#i didn't notice that Easter came and went

[covetyou]

egg hunt

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: oral sex (m! receiving), balls, questionable use of sex toys, semi-public blowjobs, eggs, Joel is a giant bunny, feelings, misunderstandings leading to angst. word count: 5.9k summary: Catching Joel dressed as a giant rabbit in your backyard wasn't on your bingo card for things to happen to you this year. But, what waits for you beneath the bunny suit, and in his basket, aren't the only surprises you'll have tonight.

A/N: truth be told I find eggs genuinely, criminally funny in every possible way, as well as disgusting, so happy Easter!

These egg things are hilarious, but also not nearly as fun as they seem, though if I'd had the genius idea to stick 'em on some balls I imagine I would've had a much better time tbh.

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You almost don't notice, too busy shoving your cup harshly against the ice dispenser before taking a long, deep, gulp of the cold liquid. But then you see it, and it's not the shock of cold to your esophagus that makes your eyes widen, spluttering icy water before sucking in a desperate breath.

No. It's the ghostly white figure rummaging around in your backyard on all fours.

You duck down just as it stands, holding on tightly to the counter edge with both hands, before crawling to the backdoor to check it's locked, keeping you safely inside away from whatever this thing was. But, just as you reach for the latch, the creature stands on two legs, stretching back with two thick arms on its waist.

The figure is broad, and tall, and... dressed in what appears to be a giant bunny onesie. Even with it's head covered in a white hood, bunny ears flapping as the creature bends and moves, you know what it is. Who it is. You'd recognize those shoulders just about anywhere, and no one else would pull something like this at 9pm on a Sunday.

It had been weeks since you last saw him, but you can't say that was a surprise - what you had wasn't exactly a regular thing, if it could be called a thing at all. That doesn't mean you hadn't been hoping for it, counting down the days to the next holiday in hopes you'd see him again - There was no denying your disappointment St. Patrick's day came and went with no sign of a leprechaun and a pot of gold. Now, he was finally here, dressed head to toe in a bunny suit, doing fuck knows what to your lawn.

"The fucker..."

Unlocking the door, you slink out into the night, sliding it closed behind you before creeping across the yard. This was new, getting to be the one to surprise him. He may have been in your yard, but with each soft step of your foot on the grass it looked like you were finally going to one up him.

But then he turns around, looking toward the house and seemingly straight through you for a moment...

Before his eyes focus on you in the dark, and everything in his hands goes tumbling to the ground as he practically leaps out of his bunny suit.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ."

"We've got to stop meeting like this," you say watching Joel's giant bunny ears flap in the air with his movement as he bends, reaching down to the grass to pick up the basket he dropped.

"You half scared the shit outta me, what're you doin' out here?" he grumbles as he rights himself.

"What are you doing out here? It's my yard. You Bunny Joel this time?" you joke, crossing your arms over your chest in a not-so-smooth attempt to cover yourself. Getting properly dressed had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled down the stairs, legs still jelly and head still fuzzy from post-orgasm bliss. The only thought that registered was how damn thirsty you were as you tugged a worn, old shirt over your head and made your way to the kitchen. It wasn't cool enough to blame the temperature shift on your quickly puckering nipples, and you didn't feel like explaining where your panties were or why your thighs were simultaneously sticky and slippery. You're just grateful you put on anything at all, and at the very least it was long enough to cover your ass.

Joel smirks, your fruitless attempt at modesty not going unnoticed. "Ain't no regular bunny, darlin'. I'm the Easter Bunny."

"And the difference is...?"

"Eggs."

You laugh, folding yourself over a little as you giggle into the night. The whole get up really is ridiculous enough on its own, yet here you are discussing the nuances of being a giant bunny with a man more fond of playing dress up than anyone else you'd ever met.

"Eggs?"

You spot them as soon as the word leaves your mouth - four colorful eggs sat neatly in his basket, and another nestled into your flowerbed. Only, they don't look like normal eggs at all. Squinting in the dark, the yard lit only by shitty solar lights you'd bought online last summer, you can make out the neat patterns swirled all over them. This was not the handiwork of some enthusiastic child dying eggs for Easter - they looked professionally painted. Joel shakes the basket at you as you continue to squint at it, and you realise not a single one has cracked or broken, even after being dropped on the floor.

"What are they? Egg shaped bouncy balls?"

"Got some balls right here if you're really that interested," he jokes, looking obscene as he waggles his eyebrows at you beneath the hood of the bunny onesie. "Here, they're just these... things. My brother got 'em for me as a joke, it's a long story."

He passes you one of the eggs, the surface smooth and cool in your hand. There's writing on it that you can just about make out, but you still have no clue what you're holding as you turn it around in your palm.

Sensing your confusion, Joel offers a choice gesture, as he explains that they're for "Y'know."

It clicks. Well, sort of. You know for sure then that they're not something you could sneak away for some solo playtime, like with the plug he dutifully left on by your bedside so many weeks ago but maybe, like the contraptions Joel had strapped over his balls your last two encounters, you could enjoy them together.

"Wait, so... you're giving me a thing for anatomy I don't even have?"

"No it's not like that, I just thought - I, well, shit."

"I'm just fuckin' with you, Bunny Joel. Though giving me a gift that's really a gift for yourself is a bit of a dick move."

"Ain't a dick move if you like 'em, sweetheart. And it's Easter Bunny Joel," he corrects with a wink, smiling at you as he drops the basket on the ground to pull at his neck tie. The man looks good in pink, you think, as he fiddles with the floppy satin.

"Y'know, Easter Bunny Joel doesn't quite roll off the tongue."

"Don't it?"

"Nope," you say with a pop, pinching the material of Joel's Bunny onesie to feel the fabric between your finger tips as your roll the egg across the palm of your other hand. "Think you need a better name than that."

"Okay, I'll bite. What you got in mind?"

You're walking your fingers down his chest now, dancing them in a criss-cross pattern across the fastenings at the front of the suit until you reach his hip and slowly you drag the tips of your fingers closer to his crotch until you're cupping his bulge. You wouldn't say he's entirely flaccid, there's certainly something there, but the length of him still feels pliable beneath your hand as you stroke over the front of his costume.

"I was thinking... Flopsy," you say with a squeeze of your palm against his cock, biting back a laugh when you hear him hiss a breath of night air through his teeth.

"Real funny."

"What? If you're committed to the bit, I can be too," and before he can protest you slip the fingers of your free hand between the fastenings on the front of his suit. You can feel his skin underneath, hot and sticky, trapped beneath the synthetic fabric of the bunny costume. At the very least, he's topless under there, and eager to find out more, you quickly yank at the front, grinning devilishly at Joel as the fabric pops open slightly.

"You really wanna be gettin' into this out here?"

"You scared, Flopsy?" you say, with another squeeze to his now much harder cock. "That side is up for sale, and Janet is out of town until Tuesday. No one's seeing anything. Unless you're scared someone might hear something... but I guess you'll just have to keep quiet."

"F- you're gonna be the death of me, darlin'," he mutters, pulling at his pink tie so it hangs loosely around his neck, giving him better movement to look down at your hand where it strokes his cock over the soft plush of the rabbit costume.

You tug again at the suit and with a rapid pop pop pop, the remaining fastenings hiding his chest from you pull open, revealing him to you and... he's a mess. From the neck down he's covered in streaks of paint, multicolored blooms splattered across him, dusting his ribs like a rainbow of bruises.

"Kid had some powder paint stuff - y'know that festival of color thing? Well, kid had some left after a party with a friend from school... had a little fight in the yard earlier before I dropped her back with her mom for the week," he explains quickly, rubbing a hand nervously against his chest and smearing the splattered rainbow there. You make a mental note, adding has a kid to the very short list of confirmed facts you know about Joel. It's not exactly a surprise revelation, all things considered - the costumes had to come from somewhere, and most grown men don't just have fairy wings and toy bows and arrows lying around.

"Well, Flopsy, you make a mighty fine canvas, but I think I might need a hand with this."

The egg you'd been turning in your hand is deposited back into his grasp just as you tug him forward giving him a peck on the chin as you look at him expectantly. Joel knows he shouldn't pull you toward him and kiss you out here, he thinks he knows that the expectant look is nothing to do with kissing him and everything to do with the egg in his hand, but he does anyway. Slotting his mouth against yours, he pulls you into his chest, the sweat of his skin transfering blotches of paint from his chest to your old shirt. But you don't care, holding yourself tighter to him, pushing your fingers underneath his hood to card them through his hair. Joel groans into your mouth when your fingertips rub at his scalp. You're in half a mind to call him such a good bunny but the air, and the thought, is knocked out of you the next second when he presses a hand against your ass, pulling you further into him so he can grind his hardened length against your lower belly.

It's been far too long since someone held you against them like this, and far too long since Joel had had someone like you in his arms. As he kisses and kisses you, you're starting to feel more and more insane, and maybe you are - maybe accepting this man into your home with such regularity is the mark of insanity, some kind of as-of-yet undiscovered syndrome that's going to be named after you.

Eventually, you muster the strength to pull away, slapping a hand gently to his chest and nodding down to the egg gripped in his fist. You're eager to see it in action, even if you still can't quite picture what it is.

"C'mon, open it for me. Gotta properly thank the Easter Bunny for bringing me Easter eggs."

Joel slips the wrapper of the egg, something you never could've figured out on your own without decent lighting to guide your way, and presses a thumb into the side of it, popping the top off the egg in one smooth movement.

Before he can hand it to you, you slip down to your knees, bare shins resting against the cool, damp grass. It's a beautiful clear night, not trace of the moon in sight just yet, but the glimmer of stars sparkling relentlessly overhead regardless. You hadn't noticed how hot you'd gotten, but being around Joel always seemed to do this to you. Your cheeks felt hot, your heart beat faster, and your head felt slightly dizzy - the result of it emptying itself of all thoughts except the ones that made you make questionable decisions it seemed. Of course, this time the heat wasn't just from proximity, but from that damned fabric of his costume, the synthetic fibers making you feel sweaty as you held onto him. The grass beneath you is a welcome relief against your warm skin, sending the fine hairs on your body prickling at the sensation.

"This how you say thank you to everyone? On your knees?"

"It's how I say thank you to giant bunnies, Joel," you quip back, pressing a kiss to the softness of his belly. You litter a string of kisses down the trail of hair until you reach the boundary of the bunny suit. Whether he's commando or you have another layer to get through, you don't yet know, but you waste no time finding out. With the hook of your finger and a final swift pull, the last fastenings bursts open, revealing Joel's heavy length straining against the front of his boxers. Where his tip tents the fabric, a darker patch blooms, turning the gray practically black with precum.

In your dreams, and there had been many of them, it didn't go like this. Dream you rarely went three rounds with themselves before Joel popped up to come fuck her brains out. Dream you was clever. And, as good as your solo session this evening was, you can't help but have a little regret for ruining yourself before the surprise main event. It was like eating a big meal right before someone suggested getting pizza. You could (and damn well would) eat pizza, but you couldn't enjoy it the same way. Pizza or Joel, you were going to savor it as best you could.

"Such a tease, Flopsy," you murmur as you kiss across his covered cock, nuzzling your face into it and watching in glee as his hand grips the opened egg that little bit tighter. Your fingers are pulling again, this time tugging down at his waistband. Joel is in half a mind to rid the egg of its shell and use the damn thing as a stress ball. It had been too long since last time, and since he last came two fucking days ago, to be seeing you on your knees for him in that flimsy t-shirt. It felt like a gift from the heavens and divine retribution wrapped up in one you shaped package.

As you pull his cock from the confines of his boxers, feeling the deep pulse of the blood in his veins as you wrap your fingers around him, you can't believe your luck at getting to see it in the flesh again. As brilliantly as your mind can concoct the image of it, the reality of it is so much better than any fantasy. Before you let yourself get lost in it, you reach for Joel's hand, grabbing the egg back from him and watching the top fall to the ground and roll across your lawn.

"It stretches. Goes over and you just - uh - stroke with it I guess."

The inside is far from what you expected. You almost find it gross, the translucent white interior far squishier than you expected that it'd be bordering on slimey if it was wet too. Joel laughs down at you, seeing your face as you try to work out what the fuck you're holding, pulling it free from the rest of the shell and seeing a hole stuffed with a plastic tube. You can see what he means now, and you let a soft oh fall from your lips as you tug the tube filled with a sachet of lube from the middle of the toy. You feel inside, running your fingers over soft ridges, and you can only imagine how nice it must feel sliding wetly up and down a cock and, not for the first time in your life, you wish you could experience it yourself. But, the next best thing is right in front of you, and that'll have to do.

"These feel good?" you ask, his eyes turning glassy as you examine the inside of the stroker while your hand still tugs slowly up and down his cock.

Joel sighs deeply, nodding down at you, the obscene bunny ears still flopping on his head with each movement. "S'good. Nothin' like the real deal but, yeah. Feel nice."

Gripping Joel's cock in your fist, you begin to stroke gently up and down, sliding his foreskin back and forth over his cock until he's steely hard beneath your palm. The solar lights are starting to dim, their charge from the day already running out, but you can still see the dusky red tip, and the blue of the vein that runs down his shaft. You squish the toy in your other hand, the temptation to taste too strong to just leave all the fun to the squishy silicone. So, you press a delicate kiss right to the tip.

"Oh fuck," Joel hisses.

"Missed it," you confess on your knees with another kiss.

"Yeah? Well, s'all yours." Mine.

"Really? Your bunny wife not going to chase me out of my own yard?"

"Know damn well I ain't got a wife, I ain't the cheatin' kind, darlin', don't you worry."

And that admission alone sends your aching cunt throbbing between your legs, wishing even more desperately now that you weren't completely wrecked and oversensitive from your ill-timed playtime upstairs.

"Good," is all you say before taking his head in your mouth with a swirl of your tongue, a satisfied moan vibrating against his tip as you taste him properly for the first time in 4 months. "I've been thinking about doing this."

"Yeah? Been thinking about sucking my cock?"

"Mhm."

"Shit."

A simple continuous swirl of your tongue and small bob of your head was apparently enough to have him gripping his hands into tight fists, clearly fighting some internal demons to keep himself from coming so soon. Your mind absolutely fizzes with it, that this man wants you, likes what you do to him so much that you can have such an affect on him. And when you suck lightly, his head tips back so far the hood slides back off his head. All you can see is the underside of his jaw from where you look up from your knees, and when looks back down at you with heavy eyes, he looks the most normal you've ever seen him. He's not Santa, nor Cupid, and the costume that had rendered him Bunny Joel just a second ago instead drapes around him like nothing more than a soft, white coat.

"Thought about you tasting you," you mutter between mouthing at his cock, slicking his entire length with your saliva. "Having you come in my mouth. On my face."

Joel groans again, much louder this time and you can't help but laugh, mouth pressed to his balls, at his feeble attempt at silence. You press the tip of your finger, egg still clutched in your fist, to his dribbling slit, and drag a tooth grazing kiss across his sensitive ball skin as you silence him with a whisper.

"Shh, Flopsy. You don't want us to get caught."

"Fuckin' Flopsy, I should -"

But you don't hear what he should do, because you engulf his tip with your mouth once again and Joel finds himself speechless as you immediately slide your lips further down his slicked length with ease. You work him in your mouth, sucking him as you move up and down. He can't stop moaning, he doesn't even try. He should, he thinks. You deserve better than getting caught in your backyard doing something like this, but all he can think about each time you move your tongue just like that is how fucking good your mouth feels.

He feels like he's going to come. Your hand is massaging gently over his balls, your mouth working his cock to a near frenzy, and he is absolutely, one hundred percent sure he's going to come. You know he's almost there. If the groaning wasn't enough, the tightening in his balls and the twitching of his cock were a clear sign he was about to blow.

Then you stop.

Just like that, your mouth is gone. Your hands too. And he's having to force himself to look down at you where you stare in awe at the stroker in your hands, glistening with lube you'd poured into it as he bit his lip and fought off coming, untouched, into the breeze.

You want to use it on him, to listen to him groan as you stroke him with the soft silicone, and watch his every move as you work him over the edge. And his cock, as if calling to you like some kind of siren of the sea, beckons you in, accepting an offering of one last kiss before you raise the stroker.

"It's so stretchy," you gasp, as you slide the toy over the tip of Joel's cock. You can pull it almost all the way down the length of him. You make a few experimental twists and jerks, before settling into a slow rhythm, teasing him just as you'd teased yourself and dragged out your own orgasm upstairs.

It's interesting. Slipperier than your own hand, easier than your own mouth, but not quite the same as either. You can't feel him like this, and you certainly can't taste him.

"Do you like it?" you ask, and Joel doesn't quite know what to answer. He does like it - he likes having your hands on him any way he can get it, but he can't feel you in the same way like this. And it's definitely not as good as your mouth, or any other hole of yours he's fucked.

There's just enough light to see his face give a noncommittal twitch and you're peeling the toy off of him, sucking his tip back into your mouth quickly, moaning as the taste of him hits your tongue.

"Good, because I prefer it like this too."

"Fuck, yeah."

Now though, you have a lubed up, saggy egg in your hand and nowhere to put it. Until an absolutely inspired idea hits you square in the face and you're grinning with Joel's cock in your mouth.

He barely sees the fiendish look in your eye, just notices as you pull off him again, and he could scream. Then, something smooth and cold coats his balls. Your fingers are cradling him delicately, thumb and forefinger stretching open the toy until with a gentle wiggle, his balls are encased in the squishy silicone. And holy fuck, is it like nothing he's ever felt.

"Don't think that's how you use it, darlin'. But, shit, it's good," he gasps as you gently massage his balls through the toy. It's like having a soft cool mouth encasing his entire ballsack, while your actual mouth kisses delicately all over his cock. "C'mon now, stop your teasin', gotta come in the pretty fuckin' mouth."

He's back in your mouth before he even finishes his sentence, your mouth sounding wet an obscene as you work him up and up and up all over again. You draw him in deeper, his cock meeting the back of your throat, over and over, his hand coming to cup your face and delicately wipe away a tear from your watering eyes. Fuck, you're wishing more than ever that you could just jump on him, that your cunt wasn't wrecked, or that it didn't matter, that you could go infinite rounds and still want to be touched again and again. But that wasn't you. You had a limit and, even though you'd reached it, the want in you didn't go away and neither did the slick feeling between your legs or the deep throb of your pulse beating away in your clit.

Joel's fingers grip tighter on the side of your face, a soft thrust of his hips meeting every movement of your head. Catching his eye almost kills you then and there with his cock wedged at the back of your throat. He looks as wrecked as you feel, dark eyes shining down like black holes from space now that the light from your solar lamps has all but fucked off. The paint and rabbit ears almost fade away into the background as you hold yourself down on his cock, making yourself whine around him. You're starting to think if you sucked his cock for long enough you could make yourself come totally untouched, but you don't want to think about it. You can't.

He takes over then. Each slip of your lips down his cock met with a gentle hold, until you both do it all over again. It's easier to hold for longer each time, almost feeling deeper with each slide of his cock across your tongue, the taste of his precum making you salivate as much as having your mouth filled and occupied is.

Then, he presses you down, holding your head as you moan and whine and try desperately to swallow around him, to take more of him as he only seems to get harder.

"Not so Flopsy now, huh?" he asks, releasing you and pushing your head down on his cock once more.

He's fucking into your mouth now, small shallow thrusts hitting the back of your throat, your hand working the toy slickly across his balls as he moans more desperately than you've ever heard him moan before. Despite your teasing and edging, he's the one holding back now, the feel of your mouth on his cock, your nails scratching at his belly, and that damned toy sliding across his balls far too much for him to want to let go of any time soon.

But fuck is he close, and if he's not careful he's going to ruin it for himself by holding back and exploding without warning. He's waited too long for that to happen.

"I'm gonna -"

"Mhm!" you groan around his dick, nodding as much as you can with it in your mouth. You steady your hand against his waist, taking over all movement as he stills the slow gyration of his hips, bobbing your head faster as you suck him down. The swirl and flick of your tongue is positively relentless, and everything feels so wet and warm and fucking perfect that he knows he's a goner.

"Hn-uhhhhh, fuck. Ah, fuck, don't stop, don't stop, fuck, ugh!"

He bursts, salty in your mouth, filling your throat as you swallow around him, massaging and gripping his heavy balls as they twitch in your palm through the thick silicone.

You're only a bit of a mess when you pull off of him. Your lips are swollen and tingly, your hand slippery with lube, but you are totally, utterly content. The slick feeling between your legs is still there, so is the throb, but you're as satisfied as you could possibly be.

Pulling yourself to your feet is another story. Your legs have gone a bit numb from sitting on your knees for so long, and you stumble as you fight to right yourself, Joel catching you just before you tumble into the flowerbed. You laugh in his arms, his mouth pressed to yours as he swallows the sound, consumes it, wills it to make home in his body so he never forgets it.

Joel's fingers work their way under your thin shirt. He'd been looking between your face and your nipples the entire time you were on your knees for him, and he suspects you're entirely naked under there. When his fingers meet your sticky thighs, he thinks he's hit the jackpot, and is ready to return the favor through the haze of his own orgasm, when you stop him.

"I, uh... sorted myself out not too long ago. A few times."

"Damn, if I'd known I woulda come right up and helped you out myself. Thought you were sleepin', house was dark. Jus' playing with this sweet thing all along, huh?"

If he had known, he would have known how much you thought about him as you fucked yourself on your fingers. He would have known how you used the plug he left on your bedside table more than any of the others, crying his name out into the lonely expanse of your bedroom as you came quicker, and harder, than you had any right to. If he had known, he'd know how well and truly fucked you were over a man you still knew practically nothing about.

Of course, you knew some physical things. You knew what he looked like naked, how broad he was and how sweaty he got when he fucked you. You knew what he sounded like groaning into your mouth or laughing at a silly quip you'd thrown at him. You knew what he tasted like, and what you tasted like off of his tongue. But that was where your knowledge of him ended. You didn't know what he did for work, or if he even liked his job. You didn't know his favorite food or color. You didn't know what he sang in the car. You didn't know where he lived or what he drove - you didn't even know his full name, and you knew exactly why.

You were scared. Terrified, actually. Terrified to really get to know him, to break that blissful illusion of the tall, dark stranger who rocked your world on a seasonal basis, only to find you didn't like him at all. Or worse - that he didn't like you.

So, when you walk him through your house, egg disposed of and hands washed, listening to the soft snap of his suit being closed up around his bare body, you desperately try to ignore the longing ache in your chest, stopping any request for him to stay, to take you out for coffee in the morning before it stupidly tumbles out of your mouth. That's not what this is.

Instead, you wordlessly reach for your keys, smiling sweetly to him as if you hadn't just been waging war against yourself inside your head.

"What're you doing," he says, pointing to the keys held in your hand. "Goin' somewhere, or comin' home with me?"

"No, smart ass, this is a key, it locks doors. Just gonna lock up after you leave."

Joel's smile drops from his face. And you don't know why, but it has alarm bells immediately blaring in your head.

"What?" you ask nervously, eyes darting around his face as if you're trying to read his mind as he takes a slow step toward you, a frown slowly pulling his brow down as he pieces some mystery together.

"The door locks when it closes, then you the take the key and lock it again after?"

"... Maybe? Yes?"

"Wait. And you're tellin' me you do that every night."

"Yes, I lock my door every night Joel, what's wrong with that." Obviously your lock was no match for his lock picking skills, but you didn't consider that Joel perhaps didn't know how locks worked at all.

"What's wrong with that is you're unlocking your door every night and leaving it unlocked all night."

Your blood turns cold. You don't know why. You could just not believe him, or test for yourself, but something about his reaction, and his seemingly easy ability to get into your house, tells you that what he says is exactly right. It's your turn for your smile to drop, and you can feel it slip off your face just as your heart starts rapidly hopping in your chest.

"Oh. I - I thought..."

"It ain't that kind of lock, sweetheart. You never checked it after lockin' it?"

"No. No I - My last place, the lock, I had to - oh my god." There's dread now. A sickening cocktail of feelings swirling through your body, turning you red hot and cold over and over as you think of all the things that could've happened, how lucky you were they didn't, after all this time. Damn near a year, and you hadn't figured out how to properly work your own fucking door.

"How d'you think I been gettin' in? Didn't exactly climb down the chimney or fly in through the window the last two times. Maybe shouldn'ta done it that first time, but your tree was driving me mad, seein' it bare like that every time I drove past. You weren't in and the door was open, was only gonna be quick and then..."

You're not listening. Your heart has just stopped like it's been hurtled into a brick wall at 100mph. "Wait, you drive past my house?"

"Where else am I gonna fuckin' drive?!"

A thousand million volts straight to your chest, and your heart is beating again, racing, your voice raising with it, brandishing the pointy end of your key at him like it could save you now. "Have you been stalking me?"

"What? No! I live down the fuckin' street, I drive by to get to my house, I thought you knew that."

"Down the street?"

"Yes. I'm hardly gonna come from outta town just to fix your lights and your sink and fuck off again. I was just... bein' neighborly, I guess."

"You've been in my house fixing my shit without me here?"

It's just revelation after revelation. You can't believe it. You can't believe yourself for one, but you can't believe him either. Only you can. You very much believe him, and you hate that you do and you hate that, deep down, you know he's right and you're exactly the kind of idiot he's undoubtedly thinking you are.

"You ain't fuckin' noticed?! You had a light out in here, your kitchen faucet was drippin', your railin' in your hall closet was bust... you didn't notice anythin'? Are you even fuckin' in that pretty head o' yours?"

Suddenly you're feeling very stupid. The door is one thing, the minor home repairs another, but you'd been under the impression you were both on the same page this entire time. That it was some silly game you played, two strangers who had next to no clue about each other. All this time he knew who you were, but you were too fucking preoccupied and distracted and stupid to see that he was right there.

The heat in your checks crackles in your ears, misting over your eyes and making your entire body feel fuzzy. That fight or flight you'd been wondering about for the last few months has suddenly decided to make an appearance, settling on both as you fight back tears with a quivering lip.

"Get out." It's silent fury, building white hot as the seconds tick by with him standing, staring at you like you're the one dressed as a giant rabbit and not him.

"What? Darlin', c'mon, it's okay -"

"Get. Out." You wrench the door open, pushing him and his stupid fucking bunny costume out, shoving the basket of eggs into his arms once he crosses the doorway.

"Bye." You slam the door, the stupid fucking self locking door, and slide down it, head in your hands. You have never felt so fucking stupid.

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[megalony]

You Need To Choose

This is an Evan Buckley imagine, requested by anon. I love writing tropes like this so thank you for sending it in and I hope you will all like it. Feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz

Buck Masterlist

Summary: Evan saves a woman who then becomes very attached to him. While he is at work, she visits his home and takes his pregnant wife hostage.

Enjoy.

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Oh God, why was she back again?

Her smile did something to unnerve Evan, although he wasn't altogether sure why. It was the way she looked at him, like there was some kind of aura around him that nobody else had. It unsettled him, it made him panicked and uneasy and unsure about how to act or what to do.

Evan could feel his hands suddenly start to drag up and down his thighs in an anxious habit that reminded him of (Y/n). He didn't realise how many of her anxious traits he had too until he noticed the way (Y/n) would fidget or cling to him when she was nervous or ready to go home if they were out somewhere.

"Hi Buck,"

He fought hard to smile and try to be polite. It wouldn't be kind if he stared at her blankly or let his unease become visible.

"Hi… are you okay? Can I help you with something?"

Evan tucked his hands into his pockets as he stood in front of her but kept a safe distance of three feet between them.

This marked the third time Cara had come by the station and the second time, Evan had been lucky enough to be out on a call. She was only stopping by to talk to him, she didn't want to see any of the team. She asked for him the first time she popped round and she came to say thank you.

It had been very sweet, not many people willingly came by the station to thank any of the team when they helped people out of bad situations. They said thank you on the scene but never followed up and it was nice for Evan to see Cara was doing well. He often wondered about the people they saved, if they were okay, if they were happy or struggling. If they remembered the people who came to help them.

The second time, Evan had been uneasy when Chimney told him Cara came by again but left when she was told Evan was out.

Now she was back again, and Evan couldn't see why. She had thanked him the first time and he told her it was his job, he didn't do this for praise although it was lovely of her to stop and say thank you.

She had been trapped in a crumbling building when the team turned up at the scene and Cara had been seconds away from crashing through a window and falling to her death when Eddie and Evan got there. Evan went down on a rope and managed to grab her before she fell. He could see how it would shake her up and make her grateful, but he couldn't see why she would come back again and again to thank him when she didn't have to.

"I'm a lot better now, thank you. I thought I'd stop by and give you these."

Evan had been preoccupied wondering why she was here and missed the tuppaware box she had in her hands. When he leaned forward, he realised she had made some sort of cake.

The team got a lot of food, mainly chocolates or baked goods to say thank you and that was usually around Christmas or Easter.

Evan wasn't used to getting gifts from the people they saved, a polite thank you and a hug was always more than enough for him. He got enough gifts from the team and his family on special occasions. The last gift he got was (Y/n)'s gift on his birthday telling him he was going to be a dad. That had given him a whole new high he never felt before.

"Thank you," He tried his best to smile and took the box when she suddenly thrust it into his hands. "You didn't have to do that."

"It's the least I could do for my hero."

He could feel his smile fading away when she reached up and wrapped an arm around his neck to pull him into a hug.

He usually gave small hugs on the scene after saving someone, not weeks later when they came by to say thank you. He wasn't sure what to do. It wouldn't do him good to stand like an uncomfortable statue but he also didn't want to hug her as if they were good friends or give her the wrong impression. Evan was big on hugs and physical contact but only with close friends and family.

He was always messing about with Bobby and Eddie but they were more like family. Evan didn't do so well with strangers.

"Okay… take care." His smile was definitely more forced this time and looked more like a grimace when Cara finally let him go when she seemed to realise he wasn't hugging her back.

It wouldn't be professional to hug her back. He hadn't done anything to warrant a hug, he saved her almost three weeks ago and she said thank you on the scene. She wasn't a friend, she wasn't family or someone Evan knew well enough to have physical contact with. And he was married. He didn't want nor need to be hugging her.

As soon as she left the station, Evan turned around and let his shoulders deflate. He sighed and gritted his teeth as he looked over towards Hen who was checking the inventory in the ambulance.

"What'd you get?"

"Cake, I think." He hoped.

"Taking it home for (Y/n)?" She poked her tongue out between her teeth and grinned widely but the grin started to slip when Evan shook his head and frowned like she'd just insulted him. "You get given cake- something your extremely pregnant wife loves, and you're not taking it home for her?"

"Not when I don't know who's made it." Evan brought the tuppaware box up to his eyes and squinted through the plastic. "I don't know what's in it, I'm not risking giving that to (Y/n). Do you want it?"

He could see the wheels turning in Hen's mind and she hummed, pursing her lips as she suddenly agreed with him.

It was a lovely gesture, but Evan didn't know Cara. He didn't know if she would lace the cake like one woman had done with the brownies she sent in. Evan didn't know if she would drug the cake or add some strange ingredient. It was too risky to take home to (Y/n) when Evan got a bad vibe from Cara as it was. He wasn't giving her food baked by a stranger.

(Y/n) was nine months pregnant, Evan wouldn't risk giving her something that might make her sick. He'd rather play it safe and buy her cake on the way home from shift.

"Erm, maybe not."

Evan nodded her way before he walked towards the stairs and on his way past, he tossed the box in the bin. It was a kind gesture, but he wasn't eating it and Bobby had rules. No food or drink to be accepted from strangers. It didn't matter how kind they were or what lovely intentions they had, no one should accept food. Only close friends and family could bake goods and bring them into the station.

And something told Evan not to try that cake.

***

"What are you doing?"

A gasp burned past (Y/n)'s lips and her left hand clutched the curtain rail while she flapped her right hand out. She grabbed Evan's shoulder to steady herself when she suddenly felt his hands tightly digging into her hips and his chest press up against her hips and bum.

"Evan don't do that!" She bashed her hand against his chest before she moved back to clutching his shoulder when she wobbled.

Her lips pressed into a thin line and she scowled down at her husband while he pressed his chin against her hip and stared up at her with that stern expression that made her weak at the knees. She slowly let go of the curtain rail and shuffled around on the stool until she was fully facing Evan.

Her hands held his shoulders as she hunched over in a silent plea for him to help her down.

"The curtain came down again, I was putting it back up." She mumbled when Evan locked his arms in place and kept her stood high up above him. She watched him tilt his head forward and press his lips against her bump while his hands curved round from her hips to hold the back of her waist.

He let her lean her weight down onto him and slowly eased her down until she was safely back on her feet. (Y/n)'s hands stayed on Evan's shoulders and she tilte dher head back to look up at him.

"And you thought giving me a heart attack was worth it?" His eyes darted between (Y/n) and the curtain until she leaned forward and buried her face in his chest.

He peered into the nursery and saw her standing on a stool, leaning heavily on the window. And from his angle, it looked like she was unsteady and about to fall. Evan didn't need that kind of panic when he was already on edge as it was. He had one more week of work and (Y/n) was bang on nine months now. Her due date was next week and Evan was panicking that she was going to go into labour while he was at work.

He didn't need to walk round the house and see her daring to stand on a stool like that and risk a fall.

"I've done it now, I was fine until you scared me."

"Well next time just tell me rather than risking a fall." Evan was taller, he could reach the curtain rail without straining or going on his tiptoes. (Y/n) didn't have to do it by herself when she could just tell him and he would sort it.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she tilted her head back so her chin was tucked into the middle of his chest. The way she batted her lashes at him made Evan's chest tighten and she knew she had won him over when his stern look faded into a soft smile.

"How do you feel today?" He let his hand slide down to cradle her stomach and his head tilted to the side. They both knew what he was actually asking.

(Y/n) looked down and let her fingers glide down Evan's arm until she cupped his wrist.

"Just kicking, they're not coming today. You can relax, baby Buckley is staying put for today." Her thumb smoothed across the back of Evan's hand which she moved to the lower right side of her stomach so he could feel a small kick.

She wasn't feeling any strange movements or feeling the baby turning round yet. No more lower back pain than usual and no dull aches or cramps anywhere that would imply labour. They still had a few more days or even a week left. Evan could go to work calm, knowing he wasn't going to miss anything today.

"Good. You're not allowed to go into labour without me."

"I know, but I'm not holding out much longer. The baby might not be ready, but I am."

"Just three more shifts, baby girl. Wait three more shifts, for me, please?" Evan lifted his hand to cup her chin and tilted her head back while he smoothed his thumb across her lower lip that he pinched to watch her take a sharp breath.

He knew (Y/n) was getting restless. He hadn't known her take so many baths as she had in the last three months, but it was where she felt most comfortable and where the baby seemed to settle and sleep. (Y/n) was tired. She thought she would of had the baby by now, she thought she wouldn't make it to her due date. But the baby seemed very comfy and cosy and (Y/n) was getting fed up of waiting.

Evan, on the other hand, was somehow containing his excitement. He had agreed with Bobby to work right up until (Y/n)'s due date because it gave him an extra two weeks off after the baby was born. Rather than taking time off in the lead up to the birth. He would rather work until (Y/n) had the baby and then he could have a few straight weeks off to be home and help her with the baby.

He had barely taken any annual leave this year so he had a lot stored up that he could take when the baby was born in case (Y/n) or the baby were ill or needed him. Or in case he had a hard time going back to work, he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to settle back at work and leave his family at home.

"Sweet-talker," (Y/n) muttered quietly before she pushed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.

He enticed a gasp from her lips when he sank his teeth into her bottom lip so he could swipe his tongue past her lips. (Y/n) could feel his hand tightening in the back of her shirt and he tugged her closer until she was tightly meshed against his front.

"You'll be late."

"Hm," He grinned and panted against her lips as his nose brushed against hers until she shook her head when it started to tickle. "You call me if you need me, even if you just feel sick. I've always got my phone on me now and if you can't get hold of me, call Bobby."

"I promise." Her lips attached to the side of his neck and she curled her arms around his shoulders to pull him down to her. Her face buried into his shoulder and she could feel his chest vibrating with a chuckle.

(Y/n) seemed to be promising Evan every shift that she would call him if she needed anything. She never did. Maddie was always popping round to check in and make sure she was alright when she knew Evan was at work and so far (Y/n) had been fine. But she knew Evan had cleared it with Bobby for (Y/n) to be able to get hold of him because if she needed him, he had to be able to answer.

Her hands trailed to his shoulders and she leaned back when Evan bent forward and pressed his lips against her stomach. His hand slipped beneath her shirt to dance across her skin because he knew it made her shimmy and squirm.

"Be good. Don't make an appearance until daddy comes home."

When Evan felt a kick near his lips, he grinned. (Y/n) tangled her fingers through his curls and steadily stroked them towards the back of his head while she rolled her eyes.

"They're definitely going to be a daddy's child."

***

"Hello?" (Y/n) tightened her hand around the door handle and tried to form a calm smile when she opened the door.

She wasn't expecting visitors today, she wasn't even sure that Maddie would stop by today or if she was at work. (Y/n) had been expecting to spend another calm day at home and tuck herself up in bed until Evan came home later on tonight.

(Y/n) didn't recognise the woman on the other side of the door. She had shoulder-length gritty blonde hair that was slightly damp from the hot weather and it made her hair curl and crimp at the ends. She had one hand curled around her bag on her shoulder and the other was planted firmly on her hip.

Whoever she was, she didn't seem happy to see (Y/n) opening the door. Had she gotten the wrong address? Was she looking for a friend or family?

"Who are you?" Her demanding question took (Y/n) by surprise and the smile faded from her lips as she clung a bit tighter to the door. It should be (Y/n) saying that, not whoever this woman was.

"I-"

"Where's Buck, is he home?"

The way she leaned to try and peer around (Y/n) into the house made a shiver crawl down (Y/n)'s spine.

So whoever she was, she clearly had the right address. She was looking for Evan. (Y/n) dared not think why this woman was looking for him, she seemed rather put-out at seeing (Y/n) instead. And the way she was tapping her foot against the doorstep made (Y/n) uneasy, it was like (Y/n) was wasting her time.

"He's at work right now… can I help you? I'm his wife." It seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and braced her left hand out on the wall when the woman in front of her took a stumbling step backwards. It was as if (Y/n) had gone and slapped her.

Who was she? How did she know Evan but not know that he was married? He wore a silver band on his ring finger for God's sake, that was a big giveaway. His lockscreen was a picture of them when they were on holiday and his home screen was a more daring picture of (Y/n) that not many people saw or noticed.

Evan didn't hide the fact that he was married, he told just about anyone and he had been high as a kite these last few months at the notion of being a father. His friends were mainly the people he worked with and the few friends he knew from college. All of whom (Y/n) had met and gone out with on quite a few occasions.

Their circle of friends was close-knit, small and secure. And this woman was not a part of that circle.

"His- no, he's not married." Cara's hand tightened on her hip and she tried to smirk, but the look faded again when (Y/n) simply frowned.

"Excuse me?"

(Y/n) could feel her annoyance beginning to build up like a fire ebbing away at her and growing with each passing second. She was tired, she wanted to go to bed and lie down and dwindle away the hours until Evan came home. The last thing (Y/n) wanted was an argument on her own doorstep because some derranged woman had turned up out of the blue.

"Who are you?"

"I told you, I'm his wife. He isn't here, do you want me to call him?" (Y/n) wasn't playing this silly game. She didn't have to prove that she was married to Evan. It was up to this woman to explain what she wanted Evan for and either call him herself or leave.

(Y/n) leaned her weight on the wall when the baby started to move and press down on her hips.

But when she watched the way the stranger in front of her suddenly stared down at her stomach, (Y/n) felt like wishing the ground to swallow her whole. She could feel the daggers burning into her stomach and the woman's face turned a dark shade of red like the epitome of anger was right here in front of her.

The silence was unbearable, until (Y/n) strained hard to hear what this woman was suddenly muttering under her breath. Then, (Y/n) was suddenly desperate for the silence to come back.

"Pregnant? You're having his kid? You can't be. You can't be."

It was like those were the only words this woman could comprehend and it made (Y/n) shiver.

Was this the lady who kept turning up at the station? Evan mentioned a woman kept stopping by even after she thanked him and the team for saving her. (Y/n) didn't think anything of it because Evan didn't seem to elaborate or make much of a fuss.

"I think you need to leave now."

"I'm not going anywhere!"

(Y/n) shuddered and quickly backed up when the woman smashed her hand out into the door and slammed it so violently it hit the wall and rebounded into (Y/n)'s arm. She felt a bolt of electricity shooting down her elbow towards her hand that spasmed in pain but she swallowed down a cry.

There was no time for (Y/n) to try and slam the door shut, let alone think about locking the door to keep herself and her baby safe.

Before she could move, the woman was over the threshold and pushing her way into the house.

(Y/n) tried to bash her hands out but she recoiled her hands to her chest with a gasp when something sharp caught the side of her wrist and burned down her arm.

She had a knife. A swiss army knife, to be exact.

It was a red rectangular plastic with a lot of various sized blades tucked away and even a thin set of scissors attached. (Y/n) didn't see her take that out of her bag, she moved far too quickly and it was very unsettling to know this woman carried one around with her in her bag.

"Where is he?!"

"I- I told you, he's at work- please stop. Why do you want to see him?" (Y/n) tried to swipe away the small trickle of blood from her wrist but she lashed her left hand out again when the woman moved the knife near her stomach. She wasn't going to harm the baby. (Y/n) wouldn't let her.

"I want him! He's mine- he saved me. We've been out on dates, bet you didn't know that."

It took all (Y/n) had not to roll her eyes or make a sarcastic sound. As if she would truly believe Evan could be the way he was around her and then go behind her back with someone else. He wouldn't be this clingy and attached to (Y/n) if he really was going out with someone else and he wouldn't be so excited about having their baby if he wanted to leave (Y/n).

She knew her husband and she knew he was as devoted to her as she was to him. Everyone at the station was always telling her that. Clearly this woman had either been reading the signals wrong, or she had been living in a fantasy that had just broken.

"He isn't here-"

"So call him and get him here!"

When the knife moved closer to her stomach, (Y/n) backed up into the lounge and nodded. Her hands started to tremble as she turned and looked around for her phone. This woman had to be derranged. She clearly didn't have Evan's number or she would have called him herself and unless Evan had a secret phone he wasn't telling (Y/n) about, he couldn't be having an affair.

No one nowadays had affairs where they only talked in person or through the post. This woman didn't have Evan's number, she had no way of contacting him and it was clear she had never been to the house before. Her fantasy was unravelling because she was realising Evan had a life and a family that she wasn't part of.

(Y/n) slowly pointed to her phone and picked it up just as she felt the knife press against the side of her abdomen. She couldn't make any sudden movements unless she wanted to risk harming the baby.

"H-he might not be able to answer, if he's out on a call…" (Y/n)'s fingers trembled as she unlocked her phone.

Her lips pressed together in a thin line when she looked at her home screen. Evan, lying in bed with one hand tangled in his hair and a cheesy grin on his face as he squinted up at the camera.

Her thumb hovered over Evan's icon at the bottom of her phone where two hearts surrounded 'hubby'.

"Either he answers, or he truly doesn't love you. He wouldn't leave you alone ready to pop without a way for you to contact him, would he?"

It didn't feel safe to tell this woman that they had protocols and plans in place for that kind of event. If Evan couldn't answer the phone, (Y/n) was supposed to ring Bobby. If he didn't answer, she had the fire station emergency line where someone at the station would answer and they could radio through to Evan. He would get (Y/n)'s message either way, but right now, she needed her husband to answer the phone.

God knows what this woman would do if he didn't pick up.

"What do I tell him?" She couldn't risk getting a knife to the stomach if she said the wrong thing or said something this lady didn't want her to say. (Y/n) needed to know what to do.

"Tell him to come home. Tell him Cara's here and she needs to see him, if he doesn't… I think you know what will happen."

(Y/n) let herself slump down on the sofa as she clicked Evan's icon and pressed the phone against her ear. Her free hand tangled in her hair before she moved to press the back of her hand against her mouth to stop herself from crying. But she couldn't fight off the few tears that silently slipped down the bridge of her nose.

The baby was twisting. Her stomach was flooding with adrenaline. Her body was shaking from the panic. She felt like she was going to be sick. (Y/n) wanted her husband more than ever.

"Sweetheart, everything okay? Is it time, is the baby coming?" Words rambled past Evan's lips and he couldn't see the relief on (Y/n)'s face when he started to speak. He knew she wouldn't ring him unless it was urgent or an emergency.

"Evan, can you come home please?"

"Baby are you okay?" He could hear the wobble in her voice and it made his heart clench. He would come home, she knew he would, but Evan had to know what the situation was and why he was coming home. He had to know if (Y/n) was in labour or if she had fallen or was feeling sick or felt like something was wrong. He needed the specifics.

"Cara's here, a-and she wants to talk to you… it's important, please come home."

"Cara? What's she doing at the house- how does she know where we live?" Evan tangled his fingers in the short curls at the back of his head as he spun round in a circle.

How did she know where he lived? Why had she turned up at his house and not the station?

Oh God, had she been following him to know where he lived?

"Baby are you hurt, please tell me she hasn't hurt you?"

(Y/n) darted her eyes to the left and glanced over at Cara to see if she could hear Evan through the phone or not. She looked a little calmer now but the fire was still burning in her eyes. She was sat on the arm of the sofa next to (Y/n), the army knife still dangerously close to (Y/n)'s stomach just to show her she still meant business.

When she looked up, she noticed Cara had seen her eyes darting down to the knife and something sinister flickered across her face.

"You can tell him I have a knife with me. And I will use it if he doesn't take us seriously."

"Did- she's got a fucking knife?!" Evan's feet moved before he could comprehend what he was doing or where he was going. He needed help. He needed someone to come down to his house with him. He was sure he heard Cara say she would use her knife. He couldn't have her threatening or hurting (Y/n). Especially not when she was so close to giving birth.

"Evan-" (Y/n) shuddered and took a sharp breath when the phone was suddenly snatched from her hand.

"Buck, it's me. Are you on your way?"

"What are you doing at my house? Don't you dare hurt my wife! I swear to God I'll-"

"Enough talk. You need to come home now, so you can choose who you really want to be with. You need to choose the right woman for you."

(Y/n) flinched when she heard Evan begin to yell before the call ended and Cara tossed the phone on the floor. At least Evan would be coming home soon. (Y/n) wouldn't have to be on her own with this unhinged woman for much longer.

For a little while, (Y/n) began rubbing her hands up and down her thighs and across her knees as something to distract herself. She was desperate to run her hands over her stomach and try to settle the baby but she didn't dare draw attention to her stomach. Not when the knife was still held so close to her that she could almost feel it.

Part of her prayed that Evan would bring someone from the station with him, maybe Bobby or perhaps he could get hold of Athena. But she wasn't sure what Cara would do if he turned up with anyone else and if he called the police, everything would get worse.

Both women turned to look at each other when they heard the screeching of tyres in the drive.

It had to be Evan.

"Up. Now."

A shiver rocketed through (Y/n) but she did as requested, she didn't exactly have a choice.

Her lips pressed into a thin line and her hands coiled around her chest when the knife jabbed into the left side of her waist. She could feel the jagged edge beginning to pull the threads on her shirt and if Cara pushed just a little, she would pierce through into (Y/n)'s skin.

Cara's other hand moved to grip the back of (Y/n)'s right arm and she pushed her to stand near the window just as Evan banged his knuckles on the door.

"Baby it's me." The door was open but Evan felt apprehensive about going inside. He didn't know what he was going to be walking into, he had no idea if (Y/n) was okay, if she was going to be in shock or crying or hurt or oddly calm. He didn't know what state Cara would be in either.

"You'd better be alone. No one else comes in or I'll hurt her." Cara tightened her hand on (Y/n)'s arm and kept the knife in place to stop (Y/n) from moving when they both watched Evan walk through the hall.

He had his hands out in front of him to show he wasn't about to do anything. He had Bobby waiting outside in the car, but Evan wasn't stupid enough to tell Cara that. And Bobby was on the phone to Athena who was going to send a squad car down here without lights or sirens so Cara didn't get disgruntled.

"It's just me." Evan walked around the corner and paused near the sofa.

(Y/n) saw the way his eyes darkened and his broad shoulders tensed and lifted up when he looked at them. He lowered his hands down to his sides and clenched his hands into fists while his biceps started to push against his cuffed sleeves.

A quiet 'good' murmured past Cara's lips and she smiled triumphantly while her eyes focused on Evan. He stood behind the sofa and leaned his hands down on the back of the sofa. It showed how tense his arms were and they both heard his neck crack when he twisted his head from side to side.

"Are you okay?" Evan focused his eyes on his wife. She had a cut on her right wrist but it didn't look too extensive. He could see her trembling and tears were traced down her features, but she didn't look too shook up which is all he could ask for right now.

"She's fine."

(Y/n) bit her lip but she nodded, she didn't want Evan to worry, she was as fine as she could be in this situation.

"I'd feel a lot better if you weren't holding a knife to her stomach. Can you put it down, please?" It felt horrid to try and be reasonable and bargain with Cara but Evan needed her to stop holding (Y/n) like that. She was going to hurt her or send her into shock and Evan didn't want either of those things happening.

"No. Sit down, we need to talk."

Evan locked his jaw when Cara gave (Y/n) a sudden push towards the armchair beneath the window. He watched with narrowed eyes as (Y/n) slumped down into the chair and dug her nails into the arm rest while her other hand moved to press against her stomach.

When Cara perched down on the arm rest and kept the knife against (Y/n)'s stomach, Evan moved round and sat on the very edge of the sofa. His knees spread out to the sides and his hands clasped together and hung between his knees.

"You didn't tell me about her." The way Cara inclined her head towards (Y/n) and her upper lip curled in distaste made Evan take a deep breath. "You led me on. I've been to visit you at work, I've been out with you, and no mention of her."

For a second, Evan frowned and looked up at Cara like she had grown a second head.

But then it dawned on him. He'd seen her when he was out at the shop last week. He'd seen her again when he went for a drink with Chimney and Eddie after shift. He even saw her at the gas station walking past while he was filling the jeep. Nothing about those instances had seemed strange because Cara barely spoke to him on each occasion.

Had she thought seeing him out in public meant they were going out together? Did she somehow concoct a whole story with Evan without him realising? Had she been following him instead of simply bumping into him in the street?

"I'm sorry, but you can see why I didn't tell you… I was married before I met you." Evan didn't exactly know what to say, but he knew he had to try and go along with this for a little while. He had to calm Cara down enough to get (Y/n) out the house, then he could sort out this mess. He just needed his family out the way and safe.

"Well now you have a problem. You can't have both of us, so you have to choose."

The knife pressed closer into (Y/n)'s stomach and she flinched. She shuffled as close to the right as she could until she was curled around the arm of the chair with her arms around her chest and her eyes locked on Evan.

"Will you let (Y/n) leave then, so you and me can talk in private?"

He could see she wasn't expecting that response, and Cara didn't know what to do. Evan was trying to get (Y/n) out safely, he wanted her out the house and out of harms way and Cara might be able to see that. But she also couldn't pass up the chance that Evan might just want to pick her and talk this through with her.

"What about the baby? If you leave her, will you leave the baby too?" When Cara jabbed the knife into (Y/n)'s side to prove her point, (Y/n) visibly winced and bit down her cry.

"We can talk about that when (Y/n) leaves us alone," Evan was losing his patience now, he couldn't play pretend for much longer.

Cara seemed to debate it for a few seconds before she nodded but her actions contradicted her gesture when she moved the knife and against (Y/n)'s neck. She seemed to revel in the way (Y/n) whimpered and leaned back and more tears drenched her face.

"Go upstairs. You're not leaving the house to call any of your little friends."

(Y/n) could feel the knife pressing tightly into her neck until it pierced the skin and a small trickle of blood trailed down the side of her neck, but she couldn't move. Her hands stayed locked around the arm of the chair and she closed her eyes for a few seconds. She didn't feel well enough to move. Everything within (Y/n) was telling her to move, to get up and go and keep the baby safe.

She knew Evan could look after himself, he could get the knife off Cara and calm her down until they could get the police here. But she couldn't find the will power to move when her stomach was twisting and she felt sick.

"Sweetheart," Evan chomped down on his tongue when Cara sent him a warning look. "(Y/n), go."

"Are you stupid? Move, he's told you he doesn't want you here anymore."

Tears tumbled down (Y/n)'s face and she stumbled up to her feet when Cara gave her a rough shove between the shoulders and she felt the knife slide down her neck, creating a superficial wound.

(Y/n) could feel her knees quaking but she couldn't stop the small cry from errupting past her lips when she looked down. Both her hands cradled her stomach and she darted her wild, panicked eyes to look over at Evan. She watched the way her husband tensed up and his eyes bulged in their sockets.

Her waters had broken.

"Evan…" She didn't know what she wanted to say or what she wanted her husband to do, but (Y/n) needed Evan to do something.

She cringed and pinned her elbows into her waist when Cara snagged a handful of her hair and pulled her head right back until her neck felt like it had broken.

"You've done this on purpose! This is to make sure he won't leave you- you bitch!"

"Let her go- Cara that's enough!" Evan raised his voice out of instinct and bolted up from the sofa when he saw the knife move near (Y/n)'s stomach. He couldn't let her do anything to his wife. She was frightened and in pain and now she was going to go into labour at the worst possible time. Evan had to keep them both safe and away from Cara.

(Y/n) reached her hands out for Evan when he stumbled towards her. She let out a scream when the knife swiped near her stomach just as she tried to lunge forward and pull out of Cara's tight grip on her hair.

Her hands curled around Evan's arm and she let him yank her forwards until he had her safely behind him. Evan hated the way he felt (Y/n) go down on her knees behind him and he felt her hands scratch down his back and his leg but he couldn't grab her. He had to reach forward for Cara who tried to lunge with a violent scream that almost deafened him.

The knife slashed the inside of Evan's palm but the adrenaline countered out the slight sting he barely felt. He curled his fingers around the blade and pulled until he had hold of the weapon which he launched somewhere behind him. He heard it clatter against the bannister and was satisfied it was far enough away so Cara couldn't reach for it again just as he heard the front door swing open.

"Buck?!"

Evan had never been happier to hear Bobby's voice and the thudding sound of approaching footsteps told him that someone else was in the house too. Someone else was here to help. He latched his fingers around Cara's wrist and pushed until they both stumbled and a scream tore from her lips when they clashed into the armchair.

When hands grabbed his shoulders, Evan let go and allowed whoever it was to reel him backwards until he was towards the sofa.

He realised it was Bobby who had hold of him and Athena was now stood in front of him like a bodyguard, trying to move and calm Cara enough to arrest her.

"Buck, Buck, come on, up." Bobby slipped his hands beneath Evan's arms and pulled until Evan bent his knees and managed to stand up. He could feel Bobby turning him in the right direction and giving him a helpful nudge until he moved towards (Y/n).

She was cowering down on the floor behind the sofa, one hand braced on the arm of the sofa with her other hand cradling her stomach.

Tears flooded down her face and she could barely see when Evan held her chin and tilted her head up so they were level again. His thumb swiped across her lips and (Y/n) could see his eyes raking over her to see what injuries she had. Her wrist was aching but it had already stopped bleeding, it was more of a nuisance than anything. There was a slight pinch in the left side of her stomach and (Y/n) knew Evan could see the small trickle of blood soaking into her shirt.

The knife had given her another superficial cut on the side of her abdomen that was nothing to worry about. But the look in Evan's eyes said it all; he wasn't impressed, not in the least.

(Y/n) curled her hand tightly around Evan's wrist when his hand slid round to cradle the back of her neck. He leaned closer until (Y/n) could bury her face in his neck and his other arm curved around her waist to keep her tucked up against his chest.

"Alright, alright sweetheart I've got you. It's okay." He spoke quietly into the top of her head as he felt her tears soaking into his neck and it made him shiver.

"Are you both alright?" Bobby rested his hand on Evan's shoulder as he crouched down and tried to assess them. He knew Evan's hand was bleeding, he could see the blood pooling between his fingers and trickling steadily down his wrist. But he hadn't been inside when everything turned south, Bobby hadn't seen if they had been hurt before he and Athena barged in.

"Her water broke."

"Right, then we need to take a trip down to the hospital."

(Y/n) tried to keep her face tucked up into Evan's neck but he gently reeled her back so he could look down at her again. She could feel his thumb smoothing up and down the back of her neck beneath her hair and his other hand began rubbing circles into her lower back. The smile o his face was calming, but not as much as the way his blue eyes seemed to swirl like a light was being shone in his aqua blue iris.

"Let's go have a baby."

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley imagine #pregnancy #buck x reader #buck imagine #pregnant! reader #911 imagine #imagine #bobby nash

[mosaickiwi]

Hi, hope you had a great new years ^^

If it's okay can I request a fic of Redacted teaching Angel how to ride their bike or just Angel just riding their bike in general?

Hiiii my new year was good! I hope yours (and valentine's,easter,etc) was good as well!!

the date callin me out for how long it's been since jan i'm sobbing /silly

I feel like emo boy would be extremely thorough about teaching them so... Maybe I'll do a part two where Angel actually drives... 👉👈

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~A Riding Lesson~

[REDACTED] was in their personal garage doing some maintenance on his bike when you arrived a little early for your date. All he could offer in greeting were a few sweet words and a quick kiss, due to their grease stained fingers. You chose to silently observe them for a while, sitting at the bench they left their toolkit on. You found yourself leaning forward, watching with pure fascination.

There was precision to each movement as they went about their work with expert hands. Were it not for the occasional smiles he threw your way when he picked up a different tool every so often—smiles that somehow still sent your heart aflutter after so long—you would’ve been completely absorbed.

You'd always been curious about how it worked. But there was never really a good time to mention said curiosity. Especially since you were more focused on holding on for dear life whenever they drove somewhere, even at a snail’s pace. You supposed now could be a good time.

“Can you teach me how to ride it?” you suddenly asked once he came over to pack his tools away in the box at your side.

Their scarred hand that was idly twirling a wrench stilled as he looked down at you, light blue eyes glittering with the beginnings of something. “...Yeah, love? Y’mind saying that again f’me?”

Much too late to take it back, you noticed your mistake. You were so absorbed in your thoughts that it felt like you were picking up a conversation. In reality, it hadn't even started. “The bike, Ren,” you hurriedly corrected yourself. “Teach me how to ride the bike.”

“‘Course. My bike,” [REDACTED] nodded along and continued putting away the tools. The smirk on their face was unmistakable, but they surprisingly held back from teasing you any longer. “Maybe a quick lesson, then.”

“Really?” You perked up.

He nodded towards the bike with an amused smile as he closed the toolbox and wiped off his hands. “We’ve got time.”

Excited as could be, you hopped over and quickly sat in the cushioned seat, immediately fidgeting with the handlebars. It already seemed weird being in the front, let alone by yourself. But your heart got a little louder when your dark haired lover sat behind you on the bike.

You were certain he could feel how you shivered as his hands wrapped securely around your waist and his head rested on top of yours. Stumbling for words, you almost shouted, “So! …Where am I taking us?”

“Nowhere. Y’need to know where everything is first, Angel.”

“Boooo.”

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

After fifteen grueling minutes of quizzing, he finally agreed to let you ride around the parking lot. They hopped off the back of the bike, swinging the key around their finger.  

Without his weight to balance you, you suddenly felt a little unsure of yourself. You thought he was going to ride with you, so you asked, “Did you only sit on the bike to hug me?”

“Yeah, y’looked so cute I couldn’t help m’self,” he admitted shamelessly. They didn't give you the key just yet, merely circled the bike a few times with a careful gaze. “Clutch?”

You frowned. The quiz was supposed to be over. “Left lever.”

“Throttle?”

You remembered that one easily. He always revved the engine with it before leaving. “Right handle," you said confidently as you grabbed it.

“Front brake?”

“Uhh…” you started, quickly panicking at the resigned look in their eye. “Right pedal.”

“That's the rear brake. Maybe next time.” They gave a swift denial of your short-lived dream.

You stubbornly stayed put on the bike, though your hands were no longer holding the handles, instead resting in front of you on the seat. “I could drive it down to the street, at least."

“Y’really think so? It’s a lot t’handle,” he cautioned. He reached in front of you with the key in hand, quickly putting it in the ignition. The engine purred in that quiet way you were used to.

You watched as [REDACTED] held firmly on the clutch at one handle, and slowly guided your hand to the throttle on the other. With the lightest turn of your wrist, the engine roared loud, vibrating the seat more and more. But he turned it even further and you could hardly hear yourself think.

It made you nervous. If you weren’t sure where the break was—or which one to use—it’d really spell disaster. “Okay, I get the point,” you sighed. They let go of your hand and the engine died back down to its usual purr. “I’ll try harder to remember where everything is. No crashing your bike into a stop sign for now.”

“Good. Just wan’ you t'keep that pretty little head right where it is, love,” he hummed and kissed said forehead. “Now, scoot. Or we can head upstairs so ‘can teach ya how to really—”

“I meant the bike!!”

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy redacted #momo reqs #HELPPP #forgive me #why did i search and watch vids about their bike even #i'm so silly #it's a cool ass bike i got scared watching some tho #that shit is TALL like the seat is 32in/81cm off the ground??? #i could not chill on that thing safely i'd be on my tiptoes!! #big L + ratio for us stumpy angels #i am so short pls get me my own damn bike babe

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Small fun fact about me:

My mom is neurodivergent too! And not only that, but

Me and my mom share a special interest.

[A short post about me, my mom, hyperfixations, and how acceptance can help you grow]

For the last ten years, both me and my mother have had a hyperfixation on Marvel movies and Superhero movies in general.

And if anything, she's more fixated than I am.

This started at the same time, despite my mother never picking up a comic in her life. It happened when we first saw the Avengers in theatres in 2012.

Since then me and my mother have seen every Marvel movie on the day of release, or even a day before release.

When I was in high school, I remember her specifically pulling me out of school early to take me to the marathon premiere of Thor 2 and The Winter Soldier.

She's seen every Marvel media to date outside of the Netflix series. She's already finished Secret Invasion.

In recent years, we've gotten Unlimited movie memberships, and because we live in NY we can often see movies the Thursday before the Friday release, so we go to the movies almost twice a month, and we see movies repeatedly.

I saw ATSV three times in theatres while she saw it twice, and saw GOTG a second or third time. We recently saw Blue Beetle the day or two after release. She keeps me CONSISTENT.

The reason why I theorize about Marvel media and Spider-man media is largely because of her.

For years she was the one I theorized with. I've spoken to her about whether or not Peter set Miles up (she isn't convinced), or argue with her about whether or not Khonsu from Moon Knight is cool (he is).

She watches more Marvel fan content than me and inhales all the essays, reacts, and Easter egg videos on YouTube.

She's the same with recent Star Wars, she's seen Andor and Boba Fett and the Mandalorian, and currently working her way through Asoka.

And she knew about my past fixation on Loki in specific. She even knows about Hobie and Diane.

I told her I want to go to NY ComicCon as my spidersona and she was like "... You'd have to work on your roller skating" and I was SHOOK she remembered that about Diane because she's right.

But yeah, we've always been REALLY REALLY close over marvel stuff, and it's amazing having a parent who has the same fixation as you. It's like a natural thing, and I can speak openly about my theories or interests and she'll be like 'Oh yeah I noticed that incredibly niche moment where Hobie did that one specific thing, what of it'

I'm never treated weird for my fixation. Cause hers is stronger. I told her I didn't want to see GOTG again and she was like HUH and I was so heartbroken that I went and saw it anyway 😭😭

Some of my favorite moments with my mom are in movies theatres. And because we share this niche interest and neurodivergency, we're able to have these in-depth conversations about these characters we've formed bonds to together.

When Loki the show came out we'd been waiting literal years for it - like literally since 2013 talking about it. And I had a lot of mixed feelings about it.

But I could talk about those feelings and thoughts and characterizations with someone I know wouldn't ostracize me, knows the material as well as I do - if not more, and cares about these characters.

Because of that, my theorizing skills were able to grow all throughout my teenage years.

Because my hyperfixation was nurtured instead of demonized.

And I just think that's SO COOL.

Just wanted to share. Here's a photo of Miguel because I hate consistency [this is a hobie household]

Bye.

#neurodivergent #neurodivergency #neurodiversity #adhd #autism #actuallyautistic #actuallyadhd #hyperfixations #special interests #autistic experiences #spiderman #marvel #atsv #across the spiderverse

[at1nys-blog]

Hungry and exhausted kids

Pairing: Demigods x diner’s staff

Summary: when the “Regulars” come to eat all injured and bruised is time for something special, and a lot of first AID kits

A/N: this is based on a post I reblogged some time ago(I don’t know when I’m going to post this nor if I can actually. If not just tell me to take it down no hate thanks) also you might read something similar written by @/drberfarious but do not worry people of tumblr I am a good writer so they contacted me and we talked about it so is safe for me to post it.

The 3Heads a diner run by the Pecks was one of the very few diners in the city open 24/7 no matter the weather conditions. The diner was open even under the holidays.

Sylvia, the youngest grand daughter of the owner, was happy about all of that, especially since she was allowed to decorate the space however she liked: on Halloween she gave her best if not more, this one being her favourite and the costumers loved the hanging spiders' webs and the skeletons having a bite with them and the owners loved the masked costumers-the second year since they were out for business they decided to inaugurate a contest for best Halloween costume and everyone loved it so much- the staff came to work dressed up as well; on Thanksgiving the atmosphere was more chill, with less decorations that excpected but the one not used for that holiday were soon going to be put out for Christmas.

Zackary, the older grand son of the owner, and Sylvia's brother, he noticed how many people were alone during Christmas, it was sad to witness young people spending such a jolly holiday, he wished for every single one of them to find a new family to spend that time of the year together. Some did, coming the next year with a partner, or their family; others didn't.

Than it was time for San Valentine, the sweetest holiday of them all, well on an equal footing with Halloween, but still. The diner turned from all green and red to pink. Hearts, flowers and ballons filled the diner and every now and then the owners were able to assist, and record, a couple of proposals.

It was before Easter, a couple of weeks prior to the festivity. A Saturday late night, maybe around 1 am or 2 when Sylvia welcomed inside a boy. The girl noticed he was exhausted, she had a thought that the boy had walked for a long time, how much to be exact she didn't know but again, the phylosophy of the diner was to not ask or assume.

She welcomed him in, a big smile on her face despise the late hour, he looked at her, for a second before turning around and scanning the space as in search of somewhere to hide.

"We have a couple of booths away from the entrance" she explained.

"No windows?" he simply asked.

"No windows" she repeated after him. The boy nodded and she asked him to follow her with a simple movement of her arm. When she had left him take a seat, the boys asked if they had something blue. Sylvia had to ask for some explanation here because what did he meant by something blue?

"I am craving blue food" he answered, which didn't help much but the girl knew how to deal with such reqeusts.

"I see what I can do." this was the magic formula to avoid conflict and with that she left the menu on the table and went straigh into the kitchen. "weird question but, do we have blue food coloring?" her older brother looked at her weird, as if she just asked him to take out from his pocket a monkey or something of that sort. "Ehy don't look at me like that. The kid asked for blue food." she defended herself. Her brother rolled his eyes and went to search for it.

"By the way do you know what he wants?" Sylvia was silent, she didn't ask. I mean the poor girl just got asked if they had blue food, the only think on her mind was if they could provide that for him and gain a new costumer or not a loose a potential costumer. "go ask him."

And so she did, and when she was back to the table he left the guy, she noticed he was sleeping, or on the verge of doing so. She pocked him, carefully, sure he was there to eat but if he fell asleep in the worst position ever that meant he was really worn out (?)

She pocked him again, a little harder this time and the poor kid jumped out of his skin taking out of his pocket a stabilo pen, using the object as a weapon as a fit to cause her arm.

"Sorry, I forgot to ask what would you like to eat."

"I don't really know, I just would like if it was blue."

"Okay, I'll tell that to our chef and see if we can meet your request. Anything to drink while you wait?"

Percy Jackson, Sylvia learned his name, became a regular at The 3Heads and after the second month-he passed by at least every single day to grab his usual to go, and once a week he took his sweet time by sitting and enoying his meal- he came in, the Pecks decided to add a special section of their menu and what best way to show it to him?

Percy walked in, followed by his two friends, Grover and Annabeth, with a quick hello went straight to his usual seat and then relaxed resting his head on the table. Annabeth was fast scolding him, it wasn't very polite to sleep in a diner but before Percy could explain, Sylvia was ready to give Percy that good news.

"Hello." she greeted the two new costumers. "Ohy sleepy head I have some news." she looked at the blonde girl and asked if it was okay for her to seat for a moment, when she nodded Sylvia sat down. "Perseus Jackson listen to me" his head was up in a second, the mention of his real name didn't scare him for once but only put him in listening mode. "I have, I mean the entire family has a surprise for you." Percy looked behind the girl and saw her brother, dad and grand father looking at him with anticipation. "read the menu" and so he did.

The first pages weren't any different, just a couple of new dishes nothing major really but then his eyes widened when he read the title of the section thet added 'Blue Food&Drinks'

"We have to find a new title for the section and we wanted..." she got cut off by the boy.

"Who's idea was that?" she smiled.

"Zachary joked about the fact we had to add it since you are basically living off of our food, dad thought it wasn't such a bad idea. Grandpa was the thoughtes to..." and once again Sylvia couldn't end her speech due to Percy hugging her out of nowhere with a soft thank you.

He then went to hug the rest of the Pecks and thanking them, he couldn't believe it. He never thought that complete strangers were going to do something this nice and sweet for him.

"Okay, why is Percy acting like a kid on Christams?"asked the boy. Sylvia just smiled and told him to check the menu. He started reading under his breath not understanding much about what was happening untill... "wow he comes here this often?"

"What? What is it?" said the blonde girl next to Sylvia and the menu was given to her, she smiled. "He comes here that often for sure. Thank you, you gained a loyal costumer and he is never going to stop talking about it. I am pretty sure the other campers will come here too." The Pecks knew about the summer camp not that away from the city, Percy had talked to them about it some weeks after he discovered the diner.

After that, Percy came in with always new people and the first think he showed them was the section about the blue food, picking for them his favorites and sharing new ideas with the cooks of the diner even because the blue food was becoming to be a trend. Kids asked their parents to take pictures of it; teens loved it and also felt the need to have it to fit into a new society that was head over heals for it; elder people just wanted to have some fun and try something out of the ordinary because who could have thought they could have a smoothie with blue cookies? Not them.

Time passed and The 3Heads had campers from "Camp Half-blood" almost on a daily, they became like a very extended family and good friends. They celebrated their birthdays there, went on dates there or just went and between one bite and the other played Mythomagic, similar to a game of Yu-Gi-Oh! but with mythological creatures. Sylvia did played a couple of rounds while on a break.

Time had passed since that first night when Percy Jackson walked into the diner and since then Sylvia and Zachary made good friends with the campers, everyone had their favorite kid but Percy? He was the number one for them. He was funny, sarcastic, intelligent on his own, witty and so much more. He sure was stubborn but one of the nicest kid the older Pecks have ever met in their life.

It was the day of Percy Jackson's birthday, in 2009, that the Percks closed the doors of The 3Heads for the first time in their life because how can you keep a diner open when a bunch of teens come to you bruised and injured, whith a face that read 'we lost someone' all over their faces?

Sylvia, Zackary, Colto and Taddeus Peck didn't asks question because this was their phylosophy of work, and whoever walked into that doors had a chance to choose either tell their story or not, and that night campers that have seen death, fought her and won decided it wasn't the time to tell the story of what did happen.

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fandom #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson x oc #platonic #annabeth chase #grover underwood #clarisse la rue #silena beauregard #michael yew #will solace #nico di angelo #thalia grace #kayla knowles #alice miyazawa #travis stoll #connor stoll #lee fletcher #charles beckendorf

[jungle-angel]

A Slight Upset (Miles Miller x Reader)

Summary: Miles really has to cool it with how much dairy he eats, but it has seriously hilarious results

Tagging: @floydsmuse

Miles could feel the goosebumps beginning to form on his skin as he sat in the doctor's office, stripped down to his tight grey shorts and waiting for Dr. Russel to come in and look him over. The cramping in his belly was still bad, bad enough to have landed him here after a rough night.

The door opened and in came Dr. Russel, his greying hair spiking up a bit in the front, glasses on his eyes and his white beard cut so close to his jaw that it was hardly noticeable.

"Hey Miles," he greeted cheerfully. "How's everything?"

"Pretty good so far Doc," Miles replied.

"That's good," Dr. Russel answered, scrawling a note on his clipboard. "Remind me of your date of birth again?"

"January 29th, 1943," Miles answered.

"Height?"

"Six foot on the dot."

"Weight?"

"One-sixty-two."

Dr. Russel's eyebrows went up a little. "Alright, lookin good," he remarked. "Any health issues in the last year or two?"

"Um......." Miles stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well......it's....it's a little hard to explain.....It's not something I've had all my life but....."

"How long ago did it start?" Doctor Russel asked him.

"A few years ago," Miles answered. "When I was still in the army."

"Can you tell me a little of what's going on?"

"I've been having really intense belly cramps lately," Miles explained. "Last night was kinda....."

"Eventful?" Doctor Russel chuckled.

"Eventful's a gross understatement, Doc," Miles said, laughing a little.

"Well," Doctor Russel said. "We'll get to the bottom of it either way. You mind laying on your back for me?"

Miles did what was asked and laid back on the exam table. Outwardly he kept a cool face, but internally he was squirming. He always hated getting a head-to-toe physical every year and didn't like anybody that wasn't you, feeling him up.

He tried really hard not to squirm or make faces when he felt one end of the stethoscope being pressed against his belly, moving every so often until Doctor Russel had finished. The feeling got even worse when those gnarled hands began feeling up his tummy, the fingertips digging in slightly to feel for anything out of the ordinary.

"Anything hurt?" he asked.

Miles shook his head.

As soon as Doctor Russel was done, he let Miles sit upright again. "Well," he said. "Good news, it's not IBS and it's definitely not anything alarming."

"It's not?" Miles asked him again.

"Nope," Doctor Russel replied. "Just a slight intolerance. You said you were in the army, right?"

Miles nodded.

"Just what I thought," Doctor Russel chuckled. "You were drinking all that powdered milk in the coffee for so long that you probably developed a deficiency. I see this kind of thing all the time."

Miles felt a little less embarrassed but a little dismayed. "Do I have to cut everything out?"

"Well," Doctor Russel said, scratching his jaw a little. "In some cases I'd say yes, but you? I'm gonna have to give a hard no. I want you at least one-seventy for weight and you need the calcium. Just try to cool it a little bit and if anything persists, come see me as soon as possible."

Miles agreed and as soon as the doctor had left the room, he put his clothes back on. He really hated the thought of having to cut back since he loved the cheese, yogurt and ice cream so much and desperately needed to drink milk, but after the events of last night, he would try his damndest to be careful.

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

You were excited as ever to be able to make the German chocolate cake recipe that had once been Miles's grandmother's. You only made it every so often, only at Christmas, Easter and New Year's, but you figured that your elderly neighbor would appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

You opened up the fridge for the eggs but noticed that your small pint of cake batter ice cream was missing. "Son of a bitch," you muttered.

"S'matter sweetpea?" you heard Miles ask.

"I had a little pint of vanilla cake batter ice cream in the fridge," you explained. "I swear if Benny got into it I......"

You and Miles both froze, your gazes meeting for a split second before you realized what was in his hands........a spoon and a half eaten pint of your ice cream.

"Baby?"

"Yeah?"

"You ate my ice cream?"

A sheepish look came over Miles's face and you could see the heat rising into his cheeks. "Baby I'm sorry I couldn't help myself," he said sheepishly.

"Miles," you said. "Didn't the doctor tell you that you had to stay away from dairy for a while?"

"No."

"Miles!"

"He said to cut back he didn't say to not eat it."

You laughed a little and shook your head, wrapping your arms around his waist. "What am I gonna do with you?" you questioned, a huge smile forming on your face.

"You could kiss me for start," Miles said cheekily, before swallowing the last bite of ice cream.

And you did. You kissed him right on the lips, sweetly, taking your time to run the tip of your tongue across his lips to take in the lingering taste of the ice cream before you broke away.

"Just know that if you're not feeling good tonight it's on you," you chuckled, rubbing the soft flatness of his belly.

"Challenge accepted, dear," he half laughed, kissing you back.

#miles miller #miles miller x reader #bad times at the el royale

[rawliverandgoronspice]

You kno, I always (since I started playing LoZ 20+ years ago+additional ideas that came later) assumed Ganondorf is green bc of Koume and Kotake's influence. They're two powerful witches, and the occasional depiction of witches being green has probably also spread to Japan, so from that to show Ganon's ties to them, they were all three turned shades of green bc magic. It also sounded in-game like those two were a big reason for why Ganondorf went power mad and pushed war, even tho the other Gerudo didn't want him to go that extreme. Doesn't explain totk Ganondorf since there's literally no reason or backstory for him, but maybe it's like "tradition" by now. I also know there's a Chinese saying "putting on a green hat" which means the same as being green with envy, so I could imagine smth similar exists in Japanese, smth that could have worked with Oot's Ganondorf's envy of Hyrule's life giving lands. Since TP and WW, and HW Ganondorf are all the same guy, that kinda still works? I know it's really being viewed critical why he looks like he looks w the green skin, so thought I'd share a thing I basically came up with as a kid. (Except the green hat, only found out later, but the green with envy thought I did have back then.) Green hat works more for Link in the literal sense, so maybe Ganondorf has a figurative green hat. 😩

Hey! Yeah, I assumed the same for a very long time, and I'm pretty sure it's still the intent today.

I still think it's worth mentioning the trend has been really exacerbated with time; even back in OoT, his skin tone is not... that off the charts. Like yes, it does lean green, but after doing some color picking, it still stands reasonnably in the brown. It is a little sickly/olive, and there is a big gap between the concept arts and the model in-game already then (and in Smash, he's pretty much in the browns in his default model too), but it *could* be somebody's skin color. It's the same thing for WW Ganon btw, where his skin is definitively brown in the concept art and got much greener once modeled in the game. TP Ganon is the one where the difference between concept art and in-game skin is the least noticeable, but he also has the darkest shade by far so it doesn't read super green, even if it is quite there if you color pick. TotK Ganon is the color of a spinach smoothie in comparaison; even in the concept art itself, which might be even greener than the model in-game (a first!)

To be generous and fair to the whole thing, I think it used to be a case of what looked the most dramatic in-game, and a green hue does look less natural, colder, deader and scarier than a red-base one, especially in extremely intense lighting situations where Ganon often finds himself in, where it is easy to use that base color for contrast, especially with the red of his hair or the gold of his eyes and his little forehead jewel. This coupled with the influence of Twinrova and the association with envy probably pushed this direction even further every time.

But again, it is also hard to extract these choices from the history, in fantasy and sci-fi, of how to still dehumanize archetypes of PoCs without actually having them "being PoCs", or using excuses of inherent evilness to make their treatment by the narrative more acceptable. I am not mad at this choice inherently, but I am critical of it in the light of every other choice made in the year of our lady Hylia 2023 and the fact that I *so often* see this being used as protection against criticisms of both orientalism and a lack of care for what it implies about the worldbuilding of Hyrule. In OoT there was the connection to dark magic and the Twinrova; but in TotK, the Twinrova are easter eggs at best, not an active part of what shaped our antagonist and made him who he is. His evilness is made profusely clear the second he grabs the stone and becomes basically Satan with very cool hair, in a design that does lean super red and black anyway; one would think he'd rather try to hide his true nature before this?

(there is also history of PoC being turned green to avoid direct critique in fantasy/sci-fi worldbuilding, I think Star Trek is one of the big culprits but don't quote me on that)

Again, it's the package that is weird; and even more than the package, gradually changing PoC features over time in a way that, while not maybe being the only reason for the change, does allow the heroes to clearly identify the source of evil as Unlike Them while also distancing themselves from the more direct racist implications instead of... kind of allowing this to complicate the conflict, and accept that the conflict *is already complicated* no matter what is retconned or emphasized or changed. But the priority is simplicity and cleanness, and so Ganon and the gerudos do bear the blunt of these choices more often than not; the green skin being one of the more visible examples.

#asks #totk critical #ganondorf #gerudo #gerudos #twinrova #when will my brain return from the imprisoning war... #thanks for the ask!

[adracat]

So I have a feeling I'm gonna ramble on here, so tl:dr is basically I love your writing, thanks for sharing. With that out of the way:

I started by reading your G Witch myth analyses here on Tumblr. TBQH a lot of it went over my head, but I enjoyed them all (went through a mythology phase in like elementary school, so it's been a minute, but I still casually enjoy learning about myths). Then I saw you have fics on AO3. And as a millennial on the interwebs I am aware of the site, but as someone generally in the ace sphere of things I haven't actually spent any time over there. Anyway, I found your Law of Causality series and because my Sulemio brainrot is boundless I read As Above So Below. And boy howdy did I enjoy that. Like, read it a few times. The story telling is really good, and I love the little notes you stick on at the ends of the chapters. Now I am not a Prospera fan, so I didn't read Chaos and Night for a while. But eventually I decided I liked your writing enoughto give it a try. What can I say, I truly enjoy the world you concocted and wanted more of it. I'm glad I did, because I think that may be my favorite of the three stories. Still don't like Prospera as a person in general, but you wrote her so well. Like, girl, don't go making those stupid-ass choices. But obviously I see why she did, because her characterization comes through so strong in your stories, so she really had no choice in her decisions (tragically, yes). But, not to state the obvious or anything, Notrette is the one who steals the show. My favorite of your characters. The times where she is so open and honest and vulnerable in sharing her feelings with Prospera kills me every single time. She gets the best lines due to those situations. Like there are at least three times where she bluntly asks Prospera to stay in the garden, and that's not even counting the handful of times she asks for them to be a family. Damn. We all know what's gonna happen, but it doesn't make that knife's edge any less sharp. I have many favorite lines of hers, but up there is when she come back from Delling and tells Prospera she was only able to do it by thinking of her. Man, that whole interaction gets me every time and I gotta take a moment to pause and reflect. Absolutely heart wrenching. Anywho. Their toxic, tragic relationship is just so dynamic. Plus, again, all your mythology easter eggs were delightful. I thoroughly enjoyed looking up the different names and stories as I came upon/recognized them. (I'm actually naming a new character of mine in an upcoming ttrpg I'm joining after one of the gods I learned about and then did a deeper dive into late one night.) I'm sure there was quite a bit that slipped past my notice, which is a testament to your vast knowledge of a wide variety of deities across different cultures. Theophany was like a sweet afterwards/gift when it came out. Loved how it ties in the two stories, and how the two relationships mirror each other. Devastatingly so, and also in a beautiful way. I will never get over Prospera always being so firmly rooted in the past that she kills off so many healing futures she might have had. And how Suletta refuses to do the same, even without knowing her mother's tragedies, and is able to focus more on her present with a certain amount of forethought as well. Ugg, cycles indeed. I have, of course, read your other G Witch fics (the finished ones anyway, will get to the last one when it's completed). Those are great as well, but I mostly wanted to gush about your Law of Causality. I have read each story multiple times now. Just last night I finished reading all of them, in order, in their entirety. I can't get them out of my head (kinda want to go and reread my favorite parts again already) which is what lead me to reaching out to you. I'm not sure if this is poor etiquette or whatever, and I'm not an elegant writer like you, and it's certainly obnoxiously long, but I figured I've gotten so much enjoyment from your writing I ought to let you know. So. Thanks.

This made my day! Thank you so much for the gushing praise. Law of Causality possessed my soul while writing it, and I honestly think it may be the best thing I've written purely on a cohesive and thematic level. I wanted people to dive deep into everything I was doing there and think about why certain references were chosen. I'm looking for a moment to actually do a lengthy write-up on the stuff that may have been too obfuscated lmao. The two pairings are complimentary and contrasting tellings that I loved bringing to life. Prospera I knew would be a hard sell for people, but I'm glad you gave it a chance! Notrette's lines were a treat. (Ngl I reread too for them) I'm glad I wrote her saying the wildest off-the-wall shit to contrast Prospera's self-inflicted misery brainhole. It's incredible to know my work is seen and appreciated <3

#g witch #adracatwrites

[rottendollface]

Like Home.

Character: Strade.

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

Word count: ~17,500.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Froggy)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(My sweetie)

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, shuddering and sobbing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Bad girl)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(My dear)

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

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

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

(Feels good, doesn't it?)

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

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

(This is so hot)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Lovely)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Do you understand?)

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

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

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

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

'Greenland…' you whispered, still shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Good girl! (for animals))

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Idiot)

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

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

'It's not funny.'

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

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

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

(Whore)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Sure.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Enjoy your food!' His tone was happy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choose something for me…

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

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

'You are so fucking pathetic.'

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

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

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

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

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

You kept silent. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In this house, you felt like home.

#boyfriend to death #boyfriend to death strade #strade x reader #btd strade #btd #boyfriend to death 2

[haro-hawayu]

Gundam Seed Freedom Movie

Okay, I did it, I went to watch the movie:

There were wayyy more people than I thought going to see it. Basically the entire back section was nearly fully, I think there were about 5ish seats left to pick. Also, not too many girls, there were a total of about 10 (I was the first one there so I noticed when they came in) including myself--the only other girl who came alone & not accompanying other(s) just so happened to sit next to me. She cried like 4+ times during the entire movie XD

Movie Thoughts (SPOILERS under the cut):

My initial thoughts coming out: Story was kinda meh-ish, but mecha-stuff was really cool. I think if this movie came out within the first 5 years after the end of Destiny OR if I rewatched SEED/GSD more recently, I would've enjoyed all the Easter eggs and such a great deal more.

After sitting down & re-checking stuff online (just to make sure I understood certain parts correctly), I think if I get to rewatch it again, I would've definitely enjoyed it more.

Off the top of my head likes/dislikes

Likes: the new theme songs, METEOR, Shin redemption, Athrun being cool again, flashback featuring old chars, Athrun piloting scenes, Cagalli piloting scenes, Athrun beating Kira, AsuCaga, ShinLuna, Yzak, Dearka, Miri, Hilda, Murrue, Mu, Millenium crew, the cool fights, Torii & Blue

Dislikes: Kira going through his old dilemma from all of SEED/end of GSD, the NTR stuff, the slightly over the top fanservice-y stuff, pacing at the beginning, the Black Knights

More in-depth thoughts on certain things:

Shin & ShinLuna: Shin was easily one of the characters I disliked the most in GSD, and I'm really glad that he's soooooo much more likeable in the movie. Why weren't you more like this in Destiny?!! He's also such a Kira fanboy (I just wished that Kira wasn't so... in need of a slapping 80% of the time) and it's really funny. Especially when he wanted to help Kira when him & Athrun were fighting and he got decked in the process!! He's like so dumb-cute and I really love that for him. I'm glad he had his moment to shine in the movie! I'm a little tickled seeing the ShinLuna interactions given that GSD was kinda how their VAs (Suzumura Kenichi & Sakamoto Maaya) got together and married. I wish/hope there's an interview where they have the couple talk about their roles and such, it would be so interesting. Better yet is if there's a video interview, I would totally eat that up.

Athrun & AsuCaga: Athrun in GSD was also an ache in my heart. I'm glad they made him cool again in this movie (lol except for that one scene where Shura saw THAT image in his mind, like it's so funny/crazy/wtheckkk). Man, how I wish that they threw more AsuCaga hints earlier in the movie!!! I was such a hardcore AsuCaga shipper too!! I remember feeling so burned and feeling so hopeless at the end of GSD when they parted ways. But seeing them together just soothes my soul. ALSO THE NECKLACES YO!!!! They're as good as together in my heart even though they didn't have a face-to-face interaction in the movie. Like c'mon, Cagalli is training Toyah to be her successor, and left him in charge while she flew out to space. Orb is in good hands in the future and Cagalli can totally pull a page out of Kira/Lacus' book and just elope with Athrun, maybe not frolicking on the beach at sunset with suits off haha. Upon google searching, apparently there's like a side-novel thingy that features more of them!! Please make an OVA out of this too TuT

Music: The music was great!! I listened to the new theme songs beforehand, so it felt great hearing them in the movie. I was hoping Meteor or Vestige would play during the movie, and they totally delivered when Meteor was playing! I was so so happy. Also thanks to the music, I'm back on Spotify (I left it for a good 1-1.5 months because of FF7 Rebirth OST was NOT available on Spotify).

Soap Opera Story: Someone described the movie being too soap-opera-y and I can't agree more. I think the whole NTR stuff (Orphee & Agnes, the pseudo-love triangles or messy relationship stuff) or the Freedom vs Destiny theme with a heavy dose of LOVE ME NOT HIM/HER on top (is this Macross?? why isn't Lacus singing?? XD) was just a bit too much. But then I have to remind myself that this is me 20 years later, but for them, it's only been 2 years... they're not even 20 years old yet canonically... they're still teenagers yo.

Macross jokes aside though, I kinda wish Lacus got to sing at some point. That would've been quite nice, though I did like that they added instrumentals for her songs in the movie.

Also, I went in this movie not knowing if Miri would appear, but she did and all is well.

#gundam seed destiny #gundam seed #gundam seed freedom #asucaga

[hadenclairee]

"I think you're going to hell but I love and support you"

This is gonna be rambly, mainly because I just wanna get these thoughts out before I finish my coffee, and because I currently don't have a therapist, so you're just getting the raw thoughts:

I simultaneously admire, respect, and feel pity for my mom.

When I first tried to come out, she thought I was telling her that I was gay. She told me, with tears in her eyes as she pulled me in for a deep hug, "I love you, and you know how I believe and that I think you're going to hell, but I love you so much, and will always be here for you"

When I actually came out and told her I was transitioning, I told her that I knew she'd have big feelings about it and I'd give her space to process. Weeks later, when we finally talked about it, she said what I feared most: that she was "grieving" her son. But then she told me that she respected me and wanted to keep her "grieving" to herself and process it without dragging me down, so I gave her space for a little longer.

And she also said she still thought I was going to hell, but that she loved and supported me.

I worried about what "support" meant. She still didn't use my pronouns at the time, but I noticed she'd avoid using any pronouns at all for me, especially around my (very transphobic) dad.

She did, however, give me some things for my hair when I started growing it out, and advice. She did, however, buy me a very lovely (and flattering, feminine-looking) cardigan. She did, however, take me on an impromptu shopping trip one day -- a swing through Walmart to grab some things on the way back from my niece's volleyball game, and a detour to Walmart's makeup section.

She did, several times, acknowledge that I'm "becoming a woman" and refer to my sister and I as "the girls".

When I found out I'd been put on the schedule for a bottom surgery consult with my #1 choice of surgeon, I asked her if she wanted to go NYC with me for the appointment, and also be my caregiver through the process. She said yes. In NYC, now that I'm finally starting to pass, almost everyone we encountered treated us (my mom, my sister, and I) like any other group of women. We got greeted with "Ladies!" more than once. I got to hear my mom use my pronouns and refer to me as her daughter for the first time, and then the entire time we were up there.

But once we were back, the next time I was at their house, as Dad did his usual thing (of only acknowledging me as "son" and rolling his eyes when I refuse to respond to that), Mom went back to either misgendering me or not gendering me. And at the end of the night, as I got ready to go home, she pulled me into a hug and quietly apologized and said she'd try to get it right.

The other day, a transphobic relative messaged me on Facebook with exactly what you'd expect: A rambling message about how I'm going against God's design for my life, and am disappointing both him and my parents, and ending with a note about how they're praying for me. I mentioned it to Mom, and she asked to see the message, and then said "you know, I agree with them, but you are an independent person who can make your own choices. Just know that in my belief system, those choices mean you're going to hell, and I do pray for you every day. But I love you and I'm going to support you no matter what."

As I drove home, she texted me to say that she definitely didn't mean any offense and that she really does love me, and want me to be happy, and that she'd do her best to keep her beliefs regarding me going to hell to herself.

Yesterday, at our extended family's Easter get-together, I showed up dressed and presenting more explicitly femme than ever. Nobody in our extended family (almost all Pentecostal Christians) really made any effort to interact with me. My dad, a Pentecostal preacher who's basically made a point of never talking to me about my transition, but begging relatives to pray for me behind the scenes and constantly vague-posting about the prodigal son on Facebook, was there and blessed the food but didn't speak to me at all.

But my mom? She came right up to me and hugged me and told me she was glad to see me. She said my hair looked lovely. She asked about the dessert I'd brought. When I left, she kissed me on the cheek in front of the other relatives and told me to drive safe and text her when I got home.

And today, I come across a post from Abraham Piper, who talks about how everyone feels bad for kids in fundie families, but nobody really feels bad for the parents. The parents, who are thoroughly convinced that their child is doomed to eternal torment for not sharing their beliefs. The parents, who also believe they'll face eternal torment if they don't continue holding those beliefs. The parents, who are every bit as indoctrinated to those beliefs as I almost was.

And it's just striking to me, that my mom really, sincerely believes I'm going to hell - not even for sin (we've discussed it, and she's not sure if she sees transitioning as a sin) but for not believing in the same things she does. But yet, other than a couple of slips that she's genuinely apologized for, she doesn't try to hang that over me or use it to guilt me. She tries her best to support me in ways that matter to me, even though her husband (again, a fundie preacher) doesn't agree with her and there's starting to be obvious tension between them.

I wonder about her Christianity. I know she was taught the same things I was taught growing up, about the KJV being the word of God, and being wholly and completely literal, and that she was a taught a theology where Hell was central.

I think I should tell her about the journey I'm going through. The last update she ever got on my religious beliefs was in high school, when I pronounced that God wasn't real, and that I was an atheist.

Would it heal her heart to know that I'm now - more than a decade after I left church and Christianity behind - deconstructing the faith I was taught growing up, and falling back in love with Christ and learning how to be a Christian in a wholly different way. Would it help her to know that I have a relationship with Christ that doesn't involve a belief in Hell at all?

Or would she see this as heresy, and dig in further to her taught beliefs?

I don't know. Maybe I could hope for her to be on the way to deconstruction? But it must be so hard for her. And I have to try so hard not to be wounded by her beliefs when, if not for a few circumstances, I'd probably hold the exact same beliefs, even when they hurt me. She clearly hurts so much from her beliefs. Can you imagine believing that your daughter is going to burn for eternity, but also that you needed to respect and honor her boundaries, and also supporting her transition fully, all while you have a Pentecostal preacher for a husband?

I love her so much, and I hope she can be free from Hellfire theology and doctrine eventually because she deserves to be liberated.

We all do, and I think that's what Easter is all about. Christ liberating us all from the threat of hell - regardless of who we are, what we've done, or what we believe.

#deconstruction #transgender #ex fundie #ex pentecostal

[theburgessobserver]

JACK FROST WILD WEST AU!

It was another typical day at the North Pole ....if you can call arguing among Santa Claus,The Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy about the Northern lights typical…

North:How many times I've got tell you it's not problem that we can deal with just like that!

Bunnymund:I didn't ask you for your opinion!

North:I sick you bothering me

North:I didn't get any sleep last night because i had to fix the Guardian Lights.

Toothiana:We have been talking about this for 3 hours and we still don't know where to start!

North:Look Tooth you flying up miles does not fix problem.

North:I know urgency it's probably more important to me than it to you!And I invented it!So just stop pushing me.

Bunnymund:Stop Pushing?!

Bunnymund:We've had this broken down for a week now!What if an emergency happened we couldn't just be in the dark about it.

Tooth:Okay so we're all tired and we all want to get it done as soon as possible so why dont we just ride it.

Meanwhile Jack was watching some westerns on an portable TV he found them so fun even though they took place in the Dry and Hot Desert most of the time.He had always had a bit of fondness for them after all he grew up as a cattle boy and it felt familiar to him now more than ever.

And the toys of the workshop helped the feel what with the cowboy action figures,horses,stage coaches and toy town and model train set it just worked out!

He was quite sad to see his friends arguing he wanted to help so he came up with an idea.

North:Look Jack ive already told you keep out of this

Jack:Well , I just thought…

North:Well just don't there's nothing you can do to help,It's enough dealing these two here without you make it more difficult.

Bunny:Yeah go back and leave us alone!

North:That's right and we'll make the decisions!

Tooth:And could you turn that Television down!?

Well…all i wanted to do was just give a suggestion,Jack silently muttered to himself…

Bunny:WELL THERE AS SOME JOBS THEY CAN'T DO AND THIS IS ONE OF THEM!

North:Oh,and what did they do before we had the Northern Lights?

Bunny:Holy Mackerel…just listen to this guy!

Tooth:Look,will you two just stop fighting amongst yourselves so we can finally get somewhere?

Bunny:But…

North:But nothing just leave me alone so I get back to work.

Tooth:Look North we dont want to tell you what to do it's just that this is a very important necessity.

Meanwhile Jack was getting tired and started to drop off to sleep Sandy noticed him and so he gave him so gave him some Dreamsand.Jack was falling asleep the words of the fellow Guardians were on his mind”Keep out of this Jack!” ”That's right,we'll, make the decisions!”

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

Gunfire was heard in J.Shorters Bank in Sandy Springs,the Bankteller was held at gunpoint by a bandit.

“Oh my,Oh my,you can't do that!Mr.Shorty will be very mad”:He said as the bandits took the bags of gold one by one.

While at Gunpoint he saw the alarm…slowly he inched his way towards it.

Cmon,Cmon thats it.

Just one more..

Yeah Just one more

“The trouble with your two is that you're just plain greedy”Said the lead bandit to the other two.

Hurry it up,Hurry it up!

Suddenly a shot rang out and ink flew across the teller

“I wouldn't do that if i were you….next time i'm aiming for you!”

Okay you,lets beat it!

The Bandit turned back to the teller:”I hope you have a nice warm fireplace.”

After which he shot down a lamp and set it ablaze,

Before Leaving he stopped to say:Were the Guardian gang,see you round partner.

The Bankteller went to the phone.

Operator!Operator!Fire!Help!Robbery!Oh my!

Outside the gang in their eight horse oven stagecoach were riding high.

YIPPEE YI YAY!YAHOO!YAHHA!WOOHOO!YAHEY!

They said as they drove over the Mayor's garden with the Mayor shaking his fist at the unchained bandits who knocked down his fence.

Maverick Nick:How are we doing ?

Deadshot Aster:If you try to ride this this coach and not fly it we'll do a whole lot better

Dragon Tooth:Yeah try not to get us crippled before we spend the money

Dragon Tooth:What's the matter Aster?I thought you like a little bit of dangerous driving!

Deadshot Aster:Yeah I know but I'd like to stay alive too!What's next chief?

Maverick Nick:A little Gold consignment in Kansas City and the nearest town from here to there is..Jacksville

Maverick Nick:Reckon well bide our time there

Deadshot Aster:Did you Say Jacksville?

Maverick Nick:Yes so what?

Deadshot Aster:Well the Sheriff there has a reputation for Law and Fun!

Dragon Tooth:And they say he's the coolest draw in the west.

Maverick Nick::QUIT WHINING YOU TWO!I said next stop Jacksville

Jackville Law Abiding folks welcome:the sign read.

Sherrif Jack was resting in cool breee,just yesterday he shot off an apple of the Bartenders head while saying that he would do it"without knocking down a single hair".Then again the Bartender was bald.But that was the fun and excitment this town needed.

When suddenly a man broke in and started gesturing in sign language.

The Guardian Gang is in town?Ok let's play it cool then….

At the Saloon the atmosphere was most dissatisfactory with the three new guests.

Deadshot Aster:Another drink and be quick about it mate!

Maverick Nick::Yeah I could do with another strong drink.

Katherine:I hope you aren't planning no trouble after all this is a Law abiding town and this is a respectable Bar!

Deadshot Aster:Why don't you get lost sweetheart?

Maverick Nick:What's hurry I hope you not trying to pull out just when lifes getting sweet?

T:Well no chief but..

Maverick Nick:Then Shut it

M:At Six today the express mail train will pick up the largest load of Gold ever shipped in the west and right now its safe and sound but 5 minutes before the train leave station that gold will be wheeled out on the platform and that's when our dream will come true!

Sheriff Jack entered the Bar

Silence fell

He slowly walked up to the ringer

What'll it be, sheriff?Said the Barkeep.

Maverick Nick:Vodka,Sheriff?

Jack:No,just milk.

Silence fell again and all eyes were on him.

The Gang all looked at him.

Jack slowly reached for his milk.

His hand slowly made his way when……

BANG!A shot rang out!

And then another and another!

Everyone ducked.

Deadshot Aster missed and Jack shot his gun out of his hand.

Jack:Alright dont move,hold it right there!

Tooth was about to shoot him when Sandy hit here with a chair knocking her out.

Nick was about to get Jack but as he aimed Katherine hit him.

Let that be a lesson to you, never be rude to a lady.

Great job gang!Jack said congratulating the loyal citizens.

Alright you put your hands up!

N:well get even with you Sheriff

Okay Sandy take them to the jailhouse

Jack:You can just cool off in there, okay?

The phone ranged

Jack:Yes

Trouble down at the Eastwood rodeo Sheriff!Could you come down?:said the voice from the phone.

Jack:Sure Slim!

Sandy gestured.

“Yes i'm leaving to help Slim,you stay here deputy and guard them till i return.”

“Ok,but remember to keep an eye on them.”

One Hour later the deputy was asleep whilst he lay there while the gang plotted…

They had connected a hook to a piece of wire and were trying to get the keys which lay on the desk.Whispering amongst each other.

T:Just a little more

D:Easy

N:Blast it!

T:Try again.

D:Thats it,Thats it,Thats it

Lady Luck must have smiled on them for they got the keys hooked and slowly dragged them across the floor.

Sandy would move every now and again,stirring as if his dream was turning into a nightmare.

N:Tooth you take care of him ill get the weapons.

Sandy was still sleeping but he woke up when he was bound and not gagged.He was tied to his seat and could only helplessly look on as the gang made there getaway.

Maverick Nick: said:I hope you have a nice warm fireplace.

And promptly shot the oil lamp and lit it.

The fire spread whilst the gang went on to their stagecoach and fled.

Sandy was struggling and trying to unbound himself while the fire came closer and closer.

He knew he wouldn't make it out through the exit as he was bound and would never make it so he knocked over the phone.

While he couldn't talk he could alert Jack.

He did his form of communication one tap yes two taps no.

Who is this?Tap Tap Tap Tap.Sandy is that you?Tap .Is there some sort of trouble?Tap.Dont worry, I'm on my way!

The Stagecoach was going like crazy through the lone prairie at dangerous speeds.

Suddenly it stopped at the crossroad which said:Kansas City and Border.

D:Why have we stopped mate?

N:Look we make plan and we do it!

T:I dont know the mountain road is hard and this large stagecoach wont make it!

D:And i'm not risking my neck in Kansas after the shootings of 89.And that gold will surely have guards.

N:Look i glad we out of Jail but we still have hope to ride off into the sunset as the richest bandits ever.

D:I say we go for the border where well be safe.

N:I say for Kansas you don't know this Stagecoach as much as I , why i….

T:Built it?

N:Of Course not!I stole it!

Aster:We should just scream. I don't want to be on this crazy thing one minute longer than I need to!

T:Listen you two !We can still make it!And have all the gold we want!

D:I'm not risking my neck just to satisfy your bloody greed!We've got plenty from the other places we hit and when we double-crossed those Midget Terrors of Tiny Town.

T:Can you two just make up your minds?

The fire rained hot in the Sheriff's office…Jack saw his past melt before his eyes his valued memories gone in the light of the blaze the Guardians made.Fortunately He made it in time to save Sandy.While Sandy was not a good talker he was a great listener and knew exactly what the bandits planned to do!

He wrote down the Border and Kansas and information he heard.

Jack:Hmm the border but their heart was on the gold too ...and they'll make it there before the express and then they would paint the town red…unless there desperate people and greedy…i'm going to put my career on them going for the gold and and i'll stop them even or bust!

Sandy wrote:You'd better be careful there, dangerous and taught.With the Price of 200,000 thousand dollars on their head and their infamy they don't think twice!

D:Ok im going on…but if this thing breaks to splinters it was your choice!

N:So as I say let's go!

Jack got aboard the she was driven by Jamie Jones the famed engineer.He was proud of his engine it was a modern 4-4-0 fresh out of the Baldwin Locomotive Works with 15 inch cylinders and 80 inch drivers beautifully decorated and modern she was Jamies love.With diamond leaf lettering proudly presenting their name”Iron Belle“….the chase of the horse and the iron horse was on!

Jack:Well, We need to make it there!

Jamie Jones:Dont worry i think we can!Cmon girl you can do it,show them what you're made of!

The Guardian Gang had quite a lead but the horses struggled up the steep grades and Nick's whip didn't help much.

D:What's wrong with this thing?Are you sure you don't have any brakes?Because they seem to be on.He sarcastically remarked.

The Iron Belle was gaining but the road went downhill so the gang was speeding up. It was a rough,wild and hazardous ride as they passed through a Railroad Crossing.

Jamie:Hot Diggity,that's my Girl looks like they licked.Were gaining quick.

They started coming closer…

The Iron Horse sped through the tunnel with its whistles wailing in a cry of victory!

T:The Sheriffs aboard!

D:Are you sure?

T:Completely, I could tell by how the sun glinted off his white teeth.

Suddenly the horses got a second wind and started to speed up.

The train and the coach were nearly side by side!

B:Keep 'em going neck and neck!

The race was on!

N:Onwards Jailbird, Laws nightmare and Spirit.

Cmon, I'm waiting for you:said Jack.

N:He's got gun!

D:Whadya expect mate?A shovel?

Deadshot climbed aside and took aim and started shooting at the cab and Jack fired back they were practically next to each other.Jack missed Aster but the shot disbalanced him and knocked him over while falling off he clumsily got his foot stuck in the ropes so he was dragged on.

Dragon Tooth:Dont stop, we can do it!

Maverick Nick successfully navigated it through shortcuts through the mountain road so they could make up for the Expresses' faster speeds.

As they rounded the next crossing they passed the express; it wasn't over yet.

Meanwhile Aster was still dragging along through the dust and sand.

D:Well now I look like a dust Bunny.He said to himself.

The Express kept on gaining and soon enough they were yet again neck and neck with Jack firing back at T.

The Steam pressure was building and Belle was straining under the speed it was going at!

Jamie:C'mon you can do it!

But she was losing steam rapidly,the bullet hole on the boiler did their work and it looked like it was over!

Aster was right!The Coach was put under too much pressure too and lost a wheel just as it was going over a railroad crossing and got stuck.

The train was going too fast and collided with the coach as the horses ran loose as the reins broke and the coach got caught on the cowcatcher…

The gang was hanging on for dear life when suddenly..

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

"Jack?Jack?"

"We must stop the Guardians gang"

Jack woke up to see North and the guardians around him.

North:Jack?Jack?Jack?You've been dreaming,are you right?

Jack:Yeah…

Bunnymund:Sorry we were a bit tough on you,but we were all nervous about the breakdown.

North:But we found a solution!And to celebrate we'll have a trip to Oklahoma as you wanted!

Tooth:But it won't be exactly like as you saw in the cowboy movie you saw.

North:What were you dreaming about?

Jack:Well…

Jack:I was the Sheriff of Jacksville,and you were part of the guardian gang.

The Guardians listened with interest,except Sandy who couldn't help but smile….

This happens circa a few months after the events of the movie,by this point in time Jack has gotten used to his life as a Guardian and coming often to North's Workshop to as he put it:Chill out.

Also i tried to make this all work to be canon so it had to be a dream that Sandy made for Jack.(Katherine the barowner is based on mother goose by the way...).Also the Terrors of Tiny town is an actual movie name for a western in this there somewhat like (all midget western)elfs with which the gang worked together for 3 years straight.......dont ask about the fourth year......it isnt pretty....

Please like,review and comment .It makes my day!And helps me.

Names

Cool-Handed Jack

Deadshot Aster-Wanted 100,000 Dollars....Dead or Alive(But rather dead..)

Wanted for:

? counts for murder

7 counts of mercenary activity

22 counts of theft

15 counts of Arson

And longtime Bootlegging

And more possible

Wanted in 8 states+Australia

He is said to be as dry and hostile as the outback.

While hes a terryfing Gunslinger he has a second weapon of choice a boomerang with it taking and returning things to him he conducted mandy unbelivable robberies like stealing the golden eggs of Gooses Gulch.

Deadshot Aster,one of the best shots of the west as leader of his former gang of outlaw which was based in Spring Town.He was often called there the true mayor as he had all the power over those"eggheads"as he called them....He made many robberies...also in his earlier years he was a hitman one of the best infact but quit becuase he thought he was working for too little and started his own bussiness....also he was in charge of making Eggnog and Moonshine without paying tax or owning in his secret underground tunnels.....with this network he could apper anywhere in town without warning with his men.

He and Jack have quite a history together as he arrested him once and turned him over to the 7th cavalry company who put him in a maximum security prison only for him to tunnel out.

Also Jack was once one of his targets....while he failed to shoot him his boomerang hurt him hard and the incident with the Union Pacific Railroad....dont ask about it its personal for them...

Maverick Nick

Dragon Tooth

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

Now i invite you to a journey to a land which boundaries are that of imagination!A story.....that you will not believe! Little does anyone know that a threat IS COMING!!!! Pitch while powerfull and dangerous....this....is far worse! There is far more at stake then just belief! (It was alluded to in certain offical rotg content) And will have some details about the past.

Find out on MARCH 27TH!!! WHO WILL SAVE US????? And what is this giant threat that will imperil everyone?

Part 1 ON MARCH 27TH!!!!(PROLOGUE 26TH)

-EARTHS GREATEST SECRETS WILL BE REVEALED!

CREDIT TO:https://www.deviantart.com/dragonauroralight FOR DRAWING

#dreamworks #rotg #rise of the guardians #jack frost #rotg jack frost #e. aster bunnymund #rotg bunnymund #western #wild west

[scarrletmoon]

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

@adhduck AND @unadulteratedkr both tagged me in this, and i didn't get to it bc

a) i took all my fics off AO3 and

b) i was in tumblr jail for almost a week 😔

but anyway here goes! also if you see this and want to do it, you should do it (yes!! you!!) bc there's no way im going to be able to remember 10 people to tag who haven't been tagged already

i did something inadvisable and went back through ALL my fics (most of which i've anonymized now) from when i was 16/17 to now. sure was embarrassing reading my old shit!

also there's a fun little easter egg at the end of this post from a chapter of PB i never got to post

Untitled (Attack on Titan, M) [2013]

He might’ve moaned aloud, and so what if he did? He deserved it for dealing with that one idiot customer who kept muttering loudly about how terrible Eren was at his job while he was trying to work…

2. Coming Home (Sherlock, T) [2012]

John missed the cases and losing sleep and shouting about the dead animals left in the sink but there was something keeping him back from saying so.

3. Baiser Brûlés (Sherlock, T) [2012]

'Do you know how lightning works, Sherlock?' John murmured. His voice was calm and relaxed. Sherlock liked it best that way. 'Vaguely,' he muttered, finding John's hand on his thigh and turning it over to lazily trace the lines on his palm.

4. Grim Designs (Attack on Titan, T) [2013]

To his surprise he is the first to cry; when he tries to apologise- for making them worry, for being stupid, for nearly dying- they refuse to hear it. The nurse, much to his frustration, sides with them. In all the chaos, no one but Eren notices the man with the raven wings in the corner of the room, who disappears as quickly as he appears.

5. Glass Houses (OFMD, E) [2022]

When Stede dragged his eyes away from Ed’s cock to look at his face, he found Ed biting his lip and smiling, which was somehow more devastating than just watching him soundlessly moan through the window. This was his own private smile, easy and natural, maybe even entirely unintentional.

6. White (Sherlock, M) [2012]

All he’d done was try to help Sherlock before he gave himself pneumonia wandering around town in the pouring rain. That was all. He’d do the same if he saw anyone else he knew in the same situation- and even people he didn’t know, if they were willing to accept his help.

7. Accusation (Original, T) [2013]

He lied, of course. They found her body later, sucked dry with her eyes still wide open in horror.

8. Polaris (Haikyu!!, T) [2015]

Daichi turned to see that Suga was already looking at him. There was just enough light that Daichi could make out Suga’s face in the dim light, all concerned lines and deep frown. At some point, Suga had put his hand on Daichi’s, so they weren’t quite holding hands but they could if they wanted. Daichi wanted.

9. Unhand Me or Bleed (OFMD, E) [2022]

Ed didn’t know why that turned him on so much – mostly the pain from a tattoo countered any sexiness that came from laying it all out for someone to draw on him anyway - but maybe it was the way Stede was looking at him, like Ed was his , the way Stede had his hands on his skin, on his hips, lightly scratching down his back, his rings cold on Ed’s warm body. “Kiss me,” Stede breathed. 

10. Powder Blue, Chapter 31 (OFMD, E) [2023]

Tentatively, he slid one hand from around Stede’s neck to his collar, down to his chest where the first two buttons of his shirt were already undone. When Ed paused his fingers there, he could feel the wild thump of Stede’s heart, racing as fast his own was. Ed pushed the next button open with his thumb, and Stede broke the kiss but didn’t stop him. His hands twitched on Ed’s back, but he didn’t pull the hand away or tell him to stop. “Go on,” Stede whispered.

#scarrlet rambles #tag meme

[wordpimp]

We live in a world of calm and speculation.

Rainstorm gesthemane, hialeah watertown.

Be good to me daddy, he says.

I will baby, she says.

They argued a little earlier abt what to call things. They stepped into a mud hole, she carried him across a mud puddle. A turtle floated them across its back. It was flat. Lounge lizards in tucson, in tulsa, in poughkeepsie.

It was hot in july in the trailer. White broadside yellow cream trim, it was pretty in a way. Petticoat, baby wore mary janes to match, white socks farmer tan. Yellow wig. Ginger blossom. He had a few tattoos, but really only liked one of them. It was a bird, a kanji, the owl.

梟

Baby went to japan once, mt fuji, and asked for sake like a tourist. For a long time they thought abt him, there, in the wind.

Around evening, baby would want ice cream from the ice cream truck. Parlor junction. Mi casa es su casa, the driver used to say. But baby misinterpreted the one time he went down there: mikasa.

It was a brand of dinnerware but they already had some. Casa with a K. They did that a lot. Sign of puberty. The world was young, then. Flags were rectangular, money was printed on clothes. Put a dollar in me, the walls whined at night. Labor of love.

*

Signs in the chimney. When they were able to, they would have a fire again. Saturday maybe. The days were gone, mixed up since daddy had begun to work again. Out in the yard, in the cinder, baby could hear the pitchfork shovel of machinery. He smiled at his typewriter. It was fitting. 

A bug flew in from somewhere, green-yellow, yellow-green, there must have been a window left open. It looked like a crayon. Stick of wax, eyes, cardboardy paper, birch bark. O the skin of my love. 

Baby lit a cigarette on the stove, waiting to flick the ash, started boiling some water for mac n cheese. Mac in cheese. Macaroni and cheese. It was italian. Starving, he noticed. Ice cream for dessert, maybe tonight.

He wondered abt daddy, what she would do when she came in, what would she say, what new saying, what did she see out there. Or maybe a souvenir today, taking her time to dig up the bottles and ingots she got paid to hand over. Sometimes she would bring one of those back. A small gem, it might go into a scepter or a walnut, it might make a tree in the country, a beautiful place from a story.

Tire swing. That sounded too beautiful to baby. He hardly noticed the light swelling on his arm, where the crayon had landed, and the kettle boiling, or the white hot flowers. Bloom of midday he needed a nap.

*

Baby had the most extended childhood of anyone. He was born in a manger, he died on the cross. He was wet he was hard. He couldn't cum, then he couldn't stop. 

That he wasn't a cult leader, that he wasn't a shepherd, with a flock to watch over or admonish, that he didn't abandon them all to go sit in judgment of everyone he ever met or heard of, that was a minor miracle. It made sense if you heard of easter, running out in bare feet with diapers, eating all that candy. Chocolate bunny marshmallow bird, give me the stomach to jesus. Baby jesus, jesu of man's desiring. If you ate all that candy, you would never want that responsibility. 

Instead baby was a loud quiet person. Chaotic quiet, perturbed by everything. Lately he had been frustrated by the wallpaper, by the color of time, orange like the sun blue like the water green like the pears or unripe apples. Ripe pears unripe apples. Confusing. Some of the wallpaper was peeling but it was almost peaceful that way. Maybe it wouldn't burn all at once, if that was its destiny. It was a taste of freedom, for baby. Like coming out of a cupboard, a box cutter to skin. Letting the hunger abate.

Baby liked to sleep in a small bed. I think it's closest to the true meaning of his character.

*

Daddy shut and locked the front door behind her when she went to work outside. The back door stayed locked. It wasn't to keep baby in, it was to keep the lunatics out. She was going to ride her tractor for a little bit, and dig a little bit. Who knows. Metals in the earth. She had heard that there was a meteorite under the sand. It had brought up ghosts. It was actually what people had come to see. Why they lived there. 

Daddy never saw the ghosts anymore, but jehovahs and mormons, scientologists, they would sometimes come by and that was bad for baby. He would talk to anyone, he just couldn't help it.

Daddy was more circumspect. She talked to strangers and people that she knew casually but said very little. Hi dolores hi bill, hi stephen. Their house was at the end of the street. A few neighbors, the creek. Mulberry tree, sideyard with a big hole from digging. They had been thoughtful and made the quarry wide enough to corkscrew down a few more turns. She hoped they wouldn't have to move for another year or two, it was a nice setup. 

*

Daddy's schedule to get the ice cream was posted on the fridge. Left side mwf, right side, the rest of the week. Daddy made it, really worked hard on it. Pews in a church. Wings pearl grey. Everything was pearly. Cum colored or pink. Raw and toothy. It was the inside of a mouth. Of a cunt. Daddy shaved her leg. This is the one, lick it.

Tonight, daddy would go get ice cream for them, or eat the cake while the truck went down there for her. It stopped at the hill, not a long walk. Laundromat, axila, underarms. Excitement. Daddy liked to walk. It's the ether, she said. She never went to mt fuji either.

Daddy thought abt buying a general motors car, an olds cutlass supreme, gliding smoothly over rough asphalt. It's what you think abt while you shave, while you fuck. Nice, smooth. Blue midnight metallic half vinyl top. That's the kind of car they would drive.

They rode sidesaddle. Half beard in the mirror, there are pirates who invented transgenderism. Walk the plank. Is that also the abyss? Or a kind of it, a version. For reasons they only knew, this was never consummated.

Where do we live daddy. Is it a trailer? Is it a house. Is it a cabin?

It's a mansion. Big enough for you little bird.

It really was big enough, no matter what they called it.

*

Daddy stopped in the mirror. She was a bit run down from the summer. The gel of her eyes was blue or brown or aqua, ça dépendait, when the sun hit. She didn't wear pants or shoes. Inside, she didn't wear much of anything. Baggy shirt. Why hide all this, she thought, and so she didn't hide it.

Pudor is for the dirt, the shirt said, in yellowing cotton.

Daddy liked to sleep under covers. The bed was warmer for her. Nude and warm and redolent. Patchwork lace embroidered, panels in a tapestry. She felt like penelope.

One time daddy saw a diagram of a medieval church, all the parts like a body on a map, a table of divine making. But not anymore, they were done with operations. Trepan my brain, amputate my ear, excise, cut me, dig. It was already there. It was science.

Ash on a mantle. Face in a polaroid. There is one of daddy and baby pinned to the closet. 

Baby said they lived on a cliff. It was curious to listen to him talk. He talked in his sleep too. Cliff, diving board. Daddy liked to hear him talk, she knew he could see something and sometimes she could see it too. Rolling down the street in a dream, jumping off a building. Play in that water. She felt good in the mornings when she could talk to him about what he dreamt, what he was seeing. It got her excited.

Meanwhile baby slept and talked in his sleep. Jackdaw emu...

She could tell he was dreaming abt birds again.

*

Daddy. 

Yes baby.

Remember that movie abt the birds? You know the weird one I told you abt? I dreamt abt that again last night. But now there's a garden. And children. Well, two. I think they're us. I think they're us before, and maybe again. And it's very sad and very strange but also very healing. It's like when you come back from your work and tell me abt the outside. It's like when you tell me what to do. 

Like I know you can't stay. I know this is all ending. It's the end already, but I can't help it. It's all I dream abt now. 

Baby it's never enough but it always has to be enough. Why don't you come sit with me. Let me hold you.

I want to come back here. I want to grow up and get big and strong and ready. I want to lift you on my shoulders and fly with you, and throw you in the water. You'll see, then I'll dive with you. We'll swim. Will you wait for me, until I can do it. Will you watch me?

She could never say no to him, not like that.

When baby was finished talking he put the blanket on daddy and started a fire in the fireplace.

The flames did a slow dance, like salome. He saw a headless snake, ankles and rigging, the stubborn wind. It was the edge of the world. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep but he dreamt of the morning when they'd both be naked and wet.

#prose

[silvertsundere]

Silver Talks AniManga (18/06/23)

wao 2 new series this time, tho one of them came out ages ago but just didn't get scanlations past chap 1 til now but anyway also just noticed as I was about to press post but I forgot to put a * on sakamoto and don't feel like remaking the pic again so yeah

green - new series/new to me

Anime

Megumin Ep11

the finale episode's title is gonna be the show's title so that's neat, always cool when they do that anyway, same thing I said about last episode basically, ever since they got to axel there's just been a billion konosuba easter eggs in the background to the point where it doesn't feel like easter eggs in a spinoff and more of a like "hey you like konosuba right right look at this! kazuma and aqua in the background saying the same lines from the show! wow! so cool right?" and I don't like that. like if they just did that once, or even once per ep it'd be fine but it happens every 5 minutes, not just with those 2 but other people like darkness and wiz

Imas CG: U149 Ep10

I was completely right with my prediction last week, expect the ep wasn't about making the song, since it was already done at the start, but instead them fighting upper management to be able to do a live, which they were iffy about cause budget and stuff, so they had to come up with a solution for that. it had a TON of cameos from CG idols whic was very nice. and you might think "oh that's good but you were bitching about the konosuba ones?" but it's completely different. in this the cameos showed during the insert song as panning still shots with the girls talking to them, not just showing a scene that already happened from another pov but whatever anyway good ep ofc, there was even an extra scene after the ED giving a taster of the drama for arisu's episode next week so that will be very good too

Mashle Ep10

after the episode last week I was trying to figure out with mega where the anime was gonna end and went around and looked at the manga and came to this conclusion and I was completely right, and from the episode title it seems like I'll be right about that too. mega thought the end of the anime was gonna be one of the manga spreads with all the divine visionaries but that doesn't happen til waaaay after this so no way, however right after the I0 goon leaves, everyone finds out mash has no magic which would be an appropriate cliffhanger, with s2 getting announced along with the finale of both the anime and manga but we'll know for sure in 2 weeks

anyway, very unimpressive episode, but that's come to be expected

Pokemon Horizons Ep11

what the hell!! nemona got like 4 sentences at the start of the ep and this disappeared.. what's the point!! but anyway nice ep, they teased molly's backstory only to just have it on the same episode anyway which was kinda weird but go off. I expected them to get done with this forest stuff in the ep but it being multiple ones isn't bad either, also from the pv maybe we'll see riko's mom next ep? so that's exciting

Jigokuraku Ep11

nice episode, nothing fancy in terms of animation or anything but still good. was mostly just the choubei and gabimaru fights where they learn tao. now that we're 2 eps from the end I don't think it'll actually end where I predicted previously. from the cliffhanger at the end the next episode should be all of the sagiri and co fight vs the tensen. looked at the manga again to get an idea of where it might end at this rate and after that it's the gabimaru vs choubei fight followed by the second expedition making landfall but that's quite a lot of chaps so I'm not sure.. it would be a good stopping point with shugen arriving being a big turning point but ANYWAY I'll have a better idea after next episode for sure when I see what they cover

Manga

Martial Master Asumi Ch1

the newest series on jump, debuting this week by Kawada the mangaka behind Hinomaru Sumo which was quite successful some years ago. this time around it's a series about MMA, which the english title can be abbreviated into which is a very cool touch from the localization team. anyway, really good first chap, no complaints from me, you can tell that it was made by a jump veteran. the first chap was the introduction of our main character asumi and what is MMA and all that for people who don't know anything about it with a little bit of a taste of action at the end. the grandpa in this has dementia and in just this one chap they did a waaaaay better job of showing what dementia really looks like compared to whatever the hell ichinose was doing. I'll be looking forward to this, I really liked the chap, the art's really good and don't even get me started on how good the main girl is glasses? spats? can kick ass? sheesh, let's just hope this and do retry don't cannibalize each other and instead nue, ichinose or fabricant end instead

VERSUS Ch1 - 6

this is ONE's take on the good ol 1v1 battle manga..or is it? after a plot twist it's revealed that it's actually an isekai! or is it? it's actually more like a reverse isekai^13. it's ONE so you know you can expect some very cool genre deconstruction and this does not dissappoint (yet). I read chap 1 back in january or december when it came out, but there haven't been any english TLs til now, it's monthly too so that's painful. anyway, yeah it's good so far, our protagonists are on the brink of extinction so they try to summon people from another world to help them, while the same people (from 12 different worlds) were doing the same thing at the same time, leading all 13 worlds to get fused into a single one bringing along the enemies of all 13 humanities into the same planet and causing massive chaos. humanity is too weak to fight their respective (or any) enemies so their current plan is to make them fight and kill each other off, we'll see how that goes tho. I really like OPM and mob so I trust ONE fully, looking forward to this continuing. hopefully doesn't get picked up by kmanga (terrible service) or tls will become a lot harder to find oh also the art's really good too forgot to mention

Dandadan Ch110

what the hell that's just [The Hand] anyway mostly action chap, finally seeing momo's side of the fight, tho things didn't go as well as you'd think when we left off. I'm assuming okarun is gonna show up next chap, it'd be perfect timing

Kindergarten WARS Ch16 - 18

you know, up until now I was like "you know it's p funny sometimes and the art's really good I can see why it's so popular" but this mini arc, especially chap 17 and 18 were extremely good. like just wow, I really didn't expect something like this. not gonna hold my breath for a lot more content like this in the like 15 chaps left to catch up but I can hope

Nue's Exorcist Ch6

author introducing yet another girl, this one's here to kill/steal nue's power, that's still not gonna help the series tho chief. I don't like being so negative but I really think this one's going in the U19 club

Kill Blue Ch9

turns out the fight was p goofy, with the baddie trying to put a pacifier on ogami's mouth as the duel but it was a nice chap. at the end of it he came to this realization, which I was hoping would happen so that's good

Do Retry Ch7

good chap, the art felt better than usual too, there were some really nice panels, sadly the series is doing p bad in terms of the rankings being 4th from the bottom this week, and this week MMA started, which is another combat sports manga by a veteran mangaka (hinomaru sumo), which is probably not gonna help it one bit

Witch Watch Ch113

well I was right to think that the confession wouldn't go as planned cause it'd be too easy but I didn't expect that what the hell, even the title had double meaning wild

Blue Box Ch105

another good chap, with some more natsu shamelessness at the end they were debating about wether or not to tell their parents about it and decided not to which I think is good since they're living together and all that. doesn't seem like it'll end any time soon so looking forward to more cute stuff from these two

Tenmaku Cinema Ch10

good chap, curious to see what the director guy is gonna say about the script since he found out about it at the end. sadly tenmaku has not been doing well at all, it was rate last this week and 3rd and 4th from the bottom in the 2 previous issues, which is bad enough that tosh had to do some fanservice on the cover today to try and grab people's attention. I guess the jp crowd just isn't interested in film making, I mean I can kinda see it cause it IS a manga and all but should still give it a chance smh, meanwhile other stuff that's much worse gets to go on for ages

Cipher Academy Ch28

another good chap, got the backstory for toshusai's goon they teased last time and set up the next match. I'm more curious what went on in that pre-match match but we'll get there eventually

Undead Unluck Ch163

seems like we're getting our tournament after all but with the twist that it'll be shen fighting everyone one by one as a way for him to get stronger and stronger, even more excited about this now. I thought we'd see some different matchups but this makes a lot more sense since the union people wouldn't have any reason to fight seriously against each other when the plan is just to recruit shen and beat feng

Mashle Ch160

that's it finn that's the whole series. anyway the final battle is finally over, the anime only has 2 more eps left so I'm expecting 2 more chaps too, it's been a good ride

The Elusive Samurai Ch114

the intermission is over and we finally saw our protagonists again with different appearances too, it's been quite a while. the cliffhanger showed tokiyuki leaving to go join one of the courts, in historical fact he sided with the south to go against takauji so if this does the same we'll have a better idea of what might happen after too (not good things for tokiyuki monka)

Akane-banashi Ch66

very good chap, like always. when the chap started with the master telling her to stop voice acting the different characters and focus on the rakugou stuff I figured this is where it was going but it's still very cool to see. I'm guessing the next chap is gonna be the end of her performance but I could see it taking 2 more. my predictions for the scores from last week still stands tho, but seeing how much she's improved just makes me more excited to see akane perform again

Ayakashi Triangle Ch133

some good lewd panels in this chap but they all pale in comparison to how funny the end was, god shirogane is right suzu is indeed shameless

JOJOLands Ch5

what the hell? jojo on a sunday? I honestly thought it'd be coming out at some point during next week but hey I ain't complaining tho it feels weird for it to be at the bottom here like this instead of in the middle like usual but anyway. good chap, it was cool seeing rohan dominating 3 stand users but it only made sense for the plot if he lost, tho it was nice to see more of how [November Rain] works. quite a bit of lore stuff in this chap too, very curious to learn more about all this stuff, really feels like early p7 and p8 where there's a ton of terms flying around and you don't know what the hell they're talking about lol

#silver talks animanga

[fellhellion]

Thanks to you I'm on Team "Gabriel is the cooler O'hara" and I'm sad bcuz the chance of him appearing in the movies is non-existent. Anyway, recently came across someone saying that when Miles went to meet Miguel, he passed through Miguel's "trophy room" and apparently you could see something of Green Goblin there, which implied Miguel killed him or something?? Now I don't remember seeing the trophy room or any trophies, but I'm also terrible at noticing background details, so... here's a penny.

man apologies for how late my response on this is. i am ALSO really bad at noticing background details lmao but i've had another look at the scene.

A couple things though. I feel like calling it a trophy room is like. a pretty generous term for something that's just a cramped, dark hallway filled with what looks to be unfinished tech fksdfjkdsfhk nothing in that room is displayed in such a way that implies Miguel like. wants it to be shown off.

And secondly, I think we have to approach stuff like this with like. knowledge in mind that these tidbits, given their blink and you miss it presentation, most likely exist just as easter eggs (like Miguel's partially built white suit you can see in one of the frames) and we need to consider them within that context. Especially the team has talked about reimagining Miguel to some extent (and thus us not knowing what elements of his various comic runs they want to include as canon to this iteration of him) it's kind of like. not really worth it imo to be drawing conclusions about the character from easter eggs until there's more substantial evidence actually pointing towards that being the case.

THAT ALL SAID. I rewatched the scene and didn't personally spot any green goblin memorabilia? there could be and i just missed it, of course, but even if there is I don't think that at all means Miguel killed his brother??? thats kind of a wild conclusion to draw imo fkdsjhfk

also. long story short. gabri as green goblin was a thing that came about in the 90s run because a whole bunch of the comic's staff got fired and the issue was rapidly approaching cancellation. so it wasn't even in the original plans for the storyline (was instead supposed to be a different character entirely) and actually ended up getting retconned in a later run anyways. so i don't think it's a detail spiderverse would bother resurecting.

so tldr, i don't know what happened to gabriel but i don't think miguel killed him no.

#ask games #anon #long post