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realityparty · 2 years

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Hello! This is my first submission for #EddieMunsonWeek hosted by @stevelives and @natashxromanovf Eddie Munson Week: Day One, Rockstar AU

Title: I Love Playing with Fire eddie munson x ofc

Summary: Corroded Coffin finally managed to break out of Hawkins. They may not be on the charts, but their crowds are more than the five drunks at the local pub, and they are actually getting paid. However, they get a rude awakening of life on the road.

Word Count: 3k Trigger Warning: 18+, Drug Use, Mentions of Racism, Smut. Apologies for any grammar/spelling errors Additional Comments: The movie “The Runaways” inspired some of this. I have fallen down the Eddie Munson rabbit hole. For all stories/blurbs for this submission, they are going to be Eddie x OC centric, with an OC named Jensen. I just became obsessed with this character I created because I do plan to eventually write an S4 AU (I have two different versions I have thought of for the far off future). So I hope you enjoy these small pieces, as writing has been a struggle for me lately and hopefully I can get some more creative juices flowing.

Writing Links: Stranger Things Masterlist

"This is such fucking bullshit!"

Eddie looks up as the front door to his motel room slams shut. Jensen, also known as Cherry Cola, to the general public, stomps in the room.

Eddie stops plucking at his guitar as he looks at his bandmate and the lead singer of Corroded Coffin. Corroded Coffin had finally moved beyond the five drunks at the Hideout in Hawkins, Indiana.

After an impulsive move to the City of Angels, Eddie swore it was sheer dumb luck that got him, Jeff, and Garreth to where they were now.

Jeff and Garreth had been ready to give up. Moving from such a small bible-thumping town to the kaleidoscope mixture of cultures Los Angeles brought was a tough transition. They were small fries and just another tale of failed aspirations, hoping to make it big.

After all, they had always played for fun and they never seriously took their band as a means of livelihood. Hawkins didn't promote such things if it didn't involve the ideals of a nuclear family.

Yet, he refused to go back to Hawkins with his tail tucked between his legs. He was going to show the entire population of Hawkins that he was someone. He was " The Freak" that was going to make something of himself.

One day he was going to be on a stage and he was going to yell "Fuck Hawkins!" into the microphone.

So Eddie knew when it came down to it, it was all about networking. And what better way was there to network than to go back to his profession of dealing? Reefer Rick had a contact, Argyle, that helped set him up and it was all charm and charisma. After all, he was one to receive and give flattery.

He had somehow found his way at the Rainbow Bar & Grille speaking with Ezra Waylan, a music producer and manager. A demo was passed and Eddie had prayed to a God he felt abandoned by that this would be it.

It was three weeks later when their money was about to dry up and the inevitable return to Hawkins was on the horizon when Ezra called their motel room to schedule a meeting.

He remembers the day clearly as they arrived at an abandoned trailer park. He had been about to turn around when the door to the trailer burst open, revealing Ezra. The man had told them quickly that they were shit, but he was feeling charitable.

He ushered them inside the cramped trailer, and that's when they met her. Jensen wore faded ripped jeans at the knees with a cropped Deep Purple shirt. She had a pair of yellow sunglasses acting as a headband as she sucked on a Dum-Dum.

She was going to be their lead singer. Corroded Coffin was going to be a female-fronted band.

His life changed that day.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

Jensen throws her room key on the desk. "I went to check the schedule and to make sure the time was still the same for the sound check when I was informed that the opening act doesn't get that privilege."

Now, they were here on the road trying to get their name out as they supported their EP and using that buzz to land an actual record deal to record an album. Getting radio support wasn’t easy. So Ezra had told them word of mouth was the way to go. It meant performing non-stop as they worked on making fans and connections.

It was certainly an adjustment period for all.

One, they all were thrust together to form a band. He, Jeff, and Garreth at least knew each other. They were familiar with each other. They had that bond. Jensen was a stranger. They put her in a group of three men. It was expected of her to just trust them, not only with her dreams, but her general well-being.

Somehow, it worked. Maybe it was fate that they all got along and could find their groove as a band.

Either way, he knows they are going to be something, as Jensen has an amazing voice. Despite the guitars and drums, her vocals have a sultry feel that he believed would give them an edge over their peers.

Eddie is excited about the future for once. But the real challenge came when they got on the road.

Misogyny and racism filled the music world - especially the rock world. Eddie isn’t stupid despite the repeating of senior year a few times. He is fully aware of the privilege he has as a white man. Even with Jeff being another guitarist and just as a friend, he had witnessed how the world treated his friend in Hawkins. Now, in the rock world, they had a black guitarist and lead singer.

The shit he heard and had to witness was disgusting. He hated the fact both Jensen and Jeff would tell him to ignore it.

And now on tour as word-of-mouth spread and more people were talking about them than the main act, the childish and ignorant antics were increasing.

So it does not surprise Eddie with them saying they don’t have the privilege of sound check. Eddie hates to say it, but the treatment of the lovely residents of Hawkins at least gave him some thick skin with this type of behavior.

“They are just jealous, Jen,” he replies softly.

Jensen grunts as she lays down next to him on the bed. She grabs a pillow and cradles it as she rests her head on it.

Eddie bites his lip to hide the smile that threatens to overtake his lips. This was also a change he needed to come to terms with. He wants to blame it on the close quarters and the fact she is the only constant woman they are around.

Besides, the fact they can jam out to Deep Purple, Metallica, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, and Dio without shame. He was in Heaven. She enjoyed the same things he did, from magazines to movies, and even food. Hell, with each stop on tour, they were steadily adding to his tatty collection with a few matching ones.

And, it didn’t help that she was hot as fuck. Most would notice her sun-kissed, curly brown hair. It was her most distinctive feature.

Yet, as he eyes her in a pair of jean shorts that were dangerously close to revealing the curve of her ass cheeks with a cropped plain white tee, it was always her thighs and ass that drew his attention. As much as they listened to heavy metal and rock, Jensen kept a stack of mixtapes of R&B. They listened to those to ‘cool down’ as she would say.

It was forever seared in his brain, the way her hips moved as she danced along to Teddy Pendergrass crooning for them to turn off the lights. She had been wearing a tight emerald green velvet cocktail dress, as she called it, as she teased the fabric on her skin. Her fingers itched the hem of her dress higher up her thighs and it exposed him to the bat tattoo she copied from him.

Yet, he told himself that he wouldn’t cross that line. They were work partners - friends. He knew it would be a bad feeling to begin any type of romantic entanglement. It would be messy and most likely ruin the band. They would not be a Fleetwood Mac 2.0.

“You tell Garreth and Jeff?”

“Yeah, but they don’t get it.”

Eddie frowns as he understood the frustration. He knows when talking to Garreth and Jeff they had a blase attitude about all this. It was fun and exciting, but Eddie knows to make it requires discipline. He doesn’t think it settled in for them yet.

The two of them were reading music and business magazines to understand contracts. It was making sure if they got a record deal that had the rights to their publishing and masters. It was them planning for their future.

Eddie reaches out and his thumb brushes between her brows. “You’re going to get wrinkles.”

Jensen snorts. “I wouldn’t be if Ezra did his damn job.”

Eddie laughs. Ezra was cool to a point, but they both knew that Ezra was only thinking about how many zeros they could produce than the longevity they needed. “Well, that’s the music business, baby. We do all the hard work for someone else to get paid.”

Jensen buries her face into her pillow, and her words are muffled. “It sucks!”

Eddie brings his hand out and rubs her shoulders. “Was that all that happened?”

She stiffens as she keeps her head on the pillow.

“Jen.”

She turns on her side. She doesn’t look at him as she plays with the strap of his guitar. “Eddie…”

Eddie gets up from the bed and paces. “I can’t handle this shit, Jen. It’s one thing for people to talk shit about our music and hell, maybe a performance. It’s different when it’s about you and fucking Jeff.”

Jensen moves to her back and sighs. “Eddie, you’re going to have to get used to this. People are just shitty.”

“This is shit,” Eddie replies.

Jensen huffs, and she practically bounces off the bed. Her hands come out and grip the edge of his shirt and tug. “Just think, one day they will try to open for us.”

Eddie closes his mouth and takes a deep breath. His brown eyes peer into hers. He brings her into a hug and he ignores his heart, beating faster as she lays her head against his chest. “Well, I got a riff to a new song. You can tell me if you like it.”

Eddie has his guitar slung over his shoulder and Jensen has her yellow and orange microphone in her hands. After becoming victims to cut cords and strings, they never leave their equipment out.

A cigarette is burning between his lips as they walk down to the dim hallway and past the room where the headliners have their own dressing room before Jensen comes to a full stop. Eddie stops as well. “What’s wrong?”

“I have an idea,” she states proudly.

“Okay?”

Her brown eyes gleam, and he watches as she approaches the door to the dressing room. She presses her ear to the door. She seems satisfied and her hands clutch the doorknob.

“Keep watch,” she tells him as she cracks open the door.

His cigarette falls out of his mouth. “Keep watch? What the hell are you doing?”

A giggle escapes her lips as she scurries into the room. Eddie’s sneaker squeak against the floor as he rushes after her. His hand prevents the door from closing. Jensen is already by the band’s display of guitars.

“Jensen, what the hell are you doing?” He whispers harshly.

His eyes widen as she stands in front of the black and white Fender Stratocaster. The lead singer's guitar. He watches as she undoes the button of her black and white jeans. He whips around as he catches a flash of red lace. “Jensen?”

“Just keep watch alright,” she replies.

He hears the splash first before the sigh escapes her lips. She’s pissing on their guitar. Eddie shakes his head, as he cannot believe the situation he is in.

“Shit, do you think me pissing on their shit is going to give them more talent?” Jensen comments.

“Oh hell, Jen,” Eddie replies and he can’t help the laugh that builds in his belly and escapes from his throat. Her giggle soon joins his, as she latches onto his forearm and drags them out of the room. Their laughs bounce off the walls as they rush to get ready for their set.

Their set goes off without a hitch. They sold some CDs, cassettes, and homemade shirts after the show. They don’t bother watching the show. He isn’t too sure where Garreth and Jeff fucked off to after the show. Eddie and Jensen made camp in their room. They ordered a pizza. He had brought out some weed, and her cool-down mixtape was playing.

She is in an oversized t-shirt as she dances on the bed. They had pushed the two twin beds together, and he watched, amused, as she nearly fell into the crack many times.

Eddie watches with hazy eyes as the smoke caresses her. She smiles as “Between the Sheets” comes on. He takes a puff from his joint. As he exhales, he holds the joint out for her to take.

Instead, she climbs into his lap and takes the joint. He doesn’t allow himself to linger on her thighs as the shirt rides up. She makes a noise of content as she inhales. She exhales the smoke into the air and watches it disappear into nothing.

She scoots closer to him and their chests are touching. He gets the overwhelming scent of tea tree oil and weed as they breathe each other’s air. She takes another hit.

Her small hands reach out and cup his chin. She brings her lips close to his. Eddie is at first hesitant, as he knows they shouldn’t cross this line. She parts her lips but doesn’t kiss him. He takes a second to realize what’s she doing. He inhales deeply as she releases the smoke in his mouth.

She pulls back and grins. Her dimples prominent. He didn’t even realize his hands had moved to her thighs as he squeezes them.

There are only two ways this could go.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he tells her. This is playing with fire. If one misstep happens between them, everything they are working hard to build can come crashing down.

“We shouldn’t do a lot of things,” she counters.

Eddie goes to remove his rings when her voice stops him. “Don’t take them off.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow but says nothing. Eddie’s hand slips into her underwear. Her legs widen for him. She moans as his fingertips touch her clit. Jensen takes another hit and places the joint in the ashtray. She brings her mouth to his as he greedily accepts the smoke in his mouth.

He quickly slides off her underwear and slides between her thighs. She bites her lip as she looks at him nervously. “We don’t have to do this,” he tells her. They could go back to acting like nothing happened.

“I want to. I just want it to be good,” she tells him. “I’m not…I only done this a couple times. And it’s you.” She tells him with warm cheeks.

“Me too,” he reassures her. Because of his status of being a freak in Hawkins, it wasn’t as if girls were lining up outside of his trailer. He may have gotten a few blowies and a hand job, but he didn’t have sex until a college girl was visiting her family and saw his show at the Hideout when he was 18. That was a couple of years ago.

He uses his middle and index finger to spread her folds apart. Coating his fingers in her wetness, he gets a better look at her. He travels down her body and leaves a trail of kisses before he flicks his tongue inside her.

She moans loudly, breathless. And damn, Eddie thinks he could hear that noise every day of his life. He pushes two fingers knuckle deep inside f her. Her walls clench around them and he can feel the ache that goes straight to his dick.

He glances up at her as his tongue flicks her clit quickly. He doesn’t have much experience, but at least he is doing something right.

She pulls her oversized shirt off her body and it rewarded him with the sight of her perky breast bouncing from the movement. One of her hands tangles into his hair and the other tweaks at her nipple.

“Eddie…” Her breath hitched as he sucks on her clit and her legs try to wrap around his head. His hands stop her as he pushes her legs flat. He can feel her trying to move against his face as he fucks her with his tongue.

He hears her release a growl of frustration. “Eddie…please!.”

Eddie takes mercy on her as releases his grip on her legs and pushes his fingers back in her, making his cool rings hit her chubby nub as he gives her a harsh suck on her clit.

Her back arches and he can feel her pulsating around his tongue. Her thighs have him in a tight grip as she trembles and he has to move her legs back down. He is gentle as he pulls his fingers out as he places a kiss on her pussy. The curly-haired guitarist admires the wetness that coats her puffy lips, her thighs, and the sheets.

He can’t help himself as he places another kiss on her thighs. But then he indulges himself by giving her a sharp bite, which makes her jump and hiss. He soothes the sting with his tongue before he makes work on giving her a hickey.

He pulls back to admire the shiny bruise. A part of him is proud that when she wears her shorts, the bruise will be exposed.

He looks at Jensen, her pupils blown. Nipples hard they look painful. He moves up and brings her in a deep kiss. He feels her hands move to his boxers.

“Eddie, please, fuck me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He quickly removes his boxers and shirt. She whines as he has to pull back from her. He bends down and grabs his jeans for his wallet where he keeps a condom.

He slips a teasing hand around his cock a few times before he slides on the condom. He thinks he could get off of Jensen just watching in pleasure.

“Please, Eddie,” she begs as she fists the bedsheets.

She spreads her legs and arches her back to prepare for the impact. He gradually pushes his cock into her and she gasps as it stretches her. Her hands come up and he can feel her fingers dig into his shoulders. He fills her to the hilt, and he gives her a moment to adjust to him. To him, it's the most wonderful feeling in the world and he tries to think of any disgusting thought to make this last longer.

Jensen squeezes his sides with her thighs in acknowledgment that he can move.

He rolls his hips tauntingly slow. He uses one hand to hold himself up as he thrusts into her. With his free hand, he cups her right breast and uses his thumb to flicker against the hard nipple. Her lips part with a moan and her fingers trail down from his shoulders to his spine until they fall to his ass. She squeezes delicately as her hips meet his thrusts.

He buries his face into her neck as he moans loudly. The sound of skin slapping fills the room. Both of their bodies became slick with sweat and from her juices. He nips at her shoulder and leaves another a hickey. She cries out at a hard thrust and her legs tighten.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he cries out as he slams into her harder.

Her body tenses and he moves his head from her neck. He replaces his hand on her breasts with his lips. He encloses around the hard bud and gives a small nip, and her back stiffens and arches. Her hands fly to his hair and she releases a single breathless gasp. Her walls tighten around him.

She cries out his name, and it's the one thing he needs to bring him over the edge. He gives three final sloppy thrusts before he is cumming hard. He thinks he sees goddamn stars.

“Wow,” she breathes in a whisper. Eddie looks deep into Jensen’s red-rimmed eyes. Her eyes were the color of cinnamon. Not chocolate, honey, or coffee, but cinnamon with a sparkle to them.

He leans down and meets her lips. She eagerly kisses him back. Her arms wrap around his neck, holding him close as tongue and teeth clash sloppily. He keeps kissing her until he softens fully and pulls out of her heat.

Her pussy clenches at the emptiness and for a minute, he wonders what it would be like to see his seed dripping out of her. He pulls off his condom and throws it away. He doesn’t want to leave the bed, but he knows they need to clean up a bit.

“See sometimes it’s nice playing with fire,” she tells him sleepily.

He laughs as he places a kiss on her nose. “I’ll be sure to remember that in fear you’ll piss on my guitar.”

#eddiemunsonweek #untilmynextstory #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie muson x oc #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson x original female character #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut

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varietywritings · 4 years

Text

PROTEGO

Sirius Black x OC!Arden Walker

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

CHAPTER TWO: TRIALS & TRANSFIGURATIONS

It was about halfway through Ancient Runes when Arden decided that Professor Babbling did not live up to her name. Rather than tripping over her words and rambling on during her lecture, Professor Babbling droned on about what was in store for the year. Arden drifted further into her own thoughts as Professor Babbling monotonously reviewed which runic symbol corresponded with which number. She sat slumped in her seat, cursing the fact that she only woke up with enough time to get dressed and sprint to Ancient Runes. There wasn’t even enough time to have her requisite cup of coffee. Coffee, Arden thought longingly. What she would give just to even have a sip of the liquid energy. Something to give her a little pep in her step before her next class, Transfigurations.

Transfigurations.

Her stomach involuntarily turned. Arden and the rest of her year knew she was intelligent; her house was enough evidence for that. She prided herself on her natural intellect. Charms was like breathing for her and Defense Against the Dark Arts she could ace with little effort. While Potions was not her favorite, she could still manage to hold her own against Lily and even somehow landed herself in The Slug Club. However, Arden and the rest of her year also knew that Transfigurations was her worst subject.

She was certain that her shortcomings were not due to Professor McGonagall; the woman was a Transfiguration genius as far as Arden was concerned. Rewriting her notes, drilling the text into her head, practicing the wand motions: nothing could make the material stick in Arden’s head. She meekly wondered if the Permanent Sticking Charm could be performed on concepts.

The ringing of the bell snapped Arden out of her reverie. Begrudgingly, she gathered her things and trudged out of the dimly lit classroom.

After giving five different first-years directions to their next classes and descending six flights of stairs, Arden finally arrived at Transfigurations. She walked into the classroom and immediately had to bite her tongue to stop the creative expletives she was thinking of from flying out of her mouth. Not only were James and Peter in her class but her fellow chaser Joel Brantley sat in the second row. It’s safe to say that Brantley is possibly the snobbiest, most arrogant wizard Arden has ever come across. He could almost give her stepfather a run for his money.

Steeling her nerves, Arden walked to the front row and claimed her seat for the year. She preferred sitting in the front row in Transfigurations. This way, Arden could ask Professor McGonagall all the dumb questions she wanted without feeling the judgemental gazes of her classmates. Well, with the exception of Brantley.

“Good morning, everyone.” Professor McGonagall spoke out, capturing the attention of the students. The class grumbled in response as she surveyed the room. “Hopefully, you all maintain this level of enthusiasm as we delve further into the material planned for this year; it will not be easy.”

It never is, Arden lamented to herself.

“As you all may know, N.E.W.T.-level courses tend to be challenging, tiresome, and tedious. However, I have faith that everyone in this room will succeed if they try their hardest.” Professor McGonagall finished. Even though she wasn’t looking at her, Arden could feel Professor McGonagall’s stare drilling into her head, almost like she was directing her little spiel at her. “With that being said, today’s lesson is on Human Transfiguration. Now, you all should’ve learned out animagi in your third year . . .”

Arden prepped her parchment for the extensive amount of notes she was about to take, hanging onto every word Professor McGonagall was saying. She knew that Transfiguration was going to be her biggest obstacle this year, just like it was every other year, but she needed this course to be even considered for an auror position. Arden miraculously managed to get an Exceeds Expectations on her Transfigurations O.W.L. last year. She will pass the N.E.W.T.-level course with flying colors this year. Or at least she hopes.

That’s why, when Professor McGonagall shouted a reminder to them that twelve inches of parchment on Metamorphmagi was due the next class on Tuesday, Arden sped out of the classroom to the library to begin her research. In fact, she was so deep in her research, she was almost tardy to Charms. That would’ve made a bad first impression on Professor Flitwick.

Arden burst into the classroom, finding most of the class already present. She scoured the room for a spot to sit and, to her surprise, found Lily sitting in the bottom row of the tiered seats. Glancing around Lily, Arden found that all the seats surrounding her were already occupied.

“Sorry.” Lily mouthed. Arden shrugged in response as if to say it was all right. Sliding into the row across from Lily, she realized she chose a seat right beside the “Least Troublesome” Marauder, Remus.

“Mornin’.” Arden greeted, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment.

“G’Morning. How was Transfigurations?” Remus asked. Arden’s eyebrows knitted together. How did he know she had Transfigurations earlier? “James said you looked as white as a ghost when McGonagall was talking about how hard the class was going to be.” Arden’s nostrils flared. She should’ve known it was James who told Remus, that gossip queen.

“Not all of us are self-proclaimed Transfigurations Masters.” She grumbled. Remus nodded along.

“You have a point. Have you thought about tutoring?” Remus suggested, flipping to the page indicated on the chalkboard in his Charms textbook. Arden snorted.

“I’m a total dunce when it comes to Transfigurations. Why would I tutor someone on the subject?” She snickered at the thought, but Remus looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“I was suggesting you get tutored, not do the tutoring.” He clarified and Arden looked at him incredulously.

“I don’t need tutoring. I’ll manage just fine by myself.” She brushed away the suggestion. Remus looked less than convinced but decided not to push the matter further. Like his best mate Sirius, he knew she had a slight issue with people telling her to do things she didn’t want to do.

Professor Flitwick entered the room, standing atop the table at the front of the room so he could be seen. He cleared his throat slightly, adjusting the circular frames that sat on his nose.

“Hello, class! As you already know, I am Professor Flitwick and I am your new Charms instructor.” He beamed at the students. They stared back at him tiredly, their full bellies being the main cause of their exhaustion. Arden, however, smiled back kindly. “While it was sad to see Professor Hoddle go, I hope to live up to his legacy as a wonderful Charms professor.” He nodded as if to assure himself that his opening speech was good and moved onto the lesson.

“Who can tell me—without looking in your textbook—what the Water-Making spell is also considered, besides it being a charm?” Arden’s hand immediately shot up along with a couple of her peers’ hands. Professor Flitwick gestured to her. “Yes . . . ?”

“Arden Walker.” She introduced herself.

“All right, Ms. Walker. What is it also classified as?” Professor Flitwick looked at her curiously.

“A conjuration, sir.” She replied politely.

“Correct! Do you know why that’s the case, Ms. Walker?” He questioned further, his inquisitiveness showing even more.

“Well, it—you know—conjures water out of thin air.” She answered rather awkwardly. Lily flashed her a sarcastic thumbs up.

“Correct, again! Five points to Ravenclaw.” Professor Flitwick said, smiling brightly at Arden. She returned the smile and, once his back was turned, flipped Lily off in retaliation. Lily feigned a hurt expression, but couldn’t help laughing silently. Arden could see Remus shaking his head in her peripheral vision, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

Flitwick lectured for the rest of the class period while helping everyone correctly perform aguamenti. Arden managed to perform the charm correctly on her first try, producing crystal clear water. Lily and Remus only needed a couple of tries before both of them produced the same results. Professor Flitwick gladly wrapped the class up, announcing that there was no homework since everyone worked so diligently today. Sighs of relief filled the room as the students packed up for the day and headed out. Arden and Lily walked out of the classroom together, saying their goodbyes until after class. Lily walked briskly in the direction of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom when the same sinking feeling returned to her stomach. She would have to ask Lily later about Professor Janus. She already knew that Lily was going to tell her that she was overthinking the situation for the millionth time and tell her not to worry, but she still had to make sure.

Arden straightened up her prefect badge on her robes, setting off to help first-years find their way to their classes. Perhaps that will take her mind off things.

✧✧✧

Surprisingly, it did take her mind off things. It turns out being bombarded with questions about the castle was just what Arden needed. After classes had ended for the day, Arden decided to make her way back to the Ravenclaw common room to relax a bit before dinner. And by relax, she meant, “Comb through the four different books she checked out on Human Transfiguration to find sufficient information to begin outlining her essay.” The three hours she spent with her nose in multiple books came and went, and suddenly Arden was plopping herself down next to Lily at the Gryffindor table for dinner.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Arden greeted, shoveling mashed potatoes onto her plate. She was starving.

“Yes, fancy seeing me at my own house’s table.” Lily jokingly shot back while carefully doling sprouts onto her own plate. Arden gave her an unimpressed look and took a sip of her pumpkin juice.

“Har har.” She mocked. Lily chuckled before digging into her dinner.

Arden tapped her fingers rapidly against the wooden table. The sinking feeling had returned once more. She desperately wanted to ask Lily about the new Defense professor. She knew the answer, so what was the point? The point is something’s up, Arden reasoned. She shifted in her spot on the bench. She could feel Lily looking at her. Lily sighed.

“What do you want to ask me?”

“The new professor: what do you think of him?”

“Oh, Flitwick’s nice. He seemed a little nervous today, but—” Arden shook her head, cutting Lily off.

“No, no, not Flitwick. Janus, the Defense professor.” She clarified. Lily made a sound of recognition.

“Oh, him? He’s fine. A little arrogant if you ask me, but can you blame him? He’s very handsome and he was one of the best aurors out there. Had to quit, though. Evidently, he had a nasty run-in with one of You-Know-Who’s followers. He doesn’t like talking about it.” Lily said, finishing off her bread roll. Arden hummed in acknowledgment.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Here we go.”

“What?!” Lily turned to fully face Arden. Lily wore the look of someone who’s heard this all before. And she has.

“A, c’mon, not every new person is a threat.” Lily tried reasoning, but Arden wasn’t having any of it.

“You don’t know that! I actually have a good judge of character.” Arden argued. Lily laughed loudly, making James swoon a ways away.

“So the old man at Honeyduke’s last year really was stealing those Sugar Quills?”

“Okay, that was one time—” “And that willowy woman at Three Broomsticks really was a seer?”

“All right, we both know I was being facetious—”

“How about that little boy at Platform 9 ¾ our fourth year—”

“So I’m not always right! You can stop now!” The people sitting near them all looked over in their direction at Arden’s sudden outburst. She smiled sheepishly and carried on in a lower tone. “The point is that I don’t have a good feeling about him and this time it feels real.” Lily looked at her, exhaustion coloring her vibrant green eyes.

“The point is you’ve been wrong before, so you could be wrong again.” Arden’s shoulders slumped out of resignation. She knew Lily was right and Lily knew it, too. “Now, stop overthinking so much.” She playfully pushed Arden’s shoulder. Arden smirked a little bit. “You already don’t get enough sleep, so you really don’t need to be losing sleep over this.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Arden resigned. Lily tapped her ear.

“Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh, my—shut up!” Arden chuckled and Lily joined in. They finished their dinner while chatting about their day and then promptly made their way to the corridors to do their nightly prefect duties.

The weekend breezed by for Arden. However, she had to spend most of it drafting a new Transfigurations essay because she completely misread a passage on animagi as a passage on metamorphmagi. She cursed herself more than a couple of times as she triple checked the headings of each passage she read.

Monday morning finally rolled around and Arden was less than enthused to be up at such an ungodly hour. Savoring every sip of her coffee, she finished off her second cup and snagged one more banana nut muffin before heading to her first class of the day, Defense Against the Dark Arts. With Professor Janus. She audibly groaned, scaring a Slytherin awake by accident. Shooting an awkward smile his way, she sped out of the Great Hall to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor. Making it to Classroom 3C in record time, she was beginning to question having two cups of coffee instead of the normal one cup she has most mornings.

Arden took a seat towards the back of the room, hoping the seat beside her would stay empty so she would have the desk all to herself. Nothing is that simple, though, is it?

The sound of the chair beside her scraping against the dark wooden floors grated against her ears as she searched for a quill in her bag. After finding a quill, she sat up straight and, with the most peeved face she could muster, looked over to see who had disturbed her peace. She should’ve known it would be Sirius Black.

“Of course it’s you.”

“Hello to you, too, Walker,” Sirius said, sarcasm oozing from his voice.

“Why are you here?” Arden asked, but the question came out more akin to a whine than a genuine question.

“Because I have this class at this time.” He deadpanned and crossed his arms over his chest.

“No shit, Black. I meant why are you sitting here? There are three other empty seats you could’ve chosen.” She rephrased impatiently and he shook his head, his obsidian hair following the movement.

“No, you see I couldn’t sit in any of those seats.” He ran a hand through his hair to clear it out of his silver eyes. He discreetly pointed at one of the empty seats, leaning down so Arden could hear him speak, but she leaned away to keep her distance. “Had a nasty break up with the girl beside that one,” he pointed at another, “the prick beside that one called Remus a ‘mudblood’,” he pointed at the last available seat, “and that one threatened to hex me if I ever came near them again.” Sirius straightened up and Arden remained as rigid as ever. “I figured you’d be the one least likely to kill me, so . . .” he drawled out. Arden looked at him dumbfounded. Why me, Merlin? What did I do, she thought to herself. Breathing deeply, she blinked slowly at him. He tried giving her a charming smirk like he did on the train.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work on me.” She said, unimpressed. He huffed, shifting in his seat.

“Are you at least going to let me copy off your work?” He asked with a hopeful lilt to his voice, dark eyebrows raised. Sirius looked at her with large, pleading eyes like a puppy. Arden smiled sweetly at him, his lips pulling into a sly grin.

“Of course not.” Sirius’ face became blank.

“The seat beside my ex is looking pretty good now.” He breathed out.

“By all means, be my guest.” She said in mock-politeness. His jaw ticked as he turned toward her.

“Who the bloody hell pissed in your tea this morning?” He spat out. Arden scoffed in disbelief. She opened her mouth to whip another comeback at him, but someone interrupted her.

“Morning, everyone. Welcome back to Defense Against the Dark Arts.” A hush fell over the class when Professor Janus spoke out. The sinking feeling was back at home in Arden’s gut. All previous annoyance drained from her, neutralizing her expression. Sirius, on the other hand, could see a certain uneasiness lurking in her sea green eyes. His eyes narrowed, but he decided to let it go and try to listen to Professor Janus. “It is quite unfortunate that Professor Malvolio had to be let go, but it was for the best. Can’t have a professor spreading spattergoit around, can we? Nasty sickness, spattergoit is.” His posture was surprisingly relaxed, as opposed to Professor Flitwick who fidgeted throughout the whole Charms lesson. Professor Janus rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, an easy smile on his face.

“I’m Professor Janus, this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I imagine everyone will be eager to start today’s lesson. We’ll be discussing nonverbal spells and how to properly perform them.” Each student seemed to be mesmerized by his every word. Everyone except Arden and Sirius, who looked cautious and bored, respectively. “Performing spells nonverbally is a tricky little thing to do, but it can be done—” He flourished his wand “—with ease—” all the dozens of books that sat on his desk stood at attention “—after a lot of practice.” He flicked his wrist upwards and the books flapped their way onto the empty shelves, organizing themselves by cover color. A smattering of claps sounded throughout the room. Professor Janus relaxed once more, putting his free hand into the pocket of his dress pants.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sirius mumbled under his breath. For once, Arden shared his sentiment. All he did was magic a couple dozen books back onto the shelves and he basically gets a standing ovation? She resisted the unbearable urge to roll her eyes while she half-listened to Professor Janus’ instructions on how to perform nonverbal spells.

“You two.” Professor Janus called on Arden and Sirius. They shared a glance before looking at him, both realizing that the other also wasn’t paying attention to instructions. “Think you’ve got a handle on it?”

“Yes, professor,” Arden answered.

“Mhm,” Sirius answered. While the two gave different versions of the same answer, they both looked stony.

Professor Janus looked at them expectantly, giving them a silent cue to go ahead. Huffing a breath out through her nose, Arden stood up and lifted her wand.

Accio book, Arden willed to herself. A worn copy of Stepping Into the Mind: The Art of Legilimency flew off of Professor Janus’ shelf. Arden’s hand shot up and caught it before it hit the back wall. While Arden sat back down, Sirius was nonchalantly standing up. With a cocky smirk gracing his lips, he raised his wand and flicked it towards himself. Suddenly, all of Professor Janus’ books jetted off the shelves and into haphazard piles on his desk. Sirius sat back down, stretching his legs out in front of him. The cocky smirk was still etched onto his face.

“Was that necessary?” Arden whispered to Sirius but kept her eyes fixed on Professor Janus whose expression danced the line between impressed and utterly perturbed.

“Oh, so he can show off, but if I do it, it’s unnecessary,” Sirius argued back. Arden scoffed. She crossed her legs, the top one beginning to bounce due to the caffeine that was currently coursing through her.

“Did I say that?” She asked through clenched teeth. Sirius threw his hands up in defense then crossed his arms again.

“I’ll admit, I’m impressed, . . .” Professor Janus regained their attention.

“Black. Sirius Black.” Arden didn’t resist the urge this time and rolled her eyes at his theatrics.

“Arden Walker.”

“Well, impressive displays from both of you, Ms. Walker and especially you, Mr. Black.” Professor Janus commended. Arden nodded in thanks. Sirius smiled, pride rolling off him in waves. “But the Summoning Charm is regarded as one of the easiest spells to perform nonverbally.” The guy who called Remus a mudblood began to snicker, but immediately stopped when he met Sirius’ stormy gaze. Professor Janus meandered over to their desk and held out his hand, glancing down at the book Arden now had a white-knuckled grip on. She dropped the book in his waiting hand. He smiled at her condescendingly. “Thank you.” She clenched her fists under the table, her nails biting into her palms. For the first time in her academic career, Arden was going to hate Defense Against the Dark Arts.

✧✧✧

“‘The Summoning Charm is one of the easiest spells to perform nonverbally.’” Arden mocked in a funny voice, keeping her volume at a minimum. “Please, almost everyone in the class couldn’t even light their wands without the incantation.”

“A, I love you,—”

“Love you too, Lils.”

“—but if you talk about what happened in Defense on Monday one more time, I will hit you with my Herbology textbook.” Lily threatened. Arden gave her a challenging look, but as soon as Lily put her hand on the book, she conceded.

“I’m sorry, okay. It just bothers me being singled out like that, you know?” Arden apologized. The tension left Lily’s shoulders. She gave her best friend a sympathetic look.

“Trust me, I understand, but it happened on Monday. It’s Thursday.” Lily reasoned rather bluntly. Arden ran a hand down her face.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Arden admitted, mostly to drop the subject because she was still very much thinking about it. Lily knew this too but decided not to comment either. Madam Pince’s incessant shushing brought them both out of their thoughts, returning them to the Venomous Tentacula diagrams they were supposed to be labeling.

“So,” Lily began, thumbing through her textbook once more, “how have quidditch tryouts been? Any promising new players?”

“Yeah, yeah, things are looking pretty good for Ravenclaw this year,” Arden said, absent-mindedly rubbing a sore spot on her shoulder. One of the hopefuls trying out for the open chaser position hadn’t communicated to her that the quaffle was coming her way and just beamed it straight at her shoulder. It’s been a couple days and it was still aching a bit. She should probably get that checked out.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” Lily observed.

“It’s nothing. Brantley is annoying per usual and Donahue was acting a little weird like his mind was somewhere else.” Arden said, carefully labeling each appendage on her diagram.

“He is in his seventh year. Probably has a lot going on already.” Lily speculated.

“Brantley thinks he’s going to step down and hand team captain over to someone else.” Lily looked up at Arden, surprised.

“Who do you think he’ll give it to?” Lily asked, but Arden just shrugged.

“As long as it’s not Brantley, I’m fine.” Lily nodded in agreement. “I will fight a bludger blindfolded if he becomes team captain.” Arden sneered. Lily snorted as she imagined Arden in that situation. “Just like how I will gladly do just that if I get anything lower than an Acceptable on that Metamorphmagi essay we did in Transfigurations.”

“You probably did great, don’t worry.” Lily comforted, but Arden wasn’t having any of it.

“No, I probably did terrible, per usual.”

“Have a little faith in yourself.” Lily chastised. Arden shook her head, unconvinced, but let the topic go anyways.

✧✧✧

When Professor McGonagall handed Arden back her essay the next day with it graded P for Poor, she wanted to walk into the Forbidden Forest and never return. She knew this was going to happen. She couldn’t wait to tell Lily that she told her so, even if it was at her own expense. So, when the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Arden approached Professor McGonagall.

“You might want to look into tutoring, Ms. Walker. That’s the only way you’re going to get better in this subject. And I know I don’t need to remind you that this is a N.E.W.T.-level course.” Professor McGonagall suggested, already knowing what Arden was going to ask. Arden sighed. She hated asking for assistance, especially on school-related things. She couldn’t help but feel like her intelligence was being questioned, even though she knew that was probably not the case. But she knew Professor McGonagall was right. “Why don’t you go and ask Mr. Potter for help?” Arden had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. Instead, she opted for a courteous smile.

Over my dead body!

“Thank you, Professor, but I’ll just ask Lily.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I understand that the two of you are great friends, however, the two of you don’t tend to work whenever you study.” Arden thought back to last night. Yes, Lily and she went to the library, but they only managed to label half their Venomous Tentacula diagrams before getting completely distracted. “And he’s not that bad. Maybe he’ll be able to give you a different way to look at the material.” Arden gave a curt nod. She thanked Professor McGonagall for her input before briskly leaving the classroom and heading to the Great Hall.

Trudging down the corridor, Arden stared at the red letter P that was emblazoned at the top of her essay. She was beginning to spiral downwards, jumping to the conclusion that she’ll probably never become an auror at this rate. She turned the corner and stopped in her tracks. Speak of the Devil. At the end of the corridor, leaning up against the wall with a sheet of parchment in his hands, was none other than James Potter. He was surrounded by his normal crew of Peter, Remus, and Sirius. Arden weighed her options. It was either ask for help now and have a chance of passing Transfiguration or not ask for help and be denied of becoming an auror. She heaved a heavy sigh, straightened up, and walked towards the Marauders. They hadn’t noticed her presence once she reached them, but Remus acknowledged her.

“Hullo, Arden.” The mention of her name made the rest of the boys look in her direction.

“Hey,” Arden replied somewhat awkwardly with a nod of her head. She took a deep breath and neutralized her expression. She turned towards James, whose onyx hair was in its usual mess. His hazel eyes looked at her curiously behind his rectangular frames.

“Now, why has Arden Walker graced us with her presence today?” James questioned. Arden had to refrain from knocking his glasses off his face and resorted to clutching her books tightly.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She muttered to herself, shaking her head. She looked back at James, his eyebrows raised expectantly. “I need . . .” Arden stopped herself. She couldn’t believe this is where she ended up. “I need your . . .” Arden clenched her teeth. “ . . . help.” She bit out. An arrogant grin graced itself onto James’ face.

“I don’t think I heard you.”

“You heard me loud and clear.”

“You’re right.”

“At least we can agree on something.”Arden snarked. James looked miffed. The other three boys were watching the pair like a tennis match. “I need you to tutor me in Transfigurations,” Arden admitted rather sheepishly. James almost felt bad as he looked at her. Almost. James hummed and mockingly stroked his nonexistent beard.

“Why ask me?” James knew why. Of course, he did. He just wanted to hear her say it.

“Because you’re one of the top students in Transfigurations.” Arden huffed begrudgingly. Sirius laughed in disbelief.

“Wow, James, never thought the day would come Walker would admit somebody’s smarter than her.” If looks could kill, Sirius would have been drawn and quartered in about two seconds flat. He merely smirked at her menacing expression.

“Anyways, so are you gonna tutor me or not?” Arden proposed. James looked at her, weighing his options.

“What’s in it for me?”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, actually I’m not.” Arden rolled her eyes thinking of anything that could possibly get James to help her.

“I’ll teach you that maneuver I managed to pull off last year against Hufflepuff.”

“Davies’ Deception?”

“Yeah, that one.” James thought long and hard. She drove a hard bargain, but not hard enough.

“Sorry, Walker, but I can teach myself how to do that.” James pushed off the wall and started to walk away with the rest of the boys in tow. Remus gave a slight, sorry smile. Arden’s mind was racing with other things she could offer. She needed to pass Transfigurations and James was her best bet. Think, Arden, think!

“I’ll get you a date with Lily.” She shouted after James. He stumbled and skidded to a halt. He looked back at her like a deer in headlights. Sirius ran a tired hand down his face and the three boys shared a look with each other.

“She is my best friend after all. I know her like the back of my hand.” Arden further reasoned, but James didn’t need any more persuading.

“You would do that? Really? For me?” James spewed out in a jumble of words. Arden sighed, defeated.

“Get me at least an E on the midterm and we’ll talk.” James strode back to Arden and stretched his hand out.

“You’ve got a deal, Walker.” She smirked proudly and shook his hand firmly. Arden began walking away, passing the boys.

“Tomorrow afternoon in the library. Bring anything that could help me!” She ordered. “I’m counting on you, Potter!”

TAGS:

@virgiill @yourfriendly-neighborhoodfuckup @emmiee232

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cherrygorilla · 4 years

Note

Time for me to be nosy as heck for the fanfic author thing! Hope you don't mind if I ask a lot like you did to me! Here you are: 4, 5, 6, 7, 14, 17, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30, 31, 33, 34, 35, 37, 40 A bunch are the same ones you asked me, but I'm really curious as to what your answers would be. If there's anything you'd like to answer that I didn't ask you, then feel free to add it on if you feel up to it! 💖

Okay, I'm known to ramble at the best of times but I really ran away with myself here. You may want to grab a snack or something first; it's hella long. You've been warned!

4. What made you start writing fanfiction?

When I was like 11/12 I was obsessed with the musical Starlight Express and after trying to google just about everything I could about it I think I stumbled across some fanfiction for it. Well, instantly my little english-class-loving brain grabbed this concept and ran with it. I remember writing my own stories in this cheap little notebook I would hide in my bedside table drawer and it was around this time that TBM came out, so naturally I decided to see if that had any fanfiction too. Turns out it did, and significantly more than Starlight Express might I add, so my creativity ran away with itself and next thing I knew I was setting up my own account and getting properly involved this time. And I guess, as they say, the rest is history...

5. Favourite pairing?

This is pretty tricky for me. Most of the pairings that I have set up are littered with little flaws and things that make them more interesting to write about (and hopefully read about lol) and more realistic. And the already established pairings that I use (i.e. Mack & Brady in old stories or Lela & Tanner) just feel too bland for me to really connect with them, which is probably why I always struggle so much to write for them. I suppose Lela & Tanner can be cute, or at least their potential is; I don't feel like the movies did them justice lol. But for my stuff, at the moment I just feel so out of practice with writing and at such an early stage in the story with Wheels and Waves that I'm not really attached to any of the pairings yet. And besides, the only one I've really established so far is Butchy & Giggles, but if you've read my last chapter then you'll know that that's not exactly doing so hot atm. So, since I can pick holes and find flaws in everyone's relationships too much to pick a favourite, I think I'll pick one I'm excited about that has some of the biggest flaws imaginable: Coral & Hyde. And that's all I'm going to say. Unless you're curious, then ask away lmao.

6. Least favourite pairing?

Okay, I may be a bit controversial here- Actually, this is probably really controversial judging by some of the reviews on my old stories that I was just reading. But I don't really like Mack & Brady… Hear me out! Maybe it's just because I haven't watched the movies for ages and I haven't been thinking about them writing-wise since I abandoned my old stuff but they just seem really bland to me. Don't get me wrong, they're super sweet, but I like giving my characters a bit of grit to work with and make them a little more interesting beneath their 'perfect movie character in an idyllic world' surface and I just could never seem to do that with Mack & Brady. I could never manage to give them any depth and because of that I feel like I just grew to resent them haha. Other people can write for them much better than I can, let's just put it that way. Apart from them though, non-canon-wise in my stories it's got to be Butchy & Coral. Hands down. Honestly, what was I thinking? It was cringey. It was basic. And I think because of it Coral became super one-dimensional and kept losing her way as a character because my whole focus was trying to get them to work as a couple. Spoiler alert: they don't. And since I ditched them I think I was really able to get her to come into her own and develop a much more interesting, albeit worse, side of her.

7. Favourite type of au?

This is probably going to be a quick one because I don't do a lot of au stuff but modern day/high school aus are always a lot of fun. I feel like TBM2 could have done so much cool stuff with that premise but then they went and dumbed down all the characters and really ruined their chance but I think the concept in general is so cute. I'm actually working on something in this vein for my sims blog, but that's not what we're talking about so let's move on.

14. Do the people in your life know you write fic? How do they feel about it?

Nope. I haven't ever mentioned it to my family because I just don't think that they'd 'get' it. I think I mentioned it to one of my best friends ages ago because she also read/casually wrote fanfics but I don't think that she still knows that I've kept it up; she probably just assumes that it was something we both just did when we were 13/14. So they don't really think anything of it; they don't know and probably never will lol. So I just struggle over chapters and ideas and things by myself.

17. What's the harshest criticism you've ever gotten on a fic?

To be honest, I don't think that I've ever really had any super harsh criticism. None that I can remember, anyway. I was reading through the reviews on one story recently and someone told me that I should work on my dialogue for Mack & Brady because it wasn't true enough to their characters and tbh they probably weren't wrong. That's barely criticism but it was the closest that I could find to it in my five minutes of looking and nothing else stood out in my memory so I guess that's what I'll go with. I know that probably sounds super cocky like "omg i'm amazing i never get any criticism from anyone because i'm amazingggg!!!1!!" but honestly all the reviews on my old stuff were just people being nice to me because I was friendly to them and I get next to no reviews on my current stuff, so there's no real opportunity for criticism if there's no interaction in the first place lmao.

20. What's your biggest struggle when it comes to writing fic?

Actually finding the time to write it when I have uni work, family life, stuff with friends and a somewhat healthy sleep schedule to balance as well. I just don't have enough hours in a day. Besides that, when it actually comes to writing I guess I find it hard to stick solely to ideas that progress the plot. I've been trying to work on that a lot more lately and be more ruthless with my planning but sometimes I just get inspired by something fun and in sheer creative desperation I just wedge it into the plot somewhere. And I think that for the reader's sake I need to stop doing this.

21. Your biggest strength?

I don't know if this is what anyone else would consider my biggest strength but I personally really like the way that I can develop the characters beyond what little personality we get to see in the movies. I love working on their story arcs and experimenting with how they 'exist' in my head, like finding out who the quiet souls are, who the loud mouths are and why they act like that. From the snippets we actually see of them in the movies and how basic they are, I'm pretty proud of the characters I've rounded them into in my stories; they feel a lot more real now, to me at least.

22. Which do you do more: read fic or write fic?

I know it's hard to believe, but probably write. I only really keep up with a handful of stories now and I always find I'm more actively thinking about kicking my butt into gear and writing something myself instead of setting out to read someone else's stuff.

24. What's your process?

Daydream and plan out future plot lines for most of the waking hours of the day. Find the fleeting shred of time available in said day to sit down and work on something if both inspiration and motivation are working in my favour. Actually sit down and open up a google doc, perhaps with a cup of tea if I'm feeling particularly adventurous and fancy treating myself for doing something productive. Painfully struggle through the first ten minutes of warming up my writing muscles and getting my creative juices flowing again. Settle into a good rhythm and just let my fingers and the words work their magic until something boring from the real world interrupts me and drags me away from my fictional one. Then repeat.

25. Of all the fics you've written, which is your favourite?

I know it's not necessarily a single fic but I really liked when I was writing the one-shots for Surf, Sun, Sand because I knew that I was writing the things people wanted to read, so I knew there was more of a chance that they'd enjoy them. And it was nice not being constrained to one timeline, I could jump around and play with different pairings, ideas and settings as much as I, well, the requests, wanted. I also really liked my Twelve Days of Cruisin' for a Bruisin' Christmas story, but I can't put that at the top spot because I'm so frustrated that I never got that final chapter up. It was really fun to write though and that's one of the few things that I've written that I'm still happy with to this day lmao. I just think it's sweet and I like how I wrote all the characters, so I'd say that's a win for me.

27. What's your most popular fic? Do you think the popularity is warranted, or is there another fic that you think deserves it more?

Statistics-wise it's Paper Flowers, by a long-shot. 77,485 views and 331 reviews. Now, I think that the fact that there are about a million chapters and I wrote it back when the fandom was thriving has quite a lot to do with that, if not all of it, because I'm almost certain that it can't be the writing, character quality or whatever crap I threw into the plot back then. But for nostalgia's sake, I'll allow it. And to be fair, it was probably alright at the time. I do think, however, that I've developed and improved my writing style over the years, so it would be nice if Wheels and Waves could get a little more popularity (since it's something I'm actually semi-proud of lol). But I just don't have the audience, so what can you do?

29. Which of your fics was the hardest to write?

Just Like Me. By a country mile. Like I mentioned earlier, I really struggle when it comes to writing for Mack & Brady and although I liked the concept (and a few other people did too) I just wasn't ever happy with what I ended up with. The chapters felt boring (which probably had something to do with the fact that I wrote them in my phone notes at 11:30pm), their relationship felt bland and the plot felt like it was going nowhere. I sort of had a vague structure of where I wanted to take it, but when I couldn't seem to get the hang of writing for them every chapter felt like such a challenge.

30. Favourite fic writers?

You, girl! I literally don't even bother to keep up with anyone else anymore because I just don't have the time (uni will do that to a bitch, lol) but I never miss a post of yours and will frequently go and re-read your stuff (especially if it's in preparation for a crossover lmao) if I need a pick-me-up. And like you said, we're practically family now and what kind of internet sister would I be if I didn't support my fam?!

31. Do you write just for fun, or would you ever consider pursuing writing?

I don't think I'd ever actually pursue it as a job. I'm in dentistry school atm so I'm pretty set on becoming a dentist, but even if that wasn't the case, I don't think I have the creativity to create my own unique story with original characters and a whole universe under my control. I just think it's fun to expand on other ideas and grow my own ideas from them.

33. Fanfiction pet peeves?

Bad grammar is really frustrating. But I also just think it's really boring when people will basically re-write the whole movie/story pretty much word-for-word with only the slightest of alterations. Like, I've already watched/read this once, why would I want to do it again? I came here for creativity and fun stories with my fave characters, not the flat-out plot all over again with a cookie-cutter, paper doll inserted into the mix to steal a few lines. It just bored me.

34. First person, second person or third person?

I'd probably put second person last because I just find reader-insert things weird and cringey. Like they legit make me feel uncomfortable sometimes. And then I'd go with first person because although I don't really have a problem with it, it's just never a style I'd choose to write in; I just can't really get the hang of it and I prefer to be able to see and show everyone's perspective on a situation from the outside, which is why good old third person has to be my favourite.

35. OCs, reader inserts or canon pairings?

Like I said, reader inserts creep me out a bit so definitely not those. Canon pairings are a pretty safe bet and can be cute most of the time (I just personally seem to struggle with them lol) and if they're done well (i.e. not basic bitches with no personality that just double as weird reader inserts *cough cough* Coral in Paper Flowers smh 12 year old me) then I think OCs can be really fun and can add another layer to fanfics that takes them beyond the bubble of what's canon.

37. Which character is your favourite to write for?

Saying Coral would be too easy because she's literally my own character, so of course I'm going to enjoy writing for her. So, other than that I'm going to have to say Seacat. I feel much more comfortable writing for the surfers than the bikers anyway, so that definitely plays into it. But I really like the version of him I've created. I really leaned into his sort of fiesty, stubborn side that occasionally showed itself in the movies, which created a super interesting dynamic with his inherent relaxed nature that all the surfers have. He's a really fun character to work with and I've got lots of fun things planned for him, so I think he's earned that top spot. But I'll mention Giggles too because it's been fun developing her character more deeply for Wheels and Waves. I just like a bit more drama, which Seacat can deliver more than my sweet bby G.

40. Imagine yourself 10 years in the future, do you still think you'll be writing fic?

Honestly, who knows? Back when I started I never thought I'd still be writing it at 18, so never say never, I guess.

And since you said I could choose another one, I'll go for 38. From where do you draw inspiration?

I wanted to include this one because I'm literally listening to my Wheels and Waves playlist as I write this to try to get me into that #writingmood. A few different things influence me but music has always been my biggest inspiration. I'm constantly adding new songs to my playlist and finding songs I want to use so badly that I'll rearrange and shift around plot points to work them into the story. For example, that Coral & Hyde relationship I mentioned earlier? Grown entirely from songs. But yeah, I'm always getting inspired by songs, which is why I'm really trying to get a general plan of Wheels and Waves set in stone so that I'll stop being tempted to switch things around and ruin the plot with convoluted ideas I get on a whim because I heard a fun song. On another note though, if you have any song suggestions then hit me up lmao; I'm always looking for more haha.

#if you made it to the end then you're a saint lmao

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

Text

Incubus

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 49: He has spent centuries coming at night and sleeping with as many humans as possible, many dying from childbirth with no child to bear, or because his lust overpowered them. He needs to find a women that can live through his lust and birth an healthy offspring and after centuries, he thinks he found the one, the sixteen year old Katniss Everdeen. Dark incubus!peeta Angst Old times. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

RATED: EXPLICIT for disturbing themes, imagery and adult situations.

WARNINGS: Dark!Peeta; Creepy!Peeta; Stalker!Peeta. Demon!Peeta; Dark!Toastbabies; minor character’s death, Canon compliant violence, Non-con/Rape. Stockholm Syndrome-ish.

TAGS: Supernatural AU; Under 16K words; Smut (Underage!Everlark, non-everlark)

Acknowledgements: Thanks to @animekpopxx for the great prompts, you never cease to inspire with your ideas for stories… sorry if I didn’t completely adhere to all the specifications listed on the prompt.

Many thanks to my amazing beta @wingletblackbird, who’s insights made this story 10 million times better.

@xerxia31 and @javistg for their dedication to Everlark Fanfiction, you keep the creative juices pumping with this events, and I thank you both for that… and thank you for reading my One Shot. Hopefully is to your liking!

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I’m thrusting vigorously into the wet, hot and loose pussy of a married woman who summoned me by name to get back at her cheating husband— who apparently has sired no less than 4 bastards, each from a different woman— by fucking a demon.

She’s also awake, which is fairly unusual for my encounters, but I couldn’t refuse an invitation such as this when the woman is so willing and eager, and the call comes laced with the delicious odor of arousal.

The problem is, she talks too much!

I’ve done my best to tune out her asinine remarks on how big and intimidating my cock is compared to human penises, how much watching my member excites her, and makes her greedy pussy flutter in anticipation; I’ve heard stupid comments like those for millennia from women with the same wicked gleam in their eyes. They think that calling me to fuck them is some kind of thrilling game, as if the stories of how most of my partners don’t survive their first encounter with me, how their bodies can’t take the stress I put on them when I’m really overcome with lust, are mere jokes passed down from generations. But this woman really is testing my patience.

Everything was alright until she asked a question that enraged me above anything she’s said so far.

“My lord, is it true you impregnate every one of your victims?” There is that psychotic glint in her beady eyes again.

I grunt and push away onto my haunches.

The woman tries to sit up quickly, chasing my retreating form desperately with a pleading apology taking shape in her mouth. She doesn’t get to voice whatever idiotic excuse she was about to spew.

With a flick of my hand, five silk ropes spring up from the floor and wrap around both her wrists and both ankles; the last one gags her mouth. She whimpers and the sadistic gleam in her eyes finally gets replaced with fear when the ropes pull back her legs bringing her knees level with her ears and her thighs spread wide open to me.

Without stopping to look at her, I ram into her ass with so much force the legs of the bed groan and break under the punishing pace I’m keeping.

The woman cries out in terror or pain, maybe both, I don’t care. I don’t stop driving into her until my release is imminent. When it’s time, I pull my cock out of the woman’s rectum swiftly, and spill all my cum on her face, chest, and part of her stomach. I take great care not to let even a drop of my precious seed fall into her reproductive organs.

I sigh in relief once I’m done.

The woman strains against her restraints, and moans pitifully. I look down at her tearful face with spite.

Pathetic.

Finally, I answer her question, “No. I don’t impregnate every one of my partners. Some aren’t worthy of carrying my offspring.” I stand from the broken bed and give her a disdainful glance, “You should count yourself lucky you don’t rate as a good partner, otherwise I would’ve taken your life, as well as your pleasure.”

I dissolve into dark mist leaving her in that shameful position, tied up like a hog and covered in mess, to be found by her husband.

——

It is not my custom to glide aimlessly through a human town after I’ve fed my lust, yet tonight’s encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth I just can’t shake off.

I’ve been cursed into existence with the sole purpose of mating with as many women as there are sand grains by the ocean until one of them births me an heir to… to replace me, I guess, until he too has successfully produced a replacement of his own. Regretfully, I’m still here, after thousands of years, fucking my way through humanity. Not one woman has been strong enough to carry my spawn to term, so the careless curiosity of a self indulgent idiot got to me a little too hard.

There have been a handful of promising cases, but at the end they just amount to female corpses too weak to bear my child. Every single woman I’ve copulated with either dies in the throes of passion, unable to whistand my consuming lust, or has complications with the pregnancy, either because the creature simply sucks the life force out of the host, or because labor pains put too much stress on their mortal bodies and they just give out with internal organ failures.

On this depressing thought, I come to the center of town where I would never be if there was any sun in the sky right now. I’m about to turn myself into a small smoke tornado that will project me back to my den for a while, before my night starts anew on the other side of the globe, but a small, hopeless sob attracts my full attention.

I’m a creature of darkness; therefore I’m drawn to and strengthened by human pain and calamity. The whimpering continues guiding me to an alleyway, behind a lane of brick buildings, housing an amalgamation of shops.

I notice three things upon arrival. First, the soft sobbing is coming from a little girl, much too young to be outside alone at this time. Second, it is dark, very, very dark; a moonless night, that should frighten a hardened man, a night in which specters like me come out to play eagerly with unsuspecting humans too dumb to stay safely in their beds. And lastly, this is the loneliest, creepiest alley I’ve ever been to. It’s cold, muddy, echo-y and reeks of death.

My kind of place, I realize.

Not at all where a tiny child such as this one should be.

At first glance I determine the child is frail and almost to the doors of death. A female of around 10 or 11 years old, judging by her skeletal frame. It looks like she hasn’t known the taste of food in quite a few days, and she’s giving up her life in this cursed place.

It is not in my nature to care whether she expires sitting on the hard ground, against the scraggly apple tree she leans on, or not, but for some reason, I speak to her. Soft and soothing.

“What are you doing here, girl? It’s dark, late, and scary.”

Deadened, sunken eyes stare at me suspiciously, “I could ask you the same. But I’m not nosy!” She replies turning her pert nose up at me.

I chuckle and lower myself to the ground. The little brat is a piece of work! “I’m nosy and I don’t care if that’s rude.”

The girl cocks her head sideways, slightly curious, not the least bit afraid.

“I ran out of coin.” She finally says, “I can’t to go back home to my little sister, Prim, without food. She’s so tiny, and her lips keep crackin’ and bleedin’ every time she cries, asking if there’s anything to eat.”

Normally, humans never see my true form if they happen to get a glimpse of me. They would die of terror on the spot, so their minds only see what they can handle. For women, they see every feature they find attractive in a male, making me irresistible for them, in the very, very seldom instance that they see me while awake. Men, on the other hand, tend to see someone non-threatening, a friend who would never hurt them. I’m not sure what this child sees me as, but clearly she sees someone worth opening her heavy little heart to, because the floodgates of her troubled life seem to have opened up, and she sobs telling me the rest of her story.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate something that I had to chew with my teeth. My tummy started to ache a few days ago, but I didn’t want Prim to ache too, so I’ve been giving her all the little food we had left. Yesterday, all I found in the cupboards were a few dry mint leaves, I boiled them in water and told her it was soup. I came to the market to sell Prim’s baby clothes, but nobody wanted my ragged wares. I got so dizzy after walking all day trying to sell them, and my arms were so tired, I accidentally dropped the clothes on the mud somewhere yonder; I’m not sure where. I couldn’t pick them up, even if I’d wanted to. I knew that if I leaned down, I’d just kilter over and wouldn’t be able to get up again.”

She takes a ragged breath and paws the soaked tendrils of black hair sticking to her forehead away.

“I didn’t wanna die like that in the middle of the street where anyone could see. They would’ve known mother hasn’t been taking care of us. They would take Prim to the Community Home. Children in the Community Home get crushed by sadness and red marks on their faces from angry hands… I couldn’t do that to poor, delicate Prim. But this place here…” her eyes take a glassy quality, and her lips curl into a slight smile as if daydreaming of better days. “It used to be the bakery, before the owners moved away and abandoned it. The smell of freshly baked bread still lingers here, and if I inhale hard enough, I swear I can feel the smells fill my tummy.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, as if truly she could get her empty stomach filled with the long gone fragrance of yeast and flour that used to permeate this alley before.

“My belly doesn’t hurt no more,” she sighs, opening her eyes and fixing them on me, “in case you were wondering.”

My head cocks to the side, staring at her curiously.

“I stopped feeling the hunger aches without noticing. Mamma’s a healer, I once heard her tell a woman, whose children had stopped crying out for food, that those are actually dangerous times, when the body needs food, when it’s so far gone, it starts eating itself out. But I’m not scared about that… dying here, where bread used to be baked… won’t be so bad, would it?”

Something tugs at me in the back of my mind. Without thinking about it, and barely feeling anything at all, I conjure up two steaming loaves of hearty bread out of thin air. At first, my instinct compels me to take a bite out of the bread, taunt her, mock her, chop off pieces and lug them over the falling link fence of an old pen, where the odor of some kind of animal still persists, and watch her climb over the muck to devour the soiled bread. But then, my hands move of their own volition, offering the loaves to the girl.

Her eyes follow my every move, stuck on the delectable food she’s been deprived off for so long, just staring at my gift.

Suddenly, I’m aware of how cold and wet everything around me is.

“It’s pouring.” I muse flatly.

The girl’s eyes tell me she clearly thinks I’m stupid, but my clothes cling to my body uncomfortably, and now I’m aware my body feels oddly smaller than usual. I look down at my arms, realizing I have the arms of a child myself.

I guess the girl is projecting her age and features on me, like humans do.

“Take the bread before it’s too soggy to eat.” I grunt in aggravation.

“I—Are you sure? I couldn’t… I don’t have anything to pay or trade—“

I shove the two loaves into her lap, and kick off from the ground where I had come to sit, next to her. “Go home.” I command. “Get out of this darkness and this cold rain.”

The girl looks at the food on her arms with disbelief and awe, then she looks up at me, as if I had given her the moon, the clouds, and her very own star. She murmurs. “Thank you…”

In a second, she’s running away as fast as her scrawny little legs can take her, while I stand here stunned and confused. There was a strange reaction I got when the little girl’s gray eyes met mine and I could see the most appetizing fire within. I knew the little girl would not only survive, but thrive.

I won’t ever see the little human again, so what do I care what’s in her future? I melt back into the shadows, already putting the incident behind me.

——————

I’m particularly fond of nubile virgins, which probably accounts for how poorly their bodies perform when I impregnate them, but I digress… teenage girls have the softest skin. Their budding breasts, still unaware of the effects of gravity, retain an innocent perkiness I could kill for. But, while all this is true on my normal hunts, one prepubescent human has become a most incomprehensible obsession of mine ever since the night I gave her the bread.

My girl with the braid and gray eyes is now 14. She had to mature in extreme circumstances, before her time, making her exquisite in resilience and a strength her peers lack. I find myself attracted to her dormant… sturdiness.

But at 14– in human years— her reproductive system is not mature enough even for a monster like me. She has not the means, nor the skills, to sustain the demands of mating with me, let alone carrying my spawn, so I admire her from afar and more often than I should.

Tonight for example, I watch her sleep for a short moment, then I let myself slip through the same crack in the window I slithered inside, and go on my merry way to find a more fitting host.

The girl will sleep untouched tonight, meanwhile I still need to bury myself into a warm, available body.

—————

“My name is Katniss Everdeen. What’s yours?” She asks the night a come across her, when she’s stuck on the other side of an electrified fence, in a dark, dark forest.

“Peeta.” I say emotionless. It’s my given name, although her kind has given me a different, more sinister name I’m not terribly fond of. “Why are you out here?” I ask.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but my papa taught me how to hunt. That’s what I’ve been doing every day for the last two years to feed my family. I come everyday before school, and most days I return even after.”

“Why come twice in a day?” My voice is flat, but she doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Well…” She scowls looking at the ground, as her answer comes together in her mind. “My family has to eat, but we also need other things, like paraffin, thread and needles, matches… things for school, soap for the washing. People in town will pay coin for fresh meat, or trade with other goods. It’s a good system.” She states proudly. But then, she looks nervously around, and stutters as if remembering herself. “But you can’t tell anyone about any of that. I could get punished if word got out that I hunt illegally.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Promise you won’t say anything, Peeta.”

I want to roll my eyes at her, but she’s staring at me with those eyes full of stars and warmth. I have to admit, it felt amazing to hear her use my name. Very few beings even know it, humans can’t even imagine I have an actual name, which suits me, since they fear the one they gave me. It almost rivals the strange pleased sensation I got when her gray eyes widened in pleasant recognition when she saw me approach her tonight. Still, I know not why she’s out here on her lonesome, and I much rather have her go home, to bed, where I have control.

“I don’t have anyone to tell. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tattle. But why are you here so late?”

She frowns. “The part of me getting stuck out here is actually unintentional, and happens very seldom.”

I arch an eyebrow— I had no idea I could use the muscles in my forehead in such manner— and wait for her to elaborate.

“The fence is a pre-war inconvenience, supposed to act as a deterrent for wild beasts, but is almost never on. Animals know to stay away from town, and people like me get to climb under it to gather apples and berries that grow in the wild. Only a few of us hunt, because it’s still illegal to poach. Today I slipped under the wires at dusk to collect some herbs for mother— she’s got to make half of her poultices and unguents with herbs only found in the woods, mind you— anywho, when I came back, the fence was live.” She shivers, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just have to wait it out. It’ll eventually shut off and I’ll be able to cross back into the district. Prim’s already come by to check on me and knows I’m safe. I’ll climb a tree or something while I wait.”

I grunt my understanding and shake my head in aggravation. I wave my hand carelessly, and the electric buzz dies instantly. “I think you can come back in again now.” I tell her needlessly. “Hurry up. You never know how long this will last.”

The girl, Katniss, narrows her eyes suspiciously at me momentarily, but finally shrugs, “As you say.” Then sticks her arm through the links of the fence, holding up her game bag to me. “Hold this for me.” She crawls under the fence and then stands in front of me.

We are the same height I realize. But then, I grow an extra inch or two above her. The corner of her lips curls up, and I’m certain she’s figured something out about me, I just don’t know if it’ll help or hinder my advances.

“I’ll see you around, Peeta. Thank you for keeping me company while I was out there. It’s the first time I got caught out at night. It was nice seeing a friendly face.”

“Mmm. Be more careful next time.” I grunt, and walk away from her.

—————-

I come back to Katniss’ bedroom for reasons I can’t readily comprehend.

She’s not very big or particularly pretty; she’s not even ready to copulate! But there’s a certain vulnerability in her subconscious self that calls me to her.

During the day, she sports the scowl of a thirty year old single mother of two working with only the skills of poaching, handed down to her from her dead father, in order to sustain her family while putting herself and her younger child through school. Of course, she is not really a mother, but everything else is true; so the rest might as well be true also, since she’s had to care and provide for her mother and younger sister for the last two years, taking the mantle of breadwinner all on her slim, little shoulders. Her determination is her own type of brawn in my book.

I hover above her sleeping form, just studying her face; so sweet and tender, free of the premature worry lines and that perpetual scowl that plagues her features in wakefulness, but then again, it is that intimidating scowl of hers that grants her the respect of any adult she does business with.

In sleep, Katniss looks more her age. Innocent and soft, like the velvety petals of a rose bud.

I breathe in the clean smell of her recently bathed body, and wonder if I could just slip my palm up her thigh, just to feel her soft skin under my fingers? But her mother stirs and sighs in the other bed, shutting the thought to Hell.

My eyes cut to the woman right away, but she’s asleep, just rearranging her position in the sagging mattress next to the one I’m floating over.

Mrs. Everdeen suffers melancholy. Her emotional illness almost killed her and her daughters; I’m not sure how I feel about her. She’s better now, but the months of starvation and near death have permanently damaged Katniss, emotionally and psychologically, more than she lets on.

The Everdeens never had wealth or means to afford but the barest of necessities, so when Mr. Everdeen passed, he left nothing behind but a small house with a tiny living area, kitchen, bathroom, and a single bedroom for his surviving family to live in. Another reason I don’t act on my urges to fuck sweet Katniss; the poor thing shares a room with her mother, and more often than not, shares a bed with her little sister.

Tonight is a rare occasion, in which the sister hopped in bed with the mother, leaving the object of my fascination to battle her recurrent nightmares alone. This only exacerbates the troublesome dreams for Katniss, which aggravates me, since her sleep patterns turn irregular and shallow, making it hard for me to infiltrate her subconscious. She’s more prone to wake up when her mind is occupied relieving the bad days. But I don’t complain much, seeing that while she’s is bed alone, I can leisurely hover directly above her sleeping form, instead of by the side of the mattress like I’m usually confined to.

I go back to gaze at my sleeping beauty, and decide that this won’t do.

I have to figure out a way to give Katniss her own room.

I want privacy when the time comes I can do all things I yearn to do. But there’s still time! Katniss has a couple of years ahead of her to grow and mature. I’ll just bide my time until that glorious future.

Before leaving her side for the night, I kiss her forehead. I plant a thought there as my lips touch her skin: ‘Don’t pull the covers up too high. Loosen the sheets around your shoulders. Relax your breathing… rest.’

Then I’m gone.

—————————-

I’m inside sweet, beautiful Lavinia, pounding away in glorious ecstasy.

She’s an absolute delight with a soft, pliable body, with swells and dips in all the right places and shapely legs that go on forever.

She moans sensually every time I enter her. She clenches her pussy muscles around my cock deliciously, and I lick the perspiration off her pale, luscious flesh to give my tongue something to do.

For the first time in months, my mind doesn’t drift to fantasies of an older version of Katniss while moving into the designated warm body of the day. I’m thoroughly satisfied, and at the end of the tryst, just when I’m about to pull out of Lavinia’s tight crevice, she seizes, shakes, arches off the bed with her mouth forming an agonizing O, dipping her head back so her auburn hair brushes the mattress beneath and her torso finally collapses on the bed heavily.

My chest feels the familiar little stir of excitement.

Every woman I’ve successfully implanted with an embryo has had a similar physical reaction. Some are more violent than others, but it’s always the same and I’m cautiously content this time was so mild on the host… mother… whatever she is to my heir.

I stay maybe another hour, just staring at Lavinia’s stomach, wishing I could see beyond the skin and muscle, deep into the womb, take a peek at the creature starting to take shape in her tissue. But alas, that’s not one of my many abilities and powers.

At the first crow of the rooster in the predawn, while it’s still inky dark out there, do I finally see it happening.

It starts as a small, dark red stain growing on the white linen sheets covering the still sleeping redhead. She doesn’t move an inch, but I know from experience the pregnancy failed. Despite the fact that the girl is still breathing, I can’t help thinking she’s already dead.

Lavinia’s hemorrhaging fast; the mess covering her clothes and bedding is now reaching her shoulders; her eyes flutter behind her closed lids, and I regret ever putting my hands on her, because now she’s another girl I’ve sent for death.

I don’t linger to see her last breath.

None of my partners survive a pregnancy. But the night just began in the other side of world, and my loins call for another lover to replace the child I just lost.

—————————

Katniss is 15.

Her dark hair reaches her waist even braided. She hides her budding breasts and the slight curve of her ass, under her father’s old shirts and leather jacket, which are at least 3 sizes too big for her. She’s also taken to wearing trousers instead of skirts and dresses, but even I’ve grown used to her clothing dwarfing her slight frame.

The fact her developing womanly figure stays camouflaged serves two purposes; one, is purely practical, people seem to forget she’s a child— female at that— and take her seriously for trades and bartering; the second one benefits both of us, by keeping unwanted male attention from bothering her.

But there’s no escaping nature, and there’s no stopping puberty. Katniss’ body is maturing nicely, and with that comes torturous growing pains.

Today was hard for her, I can tell.

She’s squirming in her sleep, doubled over at her tiny waist with her nimble arms wrapped around her middle. The downy hair at her temple is damped with perspiration, and her sweet lips are pale and dry.

I kiss the dewy skin of her forehead, murmuring an incantation to numb away her aches. After a few minutes of me trying to soothe her with small caresses, the awful grimace falls off her face, and a relaxed sigh leaves her chapped lips. Her arms loosen, allowing her hands to curl softly beneath her chin.

Her menses started a few months ago, and they have been rough on her. The cycle wipes out most of her strength, leaving her in cold sweats, dizzy, and unstable on her feet. The reaction really worries me. I don’t want there to be a problem I have not foreseen.

I lean my cheek against her soft abdomen and whisper an enchantment. Given my nature, I’m not capable of healing ailments, or granting blessings, nor am I allowed to praying to the ones who could help, but I’m allowed to cast spells and conjure old magic, and lastly, I’m allowed to bear certain illnesses in a human’s stead, so I try to take her pain upon myself. I need my girl to be strong and healthy if she’s to carry my offspring in the future.

I nuzzle her navel for a moment before taking a step back.

A sharp pain wreaks through me, becoming acute near my groin. I claw at the air as the searing pain pierces through me, and then is gone as fast as it came.

That’s that.

I’ve never felt pain before, and I truly hope I never have to suffer it again, but Katniss is resting now, free of deliberating aches, sleeping soundly and peaceful. The unsavory sensations were worth it, just to watch my girl fall into blessed oblivion.

That should do it.

I leave her to rest, wiping off tonight’s nightmares from her subconscious as well.

—————-

I used to worry that with Katniss’ struggle with starvation and malnutrition, her body would become useless as a vessel. Then the day her first bloods stained her undergarments arrived to my everlasting relief, and that to the added improvement of her hunting skills that fetched her better game, and her gathering double portions of wild vegetables and herbs in the woods, where doing wonders to her health.

I was delighted to see her filling in her scrawny bones with meat and muscle, and her cheeks get rosier. It’s the best indication that at last, her womb is ready for procreation!

There’s still the pesky issue of her shared lodgings, so I decided to bide my time until her healer mother gets called to tend an overnight patient, and eager to learn, little Primrose would tag along her mother to help, leaving the house all to myself. Unfortunately, something else happened that I didn’t see coming.

To my everlasting fury, I discovered her trips to the woods aren’t as solitary as I had believed. It so happens that sweet, capable Katniss, does have a hunting partner, and for some reason I ignored this fact completely until today.

The fence is electrified again, but this time Katniss has made camp in the branches of a tall, sturdy tree. In a branch below hers, a lanky, older boy made his bed under the canopy, tying a rope around his waist to anchor him to the tree limb, same as her.

“Hey Catnip, you get some shut eye for now. I have first watch. I’ll wake up when I get tired.”

“Unless you see something worth shooting!” She tells the boy scowling. “Wake me up right away, Gale. Not like last time you saw a deer and tried to down it by yourself.”

The boy lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, Catnip. Whatever you say.” He sounds almost playful. Almost, but then he finishes with a firmer command, “Now go to sleep. I’ll call if I see anything interesting.”

I feel anger, jealousy, and righteous indignation boiling all over me. I feel my true form emerging, ready to show myself in all my glorious horror, but then I remember Katniss is a mere two feet up above the boy’s branch, and instead of attacking the mortal, I simply explode back to my dwelling, deep in the dark recesses of the Earth.

Meanwhile, in the human world:

“Did you smell sulfur?” Asks Gale sitting up straighter on his branch.

“No. But smelling sulfur out of the blue isn’t a very good omen, Gale. I think we should call it a night, and head back home as soon as the fence is dead.”

“Yeah. You may be right. We don’t wanna be near any toxic gas leaks, and we know next to nothing about the minerals in the mines yonder.” He points into the dark, in the direction of the old abandoned coal mines that used to be the only source of income to people like Katniss’ family.

The teenagers descend the tree quickly, with loaded bows aloft, heading in the direction of town, praying the fence is no longer active.

Oblivious to the angry roar resonating in the empty spaces of earth. Full of vengeance and jealousy.

—————

Gale Hawthorne gets visited by my female counterpart, the one humans have named Succubus, courtesy of yours truly.

She does not take his life unfortunately.

She makes him sick enough he’s bedridden for a week, but he recovers.

When I confront my demoness comrade, she simply says “The boy is 17, and he’s the sole provider for his family of 5. He’s mother is living enough hell as it is, so I just gave tall, dark and handsome a good ride and a touch at nirvana.”

I don’t think that was the truth behind her reprieve at all; I’ve seen her take the lives of teens younger than that, who indulge in self molestation a little too much. I believe she let him keep his life as petty revenge on me, for disrupting her other encounters that night.

The only consolation I have for now is that Gale Hawthorne will have an unexplainable aversion to sex for a few months, which means he won’t pursue my girl in the interim.

But Katniss is starting to look more like a woman and less like a tomboy. It’s only a matter of time before she gets noticed by other boys. I don’t exactly need my partners to be virgins, but the thought of someone else taking Katniss’ purity drives me into a murderous state I really can’t afford.

So, tonight, when I slip into the crack of the window to visit her, I dip my hand under her covers, into her threadbare camisole, to caress her supple, soft breasts. I pinch her nipples to erection and watch her react to the sensations.

I plant suggestive thoughts in her subconscious. She blushes in her sleep and I murmur into her ear reassurances about her beauty and worth, and incredibly, I’m truthful about those.

I close my eyes to savor the moment. It’s the first time I put my hands on her erogenous zones, and she does not disappoint. Katniss’ breast fits perfectly in my palm.

“Sleep well my dear.” I whisper in her ear, “Dream of Incubus babies suckling at your tits. That will become your future at some point.”

———————-

I’ve been stalking Katniss for the better part of five years, and still I fail to make her mine.

She will be 16 in a few days time, and I’ve had plenty of opportunities to lay claim to her body, yet I keep finding excuses to prevent me from going any further than a few caresses on safe places. On nights she spends in the woods alone, I fabricate reasons why I shouldn’t touch her: ‘She’s fully clothed’, ‘A coyote is three miles away and could attack her in her heavy sleep’, ‘She looks uncomfortable on this tree branch; I want her first time to be somewhere she’s comfortable.’

That last one became obsolete the moment Katniss hiked to a cement shack far into the woods, a place she excitedly canvassed for days, then fitted with a makeshift bed of dry grasses and hay to sleep in. Apparently the place had actually been discovered by her father in his youth, and he shared the place with his elder daughter, a secret location all to their own. Being the sentimental human she is, Katniss only recently found the courage to return without her father, and face the fact that her once happy childhood is gone.

I blame my lack of progress on a disturbing thought: fucking Katniss in her sleep and leaving her to incubate my offspring after without any explanation, amounts to rape, and although it isn’t in my nature to operate under the moralistic customs of humans, I find the notion troublesome and appalling. I would never cause Katniss such pain and humiliation.

So I’ve been stalling. Buying time, trying to find a way to make this union less… morbid. More consensual.

I tell myself this is all for Katniss’ benefit, but the truth is, I think it would be rather nice to be able to look at her beautiful gray eyes while spilling my semen into her womb.

To my chagrin, I’ve realized that while trying to consort with this girl, her humanity has bled into my very essence. I’m just afraid I cannot conform to mortal morals too long. My sole reason to exist is to procreate and satisfy my ever growing lust. My nature will win at the end, and I fear I will lose her when it happens.

———————

It’s raining a monsoon outside, yet Katniss is sitting on the porch crying quietly into her hands. It’s past her bedtime too, so I’m sure this is something she’s trying to hide from her family.

I sit next to her on the creaky step before even realizing my physical body has materialized out of thin air of its own volition.

“Gale, my best friend and hunting partner, kissed me today.” She says without even looking up at me. “I pushed him away and told him I didn’t want to be with him that way. That I never wanna get married and have children. He walked off angry, and now I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m… sorry?” And I am, I just don’t quite know what it is I’m sorry about, yet.

“I just don’t understand why he had to go and ruin a good thing!” Her gray, tear-filled eyes find me, and I’m surprised at the fire, anger, and betrayal in her gaze. I’m mesmerized. “Why did he have to go and complicate things that way? Isn’t he happy we are friends? Isn’t it enough we go out into the woods and feed our families together like partners? Why mess it all up?”

“Because you’re beautiful. Because you’re worth the try. Because he’d be an idiot if he let it pass and never confessed his feelings for you. You are extraordinary, Katniss. You have no idea the effect you can have…”

“What does that even mean, Peeta?” She demands angrily.

“It means, men look at you and see someone worthy. Someone valuable. Someone they can’t help but admire and want to pledge their loyalties and affections to.”

She snorts, pawing the tears off her cheeks. “You’re just saying that because you are my guardian spirit.” She says dismissively.

“Your what?” I ask in disbelief, astonishment and an edge of offense.

Katniss rolls her eyes, letting me know she thinks I’m being unnecessarily obtuse. “Come on, Peeta. You only show up on moonless nights when I’m in trouble, to help me with whatever supernatural powers you possess. I’ve known who you are since my friend Madge let me read her father’s old books from before the first rebellion of Panem. People back then believed in spirits and those kind of things. I just found one that fitted your description, and it came up as ‘Guardian Angel’ which mostly protect humans… you don’t have to deny or confirm it, but I’m pretty confident I got you identified!”

She smiles through her tears. There’s a glimmer of satisfaction and playfulness deep in her eyes.

I’ve never been confused with a Being of Light before, and to be honest I’m doing everything in my power to hide the disgust I feel at that. At this point, I find it counterproductive to correct her preposterous assumptions, so I bite my tongue for the time being.

“Katniss,” I sigh, “Many boys are going to like you. You are an incredible young woman. That said, you don’t have to choose any of them, especially if you’re not comfortable. If Gale Hawthorne knows what’s good for him, he’ll come back and apologize for imposing himself on you. Otherwise, you did nothing wrong and you don’t owe him anything. Be sure you are happy and safe. Even… even when I’m around. You have such an incredible power to you. Don’t be sad about any of this. Chin up and be a great example for little Prim.”

“Thank you, Peeta. You always know what to say to make me feel better.” She reaches for my hand taking me by surprise, and squeezes.

My eyes fall to our entwined hands, and I marvel at the sight; there’s a fluttering of emotions in my chest. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never been touched by a human willingly, in friendship or otherwise. It’s extraordinary to say the least.

I clear my throat. “You should go inside.”

I watch her duck into her house, and for the first time since the inception of Earth, I remain frozen in one place for the night without seeking a mate to pollinate.

—————

Two weeks after Gale kissed Katniss, and they still aren’t on speaking terms. They avoid each other and start hunting separate parts of the woods in different schedules.

Gale is 18 and can opt for a job at the medicine factory that opened up after the rise of the New Panem some ten years ago. He can also apply for a farming license and get a lot with fertile soil to work. Katniss is still too young to apply for any of that, but she’s old enough to marry.

I will never understand the arbitrariness of human’s law regarding age of consent. A girl of marrying age, should be a girl of independent working age. But what do I know? I’m just a Being of Darkness; such conundrums are beneath me.

Yet, I’m standing here in the other side of world, pondering on it!

She doesn’t own me! If I’m going to obsess over a human, I still want to be me. I don’t want her to turn me into some angel I’m not.

I don’t want to be a piece in this girl’s involuntary game.

So, on my sweet, beautiful Katniss trudges to the woods teeming with game and wild herbs, waiting for her clever hands to pluck, either the string of her bow, or the greens off the forest floor; it matters not. Her family will eat better than her many neighbors, who sadly still live in poverty despite the new era of freedom.

Ugh… curse that resilience and strength of hers! She’s irresistible!

—————-

It’s late in the evening, the last remaining rays of sun just disappeared in the distance, not quite moonless, but dark enough to make anyone uneasy.

A greasy, disgusting man spots Katniss slinking away from the dead electric fence, and lunges at her like a fiend. He takes her by surprise, and gets a hold of her game bag, which is quickly discarded carelessly on the ground. Katniss tries to fight the man back, gritting her teeth and growling like a rabid animal, but it’s no use.

Despite how heavy set the man is, he’s quick on his feet, and has restrained Katniss by the wrists.

The man reeks of white liquor. His balding head has a few long hairs combed to the side, which does nothing to hide the shine of his scalp. The disgusting creature is talking filth into Katniss’ face when I finally step out of the shadows and stalk his way. He doesn’t see me, too distracted on Katniss… MY Katniss.

She’s doing everything in her power not to show how terrified, how trapped she is, but her eyes are filling with tears and this miserable maggot is feeding off it.

The man presses his disgusting body into hers, and she tries to kick him off, snarling a threat that doesn’t reach him. The brute shoves her against a tree; she chokes a small sob back and begs him to stop, while shaking like a leaf. The man laughs, then sticks his nauseating tongue out of his mouth, and licks her face, from her chin to her temple … That’s the last thing I remember cohesively.

I blink, and the next thing I see, there are blood, guts and gray matter splatter everywhere.

The ground, the trees, my hands and clothes, everything is covered in gore. The man’s corpse lays shattered on the ground in two pieces ripped straight down the middle, from his head downward.

I gasp her name, scanning the scene frantically until I see her, huddled up behind a tree with her head buried into her arms that rest on her knees.

I call her name again, but she doesn’t respond to my voice. She mutters something I don’t catch, so I try to touch her. She yelps as soon as my fingers brush her shoulder, and scoots away from me like a crab running from a seagull.

“No!” She yells batting my hand away.

“Katniss—“

“What are you? You’re no angel at all are you?” She stumbles to her feet shakily. I try to follow but she stomps her feet like a toddler in mid-tantrum. “Stay away from me! Monster. Mutt. Whatever you are!” She takes off running home, snatching up her game bag as she goes.

The only evidence linking her with this horror sight is gone, so it’s time to cover my own tracks.

I extend my arms straight, at my sides, I close my eyes summoning nature to me. When the hair covering my arms stand with static and my fingers tingle with tiny shocks of electricity, I clap my hands way above my head bringing down a mighty flash of lighting that scorches the ground and singes the bark of the nearest trees.

Looking at my handiwork with satisfaction, I leave Panem behind. It’s the last time I stalk Katniss Everdeen, awake or asleep. Anonymity is my gift to her.

Sure enough, when morning comes, the death of that awful man, gets attributed to lightning.

——————

Plump, bodacious Delly Cartwright is as opposite in looks and personality to Katniss as humanly possible. I chose her painstakingly for that very reason. Her hair is a mess of yellowish curls that remind me of the majestic mane of a lion. Pretty enough face, with fair skin dotted with freckles, thin pink lips framed by laughing marks and wide set blue eyes full of trust and kindness.

Delly’s had a sheltered, pampered life, and is very free with her affection. She is engaged to be married come Spring, but she’s by no means a pure, innocent virgin. I go at her like a dog with a bone.

I’m in the process of covering her eyes with my special heavy sleep scales, to ensure she won’t wake in the middle of our tryst, but I feel the tug overpowering my whole body before I hear Katniss’ voice calling me by my proper, given name.

Delly stirs in her sleep, while I try to hold on to the bedposts, refusing to answer the summon, but Katniss says my name again. It’s too powerful a pull. My fingers slip off the polished wood and my body pops out of existence in this room, and snaps back into being outside the familiar tiny shack the Everdeen women call home.

The air crackles around me with electric pulses and a cloud of fog surrounds my body.

Once the fog clears, I can see the single oil lamp sitting on the porch railing, illuminating the slim figure of the girl I’m trying to avoid with all my might.

She’s beautiful though. I take her in hungrily.

She’s standing barefoot on the old doormat that’s seen better days, wearing a white, threadbare nightgown I’ve never seen her in before. An equally threadbare shawl that can’t be providing any warmth in this chill wraps around her shoulders. Her hair falls loose down her back, but she keeps fiddling with the end of a lock she’s twisted around her fingers.

Her pink lips tremble slightly from cold every time she exhales a foggy puff of breath from her mouth.

Without really stopping to think of what I’m doing, I glide up the porch steps until I’m in front of her and tighten the shawl over her chest with both of my hands.

“You’re shivering. You shouldn’t be outside in this cold with so little clothes on.” I try to sound stern, but my voice is too soft and caring.

Her lips twitch up at the corners. Her gray eyes shine in amusement. “I wouldn’t have gotten so cold if you hadn’t taken so long to show up. I called you over 120 seconds ago!” She admonishes in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

I narrow my eyes at her, trying to figure her out, but I give it up when her teeth start clattering together. She speaks before I can comment further.

“Come inside with me?” It’s not really a request, since she’s holding my hand like a vise and dragging me towards the door.

“Is that wise?” I ask her arching an eyebrow. “I’m not the Being of Light you previously thought I was.”

She scowls at that, “No, you ain’t. But you’ve still saved my life more times than I care to remember. I owe you, and I’m not very comfortable having a debt so steep hanging over my head.”

“Consider the balance void, Katniss. It’s safer that way.”

She purses her lips and tightens her hold on her shawl. “We’ll see.” She pushes the door open and in we go, without hesitation.

“I spoke to Greasy Sae,” she tells me, as we cross the living room and kitchen area, into the bedroom with the two beds, both empty tonight. “She’s the oldest person in the District, you know.” She states as if that explains anything.

“There’s a wealth of wisdom in the elderly’s counsel,” I comment looking at her profile curiously. “What did this Sae have to say?”

Katniss pulls a chair from a writing desk and motions me to sit. I obey without questioning it.

Katniss shrugs, “I asked many things, really. Sae talks a lot, and she knows everyone, so people come to her for advice.” She sits on her bed opposite me, yet her eyes shy away from mine.

“What advice did you ask for?”

“No advice. Just information.” Her eyes flick to me quickly, then go back to a point over my shoulder. “You know, what you did to Cray… well, it wasn’t subtle at all.” She finally pierces me with a glare, but that only lasts a second. “I mean, you tore his body in half with your bare hands and left his carcass to rot in the meadow. Who does that?!” Another glance, this one I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or terrified. She should be both.

“I made it appear as if had been a lighting strike.” I protest.

“It wasn’t storming that night, Peeta. We had beautiful, clear skies the whole, entire week. People knew something supernatural was behind that monster’s death.”

“He was about to do terrible things to you, Katniss. Have you thought of how scared and devastated your sister would’ve been if something awful had happened to you?”

“Of course I have!” She interrupts me. “It would’ve destroyed her. Don’t get me wrong, people are happy to see the bastard gone, because he’s always had a history with harassing girls, but everyone is scared now of something they don’t understand and can’t start to explain! The whole district is so shocked they close their shutters earlier, hide their youngsters fiercely, walk in large groups when going places like school or the market. Even at school teachers step out of their classrooms to make sure the students milling around the halls are safe. It’s horrible and traumatic…”

“Then you know why I had to take care of that predator.” I spit venomously.

Her shoulders sag, “I know.” The pinched look falls off her face.

She stands up and walks towards me.

In a surprising move, she lowers herself sideways on my lap. My arms go around her waist immediately, in case she changes her mind, but Katniss leans her head onto my shoulder and sighs deeply.

In all the centuries I’ve fucked my way through humanity, I’ve never been this close to a girl before. I do not mean merely physically, but intimately. I’m not sure how to respond and reciprocate the affectionate gesture, so I settle for resting my cheek on the crown of her head.

“Where’s your family?” I ask.

“Tending to a birth. Twins. There’s some kind of complication, so mother took Prim to help her. They will be out all night.”

I accept her explanation with a sound at the back of my throat. After a minute of easy silence, I ask, “Were you satisfied with the information you yielded from Mrs. Sae?”

“No.”

She doesn’t elaborate for a few minutes.

“How did you know Cray was attacking me?” She finally asks shuddering in my arms.

I scowl. “That kind of evil. It comes from me.” I tell her. “I recognize the ones who maim the soul and hurt the spirit, because that’s my job. That perversion originates from the same darkness I come from, and responds to the same urges I do.”

Katniss tries to appear unperturbed about my words, but she can’t hide her trembling.

“Sae said she didn’t recognize any spirits by my descriptions. I tried to remain vague and distant, as if asking on someone else’s behalf, but she was troubled by my questions, and I think she knew I’d witnessed Cray’s disembowelment. I had to stop my inquiry.”

“I’m right here, Katniss. You can ask me anything you want to know. Isn’t that why you called me here tonight?”

She shakes her head in denial. “Sae said it sounded like a dark one was protecting his mate, or maybe grooming a prospective mate. But of course, she’d never heard of something quite like you. She didn’t know who or what you were. She couldn’t tell me how to proceed.” Katniss straightens up, and stares into my eyes apprehensively. “I have an idea of how you may like me to pay off my debt to you.” She says blushing violently, averting her eyes and fiddling with her shawls fringe.

She breathes in deeply, and lets the shawl fall from her shoulders. She takes my hand and brings it to her clavicle; her fingers interlace with mine, to venture under the neckline of her nightgown. Before I can make sense of what’s happening, I brush the soft skin of her full breast with the pad of my digits.

Katniss presses my fingers to her delicate nipple, and I surrender my will to a human, for the first time in the memory of creation.

I trace her areola gently, with practiced ease, until the nipple puckers up in response. Her own hand falls away, leaving me to my own devices.

Katniss shudders a little, clenching her eyes closed. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She asks me, not quite in accusation, but unsure and fearful

“Yes.” I tell her. No sense in denying the truth. I lean into her ear to whisper, “Katniss, you should have left that debt alone when you had the chance, Sweetheart.” She shivers in my arms, but presses her torso against my body.

“This is the price isn’t it?” Her voice wavers.

“Partially. The price I’m charging is something you already told me you were unwilling do. Now we will have to come to some agreement.”

“How long have you been touching me like this?” She’s holding back tears, but not stopping the pinches and kneading of my fingers on her flesh.

“I’ve only done this twice to be honest. I palmed your behind once. Somehow, touching you without your knowledge feels… wrong.” She nods, a stray tear trails down her cheek. I nuzzle the sensitive spot behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I’m not a one mate being. I go around the world, taking women such as yourself during their sleep, oftentimes impregnating them with my spawn. It’s not my custom to groom my partners, but everything about you has been different from the beginning.”

“Aren’t I the lucky gal?” She spits bitterly, yet her breathing is getting shallower and a pretty blush is starting to color her skin from her face to her chest. She’s actually enjoying my ministrations on her breasts. “What makes me so special?” She asks.

“You’re strong minded. One of my powers is to whisper things into a human’s ear, and plant ideas, orders, images… you’re too stubborn to listen to any of that. I’ve command you to cut all of your ties to that Hawthorne boy at least thrice, but you’ve refused to forsake his friendship and companionship each time.

“I’ve tried to get you to wear dresses and shifts to bed, but you keep wearing your father’s clothing even to sleep.

“Every time I try to induce a sexual dream into your mind, you clam up, and never stay asleep long enough to get too far into the dream for it to affect you the way I’d want it to. But, things seem to be changing right now.” I pull my hand out of the neckline of her gown and place it on her knee.

Once I make to hike my hand up her thigh, Katniss clenches her legs together, whether she’s doing it to deny me access, or because she can’t handle the arousal, I am not sure. I drop my hand off her knee all the same.

“I can’t take you without your consent, Katniss. That much is clear after my failed attempts at wooing you while unconscious.” I whisper into her temple, dropping a sweet, barely-there kiss. “This ‘grooming’ debacle has happened both ways.” I state. “Katniss Everdeen, you’ve tamed the feared and despised Incubus.” She gasps. I suppose, Incubus she’s heard off before.

“I’m still a demon.” I say solemnly, “A sex fiend. My nature hasn’t changed, despite your domesticating me. You could reject me right this second, and I’d go away without ever touching you. But, once out of your snaring presence, I’d have to prowl around in search of other women to satisfy my needs.”

“You’re saying that other women and girls well-being rest upon my shoulders?” She asks looking a little green in the face. “You couldn’t possibly do anything to them without their express permission, would you?” She sounds hopeful, and her eyes are pleading.

“You’re the only one with power over me, Katniss. I only care for your wants and dislikes. I am yours to command, anyone else is disposable.”

“How am I supposed to agree to these terms, Peeta? You… you’re- you molest women in their sleep! You get them pregnant against their will and nearly every one of them dies as a result of your encounters with them.” Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t look away from my own. “I never want to have children. But that’s what you want from me, isn’t it?” She murmurs shakily, her body sagging into my chest. “I don’t want to die either. My sister needs me.”

“Katniss, I’m obsessed with you, because you’re the sturdiest girl I’ve met. You’re a survivor. You don’t give up when you know the difference between death and survival is you. I’ve been investing my own powers on perfecting your body and preparing your internal organs so you’re in top condition for mating, sustaining a pregnancy and delivering a live half human, half demon child.”

This stuns her a second. “You really were grooming me for years.” She sounds devastated. “I told you I didn’t want marriage, loving a man that could die and take away my will to live to his grave with him. It happened to my parents. I can’t abandon my children to their fate the same way my mother did to me and Prim. You knew all this. I told you all about it before… you still want me to… to—” she chokes back a sob and clams up.

I’m aggravated with her. I had walked away from her, left her alone, freed her from my presence, yet she summoned me back here because she can’t let some fabricated debt go. I growl lowly, trying to keep my temper under control. She really won’t be able to survive my wrath, and I don’t want to harm her in an angry rush.

“Since you insisted on calling me here, then I must inform you, you will become pregnant if we mate. That’s a guarantee. But I’m no man. I can’t die. I will never grow sick and time will never age me. My children won’t suffer human needs either. They’ll be strong and capable of hunting their own meals, much like you do now. If you can’t mother them properly, I will take them away and raise them myself. We have little room for negotiations at this point. Mating and childbearing are inescapable if you pursue the debt route.”

“Kill me now then!” She snaps, trying to push away from me, but I keep her in place with my hands.

“I will not kill you.” I say it like it is a command.

“If I refuse to m-mate?”

“Will you?” I counter. “Mating will happen on your terms. On your time.” My voice sounds gentler now, like it was before. “Then I’ll leave you alone for good if that’s what you want.”

“You… you would?” She’s shaking all over.

“My word is my bond.”

“What should I call you? Master? Sir? Lord?”

“Peeta. Just Peeta. That is my given name.” I tell her simply.

“Why me? Why now?”

“I don’t quite know. I just know you’re the one strong enough to stand the physical toil of carrying my offspring which has caused all the previous hosts’ demise.”

She nods absentmindedly. I’m surprised when Katniss starts undoing the tiny buttons at the neckline of her gown, and slowly slips off my lap, to stand between my legs. I lose no time pulling the soft material covering her body down her arms, to pool at her feet. I stare at her naked torso and then at the apex of her thighs, drinking in her beauty with relish.

“I’ve never seen you nude before.” I tell her in awe, rubbing my hands up and down her arms.

“Let’s do this now. No sense delaying it. It would happen eventually anyway.” She says, shyly.

She most see the greed and lust in my eyes, because she tries to cover her chest and the curly, black hair covering her sex. I remain seated on my chair, until she starts squirming under my heated gaze.

“Do as you must, Peeta. Do it quickly.” She says after forcing her eyes back to mine.

“You need to be more specific, Katniss. Otherwise I’ll stay planted here until dawn slashes me away.” I tell her arching a brow. I burn with desire for her, but I cannot move without her permission.

She grunts and taps a foot impatiently. I smile at that. She’s still so strong willed even now, and so pure deep down; it’s endearing.

“Take me, Peeta. Now. Mmm… sexually.” She punctuates.

I can’t help smirking deviously. I stalk up to her and reach my hand to rest on the curve of her waist, gently pulling her forward.

“I am going to kiss you now.” I purr into her ear.

Kissing my partners is unusual for me, but this is Katniss. I take her lips with mine in a searing kiss that burns down my body. I lay her on the bed blindly, caressing her velvety skin tenderly.

I’ve master the art of masturbating my conquests to assure lubrication, but other than that, I’ve never given thought to foreplay for the sake of pleasing my partners. I’m doing things here, I’ve never done before. Human lovers may be more adept at romancing, but I’m doing my best to pleasure Katniss with my hands, lips, tongue and words.

I taste, kiss and nip at her skin. I tweak, pinch, knead and caress her flesh; I suck on her nipples and nuzzle the cleft between her thighs. She tenses, melts, and chokes back sounds on intervals every so often, not quite sure if she should resist me or enjoy the sensations I’m evoking in her.

“Relax, Katniss. Clear your mind. Enjoy the moment.”

She lifts her head in time to watch me take a long swipe of my tongue along her labia. Her head falls on the flat pillow and a soft moan escapes her sweet mouth.

“You smell and taste divine.” I tell her while inserting my middle finger inside her warm, wet pussy.

Finally, Katniss cries out my name, and I swear it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever experienced.

A second and then a third finger find their way inside her making her bow off the bed. She’s moaning loudly now. My thumb makes contact with a small kernel of flesh I haven’t really paid much attention to while with other women.

Katniss shouts with the first few passes of my thumb, she begs me not to stop, to “please, please, please, keep doing that!” And I can’t resist lapping at the copious arousal bathing my hand and Katniss’ thighs.

I’ve made women orgasm before, unintentionally of course. They cum just by the sheer size of my shaft, but it’s never been as extreme as this. My sweet, little Katniss arches off the bed, her shout dies in her throat, and then she falls on her back, convulsing and twitching.

At some point her fingers tangled in my hair. She pulls on it every time she shudders her release, until she lays still.

I sit up and catch my reflection on the oval mirror propped on Mrs. Everdeen’s night table, next to the blade her late husband used to shave his face. Both items remain in the same spot they were left at 6 years ago. Young Primrose polishes the reflecting surface everyday, readying it for a father that will never use it again.

As I take a minute to inspect my appearance, I’m surprised I don’t have Gale Hawthorne features. I’m taken aback at how young and kind my face is. I guess I must be 16 or 17 in her mind’s eye. Blond, wavy hair. Warm blue eyes. Chiseled jaw, defined upper lip and a strong straight nose. I rip off the simple white button down shirt covering my upper body to find lean, defined muscles over a wide set of shoulders that look strong and used to manual labor. My skin is fair with a smattering of freckles and light blonde hair cover my arms. I realize this is what Katniss finds appealing. Whatever she’s attracted to.

I look down at my trousers, and see flecks of flour on dark brown sturdy material. I find it amusing that she’s dreamt me off to be a baker of all things, but I guess in her mind, it makes sense. I did give her bread in the backyard of an abandoned bakery the first time we met.

I will the rest of my clothes gone, and it disappears on the spot. I kiss her navel sweetly, and hook my elbows under her knees. When I sit up, I pull her hips towards mine.

“My turn.” My voice is raspy and needy. Katniss nods, widening the opening between her thighs for me.

“Will you… fit?” Her voice wavers, her gray eyes watch the turgid appendage between my legs nervously.

My cock twitches. “I will fit, Sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.” I assure her sweetly, caressing her outer thigh.

She nods. “Okay.” She breathes out softly. “I’m ready.”

Katniss gasps when I run the head of my dick through her wet, swollen folds, and without much ado sink my full, long girth into her in one swoop motion. She releases a breathless, long, drawn out moan once I’m seated all the way in. She’s so tight and warm, I wish I could freeze this moment, here, right now, and live in it forever. Alas, time is not something I have control over, so I give into my need and start moving.

Katniss keens breathlessly every time I rock into her. She’s digging her blunt nails into the skin of my shoulder blades, after having hooked her slim arms under mine. Her face is practically buried into the hollow of my neck, letting me feel the brush of her lips and her hot breath against my pectoral with every thrust. Having her awake for this was the best decision ever!

I kiss her sweaty forehead, and bury my nose in her hair. She always smells so good, like lavender and fresh rain. I kiss her temple, and then her cheek; lastly I kiss her lips and she sighs into it.

“Does it feel good?” I ask her, genuinely interested in her answer.

She nods faintly. “It feels… wonderful. Different. Strange. I feel so full, like I’m stuffed to the brim, yet I need more of you, of your… hmmm…”

“Cock,” I supply. “Call it a cock.”

“Alright.” She breathes out. “I- I think I like the feel of your… cock, in me.” She says rubbing her cheek against mine.

“Good. Let me know when you get tired, and I’ll finish.”

She gives me a frowning look. “You can do that at will?” She asks.

I shrug. “Usually. Sometimes, when I’m to keyed in, I just explode after a few pumps. It’s not very often. But it’s happened.”

“Well, I don’t want to rush you, but, my legs are starting to cramp up, so…” she winces.

I chuckled and kiss her mouth again. “Alright, Sweetheart, your wish is my command. I’ll fill you up with my thick cum right away.”

She’s trying to smile at my jesting words, but I pick up my pace before she can respond, and soon I’m driving into her like a possessed madman. It only takes a few pumps, but it takes almost a full 2 minutes to finish spilling my load into her. My hands aren’t idle during my release though.

My thumb presses tight, fast circles against her clit, and my sweet, beautiful Katniss starts clenching and shaking with her own orgasm. I nearly mistake her body obviously reacting to my semen because she’s riding her release at the same time as her organs start knitting the embryo of my heir deep in her womb.

Her body tenses, and breaks out into a high fever. She shivers and her lips turn pale and dry, her skin is ashen and papery, and her eyes are closed. She’s convulsing in my arms, but not in blissful orgasm anymore. Since I’m still inside her, I can feel every one of her muscles contract on my cock, and it is too much for me to bear, I pull out of her quickly and spill a second load just shy of her pussy. I gather her into my arms, and mumbled an incantation into her hair, holding tightly to her.

I’m not allowed to pray, but that doesn’t stop me from pleading for her life over and over as I sit on the bed with her limp body cradled to my chest. “Please, don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die…”

Fuck! I don’t care if the child lives as long as she does… and I keep rocking her until morning surprises me, and Mrs. Everdeen walks in on me holding her almost dead daughter.

——————

Katniss gives birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

The child looks completely human with a mop of dark hair on her head and the bluest eyes a child can have at that age. Still, rumors break out of the origin of the child, and people start attacking both Katniss and the babe when things start getting too weird for them.

Mrs. Everdeen reluctantly accepts her daughter has mated with a demon, and has a very hard time looking her in the eye. I’m sure the fact that she sees me as an exact replica of her dead husband, has to have caused some psychological disturbance for the healer. It must have been unpleasant to walk in on her obviously freshly fucked daughter, limp and unresponsive in the arms of a man that looks just like the father of said daughter.

Primrose is not allowed to stay in the same room with her sister and niece without Mrs. Everdeen present, and Katniss is livid about it.

“I’ve practically raised Prim on my own at the age of 11, when you were too sick to care for anyone, least of all yourself! We are all alive thanks to Peeta!” She yells at her mother one day while bitter tears slide down her cheeks.

Mrs. Everdeen asked Katniss to leave the house, after catching my reflection on the window glass while the baby nursed. The healer can’t stand my presence, let alone the appearance my body takes in her mind’s eye, particularly when I can’t hide my lust for Katniss regardless of the face I’m wearing.

On top of the obvious, understandable reasons why Mrs. Everdeen wants nothing to do with her oldest daughter, she claims to be afraid I’ll go after Primrose as well, as if I could have the faintest interest in the young girl, when I only have eyes for the mother of my child.

“Please don’t say that cursed name in this house, Katniss. That monster will be drawn to it.”

“I can call his name whenever I want, because he’s the father of my child, your grandchild!” Katniss argues. “He has never done anything to harm us. He’s saved my life numerous times, and he’s fed us, and kept our health when he didn’t have to. You’re being unreasonable!”

“She really is not.” I say in my most gentlemanly voice, as I shimmer into existence in the middle of their room. “Your Mother has reason to distrust me, but to displace her own daughter and brand new grandchild is cruel.” I say turning eyes full of fire to the woman cowering away from me.

I go back to Katniss and smile, showing her only placid blue when she looks into my eyes. “Do not worry, Katniss. You’re mine to care for, and that I will do. As for your family…” When I shift my gaze to Mrs. Everdeen, my pupils have taken over the blue of my irises, leaving only a pool of empty darkness. “We will figure something out.”

————————-

The babe nurses with vigor, and my favorite time of day is when I sit and watch the evening feedings. My fascination with the baby is offset by my ever growing lust, sparked by Katniss’ exposes breasts.

When the child is asleep and safely tucked in her crib, I take Katniss to the living room of the grand house I built for her in the middle of the woods. I strip my lover of her clothing, piece by piece and drag her to her own bedroom, where the softest, most comfortable bed waits for us.

She doesn’t want to be pregnant again so soon, so she bends over and lets me take her in the rear. By the sounds she makes, I dare say she enjoys it greatly. Her pussy doesn’t stay neglected though; my fingers keep my sweet, beautiful mate satisfied and relaxed.

I seldom need another body to satisfy me anymore, but until I have a mature offspring to take my place devouring the sleeping women of the world, I’m bound to keep prowling the Earth seeking to douse a dying lust for other cunts; my conquests all fall flat and insipid compared to the vivacious woman I have waiting on me back home.

I’m not sure when Katniss’ place became Home for me, but it is the place I always return to.

————————

Katniss starts hunting again six months after the baby is born.

On the second day, the child sits in her pen while Katniss skins the game. The baby cries and cries until her mother picks her up and sits her on her lap as she works. Katniss shrieks when the child’s chubby hand plunges into the bucket of entrails next to the stool they sit on, and tries to bring the gore to her open mouth. The little girl throws a mighty tantrum, until she’s fed meat from a squirrel Katniss cooked. After that, the baby only wants to feed on game, not on vegetables and milk like normal babies.

Katniss thinks it’s unnatural to feed a child so young meat, but she wasn’t truly frightened until a few days after the child’s first birthday.

Primrose visits with her pet cat, Buttercup. Our baby grabs the feline by the tail and tries to strangle it with a choke hold worthy of a professional wrestler. Primrose nervously laughs it off as childlike curiosity and lack of force control, but Katniss knows better. Our child tried to kill and eat Buttercup.

I knew it was time to take charge of the toddler.

Katniss cries with guilt, because she now understands her own mother’s fears, but still hands the little girl over to me, to take to my realm. They get to see each other every day, and our daughter loves her mommy to death. They just don’t understand each other’s natures, and know it’s better to remain separate.

Our daughter’s growth has accelerated in my realm, so she’s now at the level of a 5 year old child.

“Will she kill humans?” Katniss asks me tearfully one night after my seed is drying between her thighs.

I lean down and kiss her temple. “She might. She may become a Succubus. She may become something totally different. She’s still half human, darling. Only time will tell.”

That’s poor comfort for Katniss, so she cries in my arms until fatigue takes over her. I can’t help myself. I fuck her again while she’s asleep, and this time I don’t pull out when my release is imminent. That’s when it happens again. Only this time the reaction is different. Obviously supernatural.

Her breathing picks up, her mouth falls open, her skin starts to glow. I place my hands on her abdomen, where the glow is more intense. I push my erection inside her pussy, because I want to feel it happening from the inside, and the heat leaching from her walls is almost unbearable. Her forehead breaks into fat beads of sweat, her skin is burning up, and she shivers uncontrollably under my weight. I’m involuntarily cumming again. My hips can’t stay still, so I give in and piston into her at a frantic pace, digging her slim frame deeper into the mattress.

Poor, exhausted, Katniss, passes out before I can pull out of her. Much like the first time, my mate is in a short coma for the next week.

I make her mother tend to her like I did the first time as well. This time, Katniss delivers twin baby boys.

There’s absolutely no doubt at all the infants are my spawn and hold the powers of the incubus. When Katniss holds them, they look exactly the way she sees me: soft blonde curls that fall on their forehead in waves, pleasant blue eyes like summer sky, long eyelashes that brush chubby, rosy cheeks. The boys look cherubic, and she can’t stop kissing them and showering them with attention.

They’ve won over their grandmother completely as well. When Mrs. Everdeen takes them, the boys look just like Katniss: straight dark hair, gray eyes, olive skin. They have Mr. Everdeen’s chin. But if Prim is the one to hold them, they look completely different.

The twins breastfeed exclusively, refusing any other nourishment well into two years of age. The boys are cunning, not showing any demonic tendencies, or habits that’ll scare Katniss away. Mommy— as they call her affectionately— is way too fond of them, and barely leaves their side. She’s lost weight and her skin and hair turned brittle, but her children come first all the time.

They can’t fool me though. I catch them whispering thoughts into their mother’s head, planting ideas and fears she’s never had before, and I know it’s time to take them away when they don’t even try to hide their wrong doing from me, just staring boldly into my face, sporting identical smirks as they sing into Katniss’ ear they’re the only ones that love her in this world; they need her to care for them.

Katniss fights me over them, until I show her how manipulative the little fuckers are: I’m fucking her in our bedroom while the boys are supposed to be soundly asleep in their own warm beds, instead, they sneak into our room and watch in fascination as I take her hard and fast. They snicker when my hand makes contact with their mother’s romp and I make the curtain fall, revealing their presence after casting a protective block on her mind against the boys’ trickery.

Katniss scrambles to cover up her nakedness, but the boys ask excitedly when will they be able to do the same?

I sit them both on my lap— that my mate has hastily covered with our sheets— and lovingly explain to my sons they will have their chance once they reach puberty. And the best part is, I’ll be able to retire!

Katniss leaves the bed to wrap herself with a robe and watches my exchange with the boys disgusted from a corner of the room. Her limbs are tied into a tight ball, and her distress is palpable enough for the boys to pick up.

“Not you mommy,” one of the twins clarifies.

“Mommy belongs to you, father.” Adds the other one helpfully.

“And she’s too sweet to break.” Explains the other.

Katniss does not oppose me taking the boys after that.

—————

The third pregnancy nearly kills my Katniss.

The baby’s aura is just too evil for her body to sustain. I conjure up my most powerful sleeping magic and cover her eyes with scales so heavy she stays asleep for three days.

I take the child from her womb before she can wake up, but the little demoness survives.

Katniss never gets to see her new daughter, and the child hates her mother so much I have no choice but to send her to the one place that can hold a being as dark as her. Deep into Hell.

I tell Katniss the baby was stillborn and she never asks questions about it.

——————

Katniss is 25 the day she becomes pregnant for the last time. She delivers a second set of perfectly healthy twins; a boy and a girl this time. Both completely human. Both looking exceptionally normal and nothing like me, except for their bright blue eyes. That trait could’ve come from Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose for all I know.

I’m so out of my mind with rage, I terrorize poor Katniss by pretty much destroying everything in the house. I accuse her of sleeping with human men while I was away, Gale Hawthorne perhaps, since the babes have that Seam look to them.

She denies it vehemently, bawling and pleading, so scared for her life, but shielding the newborns with her battered body after labor.

I push her aside and stride to the crib, ready to smite the infants with a blow of my hand. She falls on her knees begging me to believe her, screaming her innocence, crying out my name pitifully. “Peeta, please, you have to believe me!”

“Why should I?” I yell in her face.

“Because… because… I love you, Peeta!” She cries out loudly, hanging from my wrist, my hand lifts her body off the floor wrapped around her delicate neck, squeezing it tightly.

I see the petechiae forming in the white of her eyes. The oxygen in her brain will soon be too scarce to function.

But she’s stunned me into silence.

“No you don’t.” I slam her down to the floor gracelessly.

Katniss’ tear stricken face looks up. She crawls closer to me ignoring her sore throat and neck. She tugs on my pant legs, pitifully. “I do, Peeta. It’s the truth.” She rasps painfully. “I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. I could never let any other man or being lay a hand on me. I’m in love with you.”

“Well…” I struggle for something to say. I’m choked up, words won’t come to my aid. “You shouldn’t, Katniss. Nobody loves me. I’m a demon.”

“And my body is your temple.” She pleads.

But the imprint of my fingers marring her neck, are a reminder, not even living a thousand lifetimes atoning, would be enough to deserve her. “And look how well I look after my temple!” I speak mainly to myself, my voice dripping sarcasm and regret.

“I am yours for eternity.” She vows placing my hand on her chest, where her heart is frantically pounding. “I give you my soul. Please, Peeta. No one has ever touched me, but you. I swear on all of our children. The infant twins included.”

“Katniss! No!” I lament deeply, falling heavily on a chair the farthest away from the crib.

“No what?” She murmurs, coming to caress my shins, then she massages my knees, and her nimble hands creep up my thighs, making a beeline for the fastenings of my trousers.

My cock becomes hard as steel in a second. Katniss Everdeen has been the first and only human to perform oral sex on me. The way she falls on her knees to worship my cock with her mouth, and when it is evident my length will go down her throat only so far, her hands join the cult to my phallus and I loose all my faculties, along with my will to lord over her; I become her slave when her sweet mouth is around me, even when she’s the one in the servitude position. It’s one of the many reasons I know for a fact I could never leave her, is one of the reasons I know she’s my one true mate.

But I ignore my erection and the all consuming need to be in her mouth. She’ll convince me to anything if I let her suck me off, then where will we be? There are more pressing matters than the gratification of my lust to consider.

“Katniss, you shouldn’t have pledged your soul to me. That was foolish! Reckless. A gigantic mistake!” I tell her pulling at the roots of my hair, soft and silky, the way she likes it. “Now you truly belong to me, for eternity.” I tell her, and finally cup her cheek in my palm, tangling her dark tresses in my fingers.

“Peeta, I live in the woods. Everyone has shunned me because I’m the Incubus’ whore. No one talks to me, but everybody fears me. I’m an outcast in this place. My mother barely stands to see me, let alone talk to me. My sweet sister is the only person who loves me and my children. In her eyes the kids are just her nieces and nephews despite their dark inclination, but Prim’s reputation suffers every time people remember we’re related, so I’ve been trying to keep my distance from her.”

Katniss shakes her head sadly, and sits back on her haunches. “I chose you a lifetime ago. I knew the price of being your lover would be steep. I still choose you. Do you still not know this?”

“Nobody has loved me before.” I mutter sadly.

“Well, I do. And I will until you take me from this earth.”

I nod, my mind resolved on what needs to be done.

“The day the twins are completely independent, living their own lives, happily according to their own expectations, I’ll come for you, my beautiful mate.” I tell her. “Since these babies are human, they belong to you, and you will care for them until they reach maturity.

“To makes things easier on you and them, no living human will remember anything about me. The children’s father will just be a foggy memory no one can quite recall. You will be safe, and I’ll be gone until time brings me back to you.”

“And what of me? Do I sit here pretending I don’t miss you? Feeding our children lies about their father?“ She argues scowling at me angrily.

“Sweetheart, I’m afraid you won’t remember much about me either.” I tell her firmly.

“Peeta, you can’t! Peeta—“ She tries to catch my arm, her voice is full of anger and betrayal, but my enchantment is already done.

“Until then… my love.”

—————-

The girl with dark hair and blue eyes dances on tip toes in the meadow. The boy with blonde curls and gray eyes tries to twirl like his sister, but his chubby legs can’t keep up.

Katniss laughs merrily from her spot on the picnic blanket. I’ve never been good at staying away from her, but I’ve made an art of longing from afar without touching her, our the children. This time I can’t resist the temptation, and reach my index finger to brush away the lock of gray hair that has escape her loose braid.

She shivers at my touch, and gathers her coat around her.

“Children,” she calls, standing up and already folding the blanket, “it’s time to go home for the evening.”

“Do we have to, Grandma?” Whines the little girl.

“Yeah! Woo ve haf too?” Pipes up the toddler.

“Remember, we promised mommy and daddy we’d come home early enough to take baths.” Says Katniss with a sweet smile.

The little girl groans and kicks a pebble. Her brother tries to imitate the behavior, but can’t quite get the sass. Katniss rushes at them both, and takes them in her arms for hugs and kisses. The children laugh until they forget to grumble about cutting short their playtime.

I gave my family new memories. Then I gave the whole district a similar version to complement.

Katniss lives with our son and his family above the bakery we met at when she was a child. The walls leading up the apartment are covered with family pictures, full of love and happiness. There’s one single portrait of Katniss’ late husband among the pictures: a wide shouldered baker, with a riot of blonde waves on his head, summer sky blue eyes that match his twins’ perfectly, and a sweet lopsided smile that makes his widow’s heart swoon even now.

“Tell us a story, Grandma!” Begs our grand daughter after her mother and father tuck her in bed.

“Stowry!” Shouts the boy from his side.

“Tell us about Grandpa and his watercolors!”

Katniss laughs, and sits down on the children’s bed. She tells a beautiful story of how her husband used to paint beautiful pictures of flowers and plants for her, how her husband was a painter, and a baker, how he never put sugar in his tea, slept with his windows open, and always double knotted his shoelaces. I stare at my beautiful mate from the shadows, recounting a romance of great bravery, that defeated odds and trials, just to emerge victorious and true.

I wish her memories were as real as the sweet smile they bring to her face.

Rumor has it the baker died attacked by tracker jackers. A horrific and tragic death. Nobody wants to think about it, so they don’t. All anyone knows is that the Mellark’s are a respectable, loving family of bakers that had to survive without their beloved husband and father.

Katniss learned her husband’s trade and passed it down to their twin children. Both very creative and skilled bakers in their own right. The boy married first at the age of 20. His wife is sweet and devoted and had her first baby the following year. The twin sister, decided to stay single and travel the world, learning culinary secrets from other places to improve the business back home. She returned recently with a dog in tow and has been trying to adopt an orphan girl she befriended in one of her travels.

Katniss is almost 50 years old now. Tonight I’ve come for her. She’s lived a full, happy life reflected in the laugh lines around her lips and eyes. Her hair has streaks of gray all over; wrinkles and soft skin have appear on her face and arms, but she’s as beautiful as the day I left her.

She’s asleep, and content. I almost regret waking her… but she’s mine, and I’ve missed her. The world is such a lonely place without her waiting for me everyday. Sure, I have my demonic clan to keep me company in the dark realm, but they’re all wreaking havoc on their own now, and fuck it, no other pussy compares to my mate, despite her human age. I haven’t taken another woman since I released the boys onto the world, they’re even more devious and manipulative than I ever was.

The girls are the truly scary ones to be honest; they can kill any man with precision and never get a speck of gore on their pristine outfits. Deep down I believe it’s because of their mother’s hunting skills and stubbornness.

I smile fondly at her, while hovering over her bed. I kiss her forehead, whispering the command into her mind. “Wake up, Sweetheart. It’s time to go home.”

Slowly, her eyes open, and I see the bright gray hue I’ve missed so much all this years. A sweet, soft smile curls her lips slowly.

“Hi, handsome. I’ve been waiting for you.” She says and accepts my kiss on her lips.

“The adoption was approved.” I tell her quietly, of our daughter’s last pending matter. “The twins are already independent and have everything they’ve ever wanted. You did a beautiful job raising them. I’m here to collect you, darling.”

“You look so handsome.” Katniss says “That silver hair suits you, and your wrinkles match my own. I always knew you’d look devilishly beautiful in your mature age. I’ve forgotten how striking you truly are, though.” She says caressing my cheek and smiling. “The children would loved to meet you.”

“The children know their father loved them enough to give them a good life. They’re happy and have filling lives, It won’t do them any good to know me.” I tell her without self pity. “Now come, It’s time.” I take her hand, and help her up.

“Oh!” She exclaims when her soul separates from her body. The wrinkles in her hands smooth out, her hair turns black as night and elongates to her waist that shrinks and tightens. She could be 16 again.

She looks down at her old body lying peacefully in her bed, now an empty shell. Her eyes widen. “Am I dead?” She asks.

I nod. “You pledged your soul to me, Katniss. It’s the only way we can be together for eternity,”

“Will I get to see our children again?” She asks.

“Any time you want.” I promise. “You’ll see and talk with the ones that live with me every day, but the ones we leave here, in the human world… They will feel your presence, but they will never see you again.”

She looks sad about the news.

“It’s the way of mortals, my love.” I tell her caressing her face tenderly.

“It is.” She acquiesces, leaning into my touch, and then kissing the palm of my hand.

“You gave them a good life and sweet memories to remember you by.” It’s not much, but it’s enough to get her to move on.

“That I did.” She looks up at me, gifting me with a bittersweet smile. “Take me away, Peeta. I have so many hugs in store from the grand babies to give you.”

“Then let’s not delay.”

“You will really be content with me for eternity?”

“Always.”

#Springtime Edition 2019 #aliswell 21 #animekpopxx #prompt 49 #submission

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wall-spider-exe · 5 years

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15 Writing Prompts for When You’re Stuck and Trying Not to Cry:

First post on my shitty page, woo! :D

The title is pretty self-explanatory-- I was trying not to yeet myself off my roof during one of my terrible, headache-inducing creativity dry spell when I decided, “Hey, instead of thinking up a story, write some writing prompts. It’ll help you die slower. :D” And thus, this list of dumb prompts was born. I’ve italicized ones that I’m going to use personally and maybe post on here just to show people how it turned out. Feel free to give me any pointers or suggestions, if you have them, and if you want to use them, go ahead.

1. A police officer’s normal, everyday shift is interrupted when they receive and order for the entirety of the metropolis’s police department to rush downtown. Upon arriving at the scene, the officer finds themselves confronted by a horrifying sight: giant, animal-like creatures have somehow appeared in the heart of the city, and there is no telling what they plan to do. Fearing the worst, the officer calls their significant other in case they don't return later that night. But as the call goes through, there is an odd sound amidst the chaos. The crowd goes silent. Strange-- the officer knows that sound. That sound is the ringtone their partner had saved for them. What’s even stranger is that the ringtone is coming from one specific creature... and that creature and its companions seem to recognize them.

2. A florist falls in love with the brooding cafe owner next door. They are too shy too tell their feelings upfront, so they communicate in the best way they know how-- through the language of flowers. Unfortunately for them, their caffeine-loving crush has no idea how to speak in the language of the intricately-arranged blossoms. To them, it’s a bit creepy at first, but soon the shop-owner finds themselves falling in love as well... both with their Château de Villandry-esque establishment and their secret admirer. (Kinda stole this from my book of writing prompts lmao.)

3. “The sun blazed down on [his/her/their/its] shoulders, much like it had for many years prior. The expanses of the emerald-colored field stretched like the arms of Jesus in the crucifix over the house’s mantle. [He/She/They/It] were/was ready for the cold, sweating glass of iced tea that momma had made, waiting on the granite slab counters once they walked back inside. But when [he/she/they/it] put [his/her/their/its] hand on the handle to the screen door, something inside of [him/her/them/t] burned. Someone was dying in that house. Someone was dying and [he/she/they/it] knew why. But if [he/she/they/it] tried to speak, that thing was gonna come, and then everyone would be quiet forever.”

4. A half-blooded merchild trying to get a grasp on their powers winds up getting washed down a river, deep into the woods, where they encounter a creature they had never seen before-- a house cat.

5. An internet troll signs up for a dating site and messages a person that they find extremely ugly. They decide to lead them on and proceed to humiliate them just because they can. However, the more the troll speaks to their target, the more they become infatuated with them, and the more they fall in love. (I stole this from Youtube, yes.)

6. “Well well, look what the cat dragged in,” chuckled a child’s [insert older relative here] as the old, fat, family cat sauntered in with its usual “fuck everyone” attitude. But the child looked closer and sees what their cat has dragged in-- a tiny, terrified-looking creature no bigger than a leaf.

7. A vampire, on their way back home after a particularly good night of feeding, crosses paths with a poltergeist. Both the spirit’s appearance and physicality (or what you could assume was their physical body) are quite young, and they are fed up with the last few decades they’ve spent in loneliness when passersby take off in terror at first glance of the spirit. The vampire then, motivated by their already-delightful mood, invites their newfound “friend” to come stay with them a while. No sooner did the pair arrive home did the poor blood-sucker figure out why the poltergeist was killed in the first place.

8. A small group comprised of two different species of extraterrestrials are part of a program of colonizing a newly-discovered terrestrial body. The program was enacted to hopefully strengthen the recently-developed peace between both of species' respective planets, but no one creature in the group can stand the other! I mean, why in the name of Vazoran would you ever use your top upper-right appendage for anything like that?! While surveying one area for habitation, two members of the group (obviously both of different species) are accidentally left behind. Unfortunately for them, their loathing for one another runs deeper than just race-- everything about the other just... ugh! This problem of theirs turns dire when the two realize neither of them has any idea of when the ship is coming back or how to deal with the native inhabitants of the land.

9. “Forgive me if I’ve made a misinterpretation. Oh, I was correct? But why would you have me sprinkle salt everywhere? It stings.”

10. A centauress, bored of her lazy days spent rolling around in the grass and eating and drinking and having to spectate on her older brothers’ training sessions, sets out for real fun and adventure, only to find herself lost and stuck between a rock and hard face-- literally. (*cough* rock troll thingy cough*)

11. Take a classic fairy tale (try to use the Disney version just to make it dumber/better) and reverse it. Here’s a few choices: Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, The Princess and the Frog, The Little Mermaid, Rapunzel, Thumbelina, The Emperor’s New Clothes, The Brave Little Tailor, etc. Put your own twist on them! Genderbend some characters, insert some new ones, take out some old ones, change some of the characters’ species, go crazy! Go stupid!

12. “Twelve of the names on the list had already been crossed off. ‘Hello? Hey, are you here yet? I can’t see you,’ came the voice of the thirteenth name.”

13. A dangerous supervillian has just announced the launch of their campaign to take over the city and spread their control over the country, then the world. They were counting on the chaos arising from the citizens to achieve said campaign faster. What they weren’t counting on was the city’s superhero, bursting in with their eyes blazing, ready to wreak havoc on the villian's parade.

“Oh for the love of-- goddamn it, babe! Can’t I just succeed in pulling this off at least once without you getting upset when people start losing their shit?”

14. In this world, everyone needs glasses, whether it be to see near and far, see colors, or to see in general. A newlywed couple is celebrating the arrival of their first child. As the child grows, the parents notice something strange-- their baby can see perfectly.

15. “If there was another fight, they’d end up getting shut down, arrested, or killed. And having a hotheaded asshat like [insert name here] around was all that was needed to bring about all three of those results.”

Thanks for taking time to read this dumb post! I hope you find these helpful-- I used a lot of creative brain juice on these. :)

-Wall Spider

#writers on tumblr #my writing #writing prompt #first post #shitty #i tried #romance prompt #horror prompts #fantasy prompts #fun writing prompts #action writing prompts

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nehswritesstuffs · 5 years

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The Time That We Love Best - Sarah and Luke, October 1944

You know how recently I’ve been asking for prompts? I’ve been getting some really good ones, but this... THIS... has been such an interesting ride that I couldn’t help but put aside most everything else until this was done. The prompt (via email, of all things) was for how Sarah Jane and Luke met, which I am surprised that no one had come up with that yet because I’m pretty sure that if someone had, it would’ve been written already.

3185 words; takes place in October 1944, after the Nazi military really began to lean in with the V-1 rockets; for the uninitiated, The Time That We Love Best is a long-ass, slice-of-life, WWII Whouffaldi AU with a focus on cute moments between the two mains, and it can be found here, here, and here; takes place a little bit after ch. 40 (FFN/AO3); contains scenes of war, including and not limited to, PTSD, descriptions of wounds, child endangerment, general destruction, etc.; hopefully this can get my TTTWLB-related creative juices flowing and I can dust off some of the other prompts for this AU that have been gathering dust for no apparent reason other than my brain being dumb

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Sarah walked down what was left of the street in the twilight, feeling too calm for what had occurred there not that very long ago now. The week prior, robot rockets came to the neighborhood, destroying entire blocks at random. Rubble from one building now mixed with another, and another, and another, until it was all one massive mound of destruction, only stopping when there was a break for a new cross-street, and even then there was debris strewn across the pavement. Down the street a fire brigade fought some stubborn flames, likely brought on from a slow-leaking gas line and the last of someone’s cigarette, and she could smell the smoke even at that distance.

Sitting down on a sandstone boulder, she thought back to other times, in other countries, where she could have sworn she saw worse, but somehow it did not matter as much. That cut her—she always prided herself on being empathetic and now, in her adopted city, she felt like nothing had been worse than this. She'd seen regime changes, leftovers from roadside executions, obliterated cultural artifacts, children dead and—almost worse—abandoned by everyone and everything they held dear. It all mattered. Hell, it all mattered to eternity and back, yet now… how did it shake her worse now? Why were her hands unsteady and her breath jagged? How come it felt like she was two minutes away from a complete mental breakdown? It was not that much different there, right then, than it was at any other time in the past, let alone that moment in other places, so why…?

Movement across the street tore her from her thoughts. A large rock wiggled before tumbling away and landing on the street. She stood, startled.

“Is someone there?!”

A hand poked out and Sarah's heart nearly stopped. She quickly stood and rushed towards the hand, seeing that the opening it was poking out of was a tiny one. The hand itself was tiny as well, which only worried her more.

“Bring your hand in for a moment; it's going to be alright,” she said.

The hand did as it was told and Sarah tried to move the rock just above the opening. It didn't budge, so she tried a few others, until one gave way and the opening widened. A boy of about ten crawled out, dried mud and blood caking his skin and tattered clothes and various scabbed-over cuts on his face and body. He stood awkwardly, as though he had not been able to for days, and appeared shocked he was even standing at all.

“Oh you poor thing, come here,” she breathed. Taking off her coat, she draped it over the child's shoulders, allowing his thin frame to become enveloped in the garment. He pulled it close and was clearly surprised by the warmth it gave. “What's your name?”

Nothing; only a stare.

“My name is Sarah. What is yours?”

Again, a stare.

Doing her best to not frown, she knelt next to him, looking up into his eyes. “Where's your mummy? Your daddy?”

He pointed back towards the opening in the rubble. Well, that made sense, though it also sent a new pang through her.

“Are they alive in there? Should I get one of the men down the street?” The boy shook his head, eyes watering up. Sarah took his face and pulled him down, leaving a kiss on his forehead. “I know where the Red Cross set up a couple tents with food and medicine. There are good people there—people who can help us. Maybe a good meal and some sticking plasters and we can talk, yeah?”

The boy nodded slightly and allowed Sarah to take his hand. They walked for only a few steps when he let go and ran back again, almost diving into the rubble. He had emerged once Sarah caught up with him, now clutching a book, the cover of which looked bent too severely to be of much use.

“What is this? Yours?” Sarah asked. The boy nodded and they both jumped as the rubble shifted, resealing the opening. He clung to her and hid his face against her side; there was now nothing else he could save.

Silently, Sarah led the boy along, holding him against her as they walked away. He was shaking severely and she didn't blame him; a couple more seconds in there and he would have been gone as well. The lad was in want of a decent meal and some rest, she thought, and she simply wasn’t going to point in the direction of the tent and shoo him off. He needed someone, and at least for a little while, it could be her.

Luckily for them, neither Red Cross tent was terribly active. Crowded, yes, but only with the immobile wounded who had no choice but to stay on their flimsy camp beds. A nurse took Sarah and the boy to the examination area right away, helping to clean the child’s wounds before bringing out a box of clothes.

“A shop got hit three days ago and this came from the wreckage—take what fits a bit loose so you can grow into it, dear,” the nurse said softly. Sarah watched him as he stared at the clothes, silent, unmoving. “Where did you say you found him again?”

“Lombard and Paxton.”

“There? That's been leveled for nearly two weeks! How did he survive that?!”

“I'm not asking until he's good and ready; hasn't said a word since I found him.”

“Is he a mute?”

“No… I don’t think so…” Sarah exhaled in a heavy laugh and began to go through the box herself, holding garments up to him to size. “Haven't as much seen my baby brother in over twenty years and it's like I'm still sizing him up.”

A loud moan from one of the other injured people called the nurse away and it was Sarah and the boy alone again. She held up a jumper against his chest—way too big.

"My brother, Johnny, he’s seven years younger than me,” Sarah explained quietly. “I used to help take care of him when we were small, because that’s what big sisters do for little brothers, and even moreso when your mum’s as lovingly batty as ours. Haven’t talked to him in a while, but now it seems a bit silly that an old man like him ever had to be sized up like this by his big sister.” She finally found a better jumper and went to the trousers. “Do you have other family? Someone I can take you to stay with?”

The boy shook his head.

Somewhat-fitting trousers were easier to find and Sarah put both garments in the lad's hands, as well as a decent shirt. “Go behind the screen there and change. We can get some food after that.” The boy nodded and took the clothes, obediently slipping behind the screen.

Using the opportunity, Sarah Jane picked up the book that the boy had rescued and looked at it carefully. Even though both covers were bent and beaten, she could see the artwork and author’s name on the front. ‘Hand Hank of Hannover’, by John Smith; she chuckled slightly, because of course the only way to safely write a British children’s book about a German was to write using the most common name possible. Flipping through, she saw how gorgeous the artwork was—whomever illustrated it held back none of their talent by any stretch of the imagination.

The lad came out from behind the curtain and gasped when he saw Sarah holding his book. He dropped his tattered old clothes and lunged for his treasure, grabbing it and holding it close.

“Hey, hey, I wasn’t going to steal it,” she cooed. “I just wanted to see what was worth diving back—it looks like you made a wise choice. Seems to be for children a bit younger than you… was that what you learned to read with?”

A suspicion-filled nod.

“Then I know where we can find some other books for you, if you want to read more.”

The boy nodded again, looking as though he was calculating the risks involved in going along further with this woman he had known for only two hours at that point. It pained Sarah to see such an adult expression on his face—of course, he had to have grown up rather quickly while the war waged on all around him. His parents must have had a very good reason to have kept him around instead of sending him off to the countryside, and the investigative part of her was curious.

Suddenly, the tent shook with such severe intensity that it knocked Sarah into a chair. A great booming noise shook her even further, and before long, nearly everything was strewn about and the single bulb that had been lighting the examination area was out.

“Oi! Where are you?!” she called out, wondering where the boy was. Sarah let her eyes adjust and she saw that most of the thing that had fallen were not broken, only a couple beakers shattered in the corner. The boy, however, was huddled under a table, holding his book over his head as he rocked back and forth. After finding that her legs were too shaky to stand, Sarah crawled over to the boy and noticed something very peculiar:

The dent in the boy’s book was in the exact shape of his head.

“Come here,” she whispered, pulling him close. He was much too old to be clutching her like a scared infant, but he did, and she let him, and he sobbed into her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time, with Sarah stroking the lad’s hair as he let himself cry himself out. By the time he could cry no longer, his face was puffy and he was breathing from his mouth due to a stuffed-up nose. Sarah found some clean kerchiefs and helped him wash his face and blow his nose, his hands too unsteady to be of much use. They exited the examination area together, seeing that the many camp beds were being turned back over by the nurse and a couple semi-able-bodied wounded. The two helped put the beds right and the wounded back where they belonged, afterwards going straight towards where the food was just beginning to be served again. Boiled potatoes, beans, a little roll of bread, and a couple morsels of lamb that had been rescued from the now-ruined stew that had originally been planned as a treat for those laid up in the other tent. Sarah noticed how the server gave the lad larger ladles-worth of food and he began to absolutely shovel it down soon as they sat; he was a skinny thing, but he clearly needed the food.

“Feeling a bit better?” she asked.

The boy nodded and drank his milk—his own bottle from the icebox—it was delicious.

“Well then, how about if we get ourselves on first-name terms. My name is Sarah Jane Smith, and you can call me either Sarah or Sarah Jane. What about yours?” She watched as he sank down so as to hide behind the table. “Sit up; none of that. Is it simply that you don’t want to tell me your name?”

The boy straightened and gave her a nod before continuing to eat.

“Is there something wrong with your name?” He shook his head. “Then why not?”

Putting down his fork, the boy finished the food in his mouth and took a sip of milk to clear his throat. He seemed resolved, and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out, however, except for a short ah sound, as though his words were trapped inside. His expression turned to confusion as he tried again—ah, ah, ah, ah—and there was no other sound.

Sarah waited patiently, watching the boy panic across the table. She reached over and gently grabbed hold of his hand, getting his attention. “Listen: do you normally speak?”

Wide-eyed and fearful, he nodded.

“Then don’t worry; it’ll come back. I’ve seen a lot of people lose their voice in war, here and on the Continent, and it’s not something that can be forced.” She took out a pencil and pad of paper from her jacket pocket and placed it on the table. “Write your name.”

Instead, the boy began to cry again, tears trickling down his face as he tried to sniffle away the gunk clogging his sinuses. Sarah went around the table and sat next to him, bringing him into a one-armed hug.

“That’s alright, that’s alright,” she said. She glanced around and tried to pick out something that would help, something that could give her a temporary name to use. The nearby post had a paper stuck to it: typewritten general announcements for the weary and downtrodden and those simply without a calendar. Wednesday, 18 October 1944; Feast of Saint Luke… “Luke. How about that? Do you like the name Luke?”

He nodded shakily—yes.

“Okay, then you can be Luke for now.” He looked up at her and touched his throat. “It will be fine, I promise. You seem like a bright young lad; with a bit of help, and a lot of patience, it will come to you again. I know it will.”

Luke simply looked back at his food and picked up his fork to continue eating—there was no way he was convinced.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was late when they finally left the Red Cross tents and began to head back to her flat. Luke had been given a coat from one of the adults that had been brought over after the explosion. He had been quite near where the bomb had gone off and as a result lost both his legs, bleeding out before he arrived. It was still a good coat, his wife had said, and it did not fit her whatsoever, so she had handed it to the boy and ruffled his hair before walking away, not caring that it would be at least five years before it could even begin to start fitting him. He put it on anyhow and held Sarah’s hand as they walked through the streets, trying to make it before the rumbling in the distance became a thunderstorm above their heads.

Just as they made it into the block, the sky opened and rain came down in torrents, attempting to cleanse the city of the horrors brought on by the bombings. Sarah brought the boy up the stairs and they went into her flat—it was simply one main area that was part-kitchen, part-sitting room, part-bedroom, with a small, separate room where the toilet was. Packed bookshelves lined the walls and warm smells from elsewhere in the block filtered in.

“Would you like some tea?” Sarah asked. Luke seemed to not hear her, as he was staring at a shelf full of worn classics. She waved her hand in front of his face and caught his attention. “If you’d like some tea, go ahead and open the window there to let some air in—it’s not very windy and I want to take advantage of that.”

Luke nodded and pointed at the shelf, tilting his head to the side. “Yes, you can pick a book to read if you want. I promised you books, didn’t I?”

Sarah’s heart warmed as a small smile crossed the boy’s lips before stumbling over the bed towards the window. She watched him out of the corner of her eye while putting together tea—once the window was open, he took off his coat and draped it carefully over a chair, the contents of the nearby table catching his eye. There was a typewriter sitting there, just barely visible in the wan light from Sarah’s candle.

“I’m a reporter,” she explained, “though there’s not much in reporting right now. I do enough to scrape by and that’s what matters. Business will pick up after the war is over and paper is no longer rationed as heavily.” She saw the incredulous look he gave her and laughed. “Yes, the war will be over one day and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to buy as much paper as I want—maybe even enough tea. Real tea… Darjeeling, even.” She handed him a mug, which he looked at cautiously. “Rosehip; better than nothing.”

Luke took an experimental sip and cringed—after everything that had happened that day, he was still a little boy.

“Take off your shoes and we can read a bit before bedtime; I highly doubt that there’s any manned bombing flights now that there’s lightning and doodlebugs in the air,” she said. The boy took off his overlarge shoes and put them by the front door, bringing his tea afterwards to the couch. He sat down and waited for Sarah to join him, carrying a book from a shelf. “How does some Austen sound?”

He scrunched his nose.

“Then it’s a good thing this is David Copperfield,” she replied. Sarah sat down and began to read aloud the first few pages of the Dickens novel. The pair sipped their tea until it was done, with Luke yawning once his cup was drained.

Sarah put the boy to bed, having him also hang up his jumper for another day before having him hunker down beneath the blankets of her bed. She read a bit more until she heard him snore quietly, after which she closed her book and began to straighten up.

She couldn’t turn Luke over to the police—it was likely that he would be placed in a place far away from London, where people would understand what he had been through and that he simply needed to be safe and cared for… yet on the other hand, just because someone knew that a child was a war orphan did not necessarily meant that they cared. It was important that he was going to be safe, and not just save from soulless rockets whose only purpose was the destruction of London; his inability to speak was more than slightly concerning in that regard. There had been a handful of people she had seen lose their voices, developed stutters, and even gain other vocal quirks from shellshock, but they had all been adults until now. For a child to have such a burden to bear, all from idiot adults—she couldn’t send him off to an arguably worse place.

With their mugs and the teapot drying, she snuffed out the candle and went to bed herself, amazed at how warm it was after only a few minutes of Luke being in it alone. Sarah laid with her back towards him, surprised when he shifted and rolled into her, murmuring unintelligibly as he curled into a ball against her back.

Never, ever, in Sarah’s wildest dreams, had she ever thought about being a mother, and now, at sixty, she was actively considering it, and it was terrifying.

#The Time That We Love Best #Sarah Jane Smith #Luke Smith #Doctor Who #WWII au #fan fiction #Saturday Night Prompts

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waeziverse · 6 years

Text

L'enfer C'est Être Seul

His name was Max. But he preferred his chosen name:

IQ.

IQ was a super-villain. A teenager with a brain that had been tampered with, making him an unnatural genius. He was the smartest being on the planet.

Not that it meant much, now that he was alone.

IQ stared out at the wasteland. The genius with hair died red and black who was dressed in Gothic/Punk Rock style outfit was stunned. Nothing alive could be seen. No plants, no animals, no humans, no nothing. America was bare. A kingdom of nothingness.

"This..." IQ fell on his knees. He was completely horrified. "This... This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to stop me. THE SUPERHEROES WERE SUPPOSED TO STOP ME, DANG IT! THAT'S HOW IT WORKS! THAT'S HOW IT ALWAYS ENDS!"

***

It had been a week now since IQ had accidentally killed all of humanity except for himself.

He flew by the use of his jetpack, still looking for some sort of human life. Maybe one of the superheroes had survived.

But no, IQ found no one alive. No humans, no animals. No life to be found no matter where on the planet he looked. Only those damn plants that had mutated and gained the ability to move and do stuff mammals do. This was thanks to IQ's weapon that had killed everything else but the plants.

Mad science was funny like that.

IQ groaned as he landed in the middle of Paris. The once famous city was now a ruin. The Eiffel Tower had been cut in half. The Triumphant Arch was now anything but what its name implied.

IQ tapped his foot on the ground impatiently as he waited for his drones to arrive and give him a report. After a couple of minutes, all seven of them arrived. They were egg-shaped, black, hovered above the ground and had red truck girl decals on them.

"So?" The impatient teen asked his machines.

"NO LIFE DETECTED WITHIN A RADIUS OF 200 MILES, MASTER." Drone 1 said. "EXCEPT FOR EVOLVED PLANTLIFE."

"Dang it!" IQ kicked Drone 1, making it bump into Drone 5. "There has to be some survivors! My weapon couldn't have killed EVERYONE on the fucking planet, I won't-"

IQ was interrupted by the thunderous noise of a horde of chestnut trees that was galloping toward him.

"Perfect. JUST perfect!" IQ rolled his eyes in annoyance as he grabbed his solar based ray-gun. "Drone one to seven, combat mode!"

***

It had been two weeks since IQ had accidentally killed all of humanity except for himself.

And right now, a strawberry bush was doing everything in it's power to hasten the complete extinction of the human race.

The mutated plant had its vines wrapped around IQ, trying to squeeze him to death. He would die in mere seconds unless he thought of something. And he WOULD think of something, since getting killed by a new species he had created would be the mega-genius equivalent of drowning with your head stuck in the toilet.

He stretched his finger as much as he could. He was dangerously close to fainting as he finally pressed the button on his belt, activating his jetpack. He was sent flying upward, the power of his jetpack was enough to pull the dang plant up from the ground with roots and everything. IQ could see a giant, red eye between the roots that stared at him as they flew. But then, it turned white, and the vines lost their strength. IQ gasped as the strawberry bush lost it's grip and fell to the ground.

"This..." IQ finally began to breath normally. "This is the LAMEST apocalyptic future EVER!"

***

It had been a month now since IQ had accidentally killed all of humanity except for himself.

"Funny I never thought about reading this stuff before." IQ closed a very thick book about modern psychology and picked up another one. He had managed to find in the rubble of a bookstore, meaning that he now had something to entertain himself with. He had found a more or less intact chair underneath a pile of bricks so he had something to sit on. "I'm serious, why did I never think about studying how the human mind works and stuff? I'm a super-genius with a mutated brain without limitations, I can handle all sorts of knowledge, and after reading some of these books, I guess my old shrink was right: I DO have daddy issues, but he was MEGA boring to listen to. Do you know what that is like? I mean, trying to listen to someone because you know that they are telling you something important, but they are so boring that your brain shuts down?"

The skull of the deceased hero Valor said nothing. IQ had placed it next to the pile of books to keep him company.

"Oh, don't give me that. All of this is your fault, you know that?" IQ closed the book he had just picked up, deciding that he had read enough for one day. "I told the entire world about my big-ass bomb and how I intended to use it. But I didn't want to use it, you know? I never did. I wanted to fail. Like I always do because some superhero stops me before something major bad happens." As IQ finished the sentence, his face grew tired. "Well, not anymore. No one can ever stop me from anything ever again due to obvious reasons." He gave the cranium of Valor an angry glare. "Why didn't you stop me, you dumb bitch?"

***

"Ouch!"

IQ sucked on his middle finger. He had accidentally hit it with his hammer as he was about to build what would, hopefully, become a house. The house could have been built by his robots in no time, but he was bored and needed something to do.

It had been a year now since IQ had accidentally killed all of humanity except for himself.

"You know, this looked soooo much easier in Little House On The Prairie." IQ said to the skull of Valor. "You know that TV show?"

No reply.

"Yeah, you DO look like a book person." IQ picked up another nail and went on with his work. "But the series was based on these books written by a woman who was a child in the 1870s. You really never read it?"

No reply.

"Yeah, I hate small talk as much as the next guy." IQ decided to call it a day. He felt a bit hungry and decided to dig into the lunchbox he had prepared for himself. It was a sandwich made out of a giant mutated mushroom that had tried to eat him. "So..." he said to the skull as he took a sip from his water-bottle with juice from a very angry cactus. "You wanna hear a secret about me?"

No reply.

"Before I made the whole world go Planets of the Apes... I had only killed three humans."

No reply.

"Oh, it's true. Really. You see, my entire life, I wanted to be a supervillain. So the day I discovered that my brain had mutated into a super information sponge, I was trilled. And the first thing I did was building a machine that teleported my dumbass mom to the Amazon rain-forest. I don't remember why, I guess I was mad at her or something. And then I kidnapped three girls that used to bully me at school. I didn't HATE them, they were just... annoying. And I killed two of them in some bizarre and creative ways."

IQ took a pause so that he could finish eating his sandwich.

"But here's the thing: After I had dehydrated the second one and looked at the pile of ashes that was all there was left of her... I realized that I didn't like it. Killing felt... uncomfortable. It wasn't funny or exciting. I had expected some sort of rush, that I would feel powerful, but... but I just felt like I was going to puke."

IQ was quite for a moment.

"But I felt that I had... I don't know, passed the point of no return I guess. And I now HAD to be a super-villain. So I told the third girl that I would give her a chance, that I would allow her to try and run away and give her a head start so that I could enjoy chasing her. But that was a load of shit. I wanted her to run and warn everyone. So then a superhero came, I made a show out of it to lose and be thrown to jail so I wouldn't lose face. And then, just to make everything worse, I learned that my mom was dead. I just wanted to annoy her and scare the shit out of her, but she had died of a heatstroke in the Amazon Jungle. Making her the THIRD person I had killed. Or maybe the first one, I don’t know." IQ sighed. "So, if I had such a rotten first day doing something I hated, why did I keep doing super-villain stuff? I will tell ya why: I wanted to matter. I wanted to be famous. I wanted to be remembered. And because I was a dumb teenager I thought that the only way to make sure of that was by making some noise, fight some superheroes and make grand schemes where I would constantly take a dive so that no one died."

The skull said nothing, as expected.

IQ blew the skull a raspberry. "Yeah, well, that's just YOUR opinion."

***

It had been four years now since IQ had accidentally killed all of humanity except for himself.

IQ sat inside the little shack he had build for himself. It looked like something that even Groundskeeper Willie would have too much pride to live in. The genius who was now a young adult was about to take care of the wounds he had received after an intense battle with a horde of rapid apple trees. He was all alone now. He had even gotten rid of the cranium he used to talk to as he realized he only did it because he in his dumb teenager brain thought it was kinda cool, NOT because he was crazy. He was in fact very sane. Sane enough to think all sorts of things. He just tried to copy Tom Hanks in the movie Cast Away because it would be cool to be that kind of crazy.

But the problem with being alone with your own thoughts is that you get to think all sorts of things. No matter how grotesquely they are.

"Wait a minute." IQ realized something that would be kinda funny if it wasn't so terrible and absurd. "My GRANDFATHER was an Afro-American guy who married a white chick. That means that Martin Luther King is PARTLY to blame for me being born! Martin Luther King is PARTLY responsible for the death of humanity!"

And then, all the color in IQ's face faded away.

"Oh my god." A single tear fell from his left eye. "I... I did it, didn’t I? I did it. It's all my fault. No one is to blame but me. I... I killed all of humanity!"

IQ couldn't hold his tears back and began to cry like a little child. His cheeks were wet with tears, his nose dripped and he screamed as if he had lost a limb.

"I'm so sorry! I'm... I'm so, so sorry!" Max yelled over and over again, knowing fully well that it was much too late for apologies. "I'm so god damn freaking FUCKING sorry!"

***

It had been twenty years now since Maximilian Augustson had accidentally killed all of humanity except for himself.

Max was doing some gardening. He liked taking care of his carrots and found it odd that he had once despised them. But once you learned to treat them with respect and feed them properly then you didn't have to worry about getting tiny bite-marks on your fingers.

It was almost impossible to recognize the former terror teen who had once been one of the world's most chaotic super-villains. Not just because he had become an adult with a well-trimmed beard, but there was none of his former traits left. He had stopped dying his hair red and black so it had it's natural nut-brown color again. He wore a light-blue T-shirt and green pants instead of that silly "Gothic/Punk Rock" style outfit he used to wear. And, most importantly: He never smiled anymore. No that there was much to smile about. And it didn't really matter if he was unrecognizable or not since there was no one left to recognize him.

As Max finished gardening, he decided to make himself a cup of tea. He left the garden, passed the spaceship (he had build to find another planet with intelligent life on it but decided not to in order to punish himself) and took off his shoes before entering the beautiful house he had build for himself with his own hands. He boiled some water and took a look at the kitchen and all of it's equipment. Like the rest of the house and everything inside it, it was handmade by Max who had plenty of time and needed to keep himself occupied to evade insanity. Sure, going crazy would at this point be a blessing, but he didn't really feel that he deserved it. As he waited for the water to boil, he pondered whether he should build a piano or an organ.

After Max had made his tea, he took his cup and went into his library. He had a good little collection of books he had managed to find in the ruins of homes and libraries as he traveled the world looking for potential resources. After taking book after book out of his shelves only to change his mind and put them back in their proper place, he decided to pick the last Harry Potter book in existence (volume two, written in Swedish) and went out to the terrace. He sat in his favorite chair and began to read.

Life was tolerable.

For now.

#waeziverse #OC #IQ #maximilian augustson

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raamensims · 6 years

Photo

here’s a spicy funny boy with a soft, poet-y inside for @smallcowplant ‘s bachelorette challenge!

Jean-Pierre Durand

I going to give Sam the private link to download him, but if you wanna read the interview - it’s below the cut!!

IM SO HYPED FOR HIM I HOPE HE WINS ELLA’S HEART <3

1. Introduce yourself, tell us your name, age, and what you do for a living. Where do you live? Do you rent/own? Do you have roommates? Do you have pets?

Well, isn’t this weird - but - hi - my name is Jean-Pierre (but you can just call me Jean), I am 25 years old and I work as an art critic in the city. I own an apartment in the arts quarter that I mainly use for work, otherwise my real home is down by the coast. Oui, I live out here alone - but it’s okay - the livelihood of the neighbors and atmosphere of the quarter really inspires my writing - which is what I live for.

And yes, I do have a pet - but he mainly lives with my sister and Grand-mère out by the bay.

2. Give us a dating history. Have you ever been in love? If no, why not, and if yes, tell us your love story! Or tell us your funny first date story!

Ah of course - I’ve dabbled in love - who wouldn’t? I was once engaged actually, and for…unfortunate reasons…it ended quite abruptly. (do I have to say?…oh okay.) She - she passed away. Accident, yeah. It was three years ago. But time carries on and so do hearts - I’ve dated since then - but nothing serious. However, now…now I’m ready for something more you know? And maybe this mademoiselle will have me ;)

3. Describe your ultimate fantasy date!

A picnic. Hear me out - picture this…the sun is setting on the horizon, the wind is just at the perfect temperature, there’s salt in the air as it blows up from the waves lapping at the cliffs below. ( you can tell I’m a writer can’t you haha ) …I’d probably lay down a nice blanket - pull out some candles, wine and cheese, and romance the hell out of the girl. Just like, talking about things as the sun’s going down and enjoying each other’s company. Then of course, I would walk her home and hopefully - hopefully I’d be able to get a smooch or two. :)

4. Tell us about your family – are you close? Do you have siblings? Do you have any funny childhood stories or wacky family members you want to tell us about?

Family is very important to me. My childhood - was - how you say - troubling? Non - more like - hectic. My mother and father had a rocky relationship. When my mother passed away giving birth to my sister, my father decided to abandon us. I was a teenager at the time - and left alone with baby Cecilia - I found refuge with my Grand maman. It was just the three of us since then and we’ve all been through so much.

My sister, she’s a character for sure. We have the same sense of humor you see - so the household is never short of entertainment. And then there’s Hamlet - he may prefer Cecil more, but he’s actually mine. He’s the best boy.

5. If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?

Honestly anywhere and everywhere! Right now I’ve really been into East Asian foods - and my god - what would I give to travel there and try everything! I’m hoping that I’ll be able to share many adventures with someone and be able to hone in inspiration for my writing.

6. What would your hometown date be like? Where would we go and who would we meet?

Ah now this would be fun - I’d take you back to my home by the coast - in the house I grew up in. It’s small and quirky but it’s home - plus it’s right on the beach! You’d meet Cecilia and Hamlet and maybe my Grand-mère if we’re able to take her out of her retirement home. I’d take you for a walk along the bay, we’d visit my favorite childhood hangouts, maybe shop for dumb souvenirs, and end it all with a wonderful seafood dinner - because come on - there’s no better seafood outside of the Bay!

7. Do you have any special talents? Is there is a hobby or activity you like?

Well, as you may have seen - I have quite a large tattoo of some flowers. It was a hobby my mother loved, and I’ve basically made it my own. Nothing gets me more than getting down and dirty in the backyard ;) ( don’t say that’s embarrassing to say! it’s true - god) But yes, I like to spend time in the garden when I’m home on the weekends from work. It gets the creative juices flowing.

Other things? Hmm - well I can cook a mean full course breakfast - and other things. I like to run, play chess, and I - I like to sing? A lot. I like to sing a lot. Haha. Oh! And make people laugh. Besides that - writing - of course. Poetry, mainly. But I’m hoping one day to write a bestselling novel of some sort haha.

#AAAHHHHHHH #I LOVE THIS BOY #I HOPE YOU LIKE HIM TOO SAM #I HOPE YOU LIKE HIM LOOOOTTTTSSS #AND OUR KIDS FALL IN LOVE #LIKE LOOK AT HIM #I hope that I conveyed his personality enough through this lol #but he! is just a soft! funny! poet! boy!#LOOKING FOR LOVE #WILL FIGHT FOR LOVE #can you tell im excited??#lol #okay #enough kat #bachelorette challenge #mine #bachelorette-challenge

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survivesalem · 4 years

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Episode 9 - “I'm basically screwed.” - Raffy

So I go about my day and I start my daily idol search then bam finally got all the ingridents for my idol which lowkey made me happy as fuck because I lost the creative immunity challenge the only one I can ever possibly win .

I lost the tree man. I’m big sad energy . Updated thoughts on everyone because I’m big confused Jay- actually voted Cameron out . We are starting to talk more made chat with Jay and Liam that I named T-r-I-o. Think jay might be one of the few people who’s gonna be honest from here on out (I hope so ) Liam- RIDE OR DIE. I would use my idol on this human in a heartbeat . Super sweet and genuine . Also voted Cameron out the proof was in the literal reaction Liam made when Mac went instead of Cameron . Trying to plan a call with him might tell him about my idol . Brien - sadly snaked me :( . Says I won’t go next says the plan will be Cameron again even tho that will make gizmo mad so now I’m sus and I think Brien May be working with them. If he is part of the reason I get out I’m gonna be sad . Raffy : you sneaky sneaky human . Acting like you didn’t vote out Mac but people have stepped forward and told me the true tea . You still think I’m oblivious but it’s all an act darling . You probably think I’m an easy person to beat in the end . You made bottom bitches even though you aren’t a bottom . Sneaky sneaky indeed . Paolo- I have no ill will towards you at all. You at least told me everyone was discussing the bigger players and you said you never heard my name . We don’t have much of a connection but hoping it’s not to late to switch things up a little . Cameron - your probably gonna read this and be like oh she’s just gonna trash talk me . Your wrong lol. Yeah you were suppose to go at tribal but idk you enough to talk bad about you I’m sure your a lovely human . Gizmo- hi I still don’t know who you are 😂 no hard feelings tho ? Maybe we will talk this round ?. Jessie : your in such a bad spot rn at least you have your idol ! (Like literally your probably next boot but maybe someone will tell you if your the vote and you can pull of an epic blindside .)

I’m in the final 8 now and I’m proud of myself for making it this far without being voted out yet and even more surprising not even getting a vote yet. I can’t dwell on my proudness too long though bc I have to figure out which way I’m gonna go from here which is the best route for me to take to ensure I make final 3 Im really upset with raffy after the tribal he came on call with Liam Jessie and I and said he voted with them? Like what?!?!? You’re gonna make me look bad and lie about your vote I nipped that’s right in the bud and told Liam what the deal was, hopefully Liam has me in his plans for the upcoming 2 rounds at least. He seemed really understanding I get that’s how you have to be after you’re blindsided but he really was good. Raffy is my next target bc of his shenanigans after tribal. I think Liam Jessie and jay are still keen on working with me possibly at least until we get to smaller numbers like 6 or 5 I do sense out Paolo as a threat and gizmo gave away while I was on call with him that they were close but keeping gizmo around till 6 may benefit me bc he will always be a larger target then me. I know he threw me utb last round but I’m playing this game like poker each round is a new hand and I have to operate it at a while different level a whole new level of thinking while also trying to better position myself for the future. Gizmo has Paolo and has Cameron and he thinks I’m gonna work with them And raffy no smh that’s not what’s gonna happen. Gizmo wants Liam gone next and Liam wants gizmo gone they are probably gonna war with each other and I don’t know which side I’ll land on but believe me I’ll try my best to make the right choice. I feel bad voting Mac out but I gotta justify it by saying it’ll get me to the end and now I just have to get to the end to prove myself right. Raffy told gizmo he wants to keep me around for a while so it makes sense that raffy is telling me he wants Cameron next but I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get raffy at 8 bc of the stunt he pulled and if I can then I can at final 7 convince Jessie jay and Liam to vote with me bc them 3 are obviously controlled by gizmo. I do believe gizmo is close to Cameron as well as Paolo.

Well I'm basically screwed. I don't have a vote because no one trusts me. I'm at the bottom of the totem pole apparently. So, I guess it's time for me to be yeeted. I can't really do anything about it at this point.

WHOO we won final 8 immunity I honest am kinda upset I don’t want people to see me as a challenge beast or someone who has 2 immunity wins as a resume point for the FTC I mean it good that I do but also bad for the target it may put on me. I’m the number one trusted and I’m super stoked about it however I think if people think everyone trusts me they will start to question if I’m really loyal to them so now at this point I need to continue to work my social game and get people to trust me. This vote is gonna get crazy and I’m just happy no one can say my name. I’m loyal to the fantastic 4 and I think they are too at least for this round and I wanna day for another too bc that’s my ideal final 4 right there. I’m happy we decided to go for Paolo and I hope the vote sticks bc him going is great for me bc I don’t think he wants to keep me long term in this game and it keeps raffy and gizmo both here who I believe are bigger threats then me and will go home before me. Now I got a steal a vote too I need to use that to it full potential and everyone knows I have an advantage but I don’t plan on telling anyone this round and my cover up was that I got to get anything from any of the recipes I hope I convinced them but I’m order to use it properly I may have to tell someone later and it can be used as a tool to get someone back on my side if I need to. It’s good to keep in my back pocket and as a secret now though at least for the round bc I’m safe regardless

So i right now have no vote after it being a seriously close vote with me on the other end of that knife and now I'm trying to get raffy out who is one of the biggest threats and gizmo god love him is dead set against liam like dude i get it he betrayed you twice but he ain't winning challenges like this is why threats make it far in games because people would rather do personal votes like........i get it personal votes feel good sometimes but DEAR LORD JESUS CHRIST. Hopefully i was able to talk him into voting raffy

Gizmo wants to vote for Liam. I want to vote for Cameron. At this point, I am not going to fight for who is out when. I just want to survive. Apparently, Cameron has thrown my name around which is a very big yikes

After Mac left I was RAGING! like RAGING! That was my BOY! Ofc I understand why it happened but I hated that it did happen. Raffy for some reason lied about voting for Cameron which is the dumbest shit ever. Brien & Paolo both told me that Raffy voted Mac and I was like ??? is you on that dumb bitch juice because that's literally the worst thing you could do but okay. I like Raffy a lot so it really confused me. Jessie & I felt super betrayed last tribal so we have our lil trio with Jay and Brien is our 4th right now. While our lil 4 was on call Jessie told me she had an idol but I honestly believe she has more because she was saying how many items she has and I was like "hmmm okay sis". The 4 agreed to vote out Paolo since he's an unexpected vote. Voting for Paolo is gonna destroy me because I love that dude so much and I think when it happens I'll honestly cry but I'm not here to fuck spiders I'm here to win and I'm gonna do everything I can to win this game.

Well, I think I have put myself in an OK spot for tonight's vote. Cam really wanted Raffy gone, but if he goes I'm the next to go then Brien. The 3 of us need to stick together because we have targets on our back. Hopefully the vote was successfully switched to Liam. Going into tribal I'm nervous. You never know what can happen. Last tribal Liam's face showed it all. You have no idea how the game can change and what's going to happen. I never feel truly safe.

I am definitely going home lmao. RIP

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juki-ronin · 6 years

Photo

...oh...wow, you guys I just noticed this.

I just...wow.

About a year ago I started this blog with the intent of practicing writing for a story featuring Clark as the main character. During this time, I learned a lot of things:

I learned how to trim fluff writing for my posts.

I learned that talking to your RP partners shouldn’t be something you’re afraid to do mid-RP.

I learned that I shouldn’t be so conscious about posting my face for Mundays (which I swear I’ll try posting more often for).

I learned that posting Musings is actually a very good way to get the creative juices flowing.

I learned that it’s OK to be bummed when I hit a dry spell of activity, and that no lack of activity lasts forever.

Most of all though, I learned that...you guys are really amazing.

I know that probably 10% of the blogs that follow me are dormant, and I know that 500 of my posts aren’t dedicated to strict RPs, but...idk guys I just feel grateful to have made an impact here.

A long time ago on Tumblr I tried making an ask blog with a similar premise and it bombed. It didn’t help that I was a huge dork at the time, with NO idea on how to socialize since, most of my socializing online was with very close friends and I didn’t know how to dial it back for people I was just meeting (needless to say I was socially clueless).

But now I feel like I’ve grown as a person, at least a little, and the fact that...well idk how else to put it, the fact that you cared enough to follow me and interact with me...

I’m really grateful.

I don’t plan on stopping this blog anytime soon, nor do I feel like I have a reason to. Even when I finish Clark’s story I’ve enjoyed this blog too much to let it go.

I’m really sorry if this sounds super sappy, right now I’m in a “do or die” scenario this semester at college (TLDR, vague instructions, grades are up in the air, if I don’t pass my grandma flies to see me graduate nothing, big mood amirite?), and this news put me in such a good mood. In fact, I’m shouting out to all the mutuals I’ve RP’d with so far, because you guys deserve it:

@stinging-redemptixn-deactivated - I REALLY wish I knew what your main blog was cuz no lie you really helped me out confidence wise when it came to public RPing, even if we only planned an RP, I really look forward to when you have the time so we can get it off the ground, you’re an awesome person and I hope everything’s A-OK in your life right now!

@spears-specials/ @i-always-watch - Dude, plotting out Clark and Takuma’s first encounter (hopefully the first of more to come lol) was insanely fun. I really appreciated how much you liked my ideas and how fun it was chatting with you, we need to talk more man! lol

@moonlightsn / @omgderpington - I legitimately love how much care you put into your muse’s backstory, and hearing about stuff you like (Like F13) is really engaging! I really do appreciate the time we RP’d together and hope we can continue whenever you’re free.

@master-glass - I know you’re AFK from tumblr rn but dude you’re the fuckin’ best, I love having you as a friend in general.

@bubblemom - Sweet, fun, creative as hell, idk what to say you’re legit one of the nicest people I’ve seen on tumblr and you don’t deserve bad days. IDK if Clark and Caesar will ever interact again but regardless It’s just a huge pleasure knowing you just, for real, thanks a lot. =D

@stillwouldhavesavedyou - Your Bruce is SERIOUSLY one of my favorites of all time man. And hey as a person you’re really cool, you’re easy to talk to and fun to plot out stuff with. I appreciate you taking a random guy during an Open Starter and running with it, you actually inspired some big ideas I had for Clark, seriously man, thank you!

@darkestxsidexofxthexmoon - We didn’t RP much, but for real, I loved the concept of your muse and his stand, and did enjoy what we did RP. IDK what else to say you seem like a real cool person. =)

@on-crimson-wings - You had me hooked at “Raven’s Bizarre Hiking Adventures”. XD Made even better that Raven herself is an amazing character, and I really enjoy her and Clark’s interactions with each other! And hey, takes an amazing person to write an amazing character, I need to answer more of your memes I feel baaad. Just, thanks for existing (oh and for Finnigan haha).

@moonlitocs - OK so technically we haven’t RP’d yet but it wouldn’t feel right NOT mentioning you here. I appreciate how smooth plotting went for our characters meeting, you have a lot of great ideas! And honestly, it meant a lot that you wanted to RP with me, considering how small this blog was compared to most JJBA blogs at the time.

@askpredator / @purplepimpryda (IDK why it’s not mentioning you apologies, tumblr is dumb sometimes) - Shadow is an GREAT muse, and the I really like not only the interactions he and Clark had, but your writing style in general when describing his side of the RP. You inspired me to be more flexible when it came to how he crossed over with other muses, and inspired me to watch a legitimately good action/thriller film lol While Shadow’s on indefinite hiatus, I wish you the best in life and your other blog w/ your other muse. =D

@pressurecooked - I legit love Mio as a character and was so endeared by her most recent post. She’s someone I’m so excited to learn more about, and I feel bad cuz I wanna interact with your muse memes but her and Clark barely said a word to each other directly so it’s up in the air what their relationship is like ugh idk I just really like where this RP is headed and excited to see where it DOES lead.

@foxglcved - You are a cool person. While Clark and Hikari really haven’t had any substantial interactions, you’re just a real friendly and legit nice person that I feel honored you followed me considering how well-written your muse is. Seriously, super-creative, super entertaining, I look forward to RPing with you in the future. Seriously you’re super cool.

Honestly I just really just appreciate the time you’ve given me and appreciate how far I’ve come as not just an RPer but as a writer. Writing is my passion in life and I’m only able to practice my craft thanks to people like you. Again maybe i’m just in a very sappy mood but, for what it’s worth.

Thank you guys, I couldn’t ask for better mutuals.

#mun #update #milestone #ooc #((Seriously you guys thank you so much))

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itispossibleihaveissues · 7 years

Text

Another Perfect Catastrophe -4

AUTHOR: Mikimoo PAIRING: JayDick RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Non Consensual drug use, Non Consensual touching, Non Consensual kissing, humour, slight mayhem

SUMMARY: Dick goes undercover as himself in order to catch a gang of international thieves. Jason reluctantly tags along as his long suffering bodyguard. During the ensuing mayhem they get to know each other again and build a few bridges.

Thank you to burkesl17 for the beta!

Notes: An embarrassingly long time ago, the amazing and very, very talented Pentapus invited me to do a reverse bang style exchange, and drew me an amazing prompt. I have no idea how this story was the one that emerged from the many options I had, but such is the creative process I guess! Anyhoo, many thanks to Pentapus for both encouragement and patience, and of course the incredible art! (which will be included at the end of the appropriate chapter)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

“Oh, it’s very rustic!” Dick said, as the limo drew up the grand sweeping driveway.

The place was a damn castle, with an actual turret. Jason tried not to be impressed. “When was it built?” he asked Celia, opening the car door for her. He was curious to know if she had bothered even doing any research about the place.

“Mid Seventeen Hundreds,” she said primly, as she disembarked. Her designer heels crunched menacingly as she stalked towards the house. It seemed Richie Grayson had been getting on her nerves during the long, sober drive from London. At least Dick seemed to be in better spirits, getting under the skin of this little gang of thieves seemed to have improved his mood immensely, and he was practically swaggering towards the house.

“That's kind of old isn't it?” Dick said, in his most obnoxious, dumb-ass tone. “I would have thought your dad would have bought something a little newer, more spunky? Bruce got me an island for my eightieth. A private getaway, you know? But it was kind of shit, so I sold it for a penthouse in New York and a jet.”

Celia forced her mouth into something that resembled a smile, but she still looked like she was thinking about gutting him and possibly setting fire to his innards.

Sofia came to the rescue and draped herself over Dick's arm while she smoldered up at him. “Tell me more about your travels.”

Dick launched into a hugely embellished story about how he had once met the Queen. Jason noticed he left out the fact that he had been ten and had spilled juice down his shirt. Bruce seemed to remember that incident fondly, although at the time they had spoken about it, Jason had felt he had been really glad it had been Dick who had been on that trip with him. He remembered how that had stung, even though he didn’t want to go see some stuck-up old lady in her big stupid palace. He had spent so much time consumed with jealousy and fear of not being good enough, just remembering it made Jason’s chest ache with its echoes.

As they entered the foyer, a tall man came to greet them. “Celia, you brought guests,” he said, smiling insincerely. His eyes lingered on Jason with cool assessment.

“Henry! I didn't realise you would be here!” Celia said, unconvincingly. “This is my brother Henry. Are you here with friends too?”

“Yes, just four of us, but we'll stay out of your way. I'm sure you kids want to have fun.”

He didn't look like her brother, he looked like a bouncer or hired muscle, a mercenary maybe. He moved like a fighter, confident, and like he was used to packing a gun. Unusual for a Brit who wasn't attached to armed police or the military.

Things were taking shape now. They had armed back up and an isolated environment to work with so it probably wouldn’t be long until things kicked off. Hopefully he and Dick would be ready for them.

Jason was given his own room, but he chose to join Dick in his while he 'rested' after the trip. They chatted about the estate, their plans and casually flirted, while carrying on a second conversation via text. Until they could check for hidden cameras and bugs there was no point in taking chances.

So, research house then snooping? Dick wrote, while glibly commenting on the twee furnishings in the room.

find me blueprints while i check for bugs

Jason scanned the room using the Wayne Tech installed in his phone. He detected what appeared to be a crude camera in the light fixture and a recording device under the bedside cabinet. He texted as much to Dick. It was going to be difficult to cover the camera subtly – Jason had a brief vision of tearing Dick's shirt off and flinging it over the light shade, but it was unlikely to actually work in any convincing manner. They were going to have to work fast or things might get awkward, if not downright fucked up.

“If you're going to nap, then I'll take a look round the grounds if you don't mind?” Jason said out loud.

“Cool, wear your jacket, it’s pretty chilly out. I thought we could go to the beach, but it's freezing!” Dick pouted.

“It's England in May, Richie, not exactly the Bahamas.” Jason didn't bother to hide his peeved tone, he didn't need Dick reminding him how to do his damn job, of course he would wear his own, armoured jacket, that was the whole point of bringing it. Although they worked well together, Dick did have a tenancy to drive Jason insane, especially when it came to his duel inclinations towards being both bossy, overbearing and a mother hen.

Still, he felt good putting on his real gear, the weight of it was comforting. His pockets were filled with electrical goodies for planting his own bugs and he felt his mood lift slightly. He was looking forward to getting this wrapped up and hopefully cracking a few heads in the process.

He headed out into the gardens first, checking carefully for surveillance. They hadn't set much up - very sloppy and overconfident. If 'Henry' was a merc, he was a piss poor example of one.

He did a circuit of the house, first he went through what would in summer no doubt be an impressive rose garden, then across a perfect lawn of fresh green grass that smelt like heaven after a week of bar rooms and sweaty drunks. From the edge of the lawn he could see what looked to be a freaking hedge maze, and beyond that, cliffs and the sea.

Finally he made his way back towards the small back courtyard and headed back inside via the terrace. He had yet to see anyone, either the brats or the hired muscle, so he cautiously but casually investigated the lower floors. He planted a few bugs, and mentally marked the location of any he had located during his search. The two rooms he most needed to enter were the master bedroom and the lower office, where he suspected the gang was hanging out and plotting. But there would be time for that later.

He headed back out to the gardens with his cigarettes, making it obvious he was going for a smoke, although the artifice was kind of pointless, nobody seemed to give a shit what he was doing. He easily avoided the crappy surveillance outside and headed towards where the blueprints told him the office was. He wouldn't have a chance to get inside for a while, but he could still gather some intel. He positioned himself by the window and switched on his ear bud, then used a small but powerful microphone to pick up the conversation inside.

“Why the fuck is the bodyguard here?” That sounded like 'Henry'.

“Because Richie Rich is fucking him and can't stand to be separated for a single day.” Celia's voice snapped.

“You know we will have to kill him, it's going to get fucking messy.”

They had no idea how messy. Jason idly wished he could just whack the lot of them, no further investigation, no proof to stand up in court, no more dealing with all of these fuckheads. But the tenuous relationship that had formed between himself and Bruce, and even with Dick, was not something he actually wanted to sacrifice, or at least not for these bunch of morons

“It could work in our favour,” Celia said, jarring Jason from his murderous daydreams.

“I don't see how, and we've never killed a mark before, let alone two.” That was Jack.

“We will do what we have to,” Celia said. “The thing is, Bruce Wayne might be a drunken perv most of the time, but when it comes to business he's very shrewd. He has declared no ransom should be paid in the event of his own kidnap. The few times he has paid a ransom for someone else, he's got his money back after the fact through hiring people to hunt the perps down.”

Maybe she was the brains behind the operation after all. Actually doing research. One point to House Denbury.

“So, what are you saying is ransom is out, so we kill them? Do you think that will make Wayne less likely to come after us?” Jack said, he sounded aggravated, killing was apparently a step too far for him. Or maybe it was the thought of the help that Bruce allegedly 'hired.'

“Not necessarily, it's the loss of face he hates rather than the money, he and Grayson aren't exclusive. He's probably too old for Wayne's tastes anyway, he just keeps him in fast cars and booze in order to keep him quiet. If we clean out his accounts it will still be a huge score, and we’ll probably be doing Wayne a favour if we kill him.”

No points to Denbury for that one. But it probably made scene to her icy-cold, sociopathic little brain.

“But Ed wants him first, doesn't he? He said we should wait until he gets here before drugging them, so he can do his thing,” Jack said.

“Fucking pervert,” Henry muttered, sourly. “He's a sick freak.”

“Be that as it may, he can have his fun after we get Grayson’s account details. Then we make it look like a murder-suicide. They have a horrible breakup - the bodyguard gets fed up with Richie’s philandering ways, kills his erstwhile lover and then himself.”

“It’s hardly Romeo and Juliet,” Jack said petulantly.

“It hardly needs to be. Wayne may look into it, but he won’t come after us the same way as he would with blackmail. I stake my life on it.”

“You’re sure he and Grayson aren’t a thing any more? He will be pissed if we kill his boyfriend.”

“He has at least two younger boys already in his house. I looked into it carefully. Grayson is nothing but an expensive liability. This is perfect.”

Jason wondered just how many people actually believed the slander that just skirted the edge of a lawsuit in some of the shadier gossip mags. It was strangely upsetting.

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Sofia’s lightly accented voice said. “The police will look into it, and they will discover the missing money. It will be obvious it was more than just a lovers tiff.”

“So we invent a third party. Lay a trail and let them follow that. Then we can head to the continent to lay low and consider our next target.”

“It’s agreed then. Tonight or tomorrow,” Henry said.

“Tomorrow gives us time to prepare. But we should speak to Ed tonight, I’m not sure when he’s due to arrive.”

“He’s the one who’s going to fuck this operation up, you know that right?” Henry said, “His sick games have no place in this.”

“He gets us access, so we need him.”

“If you say so,” Henry said, even more sour than before.

The television was on loudly, but Dick was somehow actually napping when Jason returned to the room. He woke up when Jason tossed his jacket onto the chair, toed off his boots and slid into the bed with him. He pulled Dick close and buried his nose in his thick hair, which smelt like the expensive sandalwood shampoo from the hotel. The position of Jason’s face conveniently hid the movement of his lips, and put his mouth close to Dick’s ear so he could whisper low enough the sound of the TV would cover his words even if the microphone was a powerful one, which he doubted, but it never hurt to be careful.

“They’re planning to kill us rather than blackmail Bruce,” he whispered, and felt Dick shiver slightly in response to the hot breath on his skin.

“Mmm, nice,” Dick purred pushing back against Jason and making him inhale sharply.

“Garner’s in on it, he’s the sexual sadist, although the others go along with it. They’re going to kick things off quick, tonight or tomorrow – when he gets here.”

Dick turned in his arms and kissed his way up Jason's neck, open mouthed and sloppy. Jason had to take a moment to remind his body he was working and not playing. When he reached Jason's ear, Dick whispered, “We need info from their laptop, for proof. When we have that, we can call the cops and be done with it.”

Jason returned the favour, nuzzling against him in a way he had never imagined himself doing – even in his guilty fantasies it was all rough fucking and lacking affection. This was horribly nice and Jason once again forced his wandering mind, and body, back to work. “It’s risky, splitting up – you’ll have to distract them while I get the info,” he said.

“So be quick, I can’t refuse food or drink without appearing suspicious, and if they decide to dose me I'll be useless – you’ll have to look after me.”

To Jason’s slightly addled mind that sounded rather suggestive, at least when Dick was all but sucking on his earlobe. “I will,” he replied, in a slightly breathy voice.

He could feel Dick grin against his skin, the bastard knew exactly what he was doing. In retaliation Jason dragged his teeth across Dick’s throat, pausing to bite gently at his Adam’s apple before kissing up to his other ear. “I will,” he said again, firmly. Then he was suddenly flat on his back and Dick was straddling his waist, looking rumpled and beautiful.

“Lets save it for later,” Dick said, his voice husky. He gave a sinful roll of his hips, that despite appearances, didn’t actually make contact with Jason's crotch.

Jason sucked in a breath, and smiled cockily up at him. He had to get his own mind focused on the job. Despite his teasing, Dick was all business and was doing his best to respect Jason's perceived boundaries, avoiding actual sexual contact while maintaining the illusion of it. They probably should have spoken about it previously, on the off chance there were cameras – how far would they go? There were ways around it of course, without having to have fake sex, or have actual sex, and Jason had to firmly pull his mind out the gutter again. If they didn’t get what they needed tonight and had to continue this charade, then Dick getting wasted and passing out would be the logical way to deal with it. Yup. That was going to be the plan. Assuming the brats weren't actually expecting an orgy.

Dick smiled down at him, expression sharp and almost challenging, then to Jason’s relief he swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching with his arms up and his lean back twisting to the side with a sinuous motion.

“So, Jase, you want to come to dinner?”

“Do I have to?” Jason asked petulantly. “You know I hate having to sit and watch these things, I fucking hate rich people.”

Dick laughed, there was an edge of mockery to it. “You like me well enough.”

“I like fucking you, Richie.”

Dick laughed again and strode over, all confidence and predatory grace, then he grabbed Jason's jaw and kissed him hard on the lips. It was possessive, more like a dog marking its territory than anything romantic. Jason's pants felt suddenly very tight.

“You’ll join us after though, won’t you? They’re all hot, right? I’m sure the evening will bring some perks,” Dick said.

“They are an attractive bunch, even that brother of hers.”

Dick leaned down over him again, eyes bright and intense. “You can play with the girls, but out of the guys, you only fuck me, no one else. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Jason somehow managed to say without embarrassing himself. It wasn’t clear to him if Dick knew the effect he was having with this sudden random improv. Jason was a bit surprised himself.

After Dick went to dinner, Jason did another circuit of the grounds and house, this time tagging heat signatures. The office was clear, so he figured it was a good opportunity to get in and get into their computer system.

Their security was sloppy for someone of his calibre, and easily disabled. Once into the room he had a very quick look through the draws and loose papers, but there was nothing of any real value, so he turned his attention to the laptop. He hooked up his tablet and got to work cracking the security – it was surprisingly hard, considering how poor the rest of it was, someone was clearly very good with this side of things. He was better, of course, but he was rather tight on time.

His phone buzzed with Dick checking in.

all good. Weird vibe. Heard car in drive they said it was staff, check out?

Jason was starting to get that tingle of intuition that suggested this might all go to shit at any moment. After a brief internal debate he pinged Tim.

“Jason?” Tim’s voice was groggy like he had just woken up.

“Sleeping the day away? Tut tut, what would Daddy say.”

“I work nights, Jason. Double time at the moment due to everyone having broken limbs. What do you want?”

“You got a program that can get us into this system quick? I can do it, but time is of the essence as I suspect Dick might need back up soon.”

“Email me what you have and I'll see what I can do.”

Jason did so, and then went back to poking around the room while Tim muttered about codes and hacks in his ear. He found an interesting array of weaponry poorly concealed under the bed. Two pistols with silencers, a selection of vials with a clear liquid inside, a hypodermic needle that looked more like an instrument of torture than a medical device, and what looked like a dart gun – the kind vets used to anaesthetise wily zoo animals. He pondered for a moment, weighing up the likelihood that things would kick off today, and then emptied both guns and pocketed the bullets, then disabled the rest. He took a sample of the drugs too, for future analysis.

“Any joy?” he asked Tim.

“I know this work, it would have been harder than you might expect to gain access. It’s written by a hacker known as BellaCiao2000. That’s the name of an Italian partisan song.”

“Yes I know what it is, you little nerd. And I think I can hazard a guess which of our little gang of thieves is our techie.”

“Send me their info, I’d love to tangle with them again.” he sounded wide awake and interested now. Dork.

“In more ways than one, she’s smoking hot, if you like that sort of thing. She’s known only as Sofia among this bunch, I don’t have any idea who she is really. Perhaps you’ll have better luck.” He sent the info across, just as Tim cracked the code and the laptop opened up to reveal its secrets. It wasn’t particularly interesting stuff, but there should be enough to be incriminating. Tim stayed on the line, while Jason worked, delving into Sofia’s background.

Jason's phone bleeped again:

Think drufs duckingmice tho

That did not sound good: Either Dick was sitting on his phone, he was having trouble typing or he was off his face. Possibly all three.

“Tim, looks like that back up might be needed now. I gotta go. Can you deal with this crap for me and get anything interesting to the British police, and Interpol maybe. These chumps are global.”

“Yeah, I can monitor things from this end too. Go rescue your damsel in distress.”

“I’m telling him you said that.” Jason rang off and packed up his gear as quick as possible. He didn’t bother covering his tracks too well, he trusted Tim to have ferreted out what they needed and having this wrapped up before it became an issue. He checked his watch. Two hours since he had separated from Dick. One hour since his coherent check in, fifteen minutes since the nonsense one, which Jason had loosely translated to mean: 'I think I’m on drugs, it’s fucking nice though.'

It was too long, fifteen minutes in an altered state with a bunch of potential sexual predators and indifferent sociopaths was an alarming length of time. Especially if that car Dick had mentioned earlier had been Garner.

#jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #nightwing #red hood #mik trys to write stuff #My writing #My fic #catastrophe

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raygoodwinbaphotographyjournal3 · 4 years

Photo

PHOT301 - Mileage May Vary - An Evaluation

The first portion of this project has gone already? Those people weren’t lying when they said it’ll go fast once third year comes around. And this evaluation marks the end of PHOT301, which is the early stages of the FMP, featuring all of the research and planning of ones project. Although this is only the beginning for what I finally titled ‘Mileage May Vary’. This project is the culmination of a majority of previous works all the way back to my access course, which started in 2016. The seeds of MMV were planted all throughout my tenure at university, with elements from PHOT103, 104 and 201.

Rover 75 - Mamiya 6 IV - Cinestill 800T

PHOT202 is where my work took a turnaround. That whole project was a massive mistake: start to finish. It had the right intentions from the get go, and was meant to let off where Alienated Spaces left off. However, I felt alienated about a project about alienation as I was trying to convey something that had dwindled over time. This lead to me leaving anything contextual behind and focusing purely on taking images for the sake of images. It was during this time of making images without any substance, I thought of a project that documented cars that managed to escape the 2009 Vehicle Scrappage Scheme. Annoyingly, this thought came to me when I was a good way through PHOT202 and wasn’t able to go through with changing an entire project, but I wanted to keep hold of it for a summer project, which then turned into my third year work.

The summer time isn’t a conducive time of year for my to be working, as I find the harsh sun and long days uninspiring and the weather is always too hot. That may come across as whiny, but it is just how I feel about the summer. I managed to get one measly shoot in before university started again in September, yet it was interesting to see where my head was at, in terms of composition and creating images. This managed to lead me into a practice that as mostly self lead, but also included an amount of research to back up what I am doing. Although, I piqued up my reading on hauntology, and came to the realisation that it has been omnipresent without my knowledge since the very early days of the degree. Hauntology is something that took me a long time to get my head around, as the first interaction of it was convoluted. However, with much more reading on the internet, and Mark Fisher’s writing made it a lot easier to grasp the spectral haunting of our society. Fisher has always been an accessible writer to me, and makes somewhat complex theories by making them link into something contemporary, which I find a lot easier to digest. I found Derrida’s original text about hauntology was difficult to take in and only made me hate it. Fisher does a good job in making some palatable without dumbing it down.

The other aspect that informed my practice was governmental data about the VSS. Thankfully in 2014, the government released the numbers from the scheme, which detailed how many vehicles were scrapped between 2009/2010. However, there are some detailed discrepancies with the data as it was all taken from different sources, and those sources were each and every dealership that received candidates for scrapping. Despite this, it was interesting to see the ‘reality’ of the numbers regarding the vehicle scrapping. Perhaps in the final stages of MMV, I should look at the highest number of scrapped cars and document them.

Shooting the project was potentially the easiest experience as of yet. The process of finding subjects was mainly walking the streets of towns and cities. There is no way to gauge what one is going to find as its impossible to know what cars are on what street, with the only way to know is to find out. Finding the right subject was a form of trial and error, with a lot of the cars mainly on the streets now won’t be affected by the VSS as they didn’t exist. Some models did however, but the date on the registration plate would place it after the scheme. The technical aspect was no problem either, as I am now fully proficient and reliant on shooting film for personal projects.

There also wasn’t many issues regarding shooting apart from the exposure issues, which was down to me, and the same roll being slightly damaged by the processing provider. These can be overcome by making sure the equipment is in place, and changing where I process my film for colour. Whilst that may cost slightly more and take longer, its the peace of mind knowing that it probably won’t be damaged by a rushed process.

Volkswagen Type 2 - Canon EOS-1 - 50mm F1.8 STM - Kodak Ektar 100

Taking the photos was a breeze, as I knew what I was looking for and taking. Although, what is included in the photographs has varied over the course of the project. It started with composing the majority of the vehicle in frame, but after talking to Jack Latham, it seemed like a good idea to focus more on the details of the car. I was including things like scrapes and dents, as this shows that it has been used and knocked over the years. But, I was featuring these points whilst the vehicle was mainly in view. I have mixed these together instead of limiting myself to one kind of composition.

One thing I would improve upon is shooting more medium format images for the higher fidelity of negative. I only shot one roll of medium format during these stages of the project, and this was the roll of which I had a shutter speed issue and the roll of soiled by MyPhoto. One thing I would like to experiment with the Cinestill CS41 kit, which allows one to develop colour film at home, with the same process as B&W. This makes it a lot easier to develop colour, as it is a finicky process with tight tolerances with temperature. I also decided to disregard shooting black and white, as I wanted to document the pragmatism and realism of the vehicles.

The photo book is something that I feel my work lends itself to, as it can contain a narrative bundled together in a handheld package. At this stage, I didn’t want to produce a self published book as it is still the early stages of MMV. However, I did want to make something that contained these elements, but had a level of experimentation to it. This is where the ‘zine’ comes into fruition; although I am not sure what to call it, as its a mix of a photo book and work in progress documentation of what I want to create further down the line. I made the online/PDF version on Canva, as it is a free and powerful tool to create graphics and documents. Once I knew what images I wanted and how to display them, it was rather easy to create. The cover was the most challenging aspect to this, as I knew I didn’t want to just have a photograph on the cover, and I wanted to resurrect my graphic design work. For this, I utilised one of my images and editing it with GIMP, a free alternative to Photoshop. The cover contains semiotics to the entire project: cars are the sole image on the cover which reflects on the project’s subject, which is coloured red to signal the Labour government’s scheme and the bitmap effect was to give the illusion of newspaper articles about the scheme/news. This is a style that I would like to go back to and hopefully keep using for the next portion of the FMP.

Being informed and influenced is something that I written about being somewhat difficult for me. Whilst I do digest photography on a regular basis, only some of that actually makes an impression. I can appreciate a nice photograph, but it rarely gets my creative juices flowing. Although once in a blue moon I will stumble across a practitioner that just gets me. Once of those is the little known Vlad Tretiak; a Russian based photographer with a partial social media following. His work manages to intrigue me in a technical aspect as he shoots medium format at night time, as well as the subject themselves. I have always had a fascinating with anything Russian and Soviet related, and this manages to meld in my love for cars. Chris Dorley-Brown was tuned into me by Jack Latham, and Dorley-Brown’s work focused on the portraits of motorists stuck in traffic during the summer of 1987 in East London. I rarely enjoy photographs containing people, but it made me think that my work as portraits of the cars themselves. I also was inspired by Franck Bohbot, who I looked at during PHOT104′s Economy project. These practitioners, as well as the contextual research of hauntology has spearheaded me into a well informed project, which after PHOT202 was much needed.

Citroen Berlingo Aftermath - Canon EOS-1 - 50mm F1.8 STM - Kodak Colour Plus 200

Where does this lead me for the final stage of the FMP? With all of the now previous work, I feel as if I have a good project on my hands and that I can take it far. It feels as if I am finally undertaking a project that I am actually enjoying to shoot to produce, in addition to not feeling like it’s died as soon as it has been handed in like previous projects. The premise of this project was on my mind for a while and I am happy that I can finally undertake it, and take it into the future to wherever it will take me. What I have produced is something that I am proud to have my name to, and it has garnered some good feedback and constructive criticisms. The work flow shall continue after PHOT301, and any film started before, and hasn’t been finished before the deadline shall be used for the second portion of the FMP. With the continuing stages of MMV, I plan to still use the compositions of full car and close up detailed shots, but I would like to incorporate the numbers/statistics of the cars that were scrapped - possibly even photographing a selection of the most scrapped vehicles from the government spreadsheet. The prints will also progress, as I plan to print at least A0 for Free Range and accompany them with a layflat ‘coffee table’ style book, detailing an edited down selection of all vehicles photographed during the project. Technically, I would like to utilise more medium format and find a more uniform visual aesthetic in regards to tones. This would mean possibly shooting one type of film and edit them accordingly. Although I would like to use some expired film to add to the hauntology of the photograph, as well as using a film stock that co-exists with potential vehicles in frame. If multiple stocks are used, I shall to the best of my ability edit them so they are visually similar with little difference between them.

I feel that this has been the most enjoyable project to date, as it has been totally up to me with what I do, instead of interpreting a brief and making my work fit it some how. With this, I have been totally free to create what I want to create in a professional and informed manner. I am looking forward to seeing what the future brings for this project.

#PHOT301

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renaroo · 7 years

Text

Promises (10/30)

Disclaimer: Batman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: One Year Later/Evil Cass allusions Rating: T Synopsis: For an entire year after the Crisis which threatened to wipe everything they knew and loved off the Earth, after so many hardships and loved ones lost, Cass and Tim find themselves battling on different sides of the globe not only for the fate of what’s left of the world, but for the sake of once again feeling purpose. [A One Year Later fixer upper]

A/N: Thiiiiisssssss was an emotional chapter to write, not going to lie. I have a lot of Feelings about the Infinite Crisis/52 era and what things happened there. Obviously. I’m writing this fic. But this one’s where we’re finally getting to the... well, super painful stuff on Cass’ end. My poor darling.

Special thanks to @mitchthebat, @secretlystephaniebrown, @chimerakitten, Osamatsu, and kiyomisa on tumblr, ffnet, and AO3 for the feedback and support!

A Detective’s Currency

“Lacerations found on victims showed identical stroke patterns. Blade is believed to be a dual edged weapon, not a carving knife or other appliance. Exact centimeters of length of chest laceration over the sternum from Victim One to Victim Six include: thirty-five centimeters, thirty-four and a half centimeters, thirty-four and a quarter centimeters, thirty-five and—“

Cassandra sat, perched like a bird on the edge of the computer seat. She was looking at the main monitor of the Batcomputer with some amount of apprehension, her brain mulling over the facts being read to her from the scanned police files over and over again.

She was still in her suit, cape draped over her, elbows firm on her knees. But she’d pulled her mask off some time ago. The sweat on her brow was getting to her and it was easier to hear the computer without the distraction of her cowl.

But it was still a monotoned computer droning over very flat, though detailed, notes on the cases which the Commissioner had asked her to look over. There was no difference in tone, no hesitation before particularly dire details for Cassandra to clue in on.

Just the words. And the words were both descriptive and terrifyingly brief for someone whose relationship with words was still strained at best.

To try and concentrate even more on what she was hearing, Cassandra closed her eyes and leaned toward the speakers, forcing herself to only listen to the computer.

It wasn’t helping.

“My word,” Alfred declared as he walked down the steps from the Manor. “These crimes seem positively gruesome.”

Eyes snapping open, Cassandra glanced over in Alfred’s direction and she tilted her head at him curiously. He hadn’t even heard most of the details that she had but his ashen face seemed to tell he had more of an intimate reaction to the cold facts than Cassandra had had yet. Her frustration, as a result, only mounted.

“Have to solve it,” Cassandra explained determinedly before looking back to the screen and waiting for the words to escape the speakers.

Quietly, Alfred set down a tray of food on the console to Cassandra’s right — it smelled like a wonderful soup, some oyster crackers, and an orange juice. Smells that weren’t strong enough that Cassandra could immediately identify them, of course. But when her brain was desperate for anything else to occupy its time with other than translating words into visuals, it suddenly became all she could think about.

“Gah!” Cassandra cried out angrily, grabbing at her hair and squeezing her eyes shut. “Why’s… it so hard!?”

“I fear that, for whatever faults in corruption it once had, the Gotham City Police Department still has capable detectives and officers in its ranks,” Alfred offered, patting Cass’ shoulder tenderly. “Whenever they have asked for Master Bruce’s help or the help of the others, it has been only in the most dire of circumstances. Or with foes whose tactics are frightfully familiar and require their… unique attentions.”

With a whine from the back of her throat, Cass buried her face further into her hands. “I just want that one,” Cass groaned. “I just want them to say it’s Killer Moth. Then let me punch.”

“That does sound as though it would have some appeal toward you,” Alfred replied crisply. “But I am afraid this case looks to be quite the former. A dangerous and unknown culprit with nails ensnared in the city. Difficult. Very difficult.”

Cass looked back up to the words printed out over the screen, her frown only growing as she watched the letters and numbers bleed into each other. “I need to see… If I’d been there… at crime scenes. Seen bodies. I could read them. I could tell what happened. That’s… That’s my detective work.”

“Which Miss Barbara says you more than excel at,” Alfred continued reassuringly. “But hopefully your wit and skill will prevent the necessity of finding a crime scene which is fresh on this case. Instead, you will stop the perpetrator by learning from what you read here and save even more lives—“

Immediately enraged, blood boiling like the green pools that had once overtook her veins, Cassandra got to her feet, kicking the chair out behind her and slamming her palms against the surface of the computer console hard enough to dent its hardy metal. “I CAN’T!” she roared viciously. “I’m stupid! I’m dumb! I can’t learn — words… words aren’t real. They aren’t things! They don’t mean anything to me!”

As quickly as the flash of anger had come, Cassandra felt it begin to wane, her eyes losing a heated glaze and leaving her instead to look at a stunned Alfred whose brows were high and lips pursed in silence.

Heavily breathing, Cassandra looked down to the damage she had caused, then back up to the computer screen where the mess of words and the dullness of their arrangement brought tears to her eyes all over again. “I can’t be a detective,” she admitted, biting her lip. “I’m not… I’m not smart. Everyone is smart. But not me. Not… Not me…”

“Oh, child,” Alfred’s soothing voice called. Cassandra looked up to him and he gently held her chin with one hand as the other gently wiped the streaks of tears from her cheeks. “You are the furthest person I have ever met from stupid or dumb, and I almost would shame you for even using such terrible terms against yourself. You are far too smart and beautiful and promising to feel such heartache.”

“I’m not good… at this,” Cass argued through her sniffs, hands waving to the screen. “They… They want me to learn. But I can’t. Words aren’t real.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Alfred asked. “You cannot form a story in your head from hearing them out loud?”

For some reason, Cassandra’s memory drifted to Dick and stories of Cinderella. The story that had no meaning until he acted it out for her, gleefully and with great expressiveness. “Sometimes…” Cass admitted. “But not like this. Not… without help.”

“Well, then, help has arrived,” Alfred offered.

Cass was less than thrilled at the proposition. “Batman doesn’t need help.”

To that, Alfred looked genuinely offended. “Well then, young lady, I would dare you to explain how — if the Batman needs no help — the rest of us all fit into this grand picture of his?”

At first Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but she wasn’t sure how she could.

Fortunately, Alfred’s snark was somewhat contagious.

“Right now?” Cass clarified. “So he can… go on vacation.”

Alfred stood still, looking at her levelly, but his mustache took on a certain amused twist at the notion. One that was enough to inspire Cassandra’s own broad smile.

The butler then opened his arms to her. “My dear Miss Cassandra, I do believe that all of this hard work and intensive thought you have put forward on the family’s behalf is most deserving of a hug. Don’t you?”

Tearing up again despite herself, Cassandra stepped forward and tightly hugged Alfred as he returned the same. She sniffed and buried her face closer against his chest.

“Do not forget, Cassandra,” Alfred said down to her gently. “I am also here, to provide you as much help as you need. We all are. For we all have our strengths and our weaknesses. Don’t you believe?”

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. She then looked back to the computer screen. “Been listening for a while… still not getting the… the bruises.”

“They’re fairly gruesome attacks,” Alfred noted. “Wouldn’t you believe bruises would be a natural sign of defense.”

Releasing herself from Alfred’s hug, Cassandra looked back to the screen and shook her head, though hesitantly. “Don’t… know. Need to see bruising. Then I can tell… but… cuts are on chests…. also bruises across chest. Why all that? You don’t defend with chest against… knives.” She pursed her lips and remembered the description of the blade. “Not daggers.”

“You believe it’s a dagger?” Alfred asked curiously. “Using a dagger to make a superficial wound on—“ He paused, eyes widening. “Chubala.”

Cassandra looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “Chu…ball…uh?” she repeated.

“One of the master’s first cases, from so many years ago. Not even Master Richard or Miss Barbara were around to help in those days. It was only the two of us and…” Alfred put a thoughtful hand to his chin. “You wouldn’t know of the connection, how could you? Those files are ancient, so old and disconnected from most of the cases solved since that I would be doubtful if even Master Timothy read into them.”

“Alfred?” Cass questioned, not following hardly at all.

Alfred then looked seriously to Cassandra. “Those bruises… they could be from other hands holding the victim down. The cut is sacrificial — part of a ritual. Master Bruce solved a case, many many years ago, which involved a growing cult in Gotham’s elite circles surrounding a mystical and devilish figure called Chubala. He solved it and stopped the practices, but its roots were deep within societal elites. There has always been a darkness capable of roosting in its place ever since. Especially when so few of the cult members other than the heads themselves were properly prosecuted.”

“It’s connected now?” Cass asked, almost hopefully.

“Unfortunately the similarities are stark, even to me after all these years,” Alfred conceded.

Not wasting another moment, Cassandra pulled down her mask over her face. She paused then leaned over to press a kiss through the mask’s fabric to Alfred’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

Then, before Alfred could get another word in, Batgirl raced to the platform where he bike was waiting and she quickly jumped onto it to race back to Gotham.

“Chubala.”

The word has escaped her lips nearly fifty times on the drive between the Batcave and Gotham Central. She uttered in under her breath two or three times more as she ascended to the familiar window to Jim Gordon’s office and slipped in without further invitation.

When he entered his office and closed his door, oblivious to the way she waited for him in the shadows, Cassandra said it one last time, boldly and clearly.

“Chubala.”

Gordon fumbled with his keys for a moment, looking to the shadows with surprise. He obviously was not expecting her — at least not her her. Maybe more of a him’s voice. But Cass was seemingly just full of surprises that night.

“What is that?” he asked after the shock wore off.

“Chubala. The cult,” Cass clarified, heart pounding a bit in her chest. She really hadn’t allowed Alfred to get much further in his explanation and she should have. But judging by the expression on Gordon’s face, he knew what she was talking about.

“That case is from… well almost twenty years ago now,” he revealed, eyes wide behind his glasses. “You really think that it has something to do with the current murders? I don’t even know if you’re old enough to know about the murders yourself.”

Regaining the confidence of Batgirl, Cassandra tilted her head. “Read records.”

“I suppose so,” Gordon continued, putting a hand to his chin as he walked across the room and turned his attention to his desk, fanning out the papers that were there and almost humming to himself over the casework. “I remember when that happened. He— The Batman hadn’t been around for that long. Horrible stuff. Didn’t end well for most people involved. But also didn’t go much our way either. Most of the people in that society were more concerned about the impact of their reputations to their stocks than they were about ever getting legally implicated.” He looked back to Cass with a furrowed brow. “Gotham was a much different place at the time. I wasn’t even commissioner yet. The city had… problems at the top. Believe it or not, crazy colored goons and all, from an enforcement perspective it’s better than it once was.”

Though she knew it would not pass through the cloth of her mask, Cassandra softened her expression. “Thanks to… you, Commissioner.”

“Only in part, if I even deserve that much,” Jim replied. “I’ll pull the old records and get my men on that direction… The previous detective on it… Yeah. Dammit. It was Bullock. Well, I was hoping to find a reason to get to him anyway.”

Feeling that her part was done, Cassandra began to sink back in the shadows, but almost as if he had a sixth sense toward the motion at that point, the Commissioner’s head snapped back up.

“That’s good work. An angle we weren’t going to be looking at for sure,” Gordon answered. “That’s a hell of a lead, thanks to you.”

Thinking back to Alfred, Cassandra reserved her bodily flinch. “Only… part,” she assured him.

“I knew we gave you quite a load last time so I didn’t light the signal yet — at least, I hadn’t gotten around to it,” Jim explained, pulling a pen from his pocket and grabbing a sticky note from his desk. “Turns out, we found another murder that fits the profile. Woman. Mid-twenties Same marks. Same general location. I just got back from sending a few people out so if you hurry you might get there before they do and… well, I know Batman likes to be early and catch things before we leave the crime scene. Maybe your fresh eyes could use the jump on this, too.”

Heart rate increasing, Cass bit her lip and looked at the sticky note as Gordon wrote out the address. She recognized a few letters but then the scribble was as foreign to her as any other written word. Her throat grew tight and painful. “Time,” she blurted out.

That made Jim stop and look up at her over the rim of his glasses. “Hm?”

“Need to… get there. You can just… tell me address,” Cassandra tried, hiding the shakiness in her voice by going as deep as she could, almost gravely.

“Are you… alright?” Jim asked, clearly confused.

“Wonderful,” Cass coughed. “Address?”

“Central Heights,” Jim answered, slowly lowering the sticky note and his pen. “Kane Street. Old condemned apartment building — thirty-fourth on Kane. Do you know where that is?”

“Already there,” Batgirl answered, heading out the window as quickly as she could manage. She had no idea what the Commissioner would make of her behavior or of anything, really, but she was almost too relieved to have avoided the situation of finding out all the same.

She focused instead on his thanks and his trust in her.

Then, slowly, as she got to her motorcycle and began to drive toward Central Heights, it hit Cassandra like a ton of bricks.

Another person was dead. Another life was lost. On her watch. In her city. Because she wasn’t figuring things out quickly enough.

For a moment, she almost got ill, but the second the wave of nausea passed, Cass took a breath and reminded herself of two important things: she would stop these murders because she was a detective, and also Bruce would not have left the city to her care and to her skills if he did not have faith in them both.

And with those cold comforts, Cassandra took off, heart heavy and brain pounding.

Lives were on the line.

Despite a break, the blow still felt devastating to Cassandra when she reached the building the Commissioner had given her long before the detectives.

She pushed through the emotion of the very thought of a life being lost due to her ineptitude and determinedly kept to the shadows, parking far enough away she was not seen by the officers already on scene. Then she used the building next to the condemned apartment, crossing its roof, and then carefully leaped down to the building’s rickety fire escape.

The crime scene was already cordoned off, which was good for Cassandra as it was easy to identify and also meant that there were no officers around until the detectives were there to call the room.

It gave Cassandra the moment to slip in and do what only she — as a detective — could do.

The broken glass of the window was scattered on the floor just beneath the window sill and not scattering too much further. The intruder — or intruders — had broken the window from the outside, but had also done so at a speed and angle that indicated they had used the roof across the alley just as she had.

But that left Batgirl — and by extension, the GCPD — the question of how someone could break through a window in that way and not land hard enough to make an impression in the floor’s carpet or to crush the glass.

It was an anomaly that Cassandra would not have been able to maneuver herself, and she had been trained for such things from literal birth. That meant there was a possibility that the attacker had never touched the ground at all despite leaping through the window.

That left the possibility of someone flying, or at least hovering. Which made the case infinitely more difficult by Cassandra’s estimations.

Once more dwarfed by the enormity of the situation at hand, Cassandra reached to her forehead and took a deep breath. She was doing it. She was proving herself. She just needed to keep going.

Further into the room, the body was laid out over a few milk crates, arms crossed over her head, feet crossed at the ankles.

When Cassandra examined closer, pulling out her pen light, she could see the patterns of rope in the skin. She had been tied, for sure. Tightly and without a way to escape.

Which brought the question of why anyone would go through the trouble of untying her and taking the ropes with them. Most murderers, cultists or not, would find rope disposable.

Cass brought a hand to her chin and thought on the detail. Something might have been special about the rope, then. Something might have been related to the rituals.

But what rope could be that special?

The cuts were the same as the ones before, over the sternum, single blade that was dual edged. Ritualistic. Barbaric.

For a moment, Cassandra found herself not investigating with her limited time, but just looking into the poor woman’s eyes. They were glossy and rolled back, bulged with terror but frozen without life or feeling. They were the kind of eyes that would have been beautiful while alive — dark, endless pools to emote through. Cassandra’s stomach twisted at the painful thought that it was a life that was gone before she could personally have ever known her.

And that was sad.

By instinct, Cassandra began to move her hand toward the woman’s face, to close her eyes out of respect, when she heard the rumbling, dry voice of a man.

“Don’t. The police detectives need their turn.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Cassandra leaped over the crime scene, barreled through the apartment door and tackled the man who had been watching her at the waist. He must have been there before her in order to have not been noticed, but that also meant he had been hiding in the shadows from the other police officers on the scene in order to have seen her.

There was a very short list of people who would be in the room still after the police came to a clime scene.

The man was frightfully strong. Though he was taken down by the tackle and didn’t seem to have a particular fighting style to go off of, he was quick to rely on muscle memory for a swinging punch back in Cassandra’s direction.

When the man jabbed with his right fist it was tight and controlled, carrying the momentum all the way through. When he threw his right fist, it was quick to withdraw and go for a second punch she also evaded. His footwork changed, being quick and swaying.

Batgirl didn’t have to think for too long about who it was she was fighting.

Without another moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the bolas from her utility belt and in a blink of an eye threw both — wrapping around the man’s torso and ankles. He let out a grunt before falling.

Cassandra stood over him, eyes narrowed. “Two-Face.”

“Not anymore,” he grunted in return, struggling against the ropes. The normal face looked back at her from beneath a toboggan cap. “Just Harvey Dent now. Now let me go.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’ve not done anything wrong,” he argued.

“No. Why here?” she demanded.

“Because I heard about the murder from the police scanner he gave me so I came to work the case before they got here and the evidence was away from me for good,” he answered.

Confused, Cassandra tilted back away from him. He wasn’t lying… “Who gave you it?”

“Batman,” he answered. “When he told me I had to protect the city. You can ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“You?” Cass asked, heart thumping in her chest. “You… He left you the city… to…”

Police were racing up the stairs and Cassandra’s opportunity to further examine the crime scene was gone. But she wouldn’t have been able to do more even if they hadn’t been barging in. With a few quick steps past Harvey Dent, Cassandra was out the window of the adjacent room and grappling to the rooftop of the nearby building.

Unlike her beauty and grace before, however, she wobbled carelessly and once she was at the top of the roof, she slammed into the cement hard, rolling over the tarmac top until her momentum gave way and she stopped on her stomach, face buried into the surface as she tried her hardest to sob, to scream, but only came out with dry heaves so painful her lungs felt like they were going to swell and burst.

He didn’t leave her the city.

He just left.

They all just left. And she had nothing. She wasn’t even a detective without help.

Her heaving continued, her whole body shuddering with them, as the large feathers and plumes on the surface of the building blew around her in the wind.

#writing #batfic #Batfic: Promises #Cassandra Cain #Alfred Pennyworth #Jim Gordon

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