depressed.

‘We are trying to protect you’. The most typical lie your parents told you. This so-called ‘protection’ gave you social anxiety and made you an introvert.

And when you came to a specific age, they ‘pushed’ you to go outside and meet someone. You had a hard time understanding your parents. They forced you to stay with them while you were growing up, just like the Disney princess Rapunzel, and now they want you to marry someone.

When did your own parents become so cruel?

You hated yourself and expected everyone hating you, too. The 3 friends you had in total meant the world to you. You loved them to death, and they helped you so much, but you wished you had a special someone you can talk to with the same issues so you wouldn’t suffer alone in this world. You knew you needed therapy, told your parents you needed therapy every time. Their answers stayed the same:

“Therapy? What potential issues do you think you have? We gave you everything in this life. If you progressed through the things I did, you would kill yourself. Don’t be a baby and appreciate the life your dad and I gave you.”

You didn’t know what to do. Anxiety managed your own body. You never ate or drank in public, you never used a public bathroom and you busied yourself with your phone so you looked busy and inapproachable.

You never assumed that your anxiety would provoke you the best thing that ever happened to you.

You and Chris met while you emptied your coffee on him whilst you were busy on your phone (or pretending to be busy). In your whole life, you were never more embarrassed. Chris assured you it was not a problem. You suggested him buying a fresh shirt to make you feel better and to show him how sorry you were.

And the rest is history. Now you found yourself in Chris’ private plane, with your 3-year-old baby on your lap going to the Maldives. It sounded surreal. After the whole spilling accident, he asked you on a coffee date, trying to make it up to you after wasting your coffee. You couldn’t reply for a few seconds. What if he changes his mind? He might want to be friends. What if he’s a serial killer? Those ridiculous questions were attacking your brain while you had nothing to dodge them out of your head.

Chris assured you didn’t have to say yes if you didn’t want to and he understood you wouldn’t go out with a stranger. “You’re just so pretty. I just want to see how prettier you’ll get once I know you.” The attacking questions stopped. There was complete silence in your brain. This was the first time someone called you pretty. Your parents never complimented you and your friends told you from time to time, but they were your friends. A random guy just called you pretty, and you didn’t know how to react. You did something you've never done. Deciding something without letting your social anxiety decide it for you.

“I can go out with you.”

“Watch baby, we’re here!” Your husband took your 3-year-old Alya from you and showed her the hotel room. It was the most fascinating place ever. Chris booked an ocean villa with a private pool, so you guys could enjoy the sun and the water without getting interrupted. It made you feel better about swimming. Chris took your social anxiety seriously and did everything in his power to help you as much as he could. Yes, he had social anxiety too, but his family blessed him with their support, while yours cursed you with anxiety and depression.

“I wanna swim, dada! Please, I wanna swim!” The excitement of your baby made you laugh, just like Chris. So you opened your baggage to take the swimsuits and the sunscreens while Chris and Alya sat on the bed.

“You can swim as much as you want, baby. But momma needs you to wear sunscreen and your swimsuit. Does that sound okay?” Alya nodded her head with a smile. You took Alya from Chris to take off her clothes while Chris took off his to wear his swimwear. You couldn’t help but glance at him while he was changing. After those years, he looked still hot. He got a bunch of new tattoos, which included Ayla’s name and date of birth. He even got your eyes on his chest tattooed. It was quite shocking when you first saw that.

After you stopped looking at your husband, you started dressing Alya in her 2 piece swimsuit. You put sunscreen on her with SPF 50 and a tiny hat with Lilo & Stitch on it, since it was her favorite movie.

“You’re ready Ayla. Look at you, you’re so cute, baby!” She started jumping on the bed, showing how excited she was.

“Ow, look at you, bubba, the cutest baby I have ever seen! Lemme take her honey, so you can change too.” You pecked Chris’ lips while he entertained Ayla on the bed. You went to the bathroom to change into your bikini. It was black and showed every curve, mark, and scar you had on your body. You’ll never wear this in public, but since it was just with your family and Chris saw your body a million times, you thought, why not?

You came out of the bathroom ready to go swimming. The babies were giggling on the bed. Until Chris saw you coming out of the bathroom.

“Look at you, baby, you look so hot! Why didn't you wear that bikini before?” You felt your cheeks warming up with your husband’s compliments.

“Because I wore it just for you handsome, only you can see me like this.” One thing that you loved was teasing Chris. He started looking up and down, drinking your look.

“Damn right I’m the only one who can see your sexy body. Come here.”

You walked towards him, and he took you in for a breathtaking kiss. While one of his hand was holding Ayla, his other hand was gripping your ass hard.

“Dada no! I wanna swim, no kissy time.” the two of you broke the kiss with a laughter looking at your inpatient daughter.

“Okay, okay, you’re right, let’s go swim. Kissy, time is for later.” He gave you a wink and took your hand and walked into the private pool.

Chris and Ayla were playing in the pool whilst you were sunbathing with Labrinth’s songs playing in your ear.

After a while, Ayla was getting bored with only playing with her dad, so she invited you to join them.

“Mama, play with us, please? Pool is so cool, mama!” She splashed her hands, showing how a great time she had.

“Yes mama, come and play with us! We love it when you do, right, Ayla?” Chris joined in too, trying to get you in the water.

“Yes mama, join us!” You pretended to think about it, took your airpods off and went to join your little family.

“But I’m warning you guys, don’t splash me with water, or mama will get very upset.”

The three of you stayed at the pool for a couple of hours until it was nap time for Ayla. Chris gave her a bath first and put on her pyjamas. After she went asleep, the two of you took a shower together (Chris saying that he couldn’t get enough of your sun-kissed skin) and got ready for dinner. Chris wore a Hawaiian shirt and the shorts he likes to wear while you wore a blue dress with white little flowers on it. After Ayla woke up, you dressed her up in the dress that was like yours.

“Gosh, look at you too, matching together. You look just like your mama Ayla. Lemme take a picture.”

Before he could take his iPhone 6 out, you stopped him.

“Umm, I don’t think so. Use my iPhone 12, babe. I wanna see my baby’s face in the picture, not blurry or in pixel.”

He just looked at you, like you humiliated him.

“What’s wrong with my iPhone 6? For your information, I take splendid pictures of Ayla. Thank you very much! You must have forgotten the photos I took of you those late nights before she was born, huh?”

Saying nothing, you gave him your phone and stood in front of him with Ayla on your hip. Chris sighed, opened your phone since he knew the password and tried to take the picture.

“What the hell is this? Where is the camera app? Why are there so many applications? Ah shit, I think I turned your phone off.” You opened the camera and handed the phone back to him.

“You’re such an old man, Chris. It’s unbelievable. You know you have to press the white circle to take a picture, right?” You said, making him annoyed.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny. Just stand still and be pretty, so I take pictures of my babies.” While he was taking pictures, your mom sent you a text. Something she never does. She’ll only call you and say mean things to you like she always does. Chris always had a hard time staying calm next to your parents. When you told him how mean and strict they were, he couldn’t believe his own ears. How can someone do this to their child? He promised himself that he will always say something if they tried to talk you down when he’s in the room. That’s why your parents hate Chris. They didn’t even come to the wedding and made you the victim, saying it’s your fault and that you should marry a person who they approved.

Chris couldn’t help himself but open the text your mom sent. When he read it, he could feel his blood boil.

“There’s a dinner for your cousin’s wedding next week. Yes, she is getting married and guess what? Her parents approved of this man. It always was her, the better one compared to you. I want you there too. And for the love of god, don’t bring you husband and his child. God knows she’ll scream all the time and humiliate me ever more than that father of hers.”

He felt sick. Sick to his core. He understood a long time ago that your family will never accept him, but Ayla? What did they mean by his child? How was she okay talking about her own grandchild like that? He got angry because no one could talk about his daughter like that.

“Chris? Is everything okay?” You saw on his face that he was furious. His brows furrowed together, and he was breathing deeply.

"Why do you keep talking to your mom?”

You didn’t know what to say. Why would he ask something like that?

"What do you mean? Where is this even coming from?" You laughed nervously as Ayla felt the energy, getting scared.

“Where is your mom getting the nerve from talking about my daughter like that Y/n!” The tone of his voice was getting higher. Alya hugged you, as you still didn’t understand why he was so mad.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying and please lower your voice. Alya is getting scared.”

When Chris heard Alya’s sniffles, he cooled out. He took a deep breath and realized he had no right being angry at you. He took Alya from you and gave a kiss on your forehead.

“Sh, I’m sorry baby, dada didn’t mean to yell. It’s okay.” He then gave you your phone and after you read the text, you understood why he was so upset. You received many hate throughout the years, accepted that your parents will never change. You won't let your baby daughter go through the same pain that you did. No one could disrespect her like that.

I will tell you this once. Never disrespect my family again. Chris and Ayla are everything that I have ever wanted in my entire life. They are my happiness, my joy. Chris helped me go through all the trauma you caused me, so think twice before you take his name in your mouth. Ayla is grateful to have a grandmother like Chris’ mom since she is all the things I’ve wanted from you. I am maybe damaged in life, but I will do everything to save hers. So drop my number and never try to contact me again. My family is enough for me.”

You showed the text you sent to her to Chris, and he smiled sadly. He knew she was evil and caused you pain, but she was your mother.

“You okay, baby?” He was worried about how you would handle it.

“I hope so. I never thought I would do this. I know I am doing the right thing. It just feels weird. At least I have my actual family with me.” You smiled and give Chris a hug.

“I will be with you all the time, baby.” He hugged you back.

“Ohana.”

You and Chris were trying to understand what Ayla said.

“What’s that baby?”

“Ohana. Ohana means family mommy. Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten. We are family.” Seeing that Chris had tears in his eyes just like yours, you just nodded and hugged Ayla, too.

“You’re right baby. This is family.”