#//watch me take psychic damage as i write about lips

[shadowcatzone]

-you get drunk, aren't yet together with venti-

You went to the angels share to get rid of some stress, maybe drink a little. Not to get drunk! But you were upset. And after eventually emptying 2 bottles on your own, diluc hands you a glass of water, "you drank way too much." So you pouted, but you took the glass anyways. After a sip you decided that actually, water is icky, so you set the glass on the table you're sitting at. Standing right next to you, Venti (the bard, you feel you should clarify to yourself,) just started another song. A Serenade? A ballad? ...you couldn't tell.

He must've been part of the reason you got two bottles... actually, there are five now. You can only assume he emptied at least two of them himself. You hand him a bottle when he rests his hands from playing. Then he continues. You tend to also take a sip of the bottle before setting it down. It's somewhat bitter, but the idea of your lips tasting where his have been seconds ago makes it oh, so, sweet. He's singing again. You can't even comprehend his string of words, but the taverngoers are cheering, as always. Maybe you're more then a little drunk. They cheer in between his singing, he smiles. Well, laughs. And sings. You still can't comprehend "what the beautiful bard brings" (he smiled at you, did you say that out loud?).

You go for the bottle, but remember he's still playing. So you watch him, leaning over the back of the chair you're sitting on. Looking at his face, following closely how his lips move, his beautiful, kissable lips, which have ingrained themselves into your mind on account of how many times you've hung onto them. You're certain they taste like the sweetest wine, something so truly divine you can't quite put your mind around it. You have no idea why you get up, but starting to kiss him in the middle of his song was, in hindsight, a plain bad idea. He puts his lyre away, you feel like the world fell silent... actually, the tavern went surprisingly quiet- that's when he hooks his arm around your waist and gently eases you out of the kiss. "I think you drank a little too much," you don't comprehend. Instead you just look up at him. "Ehe, master diluc, you wouldn't borrow me that room above the tavern?"

Diluc throws him the key with slight hesitation. "...if you do anything with her, you'll be banned from the tavern. Along with all your... future generations." The bard gasps "i would never! How could you even think that!" He exclaimed, in feigned hurt. He took you upstairs, to put you into the spare bed they had for emergencies. You tried to hold onto him, to kiss him again, but he was on guard this time, so he managed to dodge you and tuck you into bed. "Noo..." you weakly protested as he stepped away. So he cupped your cheek with his hand. "Aww, don't be sad. I'll go back down for now, and we can talk about what happened in the morning." You whined, "promise?" He giggles. "Yes, i promise." And he went back down as you fall asleep.

The next morning, you wake up to a soft melody. He greets you with a smile. You remember what happened the evening before, so, naturally, beet red, you want to sink into the ground.

[Part 2]

[thegnomelord]

i took 357191027r6392936446322736432947372 psychic damage from the Makarov fic so you gotta write reader being rescued, healed, rehabilitated and loved by the task force. imagine them teaching reader to be their own person or letting him top without any commands or punishments. reader would be whining like a puppy who doesn't know what it's doing and would be so cute and fearful looking for reasurance when fucking into a task force member it would be so cute

lol idk dude. I was intending to do the fic as a one off to satisfy my puplay kink but it's now started to rot my brain even more lol. If I did continue it, I don't know if I'd want a happy ending or an angsty one (omfg imagine going through all the healing and rehab and experiencing love only for one word from Makarov to have you going back to him without question)

So tell me ya'll if you want me to turn the one shot into a longer fic lol, but for now here's some headcannons, ideas/ whatever and some porn

CW:NSFW, rough anal, Simon x reader with Price watching, dom/sub.

I can't imagine Hound would be happy about the 'rescue' considering everything and definitely would be resistant to rehab (Hound biting ppl and getting muzzled lol) that dogheaded asinine stubbornness coming to bite him in the ass. I headcannon Hound to have already been violent when he was under Price's command but Price kept Hound in check(if anyone's seen that young ghost and price comic with him being compared to a fighting dog it's kinda like that).

Makarov didn't need to do much and just played into the aggressive tendency to make Hound as they are now. The more violent the reaction hound would make, the more attention and praise he'd get. Also I'm just a sucker for dog like characters that are unhinged. That have no moral compass except for the one they're loyal to and will do whatever they ask.

So the task force members would have their hands full with Hound that's basically an aggressive fighting dog taken straight out of the pit. Also I'm still thinking whether the 141 would try to steer Hound away from the pup/dog like mentality Makarov conditioned them into, or if they would try to redirect it by calling Hound 'pup, boy' etc, instead of 'dog' like Makarov did.

Also the grief Price would feel to see the man he thought was dead turned into that would break his heart. I don't know if I'd want him to crack down on trying to rehab hound, or let a lot of things slide because he's scared of fucking you up more.

But also like rehabed fighting dogs turn out to be the sweetest animals and Hound just going from this 'I will bite your throat out' to just a gentle giant that's just happy to be able to touch or hug someone without needed permission. . . but he can still bite a throat out.

Also I 1000% swear that Makarov's a whore and would have trained reader to have enough stamina to fuck him all night long so the task force would get pounded into next year lol.

This is questionable cannon and non-confirmed lol you just got me brain rotting with the cute pup part and this came out. Rough and quick.

CW:NSFW

You feel like you will die; heat burns through your veins, sweat crawls down your skin and makes your hair stick to your forehead. Your hands grip Simon's bruised hips, holding them up for him as you pound into him. "Please-" You barely manage a small whimper, hiding your face in Simon's shoulder.

Simon's body quivers beneath you, limp and boneless, a wet hole for you to use. He's as sweaty as you, rough grunts and half-formed swears leaping from his lips every time your hips meet his ass in a bruising thrust. He's the closest to you in size, albeit still smaller, which makes it easier for him to take your size than the others. His insides are a sweltering heat around your cock, fucked into a loose sloppy hole that would gape if you pulled out, muscles still doing their best to squeeze you every time you nail his prostate.

It makes you feel ashamed how long it took you to find it. Mounting anyone but Makarov feels wrong, you're not sure how fast or how deep to go, this current rough pace making Simon the most vocal since you began. You feel him cum again, walls clenching tightly for the first time in a while as you force him into spurting what's left in his empty balls.

"Pl- sir, I- please, please," You can't help but hiccup, your nails leaving crescent bruises in his skin as you just pound him through his orgasm. It's his fourth one.

"What's wrong son?" Price's words barely get through the fog of need in your skull, more little whimpers splitting from your lips. "Don't you want to let go?" Tears blurry your vision, you can barely see his face from where he's resting Simon's head in his lap.

You can't cum. Your balls are so full they feel like they'll explode any second, cock throbbing to finally shoot your load but no matter how harshly you thrust into the willing hole beneath you. It feels like those times Makarov would put a cock ring on you, but worse, now it's your own body refusing to give you release. You haven't earned it.

"Please-" You repeat, because that's the best your mind can come up with, your hips stuttering as overstimulation stabs your nervous system like a knife. "I-please, fuck- I can't." You force out, forcing yourself to return to the punishing pace, your pelvis starting to go numb like it would a few hours into Makarov using you as a living dildo.

Price's fingers are disgustingly gentle as they curl into your sweaty hair, making you look up at him with soft pressure on your scalp. There's no bite to his touch, no pain, it's too good for a thing like you.

You'll thank what god exists that Price seemingly understands your problem, "Oh, son." You hate the hint of sorrow in his tone, you hate yourself more for how it makes your heart pound in your ears. "Here, let me" He whispers, his other hand sliding down to your naked neck.

The lack of any collars around your neck still disgusts you every waking moment, still makes you feel wrong, bad dog. His fingers wrap around your throat. They're too loose to be a proper collar, but it lets you breathe easier, his palm warm and big enough to completely cover the 'V.M' tattooed on your skin.

"Go on, that's a good boy." He whispers, "Cum for us." Price orders, kissing you so softly it disgusts you, like heaven wrapped in thorns.

You feel fresh tears spill down your tears as the dam not letting you cum is finally torn down. You hiccup your 'thank you sir's against his lips as you spill inside Simon. You can just distantly hear Simon groan as you dump your cum into his sloppy hole, muscles weakly fluttering around your cock as you roll your hips, fucking your cum deeper into him, just the act of cumming hurting almost as much as being denied, your balls aching with every spurt of cum.

You collapse on Simon, pushing the breath out of his lungs, as boneless as him. You don't struggle when Price rolls you to your side, your cock slipping out. Cum and lube gushes out from his hole like a firehose, flooding the small space between you two, his rim red and irritated, muscles weakly fluttering around nothing as they try to close.

You try to thank him but you slur your words into his skin, feeling the muscles in his abdomen quiver as you huddle closer and wrap your arms around him, your chest pressed flush to his back. You expect him to pull away, Makarov hated being vulnerable like this longer than he needed, but all Simon does is grunt and tip his head back so you can hide your face in the space between his shoulder and neck.

"You olright Simon?" Price asks, brushing a hand through your sweaty hair for a few seconds before you feel him softly wiping away your spend from you two.

"Fuck," Simon breathes out, voice scratchy and rough. "Are we sure Makarov's human?" His hand reaches up to scratch your scalp as you kiss one of the numerous bite marks you left on him. His skin is a canvass of black and blue bruises, your bite marks starting to clot across his body. "Shit, I can't feel my legs."

His words feel like a slap in the face, and you don't notice how you let out a small whimper, your hold tightening. This is it, you'll have to let him go soon, he'll order you to leave like Makarov always did.

"None of that son." Price's voice is calm in your ear, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. "You did good."

Simon hums, his fingers running lower to scruff you, "Mhm, yeah," His words are slurred, exhaustion weighing on both of you. "Best snog I've ever had." He grumbles, and you don't doubt he won't admit it in the morning, but for the moment, as you feel yourself slowly drift off to sleep, you let yourself enjoy the praise, the warmth of human touch, the care you can feel in both of them.

This is starting to feel nice.

[remyfire]

Thought too hard about postwar Some Things Are Evergreen and caused myself psychic damage. There's so much I want to write. There's so much agony on the table, but also the healing, the fluff, the love.

Thought about a thunderstorm cutting the power in Mill Valley in the middle of the night and little toddler Erin being scared out of her mind. But here's Peg with a cup of her favorite juice. Here's Trapper stripping the sheets and blanket off his guest room bed and draping them into a fort in the living room for all of them to sit in. Here's Hawkeye showing Erin how to make shadow puppets and keeping her giggling. And Erin chooses BJ's lap, insists upon it. Beej cuddling her with her back against his chest while Peg rests her head on his shoulder, Trap's fingers loosely linked with Peg's on her other side, and Trap's leg kicked out so Hawk can feel it against the small of his back while he's spinning such silly stories that all of them are laughing harder than they have in almost two years.

Thought about another night where while BJ's putting Erin to bed, Hawkeye selects a record of lovely crooning ballads and Trapper crooks his finger at Peg. The two of them dancing together, Trap still careful with his feet—it's been too long since he's danced this close to a gal, after everything—and Peg goading him under her breath with a coy smile until he stops being so nervous and pulls her in. How the moment BJ enters the room, Hawkeye sweeps him into his arms with such a comfortable intimacy, two men who have barely been apart for longer than a month since they met. The easy flow of Hawk stealing Trap away, their foreheads touching, Hawkeye who still can barely breathe from the realization that he's here, Trap who still fights to remember that Hawk is real. And BJ draws Peg in with a light in his eyes that every day is getting a little closer to the glow she remembered when he was fresh-faced, full of hope. Tonight, it's reminiscent of their first dance at their wedding, and it makes them both want to cry from relief even though they can't keep the tender smiles off their faces.

Hawkeye getting a naughty idea and slipping Peg away from BJ this time, whistling innocently along with the music while Trapper and BJ stand a few feet apart, staring each other down. Waiting. But just as BJ moves to take a step back, the corner of Trap's lips quirk as he extends a hand. And while Hawk and Peg are watching them conspiratorially, so close that her cheek's smushed against his chest, BJ just inhales a slow, measured breath—and takes his hand. And neither Hawk nor Peg have ever seen two men fight mid-dance so feverishly to try and lead but it's better than them posturing like guard dogs, so it's progress all the same.

God willing, I will fucking get to postwar STAE one day, because these four are gonna make me melt every day until I do.

[cornfarm]

waves against the rocks

saiki kusuo x reader

word count: 2.0k

synopsis: you show saiki your powers. he’s unbearibly jealous, yet for the first time, he feels seen and understood by another person.

cws: mention of the reader having a bad family

genre: melancholic fluff

reader is gender neutral!

===================================================

notes:

greetings... i promise i’m working on cease and desist part 2 but i keep starting one shots;; I ALSO DECIDED TO CHANGE MY TEXT FORMAT... i yoinked all the capital letters away... it feels a bit more liberating

whenever i make my crazy op self insert oc, i always think about how i can make them a foil/double to the characters i like. for example my gintama s/i is also a traumatized war veteran. i thought like... wouldn’t it be fun to write the reader character as a direct foil AND double to saiki? they have everything he doesn’t, but he has a lot that they dont and it’s like,., mutual jealousy.

i also wanted to write saiki properly empathizing with someone. aiura and toritsuka are so fun because they both have different moral compasses with their powers and how they’d like to use them. however despite the fact theyre all psychics, saiki can’t really empathize with either of them.

i wanted to have saiki be excited about something, and feel truly seen. empathy is a very powerful thing.

i hope the “ability” i chose isn’t too cringe;;;

i can’t help but feel like i write saiki ooc so feedback would be super appreciated!

===================================================

perception. the way people are seen by others, the mental images and sour thoughts rooted in nothing but misconception. the falsafied persona of greatness, beauty, and kindness. perception.

you kept saiki afterschool. tugging at his sleeve, you quietly asked “i need to show you something, stay here for a few extra minutes?”. he refused you at first, but you stayed firm, “i need you to stay.” fierce. he decided to stay.

but you stood before saiki, right? were you there? he suddenly felt a bit weary, head pounding at the thought of you. your name, voice, scent, failing to find matches in his library of records. when he thought of you, his brain flickered through the faces and names of everyone else he knew.

you were a gap, a void, a sudden unconjurable memory. it was horrifying. but he quickly accepted it. the body circling behind of him was none of his concern, because there was nobody there. he supposes he should go home now. why was he standing alone in the classroom anyways?

firm hands land on his shoulders, warm, present. he remembers why he’s here.

“it’s not that i’m invisible, it’s just that your brain can’t recognize me, and refuses to acknolwedge me as a thing that exists.”

like a wave crashing against a rocky shore, the void is filled. your voice, your scent, your name, all slotted back into place in his mental library. he recognizes the hands on your shoulders as yours. 

a hand snakes around and pushes up his glasses, covering his eyes.

“it’s not about visibility, it’s perception. you are unable to percieve me as a living thing, or of anything of importance. that’s why you can’t read my thoughts, and that’s why you’re so quick to give up trying to recall me.”

he’s practically trembling- you have one power. it was simple, but it managed to find a loophole around practically all of his.

“that’s terrifying.”

“right?”

you take your hands away and step in front of him. he adjusts his glasses properly.

“were you born with it?”

you nod, “it caused me trouble when i was a kid. i almost got left at an airport,” you chuckle.

“does anyone else know?”

“i’ve tried to tell my parents but they don’t believe me. they called me a liar and delusional, so i decided to stop trying with them. nobody else knows, i’ve never told any of my past friends either. when i found out about your powers, i thought maybe someone would finally understand. that’s the only reason i wanted to tell you.”

your lip quivers, “you believe me, right?”

truth be told, saiki’s stunned. he wasn’t expecting someone like you to have such an abrasive ability. despite how reclusive and fittingly unnoticeable it is, it was certainly powerful.

he’s jealous. you were able to freely aquire something he wanted- privacy, but he does believe you, afterall he just watched you waltz around him, outside of his keen field of view. 

“yeah, i do.”

you smile, bright and wide- you’re nearly trembling. was being believed that big of a deal to you?

you take a step forward and embrace him, wrapping your arms around his torso as your head presses against his chest. he goes a bit stiff, and glances at the door. “hey, someone might walk in-”

“it’s fine.” you look up at him, meeting his eyes, and oh. your eyes are glimmering, shining greater than he’s ever seen them, “they won’t.”

burying your face back into him, he tenataively wraps his arms around your back. you continue, voice muffled, “’m sorry, you’re the first person who’s accepted me. i’m happy.”

the emotional explanation for your actions ease him a bit, “it’s fine.” he states back.

you finally pull away, and for a brief moment as you lose connection, you flicker out of his view, but you come back in again, placing your hand on his.

“actually, i can touch you while using my power without you being affected by them, but i’m manually using it on you right now.”

“if you touch someone while making sure they still can’t see you, what does that make them experience?” his voice is clear, a bit fierce in tone. you always had trouble reading saiki, but you could tell that this was interest. perhaps he was threatened, but he was certainly intrigued.

“they might whirl around and look who’s touching them and account it to a person around them, but if not, they might think they’re having sensory hallucinations. i can also talk to people, but because my voice doesn’t have any weight to it, it’s almost like a hypnotic suggestion.”

“so you can brainwash people?”

“not necessarily,” you let go of his hand, you must have released your power, your eyes are dark, “if i suggest something to someone and it’s something mild, they’re more likely to do it because it already falls into their line of thinking. if i suggest something bold, they might do it thinking it’s an impulsive thought.”

“most people won’t do extreme things, they’ll read those as intrusive thoughts. but sometimes people think my voice is the voice of god, or a passed on relative, and will do intense things regardless of their judgement. others have poor impulse control, and some are just batshit crazy.”

you sheepishly scratch your head, “but i don’t really like having that much control over people. i don’t want to use my powers to hurt anyone.”

“do you want to use them to help people?”

you pause. it seems you’ve thought about this quite a bit.

“well my powers can’t help people. they give me the ability to help people, but they can’t help people directly. i think it’s a matter of it i’m strong enough to help people.”

“are you?”

“would you hate me if i said no? of course i lend a hand to my friends when they need it, but i don’t think i’m strong enough to really make a difference. i want to live peacefully.”

you look down at your hands, “i wish i wasn’t born with it.”

saiki felt unnervingly softhearted. he struggled empathizing with his peers, but his heart pounded in solemn familiarity. “i don’t hate you for that, i’m the same. having the powers i do means i have the responsibility of keeping the world in peace. people would be jealous of me for the self-fulfilling purposes i could use my powers for, but i don’t want to use my powers to hurt people. i don’t want to help anyone either. i just want to be left alone.”

guilt. guilt was a disease, just like jealousy is. it eats at you from the inside, and creeps up at times least expected. it left both of you hollow and empty.

“i wish i didn’t have powers,” he continues, “i don’t think i’ve ever properly experienced life in the way i’m supposed to, like everyone else has. i’m envious of you, you’ve had a bit more normalcy than me.”

“i suppose we’re equally unhappy, then,” you smile at him. he had been staring out the window, but he turns to looks at you. you’re leaning on the door of the classroom, tilting your head, you ask him a silent “walk home with me?”. 

“i mean,” you begin, “i’ve missed out on a lot. i’ve always had trouble making friends- my powers made it difficult for people to remain interested in me. i’ve gotten pretty good at controlling them, pk academy has been really good to me, but it doesn’t heal the damage it’s caused me.”

your teeth gnaw at your lower lip, “your family is so supportive of you, they love you so much, it makes me angry. i wish i could say the same about mine.”

it wasn’t too empty in the school, but your footsteps were loud and clear, both you and saiki walking in sync. saiki didn’t really know what to say, so he stayed silent. 

sighing, you continue, “i don’t want to be alone, but it’s too easy to be reclusive when that’s where you’ve always been. if you live a life of isolation, making friends is scary and draining,” a grim smile forms on your face, as if you’re trying to comfort yourself.

but saiki does have to admit that the two of you have much more in common than he initially thought. he quietly thinks to himself, perhaps he could use your abilities.

“y/n,” he begins, eyes meeting yours, “will you do me a favor?”

“yeah, what is it?”

he doesn’t like being indebted to people, but he wants to test your limits. you don’t give him the chance to ask, “you want me to use my powers while we walk out together, don’t you.”

his mouth falls a bit open, lips parting, “how did you know?”.

you laugh, “you’re not the only one who can read minds,” and reach out to wrap a hand around his forearm. he raises a brow at you, seemingly amused by your comment. he expected you to take his hand again, but your firm grip on his arm was admitedly unexpected.

he felt his heart skip a beat.

“well? are you doing it?”

“yup, you won’t feel any different though.”

walking down the steps together, people passed the two of you, strangers, familiar faces, teachers. nobody noticed.

the two of you passed toritsuka at the steps, but he paid no mind. “you know,” saiki started, “when i use my invisibility power, that guy can still see me.” 

“can he?” you murmur, your voice a bit low. 

“if it’s easier, you can just think what you’d like to say to me, we can talk that way.”

you squint your eyes in concentration, “like this?” you think to yourself. 

“yeah.”

you smile. you continue to hold onto his arm as he changes his shoes. 

“that must be frustrating, that he can still see you.”

he nods. he supposes if toritsuka can’t see you, then aiura probably can’t track you- and him, down either. 

“hold onto my arm while i change mine.”

without breaking contact, he gently wraps his fingers around your wrist. you hastily change your shoes, and slide your hand a bit up, taking his in yours.

“is it neccesary to hold hands?” he asks. his expression was nearly deadpanned, but the slight crease in his brows communicated just enough. he felt sheepish, a bit lost.

“no, but it’s nice.” 

teruhashi stands idly at the exit, waiting, doing her best to gently shake off the boys that surrounded her.

“she’s looking for me.”

“is she? do you want to talk to her?”

“no.”

you pause. 

“is she the reason you asked me to do this for you?”

he nods.

you turn and head towards the gate, but not before waving a hand in front of her face. you take a deep breath, before exclaiming a loud “teruhashi!”. she whirls around, trying to find the source of the voice, looking rather bewildered.

letting out a hearty laugh, you grin up at him. a slight huff of air escapes his upturned lips.

the two of you slip past the front gate.

“but you owe me something in return, i don’t give out my labor for free!”

he sighs, “what would you like?”

“wait, really? i was joking, you don’t have to do anything for me!” you double down on your demands.

“you say that, but i know you’re secretly hoping i’ll treat you.”

“shit, i forgot you can read my mind. that’s so invasive.” you pout, “not fair!”

“it’s fine, i don’t like being indebted to people, and you did do me a favor like i asked, so i’ll take you somewhere.”

you look a bit nervous, “really? you’re sure?”

“just accept the offer before i revoke it.”

you twirl in a circle, letting go of his hand and hopping a few steps ahead of him. “you’re buying me a nice coffee then!” 

he lunges out to take it again.

“sure.”

and once more in sync, both of your hearts skip a beat.

[mochiusagifanficchaos]

Gabriel x Reader lemon/smut •Let me heal you•

Warning: adult content

It was one of those nights after a long hunt at the bar again.

Tired you sipped at the cocktail in front of you.

Hunts had been much easier with the Winchester brothers but you had to go your way, didn't want to play the little girl who needs to be protected anymore, so you left.

Sometimes you still wished you haven't but this was your life now, alone on the road.

You were so deep in thoughts that you didn't notice that a man sat beside you and watched you with an amused smile.

"Well if this isn't (y/n).", he said and you jumped in surprise.

The man with the golden brown hair and whiskey-colored eyes grinned at you. He was wearing a white collared shirt and the first buttons of it had been left open.

You knew him from the time with the Winchesters and even so, they didn't quite like him, you had come along with him pretty well.

"Gabriel!", you shout happily, placing the cocktail glass in your hand back on the counter.

"Long time not seen, cupcake.", he said and gave you a peck on the cheek. "So, I heard you finally left the brothers?"

"I wanted to go my own way.", you admitted. "Why are you here?"

"I was bored and wanted to pick some girls up.", Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows and you rolled your eyes as a response.

"You haven't changed at all.", chuckling you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

"And you're still as beautiful as always."

You blushed slightly: "Oh shut it! You're too cheesy."

Gabriel just smirked at you, but his smile faded as he noticed a big red cut on your neck which disappeared under your black t-shirt that your hair had been hiding.

"What happened with your neck?", he asked with a worried tone in his voice and pushed some more of your hair back to get a better look at the wound.

"Just some stupid werewolves.", you lied. "But I got rid of them, don't worry."

It had been an Angel who had tortured you with his angel blade. He wanted to know where Gabriel is but you couldn't tell him and even if you had known where he was your mouth would have stayed shut.

After over a week he finally let you go but you had cuts all over your body now, not to speak about the psychical damage he had done.

"You are lying.", Gabriel stated with an angry voice and you felt caught.

"I-I am not.", you tried to sound as convincing as you could but the look in his eyes showed you that he already knew what had happened.

Suddenly you felt dizzy and the next moment you blinked you were in a different room, sitting on a soft sofa.

Gabriel was kneeling in front of you:

"You can't lie to me. I can read your thoughts if I want to."

Awkwardly you looked down at your feed: "...Right. I'm sorry."

"I can't believe my brothers did this. I'm sorry, (y/n).", he said with a guilty voice. "How bad is it? Let me see, I'll heal you."

You hesitated for a moment but then pulled your shirt up and undressed in front of him.

He had healed you often back then and saw you in your underwear multiple times already so it wasn't such a big deal to you anymore but it still embarrassed you.

With red cheeks, you tried to cover yourself up.

Gabriel admired you and your body, he always had, and sometimes he even had found it hard to keep his hands by himself when he healed you but today he just felt pain as he looked at you.

You've gotten skinnier and all those red cuts over your body made him feel guilty. After all, this just happened because of him.

"I'm so sorry...", he apologized again and pulled you into a tight hug, laying his chin on your head.

"It's not your fault, Gabriel. Stop apologizing and heal me already.", you said with a soft chuckle on your lips, trying to overact the embarrassing and sad situation.

With one quick movement, he lifted you and sat you down on a big wooden table next to the sofa.

Carefully he caressed over the wound on your neck with his fingers and followed it to your shoulder, letting it fade away.

You first flinched at his touch and the stinging sensation but quickly got used to it and started to enjoy the feeling of his fingers stroking over your body.

You had to admit that you had missed this.

His hand slide over a cut on your stomach and you watched his face, his eyes shining blue for a short moment whenever he touched a new wound, making it fade away.

Melting into his touch you closed your eyes.

Suddenly his hand wandered over a scar that went from your hips to the inner side of your thigh and you sharply sucked some air in, gasping at the sensation.

Puzzled he looked up at you and locked his eyes with yours.

You blushed furiously and wanted to look away but his whiskey-colored eyes hypnotized you in a way you couldn't explain.

It seemed like he was searching for something in your eyes and your thoughts went crazy about the intense gaze he gave you.

It seemed like he had found what he had searched for because his mouth formed a little grin before he leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours, kissing you softly.

Surprised about his action it took you a moment to return the kiss.

But the moment you did he grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer, deepening it.

A small moan escaped your mouth. Gabriel chuckled: "I wanted to do this for such a long time, cupcake."

A shy smile crept on your lips and Gabriel started to travel his kisses down your neck, his hand wandering behind you, softly pulling at your hair.

Your hands clenched into his shirt as he sucked at your neck, having found your weak spot.

Slowly he grazed more kisses down your shoulder, healing cuts on his way until his lips met the hem of your bra.

Before he could take it off you took his face between your small hands and kissed him harshly, swinging your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. You could feel his hard member and rubbed yourself against him. A low groan came from his throat and the next moment, he pushed you backward.

You expected to fall on the hard desk but instead fell on a soft mattress.

That little jackass had shifted you both again.

His lips crashed onto yours and his hand wandered down your stomach to your panties, rubbing you through the thin fabric while his other hand pinned you down by your wrist above your head.

"I'm not a little jackass.", he growled against your lips before he attacked your neck again and trailed down to your breasts. With one finger snap your underwear was gone.

You hissed as you felt his hot breath over your breast and your eyes fluttered shut as he licked over them, before sucking at your nipple.

His free hand caressed your inner thigh, slowly moving closer to your faults before he slipped between them, massaging your clit.

Moaning you arched your back, overwhelmed by his touch.

Gabriel loved the view of you being a moaning mess underneath him.

He had pictured you in his lonely nights like this so often and finally, you were his. 

Without a warning, he pushed a finger inside of you and scratched your walls.

He added a second finger and your hips bucked against his hand as he found your spot, asking for more, moaning and wriggling under his touch.

His lips left your breast and found your mouth again, kissing you roughly, muffling your moans.

Suddenly he pulled away from you and started to slowly unbutton his shirt, never breaking eye contact with you. Once his shirt was open he teasingly slowly unbuckled his belt and let his trousers slide down his legs, smirking as he watched the growing desire in your eyes.

As soon as his boxers followed his jeans you yanked your hands forward and grabbed him by his open shirt, pulling him back on top of you and kissing him while tangling your fingers in his golden brown locks.

A little off-guard about your sudden action he nearly forgot to kiss back.

His member rubbed your faults and a wave of heat rushed through your body.

You felt him position himself at your entrance before he pushed inside of you, carefully and slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size.

You whimpered, his golden eyes stared into yours, wanting to make sure that everything was okay.

Soon the pain was fading into pleasure and his slow thrusts became faster and harder.

His hands found your waist, and he grasped it tight while pounding inside of you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again, making you cry out and arching your back.

Gabriel leaned down to you, his lips only millimeters away from yours, too occupied to actually kiss you.

You felt the knot inside of you tightening with every thrust and you clenched onto Gabriel's shoulders, digging your nails in his skin. Moaning and whimpering you threw your head back as the knot burst and the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm rushed over you.

He groaned, your walls tightening around him bringing him further to his own climax.

His thrusts got sloppy and his breath shorter until he released himself inside of you with one last hard thrust.

Exhausted he let himself fall on top of you, burying you underneath him.

"Looks like I still picked a girl up tonight.", he said proudly and you could feel the vibrating of his chuckle.

Snickering you pushed him down from you and gave him a quick kiss.   "Took you long enough.", you whispered and cuddled to his chest...

I'm not really used to writing smut, I hope it's not too cringe haha

But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this story!

Let me know if you did and much love from a certain archangel to you ❤

[crown-anon]

@hearts1ck my beloved

November 1st

CW: explicit; more CWs under the cut

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; reader has male anatomy; more specifics under the cut

edited 14 March 2021

anonymous asked

consider. okay. CONSIDER. consider masochist george. okay?? okay. okay LISTEN.

I think I have a problem with gimmicks also. because. because. ever since strawberry milk george, I. I have not stopped thinking about strawberry flavored lube. because! listen okay hear me out.

(this is absolutely 110% a response to discovering that you share a birthday with him. what of it?)

I know everyone likes pillow princess george and. that's okay. that's FINE. these are not mutually exclusive.

george looking up at you with The LookTM wearing some pink strawberry milk lingerie. not even lingerie really! just something cute like that

& him being like. "I know you love me 👉👈 but I need you to fuck me like you don't"

so I was. thinking. that brat george is the exact kind of person to say (playfully & consensually) "but I don't wanna give you head, I just wanna fuck >:(" after you've got him worked up, maybe from teasing him throughout the day, or edging him a little. but you still need some type of lube. so you go to apply the first bottle you see and he's pink when he asks you "😳 is that ... strawberry ... ?" and you're confused like ??? bro you just asked me to fuck you into next week why're you interested in the flavored lube

but. but listen. he would get so enthusiastic about it. at first it's just "maybe I can stand to eat them out just a little bit before ..." and then after you come the first time it devolves really, really quickly into the need to just. take care of you. and it stretches on until you've come three or four times, and you're still shaking, and he's just. completely gone in subspace

hmm ... george climbing up onto your lap when he's done with you, going in to give you a kiss, and he tastes like strawberry. and he ends up moaning right into your mouth because he's been so horny but so? understimulated?? that he outright jumps as soon as his dick grazes your thigh. it would only take a couple stuttery grinds before he's finishing on both of your stomachs

and he's just so cute when comes, or when he bites down on your shoulder to keep himself quiet. and it's your birthdays. so, you decide you'll give him a reason to cry. and he'll finally get put in his place! it's a win-win for both of you!!

istg every time I send you an ask I discover something new about myself. you. you have made a dreamteam simp out of me. I am but a shell of the man I once was. I think I should thank you? [👑]

hearts1ck

i say this nearly every time you send stuff in but...... by god you own my soul. all of it. this – i – first of all, the implications of masochist george losing his fucking mind when you’re rough with him? guhhhfjklgjgf. and ,..d,,f,,, ,, ,, george in pink lingerie. i. i . a... pink satin slip maybe or .... ohghfd; oh my god those. that cat panty/bra set. im ascending im losing my brain as i type this i cannot –

okay im back on earth. he’d get into that rhythm and settle like liquid while he gets to work on you, and his subspace face is so self-satisfied and nearly smug so he’s just having the time of his life,,, and he makes such a loud noise when his dick twitches against your thigh and maybe... JUST MAYBE he whimpers extra watery when you drag his hips to grind against where you’re wet and dripping/your spent cock as if he’s the one who’d get overstimulated by it. when he finally leans away, eyelids heavy, you gently fit your hand over his jaw and ask, “did you even ask? it’s one thing to come without permission, but not even caring to ask? georgie, i might just be offended,” and he whines “green”s against your neck before you even check-in

and because u made it abt both of our birthdays ,,,, spanks for each year we’ve been alive methinks ??? and then the scratch down his ass gets him hard again and he’s so embarrassed by it, ,,, , ,, ,, ,, ,, ,

also thank god you’ve joined the george boat. i’m so proud of myself for hopefully being part of the reason you got dragged over here HJFKDHSKD

#👑 anon #(my beloved) #keep #anon thoughts: george #redsick #SHAWTY WANT THE WHOLE CREW SHAWTY BAD

as soon as you said birthday spanks I decided I had to write more about this. and I was going to leave more snippets in your askbox like the fucking gremlin creature I am, but then my thoughts started. actually having structure? and then I started writing it. and I tried to do homework and write on study breaks only but. I just kept coming back to this. this is the polar opposite of writer's block. I think I'm cursed or something. so here I am rushing to finish this so that I may rest in peace!!

yes I've been writing nonstop since I sent you that ask. what of it. what the fuck of it.

when I said I discover something new about myself every time we interact, I. I'm serious. I think I might be insane or something. I'm way too sadistic. you'll see. what the fuck is this? what the fuck did I just write??

this would have done so much critical psychic damage if I had posted it on November 1st in real life, but mental illness says I can't let my horny thoughts rattle around in my brain for that long. so!! it's you guys's problem now xoxoxo

I'm not fucking proofreading this. love you though 💗

I did end up proofreading actually. oops! looks like posting at 23:00 isn't always a good idea.

November 1st

CW: explicit, anal (kind of vague), bondage (collar + leash), corruption, domspace (I think??), edging, handjob, humiliation, masochism, oral, praise, sadism, spanking, subspace, swearing. I call George a whore and a slut at least once. and also, George calls yellow at one point. this one kind of surprised me so just. Be Careful. I cannot believe I wrote this. I don't know where this came from.

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; I use the word "sir;" reader has male anatomy; I use the words "cock," "dick," and "head;" reader can ejaculate

—

dawn shines through drawn curtains, illuminating the tile floor and your robed figure reflecting off it. batter sizzles in the skillet as you flip the last pancake over. this side looks golden brown, like honeycomb or caramelized sugar. that delicious, freshly-baked fragrance mingles with scented candles. it's perfect, you smile. he's going to love it.

you lift the pancake with a spatula, stacking it on top of the others on his plate. you bring it to his seat at the table, along with the butter, the syrup, the honey, the jam…and you go to pour him a drink.

"hey baby," you greet warmly to the sleepyhead rubbing his eyes in the entryway, still clinging to a pillow. his hair's a mess, only wearing socks and a sweatshirt that reaches down past his thighs. you reckon he'd only just crawled out of bed.

"morning…" he yawns, stumbling past you to take his seat.

"milk?" you ask, he only nods. "did you sleep okay?"

he hums affirmatively. "I…can we…"

one track mind, you joke inwardly. but you don't blame him. "of course," you open the fridge.

you hear him pause. "…is it too early for that?"

"no, no!" you give him a lighthearted laugh. "I kind of expected it, to be honest…I want it, too."

he's silent under the noise of you rummaging through the fridge. "I—"

"sorry—it looks like all we have is strawberry milk. is that alright?"

"yeah…yeah, that's alright. I…actually…wanted to try something new." you shut the fridge, he's fidgeting in his seat.

"hit me with it," your expression is gentle. you pass his cup off to him, but he holds his hand over yours a little too long, looking up at you.

"fuck me like you hate me."

you don't know if it's hearing him swear, or the way he said it so calmly, or how he closed his eyes and swallowed hard before his tone could dip down into something lower. but like a match in an torrent of gasoline, suddenly you're burning up.

you only realize you're staring when he bites his lip and looks down. you start to say something, but the words don't form.

he laughs nonthreateningly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "is that a yes?"

you laugh with him. "I…yes, absolutely yes." you turn back around to make your own stack of pancakes. "you should eat first, though."

"what?" he teases. "will I need the energy?"

you smile. "yeah. I think you will." you can practically feel him open his mouth in protest, but he stays silent after that.

and it stays mostly silent while you cook your pancakes. you hear the clinking of his fork on his plate, but it isn't very disruptive. it sounds like he's hurrying to finish his food.

when you go back to the table with your own platter, he's already done eating. he's red down to his neck, fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt, looking at you expectantly. you spot a pair of tassels peeking out from under it, just below his hip bones. is that…

he pulls the hem up just a bit, holding your gaze. he smiles, apparently satisfied watching your face heat up.

"I—you should go…go get ready," you manage. he gets up before you even finish your sentence, only stopping to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

except it isn't quick, when he slides his hand down to rest firmly on your collar, and leans in to trail kisses down your neck. "a-and leave that on," you stutter.

he pauses, just under your jaw. "leave what on?" he murmurs.

your breath catches, you shut your eyes. "whatever the fuck it is you're wearing under there."

he's hardly grazing your skin, but you can feel how hot he is next to you. it takes all of your willpower not to shiver.

he pulls back quickly, only his hand lingering. "I don't know what you're talking about." and just like that, he disappears into your bedroom.

you reach up a hand tentatively to your collar, hot to the touch. I'm in way too deep, you decide, and force yourself to take a bite of your food despite your nerves.

—

"that," you hiss. "that fucking outfit. that."

"oh, this?" he bites his lip, hooking his thumb in the keyhole. "this's just what I went to bed in last night."

"fuck you. we both know that isn't true."

he tugs gently on his top, pulling it a little to the side. "what's the big deal? can't I wear something special for my birthday?"

"it's special, all right," and you leave it at that, opting instead to slot between his legs where he sits waiting on the edge of the bed. you bring up a hand to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb across his cheek. you'll never get enough of the way he looks at you, like you're intoxicating.

…? you frown.

"is something…missing?" he perks up instantly at "missing."

"what…?" he chooses his words carefully.

"the collar—your collar. where is it?" you turn away to start going through your bedside table, but the way his lips quirk up into a sly smile isn't lost on you.

that's lube…that's a vibrator…where the fuck is it…? "w-what collar?" he stumbles over his words.

your mind jumps to say, the collar that came with that outfit, or I know you know what I'm talking about, but you won't give him the satisfaction. you decide to speak a little darker, only a firm "George." you hear him swallow.

"w-well," his voice is shaky, "you only told me to leave on whatever I was wearing under my shirt. and…I wasn't wearing that collar at breakfast…s-so technically…"

you stop looking immediately. you turn to take him in, legs crossed, stance confident, but expression showing uncertainty. you can see the regret on his face. "get up." he takes a shallow breath. "get up."

"I'm—"

"don't I'm sorry me," you snap. "you look for your fucking collar on your own."

he slips off the bed, looking ashamed, but starts digging through the drawer all the same. "I really am sorry," he murmurs. you take his place sitting on the bed. he finds what he's looking for rather quickly: a simple white leather collar with a bell, and a leash. he hands them off to you shyly. "um, here…"

"good boy," you praise. "kneel."

he shuts his eyes and does as he's told. you can see the bliss wash over his face just at being ordered around. his lips part a little as he lets out a heavy breath. if only I knew what this would do to him, you muse, I'd have done this ages ago.

you fasten the collar, revelling in how he shivers at the gentle sensation of cold leather hanging around his neck. you leave it a little bit loose, but still comfortable, and hook the leash in its place. he sits obediently still on his knees, looking deep in thought.

"Oh, I know what I'm gonna do to you," you bait. "how old are you today?"

"mmm. twenty-five." he looks down.

you smile, holding tight onto the leash. "I'm gonna edge you. twenty-five times."

he flinches away immediately, yet hums in pleasant surprise when the leash snaps taught. the bell jingles stiffly. "no way. that's way too much."

"I think you should've thought about that before you wore that to breakfast," you decide, tugging a little. he's caught off-guard and stumbles forward, stopping himself by leaving a clumsy pair of kisses on the inside of your thigh. the metal and leather feel refreshingly cool against your feverish skin. "we've got all day, baby."

you expect to hear some kind of protest, you're crazy. or a playful taunt, I'm better off doing this by myself. but he knits his brows and openly moans at the thought. "all day…" he repeats.

he looks up at you, almost pleading, and you can hear the resignation in his voice when he whispers "alright."

"get up here," you command. "on top of me." as he climbs up into your lap, a little too eagerly, you add, "and take your dick out."

you shrug your robe off your shoulders while he's working on his panties, and without thinking, you ask, "color?"

he stops, leaving his head poking cutely over the waistband. he looks up at you again. "…what?"

"um…color," you explain. "like, how are you doing? is this okay? I don't actually want to hurt you. uhhh…green means good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop."

he stifles a laugh. "you're such a nerd. I'm okay."

"alright." you blush a little. "we can stop whenever you need to. this is for you…" you think of something horribly unsexy to say. "…birthday boy."

now he's really laughing, with his whole body. you think the way it makes his collar jingle is cute. "oh my god. shut up. just shut up," his expression turns serious, and he drops to a whisper, "and fuck me."

that got you hot again. you pull him by the leash into a kiss, you bite his lip, you eat him up. and you grab the both of you together with your other hand, you moan in tandem. you can feel how you took him by surprise in the way he twitches under your thumb, the way he leans into you with his whole body. you part from the kiss and he leans back on his heels, panting hard, holding on to your shoulders for support. you can feel him shaking a little.

when you move your hand all the way up the first time, you squeeze both of your heads gently, and he practically falls into you. muffled in the crook of your neck, he begs, "god, do that again."

so you do. again. and again. what was a string of stuttered breaths turns into a single broken moan as you jerk the both of you off. when you think you're getting close, you let go of yourself to focus all your attention on him.

"fuck, sir," he whines—hahaha, that sir made your cock leak a little. he shut his eyes tight. "I-I-I think—I think I'm—"

just like that, you stop, and he goes slack, practically laying on you. but he doesn't grind back, or even move to touch himself. that won't last very long.

you let him come back down, knowing edging takes a lot out of you; maybe even more so than actually coming does. slowly but surely, his breathing steadies. you rub between his shoulderblades affectionately, still trying to ground yourself, too.

once you've found your voice again, you question, "are you gonna count for me?"

he makes a sound against your skin, somewhere between excitement and fear. "…o-one." you revel in how fucked-out he sounds already.

"one what?" you prod.

he seems at a loss, like he's forgotten himself, what he said. after a minute or two of pondering, he catches on. "…sir."

it's your turn to moan. your dick jumps at the honorific, still mostly untouched against your stomach. "good boy." and you dive back in. twenty-four to go.

—

it's noon. you're working on nineteen. and your partner's getting much more…expressive. he's started biting his hand to keep himself quiet, but he's still…

"I-I—oh fuck, I'm—fuck, I-I'm—I'm—" he whimpers through his teeth. and he yelps, whole body shaking, bell jingling incessantly, when he comes all over your hand and stomach.

you take your hand off him immediately, and this time he does try to reach down, ride through it, but you grab both his wrists to stop him. he grinds down uselessly against your thigh and your dick. although you're still hard, and only a hairline trigger away from coming yourself, it doesn't stop you from keeping this brat in line. you only bite your lip and close your eyes.

he leans his forehead against yours, moving in to give you a kiss, but you push him away.

"did you never learn how to fucking count?" you growl.

he winces. "I-I-I-I'm…I'm sorry—"

you scowl at your hand, covered in come. "here, slut," you raise it up to his lips. "clean this off for me."

he tears up a little, but takes your fingers into his mouth all the same. pretty quickly, though, he spits them back out.

"it doesn't taste good…" he complains.

"oh? oh, it doesn't?" you mock. "but it felt good, when you came without my permission, like a cheap fucking whore."

a couple of tears spill over, roll down his cheeks, yet he says nothing, only moving back in to lap his come off your hand. you can see it in his expression that he's not very happy about it, but he doesn't protest further.

"is this good enough, sir?" he asks, when it seems that he's gotten it all. it looks clean enough, you agree. you grab him by the chin, hooking your thumb in his mouth. you don't even have to tell him to suck.

"you come without my approval again, and it's over. you can go back to playing minecraft—or what-the-fuck-ever—with your friends for your birthday. do you want to sleep on the couch, Georgie?"

if he wasn't crying before, he's definitely crying now. he doesn't shake his head, but he circles your fingertip with his tongue enthusiastically, as if to say, I'll be good, I'll be good this time, looking up at you doe-eyed.

"bend over for me," you demand. "across my lap."

he does so immediately. he slips a little bit while he's changing positions, you hear the bell ring, and he scrambles to correct himself. he settles with his ankles crossed and his head in his hands, propping himself up on his elbows. you feel a little bad, you admit, but you won't budge; he has a safeword, you trust that he'll use it.

"let's try that again," your tone softens. "I want you to count for me, okay?"

he nods.

you pull his panties to the side, pause briefly, and bring down your hand with a satisfying smack.

"ohhhhhh—" he moans, jolting a little. "—holy shit, did you just spank me?"

your stomach drops, you go to rub him gently where you just hit him. "is that okay—?"

"it's hot, it's so hot, fuck," he shifts in your lap. "um, sorry…one."

seriously, something about hearing him swear awakens something in you, every time. you're fired up. you spank him again.

"mmm—two…" is he…? "three…"

you pause to massage his ass again, and to speak. "you're…you're hard again, aren't you?"

you didn't even spank him yet, but he lets out a moan. "fuck, I—I just. I want you. I want this. so, so much."

you wonder if this is actually the same George who was fidgeting with his pillow in the dining room this morning.

"you're so bad, getting turned on by something like this," you tease. he only moans in response.

"four—five—six—seven…" he chokes out. "it's starting to sting…"

you take a break, kneading the skin where your angry red handprint is starting to take shape.

"eight…nine…but god, it hurts so good…" he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "ten…"

at ten, you linger for a moment, holding a handful of his ass. "does it?"

"yes—yesyesyes," he buries his face in the pillow, and shivers. "fuck, eleven…twelve…"

you pull his panties down to his knees, and switch sides. he lifts his hips up, so I can reach him better, you guess. you don't miss the telltale glint of a butt plug, but you'll get to that later.

"thirteen—fourteen—fifteen—sixteen," he moans between slaps. he's gripping the pillowcase so hard his knuckles are white.

in this new position, the way he jumps with every hit makes his cock brush against yours just right. fuck, you're still hard from earlier. this time you're the one who whimpers.

"seventeen, eighteen," he pauses, breathless. you pull gently on his leash, he arches his back and moans, "n-nineteen." his bell jingles.

he grinds down, just for a moment, and the friction is delicious. you're a little dizzy, you think you might've thrust back. you both sigh at the feeling.

"…t-twenty…see? I-I can count…I'm a good boy…I'm good for you…aren't I?"

"you are," you murmur, but you aren't sure he hears you. "you're so good…"

"twenty-one—twenty-two…I-I feel like I haven't done anything right today…twenty-three…"

"…George…?" you hear a muffled sob.

"twenty-four…" he mumbles.

"George?" you start to get concerned. he just keeps crying. "hey…" you whisper. you gently prompt him to turn him over; the pillow's a little wet. you pull the panties off all the way, and get him out of the bra, which had a little stray come on it. you help him sit up in your lap, and pull him into a hug.

"am I really just a whore…?" he asks brokenly.

"you've been so good for me, baby. you've done everything I've asked." you wipe his tears away with your thumb. "are you okay?"

"but I—" he coughs. "—I came too soon, I came without your permission…"

you kiss his hair, and hold him to your chest. "you've been so patient. I'm proud of you."

he finally wraps his arms around you. "I-I'm sorry."

"nonsense," you reassure. "your comfort takes priority. are you okay? color?"

"I…" he searches for the words. "I dunno. yellow? I…that hurt, I think. being…degraded?"

you comb through his hair with your fingers. "I understand. thank you for telling me. I love you."

—

you stay like that for a minute. you grab him a snack and a drink, but for the most part, you just enjoy each other's company, tangled-up together. you don't bother putting your clothes back on.

it's later in the evening. you're straddling him, peppering his shoulders with kisses, and he's giggling underneath you. he turns over to give you a short and sweet kiss.

"baby?" he says, looking expectantly.

"what is it?" you sit back on your heels.

he hesitates. "…I wanna keep going. from earlier."

you're serious again. "are you sure you're okay?" you grab his hand, bringing it up to kiss his fingertips. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm alright," he assures. "I remember you promising me an all-day thing, though."

you blush, a little surprised by his forwardness. "of course. I think…I…" you laugh. "I wanna fuck you."

"yeah?" he smiles, leaning up close. "show me how much."

you hold his jaw while you kiss him, biting his bottom lip between your teeth. he tastes like the coffee and cream you made him earlier. you feel his breath hitch. he reaches up to hold your shoulders.

you pull back. "hey, blow me first."

"what? why?" he giggled.

"it's been a couple hours, I'm not hard anymore," you coax. "I thought you liked taking orders?"

he cringed. "but come tastes gross!"

you slid off him and hopped off the bed, opening the drawer. "suit yourself. you get to watch me jack off, then."

"fine by me, I think you look good when you masturbate."

"ohhh, I forget, you're too blissed-out to pay attention to how I look when you're getting fucking owned."

"I am not!"

"you are too!" he sticks his tongue out at you.

you open the lid, pouring a little on your hand, a little on your cock. it's translucent pink, seems a little fragrant. you give yourself a couple of strokes with a sigh.

he's quiet for a second, then, shyly, "um…is that…strawberry flavored…?"

you bite your lip. "I thought you weren't gonna give me head?"

"I was just curious." it's a weak lie, but you say nothing.

your eyes are shut, but you can feel him moving around a bit on the bed, you hear his bell ring a couple times. you feel a hand on your thigh, so you decide to peek. and holy shit.

your partner's made his way to the floor, on his knees between your legs, holding his leash in his mouth, his fucking mouth, what the fuck. his thumb's rubbing circles on the inside of your thigh. the half-lidded look he's giving you should be criminal.

"you—I thought you said you wouldn't…" you can't find the words. you reach out and take the leash from his mouth. you see your hand shake in front of you.

"I'm just watching…" he whispers, looking up at you, mesmerized.

you're only able to get a couple of pumps in before he's joining you, hand over yours as you get yourself off. just the extra sensation of somebody else's touch is enough to make you bite back a moan.

"fuck—!" you jolt when he licks a stripe up the underside. he mouths over the head, jerking you off on his own now. you move to grip the sheets in one hand, his leash in the other. and you come without warning. you see it end up on his hand and your stomach before you shut your eyes tight.

he's quiet while you're coming down, just helping you ride it out, giving you kisses on your thighs. when you look back down at him, he's got two of his fingertips in his mouth, licking them clean. he stands up abruptly, it startles you a little. you see his bell ring. and he grabs you by the hips and leans down to your midriff.

"…I don't think I cleaned you off all the way earlier…" he breathes, and he starts to lap up the mess of his and your come that's been on you since this afternoon.

what the fuck. why is this so hot? why is he so hot? all too soon, your spent cock twitches in interest at your lover. he cups it with a hand, smiling against your tummy. you're so sensitive it hurts. you think you mean to say something, but nothing comes out.

"hmm…?" he bites his lip. "you still want some more?" all you can do is whine. at this point, you don't know if it's in protest or invitation.

you don't get the chance to find out either, because fuck, he's really going down on you now. you don't know what the fuck he's doing with his tongue, or where his gag reflex went, but at this rate you're gonna come again.

"George—George, baby, I—slow down, I-I'm—" you plead. his leash slips out of your hand, you tip your head back.

he swallows.

—

the last thing you remember is coming harder than you ever have in your life. you think you held him by his hair. you might've fucked his mouth a little. he's never let you come in his mouth before…fuck…

it's nighttime now. he's riding your thigh, got one of his legs slotted between yours. the friction between his knee and your overstimulated cock feels embarrassingly good. you're so dizzy, all you can articulate is a loud moan. you don't sound at all like you remember. his bell keeps ringing and ringing and ringing as he grinds against you.

he leans down, one arm holding your hip, the other keeping himself propped up. he bites your shoulder, hard, hard enough to bruise. he comes on both of your stomachs.

"George," you beg. you're losing your voice.

"mmmmmmsir," he slurs. "fuck me."

"George, I…" you don't know what you're saying. the end of your sentence turns into a whimper.

"you need me to get you hard again? you need me to rile you up?" he turns to kiss your jaw, feeling around for your dick. "like this?"

"George," you sound urgent, until he squeezes right around the head, and you forget what you were saying. you're pretty fucking close to forgetting who you are entirely.

he sits up on top of you, grinning. "love the way you say my name, sir."

that name. all it takes is the way he says that fucking name and you're ready to go again. you flip the two of you over, so that you're towering over him instead. "you still didn't. fucking. ask me. if you could come."

he giggles, a little crazed. he hooks his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest.. "so what? so what? you gonna fuck me 'till I behave?"

"yes," you reach down, "I think I will." and you pull out the butt plug he (probably forgot he) had in all day.

"fuck—" he sobs. you watch his dick bob. precome drips into a pool on his stomach. "—green—green—so fucking green."

you're still sensitive from coming twice—you're pretty sure he is too. you lean down to give him a kiss, you moan into each other's mouths. he tastes like strawberries and his and your come. it is a little gross, you admit. but he's so tight and so fucking cute that you can't bring yourself to care. you part, and there's a line of salvia connecting the two of you.

"wait—" you say, but it comes out like a growl. "roll over."

he gets on his hands and knees, reaching back and spreading himself open for you. fuck.

you fuck him like that, holding the leash tight, loving the way he arches his back into the bed. the bell on his collar jingles incessantly.

you spank him, one last time.

"th-that's twenty-f-five—oh, fuck, sir," he growls, clinging on to the blankets for dear life.

you pin one of his hands in place and reach down to touch him. he starts laughing again.

"mmmmmmay I please come, sir? I—fuck—I'm so close, soclosesoclose," his breath stutters, you can hear the breaks in his voice. he buries his face in the blankets.

I'm close, you think, but the words don't make it out. "you're so good—you're so fucking good—come for me—fuck, come for me."

—

you're a mess. there's some drying solution of come and lube on your stomach. not to mention whatever the fuck's going on with your hair. your robe is discarded haphazardly on the floor. you think you've got a hickey, but you can't remember where.

actually, you're both a mess. he's also covered in come, sweat, and lube. he's got a red ring around his neck where you pulled him by the leash a little too hard. he's just covered in bruises. he clings to your arm, still fast asleep. you both passed out pretty quickly after…whatever that was, but you got back up a couple hours later. it doesn't look like he did, though.

actually, your whole bedroom is a mess. a blanket or two ended up discarded on the floor. there's an empty bottle of edible lube somewhere around here. your kitty lingerie set, still dirty, somehow ended up hanging in the closet. the first time you woke up you were both cuddling with a butt plug that you misplaced in the heat of the moment.

you don't think you've ever seen him like that. you can't even put it into words. you've never spanked him. he's never called you sir. you've never come in his mouth. he's never…begged for you like that before. you've never been so exhausted after coming that you both just, just fainted.

you feel lightheaded, and dead tired. you know you both must have gotten back up and gone at it at least a couple more times, but it's blurry, you can't remember. all you know is your vibrator's missing, and you feel��unusually empty, like you do the morning-after getting railed a little too hard.

last night…what the fuck happened last night?

you contemplate getting up, slipping your arm out of his embrace, pulling the covers back up around him, leaving to make breakfast. you're kind of disgusting, several hours after sex without cleaning up properly. you want to get yourselves some washcloths, maybe take shower together, or run him a bath. you know he's gotta be way more sore than you are.

you catch yourself staring, lost in thought; he just looks too cute when he's very clearly roughed up, but still sleeping soundly. and with the way he wanted…the way he needed you yesterday, you don't think he would want to wake up alone.

maybe it's okay if we sleep in a little longer.

you stroke his hair and whisper, "happy birthday, baby boy."

—

edited 14 March 2021

[riversofmars]

Sometimes 13 just poses as a student and attends rivers lectures.

Hellooo! I’ve been saving this prompt for a long time cause I love it so much and now finally did something exciting with it! This is actually a little collaboration I did with @serawalkerwrites. She keeps getting asked to write for DW and never has, so we decided to do a little thing together! Basically, we took turns writing paragraphs! She's written the River bits and I wrote for 13. Really fun thing to do because our styles are quite different but it worked :D Apart from the fact that she made me write in present tense which I hate lmao! Also, if you like American Horror Story or Ratched, check out her stuff!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2300

Read on AO3 or below

Like The First Time

“I might be younger and far prettier than the other Professors at this University, but that doesn't mean I don't expect the same level of good behaviour from my students,“ Professor River Song barks up the rows of lecture hall seating, slapping her papers on the desk. She tosses her bouncing curls of hair and brings her hands to her hips, watching the chatting students in the back row and waiting for them to take notice. That blonde girl seems to whispering at some speed, with enthusiastic hand gestures to boot. “That means you in the back row!“ She raises her voice again, finally getting the young blondes attention.

The Doctor hadn’t been able to stop herself. When River had started talking about the Venusian tomb she’d visited not long ago, it had been a perfect opportunity to tell the other students about the time she’d been invited to a funeral service there. It’s an incredibly stupid thing to do, of course. She isn’t meant to interact with anyone - as strictly speaking - she isn’t meant to be here. For a start she isn’t actually a student at Luna University; for another, she could very well be causing some damage to the fabric of space and time. Visiting her wife earlier in her timeline is risky… but she hasn’t been able to stay away. Sometimes, when the Doctor misses her a lot, she sits in on her lectures, right at the back. She knows River won’t recognise her and she never speaks to her… there’s no harm no foul is there? However, a slip up is bound to happen eventually.

Now, as she looks at River, who is shooting her piercing glare from the front of the auditorium, the Doctor realises she’s messed up. The Doctor looks left and right to the other students, hoping it’s one of them River is scolding.

“Yes you, don't act like I cant see you -“ River lifts her eyebrows at the petulant student. “Forget it, I’m not shouting at you from down here, stay behind after class. Then we’ll talk, and believe me you won’t like what I have to say.“ River rolls her eyes away, a taut huff tumbling from her lips to find her inner calm once again, before continuing. “Now where were we…“

The Doctor shrinks back in her seat, her neighbouring students giving her sympathetic smiles. Others just snicker and smirk. River has a reputation for strictness, no-one messes with her…The Doctor’s made a big mistake. She glances to the exit; she can still escape this situation. But if she does, she’ll never be able to come back. Perhaps it’s time to face her wife at last. She gnaws her bottom lip anxiously and tries her best to sit still for the remainder of the lecture.

As a shrill bell rings out, signalling the end of class and an end to the Doctors torture, River watches the troublemaker while she packs her things. Students rise to their feet, stuff their bags with books and file out in an eager swarm, heading into the midday sunshine. But not this student. She’s bouncing down the steps to the front, an epic grey coat and too-short trousers have her piquing River’s interest before they start talking. “Ah, good. At least you decided to be smart this time and not run-off out the doors. I would have found you,“ River informs the girl, whose swinging her arms and looking guilty. If this were any other circumstance, then River might have bought her a drink. But as it is, she's her student, however adorable she is. “Care to tell me what is so pressing you had to take time out of my lecture to talk about it?“

“Ah well, you know, the whole thing about the Venusian tomb, just brought back some memories to when I was learning Venusian aikido. There was this one time when I was invited to a funeral at one, which - you know - is a big deal for any outsider and…“ The Doctor starts rambling, unable to stop herself. A grin spreads across her features, hoping to entertain River with her story, as she had done so many times in the past. River always liked to listen to recounts of her adventures.

“Venusian Aikido?“ River folds her arms, skeptical. “They don’t teach that to just anyone. I happen to be a black belt myself.“

“Oh I know.“ The Doctor grins.

“It’s not on my resumé,“ River parries, her eyebrows lifting into an arch. “So someone told you. Perhaps at this funeral, you supposedly attended?“ River laughs doubting the girls claims. “No-one just gets invited to a Venusian funeral, or a wedding, or any kind of ceremony unless you’re a honoured noble. Which you clearly cannot be, no offence Sweetie but -“ River pauses. She stares at the blonde and her mismatched clothing, then bunches her lips. “What did you say your name was?“

The Doctor doesn’t answer immediately. This is it, the moment of truth. She could just tell her… surely there’s no harm in it. This is River Song after losing her parents in Manhattan, and before Darillium; there is no real reason to keep her identity from her. Apart from the fact that she isn't sure how she will react. They didn’t see each other for so long in between Manhattan and Darillium, enough for River to come to doubt if the Doctor had ever truly loved her. Her words still echo through the back of the Doctor’s mind now. The Doctor doesn’t and has never loved me. - But you are the woman who loves the Doctor. - Yes I am. I never denied it. But whoever said he loved me back? Those words still haunt the Doctor, even after spending 24 years with her in which she’d done everything she could to convince her of just the opposite.

“Jane Smith.“ The Doctor answers at last with a thin smile.

River lets out a loud chortle. “Jane Smith? Of course it is,“ River replies not believing her for a second. Who has the most standard name of all names like that? River postures a little, shuffles her papers around into a neat pile already thinking of the lunch that’s waiting for her in the refectory, because she's not getting any truth from this girl. “I don't recall your name on my student register; so…how about you tell me the truth.“ River hooks her bag over her shoulder and takes a long stride forward, claiming the podium as her space, the lecturer to the student. River examines her, because if she’s not her student, then who is she? All beautiful round eyes and choppy blonde hair, River certainly doesn't recognise her. Should she, recognise her? “Or you can come to my office and explain yourself there.“

“I uhh…“ The Doctor swallows hard. Of course she doesn’t believe her, people rarely do initially; but usually she can use her psychic paper to back up her identity. She knows River would see right through that if she tried it, so that isn’t an option. “Well, I’ve actually got somewhere else to be. A really very important…thing. A thing that can’t wait, so…it was really nice talking to you, brilliant lecture. Slightly exaggerated in some parts but - you know - got to keep the students engaged…“ Her eyes flick to the door. She’s parked her TARDIS in a supply closet, so it’s not far away.

“Are you calling my stories embellished?“ River trails after this Jane Smith towards the door, flabbergasted. She’s a bone fide time traveller, she knows her subject matter better than anyone in the known universe, except  - “It’s not as though you can possible know better? How old are you anyway, twelve?“ She carries on trying to get under the girl’s skin, who is clearly hiding something.  “Where on earth are you going? You realise that’s the closet.“

“Why are you following me?“ The Doctor had hoped to simply shake her but River seems to have different ideas. She doesn’t dare open the supply closet door, River would see the TARDIS and she would be done for. But where else could she possibly go? She looks around anxiously for a way out.

“Mmm it seems you might be trapped…“ River drops her voice to a knowing whisper. She smirks, delighting in watching the girl fret.

“I just… forgot which way I… uhh…“ The Doctor struggles for a response suddenly aware of how close River is getting to her. And that smirk… She knows it all too well. Like a lioness stalking her prey. She can’t even think of a credible lie to get her out of her predicament.

“Which way you meant to go?“ River bobs her finger on her lip pretending to think hard about it. “My office is this way, if you didn't get the hint earlier.“ River ghosts her hands over the girls hips, rubbing into her hipbones with her thumbs and sucking her lips and humming. “Jane Smith. I appreciate the code name. You can slip me your paper later, I’ll be sure to mark it up a grade, well, depending on your performance of course.“ River winks coyly.

“I…“ The Doctor’s mouth suddenly feels really dry, she can’t speak. Flirting and reading innuendo isn’t exactly her forte but River can’t possibly be more obvious with her advances. Is this what River is like when she isn’t around? The Doctor isn’t sure whether to be flattered or hurt. They’re not exactly exclusive but she doesn’t like her nose rubbed in it like this. But at the same time, perhaps this is an opportunity… She could be with River without having to reveal her identity… but is that something she wanted to do under false pretences?

“Good talk, come along!“ River grins and leads the way across the lecture hall to the staff door, and unlocks it with a quick key-twizzle, then presses the door open wide to wave ‚Jane‘ through. River uses the opportunity to loop her arm around Jane’s waist and scoops her in the right direction down the hall towards her office.

The Doctor doesn’t know what to do. Things are moving fast, River doesn’t even give her a chance to protest. Her hearts seem to skip their beats when River pulls her along.

Once inside, River tosses the door shut and wastes no time in pushing Jane against it, roaming her hands up and down her sides and snapping the elastic braces. “These are retro, but I can go with the flow, off they coooome…“ River sings as she yanks them off Jane’s shoulders, then the coat, and where is the edge of this t-shirt? River is keen to feel her hands up Jane’s abdomen, and the flush of her skin. River knows her hands are rough - years of archeological digs will do that to a girl - but Jane is young and sweet enough to need a little roughing up.

“River…“ The Doctor tries to protest, this was moving too fast. Her breath catches when River untucks her t-shirt. The Doctor is still getting used to this new body and she suddenly feels very hot.

“First names already? My my…“ River tosses her mane of hair out the way as she leans in to kiss Jane on the neck, biting her and enjoying teasing her far too much. “Sweetie you do give yourself away, even in this body,“ River tickles her teeth along the Doctor’s collarbone searching for the next spot to bite. “I mean, I like it darling, but give me a heads next time -“ River explores the Doctor’s petite body with enthusiasm. “My apparatus is your apparatus and all that, got to get my head around it.“

“You knew?!“ The Doctor blurts out and pushes her off, holds her at arms length. “And you just played along?!“ She’s breathless from River’s kisses but her outrage overshadows her arousal.

River unbuttons her shirt confidently, tearing the sides apart and presenting her body to the Doctor once again, even if it’s all new for the Doctor, River is still River. “Well what did you think? I do this with all my students, Jane Smith?“ She smiles a broad, proud River smile and holds her hands out for the Doctor to take. “I’m married, remember?“ Mutually exclusive is…a bit of stretch, there might be other husbands here and there, but there is only one Doctor. “So, wife, how about a little ride on the merry-go-round with this new body?“

The Doctor just stares at her for a moment. It’s been a while since Darillium but she still recalls every moment, and River is just as beautiful as she remembers. And just as much of a temptress. She bites her lip, suddenly feeling very insecure. It would be her first time in this body…and it’s her first time being a woman as far as she can remember. That’s a lot to be anxious about.

Softening the come-on, River takes the Doctors hands and steps closer to her, squeezing her hands in reassurance. “I knew it would happen eventually, a wife and not a husband. It’s okay, you know.“ River takes a deep breath, and kisses her wife properly for the first time. Her lips are thinner softer and taste of cinnamon, but she kisses back just like her husband did. Her Doctor. “I love you. This adorable new body is just a bonus,“ she says gently, then kisses her nose for extra effect.

The Doctor can’t help but chuckle as she looks up to her. This was new. She is shorter than her! Though only due to River’s ridiculously high heels.

“I love you, too.“ She whispers nuzzling into her crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around her. River smells exactly the way she remembers, like sunshine on a spring day. “I’ve missed you so much.“ She confesses.

[nakedmossy]

Cruel Summer - Part 1 [JJ x Reader]

[A/N: Hi again. I've missed you. It was time for something new. I found this story in a dream. Prepare for a mental trip, it's indicative of the year i've had. This is gonna go in a million different directions and I can't say i'm surprised. Ive written two chapters and i'm already like ...well, fuck it i'm posting it...I needed to get back into writing and this is what I got so enjoy. I have a playlist I used while writing, comment if you want it shared. As always, not that any of us need the reminder....but there will be adult content (whatever that means) and language and NSFW content so...keep me off your screen at the dinner table. Love y'all ...Mossy x]

You ease your car into park, your hand resting on the gear shift, the tires slowly rocking back and forth on the soft ground as the engine dies. Sunlight streams through your windshield as a cloud of dust and sand settles around the car, and you feel a trapped breath release from deep in your chest. The quiet, melodic hum of music relaxes your shoulders and through the trees you can see the water rhythmically hitting the shore.

You haven’t been here in a few weeks and you're starting to feel it; the tight and uncomfortable tensing in your muscles, the locked jaw, the flat expressions. The closer it gets to the anniversary the more you feel the need to visit. But the frequency of your visits is dictated by Her, and She keeps tabs on your whereabouts a lot these days. ‘Its not healthy to spend so much time there’ She would say to you, while pulling a Valium out of her bag to slide towards you. She has your therapist on speed dial on the landline. And she blames you for living in the past. Ironic.

You pull your keys out of the ignition, unbuckle your seatbelt, and let your muscle memory guide you out of the car and through the trees to the edge of the embankment where the sand and the sea grass take over. Flashes of Lacey running down the beach in front of you, looking back over her shoulder and laughing, are burned into your eyelids when you blink. She was everywhere here, every corner of this beach belonged to her. Her towel spread out on the sand at your feet, books with water damaged pages scattered across it, her bag tossed lazily to the side. Her board perched against the log you used to dry out your wetsuits. Her camera.

You close your eyes and listen to the wind move through the grass, her laugh echoing off the rocks. Come on! She would laugh with an outstretched arm. Come take a picture with me.

Her lips were supple and her nose was sun kissed, her hair bleached and tousled from the saltwater. She would motion for you to come over and you would go, because you always did, to fit into the frame next to her, cramming yourself in wherever you could after she found her best angle. She would hold up the camera and wrap her arm around you tightly, the smell of her tanning oil and sweat floating around you in a heady cloud, and at the last moment she would press her lips to your cheek and whisper cheese.

You blink and look at the water again, a seagull squawking as it flies over the empty beach. Reaching into your jeans pocket and feeling for the photo, you pull it out and look down, the moment she clicked the button frozen in time on the paper in your hand. Her side profile was radiant, the wind blowing her hair around her lips which were pressed to your face, you looked straight at the camera with a shy smile, a hidden smile, a quiet smile. An honest smile.

You run your thumb across the picture reflexively before sighing and putting the picture back in your pocket, it was one of the last photos you had together and it was one of the only ones you could clearly make out your own face. That always bothered you. Now you’ll never forget how happy we were today. I love you. She shook the polaroid until it was developed, then pressed it into your chest and winked, waiting for you to grab ahold of it, before turning on her heal and running towards the water.

Your chest burns for a moment before you straighten up and set your jaw. You feel good today, closer to her than usual. Today might be the day. You follow the path through the dunes towards the water and concentrate on the tide, watching the foam and the water snake along the shoreline. It’s windy, but not as windy as it usually is this time of day. The sky, clear and clean of any clouds, is the colour of blue that reminds you what happiness is. Or was, you know, before all the shit happened. When life was something you had the ability to process, sometimes even enjoy.

Now or never. Your head whips up at the sound of her voice and you see her, standing in the water. You feel the blood rush to your face, your core warming. There she is, running a hand up her stomach towards her chest and smiling at you, the kind of smile that would get good people into bad situations.

Slowly you slide your sneakers off and kick them aside, wiggling the sand between your toes. You’re not wearing a bikini but the beach is empty, so you close your eyes and listen to Lacey laughing from the water, come on scaredy cat, nobodies looking, as you peel your top off and drop it into the sand beside your shoes. You unbutton your shorts next and let them slide down your legs, stepping out of them hesitantly.

Lacey walks out of the water, so you keep your eyes closed, knowing if you open them she will be gone, and you wait for her to bite her lip and smile at you. There. Look at your body. You’re beautiful. Come on. She guides you towards the water with nothing but her own bare skin and confidence, nothing could ever touch her. You know its only a few steps until your feet are in the water, you should open your eyes and look around to make sure nobody is watching, but you don’t get to see her often anymore between the Valium and the other stuff, so you forgo it for a few more seconds. Today is the day, you have to do it. Time is running out. She’s all but told you as much.

“I miss you” You say, but your voice sounds foreign and it breaks and scatters into the wind.

Im right here. Lacey smiles at you like she always did, her crooked dimpled grin, her perfectly straight white teeth, her eyes shining. Now shut up and get in the water.

You feel the warm dry sand turn to wet firm sand beneath your feet, you know you’re close. It’s ours, all of it. The water. Just let go and let the Ocean carry you. You’re weightless. Isn’t it perfect?

Your breathing is shallow and your palms are clammy. There’s a tingling sensation in your thighs and you feel dizzy. You have to open your eyes. No, don’t. Not yet. Stay with me.

The water touches your toes and your eyes shoot open, you recoil and lose your footing, falling backwards. You crab crawl away from the water until the tide retreats and you feel your vision tunnelling as Lacey fades into the sunbeam above the water.

You scramble back to your clothes and pull your shorts above your sand stained underwear, your shirt smoothing your hair down as it settles back over your shoulders. You take a few deep breaths until your heart rate slows down. A tear springs up and sits in your eye for a few moments before falling and drying on your cheek. The beach is the best place to cry. The ocean is loud so nobody hears you, and the sun is hot so the tears dry fast.

You don’t want to turn around and look back at the water, you know she won’t be there. You’re alone, properly alone, just like she said you would be, psychic bitch. If she hadn’t been so charismatic and beautiful and conveniently wealthy, people would have outcasted her for being a freak a long time ago. What with all the tealeaves and palm readings and ‘gut feelings’. But they never did, her family had more money than the Kennedys and she looked like she walked runways for fun on the weekends, so she was untouchable. Your stomach starts to turn as you think about it so you blink the ground in front of you back into focus and start walking.

You have a few minutes of freedom left before She starts calling and asking where you are, so you walk slow to savour it. Who knows when you would be allowed out long enough again to go back.

You emerge from the tree cover into the parking area, pondering how many different routes you can take to get home to elongate the drive, when you hear a car door close. You look up, pulled from your thoughts, and squint to see through the bright sun.

“‘Scuse me!” A voice says, deep and friendly. A silhouette is moving towards you, so you bring your hand up to block the sun from your eyes. “Hey, sorry, do you live around here?”

You blink a few times as the silhouette gets closer and make out the figure of a tall man with wispy hair and baggy shorts.

“Sorry?” You reply, still trying to get a clear image.

“Im just trying to find the Marina but I have taken at least 5 of these side roads and all I keep finding is empty damn parking lots.” The man stops a few feet from you, close enough that you can make out a tan face with a toothy grin, and blonde hair. “First one with a pretty girl though, so I must be going the right way.” He smiles at you confidently, shielding his own eyes from the sun, but still squinting.

You look back over your shoulder to the beach, confirming Lacey is gone. You turn and look at the man who is watching you intently, hopefully, and smile quietly.

“Yeah, it’s uh…its just back on the main road, go 3 clicks south and take a right at the fork. You’ll see a fancy sign for a beach club, it’s just past that.” You look past him to the old Ford truck with rusted wheel wells and smile to yourself. “Assuming you’re not going to the beach club.”

The man laughs and smiles, looking over your shoulder at the beach before his eyes settle back on you. “Nope. Never been to one of those…legally.” He winks and backs up a few steps, then nods and says “Thanks” before turning and walking back towards his truck. He slows as he reaches it and stops, then turns back and pivots before jogging back to you.

You wait and watch, curious. He stops a few steps away and stretches out his hand.

“Sorry. That was rude of me. Im JJ.”

[alienoresimagines]

All I Want | AndyEddie

Or the four times Andy wanted to kiss Eddie and the one time he acted on it

A/N : Happy birthday @blenalela​!! I’m so grateful that I got to speak to you, I love you so much Psychic💞🥰 I hope you have an awesome day, I wish you all the love! This is my gift to you, although it isn’t as fluffy as I would’ve liked to😂The absolute best to you, you deserve it (we still have to do something for our boi, Kagari Shuusei!!😉)

Also please forgive how bad this is, I wrote most of it on a sugar rush at 2 a.m and haven’t read a word of it ever since.🤣😘

Taglist : @murphyism @mavysnavy @speirs-sexy-ass @order-of-river-phoenix @inglourious-imagines @liebegott​ @tvserie-s-world @stressedinadress​ @warrior-healer​

Posted : 31/12/2020

Masterlist Taglist Prompts 

-----

1. The music was loud in his ears, a welcome distraction from the shells in his head. The young Australian girl's hand in his as they were dancing felt softer from his gun. But Andy couldn't focus entirely on her, despite her apparent beauty. The drinks he'd had earlier made him loosen up, enough to ask her for a dance as he noticed her alone at the bar but certainly not enough to make a fool of himself like some of his men were. Not that it mattered anyway, Andy could and would let it pass for tonight. He never was one to spoil their fun when they so obviously needed and deserved it. But still, his fingers ached for the familiar touch of the cold trigger against them. For something he could control, something he was familiar and good with. His collar was strangely tight, the light of the pub too bright for his hazy mind but he still found it in him to bow respectfully his goodbyes to the girl without puking all over her shoes. He saw her pink lips move, pearly white tooth displaying in a charming smile but her voice was lost in the constant buzzing his brain was making. Smiling politely, he left her to walk to the bar, sitting on one of the tools and gesturing to the barman for another drink. Maybe the cold glass could trick his mind into thinking he had an ounce of control again. As the liquid poured into the glass, Andy felt more than he saw another man sitting on the tool next to him, the uniform making his stomach twist painfully. 

"Not one for dancing, Skip?" The south accent reminded him of something, the voice at the back of his mind whispering that he knew that man. Turning his upper body to face the other man, Andy's mouth twitched as he recognized the tanned skin and curly brown licks. His newly assigned First Lieutenant. He must have had a few drinks of his own, or that was what the bright smile on the lieutenant's face told him. Andy didn't quite know the man yet but he certainly did know the officer and he didn't seem like the type to go see the first girl he could lay eyes on. He thought about greeting the man with his rank before he decided otherwise. This night wasn't about the fallen of tomorrow nor was it about masks. 

"For someone's toes pleasure.", he joked, raising his glass in the man's direction. "I'm surprised you're not though, you didn't strike me as the sidelined kind of guy. Or is the room too cold, Eddie?" Said man chuckled, shaking his head with a charming smile parting his lips. 

"Didn't find the right partner yet." Eddie was gazing down at his drink, a thoughtful look on his face. 

"Quite the romantic, are you?" Andy teased gently, nudging Eddie's side whose only answer was to raise his glass in Andy's direction like the latter did only a few moments ago before he said : 

"One has to be." Andy grinned as the man downed his drink. 

And if his eyes lingered to Eddie's lips as they curved back into a smile, well he blamed the alcohol he had already consumed.

2. The raindrops against the tents were falling so rhythmically that Andy felt like he was going crazy. The same things happened again and again. Japanese attack. Getting control of the situation. Taking care of the damages caused. Planning patrols. Sending men too broken to even understand why they're in the medical tent. Eat whatever the cooks gave them, too tired to try and find out what exactly he was eating. Paperwork. Sleep if there was enough time and not enough paperwork for Eddie to let him up another full night. Then again and again. But the rain never stopped. When the rain would stop, Andy would believe the end of the world had come. Or the beginning of Apocalypse. Whichever seems better at the time. Right now, with Eddie softly picking at his beloved guitar's chords, the captain couldn't care less. If he was accompanied by Eddie and his guitar, wherever he fell would be Heaven. Even if the rain and suffering never stopped, blurring the words in front of him, making his report nearly unreadable despite having started writing it mere thirty minutes ago. Andy sighed through his nose, rubbing his eyes that stung from lack of sleep to realize that his headache had passed. Closing his eyes as Eddie started to hum mindlessly, he laid back as much as the uncomfortable army chair would let him. 

"Would you play something for me?" The soft melody stopped, rain completely fulfilling the air. There was no "What would you like?" or anything of the sort. They both knew perfectly that whatever Eddie played would be more than enough. They also knew that anything and everything Eddie played was already heavy with the thought of Andy. But still. Eddie started playing again, an unknown melody mixing with the rain like blood in water. Opening his eyes while his shoulders relaxed, he peered at Eddie, sitting on the edge of his bunk. The candle light made his face look softer, the wavering of the flame dancing on his cheeks as his lips were pressed together like they always were when he was focused. A sudden urge of reaching out and burying his hands in Eddie's hair overcame his rational thoughts for a brief instant, almost making him choke at how painfully strong it was. 

And if Eddie was aware of his internal fight, well he showed no sign of it and continued playing.

3. It turned out that the end of the rain did not mean the end of the world or the beginning of Apocalypse. It meant the end of his nostrils and sense of smell. Andy didn't know what was worse : the fact that the smell of rotten coconuts was everywhere, even on their uniforms, or the fact that he was getting used to it. The constant twist in his stomach never weakened though. Nor did the aching in his heart, tearing him apart every waking second. Strangely enough, given that he was partly responsible for it, Eddie helped for the last part. Seeing him, talking to him soothed any pain Andy could've felt like an ointment. But paperwork alas didn't have such an effect. In fact, Andy felt like he was drowning, writing the same words over and over again. He had seen so many names pass on his desk that he had started to mix them up. Exhaustion had settled in his bones, making every limbs heavier. And yet, his heart was so light whenever he was with Eddie in the privacy of his tent. As if he was summoned, the flap of his tent opened to let his first lieutenant in, the noise of the camp louder until he closed the flap behind them. Andy greeted him with a nod and a small smile, already forgetting about the heaviness of his eyelids. Eddie sat on the edge of his bunk like he did countless times before, blue eyes quietly watching as Andy muffled a yawn which looked like it could have broken his jaw. No words were spoken for a long time, a comfortable silence taking over them until Andy yawned again, eyes tearing up slightly. Warm and calloused fingers wrapped around his right wrist, taking the pen from his hand as Andy could feel the warmth radiating from Eddie like a blanket draped on his shoulders. 

"Take some rest, I'll finish this for you." It was barely a whisper, as if Eddie himself was scared to break the silence surrounding them. Andy probably should protest, it wasn't Eddie's job to sign letters or fulfill reports but his tongue wouldn't cooperate as his eyes immediately closed as soon as his head hit the pillow of his bunk. Perhaps he managed to mumble a thanks, he wasn't sure as his tired mind replayed the soft press of lips on his forehead. He mustn't have been dreaming because he remembered wanting to reach out and ask Eddie to lay down with him before he fell asleep. 

And if Andy desperately wanted to feel those lips on his skin again, well he really couldn't be blamed.

4. Andrew remembered his godfather. The man used to tell him stories about his time in the war, which grew heavier as the date of Andy's shipping came closer. Once he had taken him apart after dinner, Andy remembered it for being the last time to date eating his mother's apple pie, and asked him to go for a walk. 

"You're an officer, Andy. You'll have to make decisions that'll set the fate of young men. They'll decide your fate. But any decision you make, you are not the one taking it. Let the officer they trained do his job. Make a difference." he had told him before going back to the house Andy didn't think he had completely followed that advice, never really able to detach himself. But that was definitely the only thing that kept him upright that day, when even Gunny broke down. Seeing Eddie on one of the stretchers was like having his whole life played in front of him to have it crushed. On the inside, Andy crumbled, wanting nothing more than to run to Eddie's side and brush his sweaty curls away from his forehead, to reassure him that it'd be okay, although the man was already unconscious. However, he still had men to lead, men who were looking at him with terror in their eyes as if they'd just seen an immortal die. Andy tried not to think about how close from reality it was, instead tossing his feelings aside and tightening his grip on his rifle. The buzzing in his ears made it hard to focus on reciting the prologue of one of his manuals they gave him at the officer school but he managed, cursing the picture of a bloody and pale and lifeless Eddie out of his eyelids. 

And if his voice wavered and his eyes got wet, well his godfather didn't have to know.

+1. This was familiar. The warmth of Eddie's shoulder from where it was connected with his own, smoke leaving the curly haired man's mouth as he exhaled. Before, Andy would have scowled disapprovingly at the white stick but now it comforted him in a way that could only be associated with Eddie. 

The feeling that accompanied having a full, warm, tasty dinner was foreign though. So was the happy babbling of children in the background. Eddie's siblings. Their eyes still shone with innocence and laughter, and not for the first time since he went to Virginia to escape the suffocating crowds and noises of Boston, Andy thought that it had been worth it. Every second. 

If he could go back and start it all over again, go through all the suffering and sorrow he endured, to be sure to have whatever it is that Eddie and him shared, he'd do it in a heartbeat. 

"You're thinkin' again." It wasn't a question. No, it was a statement, a drawl of a voice more used to shout orders above flying bullets than to over emotional confessions. Yet he managed lullabies, Andy heard from joyful kids. 

"It's my job." He replied with a breathy chuckle. 

"Not anymore." There wasn't anything that could have been considered rude in Eddie's tone, for he always was and always will be  a gentleman. But there was a softness in his voice, smoothing its rough edges so it could carry away Andy's doubts, leaving on its trail a feather light touched. 

Andy looked down on his joined hands; elbows resting on his knees and sleeves rolled up. It was true. He wasn't an army captain anymore. He was Andy, although he had a feeling that for some boys he'd always be Ack Ack or Skip. He didn't mind. 

"So what am I supposed to do?" He didn't expect an answer but as Eddie exhaled a new cloud of smoke and opened his mouth to speak, Andy couldn't say he was surprised.

"Whatever you want." A small smile tugged at his lips as Andy pondered, his knee slightly touching Eddie's. 

What did he want? His blue eyes wavered to Eddie's thin lips, brows furrowed a tiniest bit as he thought about the past 3 years.

But could he have it? Looking up, he found Eddie's own blue eyes already locked with his, an ocean of soft understanding and sweet devotion. 

And if their first kiss was far from perfect with too much teeth because of how wide they were both smiling , well they still had a lifetime before them to practice.

[thesolitarystripe]

Writing Prompt 10: history of a building told through the perspective of the door. PT 2.

Consider today's entry a bit of therapy for me. As I had said in part 1 of this prompt that this was easy to write because I am living through this; this is my admission that I am also struggling with the process. I have a difficult time with change, as many humans do. I get very attached to people, places, objects and this home I am currently living in has been no different. While the idea of moving has been easier for Jason for reasons I completely understand, it has been very bittersweet for me. When we talked about it and I inevitably cried, he reminded me of how happy our new home will be to have us there, which only made me cry more (because imagine if inanimate objects actually had feelings). He suggested that I write about this door, my door. The big green door that is so much more than a door. This home has been the longest place I have lived since leaving my mom's house. It carries a lot of good and bad memories and like I say in the piece, I have hated and loved it. This is absolutely a piece that let me vent some of my feelings about it. Think what you will, perhaps it is a bit silly to tie so much emotion to drywall and wood but, this place means a lot to me. I am sad to leave it but I am excited at the prospect of building a home together, with Jason.

They had always known their time would come. The time when they were no longer needed. They were a steppingstone in the lives of their owners. Well, they were not technically owners but renters. Where the big green door lived, the house it was attached to and all the others built around it, they were rental homes. Most of them, anyway. There were a couple houses that had been lucky enough to have been purchased, like the green door’s neighbor. That family had lived there for over thirty years, raised a daughter, nourished their marriage, and now they had just brought home a new puppy. The green door had thought that perhaps its current tenant was the one who could stay but deep within the fibers of its wood, it knew she would leave. While the mutual feeling of being a home was nurtured by both parties, the Forest Home would not be her permanent home. That was okay. The green door loved all its renters but cared most for the woman who had stayed for so long. Together they built a home away from home despite the comings and goings of others, of pets, of friends, of lovers—The home stood tall and sheltered them all.

The green door and its drywall and studs were there during the rocky years, the ones where love did not fill every corner of the home. While it could shelter their girl from the wind and rain, it could do nothing against the hurricanes inside but offer quiet spaces for her to breathe a little easier when she was alone. When she looked in its mirrors and told herself that this was her forever, the home reflected her true image; it showed her the weariness under her eyes and the pain etched in her brow. This was not her forever. Not with this partner and not in this home. The green door did not wish for her to leave but to open her eyes to a life where love was possible. Much to the home’s pleasure, the second tenant left their walls shortly after he had moved in. It was just her and the green door now. The windows knitted themselves tightly. The locks strengthened their resolve to keep their precious cargo within, safe.

There were darker days within the home as their tenant reeled in the aftermath of that man’s destruction. The home could do nothing but keep the space warm and protected as she healed. Every day, the green door stood vigilant, solid as strangers walked over the home’s stoop. There was one night after the home had watched their tenant leave, they received an unannounced guest. The individual beat down the storm door that protected its green counterpart. When their tenant returned home, new puppy in hand, the green door wanted to reach through the airwaves and tell their girl who it was, what had happened, but language was not afforded to the house when it was built. It toiled endlessly; their tenant was locked out because of the damage to the outer door. It was getting dark, much too late and the green door could not swing open to let its girl inside where she belonged. Panicked, just like the woman who sat outside with this unfamiliar black dog, the green door waited. That was all it could do. After an hour with the woman unable to come inside, a man appeared. The green door recognized the face, he had visited quite a few times. The home was skeptical of his intentions still. After that first one, the green door, the walls, the floor, the yard, they all had the right to be wary.

The man was able to free the green door from the outer one and the wooden door was all too eager to swing open and allow the pair inside. Even through the chaos, the green door stood tall. There were whispered thanks in the middle of the night. A common little prayer their tenant lifted to all the house. ‘Thank you for keeping me safe, for sheltering me from the storms and those outside with bad intentions.’ The green door would cinch his wood a little tighter, a bit prouder. They kept her safe with everything they had. This new guy stuck around, he moved in. The green door was staunchly opposed as the shower had only just started to wipe away the woman’s tears a little less over the last six months. They were healing. Yet, limited in ways of communicating, the door could do nothing but open on its hinges and allow him inside.

Homes were not psychics or fortune tellers, they had as much insight as those that lived within them. The man that moved in, the one that every wire and vent first opposed, was a breath of fresh air within their walls. The green door felt that familiar creeping warmth, the crawl of a new feeling entering every nook and cranny. Suddenly, there was laughter and light in the home. Love was draped over everything, and the green door was happy to have been wrong. Much to the home’s surprise, they were invited to an incredibly special event, one they did not often get to see because other venues took more precedence. The green door watched as the man fell to a knee and asked their girl to marry him. The whole house rippled with excitement, almost as much as the family and friends who were present did. There was electricity within the home for the months following.

When the joy of the news began to simmer and dull, the green door came to the realization that this was the home’s sign. The change was coming. The girl would move, almost assuredly, she would. That is what most did when they were starting a family. The Forest Home was never her forever. It knew that. While it felt like their truth, the green door had always known better; so, when she found a new home with her husband, it did not come as a shock. Although, it did hurt a bit more than the others who had come and gone. The green door did not fret. The home felt her apprehension mixed with excitement, all balled up into a bittersweet feeling. It was time to grow and subsequently, time to go. The tears the home had fought to keep from her, returned. While it had not been her husband’s home for exceptionally long, and in the grand scheme of life her time within the Forest Home was only a blip—those several years had lifetimes packed into them. She hated and loved the home. Hated it for the dark memories first made within it, and loved it for the healing and growth it saw her through. It was the birthplace of her new love, of those first precious memories together. She had wept tears into the floorboards, pressed laughter into the ceiling, and let bouts of anger flow out of the windows. This was home. It would always be home so long as the Forest Home stood. When her fingers ran across the doorknob, the home felt every ounce of her appreciation for its existence; the front door only wished it could express the same.

On the final day, when she had packed all her belongings and stashed them away in a van, she stood outside and looked at the green door. The trees that had been her peace, swayed in the wind as if to reassure her that wherever she went, their consciousness would follow in every root and stem. She would not be alone. Yet, her hand lingered on the door as she felt the pull of home within the wood. She could not bring herself to speak but patted the green door as silent tears fell down her cheeks. One last time, the home wished it could protect its tenant, soak up her tears and see her into the next day, a happier day. But it was no longer the Forest Home’s duty, even though it wanted the honor of doing it. The green door pressed against her hand one last time before her skin drifted away and she turned to leave, on her lips was one last ‘thank you.’ Then she was gone.

The green door watched with a heavy heart but knew that wherever she went, she would be protected. It was the grandest duty of every home and all of them were eager to fulfill it. The trees would guide her way. Despite the door’s confidence, as his tenant had done so many times, it gave its thoughts to the ethers in hopes it would reach her destination.

‘To the next home, protect her from the storms both physical and metaphorical. Let love invade every plank and fixture. Take care of her like we did.’

Then the green door settled its hinges, resting in the silence that followed. It looked out into the forests, a somber aura around it but it was also hopeful. Soon, they would be home to a new heart. A steppingstone. A place to call home away from home. Painful as it could be the green door would not have had it any other way.

[applepiewinchesters]

Found Out (Aziraphale x Reader)

 *REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

Requested by: Anonymous

You hadn’t been with Aziraphale long, but it’s probably been the best relationship you’ve ever had. He was kind, sweet, actually cared about your well-being and feelings, and he could make the best cup of hot cocoa you’ve ever had.

Overall, it was a great relationship you two had, you’ve became quite close, and you even helped him and Crowley, along with four kids, a witch finder, a psychic, a witch, a really bad computer engineer, and a dog, save the world from the end times.

All was going great, that was, until the angels Gabriel and Uriel showed up at the bookshop one afternoon when Aziraphale was out.

“Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” you asked the two, glaring at them as you tried to focus on organizing a few books on the shelf. You weren’t really scared of them, they were just a couple of douchebags.

“It’s you causing the trouble now, little human,” Uriel spoke.

“What could I possibly have done to anger heaven?” you asked, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms, staring down the two angels.

“We know about your relationship with Aziraphale, it’s forbidden, so, you’re coming with us,” Gabriel said, giving you a rather fake smile.

“You can go to hell,” you said venomously, turning to grab a book on the table behind you.

Before you could react, your arms were pulled behind your back and a rag was pressed to your mouth roughly, within seconds, the world went black.

*

When Aziraphale returned to the bookshop and found you no where in sight, he started panicking a bit. He looked up in his flat, in the shop next door, and he called your cell phone, it rang in your purse that was hanging on a hook by the door.

So, he called Crowley then. “Angel,” the demon said when he answered.

“Is Y/N with you by any chance?” Aziraphale asked quickly.

“Uh, no, no she’s not,” Crowley spoke, obviously confused.

“I can’t find her anywhere, I left the bookshop for an hour and now she’s gone,” the angel said, pacing the room as he spoke.

“Maybe she just went out, I’m sure she’ll be back,” Crowley said casually, he definitely wasn’t as worried as Aziraphale.

“She didn’t take anything if she did, her purse is here, her phone…. what if something’s happened?” Aziraphale asked, he could feel nervousness building inside him.

Had someone hurt you? Taken you? Killed you?

A sudden realization hit him like a train in that moment, there was only one group of people, celestial beings rather, that would ever want to hurt you in anyway.

It was just a hunch, but it was probably the best hunch he had. “Meet me at St. James,” he told Crowley, “Now.” With that he hung up and grabbed his coat, hurrying out of the bookshop.

*

When you woke again, everything surrounding you was, bright, too bright, it hurt your eyes and you had to blink a few times to get them adjusted to the sudden brightness.

You managed to register you were tied to a chair, your arms and legs restrained. The room you were in was huge, white, and most of the walls were made of windows.

Standing in front of you was Gabriel, Uriel, and two other angels you recognized to be Michael and Sandalphon.

“Aw, looks like our little human is awake,” Uriel said, obvious disdain in their voice.

“W-Where am I?” you asked, still a bit dizzy from whatever they’d done to you.

“Drugged you, brought you to heaven,” Michael spoke up.

You glared at them, “Why am I here?” you asked, trying to pull at the restraints.

“Your execution of course,” Gabriel said, “can’t have our Aziraphale distracted from heaven’s plan.”

“You promised to leave him alone after his own failed execution!” you argued.

You all thought that was the last of the angels and demons you’d see for a while, Crowley and Aziraphale switching bodies was probably the most genius thing they’d ever come up with, there was no way the angels, or demons, had figured it out already.

“We lied,” Gabriel chuckled, shrugging.

“You can’t execute me! I haven’t done anything wrong!” you argued, pulling at the restraints again.

“We’re teaching Aziraphale a lesson, no fraternizing with the humans, one of his rules for living down on earth,” Michael said.

“That’s not true!” you yelled, you were panicking a bit now. Aziraphale wasn’t here, he had no idea you were in heaven, what if he didn’t come in time? What if he didn’t come at all?

“Have the sword?” Gabriel asked, turning to Michael.

“Of course,” Michael said, a sword appeared out of thin air suddenly, Aziraphale’s flaming sword to be exact, how ironic.

“Untie her,” Gabriel said, Uriel came forward, easily undoing the ropes around your wrists and angels.

“Stand,” Uriel told you, you did as you were told, following Uriel forward as they walked.

“You can’t kill me,” you tried to reason, “Aziraphale will find out who did it, he’ll come for you.”

“That sack of fudge?” Gabriel said, laughing as he spoke, “I’d be more worried about a small dog attacking me.”

You glared at Gabriel as you were pushed to your knees by Sandalphon, Michael stepped forward, sword in hand.

“Any last words?” Gabriel asked you, smirking.

“Not for you, douchebags,” you spoke, trying to be brave. You couldn’t show how truly terrified you were, you were probably going to hell, these angels definitely didn’t want you here in heaven.

As Michael lifted the sword you closed your eyes, not wanting to see it coming, it was better not to know.

Just as Michael was about to bring down the sword, a voice echoed throughout the room, “STOP!”

Your eyes snapped open and you turned, smiling as you saw Aziraphale standing there.

“Ah, Aziraphale, just in time to see your human die,” Michael said, smiling.

“No one is dying today,” Aziraphale said, “except you, if you do not let her go.”

With a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, fire grew from his fingertips, you could feel the heat from your spot on the ground.

“You’re familiar with the damage hell fire can cause an angel, correct?” Aziraphale asked, smirking.

His eyes met yours for a second, and you swore they flashed yellow, you smirked.

“Y-You really are a monster,” Sandalphon spoke, backing up.

“Now, I suggest you let Y/N go and not go against the agreement we’d made a few weeks ago,” Aziraphale spoke.

The angels just nodded, shock and fear on each of their faces, it made you want to laugh.

“Come here, darling,” Aziraphale told you, smiling as he held out his hand.

You reached up and he pulled you to your feet, keeping your hand in his. “If these bastards are smart,” Aziraphale said, giving the other angels a pointed look, “they’ll leave you alone from now on. Come along.”

Following Aziraphale out of the room and to the rather long, shining escalator that led back to earth, you watched as he snapped his fingers once again, the flames going out.

When you stepped onto the escalator and were out of earshot of the other angels, you started giggling, “Well played,” you said, smirking, “Crowley.”

“Oh, it was nothing, Aziraphale called me, he was worried, always willing to help out a friend,” Aziraphale (Crowley) shrugged.

You laughed and shook your head, “I didn’t think I was getting out of that one,” you admitted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well, good thing your angel is so smart, this was his idea,” Crowley said.

You smiled, “I’ll definitely have to show him my appreciation for this then.”

Crowley shuddered, “Don’t need to know all the details,” he said, making you laugh.

“Where is he?” you asked.

“Bookshop, once we get downstairs, I’ll miracle us home,” Crowley said, you nodded.

The rest of the ride down was silent, you were still a bit shaken, adrenaline still pumping through your veins, but right now, you were alive, and that’s all the mattered.

When you finally got down, Crowley grabbed your hand, and with a quick snap of his fingers, you were back in the book shop, Aziraphale, well, sort of Aziraphale, stood from the chair he was sitting in the moment he spotted you.

“Oh, thank heavens,” he said, smiling at the sight of you.

“Before we continue with this, can we please switch back?” Crowley asked, holding out his hand.

Aziraphale nodded and you watched as they switched back, taking the other’s place. You smiled at Aziraphale, who was once again his normal self.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” he said, reaching out and pulling you into a hug.

You hugged him back tightly, burying your face into his shoulder, you thought you were never going to see him again.

“This is really sweet, but I’m going to go, you’re welcome,” Crowley spoke, you heard the door of the bookshop open and close and you giggled.

“He’s still not comfortable with affection I suppose,” you said, Aziraphale smiled and shook his head.

“Probably never will be,” he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips.

When he pulled away, you smiled, reaching up to adjust the angel’s bow tie, “I heard that this was all your idea,” you told Aziraphale.

He smiled, looking down sheepishly, “I had to save you some how my dear,” he told you, taking your hands in his, bringing one up to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly.

“You’re too good to me,” you said.

“That’s my job,” Aziraphale told you.

The rest of the day was spent cuddling on the couch and reading, Aziraphale even made your favorite for dinner. He didn’t even let you out of his sight for an entire week after.

You’d never admit it, but you loved how protective your angel was, even if he was a bit overbearing at times.

A/N: Hi friends! I hope you loved this one aaannnddd ALSO MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN AGAIN SO PLEASE FEEL FREE TO REQUEST SOMETHING, I LOVE WRITING FOR YOU ALL! Thank you so much for reading, love you guys! ~ Sara :)

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 11

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 11 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 11/? SUMMARY: The Doctor’s death is looming on the horizon and Elise is growing every day. What the Doctor doesn’t know is that he has 200 years to teach Elise all he knows. Amy, Rory, and River let Elise in on their secret, because River knows she will keep it. What will Elise do when he’s gone?

[A/N - I’ve enjoyed writing this episode so much! I hope you like it too!]

“And then we discovered it wasn't the Robot King after all, it was the real one. Fortunately, I was able to re-attach the head,” the Doctor told Rory, who was sitting in the pilot seat.

Amy came down the stairs.

“Do you believe any of this stuff?” he asked her.

“I was there.”

Elise smiled from her spot on the stars where she was sketching the TARDIS rotor.

“Oh, it's the warning lights. I'm getting rid of those! They never stop!” the Doctor yelled, kicking the console. At one point in time, Elise would have yelled at him for it. But she ignored him.

There was suddenly a knock on the TARDIS door.

“What was that?” Amy asked.

“The door. It knocked,” the Doctor said.

“Right. We are in deep space,” Rory reminded him.

“Very, very deep”.

The knocking came again.

“And somebody's knocking.”

Elise briefly wondered if it was River coming for a visit.

The Doctor opened the doors.

There was a small glowing box floating outside.

“Oh, come here. Come here, you scrumptious little beauty.” The Doctor reached out for it, but before he could touch it it flew inside and darted around the console. It slammed into the Doctor’s chest.

“A box?” Rory asked.

“Doctor, what is it?” Amy asked.

The Doctor picked up the box. “I've got mail!” He ran up to the console. “Timelord emergency messaging system. In an emergency, we'd wrap up thoughts in psychic containers and send them through time and space. Anyway, there's a living Timelord still out there, and it's one of the good ones.”

“You said there weren't any other Timelords left. Besides you and Elise,” Rory said.

“There are no Timelords left anywhere in the universe. But the universe isn't where we're going. See that snake? The mark of the Corsair. Fantastic bloke. He had that snake as a tattoo in every regeneration. Didn't feel like himself unless he had the tattoo. Or herself, a couple of times. Ooo, she was a bad girl.”

The console sparked and popped.

“Oh, what is happening?” Rory asked.

“We're leaving the universe!” the Doctor yelled.

“How can you leave the universe?” Amy asked.

“With enormous difficulty! Right now I'm burning up TARDIS rooms to give us some welly. Goodbye, swimming pool. Goodbye, scullery. Sayonara, squash court seven.”

The console continued to spark as Amy screamed.

The TARDIS landed and everything went quiet.

“Okay, okay. Where are we?” Amy asked.

“Outside the universe, where we've never, ever been,” the Doctor told them.

The lights in the TARDIS started to go out.

“Is that meant to be happening?” Rory asked.

“The power, it's draining. Everything's draining. But it can't. That's, that's impossible,” the Doctor said.

“What is that?”

“It's as if the Matrix, the soul of the TARDIS, has just vanished. Where would it go?”

They stepped out into a junkyard.

“So what kind of trouble's your friend in?” Amy asked.

“He was in a bind. A bit of a pickle. Sort of distressed,” the Doctor told her.

“Ah, you can't just say you don't know.”

“But what is this place? The scrap yard at the end of the universe?” Rory asked.

“Not end of, outside of,” the Doctor said. He threw his arm around Rory’s shoulder as Amy rifled through some junk.

“How we can we be outside the universe? The universe is everything.”

“Imagine a great big soap bubble with one of those tiny little bubbles on the outside.”

“Okay.”

“Well, it's nothing like that.”

The Doctor tapped the doors of the TARDIS. “Completely drained. Look at her.”

“Wait. So we're in a tiny bubble universe, sticking to the side of the bigger bubble universe?” Amy asked.

“Yeah. No. But if it helps, yes. This place is full of rift energy. She'll probably refuel just by being here. Now, this place. What do we think, eh?” the Doctor picked up a rock and threw it.

“Gravity's almost Earth normal, air's breathable, but it smells like…”

“Armpits,” Amy supplied.

The Doctor jumped inside a bathtub. Was he incapable of standing still for one second? “Armpits.”

“What about all this stuff? Where did this come from?” Rory asked. He twirled a light fixture.

“Well, there's a rift. Now and then stuff gets sucked through it. Not a bubble, a plughole. The universe has a plughole and we've just fallen down it.”

“Thief! Thief! You're my thief!” A woman ran towards the Doctor. She was wearing a ratty blue dress.

A man and an older woman followed.

“She's dangerous. Guard yourselves,” the older woman said.

The younger woman ran up to the Doctor, frantically touching his arms and chest. “Look at you. Goodbye. No, not goodbye, what's the other one?” She launched herself on the Doctor, kissing him.

The man pulled her off the Doctor, who was wiping his lips and running a hand through his hair in shock. “Watch out. Careful. Keep back from her. Welcome, strangers. Lovely. Sorry about the mad person,” the man told them.

“Why am I a thief? What have I stolen?” the Doctor asked.

“Me. You're going to steal me. No, you have stolen me. You are stealing me. Oh tenses are difficult, aren't they?”

The woman walked over to Amy and played with the ends of her hair. Something about her felt familiar to Elise. Like she knew her from somewhere. “Oh! Look at you!” the woman said, kneeling in front of Elise.

“Oh. Oh, we are sorry, my dove. She's off her head. They call me Auntie,” the older woman, Auntie told them. She stepped forward and shook the Doctor’s hand.

The man did the same. “And I'm Uncle. I'm everybody's Uncle. Just keep back from this one. She bites!”

“Do I? Excellent,” the woman said. She grabbed the Doctor and bit him on the ear.

“Ow! Ow!”

“Biting's excellent. It's like kissing, only there's a winner.”

“So sorry. She's doolally,” Uncle said.

“No, I'm not doolally. I'm…I'm…It's on the tip of my tongue. I've just had a new idea about kissing. Come here, you.” She reached for the Doctor, who ran and hide behind Amy and Rory.

“No, Idris, no,” Auntie said, grabbing her.

“Oh, but now you're angry. No, you're not. You will be angry. The little boxes will make you angry.” The woman, Idris, looked at Elise. “And you. You’re going to learn something that is going to make you sad. Sad and angry.”

“Sorry? The little what? Boxes?” the Doctor asked.

Idris started laughing. “Your chin is hilarious!” She turned to look at Rory. “It means the smell of dust after rain.”

“What does?”

“Petrichor.”

“But I didn't ask.”

“Not yet. But you will.”

“No, no, Idris. I think you should have a rest,” Auntie told her.

“Rest. Yes, yes. Good idea. I'll just see if there's an off switch.” Idris collapsed.

The Doctor and Rory caught her, setting her down on a chair nearby.

“Is that it? Is she dead now?” Uncle asked, “So sad.”

“No, she's still breathing,” Rory told him.

“Nephew, take Idris somewhere she cannot bite people.”

The Doctor turned around. “Oh, hello!”

Amy, Rory, and Elise turned around as well. Amy jumped back and hid Elise behind her.

The alien was wearing a jumpsuit. It was bald and had tentacles where its mouth should be.

“Doctor, what is that?” Amy asked.

“Oh, no, it's all right. It's an Ood. Oods are good. Love an Ood. Hello, Ood.” The Doctor approached the Ood. “Can't you talk? Oh, I see. It's damaged. May I?” He picked up the white ball attached to the jumpsuit and disassembled it. “It might just be on the wrong frequency.”

“Nephew was broken when he came here. Why, he was half dead. House repaired him. House repaired all of us,” Auntie explained.

The Doctor got the ball working again and a voice came out of it.

“If you are receiving this message, please help me. Send a signal to the High Council of the Time Lords on Gallifrey. Tell them that I am still alive. I don't know where I am. I'm on some rock-like planet.”

Several other voices were trying to come through as well.

“What was that? Was that him?” Rory asked.

“No, no. It's picking up something else. But that's…that's not possible. That's…that's… Who else is here? Tell me. Show me. Show me!” the Doctor demanded.

“Just what you see. Just the four of us, and the House,” Auntie told him, “Nephew, will you take Idris somewhere safe where she can't hurt nobody?”

“The House? What's the House?”

“House is all around you, my sweets.”

Uncle jumped up and down where he stood.

“You are standing on him. This is the House. This world. Would you like to meet him?”

“Meet him?” Rory asked.

The Doctor hushed him. “I'd love to.”

“This way. Come, please. Come.”

Auntie and Uncle walked off.

“What's wrong? What were those voices?” Amy asked the Doctor.

“Timelords. It's not just the Corsair. Somewhere close by there are lots and lots of Timelords.” He took Elise’s hand and they hurried after Auntie and Uncle.

They led them into a spaceship.

“Come. Come, come,” Uncle told them, “You can see the House and he can look at you, and he...”

The Doctor walked over towards them and looked into metal grating on the floor. “I see. This asteroid is sentient.”

“We walk on his back, breathe his air, eat his food,” Auntie said.

“Smell its armpits,” Amy commented.

A deep, sophisticated voice came out of Auntie and Uncle. “And do my will. You are most welcome, travelers.”

“Doctor, that voice. That's the asteroid talking?” Amy asked.

“Yes. So you're like a sea urchin. Hard outer surface, that's the planet we're walking on. Big, squashy, oogly thing inside, that's you.”

“That is correct, Timelord,” House said.

“Ah. So you've met Timelords before?”

“Many travelers have come through the rift, like Auntie and Uncle and Nephew. I repair them when they break.”

“So there are Timelords here, then?”

“Not anymore, but there have been many TARDIS’s on my back in days gone by.”

“Well, there won't be any more after us. Last Timelords. Last TARDIS.”

“A pity. Your people were so kind. Be here in safety, Doctor. Rest, feed, if you will.”

Auntie and Uncle relaxed, now back to normal.

“We're not actually going to stay here, are we?” Rory asked.

“Well, it seems like a friendly planet. Literally. Mind if we poke around a bit?” the Doctor asked Auntie, Uncle, and Nephew.

“You can look all you want. Go. Look,” Auntie said. She walked up to Amy and touched her face and hair. “House loves you.”

“Come on then, gang. We're just going to, er, see the sights.”

They quickly left the spaceship.

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Lookin’ Cool (Weiming Shen)

Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Slice of Life, Fluff ☁

Word Count: 2,528 ☁

Pairing: Reader, Weiming ☁

World: The Prince of Tennis – Match! Tennis Juniors ☁

Prompt: This from @write-it-motherfuckers​

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing for Chinapuri and I am honestly nervous about how people will view this lol Honestly, I’m mainly concerned with the names because I’m not sure how the Chinese do their names, if it’s like Last Name First Name or reversed, or if people use first names or the full name. Anywho~ I hope you enjoyed this!

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You paced the locker room anxiously, waiting for tennis practice to conclude. Your anxiety had been steadily building all day, so much so that you couldn’t even bring yourself to each lunch. Chen was also feeling nervous, but at least he had tennis practice to keep his mind busy. You, on the other hand, tried watching practice, reading a book, and even working on your homework, but nothing has held your attention.

A groan passed your lips as you fell onto the bench. ‘Maybe I should have picked up an after school club. I wonder if the manga club is still accepting members…’

The door swung open, Jing and Xiuwen pausing in the doorway when they noticed you.

“Why are you in here?” Jin made a face. “You’re not on the team, you’re not supposed to be in here.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like you have trade secrets for me to steal.” Pausing for dramatic effect, you tapped your chin and narrowed your eyes at them. “Or do you? Maybe I should have a look around. After beating Yu Feng, lots of people are looking at Yu Qing. I bet that info’d sell for top yuan!”

Xiuwen gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t!”

With a smirk, you rested your chin between your thumb and index fingers, striking a pose. “Oh, I would!”

Jing opened his mouth to reply when a monotone voice came from behind him. “You’re in the way, can you move?”

Stepping away from the door so Lu Xia could enter the locker room, Jing sent you a glare. “Out, Y/N!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You rolled your eyes again, grabbing your school bag before leaving the room. Chen was just rounding the corner, nearly knocking into you. “If you take too long, I’m going to leave without you.”

He scoffed. “Yeah right. You’d fall apart without me there.”

“In your dreams!” You huffed, continuing down the hallway. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud, but you knew he was right. Even with the thought of Chen being there to keep you from acting too stupid, you still felt like a bundle of frayed nerves. If he wasn’t going, you would probably just ditch the meeting and go home.

Lost in thought, you ran straight into Siyang and Zhi as they stepped into the building.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Siyang nodded, voice monotone. “Be more vigilant, Y/N.”

You sweatdropped at his attitude. “Right…”

Zhi chuckled, resting his hands on your shoulders. “You’re pretty tense. Is everything okay?”

‘He’s got that glint in his eye. Nothing good ever happens when he looks like that…’ You forced a smile, pushing his hands away. “Perfectly fine! Just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

His lips twitched up. “Oh yes, Qiao Chen mentioned something about you having a bad dream.”

‘That son of a – I’m gonna kill him! Of all the people to tell…’ Your eye twitched and you struggled to keep up the fake smile. “A-Ah yeah. I really need to get go -”

“Wait,” Yan appeared out of nowhere, hand on your shoulder to keep you in place. “If you’re experiencing nightmares, try drinking this. It will help.”

You stared at the bottle of green, bubbling liquid and your stomach turned. “You know, I would, but uhh… it’s against my religion?”

Yan tilted his head to the left, not pulling the bottle from your face.

“Hm? Aren’t you an atheist, Y/N?” Zhi questioned, smirking when you sent him a glare.

“What’s going on -”

As soon as you saw Chen, you grabbed his arm and bolted from the building, not sparing the three a single glance. He protested as you dragged him all the way to the school gate, huffing when you finally came to a stop.

“Aren’t you just a bit too excited?” he teased.

“You’re one to talk. Still hearing music when you see Xingzi?”

His cheeks darkened and he punched your shoulder lightly. “Shaddup,”

You started down the street away from the school with Chen at your side. “Ha! What a loser,”

“You dreamed about Weiming last night but I’m the loser?”

It was your turn for your cheeks to darken. “Don’t say it like that, idiot, you make it sound dirty! Also,” you suddenly brought your arm back, punching him in the spleen.

“W-What the hell -?!”

“That was for telling Zhi about my dream!”

“I didn’t!”

“How did he know then? He may be a genius but he’s not psychic.”

“I only mentioned it to Lu Xia and Mu!” He scowled.

“You told Mu?!” You cried out, stopping to stare at him incredulously. “He can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Everyone he meets knows his business.”

“Mentioned,” he stressed. “I mentioned it, not told.”

“Same thing!”

“It’s not the same thing!”

“Ahem,”

Both your and Chen’s attention snapped to Xingzi who stood nearby with Weiming and Yiwu on either side of her. She was smiling in amusement, but the two boys didn’t seem happy to see the two of you. Though, in the short time you’ve known Yiwu, you’ve never even seen him smile, so that didn’t mean much.

You and Chen exchanged sheepish glances before you cleared your throat in an attempt to fight the embarrassed blush that was trying to rise up to your face.

“It’s supposed to rain,” Xingzi commented with a smile. “We should hurry to the park so we can play at least one game.” She then turned, continuing down the road with both boys following close behind.

“Che,” Chen clicked his tongue, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Why do they always have to be so close to her?”

You frowned at their backs, copying his stance. “I don’t know, but I hate it.”

“Me too,”

Xingzi glanced over her shoulder, noticing that neither of you had moved and she waved her arm in the air. “Guys, come on!”

Yiwu mumbled something to Weiming, which made his eyes snap to yours. You quickly dodged his gaze by speeding up and passing the three. A light breeze ruffled your clothes, offering a small break from the summer heat, and the sinking sun was slowly being covered by light grey clouds.

Only a couple people were at the street court when your group arrived and they were packing up their things to leave.

Xingzi pulled out her pink racket and grinned. “So, who’s going first?”

You and Chen exchanged a look. No matter what, you didn’t want to be paired with your crush and you knew that he was thinking the exact same thing. As if it had been rehearsed, the two of you suddenly pointed at one another and chorused, “Chen/Y/N can go first!”

She giggled. “Why not play some doubles? Yiwu and Weiming versus Y/N and Chen!”

Without hesitation, Chen agreed, his face lighting up like a puppy that had just gotten attention from its master. “Great idea!”

You glared at your best friend, resisting the urge to punch him again. Thunder grumbled overhead and you glanced up at the darkening sky. ‘Even mother nature thinks this is a bad idea…’ You headed to the far end of the court, dropping your school bag onto the bench. Although you knew how to play tennis, it wasn’t something you genuinely enjoyed doing often. You knew you wouldn’t be able to hold a handle to the two boys who played tennis regularly and you were just going to make yourself look like an idiot again.

Chen bumped your shoulder as he stopped beside you, dropping his tennis bag next to your own. “Don’t worry, we got this!”

You scoffed. “I’ve never even played doubles before, but I bet our coordination is complete trash.”

“Me and Lu Xia figured it out!”

“Hardly! All you did was play singles together.”

“Maybe, but it worked.” He threw his arm around your shoulder. “This is our chance to impress our crushes! Besides,” he glanced up as another grumble of thunder passed overhead. “It’ll rain long before the game ends.”

You pulled your racket from the bag, running your fingers across the smooth surface, painted your favorite color. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steel your resolve. “Fake it ’til you make it, huh?”

“Right!” He grinned. “Let’s do this!”

Yiwu and Weiming were already on the court waiting. You took position at the back of the court and as soon as Chen was in position, Yiwu threw the ball into the air, smacking it toward you. You recognized it instantly – twist serve.

Chen just barely managed to dodge before it hit his face.

‘Twist serve, huh? They’re not holding back.’

As he prepared to serve again, you suddenly remembered the match that you had watched the night before with your uncle. The pro, Xi Yangwi, was a twist serve specialist while his opponent and childhood friend, Jang Yilong, had learned fancy tricks in order to counter it. One of the best counters, in your opinion, was the takeout. Yilong would move to intercept the ball with his face before pulling back at the last possible second, doing a spin before returning it backhanded. It always had the crowd going wild when he used it.

‘If I can pull off that move, I bet Weiming would be so impressed.’

Yiwu served again and you rushed forward, nearly knocking into Chen as he tried to hit the ball.

“Y/N -”

“I got it!” You threw yourself in the direct trajectory of the ball. You saw it heading for your face and you sent orders to the rest of your body, but it seemed as if the messenger was too pre-occupied to deliver them – you couldn’t possibly react in time. You heard your name being called, but with the blood pumping in your ears, you couldn’t tell who had said it.

The ball smacked into your face like a ton of bricks, the world spinning rapidly around you as you fell backward onto the court, pain shooting through your face. Chen’s head appeared above you, blocking your blurred view of the sky.

“Y/N! Are you okay?”

“I don’t get it…” you muttered to yourself, voice nasally from the damage to your nose.

He grabbed your shoulder and forced you into a sitting position. Yiwu and Weiming had approached the net, watching the two of you closely. Xingzi stepped onto the court and gasped. “You’re bleeding!”

You reached up to touch your face, feeling thick, warm blood on your fingertips. Upon doing so, a sharp pain shot through your face. “Motherfuking tap-dancing satan on a bagel, that hurts!”

“Then why the hell did you do it?” Chen scowled.

Xingzi pulled a towel from her bag before returning to your side. “Here,”

You took it with a grimace, carefully holding it under your nostrils to soak up the blood. “I thought it looked cool…” you mumbled, tilting your head toward the sky. The light gray clouds had turned dark, thunder roaring loudly overhead to act as a warning. A moment later, rain was blanketing the earth, the drops sending waves of pain through your face every time they landed on your nose.

Chen helped you to your feet, bringing you over to the awning that covered one of the benches. It did little to block the rain, especially with the wind blowing.

“We should take you to the hospital,” Xingzi frowned, brushing her wet hair away from her face. “Your nose might be broken.”

At the mention of a hospital, your nose instinctively wrinkled, causing you to wince in pain. It honestly hurt like a bitch, but you were positive that it wasn’t broken and you hated hospitals. You pulled the towel away from your nose and swiped your fingers under your nostrils. It was still bleeding, but it had already slowed down. “No, I’m okay.”

Chen exchanged a look with her before taking wrapping his arm around your own. “Come on, I’ll help you home.”

“You live in the opposite direction,” you muttered, pulling your arm away from his. “I’m fine, really.”

“Weiming lives in the same direction,” Xingzi commented, turning her gaze to him. “Can you make sure Y/N gets home safe?”

Your cheeks burned at the thought and you were thankful that your skin was already discolored from the injury. “Ah, no! It’s really okay, I don’t want to trouble him.”

“He’s right here, you know.” Weiming rolled his eyes, returning his racket to his bag before swinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go before the rain picks up.”

Chen stopped him, expression deadly serious. “You better take care of Y/N.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” Weiming scoffed, sending him a hard look. The expression softened when he turned his attention to you, his slender fingers gently wrapping around your upper arm.

You said nothing as you walked at his side, the rain helping to keep you cool despite how hot your face was. The first few minutes passed by in silence and you were in the middle of having an internal debate over whether or not you should try to strike up a conversation when he spoke up.

“Don’t do that again.”

“Eh?” You blinked dumbly, surprised that he had actually broken the silence.

He glanced at you before turning his attention forward again. “Whatever stunt you were trying to pull, don’t do it again.”

You lowered your head, fist clenching around the towel. This made your nose throb but you were thankful for the distraction. “Yeah… I won’t.”

He continued as if he didn’t hear you. “Why would you try such a risky move? You know you’re not even that good at tennis. The fakeout is a pro-level counter.”

You winced at his harsh words and the bite of his tone. “I know I suck, you don’t have to rub it in…”

“That’s not -” Weiming paused, his fingers tightening so you’d stop walking. “Look at me, Y/N.”

You forced your eyes to meet his and nearly melted where you stood. Why did he have to be so damn attractive? Even more so with the way his hair clung to his face, water dripping down his skin.

“- that’s why.”

You blinked, realizing he had been speaking for several moments and you hadn’t heard a word of it. “Um… can you repeat that, please?”

He sighed deeply before taking you by the shoulders. “I didn’t mean it the way that came out. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Warmth flooded your body as your heart fluttered within your breast. His concern was touching and you felt happy knowing he actually cared about what happened to you. You offered him a gentle smile. “I promise I’ll be more careful. Thank you, Weiming.”

His eyes scanned your face before he nodded and released you. “Good,”

The rest of the walk was silence, accompanied by the pitter-patter of the rain, but that was okay. You now knew that he did care about you and, even though that was probably just on the friendship level, it was a start. For now, you were content just walking by his side.

Your nose might disagree, but you were happy that you had been hit.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

If you enjoy my writing, please considering tipping me on Kofi or Cashapp. Every little bit helps and means a lot, thank you so much ^~^)/ If you can’t afford to do so, that’s okay, too, thanks for reading!

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Sex and Violence- Part 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,671

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Stay right there, sweetheart,” he smiled as he pointed to you. Clenching your jaw, you remained where you were as Dean hid behind the door so when Sam came in, he could get the jump on him. The lock began turning and Sam walked in, looking at Nick before shifting his gaze to you. On the verge of tears, Sam knew something wasn’t right with this situation.

“Nick. What are you doing here?” Sam asked just as the door slammed shut, and Dean grabbed him from behind, and put a knife to his neck. He chuckled and looked at Nick who walked to them. “I gotta tell ya, you're one butt ugly stripper.”

“Well, maybe. But I got exactly what I wanted. I got Dean.”

“Dean, come on man, this isn't you. You can fight this. Let me go. Y/N help me.”

“Oh, she won’t do anything. Isn’t that right sweetheart?” he asked with a smile before turning to you.

“That’s right,” you gritted out. Nick smirked before turning back to the brothers. Your façade was dropped and you stared at Sam with worry in your eyes. What do I do?you mouthed, not having anything to kill him with. Sam immediately understood you weren’t under his spell, which he didn’t know how.

“Why don't you cut him? Just a little, on his neck right there,” Nick instructed, and Dean did exactly that, giving his brother pain. “Dean's all mine.”

“You poisoned him.”

“No. I gave him what he needed. And it wasn't some bitch in a G-string. It was you. A little brother that looked up to him, that he could trust. And now he loves me. He'd do anything for me. And I gotta tell you, Sam, that kind of devotion? I mean, watching someone kill for you? It's the best feeling in the world.”

“Is that why you're slutting all over town?”

“Ahh. I get bored, like we all do. I wanna fall in love again. And again... and again.”

“I'll tell you what. I have fought some nasty sons of bitches, but you are one needy pathetic loser,” Sam spat.

“You won't feel that way in a minute,” Nick smirked as he grabbed Sam’s chin before opening his mouth. The toxin squirted from his mouth onto Sam’s chin and lips. Dean let go of his brother as they were both under Nick’s spell. “So, I know you two have a lot you wanna get off your chests. So why don't you discuss it? And whoever survives can be with me forever.”

“Well, I don't know when it happened. Maybe when I was in hell. Maybe when I was staring right at you. But the Sam I knew, he's gone,” Dean said as Sam turned to him. Nick motioned for you to come over, and you did, taking a seat next to him on the bed.

“That so?”

“And it's not the demon blood or the psychic crap. It's the little stuff. The lies. The secrets,” Dean glared. It was painful to watch them get like this, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Now, isn’t this nice? Seeing them fight over me? Don’t worry, they won’t make it out of here alive. You and I will be together forever,” Nick said as he moved your hair away from your neck.

“OK, fine. You know why I didn't tell you about Ruby, and how we're hunting down Lilith? Because you're too weak to go after her, Dean. You're holding me back. I'm a better hunter than you are. Stronger, smarter. I can take out demons you're too scared to go near,” Sam growled at his brother.

Looking between the brothers, you thought of what would save them from this until you felt the magic throbbing in your veins. Yours and Amara’s magic protected you from Nick’s poison, and if they had your magic in them, they won’t be affected anymore.

The one thing you had been keeping from the brothers was a book of spells you had been carrying around, practicing, doing all kinds of things to help you get stronger. Amara or not, you had to help in the war with Lucifer. That book has taught you a lot of things about yourself, what you can do, including what you were about to do.

“I know what will make them start killing each other,” you said as you looked at Nick. “That’s what you want right? For us to be together without them in the picture? I can give you want you want. Please, let me do this… for you.”

“This could get interesting. Go ahead,” he said as you stood up. “Sam, Dean, Y/N would like to say something to you.” Both brothers immediately backed off so you could do your thing. Approaching the brothers, you stood next to Dean before leaning up and whispering in his ear. However, as soon as you were close enough, you blew in his ear lightly, a thin line of blue magic swirling from your mouth into his ear. With this magic in their systems, it will protect them like it does with you.

Going over to Sam, you leaned up and did the exact same thing, releasing some of your magic into his body, slowly detoxifying the damage that the demon blood does to him. Pulling away from him, you joined Nick on the bed who couldn’t stop smirking. The brothers blinked before coming to realization of what is happening. They both turned to you as you gave them a look, a look of you saving their asses as the siren sat next to you without a clue.

“Go ahead, use the information I gave you to kill each other. I bet you’re dying to,” you said which gave them a hint to pretend to be under the spell.

“You're not standing in my way anymore,” Sam said even though it hurt him to say it. Maybe it was in the way they looked at each other, or how they had soft and painful looks on their faces, but Nick caught on.

“What the hell did you do to them?” Nick asked as he grabbed your chin before forcing your mouth open. Dean and Sam dropped the façade before turning to you and Nick. The only reason they didn’t interfere wasn’t because they knew you could take him on, but because they didn’t want to hurt you. Nick opened his mouth before spitting in your mouth, getting his toxin all over you.

“I want you to kill yourself,” he growled.

“Sorry, doesn’t seem to work on me,” you glared just as your eyes tuned blue.

“Witch, I hate witches. Why isn’t this working on you? Witches aren’t immune to my toxin.”

“This witch is, and you just pissed her off,” you growled before slapping his hand away before thrusting your hand against his chest, throwing him into the door which broke upon impact. He toppled into the hallway, and you got up to do some more damage when Nick rushed to his feet. He was about to either run away or hurt one of you, but he gasped as blood started coming out of a wound from the front of his shirt. Frowning, you saw him drop to see your dad standing on the other end of the hallway. When Nick fell forward, a bronze dagger is what killed him.

How the hell did your dad know to come here?

Leaning against the car, you watched your dad exit his before bringing over glass bottles that you hoped contained alcohol. However, when he passed them around, you found out it was soda.

“Soda?” Dean asked.

“You boys are driving, aren't ya?”

“I’m not,” you frowned, but drank it anyway.

“Thanks, Bobby. You know, if you hadn't shown up when you did—”

“Done the same for me, more than once. Course, you could have picked up the phone. Only took one call to figure out that Agent Nick Munroe wasn't real,” he scoffed. Silence filled the air, and it wasn’t the comfortable kind. “You going to be OK?”

“Yeah, fine,” you three said which made him tip his hat in goodbye. As he left, you couldn’t help but rush over to him. Hugging him front the front, he chuckled before kissing the top of your head.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” he said.

“How did you know to come?”

“Had a hunch. Got some help. No biggie.”

“Well, thanks. I didn’t know how to hold him off for much longer,” you admitted.

“Be safe, call me if you need me.”

“You too,” you reciprocated the feeling before he got in his car and drove off. Returning back to the brothers.

“Dean, look, you know I didn't mean the things I said back there, right? That it was just the siren's spell talking?” Sam sighed.

“Of course, me too,” Dean nodded, returning the awkward silence.

“Okay, so... so we're good?”

“Yeah, we're good.”

“Liars,” you whispered under your breath, which they heard.

“How did you unreversed the spell from us?” Sam asked, and Dean was curious too. Sighing, you knew you had to come clean. Blowing some of your magic into the air, you showed them exactly what you did to them.

“My magic protected me for whatever reason, I figured it’ll protect you too.”

“How did you know to even do that?” Dean asked.

“A book I’ve been studying off of. A book I kept hidden from you two. I know it isn’t fair, but I need to perfect what I can do. There is a whole other side of me I never knew about, and this book helps me tap into that power.”

“Why did you keep it from us?”

“Because it scares the shit out of me. What I can do, I’m scared. When we got you, Sam, from Stanford, I didn’t think I would be able to do this kind of thing. Look at me now. Doesn’t that scare the shit out of you?”

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6  @quixoticcat @notmoose45 @crowleysminion @mina22  @tahbehonest @destielsangelss @oreosatmidnight @seninjakitey  @flyonlittlewinchester @earthtokace @gingersnapped13 @gucci-tata @22sarah08 @superrandomnatural @my-wayward-heroes  @supernaturallover2002 @teamfreewillsstuff @gh0stgurl @put-my-favorite-record-on @onlydeanandjensen @bloodyvoodoo  @morgannope @death-unbecomes-you @redsalv20 @unfortunately-a @deans-baby-momma @drakonwild @infinite-supernatural-adoring @analisespn @essie1876 @kdfrqqg @blackcherrywhiskey  @mogaruke @wittysunflower @li-ssu @kristaparadowski @mizzezm  @the-walking-daryl @supernatural13-13 @posiemax @shortbty14  @paintballkid711 @phantomalchemist @gabrielslittleangel  @shatteredabby @jennalyncarrigan1230 @winchesterandpie @andi-mendes-barnes @tricksterdean @akshi8278 @whit85-blog  @kendlemariee @jennazeise @kendall-michele  @mrspeacem1nusone @ballistic-bailey @thehall0wqueeen  @stylesismyhubs

[lillaxtrigger]

Young Hope: Chapter 19 (Pt4)

From within the dim halls, a pair of twin doors quietly creak open; a bright luminescence pouring out from the other side. Beyond one of the doors does the blonde head of the psychic peek in; her navy blue eyes beholding the lobby of books set before her. Gazing towards the top of the shelves, she found them to tower dozens of feet, halting upon the pipe covered roof of the library. From the doors, all she could witness was the high shelves set before her; the tables and chairs decorating the middle of the room. Delving from the lobby are what seemed to be the endless tunnels set along the sides, the shelves of hardback acting as enclosed paths. Seeing this, it strikes Priss as an enigma on how massive this archive may actually be.

With that in mind, she readies to venture forward within the library; silently pulling the doors behind her shut as she enters. Taking a glance along the shelves, she decides to fancy a closer look towards the books that they house. Pulling out one of them showed a hardback book baring an image of flaming tree etched in gold upon the cover. Within its pages were words describing the origins of an event, one that involved a blue jay consuming the seed of a mystic tree and morphing into living oak. To most, this would seem like nothing more than a grand tale, but to the psychic was clear to be the catalog of a mythical demon. Some of the biographies of these beasts cloak themselves within what seem to be storybooks. An old cult trick used to hide hell bound knowledge such as this out from undesired hands. One that the psychic is all too familiar with, as some of the books back in her old manor sported similar writings. Twas simple for someone of her archaic mental caliber to decode them. Looking along the rest of the shelves, a smooth grin draws across her face. If what she holds in her palms shows to be true, then this archive may truly house the prize that she seeks. Such a vast collection may even hold some information regarding...his whereabouts.

As if you’ll find anything worth value in this massive waste of paper.

But before she can set off deeper into the library’s vast depths, the sound of footsteps reaches the psychics ears. Blast it all. Of course a collection as valuable as this would not go unguarded. The question being who, or what, might be taking the mantel of patrol? In any case, cover must be taken, post haste.

Out from one of the hardback hallways strolled out a single man, sporting blank white librarian attire with pitch black letters crawling along his clothes. Upon his bald head form specific words such as enlightenment, cultivation, philosophy, ideals, change, and other similar words. Beyond his glasses does he find a book laying upon the polished wooden floor, the pages of which lay exposed to the open air. Approaching the text, the letter covered figure quickly swipes the hardback off the ground. Flipping through the many pages of the tome, they find not a single hint of damage to speak of among the paper.

As the librarian flipped through the books contents, Priss peeks out from under the table towards the figure. Her gaze squinting upon the bibliophile, she musters what psychic energy she can towards the librarians direction. Pain killers are finally working just enough to take a crack at mind jacking, might be able to find the way to the book of Garlov peering into this creeps consciousness. Though no matter how much mental power she conjures, the psychic can’t break into the book keepers brains by even a crack. Damn! Not even a single inch can she penetrate into this weirdo’s mind. He looks sentient enough. What could possibly be keeping her influence out? A spell? A charm? Those letters crawling on his skin? No matter what might be guarding his mind, it’s safe to say that he won’t be susceptible to mind control anytime soon.

Finished scanning through the tome resting in his palms, librarian closes its pages. Turning his head towards the table, he manages to catch a glimpse of yellow retreat under the robed mahogany. Throwing the book cleanly back into its shelf, the man garbed in white begins to approach the reading space. Slowly, he nears the table; his hand gripping upon the edge as he kneels down to his knees. Finally, his head lowers under the wood, beholding nothing but the seats scooted under the ruby red cloth. A question mark crawling on his cheek, the librarian wonders what kind of foolish interloper dares to trespass within these scared archive. With seemingly nothing else left to check, the word decorated bibliophile continues to patrol deeper down the depths of his hardback lair.

Unbeknownst to him, his little blue intruder was just above his head, floating near the corner of the roof beside a set of glass pipes. A quiet breath passes through her lips once she knows the coast to be clear. Lowering herself near the polished wood, Priss fancies drifting towards the path opposed to the one the librarian ventured into. If anything served as a warning for the psychic to steer clear of that weirdo, it was his resistance to her mental control.

Passing through the countless columns of tomes at her sides, the small medium flies through the sea of seemingly infinite knowledge. She soon comes to a halt however upon finding the intersection; the three corridors set before her twisting and bending in supernatural and otherworldly ways. The path to the right corkscrewed around to the point where the ceiling turns into the floor and vice versa. In the middle, Priss found the hall to sprawl as wide as she could see; columns of bookcases stretching out and connecting along the walls. Finally, the left path presented a corridor consisting of a shrinking hallway; the end as far as she could see reducing itself to a mere pinhole.

Good lord. This place is an absolute madhouse. Figures that these freaks would have their archive structured like this. The question being how exactly they get around this shotty example of Picasso fan art. Nobody can simply just memorize the layout of this abstract mess, they have to have a directory of sorts stowed around here someplace. Though given the unorthodox behavior and memories that she has witnessed of the castle’s residence, it wouldn’t be much of an expectation to dismiss. These nut fuckers could make people do anything upon the promise of paranormal mastery.

Before she can decide on which warped path to travel down, the sound of sliding hardback catches her attention from behind. Turning back, Priss watches as one of the tomes dislodges itself from the bookcase; Priss grabs hold of her blade to prepare for whatever the book does. Levitating before her, the hardback opens its cover to the psychic; the contents swiftly being flipped through. Finally resting its pages upon the middle, its words lets out a magical glow. The light from the page soon starts to take form before the psychics very eyes; the luminescence morphing into a woodland sprite. Watching the freshly formed fairy flutter about the halls soothes the psychics guard; the sprites dainty dancing causing her to lower her blade.

The fairy soon halts its dance in the middle of the air, drawing in a deep breath. From the depths of his lungs does the sprite sound off a booming opera; the intensity of his symphony shaking not only the halls, but the psychics head as well. Swiftly does Priss shield her ears from the shrill song of the sprite, raising her blade once more towards the fairy. Best to silence its song quickly, before it catches any unwanted attention or worse yet, another migraine.

Attempting to end its booming theatrical song, the blue psychic rockets towards the sprite with her blade in hand. Her thrust proves ineffective as the sharp tip of the sword simply phases through, the fairy continuing in his trembling melody. Priss’s assault having failed, she quickly takes aim for her next best guess; the source of the sprites origins. The psychic tosses her weapon towards the book floating above, her prized sword piercing through the hardback. Upon the tomes destruction does the sprite burst in a flash of light, closing the curtains on its performance.

Though relived that the sad excuse for an opera singer has been silenced, Priss knows there is no time to celebrate. No doubt that its booming song as attracted some unwarranted attention by now. Might be best to get a move on before something even worse pops out from these shelves. With that thought, Priss bolts down the right hall of the corridor, swerving along as she follows the twisted polished floor.

Within the confines of their mystical cages, the demonic brothers sit along the back wall of their cells; the blue tinted barriers at the fronts acting as filters for their scornful glares towards one another. “So...You wanna tell me what the hell was your deal back there?” Savage starts off. “My deal? You were the one who threw shit at me first. If you didn’t decide to toss that arm at the back of my head, we wouldn’t have been crammed in this hole!” Carnage deflects. “I kept telling ya it was an accident. But you just couldn’t let it slide, could you? Had to just try and get back at me rather then hold off all those freaks?” “Those freaks caught us because you up and fucking tackled me! Admit it! You’re always the one starting shit!” “Dude, quit being such a damn baby. I said I was sorry, okay. We wouldn’t even be stuck in here if you didn’t decide to go off to try and nab the book instead of trying to find Sis.” “Shut up! I’m sick of hearing you go on about Priss all the damn time!”

Soon, their rising bickering starts to echo through the stone walls of the dungeon; a woman in torn robes walk towards the source with a rune covered prod to her back. “Quit yer bitchen, you two! Gonna rile up the whole damn zoo.” she demands. The brothers halt in their arguing, watching as the keeper stops at their cages with a big grin drawing upon her face. From that smile does a chuckle soon escape as she looks upon the two. “What the hell you findin funny?” “Ah, nothing. Just amazed is all. You two wound up killing a pretty big chunk of our army. Worried for a minute that both of ya would run our forces dry into the ground. But once you two went and started beating the hell outta each other, it was a piece of cake to round you guys up. Probably could have made it outta here with your demonic hides if you two weren't such fuck ups.” Rising from his seat, Carnage approaches the front of his cage, his claw pounds on the blue barrier as he looks upon the keeper with a glaring scowl. “You want come in here and say that shit?” “Oh, I don’t have to.”

That said, she pulls out her rune covered rod and jams the tip straight into the transparent field. From the prods tip does a blue energy serge within the inside of the cell, the glow inflicting waves of terrible pain upon Carnage’s entire body. Witnessing his brother’s torturous agony does Savage sprint to the front of his prison, furiously beating upon the barrier keeping him trapped. “Cut that out, you torn up cunt!” Hearing that rude demand does the warden turn her gaze towards the red demon, her prod detaching from the green ones cage. Twirling her rune rod in the air like a baton, she soon pierces the tip of her prod into Savages own cell; sharing a similar sting through his hulking figure. The surge of utter agony urges the red demon to back away from the barrier, hearing the chuckles of their torturer as he retreats. “You best start learning who’s in charge now, boys. If you wanna last long in this army, you’re gonna have to get used to doing as your told.” Having generously given her piece of advice, the keeper leaves the duo to the aftermath of their punishment.

Rising from the floor of his cage, Savage looks on towards his brother, a relieved breath leaving through his lips. Glad to see that bitch didn’t fuck Carnage’s brains up too bad; not that he had much to start. If he did, then we wouldn’t have are asses handed to us by that horror show back there. Come to think of it, if Priss was here, then we wouldn’t have even landed ourselves in that Broadway of freaks to begin with. But no, this jolly green jackass just had to have something to prove, didn’t he? Couldn’t go looking for sis first, no. Just had to try and find that stupid book just to show her up, huh? Sure hope she’s is having a better time in this hellish nightmare suite they call a castle, wherever she may be.

Rocketing through the twisted bookcase decorated tunnels of the, Priss begins to wonder where exactly these mad cultists could stow such a crucial tome within this labyrinth like archive. Any typical mortal would likely die off of starvation before coming close to such a prize. It’s fortunate then that this girl isn’t that typical when it comes to such.

It might be best for the psychic to try and find that librarian again, might actually be able to pry some useful tidbits out; probably knowing the way towards the prize she seeks. Still, it might prove quite the challenge to come across him again; maybe even more of one to confront. His resistance to the psychics mental manipulation has shown to be a growing concern. If he’s that prepared to have a counter measure like that, who knows what else the book keeper has up his sleeve.

Lost in these thoughts, she fails to take note of the several books free themselves from the warped shelves behind her; the hardbacks quietly pursuing the psychic.

Swiftly does Priss turn at the curve, finding before her a dead end sporting a glass case full of demonic charms and talismans. Damn! Traversing through that whole abstract maze of occult knowledge just to come up short. Well, at least its a reassurance that she’s simply not going in circles. Guess, there can’t be that much in the way of stopping her from going back; you know, aside from vomit inducing physics.

From the glass casing housing the gems does Priss notice something in the reflection, something of wood careening towards her back. The psychic sidesteps just before the object could collide upon her, finding the oak arm of a bear crashing through the glass case in a shower of shards. Grasping at the handle of her blade, something to her side grabs her attention. To the left does the psychic find a flock full of wooden animal puppets, all suspended by glowing string leading to thin air. The puppets before held no charm to speak off, no. But rather gnarled bodies and demented sharp toothed maws; their splintered limbs spinning and spiraling in place. From the remains of the glass case, the bear arm retreats back towards the set it matches with; a whole oak grizzly with its beady eyes aimed towards its little blue prey.

Although the pack of mangled wooden animals proves to be the unsettling site, the small medium could spot several of the books that hosted the whole puppet theater of horror. With haste, she springs towards the least guarded tome; aiming to the front with the tip of her blade. Her assault upon the hardback comes to an abrupt stop however when one of the wooden animals shields her target; the psychics blade digging into the puppets solid body. With the other animals nearing, she tempts to push her weapon out from the body of her wooden foe. Casting a telekinetic push, she dislodges her sword out from the wood of the puppet; just in time to evade the splintered antlers of the timber elk.

Retreating from the assault, she looks towards one of the nearby tomes and focuses her powers on the hardback. If you can’t come to them, make them come to you. The wise words of some deplorable douche bag looking for action. With her mental prowess, she halts the bunch of wooden limbs right in the air, the splintered timber inches from her figure. Pulling their books towards her, she grasps on the handle of her blade, eager to slice the tomes into meager party confetti. But an attack from behind interrupts her concentration a the head of an elk striking its horns to her back.

Smacked against one of the bookshelves, the blue psychic looks upon the mystic lumber as they lunge forward; their claws and horns baring towards her. Right before they could lay in their timber fury upon her mentally attuned head, Priss disappears before them; their ramming charge causing the books overhead to tumble down. The avalanche of texts collapses upon the collection of puppets, burying the pack in a pile of hardback. Reappearing in front of the mound of texts, a smug grin paints itself across the psychics face. Seems these beast took “hitting the books” quite a bit too literally.

In her moment of triumph however, the heap of tomes before her explode. Bursting out from the pile be the detached parts of the puppet troupe, the pack of mangled lumber clustering before the psychic. The jagged jaws of the heads snap right off their joints; the spiraling splintered limbs began to form together. In the midst of this transformation, she fails to see the source books anywhere in site. With their weakness nowhere in site, Priss decides to flee from the transforming puppet show while they’re distracted and bolts away from the dead end.

Zooming back through the twisting halls, the sound of booming pounding reaches her ears from behind. Turning to her back, the psychic is urged to pick up the pace; racing away from a hulking abomination of timber and wood. Behind her be the malformed combination of the puppet troupe formed into a massive, gaping maw, clawing through the floor in its pursuit. The horror lets out a bone chilling roar; its screams echoing through the hardback halls. Finding the warped ways of the halls ahead, the psychic hopes to lose the beast behind her with the confusing layout of its own lair.

Up a set of shelved steps does the medium ascend; hoping it’s misshapen claws could fail to rise after. But alas, the beast climbs up the bookcase steps, tearing its way up towards the fleeing medium.

Coming to a set of revolving shelves, Priss pushes through in hopes of cutting herself off from the pursing lumber. However, the massive mass of puppet parts squeezes through each and every single spinning bookcase.

Fleeing from her wooden pursuers, Priss rises towards a glass pipe hanging overhead; a line of tomes flowing through the clear pipe way. The timber abomination is unwavered by her rise; its splintery body jumping towards the ascending psychic. The small medium flies around the glass; hoping the transparent piping would be hard enough to halt the timber terror. Her little plan fails to prosper however; the horrifying puppet show smashing straight through the glass; countless books gushing out from the broken pipe. The shelved tunnel lowering, Priss descends with the wooden freak show right at her back.

Soon, she sets her sites upon a warped hallway; the tunnel baring resemblance to a kaleidoscope. Priss presses on through, hoping the mixed up pathway would help her shake off the wooden beast. The lumbering mess of lumber, chases its prey all through the warped halls, the pursuit taking them both through the floor, the ceiling, the walls, the shelves, even some of the books. But to her disappointment, the small medium still had the beasts on her tail. Why won’t this sad excuse for abstract puppetry just abscond already. This encounter can’t possibly last all night. There’s work to be done. A plan to escape from this amalgamation must be made soon.

Coming to a hall with spherical bookcases floating above, the puppet chimera soon begins to close in upon its prey. Feeling the wooden terrors pine scented breath on the back of her head, Priss readies to stave off the chimeric lumber for a chance to flee. Turning to face her pursuer, she pushes the puppet amalgamation back as far as she can with as much telekinetic strength as she can muster. Her mental shove proves just strong enough to make the mashup of mangled marionettes tumble backwards; its claws tearing apart the polished floor in its knock back. Regaining its balance, the wooden beasts witnesses its blonde prey turn the corner and resumes its pursuit.

Coming to the turn, the jumble of puppets lunges its jagged teeth upon the cornering hall. To its confusion however, none of its heads could find their hunt anywhere in site. Whether ahead in the halls or above to the ball of books above, the timber terrors target seems to have vanished before its eyes. In hopes of stumbling upon the their prey, the beast of bark and birch continues down the hallway; failing to realizing their hunt was behind one of the balls above. Floating down towards the corner, Priss takes a peek behind it to find the wooden horror to lumber deeper ahead through the shelved halls.

Having this many close call this evening alone, the psychics nerves were beginning to wear thin. It’d be in best interest to find that book soon, before another one proves to be too close for her comfort. However, to find that tome in this accursed labyrinth of hardback and paper is already enough of a problem. Wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for it in this hellish maze. Such endeavors would waste the night away, mayhaps take even longer. And time nor luck aren’t exactly being friendly allies tonight. Soon or later, she’s gonna wind up running out of both. Best find a way to locate the book of Garlov’s whereabouts in a swift manner; but how? That librarian probably won’t be too keen with sharing directions anytime soon. Going to need to find another way through this maze of bent space and broken physics. It might not be the most elegant solution, but she’ll might need to borrow another page out of Alisha’s manuel.

Crawling through the halls be a pack of huge chimeric caterpillars of flesh and steel; their parts originating from various land mammals and mechanical apparatuses. Upon coming to an intersection do they split off; a lone cyborg chimera ventures off one its own towards a looping hallway. The massive bug of horror crawls through the bookcase walls with its feet, hooves, and metal sticking upon the shelves. Coiling through the looping hall, it fails to take note of the little shadow tailing it’s behind.

Soon the lonesome caterpillar comes to an odd statue; a lanky figure eating what seemed to be a walrus with its oversized maw. The chimeric monster attempts to emulate the figures maw; stretching out its muzzle as wide as it can. However, its maw soon snaps back into place with a painful smack; the living collage guiding its head down.

Turning away from the statue, it soon finds its source to be in the captive clutches of the little blue intruder. Priss guides her blade towards the open book; the weapons sharp edge mere inches from its pages. “One wrong move and your story ends here.”

Held captive within their arcane cages, both demonic brother sit against the opposite walls. In Carnage’s rest, he find his brothers gaze from beyond the two blue tinted shields; the red demons glare reflecting contempt. “The hell are you staring at?” the green demon wonders. “Oh nothing.” the red brother replies as his eye squints. “Don’t give me that shit. You think that this is all my fault, don’t you?” “Well, maybe if you went with me to try and find sis like I wanted to, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” “No one asked you to come with me, okay? That’s on you, bro.” “I stuck with ya cause I didn’t want any more of us getting lost in this freaky German castle of horrors. It ain’t gonna help if were all just aimlessly running around this place looking for each other.” “Oh, piss off. I can handle myself.” “Carnage, in the 17 years that I have known you, you have not once shown that. I mean for hell’s sake, you’ve threatened to beat the shit outta me over taco’s.” To all that, all the green demon could do in response was look away with an upset demeanor; his arms crossed along his chest.

“Man, what the hell’s up with you? You’ve been acting shitty ever since we lost Priss. I know she spewed crap at us back in that garden, but that ain’t no reason to just up and ditch her like that.” “Yeah, well you ever think that we’d be better off without her on our backs?” Carnage questions; staring back towards his red brother. “Dude, come on. You don’t mean that. You know both of us can get on each others throats without her around. I mean, look at where we wound up. All just cause we couldn’t stop pissing each other off. We need her just as much as she needs us.” “No we don’t!” Carnage barks, quickly rising from the floor of his cell. “Yeah, we kinda do. Did you have any kind of clue where that stupid book was in the first place? Both of us were pretty much running around in circles without her.” “Shut up!” “What is up with you? You’re always just rushing into things without thinking, not even stopping for a minute to wonder if you shouldn’t do it Why can’t you just admit that you’re not as right as you think you are?”

“You don’t think I know that?” the green demon admits; his voice inexplicably cracking. Savage draws back his scolding lean; witnessing tears roll down from Carnage’s cheeks. “You don’t think I can’t tell that you think I’m some kind of fuck up?” “That’s not what I-” “Well your right!...I am. Just some stupid dumb ass who can help but cause trouble...” The rippling of his snotty nose echoing through the dungeon, Savage can only stay silent as Carnage continues with his self deprecating rant. “Priss can think 100 things a minute and keep things from going ape shit. You have your sick ass art skills you use to make awesome sculptures and paintings. And what do I have going for me? Just a short temper and a god damn truckload of personal problems and insecurities.” “Carnage...” “I just wanted one chance. One moment I can have to look back on and think to myself: “Hey, I’m not that big of a fuck up. I got one thing right.”. But I screwed that over too and got us throw into this freaky shit hole; all just because I wanted something to prove to everyone!” In his fury, the green demon punches the side of his cell; break straight through to the neighboring cell. Withdrawing his claw from the stone, a deep sigh leaves Carnage lungs. “Even myself...I’m just a fucking mess...compared to you two.” Having said all that was buried deep within his soul, the green giant curls back against the wall of his prison; his head tilted down on his knee’s.

Savage’s eye cannot help but stare towards his brothers slump from beyond the pair of barriers, tempting to recoil from the rant with: “Bro...I had no idea ya felt like that.” “Well now you do. All of my shit just dumped out like a giant mess of blood and guts from a hit and run accident. Just like how I am.” “Carnage, no; just listen.” The red demon stands upon the stone floor of his mystic prison; igniting the flames of his speech with: “You’re not a fuck up. No matter what you or anybody else thinks. I’ve seen you plow through stuff like nobodies business. Like, once you start something, you don’t quit until its done. I have to constantly go back to pieces that I haven’t finished cause the motivation just drains outta me halfway through. But whenever you do something, you don’t stop until the job’s done, without taking a single break. Your like a fucking machine, man. It’s nuts.” This praise reaching Carnage’s ears, the green demon lifts his gaze up from his knees; staring towards his red brother. “And I know I harped on ya for this earlier, but your reckless determination can get you through stuff that Priss would spend hours on just trying to think through. Like sis tries to unlock a temple door locked by an ancient puzzle. Bam! You just punch through without much thought.” Soon, Carnage begins to rise back from his recessive sulking, a smile beginning to form across his face. “You are honestly one of the most hell bent bastards I’ve ever met. Just plowing through motherfuckers like flesh pinatas filled with blood and guts. It honestly amazes me every time I see you go- What the fuck is that?”

Hearing that come out of his brothers mouth causes Carnage’s smile to shatter; taking a glance from behind to find tendrils coming out from the wall that Carnage had made. The green demon grasps at the multiple limbs, pulling upon the tendrils through the hole until the wall had collapsed. The dust of the rubble settling; Carnage’s eye’s lay upon a distorted face; smiling towards him as its tendrils squirm in its hand. Upon the site of this grotesque horror that flopped into his cell, he flails the freaks tentacles out from his claws. “Where in the ever loving hell did this Lovecraft brainchild come from?”

Neighboring his brothers cage, Savage look towards the next mystic prison; the wall between them reduced to rubble. “Think it was from the cell ya busted into” “The fuck?” Past the twisted tentacled face does the green demon wander within its cell; sporting almost the exact layout of his, aside from the slime splattered along the floor. From the side does the lumbering demon notice the small gap in between the barrier where the wall once stood; the tip of his claw just squeezing through.

Glancing towards the wall of his own cell; Savage charges through to the prison neighboring his. Breaking through, he is met with but a small box lying upon the ground. Lifting it from the stone; the red demon inspects the box from bottom to top; finding note even a speck of detail upon its sides. “Who the hell just puts some box inside a mystic monkey cage like this?” he wonders; his eye gazing upon its top. Out from its lid sprang out a twisted horror, taking the form of a fast food employee with an oversized set of teeth. Those chompers bite down hard upon Savages shoulder, the red demon struggling as more of the demonic patty flipper erupts out from the box. Within the facing cage, Carnage bangs upon the blue barrier keeping him trapped. “Savage!” Soon, he sees his red brother pry the teeth of the hellish minimum wage worker off and start to push back. Once he got the freak far enough, Savage starts to beat the demonic employee into submission; halting not a single second of his assault until his foe was stuffed back into the box it popped out from. Once sealed back within the cardboard; Savage stamps out the container until it was completely flat.

“God damn, this place houses some freaks...Well, time to bust outta here.” Carnage declares, his claw ready to swing as he aims for the next wall. “Hang on” he hears his brother command. That demand reaching his ears urges Carnage to smash the breaks on his smash happy claw; turning towards Savage with a squinted gaze. “What is it now?” “We can’t just smash through this place like fucking coked up bulls. Remember what Priss said about charging through shit without using yer noodle? How the hell are we gonna deal with the rest of the freak shows cooped up in this hole?” “Who says “we” gotta deal with them?” Such a counter questions sparks wonder within Savages head; curious to know what his green brother was stating. If we aren’t gonna fend them off, who will? It’s questioning this that the pieces within his thoughts finally click; a devious grin stretch across the red demons face.

The chimeric caterpillar scuttles throughout the wondrous archive of demonic knowledge; its metal feet and hooves sticking firmly upon the polished floor. From around the corner does the beast spot a pack of lumbering silver human heads; their pear shaped bodies rattling the googly eyes on the front of their faces. Those eyes catch the bug peeking from the corner and the horde of heads soon start to crawl forth with their feline like legs. Waving its hands while shaking its head, the chimeric beast makes the horde come to a stop. Seeing some of the pack tilting their gaze, the caterpillar glances back; its book entrapped from within the psychics grips. Back towards the silver head, the spliced together beast ques for the pack to leave with its gorilla hands. Seeing the bugs arms waving, the horde of heads continue on their way, the beasts false smile slowly fading upon their departure. With the coast clear, the abomination resumes its venture through the library, the blue psychic behind it holding its source of life hostage.

A little further ways into the archives tunneling halls, the luminescence starts to drain from the shelves the deeper they go. Priss holds the tome in her hands close so her hostage tempts not to flee within this growing darkness. Turning the coming corner, the flood of shadows is broken by a far dim light ahead. Approaching the blazing glow, the amalgamation begins to gradually slow its stroll. Glancing at its back, it finds Priss nearing her blade upon the spine of its tome, urging it to continue.

Finally, both the caterpillar and the psychic come upon bizarre chamber; its walls lined with curved, glowing pillars forming inwards. The pillars aqua blue glow shine upon a golden pedestal that held a sizable tome. Upon the texts black hard back bared only a single word etched in white: “Garlov”. A light giggle escapes from underneath her breath as she begins to approach.

Finally, she found it. The source of this cults vast knowledge and power over demon kind. Right before her navy blue eyes. It might have been a more of a painfully rough venture than she desired, but she managed to make it to their objective singlehandedly, all without her brothers shenanigans to weigh her down. Returning to them with this in her grasp will cement her place at the top of their trio; reminding her brothers who the top bitch really is.

Before she could near the tome she seek, Priss felt a slight tug holding her back. The mystic book in her arms pulls itself towards the beast that it gives life to; the chimeric cyborg caterpillar refusing to move into the chambers. Looking upon the creature, the psychic stars upon the pitiable gaze in its bird eyes; the monsters muzzle quivering in fear. The poor amalgamation is really putting on quite the show, ain’t it? Fine, it has already fulfilled its purpose anyway. With those thought does she release the abominations tome from her grasp; the beast and the book fleeing out from the chamber the moment it is set free.

That interruption having been dealt with, the psychic turns back towards her prize with a small smirk. Nearing the tome set upon the golden pedestal, her palm reaches out for the unholy text. The book of Garlov, the potential answers that she seeks, so close.

But before her hand could rest upon the texts hardback cover, an odd force pushes back her touch. Her smirk having been broken, she cautiously reaches out for the tome once more. The psychics palm rests upon what seemed to a barrier of arcane origin, blocking her reach from her prize. No matter, nothing a little telekinesis can’t work around.

Focusing upon the hellish text from beyond the mystic blockade, the medium casts forth her telekinetic powers upon the book of Garlov. The tome before her however fails to budge an inch, instead the barrier sending a small shock upon the psychic. Priss reels herself back from the unexpected counter; gathering her baring from the shock. Should have expected as much from these freaks. This is their most coveted treasure. They wouldn’t just put up any kind of arcane blockade behind it. But no matter. There hasn’t been a barrier that this psychic has yet to warp behind.

Attempting to bypass the mystic barricade, she phases out from thin air. But soon, the magic blockade flashes a glow of white, putting Priss’s supernatural infiltration to a grinding halt. Once she reappeared at the very same spot that she vanished from, a small hiss escape from her teeth as she rubs her temples. Well, seems that these unholy enthusiasts know their arcane arts. Even so, no barrier is impossible to shatter. Surely destroying its source of power should make it dissipate. The question being where exactly its source might be.

Upon those thought does the sound of sliding hardback reach her ears. A glance from behind showing a wall of tomes forming upon the entrance; holding the psychic within the chamber. Of course, it should have been obvious that the barrier was not the only trap set in place.

From deep within the demonic dungeon, a few of its keepers were lounging from the entrance of the cell blocks. Near the door, two of them sit upon a table, with one aiming a piece of paper folded into a triangle between the others fingers. The first flicks the pointy piece of paper through the seconds finger, but winds up flying into his eye. Reeling back from the shot, the second one gasps as she hears the firsts grunts. That worry soon vanishes once the first begins to calm, pulling the paper out of his eye. He soon flicks the paper back towards the second, the oncoming triangle making the second keeper flinch. Hitting her forehead, she soon hears giggling escaping from the first keeper lips; the second soon joining in her partners guffaw. The third leaning on a wall from across the small entryway lets out a sigh as he shakes his head back and forth. From the wall does he stroll towards the door to the dungeon; his hand place firmly upon the handle.

Right before the keeper could even get the door open an inch, the pair of lumbering demons smash through the walls; the demon brothers mowing the keepers down in a swift gore fest of broken bone and rags. Soon to follow them would be the horror show that those cultist weirdo’s had been keeping down there; pouring out from the depths of the dungeon like overflowing hell made fresh sugar cereal from the box.

Charging through the dark dungeon, Savage and Carnage burst through whatever stood in their way; be it the walls, demons, or cultists. “So, you actually know where the exits at in this overblown stone circus?” Carnage questions, plowing through a huge sown together crow goat and punching it back into pieces. “Eh, not really. Kinda just going wherever and hoping to stumble on it.” Savage admits; flattening a pack of prison keepers as they fruitlessly attempt to fight back with whatever weak weapons they hold. “He he. Fine by me. The more demon we bust out, the better. Lets turn this place into a fucking wreck.” “Ya mean like we always do?” “He-Hell yeah!”

The demonic duo continue their reign of terror across the cults hellish dungeon; breaking and busting through cells and cages in their rampage. Their destruction sets the other demons within the cults grasp free from their mystic imprisonment; the monsters rampaging through the prison alongside the brothers. The countless prison keepers attempt to herd them back with little success; the hell born freaks tearing the taking bites out of the cultists that kept them captive.

A couple of keepers stand their ground as a massive blue head with oversized eyes. Try as they might to resist, the dungeon keepers succumb to the heads carnivorous eyes; slurping the down like a floppy, meaty, piece of spaghetti.

While some stand and fight, others run like little bitches; an example being a couple of the dungeon keepers facing a three legged metal cow in the shape of a star. But try as they might to flee from the steel steed, the keeps are ultimately impaled by the bovines sharp celestial horns.

As the horde of demonic terrors rages on, the warden scrambles through the stone corridors of the dungeon; watching as her keepers are torn and bitten to chunky meat pieces. She soon darts into the dungeons entryway, and races towards the exit out of this house of odd and grotesque horrors. Reaching the door, she presses her open palm upon a glowing plate set to the side; a blue tinted barricade similar to the one that were keeping the beasts locked in front of the escape. Now it doesn’t matter what kind of freaks hobble this far; ain’t nothing getting past this ironclad blockade of arcane goodness; and coming in a cute blue tint to boot.

Turning from the door, she jumps at the sight of the demons brother that she had not too long ago tortured, with vengeful grins stretching across their cheeks. “Hey there, sunshine.” the green one greets. Although lightly shaken, the warden draws her prod; ordering the two with a stern tone to: “You two!?...Both of you best just waddle back to your cages this instant. I ain’t afraid for this to get dirty.” “Oh?” Right after Savage utters such; he begins to slowly lumber towards the warden in the torn garbs; the keepers confidence draining as the giant approaches. “You wanna try and make me?” Although stiffened by the red demons presence, she ultimately thrusts her rod towards the hulking monster to her front. Inches from his chest, Savage grasp the wardens arm before she had the chance to stab him. Caught within his claw, the head keeper attempts to jerk her limb out from the demons grasp; her arm not budging a single inch. Her desire to break free from his crustaceous grip is soon granted, but at the cost of one of her precious limbs. Savage effortlessly severs the wardens arms with but a single snap; the head keeper drawing away from the red demon with ragged breath and groans.

Her hasty retreat is soon halted however, feeling the ominous warmth of a giant from her backside. “What’s the matter, Raggedy ann?” A glance from behind revealed to her the other demon; garbed in green with a sinister grin drawn upon his face. Before she could escape from his reach, Carnage grabs hold of her other arm and lifts her from the stone floor. “Thought you weren't afraid for this to get dirty.” The warden could do nothing but writhe within the green demons claw; her legs kicking in the air as she tries to shake out from his grasp. Like with his brother before, Carnage cuts the keepers other arm right off; his victim falling upon puddles of her own juices. “Or was all that bitchen you were going on about back there just that?” Flat on the floor in her own blood, she attempts to rise from the floor in hopes of escaping from this living nightmare; but her fleeting escape comes to an abrupt end as one of the opposing monsters pins her to the red stained floor. “Just being a bitch?” Gazing above; the warden witnesses Savage standing upon her back; trapped under his heel. That same heel begins to crush her spine; her final moment staring up towards the demon brothers with despair in her eyes.

Savage soon finishes the warden with a gooey crunch; a satisfied breath escaping from his lungs. “Oh, that felt good.” “Ye-eah!” On their murder do the two brothers bump their chest; cheers of their victory echoing across the entryway. “So, now that we’ve put that sad joke of a warden under us, how the hell we getting outta here?” Carnage questions. “Watch and learn, bro.” Savage answers; spinning the wardens arm like a baton. Approaching the plate set aside the door, the red demon slaps the keepers detached palm upon the seal; the blue barrier keeping them from escaping dissolving before their eyes. “He he. Nice. Time to scram from this shit hole.” “Yeah. Best to beat it before our cellmates start getting the same idea.”

Priss swiftly grabs hold of her blades handle, ready for whatever bizarre horror was planing to burst out from the walls of the books chamber. Whether its some kind of terrifying amalgamation of indeterminable parts or a grotesque abomination beyond imagination; the psychic was ready for whatever this chamber plans to throw at her pretty blonde head.

Suddenly, the pillars set around her flash a bright luminescence; out from their holes sprout out beams of aqua blue. The scattering rays soon begin to form within the middle of the room, the light taking a humanoid shape before the psychics eyes. Soon, the light of aqua blue formed itself into a faceless man garbed in light blue belly dancer robes decorated in fleshly eyes and mouths with a large vase perched above his head. No doubt that the beauty before her is inhuman, but the true question was where the source of its power lurked. As the eyes sown upon the man’s dress gazed upon the psychic, the mediums own site search through the chamber. Try as she might to find the aqua blue beauty’s source, Priss saw not a single page of an open book anywhere. Perhaps this man be not from the shelves, but rather from a cultist cowering nearby. The question being where they cower. Given previous encounters, its likely that they’re housed within these very chamber so as to foresee to their pets commands. If that is the case, it’s only a simple matter of meeting her blades steel with their flesh.

An Arabic melody soon pierces Priss’s ears, snapping the psychic out from her train of thoughts. Looking over towards the man, she found the tune to be singing from his very robes; his countless mouths chanting out as the man himself shakes his hips to the rhythm. Alongside this entrancing tune does the medium hear the sound of sloshing; glancing overhead to find the pot perched above to be gushing out aqua blue liquid. In his dance, the man grasps the vase from the top of his head and throws out the slime within towards his navy blue intruder. Cast out into the air, the waters forms itself into clear serpents; their sharp blue fangs primed towards the psychic. Priss quickly flies above the snakes watery bite; the serpents eager to follow her ascent. With but the swipe of her blade, the blue medium slices through the liquid snakes; reducing them to nothing but a light drizzle

Raining down alongside the drops of the defeated serpents, Priss dive bombs down towards the dancer; her blade ready to plunge into one of his dresses eyes. The danseur evades the psychics descending thrust like flowing water; shooting out from his pot aqua blue wolves that lunge forth. Warping away from the aquatic beasts bite, the psychic reappears behind one of the pillars decorating the chamber.

Peeking out from the column of stone, she attempt to gauge where the dancers master might be lurking, hoping to end this charade quickly. Alas, the psychic finds no trace of anyone else in the room besides her and the light blue singer. However, her ears do manage to pick up the faint beat of flesh from her side. A hint of the familiars master perhaps?

Keeping her from investigating any further, she feels something grasp her from behind. Pulling her out from the safety of cover, a large watery tentacle drags the psychic back into the fray once more. She soon finds that tentacle to belong a gooey octopus erupting from the dancers pot. The limb begins to squeeze the small mediums body; Priss’s breath leaking out from her nose. Before the rest of her air could depart, the psychic slices through the tentacle in one clean slice; the octopus breaking apart upon its severed limb.

Upon her escape does the psychic quickly rocket towards the aqua blue dancer. Right as she swing her weapon, the man in the dress of eyes and mouths leaps overhead, hitting a high note in his Arabian serenade. Determined to not let her foe go on the counterattack, Priss halts his retreat with her telekinesis. Having stopped the dancer right in his tracks, the small medium lunges forth. His little blue foe on the approach, the dancer erupts from his vase a shroud of mist that covers his entire body. Thrusting through the mist, Priss fails to feel the impact of flesh upon her sword; glancing back to find both the dancer and his pot having vanished.

The mist soon covers the entire chamber; the very walls that make up the room leaving the psychics site. The navy blue medium tightly grasps the handle of her blade; her eyes darting around the fog surrounding her. As Priss scans through the mist, she notices the clouds shifting towards her left. Looking in the opposite direction, the psychic soon finds a swordfish bursting out from the shroud. By the skin of her teeth does she manage to dodge its thrust, the water fish’s nose grazing the side of her head. Alongside the nautical assault, a barrage of manta storm out from the mist. Although she manages to slice through some of the rays, one of them socks her square in the stomach. The aquatic blow sends the psychic flying into the pillar from behind; smacking Priss upon its hard stone. Reeling back from the impact, Priss witnesses the mist shifting once more; erupting from it be a blue hammerhead shark. Swiftly does the medium duck out from the sharks lunge, the predator slamming upon the rock.

From the base of the pillar, Priss takes the moment to catches her breath. Good lord, this dancer is pumping out some furious rhythms. How much energy do those hips of his possess? That tacky vase above his head is proving to be quite the troublesome piece of pottery; firing out barrages of slimy creature from its insides. If that dancers master cannot be sought after, then that aquatic entertainer song must cease once and for all. To end this water fight quickly, that sad excuse for a decoration must be swiftly shattered. Then putting an end to his dance should be child's play. The question being how to approach such a geyser without getting soaked?

Above does she feel the slight drop of liquid touch the top of her head; the unexpected drip urging her to step back. Turning towards the pillar, Priss finds the aqua blue liquid to have dripped out from its stone surface. She starts to approach the structure, dabbing her hand upon the dripping hole. Fancying a taste of the mysterious dripping, her lips smack upon the oddly familiar taste. Hmm...bit of salt, some protein, a hint of iron? This pillar is dripping out blood. But...how is that possible? How can stone even bleed in the first place, and why of all colors is it such a sickly shade of blue? Gauging a closer look, her pupils widen to find that the inside of the stone was made of flesh of the same color. Why would these pillars have need of organs. Could it maybe…

Before she could inspect further, something pulls her away from the living pillar and back into the mist. Jerked away, Priss find what had barbarically grasped her being what seemed to be sea man built like a gorilla. With its ape like arm, the sea monster flings the psychic away from the column. Priss regains her balance in the midst of her unplanned flight; putting the breaks on her careen towards the wall in the nick of time. Noticing the fog in front of her shifting away, she flies to the side; just in time to avoid the sea mans heavy tackle. Retreating from the watery beast, she readies her blade; the base of its neck clear in her view. Right before taking the chance to deliver her counterattack, an idea popping in her head makes her hesitate.

As the slimy water gorilla jumps from the wall, it finds its little blue foe to its side retreating deeper into the mist. Waiting not a moment to pursue, the aquatic ape charges towards the fleeing medium. The watery beast swings its massive limbs, hoping to knock the psychic out from the misty air. But the medium before it proved difficult to strike, Priss swerving away from its watery arms in her flight back. Soon however, the sea man does manage to make contact with something; the hard rock surface of one of the pillars. From behind the water apes fist does aqua blue blood begin to spurt out; drawing back its arm to find the organs exposed. Upon this site does the ocean gorilla begin to tremble, soon swelling to the verge of bursting. Soon the beast pops like a comically oversized water balloon, the mist rapidly lifting upon its demise.

The fog clearing out, Priss lays site on the dancer once more, the familiars rhythm having been shaken to a dizzying stumble. Near the psychic be the exposed flesh of the column, aqua blue blood dripping down the stone. Seeing the dancer grow fatigued from the pillars harm, the psychic quickly puts the picture together. These columns that decorate the tome’s chamber are that demons master, doomed to guard the cults most sacred text in a shell of stone.

Not even bothering to wonder how that could make any kind of sense, the blue medium has only moments to act. The living pillar being the closest, the medium charges forth with her blade in hand. Priss stabs her steel into the columns exposed muscle, plunging her weapon deep into its flesh. A trembling high note escapes from the dancers mouths, a whirlpool erupting from his vase that swirls towards the blue psychic. The maelstrom pulling her from the column, Priss is soon swept up in the slimy vortex; the miniature medium tumbling through the swirling stream His mentally gifted foe trapped within a storm of his making, the dancer aims his vase towards the whirlpool. From the decorative pottery blasts out a killer whale; its slimy body slamming into the storm in a massive splash.

The maelstrom having been broken into puddles, the dancer sees not a hint of the little blue intruders washed up corpse. Upon staring at the site, the demonic entertainer is struck from behind; feeling the cold slice of steel upon his back. Retreating from the sting, the dancer turns to find the psychic behind him giving chase. In his escape, the demonic dancer bursts out a scattershot of piranha towards his blue pursuer. With nothing but her telekinesis, Priss redirects the school of meat eating fish back towards their sender. As the aqua blue familiar was busy evading the storm of piranha, the blue psychic darts in the direction of the pillars exposed tissue. Finished dodging his own school of carnivorous fish, the dancer gushes out a huge leopard seal; its slimy body smacking the psychic away from the pillars wound.

Careening towards one of the unbroken colomns, Priss attempts to break its stone cold shell with her sharp steel blade. Upon coming to the column, she spirals down the stone with her swords edge upon the surface; her blade trailing sparks on the way down. The steel of her weapon however fails to cut through the pillars rocky surface; her sword not even leaving a single stratch. Looking towards other columns, the psychic could find the dancer casting slimy jelly fish upon the open wounds. Didn’t take them long to catch on, did it? Seems like she needs to find a way to break through the stone.

While the dancer showed himself to be distracted, Priss rockets towards the nearest column. The psychic thrusts her blade into one of the pillars exposed hole, hoping to draw blood from the stone. Instead, what she was delivered was a terrible shock; Priss releasing her grip from the handle of her sword. Seeing the demonic entertainer launch forth a volley of slimy serpents, Priss flees from the column; retrieving her blade with her telekinetic powers.

In her withdraw, she directs her blade back into the palm of her hand; just in time to ward off the approaching sea snakes. The psychic dicing the serpents into nothing but droplets, the horde soon starts to overwhelm her. Priss soon pushes the pack of serpents back with a telekinetic blast; the force of which launches her towards another of the columns. The psychic swiftly climbs up the pillar with her steel cutting against its hard stone; the ascending sparks lighting up the chamber. Rising away from the living rock, the psychic saw that her slicing uppercut gave little damage to its stone shell. Blast, its stronger than anticipated; not even a full force swing could not put a single scratch on its rock hard surface. Is this blade not strong enough to cut through pierce through its stone.

Perhaps you should ask yourself the same question.

Below the psychic does a squid cast its tentacles upon her; the cephalopod wrapping its limbs around the small mediums body. Entangle in its slimy grip, the squid slowly begins to draw itself back into the pot it originated; the dancer below it shaking his hips to the Arabian beat. Being pulled towards the dancers vase, Priss struggles to free herself from the squids grib; her blades edge against her skin. Right when the psychic was on the verge of being sucked within the pot; she soon warps out from the cephalopod’s grasp. Upon the psychics vanishing act does the dancer take a look through his surroundings; his arms waving as he ventures around the chamber in search if his cowering prey.

In truth, the small medium was hiding from behind one of the living column, tempting to chip away its stone surface with the tip of her blade. As she fruitlessly picked at the stone, Priss thought back to her previous encounters ever since departing from her brothers; her navy blue eyes overshadowed by the darkness. Breaking out of her metal prison down in the dungeon. Hiding from the gluttonous eye taming cultist. Fleeing from the abominable horror of puppetry. Each serving as a prime example of her lack of physical strength, ones that frustrate the psychic to no end. So many obstacles that could have been bypassed in such little time with Savage and Carnage by her side. Its almost sickening to recount how many close calls could have been avoided with their aid. Even now, their incredible strength dares to overshadow her intellect.

Thinking back to when she was scolding them in the garden, regret begins to settle deep within her soul. Of course they care about finding Him. They’d do more than anyone else. Why did I have to say all that to them? Why didn’t I go look for them as soon as I busted out? What I wouldn’t give to take back everything I said. To have their goofy smiles back at my side once more. Surely their overwhelming power working with my brilliance would destroy whatever this castle, or anything beyond it stood in their way.

Upon the thoughts of power does her mind flashes to the moments the stone pillars broke; the heavyweight slime of the dancer crashing upon the rocky pillars. Those thought get her gears working; the shadows lifting away from her eyes as they stare towards the familiar in question.

Around the chamber does the demonic dancer sway through; its mouths letting out low, anticipating tones. Soon; however, he sees his mentally gifted foe bolt out from hiding; lunging straight for the dancers tone figure. In hopes of intercepting her charge, the dancers shoots out from his pot sharp starfish that lob towards the approaching psychic. Spiraling towards her, Priss dispatches the starfish with but the swipes of her blade and prepares to plunge its tip straight into the familiars flesh. Once again does the dancer swerve his way around the mediums thrust, witnessing the psychic vanish from thin air.

Reappearing from behind the demonic dancer; Priss slashes at his fleshy robes; the mouths screaming out in harmony as they fall from their master. Aiming his pot towards the psychic; the dancer casts forth an aqua blue narwhal; its sharp horn aimed towards the mediums head. Swiftly does Priss ascend out from the sea unicorns thrust; tossing her blade towards the entertainer. With his pot pointed towards the chamber floor, the demonic singer rocket way from the sword weapons descent with a spiraling twirl. Coming to the apex of his ascent, the dancer launches out from his pot a barrage of spiny sea urchins. The psychic drops down towards the floor; away from the wave of sea spines and retrieves her sword.

From above, the dancer tempt to drop down a huge sea turtle right on the mediums blonde head. Priss dashes out from the tortoises heavy slam; her head grazing its solid shell in her escape. Swiftly rising towards her dropping aqua blue foe, Priss zips past and slices off another piece of the dancers dress. The remaining mouths make up for the missing singers; chanting out a loud chorus. Having the last of this ungrateful guest’s shenanigans, the dancers lands upon the ground with a furious shake. Something begins to bulge out from the top of his pot; Priss ready for whatever plans to erupt out.

Bursting out from the depths of the vase be a slimy whale; its massive body rocketing toward the psychic. Priss flies aside the oncoming sea mammal, focusing all of her telekinetic abilities on the oversized spritzer. Redirecting the monstrous whales flight, Priss sends the sea mammal careening into the pillar on the side; breaking the column immediately upon impact. Soon, the psychic sends her slimy sea dwellers into the rest of the columns making up the chamber; each one of them shattering in a mess of aqua blue organs and rock. Once all the columns have met their end at the hands of their familiars own attack, the blue psychic lifts the whale in her telekinetic grip overhead. The dancer below suffering fatigue upon the ironic demise of his master; the demonic entertainer can do little as his own whale is slammed down upon him like a slimy blue hammer.

Descending from the air with her hands at her head, Priss witnesses the oversized sea mammal melt before her eyes. From the slime whales dissolving goo does she find the dancers lifeless corpse; his remaining mouths having sung their last chorus. From beyond the demonic cadaver, Priss beholds the arcane barrier guarding her objective dissolving before her very eyes. Upon the mystic blockades end does a devious smirk flash across the psychics face.

Slowly does she levitate her coveted prize towards her grasp; the potential answers held within its text wondering within her head. The briefing had mentioned that this tome held the cataloged biographies of thousands of hell born creatures. Surely such a vast volume of unholy knowledge could house the key to uncovering the bastard responsible for the disappearance of her aunts.

The book of Garlov finally rests upon the psychics palms; a hopeful smile stretching across her cheeks. Her celebratory find is broken when the ominous voice echoes through her head.

Do you really think you’ll find anything of worth in that sad excuse for a library book?

Indeed it will. Once the time comes to inspect its pages; the books text shall prove to be the first step to finding you. The start of our vengeance will finally takes its first step starting with this precious tome.

It’s honestly adorable how you actually think you can track me down. Face it. I am beyond your grasp.

Liar! Surely there must be a way to uncover your whereabouts. None of us will stop until your reduce to nothing but bloody meat chunks. After all; if it weren't for you, Savage and Carnage’s mothers would still be by my own’s side.

Hmph! If it weren’t for me, you and your brothers would not even exist in the first place. It strikes me as rather ungrateful to go on a crusade to destroy the very father that had bestow you life.

“You’re not my father!” Priss screams, her outcry echoing beyond the chamber of the unholy text. Realizing her emotional outburst, she swiftly closes her mouth; looking back towards the entrance of the chamber. Dammit all! The entire library must have heard that cry of unrivaled fury. Should have known better than to let that spiteful fiend get the better of me like that.

Hoping to leave the bookcase halls of this twisted archive, Priss bolts out of the book of Garlov’s odd chambers; the tome itself held behind her back via telekinesis. Best to take her departure quickly so as not to get cornered.

[themyskira]

Wonder Woman Annual #2

Previously in FUCKITY FUCK FUCK I FORGOT THERE WAS AN ANNUAL AS WELL: Diana prepared to face down her most terrifying foes yet: the Dark Gods.

Who or what are the Dark Gods? Dunno.

What do they want? No clue.

What is this awesome and terrible power that they wield? So far, mostly just the ability to shoot lasers out of their eyes and incite people to deliver badly-written villainous monologues.

Why are we supposed to be so pants-pissingly afraid of them? Because James Robinson told us so.

Last issue ended with the Dark Gods manifesting over Washington DC, at which point it was revealed that they are… giant floating statues, I guess? But, like, scary floating statues. With lasers. So scary.

And then moments later, a couple of Star Sapphires arrived to whisk Diana away so she could appear in this shitty annual.

Diana is teleported to the Star Sapphires’ home planet of Zamaron, which is heavily battle-damaged.

The two Sapphires who brought her here are called Miss Bloss and Miri Riam, who are apparently pre-established minor Green Lantern characters — something I had to figure out on my own, because Robinson just assumes we all known them, and that Diana does too (I’m reasonably sure they’ve never met). The one time his overexplaining might have actually been useful, and he couldn’t be arsed taking a panel or two to make introductions.

Diana yells at them that she’s too busy to help with whatever their deal is, and launches into a recap of last issue. But, you know, that was all of two weeks ago, so by all means, spend a page getting us up to speed.

She’s also still throwing around ‘crazy’ and ‘insane’ like they’re going out of style. 

“…and although I’m not certain — the woman who told me was insane at the time--“

How about ‘possessed’, ‘out of control’, ‘somewhat incoherent’ or ‘compromised’? Any of these would be more accurate in this context, as well as not equating mental illness with dangerous and violent behaviour.

But anyway, essentially Diana says ‘my world is being attacked by the Dark Gods and it’s my fault’, and Miss Bloss is like, ‘well, if that was your fault, then our thing must be your fault, too’, and points up at the giant floating Dark God statue thing that Diana has somehow failed to notice until this exact moment.

Oh, goody.

Diana starts questioning them about what happened.  Honestly, that’s really all she does these days.  If she’s not delivering plot recaps herself, she’s setting up allies for flashback-exposition or allowing villains to monologue at her. Oh, sure, occasionally she fights somebody, but mostly she’s just a vessel for tedious exposition.

Miss Bloss describes the Dark God’s attack:

“Even to recall it now, it feels like a dream or vision from another world. Almost like we were looking at ourselves from outside of it all.”

The first time I read this, I took it to be a figure of speech. I interpreted it as an expression of Miss Bloss’s deep level of shock at the devastation she’d experienced, that it still felt unreal, as though it had happened to somebody else.

I was giving Robinson too much credit: he meant it literally.

As we’ll learn in a few pages’ time, one of the Dark Gods has some kind of power over people’s perceptions, enabling him to induce in others a sense of unreality and dreamlike detachment. We’ll learn that the Dark Gods have deliberately used this ability in order to confuse enemies and limit their ability to respond to or even comprehend attacks.

Frazer Irving — who illustrates the flashback, along with a couple of other scenes in this issue — plays into this well.  His stylised art and colour work lends a somewhat eerie dreamlike quality to his pages, creating a sense of altered reality.

Unfortunately, Robinson can’t write dreamlike.

So what in theory should be an eerie, confusing, unreal flashback instead just turns into Miss Bloss telling us that her memories of the attack are eerie and unreal and hazy… aaaaand then proceeding to describe the attack, the enemy, his name, the concept he embodies, his powers and the precise reason why he was able to kill so many Star Sapphires, all in exacting detail. 

The Dark God who attacked the Sapphires is called Karnell and he calls himself the god of love, but the love he embodies is dark and gritty and edgy and corrupted. He can sense any ‘impurities’ or ‘flaws’ in a person’s love and rub it in their faces. When he does this to Star Sapphires, something something their rings freak out and they spontaneously combust.

Diana asks, ‘yeah okay, but you didn’t know that this was my fault when you dragged me here, so what gives?’, and Bloss and Miri are like, ‘welp, our leaders are all dead, Carol Ferris is busy in another comic, we all frankly suck, and you were a Star Sapphire once in that Blackest Night crossover event.’

At which point I went, ‘wait huh what??? but that was before the New 52 reboot!’, before remembering that Geoff Johns’ entire preboot GL run survived the reboot for no other reason than because Geoff Johns gets whatever he wants.

Diana agrees to lead the Sapphires against Krakoom (I’m sorry, I’m not going to bother to learn his name, he’s not worth that kind of time), and the Sapphires respond by giving her the Nazi salute due to an unfortunate artistic miscalculation.

Diana: And if I am going to stand among you — fight alongside you — let me look the part. Sapphires: As you wish it, so do we, Wonder Woman… be a Star Sapphire once more.

And with that, they give Diana a makeover.

It’s not a bad costume, especially when you compare it to her Blackest Night design. That one tried to ape Carol Ferris’ hideous then-costume, which featured hip cut-outs and a plummeting neckline that ended around the crotch area, by giving Diana a bathing suit with hip-holes and a bared midriff. This design retains many familiar Star Sapphire costume elements — the stiff pointed white collar, the combination tiara/mask, the starburst symbol, the long gloves and high boots — without going into creepy male-gazey territory.

buuuuut it also looks like Diana is wearing a pink apron over her usual costume, and that is something I cannot get past. It also varies wildly across the issue, depending on which of the four credited artists is drawing it.

By the way, I say ‘makeover’ because despite violet blaze on her right ring finger, it took me several times flicking back and forth before I was certain that Diana had been deputised into the Corps as opposed to just being given a new costume in order to “look the part”, as she put it. I know this sounds like it should have been self-evident, but Robinson gives absolutely no indication of any deeper change in her. Not even lip service to the fact that Diana is connected, through the power ring, to the emotional spectrum and the violet energies of love.

Contrast this with Diana in Blackest Night: Wonder Woman #3:

“Extraordinary. All of them, in their way, have tried to explain it to me before. Hal, John, Kyle… even Guy, may Ares watch and aid him. But it defies all attempts. There is no way to describe it. What it is to wear a power ring, and feel emotion made manifest. To wear fear on anger or will or hope on one’s hand… To wear love. Too beautiful for words…”

There’s a lot about Wondy’s Blackest Night tie-in that’s flawed and frustrating and flat-out bad, but this page gets it right. If you’re going to make Diana a Star Sapphire — going to give one of the most loving hearts of the DCU the power to channel her love into tangible power — then you need to acknowledge the weight of that.

In this comic, it’s as insubstantial as a costume change.

Flying up to confront Kratakoa, Diana wonders if she could really have summoned the Dark Gods. Supergirl said she brought them into this plane with a careless wish, and… oh, come to think of it, she did inadvertently make a wish during the recent Dark Nights: Metal crossover, while coincidentally handling some magical wishing metal. But nah, that couldn’t possibly have done it!

She reaches the big floaty statue and a bloke with spiky wings emerges from it. It’s Klangalang, and he’s got his monologue cued up and ready to go!

He opens with a fairly standard ‘ahaha, I’ve been expecting you, hero!’, and the implications fly straight over Diana’s head.

Kibble: You came, Amazon! Sooner than I expected, too! Good… I’m going to love this! Diana: You’re some kind of seer, too? You expected me?

Let’s review: The villains Diana supposedly summoned, the villains who have been trying to kill or neutralise Diana before she can interfere in their plans, have attacked the Star Sapphires in advance of their invasion of Earth. Despite not knowing about Diana’s connection to their attacker, the Sapphires reached out to her for help, teleporting her away at almost the exact moment that the villains launched their opening assault. Now the one villain who hasn’t joined the invading force is cackling that he’s been expecting Diana.

Even a half-competent hero should be able to join the dots and realise they’ve been deliberately lured away. Not so Robinson’s Diana, who gazes at him wide-eyed and demands, ‘omg, u expected me? are u psychic or sumthin???’

After a couple more rounds of obscenely dense questions from Diana (along with another out-of-character ’crazy’ slur), Klunk ends up having to straight-up spell it out for her. He also explains how she summoned the Dark Gods.

Krunch: You wished for the gods’ return. Well, here we are. Here I am! Diana: Like a dream, but yes, of course. But I meant the Greek pantheon, not— Krump: Gods! That’s all you said.

Small nitpick: Diana would not think of her gods the “Greek pantheon”. She’d be more likely to call them “the Patrons”, “my gods”, “the gods of my people”, “the gods of Themyscira”, “the gods of Olympus”, “the Olympians” — she knew them as all of these things long before she knew Greece, or any world outside her island home, existed. The only reason she might refer to them as “Greek” is for the benefit of people in Man’s World, as a point of reference.

More importantly, are you friggin kidding me, the friggin layers of incompetence here from our supposed hero

accidentally makes a wish while wielding a weapon of magical wishing metal

manages to make the vaguest wish possible, opening a loophole for THE WORST GODS to infiltrate reality

immediately forgets she ever wished it

why would she even wish for that?! her gods haven’t gone anywhere!

To be somewhat fair, the reason she doesn’t really remember it is that “the God With No Name” (YES REALLY) made it all feel like a dream so that she wouldn’t realise she’d made an irresponsible wish and needed to immediately rally everybody together to resist the Dark Gods.

Except… that in itself doesn’t make any sense.

There are two possibilities here: the Horse With No Name could have clouded Diana’s memory of making the wish after the Dark Gods were pulled into this reality — in which case, why? How would she even land on the conclusion that she’d accidentally summoned some evil gods that she’d never heard of, when her intent was to call on her own gods and she’d had no indication that it had even worked?

Alternatively, he clouded her mind in the moment of the wish, to render her thoughts vague and imprecise and open the door for the Dark Gods’ invasion. Which doesn’t work either, because it turns out that the Dark Gods are pretty pissed off at being pulled out of their awesome reality.

King Koopa: War was declared the moment you dragged us from our home… our beautiful world — which you regard as the ‘Dark Multiverse’ — we see as a paradise… where we were more than even gods to our worshippers… we were everything!”

So basically their plan is to turn Earth into a desolate hellscape just like their home.

Diana, who has already been told that Kraig is a god of corrupted love, conveniently forgets this fact just so that Robinson can tell it to us again.

Diana: You call yourself a god of love. What kind of love wants to be feared? Love is unconditional. KHAAAAAN: Spoken like the addled naive romantic I expected. Love always comes with conditions. Sometimes, I confess, I question… am I god of that love, of those conditions behind it? But then I realise… I don’t care.

Cool story. Glad we can agree on one thing, at least.

He monologues for a couple of pages about how he’s going to open her eyes to the truth of how horrible and selfish and corrupt love is, then draws Diana into his mind so that he can monologue some more.

We learn that the world of the Dark Gods was forged by a group of divinities called Titans, “much like the reality of your own Greek pantheon” (incorrect, you’re thinking of the Protogenoi; the Titans were the second generation of gods). But because these Titans were hardcore, they did it by smashing five other realities together. And into this terrifyingly dark edgy metalscape came… +~teh D4rK g0dz~+

Robinson then undermines the super-extra-double-dark feel he’s going for with another embarrassing name and an accidental rhyme.

“We Dark Gods followed, as gods do. King Best and then the rest.”

KING. BEST.

But wait, we haven’t even gotten to Kalamazoo’s dark edgy totally original backstory!

In fact, this is so dark and edgy and original that I’ll throw in a quick content warning here for descriptions of domestic violence and shittiness towards sex workers.

“You’ll meet a boy — his mother broken by a wanton father who forced her to cheapen herself further with wraiths and under-beings. The mother died — beaten to death. When he saw her blood still dripping from the fists of his father, the boy ran, fearing the same fate. The boy loved his mother, but hated his father and the world. Both emotions — love and hate — burned so brightly that even from within the darkness of our world, their glow caught the eye of mighty King Best.”

Domestic violence! Sexism! Slut shaming! Fridging! It’s like a game of grimdark bingo!

After three goddamn pages of this, Diana suddenly twigs what we all figured out eleven pages ago, ‘oh now waaaaaait a minute, you didn’t lure me here so that your buddies could invade Earth while I’m distracted, did you?’

Klinger responds by almost murdering Diana, and is only stopped by the intervention of the Star Sapphires.  They all retreat, and Diana proposes a new plan: all the Sapphires will channel their energy into her, something something, true love wins the day.

So Diana flies up to Kimberley, sword held aloft and blazing with violet energy, and announces, ‘boy did you make a mistake when you told me that you used to be a sad boy child! now I have only love in my heart for you!’

Karma Khameleon is like, ‘oh no, love! my one true weakness!’, and I’m like, “d… didn’t we just have this story?”

Then Diana straight-up stabs him with her love sword, and Korgo fades away with an ‘I’ll beat you next time, Captain Planet! Next tiiiiiime…’

Diana farewells the Star Sapphires, and Robinson shoehorns in this bit of virtue signalling:

Miri: Please… Diana, think of us as your sisters, too, for all time. Diana: Or “brother,” I notice. Miss Bloss: Love is love, no matter who bears the heart.

This is a welcome and needed change to the Star Sapphires. The fact that they have been portrayed up until this point as an all-women corps (with the exception of a few briefly deputised blokes) is bound up in ugly gendered ideas, exemplified by Geoff Johns’ comment in 2009 that “anyone can join, but most men are not worthy”.

But there’s something gratingly self-congratulatory in the execution of this course correction.  Robinson’s doing the absolute bare minimum here — including one or two male background characters in a handful of panels — and flagging it as progress with a phrase associated with the LGBTI community.  We haven’t even seen a single named male Sapphire, let alone one with a speaking part; I think it’s a little premature to be looking for kudos. And either Miri or Miss Bloss could very easily have been replaced in this story by a new male character.

The Sapphires teleport Diana back to Earth, where she finds DC a smoking ruin. And as the air clears, she sees—

—wait for it—

—this is truly shocking and terrifying—

THE DARK GODS MADE A MEGAZORD

THEY MADE A FUCKING MEGAZORD WITH THEIR DUMBASS FLYING STATUES

A GODDAMN MEGAZORD WHO WHAT HOW WHY.

Diana’s face does this: