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moonloredraws · 3 years

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House of Blood

A story about an overworked and stressed out individual who goes to a vampire brothel for some consensual hypnosis to start off her holiday off work.

M Vampire x F Human (NSFW, tw hypnosis , tw vampire biting ) 4277 words

--- Life had been a cycle of stress and problems, and things had been spiralling for you recently. Your job had become too much to handle, your co-workers had once again proven to be unreliable and your boss had been more unreasonable than usual. Things had been hectic.

Your holiday had come up, fortunately. A couple of weeks away from the incessant stream of issues was a welcome reprieve. You had planned on enjoying yourself, treating yourself to some new clothes and other goodies.

You had even decided to go to the local smut bookshop. The Moonlore Bookstore had always piqued your interest, but you'd never really had any reason to go in. The interior was surprising, the inside seemed much older than the modern facade of the building led you to believe, but the atmosphere was cozy and welcoming. The front was a cafe, with the back half of the space hiding the books behind some discreet dividers. It had an unusual vibe for a place to buy erotic books.

The thing that most had stood out was an extensive board of flyers, business cards and other advertisements of all kinds.

This was clearly a busy place that many supernatural beings frequented, but that made sense, given how the owner seemed of elven descent and her husband was a werewolf. Much of the ads were specific services for the variety of creatures that shared the human world, though much of the ads were for different places that you hadn't even heard of. Why would there be adverts for services in Amsterdam, Chicago, London and some other notable cities all in one place? It boggled your mind.

However, as you scanned the board with curiosity, you noticed a stack of discreet ash grey cards with a bright red embellished pair of lips. They stood out, and you looked a bit closer.

“Are you stressed? Want to have your worried sucked away?Come to the House of Blood for a fresh reset.”

It was in your area, too.

You had never heard of such a place before. You unpinned one of the cards, and took a closer look. It seemed like some kind of establishment run by vampires. Brothels run by the supernatural community was nothing new, but you had never frequented something like it before. Your gut twisted with excitement. You had never really cared for such things, but something about having your stress relieved fast and possibly having fun on the side tickled your fancy.

With your new treats and purchases, you went home, and did some more digging on the House of Blood. It had a discreet website, and it was definitely a brothel of some kind, as you had suspected. It seemed legit, had a small gallery of some incredibly well dressed vampires, some information on the workers and the owner, and you gave a sigh of relief at it being legit.

It did have a appointment form, but encouraged people to go there in person to have a chat about the different options they offered and what would be most appropriate for the client.

So you got yourself hyped up. This was all new and exciting, and you waited until an hour after night-fall. Following your phone's GPS, you made your way to the place. It was in an alley off a very busy street, which may have rung some alarms bells if it weren't for the beautiful state of the alley. It was clean, no dumpsters, bright neon signs lighting everything up and with a clear big sign next to the door. You let out a breath you didn't know you had been keeping, and slouched your shoulders as you walked to the door nervously. The beautiful ashen door had the same red lips on it as the card, and you nervously turned the handle, and entered into a small hallway that had some stairs leading upstairs.

Climbing the red carpet covered stairs, you looked around at the rich reds and ashen colours of the interior. Clearly the same person had designed this place and the vampire run nightclub in the area. Or maybe the owner was the same. Perhaps, though, they simply kept up the same “vampire aesthetic” for the other people around. You weren't sure. However, as you got to the top, you came to a brightly lit waiting room. There was a desk of bright cherry red plastic, and behind it was a woman, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, with lipstick to match the desk and a slouchy cream coloured sweater.

“Welcome to the House of Blood! I don't believe I've seen you here before?” said the woman, her cheeks lifting as she smiled. You nodded as you walked closer, still a bit nervous.

“It's my first time here, yes,” your voice wavered, as you came up to the desk. “ Well, welcome! I'm Amandine, but you can just call me Mandy. Since you're new, I need you to fill out a simple questionnaire, and a little form. I'll help you through everything, so don't worry about it if something is unfamiliar!”

Her cheerful and helpful disposition helped put you at ease, and you swiftly filled in some details, the medical history part took you by surprise, but it made sense. Vampires drink blood, after all.

The 'little form' ended up being a pretty big list, actually. Most of it was kinks and things that you would be alright with in a sexual situation. What intrigued you was the box marked “hypnosis”.

“What does that involve?” you looked curiously over to Amandine. “Is that something like becoming puppeted...?”

Amandine shook her head, giving a slight chuckle. “No, when we 'hypnotise' people, it's more like we induce a state of intense tunnel vision. You'll feel things more intensely, and I haven't found an easier way to say this, but it just makes you very horny. We haven't found a better term, so we just use 'hypnotise'.” “Huh,” you hummed at it.

“Since you're looking at some stress relief, I do suggest that. It's very difficult to have your mind wandering while under the effects.” Amandine added helpfully. That sealed the deal. All in all you weren't really looking for a very extreme interaction, you just wanted to have some fun, but the added benefit of not having to worry about much seemed too good to pass up.

Amandine settled the paperwork, clipped it all together, and then pointed at one of the doors.

“You'll want to go to room 4. There are no locks, for client and worker safety, but rest assured, nobody except the right person will walk into your room,” she gave a playful wink as she stood up and walked to a different door in the lobby, directly behind the desk.

“There's a box for your clothes, and there's a fluffy robe, if you'd like to get into something more comfortable, waiting for you in the room.”

You nodded, butterflies tickling your stomach as you walked through the door, into a well decorated hallway, to a door with the number 4 on it. Cautiously, you opened it, and entered.

The interior was plush. There was a soft looking bed, and a couch, and a door to bathroom. Everything was some sort of red or dark grey tone. You found a small night stand, and a fluffy maroon robe.

You did as Amandine suggested, and stripped completely, shoving your clothes unceremoniously into the empty nightstand's drawer. The rest were filled with a pile of sex toys and condoms. Your cheeks flushed as you quickly put the robe on and went to sit down.

Your current situation began to dawn on you, and you restlessly played with your hands. Before you could get overwhelmed with doubt and stand up to put your clothes back on, you heard a knock on the door.

“Come in!” You squeaked. It was happening. No turning back now.

The door opened and a tall, pale skinned man slid in, a tray in his hands with two cups and a teapot. Your heart skipped a little as he flashed a fanged smile at you, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“I'm Xavier, please to meet you!” He quickly set the tray down, and went to shut the door behind him. You nervously introduced yourself, noting how much your voice was shaking.

Xavier had a fluffy mop of wavy brown hair, and a slight 5 o'clock shadow painting his jaw. His eyes were a friendly brown, and if it hadn't been for his fangs, you could have sworn he was just some guy who didn't get outside much.

He wore a lightly cream coloured shirt, an intricately patterned green and gold vest, and some brown dress pants. He seemed much too overdressed to be part of a brothel, he'd be a much more fitting sight in a themed host club.

“No need to be so nervous. You're here to have a good time, right?” Xavier said as he sat down on the couch, placing the tray between the two of you. “Mandy said you preferred chamomile, so that's what we have.”

“Can vampires even drink tea?” The question had left your lips involuntarily, and Xavier let out a chuckle.

“Eating and drinking depends on what kind of vampire you are. Most turned vampires have a hard time processing food and some drinks, but I'm a born vampire, I can deal with this all just fine.”

You let out a 'huh' at that, and then picked up one of the cups which Xavier had filled with tea.

“So, a little bird told me that you've been dealt a bad hand by life at the moment.” Xavier took a sip of his tea.

You nodded, and began to tentatively recount some of the more frustrating events. Soon, you let yourself get more relaxed, and your gestures become more intense as you vented your worries, and Xavier ended up being a very good listener.

The conversation eventually started to lose steam, so Xavier picked up. He started to talk about himself. He had an interest in very fine embroidering, and occasionally would make some clothes for himself. He showed off his vest at that point, beaming at his creation.

“So... how come you've ended up working here?” You asked. Someone so skilled at sewing ending up in a brothel instead of working as a designer seemed odd.

“I enjoy helping people like this, and I'm a bit of a social butterfly. I tried being a host once, but that didn't end up working so well. I have... a slightly voracious appetite.” He smiled apologetically. You inhaled sharply at that, and you felt your cheeks warming up, and you felt a jolt in the pit of your stomach.

“I'll follow your lead, whenever you want to move onto something else, we can do that.” Xavier chuckled.

You nodded, blushing, and your shoulders tensed up. Xavier regarded you with a warm gaze, and slowly moved the tray to the side and shuffled closer to you, gingerly putting a hand on your shoulder.

“You're a bit tense again. Would you want me to give your shoulders a little massage?” He purred.

The vibrations of his voice went straight to your loins, and you stiffly nodded, turning your back to him. He gently tugged at the collar of your robe.

“Loosen your robe a bit, I can reach a little better that way.” He pulled the robes a little looser around your neck, and then gently pressed his fingers into your shoulders. As it turned out, his skills also extended to massaging, and you slowly found yourself sinking towards him.

You sighed, and soon he removed his hands.

“Feeling any better?” Xavier smiled at you.

“That was amazing,” you said, and then sighed.

He leaned slightly closer, leaning his head on his hand and sitting in a more casual pose. “I can keep going... or we can move onto something different?”

You debated on it for a moment, before the ache in the pit of your stomach started to become a little more incessant.

“I think... something a little different might be nice...” you said, slowly, and something lit up in Xavier's eyes.

“Then... may I touch you, pet?” His voice had changed, something almost predatory came alive in him. You nodded, almost afraid, but something about being in the presence of this creature excited you.

He gently placed his hand on your knee, and then slowly slid up your thigh, giving it a little squeeze halfway up. His hand started to skirt along the edge of the fabric of the robe.

“I won't touch anywhere that is covered... so you lead.” He purred, keeping his hand on your thigh, rubbing languid circles with his thumb. You let out a little huff, and then bashfully began to untie the belt on the robe. As you slowly let the belt fall away, your robe opened slightly, and Xavier let out an approving sound, slowly trailing his finger higher up your thigh.Soon, his hand dragged up your partially exposed stomach, between the groove of your breasts, then lightly touching the line of your collarbone.

“Mmh... you already smell so good and we've barely even started. You must really want this, that, or you're just naturally a treat.” Xavier licked his lips. “If you want me to make you feel better just say the word.”

The slow drag of his fingertips across your skin and the mood of the room made you a little bit braver all of a sudden.

“What do you have in mind?”

Xavier let out a chuckle, and you let his hand travel around to tip your chin upwards. “I can make you feel a way you've never felt before.”

“Is that right?” you tested him, before shakily breathing out, “show me what you've got then.”

He grinned, and something changed.

In the split second that you had challenged him, your body suddenly got hot, your vision blurred and your brain suddenly felt trapped in a bubble.

“Look at me, pet,” Xavier whispered, holding the back of your head with one of his hands. “It's alright. Nothing bad will happen.”

Your head was spinning, the sensation was odd and uncomfortable, but soon enough you focused on the way that his other hand was petting your thigh. You focused on the way his eyes were staring at you, the way his lips moved, and before you had a chance to get used to this strange sensation of being partially stuck in your own head, your entire being became a ball of nerves.

You started to breathe heavily as the fabric of the robe began to feel constricting around you, and you started struggling out of the fabric. Your body didn't want to listen very well, and you couldn't managed to make the fabric slip off you.

Xavier hummed, looking at you.

“What's the matter, pet? Having some trouble taking your clothes off?” He was clearly enjoying this, but you found that you didn't mind his teasing. “Do you need me to help you?”

You tried to reply, but all that came out was a moan, so you weakly nodded your head.

In a swift motion, you found yourself pulled onto Xavier's lap, your front exposed to him, your legs spread obscenely. The new sensation of the fabric of his pants made you let out another soft moan, and he quickly pulled the robe from your shoulders. The way his hands felt on you was mind blowing, and you didn't hold back the pleased rumbling that came from your throat.

“You look comfortable.” His eyes scanned you up and down, and his hands began to move up your sides. Everything was so sensitive, his fingers were like fire licking at you. In the haze of this dark, dimly lit room, there was only Xavier. You couldn't think of anything else but his hands, his face, his beautiful full lips. Your stares didn't go unnoticed, and he smirked.

“It seems that someone wants something more, hmm?” his voice was a purr, quiet, meant only for your ears. Weakly, you managed another nod, and he pulled your hips a bit closer and pulled on your shoulders to make you lean over. His lips connected with yours, and you let out a lewd mewl, breathing out hard. His kisses started out softly, massaging your lips, clearly ignoring your needy attempts at making out with him. Kissing him, and feeling his hands running up and down your thighs, hips, ass, it made you feel on cloud nine. So much of his touch made you feel turned on, you'd honestly never felt anything like this.

You were momentarily pulled from your frustrations when Xavier ran his tongue over your lips. It sent a jolt down your spine, and you involuntarily shivered. You vaguely heard a chuckle through the murky horniness of your mind, and you let out a deep moan.

You weren't allowed to recover from this assault on your senses when Xavier put one of his hands behind your head and he deepened the kiss, darting his tongue through your lips and exploring your mouth. You had to close your eyes, and grabbed tightly on his shirt to avoid floating away, your brain being bombarded with too many sensations.

You lost track of time, you lost track of yourself, you couldn't tell where you ended, and where Xavier started. Everything that you felt in that moment was so unfocused, but the pleasure was beyond what you believed was possible.

Xavier pulled away, and you were ripped from your intense pleasure. You managed to make a frustrated noise, and Xavier gently stroked your jaw.

“Come on, surely kissing isn't the reason you came here?” He gave you a curious look and you had a moment of clarity through the haze. He noticed the momentary sobriety, before letting one of his fingers gently rub against one of your nipples.

The sensation shot through your body and another moan ripped through you. “Thought so.”

You were quickly bundled into strong arms, and were laid out onto a soft surface. Xavier joined you on the bed, and moved to trap you between himself and the bed.

“Time for the main event, pet.” he breathed out, his eyes having grown even more intense than before.

Something about this well dressed, hungry vampire looming over you made you feel so desired, you wanted him to drink from you, to have a taste of you, to fuck you senseless.

It wasn't long before he dipped down and took your nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive bud. You writhed under him, and he had to grab your shoulders to keep you still. It was torturous, each flick of the tongue made you feel so good, but it wasn't enough.

That is, until he moved one of his hands to gently stroke at your folds.

You came instantly, and almost screamed, the feeling of that sudden action tipping you over the edge.

You felt Xavier chuckling against you, still licking at your nipple as he hovered his hand over your pussy.

“That was fast. Do it again,” he went right back to sucking on your breast, and you felt his hand come down on you again.

You didn't come instantly this time, but you weren't far off as the haziness of your mind and the overload of sensitivity had you hurtling towards your next orgasm. Xavier didn't let up though, and your body didn't put up any resistance as his fingers played around with your folds and clit, the little bundle of nerves almost on fire under the thorough touch of his fingers.

You were vaguely aware of him moving upwards, kissing a trail on your skin, before nuzzling your neck.

Xavier hummed in approval, and gave a quick lick over your neck. “You smell so good.... I want a taste.” His voice was quiet, skirting over your skin. “Can I?”

A noise came out from you, approving. You could barely concentrate on anything, and when Xavier's soft lips touched the base of your neck, his fingers still in you, your mind suddenly went blank.

For a while, your mind and consciousness was almost separated from your body, the only thing you were aware of was immense pleasure.

It lasted for so long. You couldn't tell how long you were in this state of pure bliss.

Slowly, you felt like you were coming back to yourself.

With a sigh, you blinked your eyes open, finding yourself cradled next to Xavier, wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey,” he said, sheepishly. “How are you feeling?”

You couldn't help the blush that crept on your face at the sight of his warm smile. Were his cheeks a bit red too? Something had changed in him. You couldn't pinpoint it, but he seemed more lively.

“I-I'm ok,” You mumbled into the blanket. “That was... amazing.”

“It's pretty cool, huh?” Xavier laughed, before smoothing back his hair and sitting up, his clothes still impeccable despite what had transpired. “Would you like me to get you some tea and cakes?”

You had requested for a caring service, but you hadn't quite expected to be tucked into bed and to get served tea and sweets after getting fucked thoroughly. You hadn't even fucked, really, but it certainly felt like you had been. Xavier left the room, giving you a warm smile as he exited the room. You were left in this cozy, luxurious room, alone. You tentatively sat up, feeling a bit wobbly, and you reached for the robe that had been set neatly on the bed.

You quickly robed yourself, and it wasn't long before Xavier returned with a new tray and sauntered over to the bed. “Here, we have tea, chamomile again, and some cakes. I wasn't sure which one you'd like, take your pick.” He set down the tray after sitting down, and gestured over to a selection of little slices. “You should definitely eat. I didn't drink much, but you need to make sure that you eat something to get your strength back.”

You reached for what looked like lemon drizzle cake, and took a bite from the slice. It was delicious.

You let out a throaty moan at the taste, and reached for the cup of tea. Xavier lifted up his own cup of tea, and took a sip.

“So, happy with the service?” He turned his head to look at you, smiling.

You smiled back at him, feeling your cheeks burn again, and nodded.

“That was... definitely unlike anything else I had ever experience.” You took a sip of your tea. “I'm more than happy.”

You shared that little moment together, silent save for the sound of tea being sipped and cake being eaten. You didn't mind, it was comfortable, and you had a chance to collect yourself.

“Would you like me to stay for a bit or are you ready to head home?” Xavier broke the silence, putting his cup down onto the tray with a clink. You sighed, and eventually put down your own cup.

“I think... that I'm ready to head home. Your company was lovely tonight and, well,” you avoided looking at him momentarily as an unprecedented wave of shyness overcame you. “I think... I would definitely like to visit again.”

Xavier smiled, and you felt your heart flutter for a moment as he leaned over and gave your hand a kiss.

“I do hope you come by again, you're delectable, pet.” He winked, before picking up the tray again and heading towards the door. “I'll be going now, I hope you have a safe trip back home and I hope to see you again, but remember, there's a mandatory 2 week wait between visits so you can recover.”

“Yes, I remember,” You nodded, and waved as he disappeared behind the door, shutting it with him.

You got up, cleaned yourself up, and dressed yourself. You left the room behind, and exited the hallway.

“Heyo, is that you done for tonight?” Amandine asked, smiling as you came out to the lobby.

“Yes... it was certainly an experience.” You said. You dug through your handbag for your wallet to pay up the fee, and soon you noticed how soft your body felt. “Relaxed? Xavier's a pro at what he does. If you want to make sure you get an appointment with him again, then please do phone up beforehand.” Amandine quickly shuffled some things behind the desk and brought up a small gift parcel, placing it on the counter.

“What's this?” you asked, quizically.

“All visitors get a little gift parcel. It's not much bit it's a few goodies and snacks to make sure you recover.” Amandine smiled, nudging the parcel over. “After all, there's a bit of a symbiotic relationship between us and our clients.”

You have an understanding nod and picked up the parcel, and bid your farewells.

On the way home, you felt calm, but there was a bit of a pep in your step, as you walked with confidence. That visit had definitely left a mark on you, and you made sure to write up a note on your calendar for exactly two weeks from then to set up a second visit to that handsome vampire.

#terato #exophilia #vampire #monster boyfriend #spicy #lemon

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briandthemoon · 4 years

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~ Uploading this WIP here too! ~ {You can see both on my deviantArt too [same username], but with some of the original ideas and thoughts.} So uh, I did what I do best and shoved two things I love and have been hyperfocusing on for the last month together: Sanders Sides and RWBY.

I’ve been binging @thatsthat24 ‘s Sanders Sides videos and fan comics for the last month or so and by god, it’s really lifted my mood. I’m gonna work to get them all lined and coloured soon, but since I’ll be travelling in the next week, I’ll likely have paper sketches and such to upload if I’m lucky.

As for this AU, say hello to Team RNBO [Rainbow]! This is what I have so far in terms of character information; [putting it under a readmore, please do have a look!]

Roman De La Rosa:

- Semblance: "Picture This" - the ability to conjure an item proportional to the positive emotions he alone is feeling. So the happier and more creative he feels, the better.

- Weapons: “Armas Y Rosas“, a gauntlet-gun [armas] and a rosen rapier sword [rosas]. It’s literally just a Guns N Roses joke.

Virgil Nightshade:

- Black Cat Faunus. I didn’t realise til too late how similar to Blake he is but honestly, idc, I love him.

- Semblance: "Panic Room" - the ability to conjure a small isolated, soundproof space to trap someone in. Including himself in times of distress.

- Weapons: “Atropa” and “Solanum”, two knives with dust vials that attach to the end to infuse the metal. He usually uses Gravity Dust because 1) aesthetic and 2) if you have gravity defying Dust? Thats a cool escape my guy.

Logan Blu-Berrie:

- Semblance: “Blu-Screen of Death” - the ability to perform computer-esque functions via summons, i.e. attacking someone with a text box he just conjured, or browsing data and memories on a summoned screen for accuracy.

- Weapon: “Crofter”, a staff-spear that uses projection similar to Velvet’s weapon to form blades when needed. I.E. turning the staff into an axe or hammer or even forming a fishing line. [Looking at this whole thing, Logan wound up giving me big Scottish vibes in this AU and I’m SO for it.]

Patton Opal:

- Labrador Faunus, best boy 1000/10, didn’t have to re-work his design at all, what a madlad

- Semblance: "New Trick" - the ability to mark a person and be able to find them via a boosted scent marker. So far Roman smells like strawberries and creme, Virgil smells like smokey wood, and Logan smells like jam. And yes, Patton has tried tracking himself. He smells of vanilla cookies.

Weapon: “Storge”, a shield - axe combo. Mostly used in the shield position unless he’s forced to be active in a fight. Tried to give this weapon BIG Rose Quartz Shield Vibes.

Remus Pepinillo:

- for those wondering, he threw out the De La Rosa name when he left the family to go eat deoderants without judgement. And to go cause havoc.

- Semblance: “Can’t Be Unseen” - Similar to Roman’s semblance, Remus can conjure items but instead based upon other people’s negative emotions directed at him. So things like disgust and fear directed at him make him stronger.

- Weapon: “Asqueroso”, a mace that can be wielded in pole form or as a chain flail. The name literally is just the spanish for “Disgusting”.

“Deceit“:

- Python faunus. Pretty obvious there. As for a name, I’ll work with whatever becomes canon, tbh. His hat snake isn’t real, it’s just a design, but he has named his hat “Monty”.

- Semblance: “Trust in Me” - Deceit can mimic someone else’s voice to the point of being hypnotic in some cases.

- Weapon: “Kaa”, a microphone that can amplify sounds to use as ammo, or can be combined with dust vials for other effects, such as fire breathing or ice breath. This is absolutely where Virgil got the idea for his knives.

~~ Little Things In Their Designs Collectively~~

- So mostly Roman and Virgil had a revamp and got added or changed details. I’m personally loving the rose decals for Roman, and the fact that Virgil has to keep sewing his hoodie pocket sides back up because he keeps knee-jerk whipping out his knives and catching them on the sides. Also freckles. I cannot stress enough how much I needed to give one of these cute lil guys freckles.

- Logan and Patton really didn’t change much; Patton came out perfect the first time, and Logan just needed some proportion adjustments. Later I went and added friendship bracelets to each design because I do not believe for a second that Patton wouldn’t make them team bracelets. The card suit beads was just an addition that I added because I am the artist and none of you can stop me from adding the tiniest of references to Homestuck Quadrants.

- For Roman and Remus, I wanted them to have similar poses but good god, it was still hard to draw Remus’s hands. They look so good in the end though so I’m good with ‘em. I also might give him a little top hat or something at some point and see how it looks, I dunno.

- As for Deceit, I had a bit of trouble trying to pin down his design at first, but once I rolled with the allusions to Kaa from Jungle Book, it went far easier. I quite like that I added the poisonous needles in the bottom of his boots as a “sting in the tail” kind of thing.

- Talking about inspirations and such, Roman, Virgil, and Patton are pretty much just colour based; Roman being red roses [his name literally being Roman of the Rose] as a symbol of romance of course, with Virgil’s whole motif being Edgey and thus going with nightshade purple as his colour, and finally with Patton, his name took me the longest to work out, but Opal seemed to fit really well, and considering it represents Love and Loyalty? Come on, I had to.

- As for Logan, Deceit, and Remus, they all got more story links worked in somehow without me really realising. Logan was really unexpected, but between the Crofters’ Jam link and the blue colours, he gave me sort of Little Boy Blue vibes, and also via the name Logan being Scottish in origin and yknow, everythign else I mentioned? Yeah. I will definitely be adding celtic flair to his design when its coloured. Deceit is more obvious; Kaa was a good choice in influence that I noticed halfway through and just buckled down on. For Remus, he bounced around a bit between Maleficent and Dr Facilier, but in the end, I figured the Shadow Man was a better fit. Also his surname is literally just the Spanish for “Pickle” or “Gherkin”.

- Final info, if people are wondering, they’d all be centred on Huntsman training at Beacon, but in terms of where they’re from;

Roman and Remus would be from Atlas, obviously. That place spits out rich kids with issues like it’s quickfire Uno.

Virgil would be from Mantle; it’s pretty obviously one of the more run down and hard to live in areas, plus that’d set up the in this universe initial animosity between Roman and Virgil.

Logan is from Vale, so he’s a Beacon native. I considered him being from Atlas because of their tech. However, Vale won me over with Logan’s european influences and such.

Patton would be from Vacuo. I know its a weird choice, but hey, it’s full of faunus and it just fit a bit better than Menagerie or Mistral.

Speaking of, Deceit is 100% Menagerie born, but Mistral bred. He often tells people different conflicting origin stories, and won’t even tell his name to ex-buddy Virgil or ‘best buddy’ Remus.

I think that’s everything so far!!

I dunno if everyone else is as hype to see what comes of all this as I am, but either way I’m going to have fun doing it. <3

_______ PLEASE DO NOT: - repost my art at all - you are not permitted to line or colour this art - you are not permitted to use this art as an icon or profile pic - do not steal these designs, I put a lot of work into them ;; _______ Sanders Sides (c) @thatsthat24 RWBY (c) Monty Oum & Rooster Teeth The sketches belong to me.

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alias-b · 4 years

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sins of my youth. 010

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello everyone. Slice of life in Hawkins when Evie ventures out and encounters different residents. Warning that things are going to take a turn so TW for manipulating and explicit physical abuse. Light racism. Evie receives some horrible threats when she tries to make a change for the better. Thank you all for turning in. Heavy heavy chapter, way more personal than I like. TAGLIST OPEN ! Chat with me if you have time. :)

Chapter 10: A Little More Sin

There were some peculiar things Billy Hargrove noted about the way Evie Fenny slept.

She burrowed into whatever was around. Face buried like she might be trying to smother herself.

She made little noise except occasional whimpers. Arguably cute.

She went dead still. He checked to make sure the girl was breathing at one point.

His favorite were the whines that erupted when he tried to untangle himself from her on the couch. Early morning daylight streamed between curtains. Silent white noise scattered the television.

A reminder of snow tumbling fresh and pristine. Washing away what was before it. Evie had fallen asleep in her fit of exhaustion still wrapped in him.

Billy simply didn’t feel like leaving so he fell too. Cast in amber. Bodies molded together.

Evie turned to burrow into the sofa and Blue came to nestle just above her crown of big curls. Billy peered at the empty pizza box and grabbed a marker to scribble a note she’d wake to. Propped it up and grabbed his coat.

Paused to admire her because that was inevitable. One look cast before he was out into the grey morning. Ice and snow as far as the eye can see.

“Shit. I'm still in Hawkins.” Billy perched a cigarette between his lips and lit up. Prepared himself for Max’s gawking when he walked in that door.

Evie stirred another hour later. Still smelling Billy’s cologne all over the couch and herself. Blue sat perched, licking her knuckle. No doubt begging for more food.

“I know,” Evie pushed out a groan, “I got you.” Brown eyes focused on bold, black letters. Marked into the grease stained pizza box.

Billy long gone.

Probably freaked that a girl sobbed on him and passed out. Evie huffed to herself. Rubbed her eyes and plucked up the box to read.

“Gonna ask you out…again. Tonight. Seven. I’ll even let you pick where we go.”

Evie shook her head and pushed up.

Figured another night with Billy Hargrove is one of the few things in her life that won’t hurt.

*** ** **

If you asked her, she’d lie.

Evie totally wasn’t out picking a new top for her not-date with Billy. Definitely not.

She wasn't worrying over the exactly placement of her curls and wondering if Billy thought they were pretty down over her shoulders.

Poor girl just...felt the urge to thrift shop. Most of her shirts and dresses were altered items she’d found. Ugly patterns galore. Evie mused over a top with an intricately painted bowl of fruit on the front and spotted a familiar helmet of red hair sitting near the fitting rooms.

“It doesn’t fit me. It’s too big.” Came a rough woman's voice from behind the curtain.

Carol only huffed as she checked her manicure and stood. Evie hid behind a tall rack of dresses when a woman came out.

She might have had the same vibrant red hair as her daughter. Once. But it was lifeless and tossed into a bun on her head.

Carol’s mother. Dorthy Perkins. Skinny, nervous thing with a slight pouch to her stomach. Tooth gap and some healed sores in her hairline. Kept rubbing her covered arms. Sunken in and shaky. Noticeable sweat on her forehead.

Obviously in need of a fix. She used to be a beauty queen like Mona. They might have even competed together, they both had daughters too young.

She came out in a velvety blouse that was too long for her torso. Little baggy around the arms.

“You didn’t tie it right. Here.” Carol wasn’t her usual bubbly self. Not the girl who schemed about terrorizing underclassmen. “Maybe we can tuck it into something.”

“I look so ugly.” Her mother peered aside. Covered her face. “That’s why Jason walked out.”

“He’s a piece of shit.” Carol mumbled.

“He was like a father to you. We spent almost seven years together. I’m ugly.”

“Stop saying that. We’re better off without him.” Carol asserted herself that time.

“He’ll be back, he always is.”

Carol only frowned, faltering. That much was true.

The false hope of it all killed.

“This color is pretty.” She went on instead. “You like blue. We can tuck it into that black skirt you have. Maybe a belt.”

“Skirt’s no good. It’s all worn and discolored. Never should have let you do the laundry.”

“Someone had to. I said sorry. You were drunk and...I saw those needles.”

“Carol, don’t speak to me like that.” This switch flipped on. She snatched her daughter’s wrist. Looked like she might try to break it.

Evie never saw that look in Carol's eyes before. It pricked her own heart with pure, pooling fear. This girl who always looked her best and turned her nose up toward everyone else.

Because she knew better.

Carol and Evie had that much in common.

Her mother continued. Darkening.

“I was not drunk. I gave it up. I’m better.”

Carol wiggled away uncomfortably. Winced at her now irritated flesh. Looked around to make sure no one saw them.

“Just keep your voice down. We’ll figure out something. You need a nice outfit. You have to get this job. Nail place doesn't pay me enough. I just started.” Carol shook her head at the same time Evie knocked into some hangers backing up.

Instantly, she was spotted.

“Evangeline Fenny.” Her mother plastered this crackling smile as she stood taller. Carol’s arms crossed. Immediate hatred. “Did you lose weight?”

“Mom.” Carol hissed.

“Hi…” Evie blinked, lips lifting. “And, no, but thank you.”

“Oh well, you look pretty. How’s your mother?” It was a courtesy. Mona wasn’t close with Mrs. Perkins. Or Carol’s stepdad. They weren’t liked in Hawkins. Kept to themselves in a dingy house. Drinkers. Users.

But, that's all nasty gossip. Carol was quick to shut it down.

“Fine.” Evie started to shuffle off because Carol looked like she was begging silently. Paused. “I like that color too and you can hem the bottom.”

“Not all of us sew.” Carol turned to ice. Evie reached into her one of her reusable grocery bags. Pulled out a little package.

“I like to cheat with this. Hem tape. It’s fast, you just iron it along the bottom. It holds well.”

“Let me pay you for that.” Mrs. Perkins grabbed her worn purse.

“No, it’s cheap and I picked up extra. They had a sale today.” The second part was a lie. Evie held it as far out as she could. Carol crossed over. Plucked it from her hand with glittery pink gemstones for fingertips.

A beat. Two girls orbiting the same great planet. Threatening to be yanked into a storm.

“Thanks.” Carol sucked her cheeks in. “Mom, go change.”

“See you late, Evie.” The woman wandered off. Carol inhaled sharper. Peered at Evie again.

“New top to show off for Bowers when school starts?” She flicked her tangerine locks, brow lifting.

Evie pressed her lips. Brown eyes narrowing.

“It’s good to see you too, Carol.” She avoided that and turned.

“I just think you should give it up. It’s really pathetic. Everyone thinks so.” Carol sneered. Looked anywhere else. “The girl who went psycho on Tannen. Dressing up for our teacher. He’s just being nice because he feels sorry for you.”

Evie paused to peer back. Felt her own pity swell.

“Then, I guess you have nothing to worry about. Huh.” She watched Carol flame up and went to pay for her items. Not able to look back. Not able to admit a connection was possible or that such distinct planets could ever align.

Boots hurried out into the cold, cheeks blooming rosy. She wrapped her scarf tighter and got near the bus stop before a hand was jerking her around into the side of a brick building.

Speak of the devil and he’ll appear. Evie's shoulders went up.

“What the fuck, Tannen? I thought Hawkins was scum you’d never set foot in.” She grunted. Saw his furious eyes dart.

“You really think I don’t know about your fucking band of ragtag shitheads? I saw you all.” He pressed his hand into the wall.

“Heard you’re single now.” Evie remarked. Fingers ripped her up a few inches by the coat.

“Don’t fuck with me, Fenny.” He said lower. Dangerous as can be.

“You already tried that game, Brock, and you lost.” Evie spat back there in the snow. He dropped her down. Laughed.

“Got closer than you liked. We had a moment.”

“It was a kiss and you were a creep.”

"You spazzed, girl, and I'm gonna find out why. What has Evie Fenny so shaken up?"

"Have you considered it's the effect you have?" Evie sneered.

“Better be careful in the coming weeks. I just wouldn’t go anywhere alone.” Across the street, his dad hollered for him, coming out of city hall.

“Daddy’s calling. Bet you’re having trouble getting away from his watchful eyes.” Evie shrugged. Shoving his arm away. "Stay away from me."

“Like I'd ever hit this for real. Fucking Psycho Sybil. That's what we call you up at Ridgemont. You’re a fat, fucking slut and you’ll never be anything else-”

“Excuse me!” A sharper voice cut in. Tannen leaned out from Evie to peer at Mr. Clarke. Bundled and unsuspecting. Not intimidating by any means, but he wasn’t backing down. “I think you outta leave her alone, Mr. Tannen.”

“We were just talking, sir.” Tanned peered at Evie, backing up. “For now. See you around, Fenny. Bet on that.” His dad called for him again so he crossed to go to their expensive, red car.

“Are you alright, Evie?” Scott Clarke. Hawkins Middle. One of Dustin’s idols.

She just sniffled. Hadn’t realized she'd even welled up.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“You know he’s the jerk, right?”

Evie roused to laugh, nodding. Psycho Sybil. That was a new one.

“Yes, I do. Thanks.” She looked down at her feet.

“Did you take the bus here?” He had a bag of books from the library in hand. Evie nodded again. “Do you want a ride home? I’d feel better knowing you’re safe. Don’t worry about guys like that. He’s going to lose all his hair and money and amount to nothing.”

Evie broke again to giggle. Little brighter now. What a teacher.

“Y-Yeah, I guess so.” Eyes peered at Scott’s grey car. “Is...that a DeLorean?”

“Gift from me to myself. My pride and joy now. Neat, huh? Dustin loved it. Do you still babysit him?”

“Not a lot these days, he’s best friends with Steve Harrington. A real cool guy now. I’m old news.” Evie stepped forward, adjusting with all her bags.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re pretty snazzy as they kids say… They do say that, right?”

“Ahhh, not really.” Evie watched him chuckle.

Mr. Clarke wasn't like her dad. Lanky and sweet. Always ready to brighten your dad being dorky. Jack was a cool business man. Smooth talker. Scott always made time for his students too. That was the biggest difference.

“Can I get you home safe? No pressure, I just can’t stand to see a boy act like that.” Scott gestured and Evie pressed her lips.

“Okay.” She almost said no. Had this gut feeling she should have. Not because of Scott. The guy was a sitcom star and a genius. A genuinely good man. But, a feeling gnawed like she was being watched. The door swung up.

“Neato, right?”

“That’s certainly one word. How strange.” Evie got in and Scott came around. Turned the car on to go. “Thanks...for the ride and for saying something. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course, I did. Stepping in when we see that behavior is important. It's bare minimum. I was bullied when I was young and one day I decided I wasn't going to take it anymore. The rest is history. Good history.” He turned a corner. Fiddled with the radio trying to find something the kids listen to. Evie smirked a little at that. “How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s...okay. Working a lot more.”

“And yourself? I know you had a rough year. I hope that’s not too forward to say. I try to ask Claudia about how your family is. Purely worried teacher talk. You know? I consider Mona a good friend.” He beamed there. Blushing.

“No, uh, it’s been hard. I guess.” Evie shrugged. Stared at the trees.

“My parents divorced when I was about your age. It was hard on me. My mom was one tough cookie, even found love again and they’re still happily married. Silver lining.” Mr. Clarke explained. “And I might not understand it fully myself, but I recently ended a relationship. Couple months and we both agreed with her relocating. Still friends even. Nice end. But, it’s something hard to process. A person not being there.”

Evie turned to see him watching the road carefully. Something resonated deeply.

“Mr. Clarke?"

"Yes?"

"How...do you end a relationship nicely?”

“You just be as honest as you can, I suppose. This is a person who cares about you, they should understand at some length. Life takes us so many places.” He paused at a light and turned onto Cherry. “Which house were you?”

“4817, right next to the Hargrove’s there.” Evie pointed, gathering her items. “I’ll tell my mom you said, hello. Thanks again.”

“Certainly, do that. Strange not seeing her every morning in that cafe by her shop. Take care and don’t let losers like Mr. Tannen bring you down.”

“I won’t, Mr. Clarke.” Evie beamed again and pushed out. “See you around.” She stood and jumped at Billy next to his mailbox. A wide grin crossing because of the car make.

“Look who has style.” Billy bent over to see and Evie rolled her eyes. “Mr. Clarke. We should race sometime.”

“Staying out of trouble, Mr. Hargrove?”

“Always.” He stood taller to wink at Evie as she waved then shut the door so Mr. Clarke could drive off. "And no one's pushed that guy into a locker?"

"He's snazzy as the kids say." Evie joked. Billy snickered to himself. “So, Tannen cornered me. He’s upset.”

“He cause you trouble?” Billy was distractedly stuffing a cigarette into his mouth. Evie’s lips quirked before she plucked it out. Turned it over so he had the correct end between his teeth.

Billy blinked at her proximity.

“Tried to. His dad is on him and Mr. Clarke saved the day. I don’t care about Tannen.” Psycho Sybil. Fat slut. Trying to dress up and impress her teacher. Her teacher that she was fucking. Every syllable was another sharp tack in her stomach.

Evie shifted her eyes so he changed the subject. Suggestive.

“You get my note?”

“Hard to ignore.” She peered back at him.

“That’s how I’d best describe myself, Angel.” Billy mused, blowing smoke aside. Got closer to drop the baritone. “And if I were to show up at the scheduled time? I’ll even wear the white shirt you like.”

A smile betrayed her face. Nose crinkling. Billy matched it. Not yielding.

“I might be open to a discussion at that time.” Evie turned. Voice softening. Still intent. “There’s something I need to do first.”

Billy didn’t ask what. Just watched her saunter up into her house. Enjoyed the view.

After locking the door, Evie unpacked her bags.

“Yes, I got you something too.” She watched Blue come to paw at plastic. “I spoiled you, actually. Let’s eat and put your new collar on, shall we?”

Evie got some stuff done. Food. Real food. Got Blue set up with some cat necessities. Red collar with a shiny bell. Pulled out her sewing machine to work on a couple garments. Until her hands ached. Distractions were good.

Her personal phone trilled.

“Fenny residence.” She plucked it up. Same lacquer candy apple as her painted nails.

“Evie.” Terse.

“Fredrick. You’re calling me?”

“I know your mother isn’t home and it’s your line," he explained, "I figured we were safe.”

“I was...actually going to call you soon, can we talk?”

“Oh?” His tone changed. “Now?”

“In person.”

“Right, then I’ll come get you in a bit.”

“No, there’s a bus. I’ll take that.” Evie paused. “It’s important.”

“Don’t let anyone see you on the street. See you soon.”

“Yes.” They hung up. Evie pulled on a fresh shirt and red hoodie. Brought it up over her curls. Bundled herself to venture out around four that afternoon. Three hours should have been enough. Red riding hood venturing to see the world.

She caught the bus and got off a street over. Tried to breathe. Nervous hands applied some strawberry tinted chapstick before she knocked.

“Come in.” Fredrick hurried her inside with one arm. They stood together in the narrow hallway of his rental flat. She brought her hood down. Prepared. He jumped ahead of her, dead set. “Dear, I think I know what this is about.”

“You do?” Evie dropped her arms. Standing inches from him.

“The marriage talk. Listen, I shouldn’t have pushed it. I know you probably think coming here to agree to it is what you want. Being a young girl, running off into the sunset is what you dreamed of. But, make sure you’re choosing the best decision for you-”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Evie spoke flatter. He double took at her expression. Got almost nervous.

“It’s not?” His entire body shifted.

“No.” Evie replied. Plain and simple. Not even a second thought.

It seemed to jar him. She wasn’t swooning into his arms or falling to her knees in worship.

“Well, I’m still glad you’re here.” Instantly, Fredrick was on Evie. Snatched her jaw forth for a kiss. Cupped the back of her head and moaned. Needy and sudden. Not the cool, collected teacher who was tsking because a young girl was falling deeply for him.

“Wait.” Evie was just standing there with her lips open. Eyes on a decorative framed print of Zeus and Europa. Not reciprocating while his tongue wormed inside. “Mmf, wait.” She tilted her head back. “I wanted to talk.” Brown eyes looked all directions.

"Let's talk after," he purred, "my sweet Evie. Look so pretty in red. Straight from the pages of Lolita. Sometimes I want to call you that, it'd fit you. You never did like Evangeline." It was clearly a joke, but she didn't laugh. "Oh, what about Abigail? From The Crucible. We always liked her. Something with a little more sin."

Psycho Sybil. Abigail. Lolita.

"I really want to just talk, is that okay?" Asking permission to not have sex. That was a new one and he did appear irritated. She shuffled and held herself when he stepped back.

“What’s going on, Evie?” He stood a great deal taller, hands on his hips.

“I think…” She tried to find all the right words. “I think maybe we should slow down?”

"Slow down."

"Ah...stop." Evie corrected herself. Aching. "I think we-"

“What were you doing in that man’s car today?” Fredrick cut in. Ignoring her.

“You saw me?”

“Yes, I was running my errands and I know I can’t approach you. It’ll look too strange. What was that about?”

“It… Mr. Clarke was just giving me a ride home.” Evie brought her hand up. Clutched at her hoodie.

“I just wondered if maybe you had a pattern.” He turned his head and shook it idly. “Let’s go sit down. Talk like adults.” He ushered Evie into the living room. She didn’t want to sit but followed to do it anyways. “What’s all this about, Evie? Explain it to me.”

“I care about you. You were there for me. I know that and I don’t… I won’t take it for granted. I’m just...distracted. You know, high school is ending and I think this... “ Evie closed her eyes. The truth of it was ice. “I don’t want this.”

“This? Us?”

She pressed her lips. Tried to stare at his face. Too many emotions flitting across it.

“I think we just want different things. And that’s okay-”

“You came back, Evie. All that time we spent together. That incredible summer we had. We were happy. It can always be like that."

"But," Evie realized it too, "it won't be."

"I know you’re scared. But, the future.” He took her hand in both of his. Held it tight. “Our future. We planned it. You must be terrified. Your dad left, that doesn’t mean I’ll leave you. I'll never leave you, Evie. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“N-No…” Evie trembled. Unable to wiggle her hand away. “I think we should...just part ways. I’ll switch classes if you want. I need to focus on finishing school and-”

“I don’t want you to switch classes, do you think I can’t be mature about this?” He narrowed on her awed face. “This isn’t you, what’s gotten into your head all the sudden? Is there someone else?”

She froze. Honesty. He loved her, he'd understand.

“It’s not about that.”

“But, there is someone else?” Fredrick shook his head. Ran one hand into blond hair. Still clutching her wrist. “You tell them about us? Huh? This isn’t some silly high school game. I asked you for one thing. To keep it together.” Her jerked Evie into him.

“No! I didn’t.” She winced. “You’re hurting me.”

“No, I’m not.” Fredrick scoffed. Like she was being truly unreasonable. Alarms started to go off in her brain.

“I’ll never tell anyone, just...please. I can’t do this. It’s me. I can’t do this. I have to work on myself and it’s not fair to you. That’s all.” Evie tried to stand.

“We’re talking still, Evangeline!” A finger pointed before he tugged her back into him. Hands latched around her arms. Squeezed harsh marks into skin. “I don’t understand. Suddenly, you want out. You’re acting all afraid of me? Who knows about us?”

“No one!” She whimpered. Lungs sputtering. “I won’t ever tell anyone. I promise. I just need to think.”

“You can think right here.” He soothed. Pulling her into his chest. All the games where he played hard to get and she crawled back were lost. He really might lose her. That blared. “Let’s get something to calm your nerves. Then, you can rest and we can keep talking. I fought so hard for us. You understand that? Do you even care?”

“I don’t need to drink. I think I should just go home. I care, that's why I need to do this. It's a good thing. We can...still be friends.” Evie’s palms were spread on his chest. “My mom-”

“Isn’t even in town. I hardly think she’ll care even if her daughter is out late. Isn’t that right, dear? We both know she’s always been more preoccupied with her salon and who she’s screwing than her own daughter.” Blue eyes were alight at her. Evie went very still. "I'm the adult, I should have told your mother from the first. But, I couldn't deny you. And she doesn't even care about you, Evie, not like I do."

"Don't say that..."

He started to charge. A mad bull clicking its hooves.

“Everything we have, you just want to throw away? Move on and giggle with all your fucking little friends about me? Is that it? Think you can laugh at me and leave like my wife did-?”

“Ow, please, let me go.” Evie started to twist in the struggle. Terrified and yanking as he tugged her back into his chest. “That hurts, Fredrick, please. You're hurting me.”

“I love you, god damn it!” He shook her. Began to flame. “You want to go? Fine!”

A hard shove sent her head bouncing into the wall. Flames burst.

Evie tumbled over into hardwood. Eyes wet. Slumped down. The world almost went black. When she didn’t get up immediately, he was over her. Shifting curls from her face as she made this odd croak. Skull throbbing white hot.

Memories flashed and burnt.

“Shit... Shit, Evie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. You do this to us, you know? Oh, I just love you too much, I won’t lose you. You’re okay, it’s fine. Come, let’s get you to lie down. I’ll make you feel better.”

Evie licked her lips. Curls shaking as her head rose to see him. Hands braced on the floor to steady her dizzy frame.

The truth burned now. Became ashes.

“I don’t love you anymore.” She offered. Small and assured. Fredrick exhaled, petting her hair aside. Time slowed.

“Since, when?” He grew breathless as if he didn't understand.

“Now. Just now.” Evie pushed up into the wall. Curled away from his hands. “I want to stop.”

“Stop? After everything.”

“It’s me...and it’s you. This was wrong. It's so wrong.” She sniffled. Mascara running. “I think I should go home now. I don't feel well.”

“What if I said, no? What if I said, I don’t want you to go home?” A slow hand curled around her arm again. He got close to her face. Started to kiss her lips and temple. “I’m so sorry, Evie. Just come to bed and lie down.” He cupped her tender head, nodding. A smile beamed. “We’ll talk about this. I’ll make you feel so good. Yeah? Because only I know how.”

She tried to be hard. Tried to scare this man who still cast a shadow over her body. Fredrick started to pull her up. Pawing. Evie resisted and stayed on the floor.

“Then, I’ll tell people about you. About us.”

“Evie,” he froze to speak slower as if she was stupid, “it’s your word against mine.”

“I have a lot of words to describe you and this place and things we did. Your word against mine. I don’t need the world to believe me. Just a couple people will be enough…” She trembled and steeled against him. Fredrick dropped her like she scorched him. “They’ll ask you questions. So, let me go-”

“Is that so? You want to ruin my life?” He set his jaw.

Evie’s expression wrinkled with contained fury. A wave that would destroy an oncoming ship.

“No, you do.”

One snap. She felt the air leave her body. Yanked out crudely. A jerk that howled up her stomach. Sent her diaphragm into a panic.

He’d kicked her. Hard. Directly in the side. She came up choking and Fredrick lost his mind. Kicked her in the rib and hip until she was curled against the wall. Limbs flailing.

Screaming.

Fredrick began to panic too. As the sound echoed. Started to slap at her until that screaming stopped. Evie ripped his shirt trying to wiggle away into the hall. Got jerked over on her side

“Quiet. Just be quiet, Evie! Shut up!” One knee came down into her chest, held Evie still. Metal seeped along her tongue. A fist closed and the entire crescent of her eye swelled. Sound cut. A hand smacked her lips. Smothered her down.

Evie’s whimper choked there. She stilled. Petrified.

The frame with poor Europa crashed to the floor. Long fractures cast her painted, twisting body.

Evie stared at it. The shape of the mighty, handsome bull Zeus turned himself into to lure prey. Sweeping lovely Europa off her feet. Lungs were still sputtering to take in fresh air. Not getting enough.

For a moment, Evie thought he'd really kill her. Turned pink. Then red. Then blue. Then purple.

"I...c-can't breathe." It was the tiniest squeak imaginable. His knee shifted and some air seized.

“I just need you to be quiet,” Frederick whimpered. “I’ll let you go. Okay. I’ll let you go right home if you do it silently. If you tell someone about us, I’m going to have to hurt you again. I won't let you ruin my life. Just like my fucking wife. You can't be like her. You were too special. So, I'll hurt you, Evie. Do you want that? Do you think I want this?”

The moment her head shook, his hand came up. A gasp as she was able to breathe again. Choking and coughing. Dying.

“Fuck.” Fredrick turned her body over. “Can you move everything, alright?”

Evie refused to look at him.

“Why’d you make me do that, Evie? I can’t believe you. Screaming like a fucking child. I just needed you to be quiet. I wasn't trying to hurt you, damn it, I just needed you to be quiet.” He was breathing heavily. Frantic. Same way he would after screwing her. “God damn it.”

Hands roamed to check her over. Frederick hovered, tilted her face toward his to prod.

“Look like a broken doll like this. You’re still so pretty. You’re okay. It’s not bad.” That sounded like a lie. Evie could feel her eye socket puffing. Boiling heat. “We can make it better.”

He kissed her unmoving lips. Desperately.

“You should stay here, let me look after you.” He cooed that. Came down to lie next to her. Bringing her head into his. Stroking her hair and kissing her hot, salty cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Fredrick was crying too. Into her neck. Hard.

“I can’t lose you. I can’t stop thinking about you some days. I was ready for it to be you. Do you realize that? If this is about… Just tell me, let me fix it. Evie. I don’t want you to leave me.” He came up and sniffled pathetically. Like a baby. Saw her cold, empty eyes. "I love you, I need you to take care of me. Please, Evie."

Psycho Sybil. Abigail. Lolita. Europa. A little more sin.

Evie was somewhere else. Pressed into the wall to disappear. A hand touched her knee and Evie seized up. Scrambled back. Aching. Gasping to just be far, far away.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She said without a tremor of emotions. Eyes distant. Evie pushed herself up carefully while he hovered. “I’m gonna go home now. I'll be so quiet.”

“Let me drive you. Evie. I can fix this.” He begged and pulled at her clothes. “I can put you back together.”

Evie limped to the door.

“No, you can't, Fredrick,” she droned, “but thank you for trying anyways.” That would mean something. Anything.

It had to, right?

The door shut and he didn’t run after her. Evie whimpered up to the bus stop while cold licked her cheeks dry. Snow and ice glimmered. Too beautiful for how ugly she felt. She pulled her hood up and paid. Draped herself across a seat in the back.

Another two riders got on. Tommy H with an older woman in a plush coat. His stepmom. Caused some controversy back when Tommy was a child. His white dad would marry a black woman after Tommy’s mom passed away. Cancer.

Christ. This fucking town.

Nice lady. Sometimes she came into Mona’s shop to see her because Mona knew her way around textured curls. Evie sank down, but Tommy noticed her.

It was strange, the expression that crossed his face. She was hidden in her hoodie half behind her puffy curls. But that splotchy face and discolored skin gave the obvious away.

He didn’t jeer and instead sat down. Peered out at the street and saw the orange Plymouth there. Eyes narrowed.

“Sorry about the car, mom.” He spoke when she joined him.

“It happens, honey, it’ll be out of the shop tomorrow. We’ll tell dad that I bumped the basketball hoop.” She winked so he flashed a smile, eyes shifted to Evie again intent out the window.

A couple more riders trailed on. Some hick knocked into Mrs. Hagan’s shoulder on the way. Muttered a ugly slur Evie had heard Mr. Hargrove say on his front lawn. Jeering at their perfectly normal neighbors across the way.

“You want me to kick your ass, man? Apologize to my mother!” Tommy shot up. Protective little cub. The hick wobbled on his drunk feet. Shrunk to go to a seat as Mrs. Hagen pulled her boy down.

“He’s not worth it.”

“I won’t let people talk to you that way.” Tommy’s fists curled. Beet red. "Still my mom." She only kissed his cheek and brought him to her shoulder. Evie watched the back of Tommy’s head. Felt something similar that had curled up her spine when she saw Carol today too.

We all had our shit.

Tommy watched Evie get off at her stop. Didn’t say a word. She made herself small and went up into her house. Shut the door.

Didn’t eat anything. Bones rattled while she got into bed and curled up. Hoodie pulled close. Blue nestled by her crown, purred to comfort her.

Evie stayed there. Didn’t cry. Hated herself.

Didn’t rouse when the knocks began at seven.

Psycho Sybil. Abigail. Lolita. Europa. A little more sin.

Never Evangeline.

~~~~~~~~

Thanks all for reading!!! As always, feel free to chat with me about Billy and Evie. Askbox and taglist are both open. Sorry if the tag doesn’t work! ^_^ 🍓

@80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @stanley--barber @10blurredsmoke10

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy x angel #mine #SOMY #angel fenny #writing

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hillbillied · 4 years

Note

i found your post about andy and eddie's kinks from a couple of years ago and i was just wondering do you have any updated thoughts?

firstly, thank you anon!! I love writing these two!!

secondly fuck, I left this ask in the ‘box for a while because, double fuck, I couldn’t think of any kinks I hadn’t included in the OG post!! I am very sorry for the delay!

(I had to read through them to check, still crispy if I do say so... let’s see what else we can get in there. god I could go on a whole bunch more about the ones from the OG post lmao my fave losers in love having great sex!)

The Secret Kinks of Andrew Haldane and his Lieutenant, Edward Jones (pt.II)

(highly nsfw, 18+ only)

I’m gonna rag on Andy’s exhibitionism kink a little louder than before because it’s so embarrassing. going to the cinema is a chore because Andy doesn’t have the patience for long movies and he really can’t get behind anything that’s not a really fucking hilarious comedy or a truly gripping drama. anything even a little lacklustre (most of what’s on in the 50s) has his gaze wondering elsewhere

the amount of times Eddie has been enjoying his movie experience (he loves movies, btw, he didn’t get to go to many as a kid – think Gunny-level attention in the scene where the marines are watching For Whom the Bell Tolls) and suddenly a hand is brushing his knee. he can’t help but roll his eyes because Andy, good lord, can’t you enjoy the plot for five-fucking-minutes?

luckily for Andy, he’s got a semi-indulgent boyfriend or at least a condoning one; either Eddie will lift his longs legs and put them over Andy’s lap, teasing him with the weight whilst simultaneously giving him some cover to enjoy himself (in no relation to the movie) – or, if he’s feeling generous and equally turned on, he’ll give his stupid fucking would-be husband a hand so he can go back to his popcorn. Eddie’s got skilled fingers and only makes eye contact with his flustered, heavy-breathing boyfriend in scathing glances to show his “disapproval”

car sex is as normal to the two of them as breathing. it started fairly uncreative and vanilla, just screwing in the one long seat of Hillbilly’s pickup. it’s a little on the tight side but Eddie’s more flexible than many would believe. Andy loves having two hands just under his knees, pushing his thighs up against his chest so he can fuck him nice and deep. it has Eddie’s toes curling and his teeth gritted and colourful curses dripping out the cracked window (no AC means a real sweaty cab)

that, or Hillbilly will be riding Andy passenger side. he likes smoking in his car and he likes riding Ack Ack’s cock, so this is a win-win scenario. the leverage from the seat means he can light up while rolling his hips, humming around the cigarette. it’s an erotic sight for sure; Andy has to cover his eyes with his hand while laughing out a breathless “shit, Eddie…”

romantic evenings include soft kisses and mutual handjobs in the truck bed, after giving up on star gazing. less romantic evenings include parking somewhere discreet (or… not, because Andy’s exhibitionism is a nightmare and the 60s were pretty wild) to get them both out on the road. there’s sweaty handprints on the hood where Andy has Eddie bent over it, pinned between his chest and hot metal. it’s some of the hardest, roughest sex they have, and Andy usually uses Eddie’s t-shirt for leverage, something to twist into an psudo-harness to pull him back against his dick. Hillbilly likes to growl out threats – “you stain m’ car, Andy, I’ll fuckin’ kill you” – but it’s all a ruse to cover how there’s sweat dripping from his curls and how his pants for air are turning into moans and how he’s the one staining the tire where he’s cum, hard enough to have him flat out over the hood and gasping

this is all while the car is parked, of course. Andy loves giving Eddie head while he’s driving. it’s lucky Hillbilly’s had to drive bigger, scarier machines than a Ford, honestly. his disapproval (fake, every time) is portrayed where he grabs Andy’s hair and forces his cock down his throat. “Cop car” he’ll say, “gotta stay down”. he’s a lying sack of shit but it’s worth the sin to glance down at Andy when he lets him pull back, spittle running from his tongue and his coughing turning to a gasp then a moan in quick succession. it’s really difficult for Eddie not to grin super wide and push Andy’s head back down for more

(side note: Andy’s a service top so he gives great head, none of this fake dom shit. they each say the other gives it better because they are both weak for one another and stupidly in love)

gags become a thing after a while. Andy is an expert at introducing/asking about bedroom ideas without being condescending and he knows he has to decipher Eddie’s interest without it sounding like he wants him to shut the fuck up. (he does not, he loves everything that comes out of Hillbilly’s mouth, from stone-cold threat to lazy joke to breathless groan)

but a thing they do become. (it starts with Andy shoving a couple of fingers in Eddie’s mouth to “keep quiet”, an old familiar trick from the war, and it snowballs from there) so the next time Andy’s bent over Eddie, facing him and maybe got his hands pinned above his head, and Eddie decides to let off a quip, Ack Ack stops. slows his motions and pretends to think, then reaches for his master plan. the first time, it’s just fabric, shoved into Hillbilly’s mouth. his pink cheeks (from semi-annoyance or embarrassment, not sure) and deep frown and almost-offended stare are fucking priceless

(Andy buys a proper gag, one Eddie can bite down on. one he can grab the back of and pull Hillbilly’s head back with so he can kiss his neck, tell him how fucking hot his moans are when they’re all he can make)

collars slip in there somewhere. they’re not sure where that came from but there’s a suspicion it may have come from the wholesome conversation about adopting a dog (which they both want to do they’re just terrified of going to pick one and falling in love with more and then what are they gonna do?? have fifty dogs?? but I digress)

Andy’s not one to be embarrassed of his sex purchases but he was definitely scratching his neck when he bought it. luckily, his boyfriend can read him like a goddamn book. the man likes being in control, sure, dominating the room in his own masterful way, definitely – that doesn’t change the look of complete adoration that takes Andy’s features when Eddie buckles the collar around his neck

it fits well with Andy’s orgasm denial kink. he doesn’t do it to Eddie much (he’s got enough kinky shit he can do to him) but Hillbilly definitely does it to him. it’s a treat to test Andy’s self-restraint and not with any bondage. Eddie’s a very patient man, used to unfulfilling sex prior to Ack Ack, so he’s got all the time in the world. he loves making Andy wait, teasing him with a grip around the base of his cock. he gets a cock ring for him later, when his tight grip isn’t cutting it anymore

there’s nothing better than watching Andy’s thighs tremble, sat on his own hands on a chair, desperately keeping his cool while Hillbilly carefully lowers himself onto his cock (Eddie uses that collar to get him to look him in the eye)

they usually can’t be bothered with food play (“Food is f’ eatin’, Andrew, not wastin’.”) but there’s occasional things. Andy has a tendency to take Eddie’s fingers in his mouth and lick them clean, whether from an accidental or purposely spillage. he doesn’t really care what’s on them so long as it’s edible and he can watch Hillbilly’s lip curl watching him

Eddie’s definitely done a “spillage” of his own once or twice. except his are obvious, just how he likes them; he’ll straight up pour a splash of beer on his dick and invite Andy to come lap it up. his house, his rules and all. Andy always obliges

Eddie gives a great spit ‘n shine to boots, Andy’s found. he loves demanding Eddie get on his knees and do the daily duties he learned as a marine, making sure his captain’s uniform is in order. (slightly funny if Ack Ack’s not wearing anything but his boots while saying it, but he can live with that) having Hillbilly look up at him – “Like this, Skipper?” - as he runs his tongue across the leather is more than worth it

Eddie likes tearing open clothes, though he feels really, really bad about it. it’s obvious it turns him on because Andy loses a lot of shirt buttons over the years. (they sew them back on together, which is nice, gotta know how to mend and make do. Eddie actually knows a lot about cross stitch and Andy adores learning from him)

one time Andy’s waving his ass Eddie’s way, has been for a whole morning whilst they were gardening, potting flowers, weeding the lawn, working, Andy, we’re busy – so it’s just been a build up of hard-ons and no time to deal with them. and they’re wearing old clothes for the task, threadbare jeans. (that used to be Eddies, even the ones on Andy’s ass) so when Hillbilly finally presses up against Andy, bites his ear, and grabs his pants with both hands - he just pulls. they tear open and Andy feels Eddie shudder against him (shortly before he feels Hillbilly’s cock pushing inside him but that’s just a massive bonus)

Andy’s an indulgent boyfriend so he buys underwear and pants on the cheap and waves them Eddie’s way. the “rippables” as he calls them. made to be ripped, end of. no hard feelings, good riddance to them

I said they were too lazy for bondage because they can just pin each other and I stand by it; it remains a special thing. one of the ‘hardcore’ things, like the belt and gun play. mainly because, while they can actually pin each other down quite effectively with limited wiggle room, there’s still the ability to y’know, headbutt each other. because they’re also both trained in how to flip a guy that grabs you. fatally, if need be

so tying Eddie up (Andy’s always been down to be tied up, blindfolded, etc. by Eddie because he trusts literally one man in the whole world and it’s Edward Jones) is a big thing. because Eddie has had to fuck people up who tried to fight him and his brute strength is what’s gotten him through (finding something capable of realistically holding him is also a struggle in sexual hilarity because fuck, it’s gotta be thick rope or actual police handcuffs)

when Andy asks him about it (and presents the short length of rope he went for because he couldn’t find handcuffs yet) Eddie immediately says yes. because he trusts Andy completely. but he also says not tonight and not every night and not any time he can see it coming. if he works himself up about it, he’ll embarrass himself

when it does happen (Andy’s can read him right back, he knows when), Eddie ends up with his hands tied behind his back. he jokes about Ack Ack’s poor navy knotwork and gets a laugh back. then Andy slow bends him over the bed. that’s all Eddie thought he’d do, which isn’t a bother, long legs are still able to roll away. until Andy kneels down below him, caressing his thigh lovingly, and nudges his legs open. Eddie ends up standing bent over on the mattress with each ankle tied to a leg of their heavy bed frame

it’s a lot but Andy takes his time, kisses his way up from Eddie’s calf all the way to the back of his neck, keeping a hand pressed to his inner thigh. the tremble there is aroused and overwhelmed all in one. the first time, Ack Ack just enjoys giving his boyfriend a nice, slow handjob, supporting himself over Hillbilly so he can feel his weight. it’s amazing to have Eddie coming apart under him, whispering for more until he gets a shaking orgasm, biting the sheets to try and cover how loud he whimpers (it’s too much for Andy, too, and he cums just from rubbing between Eddie’s thighs)

Andy’s trademark aftercare is as excellent as ever and they sit together with some tea on the bed, listen to the radio, Eddie leaning against his chest with two loving arms around him. he asks if next time Ack Ack will fuck him and naturally, Andy just says “if you want me to” while kissing his temple. Hillbilly wipes his face and asks “please”

#andyeddie #the pacific #very not saif 4 wurk but i cant tag it that because tumblr algorithy

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steves-on-a-plane · 5 years

Text

Dont Get Attached (Pt 18)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven/ Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen / Part Seventeen

Words: 1350 Connor x Daughter!Reader W/ Dad!Hank Anderson Summary: No longer running for their lives, Connor takes a minute to asses Reader's injuries and decides stitches will be needed to repair the damage. He wants to take her to the hospital, but she worries this will put him at unnecessary risk.

“Ooof.” You hissed before throwing yourself into the passenger’s seat of your own car. The door was swung open wide and your legs dangled outside of the vehicle. You leaned to the side, pressing your head against the dashboard. The exact details of your escape from Jericho were fuzzy. You remembered everything in frozen stills; like photographs.

The family of androids huddled together, sitting on top cases of replacement thirium. Connor pointing his gun at Marcus. Running through the ship, trying to avoid being killed. The horror of being caught by one of the soldiers. Being lucky that he believed Connor’s passable lies.

“[Y/N?” Connor crouched down so that you could see his face. Your eyes snapped over to him, but it seemed your memories weren’t the only thing that was fuzzy. You squinted, struggling to keep Connor’s face in focus.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood from your leg.” He had said it so calmly. Monotone, in only a way that an android could be. “[Y/N], can you hear me?”

“Y-yeah.” You told him slowly. Your head felt light and your limbs heavy.

“I’m going to have to move your legs.” He explained. “I need to get you in the car so that I can take you to the hospital. Your left leg needs stitches.”

“Hospital?” You frowned. “No. You can’t. You’re an android. They’ll send you back to Cyberlife. They might replace you. Disassemble you.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Connor decided. “I promised Hank I would keep you safe.”

“He’d kill me if he found out I let anyone take you.” You argued. “Especially now that you’re…”

“We don’t have time to argue, [Y/N].” Connor told you firmly. He reached for your legs to begin moving them into the car but you stopped him.

“Wait. I have an idea.” You adjusted yourself so that you could open your car’s glove box. You dug around with shaky hands until you found an emergency sewing kit.

“[Y/N], no.” Connor shook his head. “It’s not sterile. The risk of infection…”

“There’s half a bottle of whisky under the seat.” You gestured towards the backseat of your car. Connor looked at you incredulously before opening the car’s back door and dipping his head down. “It’s the one we found Dad with awhile back. It’s been rolling around in my car since I took it from him. Sewing kit for sutures and whiskey to sterilize. Everything you need.”

“[Y/N]…” Connor looked between the sewing kit in your lap and the bottle in his hands. “The hospital will have skilled surgeons, proper antiseptic and pain medicine or anesthesia…”

“And probably cops or representatives from Cyberlife.” You continued for him. “Maybe even deviant androids who want to hurt humans. You promised Dad you’d keep me safe? This is how you do that. Now, hurry up before I change my mind.”

Connor collected the sewing kit from your lap, still looking decidedly unhappy about the situation. He set everything on the hood of your car. He opened the sewing kit and looped black thread through a needle of what he thought was the appropriate gauge. He uncapped the whiskey and poured a generous amount over the needle and thread. At last he stood over you prepared to begin. He hesitated again.

“[Y/N], I’ll need to remove your pants to clean the…” His sentence trailed off.

“A minute ago, I was so bad off I needed to be carted away to the hospital. Now you’re comfortable letting me bleed to death in a parking lot because of some bullshit modesty programing?” You scoffed, already unbuttoning your jeans. If you weren’t so out of it, you might have noticed Connor bowing his head to hide the smirk on his face. You sounded just like Hank.

“Are we gonna do this or what?” You huffed. There was a hint of annoyance in your voice and a slight amusement but both of those only masked pain and fear. This time Connor didn’t laugh at how much you sounded like the Lieutenant.

You knew you’d want to scream before he even began pouring the brown colored liquid onto your thigh. Bracing for the pain, you shoved the sleeve of Connor’s jacket into your mouth. The Parking lot was relatively abandoned this time of night, but you couldn’t risk alerting humans or android to your position.

“Give me that will, ya?” You motioned for the bottle as Connor moved to set it down. Connor handed it over, no questions asked. You held the bottle by the neck and gulped a mouthful of whiskey down. It didn’t dull the pain in your leg but the sweet and sour taste distracted you momentarily from the needle Connor had begun poking into your skin.

Connor was glad that androids didn’t need to breath. If they did, he was certain he wouldn’t be about to work without shaky hands as he could now. He felt you wince beneath his touch as he tugged the needle through your soft skin. Humans are so fragile. He lamented, still trying to remain focused on the task at hand. Your face was slowly draining of color, but by his calculations you hadn’t lost more than a pint of blood yet. That was good all things considered. Humans would donate roughly that amount to blood banks and their bodies could replenish it entirely unaided in a matter of weeks.

Connor tried to work quickly, both to stop the bleeding and to not prolong your pain. The regrettable side effect of this was that his stitching was haphazard, uneven. He wasn’t a medical android after all. As he continued on, Connor felt guilty? He supposed that’s what a human would call it. Emotions were all so new to him that he had no way of knowing for sure.

His inexperienced stitching would leave scars. Scars that you would have because of him. Scars from an injury you had sustained because of him. Because he’d let you come along with him when he shouldn’t have. He was almost certain that if he had a stomach it would feel tight and knotted as humans describe. Yes, he was certain. This was guilt.

“See.” You exhaled when you felt him finish off the last stitch. “I knew you could do it.”

“[Y/N], I’m…”

“Do me one last favor will you?” You asked, looking up at him. If Connor wasn’t sure that he was a fully functional machine, he would have thought his thirium pump had skipped a beat. The way you looked up at him wasn’t accusatory or angry. Somehow this made his guilt worse. “I’ve got a clean pair of sweatpants in my trunk.” You explained, holding out your car keys for him.

“Of course, [Y/N].” He nodded before leaving to retrieve your desired clothing item. Connor cleaned up his makeshift medical bay, replacing Hank’s whiskey under your back seat and the sewing kit in the glove box.

You stood up slowly to pull your pants the rest of the way on. You staggered slightly and a hiss of pain escaped your mouth as the pants brushed against your sutures. Luckily Connor was there. He held you upright by the elbows until you could steady yourself.

“Thank you.” You said to him. “I know that wasn’t easy. Where to now?”

“I’m taking you home.” Connor insisted.

“Connor, no.” You shook your head. “I can’t go home now. Not after seeing what I saw. People need to know Androids are alive. They have emotions. They have families! They deserve to be free!”

“[Y/N], I can’t keep putting you in danger.” He argued.

“Why should the safety of one-person matter more than hundreds or thousands of other lives?” You asked him.

“Because…” Connor’s face twisted in frustration. It was a new expression. Something you hadn’t seem from him before. He didn’t say anything for a long time and you thought maybe you’d broken him. You reached out and touched his cheek. You could feel the whirl of biocomponents under his warm synthetic skin.

@racrneko @that-random-chick-named-tori @noodledraw@mariahlambslbs @sdavid09 @baebecca @black-and-white-eyes@twdpansy @revenge-parti @grievance-s@mikithekiki @kazuha159 @dragonempress123 @the-razy-pie-rope@layinglonely @talle-2002 @trash-is-my-name @geolusun@professionalfangirl1738 @ask-angel-of-death @havanbcby @beautifulsilvermarch @myemoescape @sweetlittleviper@fineactually @manymanyenvelopes @demonpandu @mikkasao @21putnamp@comeheretiger @pringtella @deathbyhollywood @itstrashleydude@clowntapus @dragonempress123@tenderlytremendouskittens @lovelittledoyouknow @etherealpeachh @omelys-space @xesthete-cxssi @itstrashleydude @loopy-lolly-loo @abigfanofyours @onceuponagleepottermindlock @missjayi @treanna-hatake @bunnie-kookie @bvngtanboiz @kumamno @jinwonholeo @erinitoburrito @kinggst @line-viper @treanna-hatake @pxnisparker @goalsweight @ayajackson @taylor-swifter-sweeper @ohskit @ninatheotter @regular-mexican-girl @katiekitty261@iknowrocknroll567 @Ispheygurl @hidenbarrista @doctorpaintedwhore @cliche-female-protagonist@fairytailwzard @hollowmasque @syrinxgm @misbhv-ur @sugaraddict @thelavachick @nikkidawnlight @hollowmasque@fairytailwzard @patchworkdabi @fearlesspatroclus @dbhtrashftw @writingpromptsstuff @fearlesspatroclus @xalinx @dbhtrashftw @awkard-fangirl88 @cindersonick @spookydun-iplier@spacekidarayo @anglemae @redlovett@xalinx @letthembehappymcu @itsfangirlmendes @dechartduo @rainbowzephyr @sherlockspie @mybrilliantusername@wishuponawriter @fandomloverlord221

#Connor DBH FF #DBH Connor #DBH FF #DBH Connor x Reader #dbh connor reader insert #connor dbh x reader #connor rk800 #Connor rk800 Fan Fic #Connor Rk 800 FF #Connor rk800 Fan Fiction #Dont Get Attached

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alternativewinxcontinuity · 5 years

Text

Drawn Together Summary: Bloom was an artist, sometimes that wasn't as easy or glamourous as people imagined Warnings: implications of depression, negative mental health moment

Mid-June 2004

Gardenia

Bloom sighed and ran a hand over her face, pausing to press against her eyes. Her art book sat on her lap, the open page as blank as it had been an hour ago. She wanted to draw something to celebrate the start of her summer vacation, but nothing was coming to her, every almost-thought-or-idea she felt begin to bud crumbled away before she could reach for them.

The field of her imagination was effectively a barren landscape, not even tumbleweeds swept across it.

Maybe she should head downstairs and check her emails, maybe she'd have a commission.

A self-depreciating snort escaped her before she'd even finished the thought.

'A commission, yeah right,' the dark whisper in her mind crept up on her like a slinking shadow made of oil and tar. 'Who'd want to commission you, Mitzy's right, you aren't that good, your art is sub-par, there are so many artists out there better than you. Besides, all you draw is fairies and fantasy, no one's into that anymore.'

Bloom took a deep breath and tried to shove the voice away, because it was wrong, she'd gotten commissions, some were even for fairies.

'People like my work,' she reminded herself, trying to pull the numbers up, to build a shield against the doubt, one made of cold, irrefutable facts. The numbers didn't lie. 'Okay, maybe my follower base is small-'

'They follow because they're trying to pad their own dashboard, they only follow you because they have to follow every art blog out of obligation, they don't really lie you, it was a mistake, they pressed the follow button by accident and just haven't bothered to unfollow.'

Bloom could feel her breath quicken, could feel the too familiar prickle of salty warmth behind her eyes.

“Keh?” A small weight fell onto her lap, a soft and furry warmth brushing against her midrif with intent.

Bloom looked down, and Kiko looked back up at her, worry evident in his eyes. His gaze drifted to the pencil still in her hand, with a 'yuahh' of inspiration, her rabbit took the pencil from her, holding it between his front paws he squiggled on her page.

Turning back to her he offered the pencil proudly.

“Thanks Kiko,” Bloom said, the threat of tears heavy in her voice as she took the pencil back. She hoisted her bunny higher so he wasn't obstructing the page, and began drawing, using the lines Kiko had given her.

'I might not have had any commissions lately, but with the end of the school year, I haven't exactly been active online much, so it stands to reason. Plus I've been really worn out. Maybe I should leave a note, let my followers know how I'm doing, what's going on with me.'

'Oh sure, make them feel like they need to leave reviews for your work or they won't get more. Please, they'll just think you're begging for them to say nice things out of pity. Maybe they will, for that post, then they'll go right back to ignoring you and taking your work without comment.'

'Shut up!' Kiko shifted so he could nuzzle Bloom's cheek and she smiled. 'My work is good, there are people who enjoy it, and more importantly: my work is for me, for my enjoyment because this is what I love. Mitzy can go make-out with a porcupine's ass, she doesn't know what being an artist is like, she has no soul, and all her opinions on my work are invalid. Maybe not everything I make is gold, but I do my best, not being 'the best' is no reason to quit something I love.'

'But if you're always arguing with yourself like this, maybe you don't love it as much as you think.'

'Shut up, you aren't real, you're just my doubts, and you are wrong, I'm not listening to you so go away!'

Bloom's mind was quiet, and she relaxed, letting her picture take shape.

When it was finished she gave it a judgemental frown. It was a good piece, but there was something terrible and primal and dark about the subject, a hint of wickedness in her smile, danger in her stance.

It was the kind of Fae that took advantage of the foolish, the kind you regretted making deals with.

Bloom put her art book onto her table and sighed as she dropped her pencil into her pencil box.

She'd borrow the family computer tomorrow and upload it.

“Come on Kiko, time for a story before lights out,” she said, carting her rabbit across the room, intentionally ignore the clock and the fact that it was basically morning.

It was finally summer break, she could sleep in.

Some months later

Alfea

“Hey, Bloom!” Bloom looked up from her sketch book, the third since she'd come to Alfea, Abigail was making her way over to her.

“Abigail, hey,” Bloom gave her a welcoming wave as Kiko squeaked a greeting from beside her.

“Sorry to bother you while you were drawing, I saw some of your work posted in the art room, and I was wondering if I could exchange a favour?”

“What kind of favour?”

Abigail knelt down so they were on the same level, “I need some artwork for a poster for the notice board, we've got some events coming up and it just needs a little something extra, you know?”

Bloom nodded, familiar with the feeling from her brief stint with her Earth school's newsletters.

“Sure, I can do that, what do I get in return?”

“Well, I actually have an owed-favour from one of the girls in the sewing club, and I'd be happy to transfer the favour. I'm the Fairy of Scribing, unless you need me to write something for you, I haven't got a lot more than second hand favours, sorry.”

“Hm, let's talk about the work first then sort out whose favour is whose.”

“Alright, thanks so much for this,” Abigail said with a grin and pulled out the current poster mock-up. “So what I was thinking was-”

On the grass, Kiko nuzzled into his fairy's side. While the New Place was strange and sometimes scary, his Bloom had been much happier since they'd come here.

#winx #winx club #winx bloom #winx fanfic #winx club fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #winx kiko #winx club bloom #winx club kiko #sad artist is sad

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ikesenhell · 6 years

Text

Blaze

“The Taste Saga”: Part 14. Find all chapters here.

Mitsuhide laid out his tools and pretended he didn’t see the look of dawning horror. It was so much more effective that way. Absently, as if bored, he worked his fingers across the instruments, arranging them this way and that.

“I won’t talk.” His prisoner affirmed out loud. Mitsuhide glanced up to ensure the weights were still in place. They were--his hapless victim crouched on a series of uncomfortable wooden ridges, weights tied tight to his thighs, hands behind his back and tied again to a wooden pole. As much as the man was sealing his resolve, Mitsuhide could also see it cracking. He kept trying to shift.

“Hold still, or your legs might break faster.” Mitsuhide turned his orange gaze back to the series of knives before him, barely contemplating them. “Or you could stop feeding me obvious lies and start talking about your master.”

“I have no master save Buddha.”

“Yes, which is clearly why you were trying to slide poison into Azuchi’s water supply and your head is unshaven,” the white-haired man sighed lazily. “Buddha’s infinite grace clearly flows through you. Perhaps you ought to think of your divine patron and tell me about your Abbot instead?”

“Mitsuhide!”

He turned his head to see Ieyasu standing on the stairs, holding his robes slightly aloft to keep the damp from his hem. What an unexpected surprise, though he supposed Ieyasu was one of the few that wouldn’t be perturbed.

“Yes?”

“Letter for you.” He held it out, scowling. “It’s from the Uesugi.”

Kenshin? Mitsuhide frowned and accepted the missive, turning it this way and that. How unexpected. He could barely fathom a reason for the God of War himself to correspond with him and not Nobunaga. “My thanks.”

“Whatever,” Ieyasu glanced at the prisoner before turning his back and stalking up the stairs.

“Bend your head,” Mitsuhide commanded, going to the prisoner. When the man failed to comply, he shoved it forward, unsurprised by the sickening crack from one of his legs. To the prisoner’s credit, he only yelped. “I told you to bend it. See what happens when you don’t listen? Be a good writing desk, will you?”

Ripping open the letter, he unfolded it and scanned the contents. What? Someone had tried to take the Chatelaine? Mitsuhide felt all his sickening fears coalesce into a very tangible truth: she was in danger, and eminent danger at that. It was barely a question of who was responsible.

He had to be with her.

Folding the letter up and tucking it in his robes, he stepped away from the man and headed to the stairs, his mind solely occupied with his new mission. Behind him, the ex-monk sputtered.

“And you just leave me here?”

Mitsuhide paused in the doorway and turned his head. “Did you know of the attempted abduction of a particular woman?”

The ex-monk said nothing, but his eyes said everything Mitsuhide needed to know. Slowly, he returned to the prisoner and lifted his short sword.

“It says here that her fingers were all that were scraped. With that in mind...”

Mitsuhide emerged from the dungeon only a minute after a sickening scream and shook his short sword clean. The prisoner didn’t need all ten of his fingers, after all. Four would have to do.

Kenshin wasn’t exactly surprised at Mitsuhide’s response. It read simply: I’ll be there in three days time. Of course he would be. In the meantime, Kenshin had all the Chatelaine’s things moved into his own chambers.

“You could always put her with me,” Shingen noted, though his eyes and grin admitted to the teasing the redhead himself would never confess. A withering gaze from the God of War was all it took to end the conversation. “She must have a good swing. Her sewing box completely shattered, and it was a good, solid piece.”

“Noted.”

He took her that day to the training hall, borrowing Yukimura from his duties with Shingen to accompany them. Once there, he turned on his heel and picked through the armory, selecting a Naginata her size. “Come here.”

“What?” She stared owlishly at him, but complied. “What is that for?”

“You don’t have a sewing box to wield anymore. It seems appropriate that you learn something that makes more sense.” He compared it to her arm, then pushed it into her hand. “Take a swing. See how it feels.”

The Chatelaine just shook her head violently. “I don’t want to fight anyone.”

“It’s not a matter of if you want to fight anyone, dummy,” Yukimura snapped, “they’re going to kill you if you want to or not.”

“I don’t think I could!” She retorted. “It makes no sense to hand me this and train me when I don’t think I could kill someone, not even if they were going to kill me!”

“Do you really think most people really want to kill someone?” Yukimura scoffed.

Kenshin took the naginata back, sliding it back into its holder. “Yukimura, I won’t need you for this.”

The man looked suspicious, but bowed and took his leave anyway. Kenshin selected a short sword instead, tossing it to her. She caught it with relative ease, which was a good sign. “Draw it.”

“No.” She shook her head violently. He drew his own wakizashi, moving purposefully toward her.

“You were spared last night from certain death or capture by two things, and two things alone,” he started. “My own interference, and the inexperience of your assailants. Do you flatter yourself charming enough to talk everyone down?”

She stepped back and finally drew the short sword. Her form was terrible, but that was at least a start. “No.”

“What will protect you, Princess? Do you expect me to be by your side always?”

“I...” Her voice faltered. “I don’t think I can kill anyone.”

He swung toward her; she leaped back, shock etched on her face.

“I am your enemy, and I am here to kill you,” Kenshin announced thinly. “Now stop me.”

“What!?”

He took another swing and she scurried out of the way, but he just turned and caught the edge of her short sword. It went flying across the room. The Chatelaine backed up against the wall, her eyes wide.

“I don’t know how to fight at all!”

“You’ll have to learn.” She dashed out of his reach again, circling around the room. He just advanced, slow and steady, barely breaking a sweat. “No one is coming to help you. You have to either stop me, or you will die. Do you understand, Princess?”

“I get it! Just stop!” She crumpled against the floor, covering her eyes. “Just stop it!”

A wave of hot regret washed through him. Sheathing his wakizashi, he crept to her side and crouched down, putting a hand on her head. “Princess?”

“Stop,” she whimpered, drawing her knees to her chest. “I get it. I get it.”

“Move your knees.”

She obeyed, and Kenshin watched the tears roll down her cheeks. He’d upset her. No, he’d terrified her, and that had been his purpose, but the shame and self-loathing struck him like a knife. Quietly, he brushed them from her face.

“I’m sorry.”

The Chatelaine shook her head, sniffling. “You sh-shouldn’t b-b-be. It m-makes s-sense.”

“I want to be there,” Kenshin breathed at last. “I want to be there at all hours. I want to protect you. I want to make sure no one ever, ever, ever lays another finger on you again. If I could cut down the whole of Kennyo’s forces to see you safe...”

Her eyes were on him, luminous and wide, searching him. He felt so exposed under that stare. All of his feelings rose to the surface, a blazing surge of emotion.

“I would,” he affirmed. “I would destroy the whole army myself to keep you whole.”

“Why?” She whispered, and the tenderness of her voice nearly broke him. He cupped both of his hands around her cheeks and just looked at her. What could he say to that? What could he admit--what could he lay forward--what could he lay bare to her that wouldn’t destroy him?

But it was too late for him to stay himself. He wanted her. He needed her. She was all he’d thought about for months, all he could envision. Just the thought of her kept him sane and undid his reason; just breathing the same air as her now was slow, terrible torture, the most beautiful agony he could imagine. Like a man possessed, he wrapped an arm around her waist and lowered her to the floor. He nearly expected resistance, but no.

Quietly, he pressed his lips to hers.

She was sweeter than he’d expected. The tang of her tears was salty on her mouth, but when he came back for another kiss, it was gone. Her breath hitched, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

“Kenshin,” she murmured against him, and his insides seared, “Kenshin, why?”

“I want you.” He pressed his mouth hard against her throat and felt her moan through his lips. Lower, lower, lower still he kissed, his hands feeling every curve and swell of her hips and thighs, his world nothing except her voice and the topography of her body. “No one can take you from me. I won’t allow it.”

Brushing her kimono aside, he cupped a hand around her knee and lowered his lips to that. She writhed, but didn’t resist. Pausing to give her an opportunity to protest and hearing nothing, Kenshin trailed a thin line with his tongue along the inside of her leg, stopping only at the center of her thigh. Her gasp was intoxicating; he bit in on impulse and sucked hard, leaving a dark imprint there. She was his.

“Kenshin!” She gasped, and he released her leg, sliding up her body to reclaim her mouth. Over and over and over again he kissed her, sometimes tender, sometimes hard, sometimes as if she would disappear when he stopped. Her arms were around his back and her hair spilled everywhere and she smelled of his bed and thread and cherry blossoms...

At last he withdrew. Pressing his forehead to hers, he waited until they’d both stopped panting for breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she half-laughed. A heady rush of ownership shot to polar ends of his body.

“You have Mitsuhide.”

“Mitsuhide, I’m pretty sure, saw this coming. Stupid psychic Mitsuhide.”

“I can’t bear the thought of being second.”

“Whoever said you were?”

He mulled that over in his head, trying to reconcile the thought and failing for the moment. “I’ll think on that.”

Gently, he pulled her back to a seated position. The quiet around them was nearly suffocating. It was as if the whole world held its breath for whatever happened next.

“Maybe you can show me how to use a short sword,” the Chatelaine agreed at last. “I don’t know if I could actually do it, but maybe if it looks like I know what I’m doing, they’ll be less likely to take me?”

“Maybe.” Probably not. But it was a compromise he was willing to make. He helped her to her feet and recovered her short sword for her. “First, stance. Yours was awful.”

Kennyo frowned at the fire.

Four of his operatives were dead. Another, captured. The only surviving man from Kasugayama’s failed infiltration stood before him, his head hung in shame.

“Be not ashamed, brother,” he advised gently, “I am only glad that you live still. Your life is precious to me.”

“But we failed, Abbot.”

Kennyo nodded, slowly, considering this. They had certainly kicked a viper’s nest. Now the God of War himself was involved, and this meant trouble for them all.

“Yes,” he answered coolly. “But we may yet succeed.”

“And how is that, Abbot?”

He glanced up at the sky, but the trees veiled them. It felt fitting. “Fear not. I have plans yet.”

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randomly-random-jen · 6 years

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Heaven Can’t Wait - Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen - It’s a Really Bad Idea

Clarke and the girl stare at each other for a few tense moments before Clarke succumbs to the child in herself, sticking out her tongue. It’s enough to make the girl laugh, easing the tension down a couple notches. Bellamy smiles at both of them—the relief he feels is physical. He needs the two of them to get along. He’s not sure why.

Liar. You know why.

He shakes away the annoying voice as Clarke gets up. “I’m supposed to meet Raven for breakfast. She promised me real food. Want to come?”

“Do I get a plus one?”

She looks at the girl for a second. “I guess. If she promises not to stab me with anything while we eat.”

Bellamy chuckles. “I can’t make any guarantees.”

“I guess if I want your company, I’ll have to chance it.” She immediately blushes like she said too much.

The warm fuzzy feeling is back, and he has to turn away before she can see the stupid smile on his face. It’s pathetic how desperate he is for her attention.

Then you’ve been pathetic since you met her.

Shut up.

Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut—arguing with himself isn’t helping him look less pathetic.

“You okay?” Clarke asks.

“Huh? I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.”

She reaches for him but changes her mind after another glare from the girl at his side. She smiles, though, like the whole thing amuses her. “It’ll all work out, Bellamy. Octavia will be back soon, and we’ll find someone to-” She nods at the girl.

Bellamy forces a smile on his face. “Yeah, I’m sure someone will take her in.” He wonders if she hears how strained those words sound. If she does, she ignores it.

They’re both quiet as they walk to the mess hall. He wishes he knew what she was thinking.

You want to know if she’s thinking about you. Could you be any more pathetic?

He sighs. The voice is getting on his last nerve.

Because it's true, and you know it.

He glances over at Clarke as her hand comes up to touch the pendant around her neck. He quickly looks away, his stomach knotting.

Definitely not thinking about you. She never will.

As they turn the corner, Kane pops his head out of his office. “Bellamy, I need to talk to you.” He goes back inside. Obviously an order, not a request.

Bellamy groans, head falling back. Clarke chances patting his arm with a sympathetic smile. “Rain check on breakfast?”

“Guess so.”

She waves by, and he waits until she’s out of sight before going in.

Kane starts in as soon as he enters. “We need to talk about patrols and-”

“Welcome back,” Bellamy says flatly.

Kane huffs. “Bellamy, if you’re going to be Commander of the Guard-”

“Not this again,” Bellamy says with a sigh. “I told you I don’t want the job. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. Find someone else. Miller’s dad’s been on the Guard for thirty years. Ask him.”

“I did,” Kane says without missing a beat. “He turned me down. Said he was too old to learn a management position.” A grin spreads across Kane’s face. “He suggested I ask you instead.”

“For god’s sake. Is everyone insane?” Bellamy gives him a look of frustration. “No one is going to listen to me. And the Grounders all hate me. I’ll be lucky if one of them doesn’t slit my throat in my sleep.”

“Bellamy-”

“Why me?” Kane must be losing his ever-loving mind if he thinks this is a good idea.

“Because I trust you.”

Bellamy’s jaw drops. Yep, totally insane. “You can’t be serious.”

“This isn’t up for debate. I need you to be Commander.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I guess we’ll find something else for you to do. Your mom was a seamstress, right? I assume you know how to sew.”

What? “Are you firing me?”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all. It was a joke. A bad one.”

The pain between his eyes swells. “Can’t we do this later?”

“You’re taking this job.”

Bellamy runs a hand over his tired face. “You’re nuts,” he says then turns to leave.

“We’re not done,” Kane says, grabbing his arm.

“I am.” Bellamy jerks his arm free.

Next to him, the little girl makes a moaning sound. They both look down. Her head snaps back and forth between the two of them, her eyes filling with tears. Bellamy closes his eyes. Crap. He’d forgotten she was there.

Kane just looks surprised. “What’s this?”

He lifts her up as her lip quivers, giving Kane a tired look. “It’s a long story. I wrote a report and everything. Or you could ask Abby.”

Kane strokes his beard, anger apparently ebbed by the new situation. “Um, okay. I guess we’ll talk about this later. You can go.”

Bellamy grunts but doesn’t say anything. He knows the conversation won’t be over until Kane gets his way. No matter how bad of an idea it is. And it’s a really, really bad idea. The voice finally agrees with him.

By the time they catch up to Clarke, the mess hall is much more crowded. Clarke and Raven are sitting at a table right in the middle of the room. The two lean on each other, laughing. They look happy. Then he notices Clarke’s friend Niylah sitting with them. The smile slips from Bellamy’s face and a weight settles in his gut again. He’s lost his appetite.

“Let’s go for another walk instead, huh?”

He rubs at the pain behind his eyes as the girl drags him all over, clearly thrilled to be in charge for once. He should probably ask Abby about the headaches, but he can’t stand the thought of her getting all maternal and clingy again.

When they come to the next junction, the girl stops. She looks up and down the halls, her face scrunched in thought.

“Are we lost?” he asks with a smirk.

She tilts her head at him then frowns around. Her face gets red when he laughs at how cute she’s being, and she stomps her foot in frustration. Which just makes him laugh harder. It takes him a moment to realize she’s actually distraught.

He squats down in front of her to wipe away the tears. “Hey, it’s okay. We all get lost sometimes. Some people more than others.” She doesn’t seem convinced if her trembling lip means anything. Bellamy scoops her up and starts back towards the main part of the station.

They make a right and then a left. Suddenly, the girl arches her back, pushing away from him. She points to a passage on the right.

“That way?”

She wipes away tears with the back of her hand then sucks her thumb. A moment later they’re standing in front of a familiar locked door. He smiles as he keys in his access code. The girl squirms from his grasp and sprints through the maze of crates.

Jasper’s party took a toll on the place. Cups and other trash litter the floor. Boxes have been overturned or pried open. Some of the furniture is considerably more broken than before. Junk is strewn everywhere.

Bellamy picks up a discarded pair of pants with a sigh then tosses them into an open box full of random machine components. I’m going to have to have a serious talk with Jasper. Soon. Before things really get out of control.

He finds the girl in their spot under the observation dome, spinning with her face to the sky. Puffy white clouds drift across a backdrop of bright blue. A few birds sail past. It is a beautiful day. Maybe the last one they’ll see for a long time.

Bellamy lies down on a pile of insulation, his hands behind his head and stares at the clouds. Eventually, the girl joins him, curling against his side. She fidgets until her head is on his shoulder with her arm wrapped around his neck to play with his hair. He rolls his eyes but has to admit he kind of enjoys it. Even when she yanks too hard. It seems to comfort him almost as much as it comforts her.

Being with the little girl has had a calming effect on him. He feels more peaceful when she’s around. He’s not sure what he’s going to do if she leaves.

When. When she leaves. Because that’s how it has to be, the voice tells him. Who are you to be raising a kid? You can barely take care of yourself.

And you destroyed Octavia.

Bellamy shoves the dark thoughts away, pulling the girl closer. She climbs onto his chest and stretches out, her fingers still tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. He listens to her quiet breathing until he drifts off to sleep himself.

Chapter 14 | Chapters | Chapter 16

#fanfic #the 100 fanfic #bellarke fanfiction #heaven can't wait

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years

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Something Old and Something New - Chapter 5: It’s All Coming Together

A few weeks after she and Margaret get roped into Hawkeye and Trapper's little scheme, Kat comes home to a flurry of pink tulle blanketing the living room. In the center of the hurricane is Maggie – wielding a pair of scissors with gleeful abandon.

“Margaret, honey, what are you doing?”

Margaret looks up from her shears with a dangerous smile. “Exacting revenge.”

“Oh yeah?” Kat says in her best mobster voice. “Do I gotta send someone to sleep with the fishes?” And then in her normal voice. “I know some good piers to push people off of, Maggie, don't you worry. Whoever made that dress will never sew again, I promise.”

“No shoving people off of piers.” Margaret mock scolds. “It's pointless anyway, I bought it at a department store – and you can't shove the entire women's department of Kresge's off a pier.”

Kat's expression says just watch me, but what she actually says is, “Ok, no taking things out on the innocent shop clerks. Who do you really want to suffer?”

Margaret's response is immediate and full of invective. “Private Scully.”

Kat looks at her questioningly.

“You know,” Margaret insists, “that sonofabitch I dated after Ponobscott. Though I haven't exactly kept track of him - he may still be in Asia for all I know – so finding him to push off a pier may be difficult.”

Kat looks ready to attempt it regardless. Margaret really does love how far she's willing to go to take care of and protect her – even if these threats are mostly empty.

“Anyway the last time I wore this dress, it was for that dud of a soldier – and when I found it, I got so mad at him all over again. The inconsiderate fink.”

Part of it may have been that Margaret had found the dress completely accidentally. She'd actually been looking for a winter coat that had gotten shoved into the spare bedroom closet – a sort of overflow for her and Kat's closet that mostly houses out-of-season clothes and boxes of the kind of stuff you need to keep but don't want to trip over everyday. And in one of those boxes was the dress.

Just opening it and seeing that shade of pink had brought back that whole sorry episode. Suddenly, she was back in Korea – back with Scully and all the feelings of inadequacy and loneliness and longing he'd evoked.

Margaret isn't generally one for sentimentality – or at least that's what she tells herself. Growing up as an army brat didn't really allow for attachments to places, possessions, or people. And her father hadn't approved of womanly histrionics.

But the memories associated with it aren't exactly rose tinted. And Margaret is certainly one for holding a grudge. So when she'd found that dress. Well. There was really only one way to react.

“I just – I was spitting mad. Do you know what he wanted me to do? Do you, Kat? He wanted me to keep house with him if you can believe it – in the middle of an army camp I was in charge of running the nursing staff for!” Margaret puffs up in indignation. “He may have been on leave, but I certainly wasn't!”

“Uh huh,” Kat nods, “he sounds like a real charmer. So where does the dress come in? He want you to put it on and play wife?”

Margaret growls in frustration. “And then some. He said he couldn't see me as a real woman in army drag, wouldn't make time for me if I didn't put in the effort to look human – look womanly and sweet and welcoming. And stupid me! I wanted him – wanted someone - enough that I did it. This dress was the only civilian outfit I owned and he wanted to see me in it – wouldn't take no for an answer - no matter that I was too busy to play dress up or cook his food or do any of the other little domestic tasks he asked of me. So I put it on for him.”

“What a delightful man,” Kat says, sarcasm sharp enough to cut. “Kind, considerate of your feelings, attentive – what more could one ask for in a lover? Why, I'm surprised the two of you aren't still together.”

“He was a real loser,” Margaret agrees. “Which is why I'm taking my revenge!”

Margaret brandishes the scissors to emphasize her point and Kat backs away surreptitiously.

Maggie's always been an expressive person when she feels she's allowed. And it's nice that she's unwound enough around Kat to show that side of herself again instead of just buttoning everything up behind that inspection-ready front she'd worn since joining the army. Not letting anything show through the cracks until she got pushed far enough that the facade crumbled and she collapsed.

But despite her excitement, Maggie seems to remember that waving sharp objects around her face isn't the best idea. Which Kat is grateful for. Because despite them both being nurses and able to deal with various minor injuries and ailments, Kat really doesn't fancy having to sew up stab wounds this afternoon. It's the sort of thing that kills the mood.

At any rate, Maggie goes back to her dress demolition with a little less wild abandon than before. And Kat joins her, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a kid with piles of tulle piling in snowdrifts around her. There are certainly worse ways of spending an evening, after all.

After some almost meditative destruction, Margaret says, “I do feel sort of bad cutting it up.” After all, Max worked so hard to make it look nice and fit her better. Lost cause though it had been.

Kat peers closely at the fabric. “It is a nice shade of revenge.”

“Just not my style, I suppose. But maybe it'll be Charles and Marjory's.”

A few months or so after he gets invited to Charles's wedding, Steve heads down to Boston for a poker game. The last few had been called on account of snow, so he's looking forward to seeing Hawkeye and Trapper – and yes, even Charles – for the first time in a while.

The game's as good a time as ever, plenty of banter and good-natured ribbing. But Steve sort of feels like somethings different. And maybe it's just that he hasn't seen the others in a while – that he'd forgotten the rhythm of their jokes and repartee. But it also seems like maybe things are a little changed somehow. Like Charles is a little warmer, more friendly.

He'd never exactly struck Steve as the warm and cuddly type – especially to folks he'd thought he was better than. Which is most everybody, seems like. Hell, Charles hadn't started warming up to Steve til he found out he'd gone to Johns Hopkins – the snob.

That's not to say he's not a good friend, in his own way. Once you've befriended him, Charles will give you the silk shirt off his back - complaining heartily the whole time. So Steve guesses that what he's trying to say is that Charles's own way tends to be a little... stand-offish. And this is coming from the son of emotionally constipated Midwesterners.

But tonight, Charles is positively outgoing. Slapping Steve heartily on the back in greeting. Laughing and joking around in a way that's more lighthearted than snide. And then there's the fact that he won't shut up about his upcoming wedding – even though it's still months away.

It's sort of strange to think of Charles Winchester settling down. But he positively gushes about Marjory. About how beautiful and brilliant and wonderful she is. About how he can't believe he's lucky enough to get to marry her – to spend the rest of his life with her. Because he's not going to be the love 'em and leave 'em type, not with Marjory.

It makes Steve feel a little guilty.

He goes a little quiet, maybe. But Charles's unexpected jubilance ought to cover that over, right? Unfortunately, Steve isn't being quite subtle enough and Hawkeye and Trapper must pick up on it. Or at least Steve thinks they do.

They keep giving each other loaded glances over Charles's head – and not the kind of loaded glances they usually give each other. Or at least Steve hopes not since he's staying over at their house tonight on account of the late train not running in winter much and he'd rather not have to deal with his hosts screwing in the next room over. Not that they ever would, but if things are heading that way. Well. For politeness's sake, Steve would have to accept Charles's offer to put him up - despite it meaning that Steve would then have to spend even more time with him.

One evening is difficult enough. Particularly an evening like this which seems almost designed to make Steve feel guilty.

Fortunately, all Hawkeye and Trapper's looks seem to indicate is that they want to get home. So Steve follows them back to the house – and it's early enough still that he's not surprised when they herd him into the living room to sit and shoot the shit for a while. He is kinda surprised when Hawkeye slings his legs over Steve's lap and Trapper throws a companionable arm over his shoulders, effectively trapping him there with them.

“All right Steve, what's eating you?” Trapper asks.

And it would have been too much to hope that they weren't going to bring it up.

At least Trapper's question is born out of genuine concern. He pulls Steve closer to him and says, “You've been looking real morose all evening – and it ain't like you lost your life savings, cuz we don't play for cash without Margaret. So something's gotta be bugging you.”

“Something Charles Winchester related,” Hawkeye adds. “You kept looking at him out of the corner of your eye – and I doubt it's because you suddenly developed a schoolboy crush on him.”

The last is delivered teasingly and Steve laughs. “No, I'm more than happy with Millie. And Charles really isn't my type.”

“Too snotty,” Hawkeye says with a nod. “I completely understand.”

“It wedding related then?” Trapper asks. “Cuz there ain't that many reasons to be looking sideways at Charles.”

“Yeah, it's wedding related.” Steve sighs. “I guess I'm feeling kind of guilty about my part of the gift.”

“Yeah?” Trapper's giving Steve his full attention – and he wilts into Trapper's shoulder a little.

“Yeah.” Steve takes a breath. “Look, what are you guys doing for your quilt squares?”

“I'm sewing a Claddagh – you know, the hand and heart thing-” Trapper makes an approximation with his hands “-onto an old fatigue shirt.”

“Finally a good use for army issue duds,” Hawkeye interjects.

Trapper jerks a thumb at him. “And he's making some real pretty shit – go on and show him, Hawk.”

Hawkeye pulls out a piece of shimmery gray fabric with a wavy pattern of tiny copper leaves embroidered over most of it. It's absolutely beautiful. The kind of thing you treasure for years and pass down as an heirloom. Fuck.

“See, that's my problem. Everyone's doing these heartfelt traditional things – even you guys. And I was sure you were gonna take the opportunity to get one over on Charles. But you didn't, you did something sweet and meaningful and I'm. I'm just doing a joke.”

“You do know Sidney's doing a cross stitch that says “pull down your pants and slide on the ice” with little pink flowers around it, right?” Hawkeye asks.

That startles a laugh out of Steve. “Is he really?”

Steve turns to Trapper for confirmation and he nods. Sidney had called just last week and asked him and Hawkeye for advice on the appropriate level of twee-ness.

Hawkeye shakes his head fondly. “A fountain of profound wisdom, that man.”

“And he'd prolly tell you that Charles likes you for who you are – so you may as well embrace that. Make something personal, you know? It ain't like he's gonna be showing this off to all his snob friends, anyway. This is for us.”

Steve nods at that.

“Plus,” Hawkeye adds, “you're nuts if you think anything Margaret makes is gonna be tasteful.”

“Or Max.”

“Or BJ. I know for a fact that he's doing a really terrible pun on his.”

Steve smiles. “Thanks guys. I feel a lot better knowing how crass and terrible everyone else is being.”

Trapper slaps him heartily on the back. “That's us, crass and terrible.”

“He's crass, I'm terrible.”

“Where does that leave me then?”

“You can be thoughtless.”

“Gauche?” Trapper suggests.

“What about tasteless?”

“Wow, thanks fellas. You're really making me feel better about myself.” But Steve's got a smile on his face and Trapper figures he and Hawkeye have done their job. After a little longer chatting and joking around, they all sort of disentangle and go get ready for bed.

“BJ's doing a shitty pun, huh,” Trapper says as he and Hawkeye brush their teeth.

“That's what he said. Though he refuses to tell me what it is.” Hawkeye pouts around his toothbrush. “Tight lipped sonofabitch says I have to wait to see it in person. It better be one hell of a pun, that's all I can say.”

“Shit.”

“You stick yourself again, dear?”

BJ can hear the smothered laughter in Peg's voice even with her all the way in the kitchen.

“All I can say is, Charles had better appreciate the hell out of this present. I think I've given more blood for this thing than I did at the Red Cross blood drive.”

“Well, everyone knows it's the thought that counts. But I think it's coming along very nicely.” Even if Peg hadn't necessarily agreed with BJ's decision to make a pun rather than something more meaningful. But then again, she's not the one this is for – and she doesn't know Dr. Winchester's sense of humor or taste in presents. Doesn't know him at all except through BJ's stories about the man - and Hawkeye's letters about the wedding.

Of course, Max is the one actually coordinating things. But those letters tend to be focused on answering BJ's technical questions – and badgering him into having the quilt square done on time.

Hawkeye, on the other hand, is a wellspring of gossip. Who's making what, funny stories about wedding planning passed on from Marjory or Honoria, and Hawkeye's own opinions on the courting behavior of the upper-crust all feature in the nearly weekly reports from Boston. Along with descriptions of Hawkeye's day-to-day life.

This is something Peg has learned to be wary of, over the months since BJ came home. When Hawkeye starts being too candid – when he strays away from idle gossip and responding to BJ's own letters and starts talking about his life – his life with Trapper – that's when things get. Difficult.

And now there's the added wrinkle of BJ's feelings for Hawkeye. Feelings that may or may not be reciprocated. Feelings that Peg honestly isn't all that sure she knows how she feels about. Feelings that ought to make any mention of Trapper John McIntyre even more upsetting to BJ.

But it feels like the opposite has happened, in a way. With BJ able to put a name to what he's feeling – able to find a reason for his jealousy – he's lost a lot of that desperate, wild anger.

That's not to say that there haven't been some rough days. Days when BJ looks longingly at the liquor cabinet – emptied of bottom shelf gin since that last horrible night but still holding enough wine and scotch and whatever else to drown any kind of sorrow for a time. Or stoke any kind of anger. But on days like that, BJ has taken to going out with fellows from his motorcycle club - riding far too fast through the twisting mountain roads, until he can leave all his anger behind in the wind. And that brings its own sort of worry. But when he returns, his face raw with windburn and his eyes free of ghosts, Peg can't bring herself to tell him to stop.

And then there are the days when Peg finds BJ staring at old photographs from Korea like they hold the secrets of the universe rather than just images of himself and Hawkeye. Peg feels like maybe she ought to feel- she doesn't know, slighted somehow? Worried that her husband is so obviously in love with someone else, someone he'd known so intimately for so long? Because this isn't just a little fleeting crush, that much is obvious. BJ loves Hawkeye deeply. And with a love like that, well. What's left over for her?

But BJ isn't like that. He isn't going to leave her and the children. And as jealous and petty and silly about little things like emotional honesty as he can be, Peg knows there's enough love in her husband's heart for a hundred people, a thousand.

If it helps BJ, Peg can live with the shadow of Hawkeye Pierce in her house, in her bedroom, even – tucked under the covers between them, a breath passed between their lips when they kiss. He feels so real, from all of BJ's stories. Like he's always lived there. So it's not jealousy she feels. And, to be perfectly honest, Peg is rather looking forward to meeting the famous Hawkeye in person. To seeing if he's anything at all like the person she's built up in her mind.

So she had encouraged BJ to reach out to Hawkeye, to tell him some of what he's feeling – both to prepare him for the difficult conversation they're sure to have and to help BJ figure out what it is he actually wants to say when he has the opportunity. Because BJ is a good man and a wonderful husband, but he's really not very astute sometimes. And Peg wants this to work out – for all of their sake's.

BJ feels the same way, he says. And it's obvious that he's really honestly trying to figure things out, both with her and with Hawkeye.

And Peg thinks he's sort of latched onto the quilt project as a way of feeling connected to Hawkeye – and to a lesser extent, the other members of the 4077. It must be difficult for BJ, being the only one on the West coast. There's practically a little enclave in Boston – and Hawkeye makes it sound like there are regular meet ups with the rest of the folks living on the East coast. But BJ doesn't have anyone to meet up with, not who experienced the same things he did – who has that same understanding of the blood and the horror and the loss.

Peg can listen, of course. And BJ's started talking more about his time in Korea – something he'd initially shied away from, not that she can blame him. The stories he's telling now are full of more horrors than she could ever imagine. And that's the point – she can listen, but she can't understand. The only people who can really understand are the ones he went through those horrors with him.

So she's glad he's been able to keep his connection to Hawkeye – and she's looking forward to meeting him and the rest of BJ's friends from Korea in a few months.

A couple months before the wedding, Max starts getting quilt squares from all the 4077 folks. Plus Letta – and she's an honorary member of the MASH in Max's mind due to her tricking Dr. Winchester out of tons of money and then giving it all to a good cause. Anyone who can do that is worth bringing into the family, as it were.

And now that all the quilt pieces have arrived, its Max's job put them together.

She commandeers the dining room table – the largest flat surface in the apartment – earning a fond eye roll from Soon Li and excited curiosity from Seong. Max plops him in a chair on a towering stack of books so he can watch as she lays out the squares, moving them around to form something resembling a quilt. She'll sew everything up at the tailoring shop, but it'll help to get a good idea of what all she's working with before putting needle to cloth.

Fortunately, there's a sort of balance to the chaotic swirl of color and texture.

Margaret's pink monstrosity – which features golden swan appliques, the heads bent to form a heart shape with the necks – and Max's own gaudy Bedouin patchwork can sandwich the Padre's more sedate square – cream linen with black text and gold and silver embellishments. That all ties together nicely for the top row of the quilt. Max makes a note of their placement on her latest sketch.

Then Colonel Potter's log cabin square and Radar's prairie points obviously go with BJ's square. A nice little depiction of the 4077 signpost with the words “be it ever so rumble, there's no place like home.” Max laughs to herself as she notes that Radar's square forms a little hidden panel behind the inward pointing triangles – with a picture of two interlocking wedding rings quilted onto it – so she'll have to avoid sewing that over when she quilts the square. And that's the left side done.

Hawkeye and Trapper's squares stay together, obviously, to make up most of the bottom of the quilt. Steve's contribution – an anatomically correct heart with “home is where the heart is” emblazoned on it – goes between the two more sedate squares. And ain't that a kicker – Hawkeye making something beautiful and elegant instead of zany. Not that he doesn't have a touch of the romantic in him. But Max'd expected something more in line with Trapper's contribution. Meaningful but with a little bit of a sly dig in there. Hell, even the Father's choice of bible verse – all about humility and patience and love – could be read as a little something designed to take the wind out of Dr. Winchester's sails.

And Max isn't surprised at all by Sidney's contribution. And it's as good advice now as it was back in Korea. So she makes it the center of the final side of the quilt, bracketed by Letta's star pattern and Donna's interlocking wedding rings.

All that's left now is to fill in the gaps.

In addition to her own square, Max also made corner pieces with scraps of fabric left over from her other tailoring projects. And there's a center piece – with Dr. and Mrs. Winchester's names and the date of their wedding on it – made from some white satin taken from Max's own wedding dress. Soon Li didn't have any kind of emotional attachment to it and Max figures she's done getting hitched. And any kids they have that want to get married in a dress can get a brand new one courtesy of Max Klinger - professional tailor.

So with all the individual pieces done, all that's left is to sew everything together, slap a back on it, and quilt it so the stuffing don't fall out. Easy.

Well, not quite. She's got a few long nights ahead of her, trimming the pieces so they fit right together and join up square, then actually sewing everything together, then sewing batting and the back piece on with edge strips that have to be turned under and hemmed so no raw edges show, then quilting the whole thing in a pattern that both holds everything in place and also looks nice. It's a lot of work for sure – but she figures it'll be worth it to see the look on Dr. Winchester's face when he opens their present, sees what they've come together to make for him.

#mash #piercintyre #something old and something new #chapter 5

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soreillia · 7 years

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Faith and Lies - Chapter II: A Feast Without Food Is NOT a Feast!

[[Continuation from this writing. I'm still not sure how to name this chapter-- Chapter DERP YOLO STORY TO CATCH UP- ok I will edit someday. How do monster eggs work? I MAKE THEM WORK LIKE POKEBALLS LOL, Reirei kind of turned... wibu? How does white herbs work to heal wounds? *RUBS ONTO SKIN* Noo Sacred, he is supposed to eat them! *SHOVES INTO MOUTH* Iyaa hentai!! Yamette~~!! ...who is Ragnis btw? I never heard of this name. How to write about an unknown person? /GETAXE ]]

In the afternoon of Sacred Blood’s return to her mansion after years of absence due to her mission in Arunafeltz, the Guillotine Cross Reiru and her best friend the Royal Guard Sacred were planning to have a feast in the evening to celebrate their reunion. “Reiru has eaten all the food, there is nothing left, master.” Riza, the Sohee serving as Sacred’ maid, informed her owner. “Ah…! Well, knowing my friend I did not expect there to be any food left to be honest. Riza, we will go buy food for the dinner. You will stay here.”

“Very well, master.” Riza bowed politely. “I apologize, I am leaving you alone once again, Riza. Oh... that reminds me. There is someone I have to introduce to you.” Sacred walked to one of her bags, she was carrying with her on her journey and rummaged inside it. The Royal Guard took out an oval object; it was a monster egg. Reiru glanced on it surprised. “Is this an ingredient for some special omelette?” “Oh, no! Hihi, must you always think of food, Reiru?” Sacred chuckled. “Master, this is a monster egg, isn’t it? What is inside of it…?” “You will see in a moment! Just a second, let me get an incubator.” Sacred left the room leaving Riza and Reiru in curiosity. After a moment Sacred returned followed by a woman wearing a crimson-colored kimono and very long black hair reaching to her knees. “May I introduce you to my new servant? Her name is Reirei. She will support Riza from today on.” “Konnichiwa, minna-san… It is my pleasure to meet you.” The woman bowed politely. Reiru and Riza stared at the new servant. She was a Miyabi Ningyo monster known to live in the far away island of Amatsu. “She is really pretty, master…” “You mean… ‘pretty’ scary-” Reiru commented whispering to herself as she noticed the creepy creature on the back of the head of the monster woman. “Uh, so you got another demon woman as pet, huh? If I wouldn’t know you, Sore, I would think something strange of you... thehe. But seriously you named her R… Reirei…? Another one starting with an “R”, huh?” “Hihi, hope you will all get along. The name Reirei is actually taken from your name, Reiru! Like I named Riza after my mother Frederica von Creutz. Oh and then there is Rhyrhy also, who is based on Rhyzern! I must introduce him to you too, when we get the opportunity.” “‘Rica’… ‘Riza’…? You just changed one letter…?” Reiru was kind of confused about the namings of her best friend. “...And who is Rhyrhy… or Rhyzern?” “Arigatou for your kind welcome. Ohh… Rhy-san is not here?” Reirei looked around looking for someone. “He was a great help during my mission. He is a Rune Knight, who I met in Rachel. We traveled together for a while till we arrived here in Prontera and then we sadly went separate ways.” “So you were traveling with some guy, huh? Was he good looking and nice? You sound like you were enjoying his company.” Reiru loved teasing her friend. “I-I did not mean it like that! I was just saying he is very skilled with spear and I have not met any Rune Knight yet who was fighting together with his red ferus partner side by side like this!” “‘Skilled with spear’…? I… see.” Reiru smirked. “He must be a really nice person, master.” “Anyways! Reirei will be staying with you Riza. She is very friendly and loves dolls, she also loves sewing dolls! I want to show her my collection later, hehe~ Could you please show her around the mansion Riza, while we are gone? I also want to give her a cute looking maid uniform later to wear~!” “Is this some kind of fetish…?” The purple haired guillotine cross muttered. “Sure, master. I wish that Reirei will feel like home in our mansion.” “Thank you, Riza!” “Hmm… You better tell me the story of how you found these two “maids” later, Sore! I’m curious how an Odin devoted Royal Guard like you is keeping all these demon woman as pets! I hope you won’t get a Succubus next for your collection, huhu~!” “Huh, S-succubus?! I would never keep such a filthy and indecent demon in my mansion! Riza and Reirei might be demons, but you should not judge a book by its cover! Remembering all the troubles we went through I suppose this will be a long evening with a lot of story telling.” ~~~ Sacred and Reiru left together to buy food in the prontera market, while the other two girls waited for them inside the mansion. They walked together through the crowded market to find the ingredients they need. “Walking with you here… feels so safe!” Reiru looked around her surroundings very carefully. “HEY AREN’T YOU THAT THIEF?!” Some merchant from the side shouted pointing at Reiru. “Thief, where?!” Sacred took out her sword, prepared to fight and guard the people in need. “S-sore-- calm yourself! Let’s walk faster! I can already smell some delicious food nearby!” Reiru nervously pushed her best-friend through the crowds trying to get away fast from the angry merchant, who recognized Reiru. Seeing Sacred’s spicky armor, the people on the street immediately took a step away from the Royal Guard to their own safety. “Huuuuh…? Did he mean you…?” The armored woman looked quite confused, while being pushed along the way still, just realizing that there was no thief seen and and angry merchant chasing them for a moment, but then gave up after a few meters losing sight of them in the crowd. “Did you cause troubles again, my dear friend?” Sacred figured, since her best friend was known to steal food in the past from the merchants and many times the Royal Guard went to pay the merchants as redemption. “Hihihi-- well not veeeery recently! However I guess I’m pretty much a known thief here by now! People should not over exaggerate just because I took an apple or two.” Reiru scratched her head feeling a bit embarrassed, that she was caught a few times just because she forgot to use her hide skill. At that very moment a loud “OUCH!!” was heard coming from a male voice, who was calling out in pain. Sacred's sturdy plated armor, which had some spikes on its curves, accidentally poked a stranger who was in their way. “Oh no-- I apologize, Sir! Are you okay-?” The man before them was a Mastersmith rather tall in height; a familiar dark blue color, with light blue highlight coated his hair. The ache was making him cringe, sitting on the ground. “Urgh, no not really- I’m kind of bleeding here-- haha... This is the very first time a pretty lady stabbed me right into my chest...!” Even though he was in pain, the man still jested. “Oh no… we must treat his wounds!” Sacred was shocked seeing the wound, she caused on his body, which was already covered with bandages on his chest. The wound was exactly on a part, which was not covered with his bandages. She kneeled down to him, rummaged in her bag to find a box with a salve made of white herbs, which she rubbed on the wound. It was well-known for their medication effect on external wounds. “AAh- You could be more gentle to me lovely angel-- This hurts even more!” “If it burns it is doing its work. Your pain will ease very soon with this ointment.” “Ragnis, what are you doing here?!” “Oooh hey! Reiru, there you are! I was worried since you suddenly disappeared without a word! Thought this guy did something to ya again….” “Oh… you are Sir Ragnis? I wondered, why you look so familiar. Maybe I should ask for another commission to craft a certain sword or spear, if you are free to work on it.” “I am glad you remember me and seeing you doing well, Lady Sacred! It is an honor to me to be remembered by a Lady like you are, who is also interested in my work! I will create the best weapon ever just for you!” “She only remembered you because I brought up your name, silly…! But yeah… I actually wanted to return fast after checking something, so yeah... sorry to make you worried about me, Ragnis.” Sacred giggled after hearing Ragnis words. “I heard of your heroic deeds, Sir Ragnis. You protected my best friend Reiru, while I was gone and prevented terrible events to happen. I thank you so very much! I just returned today to prontera, so we had the idea to do a little “welcome back” celebration. This is the reason, why Reiru and I were on our way to buy the necessary food for the preparations for dinner. Mind to join our little celebration? It would be rude for us to not invite Reiru’s hero! I also want to hear more stories about what happened.” Sacred friendly smiled at Ragnis and offered her his hand to help him get back up. “You don’t really have to thank me, a prince must help the damsel in distress! I surely cannot decline your offer, Lady Sacred! I’m very honored!” Ragnis took her hand and the sturdiness of Sacred’s gauntlet combined with her strength made him clench his teeth, being a little bit intimidated of her strength. “Hurgh… for a pretty lady you surely have a firm grip. I am amazed by you, Lady Sacred.” “She almost killed you and crushed your hand, but you are still flirting with her, huh? You surely are a weirdo.” Reiru commented, while watching the scene between them. “Let’s go then and get what we need, I’m getting hungry!” The Guillotine Cross walked ahead. “Hihi, that’s so typical Reiru! She is always hungry and getting fast impatient! She is like a hungry wolf, who will eat us if we do not provide any meal soon!” Sacred and Ragnis followed after Reiru, who couldn’t wait for their feast in the evening.

#my writings #gatetoragnarok #ragnarok online #sacred blood #ragnis raynestolme #riza #reiru subayai #reirei #i had to delete so much crack in this story LOOOOOOOOL #mel's writings

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