#Counterclockwise Au

[underfiends]

Yes, Your Majesty

Killing Time short story numero 3. DMed by me, played by @hannrenn and @peppermintpinklemonade. Features royal corruption, betrayal, and a semi-public execution. Enjoy!

“Can I get a ‘Yes, your Majesty’?” There is a sultry lilt to the voice, and yet there is no amusement glinting in those eyes.

There is a knight kneeling at the base of blue carpeted steps. He shakes so violently that his steel armour clatters together, informing all who watch the man’s fear. A terrified visage attempts to plead. Cold indifference gazes back atop a throne of stone and silver. There will be no mercy here.

“Y-Yes, your Maje-jes-es-”

“I bore of your gibbering. You have broken oath. What say you of this claim?” The King rests his cheek upon his closed fist, smiling gently as he waits for the knight to gather his thoughts.

“I swear! I have been loyal. Never would I betray my kingdom.” The knight bows his head, dark hair falling about his face. He grips his grounded helm tightly in gauntleted fists, fighting the urge to close his eyes. A threat is much more terrifying when it cannot be seen.

“This is your truth?” When he is given a nod, the King beckons someone forward from behind his throne. “I see. Would you be so kind as to tell my informant that he is lying, then?”

The knight freezes. It is as though his lungs have barred themselves, preventing any air from entering. His blood turns to ice, paling his face so fully he goes from prussian to azure. The image before him swims. Perhaps the arrival has conjured water in the throne room? No, the King would never allow that, and the Wizard would not dare upset the King.

No one dares upset the King.

He sucks in a lungful of air so suddenly his fingers begin to tingle. Is this another spell? He is sure that the Wizard is privy to magic he has never heard of. A kind of suffocation spell, perhaps.

The King turns to his companion, eyes going soft and fingers coming out to brush against soft albrecht blue robes. The Wizard grins, a corner of his mouth curling into a smirk a moment later. His hand is placed upon the King’s shoulder as he leans forward and presses a kiss to his brow.

“Suilad, muindor.” The Wizard casts a glance to the kneeling knight, disdain exuding from him in waves. “Why is this traitor still breathing?”

“Why mellon, you cannot expect me to execute him without a trial. That would be unbecoming of me. I am quite partial to fairness. So,” His eyes snap to the guard, who flinches under his scrutiny. “It is only fair that my informant give his side of the story.

The Wizard straightens, his hands clasping together behind his back. Bare feet glide across carpeted steps until he stands before the accused. Eyes harder than steel, a fury so deep it could reach across the world; this man would sooner kill the knight himself than allow him to so much as stand.

“While performing a routine scrying check, I intercepted a transmission from another orb. Being me,” He pressed a hand to his chest, grinning smugly at the King, “I cast a simple enchantment to allow me to see through the orb without revealing myself. What I saw shocked me greatly. For there stood our very own knight, one who stands before the chambers of my King. There he stood, speaking to our enemy. There he stood.”

A sharp clang makes the knight jump and spin around.

Or, he would have, could he move. His limbs were weighted down by unseen shackles. Not so much as his head could move. He was forced to stare up at the Wizard in horror, unable to look at his approaching demise. For all know what happens to traitors.

The King crosses his legs and pouts. “You are taking too long. My Paladin, show our audience what will happen to them should they follow in this knight’s footsteps.”

There is a grunt. Right behind the knight. The scrape of steel against stone; the straining of leather as arms raise. A whistle in the air.

A head rolls to a stop by the Wizard’s feet. He looks back at his King, a silent question passing between them. The King waves a hand, and so he crouches down to pluck a strand of hair from the dead knight’s head. He slips the silver knife from the knight’s sheath. After a brief inspection of the blade, he brings it down viciously on the knight’s jaw. There is a sickening pop as the bone is popped out. Blood squelches over the skin as it is cut. The wizard drops the now bloodied knife and rises with his prize in hand.

A chuckle has him turning to grin up at his Paladin. “Come virdulq, we must accompany our King to tea. I do believe the Princess is waiting.” He looks down at the mess in the Wizard’s hands. “You may not bring your jaw to tea.”

The Wizard groans, throwing his head back even as he turns and follows his King and Paladin to the doors.

“But vyir, I worked so hard for this! I must show the Princess. It was her idea, after all. Now I can…” His voice trails off, too far now for the knights and servants to hear.

They stare in abject horror at the corpse. Blood soaks the carpet, turning it black. Red spatters steel armour, creating a grotesque portrait for them to view as long as they wish. Though they do not doubt that if the King were to return to a bloodied throne room, his right and left hands would have many more subjects to kill. The Wizard would have more jaws to add to his collection.

Even with this threat hanging over them, they cannot move. They can only stare, only watch as the blood stops flowing from the knight's served neck. They can only look in morbid curiosity at the steel helmet that had been placed at the knight’s feet when he had first knelt before the throne.

It is perfectly clean.

[chiropteracupola]

some napoleonic men + dragons

[dramaticals]

following instructions

pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader

summary: enemies with benefits with theo where they're constantly insulting each other but they still can't get enough. smut. au where characters at hogwarts are aged up to be 19+. mdni. / requested by anonymous.

author's note: co-wrote this with lily (@softeliza) <3 we honestly wrote this as a theo x hermione, but swapped hermione for reader

✧ read part two: following instructions (headcanons) ✧

Theo's judging eyes watch as you dice the sopophorous bean before tossing it into your cauldron, your gaze shifting between your opened textbook and your cauldron. A bead of sweat drips from your forehead. You were meticulously following the directions, and yet something still didn't seem right about your potion.

Theo scoffs, shaking his head. What an idiot, he thinks.

"You're supposed to crush it." Theo says, demonstrating pointedly with a silver dagger and popping the squashed bean into his own cauldron. The cauldron bubbles, and the liquid shifts a shade darker.

"You're supposed to follow the instructions, which clearly say to cut it," you say through gritted teeth.

Potions was the one class Theo never followed the directions for, and yet he always seemed to be doing significantly better than you. You hated that.

"You know," you add with a huff, annoyance laced in your words. "Just because you don't respect the rules any other time doesn't mean you shouldn't follow a simple recipe."

There was something about pissing you off that gave Theo the right amount of joy to get him through the day. Hearing you huff at his words was like finding a jelly slug in a mountain of acid pops. It was glorious.

"Do you believe everything you read?" Theo asks mockingly, his eyes unmoving from the cauldron in front of him. He doesn't know why he was helping you—this was meant to be a competition for the coveted felix felicis. Maybe it was because Theo knew you weren't going to listen to him anyway. "Besides, I respect the rules." Theo says, but even he can't keep a straight face at his claim, his lips tugging into a smirk.

"I believe everything I read in a textbook," you say, your eyes narrowing and your mouth falling open in shock. Was he serious? "You know, that book of words that literally outlines how to make the potion? How else would you know how to brew it?" You hope he doesn't notice the genuine curiosity in your question. You actually wanted to know how Theo knew what to do all the time. It was so infuriating.

"Natural intelligence and charm." Theo says coolly.

In actuality, Theo had managed to find a textbook filled with inscriptions, correcting the printed text with tips and tricks on how to brew a potion every time. But he wasn't going to tell you that. Theo would gladly and happily let you believe he was gifted.

Theo peeks at your cauldron and has to hold a snort back. It looked just about ready to implode.

"This is a simple recipe, huh?" Theo muses. "Is that why your potion looks and smells like absolute shit?"

"Maybe I just thought I'd throw you a scrap with this one. I mean, we both know you're in desperate need of some luck, especially on the Quidditch pitch. If anyone needs this win, it's you."

"Oh, so you watch me on the pitch, do you?" Theo says with a smug grin.

You roll your eyes. Curse him.

Theo stirs counterclockwise a few times and then once again clockwise. The potion bubbles again. This time, it shifts into its final colour form. Bingo.

Theo, with an expression beaming with pride, calls over Professor Slughorn to inspect the potion. You zero in on Theo's cauldron and let out a small sigh. You didn't need confirmation from Slughorn to know that Theo did it. That bloody asshole did it.

Slughorn tosses a single leaf into the cauldron. The leaf disintegrates, and Slughorn clasps his hands together and announces, "We have a winner! Class dismissed!"

As Theo receives congratulations from all around, you begin to tidy your workspace, empty your cauldron, and pack your things. Anger boils in your stomach. As much as you tried to avert your gaze from Theo, your eyes are drawn to the tiny vile Slughorn passes to Theo. With a triumphant smirk thrown your way, he tucks the potion into his pocket before cleaning his workspace.

"Try to use it for something other than trying to sleep with girls," you quip, clutching your books to your chest. The confident, holier-than-thou persona slips over you like a glove. It was a default shield whenever you felt threatened, especially academically. And Theo was often on the receiving end of it all. "I mean, I'm sure you could use some luck in that department, but I doubt that's what Zygmunt Budge had in mind."

"I'm doing quite well in that department, actually." Theo says. With looks and an attitude like his, girls were flocking to him like nifflers to gold. "Much like potions, really. They all just come to me."

Theo awaits your signature glare and snarky remark, but he was simply met with a silent shove to his shoulder as you headed to the door. His brows furrow, disappointed in the lack of repartee, before Theo's walking after you. He falls into step with you, following you through the dimly lit corridors of the dungeon.

"What's the rush, little lion? Can't stomach losing?"

"I'm not in a rush; I just don't want to be around you. Don't you have some dingy hole to crawl back into?" You fume, your grip on your textbooks tightens, and your pace quickens.

"You wound me." Theo simpers, clutching his chest in mock-hurt.

Being in Theo's presence was getting you more and more riled up. You felt like you were minutes away from becoming a human version of a Filibuster Firework. Theo loved when you got like this. He can't quite pinpoint the exact moment he realized why he liked seeing you so worked up, but he's quickly reminded by the staggered breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

Theo continues to stroll alongside you, an air of arrogance in each step he takes. You quickly realize you have no idea where you're headed. The echoing of both your steps, coupled with the hovering nuisance on your side, makes you let out a sharp, frustrated exhale. You turn to Theo, glaring daggers into his stormy eyes.

"Can you just go? You're so—ugh." You growl, unable to find the proper words.

Theo's brows perk upward. There's something familiar about the expression you give him. He'd seen it before. Last time he'd seen it, the two of you ended up christening the boy's change room after a Quidditch match—Slytherin should beat Gryffindor more often.

Before you can articulate your frustrations, Theo grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into a vacant classroom. The feeling of his fingers around your wrist sends a jolt of warmth straight through your body. Theo pins you against the door, your books falling to the floor with a sharp thud. He skillfully locks the door with a slight flick of his wand before muttering the muffliato charm and putting his wand away. Darkened eyes meet your gaze, a mixture of amusement and want in his eyes.

"I'm so what?" Theo demands. His hand caresses your cheek before roughly wrapping around the base of your throat. "Use your words."

Your mind goes hazy, as if you've been confunded, the moment you feel his hand on your throat. You'd never admit how much you loved when Theo did that.

With a shaky breath, you meet his intense gaze to say, "Infuriating."

The way you reacted to Theo's touch was unlike any other girl he had the pleasure of fucking at Hogwarts. You were just so obvious, and Theo had no shame in admitting that he found it all extremely arousing. Of course, your mouth would claim otherwise, but Theo always had a plan to occupy your pretty little mouth.

You bite down on your lip, stifling the whimper begging to escape. Your breathing is in sync with each other, and the sexual tension makes the air around you thick.

"Are you going to fix it? Or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?" You tempt, leaning up slightly, just to see if he'll close the gap between your lips and his.

"I don't know," Theo responds, keeping a fair distance—only enough for your lips to brush lightly against his. To keep you wanting. Theo leans into your neck, ghosting breathy, teasing kisses up until he's milimeters away from your ear. "Are you going to say please?"

"You've got to be kidding," you huff, shooting a glare at Theo as you try to keep your breathing steady.

You weren't exactly experienced, at least not like Theo. You had a few moments with others, but no one had ever gotten you to feel as good as Theo did. It enraged you that Theo knew how good he made you feel, but you also took pleasure in knowing that you must be riling him up just as equally because Theo always seemed to come crawling back.

You bring your free hand up, tangling your fingers in his lush, brown locks, before tugging his head back a bit so he could look at you. He groans at this. It was one of many acts that really got Theo going, and it just so happened to be where your hands gravitated to the most.

"Please," you say, the tiniest of smirks on your lips.

Anticipation runs through your veins. You didn't need to say anything else. By the way he was looking at you, his lustful eyes boring into your gaze, Theo knew you needed him right now.

"Good girl," he muses with a cocky grin.

The first time Theo had praised you like that, while laced with ridicule, it had elicited a whimper that had him reeling. Today was no different.

Theo moves his hand from your throat and down to your waist, expertly pulling you away from the door and onto the desks behind him. Theo wastes no time and captures your lips with his. One hand finds your thigh, teasing up your bare skin and under your skirt. Your hands find and tug at his belt. Theo unbuckles it and tosses it aside.

"Let's see if you can keep it up." Theo says hotly against your lips.

It was in your nature to be good. But with Theo, there was that bubbling voice inside you that beckoned you to misbehave—to get under his skin. To be bad, all so he could teach you a lesson. Which is why, as Theo plants nippy, wet kisses down your neck, you can't help the words that blurt out of your mouth.

"Let's see if you can make me shake, like—what was that bloke's name..." You trail off, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt for another kiss and wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close.

There was no other guy, of course, but you wanted him to think otherwise. The mischievous glint in your eyes changes to amusement as Theo's eyes darken. His fingers drag possessively across the insides of your thighs. It was hard for Theo to imagine you with someone else. You two weren't exclusive by any means, but the way you'd whimper and dig your nails into his back had him feeling territorial.

"Shake?" Theo asks against your lips. There was a tinge of something in his tone, and, deep down, you wanted it to be jealousy. "I'll fucking make you shake."

Feverish kisses move down your neck, eliciting a whine out of you, his free hands taking residence on the base of your throat. He plants open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive spots along your neck, sucking softly on the skin, surely leaving a mark everyone would be able to see. Theo pulls back to admire his work. He's pleased. You, on the other hand, were equal parts excited and annoyed. Excited because the sensation made the blood rush to your cheeks and to your core, and annoyed because you had to explain the markings to your friends.

"Theo," you hiss. "You know better."

Theo doesn't listen, obviously. Instead, he moves down your body until he's crouched and face-to-cunt. Slender fingers reach under your skirt, hook onto your panties, and slide the garment off. In an instant, Theo's between your legs, lapping his tongue relentlessly over your clit.

"Oh my god," you gasp, one hand grasping onto the edge of the desk, your back arching instinctively to bring yourself closer to his tongue. Your free hand finds his hair again, your hips rolling to meet his movements.

Theo's smirks into your core, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels you roll onto his mouth. Strong hands position themselves on either leg, urging you to spread your legs wider. You try to obey his silent requests, but it's not enough. Impatience hits him hard, and he's repositioning your legs so they're slung over his shoulders, a firm hand pushing your hips down onto the wooden desk. The new position allowed him to be flush against you, his tongue circling your entrance and lapping up any arousal.

"Theo," you moan, louder than normal.

You could tell he was pissed. It'd always been your goal, especially in intimate settings, but Theo had never been like this. He buries his face between your legs, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue works on your opening. He dips a finger in and withdraws it out of you slowly, contrasting his unyielding tongue. Your eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

"More," you choke out. "Please, give me more."

Your moans were fueling the already raging fire in him. Fuck, he needed to hear more of that. Theo uses his free hand to hold you steady, his tongue and lips unrelenting. He adds another digit inside of you, curling his fingers against your spot. Theo wanted to make you cum now more than ever. He wanted you to remember that even if you were fucking someone else, he was the only one who could make you unravel like this.

"Sit fucking still then," he growled against your slit, stormy eyes shooting up to look at you.

You fight hard to listen to him, desperately trying not to squirm. Theo was cruel enough to stop and leave you high and dry, so it was in your best interest to do as instructed. You dig your nails into the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep your focus on something other than the pleasure growing inside of you.

"Th-Theo," you gasp. "I—"

You're close, and you know what Theo wants—what he always wants. Theo wanted you to ask for permission, and with the image of someone else messing with you fresh in his mind, Theo needed to know he had that control over you now more than ever. Breathy pants fill the room, and you fear you can't hold it back any longer.

"Fuck, please. Can I please..." You moan, throwing your head back against the desk.

"Please what?" Theo says roughly against you. If Theo's cock wasn't already erect, it would be now. Your moans and gasps of pleasure were truly something that needed to be studied. Who knew these delightfully ragged breaths could come out of someone so irritatingly uptight? "Words, Y/L/N."

The fog of pleasure Theo has you in has made it impossible for you to do the one thing you pride yourself on: following the instructions. Typically, Theo would remove himself and make you beg for contact. Today, though, his actions were ceaseless. Despite your strong will to be good, your body wouldn't cooperate.

"Oh my god," you whimper, your back arching as an intense orgasm washes over you. Your body jerks—no, shakes—and your moans are broken up by desperate gasps as wave after wave hits you.

Theo curses under his breath. As pissed as he was that you didn't ask, Theo graciously allows you to release on his tongue, lapping up your sweet fluids. He'd reprimand you later. As you come down from your high, your body collapses onto the desk. You've never felt anything like that before.

Theo stands and slides his fingers out of you slowly. His darkened, lustful eyes are trained on yours. As much as he enjoyed the view, Theo wasn't happy.

"Don't," you breathe. "I know—I should have... I know."

"So much for following instructions," Theo says, disregarding your words. He licks your arousal off his fingers casually, and the sight makes you shift and clench your thighs together. He was the hottest irritant you've ever seen.

"Fuck off," you say with an exasperated huff. You prop yourself up by your elbows, slowly moving into a sitting position. "You didn't exactly help the situation."

So maybe Theo was being a bit of a prick. Not like he could help it—you squirming and moaning for him like that triggered something primal in him. Theo didn't want to stop; he wanted to make you scream for him. Still, it really shouldn't have been hard to ask.

By the way Theo was looking at you, you could tell it would take more than a crass brush-off to wipe the icy glare and pouted lips from his expression. Delicate fingers grip onto Theo's shirt, tugging him closer to you. You ghost your lips against his, meeting his steely gaze. "Will you let me make it up to you?"

You don't wait for a response. Instead, you nip at his bottom lip before pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss. Despite his annoyance, Theo kisses back, placing a strong hand behind your neck to keep you in place. The kiss is full of passion, anger, and need.

You maneuver yourself off the desk, unbreaking the hot kiss, as you reposition so that Theo's the one against the desk. He acknowledges you taking charge, and he allows it because, quite frankly, whenever you did take charge, Theo found it extremely intoxicating.

Only now do you break the kiss, peering up at Theo as your hands fumble with his pants. He kicks them off just as you remove your own top, making a point of leaving your bra intact. Theo's breath catches. God, he wanted to bury his face between the valley of your breasts.

"So?" You ask again, a devilish smirk on your lips, your fingers making progress on unbuttoning his collared shirt. "Will you?"

"Go on, then." Theo says. It's not lost on him how much leniency he gives you—not just in this moment. Any other girl who disobeyed his instructions would have been tossed aside so he could move on to the next. But with you, as vexing as you were, you also very much intrigued him.

At his permission, you lightly push him back so he's sitting on the desk, giving him a much comfortable position to watch as you slowly unhook your bra, letting the garment fall to the floor. You can sense his probing eyes on you, and you can't help the sly smile that appears as you straddle him, one leg on each side of him.

Theo's hands find your waist immediately, slowly sliding up your sides, to your bare back, and then to your front. He squeezes your breasts, eliciting a breathy moan from you. Your skin was soft under his rough hands.

"And I thought you were going to let that ego of yours make a horrible choice for the both of us." You tease.

Theo's too enamoured with this new position (and view) to respond to your jests. One hand rests firmly on your jaw as he pulls you in for a kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. Meanwhile, your hand moves to stroke his length, feeling Theo grow even harder at your touch.

"Shit," Theo groans.

"Someone's missed me," you whisper against his lips. Your thumb teases the tip of his cock, evoking a slight twitch out of him.

"God, shut up."

Theo wanted nothing more than to wipe—no, fuck—that smug expression on your face. And he's just about ready to take matters into his own hands, but you beat him to it.

Still wet from your previous orgasm, you were beyond ready to have Theo inside you. You lift yourself up slightly, guiding him to your entrance. He bites back a groan, his hands gripping your waist. You lock gazes as you slowly lower yourself onto him, your mouth falling open in a glorious 'o' shape as you take all of him into you.

While this wasn't the first time you had Theodore Nott resting deeply in your cunt, you took a moment to adjust.

"Are you going to move, or what?" Theo growls impatiently, bucking his hips and roughly nipping at the soft skin on your neck.

His impatience makes you smirk.

"Hey," you say, with a wry smile. You snake your fingers up to his hair, tugging his head back slightly to give you room to trail a path of kisses along his neck. You were going to prolong this and make you both ache for more. You didn't want to be the only one who was a moaning mess today. "If I'm making it up to you, then it's my rules."

"You know I don't give a shit about rules."

"Too bad."

This makes Theo's jaw clench. Before he can utter another quip, you're rolling your hips, feeling him embedded inside you. The movement feels good, but you know it's not enough for either of you just yet.

"God, I'm thankful your ego isn't the only thing that's big," you moan against his ear.

This makes Theo's jaw clench. You hear a string of curse words in another language, something you've noticed Theo does in moments where his brain had short-circuited. Enough sense, it seems, is knocked back into him as you can understand the breathless words, "And you take me so fucking well."

Theo's lips find the top of your chest, kissing down feverishly. His tongue flicks expertly against your right nipple as his hand moves to grip your bare ass from under your skirt. You arch into him, letting out a sharp gasp at the dual sensation. Despite his sentiment about rules, Theo lets you control the pace. He holds back the strong desire to thrust upwards into you, to fuck you hard.

"Oh, Theo," you whine as you continue to roll your hips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and lift yourself up, almost completely off his dick. Ghosting your lips against his, you push yourself back down—hard—feeling him go even deeper. You repeat these movements, your moans growing louder.

Theo can't stop the thoughts of how gorgeous you looked from clouding his mind. You weren't bad to look at normally, but seeing you fuck yourself with his cock had to be one of the wonders of the world. Only if that were a reality, Theo's not sure he could stand anyone else ogling you like this.

"Yes, that... that feels good." Theo groans, his cock throbbing from your movements.

You press your forehead against his, your eyes locking with his as you continue. One of the things Theo liked most about this little arrangement was your unnerving ability to keep eye contact—there was nothing more sexy than seeing the woman you were pleasuring crumble. Eyes can tell you everything.

"I'm trying to—" you breathe, rocking yourself against him. The movement wasn't nearly fast enough, but the way you were moving had him reaching depths you didn't know were attainable. "—to be good."

"Are you?" Theo asks between pants, squeezing your ass roughly. He leans into your lips. "Can you be a good girl for me now?"

You give him a small nod, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Your breath is quavering as you try to speak; your eyes re-lock onto his. "Am I not being good for you?"

This makes him chuckle darkly. Theo wasn't an idiot. He knew you practically yearned for his words of praise. The knowledge was something he took advantage of from time to time, withholding and dangling his praise in front of you just to see how far you'd go to make him say it.

To prove to Theo you were being good, you push yourself down onto him roughly, a whimper escaping your lips. You increase your speed, unable to hold out anymore, fucking yourself hard, deep, and fast on his cock.

"Fuck." Theo swears, and he can't help himself now. Hands keep you in place as he fucks up into you, cock hitting your spot repeatedly and mercilessly. He relishes the feeling of your wet core around him. Your clit presses against his pelvis at each thrust.

You took pleasure (literally and figuratively) in Theo's natural ability in knowing. He knew what to say, how to touch you so you were melting, and when to take back control. His hands digging into your hips told you everything you needed to know: Theo was going to fuck you senseless.

"I want to be good," you pant, your nails digging into his back, grasping for a release.

"Then you know what I want to hear."

He holds you flush against him, arms wrapping around you as he continues to thrust. He can feel his own pleasure grow. Your head falls onto his shoulder as you feel it building up in your stomach again. This time, you weren't going to wait until it was too late.

"Theo, please," you practically beg. Theo was the only person who'd ever make you feel like this, and you were past the point of caring whether he knew it too. "Can I cum, please? For you."

"Yes," Theo hisses. He was close too. "Cum for me. Now."

Your orgasm hits you hard and fast, your head falling back as you drag your nails into his skin. Theo continues to thrust up sharply, chasing the high for the both of you. You clench around his length, the sensation mixed with your moans pushing Theo over the edge.

"That's my good girl."

Theo's praise for you was not lost in the chorus of breathy moans and grunts of pleasure. His addition of the word 'my' made you shake even more as another wave of pleasure washes over you.

"Oh, God, yes, Theo."

His hand moves to the back of your neck desperately, guiding you into him for a passionate kiss as he spills into you with a moan.

Ragged breaths fill the room. There was always a moment of limbo after every encounter—a moment where the two of you stayed entangled and nestled with each other, savouring the proximity and stealing last, sweet kisses. You knew the moment you got up, the two of you would go back to despising each other again, until next time.

"So?" Theo asks after a moment, expectant of an answer, as if you could read his mind. "That dumb git you mentioned earlier. Was he better than me?"

His question makes you smirk, and you have to bite it back so as not to show how content you were that he had lingered on that thought.

"You don't want me to answer that," you say, giving him a small pat on the shoulder before getting up. You slip back into your clothes and adjust your hair.

The answer should have been obvious to Theo, but you weren't giving him the satisfaction of admitting it because it did nothing for your reality. This was as far as this would go. Theodore Nott was a pretentious asshole who just so happened to be a good fuck. There was never going to be more than that.

"You definitely exceeded expectations today, Theo," you say, gathering your books from the floor. "But you didn't do anything worth an outstanding."

With a swift flick of your wand, you unlock the door and leave Theo in the vacant classroom, already fantasizing about next time.

[slowlysoluminary]

"do you got the goods" yeah i gott. the go ods.

au title is. drumroll please [drumroll]

to reset a kingpin

yay!!!!!!!! this feels so boring but !!! but. i wanted the words in the title so i got it

artist's notes under cut

the font is amador, for anyone who needed the isat title font family....

my grear t friend over at lives worth living suggested a different name but im keeping that title for the writing piece im doing

To Reset a Kingpin follows the naming scheme from In Stars and Time; i wanted "reset" in the title so i could keep calling it reset au for short, then realized i should include something about the King. So I put in Kingpin, which in fact does not refer to the king and refers to siffrin instead, but it has king in it so let me live

a Kingpin is someone important to an event or organization, like how a keystone organism is important in an ecosystem. so resetting the kingpin is king resetting siffrin and using him to win instead.... ykyk

the little fade in the background is meant to be like a star belt from the universe. if you haven't seen me draw the starbelt you definitely will later, it's going to be in anything that tries to depict the night sky

there are clock hands behind it, too! not set to any specific time i just thought it would be cool. the reset arrow is meant to mimic the outer rim of a clockface while also being it's own separate thing. the arrow's going counterclockwise for obvious reasons

the stars. are filler. you could read into them if you wanted to? big star king little star siffrin or something? but there's no symbolism here i just needed something to put in that corner

also WHY IS MIMICKING THE ISAT LOGO SO HARD??? for NO reason !!! it was so difficult trying to figure out what i wanted to put in the little details outside of the text box........ myfkfm

[pinksturniolo]

Amor e Outras Drogas (AU)

A blurb about Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader from Robbers (AU)

Summary: You and your boyfriend Chris are bored one night and take an edible together. One thing leads to another and well... you know.

Content warnings: smut, high sex, oral, sub!chris, blindfolding, teasing, ice kink (??) not sure how to word that one lol

is this before or after the events of robbers, did they get out alive? who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️

disclaimer!!: i am not fluent in portuguese, so pls lmk if anything is incorrect. <3 chris is full portuguese in robbers.

i wanted to put art deco by lana but it wouldn’t let me add it 🙄

“Baby…”

“Yeah?”

“What exactly was in those edibles?”

Chris smirks, looking at your nearly closed eyes.

“It’s the same ones we took last time Ma.”

“But it feels… different.”

A good kind of different. You watch the ceiling fan as it spins in counterclockwise circles, your head leaned against the mattress from your seated position of the bedroom carpet floor. Chris lays on top of it, his head near yours, long hair tickling the side of your face. You feel like you’re sitting on a cloud and your body is tingling, vibrations of the room coursing through you. Everything feels ultra-sensitive and your breathing is calm, your mind relaxed.

“You okay though?” He asks and you turn towards him, nodding your head. “Yeah… just really high.”

He chuckles, stroking the top of your head. “Come lay up here with me.”

You follow his instructions, climbing on top of the bed where he is and laying next to him. He pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while your head rests on chest. You lay together for a minute, listening to each other’s heart beats.

Your hand lazily strokes his upper body, running from his chest down to his stomach, your fingers brushing the band of his boxers that peek out from his sweatpants.

It’s not exactly your intention to turn him on, although the fibers of your being radiate sexual energy, something he picks up on extremely easily.

Especially when you two are in this particular state.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tent in his pants and once you notice it, you smile cheekily, your hand automatically palming his hardness.

He groans and looks down at you touching him, his hand tightening on your shoulder.

“That must be a new record, Chris.” You say, referring to the fact that it took him all of 30 seconds to get hard from your touch on his body.

He closes his eyes, his hand moving to the back of your neck now, fingertips massaging into the roots of your hair.

“Você sabe o que você faz comigo.” He murmurs, giving you butterflies. You know what you do to me.

You loved when he spoke in his first language, it made your heart squeeze in your chest and your panties flood with arousal.

You continue to rub him through his sweatpants, your teeth digging into your bottom lip from the feeling of him growing harder and harder in your hand. You dip your hand into his pants, now touching him over his boxers.

He groans again, this time grabbing your wrist and stopping your movements. You start to whine when he moves on top of you, his head hovering over the lower half of your body, pulling your pajama short down your legs.

“Not wearing any panties, pretty girl?” He says, his eyes taking in the sight of your bareness that he’s revealed. He licks his lips, looking into your glossy eyes before pressing a kiss to your navel.

“Chris…” You protest. You wanted him in your mouth badly, to help with his problem.

“Shhh, I wanna take care of my girl first.” He responds, his hands rubbing your thighs and spreading them open softly. He doesn’t tease you too much, ready to please you simply because he wants to.

He places more soft kisses to your wetness, kitten licking through your folds. You moan out, your hands on his head and tugging the strands of his hair.

He keeps one hand wrapped around your thigh, holding you open for him, and his other hand reaches up to squeeze your breast and flick his thumb across your nipple.

This has you leaking into his mouth, your breathing shallow as he caresses your walls with his tongue, pushing it as deep into you as it can go, his nose bumping your clit.

The feeling of pleasure is heightened, the sounds of him eating you out echoing through the room as you feel yourself close already.

“You’re so beautiful amor… always so wet for me.” He rasps, his tongue now circling your clit as he pushes two fingers inside you with ease.

“Fuck, baby…” You moan and you throw your head against the mattress, clenching around his fingers. He moans with you as you drip down his hands the longer he thrusts in and out of you.

He attaches his lips around your clit again, sucking. He knows you’re close by the way you’re pulling on his hair and moaning his name. “Cum for me, mama. Eu preciso disso, por favor.” I need it, please.

Within seconds, you’re cumming around his fingers, your legs shaking around his head. He helps you ride it out, smothering your thighs with warm kisses.

Once you’ve settled down, he removes your shirt along with his and takes his sweatpants off, climbing on top of you again so he can bury himself inside you the way he’s been craving to since you started touching him earlier.

But you stop him, pressing a hand to his chest and flipping him around so now he’s laid on his back and you straddle him. You shake your head, making a sound of disapproval. “You’re gonna let me take the lead this time, baby. Understand?” And he hesitates for a split second before nodding his head in agreement, placing his hands on your hips.

“Use your words, Chris.” You say, unsatisfied with just a nod. You want him to know you’re in control right now.

“Yes, amor. I understand.”

Chris was usually dominant in the bedroom as well as in the relationship, which you absolutely loved. But there were times when he would let you take over, and you enjoyed it more than anything. It was so hot.

“Good boy.” You smirk and a devilish idea sneaks its way into your mind as you look at the yellow bandana on his head.

You yank it down so that it covers his eyes, turning it into a makeshift blind fold.

“Baby- “he starts, his hands tightening on your waist.

“Its okay, you trust me, right?” You ask, rubbing his shoulders soothingly.

“Yes, mama.” His lips part, his breathing picking up as your run your hands down his chest.

“Be right back. Don’t move.” You say and run off to get what you need.

You return shortly, an ice cube in your hand from the freezer.

As you sit back on him, you make sure the bandana is still secure around his eyes before you place the cube on his chest and drag it very slowly down his abs.

He hisses as soon as he feels the sharp coldness, his abdomen flexing and jaw falling open.

“Fuck, what is that?” He pants, his fingertips digging into your skin harshly.

He’s hard as a rock in his boxers, your naked body still straddling him. You grind on him subtly, the view of his lips parted in pleasure and the veins in his arms popping out getting you wet again.

You don’t answer his question, trailing the ice cube further down, stopping right above his boxers. It’s already melting from his hot skin, leaving droplets of water that roll down his hips.

You move it upwards again, this time circling it over one of his nipples lightly and then across his neck. He groans and bucks his hips up into you, the cube now gone and you lean down to lap up the water that’s pooled there, sucking and biting your marks onto his neck.

“Please, amor. Não me provoque…” He moans, his hips bucking uncontrollably. Don’t tease me.

You sit up and wrap a hand around his throat lightly. “I think you should shut your mouth until I ask you to speak.” You demand.

You roll your hips down onto him and he shuts his mouth like you asked, gritting his teeth.

You smile smugly to yourself and pull his boxers down, freeing his hard length. A pool of saliva drips from your mouth as you spit on the tip, letting it fall down to the base. He pants and bites his lip in anticipation before you finally sink yourself down onto him, the familiar stretch making you both moan out.

“God, Chris.. always feel so fucking good.” You say, your hands on his chest for support as you start to bounce on him. He’s gripping your hips with so much force, you’re sure there will be bruises in the morning. Whimpers escape his throat, his head against the pillows.

You know he’s just dying to say what he wants, to praise you for how good it feels. But you don’t give him permission to talk just yet, enjoying the feeling of riding him. This angle is making you see stars, the high from the edible still strong.

Your orgasm is near again, sweat starting to build on your forehead. Chris is a mess beneath you, panting and moaning, and then suddenly his thumb grazes your clit, rubbing circles on you.

“Please, Y/N. Please, let me see you. Eu quero ver seus lindos olhos. Quero observar você quando você vier.” Chris breaks his silence.

I want to see your pretty eyes. I want to watch you when you come.

His voice is so desperate and needy that you give in, ripping the bandana off his face. You make eye contact with his icy blue eyes, sending sparks through you.

He doesn’t look away once as you cum around his cock, his hands gripping your ass as you ride out your high and he finishes soon after, releasing deep inside you.

You collapse on his chest, your head tucked into his neck as he strokes your hair, pressing a breathless kiss to your forehead.

“So good, amor. I love you so much.” He whispers. “Let’s go clean up in the shower.”

a/n: this isn’t the one shot i’m working on, just a blurb i had in my head since i wrote robbers and just had to put out 🩷 they have my heart 🥹

taglist <3: (if you want to be added/taken off, reply to this post or comment on my masterlist. and if you weren't mentioned, it wouldnt let me tag u :/)

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @honestlyjb @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @sturnioloco @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn

[angelsstars]

The battle of the creators : the beginning

Pt1

Summary: The story of two friends who grew apart

Gender neutral characters referring to reader and the other creator

Warning: Curse words in the A/N, other than that none at the moment please let me know if you found any (not p!read)

Word count:453

Characters: Venti, Zhongli, an Ei

SAGAU X CREATOR AU

A/N: this took me long as shit and correct my on things I messed up with (and this was made on notes app my laptop needs a break sorry if the format is weird)

A/N: fixed some things

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Venti: Traveler you would like to know about the battle of the 2 creators I have some time I'll tell you what I remember.

Well the names of them here in Mondstat are Frieden for Our Grace which means peace and Gunther for the second creator which means Battler or Warrior.

The 2 drifted away from each other as time went on. They both kept “order”.

Something significant about them is that they both wore pocket clocks both clocks positioned 12 hours away from each other.

Gunther’s going clockwise and Frieden going counterclockwise.

It was odd it gave this unsettling feeling now that I think about it.

Gunther would practice their mastery in combat frequently.

Frieden would practice every so often they enjoyed spending time with their people.

Zhongli: You would like to know about the battle between the creators… I’m surprised you haven’t heard the full story already.

But I’ll give you some background of the two before we start the story.

There were 2 creators opposites from one another.

Our grace is also known as Wan here in liyue which means Gentle or Huan which means Happiness.

Then theirs our other creator qiáng which means Strength or yǒng which means bravery.

Both tried to keep things in place to an extent. Though they were opposites they both worked together in harmony.

Huan was closer to the people of Tevayt while qiáng kept their distance not wanting to be bothered.

The moments I did see them they often had migraines that they described made them feel like they were upside Down.

Ei: I only know some parts of the story Makoto shared with me as I only witnessed little due to my training I’ll tell you what I know of them and what Makoto shared with me.

The 2 creators had many names but the most popular was Brutus which means Heavy or Dull for the other creator and Mildred which means Gentle Strength for “our grace” two names to describe the Creators.

But the most common name for the 2 is Hikaru for our grace which means Shining or radiant, and Samui for the other creator which means cold.

Unlike Makoto and I, they didn’t rule as one person they ruled as 2 people in “harmony”.

Well, they did to my knowledge for a long time they both did see eye to eye.

Until Samui changed gravely they grew resentful of Hikaru. Hikaru was confused by the change in their relationship soon they grew lonely.

I would describe Hikaru as darkness and Samui as a blinding light, Samui was the light Hikaru needed in their darkness and Hikaru was the darkness to tame Samui’s light until they didn’t want it anymore.

[stormyoceans]

(regency au anon again) thank you so much for the kind and lovely words about what i sent! i was blown away that you liked it! and thanks to everybody who reblogged and commented as well, it was so sweet. i think i will end up posting that au on ao3! i actually wrote some more, so maybe i will wait until i have a semblance of plot before uploading it.

i wrote some of the tanfang backstory and made myself very sad lol. here, let me share my sorrow in a tiny snippet. i don't want you to feel obligated to comment ASAP so i won't keep spamming your inbox, but whatever else i write in this au is all dedicated to your wonderful idea and i hope i can do it justice!! and that i can post it soon.

[It would be so easy to say yes. He ached to say yes. But it was as if that moment in the shop had thrown a revealing light on the past summer of Fang’s friendship with Tan. As if he could finally see what this bond was growing into -- see what his feelings for Tan really were.

You love me, Fang thought, gazing at that beloved face. And I… I am my parents’ son.]

HIIII ANON HIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

first of all, i must apologize for the really late reply!!!! going to the fanmeet last weekend kinda threw me off my (already usually very slow ;;;;;) rhythm and im taking way too long to catch up with everything ;;;;;;;;; i know you said it was okay if i didn't answer right away but still!!!!!! I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW IM SO IN LOVE WITH YOUR WE ARE REGENCY AU AND NOT A MINUTE GOES BY WHERE I DON'T THINK ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SPEAKING OF WHICH. THAT SNIPPET ABOUT TANFANG'S BACKSTORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You love me, Fang thought, gazing at that beloved face. And I… I am my parents’ son. <<< THROWING UP ALL THE BLOOD AND ORGANS IN MY BODY AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN AS WELL OH THE ANGST IS GONNA BE SOOOOO DELICIOUSLY SOUL DESTROYING AND SOUL-DESTROYINGLY DELICIOUS THE DUTY VS LOVE OF IT ALL WILL HAVE ME CLIMBING THE WALLS AND SPINNING COUNTERCLOCKWISE ON THE CEILING ABOUT IT I ALREADY KNOW IT!!!!!!!!!! CAN'T EVEN IMAGINE WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN WHEN FANG ACTUALLY CHOOSES TAN I WILL START LEVITATING

IM SO HAPPY YOU WROTE MORE OF THIS AND THAT YOU'RE PLANNING TO POST IT ON AO3 SO PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE DO LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU DO SO I CAN GIVE IT ALL THE LOVE AND SCREAM ABOUT IT SOME MORE!!!!!!!!!!!

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Works In Progress: A Shadowgast Rec List

Check below the cut for nine amazing fics that are still coming out! Check them out, and don't forget to comment or kudos if you like them!

the fourth corner of the world by royalgreen (50775,Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Notes

An alternate TravelerCon arc where Essek is along for the ride

Reccer says: Cool and thoughtful worldbuilding, written during the hiatus so it's different from the canon TravelerCon. Excellent pining, wizards being soft, and Mighty Nein shenanigans.

zwiefacher by VillainIHaveDoneThyMother (94489,Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn, Rape/Non-con

a Bren/Essek scourger au where Essek is the prisoner of Da'leth and Bren is the Annex to Ikithon. Their paths cross, then Bren forgets and meets him all over again.

Reccer says: The worldbuilding is incredible, there is a richness packed into every sentence that presents a stark au version of Rexxentrum and the war. It uses memory loss as a fascinating story device, with some dark and intense moments that keeps you reading. One of my favourites!

disreputable presumptions by hanap (4147,Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: PIV sex

Friends with benefits lawyer AU! Caleb and Essek have a standing appointment for casual sex, and feelings definitely won't get involved..

Reccer says: The pining here is UNMATCHED. Caleb is smitten and trying to hide it, Essek is demi and starting to catch feelings, they're both absolute disasters. And it's always fun to see modern AUs where the author leans into a niche interest/occupation.

oh, sinnerman by SaltCore (26704,Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suicidal Thoughts

Caleb and Essek are nothing more than allies after their expedition to Aoer. At least that is what Caleb thinks - is he wrong about that?

Reccer says: The emotions, the tension and the heartbreak are excellent!

sleep, with benefits by KmacKatie (39423,Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Notes

Caleb wakes up after the best night of sleep, realising that it's because he's not in his own bed, but Essek's after sleeping with his colleague he's been secretly crushing on for six months.

Reccer says: A delightful fic where Caleb they are both in love with each other but neither of them talks about it and this thing between them is totally casual, no feelings involved at all, they are both detached and professional about this. It lasts for five seconds but they keep being intentionally oblivious about it until they are forced to confront what they mean to each other. It's delightful circumstances full of unsaid moments, and some incredibly hot smut.

kiss me goodbye by LivThael (12182,Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Notes

A modern AU where Caleb and Essek are hooking up, with no feelings involved. Unless?

Reccer says: It's hot and they're both disasters (affectionate)

Meeting you counterclockwise by Chiakery (18130,Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Notes

Essek meets a red haired wizard over and over again through his youth, only to encounter a younger version of him later in his life. How is that possible?

Reccer says: It's so much fun to read and a unique view into Essek's youth.

resonance broadening by toneofjoy (15735,Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Notes

Shadowgast as labmates who start out hating each other

Reccer says: It's a highly specific AU with plenty of details about academics, and both Caleb and Essek are snarky with one another. There's also a great supporting cast!

a body in absentia by nonwal (9754,Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Notes

A scourger AU where Bren decides to seduce Essek, which turns out to be more complicated (and more rewarding?) than he anticipated.

Reccer says: The banter is witty, the tension is delicious, and Bren is a charming brat. It’s only two chapters in, but the asexual representation is already one of the most interesting and nuanced depictions I’ve seen.

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. And hey! Don’t forget to leave comments and kudos for the lovely authors!

Check out the previous WIPs Recs Lists here [1] Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week's theme is Learning To Accept Love!

[joonslfttiddie]

Home

Chapter 48: Split...

💜Fic Pairing: OT7 x OFC

💜AU/Genre: Reverse Harem/Polyfidelity/Ghosts/AMBW/Supernatural

💜Warnings: Adult Language/Adult Content/Murder/Blood/Attack by stalker/Strangulation/Magik/Spells/Rituals/Evil Spirit

💜Rating: MA

💜Word Count: 3, 812

Chapter 48

⚠️⚠️⚠️WARNING⚠️⚠️⚠️ 

If you scare easily or are uneasy with the idea of supernatural events and blood, you may want to consider skipping this chapter.

Okay, love you, byyyyye!

When the group wakes up the next morning, it is apparent that no one slept well, if at all. Even after being completely drained, mentally and physically, sleep did not visit any of them for long. The last thing Tia remembers is laying down to rest her eye on top of the covers, not even realizing she’d not taken her bath to completely rid herself of the darkness that is the Burtons. Waking up with the sun beaming through the windows is bittersweet because she knows that the guys, even though they were upset, took time to still handle her with care by tucking her in. The bitter part is that she sits up in a completely empty bed.

Where are they? 

She can hear mumbles of good mornings, filled with resentment, being exchanged as the men walk past the door to make their way to the stairs to disperse to do their own things. Well, I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied with their mumbled greetings. No one is mentally capable to even begin to discuss the events of yesterday. Tensions are so high in the house and everyone in their own heads and not taking the time to even look up that they don’t notice how washed out Tia looks. Her caramel complexion has taken more of a grayish hue and is looking casket ready.

Tia’s POV

It’s a struggle to get downstairs, but I finally make it to the kitchen and I try to prepare a mug of the already prepared coffee. I need something to wake me up. I need energy. Yes, I’m tired being that I didn’t sleep well, anxious about things between the guys and thinking about the man that saved me, but I also feel off. Something is not right as my body feels weak and my mouth is warm and super watery. I feel like I’m going to vomit and think that I may feel better after having a drink.

Maybe you should have water instead of coffee today.

I ignore the sudden thought and when I pick the mug up to take a sip of the brew, it doesn’t make it to my lips when my hands go limp, and the mug crashes against the kitchen floor. Everyone is outside or in the pool house, leaving only myself and whomever the fuck seems to be within to handle this.

Fuck. Don’t pass out. I can’t pass out.

Deciding against trying to pick up the fragments of the cup, I grab the mop I used the previous night to at least try to sop up the liquid from the floor. When my hand touches the mop handle, my mouth begins to speak that same spell from before, but it’s not my doing. I’m just trying my best to not pass out and the words are flowing from me effortlessly. Even my thoughts, hell, even my voice doesn’t sound the same as the words being spoken. I feel like someone or something is stowed away, catching a ride within my body.

My mind is racing, nearly in a panic, trying not to lose consciousness while my mouth is still speaking incantations and banishments. I wasn’t sure before, but now I know for sure that this is someone else, an unknown passenger. Counterclockwise strokes of my mop meticulously chasing behind the streaks of coffee on the floor, just like I had done to the footprints. 

Did I miss some of the prints? Did I not do it correctly? What is happening?

“Spirit guides, ancestors far and near,

Remove all spirits who don’t belong here.

Ancestors and descendants of the Burton family,

All further attempts to harm will evade me.

No evil to them shall I render,

But their tricks of wickedness, return to sender.

All versions of evil and harm, I banish thee,

As I will it, so mote it be!”

My companion repeats their spell with more fierceness and vigor each time. I find that I’m able to focus more on dispelling the energy and hold on to my awareness if I concentrate on her voice. The hoarseness of my own voice is no longer heard, but the sweet, southern twang of hers sings through the space. The coolness of the breeze from the still open kitchen window plays through the room, unaware of the direness of my current situation, and swirls through my hair and prances along the hem of my shirt. It feels nice, running up the trail of sweat along my back. I welcome it, a delightful distraction that seems to provide a lightness, my heavy limbs now more relaxed. I feel weightless.

Once all of the spill and the shards of the cup are moped to the side, I notice that I’m obviously still not feeling well as I’m dizzy and things look off. 

Is this what an out-of-body experience looks like? 

I find that I have cleaned myself all the way to the edge of the kitchen and the living room. I’m at ease and this feels like the end of whatever trance I was under, but my mouth is still speaking, better yet, yelling the words to the spell. The breeze is noticeably stronger, causing my clothes to flap against my skin and my hair to thrash violently across my face. The basement door opens and the wind causes it to slam hard against the wall, revealing Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook, both with stunned expressions. 

The smile that adorns my lips is one of pure love and happiness as I’m in need of their comfort. Their expressions, however, do not mirror mine, each wearing looks of concern, perturbation, and astonishment. Are they still that pissed with me?! What’s with those faces? As they are frantically making their way to me, it’s as if they start to move in slow motion like they are running underwater as their clothes and hair flutter and wave slowly. Admittedly, I am confused but also amused, having never seen anything like this before. I chuckle lightly to myself until my eyes begin playing more tricks on me. I’m starting to see double, each man seemingly glitching, splitting from their heads down to their torsos to show a different version of themselves. Just as quickly as I notice it, the alternate snaps back to be hidden within.

What the fuck was that?!

I blink my eyes, squeezing them tightly before opening them again, trying to adjust my vision but it’s no use. It keeps happening! Yoongi is on the left side when I see his other version split away again. His companion is definitely Yoongi, wearing the same concerned expression but he’s not him. He looks older, not in age, but in time, if that even makes sense. Old fashioned. Jungkook is in the middle with Hoseok dodging one of the dining chairs to fall in line behind him, both men malfunctioning to reveal their other selves.

Only when the mop handle slips out of my hand and crashes onto the floor do I realize that I’m levitating, hovering inches away from the ceiling, which would explain my current viewpoint. Even with my fear of heights, dangling at nearly 10 feet in the air has no effect on me. It’s not until I see Jason; better yet, I feel him and see the dark figure reaching up to me from under my feet. His face appears in my mind, the sinister expression is obvious even with a quarter of his head blown away, and the remaining eye glows red like the footprints I cleaned last night. Blood drips heavily down his face to run down the white teeth of his diabolical smile. I feel that he’s not alone and his head shudders violently, showing a completely different man. There are similarities, like missing their left eyes, but that’s not him; not like it is when I look at my loves. I try to scream but nothing comes out, the chant still flying from my lungs.

Jimin’s POV

I feel so much better after talking to Taehyung yesterday, a comfort that I’ve not felt from anyone other than Tia covers me like a cozy blanket. Thinking of Tia, Taehyung, and the stranger who saved Tia, I hang my towel on a nearby hook and hop in the shower. My mind wanders from what our family meeting may look like, to the possibilities of our future with the nameless hero, to regretting not holding Tia this morning. I wanted to pull her in, to hold her close but my pride wouldn’t allow me to. I then think back to the conversation I just had with Tae, leaning against his sturdy frame and the smell of him. My fingers trail down my skin, chasing the streams of water to find my penis, fully erect and bouncing, tapping lightly on my stomach.

What the fuck am I doing? I shouldn’t be feeling this way…not now.

I begin to caress myself, daydreaming about burrowing deep into Tia’s sweetness while Taehyung’s chocolatey voice, rich, smooth, and creamy melts down my spine. I imagine myself following his command as he uses me as a puppet to make love to Tia. 

“Just like that, Jiminie. Long…slow…and deep,” he instructs, the warmth of his breath on the shell of my ear. “Look at her pretty face, completely fucked out of her mind because of you.”

I can’t suppress the whimpers that escape me when his arms creep around my torso, pulling me tight against his chest. My body is already beginning to jerk as my muscles spasm from the immense amount of pleasure.

“Good job, Mini. Look down. Look at how your fat dick stretches her pretty pussy. All that sweet cream she’s making, all the beautiful sounds are all for you,” he praises me in between the warm, open-mouth kisses he’s placing on my nape. The light suction he creates when he detaches his mouth, along with the way he just barely grazes my skin with his tongue, is driving me insane. With my brows furrowed, I can’t help but trap my bottom lip between my teeth as I continue to pump into my hand, imagining it’s Tia.

“Oh my God,” I hiss through clenched teeth, biting harder on my lip.

“Does it feel good, Mini? You look so fucking amazing,” Taehyung says, trailing his hand up to fondle my nipples, his touch feather-light.

“Hmmm,” I moan as I’m nearing my climax.

“Are you ready to show me how hard you can cum for me,” he says, his voice seeming to fall a few octaves. The vibration from his chest against my back and the warm kisses he trails over to my shoulder pushes me over the edge, and I begin to pump my hand up and down my shaft even faster with the imagery of Tia’s breasts bouncing each time my fist makes contact with my pelvis.

“Fuck!”

I cum long and hard, squirting my seed along to float on the steam of water and down the drain. I give my member a few more slow, lazy strokes while still coming down from my high, panting heavily while still holding my dick in my hand. As my mind is returning to reality, I notice the arms that are still encasing my body. There is also a warmth against my ass, hard and fitting snugly between my cheeks.

“Do you feel better after getting that out?”

Yoongi’s POV

The exhaustion is starting to catch up to me as I’m trying my best to pump my legs, trying to run as fast as I can. It’s like trying to move through cold grits, and I’m going nowhere fast, that’s for sure. I’ve never experienced anything like this in my entire life, looking up at Tia and then at the dark figure under her feet. Her angelic appearance in contrast to the sinister figure, is like heaven and hell right before my eyes. I can’t even take time to be afraid of whatever the fuck that is; more concerned with trying to help my baby. I know she mentioned that she was coming into her powers, but I never would have guessed levitation to be one of them.

My heart is pounding so hard I can hear my blood whooshing in my ears. I must really be tired because it seems like I’m missing fragments of time, my vision going in and out. I’m thinking it may be some type of residual power in the room coming from Tia or that thing. When I glance over to Jungkook and Hoseok, their appearance is telling and lets me know that they are struggling just as much as I am, and they are going so slow. I don’t know what’s wrong with my eyes because I notice the two men split partially into four! What in the entire fuck is going on?!

We finally start to circle the island and I’m able to get a good look at the dark mass. It is dividing just like Hoseok and Jungkook! I can feel its desperation like the words Tia is screaming is causing him panic.

Why does she sound like that?

Another POV

“Good morning. Namjoon, right?”

“Hey… yea. What’s up, man?” He allows his tool to fall to the ground, brushes his hands clean on his pants, and then shakes my free hand; the other hand holds a bag full of food for everyone as they were unable to have my food yesterday which was ruined. “Things got crazy yesterday so I wasn’t able to thank you for what you did for Tia. For us.”

“No problem…no problem at all. I just did what anyone else would have. I don’t usually carry my weapon on me, but something told me to bring it yesterday. I’m glad I did.”

“Damn. Well, I’m so glad you did, too! Lord knows what would have happened had you not been here and prepared. I owe you my life, bro,” he says with his voice cracking. His eyes look like he has been crying and is about to start again.

I’m not sure why but I take him into my arms, wanting nothing more than to take the hurt away. I’m standing here, embracing a grown-ass man, and his large frame leans against me with his head on my shoulder. I just want to protect him from the world. I just want to love him. 

“Don’t cry, it’s okay now. It’s all over,” I try to reassure him as he sobs into my jacket. “It’s all over.”

I’m confused, not knowing what this feeling is or what it means, but I allow it and continue to hold him until he composes himself, wiping his face on the inside of the neck of his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a chuckle. His face is now a pretty shade of pink.

“No worries at all. Yesterday was traumatic for all of us. There are some things people should never have to witness. How is she? How is Tia?” I say as the sweetness of her name falls comfortably from my lips. It feels like I must have spoken her name for a lifetime before.

He takes a few deep breaths and looks up to the heavens in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. “Ahem,” he says, then looks at me again with tears resting along his lash line. “See for yourself. Go ahead inside. I’m sure she will be so excited to meet the man who saved her life.”

“How long have you been out here? You’re not coming in?” I ask these questions as I’m looking around the yard. The lawn looks perfect so I’m unsure as to what he needs to do now. Shaking his head, he informs me that he's just finishing up some things he didn’t finish last night and would be right behind me.

He gives me the door code and I make my way down the driveway to the door. So, it’s obviously not just me that feels this pull, this connection, as if I belong here. I belong with them. I tried before, but I can’t deny the pull that I feel towards this house and the people in it. I felt it yesterday but quickly disregarded it when I saw the man attacking her, not having time to explore these feelings. When I saw him, straddling her small body, it’s like my world went red and I sprang into action with only one thought in mind. Save her.

When I finally make it to the door, those feelings are still there but something else is sprinkled in. That red-hot anger floods my body once again, a strong tug to protect that woman one way or another. The hairs on the back of my neck stand and I’m thrown into intense feelings of fight or flight. Of course, I’m not going anywhere and punch the numbers into the keypad as fast as I can while yelling out to Namjoon. 

“NAMJOON! SOMETHING’S WRONG!” The man across the yard drops what he’s doing again and bolts toward me. I’m trying not to panic while I place the food on the porch and try to concentrate, still fumbling while putting in the code Namjoon provided. As soon as the door opens, a specific aroma floods my senses. It smells like fall, sugary, and comfortable; definitely a scent I’ve smelled before. It’s so strong, I can taste it. I dash inside with Namjoon hot on my heels.

“TIA! TIA!!!” Namjoon yells for her at the top of his lungs with no answer. I can hear something that mimics the sound of a tornado and a woman shouting. We rush into the kitchen where the noise is coming from, and gusts of wind blow fiercely, jolting us back a bit. Even with my arms up in an attempt to shield my face from the debris riding the rush of wind, I’m still able to notice three of the men I recognize from before but their movements are strange and unnaturally slow. They are running, yelling, and grabbing out for Tia, but at a fraction of the speed they should be moving. While that is strange, nothing could prepare me for what I’d see next.

There she is…but she’s floating?! And with a fucking demon nipping at her bare feet?! I’m hesitant to jump in, unlike before. Yea, I have my piece on me but I don’t know if bullets affect supernatural entities the same way as humans. When I glance over to Namjoon, he is moving like the others, struggling and slow like moving through quicksand. There is shuffling coming from behind me and the other two men come running around the staircase at a frantic pace, only to slow down drastically when they reach the threshold of the kitchen.

It must be that thing trying to keep them at bay and away from Tia.

I have no idea what to do! WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?! I look up at Tia and her eyes meet mine. Her expression, while screaming the same words repeatedly and thunderously, softens. The winds whirl around even more ferociously, causing objects to slide from the countertops and crash to the floor. Smaller bits are carried on within the storm, flying up to nick and cut at her bare skin and face. However, she looks calm, too calm considering what all is happening right now, her eyes and the lower half of her face completely out of sync.

Salt.

It’s like she’s right next to me, whispering in my ear, though I’ve not heard her voice; only the sound of her screams, whimpers, and cries of yesterday. I can even feel the warmth of her breath against my skin which causes me to snap my head back, knowing that she’s not there but I had to be sure. My hands are visibly trembling but I storm in, nevertheless, and feel directed to a specific drawer. I pull it open and find a plethora of spices, but instinctively grab the coarse kosher salt.

Good. Throw it while repeating after me.

I trust her with every fiber of my being, though I don’t even know this woman. Still, I take a handful of the salt and pelt it toward the shadowy figure. The fear is obviously getting the best of me because after releasing the granules from my hand, my arm splits down to my elbow into two before snapping back. I don’t feel it, like, it doesn’t hurt, but I am freaked the fuck out. Even still, I don’t stop, continuing to hurl the grains. 

The words Tia is shouting begin to spill from my lips, even after never hearing them before now. We repeat the words over and over, yelling in unison:

“Spirit guides, ancestors far and near,

Remove all spirits who don’t belong here.

Ancestors and descendants of the Burton family,

All further attempts to harm will evade me.

No evil to them shall I render,

But their tricks of wickedness, return to sender.

All versions of evil and harm, I banish thee,

As I will it, so mote it be!”

With each strike, the entity folds into itself and blood gushes from it to spatter on the freshly mopped floor. The salt causes the blood to sizzle and spark. With a deep, demonic voice that chills me to the bone, it screeches, “MINE! MINE! MIIIIIIIIIINE!” 

“SPIRIT GUIDES, ANCESTORS FAR AND NEAR,

REMOVE ALL SPIRITS WHO DON’T BELONG HERE.

ANCESTORS AND DESCENDANTS OF THE BURTON FAMILY,

ALL FURTHER ATTEMPTS TO HARM WILL EVADE ME.

NO EVIL TO THEM SHALL I RENDER,

BUT THEIR TRICKS OF WICKEDNESS, RETURN TO SENDER.

ALL VERSIONS OF EVIL AND HARM, I BANISH THEE,

AS I WILL IT, SO MOTE IT BE!”

Just as the last words are spoken, the shadow reaches up to grab at Tia’s ankles, pulling her down with it. 

FUCK NO!

I throw the entire box of salt at it. run over with the last fist full, and attempt to punch this motherfucker, shoving my fist down its throat. With each hit, blood sprays from the figure, spraying up on my clothes and face. I keep punching and punching and punching and punching and punching…

“Jin.”

I notice that the room is still and silent before I look down to see the puddle of blood that I’m kneeling in, and the splatter on my hands and shirt begins to burn away. Quickly, I stand to pat at my shirt and pants to exhaust the flame, but it doesn’t burn and vanishes like it was never there. When I look up, Tia is looking down at me smiling, then, her expression loses life, her eyes roll to the back of her head, and her body begins to plummet from the air. The sound of the other men scrambling, obviously now free from their trap, rush closer behind me. I catch her with an ‘umph’ and fall back to the ground with her limp body cradled in my arms, holding her close to my chest.

A/N: 

Special thanks to @yoongiobsessed for beta reading this chapter for me! 💜

[underfiends]

Walls

This is....something. Inspired by the Killing Time campaign DMed by me and played by @hannrenn and @peppermintpinklemonade. Enjoy whatever this is.

There is something inside the castle walls. The servants can hear it, at night, when no other sound is there to cover it up. A haunting moan, a skitter of nails, a rattling breath. They all know it is there, and yet no one speaks of it. It is not something to speak about, as taboo as speaking of the sudden change in the kingdom years ago.

No one mentions the disappearances, waiting with bated breath to see who has been taken this time. There is never any indication, only a sudden lack. That person is simply gone, never to be seen again, nary a trace.

A whisper, the brush of fingers, the snapping of bone. Muffled, swallowed, kept silent. Always silent. Noise is not tolerated.

The guards sleep with hands wrapped around their swords. The servants often find themselves snapping awake at every shuffle, every creak. They do not wonder how their royalty sleeps; they know this danger would not dare touch the King or his most loyal. After all, it is no question to whom this thing belongs. There is only one mad enough to test the laws of nature in such a way.

Glowing red eyes, a curled horn, the glint of teeth. Another is lost to the walls.

The cook awakes standing in darkness. He looks around frantically, yet there is no light to be found. His hands find purchase on rough stone to two sides, open space on the others. He is in the walls, in the castle, within the stone.

And so he walks, clothes catching on the bumps of the wall, bare feet growing achingly cold against the stone floor. He is tired, is lost. His mind is growing fuzzy at the edges.

A laugh, a scream, a cry. Something grabs at his ankle.

He shouts without sound. He runs, making no noise as his feet pound onto unforgiving stone. His hands search frantically through the inky pitch.

The walls are gone.

He runs, moving nowhere.

His mouth opens, a scream falling from his lips and being snatched from the air a moment later. A hand grips his jaw. Something cracks. Claws pinch his tongue. Iron travels over the cook’s taste buds, sharp pain turning into agony as the fleshy muscle in his mouth rips. He cries, screams, shouts his agony into the air only for it to stop short. His chest vibrates, emitting no sound for his ears to hear.

His eyes are wide, his knees buckle. He can see nothing, can feel only cold and the stone beneath him. There is no noise. Yet it is around him, circling him, stalking him.

He sobs noiselessly, terror freezing him in place. Here he kneels, tears making icy trails down his cheeks, blood gushing from his mouth and threatening to choke him. Here he kneels, in the walls, before the thing that makes this space its home.

There is a breath that is not a breath; a laugh that is a sob that is nothing; a touch that is pain is comfort is pain upon pain upon pain. He is here and there and gone and not. He cannot breathe. He feels nothing, there is nothing to feel, there is so much pain, only numbness.

There is a door, and three containers. Something is in them. They scream, cry, plead for help, beg for death. Cruel grins, sharp teeth.

Red eyes. Curled horn. Glint of teeth.

They are in the walls.

[4pplec0re]

Would Karnak exist in the counterclockwise au? I'm actually really interested in your AU! :D

he'd probably still like exist technically but since the cyclone probably wouldn't crash he wouldn't really be important :p perhaps counterclockwise karnak is not a sentient being like regular karnak, perhaps his futures are not quite accurate

[fluffallamaful]

Prison Therapy AU (warning: bellybutton tickles):

As things progress, Quackity starts bringing in guests. First up is Sam.

The thing is, Sam’s fucking SCARY. He’s massive, he’s stoic, he’s wearing a gas mask, and Dream has about a year of very bad experiences to give him a list of very good reasons to want to scamper away from the Warden immediately. Not to mention that this is one of the earlier sessions, when Dream’s still not sure how this is going to shake out.

Quackity makes Dream stay in the usual operating table position, flat on his back, while he gives Sam some basic instructions. It’s flustering as all hell because they talk like he’s not there at all, like he can’t hear every word they’re saying, and only acknowledge him when he makes some sort of noise that gets Quackity cooing.

Sam’s not great at this, not at first. He’s way too awkward. But then something clicks and suddenly he’s picking Dream apart like one of his machines. And unlike Quackity, he’s completely silent. He reaches for the tools he needs and uses them expertly, finding just the right ways to get the poor prisoner sobbing before the two of them. Quackity just stops after a while to watch him in fascination.

His favorite part to focus on is Dream’s naval, using very tiny brushes that Quackity’s never touched to get right near the bottom and itch around. One of them is something like a flat comb that he uses to scratch at the fold between the naval walls and the button in the middle. Another is a round little thing that he can turn on, and have half the bristles rotate clockwise and half counterclockwise. He used this along the walls a bit, but he mainly makes the head flat and perpendicular to the handle so that he can press it right against the middle of his button. Once he gets used to using both, he holds the rotating brush still against his button and uses the comb to circle it and get into all the folds. He has to make adjustments to keep the man still for this: he’s so precise about where he wants the bristles to hit that any minute squirms’ll throw him off. The one belt around his waist is turned into one around his hips and one around his ribs and an extra pillow is pushed under his tummy to stretch it taut, rendering that whole area almost completely immobile.

Quackity’s a bit distracted by just watching the man go at first, but eventually he snaps out of it and decides to help. And Sam’s silent but Quackity is not, and his teases are deadly. He sits by his ear and whispers them quietly, asking him what it feels like, if it’s really that bad, nooo it can’t be THAT bad. This isn’t helped by him joining in physically as well. Sam’s preoccupied with that little button, but that just means Quackity has free reign over everything else. He takes advantage of his immobile belly, dragging something like Sam’s rotator but larger all over the taut skin. He mostly focuses on the line right where his sides meet his tummy, which gets him squealing like crazy. At one point he inches it close to the naval where Sam’s working, but Sam tells him that he’s getting in his way in such a bored tone that Dream gets flustered all over again. Mostly Quackity doesn’t do much, though: he just sits there and whispers teases into Dream’s ear, forcing him to focus on exactly what Sam is doing.

Quackity takes pity on him and ends Sam’s reign of tyranny about twenty minutes after it starts, but he has to basically drag him away to get him to finally snap out of it, Dream an absolute sobbing mess at that point. His tummy is all red and his bellybutton — which received the vast majority of the torment — is unbearably sensitive after that. The rest of the session — over two hours, because Sam’s first tactic was so brutal that he had to break after less than one — is very soft. Sam gives him a hug, and Dream dazedly murmurs something about him being fluffy — and even if he goes bright red again after he says it, the damage is done and Sam decides to cuddle him into his tummy fluff. Dream can hear him chuckling, but he’s too out of it to really care.

Quackity let’s them cuddle for a bit, but eventually tells him that he’s got one more thing to show him and has the Warden settle the prisoner’s head in his lap and lay him flat on his back again. Dream whimpers, not really sure what’s coming or how much more he can take.

But then Quackity kisses his tummy and he can’t help but melt.

Sam watches for a while, and then asks to try himself. So they switch positions — Quackity holding Dream in his lap while Sam settled between his legs — and Sam wraps his arms around Dream’s waist and tries to emulate what he saw Quackity doing before. Quackity has to make corrections at first (“Bit firmer, Sam. Bit firmer.” “Try a little further up.”) but eventually Dream is melting into his lap and Sam is, once again, too wrapped up in his work to think about anything else.

Unfortunately for Dream, this soon devolves into lickles, because this technique is just too similar to a creeper hybrid grooming instinct for Sam to resist for long. The position, the repetitive motions, even the reasoning is practically identical. But while creeper hybrids have fur to block the feeling, Dream does not, and Sam’s tongue is scratchy. The feeling of that thing scratching over his sensitive tummy is almost as bad as the brushes from before and soon he’s squealing all over again. (At one point Sam’s tongue gets into his bellybutton, which is still sensitive as all hell from the twenty minutes of tickling it just endured. He may or may not start crying again at that.)

Quackity takes over again soon after: watching Sam torture Dream like this is fun and all, but Dream’s already at his limit. He forces Sam to stop and takes his spot, rubbing out the ghost tickles and replacing them with gentle kisses in order to lure an exhausted Dream into a slumber. While he’s doing this, Sam instinctively starts to groom Dream again — but it turns out that the feeling of his tongue on Dream’s head is much, much more relaxing for the prisoner, and he falls asleep quickly.

And now that Sam knows what to do, Dream gets a lot more than just one session a day. >:)

fzgyxyss SOUP!!! soup 😭 soup the desTrOyer! i cannot even begin to explain how incredible your detail in this asssskkkk issss😖you’re going to melt the tummies of so many 🥺

(llamas discussion — despite the ask barely needing it — is below)

🦙🦙🦙…

ok so first of the way you described sam is unbelievably epic. i feckin love it when lers get into a trance. it’s such a cute trope especially for lees that are incredibly embarrassed by hearing their own laugh 🤌🏼 and your quote about sam “picking dream apart like one of his machines” is so epic, and so very warden sam. it just makes so much sense, and i adore that quackity just stares at him in awe for a bit

the little rotator 🫠 and the way he uses it with the comb oh my heckin god. like he’s not even listening to dream’s babbles or quackity’s impressed comments, he just stares intently at dream’s tummy and the tooled in his hands,, making sure he covers all walls of the button :(

and then as if dream didn’t already have enough on his plate,, quackity starts to tease him from beside his head. like tracing little shapes into dream’s upper ribs, armpits and arms, and pointing out each noise and change in dream’s laughter. every move and sound that dream makes is analysed and reported back to him, along with every move that sam makes to chase said reactions. like i can imagine “Ohh your laugh changed again! Did Sam find another spot? You better hold still so he find find it again. He is going to find it after all.”

i can imagine that between the teases and the unbelievably specific tickles on his worst spot, dream’s mind would be quick to short circuit and simply submit to the tickles. like he barely fights back or speaks, just cackles his heart out and rides the electrifying high that comes with being tickled and teased silly :)

and then the TUMMY KISSES AFTER CARE. AHHHHHHHHHHH MY HEART 😭😭 and his little whimper about sam being fluffy when he’s pulls into his tummy as well 😭

the idea of his reaction to tummy kisses while his belly is already sensitive kills me. liek it’s still quivering with residual giggles, still bright pink from his blush and a deep red in his naval :( kinda love the idea that the kisses make him blush and melt so much that his tummy ends up all being the same shade of red anyway

and then sam giving him lickles just out of instinct 😭 and dream’s jumbled panicked pleas tumbling out of him a in slurred cackled stream ☹️ poor babbbyyyyyy 😣 the idea of quackity then requesting them to switch again and coaxing dream to fall asleep to more tummy kisses, while sam groom’s his hair is just- 🫠 like my heckin god it’s all so adorable SOUP 😭

—> Edit: my god i also completely forgot to mention the pillow under the back as well like omfg i LOVE that position for tummy tickles especially for scratchy tummy tickles. like the lee can’t rock or move and their tummy is just so much more exposed and helpless and AH!! i just adore so much

🦙🦙🦙…

[sladez]

Au Ra April & Vierapril 2024

IV. Conflict & Clash

[This is a short excerpt from a fic I'm working on, but the Au Ra April and Vierapril prompts mesh so well together and for this scene!

In which Bertram and Styrnrael throw a Coliseum match to pay off her contract.]

Deafening cheers broke out from the crowd as the announcer’s voice boomed through the Coliseum and the gate opposite Styrnrael groaned upward. The din only grew louder as the chains clanged to a stop and the door finished its ascension, and the form of Bertram stepped through the gateway, his silhouette illuminated by the torches in the staging area until he stepped into the lights of the ring. His posture and mien were relaxed and unfazed, never looking up at the audience, as he slowly sauntered forward and came to a stop across the ring from Styrnrael. His hair and tall ears were bright as flamelight against the dark of his armor. His head was cocked casually to the side, and he tapped his fingers against the plate where they rested on his hips, the quick rhythm of metal ringing out joining the cacophony. After a minute, as the cheers of the crowd lulled, Bertram finally looked up at Styrnrael and his gray eyes met hers. They brightened into a soft smile for just a moment, imperceptible to any but her, and his earlier words echoed through Styrnrael’s mind as a balm to her nerves: Just follow my lead, ja?

“May the best fighter leave the arena alive!” the announcer shouted to the roar of the crowd. A gong rang out, its deep brass echoing across the arena floor. “And… begin!”

Immediately the energy in the arena changed, like a gas light switched on. Bertram’s face darkened as he drew his sword in a single fluid motion that Styrnrael could barely see. He twirled the blade in his hand and held it loosely out at his side, metallic noise singing and hovering in the stadium as though he had sliced through the aether itself. He narrowed his eyes and his hair seemed to rise from his shoulders like a gathering inferno, wild and untamed. His shoulders tensed and slumped, his posture pushed forward, a tiger stalking and ready to pounce. She had seen that dark light in his eyes before, intense and watchful, hot coals against black night, but never directed at her.

Styrnrael closed her eyes and took a deep breath, once again remembering Bertram’s words and their plan, betting against her own nature and trusting in him. Once her heartbeat settled, she drew her sword and opened her eyes to match his intensity, and lowered her stance, light on the balls of her feet as the Adarkim warrior had taught her at the Naadam in another world, another life.

In her time in the Coliseum Styrnrael had seen a variety of opening moves in the ring. Most fighters, especially the young and overconfident, would rush headlong at the starting bell. That suited her just fine. Her reflexes were sharp and her counterattacks quick, and those fights were over fast. The timid or tentative preferred to wait, fists or shields up, for her to probe their defenses. She learned those matches were more fun, like maneuvering and breaking an opponent’s position on the Kharaqiq board. But Bertram's Black Flame nickname was apt; his movements were unpredictable, like a flame flicking on the wind, fierce and dangerous, and difficult to anticipate.

Bertram began pacing to his right, tracing the blue cobblestones of the perimeter counterclockwise like a tightrope, never taking his blazing eyes off her. His arm was slack at his side yet looked like it could whip out at any moment, as though his sword hung upon a taut spring. Styrnrael mirrored his movements at the same pace, keeping the diameter of the arena between them. They were as moving pawns around the board, staking their positions and claiming the first spaces of territory. Bertram’s steps slowed as they reached the opposite side of the ring from their starting positions, and Styrnrael had only just enough time to see him shift his hip and pivot toward her on his heel.

He was on her in a flash.

Blade rang against shield as Styrnrael stepped onto her back foot, deflecting his lunge to the side. He traversed the yalms between them almost instantly, and his swift strike had enough momentum behind it that had she blocked it directly her arm might be broken. But she swung her shield and knocked his blow away to her left, lowering her frame against Bertram’s larger one for leverage, and followed her movement through with her blade, catching him off balance. But Bertram was quick, and he twisted on his heel and she caught only air. Styrnrael had only a fraction of a second to readjust to a ready position before he spun back around and his sword came at her in a downward arc. Reflexively she ducked down and held her shield above her head to block, tensing her arm as Bertram’s blade rang hard against it. Her bones quaked like thunder under the impact. Ignoring the buzzing in her arm and taking advantage of his recovery time from the attack, she lunged forward like a cobra from behind her shield. But again Bertram recovered quicker than she expected, moving like fire twisting on a wick, and he parried her strike and lowered his shoulder and shield like a ram, knocking her sprawling to the ground.

She somersaulted over the cobblestones, rotating her body to land in a kneeling position. His ferocity had caught her by surprise. The blow knocked the wind out of her, and as she caught her breath she looked up at Bertram’s looming figure, his black armor a blacker silhouette in front of the hot coliseum lights. The noise of the crowd at first blood was deafening. Bertram looked down at her, all blazing hair and burning eyes, and then his lips curled into a smirk. “One-zero,” he said so that only she could hear.

Styrnrael climbed to her feet and rotated her shoulders to loosen them. “Follow your lead, huh?” she grinned. She raised her shield and slowly stepped counterclockwise, cross-stepping left foot over right, then behind, keeping her body level and low to the ground, her tail raised for balance, leading now, ready to take the advantage for herself. Bertram stepped back and followed her movements, in perfect symmetry to the start of the match, though closer now, only a couple yalms separating them. The din of the spectators had lowered in anticipation of the next move, and in the vacuum of the silence the two pulled together like gravity.

As Styrnrael’s left foot touched the ground behind her, she leaned forward and rocketed off the ball of her right foot, whipping her sword out in front of her. Bertram’s eyes widened as he stepped back to parry her sudden flèche, knocking her sword away, and she advanced past him to avoid his riposte. She turned and pressed further, and Bertram could do no more than block, her ferocity preventing him from the counter, the call of their swords chirping like heavy birds. One-two, one-two they danced, her footwork driving him back, her bladework cornering him, a series of forcing moves on the gameboard, until finally Bertram parried her thrust in a wide circle and she pressed in and glided along and down his blade and planted a foot behind him to knock him off balance. Bertram tumbled heel over head, and this time it was Styrnrael standing over him, pinning him with her grin and the tip of her sword. “One-one,” she said, and the crowd was stunned.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Sweet Honey Bee

Fandom: DC Comics, Flashfam

Summary: Bart tries to uncover the seemingly sinister deeds going on at the campus while visiting Thad's art school.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Thad Thawne, Bart Allen, Meloni Thawne, Don Allen, President Thawne

Additional Tags: Bart and Thad Smoke Weed in This, Ballet AU, No Powers AU, Dark Academia, Boarding School AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Swap, Protective Siblings, Family Bonding

Chapter One: The Gate

As they pulled through the iron gates to the heavily-forested campus, a sliver of sunlight pierced through the trees and landed on the water in the fountain. Statues and gothic art installments littered the quad. Modern hand-carved gargoyles, grotesquely frozen in horrific writhing positions, glass aquariums with realistically-painted dolls frozen in water-like resin prisons, old hollowed-out televisions-turned-terrariums . Bart shivered. “They take Halloween seriously around here, don’t they?” Don whispered.

“In May?” Meloni asked as she took a hat from her purse and slipped it over Bart’s head.

“Mom—.”

“It’s chilly out… Donny, do you remember where the lady told us to go?” Meloni asked. Don nodded, crouching down to look inside a television terrarium.

Meloni hugged herself, and Bart stood on his tiptoes, staring defiantly into the eyes of a stone-carved beast. “Sunshine, get away from that,” Meloni warned. Don turned the knob on one of the TVs as the exhibit label suggested, and it played music. The knob turned counterclockwise by itself.

“Would ya look at that!” Don smiled. “That’s neat! Real neat!”

“Dad, we gotta go. We’re gonna be late meeting TJ,” Bart reminded him.

Don led them past the fountain and into the garden. It was all set up for an outdoor play, but everything was covered with a tarp. Bart wanted to wander further into the garden, and Meloni reigned him in by his backpack. “Nuh-uh, Sunshine. Stay close,” Meloni whispered.

Don followed a decorative stone pathway to the garden’s edge, where a weeping willow stood alone. Behind the willow stood four gothic buildings. Spooky black buildings with large, dark blue stained glass windows. A light flickered on in one of the bay windows, and a windchime made soft hollow glass noises as the wind licked at its chimes. “Which one is Thad’s? They all look the same…” Meloni pulled Bart back.

Don pointed to the third building on the left. “Juniors live in that one. If he’s not home, he said he’d be at the BH,” Don replied. They walked toward the junior dorms, and Bart pressed the button with their last name on it.

“Hello?” Thad answered. His voice was like Bart’s, but his speech was slower, less confident, and shaky.

“Teej!” Bart shouted. The line went silent, and they waited for nearly a minute before the door swung open. Thad embraced Bart and nearly knocked Bart off his feet.

“Smeeny!” Thad exclaimed. Bart held on tight, pressing his face into Thad’s shoulder, breathing him in. “Smeeny…” His voice broke, and he cried.

Bart spun him around. “Schmingy nee!” Bart replied. It was their language. The words didn’t have a specific meaning, but they had emotion. Don took a picture of the boys. A handful of little nonsense words meant everything to them. Thad and Bart let go of each other, and Meloni showered Thad in kisses.

“Hi, Honey Bee! I missed you so much!” Meloni laughed. It was like all her fears melted away. “And you’re still wearing the cologne?”

“Mom,” Thad laughed. He did wear it. Everyday. And he eternally smelled like rosemary and lavender. Bart picked the scent for him three years ago, and Thad’s worn it ever since. “Dad?” Thad lifted his gaze to meet eyes with his father. Don’s eyes were kind and wrinkled at the corners with pride and experience.

Don picked Thad up and squeezed tight. “We missed you so much, Sparky,” Don whispered, “Still playing tennis?”

“Not enough time right now. I’m doing two ballets for the summer showcase. I never leave the stage for Apollon or Le Spectre de la Rose, so I dance continuously for forty-five minutes, not accounting for the costume change during announcements and makeup,” Thad explained. Don nodded.

“Taking care of yourself?” Don asked. He looked Thad over and hugged him once more. “I love you so much. Have any of us told you that today? We love you, Sparky.”

Thad grinned from ear to ear. “I love you too, Dad. And I hate to jet, but I’ve gotta get to my afternoon rehearsals. I’ll see you at dinner, though? Won’t I?” Thad questioned. Bart nodded as he stared at Thad.

“You’re not gonna rehearse in that, are you?” Bart teased as he tugged on Thad’s turtleneck. Thad took Bart’s hand, placing it at Bart’s side.

“I’m wearing my ballet clothes underneath, Mew,” Thad whispered, “I’ll see you guys at the cafeteria in two hours, right?”

They waved and walked to the car to grab the rest of their bags. “He looks so good,” Meloni smiled.

Don grinned as he hung his camera around his neck. Bart took Meloni’s bag. “Dinner’s in two hours?” Bart whined once he registered what Thad said.

“I packed an extra sandwich for you,” Don reassured him. “Text Grandma and Grandpa and tell them we got here safe, and Thad looks great.” Bart reached into Don’s pocket. “Why can’t you use your phone?”

“It’s dead… Is Grandpa Teddy coming?” Bart asked. Don chewed his lip and nodded. “Is he still mad at you for Easter?”

“He’s always mad at me, Squeaker… But this time, I’m not going to play into it. I’m smarter than that,” Don replied as he opened the guest house door and rang the check-in desk bell. Bart tapped Don on the shoulder.

“Didn’t you say that last time, Dad?” Bart asked innocently. Don wrinkled his forehead, and Meloni giggled.

“He does have a point there, Duckie,” Meloni whispered sweetly. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Why’s he have to come to this one? Wasn’t it enough that he ruined the twins’ first birthday? Or Easter? Or Bart’s cheer competition last summer?” Don muttered. “I bet he got here early to sit in the guest house and think of ways to ruin Thad’s performance.”

“I will handle Daddy… Okay? I will handle him,” Meloni whispered, “You can’t let him get to you… He’s only sore because he knows I can’t live without you. You were my singular act of defiance, and he still hasn’t forgiven me.” Meloni stood on her tiptoes and kissed Don’s cheek.

Bart took the key from Don and rushed up the stairs. “I won big, huh?” Don whispered. Meloni nodded. Don picked Meloni up and carried her up the stairs. “Damn right, I won.”

“Donnie cut it out,” Meloni giggled. When they reached the second floor, he set her down. “Which room are we in?”

“Two-oh-five,” Don replied. They turned right and walked down the hallway until they found a room with a yellow door.

Upon entering, they overheard Bart talking to Mr. Thawne in the kitchen. “Perhaps you could stay with me next school year, so you can reach your full academic and athletic potential—.”

“Bart’s doing fine in school,” Don interrupted, “And I recall you offered the same opportunity to Thad eight years ago…”

“That was eight years ago. This is now. I’m more patient now, and I recall you begging for my help back then… Being that Bartholomew was sick—.”

“Daddy,” Meloni warned. “Both of you, stop it. No fighting… No putting the kids in the middle… Just cut it out. Why can’t you both be like Bart? He gave up an important weekend with his friends for this and hasn’t complained once.” Meloni kissed Bart’s forehead.

“Okay. I’ll go first. I’m sorry that I got snappy with you. Bart’s old enough to decide where he wants to stay next school year, and I appreciate you taking an interest in his academic career,” Don apologized. Meloni rocked forward on the tips of her toes and smiled.

“Thank you… I apologize for putting Bartholomew in the middle of our brief spat, and I’m sorry if I implied that you haven’t done an adequate job parenting the twins,” Mr. Thawne mumbled.

“Thanks,” Don replied.

“Good. Now that that’s settled… Let’s get unpacked and rest for a while. Dinner isn’t for another two hours,” Meloni smiled. Bart groaned.

Don took a paper bag from his suitcase and handed it to Bart. “I’ve got you, Squeaker,” Don whispered. Bart smiled from ear to ear as he opened the bag and unwrapped his sandwich.

“Best dad ever,” Bart whispered before he took a bite. Don messed up Bart’s hair.

“Would you like a sandwich, Mr. Thawne?” Don asked.

“No, thank you. I’ll hold over until dinner,” Mr. Thawne replied.

“I’ll take a sandwich, Duckie,” Meloni whispered. Don kissed her cheek and handed her a sandwich. Don smiled proudly.

[eclecticopposition]

falin/marcille and laios/kabru. mav/kcom. alizarin/neon. octave/kor. friss/aleen/dianida. friss/blitz (puttin' on the fritz). kalrin/rythis. kalrin/valope. ohnyxx/mesuid. mesuid/kalrin/ohnyxx. regius/bezzle. argyro/randoh/dolome. so many questions, so little time. leaving dynamic and nature of relationship intentionally vague, giving free license to talk as much as you want about any or all of these

you're a war criminal. we love you.

these are our first vague dartboard instincts. we might change our mind about these as things go. looking at it again, these results are skewed because the ships are all pretty good. everything would be way further to the top left if there were actual ships that we don't like on here. like, you've got baseline "yeah, I could see it" interest eyebrows.

Starting from the bottom left and working counterclockwise...

Marcille/Falin: This is basically canon, we just don't care much. Good art though.

Laios/Kabru: We like both of these characters a lot and we can see where people are coming from. We also just mostly don't care. Maybe slightly more than Farcille because we actually like seeing them interact with each other and want to see where it goes? It's hard to get us on a ship without good dialogue.

Regius/Bezzle 🕺: WE HATE HIM GET HIM OUT OF OUR HALLWAY. OUT. WE'RE COMPELLED TO THROW THINGS. GOD. FUCK OFFFFFFF

Bottom right, now...

Ohnyxx/Mesuid: We can see the dynamic, we just don't like it. It is very one-sided, but it is also very funny. We could be talked into putting it higher with a good pitch.

Kalrin/Mesuid/Ohnyxx: We like this one a little more because we think Kalrin should get bullied and Ohnyxx should get mad about it and Mesuid should get in over her head. One very good fanfic could convince us.

Alizarin/Neon: Ah, they who run the gamut. Love these two. Two utopians who just won't stop.

Top right. Hi we love you.

Friss/Blitz: THEEEEEEE MOST TOXIC SHIP with a potential competitor in any ship Aleen has ever been in. It's SO bad. We want Friss to take complete control of this relationship and self-destruct so badly. We want to see Blitz be a smartass. We want to see Blitz overestimate themself. We want them to both be composed icy assholes with an unbelievable amount of history because one of them helped kill ALMOST EVERYONE FRISS KNOWS. You KNOW we are on this shit on some level we LITERALLY wrote them having a martial arts duel where for bug gender reasons they both mostly use their legs

Mav/K-Com: You know this is so funny. You know it is. They have chemistry. This is a classic for a reason.

Kalrin/Valope: See we could SEE it. You know we could see it. These two would go together. Give us one really good fake dating AU because you know they are doing it for more fucked up nefarious reasons than any that have ever been seen before. They could kill each other. Kalrin canonically likes her. Are they attracted to each other? Probably not. Or like, maybe a little. But that never mattered. What matters is the scheme.

Kalrin/Rythis: This is cheating. This is cheating you can't do this to us. You know we love Rythis. You KNOW that this whole thing is a disaster that actually works because we TOLD YOU. You can't take out this thing that we said would start to fix Kalrin Pyrhis knowing that we SAID that for the first time in their life they would catch feelings and then get FUCKING DUMPED and ACTUALLY BE SO MAD ABOUT IT

And the laudable top left;

Friss/Aleen/Dianida: Two things. 1) This ship is canon, Dianida just doesn't know it. And 2) We oscillate between being like "meh" and being like LOOK AT OUR AWFUL OLD WOMEN. LOOK AT FRISS. LOOK AT THIS TRAGEDY. COME PLAY A KINGDOM GAME WITH US. This is a case of "sometimes can't muster two words, sometimes can talk for an hour."

Regius/Bezzle 😔: OKAY. FINE. YOU GOT US. IT'S EXTREMELY COMPELLING. THESE HORRIBLE MEN GOT US. OKAY? ARE YOU HAPPY? WE ARE COMPELLED BY THIS SHIMMY SHAKING CREEP AND THIS EVIL YOUTH PASTOR. WE WOULD ONLY BE MORE COMPELLED IF THEY GOT EMOTIONALLY INVOLVED. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THIS WOULD SKYROCKET TO TOP-SLIGHTLY RIGHT IF THEY GOT EMOTIONALLY INVOLVED. IF THEY WERE EVEN A LITTLE BIT IN LOVE INSTEAD OF JUST BEING FUCKING AWFUL QUID PRO QUO GOLF PARTNERS. WE WOULD BE ON THE EDGE OF OUR SEAT. CAN YOU IMAGINE. CAN YOU *IMAGINE.*

Octave/Kor: Listen. We just. Sometimes you draw things. Sometimes you think about things. These two are actually good together. We don't even know or care if it's romantic. There is a trust and they are both such angry competent people. Parentified children in a world with no parents. This is so important to us as the biggest, most vital relationship that Octave makes for themself. This is a legitimate loyalty bond.

Argyro/Randoh/Dolome: IT'S SO FUCKING GOOD. THREE OF OUR ALL TIME FAVORITE GUYS. THIS DESERVES THE EPIC OF THE CENTURY. IT'S. UNBELIEVABLE!! IT IS UNBELIEVABLE. TWO GUYS WHO DO NOT KNOW WHAT HORS D'OEUVRES ARE AND ARE TRYING TO FUCKING FAKE IT SO BAD. ONE GUY WHO KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HORDERVES ARE AND IT'S YOU. WHAT IS THAT VERY FAST MAN DOING ON YOUR ROOF. ALEXA PLAY TASTY FISH

[myceliumbean]

Cars 2 Agents AU How did Rod survive 2.5 I Waking Siddeley Up

Featuring: The actual debut of Boris (with Boris completely losing his temper)

Summary: the agents were on a mission, and everything went wrong soon after they entered Russian airspace

The quotation marks are a bit different cuz I'm using app tp post this while finished writing it on PC, but still, ' ' stands for talking through radio/speaker, and " " stands for talking directly

Warm was the first thought when some really loud noise woke him up. Siddeley winced behind his visor. He couldn’t see anything, was it already this dark?

He then tried his NVD, but it still didn’t give him any visual input.

Something was wrong. Siddeley suppressed a creepy feeling of something icy cold, and tried to reached out to his fellow agents.

He couldn’t activate his built-in speakers.

Siddeley was almost sure that he’d got caught by some unknown enemies, but a voice deep in his mind, though weakly, was screaming about waking up and starting his engine and Siddeley had no idea about what was going on-

“-WAKE UP!”

The Gulfstream V gasped at the sudden loud voice, his eyes wild, and for a moment Siddeley thought he’d got full awareness of his surrounding. But the next thing he noticed was that loud voice beside him again, almost cracking his audio sensors. “Stay conscious, kid, you will not let yourself drift back into your dreams anymore to escape the cold! You hear me! I know you’re awake!”

But drifting back sounded so appealing, and what was that voice talking about co-

He couldn’t focus on the surroundings through his visor. He couldn’t even see through it.

Was that... ice?

As that realization hit him, a wave of memories of what the past six hours swallowed him. Siddeley fought to stay awake, but he was so tired. Maybe he can take a nap now, ‘cuz that loud voice stop shouting, a short nap...

‘You’d better not give up by now, old boy, after keeping us all alive for so long.’

The familiar tone and that particular nickname woke Siddeley up a little. ‘...Finn?’

‘Stay with me, Sid, the help was already here, we’ll get you to safety in no time.’ Even opening his eyes an inch more took all of his strength, Siddeley tried his best to cling to his friend’s voice. ‘You can do it, just try your best and get your engines start.’

My engines... Siddeley could feel the numbness of his tail and his wings, but his engines were, surprisingly, somehow de-iced and ready for takeoff. He tried, and was satisfied when the turbines started to spin under his will.

“Nice work kid.” That voice again, not so loud for this time, was beside Siddeley and gently pushing him to try harder. “Keep them spinning, now try to open your eyes. You need to look at the runway for takeoff.”

As his pushed his engines to gain more power, Siddeley could feel his entire frame warming up. Wings, tails, and even his landing gears- the backups, they had fixed his flat tires!

He tired to speak, to open his mouth, but at last he could only talk through the radio. ‘I really can’t gain the strength to open my eyes.’

‘Well then, do you trust me?’

Siddeley could feel a gentle touch on his wing tip, and a smoothening caress along his starboard wing. Some deep humming sounds were coming from that direction. That plane must be a big one. ‘I trust you.’

‘Don’t give away your trust so easy, kid, you’re lucky I’m on your side.’ There’s a pulse, and the voice was back, with more demanding in it. ‘counterclockwise ten degrees.’

That meant two and a half circles of his front tires.

‘Good. Now lower the flaps into normal takeoff angle. I’m gonna go first to make sure the sky is clear, could you wait?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tough kid.’ Siddeley thought that he might heard the plane chuckled if it weren’t through the radio. ‘Good luck, I’ll be waiting in the sky.’

The Gulfstream V could hear the sound of powerful engines, much more powerful than his, warming up next to him. The ground trembled slightly when the plane took off, and Siddeley could feel his own wings shaken by the wind caused by the sheer size of the plane and the roar of those turbine engines. It went quiet for a few minutes before the radio cracked to live. ‘All clear, prepare for takeoff.’

‘Roger.’ Siddeley took a deep breath, trying to ease his own sickening feeling of taking off nearly blind, and started to put power into his engines.

‘Keep going. You can do this.’

Turbines speeding up. Engines giving out high-pitched screams. Siddeley could feel the reassuring force that tried to push him forward.

More. Need More for takeoff.

Fuel burned through his lines, Siddeley finally punched through the maze of cold and got a clear look of what was in front of him.

He was in a forest- the one he had merely dodged at the last moment during his landing. But now the trees in his way were removed and the sky was clearer than it was back when he passed out.

Siddeley focused on the field in front of him.

To Safety. The voice through the radio was up in the sky, scouting and waiting. Siddeley couldn’t see the plane now, but if he could takeoff...

There’s the familiar push when he reached the requiring starting power, and Siddeley released his tires and ran through the forest. Trees bended and got chopped when hit by his left wing, Siddeley easily got to the speed he needed to takeoff. First the nose, then his entire frame, the Gulfstream V finally made it and flew straight into the sky.

He could now take a proper look at the plane who saved his life. An Ilyushin Il-76, one of the cargo planes of the Russian, with remarkable bright red sprips along his military-grey frame and three yellow lines decorating his black tail.

‘Glad you made it, kid.’ The Il-76 said, clearly sounding relieved. ‘Let’s get you all back before those fuel burned out.’

‘Sure do. Name’s Siddeley, thanks for saving me and my friends.’

‘Don’t say it too early, kid. Save the talk for your welcoming party.’

Thanks @longjiaojiao for beta and all the discussion that created the other stories of this series!

Boris is totally old enough to call Siddeley "kid", and he does it even before thinking about it- he won't allow himself to lose any life he had a chance to catch.

So the Il-76 just went completely overprotective when he saw Siddeley alone and unconscious in the storm.