#steel types fear her

[critterbitter]

The kids visit the Virbank Complex during the biyearly magnemite migration!

Much like thirteen year olds left to their own devices, the nimbasa trio can and will get into shit like raccoons into trash.

Masterpost

[wilwheaton]

When you watch The Curse, you are watching two children who were abused and exploited daily during production. No adults protected us.

This was originally published on my blog in August, 2022.

I had a wonderful time at Steel City Comicon this weekend. It was my first time at this particular con, so I didn’t know there was such a huge contingent of horror fans, creators, and vendors who attend.

I love horror, and I was pretty psyched to be in the same place as John Carpenter and Tom Savini, across the street from the Dawn of the Dead mall. Pittsburgh feels like one of the places horror was invented, at least to me.

A number of these horror fans came to see me, and asked me to sign posters and other things from a movie my parents forced me to do when I was 13, called The Curse. I had to tell each of these people that I would not sign anything associated with that movie, because I was abused and exploited during production. The time I spent on that film remains the most traumatizing time of my life, and though I am a 50 year-old man, just typing this now makes my hands shake with remembered fear of a 13 year-old boy who nobody protected, and the absolute fury the 50 year-old man feels toward the people who hurt him.

I told this story in Still Just A Geek, and I’ve talked about it in some podcasts I did on the promo tour, but I’ve never put it out in public like this, in its entirety.

I suspect someone at the publisher would prefer I tease this and hope it drives book sales from people who want to read all of it, but I honestly don’t want to have another weekend like this one where everything is awesome, except the few times people who have no idea (and why should they) put that fucking poster in front of me, and all the fear, abandonment, and trauma come flooding back as I tell them that I won’t sign it, and why.

To their credit, each person was as horrified as they should have been, told me they had no idea (if they didn’t read my book why would they), and quickly put the poster away. They were all understanding. I am grateful for that.

But I really don’t need to tell this story over and over again, so here it is, with a child abuse and exploitation content warning, so I can just tell people to Google it.

After Stand by Me, everything changed. The attention from entertainment journalists, casting directors, and especially teen magazines came pouring in. The movie was a generational hit, beloved by critics and audiences alike, and every single one of us could pick anything to do next.

River’s parents and his agent got him Mosquito Coast, with Harrison Ford, as his next movie. I also auditioned for the role, but I knew even then that River was going to book the job. He was perfect, and I’d have to wait a little bit for my opportunity to come along.

I went on a lot of theatrical auditions after Stand by Me. I had tons of meetings with directors and the heads of casting at every major studio. It was all a very big deal, and I felt like we were all looking for something really special and amazing as my follow-up to Stand by Me.

At some point, a couple of producers contacted my agent with an offer to play one of the leads in an adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” The script was titled The Farm. (It would, of course, be changed when the film was released).

I read it. I did not like it. It was a shitty horror movie, and I saw that right away. It was the sort of thing you rented on Friday when the new release you wanted was already out of the store.

My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

I told my parents I didn’t like it and didn’t want to do it. I clearly recall thinking it was a piece of shit that would hurt my career.

It wasn’t the first thing that had come our way that I wanted to pass on, and every other time, it hadn’t been a very big deal.

Sidebar: I was cast in Twilight Zone: The Movie, in 1983. The film tells four stories, and I was cast as the kid who can wish people into cartoonland. It was a GREAT role, in a movie I still love. (Note that Twilight Zone had four directors. One of them got three people killed. The segment I was cast in was not that one. I mention this because too many people zero in on this to deflect from what this whole thing is actually about.)

But I was CONVINCED by my parochial school teacher that if I worked on The Twilight Zone, which she had determined was satanic, I would go to hell. (This woman and her bullshit played a big role in my conversion to atheism at a young age, but when she told me that, I was all-in on the supernatural story they taught us in religion class.) I was so scared, more scared than I’d ever been to that point in my life, I cried and wailed and begged my parents to not make me do the movie. And I never told them why, because I was afraid my dad would laugh at me for being weak and afraid. My agent tried to talk me into it, and I wouldn’t budge. It’s the only thing I deeply and truly regret passing on, and I really hate I made that choice for such a stupid reason.

Okay. Back to The Curse.

This time, when I told them how much I hated it, they wouldn’t listen to me. My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

That is, until they made me take a meeting with the producers of the movie, in their giant conference room on the top floor of a tall building in Hollywood. All I remember about this place was that it was huge; the table was way too big for the five of us who spread around it, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows on three of the walls, but the room was still dark. There was a weird optical illusion in the center of the table, this thing they sold in the Sharper Image catalog, made from two reflective dishes with a hole in the top of one. You placed an object in the bottom of the bottom dish, and it made it look like that object was floating above the whole thing. They had a plastic spider in it. What a strange detail for me to remember, but it’s as clear in my memory as if I were sitting in that room right now.

One man, who I presumed was the executive producer, was European or Middle Eastern (I didn’t know the difference then, he was just Not Like People I Knew), and I was instantly afraid of him. He was intimidating, and seemed like a person who got what he wanted.

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

I don’t remember what they said to me in their pitch or anything other than how uncomfortable and anxious I was to even be in that room. I tried so hard to be grown up and mature, but I — and my parents — was way out of my depth. I’d done one big movie and that was it. We didn’t have my agent with us, who had lots of experience and would have known what questions to ask.

No, in place of my experienced agent, my mother had decided she was going to be my manager, and she tackled the responsibility with an enthusiasm that was only matched by her absolute incompetence and inability to go toe-to-toe with producers the way my agent did. She was outwitted, out-thought, and outmaneuvered at every turn.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

At some point, this man, who is represented in my memory by big Jim Jones sunglasses under dark hair above an open collar, said, “We are offering you a hundred thousand dollars and round-trip travel for your whole family. We will cast your sister, Amy, to play your sister in the movie.”

It all made sense, now. I was only thirteen, but I knew my parents were pushing me so hard because this company was offering me — them, really — more money than I’d ever imagined I’d earn in my life, much less a single job.

I knew that the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, was to say no. There would be other opportunities, and it was stupid to cash myself out of feature films for what I thought was, in the grand scheme of things, not very much money.

It’s incredible to me that I knew all of this. It’s incredible to me that I could see all these things, plainly and clearly, and my parents couldn’t (or, more likely, chose not to).

So after this man made his offer, all the adults in the room ganged up on me, selling me HARD on this movie.

My mother said, “Don’t you want your sister to have the same opportunities you’ve had? Wouldn’t it be fun and exciting to go to Rome? Think of all the history!”

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

I don’t think about this very often, because it’s super upsetting to me. Right now, I’m so angry at my parents for subjecting me and my sister to this entire experience. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In that moment, I felt bullied and trapped. All these adults were talking to me at the same time, and I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to go home and get out of this room. I just wanted to go be a kid, so I did what I’d learned to do to survive: I gave in and did what my parents wanted.

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

But here’s the thing: when you watch The Curse, you are watching two children, me and my sister, who were abused on a daily basis. The production did not follow a single labor law. They worked us for twelve hours a day, on multiple film units (while I work on First unit, second unit sets up and waits for me. When I should get a break to rest, they send me to Second unit, then to Third unit, then back to First unit. I was 13.) without any breaks, five days a week. I was exhausted the entire time. I was inappropriately touched by two different adults during production. I knew it was wrong, but I was so scared and ashamed, and I felt so unsupported, I didn’t tell anyone. I knew my dad wouldn’t believe me, and my mother would blame me. Anything to keep the production happy, that’s what she did. That was more important to her than the health and safety of her children. The director was coked out of his mind most of the time, incompetent, and so busy fucking or trying to fuck one of the women in the cast, he was worse than useless. He was a fading actor who was cosplaying as a director, as in over his head as my mother. My sister and I were never safe. Instead of harmless atmospheric SFX smoke, they set hay on fire in barrels and blew actual smoke onto the set. They took buckets of talc, broken wood, bits of wallpaper and plaster, and threw it into my face during a scene inside the collapsing house. My sister is in a scene where she goes to get eggs from some chickens, and they attack her. So they hired Lucio Fulci, the Italian horror master, to direct her sequence. His idea, which everyone was totally on board with, was to throw chickens at my sister. Live chickens, live roosters, live birds. Just throw them at a nine-year-old girl. Oh, and then tie them to her arms and legs so they’ll peck her. All of this happened under my mother’s observation, and with her full participation.

Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

If just ONE of the things I can remember happened to someone I loved, I would have grabbed my kids, gone to the airport, and flown home. Fuck those abusive assholes in the production. Let the lawyers sort it all out. Nobody hurts my children and gets away with it.

My mom says she “had some talks” with the producers. She claims that, once, she wouldn’t let us leave the hotel. (God, what a fucking dump that place was. It was just slightly better than a hostel.) I have no memory of that, but honestly the entire experience was so traumatic, I’ve blocked most of it out.

The movie was the commercial and critical failure I knew it would be. My parents spent the money. I don’t know what they spent it on. I got to keep fifteen cents of every dollar, so . . . yay?

My sister and I hardly ever talk about this. I suspect it was as upsetting and traumatic for her as it was for me. I told her I was writing about it, and asked her if she remembered anything. She told me she’d been lied to her whole life about this movie. Our mother let her believe she had been cast on the strength of her audition. “I was excited to work with you,” she said. She reminded me about some stuff I’d blocked out, including a scene where my character’s older brother (played by an actor named Malcolm Danare, who was kind and gentle, and made both of us feel safer when he was around) shoves my character into a pile of cow shit. When it came time to shoot the scene, the mud they’d put together to be the cow shit looked an awful lot like cow shit. When Malcolm pushed me into it, we all found out it was real cow shit. I was FURIOUS. The director had lied to me and had allowed me to have my entire body shoved into an actual pile of actual cow shit. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember he treated me the exact same way my father did whenever I got upset: he laughed at me, told me I was being too sensitive, reminded me that he was the director and he wanted to get a “real” performance out of me, and concluded, “If it bothers you so much, we’ll get you a hepatitis shot,” before he walked away.

My sister also recalled that, after she survived the scene with the chickens, it was the producers’ idea to give her one as a pet.

Okay, let’s unpack that for a quick second: you’ve been traumatized by these birds, so we’re going to give you one as a pet. That you’ll somehow keep in your hotel, and then will somehow get back to America. It will shock you to learn that neither of those things happened.

She remembered, as I do, the huge fight I had with my parents in our kitchen, where I told them I hated the script and I hated the movie. I didn’t want to do it, and I hated that they were making me do it.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

“This is the only film you are being offered,” my mother lied to me. She made me feel like, if I didn’t do this movie, I would never do another movie again in my life. I had to do this movie. As my father bellowed, I had no choice.

Both of my parents denied this argument ever happened. Can I tell you how reassuring it is to know that my sister, who was also there, remembers it the same way I do?

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them.

But one thing she told me, the thing I did not know, the thing that makes me so angry I want to break things, actually managed to make the entire experience even worse than I remembered it.

There’s a scene after her chicken incident where I check up on her in her bedroom. She’s got cuts and bruises, and I guess we talk about it. I don’t remember and I can’t watch the movie because I’m terrified it will give me a PTSD flashback (I’ve had one of those and I recommend avoiding it). Here’s the thing about that scene: she has some cuts on her face, and those cuts are real. They are not makeup.

I’m going to repeat that. My nine-year-old little sister had actual cuts on her face that were placed there by an adult, on purpose.

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them. My sister told me our mother wasn’t in the makeup room when this happened — honestly, it seemed like our mother was strangely and conveniently absent when most of the really terrible things happened to us on the set — and when my sister told her what they’d done, she “lost her shit” at the production. She was pissed, I guess, which is appropriate and surprising. I wonder what would have to have happened for her to put us on a plane and get us home to safety? I mean, her son being abused daily didn’t do it, and her daughter being CUT IN THE FACE ON PURPOSE didn’t do it.

I just . . . I can’t. I can’t understand or comprehend allowing your own children to be physically and emotionally abused. They were literally selling my sister and me to these people, like we were some kind of commodity.

This was a tough conversation. My sister’s experience with our parents is very different from mine. My sister and I love each other. We’re close. I know it’s hard for her to hear that her brother, who she loves, was so abused by her parents, who she also loves. I was really grateful she made the time to talk to me about it, and grateful the experience wasn’t as horrible for her as it was for me.

As we were finishing our call, Amy also remembered one man, a young Italian named Luka, who was our driver for the movie. I haven’t thought about him in thirty years, but I can see his face now. He was kind, he was friendly, he taught us how to kick a soccer ball, and in the middle of an abusive, torturous experience, he stood out as a kind and gentle man. I mention him because she remembered him, which made me remember him, and goddammit I want at least one small part of this thing to not be awful.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares.

Ultimately, as I predicted and feared, this piece of shit movie cashed me out of respectable films forever. I got offers for movies, but they were always mindless comedies or exploitative horror films. They were never the serious dramas I wanted to work in after Stand by Me. The industry looked at me and River, wondering if one or both of us would become a breakout star. They quickly saw that River was doing real acting work, and I was in this piece of shit. For River, Stand by Me was a beginning. For me, it would turn out to be pretty much everything, at least as far as film goes.

There are thousands of reasons film careers do and don’t take off. Maybe mine wouldn’t have taken off anyway. Clearly, it’s not where my life ended up, and I’m super okay with that now. But when all of this happened, it hurt and haunted me.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares. Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

This annotation is the last thing I wrote before I turned this manuscript in, because opening these wounds is hard and painful. I put it off as long as I could, and I feel like I’m still holding back, because just this small glimpse of the experience has taken me a week to write. I can’t imagine trying to go back and unpack the whole thing. (Note that is not in the book: I’ve made an EMDR appointment to work on this because the nightmares have come back after the weekend).

Fuck The Curse, and fuck every single person who exploited and hurt two beautiful children to make it. You all participated in child abuse, and you all knew better. Shame on all of you. I hope this follows you to the end of your life. I hope that living with what you did to innocent children has been as hard for you as it has been for me, because you deserve no less.

[sereina-archive]

She still gets embarrassed thinking about how standoffish she was towards Red in the past. Even if he says it was understandable, it’s a thought that crops up in her mind more than she’d like to admit. Ugh.

[peachypede]

Au: What if humans had pokemon types?

The idea struck me after seeing some of @bluebellowl ‘s art of Ingo and Emmet wielding flames and electricity and I was thinking ooo what if humans had typings.

Then I made an au with a bunch of headcanons…

More below the cut

(Almost forgot to add that I took some inspo from @critterbitter ‘s Elesa hairstyle because I love how they draw her hair in the back all spiky, electricy like in some of their drawing just yes)

- most humans are purely 1 type, but a rare person may have a dual typing. (Ingo and Emmet are dual types that cover their least publicly liked typing with their more favorable type)

- Some types are more stigmatized and feared than others for have abilities/features that are frightening: Bug, Ghost, Psychic, Poison and Dark types are the 5 most stigmatized groups.

- Most humans have very small or weak abilities, but some are capable of amazing feats.

- Humans tend to favor pokemon partners that share their typings since it’s easier to connect and communicate but some people do like opposite or different typings.

- When babies are born, they’re given a test to see what type they are so their parents will know how to handle their abilities.

- Each types abilities include:

Normal - Sadly, this typing doesn’t get much special abilities. They’re normal humans. A very, very rare normal type can send a hyper beam out of their mouth.

Fire - Can control small flames and are fire resistant. They can warm their bodies up to feverish temperatures without being sick. Some can breathe fire and have flame like hair. Fire types often have irrational fears of water.

Water - They can control small amounts of water. Their skin gets dried out easily and they have to take showers frequently or have humidifiers in their homes. A few individuals have gills that allows them to breathe fully underwater.

Grass - They can breathe life into plants and cause flowers to bloom. If they have a garden, they’ll produce giant and delicious fruit. Some can make plants move on their own, but this is a rare ability. When happy, a lot of grass-type people will sprout plants on their heads. Some even have plant like hair.

Electric - Able to cause small electric shocks and store bits of electricity. Can turn off and on appliances without touching them. Those who take time to learn can communicate with electric Pokémon using the electrical language all electric types know. They can also talk to humans in electric language who are electric types as well.

Ice - Freezing to the touch and tolerant to below zero temps. They can freeze the surface of water by touching their hand to it. They’re a rare type that hardly leave frosty mountain cities and towns because they’re prone to overheating in warmer weather.

Fighting - Stronger than other humans, but few reach true inhumane strength. Rare individuals have an extra set of arms like Machamp. Most take pride in their strength and hone their skills their entire lives.

Poison - Immune to poisons, some even have poisonous breath or saliva. Most of them have to wear masks around people who aren’t fellow poison types. Some individuals have multicolored skin, like frogs warning others that they’re dangerous. People of this type like steel types, because they can remove their masks for once around these people who are immune to them.

Ground - Can feel vibrations in the ground and if they learn, can properly use this as another sense of sight and see things underground. Rare individuals can make the ground shake and have long claws for digging. Some families are known for living underground where they feel more at ease.

Flying - they have a very keen eye for long distance sight. Lots of people with this type have wings. Not all can fly, since one needs large wings and hollow bones to do so, but some can. Most however are gliders. Some have feathers instead of body hair.

Psychic - People with this type usually have one “talent” ability, such as levitating objects or seeing the future. It’s rare for an individual to have more than one of these talents but it has happened before. They’re seen as power houses amongst the other types for their special abilities and usually are seen offering their services in exchange for coin.

Bug - They can attract a lot of bug type pokemon to them via pheromones and with practice, they can even control them. Like ants, bug types can talk through pheromones like alerting to danger, creating trails, or even just generally talking like electric types do (its not all just attracting mates although bugs are more likely to be attracted to other bug people) Grass types dislike the smell of bug types, whereas flying types get hungry around them. Rumor has it that bugs can control others through their pheromones but its just a rumor. Pheromones make it easy to persuade, but can’t truly control people.

Rock - They have skin as tough as rocks and most can dig through rock itself. Rare people look like a cluster of rocks themselves. They dislike water since it erodes away their skin, so they take mud baths and showers instead.

Ghost- Many can float above the ground and go through walls. Similar to ice types, They are cold to the touch. They can see ghost type pokemon even if they are invisible. Rare abilities are being able to see and commune with human spirits. (And only once a century is there an individual who has truly open eyes and can see the entire world of the dead walking amongst the living) People who fear this type spread rumors that ghost types are evil and can raise the dead to do their bidding, but these are only rumors.

Dragon - Noble types that are descended from long blood lines. A lot of individuals have scales and wings and claws. Rare ones can breathe fire. Once in every 100 years there will be a dragon-type who can communicate and wield their type’s pokemon with high efficiency, even mighty legendaries. Families of dragons can be very prideful and look down on other types. Noble families don’t like their children mingling or marrying other types.

Dark - A stigmatized group to the point that their typing is labeled as the “evil” type in some languages. Many have a bad luck effect on the people around them and some can sense disasters before they happen. Dark types often are lonely because of their bad luck charm abilities make other people wary of them.

Steel - Most in this group have skin that shines like a type of metal and are able to bend metals in their hands. They’re immune to poison and bug types abilities, and often are friends with these stigmatized types because of this.

Fairy - This group have small magical abilities and unluck the dark type, they have a lucky effect around them. Some individuals have wings, some have unnaturally colored hair. Fairies have a high social standings with other types because they’re thought to do nothing wrong, when fairies actually often have trouble makers in the midst of them taking advantage of this.

[autisticlancemcclain]

The ship was shaking like a kid holding a goldfish bag.

It was not, in case you were wondering, a good time. 

Keith grit his teeth, planting his boots on the ground and half-walking half-climbing over to Allura, who was paler than Keith had ever seen her. The grip she had on her podium was tight enough to drain the blood completely from her knuckles. Despite his own fear, Keith’s heart softened for her. 

“How is it looking?” he asked, shouting over the noise of a thousand asteroids and a million laser strikes. All while their lions sat, drained of quintessence, locked in their hangars

One goddamn thing after another. Jesus. 

“It is looking bad,” Allura shouted, not taking her eyes off the space in front of her. “I can’t – Coran, I can’t hold it on my own!”

Coran looked back at her grimly. He had probably the most success keeping upright – seriously, was it posture or did he have a steel rod anchored to his back at all times – but even he was struggling against the whipping and shuddering of the massive castleship, attention focused on the controls. Trying to keep the shield up as well as possible, trying to get their own defenses running. Trying, as always, to keep the castle going, even when the odds were a million to nothing. 

“You can,” he encouraged. The effect was less encouraging when a massive asteroid hit the side of the bridge point-blank, throwing him right off the controls and splat into the walls. Despite Lance and Allura’s cries of alarm, he made a startlingly dignified crawl back to the deck controls.

Hell of a man, that advisor. 

He continued once he was steady, sweat beading on his brow but gaze soft and assuring. He waited for Allura to meet his eyes, then nodded, once. “Focus, girl. Hands on the spheres. Mind cool on the exhale. However we need to get out of this – you can guide us. Make your decision. Your team is behind you.”

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered, lifting her fist in emphasis from where Shiro held her steady, eyes trained on her computer screen. Blaring red lines of code Keith could not pretend to read flashing rapid speed in front of her, and she typed back at it just as fast, keeping their crackling systems at bay. “You got this!”

Allura breathed out. The tense line of her shoulders softened, just slightly, despite the ongoing chaos. She lifted her hands and rested them, gently, on the podium spheres as Coran instructed. They glowed. 

“We retreat,” she decided, nodding to herself. “We’re already low on quintessence, standing to fight will drain us dangerously. We must get to safety if we are to survive with our home intact.” She bit her lip, eyes opening. “But, uh, full disclosure, I have enough strength in me to open a wormhole and that is About It. I will be out of commission the moment it closes.”

Hunk shrugged. “We’ll catch you, then.”

“Try not to wormhole us into a black hole,” Shiro suggested, smiling slightly. “We’ll manage anything else, Princess.”

She laughed slightly, thankfully, but within seconds called out for everyone to brace themselves. Keith did as she heeded, or he tried to – but the castle got hit as he tried to crawl back to his seat, sprawling him on the floor. He glanced over at Allura, panicked, but her eyes were already glowing, and the space in front of them was already starting to warp. He swallowed roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. The floor was shaking too badly for him to get his bearings. He couldn’t get his feet under him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t dream to crawl to his seat. He stilled, resigning himself – he didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn't strapped down and protected during a wormhole jump, but it couldn’t be good. He had to hope for the best.

“God,” sighed a voice to his left, “you’d die without me, Dropout.”

A hand clenched the back of his jacket and yanked, pulling him tumbling onto another body. Quick as lightning a seatbelt was stretched over him, clicking into place just as the space in front of the castle finally warped, bright blue, and the entire bridge lit up so bright Keith was blind with it. 

When the light finally died down, Keith was half-convinced nothing had changed. The castle stopped shaking, but instead it was plummeting, hard and fast, controls dead and energy gone, towards the surface of a planet. 

“Someone catch Allura!” Coran shouted, and on queue the princess’ eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward. Luckily, Hunk had been more prepared than the rest of them, seatbelt already off and arms extended to catch her. He carried her back to her seat, buckling her in carefully, and strapping himself in next to her. Wise move – trying to crawl back to his own seat, fighting against the G-forces, would be near impossible.

There was a click, and then a shove, and then Keith got to feel those G-forces firsthand.

“What the hell!” he demanded, barely managing to catch himself on the arm of the blue paladin’s seat. “I coulda brained myself!”

Lance shrugged, playing for innocent, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Keith could’ve strangled him. “What? Thought I’d let you get back to your own chair. You're welcome for saving you, by the way.”

“Some saving, jerk! We're still falling!”

“Yeah. Personally, I would find somewhere to buckle up.”

“You’re so annoying,” Keith growled, and it was by spite alone that he managed to stomp back to his own seat and buckle himself in. He was bright red, anger making him hot – Lance always made him like this, so furious he could barely blink. One day they’d be making progress, working together like a dream, wiping the floor together, and the next it was like a switch was flipped. Like Lance was reminding himself that he and Keith could never get along. It was ridiculous, and Keith couldn’t for the life of him understand it. Was he so bad?

“Incoming!” Pidge shouted, shaking Keith back to himself. Her screen was now linked up with Coran’s, the only two things on in the entire castle – electronics seemed to come alive when Pidge touched them – and diagrams of the castle systems were blaring red, flashing with symbols Keith didn’t know, but recognised as bad. “The nav and power systems are down! It’s not safe to get anyone back there to force them back on manually, but I think I can get steering up in a sec. Shiro, I need your arm for power. Hunk, keep on Allura, make sure she’s upright when we crash, we don’t want a spinal injury. Lance, Keith, I’m turning steering over to you guys. Don’t fuck it up.”

Despite their bickering, both of them nodded. Neither of them particularly wanted to be turned into paladin pancake anytime soon, so they could collaborate for one thing. 

Seconds after Pidge spoke, a screen flickered to life in front of Keith. Stats blinked back up, glitching rapidly as they translated themselves into words and symbols Keith could understand. The hologram shifted and expanded to its usual 3D model, joystick in the middle, thrusters and controls to his left, a screen with Lance’s comm line to his right. In his little screen, Lance met his eyes, eyebrows raised in question. Keith nodded. Together, they wrapped their hands around the joysticks, breathed out, and let their minds fuse.

As always, it was a freaky feeling. Imagine the weird, shuddery feeling you get when you say the same thing as someone at the same time, voices layering, tone mixing, for a moment your own voice and the voice of a stranger synching into one. The weird, deja-vu-but-not of it, the uncanny valley feel of recognising your own voice but…different. 

Then multiply that freakiness by a hundred, and you still won’t quite get it. 

On some levels Keith was aware that he was his own person. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history – or well, some of it. Nothing about himself had changed. 

But at the same time, he was also Lance Esposita-McClain. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history, more of it than he could ever get from shared stories or mind melds. There’s no telling the way your sister’s arm feels hooked around your neck for the sixth noogie in as many minutes. There’s no explaining the way your breathing only gets calm with your feet in the saltwater. There’s no describing the curve of your mother’s smile. Nothing Keith was seeking out – no memories he would even know to look for – but they were there, simmering, triggered by a smell or the crook of his finger in a particular way. Memories stored in the body and the soul and the senses, not in the brain, shared when two consciousnesses become one. 

Lance’s mind was hyperspecific. It complemented Keith’s well, with all his flitting, quick detail-oriented observance. As Keith jumped from angle to angle, noticing the planet’s curve, the pull of its gravity, the heat of its atmosphere, Lance zeroed in on an island, one of the only ones big enough for them to land. While Keith kept their craft in control, steering along the air currents, Lance kept them directed, single-minded focus on a stretch of rocky beach – not exactly a soft landing, but not a lot of living things for them to destroy when they crash. (Keith would’ve chosen to land in the meadow. Crushing frogs and bugs or whatever is never something on his top priority list of things to avoid. But he didn’t argue when Lance nudged them towards what is about to be a very bumpy landing.)

“Brace yourself!” he shouted, not daring to look away to make sure his friends were buckled. Trusting that they were, he held his position, letting them plummet, coming closer and closer to splatting on the planet’s surface before finally yanking on the joystick as hard as he could. He felt Lance’s strength twist and tangle with his own, and together the two of them levelled the castle almost parallel with the ground, letting them glide on their own velocity until they slowed down enough to let the bottom of the craft brush against the rocky outcrop. 

It was the most turbulent landing Keith has ever felt, except maybe that time he and Lance crashed blindfolded into a sand dune, and every bump on the ground gave him whiplash. When the castle finally hit the ground for good, dragging them a gauge in the ground for several miles as friction finally slowed it to a stop, the leftover inertia yanked Keith forward so roughly the buckles of his seatbelt made something crack in his ribcage. When the castle finally stopped he got slammed back into his chair so hard he was almost surprised he didn’t fall right through the impenetrable material. 

It took a minute for everything to hit. His connection with Lance had been severed the second they hit the ground, too focused on being, y’know, crashed to keep holding on. After the shock of being tossed around like dice in a cup wore off, which did not take long, Keith’s body made it very clear that yeah, no, armour actually only does so much, and crash landing is one of those things that’s just bound to hurt. His skull pounded. At least one of his ribs was most definitely cracked. His wristed and knuckles ached from the strain of holding up the entire weight of the castle as he’d steered it. He was alive, obviously, but – Jesus. Being alive sucked.

“Sound off,” croaked Shiro from somewhere left of him.

“Ugh,” groaned Pidge. “Screw you, Keith, I hate it when you drive.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to let us crash,” Keith responded flatly.

“Um, you did, bozo, I asked you to land us –”

“The castle was dead! What did you expect me to –”

“Allura and I are both fine,” Hunk interrupted. Amusement lined his voice. “She’s still out, but she’s breathing fine, and I didn’t let her hit anything on impact. She should still get checked out, though.”

“Roger that,” Coran agreed. “Ease your worries, Number Two, you did well. I will have her in the MedBay as soon as our systems are up and running again.”

“Oh, whew, that’s a relief, because I didn’t want to say anything but she kinda jammed her elbow into my sternum by accident and I’m not blaming her or anything since she’s unconscious but I think my spleen may be a little dead, not a huge deal I’m sure but –”

“Everyone quiet!” barked Shiro. “That’s six accounted for! Who’s missing?”

Immediately, heart pounding, Keith whipped to his right. His stomach dropped. The Blue Lion Command Chair was empty – seatbelt torn somewhere on the shoulder, cracked helmet overturned carelessly on the seat. The crisp blue and white lines were marred by a small splash of red. Panic clawed its way up Keith’s throat, and he was out of his seat before he could register unbuckling his own straps, looking frantically around the bridge. 

“He’s here somewhere,” Pidge fretted, “he couldn’t’ve just disappeared –” 

Coran had a gloved hand clenched in his hair. “The windows and walls should be almost impenetrable, there is no way the crash broke them enough to let someone in –”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck –”

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

part two

[pupyuj]

Ena you have to think bigger! You should be the one killing people instead of dying then detective an will look for you and arrest you my friend 😋

anon you have awakened something in me with this ask 😧😧 as fun(?) as doing this ask was, this is important: please look carefully through the warnings bcs this type of content might be too dark and disturbing for some! don’t engage if it’s not your cup of tea and especially if it could potentially trigger you.

[cw: murder!, blood, knife play, fear play, blood play]

OKAY SO you being this clumsy amateur serial killer that leaves evidence all over the place but somehow being clever enough to always escape arrest and stay hidden… you’re a bit famous in the precinct and detective ahn is very intrigued by you!! 🥰 so much so that she makes it her goal to find out even one thing about the person that’s been making a mess of her city 🤭 so imagine her surprise when it’s the timid, quiet girl that’s always waiting at the bus stop in front of the police station that yujin herself works in?? it was unexpected, as yujin always thought you were the type of person to not even be able to look at a drop of blood without throwing up, let alone be the very culprit of the kind of gruesome scene you leave for the police to witness after your kills… but then again, it’s always the innocent-looking ones 😰

it takes a while but yujin will definitely be able to track you down… especially since you’ve captured her heart and she became your little stalker! maybe even fan… 🤭🤭 one moment you’re driving your knife down a pervert’s chest in an alleyway and the next, yujin (who just so happened to witness the murder) has successfully lured you into her house where she has you on your knees, begging for her not to turn you in 😣 ofc yujinnie wouldn't do that though! the moment you dropped on your knees in front of her, you became her little toy!

faking sympathy and pouting at you with the fakest sorry eyes ever as you begged and begged for her not to throw you in jail… saying that every time you killed it was with valid reason.. and you know what? yujin believes you!! her judgment is not at all clouded by her strong desire to study your sick brain like a lab rat and have you all to herself… and she definitely doesn’t just let you off with a warning.. in fact she keeps you there on the floor, your face buried in between her thighs with your mouth on her pussy, eating her out like it’s your last meal bcs your life quite literally depended on it 🙁🙁 aww you’d be crying while doing it too.. so confused as to why you were so willing to do such a thing for yujin when you could just.. kill her. 🙂

and that’s what you attempt to do! pulling out a pocket knife hidden underneath your clothes and swinging it at the detective, only to have your wrist locked in a tight grip before you were pushed down on the floor, hitting your head on the cold ground and nearly blacking out.. it was the perfect opportunity for yujin to steal that knife and play with it… “you’re brave. but you’re stupid.” her running the tip of the blade across your jawline.. down to your neck, lightly pressing the steel where your pulse throbbed… yujinnie finds pleasure in the fear in your eyes, how your chest heaved while you sobbed pathetically bcs you were so scared she was just going to slit your throat and leave you to choke on your own blood ☹️

but yujin was too nice (?) for that!! you were too pretty to be left dead.. and she has to hear that voice of yours more!! mmdjdhdbfh yujinnie taking off your pants and inserting her fingers inside you so suddenly :(( but she immediately pulls out and licks your slick off her fingers, convinced that all she needed was a little taste test and she was right when she thought that you’d be sweet 🥺 but then she’d have that knife pointed at your neck while she rubbed her cunt against yours! you letting out a mix of a sob and a moan bcs the feeling was so good but fuck,, yujin’s hand could slip and she could easily kill you!! yujinnie ending up pressing the knife a bit deeper than intended when your clits brushed way too good and slicing your neck a little.. god, you looked even prettier with blood tainting your soft skin…

the pleasure blocking out the sting that came from the small wound on your neck… having to grip yujin’s free arm and grinding back up against her just to feel more… and that was when she finally chucks the knife elsewhere and focuses on pleasuring the two of you! basically pouncing her cunt against yours while she kissed all over your chest and neck.. making sure to lick and kiss your wound before grabbing your face and finally kissing your lips… tasting your own blood on her tongue 😵‍💫😵‍💫 shdhsijcdj also makes sure to coat her lips with your blood and leave BLOODY kiss marks on all over your chest… the sight gives her a new kind of rush that only feeds her brain with more sickness.. ugh 🤤

fuckfudjcjd she’d make sure the two of you came tgoether 🫣🫣 continuing on grinding while you’re cumming bcs yujinnie couldn’t help it 😵‍💫 her collapsing on your chest, the two of you breathing heavily in sync.. until yujin remembers that you’re injured… in which she’ll make sure to treat that goddamn injury carefully! her suddenly being so gentle and critical of herself as she’s bandaging your neck up,, annoyed at how she messed up such a pretty doll but still can’t help but find that wound on your neck so fucking perfect… whatever that means 🫢 she’ll send you home, telling you to be careful not to get caught bcs she’ll miss you if you get jailed 😐

and you know what happens after you’re out of her house?? she picks up that knife and runs her tongue across the steel, licking up your blood with a smile on her face… she’s already looking forward to the next time she catches you red-handed 😵‍💫

[silverbladexyz]

TW: Death, blood, guns, fighting. 5.6K words. Third and final part to part 1. Part 2 is here

Skilled hands worked away at the rope, each bind falling to the floor with a heavy thump as they were severed by a knife. The sound echoed throughout the little room inside of a foreign dungeon.

Soon, the chair legs were surrounded with the thick brown threads as the saviour continued to free the captive. They operated fast; in just a matter of seconds, half of the bonds were already sliced open- the blade meeting little resistance. Too little, in fact.

But you didn’t have time to worry about that now.

“Y-Y/N, what are you doing here? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“And watch as Chuuya barges in to what could possibly be his death? I think we both know how disastrous that would be, Yasuko.” 

The girl bit her lip and fell silent. You continued to free her, despite having so much you clearly wanted to say at this moment. But you couldn’t risk your best friend finding out about what happened to her, and making a rash decision as a consequence.

“H-how did you find me?” Yasuko stuttered, her limbs trembling with fear. It was perfectly normal considering her situation, but it hindered your progress since your knife got dangerously close to her sometimes due to her shaking.

“I was in Chuuya’s office to retrieve something when he was on a mission. Then his phone lit up with an unknown text and a picture of you tied to this chair. It seemed that your captor had intended for him to come alone, with the threat that he would kill you if Chuuya brought backup or arrived even a second late. I couldn’t determine if it was telling the truth or not, so I went first to test the message’s authenticity. You know what happened afterwards.”

The ropes finally came off- only to reveal that Yasuko’s hands and feet were also bound to the seat. You cursed under your breath, before starting to work on them as well. The girl repeatedly peered over your shoulder in an anxious manner, but you didn’t give much thought about it. You had just passed it off as nervousness. 

Until another knife suddenly grazed your cheek, leaving a small crimson trail of your blood in its wake.

The blade pierced itself into the chair, missing Yasuko’s temple by a hair’s breadth. She cried out in surprise and fear, immediately prompting you to react.

Your gun was drawn out and aimed at the attacker before you even processed what was going on.

“How surprising that you came instead. I didn’t know that Chuuya-kun was the type to be late to important events-”

You fired three shots before he could finish talking. Each bullet was aimed good and true, as they were shots made to kill.

“-especially events considering his girlfriend. Wouldn’t you agree, Y/N?”

The beautiful black-haired man standing in front of you smiled. 

By his feet lay the bullets that rolled out of his fingers, and the bloody holes they normally left behind were nonexistent. The shots had bounced off of him as if he were made of steel.

His ability must have allowed him to repel any physical attacks that came his way. Defeating him seemed near impossible now.

Your eyes narrowed as he came closer, his unhurried steps matching the complacent aura that he gave off. You knew there was no use in trying to shoot him again, but you still tightened your index finger around the trigger. As a last resort, you could use the gun as a distraction to let Yasuko escape.

“I know who you are. You’re Hasegawa Kyuji. A high-ranking member of Obsidienne; a rival organisation of the Port Mafia.” You stated, with a steely gaze that could rival his relaxed stare.

“But you aren’t here to kill Yasuko. You’re here to kill me instead.”

His golden eyes seemed to shine as he smirked in response. The male tilted his head towards the aforementioned girl.

“Oh no. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m just here to reveal the truth.” 

You heard Yasuko give a quiet whimper, and you scowled, aiming the gun at Hasegawa’s forehead.

“And why should I believe you? For all I know, anything that falls out of your mouth could be a lie. Deception is key for getting the upper hand in any fight.”

“...” The young man let out a short chuckle. It wasn’t long before he broke out into a hysterical laugh.

“Oh, you’re so naive it kills me! For all this talk of deception, you don’t even seem to realise a certain friend of yours that was deceiving you for months. And how you thought that nobody could see your obvious infatuation with your best friend. Isn’t that right, Yasuko? My dear cousin?” 

He stared straight into her eyes, a dangerous glint apparent in his pupils.

Your eyes widened slightly. Not only at her betrayal and their kinship, but also at the fact that he knew your secret. A secret that you had hidden deep deep down, never letting even a bit of it slip out. Were you easier to read than you thought you were?

Whipping your head around, you glanced at the girl, silently begging her to say that it wasn’t true- that it was all a lie. 

But Yasuko silently closed her eyes, hanging her head in a sign of guilty confirmation. 

The silence that descended was suffocating, permeating the entire room with an invisible tension. 

You had an unreadable expression on your face as you lowered your arm, the fingers clenched around the gun shaking ever so slightly from their rigid hold on the grip. Hasegawa’s smirk widened as you gave no response.

“Oh, but maybe you want to know why she betrayed you. Why she was working with me, a member of an enemy organisation?” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he fixed his golden eyes on you. Yasuko gulped a little, but neither of you paid her any mind.

“Well, it’s simple. It all started 8 years ago- when Yokohama lived in constant terror and dread of a single organisation. The Port Mafia. Many civilians were killed because of the Boss’s paranoia, and a lot more organisations were decimated by his sheer ruthlessness. It must still be as clear as day to you.”

You frowned slightly. Despite not wanting to listen to anything he said, you couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. Memories of fear, uncertainty, and bloodshed as the old Boss of the Port Mafia abused his reign, forcing you to live in extreme apprehension every second.

“One day, rumour had it that somebody in our vicinity insulted the Port Mafia. It was only a mere jab at how Yokohama would’ve been better off without the organisation; but that was enough for all the families in the district to be rounded up and interrogated. Then, when it was evident that the culprit wouldn’t show themselves, the Boss ordered everybody to be executed. Not even the infants were spared.”

“And two of the families that were killed on that day were yours and Yasuko’s. Hence why you wanted revenge; they were accused wrongly of something that likely wasn’t committed in the first place.” You interjected. You knew that he wasn’t lying, because there was nothing but truth in his words. 

Afterall, the incident he described became very well known amongst the city in a flash.

“But that was when the Port Mafia was still under the control of the old Boss. There wouldn’t be much point in getting revenge now that everything has changed; and besides, our enemies are always hit twice as hard. This old grudge of yours could do nothing against us.”

You knew that you were behaving just as any stereotypical tough-talking mafioso would, but it was all a ploy for you to buy more time until you could figure out a solution. Hasegawa was already a formidable opponent with his ability, and it was obvious he also had the brains to go along with it. Someone of his calibre could decimate you and walk out without any serious injuries.

He spoke again, breaking your train of thought.

“Grudge? You speak as if the Port Mafia itself takes grudges lightly. It is obvious how strict the rule of borrowing and returning is in illegal organisations. Every grudge must be satiated, no matter how high the cost. But we could not act on ours without enough power.”

“And that was when you came up with the idea to join Obsidienne to gain this ‘power’?” You said, narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t come up with the idea. Yasuko herself did, and she thought up many more after that. Everything that has happened up until now was all in the palm of her hand. Tell them, Yasuko. Tell them about everything you plotted for their demise.”

The silence that fell this time was deathly.

“... Yasuko. Is it true? That all this time you’ve been planning to take down the Port Mafia, starting with me and Chuuya?” 

There was no anger in your voice. Only a cold flatness that seemed to absorb every emotion in the room as you spoke to her.

Yasuko slowly opened her eyes, fixing two beautiful brown pupils onto you. Those same pupils that had deceived those she was around for an entire six months. And they now held nothing but tears and guilt.

“I never meant for it to go this far. But he threatened to kill me if I backed out from this plan. So I had no choice but to continue with it.” She whispered, her voice heavy with resignation.

“And that wasn’t all.” Hasegawa added suddenly. You looked back at him, but he was staring at her. Like how a cat eyes its prey before it goes in for the kill.

“My dear Yasuko, weren’t you also the one who came up with the idea to poison your lover’s wine so that he wouldn’t give us any more trouble?”

Your whole demeanour changed in an instant once you heard those words.

A shot reverberated throughout the chamber, followed by Yasuko’s short scream.

The bullet had pierced through her sleeve, narrowly missing the chance to give her the sweet release of death. Your expression remained emotionless, yet burning in your eyes was anger that was hotter than the black flames of hell. The gun was pointed directly at her brow, held with an unusual stillness that was parallel with your aura.

“The next time, I won’t miss.” You coldly stated, speaking with nothing but truth in your words.

“I was willing to give you another chance. But this promises to exceed the limit of my forgiveness. Daring to poison the man you loved- the man I loved; I expected nothing less from a wretch such as you. A wretch who doesn’t even deserve this quick and painless death.” You stepped closer towards Yasuko, until the gun was pressed up against her skin. 

Neither of you moved a single inch. It was as if everything was frozen in time, save for the dust that drifted elegantly onto the ground.

“... Do it.”

The girl whispered, looking up into your eyes with a soulless gaze. 

“It’s only proper for me to die as a result of my foolish choices. That’s what a traitor only deserves, afterall. My only regret is… that I didn’t get to spend more time with you as a true friend.” 

She closed her eyes for the last time, ready to face death with a serene expression.

Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger.

A final shot rang out within the walls.

And the bullet flew right into Hasegawa’s chest.

“!” His eyes widened in shock and disbelief. 

Thankfully, he activated his ability right before the pellet could fully pass through him, but the damage had already been done. Blood gushed out of the wound as the bullet fell out of his body, and you wasted no time in drawing your dagger out.

“Don’t think that I haven’t forgotten you, Hasegawa. Sure, Yasuko’s done some pretty terrible things. But you were the one who was truly behind all of this. If you had not forced her to continue with the plan, then none of this would have happened. The Port Mafia does not forgive those who plan to hurt their family. And I cannot rest until I have finished what I came here for.”

“… So it’s come down to this.” He muttered.

In the blink of an eye, Hasegawa had lunged at you, bringing up his hand that also held a blade within its palm. You raised your own arm up to counter.

The clash of metals resounded in the room, all your training sessions with Chuuya bearing fruit as you found that you could actually keep up with your opponent’s attacks. You were fast and precise with your strikes, whereas he liked to be unpredictable, always making you guess his next move. It was a direct contrast to how your best friend had fought.

Your blades danced in a fierce tango as both parties tried to subdue each other. You were mostly put on the defence due to your attacks having no effect on him, but you kept on twisting and leaping just out of his reach whenever his weapon went to graze your body. He aimed for your stomach, and you managed to dodge the sharp edge that threatened to slice your skin apart.

Your opponent wasted no time in immediately transitioning into an uppercut, but you were prepared for this. Grabbing his wrist, you held it firmly in place before bringing your foot down onto the elbow, twisting his arm the opposite way. A snapping sound echoed, and you heard him curse in pain.

Hasegawa aimed a sloppy swipe at your chest, to which you blocked with your blade. Taking advantage of this momentary stillness, you aimed a kick at his ribs that would’ve broken them upon impact. The force made him stumble backwards a bit, and you were about to close the distance between the two of you with your weapon. 

But you failed to consider that there was something he could use to his advantage. And it was already too late when you remembered what it was.

The next moment, Hasegawa threw the kodachi blade with all his might at Yasuko's neck.

The small sword flew through the air with deadly accuracy, landing cleanly into flesh and bone. Crimson liquid splattered all over the girl, some of it dripping off the chair and staining the floor with their scarlet hue.

Yasuko gave a small gasp of disbelief.

“Y-Y/N- why?!”

The kodachi blade was buried deep into your chest, and the tip protruded out of your back. You swore you felt it scrape an artery right near where your lung was. 

Hasegawa chuckled at your figure, which struggled to remain standing as the excruciating pain evaded each of your senses. Your ears rang, and you could hear your heart pounding- gradually slowing down as your life started to ebb away. If heartbreak was the sensation that hurt the most, then this definitely had the potential to exceed it.

“In the end, you still chose to protect the one Chuuya-kun cared for the most. I must say that I’m touched; not many people can see the sight of true love at its finest.” Your opponent slowly approached you, the barrel of a gun directed straight at your face. His broken arm hung limply by his side, bent at an unnatural angle, but it didn’t even seem to faze him.

“Do you have any last words, Y/N?”

“... Go to hell.”

Hasegawa gave a dry chuckle. But he suddenly frowned when he realised that his index finger refused to move. 

One by one, the fingers on his hand started to shake, loosening their grip on the gun. It clattered to the floor, bouncing away from him.

You laughed, despite your vision starting to grow blurry from blood loss.

“You made a mistake, Hasegawa-kun. When I shot you in the chest, the bullet was tipped with poison that was absorbed through your skin. It didn’t act immediately, but the more you moved, the quicker it spread in your bloodstream. And it will not stop until your heart has ceased to beat.”

The male collapsed against the wall, his legs having lost their strength to keep him standing. A sheen of sweat coated him as his body tried to force the toxins out, but to no use. The poison was designed to kill without leaving any exceptions.

“Hahaha... Well done. You truly… deserve… to be called my opponent.”

He smiled slightly, before he stilled.

You turned around to Yasuko. Grabbing the knife stuck in the chair, you haphazardly cut the last remaining ropes off of her hands and feet, successfully freeing her from the binds. She slowly stood up, staring wide-eyed in shock and penitence at you as you started to lean against the wall.

Your knees buckled, causing you to drop to the floor. The blade was knocked out of your body due to the impact, clattering onto the ground as a result of gravity. Blood spurted out of the opening as your breaths became shallow and rapid, trying to get as much oxygen they could into your lungs. Yasuko slowly crouched down by your side, pressing her hands to your wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She didn’t deserve to cry over something that was entirely her fault.

“I was always wary of you.” You said, breaking the silence.

“It all started when Chuuya rescued you. People don’t tend to think about suspecting an innocent civilian girl who got kidnapped by an underground organisation, and was coincidentally saved by a Port Mafia executive. However, crime syndicates tend to stay away from citizens due to their fear of attracting the government’s attention. The only exceptions being if a civilian was somehow connected to a rival group. And after doing some digging… I found out that the organisation who kidnapped you was an enemy of both Obsidienne and the Port Mafia. Your cousin, Hasegawa Kyuji, was an executive of Obsidienne, and both of your families were killed on that fateful night 8 years ago. The entire situation seemed too suspicious. It was then… that I knew to keep a closer eye on you.”

“If you suspected me… then why didn’t you tell Chuuya? Or anyone else in the Port Mafia for that matter?” Yasuko asked, her voice shaking.

You let out a dry laugh in response.

“Do you honestly think he’d take my side with the way he looks at you? Seven long years of being his best friend… and he’d still choose his lover of whom he’d only known for six months over me. His lover who only loved him so that she could betray him in the end.” 

“…” She looked down into her lap, her silence speaking more than words themselves. A single teardrop fell from her eye, landing onto the floor with a silent plop.

“… I wanted to stop. I realised that the Port Mafia was not the same as it was 8 years ago, and that Chuuya was genuinely a kind man who wanted the best for me. But when I realised it… it was too late. So instead of putting the poison into his wine, I slipped it into Hasegawa’s drink. But he caught me, and furious at my betrayal, he decided to use me as bait to lure Chuuya here. I… I had told Hasegawa that my lover was more of a long-ranged fighter due to his gravity manipulation ability. So he planned that when Chuuya was at an appropriate distance from him, he’d hit a switch hidden on the wall, which would release toxic gas onto Chuuya so that he could be easier to defeat. But he didn’t expect you to be the one to show up. I only knew about this when I was being tied to the chair-” 

You cut her off by coughing up drops of blood. Some of it landed onto her cream-coloured dress, creating a jarring contrast against the fabric.

The movement doubled the amount of pain you were in as your breathing quickened. Yasuko bit back a sob, her hands pressing harder onto your wound as more blood seeped out of it, staining the majority of your shirt a beautiful red. 

“It seems that- I don’t have much time left.” You rasped, already feeling that you were starting to lose consciousness. Putting your hand over hers, you grasped it in a frail grip, tugging her closer as you forced the girl to look into your sincere eyes. Eyes that hid nothing in their final moments.

“Yasuko. I want you to leave Obsidienne. Leave the underworld of Yokohama, and live on as a normal person. Nothing good comes out of a life of crime, no matter how tempting the money or power is. Because all that will await you is a cold and empty death that doesn’t suit a girl like you.”

The female listened in solemn silence, her hand clasping yours tighter as she felt your hold weakening. 

The ruby ring that sat on top of her finger knocked against your silver one, as if in a desperate attempt to transfer some of its life force to the metal. But just like its owner, the silver ring seemed… dim. Tarnished. No longer carrying any value after it was consumed by the shadow of death itself.

You hacked up some more blood, with the droplets being the darkest red this time. The liquid dripped down your chin, filling your mouth with the metallic taste of iron.

“... Tell Chuuya… that I’m sorry. I promised him I wouldn’t recklessly throw my life on the line again, but I did. However, I’m not searching for his forgiveness... because I’ll still love him just as I always did.” You said, your voice growing fainter. Yasuko had to lean in close to properly catch your words.

She gave a bittersweet smile, despite her vision starting to go blurry from the built-up tears in her eyes.

“I will. Chuuya really was lucky that he had you in his life.”

You gave a small chuckle, the grip on her hand loosening with each passing second.

“Tell me…” You whispered, each word seeming to evaporate into the atmosphere after it left your lips.

“Can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?”

The stillness that followed afterwards would haunt Yasuko for the rest of her life.

Your hand, which had been warm in Yasuko’s grasp, slipped out of her hold, finding its final resting place on the floor.

The room seemed to hold its breath as your life flickered out, leaving only the echo of what it once was.

Time stood still as Yasuko hugged your body to hers. She finally let go of the tears that had already started streaming down her cheeks. The reality of her choices, the betrayal that had led to this devastating moment- all came crashing down onto her in waves of remorse and guilt as she acknowledged that your blood was on her hands.

She sobbed endlessly, her cries muffled by your shoulder that she buried her face into. The female didn’t look up, not even when hurried footsteps raced to the room she was in. All she cared about was that you were gone because of her stupidity.

Chuuya burst into the room, enraged and ready to fight whichever bastard dared to kidnap his girlfriend.

Only to find her weeping over a dead body. Your dead body.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

No… not them too!...

Chuuya stumbled against the wall, almost collapsing to the ground as he bit back a scream. 

Surely this wasn’t happening, right? You must have been gravely injured instead; there should still be hope that a doctor at the Port Mafia could manage to save you just in time. He knew that you survived worse before, and each time you bounced back after you were healed. There was no way that you were dead!

But he knew, deep deep down, that you had left him too.

Chuuya shook his head, blinking back the wetness in his eyes that he didn’t even realise was there. 

The first priority right now was to get Yasuko to safety. There were still members of Obsidienne in the building, and there was no way in hell that he was letting her stay here for another second. He hated that it had to be this way, but he’ll have to come back afterwards to properly avenge you. 

He approached her slowly, laying a gentle hand down on her elbow.

Yasuko didn’t react much as Chuuya helped her to stand, putting his arm around her shoulder just like he always did when he was with her. She leaned onto him, with tears silently streaming down her face while she walked. Not even noticing how he cast one last glance towards your blood-stained body against the wall.

The whole ride back to their home was a blur to her. The Mafia executive had stayed at Obsidienne’s headquarters, ordering his men to completely exterminate every single member in the building. He even engaged in full-out combat with the powerful ability users who also belonged to the organisation. It was the angriest she had ever seen him; but she knew he was also suffering behind the fury that consumed him whole.

The limousine stopped in front of her house, and she collapsed onto the couch once she was inside, starting to cry again as she recalled the events that had happened just less than an hour ago. Events that she could have prevented in the very first place.

An eternity seemed to pass before she heard footsteps, and looked up to see Chuuya holding a glass of water in his hand. He gazed at her softly, fighting back his own emotions that threatened to rip his chest apart if he didn’t let them out somehow. But he pushed them down, instead focusing on the woman he loved.

He held her, not saying a word as she sobbed, getting his shirt wet from the salty tears that never seemed to end. His hand rubbed up and down her back, the steadiness of his touch grounding Yasuko as she hiccupped, trying to take deep breaths so that she could calm down. 

“It’s okay, baby… it wasn’t your fault.” Chuuya said softly, planting a tender kiss on her forehead as he hugged her close.

She pushed herself off of him, staring back at his slightly confused expression towards her action. Yasuko bit her lip, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dug deep into her palms.

 “N-no, it was my fault! I-If I hadn’t done the things that I did back then, if I had been stronger and smarter, then Y/N wouldn’t have died! All I did was to stand back and watch as they took the hit for me-” A sob erupted in her throat- the sound of the blade passing through your flesh was still vivid in her memories.

Chuuya stepped forward, his blue eyes tender as he took her hand in his.

“My love… don’t blame yourself. I know that it hurts, knowing that you couldn’t save them. But I will never get tired of saying that it was not your fault. That bastard was to blame, not you-”

“Why don’t you understand?! It was my fault!! I had the idea of joining Obsidienne in order to exact revenge on the Port Mafia for murdering my family. And I came up with the idea of being close to you so that the plan would be easier to commence!” She half-yelled, her voice cracking.

“Being close to me?... What are you talking about-”

Yasuko knew that she should stop before she ruined everything between them. But Y/N’s death weighed upon her shoulders, never letting go until she confessed. She would rather end things with the truth than to die with the guilt of a lie.

“I planned to be kidnapped by the criminal organisation because I knew that the Port Mafia would soon dispatch someone powerful to take care of them once and for all. Then I came up with the idea to romance you in order to know your weaknesses, just so that you wouldn’t be a hindrance once Hasegawa and I finally launch our attack on the Mafia. But soon, I wanted to stop when I realised that it all meant nothing. H-He didn’t let me, and instead used me as a hostage, setting up a trap for you when you’d arrive to set me free. However, Y/N showed up instead, and… and fought him instead. It’s all because of me that they’re dead!!”

She broke down, burying her face in her hands once again. Silence followed for a long time after her confession.

Until it was suddenly broken by the shattering of glass.

Yasuko looked up in alarm.

Chuuya stood there silently with a wide-eyed stare. His gaze seemed distant, painful- countless things running in his mind hidden behind those beautiful blue eyes of his. Despite having dated him for six months, he was still unreadable to her sometimes. Only Y/N could’ve deciphered those complex emotions of his hidden within his head.

He had crushed the glass in his hand, soaking himself in water as the shards embedded themselves into the floor. Yet despite this somewhat violent action, he only remained still.

“Chuuya?” Yasuko asked meekly, slightly fearing what his reaction afterwards would be like. Would he shout at her? Use his ability on her? The Port Mafia didn’t take traitors lightly, afterall. And he was an executive in the said organisation, too.

But instead, he walked towards the door. Picking up his hat, he dusted it off before standing in the hallway, casting his gaze at her.

“... I need to be alone for a while.”

And just like that, he walked out of the house for the final time. 

Chuuya felt nothing but rage that day.

His gloves and coat were repeatedly stained with blood as he hunted down the remaining members of Obsidienne in Japan. The expensive leather and fabric quickly became filthy after the first few kills. But he didn’t care; because nothing he did could bring back his best friend. His best friend that was always there for him, who understood him better than anyone else.

His best friend that was now gone as well.

Chuuya wouldn’t- no, he couldn’t rest until he found every single member and crushed them with the weight of gravity. There would be no mercy, not even for the Boss of the organisation himself as he pleaded for his life. The gravity manipulator let loose his feelings, hurling bullets and remorseless kicks at his enemies. 

Blood splattered onto the walls in each base as the dying screams of it’s owners faded away into nothingness. Buildings collapsed on top of each other, the infrastructure groaning as it succumbed into the pull of gravity. Even Mori was slightly surprised at Chuuya’s brutality as he tracked down one base after the next.

All for Y/N.

Back at home, Yasuko sat down onto the couch again, breathing heavily from her outburst.

Something fell out of her pocket, and she stiffened as soon as she saw what it was.

Trembling hands slowly picked the object up. The sun’s rays were reflected back onto her face, but she felt no warmth.

It was the topaz bracelet that you had just bought with her a few days ago. When you were still happy and alive.

Yasuko held it to her chest, where there was nothing left but numbness.

Only death could truly reunite her with you now.

~~~

Chuuya sat with his back against your grave, the cold stone pressing into the skin that was full of scars.

There was only silence that filled the tranquil air of the Port Mafia’s private cemetery.

“... You’re an idiot, you know that?”

He spoke as if you were there with him, listening to his every word.

“You promised me that you wouldn’t be so reckless ever again. You could’ve waited for me to return, and we might have been able to defeat him together. Like we always did ever since we were fifteen. But you didn’t.” Chuuya gave a wry chuckle, lifting his head up to gaze at the blue sky. His eyes held nothing but sorrow and regret.

“... Yasuko and I have cut connections. She told me everything about what she did. I don’t blame her for your death, but it’s hard to look at her in the same way again after knowing about the truth.”

Again, there was only silence that answered him. But Chuuya could still see your smile, and hear your voice as clear as the day in his mind when you responded in your typical manner. He closed his eyes, wordlessly curling his mouth up into a forlorn smile as he laid his head against your tombstone.

“If you were mine instead… would you still be here beside me?”

It was softer than a whisper, but his words carried a weight heavier than all the precious stones in the world combined together.

A small gust of wind blew by, ruffling his clothes and hair in a virtually affectionate yet comforting manner. It gently brushed against his cheek, before moving on to his lips, his neck, and his forehead. The breeze was neither cold nor warm, and it strangely felt like the caress of a lover. Almost as if you had heard his statement and responded with a reply of your own.

Chuuya opened his eyes when he felt the last touches of the wind disappear. All that was left behind was the silence that had always been there.

The silence that would now accompany him for the rest of his life without you.

@circinuus @justcallmesakira @riiwrites @ruanais @sariel626 @atlasnessie @yasu-masashige @oldworldpoolhall @yuugen-benni @chocsra @heartsfourdazai @iridescentdove

[drakulana]

Hi there! I have a angst/comfort writing about Law x y/n so far and I want to muster up the courage to ask you about this:

Its a bit complicated and rather long, Reader's strugling with trust issues due to her past betrayal and exploitation. Law once despite everything saved her from danger and cured her, even though she really loves him, but when she was mentally unstable, she broke down and confided that he was just taking advantage of her, taking advantage of her feelings, denying how genuine his feelings for her were.

I want to see you write his reaction and everything that happens after that! Hope you have a great day💖

Thank you so much for the request! I'm sorry it took my so long to answer, life has been so crazy! I hope you enjoy it!! @hana-san

late night envy - law x reader

ᯓ★wc: 2.1k

ᯓ★content: angst/comfort, fighting, alcohol consumption

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It was a clear night. You could see every star in the sky. Your captain had given the crew the privilege of surfacing for the night due to a breakthrough on a research project everyone had been working on together. Earlier, all of the crew had been partying and drinking amongst one another. It wasn’t every night that they got to see the night sky, and breathe in the salty air. It was a nice change of scenery apart from the steel walls that kept them so close. 

The party that ensued was one that Penguin and Shachi had referred to as a “rager” consisting of loud music and drinking games that were only ever fun if you were intoxicated. Luckily, everyone was. It had been a while since the crew had got to drink together like this. Everyone was on the top deck, all except for one person. The captain, of course. It wasn’t uncommon for the captain not to indulge in their festivities, but he always showed his face for at least the first half hour. Tonight, to the dismay of everyone on the crew, he was not. Well, everyone except for you. The party was doing its job at distracting you from the burden of the situationship you held with the absent captain, more so the fight you had with him almost half a week ago. 

The relationship between you and Law was never supposed to happen. It blossomed out of the heat of the moment. Like two magnets, you couldn’t help but to gravitate towards one another. However recent events had made you fear that your polarity towards one another had been reversed. These days, Law was scarce. He had a lot on his plate, you knew that, but sometimes you couldn’t help but to feel as if it were personal. He was planning a solo mission soon, and cut you out of the whole research aspect all together. Anytime you would come into his office, he’d dismiss you soon after. Anytime you would try to aid him with any type of research, he would tell you that he could handle it on his own, giving you another task to uphold somewhere on the other side of the ship. How could you not take something like that personal? A few nights ago, you had confronted Law ending in a screaming match between the two of you. You asked him why he was avoiding you, and he denied it. You asked if he was no longer interested in you, and he said that you were reading too much into the situation. I am a captain, and a warlord. I have things on my plate you couldn’t possibly begin to understand. You can’t come in here and disrupt my work, trying to find petty answers to your own insecurities. The words that were said that night had stung, and Law knew he had overstepped. Before an apology could even leave his mouth, you had turned on your heel walking out of the office, slamming the door behind you. Law didn’t follow you, he never did. 

It was now half past two, and your crewmates had finally decided to start turning in for the night. It wasn’t long before the stragglers had left the deck to return back to their bunks. A few crewmates asked you if you were coming inside too, and you waved them off with a dismissive I’ll be there, soon. You didn’t want to turn in just yet, you wanted to sit with the ocean and it’s stars for a little longer. If you were lucky, you’d be able to see the sunrise. It was very rare to be able to see the morning hues of soft pinks, and oranges. A cool breeze wafted over your face, and you took a deep inhale in. It was quiet out here. You couldn’t hear the incessant buzzing of the lights, or the never ending humming of the engines below you. You didn’t feel confined between cold metal walls, and you felt like you could finally breathe. You had a lot on your mind tonight, and to feel just a little less claustrophobic helped ease your tormented mind. You were hoping to find some solace in the waves sloshing against the metal of the ship, and a bottle of sake you had hidden away earlier in the night.

It had been almost four days since you had last talked to Law. Any time you would see him in the halls, or during mealtimes, you would turn the other way. You weren’t going to chase after him, either. The way he made you feel that night was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. The argument made you feel unseen, unheard. All those times that you and Law had shared behind closed doors. All the deep personal talks you had with him, all the sweetness you had saved just for him, felt meaningless. 

 A waft of cold air hit your face, bringing you back to reality. The quiet black ocean aided you in your spiral. You felt as if he didn’t want you anymore. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done to deserve this cold shoulder from him. You took another swig from the bottle of sake that had set next to you on the cold steel deck. You were about half way through the bottle now. You didn’t know what time it was, or how long you had been out here. There were no signs of morning for the next few hours. The sky and the ocean were now just one vast darkness speckled with stars. Everyone inside was probably already asleep in their bunks by now. All but one person, your captain. He never slept the way he was supposed to. You knew he wasn’t asleep, and a small part of you tugged to go see him, but you knew with Law you could never come to him first. He would have to come to you, and usually he did within a day or so, but it had been almost four days now. You took a deep breath, you could feel the alcohol setting into your system. It weighed you down to your chair, slowly creeping into your legs. 

You concentrated on the sloshing of the water against the sides of the ship, trying to pry your thoughts away from the earlier events from the week. It was to no avail, though. You couldn’t help the whirlwind of memories, and the emotions attached to them from setting fire to your brain.  Like a movie behind your intoxicated eyes, it played. All the people you had met before you had been involved with the Heart Pirates, all the places you had gone. Everyone who had ever scorned you was now at the forefront of your mind. nasty words that you had been called, the mistreatment from all of your previous peers echoed against the walls of your skull. It was the creaking of a metal door that had transported you back into the present. You didn’t look behind you to know who it was, you could pick out those footsteps from anywhere. It was Law. You didn’t move, you just stared ahead holding your now almost empty sake bottle against you. You didn’t want to have the conversation you knew was pending in this state, so you simply did not engage. 

Law’s deep voice cut through the sloshing, “It’s late,” he simply stated. You rolled your eyes at the sound of his tone. The way Law spoke always held an assured certainty that only he could make sound natural, but now his words tasted bitter in your mouth and the certainty was replaced with a cockiness that you found unbecoming of Law. You usually didn’t think like this, you were intoxicated. Another reason you wished he would just turn around and go back to his chambers, maybe even go to sleep for once. Law approached behind you, “Still ignoring me?” You scoffed at his audacity. You ignoring him? He practically begged for it the way he talked to you four nights ago. Still, you didn’t let up. You didn’t even give him a word. He walked around into your view. He was wearing a long jacket, his usual jeans, and a white tee. Your eyes studied him. He didn’t look like he had slept, but that wasn’t surprising, he never slept. His hat was unusually missing, leaving his messy black hair ruffling in the slight breeze. It was dark out here, but the moon had lit up the sky enough for you to see him. You made eye contact with him, and you could see something behind his eyes that wasn’t typically there, remorse. Usually that remorse would eat away at your soul, and make you cave, but not tonight. You tore your eyes away from the man standing in front of you, as he let out a sigh. He took a seat next to you, eyeing the bottle in your lap. “You’ve drank… a lot,” He reached over, taking the bottle from your grasp before setting it down on the other side of him. Again, the audacity. If you hadn’t been so drunk, you would’ve snatched it back, but there was no physical fight left in you at this point. 

The two of you sat in silence for a minute, before you heard Law take a huge breath, “Listen, you can’t just ignore-” he didn’t even finish the rest of his sentence before you had snapped your head towards him, cutting him off. “No, Law, you listen to me,” a surge of pain rushed to behind your eyes, only fueling your anger. A painful knot swelled up in your throat, “I understand that you are a warlord with a lot on your plate. I understand that the weight you pull is heavy, but that does not give you the right to be such a dick. If it’s space you need, then you got it, but don’t come out here badgering me about ignoring you when I can’t possibly begin to understand the things you have going on-” Law’s protest started to cut you off, but you didn’t give in, “No, don’t talk. I’m not finished. You had no place sitting there calling me insecure about your neglect whenever we hav-had some sort of relationship. I feel taken advantage of. Then you want to come out here and say that I’ve been ignoring you when I’m actually just giving you the space you so badly wanted? No,” at this point, you could feel the bile rising up in your throat, burning its way up your esophagus. It felt as if all the words that you had wanted to say were crawling up your throat pushing themselves out. You pushed yourself out of your seat, making a beeline to bend yourself over the side of the rails. Before you knew it, you were face to face with the black water emptying all of your stomach’s contents. Your legs shook underneath you, and you could feel Law behind you with his hands on your hips steadying your balance. You wanted to push him back away from you, but you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up anymore. It was frustrating feeling this weak in front of him after you had chewed him out, drunkenly. Once you were done, Law pulled you back up turning you to face him. “Let’s go inside, okay?” He asked you softly. It didn’t matter the protests you gave him, he was dragging you behind him staggering your way back into the ship. 

Once you were inside, Law led you back into his quarters. You were still mad at Law, and he knew that. He sat you down onto the bed digging out some clothes from his dresser laying them beside you, “Get changed, I’ll be right back,” He told you before shutting the door behind him. He returned when you were dressed with a bottle of water and two small white pills in his hand. “Take these, we’ll talk more in the morning,” He told you. You huffed and layed down in his bed, covering yourself with the blankets. Law looked at your figure before taking his jacket and his shoes off, “Can I lay with you?” He asked you, earning a small nod from you. Although you were mad, you couldn’t deny the comfort Law’s presence brought you. He crawled under the blankets, wrapping an arm around your drunken drowsy body, “You know I’m sorry, right?” He whispered to you, “I didn’t mean any of those things I said,” His hand trailed up and down your spine, putting pressure on certain places where he could tell knots were forming. Low hums fell from your mouth as he rubbed your back. You could feel your trepidation melting away as his fingers worked their way up to your shoulders. You finally let your eyes close, and let the heaviness of sleep take you. You would talk to Law in the morning, but for right now, the both of you were okay.

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@drakulana 2024 // i do not give permission to copy, translate, or repost, any of my content without my consent

[cherryfennec]

what are some of your favorite Super Paper Mario headcanons?

I wasn't sure how specific you'd want those to be but I tried to think of a few that I personally enjoy/tend to apply myself!Includes spoilers.

Some general headcanons:

SPM takes longer than than a day/few days (maybe about a month or two)

Flipping into 3D is a nauseating experience and it takes time to fully adjust to it (especially for Mario, he never really managed to get over it).

Pure Hearts emit a comforting aura, a sense of warmth and calm, while the Chaos Heart feels like a thousand voices are whispering in your ear.

Some character specific headcanons:

Mario finds himself confused and lost more than he ever did in his life during this adventure. His usual confidence and grounded attitude are shaky because almost everything in these other worlds makes no sense to him, which is rather frustrating, especially at the beginning of his journey where he's completely surrounded by strangers and forced into the hero role. (Seriously, Mario couldn't even go home if he wanted to because he's stuck not on an island but between dimentions where he was TELEPORTED IN. There isn't really a door that leads to the Mushroom Kingdom.)

Peach's parasol is hardened by steel and enhanced by magic with a sharp tip at the end. She changed her heels to something more comfortable on the Flipside and put her hair up so it doesn't get in the way during travel and unavoidable combat.

Bowser takes his 'marriage' very seriously. He cares more about Peach than Mario in the team so when she's trouble he'll dash to assist her (he can run when he really wants to huh), but if the red plumber's in trouble he'll pretend to not see it or brush it off. (unless his lovely wife nags him about it).

Luigi, after landing is the Underwhere, finds lots of stuff in his pockets that he doesn't remember squirreling away like firecrackers, bolts and a small screwdriver. He is in fact very confused.

Count Bleck isn't very emotional. Most of the time he only has one, sad and dull expression. Any type of larger emotion showing through means that you've REALLY pushed it to the extreme.

The minions know the kind person that the Count is deep at heart so they're not put off by his frown, except for Mr.L. A default reaction that the brainwashed soldiers get as a 'bonus' from Nastasia is the highest respect for the Count, yes, but also fear of him. The fear ensures that they are most obedient but it's more of a failsafe than anything. You can imagine how it looks when Mr.L, an exploding and tempered personality, runs around the castle causing havoc like a brat and then suddenly just FREEZES on the spot at the sight of Bleck.

On the topic of the quirks of Nastasias ability, usually a person only needs to be brainwashed once. HOWEVER due to a certain someone who likes to provoke the man in green and his subconscious she is required to sometimes strengthen the control on Mr.L as she doesn't trust the magician with keeping his mouth shut. At one point she directly orders L to actively stay away from the jester, even forcing him to follow her around when she works.

Dimentios poncho and hat are covered in glitter and his mask is porcelain-esque, also the idea of him being the "son of the magician". I just think this theory is quite fitting and I like the thought of him being actually 3000 years old. He's not very popular at the castle but everyone has a silent agreement to not bother him. He however bothers everyone and likes to stare. When he's intrigued he tends to tilt his head slightly.

Mimi enjoys designing clothes and tries to give fashion advice to her teammates (to absolutely no avail because who cares we're literally ending the world, we're evil and depressed blehhhh). She and Dimentio have an 'annoying sibling' dynamic and she wouldn't hold back against him in battle at all for all the times he's messed with her. She also enjoys filing her nails to be super sharp.

Nastasia is a very strict person who takes her duties seriously but she does have a side for fun. You just need to search for it a little.

O'Chunks likes to spar with Mr.L in his free time. Mr.L is in general one of the few people he can do this with since Mimi says that 'she doesn't want to ruin her dress over such a stupid thing' and Dimentio always finds an excuse or simply dissapears.

Post SPM headcanons:

There is little conflict with the neighbouring kingdoms after the void incident. Peach, Mario and Luigi use that free time to have fun and just relax after everything that happened. They need eachothers support for the time being.

'Team Bleck' still meets up often after everything and hangs out. They don't necessarily talk about the Count but it's nice knowing that there are other people who understand what you're feeling right now. *They've been trying to have a full group reunion with Luigi included for some time now. Things are a bit awkward among them but it's still nice when he agrees to come along.

Luigi inherits some of Dimentios mannerisms which shine through from time to time such as laughing patterns, hand gestures and a rather malicious looking grin... A bit more unrelated and physical change is that his hair tends to turn white when he's around strong sources of power. (Dream Stone and Dark Star levels kind of powerful ykyk maybe Super Star as well or stardust in general cause star child origins) and the eyes somewhat darken.

He's also never really informed about the specifics of his Mr.L and Super Dimentio arc. Mario doesn't really want to burden his brother with something that was in the past and not a necessary in his eyes knowledge since it wasn't truly him.

The Chaos Heart isn't completely gone. It rests, slowly regaining power within it's host, accumulating all the scattered fragments like puzzle pieces. Try all you want but you can never fully get rid of chaos, it's an inescapable force.

I might gather up some more another time but I'd say that's it for now! You might've already heard some of these before but I hope it was at least a good read.

[babydollmarauders]

SPEAK NOW — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

part of the Speak Now Fic List

summary: in which y/n attends her ex-boyfriend, Quinn’s wedding and can’t hold her peace

notes: barely any dialogue. like i’m so serious, very little dialogue. also not proofread and i think i hate this but it’s fine because i don’t think i could do any better and i worked way too long on this.

it was the last thing i expected.

to receive the elegant white cardstock that sits in my hand. flowers of muted colors are printed across the bottom, cursive lettering across the top.

‘You Are Formally Invited to the Wedding of Quinn Hughes & Lindsay Carter’

it’s not that i didn’t think this day would come. quite on the contrary, i feared it would come sooner. i know firsthand how special Quinn is. i knew some lucky girl would lock him down. Quinn is the type of love that you never let go.

but i did.

i made the mistake of letting go of his love.

letting go of him.

and now i’ll be forced to watch as he marries another girl. one who provided comfort and a shoulder for him to cry on when i broke his heart. one who helped him glue the pieces back together after i left.

we had both known the risks. getting together despite the warnings of his brothers. and Jack was right.

“romance is not worth risking a lifelong friendship.”

because in the end, i lost both.

i lost the love of my life and my best friend since kindergarten.

now reduced to awkward tension at conjoined family events, and pity invites to major events like these. more awkward to invite me than it is to face me afterwards, knowing that i knew what was happening and was deliberately left out.

setting the invitation on the counter, i check yes on the guest list website on my phone. confirming that i’ll be in attendance.

despite the envy that weighs heavy in my heart, and the irrational feeling of betrayal that eats at me, i know i’ll feel worse missing this milestone in Quinn’s life.

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

i’ve had months to prepare for this moment. to guard my heart and get ready to watch the only man i’ve ever loved, get married to another woman.

and in spite of that, all i’ve done is the very thing i spent the last two years keeping myself from doing.

asking about Lindsay.

i never thought they would get this far. under the impression that this was a fling and wouldn’t last long. the only thing i knew for two years was that they were opposites.

Quinn is a responsible, down-to-earth guy, focusing on feelings and equality in relationships. whereas she was more materialistic; never attending Quinn’s games unless she was guaranteed a photo opportunity, using his card to buy luxury items, and according to Jack, constantly reminding Quinn how low he had felt before she came into his life.

and now, after asking around and learning everything i could, i can guarantee that Quinn doesn’t know half the things that i do.

i can guarantee he doesn’t know that she was a bully in high school, that that mean girl attitude never left. i can guarantee he doesn’t know that she brags to all her friends that she bagged a rich fiancé and she’ll never have to work to afford her luxury lifestyle, or that she has no issue in saying he isn’t attractive but his money makes up for it. and i know he doesn’t know she’s been sleeping with her personal trainer when Quinn is out of town.

and i know what i must do today, despite my nerves.

there’s still thirty minutes until the ceremony actually begins, and no matter how much i’ve steeled myself, i’ll never be ready to face the pity filled glances and the sympathetic words of Quinn and i’s families and friends. so, i wander the halls of the stuffy church, thinking about how unlike Quinn this all is.

perhaps he’s changed his mind since we had fantasizingly planned our own wedding. laid in bed, the golden sunrise lighting his face in a greek god-like way, speaking in hushed whispers, discussing our dream wedding. nothing like this one.

my feet pause on their own accord as yelling reaches my ears, and i identify the sound coming from an open door down the hall as Lindsay.

“are you stupid?” her voice drifts out of the room, carried by the empty space. “i told you to get nude heels, not cream!”

i make quick work to pass by the room, catching just a glimpse of the blonde bride, her fluffy white gown swallowing her.

heaving out a relieved sigh, i try to ignore the pounding in my chest, turning left down the hall and towards the main room. maybe it’s best for me to just get the pity and commiseration over with.

my heels click against the hardwood floor of the crowded room, and a hush falls over most of the right side. Quinn’s side.

scanning the room, i’m grateful to find Trevor and Cole. i know Quinn’s family is with him getting ready, but i at least have these two to bring me some comfort amongst the sea of strangers.

“y/n, you came!”

pop! the comfort bubble has broken. i thought i could trust Cole to treat me normally, but the gentle incredulous tone of his voice tells me otherwise. a mix of shock and sympathy.

“yeah, of course i did.” my lips quirk in a forced smile, shoving any resentment and nerves down deep inside me. “i wouldn’t miss Quinny’s big day.”

“y/n/n, you know you don’t have to act strong in front of us, right?” Trevor’s hand rubs my arm, providing the perfect grounding for me.

“yeah, no, i know that.” i nod. “but seriously, guys, i’m fine. i knew this day would come.”

“it’s not too late.” Cole jokes. “the priest does say that whole ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ thing, right?”

i let out a genuine chuckle at the deep and ominous tone he uses to imitate the priest; the first real laugh i’ve had all day. if only he knew.

i join Trevor and Cole in finding seats, sitting in the 4th row. not quite at the front, but also not quite the middle. i perch in the seat closest to the aisle, open for a quick getaway if needed.

the guys engage me in small talk, asking me about my job and frowning when i give the generic answer of ‘it’s okay.’

but i couldn’t tell them the truth, could i? that i hated it. that i regretted ever taking it. that it wasn’t the job that was bad, but rather that i was filled to the brim with resentment that it took me away from the man i love.

i knew i had brought it upon myself. i made myself this miserable. i chose this job over him. i got the internship and thought Quinn and i could withstand the distance while i was in Boston, but i was wrong. we didn’t make it more than two months before i was forced to watch our relationship crumble before me; knowing there was nothing i could do to fix us, i had to let him go.

i knew he would live on. i knew he would be able to put our relationship in the past. but i was only more disconsolate than ever. stuck in a mournful heartbreak. unable to move on and unwilling to try.

i’m shaken from my thoughts by Cole, who points out the mother of the bride walking down the aisle, signifying that the ceremony is getting underway.

i strain my back, twisting around in my seat. my eyes are drawn to the open double doors, where Quinn makes his entrance. his parents on either side of him.

my heart races in my chest, my nerves settling low within my stomach. he looks breath taking. but i can’t help noticing the lack of spark in his eyes. the once lively eyes that used to be so full of emotion, now seem empty.

my gaze tracks his movement, following as he walks down the aisle and to the altar, coming to a stop in front of the priest. his parents take their seats as he scans the room, seemingly searching, and when our eyes meet, he seems to stiffen. his back straightening and his jaw locking.

i can only hope my eyes convey everything i’m thinking.

i’m sorry.

please don’t do this.

his brothers are quick to follow down the aisle, decked out in navy blue suits, joining him at the altar as his groomsmen.

Jack’s lips quirk up in a smirk when he sees me, and he sends me a wink, but i can’t muster anything more than a simple straight lipped expression.

the next 20 minutes go by in a blur, a haze of bridesmaids and eventually Lindsay making her entrance.

“dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore - is not by any - to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly - but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly.”

the priest begins, and i’ve been to enough weddings to know what comes next. steeling my nerves, i take a deep breath in, letting it escape back past my lips with a silent whoosh.

“should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

a silence falls over the room, the priest looking out over the seated crowd.

my hands tremble by my sides, anxiety growing deep within me, but i know this is my last chance.

i rise to my feet, slowly and shakily. i can hear whispers start from the left side of the room, and i glance around to find everyone staring at me with horrified looks. everyone but Quinn’s immediate family and friends.

Jack and Luke share a glance before letting out relieved sighs; but i’m only focused on Quinn, who stares back at me with wide eyes and parted lips.

“go on.” the priest urges me, an annoyed expression painting his face.

Lindsay’s face turns red, hands balled into fists at her sides.

“don’t say ‘yes’.” i plead of Quinn.

“y/n-” he sighs, and my heart skips a beat in my chest, the well-known effect he has on me.

“you need to hear me out.” i beg. “Quinn, i’m sorry. i’m sorry i let us go, i’m sorry i didn’t fight harder for us, and i’m sorry i ever even took that stupid internship. but even if i’m too late to win you back, you deserve better than this.

“she’s been using you for your name and your money.” i continue, but Quinn squeezes his eyes shut in disbelief. whether he’s in disbelief of Lindsay or me, i can’t be sure. “and she’s been cheating on you.”

gasps sound out across the room and his eyes snap open wide again. his gaze flickers between me and his bride, who has now turned a pale white; all color draining from her face at my accusation.

“she’s lying! she just wants you to herself! she had her chance and she lost it and now she doesn’t want you happy.” Lindsay cries out.

“i have it on good authority that she’s been sleeping with her trainer when you’re out of town. you know i wouldn’t say anything if i weren’t completely sure. if i didn’t have proof.” i tell him “and you don’t deserve that. you deserve someone who will be absolutely head over heels, purely, and loyally in love with you. and i’m not saying that i’m that person for you. this isn’t me begging for a second chance, even if i am still out of my mind in love with you. i just can’t stand idly by and watch you make a mistake. i can’t let you marry her without knowing the truth.”

i take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. silence plagues the room, astonishment written all over the faces over every guest in attendance.

“okay, that’s all i wanted to say.” i purse my lips and nod, stepping out into the aisle. my heels click against the floor as i make my exit, not staying to see the outcome of my outburst.

***

i sit on my couch, staring at my hands fidgeting in my lap; my phone shut down entirely and sitting face down on the coffee table in front of me, not ready to face the consequences of my earlier actions.

a movie plays on my tv, but i pay no attention, only having put it on in attempt to escape my thoughts and avoid the quiet.

it’s been approximately twelve hours since i objected to my ex’s wedding. now midnight, and my anxiety has not lessened. i have no clue whether Quinn carried on with his marriage or if he took my words to hold the truth. too afraid to find out.

i’m broken out of my trance by a heavy knock sounding out on the door of my apartment, and i stand frantically. i expect that it’s Jack or one of the many other friends in attendance of the wedding this afternoon, but my heart rate picks up when i look through the peephole to find the very man i confessed my love to today.

my hand shakes as i unlock the door, opening it to reveal Quinn. he’s no longer in his tux, rather adorning sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he still looks handsome to me.

“Quinn.”

“i didn’t say my vows.” he rushes out.

“what?” i question, fearing i heard him wrong.

“i didn’t say my vows.” he repeats, pushing past me and into my entry hall. “she tried to deny what you told me, but i trust you. i held my ground, and she confessed everything. you were right.”

“Quinn, please.” i plead. “i’m happy that you’re not upset with me but i can’t-”

“i’m so glad you were there.” he cuts me off, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him. “were you telling the truth?”

“Quinn, you just said she confessed-” i push against his chest, tears gathering in my eyes.

“about being sorry. about still being in love with me. were you telling the truth?” he clarifies, his free hand coming up to hold both of mine in his clutch, and my arms go slack.

“yes.” the tension in the air is palpable, and i’m unsure whether it’s worrisome or comforting.

“say it again.” he breathes out, a subtle smile resting on his lips.

“i love you.” a lone tear spills over my waterline, rolling down my cheek. “i am absolutely and irrevocably in love with you.”

his lips crash upon mine in a bruising kiss, finally letting go of my hands in favor of resting his right one against my cheek. i stiffen against him, seizing up in his hold, and he pulls back. his eyes scan my face, his face etched in worry.

“did i do something wrong?” a hoarse whisper, our faces still millimeters apart.

my hands raise to cup the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to mine. my eyes flutter shut,this time it’s slow and passionate; holding my heart on my sleeve as i pour my soul out to him in the form of a kiss.

he pulls away, pressing his forehead against mine, but my eyes remain shut. we’re both silent, nothing but the sound of our mingling breaths and the tv lowly drifting in from the other room.

“i love you too.”

[ragingbookdragon]

A Saving Grace

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence

**********************************************************************

Ever since she had arrived, there had been no complaints from her, even spending so much time around a group of men. Any time someone had asked something of her, it was a quick “Yes sir, I’ll get it done.” With no issue in her tone, and she did, in fact, get it all done with a degree one could only call perfection.

No one seemed to understand her though. She walked with an air of grace, a sun-bright smile lighting up her face, enthusiasm in her voice when she spoke. She kept everyone on the edge of their seats when she talked to them, attention rapt as if they looked away, they’d miss the world. And she was kind. Oh, so kind, and they knew when she played with the young children in the village, helped the elder women carry their laundry and baskets of food. The smile never left her face, the joy never left her voice, the grace never left her soul.

An Angel, they decided she was. The group’s mascot, a beautiful Angel with deadly precision and skill.

Quite a contrast from her call-sign she’d come in with.

Whore.

Their mouths had dropped, eyes wide, disbelief written across their faces, what type of person, let alone a beautiful woman such as herself, would allow anyone to call her Whore. She hadn’t told them. Just that it was what she chose.

Despite going through the SEAL program, she had no real-world combat experience, only the training she’d received at SEAL boot-camp. Simon was inclined to not bring her along, but she insisted.

I won’t get in the way. I’ll provide backup and follow your lead, Lieutenant.

The compound erupted into chaos whenever the alarm sounded, and Simon had cursed their luck as bullets whizzed by. He shouted orders through the comms, go left, go right, stay center, open fire, suppressing fire.

She’d gone left, into a double open ended steel container that had been converted into a lookout. The shock from the carbine caused an ache in her shoulder but she paid it no mind, taking out enemies where she could see them, one even getting too close into Ghost’s blindside. He dropped five feet from the Lieutenant and the man’s head cocked up towards her, and even at this distance, she could see his eyes widen in what she registered as shock. He’d only ever called her by her rank, Ensign. Never regarded her with the term she gave herself. Call him a gentleman, but he knew better than to say something like that, even if it was her call-sign.

Whore! Left!

She turned too late; the carbine knocked from her grip by the man who had at least two heads on her. Her hands went to her sidearm but his were already winding around her throat, lifting her against the metal of the container, a choking gasp escaping what little room was left before all air cut off. The man’s eyes were wild, nothing there, but she saw herself in their reflection, a cornered and caged animal who’s only chance was fight. Rage welled inside her, not fear, only the red-hot, iron rage bubbled through the adrenaline, and she let her arms go slack, no longer digging her fingers into his hands, she gripped the K-Bar in its sheath, yanked it and sunk it into his neck. Those eyes went wide, the craziness of them disappearing in favor of shock before they hazed, and they both dropped.

Her lungs burned, eyes watering as she sucked in air, careful to avoid too much in the situation she needed to not be lightheaded. A noise came from the side, and she pulled her Eagle from its holster, pointing it towards the boot scuff and her eyes met Ghost’s.

Can you move?

Yes sir.

Scrambling, she grabbed her rifle, and nodded.

Ready.

***

She sat on the bench, scratching at the sheet of paper, filling out the report that some of the squad had left behind, a promise to do it another time. A gentle clinking sounded next to her, and she looked over, watching as Ghost sat beside her, a glass in front of him, a bottle of Kentucky between them.

“Pour us a round, yeah?” he murmured, and she obliged, pouring each of them a decent amount; he watched as she picked her glass up first, taking a big sip but not swallowing for a few moments. His eyes met the darkened bruises on her neck. “Feel alright after today’s injuries?”

She swallowed and set the glass down. “Fine. Sergeant Mac—Uh, Soap, gave me some pain cream for them.” A small smile crossed her lips. “I had some in my pack, but I think he was trying to be kind and extend a branch, so who am I to turn it away.”

“Yeah, Soap’s good like that. Hard head, good heart.”

Her smile only grew wider, but it fell as she glanced up as he folded the balaclava above the bridge of his nose and took a sip of his bourbon. Ghost had a scar that started from the edge of his ear down to his lip, almost like someone had scratched him and torn his upper lip in two. The healing was mangled, something she recognized as self-stitching scars.

“Believe it or not, I got this from a cougar.”

She blinked, shock etching her features that turned into confusion then to thought and she quipped, “That’s why they say not to tease older women.”

For the first time since she’d met the Lieutenant, he snorted, a smile etching his features as he muttered, “Good one.”

“Where did it happen?”

“Took a trip to Brazil one day. My luck I ran into one in the wild.”

“Uh huh. Kinda surprised you survived that one.”

“I’m a hard man to kill.”

They fell into an easy silence, both sipping their liquors and she glanced down at the report she had been writing. “Everyone wants to know why, y’know.” She felt his eyes on her. “Why my call-sign is ‘Whore.’ No one knows me here, though I didn’t really expect a bunch of hardened soldiers to know the most prominent models of the times.”

Ghost watched her take her phone out, tap the screen a few times before she laid it down in front of him, allowing him to look over; what he saw surprised him.

Two Time Grand Winner of Miss Universe and Miss Earth Ditches Crown for a Uniform and Rifle As She Enlists In USN!

He took the device, scrolling down the article.

Winner and Model (Y/N) (L/N) (28) tossed her crown and dress aside for a uniform and rank earlier this year as she seemingly dropped from the existence in the runways and stages in May of last year. Little comment has been given from her family, though her tough and endearing, multi-billionaire father (F/N) (L/N) has stated this was not a plan she thought well through. When asked for a comment, a representative from the United States Navy declined, saying that Miss (Y/N) was a part of a greater force and her whereabouts would not be disclosed for her and team’s safety. So far, no one has managed to find where she is but perhaps one day, she’ll return to the spotlight and reclaim her crowns.

Ghost handed her back the phone, and now everything about her, her speech, her mannerisms, the way she carried herself, all made sense. They’d been interacting with a woman who’d grown up in the spotlight ever since she could walk.

No emotion came from her face as she spoke.

“When I was at SEAL training, one of the instructors kind of…took me under his wing. He eventually told me that his wife was a fan of the pageants and knew who I was when he’d mentioned me. Though she knew I couldn’t be coddled, she did ask for him to watch out for me.” She simply gazed at the table. “The others didn’t appreciate the small kindness his gave me at times, simple words of encouragement or a pat on the back. They nicknamed me the ‘The Captain’s Whore.’ I heard it from them, under their breaths as I walked by. But I paid it no mind. I’ve been called far worse from people I loved.”

She stood from the bench and poured herself a hefty amount of the Kentucky into her glass before walking towards one of the windows. “When we graduated, they asked us for call-signs. What did we want to be recognized as?” He saw a smile come across her face, a proud one. “Three guesses on what emotion they all felt when I chose ‘Whore’ as mine.”

Ghost watched her. “Why did you?”

“So they’d have to say it to my face and not behind me back,” she answered, matter-of-factly. “As damning of a word as that can be, I took it from them. I took the power they had in that word, and I made it mine. They’d have to call me something they thought would hurt me, but I saw it in their eyes every time they said it, that I had come out on top. And I did. I was the best in my class. I suspect that’s why Captain Price commissioned me for the 141.”

She turned, a sardonic almost pitied look in her eyes, and Ghost saw the drunken haze starting to crawl into them. “Ironically, I’ve never even had sex with anyone.” Downing the glass in one swig she set it on the windowsill and turned to stare out at the night, watching the few soldiers still outside moving equipment around. “I wasn’t scared today. This was my first real firefight, but I wasn’t scared. Not even when the enemy had me by the throat. I wasn’t afraid. I was angry. Enraged. There was no fear, only intense hatred, and belligerent rage.”

Her breathing calmed. “I should be horrified at myself. I killed people today. I took the lives of men and women who were husbands and wives, who had children and spouses, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles and cousins, and yet, I don’t feel sadness or regret. I did my job, I took out enemies who were trying to kill myself and my squad-mates. I fought to protect people I cared for. But no matter how righteous my actions were or for what saving grace they were, I should be in tears, and yet…I have none left.”

Ghost saw the reflection of her face in the glass, saw the same dead-eyed yet so filled with pain expression he saw when he looked at himself sometimes.

“He beat all of them out of me years ago,” she simply added, and said no more, silently picking up the glass and setting it back next to his. “I’ll take my leave for this evening, if that’s alright with you, Lieutenant.”

“Simon,” he murmured, and she met his gaze. “Call me Simon.” He stood from the table, gathering both glasses and the bottle in one hand and she had to crane her neck a little to meet his gaze. “And from now on, you’re call-sign is going to change. I’m not calling you something you’re not.”

“You can’t just change my call-sign, sir. That’s not how that works.” He paid it no mind but only stopped when heard, “Oh fine, what are you going to change my call-sign to?”

“Seraph. The highest of them all.”

“Wait, like the angels?” he nodded. “…Why?”

Simon glanced back at her and selfishly blamed the liquor loosening his lips as he murmured, “You. You’re a beautiful and fiercely protective woman with a burning devotion. Can’t think of a better fitting name than Seraph.”

Something flickered in her expression, an ache, a deep, deep ache he knew so well, and she simply dropped her gaze to the floor. “Thank you, Simon.”

“Get some rest, Ensign, we’ve a big day tomorrow.”

[blue-slxt]

The Game

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: So this was inspired by crazy, horny ramblings from discord. I just love my man and threesomes are pretty fun (even if they are a monster to actually write lol). All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Na'vi!Reader x Fem!Na'vi!OC

Warnings: Smut, P in V, Threesome, Oral (M and F receiving), Face Riding, Sapphic Kissing/Touching, Creampie

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Neteyam gets caught up in you and your friend's "game".

Everything about this whole situation was just so unusual. Neteyam couldn't believe he found himself in this scenario. It was so unlike him to get caught up. But he had been distracted. It was supposed to be another regular trip through the forest. But something was different tonight. He got careless; he got distracted. He smelled a scent he wasn't familiar with. As many times as he's walked through this forest, he knew it inside and out and he knew that whatever this scent was, it didn't belong here.

He hushed his own breath and lightened his footsteps as he moved closer to the unfamiliar smell. It was floral, but with a hint of some type of fruit that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Peeking through the bushes, he noticed your crouched form next to the river. Your back was turned towards him and it seemed you hadn't noticed him approaching you.

He almost called out to you, but when he saw your face, his voice was lost to him. To say he thought you were beautiful was an understatement. Your features were soft and round, but there was a hardened edge to your expression. Clearly a gentle and nurturing soul, but a heart made of steel and no fear.

That's where he fucked up. He got so lost in his musings about you that he let his guard down and didn't notice the second presence coming up behind him until a strong hand grabbed ahold of his kuru and a cool blade was pressed against his throat.

"Move slowly..." the second voice speaks lowly to him.

She stands to her feet and brings Neteyam with her and moves both of them through the bushes into the clearing. "Who did you find this time, Ìze?" you say brushing your braids out of your face.

With a sly grin, she walks him closer to you, "We got a big catch this time. None other than the prince of the Omatikaya himself."

"What is this?" Neteyam asks, trying to piece together the unfolding situation.

"Why don't you tell us? You were the one watching me, weren't you?" you say walking up to him and trailing your fingers over his broad chest.

His ears pin themselves to his head feeling embarrassed at being caught and called out. "Fine. So what do you want?"

Ìze chuckles behind him, "Same thing that you want, pretty boy." Her hand on his kuru eases its grip and starts to lightly stroke the base making Neteyam's breath grow heavy.

"It's okay, Nete~..." you say his name with a sweet tease. "We just want to play with you a little bit..."

"How do you know my name?" he asks, trying to not let the quiver in his voice show.

"Oh, you are famous even among other clans, Mr. future olo'eyktan." Ìze answers finally lowering her knife from his throat. And yet, Neteyam still makes no attempt to escape.

"I've been dying to find out if the Omatikaya prince tastes as good as he looks", you continue letting your fingers dance along the waist of his tewng.

Ìze slowly circles around to his front letting his kuru slide sensually through her hand before letting it fall. Now that Neteyam could clearly see her face, he could see that she was beautiful too, but in an entirely different way. Where your beauty radiated nurturing warmth and hidden power, Ìze was beautiful in an intimidating way. She was clearly the hunter type and everything from her posture to her voice commanded respect.

"So take your pick, Nete~" Ìze teases the nickname.

Neteyam tries desperately to quickly rework his malfunctioning brain to come up with some kind of a response. But any words that come to mind, die in his throat before they ever make it to his lips. His eyes just flicker back and forth between the two of you trying to make sense of at least some part of this.

"What's the matter?" you ask, stepping closer and running your hand along his perfectly chiseled jaw. "Yerik got your tongue?"

Neteyam's not sure why he did what he did next. Maybe it was how sweet you smelled or the shiver he felt all the way down to his tail when you touched him. Regardless of why, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in close against him.

Your eyes go wide with excitement and a devilish grin plasters itself on your face. Ìze's expression mimics your own at the unfolding situation in front of you both. You're not quite done having your fun yet, though. You lift up on your toes and press light kisses to his cheeks, his nose, the corners of his mouth, his chin, everywhere except where he really wants you. When his patience runs thin, Neteyam uses two fingers to hold your chin and keep you in place so that he can properly place a firm kiss on your lips. 

His lips are in perfect sync moving against yours, but before you can fully comprehend anything, his tongue is swiping at your lower lip begging to be let in. You eagerly grant him entrance just as you feel another set of hands wrap around you and cup your breasts. Neteyam’s tongue dances with yours where he clearly sets the tone and takes the lead and you’re more than happy to submit to him. You sigh into the kiss feeling Ìze give your earlobe a playful nip. You finally pull back from the kiss leaving a thin string of saliva connecting your lips together. 

“My turn” Ìze says still groping at your body that was thoroughly trapped between the two of them. 

She leans in over your shoulder pressing her lips to Neteyam’s and the kiss is a fierce battle of wills between the two of them. Their tongues fight for dominance as you let your hands trail lower down his toned body and you feel the outline of his dick through his tewng. Feeling how big and stiff he is right now has your breath growing heavy with anticipation. Your eagerness clearly overtakes you when your fingers get busy untying his loincloth. 

When they finally break their kiss, both of their chests are heaving for air. Neteyam locks eyes with you and his blown pupils and half lidded eyes match your own. He lets you continue on your mission to rid him of the offensive cloth until it falls while he licks and nips at your neck. He breathes in deep, heady breaths of your intoxicating scent and you make no attempt to stop him from scenting you. Ìze says in your ear, “looks like the prince has taken a liking to you” with a giggle in her voice. 

“It would seem so. I’ll take the first round and then we’ll switch?” you suggest with a slight moan escaping when his tongue glides just below your ear. 

“Sounds good to me.”

Neteyam is so lost in leaving little marks on your otherwise perfect skin that he doesn’t even hear the two of you scheming. It’s not until you push him away by his chest that he finally breaks out of his trance. Neteyam focuses on the two pairs of eyes trained on him. More specifically, on his thick cock standing tall and proud in front of him. 

“Lay down” Ìze instructs. 

His ears twitch back and forth signaling that he heard her, but his tail sways in hesitation. 

“Relax, your highness. Let us take care of everything.” you say tail practically thrashing behind you with excitement.

Neteyam feels like he’s having an out of body experience, watching himself follow your instructions as he lays down on the soft, glowy moss.

He watches on in curiosity and amazement when you and Ìze strip off your own tewngs in front of him leaving the three of you bare together. You approach him from the bottom while Ìze walks around to the top of Neteyam’s head. Getting down on your hands and knees, you crawl over to him and settle yourself between his thighs that twitch and jump under the gentle caress of your fingertips. It feels like you could start drooling when you finally hold him in your hand. He’s so thick and heavy in your grasp, your fingers can just barely fit all the way around. 

Dragging the flat of your tongue up his length, you can see Neteyam’s abs tremble with the shuddering breath he releases. Your tongue travels up his whole length and then you take his tip into your mouth. Beads of tangy precum coat your tongue and you hum around him in satisfaction at the flavor. 

The beads in his braids clink together as Neteyam’s head falls back to the ground. When he looks up, Ìze is crouched over him grinning like a devil at him. 

“Ah ah ah, eyes forward, pretty boy.” She says, grabbing his face and pointing his eyes back at you. You hold searing eye contact with him while you slide him all the way into your mouth, making small gagging sounds when he brushes the back of your tongue. 

“She’s doing such a good job for you, isn’t she? Doesn’t she just look so gorgeous swallowing your cock?” 

If your lips weren’t currently occupied, they would be tugging into a smirk watching the prince’s composure crumble. Ìze always loved taking the lead in these situations. Meanwhile, you were more of a pleaser. Nothing compared to the rush you felt when you would watch a strong warrior or proficient hunter melt under you. 

Neteyam finally can’t hold your gaze any more when you shoot a wink his way. It’s more than he can handle. His eyes squeeze close while you continue to bob your head up and down on his length. Ìze takes the opportunity to turn his face back to her and capture his lips in another heated kiss. 

Neteyam moans into her mouth when you hollow out your cheeks and he swallows the small chuckles she lets out. 

When you and Ìze lock eyes, a silent understanding is shared between you. You pull off of Neteyam with an audible ‘pop’ and Ìze pulls back from their kiss and Neteyam is left with his head still spinning figuring out what’s happening. 

“Time to see if the prince lives up to his reputation. What do you think?” Ìze teases.

“Oh, I’m sure that he won’t disappoint us” you muse, stalking closer to him and stealing a quick kiss. His lips try to chase after you when you pull away. He watches you intensely when you straddle his hips and hover right above when he really wants you to be. His hips buck beneath you trying to chase your heat. Every time he comes close, you lift your hips a little higher, keeping him from fully getting what he wants out of you just yet. He lets out a low growl of frustration, but it only amuses the two of you. 

“Now, now, don’t be such a tease. I think we’ve made him wait long enough, don’t you?”, Ìze purrs walking behind you and placing her hands on your hips.You let her help guide you to finally sit down on Neteyam’s stiff cock. The stretch is even better than you imagined. 

“Mmf!”

Every curve and ridge seems to fit perfectly inside of you. Neteyam can’t help but watch you sit down on it and watching the way his jaw falls to his chest is the exact sight that you love to see every time. 

You move your hips up and down at a steady pace, coaxing small groans of pleasure from the man under you. Ìze takes her hands off you and makes her way to Neteyam’s face.

“Don’t forget about me just yet, prince.”

She uses two fingers on Neteyam’s forehead to gently push his head down for her to straddle his face. Neteyam wastes no time having his fill of her. 

“Ahh…”

Both of you roll your hips in perfect time with each other on top of him. Your walls clench and hug around his thick cock while Ìze covers his face in her slick that he’s steadily lapping at. 

“Ahn~! Nete!” you cry out when his hips snap up to meet yours. One of his hands holds on to your hip for more leverage to rut up into you. His other hand holds Ìze in place for his tongue to reach all the right spots. 

“Haah…ah, right there!” she croons. 

“Ìze…” you breathe out, reaching your hand towards her. A smirk crosses her lips already knowing what you wanted. She leans forward towards you and uses her fingers under your chin to tilt your face up to hers and press her lips to yours. Her tongue invades your mouth, muffling the sweet moans you make from every buck of Neteyam’s hips. 

The night air is filled with the various sounds of wet skin slapping against skin and muffled sounds of pleasure from all three of you. 

Your head is swirling with all the stimulation that almost borders on being too much. The smell of arousal thick in your noose, Neteyam’s tip knocking against your cervix, and Ìze playfully licking into your mouth has you quickly approaching your peak. 

You finally break the kiss to catch your breath and notice Ìze’s glazed over eyes. It’s a look you’re all too familiar with from having done this so many times. It’s the look she gets when she’s close. She pants against your lips; the two of you practically sharing the breath. Below her, Neteyam attaches his lips around her clit and sucks on it lightly sending shock waves through her body. Her normally hardened, confident expression has melted away into something needy and wanting. Thankfully, you knew exactly what she needed. 

Your hand reaches around the back of her head and grabs ahold of her kuru. Gently stroking the base of it, you lightly purr to her “let go for us, Ìze”. 

As if you had directly spoken to oher core, her hips twitch and her thighs shake with her release that coats Neteyam’s face and runs down the sides of his mouth. Her pussy desperately clenches around nothing as she continues to ride out her high until she can come down.

Watching her like this always riled you up more. Made you go harder, faster, deeper. It was beautiful to watch every time. She was beautiful. 

Her body relaxes and she drops her full weight down. Neteyam lightly taps her thigh to signal to her that he finally needs to come up for a breath and she climbs off of his face. 

“Have fun~” she says with a slightly tired lilt to her voice, leaving the two of you to finish. 

In one fluid motion, Neteyam sits up and lays you on your back on the ground. He throws your legs over his shoulders and ruts into you with more force than before. Lightning flashes through your body. Without even realizing it, your tail coils around his bicep in a subconscious attempt to help keep your mind grounded. 

“Ah! Mm! Haah…Nete!” 

“Cum for me, tanhì” he quietly commands you, knowing that he’s probably just as close as you are. 

Your toes curl and your nails dig into his skin when your release rips through you.Your walls vice grip around him and Neteyam can’t hold back anymore. His hips stutter and lose their previously steady pace as thick ropes of white spill into you making warmth spread in your lower belly. 

His lips crash into yours, still fresh with the taste of Ìze on them. It’s disorienting and addicting in the way it seems to drag out your high and make you see stars. When he breaks the kiss, you’re both trying to catch your breath. 

“So?” Ìze inquires from somewhere behind you.

A smile spreads on your lips and you simply respond, “I told you he wouldn’t disappoint us”.

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[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Isolation and fear were all you knew, and it was all you experienced in the iron holding of that dank cell — you never knew any different. 

There were even fewer things you knew for certain, but one thing you ascertained, in that dark, dreary, murderous reality you were thrust into, was that there was one other soul who suffered the same as you did.

That same soul became your salvation and saving grace; a place to call safe.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ◈ Alpha!Winter Soldier x Omega!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ◈ 2.9k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ◈ Angst, DARK THEMES, light whump, captivity, descriptions of blood, cleaning away said blood, implied torture, isolation, fluff, hurt/comfort, alpha/omega dynamics, nesting, scenting, Aggressively Protective!Winter Soldier ჻჻჻ TROPES: Touch her and you die

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ◈ This is the fic that brought me out of a few months long slump.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ◈ Last Glimmer by Lorne Balfe ◈ Northern Light by Penelope Trappes ◈ Still Numbers by Ekin Fil

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ◈ @anyfandomdarkbingo 𝗕𝟮 — Chained to a Wall — Masterlist ◈ @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟮 — Omegaverse AU — Masterlist ◈ @buckybarnesevents Alpha Bucky April ჻჻჻ Nesting ჻჻჻ Purring / Affection ჻჻჻ Beta Character ჻჻჻ Overachiever (Double Minimum Requirements) — Masterlist

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The bitter cold of the cell stung all of what it could touch, as did the tears that fell down your cheeks, but they gave no reprieve against the burning over your feverish skin — the prickling heat that gnawed at the marrow of your bones the longer you lay there without your alpha.

Men clad in tactical gear — one of the types your alpha taught you to recognise the difference between: the men with guns, to those with needles and concoctions —  burst into the cell to haul him away, all while he growled and snarled behind his mask. 

They paid no mind to his protests. Even when the creak and grinding of metal plates grew louder and louder the more your alpha thrashed. 

It was then another visitor appeared in the shrouded doorway of the shared cell, beady eyed and weasel-like in appearance with a white coat to match.

You watched your alpha turn eerily still at the sight of him, then he stood straight-backed and tall, bowing his head in submission — a response you could not understand no matter how you turned it over in your mind. 

Never had you seen your alpha fall compliant to another so easily. He was the epitome of strength, of determined, cold steel that was immovable, and that man twisted him easily enough he could have been made of dough. 

For all of the time you were trapped behind the same bars, from the same moment you were thrown into a cell with a rabid, feral alpha, you kept your head by some miracle. You remembered being taken off of the streets as an unmated, unbound omega, the details vivid and omnipotent over you — it made your stomach knot and turn viciously. 

It was only when the cloud of sour terror dissipated from your now mate, that you realised he was just as much of a victim, as you, yourself, were.

You remembered the times you were alone with the alpha, too. The gentleness and care for which he handled you was unmatched by anyone before, whether it be by civilised alphas in the outside world, to those in tactical gear or white coats.  

Soldiers treated you as a disposal pit for their desires; Soldat treated you as though you were made of the finest silks and were to be treasured, worshipped. 

The thrill of tension in the air made you shiver while you whimpered quietly, clutching at the blanket that lined the cot you shared with Soldat — the threadbare, torn stretch of fabric held the only comforting scent that could pull you from fear and into a calm, serene stupor.

As the man in the white coat spoke, the hand not holding the blanket of which was manacled to the wall, twitched. The chains rattled, and Soldat could not even spare you a glance — not if he didn’t want to incur your captor’s wrath.

You watched, with the feeling of ice crawling through your veins, while the man in the white coat gestured for your alpha to walk onwards and out of the cell; away from you and into horrors unknown. 

Soft boot falls echoed off of the walls, and he was gone, as well as the men that flanked his imposing, intimidating form. 

The blanket you held offered no comfort as you lay there alone — not even a slither of peace to quieten the rushing, harassed thoughts that whirled in your mind, and fear gripped your chest and squeezed tighter than a vice the longer your alpha was gone. 

“Move it!” 

You sat bolt upright, scenting the air. There was no discerning scent that gave you pause until you heard footsteps nearing, followed by the acrid, putrid stench of pained terror. 

Those same footsteps stumbled, then a heavy body hit the wall close to the cell door with a grunt. 

“Fucking useless,” a deep voice swore. “They’ve only just done it and he’s– How the fuck is he meant to be the–”

Another clang, this time, metal on metal — it screeched and groaned, and through the slit in the door, you could see a dark silhouette with ragged hair. 

“Just open the door. The faster we put him in, the faster we can get out of here.” 

The creak of groaning metal rang in your ears louder than a gunshot, and the door swung open to reveal a party of three men. One of them held the haggard, stumbling figure up by the elbow, and the other man on the opposite side held the back of the struggling man’s neck in a tight grip. 

“Oh, she’s awake,” one said, brows raised in surprise. “Your problem now, girl.”

You realised they were guards, higher up superior commanders if their uniforms and badges were of any telling, and they threw the struggling figure into the cell. 

They tumbled onto the floor with a guttural growl of pain. 

That same stench of agonised fear permeated the air, and you recognised upon closer inspection that this haggard, snarling figure was your alpha — mussed and bloodied around the face, while his tactical canvas pants were torn and streaked with ichor. He whirled to face the guards with narrowed eyes, and the mask on his face caught the light. 

“Alpha,” you whispered, reaching for him hesitantly. “Alpha—alpha, come– Please.”

The guards snickered as their quarry raised himself from his knees, though they didn’t linger. The door slammed closed, followed by the sound of the lock securely fastening it shut. 

A low groan of pain fell through gritted teeth, and you watched with wide eyes as your alpha rose to his feet, hunched in on himself while he scented the air. 

“Please,” you whispered, reaching a trembling hand towards him. 

The heavy chain around your other wrist clanked against the cement while you tried to shuffle forwards and capture his attention — the low thrum of restlessness in your blood compelling you to nest but the lack of anything in the dank cell to use sent a pang of sombre longing through your chest. 

Leather creaked as your alpha turned, and clouded, grey eyes met yours. 

Instantaneously, they cleared to a silver-blue shade and he hastened forwards. “Malen’kiy, mne zhal'–”

Your palm grabbed his taut bicep and gripped it for dear life. “No– No, don’t, I missed you.” Cold, chilled metal gathered you up so you came to rest on his thighs and curled into his chest. Both of his arms held you fast around your front and back, while his chin rested on top of your head. 

“You came back, like you promised you would,” you whispered to his collar. Fistfuls of leather squeaked and rustled in your grip. “You came back to me.”

“I always have. I always will,” he rasped. The hand that cupped the back of your neck moved down grip the sides of your thighs, encouraging you to move closer and sit comfortably. “They said you were to not be unchained.” 

“I hate it,” you mumbled back, pulling on the chain that clanged and rattled, again. “Alpha, I need–” The cuff of the chain clunked and fell to the floor with a rattle, where it lay still. You loosed a breath of relief.

“They do not know how to care for you as I do.”

It was silent for a moment, then, “You smell sweet, Malen’kiy.”

“Nest…” You squirmed until you were face to face with your alpha — his eyes searched yours curiously. “I need to nest, please, it–”

“Here.” The leather straps and buckles that spanned his chest came away with a conscious effort, and his chest was bare to you, scars and all. “I only wish I had more to give you,” he growled, the anger in his tone not directed towards you, though it made you frown. 

“Wait,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. The hard, shining mask that covered the lower half of his identity came loose with a quiet click, and it tumbled to the floor, revealing his bowed lips and clean shaven cheeks and jaw. “There you are.”

“Omega,” he rasped quietly, looking down at his lap. 

“No,” you replied, and you stretched towards the head of your shared cot to retrieve an old washcloth to wipe the blood from his face. He sat still as you tilted his chin upwards, patiently waiting for you to be done with grooming him. “My handsome alpha,” you cooed. 

A small dusting of pink coloured his sharp cheekbones, and he smiled softly at you. 

With the freedom he gave you from the chain, you rose onto your knees and shuffled further up his lap, and you reached over his arms to place his leather vest over the cot — the strong scent of him enveloped your senses, and you couldn’t help but purr quietly in contentment. 

You placed the outside of the leather against the cot, exposing the seams and lining of the inside, where his scent was strongest. The gaze of his intrigue made goosebumps rise over your arms, but you paid him no mind as you worked — the space needed to be fit for a nest, and you needed it to be perfect to house you and your alpha. 

A nudge from something soft against your arm broke you from your focus, and you looked up. The pillow that normally laid at the head of the cot was outstretched in quiet offering, your alpha smiling encouragingly. 

It warmed your heart — for what little you had, he still was your world. “Thank you,” you whispered, taking the offered pillow. Soldat rumbled quietly in reply, and sat back on his haunches to watch you work. The leather of his vest tucked neatly into the corners of the cot. 

“I think this is… enough.” You glanced around at him, and he nodded. With his encouragement, you crawled and shuffled to sit on top of the leather, feeling the warmth of his residual body heat through the material, though it didn’t feel right. 

“What is it?” Soldat asked, his voice strained. The nest itself was the best of what you could make, but it was empty — the void of comfort and a certain touch made a sadness permeate your scent. “Malen’kiy, what is it?”

“I want you,” you whispered, fidgeting with the rough marks over your scarred knuckles from when you fought valiantly to escape your prison. “I just–”

“Nyet, stop.” 

Your jaw clicked shut and you blinked, willing the sudden burn over your waterline to disappear. 

“May I enter your nest, omega?” 

The question was soft, and you knew that if you were to refuse, that he would not grudge you of it — you couldn’t imagine refusing him of that sanctuary. “Please.”

His torn, canvas pants rustled as he moved over the floor, and he shuffled on his knees over towards the nest. “Why don’t you sit on my lap—you can rest your head on my shoulder that way,” he offered quietly. 

You nodded, and he sat down with his back against the wall, his thighs together while his boots pointed outwards. It wasn’t a typical position for him, though you could imagine he was trying to appear calm and nonplussed by the sound of footsteps outside the cell door. “Come here.”

“Okay,” you breathed, moving closer. 

The brush from the rough fabric of his pants against the underside of your thighs made you shiver, but you sidled closer, curling up into his lap until the crook of his left elbow was wrapped around your back, and his right arm carefully moved over your body until the warmth of his palm settled on your jaw. 

Slowly and ever so carefully, he guided your face into his neck, then he held you there while you breathed in the soothing scent of him. 

It was quiet — bar the slow, soft sounds of your deep inhales, and the steady beat of his heart. The only noise outside of the sanctuary of his arms were the passerby soldiers and guards, scientists as well, no doubt. You paid no mind to the sounds, content to be held while you purred quietly, willing Soldat to be as calm as you felt in his embrace. 

There was no use. 

Moments later, a set of small, almost silent footsteps kept pacing back and forth in front of the cell door. The source was undoubtedly nervous, and you figured it was a new guard fidgeting on his watch while waiting for one of the men in black tactical gear. 

Muscled, corded thighs stiffened under you, and the arm around your back whirred while the plates clicked and calibrated. “Tikho, ne dvigaysya,” Soldat whispered lowly. 

You blinked in surprise and remained still. 

The footsteps stopped right outside the door, and through the small gap between the cell door and the floor, you could see a shadow.  

Soldat’s arms tightened painfully around you, and a low, deep growl built in his chest. The sound of it made you tremble with fear, and you made yourself small in his hold — the drag of fabric against your skin the only way you noticed that he was manipulating your body to sit beside him and out of harm's way. 

The cell door clunked from the outside, and you heard the ground of metal on metal as the lock disengaged. A flash of silver in the right hand of your alpha drew your attention, and you realised he held a blade — the very same one he kept tucked into the lining of his boot. 

His growl grew in volume until it was all you could hear, when the door slowly swung open to reveal a slight figure in white. You stared in shock at the silhouette while the distinct, mellow scent of a beta revealed their designation. 

It was a woman, no taller than you were, dressed in the clinical whites of the medical team you were so inclined to recognise, but she did not come wheeling in a seat or table to typically restrain Soldat or you. Instead, she held in her arms a few blankets and an overly large pillow. 

“I am sorry,” she said, her accented tone hesitant at the sight of Soldat crouching in preparation to attack, to defend you. “I knew your omega was nesting, I could not bear knowing she was without something soft–”

Soldat eased, his head tilted slightly while his narrowed gaze bore into the nurse. “You…”

“Yes,” she replied. “I am there when you are– Well, I care for you, and I care for your omega.”

Her soft eyes landed upon you, a small smile on her blood red lips. “Hello,” she greeted quietly, and she offered the blankets and pillow in her arms to you.

Your alpha snarled when the nurse took a step closer, entering the cell, and she froze. The knife flashed in the dimmed light, but he holstered it back into his boot while watching the nurse. “Spasibio, medsestra. Dlya neye.”

The nurse smiled sadly and gave the blankets and pillow to your alpha, while you watched on with wide eyes — entirely unused to seeing a medical personnel so close without a reason to harm you. 

The click of her shoes sounded and echoed off of the cell floor and walls, but when she stood in the doorway once more, she turned around to look at you, then Soldat, and said, “YA tol'ko khotel by dat' vam oboikh bol'she.”

Darkness filled the dank interior when the locks clicked shut, leaving you dumbfounded and speechless as you looked to your alpha for reassurance. He was looking down at his hands and what lay in them — soft blues and greens in patches and squares on one blanket, while the other a light yellow and off white.

They were beautiful, unlike anything you had seen before behind the bars that held you, and your alpha looked to you with astonishment. “Malen’kiy, it is so soft.”

You reached out immediately, and he placed the blankets in your grip. His knees rushed over the floor of the cell to get back into the nest with you. “Oh, oh–” You choked back a sob once you felt the fluffy, plush blankets. 

The first instinct you could not deny demanded you to rub your face against the material, to make sure they were real, and the material was even softer against the plains of your cheeks, jaw, and neck. 

Next to you, Soldat rumbled quietly and waited for you to indulge yourself. The smile on his lips lit up his features unlike anything you had seen before. It made him seem younger, more human; less of a monster that they made of him. 

Eventually, you curled up again in his lap, bringing the blankets and pillow with you. The pillow lay tucked against your middle, your elbow resting on the dip of it so your hand could rest over your alpha’s collarbone. Your ear rested against the plates of his left shoulder, the cool metal soothing against the warmth that bloomed over your skin from the desperate need to nest.

You both assumed the position you had before — Soldat’s left arm wrapped around your back, and his right around your front, his hand on your jaw to guide you close. 

Only, this time, the soft, plush material of the two blankets covered you both, cocooning you in their warmth. 

Never before had you felt so at ease, so safe in the cell that held you, even with your alpha present. 

That nurse, whoever she may have been, was an angel, you were sure. 

And as you stared at the taut, scarred skin of Soldat’s chest, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the feel of his own muscles finally relaxing with contentment.

Malen’kiy, mne zhal'– = Little One, I'm so sorry– Malen’kiy = Little One nyet = no tikho, ne dvigaysya = quiet, don't move spasibio, medsestra. dlya neye = thank you, nurse. for her ya tol'ko khotel by dat' vam oboikh bol'she = I only wish I could give you both more

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[sgtyaraya]

Call of Duty OC

Name: Trudy Saidler

Nikename: Jay

Date of birth: June 01, 1992

Age: 24 (at the time of the events in 2016)

Place of birth: Liberec, Czech Republic🇨🇿

Citizenship: Czech🇨🇿

Nationality: English 🇬🇧

Rank: Sergeant

Specialty: Infantryman

Unit: TF - 141

Family/Relationships

Mother: Adele Saidler (Hofmann) 🇬🇧

Father: Philip Saidler 🇬🇧

Brother: Evan Saidler🇬🇧 ✝️

Love Interest: Gary "Roach" Sanderson🇬🇧💕

Reference/appearance

Trudy on the day she arrived at Credenhill

Parameters

Hair: brown with light strands

Eyes: grey

Pigmentation on the body: freckles

Tattoo: on the left arm

Scars: scratches on the right and left arm, a bullet wound in the left shoulder, suture marks on the right side at the rib level, bullet wounds in the abdomen, cartilage injury of the right ear

Height: 170 cm

Weight: 60 kg

Body type: normal

Equipment

Armored vest: warrior "plates" assault systems

M4A1 assault rifle with a grenade launcher

M14 EBR sniper rifle with silencer for long-range elimination and, if necessary, to cover the group

Pistols: M9 and USP.45

Cold steel: Alpha S D2 knife Tactical Knife and Custom Steel Machete D2 Machete Etsy Knife

Personality

Trudy is a young girl with sociability and good nature. Her attitude towards people depends on how they treat her: if they show a positive attitude towards her, she is a little stubborn. Even so, Trudy is not so trusting, so she does not immediately open up to the interlocutor. Trudy sometimes experiences moments that can cause irritation. And in such cases, she can flare up, allowing her emotions to come out. However, she tries to control her emotions so as not to show them to other people. But Trudy's weakest side is her worries. Everything that she experiences inside herself, she tries to hide from others.

Fears

🔥Pyrophobia🔥is a phobia consisting in a constant, irrational, obsessive, panic fear of fire, fires; an obsessive fear of burning alive, getting burned, or losing property as a result of a fire. (in one of the missions, she almost burned herself in the room in which she was locked, losing consciousness)

Biography

Trudy's parents live in the Czech Republic for most of their lives, they have successfully established their lives in another country, and we can say they have lived in it for most of their lives, and did not want to return to England. Adele Saidler (Hofmann) has opened her own atelier in Liberec, where they now live. The woman is engaged in custom tailoring, previously she was specialized in sewing military uniforms. Philip Saidler is a former infantryman, retired for health reasons, retired, but he helps his wife in the atelier, delivering sewing materials. He also earns a living on the outskirts of the city, but there is no information about his place of work. Before Trudy, they had a son, Evan Saidler [date of birth unknown, died as a teenager, cause of death unknown]. The couple suffered a hard loss, and were very worried about their daughter, who knows about her late brother.

Trudy's childhood, like that of ordinary children, was no different from them. She also had her own hobbies, which her parents reacted positively to, and supported their daughter in every possible way, most importantly. The girl was actively engaged in dancing from the age of 12, from which she developed flexibility, there were even performances on behalf of the school. She also loved to help her mother in the atelier, more often looked after the counter, and thus engaged in needlework, she could also sew some clothes with jewelry. In addition to dancing, Trudy also had hobbies, which she does not mention.

During her student years, Trudy met a girl who was 1 year younger than her, Linda Kovac (Czech). She was always an inconspicuous gray mouse, but Trudy became friends with her on the first day they met, and spent more and more time together. Thanks to her, Linda began to gain self-confidence and even changed her style in order not to fall into the gray mass and stand out somehow. Saidler never sought to attract attention, preferring to wear comfortable and not too bright clothes, and studied like all ordinary students. She needed Czech to learn, so even at preschool age she learned this language, English is considered the main one.

There have been mistakes in Trudy's life, one of them has undermined people's trust. As a student, a guy was in love with her, and he sought her attention in every possible way. The student's infatuation, yes, did not last long. This guy dated her for a joke, enjoyed her trust. After receiving her education, Trudy left Liberec and went to England. After living there for some time, she went to Credenhill, where the selection for group 141 was held. During the trip, Trudy heard other recruits talking about this group, and who is in it, quite big names sounded from the mouths of the guys, which made her interested. Arriving at their base, Trudy did not expect to see the members of the 141 group live. At the time, Captain McTavish was in charge of the selection, and he took up her training in order to make Saidler an experienced fighter. As a rookie, she was sent for additional training to improve her skills and adapt to work in group 141. During her stay at the base, Trudy met Roach, a young sergeant whom she saw on the day of her arrival. At first, things didn't go very well due to distrust, so we gradually communicated. Jay showed a special interest in Roach as a person and wanted to get to know him better, and thus she awakened trust in him. Roach also showed interest in the girl and communicated with her even from a distance. Trudy was very afraid of attachment to people, and hid her sympathy until the last moment, Roach had the same feelings for her. They gradually showed warm feelings for each other.

Participation

Jay began his service under the command of Captain McTavish, took his first part in the Hunting mission, where the goal was to catch Alejandro Rojas, worked in a group with Roach. In the future, she participated in assaults at certain points, provided cover, engaged in inconspicuous liquidation

The history of the creation of the OC

In 2011, I played with COD Modern warfare 2 for the first time. This game has left vivid moments in my memory, from joyful to sad, my favorite mission is "Rock Climber". At that moment, the first character appeared in my head. Since I couldn't draw at the age of 9, I was building a plot in my head. There is an important point, this is the date when I started playing and when I came up with Trudy. This is June 1, 2011, and this date is also Trudy's date of birth.

In her first version, there was no first or last name, I just called her "Emersan", this call sign is taken from another game that I also actively played. As for her appearance, Trudy looked different, not like she does now. In 2018, I visually sketched her portrait, hoping for my memory. Based on this, I decided to change her appearance, and also attached my old works. As time went on, I always wanted to add something, it seemed to me that Trudy was too simple. Although yes, she really was like that. Then, during the redrawing, I already gave her a name. Her name was Trudy "Emersan" Sombra. She later became Jay, the new surname is Saidler. Trudy's redesigns didn't last long, so I changed it again by drawing new references. You can see that she has hardly changed since 2019, there are small changes on her face – freckles and hair color have become darker. Next comes the tattoo. It was a difficult choice, I came up with the first tattoo myself, then I made another, more complex one. The final version was drawn in 2023, and received a reference

Trudy in 2011 to 2022

[mochalate]

"no body, no crime" ; f!reader/osamu miya Osamu has heard people say it's not the dark itself that anyone's scared of, it's what could be waiting inside it. He thinks that what all fear boils down to, ultimately — exposure to the unknown. (Osamu has never been afraid of the dark, but now he sees it in your eyes.)

w/c: 1.6k ; fluff angst idk, vibes c/w: involuntary unaliving (you and Osamu are fine, dw), abusive relationship (ditto) a/n: just a little break from the two (TWO!! What was I thinking!) longfics I'm outlining/writing. the banner doesn't match the vibe of the fic tbh, but I just love how it came out lol, look how cute the little skull is

The lightbulb dims and flickers. 

Onigiri Miya’s kitchen is plunged into a strange, incandescent twilight; and Osamu pauses mid-step, despite the heavy stack of freshly washed plates in his arms. 

He’s never been scared of the dark. But there’s something unsettling about the way the space is transformed so easily; how this blurring of the line between light and shadow makes everything that had been familiar not a second ago, seem uncanny. 

Osamu sees you look up from the sink you’re cleaning, the motion made staccato by the flickering bulb. 

“We really need to replace that thing,” you huff, face obscured by the shadows. “It’s creepy.”

You’re silhouetted against the window above the sink; looking out on the narrow, deserted street behind the restaurant— more a glorified alley than not. It’s dark out, past eleven. The glow from the closest streetlight barely reaches.

“Ya don’t need to be scared when I’m here,” Osamu says with a grin, as he moves towards the rack. “Gonna protect you from the ghosts an’ all.”

The bulb stabilises, and now he has a clear view of the way you roll your eyes at him. “Oh, so our restaurant is haunted now?”

The plates clink as Osamu puts them away, louder than usual in the silence. “I’ve got a Bluebeard type operation going on here, ya see. Really think you’re my first girlfriend?”

You laugh as you return your attention to the sink. “Wow, shame you didn’t open with that line on the first date.” The steel wool makes harsh, scraping squeals as you scrub. “Nothing like reminding a girl her date could be a murderer. Makes everything a little more exciting.”

“Noted for my next victim,” he concedes. “And I’ll order a new bulb when we get home. Didn’t think it was makin’ ya that uncomfortable.”

You smile gratefully at him over your shoulder as you turn on the faucet and give the sink a final rinse. “We need some new knives too. Those kids you were training for the part time work really wore out the ones we have now.”

Osamu nods. “You okay to finish up and meet me outside? I’ll start pullin’ down the shutters.”

You agree, just like you always do.

Emi would fit right in with those ghosts that (did not) haunt Onigiri Miya.

You’re sitting with her at the only occupied table. There’s a light rain tonight, and the raindrops pattering against the windows drown out what little conversation he would have been able to hear from the counter.

She’s a wisp of a woman, huddled under a mud-coloured cardigan that blends into the restaurant’s wood panelling. She sits incredibly still. Her long, dark hair hangs loose around a pale and unmemorable face. Barely there. Almost a trick of the light.

Osamu watches as you take her hand, telling her something urgently. She never raises her eyes from her lap. Her shoulders are hunched, but her face is impassive. 

He wonders what she’s thinking.

“Who’s Sadako over there?” Atsumu asks, reaching for another rice ball.

Osamu slaps his hand away. “Are ya paying for any of that? This ain’t a soup kitchen. And lord, yer rude.”

Atsumu withdraws sulkily. “Stingy.” 

It’s easy to tell what Atsumu’s thinking. He says everything that crosses his mind; but even when he doesn’t, it’s written all over his face. Growing up with him, Osamu had to learn that people could lie; and lie well.

That woman looks pitiful, is what Atsumu is thinking right now, glancing over his shoulder with furrowed brows. Is she okay?

“That’s her friend,” Osamu says. “From college. Emi.”

“Yeah? What’s her problem?”

“Shitty boyfriend.”

“I thought you were dating—”

Osamu smacks him upside the head. 

The new light bulbs come in. Osamu replaces the one in the kitchen, but it still flickers. 

He expects you to comment, make a joke about ghosts; but you just keep scrubbing the sink. You haven’t said much at all, today. 

The steel wool screams. Osamu’s worried you’ll cut through your gloves. 

“Hey,” he says, because he’s not sure what else he can say, “Easy.”

You start, as if jerked out of a trance. “Sorry.”

The silence after, where you stand with your head hanging over the sink, too far away for him to touch, is suffocating and cavernous all at once. He’s afraid to say the wrong thing, and having to watch it echo and bounce, amplifying itself into something grotesque.

“Emi will get justice. They’ll find out who did it.”

You turn on him so suddenly, so violently, that he instinctively takes a step back; even though you’re half his size. 

“I know who did it, it was him,” you spit, face venomous and unfamiliar. “If the police would just listen to me and Emi’s sister—”

“He has an alibi,” Osamu reminds you gently. “There’s no proof.”

You blink, and seem to deflate. “Right, no proof. The police can’t do anything.” You chew on your thumbnail as you mumble, speaking more to yourself than to him, the rest of your fingers curled in a fist.

Your anger seems to have evaporated in an instant, quick as the flickering light. You’re you again. At least, that’s what he wants to believe.

He needs to fix that light. It’s making you look damn scary.

Emi’s sister comes by to see you a lot, after they find the body. Osamu’s not sure what you speak to her about. He’s also not sure why he feels like he shouldn’t ask.

It’s been gnawing at him, lately. This feeling of not sure, not knowing. It's always present, always sapping at his strength. It’s the real ghost in Onigiri Miya, only he’s not sure who it’s haunting— him, or you. 

You seem different. He finds himself watching you from a distance, trying to understand what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. It used to be easy; a language he was fluent in. 

Now, his tongue feels rusty. He can never find the words that feel right.

You don’t speak as much as you did before, either. The silence after closing used to be warm and comfortable, the time he got to spend with you at the end of a bustling day. But now it isn’t calming. It’s tense, as if he’s constantly waiting for something to explosively fill it in.

There’s just you.

“Osamu, what time is it?” you ask, stripping off your gloves. “Could you check my phone? It’s right next to you.”

He looks at you curiously. You usually left it out front with his, charging under the register. Why the change? He can’t bring himself to ask.

“Osamu.” Your voice is stretched taut.

He swallows and hastily taps at your screen. “Ten.” It’s later than he expected.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “Is it okay with you if I leave a little early? Emi’s sister invited me to dinner. I forgot to tell you. It’s at eleven. I want to go home and get ready.”

The photographs the detectives showed you at the restaurant last week flash through his mind. He’d wanted to pummel the man for upsetting you that much. “I don’t want you walkin’ alone—”

“I’ll be fine. It’s only ten.”

Osamu notices you don’t wait for him to agree as you gather your things into your purse. 

Emi’s boyfriend is missing. 

Osamu doesn’t tell the police the knives they’re taking away are almost brand new. 

He doesn’t tell them that you took the old ones to the recycling centre two weeks ago.

He tells them you left the restaurant at ten, and that it was eleven thirty when he finished; a little later than usual, but that was to be expected— he didn’t have your help, after all.

He doesn’t tell them it should have been well past midnight.

You don’t say anything at all, merely watching the detective as you wash out the splattered soy stains on a napkin a clumsy customer had been using. The water runs brown.

He can't get Atsumu's words out of his head.

‘Is everything alright between you two?’

Osamu is watching you clean the sink again. He should be mopping the floor tonight, but he finds himself rooted to the spot.

‘Sorry, I don't mean to be nosy.”

You turn on the faucet, washing away the soap with a face that’s far too serious for what you’re doing.

‘She just looks like there’s something on her mind lately.’

Did you? Osamu doesn’t know anymore. When did you start feeling like a stranger?

He doesn’t want it to be like this. “I haven’t seen Emi’s sister around—” he starts.

“We decided to stop seeing each other,” you reply, never turning back. “Too painful. For both of us.”

You never told him that. He tries to convince himself it’s only because he didn’t ask, but he never had to, before. Osamu realises he doesn’t even know the sister’s name. 

The faucet shuts off, but you just stand there, palms resting on the edge of the sink, head hanging over it. Despite everything, his heart wrenches. When he reaches out to touch your shoulder, you don’t tense like he’d been expecting— like he’d been afraid of.

No, you lean into his touch; and he finds the courage to gently pull you back, turn you to face him. You look at him, really look, for the first time in days. Osamu can’t imagine how he could think your face would ever be unfamiliar to him.

The moment is perfect. He could pretend everything is fine now, he thinks. It wouldn’t even be that hard. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask you to meet him outside, while he gets started on the shutters.

He doesn’t know why he says, “Is there something… I should know?” 

Something changes.

Your mouth is a straight line. Neutral. 

Impassive. 

Just like Emi.

The light bulb flickers.

please like/reblog/reply if you enjoyed :) [my other fics]

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire//older!biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader//90's au//Part 7

⚠️Cautions: 18+Only pls, MDNI, eventual smut, mention of smut, mention of erection, flirting, crushing on each other, reader gets fired, alcohol consumption, jealous!Eddie, biker!Eddie, boxer!Eddie, biker!Steve, relationship drama, threats against loved ones, hints at a violent past, vindictive exes, aggression (not at reader), mention of handgun, angst, mutual pining, slow burn. Word count: 7.6k

Series Masterlist

Suddenly unemployed and in the wind, you wander into the bar where biker!Steve Harrington works the door, and new opportunities arise. Just as you and Eddie are navigating getting closer, someone from Eddie's past drops a bomb on him that he can't ignore, and he does his best to protect you from the backlash. Dirty deeds get done not so dirt cheap. I'm on Fire 90's playlist here

A/N: Nothing really, just wanted to tell those of you who have been supporting and encouraging this story how much you all mean to me, and how much I love hearing from you. Big love to my bestie for helping me put together the playlist for this series, it's all I've been listening to lately. Oh ALSO, I'm working on a smutty oneshot in honor of biker!Steve's character in this story, a little companion piece, *cumming* soon 🫦 biker!Steve oneshot here

———-

I'm on Fire Part 7: The Velvet Hammer

--------------

Your eyes flew open early on Monday morning as dawn was barely breaking, to find that the emotions of sadness and fear were gone for the moment: they had been replaced by a white-hot anger that burned in your chest.

In a burst, you cursed, threw your covers off, and had an imaginary conversation with your ex-boss Judith, complete with shaking your fist in the air, eyebrows jutting together. She couldn’t just let you go and replace you without any warning---the whole thing was absurd. You made your coffee and went back to your room so that you could avoid Katie as she got ready for work. You weren’t mad at her; you just didn’t want to have to answer any questions or mull it over. In the state you were in, you were worried that you might snap at her for no reason.

A tiny part of you still hoped (prayed) that it was all a misunderstanding, and maybe you had some vacation days coming that you had simply slipped your mind. That small glimmer of possibility was immediately stamped out with a waffle-sole, steel toe boot when you found your other assistant Holly already behind the front desk when she hadn’t originally been scheduled to be there until noon. Her presence alone was not the final straw---it was the look on her face. The second she saw you, she blushed and got flustered, pretending to organize papers, trying overly hard to appear nonchalant.

You were hoping for Judith, that was the bitch you wanted to see, but Holly informed you with quivering hands that she had just left a half hour ago to catch a flight to Cozumel for a “rejuvenation retreat”. You could tell that being involved in any type of conflict, even passively, was making Holly’s anxiety spike.

“She told me to give you this,” Holly said, reluctantly sliding an envelope across the desk, and then in a whisper, she added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be the one to--”

You did your best to shake your head and smile and told her it wasn’t her fault. You walked to the other side of the gallery to check the envelope. It was your final paycheck, along with a typed note that basically said, “Thank you for the work you’ve done, but I’ve decided to hire another manager that is a better fit for the gallery. I am longer in need of your services. Best of luck in your future endeavors. Namaste, Judith.”

It was that Namaste that had you breathing out your nose like a dragon, crumpling the note up in a tight ball, nostrils flaring. The letter wasn’t even signed; Judith probably made Holly type it.

You went to get your things out of the cubby in the back room, and while you were there, you tried Judith’s house phone just in case, but there was no answer. That cunt really had the nerve to fire you out of the blue after working there almost a year, and didn’t even have the tits to say it to your face, forcing shy little Holly take the brunt of it. You were on the verge of going full Coffin King MC on her ass.

When you came out with your wire basket full of things, you apologized to Holly for putting her in the middle of this, as you reached around to take the mason jars full of colored markers, highlighters, and pencils that were on the desk dear the typewriter. “These are mine, I bought these. Tell Judith if she has a problem, she can come find me.”

You took one last look around the gallery that you genuinely loved, asked Holly to stay in touch, and had to swallow a lump in your throat as you crossed the street to your car.

-----------

Eddie worked a long day at the garage, running tows, fielding resumes for part-time office help, and thinking about you. There was a disturbance in the force, as they say, and he hoped to get a call from you later so that he would know that you were okay.

Instead, at around 8:30pm, he got a call from Steve. Eddie could tell by the music that he was at the Velvet Hammer, which was a well-known cocktail lounge, frequented by bankers and bikers alike, where Steve worked as a bouncer from time to time. The waitresses all wore skimpy, edgy outfits, and there was professional pole dancing and strippers offering lap dances on the weekends.

“Dude,” Steve said once Eddie picked up. “Your girl is here, just thought you’d want to know.”

Eddie had been digging around for a lighter in the drawer of his nightstand, in nothing but a pair of boxers, but at that, he froze and straightened up, his brow clenched. “What do you mean she’s there? Where? At the Velvet Hammer?” It wasn’t only the location that took him by surprise, but the fact that it was a Monday, and you weren’t one to bar hop in the middle of the week.

Steve lowered the phone while he shouted to someone, the song Low by Cracker blasting loud in the background. “Yeah, man. She was here when I came in, I don’t know, it seems like she’s having a bad day,” Steve tucked the phone into his shoulder so that he could ask someone for their ID. “There was some dude bothering her earlier, but I took care of it. I can’t watch her every second though---” Eddie cut him off, clenching the phone so tight, the knuckle of his hand went white. “Who was bothering her?”

Steve rested the phone with the long, spiral cord on his chest to talk to someone else for a second, but when he got back on the line, Eddie had hung up.

-----------

After you walked out of the gallery for the last time, you deposited your check, and as frugal as you normally were, you took a bit of cash out to treat yourself after getting canned in such a depressing way. You hung out at a B. Dalton’s for an hour and bought a book, and then you tried on some clothes at one of your favorite shops, but nothing fit right; you felt like you were crawling out of your skin. You went home and had lunch, took care of Charlie, did some laundry while watching daytime soap operas, started feeling worse about yourself, and then decided to go down and get a paper at the coffee shop to start hunting for a new job. You didn’t want to be home when Katie got back from work; you still weren’t ready to talk about it.

Coffee and a browse through the dismal job market turned into a walk around the park, and then you just kept going for 5 or 6 blocks until you realized you were standing on the corner across from a bar called the Velvet Hammer. Wasn’t that where Steve said he worked the door every so often? The exterior was black with dark red trim, and you thought maybe you’d been there for a drink once when you first moved to town, but you couldn’t remember. The sandwich board on the sidewalk out front said “Happy Hour menu Half off appetizers 3:30-6:30” and you decided to have a bite before you made the trek back to your car.

Steve was not there when you first arrived, and you were close to missing the happy hour cut off, so you ordered some food right away, and a cocktail to wash it down. The inside was also black and red, with a big chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a long mirror behind the bar, and an old fashioned jukebox lit up in a red and blue arch in the corner. There were two empty stages at the far back, with shiny poles down the middle, and a pretty, tattooed girl in a red leather romper waited on the scattering of customers that were there.

Whereas most bars played sports on TV, the Velvet Hammer played old black and white b-horror movies, and you were absorbed in a scene from Plan 9 From Outer Space when the bartender with the shaved head and double nose piercing asked with a dimpled smile if you wanted another drink.

Candy by Iggy Pop and Kate Pierson was playing, and it had you in a mood, so you nodded to say yes, please---I would love another.

A half hour later, you said yes to another refill and ate a few pretzels, looking around to see that the bar was filling up. There were two more cocktail waitresses there and each wore less clothes than the first. The movie on the TV now was The Creeping Terror from 1964, and just as one of the actresses turned to the camera and put her hands to her head for a silent, blood-curdling scream, someone tapped your shoulder and hissed, “BOO!”, right in your ear.

You whipped around on your bar stool, relieved to find out that the marauder was Steve Harrington.

He had his Coffin King’s MC biker cut on over a white t-shirt, exposing his heavily tattooed arms and hands, dark wash Levi’s, and he had his sunglasses on even though it felt like nighttime inside the bar.

He leaned over to hook his elbow on the bar, pushing his sunglasses into his thick head of hair to address you. “What’s up, lady friend? Who are you here with?” He looked around as he asked it, as if he automatically assumed you were with Katie or Eddie, and not just drinking alone at a bar on a Monday night.

You tugged at your ear self-consciously and palmed the new drink in front of you. “Just me, I’m afraid,” you took a sip, moving the red stir straws out of the way with your nose. “I’m about to light up that jukebox, you have any requests?”

Steve slapped the bar enthusiastically. “Hell yeah, I do, hold on,” he waved the bartender down and asked them to hand him some quarters. Apparently there was a stash of coins near the cash register there to keep the music going.

He clapped 10 or 12 quarters on the table in front of you. “Maybe some STP, anything Ozzy,” he continued, giving his requests. “I’m a sucker for that Alanis Morisette chick, too, but don’t tell Eddie,” he said with a wink.

“Anything you want, really,” he kept talking as he backed up, heading to his bouncer stool at the front door. “As long as it’s not fucking lame,” and then he smiled and flipped his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

A bit later, as you made your way back from the jukebox, some guy stepped into your path, immediately invading your bubble.

“Hey, beautiful, can I buy you a drink?” He asked, and his presence took you a bit off guard because you were so deeply concentrating on the song list you just put together, your head was in another world. The guy had slicked back, inky black hair, a teardrop tattoo under his eye, and incisors that looked like fangs.

“That’s okay, thank you,” you mumbled with a half smile as you went to walk around him.

But, he slid to the side, blocking your way again. “Just one drink? I hate to see a beautiful woman drinking alone.”

From across the room, Steve shouted at the guy with the fangs—apparently he knew his name---and when the guy snapped a look in his direction, Steve sliced his hand across his throat and shook his head, warning him to back off. Without a fuss, the fang guy ducked back into the shadows, hands in his pockets, sulking to find his table without so much as another glance in your direction.

Steve could see this shit coming a mile away; you were getting relaxed, and you were alone, and that level of vulnerability never failed to bring a bad element out of the woodwork. He didn’t mind keeping an eye on you, but it was getting busy for a Monday night because of the free darts and pool, and that was when he decided to call Eddie.

------------

Steve was smoking a cigarette when he waved Eddie in without a word, the two exchanging a quick hand grab in passing. Eddie’s gaze landed on you immediately; sitting at the bar, face tilted up to watch the TV, and that familiar thrill of being near you again stirred in him.

“Is this seat taken?” He was already straddling the padded stool as he said it, brushing up against your body as he did so.

You could feel someone approaching in your peripheral vision, and you were bracing yourself for another unwanted advance. But, then you smelled him; that unmistakable woodsy spice with bar soap and leather undertones. You felt his presence; big and sturdy and warm. There he was, right out of a dream, in his Coffin Kings leather, just like Steve’s, but with a long sleeve black shirt pushed up to the elbows, hair back in a knot so that it wouldn’t drive him crazy on the ride over, forearms and fingers patched in tattoos. He wasn’t wearing his chunky rings, and it made you wonder if he had been in a rush to leave his place. His knuckles were crisscrossed in raised white scars, as well as one particularly angry one that went all the way down his middle finger and back of his hand.

You made sure it was him first, and then you couldn’t wait to be in his arms. He turned in his seat to face you so that your hips fit in between his wide knees, and you fell against him, rested your head in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes for a second, soaking in the secure feeling of his arms locking around you.

He squeezed you so tight, something in your back popped, and then he loosened his grip, unsure of his own strength sometimes. “You okay?” He asked, his head turning so that his lips were pressed against the back of your head.

You had both of your arms against your chest so that your hands were balled up into tiny fists in between your two bodies. “I’ve been better,” you told him, shoulders hunched.

Some of your hair caught on the stubble of his jaw as you pulled back to find his lips with yours. You exchanged a few sweet kisses, foreheads locking together as you fingered the single earring dangling from his lobe, before stepping up onto your seat again. Facing one another, you each had a forearm resting on the bar, and Eddie cupped his hand over yours, protectively.

God, he was crazy about you, Eddie thought.

He could tell that you weren’t yourself. His eyes shifted around the room, jaw muscles flexing. “Did someone in here fuck with you?”

“No, no, it wasn’t that,” you avoided his eyes and looked at his hand that was on top of yours. “I got fired today,” you said as a reflexive, helpless smile flashed across your mouth.

Eddie set his head back an inch, lips parted, searching your face. “You’re joking?”

“Nope,” you offered a little snort. “Not this time, I’m afraid.” And then you gave him the Cliff Notes version of everything that had gone one from when Jeff came over the night before till now.

Eddie rubbed his thumb across your hand as you talked. He didn’t want to smother you, but if he wasn’t touching you, he thought maybe you’d just slip away. Was he touching you too much, or not enough? Healthy forms of attachment and displays of affection were not taught to him as a child; but he was an observant fuck, and a fast learner. The vulnerable side of him was the side that always got him hurt, heart trampled on, and so every time that natural urge showed itself, he would do his best to reel it back. There was something about you, though, that made him feel comfortable enough to show his affection in a way his heart ached to do.

The bartender brought Eddie a beer and set it on a napkin. He released your hand only to take a sip of it, thinking about what you’d just shared with him, and then his hand found yours again, giving it a reassuring pulse.

“By the looks of it, I’m not even sure she’ll even give me a good reference,” For all Judith’s faults, Moon River was one of the best, though, and you had dreamed about working there ever since you read an article about in Art World magazine.

“You should’ve called me,” Eddie put his other hand on your knee. “I would’ve come and picked you and---”

“Rescued me?” You gave him a shy look. “I know you would’ve. But you were working, and I’ve been trying not to make it a reality by talking about it. I haven’t even talked to Katie today.”

Much like Eddie, you weren’t used to reaching out to people when times got tough; your default was usually to hide and/or run as far away as possible. Even though you hadn’t done anything wrong that would warrant being fired in such a hasty manner, it still made you feel embarrassed, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to peel back all of those deeper layers with him in this early stage of dating.

There was a lull in the conversation as Creep by Stone Temple Pilots played in the background, and a bad feeling planted seeds in Eddie’s gut that had him wondering if maybe he had something to do with this. Was this Charlene’s doing? She had the reach, that was for sure, but to what end? She surely didn’t think that somehow hurting you would get him back in her bed. The math was not mathing, not by Eddie’s way of thinking, anyway.

He ducked his head to try and meet your lowered gaze, his fingers intertwining with yours on the bar. “Can I take you home after this?”

You took a deep breath and finished your drink in one final gulp, the melting ice crashing against your lips. You chewed a few bits as you answered him, “that’s probably a good idea. But I can call Katie, you don’t have to---”

“I’m taking you home.” His eyes were soft, but his tone let you know that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

-------------

Katie came out onto the porch in a bathrobe like the concerned mother you never had as Eddie pulled the bike to the curb to let you off; you kissed him on the cheek as you dismounted. She worried that you’d been in a car accident or something by how late he was bringing you back. You had left her a note on the kitchen counter, but it said you’d only be gone an hour or two, not seven.

-------------

The only thoughts in Eddie’s head as he made his way back to the garage were wondering how he could help make things better for you. He couldn’t muscle someone into getting your job back, but there were plenty of people who would hire you at various places if he told them to. Then there was that office assistant he needed, but he wouldn’t be able to even pay you half what the gallery did---you’d be better off getting unemployment.

The bad feeling that all of this had been because of him blossomed into a full blown knee to the stomach when he saw the unmistakable polished, cherry red of Charlene’s Porsche parked directly across from the entrance to his apartment. She was leaning against the back, elbows on the trunk, feet crossed at the ankles, grinning like Satan’s spawn as she watched him pull in.

He took a minute to calm himself down as he parked the bike, slowly dismounting, keeping his back to her as he took off his helmet. God, he did not want to deal with this shit right now. He would never physically hurt her, and she knew that, and it felt like she was really shoving that fact in his face.

Every muscle in his body was tense as he headed in her direction across the mostly empty, dark parking lot, especially those in his face and hands.

“Trouble in paradise?” She quipped, looking down at her nails, fanning them out like claws. She was in a tight, leopard print pencil skirt halter dress, and a cropped, bolero style fur coat.

First, he wanted to make sure they were both on the same page. “Are you the reason she got fired?”

Charlene crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “I might have convinced a handful of people to ignore Judith and never spend money in her gallery ever again unless she let that girl go, so, sure, I guess maybe I did have something to do with it.”

“You’re disgusting,” Eddie said it on a strained breath, a painful look on his face, bile rising in his throat. It was almost hard for him to look at her in that moment, he hated her so much.

“And you’re a fucking liar,” Charlene spat, jutting her chin out a few times, stabbing her finger in the air at him. “You told me you cared about me.”

Eddie had so many residual regrets for the things his dick made him do sometimes, it wasn’t even funny.

He cocked one knee out to the side. “So, you thought that by hurting her, I’d somehow get back in your bed? You’re out of your fucking mind, Charlene.”

“Baby, don’t you remember how we used to---” she pushed off the car and dove to grab his arm, but he stepped back, out of her reach.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, cringing.

“Fine!” Judith barked showing the palms of her hands in mocking surrender. “But I miss it, I miss us. I know you do too.”

Without hesitation, Eddie shook his head, his voice a deep murmur. “I don’t miss it at all. I don’t miss us, because there never was an us.”

“You don’t mean that,” she bit, pouting, trying hard to pull a few crocodile tears to the surface of her icy hazel eyes.

“Listen,” Eddie paused to chew his top lip. He didn’t want to knowingly break anyone's heart, not even Charlene's. At one point in their fling, he could tell that her feelings for him were way more intense than his were for her, and he should’ve called it off then, but the money made him greedy and careless. “I’m sorry you got hurt in all this, okay, we had some fun while it lasted. But you have to fucking fix this, Charlene, I’m serious.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fix what? It’s done,” she scoffed. “She’ll have to get a new job, big deal. It’s not the end of the world.”

“You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You wouldn’t last a week in her shoes.”

“I’d trade lives with her in a second,” she blurted. “If it meant you’d look at me the same way you look at her.”

He puffed out a long held, heavy breath. “It’s been fun catching up. I’m going inside. You know the way out.”

If he knew that any number of words—besides lying and saying he loved her---would get you your job back, or turn back the hands of time, Eddie would’ve stood there and negotiated all night, but he knew his efforts were futile.

He was a couple steps away when she called out to him again, and this time; her tone was frigid, void of any emotion.

“You should know it’s only going to get worse for her,” she promised. Eddie stopped in his tracks, flexing his hands, but didn’t turn around, and so she continued. “I’ll make sure she’s rejected by every gallery for a hundred mile radius, and then she’ll have no choice but to move away, or stay here with you and watch her dreams die.”

One of his hands clenched into a fist, knowing that it wasn’t a bluff, trying so hard to push down the violence he felt rising in him.

“And her friend, Kathrine Clayton,” Charlene continued, letting him know the creepy detail that she had somehow ascertained your roommates full name. “I wonder how the parents in town would feel about overhearing horrible rumors involving the woman teaching their kids.”

At that Eddie turned around slow, eyes narrowing, voice booming. “What do want, Charlene? You want us to go back to fucking again, is that what it will take?” He didn’t want to touch Charlene, let alone put his cock inside of her, but he’d do it one more time if it meant she’d leave you and Katie alone. Take one for the team, as they say.

“No, not really,” She shrugged, a bored expression on her face. “I’m fucking someone new now. He’s younger than you, and he can’t get enough of me. It took me a while to find a bent cock as big as yours, but I knew I would eventually.”

This bitch is fucking crazy, Eddie swallowed, full of shame for ever getting involved with her in the first place. “What did you do, put an ad in the paper?”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” Charlene continued, ignoring his second question. “It’s very simple. I don’t want you to see her anymore, I want you to end it. I hate knowing the two of you are...falling for each other, it makes me sick. Especially when I think it could have been us.”

Eddie’s temper flared, he slammed his fist into the palm of his hand and closed in on her in two big strides, forcing her back up against the bumper. “Why can’t you get it through your fucking head that you were nothing but a warm mouth to me? I care more about her after only a few weeks than I ever did about you.”

Seemingly unaffected by those words, Charlene sighed and dropped her arms to her sides. “Well, if you care about her as much as you say you do, I encourage you to think about what I just said,” she shimmied in her high heels over the driver’s side of her Porsche, opening the door. “If you continue to see her, I’m going to ruin her life and run her out of town, and it will be all your fault, big boy.”

She waved her fingers out the window as she zoomed away from the complex. Eddie stood in the shadows and watched her go, his eyes going black, considering what she said, and realizing what he had to do as a vast and familiar emptiness grew in his chest.

--------------

The next day, you were playing with the zipper of your hoodie, sitting at the window alcove in the kitchen, holding a pillow at your stomach, thinking about the phone call you just got from Steve.

You didn’t tell Steve you’d lost your job, but word travels fast in these friend circles. Katie must’ve told Robin, and Robin mentioned to Steve that she could get you a job at the hotel, but Steve had a better idea.

They were hiring servers at the Velvet Hammer, and apparently the bartender with the shaved head who met you the night before was also the manager, and she thought you were cute and funny and you already had an “in”. At first, you were ready to politely decline his suggestion to bring a resume by, being that you had only worked a waitress job once right out of high school, but you weren’t sure you qualified as a Velvet Hammer Girl—you didn’t even own a spiked collar.

But then he told you what the girls there made as far as income, and it gave you pause.

“The base is minimum wage,” Steve said. “But they make crazy tips, especially Thursday through Sunday. You could pocket a couple hundred bills in a night, easy.”

Sure, you’d be applying to other galleries, but that process took time. First of all, there weren’t any in the area looking for managers at the moment, but even to get your foot in the door as a receptionist would take a while. It took damn near a month and three different interviews before you got on at Moon River.

You also considered that perhaps this was a sign that the gallery world was no longer for you. Maybe it was time to get a side hustle just to pay bills, and then you could start painting again and get your portfolio up to snuff.

You told Steve how grateful you were for giving you the heads up, and he let you know the best times to bring a resume by. He also told you that the resume was basically just a formality because he had already vouched for you, but a necessity, nonetheless.

With all the drama, you almost forgot that it was Tuesday, and little cartoon hearts swam around your head when you remembered your date night with Eddie. You didn’t know where he was taking you, but he’d mentioned over the phone a few days ago that the place was new and supposedly hip. He told you to dress warm, and he’d pick you up in his Chevelle so you wouldn’t have to worry about clinging to the back of the bike in your dinner attire.

That afternoon, you were sifting through your closet for possible outfits, while simultaneously making a pile to donate to Goodwill, when the phone rang: it was Eddie.

Right away, you could tell that his tone was different; his words came out forced, like you were the last person he wanted to be talking to. You shook it off as him being distracted at work, because you could hear the other mechanics shouting in the background around the noise of electric drills and loud music.

Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut at the sound of your voice: the purpose for this phone call went against every fiber of his being. He’d been trying to convince himself that you weren’t special to him all day, but so far, it wasn’t working.

“Hey,” he stiffened, trying not to melt into a stupid grin at the way you said his name. “Something came up, and I have to cancel our thing tonight. Sorry.”

He wasn’t ready to let you go altogether, which was selfish, but he’d take it one day at a time until he could figure out a way to keep you. He had no way of knowing how much Charlene knew. He wouldn’t put it passed her to have a private investigator watching his ass 24/7. Even worse, she could’ve hired someone to watch you, and that kept him up at night.

Your heart sank, but you also understood how busy and complex his life was. “Oh, sure, Batman rides again, I get it,” you gave a little laugh, hoping to relieve any worries he had about having to cancel. You knew him well enough to know that he was a man of his word, and bailing on the date was probably the last thing he wanted to do. If only you knew the half of his anguish.

Eddie offered no retort, there was none of the flirtatious banter the two of you usually shared so effortlessly. He just cleared his throat, “anyway, that’s why I called. I have to run, talk to you later.”

You were just in the middle of saying something back when the line went to dial tone; your mouth hung open as you pulled the receiver away from your face to look at it, stunned. You blinked, turning to your cat Charlie who was stretched out on top of a pile of clean shirts on your bed. “Did he just hang up on us?” But Charlie only yawned in response.

Eddie did not, in fact, have anywhere to run to. He clicked the phone down and put his face in his dirty hands at the desk, hating himself.

-----------

Since your date got canceled, for whatever nefarious or benign reason, you decided to hike your resume over to the Velvet Hammer and introduce yourself properly to Shana, the manager with the shaved head and the fierce green eyes. She had clusters of black stars tattooed at her temples, and an anatomical heart tattoo on her bicep, right at her sleeve.

She basically hired you on the spot, but said they needed to give you a trial run for a night to shadow one of the girls to see if you could keep up the pace. She asked you to come in early for training on Thursday, and then you could start that same night if you were available. Paychecks came out every two weeks, but you’d be able to take home all of your cash tips immediately.

So, you had a job. A temporary one, to be sure, but still deeply appreciated, all the same. As much as it took a weight off of your shoulders, it also felt incredibly surreal. Also, you couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie would think.

-----------

“Steve did what?” Eddie barked at Robin who was standing in the doorway to the office, dropping off Oliver for an hour on Wednesday. He hadn’t meant for his tone to be so gruff.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “She needed a job while she applied at other galleries, and he got her one. I thought you’d be grateful.”

He would be grateful, maybe later, when he was done seeing red with jealousy over all of the guys, he knew who would be hitting on you at that place. What if they tried to touch you? He couldn’t even think about it, he was about to pick the desk up and throw it across the room.

Robin snorted a laugh, watching him get so flustered, he dropped the same pen three times. “Dang, you really have it bad for this one, don’t you bubba?”

It occurred to him that he should talk to Robin about what was going on, about Charlene and the threats. She had always been a solid friend who afforded him years of good advice, but there was a part of him that didn’t want to get anyone else involved. It was his mess, and he needed to clean it up, if he even could.

That night, he sat in the chair by the window in his apartment with the TV on but the volume off, listening to I Stay Away by Alice in Chains, watching the phone as it rang, forcing himself not to pick it up. It was day 2 of trying to avoid you and pull away, and he was failing miserably at being cool about it. He had to say something to you, he couldn’t just make you suffer and not know what the fuck was going on in his head; that wasn’t fair to you. But then again, none of this was. It was official, he had inadvertently dragged you down into his filth.

He turned Charlene’s words over in his head, recalling the sincerity in her face as she said them, wondering how far she would take this. He’d seen her dirty deeds in action, he knew she was formidable.

The black phone under the singular light from the lamp on his nightstand started ringing again, but it cut off halfway through, as if the person calling had changed their minds or given up. As he sat there, he remembered how you rode his thigh the other night, the whimpers coming out of your mouth, and he had to palm his growing cock over his boxers. It was disturbing how bad he wanted you.

“Fuck it,” Eddie cursed, getting to his feet so that he could go over to the phone and call you.

But, just as he picked it up to dial, it was just about to ring, and there was someone on the other line.

“Eddie? Lover?” It was Erika. “You interested in a quickie to help you sleep? I drove by and saw your light on.”

-----------

After trying to call Eddie for the third—and decidedly final—time that night, you went out and flopped on the opposite end of the couch from Katie who was watching an episode of the show 3rd Rock from the Sun with a green beauty mask on her face.

“Still nothing?” She asked, peeling back a piece of string cheese. She knew you’d tried a couple times that night to get a hold of Eddie, and that he had canceled mysteriously on your date the night before.

“I know he’s got a lot on his plate,” you got comfortable, snuggling into the corner, ready to defend him even to yourself. “I just wish there was a way for him to let me know he’s okay. Send me an email or something. A few words, that’s all I ask.”

Your gut was telling you that something was definitely wrong, but, to be fair, you’d had your heart dragged through the mud before, and you worried that your gut was not a reliable source. You weren’t upset about the date being canceled, you didn’t even need to see him—even though that would be great----good communication was really all you asked for or needed. Your brain kept going back to the way he had been with you on Monday versus how he was with you on the phone yesterday; the two experiences were night and day. Had something happened between the time he dropped you off and the next afternoon? You checked with Robin, and you knew that Wayne was back on his feet. Maybe there had been some sticky Coffin King business that Eddie wasn’t at liberty to speak about.

You also tried to keep in mind that this whole little romance was as new as a spring daffodil, and even though you’d had a crush on him for over a month, you hadn’t progressed beyond kissing and heavy petting. Was there a chance you were reading the signals all wrong and he wasn’t as interesting in you as you thought?

Katie seemed to subliminally hear that question and answered you. “I wouldn’t worry about it, babes, the guy is nuts about you,” she turned to you and ate the rest of her cheese while there was a commercial on. “Robin said she hasn’t seen him this interested in a woman in years, and she’s known him since high school.”

“What else did Robin say?” This was helping you; this is what you needed. Why hadn’t she offered this information earlier?

She put two fingers to her mask to tap a few times, checking how tacky it felt, to know if she should wash it off yet or not. “She said that he got pretty jealous when she mentioned that you got the job at Velvet Hammer, and normally he doesn’t care what other women he’s dating do when they’re not with him.”

The silly truth was that, if Eddie told you he didn’t feel comfortable with you working there, you would’ve probably looked for something else. But, deciding to say nothing and be a ghost in the wind was not the right play to get what he wanted.

“I’m sure he’s just busy,” you announced, nodding to accentuate your point. “I’ll wait a day or two before I start freaking out.”

Katie gave you a thumbs up.

------------

Eddie told Erika not to call him again and practically hung up on her. It had been a while since they’d last hooked up, and if not for the incident with you at Fight Night, he would’ve all but forgotten about her.

Not twenty minutes later, shirtless in his boxers, he heard footsteps padding up the stairs to the floor of his apartment. This was particularly disturbing because it was late, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He pulled his handgun out of its holster on the dresser and waited with it held low, standing just behind the door as the footsteps got closer.

“Who is it?” Eddie barked.

After a second of pregnant silence came the meek, “hi, it’s me. Erika.”

“Fuck my life,” Eddie hissed under his breath, holding the gun back and putting the safety on as he reached over to unlock the door and yank it open.

“I thought I just told you not to call or come over,” Eddie said, addressing her with raised eyebrows, just as he realized too late that he should’ve put a shirt on.

Erika was in a silver crop top and a pair of low-rise jeans, a pink heart dangling from her exposed belly button piercing. She was making a face and prancing back and forth a bit on each foot. “Can I please use your bathroom?”

Eddie blinked a few times, and then he scowled. “You came all the way over here in the middle of the night to use my bathroom?”

“No silly,” she giggled. “I came to see you. And to see if I left a pair of my earrings here the last time I came over.”

Eddie shook his head, slipping the gun back into its holster on his dresser with a sigh, and then shutting it in the top drawer. “I don’t have your earrings but go ahead. You know where it is.” What was he supposed to do? Make her pee out in the hallway?

He waited by the front door, standing holding it open, until he heard a flush, and then her high heels came clip-clopping back down the hall.

He pushed the door open further, holding his arm up high like an arch, making space so she could walk through. “Have a good night,” he said without meeting her eyes.

But she latched onto his chest, throwing herself against him, her lips grazing his neck, tongue lapping up to lick his earlobe. Eddie pushed her of reflexively but caught her so that she didn’t trip and fall, and now they were out in the main hallway that led to the stairs.

In perfect view of a large, street-facing window.

She was pouting, but he had her by both arms now, and he shook her a little, just enough to get her attention. “I don’t want this anymore,” his eyes were wide, searching hers. “Nod if you understand.”

But then she jutted her head forward, her lips making contact with his, her tongue flicking out dramatically.

“Fuck, STOP!” He growled pushing her away enough so that he could wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

“But,” she gave him a coy look, adjusting her shirt. “I was thinking just one last time?”

She stole a quick side glance out the big window, but he didn’t catch it.

He composed himself, trying to imagine if he had a sister, how he’d want them to be treated in this moment, no matter how demented they were.

He took her hand in one of his and covered it with the other. “You’re a sweet girl, Erika. Go find a loyal, normal guy to care about you the way you deserve, okay? I’m not the one.”

He noticed a shift in her then, a sadness passed over her eyes; regret, maybe? Whatever it was, her appetite for him ceased and she seemed to curl into an invisible shell, shoulders sagging. She tugged her hand from his and tucked her chin, stepped forward only to hug his shoulder briefly as she went by.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” she said softly, pulling back to give him one last tortured look over her shoulder before she continued toward the stairs. “Please forgive me.”

Eddie stood there like a statue, hair hanging down his shoulders, hands paused in the air, wondering why the hell that had been so weird. Sure, Erika was a wild card, but showing up to use the bathroom, and then awkwardly trying to feel him up in the hallway, only to look like she was about to cry? It didn’t make any sense.

He followed a way behind her, and then made sure to put the bolt on the main door in the garage so that he wouldn’t have any more uninvited creeping visitors.

-----------

In the building across the street from Munson’s Garage, with a perfect view of the hallway outside of Eddie’s apartment, a man with a telephoto lens was taking pictures. Snapping what sounded like a billion at a time in the darkness of the abandoned warehouse. Click click click click click.

He was finishing up, packing his camera into its case, when Erika appeared reluctantly at the top of the stairs, her expression sullen.

“Here you go, dollface,” the much older, potbellied man said to her, pinching a wad of cash between his middle and index fingers and extending it to her. “You did real good.”

Erika swallowed as she took the money, her hands cold and shaking. Sure, she was upset that Eddie didn’t like her as much as she liked him, and she hated that new girl he was talking to, but she didn’t want to see anything bad happen to him.

“I don’t like this,” she told the photographer. “I wish I’d never agreed to do it.”

“Well,” the guy said, adjusting his fedora on his head as he put the strap of his bag over his shoulder, already out of breath from the mild exertion. “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, sweetheart, but no one gives a shit.”

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Part 8

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