#( The Hunter Within Loses Control | Self )

[the-californicationist]

Solomon's Seal

John Price works hard to maintain his self-discipline, but sometimes he loses his grip on that fiery temper of his. When he needs help to feel in control again, he turns to you and your impeccable rope skills. You try to keep things professional, but that proves challenging for both of you. After all, John is just a friend, one of your best clients… so why do you keep imagining him as more?

TW: rope bondage, femdom, crying, emotional hurt/comfort, female genitals. Please check AO3 link below for full tag list.

Big huge thank you and kudos to the amazing and beautiful @gemmahale for her ideas and support on this one! Love you, bestie.

You had cleared your schedule the moment you hung up the phone with him. His voice had sounded so strained, like he was struggling to say the words. You knew that, sometimes, John Price’s work asked too much of him, but this time, he seemed so far beyond his usual level of need that you decided it was better to play it safe and cancel all of your other clients for the week. 

As you cleaned your studio, you made additional preparations. Something in your gut was telling you to prepare for the worst. You did your best to remember what he liked. No music, low lights, a soft fan for a bit of a breeze, and jute ropes — none of the synthetics in sight. You eyed your collection; eight hanks should have been enough, but you grabbed four more from the back room just to be sure. 

You never really pried into his life during his visits, knowing there was probably much he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell you. He had given you just enough information for you to understand the basics, and you had scoured the internet with those small clues to uncover the rest. At best, he was a soldier, handling the expected dangers and stressors of the job. At worst, he was a literal weapon, aimed and fired at His Majesty’s darkest enemies; a demon hunter meant only for darkness and secrets and pain. 

When he had come to you last November, bruised and battered, craving your particular set of skills, you had surmised that it was the latter. Sometimes, when you caught a glimpse of the news, you looked at the bombed buildings of Urzikstan for a sign of him, hoping you wouldn’t see one. When there was a battle lost or won, plastered across the front page of the news, you wondered if he had been there in the thick of it, protecting the world from the monsters that ravaged that land, keeping them from your privileged doorstep. 

You checked your clock. He’d be in from Heathrow within the hour. You got to work in the wet room, digging around for the soaps he liked best. His favorite bathing oil was a complex, spicy mix of coriander, basil, and bergamot scents. You’d never admit it to him, but you used it when you found yourself thinking about him, unable to get your equally complex, spicy warrior out of your mind.

John was so different from most of your clients. Many people who came to you were usually seeking something other than what you were prepared to give them. Half of your customers came for sex, for which you added them to your blacklist. The other half was a mixed bag seeking humiliation or reassurance, trying to use you and your art as an alternative to counseling or as a way to explore their kinks. They usually didn’t return after they experienced the level of your craft. You did have a handful of repeat clients who appreciated the practice itself, but they usually had their own partners to play with. You were just a novelty to them. An escape. 

Working as a traditional Bakushi was no fleeting hobby, not for you anyway. For you, it was a spiritual calling. John was one of the only clients who understood that and actively wanted to learn more. He had asked for stretching routines, breathing exercises, and advice on meditation. Your soldier was the real deal, even if he couldn’t remember any of the terminology to save his life. You were just happy he had managed to adopt the word shibari into his vocabulary. You could forgive the rest. He didn’t need to know the names of the knots or the positions of the body in order to benefit from his practice. 

Your doorbell rang. You took a breath to calm yourself. You needed to be centered for John. Yes, you were excited to see him, but he needed you to be his rock right now, and you needed to push your own desires out of your mind.

The door cracked open, and there he stood. He was just as you remembered him, but he looked like he’d been through hell. Those bright blue eyes were sporting a dark, purple shiner on his left orbital bone. He had cut his lip across the top and bottom, a red line still marring the sensitive flesh. John had cut down his beard to a more manageable level, but his hair was long and unkempt. What worried you most were the dark red welts he wore around his neck. It looked like ropeburn. 

“John,” you smiled softly, “So good to see you again. Please come in.”

The formalities of such a polite greeting seemed silly to you after what you had been through together. Sessions with John were always… intense. 

He stepped into your foyer, looking at you like he had missed you, but you didn’t allow yourself to give in to the fantasy. He needed you to be professional, and you had a job to do.

You took his hand and led him into your sitting room, offered him a glass of water, and sat beside him. He held your hand in his, refusing to let go, playing with the small bones in your middle finger absentmindedly. You smiled at him, enjoying the quiet of his presence, letting yourself take in these silent moments, unwilling to break the spell of peace until absolutely necessary. 

He seemed content to bask in the tranquility as well, happy to rub your delicate knuckle back and forth with his thumb, letting his eyes explore you, lingering on your long, silk robe, his gaze burning into your sternum at the join of your breasts. 

“How can I help you, John?”

He took a long breath through his nose, his eyes diverting back down to your connected hands; shame, regret. 

“I lost control, again.”

You had heard those words from him before. When he first found you, he told you about his temper. He hadn’t given you any details, but apparently he had hurt an enemy beyond what was necessary. Something he had done had changed him. He wanted to be different, to be more even-keeled, so he’d come to you for help. 

“The same as last time?” You asked, hoping it would be better than you suspected.

“Worse,” he looked up at you and flashed a tight-lipped, bitter smile. 

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. 

“Tell me what you need,” you ran your other hand across his wounded cheek, watching as the shine of his eyes gleamed in the low light. 

His emotions were at war all over his face. His wet lashes, the twitch of his lip, his darting, avoidant eyes; you could almost hear him fighting in his mind. You put a stop to it, scooting closer to him on the deep sofa, holding his stubbled chin in your hand, 

“Hey, you know you can tell me. If it’s within my power to give it to you, you know that I will.”

“I know, love,” he nodded his head, “I think you might try to talk me out of it, is all.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to work it out. Rebuilding your trust together after some time apart wasn’t something to be rushed. Finally, after a few moments of thought, he studied your face and admitted his desires,

“I want it all. Just like last spring, but more. I need more.”

Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself. You remembered last spring. Vividly. In fact, you had thought about that appointment more times than you would ever admit. He had pushed himself so far, he’d trusted you so deeply, and you’d watched him heal from his wounds. He’d found a new kind of peace. You remember holding him, still bound, both of you sprawled across the floor, sweaty and grinning, your foreheads pressed together, sharing in his joy. 

But, you also knew that him wanting more meant that you would be restraining him from head to toe. He’d done arm and chest bindings with you, and in the spring, you’d put him in a single-leg frog tie. But, you’d never done full body work with him. For all of his progress, John still had issues letting his power be taken from him. He wanted to be in control, almost to the point of obsession, and it was only when he was in your ropes that he was able to practice internal control over himself without threat of judgment or danger. He could examine his temper in your safe setting, testing it like a scientist, finding new strengths within himself, mental hurdles to overcome.

However, you worried about what his mental state would be like when he was fully at your mercy. Had he ever been at anyone’s mercy? You doubted it. 

He could see you rolling over the problem in your mind, watching as you thought it through, imagining the possibilities. 

“What d’ya say, love? Think we can try?” His eyes met yours, and you nodded. 

“Yes, let’s try.”

“I might… uh,” he hesitated, clearly unsure of how his next request might be received, “I’m not sure how to say this, but I might need you… after. I know that’s not what you do, but after last spring, I thought you might make an exception.”

You were fully aware of what he meant. Last spring, laying there sweaty and swimming in euphoria together, you had broken your own rule. You’d let your body slide over John’s naked, tied form, and you’d rubbed his cock across your belly and on top of your pussy, sharing an orgasm together. It was reckless of you, and fully outside of the scope of your role, but it was what was right for you both at the time. He hadn’t asked for a repeat performance, always the perfect gentleman, until now.

You nodded, 

“Thank you for asking. We’ll see how it goes, and I’ll check in again at the end. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You moved to leave the comfort of the sofa, but he caught your hand,

“Can we start now? Just a bit. If that’s alright.”

“Alright,” you agreed, “Any new injuries I should know about?”

His face stretched into a boyish smile,

“Too many to count.”

You shook your head, ducking into your studio to grab one hank of rope,

“You’re the only one who gets a pass on that, you know.”

You watched his eyes dart to your hands as you untied the bundle, looping the rope end over end, making your first bight. His energy was electric, but you could see something dark slithering underneath. 

“I’ll start now, but you need to talk to me. What makes it worse now, John?”

You stood in the middle of the room, watching as he moved into position in front of you. You waited patiently, not needing to give him instructions. John knew what you wanted from him. 

He avoided your question, going through the motions of preparing his body for your work. He tugged off his coat and tee shirt, raking it over his broad back, and you tried to ignore the aching red marks that littered his scarred skin. Then, he unbuckled his belt, letting the metal tip clatter and clang in the quiet room, dropping his jeans and peeling off his shoes and socks. Naked, he folded his clothes and lay them to the side. Then, he found his neutral position, kneeling at your feet, palms flat on his thighs, head bowed as if in prayer. 

“Hands behind your head, palm to palm,” you spoke your first command, listening to the timbre of your voice and knowing it was different. You were changing into the person that he needed; someone strong, unyielding. 

He complied, but he looked a little surprised. You’d never asked him for this position before, but you knew it would get his attention. He would feel the vulnerability of it immediately, his sensitive ribs and armpits exposed. 

You started your work, tying his wrists carefully, making sure to leave the proper amount of room, running the rope, rubbing between the soft jute and his hairy skin to check and double check it for safety. As soon as you had one wrist bound, you moved to the other and heard him begin to talk. 

“I nearly lost one of my men last week. Good bloke. Took a bullet for me, so I broke the rules.”

“Which rules?”

“All of them,” he looked up at you, rueful and yet unrepentant.

“Would you do it differently,” you admired the smoothness of his wrist, watching as his pulse beat just under the thin skin, rushing through blue veins, “If you could go back in time?”

“No,” Price’s voice was like that of a beast. A dragon. It was a short, simple word, but within it, you understood exactly the feeling of vengeance he was carrying within it. No, he would not go back and change his actions. He would repeat them. That much was clear. 

“It doesn’t sound to me like you were out of control, then,” you looped the knots of his wrists around a temporary harness, simple and quick. This was just for now. You had bigger plans for him after you bathed. 

John’s mouth turned up into a wry smile, thinking about your assessment, then he said,

“You might be right, love. But, I’m here. I needed this. Needed you. There must be a reason I feel so bloody lost.”

“Let’s find your way back, then. Stand up.”

You led him by the end of the rope to the wet room. The off-white tiles glowed yellow in the candlelight you had prepared, and as you turned on the tap, the room filled with steam. You watched John’s face become indecipherable as you untied the ribbon of your robe, letting the silk pool at your feet, stepping into the shower before him. 

You pointed to the small stool in the middle of the wide shower, 

“Sit.”

It was a huge installation. During the build process in your renovated space, you’d asked for two large rainshower heads and a massage wand with a flat drain in the center. John knelt in between the two heads, but well within reach of the wand. You switched it on, watching the water jerk and flow through the metal hose, holding it towards your chest and out of his eyes. 

You started with his feet, washing them with only warm water first before moving the wand up his legs, wetting his body in stages. You didn’t use your hands yet, but you were eager to. John was quite the specimen, and you felt yourself flush as your eyes explored his body, lingering on places they really shouldn’t. 

You were adamant that you were a sex worker who didn’t have sex. You tried to make it abundantly clear that your clients were paying for shibari practices only, and that you did not do… happy endings. Other than your encounter with John, your clients orgasmed alone, and you went to great lengths to ensure it remained that way. But, here was your weakness, asking you to wash him while he was in your knots, warning you that he might crave a sensual aftercare scene, that he’d been thinking about you. It made your skin flush, and even though you were comfortable in your own skin, his obvious desire for you in such a carnal way made you hyper-aware of your bare flesh. 

The wand sat back in its hook, water paused, and the only sounds were the quiet drippings against the tile, a slight sucking from the drain, your breathing. You scraped the soap into your palm, making sure to lather it into a rich, thick foam. You stood, walking around him to his back, and began with his bound hands and arms, rubbing his warm, swollen muscles with your palms, spreading the suds over him liberally. 

A long, animalistic groan shuddered through John’s lungs, echoing in the bath. It set your nerves on fire to know that you were giving him such pleasure. You wanted more. 

You moved to his back, massaging the scented soap into his body, working his skin firmly to promote his bloodflow. As you made pass after pass, his moans became steady and breathy, his mouth hanging open, unable to fight the relaxation he was experiencing. 

You washed his legs and feet, needing to bend over him in order to reach the length of his huge thighs. In doing so, your bare breasts came in contact with his back, only light tapping at first, swaying forward as you washed him. You could tell that he could feel you, and he froze, his noises of pleasure turning into hitched breaths, shocked and inaudible. 

Your clients usually washed themselves, but John had asked for special treatment, and this was a new experience for you, too. You tamped down on your excitement, but you couldn’t hide your nature. As you leaned forward to wash his knees and shins, ankles and feet, you had to press your soft tits and contrastingly taut nipples against him, over and over, like two inkless stamps, leaving impressions on his wet skin. 

Standing again, you waited to give yourself a minute to compose your emotions. The tips of your hair were damp, and your chest was shining from his soapy torso. You tried to wipe the shine away, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. He needed to be looking inwardly, finding his deeper meaning. Staring at your gleaming, sensitive tits was not what he was paying for, no matter what your biology might have wanted. 

You stepped around to his front, and you marveled at how big his frame truly was. While sitting, even though the stool was low, his eyes were directly in line with your furry mons. If he only tilted his chin up a little, he could lick…

Your mind clamped down on that thought like a vice. You breathed steady, kneeling before him and reapplying the soap to your hands, trying to refocus yourself on your work. 

That was proving more difficult by the moment. Washing his broad chest was like something out of a dream. His nipples were so responsive, and now you could see the way his face twisted with pleasure as your hands massaged your serums into his skin. Every swipe over his pink nubs make him gasp in a new pitch, his brow furrowed with desperation, but his eyes stayed pinned to the tile, just like he was meant to. You expected all of your subs to avert their gaze, to concentrate on their mind, and you made it clear that the practice would stop if they lacked the discipline to do so. 

You had never been more grateful for that standard, because if John’s sharp, pale blue eyes found yours right now, you might not be able to keep yourself from losing your own control. 

You stepped out of the shower for a moment, grabbing the tie from your robe, slipping it out of its loops. Then, as a way to anchor yourself, you wrapped it tightly around your wrist, twisting the knots you made so that they would face inwardly, the discomfort reminding you of your duties as his dominant. It would work for now, you hoped. 

Already, you could feel yourself coming back online, as if someone had splashed cold water in your face. That was, until you turned back to John and saw the last part of your process.

You peered down into his lap, hands full of creamy suds, ready to wash his belly and his nethers, only to discover that he was as hard as steel. His cock flagged tall and curved, tapping on his abdomen, far beyond his bellybutton, giving you a reminder of what was plaguing your dreams. It was beautiful. The uncut skin of his shaft folded around the rim of his ruddy head, eager to be slicked down so that you could tease the tip of him. His balls were round and full, hanging as he sat on the edge of the bench, and all you could think about was what delight was stored within them, ready to burst.

You focused on your knots, letting your one ribbon keep you grounded, and you finished the job. Your hands rubbed soap along his belly, fingers dancing through the thick happy trail of his lower abs. He was built like a workhorse, and although he was fit, his body was well-fed and wide, his core wide and protruding with his strength, thicker as he sat on the stool. There was no bodybuilder’s trim waist. He was all power, heavy and built for unimaginable destruction. You’d never seen his equal, nor a man even close to his immense form. If someone had told you John was one of Zeus’ many bastards, roaming the earth immortal and inhumanly large, you might have believed them.

“I’m going to wash the rest of your body. Remind me of your safeword so that I know you can use it,” you commanded softly, hearing your own voice bounce around the hollow room. 

John did not meet your eyes, fully committed to his submission, but you could see his cock pulse with anticipation. He spoke quietly but clearly, 

“Red.”

“Louder,” you instructed. 

“Red,” he obeyed. 

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Good. Stand up.”

You needed to make sure he was ready to proceed. John, experienced as he was, could get stuck in his sub-space just like anyone. So, you made him practice, let his mouth feel the word again and again, primed and ready to be used. 

Finally, you reached for his genitals, washing his cock and being mindful of where you spread the soap, scrubbing ever so gently down his ballsack, and then swiping across his cleft, washing through his legs to clean every last bit of him. 

Then, trying to be almost clinical about it, you washed him off, cleansing his lower extremities to ensure his comfort before hosing down the rest of him. 

Finally, you shut off the water and began to towel him dry, wiping at his dripping skin, trying to ignore how his body’s heat seemed to radiate onto your bare body, inviting you to lean just a little closer, to press into that lovely burn. 

But, you didn’t. You discarded the towel and untied your wrist cuff, leaving it with your robe. You reached behind John’s head and unbound the center knot of his ties, allowing him to bring his wrists to the front of his body like handcuffs. You used the end to lead him like a prisoner through your space, parading him to the studio quickly and quietly, eager to begin the main event. 

Once inside the studio space, you finished untying his wrists, setting him free once again. He looked down at them, running his fingertip across the raised ridges left by the ropes before dropping his arms to his sides, waiting for your instruction and guidance. 

You knelt next to your basket of rope, retrieving a hank from the stack and unwinding it. His eyes darted to your hands, watching you prepare it just for him, like a dog expecting a bone. 

“Lay in the center, arms at your sides,” you told him and watched as he followed your instruction. He was less hard now, more relaxed than before, but before long, as he lay there letting his excitement build, he strengthened again, his prick bowing up onto his stomach, flushed and full. 

You got to work. Your first goal was to put each of his legs in an advanced frog tie, turning his body on its side so that you could bind his ankle to his thigh, first one leg and then the other. Once his initial ropes were in place, you checked their tension, moving two fingers around and around, trying not to notice his mounting enthusiasm every time you brushed along his inner thigh. Then, once you were satisfied, you helped him into a kneeling position, pushing a thin buckwheat pillow under his knees for comfort. 

He shook his head, 

“Don’t need it, love. I wanna feel the floor. The pain… helps.”

You eyed him, turning your lips into a soft grin, 

“If this were a normal session, I would give that to you,” your tone got his attention, and he did look at your face now, needing to see your intent, “But, what I’m about to put you through is something different. Trust me, John.”

“I trust you.”

He settled into the pillow, returning to his meditative position. You took his hands in yours and held them between your two palms, squeezing them tight, binding them without rope for a moment. Then, you began to breathe in deep, cyclical patterns, over and over. He breathed with you, and you saw the tension leave his face. Whatever had happened to John on this last tour was plaguing him, and you slowed things down to give him a chance to control himself again. 

He breathed in with you, and his air rushed out with yours, washing over your skin like a summer wind, keeping your body responsive to him. Every now and then, as you meditated together, you caught his eyes fixed on something other than the floor. He was staring into the darkness between your legs, shadowed by your body and covered with curly hair, hidden from him in plain sight. It was hard for you to focus, knowing he had his mind on your body, but eventually, he averted his gaze, focusing inwardly again. 

Finally, when you felt his heart rate slow, you used another hank of rope to create a short waist belt, applying more tension than usual as you fed it along his hips, knowing his thick ass and thighs could take the pressure. Still, you were adamant about safety, watching him every moment for discoloration or discomfort. 

He was fidgeting now that the tighter straps were on him, and you saw him closing off his stance, bringing his knees closer together. You caught him, and used one of the loops on his thigh to pull his legs apart again,

“Spread them. Let the pressure flow through your belly and out of your center.”

“Aye,” he sighed, settling into the pain and doing his best to spread his knees wider, concentrating on the feeling. His cock was leaking now, leaving little dark marks on the canvas of his knee bolster, bobbing between his legs as he spread them wider, shining and wet. 

You grabbed another rope, trying to hone in on your work,

“I’m going to bind you in almost the same style we practiced last spring, but it will be modified to provide more of that challenge you’ve been looking for. Place your hands behind your back, palms on your elbows, if you can.”

Not every sub had the flexibility to obey, but John did. He’d been doing his stretches. As he assumed his position, his arms’ placement made his chest broad and high, stretching his pecs open while his back was pinned, the skin folding in on itself as his shoulder blades folded back like featherless wings. You threaded your rope over his shoulders, centering the bight at the back of his neck for an anchor point. It was essential that no pressure was applied to the front of his throat, and you were ever-mindful of the fresh injuries that marred his neck. 

“What happened here?” You asked, letting your finger pass under a rope that lay on his injured skin, making sure it was loose and gentle. You would give him tightness elsewhere. 

He was hesitant to answer you, but he shrugged,

“Bastard came up behind me. Before I could react, he had the wire around my throat.”

“Did you escape on your own?” You pried, trying to keep him talking as you started the long process of his arm binding. 

“Aye. He was so busy trying to choke me, he forgot I still had free hands and plenty of bloody knives in my belt.”

You praised him for his openness,

“Good.”

“Is it?” Now, you heard the doubt in his tone. It made you pause, but you simply continued with your ties, not allowing him to know that you were challenged by his cynicism or regret or whatever darkness was making him lean on his fear and anger instead of his peace.

You left his question unanswered, allowing it to hang in the air between you, forcing his mind to dwell on it. You needed him to answer it within himself before you went opening more portals to other emotions and struggles. 

You added more and more rope to his binding, and when you finished, you pulled the cord forward across his chest, resting it below his nipples, making sure to graze them as you checked your tension, enjoying the trembling shudder that came from him as your reward. It was the most advanced harness you had performed in a long time. This one was unforgiving. He couldn’t twist left or right. His shoulders were forced down and back, shrugged tight against his body, and his arms were completely powerless. He could pull and heave to try and move his hands away from his back, but there was no escape.

You sat across from John once more, holding his chin up so that he would know you expected him to look at you, and you asked him,

“Do you have any pain or tingling?”

“No.”

“Say your safeword to me one time.”

“Red.” 

“The next step will be the final rope, and then we can sit together for as long as you need. Do you want to continue?”

His eyes stared into yours with a bright clarity, and he answered softly, 

“Yes.”

You could tell that he was slipping deeper into his sub-space. His eyes softened, but his body shivered. If you brushed your fingers along his ribs, his muscles would kick and jerk. Anything harder, like a deep tissue massage against those huge thighs and he whined for you, smokey and gravelly, full of feral need. 

You moved behind him, taking a rope and placing it across his forehead, using your hand to tilt his head back until his eyes were staring at the ceiling. Then, you carefully crafted a face harness, making sure there was not too much pressure on his more delicate bones while still limiting his range of motion so that he was forced to keep his chin pointed up. 

You connected the rig to an anchor point on his wrists, and then you took your position in front of him again, staring at his bearded jaw and injured neck, watching his body struggle to relax into a very uncomfortable pose. 

“Breathe for me, John,” you knew it was a lot. 

Controlling someone’s body was one thing. Even Price had experienced tight knots before, but when you took control over the head, that animal instinct all humans keep deep within themselves tended to come alive. It was a primal fear. You watched John’s chest rise and fall, his stress tumbling around in his breaths as he tried to stay calm. 

You reached out both of your hands and rested them on his chest, feeling the way he jerked at your touch, overstimulated and sensitive. You pet his fur, the thick brown hair that dusted his body, soft from the oils you had used. As he breathed, you felt it moving in his lungs, and you let your fingertips ghost over his nipples, rubbing them with the backs of your knuckles, admiring the way they perked up at your attention, puffy and swollen from the unforgiving rope that made them bulge outwardly.

“Mmf–fuck,” he coughed, his eyes knitted into a worried sort of agony.

You smiled, bringing your own nipples towards his chest, letting your soft peaks brush against his hard ones, moving your breasts up and down, drawing little circles and crosses over his chest. 

You knew he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he could feel it. He knew, instinctively, and it was sending him into a drunken daze. The pleasure of your touch combined with the pain of your ropes pushed him beyond where he had been before, and perhaps it was past where you had dared to go as well. 

“Control your breaths, John. There is nothing else you are responsible for. I’ve taken it all from you. You need to breathe and to spread your peace through your mind. Focus.”

He didn’t respond, but his breathing stilled, and his eyes closed. You removed your touch from him and let him bask in the sensations he was experiencing. 

Minutes passed, then more. It had been almost an hour, and you were admiring the way he stayed strong, at first. You reached out to him to anchor him when he seemed like he needed help, caressing his arms and back, massaging the muscles that must be burning white hot by now. He was much more determined than any other sub you controlled. If anyone could handle this difficult position, it was him. But, he was not invincible. You saw the way his breathing became labored, and his cock, which was losing and regaining its hardness as time went on, throbbed from its struggle. 

“Do you want to continue?” You asked again, touching him as you had before, moving your hands from his chest to his belly, petting him rhythmically, avoiding his phallus but touching everything else around it. You knew it must have been teasing him, forcing him to imagine how your hands might feel if they reached just a little further. 

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice strained due to the position of his jaw, and you watched the bulge in his neck bob up and down.

More time slipped by. Your hands had wandered down his legs and across the soft pads of his feet. His body was buzzing with the energy he was spending in order to stay the course. He must have been far beyond simple pain at this point. You remembered a similar scene you’d experienced, and this was much longer than you ever expected to be in it. If John was anything, he was stubborn. 

But eventually, you heard him speak, 

“We knew it was a trap before we went in. I was reckless, and angry, and I wanted my fuckin’ revenge.”

He paused but you just kept up with your massage, rubbing him down, letting him know you were still there. He continued,

“That bastard was gonna shoot me,” John’s voice cracked from his despair, and you saw shining tears stream down his temples and into his hair, “It was me that he wanted. Then, my… one of my men, he jumped right in front of the gun and took the bullet for me. I thought he was dead. I thought I was, too. But, after… I left my team. Charged in alone. I did things to those men that I'll have to think about for the rest of my bloody days. I became… something else. Something… “

You wiped the tears from his face, petting his cheeks, letting your thumbs brush over his lips gently. He sighed, and you could feel his breath on your fingers,

“It wasn’t right. I knew better, I just wanted them to bloody pay. Wasn’t sure if I was going home with a fuckin’ medal or my papers. Didn’t care.”

There was a long pause, and then, his voice became small. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, but they were wide, full of fear and uncertainty,

“Am I a monster? Is that… Is that the real me? Who am I? What am I?”

You leaned forward and planted delicate kisses across John’s stretched neck, licking and sucking at his skin in very light, careful touches, tasting his wounds and trying to heal them.

You sat back, removing yourself from his body, letting him sit alone for a moment before you said,

“You are a human being. You are capable of love and hate, pleasure and pain. You might feel like you need to answer for some of your violence, but your own humanity is not defined by your actions. You believed that was the path you needed to take. You destroyed dangerous men before they destroyed you. That is not a monster. A monster destroys the innocent. Were those men innocent?”

“No,” he snarled, full of spit and ire.

“They made their own choices. They controlled their own lives. Your perception of your own control is too broad, John. You couldn’t save them. They didn’t need saving. You did. It was you who needed to be saved.”

“I should’ve been able to stop… to stop… stop killing. I couldn’t. I needed them to burn for what they did to my fuckin’ soldier. To my friends! Fuck!” 

John was gasping now, too full of emotion to control his breath, releasing his stress in deep, bellowing grunts. You unfastened his head harness immediately, freeing him. The instant he could move, he let his head fall forward and placed his cheek on your breast, stretching himself as far as he could, hoping you would be there to catch him. 

And you were. You held him in your arms, wrapping your own across his many knots, feeling the fibers of his ties and the smooth warmth of his body, separate but unified. You could feel his wet cheek upon your skin, his anger rolling off of him in waves. He was letting out each breath as an exhaled hiss, the fire in his eyes at full peak, a blazing rage that seemed like it would suffocate him. 

You picked up his head in your hands, resting your forehead on his and told him, 

“Let it go. Just like that. Scream. Let it out of you, John. Forgive yourself.”

He let himself go for a moment, howling like a wild boar, full of unnatural rage and pain. You heard his shouts and tucked them away from your heart, keeping them for later, choosing to just let him express it and have his crashing waves of feeling wash over you, but you refused to drown in it. He still needed you. 

“Do you forgive me?” His plea was that of a boy, innocent and achingly pure. 

“I forgive you,” you replied without hesitation, “Forgive yourself, now.”

He shook his head back and forth, rubbing his face on yours, bitter and despondent, 

“I can’t…”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to,” you barked, grabbing him at the base of his skull by his hair, forcing his head back into that same bent position, holding him by force, “Trust me, John. Say it out loud. I forgive myself. Say it. C’mon.”

“I… forgive...” 

“C’mon. I know you can do this,” you used both hands to hold his head under your control, your chests pressed together, your breathing equal and ragged, both of you pulled to the end of your abilities.

“I forgive myself.”

“Again!” You gasped. You tugged at his nape, forcing him to arch his back with what little movement he still had access to.

He grunted in response, breathing heavy, each exhale a guttural shout,

“I forgive myself.”

“Good. So good. Let it out. Use the pain; let it wash you clean.”

You let his head come forward, and you saw a new man staring back at you. Before you knew what was happening, you felt your lips crash together with John’s, sliding along his mouth, tasting him and being tasted by him. His tongue slipped into the hollow of your palate, folding and twisting for more and more control, taking you into him as much as he could manage. Then, he pulled away abruptly, resting his forehead against yours again,

“I’m sorry. I just… I feel…” You watched him search for the words, “I feel like I’m back. It’s been so long, but I can feel myself again.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you,” he tilted his head, exhausted, sitting back on his heels, his face a serene picture of peace, “I need you to touch me, like this. Please.”

You looked at him for a moment and then moved your hands between his legs, finding his warm rod waiting to be held. As soon as your fingers touched him, his whole body convulsed, and he cried out at the sensation. 

You began to rub his shaft with long, slow strokes, avoiding his head for now, finding a nice, easy rhythm, encouraging John to match your breathing. He did, stealing kisses when your faces were near one another, and eventually, you were nose to nose, sharing your breaths again, listening to the rush of air and the wet slick sound of his tacky precome being spread all over his length. 

You reached behind him and grabbed another bolster, putting the soft pad behind his back. Slowly, you helped him lay down onto it, knowing his arms would be crushed by his weight, but making sure the stress was something he could stand. His legs were spread wide, fully pliant and open to you, and you sat between them, bringing your hands back to his center, working his curved shaft up and down, watching as his belly filled with air, expanding from his breaths, only to collapse again, the muscles within him clenching and releasing in an undulating pattern of lust and need.

“Oh, fuck,” he bit his lip, wrenching his eyes shut, “Please… I need… Bloody hell, I need you, love. Please.”

“Are you sure, John?” You tried to check in with him, ignoring your own desire to immediately fulfill his wish, your pussy swollen and dripping in anticipation. 

“Yes. I want you to take me. Please.”

His eyes looked up at you, his body bent and bowed, sweet and desperate for you, looking to you for his pleasure.

Carefully, you straddled him, feeding his head between your legs, sighing with joy as his tip slotted into the soft divot of your hole. He couldn’t thrust up into you. In fact, he couldn’t participate at all. You were the only one who could bring him pleasure or bring him pain, and that thought made your head rush, making you dizzy with desire, knowing that this man, a ruthless killer, mysterious and brutal, steady and kind, all of what he was — he was helpless beneath you. 

As you sank down onto his girthy tip, your body ached from the stretch. It was an effort to fit him inside of you, and you breathed through it, wanting to push yourself flush to his hips. When you met his warm root, you shared a loud moan together, the relief overwhelming you both. 

Then, you used your hips to make grinding, wide circles, churning his cock within your core, making yourself even more soaked, feeling your movements sending repeated signals to your cunt to make more and more slick come. It seemed endless, and it pooled out of you, matting his hair and drowning his dick in hot, sticky fluid. 

He was grunting softly at the apex of each circle of your hips, his voice hoarse and full of want. You heard him wanting more, wanting you to hump him up and down, to slide yourself along his cock from root to tip. But, you were in charge, and you set the pace. So, you continued, around and around and around in an impossible spiral, using your hands to play with his nipples, pinching them cruelly, positioning them under the tight rope to make them ache to be free. 

“Ungh, fuck! You’re fuckin’ soaked, love. Feels so bloody good.”

You smiled down at him, refusing to take his bait, knowing he was beyond ready for more. 

Sure enough, he began to beg you, his skin flushed and his heart beating hard from being edged by your grinding,

“Will you fuck me… please? Just… I need… fuck, I need more. Fuck me, please! Oh, fuck…”

“Shh. Be good for me, John. Trust me.” 

You stayed the course, rocking your hips around his base, never letting him thrust in and out, just winding yourself around him like a tight spool, pushing him to his breaking point. He felt so good inside of you, and his cock was so deep, you could feel the turgid body of his shaft if you pressed down on your lower belly, your fingers finding his outline through your skin and muscles and fat, your hands making indentions in your flesh, teasing him from the outside. 

“Cut me out,” he snarled, straining against his bindings hard enough to hurt himself.

You peered down at him, slowing your hips to a glacial pace,

“You know your safeword, John.”

“Cut. Me. Out.”

His eyes were vicious when he looked up at you now. He was like a hungry wolf; his gaze held within it a dark promise that — if you cut his leash — he would destroy you. 

On one hand, your body celebrated that realization. It was eager to be devoured by this monster of a man, but you had worked hard to control your primal urges, and you decided to put your hound back in his cage. You let your hand snake around his throat, squeezing where it was safest, digging in your nails for him to feel your threat more vividly, knowing it would hurt him against his healing wounds,

“If you want to stop, say the word.”

You waited, watching his tortured face, panting and wet from tears and sweat, but he remained silent. You licked your lips, 

“You came here for a lesson in self-control, and I am your teacher.”

For the next half hour, you made sure John Price understood who was in control of his pleasure. You sat on his cock, rocking back and forth until you felt his body tense up, and then you pulled yourself off of him, leaving his throbbing prick out in the cold, tapping at your ass cheeks, begging to be let back in. 

You ignored him, touching yourself with your fingers, using the chubby flesh of his lower belly to rub against your cunt, smearing your wetness all over him as you played in your hole. 

Then, you would put him back inside and start the process all over again, grinding and stopping, grinding and stopping, until your mighty sub was whimpering for release, his balls tight against his core, ready to flood you with his come at any moment. 

Finally, when you saw how fuck-drunk he was, coming in and out of consciousness like he’d been drugged, you decided to relieve him of his burden. You caught his eye and made sure he knew what was coming. Immediately, you had his full attention. He began to chant, hoarse and rasping under his breath,

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck…”

You let the anticipation build, slipping your pussy over his head in feather-light swipes, letting your folds tickle his cockhead mercilessly. Then, you began to bounce your hips on his cock. 

“Ungh– love, I’m —” he growled, his words breathless and broken, unbridled. 

“I want your come,” you confessed, getting lost in your own pleasure, “I want it in me… Deep. In. Me,” you changed your tone, tightening your grip on the nape of his neck as much as you dared, “And I’m going to take it from you.”

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, shining with fresh tears, overstimulated and raw. 

Then, you saw the relief smooth across his brow, and you waited for a breath before you felt it, spearing yourself on him to his hilt, plugging your cunt so that his come would be plugged up inside of you, filling your emptiest parts, making them warm and swollen with his spend. 

You felt him bursting inside of you, his girth stretching you every time he throbbed, spraying inside of you over and over, dumping his load into your soft hole. When you felt him finish, you began your grinding circles again, causing him to roll and twist, aching from the pleasure and pain. 

“Nngh… love, please… can’t… I can’t…” 

You yanked the slip tie out from under his shoulder, and suddenly, he had control of his arms again. You did the same to his legs, freeing him from your ties, ending his captivity. 

Like a flash, he erupted upwards toward you. His hands went to your hips, sitting up to hug himself around your body, crushing you to his chest and forcing you down into his lap, spearing you on his sensitive rod as if you had planned to pull him out. His mouth savaged your breasts, biting them cruelly, his fingers holding you tight enough to leave you bruised. 

You grabbed his face, holding his bristled cheeks in your hands again, bringing him up to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his as delicately as you could manage, trembling from your bliss. He kissed you back, and that’s all you did for what felt like an eon. Your mind swam through a blank, glittering cosmos, and the only thing that was real was the feeling of John’s mouth on your mouth and his sex on your sex, his hands on your body and your hands on his body, his pain and your pain, his love and your love. You and he were muddled together like pigments on a palette, jonquil and fuschia, no longer existing as one or the other and yet both smearing together, mixed and inseparable, ready to paint a bright, endless sun. 

You had melted, it seemed, under John’s sweating, heaving body. His ribs bullied into your belly every time he took a breath, and his cock had softened so that it slipped away from you. Your body ached for its comfort again, every nature-made part of you punishing you for losing it, coaxing you to do anything to get it back, to fill the space left vacant. You were tucked into his chest, folded and hiding beneath his chin, rubbing at the flat of his sternum with the back of your hand. 

His finger brushed a stray curl from your brow, touching your hair with respect, staring down at you in awe,

“My hero,” he purred. 

You smiled, kissing the stubble on his chin,

“Am I, now?”

“My head…” He stared up at the ceiling again, going to it for comfort like a long lost friend, “It’s so quiet. So clear. You’ve done that for me, and I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my days.”

“I’ll always be here for you, John. You are my muse in more ways than I’ll ever admit,” you laughed breathlessly, a little sad. It was bittersweet, falling in love with a man you couldn’t have. But, you found yourself in him and now you would need to work out how to live without that mirrored reflection. You felt linked to him, two unbroken cords looped together like Solomon’s seal, inseparable and yet laid on two disparate paths. 

“Don’t…” He said, his tone sounding even more sorrowful than yours.

You sat up on your elbow, bringing your face up to his to look at him, to see his emotions, 

“What?”

“Don’t make me hope.”

“What do you hope for?” Your voice fell into a whisper, your heart not having the strength to ask your question aloud.

He matched your tone, purring out his confession with a tired but cheeky grin,

“For a woman who can bring me to my knees,” then, his expression turned serious, and his eyes traced his finger as he played with the stray curl he had found, studying its winding path, “For a healer. Someone who can remind me of who I am. Everytime I stop to catch my breath, I’ve been hoping for you.”

Your heart stuttered, knowing that he was not a man to settle down in one place. You looked down at his chest rising and falling with his breath, matching your rhythm, unable to meet his eyes,

“How long can you stay?”

He put a thick finger under your chin, just as you had for him during his session, making you meet his gaze, 

“Let’s start with tonight…”

He planted a soft kiss on your left cheek.

“...then tomorrow…”

His lips kissed your right cheek, dragging hungrily across your skin, 

“...and all the tomorrows that you’ll give me. I’ll take them all, if you let me.”

John placed his final kiss on your open mouth, lips parted, concentrating on what he was saying. You smiled, kissing him back in earnest, 

“Tonight, then. And tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow,” he nodded, smiling brightly, rolling himself over you to shield you from the chill of the room, folding you into his darkness, safe, bound to him without a cord, knotted together without a bight, tangled for however long the strands would hold.

AO3 Link --- Thank you for the kudos!

[ganondoodle]

(OC Lore and design time!)

(it got longer again ... sorry ... idk how to make things short, i just need to talk, but i guess if you can read the written stuff in the pic thats the barest bare bones of what i wrote here)

i was asked what new lore story stuff i had thought about that made me sad which i mentioned a bit ago, and while that is too hard to explain given all the missing context i thought i could at least talk about lore having to do with it :D

so, (Lord) Eadrya is one of my fav OCs (big blue lad, here a rough sketch in humanoid form) they are both one of if not THE most powerful demon alive and the most battle trained;

at the mid point of the story the demon world gets invaded by the celestials (the angel inspired things i talked about in the previous lore post with Xaror) and Shargon, as the king, should be their first and only frontline, but at this point his life is only being sustained by maschinery after being mortally wounded, he cannot fight (he realizes what is going on, rips himself off the maschinery to get at least his youngest child to safety, barely managing it before dying- the guardian, the demons god, takes over his body to attempt to fight against the celestials but cant keep itself alive long enough since its host is already dead) Eadrya takes the role of the frontline fighter (despite being very full of themselves and aggressive they care about their 'job' of protecting their own, also giving them the chance to show off just how strong they are); the fight was going well for them all things considered, but when the guardian activates it drains the power of all elemental lords (which Eadrya is one of, and since they have the most strength it also takes the most from them), so much so that they lose the fight and suffer deadly wounds (the worst being a spear through the chest made of a material that grows hard, root-like formations when in contact with demonic blood like a fungus but worse, also stopping any self healing processes) after the guardian falls apart it creates a huge shockwave of energy that stuns every living thing within a certain distance and possibly more-

Eadrya (in true demon form, so like a blue whale in size at least) was likely taken through an active gateway to the human world in a large tidal wave also created by the guardians fall; they wash up in the harbor of a small secluded village, the head of which is 'lady 13'; although never having seen a demon before and everyone being afraid (largely thinking its a strange hurt animal, only she suspected otherwise), they still gather all villagers to pull out the celestial spear, which is diffcult and brutal given that its already taken root, but the village lacked both knowledge and means to help any other way- doing so damaged their heart which is how they were able to collect samples of all three demonic blood types ('normal' -red like humans-, energy -essentially purely magic- and heartblood -highly concentrated energy only found within the heart of a demon and the only one to contain genetic material) (this is the start of Eadryas character arc, having to deal with the fact that their world is likely destroyed, them failing what they didnt think they could fail, having lost a battle so badly (even if not really their fault) for the first time and not knowing if literally anyone else has survived .. also being now stuck in the human world, which they dont like)

Lady 13 (placeholder name? stands for experiment 13) is a human that was tricked by demon hunters to enroll into a series of experiments trying to create hybrids of demons and humans, which they hoped would be powerful and easily controllable tools for their endeavours, though the two are inherently not compatible, they tried grafting body parts of demons on humans to make them compatible- all experiments failed except for her, more or less, though she never got to see the hybrid she carried and was then told it had died too, they threw her out believing she wouldnt survive much longer either and all such experiments were cancelled due to the high cost of human life, research material (demons are still rare) and upkeep with no successful results Lady 13 survived though (perhaps even via the pirates picking her up?) and she ended up living in said small village far away, hiding her half demonic body, though most know there soemthing 'wrong' with her (her being this tall when it doesnt fit the rest for one), only few know the full extent; she enjoys the life she has now, perhaps on the more poor side but safer and more loved than ever before; she largely lead the efforts to try and help Eadrya when they ended up in the harbor, though there wasnt that much anyone could do it was still enough- they leave immediately after waking up, but return after really having nowhere to go and struggling to deal with everything that has happened; over time (probably years) they start to open up towards the people there (though not .. very much) enough to get rather close with Lady 13 too- she actually falls madly in love but after Eadrya (extremely aro/ace) rejects all her attempts quite clearly she respects their boundaries

However, after hearing news of potential demon sightings Eadrya decides to leave in hopes of not being the last demon left after all; Lady 13 then decides to reveal her secret to them (though hearing and seeing what lengths hunters would go to for their experiments makes them absolutely seething with rage- she insists on not being out for revenge) and asks if they would be willing to donate a small amount of heartblood; shes always wanted to be a mother but is now incompatible with humans too- through things she picked up back at the experiments facillity, hers and her doctors research she is sure that is all that is needed, she dares to ask since she does not know when, if ever, she will meet another demon, much less one she could actually trust enough for this though Eadrya hesitates (why would she want to go through the same thing again that didnt work and threatened her life, if it does work, do they want to be involved with any of this? what if hunters find out it worked after all?) but after her ensuring that they would have no part in it other than giving up a little blood and would not be considered a parent in any way, nor made responsible for anything that might happen to her, but considering it all in the end they agree to it

only for her to reveal shes had a small bottle of it already, along with multiple samples of the other types, which she collected when Eadrya was bleeding out into the harbor not knowing if they will survive, though not wanting to make use of it without their consent either way (they are actuallly rather touched by this)

alot later the main group returns here and it turns out to have worked (though she is unable to walk/bedridden for a long while bc it did alot of damage to her body, which can heal since its demons parts, but only really slowly bc she does not have a full functioning system and no demonic blood of her own -she uses the other samples for the healing process-) though its a little awkward to explain, especially considering that 13.1 took alot after Eadrya xD (their theory as to why it worked so "well" that time is that even though the sample was already taken, them giving their consent for it still made it less likely to be rejected; demons dont need partners to have offspring, and all can do it, they just have to decide to- so them agreeing to it, even though its long been outside their body, still had an effect on the blood sample)

[mono-dot-jpeg]

listening - stellaron hunters

summary; you cannot see the reality in front of you but you can hear it. and yet it sounds so painful.

genre/extra tags; headcanons, angst ig?, hurt/comfort (questionably executed), reader has torchwick's (rwby) cane weapon thing but not really, reader has the hunt path and lighting as combat type, i'm seeing in 4d right now with how im setting this specific reader up rn, actual lore executed badly

[platonic] [teen reader] [gender neutral]

[warnings; mentions of eye injuries, insecurities/doubts about one's self, weapons mentioned quite a bit]

[buy me a kofi]

a/n; sorry this took me almost a month (maybe longer depending on when i finish this work). got distracted very quickly by other things and then i got writer's block for a while. whatever so. i'll describe reader's weapon in the headcanons, don't worry. hope you enjoy.

you were an unexpected addition to the hunters. i mean you're so young compared to everyone else, what makes you so adamant on joining this group

i guess we'll never know /ref

but like all the hunters, you hold power just as heavy as the rest.

of course it wasn't for free. you worked hard in your homeland and you earned your path and power.

but you wanted to find something. something was missing.

you didn't know what.

but then you found the stellaron hunters.

you heard about the stellaron and you wanted to know more. you wanted to see it.

and somehow, elio had accepted you.

and you were now a hunter.

before you lost your sight, you were very skilled with tech like silver wolf. you loved making weapons or machinery

you worked behind the scenes and on the stage, so to speak

your preferred weapon was a sniper. and occasionally if you felt lazy, you would have a small turret by your side that would do the work for you

but imagine the absolute devastation you felt when you lost your eyesight in the middle of a mission. or more like during the mission

with your power, it was powerful but unstable

you could kill one enemy with ease but that would require high control with your lightning and careful aim with your sniper

unfortunately you have to control the lightning through your hands on onto the sniper so when you aim down the sights (i dont know how to describe it other than in gamer terms) that lightning has a chance to backfire and hit your eye

through that you managed to lose your sight overtime but this mission accelerated it

and you never felt so devastated

your power betrayed you and on top of that, it was in the middle of a battle and the enemies took an opportunity to take you down quickly.

blade and kafka were there to help clean up at least

but they couldn't handle the lost mess you were

"why can't i see anymore? why?" was the only mutters they heard from you

when you were taken back to base, you were attended to, much to your dismay and fear.

your usually hard headed behavior crumbled within 10 mins after you lost your vision

you felt weak

you felt helpless

you didn't feel strong anymore

your eyes were no longer functional, there's an irregular pattern that traces over your eyes and there's faint marks over the eye area you used the most for sniping.

blade describes the pattern as an angry lightning storm that doesn't end

and when you're done being cared for, you don't leave your room

when you do, you're dragged by kafka or silverwolf (occasionally blade but he just carries you roughly)

you feel like a burden every time you sit at the meeting table

you can hear everything with your vision gone

and you hate it

you want to see again but you know you won't

eventually you find your courage to start to navigate the base on your own

you find yourself in your abandoned lab with blade by your side

"stop frowning like that"

"that's a lot coming from you"

"you're really going to let this eye sight stop you?"

"well i can't exactly wield metal anymore. and i can't use my sniper rifle cane, what do you think i should do, boy genius?"

you feel him open your hand to show your palm and you feel a cold metal touch your hand. you start feeling it properly.

"this is my sniper rifle, blade."

"well, maybe it doesn't have to serve as a sniper. you don't need to take the first shot to kill."

and with that in mind, you become like a follow-up attacker

you train endlessly to improve yourself as much as possible.

you ask silver wolf to help you modify your weapon to work for you (you kind of backseated her about it despite being unable to see what she was doing)

and you now have a multi-functioning cane.

it functions as a gun, a mobility cane to help you walk and "see", and a melee weapon if you hit someone hard enough (which isn't really hard since it's made of a lightweight metal)

and of course if worse comes to worse and you need to deal with a bunch of enemies at once, it can release a powerful strike of lightning (similar to jingyuan ult). you have to let go of your cane so you don't get hurt but ehh small price to pay to save your ass, you know?

i think that since you're a teen in this, the hunters don't really pay attention to your feelings as well as they should

none of them really know how to comfort a teen. which makes sense.

blade and silver wolf are blunt in their own ways

kafka is very avoidant or she speaks so confusingly that you dont even bother

but when they really see you visit your unused lab everyday, they slowly start to understand that you had a part of you taken and you won't ever live your life the way you want to

but surely this is the work of elio. elio knew this was coming, and he knew you would be fine.

it takes a while for the others to tell you that you're not the burden you think you are. they try their best to comfort you even if it's really awkward bc they don't know how to comfort you properly yet

but you appreciated it.

[waywardxwords]

Chapter 2 - Nothing to Lose (Taking Chances)

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: None

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Read Chapter 1 - Rules Were Meant for Breaking here!

The wind whipped at the shutters on your two-bedroom home tucked in the suburbs of Richmond, Virginia. It was another quiet night for you. Quiet had become your norm, and you were perfectly content with that. One hand held your cell phone to your ear while the other poured yourself a glass of Merlot. 

“I’m heading to Kansas next week,” you said somewhat nonchalantly into the receiver, but your best friend knew better than that. 

“Oooh,” she cooed. “Are you seeing your flying buddy?” You rolled your eyes. After you had mentioned your encounter that had happened almost a month ago now, she had been relentless. 

“No…I don’t know,” you grumbled. “He has a name, you know.” 

“Oh, I know. The mysterious Dean. I still wish you had gotten a last name. You gotta Google guys nowadays. You tend to find some creepy ass people,” she muttered back. You slipped the cork back into the bottle and carried your glass to the living room. 

“Says the girl who dated a guy with an attempted battery charge,” you scoffed as you plopped down on your couch and pulled your legs up to the side. 

“Listen, Tinder is wild. It’s not my fault he used a fake name,” she tossed back. “And let’s just remember it was a charge and he was never actually convicted.”

“Yeah, let’s not try to justify that one, ‘kay?” You laughed. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’m going to call him. I don’t even know if he wants to hear from me.” You swirled the burgundy liquid around in your wine glass as your mind replayed the night you and Dean spent together. 

“You were pretty clear about what you wanted…or didn’t want, for that matter. At least, from what you told me.” 

Once you and Dean had gotten your room assignments, you agreed to meet in his room after you got settled. A quick glance in the mirror made you grimace—traveling for fifteen hours hadn’t done you any favors. You swiped your index finger under each eye to clean up the smudged mascara before you pulled at the fallen strands of hair to fix your bun. The idea of getting dressed up at this point seemed futile, so you settled on a long sleeve shirt and leggings with sneakers. 

After a quick breath, you grabbed your room key and cell phone and headed down the hall to Dean’s room. Your knuckles tapped against the wood. 

Within a moment, the door swung open revealing your new friend. He had changed into a gray undershirt and sweatpants. 

“Hey,” you breathed with a smile. 

“Hi,” he smiled back. He stepped back and held the door open for you. “Come on in.” 

“Are we passing on the bar adventure?” You raised your eyebrows as you eyed his choice of sweatpants. 

“Oh, you mean you don’t want to be seen with me wearing sweatpants in the bar?” He feigned offense. “And see, I didn’t think you cared about that kinda thing…” before you could say anything, he continued. “Nah, I’ll be honest. I’m pretty exhausted and thought we could just hang out and watch a movie or something.”

“That works, but seriously, if you’re tired I can absolutely entertain myself and get some sleep. We don’t have to hang out,” you were second-guessing everything, and that wasn’t like you. The confidence and self-assurance you had when it came to your work seemed to go out the window when it came to Dean. 

“No way,” he plopped down on the bed and put his feet up as he sat against the headboard. “It’s almost Halloween, how do you feel about some scary classics?” He wiggled his eyebrows, which made you laugh. 

“Sounds good to me,” you walked to the other side of the bed and sat down so you were against the headboard with your legs folded like a pretzel. 

The movie was fun, but you and Dean ended up talking throughout most of it. 

“Okay, so you don’t like planes…anything else you’re afraid of?” You popped a pretzel from the trail mix bag Southwest had provided on your earlier flight into your mouth and handed the bag to Dean. 

“Hm,” he hummed as he rummaged through for a Cheez-It. “Not really. My brother’s afraid of clowns.” 

“Clowns are pretty creepy,” you agreed. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“What about you? What are you afraid of?” The question was harmless, but the answer felt loaded to you. As you processed your thoughts, you hesitated but decided to just go for it. 

“Being alone,” your eyes fell to your lap where you played with a loose string on the comforter. “Sorry, that was deep.” You laughed lightly as you avoided eye contact and wondered if you had gone with something easier; something like snakes or needles. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice caught your attention. “Don’t be sorry. That’s a valid fear.” You noticed his voice was lower than before. His words were kind, but you still felt like you had made a mistake by opening up that much to him. 

“I appreciate it,” you managed a small smile. 

There was a pause, but you were surprised it wasn’t uncomfortable. Then Dean spoke once more. “In, uh, in the spirit of ‘if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’,” he cleared his throat. “I’m batshit terrified of being afraid…”

You blinked as you contemplated his words. “You’re…afraid of being afraid?” 

He chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck as he dropped his gaze to his lap. “Yeah, I know it sounds weird. I guess for me, I always have to be strong and just have my shit together. Which I don’t, by the way.” You watched the side of his face as he spoke, illuminated by the movie playing on the TV on the dresser across from you. “It’s pretty much always been me and Sammy—my brother,” he reminded you. “I don’t really ever show anyone if I’m afraid of something.”

“Everybody gets scared, Dean,” you coaxed as he paused. “Your brother would understand that.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” he pondered, his eyebrows knitted together. “I guess so, I just don’t show it.”

Even though it was a simple confession, you felt like you learned a lot about Dean in that moment. 

“You were afraid on the plane, I could tell,” you smirked and pushed your elbow gently into his ribs playfully. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and for the first time since he started speaking, his head turned to look at you. His eyes practically studied you but all you felt was his vulnerability. “I know,” he said softly. “That’s the thing, I was able to drop the act in front of you. I just can’t figure out why…”

“Ah,” you smiled. “You broke your own rule. You took your mask off.”

He chuckled again. “I guess I did.” 

You turned back after a moment to look at whatever was happening on the TV in front of you, and that’s when you felt Dean’s palm graze the top of your hand at your side. It wasn’t forceful or pushy, it just felt comforting. You glanced down at your hands and took a breath. 

“Dean, I need to be honest with you,” your words were so soft, you weren’t sure if he heard you. His eyes watched you and he nodded for you to continue. “I’m really, really bad at…this whole thing.” You mumbled. 

“At what, exactly?” He asked for clarification. 

“Men? Affection? I’ve been so focused on my career for so long, I kinda just settled on the fact I’d be alone for the rest of my life. And even though it terrifies me, I’m also kind of content with that? Let’s be honest, you live in Kansas and I live in Virginia. We don’t even know each other, we’re strangers,” you were rambling at this point. 

“I’m not askin’ you to marry me, sweetheart,'' he laughed gently, but also removed his hand from yours.

“No, I know,” you breathed. “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, seriously. I just don’t see how…” you trailed off as you tried to find your words. 

“I get it, wrong place, wrong time,” he repeated the words from earlier. 

“Something like that,” you sighed. You stared into his green gaze for another moment before you found your voice again. “I should go.” 

Dean nodded once, but you saw the disappointment flash across his features. “I understand.” He swung his legs off of the bed and waited for you to walk you to the door. “Just so you know, I really liked talking with you tonight.” 

“Me too, Dean,” you managed a smile and wondered why you felt sad. You wouldn’t let your feelings deter you. 

“And hey, if you’re ever in Kansas and wanna break any more of those rules…” he reached for a notepad on the table by the door. He scribbled out a number. “Gimme a call.” 

You took the paper willingly and gave him one more gentle smile. “Thanks, Dean.” And against your better judgment, you leaned forward on your tip toes and kissed his stubble covered cheek. “Goodnight.”

You saw Dean on the plane the next morning, but couldn’t be sure if he had seen you. He picked a seat rows ahead of you, and by the time you had gotten off of the plane—he was gone. 

“Can you blame the guy?” Your best friend’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “He bared his soul to you and you bolted.”

“I didn’t bolt because of the conversation! I got scared,” you mumbled. 

“I know, but I also know it’s been a month and you haven’t shut up about him,” she reminded you. “Call. The. Man. Please, if for nothing else, for my sake. I’m sick of hearing you whine.” 

“Ugh, fine,” you grumbled. “I’ll call him.” 

“You better,” she bit back. “If you don’t call him, you’re not allowed to talk about him anymore. Got it?”

A sigh fell from your lips, but you knew she was right. “Deal.” 

“Good, I gotta run. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” and with that, you both hung up. You stared at your phone for a minute. With a quick scroll in your contacts, you found the number you had added after Dean wrote it down on the notepad. Your finger hovered for a moment before you took a leap of faith and pressed his name. 

You pushed the phone to your ear and took a very large sip of your wine with your eyes squeezed shut tightly. Your breath got caught in your throat when you thought he had answered, only to realize it was his voicemail. 

“This is Dean’s other, other cell…so you must know what to do.” And then there was a beep. You quickly hung up the phone. How many cell phones does this guy have? And why…? Maybe your best friend was right—maybe you needed to fully vet this dude before you considered coordinating a meet-up. But before you could think on it any longer, your phone started vibrating against the couch cushion. 

“Hi,” you sighed into the phone as you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

“Uh, hi. Who is this?” His voice sounded gruffer than you remembered. 

“Dean, sorry, I uh, I—this is—” he cut you off before you could say anything else. 

“Oh…uh, everything okay?” He sounded…worried, or concerned, maybe? But you weren’t sure why. And he recognized your voice? There was so much you were confused about but it was overshadowed by the giddiness you felt that he recognized your voice from just a few words. 

“Oh, everything’s fine,” you quickly answered. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just wanted to call to let you know I’m going to be in Kansas next week…” you second-guessed, again, why you had called to begin with. You knew you were sending the man mixed signals, and you didn’t mean to. It was a battle from within that you couldn’t tell if you were losing or winning, at this point. He didn’t speak during your pause, so you continued. “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, it’s alright,” he spoke softly. “I just didn’t think I’d hear from you again.” You wanted to kick yourself, but instead you stood to your feet and paced a bit in front of your couch as you gripped the phone to your ear.

“I know,” you sighed. “Moment of honesty without any judgment?” You asked hesitantly.

“Shoot,” by the sound of his voice, you could tell he still wasn’t sure what you wanted or why you had dialed his number. To be fair, you still weren’t sure, either. There was this strange sense of connection you felt with him after only spending a few hours with him. It was something you couldn't shake.

“When I left your hotel room that night,” your feet slowed and you brought your fingers up to fidget with the charm on your necklace. “I kind of panicked. But…” But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, is what you wanted to say. However, you weren’t feeling very brave, so you swerved. “…I just knew you had said if I were ever in Kansas again, to give you a call.” Per usual when the nerves crept up and made you feel like you had made a mistake, your teeth found the inside of your bottom lip and nibbled there self consciously. 

There was a pause that made you question yourself even more than before, if that were possible. “No, I’m glad you called. When are you planning to be in town?” 

Your heart fluttered. Maybe he did want to see you, after all. “Next week, actually. I fly in on Monday afternoon but I don’t have any meetings until Tuesday.” 

“Alright,” there was something to his voice that sounded different than before—there was a hardness there you hadn’t noticed on the plane, or when you spent the evening talking about what you were afraid of and watching classic horror flicks. This Dean felt guarded. “Well, how ‘bout drinks? There’s not much out here, but there’s a dive bar. The Blind Pig, it’s in Salina near the airport.”

“Is that too far for you? Aren’t you in Lebanon?” This version of Dean made you realize you really didn’t know him at all—this was just a man you had met by pure happenstance. You wondered if you should Google him, after all. 

“Ah, it’s alright. I spend ninety percent of my time in my car and I love it,” he answered truthfully. 

Even though your brain was telling you to think twice, something within you urged your mouth to speak anyway. “Alright, then. Is 7 o’clock okay?”

“Seven it is,” he answered, and this time you could tell he had a smile on his face. 

“Okay, great,” you gnawed at your bottom lip as you processed. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you then,” he repeated back. Simple ‘byes’ ended your conversation and you couldn’t help but cringe from the awkwardness as you pulled the phone from your ear. All you could think about was that you hoped you hadn’t made a mistake. 

A/N: I'm so excited to be back! I've spent a lot of time planning this series out, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks so much for reading, please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed it ♥️

Chapters will be posted on Wednesdays and Saturdays!

Preview of the next chapter:

The Blind Pig was a small hole-in-the-wall sports bar, but it sure did have a lot of patrons. Thankfully, your flight had gotten in when it was supposed to without any delays, but that had gotten you settled in your hotel by five o’clock and ready to meet Dean by six. You had pulled out your laptop to try and get some work done, but your eyes kept pulling to the numbers on the nightstand. 

6:02. And then again at 6:04. By 6:07, you couldn’t take it anymore. So you headed the short distance from your hotel to The Blind Pig and settled on a barstool at the bar. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender interrupted your thoughts as he dried his hands on a small dish rag. 

“A Jack and Coke, please,” you answered in an effort to calm your nerves. “And a glass of water,” so hopefully you wouldn’t get too ahead of yourself. 

The bartender nodded and grabbed a glass. Every time the front door opened, you couldn’t help but turn to see if it was Dean walking through the door. But it was still only 6:45, and you knew he had a long drive. 

Just as your drink was set in front of you, you heard him clear his throat behind you. “Hey, Atlanta,” the nickname brought a smile to your lips and a shiver down your spine as you turned towards him.

Read Chapter 3 here!

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @hallecarey1 @zepskies @lyarr24 @roseblue373 @deans-spinster-witch @stillhere197 @deans-baby-momma @nix-rose @djs8891 @globetrotter28 @k-slla @agentorange9595 @dragonfly92 @nancymcl @springsteeen @perpetualabsurdity @deanwinchestersgirl87 @mimi-luvzyu @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @ultimatecin73 @impalaspixie @daughterofcain-67 @lacilou @jasminewinter140 @yvonneeeee @stoneyggirl2 @rizlowwritessortof @marimarvelfan @jc-winchester @taylortot @siampie1990 @thewritersaddictions @raisinggray @tabsluvsu @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @nyotamalfoy @ades106 @akshi8278 @fanfic-n-tabulous @officialnighttime @so-get-this-sammy @malindacath

Want to join the Tag List? Click here!

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

Tell Me Some Things Last

Mobius & Sylvie (and Lokius at the end). Rated T. Angst, healing, friendship, minor references to self-harm, happy ending.

Mobius is paralyzed by his grief after Loki sacrificed himself to save the multiverse. It will take Sylvie helping him to face his emotions to give him his own happy ending.

Mobius couldn’t tear himself away from watching Don tidy up the front lawn after his kids had run havoc through the place. It was a life he hadn’t known, and even though he knew he could ask Sylvie to show him the memories if he wanted to, it wouldn’t change the fact he had a gaping hole in his heart. Looking back at his previous life was painful in a numbing kind of way. It was like his emotions were stuck somewhere within his body, unable to go anywhere. Tendrils of ancient grief floated along the surface but when he tried to grab hold, they slipped through his fingers and sank into the depths once more. He was weighed down by it, and yet it paled into insignificance at how much his heart ached from losing Loki. In all his time at the TVA—however long it actually was—he had never been close to anyone. Then Loki had arrived and he’d begun to feel again, to experience something within him: a hope, possibilities for the future. Now all he had was the tattered remains of his heart. “I wish I was with you,” he sighed, looking down at the ground and scraping his shoe up and down the sidewalk. The sun had been shining since he’d arrived here, reminding him of how another Loki had told his brother they would find their happy ending eventually. If only his Loki had been able to have one. Instead, he was trapped at the end of time sacrificing himself to outwit yet another egomaniac intent on removing choice from others. It should be embarrassing how often these things seemed to happen in the multiverse. They were an almost constant, just as Lokis were destined to lose. He knew Loki hadn’t wanted to be alone, and neither had Mobius. The only difference between them was that he could be surrounded by people if he wanted to; Loki was cut off from everyone. Mobius had never met He Who Remains, only a variant—and from what Loki had said, Timely was nothing like him—but he knew he had controlled everything and decided their fates, no matter how cruel or sweet. He’d been a dictator, an enslaver, and a tyrant. But he’d also lived a solitary life at the end of time with only Miss Minutes for company, and that would be enough to send anyone insane. Mobius knew loneliness, but he couldn’t imagine not being able to numb and escape it. When he’d had nothing but endless reports to wade through, never-ending detail to get lost in, it had been easier to cope with the scars he wore. The TVA hadn’t been a good place. He hadn’t been a good man while he was in it. He’d done terrible things as a hunter until his conscience refused to let him do it any longer, and then he had done ghastly things as an analyst by helping find variants when they went rogue. He’d once told Loki he was born to cause pain and suffering and death, but the truth was Mobius’ own role in the world had been to do the exact same thing to billions. He reached up and slipped a finger inside the sleeve of his shirt, rolling it across the silvery marks on his skin. In his worst moments, it had been a way to cope with the soul crushing pain of having taken people’s lives from them, until he’d sunk so low he almost felt nothing anymore. Above him, the sun was setting and he knew it was time to move on. He’d stood here for hours and now the curtains in Don’s house were being drawn and it was time to go. If only his feet could move from this spot. It took another flash of a timedoor and that same hand patting him on his shoulder to finally tear his gaze away. “Come on,” Sylvie said softly. “I think that’s enough. It’s time you had a drink.”

For @insert-witty-user-name-here. I hope you like it. 💕

Prompt fill for @lokiusbingo | wounded.

For anyone who has read the snippet and wants more, you can read the full fic on Ao3.

[the0retically]

The Suckening #9: The Monster Within:

My thoughts on the episode because oh my god??? Absolutely insane, loved it. Spoilers below :)

- Not the pheasant sounds right out of the gate

- LETS GOOOO THE MUSIC!!!! Cannot wait for the day that the soundtrack drops

- I agree with Grizz, I love the Weylin twins too, they’re so so cool

- I love this recap, it feels like a Rolled, it’s so fun

- “We have a town house” proceeds to break, Theo pleaseeeee

- Theo just has parents, we’re meeting the Collins family, oh my god

- “Ohhhhh you are less fortunate” SHILO PLEASE????

- Oh god Shilo why are you taking them to the mechanic shop, Jeffrey is gonna be so confused

- GREFGORE LETS GOOOO DEADLIFTS THE DOOR OPEN!!

- “Like my papa! :D” that was so—I love shilo so much

- Jeffrey is gonna be dead or missing isn’t he

- :) I love Grefgore

- “Emizel are you alive??” “Yeah!” “Ok good! :D”

- I love Grizz just losing it in the background

- Oh god Shilo got no successes on the self control, oh no…he can still feed and he can’t even be stealthy about it

- AND NOW EMIZEL IS JUST SINGING WHILE AT BURGER KING???

- “No I need the no whopper whopper” EMIZEL PLEASE HE JUST GRABBING THIS PERSONS HAND TO DRINK??

- Emizel is just a menace I love him

- HE DOESNT EVEN HAVE A CAR HES JJST WALKING THROUGH THE DRIVE THRU

- Doctor Cross!! Aww Charlie!

- “…it’s doctor cross? What do his ears look like?” “Yeah it’s your character dude”

- Charlie sounds so exasperated by this situation

- You can’t stop Grizz from role playing a character in extreme pain and who’s screaming

- Oh Shilo is fully going after Theo,,,,,,uhhhhhh

- I do love how Bizly is describing feral Shilo though

- Oh god he’s now commanding people??

- The music is so perfect for this part, god and now Theo is commanded to help Shilo????

- HES HELPING WITH WATER!! LETS GO THEO

- Ok thank god Shilo told him to run

- Emizel still tackles him, yeah makes sense, just brotherly things

- Oh Shilo :((((

- I get what emizel is doing but shilo is mid panic attack at this point

- Emizel let the doctor go!!!

- OH HES TAKING HIM TO THE HOSPITAL??

- :(( the Theo and Emizel talk was nice it was so short but Theo trusts him!!!!

- Charlie sounds just so confused

- HAHA EMIZEL YOU ARE NOT GOOD AT COMFORTING PEOPLE WHY THE HELL DID YOU SLAP THIS GUY

- Kian Stone is here! Lol

- ………Theo and Emizel….I love them

- Emizel actually being honest with him is making me—like they’re just so casual and are willing to do anything for each other

- Emizel telling him to kill him though if he loses control…..kills me

- “Don’t ask me to improv” ok Condi

- “Maybe he’s taking a vacation, went to Hawaii” Jeffrey living it up in Hawaii, nice

- Shilo is in such a bad state and Emizel is just saying so much because Shilo isn’t responsive, this is so so sad

- “Are they ok?” “Yeah I fixed them up”

- Emizel :(( he’s trying his best to comfort Shilo and the running theme of having a monster inside is so sad

- God Bizly is fantastic, Shilo breaks my heart and he plays him so well

- Oh :( Shilo and Grefgore hug

- “Sorry I was not there to protect you my prince” “I didn’t need protection, they needed it from me” NOOOOOO

- God there’s someone at the hotel for emizel isn’t there

- And now emizel is leaving Grefgore and shilo,,,,,this isn’t gonna go well

- HUH??? Worms???? And now immediately attacked, at least it’s Emizel so he’ll just come back but still

- “Bonks off your hearty hide-why would I say that??” I do not know Charlie that was wild

- Deacon?? Or Hunters??

- HE BOTCHED NO

- “And his husband is me!” “And I am too, we’re a polycule!” LETS GOO CHARLIE

- Oop bye emizel beaten to death by the polycule

- “Shilo is there anything you want to do before going to bed?” “Cry!”

- SHILO VS PHEASANT OH MY GOD????? Now this is the best initiative ever in JRWI

- Wait?? It’s dead???? OH ITS BREATHING THANK GOD

- HES MAKING GREFGORE TURN THE PHEASANT?????

- This is insanity, they’re spending so much time with the pheasant and trying to turn it

- Shilo don’t use your last point of blood?? Uhhhhh shilo???? Please don’t????

- God every time they do flashbacks and it plays the past audio it’s so fun

- GRIZZ TIME

- Oh god the sunlight, Charlie give him Something please

- Oh god Arthur “what a pain…..I’m so sleepy” mood

- OH GOD ITS THE KID THAT HE YELLED AT

- Thank god this family wants to help,,,,,,,,,and Charlie rolled a one

- Please Arthur please Grizz roll well

- SUCCESS!!!! FAMILY STAR AROUND ARTHUR

- “I’m a brave boy I’m brave boy” mood

- God Charlie is making LAX so so bad, why is it this that bad

- “Arthur in the bathroom at an airport, there’s light outside!” YES LETS GO CHARLIE AND CONDI

- “I can’t-kill myself out of this one!” CONDI PLEASE

- oh god emizel, are you back with the weylin twins??

- Nope never mind hey deacon

- ……in a pit?? Deacon just let him go you don’t need all of this

- FUCK NOOOOO EDWARD IS HERE

- Charlie please I fucking hate him

- WHY DOES HE MOAN SO MUCH??? CHARLIE PLEASE STOP

- Oh!! Emizel’s sire is here!! What’s his name please!!

- “Van-papa” ??????

- “Sweaty and bloody in the pit” EDWARD PLEASE

- but!! Gabriel!!! Good name!!

- I feel like Grizz is just having the most fun as the background characters during this campaign

- CHARLIE PLEASE STOP WITH EDWARD HES SO WEIRD

- Emizel and Gabriel banter let’s GO!!!! I miss them going insane with each other

- “I have to kill you, it’s my destiny!” Gabriel you’ve been hanging with Gillion?

- YEAH EMIZEL CONVINCE GABRIEL TO WORK TOGETHER TO GET OUT

- GABE’S A LEFTIE LETS GOOO LEFTIE WIN TODAY!!!

- This combat is insane I love it

- Condi is just dying with laughter, this fight is so so bad, emizel vs Gabriel is always so so chaotic

- Hmmm is Gabe actually trying to leave with him or is he tricky him

- Nope never mind he’s not going to

- This combat was insane holy shit

- HE KILLS HIM LETS GO EMIZEL CURB STOMPS HIM

- EMIZEL WANTS A KISS FROM EDWARD????????? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

- EDWARD WAS GONNA KILL EMIZEL??? But instead just blew a kiss instead oh my god

- ALL OF HIS FANGS AND HIS TONGUE IS GONE HOLY SHIT

- Emizel stop testing Edward please

- Grefgore coming in with the blood to help Shilo!!!!

- Oh no the pheasant is out in the streets

- Awww shilo and the pheasant are friends now!!!!! IM GONNA CRY THIS IS SO CUTE

- “Ok where to next…it’s me William wisp” WIWI!!!! HES HERE AS A CAB DRIVER

- THE BOYS ARE REUNITED!!!!!

- …..wiwi is circling the street??

- Oh god emizel can’t talk

- Felipe?? Why did Arthur sound like him there

- “Sure I’d like to not be alone with my thoughts” Shilo please

- A girl pheasant!!! Pickles is such a sweet name!!!!

- Shilo is brooding with Arthur!!

- OH OUTFIT CHANGE FOR GREFGORE!!

- AND A NEW OUTFIT FOR SHILO

- WAIT SHILO CANT DRESS MODERN HOLY SHIT

- Damn sad day for imaging Shilo in regular clothes :(

- Oooh I like the coat that Arthur has

- Blood bond between Arthur and Emizel holy shit

- I love how the three of them are the kings :(((( it makes me so happy

- Fuck!! Emizel has the phone on him and of course Charlie has been taking notes on what they’ve been saying

- PLEASE to Arthur it felt like being in a frat

- “We are all monsters are we not Arthur?” “…What does that have to do with the plan?”

- Grefgore is feeling compassionate as he looks at all of them :((((((((( IM GONNA CRY I LOVE GREFGORE

- Siri jumpscare!

- “Order is him being gone and us too, but he’s a good start” oh I’m terrified if that’s foreshadowing please don’t let all of them die

- But GOD bizly is popping off with these monologues I love them

- “Nobody is born a monster” I love that Arthur said that, that’s perfect for him

- HA PLEASE I LOVE THAT GRIZZ SAID NO JUST BECAUSE HE WANTS TO INTERACT WITH THE WEYLIN TWINS

- “So I don’t plan to leave again” “please don’t” oh they’re gonna make me cry

- “I need to talk to the sheriff” “she’s out right now!” “I need to talk to the…secret sheriff” ARTHUR PLEASE

- Bizly getting so upset that Deacon isn’t actually the sheriff and the badge doesn’t mean anything is so funny

- Noooooooooo not a sex motel again

- Grefgore just placing Emizel in a bellhop cart PLEASE

- Oh my god wanting to make Keanu Reeves’s house their base of operations is so fucking funny

- The numbers are so close!!! Deacon where are you?

- This is chaos

- NOOO they gotta make the Edward face to unlock the phone

- The numbers are just one off :((((

- BIZLY WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT ABOUT EDWARD

- OH THANK GOD

- NOOOOOO

- “I’m blushing, the blood bond took over” shilo pleaseee

- CHARLIE WHERE IS DEACON

- ……….they only have the Edward phone AND GREFGORE HAS ARTHURS CARD

- PLEASE SHILO DOMINATING THIS RANDOM PERSON “one billion points!”

- They have to roll for Deacon and Edward constantly please

- Shilo not knowing how phones work is so fucking funny

- Shilo doesn’t understand a voicemail :((((

- THEY WERE ONE AWAY CHARLIE PLEASE

- NOOOOOO EDWARDS BACK FUCK

- This is sooooo

- Deacon please be on the roof

- FUCK NOOOOO they gotta cause chaos to get his attention

- EDWARDS ON THE ROOF INSTEAD

- I HATE HIM I HATE HIM BUT HES SO FUNNY

- LIKE I HATE EDWARD BUT ALSO LOVE HIM

- “Today I’m wearing velcro” EDWARD???? PLEASE

- SHILO MIMICKING EDWARD IS SO FUNNY

- ……..Arthur wants to set off fireworks????

- Is the Edward phone even going to work??

- THERES A MOAN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RINGING

- DEACON???? HI!!!!! NOOOOO ITS VOICEMAIL

- THEY DONT EVEN LEAVE A VOICEMAIL THEYRE SO STUPID THEYRE THE TWO WORST ONES FOR THIS EMIZEL YOU NEED TO MODERNIZE THEM

- Sex motel time!!

- Condi…..what

- “Sucking Cells” Condi what the fuck??

- Charlie “I actually don’t like your answer I’m asking someone else” MOOD CHARLIE

- HE ROLLED A 10 ITS PRISON AND WORM THEMED OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK

- This is awful, this is so bad, why is this motel like it

- Charlie wondering if the motel has room service and the boys immediately going “there’s guards, prison has guards” IM TRYING SO HARD NOT TO BURST OUT LAUGHING IM SITTING DOWNSTAIRS WITH MY FAMILY I CANT LOSE IT RIGHT NOW

- Charlie sounds so defeated, like he really did just go back on the bit

- The midnight circle!! Emizel has his tongue back! Let’s gooooo

- Edward fucking hell he’s back

- HE OWNS THE SEX MOTEL???

- ………….emizel please don’t throw the phone away

- OH GOD HES THROWING IT

- Ok Griffith park time

- oh?? Deep purple robes and floating down from the air?? —they’re dancing??

- Emizel is so funny I love him

- “You need to take a chill pill” SHILO PLEASE

- oh no, they all turn to shilo, aww :(( Arthur puts his arm in front of shilo to protect him

- Oh god they have to prove they trust each other

- CHARLIE IS MAKING THEM DO AN IMPROV GAME NOW?? One word story are you kidding me

- God bizly is so excited but this is gonna go so so bad

- Charlie doesn’t even let them we really talk about

- Etc. is so smart, let’s go emizel

- …….I miss Viv and Vex

- But I love this device that Charlie is using here because the boys Really haven’t talked about their goals and what they want yet

- The one word story has the same energy as the murder mystery party

- Please just end the sentence this is insane

- NOOOO ARTHUR USES THE MULLIGAN

- “Tell us the secrets of our curse” LETS GO?? I love that

- Oh?? They aren’t on the ground??

- Oooooh they have to be invited into the circle that’s so cool!!!!!!

- LOVED THAT EPISODE!!!

[boltwrites]

Hunter Headcanons - Spicy

A/N: rolling through the rest of the batch! here’s hunter for you all!

By clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old

General

Hunter’s canonically shorter than most clones, and he’s certainly shorter than the rest of the batch. his dick is probably a good 7 or 8 inches, but maybe a bit thicker than one would expect

Although Hunter’s been propositioned before, he’s never been too interested in casual sex. It’s mostly because he wanted to focus on his squad, and as they faced a lot of harassment, he didn’t want them to have to face that sort of stuff alone while he was off getting his dick sucked

Things are different once Order 66 hits, though. Now that the batch are off on their own, Hunter doesn’t feel like he has to keep such a close watch on them. He’s far more comfortable living his own life and engaging in relationships

He’s not opposed to one night stands. Sex has always interested him, and he wouldn’t mind trying some stuff out with someone he doesn’t really see having a long term relationship with

However, if you catch his eye... he may not be satisfied to just stop at one meeting. He’s the kind of man who will make it very clear if he wants a more defined and exclusive relationship. That kind of commitment will also show in the way he treats you in the bedroom

If in a casual relationship, Hunter is far more focused on his own pleasure and the overall experience together. He doesn’t neglect his partners, but he doesn’t necessarily feel like he needs to impress them

On the other hand, he’s very intense if he feels a connection to you. Like, almost too intense. If he feels that strongly about you, and you let him, this man will literally spend all night fucking

Even though he’s not particularly experienced, his instinct guide him. And they’re good instincts. It’s very easy for him to pick up on your body’s cues and adjust accordingly. He’s very attentive when he wants to be

He has absolutely outrageous stamina and endurance. This manifests more in being able to bounce back for multiple rounds quickly, but he also has the self control to hold himself back and last a while if need be (although he’s not really into that - more on that later)

Hunter has his kinks, lets just say. They’re things that he stumbled upon himself, and he didn’t even realize they were considered “kinky” until someone (probably you) told him. After realizing, though, he’s fine with accommodating your own kinks as well - within reason

His hard limits are usually involving other people (he’s very possessive) and anything that’s actually dangerous

Otherwise, he’s totally fine. And yes, that means he’s also open to bottoming and being submissive, although most of the time he prefers to top and take on a more dominant role

He’s quite vocal in bed. Not only with growls and moans, but he also likes to talk to you - he took to dirty talk quite naturally, and he loves to tease you with his words

Top/Dominant Hunter

Hunter certainly enjoys more dominant activities. It’s mostly because if he has a long term partner, one of his favorite activities is making them lose their mind

Hunter’s very in tune with very small details - and that includes everything about you. He loves the noises you make, getting you to blush, pushing you over the edge - everything about it. And because of that, he enjoys being in charge of your pleasure

He’s very much into orgasm play and denial - depending on both of your moods, he might tease you for just a little bit too long, or he could try to break his own record for how many times you can come in a night

Speaking of come... man’s got a creampie kink. And a comeplay kink. He likes things messy

It’s one of the ways he likes to claim you - the other is through marks. He will suck hickies everywhere he can reach, even adding bites into the mix, if you’re into that

Because of this, if you suggest any sort of impact play - like spanking, he would likely be interested. He doesn’t use it as a punishment for you though - he’s not too into power play. Instead, he just enjoys the process of marking you, even if his favorite implement isn’t a flog or a paddle, but his own hand instead

He’s not opposed to toys, he just doesn’t think he needs them. He’s open to using them if you want to, but he’s not the biggest fan of most of them

He’s also not super into bondage. If you like it, he will too, but it’s not something he would have brought up himself

Most of his dominant behaviors have to do with possession, marking, and controlling your pleasure - those seem to be the main things that get him going

For foreplay, Hunter doesn’t really have a preference between fingering and oral. He enjoys them both, and he certainly enjoys watching you fall apart, no matter which he uses. He likely prefers whichever drives you the most crazy

Hunter enjoys most positions, but his favorites are those where he can see your face. One of his favorites is to ask you to ride him when you’re already a couple rounds in and a bit tired - he likes watching your thighs tremble before he finally gives in and takes over

Bottom/Submissive Hunter

Hunter wouldn’t bring up bottoming himself, but he’s open to trying it. If it makes you happy, he’s not opposed

It’s the sort of thing he would only do with someone he really trusts, and already had a close relationship with

After the first time, he only really asks to bottom maybe a few times a year - but he does truly enjoy those few times

Hunter enjoys when you give him the same treatment he gave you - paying attention to his desires and fucking him until he walks funny

He enjoys things rough, but with an underlying acknowledgement that this is all for your shared pleasure. He especially likes it when you pull his hair or mark up his neck (honestly, he likes it when you do that while he’s topping, too)

As for being submissive, Hunter is actually more likely to be interested in that. Again, it’s not something he would have brought up, because he never thought he would have an interest in power play. As a sergeant, he was in a position of authority, but he never really liked to exert it. He preferred running his squad more democratically, and didn’t enjoy being so domineering

He assumed he would have to fulfill a dominant role in any sort of power play scenario, so he was never interested. But a submissive role...

He would definitely enjoy being told what to do and how to please you every now and then. Not too often, but often enough, Hunter does like being used just for your pleasure. Including things like withholding orgasms from him until he pleases you like you wanted, or being milked for all he’s worth. Either way, he’s into it

Although he has a wild side, underneath all of it is a fierce protectiveness that’s rooted in loyalty and trust. If you’re interested in being with Hunter, he’s in it for the long haul

[jackles010378]

From beyond the grave

(no warnings, just sad 😢)

Dean stood in the middle of the dilapidated motel room, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. The hunt had gone horribly wrong, and now his girlfriend, Y/N, lay lifeless on the bed before him. The room was shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by Dean's ragged breaths.

As he sat beside Y/N's lifeless body, Dean couldn't help but blame himself. He replayed the events of the failed hunt over and over in his mind, searching for any misstep, any clue that could have prevented this tragedy. He cursed his own decisions, second-guessing his every move.

Y/N had always been strong-willed and adventurous, and she had begged Dean to let her join him on this particular case. They had tracked a powerful demon to a small town, unaware of the chaos that awaited them. Their plan had seemed flawless, but it quickly spiralled out of control.

During the hunt, Dean had hesitated for a split second, his focus momentarily clouded by his fear of losing Y/N. That split second had changed everything. The demon had seen his hesitation and capitalized on it, taking advantage of the opening to strike a fatal blow to his girlfriend.

Dean clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he fought back tears. He knew deep down that blaming himself wouldn't bring Y/N back, but he couldn't shake off the overwhelming guilt. He had failed to protect the woman he loved, and he couldn't forgive himself for it.

Weeks turned into months, and Dean found himself drowning in a sea of regret and self-blame. Each night, he dreamed of alternate scenarios, desperate for a chance to rewrite their tragic ending. He visited Y/N's grave every day, silently begging for forgiveness that he believed he didn't deserve.

It wasn't until one moonlit night, as Dean stared at the starry sky from the hood of the Impala, that he was visited by a mysterious figure. It was a woman, ethereal and radiant, with eyes filled with compassion.

"Dean," she whispered, her voice carrying a weight of wisdom. "You cannot hold onto the guilt forever. It's time to let go and embrace the lessons learned."

Dean's eyes filled with tears as he recognized her voice. It was Y/N, reaching out to him from beyond the grave. She spoke of forgiveness and acceptance, reminding him that mistakes were a part of being human.

"I love you, Dean. And I know you love me too," she said softly. "But blaming yourself won't bring me back. It won't make the pain go away. Instead, honour my memory by doing what we always did — fight for those who can't fight for themselves."

With those final words, Y/N's presence faded away, leaving Dean sitting alone with his thoughts. He realized that he couldn't change what had happened, but he could honour Y/N's memory by continuing their fight against the supernatural.

Slowly, Dean began to forgive himself. He acknowledged that he was not solely responsible for the tragedy that had befallen Y/N. He accepted that even the strongest of warriors could lose battles. And most importantly, he embraced the love, bravery, and determination that Y/N had instilled in him.

From that day forward, Dean carried the weight of his lost love on his shoulders, but he also carried her spirit within his heart. He vowed to never let his guilt consume him again, and with each hunt, he fought not just for those who couldn't fight for themselves, but also for Y/N, the one who had believed in him until her final breath.

And in the depths of his journey, Dean discovered that by freeing himself from the shackles of guilt, he became a stronger hunter and, more importantly, a stronger person. He had learned that blaming himself was an endless cycle of pain and regret, but accepting his own humanity allowed him to grow, evolve, and carry on Y/N's legacy in a way that honoured her love and sacrifice.

Dean Winchester became a legend, not just for his hunter skills, but for his ability to rise above his past and find redemption in the darkness. And as he continued to hunt, he carried with him the memory of Y/N, his lost love, forever etched in his heart and guiding him through the shadows.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @tmb510 @nescavaneck

[bafflement]

By The Light Of The Broken Moon

Day five, you get poetry instead of prose. :D @remnants-of-rwby-events

This took longer than it should have done...

AO3 link:

Noises howling in the night, scratching at the storm house door

Nightmares bought once more to life, Beowulf or Nevermore?

Which of them is hungry now, for your deepest, darkest fears?

And which emotion felt today, has again now drawn them here?

Illuminated by the light of splintered beams and shattered moon

Whatever comes now of this fight, at least it will be over soon.

Weapons flashing in the gloom, flakes of gold and flecks of dust

An ozone scent is in the air as you move, for move you must

Training better far to have, than to unarmed now face the foe

Like so many others have, others try and others know

What it’s like to truly see, all that they might stand to lose

Yet still fight for other’s sakes, not to surrender, to refuse?

Hunters are a recent thing, Academies and schoolhouse taught

But the monsters move within everything your fears have wrought

And maybe yet, they are controlled, by some shadowed, distant threat

Or maybe not, their simple malice might be all that drives them yet.

And either way, you stand alone, even with others by your side

Their movements, too, must be their own, and your fate you must decide

Would you in death still take pride, in knowing things were fairly done?

Fight dirtier, and thus survive, or even branded coward, run?

The facets of your deepest self, the truth lain buried in your soul

May yet show itself tonight, even outside your control.

For Grimm are fear and nightmare wrought, bought to life by your belief

Maybe fairy tales aren’t real, and yet your monsters still have teeth.

In sunlight you might shake your head, ridden of this oldest fear

What in darkness you have met, may in daytime soon be clear.

Would you know the battle here, underneath a broken moon?

Win or lose, hope or fear… it will all be over soon.

[nerdieforpedro]

The Only Time We Have

This fanfiction is 18+ MDNI

Main Masterlist / Din Djarin Masterlist / Poe Dameron Masterlist

Word Count: 734 (brevity achievement unlocked!)

Summary: Is taking care of physical needs all Din and Poe are doing? All they're capable of? Only the darkness and walls know.

Warnings: anal sex, cum worship, body worship, rough sex, semi-public sex, cockwarming,

Notes: This is what I promised @alltheglitterandtheroar and @for-a-longlongtime My first M/M fic. You remember your first. I wrote it while listening to lo-fi beats and looking through research on Pinterest. I have no regrets.

The darkness is the only place he’s allowed to touch him. Access to his skin underneath the cold metal called beskar. They’re both naked, panting as they've been waiting weeks for their flesh to touch. The soft whines of a Mandalorian are music to the pilot’s ears. He’d never tell him. They don’t speak on things such as that. 

There’s not enough time.

Two days is what Poe has granted to him for R&R. He’d made sure his holomessage reached the bounty hunter on a secure channel. They meet when they can. Stress relief, need, want, souls drawn together. It doesn’t matter except for hearing him speak his name.

“Dank Ferrik Poe…!” Large hands grasp Poe’s shoulders as they both flop on the bed. Both the best credits could buy within reason, but not a simple cot either. What mattered was discretion. A blindfold is all that prevents the pilot from seeing his partner’s face. He wanted to know how it contorted with his current hold around his shaft, pumping him slowly, feeling him throb inside of his hand. Their lips collided, swollen from marking each other's bodies and only now meeting to taste one another.

“Losing it aren’t you Din? Come on, give me what I want.” Dameron enjoyed teasing the normally beskar clad warrior. It was his way to get what he desired from him, a pummeling to his ass. He’s longed to be filled since the last quickie they had in the Razor Crest and he had an indents on his face from some of the knobs as Din drilled into him from behind. He’d felt the steel slapping his thighs and ass along with Mando’s hips. The only exposed flesh he felt from him at the time were his hands and his cock.

“Your ass is always taunting me Dameron, perky and round like each cheek fits in my palm. Dammit!” Din had only lost control when his son was in danger and even then he’d been able to settle and think rationally. Ever since taking a protection detail for a few resistance friendly diplomats where he had met Poe, his self-control waned.

The Mandalorian sat back on his knees and scanned his pilot’s body. Covered in sweat, saliva, and precum, he managed to make being filthy look elegant. He was in awe and pissed at the same time. His hands were placed over Dameron’s knees as he pulled him toward him, Poe reached up and put his arms around Din’s neck, using his nose to bump his before sucking on his neck again. He’d make him remember their time under his helmet and cowl. The hunter’s palms graced the ass he knew well as two fingers slipped inside the puckered hole. “Came prepared, did you Poe?” He felt some lube dripping out of the pilot’s entrance. It wasn’t enough, some likely had come out during their warm up. Din took a bottle from the nightstand and coated his two fingers that he’s now slipped out of Poe. The soft ‘please’ that came from the pilot’s chest made Din’s balls twitch. 

“Almost. You know I need plenty of lube flyboy.” Poe felt his smirk against his skin as he kissed his chest, squelching his now lubricated fingers inside of his ass. Poe’s girthy cock dropped against Din’s stomach as he started to move his hips with his fingers. “Hmm, you’ll get your high without worrying about mine? We’ll see about that,” Din sneered as he lifted Poe, hovering him over his swollen cock. He brought him down slowly, letting him adjust before forcing him to sit still as he warmed his ass. “You may lead the resistance, but this ass is mine Commander. You’ll come with this cock Dameron.”

The Mandalorian began his familiar assault, with Poe’s fingers toying with the damp curls at the base of Din’s neck. Their skin, sweat and tears melded together, soon their spend covered their flesh as they lay among the sheets. The bounty hunter’s fingers strummed Poe’s curls as he slept, Din’s seed dripping from his ass. He’d normally clean Poe up but Djarin wanted to watch him more, he still appeared beautiful with all manner of secretions on him. Din wondered if he looked the same and knew that Poe would never know due to his Creed.

This is all they have for now. Each other in this moment and time.

Space Buddies and Poe's Hoes unite: @sin-djarin @lady-bess @morallyinept @wannab-urs @gasolinerainbowpuddles @magpiepills @sp00kymulderr @theywhowriteandknowthings @perotovar @legendary-pink-dot @romanarose @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @saturn-rings-writes @agentjackdaniels

[concerningwolves]

Celebratory excerpt from The Kindness of Ravens

living dangerously by sharing an excerpt (about 400 words) from the climax of the book, because I'm finally content with how the plot for TKoR is working and no longer feel like it's an irredeemable mess :D Spoiler warning: This is spoiler territory for TKoR (and therefore technically for The Wyrdseren as a whole) so I've trimmed a few passages that would give too much away. That said, enjoy! Your patience as I slogged through this book has been deeply appreciated. <3

Aethren’s hand turned real and warm around Thrigg’s. It was the same hand she had held so often: strong, articulated, still calloused in all the familiar places. Thrigg saw through cracked eyelids the tiny little scars on Aethren’s fingers. She thought about how much she wanted to kiss each and every one of those scars, and she knew she had to persevere if she hoped to see a world where that could happen.

But she couldn’t do it. This weave was too much, too vast. Even with Aethren’s power bleeding into hers, even with their scalding determination flowing through her veins, her body was doing something it had never been made to do. She didn’t have the power of a wyrdaetha within her. She was only Thrigg, a human hunter who had wandered hundreds of miles away from home into a world she’d never meant to know.

She felt the strain of the weave in her teeth, her heart, her soul. Her eyes were shut because if she didn’t squeeze her eyelids closed she was sure they would burst, and her brain felt like it was trying to escape out of her nasal passage.

Her body unravelled. This was not the controlled flow of self through the wyrdness, but a total surrender. Currents of magic, frenzied by Aethren’s power, lashed her to-and-fro. She was aware, distantly, of Hvonar’s rage turning to mindless, screaming horror – and then she was aware of nothing else.

She’d wanted to change, hadn’t she? Not like this, true, but the choice was no longer hers. It was almost a relief, save for a final, niggling sense that she was losing something she’d wanted yet never found in either of her lifetimes.

“Thrigg!”

That voice . . . She knew it, didn’t she? Yes, yes she did. It was what she wanted. It—

“Thrigg, come back! Please.”

Clarity seized her in an icy fist.

Particle by particle, fibre by fibre, Thrigg felt herself being drawn back into the world. It didn’t hurt. Some vast presence was cradling her, holding her together, and all she had to do was let it.

Then the presence became a pair of calloused hands, warm and sweaty against her cheeks.

“C’mon, Thrigg. I can’t hold you both much longer.” Aethren sounded exhausted, frightened, pushed to their limits.

Thrigg opened her eyes. Above her, Aethren’s face broke into a near-radiant smile.

Taglist for the The Wyrdseren: @yvesdot @kriss-the-writing-nerd @lady-redshield-writes @thespooniewrites @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables @kwriteswords @incandescent-creativity @heniareth @ofvisitorsthefairest @chauceryfairytales @royalbounties-main-blog @corishadowfang @novel-novelist

[twistedtummies2]

The Scarlet Pirate - Chapter 1

Well, ladies and gentlemen...this story has been a LONG time coming. XD

This is the first of a six-part "Chapter Story" for my OC for Twisted Wonderland, James Killian - based on Captain Hook from Disney's Peter Pan. (Also featured are Smitty McCarthy, based on Smee, and Matthew Satyr, based on Peter himself...oh, and Nakoda - my Kaa OC - also has a role here.) The basic premise of this story has been in my mind for almost as long as James has, but for numerous reasons, it wasn't till just within the past few weeks I finally got a chance to develop and write it out.

The result is, I think, the single longest "Chapter Story" for any of my OCs for TW I've created so far. Take that information however you will. So long as this tale, that it went from a planned three-parter, to a planned five-parter, to now being a six-parter, standing at approximately 150 pages in total! Hopefully, all the work and length will be for the best. XD

As is typical for my Chapter Stories, I will be posting this one chapter at a time per day over the course of this week. For future reference, you can find the next chapter here.

WARNING: While this story, throughout all six parts, does not FOCUS on my kinks, there are instances of very mild stuffing/belching related content sprinkled throughout, as well as various instances of implied or near vore situations. If you're into these things, good on ya. If you aren't, just be warned they will show up here and there, although not with any degree of spectacle.

With that said...I hope you enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“COME BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE MEAT LOAF!” “WE’LL RIP YOU APART!” “YOU CAN’T GET AWAY FROM US!” You panted as you ran at top speed out of the cafeteria of Night Raven College. Behind you, three Savanaclaw students - one with the ears of a jackal, another with the ears of a leopard, and a third with the ears of a binturong - were sprinting after you, charging like mad wildebeests. Hearing little gasping sounds beside yourself, you shot a glare at the cat-like little creature who was running on all fours alongside you, ears crackling with flames as his trident-tail worked to keep him steady while he bounded along. He noticeably licked at a few stray crumbs of food on his whiskers as you both bucketed along at flying speed. “Chernabog damn it, Grim!” you coughed between your own fast-paced footfalls. “Haven’t you learned any self-control at all?!” “Nyaaa! They were eating tuna sandwiches!” wailed Grim. “I couldn’t help myself!” You just groaned as you continued to flee. “If we die, I am SO going to kill you,” you muttered to yourself. You knew you couldn’t just head to Ramshackle Dorm straightaway: the Savanaclaw trio behind you would be expecting that. Your best bet was to lose them and give them a chance to cool down, then you could go home and try to forget this whole misadventure. So, you decided to take a risk, and ran across the athletics field, towards the woodlands beyond which encircled the campus. As you led Grim through the bushes and into the forest, you could still hear the three angry beastmen chasing you. They snarled and hissed in rage, showing no sign of tiring any time soon. You raced through the woods as fast as you could pelt, with Grim trailing not far behind you, and your would-be antagonists continuing pursuit. You had entered these woods enough times by now to know a way to circle through the greenery and find a path back to your dorm; you hoped that the trees and foliage would help your escape, as you bobbed and weaved between them, thinking they would slow down your half-animal attackers. You soon realized your folly: these were athletic beastmen, with senses and strength superior to your own, and skill as a hunter. Instead of slowing down your pursuers, the heavy greenery was slowing YOU down, giving them a chance to leap through the gaps in the trees, gaining on you inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard… A shrill “YIPE!” soon signaled what would be your downfall: Grim stumbled in a patch of dirt that collapsed beneath him - some spider’s hidden den - creating a pothole just large enough for his paws to catch. He rolled through the dirt and grass before bumping into the side of a tree. “MINION!” he called out in a wheezy way.

You skidded to a halt, cursing under your breath, and hurried back to help the little rascal…but in the time it took you to reach Grim and give him a brief check for injuries, your three attackers were upon you. You stood up and tried to run one direction, letting Grim rest on your shoulders…but the binturong boy barred your way. You whirled about in another direction, but the jackal stepped in front of you then. Finally, before you even had a chance to turn, the leopard man blocked you off. The three grinned viciously as they moved closer in unison. You backed up instinctively…and soon felt your breath hitch as you found yourself backed up against the tree behind you. Grim hissed angrily, hackles rising, as the three Savanaclaw students closed in around you. “Nowhere to run now, meatballs,” smirked the leopard. “C-Come on, guys,” you laughed nervously, with an anxious smile. “We…we can talk about this, can’t we?” “You can negotiate with one of our guts,” replied the leopard, licking his chops. “Hey! They’re not your kill!” snapped the jackal, baring his fangs as he snapped at his friend. “I caught up with ‘em first!” “We’ll decide who gets to eat the human after we tenderize ‘em,” suggested the binturong, and punched one fist into his free hand with a ferocious grin. “I call the furball.” “Fine by me,” said the leopard, cracking his neck and knuckles, while the jackal shrugged in agreement. You shuddered and groaned again, trying to restrain the blush on your face. Great. Just great. You were going to be beaten up and eaten up because Grim couldn’t curb his own appetite. The irony and unfairness were equally abundant here…you wished you could convince your heart to stop beating so fast, especially since it was pumping blood into your cheeks with the knowledge of what was coming… However, before any of the three could strike, there came a rustling from the treetops above you. All of you looked up, confused and startled…and the three Savanaclaw students hastily took a few steps backward, as something dropped out of the trees with a bold, brassy sort of cackle… “HA HA!” the something declared, and landed nimbly on their shiny black boots. “Villains, beware! Stand ready!”

To say you were surprised was an understatement. The three Savanaclaw students seemed equally bewildered. Standing between yourself and Grim, and your presumed predators, was a young man, dressed in a Night Raven school uniform. His red vest, and the black-and-red armband around one arm, indicated he was a student of Heartslabyul. His hair was long and raven-hued, flowing a little past his shoulders; the top of his scalp was wrapped up in a violet bandana. He wore golden rings on several fingers, between both hands, and a daring, dashing sort of grin was on his face, which lit up his rich, dark, chocolate-colored eyes. The Heartslabyul student adopted a pose like a skilled fencer; in his right hand, he held a most peculiarly-shaped, gold-topped cane. He pointed the ferrule end towards the three Savanaclaw bullies, holding the item like it was a rapier. His left hand flourished grandly up and behind his head. The outer spot of the palm was facing you and Grim. You felt Grim’s head tilt, as you both noticed the strange tattoo on the back of the stranger’s hand: it was the image of a hook. “Three of you, eh?” the youth snorted. “A pity. I was hoping for an honest challenge!” The three Savanaclaw students growled angrily, and adopted predatory poses. “Back off, pipsqueak!” the binturong spat. “These two belong to us!” “I think they rather belong to themselves,” sniffed the cavalier newcomer, twirling the tip of his cane in a rather taunting fashion. “Perhaps you’d care to officially claim them? You are quite welcome to try.” “You got a death wish or somethin’?!” snapped the jackal. “Oh, I wish for death daily,” shrugged the new arrival. “Just not for myself.” The jackal snarled violently, as did the binturong. The leopard stepped forward and bared his clawed fingers. “If you wanna try and keep our breakfast away from us, you can join it,” the cat hissed. “Looks like there’s enough here for all of us, boys!” This made the binturong and the jackal cackle as they stepped up to clearly support their leader. “I call the loud one,” the jackal replied, and licked his chops sloppily, drool splattering across his plump, shapely lips. “I think he’s gonna have a rich flavor…” “Fine by me,” rumbled the leopard, and rubbed his belly through his uniform fabrics. “Looks like the Prefect’s mine…” You shivered, cheeks pinkening again, as you licked your own lips nervously. You shifted your gaze from the hungry leopard’s eyes to the apparent swashbuckler’s face, to catch his reaction. To your surprise, for just the most fleeting moment, you could have sworn the young man’s cheeks turned a similar shade of rose to your own…but the hue soon vanished as he adjusted his stance, and lifted his cane a bit higher, pointing it towards the leopard’s nose. “So be it, gentlemen,” he said, somewhat gravely. “Heave to it, then, and fall on!”

The three snorted almost in unison. The jackal, who seemed eager to enjoy his very brazen meal, was the first to lunge forward, charging towards the Heartslabyul student. The raven-haired duelist laughed and ducked, scurrying to one side, and then whirled about. He swung his cane about, smacking the jackal in the backside. The canine demi yelped shrilly, and spun towards the offender; he raked a wild haymaker towards the young man, who blocked the punch with his rod. He did the same with a second punch, then jumped forward and jabbed the “point” of his weapon hard into the jackal’s gut. The canid grunted, clutching his stomach and doubling over…before the heavy end of the cane’s gold topper bashed into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. “Aye, this takes me back. To basic training, that is,” sighed the man in red and black. He smirked, pointing his weapon at the remaining two beastmen. “Would either of you gentlemen care to try me next?” The leopard and binturong seemed stunned. They looked at each other, then their expressions hardened. The leopard growled and - clearly having some sort of authority - he tossed his head, and the binturong took the hint, letting out a fierce battle cry as they ran at the swashbuckler, one fist reeled back and ready to strike. The swasbuckler’s smirk widened, and he ducked to avoid the harsh punch, then threw himself upwards, jamming his cane into his enemy as he hurled them over his shoulder, causing them to land right on top of the jackal. Then, before the binturong could stand - WHAM! - a booted foot kicked him unconscious. “Pitiful Philistine,” sneered the cavalier. “You’re not even worth using my finest moves upon-AHA!” The man spun around like a top, holding his cane in both hands as the leopard struck. He had tried to attack the duelist from behind, while the Heartslabyul member was distracted. Said student grinned boldly as the leopard’s tail lashed in irritation. “A fine attempt, sir!” boomed your savior. “I can’t think of a single seven-year-old who could do better!” “I’ll chew that smug look off your face!” spat the leopard. The Heartslabyul student grimaced, crinkling his nose. Once again, you swore his cheeks turned a somewhat rosy hue. “If your fighting skills are as rank as your breath, I’d say good luck. Either way, you’d find it quite indigestible.”

The animal-man just growled louder as the fighter pushed him off. He lunged forward again, but the swashbuckler soon settled things: he cracked his cane against the leopard’s arm as it prepared to hurl a punch, then across the shoulder, then smacked it into the leopard’s face. With a pained sort of snarl, the leopard seemed ready to throw out a kick, but the duelist’s cane slapped against his shin hard. The cat yowled loudly, and comically lifted his leg and bounced on the other, clutching his wounded limb…at which point the skilled fencer lunged and plunged the butt end of his cane into their stomach. The leopard staggered back and collapsed to the ground in a heap, beside his other two comrades. The cavalier smirked proudly, and lifted his cane in a swordsman’s salute, before twirling it and letting its length rest across his shoulders. “Well, that was thoroughly pathetic,” he mocked. “I suggest, gentlemen, that you take up knitting: brawls are clearly quite beneath your abilities, in many respects.” The three defeated Savanaclaw students - in dubious and varying states of consciousness - just moaned in pain where they lay. The swordmaster nodded, satisfied, then his smile fell as a look of concern came over his face and he turned towards you. “Are you alright?” he inquired. You and Grim just stared, amazed. Each of you bore eyes as wide as dinner platters, your jaws practically on the ground. “Halloo?” your helper checked, and waved his left hand - the one with the hook tattoo - in front of your face. “Is there a mind working in that skull, shipmate?” You shook your head and blinked, coming out of your stupor. “Y-Yeah,” you finally stammered out, and began to smile. “I’m alright.” “Excellent,” smiled the Heartslabyul student. “Thanks for the save,” you said gratefully. “That…well…that was-” “THAT WAS TOTALLY WICKED!” exclaimed Grim, all but screaming in your ear, causing you to flinch. As you wrung out your aching audio receptor, the little imp bounced off your shoulder back down onto the ground. “Those moves were INCREDIBLE! Naturally, nothing is quite as awesome as the Great Grim, but that fighting skill was INSANE! I’d say it was almost as cool as I am!” The Heartslabyul student let out a loud, boisterous laugh. His chest puffed out and he held his head high with clear pride. “Why, thank you, thank you!” he said, using one hand to swipe a few stray hands of black hair out of his face most flamboyantly. “I suppose I was rather fabulous, wasn’t I?”

You cocked your head to one side, looking your savior up and down. The uniform, the voice, the theatricality…something about him clicked in your mind… “I think we’ve met before,” you realized aloud. “Nya? We have?” Grim blinked at you, perplexed. “Sure!” you smiled at your companion, then stepped away from the tree to grin at the Heartslabyul student. “We met that time Ace got conked in the head with a Magift disc.” “Indeed! Oh, how we laughed!” your new acquaintance drawled. “Actually, you seemed kinda upset at the time.” “Well, we laughed afterwards,” shrugged the youth, and then flourished his cane as he spread out his arms and bowed most low, even shifting his legs in a most courtly, elegant manner. “James Killian, at your humble service!” Grim giggled at the melodramatic introduction. You just smiled and introduced yourself more casually. “What were you doing out here, anyway?” you couldn’t help but ask. “Practicing,” James said, indicating his long cane. “One mustn’t allow one’s talents to get rusty, especially under the current circumstances.” “Nya?” Grim meowed, tilting his head and blinking his large, blue-green eyes. His trident-tail curled into a question mark shape behind him. “What ‘circumferences’?” “Circumstances,” you corrected patiently. “That’s what I said!” huffed Grim. “Circumventions!” Before you could try to correct him again - and before James could give a proper answer - a new voice broke onto the scene. “James!” it called out, in a high, flute-like sort of way. “James, there you are!” The three of you turned to see a small figure hop out of the bushes and onto the scene. It was a short young man - about the same age as James was - also dressed in a Heartslabyul uniform. He was small and stout, with a plump belly that pushed against his vest and shirt tightly, giving him a round, “cuddly” appearance. This was accentuated by his equally round face, with very large, bright, blue-green eyes - almost the same color as Grim’s, though not quite as vibrant. His shaggy-looking hair was white as chalk, but didn’t seem to have this color due to age; similar to the silvery hues of those like Azul or Jack Howl. A brick-colored newsboy cap sat atop his head, and upon his small, round nose, a pair of rimless, square spectacles perched. “James!” smiled the little man with relief. “You’ve gotta warn me before you-” The little fellow stopped short in whatever he was going to say, his smile fading and his teal-toned eyes going very wide, as he saw the pile of unconscious beastmen. He looked at them, then at you and Grim, then at James. “...Did, uh…did I miss something?’ he peeped.

“Nothing of great importance, Smitty,” yawned James. “I simply got some decent exercise. Well. Almost decent, anyway.” Smitty scratched his head, looking confused. “Exercise?” he repeated slowly, and looked at you, as if hoping you’d have an answer. You could only shrug helplessly. “It’s a long story,” you said. “Not really,” retorted Grim, and pointed at James with one paw as he spoke to Smitty. “Your buddy here just kicked the crud outta those bullies! It was so cool!” Smitty grinned. “Oh, yes!” he nodded enthusiastically, nearly knocking his own cap off. “James is amazing when he’s fighting! That’s why we came out here: he wanted to train his fencing skills for when he meets Matthew in that competition!” “Matthew?” you repeated. “Competition?” mewed Grim. Before Smitty could answer, he let out an “eep!” as, without warning, James stomped over and grabbed hold of his tie, tugging the fellow Heartslabyul student towards him. He leaned down with a fearsome glare, bringing himself nearly nose to nose with his compatriot. “Smitty!” he shouted. “If you weren’t so incomprehensibly dimwitted, I’d clap you for mutiny!” “J-James, what do you mean?” squeaked Smitty, holding onto his hat and looking quite startled, to say the least. “Wh-what did I do?!” James narrowed his eyes…then sighed and released him, dusting himself off. “Let’s recap,” he said, much-too-patiently. “Smitty McCarthy…what are the rules?” “Of the Queen of Hearts?” blinked Smitty. He blushed and removed his cap, wringing it in his hands with a bashful smile. “Sorry, James, I’ve only memorized the first fourteen of those.” “Not those rules!” James said, exasperatedly, pinching his brow. “MY rules. The ones you and I agreed upon.” “Oh, I’ve got those memorized perfectly, James!” smiled Smitty, blithely. He began counting them off on his fingers. “Um…lemme see…Rule One: each of us, when we go out to sea, will be entitled to an equal share of the -” “Start at thirty-seven,” droned James, boredly. “Oh, right! Ahem…Rule Thirty-Seven: never trust a pixie. Rule Thirty-Eight: never carry a pocket watch, nor use an alarm clock. And Rule Thirty-Nine: never say His first name.” “Thank you,” mumbled James, with a long-suffering sort of expression. “Please, try to remember that last one.” “Aye, James,” Smitty nodded, his blissful look indicating he still had no idea of what he’d even done. “I always do!”

James just rolled his eyes, then looked towards you and Grim. Naturally, after that, the pair of you were quite puzzled. “Apologies,” he said, oh-so-sweetly. “Disregard that name. It’s a…personal matter, between the two of us.”   “I…I see,” you said, simply, not sure what else to say. “You still haven’t explained what you were talking about with a competition though,” Grim pointed out, then began to swish his tail eagerly. “Is it a magic competition, huh? Where we get to show off how awesome we are as mages?” “Not exactly,” said James with a shake of his head. Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it already!” “Heard of what?” you asked. “Well, I suppose that’s a no,” chuckled James, and cleared his throat importantly. “Ahem! Every few years, the twin schools of Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy engage in a special event called The Scavenger’s Hunt.” “It’s a treasure hunt!” cheered Smitty. “TREASURE?!” exclaimed Grim. “Like…like REAL treasure?! Gold, jewels, tuna cans?!” “You’re wrong about the tuna cans, but you’re right about the first two,” Smitty giggled. “See, a long time ago, pirates used to have a habit of hiding and burying their treasure here on Sage’s Island. Back then, the place wasn’t as populated, and a lot more remote. So it was easy for them to go ashore, bury their gold, and then come back to fetch it later.” You could practically see the madollar signs in Grim’s eyes. No doubt he was imagining how rich he could get…and how much tuna he could buy with the money. “Every few years, the two schools hold a competition,” James continued the explanation. “In homage to this storied past, a chest is filled with money, and teams of seven from each school are assigned to try and find the “treasure.” We’re given a couple of clues to start off with, then it’s all on us. The teams have to try and find the treasure in two days, with the team that wins being the one who brings the chest to their school before nightfall on the second day.” “It trains the participants in a lot of ways, including survival skills, since you have to set up camp and spend a night in the woods for the first evening,” added Smitty. “Sounds like a pretty tough challenge,” you observed. “Nya! Any challenge is worth it if you can get money out of it!” Grim exclaimed. “My thoughts precisely,” smirked James. “The teams haven’t been chosen, but I have high hopes of being selected as one of the participants.” “Why? Do you have any special skills they’d be looking for?” you asked. “Nope!” Smitty interrupted, before James could answer. “The choices are totally random!” You and Grim shared a look. “Then…how can you be so sure you’ll get in?” you asked.

“Call it a hunch!” sang James, with an innocent shrug. The conversation was broken by a groan from the three Savanaclaw scoundrels. They were starting to stir. “I think we should probably get out of here,” you said, with a nervous laugh. “Those guys won’t be happy when they get up.” “I concur,” James nodded, then waved his stick around in the air in a dramatic gesture. “Come, Smitty! We must resume my practice!” “Aye-Aye, James!” Smitty said, saluting the taller student with a grin. The four of you bid hasty farewells, then you and Grim ran off towards the direction of Ramshackle Dorm. James Killian and Smitty McCarthy began to walk off in another direction. After a few moments, James looked down at his friend. “Well, Smitty?” he asked seriously. “Well what?” Smitty asked, blinking innocently behind his glasses. “Did you do as I asked?” urged James. Smitty’s smile fell. He looked away. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I, um…I made sure you and I would get picked.” “Perfect,” smirked James, a devilish gleam in his brown eyes. A low laugh left him. “Then everything is going according to plan…”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

You had become quite used to going to bed and waking up in a place that was not your room. You found yourself in a gilded chamber; beyond the darkened windows, you could hear the sounds of the ocean, and a muted, muffled ticking noise, which you quickly came to ignore. You were more focused on the giant figure before you: a tall, limber-looking fellow, with a hooked nose on his proud, lean face, and long black hair. A thin moustache slashed over the top of his lips, and he wore a long coat of vibrant scarlet. Along with the fingers, a golden hook - with a ruby-studded ring encircling part of it - stood in place of his left hand, scratching at his chin thoughtfully. He was pacing in front of a fine-looking harpsichord. You glanced to one side, and noted another figure: a small, fat man, with glasses and a red cap, dressed in blue and white. He was holding a large green bottle; some sort of alcoholic beverage. You had come to speak to the pair, hoping to receive some help. With a thunderous bellow, the Scarlet Pirate seemed to come to a decision, as he used his hook to grab hold of his companion by the back of their shirt, dragging them towards the door and nearly making them spill their drink “Come, Smee!” the Pirate boomed. “We must leave immediately, surround Peter’s home-!” “But Cap’n!” the Little Man piped up. “WE DON’T KNOW WHERE PETER PAN LIVES!” The Pirate immediately dropped the little man, his expression one bordering on horror in realization. “Great Scott!” he barked. “You’re right, Smee!” An idea sparked into your head. You rose up and rang out an alerting noise, gaining the pair’s attention. You flew with your pixie wings to a table in the cabin, where a map of The Island was visible. “What’s that, my dear?” the Scarlet Pirate cooed. “YOU could show us, the way? Why, I never thought of that!” The Pirate then surreptitiously whispered to his friend - “Take this down, Smee.” - but you barely noticed. You dipped your tiny feet into an inkwell, and waited for the two to move closer, so you could show them the way on the map. You thus began to walk across the map, the Pirate announcing the directions you indicated while the Little Man wrote them down in a notebook. “Start at Pegleg Point. Forty paces West of Blind Man’s Bluff, yes, yes…h-hop, skip, and a jump across C-Crocodile Creek! Then…Nor’ by Nor’east, one, two, three…” Something made you hesitate, as you neared the final spot on the map. You glanced over your shoulder. The Scarlet Pirate’s eyes shone with anger and impatience as he slammed his fist down onto the table. “WELL?!” he yelled. “GET ON WITH IT-I mean…heh heh…continue my dear.”

You glared and flew up into the Scarlet Pirate’s face, snapping out your one desire. He blinked, surprised, the feather on his hat flopping in front of his face. “I mustn’t harm Peter?” he repeated, and sniffed snootily, brushing the feather out of his face. “My friend, Captain Hook gives his word not to lay a finger-” You gestured in a hook-shape with one hand, crossly. “-Or a hook…on Peter Pan,” smiled the Pirate, assuringly. That did it. You swooped back down onto the map, and - with the last of the ink - drew an X on the spot with a helpful smile. The Scarlet Pirate grinned and nodded, then winked at the Little Man. “Ah, Hangman’s Tree,” he crooned, while his friend bounced excitedly beside him. “So THAT’S the entrance to his hiding place…” A shrill sound left you as - YOINK! - a huge, spindly hand sprung out like a jumping spider, and the Scarlet Pirate’s fist grabbed you, his smile turning truly villainous. “Thank you, me dear,” he purred like a cat with a canary. “You’ve been MOST helpful.” A malevolent guffaw heralded you being thrust into a glass container - perhaps an old lantern - and the hook latched it inescapably shut. Desperately, you pounded on the glass with your hands, watching as the Pirate and the Little Man left. As the door closed, you soon felt the air growing thin, you felt your wings falter, you felt yourself sink the floor of the lantern…and then… …You gasped sharply and woke up in bed. Not sitting up, but simply breathing heavily where you lay, head on the pillow. As you took in the familiar sights of your room in Ramshackle’s haunted house…you groaned and slapped a palm across your face… “I wouldn’t have this problem if someone would just eat me already,” you grumbled.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“You had another one, didn’tcha?” You blinked and looked up from the book you were reading. Grim was sitting beside you, half finished with his sixth tuna can for lunch. “What do you mean?” you asked the inquisitive not-cat. “Your face,” said Grim, simply. “What about it?” you huffed, and looked away to read the book. “I’m reading. This is my reading-for-class face.” “Nope,” Grim insisted, shaking his head and pointing with one plump paw. “That’s your ‘I had a super weird dream last night’ look. Another one o’ those creepy visions again?” You sighed and looked up towards the sky, snapping the book shut. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” you groaned. Grim sneered and shrugged. “Fine, if yer gonna be a sourpuss about it,” he pouted, then his sparking ears lifted as he heard the distant, familiar voices of Ace and Deuce not so far away. “I’m gonna go see how the guys are doin’. You stay right here, Minion!” You gave a mock salute, with a tired smile, and watched as Grim tossed his now empty can away and trotted off towards another part of the grounds. You were sitting on a bench beneath the castle’s proudest apple tree, near the fabled wishing well. It was quiet; not many people were around here at this time of the day. You tried to remove the thoughts of last night via your studies…but to be honest, the Annotated History of Magical Economics was not exactly a page turner, and your mind kept wandering. You were unaware of a pair of great, big, yellow eyes, watching you from the shadows of the nearby colonnade. The eyes blinked once. As they did, a brief flicker of mesmerizing, pastel colors seemed to float around the irises and pupils, before flitting out with a second blink. The figured then slithered out from the colonnade, strutting towards where you sat - hips swaying, pelvis shifting alluringly - a sensual, slippery smirk upon their face. You heard the creak of something - or someone - leaning on the back of the bench a moment later, and a familiar, sibilant voice slid into your ears. “Sssay now…what have we here?”

You jumped, a bit alarmed by the voice in your ear…especially as you could sense the dampness of a slimy tongue very close to your earlobe. You turned around fast, then sighed with a mixture of relief and mild annoyance as you saw the face of the slinky, smirking Savanaclaw student, who peered down at you with a smug, seductive sort of expression. “Good afternoon, Nakoda,” you greeted, crisply. “Hello, breakfassst,” hissed the naga-in-human-form, with a flirtatious wink and lick of his lips. “It’s lunchtime,” you replied, blandly, not to be taken in. “Even better,” Nakoda said, and snickered in his usual way. “Sss-sss-sss-sss! That means I don’t have to ssspend an entire day digesssting you. Only part of one!” “Doesn’t it literally take days for you to digest anyone?” you drawled back. Nakoda grinned wider. “Awww…you remembered,” he crooned, and licked his lips. “I’m sssimply touched.” You blushed, and firmly turned back to your book. “I’m trying to study,” you grumbled. “If you just came over here to talk sexy, can you please do it later?” “Then you admit I’m sssexy,” smiled Nakoda, sidling into the bench, sitting beside you. “I never ‘sssaid’ that you weren’t,” you replied, addressing him without looking at him. “You freaking KNOW you are. But there are more important things than bed and breakfast.” Nakoda looked at you as if you had just spoken some heinous and unfathomable blasphemy. “Is there something you need?” you urged, hoping you could get him to leave. The serpent wasn’t really what you needed, with all the things on your mind. “Not really,” Nakoda answered with a shrug. “I sssimply noticed that one of my favorite sssnacks ssseemed a bit distressssssed, so I came over to sssee what the issssssue was.” You looked up from your book doubtfully. You were surprised to find that Nakoda’s smile seemed…sincere. Warm. Different from his usual sultry, greedy expression that indicated equal parts hunger and thirst. It was…friendly.

That was new. “Well…if you really want to know, I had a bad dream last night,” you confessed, then chuckled to yourself. “Jeeze…when I say it THAT way it sounds like I’m a toddler or something, doesn’t it?” “Mmmm…you’d be sssurprised what an…IMPACT dreams can have,” Nakoda replied with a pleasured shudder. You decided you could live without asking what THAT was supposed to mean. Instead, you explained to Nako about your recurring visions, about the past events and ominous signs of foreshadowing you’d seen so often in the past. You even admitted you’d had a similar dream strike you when Nakoda Spivak had tried to get Jamil thrown out of school. “Interesssting,” murmured Nakoda, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he nodded, taking in the information carefully. “Ssso, basssically, anytime you have these dreams, you know sssomething bad is gonna happen.” “Yeah, and I’m most likely gonna be roped in the middle of it,” you droned. “I don’t sssuppose I can do anything to help?” Nakoda asked. “Could you eat me so I don’t have to clean up the mess later?” you drawled sarcastically. Nakoda grinned VERY widely. “Is that your final anssswer?” he hissed, eyes flashing with gluttonous excitement. Quickly realizing your mistake, you held up your hands placatingly. “N-Never mind! Just a figure of speech!” you squeaked out. Nakoda snickered and leaned in till your noses nearly touched. One of his hands swept across and rested on your thigh. “Your ssscent, and your blush, sssay otherwise,” he breathed out, in a voice that could only be described as famished. Before your flustered, sputtering brain could produce an answer, the sound of a school bell was heard, making both you and Nakoda jump in surprise. The bell was followed by the voice of Dire Crowley over the school loudspeakers, announcing that all students were to go to the assembly hall immediately. Nakoda pouted, looking deeply disappointed; even a little sad. “Well, ain’t that always the way?” he grumbled.

You smiled weakly, not sure if you should be relieved…or a little disappointed, yourself. “Guessssss I’ll sssee you around, sssweetheart,” Nakoda smiled, and stood up, giving a reassuring smile. “In all ssseriousnessssss…if you need sssomeone to talk to about those dreams, or jussst to help you sssleep…you can always trussst in me.” “I’m not so sure of that,” you chuckled nervously, very easily catching the sound of the serpent boy’s stomach gurgling on the last three words. “But thanks anyway, Nakoda.” Nako smiled a bit wider, then tucked his hands in his pockets and swaggered off in his usual cocky, slithery way. You couldn’t help but stare, watching him go…watching the way his wide hips swayed…watching his rear bounce and shift, so tightly packed into his pants… “NYA! MINION, SNAP OUT OF IT!” “Wh-wha…?” You quickly shook your head and looked down, as you felt - and heard - Grim tugging on your pants leg. “C’mon!” the little beast urged. “We gotta go to the assembly! I do NOT wanna deal with Trein if we’re late.” Well, that was a good incentive if you’d ever heard one. You nodded and stood up, and followed  Grim in the direction of the Assembly Hall. You already had a feeling, after recent conversations, of what the assembly was going to be for…and you were correct.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ruggie, Azul, Sebek, James, and Smitty…I gotta say, that’s a pretty colorful group of people to go on a treasure hunt with. You two must be under some pressure.” “Nya! It’s nothing the Great Grim can’t handle!” You just chuckled and ruffled Grim’s headfur; he hissed and swatted at your hands with a petulant expression. You then smiled at Deuce, who had been the one to speak first. “Honestly, I’m surprised,” you admitted. “I wasn’t even sure Grim and I would be on the ballot. You know, on account of the fact I don’t have any magic. Didn’t they discount Ortho because of all his technomantic doodads, after all?” “Hey, Ortho had too big an advantage, not the same as your problem,” Deuce shrugged, and smiled at you gently. “Besides, you two are still students of Night Raven College. Magic or no magic, you’re one of us! Right, Ace?” “Yeah. Sure. Whatever…” Deuce frowned as Ace - with the most sour and dour expression - carelessly stuffed some popcorn into his mouth, chewing boredly. You and Grim and invited your two best friends over to Ramshackle to watch a movie together, in celebration of being chosen for the Scavenger’s Hunt. However, all night, Ace had been moping and grumpy. “Okay, seriously, what’s the problem?” snapped Deuce, fed up with Trappola’s guff. “Aren’t you happy for these two?” “To be honest? Not really,” Ace said, blandly. “Well, gee, thanks a ton,” you said, with a smile as sarcastic as your tone. “Ha! You’re just jealous because we get to go find buried treasure instead o’ you!” teased Grim. “Yes. Yes, that’s it exactly,” huffed Ace, and sighed dismally. “Seriously, how come you two have all the fun? Just thinking of all those coins, waiting to be dug up, and how I can’t even touch a single SPECK of it…” “Hey, it’s not like they’re gonna be able to do much with it,” Deuce snorted, lounging back in his sofa seat. “Nya?” blinked Grim. “What do you mean?” “Well, first of all, the ones who find the treasure can’t really KEEP it,” Deuce said. “WHAT?!” screeched Grim and Ace at the same time, looking aghast.

You winced at their volume and then answered: “Weren’t you both paying attention? Once the donated treasure in the chest is found, it’s distributed amongst the native islanders. We get a prize trophy, sure, but we can’t keep the loot itself.” “WELL, THEN WHAT’S THE POINT?!” shrieked Grim. On his part, Ace just pouted more intensely, grabbed a bottle of soda, and began chugging it down as if he were trying to drown his own aggravation. Deuce rolled his eyes and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, look at this way,” he said, and smirked at Grim. “Even if you DID find it, with Ruggie, Azul, and James all in the group, do you really think you’d get any of it anyway?” Grim opened his mouth to answer…then closed it again…then shrugged. “Guess you got a point, with the first two,” he said. “Wait a minute, why are you lumping James in there?” you asked. “Psh. James is in our dorm, remember?” Deuce said, gesturing with a thumb between himself and Ace, who was still silently downing cola like his life depended on it. “After Azul and Ruggie, I think he might be the single greediest guy I’ve ever met. He’s always looking for some way to make more money, always going out with his pal to see if they can find any valuable salvage off the port, always reading books about where the different treasures of old pirates may be found on the island…if there’s anyone more interested in gold than those three, I’d like to meet ‘em.” You frowned and looked away thoughtfully. You took a sip of your own bottle of soda - tuning out the sounds of Ace chugging his down - as you reflected on this information. Suddenly, something didn’t seem right. “What’s the matter, Prefect?” asked Deuce. Meanwhile, Ace finally finished his drink, and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Grim and I met James and Smitty yesterday,” you answered. “They seemed pretty confident about getting chosen, even though Smitty said it would be random. They were also the first names that the Headmage pulled out of the hat.” “You think maybe they rigged things to get in?” Ace reasoned, sounding a bit out of breath after his long drink.. “Maybe,” you nodded. “But HOW?!” Grim exclaimed. “If it’s totally random, how’d they do that!” You winced and wrung out your ear.

“Maybe if you stopped yelling directly into my eardrums I could answer that,” you groused. “Seriously, Grim, you’ve been doing that a lot lately; I’m gonna have tinnitus by morning…” A grunt from Ace caught your attention. All three of the rest of you turned towards him as he massaged his stomach with one hand, and gave a sort of tight smirk, one eye closed. “Heh…nah,” he half-grimaced, half-grinned. “THIS is what’s gonna give you tinnitus.” So saying, he slapped his belly with both hands, and let out a rumbling, fat, wet burp, all of the carbonation he’d ingested rocketing free in a blast of foul gas. “BLLLUUURRRUUURRRLLLUUUP!” Ace sighed with deepest relief, then flashed a smug grin at the rest of you. “How are your ears NOW, Prefect?” he teased. You coughed once, your face red as a strawberry, while Deuce and Grim fanned the air before their noses. “...When I stop being deaf, I’ll answer whatever you just said,” you replied. Ace barked out a laugh in reply. It wasn’t long till all of you were giggling away. Unknown to all of you, two other Heartslabyul students happened to be passing Ramshackle Dorm at that very moment. “Yeesh,” Smitty McCarthy said, with a slight flinch, and looked up at James Killian beside him. “Well, Ace seems to be taking it pretty well…heh heh…” “Indeed,” mumbled James, with a very slight blush to his cheeks. He shook his head and swaggered on, the ferrule of his cane tapping the stone path beneath his feet. “Thank you for taking care of the choices.” “No problem, James. Soon as I told him what was in it for him, he was ready to say yes!” grinned Smitty, seeming proud to receive his fellow student’s gratitude. His smile fell soon after hower. “Um…James?” “What is it, Smitty?” “Don’t you think it’s…kinda dangerous, making that bargain? I mean…what if he causes us trouble?” “Hardly,” shrugged James. “After all, by the time he gets any sort of chance to, the deed will be done.” “Yeah, but still, tricking them all like this,” worried Smitty. “It’s not good form, you know.” “You insult me, Smitty!” huffed James. “I’ll have you know I am the PARAGON of good form!” Smitty looked dubious, but nodded anyway. “Aye, James,” he said, slowly. “I…I guess you’d have to be.” “Of course I am!” James blustered, and smirked. “Besides, it’s only bad form if you get caught.” With a laugh, Smitty slung an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, waving his cane about over his head. “Now come, Smitty! Let us sing a shanty together; my victory is soon at hand!” Smitty giggled and grinned, nodding as he wrapped one arm around his partner in return. “Aye-Aye, Cap’n!” he cheered, and the two strolled off into the night. Their voices - especially James’ - sang joyously into the air, contrasting with the foreboding tone of the lyrics… “Sing a Yo-Ho! I’ll slaughter the swine! Yo-Ho! Must be Fate’s design! At last our tales will again intertwine! Revenge, Revenge, REVENGE is Gonna Be Mine!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The date of the start of the Scavenger’s Hunt had arrived. You and Grim walked side by side, towards one of the wide, sandy beaches on Sage’s Island. The beachside had been selected as the meeting place, where the teams for both Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy would see each other face to face for the first time, before the great treasure quest began. You paused to adjust the backpack on your back; while you had not actively participated in the Camp Vargas events the school regularly held, you had learned enough from watching your fellow classmates to know what sort of essentials were going to be helpful to spend the night. (One of them was quite a number of tuna cans, just to keep Grim from going stark raving mad if hunting, fishing, or foraging didn’t produce much.) You were feeling rather nervous; there would be no instructors supervising this game, you had learned. You and your fellow students would be totally on your own, and not simply having to survive one night in the woods, but also having to track down the clues to a treasure chest, AND having to deal with Royal Sword at the same time. “This is gonna be one heck of a weekend,” you sighed to yourself. “Mrmph,” grunted Grim in reply, his tone and expression clearly quite sulky. Ever since he’d learned that none of the treasure could be claimed by you all, he’d been pouting. You smiled sympathetically, and reached down to scratch behind his ears, chuckling as he soon began to purr softly. “Come on, don’t be such a grump,” you teased. “This’ll be fun! Think of it this way: if we find the treasure, then everyone will know ‘the Great Grim’ is the best treasure hunter of all, won’t they?” Grim smiled. “Well, when ya put it THAT way…” You sniggered and rolled your eyes, then tossed your head to beckon Grim to follow you, the pair of you resuming your walk. It wasn’t too long till you spotted the section of the beach where the meetup was to take place. From a distance, you could see Dire Crowley pacing back and forth; his yellow eyes shone behind his raven’s mask, as he peered at a pocket watch he held in one hand. A little closer to you were some of your teammates… “Ah, there you are, Prefect!” Azul Ashengrotto grinned, as he saw you approach. “You’re right on schedule!” “I was a little worried we’d be late,” you admitted, then nodded to the second figure, who stood a small distance away from Azul. “Good morning, Sebek.”

Sebek Zigvolt grunted. He was dressed in the long green waterproof (and other clothes) you’d seen him wear during Camp Vargas, while Azul was wearing a long, green-and-purple camouflaged, hooded trenchcoat. You recognized them as the same coat he wore during Beanfest, on the Monster team; other pieces of gear on him were similar in style…in fact, all that was really missing were the glasses, as he wore his own typical spectacles instead. “Nya! Where’d you get those?” Grim asked Azul, also noticing the outfit. Azul smiled and held his head high, clearly quite taken with his own costume. “Sam was selling off some old pieces of Beanfest gear; this set was in good condition, and I remembered rather liking how it all looked on me. Besides, one must dress appropriately when preparing to ramble in the woods,” he replied. “Awwww,” Grim whined, dipping his ears and looking up at you. “And all my Minion wore was their gym uniform!” You shrugged. “Hey, unlike Azul, I’m not made of money,” you retorted. “I had other things to worry about than looking spiffy.” “Oh, don’t be so modest, Prefect,” Azul smirked, adjusting his spectacles. “When it comes to physical labor in the forest, I’d say you look like the perfect choice.” You blinked. “...As soon as I figure out if you’re insulting me or praising me, I’ll come up with a witty reply,” you said. Azul just chuckled. You then raised an eyebrow as you looked towards Sebek. He was unusually silent, seated on a large rock near the very edge of the shore, looking out towards the horizon with a pensive scowl. His arms were crossed over his chest, his navy green eyes glittering in an icy sort of way. “You’re a lot less noisy than usual,” Grim remarked, rather rudely, then smirked, crossing his forelimbs over his fluffy chest. “Somebody steal your breakfast this morning?” Sebek just growled irritably, clenching one of his gloved hands into a fist. “Human?” he rumbled. “Would you kindly silence that overgrown hairball before I take a bite out of him?” “Sorry, Sebek,” you apologized with a mild sort of smile. “I haven’t been able to find the mute button yet.” “NYA! WHO YOU CALLIN’ AN OVERGROWN HAIRBALL?!” Grim snapped. Sebek growled again in response, this time bearing his fangs at Grim. “I’LL THANK YOU TO BE MORE CAREFUL WHEN ADDRESSING THE GUARD OF THE MIGHTY MALLEUS!” he bellowed. Grim let out an “eep!” and hid behind your leg. You couldn’t help but smirk. “There’s the Sebek I know,” you said, somewhat teasingly.

Sebek just puffed through his nostrils and turned away again. Concerned, you took a cautious step forward. “Are you alright? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you act this, um…thoughtful.” “‘Thoughtful’ isn’t the word,” Azul spoke up. “I’d say he’s more ‘sulky.’” “SULKY?!” yelled Sebek, rounding on Azul this time. “INCONCEIVABLE! The attendants of the great Malleus Draconia are far too dignified to sulk!” “Oh, really?” smirked Azul. “Then what would you call your petulant behavior when ‘the great Malleus’ wouldn’t let you sit in his lap, as I recall?” Both yourself and Grim giggled at the pinkish hue that overtook Sebek’s cheeks. “That’s…that’s different,” Zigvolt replied, feebly. Azul chuckled again, louder than before, then gave you a smile. “You’ll have to forgive him, Prefect,” he said, smoothly. “It’s my understanding that Sebek here has been acting like this practically since the team members were announced.” “Let me guess,” you smiled at Sebek, not unkindly. “Are you worried about having to leave Malleus’ side for so long?” “As a matter of fact, yes,” sniffed Sebek. “But concern for my liege and his protection are NOT the sole reason for my…absolutely-and-completely-NOT-sulky mood right now.” “He’s upset about a specific teammate of ours,” Azul explained, adjusting his own gloves. “Which one?” you asked, curiously. You soon found out. “AHOY THERE!”

All eyes turned to see two new figures coming up the beach. You immediately recognized them as James Killian and Smitty McCarthy. The Heartslabyul duo were no longer in uniform; the hunt allowed participants to wear any choice of clothes they wished. For Smitty’s case, his ensemble still included his square-lensed glasses and red cap, but he also wore blue jeans and brown leather shoes. His top consisted of a blue-and-white striped shirt, which seemed to fit him a bit too small, exposing part of his plump, round tummy, and an olive green seaman’s jacket. It was James, however, who most assuredly stole the spotlight. You could have spotted his ensemble from a mile away: he still wore the black boots, purple bandana, and assortment of rings upon his fingers, and still carried his gold-topped cane. His legs were shrouded by maroon britches, which were held up by a black leather belt with a golden buckle, shaped in the image of a skull and crossbones. A somewhat loose-fitting white shirt was visible above this, with sleeves that ended in foppish frills; the shirt’s top couple buttons were undone, giving you a good view of the upper portion of his athletic-looking chest. However, beyond even this show of “eye candy,” the most attractive feature - certainly the one that drew the most attention - was James Killian’s coat. It was a long piece, somewhat similar in fashion to a morning coat, but with a high, stiff collar. The garment was colored a vibrant shade of crimson, with black shoulder pads and lapels, and gold thread lining on the aforementioned collar. The inside of the coat was lined with pale purple. It was a bold and flashy sort of outfit, on the whole, and on many people it would probably look rather gaudy…yet James wore it with such confidence, and held such pride as he sauntered along the beach, twirling his stick like an aristocrat out on a stroll, that he somehow made the whole thing look exquisite. “Sorry we’re a bit late!” Smitty apologized as he scampered over. “We were just-OOF!” Smitty tripped on something in the sand and flopped face down onto the beach. James paused as he came up behind his friend. He blinked down at him boredly, then poked Smitty’s backside with his cane. “Get up, you idiot,” he droned, dully. Smitty immediately hopped up, like a bouncy ball, and dusted himself off. “Aye-aye, James. Sorry!” he peeped, with an apologetic smile. James just smirked and rolled his eyes in amusement, before stepping towards you. “Good morning to you, Prefect!” he greeted warmly. “And the same to you, Grim!”

The two of you nodded back in greeting, then looked towards Smitty. He gave you both a wave, fiddling with his hat in a shy way, clearly embarrassed after his clumsy tumble. “I’m glad you both could make it,” you smiled, looking at Smitty when you spoke. The words seemed to make him feel a bit better, as he visibly perked up, blue-green eyes dancing behind his glasses. “It’s good to see you again, James!” Azul spoke up, smiling broadly as he approached the red-dressed swordsman, holding out one gloved hand. “Is all well?” “All is very well!” James practically sang back, and shook Azul’s right hand with his left. “And I must say, I was quite pleased to see you as part of this team! I dare say we’ll make quite the magnificent crew!” “Oh, I haven’t any doubt,” said Azul, and noticeably tightened his grip as he leaned in close. “I presume we shall prove mutually beneficial to each other, in finding the treasure.” James’ expression matched Azul’s as he squeezed back. “Oh, most assuredly,” he slithered out. “After all, we can’t allow it to fall into…unworthy hands, can we?” “That depends on your definition,” replied Azul, quite honestly. “I’d say helping our neighbors here on the island is a most worthy cause.” “Because it puts them in your debt?” you couldn’t help but drawl. “Why, Prefect! WhatEVER gave you SUCH an idea!” Azul gasped, as if insulted. You and Grim shared a look. James just narrowed his eyes slightly. “It’s not the islanders I’m referring to,” was all he said. A clearing of the throat finally indicated Sebek’s presence to James. He looked towards the half-fairy…and his beaming expression immediately shifted to a sour sort of look. “Oh,” he muttered. “Crocodile.” “Human.”

“Suddenly, my excitement for this event has significantly dwindled,” huffed James, straightening his back as he held his cane before him, and lifted his head high in an imperious fashion. “Shouldn’t you be glutting yourself on some old, rotten fish or something about now, you cursed beast?” Sebek’s eyes narrowed, and he rose up from where he sat. He towered over James with his own great height as he strode close, glaring down at the far less impressively tall person. “I can think of a few things better to eat,” Sebek answered, ominously. James held his ground, but once more you noticed his cheeks becoming flushed. Sebek seemed to notice as well. “Oh, I would be very nervous if I were you,” he said, indicating said blush. “I’m going to ensure this game goes well for the Honor of the Great Malleus Draconia! If your arrogance causes any trouble, I’LL SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!” “Trust me, I would love to see you try,” drawled James, in a tone that you weren’t entirely sure sounded all that sarcastic. “And if you want to talk arrogance, I recommend looking in the water. Your reflection and yourself shall have much to discuss.” Sebek glared and lifted a finger, opening his mouth as if to shout something else…but Smitty suddenly slipped in to stand between the two, looking up at Sebek with a soothing sort of expression. “Hey…l-listen, can’t we just…save these arguments for later?” he asked, with a nervous little laugh. “I mean…we all have to work together, don’t we?” Sebek glared…but grumbled out something in the affirmative and sat back down on his stone. Now there could be no doubt: he was DEFINITELY sulking. “Well, anyway,” you piped up, wanting to change the subject. “That seems to be everybody but Ruggie.” “Nya…where is he, anyway?” Grim wondered, looking around as if trying to spot him. “It’s not like him to be late.” “I was wondering the same thing,” Azul nodded in agreement, and looked at the Heartslabyul pair. “I don’t suppose you have any idea, James?” “Hardly,” James answered, shaking his head. “I am not Savanaclaw’s keeper, after all. What that hyena gets up to is hardly my business.” “Especially since he’s always talking about how James would probably taste like-YIPE!” Smitty’s words were cut off by James flipping his hat over his eyes. As he struggled to remove it, the taller fellow went on… “My point is, your guess is as good as mine,” James said, oh-so-innocently. Azul smirked in a knowing sort of fashion.

“Indeed,” he said, softly, then placed his hands on his hips, still smirking. “For the record, you know, whatever Ruggie thinks you’d taste like…he’s probably correct. For I doubt it could be anything bad.” James narrowed his eyes, face still faintly tinted red, but said nothing. You and Grim once again shared a look, this time of slight confusion. “I’ll speak with the Headmage briefly,” Azul said. “After all, as the upperclassman of this group, I have automatic seniority as captain.” “Aye, Cap’n,” Smitty said, saluting Azul. James bowed his head respectfully in agreement, but you caught a hint of envious green in his eyes. Azul bowed his head right back, and wandered over to speak to Crowley, who was still pacing a couple yards away. “I get the feeling you two know each other,” you spoke up, waving a hand between James and the retreating Azul indicatively. “Ah, yes!” James grinned, with boyish delight. “Azul and I have been lab partners a couple of times, you see. I’ve also offered my assistance occasionally at his Lounge…naturally, for a fee. I daresay the two of us are on quite amicable terms!” “Well, that’s always good to hear,” you smiled. “It’s great to have friends who have more experience than you.” James’ smile faltered. Something flickered in his brown eyes, like sparks flying off of copper coins. “Experience you are correct about,” James replied. “But I hesitate to call us friends.” You smiled in a weary sort of way. Of course. This was common across Night Raven. “It’s not a weakness to enjoy friendship,” you said, simply. “Trust me, at some point or another, everyone here has felt that way.” James looked you up and down and then turned away. “A thousand pardons, my dear Prefect, but you misunderstand my belief,” he said, very calmly, “Friendship is not a weakness. It is worse than that. It is an illusion.” You felt your eyes widen. That was a new perspective. Your eyes suddenly felt drawn to Smitty, who was standing beside James, on the opposite side of him from you. You saw the little man wince, but he said nothing, quietly looking askance with sorrow in his large teal eyes. You were about to speak up against this idea, but before you could, Azul returned. Behind him, you could see Crowley tapping his watch and scowling, as if he were worried about it running properly. “Alright!” Azul announced boldly, clapping his hands together to get everybody’s attention. “It appears Ruggie will not be joining us for this hunt.” “WHAT?!” Sebek suddenly shouted. “How dare that hyena shirk his duties?! SUCH BEHAVIOR IS MOST UNBECOMING!” All of you flinched at Sebek’s volume before Azul took a deep breath and spoke again. “He is not ‘shirking his duties,’ Sebek,” he correctly, very patiently. “He is sick.”

“Oh, dear,” you heard Smitty murmur. “What’s the matter with him?” you asked, concernedly. “Some sort of stomach virus, possibly food poisoning,” replied Azul. “He should recover in a day or two; my guess is he ate something that didn’t quite agree with him.” You sighed. Yeah. That sounded about right, considering Ruggie would eat just about anything (and anyone) that wasn’t too expired. “At any rate,” Azul went on, adjusting his glasses. “A new student from the same dorm has been selected to take part. Things are running very last minute, however, hence why they’re running a bit late.” “Not as late as Royal Sword,” huffed Grim, noticing then and there that you and your Night Raven colleagues were the only ones on the beach at that moment. “Jeeze, what’s keepin’ those goody-two-shoes, anyway?” “Typical,” huffed Sebek, snootily. “Trust them to have no regard for the importance of punctuality. Not that a certain human here was any better…” “Oi!” snapped James, crossly. “I’ll have you know, I’m only fashionably late!” “There is nothing fashionable about tardiness!” Sebek rapped back. “SHOW SOME RESPECT FOR OTHERS’ TIME!” “Perhaps after YOU show respect to ME, for a change!” “HA! A loudmouthed human like yourself is hardly worthy of anything resembling respect!” “Pot to the kettle, YOU OVERGROWN LIZARD!” The two were soon bickering hotly. Grim hissed and covered his ears. You awkwardly turned to Azul, who was pinching his brow in frustration. “So, uh…I’m guessing you and James aren’t the only ones with history, huh?” “Picked up on that, did you?” Azul smiled, in a sarcastic sort of way, then sighed and shook his head. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know the story behind these two. All I know is that any time they meet, in any capacity, sparks fly.” You nodded. That much was evident. “H-Hey, that’s enough!” Smitty’s voice suddenly called out, and he stepped once more between Sebek and James, throwing out his arms as if to protect the taller student. “I-If you can’t stop yelling at James, then don’t say anything at all!” “Me?! Yelling at him?!” boomed Sebek, infuriated. “And what about-?!” “ENOUGH!” An uncharacteristic shout from Dire Crowley silenced all of you, and made you jump. The Headmage shook his head, clearly annoyed, and grumbled as he shook his watch and held it up to his ear. “The time MUST be correct, I CAN’T be mistaken!” you heard him mutter to himself. ���That careless lout, Ambrose…!” James and Sebek shot one another a glare, then finally turned away from one another. Arms crossed, like a pair of pouting schoolboys. A moment later, however, their cross expressions faltered, eyes opening as they heard a sibilant snicker echo across the beach. “Sss-sss-sss-sss! Well…if these are the ones I’m gonna be sssleeping with, one way or another, I mussst be in for a fun time, huh?” Swaggering along the shore came Nakoda Spivak.

To Be Continued in Part 2…

[alolanrain]

*warning: Death, mutilation, blood. 

Ta!Ash never realized how often hunters come to Alola until one day he was cornered by one with his lackies while walking around in the jungle with Pikachu and the twins. usually he was good at spotting traps, a million and one experiences within his years of traveling, but he was so deep in thought he walked right into one. 

it was easy to see it was meant for a Bewear, the size of the sprung cage was abnormally large for the majority of the Alolan Pokémon that ran around this section of jungle and the bars were thicker then Ash’s forearm. what was the most annoying thing was that it seemed the men were camping nearby. attracted to Ash’s predicament by the loud sound that totally scattered the other wild Pokémon away. 

Ash wasn’t having a good day to start. he woke up late after drinking a tad to much for a Sunday and his coffee pot broke. nothing was going his way either at school as the kids were rambunctious then Ash had ever seen them, excited about their week long vacation that was going to start at the end of the week and their loud noises drove Ash’s migraine through the damn roof. enough so that he nearly almost shattered Sophocles when the little scientist decided that it would be funny to scare Ash when the Ta was completely dissociating during PE. his leg had winded up and a cloud of red filled his vision, it didn’t help that Ash still wanted to hurt the boy afterwards after he realized it was one of his kids. anger issues and already barely contained bloodlust bubbled under his skin yet somehow he was able to get through the day and not lose his shit. 

it didn’t stop his throat from burning as Ash had to regulate his breathing through his mouth. breath’s controlled yet heavy and slightly raspy through every cry of joy or mock anger from the kids as they talked, talked, and talked about their upcoming holiday. 

it was the reason why he was in the forest in the first place. Pokémon skittering around him as Ash’s aura beat to the rhythm of a killer, erratic and fast, and his heart matched it. he just couldn’t stand anymore human contact and Ash felt not a single drop of guilt as he snarled at the kids to leave him alone for once. it hurt to see their faces dropped but it was better then Ash loosing his control and sinking teeth into young skin like some wild monster that Ash pretends he isn’t. 

the trap, the hunter and his lackeys was Ash’s breaking point. any semblance of control that Ash tried to trick himself into think he had snapped. it should worry him how easy it was to bend steal bars, almost like breathing but easier, and ripping the eyes out of the hunter’s ugly ass face. body dropping as his other hand covered the larger mans face and snapped his neck so the screaming would stop. one look at the other’s had them running. wrong move on their part as Ash leaned heavily into the animalistic urge to chase. 

it was morbid of Ash, afterwards when he piled the bodies up at his still barely furnitured house and started to tear their limbs up for easier distribution to hide around the island, to call Kukui on the landline while he was drenched in blood. fit took a while to fiddle with his aura to act as an extension cord so the phone could still work. bones being forced out of their sockets and strings of muscle and fat squelching around his fingers as he grab more parts as he lied to the Professor with an ease that would have his 10 year old self sobbing. 

he chose to sleep outside in the woods after telling Pikachu to stay in the house because even if he loves his buddy and would burn the entire world to the ground if Pikachu asked, Ash wanted to be alone to burry the bastards that decided that it was okay to take from the island. tapu Koko’s aura a small flicker was a constant dot registering on Ash’s conscious but he ignored the legendary. it seemed Tapu Koko wasn’t going to mess with him either as he never inched forward through the hours of digging. 

the next morning Ash is calm and quite. he wears his sunglasses tight to his face and not like the normal position of where their slipping off his nose and his hat sits tight and sturdy on Ash’s head. he doesn’t say hello to the employee at the cash register when he places a new coffee maker on the belt, doesn’t say a word until he’s back in class the day after when he knows it’s easy to pretend again and greets the kids who look guilty and chastised. Kukui standing up and glaring at them from the chalkboard and greeted his Ta with a cup of coffee despite Ash holding his traveling mug. 

Ash takes it regardless, feeds Pikachu his Poke bean when they get to his desk, and talks more then he ever had in the class that day. 

[lavellane]

❤🤍😊💯 for ashara my beloved???

🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?

for all her flaws ashara is a DEEPLY reliable person. she takes people's trust in her very very seriously and she will ALWAYS keep her word <3 not really any broken hearts either because she's never actually broken up with anybody willingly. usually SHES the one getting her heart broken lmao

as for death and destruction, ashara HAD killed people prior to the events of dai unfortunately, just once. she hunted down and killed a group of human farmers who assaulted her sister. she also burnt down their farm and a significant portion of their land in the process for good measure. she was about 17 when this happened. in the lead up to this she had gotten herself so incomprehensibly murderously biblically angry that she'd been in very real danger of losing control and becoming an abomination, but managed to ground herself enough to make some key decisions, ie freeing the animals and saving the farmhands + stable people who had not been involved in the attack. i actually wrote a slay little codex entry for it which i never posted but i might as well now i have an excuse lol

Knight-Commander,  There was nothing left of the farmstead when we got there. I’ve never seen anything like it. If I hadn’t grown up around the area I’d have never believed any houses once stood in that scorched clearing to begin with – for when we arrived there was nought but ash and blackened earth to be found. I fear the corpses are beyond identification - not even bone could endure such flames. All that remains are a few scattered teeth and the melted steel from belt buckles and the like.  No normal fire could do this, sir. Maker, I’d suspect a high dragon if I hadn’t already confirmed none were sighted in the area. A stable-boy claims to have spotted a darked-haired she-elf fleeing the scene, and some neighboring villagers reported Dalish movement shortly after. I’ve sent out our best to investigate.  Best case scenario, this was a premeditated attack from several apostates within the clan. At worst . . . well, I shudder to think of how powerful – or possessed – a single mage would have to be to wreak such havoc upon the world.  [A Markham templar’s report to his Knight-Commander regarding the deaths of several farmers and the suspected involvement of apostates.]    

anyways it was a key moment in her life because it was that experience which allowed her to finally sit through her vallaslin ceremony (for those who dont know, vallaslin rituals involve receiving the tattoo without flinching or crying out) . she had tried about 3 times prior to this to receive dirthamen's markings, with no luck. after this night she was able to sit through her ceremony with complete conviction, although she ended up deciding last minute to go with mythal's vallaslin: for justice.

(i think she still struggles internally with the distinction between justice and vengeance which is why im soooooo excited for elgar'nan to make an appearance in datv hehe)

🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits?

she can honestly be quite gullible sometimes, a trait she's aware of and combats with a lot of natural suspicion lol. she was THEE best target for pranks within the clan growing up bc she does tend to take people at face value. a hunter once taught her a "bird call" which was absolutely incomprehensible and stupid and yes she believed it wholehearted and DID try it before someone finally took pity on her jfdkfjkd. needless to say the first few days with sera were unbearable for her before she wisened up to sera's ways lmao

not really a personality trait but definitely a quirk, she taught herself how to read and write from scratch (with only a few early years of help from her keeper) and yet she's quite self-conscious about how "behind" she feels when she joins the inquisition and is suddenly surrounded by well educated noble humans. esp bc prior to this she had taken SUCH pride in her efforts . she loves reading and writing thinks of it as a hobby. she's an avid reader of anything she can get her hands on (limited since they rarely traveled anywhere more populated than small villages) and has filled DOZENS upon dozens of journals back to back since she was a kid. she writes/documents everything religiously, but if an outsider was to read it they would struggle quite a bit because her penmanship is self taught and quite messy, with a lot of spelling mistakes. her reading is also a bit slower than other peoples, which of course frustrates her so much bc back in her clan she was used to being the best reader and writer by a long shot. she improves very quickly working with the inquisition but its difficult for her at first for sure :(

finally just, in general, she has hard time regulating her feelings when it comes to love and friendship. her personality is abrasive and blunt and suspicious due to a whole myriad of reasons, so its rare that people care enough to stay and look past that. and for the most part shes resigned to that. when people DO stay, shes immediately ?????????!!!!!!! and the joy and relief and awe is unmatched. she falls in love WAY to quick and gets way, way too attached. when she finds someone who she wants who actually for some reason wants her too, she cant bear the thought of ever losing them or letting them go. she'd do anything for them, give anything for them, endure whatever it takes for them. when she and solas got together was the happiest and most lighthearted she'd ever felt because she wasnt alone, and i think he could have honestly manipulated her a LOT more than he did if he were so inclined lol. she loves soooooo so so intensely and utterly, and it tends to end up eating away at her and leading to really horrible traumatic switchups when that love falls flat.

😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life?

she does NOT want to be inquisitor or even first to the keeper - even though i think objectively shes very very good at it (the military side of it at least) and shes a great person to BE in that role because she has such a strong sense of duty and can put her people above herself for as long as it takes. but she doesnt have any real desire to dictate peoples lives or tell them what to do.

in saying that, being inquisitor definitely has some perks that shes eternally grateful for (she directs that gratefulness at mythal not andraste lol). her whole life she's wanted to Do Right By People, not necessarily Lead them. she wanted her clan to be safe: to be better than they were yesterday. she wants her inquisition to be safe and for them to be better than they were yesterday. she wants to make her community BETTER - ideally through knowledge and progressive movements. her favorite part of the inquisition was all the exploring and truth seeking she got to do - she's a little adventurer at heart and she values TRUTH over anything else: its the total foundation of her character imo :3 so being able to go to incredible places and learn amazing things and sketch/record everything in her journals meant everything with her. everything.

she spent a lot of nights with solas daydreaming about that kind of life and how she wanted to share it with him: she repeatedly said she was excited for the day she could finally stop being the inquisitor and instead focus on traveling with him and exploring the real world and the fade, together. bc thats another key thing. maybe more than anything else she wants to feel loved and stable and wanted: she wanted children so so so badly, and to be a better mother to her family than her mother was to her. a lot of her late night conversations with solas went in that direction too, and when she daydreamed about her plans with him - visit every remote corner of thedas, discovered every secret in the world etc etc etc - she also privately hoped they might settle down and have a family together afterwards. LOL <3

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

ashara keeps her hair in a signature bun virtually every single day . for a few reasons ! firstly, she has sensory issues and haaaaaates stray hairs in her face lol. secondly she thinks it makes her look Respectable and she desperately needs that bc she hates not feeling like people take her seriously. but lastly, and the main reason, is because she's a pyromancer, and she HAS set her hair on fire several times. lesson learn; keep ur hair out of the flames lol

ashara's family name is dhavise, and the origin of that name traces back to her ancient elven ancestor and source of her whole unhinged family tree. dhavise was a reaver (ie : guy who drinks dragon blood on the regular. not the qunari reavers introduced in dai lol but the OG nightmare fuel dao reavers who consumed the souls of their enemies and usually went Very insane as a result lmao). it's the source of ashara's family's affinity for fire, and also the reason why so many of them struggle with mental health including her. ironically i think he was actually one of solas' allies and sort-of-friends JKGJKFGJ but i dont think they were superrrr close given dhavise was. out of his damn mind and a liability to solas' entire movement lol. but i think he would've been to solas what harding was to the inquisitor: not part of his inner circle, but adjacent to it <3 dhavise was a lot like ashara in that he was hot headed and stubborn and formed VERY deep/loyal attachments to people, but i think he was a bit more lighthearted and didnt take himself as seriously lol

lastly, theres a fun little banter where iron bull describes how all the companion mages fight aesthetically. for ashara, i think her fighting style appears very overly aggressive and untamed and sort of "feral" on the surface. if you were to watch her fight more closely however you'd notice that her magic is actually *very* disciplined, careful, and self contained. she makes her flames appear wild and unstoppable because, growing up dalish, the main threat was usually animals and scared peasants who didnt know any better. she uses big scary theatrical flames in order to scare off wolves and pitchfork wielding townsfolk. honestly, she'd rather not hurt people with her magic - if she had a choice she would prefer to just punch people the old fashioned way fjgkfjgk

[headstrongblake]

“ let’s go for a walk. sitting here all cooped up will only make it worse. ” / rev & nick (before he leaves when he's recovering) / @thewholecrew

nick's withdrawn lately. sullen and often found in the garage or his office, staring out the window as he berates himself in his head. it's been nearly a week of this where his mood is fickle and those who file in and out of his home are typically met with hostility. he hates it, causing that self-loathing guilt to mount higher because kassy, alec, and octavia... don't deserve it. none of them have done anything wrong, yet he can't stop himself. can't hold his tongue or look at them with anything but his permanent scowl. everything makes him angry, and if he can't lash out without damaging the little progress he's making in his healing, what else is he supposed to do? he can't smoke. hunter's scolded him for drinking. he takes his morphine as directed, but it all clouds his mind in a sickly way where he feels a loss of control. nothing is within his control anymore. nothing.

"what're you doin' here?" nick scoffed from his office chair, glaring as rev entered the space. at least with rev, nick's less worried about hurting their feelings. perhaps a good argument with rev could actually release some of this pent-up rage nick felt unsteadily beneath the surface. "doesn't matter," nick muttered beneath his breath, sipping slowly on the flask he'd hidden in the false bottom of his desk drawer. to hell with hunter and his rules. nick has healed from many fights with whiskey flowing through his veins. the hell did hunter know? "you sittin' or leavin'? kass and alec ain't here right now, so..." nick raised a brow, finally leaving space for rev to speak.

“ let’s go for a walk. sitting here all cooped up will only make it worse. ”

crystal hues rolled with a sharp laugh. as if some walk around the block like a dog kept on a leash was going to make anything fucking better. "you gonna leave me alone if i say no?" he asked, lifting the flask to his lips once more before twisting the cap and tossing it into his drawer. he knows the answer before rev even has to say a word. fuck no rev wouldn't. nick himself had said kassy and alec weren't here, it only made sense that rev was. at least they could withstand nick's sour moods. "fuck it, why not...you can tell the good doc i'm doin' swell without all his goddamn rules." nick muttered. what else did he have to lose?

[blowflyfag]

Inside Wrestling: Volume 25, 2009

Enduring The Sting Of Psychological Warfare: IS SAMOA JOE READY TO CRACK?

Whether he’s in the ring or not, Samoa Joe keeps one eye on the rafters in anticipation of thwarting an attack by Sting. How long can the TNA World champion maintain such vigilance before he snaps?

By Bill Meltzer

Photos By Lee South/TNA Wrestling

TNA WORLD CHAMPION Samoa Joe may not have lost his smile, a la Shawn Michaels, but that’s only because Joe never smiles much, anyway-at least not within the confines of the Impact Zone. He’s always been an intense and often brutal competitor in the ring.

Even when he’s cheered by the fans, Joe enjoys inflicting punishment, and has never been afraid to be on the receiving end of a heavy shot if it means getting in a devastating kick, chop, punch, or slam of his own. Of late, however, there’s been a decided change that has come over the “Samoan Submission Machine,” and it has everything to do with the gold belt around his waist.

For all of his no-nonsense fury in the ring, he’s always been very calculating in his approach to every match-letting up just enough to avoid disqualifications or suspensions. In promos, he usually accomplishes more with his infamous smoldering death stare than others do with a dozen shouted threats. This sense of calm inside of a monster has always made Joe one of the toughest competitors in the sport. 

That’s why it’s been shocking to watch how Joe has seemingly come unglued now that he’s accomplished his goal of establishing himself as the man to beat in TNA. Why would the champion mess with success, unless the pressure is getting to him?

[Always one to favor a stiff style in the ring, Samoa Joe has recently turned up the aggression against opponents such as Christian Cage for no apparent reason. Perhaps Sting’s recent sneak-attacks have taken their toll on Joe’s psyche.

Joe’s recent mauling of Booker T was considered beyond the pale, even by his most ardent fans. At some point, proving his invincibility could prevent Joe from successfully defending his World title.]

Mick Foley, himself a former world champion who is no stranger to brutal brawls, thinks he knows the answer. 

“It’s a whole different ballgame going from hunter to the hunted,” Foley says. “Suddenly, everyone is gunning for you. You’re not sure who to trust. If you get attacked and someone rushes in to help you, is that guy doing it because he wants to be the one to take you out? I haven't talked to Samoa Joe about it, but I'm almost certain he’s going through some of that.”

[While recent signs might suggest Joe is headed for a breakdown, Sting’s attacks have not affected Joe’s wrestling ability. TO fend off the competition, Joe will need to be at his technical best, as he was when he defeated Kurt Angle at Lockdown for the TNA World title.

Confronting Sting one-on-one in the ring would go a long way in settling Samoa Joe’s nerves. But as long as “The Stinger” evades Joe’s grasp, the champion will remain on edge.

Motivated by a title defense, revenge, and Sting’s antics, Joe used every weapon at his disposal to unleash his frustration on Booker T in their “Six Sides Of Steel” match at Hard Justice. This time, though, Joe’s brutality was legal and necessary.]

Foley may be onto something. TNA’s crop of challengers is the deepest it has been in federation history. It includes a host of former TNA, NWA, WCW, and WWE champions with varying reputations for treachery and violence. 

But, it’s not just the fact that Joe is champion that seems to be bringing him out of his usually collected self. In the recent months, Joe has been brought down in various matches by the dark and brooding Sting. Now that Sting is back in the picture, his mental warfare seems to be working. 

The strain is showing, as Joe has slowly begun to lose control of his emotions. In the ring, his style is showing an increasing amount of recklessness-even desperation. In his promos, the veins on his neck bulge as he rants at his enemies.

“Despite his unusual agility for such a big guy, Joe’s always been more Stan Hansen than Big Van Vader in his approach,” says Foley. “Hansen could intimidate the hell out of you because he was so methodical and relentless. Vader was a guy who could get reckless and throw any sort of game plan out the window. 

“But Joe seems to be leaning more toward the Vader side of wrestling. These mind games Sting has been playing with him seem to be working on him pretty well. It’s hard enough being champion without someone always turning the lights out and beating you with a baseball bat.”

TNA Management Director Jim Cornette also sees a similarity between Joe’s current in-ring behavior and Vader’s lunacy during his three tenures atop WCW. He even says the strain of being champion could be affecting Joe away from the ring. 

“The other day, I asked Joe, ‘What time is it?’ He slapped his chest beet red and screamed, “It’s Samoa time!’

“Joe is normally a real laid-back, funny guy when he’s away from the ring. He’s not usually uptight at all. Lately, he’s been very serious and subdued away from the ring. I told him to relax and have fun being champion. He’s worked hard to get where he’s at.”

[As TNA commentator Jeremy Borash knows, Joe can be as intense an interview as he is a wrestler. Borash and other TNA personnel have noticed the increased tension in Samoa Joe’s demeanor recently.]

For his part, Joe doesn’t seem to understand why there’s so much consternation about him taking an even more aggressive approach in the ring. He also denies that the pressure is getting to him. Instead, he points the finger at the tactics of his opposition. 

“I call it being proactive,” Joe says. “I understand that there’s a target on my back now, but I'm not the least bit worried about it. I’m sending a message to make it clear to everyone in TNA that the World championship is my property. I don’t take kindly to people trying to beat me up and take my property. Call me crazy.”

Despite his protests to the contrary, as the number of challengers has mounted and unlikely alliances have formed to take Joe out, the champion’s actions have seemed increasingly reactive. Joe appears to be looking over his shoulder constantly, waiting for someone to jump him from behind.

[Properly channeled aggression has allowed Joe to rise above other dangerous men in TNA like Scott Steiner. But the uncontrolled rage he’s exhibiting now could destroy his title reign and his career. Joe must find a way to keep his emotions in check.]

This shows just how Sting’s initial attacks have opened up the eyes to the rest of TNA’s roster. They now see that the champ can be flustered, even bothered, by guerilla attacks.

Even when there is no sneak attack, the thought infuriates him and leads him to become violent to the point of being out of control. When there is an attack, Joe practically froths at the mouth trying to fight off his assailants. He spends a lot of time thinking about revenge against the likes of Booker T and Sting.

No one can say Samoa Joe isn’t a fighting champion. But at the rate he’s going at, he’s in danger of becoming an ex-champion sooner than he should.