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gallavichsreddie1128 · 8 months ago

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Tag Team (Deadpool/Wolverine)

Description: Wade is distracted during a mission so afterwards all 3 of them fuck in the Honda.

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 1,773k

Request:

IM OBSESSED WITH WADE AND LOGAN AS A TEAM... May I request a smut where both of them fuck fem!Reader?

Idk reader could also be a hero and it happens during a mission, I trust your writing!!!

Wade had been distracted the entire mission. It was to the point that Logan was getting annoyed with him even more than usual. Y/N had no clue what they were fighting about but was also annoyed with both of them. “Can you guys shut the fuck up?” She growled at them. They both stopped arguing and looked at her, “Can you stop being so hot?” Wade asked. She rolled her eyes and put her finger to her mouth to shush him. “Yes mommy.” Logan looked at him with disgust.

Wade was a kinky son of a bitch but Logan never got used to it. They were trying to kill bad guys but Wade was about to ruin it. Y/N had been so into the mission she had failed to see both of them checking her out. She did have blood all over her but what was new? Wade and Logan both had it bad for the girl but Y/N was oblivious. Before Wade could say anything else the bad guys appeared and they had to kill.

Y/N shot at them, never missing. Logan clawed them up and managed to get more blood on them than before. Wade? Well he was still distracted and barely did anything, “WHAT THE FUCK, WADE?” Y/N yelled at him. She pulled him right out of his dirty thoughts. “Y/N and I just did all the work.” Logan added. “Well my bad that I can’t stop thinking about taking you both to a whole new world of pleasure.” Y/N stared at him with a blank look.

She was really tired of him acting like this, especially on a mission. “Well next time don’t come.” She said and walked away from him. Logan followed but not before growling at him. “Oh come on! You guys act like this isn’t hot as fuck.” He whined, catching up to them. “What’s hot about killing people, Wade?” “EVERYTHING!!” Y/N sighed and stopped walking. “Wade, I’m very flattered but now is not the time.” She said to him. “Wait so there’s a time?” He asked. She sighed and started walking again.

The Honda Odyssey was the only “bed” that they had which sucked ass but it had to work. They all reeked of blood and guts but Wade couldn’t stop thinking about fucking Y/N in it. “So about earlier, is now the time?” He asked. Logan rolled his eyes and Y/N sighed. She sat up in the backseat and stared at him.

He was still wearing his mask and Logan took his off. “Wade, don’t you wanna fuck in a bed?” She asked, looking around the car. “Honey, I would fuck you in a volcano.” Yeah cuz that was a turn on. She looked at Logan, “What about you?” She asked him. He opened his eyes to look at her, “I wouldn’t fuck you in a volcano but this is all we have.” She laughed at his words and put her weapons on the floor.

“Alright guys. Let’s have some fun.” Wade was out of the car and to the backseat before she could finish her sentence. Logan got on the other side of her and she looked between them, “I’m not sure how this will wo-” Both of them attached their mouths to her neck. She gasped at the sudden action of them and she never noticed that Wade lifted his mask. Their lips moved sloppily on her neck, leaving marks. She gripped both of their necks and pulled them closer. They both placed a hand on her upper thigh and she leaned back against the seat, taking them with her.

Her eyes were closed as they marked her neck until she had purple spots. Logan moved down to her cleavage and Wade’s hand brushed against her pussy. She gasped at the feeling of both of them. Logan kissed and sucked the top of boob while Wade managed to get his fingers in her body suit to her bare pussy, “Holy shit.” She breathed out and he chuckled. “Ya like that princess?” Wade asked as his fingers rubbed her clit.

She was soaked and had been for a few hours now. Logan moved from her tit to the floor and spread her legs. “Move your fingers you Merc.” Logan said to Wade. Wade whined but did anyway so Logan could feast on her pussy. “Take this off.” He demanded her. She undid her body suit and Logan helped her get it off until she was fully naked in nothing but gloves and her boots. Logan chuckled as he looked at her wet pussy.

He sniffed her and sighed, “Fuck darling you smell delicious.” He told her and licked up her clit. She threw her head back and moaned. Wade watched as Logan ate her out and got even harder. He looked at Y/N who had her eyes closed and her breathing was harder. He leaned back too and turned her head towards him and kissed her. She weakly kissed back and moaned into his mouth. Logan was eating her out like an animal eating its first meal.

It was everything. Her hands gripped his hair making him moan into her pussy. The vibration made her whine and Wade stuck his tongue in her mouth. She let his tongue explore her mouth and Logan’s explored her pussy. Her hips bucked into his mouth and she shuddered at how close she was, “I’m gonna cum!” She whined into the kiss. “Cum on his beautiful face.” Wade told her and that did it. She fucked her hips up into his face and came all over. Wade praised her as she rode her sweet orgasm.

Logan flattened his tongue as she did all the work until the pleasure was gone. He pulled away from her pussy and smirked at her. She loved the sight of him covered in her cum. Wade did as well, “Damn wish that was me.” Logan got back onto the seat next to her and kissed her, giving her a taste. She moaned into his mouth. “Fuck that’s so hot.” Wade said. Y/N pulled away from the kiss and moved to kiss Wade giving him a taste as well. While they were kissing she took his mask off and threw it on the ground. Wade was never insecure around them.

They made him feel loved. She broke the kiss and moved in between his legs. He looked down in shock as she pulled out his dick. “Kiss.” She told them and without protest they did. She smirked as she watched for a second before running her pretty fingers over Wade’s cock. He gasped into the kiss. She wrapped her hand around him and jerked him off a few times before taking him into her mouth. Her mouth was the best thing to fuck.

It was wet and warm and felt so good. She placed her hands on his thighs and gave him the best blow job of his life. Wade was the loudest one out of the three of them. He fucked up into her mouth as the car rocked. The windows steamed up as they kissed and she gave him the best blow job ever. “Fuck. Your mouth is amazing, baby.” He moaned.

Logan watched as his dick went in and out of her mouth. Sure her mouth was good but her pussy was even better. Logan and Wade stopped kissing once Wade got really close. He threw his head back and cried out as he came in her throat. She pulled off of him and pulled Logan down for a kiss. She let Wade’s cum travel into Logan’s mouth and he swallowed. Wade gasped as he had never seen anything like that before.

Y/N smirked at him and got back in between them. “So I want all or nothing. You both have to be inside of me at the same time.” She says and they both nod before getting naked. She got on the center console of the car and they both managed to get their dicks in her at the same time. Their car was small but it managed to work. Y/N gasped at both of them penetrating her at the same time. Logan tried to let her adjust to the size but Wade didn’t care and started thrusting.

Her moans were loud inside the car and it felt very hot. Her jaw was dropped and her bloody hair was wet with sweat as well. Wade laid his head on the head of the carseat and groaned out. Logan who had more stanamia than both of them was fucking her fast and hard. Wade tried to keep up but it felt better this way.

“Shit you both are so fucking good.” She whined as one dick would hit her spot and then the other would right after. “You’re one to talk princess, your pussy is so perfect.” Wade groaned. Her moans turned to screams as she started thrusting back on them. The perfect rhythm began and all 3 of them were making loud noises. The heat of the car made things more intense.

Logan’s hand that was gripping one side of her hip was squeezing to the point of bruises. Y/N wished more than anything that she could see how fucked out they both looked but that was the con with doggy style. Especially in a small car. Wade groaned as he felt her pussy squeeze them, “Fuck princess, I’m about to cum.” He announced.

Y/N smirked before moaning as she squeezed them tighter cuz a loud moan to release from Logan. He barely moaned but when he did it was amazing and hot. “Fuck sweetheart, If you do that again I’m gonna cum too.” “That’s the plan.” She whimpered and squeezed them. “Where do ya want it, pretty girl?” “Inside of me. Both of you.” She cried as she too felt closer to the edge.

Wade groaned loudly as he came hard inside of her pretty pussy. Logan was a few seconds later and stilled behind her as he came. Y/N helped them ride it out as she came next screaming their names. The car smelled of sweat and sex as they both pulled out of her. Wade collapsed back against the seat and sighed, “Man I do love a good tag team after a crazy mission.” He said. Logan glared at him, “You didn’t even help.” Y/N turned around to look at the two. “Boys don’t start.” She warned and got in the middle of them. “Maybe if you guys are good we can go for round 2.” She smirked and brought them both in for a kiss.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Google’s enshittification memos

[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]

When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.

Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:

The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.

https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/

"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."

And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.

How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.

When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.

People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:

https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/

Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":

http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf

Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:

https://killedbygoogle.com/

Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.

It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.

Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.

Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.

It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d

Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.

Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.

Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:

https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf

The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."

OK.

But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."

It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."

"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."

And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."

In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.

Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."

For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.

But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:

https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554

Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.

For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."

Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).

Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.

But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.

And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.

As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.

But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.

The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."

What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

#pluralistic #enshittification #semantic matching #google #antitrust #trustbusting #transparency #fatfingers #serp #the algorithm #telling on yourself

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alfheimr · 11 months ago

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My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

#process #art tutorial #unsure what else to tag this as. if this does not post properly i will cry.

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lvnleah · 1 month ago

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hi i have a request for kyra!☺️

R and kyra have been together for a year now, (r is not a footballer or famous) but the girls never met her,never seen her or even seen a photo or her so they all make fun of her for having “an imaginary girlfriend” and joke around with her.

the reason why they never met her is cause r is very shy ,awkward and get very nervous and uncomfortable around new and a lot of people. One day though kyra ends up convincing her and takes her with her to meet the girls. They all very much shocked cause they really thought kyra was lying about the gf lol🤣, but then they get even more shocked when they see a side of kyra that they never saw. Her being so lovely,kind and soft with r who a first is a little bit overwhelmed but then ends up relaxing and enjoying the night. the can see how much kyra and r love each other’s and they’re happy for them

actually real | kyra cooney-cross.

“I swear, she’s real.” Kyra groaned as her teammates teased her over you.

“Sure she is,” Katie smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Sure you have a girlfriend, and she’s totally not just some made-up person you tell us about so we don’t think you’re lonely.”

Kyra rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she leaned forward. “I do have a girlfriend, and you lot are just mad you haven’t met her yet.”

“I mean, can you blame us?” Steph piped up, grinning. “You’ve been with her for what, a year? And not one of us has even seen a picture? C’mon, Ky, you’ve got to admit, it’s a little suspicious.”

Beth let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, is it because she’s actually famous, and she doesn’t want to be seen with you?”

More laughter followed, and Kyra groaned, rubbing her hands down her face. “She’s not famous. She’s just—” She hesitated, not wanting to overshare about you. “She’s shy. And she doesn’t like big groups. It’s not that weird.”

Lotte smirked, tilting her head. “Right. So, what you’re saying is your girlfriend, who nobody has ever met, doesn’t come around because she’s conveniently ‘shy’?”

Caitlin leaned into Katie, whispering just loud enough for Kyra to hear, “It’s getting a bit sad at this point, isn’t it?”

The team erupted into laughter again, and Kyra groaned.

They had been at this for months. Every time she talked about you, even just little things, like how you made her tea in the mornings or how you always sent her the sweetest texts before a game the teasing would start.

But she couldn’t even be mad at them. They didn’t mean anything by it. They just didn’t understand.

Because you were real.

And Kyra adored you.

But you also happened to be incredibly anxious and extremely uncomfortable around big groups of new people, which made introducing you to her team a little difficult.

And she respected that. She never wanted to push you into something you weren’t ready for.

But still.

She really wanted her teammates to know that she wasn’t just making you up.

It took a while, but eventually, she convinced you after coming home that evening.

It wasn’t easy. There had been a lot of anxious rambling on your part, a lot of reassurance on hers, but finally, finally, you had agreed to come to the team’s bonding night.

Kyra practically threw herself onto the couch beside you, draping herself over your lap dramatically as she let out an exaggerated groan.

“Baby, please please please come to my team bonding night!” she whined, her voice filled with desperation.

You sighed, setting your phone down as you glanced down at her. “Kyra…”

She lifted her head just enough to meet your gaze, giving you her best pout. “They think I’m making you up, babe. Making you up.” She groaned again, “Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

You bit your lip, not wanting to smile, but she was making it really difficult not to.

“Ky, you know I don’t like big groups,” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s not that I don’t want to meet them, I just—”

“I know,” she said softly, her teasing tone disappearing for a moment. She sat up slightly, resting her weight on her elbow as she reached for your hand. “And I would never make you do something you’re uncomfortable with. But I promise you, they’re great. And they’re going to love you.”

You exhaled, squeezing her hand. “I just… what if I get too overwhelmed?”

“Then we leave,” she said without hesitation. “No questions asked. You just give me the word, and we’re out of there.”

Your lips pressed together, anxiety still bubbling in your chest. You didn’t like meeting new people. You weren’t even sure how you met Kyra because your anxiety ruled your life. Literally.

Kyra shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t let go of your hand. You don’t even have to talk much. Just sit with me, let me hold you, and let them see that you do exist.”

That pulled a small laugh from you, and Kyra grinned.

“Just think about it,” she murmured, “I want them to see the person who makes me happiest. But if it’s too much, you say the word, and we’ll stay home, order takeout, and make fun of their Instagram stories instead.”

You exhaled slowly, your nerves still present but softened by her unwavering support.

“…Okay,” you whispered.

Kyra’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

She grinned, pressing a flurry of quick kisses to your face, making you giggle. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “You owe me for this.”

“Anything you want, baby,” she said easily, wrapping her arms around you. “Anything at all.”

That conversation was how you found yourself sitting in Kyra’s car, anxiously twisting the hem of your sweater between your fingers as she drove toward the restaurant.

“I can’t do this,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Kyra glanced over, reaching for your hand. “Yes, you can,” she said softly, squeezing it. “And we’ll leave the second you want to. No questions asked.”

You exhaled shakily, squeezing her hand in return.

“I’ll be right next to you the whole time,” she promised, her voice as gentle as ever. “You don’t even have to talk much.”

You let out a nervous laugh, but it wasn’t untrue.

“I love you, okay?” she murmured, bringing your hand up to press a soft kiss against your knuckles.

You nodded, trying to take comfort in the fact that, no matter how overwhelming this night might feel, at least you had her.

The second you walked into the restaurant, the room went silent. You could feel their eyes on you immediately, and it took everything in you not to shrink into Kyra’s side or run straight out.

But Kyra didn’t hesitate. She slipped her arm around your waist, keeping you close in a way that felt both protective and reassuring.

Steph was the first to break the silence. “No. Fucking. Way.”

Leah blinked, looking genuinely taken aback. “You actually have a girlfriend?”

Caitlin nudged Katie. “We owe her an apology.”

Kyra rolled her eyes but grinned nonetheless, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before looking at her teammates. “Told you so.”

Beth leaned forward on the table, squinting at you. “Are we sure she’s real?” she asked playfully. “Like, she’s not just some paid actress you hired for the night?”

You let out a nervous laugh, but Kyra immediately squeezed your hand. “You lot better behave,” she warned, though the fondness in her voice softened the words.

The team, to their credit, didn’t push too hard. They were obviously curious, but they kept things light, introducing themselves in a way that wasn’t overwhelming.

Kyra helped you settle into your seat, keeping her hand on your knee, rubbing soothing circles against your skin whenever she noticed you getting fidgety. As the night went on, you slowly started to relax.

What surprised the team the most wasn’t you, though.

It was Kyra.

They had never seen her like this.

They knew her as competitive, fiery, always up for a laugh or prank but with you, she was soft.

She was attentive, making sure you always had what you needed. She never let go of your hand unless you needed it free, and even then, she’d find another way to keep contact. Whether it was her knee brushing against yours or her arm resting behind you on the booth or her foot lightly tapping against your ankle under the table, she was always touching you.

She was patient, whispering little reassurances to you whenever she noticed you getting overwhelmed. And she was so in love with you.

It was obvious in the way she looked at you, in the way she softened every time you spoke, in the way she seemed completely and utterly focused on making sure you were comfortable.

“Okay, I get it now,” Katie muttered to Caitlin at one point. “She’s whipped.”

Caitlin grinned. “Properly in love, is she feeling okay?”

Kyra just smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek before whispering, “You okay, love?”

You nodded, feeling more at ease than you had in a long time. Because yes, the night had been scary at first but it had also been filled with laughter, gentle reassurances, and the unwavering presence of the girl you loved.

And by the end of it, when Kyra helped you into your jacket and kissed the top of your head, “Proud of you, imaginary girlfriend.”

#lvnleah #awfc x reader #woso x reader #kyra cooney-cross x reader

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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Legit though, we should start turning ecosystem restoration and work to make our world more tolerant to the effects of climate change into annual holidays and festivals

Like how just about every culture used to have festivals to celebrate the beginning of the harvest or its end, or the beginning of planting, or how whole communities used to host barn raisings and quilting bees - everyone coming together at once to turn the work of months or years into the work of a few days

Humble suggestions for festival types:

Goat festival

Besides controlled burns (which you can't do if there's too much dead brush), the fastest, most effective, and most cost-efficient way to clear brush before fire season - esp really heavy dead brush - is to just. Put a bunch of goats on your land for a few days!

Remember that Shark Tank competitor who wanted to start a goat rental company, and everyone was like wtf? There was even a whole John Oliver bit making fun of the idea? Well THAT JUST PROVES THEY'RE FROM NICE WET PLACES, because goat rental companies are totally a thing, and they're great.

So like. Why don't we have a weekend where everyone with goats just takes those goats to the nearest land that needs a ton of clearing? Public officials could put up maps of where on public lands grazing is needed, and where it definitely shouldn't happen. Farmers and people/groups with a lot of acres that need clearing can post Goat Requests.

Little kids can make goat-themed crafts and give the goats lots of pets or treats at the end of the day for doing such a good job. Volunteers can help wrangle things so goats don't get where they're not supposed to (and everyone fences off land nowadays anyway, mostly). And the goats, of course, would be in fucking banquet paradise.

Planting Festival and Harvest Festival

Why mess with success??? Bring these back where they've disappeared!!! Time to swarm the community gardens and help everyone near you with a farm make sure that all of their seeds are sown and none of the food goes to waste in the fields, decaying and unpicked.

And then set up distribution parts of the festival so all the extra food gets where it needs to be! Boxes of free lemons in front of your house because you have 80 goddamned lemons are great, but you know what else would be great? An organized effort to take that shit to food pantries (which SUPER rarely get fresh produce, because they can't hold anything perishable for long at all) and community/farmer's markets

Rain Capture Festival

The "water year" - how we track annual rainfall and precipitation - is offset from the regular calendar year because, like, that's just when water cycles through the ecosystems (e.g. meltwater). At least in the US, the water year is October 1st through September 30th of the next year, because October 1st is around when all the snowmelt from last year is gone, and a new cycle is starting as rain begins to fall again in earnest.

So why don't we all have a big barn raising equivalent every September to build rain capture infrastructure?

Team up with some neighbors to turn one of those little grass strips on the sidewalk into a rain-garden with fall-planting plants. Go down to your local church and help them install some gutters and rain barrels. Help deculvert rivers so they run through the dirt again, and make sure all the storm drains in your neighborhood are nice and clear.

Even better, all of this - ESPECIALLY the rain gardens - will also help a ton with flood control!

I'm so serious about how cool this could be, yall.

And people who can't or don't want to do physical stuff for any of these festivals could volunteer to watch children or cook food for the festival or whatever else might need to be done!

Parties afterward to celebrate all the good work done! Community building and direct local improvements to help protect ourselves from climate change!

The possibilities are literally endless, so not to sound like an influencer or some shit, but please DO comment or reply or put it in the notes if you have thoughts, esp on other things we could hold festivals like this for.

Canning festivals. "Dig your elderly neighbors out of the snow" festivals. Endangered species nesting count festival. Plant fruit trees on public land and parks festival. All of the things that I don't know anywhere near enough to think of. Especially in more niche or extreme ecosystems, there are so many possibilities that could do a lot of good

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dexteri0us · 2 months ago

Text

now i’m breathin' like i’m runnin' 'cause you're taking me there; don’t you know you spin me out of control?

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: reader is a freak, mentions of corpses, smut - dom!dexter (but he's soft<3), sir kink, oral (f and m receiving), some slapping, some pussy slapping, bondage, knife play, brush play, wartenberg wheel (all sterilized of course).

summary: you, being an annoying girlfriend, and dexter, being an incredible boyfriend. (be careful though, he might as well just off you one day if you keep asking for it).

w/c: around 7,280

a/n: no pun intended. if i forgot any warnings, let me know, my brain is kinda fried

Dexter hadn’t exactly told you that he was a killer. A murderer, a criminal, or whatever label fit his particular shade of darkness. But he also never denied it when your insinuations crept too close to the truth. He knew that you knew, and that was enough for you. Knowing that he was okay with that was enough for you. Well, until recently.

He’d given you a blurry picture of what he did to his victims. Not because he offered it, but you had a knack for prodding, especially when you sensed he was buttered up just enough. You knew a crime scene or a sample of blood brought a smile to his face, but you didn’t exactly have that kind of power to bring those things to him. You found your own ways to make Dexter smile. Leaving a post-it note on his coffee machine that read “Kill the day”. Buying him a new shirt for work or a romantic dinner. Making him a playlist for his late-night boat rides. Or you’d plan a quiet night with nature docs to stimulate his intellect.

And if you were feeling bold, you’d cook. Well, try to cook. Homemade pizza was your speciality. Your best and only. Dexter never complained, though, always giving you a small, approving nod as he chewed slowly.

Still, he didn’t give you the exact answers either. He might roll his eyes, sigh heavily, or offer a cryptic one-word response, but you could always tell when you’d hit the nail on the head.

“Do you have a special place where you do it? Like a basement or something?”

Roll of his eyes. No.

“Do you ever regret it? Like, afterward?”

No.

“Do you stalk them?”

Side eye. Yes.

“Do you talk to them first? Like, try to scare them or mess with their heads:”

...Yes?

You played this game as if it was the most normal thing in the world, without batting an eye. It was fun for you until you headed in an unpleasant direction of the questions.

“Does it get messy? What do you use to clean up? What about their clothes? Do you get them naked before getting rid of the body?”

Yes.

Oh. “…Before killing them?”

Yes.

The wheels in your head began to turn, your thoughts spiraling into uncharted territory. “Even the women?”

Yes.

Huh. Suddenly, the game wasn’t so fun anymore. You didn’t know how you felt about that. You pictured the men and women you didn’t know, beautiful, vulnerable, dead. It was stupid to feel jealous of corpses, but you couldn’t help it. It clawed at you.

For a while, you stopped asking questions. Not because you didn’t want to know, but because you were too distracted by the answers you’d already gotten. And maybe you were afraid of what else you’d uncover.

If you were jealous of them before, now that jealousy skyrocketed into different dimensions.

You were in the middle of baking banana bread, working the batter longer than necessary. It was your fourth loaf this week, and you’d already had to give a few away to Deb and Joey, because you weren’t capable of eating all of it.

You were happy that Deb and Joey appreciated it because Dexter didn’t even like banana bread that much. He ate it because you made it. Which was sweet. But still, he seemed to enjoy talking to naked strangers more than eating your baked goods.

What the fuck is his problem?

“Another banana bread?” Dexter’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “You know, it’s gonna lose its sweetness if you keep mixing all the frustration into it.”

Normally, you’d snort at the deadpan delivery of his stupid joke, but now was really not the time to remind you of the mood you were trying to suppress.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked is all seriousness now, coming over to you and leaning one hip against the counter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your focus on the batter. “Okay, you’re not. What can I do?” he asked, waiting patiently for you to open up.

“Nothing.”

He stood there and you felt his eyes on you, probably trying to read you. You still didn’t acknowledge him, but his presence pressed against you and it was starting to make you uncomfortable. He knew better than to push; it would only make you more frustrated, but he wasn’t one to just walk away either. Besides, he knew you’d crack eventually. And you did, dropping the spatula into the bowl and turning to face him.

“Why don’t you like my banana bread?”

He squinted his eyes, trying to decide if you were joking or not.

“I like your banana bread. Just… an appropriate amount. Not five loaves in a week.”

“Four,” you corrected.

“Five,” he countered, not missing a beat. “You made two yesterday, one on Monday and one on Wednesday.”

Shit, he was right. But could he blame you? He was driving you nuts. Well, you were driving yourself nuts, but it was because of him!

“Hey, I know my brain is limited, but is that really what’s bothering you? Will you help me out, or should I try to piece it together on my own?” he said softly.

He always did that, giving you space but never giving up on saving you from the sea of worrisome thoughts, never ignoring your closed off behavior. He’d always told you that you were like a puzzle to him. And he claimed he liked puzzles.

But you didn’t want to be a puzzle this time. You knew keeping him guessing wouldn't be healthy, so you spilled it out. You told him about your stupid insecurity and the stupid jealousy, the anger and frustration that boiled over when he told you about how he stripped his victims naked. And he couldn’t have had a more baffled expression on his face

For the first time, he told you a little bit about his hobby without you having to pull it from him. He reassured you that there was no sexual motivation behind it whatsoever. None. That the people he killed were disgusting and vile human beings who didn’t deserve even the faintest semblance of intimacy. Well, not that kind of intimacy. They deserved nothing but to die.

“I promise,” he said as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, “the only body I admire is yours. It’s an unhealthy obsession, really. Unhealthier than the other one.”

And with that, he finally made you laugh and roll your eyes at him. You gave him a playful shove, making him smile as you turned back to your batter. He moved closer one more time, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. As he stepped back, he gave your triceps a playful pinch, leaving you to your baking.

You didn’t have a reason not to trust him. Even though he held onto a big secret, he never outright lied. He just never told you the whole truth, and you respected that. He’d told you it was better this way, something about plausible deniability. And yes, you made it a little hard for him, but what can you say, you were nosy.

Later that night, he went out of his way to worship your body, to prove that you were truly his number one obsession. He looked you in the eye as he fucked you, making you see how you made him feel and showing you every ounce of devotion he had for you. When he put his tongue on you, he didn’t stop eating your pussy until you had to push him away.

Afterward, you lay on your stomach while Dexter rested beside you, propped on one elbow, his other hand tracing invisible shapes on your back.

He let you guess what he drew or wrote with his fingers, and you both giggled when you guessed something ridiculous when he drew something completely simple. It was your favorite kind of peace, lying in his arms, your warm skin against his. You almost couldn’t believe that these same arms were capable of something else.

It wouldn’t be you if you weren’t greedy, though. And sometimes, when your mood was just right, that greed turned you into a bit of a brat.

You were on your way from the farmer’s market, the basket of fresh carrots and strawberries balanced on your lap as Dexter focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel.

You were just telling him how you wanted to have a garden of your own one day, grow your own fruits and veggies, maybe even have a little flock of chickens.

“Can you imagine? You’d have fresh eggs for breakfast every morning, and I could make you a fruit salad to take to work.”

He glanced over, just briefly, before fixing his eyes back on the road. “You’d want me to share that with you?”

You felt a small tug of your heart. It made you reach out to gently tug the short hair behind his ear. He liked that. He’d said it was soothing when you played with his hair, especially around the ears, and you made a mental note to do more of it later tonight.

“Dex, you’re stuck with me. You’ll need to kill me to get rid of me,” you joked and he shot you a look, but you giggled at your own quip.

Truthfully, it broke your heart sometimes, the way he thought so little of himself. Sure, he was confident, sometimes even a little too sure of his skills, and it could momentarily turn him into a smug asshole. But you worried that he’d never feel how loved he actually was. How many people cared about him.

Before you could spiral too far into those thoughts, his phone buzzed. He was being called to a scene, and he initially wanted to drop you off at home, but you convinced him there was no point. It was literally on the way, and you could just wait in the car.

“Alright,” he said as he gathered his things, “half an hour, tops.” You nodded and he stepped out of the car.

You watched him work from the car, though you could barely make him out through the crowd of people that gathered at the scene. Still, you admired how focused and precise he was, the way he was handling the camera and the lifeless body.

It was impossible not to think about how those same hands had touched you, traced every curve and dip of your skin. Fuck, you were sick. He was professionally documenting death for Christ's sake.

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander elsewhere, wondering if he handled them with the same care. So, once you were back on the road, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You know, I thought of a way you could prove your ‘obsession’ with my body.”

He paused, glancing at you with furrowed brow, confused. “I thought we were past that.”

“Well, you know, it does something to a girl, knowing her boyfriend’s hobby involves working with naked bodies.”

“I can’t believe that that’s what bothers you about this whole situation.”

You shrugged, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

“I want to experience it.”

“'It'. Try to be a little more specific.”

“You know… the setup. Like, a roleplay kinda thing. You’ll be you, and I’ll be your victim. Or like a 'draw me like one of your french girls' kinda situation."

You honestly thought that it was a good idea, but you just proved to him how much little you understood about the whole serial killer thing, which he let you know quite candidly.

Don’t get me wrong, he adored you, but he didn’t have a problem with calling you out on your stupidity and reminding you how close you sometimes got to crossing lines you didn’t fully understand. That’s what made your relationship great.

“First of all, why would you think they are French?" he asked, confused by the movie reference, but you jusrt rolled your eyes. "And second of all, I actually wonder whether it’s you or me who’s sick in the head here,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he went on to tell you that it wasn't a fucking game that you played. He is a serial killer. “I actually like your body intact.”

“But you wouldn’t actually –”

“No.”

“Come on, wouldn’t you like to see me all tied up, immobilized, completely at your mercy?”

His jaw tightened just slightly before he answered. Oh?

“No. End of discussion.”

“Fine,” you groaned with a sigh, sinking back into your seat like a scolded child, your fingers idly tracing the ridges of the basket in your lap.

You wanted to be petty about it but instead, you decided to be on your best behavior. The reason? You’d definitely gotten into his head. You didn’t know if he’d started fantasizing about you like that, or if he was coming to the realization that you might actually need a psychiatric evaluation. You hoped it was the former, so when you caught him lost in thought, his gaze lingering on you as if he were in a trance, you resisted the urge to poke the bear, only sending a sweet smile his way.

The sex had gotten more… intense. Also more frequent, and you had a theory that it correlated with his early returns from his hunts. He never seemed to be satisfied, always came home frustrated with himself and he took it out on you. He’d take you against the nearest surface he could find; the couch, the kitchen counter, even the floor. You thought there wasn’t a single surface in his apartment that wasn’t defiled.

Once, when he’d gotten home before you, he threatened to take you outside in the external corridor where his neighbors could see and hear everything. Well, you wouldn’t mind, but he was a flying-under-the-radar kind of guy.

Either way, you’d struck a chord. And while you still hadn’t gotten exactly what you wanted, you couldn’t deny you enjoyed the way he’d been lately.

You just got out of shower, slipped into your pajamas and plopped onto the couch, turning on some white noise on your phone as you pulled out some notes for your upcoming exam. No, you weren’t capable of studying after you changed into your sleeping attire, but it was better than doing nothing.

Your eyes skimmed mindlessly across the words when you heard the door unlock, revealing Dexter in his khaki henley and cargos. You greeted him with a smile, sending him into kitchen where his take-out was, before turning your head back to your notes.

You didn’t register him moving closer to you, until you felt the nylon of a cuff around your wrist.

“What the fuck?” you murmured and looked at your wrist. It wasn’t your first time he used bondage on you, of course, but this was weird. You tugged instinctively at the chain, but his firm grip on the other buckle didn’t allow you much movement. “Dex, I don’t have time for this now.”

“My victims don’t really get to pick when their time is up.”

You looked at him, the confusion apparent on your face, but then when you locked eyes with him, it started to gradually dawn on you. Your eyes flicked from his face, to his clothes, to the chain around your wrist.

Was this what you thought it was? You didn’t want to celebrate too early.

And just like that, Dexter gave a sharp tug on the chain, pulling you to your feet.

“The first thing that usually happens,” he began, leading you to the bedroom, “is the weight of their tranquilized bodies pulls them to the ground.”

Before you could react, he slammed the door shut behind you and in one swift motion, your back hit the hard wood. Your other wrist was caught and cuffed too, the chain between them yanked taut as he raised your arms above your head, hooking the chain on the hook mounted on the door, leaving you stertched out.

It was too high and the position forced you onto your tiptoes, your whole body arching and making your ass press firmly against the door.

Dexter grabbed your jaw and kissed you aggressively, your teeth clanking against each other and your tongues tangling together, making your mixed saliva drip down your chin.

He looked at you with that signature intensity, eyes hooded and plush lips parted slightly. His hot breath fanned across your chin as he spread the spit over your cheek and jawline, massaging it into your skin.

You admired the way his hair curled at his forehead and around his ears, it gave him this innocent vibe that put him into contrast with those strong features of his face.

Then he kissed you again, this time more softly, snaking his arm into the space between the door and your arched back, pressing himself against you and making you feel the hardness in his cargo pants. His hand slid lower, over the curve of your lower back, slipping beneath your shirt to cup your ass firmly. His fingers kneaded your flesh before grasping the hem of your panties and tugging up, the fabric pressing tightly against your pussy.

The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, the cloth stimulating your clit as he gave it individual tugs. You whimpered into his mouth, your body writhing against him even though it was almost physically impossible. To amplify the pleasure, Dexter's thigh slid between your legs, the textured fabric of his cargos creating a delicious sensation.

When he was satisfied with the wet spot you created on his pants, he dropped to his knees. He teased you some more, licking along the hem of your panties, placing wet kisses on your thighs and burying his nose against your heat, telling you how good you smell.

“Dex,” you whined. Your cunt screamed for release as well as your strained arms. You wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in his hair and grind yourself against his mouth until the dam broke.

He had told you before that his face was made for you to sit on. Once, Deb had jokingly called him a chair, which turned out to be a thought her therapist had passed on to her. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the nights when he made you sit on his cock as he went over his subjects. He blindfolded you each time, naturally.

And from the look on your face, Deb knew instantly where your thoughts had gone, and said that she didn’t need that mental image in her head. You both laughed about it later. Honestly, you two loved sharing your sexcapades with each other.

Dexter found out through Quinn, because of course Deb would share, especially if you gave her inspiration. And he couldn't resist taking a jab at Dexter.

“I didn’t know you were such an animal, Dex,” Joey had told him with that smug grin of his.

Dex had given you an earful about how you had kind of compromised his privacy. It was only a matter of time until Masuka learned about this, and he was already exasperating. Dexter was afraid Masuka would take it as a shared hobby, something they could finally, really talk about with passion, like two guys. Ugh, the thought alone made him uncomfortable already.

But you'd told him that Deb was your best friend, and that girlfriends just had to talk about this stuff.

“It’s like therapy.”

“Don’t you say that about sex too?”

“Depends on the circumstances. Besides, it’s good for tips. You should thank her. If you thought making me squirt was all your talent, think again.”

After that, you made a deal not to bring up your sex club discussions in front of Dexter, and Deb made Quinn promise he wouldn’t say a word in front of Vince.

However, you did joke about the chair thing often, because he did provide the best seat in the house, whether it was his lap or his face.

But this time, he wasn't giving it up so easily. He wanted to make you earn it, but you couldn’t do anything except to wait.

When he finally did put his tongue on you, he didn’t take your panties off. He made you cum with them on, licking your clit over your panties, sometimes brushing his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves before sliding to your hole and pushing against the cloth, to the point your underwear became uncomfortable from how soaked it was with your cum.

Then he finally pushed your panties aside, the wet material sticking to your skin. He shuffled closer, his forehead grazing your stomach and his hair tickling your skin as he looked down at you, sliding his fingers through your folds and over your sensitive clit. you begged him to make you cum again, thinking he’d finally eat you out properly, but he just used his fingers.

He stayed on his knees for a while, admiring your shiny pussy and grazing his fingernails over your clit, teasing you, before standing up to his full height and properly fucking you hard with his fingers.

He wrapped his arm around you once again, bracing himself to your side as he started snapping his palm against your clit, two of his fingers sliding in and out of you and filling the room with wet sounds.

When you started cumming again, his other hand, that was resting on your hip reached down and tugged on your panties again, positioning the crotch back between your pussy lips and pulling, wiggling it to create stimulation against your clit.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lower jaw dropping down as he admired your squirming body.

You cried out from the sensation, your head banging against the door and one of your legs bending in the knee as you pressed your thighs together, trying to escape from the overstimulation.

You were so consumed by coming down from your high that you didn’t expect Dexter to unhitch the chain from the hook on the door, making you lose your balance. You would have surely fallen to the ground if Dexter hadn’t been there, but he was ready to catch you.

He shifted your body, picking you up bridal style. You thought that he’d lay you down onto the bed and fuck you there, but instead, he opened the door and headed out of the room. And as you rested in the comfort of his strong arms, your head against his shoulder, you noticed that his shirt smelt differently. It wasn’t the usual sweat and blood, or different human remains. It was a laundry detergent, meaning he truly did this just for you. It was your night.

He carried you through the living room, making his way toward his desk where he sat you down.

Unlike every other day, the computer was gone, as well as the photo of him and Deb. In fact, it was completely cleared out.

How have you not noticed that?

He stood between your thighs, working the cuffs to separate them from each other before pulling your sleep shirt over your head, leaving you exposed to him. His hand reached out, pinching your nipple as he kissed you, sharing the taste of your pussy with you. He pressed himself against you, the button of his cargos grazing your clit and making you moan. You were still sensitive, but you loved every second of it.

He leaned into you, forcing you to lie down, the coldness of the desk hitting your back and spreading goosebumps over your skin. He positioned you to his liking, moving you up so your feet rested on the top of the desk.

“I make sure they can’t escape,” he continued his description of the way he’d done things, pulling out another set of cuffs from the desk drawer and clasping each around your ankles before cuffing them to your wrist cuffs. You weren’t unfamiliar with any of this, but then he pulled out two other clasps and attached the ankle cuffs to the D-rings built in the desk.

Were those always there?

Now, you were all spread out for him, your nipples stiff for him to feed on, your legs bent in the knees and putting the outline of your cunt under your ruined panties on full display. You were capable of minimal movement with your ankles attached to the desk and your hands dependent on the movement of your legs. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to.

“Are you good?” he asked, making sure he wasn’t doing anything you weren’t up to.

“Yes.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Magazine.”

You watched as Dexter moved around the apartment, disappearing from your sight to retrieve a black, flat bag. When he returned to the kitchen counter, he seemed to unroll the bag, his back to you. You had to crane your neck to see, the vertebrae in your neck squishing together as you tried to get a glimpse of what lay inside. Something steely caught the light as he pulled it out. Then Dexter turned around, a pointed tool spinning under the force of his index finger. A Wartenberg wheel.

Your throat tightened, chills coursing down your spine as your body shifted in anticipation. Nothing could have prepared you for the next set of events. You were sure the next time you and Deb swapped stories, she would be the one taking notes.

Dexter tortured the fuck out of you.

He started with the pinwheel, rolling it all over your body. The pins were sharp enough to prickle your skin as they trailed along your arms, but it didn’t hurt. At first, it was even nice, relaxing almost. Then he moved to your chest, the wheel gliding from the hollow of your neck, down between your breasts and over you stomach.

As it neared the waistband of your soaked panties, you thought he’d continue further down and toward your aching pussy. But just as it reached below your navel, the wheel disappeared, making you huff.

That was your mistake. You’d worked yourself up by stupidly thinking that he’d go there right away. Foolish.

“I cut them up.”

You flinched at the sudden sound, startled, but he didn’t comment. The pinwheel resumed its path, drawing invisible lines across your wrists, elbows, shoulders, mimicking incisions. You closed your eyes, letting your imagination take over.

“Into evenly cut pieces,” he added.

Now the tool traveled lower, grazing your legs, running from your ankle to your bent knee, then up the sensitive skin of inner thigh. You trembled under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

You reveled in the thought of this man, this predator, choosing to worship you instead of discarding you. Who knows, maybe one day, he would snap. But the possibility only made your body quake more.

He noticed, stopping the wheel just where your thigh met your hip. “Are you scared?”

“No.” you said, though your voice betrayed you, shaking on the single syllable.

But you really weren’t. If you were truly scared, you wouldn’t have misbehaved just now.

Before you could think about what would happen next, his hand struck, his palm landing sharply against your clothed pussy, and it was just then that you noticed he had put on his gloves, the leather making the sting more searing. You gasped, your hips jerking from the impact.

“If you thought you’d get a free pass, you were sorely mistaken.” He leaned over you, his hand sliding from your core to your thigh, squeezing the flesh. “Let’s try again. Are you scared?”

“No, sir.”

Other times, if you failed to call him sir right away, you’d get a warning. Maybe a slap to your thigh, or a firm squeeze of your neck. Never your pussy. Not at first.

“Such a brave girl.” This time, he ran the pinwheel slowly from your waist toward your chest. He altered its course, pressing it against your breast, applying more pressure as he reached your nipple, the sharp points dragging over it. “See? They could never measure up to you.”

Dexter turned the wheel again, guiding it slowly down your heaving stomach. You swore one of the metallic points grazed the bow on your panties, but he halted the motion, the wheel twisting 90 degrees to trace the hem of your underwear instead. Your hips tilted upwards instinctively, a desperate attempt to bring your pussy closer to his hand, but it was useless.

He continued to tease you, switching from one thigh to another, running it so close to your center, but never quite touching it. You kept waiting for that moment, but it never came.

“This is getting boring. I’ll go get something else,” he said nonchalantly, making his way toward the counter. Fucker.

“Wait,” you blurted without thinking. “I mean, please, sir…”

His footsteps paused, then drew closer again, stopping beside your head and smiling down at you.

“Did you want something?”

“Can you please touch my pussy?”

“Of course,” he said, a mocking lilt in his voice. “I just have to make my hands free,” he replied, taking a step toward the counter again, but you were quick to react.

“No!” You immediately regretted your words as he returned to the same spot. Dexter’s hand tilted your head, his gloved fingers squeezing your cheeks. The leather was firm and hot against your face. “I’m sorry, sir,” you added quickly, your voice muffled under his grip.

He leaned in closer. “You’d better realize your place, sweetheart. Or I’ll make sure this won’t be a fun experience.”

You apologized again, not forgetting the title, and he released your face, giving you a nod.

“Can you please touch my pussy with… that?”

Fuck your pride, right?

He raised his hand in front of his face, inspecting the pinwheel as though it had just appeared in his hand.

“Oh, this?” he said, feigning ignorance, clearly mocking you. “You want me to–” He moved the tool lazily through the air above your body, stopping just over your lower half “Touch you here?”

With a swift motion, the wheel skimmed between your legs, the pins grazing your panties. You didn’t even have the time to register it before he removed it again, but the electrifying sensation that came and went made you moan as your clit pulsed with excitement.

“Yes, please.”

His nose brushed against yours as he leaned over again, and you thought he was going to kiss you. Instead, he mocked you again, his voice dripping with condescension as he cupped your chin. “Aw, you’re such a dirty girl, huh?”

His head dropped, his hair tickling your cheek as he glanced downward, watching his hand between your thighs. He made another contact with your pussy, slowly this time, focused. A mix of relief and hunger flooded you as he ran it up and down your wet underwear, the prickling sensation shooting through your nerves. “You want me to fuck you with it too? Are you that sick, hm?”

When you didn’t respond, he stopped and his head snapped towards you. His gloved hand left your face, only to land a slap across your cheek. The sting spread across your face, your skin burning under the impact.

“I didn’t fucking hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

What can you say? Slapping didn’t really work on you. He knew that, it’s the reason he did it. So he could do it again.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He slapped you again, this time harder, the leather stinging even more than his bare hand.

“If that’s what you wanted, sir, I’d take it.” You managed to keep your voice steady despite the heat in your cheek.

His lips curved into a smile. He stood up, walking towards the counter. “Jesus Christ,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re lucky you found me. Anyone else would’ve committed your ass to a psychiatric hospital.”

“Fate,” you commented, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t punish you. Meaning you made him smile.

Dexter returned with a knife, and he dragged it across the chains, the clinking sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the room.

He focused on your pussy now, rubbing the flat side of the knife against your clit, occasionally tapping it against you, and you half-expected he might nick the skin of your thighs if he wasn’t careful.

Then, Dexter flipped the knife again, teasing you with its blunt edge before bringing it to your breasts. He drew circles around your nipples with the tip of the knife, sharper than the pinwheel.

His body moved again, positioning himself behind you. His face, upside down, loomed above, gently cupping the underside of your chin, tilting your head back. The leather of his gloves gave you an unnerving sensation as his fingers held you in place. You felt the cold steel of the knife at your throat, running from one carotid to the other.

“Sometimes I cut their throats. But it’s not really my favorite style,” he said, the blade left your neck, drifting downward until it hovered over your left breast, settling directly above your wildly beating heart. He pressed the tip of the knife just enough for your skin to dip under its force. He could do anything to you. He could kill you right then and there.

“I love you,” you confessed for what felt like umpteenth time.

Dexter smiled, leaning down and placing a tender kiss on your forehead, all while controlling the force he still had on the knife.

He straightened, moving to your side again. His gloved fingers trailed over your stomach as he slid the knife under the hem of your underwear. The sharp edge pressed upwards, and you felt the fabric give way with a faint snick as the first small tear formed.

He moved the blade lower, repeating the motion. Each cut widened the tear, revealing the top of your clit. He shredded the panties until they were completely off, leaving you slickness glistening in the dim light and dripping onto the table beneath you.

Dexter removed his gloves and slid his fingers between your pussy lips, coating them in your wetness, before he brought them to his mouth. He just made you cum with his mouth, surely he wouldn’t–

But before you could finish your thought, he bent down over your torso and in a millisecond, his head was between your thighs. Mouth wide open, his tongue resting on his chin as he pressed it flat against your clit, and his upper lip collecting your juices straight from the source.

It was a single, devastating taste, but it was enough to make your legs tremble, the chains stopping you from closing them.

“Shit, I might as well eat you out again.”

Yeah, he might. Without anything in the way this time.

It was just stroking your ego. It really made you proud, how his tongue was addicted to your pussy.

He brought the final tool of the night – a small brush that looked like it belonged in a makeup kit. It also looked like the softest instrumentof the night, but turned out to be the most torturing one.

The bristles touched your clit with featherlight strokes, maddeningly soft. The individual bristles tickled and stimulated every single nerve ending, sending vibrations through your entire body.

You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily. Dexter worked the brush in slow, torturous circles, teasing your clit to the brink. Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, he stuffed two fingers inside your hole, wiggling them inside to massage the spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

The synergy was overwhelming. Your body writhed against the chains, chasing the orgasm building rapidly within you. But just as the climax was about to crash over you, he stopped. His fingers withdrew and the brush disappeared, your back arching in desperation as you felt the pleasure simmer out, leaving your abdomen hollow and aching from the loss.

“Please, sir, can I come?”

“Of course you can,” he said in a soft voice.

But he didn’t let you. He edged you again and again, pushing you to the brink, only to yank you back. He was playing with you, letting you know that your body wasn’t yours tonight. It was under his control. You were his.

The brush was drenched in your juices at this point, ruined just like your panties and your throbbing cunt. A few tears slipped from your eyes, mixing with the sweat slicking your skin. So you begged, desperate for the release. You begged until he finally finger-fucked, plunging his fingers into you and pumping them relentlessly. His thumb rubbed your puffy clit, sending you spiraling into an earth-shattering orgasm.

You came hard, your juices spilling over his hand and splattering onto his watch. He only pulled his fingers out to spank your clit, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. At one point, he reached for the discarded glove, fisting it and placing harsh smacks against your sore pussy. You screamed, and after he landed his last smack, feeling you were nearing another orgasm, he switched the rough sensation of the leather for the softness of his tongue, firmly pressing against you and shaking his head from side to side, letting you cum into you his mouth.

You could barely take it and you were scared he might pull out a vibrator, because he liked to do that when you came twice in the span of two minutes. But he didn’t, removing his glistening face from your center and standing up. You just laid there, your body a racing circuit for the endorphins and oxytocin at this point.

Dexter gave you only a few second before he undid the chains, the clinking of metal barely audible over the pounding in your ears. He didn’t let you move, though, keeping you sprawled on table as he shifted your body higher until your head hung off the edge.

He stood in front of your face, and you knew what he wanted. You reached for the button of his cargo pants, undoing them and pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy. Gorgeous. You didn’t waste a moment, leaning forward, licking the bead of precum from his tip before taking him into your mouth.

Dexter groaned, the sound vibrating through you. Soon, he took over, thrusting into your throat as he held you down. One hand pressed against your neck, feeling the way you swallowed his cock, while the other pinched and tugged at your nipples.

You gagged around him, bubbles forming in the corners of your mouth as you struggled to keep up. This time, your eyes outright stung from the tears that were forcing their way out, but you didn’t stop. It wasn’t until you coughed, your throat tightening involuntarily and squeezing around him, that he pulled out with a groan.

You gasped for air, your chest heaving, but he didn’t give you long to recover. His hand gripped your neck and yanked you up, forcing you into a kneeling position on the table. You just sat there, dazed, your hands resting in your lap like the picture of innocence. Messy hair, glassy eyes, and swollen lips.

Dexter kissed them, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and making you taste yourself again. His beard scratched against your sensitive skin, adding to the long list of stimuli.

You dared to sneak your hand away from your lap, circling your fingers around his cock and stroking him slowly. Your thumb swiped over the sensitive head and he moaned into your mouth before his head fell back. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against Dexter’s neck, sucking on his pulse point and grazing it with your teeth.

You moved your hand up and down, and Dexter’s moans and gasps grew louder and more frantic. You quickened your pace, his hips jerking into your hand as he chased his own orgasm. You twisted your hand, and he came with a guttural groan. His cum spilled onto your stomach, warm and sticky, and his hand shot out to grip the hair at the back of your neck, yanking you into another kiss as he came down from his high.

When his breathing slowed, you awkwardly shifted your legs over the edge of the table, letting them dangle as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You pulled him close, burying your face in his chest, a content sigh escaping you as you enjoyed the warmth, the softness of his body.

He cupped your head, his thumb brushing small crescents against your scalp with returned tenderness as he let out a soft sigh of his own, his chest rising and falling against you.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t pull away to look at him, your body too spent to do much more than to snuggle deeper into his chest and squeeze his torso.

“Better than,” you mumbled.

“I know this wasn’t what you wanted,” he said.

That made you lift your head. You looked at him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

“But this,” he gestured to the table, his brow raising, “is the only table I want to see you on. The only restraints I ever want to see on you. And I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that there’s nothing sexy about what I do.”

“In my dreams there is,” you said, your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“YN,” he warned.

“I know,” you relented with a roll of your eyes, his brows raising, daring you to be a brat in this moment. “For the record, it was better than what I wanted.”

You smiled and he kissed you again, silencing any further rebellion. When you shivered against him, he pulled back and cleaned you up before ordering you to throw on a shirt.

“Yes, sir,” you replied cheekily, adding a playful salute for good measure.

“I will spank your ass if you don’t get it in the shower in ten seconds,” he said, pulling his own pants up. Would that be so bad? You bit your lip to keep from grinning and headed into the bathroom, while he cleaned the table.

By the time you switched places, you felt refreshed, fucked out just right as every muscle in your body ached with a sweet kind of soreness. You heated up his dinner while making yourself a quick sandwich. Just as you set his plate down, he walked out of the bathroom. You grabbed your sandwich and set down, with Dexter soon joining you.

When you finished your meals, the two of you migrated to the couch. He rested his head on your stomach, while you draped your legs over his shoulders.

Your fingers played with the freshly washed hair, soft and silky from the shampoo. You twirled the strands around your fingers lazily, and his quiet purrs filled the room as you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his ears, scraping gently at the sensitive spots behind them. That sound, half sigh, half growl, might’ve been your favorite thing in the world.

You bent down, the movement uncomfortable and your muscles protesting as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. But the way it scrunched affectionately under your touch made the discomfort worth it.

#dexter morgan x reader #dexter morgan smut #dexter #dexter fandom #dexter fanfiction #dexter morgan #dexter morgan fanfiction #dexter morgan fluff #dexter morgan oneshot #dexter morgan x f!reader #dexter x reader #dexter morgan imagine #dexter smut #dexter morgan x female reader #dexter morgan x female!reader #dexter morgan x you

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plethorawrites · 2 months ago

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Guys! Clark has started to invade too!!! Anyway, today I was thinking about Smallville Clark Kent (personal go to when thinking about the character) with a new neighbor from the city...

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Clark Kent: Who sees you by the fence, petting his family's horses, and doesn't recognize you, which is odd because he recognizes everyone in such a small town.

Clark Kent: Who quickly realizes from the way you dress to the lack of an accent that you're not just new in town, but from some larger city that probably has apartment buildings with more tenants than the entire town has people.

Clark Kent: Who brushes off your apology for petting the horses, which you'd only done because you've never seen any in real life and couldn't resist how sweet they looked.

Clark Kent: Who watches you insist on going home to unpack instead of keep talking, but runs into you at school the next day and offers to show you around.

Clark Kent: Who you offer a ride home in your car as a thank you for being an extremely patient tour guide.

Clark Kent: Who accepts, under the condition that you let him show you the town too and when you tell him you pretty much have with how small it is, shakes his head and tells you there's a lot of places people don't know about aside from him or a few other kids.

Clark Kent: Who not only shows you his favorite places the next time you're both free, but also says he would be glad to teach you to ride, if you ever wanted.

Clark Kent: Who is thrilled when you take him up on it and spends several hours on a trail with you at a calm pace, keeping close in case anything suddenly spooked your horse. Although they were incredibly good horses so there weren't any problems.

Clark Kent: Who was fascinated by watching you slowly get more accustomed to the town—wearing clothes that were from a local boutique instead of a designer brand, engaging in the rather silly but beloved town traditions, even cutting off some of the friends from the city who you realized weren't really your friends at all after they once visited and immediately started making fun of Clark and his friends.

Clark Kent: Who was surprised at first, when you showed up at his family's door one day asking to help with the animals, but quickly got used to you coming over to help him feed or bathe them, which you claimed was your way of thanking him for the riding lessons but he suspected you just wanted an excuse to be with the animals.

Clark Kent: Who knew you'd fit in with his friends after they got over their own prejudice of you being rude or pretentious because you're from the city and likes hanging out with you with them but likes it just as much, maybe more, when everyone leaves and you're able to stay a bit longer in the barn.

Clark Kent: Who leans out the window next to you, enjoying the breeze as the sun sets and tells you he's glad you moved to Smallville.

Clark Kent: Who sees you shudder from the cold and instantly wraps his jacket around you, conveniently ignoring your blushing cheeks in case he was misreading the situation.

Clark Kent: Who still carefully tucks a piece of hair out of your face—while the voice in head screams not to ruin things—just to see it better and wets his lip while staring at yours.

Clark Kent: Who leans in slowly, waiting for the moment you'd slap him and walk out for daring to try something with you, but only sees you leaning in too.

Clark Kent: Who kisses you for the first time while you're in the barn, wearing his jacket, but promises himself then and there that it wouldn't be the last.

#x reader #headcanon #clark kent x you #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent #smallville #smallville clark kent #x you #plethorawrites

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sheydgarden · 1 year ago

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a really fun recent commission: this custom bookplate for the curator of Judaica at the Museum of the Bible! it's based on a variety of texts that describe (at least some) sheydim as observantly Jewish - especially the Talmudic stories of Yosef Sheyda, a demonic scholar or possibly even a rabbi himself. the quote in the window is from Psalm 24, "the earth is the Lord's, and everything in it" which is often written above an owner's name in Jewish books, but provides double meaning here for the fact that sheydim too are divinely created. Jesse shares my love for sheydim as transgressive, marginalized figures who are nevertheless deeply Jewish, so this was an ideal collaboration & a delight to make!

also done entirely in Procreate, inked with True Grit Texture Supply's "Rusty Nib" engraver brushes - totally in love with this new process & the relative ease of accomplishing this type/level of hatching vs. traditional media (giving me added respect for the 17th century printmakers I've been studying). i will always love working traditionally but adding more digital techniques to my repertoire has been super useful.

#jewish art #jumblr #illustration #bookplate #commissions #ex libris #sheydim #digital art #jewish artists

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ifnotlovepersevering · 5 months ago

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Down the Road (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: your summon to the Witches’ Road unexpectedly reconnects you with the witch that left you behind

Warnings: angsty, anger between R and A, fight scene, injury (A), flashback to past abandonment, R is lowkey into dark magic but in denial, lovers to hurt strangers 😔 whatever will we do

A/N: I used a few different requests in my inbox as inspo. It can also be read as a continuation of Closer. I’m planning on a part two but am open to suggestions on where to take this next! Enjoy 🖤

Tag List: @nyx-aira @crystalline-possession @clxwnnyy @lilibeth-tate @highgaytohell @amethyst-bitch @shinkomiii @agnessharknes @academiagaymess @midnight-lestrange

A summon to the Witches’ Road seemed like exactly what you needed right now. You’d been keeping to yourself these days, staying out of trouble. But it’d been too long since you’d had some excitement and your hands were itching for something new. You were going in blind, but that’s always fun, right?

At least that’s what you’d thought. When the smoke of your white magic disappeared, you were greeted with the sight of your new ragtag coven. You counted four. Where’s the fifth?

“Hello,” you grinned at the youngest, a pale boy with dark hair. “I’m Y/N, I believe someone called?”

“Y/N? As in awesome-moon-powers-Y/N?” The boy exclaimed, grabbing the arm of the tallest one, who seemed equally excited.

You laughed. “I didn’t realize my reputation preceded me so much.”

“Are you kidding?” Now it was the tall one exclaiming. “You’re like, so cool. Incorporating the moon into your power? It makes you the jack of all trades. Healing, light manipulation, water control. I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Moon magic?” The older woman seemed sort of dazed. “I’d heard stories…but have never seen it for myself.”

Before you could respond to the group’s praise, a familiar voice rang out. “What the hell are all of you harping ab-”

You turned around at the same time as footsteps behind you halted in their tracks. You felt your heart drop as you realized why the voice was familiar. It couldn’t be.

Agatha Harkness stood in front of you in all her glory. Gone was the young witch you had known, in her place a woman exuding power and elegance. Both of you eyed each other, surprise and apprehension on your faces.

•••

Your last memory of Agatha was that smirk of hers. You two had started as rivals but a trip that you went on together changed that. You grew closer and animosity turned to friendship, which turned into something much more. So many nights of you sneaking into each other’s rooms, honing your skills, and eventually using your hands to explore each other.

On one of your many visits to the woods for spell practice, the two of you encountered a shapeshifter. You and Agatha fought it off but it forced you to use the full extent of your powers. You were young and had only just started to incorporate the moon into your witchcraft. The fight drained you completely, leaving you weak.

At home, you were checked into the infirmary. News spread quickly of the battle; Agatha, being Evanora’s daughter, caught attention easily. Her power had been a topic of dispute within the coven for some time. You resented the others for how they treated her, especially her own mother. The parts of Agatha that made them turn away were the same you admired undyingly. You loved her.

You had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours before you finally woke up to see Agatha at your bedside. “They want a formal questioning,” she had told you softly, her hand holding yours. In response to your furrowed brow, Agatha brushed the hair from your forehead. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You sighed, knowing Evanora took every chance she could to hurt Agatha. “Give them hell anyway.”

“You know I will.” Agatha had smirked, and with a soft kiss, she was gone. Unbeknownst to you, it was the last time you were going to see her.

You woke up the next day, surrounded by the early morning darkness. It was eerily silent; you’d expected Agatha to be back by now. Your strength had returned, and you searched for Agatha everywhere you could think of. No one was around, every room empty.

Eventually you had come to the clearing and saw the husks of the other witches. Their bodies surrounded a post, covered in scorch marks from what you could only assume to be Agatha. You felt yourself freeze as the truth dawned on you. It was more than questions, it was a sentencing. Yet Agatha had obviously survived.

Hot tears had filled in your eyes and a lump formed in your throat before you had collapsed into sobs. She’d survived, of course she had. But she hadn’t come for you. Agatha, the girl you loved without question, whom you had embraced completely. The girl who encouraged you with your magic, the one you’d helped with controlling her own. She had left you.

Over time, the hurt faded but it never quite left. You never looked back, not at her, nor the version of you that broke that day in the clearing. You drew from the pain and let it fuel your ambition. As you travelled and your power grew, you’d heard stories about Agatha. How she’d honed those skills you’d practiced together into something to be both admired and feared. But her betrayal was enough for you to never want to seek her out again.

•••

You blinked, snapping out of your reverie.

“Y/N was the other name on the list? I can’t believe you wanted to leave her behind.” The boy’s voice piped up from behind you.

You scoffed. “Don’t be so surprised.” There was no hiding the snark in your voice, and you saw Agatha’s face drop right before you turned on your heel. “This was a mistake,” you muttered, walking away from the group to recollect yourself.

The rest of the group watched as you left. “What did she mean by that?” Alice hissed at Agatha. Everyone looked at her expectantly.

“Well,” Agatha grinned sheepishly. “We may have some…uh…unfinished business if you will.”

Jenn rolled her eyes. “Whatever, you have to make her stay. We need her to do this.”

Agatha groaned as the others nodded and nudged her towards the area you’d retreated to. But the annoyance was an act. Seeing your name on the list had stopped her in her tracks, bringing back memories she’d tried to bury. And now here you were, and she couldn’t hide from the swirl of emotions within her like she’s used to doing. Her heart still ached for you but it was unlikely you’d want anything to do with her.

She sauntered over to where you were sitting on a log by yourself. Standing close to you, she had a moment to take in your appearance. Somehow you were even more beautiful than she remembered. Time had clearly treated you well, and Agatha found her gaze catching on your features as she took in the sight of the face that haunted her memories.

She cleared her throat. “You can’t leave now that you’re here. The Road. It won’t let you.”

You looked up at her from where you sat. “You think I don’t know that?” You snapped. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew it was you.”

That stung. “Well it’s nice to see you again too, doll.” Agatha sneered.

“Oh save it, Agatha.” You stood up, eye level with the other witch. “I think we both remember who left who. Don’t play dumb now.”

“You act like I made that decision by flipping a coin. You don’t know the half of it.” The nonchalant attitude Agatha had been putting up was slipping away, revealing the raw emotion underneath.

You shook your head and turned your back to her. “Forget it. I’m already going to have to suffer through the rest of this thing anyway. I don’t need some shitty explanation from you.”

But Agatha wasn’t one to take that for an answer. She grabbed your arm, forcing you to turn back and face her. “No,” she hissed. “You don’t get to do what they did. Don’t repaint me as callous because I was never like that with you.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a lump forming at the back of your throat. You couldn’t help it - the hurt you’d buried for this long was coming back up, and it was as sharp as the day it’d arrived.

“Callous?” You laughed humourlessly. “No, leaving me behind wasn’t callous. It was cruel. You’re cruel.”

You could see Agatha’s cheeks flushed in anger, and her mouth opened with another rebuttal when a shriek rang through the air back where the rest of the coven was standing. Both of you jumped, and Agatha dropped your arm.

“What the hell was that?” You shouted at Agatha over the shrieks, which had grown louder.

“Salem Seven ring a bell?” Agatha snarked, but her eyes were filled with fear.

“What the fuck, Agatha.” You all but yelled as the two of you began running back. Somehow you’d never encountered any of the Seven before but that didn’t mean you wanted to start now. They were definitely pissed at Agatha, but it was unlikely that they were happy with you either, as the only other survivor of their mothers’ massacre.

The shrieks were coming from both the coven and a dark, hooded figure who you assumed was one of the Seven floating above them. “Run!” The boy screamed, and everyone began sprinting down the road.

Suddenly you heard Agatha cry out and a thud. You turned to see Agatha on the ground, the hooded figure hovering over her. You stared incredulously as Agatha put her arms up to shield herself, but made no other move to put up a defence. What is she doing?

The Salem Seven witch lunged towards Agatha and you quickly shot a beam at her, making her fall to the ground. As you ran over, you saw the witch was already stirring, not quite dead yet. You began reciting a spell that’d become second nature for you now, your hands falling into the familiar motions.

Agatha watched in awe as you drew the many surrounding shadows towards the figure on the ground. You made a sharp movement with your hand and suddenly the figure that was beginning to rise from the ground was being surrounded by dark tendrils.

Muffled screams could be heard as the shadows twisted tighter and tighter, until the figure fell limp to the ground. You weren’t done, however. Another practiced movement of your hands and you watched as the shadows engulfed the witch, dragging her downwards into the ground until she disappeared like vapour.

With the threat gone, you rushed to Agatha’s side. You could see a gash on her arm where her sleeve had torn, blood seeping out of the wound. “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you fight back?” Anger mixed with worry as you searched Agatha’s face for answers.

“Careful there, Y/N. Wouldn’t want to look like you care.” When you didn’t indulge her teasing, the other witch sighed. “Why do you think I’m here?” She asked, gesturing around her. She saw the confusion in your face and waved her hand dismissively. “Long story doll, I won’t bore you.”

Typical. Even all those years ago Agatha would opt to keep you in the dark rather than explain herself. “Fine.” You said, helping her stand. “Let’s find somewhere to sit so I can patch you up.”

You turned to see the rest of the group standing nearby, a mixture of awe and apprehension across their faces. The boy seemed the most awestruck. “How did you do that?” He exclaimed. “Where did she go?”

The oldest of the group spoke before you could. “The shadow realm.” She answered, eyeing you warily. “No one should be doing that.”

“Why don’t we um, find a place to sleep? While Y/N takes care of Agatha.” The tall one spoke now, gesturing for the rest of the group to follow her and leave you and Agatha alone. You watched as they hurried away, the short one throwing a worried glance back at you.

“So, shadow work huh?” Agatha spoke lowly as you examined her arm. “Didn’t realize you’d begun dabbling in my side of things.” Her tone was playful but probing.

You turned your head sharply towards her. “I haven’t. It’s not the same thing.”

Agatha chuckled darkly. “Oh isn’t it? Don’t get so high and mighty now Y/N. I’ve heard things. That good girl persona of yours may be working on everyone else, but not me.”

You didn’t answer, instead pulling her arm into the moonlight coming in through the trees. At your silence, Agatha kept going. “‘Oh wow! Moon girl is so amazing and talented! She can do anything!’” She said mockingly. “All admiration when you’re doing what they like. But you saw the look on their faces just now. Everybody switches up when we start talking real power. The kind you and I have.”

Okay yes, you could admit that the shadow stuff is a bit iffy. But it wasn’t anywhere close to as iffy as using the Darkhold, like you’d heard Agatha did. That was different.

“All I’m saying,” Agatha continued, as she watched you weave the light with your hands to heal her open wound. “Is that we’re much bigger than them. Than this. We’re destined for domination, Y/N.”

You shook your head. Years later and it was still all about power with her. Grand plans and limited following-through were classic Agatha. Enough. You stood up, Agatha’s arm now healed. “You’re talking about powers you had, and that I have.” You said coldly, taking satisfaction in the way her jaw clenched at your words. “Maybe focus on getting those back first.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

#kathryn hahn #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness fic #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness angst #agatha harkness oneshot #wandavision #agnes wandavision x reader #agnes wandavision #angst fic #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader

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zorostitties · 25 days ago

Text

Aurora; 5 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 7k

A/N: Hello people!!! I present you the longest chapter up until now. I don't even know how it got to this word count but I had a lot of fun writing it anyway!! OH MY GOD THAT'S A LOT OF NOTES Y'ALL 😭😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! This fic is receiving so much love both here and on AO3. I'm getting emotional 🥹🥹 Anyways!! Enjoy <3

⤕ Chapters: check masterlist in bio! ⤕ Also on AO3

Richter’s incessant talking was starting to piss Annette off.

She wasn’t going to tell him, obviously – not because she didn’t have the courage to do it. It was because she knew the reason for her annoyance wasn’t exactly Richter’s voice, nor the voices of the people around her.

It was the spirits’ voices.

They’d been… popping up incessantly ever since that moment at the clearing. Annette was used to seeing spirits to a certain degree; her connection to the other side was part of her powers, part of who she was, after all. She learned to not be afraid of them. She learned to accept her ancestors, to pay attention to their whispers and the messages they carried.

And yet… they’ve never been so restless like that.

Nor so noisy.

And certainly not so clear.

Back in Saint-Domingue, when Annette started to explore her powers, she’d often feel… presences. They caused goosebumps, whispered words in her mind. Sometimes, she’d have strange dreams that carried hidden meanings. When those occurrences became too frequent to be brushed off anymore, Annette opened up to Cécile. Her mentor then explained that it was not only normal, but a privilege; as her abilities blossomed, her ancestors would get closer to her – offering advice, warnings, and even reprimands when necessary.

With time, she started to see figures with the corner of her eyes. Silhouettes in the dark. They never scared her. She knew they were part of her family – just a glimpse of her large family tree, generations of spirits that went all the way to the other side of the ocean, staying beside her even after death… supporting her in her fight for freedom.

Well.

They were starting to scare her now.

Why did they look so angry? Why did they become so clear out of sudden? These weren’t just silhouettes anymore, she could see them as easily as Richter beside her. In fact, some looked so real that they could pass as any other living person; the only indicative that they didn’t belong to this world were the faint transparency of their bodies and the soft glow around them.

And worst of it all – she could not understand a word of what they were saying. Their whispers were unintelligible.

If these really were her ancestors trying to bring a message, why couldn’t they be clear about it?

...Were they even her ancestors? Were they even real? What if she got trapped in an enemy spell, causing her to see illusions?

Annette wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to they them to shut up and leave her alone. Hell – she was all worried about Ruby earlier that day, as the girl seemed so distressed to be in a crowded city, and yet Annette herself wasn’t feeling much better than her at all.

The sensory overload was so bad that she didn’t see a prominent rock on the pavement and tripped on it, almost falling face down in the middle of the street.

Richter caught her in time.

His hand was quick to take her arm in a gentle, yet firm grip. His blue eyes were even rounder than usual. “Oh! Are you okay?”

The action brought Annette back to reality – and also brought back that feeling she was trying hard to ignore.

The girl straightened her position, stepping away from him rapidly. It was stupid how she already felt her cheeks heat up with such a simple touch of his… but it was becoming a frequent occurrence ever since she accidentally held his hand at the clearing, creating a bit of an… awkward situation for them both.

One more embarrassing thing these spirits made her do.

“Yes, thank you,” she brushed it off the best she could before she continued to walk.

If Richter noticed her reaction, he didn’t let it show. The Belmont boy let a tired sight. “I didn’t expect Paris would be this big,” he muttered tiredly. “I thought when he got here, we were practically at our destination. But… we’ve been walking for hours already.”

Annette had to agree. They’d been walking all morning and this Louvre palace was yet to reveal itself. She even wondered if Alucard was sure of where they were going; after all, she was aware that other palaces existed in Paris. What if Louvre wasn’t the correct one?

“You’re not familiar with Paris? I thought you’d been here before,” she asked.

“I’ve only been here once, and I didn’t stay for long,” Richter explained. “I was just taking care of Maria, to be honest. Not exactly safe to let a teenage girl roam a big city alone, you know, and especially not when she’s reaching out for revolutionaries. Maria gets in trouble pretty easily.”

He let a light chuckle, yet his eyes were saddened at the mention of Maria – and it tightened Annette’s heart just a bit. She knew he was carrying a lot of baggage with him this entire mission. The fight with Maria, Tera’s “death”, how he felt he didn’t help her and had to flee… and now the fact that he handed their destination to that damn vampire. The worst part – Alucard got mad at him.

As if she was reading his mind, Richter lifted his eyes and looked at the white-haired vampire’s back, walking many steps ahead of them with Ruby by his side. To be fair, after that moment at the forest, Alucard wasn’t being mean or cold to Richter (well, not colder than he already was, at least). It was very clear in Annette’s eyes how his anger wore off as hours went by. But Annette also knew that this didn’t ease Richter’s regret.

Annette lowered her voice, hoping Alucard wouldn’t hear her.

“You know,” she started quietly. Her tone caught Richter’s attention. “I don’t think he was that angry at you. I think he was angrier at himself for letting Ruby get hurt.”

Richter blinked. He also thought she was reading his mind. He pressed his lips together, lowering his head again.

“And he decided to lash out on me.”

“Well… it’s not like you didn’t give him a reason to.”

Richter pouted. “Aw, come on. I thought you were trying to cheer me up.”

Annette couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m sorry. But what I mean is… don’t dwell on it. Yes, what you did was silly, but to keep thinking about won’t help you.”

The Belmont boy went silent for a few moments. “Ruby told me the same thing.” He lifted his gaze, now looking at the young woman. “Hey, Annette… what do you think of her?”

Instinctively, she looked at Ruby’s back as well.

From the moment she laid eyes on Ruby, she felt immediate empathy. Her constant hesitant, frightened state… it was painfully familiar. Annette still remembered very well the weeks that followed her escape from the plantation. The nightmares, the shivers, the fear of going out, the paranoia. It took a lot for her to realize that she was safe, that no one would ever hurt her anymore. It took even longer for her to learn how to voice her opinions, to understand that she mattered to the people around her, and they mattered for her, too.

And that’s precisely what helped Annette overcome her struggles. She had something to fight for. A cause she would never give up on. Genuine friends around her. Warriors in arms, family in hearts.

She had Edouard.

The mere mention of his name in her mind was enough to make her want to cry again.

Edouard was who helped her during her darkest times. He was still the reason why she was fighting, why she crossed the ocean, why she would do anything in her power to defeat Sekhmet.

And that was precisely what made Ruby’s situation difficult. She… didn’t have a family – not one she remembered, at least. She didn’t have a past, something to hold onto. Someone that would give her motivation to keep fighting until the end of her forces, until the last drop of sweat. With such an amount of trauma (although Annette didn’t know exactly what she went through in Erzsebet’s hands, it certainly wasn’t easy), it is important to have a reason to stay alive.

Or someone.

Annette’s deceased mother was her primary reason. Then Edouard, Cécile, the Maroons… until she realized that by fighting for them, she was fighting for herself, too.

And… perhaps… perhaps she had a new reason to keep fighting now. A reason she met recently, but that made her feel things that she never felt before. A… sweet, funny, a little silly reason – but strong and determined nevertheless.

“I think she’s being honest,” Annette finally answered Richter’s question. “And… I don’t like to feel sorry for people, but I feel sorry for her. I hope she finds her reason soon.”

Richter frowned, clearly not understanding what she meant by “her reason”, but Annette didn’t feel like elaborating on that.

“The only thing I’m suspicious of is this… healing thing of hers,” Richter said in a quiet tone. “I don’t think anyone can acquire this in a good way.”

Annette had to agree with that. Alucard might be right in his words – maybe the Ruby from the past, the real Ruby, was not the innocent person she seemed to be…

A harsh whisper in her right ear made Annette gasp.

Oh no. Not again. They had stopped for some moments, but then started whispering again. That was more of a hiss, in fact – rushed, anxious, trying to catch her attention.

The spirits trembled. Annette noticed that the crowd around her – the crowd of real people – seemed to be walking in the same direction; they wore apprehensive, even angry expressions on their faces. They were almost as hectic as the spirits.

“Is Paris always like this? I can feel the tension,” Annette muttered more to herself than to Richter. She looked around; there were spirits behind them, to the sides, in front–

Wait, in front–

Her eyes passed rapidly by Alucard and Ruby. They had stopped walking for some reason, but that’s not what caught her attention.

She… she saw a strange glow in Ruby.

It didn’t surround her body like it did with the spirits. It was a… point. Faint, eerie; the tiny point glowed on the left side of her back, almost transparent… like the flame of a candle.

It glowed in the same place as her heart.

Annette tightened her eyes. What was that? Did anyone put a spell on her? Was an enemy nearby? No one else had a glow like that – no one alive, at least. She was about to reach for Ruby’s arm, scared for her safety–

But then, the sound of drums echoed through the streets.

The spirits vanished – just as the strange flame in Ruby’s heart.

Annette blinked repeatedly. Did she… see things?

Alucard looked behind his back to the two of them, now that they had reached their position.

“Something’s about to happen,” he said eerily.

The crowd kept walking. Now, Annette could see that there was a great square ahead of them. It couldn’t be a good thing; she felt a strange sensation in her gut, an apprehension that she could not understand.

She wanted to ask if Ruby was alright – if she felt anything – but decided that was not the time. The group followed the rest of the crowd.

That left a question mark in the back of Annette’s mind. What was that thing she saw in Ruby’s heart?

But then, the King of France was executed, Annette saw the three headed spirit that almost made her have a heart attack – and nothing else mattered after that.

You felt sorry for him.

Of course – you heard the conversation between Richter, Annette and Alucard. They understood the situation much better than you and even had divergent opinions. He wasn’t a particularly bad King, Richter said, while Annette stated that no one can reign innocently. On your understandings, both of them were right to some degree.

And yet, when “Louis The Last” stepped on the platform and knelt in front of the guillotine, you didn’t see the King. You saw a frightened man in the face of death.

Watching normal humans die wasn’t easy; you never got used to it. It was always horrible whenever you’d see one of Erzsebet’s preys let their dying breath, their last gag. It was almost as if you could see their lives slipping away, their bodies becoming empty. And yet, when you realized that they’d finally stopped moving, you felt… relief for them. Because at least, they weren’t in pain anymore. Whenever you saw a human victim be dragged into the hall, you’d silently hope for a quick death upon them. Things didn’t always go that way. You hated when they didn’t.

The square was uncomfortably crowded, but Alucard was right – you were getting used to it, although you were still hoping to leave that place as soon as possible. Angry whispers, shouts, loud discussions... they were energetic.

The conversation of a particular couple close to you caught your attention.

“I don’t think I can look at it,” the woman said with a visible scowl of disgust. The man, still facing the platform, made her hide her face on the curve of his neck.

“It’s okay, darling. You don’t have to.”

You frowned.

She was wrong. He was wrong.

You shouldn’t look away when a man is about to die. It’s dishonorable.

You watched in solemn silence when the sharp blade of the guillotine went down on the man’s neck, beheading him. Blood splashed on the platform. The head rolled one, two, three, four times. A perpetually horrified expression. The crowd cheered in satisfied anger. They felt avenged.

Only then did you close your eyes for a moment. A quick death is a luxury not many have, you thought.

“Annette? Are you alright?”

You opened your eyes and turned around to see Richter calling the girl in yellow. Annette had her back facing you, yet you could see her heavy breathing, which immediately sparked some worry. Was she feeling unwell?

“...Yes,” Annette’s voice almost disappeared within the crowd’s roar. She sounded hesitant and scared. It was the first time she looked even remotely scared.

Alucard was quietly watching her, too, from over his shoulder. Then, he sent you a meaningful glance, pointing with his head a way out of the crowd. He didn’t wait for any of you to follow him.

“Let’s go,” you said, calling Richter and Annette’s attention. She looked more than happy to leave the place, while Richter kept sending her worried glances.

There was no time to ask if she was okay or not. The crowd seemed to be getting even more heated. They shouted, raised their fists in the air, clapped their hands – and it only got worse when one of the guards took the deceased King’s head and put it on a spike, lifting it up for the audience. The crowd started to push each other to try to get a closer look.

That was when the confusion started.

You saw people falling. Children crying. Guards shouting, trying to get control of the situation with no avail. You were pushed, almost smashed in the middle of hundreds of bodies, to a point were your feet were merely following the flow of the crowd, having no control of where you were going.

“There are ladies here, you savage animals!” One woman groaned.

“Stop pushing!” Someone else said.

“Rot in hell, Louis!”

“I want to see the head!”

“Ouch- my foot!”

“Vive la Révolution!”

You desperately tried to make your way out – and there was no way out without pushing people, which only made the situation worse. You looked around, trying to see Richter or Annette; the Belmont boy was quite tall, so it was easy to spot him many rows of people away from you, also being smashed. He sent you a worried gaze and tried to yell something, but you couldn’t hear anything over the incessant shouting. You tried to approach him, but that was like trying to swim against the flow of a river.

Richter tried to shout something again. He managed to lift his hand and point at something to your right side. You supposed he was trying to show you a way out of the crowd.

You turned your head in that direction in time to see Alucard approaching with a deeply annoyed frown.

He caught you by the arm and pressed your body on his, keeping a firm arm around you while the other quite unceremoniously pushed people out of the way. He didn’t let himself be carried by the flow, keeping a solid and consistent pace. Alucard was like a rock in the middle of these people, literally. No one could push him even if they tried (and they tried). He didn’t lose balance.

He was visibly pissed.

And even so, the thing your brain most noticed was that he… had a good smell.

It wasn’t exactly your fault; Alucard was pressing you against his chest after all. And… you tried to remember that method – if you could call it that – that Alucard himself taught you a few hours ago. When your mind was distressed, about to spiral, too overwhelmed… focus on a single thing, a simple thing, to try and muffle everything else.

So you focused on his smell.

It was… sweet. Like spices. It even reminded you a bit of cocoa. And refreshing, maybe a bit citric, like orange.

It… reminded you a bit of the natural smell a baby has after taking a bath.

Vampires have a very specific smell you learned to hate over time. It’s nauseously sweet, like burnt sugar. Add this to unnecessary puffs of perfume – Erzsebet loved floral fragrances – and their absolutely horrible breath that no amount of chewing peppermint could mask.

You shouldn’t be surprised that even though Alucard was half-vampire, he was still starkly different than all the others you’d met, even in the tiniest details. But it surprised you anyway.

Finally, he managed to push his way out of the crowd into a nearby, emptier street, releasing his grip around you. You stepped aside, cleaning the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand.

“That was… intense,” you managed to speak breathlessly, looking back at the still growing mess. “Thank you.”

Alucard sighed heavily. “We should’ve left sooner,” he muttered dryly, more to himself than to you. “I should’ve figured a commotion like this would happen.” He looked at the crowd for a few more moments before his eyes fell on your figure, the frown on his forehead untying. “How are you feeling?”

You widened your eyes slightly. Sure, he was just being thoughtful, but you figured he was asking that after your… history of panics involving crowds (or even smaller things).

“Oh! I’m totally fine. Thank you,” you tried to sound cheerful. Alucard nodded.

It seemed that all you could tell him was thank you over and over again – and it was starting to annoy you. Not only because a tiny (maybe not so tiny) part of you wanted to have more meaningful conversations with him like the one earlier that day, but because you didn’t want to worry anyone anymore. You wanted to be more useful to the group. But how could you be useful if the group consisted of excellent fighters, experts in magic, and you were just an “ordinary” human? Your healing was only useful to yourself, not to them.

Alucard looked back at the crowd and raised his arm. Following his gaze, you saw Richter and Annette pop out of the mass of people, similarly breathless as you. This at least brought you some comfort. Alucard was the only one to show no sign of tiredness.

The Belmont boy rested his hands over his knees, breathing heavily, when they reached your position. “...I hope that was the only beheading scheduled for today,” he joked tiredly.

Annette didn’t chuckle this time. Worry still clouded her eyes. “Are we close now, Alucard?”

The man nodded. “Only a few blocks away from here. Let’s go.”

He kept marching ahead, not giving any of you a chance to recover.

The Louvre was scarily big.

Bigger than the chateau, bigger than Erzsebet’s palace, bigger than… well, any building you’d ever seen.

The gigantic front garden of the palace was eerily empty, with only a few people walking here and there; most of the population was concentrated on the central square to watch the execution of the King, which would grant you some advantage (and tranquility) to look for Sekhmet’s mummy. You approached the palace a little after the midday sun, its light reflecting on the decorative pools of the garden, the wind softly swaying the trees.

“The monarchies of Europe will be horrified. Already, some of them are waging war on France. They’ll be joined by the rest. The Vampire Messiah plans to lead them, commander and chief of the counterrevolution,” Alucard explained while you walked.

Oh. And just like that, everything made sense. Erzsebet’s reason to be on France, their talks about “crushing a revolution”… Indeed, if she succeeded, she’d be considered the Queen she always aimed to be. One that could unite an entire continent regardless of public opinion, as she sided with the oligarchies which possessed the most power. Vampire oligarchies.

“And just this street rabble to resist her,” Richter said somberly. “Who won’t stand a chance, will they?”

“No.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You didn’t have enough information to understand if the current kings and queens were bad to their people. Judging by the execution witnessed earlier and the reaction it caused… you could assume they weren’t doing a great job. To have a sadistic vampire sitting on a throne, ruling over millions of innocent lives… it would be even worse. Erszebet saw humans as less than insects, barely livestock, and her court thought the same. Soon, she’d be ruling over an empire of corpses.

You looked over your shoulder to Richter and Annette, who had suddenly stopped walking and were a few steps away. They were being too quiet for you to hear them. Richter still looked worried, while Annette seemed distressed.

You looked ahead again. “There’s something wrong with Annette,” you said quietly. Alucard hummed.

“I noticed.” He also kept the quiet tone. “However, we can’t help her if she doesn’t say what’s the problem.”

Alucard was already preventing you from getting stressed. You nodded. “...I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Finally, you reached the doors of the palace. Two guards protected the entrance. After a quick chat, they let you in. Apparently, the palace was public domain now, so it didn’t take a lot of convincing.

Opposing to its empty exterior, the large halls of the Louvre were filled with people – men and women, working on organization and cleaning. All of them wore some sort of hat in the colors of the French flag; members of the Revolution.

“A single family lived here?” you muttered to yourself, letting your gaze wander through the place. The high vaulted ceilings, the tall windows, red columns, golden arabesques, the glass skylights; it was bathed in natural lighting. Not to mention the many pieces of art – statues, paintings, some of the frames towering three times bigger than a person; the intricate carpets, the chandeliers… with each corner you turned (the palace seemed to be an endless labyrinth) you grew more and more speechless.

“No, the royal family lived somewhere else. It was still their property, though,” Richter explained. “And to think the people were dying of hunger and plague while the royal family had all this,” he said bitterly. “It really makes you agree with the revolutionaries.”

You had to admit that it was hard to focus on the task at hand being surrounded by so much art. Erzsebet’s palace was beautiful, of course, but devoid of any personality. It was… beauty for the sake of beauty, mostly. But at the Louvre, you saw sculptures and paintings that looked genuinely ancient; hundreds of years of history, the works of multiple hands, stories being told. It definitely should not be at the hands of a few people only.

A certain half opened door caught your eye. There seemed to be a big statue there that glowed faintly under the sunlight. You narrowed your eyes, trying to see better…

“Oh! Leonardo!”

Alucard’s voice completely caught your attention.

You snapped your head at him. The nonchalance in his expression was completely gone, being replaced by… longing?

He turned to you three with a bit of excitement he hadn’t shown up until that moment. “It’s a painting by Leonardo da Vinci, of a woman he actually couldn’t abide. Or so he told me,” he explained, pointing with his head towards a particular frame. A woman of straight brown hair and dark clothing posed in the painting with a vague expression, her arms crossed over her lap. Alucard closed his eyes for a moment, chuckling, and opened a tender smile. Then, he side eyed you as if telling a secret: “I never really thought it was one of his best.”

Then, he kept on walking as if nothing happened.

...You were pretty sure that you, Richter and Annette were all blushing at that moment.

Alucard never sounded so excited before. Never so lighthearted. And he looked… cute? Adorable, in fact. It made him look very young.

...You’d like to know this side of him a little bit better.

“Is there any order to this? Or do you just… put things anywhere?” Alucard asked one of the men in uniform.

“We’re looking for Ancient Egyptian,” Richter added.

The man pointed ahead. “Go straight, then turn to your left at the end of the corridor. First door.”

You followed his directions after Richter muttered a thank you. Alucard picked up his pace and all of you followed. Now that you had some guidance, it seemed that apprehension weighed over the atmosphere. The room mentioned by the man was empty – if you could call that a room, that is, as it was bigger than some houses. A gallery, in fact.

Wooden crates of different sizes were scattered here and there. Some sculptures were protected by boxes made of glass. Sunlight embraced the entire room through the tall windows. At the far end of the gallery, there were four columns that seemed to imitate palm trees; they had colorful paintings and ancient writings around them.

A shiver ran down your spine. A memory from not long ago – or was it long ago? – was brought forward in your mind. An obelisk with writings similar to those in the columns… the same art styles, the same periods. It would be brought whenever Erzsebet summoned an eclipse… or when Erzsebet summoned Sekhmet. The vampire’s very appearance would change, taking an animalistic look similar to a lioness. Whenever Erzsebet did that, you’d be genuinely frightened, even more than usual. That wasn’t simply the strength of a vampire anymore. It was much more ancient, much stronger, a much denser type of magic… the type that shouldn’t be messed with thoughtlessly, the type that demanded respect upon its use. Erzsebet had no respect for it. Maybe that’s why it was always so horrendous to witness.

“Hm… so we’re looking for a corpse…” Richter muttered, looking around.

“It’s here. I’m sure of it,” Alucard said as he inspected one of the wooden crates.

You thought of searching for it too, but you didn’t want to touch anything. You couldn’t tell exactly why. Was it because of your bad memories associated with anything Egyptian? Or was it something else?

“Show me.”

The three of you turned to Annette at the same time.

“What?” Richter asked.

The girl had an apprehensive expression as she stared at… nothing in particular. She visibly hesitated before speaking.

“There are spirits here. Many spirits,” she confessed quietly. You widened your eyes. Richter instinctively looked around. “They’ve been following us. Following me.” She inhaled, as if building up courage. “Show me.”

You looked around as well and saw, well… nothing. But Annette was following something with her gaze with much attention. Richter approached her.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I don’t know what they want,” for the first time, Annette showed a glimpse of her real distress over the situation. That’s what had been bothering her since the execution… she was sweating. “Or if they’re real.”

“Do they speak to you?” Alucard asked in a serious tone.

“Yes, but I… can’t understand what they’re whispering,” she narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes they seem angry. There are spirits here now who just seem lost.” She looked at Richter. Annette seemed even more fragile than when you talked to her at the forest, which took you by surprise. “...Or is it me that’s lost?”

Richter pressed his lips together, not taking his eyes off her for a second. He rested a reassuring hand on her back, not saying a word – and it seemed enough to calm her down, even if just a bit.

It even felt that you were interrupting something for a second. And yet, you couldn’t look away. They… seemed to share something very intimate. Very beautiful.

Your chest tightened.

“What’s happening with them now?” Alucard asked quietly, looking around. “Could they be trying to tell you something?”

Annette looked ahead and went silent for some seconds. Then, she pointed in the direction she was looking.

“There.”

The group approached a particular wooden crate sitting at the very end of the gallery, near the columns. Alucard knelt down in front of it and lifted its lid.

And there it was.

A mummy, with its arms crossed over their chest, completely bandaged in red linen, laying over a bed of straw. It had the silhouette of a woman.

“It stinks,” Richter complained, pinching his nose.

Annette narrowed her eyes. “It’s her. It’s Sekhmet,” she confirmed with certainty.

Alucard got up again. All of you watched the mummy for some seconds; it seemed you shared the weight of responsibility that thing represented.

“So, what do we do now?” Richter spoke up first, scratching the back of his head. “I could burn it, or we could just… hack it to pieces and scatter it to the winds.”

“What you do now is give her to me.”

In that moment – time was frozen.

Air left your lungs. Your eyes widened. Every nerve tensed up. Violent goosebumps roamed your entire body.

You turned around. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to face the owner of that voice. You wanted to believe it was just your mind playing tricks, that there was nothing actually happening. Because there was no way it was her.

Drolta is dead, Alucard said. He confirmed it. He said he was sure.

But you turned around anyway – and what you saw made your heart drop.

That thing couldn’t be Drolta. There was no way. It had a female body, its leathery skin a mix of black and greyish pink. Instead of feet, it had hooves that made it tower over any human. Its wings were leathery as well, similar to a bat’s; its claws seemed to be made of iron, just like the tip of its long tail. Twisted horns sat at the top of its head.

The thing focused its eyes on you and opened a cruel smile.

No.

No no no no no no no.

That thing couldn’t be Drolta. No, there was no way. But you stared back at her, you scanned her facial features, and these were the same eyes. Most of her original form was gone – it had little resemblance to the attractive woman she once was – but the eyes. The cruelty in those eyes. They remained the same.

It was Drolta.

“Yes, Alucard. You killed me,” she said in the same sultry voice you were so disgustingly used to. “And you stole something very precious from me, too.” Her gaze locked on you again. Her smirk turned to an evil grin. “You little runaway rat… it’s time to return home.”

She was twirling something around her pointer finger. The thing she twirled… it gleamed under the sunlight.

You gasped.

It was the ruby necklace.

You had time to see her extend her great wings, ready to launch. A part of your brain registered that she was accompanied by three other winged creatures, but they seemed blurred. All you could do was stare at her. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do anything.

She attacked.

Alucard jumped at the same time, his body enveloped by the familiar red glow. They clashed mid-air.

And then, Richter’s back blocked your vision.

“Stay behind me!” He yelled, snapping his whip in the air, as the three other creatures launched together.

Annette threw one of her newly created blades in the air as if it was a boomerang to no avail, as it didn’t hit any of the creatures. One of them – it was red, its head was what looked like the skull of a wolf – spat a ball of pure fire in your direction. Seeing there would be no time to grab you, Richter pushed you out of the way roughly, sending you a few meters back; your back hit the wall, causing air to leave your lungs.

The Belmont boy knelt down; his palm touched the ground in your direction. With a grunt of effort, he lifted his hand – and at the same pace, a wall of ice rose around you, enclosing you like an igloo.

The outside noises were muffled for some seconds.

You stayed there, sitting on the floor, unable to move; your entire body trembled, and it had nothing to do with the ice around you. Sweat dripped down your temples. Your breath came difficult, it seemed that the air was burning your throat and your lungs; your vision was blurred.

Drolta is alive Drolta is alive Drolta is alive was all that your mind repeated, yelled at you; Drolta is alive and she came after me, Drolta is worse than she was before, Drolta is going to kill Richter and Annette and Alucard–

Richter and Annette and Alucard–

They were all fighting.

Richter snapped his whip around violently, embedding it in blue flames. When one of his attacks hit, the creature – a black one, with a more humanoid figure – screamed in pain; he jumped, twirled in the air, protected his arm with a layer of ice when one of its attacks was about to hit. He tumbled back to avoid being hit by another gush of fire by the skull-headed night creature.

Annette fought a three-headed beast similar to a dragon; she controlled many pieces of iron around the gallery, aiming them at it. Some hits were successful. She jumped from crate to crate, avoiding the bites as all the three heads tried to catch her in different directions at the same moment.

And Alucard kept Drolta completely focused on him, maintaining the fight in the air, near the ceiling. It seemed that the sword barely made any damage against her leathery skin, and yet he kept attacking and tanking her attacks. You watched with horror as her hair (well, what was supposed to be hair; that thing wasn’t hair anymore) extended themselves like snakes, pursuing him around the gallery, causing great destruction were it hit.

The three of them were fighting. And you understood with great remorse that their objective was to keep the creatures so occupied that they wouldn’t be able to reach you or the mummy.

You were not only completely useless – you were getting in the way.

They couldn’t fight freely with you around.

You gulped, trying to stop panting, but you couldn’t. No no no, not this now. You don’t have time for this. You don’t have time! Why was your body playing tricks on you again? Why couldn’t it function when you needed the most? You needed to get out of there. Fuck, you needed to do something, anything! And still — your body wouldn’t obey.

Focus on a single thing, a simple thing, to try and muffle everything else.

Alucard’s method.

A single thing.

You looked around the small area inside the “igloo”.

Spotted a nail – probably used to lock the lid of the crates.

A simple thing.

With all your might, you forced your shaking arm to move; forced it to stretch, to reach for the nail, to hold it tightly.

Focus on a single thing, a simple thing.

With a grunt of effort, you pierced your own palm with the nail. The sharp pain awakened you from your numb state.

Right on time.

The black creature found an opening in Richter’s incessant attacks and launched itself towards you. The igloo melted. You rolled away from it and got up in a jump.

Annette immediately glued to your side. She was panting, holding blades in both hands; Richter threw a gush of blue flames, trying to keep the beasts away. You couldn’t see Alucard or Drolta behind the wall of fire. However, it wasn’t enough; the three night creatures were about to surround you. You’d have no escape.

Annette seemed to be reading your mind.

She let go of the blades for a second. She gesticulated with her hands as if grabbing something in the air; the wall beside you cracked. Annette “pulled” the air and let a scream of effort. Obeying her command, the wall teared apart, creating a hole towards the corridor – big enough for someone to pass through.

“Run, Ruby! Run!” Annette yelled.

And you obeyed.

You jumped through the hole and sprinted down the corridor, the pain in your palm completely forgotten. The ground was shaking, chandeliers tinkling, dust fell over your head. The sounds of the fight were slowly replaced by screams of fear and many steps. Of course, the palace was packed with workers. Some of them were running towards the Egyptian gallery, being attracted by the loud noises, but stopped running when they saw you.

“Get out of here! Your weapons won’t work!” You shouted without slowing your pace, gesticulating vehemently. “Get out, all of you! Right now!”

Luckily, you didn’t need to repeat yourself; the people in the hall started to run towards the exit.

You turned the corner, desperately trying to find an escape plan. You thought of running outside into the sunlight, but these things weren’t vampires; the sun wouldn’t protect you. You could try to mix with the crowd of people running out of the palace, but it would definitely put them all in danger. You could hide – but was there any safe place? These night creatures weren’t the same as the weak vampires you’ve encountered on your way to Paris. They were actually dangerous, even to your powerful allies.

Your thoughts were cut off when you heard a shrilling growl out there.

A gasp escaped past your lips. It was the three-headed beast – it was flying out there, soaring near the windows… scoping the area after you.

You entered the first room you saw.

You banged the double doors of the gallery. It was much smaller than the Egyptian one, yet the windows were equally large. You rushed to untie the heavy curtains and cover them, immersing the room in darkness; only a peek of light was visible through one of the windows. Shit shit shit shit you needed to barricade the door. You pushed a heavy crate with your back, positioning it against the door, yet you knew it wasn’t nearly enough; you needed to put something between the handles to truly lock it.

It was too dark now. You searched through the wooden boxes with shaking fingers, trying to find any artifact that could do the job; a steel bar, a vase thin enough, anything. The floor was still shaking incessantly. Please, let them be safe, you prayed silently to whoever was hearing; please, let them be safe.

You knelt in front of the final crate and lifted its lid. There were a couple of artifacts there, all so rusty and old that you could barely recognize what they were. A sword, a helmet, what looked like the remains of a broken shield, and… oh! A spear!

Or at least, it resembled a spear. It was completely covered in rust; thin, shorter than an actual spear, and it didn’t have a blade on the tip, but some sort of… rusty circle. Again, it was too dark to understand what that thing was, but it would do the job.

And yet – you hesitated to hold it.

Your fingers hovered over the object with hesitancy.

Suddenly… you weren’t hearing the outside noises anymore. They were distant. All you heard was your thundering heartbeat, your panting.

Your hand tingled. It had nothing to do with the injury you inflicted in yourself. The “spear” seemed to radiate some sort of warmth; you could feel it even some centimeters away. It made your stomach drop in a funny way. It wasn’t the fear or the adrenaline; it felt different.

Finally, you gulped and grabbed the object.

It was, indeed, hot. But that’s not what made your eyes widen.

As soon as you held it, the “spear” started to glow. No, it started to shine.

You watched as the rust around the object dissipated like dust. It shone so brightly that you had to close your eyes; it was so hot that you felt that your palm was about to burn. But then, after a few seconds, it stopped.

You opened your eyes again gasped.

You weren’t holding a rusty “spear” anymore. That wasn’t a spear; it was a scepter.

You got up from the ground slowly. The scepter was almost as tall as you were, made of solid gold. At its tip, the rusty “circle” was gone, being replaced by a small “plate” with twelve curvy “spikes” circling it in regular intervals; an unmistakable representation of the sun. Tiny inscriptions were engraved across its entirety. You brought it closer to your eyes, trying to understand what they meant since it was still dark inside the room – and when you recognized them, you almost dropped the object on the floor.

The writings were on the same strange language from the moon book Erzsebet made you read. You recognized the characters.

What the hell was that?!

The sound of an explosion so loud out there that made the floor shake yanked you out of your own head.

Fuck. I still need to lock the door, you remembered, rushing towards it with the scepter in hand. You were still shaking, clumsily trying to barricade the hangs with the long object–

A window crashed.

You screamed in horror. Glass flew everywhere, part of the wall was destroyed, the curtain was ripped off. You turned around to see the three-headed beast enter the gallery, groaning and hissing, as Annette gripped one of its necks for dear life.

She finally released the night creature before one of the heads could chop her, landing on her feet and putting herself between you and the thing. She was visibly tired, yet her eyes were ferocious. You noticed that the creature had lost its middle head, probably the reason for it to be so aggressive.

Annette growled. She controlled iron objects around her, launching them all at the creature; it flapped its wings violently to avoid being hit, destroying crates and artifacts around it. The creature ran towards Annette. She pushed you out of the way.

“Ruby, you need to–“ she jumped, avoiding a hit. “You need–“ she managed to cut the thing’s leg, skipping out of danger’s line before it could strike. “You need to go!”

There was no way to run through the broken window – to reach it, you’d have to come across the night creature. The doors were the only escape – and they were fucking barricaded by the crate you put there previously. You groaned, putting all of your strength into pushing it away, the scepter completely forgotten on the floor. You needed to run, you needed to run, you needed to–

Your eyes were glued in Annette.

Like what happened at the forest, it seemed that the world was moving in slow motion again.

You saw as Annette twirled mid-air above the beast; with one hand, she controlled one of her blades to pierce the creature’s left skull, but it was unsuccessful; the thing caught the blade with its teeth. Her landing trajectory was at the right side of the same head. She already held another blade firmly with both hands.

Annette landed graciously. With a groan of effort, she sliced its left head, beheading it.

But the right head was still there. The right head already had its jaws open wide. Annette was stuck between the remaining head and the neck of the one she had just beheaded. There was no escape route. She would not have time to react.

You saw all that unfold in front of your eyes and got to the obvious conclusion: Annette was going to die.

So you moved.

You sprinted from the place you were on the floor. You didn’t wait until the world would start moving fast again. You didn’t wait for Annette to realize what you were about to do.

You put yourself between her and the monster.

Its jaws tightened around the entire right side of your body – and when the world started moving at its normal speed again, all that existed was pain.

#alucard x reader #castlevania alucard #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #alucard x you #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard tepes #castlevania x reader

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 28 days ago

Text

It's a satanist thing, you wouldn't understand

Written for the Kissing Booth bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: First Date

Words: 2,067 [also on AO3]

Rated: T

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Established relationship; Good babysitter Steve; Good babysitter Eddie; Sexual harassment (mild); Bullying; Implied sexual content; Eddie Munson is a little shit

“Lucas, do you copy? It’s Steve.”

It takes approximately two seconds for Lucas’s voice to crackle back over the walkie, which probably means he had it lying on the nightstand right next to him, waiting for updates.

“I’m here. What’s the status?”

“Well, the good news,” Steve says, keeping his eyes trained on the movie theatre across the street so that he doesn’t have to look at Eddie sulking in the passenger seat, “is that they’ve made it to the theatre, and everything looked perfectly fine. All hands stayed where they’re supposed to be and he even held the door for her.”

“Okay?” Lucas sounds far less elated at that than he hoped he would, but that might be the effects of the flu. “What’s the bad news?”

Steve sighs. “Well, she saw us.”

The static hum of the line is loud in the ensuing silence.

“Oh. How did that go?”

Eddie snatches the walkie from Steve’s hand. “How do you think it went, Sinclair? She told us to, and I quote, get our sorry asses outta there and tell Lucas to stop poking his germ-infested nose into her affairs.”

“Don’t mind him,” Steve says, wrangling the walkie back and leaning out of Eddie’s reach as far as the limited space of the Beemer will allow. “He’s just grouchy because he won’t get to see Tom Cruise mixing cocktails.”

“So you’re out-... sorry, one moment.” Lucas interrupts himself for a speaker-rattling sneeze. “You’re outside now?”

“Yup, in the car. You want us to try and sneak back in or-”

“No, leave it. You know what she’s like. Just … can you stick around, just in case? I don’t have a good feeling about that Todd guy.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “Sure thing, Lucas. You go back to sleep, we got this. Over.”

“We got this?” Eddie repeats as Steve puts the walkie back on the middle console. “What exactly have we got, Stevie? All we’re gonna be having is a stiff neck from sitting in your fucking car and watching the stupid theatre for hours, and all because you can’t tell these kids no for-”

“Oh, as if you could,” Steve says. “Cut Lucas some slack, it’s his baby sister’s first date, and he’s worried.”

Eddie crosses his arms and sulks back into the leather seat.

“Dunno what he’s so worried about. I’ve seen his baby sister fend off two grown demogorgons with a broken chair, you’d think she’d be perfectly capable of handling the pitfalls of teenage dating life, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yeah?” Steve snarks. “And what would you know of teenage dating life?”

Eddie shrugs, unimpressed, leaning over into Steve’s space with a wide, lecherous grin. One ring-clad hand reaches out over the middle console to brush his thigh.

“Touché, my king. All I’m saying is I can think of more fun things on a Saturday night than- … What?”

Steve, who has bolted upright in his seat and started making frantic shushing motions, points at something outside. “Look!”

Sure enough, the doors of the theatre have swung open to reveal none other than Erica Sinclair. Without sparing as much as a glance at Steve’s car, she stomps over to where her bike is leaning on the corner of the building. Even from the distance, it’s glaringly evident that she’s fuming with rage.

“That isn’t good,” Steve mutters, already pushing open his door. From the corner of his eye, he can see Eddie follow behind him as he hurries across the street. “Erica? What’s wrong?”

“Go away,” she barks, dragging the bike around and out into the street, but Steve positions himself in front of her and Eddie to her side.

“Oh no, young lady,” he rumbles in his best, strict DM voice. “The man asked you a question. What the hell happened?”

“I got thrown out, okay?” she snaps, but she doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes like she normally would. Instead, she seems weirdly interested in the colorful streamers hanging off her handlebars. “No big deal.”

Steve feels his jaw drop. “No big- … Thrown out? How the fuck did you manage that?”

She shrugs petulantly. Steve puts his hands on his hips. She draws a long, exasperated breath, letting the words rush out on the exhale in one long, near incomprehensible string.

“Todd asked if he could kiss me, I said no, he tried to sneak his fingers under my skirt, I said to keep his hands to himself, he said he wouldn’t wanna kiss a satanist freak anyhow, so I decked him. Happy?”

Steve isn’t happy. Steve is very far from happy, in fact. He’s aware that Erica is staring at him, eyes weirdly shiny, and that Eddie has gone very still and pale by her side, but he can’t say anything because his throat is closing up and his vision is slowly filling with dark pinpricks of red. His hand is curling and uncurling by his side, longing for the familiar feel of a bat or ax or anything else to swing.

“I’m sorry,” Erica says, but she’s talking to Eddie now. “You shouldn’t still have to deal with all of that, it’s fucking horrible.”

Eddie smiles, bold and brave and beautiful, lurching forward to pull her into a hug. It ends up a bit awkward since her bike is still wedged between them, but she allows it without so much as a scoff.

“Aw, m’lady,” he coos, but the look he shoots at Steve over the top of her head is sharp as a blade. Steve feels a shiver run down his spine. He knows that look. It means Eddie has a plan, and neither hell and all its devils nor an overprotective boyfriend are gonna keep him from seeing it through. “Ever the valiant one, looking out for little old me and what small sliver of honor I can still call my own. However … it’s your honor that has been insulted here, and that’s the far greater slight.”

She shrugs, pulling out of the hug. “Well yeah, but-”

Eddie holds up a hand.

“Ah-ah-ah! Don't give me buts, I don't like buts.”

She quirks a brow at him. “That's a lie and we both know it. I've seen how you look at Steve's.”

“Hey,” Steve sputters, “I'm right here, you know?”

“Be that as it may,” Eddie concedes. “Methinks we cannot let that vile scoundrel go unpunished. What say you, good lady and fine sir?”

Steve would like to say that a scoundrel sounds like a small woodland animal, but he doesn’t. He knows better than to argue with them when they get like this.

Steve hangs back in a doorway as Eddie asked him to, so he can't be entirely sure if the squeal that reaches his ears when Todd rounds the corner comes from the tires of his bike or from the boy himself. Maybe he wasn’t that far off with small woodland animal after all.

“What do you want?” Todd barks at Erica, once he's over the initial shock. Even in the low light of the alley, Steve can see the bruise under his eye. He has to give it to her, she got him good. Then again, he never expected anything less of her. “I thought I told you to get lost.”

She squares her shoulders and juts out her chin, fearless as always, but before she can reply, Eddie peels himself from the shadows and joins her.

“My, my. You were right, m’lady. He really does show an alarming lack of manners.”

Todd's eyes grow large with shock, but he's quick to slip his cocky facade back on. His knuckles have gone white around the handlebars.

“What is this?” he asks Erica. “You can't take care of your own shit so you go crying to your cult leader to-”

Eddie tuts. “Watch your words. That’s alleged cult leader to you. They were never able to prove me anything.”

“Whatever,” Todd scoffs. It comes out a little wobbly because his voice has gone about half an octave higher. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

He tries to get back up on his bike, but Eddie steps into his way.

“Oh, but we’re not done yet. You still need to apologize to Lady Applejack here for your uncouth advances.”

“Lady Apple-” Todd says. “What the hell?”

Erica shrugs. “It’s a satanist thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Steve can practically see the mental gymnastics Todd’s brain is performing while he tries to decide whether or not she’s serious. Sweat is starting to bead below his hairline and his mouth moves silently.

“I dunno what she told you,” he finally says. “But I didn’t do-”

“No means no, dude,” Eddie rumbles. “And if nobody has taught you basic manners yet, maybe you’ll need to learn the hard way. I’ve cursed off people’s dicks for less, y’know?”

Todd goes almost comically pale.

“You wouldn’t-” he stammers. Steve didn’t think his voice could go any higher, but here they are. “That’s not- … You’re bluffing! You can’t do that!”

Eddie smiles. His teeth are bright in the dark of the alley.

“Maybe I can and maybe I can’t. Would you like to find out?”

Todd gulps. Looks at Erica, then at Eddie, then at Erica again. Eddie makes a show of flicking an invisible speck of dust off his skull ring.

“Okay, jeez, I’m sorry!” Todd blurts. “Will you freaks let me go now?”

“M’lady?” Eddie asks.

Erica ponders this for a moment. “Could’ve been more heartfelt, but I’ll let it slide. I’m feeling generous today.”

Eddie steps out of the way with a dramatic flourish. “You may pass, my man. I'd say my good man, but you'll understand I have my doubts.”

Todd grabs his bike and roughly shoulders past him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “This is such bullshit.”

He's just about to swing himself into the saddle when he sees Steve leaning in the doorway.

“Wait a minute,” he says. “You're that Harrington guy. Your picture’s in the trophy case at school. You were, like, on the swim team and the basketball team. Why are you hanging out with those sickos instead of stopping them?”

Steve catches Eddie’s gaze. Then, casting nervous glances in all directions, he leans forward, cupping a hand to his face to shield his words.

“Dude, I'd love to help you, I really would,” he whispers. “But I gotta do what he says if I want my dick back.”

Todd lets out a rush of air that is somewhere between a flat tyre and the whimper of a frightened animal. A distinct hue of pale green settles over his nose. Then, without so much as a glance back, he jumps on his bike and pedals off into the night. Eddie watches him round the corner, then waits another two or three seconds for good measure before he starts howling with laughter.

“Jesus, look at him run! What a loser!”

Erica huffs and crosses her arms.

“Can’t believe I used to date him,” she jokes, but it comes out rather half-heartedly. She clears her throat, eyes flicking between Eddie and Steve, who has stepped out of his hiding place to join them. “You sure this was a good idea? He might talk …”

“Not if he values his dick, he won’t,” Eddie says, and gives Steve a slow, pointed wink. “Didn’t know there was a secret drama nerd lurking under all that hair, Stevie.”

“Well,” Steve rolls his eyes, even as his face heats up from the praise. “There's a lot of stuff you haven't found out about me yet.”

Eddie's smile grows sharper.

“Hey,” Erica shouts from the exit of the alley and they flinch apart. “Is one of you dorks gonna help me put my bike in the car or am I supposed to do it myself?”

Eddie takes one look at Steve's scowl and snorts. “Guess we're on chauffeur duty again.”

“Guess so,” Steve sighs. “C'mon, let's get going.”

As they make their way to the car, Eddie leans into his space and slips a hand into his back pocket.

“My place after? I think I just heard something about you having to do everything I say?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah. If you'd listened a little better, you'd have heard that I'm also missing a vital part right now, so…”

“Oh, honey,” Eddie winks. “We'll make do. You won't need a dick for what I have in mind, anyway.”

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