#red lizards? just go fuck yourself i guess

[ratskinsuit]

Romantic Velvette x gn Reader story where Velvette and Reader were partners before they died and after a long time they were able to meet again in hell. I imagine it happened because Reader wanted to enter the fashion world and tried becoming a model for Velvette, and they didn't recognize themself at first but after a while they did and decided to get back together.

• 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚃𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚗 •

Velvette x gn!Reader

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Tags: Gender-neutral reader, No smut, Fluff (Kinda), angst(kinda), mentions of drinking, smoking, and drugs, cursing, Velvette being kind of a bitch, slightly mean Velvette, her poor models, Velvette being a bad employer, but we love her, Velvette being kind of invasive and touchy with reader, I'm so so sorry

A/N: PLEASE I SAW THIS AND WAS SO EXCITED TO WRITE IT. I tried to keep her as in character as I can. I’m trying a different writing style but I hope it’s okay! I also couldent tell if you wanted them to not reconize themself or velvette and I’m so sorry if I messed up. I also know nothing about modeling so expect this to not be accurate, but I Hope you enjoy!

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Hell. A place known to hold the sinners of the world above. Home to all the nasty fucked-ups, the murderers, and the evil of the human world in the afterlife.

You don’t know how you ended up here. You thought yourself of a good person in life. Of course you had the occasional slip-up and weren’t the best person at times, you weren’t perfect. But what human is?

Nevertheless, after a traffic mishap, you ended up in the world with red sky and trashed streets.

You woke up in an alleyway, on the ground. You slowly blink your eyes open, trying to adjust. You sit up with a groan, looking around, confused.

You spot a lizard looking man, leaning against the south wall of you, smoking a cigarette. He has eyes red, greenish grey scales going up from his neck to his scalp. He breathes out a puff of smoke. Eyes darting around the alleyway before landing on you, and he smirks at your staring.

“Something wrong?” He chuckles, taking in another hit.

You hesitate, glancing at him up and down. “Uhm… ex..excuse me, where am I…?” You as, nervously, earning you a laugh from the man.

“Oh, I’m guessing you just got here hm?” He breathes out the smoke, batting it away and flicking his purple tongue out. “Yeah, you smell fresh. Definitely new.”

You look at him confused, not understanding what he means, an obvious clueless look on you face.

The man leans off the wall, walking over to you and crouching over you. “Your in hell kid, You died” he says.

“Your… kidding..” You say, causing him to let out a cackle. “Nope. Welcome to the underworld.” He says, before chuckling, and walking off.

You sit there for a second, dumbfounded. After a moment you stand up, wobbly, but immediately feel dizzy, so you brace yourself against the wall.

Once your vision clears, you notice your hands, no longer there. Now replaced with dark claws.

You gasp, backing up, looking at them, turning them over and looking over them. You thought you would change wherever you went, but you were scared of what you look like now. You look around the alley, spotting a mirror.

You hesitantly walk over to it, standing in shock as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Running a now clawed hand softly over your changed face and body. Did you seriously die? You ask yourself, looking over at your new form.

Tears fill your eyes and you sniffle, trying to hold them back, blinking and wiping them away.

You let out a shaky exhale, taking one last glance at your appearance, before you begin to walk out of the alley.

Once exited, you blink your eyes, trying to adjust to the odd lighting, and begin to look around, walking and exploring for about an hour.

Demons and sinners litter the streets, walking, talking with each other, one person even getting beat up. Vending machines line the streets, and you walk over to one. Curious to see what it has, only to be presented with things that you have never heard of before.

You turn away from the odd vendor, walking the streets for about an hour. Billboard signs are everywhere, advertising p*rn, drugs, and…. a badly spelled assassin company sign?

You sigh, beginning to walk again, when a hot pink van screeches to a stop beside you. It’s doors littered with graffiti, ranging from emojis to slurs.

The door slams open, revealing a van full of demons, led lights shinning down on them. Music blasting from speakers inside, beer cans and cigarettes littering the floor.

One of the demons from inside, a guy with pale grey skin, blaring red hair, and dark sunglasses grins at you “Heyyyyy, you seem a bit lost. Guessing your new here.” He says, taking a swig from a canister, two girls snuggled against him. Can people really tell that you just got here that easily?

“Why don’t you hop in hot stuff. We are heading to the Vees tower. Come on we will give you a ride!” He says, grinning, the girls next to him giggling.

You hesitate, wary of getting into a van full of strangers, in hell especially. “Awe don’t be shy cutie, we don’t bite, come on!” The girl to the left of the guy coos, pushing a stray strand of her purple hair out of her face. Her black eyes gleaming wickedly.

You decide to say fuck it, and hop in the car. I mean it’s not like you can die twice, right? Once you're in, the door slams shut again and you sit across from the three. You look them up and down, them doing the same to you.

“So, how recent are you?” The girl to the right ask, her blue eyes studying you up and down, murky green hair in a braid. You look at her quizzically, earning you a sigh. “How long ago did you die?”

You look at her, blushing a tad for not understanding what she meant. “Oh, uhm… well I just woke up about an hour ago.” You say, the guy letting out a laugh.

“Holy shit your really new. How’d ya die?” He asks, offering you his canister, to which you politely decline.

“Well the last thing I remember is some asshole swerving in front of me on the highway too fast for me to stop myself.” You say, the guy letting out a chuckle. “Shit man that’s rough, going out in a car crash must be fucking mental.” He says. "I mean me personally, i'd prefer to go out in a more badass way." He grins.

You hesitate before speaking up, not wanting to be awkward “So, uhm… where are we going again…?” You ask.

“The Vees tower, they are some of the Overlords, like the more powerful demons of hell.” The purple haired one says, pausing to continue “There is a porn empire runner, kind of a bitch if you ask me, the guy who makes pretty much every electronic device here, and the modeling agency.”

You look at them, still trying to absorb the information being presented to you. “Oh… so why are we going there..?” You ask cautiously.

“Well we are going there because a guy is meeting us to pay off some debt he owes.” The girl with the green hair says, glaring at you, the purple headed one elbowing her with a warning look.

“You know, since you just got here, and your probably gonna need a job, you should try out to be a model! I mean you got the looks.” The guy say, smirking, taking you aback.

“Are… you sure? I don’t know, I don’t... know….” You say nervously, glancing at the three. “Nonsense, your fucking hot as hell, you can definitely get the job!” The purple haired girl chirps, giving you a wide smile.

“I mean…. I, could try..” you murmer, still unsure. But on the bright side growing more comfortable with the three demons.

As you glance out the window, the van comes to a stop infront of a large building. The car door opens and you follow our after the other three.

You turn to them, rubbing the back of your neck. “Hey, uh thanks for the ride…” you say, with a smile, the purple haired girl and the guy smiling back, the other glaring. The two girls link arms. “Yeah of course, anytime. See ya around!” The guy says with a wink, before the three start heading over to an alleyway with a shady looking guy in it.

You roll your shoulders, before turning to the looming building infront of you. Sleek glass covering it all, it’s new look contrasting to the ruins of the surrounding buildings and streets surrounding you.

You go over to one of the glass panels, taking another look at yourself, a frown on your face, still not used to it. You brush yourself off, running fingers through your hair, and straightening out your clothes.

You take one last glance at yourself before you take a deep breath and enter the building. Entering, you look around finding yourself surrounded by fancy plush furniture. A scent lingering that you cant quite name.

You walk over to the front desk, the imp behind it on her phone. You wait a second, hoping she will notice you. When she seems to not notice your presence, you clear your throat. She glances up at you, a bored look on her face. "Ya need something?" She asks, looking you up and down judgmentaly.

Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you shuffle from foot to foot. "Oh uhm, hi.. I would like to apply to be a model..." You say. "Doesn't everyone?" She says, snickering. You just stand there awkwardly for a moment, before the imp groans and scavenges for something in a drawer behind the desk.

A moment later she comes back up with a packet, shoving it in your hands. "Just give me your name and go sit down and fill out the packet and I'll call you when she is ready." She says. You thank her, giving her your name, giving you an eye roll she goes back to her phone.

You turn around, going to look for a place to sit, ending up at a comfy white plush chair by the window. Sitting, you begin to fill out the packet, full of average questions, Name, Age, Gender, Cause of Death, Medical History, etc-

After about 20 minutes of waiting the lady at the front desk calls your name. You go up to her, trying to hand her your packet but she pushes it away. "No no no, I don't go over that. She does. Go up to the 7th floor, shes waiting for you already." You pull your arm back. "Wait who is-"

"THE BOSS. GO." She yells, causing you to stumble back a bit, gripping your pamphlet tightly. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. You head over to the elevator, luckily empty. You press the 6th floor button and tap your feet nervously.

After what feels like an eternity, the elevator button dings, alerting you that you're on the 6th floor, and the doors open. Immediately you are hit by a stronger version of what you smelt downstairs, and yelling. Lots of yelling.

Your presented a pink room, clothes and hangers littering the floors. Podiums with models of all different shapes colors and sizes. In the middle is lady, who you assume is the boss, screaming at one of the models.

"THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! ?!" She screams at them, anger written all over her face, at seeing her, you feel a sense of knowing hit you for a moment, but immediately dissipates as you brush it off.

"I-i... i'm sorry, my legs are just wobbly, i-its hard to walk in heels..p-please d- ont be mad...." The model pleads, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup.

"MAD?! DO I SEEM MAD?! YOU FELL AND EMBARRED ME DURING A SHOW, AND NOW YOUR RUINING YOUR MAKEUP!?" She continues yelling, the model sobbing hysterically now, on the floor in a heap.

"FIRED. YOUR FIRED GET THE FUCK OUT." She says. Two security guards dragging the poor, sobbing girl out.

Your frozen on the spot, shocked at what you just witnessed, regretting your decision to come here.

The lady groans, rubbing her temples and squeezing her eyes shut. Before you could double back, she sighs and turns in your direction, the two of you locking eyes.

"Who the FUCK are....you.." She says, pausing halfway through an unrecognizable look appearing on her face, as her features soften a bit.

"Im... here for an interview, to be a model..." You say, the expression she had a second ago gone as you blinked, as she looks you up and down. "Ah okay your my two o-clock." You nod, going and handing her your packet.

As soon as she grasped it she threw it over her shoulder and pointed to one of the empty podiums next to her. "Go, stand up there." She demands.

"W-wait aren't you going to read my pa-" You begin but she interrupts you. "Ill read it if you get the job, this is the most important part, now shut up and stand up." She says. Not wanting to piss her off you climb onto the podium and she follows up after you.

As you stand there you, somehow, get changed into a black tight tank top and some some tight shorts. "Wait wait wait how-" You try to speak but she raises a hand with a glare. "It's part of the process, not be quiet or you wont even get a chance."

You stand there quietly, feeling rather exposed as "The Boss" circles around you like a predator, observing you, poking and prodding like you're some sort of doll. Studying you.

After about 10 minutes of her observing you, she seems satisfied and steps off the podium.

"Nice figure, no disturbing features. Now lets see how well you can actually do if you were a model." She says with a sadistic grin. Before you can even say anything, your changed into a seemingly random outfit.

A bright pink blazer with black feathers and a white boa, white ripped jeans with black combat boots. She lets out a disappointed click of her tongue. "Next." She says, changing you into another outfit.

This goes on for about another hour, change clothes, she looks, either hates it or its good but not good enough, repeat. You take the time to study her as she does this, finding something about her vaguely familiar but not being able to quite put your finger on it.

As you look at her more she suddenly stands up and points at you. "That. That's the outfit, that's the perfect one." She says, as you look down at the outfit your wearing, the thing most catching your eyes being a pair of shoes you definitely cannot walk in.

"Go on walk around in a circle let me see it, strut for me." She says, going closer to the podium, a grin on her face.

Not wanting to lose this opportunity and anger her further, seeing how she took it out on the last model, you take the risk and begin walking clumsily around the podium.

She looks you up and down as you stumble around like a drunk, trying not to fall on your face. She doesn't seem very happy with how your walking but seems satisfied enough.

After a couple minutes, when you feel like your knees are about to buckle she stops you. "Okay I think we are done with this portion, step off and we will get to the next step."

You breath a sigh of relief, as you go over to the edge where she is. You attempt to step off, but then your legs finally decide to give out and you tumble forward into her.

The two of you fall backwards, you landing on her as her back is on the floor. You instantly knew you fucked up.

Shes looking at you, extremely mad, but then she takes a minute and it falls. You two stare at each other for a moment, when you begin to start realizing who she is, but cant place it yet.

"Whats your name..." She asks, and you stare at her, confused. When you don't respond she pushes you off quickly and harshly and speed walks over to your packet that she had thrown earlier.

You scramble up as she harshly grabs it, flipping through it furiouly.

In that moment it comes to you, where you remember her from, and at the exact same moment, she lands on the first page, with your name on it. She looks up at you slowly and you two make eye contact.

"....Velvette...?" You ask, shakily.

She just stares at you for a moment before running over and grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you towards her. pulling a yelp from you.

She just stares into your eyes for a second, while you pant. After a moment, her expression softens, and she quietly says; "Is... it really you...?" she asks. You voice caught in your throat, tears filling your eyes, you nod.

She grabs you and pulls you into a kiss, and without hesitation you return it. The two of you stumble onto a couch. Your back lands on it, her above you.

You two just stare at each others eyes, before she looks up for a moment, wiping the tears pooling in her eyes. She leans back down, resting her forehead against yours, and she closes her eyes, you two embracing tightly, not letting each other go.

"Fuck I've missed you."

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A/N: Okay, so I tried a different style of writing and I hope I did well, I tried my best on this, and I'm so so sorry if its not the best or what was asked. Also, I'm thinking about making the two girls and the guy in the van reoccurring side characters in stories like this (just for a bit more plot and blah blah) and I need names for them, so if anybody could leave suggestions in the comments that would be a great help! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[qvrcll]

my goodness gracious ! how i am so in love with your writing 🫶 and also so happy that your requests are open :) may i please request ellie proposing to miller!reader (joel’s daughter!reader) ?

yes, i’m changing

summary: cold, staggering and equipped with a ring, ellie tries to communicate her feelings off for you as cool. but it’s anything but, as she struggles with the idea of being good enough. and you struggle with the idea of something enough.

warning: slight angst / comfort, food mentioned, proposal, ellie being paranoid as per usual, insecurity from reader if you squint, miller!daughter

a/n: thank u so so much for liking my works 🥹 god i loved this request so much and i tried my best to live up to it, so here you go lovely !!! i love writing fluff for my girl ellie belly :,)

I.

“What the fuck?”

Is what you spit into the frigid air, convoluted and unimpressed, when you answer the door. It’s midnight, past the time for novelties and shit to do with the hours prior, past the time for staple look outs and ordained times for scout-out’s. And yet, you find none of it, with Ellie perched awkwardly in the snow, her converse near drowning where your threshold splits the heavy snow from head to toe.

“Hey” she grins. You’d admit it to be cute, awfully redundant on your poorly beating heart that is worse for wear from the sweltering cold, the burn of ice in your lungs from the near melt of the winter in your chest from each breath of air. But you’re irritated, eyes rubbed raw from the walk from the bed to the door, come now to find nothing earth-shattering festering at your heels. Just Ellie, huddled in her jacket and smiling at you like an idiot.

Your girlfriend picks up on the excursion in your expression, doubles down on her enthusiasm, “Shit, sorry, were you sleeping?”

No, I was up all night for fun, is what you nearly say. Reply, with unbidden serration. Something you had damn near learnt in all your years to ensure you’d keep safe of prying eyes and gargantuan eyes that would seek to use you. But with Ellie, the habit had felt itself thin, almost dying, as her genuinely had harked a certain kindness in you that others had failed to bring. Failed to foster in the cartilage and recesses of your bones, like she had. Marked and dotted in turgid, red ink over and over.

“No—No, I was just up. Couldn’t sleep,” you lie. You look the part, at-least. Clothes disheveled off your shoulders and hitching up ever so slightly, feeding yourself a sweat that created a fluke — a blatant lie that stirred perfectly into some sodden truth when Ellie guessed that you looked so overcome due to irritation, flimsy in the sheets as you lost sleep, “Come in, you’re gonna freeze your ass off.”

Ellie crosses the threshold with a deep yet watery laugh.

II.

Ellie is scared shitless.

From her current position, she can feel the edge of the engagement ring’s box poke her in the ass from where she perched herself up against the sofa, her arms a clear spread against the hand-rests. She curses herself, pulls out excuses and spits them out for good when she shifts, adjusts her position, but the burn of the ragged container bites her in the side as it applies pressure on her hip.

Shit, she should’ve just brought the ring.

But she wanted to do it fancy. Wanted to stick with the rules and regulations and the books for once. Wanted to make it clean-cut and levelled like a highfalutin’ cookery book. She wanted to get on one knee and peel apart the box, wanted to get every angle and timing right.

And where did that get her? Here, sitting on your couch like a lizard, with the engagement ring’s box digging into her ass once again.

“You good?” you work to question when you arrive from the kitchen. There’s a tray balanced between your fists, when you bring a mug of something closer — wait, two mugs. Something brown and swirling in them, and when Ellie shoots to scoot closer, she realises it’s hot chocolate.

She could die a happy girlfriend.

“I’m good—“ she lies, but tolerates the huff of your restless breath, the eventual inclination to your voice as to say ‘well, whatever you say.’

“You really shouldn’t have” she says, when she’s grabbed a mug and glueing it to her lips. The contents slip down her throat instantly, inviting a warmth in its trail — it settles well in her stomach. A concave of tepidity as opposed to the burn of the cold outside.

“You still grabbed a mug” you tease through barely clenched teeth, drinking your own fill. Ellie cracks through a laugh, barely restrained and harking for middle ground when she realises she cannot stop laughing.

You’ve turned her rotten.

III.

You’re in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, when you hear an awful amount of shuffling from the living room. Like thudding, contemplative heavy footsteps that trace into circles the more you pay attention. At that, you squint into the mirror and try to leave Ellie to her ministrations… whatever they may be.

But then, a string of curses and repeated attempts on the same old, hardwood floor delineate the line between perplexity and discovery. You take a step back, peering past the jagged stretch of the wall that separates the bathroom from the living room.

“Ellie?” you groan past a mouthful of toothpaste.

There’s silence, a resignation of any prior efforts to make a commotion, before Ellie’s voice bars against a slew of embarrassment, “Yeah? Sorry, was that too loud?”

“No—“ you spit into the sink, swinging the faucet on. The colours of mint swirl into the translucent muck of water, “I don’t mind. But are you okay? You’re doing an awful amount of shuffling.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good,” and as if she doesn’t sound any more convincing, “it’s just cold. I’m just—yeah, I’m cold. Don’t worry about it.”

“Shit, you’re cold?”

“Only a little. Don’t worry.”

“Ellie—“

“I promise.”

And as your eyes open to grapple her verdant ones, slipping into yours like a small spoken apology, it blisters any thought within you — stokes the small voice that screams ‘just leave it alone.’

“Okay.”

IV.

“Right or left?”

Ellie barely pays attention to your words, your voice, as her thoughts choke her dry.

How is she supposed to do this? Like, how is she supposed to go on about proposing? She’s ready, fully bought with the idea of growing old with you, but she’s so scared. Creeping with that foreign feeling that maybe — just maybe — you two weren’t present on the same page.

“Ellie?”

“Shit—sorry, yeah?”

She sees you’re visibly annoyed at her vacancy and falters at the sight of it — she’s bad at this. Bad at balancing something new for old, bad at doing what she’s supposedly done best.

When she’d gone to Joel for consultation, he’d been surprised but deeply elated to the point of a hug. Ellie had accepted it, enveloped it, before comically shirking away his sloppy suggestions at a proposal.

You could try to dance with her, kiddo.

Joel, please get serious.

What? I am serious.

Dancing? Really?

Okay, how about a fancy dinner?

I’ve got a week old pack of asparagus.

Okay.

…

How about you go about it your own way, kiddo?

“I said, do you want to take the left or right side of the bed?” you ask again, slower and no real urgency. You try to gripe her thoughts, try to figure out what’s going on in that gargantuan head of hers. Is she tired? Is she growing sick of you? Is this a lead up into something bad?

But she simple smiles, throws back a ‘I’ll take the left,’ leaving you to your fears and contesting abstrusities.

V.

Ellie is woken up the failure of her thoughts.

The engagement ring remains poking her in the ass.

She’s staring at the ceiling, non-plussed.

She hears you breathe. Hears you hitch for breath in your sleep beside her. Doesn’t hear but feels you gravitate to that warm, awfully homely orifice in her side. She feels your warmth beat against her skin.

The box digs into her skin.

She cuts the bullshit.

VI.

You’re woken by a cold hand on your jaw. It slides against the throbbing flesh, as if to draw out the colour of the skin for its own bemusement. It makes you nearly jerk away, but the softness in it belongs to another and you’ve come to tether this person like a cardiac organ.

“Ellie…,” you groan, visibly and audibly tired. She doesn’t pause, just continues tracing non-reputable shapes into your skin, past your neck, forging shivers where they weren’t before, “What is it?”

“What do you mean?” she replies too quick.

Way to play dumb.

“You’ve been acting on edge… ever since you visited me. There’s something on your mind,” you pause for breath, for leverage before you infract yourself with the silence, “Is it bad?”

There’s a pause to her movements. But they trail against your hip, making the skin jitter.

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on you.”

You’re more awake now, barely half as sleepy as you were ten seconds prior — your hand supports your body as you sit against the headboard, keen to not let the coldness of the air, the gather of her fingers to get the better of you. But you do anyways, as tears skim your vision.

“Ellie, please.”

And now Ellie shoots up, awake. Her hands cup your cheek, nervous and somewhere broken by the seams, teeming. She seems nervous for something.

Just tell me, Ellie. Tell me before I go insane. Tell me before we both do, you want to yell. Shirk. Shrivel.

You keep quiet as she holds you.

“Promise you won’t hate me?”

“Ellie, I swear to god if you’re breaking up with me—“

“Promise.”

“Okay—Okay. I promise.”

Your heart is somewhere between your hands, sinking to curdle past the sinews of your fingers.

You’re shaking.

You’re waiting, always, for the press of her words.

“Will—Will… you marry me?”

VII.

“What?”

Ellie’s nervous system pushes out of every gap in her body, squashes to nothing but pulp. She can hear the confusion rendered in your voice and she’s scared and she’s sure and she’s awful and she’s so convinced she’s fucked up—

“Sorry I—“

“What…?” you ask her. The question is dangerously simple, a blight. Something real. Inordinate. Unmarked and ready for birth. A congealed genesis. Something holy that only Ellie manages to curdle into something hellish—negative, frightful.

Still, she looks at you with quivering eyes.

“Ask you to marry me? Yes—well—I… If you—“

And she’s slipping, cracking. Melding with the bed and contemplating a hundred different ways of human cessation. Falling, gripping, bleeding against her skull, when you suddenly come close, corner her in the bed and cram her throat with chokes as you watch her with heavy, soaking eyes.

“Ellie, you better not be joking” some part of you deadpans, the other courses with a beat, with the onslaught of something heaving and emotional.

“I’m not,” — she pulls out the box. Barely sighs at the relief from the lack of intrusion against her ass cheek. Tries to, but fails. Focuses on your expression, that bursts at the remaining seams, “I want you, for as long as I live.”

And Ellie feels the weight on her shoulders dissipate at your enigmatic reaction, feels the stretch of her lips when you stutter a clear nod — there is a burst of tears there and something happy, something glad, of the thought of spending an eternity with her.

And it’s a down right mess when you get to it. When you wrap your arms around her, syphon into the sheets like you’re delirious with want for this woman. Blabber something tormented in a beautiful way as she buries her face into your neck in choking grasps.

“Ellie—“ you cry with sodden spit, tears flush against your face, “Ellie, oh my god—of course I’ll marry you—“ you choke, swinging your arms around her. Because it is all you can do. Call for her in blind silence, in gradual stages of symphonic syllables in the dark, where her glad hands grasp you like you’re viability itself. Like you’re sustenance and warmth and love — and you are, Ellie decides, as she holds you like you’ll fall apart otherwise.

VIII.

It’s one when you calm down. One, with a continual darkness, where you hold Ellie in bed like its no different. You’re smiling into her neck, bashful, full of smiles and relief as she tickles your side, whispers something of semblance, of ‘my girl.’

“Wait—“ you pull away, “who will officiate our wedding?”

“Joel, duh.”

A snort from you, “Joel? My dad?”

“Yeah, Joel. Your dad.”

“Think he’ll agree?”

“I’ll pie him otherwise.”

Another snort.

Ellie grins with the musing of tomorrow, surely spent with you. Surely carding against the warmth of her cheeks. The promise of love through you and you… and you.

And, hey, that engagement ring’s box no longer wants to torment her ass.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[piraticusdorm]

Pick Me Up

A knock on the door. Then two more. Silence stretches until Tink knocks once again, putting more strength into it. The heavy oak hardly budges, letting silence fall once more. The fairy can't help but share a worried look with the crocodile to his side.

—"Hey, Captain! Everything good? You haven't come out all morning!"

—"We know you're there~"

Tink knocks once more, this time hitting with the side of his fist instead of the knuckles. Krok for his part has taken a squat to peer inside the keyhole.

—"You say that, but what if he is out?"

—"Nah. No trail of smell around, so he didn't leave. Uh, physically, at least."

Tinks eyebrows furrow further at the remark. He opens his mouth, undoubtedly to say something unkind, when both hear heavy steps coming from inside towards them.

Shuffling, fumbling, the click of a key, and the door opens to a disheveled Conrad. His silver hair hangs loose, framing his face and body. The silk shirt is barely closed on his chest, thrown on in a rush no doubt, it's dark red matching Conrad's own puffy red eye. Tink eyes dart around in a place to settle, wincing at the sight of the half empty bottle of booze in Conrad's hand.

—"What do you want? I'm not in the mood."

His voice is low and hoarse from sleep, with a reverb coming from the bottom of his chest. Tink can't help but take in the sight. Even in this dark, brooding state, his Captain remains beautiful. Truly-

—"Krok what the fuck are you doing!?"

—"Fuck off. You have ice cream. I can smell it "

Rapid blinks bring Tink back to earth, in time to see the crocodile struggle to squeeze through the gap between the doorframe and Conrad while the latter tries to push him out. It's a futile battle. Tink has wrestled with Krok enough times to know the unnerving slipperiness of the lizard.

Just like a cartoon would, Krok slips and lands on all fours, rushing further inside in a most undignified manner. Conrad yells obscenities as he follows behind. And then, awkwardly, Tink stands there. Eventually the fairy steps inside as well, closing the door behind him.

—"You can't eat all this yourself anyways, right~? Right riiiight~?"

—"Had half a mind to, in fact! So hands off!"

—"Stingy~ Sharing is caring you know~"

There the two sit atop the bed, pint of ice cream struggling in both grasps. Tink stands perplexed. His eyes dart around once more, this time in search of clues for what has their captain in such a foul mood. The bottle he carried before stands now forgotten in the desk. Forgotten... By the amount of dust in the lid, Tink guesses it hasn't been opened in a while. Huh.

As the fight rages on the bed, one drop of ice cream falls on Kroks cheek, and instinctively he licks it off.

—"Raspberry! I knew it. Someone got dumped~"

The words hit like a cannon. In less than a second Conrad's face goes from rage to a pure picture of grief, eyebrows shooting up and mouth shooting downwards. His bottom lip trembles as he finally let's go of the pint of ice cream.

—"... Someone broke up with you?" 

Conrad replies with just a whimper.

—"See see~ Whenever he gets dumped he eats this ice cream. But he likes to, uh, play he's a book-cover-guy drinking his sorrows away. It's a human thing. Probably."

—"I wasn't pretending anything!"

—"Suuuuure~"

Krok nudges Conrad's cheeks playfully, taking in one spoonful of ice cream for himself and offering the next to him. He lazily accepts.

—"I don't... Like being seen like this." Conrad wipes another tears with his sleeve. "It's... Unbecoming."

Finally, something in Tink springs free. His wings fan out in indignation as his face grows hot and red.

—"WHO WAS THAT S🔔🔔🔔!? Who would even dump you!? YOU!? They were dropped from some big ass tree if they think they can do better than you!!"

Conrad heaves a sigh, nodding lazily as he reclines amidst his many pillows in bed. 

—"He had the gall to say it's because I 'can't take it seriously'. I said from the beginning I would never settle on land! What did he expect? I'm a pirate for goodness sake!"

—"And a crybaby~"

—"Shush, you're a crybaby too Krok!"

—"Mmh~ that's why we make great friends, right~?"

—"He sounds like an as🔔🔔🔔! You know what!? This is HIS loss!! You're amazing, you're funny, you dress well, you're good with piano-"

And so, Tink feverishly went on and on about his Captain's amazing qualities. Some true, and some exaggerated, as fairies are not often ones for objective views. Said Captain moved only to blow his nose, grunt in approval, and raise his head for the next spoonful of ice cream, which always came after one for Krok. 

[firebuug]

13, 14 and 31 for the uncommon oc questions? for whatever ocs come to mind first

(also A and B for the creator questions for whoever comes to mind too :> )

before i look at the questions UHHH ill choose eva and centi because theyre bouncing in my head (eva bc brainrot centi bc hes my icon).

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

eva was raised as a little nestie boy and in my mind very fancy rich colors are always light and pastel like marble and stuff and my brain always sees him dressed in white. i think he thinks he looks most dapper in white. maybe even gray. monochromes mostly because its hard to coordinate an outfit when your hair is fuckin Blue and you don't want to look like a stupid clown.

i however am in the impression that eva would look nice in red. and golds. and pale greens. and black. i just like eva

centi does NOT CARE in fact he HATES UNNECESSARY HUMAN CONSTRUCTS. what do you MEAN i cant go out to the supermarket in the human's PAJAMAS eva you are an IDIOT a FOOL a DOG to abiding to such STUPID human standards i am CONSERVING MY ENERGY . he doesn't care....but i guess he'd like colors that help him stealth or that he's had on him as a centipede bug

14. What animal do they fear most?

i . have never thought of this. UH. man i feel like animals are weird in PMworld. do they have zoos. obviously they have animals bc a lot of abnos are animal based but like. are they frequent. do people go to the zoos and see lions anymore. man. anyways i think if Eva met a chimp he would be scared. i feel like if he saw a hippo he'd be kinda scared. i dont think he'd be scared of horses he'd think theyre beautiful. i think, to a city dweller, animals arent as scary as the Daily Horrors you face, but at the same time, eva is a nestie what animals is he seeing? birds?? white eye crust dogs??????? lizards????? i think he'd be scared of snakes. oh my god he'd be scared of snakes. OH MY GOD HIS BOYFRIEND DISTORTS INTO A GIANT SNAKE BUG i think he'd be scared of snakes. i don't think he'd like bugs but he is fine with taking bugs out in a cup or throwing a newspaper at them but i think his parents kept his childhood house as bug-free as possible

centi is scared of anything that is scarier than him because it usually means it is a stronger devil than him. he is a predator bug outside of his fiend form and eats other bugs that are weaker and is very scary but he'd know his fucking place in front of Spider Devil or some shit. also he would probably not like dogs and cats. anything that poses a threat to a little centipede. however. as a human somehting like a bird? he laughs at now. dogs and cats? those can still fuck him up and put him in his place (owww scratches)

31. Who are they the most glad to have met? 

theres very obvious answers here. but genuinely even if they annoy him sometimes or make his work harder eva does appreciate meeting his friends and his future bf at lobcorp because, if he had worked here for this long without making friends with ANYONE. no matter what he tells himself he would have been so much more miserable. having friends isnt what he came here for but its what happened and hes grateful that his friends somehow didnt get tired of him and put up with his rocky beginnings because he doesn't know if he wouldve ever found joy in this work without them

he is also, as expected, very glad to have met julian because otherwise after the wing fell he probably would have no other reason to be on this earth other than "maybe make weird art until you run out of money and starve". jules kind of rocked his mindset too and helped him realize the people around him at the corp Arent just dumb npcs who are expendable, they are Human and Mortal and Will Die. they experience emotion just like him. and even if they ar einsufferable they are human and you will ifnd yourself crying when they die even if you only knew them as the guy from info team who made your life worse. he cant fester in hatred and hope someone innocent eats shit because one day theyll die and he'll be stuck with those emotions, and not everyone comes back like jules did

centi.... well. this is mostly just inner oc stuff with my friend and i's ocs hehe. but he is happy to meet another bug devil like him. because well...i like to think theres SOme sort of solidarity in being a scary bug. maybe hes a bit jealous. but then theyre just..homies. he doesnt have to face the isolation of feeling like an eldrich monstrosity living in some dudes apartment and getting yelled at for being an eldritch monstrosity and being Different and being Caged in a Stupid Inferior Human Body God FUcking Damn It alone. he has another bug guy going thru the same. we must imagine the bug fiends happy

also despite how much he despises eva at first he eventually realizes this weird as fuck THing is actually. not killing him. this is a devil hunter yet he's making me a grilled cheese. whats wrong with hinm. i can throw his stuff around and he can get upset but he will still let me sleep in his house and stand up for me. whats wrong with him. eventually he will slowly warm up to him...but he'll still bother him. thats what fiends do

A) Why are you excited about this character?

for eva? I DONT KNOW . I DONT KNOW!!!!!!!! HES JUST SOME DUDE!!!! BUT I GAVE HIM MY LOVE FOR MUSIC MY LOVE FOR FISH AND GAVE HIM MULTIPLE NEUROSES AND NOW I LOVE HIM . THE FUCK. i also really love his distortion. just. grips heart. a lot of my ocs and stories have this theme of isolation, i guess it's something i like to explore a lot, and considering eva is a (count with me) autistic transgender mentally ill born-rich kid who was raised kind of sheltered from the full extent of horrors and Forced to go down a pre-determined path from birth . and not only that but he becomes even more of a fish out of water post-lobcorp and literally experiences the isolation of not even having a true god reach him through the metal walls of the corporation. idk. i think he's pretty isolationcore and neurosispilled and his distortion is fun because YES WE CAN FINALLY GO APESHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!! CATHARSIS!!! BUT PAIN AND GRIEF MANIFESTED INTO A PHYSICAL BLIND RAMPAGED BEING!!!!!

centi because he is a fucking BUG!!!!!! AND HES EVIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND HES SILLY!!!!!!!!!!! CARTOONISHLY EVIL FREAK WHO USED TO BE A LEGIT THREAT!!!!!! I LOVE THOSE FUCKERS!!!!!! and not only that HE SHARES A BODY WITH THE POLAR OPPOSITE AND IS A HORRIBLE MONSTER BEING FORCED TO LIVE AMONG HUMA---god damn it its another isolation and not fitting in story. BUG DYSPHORIA

B) What inspired you to create them?

nothing crazy here- eva was randomly generated employee number 2 in my lobcorp facility, i grew attached to him thru keeping him alive and also i liked his grumpy little face. survived to the very end of my playthrough, and juleva started as a crackship but i did like their dynamic a lot..................... things just escalated from there

centi because ummm i made a csm au of my ocs and i wanted julian to be the Centipede Fiend to reference his distortion but i created a whole new personality for the Centipede Devil inside of him and went oh my god i love them, i need them to be a new person, i love them, oh my god

thanks so much for the opportunity to ramble! if you made it this far im marrying you.

[neutinya]

Meet Iwa's familiar!! Her name is Kyuri, Japanese for cucumber :) - Hi more of my monster tooru AU!!!! This time a continuation of the story as well as just fluff :D - I'm not super happy with this but I'm so tired :((( fhjdjd hopefully next installments will turn out a little better!!!

- 

Open to read the continuation to their story :D

As Iwa was looking for berries, he notices odd rustling sounds nearby. Originally he thought they were some forest critters but all those years of training told him that those were definitely not monsters.

Before he could ready his bow, an arrow is sent flying directly into his right shoulder. Panicked, he quickly takes cover and pulls the arrow out with his left hand, he takes a quick look at the arrow and realises that they were poison arrows, one that belonged to hunters from his kingdom? He didn't think they managed to track him all the way here and he knew for a fact if these were hunters sent by his family, it'd be hard to take them down alone

He tries running back to the cave but the poison was starting to kick in. He definitely didn't feel like he was dying but his shoulder was in a lot of pain and he was beginning to feel light headed, he guessed it was most likely a tranquilizing kinda poison and not one that would kill. Before he could even step foot out of the forest, he passes out.

Back at the cave, Tooru had already woken up awhile ago and was waiting for Iwa to come back, now Iwa was usually back before he wakes up but it seemed he was taking longer than usual, he gets a little worried and Iwa's lizard seemed particularly distressed. Tooru decides that something was wrong and left the cave to look for Iwa

After searching for a while, he finds the spot where Iwa had been shot, he had noticed blood with an arrow next to it. He picks up the arrow and notices a crest. Any monster would recognise that crest from anywhere, immediately, he knew what happened and hurried back to the cave to retrieve Iwa's belongings, llamas and lizard

Tooru figured it was time to return to his kingdom and get some help. Hiro and Issei I would say are two of Tooru's closest friends? They were probably High ranking generals or idk, Tooru's right hand men??? They had been the one's running the kingdom when Tooru was gone on his little "holiday" and now that Tooru was back, they were kinda bummed out actually

Tooru briefly tries to explain the situation, telling about what had happened and about Iwa. Hiro and Issei are pretty receptive to it, going along with their king's plea for help. At least that’s until Hio asks "So what kingdom took him?"

And Tooru is just like "(insert monster hunter kingdom name I haven't thought about here)"And makki loses his shit?? Like "are you fucking kidding me???" Tooru's like "oh yeah, hajime's a human" And Issei and Hiro are just like "you've been travelling with a human for 4months???"And Tooru is just "yeah, so?" While surprised and little weirded out at first, they come to accept it eventually

So yeah, back to Iwa he was pretty much put on trial for treason??? His dad gave a long speech about how much he had dishonoured the family blah blah and Iwa who has tolerated that bullshit all those years is just like "dishonoured?? You act so high and mighty but you don't know a damn fucking thing about monsters do you?"

And of course Iwa's dad is pissed, saying how they are beasts who have been terrorising humans for centuries and Iwa just snaps saying "terrorised? You kill them for simply existing- All those villages full of people different from you, their blood is on our kingdom’s hands-" Iwa's dad just says "their very existence is a sin" and Iwa wanted to badly to strike a blade through his father's heart but he couldn't because he was chained up

As their conversation dies down a messenger comes barging into the room eyes filled with terror and panic. According to him, a monster had made it inside their kingdom and was asking to meet Iwa's dad. Tooru, alongside Hiro and Issei, had already downed about 50 of their best hunters?? So that was enough to get the king’s attention.

Iwa immediately knew it was Tooru and his mind began to panic, because the last thing he would want was for them to kill Tooru trying to save him. Iwa's dad is like "they killed 50 of our men?" But the messenger nervously responds "no sir, he didn't kill them- but they're not capable of fighting" Knowing that Tooru hadn’t actually killed anybody made him feel so much more at ease.

As the messenger continued to explain the situation, the door swung open and in came Tooru himself, by his side was Issei, who had moved in to free Iwa on the command of Tooru. Iwa thanks him and Tooru and Iwa's dad just stared at each other

Iwa mumbles a soft "Tooru-" and Tooru's eyes briefly darts toward Iwa. Tooru just smiles so gently like he was trying to reassure Iwa everything was going to be okay before diverting his attention back to the king.

"I'll be taking my queen back from your hands." And immediately you can see Iwa just go ?????? Giving a "what the fuck" kinda face

Iwa's dad just turns to stare at Iwa but Iwa knew that it was best to leave the questions for later so instead he walks over to Tooru who had offered one his hands out for Iwa to hold?

"If you don't want any trouble it's best if you refrain from trying to kidnap Hajime from us again." And now Iwa's dad, fully aware of the danger that Tooru possessed, doesn't retaliate. By that time more hunters had arrived to offer backup?? Their weapons were all aimed at Tooru and Issei but Iwa's dad asks them to stand down, Tooru grins and calmly, they walk out of the door.

As their back turns immediately Iwa's dad order them to fire, from nowhere, Hiro kinda swoops in and knocks most of the men out before they could hit their shot? (Hiro has wings here, Issei has a really, really long whip-like tail)

Amidst the shootout, Issei had bound the monsterhunter king with his tail. Tooru turns back and walks slowly towards the king, so calmly whispering into his ear "You will let me and my men leave this kingdom free from harms way do you understand?"

Fear was evident? In the kings eyes? He hastily agrees and Issei immediately drops him to the ground, he gags a bit before looking up to see his son and the three monsters disappear slowly down the long corridor and from his sight

After they managed to leave safely, Iwa just kinda lost it, "Queen??? What the fuck is going on?" And Hiro and Issei kinda assumed this was a lovers quarrel (not knowing Iwa and Tooru weren't actually a thing) and decide, "Hey we're gonna head back first, have fun arguing" and they book it

Tooru comes clean and tells Iwa that he was actually a king??? Iwa goes apeshit and is just "The fuck do you mean you're a king" and Tooru is kinda like "surprise!" Tooru also take the opportunity to shoot back "To be fair, you did neglect to tell me you were royal blood yourself, monster hunter blood of all things-"

And of course what could Iwa say?? He just stared and paced in frustration a little bit before saying "That still doesn't explain the queen shit you pulled back there"And Tooru just laughs because Iwa was visibly red and almost kinda like an angry kitten??

“What's so bad about being my queen?"Hajime doesn't know how to respond so he spends a minute saying a word before angrily staring at Tooru and repeating.

"Because for someone to be your queen- They need to be someone you love-" And Tooru just stares at Iwa quietly for a moment like he was thinking? He eventually says "And what if I tell you that I am in love with you?"How was Iwa supposed to respond??? Cry??? Fuck, Iwa felt like so many things happened too quickly but at the same time he felt so undeniably happy and safe at that moment when Tooru said that.

"This better not be another one of you stupid jokes Oikawa" Tooru just slowly reaches out and caresses Iwa's cheek? "I promise it isn't" Tooru at that moment even takes off his necklace that he had been wearing around and puts it on Iwa instead?? They look at other and Tooru very confidently says "Become mine for real Iwa-chan"And it takes a moment before Iwa just melts into Tooru's touch??? And so, so quietly, he says "Okay." as allows himself to be embraced by the monster

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt8)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Eight: The Alach Moon Dragon

“Excuse me!” You call out to the captain, sliding past your new companions quickly, hearing Tech chuckle behind you. When the captain ignores you, you call again.

“Excuse me!” You emphasize, getting ignored again as Hunter beelines to the side of the ship, when his intention to dump the small creature curling around his grasp becomes clear, you let go of ladylikeness all together.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You shriek at him, and even the tiny thing perks it head up at your nerve. Behind you, Crosshair laughs. You straighten your posture and clasp your hands together delectly. The captain looks like you’ve shocked the anger out of his system.

“I would very much appreciate it if you were to not throw her overboard.” You state trying to make up for your language.

“I think we’re past pleasantries sweetheart.” Hunter grits out.

“You can say that again, sarge!” Wrecker gleefully calls.

“Thank you Wrecker.” Hunter says dryly. Before looking back at the mini-dragon again, and with a huff, he comes back towards you.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize for a number of things, and if you’re analyzing the interaction the way Tech is, you’d see his gaze soften for the quickest of moments.

“Give me one reason not to dump this thing overboard.” He says holding up his hand where he holds the creature by its scruff. And you see the details of his burn mark more closely, and you can’t make out what are clearly Aurebesh letters, but they look extensive and painful.

“She’s an innocent creature.” You argue, fully aware of the comparisons between the small dragon and yourself. “I’ll take her, she’ll leave the ship with me.”

“Fine.” He says eyeing your wrists when you go to take her in your hands. “The bracelet.” Hunter says with a nod towards the gold on your wrist. In the background you hear someone comment ‘oh for fucks sake Hunter.’ But you ignore them. Sliding the ornate jewelry off of your wrist, juggling with your feathered friend, you drop it into his palm.

“Consider it the fare for two passengers.” You tell him.

“Fine.” He says again, turning his back on you. “I don’t want to see that thing near my quarters.” He calls back, and Tech comes to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Is he referring to the dragon or me?” you inquire.

“I haven't the faintest clue.” Your goggled shipmate admits.

You’ve had your share of awkward meals, forced dinners and luncheons with various upper class pricks. The kind that requires scrunched nose smiles and usually involve your silence or small nods of agreement.

This dinner is decidedly a different kind of awkward, and it’s refreshing to know that the company you’re in feels even more awkward than yourself. You almost enjoy this newfound weirdness as you sit and munch on dried meat with the clones.

“Gonk really likes you, Little Aaray” Wrecker comments through bites of food. You smile genuinely at the lizard on your shoulder.

“I think she’s marvellous.” You say, never having seen anything like her.

“Perhaps she’s drawn to your likeness.” Tech says regarding you both with the curious look that never leaves his face.

“Yes, compare the lady to a spliced organism that's got patchy fur” Crosshair rolls his eyes at his younger brother, and Tech rolls his eyes at his brother's comment.

“I meant that they’re both females. And it’s got patchy feathers. Not fur.” He points out. And you huff out a contained giggle.

“Thank you for recognizing that Tech, even in my ruined attire I am indeed a female.” You shoot playfully at him. Having since put your door-stop-boot back on, you’re a little more put together but all in all, still a mess. So you abandon the food and begin to work the pins out of your hair. Gonk perks her head up at your actions with another ‘bloooorg” sounding noise. You reward her with a chin scratch and notice all the eyes on you.

“Do I look that bad?” You tease the speechless clones in front of you. Hunter huffs to himself, Tech apologizes and starts a conversation with Wrecker.

“I’ve seen better.” Crosshair teases, making you laugh.

“So have I, but you don't see me complaining.” You counter without thinking. Slapping a hand over your mouth at the words, how have you lost years of politeness in the span of just a few hours?

“I’m so sorry-” you start an apology to Crosshair as he glares at you. But Wreckers laugh cuts you off.

“Lighten up Cross’air!” He says elbowing him in the side. “She got you good!” he exclaims, and you catch a smile from Tech. You clear your throat and wonder how coruscanti men would’ve reacted to your cheek.

“Can I ask-?”

“No.” Hunter cuts you off, and you take this chance to take in how he looks. Not exactly relaxed but as close to relaxed as he gets. Laying back on the crates wrecker dragged over for chairs, one foot propped on the tallest tower of provisions. His hat covers his face and he leans back on his arms, so you’re only assuming he’s glaring when he interrupts you.

“Sorry.” you mumble picking your ‘food’ up again.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, earning him a side eye from under the hat. “Ask us what you’d like to know.”

“I just, well, I was wondering about…” You trail off and crack your knuckles again, such a bad habit you chide to yourself. Hunter raises an eyebrow as he watches you crack them. - almost impressed at the action.

“About our mutations right?” Tech finishes your sentence, and continues on before you get the chance to nod. “Well you’ve probably deduced by now that Wrecker is the muscle of our operations, whereas I've been gifted with a brilliant mind.” Crosshair scoffs again. “Bless you.” Tech responds without missing a beat. “He-” Tech points to his ashy haired brother, “has exceptional aim, blaster or otherwise, hence him catching you earlier. And Hunter, Hunter’s got enhanced senses, he can feel things before anyone or anything else.” You let out a small ‘oh’ at that. They’re all so different it’s hard to picture them being clones of anybody, much less clones of the same person.

“That’s all very impressive.” You tell him, receiving proud smiles from Wrecker and Tech.

“But what about you?” Crosshair asks, raising a brow.

“Me?” You say with a breath of surprise. “Nothing makes me special.” You brush hair away from the shoulder Gonk is resting on.

“Then why does Nython want you so bad?” You bristle at the name and the twinge of maliciousness in Crosshair's voice. You fumble and look at your feet, moving your hair around in your hands as another nervous habit.

You don’t see Hunter tilt his head so he can see you from under his hat. Nor do you see the soft gaze he regards you with.

“I don’t know.” You respond, finally looking back at Crosshair, “I simply do not know.”

A silence falls over the group that isn’t nearly as comfortable as before, and on the horizon the sun begins to set. Hunter is still watching you from under his hat, he’s still not sure what to make of you. What kind of woman throws her life away as a stowaway? And where did you get this serge of bravery? No matter how hard he tries to hate you for ending up on his ship, he can’t deny the respect you deserve or holding your own against his crew.

And maybe he enjoys how you stare at the sunset, that wondrous look of longing and small smile, like you’re properly seeing it for the first time.

Shit. sunset. They’ve all been sitting around for too long.

You jump as the captain moves, tearing your eyes away from the brilliance of orange and red in the sky. You see his long legs uncross and swing off the crates so he can stand up with a groan.

“Sit rep?” He asks the group, and unsurprisingly tech answers.

“I’ll double check our heading and direction, however, knowing the Corillian Run I suspect we can tie down the sails for the night.”

“Shall we collect our finest blankets for the Aaray over here?” Crosshair asks, he sounds a little sarcastic, but not sarcastic enough to make his comment completely a joke and not hurtful. But his question does make everyone look at you. Where are you going to sleep?

On your shoulder, Gonk doesn't like the eyes on her, and she scrunches her nose, bearing teeth at the crew. Your heart swells, you know she’s being protective of herself but you can’t help but feel like you’ve finally got someone on your side. Even if it is a tiny awkward Moon Dragon.

“There's a bed in the brig.” Hunter says, almost like he’s testing you, or trying to provoke you, or perhaps, both?

“I’m not that dull,” You tell him, “I’m not going back down there.”

“Shame.” He says plainly. You look to Tech for help, thinking that perhaps he is the most reasonable of them all, surrounding, the wind chills you, and you’re envious of the men in thick jackets.

“What about Echo-” Wrecker begins, after no one offering you a space to sleep, you think he took the moment to speak up.

“She’s not taking Echo’s space.” The captain says harshly, and you look up at him from the crate you sit on. “You can sleep on the deck for all I care.” And with that he turns sharply before stalking away to what you assume is the captain's quarters.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, eyeing his sergeant suspiciously. And you take notice of the crinkle that forms right where the brim of his goggles end and his forehead peaks through.

“I do not think ignoring him is advisable.” You chime in, enjoying the huff of approval you get from Crosshair.

“He’s not…” Tech stars, before sighing and putting his food down. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Gonk makes a small movement when you rush to follow Tech, and you guess that whatever kind of creature she is, it is not one of many words- or rather sounds. And as the sun sets, she becomes more lively, hence the name ‘moon dragon.’ you suppose. And as tech leads you below decks to an area that you assume is their dwelling.

Four hammocks are tied in each corner, allowing for maximum space. You can tell that wreckers is the biggest one, embedded into the sturdiest looking post that has notches in it, what they’re counting you don’t know. By sense of deduction, you guess that the folded blankets and organized trunks belong to Tech, and that the disarray of bolts, cleaning rags, and a singular pillow and blanket belongs to crosshair.

That leaves the hammock furthest from the door, to the left is wreckers hammock, and to the right, Techs. You assume this one, which is empty save for a notebook, ink and quill, belongs to ‘Echo’.

“How did he die?” You ask as softly as possible. And tech, who has busied himself in a thickly bound book from his hammock looks up briefly.

“Who?” he asks, going back to the pages.

“Echo…?” you ask again. Bristling when he laughs and flips the book closed.

“He’s not dead,” Tech says, shaking his head, “although I've got no idea how. What made you think he was gone?” You haven't decided how you feel about the way Tech looks at you, like he’s analysing your mind, and every way you answer a question, or move, tells him more than you intend.

“The way the Captain reacted, the fact he’s not here with you…” you trail off looking around the room, and the way the hanging lanterns brush against the dark wood.

“Echo’s waiting for us at Alderaan, he was taken by the Techno Union during the war, and is, well, he’s different now.” he tells you as honestly as possible, while opening the crate by Echo’s spot and grabbing a blanket - mumbling about how it wasn’t properly folded.

“You said that about the captain as well.” You say with a thank you when Tech hands you the blanket.

“Just call him Hunter.” Tech exasperates, “Hunter is a complex man, not easily trusting nor tolerant of many people. He feels betrayed, we all do.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, and watch as he shrugs.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you, before heading back out to the deck of the ship, leaving you to think about what exactly happened in those wartime days.

Hopping off your shoulder, Gonk climbs the side of the ship, her mismatched eyes and tiny feathers catching the light strangely. It makes you wonder if you’re just as strange to the clones as the Alach Moon Dragon was to yourself.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 3

Read on AO3. Part 2 here. Part 4 here.

Summary: You always hated tagging along on boys' night.

Words: 3300

Warnings: tw//kassanovella

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: HI LOOK AT ME I GOT THIS OUT IN TIME. I did indeed test positive for COVID so this was wrought through my fatigue--and may be why there is a delay for the next chapter. We'll see!

I hope y'all enjoyed this. I am doing my best to respond to all the feedback, but I'm like... so tired LMFAO. Thank you so much for your support and engagement. It literally means the world to me and is so encouraging.

I love you. ❤️

It didn’t matter how many times you told yourself to calm down. Your pulse bounded like a rabbit, every thump a reminder of your tightening chest. The walls of the Steadfast washed past in black-silver blurs, your mind wild with fear. Hux’s words replayed over and over, a cruel broadcast in your brain. Requests for response from the officers stationed there have gone unanswered. 

Realistically, that could mean anything. Pessimistically, everyone was dead and you were homeless.

The thought of losing your crew weakened your knees. For four months, they’d been your solace and something akin to a family. Not like you’d had other real options on that little butthole of a planet--but you’d gotten lucky. You’d made a home out of Orinda; a home where you’d planned to return. 

Lip pinched in thought, you joined Kylo in a new turbolift, crossing to the corner again as if he were a disease you wanted to avoid. You folded your arms over your chest, stared at your shoes. If you were homeless, it was anyone’s guess as to what you’d do or where you’d go next. It was clear that your supposed… whatever he was didn’t care for your presence. 

Leather gloves scrunched in the silence. The lift arrived, and he stormed off, in expectation that you’d follow. You rolled your eyes, trailing behind him, allowing the need that had burgeoned between your thighs to deflate. 

He’d said he would punish you. But you couldn’t think of a punishment worse than going four more months without his touch. 

Kylo broke through another set of blast doors into the hangar, officers and Stormtroopers alike snapping to attention in his presence. If he noticed or cared, it didn’t show--he pushed through the quiet floor, furious stride carrying him toward one of the ugliest ships you’d ever seen. 

Black durasteel panels formed a long, cylindrical frame, the bow outfitted with a row of rakish teeth and bordered by two guiding flaps. The engines looped like two smooth bricks at the stern of the vessel, the two ends connected by rows of external piping and guarded by a sprinkle of gunning stations. Its blocky build bore a resemblance to a prison transport--if that prison transport was then modified by an eager, unsophisticated halfwit. 

He climbed the descended ramp in thundering strides, and you skulked in his wake, only to be greeted with one of the mercenaries you’d seen earlier. You paused, but Kylo passed the soldier, marching toward the stern and abandoning you in the main corridor. The man--at least, you were fairly certain he was a man--wore a mask embedded with breathing tubes, a huge, heavy club in his hands. The weight of his gaze anchored you to the floor. He said nothing.

“Uhm…” You tried to find an introduction, but none seemed appropriate. Grimacing, you offered him a half-hearted salute. “Sir.”

The man did not respond. Face burning, you scurried into the ship, hot on Kylo’s heels. 

Few lights rimmed the interior of the vessel, your only guide the resonant thump of his boots along the durasteel slats. It was as dim as it was dank--the deeper you delved, the heavier the air. It was sticky with the stench of war, weighed with iron and brimmed with smoke. And underneath that, a scent you’d only describe as one owned by a pack of panting massiffs.

A chill crept over your scalp. This ship was empty of kindness, barren of mercy. You didn’t need the Force to know that nothing good had ever happened within these walls.

Your fear had you scampering to keep pace. Kylo led you through a flickering hall and turned a corner, swiped a switch. A set of blast doors opened to sharp steps, another pair of doors at the top. Those parted as you approached, light spilling from the Steadfast hangar through wide slats of red transparisteel. You’d arrived in the cockpit.

Six chairs lined the wrap-around dashboard. Two as pilot seats, two positioned at gunning and weapons systems, and two plugged toward the back, each in front of a monitoring station. One seemed to handle communications--or lack thereof, the radio receivers and wiring were all almost entirely torn out--and the other dedicated to internal surveillance. At the latter, a matrix of screens with live feed of the interior of the ship.

Even through the shadowed halls, you could distinguish a handful of prison cells. Each of them was torn apart, littered with metal scrap and half-shorn weaponry. The walls themselves were adorned with sloppy graffiti, one of them decorated by a mural of a massive, five-legged lizard beast. A huge red beam was bursting through its neck. Within the tiny walls were separate collections of cultured artifacts. You knew enough about war to know they were trophies.

Every room also possessed a rumpled, dirty bed. A flash of hall light near one cell, illuminating notches in the durasteel where the head of the bedframe met the wall. Like the frame had been slammed against it. Over and over and over.

You swallowed. On one of the feeds, a body slipped through the hall like a living shade. Pausing, you watched until it disappeared from view. The sound of footsteps whispered, then hummed, then roared. You spun, seeking out Kylo, finding him by the co-pilot’s chair, and darted into the pilot’s spot as if this was a totally normal occasion and you weren’t on a weird deathship surrounded by his weird death bodyguards.

Kylo turned to gaze at you, and the blast doors opened, stealing his attention. In the frame stood another would-be man, outfitted with a ribbed-weave robe and carting a huge plasma rifle. Filth smothered him from his boots halfway up his legs, and his head was obscured by a helmet, not unlike the one you’d known Kylo to wear. This one had two blinders on either side, like this man was a predator. 

Like he was a hunter.

Whatever fear you felt for him, he certainly did not feel it for you. He glanced between you and Kylo, trying to ascertain the relationship that resulted in your presence.

“She’s in my seat.” His voice was grainy, like glass on stone, distorted underneath his mask.

You held up your hands in deference. “Hey, sorry. I had no idea this was your seat.” You went to stand, frowning at Kylo, who was studying your every movement. Really had to love how helpful he was being.

“Hurry up,” the man said. 

Nodding, you wriggled around the chair with your hands still raised, as if this would offer any form of protection between you and this fully armed guard. He squared his feet and stalked toward the pilot’s seat. You side-stepped him, but he shoulder-checked you despite it, and you stumbled back, wincing. 

“What the f--”

Kylo Ren’s saber screamed to life, slicing a divide between the hunter and the chair. He stalled, fists balled, neck rolling to stare at Kylo. You gulped, rubbing your arm, your eyes flipping between him and the crackling rod of plasma only a foot away from the man’s waist.

“Sir.”

“Careful,” Kylo said.

He snorted. “Of a Lieutenant--”

“Kuruk.”

Kuruk pivoted to you, and you met his stare somewhere behind the shield of metal. Whoever was underneath the helmet was rending you apart in his mind. 

He shrugged his shoulder and looked back to Kylo.

“Excuse me. Sir.”

The saber disappeared, and Kuruk took his seat at the dashboard. You flushed. At least he’d done that much. You snuck to the back of the cockpit, thinking to sit at the surveillance station, but pausing there too. Every one of these seats could have an owner whose name you didn’t know. Glimpsing Kylo, you threw up your hands in confusion.

Kylo caught this, but did not acknowledge it. “Resistance activity was spotted on the scanners. Get Cardo and Trudgen on the turrets. Ushar gunning.”

“Yes, Master.” 

Your eyes widened. Master? 

Kuruk fussed with the dashboard, relaying the information, and you gazed at Kylo, examining his body in the same routine you’d practiced nightly with your hands between your legs. Fuck, he was big--the thick expanse of chest rose with a slow breath, and you watched it fall, then watched his neck tense as he turned, attuned to your observation. Heat rushed your spine when you linked eyes. His jaw stiffened.

“Get in your seat, Lieutenant.”

“Oh,” you replied. “Is this my seat? I didn’t know.” You sank into it, shooting him a wide, sparkling smile. “Thank you, Master.”

Kylo swallowed.

The blast doors opened again, the soldier you’d seen at the entrance bursting through and tromping to a gunner console--you assumed this was Ushar. He tossed his club to the side, flicking on the controls and calibrating the sights. The ship itself bellowed to life, rising from the floor, and you gripped the seat, unable to force your focus from Kylo--just as he was unable to force his from you. 

The two of you were in competition. That much was clear. 

You just couldn’t figure out what the loser would be impaled with--or if that would make them a winner, instead. 

The Buzzard shot into the stars, coasting in a direct path toward Orinda. You broke the staring contest, glimpsing the little planet through the cockpit, pulse picking up again. Requests for response unanswered. Once you got on the ground, you’d go find your crew and make sure they were safe. That’s all you needed to know. Whether or not Kylo wanted you to come back was irrelevant.

You met his gaze again, his irises hiding a storm. Blood bit your cheeks.

Mostly. 

“Nothing detected on the sensors,” said Ushar. 

Kylo glanced at him then turned toward the transparisteel, searing you with a leer before he sat at the dash. You shivered. Whatever you’d done to make him feel this way, his brief glimmers of favor only made it worse. Maybe you did want to fuck him so you could get a chance to figure it out. Or maybe it was just frustrating to know him in ways no one else had while simultaneously knowing almost nothing at all.

The three men operated in silence as you approached Orinda. From space, it seemed normal. With no starcraft popping up, there was a chance it was a false alarm. That it had been a fly-by. You held your breath when you broke the atmosphere, flames whipping the transparisteel. The Buzzard trembled with gravity, diving toward the ground, greens and browns and blues splitting to trees and fields and sea. 

Then a flash of light, smog blooming to life, tiny fires swallowing your narrowing field of vision. Air froze in your lungs, nails biting the hard back of the seat. 

“Fuck.” You launched from the chair, scrambled toward the dashboard. “No, no no…”

Kylo spun to face you, but you ignored him, shoving between the two pilot seats to crane over the console and peer through the transparisteel. 

He stood, looming over you. “Back to your seat.”

His words swum in the tsunami of your mind. The outpost was smothered with smoke. The closer you drew, the dimmer the horizon, until the Buzzard landed on the border of the eruption, the entire sky encompassed with billowing black fog. Every muscle in your chest felt like wire around your ribs, forcing the breath from your lungs. You shook your head, hands starting to tremble.

They were out there. They could be dead. 

The blast doors opened, and you whirled to leave, but Kylo caught your shoulder and stilled you. 

“What the--”

“Gather the rest,” Kylo said. He was speaking to Ushar. “Spread out and secure the perimeter.”

Ushar nodded, grabbed his club, and disappeared down the steps. Huffing, you wrenched yourself free from Kylo’s grip and stomped toward the exit only to be paralyzed by a very familiar nothing. You growled, unable to even make a fist.

“Dude!”

“You will remain on board the Buzzard until I return.”

The fact you couldn’t turn to look him in the eye made you even angrier. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said. “That’s my crew. They’re my responsibility.”

“Stand down.”

You snorted. “Hell no.”

Two long, slow steps brought him behind you. His presence consumed you like a black hole, crushing you in darkness. 

His chest met your back. “Every one of your little quips has gone unchallenged.” Another step, and his mouth fell to your ear. “Do not test me here.”

Warmth flooded your thighs. If he didn’t like being challenged in front of his soldiers, he shouldn’t have put you all in the same space. His own fault. 

“I don’t care,” you said. “These are my crew members. You don’t know them. I do. Let me go.��

“No.”

“Why are you even doing this?” you said. “You’re the one who fucking brought me here!”

A pause. Silence settled between you, the only sounds the distant noise of destruction and your anxious, heaving breath. You heard him exhale.

“Kuruk,” he said. “Scout and support.”

Behind you, Kuruk stood, followed by the metal click of him grappling his rifle. You watched, stuck to your spot, as he charged through the cockpit and down the steps. The blast doors to the stairs shut behind him. Then the ones to the cockpit. And you two were alone.

Kylo snarled, snatched your throat--he was a swoop of rage, swiveling and slamming your back to the wall. You seethed, squirming under his grip, unable to hide the smirk curling on your lips as you tried to pry his wrist away. He subsumed you like a star subsumed space, bright hot and pure, and you were a simple nothingness, addicted to his heat.

“You think you have earned my submission,” he muttered. “You have not.”

You wheezed, gazing into his eyes, finding an electric spark of hunger and fury within them. Four months without this had been far, far too long. As long as he was treating you like a stranger, you didn’t want to give in. But that wouldn’t stop you from making this torture for him, too.

“Then what have I earned,” you purred, “Master?”

He sucked in air through his teeth, pinning your body flat--his chest rolled with excitement, his voice raked over lust. “The further you push me, the worse your earnings.”

You bit your lip, bucking your hips against his, feeling a growing bulge between his legs. “You’re ridiculous.” You’d thought he’d wanted you to go to Orinda. Maybe you’d been wrong. “What, is this because I left?”

A huff. “No.”

“Then I don’t get it.” You rolled your pelvis into him again, and he jerked forward, crushing you to the wall. “Why don’t you want me around? What did I do?”

Kylo shifted, panting into your neck, his mouth centimeters from your skin. “Not what you did,” he said, clutching your throat tighter. “What you saw. It will not happen again.”

Some bit of that stung. You saw inside of his mind. “You act like I made you admit it!” It was difficult to speak under the pressure of his palm. “You could’ve just let me go.”

“Hm.” His hand squeezed, and he dragged his hardening bulge along your thigh. “Perhaps I should have.”

So that’s what this was about. Whatever had happened, he’d decided that what he’d shared with you was weakness. And being Supreme Leader meant he couldn’t be weak. Meant he couldn’t have room or time for you. All you were was a living regret. 

Frowning, you glared at him, driving your thumbs into the meat of his wrist and throwing his hand from your neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, shoving him back. “Perhaps you should’ve.” His eye twitched. A screeching blast broke the air, and you tensed. “I’m going to find my crew.”

You stalked out of the cockpit, blast doors parting for you as you hit the stairs and cut through the halls back to exit the Buzzard. It was one thing to abandon you. One thing to make you leave. One thing to act like he’d never held you, kissed you, or whispered your name. 

But it was an entirely other thing to imply he wished it never would’ve happened. The thought pierced your heart, and you steeled your jaw, tried to pull the pain free. You didn’t have time to play Kylo Ren’s newest Game of Repressed Emotion. You had friends to find. 

The ramp to the Buzzard was already down, and you hurried to the ground, smacked with the scent of blazing fuel. Embered ash battered your eyes, and you coughed, covering your face with your arm. Under the wailing wind of heat, you heard Kylo approaching the exit, so you trudged toward the outpost, seeking out any hint of life.

“Tonis!” Your voice was eaten by the flames. “Mirna! Lin!” Narrowing your gaze to protect it, you pushed toward the hangar, knowing that if they were anywhere, they’d be there. 

Sweat crawled down your nape, scattering over your lower back as you drew nearer to the fire. The mercenaries were nowhere to be found, but you supposed that was okay, since they didn’t seem very fond of you regardless. The hangar was beyond the completely engulfed fueling station and therefore impossible to see, but as you curved around the fire, you could discern slivers of it. Edges of the building, and then whole sections.

And your stomach dropped.

Another couple of steps, only to discover the hangar scorched, collapsed in on itself like a shattered greenhouse. You stopped a scream and bolted, careening toward the wreckage to see if you could find anyone or anything among the debris. Thick durasteel girders stuck out of the heap like nails, the ridged ceiling crumpled in pieces and mirroring the fire’s light.

“Tonis!” Your back burned from the heat, but you didn’t care. You tried to find a way in, a way to pull something apart, a way to find someone. “Mirna!” You grabbed a huge wooden beam, hands slipping on the soot, but you fruitlessly tugged anyway. “Lin!”

A ragged shard of wood ripped your palm, and you shrieked, cradling it to your breast in shock. Cursing, you left the mass alone, following the foundation around the corner, hoping against hope they escaped out of the back and were huddled behind the hangar. You approached the corner, calling their names, louder and louder. They weren’t coming to meet you. Again, and louder, and you turned the corner, pleading with the Force that they’d be there.

Of course, they weren’t. 

In front of you was a cluster of discarded starship parts, all outdated or malfunctioned or busted. It was a collection you’d gathered since you’d arrived--arranged and created when more parts were added. Each fragment was unique, and when building it with your crew, it sometimes resembled a sculpture. Under the clouds of smoke, it looked like a pile of junk. 

Growling, you rushed it, kicking the base and sending it all tumbling to the ground. Your furious hands found purchase and hurled whatever they had grabbed to pieces. A scream shook your chest, and you jammed your foot against a solar array panel, cracking it in half. Underneath, you found an old, pretty fuelcell splinter. You grabbed it in your bloody hand and hissed, pulverizing it with your fist. Grunting, you threw the dust into the air, watching as the firewind ate it all.

You heard the rustle of grass behind you. Your shoulders sagged.

“There are no signatures of life remaining at this station.”

Sighing, you turned to Kylo. He was watching you, face blank.

“Yeah.” You wiped your palm on your pant leg, smearing it with blood. “I know.”

His eyes flicked to your hand for the shortest, sharpest moment. Then he met your eyes. “The silencer is still in need of repair.”

You frowned, averting your gaze. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You’d prefer to sleep outside in melted trash.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged a shoulder, crossed your arms. “Dumpster fire and all that.”

Kylo Ren held you in his stare, cape fluttering and hair rumpled in the breeze. Tears stung your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

“Come.” 

He turned the corner. Clearing your throat of sadness, you followed him. You allowed him to guide you through the devastation, past the flames, and up the ramp until you were safe in the Buzzard cockpit. And then he left, likely to gather his men before departure.

And then you were alone.

[gay-ghosts-committing-crimes]

Two Best Friends Going to the Thrift Store!! (They Don’t Kiss)

AO3 link is here

Summary: Bobby and Flynn decide that watching people get their nails painted isn't fun, so they figure that shopping is the only answer.

Warnings: swearing and a sickening amount of platonic friendship

Words: 1,472

taglist, just ask to be added or removed: @barrel-of-cat-mituna @completekeefitztrash @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @lemontarto @hershis-kotlc @genesiscaveat @everything-else-and-mars @juline-dizznee @chaotic-basics @an-absolute-travesty @classyfunnyquotesmuffin7 @iamstealingyourgenderaswespeak @itstiger720 @introvertedscarecrow @sunset-telepath @an-idiot-in-a-trenchcoat @cowboypossume @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @sofia-not-sophie @fire-sapphics @dr-alan-grant-blog-blog @real-smooth @juline-dizznee @it-tastes-like-lizard

Flynn groaned from where she lay sprawled out on Julie's bed.

"I'm bored," They complained, idly picking at the covers, "I'm too gay and adhd for this."

Bobby agreed from his spot on a beanbag. "Don't get me wrong, I love the vibes, and if anyone can pull off red nail polish, it's Reg, but watching nails get done? Not my version of a hot girl summer."

Julie rolled her eyes at them and continued painstakingly painting Reggie's thumbnail, making sure it was completely even before responding.

"First of all Flynn, don't pick at the blankets, your nails are still drying, second of all, Bobbin, you are literally nonbinary. You don't get a hot girl summer."

Bobby clutched dramatically at their  chest, purposefully deepening his voice and pouting.

"Jules! The pain- who knew you were the gatekeeping girlboss of the Molina family? That's so transphobic." They paused, clearly waiting for someone to stand up for him. No one did.

"Fine, I see how it is. It's because I'm amab, isn't it? If Luke and Alex were here, they would let me have a hot girl summer."

Reggie piped up, "They probably wouldn't. Luke would be on Julie's side, and Alex would either agree with Willie, or if they weren't here, say something sarcastic about how you haven't earned a hot girl summer."

Bobby huffed, flipping over on the bean bag so he was basically upside down, and made a face at Reggie, who only smiled and shrugged, his cheeks lightly pink.

Flynn laughed but didn't disagree, and Bobby glared at them before flipping them off and haughtily crossing their arms. She only cackled more and he gave up, scoffing under his breath.

Julie hummed quietly under her breath as she worked, and Flynn made various noises to stim in an effort to not ruin her nails, but otherwise the small group fell quiet.

Finally Bobby couldn't handle the silence and pushed themself up, stretching and ruffling Reggie's hair before grabbing Flynn around the waist and lifting them up onto his shoulder, ignoring her protests about being careful of her nails, and heading for the door.

"Flynn and I will be back, we've got hot he/they and she/they shit to do." Flynn grumbled from where they were thrown over his shoulder, complaining about how they treated her like a rag doll, but didn't put up a fight to leaving. After all, she had been bored too.

"Alright half-pint, where to?" Bobby gingerly set her down once they made it outside, this time noticeably more careful about their nails, and she gave a nod of thanks.

"I'd pinch you for calling me that, but my nails are still drying," She glared disapprovingly at him, but they only gave a cheeky smile and started walking, leaving her to follow. 

"I think there's a new thrift store we could check out; I've been meaning to get some nice platform shoes."

Bobby nodded in understanding and plucked at their black shirt, which they had cropped himself "I've been wanting a new crop top or two," They replied.

Flynn checked out their outfit and raised her eyebrows approvingly. Bobby was sporting his black crop top, a pair of red high-waisted cut-off shorts, and black combat boots with rainbow laces. Their hair was loose, and he had black winged eyeliner to finish off the look.

"You can't really go wrong with a crop top," She agreed, and he grinned in response.

"Thanks half-pint." They went to rub his knuckles on her head, but laughed and pulled away when they threatened him with being called a CisHet™.

"Hey hey!" He gestured placatingly as he laughed, "No need to be harsh!"

She rolled their eyes, but gave a soft smile and bumped their shoulders together.

They slung their arm over her shoulder and started walking again.

~~

The thrift shop was mostly empty of people when the friends got there, but the selection was good and they both enjoyed searching the racks and showing off the random treasures they found tucked away, like a pair of boots that would have been a near perfect match of the combat boots Bobby was wearing, except for the fact that they were a beautiful floral pattern, and an adorable button up with sunflowers and bees that Flynn found between an atrocious neon orange jean jacket, and cute quarter-zip jacket with handmade embroidery on it.

Bobby paused their search for the Perfect Crop Top to hold a teal dress against his chest, and raised an eyebrow at Flynn.

"Well, what do you think? Figure this would convince Julie that I deserve my very own hot girl summer?"

Flynn snorted and shook her head, grabbing a garish purple dress with more frills than square inches, and handed it to him.

"Try this," They smirked, "You'd have the hottest girl summer of us all. Might even catch yourself a man in that outfit."

He stopped as if considering, and then regretfully shook their head, "I couldn't. There's only one person I'd want to catch, and I wouldn't want to make anyone feel bad by being the hottest in the group." He winked and bit his lip to make the fuck-boy face, to which Flynn responded by slugging them in the arm.

"Never, and I mean never, do that at me again, and also? I literally exist. I'm the hottest of the friend group. We all know this." She posed for a second and then turned back to the dresses, eyeing them up and down and smiled to themself.

"'Only one person'," They teased, partially pulling out a sequined pink dress and wrinkling their nose before glancing back at Bobby, "Please, you are head over HEELS for him. I'm surprised you haven't made a move yet honestly."

She grabbed a lavender sundress and held it up for his approval.

"Cute, I like it for you. And it's not "surprising" that I haven't made a move. I'm just... being patient. Besides little miss disaster lesbian, you haven't stopped pining over Carrie in years, and you haven't even asked her out once!! at least I've done more than that."

Flynn spun on him, "What?! You didn't tell me?!?!?"

"Wait wait wait, it wasn't anything big!" Bobby held up their hands and took a step back, "We were all up until like, four in the morning, and high on lack of sleep and all that, and I said we should all go on a double date. Luke pouted because he didn't want to go without Julie, and Alex was already asleep, so it was just me and Reggie.

"I guess now that I think about it, it was kind of a date? But like, a platonic one." They shrugged and turned back to searching the racks of clothes, but Flynn wouldn't let go of it so easily.

"So you're telling me you went on a date, with your crush, alone, and you think he doesn't like you back?! Are you fucking kidding me?? Oooh, pretty!"

They paused their rant momentarily when a cute pair of pants caught her eye, and she held them up to see how they looked. Flynn put them back and shook her head.

"Anyways, he's as much in love with you as you are with him. And. I'm getting these sunglasses because fuck you, that's why." 

Bobby rolled his eyes, "I wasn't going to tell you not to, but aight. And he might like me back. It's not like-" They waved their hands vaguely, "- like Luke and Jules." 

They were practically made for each other, and it was never a question about whether or not they liked each other back. They just. Did. 

"With Reggie it's different. He's been through a lot Flynn, and I'd die alone a thousand times before hurting him. I just don't know if he feels the same about me."

They were both quiet for a bit, flipping through hangers and assorted shoes. It wasn't an awkward silence, just a thoughtful one, and Bobby was grateful that Flynn was able to tease and annoy, but ultimately listen and offer advice too. They were a good friend, and Bobby wouldn't trade it for the world.

After a while they went to check out, the cashier offering them a smile and polite goodbye when Flynn pushed open the door, warm air flowing around them as they began the walk back to Julie's house. 

"Hey Bobbers?"

"Yeah half-pint?"

"I don't think the boys, or you, would ever let you come close to hurting Reggie. And by the way? He tooootally likes you back."

"Yeah?" He gave a grateful smile.

"Yeah."

"Thanks half-pint." They laughed when she flicked them, and pulled her into a hug before linking their arms and singing a song under his breath.

It was a good day to have friends like his.

[mosswillow]

New Year. - Mob boss!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: 18+ adult content, Dark!!!, Noncon/dubcon, manipulation, smut.

Summary: A New Years themed dark Cinderella story.

A/N: this is another quickly written one shot that I threw together today to post. I may revisit this in the future and expand the story a bit but wanted it out today for obvious reasons.

Word count: 1.7k

“You have until midnight and not one second longer.”

You dart across the street recklessly, not caring if you’re hit by a car. Time is running out. You enter a dimly lit pawn shop and sprint to the counter, slamming down a ring. A shady looking man picks the ring up and examines it, grabbing a magnifying glass and holding it up to the light. He reminds you of a lizard, long and lean. He wears a green suit and his eyes are almost completely red, probably from drug use you decide.

“Where did you get this?” He asks.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The man thrums his fingers on the counter and makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “I’ll give you three hundred.”

“I need four.”

“Three fifty.”

You pick the ring up and turn your back, walking confidently away.

“Fine.” He calls out.

You stop and turn on your heel, holding the ring out for him.

“Make it quick, I have somewhere to be.”

One year ago - New years eve

You attend the annual new year's masquerade every year. The exclusive ball is filled to the brim with wealthy, well connected individuals, most of whom are alleged criminals. You always feel nervous going but go nonetheless. Your father took you several years ago shortly before he died and now you go in his memory, hoping to maybe feel just for the evening like he’s still with you. You put on your dress, a thrifted gown that you were lucky to find, and look at yourself in the mirror.

You look beautiful. It’s rare these days that you feel good about yourself but today nobody can bring your mood down. Today you’re Cinderella, dancing the night away before returning to your ordinary life after midnight comes.

You walk downstairs to find a note left for you. Your step mother and sisters have left without you which is to be expected. You’re thankful for the place to stay and never ask for anything more. They’re not your family and only tolerate you because of your father. Once you find a way out of New York you’ll leave and never look back. You make your way to the street, calling a cab. It’s a little splurge but you don’t want to risk ruining your dress on the subway and tonight is about living luxuriously.

The cab takes you to a decadent hotel and you walk in, marveling at the sheer size of it. Despite growing up in this world, it still feels overwhelming.  Someone hands you a glass of champagne and you take a sip, savoring the taste. You make your way across the room, taking it all in when you bump into him, or more accurately he bumps into you.

“I’m so sorry miss, I didn’t see you there.”

Your eyes meet and there’s a spark, a feeling of intense attraction that you can’t ignore, and you know he feels it too. The noise and movement throughout the room fades and it’s just you and him.

“I’m Bucky,” He says, holding out his hand.

The world comes crashing down as you realize who he is, Bucky Barnes, the most notorious man in the US. He’s young, probably only a few years older than yourself but he holds himself like someone who’s lived a long and difficult life.

“It’s not a problem sir, I’m unharmed.” You smile politely.

He puts his hand up to your face, gently brushing his thumb over your cheek before tearing off your mask.

“What’s your name?” He says, taking a step towards you.

“Beth.” you say the first name that pops into your head.

“Beth…”

“Smith, Beth Smith.”

Bucky smiles “Nice to meet you… Beth Smith.”

You nod and grab your mask away before escaping his company. You keep your distance the whole night despite Bucky’s multiple attempts to corner you and by midnight you’re ready to leave. You hear the countdown as you run from the building, looking over your shoulder nervously before getting in your cab.

Present.

You check your watch as you leave the pawn shop. You have twenty minutes, twenty minutes to make it to bucky’s penthouse or it’s all over. You barely got all the money you needed. You even asked your step mother to help. She refused, unsurprisingly. You were forced to sell everything you own, even the ring your mother once wore, your last keepsake of her.

Six months ago.

You write the order on a cup and hand it to your coworker before turning back to help the next customer. You’ve worked at the coffee shop for years now. You have a college degree but jobs are scarce in your field and you need the money. You’ve sent applications out across the entire country and hope to one day get hired somewhere and move off.

“What can I get for you?” you say before realizing who’s standing in front of you.

“I don’t like being lied to.” Bucky taps your nametag.

“I…”

“I’ve been watching for a few months, making sure you’re the one.”

He grabs the menu off the counter, looking through the different options.

“I want you,” He says nonchalauntly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me.”

“I don’t know you.”

“If you come with me you’ll live a life of luxury. You won’t have to work places like this.” He sets the menu back down and smoothes his hand over it.

“And what does this marriage entail?” You ask.

“Complete obedience and devotion. You’ll do everything I say, have my children and keep my bed warm. In return you’ll have more money than you know what to do with, more luxury than you could fathom in your pretty little head and my loyalty. You will be my love and my obsession. I will never leave you and never let you go.”

You look at him like he’s crazy, which he most definitely is.

“Thank you for the offer but I’m going to pass.”

Bucky slams his fist on the counter suddenly, making you jump.

“I always get what I want.”

You take a small step back.

“Not this time.”

Bucky stares at you for several moments before taking a deep breath and ordering a drink. You serve it to him and watch him walk out of the coffee shop.

Present.

You jump on the subway and make your way towards Bucy’s penthouse, running like a madwoman trying to make it on time. You look at your watch again and have one minute. Time is running out. You run full speed towards his building, ignoring the ache in your lungs and cramp in your leg.

Three months ago.

“Bucky, stop buying me stuff, I said no already and nothing’s going to change my mind.”

You throw a box of chocolate in Bucky’s face and he scowls at you. He reaches forward, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you forward, whispering into your ear.

“I tried to show you what you could have, how much I could give you. I guess I have to try something different.”

He lets go of you.

“I won’t bring any more gifts.”

“Thank you.” you say quietly.

Present.

The seconds tick away and you finally reach his door. You bang your hand over and over while checking the time again on your watch.

12:02am

One week ago

“Bucky, I know you’re the one who set this up. I didn’t do it, I’m being framed.”

You yell at him, not caring who hears. The police showing up to your apartment with guns and pulling you into the station for hours and hours has left you without any fucks to give. You were about to leave town. You have a ticket ready to leave and start your life over somewhere new. Now you have to turn down a dream job and stay in town due to an ongoing murder investigation of someone you’ve met only once in passing.

“I can cover it up for you… for a price of course.”

You start to turn around and he grabs your arm, pulling you back.

“Here’s the deal. You bring me twenty thousand dollars before midnight new years eve. If you can bring me the money I’ll cover it up and leave you alone forever.”

You look down.

“And if I don’t get the money I go to prison?”

“No baby, you go to prison if you leave this room right now. If you bring me the money you’re free forever but if you don’t I own you. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.”

Your body slackens as you realize you don’t have any choice. Your only chance is to get twenty thousand by next week.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, I’m a fair man. I could just kidnap you but I want you to come willingly.”

You sigh.

“I’ll bring the money as long as you promise not to interfere.”

“It’s a deal,” Bucky smiles.

He lets you go and walks over to a small couch, taking a seat.

“You have until midnight and not one second longer,” he says as you close the door to his office.

Present.

You fall to the floor and start crying. Bucky crouches in front of you and puts his finger under your chin, pulling it up so that you’re looking him in the eyes.

“You were so close.”

“Please Buck, it was two minutes.”

Bucky grabs your arm and pulls it up, dragging you into his home.

“A deal is a deal baby, I wouldn’t be where I am now without honoring deals.”

He takes a box from the coffee table and opens it up, showing you a huge diamond ring.

He fixes the ring on your hand, a perfect fit. You stare at the stone, a reminder that it’s all about Bucky. You don’t even like diamonds and you’re sure he knows that. He knows everything about you. From this point on you’re his. He takes your hand and kisses it before grabbing the back of your head and bringing you forward for a kiss. He slides his other hand down between your legs, pulling your skirt up and grabbing your pussy.

“I’ve waited so long for this.”

He pushes you down onto the couch and you take a deep breath before opening your legs, giving him access. He fucks you relentlessly, pushing you toward your own orgasm. Fireworks go off outside the window and you hear the celebrations as people welcome the new year.

“That’s my girl,” Bucky whispers as he pulls you into his embrace.

You listen to the fireworks until they fade and you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

[thebountyfucker]

The Royal Affair - A Choose Your Own Prince Fic

18+ ONLY - NSFW

I wanted to try an experiment where I wrote a story with two parallel branches so readers could choose which character they wanted to read without me writing two separate fics! Let me know what you think! (Subject to more parts!)

Embo x AFAB!Reader or Cad Bane x AFAB!Reader

Tags/CW: Threats of violence/assault, embarrassment

Here's the link to my masterpost!

Want to be tagged in upcoming fics like this? Here's my taglist application!!

You eased up to the table, smiling despite yourself, and bowed your head. You didn’t say anything to them, as per the instructions from your boss, and carefully handed out the flutes of champagne. The royals prattled on in Durese, hardly paying you any mind, though the Prince did cast a glance up at you from the periphery of his vision. You bowed your head once more, and turned to leave.

-

You had never been more nervous in your life than you were now; with a tray of champagne flutes balanced in your hand, and the heel on your left shoe coming loose, you had to put the entirety of your focus onto your task at hand. It was a simple one, really - deliver the drinks to the Duros royal family, bow, and return back to the kitchen to fetch hors d'oeuvres. Simple. Easy. Yet the wobbling in your ankle frightened you. The last thing you needed was to drop the crystal flutes in front of everyone - or worse, on someone.

As you turned, you heard a loud snap, and your ankle buckled and rolled; you went down, your tray clattering to the floor. Conversations around you stopped, and the gazes of three royal families found you collapsed on the floor. A horrified blush crept up on your cheeks as you crawled toward your tray and gathered it up in your arms; you pulled off your shoes and slowly stood, pain blossoming from your ankle. You limped to the back room, and tossed your shoes straight into the garbage.

“What happened to you?” One of your coworkers, a pretty Rutian Twi’lek, asked, glancing down at your now bare feet and rapidly-swelling ankle.

“My fucking heel broke!”

“Oof, tough luck.” She shook her head as she kneeled down and prodded at your ankle. The pain was horrendous, but she didn’t look concerned. “It ain’t broken… I’ll see if I can get a wrap and some new shoes for you.”

“Thank you, Salicia.” You muttered as you sat down, propping your leg up on the seat beside you. Your other coworkers came and went, taking out drinks and snacks, and coming back with dishes and trash. They hardly spared you a glance. There was work to be done and attending to the weak link would only slow it down. You sighed softly as Salicia returned with a bandage and a pair of silken flats.

She sat beside you, gingerly lifting your leg to wrap your ankle. She was gentle, and the pressure of the bandage made it feel instantaneously better. When she had secured it in place, she handed you the pair of flats; colored a vibrant blue, the flats sported a winged lizard embroidered on each of the sides. The slippers clashed with your uniform, but it was better than nothing; you eased them on, and cast Salicia a glance.

“Queen Esmera gave these to me when she saw me asking the other girls. She saw you fall, said these would probably be more comfortable than anything we could offer.” She explained, her lekku tips curling up as she shrugged. “I think she may be fishing for a thank you… so… you might want to go out and tell her.”

“Alright.” You sighed as you stood and brought your tray back to the bar; the bartender noted you with a frown, but knew better than to say anything. “Can you get me seven glasses of your most expensive Phatrongi red? You can… add it to the party’s tab.”

“Did Queen Esmera give you those?” He asked, suspicion heavy in his voice. You glanced down at your shoes and nodded.

“Yep.”

“I suppose the wine is a ‘thank you’ to her.” He muttered, waiting for your nod, before continuing. “And you’re stroking her ego because…?”

“Because it’s the polite thing to do, I guess.” You shrugged, and he shook his head as he poured the thick, purple wine into the glasses.

“Yeah. Polite. And then they turn around and treat you like trash.”

“They’ve been nice to me so far.” You muttered as he helped stack the seven glasses of red wine onto your tray. Your departure toward Queen Esmera’s table was slow-going, as you didn’t want to risk tripping or putting undue stress on your ankle. Your coworkers were careful about not bumping into you, but there were a few close calls.

You made your way toward the Kyuzan Queen, careful to stand a distance away in case she turned her head to regard you; her ostentatious crown, constructed of metals and jewels and silken cloths, was large enough that it could sweep the wine right off your tray. That was the last thing you wanted.

She did, in fact, turn when she noticed you, and you breathed a small sigh of relief as her crown cleared your tray. She offered you a kind, mask-less smile, and you bowed your head respectfully in response.

“Thank you for your kindne-.”

And then it happened. You took a few step closer and the slippers caught on something - likely the queen’s dress. You tripped, and the tray of wine went flying; the wine splashed upon the Queen’s lap and onto the table. The princes and the King jumped back from the table as the wine spread out toward them. Your heart plummeted to the bottom of your chest, and you dropped to your knees at her side.

“I am so sorry.” Tears welled in your eyes. Salicia rushed over with towels, much sooner than you expected, and thrust one at you; she mopped up the table, apologizing to the princes, while you gingerly dabbed at the Queen’s dress. The red wine marred her white and gold gown, and you knew that the stain would never come out. “Please forgive me. Please. I’ll do whatever you want to make it up to you.”

The Queen gingerly patted your head as you dabbed at her gown; the weight of her ring-covered hand was rather comforting, and it did make you feel quite a bit better.

“There, there, Little One.” Her voice was honeyed and velvet-smooth, yet there was an imposing timbre deep beneath it, as if she knew and reveled in the power she had in this situation. “It was an accident, and these things happen. It is okay.”

“It is not okay!” The King’s booming voice startled you from the calmed stupor the Queen had put you in. Your gaze focused on the Queen’s dress as the party hall went quiet. “This insolent worm ruined your dress!”

“There is no reason to be upset. What is done is done.” Queen Esmera continued to pat your head reassuringly.

“There must be recompense!”

“Enough. You are causing a scene.” Her voice was even and steely, and her husband eased back down into his chair. The waves of rage radiating off the king made your skin crawl - he was one of those kings where the rumors of his temper far outshined any good he had done. There were numerous stories about girls being used and thrown in ditches after minor misdeeds. You hoped your employer would protect you from the likes of him… but that was no certainty. “The dress is ruined. I will call for a maid to bring me another.”

“I’m so sorry.” You repeated, and she tilted your chin up.

“That is enough, Little One. Now run along, okay?” She smiled sweetly, and you got up with your metaphorical tail between your legs. You limped back to the staging room, where you found a bench and collapsed onto it. Tears threatened to spill over, but you rubbed them away with the heels of your hands. You felt so foolish, so demeaned. The worst part of this, though, was that it was all your fault. No royal had made you spill the wine. No royal purposefully tripped you, nor did they break the heel from your shoe. It was your own insolence. You buried your head in your hands, a strangled sob leaving your lips.

Someone sat down on the bench beside you. You figured it was Salicia, until you noticed their scent - it was woodsy and entirely manish. You couldn’t think of anyone you knew who smelled like that. Curious, you spread your fingers open and peeked through them; sitting beside you was one of the Kyuzan Princes - the youngest of the four, whose name, you believed, was Embo. He cast you a glance, his browridge cocked.

“Oh! Uh…” You wiped your eyes on your hands, and then wiped your hands on your skirt. “Hello there, Prince.”

“You are in trouble.” He spoke, his voice unwavering and deeply serious. Your heart skipped a beat, and your stomach dropped.

“W-what?”

“My father is like a jungle cat chasing a rat. In his eyes, you wronged him, and he will not rest until you pay the price.” He explained, his voice low and conspiratory.

“But I didn’t do anything to him!” You squeaked.

“You embarrassed him, and my mother. He believes you made fools of them both before our allies.” Embo explained, his hands laced together and resting on his lap. “I came to offer my help. The last thing I want is for someone undeserving to be left in a ditch to die.”

“But you’re his son. How can I trust you?”

“Just know that I would rather see him dead than let any harm come to you.” He replied, his gold eyes narrowed and a small growl rumbling in his chest. You blinked at him, and then looked down at your hands. “And he knows better than to touch anything I lay claim to. If I tell him you are under my protection, he will not dare bother you.”

“I… wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense. My family keeps a large staff already. We would hardly notice one more.”

Your gaze remained on your hands, your mind running a million miles a minute. If you didn’t take the Prince’s protection, what would happen to you? Would the king stoop to harming you? It seemed that if his own son was worried, the answer was likely yes. So it would be best to go with the prince then. What if he was lying? What if this was all some elaborate ruse to get you into bed with him, or worse?

“I’ll… need time to think.” You replied, your voice shaking.

“Of course. You have until the end of the night.” He got up, dusting off his expensive suit, and disappeared through the door which led back out to the main hall.

You sat there, still trying to process what was going on; the staff around you stared at you, either concerned or shocked that you had gotten so close to the Prince without mention of sexual activities. You glanced at them, before standing.

“I… I need to take a walk.”

No one stopped you as you slipped out the door into the main hall. The royals were all happily conversing, and you noted that Queen Esmera had, indeed, changed her dress. You ducked down the hallway to the front door, desperately needing some fresh air to help clear your head. Ugh, you had a headache.

The guards allowed you outside, and you sat down on the top step to gather your wits. The warm, humid Coruscant air caressed your bare skin, grounding you to reality. The ambience of the thousands of speeders and marching of armor-clad guards drowned out any sounds from the gala itself. You buried your head in your hands once more, just trying to think.

“You’ve got some shit luck tonight.”

You turned toward the intruder, noting that the Duros Prince was approaching; he had a lit cig between his fingers, and he took a long drag.

“First de heel, den sullying Queen Esmera’s dress…” He shook his head as he eased down onto the step beside you. He offered you the cig, but you declined. “What gods did ya anger?”

“I don’t know.” You sighed, shaking your head. Cad leaned back, perching the cig between his lips.

“I assume de big guy already warned ya?”

“About his dad? Yeah.” You answered, your worry rising again; it was one thing to hear about the danger from the King’s son… now you were hearing it from an unrelated royal? Great….

“Den ya know you’ll need t’ low ‘til he comes t’ his sense, right?”

You nodded at this. “Prince Embo offered to let me stay with him.”

“Did he now? Doesn’t seem quite safe t’ be going back to de same home as yer threat.” He mused as he took a drag of his cig. “I came t’ offer de same thing.”

“Why?” You asked, wary of Cad’s intentions.

“Well, King Triakt has no domain over me and my family. And messing wit’ us could end badly fer him.” Cad drawled as he plucked the cig from his lips and flicked the ashes off of the end.

“Seems like a lot of trouble for someone you don’t know.”

“I don’t know ya but dat doesn’t mean I can’t extend some kindness.” He took a long drag of his cig.

“What’s the price?” You asked, watching his lips twitch into a small smirk.

“I don’ know yet. We’ll figure dat out as we go.” Cad smothered the cig beneath his boot. “Whaddya say?”

“I… need to think about it.”

“Sure, sure. When you make up yer mind, come find me.” He winked at you and stood, straightening out his outfit. He sauntered back inside, leaving you alone in your thoughts. Now, you just had to decide who to go with...

-

Who do you choose? Embo or Cad Bane

Tags List: @justanotherstarwarswhore, @doctor-ren, @that-clone-wars-girl, @some-serendipity-snail

[awkward-tension-art]

Put on a Show

So @weebsinstash has an incredible yandere!erasermic x reader series go read everything they write, its fantastic

I wanted to play around with the idea too, so i asked for permission on anon lol.

enjoy this full 2,090 words

Warning: yandere themes, yandere!erasermic, League of Villains, fear, mentions of past torture, mentions of abuse, mentions of past abusive relationship, implied  Spinner x Reader, kissing, Villain origin story, female pronouns used for reader, (if i missed a tag lmk)

You ran. You ran as fast and as far as you could. Your bare feet hit the wet ground, cursing as you stumbled. Your hands hit the mud, but you didn’t stop.

Even when your lungs screamed.

Even when your muscles burned.

You kept going.

With luck, a razor and your own wits you had managed to escape that hell house. You’d managed to escape from the clutches of your obsessed demons. 

At the slight thought of your tormentors, the now healed break in your leg aches all over again. 

Keep going.

Keep going.

KEEP GOING.

The woods betrayed you before, but hopefully, the downpour may erase your footprints. A branch latched onto your shoulder and you screeched. Memories of Aizawa’s cruel grasp flooded your mind. You slipped on the wet ground, tumbling down a slight incline. 

Dazed, confused and hurt, you ignored your pain and kept going. Desperation and adrenaline kept you going.

Do not stop.

Do not stop.

You looked down to avoid losing your eyes to another branch, only to embarrassingly run straight into a tree. Your body fell back, landing harshly on the mud.

You heard a groan.

Trees do not groan.

Fear overran your systems as you slowly, shakily looked up.

In front of you was a man covered in green scales. He looked more like a lizard, than an actual human, but you quickly guessed that was his quirk. But, he wasn’t alone.

A scarred man with piercings. A teenage girl with blond hair. Another man with a mask. And lastly…

You recognized him from the news.

Shigaraki.

The League Of Villains

“What the hell,” The lizard-man hissed, rubbing his head, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

You took your chances.

“Please…” you gasped, looking up at the white haired leader, “Help me.”

It took approximately 3 seconds to be taken from the forest. The scarred man, Dabi you learned, pulled out his phone and called Kurogiri, their method of transport. 

Spinner, surprisingly like a gentleman, helped you stand and introduced himself. 

Not a second later your vision was filled with black and you were out of the rain.

Out of the cold.

Out of the monsters’ clutches.

Instead, you found yourself in a surprisingly comfortable bar scene. It was warm, bright, and quite homey.

Shigaraki continued to stare at you, his red eyes giving away nothing. The blonde however, hovered, as she began to talk. You couldn’t keep up, exhaustion slowing your mind and mental process. All you managed to register is ‘blood’.

A tall woman spoke up first, “oh dear, look at you. You look like a wet rat.” She inspected you before standing straight, “Let me get you something dry.You can call my Big Sis Magne!”

You nodded, managing a small “thank you,” as she rushed out of the room to come back with a dry towel, draping it over you.

‘Huh, it smells nice,’ you thought, wrapping it around your shoulders, taking in the small comfort. Almost like roses and lavender…

The leader finally spoke up, “Who are you?”

That was the question. That one simple question caused the dam to burst. You broke down, telling them everything. The torture, the abuse, the agony, all by the hands of two supposed heroes. You went over every grueling, painful detail, tears pouring down your face. 

They knew of your captors and torture before they even knew your name.

With every word, The league members, especially Dabi, became more and more disgusted and angry. You didn’t even finish when Spinner offered a kind hand for you to hold onto. 

“P-please,” you finally managed, “D-don’t send me back…”

Shigaraki scoffed, “Heroes think they can just do whatever they want huh? Well fuck ‘em. Eraserhead and Present Mic want their precious treasure back? Well too bad. It’s ours now.”

Big Sis Magne let out a happy laugh, “Oh good! Another girl! If you ask me, only having Toga around was getting to be too much.” She took your other free hand, “We’re gonna be such a good team, those nasty heroes won’t know what hit them.”

“I can’t wait to make them pay with their blood,” Toga smiled, her golden eyes shining with excitement. Dabi remained silent, but Spinner gave you a kind smile. “What a show it will be! You, coming face to face with those demons, and having us at your back!” The one with the mask, Mr.Compress, finally spoke, giving a theatrical hand wave.

With every word, you felt your shoulders get lighter. 

“Now,” The leader, your new leader, spoke up, “Tell me all about your quirk, and those pieces of garbage that hurt you.”

When Shouta and Hizashi returned home, they knew something was wrong. The house seemed...cold. You were not in the living room, nor the kitchen. 

They assumed this was one of your bad days. Where you’d sleep until it was late at night, only so you can avoid them.

Quickly, that changed. 

The closer Shouta got to your door, the more he felt his gut twist. The air seemed wet and almost humid.

“Hey, are you awake in there?” He knocked, concerned, “I’m coming in!” 

When he opened the door, the wet air made sense. Your window was open, rain poured in from the storm outside. The carpet and everything else by the window was soaked, giving the hero a clue that you’ve been gone a while. 

“HIZASHI!” The black haired male called out, darting into the room. Desperately he looked around, only to look up when he heard his husband cry out. 

“She’s gone! Our songbird is gone!!” He panicked, aiding Shouta in his desperate search. The couple tore apart the house, hoping this was something else. Hoping you didn’t leave through the window. 

They hoped and prayed, only for their optimism to be dashed when their search turned up empty. 

“We need to go after her!” The blonde hero cried, “s-she could be hurt! She doesn’t know how to take care of herself!!” 

Shouta was already preparing to venture outside. He was at the door when he turned to look at his severely distressed husband, “stay here. In case she comes back, I’ll go look for her.” 

With that, Eraserhead ran out of the front door of the house, hoping to find you in the woods. 

Days became weeks became months. With every passing hour, you felt happier and lighter. Your spirit and soul were healing. It will take time, but you knew you were able to recover. You had escaped, and found a family who would ride or die with you. 

You’d ride or die with them. 

Spinner was especially kind to you. He was a gentleman, always asking before touching. You spent most of your free time with him when he or you weren’t gone collecting information or searching for members. 

You still weren't comfortable going on missions by yourself. Most of the them were with Dabi, Big Sis Magne or Jin, who you’d met shortly after your joining. Despite the short time with them, you felt like you belonged. You helped them, they helped you. You became a part of their family. 

They’d even gone so far as to get your cat Mochi back. Dabi simply dumped the kitty on your lap and walked away without saying anything. You missed your feline friend, and now in the league, he gets all the love the villains could muster. 

They try to keep sudden loud noises to a minimum. Occasionally a surprise yell or sound would happen, but someone was always quick to jump to your defense. 

It was mostly Shigaraki, but he’d apologize begrudgingly.

Even he wasn’t so bad. You had gone with Toga to get him a new controller, and he’s tolerated you ever since (maybe even respect you after you managed to beat him to a quick video game match). 

This was your life. This was your freedom. 

This was what you wanted. 

It’s been hell without you. Shouta and Hizashi were in hell. It’s been months since the eraser hero found your footprints surrounded by others. It’s been months of searching. Months of desperation to rescue you from your kidnappers. That’s the only logical reason for your disappearance. 

You were kidnapped. 

You needed them. You needed your lovers. 

But they couldn’t save you. 

Some nights Shouta would wake up alone. He’d be cold and lonely. Slowly he’d walk to your room, and find his blonde husband asleep, holding your favorite pillow. 

It stopped smelling like you a while ago. 

With every passing day their hope waned. With every passing hour their hearts ached. 

Shouta finally broke down one night. When he woke up alone again he wandered to your room, finding Hizashi in his usual position. Instead of being asleep, the blonde’s shoulders shook with muffled sobs and cries. 

The Eraser hero sat on the bed and held his husband, not bothering to muffle his own weeping. 

This isn’t what they wanted. 

The view from the roof was both beautiful and hilarious. You orchestrated a nomu attack, remaining hidden. Spinner was accompanying you. The others were scattered around the city, taking in the chaos. 

You remembered those roads and streets. You walked them for so long. 

Until those bastards stole you. 

Now, with your life in the league, you could stroll down the sidewalk again. You could see the sky and feel the sun. 

You could punish heroes for abandoning you. For letting you get kidnapped. 

A smile graced your lips. The chaos of the nomu was beautiful. 

There was a flash of black in the corner of your eye, and you turned your head. Slowly, your smile grew at the sight of Eraserhead struggling to take down the brutish monster. 

Only to have your smile fade when Present Mic saves him. 

“Ugh, I hate them.” You growled, “I see them and I hate them.” 

Spinner looked up from his spot on the roof. He swished his tail once before following your gaze to your distant tormentors.  

“You should put on a show,” he put a hand on your shoulder, “drive ‘em even more bat shit.”

You laughed warmly, the idea of breaking their hearts even more gave you infinite joy. 

“Mind if I use you?” You asked, preparing to use your quirk. 

With the villains you have gotten stronger. Your quirk was a weapon. A strong, powerful, useful weapon. 

You’re the opposite of what Shouta and Hizashi said over and over again. 

They can’t tell you that you're weak. Not anymore. 

There was a tipped over bus, and that’s where you planted the illusion. 

You and Spinner, hand in hand. 

Oh this is gonna be good. 

When they dealt with the Nomu, Hizashi looked to the bus, and even from a distance, you could see his eyes widen. 

“S-songbird!” 

You gagged, and Spinner laughed softly beside you.

Shouta looked up, meeting the illusions gaze. 

You feared he’d use his quirk, destroying your fun, but he didn’t, at least not in that instant. 

“G-get away from her!” The black haired male shouted, his black eyes trained on fake-spinner. 

“No,” the illusion spoke, “I think your precious songbird belongs to me.”

The illusion of spinner pulled illusion you closer. The illusion of you looking bashful.

Shouta prepared an attack, jumping up in the air to do so. Hizashi prepared his own quirk, apparently ok with sacrificing your well-being to get you. 

You cause fake-spinner to dip fake-you into a deep kiss. 

That was apparently distracting enough to cause Present Mic to choke on air, and Eraserhead to stumble and miss his attack. 

“Come on my sweet,” fake-you cooed, “let’s go.” 

You created one more illusion, covering the two fakes in smoke, making them disappear. 

As you finished with your quirk, you rubbed your temples. 

Spinner laughed beside you, “m-my sweet! Oh my god you killed me.” 

You gave a faint smile, that only grew when you heard Hizashi’s mournful howling. 

Spinner and you peered over the edge of the roof, and spotted the two of them breaking down. The blonde was wailing. You swear you saw his fat tears from your position. 

Shouta just looked broken. He looked absolutely devastated.

Maybe a long time ago that sight would have hurt you. 

You made eye contact with your partner next to you. 

“My sweet,” you teased, promptly bursting into laughter.

“Let’s go! Before they hear us!” Spinner tried to shush you, failing with his own giggling. 

You nodded and grabbed his hand. 

“Let’s go then,” you winked, “my sweet.”

The both of you fled, making your way to Jin and Toga. 

You smiled at the sight of them, only feeling happier as more of your family of villains got together. 

This is exactly where you wanted to be. 

A villain, to make those heroes suffer.

[generallybrontidefeelings]

He Smells like Petrichor

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Pairing: Din Djarin/female reader

Five times the Mandalorian is a protective caretaker to the kid and you, and one time you protect them both.

Rating: T

Warnings: a mild concussion, the Razor Crest not having it, fluff

Thirty-seven solar cycles since you left your home world and everything about the Razor Crest is a surprise. The power lines are messy and corroding, the electrical work is shoddy. The schematic you’d asked the Mandalorian for isn’t comprehensive at all, and you’d privately made it your project to take every chance you set down dirt-side to re-write the manual.

Well. Write the manual.

The green kid loves it. He sits in your lap and happily holds cables you hand him until you’re done cataloguing and ready to re-connect them. It’s grueling, but talking out-loud to the green bean helps stave off your exhaustion. He loves to be held and talked to. You’re happy to hold him against your hip and oblige.

You have no idea if your inquiries to the baby about the ship’s guts bother the Mandalorian. You hardly see him anyway.

He’s a predator, and he acts like it. You never see him sleep. He hunts for hours and brings back bodies walking or dragging-it doesn’t seem to matter to him. You do your part to keep the ship flying and take care of the kid, and leave him food on the dashboard or in the recessed cot he shares with the kid. Sometimes after a long hunt he comes and takes your work buddy from you and recedes to the cockpit. You guess it's how he deals with not carrying the child on hunts anymore.

You have no idea if he eats. He must , you think, he isn’t a droid . You literally wouldn’t know that except for one time he’d shucked his gloves to cradle the kid after a particularly bad encounter with a stick bug and seen his hands. Fingernails and crevices along his knuckles. Human for sure.

There are always three bowls to clean though.

He’s been up in the cockpit for a few hours, hopefully still sleeping. You’d climbed up there to ask where his toolkit was but he didn’t respond, and the kid was trying desperately to climb out of Mando’s heavy grip. You’d sprung him and taken him downstairs to help you track some more wiring. He gratefully cooed at you for freeing him.

“Come on, snack time,” you tell him.

You like digging into the ship. It’s exciting and similar to genetics, finding what makes the organism tick, grow, change, evolve. You could get by as a mechanic, but being around green things was really your strength, and the heat of the greenhouses always made you feel better. You don’t doubt you could do a number of software and hardware updates on the ship over time if Mando let you. But you need a blueprint first.

You’ve only been working for an hour with the baby happily munching on a jerky piece in your lap when Mando’s boots make contact with the hull. You peek at him quickly before returning to your work.

“We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon. The atmosphere on this planet is dense. Could get bumpy,” he says simply. You’re used to the utilitarian way he talks. Just enough and no more. It’s just with you though. You know for a fact he talks nonsense the kid.

“Where are we?” you ask, setting your tools down and latching the box shut one-handed.

“Dagobah-”

Hyperspace falls away and deposits the Razor Crest in a gritty atmosphere, and you’re thrown side-ways at the change. Wild beeping comes from the cockpit, alarms on the navcomp system screeching to alert you something is wrong. You scoop the baby against the u-shape of your body as you try to make it to your knees on the quaking hull floor. Mando has one arm wrapped around the ladder and a boot jammed against the steel. He’s furiously clicking buttons across his vambrace and does get one beeping system to stop.

An updraft kicks the side of the ship up and you’re swearing furiously under your breath as you’re thrown down against the hatch. You hope this isn’t the day it decides to yield to atmospheric pressure whistling against it. The Mandalorian makes another complicated set of beeps in-between furious swearing that pitches the ship forward this time, throwing your curved body directly toward the cockpit opening and into the buckethead’s armor.

Your head contacts the beskar chest plate, and you hear an awful noise rip out of your throat at the impact. The Mandalorian wraps his whole arm grasping around your shoulders, your face squished against him. This kid has never been safer, you think as Mando hitches you against his ribcage. You close your eyes and taste the iron sting of blood against your lip, and between the baby cooing, Mando swearing, and the growl of the Crest encountering-that’s too nice a word, let’s call it battling-the atmosphere, you’re disoriented.

The ship clangs and pitches sideways again. You groan as the grip around you shoulder slips under your armpit and is hard as durasteel, and Mando lets out a pained grunt when your knees clank against the inside of his thighs. You want to curl up and die from embarrassment, but if you do, you’ll drop the baby, so you try to wrap an ankle around the back of his knee, and end up forcing your whole thigh against him.

Fuck  you think miserably, cheek scrunched against the harsh drop off between his chest plate and cloak.

You suck in a breath, too scared to take too much in or you’ll throw up. You close your eyes as the hull screams against the troposphere, g-forces squishing all three of you together, hot and freezing all at once. Mando pulls you tighter if that’s possible to get at his vambrace buttons. You think you’re going to scream. When the beeping finally stops, the ship slows and levels out. The Mandalorian doesn’t let go until the Crest has flown smoothly for a full 10 seconds, and you can hear him breathing deeply through the helmet filter. He releases you slowly, hands off once both feet are planted securely on the full floor. He takes the kid from you, probably to check him over himself. All you can do is hang onto the ladder and slowly, slowly slide down the wall.

It’s a sickening few moments where you’re somewhere between throwing up and passing out. You’ve traveled in space before, but never in such an old ship, and always been strapped in. This is-fucking terrifying.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. Concern laces his voice, enough to sound interested. You try to shake your head but it’s still ringing from contact with his chest plate and you end up reaching up to thumb your lip.

“I think my lip is bleeding,” you say. You can taste it’s metallic richness on your tongue tip. Running your fingers a little higher you feel the indent on your cheek from where your face was pressed into his armor.

“You’ve got a bruise on your temple too,” he tells you, gently handing the kid back to you. “I’ll find a landing site then see about the swelling.”

Once he’s back in the cockpit you move around on shaky legs to find the floating pram in the hull’s carnage. Crates are everywhere, and it takes some effort to free it from the mess. You settle the kid inside it. He keeps reaching up one wrinkly hand toward your head. Even though your stomach is in knots you start moving containers back to where they should be, anything to occupy you away from a bought with burning alive. Your head feels like it's swimming, and you’re moving a little slower than you should be.

“Any luck?” you try to call up. Landing in Dagobah can take the better part of a solar cycle, so you've heard. It’s surprising the ship sets down less than an hour later. You’ve barely moved...three crates? That doesn't seem right. For an hour? It should be done .

When Mando slides down the ladder with a medkit in hand he finds you with your hands on your hips, staring blankly at one crate that...is just too heavy to move.

“You done?” he asks, startling you out of your focused attempt to make the box move .

“I don’t understand. I moved this yesterday,” you say. You realize slowly Mando has your elbow and is guiding you to his cot to sit. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure your concussion doesn’t cause permanent damage,” he says. He jerks his head at the closet he calls a bed, and you lean back against it. “Sit, don’t lean.” You push yourself back further until you’re seated. Shoving your knees to the side with his hip, he stands blocking your escape from the cot and the med-scanner. You pull back a little when the red-blinker shines directly in your eye, but Mando’s quick and not having an argument. He grips your jaw not ungently, and proceeds to inspect your head wound. You stare directly at the spot where you think is forehead would be. He’s leaning heavily into your knees: he knows you will try to escape medical care. Or maybe he just needs something to ground against too. It wouldn't surprise you.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, tonguing the spot you can taste blood on inside your mouth.

“Beskar has been known to kill people on impact,” he replies tiredly. Like you should have known that. “Lucky for you, this is a concussion. You’ll have a bump for a while,” and to prove it he pokes a finger into your still forming egg. “This bounty should take a few hours. I suggest you turn out the lights and sleep.” He holds the cooling pack to your skull, and you reach up to hold it in place so he can release your legs and pack away the scanner.

“The kid has been cramped, he’ll want to play,” you tell him. He snaps the medkit closed and looks directly at you.

“You aren’t much use if you can’t think clearly,” he tries back. “I’ll take him with me. Might find a lizard or something to eat.”

“Mando-”

“Zip it,” he scolds. He’s gigantic in the suit of armor, and you sit dutifully still as he doles out pain medication for you to take. “Take these. Then lie down.” He watches you swallow the gel capsules down, and you sigh in relief as soon as they kick in and settle the nausea in your stomach.

“How long will you be gone?” you know he just told you.

“Few hours,” he says. He shoves a crate away with the flat of his boot and finds your crumpled bedroll on the hull floor. You obediently curl up on the non-lump side, drowsiness overtaking your body. He’s clinking around the armory. You hear the dull snap of blasters and charges.

As soon as you close your eyes, everything is quiet.

.....

The Razor Crest had landed at the vineyard’s loading docks before midday on Pamarthe. You’d heard the push against the sound barrier while in your greenhouse as your shift ended. Sweaty and satisfied with hours put in, you'd gone to meet your neighbor for a tasting of the sample blend. A newly modified vine that you’d all hoped would produce a slightly new taste in the vintage community.

You’d been giggling over the strong draft with your neighbor Anijae when you heard your shift super call your name from behind you. No thank you, you thought about saying.

“I’m off duty, Flitt” you say instead, barely turning.

Her hand clapped down on your shoulder and you almost sent your elbow reeling into their ribs. “This Mandalorian needs a guide,” she tried again testily.

You leaned back to see behind her, and sure enough a full suit of new beskar with a rifle strapped to its back and a tote lying across its shoulder stood waiting. Your brain is wine-addled and the first thing you think is big-

“You need a guide?” you ask, clearing your throat, and hoping to high stars he didn’t see you leering. He did, your second brain chimes in, he one hundred percent saw.

Following him out of the bar, you hear Anijae tell Flitt she’s a fool , and she’s not coming back, and haven’t you heard the stories ?

You led him on a safe path through quarries and rock rubble to a bunker the Rebel Alliance had used for a time, and now was regularly degraded by fugitives and tipsy patrons, who were sometimes the same life forms.

“Do you live here?” he’d asked, one of the few things he’d said the whole trip. You were both lying belly down looking over a ledge leading down into a stony gully devoid of foliage.

“My whole life,” you respond. You think for a second he can’t be that dangerous. He’s got a green critter with huge soft ears tucked in a bag behind his elbow. It reaches a little clawed hand at you. “There are housing units built into the cliff face above the greenhouses.” He tilts his helmet to the side. “Do you need anything else from me?” you asked, ready to ditch your work jumpsuit for something comfy.

He considers for a moment, and you squirm a little under the visor slit. “Yes,” he says, and removes the satchel with the kid from his person..

...and pushes it toward you.

You looked at the kid. He looked at you through big bulbous eyes, and before you can protest, he’s got a little hand tugging on your hair. You sigh and lean into his tiny hand.

“My unit is four-seventeen,” you tell Mando, scooping the baby up, and striding away. You aren’t really sure if this is a gift or a temp job, but the kid falls asleep on the walk home, and you aren’t complaining.

You took a day off of work to watch the kid. A day turns into two, and two turns into three, so you take him to the greenhouse with you for your shifts. He’s happy to walk up and down the rich soil plots, but you have to stop him from eating the pollinating lizards. A...few times.

The Mandalorian shows up late on day four. You and the baby are curled up on your couch, resting after dinner. You had had to gently uncurl the little green bean’s claws from your undershirt while handing him back over to the Mandalorian.

“What do I owe you?” Mando asks when you hand the kid back over.

“Nothing. He was fun to watch. Don’t suppose you need a full time babysitter?” you ask, half-kidding. The kid has one of your fingers wrapped in his claws. In Mando’s arms he looks itty bitty. First big , and now nanny? Get it together .

Mando lets his helmet fall to the side, considering. You feel a blush come over your cheeks, that  was too forward. “What I do isn’t safe for little ones. He seems to like you.”

“I like him too,” you say. The thought of abandoning your little apartment is very appealing all of a sudden. You can't be a wine-geneticist your whole life. “Whatever you’re doing sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” he concedes. You leap.

“Should I pack my blaster?”

“I’d advise it.”

“When do you leave?”

“Now,” he says.

Pamarthe glows violet in space.

.....

The edges of the dreamscape are disturbed by clunking boots and rifle thunks. Your dream about thick pickle-green vines and caves is shaken out of focus.

Mando’s knee sets into your blurry vision. The scrape of his glove against your bruise makes your mouth twist in pain. Who needs weapons when you can just incite enemies to head-butt you and instantly die.

Once you’re out of the atmosphere, he comes back and holds a cool pack against your head with one hand, and the snoring kid in the other. He uses your shoulder as a pivot point.

“You smell good,” you hear yourself mumble. You’re going to blame it on pain meds later, or just deny ever saying it. Forever .

“I smell like a swamp,” he rasps.

“No…” you trail off. “Like healthy dirt. Like ozone.”

“Like I said,” he says, lifting the cool pack to inspect the lump. “Swamp.”

“Was it raining outside?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper. Your throat is parched, the pain meds must have absorbed all the water in your system. It’s a coherent sentence, and you’ll never be able to deny telling him he smells good now.

“Yes,” he answers, prodding at your forehead.

You hum and let the lull of hyperspace rock you back to sleep.

[internalsealpanic]

Do It Yourself Hauntings

Summary: You and Terry get extremely bored while on a group date as you walk through a haunted house. Terry has a brilliant idea that’s sure to chase away your boredom. 

masterlist

a/n: Guess who is flagrantly avoiding homework to write a fic? So this is Cat!Reader x Terry McGinnis. Reader is still as gender neutral as I can make them so I went with the name ‘Stray’. A tid bit I could not write in organically is that reader is painfully shy in their civilian identity but has little to no inhibitions when in their night time persona. Another clarification is that this is the outfit I had in mind. It was legit the thing I had my heart set on when my lizard brain said Catwoman character.   

Warnings: Adult language, clowns, clownery, and this maybe a tinsy bit spicy at one point (I tried) (kind of? Look, I just don’t want anyone going all mother superior on me. Just in case. ).

You were incredibly, stupidly, magnificently bored.

You shifted on your heels, letting them click and echo trying to distract yourself from the thrum of excess energy surging through your body.

It-It didn’t work.

The clicking only made you more anxious, plucking at your taut nerves like well-tuned guitar strings.

It probably didn’t help that you just came back from a dazzling night of heists and getting shot at. Adrenaline still flowing through your veins like molten ichor. Heart still floundering in your chest as if- at any moment- the cops would come rushing in and you would have to make your daring, if not dramatic, escape.

Between this and the sorry attempt at jump scares the poor underpaid actors subjected you to, your head started aching and your mood plummeted into something vile. Thankfully, your group was none-the-wiser unless all of them spontaneously decided to master micro-expressions then you were the picture of an apprehensive young adult trekking through a cheap haunted house.

Why did you agree to this again?

Pulse still pounding loudly in your ears and content with letting the others have their fun, you silently fall into the back of the group. There was a higher chance that you would encounter the cringe-inducing scares but you weren’t too concerned. Nope. You were more worried about the very real possibility that you might deck Nelson or Chelsea or Blade or whoever the fuck decided that girls need to play scared to make guys feel cool. Ok, yeah, the last one.

When Chelsea did another ill-timed flinch, scrabbling for Nelson’s arm, and Nelson ate it up, you swore your eyes would roll their way out of their sockets. Whoever popularized this needed to be shot. Twice.

There was always a possibility that they weren’t faking it, that they were genuinely terrified but you highly doubted it considering if anything actually scary happened, Nelson would be the first one to run.

Neck deep in your musings, you hadn’t noticed as Terry slowed to keep pace with you. He leaned down close enough to brush his lips against your skin and blew a light gust into your ear.  You jumped clutching your ear feeling the heat spread through your body. You twitched away. The memory of his lips against your ear making your stomach dance. Your skin prickled with curiosity-

 You glowered at him. You prayed that the embarrassment plain on your body language did not dampen the venom in your eyes.

“Told ya I could be scary,”

He winked.

You sighed.

Of course, he hadn’t let that go.

You rolled your head to the side and shrank into your puffy leather jacket trying to hide the bright flush of your cheeks. From the absolutely smarmy grin he gave you, he was enjoying this. Was this payback? It was probably payback. Payback for all the slag you said over the comms, the flirty little touches, or all the little kisses you dealt him every time you encountered him in the field.

Here’s a novel concept! Maybe don’t dish out what you can’t take.

“Compared to this place? Yeah,”

“Ouch, what’s got you in a mood?”

You leveled him a look. Terry leveled you with his own. You tilted your head ever so slightly to show the bruise blooming on your collar bone. He winced. His jaw clenched.  You instantly regretted showing him when his brows were carved with guilt. Normally, you liked looking at Terry. Easy on the eyes kind of handsome. He only looked punchable in the Batsuit. But you could never stand the guilt and worry on his face, especially when you were the cause. It wasn’t even his fault. You took the blow knowing your armor wasn’t quite as enforced. That was on you.

You sucked in a breath and rolled your shoulders contorting yourself away from the ever-present need to apologize. Instead, you waved your hand vaguely at the cheaply constructed haunted house. “Admit it, this place is-” 

“isn’t that-” He looked around rubbing the back of his neck. “-bad?”

“Terry, the scariest thing about this place is how many credits I wasted,” you deadpanned looking down at your, now, lighter wallet. It wasn’t physically lighter but you were a drama queen and you had a point to make.

Terry chuckled at your antics and rolled his eyes. “It’s got its charms,” You raised your brow and crossed your arms. His shoulders slumped then straightened, a teasing quirk to his lip curling.   “Still better than doing that family studies paper,”

Ok, that you could agree on.

The rest of the walk was marginally bearable with you and Terry providing quiet commentary on each scare. It was hard to hold back laughter. Your body shook, nearly falling into a giggle fit several times. You got dirty looks from the others several times for the transgression of ‘ruining’ the mood.  You were a little impressed that they had managed to make a mood for you to ruin. After all, what’s more romantic than zombie clowns and warehouses?

 Your sides ached. You really wanted to just let out a laugh, a real full belly laugh but you hated your laugh. Terry, you thought, was aware of your broken plate laugh. Why did he keep trying to draw it out?

Your group made it into a large clearing. Your anxiety immediately ratcheted up with the wide-open space but relaxed after scanning the room. There was nowhere to put

Creaking and scraping of old rusty metals resonated in every corner.

Terry nudged you and pointed upward, directing your attention to the silhouette moving around in the rafters.

Your heart stopped momentarily but picked back up again as soon as you saw the graceless way the figure moved around.

A clown covered in gore and shards of metal jumped down from the rafters landing in the middle of your ragtag group. You scattered. You heard a few gasps. You even saw Nelson flinch. You took some petty satisfaction in being right.

You yawned less concerned with the crazy act he was putting on and more with how the hell he hasn’t landed on a single patron. You made your boredom plain. You’ve seen crazy.  Your sides throbbed in protest of the reminder.

You looked down to distract yourself only to be met with the sight of floppy red clown shoes. Genuine, floppy, red clown shoes. You pinched the bridge of your nose and bit your lip. Your body trembled from trying to contain the laughter roiling in your stomach.

The man continued to spout something about keeping you all here for his entertainment. Blah. Blah. You crossed your ankles and leaned ever so  slightly into Terry’s space, cocking your head to the opposite side.  You yawned into your hand muffling the sound as best you could in an attempt to be polite. Terry had other ideas.

Terry leaned down into your ear making an exaggerated snoring sound.  An ugly snort tore its way out of your nostrils loud enough to be heard over the clown’s overly dramatic soliloquy. You felt everyone’s eyes on you. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle the onslaught of snorts rising up from your chest. You narrowed your eyes at Terry who, at the moment, was also fighting his own fit of laughter. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you, in solidarity, tried not to laugh too hard at the expense of the wannabe Shakespeare actor.

You kind of felt bad.

Maybe.

Ok, you did. But not nearly enough to actually stop laughing. In your defense, Ace had more acting chops than this guy. But kudos, he was really into the bit.

He lunged at the two of you, fuming with smoke coming out of his ears. Terry grabbed you pressing you to his side and wrapping a protective arm around you. You let out an embarrassing little squeak. You witnessed as he cataloged it into the ‘stuff y/n is never gonna live down’ part of his brain. ‘Cute’ he mouthed silently. You cursed yourself. You turned to cuss at Terry-

The clown lunged at you again, murderous intent plain as day on his face. He snarled as you two dodged him easily with a quick sidestep. In the corner of your eyes, you could see the other actors look on in bewilderment.  One of them shook her head clearly exasperated. Ok, so you unintentionally pissed off one of the actors. Great. Now, what?

The man lunged for you again. Dodging gracefully, you two turned on your heels and bolted leading him away from the group. You could hear the group collectively cheering him on behind you as you made your escape.

Technically, you could just knock him out and maybe go back to the group. One of you was the goddamn Batman while the other was Stray, thief extraordinaire, after all. But between the gasp of laughter and the playful grin stretching across Terry’s face like hell that was happening.

You two ducked into a corner tired and panting. You press yourself against the cool metal of the wall with Terry shielding you from view.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”  You whisper, shrinking into your leather jacket feeling keenly aware of your lack of undershirt as the heat radiating from his skin pressed against yours. He leaned against you, closing the gap between the two of you.  His panting breaths fanning against your skin, lips brushing against the bare skin of your collar.  You bit out a curse as the color on your cheeks darkened. You swallowed a lump, heart floundering again. You felt him smile against your skin.

You like to say it was anger that flared up in you. You really would but the heat suffusing in your body said otherwise. You pushed at him weakly. “We have to get back,”

Terry stepped back giving you space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“You sure you want to? Bozo is still looking for us. That and you’ll probably still be bored,”

You tapped your foot and tilted your head considering it. You looked into his face searching for something. You sigh inwardly. “Yeah, no. I really don’t wanna go back. The scariest thing is still the amount of money we wasted and I have yet to be scared shitless,”

He smiled at you victoriously. “I have an idea,”

You blinked at him.“Ok, great job! Now, I’m pissing myself with fear,” You teased. You weren’t a fan of Terry’s ideas half the time but hell if they weren’t entertaining.

Terry rolled his eyes at you holding out his hand. “You brought your goggles, right?”

“McGinnis, I didn’t exactly have time to go home and-” You stilled, feeling his eyes trail down your chest before darting back up. Normally, when you were in costume, you left the zipper of your jacket open showing tantalizing glimpses of your soft flesh. Terry was absolutely not opposed to your costume choice unless you were in danger which was rare (thank you very much). This was what led to your current blushing predicament not that the other aspects of your costume were any less complementary. You sighed inwardly before stammering out “Yeah, I have my goggles,”  Fishing them out of an inner pocket of your jacket, you waved them around half-heartedly. 

“Schway! Come on follow me,” He said grabbing your wrist before you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

You rounded a couple of corners before stopping at a beam. He looked from left to right brow furrowed. He tapped his foot twice then somehow decided to go left. How the hell Terry managed to find his way around in the dark was a complete mystery to you. Your first guess is echolocation but the second, more logical guess, was that Bruce was a paranoid old man. Like a normal human, you were entirely dependent on the night vision mode of your goggles. 

You stopped when Terry stretched his arm out in front of you. You squinted seeing another group of bored-looking patrons. You turn to Terry who was looking at them and seemingly analyzing the group and it clicked.

“Oh,” you whispered quietly as you understood what he was planning. He threw you a playful smirk knowing you wouldn’t be able to resist this golden opportunity to fuck around.

“I would like to go on record and say this is a terrible idea,”

“And yet you’re going along with it,”

You were about to protest but couldn’t really think of a good defense.

“You know, if you really wanted to scare them you could have just dressed up as old Brucie,” 

You huffed and put your goggles on before crouching low. He followed suit bending low.

“Weeell, sorry. Your gremlin mug was the best I could do on short notice,”

You made a face of mock hurt which made him chuckle. “Am not,”

As it turns out, two vigilantes well-trained in sneaking around are actually pretty good at scaring people. In the last 5 minutes, you’ve scared four different groups of patrons all with varying reactions but all equally hilarious.

“Yanno we could probably scare Nelson,” Terry hummed innocently trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. You answered him with a vicious smile. “You just want payback for the prank he pulled yesterday,”

“And you want to see him  piss himself,”

This was true.

“Ok, fine. What’s the game plan?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Terry chuckled knowing he’s got you hook, line, and sinker. You scoffed but let him lean closer to you to whisper his maniacal scheme.

“If this works I am going to cry-” You crowed ducking behind another row of boxes as you quietly trailed your group.  “-Hand me your jacket,”

Completely avoiding your outstretched hands, he draped his jacket over you like a strange leather veil before giving your head a quick pat. “Hope you brought tissues then,”

“Like slag, this is gonna work,” You said quirking your brow and tilting your head to make the doubt plain on your face. Even with your vision impaired by your new headpiece, you could still admire how nice he looked in his shirt. Not that you let it show. You hoped.

“Just watch and learn nonbeliever,”

“Oh god he thinks he can pull off miracles now,” You sneered climbing on to his broad shoulders.

“Shhhhhhhh”

You pouted down at him crossing your arms. He shrugged his shoulders, the movement drawing a surprised yelp from you in turn making him snicker. You were about to open your mouth when your smoke trap was triggered.

Ok, this was a blatant abuse of your equipment but who was gonna tell you off? Bruce? Probably but the man was allergic to fun so being at a Halloween fair was, likely,  safe.

Thick waterfalls of white smoke cascaded down from the rafters, blanketing the floor with a thick mist of curling smoke. The group stopped almost mystified by how well-timed the eerie effect was. You had to hold back a derisive snort when they all turned to each other confused.

Because, yes, this is what your hours of booby trap training have been leading up to.

Truly, a magnum opus of spite.

You could already see Nelson readying himself to bolt even as Blade and Chelsea hung off his arms. Petty satisfaction bloomed in you.

Ok, you may be a gremlin.

You threw your voice in a shrill cackle letting it echo and bounce in the room over the too slow circus music playing in the background. It was a chilling sound, the kind that rattled in bones and traveled up the spine. One that you’ve only ever used for pranks during long nights at the lab. You even felt Terry freeze up beneath you. His grip on your thighs getting tighter. How on earth you didn’t yelp or squeak or make any other little noise at that was the true miracle.

“Wha- what’s going on?“  Blade squeaked, pressing into the group.

"Didn’t we just pass the last attraction?!”

“Are you sure it was the last?”

“I don’t know man!”

The group shrank in on itself as the conversation grew more panicked. You felt Terry shaking from holding in laughter. You nudge him softly with your heel. He took a breath and nodded to tell you he was fine.

“Oh children, there’s no need to fuss,” You coo sickeningly sweet. You see them swallow taking in your presence heavy as it was.

“The fun’s only just beginning!” You shriek flicking on the orange lights of your goggles. Your shrill, shrieking voice transmuting over the speakers filling the room.

They screamed, scrambled, and scattered. Your nearly 10-foot silhouette hovering over them. They tripped over each other. Some of them pulling at each other. Some stepping over feet in their haste to get away. Pure terror etched themselves on their faces.

You let them all sprint to exit, watching their forms all disappear before bursting out into laughter.

“Did- Did you see their faces?!”

“Please tell me you were recording,“

“wait-” You choked grabbing for your goggles. You made a show of checking and letting your shoulders fall in disappointment.

Terry looked crushed. A vicious grin carved across your face. “Relax, I was,”

Terry’s slumped against the crate as he leaned back. He ran his hand through his black hair and began to laugh again.

You put your goggles back to your jacket pocket. You clutched at his jacket letting your ugly laugh tumble out of your lips. Terry planted a kiss on your nose making your breath hitch. 

"What was that for?!” Your hands flying to your nose. Your fingers traced the small patch of skin he touched.

“You were just too cute,” He laughed ruffling your hair.

How do you respond to that? How could he say things like that so casually? Does he not know how many heart attacks it gives you?

“Jerk”

“PFFFFT”

“Don’t ‘pfffft’ me!” You bit out, throwing his jacket at him.

“Pfffft”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“I-”

“Ahem!”

You both looked up to see a security guard and Bozo glowering down at you. You gave them both what passed for a sheepish, but not exactly, apologetic look.

The burly guard picked you both up by the scruff of your necks and hauled you out of the building. He tossed you out back as Bozo yelled “stay out” from the comfort of the guards back. 

“Kick us out yourself, coward!” Terry yelled, shaking his fist like an old man. You slapped your forehead in an effort not to encourage him. Bozo glowered at him from behind his meat shield. Terry snarled. You grabbed his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“I knew it was you two,” Max sighed, hand on her hip.

“How’d you guess?”

“Circus music,”

You looked at her uncomprehendingly before remembering your well-documented discomfort with circuses. You slapped your hand against your forehead. Terry, helpful as usual, snickered at you.

 But before you could throw hands, Max spoke cleared her throat.

“You dumbasses are lucky they don’t press charges,” Max aggravated pinching the bridge of her nose. You had the decency to look a little sheepish at the accusation but Terry looked pleased which earned him a chastising look.

“Sorry, ma’am” You both grumbled as she pulled you both up. 

All three of you walked in tandem.  Max let up the responsible act.

“Not the worst group date you’ve been on, right?” Terry nudged.

 “No, guess not,” You scoffed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Stiiiiill not as bad as that time you got us caught by the Joker Gang~”

“That wasn’t even my fault,”

————————————–

Thanks for reading! Also please do not do this in real life. They will get mad at you even if their haunted house does stink.

taglist:  @batarellabatarella (YOU BITCH I GOT ANOTHER BATBOY FOR YOU), @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Bad Reputation

Scoop of the day is a writing challenge with a difference. Each fic is built from a set of (for the most part) randomly generated prompts and could be about just about anything, from breakups to smut to found family. Let’s enjoy some ice cream 🍦!

More info about the challenge here

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors BE GONE

Warnings: Choking, mild-ish degradation, pretty much Reader-chan and Dabi calling each other names and fucking. Sometimes while fucking. Reader-chan is a smoker and they both have potty mouths

Flavour(s): Carob, Cake Batter

Prompt: 22, Ambivalence, 12, Invitation

You’re a potential recruit for the League of Villains, though not particularly convinced by their leader. Dabi makes you an offer you can’t refuse.

Reader-sama’s Villain name is Titania, for reasons I’m going into on a different fic in this challenge!

~~~~

“What a dive,” you muttered under your breath, taking in the flecked paint and boarded windows of the bar in front of you.

You pulled out your phone to double check the address your contact sent you, wondering if you’d misread it. 

You hadn’t, though, and took a couple of steps backwards with a tut.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

You pushed open the door and stepped into the bar, wrinkling your nose at the smell of stale alcohol and dust that permeated every corner. Several people had arrived before you, each sizing you up as you approached the bar.

Even among villains, you had a reputation and the ones in front of you were small fry. They parted like the red sea to give you space and you took a seat without giving them the time of day.

If this was the League of Villains.. well… 

You flagged down the bartender and ordered a drink, hoping that that at least wouldn’t be a waste of your time.

~~~~

In the end, you paid far more attention to the drink in your hand than anything Shigaraki said. He was a kid and almost certainly a dumbass and you weren’t in the mood to be anyone’s babysitter. The idea that he could change society was laughable.

You let yourself out through the back door about halfway through, bored beyond belief and pushing a cigarette between your lips. You reached into your pocket for a lighter, swearing under your breath when it refused to ignite.

“Y’know,” someone piped up, “those things are bad for you.”

You turned to the owner of the voice, ready with a sarcastic comment, only to fall silent when you saw who was standing there. 

Out of everyone at the gathering, he was the only one to make a lasting impression. He had burns on his face and searching eyes, which had wandered non-too-discreetly in your direction at the bar. He hadn’t been listening to Shigaraki’s speech either, choosing instead to lean against the wall at the back.

Despite his disapproving statement moments earlier, he held out his index finger, which burst into flame.

“I happen to like things that are bad for me,” you said, leaning over to light your cigarette and breathing a sigh of relief at the rush of nicotine. 

“You’re Titania.”

“You’re observant.”

“You’re not staying?” 

“Pfft, no,” you said, offended that he’d even asked. “Shigaraki has some good ideas but he’s not Stain. Boy’s an anglerfish. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out someone else is pulling the strings.”

“You know, I’ve heard a lot of things about you,” he said, extinguishing the flame on his finger. “I gotta say… you’re not what I expected.”

“Oh?”

“They never said you were a pussy.”

You stopped in place, unable to believe your ears.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

You had a bad reputation for a reason. If he knew your name, he definitely should have known better.

“You heard me,” he smirked. “You’re a pussy.”

You took another drag of your cigarette and dropped it to the floor, using the moment of distraction to drag a knife from your boot. You pushed him back against the wall and held it at his throat, standing so close that you could feel the warmth of his body.

“You don’t have any survival instincts, do you?” you said, teasing the blade edge against his skin. 

He grinned and held up his hands.

“Not in the slightest,” he said, grabbing your wrist before you could move and yanking you forwards. You stumbled, blade clattering to the floor and he threw you up against the wall with a strength you wouldn’t have guessed from his skinny frame, one hand on your neck and the other holding your wrist against the bricks.

“Then again, babydoll,” he said, voice rumbling next to your ear, “I also like things that are bad for me.”

You knew his type.

The smooth talkers. The fuckboys.

Unfortunately, you had a weakness for both.

He tightened his grip on your throat, cold eyes searching your face for a reaction. You smirked, heat pooling in your center.

Maybe this wasn’t such a waste of time, after all.

“Now who’s the pussy?” you croaked and it was all the invitation he needed.

He let go and pushed his lips against yours, biting and sucking at your bottom lip as you reached out to fiddle with his fly. He sighed in pleasure as you slipped a hand into his pants and squeezed his dick, running your thumb over the row of piercings he had along the shaft.

You dropped to your knees and yanked his pants down further, licking your lips as his dick bounced free. He was hard, veins bulging and precum dripping from the tip. You spat in your palm and wrapped your hand around him, squeezing your thumb against his piercings and earning sighs of pleasure. You ran your tongue over the studs, sucking at the sensitive skin there before taking him into your mouth. His knees buckled and he braced his hand against the wall, wrapping the fingers of his other hand in your hair and thrusting so hard that your head would have hit the bricks if he hadn’t been holding onto it. 

“Look at you, on your knees like a good little whore,” he said, thrusting so hard that it brought tears to your eyes. You refused to gag and that only seemed to encourage him, for he fucked your mouth deeper and harder, only falling still when someone opened the back door to the bar.

“Hey, Dabi,” they called, looking up in surprise at the sight of you. “I...oh.”

It was a member of the League; a Stain cosplayer with lizard scales. He took several steps back, eyes darting around the alley in an attempt to look at anything else. If looks could have killed, he would have been dead several times before he hit the ground.

“Um...I… um… I’m just gonna...”

He darted back into the bar as quickly as he’d left it, leaving the guy you were fucking (Dabi, presumably) to let go of your head and run his fingers through his hair.

Damn, he was such a pretty boy. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he sighed and you wrapped a hand around his cock, easing it out of your mouth and wiping the mixture of spit and precum from your lips.

“You never told me you were with the League,” you said, getting to your feet and unzipping your own pants.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t care.”

He pushed you back into the wall, hands roaming your body. He grabbed at your breasts before reaching down into your pants, biting your neck as he pushed a finger inside you. Truthfully, you were more than ready for him, but the suddenness of it made you gasp.

He stepped back and yanked your pants down to your knees, turning you to face the wall. He pulled your arms behind your back and snaked his own around your waist, rubbing his hard dick against your folds and stroking frantic circles around your clit. 

The sudden overstimulation had you sucking in deep breaths, heat rising under your skin. 

“Too much for you?”

You couldn’t see his face but you just knew he was wearing a shit eating grin.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“So needy,” he said with a tut.

He took a step back and aligned himself, nudging his tip against your entrance and pushing in almost all of the way without any kind of warning. For a second everything went white; you cried out in both surprise and delight, the burn of being stretched so much so soon enough to send shivers up your spine.

How long had it been since you’d last gotten laid?

Weeks? Months?

He pulled out just as quickly and unapologetically as before, slamming back into you with such force that you saw stars. You felt every inch of him; every single one of the studs that decorated his shaft. You pushed back against him as he took another few thrusts, enjoying the occasional grunts you got from him as he hit a particular angle.

He let go of your arms and you pressed them against the wall between your face and the bricks, leaning right over as he gripped your waist. There was no time for small talk or teasing; you’d already been caught once and didn’t particularly want to be again.

Dabi squeezed your hips tightly and took up such a fast pace that you squeezed your nails into your palms and dug your teeth into your bottom lip, the pressure inside of you threatening to boil over.

“Harder,” you snarled, harder!”

He did. He fucked you so hard that it hurt at first and you whimpered in pleasure at the growing pressure inside of you. It was like there was a coil deep inside of you, tightening and tightening until it was too much to bear.

You cried out as it broke and left you in freefall, pushing your forehead to the wall and relishing how very cold it was, at complete odds to the heat of your bodies. Dabi dug his nails into you, letting out a moan as you fluttered around him.

Your knees buckled, aftershocks of pleasure growing into something more. He reached for your hair and yanked you back, reaching down to run his fingers over your clit and chasing his own pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you?” he whispered in your ear and, in truth, you didn’t disagree.

He bit your neck as you came undone a second time, digging his teeth in hard enough to draw blood. 

“Fuck,” he said, taking his hand away from your clit and reaching up to squeeze the nearest breast, “fuck that’s good. Fuck...”

“Don’t you fucking dare cum inside me,” you moaned, the venom in your voice replaced with desperation as he tweaked your nipple.

“Come here,” he said, turning you round and pushing your back to the wall. You dropped back down onto your knees and wrapped your lips around his cock, bobbing your head slowly and deeply until he grabbed your hair again.

He didn’t fuck your mouth this time, instead holding you in place as he came, flooding your mouth with his cum. 

He pulled his dick from your lips and loosened his grip on your hair, stroking along your jawline and pulling your head backwards to get a good look on your face, pushing his thumb over your lips to make sure you swallowed. You closed your eyes, trying to savour each drop.

You were both flushed from the effort and release, both dark eyed and shuddering. It was like you were floating, all former pretenses forgotten. Maybe that was why he stroked your hair; perhaps even why you let him.

The moment eventually passed. You were suddenly hyper aware of the filthy alley you were squatting in; the cool night air against your body and muffled voices in the bar behind you. He stretched out a hand and you took it, legs trembling as you stood up straight. Both of you fiddled with your flies, adjusting yourselves in an awkward silence.

“You should think about it,” he said.

“Think about what?”

“Joining.”

You frowned, thinking back to the shitty bar, shitty drinks and even shittier attempt at a leader.

“Give me one good reason,” you said, folding your arms.

“I’m sure you’ll find one,” he said with a smirk, turning to return to the bar.

You watched him go, admiring his swaggering gait as he stuffed his hands in his pockets; the way he shot you a side glance before going back inside.

You reached up to touch your lips, tingling from where he crushed them with his thumb.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed under your breath.

[slasherholic]

chapter synopsis: Michael kills again. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, he seems to be saving the best for last.

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence and death, Michael being a mean bastard

Chapter One

Chapter Two

End of the Line | Michael Myers x Reader | Chapter Three

Sometime before Wendy’s hysterical wailing stopped and after the stench of bile dissolved into the background, Travis cut Ashley’s body down.

You shouldn’t touch her, Diane had warned him, but Travis insisted on it. He said he didn’t want to look at her eyes anymore.

You hug your knees against your chest and stare over at where Ashley lies face-down in a heap on the floor, a streak of blood mapping out the path where Travis dragged her by the armpits out of the dark red puddle, depositing her on dryer land, and you cannot say you blame him, not at all.

Ashley’s lids are not shut all the way. One of her eyes still peeks out from underneath long eyelashes, glazed-over and sightless, looking at nothing.

I’m sorry, you feel obliged to tell her out of courtesy; but you aren’t entirely sure what you are apologizing for, and the apology feels empty anyhow. Maybe Michael's heartlessness is contagious.

Or maybe it is because every fiber of your lizard-brain is screaming in hopeful unison, better her than me. Better her than me. Better her than me.

The group sits now in a tight huddle on the floor at one corner of the dusty court. Travis holds Diane in his arms and stares blankly at the nearest basketball hoop. Diane clutches big handfuls of Travis’ shirt in both her slender hands and can’t seem to peel her eyes off of Ashley. Wendy, no longer sobbing, is the only one not sitting—instead she mills around aimlessly in front of the bleachers, pacing back and forth, following alongside the white out-of-bounds line. Sometimes, briefly, you turn and watch her pace.

Then you look away again and return to vigilantly scanning the unlit corners where the flashlights do not reach. You scan for movement; for an out-of-place shadow; for a shape creeping steadily closer.

Michael hasn’t left the room—not after what he did with Ashley’s body.

Like a hunter mounting a prize buck, he has taken meticulous care to display his kill. He knew that you would find it. He meant for you to find it. Now, you’ve given him the pleasure of observing your individual break-downs.

Of listening to Wendy sob and blubber, of seeing Travis clutch at his long hair and swear and punch the bleachers until his knuckles bloodied, of seeing you keel over and wretch on the ground. You are terrified. All of you. Michael knows this—he is lurking somewhere in those reaching shadows, unseen and unnoticed, drinking in that terror like a favored television channel.

You are entertainment. 

To your left, Josh lifts his head out of his knees with a little sniffle, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He licks his chapped lips before speaking.

“Why’d he do that to her?” He asks in a whispery croak, talking to nobody.

You glance at him. Travis and Diane do too.

“Why’d he string her up like that? Why the fuck would he do that man?”

Because he’s playing, comes your internal response, as quickly as if you were reading from a script—because Michael’s actions are play. Because he’s trying to scare you shitless and it’s working. Because it’s fun and he’s getting off on it. Because he’s sick and twisted and evil and just not right; and so are you for needing him.

Diane shifts suddenly in Travis’ lap. She pulls away from his embrace and sits upright.

“It was a pattern in the Haddonfield murders.” She explains softly, absently tracing a pattern with her pointer finger in the dust on the floor.

“The bodies, see, they were all moved around from their places of death, and—and, um, displayed. It’s been happening all around the state, wherever there are mass killings. So that’s why people think Myers is behind all of them.”

She continues to trace her pattern and goes silent. The silence is contagious.

Near the bleachers, Wendy is still pacing. You doubt she even heard Diane’s statement. It’s probably for the best.

“Why don’t you siddown, Wend.” Travis suggests.

You watch Wendy walk over to the bleachers and sit. Then, as if the bench were crawling with ants, she shoots to her feet again—climbing up nine steps—plopping down onto the tenth. She stares at her knees and doesn’t move after that.

“Hey. You.”

You glance over your shoulder at Travis. His eyes are glassy and dull. He’s staring at you.

“So what’s your deal anyway, huh?” He questions, flatly. “Are you, like, some kinda adrenaline junkie? Exploring a place like this alone at night without a flashlight?”

His eyes glint with something bordering on suspicion.

“And you just… ran right into Myers?”

Josh and Diane turn their heads and look at you, too. You glance away from their eyes without meaning to and stare at your shoelaces. Shit; you’ll have to tread carefully here, very carefully; the truth will not keep you in these people’s good graces.

You breathe in deeply, slowly, before speaking.

“Believe me, it wasn’t by choice.” You begin, bundling your arms around your knees, tugging at your shoelace. “It happened so fast—I got home from the store, I got out of my car, I walked up my driveway. The next thing I know, I’m being grabbed and locked in the trunk.”

You shut your mouth quickly. It’s not a lie; it’s just not the whole truth.

There’s another moment of silence. You can’t look the others in the face. For a frightening moment, you can’t tell if they’ve bought it or not.

Then, Josh pipes in.

“How’d you get away from him?”

“I didn’t get away. He let me run. I think he wants a chase, before he…”

Your voice trails off. You glance up from the floor and make eye contact with Josh. His gloomy look tells you that you don’t need to say anything more.

From the bleachers, Wendy murmurs something under her breath.

“We can’t hear you, Wend.” Travis says.

You watch Wendy lift her head from her knees, staring right at you. Her face is an unhealthy color and her cheeks are streaked with tears.

“I said, maybe he just wants her.” She repeats with a sniff. “Maybe if he gets her, he’ll fuck off and leave us alone.”

Your stare-off with her lasts for an uncomfortable time. Wendy sniffs when the snot runs too far down her nose. You pluck agitatedly at your shoelace. 

She’s right, in a certain way, your inner-voice chimes in. Michael does want you.

But some bitter part of you wants to tell her, He wants you too. He wants you Wendy, and he is going to get you, and once he’s caught you you’re going to beg him and cry until the tears won’t come out anymore, and guess what Wendy? If you’re lucky he’ll kill you quick—and if you’re not, he’ll do it slowly. If you’re unlucky, Wendy, Michael will kill you over the course of many long months, and it will hurt far worse than that knife would have, because by then you won’t just fear him, Wendy, but you’ll love the sick evil bastard too, he’ll make sure of it—and when your time comes those tears won’t just be terror and fear, Wendy, they will also be the coldest, loneliest heartbreak.

You are so lost in your spiteful fantasy that it takes you a moment to realize the room has gone deathly quiet. As if Wendy’s suggestion is a cool and logical point and not-at-all the desperate petitioning of a girl terrified for her life. As if offering you up to Michael like a sacrificial lamb is a perfectly sane thing to do.

But no, it’s really happening—you can tell by just their stern and guilty faces that the people huddled around you are seriously considering it. 

You speak up for yourself before they get to thinking too hard.

“Alright, maybe he does just want me” You tell Wendy. “But what if you’re wrong? What if I die, and he just keeps coming? Wanna know what happens then?”

Wendy sniffles. She makes a face like you’ve kicked her in the stomach. Her eyes scrunch up like she’s about to cry again. You don’t care.

“If I’m dead, and you’re wrong, then you’re gonna be next.”

Wendy makes a choked sound and now she’s crying again. She buries her head in her knees and her body heaves silently.

At your exchange, Diane shakes her head in frustration. She clambers out of Travis’ lap and rises to her feet like there’s a fire beneath her ass.

“Alright, come on, everyone up.”

An awkward moment passes where nobody moves. She snaps her fingers in a huffy way.

“Come on, I’m dead serious! We’re gonna tear out each other's throats if we stay here. We need a plan to get out.”

You gaze solemnly up at Diane, and some defeatist part of you says that it isn’t even worth trying. Michael will get what he wants. Michael always gets what he wants. It’s in his nature and he’s very good at it.

You clamber to your feet anyway, because Diane is right—wherever Michael is lurking in this vast, empty room, it is only a matter of time before he grows bored of watching.

And no matter how much your rational brain has accepted it, you do not want to die tonight.

One by one the others follow your lead, clambering languidly to their feet. Travis first, then Josh. Only Wendy doesn’t get up—from the bleachers, she murmurs that she can hear just fine from where she is.

You get to planning. It turns out that Travis is some kind of urban explorer, and he’s been to the school before. According to him the only exit (and entrance) that hasn’t been blocked off or boarded up over the years is the one they all came in through. The same exit that Michael drove you in through.

“That’s the way we gotta go.” Travis says to the huddle-up, like a football coach giving a pep-talk before the big game.

“We can get out of here—he’s just one guy right? I mean yeah, this is one sick motherfucker we’re dealing with, but he isn’t some boogeyman. Here, look.”

Travis bends, reaching for his hunting knife where it rests in his ankle holster, drawing it out, holding it in the air to enunciate his point.

“If he finds us, I’ll cut him. And then we just run and we don’t look back. Wend, come on. We can’t stay here.”

In your periphery you watch Wendy slowly untangle herself from her knees, rising off the step as though waking from an unsatisfying nap. She begins descending the steps.

Then she trips.

Her scream is jerked out of her as if yanked by a string. She topples in an instant, falling hard, the sharp clank of her head meeting the bleachers echoing in the vastness of the room.

Every head whips.

For a second it seems as though she’s only lost her balance. Then, every flashlight is trained on her like a spotlight. Your blood runs colder than ice water.

Beneath the bleachers looms a dark and imposing figure. The figure’s white face is ghastly in the harsh yellow beams.

Michael has been lurking beneath Wendy the entire time.

His dangerous hand penetrates the space in the steps, clamping like a vice around Wendy’s ankle, tugging with all his immense strength as Wendy screams and kicks at him, trying to pull her down through the gap. Wendy won’t fit.

She aims another frenzied kick at Michael’s hand. This time, the strong fingers are dislodged.

Wendy is on her feet again incredibly fast, pulling her leg out of the gap. She starts frantically down the bleachers, limping.

“Go!” Travis screams, at her, at everyone.

You go. It is a mad scramble for the far door. Travis half-carries Wendy, the two of them lagging behind.

You burst through the exit doors and Josh and Diane are in your wake. Behind you, Travis screams to hold it open, hold it open.

There is a single moment where you gaze back into the dark court and see The Shape approaching, cutting through the darkness like a ship gliding through water, utterly unstoppable.

Travis and Diane collapse through the doors. Immediately Diane swings them shut. She throws her body up against the wood.

“Hold them! Hold them!”

Everybody braces against the doors. The squeak of Michael’s bootsteps over the court booms thunderously, closer and closer, and then—

He kicks.

Your temple slams against the wood. The doors rattle horribly.

He kicks again. His force is explosive. Monstrous. Unbelievable. He does it again. And again. The onslaught does not stop or slow. Wendy screams. Josh is crying. Your combined weight won’t be enough—with every kick Michael is opening the door a few inches further.

Head whipping around, you scan the dark hallway frantically. When you see your saving grace you can hardly see it—the flashlights all hang in occupied hands—but squinting, you know that it is there and not some figment of your desperate imagination. Against the base of the opposite wall lies a thick slab of wood.

You scramble away from the door. Somewhere behind you Travis yells at you to “get your ass back here.” Plank in hand, you scramble back.

Michael kicks again. This time the doors open a little too wide, wide enough for his vicious hand to shoot through the gap. The hand closes around Josh’s hoodie and yanks him violently upward, sweeping him clean off his feet, into the air, effortless. Josh flails and screams.

Travis cries out and swipes at the hand with his knife.

The hand lets go, bloodied now, retreating through the gap again.

“Just a little longer!” You scream, and jam the plank through the handle bars. A tight fit.

Everybody scrambles away from the door. The thunderous kicking on the other side doesn’t slow—it picks up furiously, the doorframe trembling, the walls shuddering feverishly, and for a moment you are sure that Michael in his hideous strength is going to bring the very building down around you. You hold your breath.

But the plank holds dutifully. And the doors do not open another inch.

All at once, the kicking stops.

Everybody drinks in big gulps of air, and nobody moves for a while. Waiting for the dreadful moment when it all starts up again. Waiting for Michael to kick harder this time and deliver the final blow that will twist the doors clean off their hinges. Wendy makes little pained sounds from her heap against the wall. Josh whimpers and shakes like a leaf. Your hands are balled into white-knuckled fists.

...but the silence prevails. The kicking is over. Michael is gone.

Travis is the first to shake off the thick stupor.

“We have to move.” He says, gripping his knife. “He’s just coming around the back. We have to move.”

Wendy sobs in pain as Travis dips down and scoops her up beneath her armpit, dragging her hastily to her feet.

You run again—not alone this time, you think, but as a herd, a herd of terrified animals, barreling through the blackness as fast as Wendy’s injured ankle will allow.

Josh has a breakdown as you run.

“He was in there that whole time.” He keeps repeating, a skipping record-player. “That whole goddamned time, he was just watching us that whole goddamned time.”

“Stop it.” Travis pants between deep, gasping breaths. “Just stop it. I can’t take that anymore. He can’t catch up. We’re gonna be fine. As long as we just. Keep moving.”

All at once there is no more hallway. You’ve reached the end. You double over in a pant, planting your hands on your knees.

Travis was right—there is a door here. Diane shines her flashlight up at it, illuminating the glass pane, and through it you can see the hallway on the other side. Your eyes go wide in recognition.

There, beyond the door, down the hallway, you can see your car, and the pale moonlight filtering in. Your heart leaps into your throat. You can see the exit. Then, you look a little harder and your heart sinks again.

On the other side of the door a blockade of desks and chairs is piled high, a cruel barricade.

Travis shrugs Wendy onto her own two feet, who grimaces as her ankle grazes the floor. He lunges for the door handle, pulling back and forth savagely, as hard as he can.

There’s no give.

He pounds his flashlight hard against the glass in frustration.

“Fuck!” He shouts, his hot breath fogging over the glass. “Fuck! This wasn’t here last time! Fuck!”

“Are we stuck?” Wendy sobs.

“Most of the classrooms have two entrances, don’t they?” Diane asks. “There are open hallways on the other sides of all these rooms, right? Travis, isn’t that right? We can cross through one! They can’t all be blocked!”

Travis locks his hands together on top of his head, shaking it profusely.

“No, no. Most of the classrooms are locked up.”

“Wait.” Josh’s voice trembles, hoarse from crying. “Wait, I think I saw an open one.” He jerks his thumb into the blackness behind you.

“Back there.”

Josh is right; you saw it too. It was a blur, it happened so fast, but yes, you’re sure of it—one of the classrooms had been wide-open.

“You think?” Travis asks. “Or you know? Because “think” isn’t gonna cut it right now, man!”

“He’s right.” You interject. “I saw it too. It’s maybe three-hundred feet back.”

Travis looks from Josh to you. Then back at Josh.

“You guys are positive? Totally positive?”

Both of you nod.

“Okay. Okay, let’s move.”

Wendy, supporting herself against the wall, utters a thin little cry, as if the thought of that is too unbearable to even imagine.

“No!  We can’t go back that way! He’s down that way!”

Travis ignores her as he scoops her up beneath her armpit again.

“Jesus Wendy, look around! We’re trapped if we stay here!”

Wendy blubbers in response, her face a red, snotty mess. But it is enough to get her moving.

Your dash back down the hallway is even madder. The flashlights swing about the hall, strobing in the dimness. Your lizard-brain screams obscenities at you as you run.

Predator this way, danger this way, wrong way, turn around, turn around!

 You shove each and every one of them aside. Just run.

“There!” Diane yells, jamming a finger out in front of her. Twenty paces ahead, to the right of the corridor, sure enough, there it is.

One classroom door is wide open.

You reach it. Immediately you notice what you hadn’t in your dash up the corridor: the door isn’t just open, it’s ruined.

The shabby thing hangs uselessly on its hinges. The metal all around its frame is twisted and warped. A dreadful feeling settles like a suffocating blanket.

This isn’t right.

“Woah, careful.” Diane says, shining her flashlight into the room. Peering cautiously inside, you know in an instant that it’s some kind of science classroom. The black lab countertops are covered now in a thick blanket of dust. Chairs and upturned desks are strewn about the ground like warzone debris, their metal legs jutting out like bayonetts at every angle.

“Take it slow.”

Travis shuffles into the room first with Wendy attached at his hip, helping her step carefully around the minefield.

“Travis?” You ask after him in a breathy pant, still hovering at the edge of the room.

“What.” He says flatly, out of breath himself.

“All that shit blocking the door back there, none of that was here last time?”

“No, it wasn’t. Can we focus please?”

You ignore him, the gears in your head cranking.

“Okay, okay. So there’s only one hall that still leads to the exit? And it’s on the other side of this classroom?”

Travis has already crossed half the room. Josh and Diane follow close behind, trailing at his heels like ducklings.

“Yeah,” He calls back over his shoulder. “Look, I’ll tell you all you want about this place as soon as we’re ten goddamn miles away, now are you coming or not?”

No, this isn’t right. None of it is. The barricaded door is not right. The broken lock just isn’t right, dammit, it's too convenient. Too…

Oh. Oh. Ice water floods your gut.

It’s too deliberate.

The pieces fall into place.

This is Michael’s doing. All of it. He’s been to this building before. He’s been tampering with it.

This classroom is not a lucky break, not even close—it’s a choke-point. An ambush.

It’s a trap.

You open your mouth to scream. Travis and Wendy step through the doorway at the opposite side of the hall.

Out of the shadows, the black shape lunges.

You watch the ambush from the opposite side of the room, a useless, frozen statue. 

Michael’s knife catches the beams of the flashlights and the gore there gleams. He swings it in a powerful arc through the air at Wendy. Denim rips harshly.

With a piercing scream Wendy falls forward into the hall. Travis sprawls backwards into the classroom, unbalanced himself, but springs up again like a cat, pulling his knife from his ankle-holster as he stands, lunging at Michael, swinging blindly.

Michael’s hand strikes faster than a cobra. He catches Travis by the wrist and shoves him with ghastly strength. Travis flies backwards, skidding on the floor, his head colliding with the nearest desk in a heavy thud.

Michael’s bloodied hand closes around the doorknob. He yanks down on it savagely. The knob strains for a moment—the metal around it whining and groaning—then snaps clean off. His red fingers grip the side of the door, and with a lunging step back into the hallway, he slams it shut behind him.

On the other side, Wendy screams hideously.

Travis is on his feet again now, scrabbling madly at the door, trying to pry his fingers between the metal frame to wedge it open. It won’t.

He pounds his fist hard on the glass and yells,

“Run Wendy! Just run!”

You watch through the glass as Wendy clambers painfully to her feet, limping away from Michael.

Michael, vanishing back into the blackness, takes the chase. 

Travis begins a mad dash back out of the room. He leaps over table legs and pushes past you in a blitz, erupting into the hall.

“This way!” He screams behind him, already sprinting. “Come on!”

Josh and Diane lap at his heels. You follow orders as blindly as a soldier in a warzone.

Travis takes a sudden right, skidding around a corner. Then, windmilling his arms to stop his momentum, you see him screech to a halt. As you catch up, you can see why.

It’s an intersection.

“Which way?” Diane gasps, doubled-over in a pant.

Josh points his flashlight at the floor. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck.”

You follow the light of his beam and see the blood, a shuddery trail of heavy droplets. Wendy’s.

Travis flicks his light down the corridor to your left. On the wall is a sign that reads “POOL” in big blue letters.

“Down here!”

Travis is off again, following alongside the bloody trail like a hound. Diane bounds after him.

Josh does not. He stands frozen in place, his chest heaving rapidly with lack of breath, gazing down the hall after the retreating figures. He glances at you. You make eye contact for a split-second.

Josh turns on his heel and starts sprinting away in the direction you just came. His footsteps get fainter. Then they are gone.

In an instant, you are alone again. All alone in the dark. Alone and rooted in place. Your feet won’t move.

Get out, says the lizard-brain. Get out now while he’s distracted, run back to your car, drive away into the night, keep driving for a long time, don’t ever look back, live in a new state, run away from him, survive, survive, survive.

A tightness blossoms in your throat. You feel about to cry again. You can’t leave; you couldn’t even if you wanted to. This place is a labyrinth in the dark and you do not have a flashlight. If you dash back into those barren halls, you will be blind again. Stumbling and helpless again. Easy prey.

Travis knows the building. Travis is your only chance at escape. Travis is your single hope of living to see the sun come up. The lizard-brain considers these possibilities, ignoring the defeatist chanting of your rational brain <no point all over Michael is going to kill you> turning them over and over, before demanding all at once that you un-stick your feet and dash after the lights bobbing down the hall.

Run, now. Before they fade into the black, gone. Run. Go.

You turn on your heel and run like hell.

~

For every ten limping strides she takes, Wendy’s next step is a stumble.

She sprawls on the floor and skins one knee bloody.

She gets up again, but oh God, her hip is on fire. Ahead of her is swallowing black nothingness and behind her is death. Every gulping wheezing breath sucks stale moldy air into her lungs but she’s too numbly frightened to care.

The pounding footsteps echo behind, and oh, please no, he’s still coming. Her body is strong and her legs are thick and powerful from a lifetime of athletics, but the pain, she can’t take it. The painful thudding in her ankle will not bear weight.

Why is he still walking? Why won’t he just catch up? She’s sure that he could if he wanted to.

Is this another game?

Now she sees a faint light up ahead, seeping through a door. She swerves left across the hall, falling as she leaves the support of the wall, crying sharply as she falls, picking herself up again in a flurry of arms and legs—she pushes through the doors.

Beyond them is a pool. A big bright moon dances on the surface of the stagnant black water. She looks up. There, she sees the stars. The building has a glass roof. She takes a gulp of air and gets a whiff of a dank, sour smell, so much worse than the hallway. Rancid.

Limping forward again, she moves quickly to the nearest door in the wall. Reaching the door, she yanks on the handle and steps through, and—

Oh, why her? What did she ever do to deserve this?

It’s not another room at all. It’s a stairwell.

Behind her, the doors clamor violently open. Her head whips around. At the sight of him, she is nearly frozen in place—that black looming silhouette, the hideous white face—this is a nightmare, Wendy thinks, it must be, because boogeymen aren’t real.

Doesn’t matter, the nightmare is getting closer. She shakes off her daze and begins to climb.

The stairs are steep and she winces hard at every slam of her foot down on the cement steps. Up one flight she goes, around the sharp bend, up another. Her busted ankle knocks against the cement which triggers an explosion of pain up her leg. Her hands are cold and clammy now, just as clammy as the railing. She is pulling herself more than climbing. Below her, she hears his boots on the steps, climbing after her.

She’s reached the top, and here is another door. She collapses through it.

She must have done something really terrible in a past life, she thinks, staring out at the space behind the door. She must have done something downright wicked to deserve this. God must be punishing her for it.

It’s just the stadium seating above the pool. Three meager rows of three bleachers and a rusty metal handrail. No other way down, except over the edge. She’s trapped herself.

Oh, but she has to keep moving. He’s coming up the last flight.

She huddles into the far corner and presses flat against the handrail. Leaning on the cold metal with her hip, it stings her bloodied skin like dry ice. She turns around, eyes rotating wildly, and watches the dark figure stepping out through the door.

Death stares her in the eyes, towering and faceless.

The Shape approaches.

~

Ten seconds behind Travis and Diane, you erupt into the pool building. Inside they stand fixed in their places, gawking up at some unseen thing.

Joining them, you see what they are gawking at. You gawk too.

Jutting out from the wall above the pool is a platform with rows of seats. Cowering at the far corner of that platform, gripping the railings, dread setting her face like a stiff, pale, gaping corpse, is Wendy.

Michael is closing in fast.

Travis and Diane scream at her to jump. Jump into the pool, they yell, in desperate chorus.

Wendy looks frantically over the railing—the drop must be thirty feet. But they are right; it is her only chance. Michael will be on top of her in seconds.

You watch in cold horror as Wendy scrambles desperately up the side of the railing, rising to a stand on the top bar, preparing to jump—

—she slips. Her foot slips on her own blood. The railing is covered in it.

Her hands fly open and snap shut again, grabbing at the air, scrabbling for purchase at nothing. Diane utters a sharp scream of surprise.

Wendy plummets like a stone; straight down to the cement.

The crack is sickening. You see a piece of bone erupt through her shin. Your jaw is slack and your eyes are round. Her wails are agony. She writhes on the cement and you can’t look away. You wait for Travis to go to her, to do something.

He doesn’t. He’s white as a sheet.

From the stadium above, Michael peers over the railing at Wendy. He watches her for a moment as if inhaling her fear. Devouring it. Then he turns, disappearing back down the stairwell.

He reappears at the bottom of the steps to stalk slowly toward Wendy.

Wendy sobs and screams as he approaches; she tries to crawl away from him, still trying to reach the pool. You can almost hear her fingernails scraping over the cement, the meaty squishing of her ruined leg dragging awkwardly, uselessly behind her.

You are about to see it, you realize all at once—you are about to witness with your own two eyes just what kind of monster Michael is.

Michael reaches Wendy and his shadow consumes her. Stooping down, he seizes Wendy by her hair and sweeps her with ghastly ease to her knees. 

The world around you has melded into a dizzy haze and you feel like you are underwater. You can see—but not hear—that Wendy’s mouth is moving, begging and screaming. There is a grotesque moment where Michael lets her scream, and you think that the world has stopped turning and frozen on its axis. It is just Michael and Wendy, now; just the monster you despise and fear <and love and need>;

and the girl he is about to slaughter.

The world starts turning again as Michael plunges the knife through Wendy’s throat.

The steel erupts out her skin on the other side along with a geyser of blood. Wendy gurgles and bubbles, coughing, but not really, it can’t even be called that anymore; it is a wet meaty wheeze, a deathrattle.

The light is gone from her eyes as she falls limp.

Michael pushes the back of her head hard. He shoves her carelessly forward. She slides easily off his knife, collapsing. The red spreads quickly out around her on the cement.

Michael studies his kill. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, inhumanly steadily. Fresh glistening red drips off the tips of his fingers as easily as water. 

Suddenly, he turns. His white visage peers across the room. Your heart pumps away in your throat at a hideous speed. 

Michael is looking at you. Not at Travis. Not at Diane. You.

The mask is hideously penetrating, devouring. You watch him back and your mind is silent. Your body is paralyzed. You wait for something within you to change—perhaps for the hole in your chest, the hole that needs Michael, to knit suddenly shut. You wait, and drink in the evil staring back at you, the dark shape that looks human, but on some level is not.

There is no change. 

With a broken, savage scream, Travis shatters the silence.

Michael’s head turns. When his eyes are gone from you, you start to breathe again. He seems to study Travis intently, observing the outburst as if transfixed, fascinated.

Almost contemplatively, Michael looks back down at Wendy’s body on the floor. 

Then, lifting his boot, he wedges it beneath her side.

You look on in stunned silence as Michael kicks Wendy’s lifeless body over. Rolling her closer to the pool.

It is obvious to you what he is doing, bitterly obvious. You’ve been on the receiving end of that behavior more times than you can count. It is sport, yes; play, yes; but it is not just play. What Michael is doing is far, far more heartless, far more deliberately, calculatedly cruel—

—this is taunting.

This is rubbing salt in an open wound. This is pettiness for pettiness’ sake. Michael is taunting Travis like a schoolyard bully.

And Travis takes the bait hook, line and sinker.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH HER!”

Deaf to his screams—or more likely saturating himself with them—Michael does it again. He shoves his boot beneath Wendy’s back this time, disgustingly gentle, as if she were a glass figurine, and flips her on her stomach. He flips her again, onto her back. Again, onto her stomach.

He rolls her to the lip of the pool, and Travis only rages harder.

Wendy’s body teeters on the cement ledge. Her arm flops limply down, wrist dangling in the murky water. Michael, planting his boot down on her side, lifts his head again. The awful white mask peers across the way at Travis—screaming, raging Travis—who shreds his voice raw with every spitty syllable.

With a final, lazy flick of his boot, Michael sends Wendy spilling over into the filthy water.

The body lands with a plop and a splash. It bobs for a moment, sinking then, slipping beneath the grime, gone, except for the ripples spreading out, disturbing the stagnant surface.

In Michael’s hideous stare, you can feel his wordless goading.

“Look; she made it.”

Travis collapses to a heap on his knees and beats the cement.

Michael watches intently. A shudder travels the length of your body—even without seeing his eyes, you know that look. It is vicious predatory amusement.

Then, all at once, as if compelled by some invisible force, Michael’s head whips around. Glancing over his shoulder, he goes rigidly still.

Your jaw clenches up tight. He’s heard something. He’s listening, picking up a fresh scent.

As if forgetting about Travis in an instant, Michael turns. You watch the dark figure stalk around the side of the pool, disappearing through the doors at the opposite end. Gone again.

Travis rages. He screams at Michael to come back, because he is going to kill him. He screams all sorts of obscenities and his voice has begun to crack. Diane watches, hugging herself tightly, crying without sound.

Eventually, his screaming peeters out. Travis falls into silence, spent.

Nobody moves for a while. You watch the ripples in the water until they stop. All is still and quiet again.

Diane looks up at you. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. She looks at you longer, and something changes in her eyes, some jarring realization; then, with huge and frightened eyes, she looks past you, out into the hall, and glances all around her.

“Travis?” She says, the panic rising in her voice.

“Where’s Josh?”

[tev-the-random]

What it Ursa took her children with her? - Pt.2

As we were saying:

Little over year has passed since the family arrived in Hira’a, and fateful news gets to them: Ozai remarried. His new wife is someone who is honoured to marry the Firelord and doesn’t mind the fact that his head is so deep up his own arse- anyway, and they are expecting a child, who is to be the Firelord’s legitimate heir.

Azula’s hopes and dreams are shattered. At age ten, she is quite literally being replaced in her beloved father’s life. It’s like she’s never even existed, and she can’t help but wonder what she did wrong.

Zuko is also upset, of course. All those years when Ozai told him he was unfit and worthless come flooding back. But somehow, he already expected things to turn out like this. Unlike Azula, he wasn’t so deeply feeding on hopes that things would go back to normal. He sees it more as a situation that was out of everyone’s control.

He convinces Azula it’s not her fault, and these kids will still be trying to understand and defend their father later down the road. There must be a reason for all of this, right? They start thinking of a reasonable scenario…

Ursa just feels sorry for the poor woman who has to deal with Ozai now.

So we get a timeskip: about three years came and went. Zuko and Azula – treated as kids and not as weapons – lead a peaceful and happy life whenever they’re not thinking of their father and everything they could be doing out there.

They have become known local troublemakers in their spare time. Kids know better than to challenge them, people know not to leave flammable goods out in the open – a strict policy regarding fireworks has been established after a chaotic incident – and failure to keep an eye on them this one time led to… well, let’s just say that the town is still unsure of whether or not they’re is being haunted by evil spirits.

They aren’t allowed anywhere near Forgetful Valley, but bold of you to assume they never tried. In-jokes arise.

‘No, I’m serious: that tree’s face looked exactly like yours, Zuzu. You really should befriend it,’ Azula mocks, remembering a particularly ugly tree they encountered in their adventure.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t looking at it. I was busy looking for whoever it was that asked you,’ Zuko retorts. ‘Since Forgetful Valley has all the kinds of crazy stuff.’

‘Maybe we should go back and look for your impulse control, then.’

‘None of you are going back in there,’ Ursa reprehends. ‘It was very irresponsible of you. Forgetful Valley is a dangerous place, you could have gotten hurt!’

‘Your mother is right, you know?’ Noren comments. ‘I’ve been to that jungle before, and it’s definitely not a playground. But I swear…’ He makes a dramatic pause. ‘I once saw Ursa’s sense of humour in there.’

The kids burst out laughing while Ursa sighs. ‘Since you can find such amazing things in the valley, dear, why don’t you go back there and find yourself actual funny jokes? I’m sure my sense of humour will be around the same corner.’

*More laughter*

(IDK, I write crappy comedy, ok?)

They still have a bit of a hard time making friends. I wouldn’t say they are shy, but they definitely have a talent to say the wrong things at the wrong times, and it’s hard to make deep connections. Sure, they would play with other kids from time to time, but in the end, Zuko and Azula are each other’s best friend.

They’ve cleared an area by the beach that any Hira’a resident knows to stay away from when they’re training.

Azula discovered a great passion for theatre. Not only are her acting skills fantastic, she also seems to be naturally aware of what makes a good scene. People say she’s Noren’s Little Assistant.

She hates being called Noren’s Little Assistant. She would much rather be called Ursa’s Little Star, because goddamn is she a good actress and she needs everyone to know that.

Zuko is more of a plant-lover guy. Unfortunately, he hasn’t inherited his grandmother’s green thumb, and despite Ursa’s best efforts to teach him, it seems like everything he touches dies.

He has grown to show a way with animals, however. Any variety of frogs and toads love him; lizards of all kinds are attracted to him like he’s a magnet; furry animals big and small adore him and any type of bird-like creature seems to think he is the best human being in existence. But his favourite animals are still the turtleducks.

Back in the palace, Iroh eventually learns of Ozai’s bullshit and how he got the throne in the first place. And you know what? The time has come for Iroh to draw a line in the sand. He confronts his little brother, who confronts him back by telling him that, should he try to tell anyone in the Fire Nation the truth – that Ozai was a top-grade traitor who actually had no right to the throne –, no one would believe him. Since his brother won’t be sensible, Iroh decides that’s it: he’s fucking out.

Now a fugitive from the Fire Nation, he somehow winds up owning a lovely traveling tea shop called the Jasmin Dragon. Most people don’t even suspect he is the fearful Dragon of the West, because he’s just so nice?

You can bet he serves blends of tea from all across the nations.

The tea shop is also a good cover up for his exchanges with the Order of the White Lotus. He gives and receives information, and does his best to help villages to either defend themselves or evacuate during Fire Nation attacks.

One day a member of the White Lotus travels to Hira’a for one reason or another and finds Zuko and Azula. This person then sends a letter to Iroh.

Iroh comes to Hira’a to visit the family. He’s glad to see they’re ok, even if he can’t stay for too long. But long enough for some Quality Time – these kids have grown so much!

Iroh doesn’t know of Ursa’s part in Azulon’s assassination, and only assumes she knew of Ozai’s plan. But now, it’s time that her children learned a couple of things, and he is willing to teach them, so that when the time arrives for them to meet their destiny, they should be able to choose wisely and face whatever comes their way. So he asks the children to accompany him in his travels.

Ursa doesn’t want to let them go. They’re children, they should be here living a peaceful life, not meeting some grand, dangerous destiny! What if something horrible happened to them?

Iroh understands the pain of losing a child. He doesn’t want to make Ursa spend her time worrying about losing two, so he respects her decision and soon leaves the town.

But the siblings are not about to just sit here when they know they’re destined for something greater. What incredible knowledge did their uncle hold? Did their father have something to do with this? They always knew there was more to their fate than just living in Hira’a for the rest of their lives, and this is their chance; it’s now or never.

Zuko and Azula are about to sneak out and follow Iroh when Noren spots them. But instead of trying to stop them – he is well aware that he can’t – he gives them two masks and some advice about never forgetting who they were.

Why yes, I am saying that they eventually take the masks and become partners in crime, Zuko as the Blue Spirit and Azula as the Red Spirit, because parallels.

They catch up with their uncle and adventures and shenanigans issue as Zuko, Azula and Iroh cross the Earth Kingdom.

Now imagine this trio: two of the most awkward firebending teenagers travelling with their old tea-loving uncle, who spits proverbs like he’s made of them. The possibilities for both hilarious and heart-warming moments are endless.

Iroh thinks himself a matchmaker. Whenever he thinks he sees some romance going on, he encourages his nephew or niece to make a move. His flaming cupid arrows do more damage than good, yet he only has good intentions at heart. Teens all around the kingdom encourage you to stop, sir.

Their new life is even more humbling than in Hira’a, since they are constantly travelling. But they manage, and they know their uncle is nothing but wise… even if Azula is still quite arrogant and manipulative, and Zuko is impatient and hot-headed, which can lead to a lot of conflict.

Iroh teaches them both how to create and redirect lightning. Zuko is better at redirecting than Azula. Creating it, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated, and both of them get their fair share of explosions while learning. Neither of them really gets a hang of it – although Azula is better at it than Zuko, that’s not saying much – for they still have a lot of identity-related turmoil inside them that won’t let them grasp the energy.

Guess who else teaches them? Other members of the White Lotus. Both Zuko and Azula get some swordsmanship Skills™ from Piandao, some different (and somewhat unwillingly taught) firebending technics from Jeong-Jeong and a lot of things from Bumi, including but not limited to: creative thinking, the art of patience, strategic planning, dealing with pirates and a surprising amount of rocks-related knowledge.

Bumi adopted Zuko and Azula and gave himself the role of Second Uncle. You cannot convince me otherwise.

So one day, little over a year after the siblings joined Iroh, they wind up in a city where this big circus is performing. Uncle Iroh decides to take his niece and nephew to see it. And oh, aren’t they surprised by who they see performing?

Even though Ty Lee was essentially the only one between her sisters to befriend Azula – and consequentially, the only one to periodically spend time in the palace with her –, Zuko and Iroh still have a hard time distinguishing her from the six other girls who look exactly like her, uncertainly calling her all different names before Azula snaps ‘you idiots, that’s Ty Lee!’.

The acrobat is so glad to see her friend again, because damn: it’s been nearly four years since they last saw or even heard from each other! And Zuko, I thought you were dead? This is such a neat reunion, there’s so much for them to talk about! And sure, the circus has to leave soon and so do the siblings, but Ty Lee reassures them that, if they ever needed her, she wasn’t hard to find. This isn’t the last we’ll see of Ty Lee.

Azula doesn’t let it show, but she resents Ty Lee a little bit for choosing to abandon her noble life. She really wishes she could have had a choice.

Uncle Iroh tells the siblings stories about the war that would have some day mesmerized them. But now, his opinions about those events and what he did as a prince general have changed; that, along with what the family sees in their journey – all the horrors brought to innocent people – gives Zuko and Azula a new perspective on what they used to think was a greater good. It will still take a while for Azula to understand that no, these people are no lesser than her and for Zuko to understand why any of that matters.

Iroh eventually tells them the truth about Azulon’s death. Or at least, what he knows of it: their father killed Azulon, banished them, took the throne by force and planned to gain more power at the expense of everyone. This is a lot to take in, and the siblings don’t quite believe it.

After four years thinking about it, Zuko and Azula decided to take their mother’s early words – they went to Hira’a to be safe – and formulate what for them was a reasonable scenario. They believe that Ozai never actually wanted any of this to happen. The whole family had to have been in danger, be it due to some political, social or personal threat, and Ozai wanted to take it all by himself to protect them. So he sent his wife and children away, concocted a plan with Azulon to cover for them and, once Azulon died and left him the throne, remarried to keep appearances. To Zuko and Azula, this makes perfect sense. And they thoroughly convince themselves of that.

They initiate an argument, thinking that Iroh is jealous of Ozai.

Their uncle sees these children are starting to stray from their path, but he knows this is a necessary journey for them. They will never be able to deal with reality unless they face it.

The siblings leave Iroh, planning to head straight to the Fire Nation capital and find out what really happened. Maybe now that they are older, it would be a perfect time to come back home; they surely could defend themselves from any threats.

Of course, they’ll be very disappointed to know that Ozai was just a bitch and never actually cared for any of them.

I don’t have a full formed idea about how their reencounter with their father would go down, but I say Ozai would officially banish both his children from the Fire Nation for trying to cause a commotion – which could easily be perceived as a threat. Not only that, but Zuko and Azula are the children of a traitor; cue for Ozai revealing what happened that night four years ago, confirming that he was the one to kill Azulon with Ursa’s help.

I also think that, after that day, the Firelord would have discreetly helped spread rumours about Ursa that would drag her name through the mud in the Capital – was she cheating on Ozai? Was she selling Fire Nation information to the Earth Kingdom? Was she planning a coup against the Firelord? Her crimes change from mouth to mouth. In the end, no one would take Zuko or Azula back unless Ozai wanted it. But he doesn’t. Not now, at least…

But Ozai also decides to play with his options: he plants a seed of doubt in his children’s minds; should they prove themselves useful later on, it would only take pulling a few strings for them to come crawling back to him. So he tells them that they needed to prove themselves for everyone to see that they weren’t traitors like their mother. They needed to prove their worth so that he could accept them.

Ozai goes a step further with Azula and tells her that, before his demise, Firelord Azulon had a plan. A plan to bring her back and put her in the leading, prestigious role she was always meant to get. But they needed to wait for the right time. There is a right time, Princess Azula. Your hopes were right all along, they will come for you eventually if you prove yourself.

The siblings have a lot to think about while they’re leaving the Fire Nation. They idolized Ozai so much all these years. But the undeniable truth came crashing down on their heads, spoken by the man himself. What would they do now? They didn’t think it possible, but their harsh actions made things so much worse: they couldn’t come back to their mother, they didn’t have many hopes of running into Iroh again, they can’t even set foot in their homeland anymore; Zuko and Azula are all on their own.

Maybe it’s time to turn a new leaf. It starts with them being fairly neutral, not completely loyal to either the Fire Nation or to the rest of the world. During this period, they would argue a lot about what to do or where to go next, getting separated and going their own ways before destiny makes them stick together again, over and over.

They manage to get a few deals and own a few favours here and there, become known thieves as the Spirits, and maybe meet up with Ty Lee’s circus every now and again. Life is hard.

But there is one thing that is about to be a beacon in their darkness…

Time to catch up to the show. Oh, you thought I wouldn’t go there?

Part 3 coming right up!

(I know I said this would be a two-parter, but it got ridiculously long, so I split it again. Three-parter now.)