#penny dreadful spread

[grimoire-of-geekery]

Penny Dreadful #6: The Vampire Bat

Hey there, everyone!

I know, it's been a while since I posted anything new that wasn't just a reblog. It's not been a huge priority, to be honest.

That being said, I've been feeling the Hallows season this year very deeply, and I'm all immersed in my love for Gothic mystery and romance, and so I've decided to share something with y'all!

Now, this spread is a prediction spread that kind of came along unexpectedly. I was sitting around chatting with my daughter, we were talking about witchcraft and Gothic things (and of course playing with tarot cards), and it sort of prompted a Google search for "vampire" spreads.

We looked and looked, but didn't find anything particularly nice-looking. Pretty much standard stuff- spreads that were standard that had been reskinned to say "vampire," or spreads that were basically just clunky piles of vertical cards. Which, honestly, astonished me. People have been taken with the glamour of vampires for a while now, and I'm shocked there aren't more representations of vampire vibes in the tarot spread world, especially considering how many goth-themed tarot decks are out there.

Anyway, I hope this spread is something new, and I haven't just seen it somewhere and filed it in my mind, then regurgitated it elsewhere. Even if the layout has been used by other folks, I hope the end result is something unique.

Now, this reads very similar to my Memento Mori spread, with a few small differences. It's a prediction spread, but in true Penny Dreadful fashion, I designed this spread with the understanding that some futures we just don't want.

The spread is read thus:

The first card is read as the vampire who is coming to your door. This card represents the basic situation coming.

The second and third card are read together as the wind which carries that future to you. You can think of these cards as a description of the surrounding forces around the coming situation.

The fourth and fifth card are also read together, as that which connects the outside forces of cards 2 and 3 to the central card. Sometimes they refer to motives or wishes, sometimes to obligations or concerns, but they represent the central card's link to those forces.

Now, this spread isn't just for predictions. Like the vampire of folklore, the future can be horrible and deadly. Fortunately, there's one feature for this spread that allows us to keep it away, just like one might do with a vampire.

If you wish this fate to turn away from you, you can reassemble the cards into a warding symbol of some kind, something which keeps away evil. For Christians, you might use a cross, while Wiccans might use a pentacle- holy symbols are traditional wards after all. For myself, I prefer laying them in a pattern like the one on the right in the image below.

It's a five-petaled bloom, reminiscent of the wild mountain rose, which like garlic is a traditional herb used to prevent vampires from bothering you. In specific, it's said that the wild mountain rose keeps vampires in their coffins. So, I use that one to prevent the fate from even leaving its birthing place.

If, however, you'd like the fate as predicted to come your way... simply tell the cards that you invite it in. Perhaps leave your window open at night?

Hey, what could go wrong?

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Honesty (Daemon Targaryen × Reader)

Summary: In which Prince Daemon seduces his unwilling Lady Wife.

Warnings: Smut. Dub Con/ Non Con. Oral sex (F receiving), P in V sex. Stark reader. Convenience Marriage. No use of Y/N.

A/N: First time writing for Daemon. Reader is the oldest sister of Cregan Stark and acts as his regent. Might write the full story one day. High valyrian from an online translator, not explaining it because I wanted the reader to not know the meaning.

The shift was white, silky, and oh so tiny. You stared at it with contempt. It had cost you a pretty penny, as had the cosmetics Lady Manderly had so eagerly pushed into your hands. Red tint, she had said, to paint your lips and enhance your natural attributes in other areas. The woman had even had the nerve to point at your breasts!

It was ridiculous, this whole thing. Had you been born a man, there would be no need for this nonsense. Had you not been born a Stark, it would still be happening, but perhaps in not such a brutal way. Or had you not been tempered by the cold, made so brazen to insult and oppose Otto Hightower, perhaps your punishment wouldn’t be marital rape.

Still. It was your duty, and you intended to perform it. It was the only way to keep Cregan, Rickon and Sara safe. And you would do it. Prince Daemon, your lord husband, as he insisted you called him, could surely get the deed done faster with the proper incentives.

You took off your gown, having been previously unlaced by your trusty maid. You put on the dreaded, lacy shift. The latest fashion in Dorne, you had been told. For how expensive it was, it certainly was made of little fabric. You glared at your reflection, watching how the long sleeves had a vertical cut that made them useless. Your skin broke out in goosebumps, as you wished you could add more wood to the fire.

Some rustling could be heard outside your room and you panicked. You were running out of time. The tint! Made of some berries, you hoped didn’t poison you. You quickly rubbed it on your lips and cheeks, trying to seem less like the terrified girl you were and more like an appealing sight. You sat down, primly, on the foot of the bed just in time for Daemon to enter the room.

“Wife.” He rumbled, coming to stand in front of you. Daemon had docked his furs and armor, his sword no longer rested at his side, just as your agreement dictated. He had come to you unarmed and barefooted, yet it didn’t make him cut a less intimidating figure in the least. His purple eyes looked at the tint with curiosity, and plucked it from your hands. “Getting ready for me? I’m touched.”

You glared at him, trying to hide how much nerves pooled in your stomach, how you were cold from fear, skin clammy and pale.

“If I must…” You shifted to your hands and knees, and lifted your shift, exposing your naked folds and arse. It was quite the vulnerable position, and heat started to spread almost immediately to your cheeks and neck. You hated the humiliation it brought you.

Daemon’s breath hitched. Clearly affected by the sight of your prone, soft body, on the bed. “What are you doing, zoklītsos?” His hand went to your exposed folds, finding you as dry as the sands of the dornish deserts. You nearly jolted at the touch, and only his hand on your hips kept you in place. It was not a good omen, you had gathered, from nights spent exploring your body before the cold and worries had turned you into the frigid ice queen the lords in the South accused you of being.

“Go ahead. Do it.” You closed your eyes, keeping them tightly shut, and braced yourself for the pain. Daemon tsked, his warm palm caressing your bottom.

“Hells, you have been deprived.” He pulled your shift down, covering you.

“I do not understand.” You frowned, looking at him over your shoulder, still on your hands and knees. “This is right, I know. I have seen animals do it.” Your tone was of absolute confidence, petulant, even. To you, it was one of the facts of life. The sky was blue, the sun rose in the west, and fucking was done on one’s hands and knees, with the man behind you. It cracked Daemon out. He snorted, hands still busy fixing your shift. It soon turned into a full-blown belly laugh, at your icy glare.

“Poor little wife, your previous lovers have done you wrong.” He palmed at your ass. You hated how the warmth of his palms made you shiver. Good gods, how was he so warm, barefoot as he was and in only a linen shirt? You wanted to kick at him, at the offense of your virtue, perhaps make an icy comment, but you were frozen in shame. “Unless…” Daemon’s hands moved to your stomach, urging you to get up on your knees. He pressed a kiss to your exposed nape when you did, as if rewarding you. Stubbornly, you tried to escape his grip, but he only hugged you tighter. “Oh, what a treat you are… The gift that keeps on giving, zoklītsos.”

“Shut up and get it over with.”

“Don’t be like that, little wife.” He kissed your jaw, tenderly, and when you moved your face away from him, Daemon adapted and started kissing a path down your exposed neck. “You wouldn’t like that, sweet innocent virgin you are. I would tear you apart, and that's no fun.”

“Oh, by the…” You muttered, exasperated. You tried telling yourself that the red of your cheeks was out of rage and not embarrassment. Used as you were at being the smartest one in the room, you deeply disliked how out of your depth you were here. It was not your fault, being uneducated on these matters. Orphaned when you were a lady just flowered, there had been no time for anything else but caring for your siblings. “Why must every woman you meet burn for you?”

“Because I am the blood of the dragon. Heat is in my veins.” He mouthed at your shoulder, this time. His kisses felt like a trail of fire down your body. It was… Waking feelings you didn’t wish to have. Nipples pebbling, hairs standing up, pleasant shivers and all. You breathed in and out, trying to control yourself. Daemon pushed the sleeve of your shift down. “My proper little wife. My ice queen. You will melt, in the end.” He kissed back up and towards your ear, whispering, cruelly. “They all do.”

Your breath hitched. A slip. The first of the night. You could feel Daemon’s smirk against your skin.

“Do you really want to find out how the fire in your veins meets the ice in mine?” You remarked, coldly. It was an attempt at projecting a bravery you did not feel. Bravado. Nothing more. And Daemon could tell.

“Fire can melt ice.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss on your throat. With the way he held you, curling and uncurling around you, Daemon reminded you more of a snake than a dragon. You felt as if you were in the grip of a boa, constricting around you, robbing you from your air, leaving you breathless. It was wrong, being so excited at being the sole focus of such a predator. But heat was pooling between your legs, you were getting embarrassingly slick.

“Ice can put out a fire.” You warned, one of your hands going to his silver locks and tugging. You got exactly the opposite reaction of what you wanted. Daemon’s eyes closed, expression turning into a delightful mix of pleasure and pain.

“Only a fool would meet your ice head on.” He kissed your sternum. You remained as still as a sculpture. He tugged at the sleeves, until they gave. There went the dornish shift, ruined forever. You felt a distant rage at having wasted so much gold on it for him to rip it apart. Daemon drank the sight of your exposed chest eagerly, seemingly entranced. You tried covering yourself, but he grabbed at your wrists.

“I think not, Lady Wife.” Then, very tenderly, he pressed kisses to the top of your breasts. You whined, low in your throat. It felt good, and he had no right, no right at all, to get your body to betray you like this. “You see… A tiny flame, if constant, can begin…” Daemon kissed lower, encircling your areola, purple eyes gleaming with mischief. “To melt your ice.” And with that, he took your nipple into his mouth, making you let out a little scream. You squirmed, feeling more wetness gather between your thighs. If you wanted to keep your dignity, you had to get away from him. But Daemon’s grip wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard you tried.

“No… I… Husband… Please. Please.” You begged, shame so deep you were nearly in tears. How it was that easy for him to take you apart, you didn’t know. Despite your pleas, his tongue circled your nipple, his lips making nearly a vacuum around it. His hand came up to pinch at your other nipple, warning. “I don’t want this, please. Just… Just…” But whatever you were saying got lost into your moans, until you were unable to know if you were asking him to stop the sweet torture or give you more of it.

When your tears started to fall in earnest, Daemon let go of your breast with a nearly obscene slurp.

“What is it, zoklītsos? You don’t want the attention of your Prince?” You nodded, and he gave you a mocking little coo. It almost made you think he would stop. Almost. If not for his hands, bunching up your shift until you were exposed once again. Under the candlelight, your cunt glistened with how much wetness you had produced. You tried to close your legs, but he kneeled, forcefully keeping them apart with his torso.

“No. I doubt that's the problem.” Daemon rubbed a finger against your entrance, not putting it in, but just pressing. “I think my little ice queen is melting. A big puddle, she is turning into.”

“You think…” You got cut off by a moan. Daemon had found your pearl, and it seemed he knew exactly what to do with it. “Yourself so smart. Smug…” He pushed a finger inside you, making you yelp, and effectively unable to finish your sentence.

“If you still have coherent thoughts…” He pulled away from you, taking his shirt off. Your eyes immediately were pulled, as if by magnet, to his chest. He had a warrior’s body, muscles all functional. Deliciously broad shoulders, toned stomach with the slightest hint of definition, yet still slender in the way most Targaryens were. Closer to gods, indeed. He bent down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, making you squirm.

“Lord Husband…” You warned, noticing how his kisses started to approach your privates.

“Lady Wife.” Daemon repeated, with a mocking tone. Then, he curiously pressed a finger against your button. This time, your hips bucked, and you were unable to quiet the moan that slipped from your parted lips. “Such a pretty cunt you have.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Oh, but where is the fun in that, zoklītsos?” He spread you apart, as if opening up the petals of a flower, gentle but so casual. “If I wanted a quick fuck, I would have taken one of your servants, or found myself a whore.” Daemon leaned down and licked a strip over your cunt. In your haste to muffle a scream, you brought one of your hands to your mouth and bit down on your palm until you tasted blood. It was the oddest feeling, a line of scorching hot electricity on your exposed sex. “I intend to enjoy you. As often as I can. That’s why I accepted marrying you.”

“I don’t… I….” You muttered, but you weren’t really opposing him anymore. It was impossible to think about anything apart from what he was doing, of how his heat and wanton ways were starting to warm your blood too. Daemon kept licking at you, making your hips twitch. He was entirely ignoring your pleas, apparently finding great pleasure in the way he took you apart.

You felt like you were burning up, as if something that had been long asleep in you had started to be awakened. Long hidden and forgotten desires that were making themselves known. You found yourself looking down, mesmerized by the sight of the blond shock of hair between your parted thighs and how it bobbed up and down with each eager lick he took. Your hand reached down, tangling in Daemon’s hair, and it was then, you got pulled over the edge.

Daemon would later say it had been the way he had groaned against your pearl, what had made your thighs quiver and tummy tense, an impossible amount of wetness dripping down your thighs. You would say, if asked, it had been the way his purple eyes met yours, mouth still busy at devouring your cunt and face twisted into the most smug and deviant expression you had ever seen. Whatever it was, it pleased him greatly.

“I knew you had it in you. You weren’t cold.” Daemon whispered against your skin, kissing a path towards your mouth. He was unhurried, dedicating lavish kisses to your hipbone, moving to mouth along your belly button, gnawing hungrily at your ribs. Under him, your body went lax and pliant, spent with the first climax you had experienced under his careful touches. “You just needed a dragon to warm you up.” He licked at the sweat collecting in the hollow of your throat, before finally pressing a kiss to your lips.

This time, you answered. You took his lower lip between yours, playfully. You could taste and smell yourself on him, and it was more alluring than what you had ever thought.

“Good.” He said, pulling back. He started to undo his breeches, and you felt panic grip at you some more. This was it. You had to fulfill your end of the deal with him, let him take you. As if he could feel your nerves, Daemon rubbed your thigh, affectionate. “Do not fret, zoklītsos. You will enjoy this, too.”

“It is meant to hurt.” You answered him, pouting. He tapped at your lower lip, gently.

“Put that away, before I have to bite it.” Daemon took out his cock and rubbed it up and down your folds, gathering the wetness. Despite your fears, a wave of desire overtook you. His fingers had felt good, so had his tongue. You wondered if this, too, could be pleasurable. Otherwise, there wouldn't be so many bastards being born in Westeros, right? But you were supposed to bleed. Bleeding was not pleasant, ever.

“I…” You grabbed at one of his hands, holding on for dear life. He may not have been your choice of husband, but he had vowed to protect you under his gods, standing in the sand and mixing your blood with him. Daemon took his valyrian vows seriously. You were desperate for any scraps of reassurance he was willing to give, even if in normal circumstances you would have rather died than be helped by him.

“It won’t hurt.” Daemon said, kissing your forehead. You looked up at him, eyes wide in fear. He squeezed your hand and lined himself up. You felt the tip of his cock nudge at your entrance, and wondered what it looked like. It felt blunt, and it was very warm. “I will do it on one thrust, like ripping a bandage off. You probably don’t have your maidenhead, with how fond you are of riding. And if you do, you are more than wet enough.”

“Lady Manderly said it hurt her, the first time.” You pouted again, and this time, he did good on his promise. He leaned down and kissed you, biting at your lower lip playfully.

“She has a fool for a husband.” Daemon muttered, kissing your ear. You shivered, nearly mewling. You weren’t aware of how sensitive you were there. “Trust me on this. I know more about it.”

“Taken many maidenheads?” You remarked, with a hint of a teasing smile on your lips.

“Jealous, ice queen?” Daemon licked a strip down the base of your neck towards your jaw. “You will have to admit you know little of the topic.”

“I would say I know plenty.” You answered, glowering, just as he thrust inside of you, seemingly tired of the conversation. At the sudden feeling of fullness, you yelped. But there was no pain, as he had promised. Only an odd feeling of being stretched and filled to the brim, and a slight discomfort. “Rude.”

Daemon smirked. He stayed still, letting you time to adjust. You took a deep breath, and shifted to rest your weight on your elbows, to take a curious look at where you were joined. To your disappointment, you could only see a cloud of light hair, mixing with yours, hips impossibly close.

“Did it hurt?” Daemon flicked at your pearl, absent-mindedly. He groaned when that made your walls tighten around him.

You glared.

“No.”

“You silly girl.” He laughed, starting to thrust. The friction felt good immediately, and you moaned, grabbing at his shoulders. “And you thought fucking could only be done on your hands and knees.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to cling to him, mouth falling open in moans you were unable to keep quiet anymore.

“Fucking is a pleasure.” Daemon insisted, pinching at one of your nipples, You whined. He could be telling you the secrets of the realm, and you wouldn’t care. “And I will teach you all about it.” He grunted in your ear.

You were too gone to care about his smugness. Your heels dug into his back, pulling him closer and closer. You met him thrust by thrust, scratching at his back until your nails were bloody. Daemon kissed you and tugged at your hair, desperate to claim you. You could hear his silent laughter, feel his mocking smile against your skin. He had finally gotten what he wanted, a reaction out of you. It could not be faked, this pure, raw emotion. Soon, his fingers found their way to your button, making you whine and squirm. It was too much for your poor, abused body. You screamed his name as you reached your second peak of the night.

Daemon thrust several more times, practically vibrating with smugness. He grabbed at your body, fingers digging in the flesh, surely bruising your hips. His mouth was slightly parted, and something stirred in you at seeing him so raw. Daemon had been right, you realized. Many moons before, he had said bodies spoke and were honest in ways their owners were not. And so, you let yours speak, tugging at his hair, sucking bruises in his pale neck. Perhaps there was something there, in the way he held you closer, shuddering and spilling himself with a muffled cry. Something that mere lust couldn't explain.

You both laid there, panting. Daemon looked down at you, and brushed your sweaty hair out of your face.

“I think, Lady Wife, that the coldness of the North might just be bearable.”

[tanihanya]

Living in the UK as a trans woman is finding the most "trans supportive" party to only be the ones that view us as an annoyance instead of a threat.

It's having to spread warnings about the Guardian, a Left Wing source, as they are some of the constantly worse in trying to demonise us.

It's holding hope in the Scottish or Welsh governments, just for them to turn on us in the drop of a penny

It's sitting here helplessly as Dr. Cass removes in a single report, what we have worked so hard to gain in Thirty Years.

It's the knowledge that it feels as if there is a deep and intrinsic TERF culture running throughout this country.

It is seeing 'allies' agree that we are so much better than the US with trans people and then seeing zero backlash to the removal of all Puberty Blockers.

It's seeing The Guardian go after DIY, and the response is "to wait it out"

It's having a 48% suicide rate that nobody cares of, and is entirely dismissed.

It's the hopelessness and the dread. We know others have it so much worse. But there's just. this overwhelming feeling. That this is the way it will be for us forever.

[makethatelevenrings]

Angel by the Wing - Thirty-One

A/N: no this isn't an April Fool's prank lol. I take the LSAT in 10 days and I want to throw up!!! :)))))

Series Masterlist (Mobile Masterlist)

Chapter Warnings: emotional abuse (we find out why Angel is Like That)

“It’s not great,” Penny admitted.

“But it’s not horrible either,” you pointed out. The two of you sat at one of the rustic wooden picnic tables outside the bar. A plate of fries sat untouched between you as you looked over the quarterly profit margin. Everything was down and your sales were drastically decreasing from last year.

“Even if you and I took on more shifts, we’d be screwing over the others by cutting their hours. It’s a no-win situation,” she sighed. The bar was losing money and you could see it was starting to take a toll on her. This was supposed to be one of the busier seasons thanks to the warm weather and the proximity to the beach, but aside from a random tourist here and there, you rarely saw anyone other than military personnel come by and it was hurting your profits.

“We could raise the price of food? Or decrease the menu,” you mused. “Less options means less cost for products.”

“Just keep appetizers and stuff. Maybe let go of one of the cooks.” You could tell she didn’t want to relieve anyone, but you were going to have to if the numbers kept getting smaller. Penny stared at the pages spread out between you two in hopes that they would magically change. She looked out onto the ocean and pursed her lips in contemplation.

“This place is one of the longest standing Navy bars in the whole city,” she said quietly. “And everyone is going to know me as the woman who couldn’t keep it open.”

“Hey, no.” You covered her hand with your own. “First of all, you are not the one to blame when people aren’t coming. We’ll figure out why traffic is falling. Second of all, you are not going to sit here and shit on yourself. That is not the Penny Benjamin I know. We will figure this out, Pen. I promise.”

Her lips quirked up into a small smile and she squeezed your hand. “I knew I hired you for a reason.”

“My amazing personality and brilliant mind?”

“Actually it was the fact that you told Hangman to fuck off instead of sleeping with him.”

“But I did sleep with him.”

“After you told him to fuck off, though.”

You opened your mouth to retort but your phone, seated on the table in front of you, began to sound. Noticing who it was, you ignored it without a second thought. You let the phone ring until it went to voicemail, ignoring Penny’s pointed look. A two-word text flashed across your screen and you read it with a creeping sense of dread filling your gut.

“Who was that?” Penny asked.

“Hmm? Oh, just a spam call, I think.”

She shot you a warning glare but you didn’t have it in you to fight today. You also didn’t want to burden her with more of your problems.

“I have to go pick up Amelia from school but hey, we weren’t going to figure this out in one day.”

“And we will figure it out, Pen. I promise.”

The older woman flashed you a sad smile and sighed. “I hope so, kid. Have a good night off.” The two of you gathered up all the papers and Penny stuffed them back into the binder she had brought with her.

You waited until her car pulled out of the lot before you picked your phone up again and studied the text. Might as well get it over with now.

She picked up on the third ring and you braced yourself. “Hi mom.”

“Janie Sue from church was in San Diego visiting her nephew and guess what she saw?” Her tone was bored, but you sensed the anger underlying her words.

“The USS Midway museum?” you offered up.

“She saw you bartending at some rundown Navy bar and said you were hanging all over two men the whole night.”

“And no one is questioning why Janie Sue was at a bar with her underage nephew and her alcoholic husband?”

Your full name met your ears with a blistering crack and heat spread across your cheeks as the brunt of her anger flooded through the phone. “I figured your little voicemail was your idea of a prank, but now I know for a fact that you have wasted every opportunity your father and I gave you to end up as a whore.”

“Mom, it’s not like tha-”

“It is exactly like that! You are brilliant. You had so much going for you. And now you’re knocked up like some two-bit prostitute who spread her legs for any sailor who tipped you well.”

Shame and rage pooled in your chest and pressure built in your eyes. You bowed your head and shielded your face in case anyone who would recognize you walked by.

“Mom, I’m happy,” you interjected with a shaky voice.

“You don’t sound very happy! You could have been anything you ever wanted to be and this is what you chose? If they’re so willing to share you, do you really think those two boys give a shit about you? How many girls are they sleeping with when you’re not around?”

“Mom, they’re not like that! Seriously, they are good men.”

“Oh, that’s what they all say. He’s different, he’s special,” she mocked. “Do you hear yourself right now? It’s pathetic. Honey, your father and I can come and get you. You can move back in with us and we’ll support you and the baby until you can get back on your feet.”

“No, I don’t need you to come get me. San Diego is my home. I have a life here. I have my life here. I’m not leaving.”

Your mother let out a deep, heavy sigh laced with frustration. “If you keep going down this path of wrong choices, one of these days you’ll learn to regret it. We’ll be here when you realize how much of your life you’ve wasted trying to prove a point to me.”

“Why didn’t you call when I first told you?” You finally spit out the question that had been eating at you since you saw her initial call. “Why now? Is it because others know and are talking about it? You just can’t be anything but the way you want people to view you, can you?”

Tears were dripping down your cheeks and mingling with the disgusting, snotty sob that rose in your chest. Your mother let out a bitter laugh.

“And this is always how it goes. Now you’re going to be mean to me in some attempt to make yourself feel superior. You don’t know everything so stop acting like you do. Now, I’m going to hang up before you start yelling at me. Stop being so dramatic, honey. You chose this life.”

The line went dead and you had the urge to launch your phone into the ocean. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Double triple flying fuck.

You swiped at the tears that dripped down your cheeks with the back of your hand and clambored off of the bench before anyone saw you. Jake was visiting his mom and Bradley had flown back to Virginia two days ago and was currently on a road trip back to San Diego. He kept sending selfies to the group chat the three of you shared. You were saving all of them.

Good. That would give you privacy to sob all the bullshit out without anyone worrying.

You knew she wasn’t right. You knew this. But at the same time, years of her words crowded your mind and consumed your body. Was she right? There was nothing special about you. Were the boys staying simply because you were knocked up? Your body went cold at the thought of that and you wrapped your arms around your stomach, guarding it from the world.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. If that was true, then you would figure it out all by yourself, just like you had your entire life.

You approached your clunky old car and fumbled for the key, your hands trembling as you tried to unlock it. Just as you slipped the key into the lock, a soft sound caught your attention. You paused and waited, but didn’t hear anything else. Opening the door, you prepared to slide in when there was that damn sound again.

You kneeled down and came face to face with the sad, pitiful eyes of a cat that had clearly seen better days. It let out another weak cry and you felt tears well up in your eyes again.

“Oh my god,” you whispered aloud at the pervasive nature of your hormones. The cat blinked up at you and slowly slunk forward. It investigated your outstretched hand and then gently twisted its head to rest in your palm, begging for any kind of attention.

There was no fucking way you were leaving this little baby all alone in the parking lot.

That’s how you ended up stumbling into the townhome with sticky tear tracks on your cheeks and a scruffy, malnourished cat curled up in your arms. You had sent a text to Sofia when you were at a red light because you knew she grew up with all sorts of animals and the Trace household had three cats. She would know what to do.

“Baby?” Jake called when you tumbled through the front door. You froze, not expecting him to be home. He was supposed to be at his mom’s.

As if summoned, Jennifer and Jake appeared around the doorway to the kitchen and found you looking like an absolute mess. Your clothes were rumpled, your makeup was destroyed, and a clearly malnourished and homeless cat meowed pathetically from your arms.

“I didn’t…” you stammered out. “I couldn’t just leave him there. A car could have hit him or a dog could have attacked him o-or…” Tears welled up in your eyes again and you hugged the cat a little closer to your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you said in a quiet voice that was so unlike yourself. “But I couldn’t just leave him.”

Jake moved past his mother and approached you. He wiped some of the tears off of your cheeks and then studied the cat in your arms. “We can’t keep him, baby.”

“I know,” you hiccupped out a little whimper. “Sofia gave me the info for her vet and I set up an appointment for tomorrow morning. Can he please just stay the night?”

Jennifer watched her son with a close eye. Jake was a dog person through and through. She remembered how he would beg her for a dog every Christmas and every birthday, but she could never deliver. He always said cats were too aloof, too mean, not cuddly enough, and more. He was a clean person who loved order in his home.

But one look at the tears in your eyes had Jake Seresin caving.

“He can stay the night,” Jake conceded. 

A brilliant smile lit up your face and you hugged the poor cat even tighter, but the feline didn’t argue. Instead, it tucked its little head under your jaw and started to purr.

“Thank you, Jake. Is now a good time to tell you that Nat and Sofia are already bringing over some stuff for him?”

He rolled his eyes but kissed you on the top of the head. Jake even kept the comments to a minimum when the couple showed up armed with a litter box, fresh litter, food, and a few toys. You cordoned off the laundry room for the cat and started to set up his space when Jake casually moved you out of the room.

“You can’t change litter,” he warned. “Nat just told me.”

“Yeah, I can’t change the litter that he’s used, Einstein,” you retorted but he leveled you with a stern glare and pointed away from the laundry room.

“Out. I’ll call you back when it’s ready.”

You sighed but kissed his cheek in thanks and made your way outside where Sofia and Nat were, luckily not making out, but chatting next to their car. Sofia grinned at the sight of her friend and slung her arm over your shoulders.

“Hangman won’t admit it, but that cat’s staying forever,” Nat said. “Have you texted Bradley yet?”

“Nah, I’m gonna surprise him with Skipper when he comes home.”

“Skipper?” Sofia chuckled. “Oh yeah, he’s definitely staying.”

Jake poked his head out from the front door and Nat pushed away from the car to go chat with him about something. You took that as your chance and burrowed in closer to your best friend’s side.

“What’s up?” Sofia had an incredibly discerning eye and always seemed to know what you were feeling before you did.

“‘S nothing. I, uh, I got the paternity results back.” Sofia was the only one who knew you even got the test done. As a medical receptionist on base, she was the one who helped coordinate your test thanks to the potential fathers being naval officers.

“Hey, whoever it is, the three of you are locked together,” Sofia assured you. You nodded, but your mother’s words ran through your mind over and over again.

Tag List:

@mizzzpink@xoxabs88xox@dreaminglandsworld@khaylin27@loveforaugust@atarmychick007@itsmytimetoodream@krismdavis@emma8895eb@startrekfangirl@hangmandruigandmav@lunamoonbby@sihtricswife@jstarr86@drakelover78@abaker74@emma8895eb@hardballoonlove@nerdgirljen

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

Undrunk [hangman PT. 7/12]

PART OF MY “WHATEVER THIS IS” SERIES WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE

PAIRING: JAKE ‘HANGMAN’ SERESIN x Female Plus Size Bartender!Reader

NICKNAME: Sunshine

Warning: 18+ Smut ahead!

It goes without saying but I do not give permission for anyone to use my work or copy it somewhere else.

Want to be added to the tag list for this character, all stories or another character? let me know here :)

PLOT: Penny Benjamin's niece works at The Hard Deck, saving the money she earns to get out of the west coast and put herself through Graduate School. What happens when a pretty boy pilot ends up as her fake boyfriend?

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / PART ELEVEN / FINAL PART

A growl rasps through the man in front of you and the delicious pinch of the flesh on your hips tightens. Jake punctuates his words with nips along your jaw, his perfect teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “I won’t be able to stop myself. I won’t be able to come back from this,” he admits heavily, his voice dripping with desire in your ear.

“Fuck me,” you breath, rutting against his hips under the glow of the streetlamp. And just like that, the crumbling dam breaks. Jake’s hands are gone from your waist, now a vice grip on your wrists as he all but drags you down the streets of North Island until you can see his truck parked in front of your home. As you slide through the gate with a rapid haste, you can’t help but yank the broad man against your front. Your back slams against the metal of the truck door, handle digging into your shoulder blade as you kiss passionately.

Making out for a moment, Jake’s fingertips slip passed the lacy material of your skirt until he’s skimming along your warmth. A loud, high pitched whine bubbles out of your glossy, swollen lips as he begins rubbing slow circles over your clothed bundle of nerves. Your skin is on fire, thighs cramping as you try to spread further to allow his touch. You moan against his mouth, oblivious to the notion that here you are – being nearly finger fucked in your driveway for your neighbors’ viewing.

The thought finally breaks your dazed mind, shattering your reality as you pull back from him. Your chest is rising hazardously as you press against him for some distance. His motions stop immediately, blazing green eyes searching your face for signs of mistrust or horror. “Inside,” you breath out, “We need to go.” You swallow down a shaky breath when the crease between his brows dissipates.

Jake follows you up the path, up the stairs to your porch and you can feel his heat against your back as he waits as patiently as possible for you to key the door open. It takes seconds but feels like forever until you finally turn the doorknob and shove the door open. You spin quickly, wrapping yourself around the pilot as he pushes you against the door. The weight of your bodies slamming it shut as you again kiss each other with a fervor, mouths moving rapidly as your fingertips begin to unbutton his shirt.

The material is ripped from his waistline and dragged off his perfect body as he shoves the pure white from your hips to expose your supple thighs. His nails scrap gently along the skin as he rubs up and down, mouth devouring yours as you shove the cotton down his bulging arms. His torso is toned, his abs marbled perfection as you begin to press your lips along each section of his skin in admiration.

“Lift your arms,” he groans against your collarbone, and you follow Jake’s command, raising your arms to allow for him to tug your dress from your body. When he gets the material over your hair, he can’t help but let his jaw go slack. You’d forgone a bra tonight, the tight sculpting of the dress you wore enough of a support to not need a dreaded extra piece of material.

His eyes are trailing along the exposed skin of your breasts and the world stands still. “You’re fuckin’ perfect,” Jake murmurs before he goes to work, suckling one plush nipple between his lips. Your fingertips comb through his short and fluffy blond locks, nails scratching along his scalp aggressively as pleasure washes over you.

You press your knee forward, connecting between his legs to graze his growing length trapped beneath his black jeans. Against your naked thigh, you can feel the stretch and tightening fabric against his bulge as you begin to press further and further into him until he can’t take it. His mouth pops as he pulls away from your swollen bud, hand coming up to twist and tug your other nipple.

At his straightened height, you can pop the button on his jeans and snake your hand beneath the fabric to graze along his thick length. Another groan escapes his mouth as his forehead nuzzles into the column of your neck. Jake begins sucking on the skin there, distracting himself as your hand squeezes him and begins to nudge his tight jeans down passed his ass.

“Fuck Sunshine,” his voice is deeper than you’d ever heard it and you feel the wetness between your thighs, beneath the silky fabric of your panties. You shove against his chest again and he cups the back of your neck, heaving you along with him until the back of his knees touch the soft fabric of the couch. He falls back, quickly tugging his jeans and briefs down to his ankles to reveal the entirety of him.

Your mouth runs dry, the length of him delectable and throbbing. His head is a swollen red, begging to be touched; to be relieved as he is wound too tight. “See something you like?” his teasing tone pulls you from your daze and you lean down to take him in your mouth. “Uh uh,” Jake’s voice stops you, fingers twining in your curly locks as you climb on his lap.

“Not interested in head?” you crack, a wide grin washing over you as you settle onto his thighs. His length is at the perfect angle against your clothed core, and you can feel the dripping of your wetness. “Didn’t take you as the type.”

“There’s nothing more I’d love to do than fuck your pretty little mouth,” Jake seethes against your bottom lip, tongue grazing. “But I need to feel your wet cunt before I nut like a teenager on their first date.”

“I’m honored I can bring you to your knees so easily,” you kiss him fiercely, hips grinding against him for more friction. He bucks up against you without control, grunting at the contact. He kisses you back with an aggression that caused shivers to run up your spine. His strong hands clench the sides of your flimsy underwear, giving it one strong pull as the ripping sound fills your living room.

You didn’t think that the feeling of him rubbing against your bare cunt could cause stars to appear in your eyes, but you’d never fucked Jake Seresin before. You whimper at the feeling, rising up slightly so that Jake can pump himself a few times, his cock sliding between your soaked lips with ease. “Who goes easily on their knees?” he taunts, as his head swirls along your entrance.

“Please,” you beg, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you gaze down into his eyes. He looks so soft and yet so devious in the same breath, and you’ve never been more turned on in your life. It’s like all your nerves are on fire as you beg again. “Please fuck me, Jake.” And it’s the vulnerability in your voice, the quiver of your lip that should’ve pulled Jake away. Should’ve been the indication that he should stop this, that he shouldn’t take this step and ruin all you both had worked toward.

This eating guilt rang one final alarm in the back of his mind before taking out the batteries and laying silent. The eating guilt that told him he wasn’t enough for you, that he wasn’t the man you deserved.

But Jake Seresin was weak. And so, he pushed his cock up into your entrance with the ease of greeting an old lover, up against your g spot as you meet his hips. You sink down on him with a light moan, your mouth opening as he stretched you out. You pause momentarily as you hit hilt, letting the feeling of fullness wash over you as your hot breath mixes together with his. It feels like heaven.

“You alright,” he peppers kisses along your collarbone as you adjust to the feeling of him, the sweet pressure between your legs soothing as you begin to rock slowly.

“Uh huh,” the noise the only thing falling off your lips as you begin to move against each other deeply, chasing a blooming pleasure within your stomach. You ride him with intention, hands gripping the back of the couch to set a rapid pace.

“God, you feel like heaven,” Jake grunts, pushing up to meet your intensifying movements as waves of pleasure continue to roll straight to your core. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He cups your cheek as he stares up at you, the goddess you are. His green eyes are sparkling, hooded as he nears completion too early in the night as his thumb pulls at your bottom lip.

You don’t think about it, sucking his digit into your mouth slowly and swirling your tongue around it while you fuck him. When he feels satisfied with your work, he pulls away and his hand comes between your legs to rub along your clit to help you finish. Loud moans and slapping skin fill the space as the coil in your tummy finally snaps and you’re falling over the edge.

He picks up the pace for you, rolling you both so that his left foot grazes along the floor. Jake begins to drill into you with tension, his hips whispering a magic unknown as he works you through your orgasm and driving deeper into your cunt. “Fuck, you feel so good Sunshine,” he grunts as he pulls on of your legs over his shoulder, pumping himself in and out of your wetness as your eyes fall shut in an afterglow of pleasure.

You look beautiful, taking him so well and it doesn’t take long for him to finish, pulling out just in time to finish on your thigh as his hand takes over. His forearm is flexing when you open your eyes, and your fingertips wrap around his cock to drain him. A stream of cum paints your skin as he moans and grunts, until your hand slows and his fingertips cease your movements.

Jake’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he calms his heartrate. You take a few deep breaths too, sweaty body shivering from the AC air blowing on your sweaty skin. “Well, that was hot,” you say slowly, leaning up on your elbows to stare up at him. Jake grins, a naughty gaze still present as he pumps himself, leaning down to tug off his briefs and wiping his seed from your skin.

He tosses the material across the room slightly and wraps his hand around the base of his cock, squeezing a few times. He’s already half hard again and his other hand is beginning to tickle up your thigh. You jump when his fingertips slide through your soaking wet folds, nerves ablaze as he lays himself between your thighs. “Think you could cum again Sunshine?” he laps at your juices, humming against you. “Want to watch you fall apart on my tongue.”

You eventually make your way to your bedroom and between the sheets, wrapped up in one another so deeply that you were unsure you were on Earth anymore. You fall asleep in a naked heap, glowing and sweaty in the early hours of the morning.

When you wake up, hours later to the blinding sun seeping in through the curtains, you moan in delight. Stretching slightly, your hand skims across the mattress looking for the warmth of your lover but your fingertips come up empty. “Morning,” you groan, eyes peeling open to see an empty spot beside you. A pang of pain runs through your chest but you hold it down, wrapping the sheet along your torso as you sit up in the quiet of your bedroom.

Jake must be in the bathroom, you think to yourself, calming your nerves as you groggily rise from the bed and make your way down the hall. Only to notice the bathroom door open, empty. The same with the kitchen. It isn’t until you peer out your window that a sob racks through your body, your empty driveway staring back at you.

You wheeze, your breath leaving your body as insecurity rolls in waves down on top of you. He’d left. Jake had done the deed and ditched, not even bothering to leave a note – something you would spend all day looking for. He wouldn’t send a text, wouldn’t give you a call. He’d taken all you had and left you broken in his wake, sobbing against your front door in the quick aftermath of the Halloween night.

A/N: My deepest apologies for the trauma of this ending! We needed to ruffle some feathers and cause some pain...Jake's not the best partner yet!

Taglist: 

@luckyladycreator2

@ceilingfann

@rosiahills22

@child-of-sunshine

@callsign-scully

@hopefulinlove

@cevans-winchester

@double-j

@blue-aconite

@callsign-hummingbird

@romanoff13-blog-BLOG

@rosiahills22

@kajjaka

@sylviaes99

@chaoticassidy

@child-of-of-the-sunshine

@memoriesat30

@seresinsweetie

@genius2050

@mayhemmanaged

[jiihu]

﹅ 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲; 𝗸𝗶𝗺 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝘄𝗼𝗻

﹅ summary — you and chaewon are in a friends with benefits type of relationship. once chaewon suspects that you may be falling in love, she quickly breaks it off.

﹅ content — angst, friends with benefits

﹅ word count — 3.3k

As I woke up, I looked over and saw Chaewon sleeping peacefully beside me. I felt a smile spread across my face as I took my hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, trailing my hand down to her shoulder. I reluctantly pulled my hand away from her, letting out a huff of air. “Of course, I end up doing the one thing I’m not supposed to,” I mumbled, feeling my heart sink as I stared at Chaewon. All of a sudden, her eyes shot open and I jumped back in surprise, letting out an awkward laugh. “Oh, good morning. You scared me.” She stared at me for a second before sitting up in the bed, stretching backward onto the bed frame.

“Yeah, good morning,” she dryly said, refusing to make eye contact with me. I watched as she stood up, picked her clothes up from the floor, and quickly dressed. She walked into the bathroom without sparing me another glance, and I heard the water turn on after a couple of minutes of her being in there.

“That’s… weird,” I muttered to myself, putting on my slippers and heading to the kitchen. I walked to the kitchen and took out a few pots and pans from under the counter, setting them on the stove and grabbing a few breakfast ingredients from the refrigerator. As I was turning on the stove, I heard the bathroom door creak open, followed by Chaewon slinking out of the bathroom with a bag, as if she was trying to hide something. “Oh, perfect! I was just about to ask you if you had any special requests for breakfast.” I observed her as she stared at me with an unreadable expression, her arms folded across her chest. “Do you?”

“No, I’m…,” she trailed off, shifting in place. “I have somewhere to be, sorry. Don’t wait up tonight.” She rushed off, quickly pulling the front door open and shut behind her. I turned around to the array of pots and ingredients behind me, feeling my stomach churn as I had lost my appetite. I began thinking back to our previous encounters, wondering if I had done something to cause her to act this way. I shook my head, concluding that she must’ve had a bad day, or something else probably upset her. I thought about texting her to ask, but I knew that she was already a very secretive person, let alone the fact that she wouldn’t share anything with me out of all people. When Chaewon and I started this arrangement, she made it clear that we were just friends with benefits, nothing more, nothing less, so I try not to encroach on her personal life too much.

I took in a deep breath as I walked towards the bathroom to get ready for my day, opening the door to an almost spotless room. I looked around as I realized that Chaewon’s toothbrush, skincare, and spare clothes were all missing. My heart started pounding in my chest as thoughts started spiraling around inside my head. “Did I do something wrong?” “Is this the end of us?” I continued to do my morning routine and ignored the feeling of dread in my chest, deciding that I would confront Chaewon about it later.

Later on that day, I figured that something had happened to make Chaewon upset since she hadn’t texted me since the morning that she left. I sat on a bench outside of a store, tossing my phone in between my hands as I debated if I should text her first or not. I thought about the pros and cons of texting first; the pros being that maybe she would appreciate the fact that I realized that something was wrong, and the cons being that I might be annoying her even more. I chewed on my lips as I stared at the fountain in front of me, bouncing my leg up and down. I watched as a child ran over to a fountain, throwing a coin into it. “I wish for all the money in the world!” The mom let out a laugh and ruffled the child’s hair, pulling her away from the fountain. I stood up from my seat, grabbed a random penny from the ground, and walked over to the fountain, pinching it between my fingers.

“This better work,” I grumbled, tossing the coin into the fountain. After I threw it in, I stared at it as it sunk, letting out a humorless laugh as I shook my head. “I don’t even know what I’m wishing for,” I sighed, scratching the top of my head, “but I hope it gives me good luck.” I opened my phone and clicked Chaewon’s name, my heart pounding in my chest as it rang. In about 3 rings, Chaewon finally picked up with an already irritated-sounding “hello”. “Chaewon, hi! I was wondering if you wanted to do something today? Like, I don’t know, maybe shopping or getting something to eat. Sorry if you’re busy, I just wanted to know…” I trailed off, already starting to feel awkward at my rambling. I heard her take a deep sigh before she responded.

“I have something to do now. I already promised someone that we would hang out today.” I paused, taking in her words as I felt that sinking feeling in my chest again. I thought about how to respond, not wanting to sound too desperate, but also not wanting to sound too uninterested.

“That’s fine! I’m still free later if you change your mind. Or we could always choose another day. You know I never have any plans anyway.” I tried to joke to lighten the mood, but I was met with silence on Chaewon’s end once again.

“Listen, Y/N. I really don’t want to hang out with you. I thought I already made it clear that we were just having sex, no strings attached. I’m sorry but if you’re looking for anything more, I think it’d be best if we end this here.” I felt my heart shatter as I heard these words from Chaewon. I knew that it wasn’t idealistic to fall for her in the beginning, but it felt impossible not to the longer we knew each other. I quickly hung up after hearing these words, not wanting her to hear the heartbreak in my voice. I stood up from my seat, turned around, and decided to cut the day short and go home since I no longer had any desire to be out of the house after that. As I was walking home, my phone started ringing and I felt my heart start pounding, thinking that it was Chaewon. When I looked down at it, I realized it was Kazuha and I let out a breath of relief.

“Hey, Zuha,” I answered, cringing at how exhausted my voice sounded.

“Y/N, are you okay? I heard what happened from Chaewon. Didn’t I tell you not to get involved with her? She always treats people like this!” She snapped, tired of telling me this multiple times.

“I know, Zuha. I didn’t mean to though. It just happened.” She sighed, taking a deep breath before she spoke again.

“Whatever, just come over tomorrow. We can do something fun to take your mind off of her.” She insisted, and I could tell she was smiling from the way she was speaking. I accepted her offer and hung up, walking back to my house and thinking back on Chaewon’s words again. As I thought about them, I felt embarrassed that she caught onto my feelings that quickly. I assumed that I was hiding them pretty well, but she immediately knew. Once I got home, I debated with myself about whether I should go to the dorms or not. Although I did want to see Kazuha, I didn’t want to have to see Chaewon again so soon because my heart was still aching from her words. I laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep, figuring that I would decide what to do in the morning.

As I sat up from my bed, blinking the sleep away, I felt the blissfulness of waking up being ripped away from me after I remembered the conversation I had with Chaewon. I sat on my bed and stared off into space until I remembered that Kazuha invited me over to the dorm. I shook my head, standing up to head towards the bathroom to get ready for the day. Even if I didn’t want to see Chaewon, I didn’t want to use that as an excuse to ignore Kazuha, so I figured that I might as well go see her. As I was walking to the bathroom, I heard my phone start ringing. I looked over to see who was calling me, and I saw that it was Chaewon. I cringed at the hearts that I put beside her nickname, the events yesterday happening so fast that I didn’t think to change it. When I picked up the phone, I didn’t say anything and waited for her to speak.

“Y/N,” she simply said, her voice sounding cheerier than yesterday as if nothing happened.

“Yes?” I questioned her, wondering why she called me if she had nothing to say. I heard her pause and then a deep breath as if she was nervous before she spoke.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come over today? For,” she paused, seemingly turning over as I heard the sheets rustling in the background, “you know.” I scoffed, staring down at my phone in disbelief.

“Actually, I don’t know,” I sneered, upset that she was brushing by yesterday's events like they never happened.

“Y/N, I’m horny,” she whined into the speaker, making sure to keep her voice hushed so the girls wouldn’t hear her.

“Chaewon, I’m,” I paused, pinching the bridge of my nose, “I’m not doing this today. Just get someone else to do it, okay?” I quickly hung up after my words, taking a deep breath and feeling my heart pounding. This was the first time that I had ever said no to Chaewon, and I felt anxious as if I had done something wrong. I went into the bathroom again to get dressed to go to the dorms, with no interruptions this time.

While I brushed my teeth, I sat and thought about the relationship that Chaewon and I shared. We had known each other for a long time at this point, and once we started this arrangement, Chaewon told me not to fall in love, yet I did it anyway. I don’t think that she was a bad person for this, but I couldn’t help but feel as if I was robbed of a relationship. It felt like I had wasted too much time of my life on someone who would never be able to love me the way that I love them. Even though this had become toxic for me a long time ago, I couldn’t muster up the courage to stop talking to her. I felt as if I had something to prove to her; to prove that I could handle this without falling in love. Even though I knew that I had some traits that would make this just about impossible, being a hopeless romantic and too eager to please, I was naive and believed that Chaewon would fall in love with me during this, and I wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. I thought about the times when she called me during the late hours of the night, and I would drop everything to come be with her, whether it be because she had a nightmare, or just because she needed someone to use and throw away again. As I thought about this, I felt my remorse disintegrate, this being the first time I dared to stand up to her.

After I was done, I sent a quick text to Kazuha letting her know that I was on the way, and I headed out the door. When I left the house, I decided to take the scenic route instead of the sidewalk by the busy street. I paid more attention to the scenery this time, and it felt as if I had a new set of eyes. I was able to enjoy the world around me without feeling like I had a ton of weight on my shoulders, able to slow down and smell the roses without feeling as if I had to rush to meet Chaewon before she didn’t want to see me anymore. Since the dorms were only 5 minutes away, I was there before I knew it and I used the ID that Chaewon gave me since I didn’t have facial recognition. I walked in and headed to the elevator, feeling like I could pass out at any moment from nervousness. I made it to their door and knocked on it, looking down at my shoes to try to shake the anxiety off. I heard the door unlock and I looked up to see Yunjin with a bright smile on her face. “Oh my god, Y/N, it’s been so long!” She exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug. I reciprocated her hug, her blonde locks brushing across my face as I smelled a faint scent of strawberries.

“I know. I haven’t seen you guys in forever,” I pouted, slipping in the door beside her as she shut it.

“Probably because Chaewon’s been trying to keep you all to herself.” She joked, walking back over to the table to chop the mangos that Eunchae’s mom brought for the group. “You’re here to see her, right? She’s in her room.” Yunjin pointed over to her room with the knife without turning her head.

“I’m actually here to see Kazuha. She invited me over yesterday.” Yunjin turned around with her eyebrows raised, chewing a cube of fruit.

“Huh. I thought you guys stopped talking or something. Kazuha talks about you as if you’re a distant memory, and you never come around to see her anymore.” I awkwardly shifted in place, opting to put my bag beside the door instead of staring like a deer caught in headlights.

“I guess Chaewon was taking up most of my time,” I stammered, the sudden realization embarrassing me. I spent so long chasing someone who didn’t want me, I forgot to leave time for everyone else. Yunjin let me go after a strange warning about not spending too much time with Chaewon, and I quietly walked back to Kazuha’s room. “Zuha?” I called out as I opened the door, finding her on the floor with her massage roller.

“Y/N! I thought you weren’t coming.” I frowned as I heard her words, even more of a realization that I was neglecting my friends for Chaewon. We lounged around for about 30 minutes, not talking about much but just enjoying each other's company. “We’re having game night tonight if you wanna stay…” She trailed off, picking at the skin on her fingers.

“I can stay. I’m not busy anyway.” I watched as her face lit up, and she stood up, leaving the room. After a few minutes, she came back with a bowl of cubed fruit and a projector.

“I just borrowed Sakura’s, since she isn’t using it anyway.” She set it up on the wall across from her bed, and we both laid down and watched some cheesy comedy she chose for us to watch. After a couple of hours, we heard a knock on the door.

“Guys! We have Mario Kart set up!” I heard Eunchae exclaim from behind the door. I wiped Kazuha’s eyes as I stifled a laugh.

“I can’t believe these predictable endings still make you cry.” She scoffed, putting on her slippers as she got out of bed.

“That wasn’t even that predictable! Who would’ve thought that he would fall for her sister?” I shook my head, following her out of the door as I saw everyone standing around gathered at the TV.

“Who wants to go first?” I watched as they passed the controllers to Sakura and Yunjin, smiling to myself because I knew how bad Yunjin was at playing games. After a few more rounds, I was leaning on the back of the couch, playing with Eunchae’s hair before I let out a yawn. I watched as Chaewon played a horror game, while the rest of the girls were huddled around her giggling.

“I think I’m going to go now.” I heard collective words of protest as I stood up, gently setting Eunchae’s head on the pillow.

“Wait.” I looked up and saw Chaewon standing in front of me. “Can we talk before you go?” I saw Kazuha’s head snap towards us before I nodded my head, following her to the room. “What’s wrong? You said you didn’t want to come over, now you’ve been ignoring me all night.” I felt a pang in my chest as I saw her sad expression, momentarily forgetting the way that she treated me yesterday.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just didn’t feel like it earlier.” Chaewon nodded before grabbing my arm and leading me toward the bed.

“What about now?” She questioned me, leaning to press a kiss to my neck. I pulled away from her as I watched her expression fall again. “See? I knew something was wrong.” I huffed, standing up from the bed and walking towards the door.

“Chaewon, I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of feeling like your dirty little secret. I want something more than this, something more than someone who uses me and makes me feel useless afterward.” I looked down at the floor with teary eyes, knowing that I would break down if I looked up at her. I turned around and left the room, hearing Chaewon’s footsteps following behind me. When I left the room, I could see everyone looking toward me expectantly when they saw my teary eyes. “Still upset from the movie.” I clarified with a forced laugh as I walked towards the door. I saw Kazuha frown as she looked toward me, not buying my excuse. I was met with a group hug as I put my bag on my shoulder, hugging them back as I heard a bunch of ‘bye Y/N’s’ coming from them. I looked up and saw Kazuha looking at me with a shy smile before pulling me into a tight hug.

“Don’t ever disappear like that again,” she mumbled into my shirt, pulling away hesitantly as she heard a bunch of whistles coming from the three girls. I watched as Chaewon stood off to the side before I turned away, grabbing the container of fruit that Yunjin cut for me from the counter. I saw Sakura take Chaewon around the corner and I continued fumbling in the refrigerator to seem as if I was trying to find something to take while I was listening to their conversation.

“I don’t know. It’s just like,” she paused, taking a deep breath. “I know it’s bad but I used to think I had her wrapped around my finger, but it’s like I’m watching her slip right through them.” I paused for a moment, trying to resist the urge to comfort her. “I can’t help but be jealous of Kazuha. I guess I can’t be mad at her because she’s the only reason I actually met Y/N.” I frowned, wondering why Chaewon would be jealous of Kazuha, my longest-lasting friend, out of all people. Despite how much I wanted to stay and comfort her, I pushed all of our memories and the time we spent together to the back of my mind.

“Bye guys!” I waved to them as I walked out of the door. As I heard the door lock behind me, I couldn’t help but feel a pit in my stomach as if I’d done something wrong. I thought again about how eager I am to please people, giving little fractions of myself to everyone who needs it, not realizing that I’m falling apart, day by day until it’s too late. I wondered to myself, why do I continue pursuing Chaewon? I knew she was never going to love me back, no matter how hard I wanted to believe it. Despite that, I continued walking home, a piece of me still having faith that one day, she will return the love that I have for her.

[gingerjolover]

Hidden Meanings - Josette Maskin x fem!reader (MUNA)

Sypnosis: Soft!gf reader always gifts flowers for Jo with hidden meanings <3

G's notes: surpriseeee shawtaaayyyyyy, not really edited oops, don't bring up my sleep schedule, okay? mind ur business

WC: somewhere around 1500 words (i won't apologize)

Warnings: RPF, tooth-rotting fluff, brief mentions of anxiety, some kissin', no fundamental physical descriptors except hair that can be pushed out of face?

Jo can’t recall when you started giving her flowers, but they soon realized it was your love language, always gifting flowers with hidden meanings, loving words scribbled on cards wedged between stems and leaves. 

At first, Jo thought it was silly. No one had ever gotten them flowers besides graduations or bullshit anniversaries with girls she can't remember now. But after the third bouquet, left on the counter when you dropped off breakfast for her before heading to work, knowing they had an extended studio session ahead, Jo realized there was meaning behind every bunch stuffed in a mason jar. (Yes, she did use Google Lens to find out that the flowers you left them were Gardenias, and yes, they did call you out for giving them flowers instead of you just saying that you wanted to be more than friends). 

Hydrangeas

It’s still early in your relationship, and you are still not completely open with one another, both afraid to label it because it feels different than any relationship you’ve been in before. It’s too early when it happens - the dreaded breakdown and panic attack. Your inability to control your cries and breathing causes Jo to scoop you up in her arms, rubbing your back nice and slow to calm you down. Josette understands the embarrassment, texting you that “it happens to everyone,” “don’t be embarrassed,” and “when you’re ready, I’ll be here.” But no matter how kind and empathetic Jo was, you can’t face her, worried they’ll see through the veil you’ve crafted over the years with maximum effort. 

Maybe it's cowardly, maybe Jo will find it weird, but you send a bouquet. You had given Jo flowers before, small bunches of flowers to say the things you weren’t quite ready to speak out loud, and Jo hadn’t taken the initiative to ask what they had meant, only appreciating the gift as it was. 

This time, it’s fresh hydrangeas, blues, pinks, and purples, paying a pretty penny to have them delivered to your… partner? girlfriend? The person you’re seeing? It's really still up in the air. 

You were anxiously biting your lips and the skin on your thumb, watching the order go from ‘on its way’ to ‘delivered,’ heat spreads in your chest, and not in a good way. One hour passes, then two, and Jo doesn't call. 

This is it: they saw the flowers, and they’re ghosting you because who has a panic attack in front of the person they’re seeing and then goes MIA for 3 days but still sends flowers? You’re lying on the floor when a knock sounds, groaning and getting up; the last person you expect to see is a beaming Jo, ambushing you with a hug, her face pressed in your neck, mumbling, “I’ve missed you”. 

You welcome the affection, squeezing them back tightly.

“The flowers were beautiful… they’re different from the ones you’ve given me before,” Jo says, noting the random bouquets you’ve gifted previously. 

“The ones I sent were hydrangeas… they um–” you trail off, wondering if the reasoning behind them is as embarrassing as sending them in the first place.

“They what?” Jo asks inquisitively. 

“They represent gratitude– uh– gratitude for being understood. I don’t know why I didn't answer for a few days. I guess I just thought I messed everything up, but–” Jo cuts you off with another hug. “That's the mushiest thing I’ve ever heard, and it makes me want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?” Jo asks excitedly, a wide smile taking over her face. Your nod is sheepish before Jo cupped your cheeks and placed the firmest and sweetest kiss on your lips, blushing at the thoughtfulness behind the flower choice and your softness. 

Irises, Yellow Pansies

The first time Jo goes on tour, you struggle. You know it, Jo knows it, hell– Katie and Naomi know it. Since becoming exclusive and official, you’ve gotten more comfortable expressing how utterly obsessed you are with your partner. Still giving flowers here and there so you can see the bashful blush spread across Jo’s face, their eyes widening and shining bright when you press a kiss to her cheek. It’s a sight you’re missing awfully since Jo has been gone. Facetime, texting, and watching their life through Instagram can only do so much.

You coordinate a special delivery, find out where to send a delivery to the venue, and pay extra for the flower shop to take your handwritten note (that you scanned and emailed; yes, it was a process) so that the note looks like you wrote it yourself. Katie is texting you updates; sitting on the couch, biting your lip, you answer the Facetime, her smiling face close to the screen. 

“They just got delivered, so I’m bringing them to Josie now,” Katie schemes. You can’t help but giggle; Katie quickly becoming a member of your support system and the #1 fan of your relationship with Jo. 

“Thanks, Katie,” you say gratefully, smiling at the redhead as she huffs, walking across the venue with the large flower bag.

“What do these mean again? You do that, right? Give Jo different flowers because they mean stuff. These are irises,” Katie asks, making you giggle, your shared love of gardening and botany having helped bloom your friendship.

“Irises use to mean sending a message, and the pansies are ‘thinking of you’…” you say softly, knowing how cheesy that sounds. 

Katie snorts, “that’s mushy…but cute”. 

“That’s what Jo calls it too…” you reply. 

Katie looks at you, scrunching her eyebrows in inquisition. 

“Mushy.”

Katie laughs again, “Well, Jo will love them because they’re from you…ooh hold on, I’m going in now….SPECIAL DELIVERY,” Katie calls out in a dramatic voice, the phone getting propped on a table in front of Jo.

“Hi baby!” they say excitedly, watching the screen intently as they blow you a kiss, grunting when Katie drops the bouquet in their hands. 

“Stop spending money on me!” Jo yells playfully, laughing as they unwrap the bouquet, quieting down as they see the flowers for the first time, a sad smile taking the place of the previously goofy one.

“What do these mean?” Jo whispers, staring at you. 

“I just…I miss you a lot,” you whisper back. 

Red Camellias, Pink Carnations, Red Tulips 

Jo has gotten pretty good at figuring out what the flowers you give them represent. (No, Jo hasn’t told you that she uses Google Lens, and you’ll never know because Jo loves the smile on your face when you think they’ve guessed it correctly).

Your love for Jo has manifested in many bouquets: daisies, red roses, apple blossoms, red carnations, edelweiss…the list goes on and on. Jo’s favorite was a particular bouquet she received on June 1st, a beautiful bunch of orange lilies and amaryllis with some baby’s breath sprinkled in. Jo remembers the goofy smile on your face when you told her that baby’s breath signified sincerity and love and that orange lilies and amaryllis represented pride. “Happy Pride!” you said, smacking a wet kiss on her cheek, making Jo chuckle and tackle you onto the bed, hands pinning your own above your head, tickling you with one hand, laughing between pushing kisses on your neck. 

Jo feels like the only person in the world every time, but there’s something different now. It’s been many years since that first bouquet, offhandedly shoved in a mason jar with the excuse, “They were pretty, and I thought you’d like them,” accompanied by a shrug. It’s not just an anniversary, and you’re not just some girlfriend; you’ve created a home, started building a life together, and you’re even dog parents.  

Jo stares at the bundle of flowers, having received all of these flowers separately before. But there’s something about how you’re looking at Jo, the slight glassiness of your eyes, your shy smile, and the wringing of your hands that alerts her to something else. 

“These are almost as pretty as you,” Josette teases, kissing the corner of your mouth, giving you their signature smirk and widening eyes combo. There’s something exceptionally soft about you tonight, and Jo wonders if you’re picking up on the nervousness they’ve shoved so deep down, hoping you don’t think something is off. 

“Happy Anniversary,” you mumble softly, Jo’s grin widening at your blushing cheeks; she can practically feel the heat radiating off your skin. Jo wraps their arms around you, kissing your neck gently before pushing your hair out of your face. “You okay?” Jo asks, abnormally serious, kissing your nose and cheek softly, barely grazing the skin. 

“Mhm, just…love you a lot, thank you for sticking by me… thank you for loving me,” you breathe out, staring into Jo’s eyes is mesmerizing. 

Jo feels a lump in their throat form; the small velvet box in their back pocket suddenly weighs a ton, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “You’re easy to love,” Jo mumbles, connecting your lips, your sweet hums against their lips is music to their ears, hands sliding around your back, pulling you flush against their body. 

“I got something for you too… I just hope you like it,” Jo says nervously, still smirking softly.

[eastwindmlk]

Are you sick of my sick fics yet? This should be the last @jilymicro-oops in the series. This is part three. Part One Part Two Or read the whole thing on AO3 Prompt: Grow, Jan 2. Word count: 1775

James woke up, blinking against the daylight, feeling drowsy. It had been one of those naps where it was hard to tell what year it was. For all he knew, he could have slept for a full day or a full ten minutes. It did not particularly matter because, even without his glasses, he would recognise the glowing copper of Lily Evans's hair anywhere. Whatever had happened to let him wake up next to her, he would have to hunt down and thank. 

This was a sight he could get used to. Or rather, he would like to get used to it. 

Right now, it did not seem like Lily was aware that he was awake. Going by the fuzzy outline of her, he could get through squinting without his glasses; she was reading. He could see the slight curve of her, which he recognised as her being engrossed in the pages of some penny-dreadful or whatever muggle paperback she'd managed to get her hands on. He made a mental note to ask if she was reading something interesting later. James found himself having to make a choice. 

He could either lay there with his eyes closed and enjoy the fact that she was nearby, or he could make himself known and start figuring out why she was here. 

It took him about one breath to decide that he was going to stretch this moment a little longer. In the hopes of recalling details that had led to his good fortune. 

His eyes fluttered closed once more, and he let his thoughts drift. Shifting to his side as he tugged at the blanket, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus tickled his nose, and slowly but surely that afternoon had come back to him. And with that came a warmth that spread from his chest, radiating through his entire body. 

The reason Lily Evans was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading, was because he was not just in any bed. He was in her bed. He’d stumbled his way up to the girl’s dorm, using his head boy privileges for the first time. And with that, he used up all the energy he had left in his body. Letting Lily lead him to her bed, plush with extra pillows and a lovely floral pattern throw. 

She had been surprisingly gentle with him, considering the fact that he had invaded her personal space. She had given him some muggle medicine and tucked him in. If he had not been burning up before, he would be now. 

The memory of her hands on his chest, the gentle touches, and the almost kiss. He must have dreamed most of it. A beautiful fever dream that James did not want to end. 

So, he kept still. Enjoying the pleasant silence. He was almost jolted by her quiet gasp. His eyes opened to see her lift the book closer to her face. Making him wonder what she was reading. 

The sound of her voice took him by surprise. “I know you're awake, Potter,” she told him. He could hear the smirk in her voice. But he didn't move. He just snuggled deeper into the down duvet and pressed his eyes closed. 

“How did you know?” James huffed, more than a little disappointed that his stay here would be over soon. She would likely drag him to the hospital wing. 

Pulling the blanket up to his nose, he found himself disappointed by the fact that the only thing he could smell was the balm she’d used. Though, at the same time, he mentally slapped himself for letting the weird part of his brain take over. To wonder what her bed smelled like when he had not been invited into it. 

His hand slowly crept out from between the sheets, searching for his glasses. To properly see the look of disappointment that was surely gracing her lovely features. Fingers find the cool metal on the edge of the bedside table. 

“You stopped snoring,” she informed him, his fingers halting for just long enough to shoot an offended look. He peered at her silhouette over the edge of the throw.

His eyes narrowed at the redhead as he pushed his glasses onto his nose. “I do not snore,” he said, giving a curt, determined sort of nod. He blinked her thoroughly amused features into focus. Her smile was infectious, and soon he could not fight the corners of his lips any longer, allowing them to pull up into a smile. 

“Are you sure?” Lily asked, leaning over to put away her book. Her cool fingers were ghosting over his forehead. Making James sigh in relief. 

In response, she pressed her full hand against his sweaty face. She exchanged it for her other hand when the first warmed up. “I should get you a washcloth,” she murmured, almost to herself, as she withdrew. Leaving him disappointed as he watched her disappear into the bathroom.

Pushing himself up to sit and drink in the room once more. Now with a clearer mind than before. From where he sat, he had a good view of the room. It was almost funny how he could tell who had claimed which bed. 

The wall beside Marlene’s bed was plastered with posters of The Holyhead Harpies. He offered the smiling women a glare. The last game against Puddlemere still hurt a little. A loss he was not quick to forget.

Hestia had a large collection of pocketbooks, like Lily had been reading. All organised neatly by number. The bouquet of roses she’d received for Valentine’s last year hangs from one of the posters. 

Dorcas’ bedside table looked a lot like Remus', with due and overdue homework almost sliding off the edge. A few quills sticking out from the drawer and a picture from her holiday to Morocco, she would not shut up about, balanced precariously on top of her Arithmancy textbook. 

He assumed the fiddle fern cutting was Mary’s and was a little surprised to see a Magpie blanket tucked neatly into the sides of her meticulously made bed. 

Leaning his head back, James spotted little stars hanging from the canopy. They seemed charmed to give off a soft light. Subtle enough to make a night’s sky when the curtains were drawn, he assumed. Making him want to give it a try. 

But as he moved forward to tug at the crimson curtains, he spotted something on the poster. His fingers were running along the little heart carved into it. His heart stuttered into a sprint as he traced the initials inside. ‘J+L’. 

He refused to believe that this was a coincidence. What would be the chance that Lily would pick that bed? Even after another hacking cough, he could not get the smile to leave his face.

"What are you grinning about?" Lily asked, startling him out of his little moment.

He made an effort to compose his face, pulling up his shoulders nonchalantly and sinking back into his pillows. "Nothing, just fascinating to see..." James motioned around the room.

"I do hope that you found nothing too incriminating," she responded, sitting down next to him again and lifting the cold cloth to his forehead.

James leaned into her hand, eyes flitting closed, enjoying the sensation. Enjoying the idea of being this close to Lily. "Nothing too terrible. I did not expect Meadows to be this messy. She always seems so organised."

Lily let out a breathy laugh; he could feel her breath fan over him. The sweet peppermint scent lingers on his tongue. She was so close, he could taste her.

And good Godric, he wanted to taste her.

James leaned in.

Their noses brushed together.

Just...

Lily pushed his head down just as their lips were about to meet and moved off the bed. "If you're feeling better, you should go to your own dorm." Her voice wavered, her eyes moved away from him, and her cheeks were a deeper shade of red than they had been before.

There was something incredibly endearing about the way she flustered, and James Potter did not miss an opportunity to make Lily Evans blush a little more.

"I somehow always imagined you being a white cotton knickers sort of girl, but it seems I was wrong," he teased, nodding to the bra she had not quite been able to cover with her coat.

The redhead blinked and fumbled with the latch on her trunk. Quickly shoving the brazier inside. "Grow up, Potter!" She sputtered, burying her face in her hands. “I should kick you out for that.” 

Before she could continue, he interjected, his hands shooting up in front of him. “I didn’t mean it like that. Come on, Evans.” 

Her eyes spit fire at him, making him duck his head, disappearing partly in the blankets. “Don’t you ‘Evans’ me, you-you-you!” She breathed deeply through her nose and clicked her tongue. “Immature prat,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear her. 

“It was supposed to be cute,” James admitted, his lips pressing together into a thin line. His eyes are not quite meeting hers. Not until he heard the stifled laugh, her hand taking his as she sat down next to him once more. 

There was a superior sort of look on her face, making him a little nervous. “If you want to know what I wear under this, you should just ask.” Her voice was still quiet, a little breathless. 

James blinked at her, a little dumbfounded by the implication of her words. He swallowed the dryness from his mouth as he frantically searched for words. Something to say to her. He refused to let her be smoother than him. 

It was a point of pride. Even in his usual way with words, he had a tendency to hide while he was around the redhead. Her words made him wonder, though. It was a risk, but one that he was willing to take. 

Pushing his fingers through the gaps in hers, lacing them together. “I don’t need to see what you’ve got on under there. I just want you to kiss me.” 

For a moment, there was silence, eyes locked in a stalemate before Lily’s closed. She leaned in, and James hesitated. “I don’t want you to get sick,” he protested, honestly not having considered what she was actually saying yet.

Her free hand lifted to his cheek, quelling his protests by pulling his lips to hers. Lips slanting together. For just a moment, James was sure he was instantly cured; he was sure he never felt this alive while on solid ground. 

[voluptuarian]

Favorite Movie Costumes (pt. 1)

Recently got the line-up-your-toys urge to list and discuss my favorite tv and movie costumes-- my favorites are many and tumblr's image limit is low, so I'm not sure how many posts this'll eventually spread to, but here's the first crop.

The Queen's red gown - The Brother's Grimm

I don't think anyone on earth wanted to love this movie more than I did when it came out-- sadly, the film itself was generally a letdown. However, its costumes absolutely delivered, which should come as no surprise since they were designed by Gabriella Pescucci. The costumes for Monica Belluci's queen are my favorites of all, but this piece, the one she wears for most of the movie, may be my favorite costume of all time.

The costume has several iterations; it's paired most prominently with her enormous horned headdress (my fave), but she also wears it with a more delicate tiara.

Marianne de Morangias' red riding habit - Brotherhood of the Wolf

Although Brotherhood of the Wolf is far from a good movie, I have a terrible soft spot for it, which is mostly due to its wonderful costumes, including a crowd of hunting costumes throughout, none more gorgeous than the one Marianne's debuts during the film's first hunt.

I probably owe my love of riding habits to American Girl's Felicity and her swoon-worthy green velvet habit-- they are sadly underused in movies (meanwhile Marianne not only wears this red habit, but also shows off an equally beautiful green one later.)

Christine Daae's masquerade dress - The Phantom of the Opera

Fun fact, I watched this movie as a teenager (after falling in with the inescapable junior high theater nerd crowd, who tried unsuccessfully to use this as a gateway drug to getting me hooked on musicals), then forgot about the vast majority of the costumes, and stumbled upon it again years later without realizing it was from a movie and completely fell in love with it.

I'm very fond of the early 1870s silhouette in general, long trains in particular, and the back of this one is what really sold me. The frothy layers of chiffon?? the flowers?? the graceful tiered bustle?? Obsessed. (Another fun fact, this is one of the references I always bring up when discussing potential wedding dresses.)

Imogen Spurnrose's red ensemble - Carnival Row

I know, another red velvet number ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Imogen's wardrobe is full of lovely quasi-Victorian pieces, but this one had me GASPING when it came on screen. These pictures do not do the color or vibrancy of that jacket justice!

Geilis Duncan's white ballgown - Outlander

I'm usually not a fan of stripped down historical styles, especially ones this anachronistic, but something about the minimalist design of this dress just charmed me.

It reminds of in some way of artistic undress in 17th century portraits, and the lightness of the colors and material has this clean, airy, almost White Lady quality to it, and the simplicity and limited accessorizing really brings out the period silhouette. (Also I adore lover's eyes).

Vanessa Ives' lace blouse - Penny Dreadful

Vanessa has a gorgeous wardrobe (Gabriella Pescucci hitting it out of the park again) containing a number of delicate black and white blouses, but this one is my favorite.

The design is not that complex, but the wealth of tiny details, especially the petal shaped blackworked collar and cuffs, give it a huge visual punch; paired with the decorative belt and beautiful black skirt it's a very unique look that shows off some of the most beautiful elements of the period (last photo courtesy @periodcostumefantasylover)

Lorna's church dress - Lorna Doone

YES another red number. And what a red!! This miniseries is so obscure I had to do my own (butt ugly) screencaps off Youtube, but despite being a fairly modest production, they do some nice 17th century looks in it.

This dress is glimpsed for a moment as Lorna catches sight of her separated lover through the crowd-- very dramatic, but unfortunately it means getting a good look at the beautiful dress is hard, but I did my best: here's the actual scene, if you want a better look (and I'd recommend the series, too!)

Virginia Wilson's Worth dress - 1899

Big shock, the replica House of Worth dress made it in *Oprah shrug* I've adored the original dress for years, so I went nuts seeing it on the show! On top of just top tier everything, the costuming on 1899 was great, and the fact that they decided to throw this dress in was just the cherry on top.

There are some minimal differences between this dress and its inspiration, most notably the change in pattern-- Virginia's dress not only incorporates the alchemical logo like all the rest of the characters, but the rounded edges in the original are all made jagged to match it, as you can really see in the last photo.

---- on to part 2!

[zombierebel]

Rain getting gang banged by random men in public

Very sorry for the while wait. Couldn't get this jig quite right, but for now i think it is a-ok

Should i tag these under "x male reader"? Because it's not really but i guess you could read it as such? A penny for y'all thoughts on this?

If he could think straight he'd be thanking the Gods that he had his mask on.

His shirt and pants had been ripped open making a large torn hole revealing his tits and ass to the world

He was bent over the bar table,hands gripping the edge. Moaning and grunting poured out of his mouth while a guy slammed into his sloppy hole.

When the man pulled out, Rain lost his grip on the table, legs shaking, and to add more embarrassment to the high mage, slid to the floor. A couple of men chuckling at his spent state, others throwing money at him.

He was suddenly pushed forward with the side of his face smudged up to the bottom side of the flat table, knees bending with unfamiliar hands spreading his cheeks apart as another cock entered him, his sore hole stretching to accommodate the size.

The man groaned out as Rain's tight warmth sucked him further in. The man dove straight to it, though he was apparently a virgin because he came within two minutes tops. Big dick, no action.

The men booed at him and shooed him away. The man embarrassingly put his head down and left the bar.

Rain was dissatisfied and longing for orgasm but whatever, this wasn't for Rain's pleasure, as long as he was getting paid well, curse those expensive spell books…

He was sore and tired but determined to get through the rest of the men. But most importantly, determined to get his money.

He didn't get to dwell on it much though as another was on him. Pushing him down to lay flat on his back, hand grabbing his knees and moving them up so they laid flat on his chest. Thank the gods that he was flexible.

This man had a grin on his face, he had sharp, attractive features. Too attractive, attractive like that blood sucking girl. Rain dreaded these types of people during sex. Not all of them, but some were sadistic.

And it just happens that this guy is one of them.

“Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of you.” He said with a smirk.

The guy entered him, his thick length stretching his already gaping hole to the point where the stinging burning sensation was all he could think about. He put one of his hands on Rain's hip while the other was plastered beside his head, he leaned over him, now being face to face with the mage.

The man didn't let him adjust, immediately setting a fast paste, his cock being bullied out almost all the way and then ramming back in.

Rain felt his eye roll back, his right hand moving to grip the man's hair, while his left was grabbing the end of a random bar stool’s leg.

The man went to attack his neck, biting and sucking, leaving his neck covered with dark marks, bite marks, saliva, and drops of blood in his wake.

The thrusting continued and fuck, did Rain feel overstimulated already.

His legs wrapped around him, making the other's dick go even deeper inside him.

They chased both of their orgasms, letting out moans and grunts. Their worlds colliding, only being in each other's arms.

Just a little bit more and… Rain let out a high pitched moan while his back arched and legs jerked and tightened.

The man bit into his shoulder, jaws locking in place, drawing blood. His hips stammered and buckled, as he fell into his own high.

His hole clenching and milking the other's cock for all its worth.

As they both came down from bliss, they heard the shouts and whistles.

The man put his hand softly on Rain's cheek, made eye contact with him and grinned, showing teeth and said, “You're good. We should do this again,” And patted his thigh twice, getting Rain to unlock them.

He stood up, wiping the blood off of his chin, pulled up his pants and walked away.

As he laid there, another man getting ready to enter his sloppy hole, Rain couldn't help but think of their next time.

[liz-allyn]

these violet delights - a dark! mob!peter tale [tasm peter vs kilgrave]

summary: The Purple Man comes to visit Mob!Peter at home.

words: 10.5k

a/n: this began as a submission to Wicked's Trick or Treat, but then it turned into a dead dove, sorry 'bout that. my fancast of the purple man/kilgrave in this universe is Jesse Eisenberg, sporting Lex Luthor vibes. But I love David Tennant and you can picture anyone you want! i also did not use "you" or second-person narrative, instead opting for generic "she/her" pronouns and descriptions.

warnings: so many

I repeat. So. Many. Warnings. Including non-con touching/ sa/ forced sex acts (peter is a victim in this), kidnapping, mind-control, oral (m receiving), cheating, angst, mentions of bodily fluids, mentions of self-h4rm, explicit violence, gore, dead doves for you. and one for you. and one for you. everyone gets a dead dove. do not eat it.

This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences above the age of 18. Sensitive topics are explicitly discussed. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

The second Peter Parker touched the doorknob of the multimillion-dollar Colonial overlooking Forest Park, gooseflesh spread across the nape of his neck. His movements went still, jaw clenching. 

Behind him, the shrieking of young children in the distance exacerbated his nerves. He glanced at the residential street around him, peeking through the golden fall curtains of the trees, then down at the modest Jack-O-Lantern underneath the entryway. 

It was Halloween, a couple of hours before sunset. It was a weird time of year. One that always got his blood pumping. Everything usually felt a little off on a night like this. But this was different.

Cautiously, he pushed open the door to his lavish home, stepping inside.

The moment Peter stepped into the darkened foyer of his home, he knew immediately something was amiss. He glanced around cautiously. It was so quiet.

By this time, Eddie should’ve set up the goody table outside. It was his job to keep a friendly face on and keep a look-out while Miles and Penni took shifts handing out candy to the kids. 

Peter wasn’t really comfortable with hosting Trick-or-Treaters, or any other guests on his property. Too many strangers. Too much unwanted attention. Miles reasoned that if they weren’t trying to appear like a bunch of greedy mobsters, then maybe they shouldn’t have the biggest house on the block and not hand out candy on Halloween.

Despite seeing no one loitering nearby, Peter knew something was wrong. 

It was silent. Grave-level silent.

The hairs on his body stood on end. The back of his neck prickled, his senses stirring to alert him to danger. He crept from the foyer and peeked into the expansive sitting area. There, he discovered a brutal scene. 

A massacre. 

Bodies spread out. Draped across the floor and furniture. Arranged, like broken stems and torn petals of a bloody bouquet. 

It could’ve been mistaken for an elaborate, grotesque Halloween display. Hillbilly Chainsaw Massacre. Summer Camp Slaughterfest. Co-ed Killers From Outer Space. Except that Peter could smell real blood. And that these were members of his crew.

He felt queasy and faint, like being in a plummeting elevator. The rapid flutter of a single heart caught his attention, pulling it away from the carnage. 

His eyes darted over to see Felicia Hardy sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase of his home. Her body slumped against the banister. In her lap, she rested the weight of a Chef’s knife almost as long as her forearm. Cold red droplets streaked across her face and neck. The steel blade was coated in crimson.

Felicia’s expression was hollow. Solemn. Tired. Her chest moved shallowly. “Heya, Spider,” she faintly murmured, not making eye contact. 

Peter observed his master-at-arms with concerned dread. Part of him wanted to rush to embrace his longtime friend. The other part kept a considerable distance, eyeing her bloody knife.

“Cat,” was all he could say. Alert. Cautious.

“Killer night, huh.” The sharp exhale she let out sounded like a laugh and a cry. She gazed distantly, making no attempt to move as he inched closer to her. Peter had never seen anyone sleepwalk, but he imagined that it would look like this. It was like she was hypnotized. Possessed.

He swallowed deeply, holding down bile, and crouched down to her eye level. “What happened here?”

A long moment passed. She shuddered, tears building just behind her eyes, “I killed ‘em.” It was a whisper that could barely be heard without his abilities. “He told me to kill them,” she explained, only confusing him further. “Told them all to be still and wait their turn. And they did. So I did.”

He shifted closer to her, heart pounding. “Who told you?”

“They were my friends,” she replied, eyes vacant. “My only friends. And I killed them.”

“Felicia,” Peter said firmly. He reached out his finger slowly, hooking it under her chin. Carefully, he pulled her focus to his gaze. He couldn’t recognize her. The formidable woman, with claws and balls of steel, looked up at him in hopeless shame.

“He told me to sit here and wait for you,” she explained, dread in her voice. “And to tell you he has your girl upstairs.”

He approached the bedroom door with catlike footsteps. Inside the room, he could hear obscene noises—soft breaths, wet lips, eager tongue. His senses shrieked in his skull as his eyes found the wide crevice of the doorway. 

He recognized the color of her hair instantly. Her image burned red hot in his periphery the same way it burned into his thoughts. The back of her head. The delicate wings of her shoulders. The undulating ridges of her vertebrae. He followed the perilous ladder of her spine all the way down to her belted waist, where a soft, cloudlike chiffon skirt draped over her bottom. 

It was a vision he’d only seen in his dreams. But at the present, he was looking at a nightmare.

The petite woman whom he shared the bedroom with was bent over the lap of a stranger. Her hair obscured his view, but the sinful noises spilling out of the room left little to the imagination. The smell of sex, sweat, tears, and saliva hit him like a cannonball. He blinked several times, eyes questioning, as if he stumbled upon a horrific mirage that his eyelashes could sweep away.

The nightmarish image came into clear focus. 

His wife—a newlywed for only six weeks—was on her knees in front of an armchair, head bobbing in the lap of a strange man sitting in front of her. Head thrown back in passion, the man groaned lasciviously over the sound of the young woman’s gurgling throat.

It felt like eons passed with Peter standing in the doorway of his bedroom, just staring in bewildered silence. His mind turned over repeatedly, like he was staring at a puzzle and couldn’t fathom the image it created. 

His new bride. His innocent angel. His shrinking violet. Choking down another man’s cock like it was her last meal.

Buried deep, somewhere in the rational parts of his brain, he briefly noted the backless, chiffon halter babydoll she was wearing. It was almost a blush pink in the yellow light of the bedroom floor lamp. Lilac. It looked expensive. He’d never seen it before. It suited her well. 

He noticed how soft she looked as her hair brushed across her exposed back. That was something he secretly loved about her—her softness. She was a little lamb. He had yet to see this much of her skin. He’d never seen her like this, so exposed. So filthy. 

Incomprehesively, he was almost embarrassed at stumbling upon such an intimate, lewd scene. At the same time, he felt his own cock twitch at the sight.

The confusion in his mind quickly settled. His mind caught up to his vision. His stomach dropped and soured. His heart hammered in his chest. His jaw clenched, bit down so hard he could taste blood. It surged and boiled in his veins.

Another vulgar moan erupted from the man as he reached forward and snatched the back of her head. If there was any uncertainty about what was taking place, the blinders were removed. The stranger gathered her hair in his wide grasp and for the first time, Peter could see his wife’s face. 

She was wearing makeup, more than he’d ever seen her wear. Or she had been, at one point this evening. The remnants of her mascara and kohl cat eyeliner ran down her cheeks in wet streams. Her plum wine lipstick was smeared across her lips and chin, the color staining the stranger’s cock as he harshly fucked her throat. She gripped onto the man’s knees for balance, her painted nails digging into his pants.

“Fuck yes...” he could hear the man breathlessly sigh, but the air escaped Peter’s lungs. His mind was racing. His brain was short-circuiting. It was skipping through a barbaric list of commands, his adrenaline screaming at him to take action.

Scream. Run. Cry. Punch. Bite. Claw. Fall. Hide. Yell. Pummel. Kill. Crush. Kill. Hurt. Rip. Kill.

His feet started moving.

In addition to the bellowing commands of his adrenaline, the shrill sirens of his senses got louder with every step. 

His heart hurt. There was a sharp ache that surprised him. A little less than two months ago, he hadn’t spoken more than five words to her. Regardless, there was a sickness-laced darkness that threatened to pull him under. The pain confused him. Infuriated him.

They hadn’t even bothered to look up yet. He felt like he was leaving the confines of his body. Watching himself move across the room, stalking silently toward the lovers. 

Peter kept his gaze fixed on his lamb—treacherous whore—and the blinding-white-hot rage rising up his throat, threatening to cut off the blood flow to his brain. 

After taking a particularly harsh thrust into her mouth, her eyes flew open. She coughed and gagged, her wet lashes fluttering as the man pulled her mouth back off of his cock.

Peter’s senses felt like an axe to the skull. He barely registered the shadow in her expression. His wife looked up at her husband, and that’s when he saw it: 

Pure terror screaming from her eyes.

Peter’s brain struggled to catch up to speed. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing anymore. Already moving in their direction, his arm shot up quickly. His long fingers outstretched toward the couple as he began to pull his middle fingers back to his palm.

“Freeze.”

Peter froze. The soft word muttered aloud brought everything to a halt. Like he’d reached the end of a leash. He nearly stumbled over his own feet and whiplashed slightly with the momentum of his muscles seizing.

“Don’t move,” the man’s soft voice commanded again. 

Peter didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the last trajectory of his eyesight. He observed his wife, her body frozen and unmoving. She was locked in a straight-backed kneel at the man’s feet, her weight bearing down on her knees in an uncomfortable L shape.

He could observe her carefully in this position. Her chin trembled. She panted, drawing short breaths, as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating. He could hear her heart thrumming twice as fast as his own. That wasn’t the sound of lust. It was fear.

Peter remained as a statue: outstretched arm, muscles tense, chest heaving from an overwhelming mix of rage and panic. 

He couldn’t move. He wanted to. But he couldn’t.

His eyes fell back to the occupant in the chair, still lounging back as if it was his bedroom they were in.

The alabaster-faced man gazed up at Peter with a half-smile. Sharp lines accentuated his brow, cheekbones, and jaw. His dark brown hair hung long in unkempt, ragged curls, framing his hollow cheeks and stopping at his jaw. 

He looked young, with one of those faces that made him look forever in his twenties. Or thirties. Or teens. Maybe it was the smugness he wore on his face suggesting a foolish youth. 

Peter wanted to put his fist through it.

Pale blue eyes stared brightly beneath a jutted brow. The kid’s face widened into a smirk. 

“Hi,” he said, as they were having a pleasant meeting. He pointed his index finger at him, shooting a playful finger-gun. “Don’t tell me—you must be Peter.”

Peter was silent. Transfixed. Stunned by the casual tone and the bizarre situation. The stranger flipped a switch, as if he wasn’t just getting his dick sucked, and suddenly paid no attention to the woman genuflecting in front of him.

He grinned warmly, shameless in his partial nudity. “I heard so many things about you. Good things. Y’know. Mostly.” 

The kid glanced down at the woman on her knees, then turned back to him. “Congratulations… on the wedding by the way!” he apologetically added, as if had forgotten his pleasantries. “Arranged marriages seem so old-fashioned these days, but I get it. Respect for your culture and all that.”

Peter’s mouth felt cotton-dry. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he struggled with all of his might to lower his arm. To flex his fingers. To say anything at all. It was to no avail.

The intruder gestured at the young woman on her knees. “I gotcha a present,” he grinned, reaching down and running a long finger beneath the chiffon strap across her shoulder. Peter could see that it was a halter dress of some kind. He watched intently as the man’s fingers slid down the fabric, resting at the top of her breast. “Call it a ‘something borrowed.’ No need for a thank-you card.”

Peter’s nostrils flared at the action, despite what he’d seen just moments ago. Despite the fact that he had no previous plan to win this woman’s heart, or let her win his own. Despite that he felt connected to this person in name and title only. And when he saw, with his own eyes, his new… partner engaging in a sex act only six weeks after their turbulent agreement had been finalized... it wasn’t jealousy. 

She didn’t owe him faithfulness, if he really thought about it. Even if he planned to be. He planned to be celibate, to be honest. If he could help it. If he focused his energy on business, and not pleasure. 

No, it would make sense that she would’ve taken a lover. Given how cold things were between them. 

It wasn’t jealousy.

This stranger’s touch infuriated him. The idea that this audacious asshat dressed his wife in lingerie, and was roving his hands on her like inspecting the trim on a car. Like... she was a possession. She was his possession. 

The stranger leaned back comfortably in the armchair as Peter tore himself apart. “I was just catching up with... uh...” He glanced at the girl he was facefucking moments before, then gave up. “I didn’t get her name.” He waved his hand with fanfare. “The lovely Mrs. Parker!” he proclaimed, with a shrug. That was good enough by his standards. “She’s been an above-average hostess this evening.”

Peter swallowed, trying to force his tongue to move. It felt like choking on glass. Seeing her mouth on another man felt like choking on glass.

The vile ‘guest’ reached down, cupping his junk idly. He hadn’t bothered to tuck himself away. Peter watched him disgustedly. 

“Oh, that? No, not like that,” the man replied sheepishly, pointing down at his exposed crotch. His eyes darted between Peter and his wife, before elaborating. “Oh! That was nothing. She was just showing me a trick her dad’s friends taught her.” 

Peter took that piece of information like a brick to the head. It jarred him. His eyes found her, eyeing the profile of her shamed face. He looked at her, really. For the first time since they had signed the marriage certificate. Her chin quivered gently. 

He thought about what little he knew about the woman he agreed to marry. Her father was a crook. And not a good one. He ran a sloppy organization, with sloppy amateurs, and sloppy results. He had never thought too hard about her family, regarding them as a nuisance more than anything. 

“They had a nickname for her,” the cruel man continued as if he was telling a hilarious story. “They called her the ‘Black Hole.’” He chuckled, barely able to contain his entertained grin behind thin lips. 

Peter glanced over to see quiet tears rolling down his wife’s cheeks. She kept her gaze fixed forward. Stealing her expression, she made a decent attempt to conceal her horror and shame. Peter’s jaw clenched empathetically. His chest burned. The glass found his heart.

The intruder seemed oblivious, finally tucking himself back into his pants with a good-humored headshake, amused with himself. It was after a few seconds that he finally noticed Peter’s grim expression. 

“Get it?” he asked, beneath a giggle, his smile dimming only slightly. 

Peter glared. 

Eventually, the man let his shoulders drop. He muttered bitterly, his fun spoiled. “Right over your head. Oh well.”

The ‘guest’ came to a stand in front of the chair, side-stepping around the abused woman in front of him, leaving her in his wake. He dug his hands in the pockets of his pants, eyes roving around the room. The intruder looked at home, strolling through Peter’s bedroom. He observed in silence, listless, like wandering through a library. Passing judgment on the pieces of Peter’s life.

Peter finally noticed the man’s attire. It was a bizarre mish-mash of items: a sharply-pressed, eggplant-hued button-up, untucked. The tails of the shirt draped over the stretchy waist of oversized joggers. A plum, silk-lined, single-button, velvet tuxedo jacket fit snugly over his shoulders. A lavender pocket square poked out from the breast pocket. 

Several blinks later, Peter recognized that all of the items were pulled out of his own closet. Some well worn. Some unused. Right down to the brand new, still-in-the-box, memory-foam slippers that May gifted him years ago.

Peter ground his teeth while glaring at the intruder. This was a message. His dark eyes roved over the callous figure, taking in the prevailing hue.

The Purple Man.

Peter’s blood went cold. He’d never met him, but he’d heard stories: nightmarish fairy tales about a devil who could control you with just a few words. A man dressed in purple, leaving grisly scenes drenched in buckets of crimson in his wake.

Peter didn’t believe in fairy tales. He believed in horror stories. 

He believed his friend at the D.A.’s office—the disgraced, former lawyer committed to an institution upstate. The blind madman of Hell’s Kitchen—who claimed that he savagely beat his friends to death with a gavel because The Purple Man told him to do it. 

Peter wasn’t sure if he really believed in the Devil. Until now.

“I wonder how much all this cost,” the man in purple stated curiously, observing the molding of the bedroom. He glanced over at Peter, still standing between the doorway and the bed. The next words left his mouth like a cold threat. “Answer me when I speak to you.”

“What did you do to Felicia?” Peter asked, thinking of the woman unable to move from her spot downstairs.

He snorted, “The anime chick with the silver hair?” Peter glowered at him, arm still outstretched. “I was actually really confused when I arrived,” he stated. “I thought that little... slutty minx... downstairs was your wife. I mean, she’s the one that answered the door. She’s way too hot to be a housekeeper. Too skinny to be a cook. She’s got great tits.” He paused and asked, “You think they’re real?” He pondered thoughtfully. “They feel real...”

Peter grimaced at the comment, his blood boiling. 

“But no,” the uninvited guest continued, “I was surprised to learn that she’s the ‘head of security.’ I mean, come on. Really?” He barked out a laugh. “I don’t wanna say ‘that’s why you never let a woman do a man’s job,’ but that’s what we’re all thinking, amirite?” 

He shrugged, questioning aloud, although the couple rendered silent was his only audience. 

The Purple Man glanced over to his timid captive, eyeing her backside lewdly. “And this little angel was up here all by herself.” 

Peter bristled.

“She told me you don’t let her out much,” he explained. “Bitched a little about freedom and shit, but...” The intruder lowered his voice to a whisper, a secret just between boys, “I see why you keep her under lock and key. A girl like this doesn’t have any business out and about by herself. Just asking for trouble.”

Peter glared in response, nostrils flaring. The pig headed comment made his skin crawl. On the other hand, he didn’t miss the feeling of guilt that sank in his stomach for locking her up like an object.

The intruder carried on, like he was conversing with a friend. “Yeah, if I was you,” he mused, “I’d have a whole fuckin’ slew of women. A harem. I’d keep one in every room.” He peered towards the doorway but made no move to escape. “I mean this house is ridiculous,” he continued. “You’ve got a lot of rooms. So maybe not every room. A man’s gotta have some peace.” 

He shrugged, throwing a sideways glance at Peter. “That’s what I’d do. If I were you.” His voice dropped an octave. “But I’m not you. I’m smarter.”

Peter glowered back, as the two men locked stares. A long moment passed.

“You do know who I am, right?” The Purple Man interrupted suddenly. 

Peter recalled a name that Brock discovered while digging through Murdock’s appointment calendar. A high school dropout with an brilliant IQ. An avid gamer. A nobody.

“I know who you are,” Peter replied, beneath a regretful glare. “Gotta be honest, though. Didn’t give two shits about you ‘til now.”

He responded giddily, “I’m pleased that we were able to change that. I mean, what’s a girl gotta do to get you to notice them?”

He whispered with a deadly calmness, like making a vow, “Believe me, Kevin. You have my attention.”

The Purple Man’s face twisted as he spat, “Ugh! God!” He spun on his heel, hissing and kicking indignantly. “I fuckin’ hate that name!” He bristled with anger, rendering a glower. “My mother gave me that name!” 

The sudden outburst of rage sent a trickle down his wife’s spine. She shivered, and he spotted it out of the corner of his eye. Their captor didn’t seem to notice. 

The intruder shouted with disdain, “How hard is it to show a little fuckin’ respect? I don’t identify with that name. My name is Kilgrave.”

Peter fought to hold in a humorless laugh. “Kilgrave? Isn’t that what your little video game buddies call you?”

“Actually, Kill_Grave_69 is my PSN handle,” he corrected matter-of-factly, his mood shifting dramatically. “I sent Kill_Grave a message, but he hasn’t replied yet.” 

“You like playin’ games with people, Kevin?” Peter taunted, his rage bubbling over. “Is’at what this is to you? A game?”

Kilgrave sighed, annoyed and bored. He gazed at Peter, declaring softly, “If you say ‘Kevin’ again, I’ll make your wife bite off her own tongue.” 

The woman in reference shuddered on her knees. Peter locked his jaw. 

“I’m serious, Peter,” Kilgrave warned. “She likes to swallow.”

Peter’s eyes flicked over to his wife, a pang of sympathy rising in his chest. He was ashamed of himself. Ashamed that the first thought that ran through his mind when he came upon the pornographic scene was betrayal. How daft. How arrogant. How did it not occur to him that she was being forced against her will?

He was a fool to think he could keep her safe. Perhaps it was his pride assuring him that no one would get past the gates of his fortress. It was hubris. His dogmatic belief that he’d prevent tragedy from reaching his loved ones.

At least, not again.

"Spoiler alert, I guess,” Kilgrave added, his lewd commentary interrupting Peter’s self-pity. “That’s another thing we talked about: You guys haven’t fucked.” Kilgrave crossed his arms, glancing back between the couple. “I mean, what’s with that? Talk about trouble in paradise.” 

Despite himself, Peter bristled with embarrassment. A tinge of pink on his cheeks added to the red flush of his rage creeping up his neck. “With the size of that rock on her finger,” Kilgrave added, “you’d think that’d be worth at least a couple of blowjobs.”

Her eyelids slammed shut, jaw clenched. Peter glanced down to see the tremble of her legs, her kneecaps digging into the merciless wooden floor. He couldn’t imagine how painful it was, and how long she’d been in that position.

Kilgrave chuckled, staring at Peter with amusement. “Between your wife’s Jaws of Life and your slutty housekeeper’s Triple D’s... What are you, queer?”

His lip twitched at the slur. He struggled to maintain his composure, aware that at any moment he could cause his wife—the frightened lamb—further harm. Simultaneously, he pictured gouging out the mouthy bastard’s eyes with his thumbs. 

Peter swallowed hard, speaking when spoken to. “What is it you want?”

“I’m here on business,” Kilgrave shrugged nonchalantly. “But first, I want to play a game.” He looked over at the woman. “We were already in the middle of one when you showed up, but we can start all over again. I guess.” He turned to Peter. “You ever play ‘20 Questions?’ It’s my favorite icebreaker.”

He tilted his head, childishly groaning, “Does this mean I have to listen to you talk about yourself through 20 Monologues?”

“Oh, no, this is all about you guys,” he declared, sitting on the edge of the king sized bed. He licked his thin lips hungrily. “I think what we have is an opportunity for you two to really open up to one another, y’know? Bare your hearts. Let’s see the real juicy stuff!” 

The double-entendre was not lost on Peter. He gulped anxiously. 

Kilgrave patted down the duvet on either side of him. “C’mon, you two,” he grinned, sparkling with childlike mischief. “Gather ‘round!”

Peter suddenly felt his legs lurch forward, his arm able to drop. The release of his tense muscles was relieving, but immediately he was horrified at being unable to control himself. He approached the bed slowly, sitting next to Kilgrave on the right. Kilgrave looked up to see his wife falter as she attempted to move off her knees. With a yelp, she toppled forward on her face.

Kilgrave snorted, shoulders shaking with humor. “What a klutz.” She half-crawled on wobbly legs, only sparking more laughter.

“Oh my god,” the weasel-like man howled. “She looks like a baby cow!” Peter’s eyes ran over her figure, taking inventory of as many injuries as he could see. One of the halter straps of her dress was askew off her shoulder. Finger shaped bruises peppered her jaw. Her knees were scraped and bloody. There were obviously injuries he could not see. Picturing them was like dunking his brain in acid.

“C’mon, I don’t have all day,” Kilgrave mocked her. He beat on the bedspread emphatically, like summoning a dog. Peter seethed in silence. “C’mon. Atta girl.”

Wincing in pain, she approached the edge of the bed, using her fingers to claw up the duvet. She thrust herself up next to Kilgrave on his opposite side, her legs dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

“There she is,” he sang fondly, before lifting his gangly fingers and slapping them down on her thigh. She gasped at the pain, her legs still prickling as the flow of blood returned to her feet. His hand clamped above her knee, fingers digging into her flesh. “Such a pretty little cow.”

A soft whimper escaped her lips. Peter shut his eyes at the noise, squeezing them tight enough to trigger a migraine. He recognized that she was hanging on to what little power she had, trying to withhold her pain in front of her tormentor. If she could keep it together, then he’d better do the same.

Peter opened his eyes, glaring sideways at him. “You said you were here on business?”

“Easy, easy,” Kilgrave turned to him. “I’m asking the questions here.” He lifted his other hand and settled it on Peter’s thigh. “No need to get all worked up,” he slithered, ice in his eyes. Peter glanced down at the intruder’s hand touching his pant leg. It was a possessive hold, as if he owned Peter like the stolen clothes he was wearing. Like he owned the bed they were sitting on, the house he’d invaded, or the woman he’d assaulted. 

Peter met his gaze, stone-faced. But he had the overwhelming urge to cry. From rage or fear or heartbreak, he didn’t know.

“You’ll need to wait your turn,” Kilgrave cooed, like admonishing a child. The most feared mobster in New York, the Unlikely King from Queens—reduced to a child. 

“I’m supposed to say something clever, like ‘Mr. Fisk sends his regards,’ or some passive-aggressive bullshit like that. But all that seems so cliche. Dull.” He shot a quick glance, left and right, snuggling into his space between the couple. He knocked his knee into Peter’s playfully. “So. Tell me about you two. How did you meet?”

Peter’s jaw shook like an earthquake, fighting the command. The fight was getting exhausting. 

“The day before our wedding,” his wife squeaked out. Her throat sounded raw. “At our house. Or... it used to be my house.” As she spoke, she gazed achingly at the open doorway. She reminisced with a bitter tone. “He brought daisies. Couldn’t hand them to me. Left ‘em on the table. Wouldn’t even look at me.” 

Peter’s eyes rested heavily on the floor, brow furrowed. 

“He spoke with my father for a half-hour while I waited upstairs,” she recounted, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “Thirty minutes, to decide the rest of my life. Mama locked me in my room. They took away anything sharp. In case I tried to back out.” 

Peter looked up and over at her, beyond their tormentor, and watched the way her lip trembled at the admission. He followed the length of her arm down to her idle fingertips. The chiffon dress bunched up around her thighs, revealing her secrets. Etched scars lined her thighs and told a story of a lifetime of suffering. Eyes full of sorrow, Peter looked back up at her face. His heart broke to see that familiar faraway gaze.

“You’d rather kill yourself than marry him?” Kilgrave blurted, snorting repugnantly. “Wow. That’s a ‘swipe-left’ if I’ve ever heard one.”

Peter avoided the urge to comment, holding himself back from shooting a dirty look. He ignored him, keeping his wife in his sight. He hoped that somehow she could feel his gaze. He wanted it to feel like a kind gesture. A warm, friendly ray of light. A compassionate embrace. 

She swallowed hard, and for a moment Peter wondered if she could feel him. “I’ve spent my whole life in a cage,” she explained numbly. “Like a pet in a shop waiting to be sold. Waiting for Papa to put me to good use. Or get rid of me somehow.” She whispered sorrowfully, “A coffin’s not so different. At least it’s quiet.”

Peter’s jaw clenched as he felt his eyes sting. It was the hopelessness in her voice. The familiarity of it. He had no idea of the suffering that she endured. He hadn’t fully considered getting to know her. He didn’t truly plan on being alive much longer.

“Hmm,” Kilgrave hummed, considering the weight of her words. “I bet you’re a delight at parties. What did you think of him when you saw him?”

Her husband thought he could see the faintest ghost of a smile flit across her face. She pulled her gaze away from the doorway, and looked at Peter. He nearly flinched at the action. He was too ashamed to look at her.

“Pretty eyes,” she stated, a breath of fondness in her voice. It made his cheeks turn red. “He was prettier than I thought he’d be.” She stared at him. Through him. Like she could see his soul. “My sister told me once that the pretty ones are the meanest.”

He dropped his eyes to the floor.

Kilgrave turned to Peter. “What about you, Prince Charming? What went through your head that night?”

This time, he didn’t fight.

 “I just wanted it to be over,” Peter replied, flatly. 

Despite herself, she winced. The sting of his words was apparent.

“Oof,” Kilgrave commented. “Bad first impression?”

“That wasn’t the first time I met her,” Peter explained, betrayed by his own tongue. His eyes closed in defeat. 

Kilgrave nodded. “Tell me about that.”

He paused, but not for long. “It was at a wedding,” Peter explained. “She was twelve. I was fifteen.” Her eyes shot over to Peter, surprised by the revelation. “She wore a yellow dress with daisies on it. These kids... um. They were pickin’ on her. Callin’ her names.” 

His lips turned downwards at the memory, heart aching. “I felt sorry for her. She spent the whole reception cryin’ in the bathroom. We could all hear it.” She looked away, the memory returning to her. “I told those kids to lay off, but... only after...” He let the words fall away. Kilgrave didn’t ask for more this time. It was a meaningless excuse anyway. “She doesn’t remember me,” he affirmed, “but I was there.” 

The couple met each other’s eyes briefly, and for a moment they were alone with one another in their thoughts.

“Aww,” the wicked man blushed, his tone thick with saccharine. “That’s sweet. So you knew from the moment you saw her you were gonna marry her?”

“No,” he replied. “She’s not—” He choked on the words. His vocal cords constricting. Swallowed hard. He looked up at her helplessly, seeing the wounded look on her face. It was as if all he could do was hurt her.

“Finish that sentence,” Kilgrave callously commanded. 

He begged his mouth to stay closed, but it creaked open. “She’s not Gwen.” 

The sound of the name rang out. Tolling like a distant bell harkening some terrible fate. “Oh. Wait.” Kilgrave snapped his fingers near his head, as if he was struggling to fit the pieces of the story together. “Hang on. I’m remembering this.” He made some odd noise, a humming screech that sounded like a computer crashing. “Nope. Sorry. Nothing. Who’s Gwen?”

“She was the woman I loved,” Peter shuddered as he spoke. “We met in high school. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Okay...?”

“She died,” Peter swallowed dryly. Now they were both staring at him expectantly. It was obvious from his wife’s expression that she didn’t know about Gwen. That was Peter’s design. The seconds ticked by, his wife staring at him with something between curiosity and horror. “It was an accident,” Peter said, suddenly feeling like he needed to.

Kilgrave leveled his gaze at him, studying Peter intently. “Was it really?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. The glass had spread to his veins. “No.”

Her eyes widened at his response. Peter stared at her, his gaze heavy with guilt. Kilgrave made a pleased sound, like taking a bite out of a delicious cake. “Did you kill her?” he smirked ravenously.

“No,” Peter responded quickly. His eyes told a different story.

“Tell me the truth.” Kilgrave’s mouth was watering.

“I didn’t push her,” Peter elaborated grimly. “But I put her in harm's way.” His lip trembled, face crumpling. “She was killed because of me.”

“Siiick,” said Kilgrave, not truly impressed. Peter’s attention wasn’t on him.

Whatever expression he expected from his wife, he got the opposite. She stared at him with pity.

“Well,” Kilgrave sighed, “that was even more of a downer than I anticipated.” He rolled his eyes, kicking his legs idly in frustration. “Fine, sure. You lost one girl. You got another. This one’s still young, and... alive? She seems alright. I mean, I’m sure Gwynn was great, but... are you really gonna spend the rest of your life moping over some dead pussy? 

His eyes flashed with rage, “Don’t fucking talk like that about her—”

Kilgrave leaped to his feet, outmatching Peter’s fury, exploding like a bullet out of a gun. Suddenly, he was giant and imposing. A mushroom cloud leering over Peter’s face with fiery eyes and flaming breath. 

“YOU don’t get to tell ME what to do!” his voice bellowed, like a crash of thunder. His booming voice was enough to make both of his captives flinch. “Ever! UNDERSTAND?”

Peter looked up at his tormentor and tried to hold back a shudder. The monster’s eyes had gone black and soulless, filled with rage. Any good humor in his nature evaporated instantly, lips pulled tight. His curls vibrated with anger. 

As he stared up at him bitterly, Peter heard the sound of his wife’s heart thumping wildly. She kept her head forward and sniffled gently, trying to tighten her trembling jaw. It was as if she was pleading with Peter through her heartbeat. Begging him not to do anything stupid and get himself killed. Because then, she’d be left alone. With him. Again. 

A caged animal, indeed.

Several long moments passed before Kilgrave’s shoulders eased up. His features softened, his expression shifting to apathy. He shook the hair out of his face like a dog, exhaled slowly, and sat back down between the couple. 

“So,” The Purple Man continued, biting back indignation at being interrupted. “You didn’t want anything to do with the girl. She’s a means to an end. You could care less about her.”

Peter flinched, struggling. He subtly wished he could bite off his tongue to keep it from moving. Kilgrave noticed it immediately. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he commanded. 

Peter exhaled, feeling his heart sink in his chest. “That’s not true,” he muttered quietly, staring apologetically at his wife.

She batted her eyes at Peter, before breaking eye contact and staring ahead before Kilgrave could notice. 

“Elaborate,” he replied coldly.

Peter swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to hurt her,” he admitted with a huff. “I wasn’t trying... It wasn’t right, what her father did to her. None of it. He was planning on making a deal with Martello. The Hammerhead. Trading her for protection. I thought—I thought I could help her. Take Hammerhead off the board. Get her father’s loyalty. Help her, like I shoulda helped her when we were kids.” Peter glanced down at the floor, his forehead creased. “I shoulda stayed out of it.”

Kilgrave hummed, nodding as if he was filled with wisdom, “Tale as old as time. Women are our inevitable downfall.” 

Peter bit his tongue, closing his eyes to keep them from rolling, holding back an offending remark. 

Kilgrave moved on, looking over at the woman in question. “What about you, cowgirl?” he questioned, with a slight smirk. “Your daddy sent you off like a dowry. A sheep for the slaughter.” 

Her darkened eyes remained fixed on the floor. Peter admired her strength. 

“You didn’t wanna play house with the rich man with nice eyebrows?”

“How should I know,” she bit like a whipcrack, her words laced with venom. “He hasn’t spent more than five minutes with me since I got here.” 

It was a stunning display of boldness from her, surprising both men. Kilgrave pulled back his gaze, eyeing her with intrigue.

“There we go,” Kilgrave simpered. “Now we’re getting to the good stuff.” He turned to Peter who was trying to focus on remaining silent. His efforts were dashed the moment Kilgrave spoke. “Respond.”

“She hates me,” Peter immediately murmured, then bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “She hasn’t said it. But I know. She... she can’t stand to be in the same room as me. I hate the way she makes me feel.” 

He would’ve willed himself to stop breathing if it meant no more words would spill out. But Kilgrave was hooked, engaged in his favorite television drama.

“How does she make you feel?” Kilgrave beckoned, hungry for more.

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Like a monster.”

She let out a slow exhale, her resolve crumbling as tears dripped down her face. 

Peter barely recognized his own voice, sounding as weak and broken as he felt. “She’s terrified of me. Cries in the room all the time. Won’t even look me in the eye. Like I’m... like I’m gonna hurt her or—” He swallowed hard, “I-I wouldn’t do that.”

“Or what? Finish what you were going to say,” he ordered coldly.

Peter squeezed his eyes tight, exhaling slowly. “Like I’m going to beat on her. Rape her.”

She went rigid; ice in her veins. Kilgrave shifted in his seat, adjusting his lap ever so slightly. “Is that what you like doing, Peter?”

“No,” Peter responded without hesitation, eyes defensive. “Never. I don’t...” He glowered at Kilgrave. “I’m not sick like that.”

If he could tell that it was a subtle insult, Kilgrave didn’t let on. “What are you like, Peter?” he grinned wickedly. “Be truthful. When was the last time you hurt someone?”

He stared. Mouth closed. Helpless. “This morning.”

Kilgrave smiled, holding his gaze. “Did you kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Did they suffer?”

Peter blinked at him, fighting a sting in his eyes. He spotted the way his wife shivered in his periphery. “Yes.”

“And did you like it?” he asked, like the cat that ate the cream. “How did it make you feel?”

Peter wished he could vanish into thin air. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes brimming with tears. “I felt powerful,” he admitted, shame and self-hatred evident in his tone. “It made me feel strong. Felt like justice. For Gwen. I liked it.”

The long-haired man chuckled darkly, “You really think it has anything to do with justice?”

A tear escaped his eye. Peter thought of the final expression on Gwen’s face, blood dripping from her mouth and nose. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth.

Kilgrave’s expression shifted, unhappy with the answer. “Okay, Peter Parker. Pillar of pious penitence.” He spat each word mockingly, leaning closer to the taller man, invading his space menacingly. Peter knew he couldn’t stand anyone having the moral advantage over him. Or any advantage.

“Tell me this then,” Kilgrave glowered, hissing through gritted teeth. “Maybe you’re not a rapist, but you’re not a eunuch.” His piercing blue eyes dropped downwards. “At least that I can tell. You sleep under the same roof as this...” Kilgrave glanced over at his wife, his eyes roving down her chest and legs. “...Sacrificial calf, tell me—Have you ever thought of just fucking her and getting it over with?”

Peter felt his heart seize in his chest. The air caught in his throat.

“Answer the question!” Kilgrave barked.

His jaw clenched. “Yes,” he irked out, shamefully. “I have.”

“Ah ha!” Kilgrave rejoiced, clapping his hands together. “So the boy’s cock does work. Let’s hear about it.”

“I don’t...” Peter stuttered, his skin beginning to crawl. “I-I don’t wa—”

Kilgrave gripped Peter’s shoulder tight. It was like clutching a stone in his fist. He leered over him regardless, pouring poison into his ear. “Details, Peter. Details. You want to fuck her, right? How bad? You ever jerk off thinkin’ about itr?”

“Yes,” he choked out. He let his eyes fall closed, ashamed and unable to look at the woman whose life he had destroyed. 

“You watch her when you do it?” 

“N-no,” he stuttered. “Sh-shower.”

“What do you like about her? What’s your favorite part? Her ass, right? You strike me as an ass man.”

Peter hoped that soon Kilgrave would tell him to throw himself off of a building. “Her eyes.” 

Kilgrave groaned, deflating at the answer. 

“She’s innocent,” Peter added truthfully, with bleary eyes. “Not like—” He clipped the words, but one look from his tormentor reminded him of the futility of his resistance. “Not like me,” he whispered, heartbroken.

The Purple Man glared at him, stewing with disdain. 

“Poor Peter Parker,” he mocked with a singsong tone. He gazed down at him through narrow slits, regarding him as ant under a bright magnifying glass. “Pitiful, pathetic prince of pathos. Pauper of power.”

Disgraced, he stared back, hollow and exposed. The sensation of a tear rolling down his cheek stirred him.

“Do you want to know why I like to play video games?” Kilgrave stated coolly. 

He could think of a hundred vicious replies. A hundred ways to hurt, maim, and kill. But none of them were real options. He looked at him apathetically. Hopelessly. It didn’t matter how he responded.

“It’s an even balance of power,” Kilgrave elaborated. “A fair fight.” His eyes roved over Peter’s figure, sizing him up from head to toe. “All I need is two thumbs and I can win fair and square. Keeps things challenging.” 

The maniac fell silent, staring at Peter in a way that made his skin crawl. His smile faded. Again, the friendly persona evaporated. He spoke again with a voice weighed down with malice. 

“You have all this money,” he stated. “All these... pawns, like the dead ones downstairs.” He reached over, squeezing Peter’s bicep gently. “You work out.” He gently patted Peter’s cheek. “You’ve got a pretty face. All this... ‘power.’” His azure eyes leveled, and the look sent a chill down Peter’s spine. “And yet all I hear about is how sad your little lonely life is. Your shitty bad luck. Your dead parents and your dead blonde whore.” 

Peter’s chest heaved, filled with fear or fury. He bit the inside of his lip, watching the vitriol rising in the man. 

Cruel jealousy filled his words. “You got it so easy, you don’t even know it,” Kilgrave hissed. “Silver spoon up your ass. Guys like you, you think you can just buy everything you want? You think you can just bully everyone? Beat them into submission?”

The intruder’s heart beat even faster with self-righteous fervor. He was insane, Peter concluded, unhinged and oblivious to the hypocrisy of his words. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not scared of me,” Kilgrave sneered. “Doesn’t matter if you couldn’t give two shits. Doesn’t matter if you own the whole world. I control you. All I have to do is say the words. That is real power, my friend.”

Kilgrave jumped to his feet, standing tall in front of the couple. He puffed up like a god casting down judgment. He was drunk on his version of power. Basking in the glow of their helpless misery.

“And sure,” he added, his smile growing larger, his voice getting louder. “When I’m done here, there’ll be a limo waiting for me. And I’m gonna go to the nicest hotel in the city. I’m gonna order room service, and I’m going to eat it off the girl at the front desk’s naked body.” 

He proclaimed this triumphantly. Like he was standing in a pulpit. Like he could hear thunderous applause. He probably could. 

“And then I’m gonna play a few hours of Call of Duty,” he continued. “I’m gonna kill a few spoiled little shitheads like you online, and even if I lose the game...” He laughed with a careless shrug, “I’ll just tell them to go fuck their mothers and swallow bleach.” 

“Then I’m gonna leave with my giant suitcase full of Wilson Fisk’s money,” he spat each word at the couple, matching their disgusted horror with his own outrage. “But before you judge me, let me tell you that I don’t do it for the money, Mister and Missus Parker.” 

He popped the ‘P,’ like a bloody dot on the end of a sentence. 

“I do it because I like it,” he declared. “I like to help people. And when you help people, good things happen to you!”

Kilgrave took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. He was regaining his composure, albeit for dramatic effect. “So, now for my next question, Peter, I ask you this:” he leaned forward, placing both hands on the bed as he glanced back and forth between the horrified duo. “Trick or Treat?”

Peter blinked silently, terrified to respond. 

“Choose!” Kilgrave roared.

“Treat!” Peter yelped, tears running down his face.

“Good choice,” Kilgrave declared. “Now. Are you finally ready to fuck your wife, or should I do it for you?”

Peter’s eyes were black as coal, overcome with rage. He whispered, agonized, “Touch her and I’ll rip your fucking throat out—”

From the tuxedo jacket pocket, Kilgrave suddenly brandished a straight-edge razor. It flashed in the low-light of the bedroom. He handed it to the woman he only regarded as ‘Missus’ Parker. 

“Use this to cut your own face off,” he commanded. The moment the razor went into her hand, she closed her fist on the blade. Her eyes were wide with fright, her arm trembling. 

“No! Stop!” Peter bellowed, voice shattering weakly, as he reached out and grabbed the end of the razor. He clutched the blade, feeling the sting of it in his palm.

Kilgrave leapt backward with alarm. “Nobody move!”

The couple didn’t move. Both hands on the blade of the razor. Blood spilling into blood. Kilgrave’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them, before settling on Peter suspiciously.

“You really do care about her,” Kilgrave stated, intrigued. His voice was thoughtful and unsure, as if he was observing the results of an experiment. He watched Peter’s tortured expression carefully. His lip trembled, his eyes wet.

“Please,” Peter begged him, shaking uncontrollably. Swallowing every ounce of pride, he pleaded for mercy. “Please. It’s me that Fisk wants. She’s got no part in this.”

Kilgrave stared quietly, as if he was considering it seriously. It was enough to give Peter hope. 

“Drop the razor,” he ordered. 

The weapon clanged as it hit the floor, narrowly missing their limbs. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought of another question,” Kilgrave declared, leaving Peter’s plea unanswered. He leaned in close between them, his thin lips positioned between both sets of ears. “Cards on the table. If you had to choose, right now,” he asked devilishly. “Who would you rather have rape your wife?” He locked eyes with Peter, smirking sadistically. “Me? Or you?”

Peter’s heart sank as it threatened to burst from his chest. He held Kilgrave’s stare, peering up powerlessly. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat. 

This was a message, he thought. A warning to all who dared to stand up to powerful men like Wilson Fisk. Those who were arrogant enough to try to beat the devil at his own game. 

It didn’t matter that Peter may have been the lesser of two evils. They were all evil. The city was overflowing with evil deeds and evil men. Like his father-in-law. Like Fisk. Like Kilgrave.

Like Peter.

Kilgrave simply smiled. Because he knew what Peter really was. 

He knew what his answer would be. 

And how poetically unjust was it—in his flimsy attempt at protecting this poor girl he pitied, the woman he wondered if he could one day love—that he would be the one to hurt her. He had imprisoned her to protect her. And he was going to cause her suffering. 

He really was a monster. 

But Kilgrave just wanted him to say it out loud.

Peter’s lip wobbled as he watched the intruder raise an eyebrow. He was waiting. 

“Answer the question,” Kilgrave grinned wickedly. “Who would you rather it be?”

He tried to keep his mouth closed, but it felt like trying to hold back an avalanche. He knew exactly what word was going to come out, and with it, the contents of his stomach would follow. The remnants of his broken soul soon after.

“Peter.”

Kilgrave blinked, turning towards ‘Missus’ Parker. He’d forgotten she was there. 

The woman sat calmly on the foot of the bed, her bloody hands placed in her lap. Blood droplets staining her scars. Her body was a mountain. Steady. Unfazed.

She locked eyes with Kilgrave. There was an audacious half-smirk on her face. 

“I would rather it be Peter,” she answered, knowing well-enough that the question wasn’t directed at her to begin with. She didn’t care. She was making her thoughts known.

“I would rather be probed by aliens,” she stated confidently, hatred woven into each word. “I would rather be railed by every dick in a leper colony. I’d rather be inbred by a family of cannibal hillbillies. I’d rather be fucked by a grizzly bear.”

Her voice taunted him, seething through gritted teeth, “Literally. Anyone. Else.” She glared at him viciously. “Anyone but you.” 

Kilgrave’s face fell slowly, his eyes growing cold at her harsh rejection.

She smiled, victorious, if only in this one fight. “And no matter what you say, that’ll never change.”

His eye twitched as he glared at her. She relished in the way his nostrils flared, basking in the glow of his rage. Savored the way a vein bulged from his forehead. 

Kilgrave studied her lividly, crossing his arms. “You heard the lady,” he replied. He commanded, “Pin her down.” 

Peter’s hands shot forward of their own accord, grabbing his wife’s wrists and throwing her back across a bed they had never shared until this moment. Despite her resolve, she shrieked as she attempted to push him off. She twisted like a snake beneath him. 

Tears sprang from his eyes and hers. He could hear his own disembodied voice, mumbling incoherently, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry so sorry...” 

In seconds she was subdued under him, his hips pinning hers down.

Peter watched her fall silent and still, tears rolling down the sides of her face. He squeezed his eyes closed, focusing his energy on releasing her wrists to no avail. Hot droplets from his eyes splattered as they fell on the skin of her heaving chest.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, to anyone who would listen. “I don’t... don’t wanna do this...” He squeezed his eyes tighter.

“Look at me,” he heard her whisper. He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. 

She gazed up at him, her eyes gentle. Sympathetic. He wanted to drown himself in them. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she timidly whispered. “We’re gonna be okay.” He wanted to collapse under the weight of his guilt. 

He trembled, “Please don’t hate me. Please, I’m... I can’t...”

“I know,” she nodded softly, barely above the sound of her heart. “I know. You’re nothing like him.”

Peter gritted his teeth, sobbing, growling as he tried to move his hands, only peeling one finger away from her wrist. 

“Give me her panties,” Kilgrave coldly ordered.

Peter’s hand reached under the skirt of the dress, gripping onto stretchy lace. With a snap, he tore the fabric from her waist. She yelped at the burn. He held his trembling hand outstretched, presenting Kilgrave with his trophy. 

He snatched the underwear, examining it in his hand. “Well, whaddya know,” he sneered. “Looks like she’s not that broken up about this after all. She’s dripping wet. Just like a whore.” 

Kilgrave tucked the underwear back in his jacket, turning listlessly toward the brutal scene. “Put your hand on her throat.”

She flinched as Peter followed the order. His large palm settled heavily the base of her throat. 

Kilgrave peered over at them, intently watching the way his hand circled her neck. Blood from the razor cut on his palm coated her throat, making a sticky red mess. Kilgrave licked his lips at the sight. 

“Such large hands,” his tormenter observed. “Bet you’re strong. Bet you could just... crush her throat with just your thumb and forefinger. Like snapping a toothpick” Peter’s bloody hand trembled, his whole body quaking with terror. “I wonder what that would sound like.” 

Peter shook his head, spiraling into panic, “P-Please don’t—”

“Relax,” Kilgrave admonished him, as if scolding a frightened child. Sickeningly, Peter felt his pulse slow down. His next breaths were even and steady. Kilgrave grinned, “I told you that you were gonna get a chance to fuck your wife, did I not?” 

She bit her trembling lip, glaring over at Kilgrave from the side of her vision. He stared back at her, skewering her with his look. “I never said she would be alive when you did it.” 

Peter felt like he was going to be sick. His skin went cold and clammy. Kilgrave broke into a fit of giggles.

“Fucking coward,” Peter ground out, shooting a glare at The Purple Man. “You wanna beat somebody? You wanna kill me? Just fucking do it. C’mon, just be a man and let’s do this—”

Kilgrave yawned, rolling his eyes. “Dirty talk, hmm,” he glowered mockingly. “Careful with that mouth. Unless you want my cock in there too.”

The muscles in Peter’s shoulders went rigid as he stared at him. His throat bobbing. His voice squeaked, “Is-Is that w-what you want?” 

Kilgrave tilted his head, curiously. Peter sounded... hopeful, almost. He gazed at him, feeling like prey begging a predator not to eat him. 

Peter blinked away tears, sensing a tug on the lure. He cleared his throat, softening his gaze. “C’mon,” Peter reaffirmed, steadying his voice placatingly. “Let’s go then. Just you and me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

It was a bold offer. Not surprising, but bold. Kilgrave studied him closely, the gears turning in his mind. He finally snickered, amused. 

“You will,” he sneered with a twisted grin. “I have no doubt about it.” 

Peter’s eyes followed him, unsure of his meaning. Kilgrave stalked up to the end of the bed, reaching forward and wrenching Peter’s hair back. He gasped at the sharp pain, his neck vulnerably exposed. 

“Tell you what,” The Purple Man replied, tauntingly. Kilgrave reached down for the hand resting on his wife’s throat. Slowly, he pulled it up to his mouth. 

Peter let it happen. He didn’t have to be told. 

“You be a good boy,” he said, turning his hand over. Kilgrave stuck out his tongue and ran it over Peter’s palm, licking the wound. He bit back bile as he watched Kilgrave lick his blood from his lips. “And maybe, I’ll let you share.” His blue eyes travelled over to his wife’s, shooting her a threatening glance.

She lifted up off of the comforter, wrists still firmly in place with Peter’s other hand. It didn’t matter. Kilgrave was close enough that she hit her target. He screeched and hissed as she shot a wad of spit in his eyes. 

“Ow, ow, gross!” he roared as if he’d suffered the most egregious of indignities. He rid himself of the velvet jacket, using it to wipe at his face furiously. When he turned back to her, he was livid.

“That’s it!” he screamed. Kilgrave stalked towards the bed, tossing the jacket aside. “Fucking whore!” he hissed. He reached down, snatching the razor off the floor. “Sorry, Pete. I’m tagging you out.” 

He gripped Peter’s hair once again, pulling his neck back. She shrieked as she saw the razor come up to her husband’s throat. The blade sliced into his flesh, leaving a red-hot mark.

In an instant, Peter’s hand moved to stop the blade.

Kilgrave was stunned. 

So was Peter, with his hand gripping the monster’s wrist. 

It was as if his Spider-sense reacted before his consciousness. A reflex of self-preservation. 

Kilgrave’s eyes widened with horror, his lips beginning to move. Seizing the opportunity, Peter flexed his hand, triggering his web-shooter. The intruder was thrust backward, a sticky mass pummeling his face and covering his mouth. 

He stumbled backwards, collapsing on his knees, pulling wildly at his gag. The web wouldn’t move. He was silenced.

Chest heaving, Peter turned over his palm, observing the wound already starting to heal. He looked over at Kilgrave, understanding the biology of how his powers worked.

Kilgrave was a disease. His existence was a plague. His words were a virus. 

One that Peter’s body could fight, given the right antibodies. From the moment Peter’s blood came in contact with Kilgrave’s saliva, his body did the rest.

He released the arms of the woman beside him, pulling his other hand back as if he touched fire.

Kilgrave scrambled like a cockroach in the light. Peter watched him attempt to scurry away. He released another web, yanking the man’s legs out from under him. Tangled and bucking frantically, Kilgrave rolled over on the floor. 

He met Peter’s gaze, his expression dark. Monstrous. And immune.

Fear turned the blue in his eyes to ice. In the blink of an eye, Peter reached down and snatched Kilgrave up by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The shorter man kicked wildly. Peter sucked in labored breaths, imagining the sound of a toothpick snapping. Tears continued to run down his cheeks, a storm of grief and hatred fueling the crackling lightning of his eyes.

He reached forward, grabbing Kilgrave by the chin. His fingers reached over the web and expanded across the man’s jaw. The part of Kilgrave that he used to hurt his wife. To torture his family.

Peter's mind was blitzed. Body on autopilot. Defaulting to factory settings. Returning to his innate nature. 

With a tear-soaked growl that turned into an agonized scream, Peter gripped Kilgrave’s jaw with enough pressure to crack the bone. The ridges of his fingertips buried themselves into his flesh. With a final howl, Peter snatched his hand back. And with it, he ripped the jawbone from Kilgrave’s skull.

The sound of the crack was grotesque. The spray of blood was everywhere. Stickying his skin. Filled their nostrils with the scent of copper. 

Peter blinked several times. So did Kilgrave. Both men stared in awe of the horrific act of violence. 

The only difference was that one of them was now missing half a face. His tongue dangled limply from his throat, and he became the walking dead. 

Kilgrave’s legs buckled beneath him as he dropped down to his knees. Peter’s arms twitched, his body trembling from adrenaline, terror, and rage. He stared down into the piercing blue eyes of the intruder who was currently grappling with the horror of having his power taken away. 

Peter watched the blood pour from The Purple Man’s mouth, his stomach twisting. Not at the gore, but at the feeling of relief. He stepped back, relishing in the savage violence as much as he feared it. 

He jolted at the rustling sound beside him. The weary woman approached him from the side, arms wrapped protectively across her chest. She stared at Peter’s deed with a wary expression. He shrunk back away from his wife, avoiding her eyes. Afraid of what she’d see.

A gargling noise spewed out as the blood began to fill Kilgrave’s exposed throat. He was fighting for consciousness. Fighting to survive. 

Peter glanced at the frightened woman beside him. He should turn her away. He should shield her eyes—

She stepped forward with the straight razor in her hand. He watched her reach down, methodically wrapping her fingers around Kilgrave’s tongue. With a swipe of the razor, she sliced it off. He grunted in pain, the action rolling his eyes up. He finally keeled over. 

Peter watched her in stunned silence, listening as Kilgrave’s pulse went quiet. She glowered down at her tormentor’s body, her chest and arms covered his blood. Her hands gripping the razor and the man’s tongue. Both of them hard-earned trophies. 

She turned around and looked up at Peter. They locked eyes, standing in the dim light of their bedroom. 

For the first time, they saw each other clearly. 

She wasn’t a lamb, or a pet. She wasn’t an animal. 

Neither was he. 

He regarded her with admiration. She regarded him with forgiveness. Compassion softened their eyes as they observed each other. And by rendering compassion towards one another, they showed mercy toward the reflection of themselves.

Exposed, for what each of them really was. 

Whatever they had to be, to survive.

Did you enjoy this story? If you did, please REBLOG, COMMENT, or leave an anonymous ask and let me know how you thought I did. Thank you for supporting fandom, and supporting me!

A/N

in case there is any confusion, I am fully aware that my version of kilgrave is an unrepentant, evil sack of shit. he says and holds beliefs that are outrageously offensive, inappropriate, and ignorant. I do not vibe with anything this character says or does. It’s fiction ;-)

[tanihanya]

Living in the UK as a trans woman is finding the most "trans supportive" party to only be the ones that view us as an annoyance instead of a threat.

It's having to spread warnings about the Guardian, a Left Wing source, as they are some of the constantly worse in trying to demonise us.

It's holding hope in the Scottish or Welsh governments, just for them to turn on us in the drop of a penny

It's sitting here helplessly as Dr. Cass removes in a single report, what we have worked so hard to gain in Thirty Years.

It's the knowledge that it feels as if there is a deep and intrinsic TERF culture running throughout this country.

It is seeing 'allies' agree that we are so much better than the US with trans people and then seeing zero backlash to the removal of all Puberty Blockers.

It's seeing The Guardian go after DIY, and the response is "to wait it out"

It's having a 48% suicide rate that nobody cares of, and is entirely dismissed.

It's the hopelessness and the dread. We know others have it so much worse. But there's just. this overwhelming feeling. That this is the way it will be for us forever.

[abarbaricyalp]

Hi! If you're still doing the Sambucky romance ask: 🚨

You know I love a good 'mission goes awry' prompt. Sometimes Sam loses his clothes in those ones 😊 From this prompt list

This one got away from me. I don't even know what this is. CW: Mild violence, some monster things

🚨 When a mission goes awry

Bucky blinked and the giant lizard he'd been trying to choke out was no longer in his arms.

Oh no, this was not happening again.

He slowly got to his feet, squinting through the fog that was moving like it was alive. It was almost like the atmosphere of rolling around in arid dirt with the lizards, but wet where that had been dry.

"Sam?" he called out cautiously.

He was answered by an animalistic screech that had him covering his ears and turning tail.

He'd been here before. He hadn't liked it.

The multiverse had broken four days ago. Bucky and Sam had had nothing to do with it, thank you very much. They hadn't even known the multiverse was real until a handful of months ago. Bucky was still fucked up over the reality stone. He could not handle a broken multiverse.

Except that now, he had to.

If he'd thought blipping out of existence had been bad, blipping into another Bucky Barnes's existence was much worse. There did not seem to be a version of him that sat on a beautiful front porch at sunset beside Sam and watched the bees tend their garden while eating homemade blueberry pie. It was always some kind of fuckery.

This fuckery was vampires. The fog had kind of suggested it, but he was never going to forget that noise or the claws and teeth that came with it. How come vampire him was always fighting some kind of harpy?

Like he said, he didn't know anything about the multiverse. He didn't know how multiversal travel should work. Over the past four days, it had worked by swapping him and Sam with another Bucky and Sam every time they were in a fight. And Sams and Buckys got into lots of fights! The world-- every world apparently-- constantly needed to be saved. Actually, Bucky should talk to his therapist about that.

"Sam!" he called again as he ran, looking for any space in this dilapidated graveyard to hide. Last time, it had been a dilapidated castle. Much easier to hide in. Especially because he refused to jump into any of the wrenched open caskets in their upturned Graves. "Could really use some help, birdbrain!"

As if on cue, the harpy and another figure plummeted to the ground just a few feet in front of Bucky. It was a clash of talons and feathers--the worst bird fight Bucky had ever seen between New York pigeons escalated by about 100.

The harpy was a grotesque thing, half human, half bird, all demon. The man on top of it was disarmingly. Sam was always beautiful. It was just that vampire-Sam also had some bird mutation, which gave him huge wings, which grew from and encompassed the upper half of his arms and he had these bird eyes in this molten gold color that were uncannily round with the color spreading from edge to edge. When he was on the attack like this, he had a sharp break and talons instead of fingers.

Bucky was still very much into it.

The harpy wrenched itself away with another ear splitting screech and a trailing line of blood from a new wound on its gross scaly bird neck. It screeched one more time for emphasis and took to the sky, off kilter but still powerful.

When Sam turned to him, he was mostly human--or vampire?-- again. His gold eyes narrowed when he found Bucky. "You again," he groaned.

Vampire-Sam didn't like human-Bucky, Bucky had discovered last time he was dumped in this penny dreadful novel come to life.

"Have there been many others?" Bucky asked. "Have you been pulled away much?"

"Yes and yes," Sam answered. "I just got back from a cow farm in the 1900s."

Bucky grimaced. He could not fathom a cowboy version of himself. Cowboy-Sam had to be super hot though. "I think they're called ranches."

The vampire scoffed and waved a razor-nail tipped hand dismissively. "Leave," he ordered. "And bring James back."

Bucky didn't actually know how to leave, but the vampire had some ability to manipulate these crossovers.

Bucky landed in a new environment, which still didn't have giant lizards. "Oh goddammit," he growled and shoved himself to his feet again. "Sam!"

. . .

Sam landed face first in the sand. He pushed himself up and spit out wet sand before turning over onto his back. This was driveline the Gulf, he decided. No white sand beaches here and the ocean beyond was a tumultuous grey-green beneath the brilliant sunset painting the surface of it.

"Buck!" he called into the sky.

A few seconds later, the sounds of someone shuffling through the shallows interrupted the lapping of the waves. Sam looked over and felt his mouth literally drop open. He blinked against the shine of the sunset and watched Bucky come out of the waves, water cascading off of him like a commercial. He shook his shaggy hair out of his face and hiked a surfboard closer to his side as he hit the shore and had to drag it through the wet sand. He was all lithe silhouette and obvious muscle. He was missing his arm, no prosthesis in sight, and he looked like a walking advertisement. Sam's mouth was kind of dry.

He grinned a little at Sam, dropping the board into the sand to wave, and then jogged over. His pleased expression quickly fell though and he dropped to his knees next to Sam with a worried frenzy to his movements.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, man, I just tripped," Sam said.

"I would say so, yeah!" Bucky agreed. "Why do you have legs?"

Sam's brain shorted out for a moment. Normally, he had a response for everything, but he'd never been asked why he had legs. "Because I was born with them?" he hazarded.

But his response was lost in a flurry of movement and curses as Bucky got his arm around Sam's chest--wow, that was a nice feeling--and hauled him into the water. Sam futilely tried to get his feet under him, but Bucky was really strong and fast and the sand was at the soupy-sinking moment of a tide change over loose sand.

"The water will help," Bucky said in a way that suggested he was still trying to convince himself of the same thing. "Oh, God, what if it doesn't?"

Sam was more confused than he ever had been, and he'd seen people get really big and really small, talking raccoons, an assortment of aliens, rocks that altered reality, time, and space, and literal gods.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked. "Who am I here?"

Bucky squawked a little. "You're forgetting who you are? The Little Mermaid didn't cover that!"

Sam's eyebrows went up. "I'm a merman?" he asked in surprise. His mama had always said he was a water baby.

"Sam!" Bucky whined desperately.

Sam finally took total mercy on him and put a hand on Bucky's shoulder to keep him still. "Hey, calm down. I'm not your Sam," he said. "I guess you haven't had to deal with any of this yet."

Bucky stared at him, blue eyes almost orange in the sun, wide and a little naïve. God, he seemed so young. "Deal with what?" he asked

"The multiverse," Sam said. "I'm not your Sam. We swapped places."

Bucky's tanned skin drained to a more familiar color. "You have to switch back! He can't be outside of the water for long."

And, oh yeah. Shit. Sam didn't know how to control any of this. He wasn't sure how to intentionally swap out with a specific other Sam.

"Okay, okay, calm down, kiddo," Sam said softly. "These things are triggered by fights. Were you part of a battle or something?"

Bucky's face screwed to one side. "No. Why would I be? I was on the waves. But Sam wasn't with me. He could've been dealing with anything down there."

Sam looked to the expanse of ocean that Bucky gestured to. There was no way Sam could figure out where the other Sam had been, much less take up his fight again.

"Listen, I'll try my hardest," Sam said. "But I don't know how to bring him straight back. I'm not in charge of this."

"I don't care about any of that. I don't care about your multiverse. Make it bring him back," Bucky said. There was a familiar steel edge to his voice, the tone that came out when his own Bucky skipped worry and went straight to fury. The kind of emotion that usually led to Bucky making bad decisions.

"I'll try," he promised. "I need you to take a swing at me," he said, standing up and shaking water off of his arms. There was no way to wring out the suit, so that was just going to have to stay. Maybe multiversal travel came with free air-drying.

"What?" Bucky asked, looking askance. "I'm not hitting you."

"My adrenaline doesn't get right if I start it. You have to start it."

Bucky's eyes pinched in. "I ain't been in a fight in years."

Wow, Sam thought. A well adjusted Barnes. Who knew. "Come on, kid. Otherwise, I'm gonna go find a jellyfish to antagonize."

Bucky sighed, squirmed for a second, and then swung at Sam.

. . .

Bucky wandered around the great forest with deep skepticism. He wasn't sure what multiverse this was, but it seemed to be one that wasn't inhabited by anybody. What kind of fight had been happening here?

Up ahead, the dense, dark copse eased some and sunlight dappled the ground. He jogged over to it, hoping to shed some light on the situation. God, he wished there was a Sam around to say that to. The trees opened to a rolling hill and a sprawl of space that stretched on for forever.

Bucky rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and blinked at the image before him. Despite the fact that he'd just walked out of a forest, New York City was ahead of him. The buildings were half destroyed. The other half of them had been taken over by the flora of the area. Vines seemed to be tearing apart concrete and rebar. Trees grew through the middle of roads. Flowers covered every ugly grey space available.

It was kind of beautiful, if not for the fact that this was Bucky's home and every childhood memory he had was now buried. Coney Island was underwater.

Suddenly, something wrapped around Bucky's ankle and yanked him down to the ground hard. He kicked his other foot at the binding, expecting a lasso of some kind or a rope trap. Instead, he found another vine, dragging him back into the forest and a massive bush that was growing by the second.

Bucky began to kick harder and reached for the knife strapped to his thigh.

"Wait!" someone called and suddenly a man was springing into action, dropping himself across Bucky's thighs, facing his legs. He began, not to hack at the vine, but to untie it from Bucky's leg. He made remarkably quick work of it. Bucky couldn't get his charger untangled that fast. He sat back as the vine finished coiling into the bush and let out a satisfied sigh. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Bucky and grinned.

How come they were always so handsome?

The other Sam stood and offered his hand down to Bucky to haul him to his feet. "Don't think too negatively about the plants here," he said. "They always know."

Bucky nodded his acknowledgement. He took in the look of the other Sam. This one had intricate gold designs on his face and down his arms. They were radial in nature, making him look even more like sunshine than usual. "You from around here?" he asked. "What is this place?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah. I was dropped here a while ago. I'm just a fast learner."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, feeling just a little breathless after that close call. "I kind of figured with the whole--" He gestured to his face. "This seems like some future of the Earth I'm from. I know all those buildings."

Sam nodded. He walked a few steps out again, closer to the crest of the hill, and then sat down like the grass hadn't just tried to kill Bucky. "We're not even from Earth. I don't know how we keep getting caught up in Earth nonsense."

Bucky snorted. "Trust me, Earthlings get caught up in plenty of intergalactic nonsense too." His eyes went to the markings on Sam's arm again, thin, lovely lines sprawling from his elbow.

"Blue," Sam said, lifting Bucky's chin with a gold streaked finger. "Yours are blue." He traced a crescent shape around the corner of Bucky's eye. "You don't have as many. Have you ever seen yourself in one of these things?"

Bucky's face warmed and he gently removed it from Sam's touch, looking back to the death of one New York and the birth of another. "No. I think that's one of the rules. Only one of us at a time."

Sam nodded. "I've noticed that as well. But it usually begins to resolve itself when two people are in the wrong universe."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed again. "I've noticed that too."

Sam grinned at him. He was so handsome, it hurt. "I will be very happy to leave this planet again."

"Yeah, we kind of suck."

Sam reached up to trace another crescent along the joint of Bucky's right shoulder. "Maybe not all of it," he hummed.

Bucky blushed again and pulled out a knife as he turned away. "Let me go instigate something to get us out of here," he muttered. Even walking away, he could feel Sam's radiance

. . .

Sam did end up underwater, but it wasn't any kind of water a merman would want to live in. Maybe a bogman. He spit out marshy water and tried to ignore how many mosquito larvae were definitely in his mouth. There was a conveniently placed liana-type vine right on the bank and he hauled himself out of the water.

Sam was not a bayou man. There were enough horror stories in high school about idiots going missing at night and he'd been in the med-clinic waiting room once when someone had come in with an alligator bite that had taken half the meat of his arm with it. Sam did not like the bayous in practice. Which was to say, he had no idea where he was or how to get out of it.

A howl pierced through the quiet then, which only worked to send Sam's heart tripping in his chest in triple speed. He could totally use this vine to climb into a tree.

Actually, he had wings. He snapped them open and water gushed out of the pack.

Two water universes back to back, he thought with more irritation than he'd felt in a long time. Just his damn luck.

There was another howl then, much closer. Sam did begin to climb into the tree. He was stopped by a curious, "Sam?" and he looked down to find a familiar, uncanny face.

"Hey, Jamie," he greeted, relief flooding through him so quickly he almost went lightheaded.

The genetically-spliced, lab-grown werewolf looked at Sam with wide eyed curiosity. Actually, he was always wide eyed. He very much so had a dog's eyes. It had been a while since James and Bucky had swapped places in the middle of a battle (a precursor to this problem?) and Sam had ended up fighting next to the giant wolf instead of his partner. Bucky and a rougarou-Sam had shown up a while later and the fight was over pretty quickly after that.

"Is Sam around by any chance?" he tried.

"You know he isn't," James answered. It was difficult to read his expressions. He had a broad, flat nose that was as reactive as any puppy's, but usually only with disgust and anger. His pointed ears, too tall to be hidden behind his long hair, were under much better control. Sam had a cat. He looked at the ears for behavioral indicators. "I only just got back myself. I was on a planet called Venus, but not our Venus. It was...interesting." Now his nose scrunched and a cute little blush crept along his furry face.

Sam tried not to let his scowl show too much. This Sam had magic in him, which would move this all along much faster. Still, without sulking too much, Sam asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I could rip something open with my teeth. I've barely sat still for five minutes over the past week. I'm going from one fight to the next. Have you ever seen a fight on a planet of pleasure?"

Sam grimaced. "Yeah, I can't really blame you for getting mad. And I probably wouldn't stop you from going full wolf."

"As long as it's not towards you?" James finished, taking the words right from Sam's mouth.

"Wow, all Sams really are the same, huh?"

James grinned, showing off all of his long, sharp teeth. "I can send you on," he said. "Sam showed me how. I just don't know where you're going to land."

"Wow, look at you," Sam complimented. "Please do. I don't wanna start a fight with you."

"You haven't found another way for the quiet places?" James asked, raising his bushy brow. "And they say I have the anger issues."

Sam tsked at him and gestured for him to hurry up.

. . .

A galaxy stretched out below Bucky. It was like something from a painting, all swirling colors and bright spots of planets. Jewel toned galactic highways with actual jewels embedded into it. He sat in red dirt and traced nonsense letters beside himself because it kept him calm.

There was no one else up here. He'd never been sent somewhere where there was no one else. True, this was an entire planet, but it was also an empty planet and Bucky had walked for ages across barren plains and deserts before he'd finally come around one swooping crest and found this view. He'd given up at that point and decided just to wait for something to happen.

It was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. An entire cosmos swirled below him, full of twinkling lights and shining colors. He wondered what lived down there. What music did they listen to and what foods did they like and how did they sleep at night? Surely, something was falling in love at that moment. Something was laughing, something else was crying. He wondered if they were being affected by this multiverse bullshit too. Were there missing citizens? Was some version of Joaquin running around one of those lights trying to get back to wherever he belonged? Was something that lived here now fighting the lizards Bucky had been taken from?

Sam could be down there: a thought which almost made leaping off of this planet a feasible idea. He hadn't considered what would happen if he died in one of these places. Usually, all of the dangerous ones kept him too busy to wonder. The glitch would send him on before it got too hairy. The quiet ones, it was obviously not a problem. But if he did manage to leap off of a planet, would he just float aimlessly for eternity? Would he have to swim through zero gravity space to find some alien to duke it out with? Or if he did blip out with someone else, what would happen to them? Did they land on a planet again? Surely not every Bucky in the multiverses would do something as stupid as jumping into space.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," someone said from behind him.

Bucky whirled around, on his feet instantly. But all that adrenaline drained just as quickly. "Sam," he breathed. Then he was crossing over the red dust on silent steps and clutching at Sam--his Sam--as tightly as he could. It didn't matter how many times this happened; it always felt like this one could be the last.

Sam hugged him back tightly. "I knew this one was you," he said as he pressed his face to Bucky's hair. "You're always mopey-er than the others."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he still laughed a little. "If you'd been here as long as I have, you'd be moping too," he promised. "Are you okay?" He pulled away to hold Sam's face gently. "Everywhere you went wasn't too bad?" He looked to be in one piece and the exhaustion on his face was par for the course at this point.

Sam smiled and turned his face to kiss the inside of Bucky's right wrist, feeling the flutter of his pulse for a few seconds. "It was pretty quiet. Didn't get dropped into the middle of any fights this time. What about you?"

Bucky shook his head. "I'm fine. I mean, it wasn't quiet, but I'm fine." He smoothed his thumb over Sam's cheek before stepping into his space again. "God, I missed you."

"You say that every time," Sam laughed. "From my experiences, all Sams are the same."

Bucky shook his head. "None of them are you."

Sam held him for a while longer, pressing half kisses to his head, before he finally said, "Come on, sweetheart. Let's head home."

Out of all of the nonsense about this multiverse glitch, the only fast rule was that universal pairs could send themselves home. It was like the glitch evened itself out when they found each other again. All was right in the world for those few moments.

Bucky had to agree. "Yeah, doll. Let's go home."

. . .

Back in the real Colorado, Bucky was instantly taken off his feet by a charging lizard the size of a minivan. Wheezing on the ground--the ideal position to watch Sam go soaring by above--Bucky had to at least admit, it was nice to be back where he knew the monsters and the people and the rules. At least he was home again.

[wilfriede]

💗 Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love! 💗

I'm not really a writer, so I'll go ahead and talk about my podfics instead :)

First off, my favorite projects tend to be the ones that have extensive music (or sound effects). One reason for that is that it feels very satisfying when all that work pays off and I manage to realize my ideas in a way that I'm happy with. But also, the stories of these projects tend to be special and meaningful to me. I have to have that one idea of what I want to achieve with music or effects, and that always comes from the story itself, whether it's a certain mood, writing style, structure or just one specific scene or image.

I'm collecting these types of podfics in two series on AO3: Adventures in Soundtracking for music and Adventures in Soundscaping for effects.

As for specific podfics, confining myself to 5 favorites is hard, haha, but here goes:

For music:

The Forever War: (Fandom: Original Work, Length: 7:02) @mangacat201 had introcuded me to the soundtrack of "Penny Dreadful" score shortly before I began working on the podfic and at some point it just hit me how well it would fit the atmosphere of the story. With her amazing help I gave the podfic a complete underscoring of music and I am so, so happy with how it turned out.

For Soundeffects:

Unmade: (Fandom: The Murderbot Diaries, Length: 37:57) This is a murderbot fic, so it has ample opportunity for voice effects for bot entities and feed communication. Moreover, the plot and writing style lends itself to moody, creepy horror vibes and I had a lot of fun with that. I had incredible help from midnightlover01 on that one, who set up all the filters/effects for the different voices and who created (!) some of the moody ambience and soundeffects herself.

For Soundscaping:

The best damn books in the galaxy: (Fandom: The Locked Tomb, Length: 4:23) This is a tongue-in-cheek introduction to The Locked Tomb bookseries. @lady-harrowhark wrote this specifically for me to record, and it was so funny and poignant and cleverly written… To really convey what's going on in there, I went all in on the soundscaping. I couldn't be prouder of the result :D

For Recording Experience:

Illusion: (Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada, Length: 21:46) It's always such a joy when an author's writing style fits me and the way I read. I had the most fun recording @chilly-flame's Illusion for that reason. And because Miranda is a lustful vampire in this one and I could go to town on the breathy voiceacting for her. It was one of my most fun recording experiences. (This one was particularly hard to choose, because I've also recorded stories by @kellychambliss and @gveret-fic where I could feel right as I was recording that this was going to turn out good. It's always such a cool experience.)

For Editing:

Gummy Cooks Ramen: A Dramatic Reading (Length: 2:33) Do you know this video of a Discord chat about cooking ramen, set to The Hall of the Mountain King? Well, during Voiceteam Mystery Box a couple of podficcers decided to record it and I had the absolute joy of editing it and fitting it to the music. Did I spend several days on not even 3 minutes of audio? Yes, yes I did. Was it worth it? Most emphatically YES. It's my proudest editing achievement :D

[biostris]

Hope this isn't too dark but can I get some angst with saltbaker who has a s/o who is incredibly sick and on the verge of death?

A/N: YES, god I’m going through these and a lot of them are yall being horny little shits so this is actually fueling my empty brain, and I have nothing but an 8 hour flight and a 4 hour lay over to sit through so this works. This will not be drafted this is just straight fucking RAW, GN pronouns.

:Chef Saltbaker x Reader:

In health and in sickness.

No one had seen it coming, no one even knew what it was. All anyone knew on the Isle was that (Y/n) was deathly sick, Saltbaker was working overtime, and time was running out. The bakery was empty, Saltbaker felt nothing but worry and anger as he ran his thumb under a price. A simply ludicrous price. One that he needed to pay to keep you alive.

“Damn it..” he muttered, a hand running down his glassy face as a scowl made its way onto it. How could this happen, how could this happen to you? Everyone had been showing their support, buying when they can but it would never be enough. He felt like he was failing you. A familiar ding echoed from the front of the shop and he was able to pull himself out of his wallowing to plaster on a smile long enough to appease the masses.

“Welcome, Welcome! What can I get you?” He immediately asked, his smile fading once he realized it was Esther Winchester. The cowgirl had her hat over her chest, looking at him with much sympathy and sorrow. “What happened.” He demanded, voice frantic but not angry.

The lass with a lasso paused. “I know you want to work, to try and prevent the end from coming too soon..” she began. Starting to walk over behind the counter and put a hand on Saltbakers shoulder. “But I think it’s high time you hang up your hat and go home to them.” She squeezed his shoulder and offered a sympathetic glance. Saltbakers Heart dropped, he swallowed thickly as he felt him self go pale. Mouth beginning to dry.

“I..” he choked, holding back a sob. “I can’t.” He admitted as he ran a hand to the back of his neck. Falling back on a wooden stool. “If I quit here, (y/n) won’t have enough money for their meds. And if they don’t have enough money for their meds then I fail them.” He bit back tears. Practically fighting them off with ever inch of willpower he saved for himself.

Esther snorted, her brows furrowing and lips twisting into a scowl. “Ya ain’t!” She shouted. “Yer not a failure, they appreciate every second you spend here. Every penny spent to keep them alive but damnit Baker!” Both of her hands grasped his shoulders and she gently shook them.

“They’re dyin, Baker..” her voice dropped. “There ain’t anything we can do now.” Saltbaker felt rage boil in his system but she had a point. One way or another the medicine would eventually stop, their body would grow tired and stop. He broke down in tears, the searing pain of his heart breaking spreading through his chest.

“What do i do..” he croaked, “you go home to them. You honor your vow.” Esther helped him up. Helping him pack up for the day. “In health and sickness.” She reminded him. Saltbaker paused at the door and fiddled with the ring on his finger for a moment. Tears still falling down his cheeks. He sucked in a big breath before slowly letting it out.

“You’re right,” he opened the door waving by to Esther. “I gotta get home.” And with that he was off. Walking the streets, dreading but also being excited to see them again. As he stepped inside their home he made his way to their room. The steady beeping of a monitor made his heart ache.

“You’re home!” (Y/n) croaked weakly, turning their head ever so slightly to see him. A frail smile on their dried lips. Saltbaker wanted to cry. No matter what anyone said he felt like a failure. He sucked in another breath of courage and quickly went to their side. “Yup, I’m home.” He took their hand in his and kissed it.

“How you feeling cupcake?” He asked as he caressed their cheek. Feeling the sheen of sweat sticking to their skin. “Like shit.” (Y/n) replied with a roll of their eyes. “But happy now that you’re here.” Saltbaker couldn’t help but laugh at their wit. He leaned down and kissed them. Lips in a delicate yet passionate dance as he poured all his love into it, dreading that it would be the last.

“I was thinking.” He began as he gently caressed their cheek bone with his thumb. “That we take that trip to the lake, like you wanted..” he watched as their eyes lit up, “really?” Asked (Y/n). Their subtle head tilt expressing their curiosity in volumes. He nodded and smiled.

“I’ve spent too long cooped up in my bakery. And I almost forgot the vow we made.” He took both their hands to his chest. Kissing their knuckles and arms, wrists and all. “That is be by your side in health, and in sickness.” His smile fell.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you. I just..” he winced, but (Y/n) knew. They always knew. They reached up and stroked his cheek weakly. Dry hands brushing against his smooth skin as they chuckled. “It’s ok. Let’s make the most of it now.”

Not all stories will have a happy ending, some are cut too short. But in their last few days (Y/n) had their husband. A nice view of the lake, and all the sweets they could stomach. And in their finals moments in Saltbakers arms, watching the sun rise on a new day. They knew, just like they always did, that everything would be ok.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Nisei (3x09)

For years Penny tried to ignore the flashes. It seemed like out of nowhere, she’d be blinded by a bright, white light she couldn’t blink away. Sometimes during intimacy with her husband, his loving face would be momentarily replaced by a familiar stranger looming over her, causing her to cry and pull away. Other times, all she could hear was the whirring sound of a drill.

These flashes would only last a moment, and for years she told herself it was probably just a side effect of the stress her unexplained disappearances caused. A drug habit, fugue state, an affair, everyone had their theories about where she was when she went missing. All Penny knew was that, cumulatively, there were nine months of her life that she didn’t get to live.

But then something happened, and she couldn’t ignore the flashes anymore. Penny had been to the gynecologist plenty of times in her life, but this time she was filled with a sense of impending dread. It was a perfect storm of triggers, being so exposed, her legs spread in the stirrups, the smell of anesthetic, the sharp snap of plastic gloves, the cold metal-

They were strapping her down to the table, injecting her with something that made her vision blur. Her stomach felt like it was going to burst. She could feel the metal rod impaling her.

The next thing she knew, she was in the corner of the room screaming while her OBGYN looked on in horror.

After that, she recognized the flashes for what they were: memories.

* * *

After joining the MUFON group, Penny learned there were some memories all the women in the group shared — the light, the men, the pain. 

But, usually, everyone remembered something that was unique to their experience. Lottie remembered one of her doctors sardonically humming America the Beautiful as he arranged the drill bit. Betsy remembered hearing an Asian language being spoken above her. Quite a few women fervently remembered someone smoking a cigarette.

For Penny, she remembered comforting a young woman with auburn hair. But, just like all the memories, it came back in vague bits, vignettes that were difficult to discern. 

Someone screaming, “Stop! Get away from me!”

The distant sounds of beeping getting faster.

A sense of empathetic dread.

A trembling, red-headed woman who reminded Penny of her sister.

The warmth of holding someone in her arms.

Bright blue eyes filled with tears.

Today, she finally got to put a name with a face.

Dana Scully.

* * *

There was something surreal about knowing the ins and outs of a stranger’s body language.

Dana’s tendency to blink back emotions, the anxious swipe of her tongue across her lips, her need to shield her vulnerability by hiding her face in her hands — Penny knew it all. She had been at Dana’s side during some of the darkest times of their lives, yet she had to resist the urge to pull her into her arms like she’d done a thousand times before. The younger woman didn’t remember her.

Even though Penny found comfort in knowing these other women knew what she’d gone through, she understood why it could make someone uncomfortable. The intimate violations they’d all endured were dehumanizing, cruel, and seemingly senseless. Dana seemed to be a private person, having a room full of people she didn’t recognize talk about her trauma so openly seemed to be too much.

She said she wasn’t ready to discuss her experience, and Penny respected that. Trying to figure out what words felt accurate to the violation was a personal experience for everyone. 

Penny wishes she could take away her pain. The first time is always the worst, and this woman thinks they’re going to kill her. She doesn’t realize they aren’t that merciful. She isn’t sure why they keep allowing her to approach the young woman, let alone hold her for so long, but she isn’t going to question it. Physical touch that didn’t come with pain was rare here.

* * *

There were women just like them all over the globe, women who came together after their abduction experiences to offer support to each other. The people in their day-to-day lives might not have been willing to listen to them, but according to Betsy, some of the women from the European chapters of MUFON said they had caught the attention of people who hadn’t been abducted. There was even a woman who was interested in their stories, who cared enough to document their experiences and accompany the women to their doctor’s appointments.

Getting other people to listen was the first step to being taken seriously, to finding out who was behind this.

There weren’t many of them in Allentown, but they had each other. It was the strength of these women that got her through those experiences, and it was the strength of these women that would help her embark on this dark path they were all destined to walk.

Penny’s hand covers the back of Dana’s neck where an adhesive bandage covers the mark that will tie them together forever.

Dana doesn’t say much anymore, but when she does, it’s usually the same reassurance to herself.

“He’ll find me.”

“My partner, he-uh,” Dana stammered, turning away from the window when Betsy struggled to climb down from the MRI machine, clearly exhausted from the new rounds of tests she was forced to undergo. “He’s waiting for me.”

“I know this is hard, Dana,” Penny whispered, clasping the woman’s hands in her own for the first time in over a year. “But I hope you know you’re not alone.”

Dana offered a small smile and squeezed Penny’s hand before stepping out of the room.

“Do you think we’ll be seeing her again?” Lottie asked from beside her.

“We’re going to get out of here,” the red-headed woman whispers against Penny’s temple, wiping away tears Penny didn’t realize had fallen. “You can’t give up hope.”

With a smile, Penny nodded. “Yes."

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Ao3

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