#windy you are free to correct me on any of this if you get it just know that i have thought about this a Lot

[plethomacademia]

You asked me to send a porny prompt and I’m doing it, I’m putting my big girl knickers on and asking for premature ejaculation, any

And then I am running away lmao

I have been turning this in my head and please forgive me as I use this as an excuse to first draft my uh Astarion premature ejaculation from my upcoming sequel to the tadpole threesome fic. 700 words because I am ill. Tags are uh premature ejaculation, MFM threesomes, double penetration (mouth and vagina), disassociating.

Maeve had shown him a picture like this one the last time they were together, when he had watched her be fucked by Halsin in that little grove. She, of course, would never see herself from this perspective and had gotten many of the details not quite right.

He looks at them in turn: how her breast hang lower than she imagines, rounder at the ends and knocking back and forth like a metronome, rocking at a tempo that he is setting with his hips. She does not realize how much she tilts her hips up towards him, the angle just as eager as how she pushes back into him, just as greedy as the noises she is making with her mouth around Halsin’s cock. She does not know how vulnerable she sounds when she is get stroked just like — yes, just like that, absolutely mewling from just a change in how he pushes his cock against her walls. He hopes she never realizes it. He knows if she does, she will find a way to quash that vulnerability, just like she does the rest.

His last thought clangs in his head. It is windy up here, he realizes now. The air is not cold, but it is not warm. It is the wind of the sunset. He knows that it will get cold soon and they will have to go back inside. And then there will be another night’s rest, another morning of preparation, and then another walk outside to face the end of the world.

“Astarion,” he hears and Astarion realizes that his focus has gone soft. It comes back in a snap and Halsin is looking at him.

Astarion puts on a smile. “Enjoying yourself?” he purrs.

Halsin continues to look at him. “How does she feel, Astarion?”

He looks down at the scattered freckles down Maeve’s back. How does she feel? “You would know, wouldn’t you?” he says as he pushes himself inside her to the hilt, causing Maeve to make a noise around Halsin’s member.

“That I do,” Halsin says. Astarion watches as he stops stroking Maeve’s hair, instead moving to take it up in a handful. He already knows what Halsin means to do, but it is still a shock when the druid pulls at Maeve’s hair and she tightens just as she always does. Halsin uses his grip on her to pull her mouth from his cock and Astarion watches as a string of saliva goes her tongue and his head.

Astarion sees Maeve look up at Halsin with a glint on her eye. Halsin uses his free hand to take his cock up in his hand and Astarion looks at how swollen and angry it looks, nearly bulbous at the tip. He must be close, Astarion thinks, and he feels … Gods, what does he feel?

As if on cue, Halsin says, “Describe it for me.”

Astarion notices that his hips have stopped moving. He corrects this. She feels —

Halsin pulls her hair again and Astarion sucks air through his teeth.

“She feels like the hot greedy cunt that we both know her to be, Halsin,” he says.

He can hear Maeve’s laugh as she tries to snake her tongue out to lick Halsin again but the man holds her steady. He is holding his base in a tight fist — definitely trying not to come, Astarion thinks with a flick of triumph — but after a moment, he begins to gently stroke himself, just a little bit of friction.

Then he speaks. “Personally, I like most when she is about to come. You can feel how she tenses up. First her lip quivers — yes, dear heart,” he says when Maeve huffs, “your lip quivers, then your cunt quivers, then you thighs grip and then just right before you close your beautiful eyes and —“

Astarion does not hear the rest. He pushes into Maeve quickly as an orgasm crashes over him, an earthquake, a tsunami, some other catastrophe that he does not see coming and cannot stop. He makes a noise that he does his best to ignore, but Halsin is looking at him, gods he is always looking at him now.

Astarion looks instead of the woman between them and at his own hand digging into the flesh of her bottom. It will leave a mark.

If you liked that, go read the prequel

[rottendollface]

Like Home.

Character: Strade.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+; female student reader is a naive person with unnamed mental distress, reader is collecting books, OOC, my own headcanons, panic attacks, stressful itching, family abuse, stalking, strong language, killer in love, femininity sexualization, misogyny, sexual violence, CNC, humiliation, eating from a dog bowl, physical violence (including various tortures), description of vomiting, psychological abuse > physical abuse, kidnapping, romanticization, keeping hostage, unprotected sex, painful virginity loss, oral sex (reader giving and receiving), rimming (reader receiving), 69 pose, blood drinking; mentions of: red rooms, cannibalism, necrophilia; Neon Demon spoilers; reader is the first victim kept alive, and Ren doesn't exist here; Easter egg with Celia (The Price of Flesh).

Word count: ~17,500.

A/N: I don't speak German, but I used plenty of words from it here. If you find any mistakes, feel free to correct me ♡.

Strade was watching you through the window of his car: how you looked around before you went down the stairs, then put earphones on your head to muffle the noise of the streets and searched for a needed playlist, while keeping your free hand on your bag, which you had put over your shoulder, as usual. After you found a song, you hid your phone in a pocket before going to the bus stop: looking straight on the ground, you didn't care what was happening around, as you were immersed in your thoughts and worries. It was windy and cloudy, almost raining today, and you hugged yourself, when another cold breeze had blown over you; wind ruffled your hair, so you checked on a green butterfly pin, afraid that it could fall from your head, then you moved your hand to a cheap heart locket, before hugging yourself again; knitted black blouse with long sleeves and low neckline, light green midi skirt with flower print of darker shade and classic black Mary Jane shoes (his mother (or grandma even) would like this style) weren't suitable for a weather like this. For Strade it was amusing to see a young college student dressing up in such outmoded style, but he was honest with himself — your fashion made him notice you. At first he didn't plan anything serious on you and just chuckled to himself: a girl in old-fashioned clothes and with a haunted look in her beautiful, pleading eyes — probably another victim of bullying. Something made him give a better look at you, and he found you attractive, magnetic even, which made his interest light up.

It wasn't in Strade's style to stalk someone, but with you he couldn't suppress such a strange whim of his. You weren't a sociable person: Strade could hardly remember you talking to someone more than a couple of minutes outside your college. During the conversation you were touching your locket constantly: twisting it in your fingers, or adjusting it on your neck. After a few days of observing you, he could tell that you were a neurotic with no social life. You lived in a small rented apartment in a bad neighborhood, which meant that you didn't have a lot of money and that your parents (if you had them) didn't care about you — no parent in their right mind would let their daughter live in the neighborhood with three most disgusting bars in the area. Creeps of all sorts were coming here at night, and who knows what could happen to an elegant girl who lived here all alone. At least you were smart enough not to show up on the streets after dark.

Your flat was small and resembled a doghouse, not a normal apartment. It was easy for Strade to get inside while you were in college. When Strade came in, he bumped into a stack of books that were staying near the front door's wall. Dozens of books fell on the floor, showing him a collection in art, astrology and alchemy, magic and history. Strade looked over your room and found many more stacks of the same type; another noticeable detail was a bright poster in blue tones of the Neon Demon movie. He cursed softly, mostly from surprise. Strade put all the fallen books back in their place and went to look at other stacks to understand what genres you were collecting so obsessively. He had seen you coming into a bookstore a couple of times, but he didn't expect you to be a pack rat, who was spending all her money on her addiction. The flat was clean and left the smell of your perfume — as it should be in all the women's apartments, Strade believed. It was poorly furnished: you didn't even have a table or a bookcase; a small wardrobe was full of clothes: dresses, blouses, skirts, two pairs of jeans. Strade couldn't fight a sudden desire to sniff your clothes. He chose a blouse that you were wearing yesterday and buried his nose in it, inhaling perfume and the sweetness of your sweat. 

The bathroom was so confined it was hard to breathe in here; the air was damp and still hot and scented after your morning shower; it smelled with lemon and basil and turned out to be your shower gel. He gave a careful look at the products you were using: rather expensive, not suitable for an apartment like this. You had plenty of body creams and oils, all of them with floral fragrance. Strade also found four bottles of perfume, again, indecently pricey for a crumbling apartment you were renting. Those mismatches and the quirk of yours made him interested in your persona even more — he wanted to know everything about you until the smallest details. 

Mulberry, bergamot, bitter almond and blackberry — it was the fragrance you cared on your body today. Strade wished to feel it on your skin mixed with your natural smell. He didn't have fun for a while, so Strade made big plans for you. Hunting you down this way had its pros: he became better in stalking and picking locks; your plainess and restlessness amused him too — every time someone started talking to you, your first reaction was fear: you gained some self control, but his allerted eyes could easily see how you were losing your composure with your eyes round and brows curved, corners of your lips looking down. Strade laughed every time he saw you having a conversation with some poor soul: you were nodding slowly, imitating interest, but your eyes were looking sideways and you were pursing your lips, chewing on them, then letting them free, only to repeat this ritual later — if it was Strade talking to you, he would certainly give you a nice punch in your face for such an inappropriate behavior.

Your naivety was outstanding: you didn't even notice the same car was following your route for a few days straight. Maybe if you had more interest in what was happening right under your nose you wouldn't be stuck in a situation like this. Strade could bet you didn't notice that someone had visited your apartment. He was alien to this small world of perfection and neatness, even his own smell was too strong, too outstanding from the sweet mix. Before leaving your home, Strade looked at the books again: all of them were in a good state, which meant you weren't using them. Textbooks about chemistry, one about physics and math; medicine, geography and taxidermy — he tried to find some logic in your collection, but failed: Strade was gaining information on you to find the right topics that would make your tongue loosen, but he certainly didn't want to talk about science. He also noticed black digital radio box on your bed and a pair of on-ear headphones near it, which made him think you were collecting audio books as well. 

Usually Strade hated to build up plans and strategies: Strade was proud of his charisma and ability to improvise easily in dialogue. He didn't need any special preparations to find his victims, but not in your case — he couldn't let you go so easily, but he couldn't get you as well, and it was pissing him off. Strade was simple in his actions and met plenty of his victims in bars and nightclubs, but you were avoiding all of his favorite places like a plague. You weren't his type, however you became his obsession — unreachable and so desired. He wanted to force you to open this sweet mouth of yours and scream for him, plead for him. Strade was sure you wouldn't last for long, probably you wouldn't survive even the first round: girls like you had a very weak heart and died from fright mostly, just like canaries. It would be… such a waste. Strade was surprised at his own regret, tried to chase you away from his thoughts, but you were staying here with him, making him see your silhouette in a dance of cigarette's smoke. He couldn't forget your face: charming and always sad, with unspoken grief, that gave you an air of a heroine of a tragic novel. It would be nice to see you smiling at least once. 

You reminded him of a mermaid: your always glistening eyes, delicate blush on your cheeks and vibrant pink lips, the rare, divine charm. Your steps were fast, but careful, as if you were walking on the sharpest of knives. The beauty of your face and loveliness of your pose were bewitching Strade, leaving him fantasizing about you and dying in anger from the impossibility to touch you, feel the warmth of your body against his.

The next morning Strade was following your route again, but today he left his car not far away from your house and was ready to ride the bus with you. Suddenly you walked past the bus stop and headed straight to the subway. You were in a hurry and kept looking around sharply. It made Strade think you finally noticed that something wasn't right, but your unexpected move made him nervous as well. He was waiting for this day to become closer to you, and now you trampled on his plans roughly — you would pay for it later. Strade almost managed to elbow his way into a full subway car; his wandering gaze found you in a crowd, and he made an effort to reach you. Finally he was staying not far away from you and could see your worried face. With every stop new people came into the subway, leaving less space in the train. You clawed into a handhold in front of you, your knuckles turned white from the tension and power you had put in your grip. 

The air in the train was stale. Sweaty bodies were pressing him and you from everywhere, making it harder to breathe and restraining any moves — it was rush hour, everyone was coming home after a long working day and no one cared about someone else's comfort. Strade noticed changes in your emotions: you were breathing hard, stared at the floor without blinking. Tears stored in the corners of your eyes. He could understand your feelings, but it all was your fault: you made him suffer this hell on the earth, and you won't get away with it. 

You were smothered in awful smells of cheap perfume, bad breath, sweat and dust; dozens of irritating sounds were buzzing in your ears, and the man's body behind you, pressing on yours with heavy weight, was driving you crazy slowly. Your knees were shaking but you kept staying, leaning on your tired hand. You were praying for this to end, but couldn't hear the names of stations as you were concentrating on your physical senses.

You didn't sleep well for the whole week and had no stress relief, which led to overeating and itch in your limbs. Right after you remembered about it, you felt your forearms itching. Fresh cuts from your nails were burning from your own sweat. You needed to scratch it — your hand shuddered, then started shaking from annoying tingling. 

You started feeling nauseous and dizzy. You were afraid to come back home on your normal route: someone got into your apartment but didn't take anything from here. Not a thing was touched, as if your apartment was a museum someone decided to visit out of boredom. You didn't have any proof of it, but you could feel something was wrong when you entered your flat. You just knew something wasn't right — but you weren't sure of the reality of your guess. Your parents told you many times that you got a good imagination for your own bad: it wasn't the first time you felt like someone had visited your apartment while you were out. It was the reason you were changing apartments a lot. At first you ran away from your family house, then you changed five flats in different parts of the city. It was your sixth apartment, and you already were thinking about leaving it.

You knew something was wrong with you, but you couldn't help it. It started not so long ago but already turned you into an antisocial shadow of yourself. You were missing the old you, the one who liked to chat with people and walk in the park, who didn't skip meetings in her club of interest, and could visit her friends freely, without a fear that something would happen. 

You weren't a fatalist and didn't believe in signs of destiny, but you were sure that something was about to happen with you. It was haunting you for a year already, turning your life into a nightmare: every time you came home you locked the door on all the locks, then checked on it for the rest of the day and before going to sleep; you could come back from the college just because you forgot to check if you closed a bathroom faucet. You had to write all your check ups down in your notes and reread it during the day, but you didn't trust it — you were always thinking you forgot about something. You didn't know exactly what would happen to you. Maybe it would be something good or neutral. You made yourself nervous by causing depressive thoughts, and you knew you were wrong, but you couldn't stop the process. 

Book collecting was your stress relief method. The amount of money you had spent on your strange hobby was enough to rent the best apartment for the whole year, but you were ready to live in the worst neighborhood until the rent was low and you had free money on the books. You wanted to store the human's knowledge and wisdom and spent all your free time hunting for another book. You hadn't read even a half of your collection, but you couldn't stop yourself from getting a new copy. It was some sort of a mania of yours, maybe a disorder even.

Now, staying in a subway, full of people, you were about to pass out. You had already regretted your decision to deceive the fictitious stalker with an unplanned change of your way home, and you were fed up with yourself as well. All your life was torture, and it couldn't go like this any longer or you would lose your sanity. You were choking from the lack of air slowly and turned your head back to the open doors. You tried to leave but couldn't squeeze through a crowd until someone caught you by your hand and helped you to get out. You felt them pulling you to the exit and didn't resist. You gasped for fresh cold air, leaning to the nearest wall in an attempt to calm down and catch your breath. A drop of rain fell on your face from heavy black clouds, and you hurried to wipe it.

'Hey, are you okay?' The person asked anxiously. You looked at the man and smiled at him, but your smile was twisted and pitiful.

'I feel much better now. I could swear, I thought I would suffocate in this cursed subway. I don't even know how to thank you enough for your help,' You didn't want to say all of this, but suddenly the words were coming up your throat and you couldn't stop yourself from speaking. The man in front of you looked fine and kind, and he seemed to worry about you sincerely. Something about him made you feel strange: he was just a normal, inconspicuous man, rather handsome than ugly, as his face had no outstanding or especially beautiful features that could fascinate a woman. Massive thick eyebrows with sharp ends, big round eyes with a frisky sparkle, high cheekbones, somewhat heavy lower jaw and nice thin lips.

'No need to be so formal,' he smiled and then laughed: he closed his eyes and his shoulders twitched, as he let out a soft chuckle. His laughter was warm and friendly, caring even. All his posture was relaxed and confident. 'My name is Strade.'

He was speaking with an accent, pronouncing "r" as a roaring throat sound and replacing the "d" at the end of the words on a "t". You told him your name and he made a compliment to it. This small conversation helped you feel better almost immediately — it even gave you hope that your paranoia was disappearing.

'You want to thank me right? Then what about us going to a bar tomorrow, how do you like that?' Strade gave you a big friendly smile and stared at you, waiting for your answer. His accent became stronger, and you understood that he was speaking in a German manner. You wanted to decline the invitation, but agreed, as you were embarrassed by his stare and his self confidence. 

You had to ask Strade for help one more time, as you looked around and realized that you didn't know where you were. You weren't familiar with the city despite moving around regularly, so you had no idea how to get back home. The situation worsened with a falling dark — during night hours you were as helpless as blind kitten. Strade gladly agreed to walk you to your neighborhood and didn't stop chatting with you for a minute. You had to admit that you felt safe with him, so you were chattering willingly, without any dredging thoughts crippling into your head. Strade picked up the place and time for your next meeting, and as you headed home you didn't forget to wave your hand to him as a goodbye. 

Strade's smile disappeared right after he left your area. The day was stressful and brought him painful arousal mixed with excitement and a sheer impossibility of your abduction right away, in this God-forsaken part of the city, where you and him only got off. You turned out to be a horrible chatterbox: you were talking so much he got a headache from your ringing voice. You fell for his fake compassion and told about your worries — Strade had always used this trick and it always worked. You were the type of person who liked to share their problems with unknown people, as you wanted to be heard and didn't need actual help. 

When Strade showed up in a bar you were already here, staying alone in a corner, far from everyone, and waiting for him nervously, like a dog that didn't meet its owner for a good time. You were holding your drink, but didn't make a sip of it even. This place wasn't for you as well as its visitors — men in their thirties and forties, bikers mostly. Rough, drunk and noisy, they were scaring you. 

'Hey there,' Strade got himself a beer and stopped next to you. You trembled, as you didn't notice him, but smiled immediately after it. You looked a little different today: green blouse with plunging neck and long sleeves, short black skirt that was fitting your round thighs, transparent black tight, leg warmers on your calves at the same color as your blouse, and Mary Jane shoes again. You were wearing pretty makeup with dark eyeshadow and painted your lips with a dark red lipstick. Strade couldn't help but smile: you wanted to look more attractive for him, dressed in an innocent but seductive manner. 'The weather is awful, I hope you didn't get cold. I wanted to buy you a drink, but I can see you are enjoying this evening already.'

'No, it's just soda. I don't drink alcohol.' You said in an embarrassed tone. 'My friends made fun of me because of this. Is it raining again?'

'Hell yes!' Strade ruffled his wet hair. 'Where are your friends now?' He asked, sipping his beer. 

'I lost contact with them. When all of this started I isolated myself from everyone. They tried to take me out, but gave up. I concentrated on my college and other stuff, trying to suppress my strange condition. I'm talking about myself only, I'm sorry.'

It was the first time you went to hang out, so you felt a little nervous and wanted to scratch your forearm. Today you weren't very brave and the conversation was dull. You tried to come up with some catchy topic, but you couldn't. 

'My hobby? Huh, good question!' Strade was taken aback when you switched the dialogue on him. 'I like mastering things and mechanisms.' 

'Wow…' his answer fascinated you. You knew almost nothing about this field and it seemed like pure witchcraft to you. 'It may sound silly, but I hope to see some of your creations one day.'

You smiled at Strade and gave him an innocent look, as you were speaking from your heart and was honest in your little wish. Cute dimples on your cheeks, the way you squint your glistening eyes and arched your brows just a little in a kind way melted his heart, causing him to bite on his lip not to guffaw at this picture in front of him. Strade was happy that he found you — he would have so much fun with you. You wished to see some of his creations — Strade appreciated it, so you would have an opportunity to test the best of his collection on yourself.

You couldn't even guess what was waiting for you at the end of the evening, and this mischievous trick gave Strade motivation for courting you more. Your cheeks were flushing pink as he was telling you the best of his compliments; you covered your mouth with your palm while laughing at his jokes and wiped tears of joy from your eyes with the knuckle of your index finger carefully so as not to ruin your makeup. Strade was telling you funny stories from his younger years and you found many moments that were similar with your experience, so you replied lively, happily even, as you found someone, who was understanding you easily. 

'Oh, I should go home already!' You exclaimed after dropping a look at the clock in your phone. 'It's almost midnight… Thank you for your company, Strade. I really appreciate it. Would you like to meet up again tomorrow?'

'Of course, Fröschli,' He was looking at you through half lowered eyelids and smiling cunningly, as if he was knowing something you didn't even suspect about. 'You will see me a lot.'

(Froggy)

You were confused by his reaction, but didn't show it. Instead, you scratched the back of your head and giggled. 'I should take some lessons in German to understand you better.' You remarked. You probably looked like an idiot, but you preferred this over awkward silence.

'I'll give you a ride back home.' Strade placed his hand over your shoulder and you yelped, never expecting him to do this. 'Is something wrong?'

'I just…' You looked sideways at his hand, then back at Strade, and found him staring at you with an attentive piercing gaze. You wanted to reply, but suddenly all the words were gone from your mouth and you were just staring back at him, batting your eyes. 'It is the first time a man is… uhm…' you swallowed nervously, not sure if you should tell such an information to the male you had known for two days. 

He hummed at your words. 'Use your tongue, Fröschli. The first time a man?..' Strade repeated your sentences for you.

'... is touching me.' Your cheeks turned pink from embarrassment and you looked away, not being able to handle Strade's gaze anymore.

Instinctively you reached your hand to your neck to touch your locket, but found nothing. You remembered that today you decided not to put it on, however Strade had already noticed you started acting nervous. 

'But what about your boyfriend, Fröschli? I won't believe you don't have one.' Strade was grinning mockingly, his hand on your shoulder felt heavy. 

'It's a long story,' you made a nervous chuckle. 'Not all girls are noticed by guys.' You didn't have an idea of how to explain Strade the phenomenon of your loneliness and you didn't want him to ask about it. You were beautiful and interesting as a person, but all the boys around you had seen you as their little sister. Even the one, that you fell in love with — you shared the same company and were studying together with him, so you were sure he would notice you. Unfortunately he was already taken, but wasn't happy, because his girlfriend wasn't interested in him, dating him only because he was cool and handsome. You were the one to whom he was usually complaining about another fight or disinterest from her side. He had never noticed the way you looked at him, never cared about your feelings, used you like a plush toy to calm himself, then went away, leaving you broken. He was your first love and you wanted him to be your first in everything, you still believed that things would work for you two. When you caught your paranoid distress, all your friends and he abandoned you as you became grumpy and depressed: you were annoying them with your constant bad mood, didn't want to take care of them and entertain them. They were talking with you in the college, more from obligation than from a personal interest.

'We should be leaving already,' Strade stated off the topic, ignoring everything you just said. 'Have you kissed at least?' He asked inappropriately, but you shook your head in dissent. 'So sweet. Well, it's not such a big deal, right?' Strade's tone was cheerful and cooing again. 'Get up, Fröschli.'

You were following Strade in a haste, as he was walking faster than you, and covering your head with your palms from rain. Despite the bad weather, you didn't expect the rain to start today's evening, so you left your umbrella at home. Strade didn't seem to be bothered by it, too. The chilly night air made your body cover in shivers, and you hugged yourself to save some warmth. You were surprised when you saw Strade's car: you didn't expect him to own a family style car of a new model. You expected to see something eye-catching, sporty even, the type of car that cool guys from your college were driving, but Strade's car was simple, average even. He opened the door to a front passenger seat for you, and you climbed inside. You were putting a seat belt on when your eyes suddenly fixed on the door and you noticed that it didn't have a handle, making it impossible to get out of the car from inside. You froze with a seat belt in your hands as you were slowly processing everything. 

'What's wrong?' You heard Strade's husky voice near your ear and shuddered. Your heart was beating like crazy, causing pain in your ribs, and your hands started itching badly, begging to be scratched. Strade was burning your nape with his gaze, his always friendly smile now was sinister and creepy: he was waiting for your reaction, as he had already known you realized that you wouldn't go home today.

'Everything is okay, Strade!' You turned your head to him and smiled. 'Can you fix it for me, please?' you waved your head at the seat belt. 'I can't pull it out for some reason. I don't want to mess it up accidentally.' You made a sad face, looking at him with puppy eyes. 

Strade cackled, then burst into laughter. You could use this moment to punch him, but you were sitting still and playing dumb. You were nothing against him, only one slap of his big palm on your face would be enough to knock you out. Adrenaline was rushing through your blood, distracting you from real understanding of the whole situation you ended up into. It was funny to you how you felt so composed while you should be panicking and screaming for help, but you knew one thing for sure: you wanted to survive. And for this, you believed, you had to behave respectfully and submissive. 

'I adore little idiots like you, Fröschli,' Strade took the belt out of your hands and put it in its place instead of fastening it. He rubbed your cheek with his fingers gently to see the hope in your watering eyes. In a second Strade grabbed your face hard and pressed his fingers on your cheeks, squeezing them roughly. 'Let me do something more for you.'

You missed the moment his hand clutched in your forehead and he bashed your head in a tinted window. You let out a shriek, then a low groan escaped your lips, as you were blacking out slowly. Your whole body felt numb and you went limp on the seat, leaving a bloody stain on the window. 

Strade chuckled at how easy he broke the skin on your nape, wondering if you got a concussion. He started the engine and remembered about your phone. Strade had to look for it, as he forgot that you had put it on your knees, when you got into the car. It fell off your body and was laying under your legs. He got a paper towel from the glove box and took your phone with it. The street was empty, so Strade threw your phone on the ground and then crushed it with his boots.

You woke up in the dark and cold room. You were lucky enough not to feel pain in your head; it seemed like you escaped the brain trauma as well. You tried to move your limbs: your arms were first and you found them tied behind your back and a steel pole. The wave of panic covered you, left you trembling, as you understood the whole horror of your situation. Your life couldn't end like this — you didn't deserve such an end. It wasn't fair. 

'Strade!' You started screaming his name because of feebleness. You had no one but him now, and you still were hoping that he would take pity on you. 'Strade!' You cried for him again, your high pitched and lingering plea filled the whole space of the basement and was noticed upstairs.

You heard his steps above yourself, then he came to the basement door, letting the light from the house into it.

'My-my, rise and shine, baby girl!' Strade looked at you with clear amusement. 'To tell the truth, I expected you to wake up in three hours at least, but you made it out in forty minutes! Going for a world record, huh?'

Strade was mocking you with his usual smile, that was glued to his face, you thought. His perky tone and his always happy personality insulted you, which was clearly shown on your face by the way you curled your lips and arched your brows, like a child. You were about to burst into hysterical tears, and your chest was already rising slowly.

'Oh, meine Süße,' Strade cooed, giving you disturbed look. 'You don't like when I'm making fun of you? I didn't even say anything! But I remember you told me about your problem with controlling emotions.' 

(My sweetie)

'What do you want from me?' You were stuttering as tears and fear were filling up your chest with a heavy and cold feeling of waiting: waiting for something gruesome coming for you. 'I'll do anything, just please don't…' you couldn't finish your sentence — you were afraid that your words would provoke him into doing the opposite things instead. 

'Hm? Don't do what?' Strade was staring at you, waiting for your response. Instead of answering you lowered your head, looking on a dusty ground with dull brownish stains from blood that soaked it a long time ago. 

Strade squatted and frowned at you. His fingers tugged in your hair, and he lifted your head, making you look at him. 'Lost your tongue, Fröschli?'

You shook your head. You tried to suppress fear or come up with anything else but this cursed plea of saving your life. Your sudden silence pissed Strade off. He cupped your cheek; his thumb was caressing your skin, smearing black trails of your tears. For a moment you even decided that he was trying to calm you, but when his palm left your face, Strade gave you a slap that would make you fall if you weren't tied to a pole.

'Please, don't kill me!' You screamed, breaking your voice. 

Strade stood up and came to the counter, started searching for something. 'I like your enthusiasm, meine Süße!' He picked up his favorite knife and returned to you. 'I did nothing, but you are already screaming your lungs out. Save your breath, okay?' He laughed at the way your eyes widened at the sight of the knife. 'Would you like to eat or drink something maybe? Just before we start. You have one chance.'

You shook your head, shuddering and sobbing.

'Well, no means no!' Strade giggled and squatted again to untie your hands. 'Someone told me she would do anything, am I right?'

'Yes…' You pressed your hands to your chest immediately after they were set free. Your wrists were burning, but you didn't care — your whole attention was concentrated on the knife. You weren't afraid of cuts or stubs — you were terrified at the thought that he could cut off your breasts or clit, stab your genitals until the bloody unrecognizable mess, or cut out your lips and eyes. You didn't know what to expect from him, how much pain he would cause to you happily. 

'Take off your clothes.' Strade's voice became serious. You started undressing yourself without delay. Was he going to rape you then set you free? You couldn't hope that everything would end so easily for you — you weren't a lucky one. You took off your blouse and put it next to you; your shaking fingers touched a bra hook, and you heard Strade chuckling. 'Wow, wow, lady! Aren't you a little too eager for me? I feel like I'm the one being kidnapped!'

Your cheeks turned red immediately, and he started guffawing with a loud and deep voice at his own witty remark and this stupid face expression of yours. New tears formed on your eyes, but you swallowed them, kept undressing, until you were sitting on the cold floor in your black lingerie only and covering your body with your hands from embarrassment. 

Strade gave you a slow appraising glance. You looked like an expensive porcelain doll, and his followers would certainly love you. The stream with your participation would gain a lot of money: messy hair and ruined makeup made the noble features of your face even prettier, your lovely lips looked more plumpy with smudged lipstick; fleshy body with delicious curves tempted Strade to lay his hand on it. He kept in mind that you didn't date anyone, so probably you were a virgin — his fans would bathe him in donations for deflowering on air, and he couldn't stop imagining the moment his length would pierce your tight unprepared cunt; probably you wouldn't be able to take all of him in one go, and this libidinous fantasy kept him enthralled. Strade felt his own body becoming hot: all of the thoughts about raping you on camera for other people to watch were enough to make him fully hard in his pants. 

'Hey, Fröschli,' Strade gave you an intimidating look and pressed the end of the knife under your chin, forcing you to lift your head. 'Eyes on me.' Then he passed the knife to you. 'Cut yourself.'

You took the knife, confused with his words, and pressed it on your forearm. Strade focused his eyes on the red scratches with a thin layer of dried blood that were covering both of your hands. 'I can see you had some fun before me, huh? Böses Mädchen.'

(Bad girl)

You swallowed nervously and drew the blade over your arm. The knife turned out to be unexpectedly sharp and the cut was deeper than you expected. A thick stream of blood started trickling from the wound, some of it was dropping on your thigh and other part was dripping up to your elbow. Strade's breathing became hard, his eyes were half lidded and his gaze was clouded with lubricious pleasure. 

'More,' Strade ordered with a husky voice, and you hesitated, searching for a better place on your body. You tried to be careful with the knife, but you weren't skillful at using it, so it was easy for you to put more force in your movements than you planned. You placed the blade on your thigh and left a cut, again, it was deeper than you expected it to be. You were whimpering silently, groans of pain left your lips rarely, as the pain you were causing to yourself didn't feel so striking. 

'More.' Strade repeated, his erection was pleading to be touched, as he was watching you, enchanted by how obedient you were. Strade decided to keep such a treasure for himself — he was a possessive and jealous person, so he didn't want to share this picture perfect sight with anybody else. You tried to leave another wound, but couldn't. Leftovers of your sanity were screaming for you to stop, or you would bleed out — you noticed that blood didn't stop leaking out fresh cuts. 

'I… I'm sorry I can't!' you shook your head helplessly, and gave the knife back to Strade. You started shivering uncontrollably again, realizing what had you just done.

'It's okay,' Strade caressed your skin with the flat side of the knife, then stubbed it into the soft flesh of your thigh, making you scream. His neck turned red from arousal, your heartbreaking shriek was the best aphrodisiac to him. 'I'll help you.'

Your vision blurred from tears and pain, you felt every move of the blade, that was tearing your fragile skin apart, and hot blood was scorching wounds like fire. From your thighs Strade moved to your torso, cutting obscure superficial ornaments on your tummy and under your chest. You were twitching unwittingly, making the process more painful and harmful. Your throat was sore already, but it was impossible not to howl and cry. 

'That's it, meine Liebe. Louder,' Strade put his knife out and pressed his hands on your thighs, groping the supple and slippery meat. He was smearing your blood on your skin and tracing holes of your wounds slowly, in a sexual manner, and penetrating them with his fingers lightly, getting physical satisfaction from it. While you tried to come round, you didn't notice how he pressed himself to your body, one of his hands was resting on your waist, caressing tender skin. Strade was sniffing your hair — it smelled sweet with a mix of perfume and shampoo, as always.

(My dear)

Strade knew he should patch you up before continuing this pleasant torture, but it was hard to keep himself cool while looking at your pathetic, frightened essence. He could kill you right now: stab you to death, or break your head on the floor, crash your neck, or burn you alive — you gave him the sense of unlimited power over you, but at the same time you also gave him your gratitude for keeping you alive for another minute. And he loved it. Strade liked obedience and politeness. He believed that the modern world lacked these two traits and he could rarely find someone, who would combine both of these in their character. 

Strade buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your natural scent and it drove him crazy. You shivered as his hot breath tickled your skin, gasped when you felt his tongue licking your neck. He was stained in your blood; his shirt stuck to his chest from the amount of soaked blood in it. Strade didn't wait any longer and pulled your panties down, enjoying your surprised shout. You didn't even think about resisting him — you were preparing yourself for an upcoming pain, crying again. Strade spread your legs and placed his hands under your buttocks, holding you in a comfortable position for him to thrust, after he unzipped his pants, freeing the hardly erect member. You tried not to look at his dick, closed your eyes from embarrassment when you felt how Strade was trailing natural curls of your pubic hair and spreading your cunt with his thick fingers. He plunged them inside without warning, but with a great effort, and you screamed from acute pain in your lower stomach. 

'Look at yourself, meine Süße,' Strade laughed slowly, moving his fingers inside and spreading them to stretch your walls. Despite the tightness of your core, it was easy for him to slide inside. 'Secretly enjoying everything I do to you?' He pulled out and you had seen his fingers, fully covered in your viscous slick. 'Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr?'

(Feels good, doesn't it?)

Grudge and bitterness were tearing your heart apart, but you just closed your eyes to suppress them. At least you managed to get wet somehow, which meant you would bear the whole process better. Strade pressed his fingers on your clit, stimulating it with circling motions, nevertheless it didn't help — all you felt was just irritating pressure. A punch in your nose perked you up. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to recover, but Strade tugged in your hair and shook your head, until you looked at him.

'Eyes on me. Did you forget our small rule?' He grinned at you, and you nodded, fixing your eyes on him. A thin stream of blood had trickled out of your nose, falling on your lips. 'Das ist so geil…' He pressed his dick to your entrance, and you held your breath when you felt him plunging it in with one fast thrust. You screamed and arched your back, started bustling around to get out of his grip, but Strade just pressed you harder on his dick, pushing it deeper. This pain was even worse than the one from the knife, it felt like he was tearing you apart from inside, bruising every part of your body.

(This is so hot)

You were drowning in cries and tears, your wounds still were bleeding, staining everything around you. Coldness of the basement's floor, smell of the blood, emotional breakdown, tiredness and blood loss made your head feel dizzy — you were about to pass out in every second. Rhythmic poundings in your abused tired cunt made it even worse, so you didn't notice how you blacked out.

You woke up from your disturbing slumber because of the sound of Strade's footsteps. You slowly opened your eyes. Your whole body was aching, blood crusts were covering you and you felt cold slick under your buttocks and thighs, probably, it was your urine. You looked down and noticed that all your wounds were sewn up with rough stitches that would leave scars after healing.

'Morning, sleeping beauty.' Strade was looking at you with a satisfied smile. Instead of you, he probably had a lot of fun yesterday. 

'Fucker…' you thought, staring at him from under your brows. Strade burst out laughing.

'It's not my fault that you pissed yourself, okay? I almost had time to put it out before your attack!' He kept giggling. 'Need something? Or can we continue our rendezvous?'

'I want to bathe,' you wheezed. All you wanted was to get rid of this stench that was coming from you and from all this blood that was covering your body.

'Bathe?' Strade asked in surprise. 'Bathe… Well, that's possible.'

 You closed your eyes to take a breath. Strade was walking somewhere away from you, then he came back and you had seen a hosepipe in his hand.

'Here's your bath, Schatz!' Strade opened the handle and a powerful spurt of ice water hit you right in your chest, causing you to scream. 'Oops, wrong pressure!' He changed the pressure and started pouring you from head to toes, like a fanciful plant. Now you were cold and wet. 'Wow! Look at this little swamp I made. All for you, Fröschli! How do you feel, though?'

(Lovely)

The water and your blood made dirt on a dusty concrete floor. 

'Great!' You snapped. It was unusual for you to answer with such a tone, but you couldn't help it. You noticed that Strade's facial expression had changed and hurried to make up for your sudden outbreak of anger. 'Strade, please… Can you give me something to eat and drink? It would be very nice to have something. I… feel very dizzy. Please…' talking to him with a dying voice you were looking at Strade with puppy eyes, begging him to feed you. 

'So polite, I like it.' Strade patted your head in reward. He came to the fridge and opened it, tapped his chin, deciding what you deserved to eat. 'You had a fever for a couple of hours after passing out, so you can have a sandwich. We want you to have enough power for our next game, right?'

'R-right!' You gave him a wry smile. You wanted to take the sandwich from Strade's hand, but remembered that you were tied. 'Will you feed me?'

'Sure! Be a nice girl and say a-am!'

Strade took the food out of its container and held it to your lips. You did like he said, as you didn't want him to punch you. 'Here you go. Don't hurry, we have enough time.'

At least he was nice while feeding you, you decided. Your hungry stomach twitched in pain as you made the first bite. It was a simple product store chicken sandwich, terrible while cold and a little better while being warmed up. It seemed like Strade wasn't caring about what to eat and didn't bother himself with cooking. You finished it quickly and Strade opened a bottle of water for you. This simple action marveled you enough: you expected him to put the hose pipe in your mouth and turn it on high pressure.

'Thank you, Strade.' You felt much better now. You could never think that you had so much health and stamina to be able to talk and think straight after everything he had done to you. Maybe you still were under the effect of adrenaline, maybe Strade had given you some drugs while you were blacked out — it didn't matter. You had to survive one more day in his company, and you were sure that today would be much more cruel than yesterday. 

'No need, meine Süße, you make a cute face while eating,' Strade patted your head one more time, like you were a dog. 'You told me in the bar that you want to see my creations.'

You broke a cold sweat and you felt weakness in the pit of your stomach. Strade placed a black box in front of you. It was closed and looked like a tool box, but after Strade opened it, you had seen a phone handset inside and strange details. 

'That's a field telephone, Schatz. It was developed in the United States, then it was spread worldwide, and used in both World Wars, and many others. This model I made myself. Look here,' Strade pointed his finger at a small lever on the external part of the box. 'It's a dynamo, it creates electricity. And this,' he pointed at a prominent case inside the telephone, 'This is flame resistant. It is made of paper impregnated with a plasticized phenol formaldehyde resin. Did you understand at least a half of what I had said, Schatz?' 

Strade gave you an indulgent gaze and smiled, as if he was talking to a kid, while you were praying to be wrong at guessing the reason he decided to show you this cursed phone.

'Yes! It was very interesting to hear. Can you tell me more, please? How is it used without cables?' You stammered, feeling tremor in your hands. 

'I'll tell you later, Schatz. Now it's time for my reward. Don't be so egoistic.' Strade cut off the ropes. He took one of your hands and stretched it, then started to put wires on your fingers. 'We are gonna play a very interesting game! A guy who I was working with long ago had taught me this. Are you excited?' Strade waited for your nod. 'Great, Schatz. The rules are simple: I ask you questions, you answer them correctly. If not — I press the dynamo. Hast du kapiert?' 

(Do you understand?)

You nodded. It was easy to predict the rules of his game, but Strade kept explaining it to you.

'So, the first question. What is the biggest island in the world?' 

You were expecting to hear everything, but not this. You were confused and chuckled at this stupid question. Your laughter made Strade smile too, and you, tricked by a false tenderness, didn't notice how he pulled on the dynamo. In the next second your muscles contracted, piercing you with so much pain that you couldn't imagine even in your bravest thoughts. 

'I don't like to repeat myself, so you better remember what I asked you if you can, of course.' Now Strade was the one to laugh. You were laying on the floor with your eyes wide open and trying to catch your breath.

'Greenland…' you whispered, still shocked.

'Yes, correct! Well, I guess I shouldn't ask such questions to a girl who trashed her whole apartment with books.'

You almost jumped at his words, the puzzle in your head made a whole picture. All this time you weren't crazy. Your foreboding was right. 

'Let's ask you something personal then. Why did you leave your parents?' It was clear that for Strade the game wasn't funny at all: he didn't care about you, he enjoyed only pulling on the trigger. He didn't want to kill you yet, so he had to give you chances on saving yourself from another jolt by giving honest and correct answers. 

'Because of my paranoia. I was afraid to stay with them.' It wasn't the complete truth, but it wasn't a lie either. Despite it sounding so well and smooth from your mouth, Strade felt that you were hiding something. His hunter's instinct sensed clearly the little shaking of your voice and caught the moment you lowered your gaze to the floor. 

'So you left the warm and caring family house and started living in a shitty flats where murderings were committed, right? You think I'm an idiot, Schatz?' Strade pressed on the dynamo, laughing wickedly at your convulsions. 'You are kinda calm here. Not like others. They were screaming and shouting "Oh Strade please let me go! i won't tell anyone! please put your knife back"' And when they finally realized that I won't let them go, all of them started to curse me. While you are just waiting silently for me to return, not a noise coming from you while I'm gone. Sometimes I even think that you died here without me! Feels like home, Schatz?' 

You pursed your lips and looked away. It wasn't fair. He couldn't dare to open your old psychological wounds that you managed to heal with a great effort, but Strade was staring at you, his light brown eyes were burning you with an intent, waiting gaze. Strade's smile, that once made you feel better, now was making you feel nauseous.

'My mother abandoned me when I told her that I don't want to be a financial expert and won't send my documents to the college she had picked for me…' You bit on your lower lip. 'She is very strict and unforgiving. She forgot about me so fast, like I had never existed. I didn't want to move out, but she told me to. Thank God I had money saved on my account, and my grandpa gives me some every month. With a bursary from my college I had… I have enough to live.' 

'Poor baby,' Strade cooed and cupped your cheek, rubbing on your skin with his calloused thumb. 'I bet you wish she could see you right now. See everything you have to come through and regret what she has done to you. Want her to suffer, hate herself for cutting you off from your family, owe you care and love for the rest of her life.' 

'Why…' Your eyes widened at his words. 'Why would I?..'

'Because I know you well enough to understand it.' 

Strade smiled his satisfaction: it was amusing to see you doubting your own feelings. It was so easy to trick you. He loved your face at the moments like this: fine eyebrows raised, your doe-like eyes shining with a clear bewilderment, and your mouth slightly opened, as if you wanted to object, but didn't dare to. 

'You should be thankful you have me, Schatz. I will always be here for you to solve your problems.' 

You didn't believe your ears and gave Strade a confused, stupid look from your eyes. It couldn't be true. You probably were delirious. 

'I am, Strade.' You forced a smile on your bloodless lips. 

'Gutes Mädchen!' Strade was pleased enough with your answer and gave you another head pat. It was time for him to leave, but he didn't want to — his emotions about you were so complicated he chased them away, knowing perfectly one day he would have to live through them. You were his obsession — and he didn't want to admit it. Admit that he was bewitched by his own captive, admit that he was addicted to you and that his mood depended heavily on yours. Something beyond his understanding, something supernatural had linked you to him, caged Strade in a cage of his desires. You were the number one to him, you were the top priority, despite everything he was doing to humiliate and destroy you in a futile attempt to stifle his feelings. 

(Good girl! (for animals))

Maybe it wasn't too bad to fall in love with someone? The unique experience he had brought you through made you two really close by now, but could Strade trust you? It was a good question, and Strade needed to test you before actually letting you live with him. He left you without tying you back to the pole and didn't lock the basement's door. You were free to walk here and touch everything you wanted: you could even take his tools and have a fight with him! Strade was ready for your every move, but you were silent as usual, not a rustle even could be heard from the basement. He was expecting you to come out at night, but you didn't do it as well. 

You were waiting for Strade to come back nervously. It was obvious that he was testing you, so you did your best to behave. You had water and food there, but you didn't touch anything without his permission: you were afraid he would get mad at you. This irrational fear chained you to your place and didn't let you breathe freely, while he was gone. You were starving, your aching wounds needed painkillers and care, but you kept enduring the discomfort. You wanted to survive — and the thought of a reward for this test was giving you power and determination. 

Maybe Strade wasn't bad at all, you thought and got terrified from it. He was a sadist and a maniac, and you could only imagine how many people he had slaughtered before you, as well as how many would come to this damned basement after. Strade was a monster and a psychopath you should be aware of. He was a little more patient with you, but it didn't mean anything good for you — he would offset later, you were sure. There was a saw in the basement, nothing would stop him from sawing you in half, or decapitating you while being alive. You had too many fears: they were driving you crazy even worse than Strade. You were expecting everything from him: starting from pulling out your nails and peeling your skin and ending with bludgeoning you to death, until the unrecognizable meat blob. What if he would cut off the parts of your body and make you eat it? You shook your head, trying to free yourself from thoughts like this. You were behaving well and pleasing him enough. You would do even more for him if he let you go upstairs. You would never escape or say a bad word to him, would be obedient until he would decide to let you go by himself.

And then… you weren't sure what you would do after, but you were sure you wouldn't go to the police. You believed Strade wouldn't be arrested, and you didn't need his revenge. It was better to befriend a monster like him.

Strade came back to check on you the other day. He was pleasantly surprised to find you sleeping; he examined all his stuff to find out if you had stolen something, but nothing was touched. You either were fooling him or you were a real idiot. Strade wouldn't believe you didn't want to eat or drink, but the fridge was full of beer and various food. Were you waiting for him to hear his permission to eat? — it was outstanding. He had never met someone like you before. 

'I guess I should thank your parents, Schatz. For raising a stupid and obedient doll like you,' Strade whispered at your sleeping face. He took a knife from the ceiling and slightly pressed its end right under your eye and let it slide down, carefully, not to cut you but to leave a small red stripe that looked like a bloody tear. Your face was the most loveliest one he had ever seen, and he didn't want to leave scars on it — such a perfection of Nature should be delighting him in its original state. 

You woke up, but didn't shift — your inner senses had saved you. Terrified, you felt tears dropping from your eyes, the one repeated the way of Strade's knife, causing you pain.

'Hey girl,' Strade pressed his knife between your brows. 'You are very, very stupid. I know all your little manipulations. You're not the first to suck up to me.'

You lowered your face in shame, standing the ruin of your plan. Of course you knew that someone had certainly tried this way to survive before you, but you thought that you would do it better. Somehow you would make everything perfect and he would trust you. You were lost — you didn't even know were your emotions real or fake. In both ways you were shocked with yourself, at how calm you were despite everything that was happening. Maybe it was something wrong with you?

'Where is your smile now, Schatz?' Strade grabbed you by your hair and forced you to look at him. 'This martyrdom face of yours makes me sick.' He narrowed his eyes, their gaze showed clear disdain. Strade showed the tip of the knife to your lips, forcing you to open them, then pressed it to the corner of your mouth. 'Smile, or I will have to teach you how to do it.'

You smiled, smiled until the pain in your cheeks, while tears were streaming down your face. You were looking at Strade in panic, trying to catch every single change in his pose and emotions, mentally preparing yourself for stinging pain and blood loss. You were breathing rapidly, gasping for air deliberately and carefully not to move the blade accidentally. You were scared to death that Strade would execute his plan and tear the half of your face. 

'That's much better.' Strade became jolly, no sign of a sudden outbreak of anger and grumbling. You exhaled loudly when he put the knife out of your mouth, but your arms were still trembling. 'Poor baby. Suffering here and all because of me,' he started talking in a caring voice, then it became mocking. 'Say something already.'

'I have nothing to add.' You barely spoke, as you suddenly felt exhausted. Your eyes were closing, but you tried to keep them open. Your whole body was numb and sore, all the pain was withdrawn into the background and seemed alien to you. 'I'm sorry.'

You closed your eyes and fell asleep immediately. When you woke up, you were alone. You heeded, listening for Strade's steps, and heard nothing. Your stomach hurt with hunger, your limbs were stiff and your whole body felt cold — you didn't want to do anything with it; you were too tired to move, even breathing was hard for you. You heard a noise of falling drops of water, and its monotonous sound started to irritate you immediately, but you managed to come back to sleep, falling into the deep dreamless slumber that felt like suspended animation.

You didn't know how many days had left since you were captured in Strade's basement, but you were sure that your friends and teachers from the college had noticed your sudden disappearance. You were a good student and didn't skip even a day of lessons, so it was obvious that something had happened to you. Probably they had already visited the police and now the story about you was in the news report. You were steadfast in your statement, and it warmed your heart. You were sure you would be saved soon.

You woke up because of a spurt of cold water that was splashed in your face. You sat immediately and started coughing, but it was impossible due to the stream that was hitting you right in your face and filling your nostrils and mouth. You tried to protect your face with arms, but they were tied to the pole; you tried to dodge, but the stream was following your moves. When Strade decided that he had enough with you, he closed the handle and you got an opportunity to breathe and cough.

'Good way to know that you are still alive, Schatz.' He giggled at uncontrollable shaking of your body and your barking cough. 'You slept for two days straight, my dear! Didn't even wake up when I decided to play with you.'

You immediately started to look at your body to find the traces of his 'games', and you found them — small white dots of burned skin with a vivid pink edge, the one that appeared after a cigarette burn, were located on your shoulder. Then you felt that something was leaking out from your core, and you shuddered in disgust. How sick he was to use you while you were unconscious?

'When was the last time you ate?' Strade dropped the hose pipe carelessly and came to you to untie your hands. You let out a groan when you finally moved them, and heard an obnoxious crack of numb limbs. You looked at your wrists with two stripes of rope burns on each hand, bright red and aching. 

'When you fed me…' you tried to get up, stretch your body, but fell on your trembling knees and put your hands in front of you not to hurt your face, but they gave way under your body and you plopped on the ground. Both of your palms and knees were scratched and started itching badly, as well as rope burns and other wounds. 

'How pathetic. Was it worth it? I mean starving yourself to this state.' Strade clicked his tongue and leaned on the counter, watching your attempts to get up on your own. 'You know, you can always ask for help. Why do I have to remind you of such simple things? Vollidiot.'

(Idiot)

'Don't insult me, please, I want to do it myself.' You made another attempt, this time you were doing everything slowly, without putting too much effort not to open the old wounds and not to hurt the new one. You managed to rise on your legs and leaned to the pole, using it as a help. This simple action took all of your power, and you heard noise inside your head.

'No need for pole dancing, Schatz, feel sorry for me.' Strade giggled at his joke and a sigh you made.

'It's not funny.'

'No, it is!' In proof of his words he guffawed. 'You are very talkative today. Asked the Wizard of Oz for a bravery potion?'

Your body gave up much faster than you expected and you slowly sat on the floor, breathing rapidly and shaking both from cold and tiredness. Until now you didn't understand how dangerously cold your body was: your limbs could hardly move, and every manipulation you tried to perform was clumsy and slack. Your throat spasmed in a coughing fit; you started coughing with a loud dry cough that became worse instead of giving you a sort of relief. All the air in your lungs had ended fast enough to make you choke, forcing you to get on your hands and knees to ease the torturing cough. You inhaled sharply with a whistle, gulping your cough, then froze before another coughing fit broke you. Saliva was running down your lower lip and chin, dripping on the floor, but you ignored it, as your throat felt raw and sore.

'Don't you dare die like this, Hure.' Strade was watching you carefully, with a certain irritation. 'If you are acting like this to make me take you upstairs you will regret it. Why are you always bringing me troubles?'

(Whore)

You were lying on your stomach silently, waiting for Strade's final decision. You couldn't think: your head was empty, you felt fever slowly taking over you and muffling every other sound with a noise in your ears. Strade came to you and kicked you in the ribs with the toe of his boot to turn you over on your back.

'I guess I don't have a choice. I'll get you some medicine. For now, you can go upstairs, Schatz. See you here.' Strade smiled and left the basement, but didn't close the door. The light from the house was lighting up the dusty floor. It felt like a mock: he knew you wouldn't be able to go upstairs by yourself, still he left you. 

You started crawling to the stairs, ignoring muscle pain and the fact that you were dragging your hardly healed wounds on the sharp floor. You would do anything to escape the basement and stay another night upstairs, in warmth and comfort. Step after step you were slowly climbing up the stairs; your teeth were clenched, your bloodless lips stuck to each other. If Strade wanted you to die he would have just tortured you to death, but he wanted you alive — he gave you enough opportunities to recover after his visits. You just needed to hold out a little longer, and everything would end. 

It smelled nicely with food and your stomach made a loud rumbling, you felt it twisted from hunger. You heard music playing from the other room: calm and slow, with a man's vocal and pleasant melody. Surprisingly, the music made you feel better. Everything seemed to be alive and normal. 

'Here you are, Schatz! Go find a bathroom before going to the kitchen. I won't let you join the table while you look like a pig.' Strade stooped and patted your head. 'You will have to clean the mess you made later.'

'Yes, Strade…' you whispered, then you felt him picking you up on your legs suddenly. Your vision blurred and you immediately felt dizzy, leaned to the nearest wall, trying not to fall down again. 

'Save at least a little human dignity, Schatz, don't crawl here like some disgusting insect.' Strade grinned. 

Strade didn't stay for long: he told you how to find the bathroom and left. Taking a hot shower felt like a blessing, despite another wave of pain that you felt from water and shower gel. While showering you were heeding to hear the music again, to catch at least some noise. You didn't miss a chance to wash your underwear — you weren't sure if Strade had any lingerie. 

'I forgot to give you something, Schatz!' Right after you were thinking about him, Strade showed up in the bathroom without knocking or any warning. 'No need to cover up, I've already seen everything and even more.'

Out of instinct you covered your private parts with your hands, and his caustic remark made you feel sick. Strade gave a look at your body, rating his own work. To your own surprise you had found wounds you didn't know existed before — it seemed he had enough fun while you were blacked out. Scraped knees, deep blue bruises with purple droplets on your thighs and waist, small bruises in a form of his fingers on the inner part of your thighs, almost healed stubs and cuts (still with stitches) on the different parts of your body, cigarette and rope burns on your arms, small cut under your eye — another person wouldn't be able to look at you without tears, but you could swear Strade clicked his tongue in a criticizing manner — he, for sure, needed more to be pleased enough.

'Good, but not perfect,' he shook his head, and you sucked the air sharply at his words. You didn't want to he perfect, not for him. 

'I need to dress up.' You looked away to escape his stare. 

'So what? Go ahead.' Strade arched his brows. 'Oh, I guess the problem. You want some privacy, Schatz?'

You nodded carefully. 'If that's possible.'

'No, it's not!' Strade chuckled. 'I spoiled you, Schatz. You really need a behavior lesson. Why are you caring about privacy so much? Don't you like my company?'

'No! It's not what I meant!' You exclaimed and hurried to get out of the shower and start drying yourself. 'Can I use the towel?'

'Sure.'

Strade kept staring at you, watching your every move carefully. You tried to ignore it, convincing yourself that it was okay, but your heart was pounding heavily and your hands started shaking. You dried yourself and dressed up in a black longsleeve and simple domestic shorts. The clothes were bigger your size and obviously belonged to Strade — it still had the scent of his deodorant.

Your stomach had twisted in pain again and you felt the new wave of fatigue. All these events made you feel a little better but the effect was short and made you feel even worse than before. You covered your mouth with your palm, then yawned, both from sleepiness and lack of fresh cold air.

'Go to the kitchen, Schatz.' Strade smiled slyly. His face was strangely satisfied and a little smile never left his lips. You tensed up, praying for him not to scald or burn you in the kitchen.

You came to the kitchen on your tiptoes (you were afraid to step on the floor with your whole feet as if the sound of your steps could probably piss Strade off), and had seen the table with a plate of soup. Strade passed by you and took a seat, chuckled at your confused look.

'Come here, Schatz. I want a little company for lunch.' Strade pointed his arm on the dog bowl that was staying near his chair. You missed it when you were looking around. 

Did he want you to eat from the bowl? By the joyful expression of his face you understood — yes, he did. Tears filled your eyes, but you did as he told you to: sat on your knees and leaned to the bowl. It was filled with a simple chicken soup and smelled nice, making your stomach grumble loud enough for Strade to hear.

'Thank you…' You appreciated this act of care from his side, but tears dropped from your eyes into the soup. 

'Enjoy your food!' His tone was happy. 

Despite the humiliation and bitter anger in your heart, you started eating, lubberly licking the soup and catching meat and vegetables with your teeth. As a generous master, Strade tossed you a slice of bread, and his jest made you cry silently. It was disgusting, but you swallowed your resentment because you were terrified at the possible punishment for your protest.

You ate everything that was in your bowl, finally warmed up from inside. The result of a good lunch was clear: your body stopped shaking and your face got its delicate blush back. You were looking more vital, almost healthy.

Strade came from his seat and sat down on his knees in front of you. He touched your face, then wiped your mouth with a napkin.

'Gutes Mädchen. Healthy appetite is the key for a fast recovery.' Strade gave you another head pat, ruffling your dump hair. Confused, you freezed at his touch. It was… different. It wasn't a powerful, painful grip, it wasn't a domineering touch, it was something more intimate and gentle, appreciating. You were so thirsty and damaged, you couldn't help but lean to his hand, pressing your head to his palm and closing your eyes to catch this feeling fully. 'You like it when I'm touching you, Schatz, aren't you?' 

'Yes.' You opened your eyes and found him grinning eerily. 

It was the second part of the day, around two in the afternoon, you guessed. The weather was windy and rainy: the light from the window was cold and gray, putting the room into the dark. The sky was covered in heavy leaden clouds that were so thick they took the whole space, leaving a small expanse between the neighborhood and the sky. In this atmosphere Strade's smile had a special, terrifying meaning.

Strade gave you short instructions on what to do next, and you obeyed, immediately did his will. He wanted you to go to his room and rest: you found the master's bedroom easily and came inside, closing the door behind yourself. You hesitated for a moment, not sure if you should lay on the bed, but your tired body decided for you: joint pain, ache of your disturbed wounds and new wave of fever forced you to lay and cover up with the blanket. You didn't even give a quick look at the view in the window to get a better understanding of where you were staying. All the resources of your body were exhausted, and you fell asleep immediately on the soft mattress.

Strade found you sleeping and rolled his eyes in irritation — every time he was leaving you, you fell asleep the moment after. He was patient with this ability of yours only because of your current sickness and the fact that your body probably was fighting an infection by sending you to sleep. Despite the obvious cons, this method had its pros: at least you weren't annoying him with festering wounds and he didn't have to clean it, then cut off contaminated parts of your body after infection progressing, and the smell from you was way better than from others; you didn't die from blood loss or some heart issue, more to say, you were pretty strong and ready to endure everything he would put you through just to prolong your miserable life. What a praiseworthy enthusiasm! Also Strade wasn't as terrible as his victims portrayed him before their death. He was much more patient and merciful than his 'colleagues' and he kept his business clean: Strade had never promised things he wouldn't do, he gave all his victims a recovery period and hospitably fed everyone. He rarely got angry with anyone and had never touched youngsters and animals, had never blackmailed his victims' families with body parts or snuff videos of their darlings, no! Strade was a gentleman, as he used to call himself.

Strade opened the window to let the cold air inside the room, as he preferred chilly temperature inside his house. The moment after he went to bed he felt you pressing your body to his to find more warmth. It was already hot under the blanket, so Strade had just tugged you in it and hugged you with his arm, laughing to himself. You turned out to be a very affectionate and clingy person — and it added special fun to the game. Strade could easily tell that it wouldn't take too long from you to fall in love with him, especially while he would be staying in a good mood.

His unusual behavior that day was motivated by a new good deal with his old acquaintance, a business woman with plenty of rivals she wanted to get rid off. Her requests were an extra side job for Strade. She had never disappointed him: she gave him interesting cases of any complexity and paid well. Sometimes she even asked to make a certain person a new guest in his show for her to enjoy, and Strade couldn't resist her little wish. It wasn't hard for him to torture people for her, so the lady could sleep well for the rest of the next month or two. She was quarrelsome and somewhat hysterical, but it didn't bother Strade at all — he respected her as she did a great job to find him and convince him to work with her. Unlike others, she was an iron lady with a strong character and had enough contacts at the police and the local government to protect her own and Strade's reputation. Strade didn't need her protection, as he had his own connections saved from his previous job, but it was better for him to meet with new people not to make waves on their territory accidentally.

The world was a cruel place and you, little idiot, should be more grateful to him, Strade thought, looking at your calm sleepy face. You were a perfect type of victim: lone, timid, abandoned by her own family, and lived in the bad neighborhood and tended to rent cheap flats with an interesting background. For the landlords you were a dream came true: not a person with stable finances would ever rent a flat in which a murder or a robbery was done. Strade was surprised at how many apartments with a terrible backstory the city had — you were collecting them, Strade guessed. You were lucky to attract the attention of Strade: in your area there was another killer, who was more perverted (even Strade considered him sick) and plus to him, enough kidnappers and murderers were passing through the city in their cars, perfectly equipped for caring a body and getting rid of it somewhere in the woods or on a waste ground. Someone like you could never imagine how deep the web of crime was here: for you, as for every normal citizen, the city seemed to be peaceful, because police didn't know about the biggest part of disappearances.

You shifted in your dream, dropping off the blanket, and Strade felt the hectic warmth radiating from your body. Your breath became heavy and came in broken gasps, your cheeks reddened in an unhealthy way. You were in a fever, and Strade couldn't resist the desire to touch your skin, hot and sweaty. Despite the inner hotness, you were trembling from cold, and your nipples hardened from the temperature difference. It was easily seen through the longsleeve texture, seducing Strade. He could bet, you felt sort of neverending strange agony now, drowned in your torturing delusional slumber with psychedelic dreams worsened by aching pain in your joints, that made you tossing on the bed, trying to find the right position to ease your state. Using you and stuffing you full with his cum would be beyond cruel, and it aroused Strade even more. You looked vulnerable, even inviting, so Strade put your shorts off with a one motion and pulled his half erected cock out. Just pressing the tip against your soft smaller lips felt insanely good and Strade couldn't resist but thrust inside your cunt, bucking his hips into yours. You were too hot inside, almost scorched Strade with this unbearable warmth, like you were in heat actually. It was painful, but amazing, and in this both sadistic and masochistic pleasure Strade wasn't holding back, snapping up into you. Your face twitched in pain, but in this damned ill slumber you couldn't even realize what was real and what was fake. Strade pressed his fingers on the skin of your waist hard, squeezing it until a groan from your lips. You were suffering: he reduced you to nothing but an aching junk, the shell of a human — and it was just the beginning. 

You opened your eyes; your vision blurred, but a figure of Strade pounding into you could be guessed easily. You tried to shift, tensed your lower muscles, but made him feel better than before accidentally, as your spasming cunt hugged his dick tightly, sucking it deeper. Strade let out a moan, wicked smile showed on his lips. You blacked out, encouraging him to go rougher on you. Continuing in a brutal pace, Strade didn't care that you wouldn't be able to walk and sit for a few days after. He released himself inside your body with a low grunt, filling your still untrained cunt to the brim. Strade took out his now softening cock and put your shorts back, then covered you with a blanket again.

Day after day you were recovering slowly, and by the end of the week you finally were alright. You didn't have many things to do, so you were cleaning the house as best as you could in your state. Fortunately Strade liked to turn on the TV and leave for his duties, so you were always listening to a soft noise of it, never really caring about the shows that were running at the moment. You didn't need to understand what was on air  — you needed only a background noise that was calming you and making you feel less lonely here.

The neighborhood was fancy but deserted. It seemed that the biggest half of it just moved out, or, maybe, all of these rich men were having a nice vacation somewhere else. Strade didn't make an impression of someone, who could live in a neighborhood with such an expensive houses, but his house was nice (maybe less pretentious than the others on the street but still very well furnished and comfortable to be inside), making you wonder from where did he get so much money to buy it. You were free to walk everywhere inside, despite just the one room that was constantly locked by the key, which Strade was keeping with himself. You didn't need any adventures, so you weren't showing near it. 

Strade became a little nicer with you — he behaved more tender and didn't torture you for a while. You even started to forget how it feels to be restricted and cut, until you understood that Strade was planning something else for you — he was working at a body shop for the whole day and left it deep at night, ate the dinner made by you and went to sleep. You tried your best to behave, and Strade seemed to be pleased enough: he gave you head pats regularly, could even hug you, when he was in a good mood or had drunk three bottles of cheap beer. You decided to use it to your advantage and asked him to bring you the digital radio and some books from your apartment. Surprisingly, Strade agreed, and the first thing you got was your radio with headphones.

Later he invited you to go downstairs with him. Laughing at tears in your eyes and at your trembling legs, he was following you to the basement, blocking you the way out. Right after you stepped into the basement, Strade locked the heavy door after you and shouted that he would come later. Panicking, you started bumping at the door and pleading Strade to get you out, but he was gone already. 

In between hysterical tapping of your fists at the door you heard a noise downstairs. The noise was similar to a sigh, that changed to scream in a second. It belonged to a young woman — a terrifying shriek that made your heart slow down, before continuing in broken fast pace. You turned your head to her slowly, ignoring all the pleas for help. With your left eye twitching, you looked at her, but it was too dark for you to see and you only recognized the silhouette of her shaking body.

You came down as a shadow, settled in the nearest corner and sat on the floor, pressing your arms to your head. The girl didn't stop screaming, making it hard to ignore her. You wanted to help, you actually wanted to give this idea a try at least, but you knew Strade would come here soon and he would brutally punish you for what you did, so you chose to stay indifferent. You pressed your face to your knees, curling like an upset kid, and hugged your head as if you were protecting yourself. 

Finally the girl got tired from screaming and the basement went into silence. You didn't know how much time left before you heard Strade's steps above you, then the door cracked. You knew he needed to make ten heavy, leisure steps to come down. By habit you were counting them, and finally Strade turned the light on. 

'Doing yoga, buddy?' Strade giggled at your pose, his voice was sounding muffled, so you opened your eyes to see the reason for it. You froze in bewilderment when you noticed a professional camera on a tripod, a laptop on a table, and a tablet. By a miracle, you didn't get stuck in it in the dark, but it wasn't important for you. The most important things were a black mask with a print of the lower part of a human skull and the fact that the girl in front of you had the same type of appearance as you — from head to toes she looked just like you: being rather a sketch of yours, she remembered you as a whole, but after giving her a better look, the difference was clear. As if the whole situation was a homage to your first night with Strade, she was wearing black lingerie of the similar cut as you did. 'Well, sorry for interrupting you, but I need your assistance.'

'What is it?' You pointed on a tripod. 'What's going on?'

'That's a tripod, idiot. Never seen it? 'kay, it's a thing that holds the camera still at a needed level.' Strade turned the laptop on and started to set something up. 'You should stay behind the camera, buddy, and do what I said without delay. Understood?' Strade looked at you, and you nodded. The girl was watching you both with terrified eyes. 

'Strade, what are we going to do?..' Your scare was growing with every second. You almost shouted your words at him. 

'Some kind of dirty job that gives me money to keep you, wastrel.' 

You felt uneasy in your stomach. It was obvious now that Strade's job was hosting red rooms for perverts. You were close to fainting; you actually wanted to faint — just to escape this cruel reality you were forced to stay in.

'Why are you so gloomy, Schatz?' Strade came to you and lowered the mask to his chin. 'You are a big fan of the Neon Demon, I know. Probably, the bitch like you enjoys the scene in the morgue a lot. Wanna repeat it in real life after I finish the show?' Strade caught your chin and squeezed it with his thumb and index finger. 'I would like to see some girl on girl with you.' He put his tongue out and licked your lips, enjoying the way they turned pale from fear. Tracing your lower lip with the tip of his tongue, Strade forcefully pulled your chin down, opening your lips, and spat into your mouth. He whispered: 'Then you can eat her raw and bathe in her blood.'

The girl wanted to cry out, but she only broke into tears. You felt disgusting, so disgusting you wanted to kill yourself right now, disfigure your whole body to something gruesome and ugly like everything around you. Without any other preparations, the stream started.

It was going for thirty minutes already, and she didn't stop screaming even for a second. You didn't ask for more — just a fucking second of silence, without guttural screeching that was similar to the one that came from a slaughtered pigs on a butchery. Everything you could see was blood, so much blood you couldn't even imagine how you would clean it after. You were sitting on a chair in some kind of delusion. Every Strade's action you felt on yourself. Every shriek of this poor girl was yours, every knife, nail, chisel and blade she got, you took with her. 

'Hey, buddy,' Strade held out his hand, waiting for a new tool. 'Choose something for me. I trust your taste.'

You looked at all the tools in front of you and started shaking, feeling an urge to throw up. You just ran away as fast as you could without looking back. You barely made it to the toilet and almost had time to fall on your knees, before puking everything you ate. The red mash that still resembled human features was in your mind, torturing you worse than anything else.

Choose something for me…

You hardly stopped yourself from coughing, but Strade's words in your mind made you puke again and again, until there was only saliva and bile left in the vomit. Your forearms and thighs were itching badly, but you were breathless and tried to gasp for fresh air — the smell of the cleaning agent from the toilet was irritating your nostrils, making you feel nauseous again. He wanted you to kill her. He wanted you to participate in his vile plan but you escaped. Maybe you would better take something deadly to end her suffering… You finally touched your limbs with nails and started scratching it until blood, then moved to your face.

You needed to distract yourself, had to do something to forget about it, so you washed your mouth then started cleaning the toilet, but it wasn't enough. You were cleaning everything that was caught by your eyes. You needed a noise, something to talk in the background. You turned on the TV, found your radio, turned it on too and put earphones on your head, and continued what you were doing. Your hands were burning from chemicals, the skin became red and you felt as if it was melting — you didn't bother putting on a pair of protective gloves. 

'You are so fucking pathetic.'

You jumped from the surprise when your earphones had fallen down by a punch of Strade's palm, and his voice roared behind your back. When you wanted to turn around, you got punched in your face. You fell on the floor, pressing your arms to your bleeding nose. Strade kept beating you. His fists were tight and strong. Covering your body with blue bruises, he was punishing you for cowardice and disobedience. 

'When I give you an order,' Strade squatted and grabbed you by your hair. 'You behave.' He shook your head forcefully. 'Have problems with making a choice, buddy? I'll show you how you make it.'

Strade kept his fist tugged in your hair and dragged you on the floor back to the basement. You were screaming and shouting, trying to break out his iron grip: for the first time ever scratching his hand with your nails, grabbing the edges of furniture to slow him down. After he pushed you through the stairs you got on your knees and jostled him to make it upstairs. Strade kicked your ankle making you fall on your knees and left a smack on your cheek. The dead girl was lying here, so you grabbed him by his waist, piled on him with your weight to make Strade go down to your level. Your gaze caught what was left from the girl: her head was deformed, there were her teeth and fragments of her skull bones laying on the ground; one of her eyes was leaking, her throat was sliced wide open. You were terrified that the same fate was waiting for you.

He wanted to press his boot to your head, but you managed to dodge it. Drove by adrenaline, you attempted to hit him in his face, but Strade caught your hand and wrung it behind your back so hard your bones cracked. The brawl had ended. Strade started laughing manic and mocking; a kick under your knees, and you fell down. He made you turn on your back and sat on your hips. You pressed your damaged hand to your chest, your face twisted in pain. You were whimpering. You opened your eyes to see him; Strade was looking right in your face, greening wide. He spat in your face, giggling at your humiliated state.

'Someone likes to play dangerous games,' Strade pressed the knife to your neck. 'Hey, Schatz. Look at your colleague. She was beautiful, wasn't she? My followers had so much fun with her today. Wanna take her place next time? Buddies are dying to see me destroying the holes of some bitch before pulling her guts out.'

You kept silent. 

'I'm sorry…' it was all you could say. You felt indifferent. Maybe it was some kind of psychological protection, but suddenly all your feelings had disappeared. There was only pain left.

'No, you aren't.' From Strade's lips it sounded like a sentence. 'What's wrong with you today? I don't even want to punish you physically when you are so fucking lifeless.'

Strade was upset with you, but there was something tricky in the intonation of his voice. 'Get up, Schatz. Go and do whatever you were doing.'

The flame of hope lit on your face and Strade had roughly broken it by stabbing your shoulder. For the next hour or two he was forcing you to choose the tool he would torment you with. The dead girl was watching everything with her open dry eyes, and at the end of the lesson Strade had left you with her in the basement for the night.

A week after Strade got your books. With it, he brought your cosmetic bag and your lotions. Strade told you he liked you better with black eyeshadow on your eyes and reddish lips, so you had to put makeup on every morning and keep it until night. Every time you opened your bag, Strade appeared near you and watched your every move, observing how your face was changing depending on the shape of eyeshadow and depths of the color. Right after you put your lipstick on, Strade took your face by your chin and lifted it, making you look in his eyes. Usually, you were sitting on a chair, and he was standing above you, biting his own lip. The deep red color on your mouth looked like blood and kept Strade excited. He pressed his thumb to your lower lip, pulling it down and revealing your teeth, then showed it into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and encouraging you to show it. Starting from sucking on his fingers, you were preparing yourself for another blow job that would leave your throat aching and bruised. Strade didn't like to be teased, and it killed all the intimate moods that you got sometimes. Instead of slow and sensual foreplay he preferred rough and fast, almost animalistic fucking without any care for your pleasure. You didn't even need to try to imitate interest in the process: Strade just grabbed your hair and started pounding inside your mouth, pulling his dick down your throat until your nose met the bush of his hard pubic hair. He let you go right after he came and seemed to forget easily about what had just happened.

It was a miracle to catch him in a mood for non violent sex. It turned out he had a normal sexual interest in women in addition to his routine fetishes, and he could offer you almost a healthy experience. You hated yourself in moments like this: you were clinging to him like a dog, asking for attention and caress, and he gave you them before turning back into a monster. 

You hated yourself for screaming from pleasure and squirming for him, when Strade's tongue slid inside your cunt, while he was eating you out from behind, just to come even further and tickle your virgin asshole. Strade got even harder himself when he was pressing his lips to your other hole in a lewd kiss, and your tight muscles clenched around the tip of his tongue. Vibrations of your voice and trembling in your lips and jaws around his length sent him shivers — sixty-nine was Strade's favorite pose in sex, because it let the both of you be busy with working for each other's pleasure at the same time. Before sucking him fully, you traced your tongue along his length, giving more attention to the tip, kissing it and sucking on it in a teasing manner with your rapid and heated breaths, wetness and softness of your mouth sliding around his dick gradually and sucking in extra foreskin, while pumping him with your warm palm. After sixty-nine followed missionary: nothing busted Strade's lecherous nature more, than your submission. Strade felt unlimited power and control over your body, eagerly letting you cum if you begged him enough. It felt so strange to release from his cock thrusting into you brutally, your soft flesh took him too well for you to be ashamed of. Your body needed him more than your soul, the sexual tension between the both of you was too strong to resist. Even when he was raping you, you managed to find the way to enjoy yourself. 

For a while, everything was peaceful. Strade and you became closer: you spent most of the day chatting, he seemed to be more affectionate and gentle, but with it he started to take his anger out on you easily, could throw something in you — you had already got a cup, a magazine and pliers in your head. It was funny for him to cut you with a knife out of blue just to see your scared face. Your body got numerous scars; every time you looked at it in the mirror, you started crying.

Strade liked to tell you stories. He told you he was working as a security chief in a mental hospital, but was fired for abuse of authority. He told you, how this hospital was performing experiment on patients, how staff was raping them and how them were raping, murdering and fighting each other. How innocent people were sent here and had never come back, how many powerful connections all the directors had. Strade told you how many criminals were sent here, how they shared with him their dirty thoughts and deeds, how much they enjoyed everything they had done. Strade told you about all the forums where disgusting videos of humiliation, cannibalism, murdering, sexual violence, drugs and weapon making were posted. Strade showed you all the information about you on the internet that you didn't even know existed, and it made you terrified at the thought that someone could actually stalk you through it. Strade loved telling you about freaks who were seeking for their victims online and how they made their way from searching for information to actually killing the person — and he enjoyed combining it with pounding into your cunt, as it tightened around him painfully every time he started this topic.

Strade trained you to be grateful. He made you think that he was the only one who could protect you, that without him someone would assault you immediately, because for perverts and madmen you were a tidbit. By some subtle process he managed to imbue you the idea of your exclusivity. Everyone would want to own you, that's why you should be extra careful. Strade shared with you how other kidnappers were treating their victims, and you actually believed that Strade was the best. 

Whenever Strade didn't talk to you, you were listening to the radio. It was much easier to cope with your thoughts and compulsions while listening to the calming voice of a narrator or to music. You were falling in love with him, and you didn't like it. It was hard to fight your own feelings: you wanted to hug him, kiss him every second of your miserable life. The fact that your existence depended on his mercy started to thrill you in a good way: he had everything he wanted because there were no rules and no morals for him. 

With the leftovers of your sanity, you tried to find the reason why no one was searching for you. Strade liked to watch news reports every evening while seeping a beer, and you were watching it with him, dreaming of seeing your face on a channel, but it was never shown. Your sudden disappearance wasn't a surprise for your circle, as you didn't have anyone who really cared about you. Everyone you had known was expecting you to disappear one day because of your mental distress, and they were sure you would show up later, so they didn't bother themselves with your problems. Everyone around you was so busy with themselves that they even ignored the fact that everything you had left in the rented apartment was sold and that you were dismissed from the college for absenteeism.

You didn't notice how you explained everything to Strade about the conflict in your family. You opened your heart for him: you told him that your mother mistreated you since childhood and made up for her attitude with money. She had a habit of giving inappropriate reactions to the simplest things: today she reacted to it calmly, but the week after the same situation made her furious. You had to be grateful to have clothes, food, water, and a roof above your head. You needed to be quiet, and she raised you as an obedient girl: she hated you for bringing her troubles of any sort, so since childhood, you had to solve everything yourself. When you became older, she was jealous of you to your father: she had seen you as a harlot and thought that you were seducing her husband. She was just seeking a reason to kick you out of the house — and she found it. As for your father, he was henpecked, so he didn't really care about what was happening. You told Strade how you were bouncing from one messed-up apartment to another, about your disappointing first love, your unhealthy obsession with book collecting, and everything else. You even shared with him how badly your heart ached because no one was searching for you, your disappearance went unnoticed by everyone, even the renter didn't do at least something to know what had happened to you. And Strade was the first one to comfort you.

How wrong it felt to get compassion from your tormentor, but you took it gladly and with gratitude. Even if it was fake, you were ready to believe his lie until he was treating you as his best victim. He was the only one who really cared about you. You liked to be unique for him: when he was hammering a nail in your arm, stabbing you with a screwdriver, burning a cigarette off of your skin, or breaking your legs, you felt loved. When Strade made a deep cut on your shoulder and pressed his lips to it, sucking your blood from a fresh wound, circling its edges and penetrating it with his tongue, you felt appreciated. When he locked the shock collar on your neck and pressed the button every time you misbehaved, you felt cherished. With your forearms looking like raw meat because of all the cuts you left while itching, you experienced a blessing.

In this house, you felt like home.

[skinandscales-if]

"it takes me seven days to stop being in love with you" + puck?

Atlas | Skye | Reese

⎯

That day was sunny, so you and Puck visited the sea.

It was a little windy, but not enough to deter either of you, as you both found an isolated slice of the boardwalk and decided to walk down it for the day. Having this much free time was a rarity, and one you were determined to experience at its fullest. Puck wasn’t as busy anymore either, so the break was a breath of fresh air between the two of you. As the wind whips by, you swear you can see dark clouds out on the horizon.

“Looks like we got here just in time. Might rain.” You muse, pulling your jacket tighter to yourself. Puck hums in acknowledgment and peers skyward, catching the same view as they adjust their glasses. 

“Hm. Looks likely.” Their features slowly turn mischievous, a glint in their eyes that you know well by now. You smile even before they speak. “If we have to take shelter, I’m not letting you under if there’s not enough room.”

You laugh, a surprised noise that is gutted in your throat. You elbow into their side a bit and stare at them in astonishment as they grin back at you.

“Where’d that come from? You’re already planning on abandoning me after all I did to plan today?” You chuckle, shaking your head at them dramatically as you heave out a loud sigh. “Wow. I see how it is.”

“Aw come on. You love me.” They snipe back, leaning in a little closer in just a way that makes their presence a bit overwhelming. They block most of the breeze this way, until you can really only focus on them and keeping one foot in front of the other. They don’t seem to notice your plight. Or maybe they do. Instead, they just give you a stunning smile, wrapping one arm around your middle. It’s hard to feel the contact through all the layers but you are still very aware of it. It’s warm and unbroken by your steps.

“Nah… I think I could break up with you easy, actually.” You deflect, rolling your eyes as you scoff at the quick return of their charm. Always the one to dial it up when they’re in trouble. And it’s difficult to ever really find them in trouble, so this attention is all the more appreciated. The bastard.

“Hm? Really? That easily?” They ask, straightening up a bit. You tense a bit as their arm moves away from your back a bit though they don’t remove it entirely. Puck is considering something, a look you know better than any of their others as they wrinkle their nose a bit and their head tilts just slightly enough to not be purposeful.

“It would take me seven days to stop being in love with you.”

“Huh?”

Puck looks back to you, now a bit more serious. Have they really considered this? Your chest tightens a bit before they clear it up.

“The seven stages of grief. I’d go through one each day.” They correct, giving you a slight nod. Your own mood has grown a bit more serious, a bit more solemn. They’re also very good at that. Keeping you grounded when you need to be. This seems like a strange time, though. The waves crash a little harder on the rocks to your side. 

“Isn’t it five? Five stages of grief?” You add, now determined to get to the bottom of this sudden change in mood. Puck doesn’t look very plussed, instead focused on this new topic, eyes wandering somewhere out there beyond the end of the boardwalk.

“Mm… well, yes, for the most part. But the seven stages are for a more complex understanding of grief. They add in shock before everything and one for reconstruction. It allows for a more comprehensive view of things.” 

You stare at them for another moment, incredulous. They continue.

“I think not allowing me those two extra days would be a disservice. Whiskey for shock. Tea for reconstruction.” They glance over to you now, smile slowly overcoming their features once again and the nerves flood out of your system. That shine that catches the edge of their glasses, the same light that reflects so perfectly in the brown pools of their eyes. You lean a bit closer unconsciously, like some sort of magnetic pull keeps you tethered to them. To the here and now. It’s the strangest and most comforting thing in the world, their gravity. It’s all-consuming, warm, and constant. You think if you ever confessed it to Puck they’d have some kind of explanation for it but you don’t want that. Some things are best left unexplained.

“That’d be concise, don’t you think?” Puck finishes. You blink at them, returning to yourself as you register their words and a familiar smile works it’s way onto your face.

“You’re such a nerd.” You chuckle, shaking your head again. You pull from them a bit but don’t let their hand fall away, instead moving to grip it. You can’t even feel the sea breeze anymore. They laugh back and it pulls at your heart until it aches. Damn. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

“Oh so you won’t break up with me now?”

“Oh my god Puck.”

[pbandjesse]

I am so tired. Everyone thought I was taking off from the market today but I did not! I was there and I spent more money then I made but it was a beautiful day and I'm glad I was there. And I got a lot done today.

I slept alright. When I got home James helped bring everything upstairs. And I hate to go to sleep with a big mess but there was only so much we could do. They would sort the laundry and at least get things into the correct rooms. But it was just a lot to get done. I would save that for today.

We went to sleep and I woke up at one point to use the bathroom and got very woozy and almost fell over. I really wanted a mournful of peanut butter but instead was able to make it back to bed and fell asleep.

I woke up after 7 and got ready pretty quick. My hair was looking really nice today. Like healthy nice. I have been liking it after I wash it and it's really doing wonders for me. Especially as we get into winter and the air gets dryer I am trying to focus on hair health so it can grow longer. Trying not to use much heat and being gentle. A little self care project.

We went to McDonald's and got 3 hash browns to share and then James helped me get set up for the day. Stanley had to head out so James couldn't lollygag outside with me. They don't often anyway but I still want them too. After I got set up we got our bakery stuff from Ginny early. And I would go back and pay for it because James had to run back inside.

I was a little fidgety at first today and wanted to walk around and see everyone. Lock gave me a fancy tomato for free. I got my guacamole and figured out why it's been weird. It's a different kind of avacado! I don't know enough Spanish to ask the nice man why but I saw them and they are lime color and longer. I still like the guac but Google says they don't have as much oil and that's why they are sort of thinner. Not as whippable. Still good but not as amazing as it was. I am still going to eat so much of it.

I also got berries and I got some figs. I got the figs for Anne, James's mom, because she loves figs. There is a joke about being waspy in there but I will let you write that yourself. Hopefully we can give her and Tucker those tomorrow. Maybe we'll have dinner with them.

I was happy to see CJ. Callie is just so good at making people flowers and it's super nice to have a friend there. I would make her a friendship bracelet while I was standing there trying to get any sales. It was a slow day for me. But not for the market. We got almost 700 people throughout the morning! That's crazy!

I didn't recognize her at first but Julie from the nursery came through and said hi. I was like hello, I know you but I'm not sure why but I'm not going to say that. And finally she mentioned Becky and I was like ohhh!!! It was because I had never seen her without a mask! She had a baby! He was so cute! And she had two dachshunds! It was nice to see her and she bought one of my sale bears. She said I can't say I haven't sold anything now and it was very sweet.

I only sold $10 bears today. Which is fine. I also sold 4 stickers. I need to get some new stuff for the table. I also need to have James order more sticker designs. I want to do some Halloween, or more likely all the holidays, ones this week I think. Maybe when we drove to my parents on Tuesday.

I did get some knitting done. And I enjoyed the weather. But it was also super windy and so I was a little stressed about things falling over which made me on edge. And then I was cold. Me and Callie went and stood in the sun and I sat in the dog sculpture which was very warm and we learned his name is Sailor which I thought was so cute.

Meril was there too and it was fun talking to her. I told her about Louis Wain and a tattoo I want to get and I made us both cry. And w sent texts to each other from across the market about the people who were very very clearly there for the jazz concert. With their berets and shirts just in their shoulders. And the music was good and wasn't as unbearably loud.

Ann was being bad cop at people because they were putting their cars where they shouldn't or letting there dogs fight or using market tables for eating?? But it was nice chatting with her too. We actually all catty and I come up with reasonable doubt. Like apparently someone didn't come last week because their mother died. But then their mother came with them this week. And I'm like. Maybe they have two mothers, maybe they were in a beautiful lesbian relationship you don't know!! That is basically how all our conversations go. She says something and I make a wild or outrageous explanation.

I was really excited to leave though. I had told James I would get groceries if they wanted me too but I was also super tired. They told me to go rest and they would come home and while they were working on laundry they would get groceries. I appreciated that. And a little after one, and after giving Callie a big hug and telling her to let me know if I could help her move/unpack this week because I love unpacking. She also told me she got her placement for teaching and she's really happy so I'm also really happy for her!!

I went inside to say goodbye to James and then I was out. Getting home was better then yesterday when everyone was driving stupid. But in the other direction towards the museum exit was completely sitting still and there seemed to be a bad accident in the middle of the traffic?? I hope everyone and everything is okay.

I got home and ran into Mr Will outside who gave me many cheek kisses because it's been like two months since I've seen him. He seemed so much healthier then the last time. I wanted to stay and chat but I was also so tired. So I had to say goodbye and come upstairs.

I got up here and I wanted to start cleaning but decided I would sleep as long as I needed, which ended up being until 5, and then would spend as long as was needed to get everything away.

And I fell asleep hard. I slept for almost 3 hours. I really needed it. And when I woke up I got redressed and had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. James was at the store still. And I spent a few minutes waking up and feeling like a person again.

Once I was awake I got into organizing. And would spend the next 3 hours sorting and putting away. I am not done, but at least it's better. Things have spots for now. I want to get some vacuum saver bags for some of our extra pillows and blankets. And I want to get rid of some stuff. But at least for now I have made great progress. And James helped a lot. They sorted my basket of half finished projects and fabrics and put them in the boxes I have gotten for that. And I worked on the closet in the studio. Finally got the cart in there. And I am just really pleased. I also found a better way to keep my extra garment rack and I'm going to use it for all my coats for now. Which frees up the closet even more.

I also started going through my lotions and makeups again. I got rid of a half trash bags worth of lotions and deodorant and makeup. All expired. Or weird smelling. James is going to go through our nail polish at some point this week and I am going to go through the bathroom closet. We just have a lot of half finished things and stuff we aren't using. And it needs to get cleared out. I'm very happy with what we got done though. Even if the work continues.

Around 9 I finally got a shower. And laid down. And now I am ready to get some sleep. James just came in the room and immediately sneezed so loud. Causing a commotion. And I'm sitting here texting stupid stuff to Celia and Jess is telling me about her day. And I feel happy.

Tomorrow I hope to get more organizing done. I also want to make a list of stuff I want to accomplish this week. I want to use my two weeks well. I hope you all have a good Sunday it's also my brother's birthday! He's going to be 30!! I love him very much. Maybe when we go see my parents on Tuesday we can see him for a minute. We will see what happens.

I love you all. Sleep good. Take care of yourself!!

[asterdeer]

my hypothetical ao3 collection of midnights-based songfic, no other unifying factor - 40% serious, 50% if-i-was-good-enough-maybe, 10% shitpost.

“lavender haze” this one is a jonmichael fic purely off the “talk your talk and go viral / I just want the love spiral / get it off your chest / get it off my desk” bridge. that’s a mostly canon compliant jonmichael bridge if i ever heard it. they are holding hands at jon’s desk

“maroon” I'm going to ask you to hang with me for a second: richard maxwell/greg kelly. look it's canon that they knew each other (i can't remember if they knew they both worked for blackgaard? don't make me reread any of the blackgaard chronicles again ffs.) and if there's anything i love doing in fic it's turning a single line or two of throwaway canon into melodramatic soap opera nonsense. they lived together in chicago and did sketchy jobs together and fell in love and it was messy when richard left. and then waylaid in the windy city happened. yeah the blood is definitely just talking about a blush

“anti-hero” THEE richard maxwell character study of all time. i can hear i have this thing where i get older but just never wiser in his voice fr.

“snow on the beach” this is a steveloki song and specifically in my ideal stoki fic where it's loki who saves steve instead of the other way around. this pairing IS peak ‘weird but fuckin beautiful’

“you’re on your own, kid” i want to make this about morgana so bad. idk how but this should be a morgana fic.

“midnight rain” tbh i hate this song, no fic

“question…?” ditto

“vigilante shit” this is sheer richard maxwell revenge bait. idk how the fic would actually go but suddenly i’m picturing nb!richard and connie screwing blackgaard over and driving away in his car and making out at a fancy beach house, and it’s making me really happy

“bejeweled” this one gave me the most trouble but listen: IRONIC VILLAIN SONG FOR MORGANA. morgana wins au, she glows up and reclaims the throne and she does, in fact, polish up real nice!! she has been too good of a girl!!! it is time to teach some lessons!!!!!!

“labyrinth” look this song bores me to death, go queen give me nothing, but like. obviously it’s a steveloki song, the bit about the plane? the bit about everyone expecting him to bounce back? this one isn’t clever but it would make a cute enough long fic concept. probably in my loki-saves-steve idea as well, definitely the ‘oh’(tm) chapter for steve’s pov.

“karma” sorry that i think this would make for the funniest steve-centric anti-tony fic in the whole entire world. sorry that i'm objectively right. sorry that i will never write it but like, imagine. IMAGINE

“sweet nothing” this would be the epilogue fic to my jonmichael misophonia fic series. after a certain point, jon being the archivist means everyone wants something from him, usually something destructive or hurtful or just plain something he doesn't want to do, but now jon and michael are free somehow and jon gets to be loved by someone who wants nothing from him except himself.

“mastermind” this is richason to a TEE. a cute little “i am secretly Courting You, haha you’ll never find out until it’s TOO LATE” fic, richard thinks he’s so smart. jason does too but def not about this.

“the great war” i read the lyrics for this one time and decided it would make the most steveloki fic of all time and i was and still am correct

“bigger than the whole sky” this is the fic where jason and richard have a whirlwind romance during DBD but richard dies when he gets caught (either murdered or dies when he jumps out of the car). this song also bores me to tears but the sentiment of jason not getting to know richard the way they should have been, after richard has finally been able to clear his name and have a more peaceful life sans regis, is a pretty compelling one to me.

“paris” nah this is my least favorite song on the album

“high infidelity” i love this song but i can’t imagine a character/pairing/situation that i’d want to write about with actual infidelity?

“glitch” EUGENE/RICHARD FANS COME GET YALL JUICE. i know i know, it's tacky and gimmicky, but, come on, it's adorable! geek love! this is a "falling in love while deep-diving into the imagination station's code" fic. literally the cutest. i haven't quite figured out how i would actually write eugene/richard but y'all have convinced me that it would be adorbs.

“would’ve, should’ve, could’ve” the spiritual sequel to the "you're on your own, kid" morgana fic. i mean the line about spitting out poison??? there's a lot here that could make a good uther angst fic but tbh i want to zero in on a morgana vs merlin dynamic where morgana knows about his magic and that he still chose to turn his back on her. not in an anti-merlin way but still in that "how dare you betray me like that" vein. god "give me back my girlhood, it was mine first" in a morgana context absolutely KILLS me.

“dear reader” oh man you could write the most crushing jon jarchivist study off this song. and by you I mean someone else who isn’t me. but i can pretend i have the competency to make this work

[artisafeelingg]

AUTHENTICITY:

I always talk to people and get the “you’re so different than I imagined” talk. While I know this is meant to be a compliment, and hearing it gives me great solace in knowing that someone has finally uncovered the real Lucia without letting their judgements of who I am from my social media, etc. hinder that, I cannot help but feel slightly sad. What about all of the individuals that never see the real me? Or all of the people who allow an Instagram post or a passing glance to write my narrative of who I am as an individual? This blog post is dedicated to starting my journey of authenticity and sharing ME on social media. From a young age I’ve been passionate about writing. In my eyes, the beauty of the written word surpasses all other forms of communication. Writing was my first love, and we had a tumultuous affair from writing articles for The Indianapolis Star to publishing my poetry in an anthology on Amazon and other international print magazines. Like all first loves, I put a tremendous amount of pressure on my love for writing and considered even making it my major. Eventually, we went our separate ways but my passion and knack for it has never ceased to exist, even many years later. I’m writing this first post as a toast to authenticity, and to using my social media to express who Lucia Ponader really is. She rather sentimental (queue the weekly cry sesh!) She is an avid lover of words and will constantly use large words which shocks people (girls can be hot and smart too. It’s called elevated diction. Godspeed on your journey of literacy). She is messy, passionate, unorganized (just ask her friends) and a whirlwind of emotion and intensity. She is a lover of ALL Asian cuisine and with absolutely zero apprehension would eat any form of Asian cuisine every day for the rest of her life. She is a self proclaimed dumpling connesuir. She absolutely cannot function without her trusted Aquaphor. She MUST sleep with multiple fans blasting on full speed directly onto her face (to the average overnight guest one would believe that they were at sea on a particularly windy day trying to fall asleep in her room). She might quite possibly be a hoarder because of her emotional attachment to literally anything. She enjoys sunshine beaming down, with a kombucha in tow and her favorite book. Or watercoloring outdoors with a great friend. She lived in Italy for 8 months and LOVES to travel. She conquered Hawaii next. Her absolute favorite movie of all time is the Great Gatsby directed by Baz Luhrmann, one of her favorite directors of all time. She hates driving, those sporadic “can I talk to you” texts, and picky eaters. She aspires to be a food critic, travel to every country in the world, and make her own Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations (P.S. Anthony Bourdain is my answer to the who would you have dinner with dead or alive question). She hates small talk and would rather engage in an enthralling discussion about something more abstract. Her favorite question to argue: do you believe in the idea of truth as it is literally defined? (in my opinion the correct answer is no, truth is merely a construct that is completely subjective and therefore is inherently unable to exist according to the definition of “truth”). She is creative and thinks outside the box; rules do not apply to her. She is an internationally published poet. She once ghostwrote music for her SoundCloud rapping ex. Favorite artist? Monet or musically it would have to be Cigarettes After Sex. She has been coined the “jester” of her friend group, as it’s her job to entertain and make people laugh. She does not believe that love is enough or that it exists for her (absolutely feel free to prove me wrong at any point). She loves a good laugh. She has flaws too, like all of us, but perhaps we will dive into those in another post. She exists differently in every single persons mind, but it’s time she takes control of that narrative, just a little. Here’s my take on authenticity, perfectly imperfect. Stop taking Instagram so seriously.

[woozymitts]

European Paper Wasp (Polistes dominula) ♂ Spotted Cucumber Beetle (Diabrotica undecimpunctata) Great Golden Digger Wasp (Sphex ichneumoneus) Five-banded Thynnid Wasp (Myzinum quinquecinctum) Common Blue Mud-dauber Wasp (Chalybion californicum) Chrysidini sp. Four-banded Stink Bug Wasp (Bicyrtes quadrifasciatus) Megachile sp. Parallel-striped Sweat Bee (Halictus parallelus) Myzinum maculatum ♀ Archytas apicifer? Goldenrod Soldier Beetle (Chauliognathus pensylvanicus) Archytas apicifer? Common Eastern Bumble Bee (Bombus impatiens) ♀ Common Eastern Bumble Bee (Bombus impatiens) ♂ Common Eastern Bumble Bee (Bombus impatiens) ♀ Lobed Mason Wasp (Ancistrocerus antilope) Narrow-headed Marsh Fly (Helophilus fasciatus) Hawthorn Mining Bee (Andrena crataegi)? Vespula Sp.

Foaming at the mouth at the absolute biodiversity in my yard this year! We have this bush in the yard that the wasps, bees and flies are obsessed with, which is where I took most of the pictures.

I also noticed these HUGE flies which I've never seen before. Usually if you even look in the general direction of a fly it immediately takes off but these ones could not care less, I could put my hand right up to them and they didn't move until I physically touched them.

Also once again completely baffled by the people who talk about how "aggressive" and "mean" wasps are and how they constantly get stung. What are you guys doing??? None of the above species gave a single shit about me shoving my macro lens in their faces, and if it was windy I would sometimes grab the branch they were on to hold it steady and none of them even reacted.

The queen bee (which has a stinger unlike the males) also made no effort to sting me, after picking her up for a photo she actually refused to get off of my hand because she wanted to sit on me and groom her face.

We've also had lots of yellowjackets (I'm so bad at IDing them so no idea on species) approaching us recently and checking us out, flying extremely close and looking at us and then flying away. Even if I put my hand up in front of them to see if they want to land they sort of just look at it and then fly away.

Last year there were paper wasps on nests in my yard and they would stare at me warily but never sting me when I photographed them.

Also feel free to ID things on my iNaturalist or correct me on any IDs here!

[bewarebugbear]

ok ok ok so this has been in my brain for a very long time and my loved ones have been hearing me infodump about it CONSTANTLY so here goes my analysis on:

SANCIRC, MENTAL ILLNESS, AND NEURODIVERGENCY [As written by an autistic/adhd person who’s special interest has been sancirc for over 4 years]

ok im going to get the most obvious characters out of the way, which are sammy and attley as being autistic/adhd coded.

attley and sammy both have special interests [sammy with stamps and attley with detective fiddle, a radio show they named their spider after, and also spiders or bugs in general]. sammy has been shown indulging in stamps and trying to infodump about them to posey and is shown buying stamps.

there has also been a doodle of attley kicking their legs back and forth, which i interpret as a stim. [i saw this drawing a while ago and havent gone back in the sancirc tag that far recently] specifically a happy stim

along with a scene in the very first chapter where attley plays a prank on her little brother by dropping dead bugs on him. they dont understand that he is upset until he is crying and after that they just, withdraw. which is a common response from an autistic person who understands that they messed up and instead chooses to remove themselves from the situation.

outside of these ideas we dont have much of a foundation since attley has been having A Time and sammy hasnt been explored as much in the comic yet.

and now for the main part of the essay. posey morris. posey is a very

fun. look into mental illness. it has already been speculated to be mentally ill or neurodiverse by fans, even though these comments have come off as ableist in some senses. a few actions posey has can be seen as a trauma response, along with its dependency on attley stems from years of mental abuse at the hands of tedley, and at the very end of the comic, physical assault and dismemberment. 

i see posey as a very mentally ill and paranoid individual with severely clouded judgement and a hard time processing reality. it is in touch with reality and can process some aspect easily but some times it isnt quite there.

an example of this is another scene in the first chapter where it assumes that attley is already suspicious of it not being human when attley has established to it that.

1. they didnt even know that posey could do magic

2. and basically knows nothing about magic

posey immediately took a giant leap of logic and assumed that it had messed up, with proof against that already that it disregarded. 

another display of trauma is how it generally acts around tedley, an abusive father figure. its demeanor completely changes at the mere mention of him and it flinches, sweats and is generally meek and nervous around him. 

there seems to be a posey for every situation, a different persona that starkly contrasts another. there is one for attley, for other scarecrow, for victims, and there is a silent and defeated posey for occasions where its being yelled at by tedley or stuck in the NO. 

i may be looking too far into it but posey seems to use spycrows much more compared to other scarecrow, having some in constant usage and while having a panic attack an over production of spycrows that end up unusable but still somewhat alive. spycrows are essentially what have given posey the upper hand up until that point, until that page they are known as a sign of impending doom and danger. after that page i see them as a coping mechanism, a way for posey to control the situations before putting itself in there. 

the spycrows are a very feeble sense of control that posey has, while creating the deformed spycrows posey is in a very stressful and uncontrollable situation. posey is essentially having a panic attack before tedley returns and verbally abuses it and tells it to murder the only person that posey has deemed as safe or close to it. 

when it comes to it, posey will always be motivated by or for attley, whether it be finding them, helping them [in whatever posey defines as “help” in the moment]. posey is extremely dependent on attley, which is very unhealthy for their relationship at the current moment. 

posey has been in a situation it cannot control and is not familiar with. attley was integrated in poseys life to a point where posey can not let go of attley. attleys disappearance from poseys life has caused a lot of negative responses to come out because up until attley disappeared they were the only support posey knew. 

scarecrows on average suffer a lot of trauma from simply dying and being roughhoused, posey is just what we have seen so far and how it reacts to stressful situations. 

in conclusion: posey shows a lot of signs of being mentally ill, attley and sammy are autistic coded. and if you have read all the way down here <3 thank you for sticking through my inane ramblings!

[darkacademicfrom2021]

A gentlecat.

Summary: A black cat comforts you when you need it the most. Your new friend is quite peculiar for an animal. It's almost like they could understand you.

Pairing: Loki x gender neutral reader (it's not actually a "pairing", you can see it as a friendship, or something platonic).

Word count: 2K.

Warnings: anxiety, sadness.

Disclaimer: picture not mine.

You used to frequent the roof of the compound everytime you were melancholic.

Or everytime you had too many feelings to process and needed time alone. Or anytime you felt too empty and needed to refill on sentiments and life by staring at the moon and remembering how much it means to exist in this world. Or too overwhelmed, and needed to be reminded of how little it all matters, how few are the things that are actually important.

No matter the motive, the roof and the moon were always there with you.

The wind blew on your face, almost like a whisper, almost like a caress. The same wind that blew on a crying child, or a couple of teenagers kissing for the first time, or an old man remembering with gratitude the love of his life. Or a lost young who, just like you, was looking at the moon searching for a meaning. An answer. Why all of this? Why to you? Why to everyone and why everything at the same time?

You inhaled a deep breath as you laid your back against the floor of the terrace, and the only thing you got to see were the few starts pollution would let you, and the gigantic moon smiling at you.

A noise startled you, and you were sitting back up again in no time. Being an avenger made you a little more paranoid than you expected. But you didn't say anything. You looked around nervously and waited for the sound to reappear. And it did.

"Who's there?".

No answer. You heart was pounding, but you didn't let your voice break. A hand flew right to the knife in your thigh, waiting for the danger to appear.

The noise came out of the shadows. A black cat approached you precatiously, almost as if they knew you were a threat. You put your guard down and finally sighed.

"God, little thing, you scared me", you whispered as you put a hand near them to let them smell you and be familiar with you. The cat didn't do so, instead, they sat by your side and rested their head on your hand. "Well, you certainly trust easier than me".

The cat meowed answering you, and you felt a connection to them. You loved animals, but this one was different. It was almost like they could understand your words. You moved your thumb slowly, petting their head. The cat let you, staring at you with intensity. Blueish green eyes that you felt like you knew from somewhere else.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked, and you felt stupid. What life choices had lead you to the point of talking to a black cat on a roof, while everyone else was partying? The cat meowed back again. You chuckled. "So you understand what I say? I'll keep talking, then. Just don't think I'm too crazy". The cat purrowed in your hand, and you took it as a yes.

"I just... I don't like these parties, you know? I don't feel well when there's too many people around me, and all the noise... you'd understand, I think cats are sort of like that, right?". The cat meowed again. You smiled. "I appreciate being here, I really do. But the whole Avengers show we should put up... I don't buy it. We know damn well we're not what we pretend to be". You ranted, and realized immediately after you should've been looking around first. If anyone actually heard you, you'd be in big trouble. You went back to a whisper "but that's our little secret".

The cat slowly walked nearer you and looked at you before sitting in your lap, as to look for approval. You nodded and caressed the fur as they did so.

"Do you have a name?" You asked, looking for a collar. "Weird. A cat so well taken care of like you should have an owner". The cat hissed and you laughed "alright, not an owner. You don't like the expression, I get it. A human partner, maybe?". The cat stared at you again. You wished they could talk, but it was probably better off like that. Maybe you liked animals because they couldn't talk.

"So you're from the streets?".

The cat looked inside the compound and then looked back at you again. You interpreted as if they was asking you why wouldn't you go back. "I can't go in there, I got too anxious and said I was sick". You swear you saw the cat roll their eyes.

"Why are you here?". And you immediately laughed "oh, God. I'm asking questions to a cat. What am I waiting for? An answer? You probably just want food. Wait here, I'm gonna get you some. I'll steal some of Bucky's. He has a cat, too".

You sneaked through the party and nobody noticed you passed by. Once you were back, the cat wasn't there anymore. You left the food in a cup of tea on the floor, just in case they came back, and went back to the compound.

The next time you were on the roof, you weren't running away from any party. It was that same week that you felt increasingly anxious out of nowhere, in the middle of a dinner. After a while you went back to bed and you overheard the asgardian brothers discuss something in a low voice outside your room. Thor wanted to walk in and make sure you were fine; his brother told him he knew you needed space, so you were better off left alone. You wondered how he knew that, and then realized he was like that too.

You basically never spoke to him, but you always shared your silences. Everyone in the Stark Tower was so... enthusiastic. Outgoing. You and Loki enjoyed the silence of the nights over a good book and a warm drink. You barely spoke to each other. You were various meters away, in different parts of the common room (that one with the big couches and old books Mr. Stark set up for the introverts of the group, ahem, you two and ocassionally little Peter Parker). But you were there, always sharing that loneliness you craved in such crazy times.

After a while, you crawled out of bed and rested your arms in the window. You realized there was someone waiting for you in there.

"Hello, friend".

The cat purrowed in your hand. They had a protein bar in their mouth, as to give it to you. You frowned in confusion.

"You know, whatever you are, you don't pretend to be a cat very well". The cat opened their eyes widely, and you laughed. "But thank you. I don't know how you knew I didn't have dinner, but I appreciate this very much".

You opened your window so that they could come in, but they didn't. They looked inside, but stayed in there, as to care for your privacy. "It's fine, you can come in". The cat stayed out, anyways. "I think I'm gonna do some reading. If you care to join me, you're invited".

You and the black cat stayed up all night on the balcony of your room. You read in silence and the cat rested on your lap, purring and staring at you with those big, intense eyes. The night wasn't cold, but refreshing. Windy, before the big rainstorm that would have place next day. You loved that weather.

It wasn't the only occasion you stayed all night with the company of the black cat. Once they already felt comfortable enough to get in your room, you'd both lay in bed, and the cat would curl around your neck, using your shoulders as a mattress.

One dark and rainy afternoon you were on the roof, and the cat was with you, laying on the floor, watching the stars and the moon, just like you. You overheard some of the Avengers talking about you. Clint's voice commenting on how you basically adopted a stray, and Tony laughing. Thor corrected them you befriended a cat, and you chuckled at the offense he took from the word "adopted".

"Don't worry, I befriended you. You seem to be good by yourself", you clarified. The cat meowed.

It got dark and you stayed in the floor until the last light on the compound was turned off. The cat seemed to be curious as why you stayed for so long.

"I want to go to the common room, I haven't been there in a few weeks", you commented. "Best time of the day is when almost everyone's asleep".

At some point of the night you got up and walked through the compound to get to the kitchen. The cat followed your steps, and you swore they knew the way.

You poured some warm milk in a cup for the cat and they waited for you to have your coffee in hand to start sipping. You both sat on the couch of the common room.

"Such a polite gentle...cat", you whispered. "You know, it's so weird this is empty right now. At this time there's someone else reading here". The cat looked at you and you didn't understand what they meant. "I think he would like you. You have sort of the same energy, maybe that's why I even befriended you. Someday, if you let me, I'll introduce you two". The cat nodded weirdly.

You spilled some coffee on your shirt and cursed to yourself. The cat went to the counter and grabbed a napkin for you. At that point, they didn't even pretend to act like a cat at all.

"Ah, thank you". As you cleaned yourself, the cat looked at the book you were reading. It was in old norse. The cat looked at you with interrogative eyes. "Ah, that's... stupid, actually. I'm a little embarrassed I'm even doing that". The cat sat infront of you, and you felt like it was a way to ask you for more. You felt free to elaborate.

"This man... well, not a man. There's someone in this compound I never speak to, yet I still feel very connected to, you know? And everytime we're reading together, he reads these very dusty and heavy books in old norse. I didn't know that language, of course. But I was always curious to see what he read. You know, he can spend all night up reading those pages; he's so concentrated he doesn't notice his expressions. But they're great. He smiles, and frowns, and sighs. And I don't think he's aware of that, but I find it so beautiful", you explained. The cat kept looking at you with their eyes wide open. You sighed and continued. "Anyways. I just... I wanted to see a bit more of him. I'm too... shy, I guess? To actually talk to him. In fact, I feel a little intimidated, he's tall, and has some darkness in his eyes, and... well, he's a God. But I'd... I don't know. I learnt old norse and I started reading these books. And I feel like I understand him a little more. Even a little".

The cat looked down a bit and made themself a ball of fur in your lap. You kept reading. They rested their head in your arm and stared at the book as you read, as if they were reading it too.

When you woke up, you were in that same couch. The cat was nowhere to be found. You had a blanket over you, the book was closed over the coffee table, and your shoes were off. You felt weirdly safe. Anonymously taken care of.

You heard noises in the room next door -the kitchen-, and you peeped in. The God of Mischief was in there, making two cups of coffee. He turned around as he heard you walk in, and handed you one cup.

"Góðan morgin", he said. It meant good morning. You swear you saw a little smile forming in the corners of his mouth.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 04

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: abduction, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: hello!! i hope you enjoy this new chapter as i dive more into bucky’s past. italics in this work symbolise a flashback in case anyone’s confused. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

The entrance hall of the Barnes household was pilled up with people. Between his mum barking orders left to right and caterers bringing food in and out, the once silent room turned into a busy crossroads which meant James had retreated back to his room. He was sat down in his bed, cashmere black suit on and hair pushed back, Dead Souls opened on top his legs. He was lost in between the small black letters printed on the yellowing paper, so lost that the sound of his window opening went by him until a loud thump woke him up from his literary daze. Bucky looked up to see his younger sister, sat on the floor of his bedroom by the window with her dress partially on and hair messy due to the windy weather outside. He sighed, closing his book and putting it off to the side.

    - Can’t you climb into your own bedroom? - Bucky got up from bed, leaning down to help her back onto her feet.

    - Yours is closer. - she brushed the dirt off her baby pink dress picked by their mother. - Shouldn’t you be downstairs?

    - Shouldn’t you be in your bedroom? 

    - Touche. - she pointed. - Can you not tell mum? She’ll freak out if she discovers that I went out on dad’s big day. 

    - Go on, I’ll keep mum occupied while you sort out that bird’s nest hair. 

    - Thank you! - she smiled, giving him a short hug. - What am I gonna do when you go to Princeton? Who’s gonna cover for me?

    - I guess you’ll just have to form an alliance with the maids.

Y/N and Bucky were silent, barely speaking to each other if even looking into each other’s eyes. She merely remained there in her operatic costume, the corset doing the best of jobs at enhancing her female features and almost making her look like a femme fatale out of a classical movie in rich red and green fabrics decorated with what he guessed where heavy metal gold pieces resembling precious jewels and golden rings. He did not know which production they were putting on, he hadn’t even heard her sing before but she looked like she belonged in that stage, like she would have been showered in praise the moment the spotlight grazed her. 

She paced around the living room not exactly sure what to do, the beads which made up her skirt and would suddenly peak to show her legs making a slight rustling noise as her eyes studied the book shelf which was filled with tons and tons of books from the classics to mere economy books. Maybe she could read them whenever the tension between of them wasn’t so apparent. She couldn’t help but sometimes look at the badly fixed window and wonder if she could make it, maybe when he wasn’t looking, maybe when he was sleeping yet looking at him; tall, muscular, fast, definetely much stronger than her, she knew that even if she managed to get outside, he would easily get her back. Her mind battled her positive side as she wondered if this was it, if this was home now. Suddenly, her old flat no longer seemed old and she would give everything away if only she could go back, back to being told to do errands that really did not concern her, to stepping on bobby pins laid on the ground, to way too strong makeup which looked ridiculous in proper daylight. She would give everything, if she could go back to what her life had been. 

The man whose name he hadn’t even dignified himself to tell her yet was sat on one of the high chairs by the kitchen with his eyes trained on her. She briskly turned around, arms crossed under her chest with an almost child like pout of someone who had just been punished. In reality, I’m the one who’s being punished here, he thought to himself.

     - You could tell me your name. - she said, not looking into his eyes, instead rubbing her worn out ballet shoes against his hard floor. 

     - You don’t need to know my name. - he was quiet yet imposing. Y/N could not deny he seemed to have a strong presence despite barely raising his voice. It was almost magnetic as if he was made to be looked at, yet she felt he didn’t want to be seen. 

     - What if I need to call out for you? 

     - I would know. There’s no one else here, is it?

Y/N did not reply to this, instead rolling her eyes and sitting down on the couch. There was not much to do in the small one bedroom apartment other than pace around, eat and watch television. Her hand flew over to the remote, pointing it at the TV to turn it on which opened on the news channel. She guessed this was the way she had of now knowing what was happening outside the four walls she was being held captive in. There wasn’t much happening and even if it was, all the local news could talk about was about the upcoming mayoral election. It was a circus with advertisements and rumours flying around about each and every candidate and while it was almost painfully enjoyable to see men over thirty acting like gossip mean girls in school, everyone knew who was gonna win. 

She’d always been told that behind every great man, there’s a great woman and in this particular election it couldn’t be anymore true. The favourite candidate to win, Robert Moore, also known as Bobbie, was married to an senator’s daughter but not just any senator, Senator Barnes. She was too young to remember his policies or even his public persona, yet from what she knew, he had been a very well liked and well respected Senator, coming from a prominent family and building an even more prominent family. Being married to Rebecca Barnes, now Rebecca Barnes-Moore, was a one way ticket to a good career in politics. The two stood in the television screen, side by side in an almost JFK and Jackie Kennedy fashion with sunny smiles looking like the picture perfect Americana couple. It seemed all his ads showed him, his wife and their new born baby. High school sweethearts, it seemed.

    - Are you gonna watch that the whole day? - she turned her head around, looking at his annoyed expression, whiskey glass in hand. 

    - They look good together. 

    - It’s a circus. - he snickered, sitting by her side. 

    - What are you? An anarchist? - those words flew out of her mouth without any filter, mostly out of nuisance. - Her father was a great politician and he is young and likeable.  

     - Young and likeable ... sounds like great political traits. 

     - What do you know about politics?

     - What do you know about politics? Do they have a crash course in politics at whatever company you were in? 

She rolled her eyes, turning the volume up to listen to the broadcaster tell the love story of the future mayor and his wife. Her face softened as she heard what was probably a highly modified version of the actual truth yet she couldn’t help but slightly smile at the idea of it. They seemed in love and as someone who had a degree in pretending to be in love while singing, it warmed her heart to see it. She liked that idea, the idea of Ms and Mrs Americana, the idea of having someone to lean in. Well, she liked the idea of someone. Sure, maybe the man whose name she still didn’t know and was starting to believe was never going to learn was right, it was a circus, all elections are but she couldn’t help but be pulled by the myth of it, by the we against the world mentality no matter how morally wrong it was. 

She continued to watch the coverage of the election run as the man next to her got up from the couch to pick up a phone call. Her hearing slightly moved towards what he was doing, mind always thinking of escaping but even though he was talking on the phone, his gaze was trained of her as if she were his prey. He mumbled something on the phone before turning it off and moving his eyes to text someone yet after that his eyes were on her once more. 

    - Try not to escape for the next hour.

    - Do you have a nameless anarchy convention to attend?

    - Billy is coming to watch over you. No funny business. 

    - Will. - she corrected him. - He doesn’t like being called Billy. 

    - As long as you don’t pull a mission impossible on him, I will call him whatever you want. 

Will didn’t take long to arrive, dressed in a tennis-like outfit as if he had been pulled away from tennis which sounded like something he’d do. Bucky exchanged a few words with him before leaving the two of them together. He trusted Billy, or Will, was smart enough not to let her escape or run away. God, he didn’t even want to think about what John would do to him if she escaped, much less what he would do to her if she escaped. He made his drive to John’s condo in fifth avenue, parking his bike somewhere before making his way up. The condo was always weirdly filled with chatter talk yet he could see no people, it was as if the ghosts of the people he had taken out followed him in his own home and Bucky couldn’t say he pitied him. After all, he had his own ghosts too. 

He looked into John’s office where he was sat in the couch, the coverage of the election run on the television on low volume. John’s eyes immediately found Bucky’s figure looming at the entrance, never really entering, just standing behind the line which separated the hall from the office. 

     - How’s the roomie? - he motioned his hand for him to come in. - Still pretty?

     - What do you need?

     - I just got an invitation to a fundraiser. Zemo’s going so I want you to go. 

     - I can’t, I have her to watch over Y/N. She’s not very keen on remaining in the flat.

    - Chain her up for all I care. It’s in two weeks and I’ll be damned if I’m there by myself with Zemo. Besides it’s your sister’s fundraiser, I always love to see Rebecca. 

    - She’s not gonna be there. - his jaw locked. - A fundraiser for the mob? It’s mostly free alcohol and networking with them not showing up. 

    - Maybe you should bring your roomie. She’s pretty and if anything I’m sure she can sing and if not maybe she can entertain in another form. 

    - The NYPD is probably looking for her, it’s not wise ...

    - Do you make the rules? - John interrupted him, leaning against the couch with arms crossed. - You seem to have forgotten who makes the rules, soldat. 

    - I just don’t think ...

    - You don’t think. - he interrupted him once more. - This election is important and since I do not have the right person here to get ahead, I will make do with what we have. I don’t give a fuck about what you do when you’re at your flat but she is mine. She is my get out of jail card. Are we clear, soldat?

    - Yes. 

    - You can go now. - he dismissed him. Bucky turned around, eyes open wide yet emotionless face as if he were disconnected from his own consciousness. He guessed it was for the best to remain disconnected, to not know what was going on.

He drove himself back home, standing alone at night looking at his flat; the window still broken while the lights were flickering. He thought about running off, starting his bike and running off into the night and just drive until the tank was empty but he couldn’t. He had strings, strings which kept him tied to where he was right now. He guessed that now she was another string keeping him here. 

Bucky sighed as he walked back to his flat, opening the door to a rather serene sight. Will was by the kitchen watching the football game while Y/N was laid across the couch, book in hand which he recognised as one of his old ones. Her hair was different, she probably had taken off her wig and for the first time since those few minutes in the costume room. It looked soft, framing her face and getting in front of her eyes as she herself got lost in the room. Will excused himself, leaving just as he noticed Bucky before he could be yelled at by using his television. Yet again, Y/N and Bucky were alone in that small flat. She looked up from the book and at him before returning to read.

He left her with the book, walking to his bedroom which was probably now more hers than his to grab one of trousers and hoodies before returning back to the living room. Still reading. At least she wasn’t trying to break any more windows. He put the hoodie and trousers by her side, turning off the television as more screams for the football match came through. 

   - You can change into those. - he pointed at the clothing, getting her attention as she closed the book. - Those beads can’t be comfortable. 

   - Oh 

   - The bathroom’s there. - he pointed at one of the few doors in the flat. - You can shower too, there’s towels. 

   - Thank you. - she grabbed the things he had put out for her before leaving him in the living room by himself.

And then it was just him once more, alone, tied to this city which screamed everyone’s name but his.

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying​ @buckyswillows​ @blossomslibrary​ @juliesland​ @iloveshawnieboi​ @unmagically​ @red-head011​ @poisonous00​ 

[pudding-parade]

This is a brand-new preset, requested by an anon, and I had quite a bit of nerdy fun making it. :)

First of all, for the non-Europeans out there: SaarLorLux is a euroregion, which is a European transnational cooperative that operates together in order to prioritize specific regional interests over national boundaries. Its name is a portmanteau of the areas that comprise it: Saarland (Germany), Lorraine (France), and the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. There's a map here, if you have no clue where that area might be.

SaarLorLux is somewhat transitional between an oceanic-type climate and a more continental-type climate, but it's still mostly oceanic. This means that it has fairly steady temperatures within each season and is on the wetter side year-round. However, the variable elevation across the region does tend to push temperatures lower where the elevation is higher. The entire region is affected by currents in the Atlantic Ocean which, when intense, tend to push temperatures higher than average but also increase cloudiness and windiness, but there is also the occasional invasion of colder airmasses from more continental/eastern Europe, which can drop temperatures below average but also bring clearer skies and calmer winds. So, there is more variability than a strictly oceanic climate has, and I've tried to represent that in this preset.

In terms of this overall project, the challenge was to make this preset different from the one I made for the Champagne Region of France, which is geographically very close to this region, but still true to the SaarLorLux region as a whole, at least as far as it's possible to be within the game's constraints.

Details of this preset:

Before I get to this info, for nerds interested in how I came up with the stuff in this preset, there's info behind the cut at the end. The short version is that, because this preset is for a whole region rather than a single metropolitan area, I collected data on Saarbrücken in Saarland, Metz in Lorraine, and Wiltz in northern Luxembourg (which differ from each other in elevation) and then spreadsheeted it to get averages but fiddled with the temperature ranges a little. (And I'm going to do the same kind of spreadsheeting going forward because it really makes figuring out rain/snow/sun weighting easier and probably more accurate.) OK, now to the details...

Highest summer temperature: 80F/27C Lowest winter temperature: 24F/-4C

Overall Climate: Temperatures are fairly steady within each season and are generally mild. Nighttime temperatures year-round are chilly-to-cold, however. Even in the summer it can dip down to 42F/5C. There is a good amount of precipitation year-round, and it's fairly evenly distributed.

Snow: Snow is possible in autumn, winter, and spring when the temperature is 40F/4C or lower. Because of the temperature ranges for those seasons, it is not very likely at all in spring but fairly common in autumn and winter. However, daytime temperatures are such that any snow accumulations aren't likely to persist for long, if at all, especially not in autumn and spring.

Fog: From the reports I found online, it seems fog is fairly common in Luxembourg because of proximity to the Ardennes. It's also common in Saarbrücken, probably because it's on the Saar River, but I couldn't find many reports for the Lorraine region. The reports I did find were clustered in spring and autumn. So, I'm doing some guesswork here, but I set fog to be possible at temperatures between 35 and 55F/2 and 13C and fairly common in spring and autumn, less common in winter, and absent in summer. This is the general pattern for fog in non-coastal, non-mountainous temperate areas of the world, so it seems a good-enough guess.

Hail: I found one very anecdotal mention of hail in Luxembourg, but otherwise nothing else for SaarLorLux, so it's not included in this preset. (Locals should feel free to correct me, however, and I'll update the preset if necessary. That goes for fog, too. Online research can only go so far.)

Precipitation Frequency/Intensity: Snow has a required temperature of 40F/4C or lower, while rain has a required temperature of 30F/-1C or higher. Where their temperature ranges overlap, rain is twice as likely as snow in autumn and spring and 1.5x as likely in winter. The real region has lower-than-average amounts of sun overall and many days of precipitation in every season but with only moderate total accumulations. (Note: A "day of precipitation" in the meteorological sense is defined as at least 1mm of precipitation falling in a 24-hour period; it doesn't mean that it rained/snowed for even a large section of a day, much less all day.) This means more light/brief showers on average than prolonged/heavy storms. Translated to this preset, that means that for all but summer, rain and/or snow will be frequent but mostly of short duration with light-to-moderate intensity. In summer, the real region sees fewer rain days and has a dip in rainfall, so in the preset the duration of sun is set longer, which should produce longer breaks of clear sky vs. rain in summer. Rain duration is still short, but there is a chance of a heavy overall storm or a heavier section within a storm. In addition, because the only weather patterns available in summer are rain and sun, there's a higher chance that the game will choose the same pattern multiple times in a row than there is in other seasons, so there could be long storms or long stretches of clear sky.

Additional settings:

Fireplaces that are upgraded to auto-light will do so on active lots if the temperature falls below 50F/10C.

Any fallen leaves will be removed at the start of winter.

Insect spawners will not spawn in winter.

Download the preset here.

Here's how I came up with the figures used to create this preset. For the temperature ranges and precipitation amounts, I collected and plopped into Excel data from three cities/towns in the SaarLorLux region that have various elevations:

Metz in the Lorraine/Grand Est region of France at an elevation of 181m/594ft

Wiltz in northern Luxembourg at an elevation of 347m/1171ft

Saarbrücken in Saarland, Germany at an elevation of 224m/735ft

Then, Excel calculated overall regional average rain and snow amounts and average number of rain and snow days for each season across the years 2020, 2019, and 2018. I used those averages as the basis for setting the preset's weather patterns. (Incidentally, spreadsheeting data has given me a much better sense of how to weight rain/snow/sun in Tempest, so I'm going to do it all the time going forward...and now I feel a need to re-revise the settings I've already released...but I won't. I won't. I really, really won't. Do you hear that, me? :) )

For the temperature ranges for each season, the data is a 20-year average for each month, and I noted the lowest and highest temperature in each season from amongst the three cities. (Wiltz is coldest due to elevation and even though Saarbrücken is slightly higher in elevation, it is a bit warmer than Metz because it is farther inland.) I used these numbers for the "baseline" highest and lowest temperature for each season. Then, in an attempt to simulate the region's temperature variability brought about by variable ocean currents and occasional colder airmasses, I nudged those "baseline" temperatures down/up by 5 Fahrenheit degrees to create the lowest/highest possible temperatures in each season in the preset. This adjustment might make the in-game temperatures run a little higher/lower than strict realism would dictate, especially for a more specific part of the region, but it served to create some difference from the Champagne preset.

Overall, because of the temperature "nudging" and the averaging of the precipitation amounts, the preset might produce more or less rain/snow than a specific area of the real region generally sees, but I ended up with what I felt was a good representation of the region as a whole, which is harder to represent than a single metropolitan area.

For any extra-nerdy, statistics-fan kind of folks out there, I uploaded the spreadsheet with the data I used to create this preset here. I mostly did that so that I have a cloud backup of the structure, but then I thought maybe someone else would like to see it and maybe use it to help make their own Tempest presets. It's an Excel spreadsheet in .xlsx format, so if you want to look at it, you'll need a spreadsheet program that will open those.

[kittydemon9000]

Alright so I know Literally Nobody asked for this but the idea of leaguers having differnt armor types, speeds, and strengths is so fascinating to me so here’s an entire post about my headcanons about it, staring the Main 7 since they’re the ones we see most and have the most evidence for. 

Also, please keep in mind that this is completely made based on memory alone and it’s been a bit since I last saw the show. If I missed something or remembered something wrong feel free to correct me or add your own thoughts.

Also also, I made a chart (the chart is based on the strongest for the leaguer, not out of all of them, ex: Top Joy’s strongest is different from GZ’s strongest)

First off, the leader of Silver Castle himself, Magnum Ace, a Baseball Leaguer. Right off the bat(hah puns) I immediately knew his arms would be the strongest points. He seems to have been created with him being a pitcher in mind and his 44 Sonic has clearly been shown to posses a lot of power which he would need the strength to handle. There’s also how he was shown to be a decent hitter in Gold Arm’s flashback, sending every ball into the outfield. As for his weakest points, they were also pretty easy. The joints are a bit of a constant with all of the leaguers I showed, but the fins are because they seem to be rather thin and probably can’t hold up very well under pressure. There’s also the shoulder joints, which I wasn’t able to put on the diagram, since as shown during the end of the series, if Magnum repeatedly pitches his 44 Sonic without rest the stress on his shoulders start to cause them to break down, to the point where he was forced to sit out for the next few days for repairs. Speed wise Magnum is nothing special and in my eyes pretty average amongst the team.

Next up, we have Mach Windy, a Soccer Leaguer. Similar to Magnum, I knew almost immediately his strongest point would be his legs since, y’know, soccer. Everything(physical) we see coming from Windy is almost always centered around his leg strength and speed. This is outright said when Silver Castle is resting after some baseball training and Magnum tells Windy(I shit you not) “We believe in your leg.” There’s also his Mach Spin which depends entirely on his ability to kick to ball at an extremely high speed. There’s also a scene when trying to help Gold Foot during the Forced Retirement Arc where his kicks a ball of solid rock without any issues. The scene also brings me to why his head is a strong point. Heading is also something Windy has been shown to be able to do, and referencing the Forced Retirement Arc again where he head butts the aforementioned ball of rock. For speed, as mentioned before, when it comes to running Windy seems to be the fastest amongst Silver Castle. The weakness I feel is pretty self explanatory since soccer doesn’t really require use of your arms unless you’re a goalie. There’s also how in the Jet Setter episode Bull sees Windy loose an arm wrestle almost immediatly with Ryuuken, but that might just be since Ryuuken is ridiculously powerful. As for durability, he seems to be not very strong, instead having lighter armor for more speed.

Speaking of Ryuuken, let’s talk about the Karate Leaguer. As you can see, his strongest part is his armor, aka almost all of him. As a karate leaguer, Ryuuken was probably created with the intent of being able to take a lot of hits. There’s also the running joke of a member of another team attacking him with all their power and him not budging and saying something along the lines of “I feel nothing.” Strength wise, we get a taste of his crazy power is during his first spotlight episode where he was practicing kicking with Windy, to which he accidentally broke the stone wall surrounding the field. He then unlocks more of his power when rescuing Ruri from the factory, but we don’t see his real power until the Forced Retirment arc. There we got to see when going to rescue Magnum, Windy, and the Gold Bros how he opened a literal chasm into the ground with a single punch, though I can’t remember if it was rock, metal, or both, but that’s still pretty impressive, and that was before he unlocked his Heart Kit in the Death Football Arc which only increased his power. And then during the OVA when the Fighter Brothers try to fight Windy’s new team and they use their pitch, a pitch that nobody had been able to hit before, Ryuuken straight up punches it with seemingly no backlash and getting a home run all because they made him mad.….maybe it’s a good thing Ryuuken is so innocent and calm. Speed wise, Ryuuken seems to be on the slower side of the team, however I do think Ryuuken(alongside Juurouta) would have the best reflexes. This one is completely headcanon and I don’t have much proof, it just makes sense to me.

Next up, we have Bull Armor, a Football Leaguer. His armor and helmet are easily his strongest parts, for mostly obvious reasons. Multiple times throughout the series he is seen tanking blows that would normally knock another leaguer to the ground, most notably when he’s Silver Castle’s goalkeeper in soccer and catcher in baseball. However, his durability seems to be different from Ryuuken’s since he is still moved by the attacks but can bounce back from more. His durability seems to be pretty tied to his strength too since he is one of the only leaguers who has been shown to catch Magnum’s 44 Sonic. There’s also how when he was first introduced he stopped and lifted a truck much larger than himself with relative ease in order to stop it from hitting a young boy. His speed however is admittedly a bit harder to figure out. He seems to be much larger and heavier, however as shown when he lost control in his past he still has the ability to charge down opponents at a speed in which they can’t properly evade, though it’s up for debate whether they were trying to properly evade or trying to reason with him.

Juurouta, a Kendo Leaguer, is next. His durability is more basic compared to the others, mostly focusing around his Armor Armor(no that was not a typo). Said Armor Armor also seems to be protecting the joints which may or may not be intentional, but I’m going with it. His fins share the same logic with Magnum, as do his joints with everyone else. His strength mostly seems to be localized in his arms, which makes sense since he is a kendo leaguer. His strength was first shown in comparison to the others when he was the first person to hit Gold Arm’s Genocide Screw with a hit(discounting Bull since he technically kicked it). There’s also how in the Arctic he was able to cut down the  blizzard machine, however that spent all his energy. Speed wise I think he’s in a similar i boat to Ryuuken: slow overall, but incredible reflexes.

Now, Top Joy, a Basketball Leaguer, was a fun one to do for no reason more than I like the character. Strength wise, nothing very impressive, he show much. Durability though….it’s not the best. The only points that seemed to be able to hold up were his arms(sort of) and feet, and they’re less based on actual proof and more on logical thinking but I digress. Hand and arms because he’ll need to be able to catch balls thrown his way, but they’re still relatively weak compared to other members of Silver Castle. I highlighted his feet because they would probably be needed to make they don’t break once Top Joy lands after jumping high. If they were weak the repeated slamming into the ground would cause them to break and then Top Joy(and any other basketball leaguer) would be relatively stuck. But where I think Top Joy shines is his speed and maneuverability. As he has demonstrated many times throughout baseball and soccer games alike, his spring legs can be used in a variety of situations, from avoiding attacking players to catching balls that would normally be too far out of reach. And there’s also the possibility of using the force from the spring to propel himself faster when running, thought it’s unclear if he does this already. However, they are not without weakness. As shown in the episode with Gebara, they are easily damaged when seemingly a single coil is damaged and prevents him from walking without assistance from his teammates. There’s also his recording equipment and speakers which, while functional, seem like they would also be damaged rather easily since as someone who has worked with recording/video equipment, I am all too aware of how fragile it can be. Also another note, Top Joy also seems to have an incredibly high pain tolerance. When the members of Section X give him a warning shock with the shock circuit, he pleads with them and says how he “doesn’t like punishment,” implying this has happened before. There’s also his questionable relationship with his past team and much later in the Death Football Arc when he flat out says “I’m used to pain,” which in concerning to say the least.

And finally, last but most certainly not least, we have GZ, a Hockey Leaguer. Similar to Ryuuken, GZ has been shown to be incredibly powerful and being able to take a lot. There are three times where his power is shown. First is barely a day after he joins their team when he defends his teammates from attacks that would normally knock them off their feet(sans Ryuuken). The second time is when he’s babysitting the kids and survives an avalanche that took out another group of hockey(?) leaguers with barely a scratch. And then in the OVA where he’s able to deflect almost all of Garret’s dive bomb attacks without took much trouble. This is undoubtedly a combination of some hockey leaguers being incredibly defensive(like Thunderbolt) and his reformatting which led him to be a mercenary. We don’t seem too much from GZ in terms of strength, so I’m going to say he’s just a little weaker than Magnum. Speed though, that one was a bit hard to figure out. Main because of his boosters. His boosters give him an enormous speed boost, fast enough to get ahead of Garret who was literally flying and dive bombing, and on the ice without as much friction it only increases his speed. However, the few times we see him running, he seems to be slower than the other Silver Castle members, likely because of his weight and how he was meant for ice, not land. 

TL:DR, From most to least

Durability: GZ, Ryuuken, Bull Armor, Juurouta, Magnum, Windy, Top Joy

Strength: Ryuuken, Bull Armor, Juurouta, Magnum, GZ, Top Joy, Windy

Speed: GZ(with boosters/on ice), Windy, Top Joy, Magnum, Bull Armor, Ryuuken, Juurouta, GZ(running), but Juurouta and Ryuuken have the best reflexes

[spicedcinnamoncake]

A Hallow’s Eve Dance (1/3) Part One: A Meeting

PAIRING: Fred Weasley x (fem) Reader 

SUMMARY: it’s finally October! you know what that means, pumpkin spice scents, dripping orange candles, and the Hogwarts Hallow’s eve waltz. 

ENjoY 

You wanted to just cover your ears and scream at this point. For heavens sake it was all anybody could talk about. ‘Do you have a date?’ ‘This is my dress!’ ‘Have you asked her out yet?” 

  Blasted Hallow’s eve. Blasted Dance. All anyone wanted to talk about.

  You’ve been crushing on this one Gryffindor boy for a long time and all this ‘date’ talk has really gotten your wheels turning, as if it just keeps reminding you how you’ll be at that dance alone while he’s with someone else. 

    Lunch was finally over and you had a free lesson as your professor was ill. Pansy was busy, what do do, what to do... 

  Maybe you could take a walk, or better yet, go to the quidditch pitch. When there weren’t any practices being held, it was actually pretty quiet. You quickly left the lunch hall and made your way outside, the crisp October air hitting your skin felt like magic. You hugged your scarf closer as you walked towards the pitch, trying to clear your head. 

  Just as you entered the quidditch pitch, (which was rather windy) a poster for that blasted dance blew right into your face. For heavens sake you wanted to just, SCREAM. 

  ‘Oi! Sorry about that!’ 

  ‘Well you bloody should be you-’ 

  Your words trailed off as you saw who was jogging towards you. Tall, brown caramel eyes, house jersey, 

  You get who i’m talking about.;) 

‘Nice catch haha.’ 

  ‘with my face-?’ you cracked a smile as you handed him the poster back. He took it back, squinting his eyes as if he was wracking his brain for something. 

  ‘Hey aren’t you that person who sits in front of me in herbology? Y/N, was it? I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced,’ he grins at you and sticks out his hand. You returned his grin, nodding. 

  ‘Yes, yes I’m y/n, Fred right? I believe George was the one that Sprout made move to the other side of the room.’ 

  His eyes widened and so did his smile. ‘Ding ding ding! Correct! Hey, are you busy right now? I’m hanging out with some friends in the quidditch pitch, basically it was meant to be a study group but there’s no actual studying going on haha. You in?’ 

  ‘I’d be delighted.’ 

  Fred stuffed the poster back into his pocket and led you to the middle of the pitch where there were two other boys laughing with books and scrolls littered around them. Fred was right, it really was a no-study study group. 

  ‘Oi you two knock it off! This is Y/n, George we have herbology with them.’ 

  ‘Hi,’ you waved at them and they waved back. You and Fred sat down and you all started to talk about your day, what classes you had left, all was going great until you heard George bring up the dreaded question. 

  ‘any of you lot have dates yet?’ he asked, adjusting his seat position. Dean nodded excitedly, saying how he had asked out a Ravenclaw girl the other day and she accepted. ‘I swear my guy, she is stunning.’ 

  ‘Nice, what about you Y/n?’ 

  ‘I’m not sure if I’ll be going if I’m honest haha, and even if I did I’ll be with my friends but they already all have dates. I’m not sure’ you babbled. You realized you were talking for a while and quieted down, face turning red. The guys just laughed, and suddenly you felt so much better. 

  Before you knew it, it was time for your next lesson. You had a charms class. 

  ‘I have to go, I have a charms class and it’s on the third bloody floor. Merlin my legs are going to hurt. It was nice meeting you guys, see you around.’ 

  You were about to turn but then you felt a hand catch your shoulder. ‘Hey, if you want i can take you up on my broom. We’ll have to go around the back of the school but it’ll cut the time in half if you want.’ 

  ‘Are you sure?’ he nodded. 

  You followed him to the broom shed and got on behind him, and just as you did, he kicked off and you were already ten feet in the air. ‘Woah!’

  Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your heart was racing, you weren’t sure if it was the broom or if you were this close to Fred. Both? 

  Fred made a turn and you felt your leg start to slip. ‘I’m going to fall!’ 

  Fred took one hand off the broom and snaked it behind him, catching your waist. Even when he got you stable, he didn’t let go. 

  Eventually, he came to a stop on one of the balconies on the third floor. 

  ‘There, that wasn’t so bad now was it?’ he chuckled, watching you fix your messed-up hair from the wind. You smiled brightly at him. ‘That was brilliant.’ 

  Without thinking, you reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘And that, is a thank you’ 

  You turned on your heel and hurriedly left, in disbelief you had just did that. Did you hallucinate? 

  Perhaps not. Fred touched his face where your lips had kissed him, and he blushed. Maybe he found the person he’d want to ask out. Maybe he’d want to keep seeing them even after the dance...

[seehowsupplethespineis]

When the Wind Roars

(I can’t believe I finally finished this!!! This story was originally intended to be much shorter, but...obviously I got a bit carried away. Expect lots of angst. There’s some fluff, too, but mostly ANGST.)

(Plot Summary: In the past, Starscream and Skyfire made quite the team, but even then, that partnership was put to the test. In the present, Starscream and Skyfire do battle, as Starscream tries to rid himself of their shared memories once and for all.)

(Warnings: violence, guns, injury, a bit of disturbing imagery, death mention, lots of vengeful thoughts)

Present

The wind roared deafeningly at the peak of the mountain. It had only picked up in intensity in the few cycles they’d been stationed here, bringing with it a relentless rain that blanketed the world in hues of grey. Starscream scowled as he hastened to catch a stray bit of metal before it went tumbling off the mountainside, his feet nearly slipping out from under him in the sea of mud. He hated this weather. It was cold and wet and impossible to work in.

Of course, Starscream had faced far worse weather than this, but that was of little comfort.

Rumble was also fed up. After face planting in the mud for the fourth time, the minicon threw down his supply of metal beams with a cry of outrage.

“This is stupid!” he exclaimed, “How does Megatron expect us to build anything up here?!”

Starscream scowled at him, “I did not say you could stop working!”

Rumble’s small fists balled up at his sides, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Starscream didn’t like to be challenged. Without hesitation, he chucked the piece of metal he’d been holding at Rumble, who toppled over once more.

“I said work!” The other Decepticons hastened to comply as Rumble crawled out from under the metal, studiously avoiding Starscream’s withering glare.

In all honesty, Starscream was just as furious as Rumble, though his frustration was more because he was forced to work up here on this Primusforsaken mountain; he should be leading an attack on the Autobots, not laboring in the mud. This was far beneath him.

Despite his demand that everyone keep working, Starscream paused to look up at the sky. It was grey and murky but a ray of light shone through, reaching only so far as to give a hint of warmth.

He was reminded of another planet he’d visited millions of years ago. It was just as wet and windy as this one; just as meddlesome. He hadn’t been alone then, either, nor was he alone when he’d first visited this accursed planet.

A few rain drops splattered on his optics and Starscream violently wiped them away, an irritated snarl escaping him.

“Starscream!” It was Thundercracker.

“What now?!”

“Autobots!”

At first, Starscream didn’t believe him. There was no road up to this mountain. The wheel-bound Autobots would be unable to make it up here; even by foot, the journey was too perilous. The only way up was through flight.

Starscream’s optics widened. He lowered his servos from his face to find the mountainside cast in shadow. His gaze flicked upward.

Above him, in a halo of light, hovered a large, white jet.

Starscream felt sudden heat swell within him despite the cold.

“Shoot him out of the sky!!!”

A distant planet, millions of years ago...

“This is very likely a bad idea.”

“You say that about everything.”

“No, I only say that when a situation seems hazardous...this situation seems hazardous.”

“Honestly, Skyfire, you can be so cowardly sometimes,” Starscream transformed back to root mode as he touched down on a muddy precipice. He scowled as his feet sank into the muck but kept a chipper tone as he addressed his partner, “I can barely feel the wind!”

Skyfire set down beside him. The sudden weight of the two jets shook the cliffside, sending a few boulders tumbling over the edge. Skyfire watched their descent and frowned.

“You’ve seen the weather report, Starscream,” he said quietly, “The storm could pick up any moment now.

Starscream waved a flippant servo. Raindrops spiraled off his digits, “If it does, we can handle it! We’ve suffered through far worse, you and I.”

“Perhaps,” said Skyfire, “But nothing which hampered our ability to fly away.”

Starscream shook his head; he loved Skyfire, but sometimes he was a real pain in the afterburner. They’d been on countless exploration missions before and faced plenty of unsavory weather conditions; floods, earthquakes, they’d survived them all. What was a little storm to them?

“If you want to go, fine!” Starscream started walking, “I’ll complete this mission myself.”

He’d barely taken two steps before Skyfire was at his side, as Starscream knew he’d be. The smaller jet grinned up at him and Skyfire sighed.

“Let’s just get a lay of the land and go. We can come back for those crystal samples we’re supposed to investigate when the storm lets up.”

Starscream heaved a dramatic sigh, “That could take ages, Skyfire, and we’re on a tight schedule! We’re meant to be returning to Cybertron soon.”

Skyfire glanced away at that. Starscream narrowed his optics.

“What is it?”

Fiddling with his portable scanner, Skyfire shook his head, “It’s just...Cybertron has been so...contentious of late. Part of the reason I volunteered for this expedition was because I wanted to get away for a while.”

“I thought you volunteered because I volunteered,” Starscream said with a slight smirk.

Skyfire glanced at him and smiled, “I do have a mind of my own, you know.”

“Yes,” Starscream agreed, “And it’s smart enough to follow me.”

A laugh escaped the larger jet, “Or dumb enough.”

“Nonsense! We’re highly intelligent bots, Skyfire,” Starscream ruined the sentiment by tripping over a boulder, but Skyfire righted him before his face hit the mud. Coughing slightly to hide his embarrassment, Starscream continued,  “That’s why we work so perfectly together.”

Skyfire still kept a hold of Starscream’s arm as he considered his partner’s words. At last, he let his servo drift down to clutch Starscream’s hand.

“Interesting hypothesis.”

Starscream’s processor seemed to momentarily short out, but it came back online as Skyfire regarded him fondly with those brilliant blue eyes of his. Flustered, Starscream only stared, until eventually he managed to connect his processor back to his voice.

“Interesting fact,” he corrected, squeezing Skyfire’s hand, “That we shall prove now!”

He pointed up the mountain with his free servo. High above, the faintest gleam, as of polished metal, twinkled in the faint light.

“Those are the crystals.”

Skyfire squinted up at them and raised his scanner, “Hmm...they definitely have a high energy output. Akin to energon.”

“We need a sample,” Starscream broke away from Skyfire so he could take flight. Skyfire laid a hand on his shoulder before he could.

“Starscream, look at those clouds,” Skyfire gestured up at the - admittedly - ominous sky above them, “I would not advise flying.”

“So what, we climb?” Starscream had to shout to be heard over a sudden gust of wind.

“No, we wait until the weather becomes more favorable.”

A burst of lightning and a rumble of thunder punctuated Skyfire’s words. Starscream couldn’t deny the sudden thrill of apprehension that shot through his system, but he wasn’t about to be bested by a mere storm.

“I’m going for it!”

“Don’t!” Skyfire’s grip on his shoulder was more insistent, “The wind is picking up. You could get blown into the mountain side or crash to the ground. And those crystals are brimming with unstable energy! We shouldn’t get too-!”

“I am a scientist, Skyfire!” Starscream shook free of the other jet, “I know how to handle dangerous substances. And I know how to handle myself, thank you very much!”

Skyfire opened his mouth but whatever he said was lost to the wind.

“What?!” Starscream shouted.

“I said, we must seek shelter!”

“We’re on a cliff! Where-” Starscream’s response was cut short as a large rock tumbled down from above, forcing the smaller jet to leap out of the way. Scowling, he glanced up to where the rock had come from, and his optics widened as he saw still more crashing down.

“Move!” Skyfire yelled. As one, he and Starscream dove off the cliff and transformed back to jet mode. Instantly, Starscream felt the wind buffet his wings, threatening to splatter him against the cliff side. Okay, he conceded to himself, Maybe the weather is too much.

The rain poured down in earnest, now, blanketing Starscream’s windshield to the point where the world became a hazy, grey blur. A bolt of lightning arced down. It was far, far too close for his liking, and Starscream instinctively swerved away.

Extending his long range sensors, he sought a safe place to land below. Skyfire would be doing the same, he knew. His sensors probed the sky around him, trying to pinpoint the white jet so they could touch down together.

Something within him froze. He extended his sensors further, as far as he could. His engines faltered. The wind pressed in around him, rattling him to his very core, but he paid no heed.

In a moment’s frantic decision, Starscream transformed back to root mode and scanned the landscape with his optics.

Even as he plummeted to the ground, he called out desperately.

“SKYFIRE!”

Present

Energy bolts lit up the gloomy mountain as the Decepticons opened fire. As if sensing the sudden hostility, lightning split open the sky and a deep, resounding rumble followed soon after. Starscream’s optics were momentarily dazzled by the stunning displays surrounding him, and when they adjusted, three Autobots had leaped down from the sky to stand before him.

He recognized their leader, of course. Optimus Prime leveled a weapon at Starscream, though the jet paid little mind. Even as the Prime spoke, his voice deep and commanding, Starscream didn’t heed. Instead, he watched as the large, white jet above transformed and fell to the mountain top just behind Prime.

Something within Starscream burned as he locked gazes with Skyfire. Blazing red optics met piercing blue. They sliced through Starscream, as cold as the ice Skyfire had rested in for millions of years. Starscream didn’t recognize those eyes. He couldn’t even recall what they’d used to look like, though he remembered how they’d made him burn with a fire entirely different from the one raging within him now.

Prime shouted something. The Autobots charged. Two of them - Ironhide and Prowl - rushed to meet Thundercracker and Rumble. Prime defended himself against an emboldened Skywarp. And Skyfire, stance steady despite the shifting mud, raised his gun at Starscream.

The seething rage within him ignited and Starscream opened fire. Despite his immense size, Skyfire dodged, nearly trampling a terrified Rumble. Starscream didn’t let up, even as Skyfire took aim and forced him to launch off the ground to avoid the blast. Transforming into jet mode, he streaked through the air, null rays zeroed in on Skyfire’s bulky frame.

Skyfire fired off a few more shots, forcing Starscream to alter his course. His flight took him close to the other battling Autobots and Decepticons. Ironhide fired a few bolts at him and Starscream hurried to avoid the crossfire of his and Skyfire’s weapons. The distraction infuriated him and Starscream took a moment to fire on the red Autobot. Suitably cowed, Ironhide returned to his tussle with Rumble, leaving Starscream to focus every bit of his ire on the white mech firing on him from afar.

Their battle grew removed from that of the others. With each attack, they drew further away, further toward the edge. Starscream didn’t care. He refused to be beaten by this mountain or the wind and rain that assaulted him. He wanted Skyfire dead. That was all that mattered.

He streaked through the air. He was close now. Skyfire stood no chance. Sudden giddiness grabbed hold of Starscream as he imagined Skyfire offline at his feet. The traitor would die a traitor’s death; there would be no mercy.

But Starscream’s perceived victory was short-lived. Before he could even slow down, Skyfire dove forward, managing to come up under him. A servo closed around his wing and Starscream shrieked as Skyfire swung him into the ground. He landed painfully and it took a moment for him to recover enough to shift back to root mode. When he did, Skyfire stood over him, gun leveled at his face.

All was quiet, as if the increasing downpour had muted the world. The wind that howled so relentlessly before had petered out. The battle raging behind them was a distant nuisance, almost inconsequential. For all Starscream cared, the world consisted of only him, Skyfire, and the gun between them. The shaking gun.

Starscream’s gaze flicked to meet Skyfire’s. Those blue eyes stared back with a wavering resolve. For a moment that seemed to stretch across millions of years, neither made a move.

The wind sprang back to life, the distant battle drew nearer, and Skyfire still hadn’t fired. What are you waiting for? Starscream wanted to shout, Finish it!

But Skyfire didn’t, and this, more than anything, sent a surge of loathing through Starscream’s system. It fueled his null ray as he raised it in one deft movement.

Skyfire had no time to react. The force of the blast sent him careening back, his feet slipping in the mud, gun falling from his slack hand. There was no time for him to regain his balance.

Starscream watched him fall over the edge. He didn’t react for a few long moments after. All he could do was stare at the space Skyfire had occupied.

He’s gone, Something within Starscream’s spark shrank in on itself, I can’t see him.

His processor fixated on that one thought. I can’t see him. I can’t see him!

He stumbled forward, a desperate cry escaping him.

“SKYFIRE!!!”

Past

Not even the relentless gale could slow Starscream’s descent. He tore through the air, the wind shrieking as if in protest, his limbs flailing uselessly. He knew he needed to transform; if he didn’t, he’d be nothing but a mound of smashed metal and circuitry. As the image flashed in his mind, he couldn’t help but envision a similar corpse, this one much larger and a stark white against the dark landscape.

Starscream quashed the thought as soon as it arose. Skyfire wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Those were two differing thoughts, Starscream knew, but his processor couldn’t help but bounce between them. He’s not dead, because if he is then...There was no conclusion that Starscream dared consider, so he focused his processor, attempting to ignore the threat of his imminent demise.

He felt his transformation cog whir to life, though the transformation was made clumsy by the unconventional circumstances. The mess of green below drew nearer, serving as an unnecessary reminder that he needed to pull up fast.

Acting purely on instinct, his engines rocketed him forward. He felt leaves skim his wings as he struggled to pull upward, making for the murky grey of the clouds above. The wind was a constant assailant that threatened to dash him into the trees or the mountainside. Lightning split open the sky over and over, closer and closer.

Was that what happened? Had Skyfire been hit by a stray lightning bolt? The concept forced Starscream to tax his engines harder than he ever had. With a burst of speed, he shot upward, letting the trees be swallowed by the mist once more. Again, he extended his sensors and cursed his lack of visibility.

“SKYFIRE!!!”

No response. Starscream knew he wasn’t thinking straight as he veered closer to the mountain, seeking any hint that Skyfire may have crashed. His wing clipped a jutting boulder and he nearly smashed into the cliff face himself as he went careening off course. He was forced to climb higher in a desperate attempt not to meet with the rocks below.

Where is he? He couldn’t think. Couldn’t see, Where is he?!

Something glittered nearby, almost like…

Metal. Starscream threw himself forward, heedless of the risk, “Skyfire!!!”

The wind pulled at his wings, trying to drag him down. The noise was cacophonous, forcing his engines to roar all the louder. He would not be bested. He was so close…

The glittering material suddenly sharpened into focus. The hope glittering just as brightly within him dimmed.

In the faint light shimmered the very reason for this accursed mission. The energy crystals. No sign of Skyfire.

Starscream’s spark sank. He was sure it would drop right out of his fuselage and shatter on the jagged rocks far below. Maybe another spark was already waiting for it.

Thunder continued to growl overhead. Lightning tore through the darkness and illuminated the entire cliff side in brilliant white. An instinctive part of Starscream knew what was coming, but there was no time to react. He could only stare as the lightning zigzagged down and struck the shimmering rocks.

The crystals exploded. Shards smashed open Starscream’s cockpit and embedded themselves in his battered frame. He may have screamed, but he couldn’t hear it. Stabbing pain coursed through his entire being. It overwhelmed him, so much so that he didn’t realize he was falling until he smashed into a jutting, sloped cliff. The impact jarred loose a faint recollection.

Those crystals are brimming with unstable energy! We shouldn’t get too-

Skyfire had warned him. He’d warned him about everything, and what had Starscream said? Honestly, Skyfire, you can be so cowardly sometimes.

He felt himself sliding slowly toward the edge. Desperately, he forced himself to transform. His cockpit grated over the rocky terrain and another dizzying bout of agony washed over him. He could hear his scream this time.

Legs dangling into nothingness, Starscream sought for something to grab onto. His servos dug into the mud, clutching at nothing but loose pebbles. The cliff was too unstable and his body too heavy. The inevitable outcome to his struggles became alarmingly clear.

I’m going to fall, he stilled and felt himself slip further, I’m going to die.

There would be no saving himself this time; he’d smash to pieces on the rocks below before his taxed transformation cog could even come online. His vision flickered as his cockpit continued to grind over the rocks, bringing him ever closer to his doom. All Starscream could manage now was a faint whimper, his screams spent.

He knew he deserved this; it was his fault that he and Skyfire had been caught up in this Primusforsaken storm on this Primusforsaken planet. His fault that Skyfire was likely a shattered corpse on the mountain side. Still, as he began his final descent, a voice - a shameful voice that refused to be quieted no matter how much he tried - shrieked in his head, clamoring to be heard above all else.

I don’t want to die!

Terror seized his spark, shocking his limbs into one last, frantic attempt at salvation. It was futile.

I DON’T WANT TO DIE!

He fell. Opening his mouth, he let out a final, broken scream.

“Skyfire!!!”

“I’ve got you!”

As suddenly as the fall had begun, it stopped. His arm pulled taught and lances of pain pierced through it and his cockpit. The world disappeared, sapped of everything but a cold blackness. After countless moments, warmth and color seeped back in, as a familiar voice, the one that had called to him, spoke again. It was insistent, desperate, as were the arms clasping his limp form. Starscream’s optics fritzed a bit before coming back online. He was in some kind of cave. He could see the deep grey of the sky just beyond and feel the wind and rain graze his wing. It was all remote though. He was more aware of the arms wrapped protectively about him, the feel of someone large and sturdy holding him close. Above all else, he saw brilliant blue optics staring down at him. He watched them soften as a quiet sigh reached his auditory sensors. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Thank Primus,” Skyfire breathed, “Starscream, can you hear me?”

Starscream wanted to respond but he couldn’t. All he could do was stare, drinking in the sight of the bot before him. Skyfire was alive. Somehow his mind couldn’t yet process it. He was here. They were together again.

Skyfire’s anxious voice broke in on his thoughts, “It’s okay, Starscream, it’s okay,” It was only then that the smaller jet realized he’d started babbling.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he gasped, “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Skyfire repeated, “We’re okay.”

Starscream couldn’t stop, “We almost died! I-I almost killed us!”

“But we’re okay now,” Skyfire replied gently, “I’ve got you.”

He rested a servo on the back of Starscream’s head. The touch snapped Starscream back to his senses and he shoved him away. The movement sent shards of pain through him and he clutched a servo to the mangled cockpit situated over his chest.

“Don’t,” he hissed as Skyfire reached for him. He was still shielded by the cave, but he could feel the wind lap hungrily at his wings as he moved backward.

He stopped -  afraid to move any further - and met Skyfire’s worried gaze.

“How...” he began, pausing for a moment to gather his strength, “How can you...This is all my fault! I should have listened to you! Skyfire, I...You could have died because of me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Stop saying that!”

Skyfire regarded him helplessly. Starscream hated it.

“Why aren’t you mad?” he prompted angrily, “You should be furious! You should be...Stop looking at me like that!!!”

He didn’t. “Do you want me to be mad?” Skyfire asked quietly.

Yes...No. “I don’t know!!! Just-” he had to pause before the pain overwhelmed him.

Skyfire moved closer. Starscream told himself not to, but his whole frame ached and trembled and he yearned to be back in Skyfire’s arms, so when Skyfire reached again, the smaller jet could do nothing but melt into him. He cursed his weakness.

“Starscream,” Skyfire’s voice pierced through the turmoil within him. Defeated, Starscream could only listen.

“I’m not angry with you. I don’t think I could ever be angry with you. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know either. What I do know is that I lost you in the storm and assumed the worst, so even though you’re upset, I’d like to just hold you for a while, if that’s okay.”

It was far too easy to comply. Already relaxed against Skyfire, Starscream let himself be pulled closer. The larger jet took special care not to aggravate his injury. It would need to be dealt with, but not now. Right this moment, all Starscream needed was the surety of Skyfire’s arms around him. All his guilt and shame still burned within him, but he couldn’t focus on it if he tried.

They were safe. They were together. That was all that mattered.

“I’ve got you,” Skyfire murmured again, “I’ve always got you.”

Present

The edge of the mountain was shrouded in rain and mist. Even as Starscream dove toward it, he couldn’t be certain he hadn’t flung himself off. His arm extended into nothing. His feet dug into the mud as he felt himself fall forward, just barely managing to snag a jutting rock.

As his entire frame came to a jarring halt, Starscream’s processor seemed to rattle with it. What was he doing? He couldn’t think. The image of Skyfire’s frightened face as he tumbled over the edge was seared into his mind. It was all he could focus on.

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.

“Skyfire!!!” The call reverberated through Starscream’s spark, splitting it open as forgotten feelings and buried dreams clawed their way out. He couldn’t halt the flood; it washed over him, drowning him in memories.

“Starscream!”

That voice - as it always had - snapped him from the mire of his mind. He peered downward. Just below him, hanging by a crumbling ledge, was Skyfire.

For a moment, it was Starscream hanging for dear life, crying out for rescue. He blinked and the roles reversed again. 

As his precarious handhold collapsed beneath his digits, Skyfire desperately tried to bring another servo up to help. He was forced to stop as the movement only made him slip faster. Rain hissed over the place where Starscream had shot him and he grimaced as smoke blended with the mist. He looked up, blue optics shining in the gloom. Starscream nearly lost his grip when they focused on him.

He recognized those optics. They were the very same that used to look at him as if he were the most lovely thing in the universe. Even when they’d explored new, vibrant planets, he’d felt those optics gazing at him with a fondness that made him want to both laugh and scream. He wasn’t sure which he did now, but from the way the blue of Skyfire’s eyes widened with recognition of his own, he figured it was laughter.

“Skyfire…” he reached for him.

Eyes shining, Skyfire’s servo lifted to meet his, “...Starscream?”

His handhold crumbled even more but neither paid any heed. The storm and the clash of Autobots and Decepticons became remote. This time, though, the world didn’t seem to shrink until it was just the two of them. It seemed to grow. Starscream felt a heavy weight in his spark start to lift. His servo reached past millions of years to seek out that familiar yet forgotten touch. He wanted it more than anything, just a hint at what they once were and could be again.

In the faltering light, the insignia affixed to Skyfire’s chest gleamed.

The world shrank. The weight in Starscream’s spark settled back down until he almost felt it would drag him over the edge.

He snatched his hand away just as Skyfire’s digits grazed his own. The touch was like electricity arcing through him. It was tantalizingly, achingly familiar. It promised love and security and everything that had been denied him for millions of years.

It was a convincing lie, but Starscream couldn’t be fooled that easily. 

As he stood up slowly, Skyfire’s round, wide, and impossibly blue optics followed him. Starscream wanted to plunge his digits into them until the Autobot started screaming. The flicker of horror he felt at the thought died instantly as Skyfire spoke again.

“Starscream?” he repeated, his voice wavering.

It was his voice, and for the first time in his long, painful life, Starscream was not consoled by it.

“You…” His voice should have been lost to the wind but somehow Skyfire heard and grew deathly silent.

Memories collided within Starscream’s mind. Skyfire holding him, speaking softly to him, laughing with him, exploring with him, rescuing him...

They were all lies. Skyfire betrayed him. Starscream had circled half the globe searching for him, carried the weight of guilt for so long that it had become as familiar as flight, suffered in silence for cycles upon cycles, all for what?

“Starscream,” the Autobot begged, “Please.”

The plea was music to Starscream’s auditory sensors. He let it play, let Skyfire try to sway him again, enjoying every moment of the Autobot’s agony.

Skyfire’s voice grew quiet, “Don’t you remember?”

Starscream hesitated. He did remember. All of it. His fists clenched as his foot stomped downward.

“TRAITOR!!!”

Helpless, Skyfire could only give a strangled cry as Starscream’s foot crunched into his upturned face. The Decepticon watched his enemy fall, his own face lighting up with a terrible grin.

Skyfire barely managed to slow his descent by digging his servos into the muddy cliffside just enough to crash into a protruding ledge. He lay there motionless for countless moments, his recent fall marked by dents in his fuselage and muddy stains dimming his crisp white. He looked broken. Starscream couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

When Skyfire at last came to, his gaze was unfocused. The clear blue of his eyes were crusted with dirt and likely cracked by the impact of Starscream’s foot. The steady rain did a poor job of washing all the muck from his frame, only succeeding in making it bleed into the remaining white. His optics turned upward and somehow found Starscream in the hazy mist. He almost seemed to know where the other jet was without needing to see.

It was there, atop that war torn peak, that Skyfire first looked upon Starscream with fury. No, not fury. Hate.

“Skyfire!” Optimus Prime’s booming voice echoed across the mountain, “Where are you?”

Starscream turned. The Autobots stood on a field of victory, the remains of the Decepticons’ machine scattered amongst its fallen creators. He scowled and turned to confront his foes, when he felt a sudden whoosh of air blast past him. Looking up, he watched as Skyfire sailed over his head to land heavily on the mountaintop.

Without hesitation, Starscream opened fire, only to hit the dirt when the other Autobots returned it. By the time he tentatively lifted his head, all three Autobots had retreated into Skyfire’s fuselage. NO! Starscream rushed forward, his guns vainly attempting to bring the cargo plane down even though he knew he was out of range.

“NO!” he shrieked into the mist, “COME BACK, YOU COWARD!”

But Skyfire had already been lost to the grey sky, leaving Starscream alone. Again.

He continued to stare at the space where he’d last seen Skyfire, unable to look away. He felt as if he’d been awoken from a cruel dream. It took every bit of his willpower not to scream his agony into the sky above. All he wanted in that moment was to hunt Skyfire down and make him suffer. He wanted to hear his screams of terror as he at last cornered him and slammed him into the dirt, gun pointed right between those too blue optics.

How could you do this? He’d scream, Did any of it matter? Did I matter?

Starscream knew the answer already. He turned to face his forces, who all looked to him for guidance.

“Decepticons, take flight!” Without waiting to see if they followed, Starscream transformed and took to the air. To his dismay, there was no trace of the Autobots. They’d be back, though; they never stayed down.

One of them will, Starscream vowed, That traitor will die by my hand.

The rain continued to pour as three jets - and one passenger cassette - returned to their base, leaving the mountain top to be shrouded in mist once more. All they left of their battle were the remnants of an evil machine and a singular gun that had slipped from a foolish Autobot’s hand.

Epilogue- Past

The flight back to Cybertron felt like it lasted millions of cycles. Crouched in Skyfire’s fuselage, Starscream lamented as much to his partner. Skyfire’s only response was an exasperated yet fond sigh; Starscream could tell he was just glad to hear him speak without wheezing.

The damage to his cockpit was extensive but not life-threatening. After a thorough inspection, Skyfire had determined as much. He’d carefully removed some of the smaller bits of crystal from Starscream’s frame and left the larger ones to be handled by a medic. Starscream had wanted to appear brave, but he hadn’t been able to stifle the quiet whimper that escaped him. Luckily, Skyfire responded by wrapping him up in another hug, which had instantly soothed the smaller jet.

When they at last returned to Cybertron, Skyfire was quick to usher him to a medic. In fact, Starscream’s feet barely touched the ground before Skyfire scooped him up and rushed into the medical facility. The hospital was just one branch of the science center that had been built there. For the most part, the civil unrest that had broken out over Cybertron had not affected the science community. It was only a matter of time, though.

Starscream and Skyfire were meant to report to their superiors in the Scientific Exploration department. After much convincing from Starscream, Skyfire had at last agreed to leave his side and speak with the higher-ups, taking a few samples of crystal with him, also at Starscream’s urging. It was what they’d been sent for, after all; it shouldn’t matter that they’d ended up having to gather it from Starscream’s mangled cockpit.

The procedure to repair his cockpit was fairly long but luckily Starscream was in stasis for most of it. When he awakened and examined himself, he was pleased by the results. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his windows shine quite so brightly. He couldn’t help but hope Skyfire would notice, too.

Skyfire was pacing in the waiting room when he emerged. The moment Skyfire spotted him, he almost seemed to teleport to his side.

“Are you okay? I was worried something had gone wrong.”

“Don’t worry, Skyfire,” Starscream said with a slight smile, “I am the picture of health.”

Skyfire looked him up and down, “You’re certainly...shinier,” he said with a bit of awe.

Starscream beamed internally, “Thank you for noticing.”

The two walked out side by side, arms brushing. Starscream wanted to savor the moment, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, what did our bosses have to say?” he asked, barely hiding his disdain. He didn’t like having to report to superiors; he’d rather make his own decisions than comply with someone else’s. Maybe one day…

“The crystals seem promising, though they’ll have to perform further tests,” Skyfire replied, “In the meantime, there’s another planet they want us to investigate right away. It’s uncharted, as of yet. There might not even be intelligent life on the surface, though long distance scans hint to a great energy source.”

Ordinarily, Starscream would have leaped for joy at an assignment such as this, but as he watched Skyfire speak, he couldn’t help but recall how close he’d been to losing him. They were lucky to stand here together at all.

Sensing his hesitation, Skyfire favored Starscream with a concerned frown, “What’s the matter?”

“You know what’s the matter,” Starscream huffed. He didn’t mean to take his anger out on his partner - especially since he was really mad at himself - but it was difficult. Skyfire didn’t respond in kind, though. He never did.

“It’ll be okay, Starscream,” Skyfire reached down to grasp his servo firmly, “So long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.”

And because Skyfire’s voice never failed to console him, Starscream believed what he said. He squeezed his servo back and smiled up into Skyfire’s brilliant blue eyes.

“Together, then.”

[puppyluver256]

[Image Description: Two fan-made Pokemon that are bug and flying evolutions to the Pokemon Eevee.

The first Pokemon is a fox-like creature with slick green fur, big red insectoid eyes, large ears with tan insides, and long brown insect antennae. Its shoulders and back legs are coated in honey, presumably from the hive attached to its tail. Small brown bees hover around the hive. Lime green text outlined in green to the right of the image reads "Hunneon".

The second Pokemon is a fox-like creature with pale blue fur, big green eyes, long wing-like ears with blue tips and dark blue insides, blue on its paws, and a long blue-tipped feathery tail. Light blue text outlined in blue to the right of the image reads "Aereon".

End ID.]

-----

Hunneon - Honey Pokemon - bug The hive on its tail houses a colony of bees that produce vast amounts of honey and see the Hunneon as their comically oversized queen. While it is rare for a Hunneon to be stung by its own bees, it has happened on occasion, and is usually a result of neglectful care of the Hunneon itself. / Hunneon can supplement its diet by sampling some of the honey crafted by the bees in its tail hive, and it often encourages its bees to let its Trainer and friends to have some as well. Regardless of whether or not it eats its own honey, its fur is often sticky from errant drippings.

Aereon - Soaring Pokemon - flying Its sleek feather-like fur allows it to be incredibly aerodynamic while in flight. Their ears are their main source of thrust for flying, and can be manipulated with such precision that they can stand in for hands. / With its large wing-like ears, it can take to the skies and soar at speeds rivaling many bird Pokemon. It takes a while after evolving to figure out what to do with its legs while airborne, however.

More Cantessy Pokemon! I thought we wouldn't get to these ones for a few months, but then I remembered that I Am In Control Of The Art Queue, so here we are! Now I will admit, these were kinda motivated by playful spite toward a certain Poketuber's claims that there can never be any more Eeveelutions after Sylveon due to type patterns or whatever, and cuz I enjoy the guy's content I have to insist that it's only playful spite and not genuine spite. And hey, if he's correct then I'll never have to worry about GameFreak rendering my Eevees null and void! :D So here's Hunneon and Aereon, the bug and flying type evos respectively. Aereon definitely came to me a lot easier, Hunneon took a bit longer because I had no idea how to make a bug fox until the idea hit on me that it could cultivate bees and become kind of bug-like itself as a result. These guys both evolve by friendship much like Espeon and Umbreon, and now Sylveon too I guess since affection and friendship were merged, but what other condition would make them take one of these paths rather than the official ones? Weeellll...you remember those silly partner Eevee moves from Let's Go? I friggin' love those, they're adorable, so I'm bringing them back and making new ones for my evos. You get Hunneon if your Eevee knows the move Stingly Swarm, and you get Aereon if it knows Windy Wave.

Now as you may know if you've been paying attention to my Gym Leaders' teams, I have way more than just these two Eeveelutions to share. How many, you ask? ...Yes.

Reminder that if anyone wants to suggest moves for any Cantessy Fakemon to learn and some physical stats where I haven’t yet figured them out, feel free to throw ‘em at me :3 Links to their info pages will be provided in the replies!

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~If you like, please reblog to show your friends! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Pokemon and related concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Hunneon, Aereon, the Cantessy region, and artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

[spicycreativity]

Howl - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen

Fic Content Warnings: Blood, injury, suggestive content, alcohol use

Characters: All

Pairing: Analogical, background Moceit because apparently I can't help myself

Add'l Notes: dw if you don't know what a loup-garou is or how the lore works; all is explained in the story / Have I ever been to Louisiana? No 💕Did I write an entire story set in rural-ish Cajun Louisiana anyway because I hate myself? Yes 💕 / If you're from Louisiana and noticed any screw-ups, pls correct me so I can fix it

It also comes with a playlist! For ambience, not necessarily for the lyrics

Summary:

Two things happen to Virgil Landry on Halloween:

1) Logan Doucet, his longtime friend and slightly-less-longtime crush, asks him out

2) He becomes cursed to spend his nights as a half-man, half-wolf monster: a loup-garou

Despite his new affliction, Virgil strives for normalcy all the way up until he can't anymore and everything falls apart.

The floorboards creaked in their familiar pattern as Virgil paced over them, his feet sliding around awkwardly in his over-the-knee boots. He was supposed to meet Logan alone in an hour, an hour! His heart thumped painfully under his ribs. What did Logan want?

Virgil yanked his phone out of his pocket to re-read the message for the 85th time, ignoring a few new messages in his assorted group chats:

Logan: If it's not inconvenient, could you meet me early at the Plaza tonight? Maybe 6:30?

Virgil: yeah sure 

Virgil: everything OK?

Logan: Yes :-)

What did it mean? Was everything okay? Or was Logan just lying to make him feel better? Because if so, it wasn't working. Virgil ran his hands through his hair, careful not to smudge his makeup. It had taken him an hour and a half to perfect his vampire makeup in the mirror and he didn't want to risk messing it up.

With a sigh that turned into a groan, Virgil threw himself down on his couch. It made the walls rattle, nearly displacing a few trinkets on his crappy, rickety shelves. He heard a tell-tale scrape above his head and knew that his favorite painting had gone crooked again. God, this place was a wreck-- Just like Virgil. He made a mental note to ask Patton for help patching up the leaky roof. It was as good a time as any, as they were well out of rainy season, but it did seem a little rude. What was he even supposed to say? Hey, Patton, I know carpentry is literally what you do for a living, but could you help me for free since I'm broke and sad? Thanks, bud. Yeah, right. He sighed again and tugged at his medallion, a rusted old thing with a glass gem in the center. He had picked it up from a thrift store months earlier in anticipation of Halloween, but maybe he should have made some effort to restore it. It smelled strongly of rust and decay and felt terrible between his fingers, all oily and sticky.

So far, the only saving grace of the day was that it wasn't raining now. Virgil had spent his workday in silent anxiety, eyeing the storm clouds through the shop window and rubbing a small piece of sunstone between his thumb and forefinger. It seemed to have worked, as the clouds had dispersed a little and allowed the watery light of the autumn sun to peek through.

Virgil's phone lit up with a few more messages in his group chats: Roman having hysterics over some detail of his costume, Janus and Remus discussing how to avoid the small army of toddlers that always ran rampant at the Halloween parade. Virgil ignored them all. He was in no mood to be friendly, would probably snap at them. Logan hadn't said anything since his message to Virgil, which he had presumably sent on his lunch break. The question haunted Virgil, that great unknown lurking behind him and instilling a fear that no ghost ever could: What did Logan want?

Virgil set his phone down and leaned forward, heaving a sigh that turned into a yawn. Great. Whatever. That meant he was on the verge of hyperventilating, his breathing already irregular. Damn it, Logan knew better than to leave him hanging like this! They'd known each other for so long and he'd always been more perceptive to Virgil's needs than the others.

Especially lately… They'd been spending more time alone, and Virgil couldn't deny the sweet, warm giddiness that enveloped him every time they were alone together. First meetings were always his favorite, seeing Logan's face light up with a smile. He hadn't dared to think that Logan might feel the same way, but it was getting harder and harder to keep his fantasies on a leash. Worst-case scenarios and best-case scenarios dueled in his head: Logan kissing him, Logan telling him they couldn't be friends anymore, Logan confessing, Logan announcing that he had some incurable disease.

Virgil grabbed his phone and jumped to his feet. He couldn't do this anymore, couldn't sit here and torture himself. He would just leave now. He would rather arrive freakishly early than face another minute of this self-inflicted torment 

He double and triple checked he had his wallet and his plastic fangs, which he

was planning on putting on later. The medallion bounced against his exposed chest as he walked and he wondered briefly if it might be more trouble than it was worth. He could always swap it out for one of his pendants, maybe amethyst to calm his nerves. But it looked so good against his skin, falling perfectly in the deep V of his flowy white poet shirt. Unlike his other necklaces, it screamed vampire. And Janus would tease him if he caught Virgil wearing a subpar costume, and then Roman would join in, and Remus, and it would turn into a whole thing . He could wear the stupid medallion for one night.

 -

Virgil regretted this decision as soon as he got his moped going. Even at its 30 mph crawl, the heavy necklace bounced against his chest in a maddening rhythm. At least it was distracting. Every time he started to worry about Logan, the erratic tap-tap-tap of cold metal on his chest brought him back to Earth.

It was a long ride into town down a windy country road. He hugged the shoulder as best as he could despite the lack of traffic; Virgil's neighbors were few, but they all liked to take corners at frighteningly high speeds. The one person who did drive by honked at him and flashed their lights. Virgil's heart dropped and he nearly flipped them off before he realized that they liked his costume. It occurred to him then that he must look pretty absurd: A vampire riding a purple moped, cape fluttering on the wind.

Upon reaching the Plaza, Virgil did a few laps around downtown, smiling at the spiderwebs decorating Vaillant City Hall. Another lap revealed that empty parking spots were already becoming scarce, so Virgil pulled into one and checked his phone. Nothing from Logan. Just more hysterics from Roman, and Patton's best attempts at comfort. Virgil rolled his eyes. Maybe Roman did need some tough love. He scanned through the messages to orient himself, to make sure he didn't look dumb, and then typed out his reply.

Virgil: look, Prince Charming. 2 rolls of body glitter is more than enough. Stop freaking out

Roman: That's DOCTOR Prince Charming to you

Virgil: :*

He put his phone away, tucked his keys in his pocket, and forced himself to walk slowly toward the Plaza. He was still excruciatingly early, but maybe he could pop into a bar or grab a coffee or even swing by his work-- Oh.

There, standing by the reflecting pool with his hands in his pockets, was Logan. Virgil smiled despite his nerves and sped up. Leave it to Logan to somehow be earlier than early.

"Hey, Data," Virgil said once he was in earshot.

Logan's face lit up, and even the yellow contacts he was wearing couldn't mask the fondness in his face. "Evening, Virge," he said. His smile dropped too quickly and he kept his hands shoved in his pockets. Virgil surveyed all this with dread. Was he reading too much into it? Most definitely. Could he stop? No way.

"Everything okay?" Virgil asked, tugging at his medallion and turning his nervous gaze upon the placid waters of the reflecting pool. Great. Now he had two awesome reasons to be nervous. It was an old Vaillant legend that anyone who disturbed the waters of the pool would be cursed, and Virgil did not mess with curses. He usually took pains to avoid the Plaza, even if it meant he had to take the long way to work.

"Yes, Virgil," Logan said in a voice that was far too breathy. He cleared his throat. "As you know, we have been friends for a long time. I…" He paused, blinked. "I forgot what I was going to say."

"Jeeze, Lo," Virgil tried to tease. "You're making me nervous."

"But I--" Logan ran a hand through his hair. "Virgil. I had prepared something far more eloquent than what I am about to say, but I can't seem to remember it at the moment. Forgive me if this comes across as confusing."

"All good," Virgil said, making only a minimal effort to hide his confusion. The medallion was cold and oily under his fingertips, but he couldn't stop messing with it, tugging at it, rattling the chain. He needed some outlet for all this nervous energy.

"We've been spending more time alone together and I

thought-- I wanted--" Logan touched his face and Virgil realized a second later he had tried to push up his glasses, which he wasn't wearing. Oh, how cute. "Virgil, I would like to go steady with you."

A rush of vertigo smacked into Virgil with such force that he had to take a step back just to keep his balance. "Go steady?" he heard himself say. "Like-- Like, boyfriends?"

"If you are amenable to that," Logan said, furiously running his fingers over the piping on his uniform. "If not, I-- We can pretend this never--"

"Yes," Virgil interrupted. "Yes, yes, yes. Logan, I do want that."

"Oh," said Logan, his face breaking into a smile. "Good."

Virgil clenched his fist around the medallion wondering if it was too soon to ask for a kiss. He took a breath and felt something give with a quiet snap. The broken chain snaked along his neck, dragged down by the weight of the pendant. Virgil watched in silent agony as the necklace landed in the water of the reflecting pool with a quiet splash. "Shit."

"Allow me," said Logan, already in motion.

"No!" Virgil caught his hand and held it. "The curse." He realized what he had done and let go of Logan's hand.

"I don't believe in such things, Virgil, but if it's important to you, then I'll leave it."

"Thank you." Virgil stared down at the water and sighed through his nose. He'd already disturbed the water. Would it be better to leave the necklace or take it out? Littering seemed more disrespectful, he supposed. So he bent and grabbed the necklace before he could change his mind. "I'll, uh, de-curse-ify myself later."

Logan nodded, looking preoccupied. "Let me know if I can help. I might be able to repair the chain."

"Actually," said Virgil, stuffing the wet necklace into his pocket, "I was wondering if maybe, um…"

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please do."

Virgil closed his eyes so he wouldn't get weirded out by Logan's contacts. He had been expecting a short kiss, sweet and chaste, but Logan's hand tightened in the loose fabric of Virgil's poet shirt and his teeth grazed Virgil's bottom lip. Fuck propriety, then; the Plaza was still fairly empty. Virgil raised a hand to grab a fistful of Logan's hair and ran his tongue along the edge of Logan's lip.

They were interrupted by a wolf whistle and golf claps. "I'll be damned." Crap. Why did it have to be Janus? He was never going to let Virgil live this down.

Virgil pulled away so fast it made pain shoot through his neck. He exhaled sharply and covered the area with his hand for all the good it would do, turning to face Janus with a blush blooming on his cheeks. "What are you supposed to be?" he asked, looking Janus up and down. Janus had always been unnecessarily private about things that really didn't matter. He had evaded all of Virgil's attempts to guess his costume, and now presented wearing an old-fashioned suit including top hat, gloves, and cane.

"Don't change the subject," said Janus, dismissing Virgil with a wave.

In true vampire fashion, Virgil snarled and bared his teeth, then remembered something. "Oh, shit, my fangs!" He dug in his pocket for them, leaving Janus to do… whatever he was going to do.

"Logan, I presume?" Janus asked. Virgil stopped in the process of sticking on one tooth, heart hammering again. Janus and Logan had never met, and they could both be… a bit much in their own ways.

Logan nodded. "Logan Doucet." He held out his hand for a shake.

Janus took it. "Thank God you didn't bother to paint your face, else Virgil would have more than smudged lipstick to contend with. You've got some on your mouth, by the way."

"Thank you," Logan said stiffly. He withdrew his hand and used it to wipe away the lipstick stain on his face. "Nice to meet you, Professor Moriarty."

Virgil's eyes darted back to Janus, who smiled. "When I'm not acting as the Napoleon of Crime, you can call me Janus. Janus Bellefontaine."

"Where's Remus?" Virgil interjected, looking around. "Didn't he ride with you?"

"He got waylaid by some angry mothers because his costume made their kids cry," Janus said, nonchalantly running a

fingertip over the brim of his hat. "He'll be along." To Logan, he said, "Virgil tells me you're an accountant."

"Yes," said Logan. 

"And you haven't killed yourself yet, so I assume you must like it."

Virgil busied himself sticking his fangs onto his canines so he wouldn't worry about the conversation at hand. A sideways glance at Logan revealed that he seemed to find the comment amusing, thank God . "I've always been good with numbers. People, less so."

"Never would have guessed," Janus said, and Virgil didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling that crooked, tight-lipped smile that might have been genuine or might have been mocking. Asshole. "Well, if you have any rich clients, send them my way, won't you? I sell nice suits to dumb men with low self-esteem and too much money and I'm always on the lookout for another rube to swindle."

"If the suits are any good, I'd be happy to," Logan said.

Satisfied that his fangs were in properly, Virgil's attention shifted suddenly to the cold, wet medallion in his pocket. Right. He was cursed. Despite his interest in the occult and the supernatural, Virgil didn't have much experience with curses. His friends weren't really the type to play around with magic (well, maybe Janus, maybe- maybe Roman) and he wasn't the kind of guy who made enemies. No one had ever cursed him before. How soon would this one take effect? Should he go home and come back? Should he hop into the bayou, makeup be damned? Did bayous even count as running water?

He was so caught up in his panic spiral that the sudden sensation of hands on his shoulders made him jump. "Fuck!"

To his surprise it was Roman, not Remus, who laughed from somewhere behind him. "What, are Logan and Janus boring you?"

Virgil looked up and flinched again. While Roman looked relatively normal in his glittery Doctor Frank-n-Furter costume, Remus, who was lurking just behind his brother, was a horrorshow of fur and face paint and fake blood. "Um…" He shook himself and noticed Patton standing a ways off, peering at Remus. Distracted, he went to introduce Patton to Remus and Janus only to learn that he and Roman had run into Remus on their way over and rescued him from a brigade of shouty young mothers.

"He's Macavity," Patton said in a tone like he was pronouncing the death of the family goldfish.

"The other Napoleon of Crime," Janus agreed. "And you are?"

"Patton Haydel!"

A pause. "I gathered that. " Janus gestured at Patton's costume, which he had also kept a secret. Virgil had been staring at it as well, trying to figure it out. Patton was wearing what appeared to be a headless bear costume, round glasses, and what might have been a cowboy hat, though Virgil wasn't 100% sure. "What are you?"

"You have to guess!" Patton said, extending his arms and backing up so everyone could get a good look at him.

Virgil stared at him, running his tongue over the edges of his plastic fangs. "I got nothin'."

Logan took a sideways step and tapped Virgil's hand. Virgil nodded, and Logan interlaced their fingers as casually as he might clock in for work. "He's Teddy Bear Roosevelt."

They all groaned. "Good work, Pat," Virgil said begrudgingly.

"You have a big wet spot on your crotch," Remus pronounced, pointing at Virgil.

Janus raised his eyebrows, turning to Virgil with undisguised schadenfreude, but Logan stepped in before anyone could say anything. "It's water. He dropped his necklace in the reflecting pool."

"Well," said Patton, "that's not good."

"You dropped something in the reflecting pool and didn't immediately run for the nearest source of running water?" Janus asked. He looked from Virgil to Logan, then to their intertwined fingers and grinned. "Ah. More pressing matters at hand?"

"Maybe it's not too late," Roman said, drumming his acrylic nails against his thigh. "We can still dump him in the bayou."

"There's alligators in there!" Virgil said. "Fuck that. You know my house is plastered with wards. I'm sure I can make it through one evening."

"Your funeral," said Remus, leering. "Let me know if your dick falls

off.

 -

Despite his friends' concern, Virgil had a wonderful evening. Logan stuck close the whole night through, and they even snuck a few kisses here and there like infatuated teenagers. Each one sent a lightning thrill down Virgil's spine and made him want a dozen more. His friends noticed in turns and either teased or cooed, but each reaction was encouraging.

Logan kissed him goodbye at the end of the night and he practically floated back to his moped. He was so caught up in his daydreams that he only remembered the curse when he caught sight of the nazar hanging on his kitchen wall. Cursing under his breath, Virgil went to his bookshelf and began to compile a few methods of curse-breaking. Did a shower count as running water? God help him, he was not getting in the bayou. Maybe he could combine methods.

A few moments later, Virgil had everything set up in the bathroom. He lit the last candle, tightened the herb sachet around his neck, and stepped into the shower. Okay, time to focus. He was washing himself free of the curse and wouldn't it be nice if Logan were here? Logan didn't believe in magic and his clear-headed confidence would undoubtedly make Virgil feel better, too-- Focus! Wash away the curse. Logan would probably help him if he asked, helping Virgil set up the crystals and making sure his candles stayed lit-- Virgil! The curse! Wash away the curse.

The bathroom smelled of candles, incense, and herbs. Almost like Virgil's workplace, except that Virgil was using lavender and his boss preferred nag champa.

He stepped out of the shower and inhaled deeply, letting the mixture of scents relax him and draw him toward sleep.