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lacebvnny · 5 months

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- Bound to you, among the flames -

Aemond Targaryen x Female!reader

Summary: Set after Storm's End. You are to marry prince Aemond Targaryen -the killer of your beloved friend Lucerys-, in the old Valyrian way.

Rating: +13, arranged marriage

A/n: Okay, I was pretty unsure to post this one. Keep in mind English is not my first language. Enjoy! Feedback will be appreciated 🥺

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Her feet sank in the softness of the damp sand, and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore tore her attention away from the speech of the monk standing next to her and her husband.

/Hen lantoti ānogar/

No, he wasn't her husband yet. This wasn't a customary wedding, at least not in westerosi tradition. Perhaps that's why the dowager queen let her dissaproval be known and refused her attendance that morning, forcing the solitude and the intimacy in the ceremony to stand out in the vast coast where Aemond decided it would be held.

She cursed him in her mind when the heaviness of her eyelids made the restlessness she had the night before become more evident, as the prince instructed her days prior that she should be present before the break of dawn.

There was a chill in the cold, morning brisk that made her skin shiver, and the flames coming from the fire holders surrounding them weren't enough to warm her.

/Va syndroti vāedroma/

Y/n felt ridiculous, out of place even, when she saw herself wearing the ornamented headpiece and the silky, oversized robe meant for her to use that morning. It wasn't at all what she expected, not in the least close to the frugality of the dress she would be wearing in the evening at the sept.

Isn't this meant to be used only by pure blooded valyrians?, she wondered, but she was well aware that wouldn't be a fact Aemond would let in into his obtuse, stubborn mind.

She even imagined how Aegon the conqueror and his sisters would turn in their graves if they saw them tanting the millennial ritual by binding a Targaryen with a puny westerosi. Hell, even Aegon -the drunkard- laughed his ass off when he received the news of his younger brother being wed to her in the old fashion.

/Mēro perzot gīhoti/

He wore the same muted robe as she did, but this time a heavily decorated eyepatch adorned his angular face, besides the relaxed smirk he had from the second he spotted her moments before she stood next to him.

It was unfair, she thought, how the dressing fitted so well on him, as much as she hated to admit.

The ancient outfit was meant to combine with his valyrian, regal features, and the statuesque demeanor he showed made her feel like a fragile and simple peasant, as if he was a prince who came from the Old Valyria to be bound with her for eternity.

/Elēdroma iārza sīr/

Y/n spotted the pink wine tint on their shoulders and immediately reasoned how it blended together with the warm sky above them, the same as the creamy soft color on the ends of the robe, just like the sand where they stood.

Oh, so this is why he chose the sunrise...

/Izulī ampā perzī/

The lady felt her legs quivering when the monk handed the prince a small knife, but then she recalled how the main point of the ceremony centered around joining their blood together.

Aemond turned to face her, with a reassuring look on his only eye, as if he knew he frightened her by holding the small, glassy weapon. He closed the distance between them and raised her chin with his cold digits as he lifted the dagger near her face.

Hearing him mutter a soft look at me, y/n felt a sharp sting on her bottom lip, which made her eyes water as the cold material left a fresh wound where it slid down.

The Targaryen traced her pillowy lips with his thumb, collecting blood to draw a small figure on her forehead with it.

She didn't understand what it meant, and y/n wished, if he was so adamant on being wed to her, that he could at least had the consideration of taking his time to explain to her the vows the priest spoke in that rich language of theirs, and the blood sigils they were supposed to mark on each other.

/Prūmī lanti sēteksi/

Before she could ponder on the strange words, Aemond grabbed her hand giving her the knife with a determined look on his face, expecting her to do the same to him.

She stepped closer to him and, much to her dismay, her trembling hands dropped the knife to the ground. Y/n felt her face burning with shame and heard a small chuckle coming from the prince standing in front of her.

Asshole, prick, jerk, accursed kinslayer. A whole cascade of insults towards him crescented in her mind.

Clenching her teeth with anger she crouched, swiftly picking up the instrument while holding her headpiece in place to prevent it from falling. She didn't need to embarrass herself any longer that morning.

/Hen jeny māzīlarion/

Y/n held the dagger tightly and she stood on her tiptoes so she could allow herself to reach the towering valyrian, finding balance gripping his upper arm and finally giving him the small cut on his lip.

Aemond had to lower his face for her to draw the bloody symbol on him, and she prayed in her mind she drew the correct figure as she remembered it was.

Once his hand reached hers to take the knife, the knot on her throat tightened almost constrictingly as she observed Aemond giving himself a long slash, feeling immediate nausea when she saw the sanguine fluid pooling on the palm of his hand.

She was certain Aemond probably knew she wouldn't have the courage to cut herself, and proved right when he extended her arm by the wrist firmly to prevent her from pulling it back.

Without warning, the icy steel bit her and y/n flinched in pain, choking a small whimper as Aemond put their hands together intertwining their fingers, almost as if he tried to comfort her.

Her blood mixed with his when her palm rested between his long calloused digits, dripping through the small spaces allowing them to be joined together in this old rite the prince insisted so much to carry out.

The seeping crimson liquid gave his usually cold skin an odd warmth, almost nostalgically so.

/Qēlossa ozūndesi/

The priest approached them continuing his chanting, offering her a wooden cup to drink from. Y/n inspected the small runes carved on it before putting it to her lips and taking some slows sips of what appeared to be spiced wine, with her tongue starting to burn fiercely.

It seemed Aemond wasn't bothered by the fiery sensation after his turn to drink from the cup, his usual calm facade remained intact.

/Syndroro ōñō jēdo/

His feet took a step closer to her, as she tried avoiding the intense stare from his one eye while he slowly leaned down to caress her cheek.

The soft stroke became a strong grip on her jaw, and the prince began closing the distance between them, placing his lips on hers, need and want emanating from the rythm of his breathing.

Much to y/n's surprise, the kiss was soft, slow, maybe too passionate for a religious ceremony as his mouth found hers with boiling desperation, forcing the hotness under her skin rush to her cheeks in seconds.

One of his hands kept her in place while the other found rest in her shoulder, gently tugging at her robe as if he couldn't wait to free her from it.

Nevertheless, y/n had no other choice but to return the kiss, closing her eyes and imagining the one kissing her was the sweet prince who spent his afternoons on the library with her reading about history, and not the murderer who plotted her dear friend's death.

/Ry kīvia mazvestraksi/

She heard Aemond groan softly in frustration when he pulled away, as if he had to refrain himself from claiming her mouth how he truly wanted.

When the priest finished his vows, they both stared at each other while the fires cracked vigorously before being put out.

Y/n was too well aware Aemond could see the fear and rejection in her eyes, unlike him, whose gaze was so ardent it made her shrink into a tight knot of nervousness.

- Our blood is bound together now, Rūs.- he expressed, a hint of excitement blossoming on his voice,- ... I will finally make you mine tonight.

The soft burr from his tone and the lascivous threat almost made her spun on her heels to run away.

- I won't allow you in my bed!- she replied with irritation.

Aemond only chuckled, wearing his usual stance with his arms behind his back.

-Hm... I will be your lord husband once the high septon anoint us with the Seven's blessings, so...- the prince dangerously leans over her, revelling on her anxious state.

I think I'll have the right to do as I want with you.

#aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #mine #aemond one eye #ewan mitchell

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profoundbondfanfic · 6 months

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A Complete Kingdom by komodobits [Explicit, 85k words]

The sea; it swallows me. It comes up to my knees and it swallows me. The boys owe Jody a few dozen favours, and so when her niece goes missing near an old fishing village on the coast of Maine, Dean, Sam, and a newly human Castiel agree to take the case on. They settle into an old abandoned lighthouse-keepers' cottage, and slowly the tide comes in. (post-s8)

Between Love and Agony by Duckyboos [Explicit, 53k words]

Dean Winchester is in love. Like, bonafide heart eyes and deep sighs, hung-the-moon love. There's just one problem: the lucky guy is his husband's identical twin, Castiel. The two of them have been having a kinky affair for years, burrowing under each other’s skin and setting up camp. Which is why, after Castiel goes missing, Dean’s about ready to tear the world apart looking for him. When Castiel eventually returns to him, he’s been through literal hell, managing to drag himself out, bloody and raw, for Dean. Together, they discover a way to make Castiel whole again — though the price will be gruesome... and there will certainly be hell to pay.

Camp by fullvoid [Explicit, 9k words]

It’s 1985 and to say that Dean is relieved when his summer job at the local camp comes to an end would be an egregious understatement. There are about a million different ways he would have rather spent his summer than by being the maladjusted, weird guy that all his coworkers avoid. Nevertheless, in a poor effort to fit in, Dean decides to attend the annual celebration that his fellow counselors organize at the end of every camp season. It isn’t supposed to be anything special, simply a standard party with shitty vodka, late-night skinny dipping, and make-your-ears-bleed soft rock. As it turns out, the hockey-mask-adorned, machete-wielding killer who crashes it has other plans—and no one is prepared for the horrors the night will bring.

et florum magica: (And the Magic of Flowers) by wiccanstiel [Explicit, 52k words]

There’s a large, leafless tree and a road, a hand on a gnarled cane, a stoutly man in a black suit, his face scratched out. When Castiel Novak moves to the small town of Fox Hollow, he’s looking for a fresh start. Only his past seems to be–quite literally–haunting him, and even through his best efforts of settling into his new life, there’s a darkness in the shadows that he can’t seem to shake. And after meeting an otherworldly being named Dean during what was supposed to be a simple walk through the forest, he’s left with more questions than answers. But like it’s residents, Fox Hollow has some well-kept secrets, and things quickly turn to life or death when one of those secrets finally steps from the shadows and into the light.

empty places by dothraki_shieldmaiden [Mature, 71k words]

There’s something outside the house. Something is moving outside the house, moving inside the house. Maybe moving inside him. Something is outside the house, and it wants in. After tragedy derails his life, Castiel Novak needs to escape. He flees to Lawrence, Kansas, where he answers Dean Winchester’s ad for a roommate. There, he tries to mend the shattered pieces of his life. But as he starts to become closer with Dean, Castiel finds that escape isn’t so easy. The past doesn’t want to be left behind, and there’s something inside the house. Something hungry. And it won’t be appeased until it has him.

Good Bones by emmbrancsxx0 [Mature, 39k words]

An apple pie, white picket fence American Nightmare. Dean and Cas, married and semi-retired from hunting, move into their first house together in a sleepy, secluded town. After a few run ins with the ghost that haunts the place, they must come face-to-face with the house's grisly past.

the inexhaustible silence of houses by Askance (doomcountry) [Teen and Up, 31k words]

Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh. But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

Tunnel by deansmultitudes [Explicit, 13k words]

An injury during a hasty job makes Dean, Sam and Cas split up in the underground tunnels. Confused and trapped in a maze of walls that seem to shift at the will of something evil, Dean's frantically searching for his loved ones.

White Noise by saltyfeathers [Mature, 30k words]

in an unnamed, perpetually rainy city on the east coast, something haunts dean and cas’ apartment. they’d like to pretend they don’t know what’s living in the space between them, but feigned ignorance can only keep them above water for so long. something happened nine months ago. something they don’t talk about. but the things people don’t talk about often find ways to speak for themselves, whether dean and cas are ready to pay their dues or not. the rain is an unforgiving entity, and as it continues to pervade the city; as it seeps into their already cold bones, they can feel the ocean rising around them, leaving them choking not on just what happened nine months ago, but what they’ve come to mean to each other since then.

#halloween #destiel #group rec #horror

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effloradox · 11 months

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you need to calm down; billy loomis.

track fourteen of LOVER

pairing: billy loomis x f!reader

synopsis: your soulmate is physically unable to hurt you

words: 2.6k

From what you’ve seen, Woodsboro seems to be a nice enough town. Sure a maniac in a ghost mask running around occasionally killing people is not great, but after living in New York for most of your life you can almost move past that. There’s plenty of weird killers with their own little thing in America, you’re just getting to experience how they do it on the west coast instead of the east coast like you’re used to. A move across the country was extreme, but you’re not gonna question your mother’s way of dealing with her divorce and a fresh start feels like the best move for all of you. As long as you keep your head down and try to get through your senior year, you shouldn’t be staying in Woodsboro for too long anyway. College is calling your name and you’ll be damned if you let the opportunity slip by you because of a cross-country move.

Your number one rule when you started your new school was that you were going to do your level best to avoid potentially meeting your soulmate there. The last thing you needed was something like that distracting you from getting out of the sleepy Californian town you were temporarily calling home, so it stood to reason that if you avoided making friends or speaking to any of your classmates then there was no chance you’d stumble onto that kind of revelation.

That wasn’t as easy as you’d hoped it would be. Maybe it was just small town charm but the girl who’d been assigned to show you around the school had been determined to stop you from being the wallflower you so desperately wanted to be. Casey was lovely, but her attempts to incorporate you into her friend group were starting to wear thin and something about her boyfriend rubbed you the wrong way. They all seemed friendly enough, but sometimes you’d catch Stu or his friend Billy looking at you across the cafeteria or when you’re walking to class and it always felt somewhat unsettling. You’d sent the appropriate awkward smile their way but they never returned it and the whole interaction just left you feeling uncomfortable.

Aside from your somewhat creepy classmates, you’d say you were settling into Woodsboro nicely. Your grades hadn’t slipped during the switch, your mother was settling into her new job and part of you was enjoying the benefit of having a house rather than an apartment. It was nice to have a private garden to enjoy the late summer weather rather than having to go somewhere public for it.

When your mother had said she was going to be at work all night when you’d return home from school and that you’d have the house to yourself, you’d been thrilled. You’d stopped by Blockbuster on your way home from school to rent Clueless, picked up some popcorn, and you were all set to spend the night doing homework in front of the tv by yourself. You’d finished the movie and had started to have a quick nap when the ring of your house phone had jolted you from your sleep. The nap had left you disoriented and you’d been slower than usual in your journey to grab the phone and it was just before you reached it that the ringing abruptly stopped.

A frustrated groan bubbled in your throat at the wasted energy, though you couldn’t help but be slightly anxious that it had been your mother calling and now you’d be getting into a fight with her when she finished her shift at the hospital for making her worry. You sighed before grabbing the phone and heading back to the couch, your good mood fizzling. You grabbed the biology textbook you’d been using for homework off the couch and decided to make your way upstairs, double checking the lock on the front door before you did. After hearing about the double murder a few days ago, you couldn’t be too careful about making sure you didn’t make yourself an easy target.

You fell back onto your bed easily enough, tossing the phone onto the desk next to your bed. Hopefully if it was your mother that called she’d just assume you’d already gone to sleep.

You’d just started to drift off to sleep again when the phone rings again. This time you can’t help but curse aloud at the terrible timing before reaching over and grabbing the device.

“Hello?” You wait for a moment for a response but when nothing comes you feel a prick of anxiety bubbling inside you. “Mom, is that you?” There’s silence for another few beats and you’re on the verge of hanging up on whoever’s on the other side when they finally decide to speak up.

“No it’s not your mother.”

“Who the hell is it then?”

“Well that’s not very polite, is it?” The snide remark catches you off guard, and you falter slightly at how aggressive the voice turned.

“Who is this?”

“Are you home alone right now?”

“If this is a prank call, it isn’t funny.” You move the phone away from your head and you were just about to hang up when the voice speaks again.

“If you hang up, your bitch mother is going to die.” The threat makes you freeze, and your finger hovers over the end call button but you can’t bring yourself to press it.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Don’t you know that no one ever answers that question? The fun would be over too soon if I did.”

“What do you want?”

“You’ll see.” Before you can respond, the person on the other end hangs up on you. As the dial tone filled your eyes, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat on edge about the whole situation. The rumours going around your school were that the two students who had been killed a few days earlier had received some creepy phone calls in the days leading up to their murders and, whilst you don’t know if that’s completely true, the mystery voice on the end of the phone had done nothing to put you at ease. You tried to settle back down and get some sleep until your mother got home but sleep now seemed to be avoiding you.

You’d just managed to settle yourself down enough to relax when you thought you heard something downstairs. Part of you wanted to chalk it up to your nerves over the phone call but you couldn’t put off the idea that it sounded like heavy footsteps. You sat up once more, and made your way over to your bedroom door. You rested an ear against it, and when you were met with silence you couldn’t help but feel like you’re just being paranoid at that point. You closed your eyes and sighed, resting your head fully against the door. That was when you heard the creak of one of the stairs and your eyes shot wide open. The third one always creaked if you stood in the centre of it, your mom had mentioned fixing it when you were settled and just hadn’t gotten around to it, and the two of you were the only ones that had been in the house since you’d moved. That meant someone was in the house and it wasn’t your mother. You backed away slowly from the door, eyes darting around the room to look for anything you could potentially use as a weapon. Your eyes finally landed on a pair of scissors on your desk, and you grabbed them along with the landline. You lowered yourself to the ground, dialling 911 quickly. When the steady dial tone met your ears you cursed, whoever it was had cut the fucking phone line. You heard the footsteps make it to the top of the stairwell, coming to a top somewhere on the hallway.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” The synthetic voice made you jump, especially since it sounded so close to your bedroom door. The idea that they know there’s someone home scares you even more, and your mind immediately jumps to the double murder that happened a few days prior. You’ve only been here for two months, how the fuck have you managed to land on a serial killer’s radar in two months?

A kick on your bedroom door yanks you out of your thoughts, and you let out a quiet yelp. You immediately move to cover your mouth, praying to any god that will listen to you that whoever’s outside your door didn’t hear you. You thought you heard the steps moving further down the hallway, and you thought you might have been in the clear, but when another kick lands on your door, you know they heard you. You scramble to your feet, lifting the scissors into a defensive position, and try to calm yourself enough that if you go down, you’ll be damned if you don’t go down without a fight.

A final, well aimed kick at your door sends it swinging into your room, and you finally get to see the person that’s broken into your house. The white mask is in stark contrast to the full body black robe that they’re decked in, but it does a very good job of unsettling you. They step into the room, their head lowering slightly as they take in the sight of you holding the scissors. They look back up, their head tilting slightly.

“There you are. I was afraid you’d left before the party started.” They step towards you, and you take a step back. This continues for a few more steps until you feel the edge of your desk pressing into your back. When you take the final step back, the edge of the desk now flush against your back, it occurs to you that you might never leave this room again. When the masked figure took another step forward, finally beginning to close the gap between the two of you, you grip the scissors even tighter, feeling like you’ve brought a knife to a gun fight.

“Stay back or I’ll scream!” The figure tilts their head to the side slightly in a mocking imitation of confusion before shrugging and walking towards you. You lift the scissors and try to stab them into your assailant’s shoulder but they’re quick to grab your arms and soon enough the scissors are pulled from your grip and thrown across the room. It’s clear they're ready for a fight and it doesn’t take long for you to be forced to the ground, a hand over your mouth to muffle your desperate attempts at calling for help. It’s when they pull a knife out and wave it tauntingly in front of your face that you start crying. It only makes them laugh as they move it closer and closer to you.

You wait for the feeling of the knife pressing against your neck, eyes closing involuntarily, but to your surprise the sensation never comes. You can feel how close it is to your neck but the pressure of it digging into your skin never comes. Your eyes flutter open and you can see the knife in your peripheral vision, and it looks like your assailant is trying to move it closer to you but doesn’t seem to be doing so. You can't help the confusion on your face, and you get the impression that they’re not just taunting you this time for some reason.

“What the fuck?” The momentary confusion of the man above you gives you time to catch him off guard and you finally push him backwards and onto the floor, knocking him off you for long enough that you pull yourself away from him and stagger to your feet. The adrenaline continues to course through your body as you force yourself to head for the stairs. You turned the final corner at the bottom of the stairs, beelining for the door, when a pair of arms appeared around you from nowhere. A scream slipped out of your mouth in surprise, but it quickly ended when you felt the edge of a knife pressed against the base of your neck.

“You open your mouth again and I’ll gut you from groin to sternum.” As you feel the knife start to dig further into the flesh of your neck, you can’t help but let out a pained whine, not daring to move lest the masked figure decide he’s had enough of just toying with you. You can vaguely hear heavy footsteps upstairs over the beating of your heart that’s pounding in your ears but it’s hard to focus on anything when you can feel the pressure of the knife and what feels like blood dripping down your neck.

“Stu, stop!” The figure you’d pushed off yourself upstairs finally stumbled towards the two of you, and it takes your brain a moment to process what he said. Woodsboro’s a small town, and there’s only one person you’ve met with that name. The man holding you recoils from the use of his name and takes the knife away from your neck to point it at his accomplice.

“What the fuck Billy?” Oh fuck. Your creepy classmates are the people slaughtering people? You’re trying to come to terms with the fact they’re definitely going to kill you now they’ve revealed who they are to you when Billy speaks again and what he says makes the world stop spinning for one reason and makes it shift on its axis for another.

“I can’t hurt her dickwad!” The man holding you seems to jolt at that, though his grip doesn’t loosen around you. You react in a similar fashion, looking up at the masked figure on the stairs with what you can only describe as growing horror. The man holding you seems to falter and when he speaks, it’s less certain than what it was when he was threatening you.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” The arm around your body retracts as if he’d been burned, and with no support you feel yourself falling to the ground, unable to hold yourself up after all the adrenaline that had been rushing through you seems to have evaporated instantly at the revelation that your soulmate tried to kill you. You let out a whine at the pain that comes from your knees whilst the two men stand in silence, seemingly just staring at each other. The one behind you speaks first.

“What do we do?”

“I’m not sure. We can’t kill her.”

“But if she knows?”

“She’s not gonna snitch on us, are you honey?” Both heads finally turn to face you as the atmosphere immediately becomes terse. The pet name coming from the filtered voice makes you flinch but you shake your head.

“If she does…” The threat goes unfinished but the figure on the stairs jolts into action at it, shoving the man standing behind you into the wall at the bottom of your stairwell.

“Lay off dickhead!”

“Ow! Billy! What the fuck man?” Your soulmate finally pulls off the ghost face mask, revealing a face filled with malice as he presses Stu harder into the wall. The taller man protests louder, also pulling off his mask.

“I’ll handle it. Now get out of here.” The unspoken threat hung in the air as Stu grumbled to himself, pulling the Ghostface costume over his head and making his way to the back door. Both you and Billy watch him until the back door slams shut, and the two of you are finally alone.

He finally turns to face you, and the grin he sends your way is scarier than any expression he’d aimed at Stu. “So soulmate, we have a lot of catching up to do.”

#sorry to out myself as a Billy fan 😔#my writing #billy loomis x reader #ghostface x reader #fem!reader #lover

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gxbbyhoneybadger · 1 year

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The Jade Viper

Pairing: John Wick x !F!Reader

Summary: A deadly ninja assassin was eliminating countless of targets all over the West Coast then Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Japan, China and now last heard of in Tokyo. John Wick was given the task to hunt down the Ninja who went by the name of the Jade Viper, not knowing that he was it's next target to strike. But he soon is rewarded when he decides to spare the assassin's life, never thinking he'd find someone so capable of brutality, attacks, relentlessness, and. . . emotions like her.

Warnings: violence, adult language, dog fights and attacks, guns, mentions of blood, suggestive adult themes, sexual tension if you squint, death threats.

Minors DNI 🔞 below the cut

Nothing was known of the Green Snake, the emerald eyed killer, the Jade Viper. It had many names, many myths and legends about it's skills and combat. John has heard of many things from this assassin, but he's never seen him once.

He was preparing to pack very few things before his leave to Tokyo to hunt down the Viper, he approached his door after exiting his car. But he heard a glass break within his home, he instantly grabbed his gun and slowly snuck his way towards the area, quietly heading into the dark room.

It was late at night and the lights were shut off, he flipped the lights on and saw a broken glass cup on the counter. He held up his gun and slowly walked while scouting the room. He then faltered when he saw an elegant woman sitting on the couch, her legs crossed and a glass cup in her delicate hand as she tipped the alcohol beverage towards her luscious lips. She was wearing a white shower robe, showing off her fresh cleaned legs and thigh while her wet hair rested on her shoulder.

She lowered the glass and gulped the liquid down, letting a small hum flow from her vocals. "It's been so long since I've tasted this. . . Reminds me of my youthful days back with my siblings." Her voice said.

"Who are you? Why're you here?. . . And why are you wearing my robe?" He questioned her, still not lowering his gun from her. A sigh left her lips as she placed the drink on the table while standing up.

"I think you know, John. You've heard about me. The one that cannot be seen. The one who hides within the shadows. Plenty of nicknames, although I'm quite fond of the Viper one. . ." She replied—straying closer towards him, clenched his gun while staring at her face. Showing that he'd shoot her if she tried anything if she dared move any closer. "John, put the gun down." She said. John ignored her order and added a bit more pressure on the trigger, but it did nothing to phase her.

She sighed and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. "John. . . John, John, John. . . You just don't listen. If I were you, I'd just toss the gun and accept the inevitable fate. It's not everyday that I use someone's own shower to rinse off the blood of my enemies, and quite honestly, I don't want to ruin this robe of yours with your own blood. I find it quite comfortable to wear, I might just keep it." A seductive grin pulled at the corner of her lips while her eyes were trained on his.

John could see the scars riddled across her collarbone, and even a glimpse of more on her left thigh that was revealed by the loose robe. "I suppose you are used to fighting. . . I'm interested in your skills, perhaps I'll use them to remember you by." She added—suddenly, quicker than a blink of an eye, she raised her left foot and side kicked the gun out of his hands.

He didn't react fast enough; he was slammed against the wall by her arm pressing up against his throat. But she just held him there as her thigh unintentionally pressed in between his own. "Hm, I don't think I should fight in a shower robe, a bit unprofessional, don't you think?" She asked him with a glimmer in her eyes.

"Am I supposed to say yes?" John choked out with the pressure of her arm against his windpipe. She chuckled before letting him breathe—stepping away as she turned towards the stairway. "I'll be down in less than a minute." She said while ascending the steps.

John reached for his gun again before, "No guns, John." Her voice chimed in from the upper floor. But he didn't listen to her words and picked it up anyway, it was already cocked as he aimed it at the stairway. Finger on the trigger and ready to fire once she showed herself. He heard shuffling and a small foreign lullaby she hummed to herself, but that all went silent after a few more seconds.

"You really don't like to listen, don't you?" She whispered in his ear from behind him; he almost jumped out of his body before feeling a cold blade at his throat. She somehow miraculously snuck around and appeared behind him with a dagger at his neck. And he didn't even hear her, or sense her for that matter.

"John, is there any final words you'd want to say?" She wondered aloud. John lowered his gun—she took it out of his hands and tossed it towards the couch. Her warm breath on the back of his neck, blowing through his raven locks as she waited. "There's one thing that you should know." He muttered.

"And what's that?"

"I have a dog." A sudden bark was heard from her side as a pitbull charged at her, John grabbed her wrist and disarmed her knife as the dog leapt at her. Before another dog leapt out from the open window, her own dog, named Bones, attacked his pitbull, named Bubba.

The pitbull was against a German shepherd, while John was against the Jade Viper. John blocked her punch then her elbow hit; John was taken back by the attack, he retaliated by blocking a kick by her right leg. He grabbed her calf and attempted to grab her neck—which backfired when she punched his throat and rammed her knee into his chest. John stumbled back from the harsh hit, ducking in time to dodge her punch which hit the wall—she wound up punching a hole into the wall instead of him.

She reeled in her right leg and back kicked his stomach when he charged at her from behind. She turned and ran at him, using his knee to jump on with her left foot and push upwards—drawing her right knee up and into his chin; He managed to foil her plans and fall backwards and miss the strike, she landed on the ground and a frustrated sigh escaped her. "You are good, for now." She huffed.

John looked at his gun before she kicked it away, clicking her tongue as she slowly shook her head, "No guns, John. Just hand to hand." He stood as he heard the dogs barking and snarling, both canines beginning to shift their attention towards their respective owners.

John, this time punched at her, she avoided his hits and grabbed his wrist—this time running and jumping off the wall to wrap her legs around his shoulders. Making the two fall onto the ground as her legs began to constrict around his throat as she pulled his arm. Coiling around like a snake does it's prey. John reached out for the dagger on the floor, but gave up when he was beginning to feel faint.

He fought to remove her legs, but she didn't give in. Before Bubba snatched at her hand. She retaliated by lifting her leg and kicking the dog in the head—John snapped and grabbed her arm. Pulling her close to his chest as he wrapped his arm around her throat; Bones jumped onto Bubba and tackled him into the living room.

John managed to stand as he continued to choke her—she didn't panic, instead she reached behind his head before throwing her body down and pulling him over her shoulder and back on the ground. She quickly went to straddle him but grunted when she realized that he had cuffed her hand onto a rail; he punched her side and she kicked at his chest—she jumped and snapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer and so he couldn't move. But he got ahold of his gun and shoved it below her jaw—she paused as he stared at her.

The dogs went silent, and so did their scuffling. She let her head gently lean on the wall as she watched him, letting her free hand fall to her side and off his neck. "You. . . actually beat me. . . You've won. . ." She said, ". . . Make me suffer. . ." She muttered while closing her eyes.

John understood what she had meant, she wanted him to take his time to end her. Make her suffer a painful and slow death. He knew she was deadly, just from her sneaking around his house faster than he could, from her sudden kicks and hits, her different and foreign techniques of combat. But he didn't understand why she gave up now.

She opened her eyes when she felt him remove his gun from her—instead leaning against the opposite side of the wall and sliding down to sit. She watched him as he sighed, "Why didn't you kill me?"

John closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, "I was supposed to. . . But I don't want to." Her eyes widened at his answer, she stood up straight.

"You're. . . sparing my life? Even after you've won?" She inquired with shock. John opened his eyes to look at her face, he could read the glimmer of regret in her eyes as she waited.

"Yes, even if you might kill me in my sleep."

"No! . . . No, no. . . You. . . You spared my life, and for that, I am forever in your debt. It's my clan's tradition to whomever manages to overcome our strengths and still have the courage to spare us another day. . . You can see how rare that is." She muttered; she called her dog to her side.

The two dogs came shuffling out from the living room, both carrying a dog rope in both their mouths. They were playing tug of war the entire time. Barely any injuries on either of them; she looked at John and bowed her head. "I've never met an opponent who managed to outsmart my ways, or have the decency to spare me, Mr. Wick." She said.

John didn't believe this was happening, at first it was clear she was prepared and dedicated to slit his throat open. But now she was bowing her head in submission and pledging her loyalty to him. "Even when I was after your head, you still decide to let me live. Thank you."

"Why are you saying this?" He questioned. She lifted her head and looked at him, he saw her entire demeanor shift from cocky and seductive, to sincere and genuine.

"Because it was how I was raised, a strict code of honor. If one chooses to spare your life, you must live protecting his life. Many of my brothers and sisters were killed by our Grandmaster, or their enemies who did not spare them a chance of redemption. I am one of very few left, and one of the rarest ones to serve such a respectable warrior as yourself, John Wick. Whatever you say, I shall do in honor of my code and your life. I'll be your shield and your sword whenever you need it. I owe you my life." She said.

John looked at Bubba then her dog. "Why were you killing all those people?" He asked her. She closed her eyes and craned her neck to rest against the wall.

"Because it was all I could ever do. . . I only went after those I saw as a threat, you were one of them. . . But now, I see it differently. You're dangerous, yes. A threat, yes, but. . . You have a strong heart, different than others. . . Now, I must do whatever I can to keep you safe." She added, "Even if it means dying for your honor."

Her eyes opened when he stood to pet his dog. He looked at her and said, "What's your name?" She grinned and glanced at the floor.

"My name is Y/n." Y/n said.

"Where do you live?"

"Nowhere. . ."

John looked at his staircase before back at her. "I guess you already got comfortable, taking a shower, my robe, drinks, and all. You can reside here."

A smile grew on her lips, "The closer I am to you, the better I can keep you safe." She said. She then removed her hand from the unlocked cuff, John's eyes widened at the moment. ". . . I can pick locks too. That's how I got in here."

John grinned as he brushed his hair back, "I think you're going to be a great roommate."

______________________________________

#john wick #smutwarning #fanfic #john wick smut #slow burn #keanu x reader #keanu fan #keanu my beloved

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haunted-headset · 7 months

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hello, my dears!

things i adore <3

credits to @daydream-of-a-wallflower for the blog layout idea!

#writing blog #announcement #updates

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dispatchvampire · 4 months

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Accidentally In Love (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 2200-ish.

Summary:

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 1

Five miles at a time. Everything in the early morning hours was measured five miles at a time for Echo Nerys and her trusty mountain bike. From 6:30 to 8AM give or take, she was a glittery purple streak on a circuit through Central Park from end to end that she’d measured precisely both for distance and scenic value. The moment she left her job at NYPD Central Dispatch at 6AM, she was changed and on the bike, ready to go. She even had an appropriately timed playlist on Spotify.

She’d started as early in the spring as the weather allowed for, in her long compression pants and jacket, getting her face chapped as she and her body remembered what it felt like to be on two wheels and free. A figure in all black in the early hours of the morning fast enough to pedal past the majority of the criminal element and yet still taking hits off her asthma bong when she paused to get drinks from her backpack.

Now, though, with the summer slowly stretching out down the coast, she’d tied up her puff pigtails and ditched her all black for the wildly purple tie-dyed bike shorts, sports bra, and tank top, all matching, because why not and her favorite pair of sunglasses that made her look like a trained killer. Even her earbuds were purple. There were some who said she didn’t really have the body for the tightly clinging gear, but fuck those people, she was going to be comfortable and safe while she worked out and they didn’t have to look if it offended them. Her body, not-toned stomach, thick thighs and semi-floppy arms, was her own and had been through many of its own wars, and she could wear what made her happy.

She’d picked up riding the previous summer and had taken it inside for the duration of the winter, riding in the basement gym of 1PP, but she didn’t have a whole lot to show for it physically other than shaplier calves and slightly thinner thighs. She wasn’t in it for the way she looked, but how good it felt to finally move after being sick and stuck with her joint pain for so long. Now that her meds were mostly managed, she was hell on two wheels, six days a week if she could manage, five if she wanted to go easy on it, and it felt amazing.

On her pace, she saw herself coming up on a group of joggers just cresting the hill, the tallest among them, a hottie from the Homicide Squad, Donnie Flack. All black-haired, blue-eyed Irish, he was every dispatcher’s crush and untouchable as a museum piece because of his wife in the Coroner’s Office. No one wanted to test a forensic scientist’s ability to exact revenge. It was just poor planning. And he was such a sweetheart, it was impossible not to be his friend.

“On ya left!” she hollered out as she approached the group, powering up the hill despite the way her knees screamed and her thighs burned. It was the principle of the thing, really, as she stood on her pedals and waved as she sailed past them with a jaunty grin. Now that she’d caught up to them, she saw it was a couple other guys from Homicide and one of the guys from down in Trace Evidence.

“Lookin’ good, E!” Danny Messer, Flack’s whip-thin, mouthy bestie from Crime Scene Investigations, hollered back with a huge grin and a wave as Donnie stuck his fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistled. Messer was good people, and his wife was a doll. Echo lived in their building a couple floors down and had babysat their kids more than a couple times.

Once she was out of sight, she concentrated on her speed according to the handlebar speedometer and focused on her Beastie Boys as she took the path around the edge of the Jackie O Reservoir. It was so beautiful, with duck families out in force, moms with their collections of babies trailing behind. The water made the air feel a bit cooler as the wind rushed over her skin as she progressed toward the Butterfly Garden.

Next up on her list of gorgeous sights was the two guys in front of her that she’d dubbed Hotness 1 and Hotness 2. She passed them a few times on her rides, most mornings. Hotness 1 was tall like Donnie, but broader, with muscles upon muscles. He looked like an escapee from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, if Galatea had been 6’3” and blonde with cornflower blue eyes and an ass that would have reduced Michaelangelo to abject weeping.

Hotness 2 wasn’t any easier on the libido, with his blue-grey peepers and long dark hair he kept in a bun at his neck to go with his panty-melting smile and muscles. His bangs broke free of their confinement framing his face as they drifted over his model-perfect cheekbones and brushed against his sharp jawline. Not that she’d been ogling. Much.

Alone, they were the kind of flawless that caused traffic jams. Both of them together was an obscenity charge waiting to happen in their running shorts and sinfully well-fitting t-shirts, and more than one jogger—both male and female—had pulled up lame, run into a tree, or tripped over their own feet watching them go by.

“On ya left!” she called as she approached them, smiling as they waved when she flew by. If she happened to be standing on the pedals and sticking her ass out a bit more than was strictly necessary, well, could anyone blame her? Really? Besides, their smiles and waves of acknowledgement were totally worth it.

Just past The Loch was the Glen Span Arch, which always felt like a fairy garden to Echo. A stone bridge over the asphalt path with the stream running next to it and abundant trees, it was easy to imagine falling into a rabbit hole like Alice diving into Wonderland and never coming back. With the sun dappling through the leaves, it was here she felt like she was the only person in the world and life was perfect.

At least it was, until a grizzly bear in a blue shirt and black shorts descended into her path from down the hill. Echo hit the brakes so hard the back tire came up off the path and ditched out on the bike to keep from hitting him. She went one way and flung the bike the other, doing her best to guard her face and head from what would likely be a hard hit.

“Fuckshit!”

It was over in a second, she was in the creek, soaked to the bone on some very hard and unforgiving rocks that were currently poking into her ribs and hip, with no idea where her bike was. Or her sunglasses. Or phone. Taking inventory from toes upward, she was happy to report that for the most part, she’d likely sustained bruises but otherwise, she’d live. At least, until she tried to push herself up and her hand slipped on the wet rocks, sending her face first into the flowing water.

“Ah Christ! Hold on!” a deep, unfamiliar male voice hissed as he hooked his hands under her arms and bodily lifted her from the stream. Literally picked her up like a discarded toy, and like she weighed just as little, cradling her to his surprisingly firm and muscular chest. “I got you, sweetheart.” If she wasn’t so busy reeling from the hit and sputtering from the water coming out of her sinuses, his warm, rumbling voice as he brushed his lips over her temple would have definitely done the job. “I gotchu, darlin’. Are you okay?”

“I think so?” Echo took a second to compose herself after he set her on her feet with his arm protectively around her waist, scrubbing a hand down her face to deal with the water and unfortunately blood coming from sore spots on the bridge of her nose and her chin. When she looked up from her bloody hand, she wondered exactly how hard she’d been hit in the head, because in front of her was the concerned face of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, looking her over like she was the most delicate bone china and he’d just yeeted it off the dining room table. He cupped her jaw in his hand, thumb gently brushing over her cheekbone, it was familiar and more than a little terrifying. Who the hell was this guy and why the hell was he touching her?

At her tiny, horrified squeak, his blue eyes widened, looking over his shoulder at his friend, Hotness 2, who had a cell phone pressed to his ear. “This is your fault, ya jerk. You plannin’ on helpin’ or what?”

The grey-eyed Adonis with the long dark hair held up a strangely metal-looking finger and spoke tersely into the phone before hanging up and coming over to them with a disgruntled look on his face for his friend. “Medics inbound. Settle down, Stevie.” The moment those steel-blue eyes turned on her, though, it could have been the sole cause of global warming because damn, if she didn’t melt a little on the spot from their tenderness. “I am so sorry, dollface. I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

When he reached for her face to examine her bloody chin, she recoiled out of reflex, not fear, but unfortunately that was the moment that everything went to shit for the second time in ten minutes.

“NYPD! Step away from her!” Flack had his gun out and his badge around his neck, with Danny doing the same as he cautiously approached her with the rest of the heavily armed, sweaty contingent. Apparently Tall, Dark, and Yummy wasn’t moving fast enough because then Donnie barked, “Now, asshole! Move away from her or I’ll shoot.”

Both hands up and out to the side, 2 stepped back, eyes never leaving the gun trained on him. “You don’t wanna do this, pal.” He seemed amusingly calm, which made about as much sense to her as any of the rest of this, which was none at all. Blondie slowly straightened up further but kept an arm around her waist to hold her up.

The very fact that the man spoke seemed to incense her friend further. “You think I give a fuck about your opinion?”

“Hey, that’s not necessary…” The man standing with her gave her a reassuring squeeze before stepping over to stand with his friend.

With them occupied, Danny crept up next to her and moved her off to the side, surrounded by the rest of the guys from Homicide and Evidence. “She’s secure, Flack.”

“Good.” The detective nodded before turning his attention back to his quarry. “Now what the fuck were you doing feeling up an injured woman? You get off on that?”

Hotness 1 was all calmly defiant righteousness, standing shoulder to shoulder with his buddy. “We called a medic for her, they should be here in a couple minutes. We weren’t looking and didn’t see her on the path until it was too late.”

“This true, Echo?” Danny asked softly as he gently seated her on a nearby boulder and seemed to be checking her over for more injuries than just her face and her pride.

She went to nod but that rattled her head too much. “Yeah, Messer. I guess. It was just a regular crash. My fault as much as theirs, really. No real harm done.”

Frowning ferociously, Flack clearly was not content with her answer. “IDs, I want ‘em. Now.”

Blondie nodded slowly, alarmingly unperturbed about having a .40 caliber pistol pointed at his face. “Front right pocket. You wanna get it or should I?”

“Don’t get us shot, Stevie,” the longhaired man admonished his friend. From his long-suffering expression, this was apparently not the first time this type of thing had happened to either of them.

Rolling his eyes, Flack held out his hand. “Alright, smartass, wallets now.”

While the Homicide Hottie (as they called him in Dispatch) held court with her two new acquaintances, the ambulance rolled up and the medics began cleaning her wounds and checking her over as her worried neighbor stood guard over her. The last thing she wanted or needed was stitches and additional facial scars, but it looked like she might not get a choice in the matter.

“Messer! Get over here!” The note of concern in the detective’s voice had her looking over immediately, only to find all the guns put away and all their postures seemed substantially less aggressive, though no less agitated.

“Ma’am, could you hold still please?” The female medic with the gentle hands turned her face so she could clean the wounds better.

She didn’t know if it was the movement or what, but all of a sudden, she was going down, hard. The last thing she remembered was the ground rushing up to meet her. Again.

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honeymoonswan · 29 days

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heyy girlyy (heard u were bored)

do u have any movie or music recommandations ? i really need something new… love u 🫶🏻

Yayyy I love this question 🎀

Just was sitting with my mom to make a list and here's it :

Movies

The love witch

Black swan

Literally every Sofia Coppola movie and if u didn't like them come and kill me istg

Almost famous

Daydream nation

Paris ,Texas

Mulholland drive

Georgia rule

Layla 4 ever

Scarface

The wolf of wall street

Bring it on (every movie, it was literally my childhood lol)

Lisa Frankenstein

Femme fatale

Babylon ( I'd die to watch it for the first time again )

Fresh (if u like it u need therapy btw I love it lol)

Once upon a time in hollywood

Pulp fiction

True romance

Ghost (my mom recommended that for u lol)

Every gean luc Godard movie cuz it's the true art of cinema I adore him and I finished every movie of his, he's basically Sofia Coppola for 60s French sad girls

Roman Holiday

Some like it hot

Daisies

Lolita

The crush 1993

The witch 2015

Bonnie and Clyde 1967 ( the best movie ever)

Big eyes

A walk to remember ( my mom forced me to watch it at 8 because I didn't like the idea of love )

The hating game

Last night in soho (ate)

American psycho (super girly movie)

Pearl and x and maxxxine is gonna be out on July (fav movie after love witch)

Dark shadows and a cure of wellness and scary stories to tell in the dark ( I watched them at 7 no wonder why I'm the most lana del rey insane girl ever plus lana sang in the last movie)

Blue velvet

Ready or not

Carrie 1976( mom forced me to watch it at 8 ig and that's why I hate people)

500 days of summer (so scary )

Fight club

The craft

Red eye (Cillian Murphy supermercy and fuck I watched it while I was alone at home and it turned out my whole personality which leads me to love ultraviolence)

Practical magic

Aquamarine

Closer

The breakfast club

Gone girl (my mom is on Amy's husband side so don't think she's cool or something)

Girl interrupted

Dirty dancing 1987

Funny face

Sabrina

The notebook (my father cried to this movie 💀)

Monte carlo

Mean Girls

Jennifer's body ( istg I watched it at 9 and I think it left something for lesbianism inside me)

American beauty

Grease (born to die coded)

Clueless

Freaky Friday

Breakfast at Tiffany's

The great Gatsby (if u liked daisy u need help)

How to lose a guy in 10 days

Uptown girls

Malena

Gilda

Valley of the dolls

Rebecca

Vertigo

La prima notte di quiete

Songs

Atomic by blondie

Don't you forget about me by simple mind

Favorite by Isabel la rosa

I like the way you kiss me by artemas

So American by Olivia Rodrigo

Let it happen by tame impala

Radioactive by marina

We r who we r by kesha

Rumors by Lindsay lohan

Et tu dance avec Lui by c.jérôme

Girls on film by Duran duran

Baby I love you by Ramones

La fin du monde by juniore

Champagne coast by blood orange

Dear society by Madison beer (is on Lana's instagram highlights)

Every breath you take by the police

You can never tell by chuck berry

Ladyfingers by herb alpert

Heavy metal lover by Lady gaga

Killer queen by Queen

Bambino by dalida

Gourmandises by alizée

Somebody to love by Leighton Meester

Uptown girl by Billy Joel

À touts les filles (I forgot by who)

Mon amour mon Amie (forgot by who)

Monster high fright song

Tu veux ou tu veux pas by Brigitte bardot

And literally every lana song and the Lizzy grant unreleased

Literally gave u the best work ever mwahh 💋🎀

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sarahphantom1234 · 1 year

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Octavinelle x Reader

Warning: Yandere, OOC, Thalassophobia.

_________________

From a young age, I did not like the sea.

Or sea creatures.

I'M afraid of it.

The feeling of being pressed deeply, hearing nothing, the liquid suffocating, invading the mind, thinking that it has become a corpse for the sea monsters to eat, it is not pleasant. little bit.

I admire divers, sailors... Or simply people who like to swim.

Because of that, when I came to the new world, to the new school called Night Raven College, I was disgusted with the sea creatures of the Octavinelle family, even though they were only a few, very few.

But because of that, the Leech twins often came to talk to me, and I did nothing but bow my head to avoid looking at their sharp teeth.

When I saw it, I thought that my own body had been bitten in half, the blood was wide and patched everywhere, and a little bit of consciousness felt the pain of dying over and over again, then being swallowed. gobble.

I fear them.

I tried to hide from those two as much as I could.

But maybe it only works a few times.

They could find me anywhere, and so I was dragged to Mostro Lounge.

I heard that the head of Octavinelle's house was an octopus, named Azul Ashengrotto, imagining those proboscis squeezing me, I shivered with fear.

But what's wrong with that senior Azul? Every time he saw me, he blushed, even if it was fleeting, and then faced me like a gentleman.

I don't really care, I'm uncomfortable or "afraid" around them, but I still respect them.

Respect like the seniors.

Just like that, ticking and ticking, as time passed, I thought they would get bored, but maybe I was wrong, they liked me even more than before.

Just dragging me around, going back and forth at Mostro Lounge, I'm so bored.

But miraculously, they asked me to go to the beach to play, I quickly refused, after that time, I also tried to hide from them more.

Maybe this time because I was determined to be very careful, so whenever I met their silhouette, I would run- hide or run very fast.

Just like that, I kept on hiding, the last time I hid was around recess, because of that I left my friends and ran away, I immediately hid in a bush, crouched down. To fit the shade of the tree, cover your mouth to keep from making a sound.

I feel the chill shivering, but isn't the weather warm right now? Sneaking a little glance, the first thing I saw were sharp eyes searching for me, I was very panicked, quickly turned my head, restrained myself to stop shaking, those eyes, the eyes of ocean killers.

I swear I don't want anything to do with them, I'm telling the truth.

The flashback is enough, now I guess I have to focus on my studies as well.

So fast! It's already evening, I have only a simple dark clothes, the dim moonlight makes one's mind hazy, there are glittering stars, fresh air, how strange it looks...

I walked slowly to the coast, the golden sand caressed like a kiss on the soles of my feet, I felt all my senses, my eyes saw the calm sea, my ears listened to melodious voices like the lyre of the poet Orpheus.

But why, I can't control? My feet keep going, follow that voice and forget the way back, fear screams, but why won't my body listen?

Or is it because the songs seem to be separate but harmonize?

Oh, please make me deaf now, even if I trade the best song, I won't be content to go down to that terrible ocean.

I say that, but I still go, close to the sea, the wind creates a wave that cools my feet, what do I see in my eyes now?

Twin brothers in mermaid form and Azul sunbae wiggle their tentacles.

They raised their hands for me to catch, then gently pulled me under the sea.

My head is sinking, so deep...

They stopped singing, I was able to move too, my body moved, but they held me tight, my strength was not enough.

Just as my oxygen was running low, I tried to look up at the faint light of the moon.

Do not!

I beg you!

I bow to you!

Please don't take away my last hope, please remove the tentacles wrapped around my eyes, please don't whisper those words in my ears!

I'd rather be a flower forgotten on the side of the road, let people push and pedal.

Or vow to become a bird with its wings broken, waiting for Death to take it away.

Please don't force me to take that medicine, even though my eyes are covered, but I feel that my legs are glued together like glue, the itchy skin is gradually becoming painful, something is sticking out of the skin. mine!

I screamed, I could breathe underwater. No! This is what I fear the most, becoming a mermaid!

The tentacles on my eyes are removed, what do they show me? The fishtail with its silvery glittering scales.

I don't want to! I don't want to be the animal I fear the most, I don't want to be like the fairy tales tell, live more than 300 years and the soul becomes a sponge, please give back my eternal soul!

They pulled me deeper, and deeper, so much so that I couldn't see the moonlight shining down on this blue sea...

I wish it was all just a dream.

#yandere x reader #yandere octavinelle #Yandere Octavinelle x reader #DTW #dtw #Disney Twisted Wonderland #yandere dtw #yandere dtw x reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst azul #twst mc #twst floyd #twst jade

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northernnaturalist · 1 year

Text

Type D killer whales are the enigmas of the orca world.

They look unlike any other killer whale—their minuscule eye patches and bulbous melons are traits that are unique to them, and make them readily identifiable.

Despite their conspicuous appearance, type D killer whales are seen very infrequently. They live in the circumpolar waters of the Southern Ocean, in regions notorious for rough seas and foul weather, such as the Drake Passage. For this reason, they are seen by very few, mainly tour ships transiting to Antarctica and fishermen aboard longline vessels.

Discovered during a mass stranding in New Zealand in 1955, type D killer whales are not well understood by scientists. There are a handful of papers published on the ecotype, including one study that analyzed the genetics of a very old museum sample from the 1955 stranding. They found that type Ds diverged from other killer whales approximately 390,000 years ago, and share their most recent common ancestor with transient killer whales, another form of killer that split off many thousands of years ago.

Are type D killer whales a distinct species? That question has yet to be answered, but scientists are currently studying genetic samples taken from free-ranging type D killer whales off the coast of Chile back in early 2019. These fresh samples will hopefully offer more insight and perhaps yield evidence of a “new” killer whale species!

References:

Foote, A.D., Morin, P.A., Pitman, R.L. et al. (2013) Mitogenomic insights into a recently described and rarely observed killer whale morphotype. Polar Biol 36, 1519–1523

Pitman, R. L., Ballance, L. T., Sironi, M., Totterdell, J., Towers, J. R., and Wellard, R. (2020) Enigmatic megafauna: type D killer whale in the Southern Ocean. Ecology 101(1):e02871

#orca #killer whale #type d killer whale #whales #marine mammal #cetacean #science communication #marine biology #illustration

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krakengoddess · 11 months

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Not my usual medium. 😆 Not Your Mary Sue is a year old tomorrow!

#not your mary sue #thriller #thrillerbook #thrillernovels #thrillers #thrillerwriter #thriller writing #indiepress #indie author #writers on tumblr #authorlife #author #writer #fresh coast killer #cover art

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anonymous-dentist · 2 years

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Quackity Commits First-Degree Arachnid Vehicular Homicide in 4k: Or, the PJO au

Reblogs and likes welcome! And stay tuned for the ao3 link in the next couple of days! This one’s a doozy!

Now, okay, so Quackity isn’t a bad driver, really. He’s a very good one, actually. He passed his test on his first try, 100%, gold star. He’s read the California state driver’s manual back-to-front at least a dozen times. He practically had it memorized at one point before leaving.

He isn’t a bad driver. He knows the rules of the road, spoken and unspoken. He likes driving. He’s currently at the end of an eleven-hour stretch of driving up the east coast, and he had a great time doing so. He knows his car inside and out.

But nothing, and absolutely nothing, in any manual or any class or any instructional video or whatever says what to do when a fucking scopion the size of a Toyota jump out in front of his car and smashes its stinger right through his windshield.

Quackity likes scorpions. He fucking loves them, actually, he had a pet scorpion when he was a kid back when he stil lived with his dad. But he isn’t eager to die to one, not yet.

Slamming on the brakes out of sheer instinct, Quackity screeches and ducks to hide behind the steering wheel. He can hear the stinger scraping against the dashboard in front of him, a horrible scritch-scritch-scritch that leaves his teeth on edge and his nerves on fire. He isn’t scared, really.

His car shakes as the scorpion pulls its stinger out.

Nah, Quackity isn’t scared. He’s fucking terrified. But just over a week of dealing with this kind of bullshit has left him more or less used to the idea of gigantic creepy crawlies and what-the-fuck-evers showing up and wrecking his day. It’s just that this is the first time that one has broken his car- his dad’s car, his dad’s shitty broken 2007 Honda Accord, his dad’s single most pride and fucking joy, and now it’s going to be smashed to bits and spattered with Quackity’s guts and stuff when the scorpion finally finishes fucking around and starts to find out instead.

But. He’s fine. He can handle this. He managed to escape the freaky killer sheep down in Philadelphia yesterday. He can handle a scorpion. It’s just a matter of calming down, and-

The Honda’s roof caves in above him with a horrifying ripping-screeching sound. Quackity just barely manages to duck to the side before a stinger as thick as his torso plunges through the hole and aims itself right where his head just was.

Pressed against the door with his back to the bottom of his seat and his seatbelt choking his neck and pressing uncomfortably into his gut, Quackity thinks, Well, at least it isn’t a fucking spider.

Watching the stinger flail around looking for him, Quackity decides that maybe it’s time to calm down. Maybe it’s time to do that. No better time than the present, right? What calms him down? Lists, he likes lists. Lists are fun. Lists are fresh. Lists are fun! Take stock of the situation, then make the best of what he has and get away with his life and all of his vital organs and-slash-or limbs preferably intact.

Take stock. Right.

The tip of the stinger scrapes against the ceiling leaving acidic burn marks in its wake.

It’s currently- Quackity checks his watch, breaths and wrist shaking an equal amount- 1:45 in the morning. He has his wallet and his deck of cards on the passenger seat. His backpack of clothes is in the backseat, as is his bag of road trip snacks. So… nothing there. He has a flat tire that he needs to get fixed at the next town he arrives in that will serve an unaccompanied 16-year-old boy with no parents and no credit card. He’s at least an hour away from the nearest town out on the highway out in the middle of nowhere somewhere in New York. Alone.

The scorpion’s legs press divots into the ceiling. It’s on top, then, probably facing backwards based on the angle the stinger is coming in from. It can’t actually see him, then, okay, that’s good. It can’t have that good a grip on the car. Scorpions are hard to kill, but they aren’t immune to physics, unfortunately. Quackity’s pet scorpion died when his step-mom threw its tank down a flight of stairs. The tank shattered, and the velocity of the scorpion bouncing around the tank’s walls killed it good and dead, mixed up its little organs or whatever. No tank here, but Quackity is alone on an empty highway with a panic brain and a car hotwired to go above its natural speed limit.

He whimpers as the stinger swipes through the air inches above his face. Just under a week of this, and an infinite amount of time to go. He idly hopes that Tommy, wherever he is, will forget about him if he dies. God knows that kid has enough on his plate as it is.

Okay. Plan. Quackity loves planning.

Plan Part One: Physics The Scorpion.

A scorpion can live without its stinger, he thinks, so that won’t work (but it’s not like he has anything to fucking- decapitate? Dismember a gigantic scorpion in the first place.) But scorpions aren’t that fast. If he can get it off the car, then he can just drive off into the metaphorical sunset and see if he can’t just get someone to fix his car down the road. His car. That’s too broken to be fixed, but that’s fine, he can manage.

Nervously, Quackity pulls his beanie down over his ears with both hands, running his thumbs over the scratchy fabric before letting out a breath and placing both hands on the steering wheel. He doesn’t know if scorpions can see if you’re, like, moving and stuff- like scorpion radar- and he definitely doesn’t know if giant hell scorpions can, but, like, whatever. If he dies, he dies. He would just prefer to die somewhere better than inside of a Honda fucking Accord.

The stinger stabs into the headrest less than a foot above Quackity’s head.

Quackity slams his foot on the gas and can’t help but let out a nervous giggle as the scorpion lets out a surprised-sounding gurgling noise that almost borders on a scream. He kinda feels the same way, actually, and he does let out a scream of his own as a pair of legs crash through the backseat windows trying to find purchase on the rapidly-speeding car. He can vaguely see them flailing in the rearview mirror, okay, good, good.

“This is insane!” he shouts, an anxious, yet wide, grin slowly spreading across his face despite his best attempts to look properly panicked. “I hope you’re paying for this, asshole! I don’t have any- fuck!”

He reflexively jerks his body left as the stinger goes for his head again. Why does it keep going for the face!? He has a great face! Go for the heart at least, man, make it dramatic. He’d kinda like it if someone can actually identify his body when they find it, thank you!

“Calm down!” he snaps. “What is wrong with you! What have I done to you guys, come on! I’m literally innocent!”

He feels the car drifting left, but that’s fine. There shouldn’t be any oncoming traffic. If there is, well, poor them. He doesn’t have insurance. Maybe if they ram into him…

But he is innocent, is the thing, he is!

…

Okay, maybe he isn’t, but he really doesn’t think that the California State Police are investing in weird hellbeasts to send after teenage runaways. They already have the cops themselves for that. No scorpions needed!

First it was the birds with projectile feathers that left Quackity down his spare tire and down half of his road trip budget after an emergency stop at an Autozone. Then it was the- god, he doesn’t even know what it was- the snake thing with the bitchy face and the shitty attitude. Then the sheep- oh, the sheep. If he knew that this was how running away was going to turn out, he wouldn’t have done it. But, no, he’s stuck with this for the rest of forever, curse his wanderlust and general spiteful tendencies.

The scorpion screeches at him, loud and sharp enough to shake the remaining windows.

Quackity winces as the oncoming wind sends a shower of shattered glass from the windshield right into his face. But, hey, it isn’t all bad. The rearview shows the scorpion’s legs are about out the windows. If he just speeds up some more…

The speedometer hits 100 as the car hits the shoulder of the road. Quackity yelps as the car jolts and bumps, but he can’t help but let out a cheer as he hears a loud squelch as the scorpion is sent flying off of the roof. And then he screams again as he hears a crunching-scraping noise as his car goes flying through the barrier on the side of the road. Oooooooh, fuck.

Scorpion gone for the moment, Quackity bolts upright in his seat and tries to get the car under control. He’s going downhill- steeply downhill. It’s not a mountain, but it’s definitely not flat.

He can almost see some lights in the distance, maybe a farm? He remembers seeing a billboard for some strawberry farm a couple of exits back, maybe this is it? Would they help if he came up in a busted car and told them that there was a monstrous evil scorpion thing trying to kill him? Probably not, right? That’s crazy. It would be crazy. This is all crazy.

Another nervous giggle escapes his lips. His hands adjust on the steering wheel, fingers gripping and ungripping on a cycle, left pinky to right pinky, and back and forth. He’s fine. That definitely isn’t the scorpion scuttling behind him like a fucking steamtrain. He definitely isn’t about to die in a nameless field in a Honda Accord. A Honda Accord. Somehow, that’s the funny thing here. Not the comically-oversized scorpion chasing him, his dad’s car.

But the scorpion is right on his tail, and he doesn’t wanna die yet. Not here, anyway, maybe if it was further down the road he’d think about it. But not now, and not here, and certainly not in a Honda.

So. Plan Part Two: Scorpion Homicide. Let’s gooooo.

There’s a group of trees just over the horizon whose tops he can just barely see and a scorpion charging so fast in such a straight line that it’s destined to crash into whatever is in front of him. Who says that it has to be him that gets hit?

With an upset little sigh, Quackity presses the gas pedal down to the floor. He leans forward over the wheel like that will somehow convince the car to go faster. He thinks the airbags are working, maybe, possibly, maybe. Maybe. Probably not, but! Maybe they are!

He has to time it just right. He’s a goddamn excellent driver, so he’s got this. Just one… more…

The trees are right in front of him, less than thirty feet away. The scorpion lunges. Quackity grits his teeth and suddenly jerks the steering wheel to the right as far as it goes. He tries not to get too choked by his seatbelt as he and the car go flying to the right in a sharp turn.

Out the side mirror, Quackity watches the scorpion slam headfirst into a tree. The tree shakes. The scorpion lays there, dazed and unmoving, but Quackity doesn’t waste any time in skidding into a very illegal u-turn and lining up the angle juuuust right.

He looks up at the ceiling and lets out a brief prayer before plunging his car right towards the scorpion. Just before he hits it, he swears that he hears someone shouting from outside, but he swears that there’s nobody around.

And then it’s all noise and blinding darkness as he crashes his dead father’s car into a tree. He can almost make out the soothing noise of a bug getting squished to death above the gut-wrenching crunching and shaking and shattering. A hiss- that’s the scorpion. A pained scream- that’s him. There’s something wet dripping down his forehead, but he can’t see what. Everything is dark, and thank god for it. He might have a panic attack if sees the state his car is in.

Everything is… muffled. Airbags, that’s the airbags.

Quackity is pretty sure that he shouldn’t be moving right after a car crash. His brain could be, like, mush. His spine could be broken in seven different places. His arms sure feel broken, and his neck, but maybe that’s just the shock.

But he moves, anyway, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt and to try and open the driver’s side door. There’s kind of an air bag in the way, but he manages. The fresh night air is, uh, well, a breath of fresh air, and Quackity tumbles his way sideways out of his car gratefully.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the sky, heart a million miles an hour and lungs screaming in pain. His entire body is in pain, actually, but he still has a terrified, exhilarated smile on his face, and he can’t help but laugh almost maniacally. Adrenaline, baby! He may die of broken bone disease in a minute, but at least he’s out of that goddamn car.

In a sudden burst of excitement, he pumps both of his fists in the air and lets out a, “Yeah! Take that, bitch!”

He points at the smoking remains of the car and the smoking remains of the tree. He can see the scorpion’s tail poking out from above the car’s roof. It’s twitching, but the scorpion has to be dead. It has to be.

It has to be.

But, to make sure, Quackity forces himself to his feet. His legs shake under him and his eyes swim with the effort, but he still forces one step, and then another, and then another.

There are footsteps from somewhere, he can hear them. He can also hear voices- some shouting, some whispering. He’s always been good at hearing, but not too good at listening. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he could care less. He is on a mission.

He leans against the car to catch his breath, squinting up at the twitching tail. How is it not dead yet?

“What the fuck?” he wheezes, one arm clenched around his aching chest and the other just barely propping himself up on the car. “You should be dead.”

Somewhere beyond the trees, someone shouts, “Hello? Is there someone there?”

“You should be dead!” Quackity yells. His panicked laugh returns in full force, growing in volume as the car slowly starts rolling backwards, the scorpion unpinning itself and turning around and starting to crawl towards him with purpose.

He backs up just as slowly, stumbling over his own feet. He thinks that he has a concussion. He thinks that maybe he is about to die after all.

There is a light through the trees that seems to be growing closer, rapidly closer. That has to be someone. The strawberry farmer? Someone. Maybe they know how to- how to kill a gigantic evil scorpion from the pits of hell.

So. Plan Part Three: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

The scorpion looks rough. Half of its legs seem to be broken, either dragging uselessly on the ground or missing altogether. One of its pincers is immobile. Its tail is flopped behind it, the stinger’s tip missing entirely. Okay. It wants to kill him. Quackity swears that it has bloodlust in its beady little eyes. Okay.

But there’s the strawberry farmer, or the whoever, in the trees. Hopefully an adult, ‘cause Quackity is starting to feel like he needs an adult right now. He’s 16, man, what the hell is he doing fighting monsters when he should be learning trigonometry?

“You’re absolutely disgusting, I hope you know that,” Quackity says.

The scorpion, expectedly, doesn't respond, and thank god for it.

“I’m going to be very disappointed if you kill me,” he continues. He lets out a long breath and looks over the scorpion’s… shoulder? Its shoulder. “I promised myself that the only thing killing me is myself or God, and you sure as hell aren’t God.”

The scorpion hisses at him. Quackity, in a sudden burst of spite, hisses back.

Taken aback for whatever reason, the scorpion stops its approach. It blinks at him confusedly, the perfect picture of arachnid bewilderment.

Aaaand, go!

Quackity takes advantage of the monster’s pause to summon every bit of strength he has left in his body and charge at it. The scorpion tenses, prepared to snip his body in half, but, at the last second, he ducks left and just keeps running.

The air above his head swishes as the scorpion flails its tail at him in hopes of somehow managing to skewer him on its pincer. No dice. He’s nimble as hell, motherfucker, he’s fucking nimble. He definitely has a concussion, though. Gut feeling on that one.

The light in the woods grows closer and closer until Quackity can actually make out the source: a guy not much older than he is with an old-school flashlight from, like, 2005 holding a… okay, sure, he can have a sword. Not the weirdest thing that Quackity has seen today.

Quackity fucking throws himself at this guy, dashing right into his body and scrambling to find purchase in his horrible orange t-shirt.

The guy stumbles back, arms outstretched in a T so as to not skewer Quackity on his literal sword.

“What the hell?” the guy asks, sounding confused as all hell.

Quackity, gripping the front of the guy’s shirt, looks up at him with more conviction than he’s ever felt in his life and says, “If that thing kills me, I’m going to haunt the everloving shit out of you.”

And then he passes the hell out.

Whoops.

#unnamed pjo au #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#LOOK I LOVE THIS AU SO MUCH YOU DONT UNDERSTAND #look at him! he's smart! he's on the run! he's quirky and unique and not like the other girls!#he's entirely pathetic in this au btw he's a pathetic little cat when he isn't in his element #and fight scenes are NOT his element #also hey the guy is actually! he's dream! that's dream!!#what was he doing out alone in the woods at the camp border at night? who knows! not me :D #anyway this will be edited and up on ao3 this weekend

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masonhawth0rne · 16 days

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What I read in March

Hoo boy, it's taken me a while to get around to this again, huh? I want to say March was a busy month, but it's too much of a blur for me to remember what was going on. I feel like I was climbing a lot (I've taken up rock climbing, have I mentioned?) but otherwise, I have no clue where March went.

Anyways, I got some good reading done!

Edge of Infinity, ed. Jonathan Strahan ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Analysis & Critique: How to Engage and Write about Anything, Dorsey Armstrong ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Will of the Many, James Islington ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

And Put Away Childish Things, Adrian Tchaikovsky ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Gold Coast, Kim Stanley Robinson ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Best Science Fiction & Fantasy of the Year Vol 11, ed Jonathan Strahan ⭐️⭐️⭐️

New Rules & Guidelines From HR for Working with Humans (ss), Derin Edala ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Angel (ss), Derin Edala ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Martian: Lost Sols (ss), Andy Weir ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Forever Peace, Joe Haldeman ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Merciless Waters, Rae Knowles ⭐️⭐️

Dune Messiah, Frank Herbert ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Cursed Heart, Derin Edala⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Lair of the White Worm, Bram Stoker ⭐️

Pacific Edge, Kim Stanley Robinson ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Phytophthora Nosferatu (ss), J Corvine ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Minty Fresh, J Corvine⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Labyrinth of Dreams, Derin Edala ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Angels Before Man, Rafael Nicolás⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Lure, Tim McGregor ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Fascination, Essie Fox ❌❌❌

There were a couple of surprises for me this month, some were nice surprises, and some were...somewhat less than nice surprices. It's good, gotta have some surprises to keep you nimble.

The Will of the Many by James Islington was the first surprise, I had thought I'd like it well enough, the concept seemed interesting, and it turns out that it was actually fantastic. A smooth take on the dystopic genre, with a great attention to detail, and handling of social forces on the characters. The scifi elements might have come off as a bit silly if they'd been handled less skillfully, but over the course of the novel the real horror of the hierarchy becomes ever more apparent. Also it ends on a killer cliffhanger--where is the sequel??

A slight disappointment was that The Gold Coast and Pacific Edge, books two and three of Kim Stanley Robinson's The Three Californias Trilogy were...just not quite as good as the rest of his work that I've read. I found that TGC focussed too much on the 'futuristic party boy hedonist' archetype that I find stultifying in fiction, and while the surrounding worldbuilding was interesting I just could not stand any of the characters.

PE on the other hand was kind of...boring? Now don't get me wrong, I love boring books, but it was boring in the sense that I was reading it feeling like 'ok now when's the story going to happen?' there are only so many softball games which are metaphors for small town politics and romantic relationships that I can sit through. The other problem with PE, I think, is that it is aggressively middle of the road. In the other California novels, the protagonists have Forces to Push Against, but PE is set in a kind of idyllic postcapitalist cooperative, where small town politics is the biggest thing going on and the main conflict of the book can be solved with a strongly worded awareness campaign. Like I GET what was being done, but I also feel like this one could have been a third as long as it was and carried the same weight, but perhaps with fewer softball games.

Dune: Messiah was a nice surprise, I only read Dune last year, and I really enjoyed it, but I've only ever heard that the series goes downhill after the first one. Absolutely not! I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of Frank Herbert's Dune books!

The two real clunkers this month were The Lair of the White Worm by Bram Stoker, and The Fascination by Essie Fox. Both for similar reasons, actually. There was a whole lot of racism going on, in ways that were, y'know, disappointing but not surprising from a guy writing shock novels a hundred-and-something years ago, but really pretty upsetting from a novel that was published in 2023 and has lots of very positive reviews.

Having read several Stoker books now, I found that there was little of the sort of charm that I've come to expect from his writing. The characters were kind of flat and unpleasant, and the antagonists were evil for the sake of being evil. I'm actually surprised that this is one of his later works, because it reads as so much less sophisticated than the other things I've read.

The Fascination was the gift that kept on giving, if the kinds of gift you like are things like racism, ableism, and biphobia which seem bad at first, and then keep doubling down on themselves. The book also has an air of smug superiority, presenting sequence after sequence of exploitation dreck and then turning smirkingly to the reader like 'see I bet you assumed [something racist, ableist, biphobic, etc]'. The end of the novel hinges on a big reveal, which is that...one of the focalising characters has a disability. Which should, apparently, reframe how we've understood the character from the beginning, and which should shock us out of our assumptions that people with that disability couldn't be main characters. Or something.

I think it takes a lot of work to write something that makes the disability representation in Game of Thrones feel subtle and nuanced.

There was so much wrong with The Fascination that I could probably spend another several paragraphs listing them, but to be honest reading the book was unpleasant enough, I don't really feel like spending my evening reliving all that. My final criticism is that the book is insufferably twee and self satisfied. There was not one sentence that made me think that it was worthwhile to read.

To end on a positive note, all of the indie books and stories that I read were delightful! I've included links to most of them above, and it's really refreshing to read stuff that is smart, well written, and which actually has something interesting to say, even if that something is 'hey wouldn't it be super fucked up if there was a vampire in your flower bed?'

Anyways, that's enough for this month!

[hey wait, psst, did you know, I've got a novelette? It's available now: https://books2read.com/u/3kOvKn ]

Stars awarded at my whim

ss=short story

#what i read

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brittanithewriter · 2 months

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The Muse

Brittani Harris

The words, “Chapter One” glared back at me on the computer screen; two words that taunted me for the last two hours. What was to come after was a complete mystery to me. How do I start? What sounds intriguing enough to capture the reader in only one sentence? My mind drew a blank. No wonder seeing that my day was spent pacing back and forth in my one-bedroom apartment, torturing myself over a lousy sentence. This would be my third book and because of that, expectations were through the roof. I had something to prove because I refused to be a two-hit novelist; coasting off that fame years later. No, I was more than that. For hours, I sat at my desk in my sweats and coffee-stained shirt, gazing at the screen of my laptop like I was the undead. My eyes were nearly bloodshot from the lack of sleep and my skin was pale from the deprivation of sunlight.

In the back of my mind, I could hear my editor's shrill voice screaming about deadlines. She invaded my brain like a Nazi; a literary parasite. She had come over earlier, dressed in her gray pantsuit and red blouse from Nordstrom. Her blonde hair with dark roots was placed in a high bun as she barked at me like a Chihuahua. Over the years, I have known her, she has always been a bit of a prude. I have learned to zone her out, focusing my eyes on her crow’s feet and the way her lipstick always managed to smear onto her teeth. Given a few beers, I would probably find her somewhat attractive. Somewhat.

Much time had passed and the sun started to set. My thoughts were frozen in time and I could not for the life of me figure out a way to throw them out. “What to write, what to write?”, I asked myself as I tried my talents at balancing a pencil on the bridge of my nose. My genre was crime thrillers and serial killers for everyone loves a good psychopath, but everything has been done. From the slashers to the immortal maniac who just won’t die; there was nothing new under the sun. Some fresh air was in order. Hopefully, a night ride would get the literary juices flowing. There was a solace to be found during the night. It wasn’t the normal hustle and bustle one would experience during the day. There were fewer cars, but louder people; fewer things going on, but more secrets. The scattered lights decorated the buildings downtown as lights streamed across a Christmas tree. It is said that the night belonged to the poets and the madmen. I straddled the fence to which one was I.

As I drove through the deserted city streets, I gazed at the empty sidewalks and blinking streetlights. It was all my inspiration; the moon was my spotlight. The night was my canvas for many stories were just waiting to be painted. However, where was my muse? Where was the catalyst to spark my imaginative thoughts? All there were a scatter of homeless laying their heads wherever they may. They rested on the sidewalks and the curbs, the benches of the bus stop. A serial killer of the homeless? A brilliant idea if it wasn’t already done by James Matheson three years ago, in his book, The Jefferson Street Killer. A madman brings fear into the shanty towns of Jefferson Street, Philadelphia. Spoiler Alert—the killer was the mayor of the city bent on cleaning up his city one bum at a time. Original, I suppose.

Originality is always key; however, there are only several stories a writer can write about. Nothing will be the same, but there would be similarities. I despise similarities. My editor hated it more. I imagined her kale smoothie breath exhaling upon my neck, snarling the words “mediocre” and “bland” as though they were profane. September 15th continued to flash across my mind like a torturing reminder of my possible impending failure. I refused to hang onto the teats of mediocrity. Destiny deserved to give me more. Success was warranted for me.

My stomach began to growl. All I had to eat today was Greek yogurt I found in the back of the refrigerator behind a week-old carton of milk. I must remind myself to throw it in the trash once I get home. I couldn’t survive off that, ten cups of coffee, and a can of Red Bull alone. Up ahead, I could see the large sign for Ezra’s Diner, with the light on the “z” out and leaving it to read Era. It was open all day, known for its fluffy pancakes and delicious, sweet tea that tasted the closest to diabetes. Before I realized it, the car was steering into the parking lot. I parked out front, somewhere close where I could see the car from wherever I sat. Though I do love the night, I knew of the hoodlums who saw it as their own criminal playground.

Heading toward the entrance, I could already see that there was only one cook and one waitress working tonight. In a booth at the far end of the diner, there was a homeless woman comforting herself with a cup of coffee, dressed in dingy layers of clothing, looking as though she had not bathed in days. Faint music played throughout the diner. It was something from the eighties, but I couldn’t name the specific song. I made myself comfortable at the counter on a stool, greeted with a tired hello from the waitress as she placed the menu in front of me. She was dressed in a yellow diner shirt and white apron, with her sandy blonde curls, pulled back into a ponytail. Judging by her hands and the slight wrinkles that formed on her forehead every time she made a curmudgeon expression, she was nearing her mid-forties.

Glancing through the menu, my hunger decided on an omelet and a glass of water. I could feel my body rejecting the caffeine as though I was going through a withdrawal. It didn’t take long for my omelet. I commended the chef with a thumbs-up on his timely cooking skills; fast, but still with top quality. The first bite was the sweetest; not too cheesy, but just cheesy enough. As it hit my taste buds, it felt like heaven. It was at that moment, all thoughts surrounding my book faded away. I could care less about the plot or a great title. I couldn’t even think up a measly character. My mind was as blank as the homeless woman’s gaze. No, this omelet was all I needed. Unfortunately, my editor’s voice crept into my head, nagging me to stay focused.

Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines! The witch would not leave me in peace.

Suddenly, the bell rang as the entrance door swung open. The waitress looks at the door, managing a half-grin. My eyes were fixed on my plate as I cut the omelet into reasonable pieces with the side of my fork. Through my peripheral vision, I could see someone dressed in red from the chest to above the knee approaching me. I turned slightly, seeing it was in fact a red dress worn by a woman of a slim frame. The dress looked expensive. I was never the one for keeping up with fashion, but I questioned why a woman dressed like that would even trouble herself to step into an establishment like this. As she drew nearer, I could smell her perfume. It was a mixture of a sweet floral scent and fruit candy. The aroma was slightly intoxicating the closer she became. She stood beside me, asking the waitress for a cup of coffee with four creams and four sugars, refusing to see a menu. Her voice was slightly shaken as she spoke to the waitress as though nervous about something. There was a slight southern drawl in certain annunciation in words. My first guess was Texas. With a nod, the waitress went to make a fresh brew of coffee.

The woman sat at the counter with a stool placed between us. As the waitress began to pour coffee into her cup, I timed a quick glance where I could fully see her thick long brunette hair that she slung to the right. Her skin was of an olive hue; flawless. She reminded me of a character from my first book, “Lavender and Lust”. She was the real-life Sophia Schaffer, having an outer innocence that hid a deceiving interior. Sophia was the female lead in a crime thriller filled with seduction and twists. She was charming and manipulative, able to persuade any man with her feminine wiles. Initially, I based her off an ex of mine who I found sleeping with her professor in the bed we shared. Like the mattress, our relationship went up in flames.

Miss Red Dress had my full attention. I subtly watched her slowly drink her coffee and stare into the mug as though it was a crystal ball that contained all the answers.

“My name is Veronica; in case you were asking.” she greeted, catching me off guard and causing me to almost choke on a piece of omelet.

I washed my food down with a glass of water. Even still, I was at a loss for words. It was unusual for a writer, I suppose. We locked eyes for a second, me gazing into her piercing greens. She exuded an unbelievable beauty; something I could not put into words. She was more than a Sophia. Before I could say a word, my name left her lips. I loved how it sounded; sweet. She immediately recognized me, stating how she read both of my books and was an admirer of my work. I could only chuckle nervously for the picture used in the back of my book was a seven-year-old headshot originally for a failed-to-start acting career. I confirmed who I was which started an exchange of flirtatious dialogue between us. Her voice was steady and more relaxed as she shared stories of her childhood in Louisiana. I was caught on her every word. I loved how her eyes lit up every time she spoke about her ideas and aspirations. She went on to tell me how my first book was her favorite; how she could identify with Sophia. How I described her independence was what intrigued her. Veronica went on and on about how she admired Sophia’s strength. Typical. Women seemed to always identify with a strong female lead; a woman in control. That is what Veronica wanted in life-- control.

Our conversation went on for over an hour, her coffee getting cold and my plate nearly clean. Veronica took a pocket mirror from her purse and stared at her reflection, making sure her lipstick was still intact. In my eyes, she was of complete perfection. She was my new Sophia sent to be by unknown circumstances. It wasn’t long before I felt her hand upon my thigh, gently caressing. I could see a lustful grin on her face as blood began rushing to my lower body. I was a fly trapped in her shameless web. With a flick of the hand, I gestured to the waitress for our checks. It was necessary that she knew how much of a gentleman I was. Veronica leaned closer and whispered in my ear that she wanted to take me home. Goosebumps formed on my neck and forearms. One cannot force those willing, and I was more than that. As she stood up from her stool, my eyes fixated on her backside. Her hips swayed from side to side as she headed toward the exit, looking over her shoulder and winking back at me. The check could not have come more quickly. Five dollars for the omelet with two extra dollars for a generous tip.

I hurried after Veronica out onto the parking lot. She stood beside the black Toyota Corolla, leaning against the passenger side, motioning me over with her finger. With a press of a button, the doors were unlocked, and we both climbed inside. Starting up the car, the radio played early nineties rock music faintly through the stereos. Veronica crept her hand onto my thigh, moving higher toward the crotch of my pants as I drove through the streets with no specific destination in my mind. My mind was flustered by all the blood left for the south. She leaned in closer, and me feeling her breath on my neck with the slight touch of her lips. Her sexuality was inebriating; a strong aroma filled the car and gave my body chills. She directed me to turn left on the next street. There was a dark alley up ahead that was secluded and private. Veronica had charmed my mind and now, she wanted to enthrall my body.

I parked away from the streetlights to remain unseen and turned off the car. The silence was immediately broken by her lips and body pressing up against her mind. Her lips were as soft as pillows and her skin was just as smooth. She tasted like sweet hazelnut coffee and her hair smelled like lilacs; freshly washed. My hands maneuvered throughout her body causing her to moan in sensual ecstasy. Slowly, my hand slipped into her shirt, palming her ample breasts, while my other hand gently gripped her neck. Veronica playfully chuckled for she liked a bit of the rough. She was such a Sophia. Tighter I gripped her neck with both hands this time, pressing harder onto her lips. Her breathing became labored as she struggled for air which made me squeeze tighter. Her whimpers and gasps were arousing. I could feel her tears stream from her eyes onto my face. There was a need to scream, but she could not obtain enough air.

A few seconds passed and the breathing ceased; no whimpers or gasps. There was silence. Her body was limp and I could feel all of her weight. I leaned back to stare at her face, seeing that life had left her eyes. They were no longer piercing but rather a dull green. Her beauty forever remained. My beautiful Sophia. I placed her carefully onto the passenger seat, placing her arms gently on her lap. With the back of my hands, I wiped her tearful face dry, feeling the warmth of her skin. I exited the car and headed to the trunk. Popping it open, there inside was the lifeless body of my editor, still in her gray pants suit and now wrinkled red blouse, lying in the trunk of her own car. Her bun unraveled, leaving her hair disarrayed messily over her place face. Her neck was badly bruised. I could see and feel the moment when my neck eventually snapped from my strength. She was like a rag doll; cold and pale. Reaching behind her, I retrieved the gas can I filled up at the gas station around the corner from my apartment.

Starting with the trunk, I drenched my editor’s body with gasoline as though quenching her thirst. I continued with the rest of the car, making sure the bodies got the most out of it all. The smell of the gasoline was gradually becoming nauseating. No longer could I admire my work without feeling the urge to heave. A small box of matches in my front pocket. A quick scratch of the match and the flames were ignited. I took a second to marvel at what I had just done; what I accomplished literally with my bare hands. A simple flick and the car was engulfed in flames within seconds. The scene was entrancing; the warmth from the fire was oddly comforting. Free was the only word to describe how I felt at that exact moment. No more deadlines, no due dates, and no pressure. The best feeling of all was that I finally had my story. The characters and plot were swiftly developing in my mind as the stench of burning flesh reached my nose. A writer who killed for his stories. It was brilliant.

Police sirens were heard blaring in the distance. My veneration was coming to an end. A smile emerged on my face as I disappeared into the night, heading home with the start of the first chapter pulsating through my head.

“There was a need for excitement and danger for him. There was a need for blood.”

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