‣ rules | requests closed | brew orders | community
‣ 18+ only blog. minors do not interact. no taglists.
‣ struggling with depression. awful writers block.
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒚 !
little lotus flower x (trailer, kny/demon s.)
television sweethearts x (drabble, hazbin hotel)
the descent x (short story, kpdh)
(w.c. 2.3k) you were sent on a solo mission against a demon faction in rural mountains…little did you know that it’ll take more than just a fake act to conceal who you really were.
WARNINGS: yandere themes (17+), mentions of death, (NOT a full story, mini trailer of a possible project)
“May I have two more please?”
The warm noodles was a delight to eat. Night had fallen on you earlier than expected, chasing you down until you reached some isolated vendor stalls. Of the many foods, the udon shop stood out to you the most— your personal reasons discreet to everyone else.
However, this wasn’t the main reason you were here. Your crow flew circles around the sky, cawing ever so slightly to keep you awake. It was your responsibility to uphold a single task, where the cold weather wasn’t so merciful to any hashira.
Your eyes monitored the corners of the slightly bustling street, where many people were still awake to enjoy the pleasures of the village. Lately, further north, there had been a large report of missing people, and demons were suspected behind it.
“Thank you so much!” you hand the bowl back to the cook, bowing down respectfully, “I loved the meal!”
The cook had a look of weared age in his eyes, with wrinkles adoring every feature on his face. He looked kind, taking the bowl with a smile,
“Thank you, business has been very tough lately…”
His gaze traveled to the embarrassing amount of ramen bowls, and you laugh nervously, scratching your jaw innocently,
“Well, I’m glad to be of service, but I have a question,” you lay out your payment as you continue, “What do you know about the northern plaza?”
He rubs his stubby chin, “Hm, I haven’t been there for a while…but I do hear that the people who travel there never come back.”
“Ah.”
“You don’t plan on heading there, do you?” he raised a brow, not bothering to take the shiny coins, “For a sweet lady like you, it’s basically like heading straight to a killing ground.”
You hold back your scoff, and then move your blue haori to the side, allowing your standard uniform to be revealed. The man takes one glance, and then smiles,
“Oh, my apologies then, I wish you luck— but really,” his voice shifts to a cooler tone, “It is a dangerous place for a lady like you.”
You nod, thanking him once more as you take your leave. Sure, it’d be very characteristic of you to ignore the warning— but you were confident. Arrogant even, but it was on a reasonable manner.
The ice and cold was your terrain after all.
Several hours later, you found yourself hiking up the tip of a lustrous mountain. The sky hung with an abnormal amount of clouds, creating a grey hue of the world below. Your crow was perched on your shoulder, silent as it monitored your surroundings.
You trusted that lil thing with all your life, yet right now it was difficult to believe its directions to the Lotus mansion.
“Perry, are you sure?” you sigh, grabbing a branch to prevent yourself from slipping down the wet meadows, “We have to be real focused in this mission—“
“Caw!”
“Yes I know you’re never wrong but sometimes you’re a little spec—AHHHL!”
Your foot slipped over a mushroom, causing you to tumble down your walked path painfully. Your hand saved you briefly from falling off the edge of the mountain by another stubborn rock. At this point, the nature would kill you before age.
The black crow fluttered its wings as it found a new perch on a high branch, and you notice its direction— seeing his beak swing low. You turn, grinning as you see a majestic creek lead to a temple not far off.
“Caw! Caw!”
You scoff, lifting yourself from your hang, “Yeah, yeah, I won’t doubt you again.”
The walk was a breeze after that, and the closer you reached the temple, the more detail you noticed about it. Several women grazed the fields outside, away from civilization as they plucked the bounty from the tall bushes. They were cheerful and giggling idly as they played around the structure.
The temple itself was…amusing. It was proud and tall with rich glory— made of ivory, wood, and exquisite gold. The demon must’ve made a good living here, but you repulsed when you imagined how he got it in the first place. Your gaze traveled to the ladies once more, stepping their way up over the water-borne temple, several water lilies floating around.
If you were going to go here undercover, you best look undercover. Readily prepared, you stripped yourself of your haori and slayer uniform, leaving yourself in white drawls. To play the act of a lost and abused woman, it was an easy feat. You squatted and touched the wet ground, rubbing some dirt on your face strategically and disheveling your hair with some fallen leaves. You turned to Perry and pointed at your uniform,
“Hide this somewhere near the temple, but nowhere near where the women can find it.”
The crow bounced from its ledge and landed on the tip of your katana, signaling the questioning appearance.
“Ah, I’ll hide that easily.”
To your advantage, your katana bent and folded like rubber— only hardened by your ice breathing to be a true deadly blade. You tucked the blade in your tall socks, making sure it wrapped around your leg so no seams would poke out oddly. Then, you turned your sights toward the giggling group of ladies.
Creeping forward at first, you began to speed up your pace, and let out a sob,
“Please! Please! I’m lost!”
Your cracked voice alerted the attention of a few women in the field, and it made them immediately draw to you. Frantic hands held your soiled face, cooing and shaking with you as they pestered you with concerned questions.
“Love! Are you all right?”
“Oh my! Who did this to you?”
“Poor thing!”
You played right with them, sobbing and covering your face with pretended shame. You made it look like you were going to fall apart any second, and it was convincing enough for them to push you gently inside the temple.
It was sort of difficult, however, to hide that “this was way too easy” smile, but you held it in just fine.
Your facade helped you learn a lot more things than you were told.
First of all, the rumors of a demon here correlated with the warnings of the women, who said that at night a demon would run around finding women to eat. However, they believed their god here saved them from that, and blessed them every night with his presence. They had described him as handsome and beautiful, insisting that there were no words to truly captivate his beauty.
Second of all, you found no actual trace of demons. Among the women, none of them stood out oddly, they were just…normal. They were a bundle of smiles, insisting that you see their god. Moreover, their “god” made you awfully quizzical about him. As far as you knew, the demon was one of the lower ranks— according to a messenger.
You gazed up at the intricate ceiling of the bathroom, seeing little angels decorate each corner. Yet, it didn’t seem like this was just some lower demon, there was more to it.
Shuffling footsteps are heard, and you instantly fall back into your facade— being sad and gloomy. One of the girls had grew a liking to you, something about you looking like a mother she had. Her eyes were bright and cheery, and her smile had no end to the cruelties of the world. Within her arms, she held a neat pile of white robes, resembling the ones the other women had.
“Here you go! I guessed your size, so I’m hoping it’d fit.” She sets them beside a clean corner of the tub, “My name is Mallory, but you can call me Mally!”
Mally watches you stare back at her blankly, and you’re finding the right words as you tilt your head,
“M…Mallory? Isn’t that a sad name?”
Her smile falter for just a second, which could’ve been easily disregarded by anyone else,
“Yep! But our lord helped me embrace my name and love it!” Her eyes get even wider, “Say, we should go see our Lord! He’s going to choose one of us to accompany him to the heavens!”
“Heavens?”
What sad lunacy...
But your rationale makes your push a little more,
“Is he special?”
“He’s from the heavens,” her shoulders relax as she sighs, “I really want to be chosen so I can join my mother, but no one knows how he chooses— it’s so random.”
You nod somewhat understandably, and she takes her time to explain more about the Lord or God— it’s difficult to say who is what to who. You had dried and dressed yourself in the robes, which fit you surprisingly snug around your hips, and somewhat resemble a thin kimono.
Barefoot was clearly a habit around here, but you saw no issue with the pristine wooden floors. It should be late by now, the sky fallen and night rising once more— and it shouldn’t take another day more to finish this mission.
You wandered quietly around the halls, discreet and attentive to where you stepped. Any small talk or whispered conversations were heard by you, but it was constantly the same thing about admiring their Lord. You hoped to at least pick up his name, or even where he came from, but it was largely difficult.
The moment you decided to relax your shoulders, a light chuckle was heard. You raised your gaze, your eyes flickering at the corners of the temple, but you didn’t spot its owner. Swallowing, you itched to grab your blade, and you’re glad you held it in the last minute.
Before you, a tall man appeared, and a golden fan was pressed temptingly on your throat. It’s like your instincts hit you in a dragged motion, because the moment you lift your head slightly, you’re eye to eye with a demon.
It was recognizably obvious. His sick rainbow eyes held Uppermoon 2 all across, and his smile was one of who consumed without pity. Sure, it was one thing to be told you’re going against some measly troublemaking demon— but to discover you’re going against one of the twelve kizuki?
“I must say, I’ve never seen you before,” he smiles, his fangs glinting, “New?”
Your face was frozen in shock, and it was hard to find the control in your body to move or reply back. It was like you were pressured down, unable to fend for yourself. You cursed your body to move, to draw your blade and kill this demon— even if it were the last thing you do.
Trembling, you reply in a meek voice,
“I-I came from town, I was lost and—“
“Oh! A lost soul?” One of his hands flew to his lips that curled downward, “You poor girl! Who would leave such beauty behind?”
Your finger twitched as you slowly began to feel your muscles untensing,
“Yes, but maybe being referred to as a beauty is a bit too much…” you glance at the fan, “Are you the Lord everyone loves here?”
The blade slightly lifts your chin as the demon leans forward, his eyes narrowing with his nose mere centimeters from yours. He didn’t have a breath, but you heard yours practically rattling your chest. Dusty blond hair fit his pale skin nicely, making you somewhat less prone to scratch up his face.
“Depends, who’s asking?” His hand was flat against the wall behind you, his knee practically between your thighs, “Hunter or Follower?”
Now your heart was stuck at your throat. You did nothing to reveal who you were— unless he somehow found your uniform, which had to be impossible.
Before you could muster out the obvious reply, he choked out a fit of laughter;
“Oh! You should see the look on your face!”
You glance back up to see him childishly laughing to himself, his fan flaunting his laughter amongst the walls. You gave a measly smile,
“Ah yes! How silly— I’m just a real,” you choked back the disgust, “A real passionate follower! W-well interested of course…”
You had to ignore his features in order to sound convincing, because any hint of disgust would instantly blow your cover away. Yet, he left you unanswered, and began to recede from your figure, eyeing you.
“You smell lovely little angel, where were you from again?”
He kept his fan lightly tapping his chin, his eyes feeling as if they’re stripping every layer of your body away.
“A burned village— I, uhm, don’t quite remember,” You pause, then press a finger to his chest innocently, “Say, you never told me your name, did you?”
“Oh, you’re so…sweet,” his fan presses down your hand, gently, “And but of course, you may call me Douma, or whatever your heart desires—“
You force a smile, but it doesn’t last very long.
“Which, also may be Monster, according to your uniform.”
“What?” You scoff, hearing your heartbeat pounding in your ears, “What uniform are you—“
You’re interrupted.
Your vision that is, with Mallory in the dark distance of the winding halls, holding a withered uniform in one hand.
You speak before you think,
“That’s not mine, Lord—“
Your voice is snatched like a baby with his sucker, and you hear a weak caw several feet to your side.
It seemed unreal, horrid even, how bad of a fucking mission you chose.
The woman who had carried you here in your facade earlier held Perry by its feet, with a small scabbard itching to hurt.
“You see, my sweet,” he enunciates this with a deep inhale of your temple, “Sweet, angel. My followers, they see such sad things and it really hurts to hear them…do you know why?”
To hell with it. If he knows, he knows.
You bare your teeth, your shoulder sinking slightly to reach what was buried in your sock.
“Because they know I’m gonna cut your fu—“
“Oh no, no, no,” he adds pressure to your neck, “You were just too pretty to be killed.”
COOL! Because ya girl needs a favor! My commissions are open! All types of commissions I have to offer are open! If you are interested (and not a bot) I'd love to work with you to make your ideas or fantasies come to life (lol)
Here are some examples of what I'm currently offering and well as a link to my commission request form! (If you have a discord i would prefer if you'd chat with me over there:
Commission Request Form
I currently have a limit of 5 slots, so if you're thinking of getting anything, don't hesitate! Comment down on this blog "Hi! I'm not a bot, and I would be interested in a commission," if you want one, and thank you so much for being interested!
To all of my followers and mutuals, please reblog this one! It would really help me (and lord knows I need it) anyhow, the support would be appreciated, and thank you so much for those who can♡♡
IT is angry; angrier than you’d ever seen it before, only now all its horrifying fury was directed at you as the fog surrounded you on all sides; cold and invading and clawing like icicles. His amber eyes bore into you like flung scalpels, and you only had half a mind to stop what you were doing before the inevitable would happen, the smart choice that guaranteed a lesser punishment.
You didn’t heed that warning, instead, you fled.
Escape was within sight; the edge of the border that kept IT trapped within Derry so close. IT is fast and determined but you are a human; maddened by willpower to escape the torment that hasn’t ended for months. Few physical wounds there had been save for teeth and claws setting their shallow marks upon you, labelling you as IT’s, but the mental torment had never ended. No more. No more would you fear the days where shadows crawled and laughter echoed, no more would you fear the nights where dreams were full of him; the one place he could hurt you without killing you entirely. He was sadistic in his love for inflicting pain upon your dreamscape; feasting and filling his belly with your flesh; gleeful as he made you watch it all. Sometimes you felt nothing; only horror, yet other times the phantom agony brought with it wakefulness and you’d scream as you fell from the bed, ITs laughter still echoing in your mind as you shuddered; skin unblemished.
The end of all your suffering is so close; you can almost touch it, but it shrinks away and you scream for you know it is an illusion, but further and further away it goes and there is maniacal laughter behind you; the jingling of bells and skipping footsteps thundering in your ears before an arm comes around you and a hand seizes your throat from behind; strong fingers gripping tightly enough to be uncomfortable, but not suffocating.
“Bad, bad, bad!” Pennywise sang; halfway growled. The fury in his voice was poorly masked by his otherwise jovial sounding nature. “You thought you could escape? Leave poor ol’ Pennywise behind without a care in the world?” He laughed and flung you onto your back, the world spinning as the back of your head hit the ground and you groaned in pain. “So selfish, so foolish, so, so naïve!” Closer he came again before squatting down beside you, his smile now gone as his eyes glowed in the dark of the night. “Did you think I’d let you leave?” he asked, no humour in his voice. You cowered away, or you tried to, but with a growl Pennywise pulled you back none too kindly, and you whimpered as he loomed over you; one knee on the ground as a hand came to rest on the ground beside your head; caging you beneath him.
“I’m sorry,” you tried to plea, shivering with fear that made him drool heavily; dripping onto you as you heard him sniff.
“I’m sorry,” he mimicked with a mocking chuckle.
“I’m sorry,” you said again, fearful yet still reaching to grasp his arm. His eyes narrowed but you continued, feeding into the obsession he clearly had with you; hoping that you weren’t making things worse for yourself. “I’m sorry, Pennywise. I’ll—I’ll never try to run again, I promise.” Promising anything to him was dangerous. “I promise.” And he didn’t say anything at first and it was terrible; waiting for him to react, to do anything but stare with glaring eyes and a motionless mouth that continued to drool over you; spittle cold as it fell onto your skin.
Then he smiled; cruel and cold.
“Promise?”
“Yes,” you whispered; shivering as he leaned closer.
“Promise?” he asked again.
“I promise,” you answered, sealing your fate as he chuckled and took hold of the back of your head, lifting you up just enough to tenderly move the side of his head against yours, sniffing your hair. You could but close your eyes and pray that your end would come soon, hoping against all that IT would eventually lose interest and kill you quickly. And yet your belief in this was but the size of a grain of sand, for when you felt him touch you, cradling you in ITs arms as he almost silently laughing against your skin, you knew that ITs interest would never falter for as long as you lived. And your life would be doomed to continue forward, whether you wished it or not; endless suffering nothing more than a treat and a game for the eldritch monster that took you as ITs tasty price.
I’ve gotten to the point where I’m bored enough to see all my activity, though only to see it’s minors reading my shit poured smut and creamy fluff so I just reach a flow state and idgaf. I’m just not their mom.
Can't stop thinking about asking Pennywise to "show me your teeth," so it gives you that cute buck-toothed grin.
But then you say "no, show me your teeth," and there's so much hunger and excitement in its eyes as its smile stretches wider and wider and shows you them all.
When Mary Poppins' granddaughter settles in 1960s Derry, she uses her magic umbrella and bottomless carpetbag to babysit, waitress... and quietly wage war against the thing in the drains.
But Pennywise takes one sniff of her storm-laced power and decides she's his new favorite obsession. Caught between protecting "her" kids and bargaining with the monster beneath the town, she's forced into a twisted game of rules, teeth, and a bond that feels far too much like being devoured.
🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡
1. The Nanny Bird
2. The Town Takes Notice
3. The Rules of the Game
4. The Dream
5. The Deal
6. The Lights We Share
🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡🎈🩸🤡
🩸 Want to make sure you don’t miss a chapter?
Comment on the MOST RECENT chapter so I can see you before the dark closes in 🎈
I wholly recommend this series, it’s high key bringing me out of writers block and my reading slump! The writing, characterization, plot, and the storytelling aspect of this is just beautiful and beyond amazing. Kudos to the author, I can’t believe I’m reading this for free. ❤️🩹
hey!! I’m new to ur blog and I’m also a writer— but my dumb ahh is too lazy to write for penny or think of something…but I did see you wanted suggestions for like character 👀 maybe Pennywise (it) finding someone with a clown fetish? And reader secretly hides it but can’t help herself when she sees the creepy clown always haunting the kids on her block— maybe it’s a good thing cause she distracts him long enough for those kids to make a plan lol ♥️ take this in any way you’d like! thank uuuu
hi! welcome!! I hope this is everything your monster lover heart desires!
It's the night of the annual Welcome to Derry carnival. It's something that happens once a year where it's a day of fun in the sun activities and fireworks once the sky becomes dark. A way to celebrate everyone who lives there and welcomes any newcomers.
You're the latter, a newcomer who recently moved to Derry about six months ago. It was quiet at first, you renting an apartment above the old theater in the city. But you couldn't ignore the way people would whisper about a darkness which soon would awaken. Especially one night when you looked out your window, something telling you to, and that's when you saw the figure cloaked in the moonlight. It was hard to see exactly what you were looking at but what was clear as day was the face paint; white and red. And orange hair.
Each night, it became clear on what was watching you through your third story window; a clown. You could tell the kids feared the clow because one night when a group of them were playing baseball in the street, you heard screams followed by silence and when you looked outside, all you saw was a red balloon.
Now, two weeks after the killings began, you were at the carnival. You couldn't explain it but something in your gut told you that you'd finally see the clown in all of his glory tonight. It was packed, nearly everyone in Derry showing up tonight. Music was blasting, the scent of popcorn and cotton candy filled the air, and the screams of patrons on the ride brought a sense of comfort in your body. You looked through the stacks of bodies, desperate for a glimpse of the clown.
It wasn't until the third night you saw him watching that you realized you developed not only a crush but a sexual attraction as well. Even though you didn't even know it's name, you found yourself wanted to touch the clown. Wanted to kiss him, feel his breath on you, let him devour you whole.
Hearing a commotion over towards the house of mirrors, you noticed a group of kids running away from the entrance with their cries of fear in their wake. You thought about asking if they were alright but your mind became transfixed in the figure standing less than a few feet in front of you.
“It’s you,” you breathed.
His red bottom lip jutted out. “You’re in the way of my feast.”
You realized you were standing in between him and the kids running away from him.
“Were you going to kill them?” You ask, surprised there wasn’t a waiver in your voice.
The clown cocked his head to the side, bright yellow eyes taking in your appearance.
“You have no fear,” he noted, ignoring your question.
“Of you? Should I be?” You asked
The clown stepped forward, crowding in your space, as he breathed you in. You continued to remain frozen, not daring to move the wrong way in fear of him killing you.
“I smell something other than fear,” he shook his head roughly, the bells of his clown costume ringing loudly.
“I-,” your words were cut of harshly has his gloved hand shot out to wrap around your throat.
“I suddenly have a taste for something else."
You did your best to swallow. "Are you going to kill me?"
He smiled before breathing in your scent, just like before. His tongue traced up your neck up to your chin and then over your lips. The entire action was sick and fucked up but you were wet and sticky between your legs due to all of it.
"I want to do more than kill you," the clown smiled wide before a sudden darkness took over, dragging you down somewhere unknown.
shoutout to everyone who’s still following me through my many changes of fandoms and don’t get pissed off whenever I flood your dash with things you don’t even like. thank you.
drabble: vincent whittman x assistant! fem! reader
(w.4.1k) you got the job of your dreams with the man of your dreams…but is he really who you’ve dreamed about for so long? the sweet and innocent weatherman? or, someone entirely and utterly obsessed with you?
a/n: this is dark content for descriptive deaths; contains yandere behavior, you have been warned.
WARNINGS: MDNI/18+, suggestive sexual references, inappropriate display of work behavior, strong language, implied age difference, descriptive deaths/murders, yandere behaviors, nicknames, character deaths
You liked Vincent since your older college days.
Even now you remember how often you stared longingly at the chiseled man, more entranced at his grin than his warning of imminent windstorms.
So what’s a girl to do? Well, pursue a degree in meteorology, apply for an assistant position at the news network, and cross your fingers that you’d meet the man of the hour.
And did you get that wish completed?
No, you didn’t for a while. The news network isn’t as easy as rom-com movies make it to be— it’s dirty, mean, and full of sex. On the first day of the job you were yelled for simply bringing the wrong coffee, but how were you to know that the News Anchor didn’t like her drinks hot?
Following that day, you saw co-workers fucking each other in the break room. The girl was Martha, some chick that looked like an angel guiding you around the station, and the guy seemed to look like the Sports Anchor, young and blonde.
They didn’t even notice that you entered the room, and it was pretty obvious because the woman seemed to moan insufferably. Your lips twitched in disgust, wondering if you would even last the full first day here.
It even brought the question of how your idol managed to survive in a place like this? He certainly didn’t seem like the type to do this, and there was some part of you that had sympathy for him, perhaps wondering if he was a victim to this kind of cruelty.
Yet, little did you know.
Your face had his kind of “observer” look to it, and you kept your movements minimal and nifty at every barked command. It seemed like you were unfazed to this behavior now, and you made sure to live up to that part. Your suit was pinstriped black and grey, fit to your feminine body and hugging your curves every time you bent over to clean a broken mug.
The man behind the sets noticed that.
It didn’t matter who you were, he wouldn’t let someone with even a prospect of success to get in his way. He simply wouldn’t allow it. But when Vincent observed you for a few days more?
Some sick, twisted delusion filled his head.
He knew of the dirty dogs that littered the station, even the other power-hungry anchors who’d do about anything to get what they wanted. The only advantage he had was that he knew how to hide this facade, and play a role that would even convince God that he was a beloved Shepard.
And you?
Oh, you had success all right. Being an obedient and strong woman such as yourself could easily land you at being an assistant director to any career you desired. It could possibly even land you a trip straight to a shark tank, torn and unrecognizable, just like the broken porcelain you collected.
“Are you…perhaps Vincent Whittman?”
The curious voice made the man smile as he turned slowly from his desk, concealing some minor plans. His eyes met the wide and sparkly ones of a familiar assistant, and her arms were wrapped tight around a white clipboard.
“Depends sweetheart,” he raises an angled brow, “Who’s asking?”
Your hand trembled as you extended it, and the exchanged smile threatened the fangirl inside you to burst out,
“F/n L/n, the recent assistant that was hired for background stage.”
You swallowed thickly as his eyes narrowed, observing you from head to toe, judging probably anything and everything about you. It did sort of help that it was already the end of the day, and most of the people at the station had left, leaving you and Vincent practically alone.
His hair didn’t look any different from when you last saw him, except for that single streak of lighter brown hair. His heterochromia eyes were like a mesmerizing color, and more dominant when face-to-face with your own simple e/c ones.
“Oh yes! You’re that little mouse we call, the er…” he snaps his fingers as he presents you with grin, “The good one— yeah, you’re that one.”
Your heart tinged a bit, but you continued nonetheless,
“Yes, yes, you got that right,” you chuckled, “Well, I just wanted to introduce myself before I get to formally…!”
A paper is pulled from your clipboard, and you offer it to the weatherman, who takes it with a hum. The brief moment of contact let your nostrils intake the smell of his strong and bitter cologne, causing your smile to twitch for the smallest of seconds.
“…Be your new assistant. I was moved to be under your care, and I was just notified of it yesterday. I don’t really know if you or someone else moved me, but I do think—“
“What do you want to be ten years from now, Miss L/n?”
His question is loud in the enclosed area, and you felt yourself sink into your heels as you raised a brow,
“Excuse me?”
”Ten years from now,” he motions his hand to another chair in his office, directly across from his desk, “What do you want to be?”
“Ah,” you say, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as you take a seat, “Ten years? Well I don’t know, maybe a rocket scientist?”
You hoped for a laugh, but seeing that you only evoked a grimace, you discarded the “play it chill” act;
“Er, but you know— realistically speaking— I think I want to be a weatherman too, or weathergirl? I find that kind of job interesting you know? Where everyone can like—“
You gesticulate with your right hand, trying to find the right words,
“Like, trust you! And if I’m being fairly honest, I’m looking at my role model right now, and you certainly have all my trust and faith. That’s how I see myself in ten years.”
“So you want to take my job then,” his grimace falls to a frown, and he leans on his elbows, “And leave me without a career?”
“Oh gods no! I don’t mean it—“
Vincent’s instant laugh leaves you rattled, and you watch as he slaps his palm on the wooden furniture. His teeth flash his pearly whites, and they glint under the dim lighting almost like fangs.
“I was simply messing around with you sweetheart, don’t mind me,” his chest still heaves with pleasure, “I didn’t scare you, did I?”
Clenching your fists, you forced a weak laugh,
“You? No, not really— I mean, like I said, you have all my trust and faith.”
The brown-haired man nods his head, and begins to lift from his chair, walking around the littered desk, and stopping right in front of your seat. He leans against the table, then speaks with a hushed tone,
“So if I asked you to kill somebody, would you do it?”
Your gaze lifts from his pointy shoes, to his soft, contrasting smile.
“Would you trust me then, Miss L/n?”
You pursed your lips, ready to reply, but you were swiftly interrupted by another voice at the door.
“Don’t scare your new assistant already Vincent, she’s still new.”
You watched the said man’s demeanor change to one of disgust as he snarkily replied,
“You should listen to yourself Dick, you’re awfully famous for scaring all the assistants you’ve had before.”
Slowly, you receded from your seat, and began to make your way to the door, seeing the Sports Anchor eye your chest a bit too long for your comfort. You knew what he was famous for too, and remembered the horrid look on Martha’s face as she vented about Dick’s dickey move of impregnating her.
“Nah, corporate just said I’m too good to have one.”
Not wanting to be in the middle of a conversation, you waved at your new manager, giving him a hearty grin,
“Raincheck me on that question Mr. Whittman, seem’s like you have a guest to take care of at the moment.”
You left soon after, jingling your keys all the way to the parking lot. However, you were oblivious to the scream that shook the Earth slightly, and you disregarded it for the thump of your heavy suitcase.
“Well shit, I guess I need to lighten up on the amount of sweets I bring,” you mumble.
The weeks that followed after the office scene were a new fresh intake of news station life. With Vincent, he never yelled, cussed, or skimmed your body with his hand sexually— in fact, he did the opposite.
He cooed, praised, and gave you playful winks every time you completed a “side quest” from him. Whether it be fetching him his lightning-bolt of a pointing stick, or fixing up his hair before he aired on show, he always respected you better than any man.
Heck, it made you even forget about the gruesome murder of Dick, who was found with a dildo impaling his diagonally split body. Though it didn’t end there.
You weren’t able to connect the dots as quick as Vincent thought you would, so it made this all the better. Remember that woman who yelled at you for your poor mistake of a coffee your first day here? Well, he made sure that she received a jaw-dropping and eye-popping of a coffee just a few weeks ago.
He distinctly recalled your small grin when her death was notified to the crew, and that small action was more than enough to make him keep going. After all, he wouldn’t want anyone standing in the way of his assistant.
“Vincent!” you called out, speed-walking to catch up with the now-upgraded News Anchor, “Guess what!”
“Yeeeesss, sweetheart?”
The man with the glasses turned, still reciting his new lines in his head until he saw your gleaming eyes overly excited for the news he was obviously aware of.
“I got offered your part of weatherman! The director said that since you’re already taking up so many positions, I might as well take up your old role!”
He bumped shoulders with you, relishing and exchanging a smile;
“That must be—“
“I rejected it!” You interrupted, and quickly explained the moment his face dropped, “I don’t want to be a weatherman anymore, I just don’t think it’s for me— see, I’m actually more than happy of where I’m at right now.”
You walked ahead of him now, who seemed flabbergasted, “Well, I’m off to type up your script— and oh! File some data too…”
“Wait a minute missy,” his hand pulled your shoulder back gently, restraining itself from slamming you against the wall, “I thought that was your goal? And you rejected it?”
After all I went through? Vincent irked to slap that cheeky grin of yours— don’t you realize he’s helping you up the food chain? Giving you a better career? A better—
“Is there something wrong with a changed goal? Nothing is ever set on stone, Vincent, and I thank you for your worry, but I’m actually really proud to be with you.”
For the first time, his voice sounded…unhinged. You saw his lips fall to a frown as he breathed out;
“You’re proud to be with me? Of all people?”
“Why?” you laughed it off, and pulled at his sleeve to keep walking, “Is it so bad to work with someone you find so much in comparison with?”
The man stifled his chuckle, and wasn’t reluctant to correctly fix your grip on his sleeve. His slender fingers grabbed your wrist, and pulled you close enough to have your nose inhaling that bitter cologne once more.
And for him, perhaps, to see your tense shoulders, and light dust of pink on your cheeks.
“Do tell, how do we compare?” he whispered, his head tilting toward you, “You didn’t become the weatherman you sought out to be.”
You bit the innards of your cheek, trying your very fucking best not to melt at his vice. Sure, you had a very long time collaborating with him, but it didn’t mean that your feelings didn’t slip from time to time.
Like that one time you were nearly caught staring at him change; and sneak a peak at the insane happy trail he had going down.
“We’re both victims of this abusive system, the whole catastrophe that goes on behind the scenes,” you perked up, having the courage to boop his nose with your finger, “You never know when we might go dead too, so it’s best to be optimistic about each other.”
Victims?
Oh darling.
He was anything but the victim.
Vincent sucked his bottom lip, attempting his innate best to not spill all the dark secrets he was tempted to tell. His lip made a soft pop as he let go of his hold on your wrist. Of course you wouldn’t understand though, oh not yet.
The propped walls witnessed his once-in-a-lifetime offer, and the sweet action he did only for you; he handed you a pin, familiar to the both of you when he first aired on show.
The small, little, orange fish.
“It would be awfully rude of me then, to not invite you for dinner, would it?” he said, his glasses glinting your awed expression, “From one victim to another?”
“Depends…”
Your hand trails from his nose, down to his collar, where you give him a light tug forward. His discolored eyes narrow at your attempt, but he gives you the brief taste of power as you whisper,
“Where will it be?”
And he replies, almost on the same husky tone as he slips the pin between your cleavage,
“Twin Peaks bar, oh and,” he peers down at your quivering excitement, “Wear your best dress.”
Best to say that you listened and immediately bought the most sexiest dress you saw.
It didn’t take long for nightfall to happen on the glimmering sky of stars, stabbed by skyscrapers standing overzealously among the populace.
You kept a long, black trench coat over your slit dress, for a variety of reasons. One, it was cold. Two, you were near the alley for gods sake.
Vincent mentioned he had some business to take care of before he arrived, so it left you waiting outside the bar until he came. But, that was hours ago.
And right now you had this gut wrenching feeling that you were being stood up.
“I should’ve known it was too good to be true,” you murmured, finding yourself walking back down to street from where you came.
Light patters of rain kissed your fancy hair, making you wince. You didn’t even have an umbrella on you, so with a tired sigh, you pulled your trench coat off your body and looped it over your head.
You kept walking gloomily, your heels clacking on the pavement, and your ears listening to the snarky remarks of dirty men.
“Now I know you’re not leaving me on this cold night.”
The rain had concealed his figure from you, but you recognized the comforting voice to be none other than Mr. Whittman. His shoes had some dark stains, but you disregarded it for the rain; and your eyes led up to see his knuckles white around the bouquet of fallen geraniums.
He seemed out of breath, and you cracked a grin to ease him:
“Oh dear, is that someone I recognize?” you comically rubbed your eyes, “Oh! Vincent!”
“Ha ha, very funny sweetheart.”
You extended a hand, to which be took within his arm and muttered beneath his breath, “Twin Peaks closed early, and I still have unfinished shit to get done.”
“Then I’ll join you.”
He only hummed, though it sounded more like a grunt. You had to pick up your pace little by little as angrily mumbled to himself— and you admitted that he did look sort of cute. This was also the only time you got to seem him, well, bothered.
You only hoped that as weeks passed, he’d still stay alive. There was this itching feeling that something was dreading to happen, but you disregarded it for the anxiety you must’ve been feeling.
As the rain kissed the pair slowly, the moon began to watch the smaller one lean against the other. And the moon would see this day after day, until it was the set date for one to set out on his deed once more.
“You know, Vincent, I never got to answer your question.”
Years had since gone, and as you stapled reports together, a thought came up on your mind.
Your now-proclaimed lover sat with his legs crossed over his desk, watching you complete his paperwork. Not that you complained of course.
“What question?”
“When you asked if you told me if I would kill someone at your command.”
His brows furrowed together as he began to stand, noticing the ticking clock. It was already the dreading hour that he’d make his last move to victory, and perhaps, be able to tell you everything.
“Ah, do tell then.”
“I would kill for you,” you smiled softly, then handed him his script, “And then I’d trust you for a reward after.”
The chuckling man approached your figure, keeping his hands to your sides as he leaned forward. His lips hovered over yours tauntingly, and you couldn’t help but look up at his narrowed eyes.
“Prove it to me then,” he grinned, savoring your pleased look, “Show me how much you really trust me.”
“Ah, well if I did—“
“Mr. Whittman! You’re up!”
Your cheeks grew bigger as you peeked over his hunched shoulder, it always seemed like the moment he finally got time alone with you, someone had to intervene.
“He’ll be right out!” you exclaimed, eyeing the feet below the cracked door of the office, “He’ll be out in one!”
“Well…”
You turned your attention back to the grimace Vincent had, “What? Don’t you love your job? Get out there!”
Your hands gave him a light shove away, but not before landing a peck on his thinned lips. It felt euphoric to finally have him in front of you, sharing the same air in the same place, and being called his.
“Fine, but do fetch me some scotch by the time I’m finished,” he began to recede, “It should take you, hm, a good hour or so…”
He counted his fingers, nodding to himself as he glanced up at your raised brow. This would certainly be enough time for him to quickly finish off the final man he needed to topple, and then the fucking whore that decided to interrupt his sweet time.
“Right, the special one no?” you brushed past him to the door, and collected your purse, “The traffic is heavy this late, so you’re not entirely wrong.”
You felt his breath down your neck, his lips dragging slowly up your jaw, making you grin,
“If you keep this up, the boss might be angry at you.”
“Don’t worry about that sweetheart, he won’t be for long.” he hummed, appeased at the laugh it evoked from you.
The traffic was the last thing you needed.
Three whole hours had gone by, and your cab driver was doing nothing but smoking the entire vehicle with his cheap cigar. The cars beside you were beeping insistently at the one before it, and its drivers were hollering insults to each other like a Christmas carol.
“Are you sure this was the fastest route?” you asked, bouncing your leg impatiently, “I need to be at the studio—“
“Missy.”
His cracked voice snapped at you, and his wrinkled eyes glared from the mirror,
“It’s 8-fucking-o’clock, what did ‘ya expect? Rainbows an’ unicorns fetching ev’er one from their cars and shippin’ em to their ‘omes?”
Oh lord, you had to hold yourself from breaking the scotch cradled in your arms and shoving its broken shards down his infested throat. You didn’t know what your lover might say if you’re any late, but you didn’t want to test it any longer.
“Yes, you dumb fugler!” you pushed the broken door open of the cab, making it scrape against another car, “Fuck you and your unicorns!”
The cold breeze hit you as slammed the door back, rattling the cab and the angry cab driver. Flashing lights yelled at you as you swerved from car to car, running blocks down to the studio.
At the corner of your eye, you noticed some wailing blue and red dots, but you didn’t have the time to snoop around and figure out why.
Vincent was more important.
Not long after, and a few breaths cut short, you made it to the back alley of the studio, and quickly made yourself inside. As you expected security or some other employees to greet you or call you out to reveal your ID…there was none.
The desks, levers, and background drops were cleaned of any organic beings.
“Hello?”
Your voice echoed, and in the distance, the lights dimmed down to a slight blue hue. Was the power down or…?
Taking a deep breath, you set down the scotch on a set table, then plucked a pen from your coat’s pocket. A small relief resided in you as you saw the collection of pins gifted: a goldfish, a sailboat, and an anchor.
And now, you had to anchor yourself down so nothing would scare the crap out of you.
You walked slowly to the center stage of the studio, where all the live recordings took place. Your arms were slightly raised to your chest, where your pen was clutched by your tight fingers.
You made it to the center stage, dimmed with only one hanging light fixture. It was quiet except for the thrumming of the cameras and tech working overtime, but a single beep rattled your attention.
“Help is on the way, stay still Mr. Elon, if the man comes back—“
The voice doesn’t get to finish as a guttural cry cuts out, and then followed by a crushed chorus of applause.
You weren’t alone.
And you felt that something was awfully wrong. Not because of the obvious wafting death of the other mere inches from you, but also because of the man. The darkness, the heaving breaths, and wailing sounds that were nearing at each dreading second only helped push the voice in your head to scream.
“Oh sweetheart, you came earlier than expected.”
Your eyes darted in the dark as you took steps back, but you wouldn’t dare reply. Oh no, no. It wasn’t as if it helped anyway.
Something warm and wet skimmed your neck, leaving a sticky trail as it squeezed your face. Vincent hissed into your ear, his nose grazing your temple,
“Listen Y/n, listen to me because I’m only giving you one chance.”
The lights were slowly brightening, and the wails of cop cars were nearer than ever. From what you could see, the floor before you was stained in red, and a body was plastered with knives upon their back.
A sick, churning, feeling began to erupt in your stomach.
The hand that held your face forced you to turn, making your heart fall to your feet. He was beautiful, so beautiful that it hurt to realize the truth.
I am so, so, stupid.
His face was speckled with blood, and his eyes held a different kind of love as they scanned yours for the horror that drained itself on your body.
Vincent was always the killer.
“Kiss me.”
Your brows furrowed, confused and scared as you meekly muttered;
“W-what? Vincent I—“
“What?” he sneered, hovering a sizzling cord over your ear, “Don’t love me anymore? Because sweetheart, I can easily rekindle our love,”
Thumping footsteps began to run to the side of you, signaling the entry of the police. It’s not like you had anything to lose— and he wouldn’t actually kill you, would he?
“Vincent I—“
A hot, metallic, feeling hit your temple like a rippling fire. Your brain felt like it was melting inside, and your body trembled and shook, as you could barely process the cord pressed against you.
To Mr. Whittman, you reminded him of the pixel-character he liked when he was younger. She would glitch on screen everytime she moved to his taps, but he’d love her regardless.
The running police would fire at him the moment they see him, and a bullet shouldn’t decide how his show ends.
His palm skimmed your awfully warm face, and your eyes had grown bloody tears, to which he wiped with a soft coo.
“I did this for us sweetheart, but we weren’t meant for each other in this life.”
You were lifeless, and the cord still thrummed with more electrical venom. Smiling, he pressed his lips upon yours, savoring the fear that rested upon them.
“This is the police! Stop right—“
He pressed the cord on his own temple, and gritted his teeth as he fell down with his arms around you. The pain receptors all over his body rattled and fizzed out as he shared the same death.
Maybe in hell, he’d see you.
His vision grew impaired as he grinned, then faded with crimson film.
