Lieutenant - Lithuania

Html template by Louis Tomlinson || He/Him || yandere writer!

[lieutenant-lithuania]

Read your fic about salt and you my (im not using the literal use case for this word) friend have gained a follower!

AAAA THANK U!!! I'm so happy so many people liked the story so much considering I wrote it in one sitting with my random bursts of motivation. I've been too busy to finish the upcoming second part of the story, but I PROMISE ITS COMING!!!

[lieutenant-lithuania]

Mr Sir, would Salt let me nap as Im shit at sleep?

I Hope you have a good day.

Oh 1000%!!! Salt would be overjoyed that you would nap next to him. It would cement the parental idea in his mind, since you clearly want him as a father if you're letting yourself be in such a vulnerable state around him. He'd watch you, guard you. If anyone came in he'd drag you in (if you were close enough, which would unfortunately wake you from your restful slumber but it's for the best he promises) or he'd just try to act violent and scare the intruder away. If by some miracle you don't wake up from his screeching and splashing, he'd try to crawl out of the pool to be closer to you. That encounter was too close, what if someone came in and took you next time.

Certainly NOT under his watch.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[listenerslanguage]

The whole transition from getting the usual Yandere experience is definitely rocky. It's different for everyone, of course, but it often follows the following steps;

Meeting (whether it'd be actually face to face or from ten feet away), stalking, confrontation, kidnapping.

Yeah, not fun. But the fact is, that's all over now. You've accepted your reality, after a looonngg tiiiimmmeee of coming around to your new environment.

You no longer find it weird that your Yandere stares at you when you wake up. They rarely wake you up, and you have given up on caring for how long they were awake watching you sleep. You can't be sure if they even fall asleep sometimes

Clinginess was one of the hard things to get used to. You didn't even want them touching you in the beginning! You'd push them away, fighting back if they didn't back off at your warning. Now? You don't react if they suddenly decide they want to hug you without letting go. You walk around with their arms wrapped around you, finishing your tasks with them in your non-existent personal space.

Like previously mentioned before, you don't get creeped out by them staring. They stand in the doorway of the bathroom as they watch you brush your teeth. Watching a movie? You ignore the way they're not even pretending to watch the movie, eyes fixed on you and you only. It doesn't annoy you, not even when they wait standing in front of you for you to look away from your phone, or book, waiting for your attention. Unfortunately, you still get annoyed whenever they snatch whatever you're focusing on away from you when they get impatient.

Locking doors? No more! Lest they think you've got something to hide... The bathroom is fine, but if they think you're taking too long, it won't take long for them to use their spare key to break in. This also applies to your phone. They do go through your messages, social Media, and whatever else you might have. Why lock your phone if you've got nothing to hide? They don't care for the weird stuff you're doing. They love every single aspect of you. It's better letting them see your latest fanfiction read than have them suspect you're talking with someone else.

But accepting is not the only step. Adapting is just as important.

Once you got your privilege of walking around the city/town you live in back, you quickly learnt to do your business and go back home. No chatting back, and no matter how bad you feel, you had to become an asshole. No more holding doors for others. You walk in and let the door close behind you, you spam the "close" button when in an elevator and you see someone walking over. You're impolite as shit, but it's truly for the safety of you, and most importantly, for the person on the receiving end of your shitty etiquette. You suck up the guilt you felt when a polite lady picked up something that dropped from your pockets, reminding yourself that if you didn't quickly yank the object from her hands and continue walking without so much as a thank you, you'd both be in trouble.

Staring problem

[lieutenant-lithuania]

Platonic yandere original oneshot pls 🙏😢

ask and you shall receive! Wasn't sure what kind of platonic yandere to dish out this time, so here's something that's been on my mind as of late (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) also, I know realistically shark-fathers don't stay around to take care of their kids, but cmonnnn it's my story and my lil blog ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡ I can dream (⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠)

Platonic Yan!Merman and a reader who interned at the enclosure he was residing in...

🐚 A merman affectionately named 'Salt'. He's an old soul. Not as old in merfolk years, but definitely old when compared to humans. A whopping 85 years old in their average lifespan of 134 years. A bull shark mer that had wandered off and been taken as part of a new organization specializing in everything mer.

🐚He showed signs of depression, often drifting away from other merfolk, not seeing any joy of socializing with them. The caretakers didn't have any better luck, often getting Salt to do as he was asked, but not getting any more effort put in into anything if not necessary. It was a tragic sight, and most thought he wouldn't make it for much longer.

🐚That is, until Salt was disturbed in his enclosure. He felt the water ripple, and when he turned he found a lone human panicking in the blue water. They were struggling, flailing wildly but not moving up whatsoever. Salt lunged in their direction, wrapping his arms around them and lifting them to the water surface.

🐚The human coughed out the liquid, gasping for the air they so desperately needed. Salt just held them, making sure they don't sink once again. He got a peek at the name tag barely holding on to the soaking clothes, 'Y/N', it said.

🐚Salt returns you to the edge of the enclosure, helping you sit on the marbled surface to regain your senses. He stays nearby, holding on and staring at your face with his pale eyes. It was hard to tell if you were crying, or if it was just the water running from your hair or down your face, but he patted your knee in an attempt to comfort anyways. The gesture finally made you realise who just saved you, and your eyes widened as you looked down at the shark mer just a little off to the side of you.

🐚You weren't even allowed to come close to the shark enclosures yet, let alone approach the pools they resided in. Shark mers, although mostly tamed and kind to any caretakers and researchers, aren't all too welcoming to anyone entering their space without permission. You stuttered, looking down at the bull shark with an almost embarrassed gaze. 'Sorry', you signed frantically, hoping you didn't just make an enemy for life. Salt, a mer who seemed to understand but never return the signs any caretakers tried to teach him, for the first time raised his hand and gestured back 'no worries.'

🐚it was a breakthrough, and you couldn't help the big grin on your face at the realization. He communicated, finally, after all this time! You reported your findings to the other researchers and caretakers as soon as you walked out of the enclosure, still dripping wet from your accidental fall, but too excited to care.

🐚almost immediately caretakers swarmed the pool in which Salt resided, trying to see for themselves this sudden process. But no matter what they asked, Salt replied with one thing only 'where little friend?'

🐚You were assigned to Salts caretaker, now her apprentice and intern. She taught you everything she knew about Salt, and you ate all the info up eagerly. You felt important, and your own little accident— which was thankfully overlooked by all the excitement and buzz— had catapulted you and Salt into the limelight.

🐚Salt didn't appreciate the sudden surge of attention. He had no attachment to any caretaker or staff member, they only pestered and kept him from going back out into the sea. He wasn't wandering, just exploring, of course, that excuse wouldn't even get him past the pool gates

🐚 But, he now has an interest in you. He couldn't help the feeling or pride he had when he saved you from your death. He held you as you breathed, feeling strangely happy for once. He had wondered about this feeling for hours, constantly trying to reach for your ankle when you got too close to his enclosure, or trying to make you be his feeder, just so he could maybe try and see why you were so special to him.

🐚He was kind, he didn't bite or snap at you, but you were obviously still kept farther away from him. He's still a shark Mer, his change of behavior is completely unpredictable and strange— he could just be trying to eat you. But that's not true, not at all.

🐚He had finally caught you, snagged you by your ankle when you weren't looking. You fell to the ground as he tugged, and were met with the shivering cold of the water. The caretaker had tried to grasp for your wrist to wrangle you out of Salts hold, but you were already plunged into the water by the time she reacted.

🐚You struggled, but went still. Salt was holding you again, closer, firmer. You gulped, not making eye contact but not letting the sharp teeth in his mouth come even near your body, placing a stern hand on the side of his face as a reflex. Definitely not a good idea, considering he could have easily chomped your fingers off, but you acted purely out of instinct here.

🐚Salt was still as well. He was processing, trying to understand what this meant. Why did he feel... On guard? Not because of you, but almost of his surroundings, like he was trying to protect. Yes, protect, that's it. He felt protective over you. Well, now he was stumped as to why he was feeling protective.

🐚You slowly raised your head, looking at Salts puzzled face, and tried to gauge out any aggressive intentions. There were none, he was just... Thinking. You were yanked out of the water, this time by the caretaker.

🐚Salt flinched but then lunged. He bared his teeth, almost plunging them into the caretakers hand, the one placed upon your shoulder. He growled at her, something he had never done. You dragged yourself backwards from the ledge, trying to kick away, more than shocked at Salt's sudden rage. Salt didn't stop, he reached for you again, a deep and low growl echoing through the humid enclosure. The caretaker pulled you back again, too far for Salt to even think about taking you again.

🐚Salt huffed and merged into the deep water, annoyed and teeth still bared. You were taken to the break room, wrapped in a towel as the other staff wearily and panicked discussed what to do, and more importantly, why Salt was acting out.

🐚 Salt swam at the bottom of the pool, making lazy circles, deep in thought. He realized what it was. This feeling, it was parental. His depression was lonely, but lonely because he had wanted a family, and never got one. But there you were, clearly too weak to bare yourself on your own— stumbling, falling. He needed to take care of you, make sure you're okay, and finally fulfill this long need of his.

🐚When his caretaker came back, this time more cautious and standing back, she gazed at him with disappointment. He didn't care, he just signed 'child'. She raised a brow, and spoke his sign out loud in confusion. Salt felt a bubble of frustration rise in him. 'My child. My child.' then, he raised something out of the water. A name tag, the one he managed to accidentally rip from the coat you were wearing when he dragged you into the pool. He pointed at the name tag and signed again. 'My child. Where is my child?'

[lieutenant-lithuania]

part 1

taglist <3; @katzlolly , @iamrgo , @peyiscrazy , @athena-daughter-study , @berriesandcreampie , @eli-mayhaveatencats , @piercing-gaze, @diamondnightsky23

You stood next to the chair. Not even bothering to sit down, body itching to just bolt for the door already. It was weird being in a room with them again, seeing all of their stern and cold gazes set on you as if you were something to assess and take apart to understand. "What is all this?" You scoffed, past grudges and memories bubbling in your chest again. "Alfred promised me cookies, and so far I have seen 0."

"We wanted to discus your behavior as of late." Bruce ignored your comment in his professional manner, his hands intertwining on the table. Even if he was supposed to be your father, his cold demeanor never shifted or faltered as if you were some potential business partner and not someone he was supposed to care for. You hated when he spoke in that tone that gave nothing away, letting you kid yourself into believing he was actually interested or cared. Maybe this time, though, his mask is slipping. Was that a twinge of concern in his eyes, or just the annoyance of having to acknowledge your existence? "We have all noticed you have been more agitated and just wanted to make sure that any problem of yours is resolved to fix your mood."

Fix your mood. Those three words left a bad taste in your mouth. They all think your justified anger is something they can just hammer back together and let be? Yeah, no. You'll show them that you're not someone to just drag in for public pictures at galas and call it a day.

"oh, how kind." You smiled, feigning gratitude. "Well then, here it goes." You take a breath in, that plastic grin still plastered onto your face, taking a moment to look at each of your so called family members. Then finally-- "You all have been treating me as if I am nothing but just another piece of furniture in this house and I have had enough. I don't want to stand around here and act like some sort of kicked puppy and try to impress or befriend you anymore. I don't want your stupid pity or sympathy and I am oh, so, sorry that you all had to drag yourselves around me. I get it, you guys don't want me here, and I don't want any of you near me either." The words waterfalled out of you. You almost became lost in the rant, the bottled up anger and grief and everything else finally being released into the empty space between you and the others instead of being squeezed within your mind. They all watched, eyes wide and bodies stiff as you called them out. Dick at least had the audacity to look ashamed. Jason cocked his head to the side, reaction concealed beneath his signature red mask. Duke's eyes eventually drifted to your hands for some odd reason, seeing them flail around in punctuation with your every raised tone. Bruce stared head on, brows furrowed yet eyes shot wide like some psychopath. "I decided I wouldn't hide it anymore. I'm not just gonna pretend like everything here is fine and perfect like you make it out to be, Bruce."

You leaned forward, planting your hands on the dark wood table. Your eyes stood steady on Bruces, glaring at him. He didn't break eye contact, neither did you. This time you won't glance away and retract back into yourself. "Maybe you hit your head one too many fucking times, Bruce, but just because you pose us all as this cozy and lovable family doesn't mean it is. I hate you." You stood straight again, hands gesturing to all of them. "I hate all of you. I won't defend you to myself, I won't just brush off all the times you pushed me aside." You chuckle, head shaking. "I won't drive myself crazy obsessing over this again."

"Fuck all of you." You hissed, turning your back to them and heading for the door. You finally said it. It was as if a weight lifted itself from your shoulders, chest and back. But something new settled, something new. It was weird, a sort of nervousness. You felt the air change, the atmosphere shifting. Your dynamic changed, that's a given, you just hope it won't make everything worse for you. You slammed the door behind you, the hinges cracking under the mere strength of your anger. The halls echoed with your footsteps, your hands were trembling. You didn't know why, but you didn't care as much anyways. They deserved to hear all of it. They couldn't just assume that you were angry, well, just because.

You almost lost your balance when a hand wrapped itself around your wrist and tugged you backwards. You looked back, not expecting to see Damian of all people. He's your age, someone you thought you'd be able to confide and relate to the most. On the contrary, he's probably the person you tried the least to make amends with. You never forgot when he tried to stab you that one time, or that other time. The others laughed it off, you had to walk back to your room with a newfound fear of dying here just because you breathed wrong near Bruces blood-son. You realized you were staring and snatched your wrist away from Damian, taking a cautious step back before turning to fully look at him with that same glare. "What?" You barked.

Damians hand lingered in the air where he had caught you before slowly moving back to rest at his side. "Your hands are shaking." He commented in that monotone voice that for some reason always has that hint of annoyance in it. You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Observant one, aren't you?"

Damians brows knitted together, but he didn't retort. "Come back to the meeting room, we need to discus this further." "Are you serious? You're lucky I'm even giving you my time of day right now. All that needed to be said there has been said, now waddle back to your sweaty bat cave and go polish your blade or something." You huffed, waving him off dismissively and continuing your walk back to the main wings of the mansion. Damian fell into step with you, his unrelenting gaze still on you. "Father demands your return. You can't just leave us like that after saying all of that." You laughed weakly "Oh, I see. You guys can say whatever you want and leave me standing to process all alone, but if I do that it's not allowed. Illegal." You shook your head, then whispered under your breath "Bunch of fucking hypocrites I live with." Damian attempted to stop you again by placing a hand on your shoulder but you moved this time. You shoved him, just like that. "Damian, genuinely fuck off. I don't want to talk to any of you whatsoever. You really have some audacity following me back after all of that."

This time Damian didn't follow. He stood, watched as you disappeared into the dim lighting of the manor.

Music blasted through your headphones as you rummaged under your bed. You lost your eraser again, for the 120th time now. This little thing didn't help your constantly worsening mood. Damian really had the gall to just strut up to you and tell you to come back? You let them get away with too much then. Not anymore. Not again. Not ever again.

You sighed, guess you weren't drawing then. You stood back up, picking your phone up to switch the music, something angry, loud. Something to match and validate your temper. You scrolled through your options, walking to the other side of the room-- Just to slam into something. You staggered but a hand on your shoulder supported you to the ground. You looked up and were met with Jason. "Get out of my room." You told him, shrugging his hand off. He said something to you, but the music didn't allow his voice through. "I'm not listening to you, get out!" You interrupted him, brushing past him to leave your room and find solace in the other corners of the Wayne Manor. But Jason moved quicker, his back pressed into the door, causing it to close. He stood in front of it like a barricade. Your headphones were taken off your head and now in his grasp, the music blaring. "You're gonna go deaf." He stated, turning them off. "That's the point." You frowned, reaching for them just for Jason to raise them higher up. Asshole. It brought back a sour memory, he did this one time with your phone. It only made you fume. "Just listen." He breathed, hiding your headphones behind his back. Your fists clenched, but you stood, awaiting him to speak.

"We didn't realize we were pushing you away like that--" "You didn't push me away, You neglected me. Don't try to sugarcoat it." You pointed at him. They needed to own up, they couldn't try and make this lighter on them. They didn't deserve that. "And why do you even care? You were barely even here." You rolled your eyes, trying to peek behind him to try and find any windows of getting your belonging back. "Why did you skip your classes?" He asked suddenly. You didn't even look at him, just wanting him to get out and leave you alone. "I didn't even skip classes, I just stopped going to my after school activities. Now give them back." "Why?" Jason persisted, shifting to hide the view of your headphones further from you. You groaned. "Oh my gosh, Jason, just leave it! This doesn't even concern you!" You stepped back, looking right at him. "Don't try to start caring now, just because you realized the shit you did was actually bordering abuse doesn't mean you talking to me now will fix things." Jason, sighed. He looked down at you and saw himself in you. Angry, rebellious, just so done with everything. To your surprise, his hand emerged from behind him and he presented your headphones on his open palm. You stopped, now becoming hesitant. After a little moment you snatched them out of his hands with a quickness. He then took his helmet off, brushing his hair back with his fingers and sighing. "We still need to talk to you. All of us." "Yeah, no." Jason opened the door, standing in the doorway as he looked at you. "We do." he paused, locking eyes with you. "Just don't freak out, okay?" You raised a brow as he shut the door with a light click. Then, you heard the lock turn. Immediately you jumped towards the door knob, grasping it and trying to open the door. "Jason?!" You shook the door, banging on it with your fist. "Open the door!" You yelled, going back desperately between trying to pry it open and hitting it with all your might, to no avail. Jason's voice didn't ring out from behind, didn't respond. But you know he was there. "Fuck you! You're all just a bunch of stuck up and sick bastards!" You yelled out, then finally heard his footsteps fading away from the hall.

"Shit." He locked you in. Why? Who knows. But you can't stay here any longer. the shift in the air, the change of dynamics; it's all turning against you, rather than in your favor. You kneeled down, wrangled the old and dusty backpack from under your bed. It was an emergency bag, one that Tim gave you as a hand me down. Or, rather, he didn't need it anymore and wanted to discard it somewhere. It had everything of necessity; canned food, first-aid kit, water, even a gun. You ran around the room, taking things and shoving them into your backpack. You reached for your phone, but halted. No, it's trackable. You don't want them to find you now. You double, triple and quadruple checked that you had everything you needed and then walked to your window. When you opened it, immediately a gust of wind blew inside, causing you to shiver at the sudden temperature change. You took a deep breath in and out, hauling yourself over the windowsill. You're not staying here, you're not bringing yourself to madness in this golden cage they made. Not letting them take control when you finally managed to loosen it. So, with a last intake, you closed your window, and left.

[lieutenant-lithuania]

sorry this took so long to make, but I have had problems recently posting anything whatsoever due to some sort of "processing error" (idk what that is but finally I'm not getting that error message anymore), hope everyone enjoys :)))

[lieutenant-lithuania]

part 1

taglist <3; @katzlolly , @iamrgo , @peyiscrazy , @athena-daughter-study , @berriesandcreampie , @eli-mayhaveatencats , @piercing-gaze, @diamondnightsky23

You stood next to the chair. Not even bothering to sit down, body itching to just bolt for the door already. It was weird being in a room with them again, seeing all of their stern and cold gazes set on you as if you were something to assess and take apart to understand. "What is all this?" You scoffed, past grudges and memories bubbling in your chest again. "Alfred promised me cookies, and so far I have seen 0."

"We wanted to discus your behavior as of late." Bruce ignored your comment in his professional manner, his hands intertwining on the table. Even if he was supposed to be your father, his cold demeanor never shifted or faltered as if you were some potential business partner and not someone he was supposed to care for. You hated when he spoke in that tone that gave nothing away, letting you kid yourself into believing he was actually interested or cared. Maybe this time, though, his mask is slipping. Was that a twinge of concern in his eyes, or just the annoyance of having to acknowledge your existence? "We have all noticed you have been more agitated and just wanted to make sure that any problem of yours is resolved to fix your mood."

Fix your mood. Those three words left a bad taste in your mouth. They all think your justified anger is something they can just hammer back together and let be? Yeah, no. You'll show them that you're not someone to just drag in for public pictures at galas and call it a day.

"oh, how kind." You smiled, feigning gratitude. "Well then, here it goes." You take a breath in, that plastic grin still plastered onto your face, taking a moment to look at each of your so called family members. Then finally-- "You all have been treating me as if I am nothing but just another piece of furniture in this house and I have had enough. I don't want to stand around here and act like some sort of kicked puppy and try to impress or befriend you anymore. I don't want your stupid pity or sympathy and I am oh, so, sorry that you all had to drag yourselves around me. I get it, you guys don't want me here, and I don't want any of you near me either." The words waterfalled out of you. You almost became lost in the rant, the bottled up anger and grief and everything else finally being released into the empty space between you and the others instead of being squeezed within your mind. They all watched, eyes wide and bodies stiff as you called them out. Dick at least had the audacity to look ashamed. Jason cocked his head to the side, reaction concealed beneath his signature red mask. Duke's eyes eventually drifted to your hands for some odd reason, seeing them flail around in punctuation with your every raised tone. Bruce stared head on, brows furrowed yet eyes shot wide like some psychopath. "I decided I wouldn't hide it anymore. I'm not just gonna pretend like everything here is fine and perfect like you make it out to be, Bruce."

You leaned forward, planting your hands on the dark wood table. Your eyes stood steady on Bruces, glaring at him. He didn't break eye contact, neither did you. This time you won't glance away and retract back into yourself. "Maybe you hit your head one too many fucking times, Bruce, but just because you pose us all as this cozy and lovable family doesn't mean it is. I hate you." You stood straight again, hands gesturing to all of them. "I hate all of you. I won't defend you to myself, I won't just brush off all the times you pushed me aside." You chuckle, head shaking. "I won't drive myself crazy obsessing over this again."

"Fuck all of you." You hissed, turning your back to them and heading for the door. You finally said it. It was as if a weight lifted itself from your shoulders, chest and back. But something new settled, something new. It was weird, a sort of nervousness. You felt the air change, the atmosphere shifting. Your dynamic changed, that's a given, you just hope it won't make everything worse for you. You slammed the door behind you, the hinges cracking under the mere strength of your anger. The halls echoed with your footsteps, your hands were trembling. You didn't know why, but you didn't care as much anyways. They deserved to hear all of it. They couldn't just assume that you were angry, well, just because.

You almost lost your balance when a hand wrapped itself around your wrist and tugged you backwards. You looked back, not expecting to see Damian of all people. He's your age, someone you thought you'd be able to confide and relate to the most. On the contrary, he's probably the person you tried the least to make amends with. You never forgot when he tried to stab you that one time, or that other time. The others laughed it off, you had to walk back to your room with a newfound fear of dying here just because you breathed wrong near Bruces blood-son. You realized you were staring and snatched your wrist away from Damian, taking a cautious step back before turning to fully look at him with that same glare. "What?" You barked.

Damians hand lingered in the air where he had caught you before slowly moving back to rest at his side. "Your hands are shaking." He commented in that monotone voice that for some reason always has that hint of annoyance in it. You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Observant one, aren't you?"

Damians brows knitted together, but he didn't retort. "Come back to the meeting room, we need to discus this further." "Are you serious? You're lucky I'm even giving you my time of day right now. All that needed to be said there has been said, now waddle back to your sweaty bat cave and go polish your blade or something." You huffed, waving him off dismissively and continuing your walk back to the main wings of the mansion. Damian fell into step with you, his unrelenting gaze still on you. "Father demands your return. You can't just leave us like that after saying all of that." You laughed weakly "Oh, I see. You guys can say whatever you want and leave me standing to process all alone, but if I do that it's not allowed. Illegal." You shook your head, then whispered under your breath "Bunch of fucking hypocrites I live with." Damian attempted to stop you again by placing a hand on your shoulder but you moved this time. You shoved him, just like that. "Damian, genuinely fuck off. I don't want to talk to any of you whatsoever. You really have some audacity following me back after all of that."

This time Damian didn't follow. He stood, watched as you disappeared into the dim lighting of the manor.

Music blasted through your headphones as you rummaged under your bed. You lost your eraser again, for the 120th time now. This little thing didn't help your constantly worsening mood. Damian really had the gall to just strut up to you and tell you to come back? You let them get away with too much then. Not anymore. Not again. Not ever again.

You sighed, guess you weren't drawing then. You stood back up, picking your phone up to switch the music, something angry, loud. Something to match and validate your temper. You scrolled through your options, walking to the other side of the room-- Just to slam into something. You staggered but a hand on your shoulder supported you to the ground. You looked up and were met with Jason. "Get out of my room." You told him, shrugging his hand off. He said something to you, but the music didn't allow his voice through. "I'm not listening to you, get out!" You interrupted him, brushing past him to leave your room and find solace in the other corners of the Wayne Manor. But Jason moved quicker, his back pressed into the door, causing it to close. He stood in front of it like a barricade. Your headphones were taken off your head and now in his grasp, the music blaring. "You're gonna go deaf." He stated, turning them off. "That's the point." You frowned, reaching for them just for Jason to raise them higher up. Asshole. It brought back a sour memory, he did this one time with your phone. It only made you fume. "Just listen." He breathed, hiding your headphones behind his back. Your fists clenched, but you stood, awaiting him to speak.

"We didn't realize we were pushing you away like that--" "You didn't push me away, You neglected me. Don't try to sugarcoat it." You pointed at him. They needed to own up, they couldn't try and make this lighter on them. They didn't deserve that. "And why do you even care? You were barely even here." You rolled your eyes, trying to peek behind him to try and find any windows of getting your belonging back. "Why did you skip your classes?" He asked suddenly. You didn't even look at him, just wanting him to get out and leave you alone. "I didn't even skip classes, I just stopped going to my after school activities. Now give them back." "Why?" Jason persisted, shifting to hide the view of your headphones further from you. You groaned. "Oh my gosh, Jason, just leave it! This doesn't even concern you!" You stepped back, looking right at him. "Don't try to start caring now, just because you realized the shit you did was actually bordering abuse doesn't mean you talking to me now will fix things." Jason, sighed. He looked down at you and saw himself in you. Angry, rebellious, just so done with everything. To your surprise, his hand emerged from behind him and he presented your headphones on his open palm. You stopped, now becoming hesitant. After a little moment you snatched them out of his hands with a quickness. He then took his helmet off, brushing his hair back with his fingers and sighing. "We still need to talk to you. All of us." "Yeah, no." Jason opened the door, standing in the doorway as he looked at you. "We do." he paused, locking eyes with you. "Just don't freak out, okay?" You raised a brow as he shut the door with a light click. Then, you heard the lock turn. Immediately you jumped towards the door knob, grasping it and trying to open the door. "Jason?!" You shook the door, banging on it with your fist. "Open the door!" You yelled, going back desperately between trying to pry it open and hitting it with all your might, to no avail. Jason's voice didn't ring out from behind, didn't respond. But you know he was there. "Fuck you! You're all just a bunch of stuck up and sick bastards!" You yelled out, then finally heard his footsteps fading away from the hall.

"Shit." He locked you in. Why? Who knows. But you can't stay here any longer. the shift in the air, the change of dynamics; it's all turning against you, rather than in your favor. You kneeled down, wrangled the old and dusty backpack from under your bed. It was an emergency bag, one that Tim gave you as a hand me down. Or, rather, he didn't need it anymore and wanted to discard it somewhere. It had everything of necessity; canned food, first-aid kit, water, even a gun. You ran around the room, taking things and shoving them into your backpack. You reached for your phone, but halted. No, it's trackable. You don't want them to find you now. You double, triple and quadruple checked that you had everything you needed and then walked to your window. When you opened it, immediately a gust of wind blew inside, causing you to shiver at the sudden temperature change. You took a deep breath in and out, hauling yourself over the windowsill. You're not staying here, you're not bringing yourself to madness in this golden cage they made. Not letting them take control when you finally managed to loosen it. So, with a last intake, you closed your window, and left.

[taohun]

did you guys see the poem from a couple of days ago in poetry dot org’s daily poem it was so good and a treat to read 

[taohun]

been thinking about it since i read it 

[lieutenant-lithuania]

Part 2

Imagine Y/N, slowly cracking under their neglect from the batfam, having to learn how to live in a family that doesn't want to see them. You're only a teen and have multiple years to go in the mansion.

You barely ever spoke up, gave up on all attempts of trying to communicate and befriend anyone. What was the point?

Till one day Bruce decided to ask you about your skipped classes, in that feigned concern. If you could call it feigned, he clearly had somewhere else to be.

And you, for the first time ever, just snapped. "Shut up and get the fuck away from me."

That's all you said, voice filled with disdain and hatred. It left Bruce speechless, watching you walk off with a new sense of spirit in you.

If they won't like you, you won't give them any reason to anymore.

-----------

Tim was hunched over, head ducked into his phone and scrolling through the latest article, possibly connected to a case he's working on, when suddenly he bumps into someone. It's hard enough for him to drop his phone and see it bounce weakly off the ground.

He looks up and sees you, your own device also clattered onto the floor.

"watch—"

"Watch where you're going! Are you blind or something? Or is that shitload of coffee finally catching up to you, dingbat." You curse, quickly snatching your phone off the floor and muttering a couple more unsavory things under your mouth. Tim tries to say something, tries to ask what's wrong, but you're already off and away without as much as a glance behind you.

Have you always been so angry and bold? Come to think of it, he hasn't talked to you in a while, better make sure you're okay.

-------

You lay on the couch, sprawled out like you personally bought and built it. TV remote in hand, a random show you found blasting through the living room.

This place has the best couch, the best view of the biggest TV in the manor (if you don't count any in the batcave) and has the best sound system up here. You didn't come up here often, since it was a popular space for the bats to relax in. But now, you didn't care.

"hey, you gonna finish that soon?" A cheery voice suddenly picked up behind you. You lazily dropped your head back to look at the noir haired Nightwing. "My show's gonna be on soon."

You looked at Dick for a moment, face blank, before replying "I won't be finishing soon, no." Without further input you direct your attention back to the show. Dick was a bit... Caught off guard. "Uh— what?"

You scoff, pausing the show as if he was wasting precious time and turned your entire body to fully deliver your next words. "I said I'm not finished, I'm gonna binge watch this whole thing today, go find somewhere else to watch those stupid rom-coms. Stop acting as if this is the only goddamn TV in this manor."

Dick is, to say the least, surprised. Your attitude has thrown him off his thought process, and just absolutely fumbled him. He doesn't know what to do so he just, walks out.

What's gotten into you? When did you become so angry? Did he do something? He needs to figure this out quick.

-------

Soon, it seems like the air has thickened. You feel the bats's eyes linger on you as you walk by, taking in your every move and facial expression. Why does it feel like all of a sudden everyone is secretly staring at you? Why is everyone starting to act like they care? It unsettled you, so whenever someone did something even slightly suspicious in your eyes, you'd snarl and bark for them to go away and go on another mission or something.

-------

Alfred tricked you.

You stood in the meeting room, the grand table having full seats. Every one of them, Bruce, Dick, Tim, Damian, heck even Jason was here, they were all here and looking right at you.

You nervously looked at each member, feeling small and vulnerable again.

There was no fresh batch of cookies in here...

Bruce spoke up, fists clenched on the hardwood table, his voice uncharacteristically soft, gentle, sincere.

"Y/N, please take a seat. We'd like to talk to you."

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Cassian, Winslow, you/reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Infantilization, hypnosis, parental yanderes, referenced kidnapping, chronic pain, massages, reluctant reader, light developing stockholm syndrome, terms of endearment, mentioned/implied force-feeding

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was extremely self-indulgent, and while I never specified what condition Reader has that causes them chronic pain, I did use a lot of my own experiences, so sorry if other chronic pain sufferers can't relate as much! Still, I hope this is enjoyable to others! <3

Normally when you're dealing with your typical bouts of pain, you can grab a heating pad, some medicine, and relax alone in peace until it fades away.

But alas, that is no longer an option, it seems. You squirm in discomfort, trying your best to not focus on the pain.

It doesn't work well. Instead, you hiss as you feel an especially painful muscle spasm shoot through your body. It starts from your hip, shooting upwards until you feel pins and needles prickling along your spine.

Even though the nest you lay in is comfortable, it definitely isn't the same as your bed. Cassian had made sure to make it extra cozy for you, piling a ridiculous amount of soft furs, moss, and leaves. It's much more cozy than one would assume, but still different. A difference you wish was easier to ignore.

A small cry leaves you at the next painful twitch, this time in your lower back, making you curl up into a fetal position to alleviate some pressure.

You internally curse, hoping neither naga heard that, but it's in vain, because you already know they have superhuman senses compared to you.

Not long after the pained noise escapes you, Cassian lifts the fur blanket that surrounds you in the makeshift nest, looking concerned as his blue eyes meet yours. You realize he's hovering over you upside down, his tail curled around a branch hanging from the large tree in the cave, beneath the collapsed ceiling.

"What hurts?" Cassian worriedly asks. When you don't reply, he shifts to instead hang by his coils. Once secure, he climbs down, slithering to be on level with you again. "Talk to me, baby." His eyebrows tilt upwards. "Tell Baba what's wrong."

You wince, shaking your head.

"Does it hurt everywhere?" He sounds so distraught, your resolve nearly crumbles. How is he able to make you feel this guilty when you're the victim here?

Another involuntary noise comes out when you shift your leg. The joints feel like they're filled with gravel, rubbing together painfully with any movement.

"My legs..." you grit out. "Back... and hips..."

He hums in concern, moving to slide beside you in the nest. His eyes flit across your form, searching for any signs of injury or ailment. When he finds none, he reaches a hesitant hand towards your lower back, lightly placing it there. "Is touching okay?"

It burns your throat to swallow down your pride like this. As much as it pains you to admit, the sooner you get relief, the sooner you can go back to sulking in silence. "...Yes."

He slowly kneads at where you need it most, trying his hardest to keep from hurting you further. His touch remains gentle as ever, though firm enough to provide relief rather than add more agony to your situation. "Did you strain yourself? No... I would have known..."

You look up at him, and his worried gaze. "I have... chronic pain." You don't know how much you can explain it to him, unsure if he'll understand.

Yet he only looks surprised, then troubled. "How do I cure it?"

"It's incurable," you groan as he hits a particularly sore spot. "I usually just rest, take medicine, use a heating pad..."

You say the last part absentmindedly, not actually expecting Cassian to have a solution.

Until he does.

"You need warmth?" he murmurs, and his arms slip underneath you as he slides you onto his tail. He wraps around you gently, laying down with you partially on top of his stomach. His body radiates heat, seeping into your skin wherever he touches.

"I thought snakes are cold-blooded," you mutter, melting into his touch.

"I was laying in the sun for quite a while," he explains, giving you a smile. He looks proud to have helped you.

For a moment, you almost forget where you are and with whom. Being coddled like this, even if by someone you wish weren't your captor, it's... nice.

Just as you were starting to relax and enjoy it, the moment of bliss ends when Winslow pops in through the front of the cave, holding a woven basket full of various foraged materials.

"I found some extra supplies, and--" Winslow halts when he spots Cassian holding you, his expression morphing into one of pure elation. "Are you two bonding?" He quickly places the basket on the ground, slithering towards the both of you hastily. "What are we doing? Ohh! How adorable." Winslow moves to lay down by your other side. Unlike his husband, he doesn't hesitate to scoop you up into his arms instead.

"Be careful, they're in pain," Cassian chides.

"Pain? What happened?" Winslow exclaims in horror. He tilts your chin up. "Did you fall? Hurt yourself? Tell Papa what hurts and I'll fix it!"

"No no," Cassian intervenes. "Nothing like that. Something called 'chronic pain'."

Winslow gasps dramatically. "No! Is our baby sick?!" He pulls away to look over you more, examining your body. "Do they have a rash? A fever?!"

"I can speak for myself, remember?" You seethe as he jostles you around, not at all helping the throbbing in your joints. You swat his prying hands away. "Chronic just means often, it's something I've had for a while. It's nothing that'll kill me... just hurts."

"Aw..." Winslow kisses your forehead. "Poor thing."

You sigh in defeat.

Cassian pulls Winslow by his waist closer, sandwiching you between them. Your face heats up slightly.

"Their pain should go away soon," Cassian says calmly. "They said they need warmth. I can handle it if you wish to finish whatever chores you still need to get done." He wraps his tail back around you. The slightly tight pressure is oddly relieving.

"I suppose I ought to make them some food first," Winslow concedes.

Cassian nods. "And I'll stay with our hatchling." He gives you a fond smile. He tucks the furry pelt blanket around you again, just loose enough where you can wiggle in his embrace.

While Winslow disappears into another room to start preparing your meal, Cassian simply stares at you, content with watching over you like a hawk.

You notice he has long black claws that could rip you apart if he wanted to. But right now, he uses those same claws to gently scratch your head comfortingly. Those hands that could end your life soothe your discomfort instead.

"I have an idea," Winslow suddenly shouts, reappearing into the room with you both. He's holding a plastic water bottle, one you recognize as you were carrying with you in your bag, before all of this disaster. "I heated up some water and put it in this bottle they were carrying before. I'm so smart."

He places it behind you against the small of your back, right against a sensitive area. It's hot, but it fades into a soothing temperature after the initial burn wears away.

"This feels nicer..." you mumble, embarrassed.

"Of course, Papa always has good ideas!" He leans forward and kisses your forehead, before kissing Cassian. "Oh, by the way, honey, do you have some of those leftover herbs you gathered a few nights ago?"

"Excellent idea," Cassian says. "Feverfew and dandelion... and some turmeric. Just a moment."

When Cassian unwinds and slips out from behind you, leaving you cuddled up in Winslow's arms instead, he slithers away, going to what you can only guess is some sort of storage pantry where they keep their medicines.

"Don't worry, these'll help with the achy parts," Winslow croons. His hands are calloused compared to Cassian's smooth skin.

It's embarrassing. They treat you like a helpless child, which you don't mind too much right now, as humiliating as that is to admit. But you don't want to give either of them any sort of satisfaction, nor encouragement, so you hold your tongue, grumbling instead.

As promised, Cassian returns with various plants, setting to work grinding and preparing them into a paste for you to ingest. Meanwhile Winslow begins humming some sort of song under his breath, rocking back and forth with you in his embrace.

The melody lulls you into a relaxed trance; eyes closed, breathing evened out, muscles losing their tenseness little by little. Before long, Cassian joins back into the makeshift nest he crafted previously, handing a cup over containing what must be your remedy.

You grimace upon seeing its contents, and try to lean away from it.

"Now now," Cassian clicks his tongue, bringing the concoction closer. "This will relieve your pain, sweetheart."

"It'll taste bad..." you protest. As if sensing you may try to run, Winslow's grip becomes firmer around your form.

"Nonsense! I added some berries to help sweeten it." When you peek at it again, he adds, "If you drink this, I promise it'll make you feel better, little one."

Still, you stubbornly shake your head.

"Oh, baby," Winslow coos. "Here, I'll show you it isn't even that bad." He gently takes the bowl from his mate, and takes a sip. It's almost comical in the way he grimaces afterwards, swallowing it down like his life depends on it, but you can see how hard he tries to act like it isn't disgusting. "See? It's yummy! Mm-mm!"

You give an unimpressed look.

Cassian sighs. "Little one, do I need to make you drink this?"

Remembering when he hypnotized you in the forest before, you figure you should listen. You nod reluctantly.

Cassian offers a sympathetic smile as he raises the cup back up to your lips, encouragingly pushing it further when he notices you hesitating once more.

You're thankful he tips the cup slowly, as it tastes exactly how you imagined it would. Disgusting. The berry juice mixed in helps mildly, but only for so long until the overpowering bitterness of the medicinal herbs fills your mouth with a rancid flavor.

Nonetheless, you manage to choke it all down with great effort, coughing a little when finished.

"Such a good little hatchling," Cassian praises. "What a good job."

"You took all your medicine!" Winslow adds, just as cheerful sounding as his husband. "So proud! So strong and brave!" He nuzzles his nose against yours in a sign of affection you can't find in yourself to push away right now.

"How long will it take?" you question quietly.

"It should kick in any second now," Cassian replies.

As soon as he speaks, you begin feeling the effects taking place within your body almost instantly. You can feel most of the discomfort and aching dissipating gradually, leaving behind nothing more than dull sensations in its wake. Soon enough, you let out a relieved exhale, tension draining away, being replaced by fatigue.

The water bottle is still pressed behind you. Winslow removes it, replacing it with his own coils. Between the herbal brew and his and Cassian's warmth, you feel cozy.

"Do you wanna sleep, baby?" Winslow asks gently.

Sleep. It sounds very appealing, but the pain isn't gone, even if relieved.

"It's hard to sleep when it hurts," you answer.

"Oh, baby... Can you try for us?" Cassian begs sweetly. "I'm sure you'll feel much better after resting for a while..."

You get an idea, even if you hate it. But sleep sounds so nice right now, you're willing to put your pride to the side.

"Can you..." You hesitate, glancing over at Cassian. "Can you do that weird, hypnosis thing again?" Even if you hated it last time, it was admittedly the best sleep you had gotten in a long time.

"Are you giving me permission?" Cassian asks with a curious look. "I won't do it if you aren't sure."

"...Yes..." you mutter. "It's... okay... This time..."

"Okay," Cassian grins proudly. He tilts your head upward and looks you in the eyes. Once again, colors swirl around hypnotically as a familiar heaviness washes over you. You let yourself go limp in their arms as he croons sweet nothings towards you.

He keeps the hypnosis going longer than the first time, probably ensuring you fall asleep rather than merely being lulled into relaxation.

Winslow gently drags his claws over your arm in a soothing motion, helping ease you into slumber, too.

"That's it... There we go, love," Cassian coos. "Close those pretty eyes." His tail wraps around you tighter than before, but not enough to hurt. "Sssh, sssh..."

"Baba," you slur sleepily.

"What was that?" Cassian whispers, after a soft gasp. You don't respond, because you can't, drifting off.

You hear him exchange hushed words with Winslow, but the words come out too fuzzy and muffled. You fall asleep in the comforting embrace of both of them.

[yanderedrabbles]

Christine - A Yandere Short Story

Based on Christine by Stephen King After your boyfriend's death, you're eager to sell his vintage Mustang. The car reminds you far too much of him and worse than that, it feels oddly alive. The only problem? Your dead boyfriend isn't ready to let go. Tags: Male Yanderes x Fem Reader, Horror, Character Death, 12k words Taglist: @mel-vaz

When your boyfriend died, you and Christine were the only witnesses.

All through his funeral, you kept thinking of ways to get rid of her. You were being paranoid and you knew it - she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. But having her around put you on edge, made you grit your teeth until your jaw ached.

After the wake, you approached your boyfriend's parents and asked if you could have her. They were pale and shaken, reeling from the suddeness of death just as much as from grief. His father nodded like a sleep walker, his voice older than his years.

"He would have wanted you to have her. She's yours."

His mother squeezed your shoulder. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear. Whatever his faults, my boy loved you. I know that."

You managed a smile, managed to thank them through the tears that were suddenly falling. But your mind was on Christine. Always on Christine.

You were the last to leave the funeral parlour. You tried to tell yourself it was a coincidence, but deep down you knew the truth. You were scared. Scared of Christine, scared of your too quiet townhouse, scared of the dreams that would come when you closed your eyes.

It was early evening and the streetlights were coming on in the narrow tree lined avenue outside the funeral parlour. When you stepped out, goosebumps crawled across your arms.

She was waiting for you.

Christine. Your boyfriend's 1969 Mustang, cherry red and entirely rebuilt.

She was directly under a streetlight and her paint gleamed. The light reflected off her windshield so you couldn't see inside, but for a second it seemed like someone was already sitting behind the wheel.

You squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them, the shadow driver was gone.

Christine. For most of your relationship, you loved her just as much as your boyfriend did. She was a labour of love and you felt it every time you sat in her passenger seat.

But things were different now.

You walked towards her cautiously. It was ridiculous to be scared of a car, but you were.

When you opened the driver side door, you almost expected to see your boyfriend. Despite the funeral, the wake, the late morning call to please come and identify a body down at the morgue, you still expected to see him. Light green eyes looking up at you, half smile that was half teasing and half lecherous.

The seats were empty.

You slid behind the wheel, your breathing shaky. You almost never drove Christine. Not that your boyfriend didn't offer. It was just that you liked riding passenger - liked looking over and seeing your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, liked seeing the muscles flex in his forearm when he steered.

The car still smelled like him. That was the first thing you noticed. Despite being impounded for a week while the cops did forensics, despite the valet scrubbing and steaming the seats to get the blood out, it still smelled like him.

You rested your head against the steering wheel, closed your eyes and sobbed for the first time since the night you killed your boyfriend.

When you put Christine up for sale, the calls started coming in almost immediately. It wasn't surprising - she was in incredible shape, she ran like a dream, and her white leather upholstery was original.

At first, you thought you'd be able to sell her before the month was up. The buyers would look under the hood and whistle in admiration.

But something always changed when they took her for a test drive. You couldn't understand it - she would drive perfectly but by the time you got home, the buyers were almost always frowning at you, or worse - not looking at you at all.

No matter how fanatic they were at first, no one wanted Christine.

You dropped the price and then dropped it again, but still no takers. The car spent all winter in the garage. You'd turn her on to idle every few days, clean off any dust and check that the mice weren't nibbling at the wiring, but you never stuck around for long.

It hurt to leave her locked away - your boyfriend poured so much of himself into her - but it hurt even worse to drive her. Whenever you were behind the wheel, you could feel the gaping emptiness of the passenger seat, could still see the bloodstains.

It was on the first warm day of spring when someone finally bought her.

Colt Guilder called you when you were just about ready to give up on selling her. You were literally about to take down the ad when your phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, with a slight southern drawl that immediately reminded you of your boyfriend.

"Can I come and take a look today? I wouldn't want to impose ma'am, but I'm in a hurry to see her before anyone else gets a chance to buy her."

Her. Even the older buyers didn't really call cars 'her' anymore.

"Sure. You can come by this afternoon."

You were sitting on the porch steps when he pulled up, a jug of iced tea and your novel abandoned next to you. He stepped out of his Jeep, a tall man in blue jeans and boots, and you felt your heart lurch. Something deep inside you told you that this was the man who would finally take her off your hands.

He smiled at you as he approached and for a second you wanted to warn him away. Wanted to tell him the truth about Christine.

"Howdy ma'am. I'm real happy you agreed to meet me so last minute."

You smiled at him and shook his hand and bit back the truth. Oh, how you would come to hate that decision.

When he pulled up, Colt wasn't expecting the Mustang's owner to be a pretty little thing in a sundress. He was a gentleman, his mama raised him right, but even he had trouble keeping his eyes on your face and not letting them wander lower.

His hand swallowed yours when he shook it and it was hard not to notice the softness of your skin. Whoever rebuilt the Mustang, it wasn't you. You had the hands of a lady, not a mechanic.

"The car is out back. Keys are waiting for you. She's been serviced pretty regularly and my... my boyfriend built her up himself."

You started for the garage and he fell into step behind you. You were so much shorter than him - it was kind of cute to see your head bobbing in front of him. Like a pixie in a sundress.

"How come your man ain't the one to sell it?"

He wasn't surprised you had a boyfriend. Hell, he'd have tried his luck if he could. No doubt other men had the same idea.

"He... he passed away a few moths ago."

He cringed. Nice going, Colt. Bringing up painful memories only three sentences into conversation. Must be a world record.

"I'm so sorry ma'am. I had no idea."

You shrugged. "It's fine."

He was about to say something else when Christine came into view. Her grille was a newly buffed silver and her deep red paint caught the spring sun.

He gave a low whistle. "Pictures don't do her justice."

You smiled at that, but edged out of the car's direct line of sight. Neither of you consciously noticed it, but you approached the car like you would an animal. Slightly from the side so it couldn't charge at you.

"Mind if I take a look under the hood?"

"Be my guest."

He popped the hood and let out another low whistle. Without even looking past the surface level stuff, it was clear your boyfriend knew how to build an engine. The Mustang looked almost new.

"How long did this take?"

You leaned against the garage door and crossed your arms.

"A long time. He bought her a few months after we started dating. She was gonna be scrapped - looked like a total rust bucket."

He raised his eyebrows. If that was true, the body restoration alone must have cost a fortune. Did you realise how valuable a vintage ride like this was worth?

"Y'know, just from looking under the hood, I can tell you could get at least three times as much as you're asking."

If his uncle heard him sabotaging himself like that, he'd have given Colt a whack on the head. Truth was, he wanted the car. Wanted her so bad he would have taken out three separate loans to afford her.

But he wasn't a monster. It wasn't fair to buy something so fine from a girl who might not understand its true worth.

You raised your brows, more surprised at his honesty than at his statement.

"I know she's worth more. But I'm in a hurry to get rid of her. And well..."

You looked away. "People find the car a bit strange."

It was his turn to be surprised. He couldn't see any red flags in her upkeep or her paintwork. Maybe it was a deeper issue.

You pushed yourself away from the wall and nodded at the door.

"Keys are waiting for you. Take her for a drive and decide for yourself."

The interior was just as well taken care of as he expected - a tough job when the upholstery was mostly white. The keys had a tag attached with a name engraved in metal.

"Christine?"

"It's what we call her. It was a joke at first but the name sort of stuck."

You slid into the passenger seat and tugged your seat belt across your chest. He glanced at you out the corner of his eye and -

'Silly thing, doesn't she know better than to get into a car with a stranger twice her size?'

He shook his head, like that could dislodge the idea. He wasn't that sort of man, wasn't some kind predator with a mind full of filth.

'It would be so easy. You're so much bigger than her, so much stronger. You want her. Why not just take what you want?'

Where the hell was this coming from? He might have a guilty thought every once in a while, but he was always quick to squash it down. It wasn't like him to think something so...forceful about a girl.

He turned the key and the engine roared to life. And it really was a roar. V8 engine growling so loud he could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.

Oh baby, he was sold on her right then and there. The devil himself couldn't have outbid him. What little boy didn't dream of a car like this? Didn't spend his childhood looking through magazines and brawling over matchbox versions?

The clutch was smooth as butter as he cruised down your driveway and turned onto the main road.

God, he wanted to gun it. Floor the gas and find out for himself just how powerful old school muscle was.

He looked over at you, about to ask if you knew exactly what your boyfriend did to the engine. You were looking out at the passing trees, your hair stirring in the slight breeze from his open window.

'She looks like she belongs here, with you.'

It was another foreign thought, something he wouldn't expect of himself. But it was true. The Mustang would have felt empty without you - in your sundress and white sneakers, you completed the picture. Your boyfriend must have rebuilt the car just for you, as a way to keep you next to him. Colt wasn't sure why he thought that, but somehow he knew it was true. Whoever your man was, he put so much of himself into this car that Colt almost felt like he was right next to the guy.

You turned to him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

"What do you think?"

"She runs sweet as apple pie."

You felt your heart stutter. Your boyfriend used to say the exact same thing.

"You alright there sweetheart? You look a little pale."

"Sorry. Just a little car sick."

Car sick was right - you were sick to hell of this damn car and the way it played with your emotions.

"C'mon, I know a diner just off the highway. We can stop for some fresh air and a bite to eat. You'll feel better in no time."

You didn't have time to protest before he switched lanes and turned onto the highway.

The diner he took you to really was just off the highway, a retro looking spot railed off from a steep cliff.

"How did you know about this place?"

He shrugged. "I must have heard about it from someone."

Strange. Colt didn't think he'd ever seen the place before, much less heard about it. But when you looked at him with that slight hint of panic, that sudden fear, somehow he knew this was the place to bring you.

He climbed out and opened your door for you before you had a chance to do it yourself.

"You know this place?" he asked.

If anything, you looked even paler than before. "Yeah. My boyfriend and I used to come up here pretty often."

He frowned, annoyed at himself for somehow making this even worse. "We can go somewhere else if you want."

"No!" You took a deep breath. "No, this is fine. I just need a moment away from the car, that's all."

He led you to a picnic table near the edge of the cliff. Far below you, the main road clung to the cliffside and disappeared into the trees.

"You just sit pretty and I'll grab us some chow."

You smiled up at him. "Thanks Colt. Really. I know this is probably eating into your day."

He waved it away. "Trust me, this is a much better way to spend the weekend than what I had planned."

It was true. He'd wanted to see the car and somehow that turned into lunch with a pretty girl at a table with one hell of a view. Maybe Christine had some good luck about her. Maybe all of this was just meant to be.

When he stepped into the diner, he was greeted by jukebox country music and the smell of good, strong coffee. He didn't bother to look at the menu. Somehow, he knew exactly what to order.

"I'll have a banana spilt, some fries and a toasted sandwich." He smiled at the elderly waitress. "Please and thank you Agnes."

"Sure thing sugar."

He frowned. How the hell did he know the waitress's name?

Must have seen her name tag, right? That made sense. Must have been a half second, subconscious glance.

When she handed him his change, he dropped his eyes to her lapel. No name tag. No label. Not even a necklace with her initials on it.

It was a warm spring day but he still shivered. Something strange was going on.

No, don't be ridiculous. Agnes was a common name, a vintage diner kind of name. That was probably why he said it. His mind must have just made a lucky guess. There's no way he could know her name when he didn't even know about the diner until he pulled up.

Unless... it wasn't him that knew her name. Maybe it was someone else, something else speaking through him.

"C'mon Colt, don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself.

"You say something sugar?"

He jerked his head to the side, his heart lurching. Just the waitress, just Agnes, looking at him with raised brows.

"No ma'am. Just thinking out loud."

"Alrighty then. Here's your order. Be careful not to spill the chocolate sauce. It's hell to clean up."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. Have a good day."

He was stupidly happy to step out of the restaurant. The place must have been getting to him. Why else was he suddenly so superstitious?

"You doing okay Colt?" you asked.

He grinned at you. "Just dandy sweetheart. I got you a banana split and some French fries."

"Oh! That's perfect, thank you."

See? Nothing strange at all. He had a sweet ride and a sweeter girl waiting for him. Why worry about some weird diner?

He sat down across from you and unwrapped his sandwich. Behind you, Christine looked at him with a shining chrome smile.

"Listen, you can get a whole lot more for a car that fine. But if you're willing to let her go for the price in the ad, I'll buy her today," he said.

You froze, a fry halfway to your mouth. He really wanted her? He wasn't coming up with some lame excuse or hurrying off with a mumbled apology?

"Done," you said, a bit too quickly.

You were finally getting rid of Christine. No more nightmares, no more tip toeing around the garage like you were scared she might notice you, no more unwanted memories every time you laid eyes on her.

You were burying your past like it should have been buried on the day of your boyfriend's funeral.

He offered you his hand and you shook it, a genuine smile on your face.

"She's all yours." And thank God for that.

Colt drove you home and followed you into the house to collect the car registration papers.

You frowned at your empty desk drawer. You could have sworn you left the documents right here...

You popped your head into the living room where Colt was waiting.

"Give me a second. I think I left them upstairs."

"Sure. I'm in no hurry."

He wandered around your living room while you were gone, too keyed up to sit still. It was a neat, modern room with art on the walls. The big bay windows opened onto the front yard and the driveway where Christine sat waiting for him.

Part of him still couldn't believe it. She really was his dream car. The sort of ride all his work buddies would be green with envy over.

He leaned against the windowsil and then quickly looked down when his hand brushed something metallic.

Picture frames, the small kind that usually sat on a desk. He picked one up, the frame cool against his skin. It was a picture of you and someone he guessed to be your boyfriend. Both of you were in formal wear - you in a deep red evening gown and him in a tailored tux. Christine was parked in the background, her red a compliment to your dress.

Your boyfriend was handsome in a rough cut sort of way, his hair swept back and a tattoo just peeking out of his shirt. He was looking directly at the camera while you looked up at him, his arm curled tightly around your waist.

Colt frowned. There was something about the man's expression... a kind of possessive meanness. He seemed the type of guy to start a fight and then finish it no matter what, a real tough customer.

And the way he held you... some might call it loving but Colt found it more proprietary than anything else.

'Mine. My girl, no matter what. Try and take her from me and I'll show you a world of hurt.'

Colt put the picture down with a frown and scanned the others. Out hiking on the mountains, at the beach, holding a huge bouquet while he kissed you. A perfect couple except... except for the way he looked at you. Sweet, yes. But somehow dangerous, in the way rattlesnakes and cougars were. Fine if they weren't disturbed, but tread on their territory and there'd be hell to pay.

He moved away when he heard you coming down the stairs. You were a little flushed, a little out of breath, but you grinned at him and waved a stack of papers.

"Finally found them! Just need to sign the change of ownership forms and she's all yours."

He watched you as you searched for a pen, your sundress swishing 'round your thighs. He didn't like your boyfriend - dead or not, he seemed like one mean bastard - but seeing you so happy, so flushed with life and hope and joy, Colt found he could almost understand the other man. If you were his girl, he'd hold you just as tight.

You finally found a pen and he scribbled his signature on the dotted line.

"Well, seems like you're the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang. Congratulations."

He carefully took the papers from you, his fingers brushing yours. "Real good doing business with you sweetheart."

You lead him out to the car, going through the list of things he'd need to do to properly register the car as his. Real cute of you, to think he didn't know it all already.

He slid into the driver's seat and when he touched the wheel, he felt that same sense of power. And under it, a strange feeling of being not quiet alone in the car.

You stood outside his window, running through a catalogue of spares and repairs that he might want to check out. If he had to guess, you seemed nervous.

He leaned back and smiled at you. "It's alright y/n. I ain't changing my mind. Deals done, remember?"

It was the first time using your name and it sent a small bolt of electricity jolting through him.

'Her name is mighty sweet, ain't it? Meant to be said oh so softly, meant to be savoured.'

You looked at him like you felt it too, your cheeks just a little warmer than before.

Oh Lord, what sort of bastard was he? Feeling this way about you when your boyfriend was in the ground for scarcely half a year? You were probably still mourning, still nursing your broken heart. He should be a gentleman and leave you alone, shouldn't take advantage of your vulnerability. He should be a good man.

'You'd be an idiot to let her go.'

The thought streaked through his mind. It almost didn't feel like his own idea. Wherever the thought came from, it wasn't wrong. He really would be an idiot to not ask you out when he had a chance. He got lucky with the car - prize piece like this would have been snatched up in a matter of hours. If he didn't ask you out, if he didn't push his luck for the second time, the same thing might happen with you.

"How 'bout I take you out to dinner later this week? As a thank you."

You looked unsure, your eyes jumping down to the car keys like you were expecting an objection.

"Please? I know Christine must mean a lot to you. I'd feel a whole lot better taking her off your hands if I could thank you properly."

You bit your lower lip and he found his eyes drawn to the sight of it. Please say yes please say-

"Yes, I think I'd like that. But no later than eight, okay?"

YES! He rubbed a palm across his jaw to hide his smile.

"I'll bring you home early, promise."

"I'll hold you to that, cowboy."

Oh god, he wanted to melt when you called him that. It was so silly - big guy like him getting butterflies over a sort-of kind-of date.

'Atta boy. You ain't gonna regret it.'

He was too distracted watching you walk away to realise the thought wasn't his own.

That night, you slept without dreaming. For the first time since your boyfriend's death, you didn't see his face when you closed your eyes.

You woke up the next morning expecting to be relieved. Christine was gone, wasn't that exactly what you wanted?

Yes, but...but what happens next? You weren't an idiot nor were you unduly superstitious, but Christine didn't feel like a normal car. Maybe that's what happens after a violent death - things change, the blood seeps through the fabric and poisons the aura, or the energy, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.

You made yourself breakfast but couldn't eat more than a few bites.

Okay, try and be logical. It was probably just your guilt playing tricks on you. You loved Christine and you loved your boyfriend, so it was only natural that you'd feel terrible about selling her. That's all. Blood and death can't change the nature of an inanimate object, no matter how violent or grisly it might have been.

Right. Just your guilty conscience. No need to work yourself up.

Across town, Colt slept through his alarm. He was dreaming, a sweet little fantasy of cruising down the highway on a brilliant summer day. You were next to him, your sundress even shorter than before, smiling at him and running your hand up his thigh.

You were his girl. His and his alone. He could feel the certainty of it in every part of him. You loved him, you stood by him, you did everything you could to support him, you were his.

Christine purred through her gears and he pushed the gas a little more, eager to get home. He would show you exactly how much he appreciated you - inch by inch and kiss by kiss.

"I love you darlin'. I need you to know that," he said. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was raspier, with an edge of meanness that not even love could soften.

You looked at him, smiling all soft and sweet. "I know. I've always known."

Colt jerked awake, smiling and shivering at the same time. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, disoriented and feeling like a stranger in his own body.

"One hell of a dream," he muttered.

'Not a dream cowboy. A memory from someone long dead.'

He ignored the thought, his mind already focused on the day ahead. He'd driven Christine home yesterday, but left his Jeep parked outside your house. He could either get one of his buddies pick it up or take a taxi over and get it himself.

Was it even a choice? He wanted to see you again. If he had to pay an ungodly amount for an Uber, he would.

Should he call you before showing up at your door? What would be a good time to see you? He didn't want to show up too late and catch you in a rush to leave.

'She'll be awake by now. But she'll only leave for work after twelve.'

How did he know that? Did you mention it yesterday?

He climbed out of bed and half stumbled to the bathroom. As the steam clouded up the mirror, he thought of his dream. And what might have happened if he'd stayed asleep longer. Maybe your hand would wander further up his thigh, and then...

He lathered up his fist and took hold of himself. He was already hard from just the thought of you. Your sundress looked so damn flimsy. He could probably yank it off you with just one hand.

He groaned, his forehead pressed against the tile. Picturing your hand dwarfed by his when you shook on the sale; how soft your skin was, how good it would feel if you touched him just like this.

'Fucking yourself like a dog at the thought of her.'

He agreed. You really were turning him into a dog.

You were sitting in your living room, trying and failing to read your novel, when he knocked on your front window. You struggled to smooth down your hair while you scrambled for the door.

"Hi Colt! Came to pick up your Jeep?"

He was wearing blue jeans again today, with a tight wife beater that showed off arms thick with muscle.

"Yes ma'am. Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."

That made you smile. How often does someone go out of their way to check up on a stranger?

"I don't think so. But I've got some fresh orange juice and donuts, if you'd like to come in."

He smiled at you and for a second his gaze dipped down past your chin. "There's nothing I'd like better."

He took up a lot of space at your kitchen table, but you found it comforting. The room felt too big without your boyfriend to fill it.

You flipped open the box of donuts and he picked out the mint chocolate one.

"Never really liked the mint ones," he told you, "But I've got an awful craving for one right now."

"Oh I never liked them much either. It was my boyfriend who was the die-hard mint fan."

He looked away from you, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It must be hard for you. Losing him so suddenly."

"It was. It is. Everyone keeps telling me it gets easier, but it hasn't. Up until last night, I dreamt about him everynight."

"Dreamt of him?" he asked you suddenly, his eyes intense.

"Yep. Every single night. It was like I was reliving my memories again and again."

He looked a bit perturbed at your statement, but you put it down to him feeling awkward about the conversation. Death is never a fun or casual topic.

"So how's Christine treating you?"

"Like a dream. I was thinking of taking her down the coast next weekend. All open road and sea air." He paused, seeming to weigh something up in his mind. "Why don't you join me? The morning after I take you out to dinner. We can pack a picnic and have lunch at the cape."

"That sounds incredible." You looked down at your hands, slightly uneasy but not sure why. Your boyfriend spoke about doing that once. A mini road trip with the windows down and the sea breeze in your hair.

It's not that strange that Colt had the same idea, right? Everyone knew the coast road was a long, quiet stretch. Perfect for putting Christine to the test.

"You're gonna love it," he said. "I'll even make my world famous tiramisu."

You raised a brow. "You know how to make tiramisu?" Big guy like him didn't really seem the patisserie type. Did he have a cute apron with bows on it too?

He pointed his donut at you, blue eyes twinkling. "Not just any tiramisu. World famous."

You snorted out a laugh and for the first time in months, you kitchen felt like a happy place.

He dreamt about you again that night. Christine was parked in a dark corner on the edge of a cliffside hiking trail. He could hear waves crashing far below. It was nighttime, with the full moon outlining your face in silver and shadow.

He was in the driver's seat and you were straddling his lap. You were wearing a sweater and a cute pleated skirt that seemed oh so short with the way you leaned over him.

"You've been ignoring me," you accused him. You were pouting in an adorably petulant way. He looked at your lips - red and slightly swollen - and knew that he'd just been kissing you.

"I haven't been ignorin' you sugar. I've just been busy."

He spoke with that same raspy voice that somehow wasn't his.

"Too busy to say hello or drop by for dinner?"

You shifted in his lap and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. Oh, you damn tease.

"I'm filthy and tired after work sweetheart. You wouldn't want me."

You frowned, going from slightly annoyed to full blown angry.

"I always want you, you idiot. I'm not scared of a few stains. I like it when you come home smelling like the workshop. I like it when you're dirty from work." You tugged at his collar. "I like you. Why don't you get that?"

'Because you're too good for me.' He almost said it. It was on the tip of his tongue and it was only some dull instinct that kept him quiet. How couldn't you see it? You were everything he wasn't. You were educated and kind and selfless. He was just some bastard from the wrong side of the tracks.

He wanted to impress you. He wanted to be worthy of you. Fixing up the Mustang was just the start of it. He didn't care that it took him all summer and pretty much all of his pay cheque to do. He wanted a ride that he would be proud to pick you up in.

And it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing ever felt like enough.

He looked away from you and stayed silent.

You sighed and brought your palms up to his cheeks, gently turned his face back to yours. "I like you. I'm dating you. I want to spend time with you, no matter how grouchy you are. Okay?"

He should be a gentleman and let you go, shouldn't take advantage of your kindness. He should be a good man.

"Okay," he said and leaned forward to kiss you.

He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a gentleman. He was going to hold onto you for as long as he could.

Colt woke up with a snarl, slamming his fist on his alarm so hard the clock face cracked.

"I didn't want it to end, goddammit."

He rubbed his hand over his face. The dream felt so real. He could feel the late fall chill, could smell your shampoo and taste your cherry lip gloss. He wanted to go right back to sleep and fall back into that wonderful fantasy.

He scowled and threw the covers off. Dreams could wait, work couldn't.

All through the day he was snappish and irritable. One of the apprentices messed up an order and he snarled at them to stop being so fucking useless and fix it. His coworkers shot each other looks behind his back. He was behaving entirely out of character but both him and his buddies were helpless to stop it. It was only when he got home at the end of his shift that he realised why.

He wanted to dream about you again.

There wasn't any guarantee that he would. Dreams weren't exactly scheduled network programming. But somehow he knew it would happen.

He ended up going to bed before eight, a world record for someone who usually only considered sleeping when it was well past midnight.

He was right. He did dream of you.

You were in a bikini this time, lounging on a lawn chair in the backyard. You had sunglasses on and there was a slight sheen of baby oil on your skin. Your phone was on shuffle and pop music was blaring from the speakers.

You weren't expecting him and he kept his steps real quiet as he approached you. He kept expecting you to hear him and shoot up, and he was slightly annoyed when you didn't. What if he was a serial killer or some sick pervert, sneaking up on you while you were so vulnerable? Did you have no spatial awareness?

He made it all the way to the back of your chair and you were still totally oblivious. There was a magazine and a glass of ice tea on a small table next to you. You were softly humming along to the music.

He took a minute to just admire you. Your body stretched out and entirely at his mercy. His girl, his gorgeous girl.

He leaned down until his lips were right next to your ear.

"Hey there sugar. You miss me?"

You shot up with a shriek, your sunglasses flying. You whirled on him, grabbing your magazine like thirty pages of glossy Cosmo was going to help you fight off an attacker.

Your eyes narrowed when you recognised him and you smacked his chest, hard.

"You asshole! You gave me a heart attack!"

He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of you so riled up.

"You're lucky it was me and not someone else. Not everyone has such noble intentions."

"Yeah right. Was it your noble intention to scare the living daylights out of me?"

He held up his palms in a placating gesture. "Just teachin' you a lesson sweetheart. I was standing there for a good few minutes and you didn't notice a damn thing."

He cast a critical eye across your backyard. "I reckon some high wooden fencing would do the trick. 'Bout seven feet high, sunken flowerbeds on either side like trenches to make it even harder to get a leg up."

"I don't want a fence."

He ignored you, already mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need. "A nice light coloured wood. Pine maybe. Will match your house much better."

You sat back down, the fight draining out of you as your adrenaline dissipated. "What are you doing here? Did you get off work early?"

He narrowed his eyes but you didn't seem to notice. "Why? Don't want me around?"

That shocked you enough that you twisted around in your chair to look at him.

"Of course I want you around! Don't ever imply otherwise. This is a lovely surprise." You paused. "Near heart attack aside of course."

It was funny how easily you could calm him down. One sentence was all it took to get him smiling again. He leaned forward and hooked one finger under the strap of your bikini top.

"I haven't seen this one before. New?"

You blushed and looked down. "Mm-hmm."

"It's cute. But..."

You glanced up at him, suddenly self conscious. "But what?"

He grinned wolfishly. "But...you would look so much better without it."

He tugged at the bow holding your top up. The strings unravelled and fell down your back. The bra cups started to slip down too, and his eyes were glued to their steady fall.

He was going to teach you a whole 'nother lesson about wearing such a skimpy outfit where anyone could see you. Show you exactly what sick, twisted bastards would do to your body. Teach you a lesson you won't forget, so maybe, just maybe... you'd learn to be more cautious around men like him.

Colt woke up with a hunger like death. His cock so hard it was actually throbbing. He didn't feel well rested, despite having slept more than he had in two weeks.

It played over and over again in his mind. The strings unravelling, your bikini top sliding off... Always stopping right at the good part, the part he most wanted to see.

He got ready for the day with a savage efficiency. Bolting back his protein shake without even tasting it. He didn't realise it, but he'd started counting down the days until he could see you again. Just two more days. Two more nights of dreams and then you'd be there in the flesh and he could finally - finally what? He shook his head to clear away the dirty thoughts that were crowding him.

He was being a real bastard. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, when he had no right to. You hadn't shown any romantic or physical interest in him. You were clearly still grieving your man. He needed to get himself under control - what you needed in your life was a friend, not another man to obsess over you.

He forced himself to take a cold shower. Forced himself to avoid thinking about you. And to especially avoid thinking about the you from his dream.

'Good luck with that buddy. I used to be so tired I was falling asleep on my feet and I still couldn't get her out of my head.'

Work was thankfully busy that day and he threw himself into it with every feverish ounce of energy he had. Whenever his thoughts wandered towards you, he would find something else to do. He didn't eat anything at all and he didn't even notice getting hungry. He took on an extra shift and finished long after the sun went down, his muscles a hurting mess and his head not much better.

Christine was the last car left in the parking lot, sitting under a streetlight like she was waiting for him. He found his steps unintentionally getting slower the closer he came to her.

In the dark and lonely emptiness of the parking lot, she didn't feel like a normal car. If anything, she seemed to be watching him. Her headlights like eyes and her grille a silvery gash of a smile.

If he had to guess, he'd say the car was almost unhappy with him.

"Because I'm thinking about her?" He asked as he climbed behind the wheel. Immediately, he felt stupid and superstitious for talking out loud.

'Because you aren't thinking about her.'

He'd driven Christine to work the last few days despite not wanting to cause unnecessary wear and tear. Being in the car, driving it, was still a thrill.

Not tonight though.

He felt on edge, wanting to get out as soon as possible. She purred to life with the same thrumming power as always but his throat was tight with a nervousness he couldn't explain.

The inside of the car was suffocatingly quiet. He turned on the radio and old school rock 'n roll poured out.

'Just the sort of thing her boyfriend used to listen to,' he thought to himself. And then he laughed a stuttering, barking sort of laugh because there was no logical way he could have known that.

'Take it easy big guy. You and I are just gonna cruise. That's all.'

A nice cruise. Yeah, that sounded good. Calm his nerves, get rid of the nameless dread that was building all day. He relaxed into his seat, the streetlights crawling past in a hypnotic line of bright and dark.

He didn't notice when the radio dial moved on its own and the station changed from rock 'n roll to country. The singer sounded awfully familiar. His voice a kind of husky rasp. He was singing about his girl, his pretty woman, and he was singing about the grave and he was singing about the dark that waited.

'Oh,' he thought to himself dully, 'That's the voice I keep hearing in my dreams.'

When he finally reached home, it was two in the morning and the petrol gauge showed an empty tank. He'd somehow driven enough to eat through a full tank of gas. A drive that should have taken twenty minutes took five hours.

He got out of the car on legs that felt numb and cold. He couldn't remember driving. He couldn't remember the strange music or the even stranger passenger that rode with him. In his mind, there existed the clear cut memory of leaving work and climbing into Christine. Then there was nothing but a long, grey blankness that was tinged with a muted terror.

He collapsed into bed still in his work clothes. By morning, his mind would have stitched over all those things too terrible to contemplate. He would wake up feeling groggy and confused, and probably put it down to the strain of a long day.

Colt slept after driving with the dead and didn't dream.

On the day before your date, he found an engagement ring under the passenger side carpet.

He had no reason to look there, no reason to pull the carpet up by its seams. But he did it anyway and his reward was a silver and diamond band with blood dried in the crevices. There was an engraving on the inside and he had to take it out into the sun to try and read it.

'Mine. Forever and always.'

He shivered despite standing in the bright midmorming sun. Most rings would say 'yours' instead of 'mine.' He had no doubt that the change was entirely intentional. Your boyfriend was staking his claim on you - not just with the ring but with the intention behind it.

He looked at the brownish red stains and knew in his heart they were blood. Your boyfriend's blood.

Colt didn't know how the man died, but looking at the ring, he felt sure that it was bloody and far from natural. How would a blood stained ring end up in Christine? If the guy had been in accident sure. But the car was in perfect condition. The ring shouldn't have been there.

Unless he was murdered. Soaked in blood and tossed around during the struggle, the ring probably got pushed under the seam of the carpet. It was a sealed off spot and even a forensics team might miss something that small.

It was an outlandish and macabre theory to be basing entirely off one mysterious engagement ring. If he stopped to think about it, he would no doubt be able to poke a dozen separate holes into his theory.

Somehow, he knew it was true. The same way he suddenly knew Christine wasn't just an ordinary car and that his dreams about you were far from natural.

He felt a queer prickling all across his nape. He wasn't the type to scare easily, but this... This frightened him. He didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like if he looked up at the rear view mirror, he'd see someone in the back seat. No, not just someone. He'd see the dead man who owned the car before him.

He'd see the man who wanted to marry you.

He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. He wasn't a superstitious man. He didn't let fancies of ghosts and ghouls affect him. But even he couldn't deny the way he felt. His gut was telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He climbed out of Christine like a man scared of waking a sleeping bear. He didn't even bother to grab the keys.

He couldn't explain any of it. Not the dreams, not the thoughts that felt like someone else, not the prickling certainty that a man died right where he'd been sitting.

He got into his his Jeep and pulled out of the driveway, his eyes on Christine the entire time. Like she'd somehow roar to life and slam into him.

He didn't know where he was driving to until he parked. A bar across town, a real rough spot that on most days even he wouldn't want to stop at. But today wasn't like most days.

The place was dark and the folk sitting around weren't exactly the friendly sort. He settled at the bar and ordered a tequila without really thinking about it.

Funny. He used to hate tequila.

It went down like fire, and he shuddered. He wanted to laugh. What else was a mam supposed to drink when the world didn't make a lick of sense anymore?

"Give me another one." His voice was raspier somehow. Even though that never happened when he drank vodka or whiskey.

There were mirrored shelves opposite him and he caught sight of his eyes. A pale green. He tossed back his second shot and tried to tell himself it was just a trick of the light.

He wasn't sure who to talk to. Not the Sheriff's Office. Yeah officer, there was a man murdered in my car and now I can't stop dreaming about his girlfriend didn't exactly scream unimpeachable sobriety.

And not the pastor either. Father, I'm being haunted by filthy thoughts and I'm not sure if they're my own. He doubted the old man at his mother's church was qualified to deal with that sort of thing.

But he couldn't keep quiet either. He had to tell someone about it. If they called him crazy at least it was an acknowledgement. At least it was better than being dead drunk and being scared of his own eyes in the mirror.

Who could possibly know anything about it? Oh. Of course.

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and almost threw it across the room when it wouldn't turn on. He charged it every night, goddammit.

"There a pay phone somewhere 'round here?" he asked the bartender.

The man jerked his face at the side door that lead to the back parking lot. Colt stumbled out - swaying on his feet far worse than two drinks should warrant.

It was late afternoon. He shaded his eyes and tried looked at the sun like it was deliberately lying to him. He arrived at midday and he couldn't have been in there for more than twenty minutes. How the hell was it this late?

'Time moves differently when you're dead cowboy. You should know that by now.'

The payphone was in the shadow of the bar and he shivered when he stepped out of the sun. Wrong. It was all wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. Why was the voice still in his head when Christine was all the way across town? Why did he still feel life he wasn't quiet alone?

It was only when he had the receiver up against his ear that he realised he didn't know your number. Shit.

He leaned his forearm against the payphone and rested his forehead against it. Could he maybe get a taxi and show up at your house? He scoffed. Yeah, that would go well. Showing up dead drunk just to say he knew you liked short skirts in fall and that he dreamed of pulling off your bikini top. He'd be lucky if you only mildly tazed him.

Fuck. Okay. Home again. Sleep it off. Charge his phone. Call you in the morning and try not to sound too crazy. He could manage that.

He called the taxi company listed in the phone book. Half wondering if they were still in operation. When it finally connected, the call was thick with static.

"Yeah?" The man's voice was raspy and standoffish.

"Can I get a cab at Ronnie's on Westside?"

The man laughed. "Oh you must be a real tough customer to be drinking there. Didn't think you'd have the balls cowboy."

Colt wanted to cuss him out. What kind of fucker answers the phone and insults you less than two sentences in? He squeezed the receiver until he felt he could control his voice.

"Yeah. I'm a real mean guy. So can I get my cab or not?"

"Oh, I'll send you a ride alright." There was a mocking tilt to his voice. "Best fucking ride you'll ever take. Just sit pretty. You'll know when it's for you."

The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He hung up without another word.

The streetlights were coming on and the gold of sunset was giving way to the awful in-between greyness of twilight. He waited for his ride.

You came home to find flowers on your doorstep. A bouquet of white roses. You froze. There was only one man who sent you flowers and he was cold and dead for the better part of a year.

You picked the card up by the edge and flicked it open.

Hope you didn't forget our date. See you soon dollface.

-Colt

Oh. You laughed, ridiculously relieved. Of course.

Dinner tomorrow night with the cowboy. You took the roses inside and hunted around for a vase. Was it actually a date? He'd said it was a thank you dinner, but it wouldn't hurt to dress up a little. Do your makeup a bit fancy, maybe wear your new heels. It'd been months since you'd gone out, had a nice dinner with a friend. This could be good for you. Just one more step back into normalcy.

The clouds were starting to gather and as evening came on, they broke with a shudder of thunder.

You curled up on your couch, all the lights on. It was going to be a bad storm. The first really awful one in almost half a year. You tried not to, but it got you thinking about that night. The night your boyfriend proposed to you. The night you killed him.

You closed your eyes and tried not to see it, but the memories followed you even past the darkness. You couldn't run from them for long.

It was cold outside, rain drumming on Christine's roof. Sharp, constant. Your boyfriend was in the driver's seat, buckling his belt. A lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.

You liked it when he looked at you like that. Satisfied. Mellow. It never lasted long, but in the few minutes after fucking you, he would agree to just about anything.

"I'm drunk on you baby," he'd said once. "Heads all woozy. Would do anything for you. Fucking anything."

Christine's windows were all fogged up, and you traced little hearts on the glass. To be honest, you felt a little drunk on him too. Heart still pounding, head reeling. Cunt still fluttering and full. He was so good at reading you, at fucking you just how you needed it. No man before him could make you come so hard, or do it so easy.

"I got something to ask you, baby."

You turned to him, hand reaching out for his and pulling it into your lap.

"Yes?"

He rubbed a thumb across your knuckles. He wasn't looking at your face, just down at your interlinked hands.

"You're my girl, yeah?"

"Obviously. I love you."

"And you ain't going to leave me?"

"Never."

He sighed. Managed to raise his eyes to meet yours. You weren't used to seeing him nervous. Usually he'd just bull doze his way through a conversation, not stopping until he got what he wanted. This was...new. It made a whole new crop of butterflies start up in your stomach.

"Will you marry me?"

You froze. What? Where was this coming from? You loved him. You cared about him. But marriage? That was such a big step. Such a grown up thing.

"I've got money put away. And Christine. I can put a deposit down on a house by the end of the month. Can pay for a nice wedding too. All white and frilly, like you want."

"I..."

"You don't got to worry 'bout your student loans neither. We can pay 'em off a whole lot faster if we're together. You can even go back to school if you want. Get that second degree you're always talking about."

"I...can't."

You pulled your hands away from his. Looked away from him.

"I love you. I really do. But it's too...much. We're too young. I... I just don't want to rush into things and make a mistake."

He was quiet. Awfully, dangerously quiet. His hand was still in your lap and you could feel when he clenched it into a fist.

"Is there another man?"

"What?"

You whirled to face him, suddenly angry. How could he even suggest...

"I haven't touched another man since the day you asked me out."

He wasn't smiling anymore. His green eyes were narrowed, mean.

"Who are you fucking? Which bastard is it? Huh?"

"No one! There's no one else. I just don't want to get married and make a -"

"Mistake? You think I'm a fucking mistake?"

You flinched. His voice was even louder in the closeness of the car. It made your ears throb.

His fist uncurled and he grabbed your hand, hard. Yanked you towards him so your upper body was sprawled across the gear shift.

"Was it a mistake to fuck me? A mistake to say you loved me?"

"No! That's not what I-"

He cut you off with a hand around your throat.

"You want to leave me. That it? You're going to fucking leave me?"

You pulled at his fingers with your free hand but it was useless. His grip was getting tighter the angrier he got. Your head felt all swollen, your nose and throat burning.

"Please just -"

"No! No fucking please. No changing your mind at the last minute. You ain't gonna be my girl? Ain't gonna be my wife?"

He pulled you towards his face, his lips barely brushing yours.

"If you won't be mine, then you'll just have to fucking die. It's me or no one else, baby. I told you that, all those months ago."

You scrambled for some way to get loose, but you were in an awkward position and he had all the leverage.

"I fucking warned you. I told you that if you dated me you couldn't ever leave. I knew I was going to fall in love with you. Hell, I was half in love before you even said hello. I tried. But you just didn't listen, did you?"

Your hand brushed something cold and metallic in the centre console. His switch blade. He usually kept it in his back pocket to help with work. Oh, and he kept it sharp. You grabbed it, more on instinct than anything else.

Your head was pounding and your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears. But the rain was somehow worse. Falling so loud you thought you'd never get the sound out of your head.

You tried to plead with him again, reason, beg, whatever it took. But when you tried to speak he just closed his fist even tighter and your words died in your throat with a shudder.

Oh god, he was really going to do it. He's eyes were wild, mad with something beyond reason. He'd seen reason in the rearview mirror about a hundred miles ago and now he was headed straight down the highway of fucking insanity.

How? How could the man you loved be choking the breath out of you?

Because he loves you. Because he'd rather see you dead than lose you. Because you were too damn blind with love to notice how dangerous he is.

White starbursts bloomed across your vision. Little fireworks to celebrate your brain dying.

You stabbed him.

You didn't fully mean to. You were half mad with fear, half dead in his grip. Not sure what you were doing until you felt the blood.

The switchblade sunk straight into his neck.

You didn't even pull it out. Just left it there and scrambled back when his grip on you loosened, your chest heaving. You throat and eyes and nose all felt swollen. Your lungs burned like fire.

He reached up and touched his neck. Looked down at his fingers like he couldn't believe the blood was his.

You might have tried to save him then. Might have come to your senses and called the ambulance, might have stripped off your shirt and tried to stop the bleeding.

But a knife in his throat apparently wasn't enough to stop him. He looked at you and there wasn't anything rational left in him. He reached for you again, hands curled like claws. He was dying and all he wanted to do was take you with him.

You screamed. So loud that it made your own ears ring.

You grabbed the knife and pulled. You didn't realise it was acting like a stopper until his blood splashed on you. Hot, stinking of metal. It sprayed across your face, got into your mouth and nose, soaked the whole front of your shirt.

You scrambled for the door handle and fell backwards out of the Mustang. Landed on your ass and pushed yourself away.

He was halfway over the passenger seat by then, hands still reaching, mouth pulled into an ugly snarl.

You kicked the door shut.

It slammed with a bang and mercifully blocked him from view. Your turned onto your knees, pushed yourself to your feet and ran.

The rain was coming down so fast that it stung your skin. You didn't rightly know where you were going. Only that it was away.

You still don't know how you made it home. You were a twenty minute drive away and it was too dark to see more than three feet in front of you. Must have been luck. Must have been fate.

When you got home, you were shaking so hard you couldn't even open the door for a good five minutes.

You stripped off your clothes right there on the doorstep and threw them in the trash. Switch blade too. You don't know how you managed to hold onto it during that wild, reckless run.

You took a long shower. Sat under the hot water with your knees curled to your chest. Too scared to cry.

At some point, the better part of your brain must have taken over. You vaguely remember burning the bloodstained clothes. Remember taking a drive and throwing the bleached switchblade out the window.

And when the call came a few days later, to please come down and identify a body, you were calm enough to not give yourself away.

If it was anyone else, maybe the cops would have tried harder. But your boyfriend was a rough man from the rough side of town. They gave you looks of sympathy but shook their heads behind your back.

Guy like him had it coming.

When it was all said and done, you and Christine were the only ones who knew the truth.

Colt waited all evening for a cab that never came. And when the storm started, he was annoyed enough to consider driving home on his own. He'd only had two shots. And that was a few hours ago. He'd be fine. Folk got away with worse all the time.

He left the bar with his jacket over his head and his eyes darting down the road. The rain was sheeting and he had to scramble to make it to his Jeep without getting totally soaked.

Wet and hungry and still a little drunk, Christine didn't seem like quite so big an issue. He was just jumping at ghosts. Tequila got his thoughts all twisted up, that's all.

Driving was miserable. Even with his headlights on bright and his wipers cranked all the way up, he was having real trouble seeing the road. The yellow line was the only thing he could properly rely on.

When the headlights showed up behind him, it took him a while to notice them getting closer.

"Guy's got a death wish, driving so fast in this weather."

The driver behind him was gaining quickly. Colt expected them to try and overtake, but they didn't. Just got closer and closer. A car's length away. And then half. And then almost kissing his bumper.

"Why is this dude so up my ass?"

He hit the gas, but the guy behind him didn't care. Just picked up and kept coming. Revved it a little and Colt could hear the engine even through the rain. Some kind of muscle car. A loud, growling thing.

Almost like a...Mustang.

His whole back suddenly felt icy. It couldn't be. Christine was back home, keys still in the ignition. Even if someone did steal her, why the fuck would they track him down? Must be another muscle car, with some ego tripping asshole behind the wheel.

He told himself all that and more, but his foot pressed harder on the gas.

And still the Mustang kept coming.

The speedometer crept upwards. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.

Too fast for the narrow roads, and sure as hell too fast for a rainy night like this one.

A curve was coming up soon, the road ringed off with guard rails. He could see the reflectors glinting orange at him. Shit.

He took it wide, drifting into the opposite lane. He could feel his tires slipping a little and he hit the breaks just enough to steady the Jeep.

The Mustang didn't have any trouble with the curve. Stayed in its lane and gained a little more speed, so that when they were straight again, its hood was in line with his trunk.

Good. Maybe now the fucker would finally overtake him.

He couldn't see the car clearly. The headlights were bouncing right off his side mirrors. He couldn't even make out the silhouette of the driver.

Screech.

The Mustang's hood scraped against the side of his Jeep. The whole car lurched to the side, tires slipping.

"Fuck!"

Colt gunned it again, trying to out race the mad man. But whoever was behind him had no intention of letting that happen. They kept pace with him, blocking him from getting back in his lane.

Lightning flashed and Colt looked in the mirror just in time to see the car properly.

The thunder was loud enough to drown out his scream.

The car trying to run him off the road was none other than the 1969 cherry red Mustang that should have been sitting in his yard. Maybe he could have accepted it as a coincidence. Someone else had the exact same car as him and just happened to be driving like an asshole. Maybe he could have accepted that.

But the car didn't have a driver.

He saw it clear as day. The lightning glared straight through all the windows and there wasn't a single person in that car.

Impossible. This can't be real. There's no fucking way.

He could almost hear the laugh.

'Do I got you scared cowboy?'

Colt didn't have time to answer. The road was merging into the cliffside, and the wall of rock kept him trapped. There were lights coming straight at him, the blaring of a horn as whoever it was tried to warn him.

He slammed hard on the brakes. Christine shot ahead and at the last second he managed to edge back into his lane. The headlights roared past, the huge semi exhaling a spray of water and smoke.

It would have flattened him, even in his Jeep.

Christine's tail lights were a pair of glaring red eyes in the rain, until suddenly they weren't. Gone.

Colt slowed the Jeep, parked on the shoulder.

The rain was drumming on the roof and his hands were shaking. He got out of the car, water soaking through his shirt almost immediately.

The paint on the back door was scratched off in huge swathes. The metal was dented.

He climbed back behind the wheel, mind teetering on the edge of something past sanity. The world wasn't sane anymore. Nothing was.

He heard the growl of the Mustang through the rain. No headlights this time, just the whine of tires on slick tar.

Where?! Where was she?!

Christine slammed into the Jeep head on. All Colt saw was her red face and silver smile in the glare of his headlights before his whole world was filled with the grinding of steel on steel. His head slammed backwards, the whole car shuddering.

The airbags came on, blinding him.

Christine didn't stop after hitting him. He yanked the hand break up but she kept pushing forward, edging his car closer and closer to the edge. He felt it when the guard rail scratched against his bumper.

An ugly scream of metal, but the rails held. Christine didn't seem to like that. She pulled back, her tires shrieking as she got ready to slam forward again.

Colt jumped just before she hit the Jeep. His seat belt was almost the death of him. It wouldn't release and he couldn't see the catch in the dark. He must have had at least one lucky star though, because the door wasn't too mangled and he managed to kick it open just in time.

He landed hard, on his hands and knees.

Metal shrieked. Christine slammed into the Jeep hard enough to send it through the rails. He turned just in time to see his car go tilting off the road and down into the dark.

For a second, he thought he might have made it. Maybe she didn't notice him. Maybe it was all over.

Christine pulled back and her headlights washed over him, still on his hands and knees. One of the lights was hanging loose from the crash, making her look lopsided. The rain was still coming down hard and the droplets were gold in the light between them.

She revved.

Colt scrambled to his feet and ran straight for the guard rail. He jumped.

It wasn't a sheer drop. It was instead a steep slope, thick with shale and slippery with water. His knees buckled under him and he ended up on his back, half rolling and half sliding down the embankment. His palms were bleeding and as he fell, the gravel lodged itself in his open skin.

He couldn't see where he was headed. Could only try and and protect his head and brace for impact.

His slide ended with a boulder. He slammed into it his ribs first. Heard a crack before all the air was knocked straight out of him.

He could see the headlights way up above him, cutting through the rain.

At least she can't follow me down here.

True. Christine couldn't follow him.

But that's when Colt saw him. The driver. Coming to stand in front of the headlights, the silhouette of a man.

The silhouette stepped through the gash in the railing left by the Jeep and dropped out of the light.

Colt knew he should run. He could hear the shale slipping as the other man came down. Controlled. Measured. Nothing like his own tumble.

But he couldn't move. Everything hurt. Breathing sent sharp spikes of pain all across his chest.

"Well, well cowboy. Look at you."

The voice was low and raspy, mean. He knew that voice. Had been hearing it in his head and in his dreams and was fool enough to think it was his own.

His eyes were getting used to the dark. He could just about see the stranger. Tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. There was dirt thick on his boots, in the folds of his clothes. Not the black shale of the slope, but a reddish clay.

Kind of like in the cemetery.

No, he realised as the stranger squated down in front of him. Exactly like the cemetery. It was grave dirt he was seeing.

He was looking at a dead man.

The stranger might have been handsome once, but now one cheek was filled with holes. Ugly, clustered together things that showed his teeth. His other cheek was a mass of white. Worms, tiny little worms wriggling in and out of his face.

Colt wanted to scream. And vomit. And then scream some more.

There was a dark hole in the stranger's neck and when he moved it oozed a sticky, thick kind of blood.

"You know why I'm here?"

Colt didn't really notice it at first, but his voice was different. Thicker somehow. Like his vocal cords were packed full of dirt and blood.

Colt coughed and his whole chest hurt so bad he thought he was dying. Something was definitely broken. He'd be lucky if there wasn't internal bleeding too.

"Let me guess. Came to punish me for my sins?"

The dead man laughed.

"Not yours, no. Don't give much of a damn about you. I'm here to get what's mine."

The pieces were clicking together in his head.

"Your girl."

"My girl," your boyfriend agreed.

He reached for him, the nails on his hand either blue or totally ripped off. His skin filled with holes that showed pale white tendons and ugly pink flesh.

That was when the adrenaline really kicked in. Colt shoved at the man with one hand and pushed himself up with the other. It was like touching a carcass at the butcher. Cold. Limp. Just a piece of meat. No human should ever have to feel a body in that state.

He made it to his knees before the bastard hit back. Your boyfriend kicked straight at his jaw and Colt's head flew backward, smashed into the rock behind him. He dropped back down like a stone.

"Why you gotta be so fucking difficult, hmm?"

Colt was too out of it to pull away. The man reached for him and the skin of his hand was crawling with bugs. He grabbed his collar and dragged him up.

"Just gonna go to sleep for a little while cowboy. Maybe you'll wake up. Maybe you won't. Either way, I've waited too fucking long to let this chance go."

The corpse kissed him. Or more accurately, pressed his open lips against his and breathed.

His lips were cold and stiff and utterly beyond human. The taste was rancid. Worse than the worst thing he'd ever had. Metallic like blood, sweet like rotted meat.

Colt fainted.

The rain drummed down. Christine sat on the roadside and waited, her hood and paintwork back to normal. In bed, you tossed and turned in the hands of a nightmare.

The thing that was Colt Guilder opened its eyes.

It was your phone that woke you up. Your ringtone blasting even through your dreams.

You fumbled for it, eyes squinted against the brightness.

"Hello?"

The call was thick with static. Still, you recognised the voice. Would know it even from beyond the grave.

"Hey beautiful. Did ya miss me?" 

[cold-pink-soup]

I hate school. I hate school. I hate school. I hate school. I hate school. I hate school. I hate school. I hate school.

I don't hate learning, I love learning. But I hate school. I hate school. I hate school. I hate school.

When I finish a test I don't get satisfaction from it, because I KNOW I had to do it and I had no other choice. When I get the results back, yes, I am definitely glad to see that I have a good grade, but even if it's good I don't see a reason to be overjoyed or brag to my parents about it. If I get a bad grade I don't feel much else, I just accept that I tried, but clearly it didn't work. why didn't it work? I dunno, not like anyone's gonna help me anyways.

I HATE SCHOOL

[donniehaspronouns]

“what if kids identify with something and it ends up just being a phase-?” good. stop teaching and expecting kids (and adults honestly) to formulate permanent traits and ideas of themselves. everything in life is a phase. that doesn’t make it any less legitimate while you experience it. let people explore themselves and know it’s okay if what you think about yourself changes.

[soulwriter-sp]

shoutout to AO3 authors who write 100k fics for free while juggling mental illness, academic burnout, 3 jobs, and a deep-rooted need to fix fictional people.

[lieutenant-lithuania]

You lay your head on your boyfriend's lap, feeling his fingers slowly glide through your hair with a cautious edge to it, not wanting to pull on a tangle and hurt you.

You stare up blankly, heart racing out of your head and causing your vision to throb with a vignette around it, black threatening to creep up around your vision and swallow it whole.

You shouldn't have let him in, shouldn't have let him use his cunning words and charming voice to enter your empty abode.

He's been dead for a year now. Who was this strange gentle being wearing your boyfriends skin?

[lieutenant-lithuania]

• Yandere!Hero who just keeps getting in your way of being a good villain...

—You're scheming in your secret base deep underground, hunched over a map of the bank you're planning to rob. Just this one time you're actually going to do something evil for once! Without that damn sickly sweet grin flashing in your face.

This time, there's no henchmen, there's no cameras or computers. You've learned from your past mistakes and decided to use pen and paper only— lighter and fire extinguisher at the ready when you've fully memorized each and every step of your upcoming deed. No evidence left behind for that fool to track you down with.

You shiver at the mere thought of him.

Earth's most beloved hero, Ember.

The spark of hope in humanity, the soft glow of every victory. Such silky and smooth words are often used when someone speaks of him. Mostly because he's just oh so kind and charming, everytime he's in front of the camera he makes the interviewer blush— doesn't matter what gender they are. He always accepts when people ask for a picture and autograph, and he makes damn sure that picture/signature is nice and presentable! What a guy, huh? Not many heroes are out there for the people! Who wouldn't fall for a guy like him?

Of course, you know better.

He's such a cliche, anyways. Flight, super strength, super speed. His abilities are such boring and basic traits for a hero to have, but they are truly overpowered in reality. That's why you've hidden yourself away from everyone and everyone. He's really intimidating when he wants to be. You've had too many henchmen rat out your hiding place for you to trust anyone right now. You won't end up in that prison again.

But it's not really prison. As Ember would call it, it's rehabilitation. It's just something to make you see the beauty in saving people instead of harming them!

But it's all lies.

He placed you away in a penthouse without a way out. He was the only person that came in and out. He was obsessed with you, his dear arch-nemesis. Do you know how much it pained him to cuff you and put you away? Don't even get him started — really, don't, he'd go on for centuries if he could. But he made it better, he put you somewhere nice and fancy where he could tend to your each and every need! Why don't you want that?

[kindwhispers]

Kiki's Delivery Service (1989) dir. Hayao Miyazaki