#im so sorry it got so wordy

[detectivechandler]

He has never been afraid of the night or the shadows that wait within it, has never been bothered by the silence that others deem oppressive. Sometimes, tucked away in his office until the late hours, he feels the quiet of an empty incident room gather 'round his shoulders like the hug of an old friend - familiar and comforting in its stillness. His heart quickens at large crowds and loud parties, lungs aching at the energy to form conversation and fingers curled into sweaty palms until they leave crescent shaped marks in their wake. People, noise, small talk ... those are the things that leave tendrils of fear in his chest that snake their way into the pit of his stomach and sit like heavy boulders, holding ground against whatever courage he tries to rouse.

Tonight, he sits at his desk like always - proud with shoulders rigid and straight as he flips through notes with fingers that are raw from hot water, fingers that he pretends aren't trembling the slightest bit. He's always been good at hiding, at control .. but here and there .. the movement of a page or the click of a pen ... his discipline slips - a corner gets crumpled, a stark white page blooms with an ill placed bot - and the detective does his best to rein it in all the tighter. He's long stopped paying attention to the empty room outside his open office door. The whiteboard looms against the wall, empty and taunting, a stark reminder that their current investigation is getting no where... and Joe stares at his files, ignoring it..stares at the pages of evidence and suspects and testimony until the words swim and the photographs blur .. and all the while he can feel that whiteboard staring at him, whispering...

Catch me if you can.

One palm has moved to his side, pressing against the stiff fabric of a fresh shirt as if testing the sting, fingers tapping the area around the ache like poachers teasing out their prey. It's gotten worse since they arrived back, it's gone from a dull ache to a sharp pain that feels as if the flames of hell themselves are burying their way beneath skin and into muscle and bone... and Joe all but grits his teeth against it. He hadn't been near anything, it was just raw skin from damp fabric - he had been sweating, they all had - it wasn't anything important... making a deal of it would have only led to fodder for more bloody ghost stories. The shadow that suddenly falls across his desk makes him jump, calls forth a squeak of a noise that the detective will absolutely not own up to, and the feel of warmth in his cheeks causes blue eyes to narrow when they look up at the office's assailant.

@gentlemanstarkey: lift up your shirt a little so i can see. (WC)

"Wh-what? What?" The question is indignant, a single word tripping over itself as it waits for him to unravel the others from a tangled up tongue and Joe opens and closes his mouth soundlessly for a moment at the other man's appearance. It occurs to him, suddenly, that his one hand is still pressing against his side, protective of a tender wound that he is still telling himself isn't really there, and he removes it with as much of a relaxed air as he can muster, using suddenly free fingers to rearrange papers to the clearing of his throat.

"It's nothing. I checked in the .. I looked when we got back. Just irritation from my shirt or something, that's all." Blue eyes stay trained on the polished wood before him, jaw set tight against the memory of what he had seen in the mirror. Lines, three of them, angry and raised ridges of crimson that had stood out in stark contrast against his pale skin... he had thought cold water from the tap would soothe them, had taken a damp towel and tried to care for them as best as he knew how ... but with each cool drop, Joe had felt that fire burn all the hotter until the heat felt as if his very bones were turning to ash.

James Starkey is a thorn in his side - a man who by all rights should be an absolutely mad charlatan but instead has proven himself a fount of intelligence and quick thinking time and time again. It's enough to set the younger man's teeth on edge. He can feel it on him now - that silent, judgmental gaze that seemed to see everything .. even the things that Joe wasn't aware he'd been hiding. The younger man knows what awaits if he glances upwards, knows the power of those sharp, piercing eyes that seem to shatter the disguise that's served him for decades with a single flicker... but he finds himself doing it anyhow, brows furrowing in an effort to quiet the sudden lurching of a heart that begins a steady and thunderous rhythm inside the hollow of his chest.

"What are you still doing here? Don't you need a good night's rest to fight whatever evils you find in the archive tomorrow?" There's a snort of laughter at his own joke, a huff of breath that serves as the sound of a man awarding himself a point in the competition he's dreamt up... but Joe is quick to frown soon after. "Seriously, James. As flattered as I am that you've chosen to wait for the opportune moment to appear out of bloody nowhere and ask to see under my shirt ... There's no overtime in it for you." He's angry. He doesn't know why. But the rhythm of his heart is chased by a heat that seems to pulse in time with the wound across his flank and his left hand taps restlessly atop the paper it currently sits on, fighting the instinct to return to where it was pressed against his side. "Go home. Find someone else to study like an experiment. I won't be used as fodder for one of your ... stories... or whatever it is you call them."

#gentlemanstarkey #v. under the shadow of thy wings #how in god's name do they EVER fall for one another in this verse #i mean joe already likes him tbh but like - #LOOK AT HIM. hes so bad at it. #well you said to go for it so i went for it. #considering i tried my damndest and was interrupted by the police twice .. #this could be worse lmao. #i love you baby!! i hope you can work with this! #im so sorry it got so wordy #in character. writing.

[magnolia-sunrise]

i was wondering like. at what specific point could wolfgang be sure that bastien likes them afterall. i think iirc you might have mentioned they propositioned him pretty early on and kept a sense of intrigue anyways, i guess this could be a really specific moment in time? what signal made them go 'wait a minute this guy is into me afterall'

second specific question u mentioned wolf would have been in other relationships during these many years they spent w bastien. i guess these are multiple questions, would wolfs other partners notice that theyre somewhere else with their mind? would bastien be jealous or sad or just resign hinself to it? would wolf want for bastien to be jealous or is it more like. happenstance. does this make sense asking like this??

ahh thank you so much for sending this! it is a rare treat to be able to talk about this backstory stuff a bit more <3

lets see, first question, to start off i wrote out a sort of timeline of their acquaintance over 8 years in this post . you remember right, Wolfgang propositions him when they actually get to meet for the second time and talk for a while. they can tell he is kind and selfless in a way that many humans aren't, and also, more importantly, he's hot (and he did save their life and they're very grateful). Bastien politely declines as he's in a comitted relationship with Matteo at that point already (and still very much in love with him), but its fair to say theres a lot of mutual physical attraction, and it's very fun for Wolfgang to flirt with him and tease him through the years as they grow closer.

Bastien falls in love first, but he's also become very good at hiding those feelings and putting them away into a drawer somewhere far away in his heart. iirc i haven't talked about what would've been *The* moment for Wolf - they have an affection for him, but i think it takes them a few months to catch up on the fact there's something more, that his touch is softer, more tender perhaps.

but there is this event that happens early on when the actual story would kick off, around year 7/8 of them knowing each other, when they witness something really gruesome and in their attempt to follow the perpetrators they get hurt, but its significantly worse on their mental state - they can't unsee the things they saw and they grieve the lives they could've saved if they were faster. in that state they drag themself to the clinic late in the night and only Bastien is there. he takes care of their wounds as usual, except nothing is really 'as usual' anymore, and they can't stop sobbing through it. it's probably the most vulnerable they've ever been with him at that point. Bastien doesn't come home that night, he stays with them and holds them without asking questions. he knows he shouldn't but he can't bear to send them away. from that time i think Wolf finally understood just how much Bastien loves them, even though he tries to hide it. (he is even so good at hiding it that Élise tries to talk some sense into Wolfgang and that they shouldn't pine after him because it's a lost cause)

second question -- this is a bit tricky because its my fault for being the unreliable narrator here who hyperfixates on the "main love interest" in Bastien, without showing much of other people in either of their lives. in the early years, Bastien is not necessarily the most important person in their life at all - he's intriguing, sure, and he's attractive and they become genuine friends but that takes years, and Wolfgang knows other interesting and hot people they fuck and date in the meantime. one of their previous partners they actually meet at the clinic (another android patient). they also maintain a kind of fun friends with paid benefits relationship with Élise. so i would say they very much pay their full attention to whoever they're with, and their primary intent is definitely not concerned with thinking about what Bastien might feel about it. at least initially.

does Bastien feel jealous? oh yes, even though i don't think he would be able to identify that emotion correctly. more than once he sees them making out with someone or other in the alley behind the clinic and he can't help but feel - well - he gets angry at himself mostly, full of jealousy and envy, and then pushes it all down. he probably thinks he deserves to feel miserable and guilty.

when they get to the point they're both aware of their mutual feelings, Wolfgang doesn't really even have time to pursue any relationships. at most they fuck their friends, but the emotional mess that's between them and Bastien just keeps getting messier and more desperate, and they don't want to seriously involve anyone else in it. it's bad enough that Bastien still lives and sleeps with Matteo. in a moment of spiteful weakness maybe they would try to make him feel jealous of them sleeping with someone else, but all it does is just make them both more miserable so there's not really a point to it - it wouldn't change Bastien's decision. their worst fear is losing him as a friend, they can't push too much and they can't leave either. so for months they're both trapped in this mutual misery of yearning and lingering touches and things left unsaid until it all boils over

#answered #ramble #wolfien #god this got so wordy im sorry and thank you for reading #some of the stuff i mention ive had written down for many months just like. eventually i will get to script and draw these scenes lol aa

[waterfallofspace]

Old Habits and New Friends.

The one where Y/osano has a cold, and learns how to be okay with this 'weakness' showing in front of her coworkers family. In turn, she learns a bit more about how much they care for her.

So I've been thinking about the beloved bringer of life doctor a lot. She's haunting in every sense and I adore her. Thus, this was born. There's quite a lot of 'character dynamic study' things in this, just fair warning! I love thinking about 'A/DA as a Family' Things <3

Characters: Y/osano, R/anpo, D/azai, K/unikida, F/ukuzawa (briefly) and no ships, this is all platonic-family things <3 Word Count: 2.9k

(References to Y/osano's backstory so slight spoiler warning)

~~~~~~~

As she stands outside the offices of the Armed Detective Agency, Yosano allows herself to take a moment. A gloved hand rubs her nose, trying to fend off the cold that’s been attempting to break her all week. Sickness isn’t a common occurrence for her, but it’s not incredibly rare either. She bites back a cough as she reaches for the handle of the door, sliding into the office with confidence she isn’t quite feeling. 

The room is mostly empty, the only other person visible being Ranpo. He’s seated at his desk, munching on some ‘candy of the week’ and scanning the paper. ‘Likely hunting for cases. He managed to irritate the police again so they haven’t come to him for a few days. Seems he’s getting bored.’ Her presence isn’t addressed, though there’s no doubt he knows she’s here. 

Another prickle works its way through her chest, barely being contained by a quick throat clear. Pointing herself towards her office, Yosano allows her gait to border on running as she glides towards the safe embrace of privacy. Being sick has never been something she was fond of, even before Mori. 

She’s always had the mentality of ‘fight through it, don’t show weakness’. Mori certainly didn’t help with that, stoking her strong personality right alongside the fear of being weak. Even with the ADA, she’d managed to distance if sickness emerged, or fight off anything before it could progress past a mild cold. 

“Yosano?”

Freezing, she allows the hope of a clean escape to fizzle away, pasting a smile onto her face as she turns to face Ranpo. ‘Hopefully he just wants a little praise, or help picking a case. Something simple I can finish quickly before he notices I’m… unwell.’ The thought is pointless, he’s been aware from the minute he saw her. She knows this just as much as him. Still, denial is a powerful drug if you want to believe it strongly enough. 

“Yes, Ranpo?”

“Help me with these cases. They’re just all so boring! Not worth the trip, I could solve them from here. Is it so much to ask for something interesting to happen?”

“Let me have a look. Hm, what about this one? Three people vanished from the-”

“The most boring of them all! It’s so obvious that it was the ferry captain, and they’ll all be returned safely within the week, it’s some insurance thing.” 

“I see. Well then, ma- hehh… maybe the car crash?” 

“Open and shut, he was on his phone and fled the scene. He’ll turn himself in tomorrow, the guilt weighing on him. Next!”

“There’s also th- the… hh’keshh-! hk’yieshh’iee-! ih’keshh’ieu-! Excuse me, sorry.” 

She ducks into her arm for the fit, turning as far from Ranpo as possible. When she spins back with the apology falling off her tongue, Ranpo has leaned forward, eyes showing under the brim of his hat. He’s looking her over in a way she’s painfully familiar with: studying her. After a moment he lets the nonchalant look rest over his face once more, eyes ducking back under his hat.

“It’s fine. Unlike my boredom. Find me an interesting case, I’m running out of snacks!”

“Is that how we ask for things?”

“Mmm… fine. Please find me an interesting case.” 

“Better. I mean- it’s quite difficult since you’re so talented at solving them but… hold on- ek’teshh’ieu-! Scuse me. Maybe this one?” 

“That one is al- oh actually, I didn’t see that one before.” 

“You’re welcome then. So is it worthy of your-” 

Breaking off, Yosano spins around again, aiming the cough towards her arm once more. She lets her thoughts wander as it pours out. ‘Damn it, I was hoping to hold out a little longer. This cold might be stronger than I gave it credit for, but I’m still tougher. I can take it.’ Ranpo has remained silent, but as she turns back he meets her gaze with a smile.

“You want a candy?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you though.”

“I think you should have a candy. It’s exactly what you need right now.”

“Well alright, since you insist…” 

Grin forming, Ranpo reaches into his desk and pulls out a bright wrapper, holding it out in his palm. A blush creeps across Yosano’s face as she recognizes the brand of cough drop. She takes it, turning it over between her fingers before popping it in her mouth. In an effort to change the topic from the direction it’s steering in, she dawns a playful smirk.

“You shouldn’t be eating these like sweets, you know. They’re not bad for you, but they are still medicine.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t snack on them. I just keep them around in case…”

“Good to hear. And uh… thank you, Ranpo.” 

“No problem!” 

The innocent tone is a comfort and she offers a smile in return. The taste of honey offers a soothing relief against her throat, but does nothing for the buzzing in her nose. Rubbing a finger against it, she allows a single sniff before dropping her hand again. She chews up the cough drop, surprise crossing her features as Ranpo lets out a laugh. 

“I thought I was the only one who did that!”

“Did what..?”

“Chewed them up. You’re supposed to suck on them, but I’ve always liked chewing them.” 

“Oh, yeah! Actually… you are supposed to let them linger. It’s better for you that way, you get to absorb more of the effects, but I’ve never had the patience for thhahh… that. hH’ieshh’iue-! hk’eshhii-! ek’zieshh’ieu-!” 

“Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

The laughter they had been sharing fades immediately. Her body language veers to defensive, arms crossing over her chest. The change doesn’t go unnoticed by Ranpo as he sits up in the chair, head tilting down to meet her eyes. All smiles are gone, instead her face is tight, a tense calm resting over it as Ranpo offers something unreadable. 

“I’m fine to work.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. I asked if you should be resting.”

“No. I don’t need to rest, I’m f- fine… hh’eNG’shh-! ek’tnngt-!”

“Hey… you don’t need to do that.”

“Do- hn’tngt-! what?”

“You know what I mean. There’s no need to do that, okay?” 

Yosano pales a little, but gives a tight nod as she feels the tickle swell once more. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay with Ranpo, it’s… it’s okay.’ She lets the words repeat in her head, arms slowly uncrossing as she raises one to her face, leaning away from Ranpo again. 

“hk’iESHh’ihh-! heh’KSHHii-! heh- kn’TIEZSHhh’iue-!” 

Without a word Ranpo abruptly stands, starting to walk towards the couch. He gestures for her to follow, and with a hint of hesitation, she does. Once they reach it, Ranpo sits first, choosing a position at one end of it, before motioning next to him. She follows the direction once more, still hesitant, trying to figure out where this is going. 

She sinks down onto the couch, posture tight, each muscle tensing. ‘What is he going for here… is he trying to put me at ease? It’s not working if so… b- but that’s not like him. There’s got to be some goal. Some plan he’s putting to work based on deductions about me and my health. Maybe he’s-’ Before she can finish the thought a sensation rips her from the spiral.

Ranpo has one hand running down her back, calm eyes peeking out from behind his hat. It’s as if he’s waiting for her reaction before continuing. She lets herself go limp, releasing the tension that had been gripping her. A small smile slips over his features, his other hand coming up and guiding her head down to his shoulder. Before she can process the change, she finds herself relaxing into his touch. 

“I’m gonna keep looking for cases. You are gonna rest.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” 

Even as the words form on her lips she feels her eyes flutter shut, leaning deeper into Ranpo’s shoulder. True to his word, he begins rambling about cases, explaining the ones that are too easy, and pondering on the ones he’d need to see the scene to figure out. Yosano lets herself drift into the sounds of the office, worry fading away. 

~~~

After a few minutes the door slams open, Dazai waltzing in. He freezes at the sight of them, hands in his pockets as he surveys the scene. Yosano pops up quickly, careful to tighten her expressions once more as she feigns nonchalance, letting her legs cross and one arm droop over the couch. The safety she felt with Ranpo has evaporated, her relationship with Dazai not solid enough to allow it to remain. 

Weakness has never been something she’s okay with others seeing, and Ranpo was the first it truly felt okay with. Dazai though… while she doesn’t dislike the man, she’s hesitant to let him see her in that state.

‘I see Mori in him sometimes… Just- in the small things. The way he carries himself, how he plans, the expressions he’ll choose to wear. Though… I often wonder if he feels the same about me. I know he isn’t the same, and I shouldn’t be treating him like he is… but…’ 

She lets her eyes drift to his face, expecting some form of taunt to spill out at any time. Instead, much to her surprise, his usually unreadable expression softens and without a word he places himself on the free side of her.

Her gaze tracks each movement, hand raising to her mouth as another cough starts to break through. Through it all, Dazai remains silent, posture very cautiously relaxed in that deeply rehearsed method she’s all too familiar with.

The coughing tampers off, the itch in her nose taking this as a perfect time to re-emerge. For a minute she considers suppressing it, but Ranpo’s hand still gently rubbing her back provides enough comfort to let it out against her arm. 

“hh’KSHH’iee-! hk’ESHH’iue-! hahhh- tnSHH’ihh-! ‘Scuse me.”

“Bless you.”

“Th- thank you.” 

The blessing comes as a surprise, and she finds herself thanking him out of instinct. She still holds a reasonable amount of caution, but there’s something… almost soft about the expression he’s wearing. As she lets out another sniffle, he points a measured look in her direction, before muttering something.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that?” 

There’s a noticeable pause as Dazai’s cheeks gain a hint more colour than before. He raises his gaze to meet hers, and clears his throat before speaking again. Yosano can’t help but feel a rush of protectiveness as the voice that comes out sounds almost timid. 

“I just asked if you were feeling okay?”

Yosano wants to say yes. Everything inside her is screaming to say yes. ‘Deny till the very end, don’t show weakness, don’t admit flaws. Tell him that you’re fine, and then be fine. We don’t tolerate weakness in our soldiers.’ But… something about the cautious look on his normally collected face washes every image of Mori from her mind. 

Dazai is nothing like him, no, he’s just like her. Taken in way too young by a person with no intentions of saving them. Never given the chance to be anything other than what he planned for.

She had managed to find something special here; to become someone special here. Someone that’s good, and kind, and her. And watching Dazai’s actions since he joined… seeing the look on his face now… well, maybe he’s trying to find that too. 

“Not really. I have a bit of a cold. hih’ISHhiee-! aisHH’iew-! hk’SHH’iue-! hh’KSHH’ih-!” 

“Bless you.” 

“Wow, even I couldn’t get her to admit to illness out loud.” 

Up until now Ranpo had remained silent, watching the interaction play out. However, upon her admittance, he gives a low noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp. At the statement Yosano turns to him, Dazai’s eyes following suit, and gives him a light smack. 

“Hey! That hurt…” 

“Oh really? Are you- injured now? Because I can certainly help with that if youuu…”

“No! No, no I think I’m okay.” 

Laughter bubbles from her chest as she lets her head dip to rest once more against Ranpo’s shoulder. Dazai joins in with a light chuckle of his own, leaning back into the couch. Not a minute passes until Yosano’s sitting up again, another set of sneezes tumbling out into her waiting arm. 

“hh’KSHHiee-! aiiyshhh’iue-! hehh’tizshh’iue-! Excuse me.” 

“Bless. Hang on.” 

With that Dazai stands up, walking over to his desk and starting to aggressively rummage through the drawers. Ranpo and Yosano watch it unfold, neither sure what he’s doing, until he returns, triumphantly holding a pack of tissues above his head.

“Thought you might want these!”

“I didn’t know you kept tissues in your desk?”

“Yeah, well… never know when they might come in useful. Placing them in Kunikida’s belongings when he comes in with the sniffles is particularly fun.”

“You’ve done- hH’TSHH’iee-! ‘Scuse me. Done that before?”

“Of course! This one time I bought a bunch of identical packs, then kept leaving one on his chair in the same exact position every time he left the room! When he asked, I always said I didn’t know what he meant. Ended up going home early cause he was sure he was losing his mind!” 

By this point Ranpo is leaning against Yosano, the couch shaking with laughter. Dazai shoots them a wicked smile, tossing the pack at the couch, which she catches easily. Attempting to suppress laughter of her own, she wears a fake glare, pointing it first at Dazai before turning it to Ranpo. 

“Boys, that’s not nice.” 

“Maybe not, but it sure is hilarious. Besides, he’s the one who forces me to do paperwork on a weekend! Way I see it, he’s asking for a little torment.” 

Yosano just sighs, pulling a few tissues out as she directs another “hih’KSHH’ihh-! tiezshh’iue-! hk’ISHH’iee-!” into the soft folds before lightly blowing. Grimacing at the quality of it, she coughs a few times before sucking it up and blowing again.

Ranpo gives her a sympathetic smile before turning back to the paper, dead to the world once more as he surveys cases. Yosano turns her attention back to Dazai as he drops back onto the couch beside her. 

“That was gross, sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it. You should hear me in the spring.”

“You have allergies? I… ih’KSHH’iee-! I never noticed-”

“Bless you. You wouldn’t have. I take meds most of the time, or if it’s a really bad pollen day I tend to just avoid the office. Hah! It drives Kunikida insane.”

“Does it now?”

“He still doesn’t know why I don’t come in during the spring on seemingly random days! I make sure to pick a few days where pollen is low too so he can’t track the pattern. I also make up excuses that he can tell are lies, but can’t actively disprove!” 

There’s a deep seated glee in his voice as he describes all the details of how he torments Kunikida. Yosano can’t help smirking at the boyish nature of the teasing. It’s cut short by another coughing spell, ducking down into her lap. 

This time she feels two hands grazing her back. One is absentmindedly rubbing circles, the other is hesitant but gentle. A yawn escapes as it comes to an end, Ranpo looking up from the paper.

“I told you so! I said you should be resting!” 

“Yes you did. Right as always Ranpo. I guess… I should probably go home…” 

‘But… I don’t really want to… Home is empty. It always feels cold, even with the heat on. But here… with them… this feels warm…’ She doesn’t say any of this out loud, but there’s no need for that. They both know. While Dazai may not have Ranpo’s deduction skills, he sees more than most. 

Slowly they start to shift positions until her head is resting against Ranpo’s lap, her legs strewn over Dazai as he slides in next to Ranpo, echoing her earlier yawn. ‘That man is able to fall asleep anywhere. I’m quite jealous of that skill.’ Letting her tension start to fade away, Yosano feels a sigh escape. She melts into the warm embrace, drifting off to sleep. Dazai quickly follows suit, his head dropping onto Ranpo’s shoulder. 

~~~

About an hour later the door swings open once more, this time Kunikida stepping inside. At the sight of Yosano and Dazai sleeping, he opens his mouth to make a remark. Ranpo shuts him down with a single look, tilting his head to let his eyes show once more. He’s careful not to disturb them, quiet as he begins to speak. 

“Don’t wake them. They need this.” 

“But-” 

Kunikida cuts himself off, pushing up his glasses as he seems to sort through his ideals in his head. Ranpo patiently waits, letting his arm rest against Dazai’s shoulder as the younger man shifts. Eventually the peaceful look on their faces seems to sway Kunikida as he grabs a book and sinks down beside Dazai, beginning to read it. Yosano stirs, a few sleepy sneezes brushing from her lips. 

“hh’ishh-! kishhh-! heh’tieshh-!”

“Bless.” 

The blessing Kunikida offers is timid, volume matching that of the sneezes. A smirk crosses Ranpo’s face as he watches Kunikida attempt to keep his face neutral. Yosano mumbles a thanks before curling back into herself and drifting back off. 

~~~

By the time the president walks in, he finds all four of them asleep, a tangled mess of limbs and snores. They should be working, it’s nearly two on a Thursday, but he can’t bring himself to wake them. Content spreads through his heart, a smile breaking through to his face as he grabs a blanket from beside the couch and lays it over them. 

“Sleep well, children.”

#waterfallwrites #this is SO wordy im so sorry hahaha~ #its also a lot less dialogue focused than my work usually is #so hopefully its still enjoyable #i tried to make sure the paragraphs were a manageable length #aNYWAYS point is- i love their dynamics and poni's yosano drawing got me THINKING sooooo #here this is #thank you to anyone who bothers to read this! #and i hope you enjoy if you do~~ #b/sd #y/osano #snz #snzkink #snzfic

[babydarkstar]

not enough caitvi fic on ao3……………almost 6000 but idc i need more

#please if u catch me writing for them just look away. i already made a stupid playlist #goddamn lesbians getting to me AGAIN #also everybody makes vi bottom and im like no…..she is a stone butch to me #that’s just my opinion tho. stone femme for stone butch caitvi okay. where is it. where is the content #sorry i actually meant stone butch for high femme. excuse me #i got distracted #i have to finish the hockey au. actually theres a surprisingly large amount of caitvi hockey aus #but goddamn. the hockey au. i literally couldnt sleep one night bc i got trapped in a fic reading frenzy #theyre lesbians harold #anyways it is so fucking delicious and it’s also 300k words and that is just. scrumptious to me #wordy writers i love u so much we are the same

[yeyinde]

Something I always have a tough time with when it comes to writing characters, well, in-character is dialogue. Especially when it comes to making up your own scenarios because you aren’t really sure on what this person would say in that specific situation. And that’s like, the most annoying thing to me because I have so many ideas but it’s like I don’t know how, you know? Do you have any tips/tricks to help with this? Specifically when it comes to Ghost because imo he seems like a pretty complex character and I just have a hard time — getting him, I guess.

i def feel the same! Ghost is a pretty hard character to write for, but i don't think he's as complicated as you might think.

his personality is pretty developed in the game: lone wolf to teammate. he's not completely cold/distant all the time (banter with Soap, the joke about Price losing a cigar, his lines of dialogue). he has a dry, biting sense of humour (pieces, easier to find that way), and is quite snarky/almost petty (choices have concequenes), and a little playful (it was need to know). but he's a good man at his core (still saved the pilot in the crash when the priority was Hassan).

once you stop thinking of him in such deep abstracts, he becomes quite an easy character to work with. this is the base i use when writing for him. i try to add elements of the above, and just kind of break him down into a person. imagine him at the grocery store. that's what i usually do when i'm struggling with lines.

to get a better understanding of who he is, i usually listen to voice clips, watch videos, and try to find as many interviews with the actors, and pick up the little idiosyncrasies they use when speaking. like, how do they typically deliver their lines, what is their sentence structure like, word choice. Ghost is much more direct, so i use choppier, blunt lines. he doesn't give grand speeches, but his lengthy instructions at the beginning of the Hassan arc tell me he ain't afraid of speaking when he has to.

i find it's also easier to build on what already exists by taking a common line he says and branching/adding to it so it feels natural.

"fuckin' hell (something else)" or "(something)? negative." and it usually helps me find my footing so that when i'm writing unique dialogue, it flows better.

i really hope this helps! this is what i tend to do whenever i write a character.

#im not really good at giving advice #but i hope something was useful op! #simon ghost riley #goddd this got so wordy I'm so sorry!!

[scary-monsters]

Diego Brando

Coming from dm!!! I wanna hear some Diego headcanons, could you tell us?

OF COURSE, THANK YOU 🤸‍♀️ im eating up every opportunity to talk about this man !!! some of these i've probably mentioned before but i have a few core HCs that i am quite passionate about so that's inevitable :'))

(warning for SBR spoilers!)

he's 5'3", i think this is widely accepted but i want to emphasize my love for short king diego

he has freckles, yes this is my tendency to give every single one of my favorite characters freckles but i won't back down on this

he's very particular about aesthetics, including but not limited to his clothing, his living space, the way he physically carries himself, the state of silver bullet's appearance (though he is very passionate about caring for her in general and considers it his way of bonding with her)

he's VERY good at braiding hair and can do several different kinds with ease and quickness.

morning guy, he likes being up to see the sunrise and get in some early morning exercise

modern diego is a huge movie buff, his favorite films are peak and you cannot convince him otherwise! he loves psychological thrillers, is very particular about the horror he enjoys, can't stand romantic comedies, and his secret guilty pleasure is animated movies about animals (spirit is very special to him)

modern diego watches hours of animal videos, if he's smiling at his phone it's very safe to assume he's watching something like "cat bonds with lizard" or "newborn foal walks for the first time"

annoyingly photogenic, he cannot take a bad picture no matter how hard someone tries to catch him off guard, however if you get a chance to take one while he's sleeping... that's when he looks the worst (he will not rest until you delete that photo)

when he's in love (rare!!!) or has decided to trust someone (also rare!!!) he gets soooo clingy and overly protective, he will do anything for the people he cares about, though gaining that trust is an extremely difficult and unbearable feat.. he's hard to love initially (and actively repellent to it anyway) but when his walls finally come down it's very much worth it

dinopants REAL, that's it that's the headcanon but araki told me himself that they're in love and compliment each other so well and make each other better people

modern diego loves jaffa cakes, they remind him of his mother because they would share them when he was very young

not the best cook but he really wants to be, his mother left behind a recipe book which he treasures dearly and wants to master.

he has a very loud laugh, it's actually a little off-putting 💀

if you don't laugh at his jokes then you're wrong and he will hold a grudge (im mostly joking but like... he thinks he's the funniest motherfucker around)

he's happiest when it's clear skies with lots of sunshine, he hates the cold, hates the rain, and despises snow, during the winter if he has to leave the house, even if it's just to get the mail or something, he wears several layers and bitches about it the entire time

scary monsters has long-lasting side effects on diego's body outside of him actively using it - his skin gets very dry much quicker (if he doesn't moisturize often his skin will peel and turn a gross green color), his nails grow exponentially faster and have to be trimmed often, he's much more sensitive to the cold, he can see perfectly fine at night without any light (his elevated senses are a canon thing anyway, i just think it's cute)

silver bullet is diego's bff !!!!!! he raised her from the time she was born and he cares deeply for her (when he called her his 'beloved' in canon i genuinely lost it) people have wronged him his entire life but horses have been his safe place for as long as he can remember

the bow on diego's helmet was placed there in dedication to his mother - the bows on his shirt when he was a child were hand-crafted by her in her (rare) free time and he's always associated these kinds of decorations with her

during the race diego finds solace in keeping his helmet close by him at all times, during quiet moments where he's alone he will have quiet conversations with it as if his mother is sitting there with him (it keeps him motivated)

diego genuinely cared for his late wife - he lacked a proper education while growing up, and while he did get some informal education during his time with the joestars, she spent a lot of time teaching him academics more relevant to his age, all while treating him with a kind of nurturing love that he'd been unknowingly craving and desperately in need of

despite this, he still has huge difficulty with vulnerability and emotional awareness in general (canon??) and has stuffed his inner struggles so deep down that he's not even aware of them anymore, his ego is definitely a coping mechanism for how troubled he actually is

but to end on a positive note: he has a youthful soul and at his best he's goofy and charismatic, he matures wonderfully and he makes an amazing mayor because he understands the struggles of the lower class and wants to work as hard for them as he can

i have to stop there or else i'll be here all day !!!!! a lot of the canon-related ones are/will be fleshed out in my current diego character study that i'm working on... god i love him he's so layered and interesting!!! and hot too!!!

#jjba #diego brando #diego #hehehehe thank you!!!!! #sorry this got so long im a wordy motherfucker

[gayhomophobicscout]

If you’re still taking requests, consider: pyro venting about their terrible day (whatever that looks like to you) to Pauling and/or Scout who listen supportively, perhaps interjecting with questionable advice or offers of help.

i'm gonna apologize up front and gently plea for forgiveness up top up front on this one bc this answer / post is a Messss. i'm really and truly obsessed w this req, i love it so so much, thank you for sending it <3 seeing it sent me into a state of frenzy of drawing w/o any real .. planning or. anything <3 anything at all<3333

i think if i try to be comprehensible or give further context i'm just gonna fail miserably so i humbly and meekly give unto thee

as well as

and

plus. in case scout ever is feeling like his chatty self and / or can properly understand pyro

#this is a disaster of messy sketches and formatting i'm honestly so so sorry #the in-inbox? new editor? thing was NOT working so i can't add alt text to these like i was hoping to either #so further apologies for the inaccessibility #this ask was so. like. sweet and lovely and so strangely insightful #like hey. how did you know i just had a positvitely putrid day. how did you know i needed this. #like can't thank you enough also can't apologize enough for the frantic messy response #it is five am i have to go to sleep. fr. i can see how wordy im being i can SEE it <3 #sorry for the over the top tone of this post. apologies for! all of that! #and thank you again for this request #🤡 #💌 #🏃‍♂️💨 #🥺🔥 #💜👓 #what the fuck is my silly little tag for th . these two #💥e #nope that sure is not it #💥‼🧨 #ayooooo got it #🖍

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

Hi henlo,

Just got back into playing Warframe, Wally is in Duviri? Where can he spawn?

Also, Xata's Whisper/Felarx? I'm very behind

Also bein anon because I'm MR30 and ashamed I don't know these things

Hi :)

No worries about being on anon, but you also have no reason to be ashamed! MR30 doesn't mean you know everything about the game or have tried everything you possibly can. I'm MR24 and did my first Archon today, I have friends of higher MR than me who don't have the Simulacrum unlocked, and I've never killed the Exploiter Orb in my life

We all go at our own pace and simply do what is fun. No shaming allowed here

Anyway!

Wally is indeed in Duviri! Somewhere. I can't help you there unfortunately, I've not actually encountered him myself yet, only heard from others and seen their screenshots

The Xata/Felarx method is the one outlined in this video (with an alternative being Ivara/Roar/Kuva Hek, but Revenant lets you brute force things and be less fragile, for the price of no headshot multiplier bonus from Prowl. And boy oh boy do I not handle "fragile" well). The gist is that Archons have crazy levels of damage reduction and attennuation, which can be bypassed by things like multishot, crit, and Just Dealing An Absolute Fuckton Of Damage

Xata/Felarx works bc Felarx has high multishot, like all original incarnons it has access to the perk that grants it a 50% chance for +2000% damage on non-crit hits, and Xata's Whisper for some reason acts Weird As Hell with this perk, essentially doubling it again

At that point all you need is a high strength build on your Xata-having Revenant, the Felarx build from the video, and to build up your stacks with headshots on the way, and ta-da! If you actually manage to hit the headshot on the Archon, it gets deleted immediately

(If you don't hit the headshot, you still do a fuckton of damage!)

#sorry this got wordy im trying to make sense so hard #so that even if you dont watch the video you dont end up lost #chatter tag #ask #anonymous #the revenant/xata/felarx method is v reliable as far as high level high risk nonsense goes #ive seen ken do it countless times on stream at this point #just dont bring a companion thatll attack the archon before you bc then everything gets wonky

[acrosstobear]

Realistically do we think Mick and Haas in 2023 will happen. Because rumours say yes and there is still no decision made but my gut feeling says no after I read guenthers latest comments

hello buddy!!!!!! i'm gonna be honest with you. i'm trying to pay as little attention to the rumours as possible, just because of how heartbroken i would be but also cause its not over till its over and there are lots of rumours going both ways -- Sky Sports F1 Germany seems to think Haas is close, other sources seem to think Hulk is a done deal, Guenther is running his mouth to anyone who will listen but ultimately he's running out of options and out of money. he can say he wants Daniel all he wants, but he doesn't have $20M to sign him, he can say he doesn't want a rookie, but there are very few people hanging around that aren't rookies.

i think we can see that Mick was very smiley last weekend, when he was said to have started contract discussions with Haas. Guenther has always said shit to anyone and everyone who will listen, so i don't know that he's the best source, but at the same time, you could tell Mick was frazzled by yesterday's crash. he was genuinely shocked and shaken up and i think that it's because he know he can't afford this right now.

i'm still relatively sure that Mick will sign with Haas for 2023. there is also Williams as an option, especially without Nyck in the picture, that only leaves Logan for them and I think he's still VERY fresh (and had a lot of luck this season, which was well deserved). right now im persevering with the (nearly) unwavering belief that Mick will be in F1 next year and that's all i've got.

#amanda answers #anon #oh this got wordy im SO sorry #f1 #mick schumacher #rip to me im legit emotional about this #@anon writing green cars on ao3: we will have words depending on the next few weeks

[honeyhcarted]

he  can  smell  the  salt  of  the  ocean  still  clinging  to  her  skin  from  their  swim.  all  day  he’s  thought  about  this  moment,  when  the  sun  would  set  and  the  air    would  cool,  when  the  beach  would  clear  and  it  would  be  just  the  two  of  them.  it’s  almost  silly  now  to  think  he  was  nervous  about  this  before  this  very  moment.  he  can  remember  less  than  twenty-four  hours  ago  when  the  mere  notion  sent  his  stomach  flipping  and  rolling  into  knots.  but  now  that  it’s  happening,  now  that  it’s  here  and  she’s  looking  at  him  with  those  big,  beautiful  blue  eyes,  the  only  thing  he  can  think  about  is  how  lucky  he  is  and  how  sweet  she  looks  with  her  cheeks  kissed  rosy  pink.  

waves  rolling  against  the  shore  and  the  thud  of  his  heart  in  his  ears  serve  as  their  background  music  as  his  hands  curve  around  her  hips.  she’s  still  in  that  same  bathing  suit,  a  little  damp  but  so  warm  to  the  touch  it  makes  him  smile  when  the  heat  hits  his  palms.  his  touch  travels  exploratively,  combing  her  curves  and  valleys  and  making  note  of  the  sounds  she  makes  when  he  hits  certain  places.  this  is  a  map  he  hopes  to  commit  to  memory,  and  so  even  as  his  mouth  presses  warm,  open  mouthed  kissed  to  the  salted  column  of  her  neck,  he’s  very  much  attuned  to  the  topography  his  hands  map  out.  

she makes him dizzy with the way she meets each soft upward rock of his hips  with a downward press of her own. he breathes out hot against her neck.    “is this alright?”    the words whispered gently and without pressure, because she holds the reigns and the power to stop him at any time. but when she mewls out a yes and nods her head, he continues, this time capturing her mouth in a heated kiss that pulls a sound straight from the back of his throat.  

his hands are a slow burning fire as the tips of his fingers drag upwards along the curve of her spine, leaving ash in their wake while they dance between her shoulder blades. he finds the ties of her bikini top knotted behind her neck and it’s one tug that has her unlaced, disrobed from the only fabric that’s kept her covered up all this time. he pulls back to look at her with lids that feel heavy and vision that’s turned rose colored.  

she looks like an angel propped up on his lap the way she is ; her moon-spun hair catching the light of the stars above them. he doesn’t know whether to kiss her, or to capture her likeness in a painting.     “wow.”  he says through smiling lips. his hand lifts to cup at the rise of her cheekbone, dark green eyes admiring her.   “you’re perfect.” 

/   @dottiesxdreams​

#dottiesxdreams #/ this got wordy im so sorry haha #/ soft lemon

[magicveiled]

The party was in full swing. Morgan and Rascal had decided to spend Halloween together since Michael was away on a hunt and Ciara had a hot date somewhere. The witch and her familiar found themselves not so much doing a bar crawl, but rather doing a crawl of some extravagant houses involved in a street wide block party located in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the city. They had been drinking, but unlike Morgan, Rascal couldn't really get drunk. Not unless he drank a whole liquor store. So he could drink while at the same time being the sober buddy during his and Morgan's escapades for the night.

What with the blaring music, bustling crowds of people in costume, and the thick aroma cloud of booze, body sweat, and weed, she didn't see the woman whom she ran into by accident until the two of them collided. Rascal had to swiftly catch Morgan before she fell and ultimately would crack her poor noggin open on the concrete. While he was simultaneously laughing and berating her for not looking where she was going, Morgan was too busy uttering distracted apologies to the woman for her clumsiness.

"I'm SO-so-so-so sorry, I didn't see you there!" Morgan shouted over the general noise then giggled, holding onto Rascal's shoulder for dear life. "Can you BELIEVE this party?" she exclaimed, "It's INSANE ! I wish my brother was here. He lives for shit like this. I LOVE your costume, by the way! what are you supposed to be?"

@occultbureau halloween starter call.

#im so sorry this got so wordy lol #you got morgan but also rascal as just kinda a side character lol #morgan macveigh. | main verse * #morgan macveigh. | roleplay * #halloween 2k23 * #occultbureau

[redr0sewrites]

HI HELLO HII!! :3

i woke up today with no thoughts but edging blade and making him ride me.

I AM THE NUMBER 1 BOTTOM BLADIE ADVOCATE. i see every character as a switch but theres way too many top blade fics and i think he needs to be absolutely destroyed like if you put me in a room with him one of us is coming out pregnant and its not going to be me.

- liz (THIS GOT VERY WORDY FOR NO REASON SORRY HEJDKSKSJS)

AAAA UR SO REAL FOR THIS LIZ <33 sorry this took so long to reply to, i started this but stupid tumblr ate my progress so i had to restart 😒 ANYWAYS, I HOPE U ENJOY !!

🥀Cw: smut, AMAB!reader, sub!blade, overstimulation, marking, creampie, edging, breeding kink, overall filth

🥀minors dni

"p-please!" Blade moaned out, thighs quaking as you rocked your hips back up against him. He was straddling you, his neglected cock twitching as you forced him deeper onto your cock. "nghh puh-please, i wanna- i need to come..." blades stoicism had dissipated entirely, leaving you with the whiny mess currently grinding in your lap.

you had denied him of his orgasm 3 times already throughout the night, and he was becoming desperate. his poor cock was leaking precum, and his cheeks were flushed a hot pink as tears formed on his lash line. he was just so pathetic, he needed you so bad! who were you to deny him?

"aww, bladie~ why should I? tell me why I should let you come. are you being a good boy for me?" you smirked, thrusting upwards into his tight hole hard enough to make him sob.

"i- im being good! im your good boy! please- please- ngh- i need you so-oo bad" blade moaned, nails digging into your shoulders as your hand traveled up his chest to his nipples. you leaned forward, taking one into your mouth and kneading the other with your hand. suddenly, you twisted the hardened nub between your fingers while simultaneously thrusting up against his prostate and he squealed in pleasure. fat, glossy tears streamed down blade's cheeks as you began to pick up the pace, leaning back and thrusting up into him so hard he nearly toppled onto you. needy whines escaped his lips as you mercilessly railed him, forcing him to ride you. blade's hips grinded in tandem with yours, and you could tell he was nearing his orgasm.

"you close baby? t-tell me how bad you want it~" you choked out, a moan threatening to slip past your lips as he squeezed your cock so tightly.

"i- auhhg- p-please, please i need it, i need you, i needa' come o-oh-" blade was cut off with a scream as he arched his back, hips stuttering as his sought after high washed over him. Your eyebrows knitted together, you could feel your own release building in your orgasm.

"You want my cum, baby? want me to come inside, fill you up real nice? im gonna breed this precious hole, fuck you full of my seed~" Blade's mind went blissfully blank at your words, and you wrapped your hand around his neglected cock, stroking him roughly as he shook in overstimulation. He could already feel yet another coil of pleasure building in his abdomen as your thrusts became more sporadic.

"Ye-yes, o-oh yes, please master, i need you, nghh need your cum, want you to fill me up so bad, want it so bad-" your hips jerked up in a few final thrusts as bliss filled every nerve in your body. Blade let out a needy sob as you came inside him, his hole tightening so perfectly around you as a second orgasm shook through him unexpectedly. His cock coated the both of you in his release, and a ring of cum surrounded the base of your own dick still inside of him. With a soft whine, Blade collapsed on top of you and you chuckled softly.

"You tired baby?"

"mhm. Wanna sleep." with no reason to argue, you wrapped your arms around your lover as he nuzzled into your neck, and you gently pulled out of him. blade whimpered softly and you chuckled, gently running your hands through his hair as you both began to drift off.

bro i havent written smut in a hot minute so sorry if this sucks lmao- I LOVE BIG SUBBY MEN THAT NEED YOU SO BAD THEY JUST CANT GET OFF WITHOUT U!!! ANYWAYS FEEL FREE TO SEND IN MORE REQS I LOVE UUUUU HOPE U ENJOYED!

#honkai star rail #hsr x you #hsr x gn reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x male reader #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail blade #honkai star rail x reader #blade x reader smut #blade x male reader #blade x y/n #blade x reader #sub honkai star rail #sub blade #sub blade hsr

[rouecentric]

AAAAA okay, so I saw that your requests are open... (this is my first time requesting anything so im a bit nervous)

about your post with the lante x grandkid!reader, IT WAS SO GOOD, and yes, i totally understand the family's shock about lante doting on his grandkid. this is the same man who established that familial love is unnecessary, was it not?

we got lante's perspective of his grandkid... but what about the other family members? will they like the grandkid as well? or will they be indifferent / dislike them?

(this is a bit wordy im sorry ☠️)

how would the agriche family react to grandchild!reader being doted on by lant agriche? / headcanons, death, typical things you'd expect from a fic that's about the agriche family, gn!reader.

THE agriche's reactions are mixed, honestly, and they thought that dion having a child was enough of a shock, so to have grandchild!reader being doted on by the lante agriche would mean that the usual "balance" (or what was left of it) in the family would no doubt be thrown out the window.

there would most likely be more hatred and indifference than adoration when it comes to the grandchild, especially once they start taking on some of lante's traits as well, but some of the only people that i could see liking the grandchild no matter what would honestly be maria and sierra, as they most likely took on the role of a maternal figure in the grandkid's life since their mother died while giving birth.

roxana, as obvious as it is, would most likely resent the reader because of how doting lante is when it comes to them, especially since not only did they automatically gain lante's favor, but they also are the child of dion, her brother's murderer. however, she might open up to the reader and eventually get along with them if the reader doesn't exactly idolize the agriche head because of his actions, hell, she might even use the reader against lante.

jeremy's neutral when it comes to the grandchild, honestly, he probably never personally met the child more than twice on his own volition, since he would rather cling to his half sister than interact with some snotty baby. but there is a chance that he would have more encounters with the grandchild once they're around four to seven years old.

grizelda.. it's hard to say on whether or not she likes the kid, really, but the grandchild would most likely idolize her, and grizelda is at least a bit kinder at first when it comes to the kid, so the two of them would possibly be close, with the grandchild seeking out the older woman's attention or help.

however, charlotte hates you without any doubt. charlotte doesn't like you because of how easily you get lante's favor and attention, causing her to usually harass you without lante usually knowing, but she does bite back her tongue whenever there are other people present, however, she mellows out when she's older, and there's a slight chance for her to apologize! but don't get your hopes up, because she's stubborn as hell.

fontaine despises you, as you were not only lante's favorite in th family, but also because your birth reinforced dion's position on the top three candidates for being the future head of the agriche dukedom. hell, he isn't even above trying to get you killed, since all is fair in this household that didn't have any morals, no?

dion, your father, was indifferent towards you, he didn't really care for your mother, either, since it was an arranged marriage orchestrated by lante himself for his own benefit. sure, he may have taken care of you in his free time, but his emotional baggage and childhood trauma definitely wouldn't have made him a good father, most likely being emotionally neglectful, even if he sometimes doesn't mean to be distant.

#manhwa #manhwa x reader #dion agriche x reader #dion agrece #roxana agriche #roxana agrece #roxana #roxana agriche x reader #jeremy agriche #jeremy agriche x reader #sierra agriche #manhwaxreader #headcannons #twtptflob #platonic x reader #platonic #htpthob #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #how to protect the heroine's older brother #gender neutral reader #child reader #tw death #cw death #platonic manhwa #not proofread

[spiderlandry]

Routine — ethan landry

Description: Ethan feels you slowly drift away as you spend time with another person.

Pairing: Ethan Landry x GN!Reader (they/them pronouns)

Warnings: unedited, kinda wordy, fluff, jealousy, some angst but happy ending

Word Count: 1.9k

Author’s note: can u guess who reader’s chem partner is ??

Tradition and routine are important to Ethan Landry. Since you’ve made the decision to have lunch with him every Wednesday at the diner a few blocks from his apartment, he eventually begins to expect you to show up there without a text message. It’s routine, now. It’s a tradition—and he didn’t realize how sacred it was to him until his phone pings with a text from you on a Wednesday:

hey im sorry i cant make it to lunch i got assigned a small project in chem and its partners :/ and we could only find a time for today (ugh) lunch next wednesday?

sorry again. have a good lunch!! dont have too much fun without me tho

He’s not bothered. Why would he be? You sound like you’d rather be with him than working on that project, so he’s flattered in that aspect that you sound somewhat possessive with the, ‘don’t have too much fun’.

It’s not like he’s already at the diner already.

(He was on his way.)

But it’s only a blip in the hundred other moments you spend with him, even if those moments are also spent with other people present.

So he doesn’t take it to heart. Even if his heart slightly aches without you beside him, almost a symptom of withdrawal, which he won’t realize until much, much later.

-

Ethan often spends time in the main library on Friday nights. He’s not a stranger to the usual people who also spend their time there, there’s not a lot of people because there are better things for a college student to do on Friday nights. Ethan is different. Although, he only started going on Friday nights because midterms are soon and he can’t afford to fail or retake anything.

However, a familiar figure comes into the library next to a tall stranger. You, with some guy, trying to playfully shush him as you enter the quiet space earning some dirty looks from students around.

You lightly slap the stranger’s arm with a grin, and you don’t see Ethan—he’s sitting in a corner and you’re turned away from him.

There’s no denying that the stranger is handsome. Tall, brown hair, somewhat dorky mannerisms but in a charming way. Ethan could be in love with this guy if he himself isn’t so in love with you.

Ethan opts to look down at his work instead, eyes almost unfocused as the thought of losing his chance being brought to the forefront of his mind.

What he doesn’t see a few seconds later, between the shelves, slightly closer to Ethan, you finally spot him. He doesn’t see the way your smile droops slightly, and how the man next to you asks who you’re staring at.

“Oh,” you whisper to your chemistry partner, Peter, “That’s Ethan. The guy I told you about.”

“You’d look good together.” He teases.

You almost kick him jokingly, but he dodges. “Just because I told you my crush doesn’t mean you get to tease me. Plus, if you do, I’ll tell Gwen about yours.”

But of course, this conversation happens outside of Ethan’s earshot. You’re not looking at him anymore, and as he glances up one more time, he only sees the smile directed at that stranger that used to be reserved for him on Wednesday afternoons.

Yeah, I’ve lost my chance, Ethan thinks.

-

Ethan has decided to spend more time with his friends. It has nothing to do with you, not at all. (It’s not denial.) He lounges in the Carpenter apartment on Saturday night with Chad and Tara. Mindy was also supposed to be there, but texted last minute she can’t make it.

They assure him he’s not third-wheeling, but he definitely is.

But he stops himself before he suggests he can leave. He gives it a chance, because otherwise he would be alone in the dorm—and on a normal occasion he’d leave and call you instead, but he has a feeling your voice will only draw him back to the reliance of your presence. You haven’t talked since Wednesday, since that text message that Ethan believes is the beginning of the end.

Chad notices Ethan’s faraway look, they’re both sitting on the couch while Tara gets a drink from the kitchen.

“You okay, man?” His roommate snaps him out of the daze. “You seem sad.”

“I’m not.” Ethan has answered that too quickly to either of their liking, but it goes unmentioned.

“You can talk to me. If you want.”

Chad’s become more emotionally available since the first time they moved in together, Ethan appreciates that his friend makes an effort even if it seems to take some work. So Ethan humours him.

“Y/N. They’re spending time with this guy and I just—I don’t know.”

Tara comes back with a few sodas, handing one to him and to her boyfriend.

“Y/N?” She echoes, sipping from her drink. “You mean they’re spending time with Peter?”

Ethan realizes maybe he shouldn’t have said anything because Tara’s close to you and if he says something she might say something—

“I won’t tell them.” She says, sensing Ethan’s panic. “They’re just friends, if you’re wondering.”

Chad is grateful for his girlfriend stepping in. She certainly knows more, at least in that respect.

“Aren’t they chem partners, or something?” Chad asks her, wanting to alleviate the tension he can sense on his best friend. He remembers Tara offhandedly mentioning it one time.

(Let’s be honest, anything Tara knows, Chad knows too.)

“Well,” Tara prevents herself from a grimace. “They were partners. Y/N told me they finished the project. So now they’re just friends.”

It has the opposite effect that Chad had wanted.

It only lets Ethan know that it won’t be long until you introduce this Peter to the group as your boyfriend, probably.

“Can we change the subject?” Ethan requests.

He’s thankful as they adamantly jump into another topic about something funny that happened recently, an inkling deep in his soul that they did it on purpose to make him laugh—a hint of relief as he thinks, friendship isn’t that bad. (It’s good.) You and him could still be friends, he thinks. And that’s what he wants, for you to be in his life in any capacity, long as you’d let him.

-

Sunday nights are movie nights in the Carpenter household. And that tradition is extended to the entire group, including you. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous—his palms are sweating, his legs are bouncing, and his mind is anywhere else besides the present.

You arrive late, and the movie hasn’t started because they’re waiting for you.

Ethan thinks Chad or somebody must have done it on purpose, because the only empty seat on the couch is the one right next to him.

Obviously, you take it. The proximity is almost too much for Ethan, but he’d be a damn liar if he said it didn’t help his anxiety just a little bit. You take away his nerves after they appear in the absence of you. You’re his medicine.

The movie starts and you still don’t say anything to each other. He ignores the looks from Chad and Tara, and you seem to be oblivious to it as you keep your eyes on the television.

By the second movie, you’ve both gotten more comfortable, leaning into each other— and to Ethan’s surprise, you put your head on his shoulder. He looks around and no one notices. Not because they don’t care, but because they’re all asleep.

You fit so perfectly almost as if you’d been like this before, in a different lifetime of another universe.

Unbeknownst to Ethan, you had your own intent coming into this movie night, late on purpose and nerves taking away your courage in the absence of Ethan.

SUNDAY MORNING

Sometimes, you’d invite someone to get coffee with you when mornings were pleasant enough to be with other people.

Today, Tara said she was available to get coffee after you’d sent a text to the group chat asking if anyone wanted to come—so you got coffee with her.

It wasn’t your intention, but still, you end up at her apartment half an hour later, chatting about what’s happened in the week.

Somehow the topic of dating has come up, and Tara rambles about Chad’s funny ideas about dates that you laugh at.

Much to your dismay, the question tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. “How do I know if I’m in love with someone?”

She can’t read your face, it’s blank. But she can read your tone: the layer of uneasiness and worry that you’re trying to hard to bury and keep hidden. She tries her best not to show any emotion, either. Because there could only be two possible answer to the question Tara is about to ask.

“Who are you in love with?”

“Who said I was?” Quick answer, deflect the question.

“You’re thinking it, though.”

“So what if I am?”

And she just decides to lay it on the table. “Is it Peter?”

Your instinct is to laugh, because from your perspective, not a universe exists where you and Peter have any romantic connection. And you say, “Why would it be Peter?”

Tara realizes you’re serious pretty quickly. “Everybody thinks that.”

Your face drops, brows furrow. “Seriously?” Tara nods.

“Does Ethan think that?”

Tara smiles.

She has her answer.

PRESENT

The feeling of being close to him is intoxicating. You snake your hand toward his, playing with it until you loosely begin to hold his hand.

Your hand in mine feels right, he thinks. For a split second, his breath is stolen, but the tiny space between your palms get warm—he can breathe—and the warmness travels throughout Ethan’s body and suddenly he wants to verbalize every unspoken word from each interaction with you, but all words come back to I love you I love you I love you.

But there is one thing.

“What about...” He whispers, gulps. “Peter?”

And that’s when you finally look up at him and he turns his head to face yours—a mistake—you are much too close for his heart not to burst. He can feel your breath and he’s sure you can feel his, and there’s nothing else he can think of as he waits with bated breath for your response.

“Why would I wanna be with him when I want to be with you?”

You say it so casually, so surely, as if you’re certain nothing can take away that statement—that truth—from your grasp. The tone catches him so off guard that his words are lost for a moment.

Your eyes aren’t expectant in that moment, though waiting. You’re patient, as if you know what he’s going to say.

“Will—” he tries to be quiet, “will you go on a date with me?” Your smile gets impossibly wider and it mirrors his.

“Always.”

Tara, laying next to Chad nearby—pretending to be asleep—suppresses a grin of her own.

Additional A/N: personally i think their first date is at the diner !! and the diner staff see the progression of their relationship every wednesday lol and yes the chem partner is peter parker (specifically had andrew’s peter in mind, i think that’s clear with the ‘tall’ if not the gwen part LMAO)

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream #scream vi #scream 6 #ethan landry fluff #scream x reader #scream 6 x reader #jack champion

[slicznymartwy]

Slashers reactions to walking in on the GN!Reader masturbating and moaning their name? If you don't take multiple character requests, though, I'd be happy with just Thomas! ^ _^

i LOVED this omg . this is my first thomas x reader i’m posting so i’m glad to start him off this way :3 seriously this was so much fun to write. only included thomas on this one since i made it longer than i planned :p .. maybe its too wordy and not smutty enough im sorry TToTT

°˖✧˚ thomas hewitt x gn!reader saying his name

eyes blinking open blearily, you wake up from your peaceful midday catnap with the feeling of a cool breeze sweeping in from the open windows. the curtains in the hewitt house are old and torn apart but, fluttering in the wind, it almost looked like you were at some fancy resort hotel.

smiling to yourself, you press your face against thomas’ pillow to breathe in his musky scent. if only he had joined you for your nap, then you two could have gotten into some real fun, but you know your man well; when he’s got a working itch in his fingers, he’ll be stuck down there in his basement ‘til he’s satisfied.

you don’t mind it, not when it makes him happy. it’s his passion that attracted you to him back when you two met. his dark determined eyes quickly clued you in - this was a man that acted, a man that took what he wanted and didn’t apologize.

you loved that about tommy, but right now you feel loose and happy like the partner of a rich man, and you want him. you want him so badly. heat stirs between your legs and you roll onto your back, listening acutely for any sounds.

the house is quiet except for the soft thuds managing to crawl up from the basement. keeping your willful ignorance about what he does down there, you instead focus on the fact that you two must have the place all to yourself today.

you sit up and pat your hair back down. it’s a little bit ruined from rubbing against the pillows, but you weren’t winning any beauty contest before that anyways. you feel more of the breeze when you sit up, and it brushes coyly across your bare chest. biting your lip with a smile, you use your sleep-sore muscles to haul a pillow down towards your hips and straddle it.

you start slow, hands bracing yourself forward as your hips rock back against the pillow. already, your breath comes heavier as you imagine your tommy. strong and thick all over, with enough muscles to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder like he was wont to do when he craved you.

the pillow felt nowhere near sturdy enough, but you imagine grinding on his thigh like this, feeling his muscles flex underneath you as he watched. you close your eyes as you pretend, mind swimming with pictures of your big and capable man.

“tommy,” you whisper, picking up your pace as your body reacted to the pleasure you gave yourself. you were relaxed before, but you feel boneless now, like you were made of melted candle wax.

time loses some meaning in your deliriously horny brain. you can barely think beyond the soft cushion between your thighs as you hump against it in a steady rhythm.

you feel like you're floating out of your body: you can recognize your own voice, but you don’t know when you started chanting tommy’s name, and you can hear your orgasm building as your voice gets louder. despite knowing he can't hear you, you're begging him for mercy.

you’re nearly finished when the hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stand. there’s something different in the air, although you can’t pinpoint what, and you open your eyes.

“tommy!” you gasp, because there he stands. his arms hang by his sides as he watches with hauntingly dark eyes.

you feel like he can see straight through you with his gaze, and your hips stop as you cover yourself with your hands. it’s a little bit pointless, since thomas has already seen every inch of you. he’s had you bent over and folded in half so many times that you’re sure he’s got you memorized.

your chest rises and falls visibly as you try to catch your breath, but that seems impossible as he slowly steps into the room. he lumbers forward, his eyes never leaving you.

it's clear that he's just come up from his basement, the way his clothes and apron are stained. he must have heard you, you realize. your cheeks feel red hot at the notion of you hollering his name so loud that he had to come check on you.

he stands in front of you, head ducked down to keep his gaze locked onto your eyes. you feel frozen to the spot, until thomas’ hands reach behind his back to untie his apron. inspired, you hurry to get the pillow out from under you and back to the others, turning away from him while you did. what use was the limp pillow when you had the real thing right in front of you?

you hear thomas toss the apron aside, and you gasp when you feel his warm hand on your ankle. he pulls you down to the foot of the bed easily, sliding on your stomach over the messy sheets.

"thomas," you breathe, looking at him from over your shoulder. he's so massive as he stands over you, but when he puts his heavy hand between your shoulder blades, you get a sense for his gentleness too. you've seen his hands cause so much destruction, but that felt like a different person to the man standing in your shared room.

he doesn't speak, but you don't need him to. he's always proved his adoration to you with his actions. he does the same for his family too, the callouses on his hands prove how hard he works to make them happy. you can feel them scratch pleasantly against your skin as he strokes his hand down your back, until he holds onto your hips with both hands.

"i love you," you say, feeling him press the front of his clothed hips against your ass. he spends the rest of the afternoon showing you how he feels the same.

#thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x gn!reader #slasher x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #tcm the beginning #₊*. ⋆༘ — requests

[sweaterweatherever]

could you maybe do a Tyler request that's sort of similar to the This Thing of Ours but when Tyler turns on Wednesday the reader sides with him because they've had their own agenda the whole time? im so sorry if it's too broad i just thought it would b an idea for more Tyler ones!!

Master (Tyler Galpin x Reader)

Pairing: Tyler Galpin x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Reader’s mother gets killed. Cursing. Canon typical violence. Reader gets a gun. Dark reader, dark Tyler. Smut. Masturbation. Unprotected vaginal sex. Don’t try any of this at home. Aged up characters.

A/N: I always thought any kind of prank enjoyed by high schoolers was mean, so I stand by saying Tyler has a mean streak. After this we are taking a break from him. Also, wordy, and don’t throw guns on the floor, they might go off. Been getting bolder with the whole monster fucker thing.

Requested: Yep. What better agenda than revenge? Also, to the shadows + stalking anon.

You never liked the barista at the Wethervane. He was, much like every other normie in Jericho, an asshole. You had been in the town long enough to notice. Sure, now everyone was buying his good guy act, but you remembered. You would always remember.

You see, you two had met when you both were little. Your mom used to be around the Galpin’s a lot, since she worked as a secretary on the Sheriff’s department. Often, she had to drop papers for the Sheriff to sign off, and that made her meet Tyler’s mother. Francoise was a lovely woman, but there was a sadness to her, a loneliness, that wouldn’t go away. She desperately needed friends. In a tiny town like Jericho, being an outcast and a single mother wasn’t easy, so your mom wasn’t popular either. She tried not to advertise the fact, but it was evident that something was off about her, with the way you both seemed to suck the light of every room you stepped into.

Two lonely women, who saw each other frequently. The result was predictable: They bonded over their shared characteristics, started meeting for coffee. Both mothers, both outcasts, even if you didn’t know it at the time. Unfortunately for you, it’s a truth universally know that every pair of mothers who become friends try to set up a play date for their children.

At five years old, you had been a very different creature than what you were now. You had been quiet, shy even, and obsessed with dolls. You spent hours dressing them, brushing their hair, playing pretend. Normal child behavior, even if a bit of your mother’s isolation from the world showed in the fact you weren’t used to playing with others. Tyler, though, he was. Typical boy, rowdy, loud and not normal. There was something in the way he moved, his smile showing far too pointy canines for a six-year-old, that made your senses stand on edge. A bully, you thought, seeing him for the first time. He looked like the boys who pushed girls down the slide at the park just to scare them.

In his mother’s eyes, Tyler could do no wrong. To Francoise, his toothy grin was just excitement, his odd way of moving was simply a boy being a boy. She was overjoyed she had been able to carry him to term, Francoise explained to your mother, she had such weak health. She always woke up tired, these days, with unexplained bruises and leaves in her hair. Maybe she was going crazy, perhaps she was anemic, possibly a sleepwalker, the doctors said. And so, she didn’t notice the little monster she was raising.

You had been told to be nice, to be friendly. Your mother liked Francoise, and wouldn’t it be nice if you got a friend of your own? The idea certainly appealed to you, made you willing to try. Maybe Tyler wasn’t so bad, Miss Katherine at school always said you shouldn’t judge a book by his cover.

“Do you want to play?” You had asked, offering him one of your dolls. Tyler had shaken his head.

“Dolls are silly.” Tyler said to you, shocking you deeply. You loved your dolls, and your mom, who was very into the early stimulation trend for kids, had always encouraged you to play with them, making up scenarios. It was good for creativity, she said. You didn’t know what the word meant yet, but it sounded fancy and adult like. You guessed it was a good thing. “They are for little girls.”

You wanted him to think you were cool, you wanted him to like you. A friend, mom had said. A friend of your own, someone to play with, a kid who wouldn’t be weirded out by the way your mere presence made the shadows get bigger and the fact that you weren’t afraid of the dark. So, you asked:

“What can we play?”

“Hide and seek!” He smiled, showing a toothy grin. Tyler was missing his front left teeth, and it made him look softer, endearing. It also highlighted your slight age difference, to a kid, a year was a lifetime. Older was almost always synonymous with cool, too.

“Sure.” You answered, looking around his backyard. You had never played hide and seek before, but you had watched other kids do it. The backyard was small, with not really many places to hide.

“Come on!” Tyler had said, and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the path that lead to the forest. You didn’t protest, even knowing you would get in trouble if your mother found out. Even if the darkness did not scare you, even if shadows were your friends, she didn’t like you wandering around on your own. There were men with guns there, and bears. And not, like, Pooh. Mean bears. “I’ll count!”

Tyler seemed to know his way around the forest better than most kids your ages, but so did you. He started to lead you deeper into the trees, in twisting paths that made it hard to remember where were you.

“I’ll count to ten, and you have to hide, and not come out until I find you.” Tyler explained. “You can hide in a cave or something.” He added, a hint of maliciousness on his tone. Jericho’s forest was full of caves, unusually so.

“I…” Your expression probably told him you weren’t sure about it because he pounced on the perceived weakness.

“Don’t be a baby!” Tyler laughed. It sounded strange, mean even, in the quiet of the forest. Even in broad daylight, the only thing that could be heard was the chirping of some birds. “Or are you scared of the dark?”

“No. I’m not.” Tyler didn’t respond, instead choosing to start counting. You hurried to find a place to hide, deciding to stay behind a tree. The silent felt strange, the whole thing was weird. You were hyper alert to any sound, from the crunching of the leaves to the way the wind blew between leaves.

“Nine.” He waited a bit, his voice sounded excited. Maybe it was the way the sound carried here what made it sound so unusual, twisting around the trees and into the open, the city’s noise far away. “Ten! Here I come!” His sneakers crunched on the leaves, sounding closer than ever. Your heart raced in your chest, a ringing in your small ears. You had never seen the point of the game before, but you knew some people liked getting scared, that was what scary movies were for, your mom told you.

You ran away, ducking just in time behind another tree, pushing your hands against your mouth to avoid making noise. Tyler approached again, and so, it got started. There was something odd, something wrong with this. You didn’t feel like you were playing a game, you felt like if he caught up with you, something bad would happen. Like the scariest thing in the forest was him. Back then, you were too young to understand, but you felt hunted. Like he was a predator and you were nothing more than prey.

After a while, you found yourself in front of a cave. Just as you hesitated whether you should enter or not, someone pushed you in and frightened you terribly. You barely felt the tiny hands against your back. You fell, knees scraping against the stone. A little scream left your throat, and you tried to turn around to get out, lips trembling and eyes filling with tears. But just as you were about to exit the cave, a rock rolled in front of it, taking all the light with it. There was only one other person that could be responsible for this, and only one person that knew where you were. What if you never got out now?

Your first instinct was panic. Like any normal five-year-old, you didn’t like enclosed spaces, and much less being trapped. But instead of screaming, you remembered the reason all other kids hated you, why you were so alone: Because shadows were your friends. You took a deep breath and stayed very calm. Your eyes got used to the dark quickly, much like a cat would. With this, you realized two things. The cave was small, so much you could barely stand inside it. And the thing at the door? It wasn’t a rock. It was only cardboard. Feeling very silly once again, you pushed it away, and crawled out, into the expecting arms of Tyler.

“You aren’t crying.” He stated, looking at your ruined pair of jeans, bloody at the knees, and your tearless face. Tyler seemed angry, cheeks red, as if your lack of tears offended him. You hated him then.

“You are mean.” You said, with all the seriousness and insulting tone a five-year-old could have. “I don’t like you.”

“Oh, did baby got scared?” One of his hands went to tangle in your hair, tugging hard on your ponytail. “If you snitch, you get stitches.”

The sting brought tears to your eyes, but you stared him down anyway.

“Stay away from me! I’m telling my mom!”

“Baby is scared.” Tyler gave you a mocking, concerned look. You took a step back. There was something in his eyes that scared you, a darkness no six-year-old should have. ”If you tell, you will hurt.” And with one last push that made you stumble, he walked away.

You stayed in the forest, and only when he got far enough not to hear you anymore, you broke down and started sobbing. Safe to say, you never played with him again.

You feared Tyler for long afterward. Your fear of him only got better in middle school, when the year between you seemed less like an unbreachable distance. Tyler got sneakier at getting his way, then. He ran with the popular crowd, the one likely to bully and play nasty pranks on younger students and eventually, outcasts. Tyler was an asshole, but one that had gotten better at masking his intentions, behind the mask of a popular boy. Everyone was charmed by him, but you didn’t forget the way his eyes had made you feel, years ago.

Unknown to you, Tyler watched you, too. Your lack of fear and ability to keep a clear head when he had tried to scare you made you intriguing. He didn’t forget the defiance in your eyes when he had pulled your hair hard enough to make you shed tears. At first, it had been intrigue. No other kid had resisted him before, girl or boy. A tiny slip of a thing like you, managing to get out by herself? That had caught his attention. He had wanted to scare you so badly, but never acted on those impulses, even when he had plenty of opportunities. You sat alone at recess all the time, and never noticed him watching you. Then, adolescence started, and he got hormones. You had been brave as a five-year-old, and now you were brave and pretty, slowly blossoming into womanhood. His first crush was on you. But you never once looked at him.

Tyler’s mom died when you just got into high school. Your mother grieved her deeply, but never once shared the secret of what had killed her with you. Tyler got nastier. Alcohol, grief, and the usual power plays of high school added gasoline to his fire, he was everyone’s favorite bad boy. He went through girls like they were disposable, using and discarding them. His friends and he got drunk, pulled stupid pranks, targeting the outcasts from the nearby school more and more. His father made him untouchable, and you knew, you knew Sheriff Galpin regretted the path both had walked on. It was about that time you got into Nevermore, and started keeping a closer eye on him. If he did something terrible, were you responsible too? For not speaking up, despite knowing what he was capable of?

You never talked to him. But you knew he was keeping an eye on you. Out of all your friend group in Nevermore, you were the only one who never got targeted by his gang. It was so noticeable, people started to talk about it. You refused to comment, but you knew, you knew, it wasn’t out of friendship or some misplaced guilt. It was because he liked making you uncomfortable, liked the rumors going around, that you were his. Liked seeing you scared, trembling, every time a prank fell on one of your friends, and you ended up unscathed. He liked scaring you with the anticipation of what was to come.

Then, he went too far. Picture the scene. Outreach day, sunny skies, volunteers everywhere. Your post was at the Pilgrim World, serving tourists. A kid, a popular one at that, gets asked to paint a mural. He does, and does it well. So of course, Tyler has to go and ruin it. The charges are as follows: Destruction of private property, vandalism, assault. He is the son of the Sheriff, and Jericho’s high golden boy. A young man with a promising future, the star of the football team. His dad calls some favors, he is white and charming. The charges get dropped, no smear on his record, but off to bootcamp he goes.

For the first time in years, you breathe in relief. Finally, you don’t have to look over your shoulder all the time, answer pointed questions as to what exactly your relationship with him was. Because it’s good, too good to be true, someone has to go and ruin it.

Your mother’s funeral takes place in a sunny day, for Jericho’s standards. It feels almost mocking, to the woman she was, to the woman in which you are becoming. The kind of woman who sucks all light in a room. Your father’s new, normie, uncomplicated wife, stands next to you, two young pretty things in mourning. You hate her, oh, how you hate her.

“We want to avoid uprooting you, sweetheart. Nevermore is the best school in the country for people like you.” Your father explains, as he moves to your mother’s bedroom, as he puts his new wife on the bed. “But you can’t stay here alone, either… What happened to your mother… Jericho’s a dangerous place.”

It’s always like that. What happened to your mother, her tragic passing, she was taken from you too young. It’s never the cold, hard truth you desperately need. Some psycho killed your mother, injection of poison right at the neck. But no one says that. No one dares say your mother was murdered, no one dares speak without pretty euphemisms. You understand Tyler’s anger then.

You learn things, in the following months. First, that your reaction isn’t normal. Normal teenagers don’t obsess over revenge when their mothers are killed. Off to therapy you go. Then, that poison is a woman’s weapon. Easy, clean, no need for overpowering. Third, breaking in and stealing case files is ridiculously easy when the Sheriff has a soft spot for you, remembering how your mother used to be friends with his wife, her tragic passing and your uncanny resemblance. Fourth, that the psycho who killed your mother wasn’t satisfied with injecting her with a syringe filled with concentrated Nightshade, but that they also took her hand. As if killing her wasn’t enough, as if they needed to profane her body too.

The new herbology teacher shows up. Her special interest in your abilities, the plants she keeps in her greenhouse, the fact that is a she. It all drags you to a disgusting conclusion: You think she did it, but you can’t prove it. And if it wasn’t enough with danger lurking the halls of Nevermore, you cross paths once again with the monster in your nightmares.

You are coming out of Doctor Kinbott’s office, after a long and tiring talk about your relationship with your stepmother. You like the doctor. She always has a cup of hot chocolate for you, and cookies. She is nice, she smiles at you, uncaring that when you are uncomfortable the lights flicker and the room gets darker. You open up to her.

“Hi.” Tyler says your name, repeats it even, but you are too busy gawking at him to respond. His hair is shorter, and he has gotten taller and more muscled. Bootcamp did him good. If before he was handsome, now he is even prettier. You know half the town must be swooning for him. The darkness in his eyes, though, it is unchanged. Tyler tries to hide it behind a polite smile, but you can tell he is thrilled at your reaction.

The cup of hot chocolate slips through your hands, shattering against the floor, liquid staining the carpet. You drop to your knees, trying to clean it up, and he kneels next to you. “Careful.” Tyler says, grabbing your wrist, and you scramble back so hard and fast, you hand cuts with one of the porcelain pieces. Blood drips down your fingers and into his. “We don’t want you cutting yourself, but it is too late for that…” He finishes. His pupils dilate, nostrils flaring, almost if he can smell your fear, but you refuse to back away once again and give him the satisfaction. You freeze in his grasp. A bunny under headlights.

“Oh, dear!” Doctor Kinbott says, lured out of her office by all the ruckus. “It seems you have met each other in quite the way!” She laughs, high and airy. “Nine and half, meet ten and half!”

That brings you out of your daze, and you get up on unsteady legs. You mutter something polite. Tyler, ever the gentleman, helps you to your feet. You cradle your injured hand, shake his. Your blood stains his fingers. You look up at him and keep the eye contact: You both know what it means. I will be watching.

Doctor Kinbott is your safe place. You can tell her almost all that troubles you, almost all because you keep secret your nagging suspicions about Mrs. Thornhill. And so, you tell her about Tyler.

“I don’t like him.” You say to her, after your fourth run in with him in a week. Turns out, now he is the barista at the Weathervane, the only café in town. Can’t you just catch a break? “He… He scares me.”

“Why do you think that is?” She asks, eyes soft and never judging. “Is it because he saw you here or because he has shown interest in you?” Of course, she thinks you are afraid of everyone knowing you go to therapy or intimacy.

“No. You have to promise not to tell him, though…” You offer and she smiles at you brightly.

“Patient – Therapist confidentiality is a given here, even if the other person involved is also my patient. I would never discuss something you tell me with him. This is a safe space.” The doctor smiles kindly, and slides you another cookie. You don’t take it.

“It is because we met before. And he made me feel like prey.” You clutch your hot chocolate closer, and start telling her the story of Tyler Galpin.

Kinbott thinks you should be away from Tyler. She doesn’t tell you what he has told her, but you know the story you told her has made the missing piece of the puzzle fit into place. She moves his appointment to Saturdays instead. Not only that, but she looks afraid. For your safety, maybe? She talks to your dad, and he starts escorting you in and out the building, and when the semester starts, that duty falls to principal Weems.

You start watching him, obsessively, then. The shadows have always been your friends, they don’t mind helping you. You sneak out of Nevermore, and sit long hours perched on the ledge of a nearby building, doing homework and stealing glances at him working behind the counter. It’s soothing, being the one watching for a chance. You feel safer, knowing exactly where he is at a given time, cloaked in your shadows. Doctor Kinbott remains unknowing of your new habit because you know she would want you to stop. She would be both concerned because it’s unhealthy and because she thinks Tyler will hurt you. She is right on both accounts.

One day, your normal routine is interrupted because a car pulls over at the Weathervane. Your heart accelerates, beating harder and harder when you realize who is driving. The redheaded, awful, bitch that murdered your mother. You consider warning Tyler, when you see him being friendly to her, but decide against it because you aren’t sure who out of the two of them is more dangerous.

After that, your stalking gets more intentional. They have to be planning something, it’s weird how much time they spend together. She… She seems to like him, she handles him in a way that makes you want to scream, or tell his father. There is something in the way Thornhill touches him that feels dirty, her hands like claws on his arm, his shoulders, anywhere she can reach. You shouldn’t worry about him, this terror of a boy, but you do. The thoughts get confusing, and so, you decide to drop your stalking habits.

The day is an unusually cold one, and so, your friends decide to make a stop at the Weathervane. You don’t have an excuse to wait outside, with the first drops of rain starting to fall. You burrow yourself more inside your coat and trail after Divina and Kent into the café.

“…I’m thinking of getting a caramel latte, and maybe a cinnamon roll?” Divina chatters on, excitedly. She is overjoyed, she has always loved rain. Any water is good water, that’s what sirens always say.

“Don’t you think is way too much sugar? Your teeth will rot.” Kent answers, pulling the door open for the both of you. “What do you think?” He asks you, and you try to form a coherent response that surpasses your fight or flight instinct.

“Yeah, yeah. Next thing you know, she gets diabetes.” You answer, but your attention is not in the conversation. Instead, it is in the boy behind the counter.

Tyler looks just about the same as always, brown polo shirt clinging to his shoulders, apron neatly tied back. But the bruises and the scratches on his arms, those are new. So is the look of pure panic he is sporting, trying to hide it behind a mask of normalcy you know too well. The same one you have worn every day since your mother was murdered. Something rumbles in your stomach, something both possessive and dark. He isn’t supposed to be scared, Tyler is the one to inspire terror in others, not the reverse. And if he is going to be scared, why should other people have the satisfaction? You deserve his fear, after spending twelve years of your life fucking terrified of him from his stunt in the woods. Besides you, no one should be able to scare him.

“We will have a caramel latte, a mocha with an extra shot of espresso and a chai tea. Also, two cinnamon rolls.” Divina says, without even saying good morning. It doesn’t sit right with you. Your policy with anyone working customer service is treating them like a person. Divina is not mean or rude, but she doesn’t think before she speaks most of the time. So, even if this is Tyler, alias your personal nightmare, Galpin, you feel the need to add:

“Good morning, and please.” And smile a little, too. Tyler smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He isn’t paying attention, not even to you. You try to make small chat, but he shifts and avoids any attempt at it. Maybe he thinks this is a power play, too.

When he extends his hand to pass Divina the change, you notice his wrist is purple and green, almost as if he were held too roughly. You wonder what could possibly leave bruises in a pattern so odd.

“Man, did you see his bruises?” Divina loudly whispers when you are walking back to the table. You say nothing. Next to you, Kent snickers.

“Yeah. Who knew Jericho’s golden boy was that kinky?”

“What are you talking about?” You really don’t understand what they are talking about, but their silly mood is contagious. You can’t help but smile.

“Oh, you sweet summer child…” Divina pats your hair. “The bruises on his wrists, those are from shackles.”

Kent laughs. Suddenly, you aren’t smiling anymore.

The first body is discovered only a few days later. The press comments on the attack, hinting at a possible serial killer because isn’t it odd the killer took a foot? This time, your choice of stalking victim is Mrs. Thornhill. But regardless of what you do, she always manages to slip away. And the times she does, a body turns up a few days later, random body part missing.

Your anxiousness must show. Doctor Kinbott comments on it, but you don’t dare tell her. You don’t have the proof. Your therapy rides with Principal Weems get crashed by a pig tailed girl with the name of Wednesday. Her arrival late in the semester puts the school upside down. It’s not hard, to find out she is trying to solve the mystery of the murders.

The next time Weems takes you both to therapy, you slip her your mother’s file.

“Here.” You say to her, trying not catch the attention of the Principal driving you. You pass her a folder, in sober blue. “The notes you asked for.”

“I didn’t ask you…”

“You did. After Rowan’s accident. You were murderous when it happened.” You hope she catches the hint, and Wednesday does not disappoint, grabbing the folder with eager hands.

“Oh, right. I must have forgotten. Thank you.”

In big black letters, just before the detailed autopsy report, you placed your warning: Different MO, same signature. Killer might be closer than you think.

You hope Wednesday can get the proof you need, but you don’t want to lead her on, so you don’t name your suspect.

Tyler shows up at the Rave’n on Wednesday’s arm. He looks better, less bruised and more confident. Your eyes lock across the room, in the middle of your dance with Kent. His lips part, almost as if he were about to mouth something and decides against it at the last minute. Kent pulls you towards his chest, chin hooked over your shoulder.

“What are you staring at?” He asks, following your gaze. For someone who negates the existence of romantic love, he is quite the gossip. “Doesn’t golden boy over there has his own, dark, date to ogle?”

“He has, yes.” You answer, still holding eye contact with Tyler. He has an odd expression on his face, almost as if he has been punched. He looks good tonight, you aren’t going to lie to yourself and say you don’t find him attractive because he is. Shame that you know exactly what lurks beneath the pretty face.

“Seems like our boy has a type. Likes them dark, menacing and tiny.” Kent pokes at your ribs, still with his head on your shoulder. It makes the whole thing awkward because your body arches trying to get away from his touch, but you don't want him falling down either. It looks funny, you know that because Tyler smiles slightly.

“Asshole.” You break eye contact with Tyler to push Kent away. “Not tiny.”

“I’ll stop calling you tiny if, when you fuck him, you share details.” He snorts.

“Gross.” But your response is a little delayed, and Kent definitely notices. He gives you a pitying look, and you wonder if he knows something about you that you don't know about yourself. Both Divina and him are your closest friends, but you know they share a bond that's different from what they have with you. Do they talk about you when you are not there? Do they talk about the way Tyler looks at you, the way that you look at him, half fear, half attraction?

“Babe, the boy has been pinning for you since, like, fourth grade.” The phrase rings in your ear, makes its way to your brain like an insidious worm. It's still there when blood starts to rain from the ceiling, when Tyler rushes out of the room. Maybe that's why you follow him. Oh, how you wish Kent had never spoken them.

You cloak yourself in your shadows, Kent in too much of a panic to notice you slipping away from him. Tyler's looking at his phone, distracted. He doesn't realize you are falling into step behind him, following into the twisted paths of the woods you both grew up into. The same as you did thirteen years ago, follow him inside the forest because you were young and stupid and desperately wanted to be liked.

The night is cold, wind drifting in and out between the trees and making eerie sounds. Your dress sticks to your skin, wet with fake blood. Tyler walks with intend, dodging branches and ducking between leaves. You try to keep up, but you are getting tired. Someone screams, the sound making you jump. A boy, it's a boy screaming. And then, Wednesday's voice rings in your ears, but you can't make out what she is saying. You can barely think because right in front of your eyes, Tyler is turning into the ugliest monster you had ever seen, skin gray, form still humanoid. It looks painful, how the skin breaks, the joints shift. His eyes are dark and protruding, hungry, pointy teeth come out of his mouth. The nice hands turn into claws, and you don’t dare breathe, you don’t dare even whisper a warning because he is pouncing on the boy and slicing with his claws.

You press your hand to your mouth, biting your fingers to keep you from screaming and betraying your position. It’s over fast, the screams of the boy turning into pained, choked whimpers. The monster sniffs at the air and for one terrifying second, you think your eyes meet his. But he walks away, and then Wednesday is there and Thornhill, and it’s all so confusing and scary you end up walking back to your dorm in a daze.

The shower you take does nothing to soothe your nerves, but it helps you clear your head. So, Tyler is the monster. But Thornhill still showed up at the scene, you know the two of them have something like a relationship. Does it mean they are working together? You toss and turn until morning, sleep evading you. Your conclusion is that you need additional information. You decide to explore the woods and do some more stalking in your free time.

This is what you discover: There is a cave, much like the one Tyler pushed you into all those years ago. Someone burned the cave down. Eugene, the kid from the bee club, was trying to get inside the cave, but the person burning it down spooked him. He ran into the monster, into Tyler after that. You also know Tyler got a text before slipping away, that means he was possibly following orders. Thornhill appeared at the scene, and so did Wednesday.

You decide to tail Wednesday after that. It doesn’t last long, the girl too paranoid about being followed to be able to do it easily, but you learn the monster is called a Hyde. Hydes usually have masters, who tell them what to do. You decide to look up that information later.

The first days are hard. You don’t dare tell anyone what you just saw, too paranoid about suffering the same fate as Eugene. Tyler is dangerous, you have known that since you both were just kids, but now you know exactly how much. He is capable of killing people, yet he isn’t the one who killed your mother. You can’t decipher why Thornhill would be interested in killing her… Unless she knew Tyler was a Hyde and could become a problem later on. But that doesn’t explain what Thornhill hopes to achieve by killing all these people. You ponder, and ponder, but can’t get a why.

Then, cold, hard determination settles on your stomach. You can’t go the legal way, but you can get your revenge in other ways. You need a plan, and it won’t be easy, but you think you can achieve it. What can drive a person to become a murderer? Turns out, all it takes is getting pushed a little too much. Suddenly, murder seems like a reasonable reaction. Desperation makes funny things to people. And seeing Tyler attack Eugene had been your last straw. You won’t be able to live without fear until Thornhill is neutralized, and if no one is going to do it, you will have to take matters into your own hands.

The first step is easy. On your next therapy session, you tell the magic words to Doctor Kinbott.

“I’m afraid. Sometimes… Sometimes I get this feeling, like someone is watching me…” You whisper, crying, in what has to be the performance of a lifetime. Kinbott looks almost afraid, too. She takes your hand in hers, gently. You feel bad about manipulating her, but it’s for the best.

“Do you think you are in real danger, or is this a feeling only?” At the question, you think a little. If you tell her it is real danger right away, she might discount you as a traumatized girl. But if you appear to be considering the question, she will think you are sensible, in touch with your emotions, responsible.

“I don’t know.” You answer and start sobbing. Kinbott takes you on her arms, and you hug her back. You walk out of the session with a tired expression. Who knew fake crying was so tiring?

The second step is easy too. You know your mom had a gun. Being a single mother, even in a small town, is dangerous business. Even more when you and your daughter are part of a discriminated minority. It’s a tiny revolver, that you know your dad wouldn’t dare throw, just like all the stuff your mom had. To make room for his new wife, he just put everything neatly up in boxes in the attic and forgot about it. The attic might not be the place for a gun. But the safe in the office might be.

You are right. The revolver is there, collecting dust and just waiting to be used. You don’t take it yet, knowing your father would notice it absence. Instead, you go stalk Tyler some more, and learn two things. His bedroom doesn’t have bars in the windows, and he still keeps a planner for his schoolwork, all done manually. You snap pictures of it.

Now you know he has a date every Saturday after therapy with someone named L. And his handwriting is easy to copy.

When the first letter shows up, you are having breakfast with your father and stepmother. It’s Sunday, and you had asked Principal Weems for permission to sleep at home, citing homesickness. The letter it’s addressed to you, in wonky letters that clearly try to disguise the handwriting. You open it, and promptly start sobbing.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Did… What does it say?” Your dad gets up, reading over your shoulder. His face morphs into one of fury.

“What kind of bastard? I’m going to kill him, sweetheart! I will kill that fucking boy!”

“Love, calm down, you are scaring her!” Your stepmother says, laying a hand on his arm.

“Scaring her? She is not scared of me, look at this, at the little bastard. That Galpin boy, I bet he is behind it.” He takes the letter from your hands, and starts quoting it out loud. You start sobbing harder. “Your thighs, they are so creamy. I have seen them, when you walk out of the shower to get dressed. I wonder how they would look if I held them down and forced you to open them, if you would scream, resist me! The guy is sending rape threats to my daughter.” At that, your stepmother falls silent, and pulls you into a hug. You cry on her chest.

“How… Whoever this is, they must be watching the house, to know she would receive it.” She says, carding a hand through your hair.

“That’s it. I’m going to the station.”

“Don’t!” You beg. You have set up Tyler to take the blame for it, but it doesn’t mean you want him to, it’s only a last resource. “Daddy, don’t!” You know he melts when he hears you call him that, reminds you of better times, when he and your mother were still together, when you were his little princess.

“Sweetheart…” He pleads with you, but he is already surrendering.

“She is right. We can’t go to Sheriff Galpin and tell him his son is stalking her!” Your stepmother intervenes, and for the first time, you are grateful for her.

“We should have taken her across the country! Not uprooting her, my ass. This fucking town!” Your father complains, but you fist a hand on his shirt and pull him into the hug too. You need to keep him happy, and if he thinks you are playing family with his new wife, he will be more malleable. He goes willingly.

You sent yourself two more letters, in the same disturbing tone. You are careful to not make them seem more like twisted love letters, never threatening, so you don’t get pulled out of Nevermore. In your next session with Doctor Kinbott, you tell her about the letters, your dad’s suspicions, and you mention how much safer you would feel if you knew how to shoot.

Your lessons with Sheriff Galpin start that same afternoon.

“Look at you, all grown up!” He says to you, ruffling your hair. “Your daddy tells me he wants me to teach you how to shoot, says summer is coming, and you will be all alone in that big house.” Normally, he doesn’t like outcasts, but you look so much like your mother, and she was such good friends with Francoise…

The backyard, the place you will be learning how to shoot, looks the same it did thirteen years ago.

“Thank you so much for taking the time, Sheriff.” You say to him, brightly. Tyler won’t be home for at least five more hours, that you know. He has school, and then a shift at the Weathervane.

“Call me Donovan, kiddo. We will be spending all afternoon together.” He sets up some cans in the far wall. “Your mother had registered a revolver, so you will learn to shoot one of those, okay?”

“Yeah, daddy said he still has it. Couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.” You answer, innocently. The Sheriff mutters something uncomplimentary under his breath, that sounds too much like a dig at your dad and stepmother, but you let it slide because you think mostly the same.

“Pay attention. This, here, is the cylinder.” He indicates a twisty part. “You open it, pressing here.” He hands you the revolver, and you repeat his motions, committing them to memory.

“Okay.”

“Revolvers are easier to handle, less complex than semiautomatics. Good for a lady, they can be concealed in a purse. But since you will be at home, we will go over carrying later.” The sheriff shows you tiny bullets inside the cylinder, slowly taking them out. “God, you are not the person I thought I would be teaching this.”

“Did you teach Tyler?” You ask, curiously.

“No, kid never showed interest. And even if he did…” He trails off, and you can tell he is thinking about what happened last year, when he got sent off to bootcamp. “That’s not relevant. Remember this, always. Guns are dangerous, and it’s more probable that the gun at home will be used against you than to defend you, that’s statistics. So, you don’t pull out the gun to threaten, you only pull it out when you are sure you will take the shot, got it?”

“Yes, Mister…” At the look he gave you, you promptly corrected yourself. "Donovan.”

“Good. This, here, is the trigger. It’s hard to pull, this is why the revolvers don’t usually have other safety’s. Try it.” You put a hesitant hand on the revolver. “Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s uncharged, you won’t hurt anyone.” You tried pulling it, finding out it needed more force than you thought.

“This one here, is a higher caliber, that means, more recoil. So, try to grab it with both hands. Revolvers carry fewer rounds, but are far more accurate than a semi, so, not that bad. Always aim for the torso, even if you got bad aim, you will hit something.”

The afternoon goes by quickly. He pours you a mug of coffee, and you promise next time to bring something sweet to share. Donovan looks lonely, and it tugs at your heartstrings, that you are manipulating him too. It hurts even more to think that his son is a killer. You are certain that by the end of it, he will be even more heartbroken.

Tyler thinks he is going crazy. Your smell follows him anywhere, sweet and enticing. If he hadn't been experiencing before that afternoon, he would have thought it was his stupid crush rearing its ugly head.

He enters the house, tired after the long shift, and the scent lingers in the air. His dad is sitting in the backyard, there are two mugs in the kitchen sink.

“Was someone over?” He asks, curious about what his dad will say. Will he cover up for you? Tyler knows all about your watching trick, you think you are so sly, but he can smell you from a mile away. His eyes have always been on you, since he was only a kid who didn’t know what wanting someone really meant. He was always going to see you watching him, and most of the time, he was watching back. And the Hyde… The Hyde thought of you as his. Not prey, not quite master, something else entirely. The Hyde’s mouth watered at the thought of running you down, biting you until you whimpered, mouth filing with the coppery taste of your blood. But not hard enough to really hurt you, no. Just enough to get a bit of fear in your eyes, to get the defiance and fire you had had since you were a five-year-old shining on your features. You would be beautiful, glorious even. You already were.

“Yeah, remember my old secretary?” His father says casually. “The one that was friends with your mother?” The way the words come out of his mouth, it’s strange. Almost as if he never speaks them out loud, only to himself. And it’s true. Tyler doesn’t talk to his father a lot about his mom. More like, never.

“Yeah, was she here?” Tyler asks, feigning he doesn’t know your mother is dead. He knows all about you, he always has. From the face you make when you are about to cry, to the way your school skirt sways left and right when you walk. He knows you have a mole on your hip, that you don’t like wearing perfume unless it is a special occasion. He knows you watch him cloaked in your shadows and like to pretend that you are some big sort of predator when you are just a tiny bunny. Maybe a black bunny, but a bunny nonetheless. Prey. His for running down, his for taking.

“Her kid. She passed away, some psycho murdered her last semester, when you were on…” His father starts to explain, trailing off in remembrance of his time at the bootcamp. Tyler doesn’t want to talk about it, so he cuts him off.

“Yeah. What did she want?” A crazy thought crosses his head. Perhaps you are looking into the death of your mother, maybe he can tip you off in some way. He doesn't understand why Laurel might have killed her, but it has her fingertips all over it. She might have been trying to see if she could do it on her own, carrying the whole plan by herself.

“Her dad wants her to learn to shoot. Summer is coming, and the poor kid is all alone in that big house, after her mother’s death… I can’t blame the man for being paranoid. I can blame him for bringing his mistress and having her sleep on the same bed, though….” Tyler is not listening anymore. He isn't concerned with the gossip on your father. He thinks it’s nice, that the guy cares enough to get someone to teach you to defend yourself. After all, you are all fragile human, with powers that aren’t really good for close combat. Even if you are a firecracker, you are easily hurt. Tyler has issues with that. If someone is going to hurt you and scare you, it’s going to be him, not some robber who shows up at the right time.

Your smell chases him still. It takes a lot of self-control, to not just run to the shower and masturbate to the way your perfume drifted through the house, to the space the Hyde calls his, and impregnated the sofa’s cushions. It gets worse, this itch, the more time that passes. Every day, the scent is all over the house, your smell getting stronger with each visit.

The day he feels it in his bedroom is the day he folds, jerking off in a way that’s almost desperate, with a fist on his mouth to keep himself from crying out. He wonders how you would look, all pretty on your knees. Would your eyes be full of the same defiance, or would you melt, turning into all soft skin and whimpers? He wonders if you are watching him, now, perched in some dark corner. His blinds aren’t closed, he realizes. You could be sitting in one of the branches of the tree just across the street, defiant eyes fixated on him, cloaked up pretty on your shadows. Tyler wonders if you would like watching him, and that thought is what sends him over the edge, desperate sounds drowned on his pillow.

Wednesday does the courtesy of inviting you to torture Tyler that night.

“He is the thread we need to pull to get to your mother’s killer.” She says, full of confidence. You hope this time, she gets it right because you had heard about Xavier’s arrest and your therapist’s murder, and you were so tired you could cry. “Thought you had a right to attend.” Like she is inviting you to a damn wedding or christening and not a, you know, torture session. Your morals have been iffy lately, so you are in no place to judge.

“Sure. Thank you.” You say, and the thought of your reaction at seeing Tyler in chains is not something that even crosses your mind.

“You too?” He asks, in a tired tone, when he sees you stepping out of the shadows. “Look, you can’t still be mad about what I did to you.” Tyler is good, you have to give him that. He has you doubting that he is the Hyde and you saw him maul Eugene half to death. But there is something in the way he looks at you, hunger in his eyes, that gives him away. Tyler has always looked weirdly at you, but this, this hunger, is like almost thinks you two share a secret, that you two are partners in crime.

“What did he do to you?” Wednesday asks, but she is slowly losing control of the group. The cops will arrive at any moment now, so you manage to slip away and get the gun from your dorm and be back in position in a miraculous time.

When Sheriff Galpin comes in, guns blazing, you position yourself in front of Tyler, almost as if you are protecting him. It leaves your back open to him, and even with him chained, you don’t like it. Then, you do your favorite trick: You start crying.

When the man sees you, his expression changes. He is about to question you, but you run to his arms, uncaring about the gun in his hand, and hug him hard.

“I’m sorry sir, I tried. I tried, I promise you, Tyler is not the murderer, he was with me all those nights. I snuck him in, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I tried to stop them.”

You are sure that behind you, the look Tyler must be giving you has to be of absolute bafflement. Wednesday is staring daggers at you, but you don’t care. Your hand is gripping the gun on the pocket of your coat, and the only thought on your head is that you are getting your revenge.

“Shh, kiddo, it’s okay.” And just like you predicted, the Sheriff is unable to deal with a crying girl, so he rubs your back as another officer unties Tyler. “You three, to the station. Now.” He says, directing Tyler and Wednesday to his truck. He lets go of you, pushing you gently towards Tyler, who he now thinks is your boyfriend. Tyler catches you, pulling you towards his chest, hiding his face in your hair as if he is calming down.

You press the barrel of the gun against his stomach before he can even speak.

“For the record: I am not happy to see you.” You whisper and feel the way his body goes tense. He wraps a hand on your shoulder, he laughs a little, but it’s strained.

“What the hell are you doing?” His lips are dangerously close to your ear, and you shiver. You feel his smirk against your hair. Not knowing if you want him closer, or far away, you shove him with one last warning.

“Saving your sorry ass. We are dating. Go.”

Wednesday rides shotgun, Donovan not trusting her enough to put her in the back with you two. The ride is quiet, you keep your hands in your pockets, revolver firmly in your grasp. Tyler’s eyes never leave you, questioning and dangerous.

When you get to the station, you get sent to separate rooms. They don’t make you go through the metal detectors, there is simply no time. Not when the Sheriff's son was just kidnapped. They take your statement, and you spin your web of pretty, sanitized lies, pinning everything on Wednesday.

You tell the Donovan you and Tyler are dating, but keeping it a secret because you are an outcast, and were afraid of his disapproval. You also tell him your father is really strict, he doesn’t want you dating until you are 21. For almost every murder, you give him an alibi, so he doesn’t get suspicious of everything being too perfect. You tell him how you snuck him in to your dorm, in the middle of the night, how you know his favorite candies are Reese’s cups, and that you had gotten closer after you had asked him for one at the Weathervane, for him to tell you they were not for sale. How you had a crush on him since you were kids, but your father would have never approved. You tell him you think Tyler has been getting better, not getting in trouble until that girl, Wednesday Addams (And here you make sure to enunciate her last name loudly, to play on his prejudice) appeared. You tell so many lies, and so many half-truths already, that your head is spinning.

Tyler and Wednesday kept their statement brief, referring only to the kidnapping and torturing. When you get out, you find him threatening Wednesday, while apparently hugging her. He is angry. Oh, he is angry, and you think it’s not all directed at her, but to you too.

You clear your throat because that’s what a good girlfriend would do. Tyler's expression gets even more pinched.

“Bunny, didn’t see you there.” He lets go of Wednesday, who looks half pissed, half terrified, and pulls you closer to him, slipping a casual arm around your waist. You hug him back, tense smile on your lips, fingers itching for the gun. One of his hands goes to the back of your neck, Tyler runs a finger down your spine. It's a warning. He could snap your neck if he wanted.

“We aren’t finished here.” Wednesday says, looking at both of you like you are monsters. Which, fair, maybe you both are because you are trembling under Tyler's touch, and it's not from fear. Wednesday doesn’t ask for your motivation, but her next words are directed to you only. “He won’t get away with this.”

“I think…” You say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tyler leaned down to give you more access, sweet smile on his face, while his hands dug on the skin of your waist in a grip so harsh it was almost claw-like. “He has an iron tight alibi for most of those nights, one willing to testify. And that the DNA won’t be checked again, since it was dismissed and the chain of custody is probably broken already.”

“You don’t know what he is capable of.” She warned, walking away.

“Oh, I am. I got this under control.” You laughed, and Wednesday gave you one last murderous glance before leaving.

“We need to talk.” Tyler whispered to you, leading you out of the station. “I don’t know what game you are playing, little girl, but it won’t end up well for you. I could break you in half…”

“Tyler, sweetie.” You said, pressing the gun hard against his side while you walked. To an outside observer, you looked like any other over affectionate young couple. “This is why, in this relationship, I do the talking.”

“You are bluffing.” He said, leaning more into the barrel of the gun. “You wouldn’t shoot.”

“What is what your father always say?” You asked him, finger going to the trigger. “Never pull the gun unless you…”

“You are ready to take the shot.” For the first time in the night, he seemed scared. “You don’t want me taking it from you, Bunny. You are going to get hurt.”

“Oh, try. Thing is, this is not like the semi your dad uses. One pull of my finger and you are dead. Revolvers don’t have a safety. I got five bullets. Wanna bet on how many I can put on you before you even try to take it from me?”

Tyler kept quiet.

“What do you want?” He finally asked. His eyes were glazed over, his expression half fear, half want. Oh, he was sick. Probably you too. Who liked getting threatened with a gun? But from the look on his eyes, he was very much into it.

“I want Thornhill dead. And from how I see it, you have two options. You help me kill the bitch or go down with her. I don't care.” You spit out, and it feels so good to finally admit it. You had spent months saying to yourself you wanted her in jail, convincing you didn't want her dead. But you are past that point. Justice wouldn't be her living behind bars a long time. The only justice you could get was ending her life, just as she had ended your mother's.

“I can’t…” Tyler whispered, guiding you towards his house. But you could tell, that maybe, he wanted her dead as much as you did. Something rattles in your mind, a memory half forgotten. The way she touched him that first night, the way you didn't like, that made you sick to your stomach.

“Oh, come on, now you remember you have a moral fiber?” It's a shitty thing to do, but you need to press your advantage while you still have it. “You don’t kill women? Well, guess what, you are going down with her.” The barrel of the gun dug harder against his body, so hard you were sure a bruise was forming.

“It’s not that…” His voice sounded pained. “She is my master, the Hyde…”

“Can change its allegiance, I’m sure.” You stepped a little away from him, keeping your eyes on his hands. You didn’t want him trying anything.

“I… I don’t know how.”

“Look, I’m not asking you to kill her yourself. Just help me. I’ll do the killing. Besides, I bet you want it as much as I do.”

“She isn’t so bad…” He tried to joke, a hint of the golden retriever smile appearing on his face. He looked cute. You vanished those thoughts immediately. No time for distractions, not now.

“You could have been normal, you know?” You said to him, jerking to a stop in a dark alleyway. This will work better, he seems the type to be moved by the fantasies. And you, you knew how it felt to miss a mother, grief so encompassing you could barely breathe without hurting. “My mother knew about yours, she could have helped you. That’s why she is dead. For you.”

“My… Would she have?” He asked, looking gutted. The idea of someone helping him is so foreign, you wonder if no one else has offered before. Have all his relationships been transactional, so far? Tyler seems to be that way about touch, too. Always to hurt, to dominate, never touching for the sake of it. Thornhill was another example of that, you betted she had took advantage of how touch starved he was.

“She loved her. It was always, Francoise this, Francoise that. She cried every night after her death for months. She desperately wanted me to be friends with you.” Your eyes filled with tears. You took the gun out of your pocket, gripping it one-handed and pointing it to the ground. Just in case he decided to get smart and take advantage of your distraction. Fuck, you were too soft. You hated it.

“My mother, she liked you too.” Tyler offered, quietly. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying. “She always joked how you would have made an amazing daughter-in-law.” His tone was soft, hesitant. He had raised the stakes out of his own free will.

“She was lovely. The only friend my mother had.” Not an agreement, but not a no, either.

“God, wherever they are, they must be so angry.” Tyler laughed, and it sounded a little hysterical. You couldn’t help but join in. “Can I hug you?” He asked. Your hand twitched on the trigger. Tyler followed the motion, only reaction been raising his hands in surrender. For the first time in the whole night, you didn’t know what to say.

Tyler’s eyes were pleading. He had never wanted you more than tonight, when you had manipulated people left and right for him. For him, the Hyde screamed. The monster had already made his decision, to him, tonight had been a declaration of eternal love. This gun to his ribs, nothing more than part of running you down. He had to prove himself strong, worthy of your submission. The Hyde was never letting you go again, you were his new obsession. From this close, you smelled heavenly, the perfect mix of girl, nervousness, and determination. Good enough to eat. He just needed to catch you and claim you.

You could tell, by the way he looked at you, troubled small-town boy and hints of the monster beneath it, that he was sincere. He actually wanted to hug you.

“Sure. Since we are now dating and all…” You trailed off when his hands wrapped around you, nose burying in the crook of your neck and taking desperate inhales of your scent. It was driving him insane. He wanted you close, so close your scents mixed, so close your fear clung to him, gave him the high he wanted.

“You can keep the gun, if it makes you feel safe.” Tyler whispered against your skin, lips moving against your neck. It was soft, this time. He wasn’t gripping you harshly, like he had been at the station. The gun clattered softly to the gun, slipping from your limp fingers. He could be manipulating you, but this felt too good, too right, to not fall for it. “But… I like you. I always have. I have watched you more than I should, my Hyde is head over heels for you already.” Tyler kept talking, hoping you would see he was sincere. This was him, matching your boldness. “I would kill her for you, you know? If you asked. If you wanted me to. I would hold her down, slash her throat. Offer her body to you.” Those words were forbidden words, contemplating killing his master should be impossible. But for you, for you, he would do it. There was no hesitation.

No one had ever told you something half as romantic. So, you took your own leap of faith. You pulled him out of your neck, softly grabbing his hair, and devoured his mouth. Tyler kissed back, just as passionately. He crowded you against one of the walls, thigh slotting between your legs, and you whimpered in his mouth. The happy rumble he gave, it didn’t sound human.

“Mine,” He said, kissing a path down your neck, biting at it, hard. Hard enough to draw blood. “Mine. Mine. No one else will touch you, not even her. Mine.” He seemed crazed, like the only thought in his head was you. And it was. The Hyde was frenzied with the need to claim, to make sure everybody knew you were his.

“Yours. Yours.” You answered, breathless. Oh, you two were fucked. Badly. You knew you shouldn't want him so much, a few days ago you had watched him maul a kid half to death. It was not even an hour ago, you had been pointing a gun to him. But his lips on your skin felt right, the way he was touching you was making your brain throw all precaution through the window. You grabbed at his hair, at his back, anywhere. To wherever you could reach, anchor yourself with.

“Let’s take this somewhere else, please?” Tyler whined, mouthing at your shoulder. His hand tugged at the collar of your shirt, exposing more skin for him to mark. It makes you wonder if this is him or the Hyde talking. He has always had a dark undercurrent to him, even with the monster asleep. “Please, let me have you. I have wanted you for so long…” The last phrase caught your attention.

“Since when?” You pushed him away, just so you could try to get to his house before you two ended up fucking in a dirty alley. But Tyler didn’t seem deterred on the least, taking the chance to slip a hand under your shirt, running his fingers over the skin on your back. “Stop it, we gotta get indoors. After this, I’m not getting arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Since, like, sophomore year.” Tyler laughs, holding you closer still. He gently starts fixing your clothes back to normal. Now you know he is just making shit up because there is no way it has been that long for him too.

“You were kissing half the school, don't make me laugh.” You answer, and it comes way more bitter than you intended.

“Aww, are you jealous?” He mocks you, doing the buttons on your coat with steady hands. “Don’t worry, I never wanted them the way I want you.” Tyler presses a kiss to your forehead, inhaling your scent longer than he probably should.

“Yeah, sure. They weren’t half as crazy.” You let him finish dressing you, giving him a stare.

“I have wanted you since before I knew what having a crush was, but started wanting you like this when I got older. You got fucking pretty, but never looked my way.” Tyler knelt on the floor, looking for something in the pavement. Too late, you remembered the gun. Anxiety clutched at your insides with an iron fist. Had he only been tricking you? But once he got hold of it, he took the bullets out and slipped them in his pocket, as one does. His expression is completely blank. You wanted to laugh. Then, Tyler passed you the revolver, still on his knees, handle first. You grabbed it with cautious hands.

“Left you a bullet.” Tyler explained, hands raised in surrender. “I can smell your fear, you know?” You ignored his commentary, checking the chamber. Just one bullet, true. You wonder if truly his sense of smell is that sensitive.

“Never took you for a fan of Russian Roulette. Also, I watched you too, you know?”

“Yeah, all you know about me comes from your little stalking habit.” He got up from his knees. You stared at him. Was it possible he had only been entertaining you all this time? “Bunny, I can smell you. Well, the Hyde can.”

“Stop calling me that.” You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers with his. The revolver went back into your coat. “Makes zero sense.”

“Makes total sense. You… To me, you have always been prey. Since we were kids. I didn’t understand it, back then, but I wanted to run you down.” Tyler rubs at his face, a scowl appearing on his pretty features. “I… Okay, if this doesn’t make you run for the hills and decide this is a bad idea, you will stay forever.” He finally says, lowering his voice to a whisper. Is he going to confess a deep dark secret? You hope so. Tyler has so many layers, he makes this whole thing fun. “I like the smell of fear. But I don’t like the scent of terrified, then it makes me sick, like too much of cheap vanilla perfume. You have always balanced it out well.”

You laugh because you don’t know what to say. Thank you? I'm glad you like the smell of my fear? This feels like such a surreal compliment you don't know what to say. So instead, you change the topic.

“Why didn’t you stop me from watching you?”

“I liked you watching…” His voice trails off, in a way you bet is calculated. Tyler is good at playing the charming guy like that. Just ask Wednesday. Then, he leans forward, to whisper in your ear. “And I was thinking, maybe today I could watch you instead…?” Feeling him so close, the insinuation on his words, it’s too much. A blush appears on your cheeks. You hear him snicker, and punch him in the arm lightly. But you let him wrap an arm around you and keep leading you.

That’s how you end up sitting on the bed, completely naked, Tyler's hand rubbing soothing circles on your ankle.

“Come on, show me.” He says, running his index finger along the inside of your calf. It’s awkward, being asked to touch yourself. You are not used to having an audience, to worrying about how you look. Tyler is still fully dressed, a sharp contrast to your nakedness and a way, you guess, to show who is in control. Even if you like him a lot, you find it hard to be aroused. To try to get yourself in the right mood, you rub your clit on circles, but it’s not doing much.

Tyler definitely notices because his hands come to grasp at your ankles, pulling your legs slightly more apart.

“That's how you touch yourself? Straight for the prize?” His tone is neutral. Not judging, but not forceful either. The choice is yours, in the end.

“… Yeah.” Your hands drop uselessly by your sides. You feel too self-conscious.

“You are…” He tilts his head to the side, evaluating. “Okay, this is not working. You are too tense.” Tyler crawls towards you, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Would it be better if I was doing it too? Or… We could do something else?” It's sweet, for someone who had just been threatened with a gun. Odd, too, considering the kind of people you both are. But maybe, he is trying to build trust. God knows this relationship needs it.

“I want to try.” You complain, tugging at his shirt. You really aim to please him, for him to have what he wants. Not many people feel that way about Tyler. Certainly, not his father, who has talked more to you in a week than to his son in a month. Not Thornhill, who is too obsessed with her plan and motivations to care about his accomplice.

“Okay. “ Tyler takes off his shirt. “Sit on my lap.”

You hurry to obey, kissing him hungrily. He kisses back, matching your pace and nipping lightly at your lips. You open for him, letting him take what he wants. He breaks the kiss only when the need for air is too pressing, and even then, he presses his forehead to yours, keeping a close eye on your reactions. It’s strangely intimate.

Tyler grabs one of your hands and takes it to your neck, running it lightly over your exposed collarbones, down the valley of your breasts. Your fingers bend in his grasp, allowing him to go lower and lower, until your hand is just over your pubic bone. He helps your hand do the same path in reverse, until you are squirming for more stimulation. Then, he guides your fingers to your nipples and lets go of your hand.

“Go ahead, Bunny.” You squeeze your nipple, mystified by the sensation. You have never been really sensitive there, it’s not a place you care too much about. Tyler’s hand goes to pinch your other nipple. Your back arches a little, thighs squeezing his at the sudden burst of pleasure. So, that’s what this is supposed to feel like. “Copy what I’m doing.”

You obey, surprised to see it does work.

“Good.” Tyler says, mouthing at your shoulder. His eyes are dark. What is it about this that he likes so much? Control? You are reluctant to fight him over it, you like the idea of him having power over you. It appeals to your love of danger. “Keep going.” This time, his teeth dig in the hollow of your throat, and you can’t avoid moaning. You grind down against him, finding he is half hard already.

“How does this feel?” Tyler asks, scratching at your inner thighs. You pant, muffling your cries on his mouth because the answer is too fucking good. He seems to be playing your body like an instrument, zeroing in weak spots you didn’t know you had. “Do it yourself.”

You obey, raking your nails over the insides of your thighs, lightly. It feels odd. Not as good as when Tyler does it. You never focused too much on these areas when masturbating, you just kind of… Went for it.

“Can you do that?” You plead, looking at him with your widest, most innocent eyes. Tyler is a sucker for them, it turns out because he does. His nails, shorter than your own, scratch at your thighs until you are bucking your hips against his. He draws patterns on your legs, hands everywhere, but never where you need them the most. The desperation starts to show, hips shifting, trying to catch his hands and pull them between your legs. Tyler ignores it, eyes fixed on yours. He wants you to understand this is something you need to do yourself. He even takes his hands off you when you get too impatient. “Please, just… Keep touching me?”

“Fine.” He grumbles, but it sounds more amused than angry. “But I’m not doing all the work.”

This time, your hands go to your folds, spreading the wetness there. Having his hands on you, having him closer, makes it ten times better than before, and it looks like he knows it. You search for his knees, blindly, and place a hand there to hold yourself. The stretch of your back is more than you expected, but you make it work. Tyler wants to watch? You will give him a show.

Tyler smirks at you. He likes that you have taken the initiative, putting more space between the two of you, so he gets a better view.

“Good girl.” The compliment makes you preen, so you reward him by sliding a hand down your stomach, to cup your pussy. His hands tense around your thighs, breath hitching. You tease your clit with the tip of your finger, biting your lip to quiet your moan. Tyler’s pupils are blown, eyes fixated on your hand.

“Fuck.” He says, hand going to spread your labia, so he can have a better look. He seems unable to stop himself.

“Good?” You ask, teasing your clit until it is puffy and aching. There is something about having him look at you while you touch yourself that feels dirty, shameful even, but the embarrassment only adds to your pleasure. The way his hand feels, spreading you open, makes you think how much better it could feel if he were the one touching you. You feel yourself get wetter, slick dripping slightly. Tyler definitely notices because his eyes get wider and his index finger runs down your hole, not pressing, just mapping the route your slick is taking, towards your perineum.

“More than I expected. I thought about this, I thought about you watching me, all those nights… What did you see, Bunny? Something like this?” You can't answer because Tyler takes one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting like you are his last meal. You grab on his hair, hold almost painful, with the way you are balancing on his lap. He moans and looks up at you. It’s… You don’t know, but it feels dirty, to be making eye contact when he has his mouth on you, saliva spreading everywhere. When he notices you have stopped touching yourself, he moves as if to pull away. Your hand drops his hair and goes immediately to your hole, pressing a finger inside.

“Please, Tyler. I… You had your fun.” You beg, and can feel his smirk against your skin. He likes you like this, all pretty and doing what he says, but he wants you to put more of a fight. Tyler liked you at first because you weren’t afraid of him, you were defiant. This version of you… You aren’t afraid, he can tell, but it’s like you have forgotten you have a spine.

“I guess you have been a good bunny….” Tyler does quick work of his pants and boxers and soon, he is slipping inside you. It’s easy, with how wet you are, but he keeps unmoving, eager for your reaction. He hopes you will try to take control this time. He wants to force you to stay down, to be harsher. Own you.

You don’t disappoint, bouncing desperately on his cock.

“Didn’t you want to claim me so much?” You want him to let go. Sure, it was sweet, this that he had been doing before, casual dominance getting at you. But you fell in love with the guy who locked you in a cave when you were five years old to get off on your screams, the one that jerked off to the thought of you spying on him. “At this rate, I’m the one owning you.” You need him desperate, you want him angry and riled up, so, you do the thing that you know will make him the most mad. You make a grab for his wrists, pushing him to lie on his back.

“Sometimes, I think you don’t have any sense of self-preservation.” Tyler grunts, and fights your grip. It gets messy, you are both rolling around on the bed, his hands desperately grabbing at your hips, you are pushing him down. He slips out of you at one point, you try to force him to go down, and he won’t just let you that easy.

You figure it does something to the Hyde, the idea of forcing you to submit, nipping at your neck, teeth digging hard at your nape. You arch into his mouth, confused by the sensation. It feels good, to be caught finally, but you bet this isn’t a normal reaction. Tyler rolls you over, eyes dark, and pins your wrist over your head. That, coupled with the satisfied smirk on his face as he fucks you, tells you he is making a mockery of what you had been trying to do before. You scratch at his back, angry at him, and at yourself, at the world, really. Your nails draw gashes across his skin, but it only seems to egg him on more.

“You are mine. You are mine.” He bites your shoulder, pointy canines harsh enough to draw blood. That, coupled with his hand rubbing circles on your clit, is what makes you fall apart. He does too, muffling his moan in your mouth.

“You know…” Tyler presses a tender kiss to the wound of your shoulder. “Loyalties change.”

You snort. “Does the Hyde have a new master?”

“By death.” He promises, kissing your neck next and making you squirm. “Didn’t take you for the type to want shared custody. She has to go.” And oh, it feels sweeter, better than the orgasm you just had.

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