#Got some luscious ass locks for a mane

[samhaven]

Artfight attack for Wyrmy 🍨🎀

[redorich]

for the hermit canyon, i humbly request:

Etho messing with Karl and maybe like, Lazarbeam or Fundy, by pretending he’s moth man.

Quackity stalks through the woods, blissfully unaware of its other inhabitants-- not that he would care, if he knew. No, tonight, under the full moon (because it's romantic) he makes his move.

The Hermit, as Quackity is completely sure of, is a beautiful young woman with long flowing hair as white as snow. Because she is a creature of untold power and beauty, fairy tale logic obviously applies. Therefore, if Quackity can steal her clothes, she will have no choice but to marry him and they will live happily ever after as big booty bitches in love.

Nodding to himself, Quackity feels assured in his logic. He's wearing his favorite assless chaps, his best pair of knockoff Yeezys, and no shirt. He is ready for what is to come.

---

Karl lurks deep in the forest, illuminated only by the moon. He leans against a tree, taking care not to disturb his outfit-- he is camouflaged as a bush. Dangling strips of green and brown fabric cover his body, and his limbs are completely hidden in the costume so long as he stands still. It's a daunting task, standing still in the dark, dangerous woods at night. Nevertheless, Karl knows that this is what he must do.

"Triclops Mothman, my beloved," he whispers into the night. He will find Mothman, and he will marry Mothman. There is no alternative.

---

Far away from both Karl and Quackity, though still in the same spruce forest, Sapnap angrily prowls. Well, he'd describe it as a prowl. Truthfully, it's more of a pouty stomp. He knows that this forest has had multiple "Hermit sightings", and Sapnap wants-- no, needs what he's after.

"Hermit!" he screams into the night. "Come out and fight me, you little bitch! Man on man!"

To emphasize his point, he bangs a pot and a pan against each other several times. Sapnap is getting his revenge for that little ravager prank, one way or another.

---

Deep within the canyon walls, the Hermit complex looks like an overturned anthill with all its activity. It's Halloween night come early.

"I'm not wearing a dress," Etho insists.

Grian whines, "But Etho, I made it just for you! It matches Stress's outfit."

Stress, upon hearing her name, looks up from her book and waves. Cleo is currently fiddling with the thick mane of synthetic white hair Stress is wearing, styling the wig into a princess-y type braid.

"I'll say it again," Cleo says, looking very intently into Etho's eyes, "I could take your place."

"No," Etho sighs. "If what Puffy said about these guys is true, you'd probably bite someone's face off by the end of the night."

"You're no fun," Cleo huffs, but acquiesces.

"At least put on the wig," Grian demands.

Grian and Etho have a staring contest for a solid ninety seconds before Etho snaps his fingers in front of Grian's face, causing him to flinch and blink. "You cheater--!"

"I'll wear the wig," Etho interrupts Grian. Instantaneously, Grian loses his outraged moue.

Cleo sighs. "They're the same wig, right? Do I have to braid Etho's hair, too?"

"I think I'll be fine with my new flowing, luscious locks," Etho says with a humorous crinkle to his eyes.

They all laugh as Etho dramatically flips his fake hair, whipping himself in the face with it in the process. He also receives a thumbs up from Joe, who is in the process of searching for his contact lenses because "Herobrine doesn't wear glasses", according to Bdubs.

Night falls, and the Hermits are prepared. They hope their victims aren't.

---

Quackity catches a glimpse of silver-white after so long searching in the woods. With a little gasp, he eagerly pursues it. His beautiful maiden, ethereal and distant like the moon, darts between trees and leaps across creeks like she is flying, like her feet barely touch the ground.

He follows her to a clearing, but when he bursts through the brush into the open space, she is nowhere to be found.

“Mi rey!” he wails, “Fantasma hermosa! Come to papi!”

Etho, hiding in a tree about five feet away, has no clue what any of those words mean. He affects a terrible falsetto and throws his voice. “Hello, Quackity.”

Quackity jumps, looking around wildly for his beautiful girlboss queen. “Hermit?! You know my name?”

“Of course, Quackity,” Etho says, hefting a large rock in his hand. “Come closer, I have a cask of Amontillado we can share.”

Quackity turns toward Etho's voice just fast enough to catch a glimpse of the Hermit's mask, his (fake) long white hair, his decidedly not female appearance. Quackity looks the Hermit up and down. Etho has never felt more Perceived.

"What's a place like you doing in a guy like this?" Quackity says, flirtatiousness dripping from his voice.

Etho eyes the man's assless chaps with distaste from his crouched perch in a tree. Quick as lightning, he chucks the heavy rock in his hand at Quackity's head, knocking him out instantly.

Etho jumps down from his tree with a huffed sigh. "Well," he says, grabbing Quackity by the ankle and dragging him, "time to get to work."

---

"Pspspsps," Karl whispers, "heeeere Mothman..."

The sound of a twig snapping to his right makes Karl freeze, then turn ever so slowly. There's no one there. Karl holds his breath for what feels like an eternity, but is eventually forced to admit that the noise was probably just an animal. Surely, a creature of Mothman's size would make more noise when he walks, given the weight of his strong legs.

"Mothman," Karl says. "I wrote you a poem!"

Joe, who was up until this point hiding behind trees and ominously snapping twigs, feels a twinge of morbid curiosity. As a poet, he absolutely has to know what Karl considers an adequate love poem for Mothman.

With red cheeks, Karl professes his love:

"Your feelers make me feel so sweet

Your hindwings set my heart aflame

Fern-like antennae make me melt

And Mothman, you're to blame."

Despite himself, Joe is a little bit impressed. It almost makes him feel bad about what he's about to do-- almost.

A soft eerie glow seeps into the forest, catching Karl's eye. He investigates, creeping forward until he turns around a tree and sees glowing white eyes. He screams, but there is no sound, and the forest has disappeared. Only those eyes remain, and they too flicker out of existence.

There is a dim corridor ahead of him, narrow and lit by redstone torches. At the end, there is an iron door. He runs to the exit, but as soon as his hand touches the door it disappears and he is engulfed by swirling purple-- like a Nether portal, but so much more terrifying.

The purple is gone and he can just barely make out the menacing image of a man with glowing white eyes T-posing in the blackness. Karl opens his eyes and wakes up on the forest floor, prone and sore.

"Right," he mutters breathlessly to himself, "Mothman is not interested."

---

"--YOU BITCH ASS PUNK, I'M GONNA RIP YOUR LEGS OFF AND STICK 'EM ON YOUR HEAD!" Sapnap screams, banging the only pot he owns against a non-stick frying pan he stole from George.

"Well, that's not very nice, innit?" says a feminine voice. Sapnap looks left, right, behind him, up in the trees... then down.

Big brown eyes peer up at him through white bangs. A displeased pout set into a moon-pale face attached to an equally moon-pale woman chastises him without words.

"...You're the Hermit?" Sapnap says disbelievingly. He has his doubts that someone as small and pretty as this woman could wrangle a ravager onto his front lawn.

"You wanted a fight," she huffs. "And for the record, you totally had it coming, with Pamela's Revenge-- remember, the rava--"

"Yes, I know the ravager was named Pamela's Revenge! There were like eight hundred million death messages in chat about it, you jackass!" Sapnap snaps, trying to cover up his unease. It's not that he's hesitant to hit her because she's a girl; he would deck the shit out of Niki or Puffy with absolutely no provocation whatsoever. It's just that... she looks soft. Like a non-combatant. It would be too easy, too cruel--

Stress punches Sapnap in the jaw with a wicked right hook. "Stealing is wrong," she says.

While Sapnap is dazed and quite possibly mildly concussed, Stress follows up with a brutal kick to the shin. Sapnap makes a genuine effort to fight back, and he’s no slouch, but he’s been taken so thoroughly off guard that the best he can do with his head spinning as it is is to swing with a wild haymaker and hope it hits.

His fist makes contact with something soft and squishy. He hears a grunt, but Stress shoves him over onto the ground and dumps a bucket of glitter over his head. It burns his eyes, but more importantly it burns his pride. He doesn’t remember at what point he dropped his pot and pan (he must have at some point, because he punched the Hermit with an empty fist), but he’s angry enough to open his watery eyes through the magenta glitter and snatch George’s frying pan up off the forest floor, hurling it at the Hermit with devastating accuracy. She yelps, blocking with her forearm at the last moment.

“Knew I shoulda let Etho...” Sapnap hears the Hermit mutter. What’s an Etho?

Stress irritably bonks Sapnap on the head with the pan he threw at her. He goes limp like a ragdoll, and Stress sets about maneuvering his body into a sitting position leaned against a tree so she can do his makeup while he sleeps.

“Hope I don’t poke his eye out!” she says. “Ah well, he’s got two anyway. Now, should I go for a cute, summery look, or a dark evening look?”

---

In Atrium 1 of the Hermit Canyon complex, Puffy laughs loud and clear, clutching her paper cup tightly so she doesn’t spill her fruit punch. "No,” she chokes out, “he didn’t.”

Cub, holding a similar paper cup, waves his hand in a vague gesture. “Yep. That’s Etho for you. You know, one time he got Doc to run around with a snowman head on, eating spider eyes?”

“Oh man,” Puffy sighs, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. “I’m so glad I snitched on Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap. I can’t wait to see their reactions!”

Cub grins evilly. “Stress got pictures before she left.”

Puffy gasps, stars in her eyes. “I’ll bake you a whole cake if you get me a copy.”

“I’ll bake Cub a whole cake if he gives them to me instead,” Grian interjects from across the room. “I don’t need them, I just want to take them from you.”

“Nooooo!” Puffy wails melodramatically. “Grian, please spare me!”

“Five diamond blocks,” Grian makes his demand.

Puffy continues to fake-sob, pretending not to notice Scar sneaking up on Grian until Scar drops an anvil on Grian’s head, like a Looney Tunes episode but slightly to the left. While Grian is distracted, Cub slips the pictures to Puffy, who puts them in her inventory without looking.

Etho walks into the Atrium, now dressed as his normal self, including his natural hair, which looks like an angry wet cat perched atop his head, just the way he likes it. Everyone cheers.

“So, how’d it go with Quackity?” Puffy asks with a smirk.

“Well...” Etho says.

---

Quackity wakes up with the sun in his eyes. In front of him is the public Nether portal, and standing right in front of it is a wide-eyed Sam, staring directly at him. Quackity looks down.

He’s naked, covered in half-dried honey, and tied to a pole like the world’s sexiest flag. And he’s got the world’s worst hangover-- it feels like he’s been hit in the head with a large rock.

“Not again,” he groans.

“...This happens often?” Sam asks.

“If I had a nickel for every time something like this has happened,” Quackity says, wiggling his way out of the ropes tying him to the pole, “I’d have enough money to go buy myself a pair of pants.”

Sam averts his eyes to the sky, abruptly aware of exactly why Quackity would feel the need to buy a pair of pants.

“Damn it,” Quackity says. “Those were my favorite pair of assless chaps.”

“Were they now,” Sam says numbly. The sky is quite blue today, it’s rather beautiful.

Quackity huffs in aggravation, finally having freed himself from his binds. “Yeah, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to, you know?”

“Not really, no,” Sam says slowly. “I wouldn’t know much about-- assless chaps.”

The naked man shrugs. Haltingly, Sam unclasps his cape, pulling it off his shoulders and offering it to Quackity.

“Nah,” Quackity says, “I’ll just streak.”

“Please don’t,” Sam says with pain in his eyes.

[rosecoloredbi-writes]

Truth or Dare

@fabledbitch "Can you do truth or dare with the fabulous steve Harrington?"

A/N: Eeeeeh! Yes. I hope this is fluffy enough! I’m a little tired, but I think this turned out alright :)

Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Swearing?

It was a typical Friday night with your best friend Steve. All the kids were over for the both of you to watch them while their parents had some alone time, and after watching Ghostbusters for the umpteenth time, you were all sitting around the table picking at the last of the pizza and chips.

You and Steve had been friends for a long time. You both went through puberty together, him ending up even more handsome than you could have possibly imagined once he’d grown into the lion mane he called hair. You watched as he turned into a giant dick in high school when he realized that girls liked him… no, they were attracted to him was more like it. He fell into a group with Tommy and Carol and became the King of Hawkins.

Even through all of this, he still kept in touch and was always inviting you to the parties he went to. You would go to one every once in a while, watch Steve make an ass of himself, drink a bit of the spiked punch, then go home.

Everything changed in the last year though. He stopped hanging around Tommy and Carol as much, then Nancy broke up with him, and his new squad was a bunch preteens who practically worshipped the ground he walked on, as he did them.

All of this together brought back the pre-douche Steve, but it also brought out new, amazing things about him as well. Like the fact that he was much more responsible than he had been. He was basically a mom the way he loved those kids. And he was happy. You weren’t sure you had ever seen Steve truly happy.

“Hey! I know what we should do!” Dustin shouted over everyone talking. “We have to play Truth or Dare! Okay, let’s all sit in the living room in a circle!” He ran off and found a spot in an armchair, and everyone followed suit, even though there were some groans of dissent from Max and Lucas. You sat down on one side of the love seat, and Steve sat down next to you, much closer than he technically needed to be, not that you minded.

“Okay, uh, Mike, Truth or Dare?” Dustin asked.

“Uh, truth.”

“Okay, okay uh, have you shit your pants since you were a kid?”

Mike rolled his eyes at Dustin, “no I have not, and if you want to fact check me, Nancy is at the Byers house.”

“Okay, we believe you. Your turn!” Dustin stated.

“Alright, y/n Truth or Dare?” he asked you

“I am going to have to go with Dare. What do you have for me Mikey?”

“Okay, okay let’s see… uh… I dare you to compose a poem about something we decide on.”

“I can do that! What is my subject?” you looked around wiggling your eyebrows at everyone.

Dustin shouted out “STEVE’S HAIR!”

Everyone laughed and agreed, and Steve got out a piece of paper and a pencil for you.

“Hmm… let’s see.” You looked up from your paper and examined Steve’s hair as he posed so that you could get a better look at his luscious locks.

“Alrighty guys, wait till you hear this masterpiece!” you said grinning widely after a few minutes.

“Ahem” you cleared your throat before beginning

“Steve’s hair is big,

It’s been that way since he was a little kid.

It used to just be weird and fluffy,

But now that he’s grown he looks all scruffy.

Steve’s hair is HUGE,

yet he does not look like a Stooge.

It’s shiny and luscious,

And he makes all of the girls blush…es.”

Everyone started clapping and you took a bow, thanking them for their praise.

“Okay, who should the next victim be… uhh, Will the Wise! Truth or Dare?”

Will looked around the room for a minute before responding definitively, “Dare.”

Everyone oooh-d surprised that Will didn’t pick truth.

“Okay, I can work with that… uh Will,” you said eyeing him mischievously, trying to make him nervous. “I dare you to do the worm.”

Will smiled, silently relieved that you didn’t dare him to do anything too wild.

“Okay, let’s see.” Will stood up and straightened out his t-shirt before laying down on the ground.

To everyone’s surprise, Will started doing the worm with perfect form.

“WHAAAT!” everyone screamed as Will stood up and took a few bows, blushing slightly before he sat down. As soon as he did, Dustin was next to him and whispering furiously in his ear. At first, Will shook his head and said no until Dustin explained something else and Will reluctantly agreed.

“Okay, Steve, Truth or Dare?”

Steve sat up in his seat and eyed Dustin warily. “I choose… ah man… let’s just go with Dare,” he said nodding eyeing everyone around.

“Steve,” Will said, clearing his throat slightly, “I dare you to tell us who you like.” Will blushed slightly, and you could all tell that Dustin put him up to this.

I will be having words with that boy Steve thought to himself.

“Okay. Fine. That’s not really how dares work, but whatever.” Steve tried to play it cool when he was suddenly very aware of the closeness between the two of you on the small loveseat. Steve cleared his throat slightly, a few times before answering, “I like y/n.” He said, turning to glance at you before staring at his hands, a blush growing on his cheeks.

When you heard your name come out of Steve’s mouth, you practically spit out the water you had been drinking. With wide, shocked eyes you looked over at Steve, then at the kids who you now noticed were slowly starting to retreat.

“Uh, oh look it’s getting late, uh we are just all gone bike home together, this was fun, okaybye!” Dustin called as they all backed out of the doorway.

“Jeeze, I am gonna kill that kid.” Steve breathed out, chuckling to himself. Of course, they planned something like this. The kids must have figured out that he liked you… It was probably pretty obvious.

By now, the silence was killing you, and even though he had just professed that he liked you, you were beyond nervous.

You cleared your throat and turned to the very awkward-looking boy next to you. “Uh, Steve?” you said with a small voice. He turned to you quickly, looking to see if there was a positive or negative look to you. “I uh, I actually like you too…” you trailed off, looking anywhere except him.

“You do?” Steve inquired, his pitch rising just slightly.

“Yeah, I do.” Steve reached over and gave your hand a squeeze. Instead of letting go like what would normally happen, Steve kept his hand on yours, slowly turning it to interlace your fingers with his. You could feel a blush creeping onto your face.

“Ya know, you look really cute when you’re nervous,” Steve said smiling, feeling much more confident now that you had reaffirmed what you had just barely told him.

“Oh well thanks.” you scoffed, your gaze occupied with your interwoven hands.

“Actually,” Steve whispered, inching closer to you, “you are, and have always been so beautiful.”

“So are you.”

Once you realized what you had said you laughed nervously and was about to apologize when Steve was tucking your hair behind your ear, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb.

“Y/N listen, what I wouldn’t give to kiss you right now, but I know you, and I know you like to take your time with things, so whenever you’re ready, just let me know?”

You nodded, amazed at how observant Steve had been, even though you two hadn’t been as close as you used to be.

You both sat there for a moment, soaking in the shift that had occurred in your friendship, when you suddenly turned to Steve, “Steve Harrington, I want you to kiss me.”

That was all it took for Steve to lean in and gently press his lips to yours.

Truth or Dare may be your new favorite game.

[chris-evans-indian-fanfic]

Delay

One-Shot

Description: You are sent to kill your target, but a delay makes you run into Natasha

Warning: Smut, pure filth, lesbian porn. Like seriously this is 99% porn 👀 AND I AM PROUD OF IT! 😁🏳️‍🌈

This one-shot has been requested by the one and only @cheeseburgersstuff Hope you enjoy this dearie 😘❤️😄

Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

You were at the bar, swirling the lone olive in your martini. S.H.I.E.L.D's downfall hadn't been kind to most of the agents and spies, and you, just like some of your ex-colleagues, worked as an assassin for hire, though you still followed your moral-code and were picky when it came to choosing clients or targets. Your mission was supposed to be over by now, but your target decided to spend another day in the Bahamas, thus delaying his death by 24 hours. Searching for an excuse to pass the time, you looked around the bar, however, nobody was worth a second glance. 

You smelled her perfume first. Always light, sweet, with hints of citrus and floral notes. Within the next 2 seconds, you heard her chuckle.

As you turned back to your glass, you felt the air change.

Her lips soon met the dip between your breasts. She licked the outline of your left breast, her tongue touring the shape of your curve as you struggled to breathe. She then placed open mouth kisses on your bosom, kissing everywhere but the brown bud, now erect and tight with pleasure.

"Looks like we are after the same man," Natasha quipped as she took a seat besides you. 

You turned towards her with a smirk, drinking in her appearance like a glass of stiff gin. Natasha looked… breathtakingly stunning. The dark maroon off-shoulder gave a generous view of her cleavage, tapering off at her waist. Her sleek black pants accentuated her curves, tied with a big, leather belt at the centre. Her midriff showcased the large gold buckle as a crown, twinkling in the muted light of the hotel's bar.

Your eyes finally rested on her face. Her hair was now blonde, a complete 180 from her fiery, red mane that you had grown to relish in your fantasies. Though you had to admit, this look suited her fine.

"It seems that we are," you finally replied, sipping your drink as she considered you. 

"What do you want with Connor?" she inquired, clearly a bit surprised by your presence.

"Ahh you know, the same old. A lovely dinner at the rooftop restaurant, a sensual dance, peaceful walk in the garden, shooting him with 9mm bullets till he bleeds to death. Then maybe head for a midnight swim," you replied nonchalantly.

She cocked an eyebrow, "Not a very romantic way to end the evening."

You raised your hands in defence, "Hey, a girl's gotta eat."

Natasha held your gaze with worry. She knew you were one of few agents who were considered her equal back at S.H.I.E.L.D., and ever since you had started offering your services to the highest bidder? Your skillset had increased by leaps and bounds. Once where you had struggled to use a katana sword, you were now competent in wreaking havoc with just a paperclip. Slightly frowning her head, Natasha started saying, "I am here-"

"-to protect him. I know," you completed her sentence with a wicked grin, "Whatever shall we do now?"

"I was hoping I could reason with you," Natasha urged you, "we need to bring him in for questioning. He has vital information about…," Natasha stopped herself before continuing, "...something and we want that data."

"That data is why he's soon going to be 6 feet under honey," you winked at her and finished your drink. 

Just as you started to get up, she leaned over and brought her lips close to your ear and whispered, "Now if only there were something I could offer to persuade you." She gently kept her hand on your thigh, slowly riding it up under your dress. 

You squeezed your thighs shut, stopping the ascent of Natasha's hand. You met her gaze, your lips almost touching hers, "And what if I am still not convinced?" 

Her luscious lips parted slightly to reveal a smile, "Then at least we would have spent the next 24 hours in bliss."

You smirked and gently bit her lower lip with your teeth, pulling it with you as you moved back a bit. You finally let it go with a pop, as Natasha was now almost on your lap, "Where so you want to persuade me?" 

"How about your room?" she asked as you shook your head. 

"I would have been out of here if it weren't for the delay," you replied and Natasha nodded.

She led you to her hideout, a small studio apartment situated in a quiet building at the outskirts of the city. The apartment barely had enough room to accommodate a kitchen, a double queen-sized bed and a small bathroom. 

You followed her inside as she switched on the dim lights, encasing the room in a warm glow. You hadn't even finished turning around on your heels when she crashed into you, smashing you to the door. Her lips created a storm on yours, her hands almost everywhere on you at once. You kissed her back just as fervently, exploring her mouth with your tongue while you held her hair with one hand, the other squeezing her ass.

The two of you parted after a few moments, desperate for air. "You are supposed to ask me for coffee first," your sarcastic remark was followed by a surprised gasp as Natasha tore the front of your dress, exposing your lacy bra to her.

She licked her lips as her eyes darkened with lust, "It's been too long," she whispered as she dove to kiss your breasts over your bra, "so long."

You fumbled to open her giant belt as she ripped apart your bra, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room. But before she could take your nipple in her mouth, you held her chin and brought her face at level with yours. You kissed her as you started walking towards the bed, your fingers teasing her cleavage with feather-light touches as you unzipped her pants. 

By the time her legs touched the side of the bed, she was palming your breasts as you rubbed her mound over her pants. You pushed her onto the bed and watched as she almost bounced on the semi-hard mattress.

You returned the favor to her off-shoulder top and made quick work of getting her naked. Admiring her beautiful figure laid before you, you removed your ruined dress and joined her on the bed. 

Your passionate kisses resumed. Natasha quickly turned you over so that your back met the mattress as she worshipped your body. Her lips left a sloppy trail to your throat, sucking the spot where your neck met your shoulder. Her ministrations sent a shiver down your body to your core as you could only hold on to her hair for support. 

Filthy moans escaped your lips as you started squirming under her, already hot and bothered even though you knew she had barely begun. 

"What do you need baby?" she audaciously whispered as she looked at you with a smirk. 

You realised in that moment that Natasha was having fun at your expense. Too much fun.

You locked your legs above her waist and turned the two of you around again. Now on top, you let go of all the niceties as you took her hard perky brown nipple in your mouth, sucking and licking it with your tongue while your other hand traveled downwards on her fair body. 

You traced the V leading to her core, before you started rubbing it with the palm of your hand. Her pornographic mewls filled the quiet space as your thumb glossed over her clit. Her back arched off the mattress while the wetness from her mound coated your palm.

Your thumb kept ghosting over her clit, hardly applying any pressure on it as you started working on her other breast. 

She thrust her hips forward involuntarily, hoping to increase the friction, but you refused to relent. Finally, when she groaned out of sheer frustration, you looked up towards her with a shit-eating grin, "What do you want baby?"

She pouted her pretty lips, regret, lust and longing evident in her features.

"I want you to fuck me," she admitted.

"That's all you had to say," you replied as you entered one finger in her warm, dripping core.

She clutched your arm as you explored her walls. Your second finger joined the first, and the symphony of her moans filled the apartment. The speed of your fingers increased as the bottom of your palm met with her clit. You simultaneously sucked her nipple while squeezing her breast. Within moments, you felt her tense beneath you with pleasure, her cunt clenched around your fingers. She came as her body jerked on the bed, her release squirting out of her as you kept continuing your assault. 

Now covered in sweat, she finally rode her high, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath.

You settled down besides her, licking her juices off your fingers with content. When Natasha slowly got up, you thought she must be heading towards the washroom to clean up. But boy were you wrong.

She swiftly returned with a pair of heavy handcuffs and a strap-on tied to her pelvis. She practically jumped on you on the bed, caging your body beneath hers. She kissed the top of your nose as she worked tying your arms in the handcuffs with ease. 

"Try them," she urged. You tried to get out of the handcuffs, but every time you struggled, the grip got tighter and tighter. 

She chucked quietly at your useless efforts. "Oh my dear wifey," she cooed with love, "Though I did enjoy our little roleplay tonight, you are truly mistaken if you think I will let you off that easy, especially on our anniversary."

As she kissed you with passion again, your body was lit on fire again, the twinkling wedding band on Natasha's finger promising you a night of sheer bliss.

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo @notyourtypicalrose @just-one-ordinary-fangirl

Taglist open! Just comment, send an ask or message!

[stevenbasic]

I’d been nervous about this kind of moment since she’d asked to meet me for dinner. Since we’d arrived at the resort. Since I’d asked her to go to the conference. I’d been nervous that I’d be sitting with her, alone with her, and I’d feel like this. Exactly like this.

Jesus, I should be relaxed. The night was perfect, warm with a subtle shore breeze playing through the palms around the restaurant patio and animating the flames of the tableside candles and garden torches. Sunset was on us, salt was in the air, music drifted over the tables. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have been totally at ease, relaxing for the night after a day of classes. Dinner was even going to be paid for by one of the vendors at the conference; I didn’t even need to see a check. But, no...I was buzzing, I was too excited. It was dangerous; I’m a married man. 

I mean, oh my god, Melissa was breathtaking that night. She’s everything I find attractive in a woman. She’s tall. She’s beautiful. Dark eyes, huge raven mane of hair. Her figure is beyond astounding, her breasts big and firm and full, cleavage in her black and white, floral, low-cut summer dress forcing me to struggle to control my gaze. Legs long, a huge shapely ass, and all of her so young and vibrant, healthy, strong.

And she’s just so goddamn pretty. 

But she was my office manager. She worked for me. I had her down at this conference so she could learn a few things, network with others, look into some new software systems. This was a professional meeting. 

And like I said, I’m married. 

But fuck look at her in this dress. She’d been drawing eyes from the minute she stepped into the place - mine included. And now it was getting late, we were finished with our meals, we’d already talked about what we each did at the conference that day: I was mostly in classes, she’d had some management seminars and looked around the exhibit hall, talked to some vendors. But then she’d gone down to the beach, and had nearly tempted me to join her. Dinner together was going to close out our day. I’d ostensibly called it a meeting, at first, but it didn’t feel like that at the moment. We’d both had some drinks - me probably too many for my own good - and she was looking at me funny. 

”Have I got something on my face?” I asked, finally. The booze, the calypso music, and her disarming perfume had already lowered my guard and I knew in my bones that if I didn’t get out of here I was about to say or do something stupid. 

Melissa giggled. ”No, I just think you look totally cute...” she said, coquettishly nibbling at the straw of her tropical cocktail, “...all relaxed and casual.”

“Oh jeez,” I replied, immediately flustered, feeling myself blush. This felt familiar. I’d been with Melissa before while she’d been drinking, and knew how flirty she could get. But there had always been others with us, people we knew and worked with, to keep my behaviors in check. Tonight it was just us. Danger, Will Robinson. “Well...thank you. You picked this outfit for me...”

“I remember, I’m glad you wore it for me,” she smiled, her eyes glittering in the light of the sunset, both of us recalling our shopping date, the department store last week, “Good boy.”

My heart fluttered, and she watched me react. This had become a thing between us: hapless me needing her to take care of her disorganized, at times absentminded boss, and she more than willing to do so. It started out as a little game but I think she got a kick out of it, how helpless I could be, and was beginning to relish filling this maternal role in my life. 

”Y-you look cu...you look nice, too,” I managed in understatement, “You got some sun this afternoon..?”

“Thank you. I tan easy, I always have,” she said, looking down and brushing something away from her bosom, already half-bronzed from a couple late-afternoon hours at the beach. For myself I took the moment to gaze, staring at the golden cleavage she’d boldly put on display for the night. “How about you?” she asked, as I looked away just in time, “You need some sun too.” At that she reached across the table and, as if to inspect me, took my right hand in hers.  My hand suddenly looked pale, my arm thin. “Are you going to promise me you’ll come down to the pool with me tomorrow?” she asked, taking my gaze with hers, “I was really looking forward to hanging out with you this week, and I got so lonely today, all by myself…”

”uhh….” I stammered, suddenly feeling even more iniquitous. I pulled my hand away, reached for my wine. “I, umm…”

Melissa giggled, watching my face, allowing me a gulp of Malbec before speaking again. “What?” she asked, amused, knowing I was uncomfortable with the attention. Was she just teasing me here??

“N-no...it’s nothing,” 

She smiled tolerantly. “You know, you don’t have to be embarrassed, being seen with me.”

“W-wait, what? N-no….I’m not…”

Her smile, obviously pleased, grew to a grin at my discomfit.  ”Oh don't tell me you're not thinking it too…” she giggled, as she brazenly leaned in and reached across the table to fix my hair, running fingers through errant locks and then taking the chance to look me right in the eye. Below our gazes, her boobs rested heavily on the table, bare cleavage bulging up buoyantly into the neckline of her dress. “How everyone here sees us…”

“w-wha...what do you..?”

“What I'm saying,” she continued plainly, as she sat back up straight in her chair, set her shoulders and puffed her big chest out proudly, “is that I totally look like your girlfriend right now.”

!!!

My mouth dropped. Her smile, mischievously, grew and grew and grew. 

“Melissa I’m married!”

“Shhhhhhhhh...I know that,” she laughed, biting her lower lip for the moment to regard me, “And you know that too. But no one else here does, or cares. They’re all strangers.” I watched her dark, beautiful eyes glisten, reflecting the candlelight between us through the growing darkness. “No one’s judging. No one else here really knows you, or your life back home, or anyone there...it’s okay, sweetie. It’s safe.”

Jesus, what was she saying? Unspoken between us, of course, was how unhappy my marriage had become. How tense things were with Sheryl. 

“Loosen up, you can relax,” she casually continued, pausing for the moment to smile at the waitress, who’d come to top off my wine. Melissa had insisted I order a bottle for myself for dinner, while she drank colorful cocktails. “You can unwind, be yourself. We can hang out, have fun together,” she said, as the waitress drifted to the next table, “We might work together, you might be my boss, but here, this week…” 

I breathed in, noticed how her pleasant perfume had suddenly strengthened. 

“...Here we can just be friends, equals,” she said, “It’s just you and me. No one back home has to know…”

It...it all sounded innocent, I guess. A few days of relaxation, she and I. Dinners, beach, pool. But why did it feel so...illicit? ”b-but-”

“Aww…what’s wrong?” she pouted, seeing my struggles and stopping me, “don't want a twenty-something girlfriend?” At that she giggled, apparently pleased with my consternation, and reached out to grab my hands with hers. “Oh HONEY yes yes YES!” she she cried out, loudly, suddenly calling all the attention in our area of the outdoor restaurant to her, “Of course I’ll marry you!!!”

My eyes shot open, my mouth gaped. My blood chilled as the eyes of the surrounding tables all fell on us. Melissa just looked at me and smiled in glee as a small wave of polite applause grew, directed our way. She held my hands tightly across the table, bit her lip and watched my reaction. I was frozen, red-faced in shock, speechlessly waiting for the attention to fade. The clapping petered out quickly, thankfully.

“v-v-very funny, Melissa…” I muttered under my breath, trying to manage a smile but looking, I’m sure, like a bewildered sap. I glanced around, making conciliatory eye contact with several other diners, nodding my abashed appreciation. Melissa’s attention, though, was purely focused on me. 

She giggled again. “Aww, you’re looking a little red,” she cooed, “Did I embarrass you?”

”Melissa people are all staring now...” I whispered, pulling my hands back, finally, from hers. 

”Oh let them stare all they want…” she said with brash confidence, sitting up provocatively straight. With flourish, she dipped her head and tossed back her long, thick hair in a luscious, raven wave and re-set her shoulders to proudly present a chest in dramatic, ample contrast to her thin waist, purposefully drawing more eyes. She then threw her head back, exposing her throat and closing her eyes, allowing them all to get a nice long look, to stare.

I was outright gaping at how her bosom strained against her dress, threatening to burst it, when I realized I was doing it too, staring. I looked pointedly away just before she opened her eyes, looked back at me. Her eyes glittered.

“Don't be concerned about staring, I'm used to it,” she said, her hand reaching across the table again to firmly grab my chin, aiming my head right back at her. My startled eyes met her confident and forthright gaze. Immediately I found myself struggling to keep it as I thought: wow, her perfume is strong, and felt the primitive urge to glance down at her chest again. She watched my struggle, and the new crook in her smile seemed to know it.

“Really, it's okay," she said, holding my chin in her hand longer than she should. ”I mean it. I don’t mind if they look, if you look. Like we said, no judging, it’s just you and me here.” She drew a deep breath, her face, placid, understanding, tolerant. Another lungful of her perfume and my eyes wavered and in that moment, our gazes locked, something changed between us. 

Without a word my eyes dropped into her cleavage, which was again bulging heavily on the tabletop. They stared for a second, quickly drinking in the incredible view - big, tan, full breasts squeezed together into two fleshy swells - and then they stared for a second longer, and then another...and another. I stared for too long. 

And then I closed my eyes.

“Shhh it’s okay. I know...I know,” she whispered, tenderly, patiently, “I know the attention I get, because of how I look. I know what it...does to people. What it does to guys...“

Behind closed eyes, I felt my heart racing as her hand left my chin and affectionately began to caress my cheek. 

“It’s okay if it does it to you too....” she spoke gently.

”...” 

I had no idea what to say, what to do. I was too abashed to even open my eyes, and just passively allowed her to stroke my face.

“Dr. J..?” I heard her say, causing me to finally look at her again. Her hand left my cheek as she pushed herself back from the table.

 I watched her begin to stand, to rise.

“Here,” she said, offering me her hand, “let’s go for a walk...”

[manessqueeze]

Promise

For Malex week, day two: tropes (fake relationship) TW for homophobic slurs and homophobia/biphobia, nothing too angsty but it’s there Read it on AO3

“Hypothetically speaking,” said the man who had appeared out of nowhere and plopped down next to Alex at the bar. Only his years of military training kept him from jumping out of his seat or tackling the guy to the ground. “If I were to put my arm around you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear to piss off my dickhead of an ex, would you punch me in the face?”

“Yes,” Alex replied without a thought as he took a long pull from his bottle of beer before turning his eyes on the—oh, shit—gorgeous cowboy beside him. How he’d kept his eyes from wandering down his impressive jawline to the man’s mouth when he bit his lip, Alex couldn’t say, but he would also attribute it to his military training. Though if he were being honest, that had a helluva lot more to do with his father than he wanted to entertain at the moment.

“With your fist or your lips?”

The smile gracing the man’s own had Alex willing to admit he’d prefer the latter but not before he made the man work for it. He let his tongue flick out to chase the taste of hops on his lips then smirked a sultry reply. If he decided to go through with it—and let’s be honest, how could he not? The guy was a walking wet dream—he might as well play it up. “Haven’t decided.”

The man, with eyes like fire and corkscrew curls tempting Alex to run his fingers through them, moved in a little closer, enough for Alex to feel the heat of his body and the flames of his own desire he’d gotten so good at controlling burst out of control. Not how he expected his night to go, but he had a decent enough buzz working that he could blame it on the alcohol if things got too far out of hand.

He felt the cowboy’s breath caress his skin when he whispered, “I promise to make it worth your while.”

“Lips it is,” Alex replied, not expecting but absolute on board with the sudden press of lips against his, more tender and tentative than he’d expect from a rugged cowboy whose calloused fingers splayed over the sensitive skin of his neck, but Alex didn’t judge. He did however fist his hands into the man’s shirt and pull him close, so close, so impossibly close, so fucking deliciously close that his mind whited out and relegated everything but this sexy cowboy who’s name he didn’t even know into the ether.

And yes, okay, getting the shit kiss out of him in the straightest bar in town with the gayest name hadn’t ever crossed his mind as something he needed to put on his bucket list, but there it was. 

And he did not, he absolutely. Did. Not. Whine when the future Mr. Manes broke the spell and pulled away leaving him a panting mess as he tried to remember how to breathe again.

“The fuck, Michael? I thought you said you were done with all that fag shit,” some drunk chick hollered beside them. Alex blinked over at her and tried to let the homophobic slur slide off his back like he always did. It helped that the hands gripping his waist hadn’t wavered, strong and sure, and maybe a little possessive.

“No, I said I was done with dickheads like you, not with dick itself. I very much like dick and I will absolutely continue to get down with all this fag shit because of it, thanks.”

The dickhead threw her hands up and huffed. “You know what? It’s over.”

“I’ve been telling you that for a month. I’ve moved on, Monica, hence my super hot boyfriend here,” Michael said, arms tightening around Alex.

“Yeah, well I hope you’re happy with your little gay dick and your little gay wedding and your little gay babies.”

“Actually, we’re raising the children bisexual,” Michael corrected before turning his attention back to Alex. “Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

Alex tried not to laugh, he really did, but watching Monica’s head almost explode before she screamed and stormed out had forced it out of him. He bowed his head as he shook with laughter, his forehead coming to rest on Michael’s chest when he moved in closer. Alex hadn’t built up the courage to let go of his shirt yet, but Michael didn’t seem to mind, a hand still perched proudly on Alex’s hip. He liked the way it felt there, like a secret promise destined not to break.

“That could’ve gone better,” Micheal said before clearing his throat and leaning back.

 Alex straightened to look up at him. “I don’t see how.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s unbalanced.”

“Clearly.”

Michael sat down on his barstool and Alex finally untangled his fists from his fabric.

“Really didn’t mean to drag you into this, cute guy who’s name I don’t know.”

“I’m Alex.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Michael. And if I had known she’d go all homophobic on us, I wouldn’t have asked for your help, but thanks anyway.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said with a wave of his hand. The kiss more than made up for it.

“I seriously thought she’d just fuck off if she saw me with someone else.”

“Some people can’t let go.

Michael reached up to adjust the collar of Alex’s shirt, the brush of fingers against his skin felt like another promise. “Some people shouldn’t.”

Alex wanted to stop time and crawl inside that moment. He wanted to live there, locked forever in the way his heart seemed to speed up and slow down simultaneously as Michael looked at him, like Alex was something precious, something special, because no one had ever looked at him like that before, like he mattered.

And maybe for the first time, he believed that he did.

Maria cleared her throat behind the bar and both of their eyes snapped to her knowing smirk. Nope, Alex could not deal with her tonight. She'd ruined the moment, but he knew he couldn't have stayed in it anyway. Thankfully, she passed their drinks across to them and disappeared to the other end of the bar with a word. She always read him like a book. He’d make it up to her tomorrow.

A few shy glances took the place of witty banter, but after another shot of whiskey, Alex felt compelled to ask, “Do you always have such shitty taste in partners?” 

“With women? Unfortunately.”

“And with men?” Alex asked, his eyes meeting Michael’s under the dim lights as he hoped he didn’t come off too desperate for wanting to get to know this guy in spite of the drama he’d just witnessed.

“I sure hope not ‘cause you’re really hot. And it would probably destroy my faith in humanity if the crush on you I’ve been nursing from the corner booth over there the last few weeks came back to bite me in the ass.”

Alex blushed. As a general rule, boys didn’t crush on him. He longed from afar on unattainable men and maybe got lucky every once in a while thanks to grindr. But he felt brave, though he couldn’t decipher where to lay the blame: on Michael or the booze.

“I usually reserve ass biting for the second date.” That had Michael choking on a sip of whiskey, and Alex almost felt bad about it, but he pushed ahead and leaned in to whisper in Michael’s ear, luscious curls that smelled of rain tickling his nose as he pressed in close. “But you did promise to make it worth my while.”

And that dick loving cowboy did not disappoint.

[etaleah]

Anthony Drama Queen Crowley and His Hair Through the Ages:

4004 BC: I is snake. What hair does snake have? Curly, let's go with that. Long snakey curly ooohhh an angel! 

3004 BC: Humans have braids. Does angel like braids? I like braids. I try braids. Yes, good. 

33 AD: Fucking EXCUSE?? You want me to wear a turban with this beautiful mane?? I think the FUCK NOT! Guess Imma be a lady demon for a while because these flowing locks deserve the hood treatment. New name, who dis?

41 AD: Fuck it Imma cut all this shit off and wear a crown. Too much work. But I will curl the front just to be extra. 

579 AD: FUCKING HELL it's been 474769231 bad hair days in a row send help you know what fuck this, I'm going to stuff all my hair under a helmet so no one can see DON'T LOOK AT ME YOU PEASANT I AM HIDING MY SHAME also where the fuck is Aziraphale I haven't seen him in 500+ years where is he and why isn't he telling me I'm special 

1600: Okay okay, I got this. Hair is long, thick, and flowy again. Waves. Yes. Good. Got it under control. WAIT. What if I had hair...on my chin... 

1793: Gotta rescue my idiot angel from the head cutting machine and that means blending in. But stylishly. *snaps fingers* Barber, get me some side curls. Side curls to the max. Idgaf what you do with the top Imma change it back when I get home anyway 

1862: Oh nononono they’re out here being homophobic and shit I better have short hair. Perfect, now a top hat and some sideburns so Angel and I can match. Much straight. Very man. See how manly man I is? 

1941: Okay sideburns were a bad idea. Top hat is too big for snakey demon head, must swap for a smaller one. A little hair gel and I'm ready to kick ass, kill Nazis, and save my dumbass angel and his books too. 

1967: John Lennon you're my hero I wanna be you 

1970s: What am I wearing? What is my hair? Who knows? Not me. I got dressed in the dark while stoned. Can I hear a wahoo?

2007: Good century so far. Humans getting better, inventing lots of nice things. I think it's finally safe to grow out my long and luscious locks again :> 

2012: I googled "nanny costume" and this was the first thing that came up 

Also 2012: WAIT...what if I had my hair up...but NOT 

2017: I dunno man too much going on with Armageddon and shit just keep it short, spike it up, and leave it at that I can't be bothered anymore I'm gay and tired

[kiruuuuu]

Well that’s too bad anon, I interpreted it as a request and I even filled it. So I guess that’s your answer? ♥♥ Truth is, @magehir has whispered Bandit/Rook filth in my ear already and this was enough to convince me to write some. Thanks for the prompt! (Rating E, explicit, ~1.4k words)

.

His eyes are what sends Bandit into a rage fiercer than the simple annoyance bothering him when they entered the stall – the ocean blue looks deep enough to get lost in, the eyelashes feathery and deceptively delicate-looking, the black holes of his pupils that never fail to draw Bandit’s gaze wide and betraying the fact that he’s enjoying this just as much as Bandit. Bandit doesn’t want him to. He’s not supposed to.

“Go fucking deeper”, he hisses and buries one hand in lush curls, tugs on them sharply and is rewarded with a satisfying squirm and an almost-wince that he feels is punishment enough until the corners of Rook’s mouth are pulled upwards a little into a smile that to Bandit looks nothing but smug. The little shit. He crowds the Frenchman against the tiled bathroom wall, making him lose his balance and sit on the dirty floor instead of squatting. His back is now pressed against the wall, head tilted up and eyes locked on Bandit’s face, unchanged, amusement and arousal dancing in them. He is enjoying this.

Bandit tightens the hold on his hair, drags it back to expose Rook’s throat in a dramatic arch before thrusting into it experimentally, expecting a gag or a warning hand on his hip but is met with pliancy instead. Rook lets him and nothing else he could’ve done would’ve fuelled Bandit’s temper more. “You talk too much”, he informs the much younger man in between laboured pants, “running your mouth like a – like a -”

Words elude him. They usually do around Rook for some reason, not always but increasingly so, especially when his eyes keep staring up at him like those of a loyal, devoted dog, blue pools into which Bandit sinks all too easily. Just like his throat. It’s tight and hot and robs him of coherent thought, reducing him to a moaning mess and he barely even remembers how they got here. They’re out drinking with their teammates, Bandit felt his anger spike moments before he dragged Rook with him, locked them in the furthest stall and didn’t even need to push him to his knees, Rook did that all on his own, smiling up at him and licking his lips as he opened Bandit’s jeans and fucking Christ the things his tongue can do. He gasps for air and withdraws almost all the way, allows Rook to suck on the tip as he resorts to short thrusts that have him approach his climax worryingly fast.

“Don’t say a word about it, goddammit”, Bandit breathes and watches, mesmerised, as the kid swallows him whole once more, “I told you – I told you not to. Fuck. Oh fuck.” Hands are digging into his thighs now, not holding him back, oddly enough, merely steadying him. Both of them know that he himself started it, bragged about all the things in which he beats Rook, prompted a series of increasingly concerned questions from Doc who hadn’t heard that Bandit and Rook sometimes meet up for the exchange of bodily fluids and who inexplicably seemed horrified at this revelation. None of it was complicated until Rook produced the words dating and don’t tell me who to like and that’s probably around the time Bandit dragged him away.

And even though he’s the one who decides on the tempo, can choose to cut off Rook’s air (he doesn’t, he knows the wimp hates it when he does it without warning so he refrains generously), essentially has the upper hand here, somehow he doesn’t feel in control regardless. The feeling is impossible to shake, especially since Rook’s touches stay affectionate, calm, his gaze unwavering. It’s like he knows more about Bandit than he does and the thought drives him up the wall. He does this sometimes, like when he caught Bandit slipping some Skittles into Pulse’s M&Ms after Pulse was rude to Jäger. Rook looked at him with an unbearable shit eating grin that Bandit had to remove with his teeth and his own lips. Sometimes, Rook pokes his side and just tells him you care with the same kind of expression he had earlier when talking about liking Bandit and it’s -

Someone barges into the room, of course, Bandit forgot to lock the toilets after all. “Occupied!”, he yells at the intruder from inside their stall and distractedly untangles his fingers from the luscious mane to run them over Rook’s prominent cheekbones.

“What, the whole bloody men’s?” It sounds like just another drunk guy with whom Bandit would’ve picked a fight if he wasn’t balls deep in Rook’s mouth right now.

“Yeah the whole fucking men’s”, he echoes sarcastically, “I wanna get my dick sucked in peace, dude.”

“Oh shit, mate, ‘scuse me.” A beat. Then: “Is the bird hot?”

“Scorching. The kind of pretty that breaks hearts and cocks alike.” He earns a grunt of approval and barely notices how his fingertips are stroking along Rook’s jaw now, following his bobbing motions that haven’t once let up. “But it’s not a bird.”

There’s a disgusted noise followed by a loud banging on the door that can only be the drunk kicking it. “That’s fucking gross! Take your gay shit and shove it up your ass somewhere else, you tosser!”

“If you want, I can come out right now and kick your ass all through this room, rip your tongue out and make it taste the insides of your intestines if you like”, Bandit shouts with an anticipatory grin, “and all that with a wet boner. Or you can piss off and let me blow my load in this cutie’s mouth with all your organs still intact.”

“You’re fucking deranged!” Despite the protest, the guy does piss off, slamming the door behind him and leaving them to a blissful quiet.

Rook’s eyes are gleaming and he seems to be shaking with how much he’s struggling to hold back laughter, so Bandit takes pity on him and pulls back, drags him to his feet while they’re both chuckling and presses a quick kiss to glistening lips.

“You know”, says Rook once they’ve settled down a little, “there are other ways to silence me.” He’s staring at Bandit’s mouth now and it’s obvious what he wants. He tilts his head readily when Bandit moves in, even closes his eyes when their breaths mingle. There’s a moment of calm, right before the tipping point.

“Yeah, you’re right”, Bandit whispers, examining the needy expression, drinking in the blind trust. With a quick motion, he pulls up the hem of Rook’s shirt and shoves it between his teeth. “There you go. Now jerk me off and let me come on your abs, lover boy.”

There’s a huff of amusement before Rook complies but he obeys nonetheless, bites down on the fabric and leaves his midriff exposed, and the sight together with the fast strokes of his fist threaten to push Bandit over the edge much too quickly. He uses what little time he has left to unzip the Frenchie’s trousers, revealing his underwear and throbbing erection encaged within, then he already feels his imminent orgasm. He comes while growling into brown curls, spurts his semen out in long stripes that paint Rook’s pronounced muscles as well as the briefs the kid has already soaked all by himself. It’s intense only because he’s got such a gorgeous view, a quivering youngling at his mercy, horny and more than willing to follow orders.

Normally, this is where he’d end this, leave him hanging, thirsty for more but those eyes are staring up at him in a mixture of fondness, lust and desperation and hell, if the kid blows him all the way through an argument with a drunken idiot, he deserves to be cut some slack. Even if he talks too much sometimes.

Bandit kneels before him and announces: “If you let go of your shirt, I’m stopping immediately.” And then he begins to enjoy the way Rook whimpers and his thighs tremble as Bandit slowly licks off his own sperm, starting high and travelling lower and lower.

[lillaxtrigger]

Faded land: Chapter 6

In the ruins of the broken baseball stadium, Clara and the other soldiers were being forced down a dark tunnel by the set of armored guards. “Move it!” one of them demands, pushing one of the soldiers forward. The scientist looks over to one of the soldiers and whispers: “Any of you guys got a plan or...?”. “The plan is to fight. Fight as long as we can and hope we can make it through the first day.” the female soldier answers.

Approaching the light, they could hear a loud screaming echo through the tunnel as they come out. Their eyes adjust to the bright light to witness the huge baseball field before them, the luscious green grass of the once clean cut field is replaced with lifeless grounds full of bones and discarded, broken weapons. Above the battlegrounds were countless spectators, their maddening screeches bouncing through the entire stadium. The tall light stands behind the walls of the stadium illuminate the bloody arena below. The tunnel behind them quickly shuts, trapping them withen the arena. On the other side, they could see more fighters come out of the tunnels.

Looking to the seating, Clara saw a raised, flat platform with a red throne perched in the middle. On the seat was a giant man in golden armor, hair like a lions mane and a scowl so piercing that it could break through solid rock. Rising from his throne, the golden man announces in a deep, grandiose tone to the entire stadium: “My people! Welcome to my grand arena!” Every week, we gather the brave, the cowardly, and the traitorous from all over the city and place them inside this once humble baseball stadium, to fight to the death. Everyday, you people grind away your lives to live another day. Wishing to live beyond this dark age and into a new age of hope. And even with food, shelter, and water that we’ve been given, its not enough. The mind numbing grind of everyday life can wear out ones mind in this already bleak world. Which is why I have created this arena, to give you relief from this hopeless existence at the expense of others.”. The crowd roars in a frenzy, chanting over and over again to their ruler: “Malcolm! Malcolm! Malcolm! Malcolm!”. The king puts his hand up, queuing the audience to quite down. “However, I am not heartless. To any 3 fighters who survive. I shall give a meal for each so that they may live to fight another day.”.

Most of the fighters were feeling a full range of emotions. Some were ecstatic, raring for the chance to fight and earn the privilege to dine on a well deserved meal. Others have gone mad, their sanity rotted away to be replaced with a feral instinct to attack whatever was their path. Some depressed, thinking that their fight to end this horror show may prove fruitless. Few were frightened, afraid that they may face their bloody fate, like Clara.

“Now my people...Drop your weapons! Rain down your lethal parting gifts onto the field below and let them be stained in the blood of our own man!”. Everyone in the audience picks up various melee weapons from under them and throws them into the battlegrounds. A full range of sword, shields, spears and axe rain down on the bloody battle field. Everyone in the grounds below rush to whatever weapons they can grasp in a desperate bid to defend themselves. With the soldiers, Clara rushes to some of the buried weaponry. “Okay, do we seriously have a plan or what?” one of the soldiers stressed. “Yeah, we survive.” another answers as he pulls out a sword. “Do you people plan anything?” Clara aggravatingly questions.

Departing from the soldiers, the scientist quickly picks up a shield, hoping that it could defend her from the countless madmen running about. Hearing somebody screaming from behind her, she turns to find someone about to swing their sword at her. Clara raises her shield and blocks the sharp blade. The fighter constantly bangs on her defense, driving the scientist down on her knees. Pinned down, she looks around and sees two of the soldiers fighting off several mad combatants, wasting no time to finish them before more pop up. One was running away from a small group of gladiators in a frightened dash through the arena. All of them too busy to even look in Clara’s direction. She was on her own. The scientist pushes the mad gladiator down and runs away.

Racing through the arena, she frantically tries to look for weapon to defend herself with among the ongoing chaos. She sees the hilt of a machete buried in the dirt and swipes it up as she runs. “Finally, an actual-”. Looking at the blade she picked up, Clara found the actual blade broken off, the machete being nothing more then a short sharp stump. “Come on.” she complains while putting the hilt in her pocket. Seeing another fighter screaming as he charges at her with a spear, she dodges the spear in a way that also makes the attacker smack into her shield. Grabbing the spear as the gladiator drops to the ground, she thanks him: “Thanks.”. She turns around and sees the same fighter with the sword coming right at her. Closing her eyes, she raises her shield and points her spear forward. After hearing a loud squelching sound, she opens her eyes to see her spear impaled in the attackers chest. She watches as his life quickly drains away, leaving behind nothing but a limp body stuck on the end of Clara’s stick. “Uuh, I-Oh-Oh-Ok-Okay.”. After kicking the body off her spear, she looks over to find one of the soldiers overwhelmed.

The soldier does her best to fend off the gladiators on both sides, blocking their attacks and pushing them away. They start to cutting through her defenses however, one slicing at the side of her stomach, making her flinch in pain. Just before they could finish her off, Clara rushes in and tackles one of the fighters. This gives the soldier the opportunity to block the others attack and push him down, hammering her axe into him were he lies. The soldier then turns to Clara, saying: “Thanks a bunch.” “Don’t sweat it.”. The soldier then writhes in pain, clutching her cut as she kneels. “Hey, you okay?”. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a flesh wound’s all.”. The soldier rises from the grounds, commanding: “Lets find the others.”.

Another soldier was rushing through waves of countless gladiators, slicing the soft tissue of whatever was in his way in a blood crazed dash. Eventually, he clashes with another fighter, repeatedly bashing his blade against the gladiators shield in a maddening frenzy. “Whoa, whoa! Stop! It’s just me!” the gladiator please. Hearing the familiar cry of his comrade, the soldier snaps out of his rage and sees Clara blocking his attack in a fright. He lowers his weapon, stepping back to give the scientist breathing room. “S-Sorry. Don’t know what got over me. This place just drives me insane.”. Clara then sees a fighter trying to sneak up on the soldier in front of her. “Look out!” she warns. By the time the soldier turns around, his attacker was already right in his face, leaving him no time left to attack. Clara couldn’t strike the gladiator down with her spear, the soldier being in the way. But just before the combatant could make mince meat out of them both, the female soldier came in the nick of time to swing at the fighter, her axe cleaving his head. “You two okay.” she asks. “Yeah. Thanks.”. “Now all that’s left is to save Charlie’s sorry ass.”. “Where is Charlie anyway?”. Just then, they heard the cry of cowardly screaming near and look over to see their partner running for his life from a mob of flesh hungry combatant.

“No! No! No! No!” the frightened fighter flails as he flees. The mob behind him waved their weapons in the air like they just don’t care to try and reach the cowardly soldier. “Oh Charlie!” one of the soldiers say. “What do we even do? We can’t take on a mob that big.”. Clara looks over to one of the lights above the stands and starts to think. She looks to her spear, bending it to find it surprisingly flexible “I think I might have something.” she mentions. “Got something?” one of the soldiers ask. “Maybe. One of you give me your shirt.” she commands. The female soldier started to take of her camo shirt, when Clara stopped her in a fluster. “I-I-I meant the guy give me his shirt.” she flusters, her face red with blush. As the girl put back on her top, the guy began to take of his. “Thanks. Now cover me.” she commands before taking his shirt and running off.

The scientist looks around the arena for any discarded weapons she can utilize. Although seeing plenty of broken weapons laid strewn across the battlefield, none would help the scientist with her formulating plan. One gladiator lunges at the Clara with her back turned, only for the female soldier to swoop in and cleave through the side of his stomach. Clara turns to her as she finishes off her failed assassin. “Great timing. I need another spear.” the scientist requests.

The soldier looks around for anyone unlucky enough to be wielding what Clara asked for. She finds one gladiator charging through the field with spear in hand. Rushing after him, she brands her axe, saying: “Come to mama.”. The fighter sees her coming and begins to charge at her. While the gladiator lunged his spear at the soldier, she swiftly dodge the pointy stick and swiftly decapitates the poor brawler Taking the spear from her unlucky victim as he fell, she tosses it in Clara’s direction. Through the air the spear glides, landing near the scientist feet to her surprise. She looks back and sees the brave soldier giving her a thumbs up.

Clara takes both spears and jams them into the ground. She then pulls out the soldiers shirt and starts to tie both ends to the grounded weapons. From behind, one manic sneaks up on the scientist, ready to chop her head in half. The other soldier steps in and stops the brawler before she could kill Clara, blocking her sword. He then pushes the swords woman back before swinging his at her. She then blocks his swing, locking them in another struggle. As he holds the gladiator back, the soldier kicks up a cloud of dust upward, blinding the fighter. Opportunity at hand, he knocks away his opponents sword before slashing at her.

After getting the shirt tied to the spears, Clara pulls back the shirt as hard as she can, the spears bending with the clothing. The scientist then takes her shield and puts it on the cloth, looking over to the runaway soldier as he flees from the mob. She waits until the mob is almost all the way around the arena to let go of the makeshift slingshot, flinging the shield out of the arena. The metal disk flies above the audience and rockets into one of the spotlights. Breaking, the stands starts to fall down into the arena. Many of the spectators try to run from the descending spotlight, crashing into the seats and slides down towards the battlefield below. Charlie hears a loud crash and turns back to sees the entire mob crushed under the sheer weight of the fallen lights. Clara and the other soldiers rush over to him, Charlie shouting: “D-Did you see that!? I-I-I almost got c-crushed!?”. “Don’t worry mate. Science wiz here knew what she was going.” the female soldier adds. “I...Huh?”.

Clara looks over and sees the pole of the lights leading up to the stands. “Hey look. I bet we can climb outta here!” she says, rushing towards the pole. “Well what are we waiting for. Come on people.” the female soldier said. The scientist and the soldiers rush over to the broken lighting, climbing up its broken stand. Almost over the huge wall segregating the arena with the seats, their hopes begin to soar. Escaping this nightmare seemed like a possablilty. Hope soon fades however when they see Malcolm on the other end of the escape, wearing this glaring smirk. “Oh no you don’t.”. The king gleefully pushes the heavy pole out of the seats and back into the arena. Clara and the soldiers jump off before the pole crashes, landing roughly on the ground as the arena shook. They look back up to the seats, hearing Malcolm’s laughter bellow through the broken stadium. “Nice try. But as long as you’re in my arena. You play by my rules. You won’t be leaving unless I say.”.

Picking themselves up, they notice the remaining gladiators closing in, threatening to surround them. “What now!?” Charlie panics. “Relax. There's only a handful of them left. If we work together, we can finish them off.”. Clara and the soldiers split off into teams of two to finish the fight.

With a band of crazed gladiators coming towards them, Clara and the other soldier prepare to fend them off, the scientist wondering as she looks around: “Weapon, weapon, weapon? I need a weapon.”. To her side, she sees a corpse with a stick poking out from its side, a spear perhaps. She rushes over to the dead body and pulls out a bloody shovel. As first, she was confused, wondering what to do with a shovel that somehow wound up in a battlefield. But soon, the gears in her head start turn.

The soldier rushes through the crowd, tearing apart whatever was in his way. As he digs his blade into a fighters flesh, another one tries to sneak up from behind and club him. Before the brawler could swing, the soldier quickly turns around and stabs him in the stomach. Keeping the poor fighter on his blade, the soldier uses him as a battering shield against the others. Ramming into his opponent, he hears the squelching of flesh on the other side. His opponents defeated, he kicks the corpse of his blade. The constant fighting begins to break the soldier down, the close bloodshed clouding his thoughts. As he tries to reel himself back, two more contenders close in.

Clara dodges the sword swipes of a wayward fighter. The gladiator swings again, this time hitting the handle of her shovel, lodging itself into the wood. As the fighter tries to pull his weapon out, Clara looks under him and sees that his legs are open. She swiftly trips him up, making the fighter fall to the ground with his sword slipping from his grip. The scientist lunges at him and bashes the brawlers head in.

The soldier soon runs into a fighter with a big shield that blocks his attacks. He tries to sidestep around his opponent for an opening all while the gladiator is thrusting his spear at him from the side. He sees an opening and tries to rush in, but is pushed away by the massive shield. The mans frustration is at his limit as he just rushes in and constantly bangs on the brawlers shield. However, rage isn’t enough to break the gladiators thick defense. Suddenly, the fighter feels something below and looks down to see a shovel wedge under his feet. The shovel lifts up and trips the brawler forward, giving the soldier the opportunity to attack. He repeatedly swings his blade into the grounded foe in a fit of rage, blood splattering further with each plunge. Clara slowly approaches him, trying to get his attention. “Um...I-I think he’s dead.”. Some of the blood gets on her shoes, prompting her to back up. After a few more swings, the soldier stops getting up from the bloody mess he’s left in his wake. “You...okay?” Clara meekly asks.

The soldier quickly turns around and tries to swipe at the scientist midsection. “Whoa!” Blocking the mans sword, she gets a closer look as his face. The warrior’s teeth grinds as his rapid breath passes in and out of his mouth. His clouded gaze pierces through the scientist, as if his body was near, but the mans mind was far away. “What’s wrong with you?”. The soldier jumps back and lunges at Clara, the scientist barely able to dodge the sharp blade. “Come on. Don’t do this now.” she pleas to the warrior. Her words reach deaf ears however as the soldier readies to attack again. Clara evades the swing and backs away, thinking out loud: “Gotta get you to snap outta it.”. She looks toward the end of her shovel, seeing her reflection on the end of the gardening tool. The soldier charges straight for the scientist, his eyes solely focusing on his prey. Clara puts her shovel under the man feet and uses her knee to push the handle down. She manages to knock him down on the blood soaked ground. Before the mad man could get right back up, the scientist clonks him on the noggin. Coming back to his senses, the soldier rubs his head, griping: “Ah, my head.”. “Feeling better?” Clara asks. “Yeah, think I am. Thanks.” the soldier replies as he rises. “Don’t thank me. Thank natural balance physics.”. “Thank what?”. “Nev-never mind.”.

Charlie and the female soldier charge towards to small mob of fighters. “So, Carly. Do we have any plans?”. “I might have one.”.

The female soldier rushes into the fray of the mob, swinging her axe into one fighter after the another. Backing off to avoid getting their heads cleaved in, one of them instead gets stabbed from behind, a sliver sword piercing through their body. They turn to their comrade, seeing Charlie pushing his victim off his blade. Charging away from Carly, they turn their aggression towards their sneak attacker. The cowardly soldier runs for his life once more, screaming: “Not again!”. Just when they were about to close in on the poor soldier, one of them gets an axe to their skull. The others stop and turn back, Carly taunting with: “Forget something?”. With only three brawlers left, two of them rushed at the female soldier, while the other chased after Charlie.

The ones going towards Carly start to split off, coming at her from both sides. She knows what they’re trying to do and takes action by quickly rushing at the left. “Not this time, assholes!”. The soldier dashes to her left, her opponent blocks as she approaches. With one mighty swing, she knocks the brawlers sword out of his hands. Before the fighter could even get a chance to glance over at his discarded weapon, Carly cleaves his chest in twain. Seeing his comrade killed, the other gladiator lunges forward. As she gets her axe out of her opponents chest, she tosses it up in the air. Carly turns over to the charging fighter, seeing her axe drop down and plunging itself into her failed attackers head. As the poor brawler fall, she dislodges her weapon from his skull. “Tough break.”.

Charlie runs from his pursuing opponent, hoping that he wouldn’t have to engage and that Carly would rush in and save him. He turns around and see the fighter caught up to him, readying to swing his axe. He tries to turn around to block the brawlers strike, but even when he does block it, the force of the swing still knocks him to the ground. On the floor, he tries to push off the axe wielding maniac as the axe draws close. The gladiator then lift his axe, threatening to cleave Charlie’s head in as he readies to swing. The soldier acts fast and crawls under, the axe barely missing his head. With the opening in site, the scared soldier took the chance to plunged his sword into his opponents stomach. The fight over, Charlie takes a well deserved breather.

Our four survivors gather to the center of the ring as the crowd cheers them for their triumphant victory. “We...We did it!?” Charlie exclaims with a disbelieving gaze. “Gotta be honest. Didn’t think we make it?” the other soldier admits. “Probably couldn’t if science wiz here didn’t figure out how to take out a bunch of them in one swoop.” Carly praises, making the scientist blush. The cheers begin to die down, they hear the sound of a single person clapping. Looking up above, they witness the applause coming from Malcolm himself. With a hardy laugh, he compliments the four fighters. “Amazing. Such incredible teamwork has let you live through the day. Well done.”. The king then stops applauding, then commands them: “Now finish it.”. “Finish? What’s he mean by that?” Charlie wonders. “Yeah! There’s no one left. Who do you expect us to fight!?” Carly screams out. With a devious sneer, he explains to the four: “Before the fight started, I said that it wouldn’t be over until only three were left standing.”. All of them realize what Malcolm what getting at.. “Now fight!” the king commands, sending the crowd into an uproar. “He can’t be serious! He expects us to kill each other!?” Charlie affirmed. “Well what if we don’t fight? Whatchu gonna do then, big guy?” one of the soldiers barked. “Then I’ll come down there and kill you the rest of you myself.”. “Bring it on, man. Save us the trouble of killing you later.” Carly declared. “Yea- Wait what!? Hang on a minute! Can we even take him?” Clara objects. “Hey, don’t sweat it. There’s four of us and one of him. With all of us fighting together, I’m sure we can take him down. What’d ya say?” Carly asked. “Yeah, lets fuck’em up.”. “Uh...Okay...” Clara hesitantly vouched.

Then, all of them heard the sound of a blade plunging into flesh. They turn, shocked to see Charlie, having stabbed himself in the stomach. “Charlie!”. One of them rushes over to their comrade as he falls to the ground. Picking him up as Charlie coughs blood, the soldier asks: “Charlie...why!?”. “I wanted so badly to change...the city...To make all this stop… The way you guys…helped the people fight back...It made me want to help too...no matter how scared I was... But you guys saw me today, I cant fight worth anything…If one of us has to go, It should be me… Probably slow all of you down anyway.”. “Charlie. You didn’t have to kill yourself. We could have beat Malcolm if we worked together.” Carly mentions. “You...and I both...know that we can’t finish him here. Even if...we did overpower him...He’d just call for reinforcements.”. Coughing up a frightening amount of blood, he tries to hang on to tell his friends with his final breath: “One more thing...When you get out of here...and get back to base…. Tell the boss...thanks for taking a coward like me in.”. With his last message delivered, the cowardly soldier meets his end. The entire stadium goes quite, his friends morning in sympathy.

The silence is then abruptly shattered, hearing Malcolm’s increasing growls of anger at the soldier suicide. “No...No! NONONONONONONONOOOOO!!!!!! You all were supposed to kill each other! Bathe in each others blood! He ruined it! All of it! That feeling of killing one of your own was supposed to drive all of you insane! I can’t even reap justice for this! How can I even take my revenge out on someone who’s already dead!?” he screams, his fits of anger echo even past the stadium. Once he’s done shouting, he looks around and sees everyone staring at him, having witnessed their king throw one of the biggest tantrums. Even the three remaining fighters below couldn’t help but staring in bewilderment. After composing himself, he looks down to Clara and the soldiers and threatening: “This isn’t over.”. He then announces: “Take them away!”. The tunnels open, armed loin guard storm the arena. Surrounding them, the guard aim their firearms at the victors, forcing Clara and the others to put down their weapons.

The guards pushes them into a holding cell, the sound of the lock clicks when the barred door shuts behind them. Inside the rough cell was nothing but some small bits of crumbled rubble, a cardboard box or two, and one wooden chair. The scientist rushes over to the door and finds it locked. “Hmm.”. She turns over to the two soldiers, who were sitting down in the squalor, utterly depressed. “So, whats the plan now?” she asks them. “I don’t know.” one of them quietly utters. “Can’t believe it. Charlies gone. I mean...He was a wuss, but...that didn’t stop him. He went into every fight we gone through. Why? Why now did he think it was too much?” Carly reflects. Clara looks back to the door, looking through the cell bars and wonder out loud: “Hey, uh...Didn’t they say something about food?”. The door suddenly opens, Clara steps back as a lion guard lets himself in. “You’re prize for the week.”. Out from his bag, he dropped a can of ravioli, one as big as a someones head. “Make it last.” the guard remark as he exit, locking the door behind him.

After Clara picks up the can, she asks: “Okay, So, does anybody actually know how were gonna get back to base?”. “If we can even make it out. The lion guard won’t let us just waltz through.”. “Pace is right. The lion guard have constant patrol around the stadium. Besides, the doors locked, and nothing in her can break it open. Might as well wait here until next week when they pull us out to fight again.” Clara thinks for a moment, putting her hands to her sides and feeling something in her pockets. Reaching in, she pulls out the broken machete she causally put away during the fight. “I got it.”. She looks to her two cellmates, presenting the broken weapon to them. “Ladies and Gentlemen. I present to you our means of escape.”. “A machete handle?” Pace wonders. “You’re enthusiasms nice, but I doubt a broken blades gonna bust us out.”. “Not with that kind of thinking.”. The scientist approaches the door and looks through the cell if anyone was nearby. Once she confirmed that the coast was clear, she wedged broken machete into the door. Clara moves around the blade, feeling for the lock. “Come on. Clara needs new cleats.”. The scientist smiles when she feels the lock. The snap of the lock make both soldiers rise from the seats as they see her force the door open. “Ta da!”. She see both of them run for the door, Carly patting Clara on the shoulder with a compliment. “You’re a roll, science wiz.”. The scientist follows her compatriots in an effort to escape.

As they sneak through the halls, Pace sees Clara holding the jumbo can of ravioli. “Do you have to take that with us?” he asks. “Hey. We fought for this, might as well take it with us.”.

All of them peek around the corner to see the first sign of a patrol, whistling to himself. “So. How many guards you think are patrolling this place?” Clara whispers. “This arena brings in and houses a ton of prisoners each week. If I had to guess...a lot.” Pace explains. “Will you two stop talking. They’ll hear us.”.

Carly starts to sneak up from behind the armored goon, tip toeing across the dirty marble floor. “Fly in to the danger zone.” the guard sings. When she was right behind him, the soldier grabs the henchman from behind and struggles to swipe away their firearms. Once she does however, she quickly uses the blunt end of the gun to knock the guard out.

Back at their cell, Carly throws the poor goon inside and locks the door. Looking to the side, Clara notices other cells beside her. “Should we free the others?” she asks them. “Nope. Main worry should be getting outta her and returning to base.” Pace explains. “Besides, you’ve seen the way these guys act. Don’t know if one of them might jump at us the moment we open the door.” Carly adds as she starts to walk off.

Going back, they go through another hall and peek around the corner. No guards in site, Pace says: “Looks like the coast is clear.”. “Come on.”. “Wait!” Clara demanded. Both soldier stop in their tracks, turning to her with Carly asking: “What now?”. They see the scientist looking towards the roof, asking them to: “Look up there.”. Looking where she’s staring at, they see camera’s planted along the roof, watching whatever passes through the halls with an everlasting watch. “Oh...”. “Shit. How we gonna get past them?” Pace curses. “Why don’t we just shoot them down?” Clara suggests. “And let the sounds of banging led give us away? Why do you think I went for the last guy’s gun first.”. “Right. Maybe we should try another way then.”. “Nah, too risky. Gotta sneak through.”.

All of them shimmy along the rough brickwork to avoid the camera’s unblinking gaze. When they see the next camera on the other side of the wall, they run into a problem. “We got a slight snag.” Clara states. “What now?” Carly worries. “The camera’s are too close to one another to have a reliable blind spot. It’s too tight.”. “I hate stealth.” Pace gripes. “So...Got any other plans cooking up there.”. Clara wonders for a moment before looking up to the camera they were under. “If I can reach up there. Maybe I can move the camera’s to a less compromising positio-”. Without warning, Carly hugs the scientist, stirring Clara in a blushing fluster. “Wha-What What are you doing!?” she whispers. The soldier props Clara up on her shoulders, just high enough to reach the camera. “Ah! Ah. Ah Oh...Thanks.”. Carly gives the scientist a thumbs up while keeping her stable. Clara takes hold of the camera and carefully moves it up, making a blind spot to pass through. When she gets off, the three tiptoe to behind the next camera, Carly lifting Clara on her shoulders so she can adjust it. They keep repeating this until they reach final camera near the end of the hallway. Hearing footsteps coming, Pace hastes: “C’mon. Lets pick up the pace.”. All of them swiftly shimmy out of the Camera’s site and rush out of the hall before a set of patrol comes through.

Clara and the soldiers rush through the halls to outrun the patrol before they’re spotted. Hiding behind a corner, they watch as the patrol heads in the other direction. As soon as they feel the sense of relief, someone behind them shouts: “Freeze!”. Looking behind them, they see a wayward lion guard, aiming their firearms at the three. “Come on, make this easier for all of us and get back to your cells. I’ll throw in a cookie if you do.”. “Like hell we will!” Pace roars before pouncing straight for the guard. The goon fires several loud shots in hopes of shooting the soldier, only for none of them to connect. Pace takes the gun from the guard and kicks him on the ground so he can fires a barrage of bullets at its owner. The man takes a moment to breath before they hear from across the hall: “What was that?”. “Sounded like gunfire, come on!”. This prompts them to start booking through the halls as fast as they can.

“Great. Now they all know we’re out. We gotta find the exit fast, or we’ll be up to our neck in lion guard.” Carly mentions, holding onto her side. “Do any of you know where the exit is!?” Clara questions. “What makes you think we know? We’d hoped to never end up.” Pace answers.

Their mad dash through the stadium sends them towards a couple of patrols. Before they can even shoot, Pace opens fire, quickly dispatching both of them. “This is more like it.” he smiles.

Running across the hall, they dash through an intersection with one side full of guards. Passing, Carly manages to gun the group down. Unfortunately, those that survived began to give chase.

With the mob of guards in hot pursuit, Clara spots an open concession stand and tells the soldiers. “Quick! In there!”. They dived behind the stand and turn to fire at the encroaching goons. The mob fires back, Carly and Pace use the stand as cover against the firing squad. With the barrage of bullets storming their direction, none of them can even peek out without risking getting their head blown off. “We’re pinned down. What now?” Carly shouts among the countless bangs. “I don’t know. I thought cover might help us. Pace looks abroad to the firing squad, the says: “You too go. I’ll hold these bastards off while you make a break for it.”. “What!? Pace, that’s insane! They’ll tear you apart!”. “I know. But if it gives you girls a chance to escape. I don’t mind taking a couple bullets. Gotta get back to base somehow, right? Science wiz...Sorry about all the shit I caused ya.”. Pace, about to leap out from cover to face the squad before them, gives one last message: “Get going!”. Both of them watch as the soldier jumps out and races towards his final fight. “Pace!”. Carly watches as her partner charges forth, opening fire at the firing squad with a smile. Clara grabs her arm and pulls her away from the scene. “Come on!”. The two run off, the echoing of bullets dimming as they escape. “Pace...”.

Running out from behind the corner, both of them grind to a halt when in front of them, a guard with a big mini gun strapped to him. Seeing the barrel starting to rev, both of them dive back into the corner just before the automated cannon could open fire. A constant wave of bullets pass through the halls as the mini gun goes off. Peeking out from the corner, Carly can see the exit just behind the approaching gunman. “Damn it! So close. What now?”. Clara gives herself a moment to think before pulling out the jumbo can of ravioli. The scientist rolls the can of compact Italian cuisine towards the guard. Walking towards their target while spraying a stream off bullets forward, the rolling can trips up the goon. The mini guns aim goes straight up, the led piercing through the fragile ceiling. The guard stops his uncontrollable barrage and starts getting back up. “What was that about?” Carly asks. “Wait for it.”. The ceiling above the gunmen begins to crack, bits of the roof start to fall off. “Come on...”Clara eggs on as she looks upwards to the cracked roof. Soon the entire ceiling falls apart, burying the guard under a mountain of debris. The banging of his gun silences as the shower of bullets cease.

“Whoa.”. “There we go. Now all that’s left is to climb our way past and we’ll be home free.” Clara giddily reviews. Before they could start climbing over the pile of rubble standing between them and the exit, Carly began to hiss in pain, grabbing the cut on her stomach. Blood leaking out from the wound. “Ahh!”. “What’s wrong!?”. “My cut. It’s too severe. I can’t even move.”. “But we’re so close! Wh-what if I carry you?”. “He he he. You, a small twinkie, carry a big and bulky girl like me? Ain’t gonna happen. You just gotta go on without me.”. Carly grunts and hisses as her wound worsens. “I-I can’t just leave you here. There has to be another-”. “You ain’t got a choice!” Carly shouts, making Clara go quiet. “The lion guard are gonna be here any minute. At least one of us has to make it back to base, else this whole mess of a mission would just be for nothing. You understand?”. Sadly, Clara nods and starts to climb up the rubble. “One more thing.” Carly states, stopping Clara from climbing so she can look back. “Can you tell the boss were sorry...that things got this bad.”. With that said, the scientist continues to ascend the rubble. Carly slowly stands and looks ahead, the footsteps from halls getting louder. The soldier take her gun and aims down the corridor. “Charlie...Pace...I’ll see you guys soon.”.

Over the mountain of debris, Clara hears the sound of gunfire going off from the other side. Without hesitation, she runs out the exit and through the parking lot, leaving the once sporting and beloved baseball stadium behind.

[samanthasroberts]

A Definitive Ranking of the Best Hair in the Star Wars Universe

With each new Star Wars movie, fans wait to see how their favorite characters, new and old, will be styled. And, with some of the most iconic and influential hairstyles in pop-culture history, the franchise has a high bar to clear when it comes to its characters tresses. Because as Yoda says, “Hairdo. Or do not hairdo. There is no try.”

But how do the buns, braids, blowouts, helmet hair, and headdresses in a galaxy far, far away rank when pitted against each other? We have your definitive, character-by-character guide to the best and worst looks from Naboo to Starkiller Base. Coif it up!

Note: We concerned ourselves with hair, and hair only. That means no heads that are shaped like hair (looking at you, Bib Fortuna).

Best Hair

Alamy

1. Leia Leia is a basic choice to top our list, but no hair in the history of film is as iconic as the stylethat spawned millions of parodies, Halloween costumes, ill-advised earmufffs, and people who think its hilarious to hold up cinnamon buns next to their faces. George Lucas has said that the revolutionaries of Pancho Villa were the inspiration for the buns, but others have pointed out that the look more closely resembles the Fallera hairdo from Spain or the Hopi “squash blossom” buns.

Regardless,Leia doesn’tget nearly enough credit for her other styles: Her Hoth crown braid, Bespin look with the braided loops, and her coiled twisted braid situation from the final scene of the original trilogy (dubbed “the hot plate special” by the crew). Props for being the only woman in history to make hair jewelry look cool when hanging out with a giant slug gangster and kudos to her chic, but no-fuss updo in The Force Awakens. Because when youre busy running the rebel uprising and chasing after your good-for-nothing, rogue-ass son, theres no damn time to mess with your hair. We salute you and your fabulous tresses, General Organa.

Alamy

2. Padme Yasss, Queen of Naboo! One of the only good things about the prequels is Padmes sense of fashion, ranging from her iconic wedding dress to her ombre, goddess-style flowing gown. But the real showstopper is her hairfrom gravity-defying updos and bejeweled headbands straight out of a Coachella fever-dream to headdresses that would even put Sarah Jessica Parker at the Met to shame.

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3. Kylo Ren Ah, the mane that inspired a whirlwind of tweets and such think pieces as Why Is Kylo Rens Hair So Shiny and Voluminous? An Investigation. With hisfollicularlyblessed lineage, it only makes sense that he never suffers from helmet hair, even after a long day of stomping around with stormtroopers, attacking villages, and interrogating rebels. The hair game is strong with this family.

His hair is, of course, a throwback to the longer hairdo sported by his role model and grandfather, Anakin, while Anakin was being lured to the Dark Side (well get to that soon). Like Samson, do the men in their family derive dark energy from their locks? And, if thats the case, why is Anakin-as-Vader bald? Maybe thats the real answer to why Ren’s hair is so big: Its full of secrets. Hair secrets.

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4. Rey Nicknamed “Three Knobs” on set, this updo looks cute from the front with early-aughts-inspired sidepieces and wispies. From the side or back, though, things get questionable. Why three buns? Whats so wrong with one? Rey doesn’t seem super concerned with fashion, so were left to believe that its a utility thing. Still, we’re game for this look because, well, they’rein space. Things are allowed to get a little weird.

Also, a million points for her goddamn eyebrows. Dont tell us that she hasnt gotten her hands on some wax while scavenging on Jakku because we will call you a liar.

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5. Dorme Only in Star Wars could a style this outrageous look fit into the background. Padme’s handmaiden rocks a kawaii-as-hell hair bow that puts even Girls’ Shoshanna to shame. “Hair bows” (as in bows styled with actual human hair, not cute cloth bows with a clip) are a very real, and wonderfully strange, thing. But we’re pretty sure its impossible to make one IRL with this much volume using only natural hair. Please, though, someone make a tutorial to prove us wrong.

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6. Poe Dameron Poe has some luscious, swept back locks that pair well with his clean-shaven face. Like Kylo Ren, he somehow manages to avoid helmet head. This is very excellent hair. It’s amazing he doesn’t have a line of people from across the galaxy lined up to run their fingers through it.

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7. Lando Calrissian Lando might bethe first majorblack character in the Star Wars universe, but we have to assess some minor demerits forrockinga perm. But well cut him some slack because if “hair” includes facial hair, he takes the cake with his groovy-ass ’70s mustache. This look transcended Billy Dee Williams role in Star Wars. Not only was it an essential component of his signature confidence and swagger, but we maintain that it’s the reason that Williams became the spokesperson for Colt 45 beer. Were you hiring him or the ‘stache, Colt? Be honest.

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8. Jyn Erso We call this look The Bridesmaid. Its nothing as revolutionary as Jyn herself in Rogue One, but its certainly very pretty and easy for fans to replicate with side bangs, face-framing pieces, and a little bun at the nape of her neck.

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9. Mon Mothma Caroline Blakiston once said she opted to use her own mid-length red pixie cut for her role as Mon Mothma, and were glad she did. This look, while later co-opted by Justin Bieber, became an essential ’80s style.

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10. Bodhi Rook This undercut/ponytail combination is very Burning Man. Its a little dirty, but also kind of sexy in a yoga-teacher way. Conclusion: He can rook our bodhis anytime.

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11. Finn Finn’s fashion is best defined by the on-trend Resistance fighter jacket gifted to him by Poe. His hair, thougha classic cut we call the Your Always Grumpy Unclehas never been on trend. Never ever. But Boyega fans can take heart: His hair as seen in the Pacific Rim 2 set photos is extra :fire emoji:.

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12. Han Solo Though Han is a total babe, his hair is a little fluffy and we cant stand a middle part. What else do you expect from a stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking Nerfherder? Still, he’s got a good head of hair and we can’t knock those retro sideburns. We also like his conservative, tapered cut in Force Awakensa solid look for an older Han.

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13. Luke Skywalker Baby Skywalker starts out with a retro ’70s feathered mop. A little dated now, but very “of his time.” When we meet back up with him in Force Awakens, he has transitioned to a scruffy hair/beard combo. Very old-school Jedi. Though, dear hipsters, the next time you think that this is a cute look, think of the fact that the make-up and hair folks working on the film thought this would be the best way to show that someone was literally cloistered away on a fucking island for decades.

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14. Sabe Her style makes for a crazy-couture, runway-ready look. Its not easy imitating the queen, especially when that means you have to wear giant hair croissants on the side of your head. (What is up with these people and hair that resembles pastries?) Kudos to her for rocking it.

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15. Chewbacca One of the few characters who is literally covered in hair from head to toe, his routine includes a complex combination of hair oil, holding spray, careful shampooing, a special hairbrush to comb out the snarls on his butt, and wand-created curls. Seriously.

Chewie is at his best when his locks are wind-swept and looks significantly creepy when his hair is brushed smooth. Whats with the volume? Is his forehead just super long or is he wearing a Bump It? We advocate for him getting a Border Terrier-style trim. Google it and you will agree.

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16. Anakin Skywalker This one is tricky. Anakin has, at points, both very good hair AND the definitive worst hair in the galaxy. Lets start with 20-something Anakin’s wind-blown surfer hair, a look thats later copped by his psycho grandson, Kylo Ren. Carefree! Classic! Two thumbs up! On the other hand, young Anakin has a freakin’ rat-tail. You say Padawan braid, we say rat-tail, and it doesnt matter because, when it comes down to it, we can all agree that its gross. We cant decide if he looks like he just walked out of a Hot Topic with bad rubber bracelets and a t-shirt from a band hes never actually heard or if hes a recent escapee from a hippie commune. Just: nope, nope, nope.

The “Really? You Could Do Better” List

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Obi-Wan Kenobi Specifically, young Kenobi played by Ewan McGregor. Rock me, Sexy Jesus?

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Qui-Gon Jinn The half-up, half-down look needs to crawl back to the ’90s and die there. In recent years, some millennial celebrities (ahem, Ariana Grande) have tried to make this a thing again. We maintain that encouraging anyone to wear this look is straight-up irresponsible.

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Ewoks They need a trip to the groomer. Maybe a nice puppy cut blowout like a Shih Tzu? We say yes.

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Yoda Real talk: Yoda needs to own his hair loss and go bald. If you want to feel truly creeped out, look up Yaddle, another member of Yodas species, and imagine how your favorite pint-sized, green Jedi might have looked in his younger days.

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Queen Jamillia Girl, you look like a sunflower.

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Salacious Crumb Zero points to theweird dude who you might recognize from hanging out withJabba the Hutt. He could use a shoulder waxing and some kind of hat to cover those little tufts on his head.

The Wild Card

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Captain Phasma We have no idea what she looks like under the helmet. Will actress Gwendoline Christie keep her carefree, battle-ready, Brienne-of-Tarth messy chop? Or will she revert back to the real-life long blonde locks that she sported pre-Game of Thrones? Or maybe shes got something wacky going on under there that we havent even thought up yet. The options are literally endless.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/05/27/a-definitive-ranking-of-the-best-hair-in-the-star-wars-universe/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/05/27/a-definitive-ranking-of-the-best-hair-in-the-star-wars-universe/