#” as opposed to impulsive grunts

[abigailspinach]

I’m reading through a Puck newsletter, sent out under the heading “The Vibes Election.” Some of this is similar to what I discussed in yesterday’s Backchannel — Happy v. Mad, etc. But most of it zeroes in on the idea that Harris’ campaign is all vibes and no substance, a sugar high, something that can’t last. Will it be enough to carry her to Election Day? Here’s one snippet.

Put another way: Vibes, baby! Harris has not outlined any specific economic agenda, speaking only in generic terms about corporate greed, standing with labor unions, protecting Social Security and Obamacare, and fighting for the middle class. She is framing the election simply as “the choice about what direction this country will go in”—conveying an agreeable set of center-left values against Trump rather than a 10-point plan for this or a white paper for that.

In his defense, the author, Peter Hamby, follows this paragraph by saying that elections are about symbols and images and many voters are okay with that. But I think we can say more about this. Because this conversation is of a piece with the complaints about Harris not yet giving any major press interviews, not having released a sufficient number of policy white papers, not yet having a fully fleshed out policy section on her website.

To start, we should note that major national campaigns take months, even years, to put out fleshed-out policy programs. Those are hugely complex projects with myriad policy, coalitional and campaign dependencies. You’re not going to do that from a cold start in three weeks. But there’s a different point here. For years on this site I’ve discussed the Democrats’ problem with what I’ve called “policy literalism,” the idea that campaigns are won or lost on the basis of fleshed-out policies ready to be implemented on day one as opposed to directional signals about values and goals. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with having those fleshed-out policies. That’s one of the good things about Democrats. There’s a big cultural priority on policy work in Democratic politics. Those are important when it comes time to govern, and you can routinely see that in how each party governs. In Republican politics, policy is often backfill to service campaign slogans. And it shows. Having the people who do the serious policy work is great and important as long as you don’t confuse yourself into thinking it’s part of campaigning. It’s not. Campaigning is about directional signals about values and goals. Way too often Democrats and Democratic campaigns get confused about this. “We have all these great policy proposals. And when we explain them to people, they say they support them. So how did we lose the election?”

That’s not what campaigns are about. Repeat it to yourself three times. That’s not what campaigns are about.

Even that line above in the Hamby quote sets out something very clear: she is speaking about protecting Social Security and Obamacare, supporting labor unions. Hamby was talking about economic policy, but the Harris campaign is also saying just as clearly: protect abortion rights everywhere, continue Biden’s climate policies. She also keeps saying on the campaign trail that she’ll sign the border bill that Donald Trump killed earlier this year. Not everyone in the Democratic coalition is crazy about that. But that’s very specific, both directionally and in policy terms. And let’s be frank: she’s the incumbent Vice President. Unless there are specific statements to the contrary, we should and the public unquestionably does assume her policies will be generally the same as Biden’s.

Harris’ central campaign slogan and message is “freedom,” which she is using as a catch-all to bring together fighting right-wing efforts to restrict personal privacy and autonomy (abortion), the MAGA threat to democratic government itself and support for bread-and-butter economic policies (unions, Obamacare, tax support for families with kids, etc.) which allow working people to live dignified and secure lives. This is a rhetoric that is progressive and rooted in ideas venerated in American political culture. Many have recommended something like this. Pete Buttigieg, interestingly, was one of the first I saw employing this rhetoric way back when he was still a little-known midwestern mayor. Now Harris is doing it. It’s working.

We could make a separate point that it’s risible to be demanding policy particulars from Harris when Trump changes his policies from one day to the next. Even calling them “policies,” as opposed to impulsive grunts, is charitable.

At present, Trump’s main’s policy action is disclaiming Project 2025, which until a few months ago was widely believed to be his de facto governing document, as embraced as such by the campaign itself. But we don’t need to grade Harris on a Trumpy curve. Presidential campaigns are about defining choices about the direction of country.

Having people getting excited about your campaign and your vision about the future of the country is a good thing, not some frivolous sugar high. I’m sure Harris will do some sit-down interviews. But we should remember that the purpose of a campaign is to win an election. It’s not an exercise in civics education. Campaigns do interviews when they want to get a message out or in response to popular demand. Journalist push for interviews. That’s their job. Campaigns respond when they deem it in their interests.

From Republican partisans these cries are expected. You hammer on what you think might be potential vulnerabilities. It’s the business of reporters to be pushing for more access and interviews. But more generally there’s a kind of impatience with a fairly dramatic shift in the trajectory of the election. It must not be real. It must be emotion and not reason. It must be cheap. We’re almost two and half months before Election Day. Given how much has happened in the previous six weeks, a universe of things can happen in ten. But there’s nothing cheap or vibesy or anything less than robust about the campaign Harris is now running. She’s putting out a vision and creating a choice and the public is responding to it. It’s working. Why on earth would she shift gears or respond to anyone trying to break her stride?

[astralnymphh]

okay hear me out right… horndog!farmellie thats so incredibly horny that she cums untouched in her boxers from you kissing her neck and sucking on her nipples 🤫

ughhh the usual horndog!ellie !! always so sensitive when the tables turn n she gets pleasured ౨ৎ MDNI !! very lovey dovey

setting the scene, night time, both of you reclined supine into the cushy nature of your bed, crafting a little gully in the mattress with your combined weight. a thin sheet wisped over the curvature of your bodies, rippling the material perfectly across your thighs– neglecting the toss so it leaves your loins and torso exposed to tottering candlelight, every groove highlighted and cast in umbrage, she looked of a delectable nature, lying flat to your raised–elbow poise. your index, soft as a plume, rides the fleshy rise of her bare breast and merry–go–rounds her bumpy nipple. she seizes up a breath, indenting the skin between her ribs lightly, mouthing, "fuck.." at the sensations. on the contrary, she'd be the one rousing every bit of your body to her relentless touch– but not tonight. in these little hours, these little, loveable hours, her flesh and bone would rather lie rot to your touch, an all–consuming caress. beryl eyes move to and fro, shimmy side to side, trailing after your encircling fingertips. then, her pupils dart, and find sightly purchase on your lips. how they curve, and flush a streak of pigment when you bite down with those pretty teeth of yours. a shared idea seems to floodlight the dark cavern of both your heads because as soon as a gasp flows down her gullet, it catches. hitched, like a mouse in a trap. your mouth hollows over her perked nipple, suctioning the flimsy nub between squeezing lips. every interval, you suck, wrinkle your lips to a pucker, and pop with a wet smack. it tasted of nothing but skin, and that wasn't an issue. the natural tang of skin was enough for you, and a lot for her. a coil begins to slink tighter and tighter, tickling the lubricous, aroused walls of her vagina. the irk a throbbing clit brings, comprised decuple the volume of sting it ordinarily would. for that sting, she clenches, like a string had attempted to flip her cunt inside out, drawing wads of frothy clear precum to dribble cold along her perineum, and far between the vale of her ass. the chopped whinnies of els' pitching suffrage all but clogged your skull, egging you on as those little noises stain your susceptible impulses, especially, certain words of,

"fuckkk you, god–",

"don't be gentle, fuck, please..",

"you' trynna make me ruin m'boxers? mhh–",

to be gentle with her was an anathema. she harbored a love–hate relationship with tender touches. the time it takes to tilt your partner over a climax cliff with teasey–tricks, renders it slow and painful, painfully gratifying. a cold thumb tamps her opposing nipple down, flopping the bundle of skin on all sides. that move? oh, that move was a curse, in fact. the time given, she tilts that blurred line between a rising climax and wetting up her boxers like a spout. and so, she cracks. "uhhn– fuckfuckfuck, mh!" she squeaks, pushing her shaken thighs harsh into the spongy bed as she cums. a gush of sticky warmth runs past her tremoring hole in lacy serum ejections, simmering a dark–hued splotch, taking a heartly shape on the plateau of her boxers, inseam tightening her fat pussy lips apart. a leak of it dribbles downward and makes merry with her smushed asscrack, smearing skin as she wriggles. you coo, "hmm, so sensitive– are we pretty girl?" as your lips drag off her suffused, swollen nipple, glistening with your bubbly saliva. a grunt grizzles in her chest, prior to her gripe of, "d–don't, call me that.." cause nuh–uh, she's 'spose to call youuu that. you chuckle, lips curling nasal creases, "hah– okay, how 'bout handsome girl?" and she just tosses her eyes off bounds, partaking her focus in the dramatic swell and heave her chest breathes, too embarrassed to gaze upon you. a smack of your lips, a rise of your body, and a stuffing of your head to her cuddled neck gets her talking again, wincing at the sanguine bite left in your rein of loving torture. one last gasp, she shudders, "f–ffuck, swear to god,"

"you make me crazy babe."

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

EVERY DOG HAS ITS DAY

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - You’re house sitting your friend’s whilst her family vacates. Her dog manages to get you into a dangerous situation.

Warnings - Noncon, dubcon, stalking, groping, humping, f! touching, animal abuse?

Word count - 2.2k

Notes - Jackson, oh Jackson. How your toxic soul has my weak heart. @paradiseprincesss hope you’re hungry !!

“Calm down Spike!” You exclaimed as you were yanked down the pavements with an overstimulated boxer charging on the other end of the leash.

What was meant to be a simple daily walk had turned into an endless brutal game of tug and war which you were pathetically losing. The rope around your wrist will leave a permanent mark if this animal doesn’t lead you to a fatal encounter by how dangerously you were crossing the roads. 

Firstly Spike’s eyes were set on a pigeon, then when the harmless bird flew off into the clouds, Spike’s mind and impulses were full steam ahead. How long had it been, a mere few minutes or almost a third of an hour? If you knew he’d be such a nuisance you would have convinced your father to walk him, or even stretched beforehand. 

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, and you believe it almost did. It all happened so quickly, you yanked back the leash with all of your strength which made Spike halt at the intersection of two suburbian streets as you fell onto your behind. The black Mercedes Benz slammed on the brakes, the tyres screeched as the bumper stopped shorter a footlong to your face. 

All sound was muffled to your eyes as all you could hear were your thoughts. The driver kept his hand on the horn, his jaw clenched as his blue eyes bore into your soul. Spike barked at him viciously, his paws locked into place as if he was prepared for battle. When you realized the man had no intention of releasing his heavy palm, your eyes darted around the empty streets and you hobbled up and had to beg Spike to calm down whilst tugging him away. Awkwardly you waved your hand in apologies as you tried to steer Spike back to his home. 

However, you quickly noticed that the same car rolled behind you, he was tailing you and it made your heart pound in your chest. Every time you looked back, his eyes were locked onto you, his brunette hair parted to either side of his forehead. Spike took no notice in this, his attention elsewhere now. 

When you ended up having to cut through a small field in between to homes to get to the opposing side of the suburb, you desperately tried to get Spike to run again to force you to run as fast as you could. But he strolled away gradually, breathing heavily with his mouth hung. 

Every few seconds, your head shot back to ease your anxieties of the Benz finding you again. For a moment, you feared you had lost your way. You were housesitting your best friend’s house whilst her family was vacating interstate. 

When you noticed the familiar double story home, you hurried inside, giving one last look before you shut the door. Spike plotted down the hall and you breathed out deeply, your back pressed against the wooden door. Just to ease your anxieties, you poked your head out of the window, confirming the empty road. 

As the sun slowly set, you sat in the guest bedroom, your coursebooks in hand as you had Mozart gently playing on your laptop. You breathed out, your pen tapped on the paper as you read through your essay draft. 

Spike started barking again and you grunted out as you slammed your laptop shut. This dog will be the death of you. As you jumped up from your seat, you headed towards the alfresco when your movements paused after you heard Spike cry out. 

Within a snap, his noises had silenced. It was too quickly to be considered normal and you felt your heart rate begin to pick up again as the fear washed over you. In nothing but your pajama shorts and tank, you slowly tiptoed towards the massive window sliding doors. The back light was turned off, which you remember keeping on. You could hardly see out there, as your finger rested on the switch you gulped as you flicked it on. 

Spike laid unconscious on the deck. A heavy gasp left your lips as you lunged towards the sliding door but you froze in your steps as you saw him in the corner of your eye. He sat at the outdoor dining table, a cigarette in between his lips. Quickly you recognised him, the driver from earlier today. He looked to be in the same suit as earlier today, he leant back in the chair as he casually waved towards you. 

Just when you were going to bolt for the home phone, he pulled out a clean knife from his jacket as if he already knew your next move. It almost sparkled and the stranger pointed it at Spike, a mere few meters away from him. Frozen in your feet, your body wobbling like jelly as you looked back at Spike. Your eyes searched for a pool of blood, a slight sensation of relief as you couldn’t spot it. 

When you dared to look at him again, he stood from the chair and inhaled deeply before flicking the dart towards Spike. The man approached the door and tapped on the glass with the tip of the blade. Naturally, you sobbed out as he tilted his head towards you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you” he assured, the blade vanishing back into his jacket as if to ease your distress. “Unless you don’t unlock the fucking door” he grinned to you, his hand propped against the glass over his head. 

Your eyes were darting from him to Spike like a table hockey puck in play. As you cried, you begged for Spike to get up and run away. But to your stress, he continued to lay still. 

“Come on baby doll, it’s cold out here” he said smugly as he rubbed his shoulders dramatically. 

As your hand rested on the lock you tried to make sense of the situation. Were you really going to let this dog be the death of you? Or was this frightening stranger true to his word about not hurting you. An unrealistic idea came to mind as you forced yourself to unlock the door. 

He wasted no time in pushing open the door and stepped inside. Typically you took three steps back. As he closed the door and locked it, he slowly looked back over to you. 

“You know, your parents should have taught you better about road safety” he grinned as he took a step towards you. 

In a flash, you bolted for the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife in the block. He laughed as he approached you and pulled his much smaller yet much sharper knife back out of his jacket. You pointed your knife at him sternly as he backed you into a corner. Whilst staring at you blankly, the blade spun and flipped in his hand elegantly. It made your hold shake, there’s no way you’d win this. 

“What do you want from me!” You mewled out as you found your body slowly slipping back against the cupboard doors. He didn’t answer you as he intimately stepped to you. “Please don’t hurt me!” You begged for mercy. 

The knife slipped from your hold and it clanked onto the floor. Quickly, your body curled up into a ball as you rocked yourself. You sobbed viciously as your heart pounded all the way up to your head. 

“Don’t give me a reason to baby doll” he cooed as he squatted in front of you after kicking the kitchen knife away. You buried your face into your forearm and his cold hand petted your soft hair. “Look at me” he ordered kindly. 

Fearfully you peaked back up to him. He held his hand out, his knife had vanished once more. You blinked as you stared at him up close. You didn’t realize how charming on the eye he was, it made you gulp harshly. “Please… My parents are going to be home any minute” you lied pathetically, sniffling heavily. 

“Baby doll” he tutted as he gently shook his head towards you. “This isn’t even your fucking house” he laughed, casually pointing his finger to one of your friend’s family portrait on the wall. “Now come on, no more tears… Only little girls cry, I want you to be a big girl for me tonight” he condescended as he gestured for you to grab ahold of his hand. 

“What do you want?” you asked weakly as you grabbed ahold of his hand. 

“To talk” he nodded as he lifted you up. He petted your hair to the side and smiled softly to you. “Well, for a little bit anyways” he added, a gentle shrug of the shoulders. 

Your eyebrows furrowed but you didn’t question him as he led you to the lounge room. Your gaze landed back on Spike, who was perfectly still just as before and you found yourself weeping again. He wrapped his arms around you from behind as he shushed into your ear. 

“Relax, relax, a simple sedative… I hope I got the dosage right, I usually sedate people, not dogs” he whispered into your ear, smirking to himself as you weakly resisted against him as you whimpered out. 

Your head shot down, the guilt of Spike being too much for your conscience. He guided you to the couch and pulled you onto his lap. Your body squirmed on top of his, but he kept you locked in. 

“What are you doing?” you whined. 

But he only hushed you and thrusted his hips up. Instantly, you felt his growing erection underneath you and you froze on him. 

“You gave me a massive fright today, you know that?” He sighed, his hands on your hips as he rotated them in a circular motion. 

Your body shivered as you felt your teeth chatter. “I’m sorry… I tried to control him” you explained through heavy breathing. 

“Yeah I know. A little too strong for you, aye?” He chuckled, his hands squeezing your hips harshly. You nodded your head quickly as you tried to focus your mind elsewhere, but it was pointless by the way he was rubbing his cock against your core. “But then, you know… You just looked so sweet and fragile that I just wanted to make sure you got home safe…” he admitted as one hand ran up your spine. 

“You took an interesting short cut. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to find you. But then, I saw you in the distance, running up the driveway” he laughed softly as he hand slid to your breasts.

You gasped out as both hands kneaded them before they slipped underneath your thin tank. His fingers rubbed circles over your nipples and your head fell back next to his and you tried to silence your clear as daylight arousal. 

“No bra? Naughty girl” he groaned by your ear, his tongue slithered around your earlobe. 

After a moment of groping you, his hands slipped down from your torso as you trembled on him, based on a horrific mixture of fear and desire.  

“I want to apologize” he suddenly professed. 

“What?” You panted. 

“For scaring you. I’ll admit, I lost my temper a little bit… You just scared me so bad, baby doll. How would I have felt if I didn’t brake in time?” He explained himself, his smooth jaw nuzzled against yours. 

But during this confession, his hand slipped into your shorts, right into your panties as he stroked your wet pussy. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you too!” You cried out, your heart thudding against your ribs as you found yourself rocking your hips. 

“No, no… You don’t have to tell me how sorry you are, you just have to show it” he moaned, a smug look on his face as a digit easily slipped inside of you. “We can do it wherever you want to, baby doll… Here, in the kitchen, we can get into my car if you really want and I can take you for a ride. It’s an expensive car” he grinned as he forcefully flexed his hips up making you cry out. “But if you want me to make it special for you, take me a bed, any bed. I’m not picky…” he exhaled as his free hand moved back up to your tits. 

“No, please!” You objected, logic dripping out of your aroused state. You were willingly grinding yourself on a stranger, an intruder, a man much older than you. You were in your senior year of high school for crying out loud. It forced you to try to free yourself from him. It only made him laugh and he wrapped his arm around your waist as he pressed his nose to the side of your heated face. 

“Baby doll… Look at yourself, you’re trying to fuck my hand right now” he pointed out. 

All you could do was sob out in humiliation as his fingers pumped inside of you. Your ass rubbed against his hard on whilst he kissed your bare neck. 

“My name is Jackson by the way” he introduced himself, a satisfied grin on his lips. You told him your name through a heavy gasp as his fingers went knuckle deep inside of you. “I already knew that” he whispered into your ear as he felt your walls clench tightly around his hand

Every dog has its day, but unfortunately for you, today was not that day.

[luckyluan]

CHAPTER 3.3: THE STAKE OUT

He dropped onto the blanket and switched off the safety of his gun. Max pulled his knees up to his chest and pressed his back against his husband’s heaving form. 

“You can’t hear me right now, man, but you know I’m right. I did what I did. I went out and hunted a vampire for a hefty price—a hefty price which kept us comfortable. Was it right? No, but I know you feel it too, Ant. This suburban, two car garage, Sunday dinner, sitcom life is not for us. We’ve seen too much.”  

Antwan only grunted and hissed out laborious sighs to punctuate Maxim’s words. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to make this up to you, man, but when we get out of this, I will find a way. I promise.” 

The stubborn night passed with muttered blessing for dramatic sneezes and no amiable conversation between them; and Maxim’s leg jumped in an anxious bounce. His husband spoke only to chastise. 

“Why not just tell the entire neighborhood we’re here!” Antwan hissed. 

“Huh?” Maxim replied. 

“You’re making too much noise.” he hissed again. “Might as well compose a freakin’ symphony with all the beats you’re making!” 

“That is not how symphonies are made, Ant.” Maxim teased. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Antwan breathed. 

Maxim bit down on his lip. He found it impossible to remain upset for a very long time. It was a trick he learned in his field days. He was the calm head in his marriage. It was very seldom he lost his temper or raised his voice these days, but he heeded his husband’s boundaries as Antwan was the poster child for impulsive reactions. Maxim once gave him the nickname ‘Switch’ because Antwan could turn his temper on and off as if he were using a light switch. The silence pressed on his ears, and he stifled his laughter. 

“Stop smiling.” Antwan warned. “We have nothing to smile about.” 

“Kinda do. We’ve had worse anniversaries.” 

Maxim challenged. He pressed his full weight against Antwan and rested his head on his husband’s sagging ponytail of soft coils. The barrel of his gun never dipped as he mirrored Antwan’s measured exhalation. 

“Cape town.” Antwan quipped. 

“Barbados.” Maxim inserted. 

“Tokyo.” Antwan chuckled. 

“Copenhagen.” said The Sharpes in tandem. 

“I still don’t know who gave little Annegrete that pistol.” Maxim chortled. 

“I did.” admitted Antwan. 

“Why the fuck did you give an eight-year-old Danish girl a pistol, Antwan?” Maxim charged. 

“She was sitting there with her legs crossed and hands folded like we were her bodyguards and that’s not what we got paid for. She was there. She was gonna work too, goddamit.” 

“Babe...” Maxim sighed. 

“What?” Antwan asked. “And you are not off the hook. I just don’t see how you could do this to us! Yes, Max, you have a point. Our lives could use a little excitement, but that’s why we plan a trip to Six Flags or something!” 

“That’s what I’m telling you, Ant!” Maxim said. “That shit does not excite me anymore. I think that’s true for you too. You just love the kids too much to say it.” 

“Could our lives be more exciting? Yes.” Antwan conceded. “Can we go back to living how we did before the kids? Hard no.” 

“So, what now?” he asked. 

“We survive the night.” Antwan ordered. “Everything else can wait until morning. Deal?” 

“Deal.” he agreed. “Get some sleep, Ant. I got it for now.” 

Maxim was thankful Antwan had not argued. He simply leaned his head back against Maxim’s shoulder and fell asleep. Maxim stared out the opulent living room’s towering windows. Night shrouded the dancing trees in mystery, and they swayed in opposing rhythms as the breeze tickled their branches. An oblong shadow caught Maxim’s eye and he dismissed it, quickly, as a raccoon. He rested his head back on Antwan’s shoulder. 

“What did you do, Max?” 

[anima-letters]

An important question II

A blank mind would generally cause discomfort because it allowed any thought, regardless of its nature, to take root all the way to his subconscious, pressing down on whatever ravages of anxiety he may have struggled with. More now it's kind of lucky that there isn't a clear idea: without a synapse to hold on to until basically creating a vicious movement in his neurons, there would be no reason to panic. For there is no unforeseen suggestion to melt the poles of your social-emotional abilities.

Unfortunately, much of his plans are thwarted by an unnoticed miscalculation or, as in this instance, by the figure itself doing chest compressions.

Based on research in cardiopulmonary resuscitation, the chest of an adult human weighing approximately 70kg should be compressed with a weight of 40kg, reducing the recipient's chest by approximately five to six centimeters to allow the compressions to stimulate the pumping of blood to the heart. This information was promptly translated into a mathematical calculation adapted to his own size, weight and muscle mass, arriving at a clear conclusion: if he does not react now, he will break a bone, or worse.

The lethargy had to be wrenched away with the same impulsiveness as the rosy hand grips someone else's nose, releasing him when he seems to understand that he must stop immediately.

" For your information, being in a state of unconsciousness is not exactly a synonym for heart failure" reported between a sort of grunt and groan, how much force must he have imposed for him to even then feel the muscles reveal themselves for his desperate act? He was usually much more compliant with it. Perhaps he should start encouraging some more theory to complement his practical skills.

Everything stopped again as the full attention of his system rested on the sky that was beginning to weep, drenching the pure disaster in a wave of dismay, relief and something hesitant; Brain wasn't sure if he could define it as despair or something more unpleasant.

Stomach knotted, ears sliding down.

"Narf" is the only brittle verbalization received before being enveloped in a need-filled embrace, perhaps, he feared to think, with a desire for affirmation over something he didn't wish to ponder. "You shouldn't scare me like that, for a moment there I thought I'd really lost you!" the ability to speak even with the spasms brought on by the incredible crying would have left him impressed in other circumstances, right now his state had more the label of dumbfounded, which was irrational. It had not been his fault that the information overloaded his system to the point of requiring a forced reboot…although perhaps, his situation was more favorable following a period of self-imposed insomnia. There is another twinge of pain in his chest, distinct from the others. "At first I thought you'd just need rest, but, but, but, but, glarb! You've gone almost half a day without a word!" Half a day? To his perception, it hadn't been more than an hour. "I really thought-"

Covered his mouth, unable to be on the receiving end of that cruel scenario that turned his stomach.

Who in their right mind could live in peace with the sea emptying so brazenly in that face of his? Not even the greatest ounce of disinterest in his body could ignore it; not even in his natural state could he reject it. But neither can he help him, no matter that his intelligence surpasses that of the average even human. Pinky's emotions have never been able to be measured through comparative charts or formulas, at best, they were allowed to be catalogued by the behavioral method and even then the margin of error was blatantly high.

The pang in his heart makes him press more insistently on the opposing lips, which are trying to utter something. Which he ignores.

The only thing that matters is finding a way to appease the blue glowing in tears.

An idea crosses his mind, causing him an irritation that he refuses to label as embarrassment.

"Pinky" calls after what feels like an eternity. "I'm here" he reminds him, in a lower, softer tone than he's ever been aware of; he clears his throat, feeling too exposed. "Besides, someone needs to make sure your lack of brilliance isn't a danger to the world at large."

The vibrations he creates with what appears to be a chuckle against his palms brings the heat back with more force.

He curses more to himself.

"Close your eyes," indicates, wishing the intonation actually sounded more like a demand than a plaintive mumble. Fortunately, Pinky seems to understand better than anyone else would.

His heart begins to pound even in his ears.

He closes his eyes tightly, opens them again, goes over in his head that this is the only way he could make up for that incident.

Then why does he feel so scared?

Pushes forward without further ado, holding him again to deposit a tiny, almost imperceptible kiss under his nose.

Seeing him open his eyes, excited, different; how could there possibly be such a big change? Suddenly he shines brighter than any star that has ever appeared on earth.

"You…!"

It hits his head like a chain reaction. "I've had enough for today, Pinky," Brain dictates, "but tomorrow night, we'll be ready."

It can still feel his happiness piercing the back of his neck, warming his chest.

"What will we be ready for, Brain?"

Has to cough up the sentiment to better accommodate his words. "To take over the world, of course."

!

Notes:

When I showed my gf the first writing, to share my excitement with them, she asked me if I could really do something with the kissing theme. So here I am, concluding this attempt with two parts and an ending where there is still too much tension to move forward, but isn't that the wonderful thing? I'm really enjoying these practices

[melodythebunny]

What if next gen were as crazy as craze?

leave this happy fam alone-

fro what ik craze kidnaps and experiments on people and ik carrie definitely would NOT be okay with that. just NO. ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wrote a mini fic to this bc sudden writing inspiration- Tw angst, needle mentioned, also blood mentioned

"you need help…serious help.” carrie mumbled loud enough to be heard. “I…i can't help you with this.."

Her husband frowns clearly not happy to hear her response.

She had caught steven dragging a black bag downstairs…at 2 am in the morning! If that wasnt worrying enough, carrie could see crimson stains on his labcoat. he looked unhinged. All this time she wondered why he would spend so much time in their basement. Now she knew. It was foolish of her to think everything would just back to how it used to be. Too busy wearing rose-colored glasses to see the red flags. And now it was too late to fix any of this. “What do you mean you're not going to help me-?” It was like a switch had been flipped, he had been acting so sweet to her a moment ago, but now he was gripping her shoulders hard. Yes, she was afraid for her own life at the moment. Even more concerned about the safety of THEIR children. But that didnt stop her from shouting back at him. “NO! You’re crazy. After all we’ve been through! YOU WANT TO CONTINUE THIS??!” Her hands gripped his, trying to yank them off. Steven was slightly taken aback by that. Carrie didn’t raise her voice often, and it was just as rare for her to actually LOOK angry.

“Im not crazy…” He retorted with a softer tone, but it quickly became loud again, “I CAN do it! I’m smarter and more skilled than half of the world!!” He gripped her shoulders harder, pinning her harder against the wall, making Carrie grunt in pain. “You said you’d always have my back! I thought you loved me!”

“I do love you…” The woman whimpered looking down, “but this is insane… I can’t help with something this- INSANE!” she couldn’t find a better word for it.

She had been used before, and she was used to it, she could handle that much. She just couldn’t handle when it got physical.

And if steven was willing to get violent with her if she disagreed with him…

Carrie wanted to cut it off before she was forced to return a punch if it was given. She didn’t want to hurt Steven.

“Please Steven…” Carrie pleaded, too scared and angry to look him in the eye. “Don’t make me help with this… I won’t oppose you… But I don’t want the kind of life this will lead to…” Her body was trembling, and if he didn’t let go soon or got any more violent, Carrie was afraid of what she might do out of impulse.

The children weren't in any immediate danger being that steven was too busy cornering her at the moment. any chance she got, she would take the kids and leave. The man shouted a few other things, but the woman was too busy trying to keep herself under control and think of what to say to get him to stop.

“STEVEN….!” Carrie managed to cry out, putting on the most pathetic tear stained face she could “Please Let Go!! You're hurting me-!” She hated herself for resorting to this, but it was his last chance to let go before she lost own her self-control. Looking weak, gaining pity, lowering people's guard, that’s what she was good at after all.

Steven was quiet for a moment as he stared at her, his face still hard with anger, but soon loosened his grip on her, his face contorting to a twisted smile.

“No,no, you just don’t get it!” he crackles. “YOU need help! I’ll help you!”

“wha-”

She barely had time to scream before he plunged a syringe in her arm.

And everything went black.

yeah im just gonna tag you guys whenever I write something angsty u-u @ninjastormhawkkat @drtwobrainsstuff

[hotdamnhunnam]

Can I pretty request these for king Arthur?

🎁💋🎨

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

..................................................

Gifted in the Art of Love

Pairing: King Arthur x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, enemies to lovers with a feisty filthy throne fuck Word Count: ~1.1k Emoji Prompt: 🎁💋🎨 (key words are in bold)

“You’re no longer dealing with the man you previously met.”

He says it like a fucking threat. Striding toward you across the throne room in a clean white shirt and jacket spun of royal purple thread. The sunlight streaming through the windows filters through his sky-blue stare, gleaming against his slicked-back hair, gold as a crown upon his head. You feel his power though he hasn’t even touched you yet. Remember when you first crossed paths with Arthur years ago only to end up underneath him in his bed, all dripping wet…

He’s even more beautiful now than he was then and at the sight you might drop dead. Though you’re the leader of a faction that opposes Arthur’s birthright to the throne, and though you’ve come here to contend the kingdom isn’t his to own… you’re really not sure how you’ll manage to achieve the plans you’ve set.

Indeed it’s clear just as he’d said, that you’re no longer dealing with the man you previously met.

“That much is obvious,” you huff, crossing your arms to come off unimpressed and tough. “Just because some legend decreed you would be king you think you’ve earned the fucking right to all of this? At least you knew your place before. A common plaything who would take coin for a kiss. You fit much better in the brothel as a filthy little boy-whore.”

Arthur stops now as he stands in front of you, towering tall above you. As he was back in his youth, he’s still a man who knows the truth: that his ravishing beauty is a thing to fucking flaunt. “Oh, I fit anywhere I damn well want.”

You wish that you could snap back with some sort of sassy taunt. But in his presence you’re so overcome with lust all you can manage is a muffled gasp that comes out like a grunt.

And then he leans closer than he has any right to. Whispers words into your ear that strike you somewhere deep inside you. “We both know I fit quite perfectly in that tight little cunt.”

Oh the disgrace! You curse your slutty heart now as it starts to race. And then on impulse you reach up and slap the king across his face. Just a light tap but you do hope it left a sting. “How could you dare say such a thing?! You proved just there you’re more a man-whore than a king.”

“Who says I can’t be both at once?” Arthur retorts, with a smug smirk to make it clear that your smack didn’t hurt, and neither do your words. “A king who takes pleasure in knowing and providing everything a woman wants?”

“You think you’re so gifted at love?” you scoff. Although you know he truly is, you still have to resist, at least until your clothes are off.

“Love is an art I mastered long ago. You of all people know.” Art licks his lips, gaze tracing over how your outfit frames your hips, eyes glinting as if he can see the way your desperate little cunt glistens and drips—and you can similarly sense he’s fucking stiff. All set to show you in the way only he can, that even though he is a different man… he’s still got the same gift.

***************

He’s more than just a bag of tricks. The kind of talent that he has just fucking sticks.

It’s in his bones and in his blood—the gift of knowing how to give a woman pleasure, make her feel like she’s a princess and a treasure, and yet all at once a filthy fucking slut. He has you seated in his throne with two of his majestic fingers plunging in your throbbing slit while he feasts on you in a session of sensuous slurps and licks. You’ve gone to heaven from the way King Arthur’s slick tongue and soft lips lavish your wetness with deep kisses and delicious little flicks.

“I never once forgot this lovely little cunt,” he murmurs into your slippery folds as he unravels and unwinds you. Gives you more than any girl could ever want. “I count myself lucky you came running to me before I had to go and find you. Though I do enjoy the hunt.”

“I didn’t come running…” you groan, struggling to hold yourself together while you’re crumbling into pieces on his throne. Make the mistake of looking down at him and holy fuck he’s stunning. Sight of all your juices shining on the bristles of his blonde beard makes you moan.

He snickers, sliding deeper into you with this devilish fingers. “But of course you did. You came here for my cock and we both knew it.”

“Ughh, you little shit—”

Suddenly Arthur pulls his fingers from your slit. They’re fucking soaking. “Now that’s no way to address your king.”

He’s standing to his feet and stripping off his clothes to expose his statuesque abs and sculpted chest. It’s hard to do anything other than surrender with him here looking like this. You fucking try to hold your ground although his beauty threatens blindness. “Like I’d ever call your lowly ass Your Highness.”

He pretends to be offended as he reaches to disrobe his lower half, finally unveil his royal shaft. The massive shaft that’s made to fit into your tightness. “I might fuck you if you’d do me that small kindness.”

“You’ll be fucking me regardless.”

Then his cock springs free and long before you even get to take it you can feel the fucking hardness. With that instrument of pleasure it’s no wonder Arthur’s such a gifted artist.

“What makes you so sure?” he teases as he takes a slow step closer.

Where you’re spread out on his throne your cunt is already laid bare. You really need him to get in there. Never wanted any damn thing more. “Shut up and shove that perfect cock in me and fuck me like a whore.”

He grips his big glorious staff as if it’s honestly more legendary than his famous fucking sword. “Just say the word. Call me Your Majesty and you’ll get your reward.”

No matter how you try to fight, you’re doomed to lose this war tonight. For Art is just as gifted as he ever was in the fine art of love and he was right—on some level you did come running here for him to fuck you good and hard once you two finally reunite.

Arthur was born to be the king but you will soon learn that he’s earned the right by more than just his birth. He’s come to own this whole kingdom with all his strength and worth.

And cums to own your holes with all his length and girth.

..................................................

Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

@happyhunnams @band--psycho @est11 @edonaspanca @starbooty @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @coffeebooksandfandom @thesuicidalflower @flaireandsynch @helloheyhihowdyheya @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @zozebo @bettergetusetoit @emilykjh @little-diable @rocketqueen @mrspeacem1nusone @miss-smutty @rayslittlekitten @abby-splace @chubbychubbs28 @miraclesoflove @tegggeeee @hunnambabe @missusnora @kesskirata @vixenrebellion @thexhostess @pomegranatearildreams @kandii395 @severewobblerlightdragon @itspdameronthings @niki-xie @cind-in-real-life @saweetspoiled @poge-life @few-proud-emotonal @samanthaisnthome @melodranas @soaharleys @charlie-hunnams-old-lady @simpmasterjr @nataliewalker93 @lovebarefootblonde @marvelousmermaid @tsukuyomi011 @sciapod @midnight-dreams-23

[levixreader]

Dad!Levi x Mum!Reader - It's Just a Hobby

Charlotte: French name meaning freedom Summary: You woke up alarmed at the metallic shriek echoing in your room. Your angry husband sat a the far end of the room... sharpening his blades?... at three in the morning? Oh God, what did Charlotte do this time.

Warning: Pure fluffiness, Levi deserves happiness ;v;

Inspired by @cakeswashere prompt:

Y/N: are you angry? or...

Levi: no.

Y/N: so sharpening your blades at 3am is just a hobby then?

Daughter of Mine(Chapter I)| Master List|Requests| Next Chapter

It's Just a Hobby

Sheeeeeeek

It was a sharp, almost metallic in nature shriek. You tossed in your sleep, your brain still half unconscious.

Had you imagined it?

It sounded familiar. Where you having another dream of your time at the Corps?

All this talk about Charlotte joining the military was definitely not doing you any favours. It was scratching at the back of your head the obscure memories you kept hidden away. Ever since you had pushed Levi into taking her to work, every night, without fail, the deformed hands of your demons came to grab you at night.

Yesterday Levi had shaken you awake. You were sweating in your sleep, haunted by the last expression of your friends, of your family. Some nights, your dreams were so vivid that you were convinced that the life you had now was… imagined.

How had Charlotte convinced you that it was a good idea to join? Ah, yes, her unwavering spirit. Stubborn and passionate to the core, just like her father. Erwin had earned Levi and his constant devotion to the cause had earned Charlotte.

Truly, she had worn you down. She would talk as if she had been in the military for as long as she was alive. She had convinced every single one of her friends to join. Of course, she had worn you down. Children, you had discovered, had a way to make you feel like you could endure anything as long as it made them happy. Even if that meant spinning directly into a titan’s jaws. You shivered. Tonight, marked the beginning of winter and with it the fast approach of harsh months.

How could you selfishly stand in her way? She was the carbon copy of your husband, down to his unhuman like traits. She was fast and strong, but that didn’t make her cocky, it made her aware of just how far she could go. So when she had implored you to let her join the military… You caved because you knew your daughter, nothing you could say, not even the hellish nightmares you conjured now, would deter her from joining.

Levi could though. You didn’t have the heart or the will power to stand against her, she was, after all, a force of nature like Levi. So, it made sense that he could and did stand against her. So firmly opposed that he would rather sacrifice his relationship with her than watch her wear forest green.

I would never want to feel responsible if something were to happen to you.

His words had rung deep within you. Levi was strong, the strongest in fact. He had carried with his best friend’s death, carried the guilt of every death, carried the title of strongest, but, he could never carry the responsibility of the death of his only child.

Your heart ached. For months now, you had tried to convince yourself that you already waited with your heart of your throat every time Levi sat you down at the kitchen table to tell you there would be a new excursion. You could do the same with Charlotte. Right?

It was different. You knew it was different. You were all too aware of it. So, you settled. Settled to be thankful that where you lack the willpower, Levi could. Maybe, you had thought, that having her shadow Levi for a couple of days would show her a glimpse into a world she could never have thought of. You hadn’t. Not even Levi, who lived in the underground, had.

Sheeeeeek

You shot up. Straight up.

That had been the sound of a knife getting sharpened.

In a panic, your eyes scanned the room, your hand already reaching for your bedside table, inching into the drawer on the hidden weapon inside. You could feel your heart lodged in your trachea. All you could think was of your daughter and how to get to her as quick as possible. But, then, your eyes landed at the corner at the far back. It was Levi, seated in the leather chair he liked so much.

Relief, ice-cold relief washed over your stiffened body. Instantly, you relaxed at the sight of the familiar presence. Your heart unable to dislodge from your throat, the exhaustion weighing down at your body once again.

What the hell was he doing?

Shreeeeeeek

You felt a new wave of alertness wash over you. Something glimmered, you squinted, your tiered eyes fell to his lap.

There was a blade.

Shreeeeeeek

He was sharpening his blades.

He was sharpening his blades.

He was sharpening his blades at three in the morning.

Oh, God.

Shreeeeeeek

Cried the sound of metal. He was hunched in the chair, hadn’t bothered taking off his uniform, or boots for that matter. His right leg on top of his left thigh. One of his blades rested across his lap. You sat there watching as he expertly manoeuvred the blade making it glimmer even in the darkest of nights.

Something was bothering him.

You sighed, the adrenalin leaving your body. It had been a minute since you last felt it course through your body like earlier. You had genuinely thought that there had been an intruder in the house. You were a light sleeper, years retired from the military could never kill that habit. It had saved you more than once.

You wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until you untangled whatever Levi’s brain was scrambling. It was Charlotte, you were sure of it. After the little incident at the beginning of the week, she had somehow squeezed a promise to not react like he did that day. How she did it you would never know. It took years -years- to get him to not impulsively confront any man that would even slightly look at you the wrong way. You were certain that something must have happened again and the frustration of being powerless had him sitting, sharpening his disposable blades at such an ungodly hour.

This was it. The time had come to have “The Talk” with Levi. You had been preparing for this ever since Charlotte turned sixteen. You had already noticed the attention she garnered whenever she accompanied you to the market. How some of her oldest male friends would stare a second too long. It was bound to happen eventually. You had prepared for it, Levi… not so much.

“Morning”, you said the bedsheets still pooled at your waist. Even with the window closed, you could feel the cold air prickling your skin, like small needles. He frowned, not really expecting you to wake up. He had already spent an hour on his other blades, this was his last one. “How was work today?”, you insisted. He grunted. He at least acknowledged you. He wasn’t feeling all that talkative at the moment.

Shreeeeeek

The sound of the metal echoing across the room. This man was impossible. Like father, like daughter, two stubborn mules unwilling to bend or move in their convictions. You were convinced that when God created stubbornness, Levi was first in line, closely followed by Charlotte.

“Somethings never change”, you thought shaking you head slightly. Unceremoniously, you yanked the sheets from your lower body. You shivered, the cold air now attacking your legs. Levi’s face remained turned down, his eyes, however, sneaked a peek at you. He had heard you move. You were, to his dismay, heading towards his direction. He noticed the hair of your forearms standing to attention. You were cold. He clicked his tongue; he wasn’t ready to go to bed, anger still bubbling at his feet. He frowned, returning his attention at the weapon in his hand.

Shreeeeeeek

“Are are you angry?”, he heard you ask softly. No answer. You grouched in front of his legs so that your face was in his direct eyesight. He gripped the handle of the blade, his eyes moving to observe the end of it. He was avoiding you. “no.”, he curtly answered. He looked stoic. “Stubborn, stubborn man”, you thought. You placed a numbed hand on his twisted knee. His eyebrows knitted together refusing to look at you, opting to look at your hand. You looked paler than usual.

Did she have another nightmare?

You smiled amused, “So sharpening your blades at three in the morning is just a hobby then?”, you asked sarcastically. His frown deepened, he didn’t answer. “Tell me what’s bothering you”, you pushed, the tips of your fingers going a bit numb. He sighed knowing you weren’t going to let this go and if needed would freeze half to death until he talked. “And you think Charlotte is stubborn because of me”, he thought. Charlotte, he frowned again the anger bubbling up again.

“Is it Charlotte?”, you asked, even softer than before. You gripped his knee in reassurance. He sighed again, of course, you would know exactly what was bothering him. He couldn’t hide anymore. “I can’t believe she is sixteen”, you said truthfully.

Sixteen years went by like nothing, one day she was too small to even reach the kitchen counter and the next she had a queue of boys lined up. “Fucking hormonal teenagers”, he thought to himself glaring down at the polished blade. He wanted to break the thing in two.

“Our brat is an adult now”, you said giggling pulling him again out of his thoughts. His eyes lifted slightly to look at you, clearly disagreeing with your opinion. Charlotte wasn’t an adult; she was just a brattier brat. “Did one of the cadets flirt with her again?”, you asked smiling sympathetically. His eyes widened and immediately narrowed to the point you thought he had closed his eyes. His jaw clenched, his grip on the weapon made his knuckles turn white.

“A boy”, he corrected. You smiled sadly at his words. “You know she is at that age”, you said earning you a glare. “You know I’m right”, you insisted. He clicked his tongue. You were right. That doesn’t mean he had to voice it. “I know this is very hard for you”, you continued, he looked pained. It had taken everything in him today to not march and punch the titan shifter straight in the face. He knew the look he was giving Charlotte; it was the same look he had given you. He felt his chest burn.

His eyes looked pained, the cold controlled captain melting away. You wanted to hug him, console him and tell him that his baby was still just that: a baby. That Charlotte would not grow up and that she would always call him ‘Daddy’. But this would only hurt him more and would do Charlotte a disservice as her mother.

“Here”, you said standing up offering a hand for him to take. He looked at your hand, eyebrow cocked upwards with curiosity. You rolled your eyes, “Well, take it”, you insisted shaking your hand. Cautiously, he placed his free hand on yours. His eyes narrowing when he felt how cold your fingers felt. In a quick movement, he rested the sharpened blade against the nearest wall and grabbed with both his hands the hand you had offered. “You’re cold”, he commented, making you roll your eyes again at him. “Well hurry up then”, you answered pulling him up. He pouted, finally complying with your request.

You pulled him out of the room towards the hallway in front of Charlotte’s room. His frown returned, “What are we doing here”, he asked, not appreciating the surprise. “Shh”, you said tightening your hold on his hand. As carefully as you could you opened the door to your daughter’s room. She looked tranquil, completely at ease. “Look”, you whispered moving out of the way. Reluctantly, he peaked into Charlotte’s room. His eyes softened and his chest, previously burning with anger, filled with warmth. She looked like a child hugging her favourite stuffed animal. “She isn’t quite an adult yet”, you whispered, “not because some boy is flirting with her means she stopped growing”.

He sighed closing the door just as carefully as you had opened it.

“Let’s have another one”, he said turning to look at you straight to your eyes. “What?”, you said in complete shock. “Let’s have another one”, he repeated closing the gap between the both of you. “What?”, you repeated louder, his hands grabbing your hips. “I said”, he whispered pulling you towards him, “Let’s”, you heard him next to your ear, “have”, you felt his breath on your neck, his nose caressing the base of your neck, “another one”. His teeth dug into your soft skin.

[denkamis]

Can you please write a fluff one shot about a sk8 the infinity like his girlfriend/boyfriend/s/o falls asleep on him

to anon: omg first request omgomg thank you so much for sending one in! i wasn’t sure which sk8 character you were referring to, so i decided to write one for both reki and langa! hope you don’t mind hehe <3 this is the one for reki, the one for langa will take a little bit longer bc of valentine’s & other requests but i hope you like this one regardless!

warnings: none, just some fluffy times with the best boy. reader is gn!

word count: 1.3k

sleepyhead. (reki x reader)

Late nights were certainly not a rare occurrence with your boyfriend, Reki. He was filled to the brim with energy and passion that practically flowed out of him like a geyser. Not that you were opposed to that at all, you found that it was one of the qualities that made you fall for him in the first place. Though, you worried that he wasn’t taking into consideration his own personal health during these late night excursions. Take for instance tonight, as it was slowly approaching two thirty am, it seemed that the redhead had no clear intention of stopping his work.

The two of you were cooped up in his workshop behind his house, Reki singing along to some “cool jams” as he called them. In reality, it was his Spotify playlist of the “best 2000’s alternative” music like Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne and Dear Maria, Count Me In by All Time Low. You were barely hanging onto your string of consciousness, the mere idea of sleep sounding like absolute heaven at this very moment. You were propped up on a stool in the corner, the stack of skating magazines Reki had given you to flick through in case you got bored now sat in a neat pile off to the side. You had read each one of them front to back twice already tonight.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love spending time with Reki. You enjoyed listening to his midnight ramblings of whatever came to mind. His ideas for new boards, designs for stickers, and other creative ways to beat his future S opponents were usually his topics of interest. No one really noticed how much of an imaginative person your boyfriend was. He could be impulsive and over excited at times, but his fantastic mind and his willingness to create made your heart soar. Not only that, but he was fairly handy when it came to fixing up and assembling his own boards like he was some mad scientist waiting for one of his many experiments to go right. You indulged him as much as you could, you really did enjoy his company. Even if you would much rather be curled up beside him snuggling in bed rather than hear Reki precariously make his way through the lyrics of Check Yes Juliet for what seemed like the seventh time.

“Reki,” you spoke up finally as the analog clock on the wall indicated the current time of two forty-three am. Reki looked up from Langa’s custom longboard, hair bouncing about despite already being contained by the headband he wore everyday. “Yeah?” he asked, throwing a glance over his shoulder only to see your weary eyelids and tired expression. His entire demeanour melted, lips jutted out in a tiny pout upon seeing his poor baby so tired.

He backed away from his worktable, dancing and tiptoeing across the floor to avoid stepping on any spare parts or tools he had left lying about his mishmash of a workshop.

“Is baby tired?” he cooed, sawdusted fingers beginning to tug and pinch at the corners of your cheeks. You groaned in annoyance, your sleep deprived state causing you to be a tad more irritable at this hour. “Reki,” you repeated in a more serious tone, ember coloured irises meeting your e/c ones. His calloused hands moved to cup your face, warmth enveloping you in a way that felt like home. The scent of pine and the remnants of orange crush soda invaded your senses. He smiled at you with that goofy face of his, the one that Langa constantly teased for being weird. Maybe it was your sleepy nature, but he looked even more gorgeous in the harsh LED lighting of his garage. Tiny strands of his auburn hair fell in front of his face as he tilted his head to the side, his smile growing as he watched your eyes begin to droop.

“Please. Let’s go to bed,” you asked of him as kindly yet firmly as you could. Reki clicked his tongue a bit, thinking for a moment before delivering a cute peck to your nose. “A few more minutes! Then we can head inside, grab a cookie or two and crawl into bed together! It’ll be just a jiffy okay? Here, you can even set an alarm,” Reki was already reaching for his phone in his hoodie pocket so that you could do just as he suggested. He stopped in his tracks as he felt your hands clasp around his hoodie, pulling him close so that you could hug his torso. He laughed at how clingy you could be while being so sleepy, his hand patting atop your head as a form of affection.

“Wow, you really are.. sleeping,” Reki’s voice trailed off as he looked down to be greeted by you completely passed out against him. Your arms held your boyfriend close, your face buried within the fabric of his yellow skater boy hoodie. Soft snores escaped you, your breathing slowed and calm as you finally let your consciousness slip out of your ever fleeting grasp. Reki’s face began to bloom with colour the longer he stared at you, panic setting in as he realized what was truly happening.

You had fallen asleep against him. Oh shit. Oh god. You were asleep against him. That meant you were so comfortable that you just so happened to pass out in his arms. Reki bit back a giddy smile, warmth cascading through him in a form of nothing but love radiating solely for you at nearly three in the morning. His heart thumped rapidly against his rib cage. No matter how long he had been with you, he kept discovering new things about you that made him absolutely lose his mind. You falling asleep against him definitely being one of those many things. You looked so peaceful, so unbothered and safe within his embrace. This warmth you had given him overtook his will to keep working, his hands moving your hair out of the way of your face to kiss your forehead.

“Sorry for making you stay up, sweet baby,” he apologized in a quiet tone. His hands moved your arms to around his neck, using his strength to lift you up and wrap your legs securely around his waist. “I can’t say I’m not grateful for you being here for me, though. You could have left too, yet you stayed here for me,” Reki spoke to your sleeping form. The fact that you had stayed up with him this late made him even more grateful to have you. Reki grunted a bit as he adjusted to the newfound weight of you around him, your hair getting in his mouth and his eyes squinting to find the light switch so that he could flick it off before leaving. Reki was always careful with you, handling you as if you were a sort of glass figurine he barely even had the permission to touch.

“You look so damn cute like this, y’know,” he continued to speak as he maneuvered his way about his house, trying his best to subdue his footsteps and make as little noise as possible. He didn’t want to wake up his mom or little sisters. “Man, I’m so lucky. Seriously really lucky to have someone like you in my life.”

In your sleep, you subconsciously nuzzled your head against his chest. He melted a bit, holding back a tiny noise of happiness as he began to beam like an idiot holding his partner. You were the most amazing person, the person who made him happy every single day without fail, the person who picked him up no matter how much he bailed or got hurt. He loved you more than anything, and he wanted to treat you as well as you treated him. Even if it meant carrying you to bed after a late night of him talking your ear off about skateboarding for three consecutive hours.

all works © denkamis 2021.

tags:

@meilbox

wanna be on the taglist? see this post!

[votederpycausemufins]

College has stopped kicking my butt enough for me to post another chapter of the the Scattered au fic. this one is meant to be a parallel to last chapter, so you might want to reread that one.

scattered au is by @hermitcraftheadcanons and their community

reading tag list: still just @helleborusangel right now. Send an ask if you want to be added on.

Xisuma pulled himself out of the water, coughing a bit from what had gotten past his filter. He tried to look around only to squint at the light from the surface. He didn’t think he had swum that far up, but for all he knew, he was able to push himself that far to finally escape the warden. So when something suddenly attacked him and didn’t immediately kill him, Xisuma quickly fought back.

While initially swimming, he thought he had felt something though wasn’t sure, but this was much more clear. And slimelike, it seemed, since that’s what it felt like when he attacked it. But the following grunt of pain from the attacker sounded much more human like.

Xisuma did his best to focus on whatever was there, but he was seeing double. He looked back and forth, trying to tell if it was just from the intense lighting change or from there actually being two… things there. And it seemed it was the latter when the things looked at each other.

“Well, that’s probably not good.” The two things spoke in unison, which didn’t help the headache that Xisuma could feel coming on. Still, he was able to focus enough to get a good look at whatever was there and was a slime hybrid of sorts similar to Jevin, though instead of his very clearly blue slime, these two - one? They were more of a sea green. Plus from what Xisuma could guess, they were able to split like a regular slime, something Jevin couldn’t.

“Sorry.” Xisuma spoke up, it finally clicking in his mind that he had likely damaged them enough to make them split. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were attacking- I mean, maybe you were, but this does seem to be where you’re staying, so I guess I invaded your home a bit.”

“I guess. So, are you from around here?” The slime pair asked, making Xisuma shake his head. “Huh, neither am I… are we… This is the first time I’ve split so-”

Xisuma tilted his head a little. “I guess it is pretty safe here. Have you had any deaths so far?”

“I thought that was going to be my first.”

“So that would explain the lack of death messages as opposed to Gemini or Pearlescent. Do you know either of them?”

“No, sorry, not really.” The slime people answered. “Well, uh, there’s just enough here if you need basic tools, but not much else. I’ve got a pickaxe- crafting table.”

Xisuma looked between the two. “I think both would be nice. I spawned underground and had trouble with getting anything at all.” And before he could say more, the slime people were handing him those two items and a few more.

“You’re on your own for food though. Berries aren’t the most filling, so I’ve been eating them all up. They taste nice though.” And to prove their point, each of the slime people went after a berry, though they went after the same one and ended up fighting over it.

Xisuma nodded and went up to one of the walls. This would be much easier than getting the warden to do all his mining, seeing as how he would now be in control. He started to staircase out of the cave, placing what few torches he had until he found more coal. Technically he didn’t need to, but then something could spawn and head down and attack the slime pair. And Xisuma didn’t want to never return and just leave them there alone forever. So when he finally did get up to the surface, Xisuma went straight back down. “Are you sure you want to- er, what are you doing?”

The slime people looked back over to Xisuma and shrugged. “Trying to fuse back together or something. Why did you come back?”

Xisuma wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but the next thing he really knew, he was going back up towards the surface, his arms full from holding the slime pair, one cradled in each arm. Sure, they said they would be safe alone in the cave, but X couldn’t help the feeling that they wouldn’t be safe so far away. He was pretty sure it was just from his worry about everyone else, and this was just one person he could protect, but Xisuma couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else going on.

.

.

.

Hypno leaned against Etho, who was doing surprisingly well considering their current situation. Both of them were low on hunger, only managing to stay alive from what little they could get from the flowers and grass they picked and ate. Etho somehow managed to find a pig wandering around and killed it for some raw pork, handing it to Hypno to eat. They couldn’t cook it, but Etho was less worried about the hunger the meat would satiate and more about the fact that Hypno wasn’t fully himself.

After the initial shock of finding horns on Hypno’s head, the pair looked him over. Hypno made mention of an ache at the base of his spine, and Etho found a few concerning bumps on Hypno’s upper back. Until they actively looked into it, Hypno hadn’t noticed anything wrong, which led to them checking Etho, and also giving the ninja something to plan for on his next respawns.

Etho was glad they didn’t notice much with him, but with little to do, he explained to Hypno his encounters with Ren, Impulse and Grian. Out of the three, Impulse had seemed the most normal, only having red eyes instead of the golden brown he usually sported. Ren had seemed fine at first, but then in the attack from the creeper, the shifter had killed Etho, acting like an attacked wolf. And then Grian for the most part had been acting like a bird, though near the end…

A moobloom trotted over, pulling Etho out of his thoughts. It nuzzled against Hypno, who happily reciprocated. Still worried about the other hermit and the effects the environment was having on him, Etho forcefully separated the two, needing to attack the animal to make it flee.

“What was that for Etho? It was just being friendly.”

“Right now, we need to be cautious of everything. Especially those cows and all the flowers around here. Because in case you forgot, growing horns like that is not normal. Plus, we could use the food right now.”

Hypno huffed. “We’ll use up more energy trying to kill it than we would get from anything it drops. It’s better to let us willingly help us than-”

Etho suddenly held up a finger to shush Hypno, letting them listen to the breeze. “Do you hear that?”

Hypno listened, only hearing a few moos from the nearby moobloom. “The cows?”

“Well, okay yeah. But it’s more what I’m not hearing.” And then Etho pulled out his communicator. Hypno watched as Etho stared at the screen, mask moving ever so slightly as he mouthed counting up. But nothing was happening. At first, Hypno didn’t get what was so important until he pulled out his own communicator. No death messages were coming in. Specifically none from Impulse.

“Impulse got out.” Hypno said, whispering in disbelief. “Someone must have found him.”

Etho nodded. “Yeah, but the question is who.” And then almost immediately, it was answered.

Zedaph was slain by impulseSV

.

.

.

If there was one thing that was a benefit to respawning in the same place every time, it was the fact that no matter how many times Impulse died, the guardians wouldn’t disappear. Meaning that after a few attempts, he finally killed one of the monsters giving him grief. Just being able to slay one of them felt freeing with all the torment he was currently being put through, but that wasn’t the only benefit.

When the guardian died, it dropped two things, a prismarine shard and some cod. Impulse greedily grabbed at the items, stuffing the shard in his inventory and then stuffing the fish in his mouth. After not eating in so long, the fish seemed like the most heavenly food in the world, though Impulse had other ideas on why that was the case.

Here and there, guardians had completely ignored him. Sometimes he felt like he was getting a full breath of air even though he was still stuck in the water. He hadn’t missed the webbing between his fingers and toes growing each respawn nor the scales that appeared and itched like crazy. Half of Impulse would have preferred drowning forever instead of whatever this was, but his other half realized that it was likely his only way out.

Another respawn left him fumbling for his prismarine shard, using it to dig into the nearby blocks. Along with the claw-like nails he had gained, Impulse was able to break another block, making him smile at first, but then his expression dropped. With the way the temples were constructed, the walls weren’t that thick. Instead of gaining an air pocket, he had just broken into another chamber.

“Impulse.”

In anger, Impulse took the prismarine shard and used it against the next guardian he saw.

“Impulse.”

He started by using it like a knife and jamming it into the eye of the beast, making it flail and spread its spikes.

“Impulse.”

As the world around him seemed to fade into blues and golds, Impulse kept attacking, needing to get his anger out somehow.

“Impulse. Impulse. Impulse.” And then Impulse felt like he was falling, but he still thrashed around, trying to stop whatever it was. Then the next thing he knew, it was like gravity had increased drastically, leaving him pressed against the floor. Something moved and he attacked it, surprised to find it feeling much fluffier than the guardians had been. There was a sound, like someone talking, but why would anyone be talking with him stuck all alone. Etho maybe? Was he back?

As the creature died in his hands, Impulse looked towards the sound. The first thing he noticed was that Etho’s eyes were now both red. Even the sclera were red. He had also dyed his hair blond, and gotten rid of his mask, and well that wasn’t Etho at all. Impulse kicked his legs to try and swim closer, only to finally realize he wasn’t underwater anymore.

The moment Impulse realized he was out of the sea temple, he started taking gulps of air. His lungs had already started breathing it all, but now he was trying to get as much oxygen as he could before he drowned again. A part in the back of his mind told him he couldn’t drown right now, but his mental state wasn’t the best right now.

“Hey Impulse. Calming down now?” Tango was asking, and Impulse looked over, glad to see his friend. He nodded, which got Tango to smile before looking off towards the horizon. Impulse briefly followed Tango’s eyes before his hand moved and he felt the soft wool of the carpets beneath him. It almost felt overwhelming how different it was compared to the past week plus that he had been stuck in the temple. But it was also good, so he wrapped himself up before following Tango’s eyes once more.

“What’s that way?” Impulse spoke, voice feeling unfamiliar from disuse and possibly alterations that matched everything else going on with him.

“Zed. I’m hoping he’ll be able to find us again since I have made a bit of a path.”

Impulse tilted his head before noticing his inventory had many more items. “Did he get killed or something?”

“Yeah, you sort of killed him when we first summoned you in.” Tango explained, and Impulse felt horrified. Him? Kill Zedaph? For a prank or something, sure, that was believable, But this had been from pure bloodlust at the time.

“I killed him? Oh no! I didn’t know! It had been a guardian at first, and then I was falling, and then I was-”

“Hey, calm down.” Tango replied. He took a step toward Impulse, obviously to comfort him, but then Impulse was surprised to see his friend change their mind and step back again. “Zed and I figured something like this might happen. We would have made beds to set our spawn, but we haven’t been collecting wool that much, so at most we would have had just one piece.”

Impulse chucked a little after realizing there were no sheep around. “What? Did Zedaph finally grow his hair out enough?” And he expected Tango to laugh in return, but the frown that appeared didn’t bode well.

“Impulse, do you… realize what you look like?” Tango asked, and then Impulse looked down at his hand and flexed it.

“What’s happened with Zedaph?”

Tango took a few steps to the side and a moment later the nearby leaves of a tree caught fire. “Zed and I have had both of our more animal-esque traits acting up. I’m burning just about any flammable thing that gets close to me and his wool is growing out of control. There’s other stuff too but…”

“But even if you’re not ending up like me, you’re still dealing with your own things.”

“Hey! I’m back! And it looks like Impulse has not killed you!”

.

.

.

Hels cut down a hoglin that was in the way of he and Wels as they travelled the nether. Wels was reluctantly following, his copy being the only reason he was doing so well right now. Well that, and the fact that he was promising some sort of shelter. They went a bit further, and then Wels spotted something that was clearly man made, making him try to run forward for shelter before he was grabbed by Hels. “Don’t run ahead idiot. I just know that you’ll manage to die if you try that and we’ll have to start all over.”

“Well I’m sure I could find a way to survive fine on my own.”

“Sure you could.” Hels said, obviously sarcastic. “And your death messages make that so very believable. Tell me, have you noticed anything odd about your situation, other than being stuck in the nether.”

“Well, chat hasn’t been working right and I can’t regenerate my health.”

“Right… Well, what have you been eating?” Hels asked as they finally reached the door to the helsmit’s base, opening it to let Wels inside.

“Mainly crimson fungi or the rare pork if I can chip enough health away from a hoglin.” Wels answered, linking himself to the respawn anchor sitting inside.

“That fungi is only edible to hoglins you know.” Hels said, closing the door and then crossing his arms.

“Well obviously that’s not the case here.” And then Wels made his point by munching down on a mushroom he still had in his inventory.

Hels pursed his lips before yanking the fungi out of Wels’ hand and then smashing the knight’s head against a nearby wall. “Spit that out right now or I’ll go again until I break your tusks.”

“My what?” Wels asked, reluctantly spitting out the half chewed fungus.

“You’re an idiot. How did you not notice you were growing tusks?”

And Wels didn’t have an answer, just letting his hand go to his mouth and feel what were definitely tusks. “When did-”

“Who knows. My guess is it's something with this world. It’s not like any of us want to be here.”

Wels looked back over to Hels at that comment, a questioning look on his face. “Evil Xisuma approached me a few weeks ago. He was planning to get into the new season before the rest of you so he could keep from getting banned and put some action into play with his brother and a number of the other hermits. I wasn’t as interested in his plan, but having fun on the server on my own seemed like a good idea to me. A few others were planning to join us, but I’m sure they haven’t followed along. So as far as I’m aware, it is only Evil Xisuma and I trapped here with all of you.”

“Well, at the very least neither of us are stuck here alone.” Wels spoke, trying to give a positive spin on things.

“I would have preferred to be alone.” Hels replied. “You’ll use up more of my resources. That being said, my guess is you’re necessary for whatever is going on around here to stop. So until that’s fixed or I learn otherwise, I am reluctantly helping you.”

“Alright, that sounds fine for now. And you said Evil Xisuma is here too, correct? Any clue where he could be?”

.

.

.

Bdubs stared down at the void below his feet, glad to have stopped moving, though his gut was still getting used to that change. The guy in pink armor next to him was reluctantly patting his back as another wave of nausea hit and he started to dry heave. “Th-Thanks.”

“Whatever. I just know what being stuck in the void is like so I have a little sympathy.”

“Well glad to know I’m not the only one stuck in this situation. Not that that’s a good thing.”

“Right.” The armored person deadpanned, looking down at the void as well.

Bdubs was quiet for a little before looking over to his savior. “So then, I don’t really think I caught your name in all our yelling to heave both of us up here.”

The other person raised an eyebrow at Bdubs, as if to ask if he was serious, then being a little surprised when he was. The person hesitated, looking down, not to the void but more at their lap, then a hand fiddled with their hair before they finally looked back at Bdubs. “Name’s Xannes.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Bdubs!” And he held out a hand, pausing as he noticed the state it was in.

Xannes took the hand carefully and shook it, before helping it back to Bdubs’ side. “Side effect of the void. I’m more protected because of my armor, but you don’t have that.”

“Well now I’m actually upset about not having armor, even if it were pink.”

Xannes looked incredulous at that before putting his hands on his hips. “Hey, this is simply a… lightish red.”

“You mean pink.”

“Lightish. Red.”

“Lightish red is red mixed with white. And what does that give you? Pink. You’ve got pink armor.”

“Alright, so maybe it’s supposed to be pink.” Xannes conceded. “But my color is red, and this isn’t my armor, I’m simply borrowing it. So for anyone else, it would be pink, but as long as I wear it, it’s a lightish red.”

“Whatever you say.”

Xannes sighed and then carefully took Bdubs’ hand again. “Alright, so looking again, this doesn’t quite look as natural as being stuck in the voice can make it. Obviously that’s because none of this is natural. Even though it wouldn’t help me in the long run if it were working, I have tested plenty with my communicator and learned a number of things. First, we are not the only ones in a situation like this.”

“Yeah.” Bdubs agreed. “I already met Scar stuck on one of the islands below.”

“Noted.” Xannes nodded. “Well, others have similar odd spawns. I- Someone named Impulse had been stuck in a guardian temple, a Docm77 has been sent to his death by goats. X-Xisuma has been dealing with a warden.” Xannes started to explain, voice getting quieter at the last example, though Bdubs didn’t notice.

“And the void stuff?”

“If I knew more about what was going on, I could tell you. But as it stands, I can just tell your limbs seem to have a form of void-bite and your eyes are as dark as the void itself.”

Bdubs leaned back a little in shock at the comment. “Wait, really?” And then he was fishing into his shirt before pulling out a knife, Xannes’ eyes widening at the weapon. Bdubs held the blade up, briefly putting it back down to shine it against his shirt before using it as a mirror and then staring into it. Sure enough, his eyes seemed to go on forever into their sockets, pure darkness filling them.

“How many knives do you have?” Xannes asked, tearing Bdubs’ gaze from the weapon.

“Huh? Oh, I’ve got plenty. Want one?” And he pulled out another, only the tiniest bit worried about being stabbed by the unfamiliar person. But instead of stabbing him, Xannes simply threw the knife off the edge, watching it fall down. “What was that for?”

Xannes didn’t really reply, just holding a finger up for Bdubs to wait. Reluctantly, he did, but then got restless as time seemed to drag on. Any time he attempted to talk, he would just get shushed, making it feel even worse. Finally, out of nowhere, the knife suddenly fell past them, making Bdubs jump back enough that he nearly fell off their gateway and into the void, but Xannes grabbed him before that could happen and pulled him back in.

“Well then, it seems like a loop around the void lasts around two and a half minutes.” Xannes stated, shifting to turn his body and move to a different part of the gateway. “I guess it would be less on a second loop after already reaching terminal velocity, but it's good to know. I know something has been flying past here ever so often but I was still sort of stuck on the side of this thing for most of it, then I was dealing with you, so… you get the idea.”

“You telling me everything’s looping up and down like us?” Bdubs asked, looking around the sky, or what passed for it in the end.

“Us and anything non-living. I’ve already seen that there have been three void related deaths by Scar, Etho and TinFoilChef.”

“Well so far I’ve only seen Scar and you.” Bdubs replied. “I guess those other two are stuck around here too.”

“The chef, yes, but I’m not so sure about the other.” And Xannes handed his comm to Bdubs, showing a list of death messages, all belonging to Etho. “I have a function that lets me sort these messages. It’s very handy.” And then he reached off to the side, catching a comm as it fell from the air. “And this would be yours. I’ve seen it here and there… To be honest, it seems like it takes more than two or so minutes. We might need to test more.”

Bdubs swapped their communicators before looking down at the abyss below. “Well, Scar’s somewhere down there, I already found him once. I’m gonna see if I can get to him again and you can do whatever while I’m falling.”

Xannes rubbed his chin and then nodded. “Alright, go ahead. I’ll look out for you. If you respawn, wait a loop for me to catch you because I don’t have omniscient reaction time.”

“Sounds good to me.” Bdubs replied with a smile, then jumped into the void once more, ignoring the fear that came with it.

.

.

.

Scar rolled around on the end stone, trying to get to sleep. Sure, beds didn’t work in the end, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t sleep. It just wasn’t restful enough to keep phantoms away or set a spawn. Not like he needed to set a spawn three blocks away from his current one.

But right now, there was too much noise. The endermen were slowly losing their cool with Scar and he was also hearing the whispering of the vex. To be honest, that was probably why huge endermen were acting as they were. Void magic didn’t like to work with other magic.

But even with all of that, Scar really wanted to sleep for another reason. The whispers of the vex weren’t the only new thing with him. He had polished the pillar near him as just something to do other than wait around. The end rod in particular he shined until it was just mirror-like enough that he saw his green eyes were now vex blue. From that, he checked himself over a bit more and found that his eyes weren’t the only change. He seemed to be an inch or three shorter and his skin was definitely paler than before. He didn’t have wings again, but he knew it would only be a matter of time.

Scar really didn’t want to use any more help from the vex yet, knowing it would speed things up. He wanted to keep hope out for seeing Bdubs again before doing anything since it could be his last chance before a deal was needed once more. If he could just-

“Convex.” A much clearer whisper spoke, making Scar jump a little. “Are you sure a deal is such a bad thing at this stage in time?”

“Oh no no no no no.” Scar insisted, standing up and waving his hands in refusal. “I’m sure I’ll be better use to my friends if I’m not mostly stuck working with you guys.”

“What if you were not working for us?” The whisper asked, making Scar pause.

“Wait? I’m Convex because I can’t become true vex because of Xisuma and him tainting me and Cub with the void or something. I would think now being stuck in the end would make it worse, not better!”

“You still cannot, that is true. But a new evoker is being trained, one also tainted by the void. And I believe you would want to work with them.”

Scar inhaled sharply at the implication, knowing that it must be a hermit they were referring to. He fumbled in pulling his communicator out and then scrolled through all the death messages before finally seeing what he wanted. Death messages to vindicators and evokers, both about Mumbo. “So clarification on this deal?”

“You will still be considered Convex, but on a higher level than before. Not quite at the level of standard vex however. But during this, you will be linked to the new evoker, and cannot be released unless they themselves will it. And you should not will your release either.”

“Yeah, yeah, if that’s all, sure!” Scar agreed quickly, so excited he didn’t really take the time to think it over. Then suddenly he could feel more magic flowing into him. So much it felt like a red hot iron pressed all over his body, especially at his scars. And then it was gone, and he was left panting on the ground.

He didn’t know how long he had been there, but suddenly his name was shouted and Scar managed to lift his head up. He saw Bdubs rocking down towards him again and suddenly felt stronger again, getting a burst of energy and moving towards the builder. New wings spread from his back and let him fly, keeping him above the void as he grabbed his friend and then slowed them before reaching the abyss below, then slowly dragging them back up.

“Bdubs! Are you okay?!” Scar asked the moment they were both on the endstone, only staying on his feet for a second before his knees buckled beneath him.

“Am I okay? Am I okay?! I’m on the sweet sweet ground again!” And then he kissed the stone beneath him. “What about you? You look… not Scar but sound normal.”

“I can explain more in a bit. There’s an end city just over that way and I want to get something so we can start towards the main island. I’ll see if there’s elytra for you.”

“Oh no. I don’t think I ever want to fly again. If anyone, give it to Xannes.”

“Who?”

“Okay, guess my story first.”

.

.

.

On the main island, TFC dodged another attack from the dragon. She had been attacking less frequently, which was good and bad in his eyes. No attacking meant less dying, but TFC needed her attacks to even attempt destroying all the crystals. Because there was no way she was dying to fists alone with them still around.

That all being said, TFC had a sneaking suspicion on why exactly that was happening. His prosthetics were built to match his remaining limbs in function, but gradually over the past few respawns, they were becoming off balance. In trying to fix them, TFC realized he was less human than before, claws on his hands and feet, and tenderness at his tailbone and shoulder blades.

TFC was old, that much was true. And because of that, he had seen all sorts of situations. While for the most part the problems of this world were new to TFC, adaptations were not. A number of present day hybrids were a result of that. Heck, mob variants were also sourced from suce and occurrence. So yeah, TFC was not too surprised about seemingly becoming a dragon hybrid.

Thinking it over, in the long run it would likely give him just enough of an upper hand to defeat the dragon, but there was also the concern of how long it would take to get to that point and how far these alterations would go. If this went too far, the world itself could mistake him for a new ender dragon, and even after killing the real one, no portal would form due to his existence.

Well, if that was the case, he would need to figure out what it was that made the existence of the dragon close the portal and see if he could reverse it. Especially since he recalled at least one or two hermits were supposed to be stuck in the end with him. Though that did give him another idea. Maybe he didn’t have to keep fighting if the dragon opened the portal herself.

The next time TFC respawned, he waited, giving her time to rest. When he was sure the dragon was fully healed again, the miner made his way to the podium and waited. The dragon swooped a few times, giving some warning shots, but she didn’t attack TFC directly, and he made no move to attack the crystals. She didn’t look happy, but TFC had plenty of time to wait.

.

.

.

In a bout of frustration, ink was spilled over the floor, making Mumbo even more frustrated than before. He didn’t understand the need for learning another language just for spells. He was sure that knowing the characters that appeared with enchanting would be enough, but apparently the illagers had their own writing system. At the very least, Mumbo recognized a character or two that Scar or Cub must have had written down, but it still felt like he was learning a new language from scratch.

With ink all over the place, Mumbo paused to work on cleaning everything up. He had ruined nearly all his materials, so now he would have to attempt to get more or find an illager who would assist him in such a task. Paper was easy enough to get, a farm already set up in the mansion, but Mumbo hadn’t automated it yet, so there wasn’t going to be much to reap. And squid ink wasn’t something they just had on hand.

Mumbo reached the farming room and grabbed what sugarcane had grown, taking the reeds over to a crafting table then cutting and pressing them into paper. He only managed to make six pages from all of that and didn’t have the material to bind them into a book.Instead of leaving the room, Mumbo put the paper into a nearby chest and then pulled out his redstone materials.

As Mumbo built, he decided to multitask by using redstone dust to practice some of the characters he needed to learn. He couldn’t remember the normal order of the characters, so he just wrote them at random. He never really focused on the characters, so he didn’t notice when a few in a line started to glow a bit. In fact, he was just pausing his writing to work on fixing a bit of redstone, his head stuck in the contraption.

His hand blindly reached for some string to add as a tripwire, but he was about half a foot to the wrong side of his pile of materials. When Mumbo’s hand started to go further, it was stopped by some thread being placed in his hand. The redstoner said his thanks and then strung it up before pausing and pulling his head out.

Standing nearby was someone Mumbo immediately recognized, not knowing anyone else with a bright red sweater like that. Not caring that he was currently covered in redstone dust, Mumbo jumped at the newcomer and hugged them tightly, so glad to see a familiar face. “Grian! You’re okay! How did you get here? Where are the bots? Are you alright?”

But pulling away again, Mumbo watched as Grian just blinked at him, seeming a little confused. “I think you may be mistaken and confused, my mustachioed friend. I mean, I am okay and I got here because of you, but I’m not sure what you mean by bots and well, you were trying to take to someone named Grian.”

Mumbo furrowed his brows. Looking them over again, he could tell this had to be Grian. His clothes and hair and everything were the same. He couldn’t quite tell about their eyes because they were wearing a mask, but it matched the one he had seen Grian with in the past, a black mark on its face instead of the purple Eflyn expected. The only thing unfamiliar were the wings. Shape and pattern wise, they matched the wings Grian had, but the colors of the feathers were no longer red yellow and blue, but purple grey and black.

“Well then. If you’re not Grian, then who are you?” Mumbo asked, and the person giggled slightly.

“I could have swore you already knew, but I guess not. The name is Xelqua, but don’t go throwing it around to just anyone.” And just hearing it reminded Mumbo. It had been a name Grian had told him before.

“Well, if you don’t want me throwing it around, I’m going to have to call you something.” Mumbo spoke up, Xelqua seeming to agree. “Since I already mistook you for him and he’s not around, how about I call you Grian.”

“Hmm.” Grian thought about it before shaking his head. “Just you and me, you can call me Xelqua. Otherwise just Watcher is fine, okay?”

“But I-” Mumbo started to say, and then there was a clatter, making Mumbo and Grian look over at the door where Eflyn was standing.

“Well. It seems we have another guest then…”

.

.

.

Joe had paused in his material gathering. It was just going to be for a little bit, but he needed to clear his head. And the best idea he had for that was climbing the tower at spawn the correct way. Sure, he could try climbing from the outside or something, finding a window, but at this point these were definitely Watchers, and Joe was very much aware that they were not to be messed with.

Joe needed to pause on a platform to hold his head, a headache forming. It had been coming and going for a while, but it didn’t feel so bad now, the tower already lit up pretty well. As he waited, his other hand clutched at the wall as best it could, just feeling the texture of the wall, as if to check that it was real. “Guess you really couldn’t have been swayed, now could you?” Joe asked, speaking into the empty air around him. “Well maybe after this mess we can try it again.”

Joe climbed a few more parts of the parkour that acted as steps before nearly falling to a sudden splitting headache. He half considered letting go and trying again, there being enough hay lining the floor below to break his fall, but he had already gotten so far. And maybe if he could get to the top of the tower…

It had been ages ago when Joe had first met a Watcher. From what he could tell, it was even the first Watcher to exist. One that eventually disappeared to time that not even the other Watchers knew what happened. He wasn’t an expert of whatever the Watchers exactly were, but it had been enough that he recognized Grian as one pretty quickly when they first met in season six. Though that was partially from that not being their first meeting.

Yes, Joe had been along for a very long time. Which is why he was not happy with everything going on. But he had a bargaining chip in the form of knowledge, so getting to the top might be the one place to try and use it.

His headache passed and the glow from his eyes faded. Joe pulled himself back onto the platform and then adjusted his glasses. Just a bit more to go until he was at the top.

.

.

.

Doc woke up in a wood hut, lying in a bed. His back and head hurt, getting worse when he attempted to move to get up. He tried to remember what happened last, but suddenly being knocked unconscious wasn’t the best thing to try and remember. Looking around in a way that didn’t hurt as much, he was able to see a chest as well as something lying on the ground to his right.

Some crackling implied there was also a furnace running nearby. Mixed with that was some slight banging of metal from crafting and the hum of a tune that was familiar to Doc, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Another attempt to sit up left Doc yelp slightly in pain, stopping the humming and crafting sounds, getting replaced with footsteps that came towards him. “Are you awake this time?”

“Grumbot?” Doc asked, vaguely recognizing the robot that appeared in front of him. He only really distinctly knew his larger form, only seeing him and his brother at this size when they were just about to leave their previous world.

“Yeah. looks like you are. We have some bread if you’re hungry.” Grum spoke in a quiet voice that felt so odd compared to how energetic the hermits usually were. That being said, it had been a while since he had seen anyone else, so it might have just been from what others were dealing with. “I also left some of the wheat as wheat if you prefer that.”

“What? Why would I want that? Bread sounds fine.”

“Okay, I wasn’t sure if you were like dad or not.” Grum said before he went over to the chest, giving Doc a moment to think things over.

“Dad as in Grian or Mumbo?”

“Grian.” Grum answered, pulling out some food. “He was with us on the mountain. Everything was getting to him, so he started eating seeds instead of other stuff.”

“Okay. Is he out getting supplies or something?” Doc asked and then Grum’s face shifted to something sadder. “What happened to Grian?”

“I don’t know.” Grum spoke, managing to be quieter than before. “He just disappeared and Jrum and I were stuck alone on the mountain. And then I messed up.” And it took all of Doc’s willpower to not sit up and possibly hurt himself in the process with how sad Grum sounded in that moment.

“Why? What happened?”

“Someone figured out how to send messages in chat by accident. Jrum and I noticed, and we were going to try it out for ourselves, but it didn’t go right. And now Jrum… Jrum didn’t respawn right.”

And with that comment, Doc realized what was on the ground nearby. Jrum’s body was laid out, screen dark and body unmoving. “How long has he been like that?”

“A few days I think. It got really snowy so I couldn’t quite tell. Then I got busy digging through the snow until I found some ice to break.”

“And that must have been the waterfall I took down off the mountain.” Doc said, making Grum look a little sheepish.

“Sorry about hitting you when I fell. I freaked out a bit and then you were there and I couldn’t react in time. I’m sure if it was anyone else, they would have been in worse shape.”

“Why’s that?” Doc asked, though he had an idea based on which side of him ached more.

“Well, your metal parts helped protect you plus I think your thicker skull helped from a concussion.”

“My what?”

“Oh, I thought you…” Grum said, trailing off. “Um, so I think more weird stuff is happening than just being stuck wherever.”

“Yeah, I knew that.” Doc said. “Creeper instincts have been kicking in like crazy.”

“Well, your death messages mentioned goats a lot. It looks like because of that, you’ve started turning into a goat hybrid as well.”

“I’ve what?” Doc asked, incredulously. He ignored the pain from moving when he started feeling himself over, finally finding horns coming from his head. “Oh… huh…”

Grum forced Doc back down to a resting position before feeding him some bread. Here, how about I tell you what I know about, then you can tell me what you know.

“Sounds good to me.”

[dontshootmespence]

Used

Summary: Aaron ties you up and uses you, just the way you like.

Words: 1,296

Warnings: Daddy kink, Bondage, rope bondage, blindfold, blow jobs, nipple play, light flogging on very sensitive areas, this is one of my more explicit ones ya’ll, please be warned.

A/N: Literally only smut.

The soft thudding of Aaron’s footsteps against the bedroom floor flood through your ears. Behind the silk scarf he tied around your eyes, every other sense becomes heightened, ropes scraping against your wrists and ankles that are tied to each corner of the bed, footsteps and heartbeats pounding in your ears. You pull against the restraints, whining when you hear him laugh.

How long has it been since he tied you up? Five minutes? Ten? Twenty?

It feels like an eternity.

The longer he leaves you to think, the wetter you become. You can feel the arousal pooling in your panties and you just want him to stop the teasing and fuck you already. Every thought running through your mind is driving you crazy, and the way he has your legs tied to opposing corners means you can’t even clench your legs together for a modicum of relief.

“So much whining, little girl,” he teases, his smooth baritone already setting you on edge. “I love it when you pull against the ropes. When you whine with no relief in sight. You must be imagining what I want to do to you.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe, whining as he pinches a nipple through the silk nightgown you’re wearing. “I need your cock inside me.”

Aaron bends down to kiss your forehead, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Not just yet, little one. Watching you squirm and thrash against restraints, well, it’s one of my favorite things.”

As he speaks, he walks away. You almost cry knowing he’s not taking mercy on you yet. But this is what you wanted. You asked for this. To be tied and blindfolded and used in whatever way he chose. When he walks between the bathroom and the bedroom, you hear him in the distance. “Save your energy, little girl. You’re going to need it.”

Unable to see or move, you tune into his footsteps and follow them as he travels the room, presumably filing through your mountain of toys to find what he aims to use on you tonight. Although he finds what he wants fairly quickly, he waits, allowing you to stew in your thoughts for a little while longer. “What do you need, little girl?”

“I need you to use me, Daddy,” you breathe, your eyes searching for him in vain behind the silk.

Rolling against the restraints in desperation, you hear a faint chuckle from above you, the devious kind that’s filled with so much more than laughter. “I have just the thing for you.”

A shiver rockets up your spine when his fingers graze your skin, gently hiking your nightgown up just underneath your chin. His touch is heavy but delicate and pulls you into the moment. After what feels like hours, something touches your skin that takes you a minute to place. It’s a very small, red, suede flogger. Honestly, it was an impulse buy. The red really drew you in and you’d always wanted to try one, so you bought a beginner’s flogger that was pretty.

As the material rakes over your skin, your nipples harden against the cool air, your cunt quivering at the anticipation of what’s to come. You’ve never done this before, but you trust him with your life.

He glides the flogger around each breast, tracing nipples with the soft, giving suede. You imagine what it looks like against your flushed skin and sigh happily, gasping when he drags it down between your breasts and down through your legs. “Does that feel good, my little slut?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

When the flogger leaves you, you search for it, arching into the air only to be met with it striking across your breasts. The material is soft and he isn’t putting his whole force behind the swing. It’s just enough to skirt the edge of pain.

Over and over again, he lifts it from your body and brings it back down with a soft crack. It’s unpredictable. Sometimes almost massaging your skin and other times cracking across your nipple and making you hiss with a delicious, full-bodied pain. Words bloom on your lips, but nothing comes out as heat radiates from the whip marks.

“What is it, little one?”

“I want you to flog my pretty cunt, Daddy.”

Grunting, he moves closer to your legs and from the sounds of it, stroking himself over his pants. “Why is that? Why do you want that?”

“Because I’m a slut.”

“Whose?”

“Yours, Daddy.”

Expecting the flogger, you gasp when you feel cool metal sliding in between your skin and panties. “You won’t be needing these.” With two quick slices of the scissors, your panties are no more, being pulled out from underneath you. “Count to five.”

The first one is nothing. It’s pleasant. No pain to speak of at all, and the number one falls easily from your lips. “Two,” you say as the second comes down on you, the edges of the flogger just skirting your most sensitive areas.

“How is that?” The slight wobble in his voice asking you a question, not the submissive.

You bite your lip and look where you assume he’s standing. “It feel good, Sir.”

“Harder?”

“Yes, a little,” you reply nervously.

When the third pass hits you, it strikes you clit and you let out a little hiss of pain. Your legs attempt clenching together to alleviate it, but it’s no use; his binds are secure. “Four!” It comes out louder than you intended, but the fourth strike in the same area as the last has your cunt burning, a beautiful burn that makes you whimper. “Five!”

“Good job, little girl.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Walking toward the foot of the bed, where your arms are tied, he bends down, deftly untying your wrists. “You’re going to open your mouth and stick your tongue out like a good girl. If you take my cock like the good little slut I know you are, you’ll get a reward.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I’ll do a good job. I promise.”

“I know, baby girl,” he replies proudly.

You crane your neck back and let your mouth drop open, moaning at the taste of him as the tip of his cock touches your tongue. As he slips inside, you wrap your lips around him and hollow your cheeks, making a point to breathe deeply through your nose as he pushes against the back of your throat.

As he hits the back of your throat, you gag and he pulls back, only to push back in again, falling into a rhythm of his own grunting and your soft gagging. “Gonna come down your throat, little girl. Can you take it?”

Nodding, you move your head up and down, wanting to pull his release from him, and when you do, and his body tenses above you, you smile around him, swallowing every drop of come he gives you. “Such a good girl.”

Pulling out, he lets his cock kiss your lips as he bends over and slips three fingers into you. You eagerly accept them, pushing down into his hand, your body sitting on the edge of ecstacy with the end right in your sights. “Fuck, Daddy, can I come?”

“Bring those beautiful hands up here and stroke my cock.”

Hesitation is non-existent, your hands greedily grasping him, sliding quickly up and down as you bounce the tip of him against your tongue. “Now come, little girl.”

White hot pleasure shoots through you, making you buck your cunt up into his firm palm. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You scream. Legs seize against the ropes as his fingers still against you, massaging the rest of your orgasm from you. “Was I a good girl, Daddy?”

“The best, little one. You always are.”

Tags: @heycasbutt​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @threepupsinapuddle​

[ernestpembroke]

MBTI →  ENTP-T (The Debater) Enneagram → 7 Alignment → Chaotic Good Love Language → Words of Affirmation

MBTI: ENTP-T / The Debater

Quick-witted and audacious, Debaters aren’t afraid to disagree with the status quo. In fact, they’re not afraid to disagree with pretty much anything or anyone. Few things light up people with this personality type more than a bit of verbal sparring – and if the conversation veers into controversial terrain, so much the better.

It would be a mistake, though, to think of Debaters as disagreeable or mean-spirited. Instead, people with this personality type are knowledgeable and curious, with a playful sense of humor, and they can be incredibly entertaining. They simply have an offbeat, contrarian idea of fun – one that involves a healthy dose of spirited debate.

Debaters are known for their rebellious streak. For this personality type, no belief is too sacred to be questioned, no idea is too fundamental to be scrutinized, and no rule is too important to be broken, or at least thoroughly tested. Sometimes Debaters even rebel against their own beliefs by arguing the opposing viewpoint – just to see how the world looks from the other side.

As Debaters see it, most people are too ready to do as they’re told and blindly conform to social norms, pressures, and standards. Debaters enjoy the mental exercise of questioning the prevailing mode of thought, and they take a certain pleasure in uncovering the value of underdogs and outliers. Their active minds can’t help but rethink the things that everyone else takes for granted and push them in clever new directions.

While Debater personalities love to brainstorm and think big, they tend to avoid getting caught doing the “grunt work” of implementing their ideas. To some extent, this makes sense – Debaters have far too many thoughts and suggestions to keep track of them all, let alone turn them into reality. But unless Debaters develop the willingness to identify and actually follow through on their priorities, they may struggle to harness their full potential.

Not every occasion calls for this personality type’s default contrarianism, and most people can only stand to have their beliefs questioned and their feelings brushed aside for so long. As a result, Debaters may find that their quarrelsome fun burns many bridges, often inadvertently. Debaters are respected for their vision, confidence, knowledge, and keen sense of humor – but unless they cultivate a bit of sensitivity, they may struggle to maintain deeper relationships or even to achieve their professional goals.

Enneagram: 7 / The Enthusiast

Sevens are extroverted, optimistic, versatile, and spontaneous. Playful, high-spirited, and practical, they can also misapply their many talents, becoming over-extended, scattered, and undisciplined. They constantly seek new and exciting experiences, but can become distracted and exhausted by staying on the go. They typically have problems with impatience and impulsiveness. At their Best: they focus their talents on worthwhile goals, becoming appreciative, joyous, and satisfied.

As Sevens speed up their pursuit of whatever seems to offer freedom and satisfaction, they tend to make worse choices, and they are less able to be satisfied because everything is experienced indirectly, through the dense filter of their fast-paced mental activity. The result is that Sevens end up anxious, frustrated, and enraged, with fewer resources available to them physically, emotionally, or financially. They may end up ruining their health, their relationships, and their finances in their search for happiness.

Key Motivations: Want to maintain their freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out on worthwhile experiences, to keep themselves excited and occupied, to avoid and discharge pain.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

A chaotic good character acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him. He makes his own way, but he's kind and benevolent. He believes in goodness and right but has little use for laws and regulations. He hates it when people try to intimidate others and tell them what to do. He follows his own moral compass, which, although good, may not agree with that of society.

Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Words of affirmation are words that communicate your love, appreciation, and respect for another person. They're positive words and phrases used to uplift someone. What's more, these compliments and words of encouragement don't have to be said directly to the person.

[flatstarcarcosa]

adoption

noun

1. the action or fact of legally taking another's child and bringing it up as one's own, or the fact of being adopted.

“I just can’t believe he did this!” The words are punctuated by the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board. Reese pauses, popping a slice of potato into their mouth and crunching angrily.

“Hm, absolutely!” agrees Jackal, joining in to snag a potato. “Remind me, what...exactly did Silco do, again? You left that part out in all of the aggressive potato stabbing.”

Reese frowns and roughly slices another potato in half. “He decided in a moment of sheer impulsive stupidity that we’re apparently going to take in a disturbed murder child, because, why not!”

Jackal perks up at that, eyebrows raising as they stretch out across the counter. “Murder child, you say?”

“CHILD,” Reese repeats. “An entire fucking child! He’s lost his mind. I swear to god, he’s lost his mind and now I’m going to have to just put him down as an act of mercy!”

“An entire child,” Jackal echoes, “as opposed to half a child. Which we all know is infinitely worse.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Reese asks. They gesture towards their face, either unaware of the fact they’re using the end of the knife to gesture or apathetic to the fact. “Do I look like anything about this is funny?”

“Absolutely not!” says Jackal. “However, the prospect of you kicking Silco to death in his own office? Hilarious. About this child-”

“She’s fucking insane,” says Reese. “And I mean,” they pause, gesturing at themself once more, “I would goddamn know!” Jackal nods in agreement, doing very, very well at the practicing of the empathy while waiting impatiently for the perfect time to press more about the child.

“Where did he get her?” they finally ask. “Why? How old is she? Is he aware neither of you should be raising a kid? No...actually, full offense, sorry.”

“I don’t know. Because he had ‘a moment’. She’s like...nine, or something,” says Reese, answering the volley of questions just as fast as they’d been asked. “And I know! That’s why I’m so mad! I don’t have a parental bone in my body and he’s an idiot if he thinks he does. She’s going to need to be watched, and what’s gonna happen every time he’s busy or not in the mood?”

“Exactly,” Jackal purrs, “what is going to happen?”

“Before or after I strangle him in his sleep with his own tie?” asks Reese. They toss the knife into the sink, where it bounces with a clatter before landing in the drain and getting stuck. They stop to look at it, frustration with Silco momentarily transferred to the helpless kitchen utensil. Jackal watches their temper boil behind their eyes, and leaps off the counter before the whistle can go off.

“Here’s an idea!” they say loudly, drawing attention. “She will simply need a babysitter. Someone to keep an eye on her when you two aren’t around, and...guide her, since we know Silco’s the last one who should have the final say on that.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Reese sarcastically, “you missed that part. Apparently ‘Sevika will handle it’.”

“Horrible idea,” says Jackal. “But, consider, if you will-”

“Should I strangle him or smother him?” Reese asks, only mildly paying attention to Jackal as they attempt to fish the knife loose. Jackal sighs.

“Consider, if you will,” they say again. “If you-”

“Maybe,” Reese grunts, pulling the knife loose. They swear as it slips from their hand, leaving a mild gash in their palm. Jackal sighs again, louder and more exasperated as they reach for a towel.

“Consider! If you will!” They say, a third time as they offer Reese the towel. “If you had someone to help with her. Someone that isn’t you, Silco, or Sevika.”

“I’m considering boxing her up and sending her back,” says Reese, “if that counts. Give her a blanket, little sign ‘free to good home’, like when you have a stray littler you didn’t expect.”

“Okay for one, shouldn’t do that to animals anyway,” says Jackal, “definitely shouldn’t do it to people. For two, what if I keep an eye on her? I’m sure with such delicate murder tendencies she will need proper care and instruction and also knives.”

“As long as she stops stealing my fucking chefs knives, I don’t give a shit,” says Reese, gesturing towards the now bloodied knife laying on the counter. They squeeze the towel against their palm. “I’m tired of chopping potatoes with a fucking bread knife, Jackal. A BREAD KNIFE.”

“The horror,” Jackal says, completely deadpan. “So we agree? You and Silco shouldn’t be trusted to be the only ones taking care of a child.”

“That was my whole complaint, and yes,” Reese adds before Jackal has a chance to say anything else. “I sincerely don’t care who watches her, but I do want to watch him pop a blood vessel when we tell him it should be you.”

“Fantastic.”

Reese makes a stop at a bathroom to grab some bandages and is still wrapping it around their hand when the two of them waltz into Silco’s office. He glances up from his desk, frowns, and looks back down.

“What have I told you about knocking?” he asks.

“You haven’t told me anything,” says Jackal.

“To do it more often, since you’ll settle for at least some of the time versus never,” says Reese at the same time. Jackal utters a soft oh as they realize they weren’t being spoken too, and takes a perch on top of a coffee table. Reese makes a show of pushing Silco and his chair away from his desk with one foot, and he looks up to glower at them as they sit directly on the paperwork he’d been examining.

“What, pray tell, is this about?” he asks, sighing.

“Honey,” Reese says, voice pitched a couple octaves higher than normal. The sweetness of the word yet drips, slightly, with venom.

“Darling,” Silco responds, his own tone matching.

“We need to have a talk about Powder.” Reese cuts to the meat of the issue and props their bad leg in his lap while attempting to tie off the bandage with one hand. Silco rolls his eyes, but leans forward nonetheless to tie it for them.

“That’s not her name anymore,” he says.

“What?” Reese frowns as he tightens the bandage and leans back in his seat.

“She doesn’t want to be called that anymore,” he says simply. “Her name is Jinx now.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Reese sighs. “What I care about is that she’s driving me insane, and we shouldn’t just be letting her run around with no supervision like she is.”

“She’s not unsupervised,” says Silco stiffly.

“Where is she, right now?” asks Reese.

“The important thing is that Sevika is watching her,” he says. Reese rolls their eyes again.

“Sevika’s getting drunk at the Last Drop, kid not included.”

“Damn her,” Silco hisses.

“The fuck were you expecting? She was just gonna cozy up to the kid that incinerated her fucking arm?” Reese frowns, dropping their leg. “This isn’t an environment for a kid. And before you start-” they hold up a finger, silencing Silco before he interrupts “-I know that nowhere down here is. But I also know what she’s going to need is someone that isn’t us, that isn’t balls deep in this shit to be able to... I don’t know, do whatever kids do. At least for a while.”

Silco narrows his eyes, tilting his head to look around Reese at Jackal. Jackal offers a wave, currently lying across the coffee table on their back with one leg crossed over the other.

“And I suppose Jackal is your suggestion,” he says flatly.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know Jackal, only by reputation,” he says. “If you expect me to trust them with my- with Jinx with what I know of them, you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Oh?” asks Jackal, unaware until now that they have any kind of reputation. “What’ve you heard?”

“Nothing I find charming,” Silco snaps.

“I’m not asking you to trust Jackal,” says Reese, prompting a frown Jackal themself. “I’m asking you to trust me, and I trust them.”

Silco regards them both, Reese for far longer, and says nothing. He reaches for a cigar, and frowns when Reese swats his hand away.

“All right, all right,” he snaps. “Fine. I don’t disagree that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for her to have someone else around. But she tells me she doesn’t like it, or you,” he adds, pointing at Jackal, “it ends. Understood?”

“Oh absolutely,” says Jackal. “Which won’t happen, I’m very good with murder children. Now, I should probably go find her, since apparently you don’t know what she’s up to.”

Jackal is up and out the door in a flash, giving Silco no chance to respond to the verbal barb. Instead he’s left with only Reese, and a staring contest. One arched eyebrow above their glasses, and fingers drumming against their bicep. He relents first when reaches once more for his cigars. They allow it this time, if only to pluck it from his mouth after its lit to smoke it themself.

“I still don’t like this,” he says, reaching for a second cigar.

“Well you should have thought of that before you decided we’d all play fucking house without asking me,” they say.

“What was I supposed to do?” he asks, smoke trailing out of his mouth as he speaks.

“I don’t know! But there was a time where that kind of shit wasn’t our fucking business,” Reese says. “We didn’t get involved unless it was profitable...or, y’know, funny, and I don’t see this being either right now.”

“Maybe sometimes it’s not just about that,” he says softly.

“Oh, don’t start,” Reese groans. He looks up at them, brows furrowed.

“Are you mad that I rescued her,” he says slowly, “or are you jealous because you’re still mad no one ever did it for you?”

The tone of room, and conversation, switches in a flash as the sound of Reese’s boot hitting the floor echoes like a shot. As they’re pulling their fist back and aiming it towards his jaw, Silco is rising fast enough to send his chair sailing towards the window. It slams into it with another bang, the noise sounding almost in time with a crack from Reese’s knee.

They put their weight for the punch on their bad knee, exactly as he’d expected they would. The result is them glancing down at their footing and reflexively dropping their fist to instead grab at his shoulder for support. The flurry of movement ends with him supporting their waist while they clutch a bundle of his shirt in their hand.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he notes neither of them dropped their cigar, and can’t help an amused chuckle as he reaches up to pull his down and rest it in the ash tray.

“I wouldn’t have to drag things out of you if you’d just talk to me, you know,” he says. Reese grunts and corrects their footing before making a show of shoving him back. He holds his hands up, sarcastically placating.

“There’s some things that stay buried,” they say, and angrily stub their own cigar out. “You know that.”

Silco hums in response, watching intently as they stomp across his office. He pulls his chair back to his desk as they slam the door hard enough to rattle in the frame, and lets out an exhausted sigh. He stares at the closed door for a while, through the haze of smoke and letting his thoughts recenter before returning his attention to the stack of paperwork before him.

He’s no sooner read a single sentence before a thud up above tears him away once more, and catches sight of a nervous pair of blue eyes looking down from the shadows.

“Yes, Jinx?” he asks. “Did you need something?”

“Do you wanna meet my new friend?” asks Jinx, almost apprehensively. A small smirk tugs at his lips as he realized no one had actually discussed how Jackal would introduce themself to Jinx, yet somehow the agreement of not telling her Silco already knew was evident.

“I would love to,” he says.

[hawklanthebard]

Trespassing (Fantasy AU)

"Hey, Boss, look what we caught on the perimeter." 

A pair of rough hands released Taka as he was flung onto the rugged soil with a muffled grunt. A feeble effort at getting off the ground resulted in a few crude chuckles above him. The nerve. The absolute nerve. If he was to be their captive, the least they could do was grant him the dignity of letting him walk to their camp with unbound limbs and an unclothed mouth. On top of that, his vinyl white uniform was most likely peppered with splotches now, and after it was perfectly pressed this morning, yet he seemed to be the only one even the least bit concerned. No doubt, these people were indeed ruffians. 

When Taka was able to finally rise to his knees, a pair of unpolished forehooves met his gaze as another gruff voice hovered over him.

"A royal guard, huh?"

Now, in this situation, any human worth their salt would've obeyed their first impulse and kept their head down and pray to whatever god would show them mercy. Taka, as many knew, was a very special case. Never one to take a snub lying down. Never one to refuse a challenge. And certainly, never one to submit. Especially not with barbarians who care not for other's laundry. With unfazed furrowed brows and burning ruby eyes, Taka gazed up at the infamous centaur gang leader himself; Mondo Owada. 

"Well, this is quite a catch," Mondo smirked, earning a few collected chuckles from his fellow thugs. As quickly as it came, his mock interested tone shifted into looming intimidation. Unlatching his diamond-spiked club from his back, he planted the peak of it into the earth just a mere foot away from Taka as if to remind him of his alpha status. Although, it wasn't like Taka was in any position or capacity to oppose him. 

"So, tell me. What's a boot-licking dog like you doing in our territory?" A brief silence, followed by a muffled huff. "Oh right, the gag." With the snap of the leader's fingers, a nearby ruffian removed the cloth from Taka's mouth as the royal guard spat out whatever filth would stain his tongue for the next week or so. 

"I'm not on your territory," Taka huffed, taking in the fresh air as he spoke, "You ruffians are trespassing on our land. And it is my duty as Captain of the Royal Guard to protect the House I serve from any threat."

Mondo rolled his eyes, meeting the same glance from a few members. "Right. And exactly what House do you serve? I think we all should know who we're dealing with if they hired such a...dignified representative." 

As if not reading the obvious insult, Taka puffed his chest and proudly replied, "I serve the benevolent House of Togami." 

A sea of thunderous laughter domed over the camp as the guard's noble smirk vanished. Although his posture remained firm. After what felt like an irritatingly long time, the laughter died down a bit and the leader was able to speak. 

"Wow!" Mondo chortled as wiped away a tear before it could even form. "The Togamis?! You come here all high and mighty, ready to take on the most vicious gang in the world, and you serve the fuckin' Togamis?! Geez, with the way you talk all big 'n shit, I woulda thought you served under someone serious like the Kuzuryuu Clan. I mean, dragons need toothpicks, right? Hah, Togamis. Those pissheaded moneybags think they got what it takes to rule the world, and they hire a fuckin' Boy Scout as their flying monkey..!" 

The longer and louder the gang laughed with Mondo's remarks, the more red Taka's face bloomed. Not with shame, but with something more intense. No way in heck was he going to sit there and let these four-legged ruffians rake his House's name through the dirt. "Oh yeah? Well, I'd rather be a Boy Scout than a weak little filly like you!" 

Stunned silence swept through the camp as if death itself had suddenly made its horrid appearance. Taka glanced in slight curiosity as the previously-stoic members collectively lowered their heads, ears flattened against their heads as they all took a good few steps back with silent clops. Their fearful eyes were either locked on the ground, or on Mondo, although Taka noticed a few quick glances reflecting a look that was given to him many times in his youth when he insulted the school bully; Pity. 

The spiked club crashed down, crushing a few decent-sized rocks underneath the soil. The Diamond leader raked his weapon through the mud as he approached the guard with a wet stomp, towering over him as if his head could reach over the trees, the peeking light of midday behind him creating a silhouette over his face, only (literally) flaming red eyes pierced through the shadow. 

"You wanna run that by me again, Boy Scout..?" he spoke in a much lower tone than before, insinuating that Taka should pick his next words like grapes for wine. 

Such as the noble guard, Taka's firm expression hadn't been swayed by the beast's daunting appearance. He stood his ground...or rather, knelt his ground. 

"You heard me. A weak filly like you doesn't deserve to trot on our land. You'd be more fitting in the stables." 

Faster than Taka could blink, Mondo snatched him up in the air by the collar, their noses pressed against each other. "You little--! You got a fuckin' death wish or somethin'?!" 

"I'm not afraid of a barbarian who has to intimidate others to gain status. The kingdom I serve is blessed with folk who gained their wealth through hard work and punctuality. That's why beasts like you always fall on the bottom." 

As if to fulfill a crude punchline, Taka was dropped back onto the muddy clearing with a wet thud. Mondo's pale violet eyes shifted over Taka and gave a subtle nod to whoever was behind him. Taka mentally prepared himself for whatever torture he'd face for his words, and he'd proudly face it with no regrets. However, his face twitched in confusion as his arms and legs had suddenly been freed from restraint. 

"You wanna show what a fuckin' top dog you are? Then let's go right now." Mondo spoke with vigorous determination and contained anger, like a raging corrida bull before it's released into the arena. 

Rubbing his slightly sore wrists, Taka rose to his feet, dusting off any loose dirt. "A trial by combat to determine our worth to our lands? For my House and homeland, I accept your challenge."

Mondo quickly scanned the guard's body once more. He'd noticed it before, but it hadn't been an issue to bring up. "Where's your weapon?" he asked bluntly.

Taka's hand glided over to his belt and, sure enough, was met with an empty sheath drooped at his hip. "I suppose it must've fallen when I was...captured." He said the last word with masked shame. He didn't want to say it, but there simply was no other word for it. This was truly unbecoming of a royal guard, let alone the Captain. Patrolled the outskirts of the kingdom without backup, captured by the most notorious gang in all the land, and managed to drop his only weapon on the way. 

Mondo saw right through the mask as if it were made of glass. He tapped his finger against the shaft of his club and pondered a bit. He could simply offer Taka to use one of their weapons. But it'd probably be seen as taking pity on him, and there's nothing more shameful than that. Besides, it's better a man uses his own weapon or his own fists in a fight. Another streetwise lesson from his big bro. A fistfight would be more probable. Although, his forehooves still would leave the guard with a disadvantage. Why was doing things the honorable way so gods-dammed annoying? 

"So..." Mondo sighed away whatever of his pride he had left. "How would you go about we do this?"

Taka lifted his head towards the centaur. "You're asking me? But aren't I...your prisoner?"

"All the more fuckin' reason for you to be the one to decide," Mondo grunted in annoyance. "Weapons are a no-go, my hooves outnumber your fists, so it seems we're at a fuckin' impasse unless you decide." 

Taka blinked. This centaur was really letting him decide a fair game. A ruffian with a sense of honor? He felt like he'd discovered another magic-caster outside of House Towa. A husky voice snapped him out of his daze. 

"Well, hurry up! We're losing daylight!" The stomp of the forehoof made it clear that Mondo was starting to regret letting Taka decide. "Tell me I didn't just give a decision-making task to some flip-flop fuck." 

Taka thought and thought and thought some more, occasionally opening and closing his mouth with no words attached, much to Mondo's ever-growing annoyance. What could they do? There really wasn't much around. Just forest, and plain, and certainly nothing in the kingdom that wouldn't get them noticed. Wouldn't that be a fun thing to explain to his king? The shame and humiliation wouldn't be like anything he could endure. Wait. 

"A test of endurance." 

Mondo's brow perked in interest. "Oh? And how do you suppose we do that?"

Taka remembered. He'd pass it several times while on patrol but never gave it any real attention until this very moment. "Just outside the border, there's a bathhouse," Taka gave a strong-minded grin. "And a sauna."

Mondo smirked as if sharing the same singular brain cell as the royal guard. "You're on."  

[roiscrying]

An Eternal Love - Chapter 2: Dragonspine

INAZUMA + OTHER SPOILERS WARNING // CANNON WHO IS SHE?

Word Count: 1.2k

Prologue

Chapter 1

“Hey Kozue, have you seen Fate lately? I haven’t seen her at any of her normal shifts,”

“Oh I’m sorry, you must not have heard the news, I’m afraid Fate doesn’t work here anymore,”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Yeah, she resigned a few days ago,” Kozue was an overall sweet woman, but she had grown tired of the way this boy’s ignorance had made her best friend feel, “she didn’t tell you?”

“No, no, I haven’t heard from her since you mentioned she went home not feeling well,”

“Oh, my you must be really out of the loop then” she chuckled,

“Listen, I really need to talk to her, do you at least know where she is?”

“I’m not too sure, you’d have to ask Beidou”

“Beidou? Why would Beidou know,” 

“Huh, I guess she didn’t tell you she was leaving then either,”

“Yes, we established she didn’t tell me she was quitting, but why would Beidou know where she is”

“No, she didn’t just leave the teahouse, she left Inazuma,”

“What?” the boy’s jaw dropped slightly. He noticed the two of them were becoming distant recently, and he knew of her impulsivity, but he had never thought she would up and leave without leaving him so much as a note. 

“Something about needing to move on? Again she probably explained more to Beidou”

“Well uh,” the usually composed boy was clearly cracking as he stumbled over his words, “Uh, thank you for the help” 

~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Ha” the coral-haired girl grunted as she swiftly moved, dodging her opponent’s attack, “Missed me,” she chuckled, “watch it!” She yelled and with a swift motion a burst of lightning flew out from her sword, striking each of her opponents, giving her time to take advantage of their weak spots, landing several hits before the daze wore off. She had accepted a commission to take down some ruin guards that had been spotted in Dragonspine’s Wyrmrest Valley. Being so close to Dragonspine, she often took some tasks from Mondstadt’s Adventurer's Guild. And while she could take down solo ones on her own fairly easily, taking down three at a time was proving to be more challenging than she had anticipated, “Looks like a storms brewing” she yelled thrusting her sword up into the air before spinning around, sending a shock wave out to her opponents and sighing as she watched each of them consequently disintegrate. She tucked her sword back into its sheath in her belt before rummaging through the small piles of debris that were left over to pull out several things she found useful. She wiped the sweat off her forehead, sighing as she continued up the path to make sure there were no others that she missed, shivering slightly as her adrenaline wore off and the signature biting cold of Dragonspine hit her skin. She was about to head back down the mountain when she heard what sounded like a child yelling, knowing that these mountains were no place for children she took off towards the sound.

“Boing, Boing, Boom!” she heard the child scream before a loud explosion, making her pick up pace. When she finally rounded the corner, the site before her made her raise an eyebrow, a girl, clearly not over the age of 10, was single handedly fighting a group of hilicurls, and clearly winning. She was about to leave the girl to it when she spotted a certain volatile barrel. The exploding barrels, which happened to be pyro slimes in otherwise normal barrels, could pose issues for even the most seasoned adventurers, and this girl was being lured right towards a group of them, preparing to aim several more attacks, without another thought she took off towards the young girl.

“Watch out,” she yelled, reaching the girl just as she threw out a bomb towards the barrels, without another thought she grabbed the girl, holding her tightly to her chest and turning to run as the explosion went off. The shockwaves from the magnitude of the explosion sent her flying in the air, landing several feet away. She hit the ground and instinctively rolled to try and even out the impact as she made sure to keep the girl clutched to her chest, careful not to land on her as she stopped. She glanced back quickly to make sure the explosion had taken care of the hilicurls before letting the young girl go, “are you ok?” she sat up as she watched the girl bounce to her feet and dust herself off, 

“All good!” the girl chirped, “thank you miss…”

“Rag- call me fate,” the girl nodded, “What’s your name sweetheart!”

“My name is Klee! My mom and dad are the famousest travelers in Teyvat!”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah!!”

“Well what were you doing all alone here,”

“I was visiting Albedo, you see me and Albedo have a secret code!”

“A secret code?”

“Yeah! Whenever he puts a sign on his workshop door saying ‘Experiment in Progress,’ that's code for ‘Come back later, Klee.’” the older girl chuckled understandingly,

“You see, Albedo's really nice and he's so patient with me, so I don't mind waiting until he's finished with his work”

“Well in that case, do you want to come with me to check if he’s done,” she asked gently standing up, wincing as she did so, despite her best efforts, the impact she took from hitting the ground was definitely going to leave a bruise, but she was glad she had took the brunt of the blow opposed to the little girl in front of her. 

“Sure!” the girl smiled

~~~~~~~~~

“Thoma! To what do I owe this pleasure?” the woman laughed as she saw a particular blonde boy hop up as he saw her approaching,

“Kozue said you’d know where Fate is”

“That I do,” she sighed, “Liyue-”

“Liyue? Why the hell is she in Liyue-”

“If you would let me finish, she didn’t tell me too much other than that there were circumstances and she was going to visit her family,” thoma sighed rubbing his hands over his face, 

“You’re kidding me right” 

“Not in the least”

“Well that’s just absolute bullshit, she hates her family”

“That’s just what she told me Thoma,”

“No, no, no that can’t be right,” he sighed “her family shipped her away after her father died, she would have no reason to return there”

“Sorry Thoma, that’s all I know,” the boy sat back down on the dock sighing, letting his head drop into his hands. It had already been over a week since he had talked to Kozue, and everyday he would spend hours on the dock, not wanting to waste a second to find out why his best friend would up and leave without telling him. But now he had more questions than answers. He heard the wood creak beside him as Beidou took a seat, “So you and Ayaka?” she questioned the boy, earning her a muffled ‘hmm?’ from the ball of a boy beside her, “See I always thought it was you and Fate who would end up together, but she seemed to think there was something between you and Miss Kamisato”

“Me and Ayaka?” the boy laughed dryly, “we’re just friends, I mean I work for her family,”

“Alright” she raised her hands in surrender, “that’s just what Fate seemed to think”

“Archons, no,” he sighed, finally looking up at Beidou, “it’s Fate, it’s always been Fate, and now she’s gone”

[herstarburststories]

Pure Witch

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: While waiting for Rowena to help with a case, Dean distracts himself with the reader. Suddenly, the bar is under attack and you are the one who saves the Winchester brothers with magic. Dean didn't know you were witch-- but neither did you.

Warning: unprotected sex (y'all are better than that)

‘’Dean, can you focus for a bit, please?’’ Sam sighed, not for all surprised at his brother’s behavior but surely tired enough to cut him off. He had spent most nocturnal hours searching for a specific spell to save a victim from a herb coma after they didn’t find a hex bag that had probably been hidden by a sorceress. He’d finally given in and called the most powerful - perhaps more notably the only allied - witch they knew. Waiting for Rowena with less than two hours of rest while Dean ate hamburgers in heart attack form wasn’t comfortable. The fact that he was about to get up and flirt with a random woman when he was trying to be patient at her delay and not to freak out because of it was unlikely to help either. 

‘’Come on, Sammy. What’s the point of saving people if you don’t get a little nookie once in a while?’’ He winked at the other Winchester just to be greeted with an eye roll. ‘’Also, Rowena is two hours late.’’

‘’Dean-- Dude, come on!’’ Sam protested when his older brother left the table, rubbing his hands on his jeans as he walked towards you. 

‘’Hey, sweetheart. Can I sit?’’ Dean smirked at you and you nodded, waving your hand at the empty chair. If it was any usual day, you would be most likely to push him away with a dumb excuse, especially after he came up with cheap sweet talk, but he was pretty enough to entertain you a bit more, not to mention his velvet voice. Besides, it wasn’t a usual day. You could use a human shaped source of stress relief in a random bar. ‘’I have to say, you are drinking my favorite beer.’’

‘’Then you can have it,” you said, pushing the bottle to slip on the table. Dean grabbed it. ‘’Not really my kind. I like cocktail better.’’

‘’Cocktail over beer?’’ He arched his eyebrows, not so subtly judging your taste. 

You put your hand on your chest, mouth wide open in a circular form while you talked in an offended yet playful manner: ‘’You come to my table and judge my favorite drink? Outrage! I am really hurt, you know? I might have to go lick my wounds now.’’

Dean features quickly changed from worried that he had somehow offended you and threw his chance with a hot girl away to amazed. Spicy girls, he liked that.

‘’Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I could help you with your wounds.’’ He rolled his head to the side and licked his lips before taking a sip of his beer. You giggled, rolling your eyes at his cheap attempt of a flirtatious line.

‘’Well, since we are already talking about licking wounds, my name is (Y/N). And I think we can agree that a good, old whiskey is better than both of them.’’

‘’Dean Winchester, at your service.’’ The green-eyed man offered you a wide smile followed by a wink. ‘’Yeah, whiskey gets it all.’’

‘’After tequila, of course,” you teased, just to see which reaction you could get from him.

‘’Tequila is better than whiskey? You didn’t just say that.’’ Dean raised his eyebrows. It made you laugh at how indignant he seemed to feel about it. Head tilted to the side and gaze locked with your bright eyes, he remained on the topic. ’’It’s the same as saying that salad is better than burgers or that Bon Jovi is better than AC/DC.’’

I love what you’ve got

Let’s get together, baby

Yeah, we can get hot

The guitar echoes from the song trembled through the bar’s bathroom when Dean threw your back at the wall, pushing his knee between your legs as his lips met yours into a needy, violent kiss. A weak howl left your mouth once you felt his hardness tickling against your bare leg thanks to the little skirt that barely dressed you. It hiked up with the sudden movements, almost letting show what was underneath. Unfortunately, his jeans made it a bit frustrating. He was way too dressed than either of you would like. Both of you were.

Dean’s hands tightened around your waist in a possessive act; it was an unspoken desire to get more of you-- all of you right there.You pushed him away, devil grin on your lips as you watched his confused features replaced by feral, wild eyes when you unconfined yourself from your shirt. The pretty fabric of your green bra seemed to hold the green of his eyes to your breast, as if it was the only part of you that mattered. 

The eldest Winchester denied his urge to ravish you just long enough to abandon his shirt as well as his flanel. In an instant, he was all over you again; licking your neck and going down to kiss your chest. You placed your hands on his shoulders to keep yourself steady. Your knees were too easily weakened at Dean Winchester’s touch to be considered trustworthy.

‘’Dean…’’ His name came out as a beg, a prayer for this man to give you what you needed. ‘’I want you inside me. Now. I’m so wet for you.”

‘’Fuck, sweetheart. You fucking get me when you talk like this.’’ He groaned in response, pecking your collarbone before he raised his head, locking his gaze with yours. His pupils were dilated, like a hunter’s glare when catching their prey. You could bet yours were awash in the same heat, full of lust and flaming hunger.

Opposed to losing any time, Dean put his hands on your back and lowered them while you unbuttoned his jeans, watching their particular path and enjoying how the naked parts of your body felt against his fingertips. He was certain that your pussy would feel just as good if he fucked you with his fingers, but he needed his cock inside you, and you felt such urgency for it, too. Perhaps later Dean could do all he wanted, in a bed or in the back seat of Baby. For the present time, the bedroom would be more than satisfying. He finally reached your ass, holding it as you gave into an impulse to jump.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as Dean pulled you up and pressed your body to the wall again as you finally finished unbuttoning his jeans, pushing the material down. Dean groaned in annoyance when he noticed that your skirt was lifted, but your panties were still on. You were visibly wet for his amusement, yet an obstacle to his need. Not willing to give away any further second, the hunter tore it apart.

‘’Hey, I liked that-- Dean!’’ Ultimately, your complaint was interrupted by Dean pushing into you. Fuck, it felt so good to have him inside you, his cock squeezed between your wet, tight walls. He held your thighs, mouth finding your breast in a kiss and then a bite. Dean pulled your bra, touching your erect nipple before pressing his tongue against it and sucking it. ‘’Dean!’’

His thrusts quickened in rhythm, and you tried to follow it, moving your waist to his pelvis. His cock pushed deeper and harder inside you, making you arch your back and groan when Dean found your G spot, repeatedly hitting there. 

‘’Fuck, (Y/N). You feel so nice around my cock. Wet and tight, just like I like it. Your pussy is so good to me, sweetheart.’’

Your nails scratched his shoulders. You pulled him close, and Dean looked up at you, vivid green eyes reflecting what his body and groans already said; your body was his. At least it was for now. You didn’t care if your favorite lace was crumpled on the floor or if you were fucking an aleatory man without protection or even if you would leave marks on his back. All that you cared about was his cock deep inside you, fucking you, and it seemed like he felt just the same.

He leaned forward, catching your lips in a passionate kiss. His grip tightened around your skin as your mouth escaped his in tease, encountering Dean’s neck and sucking on it there. It won a soft grunt of him, almost a whine. You giggled between groans, soon sealing his lips to yours together once more. The two of you part only to moan each other’s name in intense pleasure as the pace of his thrusts hastened.

The bar’s rock playlist was replaced by rougher music: punching noises, chairs breaking and screams from the few people on the bar who quickly tried to hide or run.  If an hour ago Sam cut a sharp glare at you and Dean walking to the bathroom, the last one was a victorious gesture at him while pointing at you. Currently, he was hopefully looking at the bathroom door stuck between killing a demon and fighting another when his brother finally appeared, followed closely by you. Both of you were disasters from wrinkled clothes to messy hair.

A ginger woman was hiding behind them and holding a book, flipping the pages fast as the boys furiously defended themselves from the things approaching them. ‘’Rowena!’’

‘’(Y/N), stay here!’’ he said in a commanding voice before running to Sam. They were fighting those human-looking creatures that shined when they got stabbed. It was clear that they weren’t normal and neither were their killers. You gulped, breathlessly watching the scene unfold in front of you. What could you do? You barely had any fighting skills other than self-defense. Besides, Dean and his partner seemed to know what they were doing. That is, if they were the good ones. What if you had just fucked an assassin?

‘’I’m trying, Samuel!’’ the redhead hissed, still skimming through the book’s writing. She appeared to be looking for something that she couldn’t find.

The things kept showing up and instead of just fighting, now one of them was able to throw things at Dean, Sam and Rowena. You were horrified. The new addition seemed to be a witch. But those weren’t real. Neither were things that died like there were storms inside them! What was happening?

The supposed witch gave the trio a bloody smile, taking calm steps to get to them. His hand gestured to the side, as if he was killing a mosquito, and Dean flew against the wall. Another move and Sam had the same destiny, seeming glued there next to his brother.

‘’Rowena, like the rat I knew you were. Looking for allies with the Winchesters? That is beyond humiliating, even for you,” the man talked sharply, disgust almost palpable in his tune. It was crystal clear that he thought he was better than the red-haired woman. Your blood fired up in your veins; you were scared and irate. The situation itself was similar to a horror movie’s scene, and the way he spoke towards her was just quite like a woman’s daily horror movie, especially when it came to the workplace. It hit a delicate spot for you. Dean and Sam tried to get away from whatever those things were with what you’d soon learn that was a spell that kept them stuck to the wall. ‘’You should thank me for being so merciful, rat.’’ He grabbed a strange knife and pulled his hand up, a malicious grin on his face as he pushed the lethal knife to Rowena.

Before he could finish his attempt, you screamed, ‘’NO! GET AWAY FROM HER!’’

The reflex on the blade twinkled, everyone’s attention on you. Dean was more nervous than before, Rowena was surprised, and the man looked like he had just heard a joke.

Glaring at you with a superior gaze, he moved his free hand. Instantly, you were slammed against the wall like the Winchesters. You hated it, feeling impotent. The fact that the man who put you through this state appeared to be unbothered himself with that only increased your anger, fear slowly sliding away to give room for your fury.

‘’The rat has a pet, too? How lovely. I might kill you first and then kill her with my knife stained with your blood. How does that sound to you, bitch?’’

‘’Leave her alone!’’ Dean shouted. His eyes never strayed, still connected with the vision of you.

‘’Standing up for the little rat and got a Winchester seal of worry? Forget about just killing you. It’s going to be a long torture. I’m going to make you my little pet before I kill you, bitch.’’

‘’Do you feel more like a man or whatever you are when you call me a bitch? Or when you call her a rat?’’ Your remark came angrily. Who did he think he was? You didn’t notice, but Rowena was searching for something in the book again. ‘’Your little ego gets rubbed when you do that? Maybe you get turned on? You are so fucking annoying, bitch.’’

‘’Respect me, whore.’’ Your throat started to close, the scarcity of air ravaging your lungs. ‘’I’m better than you and her. I’m more powerful than anyone in this room. You should be thankful that I’m directing words towards a little, arrogant slut like you. You fucking b--’’ 

His words filled all of your body with an intense savage rage. You didn’t think; you just wanted to make him quiet-- to bite back. Your eye color switched to a gloaming green, just like the smoke that filled the bar. An enormous noise was heard; the man had been thrown against the ceiling and then on the floor. His neck was noticeably broken, a pool of blood around his body. The earlier creatures ran away as Dean and Sam fell to the ground.

‘’What the fuck was that?’’ Dean asked, holding his gun up. 

You didn’t look at them. You were shocked at yourself, glaring at your trembling hands. Their afterglow dissipated from white and green to the normal color. Your eyes had come back to normal as well, and the smoke was no longer around.

‘’Did I do that? He is dead. He is-- Oh my. What were those things? They weren’t human, right? And he wasn’t a human either? What happened to me? My hands, they--’’

Sam rested his hand on the barrel of Dean’s gun and tilted his hair sideways. You didn’t know what you had just done. You probably weren't aware of your nature. ‘’I’m Sam Winchester, Dean’s brother. She is Rowena, and I think you are like her. A, hm, witch. I guess you didn’t know that, yeah?’’

‘'I am what? No, that’s not possible. I don’t even know if I believe in God-- I’m probably an atheist,” you denied quickly, shaking your head side to side. 

‘’Oh, darling. After all that you still believe that there is nothing else but humans?’’ Rowena grinned, empathic to your situation but mainly surprised by your ability.

‘’It’s certainly not the God I was taught to believe in!’’ Your face was pale and your damp eyebrows slightly raised together. ‘’I-- My. Are witches like, the higher power? Are you God?’’

‘’Well, I guess you could--’’

‘’Rowena, no.’’ Sam stopped her. He understood briefly what having a normal life and changing it abruptly to a supernatural one felt like. The way you were acting screamed nervousness. ‘’We were combating demons and a witch. I know that it is strange and surprising, but it’s real. Everything is real. Werewolves, vampires…'' He offered a gentle smile-- friendly, even. "Witches.’’

‘’God too, but He isn’t quite what we learn as kids. Neither are angels. Actually, most are assholes,” Dean tacked on, tucking his gun away under the hem of his shirt. He couldn't believe that he just had hot, sweaty sex with a witch. At least not even you knew that. You glanced at the three of them, completely disoriented.

‘’You are an Alstonia Sympathin. It is very rare. I myself thought your race was extinct,” Rowena said, gaining more confused glares from all of you. ‘’You know, how werewolves have a pureblood line? Well, she is like a pureblood witch.’’

Breathing deeply, you rubbed your throat in a futile attempt to calm yourself. ‘’What does it mean?’’

‘’You are one of the most powerful witches alive, darling.’’ She curved her lips in return, still holding the book to her chest as she answered, ‘’And you haven’t even started yet.’’