#willing myself to just drop dead

[oatmealcrisp-freak]

"shipping saiki is aphobic because he's aroace!"

stares at you with my demiromantic asexual in a committed relationship eyes then looks at the camera like im in the office

[thenerdcommander]

We're less than a week away from moving day and not even finished packing or cleaning yet I'm so depressed and burnt out from doing Tasks and being anxious that I was barely able to warm a frozen pizza

[chaussetteblanche]

Okay I’m obsessed with your Luke castellan stuff! Is there anyway I could request one where Luke and reader are a couple but get into a huge fight right before a quest? Something goes seriously wrong on the quest but they make back in in the end? Sorry if that makes no sense 😭

omg thank you !! and thanks so much for requesting ! this turned out a little dark, I hope you don't mind !

deception

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader summary : you and luke have a fight before leaving on a quest, but after something goes very wrong, you make up word count : 3.5k warnings : a little dark, violence, fighting (verbal and physical), swear words, killing of another camper, depiction of death

"Where were you?" The words were out of your mouth as soon as you saw the dark figure walking towards you. You needed no light to recognise him. You knew him by his walk, the way his shoulders swayed slightly and the unrecognisable limp in his left leg from an old injury. You knew the shape of his shoulders, for you had cried on them many times. You knew the swing of his hands, for they had held yours for countless hours. You knew the way he hung his head meant he was tired. But so were you. So, so tired. "We leave tomorrow, Luke. For a quest that could change all of our lives. Do you truly care so little?" You stood up from where you had been sitting down for the better part of an hour in front of your cabin. "Baby, I really don't want to do this now," he all but pleaded. You could hear it in his voice. The fatigue, the worry, the sadness. He stepped closer to you and took your hand in his, lovingly brushing your knuckles with his thumb.

You pulled your hand out of his grip, even though it physically hurt you to do so. You felt him flinch. "No, Luke, you do this every time! It's always the same with you!" You knew your voice was starting to rise but you couldn't help it. "You go out, won't tell me where you're going, won't let me come with you, come back hours later, looking like you've been holding up the sky for seventeen hours, still won't tell me where you've been, and ask me to-" "Baby, can you please drop it?" His voice was incredibly quiet in the dead of the night. You could see his brows furrow in the faint glow of the torch on the side of your cabin. "-drop it," you finish with a sigh, dropping your hands by your sides.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I just- I'm sorry." You could see his chest deflate like a balloon and felt tears well up in your eyes. You shook your head. You couldn't keep up with his lies. "No." His head snapped up and you felt his intense gaze on your face within seconds. "No, don't apologise for shit you're just going to keep doing. Apologise when you're actually going to change something, because I can't keep doing this." You willed your voice not to shake too much. You ran a hand over your face, sighing shakily.

"What do you mean you 'can't keep doing this'?" he asked softly, stepping closer to you and taking both your hands in his. You tucked your chin, not wanting him to see the tears slowly running down your cheeks. He lowered his head to look at you. "I mean I can't keep," your voice broke, "doing this. Us, Luke. It's not healthy." "No, no, no, what do you mean it's 'not healthy'? Baby, we're okay. You're okay, alright? Nothing has to change, we're good!" The urge in his voice broke your heart. He leaned down to look into your eyes as he cupped your face and wiped your tears away with his thumbs. "It's okay, baby, we're okay, I promise. I- I can change, we can work through this. Together."

You bit your lip to keep it from wobbling too much. You shook your head. "No, Luke. We- we can't. I can't keep doing this to myself, it hurts too much. And I can't change that I worry and get worked up, but you can't change whatever it is you won't tell me. So this needs to stop." Luke shook his head franticly and started pulling you towards his cabin by the hands. "No, baby, all you need is a good night's sleep, okay? In the morning, when you'll have a clear head, we'll talk about it again, okay? I promise we'll work it out, all-" "No, Luke!" You pulled your hands out of his, tightly crossing your arms over your chest. You didn't know when you'd started being cold, but you suddenly realised you were shivering violently. "I have a clear head right now! We don't need to talk about it in the morning! The situation will still be the same! And neither of us will have changed a thing! We're just pushing this back to later!" Your voice rang out into the night and it angered you even more to know that many campers were probably listening in on your exchange with Luke at the very moment.

"Wow. I can't believe this." Luke shook his head. You felt a few raindrops land on your face and arms before it started raining. "I can't believe you're willing to just give up on our relationship like this, Y/N." "I'm not giving up on anything! There just isn't anything left to-" "Maybe if you minded your own business more, and stopped worrying and fretting so much-" You scoffed loudly. "That's who I am, Luke! That's my personality! And I love you! So, excuse me for caring and worrying about you when you disappear for literal hours and won't tell me where you've been!" "Well maybe if you-" He cut himself off and raised a hand, shaking his head. Through the raindrops, you could see tears running down his cheeks. It shredded your heart to pieces knowing you were the cause of his pain. "Look, Y/N, I care about you, I admire you and I love you. So do this, go ahead, but remember that, and remember that it will have been your fault."

You had what was probably the worst night in the history of all worst nights. You hadn't slept a wink, had cried out all the water in your body and had second-doubted every choice you'd ever made in your entire life that had led you up to this moment. When you looked at yourself in the mirror the next morning at the crack of dawn, you grimaced. One good thing came out of having to meet so early, you wouldn't have to face the other campers who you knew were listening in on you and Luke last night. You would have to answer no questions and would have to ignore no strange looks.

Everything was still damp from the storm during the night. You hated the feeling of the cold humidity making its way through your clothes and sticking to your skin. You met with Chiron, Luke and the third member of your quest, a girl named Natasha, at sun rise near the border. You didn't meet Luke's eye as Chiron spoke before sending you off. You didn't even speak until Natasha brought up the tense silence.

"Look, I don't mean to pry," she spoke as she pushed her way through tall grass with you and Luke in tow, "but I'm not digging the vibe you both have going on right now." Luke inhaled before speaking, but he was interrupted by Natasha. "Just to be clear, I don't care what happened, just don't let it get in the way of the quest." "It won't." You answered without even glancing at Luke. You heard him exhale sharply. Natasha nodded curtly.

Even though the tension had been palpable since the start, within seven days you had managed to retrieve the artefact you had been sent to fetch and had started making your way home. Natasha most certainly had a concussion, but other than that, none of you bore any serious injuries. Still, you felt restless and anxious. The Oracle, though you could not remember her exact words, had mentioned deception. At first, you had thought it would be the monster from whom you had stolen the artefact who would be responsible of this deception, but that had not been the case. So you had been on edge for days. You'd barely slept, as Luke had pointed out many times.

"Do you not trust me anymore? Is that it? Is that why you won't sleep?" He'd asked you one night while he was on watch. You had tried to sleep, you really had, but thoughts of betrayal and deception clouded your mind and kept sleep far away. You shook your head. "That's not it." You couldn't bring yourself to tell the boy you loved that you feared he would turn on you. You leaned your head back against the humid trunk of the tree you were sitting against. A few raindrops landed on your face. You couldn't wait to be back at camp. You couldn't wait for all of this to be over.

"Then what is it? Why won't you sleep?" You shrugged. You wouldn't tell him about the nightmares you kept having. When you did manage to close your eyes for a few minutes, your mind was swarmed with dark sights and horrible fears. You would see Luke drowning, yourself burning, the artefact getting lost. "I guess I'm too nervous. We need to get it back to camp as soon as possible. I'll rest when we get there." "But-" "Please, Luke. Don't."

Despite your nerves, your fatigue finally got the better of you and you fell asleep. You awoke to strange, muffled sounds. Slowly opening your eyes, you squinted and tried to get used to the dim light of the flickering fire. After a second, you saw Natasha digging around in your bag a few meters away from you, one hand tangled in Luke's hair. You frowned. "Shut up," she snapped at Luke. You realised the muffled sounds must have been coming from him. You couldn't see much, as Natasha's body hid most of Luke and your bags. Quietly, you sat up and grabbed your bow and quiver. You slowly stood up, hiding your weapon behind your back.

"What are you doing?" you asked. Natasha whipped around, a scowl on her face. You'd never seen her look like that before. With her body more to the side, you were able to get a better look at Luke. What you saw made your skin crawl. He had a large black eye and a cut on his forehead. A dirty rag tied tightly around the bottom of his face kept him from making too much noise. You guessed from his position on the ground that both his hands and feet were tied up. And judging by the state of his shirt, which was torn and dirty, he'd put up quite the fight. Your blood ran cold but you couldn't help but feel relieved at the same time. Luke had not deceived you. Natasha had.

"Something I should have done a long time ago," she snarled, putting her boot against Luke's face and pushing it hard. He fell to the side with a muffled grunt. You felt your blood boil at the thought of her hurting him even more than she already had. You notched an arrow immediately and aimed it at Natasha's heart. "Natasha," you called icily, "I think you should think twice about this." "No need. I've got someone who will pay me a fortune for this," she held up the artefact in her hand, "and for the knowledge of two half-bloods roaming in the forest near a big town in New Jersey." "You wouldn't." Your blood ran cold. You knew you wouldn't let her get away without a fight, but judging by Luke's state, he had thought the same thing. You cursed yourself for choosing the strongest fighter in camp to accompany you on the quest. "You don't know me well enough, Y/N. I couldn't care less about that shit hole you want to go back to, there's nothing for me back there. So, if you're smart, you'll let me be on my way now."

You set your jaw. "I'm afraid I can't just let you go." She smirked. "I thought you might say that." She reached to the side and grabbed Luke by the hair, violently pulling him to his feet. He winced and you saw his jaw twitch. "Luckily, I have some leverage right here." Your stomach churned at the sight. Luke shook his head at you, but you ignored him. She may have beat him, but she wouldn't get through you. You'd die before you let anything happen to him or the artefact.

You raised your bow, aiming for her leg. You didn't want to kill her because she was a camper. That would be the equivalent of killing a cousin and you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you did. Suddenly, you felt your bow get white hot beneath your hands. You shrieked and let go of it nanoseconds before it turned to flames. You heard Luke cry out your name and watched as Natasha kicked him to the ground. You grit your teeth, the fire in your stomach growing bigger by the second. "Mother taught me well." She twirled her fingers and flames danced between them. You cursed under your breath. You'd forgotten she was one of Hestia's children. Not giving yourself the time to mourn your bow, you darted forward, narrowly missing the flames of the fire which followed you closely.

Deciding to let go of dignity and humility, you tackled her to the ground. Surprised, she yelped and let the small turquoise artefact slip through her fingers. You both hit the floor with a thud. Frantically looking around for the artefact, you were relieved to find that Luke had managed to get ahold of it despite his bound hands. He locked eyes with you and started crawling away. Natasha grunted as she tried to push you off her. You resisted and managed to hit her in the face with your elbow. "Fuck you," she growled before punching you in the stomach. She harshly pushed you off her ribcage as you coughed, tears welling in your eyes at the pain.

You realised she was going after Luke when she pulled a knife out of her boot before running off. Terrified, you scrambled to your feet and took off after her. You tripped on vines and stones as you caught up with her. You had no idea how she could see so well in the near darkness of the forest. You abruptly spotted Luke near a tree, rubbing his bindings against the harsh bark. "Fuck, Natasha- Stop!" you yelled. She ignored you. Before she could get to Luke, you threw yourself forward, landing a hard kick to both her knees. She cried out in pain and collapsed in a head to the ground. You scrambled to get on top of her and pressed your knee against the side of her head. "Stop it!" you pleaded. "You don't want to do this! Money won't solve your problems!" "Yes, I do want to do this," she grunted as she struggled against you. She kicked out, knocking you off her. You got to your feet as quickly as you could, standing in between her and Luke. You spared Luke a glance before raising your fists in front of your face. He was frantically trying to get rid of his bindings, desperately tugging at them.

"Just get out of the way, Y/N!" she screamed angrily, spit flying out of her mouth. "Make this easier for all of us, will you?!" "You know I can't do that, Natasha." She let out a frustrated yell before charging at you with her knife. You ducked and hit her in the ribs before catching her by the hair. You pulled her away from Luke with a grunt. She cursed loudly and sliced at you with her knife. You hissed in pain as she nicked your side, letting go of her for a second. You stumbled backwards as you looked down at your right side, where blood was rapidly staining your shirt. Distantly, you heard Luke's muffled yell of your name and a string of curses. You looked back up just in time to see Natasha's face coming at your full speed. She hit you in the cheekbone and you collapsed to your knees, dull pain making your face uncomfortably hot. You were dazed for a second before you shakily got to your feet.

Natasha was trying to pry the artefact out of Luke's hands, her knife much too close to his skin for your liking. Growling, you bolted forward and wrapped your arm around her neck from behind. Choking her with your elbow, you pulled her off Luke with all the strength you could muster. She thrashed wildly against you before reaching back and grabbing on to your upped arm. Before you could comprehend what was happening, she had flung you over her shoulder. You landed on the ground with a thud and your breath knocked out of you. You coughed. Despite the haziness of your vision, you still registered the knife lying on the ground next to you. You reached for it but Natasha was quicker. She kneeled over you, the knife dangling from her fingers.

"I was really hoping I wouldn't have to kill you, you know?" She wiped from blood from her bottom lip. "But I have a feeling I'm not going to be able to get anything done with you in the way, so..." Slowly, she started bringing the blade of her knife down into your abdomen. You pushed at her forearms, trying to stop her, struggling and kicking but it was no use. She was too strong. With horror, you realised that you were going to die. You were going to die. In the middle of a forest, alone-

"Y/N!" Your head snapped to the side at Luke's voice. He was running towards you at full speed, having gotten rid of his bindings. He threw something at you, which you barely caught. A knife. His knife. Without thinking, you drove the knife deep into Natasha's stomach. She cried out in pain and her legs went out, her whole weight now resting on your ribcage. She looked shocked as she looked down at her wound, which was covering both your bodies in blood. You paled at the sight. She tried to speak, but only blood bubbled past her lips. She looked up at the sky before entirely collapsing on top of you.

"LUKE!" you shrieked and kicked her off you, scrambling to get as far away from her as possible. You'd just killed her. Natasha. Another camper. And you'd just killed her. What had you done? Luke threw himself down next to you, immediately gathering you in his arms. You sobbed loudly as you held on to him, surely leaving fingerprints. "I killed her! I killed her, Luke, and she's dead!" you screamed hysterically, your eyes stuck onto her lifeless form, lying just meters away from you. "Baby, are you hurt?" he asked, concerned, as he checked you over. He tilted your head to both sides, his heart breaking at the tears flowing down your face. He was horrified to see your side and immediately put pressure onto it. You hissed in pain. "It doesn't matter if I'm hurt! She's dead!" Your voice broke as you hit Luke's shoulder, sobbing.

"It was you or her, baby. You or her. You did what you had to do," he spoke softly into your ear. He held you closer to him, as if he wanted to squeeze the traumatic event out of you. "She's dead," you sobbed loudly, turning around to bury your face in his chest. "I know, baby. It's okay. You did what you had to do, you had no choice. She turned on us." He soothingly rubbed your back as he spoke. "But- but-" "You saved the quest, darling. You saved your life. And mine." He stroked your hair, trying to calm you down. "There was nothing else you could do." You cried for what felt like hours. He held you the whole time, whispering words of assurance and comfort. By the time you felt ready to go, the sun was almost up.

The trip back to camp was mostly a blur. Luke took care of everything while you followed him around like a phantom. He stitched you up and disinfected your wounds before you got to camp. When you finally reached the border, you were greeted by Chiron, who was chocked to see only two of you come back. He was even more chocked by what had happened when Luke explained everything to him once you'd been taken in by the infirmary.

When you awoke a day later, you had a long talk with Chiron, who reassured you on just about everything that had happened. You would be granted a recovery of undetermined time. You could taker as long as you needed to get over the quest. Feeling a lot better, you'd thanked him and immediately went to find Luke.

You found him near the lake, staring thoughtfully out onto the water. "Hey." He turned around as soon as he heard your voice. "Hey," he spoke softly. He opened his arms once you were closer to him and you didn't think twice before engulfing him in a tight hug. He buried his face in your hair and inhaled deeply. It felt good to feel the familiar weight of his arms around your shoulders again. "I'm so sorry." He sighed into your hair. "For everything." "I know. Me too." "I love you, baby." "I love you too."

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl Pt. II — Patrick Hockstetter.

part one

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal cruelty , male masturbation , graphic descriptions of murder and suicide , reader being manipulative , degradation , sexual themes ,

word count : 4.5k words !

a/n : can't believe i'm finally posting this after a year and a half. also this is my first attempt at smut-ish so i'm sorry if it's ass. im not gonna say this is 18+ bc I myself am not 18+ (im turning 18 this year tho) also im not your mom and idgaf what you read.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

"That's not possible," he said through gritted teeth. "I watched you die. I buried you!" He opened his eyes, convinced that this was all some terrible drug trip. Maybe the weed he'd just got from Henry was laced, or maybe he was suffering from a temporary psychosis. Either way, there had to be some rational and logical reason that he was seeing you.

However, when he saw you there, sitting there with a smug look on your face, your presence as solid as any living person, he felt his heart skip a beat.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing as you pouted. "What's wrong, Patrick?" You asked condescendingly. "Don't act so scared now." You walked toward him slowly, watching him scramble backward in a panic. A smile spread across your lips as you saw the pure fear in his eyes when he hit the wall behind him, having nowhere else to go. "You weren't scared when you stabbed me. You weren't scared when you watched me bleed out in your arms. You weren't scared when you buried my body like some animal you found on the side of the road." Your voice was seeping with anger as you stepped closer and closer, cornering him. "So you don't get to be scared now."

Patrick Hockstetter was not someone who was frightened easily. In fact, up until this very moment, he didn't think he had the ability to be frightened at all. His unique ability to remain calm and collected in situations that would often stress others out was one he was prideful of. However, at that moment, he felt all composure and level-headedness dissolve. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Not just scared—terrified.

"What- What do you want?" He asked, his voice shaky as he looked into your eyes. You no longer looked at him like he hung the moon. There were no remnants of your innocence and naivety—willing to trust that people have the best intentions. There was nothing behind your cold, lifeless eyes. It was like staring at a corpse.

"Now, what's the fun in that?" You grinned, leaning forward so your face was inches away from his. Your gaze flickered to his lips. The same lips you thought he'd planned to kiss you with, but instead, he'd stabbed you in the stomach and mocked your intelligence. "You should really watch your back, Patrick," you whispered with a devious smirk, your breath fanning over his face. "I heard the search for me is really picking up after they found my blood in the woods."

Your words snapped him back to the reality of the situation at hand. He had killed you. What you were saying was impossible though. Right? He was meticulous in every stage of his plan. There was no way they found any trace of you. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his eyes searching you for any sign of deception, but you were impossible to read like this. He was no longer able to detect everything from a single glance. He only knew what you wanted him to know.

Without another word, you disappeared, leaving the boy spiraling as he went through all the events of that night over and over again. "Come back!" He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty house. "You can't just leave like that you bitch!"

Patrick let out a frustrated yell as he grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be a porno mag—and threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Who did you think you were to haunt him? To come into his room, make him feel that horrible emotion, and tease him just to leave abruptly?

He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his heavy breathing as his anger took over. You had to have been lying, trying to get into his head. He hated to admit that it was working. He was supposed to be the one in your head. This was his world. He controlled everyone and everything. You shouldn't be here. You should be dead and buried like he had intended.

He fell back in his bed and took a deep breath, letting his mind settle as he chased sleep. He told himself you would be gone tomorrow and that would be that. Your appearance to him, like something out of a Charles Dickens novel, was just a fluke. Tomorrow you would be dead and all would be right with the world.

He drifted off to sleep, having convinced himself that he would never see you again. He was able to get a few hours of sleep, but you weren't going to let him be at peace for long

At around 4 am, Patrick had a very vivid dream that he was choking. He was gasping for air, clawing at his neck as he looked around frantically. His surroundings dissolved into a pitch-black room. He felt his lungs burning, his brain growing fuzzy as the oxygen left him. It felt so vivid, so real.

He awoke in a panic, sitting up straight as he gasped for air. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Like he had truly been deprived of air like he'd dreamed about. He panted, catching his breath as he looked around at his room, thankfully finding no signs of you. However, when he finally felt secure, able to draw a breath without feeling like a thirsty man drinking water, he realized the pillow that had been behind his head was now sat on his lap.

The realization dawned on him that he may have been actually suffocating, and you were the culprit. He shook his head, trying to expel the thought as he laid back down, throwing the pillow off into the black depths of his room, so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It was just a dream. Just as you were just a vision.

Patrick wasn't stupid, though many would argue to the contrary. Just because he didn't give a shit about school and didn't try didn't mean he wasn't smart. He just saved his intelligence for things that actually mattered—like planning and executing a murder.

That in mind, his refusal to accept the things he deep down knew to be true was not, as some would think, him being stupid. On the contrary, he believed himself smarter than to believe in silly things like ghosts. Dead things stay dead. He'd learned that at a very young age. He knew when he killed his brother that he would not be coming back. Just as he knew when he killed you that you would not be coming back.

Ghosts don't exist. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that.

As he laid in bed, trying to rationalize himself into a calm enough state to fall asleep again, he found himself more on edge with every creak of the old house around him. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes conspiring with the moonlight to play tricks on him. His breath hitched at every shadow dancing around the dark.

You were proud of your work, and you had barely done anything yet. You watched from the shadows, pleased as he seemed to run himself in circles trying to cope with everything going on. The mere thought of you was torture enough.

You grinned, biting your lip as a thought washed over you. As a ghost, not bound by the physical realm, you had the ability to do a lot of things. One of those so happened to be raising and lowering the temperature in a room.

You focused hard, raising the temperature several degrees, making Patrick swear at the sudden sweat washing over him. You watched with a satisfied smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, trying to cool himself off.

He didn't have a six pack or anything, but you didn't expect him to. He had a lean, toned torso with a very sexy v-line peeking out from his jeans. A small tattoo sat on his stomach just above his v-line on the right side. You couldn't make it out in the darkness, but you didn't care much. The sight of it alone was enough.

After all, who said you couldn't mix a little bit of business with pleasure.

He had taken away the rest of your life, all the possibilities of experiencing having your first kiss, losing your virginity, falling in love. It was only fair he made up for that in one way or another before your time together came to an end.

The time passed agonizingly slowly with Patrick staring at the ceiling and you watching him, studying him like he was some foreign thing. It was so interesting to watch someone when they don't know they're being watched. Of course, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his body detecting the unseen eyes on him, but he chalked it up to paranoia—as he did every other unexplainable thing that seemed to be happening to him.

His mind drifted off, the heat making him restless as his brain filled with gruesome images of his previous kills. He sifted through his memory for the most interesting ones—dismembering birds, beheading cats, snapping a squirrel or two's neck—but none of them seemed to get him off anymore.

The image of your face right after he stabbed you made it's way into his mind. Your eyes, so wide and filled with fear. He could practically hear your sweet voice crying out, asking why he would do this to you. The thought made his cock tighten in his jeans.

He reached down, palming himself through his jeans with a groan. Reliving the sounds of you choking and coughing up your own blood had his fingers working quickly to undo his belt. He tossed it to the side, practically ripping the button off his jeans as he pulled them down along with his underwear, allowing his dick to finally be free from the restrictive fabric.

He spat in his hand, gripping his cock and lubricating it. He caught his chapped lower lip between his teeth as swept his thumb over his pink head, smearing his precum across it. He let out a low moan, letting his hand travel up and down his dick at a slow, agonizing pace. He kept his eyes screwed shut, immersing himself in the memory of your murder as he stroked himself.

Patrick was not a moral man by any means but this was a new low. Getting himself off to you, in his mind, was no better than if he was imagining one of his dead animal playthings. You were nothing to him. You were roadkill.

But, for some reason, the fresh sight of you, wearing the clothes he killed you in with that dark blood stain right where he'd stabbed you, your hair all matted, and the cold, lifeless look in your eyes, made it so easy to relive that night in great detail.

It was the greatest night of his life. The biggest release of pressure he'd ever felt since he began getting those homicidal urges—those itches. He didn't think he'd ever get to feel that euphoria again, but fucking himself to the thought of it would get him pretty damn close.

He let out a strangled moan, his hips pushing into his hand as he came, and he was right, it was the second-best feeling he'd ever felt. It didn't compare to killing you, but it was enough to satiate his urges once again.

He laid there, panting for what felt like hours. The time moved by so slowly until finally, the sound of the alarm block beside his bed blaring pulled him from his thoughts.

The red numbers reading 7:30 blinked slowly, reminding him that he had to get up and get ready for school. He leaned over, smacking the top of the clock roughly to silence it before falling back flat on his bed, preparing himself to get up.

He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing a random pair of jeans and a shirt that smelled clean enough. He quickly got dressed before making his way back downstairs. He knew Belch would be here any second to pick him up—he always woke up later than he was realistically supposed to.

He slipped his boots on, and a few moments later, he heard Belch laying on his car horn. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door, heading outside and letting it slam just behind him.

"Calm your tits," he shouted in annoyance. Patrick always had a short fuse, but after the particularly restless night in which he'd been visited by some fucking ghost of Christmas Past, he found himself particularly irritable.

"Dude what happened yesterday?" Victor asked as Patrick climbed into the blue Trans Am.

"You were totally tripping the fuck out," Belch chimed in, starting the car and peeling out of Patrick's neighborhood.

"Dumb fuck can't handle his liquor," Henry scoffed from his spot in the passenger's seat.

"Shut the fuck up, Bowers," Patrick bit back, gazing out the window. "At least some of us don't piss our pants when we drink."

"It was one fucking time you dickhead!" Henry defended quickly, his cheeks turning red from the embarrassment.

At the feeling of someone's hand on his thigh, Patrick quickly looked over at Vic. "Don't fucking touch me you-" he paused just short of spitting some derogatory remark about Victor being gay and a freak when he saw you sitting between him and Victor, grinning at him darkly.

"What the fuck are you talking about, dude?" Victor asked, bewildered by Patrick's behavior. Patrick was always an odd one, but he never acted this weird.

"He probably smoked himself fucking dumb," Henry grumbled, still annoyed about the pants pissing remark.

You held a finger to your lips as climbed over onto his lap, holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You just wanted to rile him up a little, make him feel suffocated by you, like he could never escape. And truly, he couldn't. You were never going anywhere until you believed justice had properly been served, and you would take that in any form.

He glared at you, but you paid him no mind, leaning to whisper into his ear: "How cute," you condescended him. "You thought I would just go away." You dug your nails into his shoulders making him sharply inhale, trying not to tip off his friends to the seemingly unwarranted pain he was feeling. "You will never be rid of me," you whispered menacingly, looking deep into his eyes with a sickening grin that made nausea pool in his stomach.

In any other situation, having someone on his lap, digging their nails into his shoulders would probably have been a pleasurable experience, but this was not any other situation. This was a nightmare he couldn't seem to wake up from.

When Belch finally pulled into the school parking lot, Patrick couldn't get out of the car fast enough. You disappeared as he scrambled to unlock the door and get out, finally feeling like he could breathe. He pulled his shirt collar to the side, looking down at the angry red marks where your nails had been. They served as a disturbing reminder that you were really there, and you could do anything to him.

"You get laid last night, Hockstetter?" Belch asked, grinning as he saw the red marks.

"That why you ran off yesterday?" Henry snickered. "You pussy whipped?"

"At least, I actually get pussy," he sneered, paling as he heard your laugh echoing around him the moment the words slipped from his lips. It was a deafening sound. Like a mix between a cackle and a scream that seemed to permeate his surroundings.

His jaw clenched, eye twitching as he resisted the urge to cover his ears. Apart from not wanting to look insane, he also didn't think it would help much. You weren't around him. You were in him, in his head.

The bell could faintly be heard going off inside the school, making Victor curse under his breath. They had two minutes to get to class or they were late.

"Mrs. Denton's gonna throw a bitch fit if I'm late again," he groaned, watching as Henry lit a cigarette.

"Kiss ass," he remarked, taking a long drag before exhaling the puff of smoke into Belch's face as Victor walked away.

"You asshole," Belch coughed, shoving Henry.

"Oh, shit." Henry's eyes widened as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, quickly stomping it out. "Let's go," he ordered, making his way up the stairs to the front doors of the school, looking behind him frantically.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden shift in Henry's demeanor. He followed the brunette's gaze, his eyes locking with those of Butch Bowers, the sheriff.

"Wonder if they're here for you," your voice taunted him, breath tickling the back of his right ear. He turned, preparing to come face to face with that condescending smile you always seemed to be wearing, but you weren't there.

He looked back, finding Sheriff Bowers still staring at him, seemingly ignoring whatever the deputy was leaning into his ear to say. Patrick wasn't one to back down easily, but your presence, your warnings, had him on edge. He quickly advanced forward, his lengthy legs providing long strides as he followed suit in heading inside Derry Highschool.

The sounds of his heavy boots hitting the linoleum floor echoed through the empty hall as he made his way to his math class. Victor was right; Mrs. Densen was going to throw a bitch fit that he was late, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have cared on a normal day, but on this day, with the police sniffing around and you practically breathing down his neck, he cared even less—which he didn't even know was possible.

He pulled open the door to the classroom, a hush falling over the students as he entered. Most stared at him wide-eyed, some avoided looking at him altogether, and he briefly caught Vic looking at him with sympathy. The teacher, however, was glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Mr. Hockstetter, late again I see," she said pointedly. "You've earned yourself a detention after school today." Patrick stifled a laugh as he made his way to his seat at the very back of the classroom. "Is something funny?" She asked, her tone displaying clear annoyance.

"Yeah, that you think I care," he rolled his eyes, slipping into his desk. He tuned out whatever lecture the teacher decided to give him after that. His gaze drifted to the empty desk in the front row— the one you used to sit at.

"Don't go feeling remorseful now," you said into his ear. He felt your arm around his shoulders as you leaned down, your face positioned next to his. He turned to look at you, and you turned to look at him, your faces almost touching.

your breath fanned across his face, the moment oddly intimate until you grinned at him, opening your mouth and emitting an ear piercing scream.

"Ah," he grunted in pain, his eyes screwing shut, and his hands gripping his ears. It felt like his eardrums were seconds away from bursting and causing blood to pour out of his ears. "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, the room, and you, falling dead silent immediately after the words left him.

He peeled his eyes open, his hands falling as he looked around. "Excuse me, Mr. Hockstetter," the teacher gasped, clearly taken aback by his outburst. "Take yourself to the principal's office right this instant!" She ordered him.

His blood began to boil as he stood up abruptly, storming out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him. He was getting very very sick and tired of your little games. He headed toward the back door of the school, not wanting to cross paths with Henry's dad.

"This doesn't look like the way to the principal's office," you mused, appearing beside him. He stopped, turning to shove you against the locker. He groaned when his arms made contact with the locker instead of your body, and your laugh echoed behind him. "You think you can hurt me, how cute."

He let out a frustrated groan, smashing his fists against the locker. He couldn't stand you. He couldn't stand having someone that he couldn't manipulate or hurt but that could manipulate and hurt him. "What do you want with me?" He asked, refusing to look at you.

"To break you," you grinned. "To have you begging for it to stop."

Yeah, right he thought.

He was Patrick fucking Hockstetter; he didn't beg. He didn't bend to the will of others, especially not some dead bitch. He was determined not to let you win. You would eventually get tired of tormenting him and go back to wherever the fuck you came from. He was sure of it.

Oh, how he underestimated your patience and overestimated his resilience.

He lasted exactly a week. A week of you screaming and poking and scratching and fucking with his head. A week of people staring at him like he was insane with his random outbursts and talking to the air. A week of torment before you finally had him right where you wanted him.

"Just leave me alone!" He begged, standing in the middle of his room with his head in his hands. You had finally drove him to the brink of insanity, and he didn't know how much longer he could live like this. You, being everywhere all the time, taunting and touching and teasing, it was too much for him. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go away!"

You tsked, grinning at him, that condescending grin that filled him with indescribable rage. How could you look at him like that? Like he was stupid? You were the stupid one. You were killed by him not the other way around!

"I'm afraid that's not how this works," you told him, shaking your head slightly. "I get to stay until you give me what I want." You took a step, punctuating the next words you said with a pause between each one and another step forward. "However. Long. It. Takes."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He yelled, desperate to get you away from him forever.

"Well," you drawled, running your index finger along his chest, making him flinch. You smiled at the effect you had on him. He talked a big game, getting mad when you left—cursing, throwing things, even—having the audacity to fuck himself to the thought of your murder— but when it came to being face to face with you, he cowered away.

Ain't nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble as Henry Bowers' father once said.

"I'll be nice and give you a choice," you said darkly. "You can turn yourself in," you almost laughed at the way his demeanor hardened. "Which we both know you're too proud and stubborn to do," you continued. The intrigue behind Patrick's eyes was undeniable as he eagerly awaited his second choice. "Or," you trailed off, grabbing a razor from his dresser and holding it in front of his face. "You can die."

"You're a crazy bitch!" He shouted, though his inability to mask the tremble in his voice made him sound less than threatening.

"Maybe," you shrugged, admiring the sharp piece of metal. "Hmm," you hummed. "I wonder how you'll feel about me in another week," you asked thoughtfully. "I bet you'll be wishing you took the chance while you had it."

His jaw clenched at your words. He'd already lost a considerable amount of sleep because of you, and the thought of you tormenting him any longer was a fate worse than death. "Why don't you just kill me?" He asked defeatedly. You'd backed him into a corner that he was positive he couldn't get out of without doing things your way.

"I'm not you, Patrick," you spat hatefully. "I don't kill people or things."

"What? Like driving me to suicide is any better?" He scoffed, challenging your sense of superiority over him.

"You have an informed choice," you told him, trying to regain your calm. You didn't like losing your temper, especially not to the likes of Patrick Hockstetter, scum of the earth. "That's a luxury you didn't extend to me."

He eyed the blade in your hand warily. He didn't like accepting defeat. He would never admit to killing you. Being confined to a tiny room, unable to satiate that burning itch deep inside him whenever he needed; it would drive him mad.

"Go on," you urged him softly, holding the razor out for him to take. "Put yourself out of your misery. End it all and be free."

He looked between you and the blade hesitantly, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tried to make a decision. Glaring at you, he took the blade. A scowl formed on his face as he observed the triumphant expression that you seemed to wear immediately after he made his choice.

"Two deep cuts, and you'll never have to see me again," you assured him. That all but sealed the deal. Patrick didn't believe in heaven or hell and death didn't scare him. Being caged like one of the many animals he's so cruelly killed scared him more than dying. He walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge.

He sucked in a breath, pressing the blade into his wrist and dragging it upward toward his inner elbow. He clenched his teeth, deeply inhaling through them. A groan of pain fell from his lips as he felt the warm blood begin seeping from his wound, running down his arms and onto his jeans. He continued the action on the other arm, feeling nauseous and lightheaded.

The blade fell from his trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as he fell back onto the bed. His head felt foggy, and the pain began to melt away into numbness. His eyes began to droop, and he faintly saw your outline standing above him.

He just barely felt you lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His ears began to ring as his eyes fell shut. The words you spoke next were the last he would hear before his heart slowed to an eventual stop. He almost couldn't make them out, the sound muffled, as if he was underwater, but his mind used its last bit of energy to process them before giving out.

"Goodbye, Patrick Hockstetter," you said softly. "May you burn in hell."

tags! : @fatfagsj , @mysticalhills , @simpingforthe80s , @slasherho , @pinkpanther-44 , @slaggylemon , @kyranisnotdead , @ladydragiiss ,

[thebearer]

would you be willing to write something along the lines of casual dominant Carmy taking care of his girl who’s injured, maybe working at the restaurant with him? like maybe he’s super pissed at the carelessness causing injuries but also super concerned and caring

(may or may not be inspired by me breaking my finger and having it taped up, chipping the bone in my ankle and hurting most of the toes of the same foot 😅)

i tweaked the plot just a bit but same scenario lol. hope you enjoy!

"Hands!" Carmen yelled, plating the finished bolognese for Tina to grab, nodding at the perfected response. It was busy today, far busier than he expected with the stormy, summer weather, but he couldn't complain. The team was moving like a well oiled machine, customers were happy, and even Richie was in a good, upbeat mood.

"Corner!" Sydney announced, turning the corner abruptly, hand on the store's phone. "Chef, I need you."

"What?" Carmen looked over, adding the finishing garnish to the dish before putting it on the serving station. "What's the matter?"

Sydney hesitated, turning to Tina. "Tina, can you cover please? Just for a second?"

"Yes, Chef." Tina nodded, moving to Carmen's station, and ripping another order out.

"What's goin' on? Is it the freezer again? Fuckin' Richie-"

Sydney shook her head, nodding towards Carmen's office. "It's for you." Nodding to the phone in her hand.

"For me?" Carmen's eyes bulged, heart skipping a beat. "Are they mad?" His voice dropped low, eyes cutting to her's.

"No, no, not like that." Sydney shook her head. "It's a personal call. Look, I-I'll go cover for you."

Then Carmen was left, standing alone in his office, cradling the phone with a blinking hold line. He recognized the number nearly immediately- your number. Why would you call him at work? On the store phone? Suddenly, he was taken back to New York, standing in the kitchen after the dinner rush, looking at Sugar's name flash over and over and over on his phone.

His stomach turned, hands shaking when he answered it. "H-Hello?"

"Hi, Carmy." Your voice sounded small, a little wobbly- like you'd been crying. He was sure he was gonna be sick now.

"Hey," Carmen breathed, trying to still the beating in his chest. "What-What's goin' on? You alright? I-I didn't have my phone on me, but-"

"I'm alright." You soothed. "Well, I mean, for the most part. I... I'm at the emergency room."

That was all Carmen needed to hear, snatching his things out of the top drawer and bounding around the corner towards the back, shouting at Sydney to handle it, and cursing furiously when the line went dead.

Carmen walked through the dreaded halls of the emergency room, under the sickening fluorescence until he found your room. You looked up at him, eyes still red rimmed with left over tears, your friend chatting next to you.

"Hey, you alright?" Carmen pushed through the door, clumsily bounding towards your bedside. He still had his apron on, drove here in his fucking clogs he could barely press the pedals on, mind racing too quickly to care.

"Yeah, 'm alright." You muttered, looking down at your bandaged arm. "I burned myself and it was pretty bad. Jordie got scared and wanted to make sure it was treated." You nodded towards your friend.

Carmen felt the lump in his throat, bobbing with every movement of his head. "Yeah, I, uh, I see that." He looked carefully at the gauze.

"I'm gonna go," Jordie said, looking over at you gently. "If you're good with that."

"Yeah, I'll be alright now. Thank you." You hugged her with your good arm, Carmen muttering a thank you as she left.

Carmen sat beside you, hand falling over your leg. "How'd you do that, baby? What happened?"

You sighed, frustrated, maybe a little embarrassed. "It's so stupid." You could feel the tears flooding your water line again, Carmen's hand soothing them with tiny rubs. "I was making brownies for me and Jordie so we could have, like, a chill little movie day. And-And I wasn't even thinking, we were just talking, and I grabbed the tray out of the oven without a mitt." Your lip wobbled.

Carmen's eyes softened, cooing at you lightly. "And-And I freaked and didn't want to drop the tray so I threw it in the water, and then I ran my hand under cold water, like you said to do, but it was blistering really bad already and-and I don't know it looked like it was bleeding, and we were both freaking out because it hurt so fucking bad, so she took me here."

"That was good." Carmen nodded, your watery gaze meeting his. "No, that-that was the right thing to do. Could get infected."

"It's gonna cost so much." You muttered, looking down at your feet. "I-I should've called you- I tried to, but you didn't answer and... I just got scared."

"Don't worry about it." Carmen shook his head, reaching out to wipe a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "You got insurance, we'll figure it out, alright? Just... You did the right thing, baby."

You took a shaky breath, curling into his touch, cheek to the palm of his hand. "The doctor said it was third degree." You muttered.

Carmen sucked a breath in. "Ouch. That's gonna hurt tomorrow. They give you anything for it?"

You nodded. "It's at the pharmacy. Some cream and bandages and something for the pain."

"Good." Carmen nodded. "We'll stop on the way home, ok? You gotta make sure you keep it clean, alright? Be gentle with it. Take it easy, ok? Can't get it infected."

You rolled your eyes lightly, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. "I will." You nodded.

"I know you will. I'll make sure you do, alright? I'll help you, baby." Carmen cooed, taking your wrist gently in his hand, pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of the bandage.

"I didn't mean for you to leave, Carmy." You sighed, blinking at him gently. "You didn't have to leave for me-"

"-Yeah, I did." Carmen said, a finality in his tone that left no room for argument. "Don't say that to me. You know I'm gonna come check on you. You're hurt."

"And it's dinner." You countered. "I was just letting you know."

"And I'm glad you did." Carmen said sincerely. "But I wanted to come. Syd's got it. I called Sugar on the way here, and she's gonna help Richie out front, and I'm gonna take you home. Make sure you're all good."

Carmen took extra caution, listening to the doctor's orders before your discharge- as if he didn't know most of the protocol. He was meticulous about your schedule for the next few days, texting you when to take your medicine, clean your gauze, not hold your phone in your injured hand. Everything he could to make sure you felt better, even making those brownies for you- from scratch, this time, which beat your Betty Crocker box ones.

[gravehags]

destroying all (and make them want it again)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: copia holding reader hostage for marathon fucking, copia being our favorite little sex freak, office sex, blowjobs, terzo being terzo, reader becoming more satanic every day :)

Words: 2,848

Summary: You'd think after almost three days of being held hostage by your perverted lover, you'd have tired of his touch. You'd think.

a/n: i for one would really benefit from being locked up in bed with copia for days like i really think i deserve that

~~~

By the time Copia allows you to stumble out of his quarters two days after your fateful visit you are delightfully, deliciously sore.

You had no idea he’d be so…voracious. Your mild-mannered awkward Cardinal had you bent over and spread on every surface in his apartment, multiple times, drawing words out of you that you never dreamed of saying. He wasn’t a cruel kidnapper either - sporadically he would leave the apartment and return to you bearing sustenance from the dining hall. Your favorite was lounging nude on his mussed sheets while he dutifully and adoringly fed you plump purple grapes, kissing you in between bites. The thought stirs your heart as you open your apartment door and stumble inside to your bedroom to collapse face down on the duvet. You groan as you hike one leg up, the beautiful ache of being thoroughly used emanating from your core and into your muscles. You’re about to throw yourself in the shower when your phone vibrates.

Miss you already bellezza mia xx

You sigh.

Miss you more <3

I could…come over?

You laugh out loud, shaking your head.

You dog! You’re relentless. I haven’t showered in days, I feel filthy.

I could help you feel filthier ;)

Copia! Not that I’m opposed to the idea but my girl needs a break, per favore. You’ve worn her out.

Mi dispiace amore, she’s just so plump and willing and perfect for me, I can’t help myself.

Speaking of your girl, she’s stirring to attention at the thought of where this conversation is going and your fingers hover over the screen, tempted, before shaking your head.

You’re welcome to come over but no funny business. Might show my face in the dining hall to prove I’m still alive if you’re interested in meeting me there.

There’s a pause and your phone vibrates.

I’ll meet you at dinner and see if I can’t persuade her. Ti amo <3

Love you

When the two of you meet up a couple hours later at your usual table in the dining hall you garner more than a few curious looks. Rather than taking his typical spot across from you, instead he elects to sit next to you. You’re midway through a forkful of vegetarian lasagna when you feel the slide of leather clad fingers along your thigh. When you slowly turn your head, Copia’s shit-eating grin pans into view and you drop your fork, unamused.

“Really? In front of my lasagna?”

He gives you a creepy nod, still holding his smile and the sight has you bringing a fist to your mouth to stifle your laughter. Reaching down you grab one of his fingers and bend it back slightly as a warning.

“Ah, my amore would never hurt–ah!”

He cradles his hand to his chest and gives you a pout unbefitting a man of his distinguished age and position.

“Told you,” you say, shoving a bite of lasagna into your mouth then pointing at him with your fork, “no funny business.”

“Oh she’s cruel,” he laments, shaking his head, “La mia crudele, bella padrona. She would watch me wither away, never to feel her touch–”

“Oh come on, Copia, you held me hostage in your bed for almost three days! This is the first real meal I’ve had in literal days please let me–”

“She does not care for me,” he says, somehow managing to give you the most unsettling puppy-dog eyes ever. “She tells me she hates me and she wants me dead.”

“Oh for the love of fuck you cannot be serious,” your cheek rests on your propped up fist, watching this ridiculous display. “I just want to enjoy my lasagna unmolested,” you lower your voice as a sibling walks past, giving the two of you a disgusted once-over, “so naturally that means I hate you. Unholy fuck, if I had known pussy was going to turn you into this I never would have–”

“What kind of fuck?” Copia asks innocently, mustache twitching.

“I–hmm. You must be rubbing off on me.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asks, filthy leer returning to his face.

You roll your eyes but can’t smother the smile.

“I’m leaving, Copia,” you announce, standing up. “If you would like to accompany me to bed - for sleep - then you know where to find me. Unbelievable.”

You stomp off and you can feel his eyes on the sway of your ass the entire way out of the room. He does join you, not long after that, the picture of a perfect gentleman as he strokes your hair and places soft kisses to the top of your head. You can’t lie though - a part of you is disappointed he didn’t continue his dirty old man routine but, you think as your eyes drift closed, you really did need to give your poor cunt a break.

The next morning you awaken to an empty space beside you and you’re not surprised. Copia had to wake up early for morning prayer and you’ve been lucky to have had him by your side for as long as you did. You feel his absence acutely - how could you not after days with him? - and it leaves you with a lingering sense of melancholy as you get ready for the day and leave your quarters. The first few hours of your work day passes without incident - typing emails, ordering archival supplies, meeting briefly with Sister Imperator (with whom you can barely make eye contact after shirking your duties to get repeatedly and thoroughly railed by her Cardinal), and continuing on your quest to catalog the Ministry’s extensive art collection. When lunchtime rolls around that unpleasant sadness sits heavy in your belly. Part of you feels ridiculous letting yourself be so affected by well, love, but hey it’s your first time at this, right? Gotta cut yourself some slack. Your heart aches for him but also…other parts of you. You thought for sure after the marathon he just put you through you’d be satisfied for a while but if anything it’s made you even more hungry. When you look up at the clock and realize it’s lunchtime, a low heat begins to simmer in your belly and between your legs. You hesitate before standing up and heading to the door with a grin on your face.

When you approach Copia’s office door and knock softly, you’re met with a muffled “entrare!” and open it to sidle inside. He’s on his old landline with someone he clearly would rather not be speaking to judging from his exaggerated eye-rolls and dismissive hand gestures. You quietly walk up to his desk and try not to laugh as you listen to him desperately try to end the conversation.

“Uh-huh. Yes. Yep. Uh, you too. Okay, goodbye. Good–what? Yes that will be taken care of, of course. Buh-bye. Bye.” Copia slams the receiver down and turns to fix you with a tired stare.

“Long day?” you ask, rounding the desk to lean against it.

“Stressful day, all of a sudden the fundraiser gala is my problem when it should be Terzo’s problem, but where is Terzo? Nowhere to be found, naturalmente. And Saltaria–wh-what are you doing?”

You’re halfway through sinking to your knees next to him when you blink up at him innocently.

“Helping with the stress.”

His jaw falls open and he swallows thickly, eyes on the way you inch up your flowy skirt to expose your spread thighs to his gaze. You place your hands on his knees and he jumps comically.

“Cardinale, you were very thorough in your ah, teachings these past few days however there are some areas we never touched upon.”

“O-oh?”

“Mmm mmhmm,” you confirm, grabbing the end of his black cassock and inching it up his legs. When you reach past his knees and can go no further he lifts himself off the chair and hastily draws the garment to his hips. You smile at the tent in his trousers and your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“Missed you this morning,” you murmur, hand coming up to cup the curve of his cock. “Been wanting you so badly all day.”

“T-thought you were eh, sick of my advances?”

You give him a gentle squeeze and smile, resting your cheek on his knee.

“That was yesterday,” you say, finger drawing patterns on his bulge, “And while she might be tired, I certainly am not.”

His gloved hands grip the armrests of his desk chair as you lean forward to slowly unzip his trousers. When you take him out, hard and leaking, he sighs.

“You don’t know how many times I came into this office wanting to do this exact thing,” you confess, hand wrapping around him, “How all you had to do was say the word and I’d be on my knees or bent over that desk.”

He sucks in a breath.

“I-Is that so, amore? So all those times we were in here working, you–”

“--Were thinking about you fucking me raw? Mmhmm.”

Copia lets out a sigh and his head falls against the back of his chair.

“But let’s not think about the past, hmm? All I want to think about right now is you teaching me how you like to fuck my mouth. Okay?”

His hips buck into your touch and he lets out a whine before nodding. Slowly, keeping your eyes on his, you bring your lips to the red, swollen head of him and place a chaste kiss. Pre dampens your lips and you slowly dart your tongue out to taste the salt of him. He exhales shakily and encouraged, you lower yourself once more to drag the tip of your tongue along his slit. His low whimper makes you grin and gently you slide your lips over the head, flattening your tongue underneath him. You want to drag this out as long as possible, delighting in the feel of his heated flesh in your mouth so you suckle at it and moan around him when his gloved hand flies to the back of your head.

“D-dolcezza,” he breathes, burying his fingers in your hair to cup your skull, “Are you s-sure you’ve never done this before?”

You slip him out of your mouth and give him a grin.

“I’m flattered,” you murmur, using your thumb to rub against the vein going down the length of him, “But no. Just watched a lot of porn, honestly.”

He chuffs out a laugh and his head tips back to thunk against the back of his chair.

“Tell me what you want, my love,” you say, “Tell me what you like. Guide me.”

His eyes slip closed and a lazy grin curls his lips.

“Amore you could bite it off and I’d say thank you,” he groans as you lower your lips to suck at the head once more, “But–ah–I want to see what y-your instinct tells you, si?”

When you laugh around him the vibrations make his hips twitch against your mouth, and you take that as permission. Slowly, you slide your lips past the head and down the shaft and you can feel yourself dripping at the way he stretches your mouth. You’re about half way down the length of him and you can feel him petting your hair.

“Bene, amore mio,” he chokes out, “Molto bene. C-can you, eh, take more?”

You’re not sure but you’re willing to try, so you nod as best you can.

“Breathe through your nose, amata,” he sighs and you can feel drool threatening to spill from your lips and tears prick your eyes as you near the base of him. When the head of him prods your throat you swallow around him and the action causes his hips to spasm. Panicked, you jerk backwards - not sliding all the way off but just enough to where you can catch your breath - and you hear him murmuring praise above you.

“Cazzo, so good for me, taking me all the way into that pretty mouth. You’re doing so well for me, bellezza mia.”

His words of encouragement make your clit throb and push you to once again slide your lips down the length of him, dragging your tongue along the underside. This time, when his hips buck into your mouth you’re ready for him, allowing the head to bump the back of your throat as you nose the brown curls between his legs. Gently, the hand in your hair pulls you off him and pushes you back down, and you realize he’s showing you what he likes. 

“Ah, ragazza intelligente mia,” he groans, and you can feel his eyes on you as you begin to bob your head, “My beautiful girl always knows–ah!--what I like. Always–cazzo–so p-perfect for me. J-Just like that. Just like that, amore. J–augh–”

You’ve picked up your pace, the wet sounds between the two of you pornographic as you hollow your cheeks and suck. The hand unoccupied with gripping his cock, slides under your skirt where you find yourself soaked.

“That’s it,” Copia grunts, “Touch yourself, amata mia. L-Let those sweet fingers–hnngh–rub that pretty little clit.”

You do as he asks, moaning sloppily around his cock as you flex your hips into your hand. His grip on your hair tightens as he begins directing the movements of your head once more, fucking up into your throat and making you gag around him.

“Close,” he pants, “So close, a-amore. C-can I cum down your throat? Me lo permetterai? Please, please, please.”

As best you can, you look up at him and make eye contact. You imagine what he must see between his knees - you with your mouth stuffed full of him, mascara running down your cheeks, and your fingers frantically rubbing at your clit under your skirt - and the thought alone makes you cum, moaning around him and your hips bucking. You nod frantically as you continue chasing your own high and with one, two, three thrusts of his hips Copia empties himself in your throat. The way he holds you steady as his cock twitches in your mouth has you clenching around nothing, desperate for more of him. When he removes his hand from the back of your head to cup your cheek as he pants wildly, you slowly slide off of him and rest your cheek on his trembling knee. You’re only half aware of the way he tucks himself back into his trousers and gently eases you up by the shoulders to sit in his lap. You brush your thumb along his cheekbone and lean in for a slow, deep kiss. He hums contentedly into your mouth and you pull away with a cheeky grin.

“Like the taste of yourself, amore? Filthy thing.”

He tilts his head back and laughs at your echoing of his words said only days ago during your first time together. You lean in and brush noses with him, moving to kiss him once more when the door flies open to reveal Terzo.

“I am here to discuss the gala fra–oh.”

The Papa’s eyes flick between the two of you and the smeared paints on both your lips.

“Ah, a little afternoon delight for my topolini, huh? Tell me was it on the desk? A classic, I–”

“Fuck off, Terzo,” you say.

His face falls.

“No, you don’t mean that bella. You–”

“She said fuck off, Terzo Emeritus. Now.”

Terzo schools his face into an expression of outrage but you can tell he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“Very well, just don’t come crying to me when Imperator asks why your work isn’t done, huh?”

“You mean your work, sì?” Copia says, giving him a look. Terzo lets out a nervous laugh.

“Ah, yes. Well. Perhaps I’ll just take this–” Terzo says, grabbing a thick manila folder labeled GALA “--and get back to ah, fucking off. Ciao ciao, topolini.”

With a flourish, he’s gone.

“Really should have locked that door,” you muse quietly, “Anyone could have come in.”

“Anyone did come in, amore,” Copia laughs, “But not only did you eh, soothe my worries, you inadvertently got Terzo to do his fucking job. Promise me you’ll come see me at lunch more often, sì?”

“Not just for the blowjobs?” you ask innocently, flicking the jeweled grucifix on his chest.

“Next time it’s your turn,” he says, gloved hand inching your floral skirt up your thigh.

“Hmm well last I checked,” you say, looking at your watch, “It’s only half past noon. Plenty of time for you to eat.”

He grins at you.

“You know Terzo was right,” he says, urging you to stand and hop up on the worksurface in front of him.

“Oh?”

“We have under utilized my desk.”

Your smile splits your face as you spread your legs for him to settle between.

“Good thing I wore a skirt then, hmm?”

He’s already hooking a finger on the gusset of your soaked underwear, pulling it to the side.

“Thank Satan for small mercies.”

“Ave Sathanas,” you sigh as you lie back and let him work his devilry.

[melodic-haze]

how do you feel about sub arlecchino in boss form?

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!boss form!Arlecchino x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Implied that reader has a cock/strap though it can be taken as fingering or oral, whatever's your preference 🤷‍♀️, does this count as monsterfucking, magic bondage??

☆ — NOTES: Arlecchino might be the only spider I will never be afraid of please take her away from me

HOW DO I FEEL??? YOU SHOULD BE ASKIGN HER❗️❗️❗️❗️ Joking I'm unfit as hell so realistically I would probably die but ohhhh I am SO sure I'm gonna at least try

Idk if you guys understand (you probably do if you've seen my other Arle posts) but the thought of absolutely bringing such a powerful being to my knees SOOOO easily even though she could like kill me or reverse our positions in less than a second is so????? Top it off w the fact that she does it willingly ohhhhhhmygod hold me back or else I'll go insane

But like it's funny when!! The Traveller couldn't do ANYTHING to her and yet the moment you say jump she basically flies

Being allowed to be the closest to Arlecchino's very heart and soul meant knowing every single facet of her being and cherishing her: from her harsh duties as a Fatui Harbinger to her past and the two girls that died with it, only for just one of them—her—to come out of it reborn and alive.

Or at least, almost every single facet of her being.

"I am unsure about this, my love."

"Why's that?"

"You do realise that you are asking me to.. not hold my power back, yes?"

You nodded, "That's what I said."

You had known of her alternate form for a while now. Her unleashing even just a fraction of her true potential, manifesting into the form of a tall sillhouette akin to a spider bathed in crimson and the dangerously oppressive air of nothing but fear. She's used it to show those that oppose her just how unequal the scales are in their battles against her, she is as lethal as she is beautiful...

And you, on the other hand, are curious.

So you brought it up in the midst of your little.. téte-a-téte. A suggestion, of course, nothing demanding because you wouldn't want to pressure your dearly beloved into doing what she didn't want to do—such power did come with a great curse.

Arlecchino was vehemently against it at first, of course. And for good measure too; you KNEW it wouldn't just be a slight increase of strength. But the case you made.. admittedly had a curious appeal. And the power you had over her, the control she had submitted to you? She was willing to do whatever you asked (usually within reason). So she suggested to shelf the experimental matter for now and let her think on it, which you do.

And now, after a few days of consideration on her part, your current situation is the result of such a suggestion.

Your lover looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes, not due to disappointment at your lack of concern for yourself (though actually there may be a little bit of that too) or cold anger at your insistent provocation to get your desired result (she could never be mad at her dearest). Rather, it is due to her flabberghasted state of confusion, "I have said this before but I could hurt you despite it being unnecessary. Why do you risk your life to sate such curiosities?"

"Because I trust you, Peruere."

She stills—you had dropped her title and opted to use her true name instead, a privilege only reserved for a very select few, with one of them dead. When she doesn't speak in turn, you walk up to her and hold both of her hands, dark and cursed yet so very beautiful to your eyes, just like her.

"Just like you trust yourself to me, I trust myself to you." You lifted one of her hands to tenderly kiss her knuckles, "I want to see every single side of you, including the ones you try to keep from me. I didn't run away when you revealed your status as a Harbinger, did I?"

"No."

"Exactly. Plus," you gave her a lighthearted grin, "I haven't necessarily scolded that side of you for hurting your children, have I?"

Her expression relaxes at your remark, though she does look confused—akin to a lost puppy when she tilts her head the slightest bit, "You have done so already, have you not? And it was but a light scuffle, I have taught them well enough that they aren't as injured as they would have been otherwise.. even if their attacks were pitiful."

"Arlecchino!" You chuckled out her title despite the loud bemusement of your voice, "Come on."

Her face never really shows all that much emotion, but you do see the slightly humorous glimmer in her crossed-out eyes, "I speak of the truth. They should have given a better performance."

You rolled your eyes, "That aside," and you give her a soft, reassuring look, "do you feel a little better now?"

She takes another pause.. and then nods. "Yes," she agrees, "I do. But I urge you to tell me if something feels wrong, alright?"

"Of course." You lean in to press another kiss, on her lips this time, before drawing back as fast as you came, "I wouldn't want to worry you further."

And so now you are faced to faced with this monstrous being. But that's what you've been wanting the entire time, isn't it? Lol sorry I'll get out of the weird monologue speak IT ABSOLUTELY IS THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FORRR

You start off slow, obviously—caressing every inch of her. This is new, and you wouldn't want to worry your lover, do you? It's best not to rush into it even though ik you guys just wanna get into it idk 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Your hands graze her skin, your fingers trace new lines and markings.....and if you're a fashion nerd you probably inspect her clothing's transformation too, though you don't really have to be a fashion geek in order to take it off

THOUGH.......actually? Tell her to strip for you, to give you a show. Tell her you want to see her full body bare. I meant what I said when I told you she would willingly follow your every command, as if she were more devoted to you than the Tsaritsa herself, and that includes this

Just lean back and watch her as she slowly strips herself down, every inch of her body visible for you to see. You see her eyes glow crimson too, a physical manifestation of her pyro domain responding to her desire for you

Methinks that in this form specifically, she while she's a lot more strong and a lot more durable, she's also a lot more sensitive bc she'd be much more connected and hyper-aware of everything that's happening. This is my own take on how it feels to be in the form she's in btw idk how it'd work but anyway this means!! A lot of good things for you :3

If you try to put her fingers in your mouth you'll notice that she's warm. And I mean like REALLY fucking warm—her body doesn't stay at that temperature too. As you lick and suck on her digits, you'll notice that her skin, her fingers, get warmer and warmer the longer she watches you and feels you

Not just her fingers too 🥰🥰 if your touch goes down and you feel her cunt, it's HOT to the touch, though not scorching that'd be wild as hell. The shock would probably take you off guard though, and she'll probably be worried at first but like reassure her that you haven't been hurt or anything and that you're perfectly okay!!

Acc reassure her a LOT. Sure, yeah, she's the one that holds the power and she DOES have impeccable control over it, but she doesn't want to risk like yk. Accidentally killing you somehow and essentially throwing away someone so undoubtedly special to her just bc you wanted to monsterfuck out of curiosity 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ like that's such a way to go

Weak domtop reassuring op subbot during sex is like a silly trope I love it can you lot tell I think you can tell

Anyway it's not like she'll leave you to do all the work either; she can't leave you all unsatisfied like that, she wants you happy too :( so her free hand goes all the way down and she returns the favour. She does it amazingly too, like she's very careful with it but the heat on her hands basically does most of the heavy lifting as well anyway, and by now she probably knows of all the different ways to get you moaning out with her 🫶

Going down on her, fucking her is all well and good......but YOU KNOW WHAT YOU CAN DO TO MAKE IT BETTER???? Yk the. When the Traveller couldn't move bc of her pyro web things. That. Except on her. Do you guys like see my vision I hope you do

Having her restrict herself as you go in and out of her in any way you like ougjfhgh.......I think it's the fact that she could just easily dispel it and even reverse it on you bc IT'S HER FUCKING ABILITY and yet she doesn't bc she wants to be all good for you. So she struggles in HER OWN WEB as you're essentially free to do whatever you want with her

Her like. Those extra appendages she has in her boss form too. Some of them are twitching and flailing about as you fuck her silly, others are simultaneously trying to hold you closer to her body, returning the favour even further by touching you everywhere she can AND trying not to hurt you by squeezing you too hard or accidentally burning you or anything

Just the whole struggle to not hurt you but her senses are getting muddled with pleasure I keep going back to this but it's just SOOOO ugh. Yo ugysdont understanddd I'm like probably malnourished so to dom someone who can snap me in half is mmmmmmmmMAN 🤤🤤🤤eys please

God she definitely has more stamina and libido than she already did before too??? Bc of like the heat and the strength increase. So holy fuck you're going to be going at it for AGESSSS.......Not like constantly though, she WILL make you take breaks and that will acc be the ONLY time she uses her web ability thing on you bc she is still concerned for your wellbeing no matter what 🥰🥰🥰

When you're acc all done though, which is. Not for a LONG time, you both kinda sit there, spent (more you than her probably) and her detransformed. Prepare yourself for GODLY aftercare by Father herself 🙏🙏 she like treats you to even more pampering than usual, not letting you lift a FINGER to do anything and her treating you personally if you got any burns at the end of your session

"I care not if you like my fire's sting, my dearest," she gently yet firmly tugged on your arm, "I will not stand for it if such an injury that I accidentally inflicted gets worse."

"Aww..." You sighed goodnaturedly, "I guess at least it makes for a good scar."

"Y/N."

"Whaaaat? I'm right!"

She shook her head, though the corners of her eyes crinkled, "Come here and let me treat you."

As risky as that was on you, not only has your curiosity has been more than sated, but Arlecchino finds herself.. wanting to repeat the experience. Shedding that extra layer of herself in such a moment felt.. much more intimate than usual. It was addicting

That won't be for a good while though—she'd agree to doing it once every few months :3

[moonlit-imagines]

No One’s Sidekick

Jason Todd x teen!reader

warnings: needles and guns and death mentions ya know

a/n: ok i was gonna do headcanons for this but honestly it sparked a lot of inspiration so im actually writing a oneshot for it this is a ONE IN A MILLION CHANCE bc im very picky about when to write oneshots ily. might do hcs also just cuz arkham knight is my passion. (honestly i should have just done hcs idk if i like where i went with this LMAO)

prompt: anonymous: “hi idk if you write Arkham Jason Todd but if if you do is it possible if you can do a Arkham Jason Todd x fem teen reader and reader is his sidekick”

Imagine a life where you had nothing, you were the lowest anyone could go, and you were just a kid. Now imagine that there was someone standing in front of you, telling that same story, and offering you a chance to turn it all around because they knew how it felt to be you.

That someone was Jason Todd. You found each other by chance, somewhere in the Gotham slums. He walked past you down a dimly lit alley full of used needles and rotting trash, noticing a kid just a few years younger hiding from the world. You noticed a guy in a hoodie hiding a nasty scar on his cheek.

He reached out a hand, hoping you’d take it. He saw a look in your eyes that you’d been like this a while. And you might have noticed the same in his. Which is why after trusting nobody for years, you took this stranger’s hand. “I remember when I was a kid waiting in shitty places woth the hope someday it’d change. And it did one day. Someone found me and changed my life.” He explained after buying you a burger and fries.

“Was it for the better?” You asked him with a mouthful of food.

“I don’t know anymore.” He looked shaken himself, and you could tell by the bags under his eyes this may have been a subject that kept him up at night, maybe took up his waking moments, too. “How long have you been alone?”

“Practically forever. Every once in a while I felt like I was on steady ground and then…something always happens.” You sighed, taking a sip of your soda. “But I learned how to get by on my own. I had to. And I have to protect myself.” Jason raised a brow.

“You protect yourself yet you’re willing to go off with a stranger?” He asked, giving you a warm smile.

“Jason, right?” He nodded at the question. “Jason Todd?” His expression dropped. Before he could stammer out a response, you leaned back on your side of the booth and said, “everyone around here knows you one way or another, but everyone thought you were dead after you disappeared.”

“Did you know who I was when you came here with me?” Jason spoke lowly.

“Nope.” You flatly responded. “But I figured it out along the way. You used to live in my building when I was a kid, I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

“3B?” He asked.

“That’s the one. You remember?” You smiled.

“I remember a scared little kid with dirt all over their face no matter what time of day.” You both chuckled. “Wow, it’s been a long time. I guess I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“It’s nice. I just don’t know where to go from here.” You took the last few bites from your meal, averting your eyes from his gaze, nervous for what was to come, but also hopeful. At this point, you didn’t care what you did or where you went, as long as you had some kind of purpose. Spending your youth in sleeping in wet boxes or crashing on a sunken-in, stained couch was no longer something you could stand doing.

“I had an idea. A while ago. But I just didn’t know how to go about it.” He revealed with a long pause, mustering up better details to share. “I dont know. It sounds crazy, but maybe not anymore.”

“Can you get to the point?” You tilted your head, eager for a bit more.

“Yeah, yeah…” He gulped. “I talked to this guy, it was after some really bad shit went down,” he brushed his scarred cheek, “this high-profile assassin wanted to train me—work with me. There are some demons I have to face, but I need some help to get ready.” You stared blankly for a minute, fingernail scratching the tabletop as you thought about his words. “It’s out of the country, somewhere in South America.”

“You’re crazy.” You stated. “I’m in.” Jason’s eyes widened. “Anything to get me out of Gotham. And you’re Jason Todd, I’d trust you with my life, even after all this time.” His expression softened and he kind of chuckled, in disbelief of you and himself.

“I—I guess I gotta go make a call.” Jason knocked his hand on the table. “Go ahead and order dessert, I’ll be back in a few.” He stepped out the front door and opened his phone, scrolling down to a contact labeled “S. Wilson.” It rang twice. “I’m in, and one more will be joining us.”

“I’ll make the arrangements for your travels, stay on the line.” Said Slade, there were faint keyboard clicks. “I have a private jet that awaits you at eight a.m. tomorrow. I will send you the address, don’t be late.” The phonecall ended abruptly and Jason went back to your table, finding you eating a slice of pie.

“Tomorrow morning we get to fly in a private jet.” Jason saw your face light up. “Never been?”

—————

Venezuela was incredible to you, even if it was a bit more humid than you were used to. On the plane ride, Jason told you everything. He didn’t spare one detail, he didn’t care. You were another Gotham City orphan with a dark past and a bright future. You two were ready for anything.

It was grueling. It was incredible. It was nothing you’d experienced before. Which was terrifying. But invigorating. You could tell Jason felt right back in his element, but you were desperately trying to catch up. He’d had much training before this, relevant to the current situation. You’re training went as far as standard Gotham Slums scuffling. Your skills included switchblade maneuvers, aiming for the crotch, running from trouble and climbing from trouble. Nothing like this ever seemed possible for you. But Jason knew what it felt like to be brought from your level to his. And as Deathstroke brought Jason to his level, he’d make sure you’d catch up.

—————

“I think you two are ready.” Slade announced as both of you stood before him. Straight backs, eyes forward, and arms behind your backs. “The plan is to be enacted soon, and you,” he turned his attention to Jason, “it’s up to you what we do from here. Gotham City finally meets its match?” He suggested. Jason nodded his head once and you followed. And so it began, the planning phase.

—————

You looked at Gotham from down below. Smaller than you remembered. The whirring of the helicopter blades lulled you away from reality for a few moments before Jason tapped you, motioning for you to come up front with him. You slid your headset on and heard him begin barking orders at the militia before setting your comms to private. “How’s it feel?” Jason asked you.

“I don’t know, actually.” You replied, doing a final check to make sure your guns were loaded and secured. “What about you?”

“It feels like I’m finally getting my revenge.” His voice modulator sent a chill down your spine and you soon landed in Gotham. The plan went off without a hitch. Gotham evacuated, scum running loose, Batman distracted, and his allies scattered. It was exciting, but something was off. Scarecrow’s plan didn’t sit well with you. It was gruesome, even to you. You never really cared about anyone but yourself, but as Jason lost his humanity, you gained it. “I’ve got your back, y/n. You got mine?”

“Always, Knight.” He chuckled as the chopper began to descend. “Let’s kill the Batman.”

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @summersimmerus // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 // @deanzboyfriend //

[greentrickster]

Okay, all you aspiring writers out there following my blog listen up, I’m about to lore drop something y’all may need to hear.

Now, I’m a Writer, capital letter and everything. It’s not my profession, it’s just what I am, simple as that. I’m thirty-five as I type this, and I’ve been writing for twenty-three of those years. Made the shift from someone who just does essays and stories and stuff for school to someone who Writes when I was twelve and decided, “I am going to write a Novel.”

Which I did.

Took me four years to finish, a hundred pages on Microsoft Word, single space, because that’s how long I thought it needed to be if it was going to be a novel.

And, y’all.

It’s bad.

Like, so bad.

Like, “I’m not even going to tell you what it’s about, only that it exists, this is a chapter of my life to be mentioned in passing, you will see no more, the way is shut, it was made by the dead and the dead keep it” levels of bad.

While I was doing this, I also wrote a lot of poetry. Some of that was okay. One of my ADHD powers is having a very good ear for both rhyme and rhythm, which is enough to get you labeled as the class poet in 5th  grade.

You won’t be seeing any of that either.

It’s not on par with the novel, but like... no one needs to be exposed to my teen-years poetry with the knowledge that that’s what it is.

Being a 1988 model, I didn’t discover fanfiction until about 2006. I was eighteen. The first thing I wrote was an absolute crack!fic that people enjoyed at the time, but which none of you will ever see without accessing the dark web or something similar because I’ve removed it from the legitimate internet. In fact, maybe just kind of treat anything of mine that I wrote before 2010 with extreme caution. And, even then, it’s not until 2014 that we get to my works that are still online which I look back at and go, “That? I’m still really proud of.”

It wasn’t until 2015/2016 that I started seeing myself not as someone who wanted to be a writer, but who already was one.

And it wasn’t until I was a decent start into writing my second mega!fic in 2020 that I looked down and realized that I might be writing something really special. Something that I was so proud of that I didn’t care that it was fanfiction, I was willing to talk to random people about it, because I felt so good and confident about what I was writing.

And that’s actually the point I’m trying to make. When people like me say, “Oh yeah, I’ve been writing for twenty-three years,” it’s not a statement of “Lol, I’m better than you, I’ve been at the top of my game forever, you’ll never catch up.” It’s a statement of, “Writing is a cumulative activity. If I’m good now, it’s because I’ve been doing this for a very long time, maybe longer than you’ve been alive. Look at where twenty-three years of work and practice have gotten me. And, much more importantly... think about where you are right now, and where twenty-three years of work, practice, and life experience will get you.”

Because there are a lot of young writers who I would absolutely consider my equals, don’t think I don’t see you there on AO3 and other places! And that’s what I always wonder when I think of how old you are compared to how old I am. Many of you are so much farther along the path of honing your skills than I was at your age... how much farther along will you be when you’re my age? Keep working at it and you’ll only get better, gain more polish, shine brighter. So many of you are already gems, and it’s my very dear hope that I’ll get to watch you become stars.

[wintersmitth]

I once got called xenophobia for saying that a whole lot of Americans are American centric and frankly culturally imperialistic... I'm American myself, so I guess I'm xenophobic against me and not just... observing something true

Anyway, here's my point in relation to what you were saying

It seems that for many American's it's just impossible to conceive of the idea that no everywhere has American dynamics when it comes to things like race, and that what we see as white might not mean shit

Like... I don't get it, cause it only takes a couple seconds of paying any attention at all to notice things like the discrimination that places like the UK tend to have towards Eastern Europeans, that clearly skin color doesn't really matter there... and... it's also pretty damn clear that for all the talk russia does about "russian speaking Ukrainians" they don't actually give a damn about them cause they see Ukrainians as inferior

Just don't get it, don't get how lefties here can talk about cultural relativism and then not... apply it... and actually... acknowledge that not everywhere in the world has a US cultural lens, that not every dynamic everywhere is the same

Drives me nuts

Also I suppose my real point here is just trying to say that you're so right about all this privilege talk... I've been following since this invasion started, I've been actually paying attention and learning about what russia's been doing since the collapse of the soviet union

And I've also been paying attention to how Ukraine dropped off the map after like... one, maybe two months. News stopped talking about it, and the majority of Americans never were paying attention even then

We had mike johnson dip his hands elbow deep in blood as he refused to put aid up for a vote for month and months

...and then Ukrainians are privileged

"This is how they talk about a white hospital being bombed", they didn't fucking talk about... about the maternity hospital, or that concert hall with "children inside" or... dear god the universe would end before I could write everything russia's done that almost no one in the west talked about

"Imagine if russia did this!" ...they did, not just in Ukraine but in Syria, and Georgia, and Chechnya. I wasn't paying attention back then, but I'm paying attention now, and that's just what the russian military does

Fucks sake, you don't have to compare victims of genocide, you can support them both. The correct number of dead civilians is zero

It feels like I'm going crazy with how noone can understand that... or... more like they're all going crazy and I can't fucking get through to people. Or like... for me even if I didn't already dislike the GOP here, I couldn't vote for them cause of how they treat Ukraine, but meanwhile you have all these people talking about not voting out of spite and... they can't seem to see the russian propaganda oozing out of those words, like literally there's a 100% chance a lot of the "people" saying this are kremlin bots and troll farms (like 2016)

(And bonus complaint, I thought we all cared about Iranians... but... it feels like we forgot them too, and worse still it feels like some people are willing to support the Iranian government to own the US and... I... I really don't fucking know what's wrong with people)

So sorry for the weird and long ask, I just want you to know that I hear exactly what you're saying and you're so right

These people don't get that they're still doing American exceptionalism except we're the best at being bad, and that they make every fucking thing about America always forever

They can't fucking exist without projecting American race politics on to every situation. They can't hear about people being killed in another country without talking about how sad it is for them that this'll be WW3 (it won't... if you were paying attention you'd get how it won't be)

You're right to feel how you do, you're right to say "what privilege?" because there's none. They act like everyone's fawning over Ukraine and giving them special treatment, but I'm watching and I've been watching and we're only barely drip feeding any amount of support and then everyone wrings their hands about if we've upset russia and might get nuked, after all... if we sent you stingers we might get nuked... wait... that's from the start of the war, sorry I meant if you were allowed to blow up russian air bases with US weapons we'll get nuked

It's sick how Ukrainians get treated, and the people who talk about how Ukrainians are treated don't even pay a moment of attention

Slava Ukraine

Thank you for this message.

You are so absolutely right on every account there.

I suppose the most insane thing for me is people comparing genocides. You said right there: the correct number of victims is zero. And honestly I can't expect everyone to fact check everything, but the way people are misusing that damn UN report is malicious. It's meant to undermine our struggles, it plays right I to russian propaganda.

There is so much I got to say, but none if it is a coherent at the moment.

It's infuriating how people on internet go "Look at them talking about white hospital" well first of all this is by far not the first hospital Russia hit. Has been hitting. Word outside doesn't know 1/3 of what is actually happening here.

And then we get vilified for talking about our losses?! That's some privilege.

There's another message in my sitting which I got a few days ago and it is something along the lines "fuck you for telling people to vote for Biden he's committing genocide" and I'm just. Sitting here thinking that I don't want to be genocide either.

Anyhow. Yeah lots of Americans are so self centered it's insane. Even marginalized group, who seemingly should know a thing or two about never being listened to, brush away our words like nuisance. A few weeks ago I told some American scholar on twitter that writing USA has a war on its land is disrespectful to us living in actual warzone and got shut up with "white people always talk over black folk". The exchange had nothing to do with race. It's just systematic brutality and a threat of dying from a missile are different dangers ya kno.

Anyway, thank you for this message.

[chaoticjjcakes]

Ok, so I’m gonna go on a little rant on here.

I’m a marvel comics fan, my favorite comics were the young avengers comics and absolutely loved the dynamics between the characters. I particularly loved Tommy Shepherd, also known as Speed. Out of the entire lineup of Young Avengers, I somehow saw a piece of myself within his character. But his treatment in Marvel Comics definitely leaves something to be desired. Especially with the whole thinkfast breakup which is is my last straw.

First of all, the writers reasoning for breaking breaking Tommy and David up is ABSOLUTE HORSESHIT! Tommy has no connections to the x-men, no connections to Krakoa, ITS NOT EVEN CONFIRMED IF HE AND BILLY ARE MUTANTS OR NOT! (Which is a whole other ballgame I don’t wanna get into) Their reasoning is flimsy at best and bullshit at worst because of this, and it gets even worse when you introduce a new love interest so soon after they break up OFF PANEL with a seemingly insulting dig at Tommy within the comic.

Second of all, I’m worried how this will affect Tommy’s appearances in comics. The last time we saw him was the scarlet witch and quicksilver miniseries. He barely, if ever gets any appearances anymore and the ones he does show up in, he was with David (Which is probably why the writer thought Tommy was an X-men connection). Tommy is frequently left out of major story arcs and team-ups, leading to me feeling that he is somehow forgotten by the writers and creators at Marvel. While Tommy has been a part of the Young Avengers, he is often overshadowed by other more prominent characters like Kate Bishop, America Chavez, Cassie Lang who’s with Antman, Noh-Varr whos with the guardians of the galaxy, his mother, his uncle, even his own twin brother! He’s often underutilized as well and when he is there, he’s just the goofier version of quicksilver.

Third, we barely get any sense of actual character from him and in moments we do it’s just immediately dropped. First example: scarlet witch and quicksilver #3, where he actively mentioned Davids supposed death (cuz he definitely didn’t know that David was actually alive? I’m kinda confused about this?) and he seemed to be kinda disassociated from with stating he wasn’t there until Pietro snapped him out of it. This isn’t the first time someone has died and Tommy wasn’t there. He finds his mom’s dead body before Trial of Magneto and later in issue 1, seems disassociated when talking with Kevin. In the infinity comics, he states that people always forget about him. I see that he probably often finds himself overlooked and underutilized within the vast universe of superheroes.

Just to headcanon with fact: It’s somewhat implied he may have been neglected. I mean we barely know anything about his life before except that his parents were divorced and he was in and out of juvie until he was a teenager. Considering that they didn’t give a shit about him, leaving their child alone to the court system, and then not contacting him. (Though I doubt he would want that.) He so desperately wants a family, and he sees that in the young avengers, in the magnet family (even if they’re a little fucked up, they’re infinitely better). The team breaks him out, and a kid who looks exactly like him says they’re brothers and this powerful witch is their mother. He doesn’t want to believe it. He can’t believe it because that means he has another family that actually cares about him. Then they find out about everything Wanda went through and he takes in the connection even further. The team goes on a few missions and find out they could save his mom, and then they go through trauma via teammates dying and and the avengers/x-men fighting over his spirit mom. The team decides to breakup, he doesn’t want this to happen, the only thing he has being taken from him, he doesn’t want this to end. But it does, and it hurts, especially because his brother is willing to let go of it so easily. And it’s even harder because he’s living with him, his boyfriend, and other family who’s too nice and so he leaves and no one apparently cares. He goes on with heroics alone, working jobs, meets David and recruits him for a stakeout, then gets kidnapped by an entity. He then comes back almost a year later and has to take it in stride. He goes through so much traumatic and sad shit and either no one cares or they’re too busy. He doesn’t have much support. David seemed to be the only support he had and they’re broken up now. Wanda has her own shit, Pietro has his own shit, Billy has his own shit. HIS OTHER TEAMMATES HAVE THEIR OWN SHIT!

I’d imagine he’d have some type of resentment towards everyone, especially Billy. He has the perfect husband, perfect family, has a great relationship with their spiritual mother, and has unimaginable power. In the infinity comics master pandemonium seemingly implied Tommy has some kind of powerful potential, but we haven’t seen that yet. They haven’t even made any foreshadowing towards that. But I’d imagine after the whole break up with David, he’d have a mental breakdown from all the shit he went through. His boyfriend dying twice while he wasn’t there, after the second time David breaks up with him then gets a new boyfriend almost immediately (I don’t know the timeframe, I’m sorry), I’d crack too.

Considering all of this I introduce the following options:

1.) Put him in a new team. Have him be apart of a new team of youngish heroes, or better yet make him a mentor. He’s great with kids. I can’t think of any actual teams he could be on, but just let him be a part of a team. Please?!

2.) Have him interact with more characters. Have him interact with his family more. Wanda, Pietro, Lorna, Billy, fucking Magneto and Luna, give him more interactions with them. Have him mention talking to Kate Bishop. OR ELI BRADLEY ANOTHER CHARCTER YOU’VE SEEMINGLY FORGOT MARVEL!

3.) Give him his own miniseries. Or a fucking arc. I wanna see my baby do something cool, not play second fiddle to Billy for once. Billy gets several different comics to appear in and has so much power. Give Tommy a power upgrade like in the fanfics. Develop his powers more, like those headcanons where he could manipulate time and space. If the writers on ao3 can do that, you can do it too. Or better yet, have him be an antihero, that would absolutely fit him better. Didn’t he literally kill people when he first appeared? Have him be a bit more violent when dealing with bad guys. Not completely sociopathic, just a bit chaotic.

Anyway, please stop sleeping on Tommy Shepherd Marvel, he has so much more potential, you don’t even know.

Thank you for listening to my Ted-Talk!

Edit: Another thing I’d like to add to this is the fact that in other universes, Tommy is the magic twin…

Or Billy and him have unimaginable power…

So I know that Marvel can explore this. No excuse to just throw Tommy to the wayside like this while Billy gets all the glory.

[fever-project]

I’m not DEAD, Daniel (2904 words) by FeverProject Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, Danny Phantom Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Danny Fenton & Wild (Linked Universe) Characters: Danny Fenton, Wild (Linked Universe), the rest of the LU gang are also there but they aren’t important Additional Tags: This isn’t crack but it sure is silly, very much so for me, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Tired Danny Fenton, Wild (Linked Universe) is a Little Shit, might be ooc hopefully not, Misunderstandings, just a little bit Summary: DPxLU crossover because I couldn’t help myself. Surprised I didn’t do this earlier considering gestures at my everything Wild has an encounter with the Ghost King. It is definitely an experience.

Uhhh fanfic, yeah. I’m going to explode. Art

Enjoy 👍

▼

Wild was bored. Which wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, but it was one that he hated. It was night time now and he was supposed to be asleep, just like everybody else in the inn. But he wasn’t like everybody else, he already slept for 100 years straight, sleeping was only useful to him if and when he wanted to be more healthy. And sleeping every night was generally considered to be healthy, but Wild didn’t care, he needed to move.

Out the window he went, quiet as a mouse. Hopefully no one would notice he was gone, and that he would be back before morning came. But there was an entire forest nearby to explore, and he felt like he could-no, should explore to his heart’s content. The wilderness called to him, beckoned him in. That’s what he kept repeating to himself in his mind anyway, as a way to reassure himself, that as a hero who had saved Hyrule, sneaking out at night and potentially worrying the other heroes wouldn’t be a stupid thing to do. Zelda would’ve thought otherwise, and he knew that, but tried not to think about it too much.

The forest was mostly quiet, save for things like the chirping of birds and crickets. The faint rustling of trees was like music to his ears. There was a light breeze, which felt nice against his face as he ventured further into the forest. He tried his best to walk in as straight of a line as he could, to more easily find his way back. He really wished his Sheikah Slate worked properly in this time, maps made everything much easier. But then he would have to go searching for those towers, and while as fun as they were to activate, took up far too much time, much more than he and his group were currently willing to spare.

Wild was suddenly on edge. That odd shapeshifting, Lizalfos-looking, portal opening thing was still out there. Not to mention the black-blooded monsters that thing infected. Wild sighed as walked, now paranoid and frustrated. After a few moments of that, he finally gained enough brain cells to figure out that he should probably head back. With another sigh, which was more of a groan, he spun on his heel, turning around to make his way back to the inn.

Soon enough, something in the air…shifted, he couldn’t tell what. An oddly familiar yet unnatural feeling enveloped his senses as the sky started to turn into an odd shade of pinkish purple. The few clouds up in the sky, only a slightly lighter shade than the sky itself, swirled around above him, as the space in front of him split. Wild felt his heart drop and his breath leave his body as the rift continued to grow. Green glowing light bleed out from it, lighting up the trees and grass and him. Something was happening, something bad, and it was targeting him. He stumbled back, he had to, he had to get away and yet. And yet. It was calling to him. It was scaring him, the world behind the rift hated and loved him all the same.

Wild had to escape.

Wild tried to breathe, in and out, slowly, calmly, he looked for a way out. Trees, there were only trees and more trees and bushes and grass and even more trees-slowly, in and out, his breathing, his breath. He was alive, and he was going to make sure he would stay that way, bright green portal notwithstanding. The portal was growing bigger, quickly, but not as quick as Wild’s mind was when it was panicking. Maybe that meant that panicking was a good thing. Wild almost stopped panicking completely once he realized how stupid that thought sounded. His panic swiftly returned when a white boot stepped out of the portal. When matching white gloves also came out, Wild went to get out his sword and shield, fumbling with his slate as the person emerged from the rift, it closing behind them soon after.

“Excuse me?” The person asked, their words 

echoing, despite the conditions for that to logically happen simply not existing here. Wild stiffened, having only gotten his sword out. But he knew deep within his soul that it wouldn’t be very effective against the higher being standing before him. Yet his grip tightened despite that. He wouldn’t run away, not now, he would try his best to fight this being off if he had to. And if that failed, he would retreat, tactically.

The being was dressed in an odd black and white outfit, having tan skin and white hair. Their bright green eyes, glowing body, and their crown that was literally on fire were very clear signs that this person wasn’t anything he’s seen before. Not to mention the hovering. And the portal they just came out of. And the weird voice-and Wild needed to start focusing on the situation at hand.

The being raised their hands up defensively, “Hey, put down the sword, I’m not looking for a fight,” they said, “I’m just. Looking for someone, yeah.”

“Uh huh,” Wild dumbly nodded, keeping his eyes on them.

“Right, okay, let me just-“ they looked around, suspicious at their surroundings, “-okay, don’t tell anyone you saw me, or that you saw this. Actually, it doesn’t matter, forget what I just said.”

Wild nodded again, watching as a ring of light came out of their waist, enveloping them as they donned a more hylian appearance. They had even odder clothes on in this form, baggy and worn. Their skin was paler and their hair was pitch black. They looked like death in the form of a teenage boy.

“Are you Death?” Wild asked blatantly. Listen, he was curious, he need to know this. The being raised an eyebrow at him, confusion evident on his face. “Like,” Wild scrambled to rationalize his less than rational thought process, “I don’t know, you seem scary? And corpse-like? Are you dead? Am I dead-well, no, I can’t be dead, that would be silly, ha. But are you?”

“Well I am the Ghost King, king of ghosts,” they said plainly, with a shrug, “Name’s Danny, Danny Phantom, and that’s really all you know about that. Listen-“

“Aren’t you like, twelve?” Wild knew they probably weren’t twelve, but this ‘Ghost King’ guy looked pretty young.

“What? No! I’m not twelve, I’m like-“ they pouted, like a twelve year old, snapping their fingers in thought, “older than you!”

“Oh yeah, I’m-“ Wild stopped, wondering if it would be smart to tell the Ghost King that he’s technically one hundred and seventeen years old. “I am at least seventeen! And I look like it as well.”

“You’re the same height as me.”

Wild looked at the ghost, glared at them, walking a bit closer to them. He placed his hand on top of his head and moved it forward, towards the Ghost King’s head. His hand brushed against their hair, but it clearly didn’t reach the top of their head. Wild grinned, well, wildly at the sight of being taller than them. They looked unimpressed.

“You’re the one acting like a twelve year old you know,” Danny scoffed, pouting.

“Says the pouter.”

“Look, can you just help me find this guy, since you’ve clearly calmed down now.”

“And why should I?”

“I’ll make your afterlife terrible otherwise.”

“Fine, I’ll help, gosh,” Wild was probably going to help anyways, he liked helping people. He just wanted to be annoying. “So, who and why?”

“Great! So, I’m looking for this guy named Link,” oh no, “Clockwork-he’s a time ghost, don’t worry about him-told me that he was hoping around other times with other guys also named Link.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well-okay, you’re annoying so I’m just going to ignore that-“

“Time isn’t real.”

The two stared at each other, and Wild both wanted to punch himself in the face, and thought he was the funniest man alive. Danny seemed to think the same way too, with their bewildered expression suddenly turned into one holding back a lot of laughter.

“Al-alright, that was good I’ll give you that,” they chuckled, “Anyways, I’m looking for this specific Link because they’re supposed to dead, and I’m supposed to like-do something about that. I think I have a picture of this guy that Clockwork gave me, hold on.” They stuffed their hand through their goddess forsaken chest, and rummaged around like their own body was a mere storage container. Wild was instantly jealous of them. Sure he had his Sheikah Slate, but it wasn’t a part of his body.

Wait, Danny had a picture of him. Oh no, they were going to kill him. He didn’t need them to say word for word that they were going to kill him, but Wild didn’t know what else they could do to him. He needed to be on his toes and hone his quick reflexes in order to survive this ordeal.

“Annnd-nope, that’s my thermos-here it is!” They pulled out a piece of folded paper, and just as they started to unfold it, Wild snatched it from their hand and shoved it into his mouth.

“Wha-WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!” Danny shrieked, hands on the side of his head, horrified.

“‘Cause,” Wild responded in a muffled voice, chewing the paper. Tasted inky.

“Okay, you are definitely the weirdest person I’ve ever met, an I know a ghost who whole personality is boxes, just boxes. Actually, I don’t think he’s that weird compared to some other fruitloops I know of-but that doesn’t matter, spit that out!”

“No.”

“You are acting like a twelve year old-no, even twelve year olds wouldn’t do this, you’re five.”

Wild gasped, photo smushed to the side of his mouth, in between his cheek and teeth so it wouldn’t fall out.

“You’re just mad I’m right.”

“Nah uh!”

“Then how about you spit that out, like a normal, seventeen-you’re seventeen right?” Wild nodded, “Right, like a normal seventeen year old would, or I’ll phase it out of your mouth by force.” Wild did not like sound of that. So he spit out the photo, the slobbery mess falling onto the grass. Even Wild was grossed out by what he had done. Danny clearly was.

“You’re going to have to unfold that yourself, I’m not touching that,” Danny looked sick.

“Yeah, that’s fair, I’ll do that,” why wasn’t the paper metal, then he could use his Sheikah Slate to pick it up. Good thing he had some spare gloves stored in it, so it was fine, it’s fine. He started to unfold the paper, Danny peering over his shoulder, both with matching disgusted expressions. Wild was right about the contents of the drawing. His face, blast scars and all, was right there. Wild looked at Danny. Danny looked at him. Wild wanted to punch them in face and run off, but they are a ghost. But Wild still slowly raised his free hand into a fist, retaining eye contact.

Danny began to speak, “So-“ Wild swiftly punched them in their face, and skittered backwards, trying to look for a way back to the inn safely. The ghost had stumbled back, clutching their face in pain.

“Huh, so you can punch ghosts,” Wild noted.

“You can definitely punch this ghost,” Danny rubbed their hurt nose, “Didn’t even get me a chance to speak.”

“Please don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Oh.”

“Bet you feel stupid now, don’t ya?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

Danny sighs, pinching their nose, not in pain this time, but annoyance. “So,” they started again, “what I’m trying to do is get you on the ‘Supposed to be Dead but Came Back Anyways’ census. Basically, the name’s a work in progress.”

“And…I’m supposed to do something about it?”

“Kinda? Look, just sign here, and I’ll get out of your hair.” They pulled out another piece of paper out of their chest, with already had a few other names on it in neat little boxes. Wild couldn’t read any of those names, but Danny probably could.

Wild’s face scrunched up, trying to think about what he should do next. They hadn’t really explained their reasoning for any of this, so he still didn’t trust them too much. Maybe this was some elaborate ruse to kill him.

“Will me signing this ‘census’ give me any benefits-will it give you any benefits?” Wild pointed accusingly at Danny.

“Well, are you dead?”

Wild groaned, “I’m not DEAD Daniel,” Wild threw his hands into the air in frustration, “Just use your stupid ghost words to explain to me what I need to do and why.”

“Okay,” Danny squeaked out, “But first off, name’s just Danny.”

“Uh huh.”

“And secondly, I’m doing this because there’s a bunch of ghost legal jargon where your name was already listed on both the ‘dead,’ and then also the ‘not dead’ list after you came back to life. You signing this will help fix that.”

“…Aren’t I time traveling right now?”

“Yes, but it’s still good to note down who had came back to life. Please just make my life easier, this is themost stress inducing part of my job I’ve ever done.”

Wild was starting to feel a bit bad now. So now, with a better understanding of the situation, he took the paper from Danny’s hands.

“Here’s a pen to write with,” Danny gave him a pen from their chest.

“Can all ghosts store stuff in their bodies?” Wild asked as he wrote down his name in the next free box, adding on his title of ‘Hero of the Wild’ in the same box, just to specify things.

“No, but I sure can,” they said with a big smile.

“That’s so cool.”

“I know.”

The two laughed a bit as Wild returned the paper and pen to Danny.

“Well, sorry for not explaining my motivations fully, I’m a bit…tired, ha ha,” Danny rubbed the back of their neck, clearly embarrassed.

“Yeah. Sorry for punching you.”

“Now I’m going to go take a nap. Or sleep for once.” A ring of light enveloped Danny yet again, returning him to his more ghostly form. Then he turned around and held out his hand, before cutting the space there, opening the bright green portal.

“See you in the Ghost Zone, Link! Eventually!” They waved as they stepped into the rift.

Wild waved back, “That sounds pretty ominous, but okay!” Danny laughed at that as he went all the way through, the portal closing soon after. Now Wild was left all alone in the woods.

He needed to get back to the inn.

It took him some time, but he eventually found his way back to the inn. In through the window, as quiet as a ghost, he was back in his room. He flopped down onto his bed, mentally exhausted. He would’ve rather been bored than have had dealt with…whatever that was. Not really, but Wild was certainly ready to go to sleep now, and pray that he wouldn’t have to meet that Ghost King ever again. Not because he was scared, but because he was a bit embarrassed about what happened. He acted a bit stupid there. But none of that mattered now. All that Wild had to do now, was to sleep.

ー

“Has anyone seen the champion yet?” Time asked, looking over the group that were all hanging around the inn’s dining room.

“Nope,” Warriors said with a pop, “He’s likely still asleep.”

“But I’m hungry,” Wind whined, “Captain, do you know how to cook?”

“I know how to make things edible and nutritious,” Wars plainly answered, receiving a few groans from various Links.

“We could just have the food they serve here,” Twilight suggested.

“Champ’s better,” Four retorted.

“How about we all wait a bit longer,” Time said, “It hasn’t even been half an hour since we woke up after all.”

They all muttered their agreements, and choose to occupy themselves with taking count of their resources for the time being. A few more minutes passed before Legend noticed something.

“Hey guys, I think I see the champ coming down right now,” Legend pointed at the staircase, and the other heroes scrambled to see their resident chef stumbling down the stairs.

“Are you doing alright?” Hyrule asked.

“You seem exhausted,” Sky added.

“Ye-yeah,” Wild yawned, stretching his arms, “Ghost problems and all that stuff.” He set out to make some food for his companions, who were looking at him with confusion and concern.

“Ghost problems?” A few of them asked at once.

“Is this place haunted?” Wind looked around with an excited grin on his face.

“Nope, but I sure got haunted in the woods out there,” Wild waved in the vague direction of where the forest was, “Now I’m going to make something to eat, want some?”

Of course they wanted some, food was important. They continued to ask questions about the ghost, but Wild didn’t answer, he didn’t feel like it. Maybe in like, two days he would. But for now, he just wanted to eat some Vegetable Risotto, maybe with a few Endura Carrots thrown in as well. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to deal with that Ghost King again anytime soon. At least, hopefully not before this time traveling adventure ends.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for fudging dice rolls in D&D?

For the past few years, I've been playing D&D with a group of other people every week online. I try to be honest about my dice rolls, but I lie about the numbers in certain circumstances. We use our own dice, so nobody can actually see what I roll. I sprinkle extra +1 and +2 in sometimes if it seems to be really necessary, usually for saving throws and once for rolling character stats (I replaced one number that was terrabad).

But the main one is death saving throws. For those who don't know, if your character drops below 0 HP in D&D, they are at risk of dying unless you roll a number greater than 10 on your 20-sided dice three times. If you roll less than 10 three times before you roll greater than 10 three times, you are dead, the end. I am willing to go through whatever the DM puts me through, just not my beloved tabaxi cleric blorbo dying, so if there's at all a chance that might happen I just fudge the rolls and make sure I don't reach 3 failures before 3 successes.

Now, this is technically against the rules of D&D, but I justify it to myself because literally none of the players at the table, including the DM, actually want the character to die. The DM has expressed this on previous occasions where I had to roll a saving throw. D&D is good for my mental health (I am a pretty anxious person) because it gives me something to look forward all week, and I think my OC dying would take all the joy out of it. And, all the players are working together for a cooperative goal so it's not like I got some unfair advantage against another player's character, except for bad guy OCs literally made up to die.

However, I do think that if the DM found out, it might hurt their feelings. So this instinct to worry about it has made me think I might be doing something actually harmful.

TL;DR: I lie to the other players at the D&D table if I think it's necessary to save my OC's life. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Series Masterlist

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Chapter 11

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA. Please venture forth with caution. Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; injury.

A/N: I don’t know why but I feel like Daryl is extremely OOC in this chapter. Maybe I’m just being a bully to myself. I’ll try to rein him back in with future chapters. I’m sorry.

Daryl’s feet carried him at a slow pace, seemingly knowing where he was headed. He ended up outside of the cell Hershel would use for medical purposes. Reluctantly, he tapped his knuckles against the bars and waited for the veterinarian to invite him inside. 

The curtain was moved aside and Daryl noticed the absence of you and Carol immediately. “She okay?” He asked gruffly, not willing to show any fondness toward you. You likely knew exactly how he felt, at least in a physical sense. He didn’t need everyone else donning those knowing smiles like they had any clue of the turmoil he was battling inside. 

Hershel stood with the help of his crutches and hobbled his way to the archer. “She’s just fine. A little shaken up but that’s to be expected for someone with her background. She said she was going back to the fences.”

Daryl nodded. “Okay then.” He turned to leave— to find you —pausing when a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. 

“She trusts you, you know.” Hershel said with his gentle smile. The hunter enforced his unreadable mask. “She has a lot of fear and rightfully so. But she trusts you.”

“She shouldn’.” Daryl replied, blue eyes dropping toward the floor before he presented another nod and left the cell. It wasn’t that he didn’t want your trust. He didn’t deserve it. The archer knew what had been done to you, yet when he lay awake at night, it was you that he envisioned while stroking himself to the precipice of pleasure. 

It was wrong.

It was immoral to fantasize about how it would have felt to have you that night beside the fire. You were willing but it wasn’t real. You wanted him because of obligation, not because you felt anything toward him. Not even because you just needed to be fucked. But because you had been brainwashed to think that was what you were supposed to do. 

Guilt sat like a stone in his gut and he didn’t know how to process it; how to move past it. Maybe training you— building you up to take care of yourself —would absolve him. He could give you that, asking for nothing. You could move forward with knowing that someone could show you kindness with no strings attached. 

Daryl heaved an intensive sigh and stepped outside. You would be waiting for him with those wide, pretty eyes. When he was closer to his destination, however, he found that you weren’t there. He continued regardless and collected your knife, slipping it behind his belt. You had probably wandered off with Carol when he didn’t show. It was probably for the best. 

He was about halfway back to the prison door when he saw Carol exiting. Alone. Something didn’t sit right. “Hey!” He called out, waiting for her to find him when she began looking around. 

“Hey, yourself!” She shouted back. 

“Y/N with ya?” 

“I thought she was with you.” 

Fuck. Carol’s expression mirrored his own, communicating without speaking as they often did. “I’ll check the cells.”

“I’ll check the towers.”

Daryl hated running. It was all he had done since the world ended. He ran for his life or someone else’s. The latter only amounted to anything half the time. “Y/N!” He yelled the minute he stepped foot inside the prison walls. 

Beth stepped up to the cellblock door with baby Judith in tow. “What’s the matter?”

“Y/N been in there?” He asked breathlessly. 

“I haven’t seen her. She doesn’t spend a lot of— Daryl! What’s going on?” The young blonde yelled at his retreating form. 

He didn’t answer, didn’t even stop when he snatched up his crossbow and sprinted back outside. If you had gone beyond the fence, you were as good as dead if he couldn’t get to you in time. Carol had forbidden you to enter the tombs. Surely you wouldn’t have. Would you?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the door. Either scenario would mean death if he didn’t act quickly. The thought alone left a hollow ache in his chest that he was too panicked to give any attention. 

You stood less of a chance in the tombs. He would start there and pray to some deity that he made the right call. His fingers had hardly brushed the door when his keen hearing picked up a sound. A shout. Daryl froze, tilting his head to listen. There was no other noise but his gut told him he needed to go investigate. 

He kept his steps light but quick, crossbow loaded and ready to aim. The closer he got to the opening in the outer wall, he could hear voices. Two males. 

“Don’t fuck it up too much, man.”

“Looks like someone already did that.”

Daryl’s back was pressed to the wall, about to lean around the corner for a look. The voices belonged to two men that had been allowed in that very day. Lonny and Marvin. He hadn’t felt right about them but Rick vouched for them along with the rest of the group. They could be engaged in innocent conversation, but something about the whole thing was making the archer’s teeth itch. As discreetly as possible, he peered around.

In a span of mere seconds, Daryl went through an onslaught of three intense emotions. Firstly, he was in shock. You were facedown on the concrete, blood pooled around a portion of your head while your nails scratched at the concrete. Then came the guilt. There was the smallest whimper accompanied by an utterance of ‘ow’ that made his eyes sting. Lastly, came the anger. No, it was fury. The men had ripped off the clothing from your lower half. Marvin had a hand pressed hard into the middle of your back while his other hand moved aggressively between your legs. Lonny stood just behind him, stroking his cock with the most vile expression Daryl had ever witnessed. 

He didn’t hesitate to step around, crossbow level with his eyes. The weapon trembled in his grip. His blood was boiling just underneath his skin. “Ya got less than one goddamn second ta move away from her ‘fore I put a bolt in yer brain.” The low growl of his tone added intent to an already very clear threat. 

Lonny moved first, releasing his dick to put his hands in the air and step back a few paces. Marvin hadn’t moved, actually smirking at Daryl. The archer gritted his teeth, really really restraining himself. 

“Daryl.” 

It was the tiniest whisper of a breath and the anger disappeared in an instant, his expression shifting, softening. “M’here.” 

“This here your pussy, man?” Marvin’s arm moved, bringing three blood-coated fingers to his lips. “I mean, maybe we could work something out and sha—”

The bolt pierced through the side of his middle finger, into his mouth, and out through his cheek. The screams were bound to bring reinforcements, not that Daryl needed them. His blue eyes shifted to Lonny. The man hadn’t moved and continued standing stock still while another bolt was loaded. 

“Ya got any propositions fer me, asshole, cause yer givin’ me a helluva target.”

Lonny shook his head vigorously. 

Daryl glanced down, wanting nothing more than to run to your side but he couldn’t let his guard down. Not yet. 

“Both’a ya, back the fuck up.” The archer stepped forward and Lonny stepped back while Marvin continued to scream. 

“Oo choht ee ehn uh ouhth!” He attempted to complain while using the hand that wasn’t bolted to his jaw to clamber to his feet. Daryl took another step forward. 

“I said BACK!” He roared. His patience was wearing thin. Marvin finally reacted and stumbled away. 

“Daryl!” Carol called from just around the corner. 

With help so close, Daryl abandoned the crossbow and dropped down beside you, stripping off his vest to at least provide a little coverage for you. 

“Hey, ya with me?” He placed his hand on your back as gently as possible, bending forward so you could see him without the need to move. Carol, Rick, and others had arrived and were handling the men but the archer was paying them no mind. The moment your eyes blinked open, you were his sole focus. 

“I… I…” You attempted before your face contorted in pain. 

“Need ta getcha inside. Getcha ta Hershel.” He was trembling again, anger threatening to resurface amidst all raised voices. Keeping his hand on your back, his wild gaze searched out Rick in the flood of people. “Get ‘em the fuck outta here!”

“Hey, hey. Calm down.” Carol kneeled on your other side, sweeping your hair away from your face. It took Daryl a moment to realize she was talking to him. He nodded, gaze back on you. You hadn’t moved but your eyes remained open. “I’m gonna get a blanket.” 

The archer nodded again, leaning back down after she had gone. “Yer gon’ be fine. Yer safe.” A broken sob escaped from your lips, the sound ensnaring his heart and squeezing. You moved as if you were going to push yourself up, sending Daryl into a panic. “No, don’. Stay still. M’a getcha there. Jus’ another minute.” You didn’t respond but the quiver of your lip told him you were still conscious. 

The hunter heard the pounding of Carol’s boots well before she appeared with an off white sheet. His vest was tossed aside, giving him the briefest look at the blood smeared on your inner thighs. He knew then that he would murder someone that day. But you came first. 

“Roll her this way.” Carol instructed, helping him move you into a position from which he could easily lift you. “Easy, easy.” 

You gasped and whimpered and tried to curl in on yourself. It was all Daryl could do to keep you still. Once you were on your side, Carol brushed your hair back again. You flinched at her touch. 

“You…you promised.” 

His friend looked as if you’d punched her in the gut, a hand flying to her mouth; her eyes heavy with gathering tears. “Get her to Hershel.” She commanded softly. 

Daryl slipped an arm under the curve of your neck and slid down to your shoulders while his other maneuvered under and around your thighs. When he lifted you, a broken cry worked its way from your throat. He was left cradling you awkwardly but you were shielded by the blanket and he could make the position work in order to get you inside. His feet were moving before his brain even registered he’d given the order. 

“Daryl.” You whimpered. Your fingers, with their broken and bleeding nails, curled into the front of his shirt. “Hur…hurts.”

“I know.” He didn’t know how to reassure you; how to make this better. Carol had promised you a better life there. He had brought you there under the same assumption. If he was honest with himself, he took you out of the frying pan and tossed you right into the fire. His pace continued to increase only to slow when you’d start to cry harder. “Jus’ a lil’ further.” Was that for you or himself? He didn’t know. 

When Carol caught up, she didn’t touch you. Daryl knew it wasn’t out of anger or cruelty. She felt as if she had failed you. He knew that because he knew her better than anyone. 

He knew that because he had failed you too. 

Daryl sat on his mattress, legs outstretched and arms lying limply in his lap. It had been hours since he’d found you. He’d taken you to Hershel and was quickly ushered out due to the location of your injuries. Carol had remained, although unsure if you even wanted her there. 

The archer, with nowhere to release his guilt and anger, had headed straight for the cell where he knew Lonny and Marvin would be kept. Rick had temporarily taken his keys after the former sheriff and Glenn had finally managed to drag Daryl off of both men. 

At least he had retrieved his bolt from Marvin’s face. It was now lying on the floor below his feet. 

He was told to stay back when Carol had come from the medical cell and a decision was made on the fate of the two bastards. They counted his vote which was just shy of flaying them open and tossing vital organs over the fence. He had wanted to ask about you but there was no time. Everyone wanted the issue dealt with and the perpetrators out of the prison, one way or another. 

In the end, they were stripped of their clothing and put outside the fence. Carol wanted them to suffer as you had suffered. Rick had disagreed but was outvoted.  

Lonny and Marvin would now be two more walkers snarling at the fence. 

It wasn’t enough, in Daryl’s opinion. He would have tortured them, willingly chipped away at his humanity to hear them scream; to watch them writhe and see them bleed. Regardless, the anger had given way to all encompassing guilt. He wanted to blame Rick for bringing the assholes in based on the answers to three questions that anyone could respond to with a lie. But he couldn’t. 

He was the sole reason you were even there at the prison. He had gone against Rick and traded valuable assets to free you. He’d never know what would have been the better option for you. Still…

He selfishly wanted you to stay. 

It would never be worth the risk of your wellbeing to explore the urges he had been feeling. He’d never put you in that position; subject you to that confusion. He just wanted you to stay for reasons he couldn’t even grasp himself. What was wrong with him? He didn’t do emotions. It was always easier to remain closed off. 

Footsteps echoed from the bottom of the stairs. Carol. Daryl pulled himself from his defeatism, only to see your blood dried on his arms; his busted up knuckles. 

“Hey.” He didn’t look up. “Brought your vest and crossbow.” 

He still didn’t acknowledge her. He wasn’t angry with her in the slightest. He just didn’t know how to verbalize all he was feeling. He didn’t want to. So, when the mattress dipped beside him, he sighed. 

“Hershel says she’ll be okay. There were…lacerations that will take some time to heal. And she has a nasty concussion.” Carol fiddled with the hem of her shirt for distraction, allowing silence to permeate the room. “She won’t talk.”

Daryl scoffed. “She thinks ya broke a promise.”

“No.” She countered. “She won’t talk to anyone. Just lays there and stares at the wall.”

He hated how that image settled in his chest, causing an unfamiliar ache. How could Hershel say she’d be alright when she had been subjected to behaviors straight out of the hell from which he’d taken her. He couldn’t do more than hum in reply. 

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Nah.” He lied. “Jus’ wanted her ta be safe.” That much was true, at least. 

“I’d like to think I know you better than anyone.” Carol whispered sadly. “And everything in me says that you like that girl.”

“Wha’s it matter?” He would usually snap at her, but he didn’t have the energy; lacked the bite. The memory of you lying there, broken, had stripped all that away. 

“It matters.” She squeezed his shoulder and stood, dragging her feet toward the stairs where she paused. “You should go see her.”

“I ain’t what she needs righ’ now.” Or ever. 

It was her turn to hum. “Maybe you’re exactly what she needs.” 

He listened to her steps fade the further she walked. Carol did know him better than anyone, but that didn’t make what she knew right. He needed to stay away, for your sake and his own. 

So why did he find himself taking a shower to scrub away the blood you didn’t need to see? Why did he walk to the medical cell? And why was he standing in the doorway, staring at your back? 

Now that he was there, he had no idea what he was supposed to say. ‘Hey, sorry ‘bout those two dickheads that took advantage of ya’? Eventually, he chose just to seat himself in the chair behind you and remain silent. He couldn’t be certain if you even knew he was there. 

You looked so small on that table, the thin blanket pulled up to your shoulders. The sheet he had wrapped you in was wadded up in the corner, the crimson splotches scattered like a grizzly design. Daryl’s hands curled into fists. He wished he could have watched the walkers tear into those two depraved assholes. 

He remained that way— a coiled spring of anger and self-loathing —until you stirred. It was the slightest shift accompanied by a nearly inaudible mewl. The archer straightened his spine but otherwise remained still. He still couldn’t understand why he was there; couldn’t even attempt to sort through the sentiments stirring inside. They were slowly consuming him, confounding and confusing in their ambush. All he knew was that you were there, breathing and heart beating, and the sight of you provoked the overwhelming emotions. They threatened to swallow him whole. He’d gladly allow them if it meant he’d gain understanding. 

You shifted again, turning your head slowly to peer at him with tired eyes from over your shoulder. Daryl felt his lungs attempt to freeze while his pulse fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. Carol had said you refused to speak. He wasn’t refusing. He simply couldn’t. He settled with offering a slow nod. 

His breath stuttered when you responded— not verbally —but with a small smile. It didn’t meet your eyes, but it was new and not unwelcome. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair, knuckles white. He wanted to run. This wasn’t him. For Rick, for Carol, he’d do this. He’d stay. They had become friends. No. They had become family. You? You were different. You weren’t an enemy. You weren’t really a friend. You were a stranger, a newcomer. Yet somehow, you had managed to slither your way right under his skin. 

That was terrifying. He’d rather be thrown into a pit of walkers with only a toothpick to protect himself than deal with matters of the heart. He was out of his depth, alone in unfamiliar territory. And at that point, it was sink or swim. 

Daryl cleared his throat. “How, uh, how ya doin’?” He managed to relax enough to free the chair from the death grip. The corners of your mouth turned down, your eyes beginning to shine with moisture as you looked away. The archer didn’t know how to interpret that. “I should go.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, finding himself hesitant to leave you alone. But it was for the best. He shouldn’t have come in the first place. He wasn’t sure what else to say. The silence made him feel even more awkward. 

Hands on the wooden chair arms, he pushed himself up to stand. Grunting was apparently Daryl-speak for ‘goodnight’ or ‘feel better’ but that’s what he went with. It never failed him before. Quick to turn his back, he made it two whole steps. 

“Daryl?”

The archer’s eyes closed, a curse sitting on the tip of his tongue. Of course he’d be the one you chose to talk to. Dixon luck at its finest. He turned his head toward his left shoulder, purposefully keeping his eyes on the floor. 

“Stay?” Your request came softly, but powerful enough to shatter any resolve he had managed to muster within his inner battlefield. Daryl found himself easily turning back to you, taking back those two steps, and lowering into the chair. 

“Okay.”

Taglist:

@royaltysuite @thegeorgiahuntsman @livingdeadblondequeen @deansapplepie @feral4daryl @walker-bait-1973 @lazyneonrabbitt @bizquake @littlelovingideas @ririi-3 @ankhmutes @blackvelveteen1339 @sokkasimp101 @lehhos @1ivinqdeadqir1main @loganlostitall @callmeyn @lilyevanstan1325 @the-lonely-abyss @gutsby @eljaynosine_triphosphate @abbyreedus @wifeof-barnes @bananafire11 @hutchersonsgurl @the-milk-is-rotten @she-could-never @Kenzimae67 @nessa-mayfield @ilovedilfs4eversthings @richardsamboramylove55 @annhells @abi67sblog @nessieart @imgeorgeclooney @brinteylovesaliens @eduardast4rgirl @daryldixmedown @willowaftxn83-87 @atyourmomshouse01 @bultamer @mia051 @memphiscity69 @flowerspetalsthorns @riya12044 @ariacraigggg @morgan556 @carley12041 @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @twdislifee @bae-live-0 @elbellmam @aleemendoza2425-blog @randomhoe @ren9sstuff @pandarooooo-blog @let-love-bleeds-red

[cheshirebitch]

𝔽𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕓𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕘

Alastor x Reader (Oneshot)

It has been sixteen whole days since I last had a conversation with Alastor. It made me feel like I needed a cigarette or two because no matter how long I resist the temptation, I will always lose. Sixteen whole days since I last saw how he can have a genuine smile, how soft he could get, feel his gentle touches, and oh my stars do I miss it.

I walked past him again as he walked the other way in the hotel, our shoulders almost brushing each other. Both our eyes remained looking forward as we ignored each other’s existence. I wanted to stop walking and turn to look at him. It was just a small glance that I was wishing for but my mind wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I tightened my hold on the papers in my hand as I carefully walked to my office, softly closing the door behind me. As my fingers drifted down the black wood door, all I could think of was all the times he carefully drag his claws against my skin, the feeling of his human hands pushing my hair out of the way for him to put a necklace on me, the feeling of him braiding my hair after a hard day.

A tear dropped onto my cheek, cold and damp. Then another dripped down.

“Why can’t I let go of this?” I have done the math over and over in my head, there was just no way for him to ever consider us again. It was all just a misunderstanding but his stupid stubbornness and thick headed nature is blocking it.

My black leather chair squeaked slightly as I dragged myself towards my desk covered in papers. I slowly sorted through them all as I let my brain wander to old memories of Alastor and I. Sniffling and the sound of papers moving sounded loud without the sound of his broadcast in my office. My eyes landed on the radio in the corner of my room, and as I stared at it, I realized it was just as painful to see. My fingers were holding it tightly and before I knew it, I placed it on the ground outside of my office. When I stood up, Alastor was rounding the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. My tear stained face, his radio I used to always only have on his radio broadcast, and my shaky hands. A deep breath of air and a small sad smile as I gently shut my office door again.

My head rested on the door as I closed my eyes and cried silently for a moment, turning back around to continue my paperwork. Then he was standing behind my desk, his staff abandoned in the corner of the room where his radio once was. But as I glanced, I noticed the radio was back.

“Mon Cher…” It was his normal voice, the one I missed so dearly from our days alive. My lip quivered and chills ran down my body. He tensed at my reaction.

”Mi Amor…” Red claws tightened their hold, his back straightening before all of it melted out of his body. His smile twitched.

“It hurts to be something, but it’s worse to be nothing with you.” I breathed out, referencing how we have been treating each other.

“I apologize for causing unnecessary heartache, Mon Cher. I’m willing to listen if you’ll allow it.” My hands twitched, should I? It has been painful for him to just feel betrayed by me, for not understanding when I first tried to explain everything. I just didn’t want him to feel guilty but instead I ripped us apart.

”Will you listen this time or am I better off trying to get back into heaven?” His eyes started to switch into two emotions, regret and sadness. He walked around the desk and slowly reached his hand out to my cheek, wiping a stray tear.

”Please.” Patient crimson eyes danced with my scared eyes.

”When I saw you get shot and mauled by those hunting dogs, I fought the hunter. I begged him to call off his dogs, that you were a human and not a wild animal. By the time we got the dogs pulled off of you, you just didn’t look like you. It was- it was horrible.” My voice broke at the word horrible. My fingers played with his free hand as he was running his other in my hair.

“I tried begging the paramedics to bring you back, even though I knew there was nothing they could do. My heart shattered and remained broken till the day I died, three months after your death. I went out to where you died every night. That’s where I met the same fate as you, I got shot by another hunter.” A breathy laugh left my body as Alastor’s lip curled up in anger towards the hunter who took my life, knowing that bastard was also in hell with us.

”When I woke up, I was in heaven. I got to talk to your mother. She really was as lovely as you described, and boy does she miss her son.” Alastor’s mean mug face wiped into one of grief. I knew how much he loved his mother and wished we could have met.

“After a couple months searching for you in heaven, I found out you were in hell. Then, when I begged to be sent to hell, they refused relentlessly. That was till I found out how to become a fallen angel, and I fell. I’m so sorry, Mi Amor. I should’ve told you the day I fell. I should’ve searched harder for you before I tried to make a deal with Vox.” Tears were falling from my eyes, I couldn’t help but feel that anxiety and heartbreak all over again. The man in front of me didn’t look like my Alastor but still did in an evil way. My hands held his face in mine. Alastor gripped me into a tight embrace as he held me.

“I forgive you for not speaking the truth sooner dear, but please never leave my side again. If you have to ever sell your soul, make sure it is only to me.” I nodded my head as I breathed in his cologne. I missed it for so many months, months that felt like years. My wings spread out behind me before wrapping themselves around Alastor and I.

“I missed you so much.” I whispered against his chest. He kissed my forehead before whispering back, “I missed you most, Mon Cher. Forgive me for being a stubborn old stag.”

(As always, characters belong to their owner and the story belongs to me. If you have any requests or ideas, send them over :)! Just a short angst Drabble I thought of while listening to the song ‘Promise’ by Laufey. I will gladly try to write things for my supporters! Thank you for the love and have a great day <3!)

[angeldustthewhore]

Hello Tumblers and Baddie Fumblers, this is my first attempt at a promo post so please be gentle. 😊

Hazbin Hotel is my current hyperfixation so I figured I'd try and break into the role play scene on this site. 🤗

For obvious reasons, be 21+ ONLY. Mun is 25+ themselves. MINORS DNI. 🤬

Other than being of the legal age to consume alcohol in the United States, my ideal writing partner would be someone who enjoys writing dark and/or dead dove subjects. And although it isn't an absolute necessity to write with me, I do find that when the plot is vanilla for too long I tend to get bored and lose interest. I crave drama. 🔥

I'm happy to write any type of relationship between our characters, be that familial, friends, romantic, enemies, etc. if you can dream it, we can write it. 🌈

I do enjoy writing ERP, but we don’t have to include that if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m also always more than willing to do a ‘fade to black,’ moment. If you do choose to do an ERP with me, by default I tend to make Angel a bratty sub. I can and will write him as a top, but it is not my preference to do so. 😌

As far as ships go, I am willing to write just about any MxM ship. TW: I am what you'd consider a proshipper myself, because I do ship AngelNiss and ValAngel, but I also ship the normal stuff like Huskerdust. I understand that most people find those types of ships repulsive, so I will always use the appropriate tags when posting content of them so that you can block the tags. If that’s a deal breaker for you then I am very sorry, but I can’t stop being me, babes. 🤷‍♀️

I won't personally write Angel as being in a romantic or sexual relationship with a female character because he is canonically gay and I want to respect his sexuality, but if you do that, more power to ya. 🌸

I actually enjoy writing some of the more taboo and weird stuff including dead dove topics such as: incest, mpreg, age gaps, gender swaps, futas, dubcon, noncon, and so on and so forth. So if you want to rp something but you’re afraid of it coming off as strange, please don’t be afraid to reach out. The worst I can say is no, right? ✨

I tend to write multiple paragraphs per reply and in the third person style but I don't mind matching my partner's style instead. 📝

If you’re interested in writing with me, drop a like or DM me and let’s start hitching some kind of plot together! 💙