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sapphire-writes · 1 year

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A Second Chance

pairing: Aemond x Reader request: Hello! Sorry to bother you but i have a little idea that came from all the reblogs you recently made! basically Aemond is away so Alicent requests that reader! Comes back after a long time to the red keep because she wants to see her boy happy 🥺 of course its just a simple start but would love to see nice Alicent helping his baby ~ anonymous

warnings: none! this has the tiniest amount of angst but mostly fluff word count: 1.4k note: loved this, loved writing emotional Aemond & your messages are NEVER ever a bother! 💚 masterlist

“I was ever so sorry to hear of the death of your lord husband, Lady (Y/N),” Alicent said, giving you a look full of a mother’s compassion, “and so unfortunate he should leave you so quickly after you wed.”

You take a sip from your cup. The Queen had invited you to the capital and you had been delighted to return. Ever since you arrived your eyes had been searching for Aemond.

You had both left on such harsh terms those several years ago when your betrothal had been announced. You had been missing him for years, feeling as though a very piece of your own heart had been missing.

“Thank you, your grace,” you tell her, speaking softly.

Your lord husband had been a kind man. Married to you as an alliance for your families and that was all. He was nearly twice your age, but he had been sweet to you.

“My son has missed your presence,” Alicent tells you.

“I was hoping to see the prince,” you said, heart rate increasing.

Alicent nods, looking off to the side. Your smile falters as the realization washes over you at her hesitant glance.

“Aemond does not know I am here,” you tell her. It is a statement, not a question.

Alicent struggles to keep the smile on her face. She brought her hand to yours, squeezing it gently.

“I thought perhaps we shall surprise him,” she says softly.

“I do not think he wishes to see me,” you tell her, and feel a slash of pain in your heart. The wound is still fresh, though the years had passed.

“Tell them not to let me go,” you had begged him, chasing him down an empty corridor.

The one-eyed prince had stopped his long strides turning to face you.

“Tell them you wish to marry me,” you had begged.

Aemond had been silent for many moments.

“I cannot tell them what is not true.”

You remembered it as though it had happened yesterday. The cold look in his eye, so unlike that of which he usually awarded you. None of the kindness you had grown to love.

“He does,” Alicent insists, “he has been terribly lonely these past years. Growing more resentful each day. I worry about him.”

In truth, you had never stopped thinking of Aemond. He plagued your thoughts at every moment.

You blink away the tears that gather in your eyes.

“He shall be returning soon,” Alicent tells you, “join us for supper tonight, please.”

Her thumb continues to stroke the back of your hand, a hopeful look is in her eyes. You nod in agreement.

Aemond remembered watching you go, the way your eyes had filled with tears. The look of betrayal on your face. That most of all. That has haunted most of his days since your departure.

In truth, he had wished to marry you. But duty is often in conflict with matters of the heart. And duty demanded he remained unwed.

And though it pained him to do so, he had to let you go.

Aemond walks quickly to his chambers, eager to bathe and dress before joining his mother for dinner. The days have been long, and there is no feeling like that of being home.

He hisses as he lowers himself into the tub, the hot water nipping at his pale skin. Aemond wishes to be done quickly, he doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts. He finds himself constantly training, reading, researching, and doing anything to distract himself from the constant thoughts that plague him.

You.

It has been years since he last saw you since you last spoke. He supposed you must have several children by now. This did not make him sad, he hoped you had children to brighten your life.

Aemond readied himself before making his way to his mother’s chambers. It was to be a small affair for supper that evening, as Aegon was entertaining some guests from the west.

“Aemond,” Alicent said, as he arrived. She embraced her son whom she had not seen in several months.

“It is good to see you, mother,” he said.

“I have missed you,” she told him, “I have invited a guest for dinner..”

“A guest?” Aemond questions, as the door opens.

He turns and his breath catches in his throat as he sees you in the doorway. Your eyes are wide as you take him in. Aemond looks good, taller perhaps if that is possible. Leaner, the entirety of him is ropey muscles. He is handsome as ever, eyepatch securely covering his ruined eye. Aemond’s lips part.

“Hello Aemond,” you say softly smiling.

“Lady (Y/N) has agreed to join us for supper, isn’t that lovely?” Alicent says, placing a hand on her son’s arm.

Aemond jerks his head in a nod causing Alicent to smile.

“I shall be but a moment,” she says, starting toward the door. She stops to caress your cheek, before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

You inhale a shaky breath.

“Are you well?” you ask as Aemond continues to stare, a rather innocent expression on his normally harsh face.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice hoarse. You wet your lips wringing your hands together.

“Your mother invited me to the capital,” you tell him, “I did not know you had no part in the invitation.”

“My mother?” Aemond said, shaking his head. Of course, his mother. The hopeless romantic who always wanted more for her children than the hand she had been dealt. You nod.

“She wished to offer her condolences,” you continue, walking towards the fireplace. You reach for a grape that lays on a golden tray. Aemond’s brow furrows.

“Condolences?” he asks, watching you pop the grape into your mouth. You chuckle.

“Shall you speak in questions all evening, my prince?” you tease before answering his question.

“My late husband has passed,” you inform him. A moment of pause lingers between you.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Aemond says, “I do hope your children are weathering alright?”

You meet his eye, a blush beginning to creep onto your cheeks. Aemond wishes he could place his hands upon your cheeks, to feel the burning that resides underneath your smooth flesh.

“We were not blessed with children,” you tell him, “my lord husband was not well, for the majority of our marriage.”

“Did he treat you well?” Aemond asks, voice turning to a tone of concern.

“Oh yes,” you assure him, “yes, he was very kind to me. But-”

You find yourself struggling to speak, struggling to find the right words.

“He did not love me,” you decide, “he did not desire me. It was a quiet marriage.”

Aemond is watching you carefully. How foolish he had been to let you slip from his fingers. The gods are good, they must be repaying him for his suffering in some way by returning you to him. By offering him a second chance.

“I would,” Aemond says softly.

He walks over to you until he stands directly before you.

“I would love you, I would desire you,” he tells you, “I do, I always have.”

Your eyes fill with tears and you shake your head.

“You don’t have to say that-”

“I do, and I was a fool,” he continues, taking your hands in his, “I was a fool to let you leave when I loved you. I have loved you and continue to love you.”

The tears are freely flowing down your cheeks, dripping past your chin and onto the stone floor.

“There has not been a day that goes by where I do not think of you,” he continues, “there is not a corner of this world I could fly to where I did not see your face. In every passerby, in the light of the moon. You are everywhere. You are all-consuming.”

“Aemond,” you beg, not sure exactly if you wish him to stop or keep speaking.

“I love you,” he insists, fingers digging into your waist.

You bring your hands to his chest, pulling him towards you and connecting your mouths. The kiss is desperate and passionate, making up for the lost time. Aemond can feel the coolness from your tears caressing his face, and you start to laugh against his mouth.

He kisses you again and again, swallowing the happy laughter that pours from your sweet lips.

Queen Alicent stands outside the room, back pressed against the wood of the door, listening to your whispers, and laughter. She places a hand against her heart and closes her eyes, happy that her son has found the love he so longed for.

note: hope you enjoyed I love me a good love confession, especially from our fave one-eyed prince 🥹

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five-and-dimes · 1 year

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Brick by Brick

Dream is not accustomed to being treated with patience.

Those who claim to love him are not shy in only loving the parts they cannot see, the parts they assume. He is cold and aloof and guarded and they do not want those parts of him but that’s okay because surely there is more underneath, surely he is hiding something better. They do not love the locked chest, they love the treasure they assume must be held within it, and they want him to give it to them right now. They fight him for it.

Don’t be so guarded, they say, and they come at him with a pickax.

Open up, they say, crowbar already jammed in a crevice.

And it is terrifying, in a way he would never admit to anyone, can barely admit to himself. He is armor and walls and closed doors and no one loves that part of him, and Dream wonders if there even is anything else, maybe that is all he is, all the way down, an empty chest, walls around a barren field, hollow armor, and it is terrifying to think of the ones he loves (love wholly, loves every part of) ripping him apart just to discover that there is nothing lovable among the rubble.

So Dream closes himself tighter, because he does not think there is a treasure inside him, and so when will they stop? They scrape and break and tear at the shell of him, and he thinks that if they do not find what they want they will just keep going- shatter the armor and then the person underneath without slowing down.

They are determined to break through his walls, even if that means breaking him in the process.

Open up, they say, and they do not knock.

Well. Hob knocks.

But Dream can’t recognize it, just hears a thud against his protections and flinches. Hob says “I think you’re lonely” but all Dream hears is “I will love you with my fists. If you loved me back you’d let me hit something soft”.

So he hits back. Lets the gates slam shut and runs and runs and runs, Hob pounding on the door behind him.

When he is trapped in Fawney Rig, it only seems to prove him right. Cut off from his power, from his home, his purpose, himself, he feels hollow. Scraped out and empty, and he holds fast against Burgess, makes his walls impenetrable even as he realizes there is nothing there to protect. He escapes and finds his home, himself, decayed and rotting and wonders if it has been like this from the beginning. He hunts down the missing pieces of himself, the fragments that feel next to nothing now, thinks that he is next to nothing, just crumbling walls and battered doors and locks damaged from all the people who would rather break them than ask for a key.

Dream sits before Hob, and feels himself settle somewhere between peace and resignation.

Still guarded. Still locked. Still hollow. Worn down and weak, one hit to his defenses and he will crumple, and no one ever hits just once.

Hob smiles at him. Hob offers him food and drink. Hob tells him of all that he has missed in the past century, laughs and gestures enthusiastically, and never once demands, never once pushes or pulls or pries and it is enough for Dream to want to weep with gratitude.

And then, to his confusion and surprise and utter awe, Hob begins to help him rebuild.

They see each other more often, their centennial pattern broken and their friendship declared. Sometimes Dream feels cracked and raw and Hob catches glimpses of his vulnerability, but instead of taking advantage of the openings, he shields them. Dream’s voice cracks when he tries to explain where he’s been, and Hob jumps to make him tea, bustling in the kitchen and chattering about nothing, still there with him but looking away while Dream pulls himself together. Dream’s eyes well with tears the first time Hob tells him he loves him, and Hob smiles and kisses his forehead, says “it’s getting late, shall we talk more tomorrow?” and lets him leave without running away. Dream’s hands shake when he tries to take his clothes off for him, and Hob kisses his fingers and wraps him in blankets until only his face is showing, laughing lightly and talking about the coldest places he’s traveled.

Dream rebuilds his walls and Hob hands him the mortar. Dream barricades the door to his heart and Hob happily sits and calls out his love from the other side.

Hob makes him feel strong. Hob loves Dream, and he loves his walls, his doors, his locks, his armor, too.

And that is precisely the reason Dream invites him in.

#Hot take: the best way to get someone to be vulnerable with you #is to be okay with the times they aren't #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling fic #dreamling #my writing

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like-a-bantha · 3 months

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Lost/Loss

Summary: Everything changed after Eriadu. Hunter becomes withdrawn, and you can't help but worry about him. You do what you can to show him you're there for him.

Pairing: Hunter/GN Reader (No Y/N, no descriptions of reader's appearance)

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, mentions of major character death

Word Count: 1.7k

AO3 | Masterlist

One week of radio silence. Our contact was supposed to get back to us five days ago with intel on Hemlock and his captives. Instead, we’ve sat around on Pabu tensely awaiting a holocall that we’re beginning to lose hope in receiving.

Phee was kind enough to offer us room in her home, and free reign of her holotable, to act as a sort of base. It’s been quieter since we were last gathered around this table. The usual boisterous laughter and interrupted rants replaced with worried silence broken every so often by a sea breeze that no longer carries the joyous sound of Omega and Lyana playing just outside. That mission, Hemlock, the Empire, took so much from us; it’s taken an incredible amount of effort from Hunter, Wrecker, and I to not allow these forces working against us to take our hope on top of it all.

Echo and Rex referred us to this contact not long ago, someone who they’d worked closely with during the war, someone they trust. I commed Echo. Hunter advised against it, said it wasn’t worth it, that all we could do now was wait. I snuck out to the Marauder to use the long distance com anyways. Of course, the conversation was brief, and he has as much information as we do. Sit tight. Waiting game. All that.

“How’re they holding up?” His voice low, even with the volume adjusted to its highest setting. He’d mentioned returning to Coruscant last time we spoke, it must be the middle of the night there. We always did have terrible sleeping schedules.

“Not well, but I mean…” I trail off, we both know the reason, we both hold some foolish hope that not saying it will make it less true, “They miss you.”

“But you don’t?” There’s that sass, that glint of normalcy I’ve both craved and feared these past two months.

A laugh escapes me as if on instinct, it sounds foreign, “Nah, thought I’d never shake you. So clingy.”

“You’re one to talk, you do realize it’s 0100 here?”

This, our shared brand of humor and sarcasm, too, feels so distant to me now. Slowly, it comes back to me, “Oh, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up? Were you sleeping?”

“Like a baby.” His warm chuckle crackles through the com speaker, and mine through his. The silence that follows is warm, easing his way into broaching the question, “I take it he’s distancing himself again?”

I sigh, a deep sigh only brought about by reality, “I get it, I really do — and, honestly as bad as it sounds, I wish I didn’t because this kriffing hurts — but withdrawing like this, I don’t know why he can’t see it’s only making the feeling worse.”

“Have you told him that?”

“‘Course. He just says something about how we can’t give up and stares at the holotable. I don’t want to give up, I can’t give up, I just hate seeing him like this.”

Echo hums, but just as he begins to respond, static and unintelligible voices play loudly through the speaker. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. Good luck.”

I nod, wiping at my misty eyes as I reach for the switch to end the transmission, “Be safe. Talk soon.”

Silence. Mournful, somber silence echoes through the lonely hull of the once lively ship. Everywhere my gaze falls sits a piece of their history, our history; one of Tech’s unfinished projects, a drawing of the ship Omega had called extra credit, Echo’s favorite brand of instant caf. Unable to withstand the weight of these memories, I decide to take my leave and the silence follows me back to the cottage.

I return to a rare sight: an empty house. No Wrecker sitting at the kitchen counter disassembling and reassembling explosives. No Phee asking him to take it outside. No Hunter hovering over the holotable awaiting a call. No com to tell me to hurry back, mustn’t have been an emergency.

I make my way over to the holotable, fingertips gliding across its rounded edge as I approach Hunter’s usual seat. When I pull out the chair, I’m met with a sight that would normally make me laugh. His shredded scarf that he’s grown so attached to, destroyed on our last mission to gather intel, along with his prized bandana that appears to have shrunken in the wash. The best I can muster is a bemused huff, taking the bundle of abused fabric into my arms as I sit. Suddenly, I’m struck with an idea. It could be a very stupid idea, of course, but a very good idea doesn’t always equate to a very smart idea. It’s a perspective thing and seeing as the only perspective available at the moment is my own, I figure I may as well get to it before more perspectives show up.

After careful work, I neatly fold remaining fabric and stash it in my pack with my tools; as the designated mender of the group, I know firsthand there is no such thing as too many fabric patches. Returning to the table, finished product tucked delicately in my vest pocket, approaching voices grow louder and louder.

“I’m telling you, it looks good! Stop fussing, leave it… yeah, like that,” Phee’s voice nears the door, and I’m sure I hear Hunter grumbling about something. The door whooshes open and my eyes widen with surprise. When I meet Phee’s gaze, she seems to silently plead for backup, “You’re back! What do you think?”

She gestures to an unamused Hunter, visibly fighting the urge to fidget with the hat he’s wearing. It doesn’t look bad on him, very few things would, but he doesn’t exactly look comfortable. Unwilling to hold the spotlight any longer, he grabs the floppy brim and removes it from his head, tossing the garment onto the table as he takes the seat next to me. Unable to help myself, I lean forward with a smile and run a hand through his slightly disheveled hair.

“That bad, huh?” Phee sighs, Wrecker following closely behind as she heads for the kitchen.

“I liked it,” The glee still empty from his voice, even at something that would’ve garnered one of his trademark laughs a few months ago.

“Me, too, big guy.” Phee sets a crate of groceries on the countertop. Wrecker’s taken to cooking. Though he’s been much quieter these days, Wrecker seems like himself again when he’s preparing a meal.

Hunter’s gaze is locked on the table, silences between us were never tense like this. When he speaks, he doesn’t look at me. “How’s Echo.”

It isn’t a question, more of a remark, maybe even an I told you so if I really read into it. I answer it like a question anyway, “Good, but no word from the contact.”

He hums. The silence that follows deems the told you so unnecessary.

I reach into my vest pocket. Now’s as good a time as any. “I made you something.”

He hums again, gaze flicking away from the table for half a second in question. Right now, that’s probably the best I’ll get. I place an open palm on the table before him. After a moment's hesitation he rests his hand atop mine, palm up, and I look to his eyes as I delicately drape a band of maroon fabric with thin gold stripes across his fingers.

Hunter’s expression is unreadable, regarding the gift silently. I bite my tongue, attempting to hold in any preemptive apologies in fear that I may have overstepped. My flat expression shifts only when I see his eyes begin to well up, before the first sorry can push past the floodgates he turns to me with the faintest smile. A smile I haven’t seen in too long. His grip tightens around the bandana as he rushes to pull me into a tight hug. Instantly, my arms wrap around him, tears forming in my own eyes. “I love it,” his voice low, he places a kiss on my temple, “thank you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.” My voice comes out a whisper, all of the words I hold back seem louder. “We’re going to get them back, Hunter.”

“Not without a fight.” He says grimly, holding me tighter, as if he’ll lose me the second he lets go.

“I know,” I pull back to look into his eyes, my hand coming up to cup his tattooed cheek, “but we fight as a team. We can’t keep bottling all of this up, we need to take care of each other, ourselves.”

Hunter rests his forehead against mine as he sighs, “You’re right.”

“I know. How’re you feeling?” He shuts his eyes as my thumb gently ghosts back and forth over his cheekbone.

He thinks for a moment before releasing me, opening his palm to look at the bandana in his hand. “Lost,” he turns the garment over, examining the back, “Loss. I couldn’t protect them. You, Wrecker, Phee, you’re all I’ve got now and I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect you either.”

“Tech protected us. Omega, too. I think it’s cruel to put that duty solely on yourself, Hunter. It’s an impossible weight to carry on your own,” A tear falls from my eye, quickly sliding down my cheek before landing on my pant leg, “please, let me carry some.”

“Giving it away doesn’t sound easy, either.” His own tears threaten to spill over, I hope I never get used to the subtle, somber shake in his voice, “But I’d like to try.”

When he looks up with a sad, weary smile, I can’t help but lean forward and place a small kiss to his lips. I begin to withdraw, but Hunter’s palm cups my cheek and pulls me back in for a longer, gentler and tearful kiss. This time, the silence that follows is peaceful as he rests his forehead against mine once more.

His loose hair falls around his face and I accidentally pull a few strands into my mouth as I inhale. He chuckles a bit as I pull away, a sound I’ve missed dearly. I can’t help but let out a small laugh of my own, reaching up to once again run a hand through his curls, “It’s gotten so long.”

Hunter smiles, turning the bandana over once more before presenting it to me, “Do the honors?”

With a smile and a nod, I take the cloth from his grasp, delicately wrapping the fabric around his head and tying a single knot.

“It’s perfect,” He places a soft kiss to my knuckles, taking my hand in his, “thank you.”

The holotable chirps. Incoming transmission.

A/N: Someone pointed out Hunter's hair looks longer, plus the new bandana, I just had to get this out of my system. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, comments mean the world to me! <3

#the bad batch x reader #hunter tbb x reader #star wars x reader #hunter tbb #echo tbb #wrecker tbb #phee genoa #reader insert

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sailorgreywolf-german · 3 days

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This was originally for the quote prompt for Day 2 of @spaus-week. But I am very behind, so the event is already over. I am still going to post some writing anyway.

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The note was written in such a neat handwriting that Austria knew immediately was not Spain’s. He must have been dictating. It read, “I will return at the end of the month. For now, I send you this piece of my love. The gold and emeralds are from the colonies. I know how you love pretty things.”

It came with a small box that Austria felt remarkably uninterested in. With an air of frustrated boredom, he opened the present to see a ring.

It shimmered in the light from the open window. Anyone else would perhaps have been impressed and spent time admiring the size of the stone or the purity of the gold. It was, after all, certainly expensive.

Austria felt no such inclination.

This was the second letter in a row that Spain had sent insisting that he would have to put off his trip to Vienna because he was busy in the colonies. There seemed to be an unending series of colonial duties that needed his attention or English pirates that he had to chase off.

What had been their regular time together was shrinking into occasional visits, each shorter than the last. Most of the time, Austria tried hard not to think about how profoundly lonely it felt to be an obligation rather than a labor of love.

Spain made that task impossible when he insisted on sending trinkets and gifts like this. It made the distance feel greater and the empty side of the bed colder.

He sighed and closed the box, so he did not have to look at the reminder of all the things Spain was prioritizing.

He remembered their most recent argument so clearly. Spain had raised his voice and said, “You resent that I have an empire because it makes me your equal.”

Austria shut his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply at the memory. He had no illusions about why he had chosen to marry Spain, nor had he ever lied to his husband about it. Faced with the prospect of fighting France, he had needed someone on his side who could fight. He'd chosen a young power on the rise and Spain's attractiveness hadn't even crossed his mind before the wedding night.

But that was not how their marriage stayed. If it had, he wouldn’t have a place in his chest that ached at Spain’s absence. He wouldn’t long to feel those calloused hands caressing his face every morning.

Maybe, he thought, He is right. I do resent his empire.

It was not, however, for the reasons that Spain seemed to think. It had nothing to do with the money or the power, and little bits of wealth would not mollify him.

No, he mused to himself, writing a letter in response that he knew he would never put to paper, No, what you don’t understand, Antonio, is that none of those gems shine brighter than your eyes. You could send me every single thing you mined out of the soil of the New World, and it still wouldn’t be enough. I miss you.

He opened his eyes and glanced around at the waiting courier who had brought him the letter. He beckoned to the man and said, “I need you to take this.”

He deposited the ring box in the man’s hand, “I want you to go offer this to Erzsebet. If she does not want it, give it to Bohemia.” He waved his hand dismissively, “One of them will want it.” He kept the unspoken words in his mind: I most certainly do not.

#hws austria #spausweek #spaus

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yo-yo-yeonkai · 9 months

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TO MY ANGEL, ARE YOU WATCHING? - HUENING KAI - SFW

Kai x reader

Genre: angst

Warning list: big ANGST! major character death, mentions of depression, if you squint your eyes ideas of suicide, mention of : hospital, blood, sickness, not proof read!

Word count: 1,080

Summary: Kai can’t be with you anymore, those chances had long passed, but can he see you and read those letters you send him?

Authors note: This was inspired by a piece I read recently by @mazeinthemoon called [6:27pm], which I highly recommend!!!

Dear Kai,

I’m not sure if you still look down on me, I haven’t felt your presence in so long, it’s been a bit lonely without you here. The house feels empty now, and it’s not like you ever left your room anyway. You stayed burrowed up in there, so I’d have to come join you if I wanted attention. I hope you knew I loved you, it’s too late to tell you now.

I regret it, not telling you whilst you were here, but I’m sure you already knew. The way you’d text me and tell me to come to your room, only for it to be lit up with fairy lights, a fort made in the middle and once we entered the cosiest bed for us to watch movies on. You brought all my favourite snacks, you let me pick the movies, I think you even tried to hold my hand. I’m sorry I got nervous and pulled away, I should’ve just let you hold it whilst you could. Was that a date? To me it was…

I have a new confession now Kai. I haven’t felt this way in such a long time. I did get better since you left, I promise. I’m not sick anymore, but, today I feel it. I feel the way it used to feel.

I don’t feel excited, suddenly everything I’ve ever loved feels bland. As if I took a picture and put a horribly monochrome filter on. My hobbies, are a dull grey, no longer a sparking silver. It doesn’t light up my days, nor does it make me feel like I’m living.

My voice can’t even raise in tone, I’ve tried, it just stays at a continuous monotone. No more inflections as I get excited, no more shouting as I get angry, no, I’m not even sure I felt anything but bland today. Even my emotions are mono, is this even real right now? My face doesn’t lift in a smile, doesn’t frown with disappointment, I have held a straight face for longer than I’d like. I wish you were here to make me smile… you’d probably make that dumb Pokémon noise you always replicated, I’d always whine but you knew I loved it, that’s why it always came flying out of your mouth the second I had a bad day.

Isn’t it weird that people are alive. Like, I’m living my life and you aren’t, you were stolen from me, ripped away too soon, it’s just not fair. Don’t you think? Sometimes I wish it had been the other way around, but I know that’s not possible.

I’ve been better for awhile, I’ve taken care of myself, even tried to go further than just being alive, I tried to LIVE, but I’m not great at that. Ever since i made that mistake at work, my life has consumed me, everything felt overwhelming. Like I was drowning in all the endless pain I left behind me. It came back for me when I least expected it. Can you protect me from it Kai? Can you be my angel?

Who am I kidding… I don’t want you to spend your afterlife worrying about me as well, do what you want to do, live the best you can up there. I’d cry if you thought about me the way I thought about you. In fact, I hope you forgot about me, it would hurt, but I could take it if I knew you were happy.

I used to say that health was a lie… that’s because i get sick with a click of my fingers. Now I mean that both mentally and physically. Our friends must think I chuck myself down the stairs each morning with how much physical pain I come to school with.

“What’s wrong today?”

How did they know I was in pain? Oh yes, that’s right, I’m always in pain. Can I catch a break please…

“I have a terrible pain in my stomach”

Do you remember that I actually had that pain for months and it got so bad sometimes that I missed days and days of school. You took me to the doctors because I hate them, they took my blood, but there was nothing wrong with me that they could find. So I was on medication for awhile, but it didn’t help so I got taken off it. The pain comes back sometimes. The worst bit is when my lecturers ask why I wasn’t in, and I have to explain it’s been the same pain since last month. They must think I’m a liar, I see it in their eyes. You told me I was being dramatic, but I know I wasn’t…

But when you fell sick I suddenly realised that anything I went through was just a silly bug, a little thing that would go away. You… you were suffering, true pain, true agony. I wish I could’ve done something, even ease your pain, but I couldn’t. You wouldn’t even let me stay in the hospital with you like I had wanted to. You told me “Go home, keep it warm so when I get back I won’t be cold”. You died that evening, when I was making your bed, trying to convince myself you’d be home soon. It was a lie I told myself, I knew you wouldn’t be coming home, but I didn’t think it would be so soon.

Do you know what it’s like to have your heart ripped from your chest? I imagine you felt a similar pain as your life was coming to an end, that’s how I felt when the nurse called me. She had plunged her hand into my heart and tugged it out with ease, as if my heart knew it was about to be crushed. I wish you were here to make that stupid noise once again… maybe then I’d stop feeling sick, but you aren’t.

I promise this feeling won’t continue, I’ll stay strong Kai, I know you’d want me to. I’ll even go on a walk tomorrow, and try walk it off. You always told me I should get out more. But you aren’t one to talk are you….

Perhaps I should stop sending you these letters, but how can I… when I can’t let go of you. The second I stop, is the second you truly die, because you’ll be a forgotten star, and you could never be that to me.

,Forever the dumbass roommate that fell in love with you…

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jar-of-maise · 7 months

Text

On good days, the clouds in Freminet's head are gloomy and overcast. They blot out the sun of his emotions and keep him safe. Sometimes, it even rains in Freminet's mindscape. He doesn't mind those days, in fact, he welcomes the gentle patter.

Something about the rhythmic drops, a sound that mirrors real life, settles his heart. There is no end to the ripples that echo in his lonely heart, so he hopes that if they must move, that they are kind. They aren't always, but he will take many things over waves.

Freminet takes a long, deep breath and falls back into the water. The open blue welcomes him with open arms. Rainbows of rippling fish shimmer weaving in and out of bright corals and seaweed.

This is what he's been missing.

He sinks down lower, where the water is calm. Here, no ripples disturb the surface. Under the turbulent fabric that connects all of the seas at the top, the bottom is comparatively slower. He could almost sleep here, undisturbed for all time.

It's colder still at the bottom of the sea. Cyan blue fades into indigo and turns deeper. Like how the day turns into night, Freminet lets the waves wash his heart out, lets the numb freeze over his mind.

He doesn't have to think here.

Just this once, Freminet is free. There is no one to stare, no one to judge, he's safe. Happier and better than anywhere else. Sunlight floating down from the surface has left gentle kisses on his face.

He likes to think that it's his mother.

But only on good days.

On bad days, the overcast weather turns from gloomy to stormy. Thunder strikes at every opportunity, turning into an awful pounding headache. Lighting bolts pierce steaming holes into the sea of his mind. Turbulent waves tower over him and it seems like Freminet will drown.

On these days, everything is simultaneously too loud and quiet. Every pause after he talks to someone seems to stretch out into an infinity that even the Electro Archon would envy and each conversation becomes a chore. Something that Freminet thinks that even Lady Furina would tire of.

Maybe not, she had a gift for speech. In many ways that he didn't.

When the skies turn into storms, Lyney leaves the table they eat at. His spot quickly turns from a source of warm to a stale hole. Like a draft in a rickety old house, or the cold breath of air that visits one's slumber in winter.

Freminet could have all his fortresses up, insulate all the possible gaps in his heart, and still, Lyney burns them down. What he thinks was an icy heart melts away easily, much too quickly at Lyney's cold, silent rage.

He doesn't explode, merely walks out. Freminet is left staring at the empty abyss of his back. Lynette is left to pick up the pieces, her gentle voice and soothing hands smoothing over the wrinkles in the tension.

She's good at that, at making them relax.

Freminet envies her. He envies Lyney. it's an irrational thought, but one that he can't keep away. He might reinforce his defences, arm himself once more, doggedly stumble onwards, but he doesn't reach the pedestral.

At the very top of the kingdom that "Father" has built, stands Lyney's figure. Silent and brooding, one rung below sits Lynette. Freminet has been looking up at them even when they were strangers. He has never moved once from the abyss of the sea.

Before the twins' arrival, he has never known desire for something other than the ocean. He doesn't know if the change he faces now is a good or bad thing.

He doesn't get to ponder these questions in the day time.

They only become evident at night. When he lies in bed and the blankets are tucked into every corner to stop a cold breeze, do the thoughts arise. There is no peace that can be won without a fight.

Sometimes he dreams.

They are fuzzy at most, leaving vague impressions. Like marks in the sand, soon to be washed away. But Freminet remembers the feelings they gave him.

If he had to describe them, it would be like a gentle sun, shining through light rain.

Yes, those would be his happiest days. A time where he doesn't shield himself from his mother's memory; like how he uses the water to hide from the glare of the sun. One day, he promises himself, one day the clouds in his mind will part.

Maybe...when that day finally came, he'd be able to stand at eye level with Lyney and Lynette.

And just maybe, he'd be able to look them in the eyes, take their hands...and say, "Let me share your burdens."

He can see Lyney's mischievous smile, and already hear the, "took you long enough little brother." Maybe Lyney would ruffle his hair.

He can also see Lynette's approving face, she would nod and let her tail swish from side to side, "good job, Freminet. I'm proud of you."

Freminet doesn't really know what his mother would say, he imagines a myriad of things, "that's my boy", "I'm so proud of you," things to that effect, but he has no way of knowing.

So he settles for what he does know, and for the day he can say, "I made it."

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apotatomashedbybts · 2 years

Text

The Exit

➛Pairing: Jeon Jungkook × reader

➛Genre: horror

➛Trope: established relationship (implied), horror

➛Word Count: 1.6k+

➛Trigger warning: darkness, creepy person, feeling of being lost

➛Rating: pg

➛Banner: made by apotatomashedbybts

➛Cross post: Wattpad | ao3

➛Disclaimer: This piece was a little bit inspired by the beginning of the webtoon Witch Creek Road (read that webtoon if you want your mind to be boggled and malfunction). Also the picture in the header inspired this story heavily.

➛Author's note: This is highly unedited and written in a day with my extremely sleepy head. Please be kind (⁠っ⁠˘̩⁠╭⁠╮⁠˘̩⁠)⁠っ

➛ Event: 🕸️ NO-FACETOBER hosted by @bangtanbathhouse

⤖ Day 1 : EERIE

➛Taglist: @btsstan12 ; @sugarwithtea ; @sweetieguk ; @kuuipobangtan

➛ Announcement: part II is here → Eleutheria

➛Summary: Jungkook should have taken the main road even if it meant it'd take longer to reach you.

The road was deserted. And unsettlingly dark.

It would have been another long night drive for Jungkook if it wasn't for this indomitable darkness that didn't let even his headlights pierce further into it.

Something about it made Jungkook uncomfortable and he wondered, "Would it have been better if I just took the main road?"

His mind played the image of the old lady at the small grocery store at the junction of the main road and this shortcut where he had stopped to buy water earlier.

That old lady had smiled oddly at him when he had asked her about the shortcut that his car navigation system was showing him with dotted lines and had asked him, "Do you want to take the shortcut?"

Jungkook had replied nonchalantly with a shrug, "If it takes me to my destination early then why not?"

"Then you should go," the old lady had answered with that same weird yet soft smile.

Jungkook had dismissed her behaviour by judging it as some characteristics that all eccentric old people had, specially in such a remote area.

But now this road made him think twice and he thought about turning around and take the main road. It wasn't far away. He was just fifteen minutes away from it. But just then he noticed the bright lights coming from what seemed to be a lone gas station in the middle of this obscurity.

Jungkook was quite sure that it wasn't there even a minute ago. Was he so zoned out that he missed noticing the lights?

The neon and the LED lights of it spread over a large area as if it was the only one who could keep the darkness on a leash. It was hard to miss but Jungkook did somehow.

With noticing the lights he also noticed that his fuel tank was almost empty. But he had filled the tank just an hour and a half ago, just before leaving the city border!

"Whatever," Jungkook thought and stopped his car in front of a fuel dispenser.

Jungkook got out of the car and spotted a lanky old man, with a skin that was so wrinkly and loose on him that it looked like it was not his but rather he was wearing it, approaching him with an ear to ear smile.

He took out the dispenser nozzle after Jungkook told him to get the tank full. Jungkook looked on the other side of the road, trying not make an eye contact, even more so because he could sense the old man staring at him incessantly with that same eerie smile on his face.

Jungkook was intending to stand there like that facing the other side looking distracted until the tank was full but the old man started talking to him, "You must be from the city."

Jungkook nodded a small yes with a small smile and turned away his face again.

"Anybody barely takes this road. You must be taking the shortcut to The Moor Estate."

Jungkook scrunched his eyebrows at this. He was irritated at his constant tries to make small talk with him even though he was making it clear that he didn't intended to talk, vaguely. But at the same time he was intrigued as well , and so he asked, "so, how much more till I reach there?"

It must be Jungkook's eyes playing tricks on him because he felt like the smile on the old man's face grew bigger, almost ripping his cheeks.

The old man kept the nozzle in its place and answered, "It's not very far. A small drive and you'll find the Devil's Crest turning! Turn on that road and you'll reach your destination."

As soon as the old man was done filling Jungkook's tank he took a water bottle and a small packet consisting of two cookies among many that were kept organised on a table beside the dispenser and said, "This is a complementary snack."

"Thanks." Jungkook said, hurriedly taking the food offered and somehow feeling instantly hungry.

"These cookies here are specially sweet." The old man said, his ripping cheeks could hardly contain his happiness.

Not wanting to spend any single minute more there Jungkook paid the old man and got out of there.

•••

Jungkook had been driving for a few hours now.

The navigation system of his car had stopped working long ago, as soon as he got out of the gas station. So he decided to pull over and call you.

He looked at his phone screen to see the time and he was surprised to see that it was already 3:03 am.

"It's already this late. A few minutes' nap won't hurt I guess," he thought and rang your number to let you know about his whereabouts.

"Hello! Jungkook... whe.. are... you?"

"Great! Now the network has gone haywire," Jungkook huffed as your voice reached to him inconsistently.

"I am taking the shortcut to your place." Jungkook answered.

"What? Your... ound... not... ching... pro... ly."

Jungkook knew it would be a waste of energy to talk right now so he said, "Nothing. I'll reach there soon. I'm almost at the Devil's Crest."

Your voice sounded much clearer this time, "Yes. Yes. Take the De... Ville's.. Crest turning! See you soon. Love you."

"Love you too." Jungkook replied with a smile and keeping the call he decided to push himself a little more.

Turned out that push was worth it because sooner than he expected he was now at The Devil's Crest turning.

He thanked the stars and hummed happily and steered his way into the turning thinking that he'd see you soon and could finally rest in your warm hug.

•••

Was it just him or really the environment had suddenly become too silent?

He strained his ear and looked around while driving - there wasn't a single sound, not even of birds or insects. As if someone had put this particular part of the world on mute.

The silent felt heavy on Jungkook's ears. So to give himself some sense of security he rolled up all the windows of the car and played his favourite tracks.

Jungkook looked at the sky and it was a dull blue almost like dawn but the surroundings below it appeared to be rejecting all the lights they were being provided.

He tried not to focus too much on them and kept his attention on the road.

He drove and drove and drove. The more he drove the more the road stretched further forward.

His back had started to ache from constant sitting upright in a futile attempt to not fall asleep and his eyes felt strained. He felt like his forehead was strung together with his eyes and was getting pulled back.

Stopping could have been an option but Jungkook's instincts told him to keep going. So he did. And finally he reached a part where the road was the widest, almost like a small yard, and an isolated red exit sign high up caught his eyes.

Jungkook didn't see a single trace of human living in that area as long as he drove so the existence of that neon exit sign was weird yet a sign of hope for him.

He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible and so he kicked the accelerator with all his might and zoomed past the exit signboard.

It was odd.

Jungkook drove straight past the signboard and drove on a straight road then why was he again in front of that same exit sign?

It didn't make any sense.

Jungkook consoled himself that maybe he had mistakenly took a turn somewhere that he couldn't remember. It was a far stretch even for him but he couldn't explain it in any other way.

Giving himself a light slap he started to drive.

But there he was - in front of the exit signboard, again.

Before the panic could settle in Jungkook hit the accelerator again to full speed and drove straight ahead.

This had to be some kind of joke.

Jungkook checked his dead navigation system and tried to call you, or anyone for that matter but the signals weren't going through.

He slapped his hands on the steering wheel and pressed the accelerator pedal again. But this time the car didn't move. Jungkook desperately turned the key and tried to get the car moving but it didn't budge.

With bloodshot eyes Jungkook looked at his fuel tank signal whose red arrow was pointing at the empty mark.

Jungkook rested his head on the steering wheel with a light thud and chuckled, "This has to be a dream. This has to be. I just have to wake up. Please, please, Jeon Jungkook, wake up! Wake the fuck up!"

He banged his head constantly on the steering wheel in a futile attempt to wake up from a reality that he was trying hard to convince himself as a nightmare.

But no matter how long it took the reality was bound to set in. It was no different for Jungkook. And as it did for him the fear nested in his heart like stones layering upon one another.

Your smiling face blurrily hovered in his mind and tears trickled down his cold cheeks.

He felt worn out. He just wanted to take some rest.

With shaky hands he opened the door of his car to let himself out. His legs gave up and he staggered as soon as he did so. He knelt down on the ground and looked up at the stern exit signboard against the never-changing sky.

As he stayed kneeling down there, staring at the sign with hazy vision, trying to reason with it mentally to let him go, a thick white cloud of fog floated in engulfing the entire ground. It swam towards Jungkook and swirled softly around him, ushering him into the woods.

With heavy mind and wobbly steps Jungkook stood up and began walking straight past the exit sign, on the road on which he already had drove multiple times. He was not going to give up.

He was going to find the exit.

~~~~~☠☠☠~~~~~

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b-afterhours · 3 months

Text

Avenue of Sins: Neon

A Sequel to Avene of Sins

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debacherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

The completed first series can be read and found here.

Chapter Twelve

February 1993

He arrived in his lonely penthouse in New York City after a nonstop flight. He left Seattle near 11 a.m., but because of the three-hour time difference between there and New York, he didn’t get home until almost eight-something in the evening. He had locked the door behind himself and stood there briefly. The place felt cold.

“Hello.” He said to no one as his voice echoed, and he just sighed to himself.

He took the back staircase, strolling down the long hall and peeping into the empty rooms on his way up to his bedroom. Walking the length of his bedroom, he dropped his duffle bag by the couch in the loft area and riffled through bills and junk mail he had grabbed from the residential postal room on the building's first floor. One piece of mail Alma had sent was large and thin. Something in it was being supported with a piece of cardboard to keep it from bending, but he was looking for the other piece of mail she had told him should be there. Once he had found it, he tossed them on top of his bed and went to the bathroom for a shower.

His travel went smoother than when he went to Seattle. The only hiccup he had run into happened in Alma’s apartment. He had lost the keys to the rental. Alma was the last person with them until they both realized it was actually Echo who had them last, jingling them in her hand without a care. They looked under the couch cushions, and he even tilted the couch back to look for them. While they tried to look thoroughly, they were also somewhat slow about it, whether they knew it or not. It was as if neither of them wanted the visit to end. Alma was looking in the bedrooms while he took Echo’s toys out of the small chest in the living area, but even after he cleared the whole thing, they still weren’t found. As he put everything back, he jostled a shape-sorter toy of hers. Inside were block shapes, but he heard a jingle from inside and opened it, finally finding the keys. Echo was close by, playing with the toys he hadn’t put back in the chest yet.

“Did you hide these?" He asked, turning to her and picking her up. It seemed like she also didn’t want him to leave. “I got to go, honey,” he said, hugging her after announcing to Alma that he had found the keys. “I would take you with me if I didn’t know you’d miss your mommy so much.” Alma stood there listening to him before he turned to her.

“Call me when you land?” She asked, hugging him tightly.

While he held it together, it was hard when he saw that Alma wanted to cry. It didn’t ever feel good to watch him leave. She had never liked it since the day he left Missouri. However, she also felt bad because she had done it to him so many more times now. She bit her quivering lip after he had kissed her deeply. He reassured her that he’d be back soon, and off he went, feeling empty again as soon as he left. He waited until he reached the stop sign at the end of the block and sank in his seat, harshly rubbing his eyes as tears stung them.

After his shower, he decided to call Bianca, and he looked at his clock. It was early in the evening, at least early for him.

“Surprised you didn’t pack your whole family back,” Bianca said to him over the phone.

“I thought about it,” he lightly chuckled, rubbing the hair on his thigh as he was only wearing boxer briefs. “Should I come in tonight or…”

“Just relax, sweetie. What’s one more day? Everything has been fine while you were gone. You must have been busy over there. You didn’t call me a single time. Unless Alma forbade you from even thinking about work while you were there?”

“Nah. I know you have a handle on things there.” While work would come to mind, he decided for himself that if anything happened, he would wait for a call instead rather than pester Bianca.

“I love that you said it with confidence, because I do.” He could picture her with a beaming smile over the phone. “I gotta finish getting ready, but–”

“You’re getting ready in the loft?” He lightly laughed.

“Well, I have it to myself. Why not? So tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. Alma sent me back with a gift for you, by the way.”

"Well, if that’s the case, I wouldn’t mind you coming in tonight. That’s so sweet of her.” She paused for a moment, thinking about how she missed Alma, but kept it to herself because she knew Bill did on a whole other level.

Once he was off the phone, he pulled on a sweater and sat against the headboard of his bed next to his daughter’s stuffed bunny that he had balanced on top of it. Sometimes he secretly cuddled with it. He called Alma at the airport once he landed. She reminded him to check his mailbox, instructing him to open the large yellow envelope first. He did as he was told, and inside was a gel print copy of Echo. It was a portrait stylized with yellow and hot pink ink, of her smiling and wearing his Rayban sunglasses that he remembered Alma photographing on her visit. He smiled to himself, realizing that she must have made it during Gregory’s event, which he saw advertised at the record store. It would need to be framed, but it was a nice, thoughtful gift and was similar to the styles of old tour posters he used to display in his adolescent bedroom.

After putting the print away for safekeeping, he crawled into bed again and opened the other letter. He pulled out something that was wrapped in pink and red tissue paper, and as he peeled the paper away, his heart skipped. The smile on his face just kept spreading across his face as he flipped through ten black-and-white photos of the boudoir photoshoot Alma had shot for him. They were beautiful, sensual, sultry, and sexily enticing. He liked them all, but one in particular made blood rush to his member. It was a low shot of her bottom, her thumbs hooked on the straps of a g-string as she looked back at the camera over her shoulder. He was familiar with the sight, but having hard evidence was exciting to him. He spread the photos over the bed to see them all together while his hand reached down into his underwear.

As he pleased himself, he could feel the ghosts of Alma’s hands or her full lips that had touched him all over the past week, and he missed them. His mind became clearer after he finished on his sweater and pulled it off before he collected the photos back together. He paused for a second. Who developed these?

“Hello?” Alma said on the other end of the phone. After he had left, she loaded her Jeep with laundry—his included—and was currently sitting on her living room floor, folding it all after spending time at the laundromat with Echo. “Oh, so you finally got them?” She bashfully laughed when he informed her. “Um, did you like them?” And then laughed again when he admitted to already getting off to them. “They came out nice, but really that fast?”

“Don’t laugh,” he said, chuckling as he looked at the photo on top of the stack of her elegant nude silhouette in soft focus in front of her bedroom window. With his thumb, he flipped it up to look at the one below, of her pulling the hem of a small white shirt so that it was pulled tight against her breasts and hard nipples. The phrase ‘God’s Favorite’ was scrawled across it. “Send me more.”

“Any requests?”

“Only about a hundred of them. But where did you get these developed?”

She rolled her eyes. “Only you and a girl from the place I go to get all my stuff developed have seen those. I asked that she only deal with that roll of film, and I think she understood why once she saw them.”

“Well, I hope so…”

“What’s the worst that could happen? I end up in Playboy?” She joked.

“These pictures are fucking beautiful—you're fucking beautiful. But don’t start getting ideas,” he said, which made her laugh again.

…

March – Spring Break Week 1993

It was early in the morning—nearly 4 am—but he was a bit restless after his shift. He was going to have a very busy week ahead of him with all the college kids who couldn’t make it to a sunny beach coming to his club for some fun instead. Bianca was leaving for Miami with her sons the next day, so he'd be manning the ship solo like old times. Bianca would be gone for the week. It was Lorenzo’s 18th birthday gift and an early graduation gift. Looking at his clock, he thought about calling Alma, but she had told him earlier that she’d be working late herself. If he could see her right now, he’d have seen her balancing on top of a down-turned tin trash bin behind the crowd, giving concert photography a shot.

On his back, he decided to rest his eyes, hoping he’d drift to sleep that way. When he came back from Seattle, he slept well for a couple of days until his body went back into the same shitty sleep cycle that plagued him. Sometimes he’d call Alma and ask her to speak about anything. Just to fall asleep to the sound of her voice made him feel less lonely. Once, she just read him a pamphlet from the pediatrician's office. If he didn’t call her, he’d jerk off, which did help, but shockingly, he was starting to get tired of that after so many consecutive nights in a row now. After lying there with his eyes closed for so long, he figured he might just have to rub one out anyway.

There was a knock at his front door, and he sighed. He’s hearing things now, he thought. As he tried to get more comfortable in bed, he heard it again. He took a deep breath and reached into his nightstand for his gun, which lay right next to the bundle of nude photos of Alma. No one should be there at this time. Absolutely no one. His mind raced as he quickly pulled on gym shorts and a t-shirt he had set aside to wear to the gym later that morning.

He crept down the spiral stairs, and there was a knock once more. At the very least, he was glad it didn’t sound like someone was trying to break the door down from its hinges. The rhythm of the knocks sounded a bit urgent and even erratic at times.

“Shit,” he grumbled under his breath as he cocked the gun slide back.

He looked through the peephole and saw the back of someone's dark head of hair in a men's-styled cut. When they turned, he saw Giancarlo with a busted nose and bruising eyes, along with a bloody lip. He looked distressed, and while he knew this was Bianca’s son, he was weary of opening the door immediately. He decided to crack it open, leaving the chain lock in place.

“Mr. Skarsgård! Could you let me in?” He pleaded.

“What the hell, G’? Who’s with you?” He said, looking out past him skeptically.

“It’s just me, it’s just me. I promise,” he said frantically as he blinked back tears. He looked genuinely scared and shaken up. “Please…”

Bill closed his eyes as his jaw clenched tensely. “Hold on.” He said, lowly closing the door to unlatch the chain lock.

He opened the door wide enough for Giancarlo to get in and quickly locked it. Purposefully, Bill took the live round from the gun out and then tucked the piece in the waistband of his shorts as Giancarlo watched. Realizing he was so close to being shot, he shrank further into himself. He knew that his mother had a gun, but she never brandished it around him or his brother.

“So what the fuck is this? Why aren’t you home?” Bill asked sternly.

Giancarlo took in a shaky breath as tears escaped his eyes. Bill sighed at his condition. His clothes were even a bit tattered and dirty, as if he had been dragged around. He had gotten beaten up, but for what he wasn’t sure.

“Go,” he pointed to his couch, “sit down.” He left for his kitchen to get him a glass of water. As he handed it to him, he noticed him wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve.

“Sorry,” he said when Bill came back with a dry dishrag. “Thank you.”

“What are you doing out this late? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready to leave later?” Bill asked, clasping his hands together as he sat on the edge of the couch opposite him.

Giancarlo cleared his throat. “I was just out with my friends at the Cherry Hill fountain.”

“In Central Park? This late?”

“It’s where all us kids go… but I don’t know what happened. Some people started to fight, and it started a whole brawl, and… I got jumped.”

“I see.” He said looking at his state up and down.

“I didn’t even do anything, but then the cops showed up, and I just started running. You’re the only person I know here in Manhattan.”

“The cops aren’t looking for you right now, are they?”

“No, they were just hemming up whoever they could.”

“How’d you even get past the doorman here?”

“I just ran straight past him… He’s a heavy guy.”

Bill nodded. He didn’t like that it was so easy for someone to get by during these hours. Now he was going to have to complain later. “Okay… Well, do you want me to call your mom, or do you want to?”

Giancarlo looked like he wanted to cry again. It was obvious to him that she had no idea he wasn’t home right now. Bianca didn’t have time for stuff like this and had raised her children to have sense, but Giancarlo liked to push it. Before he had owned the club, Myrna had said she didn’t want to pass it on to Bianca, who he felt should own it before he should have been considered. Myrna thought she should focus on raising her kids first, but Bill felt they were grown enough by now to partner with her. He wasn’t regretting his decision, but it seemed like her youngest son was going to need some extra guidance.

“She’s going to be so pissed,” he said, wiping a tear from his cheek with the dishrag.

“If you call her, maybe she’ll respect that more than you having me do it. You keep wanting to grow up so fast… but I don’t think you understand what that means yet, Gian. Did you try to fight back?” He didn’t want to be rude, but he looked a bit pitiful.

“Yes… but there were too many.”

“You stay at the edge of a brawl, if you must, not in the middle of it. Just call your mom. That's the grown-up thing to do.”

Bill turned away from him as he called home, trying to give him some semblance of space and privacy. Giancarlo explained what had happened to him with a shaky, terrified voice. He was still such a little boy compared to how he was at his age, but he also grew up too fast compared to most kids his age then.

Bianca, while somewhat strict, overly doted on her sons more than an average mother would, but she meant business when the time permitted. Bill could hear her yelling on the other end of the receiver, and he glanced over and saw him crying again. Poor kid.

“M-Mr. Skarsgård? My mom wants t-to talk to you,” he sniffled, holding out the phone to him.

“Oh Bill, I’m so sorry,” Bianca said, exasperated.

“It’s fine,” he sighed.

“No. It’s not, but… does my boy look bad?” She said with concern.

“He doesn’t look too great, frankly.” He said, glancing at him. He had his head bowed in shame.

“Oh my god… I’ll come get him.”

“Later. He can sleep in my guest room. And yes, I’m sure. There’s probably still cops out looking for stray kids on the street.”

Bianca reluctantly agreed, and Bill passed the phone back to Giancarlo. Once again, she was yelling on the other end. He could make out her warning her son to not touch anything in his home, and after a few more words, Giancarlo hung up.

“How long are you grounded for?” Bill smirked.

“Until the end of the school year,” he frowned.

“Mhmm. Well, go wash up in the bathroom down there,” Bill pointed down the hallway. “Just dig in the cabinets for some bandages. I’ll meet you in a minute.”

Bill went up to his room and grabbed a tank top from a new pack and some old sweats of his for the boy. When Bill found him in the bathroom, he was shirtless, leaning into the mirror inspecting his battered face. He had been having trouble bandaging the cut on his brow because his hands were too shaky.

"Um, Mr. Skarsgård, do you think you can help me?” He asked sheepishly, holding the butterfly bandage out to him. He was still used to his mother mending his cuts or scrapes.

He set the clothes on the counter and grabbed it. “Your mom’s not here. I don’t care if you call me Bill,” he said, tilting Giancarlo’s head down. He pinched his cut together, which made him wince, and quickly bandaged it. “Your eyebrow is going to scar,” he warned.

“Is my nose going to be fucked up too?”

Bill chuckled. “Let me see." He lightly felt the bridge of his nose, and it felt fine enough. “Nah. You’re going to Miami with black eyes, though.”

“Damn…” He said, shaking his head at his reflection in the mirror.

“Clothes,” he pointed at them. “Bed,” he said, walking out of the bathroom with Giancarlo following. The guest room had been rearranged. The configuration was changed to create a little office space. Taking the computer out of Echo’s nursery so she’d have the whole space for her things now. “You can help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen. If you need me, just go up the back staircase. Knock first.”

“Okay,” Giancarlo nodded, looking around the room that was illuminated by the red neon marquee across the street. “Thank you, Bill.” He said misty-eyed.

“You’re a good kid, G’. Just don’t get caught up in shit, alright?” Bill was just about to turn to leave him but was caught off guard when Giancarlo hugged him. He stiffened at first, but then he hugged him back. "Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?" he tried to lightly joke, but inside he was thinking about the times he had felt like this at his age, but there was no one there to hug.

Giancarlo pulled away and sniffled. “Sorry, I woke you up with my bullshit."

“Just get some sleep. You have a long day of travel ahead of you,” Bill said as he walked out of the guest room.

He made a detour to grab a bag of frozen peas to give to the boy, and then he took the back staircase to his room, shut the door, and locked it. Until tonight, he had always kept it open, and while he didn’t think Giancarlo would do anything to him, he still took precautions. The mezzanine area, where the spiral staircase took you before opening to the rest of the room, he wasn’t too worried about. He would hear anyone coming up that way. Yet he took his Glock from his waistband and rested it on top of his nightstand. He’d sleep better that way.

He had managed to sleep for a few hours when the phone rang, and he lazily got up to answer. It was Bianca informing him that she was on her way. He laid back in bed, just relaxing and stretching his body a bit. Downstairs, the sound of a light switch turning on and the fridge opening could be heard. At least he didn’t have to wake the kid up too.

He thought to himself that if his family were there, he would have never opened the door for him. Probably, Alma would much to his dismay. She’d have the mother's intuition to help another woman's child, but he had the father’s version of protecting his. It didn't matter who it was.

He cracked open his eyes just to check the time. It was too early to call Alma, but he also missed the gym workout, meaning he’d just go jog then. He got out of bed and joined Giancarlo, who was eating cereal at the dining table by the spoonful. His face was fairly swollen, but the frozen peas certainly kept it from looking a lot worse.

“Um,” he said, chewing. “I can make you a bowl.”

The corner of Bill’s mouth went up in a smirk. “You’re fine… for now. Your mom’s on her way.”

Giancarlo lightly grumbled at the thought as he watched Bill put a single slice of white bread in the toaster. He thought Bill was about the coolest grownup he’s ever known. He had a nice place, a cool car, expensive clothes, and a hot girlfriend. He also worked at a strip club and got to see boobs every day. It sounded like a dream, and for a 14-year-old boy, it all still glittered and shined for him.

“Does your mom ever give you grief sometimes?”

Bill leaned on the kitchen island and crossed his arms, biting his lip. “Mm… no. She passed away.”

“Oh… I’m sorr-”

“It was a long time ago,” he cut him off, giving Giancarlo a pursed smile. “So listen to your mother and all that, right?" He said, catching the warm toast as it popped out of the toaster. He hardly buttered it and held it between his teeth as he reached into his fridge for a few eggs to hardboil.

There was a knock at the door and Bill could hear the boy gulp loudly in fear. He quickly got up to take his bowl to the sink as Bill went to answer it. He paused, turning around to see him hastily trying to wash it.

“Just leave it. I know your mom’s old school, but you don’t have to do that.”

Giancarlo nodded and then braced himself when Bill opened the door. Bianca was dressed in a pink velour tracksuit with her hair wrapped in a silk scarf in a similar color. Bill greeted her but stepped aside to let her go directly to her son. She took off her large, buggy sunglasses when she saw the state of her son's face. He stood there uncomfortably, wishing he could disappear.

“Come here,” she said, pointing at the floor below her sternly, and when he approached, she reached out and held him as relief washed over her. “My god,” she said, trying to cradle his face in her hands, but he flinched. “Your handsome face…” she shook her head. “Don’t ever do this shit again! Go down to the car. I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’m really sorry, Ma’.”

“And apologize to Mr. Skarsgård for putting him out with your foolishness.”

“Bianca I–” Bill began to say, but she held a hand behind her to stop him.

“Now. Apologize.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Skarsgård. And thank you.” He said, with his head held straight and making eye contact, that he knew his mother expected of him.

“I’ll accept your apology this one and only time,” he said, putting on a stern tone to match Bianca's, but he discretely winked at the boy.

The boy left, and Bianca eased once he was gone. Bill had her follow him to the guest bedroom to help her collect his tattered clothes, and they paused back at the front door.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with him,” Bianca sighed sadly. "Like, this is just beyond!”

“Hm. Well, I think he’s learned his lesson. You didn’t raise your sons to be out in the street like he was. He was here shaking and crying,” he lightly laughed. “He even hugged me, too. He’ll be alright, though,” he lightly shrugged.

"Oh, so he got a real scare, huh?" She said, pleased by the fact.

“Big time.”

“Good. Well, I’ll see you in a week, honey. The family vacation photos are going to look insane with the state of Gian’s face, but we’ll be in Miami nonetheless, right?” She said hugging Bill. “And thank you. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah. Have a safe trip.” He chuckled.

After his jog, he felt more awake, but when he took a hot shower, he felt tired again. His muscles relaxed yet ached at the same time. He lay in his bed in just a pair of boxers and a tank top and felt his eyes getting heavy. Unexpectedly he fell asleep. The phone woke him up again a couple of hours later. He had been procrastinating with moving the phone from the loft seating to his nightstand, and right then he cursed himself for it. He got up reluctantly and picked the whole thing up to bring by his bedside, but in the time it took him to do that, it stopped ringing. The phone downstairs began to ring, which signaled to him that Alma was calling. He let the one downstairs cut off first before dialing her apartment until the dial tone on his line went off and he switched calls.

“It’s Alma.”

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat, still raspy from sleep. “Sorry, what time is it?”

“Um… It should be almost 1 p.m. over there. Are you okay?” She said with worry. She didn’t receive a call from him that morning. He called twice a day, but especially in the morning, he never missed those calls, and the evening calls would come too, even if sometimes they could be brief because he was usually at work or on his way when he called then. Currently, she was at work in the office with her feet up on the desk after helping clean up the mess from the show the night before.

“I’m okay. I had a long night. I went for a jog, and I guess… took a nap?”

“Long night?" She questioned.

Bill went on to explain what had happened with Giancarlo, and Alma was surprised the boy would even think of Bill’s place to go, as he can sometimes come off a bit cold, let alone that he would get into trouble like that knowing his mother.

“It’s good you didn’t blast him through the door with your gun, at least. I’m glad he came to you, though.”

“Eh. Kinda weird, but everyone else he knows is in Brooklyn, so.”

“I mean, yeah, but he kind of looks up to you too.”

Bill grimaced. He didn’t feel like someone anyone should look up to. “Lorenzo has a crush on you,” he deflected.

“Those boys are funny, aren’t they? But really, I am glad he came to you. You’re such a dad now, Bill.” She giggled.

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled.

“Plus, Echo might get into shit when she’s a teenager. So this was a good glimpse of things that may come. Hopefully not, though.”

“More like, not at all. She’s not going to be running around Central Park during hell hours.”

Alma laughed. “Bill, we used to be teenagers. Those late-night field parties, remember? We even left town two hours away to Kansas City without anyone knowing. Central Park is closer at the very least.”

“Central Park is in the middle of a metropolitan city. We were in the middle of fucking nowhere. That’s the difference.” If Alma could see him, she’d see him speaking with his hands like he usually did when he was trying to make a point.

“It’s not like it’s any better.”

“Sure,” he grumbled. “Shit happens wherever you’re at. That’s why you and our daughter need to be here already.”

“Oh god. Okay, yeah…” she digressed. “Are you ready for Spring Break Week at the club?”

“Same ol’ shit, right?” He groaned, scratching his head.

…

That week at the club was hectic, but it wasn't anything he hadn’t seen before or couldn’t handle. Of course, there were a few fights between college rivals, but that was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was firing the head chef for passing out drunk in the kitchen. The poor sous chef working back there looked terrified when he promoted her on the spot, but she knew the most, so he wasn’t worried that she couldn’t cut it. She just didn’t expect to start her new position during such a busy week. When Bianca comes back from her vacation, she can fix the arrangement with the kitchen employees. She liked it a certain way, and Bill didn’t mind that. The kitchen was a responsibility they both shared while they split the bar, his main duty, and the girls, her main duty. The DJ was the only employee they hardly checked on; he just needed to be there or else. Either way, they took care of anything should they have to.

Luckily, it was the last day of such a lively week, and he was in the loft, sitting in the lounge area with Theo and his brother Damien, laughing about some situation over a drink with them. Damien had come to speak with Bill about some properties after he had lost the Brooklyn property to another buyer, but he also looked over the paperwork for Alma’s childhood home. His advice only served to confirm what he already knew himself. The phone on his desk rang. At first, he thought about ignoring it, but something in him told him otherwise.

Alma was in her apartment in Seattle, feeling sorry for herself. Her daughter was asleep and finally settled next to her in bed. She had a hell of a day, and dread kept building in her heart as the phone rang over and over. The anxiety she was keeping at bay was wanting to break from the edge of her psyche.

“Bill?” Alma said once the phone was answered, “Are you alone?”

His brows furrowed with concern. The way she sounded on the other end of the line unsettled him. “Alma? One second.”

Her heart was thrumming hard in her chest as she heard Bill ask his guests for privacy. She knew he wasn’t going to be happy with her, and she wasn’t ready for his reaction. She didn’t want others to have to feel it too. Maybe she should have called much earlier, or at least until she let the anxiety attack that was looming above her pass.

“What’s wrong?" He asked nervously, sitting in his office chair.

“Echo had an accident. She’s okay,” she said quickly before he started questioning her. “We got home from the ER about an hour ago, and she’s going to be fine.”

“Fuck. Alma? An accident,” he bit his cheek and took a deep breath to settle himself. "Okay, she’s fine,” he reiterated to keep his mind from thinking of something tragic.

“Yes.”

“What happened?” He asked, rubbing his forehead anxiously.

“I was making dinner, and she was playing in the living room… and I swear I looked away for just a second, but she got on the couch arm and jumped off it. Her lower teeth cut inside her bottom lip, but they didn’t go all the way through.” Alma's stomach sank again, just as it did when she heard the blood-curdling cry that erupted from her daughter, just as she was able to take in a breath because she had also knocked the wind out of herself. The sight of her with blood coming from her mouth still made her queasy.

“See,” he said angrily. “This is exactly what I was telling you! Shit happens! And I’m not there? It probably wouldn’t have happened if I was there, Alma!” He chastised. There was a long pause on the other end of the line. For a moment, he thought she had hung up the phone.

She had dropped the receiver on the bed and cupped her mouth to keep the sob that had been waiting to be unleashed since the accident had happened. There wasn’t time to cry or freak out, only time to assess and get her daughter to the ER to be seen. Even that was an ordeal, waiting in the lobby holding a rag to her daughter's bleeding mouth and making sure she didn’t choke on her blood while they waited. It felt like forever to be seen, but soon enough, she was receiving two stitches inside her mouth. Just as she felt it would be over soon, a social worker came in to speak to her.

“Are there times you become frustrated taking care of your daughter?” The social worker tried to ask with empathy and concern, but Alma knew exactly what she was trying to ask.

While she wished Bill was with them, at the moment she was glad he wasn’t. He’d lose his shit completely with that line of questioning, and then they would actually take their daughter away then. Alma kept it cool with the last bit of it that she had left in her. The social worker took the last bit of it when she asked about the whereabouts of Echo’s father. Seemingly trying to find blame where there was none, pissing Alma off on his behalf. However, her cool, even answers satisfied the social worker that it was just an accident after all because it was.

“They’re rambunctious at this age,” the social worker said, still clinging on to the feigned lightheartedness as she left. “I hope she heals well.”

Alma sneered at her once she left and picked up her irritable daughter carefully to finally get the hell out of there.

“Hello?” Bill said into the receiver. The sobs Alma was trying to swallow back escaped, and he could hear her choke on her tears. His face fell now, feeling like a dick. “I don’t know if you can hear me… but I’m sorry… Alma?” He felt remorseful when he heard fresh sobs coming from her. He, too, would have been a mess had he been there to witness the accident. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” He sighed, leaning back in his office chair, and looked up at the ceiling feeling helpless where he was. “Alma, please pick the phone back up.” There was some rustling on the other end, and then he could hear her sniffling.

“I don’t need you to tell me that shit like I don’t already know,” she indignantly snapped back. “I feel like a piece of shit mother for taking my eyes off her already!” She cried, and tears began to spill afresh. This time, she didn’t care if he heard.

"Shhh, baby,” he tried to softly soothe her. He hadn’t ever been too great at it. “Okay. She’s okay, alright. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah…” she said, wiping her face with the collar of her t-shirt. “It was just… scary.”

“Did she need stitches?”

“Yes, just two. I finally got her to sleep, but she still kinda looks uncomfortable.” She glanced down at her, noticing her swollen lip jutted out. It looked painful and she wished she could take it away.

“Mhmm. Could you call me whenever she’s up?” She assured him that she would, but that she was probably going to sleep the rest of the night. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone,” he frowned. “You’re not a piece of shit mother. I don’t like that you said that.”

“I just feel so bad…” she said with a quivering voice. The social worker’s accusatory questioning didn’t help with how she felt about herself either. She wouldn’t tell him that detail for his sake. As much as it would anger him, the accusation would break his heart.

“I love you, Alma. Three weeks,” he said, reminding her of his next visit. “And some change.”

“I need you.”

Bill felt his heart strain from the sincerity with which she said it. “I need you.” He said, closing his eyes and picturing her. “Now, why did she jump off the couch like that to begin with?” He lightly joked.

Alma scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Fucking beats me. She’s crazy.”

…

April 1993

Alma and Echo had been waiting at the Sea-Tac Airport for an hour before she knew Bill’s plane should land. They were taking rides up and down an escalator to pass the time when she heard the airline announce his plane's arrival. Alma happily smiled, pushing her long soft curled hair back as she picked up Echo, and hastily they made their way to his gate.

“Papa’s here, E’.” She said, kissing her cheek.

Her injury had healed quickly, only the bruise lingered longer than the laceration. Her babysitter, Yolani, was in nursing school to catch anything if there were any issues but luckily there weren’t any. Once the stitches dissolved, Echo was back to her usual self: happy, free-spirited, and at times a little wild.

They watched passengers file out the gateway, and suddenly he appeared. He was easy to spot, being taller than the group of elderly nuns in front of him. He fixed the strap of his duffle bag on his shoulder as he looked around for a pay phone to call his girlfriend. She was standing right by them, and he took off his sunglasses and smiled brightly, seeing his family waiting for him. Alma set Echo down as he approached them and coaxed her to run towards him. He scooped her up and planted a succession of kisses on her cheek.

“My baby girl,” he said, peering down at her, and then he ran his thumb along her bottom lip, inspecting it. "Ah, like nothing ever happened, huh? Silly girl,” he punctuated with another kiss on her cheek. “Come over here,” he said to Alma, putting an arm around her waist. "Fuck, you look good,” he said, looking her up and down before kissing her.

Alma giggled, and so did their daughter, seeing them kiss, but she giggled because she didn’t think her outfit was particularly remarkable. Just a halter top and a short, tight skirt with sheer pantyhose, of course, all in black. She thought he looked good too, especially with his new haircut. The sides were shorter than the hair on top, which he had styled forward.

“I need to get my luggage before we go,” he said, taking her hand and leading them to baggage claim.

“What happened to ‘packing light’?”

He looked down at her with a smirk. “I did. I brought you stuff. It’s your birthday week.”

"Bill, you didn’t have to-”

“Don’t start,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Once he had gotten the largest luggage she’d ever seen him with, they went to her Jeep. After putting it in the back and with Echo securely situated in her car seat, Alma began to walk to the driver's seat when she noticed Bill following behind her.

She looked up at him. “I’m driving?”

“Eh… Just give me the keys.”

“I know how to get back to my place the fastest.”

“I… don’t like how you drive, Alma.” He said, scratching his brow.

“The fuck?” She sneered, offended.

“You drive like we’re still on country roads.”

“Bullshit,” she said, getting into the Jeep. “I drive fine. You’re insane to think I’d drive like an ass with your daughter as my passenger." As she tried to close the door, he held on to it to stop her. “Rent a car then,” she said stubbornly. “Don’t fight me. It’s my birthday week.”

He clicked his tongue in resignation. “Give me another kiss then I’ll let you drive.”

She grabbed his face as he leaned in, and they began feverishly kissing, hungry for each other. When he felt her hand cup him through his jeans he moaned into her mouth. Before succumbing to her touch, he pulled away, and they laughed at their haste.

“You know the fastest way, you said?” He asked, buckling himself into the passenger seat. She nodded. “Just drive the speed limit.”

“I always do,” she said, backing out of the parking space.

"Or, if it’s clear, just go a little over.” He said ready to be alone with her.

When they arrived at her apartment, Echo had fallen asleep on the car ride. One moment she was melodically babbling and screeching along to a pop radio song, and then the next she was asleep. Alma carefully got her out of her car seat and, once inside, she gently laid her down in the playpen in the living room while Bill went on to the bedroom to leave his luggage. A moment had passed before he harshly whispered for her, not wanting to be too loud, and wake up their daughter.

After she kicked off her boots, she appeared at the end of the hallway and smirked when she saw him standing in the door frame, undoing his belt buckle, looking like a scene from an erotic movie. He nodded his head back, motioning for her to join him.

“You don’t want to take a shower first,” she asked, shutting the door behind herself, but he placed his lips on hers as if to say that it could wait.

Not knowing how much time they would have, Alma took it upon herself to bend over, placing her hands flat against the bed in front of them. Rubbing her bottom on the bulge in his fitted Levi jeans. One hand pulled the jeans button open, and down his zipper went as the other pushed her skirt up over her bottom. He took a tantalizing moment to run his fingertips over the sheer hose stretched tight against her bottom before reaching the band to pull them down. Once they were pulled down to the middle of her thighs, he hooked a finger around the simple black thong she wore and plucked it aside as he freed himself.

His eyes fluttered closed as he pushed inside her warmth slowly to feel her velvet walls encompassing him. Gripping her hips tightly, he sighed, feeling the tension and the stress of travel fade into the background. The sound of Alma’s breathy moans as he watched himself thrust into her was dizzying. His jaw went slack as he felt her getting wetter around him. She pushed back, righting herself and turning her head just so that their lips could link. With her arm reaching above her, she held onto the back of his neck as he kissed along the curve of hers.

“Look,” she said breathlessly, as his hips never ceased. “Look at us.”

Peering from under his brow, he followed the direction of her gaze. In front of them was a full-length standing mirror in the corner of her room, facing her bed. A new purchase. He grinned at their reflection, connected just as they were. He felt her pressing her face against his stubbly throat, leaving whispering pecks, but in the mirror, he could see it too. His right hand went up to cup her chin and redirected her gaze back to the mirror.

"Fuck," he groaned. “Look at you. So pretty with my cock inside you.” She flashed a lip-biting smile full of lust at their reflection.

He unhooked her arm from the back of his neck and gently pushed her back into position on the bed, taking back control. Seeing her in front of himself and the mirror just to the left of his gaze was undoing him. Just as her pussy tightened around him as he pounded her into her undoing. Leaning back, his right hand took hold of her thong like a rein. The ferocity of his thrusts made her arms give and her chest hit the mattress just as her face buried in it to muffle the loud moans she could no longer hold back. His hips snapped inside her as he came and collapsed on top of her, holding her close as they both caught their breath.

Alma turned slightly to kiss him with thankful fervor before they had to disconnect to steady their breathing once more. Their foreheads were pressed together as they did so, and they started to chuckle at themselves. Their eagerness and impatience to be with each other this way made them feel adolescent. Lately, Bill had been feeling like a vagabond, traveling coast to coast but being with her in this way anywhere was home.

#my bill writings #bill skarsgard #avenue of sins #aos #aos neon

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horrorshow · 1 year

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happy wincest wednesday, suzy! if you could make them worse, what would be the number one thing you'd change about a storyline that happened in canon?

i'd make them wear bracelets made of each other's baby teeth❤️

i want them more isolated (why do they have friends??? away with them!!!!), i want them to stand even closer to each other, to speak a language together that's technically english but no one understands, i want them to be extremely wary and distrusting of other people and society, not fully understanding the rules of it and having a hard time pretending to fit in when they must, i want them completely wrapped up in each other and as strange and off-putting as they can be! world of two born out of trauma!!!!

i could name a few changes in the storyline that would add to this (my favorites: sam killing john to 'protect' dean, giving them WAY worse hell trauma in which they are completely dependent on each other to get by in the immediate aftermath, sam getting addicted on dean's blood, and murder-suicide🥰), but the thing is.... they don't NEED those changes to become worse. their lives are bad and traumatic enough as it is! there's PLENTY of stuff in canon that could make them even worse than i need them to be. so what i really want is for them to react more strongly to what is already happening in canon! and not have them take up an ordinary hunt 2 days after they got back from the dead lmao. why are they even remotely functioning!!!!!!!! how are they not screaming biting crying having to see their brother die a hundred times over!!!! all that pain!!! all that suffering!!! everyone always talks about how sam and dean are weird, and they are, but based on the (literal!) hell they've been through, they objectively weren't weird enough! spn made them too well-adjusted and i HATE IT.

and, unrelated, but bc i realize this is technically a non-answer, one specific storyline that i rarely see people talk about but that i discussed with @liebestode at length and am OBSESSED with bc it would make them worse in the worst miserable way:

i'd love to see what would happen if sam's soul couldn't be saved in s6, and they'd simply had to live like this now. i image dean would stick around, bc even soulless, if there was no other sam, he’d be be the closest thing to sam he'd have. and dean is a mechanic, he's good at taking things apart and putting them back together, he would never give up hope to fix this 'machine' and make him sam again.

and i imagine sam would stick around, bc he knows dean is important to him, but he doesn't get WHY, he can't feel it, and it would intrigue him. its the one thing in his memories that he can't find a rational explanation for. he would subject himself to dean's experiments and try his best out of curiosity bc he KNOWS something is missing inside him and he knows dean is an important piece of this puzzle he's trying to solve (also bc he must feel terribly empty, and there'd be so much potential space for dean to fill).

but they would never get it right!! and it'd be SOOOO miserable and lonely!! what they had is lost and gone but sometimes sam will laugh an almost-sam-like-laugh and dean will look at sam in a way that makes sam almost Get it, but then the moment is gone and they're strangers again, only hanging out and clinging to each other bc of a past memory they can't move on from bc they have no one else while trying (and failing) to be an echo of their former selves<3

#happy wincest wednesday🥰#i love misery #i'll have to think of some questions myself to send next time #reply

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luna-redamancy · 2 years

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hiya could i possibly ask for another part for the pippin series please

if not no worries😊

Hello! For some reason I was thinking I already made a final part..? but I didn't. Soooo! I hope you enjoy this!

Part one

Part two

You don’t recall when you got in bed, or when you fell asleep, but you must have somehow gotten yourself into bed the night before. The plush sheets and snuggly comforter that once brought you great comfort didn’t feel too comforting, as you stared at the ceiling and listened to Pippin make what you assumed to be his breakfast.

Louie was making gentle growls of affirmation after Pippin spoke, his words not reaching your ears, but a gentle murmur did.

“Maybe if you would have realized you are my everything, you wouldn’t feel the need to ask.” Pippin’s words replayed in your ears as you began to fidget with the blanket, rolling on your side to stare at the wall. You didn’t know what to do.

A part of you felt happy to know your affections were returned, but another part of you realized how much you lost last night.

Tearing up again, you slammed your eyes shut in the hope to save yourself from another bout of crying when your thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock, followed by Louie’s snout sniffing the bottom of your bedroom door.

Confusion overcame you in waves as you shoved the comforter off you, feeling exposed without its comfort. Reaching over to your desk you grabbed a hoodie and quickly threw it on, a safety blanket if you will.

“Coming,” Your voice sounded thick and it made you wince, you didn’t mean to sound so sad.

Pausing at the door, you began a mental countdown as you wiped your face.

‘3…2…1,’

You opened the door with a little too much strength, the wood almost smacking against the wall but instead, you stopped its force with your hand.

Louie instantly ran into the room, jumping into your bed as you stared at Pippin who in turned stared at you.

Pippin gulped, looking away from your face and down to the plate in his hands.

“I…I made you breakfast…” His voice was barely above a whisper as he held out the plate to you, not daring looking up from the breakfast potatoes he honed in on.

“Oh,” You looked at the food, feeling your heart warm. Eggs just how you liked it, potatoes, toast, sausages, and bacon. A breakfast fit for a hobbit, you could hear it now, just like yesterday morning before all of this went to shit.

“I…” You didn’t know what to say as you looked at his face, a frown taking hold of your mouth when you saw him nervously biting at his lip. You missed when he smiled.

“Thank you,” You murmured, carefully taking the plate out of his hands.

“I wanted to apologize,” He said the moment the plate left his hands. “You were just trying to help and I… I..” Pippin sighed through his nose and looked to the ceiling, his eyes becoming glassy.

“I’m sorry,” He chose to say, but as the words fell past his lips they felt like an empty way to have an ‘out’ for his behavior. Not enough to convey how he felt like his love was unrequited and how the hurt gripped at his soul when he thought of living without you.

“I’m sorry too,” You kept your eyes on the melting butter slowly becoming translucent on your toast, “I should have kept you in the loop about what I was working on, maybe then I would have known–”

“I didn’t make it known,” Pippin interrupted you, making you drag your gaze from the plate to his eyes.

“I didn’t tell you I wanted to be here with you, I didn’t tell you how much I cared for you, I didn’t tell you how I forgot about going back to the Shire,” He felt like he was vomiting the words.

“I didn’t tell you that I love you, and when you brought home that spell, all I kept thinking was that I’d never be able to and that you didn’t care to hear it,” Pippin’s voice drifted off as a lone tear slipped out of his eye.

“And I.. I am so sorry. I just wanted to tell you that before I packed my things,”

“What?” Your heart began to race as he nodded, pulling out a taped piece of paper from his pocket. The spell.

“I am also sorry for all the grief I have caused you,” He sniffled, rubbing his thumb over a rough edge of a piece of tape that wasn’t quite on the paper.

“Pippin, no,” You shook your head, putting the plate on your dresser and pulling him into a hug.

“No,” You murmured before holding him tighter, relishing in the way his arms wrapped around your body and held you close to him.

“I don’t want you to go,” Your words were muffled but he heard them as clear as a bell, eyes widening. “As I told you yesterday, I didn’t want to be selfish, I didn’t want you to leave but I didn’t want to take you from things that I thought made you happy,” You were tearing up again as he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“And now I feel that way more than ever because… Pippin, I love you as well,” The silence that met your ears was deafening, making you slam your eyes shut. Maybe he said all of those things to get a reaction out of you, maybe he-

His grip on you tightened and he inhaled shakily. “Say it again,” Pippin sounded like he was on the edge of crying himself, “Please.”

“I love you, Pippin,” You felt his body push into yours as he relaxed, relief flooding his veins and his face pushing into your neck.

“Stay?” You felt the need to ask. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel the movement of his hair as he frantically nodded.

“I will always stay, as long as you let me.”

“Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me forever then, Pippin,” You lightly joked as the two of you remained embraced in the doorway.

Forever Tag

@lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18 @raindancer2004 @love-colorfulglittercollection @ladylouoflothlorien @ten-tenya-iida @legolaslovely @bthtallmadge2 @abesottedlass @wilhelmyna @tigereyesf @aspookybunny @keijibum @moony-artnstuff @sirkekselord @guardianofrivendell @fluffymadamina @izbelross @fandomhoe101 @acahope311 @kitkatd7 @mooseetx @themerriweathermage @elvish-sky @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @laurfilijames @frequentlychangingfandoms @cameronsails @linasofia @starryeyedrogue @shethereadinghobbit @beenovel @onlystarshere @fckmini @spidergirla5 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @myselfandfantasy @strange-old-worlds @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @broken-ghost @mbruben-stein @tschrist1 @hai-kbai

Pippin-

@starryeyedrogue

#fanfiction #fanfic #pippin x reader #pippin x you #modern au! pippin #modern fantasy au!#Louie the dragon #pippin #peregrine took #reader-insert #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit fanfiction #fluff #the hobbit #xreader #the hobbit x reader #lotr imagines #lotr x reader

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nourfk · 7 months

Text

*˖ ⊹" drunk on emptiness "

...late at night at Suds & Bubbles (several months ago) 🫧 featuring @eloisemeadows and @dee-voss

The swooshing of the washer pulled Nour into a trance, her brown eyes watching it mindlessly as the letter in her purse pulsed like a heartbeat. The moment she found the letter replayed every hour: an off-white envelope with two lipstick stains adorning it. It was a bold red, the markings of a kiss so clear it was hard not to reach out and touch it. There was only one other letter that has ever interested Nour in the last five years. The first was one she found abandoned, thrown away in a nearby open garbage can only a few feet away from the mailbox. The letter was meant for someone who conveniently lived on Nour's route (at the time), recognizing the address after letting it sink in for a minute. In not so many words, it was the start of Nour's fascination with the letters she delivered. Before, they were just bills and ads to the naked eye. Now, they carried a piece of the whole story between two people.

It was never Nour's intention to get involved. She always meant to deliver, no matter the conditions (as pledged by Stillwater Post.) She was an onlooker, a bystander... nothing more. That is until the kissed-stained love note ended in her possession, captivating her. Perhaps it was due to the season: the cold winter air, Christmas decorations decorating the city, and the vision of family and love materializing everywhere you looked. How could you not feel lonely surrounded by that? It was getting to Nour without realizing, the letter configuring itself as her apparent loneliness. It never left Nour's thoughts as it was going to its receiver. It made a purchase in her mind, curious about the person who wrote it. Finally, after nearly a month, her questions were answered.

Nour's first day on her new route, while at first —oddly nerve-wracking— ended up becoming a blessing in disguise. Arriving at the home of someone with a familiar name, Nour discovered her new friend, Eloise Meadows, was now on her route. She found it to be a funny coincidence, interested in what kind of home Elly made for herself (and what the home of someone waiting for another looked like). As the thought crossed her mind, Nour had to check the letter in her hand again, the other holding the clasp of the mailbox. The envelope was covered in so many addresses, similar to the one with the red kiss, there could only be one conclusion in Nour's mind: it was Elly.

It was harsh to consider what became of her obsession with Elly and her partner's letters, but it was difficult to deny that it was anything but that. Nour became drunk on her loneliness, and one barely sealed letter later welcomed itself as an invitation. She started reading the letters shared between Elly and Dieter (Dee) and, after a few months, began to intervene. Getting to hear how Elly felt (the last couple of times they met) in person only gave her more blind permission to mend what she thought was broken. She was invested in their romance, determined to come to Elly's aid by romanticizing Dee's words, adding more poetry to them. She swore it was just that. For the first five or so letters, it was just the editing, but after noticing the quality of his letters going down, Nour found herself checking in.

At first, it was the simple things. She'd write in the best way she felt she knew Dee, shamefully coming up with what he might be feeling at that time. He became almost like a character to her— magnifying how he must be feeling towards Elly. Nour knew that he missed the way her hair smelled, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, and the way she felt. But does he know of the way she carries herself when being yelled at by tourists? Or the way she calms crying children when they arrive through the doors of the lodge? It was only now that Nour realized she was no longer pretending she was Dee— catching herself as she went on to write the letter in her purse, considering it to be the most devastating one yet. She had to rewrite it, knowing she couldn't mention all those things. Dee didn't know— he couldn't have.

And so, she wrote it in response to hers, aware that with her words.. she was no longer writing just for Dee— but for herself. Her heart beat with every word she wrote, almost wishing that when she read it... she'd know it'd be from her. Nour's heart was poured into that letter, in a not-so-obvious way, sitting in her purse. As the washer came to a slow stop, Nour got to her feet, the realization dawning on her that this was her chance to step away from everything. If she didn't send it, Elly or Dee would end up sending another, none the wiser to where that last letter went. It'd be easy to believe that a letter got lost— which wasn't out of the ordinary.

In fact, it'd be the perfect cover-up.

As if on autopilot, Nour transfers her wet clothes into the dryer beside it, her gaze still empty as she considers the options before her. It would be perfect... she reminds herself, knowing it was the better option. Her guilt would go away, and that meant something. Despite claiming to do the right thing, Nour was still pained with the guilt of involving herself in someone else's relationship. It was wrong... she knew that. But as a couple entered the laundromat, barely able to tear themselves apart enough to start separating their laundry, it brought Nour back to her reality: she was already in too deep, and her loneliness wouldn't go away even if she stopped.

Placing the coins into the dryer, Nour then rushes to her bag and swings it over her shoulder. She takes a quick look back at her basket sitting beside the machine, nodding to herself as she makes her way out and towards the nearest mailbox. Reaching for the envelope inside, Nour doesn't hesitate to toss it in, only pausing to realize what she had done after letting go of the handle. There was no looking back.

#*˖ ⊹ here i am ╲ musings #self para

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writer-and-artist27 · 1 year

Text

Short Story: Song to No One

Note: An informal sequel to Sanson’s starring chapter/Day 59 in Passing Days, a cut scene from the original chapter, and a dedication to @teddog, whose Discord Server has been helping me recover from a lot of things.

Thank you, Ted. This is for you. Song and all.

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

The next time Sanson finds Vy sitting by herself, she’s leaning back on her hands, swinging her feet over the docks of the hangar of the Wandering Sea. The seawater barely laps at her bare toes as she sits there in her pink blouse and yellow skirt, sandals an arms-length away from her left hand as her gaze is pointed elsewhere. Unlike their previous appointment, half of her hair is held back by a very familiar lotus ribbon clip, glowing faintly against brown strands as she opens her mouth.

“It used to feel like a fairytale—

Now it seems we were just pretending

We’d fix our world

Then on our way to a happy ending.

Then it turned out life

Is far less like a bedtime story

Than a tragedy

With no big reveal of the hero’s glory.”

For the four years Sanson has been summoned to Chaldea with Vy as his Master, he could never recall Vy singing like this. There were plenty of stories and footage to the contrary, of course, no thanks to all the summer shenanigans that BB in particular had caused in her attempts to bring Robin and Vy together during Chaldea’s voyage to Hawaii. But the Vy in those videos was louder then. Happier.

Not so lonely like she was now, sitting by herself at the docks and singing to empty bleached air filtered through the Wandering Sea’s air purifier.

“And it seems we weren't prepared

For a game that wasn't fair…”

Sanson wasn’t even sure if Vy had noticed him approaching. She merely kept her gaze turned towards the ceiling of the Wandering Sea’s docking bay, glasses missing from her face and instead clenched in the palm of her right hand. Was she venting?

“Do we just go home?

Can we follow through?

When all hope is gone,

There is one thing we can do…

Let's just live!”

Sanson felt himself pause mid-stride when coming closer to her after hearing the latest high note of the song. By now, there was probably only a few feet between himself and the young woman he called Master, but hearing that one line, sung in such a quiet but steady voice, made his heart flutter. It wasn’t the same feeling he had when he was near Marie, Margaretha, or anyone else.

This was—

“Day by day and not be conquered by our sorrows.

The past can't hold us down,

We must break free!

Inside we're torn apart,

But time will mend our hearts.

Move onward, not there yet—

So let's just live!”

Vy lowered her gaze for the first time since starting the ballad of her chosen piece, brown hair falling forward to frame her cheeks and cover her ears as her voice quieted to that of a whisper.

“When it feels like there's nothing worth living for…

Everything is broken,

The light's not there anymore.

And the story

Takes an unexpected turn—

A friend is suddenly gone.”

A moment was all it took for Vy to pause the beat and raise her right hand to — to wipe at her face, just like back in the medical office, and Sanson shut his eyes.

“We can cry our lives away,

But if they were here, they'd say—

‘Go forward, you must keep moving on…’”

Even if I’m not Dr. Roman…

Sanson took a breath and walked the last few paces he needed to stand at Vy’s side, bending his knees so that he could sit down right next to her. It was probably thanks to his innate Class skills that Vy didn’t notice his movements, and with one more breath, Sanson took a bet by taking off his coat.

“Let's just live!

Just one day let's forget our problems—

Let's fall in love with life,

And just be free!

The sun will never fade,

The night won't steal our day!

Let's laugh and dance and love and let's just live!”

Just like how Robin would’ve done (he hoped he was making the May King proud somewhere), Sanson reached over with his coat in both hands to wrap it around Vy’s shoulders, smiling once the young woman finished her song to stare up at him in shock. “‘Let’s just live,’ indeed, Master,” he whispered, leaning in to bump his forehead with hers. “Let’s just live together and figure things out one day at a time.”

I’m willing to try again with you. To not let you down just like how he did to the bitter end of the Incineration. Just to support you. Because you—

Once Sanson felt the slightly bitter warmth of wet droplets hitting his pant leggings, he allowed himself another breath as Vy sniffled. “E-Even…” she chokes, willingly leaning into his arms just as he pulled her into his side, “Even with all the Lostbelts?”

“Even with all the Lostbelts.”

Shiny brown eyes reflect his image in a rather blurry fashion, but Sanson finds his smile widening once Vy whispers, “…Even with me, Charles?”

The answer leaves him without a moment’s hesitation. “Even with you. Because you’re you, Vy.”

The tearful smile Sanson gets in return is worth more than its fair share of weight in gold.

#charles-henri sanson (fate)#mastersona vy #writing #passing days #long post #fate grand order #short story #friend things #friend gift #i hope you like this ted #wanted to write your French doctor as respectfully as I could like with the original chapter #meant this to be a drabble but it got away from me #oh well #unedited #charles henri sanson

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stupidcanofpeaches · 2 years

Note

could you do five for the character bingo?

oh five. my honey my darling my punching bag my blorbo <3 where do i begin even. he's such a nuanced character!! like at the surface he seems to be one of those gruff, sarcastic, downright mean characters that frankly as much as i love assholes in media can be hit or miss. but! five's such a wonderfully fleshed out, tragic character that i just. i cannot. i love him so much. he's not an open book either, we're not given everything - like for example with his apocalypse backstory, we're given plenty of empty spaces to fill out with what his life must have been like back then, the things he'd been through, how he must have had to teach himself to cook, build things, probably sew, etc - or his interactions with dolores and how she grew into this whole other person that kept him more-or-less sane during those long lonely years - or his childhood at the academy, what he had been like as a kid - those empty spaces make him so human, for a lack of a better word.

another endearing thing about five, is that five's not entirely good and not entirely bad. he's done some truly terrible things for an ultimately noble purpose. unlike his original comic version, this five has a big, big bleeding heart. now, comic five is a delightful little psychopath and i love that about him, but tv-show's five - he's truly something else. his entire motivation is his family - everything he ever done before and everything he does now is solely for them, and they often don't even know that which makes it all the more heartbreaking. their safety is his main priority. he's not looking for happy. what he's looking for is alive. they're the only important thing in the whole wide world, and he loves them so goddamn much he'd give anything to just have them alive and breathing. which, of course, five sees no need to outright tell them that, they only ever learn that he saw them die in bits and pieces - in s1, five tells luther alone that he found their bodies, and then announces that he witnessed their deaths again in s2 in an effort to make them stay and work with him (and the sad thing is, is that luther, the one who at this point knows that this is the second time five got to see them die, is also the one to outright throw it back in his face before leaving so really, i don't think they truly realize just how much seeing that messed him up.). he almost leaves a little crumb trail for them to follow - he never does tell them everything all at once, and they pretty much have to connect the dots to figure out what's going on and what five's doing (which, his abysmal communication skills are also completely to be expected from someone who spent his important formative years in a dead wasteland all on his own, and that also makes his characterization all the more real to me).

also, since we're talking about the character flaws - his superiority complex is both a little infuriating and also very humanizing in a way? like. he is very smart. he's really, really good at what he does. and he's old - older than his siblings ever got to be, so naturally he feels like it's his responsibility to save them, to direct them (and frankly, seeing how bad they are at managing on their own, i cannot blame five, especially coupled with his trauma from prolonged isolation, for assuming he'd better take things into his own hands).

all of that is not to say that five's right and correct in assuming that he's automatically better than they are, or that everything he does is good and smart (because really he's as much of a mess as the rest of them) - but being able to see how he he comes to that conclusion, what influences him to do this and that, is what makes him such a good character imo. we can see the impact of that childhood trauma of finding his siblings dead, can see what the apocalypse did to him, can see the lingering influence of reginald raising all of them as child soldiers and what being relentlessly pushed to succeed did to him - to all of them. he's so much more than a sarcastic old man in a child's body - he's flawed and traumatized and desperately driven to do anything to save his family and he's angry and also full of love, and i love him for it.

also i know that given his body count he can probably be considered a serial killer (and i still wonder if they're going to use the whole serial killer dna thing in the show), but i personally find it funny to just sometimes pretend he's a precious little darling boy who never did anything wrong <3

so yeah here's some ramblings for you. im so sorry for taking so long to answer. thank you so much for the ask!!

#five my beloved #tua #character bingo #asks #i love asks!!#here you go my fixation on full display #five is such a good character #i really did project some of my issues on him too lol #i have some issues with food let's put it this way and it all just spilled out in spoiled pretty much #but fr considering the extreme food insecurity he probably went through he's bound to have some sort of ed i think #irl he'd probably be uhhh exhausting to be around #but he's my fictional darling murder man and i love him

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rnalgene1949 · 2 years

Text

Chapter 2: Robot

(Credit to sandman gay stories) Where am I?

I’m chilly. I open my eyes and stare at a stone wall. I’m lying naked on a small cot without any blankets, except…

I’m naked, except there’s something covering my hands, holding them into tight fists, and my groin feels weird. Oh wait!

I roll over and see the sling and that chair. I’m in that room! It’s all coming back to me. I instinctively put my hand down to my groin, but my hand is still bound up in that tight rubber mitt, which ineffectively paws at my cock. I look down at my cock. It’s huge like before, covered in that huge rubber sheath. I don’t know if the sheath is some strange foot-long prosthetic or if my cock has mystically doubled in length, but it looks and feels like I’ve got a huge 12-inch rubber cock, and it’s aching. God, talk about blue balls!

I wiggle my toes and realize I’m not wearing the boots anymore. I clumsily figure out how to get myself up in a sitting position and look around, the boots are against the wall nearby. I look down at my feet and wiggle my toes again. I’m not sure, but I think my feet are larger than they used to be. Actually, I think they’re a lot larger than normal, but it’s hard to remember exactly what the normal proportion of a foot is.

How long have I been asleep? And that stuff that happened before… how much of it was real? Did all that really happen, or did Travis give me some powerful hallucinogen?

I remember how it all felt, and my cock still feels the same. My ass feels different. It feels… what? Empty… needful.

I swallow and realize how novel it is to be able to do that again. It was such a strange feeling with that gag going all the way down my throat. You’d think I would be happy to free of it, but that too feels… hungry or lonely or something.

Fuck, I’m feeling horny all over!

And I’ve got to pee like a race-horse. I stand up and walk over to doorway. The middle room looks the same as before. All those accessories and clothes and gadgets. So much rubber! I cross the room to the doorway on the other side that leads to the bathroom, eyeing those three huge rubber pieces I’d noticed before: the full-body straitjacket and the two different cocoon-like body sacks. Something in me stirs; I eye them both wearily and longingly.

I go into the bathroom. I notice the shelf over the sink, that the ornate silver rack that used to have all those vials of liquids is empty except one flask of a familiar looking viscus blue liquid.

I hover over the toilet, try to point my stiff erection a couple degrees downward into the bowel, and am relieved that I can actually pee. There must be a piss-hole at the end of this cock-sheath. (Or, if my cock did get magically transformed into a chunk of living rubber, it still has some anatomical function.)

“Hello? Is somebody there?”

I’m so surprised, the last of my pee misses the bowl. The voice came from behind me, here in the bathroom! I realize someone’s in one of the shower stalls. I walk up and peek through the door. There in front of me is a naked guy, blindfolded and very securely tied-up into a chair with thick nylon rope. I can tell he’s fair-haired and he’s got a really muscular body.

“Hello?” He says again.

“Uh hi. Um.” I feel a bit awkward, “Do you need help? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, well, I’m sort of… could you help me out here?”

“Maybe,” I say, “But don’t exactly have the use of my hands. Uh, bear with me for a sec.”

I try to be inventive with using the sides of my fist-mitts to get his blindfold off, but that doesn’t work.

“Look, that isn’t working. I’m going to try to use my mouth, so I’m going to have to get up close to you. Don’t freak out.”

He nods, so I get up close to him and run my nose along the part of the blindfold that’s near his ear.

“Are you a friend of Travis’s?” He asks while I’m working, but I’m busy trying to get the blindfold in my teeth. I’ve got my arms around his shoulders, and I can’t keep my cock from grazing against his stomach. I finally get what I needed and pull upward. The blindfold is now free from one of his eyes. I can now use my mitt to slide it off the rest of the way.

“There.” I say, as he gets his first look at me. He stares at the big rubber gauntlets on me and then at my cock.

“My God that’s huge!” He says and then looks a little embarrassed.

“I don’t know Travis that well, but yeah. He says he was going to give me this amazing kinky experience, and… well… it’s been a bit of a roller coaster. What’s your story? I’m Doug by the way.”

“Zach.” He says, “Kind of the same. Well, actually I wouldn’t call it a roller coaster. He said he was going to give me this amazing experience, and then blindfolded me and let me here and tied me up. He said it would all make sense if I was patient.”

My mind is wandering a little. I can’t help but look at his body, all tied up. I can see his cock is at half-mast: clearly he had been turned on by Travis’s mysterious and kinky setup. I’ve got this urge to kneel down and suck his cock until it’s stiff and filling that new void in my throat.

“Hey, uh, Doug” Zach says suddenly. “Do you see that end of rope near my wrist? I’m not sure, but I think that’s just a slip-knot.”

I look to see what he’s talking about. I do see that there’s a distinct one-inch piece of rope sticking out from directly above each wrist.

“Hang on.” I say as I kneel down and bite on an end and pull. As first nothing happens, but I turn my head to the side a bit for a different angle, and it pulls free and the slip-knot releases. The loops around his wrist go slack enough for him to wriggle his hand free. I see I help him free his other hand and then bend over and releases his ankles. Travis had been very careful in setting up this puzzle.

“Great! Thanks!” He says, “Um, can I help you out somehow?”

“I don’t know. These are um… tricky” I show him my gauntlets and he explores them with his hands, trying to feel for any buckle or strap or release.

“Wow. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s…” He looks up at me and blushes, “It’s kinda hot if you don’t mind my saying. I’ve never been with a guy in rubber gear. What does it feel like?” I can tell he’s past the initial surprise in our meeting, and is back to finding this whole scenario exciting and kinky. I see he’s starting to get a full-on erection.

We don’t say anything, just looking at each other. Then he reaches down and gently puts his hand around my cock. My knees almost buckle and my eyes start to flutter. I fight to try and clear my head, but the sensation is too much for me. I want to shake this all off and tell him we’re in danger and find some sort of exit, but I can’t ignore the other urges.

I kneel down and take his cock into my mouth, and just like I’d been trained with the muzzle, I just sort of swallow his cock whole, pulling it deep down my throat. It’s a totally instinctive act and it feels both strange and natural and wonderful. I recall Travis telling my I would be able to deep-throat the biggest cocks in the world, and I now know this to be true. Zach grabs my head gently in his hands and holds it there. I start drawing his cock in and out of my throat, feeling it growing to full strength.

“Oh man this is turning me on!” He says. Then: “Is there any gear that I can try on?”

I come up for air and look up into his eyes. Damn, this guy is handsome! I realize he’s still sitting in the chair he’d been tied up in, here in a shower stall. I turn my head and indicate behind me, “Take a look. It’s a huge collection.”

He gets up and walks through the door to the main room. “Fuck me! This is massive!” He walks around the room, randomly picking up objects. “I wonder if there’s any rubber or bondage toy that’s not in this collection.”

I’m looking around now, for the first time really looking through the whole collection. Of course, I can’t pick anything up because of my fist mitts, but for the most part I can figure out what most things are. Zach is exploring a section that has all sort of rubber clothing—shirts and shorts and fuller bodysuits and all that.

I walk past a collection of interesting objects like gags and restraints and dildos. Some of these things look pretty ordinary and run-of-the-mill, but other objects have… it’s hard to say, but they have a heavy duty quality, like the restraints that are wrapped around my fists or those boots back in the other room, or the heavy sheath that’s still covering my cock. Sparking of which… there is another one! On the bench right in front of me, it’s that same foot-long cylinder with the pouches on the open end for the ball-sack.

Then my eye catches on a collection of masks and muzzles and hoods. There’s one muzzle that may be the one that Travis had put on me—with the pecker shaped gag at the mouthpiece. I remember the sensation of it growing and snaking down my throat. Had that really happened or had it been a hallucination?

While Zach tries on some of the rubber clothing, I keep slowly looking around the gadgets. Another item catches my eye. It’s a hood that entirely covers the head. Inside there’s some strange equipment in the inside, where your face would go. I see two nubs that go into the wearer’s nostrils and what looks like a mouthguard similar to what football players use. The whole thing is heavily padded on the inside, but smooth and featureless along the exterior.

“You should try this on. It would look good on you.” He walks up to me with a latex singlet in his hand. I see he’s already been trying some of the gear on already. He’s also wearing a singlet. It’s got leggings that go just below the knees. Just above the crotch it opens up, exposing his muscular chest. His cock is sticking out a tight gap in the groin.

He’s looking a little embarrassed, because he clearly forgot that I still can’t use my hands. “Do you want to try it? I can help help get it on.” He bends down and holds it out so I can step into the waist if I want. I put one leg in and then the other, putting my balled hand on his shoulder for balance. It has a hole in the groin for my dick to go through, and he helps me guide my huge rubber-encased shaft through it, then pulls the lip around the cupped ball-sack. Finally, he pulls the top up over my shoulders. Mine is more like a traditional singlet without the longer leggings that his does.

“I like that. It makes you look… really hot.”

I’m feeling suddenly a little bashful. This guys is really the hot one. I love how much he’s getting into this. I lamely say, “Thanks, so do you.” Then, “Is there anything else you were looking at? This is a nice start, but I think there’s more that would suit you.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” He says. “Hey, what was that you were looking at?” He indicates the strange hood I had been eyeing. He picks it up and uses his hands to open up the neck a bit so we can see what was inside.

“I’m not sure. I couldn’t pick it up, but it looks kind of intense. I think your face goes in that end.” In Zach’s hands it’s easier to see the pads that go over the eyes, the mouthguard, and the nubs that fit up into the nostrils.

“Hey look, there’s a visor in here for the eyes. I wonder…” Confirming his suspicion, the two pads where the wearers eyes would go briefly emit some flickering light. Zach turns the hood over and looks at the perfectly smooth exterior. The wears face would appear completely smooth and featureless—no obvious means for sight or even breathing, but the inside visor and nosepiece suggested otherwise. Zach whistles, “That’s so cool! One of us is going to have to try this thing. But first, let’s find me some sort of shirt.”

We go back over to where he was and look through the gear. There are so many different shirts—some with zippers, others that are one-pieces. After a while, he settles on a single seamless long-sleeved top with a long collared neck. It’s very form fitting and the rubber is pretty thick. It looks like it would be a struggle to get into.

“I think you’re going to want to find some lube.” I suggest, “If you apply it to the inside and to your torso, it’ll make it easier to get on.”

“Do you see any lube?” He’s looking around, uncertain, but I know where some is. There’s that strange tube of the black gel that I saw sitting next to that ominous cock sheath.

I lead him over to where those items were. “I think that’s what you want.”

“Oh man, that’s the same as what you’ve got on!” He’s meaning the cock sheath. “How does it feel? Should I try it?”

I feel a little conflicted. I still haven’t said anything about the crazy-intense experience I’d had before seeing him, about how unreal and almost supernatural this stuff was, including the rubber sheath that had turned my cock into a rock-hard twelve-inch club. Should I tell him? I’m tempted, but I’m also really turned on right now.

I punt. “Grab it and you can decide in a bit. Let’s get you into the shirt first. Grab everything and let’s go in here where we can sit down.” I lead him into the side room with the cot.

He grabs the bottle of black gel, the hood, the cock sheath and the shirt and follows me. He pauses at the doorway to the side room, looking at the sling and the other chair with the stirrups. “Whoa!… This place is designed for some serious play!”

“Yeah. Travis had me in that chair earlier. It was… pretty intense.” I can’t think of anything else to say, so I leave it at that and just sit down on the cot.

He follows my cue, and we both choose to ignore the obvious sexual tension. With my fist mitts on, I can’t do much to help him so I watch as he smears the gel over his chest and back along the inside of the shirt. It takes a long time to get it on him. He first has to put his arms through the sleeves and then he stretches the neck as wide as possible as he pulls it over his head. When he’s done, you can hardly notice where the shirt stops at his waste and the legs of the singlet continues.

“This feels great,” He says, “I love how tight all this rubber is. It’s like a sensory overload! Let’s take a look at this hood now.”

“No wait, before you try that, can I get you to try one more thing?” He looks at me quizzically. Giving into a temptation I don’t quite understand, I say, “While you’re sitting here, put those boots over there on. I know they’re going seem way too big, but just bear with me.”

He gets up and grabs the boots, an eyebrow arched as he measures one against his foot and, just like I had before, thinks it’s crazy.

“And one more thing. I know this is going to seem crazy, but just humor me: squeeze a whole bunch of gel into them first before you put your feet in them. I know, it seems really wacko right now, but in five minutes I promise you’ll get it.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I just have to know. I still suspect that the earlier experience before was due to some hallucination from the drug Travis had given me, but this way I can make certain.

“Okay, but this is pretty weird!” He sits back down again, squeezes a copious amount of black goo into each boot, and puts his feet into them. The tops of the boots go up to his knees, just covering the bottoms of the rubber leggings. He flops his feet around the giant cavities for a second just to make the point. “Okay, let’s look at that mask. Do you want to try it or should I?”

I shrug my shoulders, “Whatever you’d rather.”

“I’ll give it a spin, just to see what it’s like. Then if you want, you’re free to try it.” I think he’s just being sensitive of the fact that I’m already pretty vulnerable without the use of my hands, and the hood looks like a pretty intense thing.

He carefully positions it so he can put his face where it’s supposed to be, with the eyes against the pads and his mouth can bite down on the guard. Then he pulls the rest back over his head. Like with the shirt, it takes a lot of pulling and stretching to get it all in place. When it’s all done, he turns his head and faces me. His face is just a smooth, blank surface. It’s simultaneously hot and creepy.

I hear the sound of him breathing. The nostrils must be bringing him air from somewhere, but it’s not obvious how.

“Wow, this is weird.” His voice sounds mechanical and distorted, and not muffled as I would have expected—like it’s coming from the outside of the hood itself.

“How are you talking, I mean with the mouthguard…?”

His mechanical-sounding voice says, “It’s… not too hard. It’s like talking through clenched teeth.” (“Teeth” is sounding more like “teef”, but I can understand him well enough.)

“What’s it like? Can you see?”

“I can. It’s got a video image in the visor. Different though, like night vision goggles. And there’s this weird… flickering. Hard to describe, but it kinda gets in your head. There’s a strange sound too. I can’t tell if it’s static or… it almost sound like voices whispering, but I can’t make anything out.”

He’s quiet for a minute, turning his head from side to side. He looks pretty alien with that hood on, and with the entire rubber outfit covering everything except his hands and his cock. Suddenly I notice his legs: the boots that had once looked loose and oversized are now tightly hugging his calves, just below the knees. I touch his foot with my fist-mitt, trying to see if he’s experiencing the same thing that had happened to me.

“What the… what the fuck!?” He says, looking down and realizing what’s happening. Just as had happened with me, his feet are glued to the ground. He puts his hands around his ankles and feels his feet. “I don’t get it! Those boots… how can they be… did they shrink?”

“No,” I say. I stand next to him and put my foot next to his so he can see how huge his are. “I don’t know how it worked, but I had the same experience with Travis. I couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or I was hallucinating or what. I can just tell you it isn’t a hallucination.”

I can hear him breathing harder, his inhalations amplified and distorted like his voice. “Man,” he says, “This is one hell of a head-trip.”

“Maybe you should take the hood off, if it’s getting too intense.” I would help him if I could, but again I’m reminded of my helplessness with these fist mitts on.

“No,” he shakes his head, “It’s intense… but… it’s also… really erotic. There’s something else: I think…” he pauses and takes in a few more deep breaths, “There’s this smell. I think I’m being fed some sort of gas. I think it’s getting me high… I’m feeling really good. Like, really good!” His body must be relaxing, because he’s able to lift one of his feet off the ground. He arches and flexes his foot a little bit, and then rubs it with his hand.

He’s quiet for another minute. I sit back down and watch him. Then I ask, “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing.” He says simply. Then, “Though, it’s getting harder to speak. Mouth guard is pushing my tongue down more.” I can tell—it’s actually a lot harder to make out the sounds. “But… don’t need… talk. I… oh—kay.”

He makes an a-ok sign with his hand. He then picks up the cock sheath that was lying next to him, squirts a bunch of the black gel into it, and lowers it over his cock. He stretches the cupped part around his balls and then tucks the last part of the flange under the seam of the rubber pants. Then he leans back and puts his weight on his hands and looks still for a moment.

“Oh god,” he says, barely understandable, “So hard! Keeps growing! Just… keeps… growing…” He moans, grabs his new monstrous cock in in his hands and starts pumping up and down.

I sort of paw at my identical phallus with my rubber mitts. I lift my leg and start stroking his feet with my own naked foot. For a long time he just keeps moaning, writhing a bit where he sits. Then he slows down. His head turns slightly in my direction, and I think he’s looking at me—it’s hard to tell for sure with that smooth rubber mask covering his face. He reaches over with one of his hands and starts stroking my cock. It feels so great that I start writhing as well. I just want him to keep doing that forever. Please don’t stop!

He stops and stands up, gently pulling my cock so that I stand up as well. He then puts his hands on my shoulders and holds me in front of him, still staring with that intensely blank look. His movements are so slow and deliberate.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods his head slightly.

“Can you talk anymore?”

He shakes his head slightly now: no.

“Is it that mouth guard? It’s grown so you can’t talk?”

He nods. Yes.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.

He starts gently guides me a few steps backwards. He’s turning me slightly but still walking me backwards, and I know where he’s guiding me: that chair with the stirrups. For a moment I hesitate, resisting a bit, and he too stops, but then he resumes pushing my shoulders back gently. He turns his head sideways a little bit.

I step backwards and let this resume. He places my gloved fists on his shoulders and then grabs my hips and lifts me up and into the chair. One at a time, he gently takes my feet and places them into the stirrups, fastening the straps around them—and then around my calves, and then around my thighs. He does the same with my arms, setting them against the arm-rests and then fastening straps around my wrists, and then my forearms, and then my biceps.

Then he stops, and he turns and walks out of the room. A minute later, he’s back with these thick gloves that go up to the elbow. They’re made of a really heavy-gauge rubber, and they make a telltale squeak as he handles them. He takes that tube of the strange black gel and squeezes an ample amount into each glove and then puts them on.

Now he’s completely encased in rubber. I hear the squeaking sound of rubber from the gloves, and I can imagine them tightening around his hands and arms, just like what had happened with the boots and the cock sheath. He walks back up to me and pulls a handle, causing the chair to recline backwards and my legs to swing outward and upward.

Again I’m looking upward at that mirror on the ceiling, seeing the reflected images of me, tightly fastened into the chair and Zach, a smooth, featureless figure of black rubber. I watch as he does exactly what Travis had done—putting the muzzle on my head with its huge pecker gag going down my throat; then fastening my head against the headrest.

He walks back in front of me, in between my helpless legs. He takes the tube of black gel and pours some over my sheathed cock and rubs it all around it. I moan, again overwhelmed by the powerful sensations. Then he pours more gel over his own cock, rubs it around, and finally guides it into my ass.

Oh fuck yeah! I feel every inch of that huge thing snake up into my ass. It’s so thick and so long that he has to do it with a series of slow partial motions in and out… further in and a just a little out, further more in… At the same time, I feel the gag of the muzzle snaking down my throat again, impossibly far. I don’t know how I’m not choking, but it’s just happening.

Zach is all the way in now, driving rhythmically in and out. He puts one gloved hand around my cock and pumps it while the other explores my chest. I look at his reflection in the mirror, seeing the scene from the overhead angle: his legs planted apart, his groin effortlessly pivoting in and out, his huge booted feet.

“Just as I had planned it.” I suddenly hear Travis say from the entryway to the room. I would just jumped if I hadn’t been completely strapped down. Zach’s pace doesn’t change at all—he just keeps fucking me with the same intensity.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure whether you or he would try on the hood, but this turned out perfectly.” Obviously I can ask or say anything with the gag down my throat, so I just look at him. “You probably guessed, the hood reprogrammed him. It’s a combination of visual and audio signals, mixed with the drug he’s been breathing in. Right now, he’s a just happy rubber drone. I’ve given him three programs: the first is to revel in the sensations of rubber; the second is one of strict obedience. And the third… the third program is for him to become completely obsessed and infatuated with you.”

“Yes,” he continues, walking up to me and rubbing my chest with one of his hands, “I have plans for you that will involve a lot more converting and conditioning—processes that will go on for hours and hours every day, and this drone will be ever diligent to keep you on your regimen.”

Travis puts his hand on Zach’s shoulder lightly. Zach pulls out of me and steps to the side as Travis moves in and resumes fucking me.

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