#AND the lottery machine fucking up

[dykeomania]

PLS write smut for Hazel from bottoms..I need her so bad I fear..maybe like subtop!hazel..is her having a strap too far..I need her..

this is not. a full fledged fic. but this is the first time in a sec that ive let myself be inspired by an ask. this is weirdly switcher and just pure gay-sexier than it is subby!hazel. lmk if you want things to get subbier, bc i can probably do that. but for rn i have.. this image.. and i want you to walk with me on this but also hold my hand because i'm #supershy,

(minors [including 17 year olds 🙏🏽] dni fr, under the cut: not that proofread. strap lol (r!r), foul language, breeding... language... (my bad) (hazel has a strap tho), subtop!hazel except i could've made this shit so much worse so i guess switch!hazel but like, switch!reader, idk everyone's just a whore. there's an "i love you" (or.. multiple, i guess). there's a mirror. there's a vibrator. purely stream of consciousness, i don't even think the position they're fucking in makes physical sense fr. i was bored and i was thinking, so i wrote a lot. this whole thing is not realistic btw. i have very little confidence that hazel's blowing anyone's back out, but. it's my first day out in a min so i'm rusty. all respect to the community. next time when i pull up, i'll offer something a little more tame and saccharine as opposed to [exaggerated p*rnstar moans!!!]. reblogs and whatnot appreciated.)

so, i have this .. picture.

of you putting a bullet vibe in the pocket of hazel's strap before she fucks you from behind for the first time.

she eventually finds the confidence to blow your back out, and tbh, you think it's gonna end with you seeing stars because you can already hear the fucking lottery machines going off in your head. she's fucking you so well, and hazel's problem is that you're letting her know.

at first she thinks she's going crazy. but those fucking mewls into the pillow over how deep she is, how she's making you feel so good, how you've missed her so much, are sending shocks through her clit that the vibe keeps amplifying, everytime her pelvis hits your ass.

if she thrusts hard enough, which god knows she does, it almost makes her buckle over.

you're left clenching the sheets, and gasping against the linen while she fucks you, taking you in a way that's so uncharacteristically perverse that you don't even have the brain capacity to ask yourself why you didn't ask her to take you like this, sooner. her thrusts are quick and shallow, her words breathy and a little sharp. with every jolt of your body forwards as she experimentally blows your back out, it's like you feel yourself becoming more and more removed from this fucking planet. you can't help but cry -- sob, even -- as she makes you into a mess of limbs, leaving you tugging at your tits in one split second, and gripping at the sheets the next.

something happens, though.

where her hips rut into yours in deep, hard thrusts, spaced out by what feels like eternities, you can hear her. she's moaning now, breath quickening and chest rippling everytime her crotch hits yours at a particular angle. she's mewling, and unless you're hallucinating from how fucked up you are, you can hear her --

"fuck... f--uuh--ck, fuck, fuckfuck..."

-- silently beginning to whimper.

the girl goes from bullying your cunt to burying her strap deep enough in it to make the apex of its curve nudge against your g-spot, in a way that leaves your mouth hanging wide open with nothing spilling out of it maybe other than drool, but...

it's the slick warmth of hazel's back pressed nearly flush against yours and the heat of her breath against your shoulder that makes your eyes flutter open, facing your reflection in the floor-length mirror stationed across from hazel's bed.

hazel's in it so deep, you can't even see the strap anymore. and by no exaggeration, it's like an earthquake pulses through her body everytime she nudges her hips into your ass, making your vision blurry. she's rutting into you. greedily grinding her strap into your cunt in the effort of chasing her own high.

it wasn't a secret that hazel was sensitive. more often than not, the poor girl writhed against your mouth whenever she let you put it on her ("let you" is a loose sentence -- she begs for it, sometimes). you don't even know why you're surprised that your girlfriend is getting this close over having a bullet vibe pressed against her clit, hardly protected by fabric. "b--babe--"

what sounds like a plea, amongst the feeling of hazel's thighs trembling against the back of yours, inspires something sinister inside you.

you wind your hips against her, pressing back against the strap and the toy. the sight of your ass rolling against hazel's pelvis, combined with how good it feels is gonna actually, like, make hazel fucking--

"don't cum."

she loses her breath, entirely, and her rhythm, apparently. she slows, as if that was her body's instinct to obey your orders, despite the string of breaths that tumbles out of her mouth. "n-- wha-- fuck, no, nonono--"

you wind your hips deeper into hers, extracting a moan from your own throat -- fuck, maybe your gut, since that's how deep you could feel her. you press your ass into her until you feel the buzz of the vibe against folds, the frequency of it changing and humming as you press it further into her clit. "y--es," you grit. "don't fucking cum yet, hazel."

the dull, rolling vibrations through the fabric of the strap draw hazel's eyes into the back of her head, and then closed. she's grunting now -- or all of the above -- and she tries her best to unchap her lips, fruitlessly dragging over them. the little breaths she takes through them only brings them back to being puffy, pink, and a gateway of noise that gives evidence to struggle.

"gonna let me count you down?" you puff out your sentence in one breath, and hazel can fucking hear the grin in your still-fucked-out tone and it makes her whine louder.

"yeah? gonna fuckin' let me count you down so you can cum in me, haze?"

cum.. in you. three words that you'd never even fucking uttered to her before this, and that she never fucking thought she would ever hear and.. it looks like she can't complain, because her eyes roll into the back of her head and hazel swears that she -- at least, briefly -- meets jesus christ, "oh my god--," hazel slurs, hips rolling impossibly deeper into yours, it's a miracle she hasn't swabbed your cervix yet -- "ohmygod, oh my god--"

"three..."

ohfuck. ohfuck,ohfuck,ohfuck,ohfuck. it's the soft chorus that she whispers to herself as she starts to fuck herself into you, again, opting for thrusts as a means of trying to regain control with no consideration for your demise. the vision of her blurs in the mirror, and you feel your fists grasping at her sheets again.

"fuck--" you croak. "t--two.."

she pulls you further into her, and at this point, hazel's okay with being written off as a lost cause, 'cause fuck, it's not like she has a choice. the strap brief is soaked and it's entirely your fault, and god, she throws her head back. a mess of words, a mess of sensations, hazel just blurts, "oh my g--od--i love you--"

you burst out laughing at the random proclamation, admist everything.

she forces her head down to watch you, jaw hung open. and at this point, she's just speaking. rambling and slurring and gasping, tears-in-eyes-in-awe-and-all, as she watches you throw your ass back against her.

"iloveyou so much, you're so f--ucking hot, whatthefuck?--"

there's something weirdly sweet about it. something that makes your cunt clench around the strap in a way that hollows you out shortly thereafter, and lets hazel hit that fucking spot just right. before you know it, you're wherever hazel is, cunt fully creaming around the silicon.

"i love you--" you dumbly spit out a giggle, a gasp causing a steam of spit to cascade off your bottom lip and onto hazel's navy sheets. "babe," you warn. "ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggod, you're gonna make me cu---"

"fuckingsayone," hazel, unbelievably pleads while she unbelievably spears her strap into your cunt. "oh my fucking god, say one, please, please, pleaseplease--"

she starts begging. unprompted. "it's s-so good, it's so, so good, feels so fucking good, wanna c--um in you--" and she probably repeats it. probably repeats that she wants to cum in you until she's blue in the face and,

"o-one--"

until you let her.

the noise that's ripped from hazel's throat is .. embarrassing. virginal, almost. fully reverberates off the walls, and she trembles. her clit convulses against the vibe, twitching with every short stream of her release and she folds. poor girl was holding your hips for something -- for reassurance, to get a grip, dear life, perhaps? as her hips languidly fuck and press into the surface of your ass., rocking your near limp-frame after you've pretty much creamed all over her strap.

hazel hangs over you for god knows how long, dark hair shaggy and some strands stuck to her forehead in wavy wisps. cheeks flushed, and lower lip bitten to hell. the bullet vibe fucking dies, thank god almighty, because god knows she was not in any shape to reach down and turn it off.

she stays like that for a while, until she you feel her again. this time, only gentler, and much more like herself. soft hands caressing the skin of your back, her breath warm and shaky as she peppers a splay of kisses across your skin.

as you come from the surface of your own high, you feel yourself hum. still full of her, and dizzy with it. despite it, you manage -- slurring, slightly.

"haze?"

there's a hum, somewhere.

"did that really feel that good?"

hazel distantly nods, brown locks brushing against your back.

"uh.." hazel frowns, letting out a weak laugh. "y-yeah, honestly."

the mental note gets filed away somewhere deep in the haze of your brain and you grin, when you press your ass one against her just for shits and giggles and hear her gasp, from the sensitivity of it alone.

"that's my girl."

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #lesbian #wlw #lgbt #bottoms 2023 #merry fuckin christmas #i am logging out see you in like 12-15-35 hours

[sailorgundam308]

Karlach isn't a good girl

Listen, LISTEN. I love her, okay? Now that's out of the way. I see many people reducing her personality to the "big friendly labrador dog" thing. And while it's cute and all that, I disagree. Let me get into why I think Karlach isn't the goodie nice girl she puts a lot of effort to be. She has just returned to Faerun when we meet her in game, and she IS trying her bestest to start anew, to be the best version of herself now that she is free. But it doesn't mean she was always like that, or that her past has not changed her. I think it did - quite a lot, in fact.

Let's start with Gortash. She worked for this fucker. Granted, she might not have known he was such an evil bastard at the time, but she was his bodyguard. And by bodyguard, it is implied that she was his bully, his enforcer and debt collector - you know, the kind that breaks knees and kills people. When she meets an old friend in the city, that friend asks her if she is still in "the business of intimidation", and offers her to come see weapons. Even though Karlach, in her mind, might have been convincing herself that doing such a job was to help someone she respected, she still did it. And that is FINE. She was a young orphan, a tiefling in a place where tieflings are discriminated against harshly, poor and without much perspective. Of course a guy coming over offering her a well paid job that she excelled in would seem like winning a lottery. Still, she was a pretty shady violent person doing it. Now, the Hells. Avernus. She was sold to Zariel quite young still, and went through all sorts of torture and other perks enslavement gets you. For 10 years. She was scared shitless while there, especially in the beginning - she says so herself (to Halsin). All the carnage she inflicted was not (very) voluntary. She HAD to, or she would be the one getting killed. But she enjoyed it - or grew to. She likes violence, the adrenaline of it, the rush of excitement. The thrill of it, she says, is second only to sex.

Continuing on. Avernus, as well as the other layers of the Nine Hells, is not like the Material Plane. The place itself influences you. It means that being in Avernus for any time changes/corrupts/influences who you are. The longer you stay there, the deeper it gets. It did so to Zariel who was a literal angel. Avernus (and it's Archdevil's personality) insidiously get in your body and heart. It is just the way it goes, lore-wise, in DnD. If a fucking SOLAR wasn't immune to it, Karlach - young and lost - certainly wouldn't be either. Even more so because she was near Zariel all the time. I strongly believe Karlach was getting more and more exactly like Zariel - who herself is a fierce berserker warrior who charges head first into battle. Zariel is KNOWN to be this crazy strong, insane, fearless and (in her mind) righteous demon-smiting war machine. Sounds similar to a nice red tiefling we know, doesn't it? Now, did Zariel chose Karlach beause she was already like this, or did Karlach took after Zariel while she fought with her? Hard to tell. In any case, Karlach's 10 years in the Hells did change her. Needless to say, Avernus doesn't change you for the better. It doesn't mean that Karlach became "evil" - she is obviously far from it. But she is chaotic, violent and bloodthirsty. She is also selfish. There are several situations where this personality trait of her comes up.

It may sound kinda wild considering how she offers to help everyone and even sacrifice herself (since she's already dying anyway) - when we meet her. But that's the thing: she is being as selfless as she can now because she has been very selfish for a very long time (proof she has a conscience). Perhaps, she is terrified of what she was becoming and is trying to make amends, to revert whatever evil was growing in her.

She mentions herself that she did not help the tieflings of Elturel when their city was pulled down into Avernus. She did not get out of her way to help them. Instead, she thought that if "she was living that nightmare, they'd have to live it too". She would not put her neck on the line to help another - which, not so coincidentally, is typical behavior in the Hells (again, proof that Avernus was indeed getting to her). The Hag's Vicious Mockery targeted specifically at Karlach mentions how she is willing to "sell everyone's soul's if it means she can save hers". We do not know exactly what it refers to - soul coins, throwing others under the bus, ignoring people in need - but it reinforces the idea that Karlach was not the nicest person for at least 12+ years. Granted, the devils around her were much worse - but they are DEVILS in HELL. So.

Generally, in game we notice that her effort to survive and stay alive has pushed her selfishness to grow. But it still is selfishness. Another example is how she disapproves (together with Astarion), if you say to healer Nettie that you "swear to drink the Wyvern poison". She wouldn't drink it. She'd rather kill Nettie (that gets hostile).

Another hint at her grey-ish personality is when she talks to/about Wyll after he is punished by Mizora for not having killed Karlach. She mentions that she would NOT have done the same in his place. That he was better than her. Again, she would not put her skin on the line like that. She would and has turned a blind eye to situations and persons if it meant it would guarantee her survival or avoid injury. (Mind you, I 100% belive she would do this sacrifice if she was in love with someone, though.)

She will ask to, and will use Soul Coins even though she knows it's morally a sus choice to do so. If you play as her she will repeat to herself "I won't use them, they are people's souls - and I am GOOD." like she is trying to convince herself. Because she would fucking use them to smash some big fuckers in a blink - and feel awesome while doing it. Even as her, she keeps insisting "But... maybe I can use them... JUST when I really need them." Additionally, when she talks to the bugbear merchant in Moonrise Towers and he offers her soul coins, she doesn't really feel guilty for the stories of the souls in them. She even says at some point "they are already doomed, so why not use them anyway", justifying that she will only kill evil bastards with them. In any case, the morality of her choice is debatable. It makes clear that Karlach is not "lawful good" by any stretch.

Let me reiterate that just because I am saying all this about Karlach, doesn't mean I dislike her. I think she is abso-fucking-lutely the best character in the game. But I hate to see her personality "flattened" to nice happy go lucky gal. I think she has a grey-tinged personality - she has good and bad aspects to herself; she has character flaws too.

But I also think that she is trying her damn hardest to be the best she can be right then. The opposite of what she's been. Maybe it is because she has so little time left, that she needs to be the absolute best version of herself while she can. Perhaps she is trying to be what she would have been if her parents did not die - because they seemed like great loving parents. And I think Karlach didn't turn into a broken evil maniac because of them, the way they raised her while they were alive. But she lost her mom at 6, her father around 13-15. After that, it was struggling on the streets, Gortash and Zariel - betrayal, violence, carnage, war and loneliness. It is too naive to think a person would not change after all this, that Karlach would not carry more scars than those she shows on her body. To her credit, she turned much MUCH better than anyone would have. She WILL kill with a grin on her face, seek violence, blood and even revel in it - she learned to relish it and now it's part of who she is. She is selfish, she will look out for herself and has no qualms about killing or throwing people she doesn't care for under the bus (if she sees justification for it). BUT she knows what evil is, and doesn't let shit happen to people who don't deserve it. She will side with those who suffer prejudice and fight against what she sees as injustice - but even she has a limit to how far she'd go.

If you raid the Emerald Grove, she will leave the party. To me, this screams of her trying to right her past wrongs. She left the Elturians to their fate once before, so she MUST save them now that she has another chance - and that it won't cost her her life. I love her being 1/3 brutal killing machine (and fucking LOVING it), 1/3 ptsd, fear and overcompensating trauma under a smile, and 1/3 just trying her best, really, and being lovely for it. Phew. That was a long rant. I guess I just wanted to organize my thoughts about it a bit :V

#baldur's gate 3 #karlach #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #spoilers #opinion #karlach is not evil #but shes not a well of pure heartedness and good either

[stealingyourbones]

Danny learns bruce is his bio dad when wayne visits fentonworks. That night batman shows up to meet him and immediately shares his identity as bruce. Apparently b had danny pegged as a secret vigilante the moment he laid eyes on him, and identified him as phantom halfway through his introductions. Danny's smart enough to realize he just won the fucking superhero allegiance lottery. He's gonna milk this so hard, he's gonna THRIVE. Just point bats at all of his enemies and watch the world burn.

Oh man I’ve seen many variations of Danny’s reaction to being Bruce’s bio kid but it’s never been something like this.

Danny not going “yeah this is my town” and instead going “thank gOD now I can get some REST! Hey Damian, can you fight this guy who wants to take my skin so I can study?”

Batman goes and instantly creates dozens of contingency plans for all of the ghosts. Is a ghost harming Danny? Cool they’re getting captured in a Even Better ghost thermos that allows the ghost to still communicate even when captured and Batman terrifies them into not returning to Amity.

Both Batman and Danny fully accepting the situation, (there’s still some holy fuck I have another dad/son crisis but that doesn’t linger for too long).

Batman so glad that he has a son that’ll accept his fucking help whenever he’s asked and he doesn’t have to bully his kid into needing assistance.

Danny is so happy because he has a mentor figure that he knows is fully capable as a vigilante and doesn’t have to worry about them dying in a fight with his rogues gallery.

There’s so much angst with the debacle of “wait what the fuck I got another kid.” Sure, it’s a fun thing to write, but in doing this you can write about other conflicts:

Bruce or Danny patching the other up after a fight and chiding them for not blocking themselves more.

Bruce or Danny teaching the other how their tech works. One being the dozens of Bat gadgets, the other being Fenton gadgets. Could be a fun bonding moment talking about either technical stuff, Bruce being fucking baffled that Danny’s parents seem have their machines made out of mostly duct tape and prayer, discussions about how ectoplasm is used as a power source, or things of the sort! Don’t make Danny hide his tech! He goes “fuckin take these blueprints and help me make something that’s 100% effective” to the Batfam.

Bruce making Danny a new suit for better protection and Danny making Bruce a new suit so he can punch ghosts and be brought into the GZ.

Bringing the Batfam into the GZ to meet Frostbite, Fright Knight, or Clockwork! Have the strange father figure meet the other strange father figure and have them bond about worrying over this strange little halfa boy.

Worrying about if Jazz will accept being adopted too and Jazz going “it’s about time” and accepting far easier than they expected.

Jazz walking into the Batcave, sees Jason’s Robin suit on display, and goes “yeah that’s gonna have to be moved. Oh and Bruce, you’re meeting me in the third floor grand office closest to the stairs and we’re having a therapy session.”

Since Danny isn’t hiding from his family or anything, (well maybe but these guys are oblivious as hell. Let them just strangely accept that their kids have caught the attention of another billionaire and that they’re glad that Danny seems happier ever since he first met Mr. Wayne.) so he can have Tucker and Sam over to Wayne Manor. He can stay the night at Wayne Manor (Bruce tells them he uses a private helecopter, Danny just ghost zone portals himself over) and hang out with his new friends.

Anon you are fucking brilliant and I love this oh so much. This is a “Danny is Wayne’s Bio-kid” concept that NEEDS to be tapped into.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc comics #writing prompts #dp x dc prompt #bones replies #anon

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 15: Drive] [Series Finale]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, violence, character deaths.

Word count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario​ @ladylannisterxo​ @doingfondue​ @tclegane​ @quartzs-posts​ @liathelioness​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @thelittleswanao3​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ @eddies-bat-tattoos​ @minttea07​ @joliettes​ @trifoliumviridi​ @bornbetter​ @flowerpotmage​ @thewitch-lives​ @tempt-ress​ @padfooteyes​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @chelsey01​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @heliosscribbles​ @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @tillyt04​ @cicaspair418​ @fan-goddess​ 

A/N: This is the fic I almost never wrote because I didn’t think anyone would be interested in some random, angsty, 1990s, Alaskan, crime-thriller AU. Thank you for proving me wrong. I hope you enjoy the ending. 💜

Almost everything about your existence is pure chance; it’s the most freeing and horrifying truth imaginable. There’s the genetic lottery and corporate downsizing, revolutions and hurricanes, plagues, asteroids, famines, faulty airplanes and malignant blooms of cells and drunk drivers. There are 100 billion planets in this galaxy and your atoms ended up on the one called Earth. After all that, do you really think what you want matters? So make all the choices you like, all the nail-biting deliberations and promises and vows, weigh costs and benefits, do research, roll dice, ask astrologers and palm readers, start over every New Year because that’s something we tell ourselves is possible. The fact that you exist at all is one big cosmic coin flip. If you think you’re the one driving, you’re dead fucking wrong. You’re the speck of dust on a windshield, the spin of a roulette wheel. You’re a flash of silver in the universe’s pinball machine.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about chance, okay? My family is one of the wealthiest in the Western Hemisphere, and I didn’t do anything to earn that. I was born first, and I definitely didn’t do anything to earn that, Jesus Christ, what a chromosomal fuckup. I inherited an affliction that others get to live without. I can’t imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be horrified by myself, my shortcomings, my failures: too small, too stupid, too wild, too weak. And the first time someone says something like that to you, you want to apologize, you want to drop to your knees and cling to them and beg for absolution, maybe even the first hundred times, the first thousand. And then it just starts to piss you off. Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all before, why would you expect anything different? Isn’t this getting old, Mom? Maybe you’re the stupid one, Dad, if you think you could cut me and anything but disappointments would fall out. I’m not horrified by the fact that I’m an addict. The horror came first. The horror is what led to all the rest of it.

One day when I was in 10th Grade—I was slumped way down in my chair and drinking vodka out of an Evian water bottle—my American History teacher, purely by chance, assigned me to make a poster about Juneau, Alaska. Some other kid got Los Angeles (Hollywood! The Whisky a Go Go!) and another got Chicago (the Mob!) and another got Nashville (Johnny Cash!) and some jock moron I hated got Baltimore (um, crabs? the War of 1812…?), but I got fucking Juneau, Alaska. I thought this was so unjust that I never forgot it, the fact that I had to get up in front of the class with my pathetic Crayolas-and-magazine-cutouts poster and pretend that Juneau was a place that mattered, that microscopic cloud-covered relic of a late-1800s gold mining settlement on the shores of the Gastineau Channel. Juneau was never on my list of cities to run to. It just wasn’t. It didn’t have anything I wanted. But when I started thinking about places where I could really disappear, where no one would ever bother looking, where days are short and dark and incurious and irrelevant…well, that sounds like Juneau, right?

Let me tell you something about the night I left. I’ve been more messed up, yeah, and I’ve hurt people worse, and I’ve been closer to death, I’ve been one more powder-white gram on the scale away from oblivion; but I’ve never felt that fucking low. I can’t decide if I wish I’d never gone to Juneau at all. I can’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

My flight is a red-eye with a layover in Ketchikan, American Airlines, bound for Seattle. Sunfyre has the window seat. He’s wearing the bright red Service Dog vest that I once stole for him specifically for such occasions. My dog fly with the cargo? My dog?! Bill Clinton will be elected pope first. Sunfyre is chewing contently on Milk-Bones and watching the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. He knows the drill. We’ll touchdown and deplane, and then…and then…

And then we’ll start over again somewhere new. I’ll find a flight board and pick a destination; Seattle is a hub, with spokes leading everywhere. I could go south, to Galveston, Lafayette, Biloxi, someplace where it gets hot, someplace where I can sweat her out of me, purge every cell that still remembers what she felt like. I could go west, fading into mountains or cornfields, vapid infinitesimal towns in Montana, Iowa, Idaho, Nebraska. I could go to New England or the Great Lakes or freaking Hawaii, sleep in hammocks, swim with sea turtles, drink my rum and Cokes out of coconut shells. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that nowhere really sounds good to me. My legs are suddenly tired of running. There’s an ache that rattles down to the bone.

I don’t have to tell you that I love her, right? It’s not so easy for me to say. But it’s true, and it’s beautiful, and it’s torture, and it’s a dream. It’s pain that flays you alive and then builds you back again, layers of fresh muscle and tendons and veins growing over ribs and vertebrae like a trellis thick with ivy. It’s not a high. It’s just the best life can get down here on earth. It’s the ocean, it’s the Northern Lights.

I’m swimming in a black hoodie that is three sizes too big; I haven’t slept and I’m pale and raccoon-eyed, looking like death, feeling worse. When the stewardess rolls by with her clattering cart just slim enough to fit through the aisle, I order a cup of water for Sunfyre and a double rum and Coke for myself. It arrives with two blood-red cherries bobbing in a caramel-dark carbonated sea. The guy in the next seat over gives me a judgmental little eyebrow raise.

“That doesn’t look like breakfast,” he says.

I bite off both cherries—juice dribbling down my chin, wiped away with a sleeve—and throw the stems over my shoulder. The lady sitting behind me yelps in disgust. “Because it’s dessert.”

The man smiles and shakes his head, one of those I shouldn’t find it funny but I do sort of looks. I inspire a lot of those. He’s maybe mid-thirties, long hair and ripped jeans, very punk rock, cool as hell. There is a constellation of pins on his denim jacket. One of them has a roman numeral 10 on it, a stark X nestled inside a triangle. Unity, Service, Recovery, the gold letters say. To Thine Own Self Be True. It’s an Alcoholics Anonymous pin. What are the chances?

He catches me staring, and I ask: “Does it really make you a better man?”

“It doesn’t make you better. It just makes you real.” He smiles again, patient and kind. “It makes your emotions and experiences real, your relationships real. And so you become whatever version of yourself you were always supposed to be. But you have to want it. Not your wife, not your parents or your kids, not your pastor, not your friends, not your parole officer. You.”

I speak without knowing what I’m going to say. “I want it.”

“Yes, I think you do.”

He sees a lot, I think, as the plane descends into the grey fogbank of Seattle. 20/20.

When we land, the man squeezes into a cab with me and Sunfyre—he sniffles into a Kleenex for a while before reluctantly admitting that he’s allergic to dogs—and pays the fare. The cab’s worn brakes squeal to a stop outside a residential treatment center on the banks of the Puget Sound. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I ask the man if he’s going to take me to get one last drink first. He laughs in my face. Fucking jerk.

He pulls out a black Sharpie and rummages through his pockets, his wallet. He can’t find a scrap of paper. He writes his phone number on the underside of my arm instead. “You call me, okay?” he says. “Call me when you get out. Call me before you get out, if you need to. I don’t care if it’s in five minutes, I don’t care if it’s at 2 a.m. You just make sure you call.”

“Why would you do this? I mean, you don’t even know me. You have no idea who I am.”

“Because once, years ago, someone did the same thing for me, and someone did it for her too. Maybe one day you’ll be able to pay it forward. I don’t care who you are or where you’ve been. It doesn’t matter to me. I’d like to think that we’re all more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

And then he waits for me to go inside. He doesn’t leave until he watches me check in at reception on the other side of the rain-flecked glass. Outside, a brand new day is beginning. A misty sun rises as pieces of the sky fall.

Sunfyre trots into the lobby alongside me, panting cheerfully, shaking the perpetual Seattle drizzle from his fur. There’s a girl at the front desk, just a girl, and that’s the other thing that’s different now. She’s not a maybe-future-one-of-my-girls. She’s just like anyone else. I already have a girl. I mean, I don’t anymore, not really. But I still do.

I throw my things onto the counter: my single suitcase, my tattered wallet, my bundle of cash held together with rubber bands, my scraped-up electric guitar.

“Checking in?” the girl asks.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes, I guess.”

She opens my wallet, reads my license, blinks in bewilderment. “Aegon…?”

I sigh dramatically. “It’s Greek.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You dream of him; and when you do, he’s always smiling. He’s reading your palm in an empty Taco Bell, he’s kissing you under the Northern Lights, he’s regaling your parents with stories—of lobster fishing in Portland, of cattle ranching in Denver—all through Thanksgiving dinner, he’s undressing you in his moonlit apartment, he’s climbing into your bed. He’s not angry, he’s not ruined, he’s not running away. He’s exactly as you remember him in his best moments. He’s all chaotic white-blond hair and weightless light, sharp laughter and bright eyes. And each morning there’s a splinter-thin moment before you remember that he’s gone. That’s the worst part, really. You always knew it would be. You can’t even begin to forget him.

Your friends want to help you, but they don’t know how. Neither do your parents. Your dad gets an atlas from the study, throws it down on the dining room table, and opens it to a map of the world. “Pick anyplace and we’ll go there,” he says. “We’ll close the vet clinic for two weeks and we’ll all go.” But you can’t give him a single name: not Athens, or Paris, or Buenos Ares, or Cairo, or New York City, or Rome, or Tokyo, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s the strangest thing. All your life you’ve been waiting to get out of Juneau, but now nowhere sounds good to you. And maybe that’s a lesson you wish you’d never learned: sometimes freedom is less about places than it is about people.

The blood on the equipment recovered from Trent’s apartment matches DNA from the first three victims. He is charged with eight counts of first-degree murder and held awaiting trial in the Lemon Creek Correctional Center. His family visits him faithfully each week. His lawyer is exasperated that he won’t plead guilty and spare his parents the humiliation and expense of a protracted court battle. But Trent’s story never changes: he’s innocent, he’s never killed anybody, he doesn’t understand how the blood could have been found on his belongings. He wants to know exactly what items the police tested; he and his lawyer are still waiting for the prosecutor to turn over all the details during discovery. In the midst of the scandal, the upheaval, you fade into the backdrop like the stars behind fog. People talk around you and through you. They offer gaps that you don’t care enough to fill in. Drinks clink, whispers fly, conspiracies are exchanged between pool shots. You watch the days grow longer and wait for the future to arrive. You don’t know what it will look like, you can’t even begin to fathom it. But surely there must be a future. Life goes on. It did for your mom after Jesse. It will for you too.

A week after Aegon leaves, there is a knock at your parents’ front door. You open it to find Aemond standing there in the muted amber-pink afternoon light. His hair is long and loose, his Armani suit immaculately tailored, his BlackBerry nestled in his right hand. He glances up from it at you and his jaw falls open. And only then do you realize how awful you must look.

You tell Aemond, your voice hushed and heavy, ankles in quick-drying cement: “I don’t know where he is.”

“No, I can see that,” Aemond replies, dull horror in his blue eye. Then he turns around and strides halfway down the driveway towards the street, where a cab idles as it waits for him, engine exhaust pouring into the air like smoke from a firepit.

“How’s your dad?” you call after him when you get your bearings.

He pauses under the dwindling light. “Alive. For now.” And then Aemond considers you for a while. “I suppose if I ever want to find you again, I know where to look.”

You nod. “I’ll be here.”

I’ll always be here.

A month crawls by like a wounded animal, dead leaves snared in the fur of its belly. The flesh on your thigh knits back together. The things that Aegon ordered show up in Juneau, packages left on the front porch and stuffed into the moose-shaped mailbox like Christmas gifts in a stocking. You pack these remnants of him—Zoobooks and cooking accessories, knives and Chia Pets—into a cardboard box and tuck it away in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of the attic, and you’re aware the entire time that this has happened before, almost exactly twenty years ago. When your dad puts a Third Eye Blind or Red Hot Chili Peppers or Oasis album on his record player, you find some excuse to leave the room. When you tack magazine cutouts of beaches and cityscapes to your bedroom walls, all you can think about is where Aegon might be now. You wonder where he works during the day, a surf shop or a construction site or a farm or a fishing boat; you wonder who he spends his nights with.

I’ll always be here. Even if I leave, I’ll always be here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty years ago to the day, almost to the hour, a man fell into the Gastineau Channel and drowned. They found water in his lungs, though the autopsy was only a formality, an afterthought; Jesse had a reputation in Juneau, and no one was particularly surprised to see how his story ended. There were abrasions on his back and shoulders, contusions on his wrists, but so what? He probably tripped half a dozen times before he tumbled over some guardrail and into the frigid black water. There was a bloody mess of an impact wound on the side of his face, but who cares? The blood alcohol concentration doesn’t lie. The man was wasted, and more than that he was a waste. If his premature demise hadn’t been then, it would have been later, in a week or a month or a year. And when someone like that goes, there’s a sigh of relief that accompanies the misery, isn’t there? There’s the sense of a weight being lifted from a scale.

You’re sitting in Ursa Minor at the usual booth, but the bar is practically empty. It’s Valentine’s Day. Joyce is with Rob, Kimmie is with Brad; Heather’s parents have spirited her away on a short vacation to Sitka to try to take their minds off Trent’s imminent lifelong incarceration. Your mom and dad’s February 14th tradition is cooking a homemade Italian dinner together—pasta, bread with herbs and olive oil, caprese salad, tiramisu—and then settling in for a romantic Blockbuster rental. This year, it’s Runaway Bride. Your mom loves Julia Roberts. They didn’t ask for privacy, but you gave it to them anyway. Kimmie offered to drop you off at Ursa Minor and then drive you home after her date with Brad so you could drink away your sorrows without having to worry about calling a ride. So now Kimmie is getting wined, dined, and plied with boxed chocolates at the Red Dog Saloon while you drain appletinis and flip through one of Jesse’s journals, not knowing what you’re looking for.

Dale is washing pint glasses in the sink behind the bar and humming cheerfully along to a Cake CD. It’s just you and him tonight; evidently, Dale doesn’t have a hot date either. It was nice of him to eschew the usual Shania Twain or Sheryl Crow soundtrack. He’s trying to spare you from any crooning love songs. He must have forgotten that Cake has its own little slice of relevance in your memories of Aegon, those memories that refuse to fade, ink in your skin as dark as night.

Your fingerprints trace Jesse’s scrawling, handwritten letters. It’s his very last journal, the last words he ever wrote. His final entry is unremarkable, a lucid recollection of his latest woodcarving project: it’s a family of tiny bears, three of them. He says he wants the cub to have the same slope of your cheeks, the shape of your eyes. And it’s just like your mom said. It really did seem like he was getting better.

You flip to the next page, blank. The heading reads: Thursday, February 14th, 1980.

You go back a few days. And your gaze catches on words that you’ve read before, months ago, back when the journals were a new discovery like striking oil. The entry is from Saturday the 9th. It ends with an unceremonious bullet point of a reminder: dinner w/ Dale on Thursday.

You leaf forward to Thursday, to the blank page that tells you nothing. Back to the 9th, forward to the 14th, again, again. Valentine’s Day 1980, before Dale had married his wife, after your mom had stopped trying to make plans with Jesse, maybe even rebelled against them; just two unromantic, discarded men with a vacant slot in their calendars and troubles to drink into submission. Except that Jesse never came home.

Dinner with Dale, you think dizzily. Dinner with Dale on the night he died.

The opening notes of The Distance shout from the stereo. Everything suddenly feels very loud.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,

Engines pumping and thumping in time…

What had Aegon said about that song before you sang it together, stomping and staggering across the hardwood floor? It’s not about NASCAR, it’s about a journey!

Outside, it’s a rare clear night in Juneau. The Northern Lights are a kaleidoscopic ribbon against indigo night, the sky a mausoleum of stars. And you remember when Aegon sang Everlong, when he grabbed your hand, led you upstairs to the roof, kissed you for the first time under the ethereal, shimmering curtain of green and purple and blue…before Heather had interrupted to tell you that Dale was closing the bar. He was irritable, he was tired; he wanted to go home.

The arena is empty except for one man,

Still driving and striving as fast as he can…

And then they found a body, didn’t they? Yes, you can remember being in Aegon’s apartment and hearing the police cars zoom by. You remember the red-and-blue flashes on his face. You remember thinking they looked like sapphires and rubies, the ocean and blood.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up

And long ago somebody left with the cup,

But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns…

Icy claws glide down the length of your spine. Memories play back with a focused clarity that you didn’t have before: Dale groggy and yawning just before they found the fifth victim at Christmas, and again before they found the eighth the same night Trent dragged you—shrieking, bleeding, virtually naked—out of your Jeep. You remember Dale at your parents’ New Year’s Eve party talking about how maybe the killer was an athlete with brain damage from CTE. You remember him offering to give Trent a box of his old equipment from when he was a park ranger. You remember him watching as Trent towered over you here in Ursa Minor with a cue stick clenched in his fist, demanding to know where you had been the night before, Dale’s eyes gleaming with disapproval and fascination and…and…oh god, opportunity.

He’s going the distance,

He’s going for speed,

She’s all alone (all alone)

All alone in her time of need…

And now Aegon’s long gone, but you’re still here. And so is the Ice Fisher.

You’re staring at Dale, eyes huge and glossy with terror. He glances up, gives you a brief casual smile, looks down at the pint glasses again. And then his eyes come back to you. He sees you and you see him, really see him, and it’s the first time in your life that you can recall him being a centerpiece instead of an ornament for gazes to skate over like ice, wallpaper or taxidermy deer heads or a mirror. And you watch as the thing that lives inside Dale stirs awake. It is a shadow with fangs, talons, barbs down its spine, a weblike scribble of a brain loud with the echoes of screams; and it unfurls and fills him completely, all the way to his fingerprints. It possesses him, it eclipses him.

It’s Dale, you realize like a bullet slicing through an aorta, spilling an ocean of hot blood. It was him twenty years ago and it’s him now.

You gasp and fumble for the cannister of bear mace still clipped to your purse. Dale crosses the room with staggering swiftness, like a wolf, like a storm, one pint glass still gripped in his hand. He reaches you just as your thumb presses down on the cannister’s release tab. The rust-colored mist spews not directly into his face but into the room; Dale is hacking and rasping, you both are, but he isn’t in too much pain to haul you out of the booth and onto the floor. You’re screaming, you’re clawing at him, your eyes feel like they’re on fire, tiny pinpoint infernos that drill down to the bone. You can feel the ice-cold juice and schnapps and vodka of your appletini, knocked off the table when you fell, soaking through the back of your sweater. You can feel pebbles of glass as they burrow into your flesh. You are dimly aware of a barstool tumbling over as you struggle with Dale.

“No!” you cry into the monstrous hand that he clamps over your mouth. “No—!”

Dale brings the bottom of the pint glass down on your head. The Distance lyrics—she’s hoping in time that her memories will fade—swirl around inside your fractured skull.

Silence descends like a curtain, shadows in, lights out.

~~~~~~~~~~

I knock, and he opens the door. The house smells like fresh bread and alfredo sauce, rosemary and crushed garlic. My rental—a Toyota 4Runner, I remember what she said about the Nova being a bad idea in Alaska—is parked in the driveway behind her Jeep. Sunfyre is standing beside me, eyes sparkling, smiling with that unburdened-by-intellect innocence that dogs have. There’s a bouquet of blue-dyed roses in my left hand, cool melancholy blooms of life like seawater, like bruises.

“Hi,” I say to her dad as he stands in the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Aegon.” He’s not just staring at me in the artificial front porch light; he’s gawking, he’s damn near speechless. “Wow. Wow. It’s really good to see you.”

Yeah, I know I look different. The dark rings around my eyes have vanished, my face is less puffy, my hair is trimmed and healthy and mostly out of my face, I stand taller. I’m wearing a white turtleneck sweater and a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, my combat boots. I have a red chip in my pocket that I can’t fucking wait to show her: 1 month sober. On the first day, you think you’re going to die, and on the second day you wish you would. But you don’t. You live, and that starts out as a grisly inconvenience, and then you get a taste for it. “You can probably guess who I’m looking for.”

“Yeah, I reckon I can,” her dad says. “But she’s not here right now. She went to Ursa Minor.”

I grin, a crooked little curl of the lips. “I think I remember how to get there.”

I hop back into the 4Runner with Sunfyre and pull out into the street, snow and ice chomping under the tires. I had missed driving, I realize now. I got so used to almost never being able to do it that I forgot how good it feels to turn the wheel yourself, to watch the speedometer ramp up when you decide you want to fly. Ten minutes later, I swerve into Ursa Minor’s deserted parking lot and screech to a stop across three separate spaces.

“Oh, what the fuck!” I choke out as I step into the bar, coughing into my sleeve. The blue roses tumble out of my hand. Ursa Minor is empty, but there’s something in the air, something invisible that drives scorching, stinging needles into my eyes and my sinuses. Tears stream down my face; my exposed skin prickles and burns. Sunfyre sneezes over and over again and lingers in the doorway, gulping in fresh night wind from outside. There’s shattered glass and green liquid on the hardwood floor. There’s an upturned barstool. The stereo is playing Cake’s cover of Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

What the hell happened here—?

And then I see it: the cannister of bear mace that had rolled under the booth, the same one she and her friends always sat in.

She used the bear mace. She finally used it. But why?

There’s blood on the floor. There’s blood on the table too. There’s a tattered, olive-green journal opened to a blank page. The pieces slide closer and closer and then link together, an explosion in my mind like fireworks.

I bolt outside and study the snow-covered parking lot. There are fresh tire tracks there under the murky luminescence of the streetlights; they lead out to the main road and then north towards the lakes.

“No,” I whisper to no one but the fierce wind, the sky threaded with the opalescent Northern Lights. “No, no, no…”

I sprint back inside Ursa Minor, get the phone Dale keeps behind the bar, and call the cops. “Stay where you are,” the 911 dispatcher instructs me sternly. “Wait for the police, do not attempt to investigate yourself, do not attempt to intervene—”

“Yeah, fuck that,” I say, and slam the receiver into the cradle. Then I swipe the black 8 ball off the pool table.

I load Sunfyre into the 4Runner and spin out of the parking lot, following the parallel lines of tire tracks like the etching of veins beneath skin.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a sound, rough and grating; and then you realize that it’s you being dragged across the ice. When your eyes flutter open, you see the uninterrupted sky: indigo night, distant stars, the Northern Lights. Your clothes are wet with snow; it’s so cold that the fabric is freezing, stiff and crackling when you try to move. Dale is lugging you over the frozen lake by the collar of your sweater. It’s choking you, but of course that doesn’t matter much. He’s about to kill you anyway.

“It’s not right,” Dale mutters, and you’re aware through the disorientation and the fog-like cloud of pain that he’s not really talking to you. “Your mom’s a nice lady. It’s not right that she had to lose two people this way, she doesn’t deserve that. Oh well. It can’t be helped now, can it?”

You whimper something, disjointed helpless words. Please, hurts, don’t, please.

“It’s not me,” Dale says, as if it’s perfectly logical. “I mean, not really. It’s this part of me that I can’t cut out. I can only feed it so it goes away for a while. It quiets down sometimes, it hibernates like a bear in the winter…but it always comes back. And my god, is it hungry.”

You smack clumsily, futilely at his hands as he hauls you over the ice. Dale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You have to make it look like an accident. That’s the ticket, if you don’t want anybody to know. You shove a hiker from a ledge, a drunk into the ocean. I did that for a long time, never raised suspicion. Never pinged on anyone’s radar. Jesse was the hardest, though. Good lord, did he fight. Had to pour a bottle of Everclear down his throat. Had to make it look like he was drinking that night. He wasn’t, which was unusual. Kept saying he wanted to turn things around. I think you had something to do with that. Now this? You were never supposed to be here, ladybug. What a shame. What a goddamn shame.”

Consciousness is a river that you dip in and out of; blackness crumbles around the edges of your vision, collapses in, recedes, swells again like a wave. You moan, you beg, you struggle as much as you can. It’s not much. It might as well be nothing.

“Things were easier after I got married,” Dale continues. He has a large hiking backpack slung over his broad shoulders, you see now. It jostles from side to side as he drags you. You know what’s in there: a chisel to break the ice, fishing line to strangle you. “Having someone else there all the time, it was a distraction. And it kept that thing inside me…not tame, no, I wouldn’t say that. But chained up down in the basement, maybe. Now I’m alone again. And when the chains start rattling, there’s nothing to stop me from hearing them.”

You get your feet under you, twist around, and slam your fists into Dale’s chest as hard as you can. He laughs in a baritone rumble and shoves you back down onto the ice; your head hits the ground, and you can feel yourself fading again, the last wisps of sunlight at dusk.

“Sometimes you want to hide,” Dale says. “And sometimes you don’t. I was ready to stop hiding. I can’t tell you what a high it was every time they found a body. The news, the ceaseless chattering around town, the name they gave me…incredible. Exhilarating. I couldn’t sleep for days after each kill. I’d toss and turn all night imagining what the headlines would be. Let me tell you, ladybug. I’ve never tried heroin, and I never need to. It can’t possibly be better than this.”

What will happen to my parents? you think, heartbreak gutting you, dull knifes rearranging your organs. What will happen to Heather and Kimmie and Joyce? What will happen when Aegon finds out he left too soon?

“I knew I needed someone to pin it on,” Dale informs you calmly. “Didn’t take anyone who went to the bar, didn’t take anyone who could be traced back to me. And still, I knew they’d figure it out eventually if I didn’t give them another suspect. At first, I was thinking I might use Aegon. He was a little small, sure, but he showed up around the right time and he was an outsider. Then I saw the way Trent was with you…aggressive, menacing…and I knew it had to be him. It was almost too easy. I planted the seeds, and good lord did they grow.”

“They’ll know,” you croak. “If you kill me, the police will find my body and they’ll know Trent’s not the Ice Fisher.”

Hideously, horribly, Dale smiles down at you. “Oh, ladybug, I don’t think they’ll ever find you. They found the others because I wanted them to. And no one is looking for victims anymore. Once you sink, I’ll cover up the hole with ice and snow. No blood, no signs. People will assume you’re a runaway. It was just too much, wasn’t it? Trent getting arrested, Aegon leaving town. Maybe you ran off after him. Maybe you threw yourself in the channel. Who could say? No, your bones will become silt, your name will slowly disappear from Juneau. And in ten or twenty years, your parents will have you declared dead in absentia. That’s my best guess. That’s how it will go.”

“No,” you sob, battling against the hands knotted into the collar of your sweater. “No—!”

His knuckles bash the side of your head, and a black silence rolls in like high tide, engulfs you, drowns you. When you swim back up into consciousness again, Dale is a few yards from you and drilling a hole in the ice with his chisel. You try to crawl away and promptly collapse, frail and boneless. He glances over at you, chuckles pleasantly, and then begins using a hatchet to widen the opening.

No, you think, hooking your fingers into the snow and dragging yourself towards the forest. No, no, no…

Dale’s ready for you. He walks over, grabs both of your ankles, tugs you with terrifying ease to the hole in the ice. Then he has a length of fishing line in his hands, and he’s looping it around your throat again and again, and he’s tightening it until the needle-thin nylon wire bites into your flesh, spilling tendrils of blood. You know you don’t have a chance, but you try; you owe it to your parents to try. You claw at the fishing line and you struggle and you cry out in hoarse, useless screams—

And then you hear something that doesn’t make any sense. Through the darkness, through the wind, there are the barks of a dog. Sunfyre rockets into your dimming field of vision and jumps on Dale, snarling and growling and snapping at his hands, his face. Dale flings the dog away, and as he’s distracted, Aegon arrives. He’s holding—ludicrously—a black 8 ball from a pool table, and he smashes it into Dale’s head. A sick, wet, crushing sound ricochets, cracked bone cushioned by flesh, and Dale howls as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his hands.

He peers up at Aegon, furious and pained and stunned. “You?!”

“Me.” Aegon’s voice is dark and low like thunder, like the iron gale of storms over the ocean. “And I’m a killer.”

He lunges at Dale, still wielding the 8 ball. Dale’s massive hand juts out and closes around Aegon’s wrist, and then he yanks him to the ground. They’re grappling on the snow and ice, they’re striking out with knuckles and elbows, they’re ripping at each other with their bare hands. You’re trying to unravel the fishing line still coiled around your throat, panting in deep, frantic breaths so you can see and think clearly, so you can scramble to your feet, so you can help Aegon. And then Dale gets away from him just long enough to grab you again, to wrap the ends of the fishing line around his fingers. He delivers one last macerating blow to your skull, pulls you by your throat to the gaping hole in the ice, and shoves you through.

The water is so cold it’s paralyzing. There is a thought that seizes you—so overwhelming, so strangely rational—that says all you have to do is stay where you are, to wait a little longer, and then you’ll never hurt again, you’ll never be disappointed or caged, you’ll never be anything. And you think of all the lives you could have lived, all the places you could have gone: cities and beaches and deserts and valleys, gardens and rivers, ruins and glass. You were always so afraid of really going after them. What the hell were you so afraid of? Everything worth fearing is right here in Juneau.

I can still do those things. I can still live. And I can still help Aegon.

You jolt out of your inertia and clamber madly for the surface. But you don’t hit frigid open air; you hit ice, ice too thick to break through, ice too thick for more than a murmur of light to penetrate. Your palms press against the semitransparent wall; bubbles of carbon dioxide spurt from your nose and mouth. You feel for the opening that Dale made, but you don’t know where it is. You are lost beneath the ice, running out of air, fading rapidly. Then you hear Jesse—and you aren’t sure how you know what his voice sounds like, but you do—speaking softly and kindly to you, comforting you, telling you which way to go.

I’m sorry that no one knows the truth, you say without speaking. I’m sorry we thought you destroyed yourself. I’m sorry you never got the chance to truly live.

You were all better off without me anyway, he answers, without any bitterness at all. And that’s true, isn’t it?

There is a great disruption that rocks through the water. New currents stir into existence, fresh waves spring out of the darkness. And then someone takes your hand and draws you towards a noise, muffled through the ice and water: a dog barking, you realize. Then your palms find the opening and you inhale brutally cold air into your aching lungs, the best you’ve ever tasted. Aegon helps pull you through the hole and out of the lake, out of the jaws of oblivion.

You lie together on the ice, breathing in gasps that turn to mist in the night wind. Dale’s body is sprawled several yards away. The hatchet he’d used to break up the ice is buried in his neck, spine severed, eyes slick and vacant. You can see reflections of the Northern Lights flickering in them.

“You came back,” you whisper to Aegon as whirling police sirens approach, the lights dancing on his face: blue like the ocean, red like fire and blood.

“Of course I came back, Appletini,” he says, laughing with frenzied relief, kissing your cheeks and forehead over and over again, lake water dripping from his hair. Sunfyre jumps around you both, yapping ecstatically, his tail wagging. “I couldn’t leave without my Juneau girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s wind, but it isn’t sharp like a blade. There’s a sky, but it isn’t cloaked in cloud cover or fog. The boats that bob in the surf are sailboats and cruisers, not fishing vessels. Dolphins crest out of the sun-speckled waves like someone coming up from a dream.

It’s June 9th, and you’re soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in the red Ford Mustang convertible you rented after the plane touched down in Seattle. Aegon is in the driver’s seat, black sunglasses and white T-shirt, his hair whipping in the breeze. He has one hand on the wheel and the other behind your headrest. Sunfyre is in the backseat, grinning like only dogs can. You turn up the song on the radio: Drive by Incubus.

You and Aegon had stayed in Juneau long enough for your skull to heal, and for your parents to find someone else to take over the vet clinic. They settled on a 32-year-old from Detroit: Justin McNair, a former Marine like your dad, and he either has no family or a bad one because he never wants to talk about them. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter which it is; perhaps sometimes they’re just about the same thing. Your parents have already basically adopted him. He eats dinner with them three times a week and calls your dad when he needs help with house maintenance or scaring a moose away from his truck. And just before you went south, Aegon showed him how to make the world’s best hot chocolate.

You send postcards back to Juneau from each town you stop in. Heather’s bon voyage gift to you had been an indecently revealing swimsuit. Joyce appeared with—what else?—a stack of books fit for leisurely beach reading. And Kimmie gave you, however bizarrely, a compass. So you don’t get lost, she had said with an innocuous little smile. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking.

During his one month in jail, Trent learned how to meditate and do yoga. He’s still kind of a dumbass, but he’s also a supposedly devout vegan Buddhist, and he had the decency to leave you alone aside from an apology letter that he slid into the moose-shaped mailbox: handwritten, six pages, lots of spelling and grammatical errors. Oh, and he finally got that job with the Forest Service, probably mostly due to his high-profile wrongful detainment. Now hikers get to swoon over his muscles and hair flips.

You’ll go back to Juneau, of course. Maybe just for visits, maybe for more than that someday. But it will never feel like a cage again.

Aegon calls Aemond every two or three days, a habit he started when he was in rehab. At first it was by necessity—he needed someone to pay the $30,000 bill—but now you think he secretly looks forward to it. He updates Aemond about how the road trip is going and reassures him that the plan hasn’t changed: south to San Diego, and then cutting east across the country to Miami. You don’t know what exactly life will look like there, and neither does Aegon. That’s not the important thing about going. Part of AA is making amends, and Aegon has a lot of work to do in that respect. He wants to go back to Miami, he says. He’s ready to go back.

San Diego is exactly like Aegon once told you it would be. You weave through the rust-colored peaks of the Laguna Mountains and there’s the Pacific Ocean, glittering and sapphire-blue, peppered with surfers and sea lions. It’s hot and it’s beautiful beyond words and everything grows there: ivy, cactuses, palm trees, calla lilies, roses. And for the first time that you can remember, the world feels breathtakingly, impossibly big. You get carryout from an unassuming restaurant called The Taco Stand, and then Aegon parks the convertible in La Jolla. You walk down the steps carved into the cliffside, paper bags in your hands full of tacos and churros, Aegon carrying Sunfyre so the dog won’t slip.

You sit together on the golden sand and watch the 8:00 p.m. sun sink into the waves, Aegon’s arm around your waist, your fingers tucking his lock of silvery hair behind his ear. And then he takes your hand, kneads it until it’s sinuous and relaxed, and reads the lines of your palm in the amber dusk like firelight.

“It says you’re happy,” he tells you. “And that you’re free.”

“I am,” you reply, smiling as the ocean stretches out like the arm of a galaxy: the ancient past, the infinite future.

#aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #nttf #north to the future

[roses-r-rosie3]

Ethan Landry x male reader

Reader is apart of the core four (five?) and none of them would suspect him. Especially not with how close he is to Tara and Mindy. They would beat anyone up for even suggesting it.

But his new boyfriend? He knows the truth. The reader would do anything for him. Absolutely anything.

And Ethan is the same. He would probably kill his father if he asked him to.

What if they successfully kill Tara and Sam because of the reader? Because the sisters still thought that he was on their side till the very end. Only being revealed that he wasn’t in Sam’s last breath.

Screwed Up And Brilliant

Ethan Landry x M!Reader

Warnings: angst and swearing

Quote: “Come on Sam! I expected more from you! Who do you think attacked you in the break room, Who do you think helped Amber kill Wes!”

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“What’s happening!” Said y/n as what remained of the group ran into the main area.

“It’s Kirby! She’s the killer!” Said Sam.

“No shit” Chad said as he ran to the door to try and open it.

“It’s locked” said Sam.

“We’re trapped?!” Said y/n.

“She made this whole theater a kill box, for us” said Sam.

“Hey what about that! There’s an exit door! Maybe it leads to the roof or something” said Tara

“There’s only one way to find out, let’s go let’s go” said Chad.

“Bailey’s on the way but-”

Sam was cut off by one of the masked killers jumping out of nowhere to attack them. Both Sam and Tara ducked as the killer swiped at them. But y/n wasn’t so lucky as the killer slayed his arm, but Chad quickly tackled the killer to the ground and hit them with a nearby camera.

“This way!” Tara pointed to the narrow hallway.

As the group ran the killer wasn’t too far behind them. But Chad threw the Camera at the killer, giving them enough time to run into the snack area.

As the killer came back into the room, they tried to attack Chad but Tara and Sam quickly took their arms, giving Chad the opportunity the punch them. As ghostface was on the ground Tara quickly kicked them.

“Go, Go!” Said Chad As he tried to smash a gumball machine on top of the killer’s head.

But all of a sudden another killer appeared out of nowhere to stab Chad.

“No! Chad!” Screamed Tara as Sam and y/n held her back.

“Go” said chad as blood was spewing from his mouth as he collapsed to the ground.

Ghostface did the knife swipe to clean their blades as y/n, Sam, and Tara ran into the middle of the room.

As the group ran back into the main area the ghostaface’s surrounded them giving them nowhere to run. Sam picked up some bricks to give to Tara and y/n.

“Ready?” Sau over Tara’s sobs.

“I need you two to be ready! Ready? Look at me” said Sam.

“We’re ready” said y/n.

“Come on motherfucker!” Tara yelled.

But all of a sudden gunshots were heard as the two killers fled the scene.

“It’s okay!” Said Kirby who was all bloody.

“Stay the fuck back!” Said Sam

“We know it’s you Kirby” said Tara.

“No, one of them knocked me out” said Kirby.

“Kirby stop! Get away from them!” Said Wayne as he stepped into the room.

“What are you doing?” Said Kirby.

“Did you kill Quinn? Did you kill my daughter!” Said Bailey.

“Jesus Christ” said Kirby.

“What ever he has been saying to you, don’t listen to him, he’s probably the killer” said Kirby.

All of a sudden a ghostface appeared behind Bailey.

“Behind you!” Said Kirby.

As Wayne shot at Kirby. All of a sudden the ghostface stopped behind Bailey as y/n, Tara, and Sam looked at each other in shock.

“Great job, both of you” said Wayne.

“You?” Said Sam.

“Eeh, of course me, frankly I expected more from the three of you after what you did to us” said Bailey.

“What do you mean us?” Said y/n.

Ethan unmasked himself as ghostface. Y/n looked like he was about to cry.

“Ta-da” said Bailey.

“Surprised baby? Mindy was right it was easy to juke the roommate lottery, I mean did you all I had to meet you was room with a conceded condescending alpha, literally named Chad! Fuck it felt good to kill him!” said Ethan.

“You never loved me?” Y/n said.

“Don’t look so hurt y/n, no hard feelings” said Ethan as he smirked at the h/c haired boy.

“This was your grandmother’s Sam, Nancy Loomis, really runs in the fucking family doesn’t it” Ethan said pointing at his mask with the knife.

“Speaking of family, my name’s not Ethan Landry! Is it dad?” Said Ethan.

“Dad?” Tara said in shock.

“If it’s you two that just leaves.. Mindy?” said Sam.

The third killer reveals themself as Quinn.

“Hey roomies, didn’t see that one coming did you?” said Quinn.

“Yeah because you died” said Tara.

“Kinda didn’t, though it was a good way to get off the suspect list. Stab Mindy, stab Gale Weathers” Said Quinn.

“Yep and I made sure I was the first on the scene to swap her body with a fresh one. A little fake blood, a prosthetic, you’d be surprised with what a grieving father can get away with.” said Wayne.

Skip to their motive

As Kirby shot at Bailey, Sam and Tara watched as y/n made a run for it into the bar area with Ethan quickly running after him as they climbed up the ladder. As they finally made it to the top they heard y/n’s screams, losing yet another member of the core5(???).

Skip to when Tara is dangling from the balcony

As Sam let go of Tara, Ethan stabbed her in the abdomen. But as Tara was about to stab Ethan, a gunshot was heard as Tara collapsed to the ground with a bullet through her head.

“Tara!” Said Sam.

But before Sam could do anything Quinn stabbed her in the chest as she pushed Sam of the balcony. As Sam tried to get up she saw someone who she wasn’t expecting to see.

“Y-y/n, what are you doing?” Said Sam.

“Surprise Sam” y/n smiled psychotically.

“What about what we went through in woodsboro” said Sam.

“Come on Sam! I expected more from you! Who do you think attacked you in the break room, Who do you think helped Amber kill Wes!” Said y/n.

“I was the backup plan in case if they both failed, so I immediately contacted Richie’s family after what happened, hell, I even dated one of the members too!” Y/n smiled looking at Ethan.

“After you die, Mindy, Danny, and Gale are next” y/n said before he shot Sam in the head.

#male x male #malexmale #male reader #mlm #male reader x scream #scream x male reader #mxm #scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry x male reader #gay #swearing #scream #angst

[blurglesmurfklaine]

“Woah, you win the lottery or something?”

Jack doesn’t know why he asks the guy in front of him at the checkout line that, but he does. Half the time, he couldn’t give an explanation to why he says the things he does. He took one look at the huge pile of merchandise on the conveyor belt, overheard the cashier calculate the total, and couldn’t help himself.

“Nope,” the customer says casually, swiping his card through the machine. “Just having a mental breakdown.” He turns towards Jack, lips pursed in an awkward smile, and throws up a peace sign.

Jack blinks. “Oh,” he says stupidly. He scrubs a hand behind his neck. “Uh, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the stranger replies as he bags his various items—ranging from a throw pillow with the word I’m Pretty Sure I Seized The Wrong Day embroidered on it, to a coffee mug that says Live, Laugh, Lubricant. “You’re not the dumbass roommate who got us evicted with an illegal gambling ring.”

Jack opens his mouth to reply, but isn’t sure he’d know what to say anything.

The young man lifts up the pillow, frowning at the vomit green fringes sewn onto the obnoxiously turquoise fabric. “This is the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Why on earth did I buy it?”

“I have a theory,” Jack says.

The guy starts laughing, loud and obnoxious and it should be the most off putting thing in the world, but Jack is utterly enthralled.

This might be the most peculiar person Jack’s ever met, which is an incredibly high bar. Jack desires him carnally.

“You’re funny,” the guy says, cracking a real, genuine smile this time, and Jack feels his insides become putty in this stranger’s hands. “I’m Davey.”

“Jack.” He grins, extending a hand that Davey takes in a shake. “We should hang out sometime.”

#javid #Javey #newsies #Jack Kelly #David Jacobs #wow look at me I’m writing! #this is two shakes from crack #sorry y’all I’m having a bit of a mentie b #and I don’t believe in love anymore except in fiction #the way some people don’t believe in ghosts but live horror movies #so this is how I’m coping I guess #reblog it so I don’t have to up my antidepressants #god this isn’t even good I’m gonna vomit fr fr what the FUUUUUUCK #someone get me a pillow I can scream into #wow look at me im writing!

[bbyquokka]

fuck me, sir

pairing: bang chan x fem reader

genre: smut – MDNI

synopsis: you and chan have a very special relationship

warnings: boss chan, assistant reader, smut, unprotected sex, penetration, pet names (pup, doll), fingering, clit play, breeding kink, domination, dirty talk, explicate language, nipple play, sex in a work place, gambling addiction, alcohol consumption, squirting, creampie, toys (vibrator), spanking, choking, possessiveness – if i missed any, lmk!

words: 5.3k

a/n: i feel like im slowly getting more confident in writing smut – its still not 100% but im slowly getting there 🤗 i had oddinary trailer chan in my mind when i was writing this sooooo 🤪🥴

Feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated as they help get my fics/blog out there. please let me know what you think, ty for the support and love as of lately! i hope y'all enjoy!

♡ m.list

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

"Here you are, sir. The documents you requested for as well as your coffee and lunch." You placed each item down on the desk as you spoke, turning the file of documents to face your boss.

Your boss looked up at you as you took a step back, hands clasped together in front of you.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

He shook his head, waving his hand to dismissing you. You bowed politely, returning back to your desk.

you got to work on replying to important emails, your perfectly manicured nails tapping against the keys. numerous emails were sent to many different people, with the occasional trash emails.

You worked in the cities biggest corporation known as - Bang Corp. Bang Chan, your boss, is the head after he inherited it from his father. The company has been in Chan's family for years so it was only natural for it to be passed down to him.

You have been working as his assistant for one year. Your job required you to make phone calls, emails, inform Chan of his schedules, bring him his daily coffee and lunch. Your assistant life reminded you of the movie: The devil wears Prada, except you handled money and not fashion.

A year ago, you was desperate for a job. Your father was in a lot of debt from his gambling addiction. Your father lost a lot of things in his life due to his addiction. He gambled away his wage and when that was all gone - the savings were next.

He soon became jobless because he stole money from his job he worked at to fund his addiction. Your mother soon got tired of him and left. Not only had he gambled away the family funds, but he also stole from his own family to fund his stupid addiction

His addiction soon spiralled out of control. He would bet on horses, sit in front of the slot machines till 4am, even spend money on scratch cards and lottery tickets. Your father his rock bottom when he began to take out loans to fund his habit.

Normally, when taking out loans, they like to do background checks to see if you're able to repay it back, but your father found loopholes. He would request loans from sketchy websites and people that didn't do these types of checks.

Soon, your father was in a huge amount of debt. One that he couldn't pay off. Shortly after, he suddenly became unwell and took a turn for the worse. You love your father, he is family after all, but seeing his life be wasted away in front of slot machines, made you hate gambling as well as pity him.

You thought that it was all over, but it was far from over. Soon, people were knocking at your door requesting money. You was confused, until one of them said they were the people that your father loaned money off

Your father's loan became yours. You pitted him even more.

With a loan above your head and no job, you needed a good paying job fast. Normally, you would have done anything, but considering the loan and wanting it to be gone as fast as possible - you had to be picky.

That's when you found an advertisement for Bang Corp. They were looking for an assistant. You applied, had an interview and got the job. Bang Chan wasn't the one who interviewed you and decided you was the best fit, so you was yet to meet him

After a few months of working, you finally met him. You were intimidated by him, a man who held so much power in his walk, a man who knew his stuff was an intimidating man to you. But, he was also your type of man.

A man who knew what he wanted with a good head on his shoulders is an attractive man. Not only is he smart but attractive. His black hair, slicked back. Glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. A work suit with a white or black button-up shirt would be his choice of clothing for the work days.

You rarely spoke, just a simple hello or a nod of acknowledgement when he passed by. If he needed something, he would let you know but it was very brief. He is a busy man after all.

You got close to him when you was invited to a dinner meeting with Bang Chan. Of course, Chan was the one who was invited but it required a plus one and you being his assistant meant that you automatically got invited.

You dressed in your best dress, hair and makeup to perfection, even choosing to wear your best jewellery and perfume. Chan picked you up at your home, impressed that you managed to match his own attire. You thanked him for his compliment, feeling shy as you blushed lightly.

The dinner meeting was boring. Talks about this and that. You were only there for the free food and alcohol, which was also bad. The expansive life isn't for you.

After what felt like hours of a long, dull night, you and Chan called it an evening. Saying your polite goodbyes, you headed to Chan's car. He drove you back home and you offered him to come inside and have a coffee.

He accepted. Soon, you were both laughing at this and that over cups of coffee and biscuits. He was a completely different man that day. You're so use to him being formal and strict, yet there he was, making jokes and gossiping about work. "I can be myself when I'm around you, I like it."

It soon became a habit of Chan's to stop by your place and relax. You didn't mind, in fact, you loved having the extra company. Everything was going so well for you.

Until that night.

Chan arrived at your apartment at the usual time for his usual routine of gossiping. He plopped on the sofa, unbuttoning a few of his buttons revealing some of his chest. He looked stressed, his hair in it's unusual messy state from having his hands in it constantly, the knot in between his furrowed brows.

You offered him his usual coffee which he denied. "Bring me a whiskey instead, please." With Chan drinking, you thought you would do the same, pouring yourself a glass of wine before sitting next to Chan and listening to his troubles.

Before you knew it, Chan was in-between your legs. His tongue flicking your sensitive bud as his large hands kneaded the soft flesh of your breasts. Your clothes discarded in a pile on the floor whilst Chan was still in his work pants.

Whimpers left your lips as he inserted two fingers knuckle deep inside you. Your slick coating his fingers as he thrusted them at a steady pace. His fingers curled, hitting your sweet spot as your velvety walls clamped and squeezed around him.

His skilful tongue flicking your sensitive bud, occasionally licking and nibbling softly. Your bodies slick with sweat, pants and moans leaving your lips.

you felt yourself getting impatient. You wanted Chan and you wanted him now. Chan wanted to make sure you was well prepared, you made it known that you hadn't had any sexual activity in a while so Chan didn't want to hurt you.

It's sweet of him but you were getting impatient the longer time went on.

Chan, too, also felt impatient. Once he was confident enough that you was prepared, he stood, pulling the zip down from his pants and pulling his cock out through the hole.

He grabbed your legs, pulling you closer. He teased your entrance before slowly pushing himself inside to the brim. You was full of Chan and you loved it. His thrusts were powerful and fast. The way the sweat on his body reflected the light made you more excited.

His eyes closed as he thrusted, grunts leaving his lips. Soon, you both came together. After getting washed up and changed, you fell asleep, Chan staying the night with you.

Since then, your relationship has changed.

(Y/N)!" Chan's voice boomed throughout the building. You stood up from your desk, soothing down your pencil skirt before walking to the door.

You knocked and walked inside slowly. Chan, who was sitting at his desk dressed in his usual attire but with a black button up shirt instead, looked up at you and smirked.

You stood in front of his desk, hands clasped together as you looked at him. Chan stood and walked to the tall windows that were next to the office door. He closed the blinds before returning back to you.

He stood behind you, his height towering over you. Your heart rate sped up as he leaned in, his lips ghosting your ear as his fingers travelled up and down your arms, goosebumps leaving in his wake.

"Have you been a good girl and done as I asked?" He whispered. You whimpered, nodding slowly.

Chan chuckled softly, taking his phone out of his pocket. "Do I believe you though" his voice turning into a low growl, sending shivers down your spine.

He pressed his chest flush against your back, his phone coming into your view. You looked down at the screen which showed an app. You pressed your lips together, Chan increasing the vibrations with a swipe of his thumb.

Your knees buckled underneath you, moans leaving your lips as the vibrator you put inside yourself early under Chan's instructions- vibrated against your soft, wet walls.

Chan was quick to hold you up, smirking at your reaction. You hung your head low, your hands turning into fists as moans left your lips continually. Your underwear was unconformably sticky and wet. Chan gave you strict instructions to not take out the vibrator, no matter what.

He had been teasing you all day, increasing and decreasing the vibrations. He would do it at times where he would gain a reaction from you. Talking to a work colleague, on the phone, having lunch - these times he would increase the vibrations catching you off guard, earning himself a glare from you as well as a whimper.

"Such a good girl." He whispered down your ear, decreasing the vibrations. Your breathing laboured. You closed your eyes, Chan's tongue licking the shell of your ear slowly.

"Good girls deserve rewards." His hands slipped under your work shirt, cupping your breasts over your bra. you leant against Chan, his hands kneading the flesh.

"Chan.." you whispered. Chan hummed against the skin on your neck, his plump lips planting delicate kisses along your shoulder blade.

His nimble fingers dipped under your bra, finding your stiffened nipple. Chan rolled the bud between his fingers, squeezing with enough pressure to make you whimper softly.

"Chan, we're at work." You whispered. Chan laughed before sucking on your skin, leaving purple bruises.

"Hasn't stopped us before, doll." you pressed your lips together in a thin line, closing your eyes as Chan continues to mark your neck and play with your sensitive nipple.

You leaned against Chan's chest for stability, saying 'fuck it' to the fact you're doing this at work. Chan hummed, nibbling your earlobe gently.

"That's a good girl. Let me take care of you." You nodded slowly, his free hand sliding up your leg. His hand disappeared underneath your skirt, rolling it up high as his hand went further up.

His fingers ghosting along your inner thigh, tickling the skin through your nylon tights. You waited, anticipating what he was, or wasn't, going to do.

"You're such a beautiful woman, (Y/N)" Chan murmured against your skin. You shook your head no, disagreeing with his statement. Chan pulled away from your neck, his hand removing itself from your breast.

He took your chin in his hand gently, turning it so you was looking at him. You whimpered as his eyes bore into your own, his aura dominating you, making you feel small and powerless.

God, you'd do anything for this man.

Your heart pounded against your rib cage. Chan brushed his thumb along your lower lip slowly whilst licking his own.

"You are beautiful. You always will be in my eyes, no matter how many times you deny it. I will also find you beautiful." He whispered, leaning in slowly.

Your cheeks tainted red at his words, eyes closing as he leant in. Your lips ghosted against each other, breathes hitting each others lips. You licked Chan's bottom lip slowly, earning a growl from his throat making you shiver.

"Chan, please."

"Please what?"

"Kiss me." You whimpered as his lips pressed firmly against your own. The kiss is hot, passionate and hungry. It started off at a steady rhythm before Chan got impatient and devoured your lips.

Teeth and tongues collided with each other. Saliva mixing together as you kissed one another hungrily. You whimpered into the kiss, Chan swallowing each moan and whimper that fell out of your mouth.

His hands got to work in opening up your work blouse, buttons popping open. the cold air hit your skin once it was fully opened and Chan lifted up your bra so it was resting above your breasts.

He cupped both breasts in his hands, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh. You whimpered, clenching your thighs together as your nipples got hard from the sensations.

Chan took your sensitive buds in his fingers, rolling and pinching them with enough pressure to make you moan. By now, all your body weight had shifted onto Chan's chest. Your legs trembling beneath you, threatening to give up.

Chan pulled away, walking in front of you. You looked at him, watching him admire you. He stroked your neck gently where purple bruises were forming, smirking at his handy work.

"Now everyone knows you belong to someone."

"I'll always belong to you, Sir." You mewled. Chan shivered at your words, humming.

Chan grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. His head dipped down, capturing your nipple in his mouth. You softly moaned, hands reaching up and tangling your fingers in his neatly kept hair.

You tugged his hair at his scalp, earning a grunt against your nipple. The tip of his tongue circled around your bud, before licking and sucking. He blew on your wet nipple, the cold air making you shiver and goosebumps to rise on your skin

"Such a sensitive little pup." Chan smirked. He ghosted his lips from your nipple to your skin, sucking and biting the skin around your nipple creating more marks. He shifted to your other breast, giving it just as much love as the first.

He took a step back, your neck and breasts covered in purple bruises. Your cheeks pink, chest rising and eyes hooded as you look at Chan. Chan groaned at the sight of you, his own hand flying down to his hard cock, palming it through his work pants.

"Such a seductive sight. I love it." You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together. Chan raised an eyebrow at your actions, watching you.

"Chan, please." Chan sighed, walking towards you.

"Let's get one thing correct, pup. one, it's not Chan, it's sir to you. also, I know what you want." He grabbed your cheeks in his hands, squeezing them together gently. You whimpered as he leant in close to you, his voice low and seductive as he spoke.

"You want me to fuck you, isn't that right? fill your greedy hole with my cock. fill you to the brim with my seed. Is that what you want? Want me to breed you, like a dirty little slut?"

You shivered and nodded "Please sir, breed me. Fill my greedy hole with your cock and cum. I want you so badly."

"But pup, the vibrator. isn't it enough for you?" He cooed. You shook your head no the best you could.

"N-No! I need more! Something bigger, thicker. I need you! I don't feel satisfied, Sir." Chan scoffed, rolling his eyes at your desperate begs.

"I always knew you were such a greedy pup. I give and give and yet, you still beg for more." Chan bent you over his desk, your hands planted firmly on the wood.

You look over your shoulder, trying to see what Chan was planning. You felt his hands rolling up your skirt to your hips, his hand caressing the curve of your ass.

you turned your head, eyes focusing on the many documents that lay on Chan's desk. His hands squeezed the flesh of your ass, hums of content ringing in your ears. He suddenly grabbed your nylon tights, ripping them. The sound of the fabric ripping caused you to groan and look over your shoulder.

Chan was looking at your ass, licking his lips slowly. He smirked, locking eyes with you as he drew his hand back and slapped your ass, harsh. Your body jolted forward from the impact, the sting making your eyes water slightly.

Chan continued to slap your ass harshly, red handprints forming on your cheeks. You panted, the sting making it unbearable for you. You lowered your head, tears falling down your cheeks.

Pain turned to pleasure. Soft whimpers left your lips as your body jolted with each spank. Chan rubbed your tender flesh, before his hand collided with a loud slap. Tears fell onto his desk, grunts leaving Chan's lips. Chan walked to your side, lifting your head up. He hummed at the sight of you as your tears fell. He wiped away the fallen tears with the pad of his thumb as his free hand rubbed soft circles on your tender flesh.

"Good pup. You did so well." You hummed at his praises. At this point, your pussy is throbbing uncontrollable, your clit aching to be touched so bad that it hurts.

Your mind foggy, nothing but thoughts about Chan and what he would potentially do to you. It was crazy to you how all he has done is tease you all day, yet you would do anything for this man. The way your body reacts around him has told you that Chan has trained you well. Chan knew that and he thrived of it.

He felt smug. His ego ballooned when he saw how you would react around him when your fingers would touch when you hand him something, how you would blush when he was so close, you could feel his body head radiating onto you.

He's not a possessive nor a jealous person, but when it comes to you, it's like he's a different person. He hates how people can openly talk to you, make you laugh and have their hands all over you.

Their filthy hands tainting your precious skin, corrupting you like a disease. It's like he could see the tainted black marks spreading across your body from the many people that touch you.

The only person who should be able to corrupt you, is Chan. The only person who should have their hands on you, is Chan. Because you are Chan's, he owns you and you belong to him.

He hates having to share what is his.

Chan walked behind you again, pulling your soaked panties to the side. Your juices coated your pussy and inner thighs. You whimpered at the cold air hitting your cunt, shivering slightly. Your soaked cunt visibly pulsating, contracting around the vibrator. Chan watched, groaning in satisfaction. He licked his lips, hand palming his now painful erection.

"You're this soaked, all because of a toy, huh?" You shook your head, causing Chan to raise a brow. "No?" He questioned.

"It's not all because of the toy, Sir. It's b-because of you i'm like this." You panted.

"But, I didn't do anything." Chan spoke. His long, index finger running up and down your soaked slit. You hummed at the contact as Chan's finger instantly got soaked. You wiggled your hips, silently begging for more.

"You teased me." you whispered.

"What did I do, pup. Go one, tell me what I've done to make you this needy." You swallowed, head hung low. You lifted your head up slowly, feeling Chan widening your entrance with two fingers to get a good glimpse.

"Y-You kissed me. Marked me and played with my tits. You've been teasing me all day with the vibrator, increasing the vibrations." You spun your head around to look at Chan over your shoulder, his expression showing that he is pleased with himself.

"You made me like this, sir. You made me this needy and desperate! You know how I am when I'm around you now, how quickly I melt into the palm of your hand. Take responsibility, Chan!"

A groan and a sudden slap to your ass caused you to yelp in surprise, your body jolting forward.

"I told you pup, it's Sir."

"S-Sorry sir." You whimpered, tears falling down your cheeks. Chan grabbed your hips, bringing them closer to him. He placed a finger on your clit, applying enough pressure to make you moan as he circled the sensitive bud.

Your thighs trembled, hips rutting in the palm of Chan's hand, soaking it in your juices. Chan tutted at your actions, squeezing your tender ass cheek. Chan pressed his erection against your ass, his chest pressed against your back as he leant over you.

"Look at you. Look at you rutting against the palm of my hand, soaking it in your juices. You're so needy, pup." He leaned in close to your ear, before whispering "I love it."

You moaned at his words, squeezing your eyes shut. Chan's finger left your aching clit and travelled down your slit to your soaked entrance. He took the vibrator out, throwing it on the floor beside him.

You whined at the sudden loss, feeling empty. Chan took the time to soak in your moans, your posture and your actions. He watched your hips moving on their own accord, your thighs trembled as your cunt pulsates and clench around nothing.

Your work blouse falling off your shoulder, your tights ripped with your skirt just above your waist. If it wasn't for you both being at work, Chan would have his way with you all day, providing you with intense orgasms and pleasure until you're begging him to stop.

"Sir, please. Please touch me. Please do something." You cried out.

"Hush little one. Don't be so impatient now." Chan cooed. You rolled your eyes at his words, feeling nothing but impatient at this point.

Chan slipped to fingers with ease inside you, stopping until he was knuckle deep. His fingers curled as he thrusted them slowly, picking up the pace once he felt how wet and soft your walls are. He thrusted his fingers fast, rubbing against your velvety walls and instantly hitting your sweet spot, making you see stars.

He held your hips firmly, stopping you from falling to the floor. You cried out his name with each thrust of his fingers, sweat coating your skin. Your walls tightened around his fingers, the knot forming in an instant due to the work the vibrator had been doing.

"Cum, I think I'm going-"

"Cum then. Cum around my fingers, pup." You squeezed your thighs together, your walls getting tighter and tighter around Chan's fingers, making it difficult for him to move. You cried out his name as the knot snapped in the pit of your stomach, your walls contacting around his fingers as you came.

Your juices fell down Chan's fingers and your thighs, falling on the floor beneath you as well as getting some on the front of Chan's desk. Chan hummed, watching your body convulsing.

He pulled his fingers out off you slowly, wiping them on his pants. Your body limp, chest pressed firmly against his desk as you panted. You took deep breaths to calm down as Chan kissed your neck softly, the salt from your sweat hitting his lips.

"Good pup. Now, it's time for the real thing. I hope you're ready for it, because I sure am." He growled.

Chan unbuttoned his pants, pulling them and his boxers down enough for his cock to spring free from their restraints. he sighed in content, his angry cock stood proudly as his tip was red and leaking pre-cum.

You hummed at the sight, licking your lips and feeling yourself getting wetter. Chan unbuttoned his work shirt, leaving it open. His abs and chest exposed, his sweat reflecting off the light. You wanted to reach around and touch him, run your hands up and down that delicious body.

Chan held his cock at the base, walking closer to your soaked core. He tapped his cock against it a few times, teasingly rubbing and sliding it in and out a few times, earning a frustrated whine from you.

"Sir, Please!"

"Please what?" You sighed in frustration, reaching the end off your limit with this constant teasing.

"Fucking stick it in and fuck me, Chan!" You stomped your foot, your voice laced with annoyance.

Chan scoffed before grabbing your hips roughly and pushing his length inside until he was at the hilt. He began thrusting fast and powerful, not giving you time to adjust or comprehend what is happening.

Your eyes widen, head falling onto the wooden desk., the impact being softened by loose papers. Your body jolted forward with each powerful thrust.

"Let's get a few things straight, shall we pup seeing as you also like being a brat. Number one, don't demand or tell me what to do. I own you. You belong to me therefore, I demand and you do as you're told!" Chan grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling you up and flush against his body.

"Number two, you will behave like a good little slut. I have told you once before, my name isn't chan. It's sir. I'm only letting it go just this once because you have been a good little pup for me. Taking my cock so well in your greedy cunt. Disobey me again, and there will be punishment. Do I make myself clear?!"

You swallowed, his voice stern, low and dominating. It made you quiver, your core clench around Chan's cock. A grunt left his lips as he let go of your hair, your body falling back onto the desk.

Chans cock rubbed against your walls in the most delicious way possible. His hands gripped your hips tightly, marking them with red finger prints. He repositioned himself each time he re-entered you to hit your spot.

It didn't take him long to hit it, considering how well he knows your body – inside and out. You saw stars, silent moans leaving your lips. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your ability to form words, disappeared. Chan grabbed your shoulder, pulling you up so your back was against his chest. He held you in position, his hand finding their way to your neck.

His fingers wrapped around your neck, squeezing the sides. You moaned as you let your head fall onto his shoulder. You couldn't help but notice how his veins were protruding along his arms, making you whimper. Chan licked the side of your neck, salt from your sweat coating his taste buds. He squeezed your neck harder as his thrusts were merciless.

"Good, so good. it's so good." You choked out.

"Is it good, pup?" You hummed "Do you like being fucked dumb like a little slut?"

You hummed again, earning a grunt of satisfaction from Chan

"Good girl." He whispered. Chan loosened his grip around your neck, keeping a loose grip around it. You closed your eyes, basking in the pleasure. Your body was hot and sweaty, your head empty of thoughts. You forgot where you was as you could only concentrate on the immense pleasure Chan was giving you.

Moans and grunts rang down your ear as Chan was slowly, but surely, losing his composure. His hips slapping against you skin. You started to feel a dull ache from the impact in your lower back, hips and thighs but you didn't care. You didn't want him to stop.

Your mouth hung loosely open in an 'O' shape, saliva pooling at the corners before spilling down your chin. Your throat sore and dry from the silent panting. You gripped onto Chan's wrist, nails digging into his flesh leaving crescent marks. Your hair sticking to your forehead, baby hairs sticking to the back of your neck. Chan's body radiating heat onto you, suffocating you.

Chan was losing it. With each thrust of his cock, your walls contacted and tightened around him. Your incoherent words and broken sentences ringing in his ears. Your juices threatening to spill out.

Chan loved this. He loved seeing you fucked dumb and taking him so well. It lite something deep with him, making him go feral. He never knew or thought he could behave or react like this, yet here he is, pounding into you like his life depended on it.

You both changed each other, made you realise things about yourself and explore things you both never knew you had. You both have a good chemistry, even when you're not fucking.

"Shit, (Y/N) you feel so good – too good infact." Chan grunted, his words strained. You hummed at his words, the knot in your stomach forming, fast.

"You fuck me so well Chan. I think I'm addicted to you."

"I'm addicted to you too, pup. The way you feel, the way you act, the way you talk and smell. You're my drug and I need a fill of you every second of everyday."

"You have me Chan. I'm all yours for the taking. Remember – you own me."

"That I do." Chan's hips faltering in speed, his movements becoming sloppy.

"Close, sir?" You opened your eyes, looking up at the sweaty yet gorgeous man above you. His neatly kept hair messy, sweat coating his forehead as beads of sweat rolled down his temples. He nodded, looking down at you and locking eyes.

"So close pup. I'm so fucking close." You hummed, licking your lips.

"Then cum. Full me up and breed me, Chan. I want every drop of your cum deep inside me. I want it to be spilling out off me."

Chan grunted at your words. His hips stopped moving as his body shook. He hung his head low, biting down on the valley that connects your neck and shoulder together.

You whimpered in pain as his teeth sunk into you, a string of groans leaving Chan as he emptied himself inside you, coating your walls white. You hummed at the feeling. Chan smirked against your skin, pushing you back down on the desk.

Your eyes widened as he resumed his powerful and fast thrusts. "C-Chan"

"Shh pup. You haven't came yet. Let me help you." You rested on your forearms, biting your own skin as you whimpered and moaned. The knot tightened with each thrust and before you had the chance to warn Chan, your orgasm hit you – hard.

Your body trembled, stars appearing in your prereferral, juices spilling out off you and onto the floor, desk and over Chan's cock. Your knees buckled under you and before Chan could catch you – you fell to the floor in a sweaty, tired and panting mess.

Your head hung low as you struggled to regain your composure. You felt Chan's cum trickling out off you slowly, making you shiver. Chan knelt beside you, holding some tissue. He lifted your chin up gently, moving your hair away from your face as he wiped away any tears and saliva on your face.

"You did good, doll." He softly spoke. You nodded slowly, your body feeling tired and sore.

"Are you okay?" his voice laced with concern as his eyes searched for any signs of discomfort on your features.

"I'm okay, Chan. I'm just really tired and sore." Chan laughed softly, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"How about we take the rest of the day off? I'll take you back to mine and we can have a long, hot soak in the bath, cuddle and order something to eat. tteokbokki sound good?"

You hummed, your stomach grumbling at the sound of tteokbokki. You blushed as Chan laughed.

"I'll take that as a yes."

#skz #stray kids #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #bang chan #chan #skz bang chan #skz chan #stray kids bang chan #stray kids chan #bang chan x you #chan x you #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #skz x you #stray kids x you #stray kids fic #stray kids one shot #skz fic #skz one shot #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #kpop #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz x reader

[octuscle]

New start, new chance

Actually, Benjamin didn't really know why he went to the fun fair in the first place. Roller coasters used to be fun for him. But today, all his bones would certainly ache. Chain carousel? He was definitely too fat for that. Cotton candy? Beer? Bratwurst? He didn't like any of them. And the audience here was too young, too loud, too chavvy… So: What was he doing here? Benjamin shrugged his shoulders inwardly. Maybe he was longing for a time long gone, when he himself would have liked to be young, loud and chavvy? In fact, he never was. He had always been a well-adjusted child with few friends. And chess or astronomy hadn't exactly been loud hobbies for the cool kids. Maybe as he drove past the fun fair in the cab, he had remembered BIG. One of the first movies with Tom Hanks. My God, he had seen it at the movies. How many years ago was that? Fifty? He had no idea. But the overnight transformation of the hero had been the first transformation where something like a sexual fantasy had shown up in him. He really hadn't been to a fun fair in decades. But maybe here he found the miracle to transform his old, sick and completely out of shape body.

Of course, there was no ancient machine here that looked like the one in the movie. There was no enchanted tent with a creepy fortune teller either. There were bumper cars. There was a ghost train. And at least there was a lottery booth. Well, it couldn't hurt to buy a lottery ticket. And sure enough, it wasn't a loser. It was a small, cheap-looking picture frame. But in it, after all, was a photo of a young man who looked young, loud, and chavvy. Oh well. Benjamin put the frame in his coat pocket; he could always throw it away when he got home.

Benjamin made his way home. A cab wasn't coming by. By the time he had climbed the stairs to his spacious old apartment on the third floor, he was actually a little out of breath. Taking off his coat, he noticed the picture frame. For one night, that could sit quietly on the nightstand. By the time Benjamin had eaten dinner and gotten ready for the night, he had long since forgotten his visit to the fun fair and the photo.

This can't be true! This is a cursed dream! There is no magic! Benjamin walked through his apartment the next morning, completely distraught. It had been like in a bad movie. Benjamin had gone to the bathroom to pee. As was his habit, he sat down to do it. At his age, he could no longer aim well. Suddenly he noticed that everything was different. He had a tight morning wood. His morning wood had an impressive Prince Albert piercing. He held the morning glory in his hands, skin colorfully inked but otherwise immaculately smooth. Curses. He turned around in the guest bathroom and looked in the mirror. His reflection was the young man from the picture on the nightstand. So not one-to-one. He would say his reflection looked like he would have looked when he was maybe 22. If he had spent a lot of time at the tattoo artist. And if he had played a lot of sports. The picture, where was the picture? He had put it on the nightstand. But it wasn't there anymore. There was a picture of him as he had looked last night. An old, sick man in his late 70's. The photo was carefully staged, he looked good. And the frame was sterling silver, like most of the frames of his pictures of friends and relatives he had long since buried. And this picture frame also had black crape stretched across one corner. Curses! Was he dead? Was this heaven?

The apartment looked the same as it had last night. His cleaning lady had just been there, everything was neat and clean. He had a nice apartment where he had accumulated many nice things in his life. The only thing that didn't fit in the apartment was a naked, athletic young man in his early 20s who had tattoos all over his body and, in addition to the PA, had a pretty fat rod stuck in his nipples. Fuck!"Fuck" obviously suited him better than "Curses." Fuck! Actually, he would put on some tea at this hour, now he needed something stronger. Somehow he felt like a whiskey, but he didn't have anything like that in the house. A cognac. Oh well, better than nothing. And maybe some music would calm him down. There was still a recording of "Four Last Songs" by Strauss in the CD player from last night. That would help. My God, was the music loud, had he really been so deaf. Startled, he turned down the volume.

The cognac helped, the music helped. And then the doorbell rang. Fuck, he was still naked. And his clothes wouldn't fit him anymore. There was a heavy knock on the door. What was he going to do now. He still had an old pair of track pants in his closet. He had gone to physiotherapy in them God knows how long ago, they should fit to some extent. The knocking continued. "Hello!" he heard his neighbor call from downstairs. "Is anyone there?". Benjamin pulled up his pants, pulled the drawstring as tight as it would go, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Mrs. Gruber flinched in fright as she looked up into his face. But composed herself surprisingly quickly. And smiled at him, to his horror. "You must be Ben," she said, extending her hand to him. "Your great uncle has told me so much about you. And he wasn't lying, the family resemblance is amazing. Allow me to offer my sincere condolences." Benjamin didn't understand anything. But he pulled himself together and invited Mrs. Gruber inside. He apologized for being upset, but lied that his suitcase had been lost and that he had to see if anything fit him here. Mrs. Gruber waved him off. Apparently, the older lady liked what she saw a little, too. "It's all good," she replied. "I'm just glad to meet you. I don't want to be a bother at all, either. If there's anything you need, I live right below you." She squeezed his hand and left the apartment. Benjamin realized that she would have to visit the neighbors one by one and tell them about the news. Condolences? Great uncle? What the hell? He didn't have a brother who could have a son to carry on his name. And he wasn't dead. Or was he? The picture on the bedside table said so, after all. Benjamin went into the study. There on the desk were a number of unopened letters that had not been there yesterday. Letters from his life insurance companies. Letters from his bank. A letter from the district court. He took the letter opener and opened it. It was the probate of his will. Obviously, he had died yesterday. And today was already a few weeks later. And he was Ben now. And he was his own universal heir. And after opening the letters from the bank and the life insurance companies, he was a very wealthy universal heir. But who the hell was he himself? There were no clothes that matched him, there was nothing to indicate anyone but his old self in that apartment. On the dresser next to the door, keys and wallet lay in the bowl. Just as they always were. With trembling fingers, he took the wallet and pulled out his ID card. He was Ben Horner. In two months he would turn 23. He had just re-registered and now lived in this apartment. There was no driver's license. Well, he knew from the grandchildren of acquaintances that this was no longer common. But there was a debit card from his bank with his new name. Ben, not Benjamin. And on the cent as much cash as he had had in his wallet yesterday, about 500 euros.

Ben sat on the sofa and sipped the cognac. Fuck, that was a dream! But God knows, not a nightmare. This was better than being in BIG. While he was thinking, he started to play with his cock, lost in thought. And with his nipple. Awesome how the piercings felt. And insane how his cock reacted. When had he ever had such a hard-on? Never, not so big, so plump. Fuck! Ben cummed. Shit, don't fuck up the pads, he thought. So he massaged his own cum into the skin on his chest. Still, he needed something to wear now.

With the tightest fine-rib shirt he could find, sweatpants and his old adilettes Ben left the house. Because the noble Montblanc wallet didn't match this outfit, he had simply put the cash and the EC card into his pants pocket. At the door, he had to think for a moment. Where was he supposed to buy something now. He remembered that there was a second-hand store around the corner, where young people like him often went. That's where he headed. A good choice! Behind the cash register stood a young man who was hardly less inked than himself. And who was similarly well-built, as he himself. Fuck! Couldn't he get his dick under control at all? Ben had come up with a little story. Visiting the city, suitcase lost by the airline, now he needed something for the next few days. For sports, for going out. And for driving lessons on the motorcycle. That had always been his dream. He wanted to put it into practice immediately. The young man had asked about his budget. Without thinking, Ben said € 2,000.00. The daily limit of the EC card did not allow more, if he remembered correctly. The young man said with a grin that one could do quite a bit for that, assessed Ben's size, sent him into a changing room and began to pick out things. Two hours and € 2,000.00 later, Ben stepped out into the fresh air again. Biker boots, torn jeans, a tank top that showed plenty of skin and over it an old black motorcycle jacket that smelled of leather and sweat. Trying it on had given him a boner again. But this time the attendant had come to his rescue. For the first time in his life, Ben cum in another guy's face.

The rest of his purchases were stowed in an old duffel bag from the National People's Army of the GDR. Money and his EC card, which was non-functional for today, were in a wallet attached to his studded belt by a heavy chain. Now he desperately needed a cell phone. George, the horny guy from the store, wanted his number, but he had never had a cell phone. So he had to give him his landline number. And promise to send him a message as soon as he had a phone.

The next few days flew by. He had given the contents of his closet to the old clothes collection without thinking about it. Everything, without exception. And he had made every effort to fill the closets again. He loved his new body. And wanted to show it off. He had quickly found his new style. Slim jeans or leather pants, tank tops and T-shirts preferably in black or white, leather or bomber jackets. Tracksuits, sleek and shiny. George sold some old pieces of army surplus from Eastern Europe that were a great fit for Ben. He quickly learned to use his new iPhone. He had a harder time with the driving lessons at the beginning. But he mastered that, too. And after just one month, he was proudly driving a used BMW in front of his new favorite café. Twice a week, he took it to the motorcycle workshop to learn more about the engine. He wanted to learn everything. He had learned a lot about how to use his boner from George. He had quickly shed his shyness about being a virgin.

With friends visiting him more and more often, even at home, he had at some point made the decision to part with his old household goods as well. What he had not sold after two months at antique dealers he knew from his last life, at flea markets or on ebay, he finally had picked up. To celebrate the empty apartment, he had invited a few friends. At least since that time he was no longer greeted so friendly in the staircase. For a while, he had considered opening a shared apartment in his old apartment, but the stuffiness of his neighbors pissed him off. So he had hired a real estate agent to sell the apartment and took a room in a student flat-share. Here, no one minded if a party escalated. And the parties escalated frequently.

A year after his great uncle died, Ben stood on the small terrace outside his room and lit a cigarette. God, he loves to smoke. Too bad he had hardly known Benjamin. At least he was only a vague memory now. He owed everything to his great uncle. Tonight, some of his buddies were going to the fun fair with him. Boozing and bawling, drunkenly riding bumper cars. He hadn't done that in a long time. And should he see a sign that a young man was wanted as a temp, he had made up his mind to apply. A year or two would certainly be fun. For some reason, he loves the fun fair.

@fullleatherman, great picture, awesome inspiration!

#tank top #male tf #inked man #reality change #age reduction

[yandere-fics]

Well, if you want darker asks, this one's been rattling in my brain for a while...

How would your yanderes handle it if their darling was a fundamentally, irredeemably evil person? Like, you can choose how they are evil based on setting, but to one-up rudie let's say they are at least on the level of "serial killer who targets loving parents specifically out of the sheer joy that creating sad orphans gives them". Darlings who are just utter despicable peices of human trash. I suspect the greatest angst in the city, where yanderes are basically soulbound to a worse monster than themselves.

♡ How Would They React To An Evil Darling ♡

♡ Miriel is delusional and will try her hardest to justify anything her darling does but I think this would kill her inside. See part of the reason Miriel only kills for her darling when she feels she has no other choice is because as an elf it's hard for her to be around death. She's very connected to the life that surrounds her so any suffering is going to weigh on her heavily and while she will follow her daling no matter what, it's difficult to see all the carnage they are causing and she would take them with her back to her village where she can lock them away for their own good. ♡

♡ Kassien was a mass murderer in the demon realm and she is only a few steps away from evil cause her kill count on a daily basis is much higher than any of the others but she also prefers her darling to be softer than her and so she will want to train this out of you if possible, otherwise she'll just try to find ways to let you do what you want because she wants to spoil her mate and well she can't deprive you if the thing you want is murder, as much as she would prefer you didn't. Though if you take it too far she'll break your legs and keep you inside so hopefully you'll learn to care about her and only her more instead of killing. ♡

♡ Nikki does not understand what is evil and what isn't. She's possibly the closest thing to evil in my oc lineup but she's not really sadistic unless someone steps out of line so she doesn't fully understand your desire to kill and hurt random bystanders but she just assumes they must have done something for you to be doing this, you are a bad influence on her because now when people bump into her or pass her she'll torture them slightly too because that's what you do though she's not going on murder sprees, she just makes them trapped in their worst nightmares for a couple minutes. ♡

♡ Nora's sense of morality is fucked up, as long as her darling cares about her, she loves them no matter what they chose to do because they are her reason for living. She has spent centuries being a walking death machine, killing without even asking The Boss why, and even prior to becoming The Boss's tamed pet she was a killer for hire. Although she never has really taken pleasure out of killing any of the people she has to, she also is not going to judge anyone who does because every one in the city has reasons for what they do. She's learned that even the most cold blooded killer in the city who she's been sent after has reasons, although she still kills them even after learning why. So an evil darling doesn't bug her, her darling is still the one bright thing in her life. ♡

♡ Rudie only kills for money but that certainly doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy the killing. She takes great pleasure in it and she likes knowing that she's extremely good at it. I wouldn't call her evil but she does very much enjoy the killing and if she ever won the lottery then she would just switch to killing for leisure instead. She herself feels she is evil and she doesn't really care but she would never consider her darling evil. In her eyes anything they do is not as bad as what she has done because she commited her first murder at 5 years old and after that she never really stopped. ♡

♡ Sawyer would burn down her city for her darling if they asked though they would have to give her plenty of affection in exchange. Sawyer adores her city but her darling comes first so if they destroy the lives of a few people then it's okay as long as she fills the void with affection towards Sawyer. For everything they break that Sawyer worked hard to build, they must do something for her to make that sacrifice worth it. She has worked so hard to protect it and has used her life force and the sacrifice of a few... miscreants in order to make it prosper so she would prefer if her darling didn't harm the citizens but she can grin and bear it for her darling's love. ♡

#yandere oc #yandere lesbian #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere asks #yandere scenarios #my oc sawyer #my oc mirial #my oc kassien #my oc nora #my oc nikolai #my oc runa

[lesvegas]

New Vegas - Now Under New Management!

In 2301, the city of New Vegas had been a raiders’ paradise for nearly twenty years. Backed by an army of robots, a hedonistic courier has rendered the Mojave untouchable by anyone who would take the keys to the city from their cold, dead hands. But it was only a matter of time before someone else aspired to become the new king of the wasteland, and all they had to do was be born within the Strip’s walls.

Chapter 1: Vegas Lights [ao3 link]

Casino floors never had any clocks or windows so the patrons could forget about the illusion of time. It was easier to give away everything you had on games and drinks when you weren’t being reminded of a family or a boss expecting to see you at a certain time. If you were particularly susceptible, you could waste entire days and nights and all your savings on the slot machines until you had nothing to bet but your own life. This was just one of many ways some guys in the old world managed to suck the money out of idiots with disposable income despite starting their businesses in a desert.

They weren’t stupid enough to not take advantage of the view, though. If you already forked over the cash, you could have access to taking up space in a casino hotel’s luxury suite, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. If you don’t look too hard, you can just bask in the glow of the pretty Vegas lights, bright enough that you can forget missing the natural night sky.

I won the lottery by being born in one of these rooms. I’ve never had to pay a cap for anything. I’m not even twenty and I’m already king of the wasteland. And up here in my ivory tower at the top of the Tops, I can only stare forward at the lights for so long. Even a ruler with no responsibilities has to look down at his subjects sometimes, and I’ve been making a habit out of observing the street below.

There were no rich kids wasting daddy’s money or wealthy men and their gold diggers out on the town. There were no small-time vendors selling trinkets and snacks or criers promoting the acts of the week. There were no tourists from the West or lucky locals from Freeside. Hell, there weren’t even any whores flaunting their goods outside of Gomorrah anymore; they were all inside, where it was marginally safer. The Strip was packed, always, but never with anyone that was worth a dime.

It was mostly raiders down there. Worthless fucking raiders. They had to still be raiders; they didn’t actually do anything around here to earn all the caps they spent at the casinos. Not that they had to spend much when Fresno made this place a raider’s paradise.

“You need to open the window when you chain-smoke.”

I didn’t look back at my father. But I did open the window a crack before he could ask me again. The coolness of the night air almost made it possible to ignore the smell of blood, sweat and shit outside. I took a fresh cigarette out of my case sitting on the windowsill, used the last embers of the butt between my fingers to light it, and took a drag. I tossed the useless butt out the window, watching it fall, almost hoping it’d light up one of the palm trees below. Maybe it’d fall and crush some of those Fiends sitting around on the sidewalk, inhaling Jet, blissfully unaware of their inevitable demise. Wishful thinking.

“Wider, please.”

He was reclining on the sofa where he had been for hours, reading a pristine copy of Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor again. There was little else for a man like him to do when there was no real work to be done. According to the posters in Vault 21 and some old books I’d read, my father was an ideal man; he was reserved, he prioritized me and his ‘wife’ above all else, he only ever drank or smoked when Fresno did, kept his hair neat and wore a shirt and tie every day, spent most of his free time reading-

“Auguste?”

I shoved the window open all the way. Fine, let the whole room smell like shit, see if I care. If he really preferred the stench of the Strip to the scent of cigarettes, I could keep the window open. Let the sounds pour through, too, all the yelling and obnoxious music. He’d learned to tone out the noise years ago.

I looked back at him over my shoulder when I felt him staring at me. He was sitting up now, holding the napkin he used as a bookmark between his fingers, debating if he was finished reading or not. The room was smokier than I thought, I’ll admit it, but he didn’t need to be on my ass about it. I put my cigarette out. “Happy?”

He slipped the napkin between the pages he was on and closed the book, leaving it in the corner of the coffee table before standing up. His shirt was only slightly wrinkled from lying down and his blond hair was still perfect without any product. If only I was so lucky.

“Is this about Brutus?”

I must have looked real upset just then, because I saw one of the rare instances where my father looked like he actually regretted asking me something. I spoke up before he could even think to apologize.

“Is what about Brutus?” I asked, coming off way more defensive than I wanted to.

“Your…” He paused, trying to find the right word that wouldn’t piss me off. “Mood.”

No, of course I’m not still upset about losing my best friend. He was just some dumb animal I’ve had since my tenth birthday. Just a stupid puppy Fresno gave me with the hope that I’d be so distracted I’d forget my father even existed. God forbid a ten-year-old want his father’s attention sometimes.

“It’s been a week. I’m over it.” I lied, then tried to change the subject before he could pry. “You never complain when Fresno smokes indoors.”

“I’m not Fresno’s father.”

“Obviously. That thing doesn’t have a father.”

I thought I was pretty clever, but he didn’t seem to like my joke very much. I closed my cigarette case and pocketed it before he could come and take it from me. “Am I wrong?” I continued. “Would someone with a decent role model be responsible for this?” I made a sweeping gesture out the window with a splayed hand.

He approached the window, and I stepped aside to let him have a look. There was absolutely nothing new down there that he hadn’t seen, but he seemed to be looking for something anyway. He eventually spoke again without looking at me. “I don’t see why you care about what goes on in the streets. You only go outside to have dinner or catch a show. Your life is confined to suites, bars and casinos. Nothing that happens out there has any relevance to you.”

He took a step back and closed the window half-way. He pulled his sleeve up to check his watch. “You’re as safe and taken care of as any young man can be. Your only concerns are what happens within these walls.” He pointed out, then walked over to the coat rack by the door. I followed him.

“What about you, huh?” I asked. “Did you really come all this way just to be some weirdo’s trophy husband?” “Auguste.” He always spoke more firmly when I talked shit about Fresno. “If you’re so unsatisfied with the state of New Vegas,” He put his coat on. “You’re more than welcome to do with it what you will once you inherit it.”

The idea of this city becoming a monarchy was still bizarre to me. I was basically a prince set to take over once Fresno finally croaked, sure, but it still felt wrong somehow. A city like this shouldn’t really have a ruler. Stars and casino owners, sure, but even a mayor wouldn’t feel right. Maybe I was just too used to the hands-off approach Fresno had taken since before I was born.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I said. “Come on, you told me you left Reno for Vegas. Didn’t you ever have dreams for this place that didn’t involve… this? You said Reno didn’t have opportunities anymore, what with the families, and the, uh…” “The NCR.” “The NCR!” I snapped my fingers. “New Reno had no room for new ideas or new money, that’s what you said. It was all family drama and politics. New Vegas was really new again, a real diamond in the rough, the last real city in the world. You always said you wanted to start something out here, so why are you just letting raiders run it into the ground while you’re wrapped around Fresno’s finger?”

He only buttoned up the bottom two buttons of his coat, and took a look at himself in the mirror by the door. “I didn’t just leave Reno because it lacked financial opportunities. It also lacked any reason for me to stay.” He said. I already knew he didn’t have any family he wanted to tell me about. “I came to Vegas to find a purpose. And, eventually, I found something more important to me than any ambitions I previously had.” “Yeah, that’s real sweet.” I teased. “But seriously, what did you think it’d be like today, twenty years ago? What did you really want before you met Fresno?”

I was so close to getting a real answer out of him, I could just feel it. Something in his eyes seemed to give way as he adjusted his tie, but it was closed off again when the door suddenly opened.

Fresno, my father’s ‘wife’, seemed eager to see him but frowned when they saw me. I don’t think they’ve ever smiled at me. “Oh, I thought you’d be alone in here.” They said to him. “This is our suite.” I pointed out. “We share it. I live here.”

“Whatever.” They said dismissively, then smiled at my father. From the way he’d been checking his watch and the way they were dressed, it was obvious they had a date planned tonight. They had a date planned almost every night, but this one must be a fancy date, because Fresno was wearing a white shirt under their leather jacket. “Dinner and a show downstairs? Or the Ultra-Luxe?” They asked him, leaning in close enough to kiss him. They weren’t wearing lipstick today. “What are you in the mood for, my Valoire?” My father had the audacity to look at me instead. “Would you like t–” “No.” I said firmly. I wasn’t going to be dragged around as a second thought. I had business to attend to, anyway. Before I could give them a look of disgust, I turned around to return to my place at the window, looking down.

Fresno probably wanted to say ‘you weren’t invited, anyway’, but held their tongue. The only thing stopping us from lashing out at each other was the fact that my father seemed to like us both equally. He was very careful not to lean one way or the other unless one of us were obviously in the wrong.

I heard the door open, and a pause before it shut again. It might have been a moment of hesitation. Maybe my father and I would continue our conversation later, maybe we wouldn’t. But I already knew enough to know that any real individuality he had was destroyed years ago. He was devoted to Fresno, they were devoted to him, and neither of them could care less what happened in Vegas. It was all on me to make something of this place. Where a king fails, a prince inherits his mistakes.

I closed the window the rest of the way and got a glimpse at my reflection.

Despite my best efforts, I was the splitting image of my ‘mother’. Oh, I had my father’s strong nose and his bright blue eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. I had Fresno’s complexion, their fiery hair, their strong jaw, their obnoxious freckles, and their weak frame. There was only so much I could do about that, but I made up for it in keeping my hair short and tidy, and only ever wearing suits. Yes, my suits were much flashier than my father’s, but that was warranted in this city. And red was my colour.

I took out my cigarette case and opened it. There were only a couple sticks left. I lit one and saved the last for later as I turned my gaze down to the street again.

One of these bastards shot Brutus, and I was going to return the favour. But it’s been seven days since and I still hadn’t figured out who’d done it. All I really knew for sure is that it wasn’t a Khan; for all their faults, they weren’t stupid enough to pick a fight with me. They had their own home somewhere in the desert and treated Vegas like the attraction it was, for the most part. We were also their biggest buyer next to the Fiends. No, they knew well enough not to fuck with me or my dog.

Honestly, I don’t think it was a Fiend, either. They’re stupid, sure, but there were two types of Fiends: the ones that were fucked up and mellow, and the ones who were fucked up and aggressive. The former occupied the Strip, the latter were in Freeside if they were lucky. If a Fiend was going to attack, they’d do it to my face, not shoot from afar. I can’t imagine they’ve got good aim after taking God knows how much Jet.

Then there were the 80s. They weren’t too common around here, even with Fresno’s affiliation with them. All I ever see them do is act tough and ride those goddamn ‘motor-cycles’ they’re so obsessed with. Loudest fucking things in the wasteland. The second this city is mine, I’m outlawing them for good. Maybe they knew what was coming and wanted to strike first. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

That left the Scorpions, Vipers, and Jackals. A dwindling gang, a cult, and the weirdos that now ran the fanciest casino on the Strip. Not including any individual raiders that weren’t really part of a group. Hell, maybe there was no real motivation behind it; people shot and killed animals for fun all the time. Maybe Brutus and I were just unlucky that night. I don’t fucking know. But I still want the head of the son of a bitch that did it.

I stepped away from the window. I wasn’t gonna make any progress watching ants go by. I figured my father and Fresno had freed up the elevator by now, and so I left the suite to head downstairs. I had my own date at Gomorrah. 

Thanks for reading. Fresno belongs to my partner, @thespiral <3

#fnv #fonv #fallout new vegas #falloutfun #fnv fanfiction #fonv fanfiction #fallout fanfiction #oc: auguste/augustus #oc: valoire

[the-real-amazing-karnak]

Some human!Karnak ideas for an everyone lives/nobody dies AU:

he's fully convinced that he's in some sort of afterlife or just dreaming until he accidentally cuts himself on something and sees his own blood for the first time. hes inconsolable for days

has issues understanding and processing emotions (his only emotions in the show are regret, loneliness and sarcasm)

most ppl in town are scared of him/talk shit about him behind his back. the choir kids think he just doesn't care but he's actually oblivious

either lives alone or serves as jane/penny/savannah's caretaker. if hes alone hes gotta be checked on often bc otherwise he wont eat or drink shit

his first shower was traumatizing. its gotten less scary and uncomfortable but he still hates it

having to reapply his makeup every day makes him miss having actual paint on his face that never washed off

headcanon his birthday to be feb 15th. he seems like an aquarius to me

hes still capable of seeing the future and telling fortunes, but he's no longer cursed to see only deaths

imagine theres other karnak machines out there (probs not sentient) and he runs into one. existential crisis

has frequent nightmares about waking back up in the warehouse, alone

will lock himself in a closet when hes overwhelmed. only jane can coax him out

loves musicals and music. may take over for father marcus when the man retires

otherwise for jobs, he might own some sort of oddities or book shop

or he won the lottery his like second day of being alive bc mischa convinced him to buy a lotto ticket. now hes fuckin rich and just writes books, poetry, plays, etc. all day. maybe becomes a big author

becomes like a parent to the choir, the only adult they can talk to about the accident. after mischa shows him how to online shop, the first thing he buys is a parenting book

absolutely gets a pet rat named virgil. is it healthy to name a rat after another rat who tried to kill you? fuck no. but it makes him happy so

definitely not in a good headspace. the choir kids realize this the more they interact with him and he opens up. being completely alone with no one to talk to for decades has gotta fuck you up at least a little

#ride the cyclone #rtc #long post #the amazing karnak #karnak #angst #rtc au #everyone lives/nobody dies #human karnak

[swamp-spirit]

Dipping my toe into the MXTX tag again, and it reminded me that I wanted to share my experiences of having to read around 500 pages of various REALLY BAD cultivation novels (for work). SVSSS especially relies on knowledge of shitty cultivation webnovels.

To be clear, I have a lot of sympathy for (some) of these authors. Chinese webnovel writers are often under brutal time requirements (often around 1-3K a day, 7 days a week, fully edited and posted) for very little pay. They’re also under government requirements and corporate requirements to write something that’s pre-proven to sell. You have to get well established to ‘earn‘ the right to experiment, and that’s a 1/10000 lottery.

That said, there’s a lot of authors who write some amazing shit within those requirements (the people who write historical revenge rebirth stories for women knock it out of the fucking park 99% of the time tbh). So here are some of my horror stories from my months reading bad cultivation novels. (warnings for sexual assault mention)

There are three types of men in bad cultivation novels:           1. Simpering lackies who do everything the lead says and feel lucky to do it           2. Comically evil bullies, physically ugly, always attacking women or simpering lackies. The lead will horrifically murder them casually.           3. Comically evil bullies, but hot and high status. The lead will horrifically murder them OR humiliate them and destroy their meridians (and they will be disabled, worse then death!)

Speaking of disability, and, unfortunately, not confined to this genre, replacing a mentally disabled person is a REALLY common setup. Either the MC is disabled through evil machinations but cured via magic at the start, or the MC replaces a disabled person. Everyone will be shocked, amazed, and pleased that they have been ‘fixed’.

Things are even worse for women. Women are sweet and innocent (romantic interest or little sister figure. Or both), doting caretakers (romantic interest, mother figure, or both), cold ice-queens (to cast their pride aside and become a romantic interest), or evil, sexy seductresses (to be murdered. Or seduced). Of the three novels I read the most of           1. EVERY SINGLE WOMAN was introduced in the exact same way. The lead would accidentally see her naked, she would unjustly attempt to murder him, and then she’d realize the truth and decide marriage was the only solution to maintain her honor.           2. Every single woman who showed up had dudes attempting to sexually assault her, from romantic interest to random village girl. Every. One. This dude could not go five feet without witnessing a sex crime.           3. This one just forgot women existed? And honestly? Thank fuck.

Characters advance via video game logic. For example, in one novel, the character Became Neurotypical, immediately murdered some dudes, stole their cultivation items, sat down, and meditated. There was no internal description on what he did to meditate, his state of mind, his faith, or his growth as a person just LITERAL CHAPTERS of describing his cultivation levels going up. “HE BROKE THROUGH THE 3RD LEVEL NOW HE COULD DO THIS IT WAS AMAZING AND UNHEARD OF“ That’s the entire arc. Character gets items, meditates, numbers go up, goes and wins battles by killing everything in one punch. And not in a cool, genre deconstruction way. It works on a logic where the main character can’t do anything ‘uncool‘. He can never struggle, even for a second. One novel involved every enemy (usually human) being turned to ‘meat-paste‘ with a single punch

You know when you’re watching an anime that needed to fill out runtime, so it keeps cutting between the hero and the villain and then somebody in the crowd going “wait, is he going to use a soul punch“, “that’s impossible, somebody that young could never use a soul punch“ “wait, how could it be“ “damn, I underestimate him“ “It’s a soul punch!“ “A soul punch!“ Have you ever craved that experience in novels? Yeah. Me neither

MYSTERIOUS FUCKING CAVES. One of the main mechanics for a character to advance is being taken in by some spirit or trapped god or soul sealed in a sword, but the primary mechanic is ACCIDENTALLY STUMBLING ON MYSTERIOUS CAVES OF RARE ITEMS. Often found when falling into a ravine and landing on a mysterious ledge. To date, none of these caves had any explaination or plot. The character just found a cool cave, took the scrolls/ate the rare wine/soaked in the magic spring, leveled up, and left. In one of the novels, by the time I got a good chunk in, the main character had stumbled into THREE DIFFERENT MAGIC CAVES. To be fair, the third cave did also contain a skeleton which put him in contact with a sealed soul who took him in so like, that’s something.

#xianxia #mxtx #svsss #vents from when I was trapped in cultivation novel hell

[phoenixyfriend]

37 Platonic/Generic Prompts Ask Meme

From my 141 prompts (plus links) post

A mix of normal/standard AUs and a few Funky Ones. Send one or more characters and a prompt, and maybe you'll get a drabble!

Reminder: You send prompts to people in the ask box, not through replies.

Accidentally texted the wrong number

Roommates accidentally adopt a cat

A friend needs to sleep on the couch

Trying to be polite about the terrible meal a loved one cooked

Planning a Baby Shower

Planning a Bachelor/ette Party

Wedding planner and client

(Consoling someone who was) Left at the Altar

(Consoling someone who was) Cheated on

Just won the lottery

Ascended to godhood

Emergency Room Meeting

Maid/Janitor/Cleaner who witnessed something illegal

Amnesia

Private Investigator

Vigilante and rescued victim

Need some help hiding the body

"I would kill for you. Please ask me to kill for you."

One bets the other to do some parkour

One begs the other to not do some parkour

Wingman

Lab Partners

Heist Team

Snowed in together/Hurricane Party/Other Weather Isolation

Custom Couturier

My best friend just got turned into a baby

My best friend just got turned into a pet

Just hit a stranger with my car oh my god please be okay why the FUCK do people have their brights on

Seeing your best friend's ex at an event and making a Scene about it

Just saw an ex at an event and started having a panic attack, and you pulled me aside to calm me down, are we best friends now?

Genderswap AU

Trans AU

Role Swap AU

Can't wear my glasses (lost, damaged, at a bath house where they'd fog up, whatever) and you need to lead me around

Karaoke Party

Someone on a horrible date needs an extraction

One just walked in on the other with an arm stuck in the vending machine that ate their money

And the other sections of the 141 Prompts list:

50 Romance Prompts

26 Family Prompts

28 Setting Prompts

#phoenix posts #prompts #prompts list #friendship prompts

[zapsoda]

hello chief!! spacecrew fan reporting for duty!! 🫡 what's everybody's reason to leave their former situation and become bounty hunters (and/or joining this particular ship)?

iirc tally left his planet cuz he was "inferior" and dispensable so he just headed out and kip followed him to protecc him but idrk for the rest of them....

ehehe ive actually been thinking about this a lot lately!!! some of the details are subject to change but ill share what ive had in mind thus far

youre basically right about tally and kip, still not settled how they get into the bounty hunting profession specifically but tally left because he was miserable and kip followed bc he loves him (also because he is desperate for adventure ehehe)

roy works a shitty on-site engineer/technician job at a machine rental service which she is entirely overqualified for. she follows technology-related news and tinkers with little contraptions at her family home.

one day she hears about a certain missing android, which catches her attention. there is little precedent for a report like this, and the details released to the public dont make sense. she decided her next project will be finding this little runaway. not to turn it in, just out of sheer curiosity.

um cw for suicide in this next bit i spose

bax is a human, fucking miserable. its not like his life is particularly bad. his family are upper middle class and love him. he does fine in school. he just hit the genetic lottery with mental illness in addition to being a huge egg ahah. when hes around 16 he tries to kill himself.

cw over for the rest of this bit

to his utter chagrin, he wakes up. he wakes up in a strange place, his hair is longer, all his memories are foggy. it must be a hospital, but its no hospital hes ever seen before. for one, there are no other humans. no other earth creatures he recognizes, for that matter.

the nurses and attendants have skin of cold steel. synthetic voices, synthetic faces, synthetic hair.

one of them, he builds a rapport with. this one is strange. instead of being exasperated with baxters constant badgering, quippingz and questioning of the attendants, he is intrigued. he even asks baxter questions in return.

the android begins sneaking baxter little treats. snacks, better food, little toys. in exchange, bax talks his nonexistent ears off during every second of its free time. he nicknames it clam chowder.

this of course, does not go unpunished. this robot has a job to do. codes to abide. their time together is subsequently limited, clam is assigned to a ward on the opposite side of the building. this sucks. clam desperately wants to leave the hospital grounds, see the world, bax doesnt know what he wants other than that he fucking hates being at the hospital and he likes clam, so hell help him at any cost.

they come up with a plan for escape. and they gtfo.

from here, everything gets hazy. my plan is to start with the first mission all 5 of them go on and work backwards, fleshing out the events that actually bring the rest of em together :3

maybe kip is a mailperson who meet roys parents by chance and end up agreeing to track her down for them accidentally, before roping his con artist nephew in, idk!

#ty for the ask!! sorry if i wrote a lot hahahaa #asks #oc stuff

[fuck-customers]

ok this happened a few weeks ago but i’ve been thinking about it lately and it’s been pissing me off. so i started a new job, at a bank, with better pay. it starts at $18 CAD an hour (so like $13.50 USD) and my retail job is minimum wage, $13/hr (abt $9.25 USD). at my retail job, none of the higher ups gave a shit about any of the associates or keyholders. They wanted us to be work machines and made our minimum time 40 hours a week. at least at my new one there are diversity programs, benefits, pension, etc. I got a call at my first job like a month ago telling me i got the job I applied for, so I told my coworker and the visiting manager because they would have to work out the schedule.

THAT WEEKEND on my day off, i get a call from one of our district managers. on my personal phone. he tried to convince me to stay at the retail store full time. I told him no shot, but I would be staying part time (because they are DESPERATE for keyholders and managers, there was a mass quitting in my province at that company. i wonder why /sar). Turns out my coworker (i love her to bits but what the fuck man) told our 2nd district manager and gave him my personal phone number when he asked. I don’t blame my coworker for it, because for her there is no barrier between her work and the rest of her life, she lives to work. He could have called the store on a day i worked and spoken to me then. He backed down trying to negotiate pay with me when I told him my new job started at $18/hr.

Also i wasn’t paid for my keyholder or lottery training. I had to do both of those at home, unpaid, on my own time. like. fuck this company man. i can’t wait until i can work at the bank full time

[kazimakuwabara]

'bonding' (for the post you made earlier)

( I didn't notice this in my inbox D: I'll write something up now! Just a special treat for ya ;) )

(set before the start of the series, featuring Sota, my friend's oc.)

***

"Take your sister, take your sister... why I gotta be babysitter every time ma wants to drink?" Yusuke snorted, muttering to himself as he held his younger sister's hand.

The girl, Sota, with long brown hair like Atsuko, but eyes as feisty as her brother's, glared up at the teen, "It's cuz you're a dumbass."

"Oi! Watch your fucking mouth! I don't need Ma pissed at me again because she thinks I taught you to swear!" Yusuke cautioned.

"...You did teach me to swear," Sota reasoned.

Yusuke actually smiled at that, "Well Tiny, I know that, but I don't need that to spread, got me?"

"Because you're afraid of Mom!" Sota teased.

"Yeah, her bad alcoholic breath maybe," Yusuke sighed, tugging Sota with him as they rounded a corner. He paused, spotting a new vending machine in the street, right next to a lamp post. Sota spotted it to, and tugging her hand free from her older brother's, ran for it.

"Hey! They got Pringles!" And with that little announcement, Sota reached her hand into the flap of the vending machine and started to dig up.

Yusuke grinned, hands in his pockets, and sauntered over to his sister, "That will never-"

Sota popped her hand out, a can of Pringles her prize. She grinned cheekily up at her brother, "Ha! What were you about to say, dear brother?"

Yusuke blinked, and then grinned, "I was going to say, get me the Reese's cups."

Sota's hand shot back into the vending machine, and she grunted a huffy little, "Yeah, you got it!"

Half an hour later, the bottom half of the vending machine emptied, their pockets overflowing, and Sota's overall's particularly overflowing, the pair marched for home.

"Okay, Tiny, and what do we say if we run into Keiko?" Yusuke prompted.

"I won a market lottery because I'm so damn cute!" Sota sighed, with all the drama of a t.v. actress, "And if that doesn't work, I give her all the Strawberry Yogurt chews."

"There you go kid, 'atta girl!" Yusuke sniggered.

#kazi fanfic #yyh #yu hakusho #sota #yusuke urameshi #sota urameshi #friend's oc