#this drawing made me realize i have no fucking idea how to shade metal <3

[wolfboyvirus-art]

mr serotonin man go brr

#markiplier #in space with markiplier #iswm #iswm fanart #markiplier fanart #murderplier #youtube egos #digital art #fanart #this drawing made me realize i have no fucking idea how to shade metal <3

[talk-geek-to-me]

Betrayal

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader. eventual Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Anxiety. depression, abandonment, hella angst man, fluff, second-hand embarrassment, swearing, some violence, but it’s super mild. I think that’s about it.

Word Count:4,359 (I’m so not sorry)

Disclaimer: I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out!! Life’s kinda really crazy rn. I’m moving across the country and I’m trying to keep up with school. It’s a super busy life rn. But I really hope you guys enjoy it!! It’s probably not as good as I hyped it up to be. There is totally enough room for me to make a part 2 but, Idk. With how I left it, I think it doesn’t need it. But I hope you guys love it as much as I do!! @buckysknifecollection​ prompt is in bold.

*** = time has passed

~~~= same day. different perspective 

"I'll be back, I promise" Steve caressed your cheek, lips quickly brushing against yours, pulling away just as fast as they came. He staggered away from you, getting one last look.

Your brows pulled together in confusion, eyes searching his blue ones, only finding determination instead of love and care that was there a few days ago. You watched him hug Bucky and head towards the Quantum Tunnel.

Once Steve was in place, he glanced at you, heartbreaking at your confused stare. He knew if he had given you a real kiss, he wouldn't find it in him to go back. He knew he wouldn't be able to provide the answers to your questions you'll be cursed with.

"Gonna miss you buddy" Bucky stood next to you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

"It's gonna be ok Buck" your gaze snapped between the super soldiers.

"What?" You stepped away from Bucky, looking at Sam for an answer, only for him to meet your gaze with an equally confused look.

"Going Quantum in 5...4...3..2..1" Bruce counted.

"Wait-" You stepped towards the machine. You felt a cold hand wrap around your wrist, gently tugging you back. You snapped your head to Bucky, finding his baby blue eyes are filled with sadness and guilt. You stopped struggling.

"Bringing him back in 5..4..3..2..1" Bruce pushed a series of buttons before looking up at the platform to find it empty.

"Where is he?" Sam barked, eyes flicking to you before going to Bruce.

"I don't know, he must've blown past his time" panicking, Bruce began typing different combinations in hopes it would do something.

A few seconds passed, but to you, it felt like hours before your hope vanished and was replaced with pain. Your heart breaking when you realized that Steve left you for her.

Tears pricked your eyes, compromising your vision. A ringing filled your ears, muffling the conversation around you.

Turning on your heel, you quickly made your way towards the cabin, tears now spilling into hot streams down your cheeks. You yanked own the screen door just to slam it shut behind you. The echo of it made Sam and Bucky turn towards where you had disappeared.

"How long do you think she'll be upset?" Bucky sighed, the guilt in his eyes traveling to his heart.

"I don't know man, I don't know.. She'll need us though. C'mon, we gotta catch her before she leaves us here" Sam made his way towards the cabin, stopping to put the shield by the door.

Stepping inside, Sam found you scrambling around, grabbing your jacket, bag and the car keys that had been discarded on the coffee table before you had ventured to the platform.

"Y/N" Sam stepped in front of you, hands up, showing he meant no harm. His voice soft. "You're not suitable to drive, please let me."

You glanced at him before your eyes landed on the Brunette leaning against the car. He immediately opened his arms for you. 

Lips quivering, you placed the keys in Sam's hand and bounded down the stairs and straight into Bucky's arms. Safely in his arms, your shoulders began to shake, and sobs broke out of your throat. His hand cradled the back of your head, keeping you close. Tears formed in his eyes, making him hide his face in your hair. He didn’t feel the same pain you felt, but he did know how you were feeling. Steve didn’t just leave you, he left him, Sam, his friends, the family he created here. 

Sam had made his way to you two when you felt another pair of arms wrap around you. It was going to be hard, but you can get through this... Together.

***

Due to the compound getting rebuilt and thanks to Sam’s good heart, he took you and Bucky to his DC home. Even when you reassured him that you’d be fine and find your own place to stay, but he insisted you stay with him.

Inevitably, you locked yourself in the room Sam had given you. Bucky had tried to get you to come out, but each try left him with silence. Eventually, he’d leave a tray of food out your door, checking every few hours to see if you’d eaten any. At first, you didn’t. Soon enough, he’d found the plate had been picked at.

It was weeks, 3 to be exact, before you decided to venture out of your room. 

Sam was the first person to greet you one Friday morning. He handed you a cup of coffee and wrapped an arm around you in a side hug.

“How are you holding up?” He ruffled your hair before he moved back to the other side of the counter.

“I’m okay, been sleeping a lot, crying... Ya know, depression stuff” Bringing the cup to your lips, reveling in the warmth the coffee provided as it coursed through your body before it settled in your stomach. You scanned the house, looking for a certain Super Soldier. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Dimwit went on a milk run. We were running out of ideas of bringing you out of that room.” He places a small bowl of yogurt Parfait in front of you.

“Dimwit?” You giggled over a mouthful of berries and yogurt.

“He’s been getting on my nerves.” 

As if on queue, Bucky steps through the front door, drawing all attention to him. His eyes met yours, and a smile blessed his lips.

“Oh my god," He quickly set the bags down, the sound of plastic bags and cans hitting the table filled the room before he quickly made his way to you. Engulfing you in a hug, he lifted you off the barstool and twirled around earning giggles to escape your lips. “When did you come out of your room?” He sat you back on the stool, stealing your coffee in the process.

“Actually, just about 20 minutes ago.” He glanced at Sam, who confirmed your statement with a nod.

“Good! I bought movies and junk food. So, go” He pulled you off your chair “Go shower and change”

“Please!” Sam laughed as Bucky pushed you in the direction of the bathroom.

“Do I really smell that bad?” You pulled your shirt to your nose, crinkling it. You did smell that bad.

“Sweetheart, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you reek.” Bucky opened the door and lightly pushed you into the entryway.

“Wait, I don’t have any clothes” You turned to make your way back to your room, but the Assassin was in your way.

“Don’t. I’ll do it. Just shower” He pressed his lips to your forehead, and quickly padded off to your room.

You turned towards the mirror, your brows were slightly raised, mouth turned in a slight smile, and cheeks faintly dusted with pink. “What the fuck just happened?” you questioned. Sighing when you got no answer, you turned on the shower and waited for it to warm.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, slowly coming to the realization of how bad you looked. Bags under your eyes from lack of sleep and crying too much, skin pale and greasy, lips insanely chapped that no amount of chapstick would fix. You didn’t look or feel like yourself. Depression turned you into a different person, and you didn’t like her.

Fog crept its way across the mirror, eventually covering your reflection. Letting out a sigh you turned away from the mirror and began undressing.

You were about to step into the shower when a knock came at the door. Quickly wrapping a towel around yourself, you opened the door enough for you to see who it was.

“Um, I brought clothes” Bucky mumbled, eyes looking everywhere but you, a light blush cascading across his cheeks.

“Easy there Sarge, don’t get too excited” You giggled, taking the neatly folded clothes. Fingers brushing against his, sending another shade of red up his neck. “Thank you, Bucky”

“Yea, of course, um..I’m just gonna” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder indicating he was going to leave.

Nodding, you closed the door and laid out the clothes. Noticing that he didn’t bring you jeans but had brought you your favorite joggers and a tank top, made you smile. One that reached your eyes.

“He cares”

***

Stepping into the living room, you found the boys dressed the same; sweatpants and t-shirts. They were standing in the middle of the living room, yelling at each other. Movies scattered on the coffee table, food placed in the middle. 

Giggling, you moved around Sam and plopped down on a couch and scanned through the selection. 

You popped it in the DVD player and let the opening scene stop the bickering behind you.

"The Mummy?" Sam question

"Yes, because you two wouldn't shut up. So please, sit down and enjoy the beauty of Brendan Fraiser." 

It went on like this for weeks. Watching movies, arguing who got to pick the movie.

Soon enough, you started feeling better, well enough that you started jogging with the boys in the morning. 

***

It was 5 am when Wanda called you, pulling you from a blissful sleep.

"Maximoff, I swear, if you're not dying, I'll kill you." You huffed, moving towards the heat source in your bed.

Laughing at your empty threat, you could hear Strange tell her to calm down even though he was chuckling himself. "The compound is finished, you guys can move in today"

"You couldn't wait till a decent hour to tell me this?" You groaned. Feeling an arm wrap around your middle, you looked up finding confused baby blue eyes locked onto your features. 

"Wanda" You mouthed earning a nod from the super-soldier. His arm slide up your back and cold metal hand under the strap of your tank top.

"Well, I had just gotten off the phone with Pepper and-" She was still talking but Bucky had plucked the phone out of your hand and pressed it to his ear.

"We'll be there later Wanda, goodnight," Bucky said. You could hear her gasp and begin to talk, only to be cut off by Bucky hanging up.

"Bucky" you lightly scolded as he pulled you closer to him after throwing your phone to the other side of your bed. 

"Sweetheart, its 5 am and I plan on” He moved to hover over you, fitting between your legs, hips resting against yours, forearms supporting him. “Spending a bit more time with you before the sun rises.” 

Smiling at his comment, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands falling into his hair. “Well Sarge, the sun is beginning to rise and Sam will want to know.”

Bucky scanned your face as he brushed stray hair away from your face, smiling softly when you leaned into his touch. “I know. Are you feeling better?

You nodded, pulling him closer to you. “I feel” you brushed his nose with yours “So much better, thank you” 

“My pleasure” He closed the small gap between you with a kiss.

A couple of hours later, you had packed your things and were packing the car when the boys came out of the house, bickering about who's driving. 

"I'm not letting you drive, Grandma, and little miss speedster over there will kill us!" Sam shouted, taking the keys out of Bucky's hand. His head snapped towards you, feigning a hurt expression.

“I’m an assassin!” Bucky exclaimed

"You stole my steering wheel and that makes you an assassin?" Sam joked

"Boys! Listen, you both drive super slow, so I'm driving" Snatching the keys out of Sam's hand, you slide into the driver's seating. 

The drive to the compound was a long one. You may drive fast, but with Sam and Bucky arguing over the music, it felt longer. On many occasions during the drive, you had slapped Sam’s hand away from the radio and asked the boys to stop arguing.

Arriving at the new compound was like arriving at Disneyland. The boys had stopped arguing and stared in awe as you pulled up. It was bigger, more windows, a pool. Everything the old one had, this one had too. It was just bigger.

Parking the car, your door was immediately ripped opened and you were being pulled out into the crisp October air, and into a certain witch’s arms. 

“I missed you so much!” Wanda squealed, tightening her grip on you.

“Wanda, I missed you too. But I think I’m going to miss breathing if you don’t let me go” You wheezed as she released her hold on you. She looped her arm through yours, pulling you away from the car. But not before she shot a glance at Bucky, wiggling her eyebrows as if she knew what had happened the night before.

“What the hell happened last night?” Wanda questioned as she leads you to the compound.

~~~

“Hey,” Sam tossed Bucky his bag “Is she ok?”

“Yea, she was in one of those depression moods that I used to get” He watched you and Wanda interact with each other before Strange came up to the two of you.

“You stayed the night in her room, man. What was that about?”

“She asked me to stay. I wasn’t going to leave her alone with her thoughts” Leaning against the car, Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Sam.

“I see you two getting close,” a smirk was forming on the new Captain’s lips “I saw the kiss before we packed the car” Sam wiggled his eyebrows at the Sergeant. 

“Oh, c’mon man! You weren’t supposed to see that!” exclaimed Bucky as he hit his shoulder, making Sam laugh.

“Ohoho! Then don’t do it in the middle of the living room!” Sam's smirk turned to a wicked grin "And when you kissed her hand in the car, or the time you held her while she made dinner! Or-!" He was cut off when Bucky threw his sweatshirt at him. 

“C’mon man!” Bucky laughed, a light pink dusted his cheeks.

“Or! the shower incident” Sam faked a gasp, a smile broke across his face as the former Winter Soldier turned a bright red.

~~~

“That’s all that happened last night” You explained to Wanda, who didn’t believe you despite what you confirmed.

“Yea? Then why is he turning into a tomato over there” Strange pointed towards the car. 

Turning towards the car, you saw and could hear Sam howling with laughter, and Bucky? Well, Strange was right. Bucky’s face was, in fact, turning into a tomato. 

“I-I don’t know. Sam likes to pick on him sometimes.” You mumbled, brows furrowed together as you watched Sam lean against the car for support and Bucky hide his smile behind his hand.

***

It was around midnight when you decided to sit in the living room, music softly floating through the tv speakers. Footsteps drew closer, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Ya know, it’s not polite to play music without someone who was alive when it came out” Bucky’s voice came closer until you feel the couch dip with his weight, signifying he was sitting next to you.

"I thought you were asleep" You countered, shifting to lean on him, back to his side, your head laid on his shoulder. Bucky had moved his arm around you and had begun tracing designs on your arm.

"I don't sleep when you're not next to me" He mumbled into your hair. Your heart skipping a beat, a blush crept across your cheeks, and you began to relax more against him.

Sitting in comfortable silence, you two were enjoying Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me play when Bucky cleared his throat.

“Wanna dance?” 

You looked up at him, seeing a smirk playing on his lips, making you smile.

“You gonna dance with me as you did with those girls in the 40’s Sarge?” You watched him stand and hold out his hand. “Cause I wouldn’t say no”

“Come here then,” Placing your hand in his, he pulled you to your feet. Sliding his hand around your waist, it rested it on your lower back. His gaze shifted to the distance between you two, and back to your eyes. “We’re gonna have to get a lot closer than this, Sweetheart.” Feeling his grip tighten on your waist, you sucked in a breath when he pulled you closer. Chest pressed against his.

“Now we dance,” Bucky began swaying, his eyes never leaving yours. He led you in a classic waltz, occasionally spinning you, earning giggles to escape your lips.

Pulling you tight against him, you rested your head on his shoulder, your hand falling on his shoulder, savoring the moment. 

“I need to tell you something” Bucky whispered in your ear.

“Of course Buck, what’s wrong?” Worry laced your voice

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I just need to get something off my chest” Breaking apart from you, he ran his hands nervously through his hair.

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You took a step towards him.

“ty oblegchayesh' zhizn' kazhdyy den', ty vyyavlyayesh' luchsheye vo mne. Ya snova nachinayu chuvstvovat' sebya staroy. ya vlyublyayus' v tebya” Bucky panicked, eyes searching yours.

“Bucky, you’re speaking Russian” Bucky has never seen a more confused face than yours at this moment.

“I panicked!” He exclaimed

“If your plan was to throw me off, then it worked!” You laughed, stepping closer to him, you placed your hands on his shoulders. “James, tell me what you said”

Hearing his first name roll off your tongue, made his worry disappear. He wrapped his arms around your waist, rubbing little circles in your back.

“I said,” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before looking you in the eyes. “You make living every day easier, you bring out the best in me, Sam’s noticed it. I’m starting to fall in love with you Sweetheart. I know it’s not the right time, but I wanted to tell you”

“Bucky-”

“No, I need to tell you. I need you to know and if you don’t feel the same then-”

“Bucky!”

“It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I totally get it” He rambled. Realizing he wasn’t going to give you a chance to talk, you crashed your lips to his. 

You two have kissed many times before, but this is different. You don’t know when you realized you had feelings for him, but you do know that he’s always been there for you. He’s made everything easier. Easier to breathe, to get over you know who, to adjust. Somewhere in there, you’ve grown feelings for him.

Pulling away, you rested your forehead against his. “I feel the same way”

“Really?” Bucky’s face nearly tore in two when the words filled his ears.

“Really” You agreed.

~~~

A crashing noise pulled Sam out of sleep. He poked his head out his door, finding yours and Bucky’s door opened and music coming from the living room. Sam decided that he didn’t want to know what it was, so he headed back to bed, but a light outside his window caught his attention. Ripping the shades opened, he saw a familiar figure standing on the Quantum Tunnel platform. Doubt filled him, there was no way he was back... Right?

Watching the figure look around, Sam ran out of his room, as quietly as he could, down the back staircase and out to the backyard

“Sam?” The figure called.

"Steve? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the 40's" Sam questioned.

"I know. Peggy and I.. We didn't work out. It wasn't right. Peggy wasn't-" Steve began, his mind racing.

"Wasn't what Steve?"

"She wasn't y/n" Steve sighed. He knew Peggy wasn't you the second he got to her house. He knew you two are very different, but everything she did, he found himself silently comparing her to you. She was a spy, and you were an Avenger. When she spared it was quick, but when you spared it turned into a competition. Everything Peggy did, Steve found himself missing the things you did. There was a hole in his life and only you could feel it.

"Steve-"

"I need to see her" Steve interrupted, making his way towards the door Sam came out of.

"What? No, Steve. Don't" Sam followed the former Captain, trying to catch up with how fast he was walking. When did he walk so fast?

"Sam, I messed up. I left her when I shouldn't have, I have to make it right" Steve called from the stairs. Sam ran up the stairs behind him and grabbed his arm when he caught up to Steve.

"You don't understand. She's changed, she's not the same girl who loved you. She's.." He hesitated "She's moved on Steve."

"I need to see her" Steve persisted, pulling his arm out of Sam's grip and headed down the hall towards the living room. Dread filled Sam, slowly following the First Avenger.

~~~

“We should probably go to bed” Bucky mumbled into your neck. You two had found your way back to the couch after your confession. 

“Or we could stay and sleep here. We’re already laying down” You raked your fingers through his hair, grabbing a few strands and began braiding the brown locks. A door being slammed open pulled you two apart. 

“It’s the middle of the night, who the hell is slamming doors?” Bucky reached behind the couch for the handgun he had hidden there. You were already on your feet, gun at the ready and heading towards the sound of intrusion.

“Wait! They might be asleep!” You heard Sam’s desperate pleas come down the hall.

“Sam? What’s wrong?” You lowered your gun, hearing two pairs of footsteps advance quickly towards you. Quickly raising your gun, you loaded the chamber and took aim. 

“What the hell” Bucky said from behind you, drawing your attention to him. Bucky’s eyes never left the intruder, confusion overcame you, and you looked at the intruder. Finding the person who you never thought you’d see again. Steve stepped closer to you, and you stepped away from him.

“Baby?” His voice was soft, too soft, foreign. Shaking your head, you stepped closer to Bucky.

“You don’t get to call me that” You hissed through gritted teeth. The confusion was replaced with anger. It took over you, your hands and voice shook. 

“Please let me explain, baby” Steve took a few more steps towards you, hands coming up to cup your face. He lowered his face to yours, hope-filled his entire being. 

“Steve” Bucky placed a hand on his shoulder “Don’t do that” The warning in his voice made Steve stand straighter.

“This is my girlfriend” Steve argued.

You let out a laugh that startled both boys. You continued to laugh until tears were evident in your eyes.

“That’s fucking hilarious Rogers, you think I’m your girlfriend?” Shaking your head, you stepped closer to Steve. He was taller than you by a foot, making him stare down at you. But by the way, he felt, you were staring down at him. Your eyes bore into his, rage radiating off you, and Steve could feel every ounce of it. “I haven’t been your girlfriend since the moment you decided to fucking leave. You don’t get to call me that. Don’t ever call me that, again” You pushed past him, shoulder hitting his arm hard enough to make him lose his balance.

“Baby, wait” He caught your arm. Twisting your arm out of his grip, you reeled around and connected your fist to his jaw. 

Hearing the crack, Bucky and Sam flinched, thinking that you broke Steve’s jaw with how fast you reacted and how fast his head snapped to the side.

“Damn” Sam mumbled, looking at Bucky “That’s your girl man”

Pride filled his body, Bucky stood a little taller “I know”

“Get it through your head, Rogers! I’m not your girlfriend! I’m not yours! Don’t touch me” You hissed. Turning on your heel, you stormed down the hall towards your room, slamming the door shut when you were inside.

Steve rubbed his jaw, feeling the serum begin to heal his jaw, looking at his friends before his eyes landed on the Brunette, “Looks like your hair is getting a bit long.. Operation Haircut?”

“When you decided you’re done with Operation Jackass, then I’ll consider Operation Haircut” Bucky scoffed, following the trail of rage to your bedroom, entering it without knocking.

Slowly closing the door to your room, Bucky found you sitting on your bed, eyes closed and taking deep breaths. 

“Sweetheart?” He whispered, fearing the nickname might make you snap. But it only brought you comfort.

“Bucky” Your voice shook, opening your eyes, they landed on his form, kneeling next to your bed. He took your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Why is he back?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“I don’t know sweetheart,” He paused, searching for the right thing to say before deciding on distracting you, “You know, that was a really good punch. It looked like you nearly broke his neck with how hard you hit him”

The burden of heartbreak left your chest and in its place, laughter made its home. “I had someone teach me how to throw a punch hard enough to break a jaw” You gripped his hand tighter, referencing to him.

“Yea? He did a damn good job” Lifting himself, Bucky sat on your bed, pulling you against him.

“Yea. He did” Relaxing against the Former Hand of Hydra, you finally begin to feel at peace with yourself. You made the decision right there that it was always Bucky. He was your rock before and after Steve left, he was the light in a dark room. He knew that you could take care of yourself, but when you need it, he’s there for you. You, too, had begun to fall in love with him. People would be against it, due to him being the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t care. He didn’t think he was a hero, but you? He was your hero.

Tagging: @parkerpuff​ @blameitonthecauseway​ @chocolate-cutting​ @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​ @sebastian-i-stan​ @intense-sneezing​ @welcome-to-my-broken-sanctuary​ @siren-queen03​ @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​ @teamcap4bucky​ @buckysknifecollection​ @neglectedleo​ @dyanna-corona​ @crist1216​ @delicatecapnerd​ @twilight-crescendo​ @weebid​ @lucaslikestojinglebells​ @wxntersoldiers​ @breakmebucky​ @lecoindenox​

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers angst #bucky barnes fluff #buckysknifecollectionchallenge #marvel fan fic #sam wilson #steve rogers #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #marvel one shot #marvel x reader #mcu #marvel #avenger fics #bucky barnes imagine #steve rogers imagine #talk-geek-to-me

[lokilickedme]

Part 3 of Read By Loki Laufeyson - Fifty Shades of Grey

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own (no longer available there) 

Rating:  Mature

Archive Warning:  No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:  F/M

Fandom:  Loki - Fandom, Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, The Avengers (MarvelMovies), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom

Relationship:  Loki/His Book, Ana/Christian

Character:  Loki, Loki Laufeyson, Loki (Marvel), Ana Steele, Christian Grey

Additional Tags:  Explicit Language, this book deserves its own warning tag, one that says DON'T READ ME, Explicit Sexual Content, lame and exceedingly silly descriptions of sex acts

Series:  Part 3 of Read by Loki Laufeyson

Stats:  Originally Published 2016-02-27   Words: 3386 (original version)

Part One:  The Night Manager

Part Two:  High Rise

   50 Shades of Grey, Read By Loki Laufeyson by lokilickedme 

Summary:  Loki reads 50 Shades and throws up multiple times. I would offer my apologies to E.L. James, but she doesn't deserve it. 

Notes:  See the end of the work for notes  

  This shitshow gets on the shaky road with a dedication that made the right side of my face twitch before the story even got started.  It's dedicated to "the master of my universe" and as of right this very moment I'm ready to preemptively toss it into the bathroom, not as reading material for my next luxury soak, but as a replacement for the empty roll of toilet paper that I keep forgetting to run to the store for.  Fuck me people, she didn't even capitalize "master" and ANY GOOD SUB KNOWS THAT NOT CAPITALIZING MASTER IS A MASSIVE SHOW OF DISRESPECT AND YOU DESERVE THE ASS BEATING YOU GET FOR IT - WITH ZERO AFTERCARE.  Don't ask me how I know that, but go ahead and fight me, this is a hill I’m willing to die on.  If this person is writing a book that's touted as an even remotely accurate accounting of a Dom/sub relationship, I can tell you right now, she doesn't know jack shit. 

So I've read a couple of pages and I'm already looking around for my seizure meds when I realize I don't take seizure meds.  I will after this, I might as well go ahead and call it in.  I'm to the part about Wanda the Volkswagon when my anticipatory boner not only goes away, but retracts so far up into my scrotum as a result of the most horrendous writing I've seen this side of Thor's second grade book report on Anne of Green Gables that I'm thinking I might just be female now.  I mean seriously?  This hurts.  I’m not even exaggerating, if you have a penis it’s going to draw up into your gall bladder.  If you have a vulva it’s going to need a vat of Burt’s Bees Extra Moisture Replenishing Salve and a bottle of cranberry capsules.  I’m not even female at the moment and this thing gave me a flaming UTI.

 I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time.  Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal. 

People, this is a published book.  Someone got paid for this.  It got made into a movie.  I haven't even gotten to the sex yet and I'm already Google mapping monasteries within a one-hundred mile radius because I'm ready to take my vows.  No, this book hasn't made me believe in a higher power.  It has taken away my will to ever get laid again.

 The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. 

Holy fucking shitballs people, terminal velocity by its very definition means someone is going to die.  Is this person wearing a pressurized speed suit?  Do they hand them to you at the door before you go into the elevator?  How does the building tolerate the mechanics of generating that kind of speed?  And if by some random blessing by some random god who won't be getting any thanks from me she actually survived this trip to the twentieth floor, her brains would be leaking out her asshole.  That's not the way to make a good first impression, sweetheart.  Take the fucking stairs next time.

 It’s a stunning vista, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the view.  Wow. 

Yes, wow.  Paralysis is rarely ever momentary darling, and it does ugly things to pretty girls.  Like, rendering you a jelly-like heap on the floor because your muscles don't continue working while you're paralyzed.  Paralysis sort of means your muscles have stopped working. 

I've begun highlighting every word I come across that the author obviously doesn't know the definition to.  Fake it till you make it, right darling?  Five pages in and my yellow pen has died a violent death.

 I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office. Double crap – me and my two left feet! 

YOU. 

HAVE. 

GOT. 

TO. 

BE. 

FUCKING. 

KIDDING. 

ME.

In what universe is this ridiculous cutesy sort of shit thought to be amusing?  The cliches are giving me hemorrhoids.  Me and my two left feet?  Not that I'm an expert on Earth terminology and phrasing, but I'm fairly certain people stopped saying shit like that around 1962.  And...I can't believe I'm being forced to say this, but - double crap??  I was already calling my brother a bilgesnipe’s vagina by the time I could crawl, I'm pretty sure the last time I said something as immature and amateurishly silly as double crap I was still in the womb and cursing in Morse Code.  I may actually have even still been a sperm in my father's left testicle.  How old is this writer?

 “Um. Actually–” I mutter.  If this guy is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle.  In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake.  As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me.  I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed.  Must be static.  I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. 

I'm sorry but I really don't even know where to start.  The Um. Actually- ?  Or the I'm a monkey's uncle?  Maybe it's the staccato pacing?  The elementary school sentence structure?  The fact that all but one sentence of that paragraph has the word I in it, sometimes multiple times?  She placed her hand in his and they shook - sort of like I'm shaking right now.  It's the seizures this damn travesty has provoked, honestly I should sue the author for my prescription costs.  And if that girl's eyelids matched her heart rate then I'm just envisioning one of those blinky-eyed cupie dolls strapped to a paint mixing machine.

 “I own my company.  I don’t have to answer to a board.”  He raises an eyebrow at me.  I flush. 

Yes darling, always do a courtesy flush when the stench is really vomit-inducing.  Like now.  I'm not even going to ask if this conversation is taking place in a bathroom because I can tell you honestly, the bathroom is right where it belongs.

 His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel...or something. 

Something...like, maybe shit, perhaps?

 I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo - 

No darling, trust me, it's not.  A tattoo is something you draw on your body, there's no pounding involved unless you've done the drawing on your vagina.  And if you’re referring to the drum beat, then you should just say so because frankly this is meant to be a sex book and your readers aren’t going to be interested in Googling your sophomoric attempts at using interesting words.  And just as an aside, most humans are going to think of a Scottish marching band when you use that word in that context, and the last thing you want your readers thinking about while you’re sliding into a smut scene is men in plaid skirts blowing bagpipes.

 I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me.  My memories of him did not do him justice.  He’s not merely good-looking – he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking - 

Hold on a second, I wasn't aware I was in this book?  I must have been drunk.  I'm not sure that I would consent to this idiocy even if I was soused off my gourd, so I think I'm going to be filing a second lawsuit for character theft.

 - and he’s here.  Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store.  Go figure. 

Yes, go figure sweetiepie.  Everybody, even handsome people, need replacement U-joints for their toilets.  They come in handy when you're trying to flush books.

 Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body. 

Honey, cognitive functions aren't a part of your body, they're a part of your brain.  So unless your head fell off while you were walking around in Clayton's Hardware Store, I doubt this happened.  If it did, my condolences to Mr Clayton and the other shoppers, I know how traumatic that can be.

 And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – 

You mean the whole thing?

 - probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: He’s here to see you. 

I just had another seizure.  It’s a sex book darling, stop trying to use seventy-five cent Merriam Webster words and settle for something along the lines of My fucking head exploded - trust me, at this point your readers will relate to that far more than to the concept of subconscious thought.  Or any thought at all.  And we all know it’s highly unlikely Miss Double Crap Wanda-driving headless-in-Clayton’s-Hardware store is capable of coming up with a term like medulla oblongata after that terminal velocity elevator ride.

 No way! I dismiss it immediately.  Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me?  The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

 And now your head is completely empty, much like the author's, because that poorly constructed series of sentences was all that was rattling around in there. 

For the sake of moving this along, because I have something to say about literally every fucking sentence in this roll of rough-ass toilet paper, I'm going to skip to the first round of sex and see if anything improves.  Because that's what people do when things aren't going well, isn't it?  They have sex and see if it gets better?  And then if it doesn't, you kick them out and finish up with a fresh pack of batteries and a few minutes of Skinamax and when you wake up in the morning it'll be a whole new day, sunshine.  Because honestly, I just got to the part where her cheeks went the color of the Communist Manifesto and if I don't get to some penis and vagina action I'm going to kill myself.  Besides that, all this double crap inner monologue is starting to make my ballsack clench up. 

So alright people, I've got my lube and my right hand ready, let's get this party started shall we?

  "Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Christian?”  Holy shit.  Did I just say that? 

Well it certainly wasn't me.  Having medulla oblongata issues again, are we sweetheart?

 His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly.  “No, Anastasia it doesn’t.  Firstly, I don’t make love.  I fuck... hard." 

Finally, someone steps up.  Is that the sound of zippers headed south I hear?

 "Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for.  You could still run for the hills.  Come, I want to show you my playroom.” 

Nope, my mistake.  Zippers firmly holding north.  How far is this fellow going to count?  Do people actually do that cheesy little “Firstly, secondly” speech tic all the way up to thirdly?  I usually only get to secondly before someone pops me in the mouth.  Somehow I have no trouble envisioning this obviously anal retentive Christian fellow proceeding right along to fourthly, fifthly, sixthly, seventhly...perhaps he has a numbers fetish to go along with that paperwork obsession of his.  If this is foreplay I'm leaving because math was never my strong point and I’ll be damned if I’m going to relive the hell of ninth grade just to get a two page smut scene.  If you want to have sex with me we get to firstly, I point to my zipper, and the game is on.  But he does get points for being forthright enough to come right out up front with the admission that he's such a rough fucker there have to be contracts involved.  Kudos my man.  Too bad he wrecked it by planting that playroom visual immediately after, because now all I can think about is a toybox full of Legos and a plastic xylophone.  Even I can't make anything kinky out of that.

 My mouth drops open.  Fuck hard!  Holy shit, that sounds so... hot.  But why are we looking at a playroom?  I am mystified.  “You want to play on your Xbox?” 

Yes darling, Fuck hard!  It sounds like a Bruce Willis movie, only this time he's not in an office building crawling through the ceiling or on an airplane fighting off terrorists, he's tied to a bed while Bonnie Bedelia drips hot wax on his scrotes.  It's a real shame we lost Alan Rickman, I'd give anything to see Hans Gruber standing at the foot of the bed in a leather corset intoning Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker just one more time.

As for playing on his Xbox, the Sims have a "whoo hoo" function.  That's all I'm going to say about that.

 - it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.  Holy fuck. 

Ah yes, the good old days of the Inquisition.  I had quite a wonderful time during that era, it was a sado-masochistic wet dream.  And no, I wasn't an Inquisitor...I worked as a volunteer equipment tester for the Vatican.  There wasn't a steel spiked ball cage or 360-degree nipple twister that earned my seal of approval until I screamed for my mommy.  Something tells me this pansy-ass little ninny isn't going to make it past the electroshock vulva clamps before she's crying for every matriarchal figure in her family all the way back to the Charlemagne era.

 “It’s about gaining your trust and your respect, so you’ll let me exert my will over you.  I will gain a great deal of pleasure, joy even, in your submission.  The more you submit, the greater my joy – it’s a very simple equation.”  “Okay, and what do I get out of this?”  He shrugs and looks almost apologetic.  “Me,” he says simply. 

Um...no. Just no.  Unequivocally NO.  That isn't how it works, E.L. James.  Not in the slightest.  In a true Dom/sub relationship the submissive receives every bit as much as the Dominant, and there is no two ways around that.  Anything less is bullshit and whoever you're trying to force-feed this lie to should leave running and punch you in the crotch on the way out.  I sincerely hope anyone reading this nonsense is doing so on a dare and not because they want to learn about D/s dynamics, because you're obviously not going to learn anything from this book except how to be a lip-biting ningnong who doesn't do much more than chat merrily with herself inside her medulla oblongata while mentally spouting double crap! on repeat every thirty-seven seconds.  And any respect I had for this Grey fellow for being up front about his sexual preferences just went out the window, which coincidentally is where the lip-biting ningnong should be headed.  Like he said - you could still run for the hills. 

Skipping ahead...skipping ahead...my god are these idiots ever going to do it?  I'm on page 194 and so far the closest they've come to coitus is when he almost ejaculated in his pants in an apoplectic rage when she told him she was a virgin.

 “Ah,” I groan. 

Ack, I puke.

 “You smell so good,” he murmurs and closes his eyes, a look of pure pleasure on his face, and I practically convulse.  He reaches up and tugs the duvet off the bed, then pushes me gently so I fall on to the mattress. 

I'm practically convulsing too darling, but unfortunately not with pleasure.  I need more anti-seizure meds, I've already gone through the entire bottle.  I'll be starting on the Xanax next and then it’s another call to my HMO.

 I’m panting... wanting. 

I'm vomiting...heaving.

 Not taking his eyes off mine, again he runs his tongue along my instep and then his teeth.  Shit.  I groan... how can I feel this, there? 

Hold up a second - this is a man who is so persnickety he pulls the duvet off the bed before he lets her set her ass on it, but now less than a page later he's just removed her sneaker and is licking the bottom of her sweaty all-day Converse encased foot?  My capacity for suspension of disbelief is not only wavering at this point, it’s pretty much died a slow and painful death.  Which is what I feel like I’m doing.  And if a man is holding eye contact while licking the bottom of your foot, he’s either upside down or your leg is so high up in the air he could be looking up your hooch and seeing himself through your left nostril.

“How do you make yourself come?  I want to see.”  I shake my head.  “I don’t,” I mumble.

I call bullshit.  She’s twenty-one, a virgin, and has never diddled herself?  That’s about as likely as me never having had intercourse with a horse.

“Let go, baby,” he murmurs.  His teeth close around my nipple, and his thumb and finger pull hard, and I fall apart in his hands, my body convulsing and shattering into a thousand pieces.

Huh.  And here all this time I’ve been laboring under the delusion that more was required than just two short paragraphs worth of nipple play.  This girl is a physical wonder, her nipples are clitorises.  Clitori?  Clitterati?  However you say multiple clits.  I know playing with them feels nice and I’ve made more than one maiden squirm with a few well placed sucks and a pinch or two, but this girl was climaxing before he even got her out of her brassiere.  Someone get her a job at the Kinsey Institute.

Suddenly, he sits up and tugs my panties off and throws them on the floor.

I hope they didn’t land on the duvet, he went to such trouble to keep it from getting mussed.

Pulling off his boxer briefs, his erection springs free.  Holy cow...

Rather like a jack-in-the-box, I’m envisioning.  Holy cow indeed.  Twist the handle and Pop Goes The Weasel plays while you wait in panicked anticipation for that horrid little clown to burst out of the hinged metal box and scare the shit out of you.  Well, he did say playroom, didn’t he.  Oh, and boxers and briefs are two entirely different things, my dear.  The further we get into this silly little tale the more convincing my sneaking suspicion that the author has never actually met a man before.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Miss Steele” he murmurs as he positions the head of his erection at the entrance of my sex.

I’m sorry, I know I’m an adult and all but I’m giggling like a sixth grade girl that wandered into the wrong locker room at school.  And for the record, I know exactly what that sounds like because I’ve done it.  But this...this is just...holy fucking hell with twice the fire and ten times the brimstone, that sentence up there just chemically castrated me.  The head of his erection at the entrance of her sex.  I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume it means he put his cock on her pussy and we’ll call it fair and move along.

“Hard, he whispers, and he slams into me.  “Aargh!” I cry -

To quote Miss Steele, holy fuck!  His dick is so big it’s turned her into a pirate!

He speeds up.  I moan, and he pounds on, picking up speed, merciless, a relentless rhythm, and I keep up, meeting his thrusts.

Is anyone else envisioning these two jogging through the park playing bongos?  Just me?  Okay.  Oh and for future reference, because I assume this world isn’t lucky enough to escape at least three sequels to this travesty, no sentence should have as many commas as it has words unless the person speaking it is being punched in the mouth between each syllable.

Two orgasms...coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow.

Darling if the spin cycle on my washing machine made anything come apart at the seams I’d be at Home Depot demanding they make good on the warranty.  Which, something tells me, you should be doing with this new man of yours.

He increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and his breathing becomes more erratic.  My insides start quickening, and Christian picks up the rhythm.

I looked up infinitesimally, mainly because I’ve never actually seen it in print before and it’s such a strange looking word.  I laughed so hard my Xanax came out my nose when Google offered up this definition:  immeasurably small, exceedingly little, less than an assignable quantity.  To give it a meaning, it must usually be compared to another infinitesimal object in the same context.  Mr Grey, I do believe your tight coochied little virgin just called your dick tiny.

“You. Are. Mine.  Come for me, baby,” he growls.  His words are my undoing, tipping me over the precipice.  My body convulses around him, the precipice.  My body convulses around him, and I come, loudly calling out a garbled version of his name into the mattress.

Well damn, I have to say I’m impressed, both with the uncanny power this fellow’s voice has to make orgasms happen from out of thin air, as well as this girl’s ability to climax on demand after never having done so in her entire life previous to this encounter.  That’s three times now she’s “shattered into a million pieces” all over the fucking bed - thank god he had the presence of mind to toss the duvet on the floor, because those stains would never come out.  He’d probably be getting a visit from the local police as soon as Mrs Fratelli at the dry cleaners got a good look at it.  And I don’t know about anyone else but I really want to hear this “garbled version” of his name that she called out into the mattress.  No, really.  I want to hear it because I’m imagining something like what went down in the Caves of Caerbannog when the Knights were debating the pronunciation of the last word written on the wall.  Does that make Ana’s orgasms the sexual equivalent of the Black Beast of Argh?

I’ll wait for you to hit Google on that one.  Go ahead, I’ll wait.  I’ve got all the time in the world.  I still have six hours of studio time booked and this travesty of a novel is now residing in stall #2 in the mens room and I’m sitting here playing with the roll of toilet paper I stole.  It was a worthwhile trade.  The word Charmin printed four million times on these little squares in infinitely more intellectually stimulating than that undigested goat’s dinner we were reading.

Fifty shades of TP’ing E.L. James’s house, anyone?

End Notes:  All passages in italics are the property of E.L. James, and as far as I’m concerned she can keep them.

#Loki Reads #50 Shades of Grey

[southerneldritch]

It begins (Chapter 1)

The sun was not burning hot so much as painfully reminding him how important it was. High in the southern sky the heat pushed the humidity around enough to make the small shaded porch feel more like a sauna that a place for reprieve. However, now a good 3 feet down and still digging into the grave or one Mr. Lewis Rothburg, it left him wondering if the shade would prove more comfortable than it had once provided.

Stopping a moment to wipe his brow he looked around the long abandoned cemetery. Each stone edifice, once a proud reminder of capable men and women who in their lives had done great things...and horrible things, now standing derelict deep in the woods surrounded by an ever encroaching nature. A slight smirk crossed his lips, "The seem lucky." he thought to himself aloud. "They have no issue with what horrors are coming...they really needn't worry." He laughed as his shovel struck something hard and the sound of hollow wood thunked through the air. "Shit." He muttered.

There were two distinct things that immediately ran through his mind. Either the cemetery back in the day was notably unconcerned with health and safety, thusly the coffins were buried much shallower than they should be or, more worryingly, the man who sold the information about the location of Mr. Rothburg also warned that the graveyard had been used by criminals for hiding all sorts of things. Typically speaking the actions of the criminal world seldom would have bothered him but the fear that Mr. Rothburg was no longer where he was supposed to be greatly shifted the situation from simple to complicated.

With little to no options left for him he began to dig and free whatever thing he had just struck with his shovel. The sun glaring at the actions below as with some considered effort the lid of a coffin was uncovered. The sound of cicadas filling the air he took a deep breath and jammed a crowbar around the edge of the lid. With a groan and firmly planted feet the casket lurched open. "Well fuck." He let the words lose themselves in the summer heat as he looked down in disbelief.

The tires of the old truck did not grip well on what could best be called a trail, perhaps a path, either way he didn't care. With a foot down hard the engine putted and pushed all it had as the vehicle flew through the thick of the woods back towards a motel on the outskirts of town. Skidding onto the actual road the cargo stowed in the back of the truck slid and banged hard against the side causing the skid of the tires to feel far more dramatic than how sharp a turn he actually made. Despite the weight the very coffin sized and shaped container, it didn't break.

With a grinding of gears and feet hard down on the brake the vehicle came to a stop in most of one parking space outside the Quiet Glenn motel. He slammed the door not so much from panic as much as the sweat that had covered him had caused it to slip quickly from his grasp. The setting sun still fighting the cold of the darkness that was now trying to cool the area. He threw the motel door open and as abruptly as it had made such a calamitous entry the cheap door was resting back in its sill with him sliding the lock into place. His heart was racing but he wasn't tired, turning around and smudging cemetery dirt across his shirt he looked up at a surprised woman sitting at the small table near the back of the room. Normally her thick raven curls of hair would have been accenting each side of her face but instead were now tightly pinned up, slightly damp with a glob of something smeared across a part of the her hair. She chuckled while setting down a slice of pizza back into the box on the table. "So it went well?" The question was sincere but purposely teasing in tone.

"Well!?" He exclaimed walking towards the table. "No I think we can categorically label it as poorly." His voice laid out a frustration that was punctuated with his glare at the tv which was currently displaying some sort of reality show, before flopping over onto the bed. "How well do you know Virgil?" His words muffled by the pillow he spoke into.

“Most of my life.” She cocked her head to the side and grasped the pizza box before standing and asking, “Did he give us bad info?”

“No, if anything the info was very correct.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“Several things, most of all, how well do you trust Virgil?” He pulled his face from the bed and sat up on the end of the stiff excuse for bedding provided by the motel. “Also, what the hell is in your hair?”

“I didn't have anything else to do so I’m bleaching some bit of my hair. It looked fun. Anyways, I know him pretty well, he’s known me and my family for a long time.” Her eyes grew concerned as she looked down at him sitting on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

Drawing in a long breath he looked up at her and the box of pizza and reached out to take a slice. “We’ll at the very least I suppose we can feel satisfied that Mr. Rothburg was where Virgil said he would be.” Pausing to take a bite of the room temperature slice while again finding reason to glare at the TV. “Sadly he also mentioned that such a place tends to attract the more unsavory of folk.”

A smile crossed her lips as she plopped down heavily beside him. “Aren’t we the unsavory types? Somewhat doom and gloom, all manors of suspicious actions, illegal activity and occult hoobie dooby?”

“Not that sort of unsavory, more of the ‘we kill to accomplish our goals’ sorts of unsavory.” He said with a grimace while now looking at the slice of room temperature pizza in his hand. “We have never sought to injure, Mel.” he added with an impressively serious tone.

Placing the box on the bed just behind them both Mel asked, “So are you going to explain what has you in a such a mood or do I have to keep playing 20 questions?”

“I wish it we simple but it feels like it's worse.” he muttered

“Let's start simple.” She hated it when he acted like this, always a man with a plan and if things shift up, big ol grump for a hot minute. “Was Rothburg there?”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's him.”

“Good. So first problem?”

“The coffin was roughly three feet down.”

“Only three feet?”

“Yup, first issue.” He stated after taking a bite of the pizza. “Do we have beer?” he added.

“Sure do, but so what if he was buried in a shallow grave. It wasn't like the townsfolk were gonna respect him"

“True. However, there is more to this mood than just interesting burial habits.” He stood and walked over to the small whirring mini fridge and plucked a beer out. “I don't think this is the first time Mr. Rothburg has been dug up.”

“What, why would anyone other than us want to dig him up!?” She was beginning to understand his mood. “What possible reason would they dig him up and then put him back!?”

“Like I said.” he began walking towards the door gesturing for her to follow. “How well do you trust Virgil?”

She got up and followed, both stepped outside into the hot twilight. The sun still determined to broil the area before being slowly beaten back by the encroaching night sky. They walked over to the back of the truck and swung open the tailgate door. He hopped into the back and grabbed an edge of the coffin lid and looked up at her, “Come here I don't want anyone to see.”

She stepped in beside the door and looked down at the coffin lid  his fingers were gripping. “Well enough build up, lets see it!”

With a sudden jerk and a loud crackling of metal hinges set in wood the lid lifted open. Light from the now buzzing parking lot fluorescents poorly lit what was laying in the coffin. First and foremost was the body of Mr. Lewis Rothburg, clearly it was his twisted form as the shin bones had been separated from his legs and placed under his chin. Though a considerable amount of decay had occurred it was also still plain to see that the jaw of Mr. Rothburg had been wired shut with crude metal studs and copper wire, ensuring even in death that he would no longer speak damnable words.

No, the condition of Mr. Rothburg was not the reason for shock or even a turned stomach full of pizza delivery, the reason that both of them looking into the coffin had slack jaws and bewilderment across their faces was because nestled around Rothburg’s remains were countless stacks of cash, gold, intricate medallions with arcane symbols and some weapons of peculiar design.

“What the hell is all of that!?” she exclaimed before realizing there were too few tenants in this particular southern motel outskirts of town to justify shouting without drawing attention. In a more collected tone while he began to shut the coffin. “Why is Rothburg swimming in cash?”

“I'm sorry, but did anything about my entry and line of questions sound like I have more ideas than you do now.” Hopping out the truck he closed and locked the doors, he suddenly felt very watched and disliked the notion. “Let’s get back inside and figure out our next move.” A cool breeze of night air brushed passed them both, typically a wonderful feeling now oddly ominous. They both went back inside the motel room before turning to locked the door behind them he added, “And wash your goddamn hair.”

#paranornal #supernatural #writing #mine #J #southern eldritch #eldritch #faceless postmaster #horror #terror #cosmic horror

[protezioni]

⎈ Fortune Cookie/Akira, ✦ Romano/Sepheir, ⚑ Aki/Izami :3

Of course!! Thank you for sending some in!! I enjoyed drawing this a lot!! ALSO STAN ZETA @zetacomic STAN THE CREATOR, AKIRA BELONGS TO HER AND HE WILL BE IN THE WEBCOMIC NAMED ZETA !!

Fortunato/Akira

⎈ My character pins yours to the ground while fighting/sparring.

Eyes travelling left to right despite coughing because of the smoke in the room. Training wasn't only about those extreme exercises, or the the training to failure which was a fucking pain to experience--- but they now had to spar with their tutor... as punishment. Some were thrilled to go against him, some were terrified as hell and some- well they didn't give two shits about it and went with whatever he wanted... And the person up against the tutor was one of them. Shitty smoke, why did Crew Cinque have to mess up their own plan, it ended up messing up the whole training ground! He squinted his eyes, his fists still clenching. Goddamn it, as if fighting him wasn't hard enough.

Suddenly, he noticed a sound coming from his far left, but he knew better than to approach his opponent head on. A gang leader to two people, and he was even known to be one of the strongest people around... He had to make his own strategy to at least show him that he was no pussy and he didn't fear him at all. He cracked his knuckles, before cracking his own neck. "Mister Akira, with all due respect..." His eyes now showing a spark of determination and readiness in his words. "I'd prefer to fight you head on instead of waiting for this smoke to clear up." He announced and he was a hundred percent sure that the man heard his word...

Because the next second, his wish was granted.

The person he spoke to, in a matter of seconds, lunged towards him. He was sprinting with no kind of sweat, hesitation or doubt in his own skills. With a blade showing up, a sudden burst of andrenaline coursed through the body of Fortunato. Were there regrets on his favor?

"You were able to block that hit. Interesting."

Well, as of now, there weren't any. He was quick enough to step away as he swung the nunchucks around. "I don't know, you sprinting like a fucking predator hunting its prey seems much more interesting." The spinning of the nunchucks was so exact that it blocked the blade. "Weapons have the same abilities no matter what, but your fighting skills is without a doubt better than mine." He felt the intense heartbeat through his chest once he took another look at the knife. "I didn't expect for sparring to be this leveled up. Jesus Christ."

"This isn't only sparring. It's training, or if you want to call it--- punishment. I would never go easy on anyone." He swung his knife again, causing the other to step away. "No pain, no gain. I want my students to be strong." With those words, they continued their spar. Several hits were blocked and Akira was able to take note that his opponent was more on the defense side, choosing to block or counter rather than landing a hit. That might have been a good plan, but against him? God knows what he can do, and he was no ordinary man who fought for the sake of winning.

The nunchucks was able to grab the blade of his blade, spinning around it and the length was enought to constrict it. It might have been tight enough to keep on place. A quick second, Akira was pulled forward as Fortunato balled his fist to attempt and punch him on the face... However, with the corner of his eyes, he saw him release the blade and bringing out a hidden one from his sleeves. "Shit-!" He spat out and dodged the blade and he didn't even gain a scratch from it--- it wasn't even close!

Yet he felt something else. A sharp pain on his stomach and he lost balance for a bit. Before he could get back up again, another quick hit landed on his chest as he fell to the ground. He twitched as his eyes began staring directly at an electric blue shade of eyes- looking more threatening than it usually did. His body was staying still as he felt a cold metal poking his neck. "Don't focus on weapons." He took note on how he was only using the blunt area of his sword, making sure it didn't draw any blood. "Your enemy would have feet and weapons may only be a distraction to what's to come."

"Yeah, I can see that. You're literally pinning me to the ground, Mister Akira." Fortunato called him out and sighed. Of course he wouldn't be able to win against someone like him. But on the positive note... "Do I at least get a praise for being able to block majority of your attacks?" He questioned and his tutor only squinted at him before bluntly replying.

"No."

"What?!"

"I wasn't going easy on you." He got off Fortunato before shaking his head. "Despite being clever with your blocking, you still couldn't attack back. I was only playing as a smart "rookie", there isn't something to be proud about." He explained his reasoning and Fortunato sat up before grinning. He felt confusion taking over his body, but he had to admit that there was something about that smile that made him think it would be something he'd be glad to hear. "Why the smile, Fortunato?"

"Even if you won't praise me now, I swear to whatever is up there... That you'd be proud of me soon enough."

His eyes widened for a short time at that statement, but he showed no signs that he softened up. "I'm your tutor, not your father. It would be better if you'd be able to be proud of yourself."

"Whatever, Mister Akira. I don't give a shit with what you tell me, but making you proud is part of my list of goals now." He finally stood up, wincing at the pain because of the strong kick from a while ago. "But first... I think I need Capo Quattro."

Sepheir/Romano

✦ My muse bandages yours due to an injury.

Romano was sitting on the bed, his whole shirt taken off as his sister brought out everything from her medical kit. "I have to clean the wound first... Apply some antibiotic to prevent disease..." She muttered to herself as she began washing his arm with soap and water. "First of all, I would focus on the deep open wounds and-" She stopped talking the moment she saw her brother's arm shake as she applied the antibiotic. "Does it hurt? Should I have been gentler? Did I press too hard?" One question coming after another, yet he didn't respond. "I need an answer." She bluntly stated, but her eyes now showing worry. "Please answer."

"... I'm fine." He finally replied, still not being able to look at her in the eye. "I'm only... pondering over..." He ended up being more quiet than he used to be, his eyes looking duller. "Nevermind, Sepheir." He placed his right palm on his head before scratching his head violently. "I'm only overthinking... I'm sorry." Nothing but silence in the room as she stitched the deep open wound. Her thoughts would have lingered forever if he didn't even tell her a thing. However... she didn't end up saying anything, she didn't even consider any other option besides stay by his side and continue patching him up--- Until she gave a guess.

"You're curious and you are trying to find a reason why I am still nice to you, aren't you?" Her emotion and the tone of her voice unchanging, and he shut his eyes tightly... Her older brother always did this when the person was right but he was too afraid to agree... even back when they were children. "You're not at fault." She stopped moving her hand as she did the final stitch. "You were never at fault." She repeated, but now her voice stronger to show emphasis. "Stop blaming yourself, Romano." She began ruffling the head of her brother even if he refused to look at her in the eye.

The tears slid down his cheeks, but his sister had no idea he was crying, he only cried silently as his sister continued petting his head. If only he were stronger, if only he were smarter, if ONLY he was better... He could have been there for her... But that couldn't happen. He ended up not being able to be there for her for years. He failed as an older sibling, he failed as her last family member... He was a failure to her, yet she doesn't realize that. He only sat there quietly as he felt the bandages being wrapped around his arm. "I'll try to stop." That's what he always said, but his brain never allowed him to.

She quickly released the bandages after she properly tied it, but she felt the massive ache on her chest. She hid her emotions and kept it all locked in because she never wanted to show weakness. She promised herself she wouldn't cry again after she mourned for her parents. She always wanted to be the strong one, and now that her brother couldn't be the one to protect her--- then she has to be strong herself. Her eyes may have been watery, but she refused to make herself cry. "Try your best, big brother. Can you promise that?" A whisper, a whimper, a plead...

Big brother... She didn't call him that a lot because she would notice how guilt always started building up by all his gestures. Right now, it wasn't guilt, but it was a kind of feeling where he felt like he needed to make a pledge. If that's what his sister wanted... "Okay..." He quickly wiped away the tears off his face and turned his head to his sister. His eyes still red, but now a little smile on his face. "Anything for my little sister." His voice may have been softer, but there were no stutters or pauses. It was sincere and sweet.

But who knew that was the only needed words for Sepheir to smile back?

"Thank you..." She went close to give a gentle hug to him and he hugged her back, making sure not to move too much so his wounds wouldn't reopen. "But I have to bandage the rest of your wounds, you still have some on your other arm."

Aki/Izami

⚑ Our muses are mistaken to be a couple by someone else.

Izami walked beside Aki, his hands in his pocket as he listened to her talk about tarot cards. She sometimes did tarot readings to random members, and sometimes she even talked about horoscopes to them. She was always a big fan of these even if sometimes she thought it was ridiculous because her old classmates made fun of her for it. Well, if he were to meet them, he'd fucking kick their ass. Those were interesting shit she was talking about. Who the fuck had the ability to be so damn accurate? Even weather forcasters get shit wrong, but it's as if what Aki says is true!

"I should do a tarot card reading for you later... It's been a month since I did it with you!" She clasped her hands together and smiled brightly and he only raised an eyebrow. "It's a weekly thing, I do 1 member of each team a week aaaaaand you should be next from Crew Cinque!" She placed her arm around his and he froze in place. "You see, sweetheart, it's an Aki-thing. I really love showing my love equally." She giggled before smirking. "Asshat or not." What a snarky comment from a girl who looked pretty and sweet. He rolled his eyes.

"Guess I can't fucking reject it. It's an "Aki-thing". If I deny that then I guess I'd lose all my "Izami-rights", I guess." He commented blandly but he was shocked over the laughter that came from her. The fuck? That was barely fucking funny? "You don't need to fucking pity laugh at my dead jokes." He observed her and noticed how the laugh eventually faded and it was only replaced with a smile. "Well then. Fuck." If he were honest, Aki was someone who he found genuinely appealing to almost anyone, and that includes himself. He wouldn't be surprised if she were able to make people weak on their knees just by the sound of her laughter.

"Don't catch feelings for me, sweetheart." She gestured to herself. "I'm not the best person to fall for." She brought up, but gave a wink after. "If there was someone you should be attracted to, it should be my crew members. Bren? Smart, handsome and logical! Allen? Gentleman, sweet and kind! Celes? Intelligent, sassy and pretty. Nomura? Loyal, funny and strong. I'm not much compared to them." She stopped holding the arm of his, but she snapprd her fingers. "Oopsies, we went out of topic! So about tarot card reading, we can do that later and-"

He grabbed her wrist and she turned her head to look at him. "You're fucking amazing, shut up." Those were the only words he said before releasing her. "Are you fucking dense or something? You're more than what you see yourself as, dumbass." He huffed and she was a bit still too shocked to respond. "Fuck that, let's go back to tarot-"

"Are you two dating?" Someone from the mall randomly went to them to ask this question and before Izami could respond to the question, Aki placed her hand around his before nodding. "CONGRATULATIONS!" The girl announced before throwing rose petals around them. "If you eat in our Cafe for Couples, you can get the items 10% off and even have a coupon for your next visit!"

"So, darling~" Jesus fucking Christ, Aki. Is this how she gets all her damn coupons? "Would you be down to have some snacks together? They have your favorites!" She hugged his arm and rubbed her head on his shoulder like a cat and he sighed internally... Damn cafe, having fucking apple pie. He ended up nodding his head slightly, not knowing how else to respond. If it weren't for her answer, he would have given a strongly worded essay printed just to show reasons why he and Aki could never be together. "Awww, he agreed! Bring us there, sweetheart!"

The girl quickly nodded and went a bit ahead of them to lead them to the restaurant. He ended up grumbling a lot of words and he cursed under his breath. He could only hope that no other member of the Protezioni would see them, he would hate it if he were to be seen in a cafe for COUPLES with Capo Tre. He would be fucking teased by his whole crew for a week non-stop. The only good side in this situation will be having some foods on sale and coupons... That's not even close to the bad side which may cause him to throw some people out of the airplanes during missions. "Aki, how many times have you fucking done this?" He asked quietly for the person not to hear.

"I never do things like this! I go here a couple of times with Nomura and Ko but for different reasons." She answered his question at the same volume. "Maybe sometimes with Yarohe too... But we pay the same price... You're the first one I did this with." She tried to recall her memories and Izami only flicked her forehead. "Aww, ow! That hurt!"

"I thought I was the bad one."

She only giggled a bit before combing her hair with her hands. "To be fair, you sounded like a convincing boyfriend."

"Fuck off, let me grab my apple pie and coupon."

#ask #writing #akira #STAN ZETA #fortunato #romano #sepheir #aki #izami

[ill-skillsgard]

Dirty Demons, Part 3- Axel Cluney/Zeitgeist

Title: Dirty Demons

Description: It's nice to have a companion on the road to total self-destruction - a continuation of Sweet Demons

Warning: 18+ for sex/language/violence/drugs/kinks of all sorts etc.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

He looked me straight in the eyes and I smirked when I noticed again that one of his irises tended to slide out of place from time to time. It was always the starting point of my analysis of Axel's face. The scar that dashed his cheek stood out right after and led my gaze across the summits of high cheekbones to a nose that turned up more innocently than what should have been allotted to a man of his perversions. Aside from his wandering eye, his face was entrancingly symmetrical with lips a shade shy of rose red. Down his neck, I fixated on the vulgar tattoo that he had marred his pale skin with long before we had ever met. Eat shit and die. The only thing about Axel that seemed different was that he didn't sport as many metal rings. His choice of fashion was still unsettling and he had an undeniable aloofness that only seemed to melt away in the face of... Well, me. He was a chin-up, take-no-shit-from-no-one menace to society that liked to spit in the eyes of authority and enjoyed drawing attention to himself in the worst ways possible yet somehow, I still found him exquisitely cool and magnetic. Being with Axel was like carrying around a polished loaded pistol. Equal parts empowering and terrifying. I couldn't deny that I was still paranoid that word would get out about Axel's return and that somebody would decide to collect the bounty of having put a bullet between the eyes of a deserter. When we rode together I found myself checking my mirrors more than what was necessary just to make sure nobody was tailing us. After the encounter we had had at the Four's clubhouse I was almost certain that we would run into trouble somewhere along the line. Maybe not immediately and maybe not soon but something screamed inside of me that danger would find us on our journey. Axel did his best to distract me but I could tell that he was overcompensating for his unwillingness to let me in on the details of the last two years of his life. Sex was always his weapon of choice and I had to admit that it did work on me for a little while. The first thing we did when we got into our hotel room- proceeding a long and drawn-out argument about where we should stay- was drop our bags and our pants again. Axel had fountains of stamina and an unrelenting libido that my body was constantly being charged with. To be on the receiving end of Axel's remorseless fucking was not without its benefits though and he never neglected my pleasure for too long. Bouncing on his lap or being forced up against a wall, taken from behind, on top of the hotel bureau, in the shower and everywhere he saw fit to sully became the altar of ceaseless passion. The hotel room sheets didn't stay fresh or crisp for long and by the time we took a breather they could have used a changing. When Axel stared at me with his assaulting eyes it was easy to pick out the flecks of nebulous green and slices of dull blue. I drew back to better take in his expression. It looked like a thousand different things scrambled to pour from his mouth but the only thing he managed to ask sent me reeling. "Marry me," he whispered. "Axel... What the fuck?" I laughed but he did not crack a smirk. "Don't laugh." I couldn't help but giggle in anticipation of a smile that never appeared. It wasn't until he drilled me even harder I realized he wasn't just kidding around. "You're not serious," I scoffed. "Does it sound like I'm fuckin' joking?" "No, I guess not." "Well?" Fleering still, I let another laugh slip from my throat and it only served to knit his eyebrows together more tightly. "Are you going to lay there and laugh at me or are you going to answer me?" "Axel... We can't get married." "Why not? Don't you love me?" "Oh my god, Axe... Where is this coming from?" He sat up in bed with a huff of frustration. "What does it matter where it's coming from?" "You don't strike me as the type to let yourself get tied down so easily." "Easily?" He grew tired of my derision. "Angel... You think it was easy for me to find you? You think it was fuckin' easy for me to endure months and months of self-discipline and torture just so I could finally say with confidence that I'm not scared to murder somebody by accident?" "Torture? What torture? What do you mean?" "The shit I had to do to harness control of this... This fucking curse was worse than anything your spoiled ass could ever possibly imagine." When I reached out to touch his arm he flinched away but I did not surrender to his flaring emotions and chose to instead grip him harder and pull him down to the bed again. "You're a fucking asshole, Axe. We argue all the time. Why would you want to... Do that?" I asked. Axel gripped my face and kissed me hard before pulling away, "I like it. You're not afraid. You're not scared of me even though you should be. I'm scared of myself." "Why are you scared of yourself? I thought you had everything under control?" He relaxed back into the bed, sinking into the fluffy hotel pillows and sighed as his gaze rolled to the ceiling. "I do. At least... I think it's under control. You're certainly testing my fucking limits though, woman. If anyone's going to make me choke up a ball of acid, it'll be you." We laid there in silence for a couple of minutes, Axel no doubt reliving his past traumas and me biting my tongue and mulling over the thought of us becoming an old married couple. When I looked back over at him exhibiting the same look of unease, I squeezed his tattooed bicep to take his attention back. "What happened after you left?" I pressed. Axel continued to stare up at the ceiling as though the peaks of stucco were revealing secrets to him. He shrugged his shoulders and I watched the bones shift beneath his pale skin. With his right hand, he raked his hair back and heaved out a sigh. "I killed somebody. That amount is true. We were at some party. One of the other clubs was hosting this big bike show and some kid got in my face. Guess he didn't like the way his woman was staring at me." "Oh, of course, this is about a woman," I huffed. "No. It wasn't like that. Trust me. I was on my best behavior. I was still thinking about you and imagining breaking your neck for trying to ruin my chopper. This kid was just another biker wannabe looking to stir shit up. I saw him egging people on all night until he finally got to me. It all happened so quickly that I hardly remember a thing. All I can remember was the smell of burning flesh and the way it looked when his face started melting away from his skull. I watched his fucking eyes drip out of his sockets like egg yolks, Angel." "My god, Axel. That's disgusting!" He shot me a grave look as if to assure that I had no idea exactly how bad it was to be present for the carnage he inflicted. "He was a recruit. No patch or anything... But still. If it weren't for Max, I would have been hung on a hook and used for target practice. He somehow managed to work that Sweet charm and got me out of there, bullethole-free." "What happened after that?" Axel sat up in bed again. He couldn't get comfortable as he readied himself to tell the rest of the story. "The club sort of turned on me after that. Nobody wanted to come near me. Even Max was afraid to get close to me. I was 'volatile' as they liked to put it. They pretty much had me quarantined. So I left." "But you didn't tell Max, did you?" "Not until I was already gone." "So you did desert them then?" "I had to. I don't expect anybody to understand me or my reasons for leaving but I wasn't going to hang around while everyone flinched the moment I walked into a room. They were waiting for me to get pissed again. They were counting down the seconds until I went off and killed somebody else. I got sick of being the fucking carnival freak." "Where did you go?" "Down South. I had heard about this woman who could take away certain afflictions of the body," Axel rolled his hand. "I thought it was just some witch doctor voodoo bullshit but I'd have tried anything at that point. I met her but she wasn't anything even close to what I thought she would be. She wasn't a shaman or a witch and it wasn't as easy as me asking to be healed. She made me stay and surrender everything I had otherwise she wouldn't help me. I thought she was just going to brew up some potion shit and I would be on my way but it wasn't like that at all." "What happened? What did she do to you?" "She practically beat me to death with sticks and dowels. This weird woman. She had these, I don't know... Henchmen, I guess? Big fuckers and dumb too but they did whatever she told them to and they held me down while she hit me with rods and shit until I got so angry that I... Y'know... Let loose.  Every single day she would make me so fucking pissed that it would just come up. She had me locked up in some kind of barn like a fucking animal and every day she would come down with these two huge bastards and they would just push me and push me until I couldn't be pushed any further. But I realized what she was doing after a while." "What was she doing?" I pried. "Forcing me to control myself. At first, I thought she was trying to kill me but I knew that couldn't be it. She kept me too well-fed." "And did it work?" "Yeah... I think so. Eventually, it started getting harder and harder for her to trigger me but that just meant that she busted my ass even harder. It was straight up torture. They tied me up and... Did shit to me that no person should ever have to endure." "Wow. Axel... I had no idea." "Of course you don't. Nobody does! Nobody has any idea that I went through Hell just to be able to come back here confident enough to know that I'm not a ticking fucking time-bomb." "So are you... Cured?" "There is no cure for what I have. I only have control of it now. It comes only when I want it to. As much or as little as I want it to." A presage of a smile plucked at the corners of his mouth. "Which means I'm that much more dangerous." "Axel... People will start looking for you. What are we going to do if the wrong person catches wind of where you are? What if somebody tries to kill you?" Swallowing hard, the smile that ghosted over his lips caught on and he looked up at me with those peculiar eyes twinkling. "I'd love for somebody to try." "I could kill you in your sleep, you know," I reminded him. "As long as you agree to marry me first." "Fuck you, Axel." "I'm not hearing no." ~*~ The haul up North was long, scenic and punctuated by piss breaks and pulling into truck stops so we could find something to eat, smoke and drink. The food selection on the road was unimpressive in between cities and we happened by possibly the shadiest bar that we possibly could have to break for burgers and beer. The only two patrons in the tavern looked like they could have been related to the bartender and provided us with uncomely sneers when we went in holding our helmets and making noises with our boots that cut into the old twangy country music crackling over two long-lived box speakers. Luckily the bar was so unwelcoming that we ate our food, chugged down a pitcher of beer, rolled joints in the bathroom and took off before anyone of them thought up a reason to assail us. I tried to get used to the fact that no matter where we went, somebody would have mean looks to give to Axel. He was a walking visual punching bag for the greater majority of people but it made me cling to him even more. He didn't know it but I silently swooned over my big, tall, inappropriately dressed lover who had ridden across countries just to find me and had subsequently and unceremoniously asked me to marry him. I refused his marriage proposal only because I knew it wouldn't be the first or last time he would ask. If we made it to Mumby and Lovesick Park without tearing each other's throats out and he could survive a meeting between my mother and me, then I could entertain the idea of us being together permanently. For Axel had his own problems and I knew nothing was going to prepare him properly for what was to come next. There was an emotional eruption surging beneath the crust of my skin and finding my mother could become the tectonic shift that caused me to burst. I feared for the hour of reckoning as a hundred undesirable scenarios taunted me. Landscapes of broiled orange, searing red, golden yellow and green sprawled for miles as we rode through roads carved from great hills of jagged stone. We sailed bridges overlooking vast lakes that shimmered in the selective sun. It was a cloudy day that changed a little bit with each small municipality we passed through. Sometimes it was clear and bright with blue skies dusted in wisps of scant clouds and other times it was grey and threateningly windy. The trees always responded to the atmosphere by shaking and shedding leaves or standing tall and vibrant in the Autumn air. The air whipping at me aroused all of my senses and I sped up, unable to keep myself from smiling as I gained momentum. The further we got from major cities the more beautiful the land became and I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to buy farmland and live away from the constant blathering of urban life. Axel could have his own shop and I could have acres of the forest all to myself to disappear into whenever I didn't want to be found. I had spent most years of my life dreading the thought of settling down and becoming a wife but when I glanced ahead at the back of the Widowmaker and saw Axel's face clothed with a black bandanna in his mirrors and the sunlight glinting off the dome of his helmet, I couldn't deny that it was crossing my mind. He could have been the one to change it all. Then I remembered all of the time and labor my father had put into the Motorcity Clubhouse and the bike shop that was home to years of tradition. I could hear his distant voice in my head shouting at me for even thinking about selling my childhood home and the one asset that set us apart from the rest of the world. Dad had spent too much time holed up in his garage tinkering with bikes or fixing cars for his friends and the locals for me to contemplate stripping it down and selling it off. I shook my head and tried to let all thoughts of my parents melt away. At least until we breezed by a big blue road sign welcoming us to Mumby Lake. Population: 2,045. ~*~ We didn't reach the park until night had fallen and the streetlights illuminated a big arcing sign with painted red letters that spelled out the name Lovesick Park. The quaint little trailer park was fenced away behind a thick stone wall and rows of fragrant pines to ensure the privacy of the park's residents. We rode through the entrance and followed a narrow dirt road that swiveled between trees and trailer lots until we saw what looked to be an administration office beside a large empty pavilion. The chugging of our bikes roused the attention of the lone attendant who had been sitting down with his dirty work boots propped up on a simple wooden desk. The kid had a fresh-out-of-high-school camp councilor look about him and when we walked in he dropped his feet to the ground and stood up, nervously eyeing Axel as though he was afraid of having a knife pulled on him. He shuffled from side to side and I could tell he was having trouble deciding whom to direct his attention to. The kid was tall but not as tall as Axel and just growing into his looks despite being smudged with dirt and sweat. "Hi there. I was wondering if you would be able to give us some information?" I cut right to the point to alleviate the obvious internal struggle the teen was having. "Sure. What can I do for you?" He answered. "I was wondering if you would be able to tell me if someone is in this park or if they have been here recently." "Oh," the kid's voice lowered. "I don't think I can help you with that." "Well, you see darlin'... I've been looking for my mom. Her name is Darlene Lockley. Goes by Dar-dar by those that know her well. We've been riding a very long way to find her," I pressed myself up against the desk with my arms tucked underneath my chest to draw the kids eyes downward. Axel watched his troubled brown eyes drop down to my cleavage then shoot back up to my face. Blinking as though he had looked into the sun, he let out another nervous chuckle and tried to avoid Axel's lethal stare that he could probably sense was beginning to burn into him. "I'm sorry ma'am, I can't really talk about the people that come and go here to strangers." "Can't you just look it up on your little computer there for me? I really need to find her. Like I said... We've come a long way looking for her. It's very important that I locate her as soon as possible." The kid wrung his hands and shuffled his feet again. "I don't have access to those kinds of records, ma'am. I'm sorry. It's all password protected, all the records and stuff. I couldn't look if I wanted to." "Somebody around who might have the password?" Axel piped up. "N-no. Sorry. Just me for the night." "What's your name?" I asked. "Greg," the kid replied. "Okay, Greg. My name's Angel and this is Axel. We came a very long way, as I already told you. Any information you can give to us would be extremely helpful. She rides a motorcycle. Probably had dark hair like me. She's a very difficult woman to miss. Can't you just tell me if you recall seeing somebody like her? I'm kind of getting desperate here. She's been missing and I've been doing everything in my power to find her and... if you could give me anything I will be extremely grateful. Think of it this way... if your mom went missing, wouldn't you appreciate any and all help you could get to try to find her?" "My mom's dead but... Yeah. I'm real sorry ma'am. I don't recall." I squeezed my fists and clenched my jaw. Greg was going to be of absolutely no help. He watched dumbly for our reactions in hopes that we would concede and leave him to continue watching whatever garbage television program was playing on the old tube TV perched on the corner of the desk. The dead end that we had hit suddenly blinded me and I could feel anger begin to boil in my gut. There was nowhere left to go. "Very sorry to hear about your mom, Greg. I suppose... If you really have no information at all, our search ends here." "How much for a campsite?" Axel sighed heavily, making his annoyance known. "Campsites are reserved only for trailers. You need a trailer and you have to complete the registration to station one here," "Damn, Greg... You're really a stickler for the rules, huh?" Axel scoffed. "I'm sorry. I just work here." "What if I said that we do have a trailer? Then would you let us rent a site?" Greg leaned over and peered out the screen door, saw our bikes glinting in the moonlight and then looked back at us. "But... You don't." "Whatever, Axe. I'm too tired for this. It's almost midnight and I'm exhausted. This really has been one shit pile after the next." "We have to find somewhere to sleep for the night, Angel. Let's go. We'll come back tomorrow." Greg grimaced as I turned away from the desk. "Wait... I'm... I'm really sorry. I wish I could help. But, I might be able to give you a place to stay the night. Maybe." "Maybe? What do you mean?" I asked. The kid peered through the screen door again and smirked when he saw our bikes still parked where we had left them. "I might be able to let you stay in one of the abandoned trailers if...-" "If what?" Axel pushed. "If you let me ride that green bike," his voice quickened with excitement over the thought of getting on the Widowmaker and taking it down the road. Axel nearly howled with sarcastic laughter. "Dream on, kid!" "Just around the park? Once? I know how to ride one. I ride dirt bikes all the time." "Dream. The fuck. On. Nobody rides the Widow unless they're on the back and have a pussy. Now, I'm not one to make assumptions but unless you have a hole and not a pole between your legs, it ain't fuckin' happening!" "Come on, Axe. Just let the kid ride it." "No! He can ride yours." "I don't want to ride the pink one." "Hey! My bike is just as good as his. Colours don't make it faster!" "Like fuck! No. No, no, no. We are not having this conversation. Now come on, we're tired. Just let us stay in one of your sites and I won't keep contemplating ripping your eyeballs out of your skull for staring at my woman's tits!" "What? I wasn't-" "Or even better... You tell us if you've seen Darlene then give us the keys to a trailer and maybe I won't duct tape you to your chair and set the building on fire!" Axel bumped into the counter threateningly, warning the kid that there wasn't much separating them and that he was crazy enough to make good on his promises. I watched the kid's eyes grow wide and the swift movement sent him reeling back, kicking away the rolling chair that he had been sitting in further away. "I like you Greg, but I don't have a tonne of patience left. So what's it gonna be? Are you going to let us stay here the night or are you going to make us get back on our bikes and leave? Because you know, I could really use a good sleep right about now. Might make me a little more open to suggestion tomorrow. Maybe I might feel a little more generous after a solid eight hours. Hm? Catch what I'm trying to say?" "Okay. Yeah, all right. Let me just go grab the keys," Greg poked his thumb over his shoulder. "Atta boy," Axel clapped his gloved hands together once, victorious over the teen. I sighed when Greg came back with a single key attached to a bent metal ring. He looked back and forth between us like he had another disappointing thing to say. "It's not going to be very welcoming but... There's electricity," he explained. "There a bed?" Axel asked. Greg gave a portentous nod that rose our suspicions about the state of said sleeping quarters. "Good enough for me then," Axel shrugged. We were led down a dirt road flanked by trailers that had been permanently affixed in their lots by solid wood awnings and decks that had been built around the portable homes. Some of them looked more like cottages and less like trailers and no two were exactly alike. Some were rusty and the tin sidings still had flakes of old paint spelling out names like "Predator Junior" or "Tundra Eagle". Lawn chairs and fire pits were abundant at first but the longer we walked down the road the less cozy everything looked. There was an old tube trailer that looked like it could have been housing a drug lab or the den of a deranged sex pervert and I held my breath in silent hope that it wasn't the trailer Greg was leading us to. I only let my breath escape me as we walked on by but I couldn't see much else besides the edge of the stone wall that wrapped around Lovesick Park. That was until we turned down the road and saw a squatly dilapidated trailer no bigger than a camper van and tall enough that the top of Axel's head may have scraped it if he wore his boots in. The roof was concave and about ready to collapse inward. The glass shutters were opaque and dirty, incapable of letting in much light, not that there was any to be welcomed. It made the silver meth-lab trailer look a lot more appealing by comparison. "Wow, Greg. Looks like there's been a whole lot of rape and ritual sacrifice performed in there," Axel chuckled. "Sorry, I know it doesn't look very appealing but... You can at least sleep on a bed." "A bed of nails, maybe. When was the last time someone was in there?" Axel kicked at the overgrown grass shooting up around the perimeter of the trailer. "It used to be my uncle's. He ran the park for a while." "We're not going to be expecting him back any time soon, are we?" "Nah. He's long gone. Bought a park out East after he sold this one to my dad. He used to let the groundskeeper stay in here for free." Axel and I stared at each other, unease permeating between us until he turned back to Greg with a smirk. "And the groundskeeper is now where?" Greg held out the keys for Axel to take. "He's gone too. We have a team that comes in every week now. They just come in with a big van, do their thing and then take off." "Well, that's nice. I'm glad Lovesick Park is making improvements," Axel handed the key to me with an amused grin. "Axe... Our bikes?" "Yeah. Give me your keys. I'll bring the bikes over. You go on inside and spruce up the place for us, okay, honey? Turn this little shitbox into a nice, livable little temporary home. Chase off the raccoons and you know, dust off the cobwebs and shit," Axel joked. "Greg and I will ride the bikes down." The kid's face lit up so much I could see it despite the streetlight barely reaching over the parapets of pine trees standing guard along the edge of the park. I accepted the key and once Axel clapped his hand on Greg's shoulder and started off towards the pavilion to get our bikes, I stepped up to the locked door of the trailer and shoved the key in. The lock resisted being opened and it took two hands for me to get it to budge. Once it finally turned I pulled on the handle and the door opened with a nasty ringing of old rusted springs. Scowling into the darkness, I felt a shiver go up my spine. I wanted to wait for Axel to come back before I set foot inside but I also didn't want to stand at the edge of the entrance for too long staring into the gloom of the forlorn trailer. Musty air and waterlogged wood panels were all I could smell and taste as I stepped inside and let the screen door slam shut behind me. The roof was so low it made me feel claustrophobic and I ran my hand along the walls to find a light switch. Once I located the switch I flipped it on and immediately wished I hadn't. The front of the trailer had a small table built into the wall opposite the entrance and one white plastic lawn chair tucked away underneath it. There was a glass ashtray filled to the brim with yellowed peeling cigarette butts and chalky ashes that had spilled over onto the surface. The many uniform nicks in the wood looked like they had come from the point of a blade and dust clung by the inch to everything from the blinds to the floor. When I took another step in, my boots crunched over dried leaves that formed a less-than-romantic path into the shallow depth of the rest of the trailer. The tiny kitchen was barren and I peered over into a little metal sink that a fat spider had turned into prime real estate. Tiny fruit fly carcasses were trapped in it's netting while it made quick work of wrapping another dead thing up in its silken threads. There were cupboards overhead but I dared not rifle through them for fear I might come across bigger skeletons than just beetles and flies. The bed was in the back and although it was big enough for both Axel and myself to sleep on, that was about the only thing about it that didn't give off a forbidding aura. Swathed in an old knitted blanket and bedecked with outdated throw pillows, I frowned and found myself wishing for a motel room of all things. I heard the sounds of two blaring engines approaching and went to the front of the trailer to see Greg riding the Widowmaker up the dirt road and Axel riding my bike behind him. As they pulled up and touched down to park, I could hear the kid laughing heartily. I didn't blame him for wanting to ride Axel's bike. The Widowmaker looked like a toy that a nine-year-old kid would design for themselves come to life. Greg gave it one more rev for good measure before turning it off and handing the keys and helmet over to Axel. "All right, junior. That's enough fun for tonight. Might want to get back to your post, eh?" "Yeah. I guess so. Well... Have a good night," I heard Greg call out. "See ya tomorrow, champ," Axel concluded, pocketing both my keys and his before securing our helmets. He opened the trailer door after locking our helmets and peered in with as much caution as I had. "Honey!" Axel exclaimed as he stepped inside and immediately noticed that he would have to duck to fit. "I thought I said spruce up the place?" "I think this is as spruced as it's going to get, husband." His eyes darkened lustfully at me before he scooped me off my feet and walked me down the narrow hall to the back room. The heaviness of his footsteps set the whole trailer rocking and I squealed when he tossed me onto the bed. "God, it looks like the spirit of someone's grandma lives in that fucking bed," he grimaced as he took in the image of me sitting on the shabby slab of a mattress with clouds of dust settling around me as I ran my hand over the wool blanket for him to join. "How many people do you think fucked and died on this bed?" I asked with a teasing smirk. Axel dove onto the bed beside me and rolled around until he had me completely encircled by his arms and legs. "Who knows. We'll probably be next," Axel gave a casual shrug. "I thought you weren't going to let that kid ride your bike?" "I know, I know. Small price to pay for such a luxurious accommodation though, right? I mean... Look at this place! Mold on the ceiling... These fine linens that definitely don't smell like old piss. And I don't even want to see how nice the bathroom is! It's so roomy! We should just stay here forever." "You know how I love the taste of dust," I mused. "Exactly! And look," Axel pointed to the crushed leaves littering the warped linoleum floors. "You get the rustic look all year round!" We giggled and made our jokes about the state of the little trailer until Axel rolled onto his back and sighed dreamily. He clutched at my hand for a moment before realizing his gloves were still on. After he peeled them off and set them on the checkerboard-sized table at the side of the bed, he resumed holding my hand until that bored him enough to pull me closer. "I could be happy here," Axel joked. "We could build a port for the bikes, get friendly with the neighbors. We could become permanent residents of Lovesick Park. Doesn't that sound nice?" "Hell no... If we ever get a trailer, it's going to be one of those big ass Winnebagos with everything in it. Smart fridge, microwave, leather seats, fifty inch TVs, king-sized bed in the back. Everything!" "Oh yeah? And where is all this money gonna come from, missy? You got seven figures in the bank?" I squirmed on the bed until Axel let me loose from his grip. I turned to face him so I could speak seriously and not have him fondling my tits while pressing his half-hard dick into my ass. "It's kind of weird for me to actually say this out loud but... Yeah. I have millions now, Axe. My dad left everything to me." "That makes sense." "No! It doesn't make sense! It makes no sense. Up until the last year he was around he had it in his will that the club and the property would go to my mom. I thought that's how it stayed. He knew that I didn't want anything to do with his shop or any of the bikes. Hell, I was supposed to go back to school." "But you didn't." I placed my hand on Axel's chest and toyed with the distressed neck of his shirt, pulling it down so I could properly read his tattoo again. "After he died, I got a call from his lawyer. I didn't even know he had a lawyer." "A good outlaw usually has a good lawyer." "My dad was hardly an outlaw in the end. Maybe more of a town mascot." "He was a legend. He is a legend." "Anyway, he must have had the will changed without me knowing because the lawyer told me I had a bunch of shit to sign and when I asked he said it was to sign the property over to me." "So how does your mom fit into all of this?" "I just need to know, y'know? I need to know why she just jetted and I need to know why she didn't come to his fucking funeral. My dad's exes from high school came to pay respect. Once I have both sides of the story, maybe I'll feel more comfortable owning a world-famous club." "Or less comfortable," Axel remarked. "I'm sitting on a gold mine. The property value is huge. If I sold it we could get that million-dollar motorhome and just cruise. We could go everywhere. Anywhere we wanted." Axel blinked rapidly, "wait, wait, wait. You're thinking of selling the club? Your house and the shop?" "I don't want to stay stuck in the Port like my dad was. Fuck... After he couldn't ride anymore he never left that place once and I just... It's full of bad memories and ghosts. I don't want my life to revolve around one or two fucking days of the year. I just want to be free and just fucking... Ride. I don't want to be tethered to an old tradition that my dad invented with his drinking buddies." "That doesn't mean you have to sell it. What about... What's his face? Bird-man? Your fuckin' loverboy back home running the shop," Axel snapped his fingers to help jog his memory. "Braun?" "Yeah. He already knows his way around. Why don't you just let him run the show? Isn't that what you're doing right now?" "See, that's where this fucking paradox comes in and makes me think about how I don't want anybody else to run my dad's business. He left it to me. Me! When he knew that I wanted nothing to do with the club for years. I can't neglect it. It would be such a slight on his name if I dumped all the work on Braun and collected the cheques." He stretched his long limbs out over the bed and gave a great yawn. I was feeling tired too but it felt good to finally talk to him about the inner struggle I had been toting around with me for months. Staring at me with his unforgiving eyes, he smiled and I felt like no matter which route I took, everything was going to be fine. I had him back and whether we were on the road or cozied up in a derelict trailer that barely blocked the wind, he would protect me. Axel would have my back. "We'll figure it out. Not right now though because I'm tired. But we will. We'll figure all our shit out and then... Then we'll get married and buy a fuckin' Winnebago and a trailer for our bikes." "I love you, Axe." "I know," he snorted "I love you too, brat."

#zeitgeist fanfiction #axel cluney fanfiction #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #fanfiction

[waterstar2016]

I recently saw a post about someone asking why some of us find the TMNT characters attractive. I’m sorry, I can’t remember who it was.

For me it’s Raphael. 99% holy fucking shit he floats my boat. Sure, he’s a mutant, he’s a turtle, and yes he has green skin. Don’t forget that he’s absolutely fucking huge. Swoon.

The reason I say 99% is because there is a part of me that is drawn to Leo. The control he exudes, those blue eyes, how each of his movements seem perfectly executed, and that strut! He looks like he is as almost as strong as Raph, just in a more compact form. And talk about kinky vibe, yum. The submissive part of me screams “YES!” to his persona. The scene in the first movie when he yells “Enough!” Leo flips in the air and tells Raph to back off after landing on the buildings edge, Katana singing and dust and rubble exploding away from his impact (Woah). April is backing up, hell, I would too with that gaze focussed on me. But part of me would be tempted to not move. Anyways…

I found myself wondering why I was attracted to fictional characters that weren’t even human (I eluded to this in my first post “Why?”) I’ll expand on that post. I’ve always been drawn to the big, strong and or burly type. The ones that you know could pick you up and carry you away. Vin Diesel makes my heart pound and I really wouldn’t mind ending up in a dark corner with him. I am not afraid of the dark. *grin*

So, here’s my explanation as to why my body sings at the thought of Raphael. Leo, I summed up above because this is going to already be a long enough post.

Raphael:

1. His size. I’m pretty tall for a woman and I am not delicate. Being 5’11 and not small statured (have a curvy figure and a little bit of extra weight that I am working my ass off trying to lose), I have a 36” inseam (impossible to find jeans at a reasonable price) I have always, ALWAYS felt like the “big” girl. I tower over all of my girlfriends, have been called an Amazon by friends and boyfriends (hence the idea for my OC Immogene) and have found that the majority of my relationships have been with guys that were shorter than me. I have confidence in myself most of the time, I just feel awkward in certain situations. I would be rich if I’d gotten a dollar for every time a guy would come up to me, compliment me, and then walk away. There were a few guys that I was with that I felt like that if I went on top, there was a small chance that I could crush them (yes I know, probably not gonna happen, but my head would go there) I love doggy style, but if the guys a little short, I’d have to kneel on the edge of the bed while more time is spent adjusting the height that my ass is at, than the actual fucking (“Shit, hun lower your ass, I can’t stand on my tip toes this long.”) Meanwhile, I’m waiting to be pounded into the mattress… I’m pretty strong. I lift weights a few times a week and do not shy away from heavy work.

I’m the one in the grocery store with the little old lady beside me who looks at me and then looks at the top shelf. I know she wants to ask me to grab something up there, but she’s afraid. Sighing, I will turn and gently ask “Is there something I can grab for you mam?�� Crisis averted, she realizes I won’t pounce and I finally get a smile “O yes dear, could you grab me the olive oil? Thank you. Wow, such a tall girl, pretty though.” I’m the girl that guys get intimidated by. Have you read my fanfic “Two Shades of Green”? Immogene resembles me in so many ways and Brian’s character is actually based upon a few guys that I dated.

With Raphael, well lol, there would be NO worries about me crushing him. In fact, it would be the opposite. I would love the feeling of being utterly surrounded by his massive form. Don’t get me started on his thick fingers. Mmmm. Not many people can manhandle me (one guy I dated was 6’5” and could lift me with one arm…for the first time in my life, my mouth actually went dry. Too bad I found out he already had a fiancee *rolls eyes*…asshole) and the thought of being swept up and held by those gorgeous biceps draws an interesting tingle. For me to have to reach up to kiss him, for him to be able to put me where he wanted me to be? Bring. It. On.

2. His personality. Raph is so passionate. He has an internal fire. He has an attitude. He’s full of testosterone. He’s protective of April. He love’s his brothers. Raph and Leo may fight (a lot) but there are scenes in the where you can see the brotherly love. Like most Raph fans out there, I feel he is the type that is hard as nails on the exterior, but on the interior he’s a big pile of goo. I would love to be the one that could cool his jets (and then heat them up in different ways ;)). I get the feeling that if Raph’s character found someone, she would be his entire world (yes I know I am a romantic and a sap, but I try to let slowly ooze out, not flow over you like Niagara Falls).

Raphael speaks from the heart. The expressions on his face convey such raw emotion (thank you movie magic!). He’s a rebel. One of my favourite lines in the 2016 movie was “Normal, what fun is that?” Total high three for that one. I went to University and did two degrees at the same time. I target shoot, I can rough it in the bush for a few days (as long as there is a nearby water source), I fish, I can throw a baseball further than most guys I know, I love getting my hands dirty and am not afraid to open up a DIY book when my fridge stops working. I also love star gazing, wearing makeup occasionally to make my eyes pop and wearing skirts. Don’t get me wrong I know there are other woman that do these things…it just seems to be rare where I come from. Or, at least I’ve been told it’s rare. In the past those hobbies, skills and habits made me intimidating. I actually had one guy take me camping and who broke up with me shortly after (I found out the reason why from a mutual friend) because I could actually do what I said I could - start a fire, paddle a canoe for hours (I actually dragged him and that damn canoe over a beaver dam because he was scared), set up a tent, etc. He didn’t believe me when I told him I was ok to go camping a little off the beaten path (yes, I know, good riddance). I was raised by my father. He brought me up to believe that a woman could do anything she wanted to (my dad was actually a mentor for young woman in his field who were just starting their careers. He helped so many gain confidence and be proud in a male dominated career choice) I feel that Raph’s (and have personal experience with “Raph” types) personality would be drawn to someone who was sweet, caring and kind, but had a backbone. He would be the type to encourage you to be who you were (girlfriend or not). Reading a fair number of blogs I am not the only one that feels this way about this characters personality. I can see him really shy and afraid of rejection at first but not being able to resist testing the waters with an occasional dirty comment just to see the reaction. When he finds out that she’s interested. There would be no going back.

Referring to the quote about “Normal” again, Raph himself realizes he likes who he is at the end of the movie. Love that ending.

A violent teddy bear suits Raph to the T. Yes he can crush you, yes he would enjoy it (if you were the bad guy), but if you were someone he loved…those same actions would be expressed in an ENTIRELY different way. He would crush you to him and enjoy it just as much. Even though I don’t think he would admit it, Raph wants acceptance. Most of the time he expects the worst from someone. I often ended up in a not so great relationship because the guy accepted most of me (that didn’t take long to piss me off. I would move on to try again). I still struggle some days, but most of the time I am good with who I am now.

3. His voice. The timbre of it, the batman voice, the accent, and that chuckle. He can convey so much emotion in that voice. Good choice on the actor they chose to play him! One Raph Imagine even mentioned him singing to you! I can totally see that. I could listen to that voice for hours.

4. How he moves. Raph has a rolling walk. Shoulders moving with each step. It’s predatory. It’s fucking delicious. Combine how he moves with his never failing focus on his target makes me want to run and hide, but, in a place I know he will find me. The sit-ups on the pipes in the 2016 TMNT movie. His Sai piercing the metal in front of Casey’s face, when Raph doesn’t want him getting any closer to April. The motorcycle scene. I could go on. He moves instinctively. He doesn’t have to plan his next move, his body just does it. Imagining him doing that rolling walk, with me as his target. Hella yes.

For these reasons and a few more I haven’t listed here are why I found myself thinking of a mutant turtle as a partner to bump in the night with. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you or me for feeling this way. We each have things that turn us on, grind our gears, lift us up or put us down. The creators of TMNT just happened to be very good in making Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello and Michelangelo each exhibit a typical male stereotype. We are bound to find one (or more than one, or even bits and pieces of each) of those personalities striking a chord with our own.

There are so many fandoms out there. If you find one that rubs you the right way. Close your eyes and let your imagination run wild. Your thoughts are yours and yours alone.

Thanks for reading.

#why? #tmnt #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #fantasizing over fictional characters

[the-ghost-writers]

The Old Road Pt.3

A SFW of Dismas and Reynauld setting the path for others to follow while the two find they’re beginning to enjoy working with their unlikely companion.

The story is for @hotmilky and follows (roughly) their ideas.

The story will be given in chapters of various lengths.

All characters are from Darkest Dungeon and belong to Red Hook Studios.

“Yer crap at this game.”

Reynauld huffs, hunching his shoulders as he tries to fold in on himself. He looks at the cards in his hand, the flimsy pieces held awkward in his metal covered fingers. Somehow, the knight had been persuaded into playing a game of poker with his companions. The heir had stated, with another note, that another group would handle this week’s task. It left Reynauld with a week to unwind or, in this case, be thoroughly demolished in a game of cards. His armor creaks as he looks up at Dismas sitting across from him, the man staring at him with a grin.

“And even with a helmet, ya can’t hide that mug of yours.”

The crusader lets his head drop, tossing his hand to the table. The five cards show he managed to get three kings, the rest being garbage. “I fold.”

A grin spreads on the man in front of him, the highwayman smug as he takes the pot. That makes his stack of gold four times the size of Raynaud's. He’s quite happy with that, Reynauld not so much. “Fella, ya shoulda kept your head.” Dismas flips his hand to reveal not even a matching pair. Swiping the cards along the table into his hand, he starts shuffling. He only gives another hand to Reynauld, any other opponents having been beaten off the table an hour ago. “Just remember, I’m even better at dice.”

He watches Reynauld nod at this as the two pick up their cards. The knight only takes a second to look before putting them back on the table. “I must stop.” Dismas moves his cards out of his face, leaving him space to give the knight a look. Reynauld raises a hand to quite him despite how he wasn’t planning to say a thing. “ I must reserve a pocket of gold to purchase essentials and donate to the abbey. The Light knows it could use it, that place is in desperate need of refurbishing.”

Dropping his hand, Dismas looks about the room they’re in. He could go into detail to spot every flaw in it, or he could sum it up with a single glance. The tavern has gone to shit, just like the rest of the estate. He looks back at the knight, the man who’s shining armor and holy symbols clash with the look of the tavern. “You give your shit to that place?” Dismas closes his eyes and winces at himself. The crusader told him he hates it when he curses in the same breath he mentions the church. Correcting himself, he speaks softer. “Sorry. So you donate?”

He doesn’t hide the bitterness in his voice, but it doesn’t seem like it's meant for the highwayman. “The heir neglects it. They put their resources to the clinic and blacksmith instead.” Dismas nods to that. In the ten weeks they’ve been in Hamlet, the heir has been trying to rebuild all the buildings they deemed worthy to help their cause. All but the abbey, the holy place only a little better than when they first arrived. Hell, money meant for the abbey was instead given to the nomad who brings in trinkets.

The crusader reels back in mild surprise when Dismas slides a portion of his gold over to him. When Reynauld looks up, the man is already standing and facing away. His words are muffled as he pulls up his scarf. “I don’t have much need for money, and it’d be pretty fuckin stupid of me to let ya starve.” As he talks he scans the room, empty except for them and the bartender.

Reynauld gets to his feet before the highwayman has a chance to bolt. “I presumed you were here for the payout of our quest.” Ironically, he says this while shoving the gold into his pockets. Even the cards find their way to his pockets.

“Nah, came here for something else.”

The knight straightens up. “Like what?”

He’s met with silence for a moment too long. The room is unnaturally still except for Dismas fiddling with the coin in his left coat pocket. He turns back to the crusader and jerks his head to the door. “Walk with me.” He stands still despite his word, merely watching his companion. It takes a second for Reynauld to realize he’s waiting on him. The two end up outside walking beside each other but Dismas taking the lead. While it may be daytime, clouds block out the sun and leave the estate in a shade of gray. There’s a coolness in their air, accented by the soft howling of the wind above them. Standard weather for this place, something no one likes but all are forced to accept. The two don’t speak at first, merely walking down whatever empty street Dismas takes them down.

It’s not long before the silence is cut by fervent giggling, drawing both their eyes to look down an alley. It’s hard to make out shapes at first, but it shows when whoever is making all that noise move out of the shadows. Paracelsus and the grave robber, someone both have yet to meet, are leaned against the wall and each other as they giggle their heads off. With how the grave robber holds the doctor’s waits, it’s not horribly hard to guess what they’re up to. Dismas smacks Reynauld’s shoulder and motions for him to keep moving.

When they’re a block away, he speaks. “I’m happy for Paracelsus. The grave robber has been pinning at her bout four weeks now. I think they’ll be happy together digging up graves together.”

The knight slows down until he eventually stops, Dismas doing the same. “Is Paracelsus not a woman?” The highwayman nods she is. Reynauld shakes his head softly. Dismas stops fiddling with his coin when he does. “Forgive me. I have never met another who seeks their own gender. It is a new experience.”

A light chuckle brings his head back to see Dismas covering his face with his right. “But Reynauld,” He spreads his arms wide, his coin in hand as he makes himself seen. “Ya met me.”

“Pardon me,” He raises both hands, eyes squeezed shut in his helmet. He opens them to see Dismas still standing there. “You deem yourself homosexual?”

He’s met with bap on his shoulder as the man snorts. “Most people just call it being gay, but yeah. I am.”

Reynauld freezes up again, this time reaching to touch his holy seals of protection. “I would have never guessed, you don’t seem to show it.”

Dismas shrugs. All in all, he expected a more violent reaction from the knight. “Well, I didn’t come here trying to find love.” His face falls from grace as he turns serious. He rubs under his scarf, feeling his chin. “Oh yeah, the reason why I’m here.” He starts walking again. The crusader will either follow or he won’t. Thankfully, Reynauld catches up to him. The two are at the edge of the town, to one side ruined builds and to the other the vegetation that caused it. “I’m here because I realized what a fuck up I am.” The usual joking manner in his self-deprecation is missing. “I was killing people who’ve neva done a thing to me. I didn’t have a good reason. I had plenty of chances to make an honest living, but I never took em.” He stops to wipe at his face. He turns his head so he doesn’t have to look at Reynauld. “I can’t even tell myself why I did what I did. I lied to myself too many times, now I don’t even know the real truth.”

“But then I killed the wrong person. The wrong people.” He pulls out his lucky coin, thumbing over the engraving on it. “It made me realize what I was doing. That I need ta stop. So I came here.” He shifts the coin back to his pocket and looks back to the town. He only just noticed they’ve stopped walking. “I know that I’ll be killed for all that I’ve done. I figured I might as well die doin something right for once in my life.”

Dismas is off looking at the sky, uncaring about Reynauld’s prying eyes. The knight watches him but isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel. The highwayman looks at him and shrugs, having nothing more to say.

“You’re very open about yourself.”

“I’m done with secrets. Done with lying. I’ve put that behind me.”

Reynauld nods, unsure what else to do. He gets an idea when Dismas looks away. His armor groans in protest as it grinds against itself, curtly silenced as the metal is separated. Dismas turns to see Reynauld with his helmet tucked under his arm, leaving his head to be seen for the first time. He’s only a few years older, a beard matching his brown hair. Both are short, messily kept that way. But it’s clear to see he’s uncomfortable outside his armor. Regardless, he composes himself enough to speak. “I thank you for being so upfront with me. What you said has clear weight to you, it means much that you are willing to share it with me.”

Dismas stares at him and the knight instantly thinks he’s done something wrong. “Fuckin hell.” Oh yeah, he fucked up. Reynauld tenses up when the man reaches out towards his head. His surprised and alarmed when Dismas touches his beard. The highwayman looks at the coarse hairs, completely captivated by them. He shifts his eyes to Reynauld’s and laughs himself into a smile. “I thought ya wore that thing because ya had a ugly mug. But, man, now I think you wore it so Junia wouldn’t have impure thoughts.” Dismas laughs again, this time joined by Reynauld.

#darkest dungeon #sfw #human #mlm #reynauld #dismas