#brawl n chain

[yourlocaltoad]

Assets used for Skylanders Trap Team's Water Villain Polaroids (skylanders.com, 2014)

[sketchy-scribs-n-doods]

billy and max were not californian enough in my humble socal opinion. like i’m not saying all californians have had my exact experience. but. come on.

where was the bitching about the cold weather and the lack of good mexican and chinese restaurants nearby. never have i met a californian that wasn’t ready to throw down for in n out when out of state ppl try to talk shit, even if it isn’t remotely their favorite burger place. i just know max would go crazy over the fuck all to do in town within a month or two. the largest city is probably hours away, cue billy quickly realizing the only entertainment at hand is shitty high school parties.

you’re telling me max wouldn’t throw a fit about the lack of giant skateparks? that billy wouldn’t take every opportunity to bitch and moan about having to get chains for his tires and the menace of ice and snow on the roads fucking up his car? billy refuses to button his fuckin shirt in november, he’s going to die as soon as the temperature dips below 35F. i know not every person from socal is as much of a bitch as i am about low temperatures but most of us are not built for temperatures below like 40 or 30F. actual snow is going to happen and max is going to eat shit trying to skateboard through it. i had to defrost my car for the first time during a cold snap last month and i thought i was losing my mind, billy is going to fucking hate what cold temperatures can do to your car, especially if you park it outside on the regular.

white bitches love mexican food, have you seen how they get about chipotle? one day billy and max are gonna be home alone and go ‘we should get mexican takeout tonight’ and suddenly realize they live in the fuckin heartland now, the chances of finding a good (let alone decent) taco place nearby depend entirely of the percentage of mexican immigrants settling in bumfuck indiana to actually open a place. or at least somebody from texas.

i desperately need max and billy throwing down for in n out. i don’t care about your opinion on it, your average bitch from california will not stand for actual slander against it. lucas tries taking max to the local diner and puts his foot in his mouth (”it can’t be that good, max”) after trying to insist that the burgers in hawkins are leagues better than whatever they had back in california. steve and billy nearly brawl again because billy fuckin loves the skinny crispy in n out fries and dares to put them above mcdonald’s fries and steve thinks he’s fucking crazy.

depending on where they lived in california, the lack of mountains would probably be something weird to get used to. travelling past the mountains and through flat land makes the monkey in my brain go ‘where big rocks go??? why so exposed??? too flat!!’ and i can’t help but think of max constantly doing double takes at the sheer amount forest around hawkins and the distinct lack of mountains nearby lol. california is huge and there’s loads of different biomes within it, but you’re not gonna find very many forests, especially in the areas billy and max probably lived in (i think in runaway max they lived in san diego? but that’s shaky half-canon at this point).

give me the weird slang differences between the midwest and the west coast. i had a teacher from wisconsin call water fountains ‘bubblers’ once and i swear it gave me whiplash. i love regional slang. idk if it depends on the person’s age or region or if its interchangeable in some places, but the face i’m picturing billy making after hearing somebody call it ‘pop’ instead of ‘soda’ is priceless. there’s also no fucking way billy hung out with californian surfers in the 70s - 80s and didn’t pick up some truly atrocious slang that pops up now and then. max thinks he sounds fucking dumb, but then billy makes fun of the fact that she can’t roll her ‘r’s and it starts another bitch fight. more of max and billy both saying ‘like’ way too much as a sentence filler and everyone else making fun of them.

i don’t know, i want more fun and interesting and annoying little things that people from different states do. billy and max moved across the whole damn country, i want more conflict from that than just the obvious issues.

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

The Sweetest Thing - Rafe Cameron

+18 Minor DNI

CollegeHockey!Rafe x gf!reader

⭐ republished ⭐

+18 Minor DNI

ask: sex with hockeyplayer!rafe after he won an important match

Thank you so much for your ask 🌺

🪄 hockey!rafe, bf!rafe, swearing, name-calling, Rafe & reader’s POV, hockey violence, pet names (daddy, doll, baby, babygirl etc, degradation, Rafe talks about the reader in an explicit fashion to her ex without her there, rough oral, throat fucking, cum play, creampie, semipublic sex, unprotected p in v, jealous!rafe, ownership kink, squirting, lots of dirty talk from him

📖 CollegeHockey!Rafe can’t wait to get his hands on you after winning the Frozen Four Championship game, especially after playing against your ex.

✨ He meets your eyes, his guide shifting as you pinch the bottom of his jersey you’re wearing. “Keep it on, princess. Just for a bit,” he smiles as he looks down at you at his feet, wanting to see his last name on your shoulders as you suck him off.✨

2.3 K lightly edited (<- mostly smut)

NCAA Men’s Frozen Four Championship Game…

30 seconds remaining in the 3rd Period 1-0:

Rafe’s POV:

The ref’s whistle screams through the arena. The puck drops again. I skirt and push as I look for an opening, waiting for my pass. I charge past the student section, catching her eye as I always do. My number one fan. My girl. Mine.

Easton Lawrence is a bitch. He has been since juniors; y/n’s ex-boyfriend no less. He and I usually both end up ejected from the game without fail. Not today. I promised her I’d play as nice as I could. ‘He’s not worth it. He’s a dick. He’s just trying to get under your skin, baby.’ That’s my girl’s pep talk. But Jesus fuckin’ Christ, three periods of this shit-talkin’ from him has me wanting to toss all that out the window. He loves to fuck with me. And he always has—every damn game.

Easton bumps his stick against the glass, giving her a smile that she doesn’t return. Good girl. We meet at the line, getting ready for puck drop. His silver chain hangs out of his jersey. Of course, I stalked her IG before we dated; I know that pendant was a gift from her. #6 shines in the bright rink lights, making my blood boil.

“Y/n looks good, Cameron. Sweetest fucking pussy I ever had.” He chirps, taking a jab as he has, each one getting more infuriating than the last as he inches closer and closer to my soft spot. Her. He just had to do it.

“Say her name again. Do it, bitch,” I warn.

“I miss her sayin’ mine, that’s for sure,” he sneers as he tightens his stick in his mitts.

“You startin’ shit ‘cause you’re losin’, asshole? This game is almost over. Give it up.” The whistle blows, a false start, leaving him plenty more time to run his mouth. My turn. “Good? Nah, buddy. My girl looks perfect. And I’m man enough to agree with you, perfect fuckin’ pussy. Too bad you weren’t man enough to make her cum. Huh?”

Easton laughs wickedly and shakes his head. “Gonna fucking kill you when I find you in the parkin’ lot, Cameron. I swear to Christ.”

“No, you ain’t. ‘Cause I’m gonna take that sweet pussy to the first locker room I find and rail what’s mine. Gonna make her forget that any man’s name’s ever passed her lips but Rafe Cameron.”

The whistle blasts, and the puck drops. I get an elbow to the gut immediately, Easton prodding and taunting me instantly. There are so many bodies in front of the net, but I catch my opening. The puck hits my stick, a little backhand flick. I watch as she trickles past the goal line.

The siren sounds, and the crowd cheers loudly as the music blares. I skate toward him, getting in his face before my teammates can reach me to celebrate, making the refs rush around us, anticipating a brawl. “Gettin’ her and the win, pussy. Have fun beatin’ your own dick, bitch,” I dig. Easton shoves me hard, and I shove him back, slapping his chest and ripping that cheap-ass Zale’s chain off his chest before hurling it over the glass.

"Break it up!” The refs scream, blowing their whistles again.

My co-captain bumps me with his stick, giving me a broad smile. That was the winning goal. A few boys drag me in for a celebratory hug before skating back to the bench. There are only a few seconds left, and the crowd’s goin’ crazy aleady. Y/n can barely contain her excitement. I give her a wink, and she smiles back, giving me a little finger wave that has me even more eager for the final buzzer.

Sure, they’ll be press after this. A quick interview with ESPNU, maybe a few words from the coaches; a quick speech from us captains. But when I’m done with all that shit, I’m fuckin’ my girl just like I said I would.

My coach smiles at me proudly, not wanting to jinx the next 30 seconds of play. The only thing that would be better is if the puck passed the white ice before the clock hit 0.0.

But I don’t wanna get greedy now, do I? I’ll save that for her.

Reader’s POV:

“Congratulations, captain…” Your lips meet his neck, a soft kiss, feeling his heartbeat under your lips. You palm his cock, rolling your fingers gently over the fabric. Rafe moans deeply, vibrations buzzing against your lips. You work a little lower, kissing and tracing his strong chest and abs, working to the locker room floor.

Your fingers run softly against the deep indentations of his v-lines, making his muscles flex. You smile up at him from your knees, catching your fingers under the band of his boxers, pulling them to his feet, watching as his aching cock springs free, Rafe letting out a sigh of relief.

He meets your eyes, his guide shifting as you pinch the bottom of his jersey you’re wearing. “Keep it on, princess. Just for a bit,” he smiles as he looks down at you at his feet, wanting to see his last name on your shoulders as you suck him off.

“I love your cock, baby,” you laud as you take him in your hands.

“Yeah?” He groans, watching you near his tip; a bead of precum gathers on his head, rolling slowly before it falls to the concrete. “Don’t go wastin’ it now,” he teases as you run your tongue along your bottom lip; mouth water, wanting the weight and taste of him on your tongue.

“If I was at the hotel, I’d lick it off the floor. I swear,” you smile as Rafe looks down at you in awe.

“Just a filthy little slut for me. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Mmm… Mhmm.” You hum, preening him up with your tongue. Rafe closes his eyes, tilting his head back to the ceiling. He cradles your head in his hands as you swirl slowly.

“This mouth, baby,” he mumbles.

Rafe’s eyes open, watching as you kiss him sloppily, teasing him with the thought of your lips wrapped around him fully, the warmth of your mouth swathing him. “Shit,” he pants, sexual tension painted all over his handsome face. You smile wickedly, lips parting slightly as he watches you take him into your mouth. “Fuckkk,” he moans, drawing out the word with a deep breath. You bob back and forth, choking on his big dick each time. He holds your head a little tighter in his hands as you increase your pace.

Rafe starts to trill on your tongue, mumbling praise as you add your hands. He tugs your hair, causing you to moan around his cock. Rafe takes control, gliding slower, taking a different grip entirely, holding your cheeks in his large hands. The fat tip of his cock kisses the back of your throat, spit seeping from the corners of your mouth.

“This mouth is mine. All fucking mine,” he grunts. “And you’re gonna swallow it all. Yeah?” Rafe asks raspily, stroking your full cheeks with his thumbs. “‘Course you are. Can’t answer with this pretty little mouth full of dick. Can you?”

Rafe thrusts deeply a few more times before giving you back the reins. You draw off him fully, a gasp for air releases from your open lips, drool connecting from the tip of his cock to your kiss-swollen lips. You spit on his dick, getting messy just like he likes, stroking him with your fist. "I’m all yours, Rafe.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “Mhmm… That’s right, princess.” You wrap your lips around his tip, creating a suction that makes him moan your name. Your hands wrap around, gripping his ass, as you start to stroke him with your mouth again. Lewd noises fill the locker room; Rafe, panting and like a dog; you, slurping and squelching with each bob of your head. Tears leak down your cheeks, eyes locked on him, watching as he starts to near his finish. Rafe’s cock swells on your tongue; his muscular thighs trembling as you squeeze. ”So good, baby… I’m gonna - Fuck.“ Warm, white ropes hit the back of your throat as you take his big load, swallowing it all.

You bind your fingers a little tighter, milking out his last bits of pleasure, skimming your tongue along his tip, catching what little remains, flattening your tongue to show him yourself. “My girl,” he smiles, hooking a finger under your chin, leading you to your feet. Rafe spits in your open mouth one moment, kissing you deeply the next, slipping his tongue inside. Your tongues swirl together, Rafe holding onto you tight.

"I need you, baby,” you plead against his lips, and he smiles on yours.

“Yeah? You need this dick, princess?”

“I need it,” you whisper, taking his bottom lips between your teeth.

“She needs it… I wanna fill up this sweet pussy,” he mumbles. “Nobody else gets you but me. No one else knows this cunt like I do. Do they?” He asks, all low and husky against your neck. You respond with a needy uh huh, making him chuckle as you melt into him more, feeling your arousal pool in your panties. “I’m gonna be drippin’ out of you all night.”

“I’m counting on it, Rafe,” you breathe. He strips you out of his jersey quick; your pants already tossed to the side, leaving you in your black lacy bra and panties. Rafe unclasps your bra as he kisses down your neck, holding your breasts in his ringed hands. He reels and flicks his tongue across your sensitive bud, pinching the other between his rough digits. You scratch your fingers into his damp hair, guiding him lower and lower.

“Babygirl,” he chuckles as he snaps your panties at the hip, seeing his #2 embroidered into the fabric. “I fuckin’ love you. You know that.”

“You like it?”

“You know I would. I love ‘em.” He kisses your skin, then the number, working lower and lower, hitching your leg over his shoulder to get better access to your sopping core. Rafe licks the fabric, tasting you, groaning against your clothed cunt at the taste. “M’gonna leave these on… Get ‘em all messy. When we get back to the hotel after the bar, you can take ‘em off. Deal?”

“Deal,” you smile as you brush back his bangs to see his pretty baby blues.

“‘N by you I mean me,” he smiles playfully. “I’m already thinkin’ about later, baby. Got me fuckin’ pussy whipped,” Rafe laughs as he lifts you into his strong arms.

“I’m addicted to you, Cameron. I guess we’re even,” you whisper against his lips as you hook your ankles around his waist, driving your body closer as he presses your back into the cool brick wall. ”Fuck me?“ You whine, desperation laced in your tone. ”Please.“

“I love when you beg for my cock. Think you could get nice and loud for me, princess?” You bite your lip and nod in reply. “Beautiful.”

Rafe pushes your panties to the side; you tilt your forehead against his, the two of you watching as his long cock nears your warmth. ”Shit,“ you whine as he circles your sensitive clit with his velvety head, making him smirk. Rafe moves a little lower, gliding through your folds, teasing your entrance with his pink, swollen tip. You both moan in unison as he fucks up into you.

You gasp and fuss, feeling him split you in two. Your boyfriend wasting no time stroking, hitting that special spot. He pins you to the wall, leaning in, rutting quickly. His thrusts are merciless, absolutely intense as you cling to his shoulders. You cry out in pleasure as his toned body claps against your clit, his ruddy head repeatedly striking your g-spot.

“Atta girl. Keep screamin’ like that.”

”Rafe… Oh my god. I’m gonna cum,“ you moan as stars dance in your eyes, white-hot pleasure overtaking you entirely as you cum all over his cock. Rafe works you even quicker, fucking you through your orgasms as your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

“Got this pussy creamin’ for me. Think I could make her cry,” he taunts through mumbled words, sucking and biting your skin, marking you up.

Rafe pulls you off the wall, leaving you gasping, his dick still buried deep as he carries you to the bench. He sits down, letting you straddle his lap as you kiss. Rafe adjusts slightly, leaning back into the wall, enjoying the view, catching a different angle, making you suck in some air. You lift your body, rising fully before spreading your thighs wide again. Rafe grips your ass in his hands, following you as you move. ”It’s too much,“ you whine, bottom lip wobbling, as he stretches you out.

“You’re lyin’,” he laughs breathily between jagged breaths. “My baby can take it.”

You throw your head back as you bounce, nailing the perfect spot, feeling every curve and ridge of Rafe’s dick as your thighs start to burn. Rafe’s thumb presses against your throbbing clit rubbing circles on top. ”Say my name when you cum, princess. Scream my fuckin’ name.“

”Sh-Shit,” you stutter, cock-drunk, thighs quivering uncontrollably, making you lose your rhythm. “M’gonna cum.”

“Cum on my cock, baby. Let me have it.”

Your orgasm rips through your body, pleasure hitting you harder than your first release, toes curling as you’re sent into ecstasy. Before you can come down, he picks you up, pushing you onto the cold bench, thrusting into you suddenly. The sounds of his skin clapping against yours echoes through the locker room. You let out a loud cry, making him smile wildly before your eyes pinch shut, gripping the metal edge, making your knuckles turn white.

“Look at me, princess. Eyes on me. M’almost there. You’re doin’ so good, f’me.” He lifts his hand, pressing two fingers between your lips before bringing them down to your clit, playing with your pussy.

”Yes! Just - Just like that. Fuck. Rafe,“ you squeal. ”Oh shit-“ Your orgasm spills over, soaking his cock, wetting your panties and his thighs. Rafe’s hips snap into you, filling you with his warmth. He topples down on top of you, burying himself in your neck, mumbling soft “I love you’s” as he rocks through your shared release. Rafe kisses your cheeks, then your lips, lingering close as you both come down from your bliss.

“Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”

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[bots-and-cons]

Hello, may I request Arcee, Bulkhead and Optimus meeting a big and menacing looking Bot (Missing optic, scarred body, big weapons and for some reason wearing a thick chain necklace) whom upon meeting the bots quickly and politely shakes their servos and apologizes profusely for the mess they caused after a short brawl against some vehicons

A/N: It’s getting kinda late, but I wanted to see if I could get this done before falling asleep, so here I go. I did some bots together, since I couldn’t come up with enough stuff for them separately. This went into a bit of an odd/funny direction, but I enjoyed writing it, so I don’t care lol

•You had just basically ripped through a small group of vehicons so you were covered in energon and other types of robo-gore

•So when the autobots arrived, they were a bit weirded out by the whole situation

•You were apologizing for the mess and awkwardly extending your hand for a handshake

•They all noticed the autobot insignia on your upper arm, but they were still cautious as always

•Optimus took your hand anyway and shook it, introducing himself and the others in the process

•He always hopes the best of people, and rarely makes conclusions based on how someone might look, so he isn’t really intimidated by you or anything like that

•The others though, are a bit more apprehensive, you’re big and pretty menacing, and with all the scars you’ve clearly been through a lot of fighting but they’re also impressed by how you took care of the group of vehicons

•Bulkhead notices your chain necklace and he thinks it’s pretty cool so he comments on it

•You’ve also got some rings that basically work as sharp brass knuckles

•Why you would need that when your knuckles are already very much metal, who knows…

•Miko pipes up from Bulkhead’s shoulder, which makes you notice her and look at her like she’s an alien

•Which she basically is, you’ve never seen a human before so your reaction is awe and intrigue, because what is this tiny creature?

•Arcee is, as usual, pretty cautious and suspicious, but she isn’t intimidated either

•She asks if you dispatched all these vehicons all by yourself and you give her an awkward “yeah, sorry about the mess” and rub the back of your neck, before asking: “Should-should I clean this up?”

•The three bots look at each other, because they now realize they’ve probably never cleaned up after a fight ever

•Where do all those corpses go? Do the decepticons clean them up? It doesn’t decompose or anything either so what happens to all the remains?

•This is a bit of a wtf moment for the autobots because they’ve never thought of this

•They don’t know what to tell you, but after a brief conversation, they’re all like “No?”

•You just shrug like “okay” and start cleaning the robo-gore off yourself, because there are still bits of wire and stuff on you

•You accidentally flick a pieces of wire on Bulkhead’s arm and you carefully pick it off while apologizing

•Bulkhead just chuckles, because “it’s all good buddy” and Miko asks if she can keep the piece of wire

•You hand it to her and tell her to be careful with it

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - XIII

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more pic is BRZRKR #11 cover 😍

⚠Trigger warning: UNBRIDLED AND GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, if that squicks you DO NOT READ!⚠

13. ride the lightning

How does one describe the chaos of sitting in the eye of a lightning storm?

Wick is as terrifying as he is breathtaking, and you watch with horror as he is unleashed upon the room. Vampires seem to materialize from the very shadows, sounding the alarm, trying to combat the lethal threat in their midst. All of them die as they come against the inexorable force that is the dhampir John Wick.

He tears them limb from limb, using teeth and hands and the very chains he'd been bound with, the manacles still encircling his wrists. He uses them like flails, whipping his opponents with all the force of a hurricane. 

All this practically happens in the blink of an eye. Don Juan barely has time to react before the maelstrom descends upon him. Wick hits him hard enough to knock him across the room, blood spouting like a fountain. There is no reprieve before the dhampir has pounced on him again, and the two powerful monsters tumble and brawl like mad dogs. It seems Juan has the upper hand until Wick coils from his back and kicks him away, sending the vampire soaring into the black depths of the cave.

The battle rages and the hive continues to swarm, Juan’s vampires foolishly daring to challenge the dhampir in the throes of this berzerker rage. One of them has Wick’s sword, and when Wick takes it from him the tables turn even more ridiculously in the slayer’s favor. He severs limbs and lops heads, leaving blood and gore in his wake. You think you see him extract a heart with his bare hand, gripping it in his fist before crushing it into a pulp. 

That is when don Juan appears again from the shadows, his face a bloody mask, with a broadsword in hand and the fires of Hell shining in his eyes. “Dhampir!” he seethes. “I will END you for this!” 

Wick bellows back wordlessly, the power of his rage filling the enclosed space with crackling energy. You watch wide-eyed as a good chunk of the cave ceiling breaks free above you, crashing at your feet. 

Jesus Christ. They’ll bring the whole place down around you all, you fear, even as you cannot look away from the impending battle. 

Maybe he gives the impression of the soft-handed gentleman of leisure, but it quickly becomes apparent that don Juan knows how to use a sword as he and Wick clash. Toledo steel meets Japanese Tamahagane, and sparks fly, blades flashing too fast for the eye to see. Juan is the only vampire yet who could actually match Wick for strength and speed, and you watch with dread as Wick barely dodges losing his head. In turn Juan keeps ahead of Wick’s every slash and thrust, moving with a speed and grace that is as mesmerizing as it is infuriating. 

You scream as the vampire breaks the steel of Wick’s sword in half with a mighty blow, and hits the dhampir with some kind of power that knocks him flat on his back. Juan makes a fist, and Wick writhes on the floor as though his guts are in Juan’s clawed hand. Straining against your chains, you gather what little psychic power is left to you, imagining it formed into a sharp needle as you fling it at Juan. 

It does not really damage him, but he pauses to look at you with a snarl–it’s the only window Wick needs to swipe with what remains of his razor sharp blade, right through don Juan’s legs at the knees. 

With a horrified expression Juan falls to the cave floor. Wick gets to his feet, picking Juan up by his throat with a fearsome snarl, and hurls him again towards the back of the cave. More vampires are appearing from the depths–holy fuck how many can there be?--and with a single, feral look back at you Wick picks up Juan’s broadsword, and charges back into the fray.    

The enraged dhampir disappears further into the shadows of the cave. The din of the battle echoes back to you–until the cacophony finally fades, and then, there is just eerie, heavy, silence.

Your heart lodges in your throat, and does not budge until you see the outline of Wick’s imposing form again at the edge of the torch light. His chains are gone. He is hurt, clearly limping. He makes his way to you, and only belatedly do you realize he is dragging don Juan by his one remaining limb. 

The vampire is unconscious, and Wick drops him unceremoniously before you like an offering, and the sword clatters to the floor soon after. You should be horrified, but it smacks of a hunter laying a kill at his woman’s feet in a time when man lived in caves, and you are not unmoved. But that blue light has not receded from his eyes, and he stalks towards you like a predator. 

I kill vampires. It’s what I am.

Could he kill you?

“John?”

He only grumbles in response, stalking towards you, and you are afraid.

“Jardani?”

“Don’t say it unless you mean it, ptichka,” he growls, his huge hands encircling your waist, pulling you against him. You are practically naked, and he is covered in blood from the massacre he just unleashed; that is not what frightens you. His eyes still glow that eerie blue, and you wonder if it is not like the warning glow of a fuse on a bomb. Maybe he’s injured, but you would be a fool to think him wrung out yet.  

“You’re scaring me,” you tell him honestly, and you feel him deflate against you, burying his face in the curve of your neck as his arms wrap around your torso, breathing you in. You feel it as that crackling energy recedes back inside him, leaving him as close to human as he can ever be. 

“I would never hurt you.” He whispers it with the vehemence of a vow against your skin, and you want to believe him. God, do you want to believe him. You fold yourself against him with your hands still bound above your head, letting him engulf you with his larger form. 

You don’t want to cry; it’s embarrassing, and you don’t have time for it, but after what don Juan did to you it comes out anyway in hiccupping sobs and he holds you like something precious in his hands that could just as easily tear you in two. You don’t understand the soft things he says to you, hushed murmurs in Russian or some long dead dialect of it, but they calm you anyway. That intoxicating aroma of flowers and spice envelops you again like an opium haze, and you melt into the shelter of this man.  

When at last you quiet he draws back to look at you with those ageless dark eyes, though he does not let you go. When he brushes his lips against yours in an achingly gentle kiss it feels as though nothing could be more right in the world. 

You are so fucked.

You look up at your wrists encircled in iron, jangling your chains. “Can you find the key for me?” you ask quietly, as if you speak too loud you might break this spell of precious calm between you.

The low sound that rumbles from his chest echoes straight to your womb. He runs blunt fingers up the underside of your arm lightly, a maddening touch that makes your good sense go fuzzy at the edges. “Jardani…”

His grip upon you tightens; he leans in to kiss you again, claiming your mouth as his weight presses you back into the wall. 

The warmth of his blood-slicked skin upon yours is bliss, though a trill of hesitance surfaces in the very back of your mind. As though he senses it he speaks. “I want to be a better man for you,” he tells you roughly, his voice hoarse from battle and desire. “But I would be a liar, if I claimed this is not exactly how I want you.” 

Where don Juan’s hands on you made you want to scream, Wick’s rough paw tracing your curves is maddening in a completely opposite way. It is hard to tell what is that intoxicating dhampir magic upon you, consuming you, and what is just…your own rampant desire. You forget that you are not lovers, that you have not done this before. Maybe you are in love with John Constantine, and he was inside you not hours ago…but it is so easy to forget everything, in Wick’s arms. Deep down, you know that you want him in a way that feels as though his name was always written upon your soul. 

He nuzzles the bend of your neck, grazing your pulse with his fangs. You know he must be hungry, after such an expenditure of energy and taking such damage. You fight a war with yourself, aching to feel his fangs in you again, but you're not sure he'll stop, once he starts, and you don't have much to spare. Logic wars with lust, the eternal battle of wits versus hormones.

Usually, the latter wins. 

“Jardani…” you coax, hoping sanity will prevail. “You have to set me free.”

He groans in response, kissing your pulse. “I don't have to,” he protests, and though there's a hint of his usual insouciance, mostly you're afraid he's absolutely serious. You open your mouth to protest again, but he swallows whatever you intended to say with his lips on yours, like a starving man who intends to eat you whole, starting with your mouth. 

You're not sure who escalates this already torrid exchange with a fang piercing your tongue–all you know is that what was already a bonfire escalates into a full on inferno. He eats at your mouth, lapping at your tongue as that agonizingly wonderful wave of desire fills your every cell. As you strain against your chains to be closer to him, to have more, he takes mercy on you with one of those muscle-strapped thighs between yours. You grind on him desperately, too far gone for anything resembling restraint, your pride totally forgotten. 

He migrates from your mouth to your neck, piercing your flesh and drinking you down, grabbing handfuls of your curves to hold you close. That scintillating, excruciating pleasure pulses and purrs inside you. It is him, but also, it is the two of you together, and when that magic reaches its shining peak in your loins you think you might implode for the exquisite rapture of it, release like a chain explosion sparking and spreading from your greedy cunt up your spine. Through the ringing in your ears it takes you a few moments to realize he is talking you through it, whispering low words in your ear that you do not understand, but you feel all too well. 

He kisses you again with your blood in his mouth, a slow and sensual thing that manages to curl your toes all over again, his tongue swiping the seam of your lips. “My pretty little bird,” he whispers. “The things I am going to do you, when we have time and a soft bed…” 

The sound you make in answer is barely human–but then, neither are you. 

When he produces the key you don’t know if you want to smack him, or laugh. He had it all along? Did he take it from Juan, or one of the other vampires? With a knowing little smile he reaches up to unlock your manacles, smirking down at you with a warmth in his eyes that could start a forest fire. 

If you had any sense left to your name, you would be furious for this little bit of trickery. However, that is not what you need. When you throw your arms around his neck he embraces you hard, enveloping you in those strong arms and lifting you off your feet. You feel your heart glowing like a hot ember in your chest, and you have no fucking idea how all this is going to work out in the end, but at the moment it doesn’t matter. 

A flash of an image surfaces in your mind: tangled under warm blankets with this man’s powerful body curled around yours while the winter winds and the hungry wolves howl outside, and you are unfalteringly certain that nothing bad can ever touch you again. 

You feel that way now, pulling back to look at him, searching his handsome, blood-flecked face. You say nothing, and neither does he, but you know he senses some shift in you. Whether in the widening of your eyes, or the hitch of your breath–but he makes no life-altering demands. All he asks of you, is for another toe-curling kiss with the tilt of his head. His soft lips on yours feel like a promise, and for the umteenth time this night you think to yourself: you are so fucked. 

“We have to go find Constantine,” you say as you pull away from him. “I know he’s in danger.” You feel it tugging on you at the distant end of your metaphysical cord. Trepidation. Fear. Resolve. You’re not sure if taking you from him was meant as a trap, or a distraction, but it can’t be good. 

“You’re too late.” The thing at your feet that only vaguely now resembles don Juan grins a bloody grin. “They have the psychic, that woman detective, and they’re doing the ritual tonight. Mamon will rise, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

“Where?” demands Wick with a growl that raises the hair on the back of your neck. 

Don Juan, however, just spits blood at the dhampir’s feet. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You can heal this eventually,” says Wick with a dismissive wave at the vampire’s missing limbs. “Tell me, or I will take your head too.”

“You won’t leave me alive,” scoffs Juan. “I was not born yesterday.”

“My word.” 

“As a gentleman?” The laughter that grates from Juan’s lips is bitter as the betrayal of a friend. He is not biting–and you are running out of time.  

Wick casts a look at you before returning to the vampire. “As a husband,” he answers. “It is the only vow that I ever held truly sacred.”

“John Wick, murderer and romantic…how sweet,” taunts Juan, rolling his eyes. Even in this state, he cannot be anything but that what he truly is: an asshole of the purest grade. 

 “Tell me,” says Wick darkly, brandishing a knife produced from somewhere. “Or I will keep you like this for centuries more. I will take pieces from you until you are nothing but the talking head you are, but you won’t die. Trust me, I know.” 

Juan just glares, until Wick begins advancing on him with the knife, seemingly going for an ear. “Fine!” shouts the vampire, desperately leaning away just before the blade touches his skin. “Fine, fine, hijo de puta.” Lower, under his breath he continues to grumble, “Chinga su madre, pinche pendejo...”

“You were saying?” 

Mad as a rattlesnake, but realizing he has no other alternative, Juan spills the beans. 

—-----------

*hijo de puta - son of a bitch *chinga su madre - fuck your mother *pinche pendejo - fucking bastard *🤣🤣 i’m so sorry…

[fandomwritingbit]

Too good to be true

william afton x (fem) police reader

synopsis: A two part series about William destroying your life.

It's your first homicide case as a detective, a young child murdered with no tangible leads and you're eager to bring the evil bastard to justice. It's a lot of pressure though, and to much weight on your shoulders leads to questionable decision making.

warnings: child murder, smut, swearing, drinking, domestic arguing/marital problems. just generally mature themes.

A/n: As always this isn't steeped in fnaf lore, just purely from my silly little brain. I'm so glad to finally have this out and be back on here to obsess over men. Hope you like it Xx

“It’s okay, take your time.”

The social worker smiled kindly, hoping that the pleasant expression would hide how her heart was breaking at the words leaving this child’s mouth. It’s harrowing to hear, the topic of death should never be exposed to kids this young, at least not in the cruel fashion it had been mere hours ago. “We can take a break if you want, get a snack?” 

The little lad shakes his head, at only seven years old he knows it’s better to get the story over with. Never before had so many adults been so interested in what he has to say, this is serious. Even if he doesn’t understand what happened, he does understand the finality of it. The scary, definitive nature of what’s happened. He’ll never see his friend again. “Can I have some juice?” The boy asks quietly, his voice the epitome of innocence. It makes the social worker’s eyes sting. The lead officer smiles wryly. 

“Sure you can, Josh. Shall I go?” The lady switches her attention from the child to the pair of cops sitting across from them. 

“No, I’ll go.” You interject, not wanting you and your superior left alone with the weight of this child’s emotions. He hasn’t cried, but you can see the tears brimming beneath his surface. You look Josh in the face and try to speak as kindly as his companion, “Do you like orange?”

He just nods. 

…

The room was heavy in silence during your brief absence, you were only gone a couple of minutes, the vast majority of the time spent in thought over the canteen sink. You were promoted to detective only a year ago and so far the cases you’ve been assigned were of little intensity, drunken brawling, verbal domestics, thefts and robberies. And now a child was dead, murdered, and it has utterly devastated the community. But as upsetting as it is, this is an opportunity for career growth, even if you already feel out of your depth. 

The crime scene was brutal, the child laid in the outside storage of a restaurant, face down, multiple stab wounds. Blood smeared on the ground that your splatter analyst said horrifyingly suggests that the child dragged themselves closer to the door, only stopping when they no longer had the strength to continue. No murder weapon. There are no obvious suspects, every man and his dog within a 2 mile radius was pulled in for questioning. But the lack of witnesses and the hole in the chain fence leading to the area was a hindrance. The only lead you have is Josh because, unfortunately, he found the body. 

You bring the child his drink, handing it to him before sitting down next to the lead officer, mentally steeling yourself for questioning.

“So, Josh.” Your colleague begins, talking to children doesn’t come naturally to him, but you see him trying. “I asked you, what time did you last see the vict- Mary?” He corrects himself, but all three of you know what he was going to say. 

 “I’m not sure.” He answers in a tiny voice. 

He goes to ask again, sitting forward, but you stop him, cutting in to ask the boy in a different way. “I know you all sang happy birthday to the birthday boy at around half twelve. Did Mary get a slice of cake?” The social worker puts her hand on the little lad’s shoulder, whilst he thinks. 

After a moment, he says, “No. Auntie Carol asked if she wanted one but she wasn’t there.” 

“Okay, thank you.” You smile, before turning to the other officer, talking quietly, “Coroner said T.O.D was between 12:00 and 13:00.” 

He agrees, “So it’s looking closer to twelve.” 

~

There was a group of people waiting outside to be questioned, parents, staff, everyone who may have a shred of information and your precinct was struggling to manage it. The deceased’s parents have already been spoken to and ruled out, and so, in the main interview room another detective set about tackling the restaurant’s staff. 

“Mr Afton, we just have a few more questions to go over.” The middle-aged policeman lifts his gaze from his documents to look at the restaurant owner over the top of his glasses. He sees the businessman nod in response. There’s nothing to implicate this fella, no motive, no evidence, but he has a previous so caution was to be taken. 

With the question ready on his tongue, the officer sits back in the chair. “How often do people go out to the outside storage?”

He meets the man’s eyes, it’s not the first time he’s been under police scrutiny, probably won’t be the last, but the gravity of this investigation is severe. Not wanting to play any games he just divulges what the cop wants to know. “Frequently, we keep ingredients out there, and other supplies, people are always in and out.” 

“Even though it’s a fire escape?” There’s doubt in his face. 

William Afton reveals a small smile then, he can’t quite figure out what the copper is getting at, “Yeah, there’s a cinder block out there to keep it open. I disconnected the alarm a long time ago.”  

The policeman writes that down, it may go over the interviewee’s head but it’s an important question. The killer had to access the area somehow. And either they knew of the fire door and its cinder block or the gap in the fence. A crime of opportunity, from someone who knows the area well, that’s the takeaway. 

Looking up from the sheet, the DI asks another question, “And I understand that you and your partner are more handsoff with the day to day, but were you there at the party?”

“I oversaw arrival and seating.” Afton halts but the detective says nothing, it’s clearly unsatisfactory. “... There were two more kids than discussed, it caused some tension. I left Henry to deal with things.” He elaborates dryly, the tone indicates boredom but that’s to be expected after having waited hours for this conversation. 

“Tension?” The officer asks curiously, his eyebrows raised in a most provoking way.

William remembers to keep himself professional, maybe he could have worded that better. He tries again, “Well, it wasn’t ideal. Waiters had to set extra places and find more chairs. It was a fuss.” 

That seems to resonate better with the detective because he nods, some understanding written in his expression, Afton has to stifle the satisfaction that gives him. 

The copper consults his papers again before deciding he’s gotten enough, he stands, taking his glasses off and letting them hang on the chain around his neck. “Right, I’ll let you get back home. We have your contact information and we’ll be in touch.” 

With a tight-lipped smile, William follows suit, pushing the chair back and standing. An old impulse to stick his hands out for the cuffs being greatly fought, it was a different time, different station, different crime, but the same old William.

He shakes the detective’s hand, the standing difference of the two is almost comical but neither of them show any signs of amusement. He’s led out the cold interrogation room into the life of the precinct corridor, there’s a lot going on, a mix of uniformed and non officers and some of his staff still awaiting questioning. 

But before the policeman can get away, William let’s some curiosity free of its constraints. “Have you spoken to Henry yet?” The man meets his eyes, no longer as stoic as he was during the interview, the burden of inquisition must be a heavy one. 

“No. I’ll be handling staff enquiries. Your partner should be in later on. 4 o’clock I think.” William nods, and the officer now no longer concerned with him, heads off down the hallway. He should do the same, he’ll have to sign out, he remembers that from last time too. 

As he’s walking back towards reception, a door opens in front of him, a flash of cream walls and a green sofa, before a woman exists holding the hand of a small child that he recognises. He stands aside to let them pass, watching a male officer leave, followed by a female one: you. 

You hear the social worker's voice grow quieter as they leave you to lock the door, your keys jangling as you turn the stiff lock. Your mind is so engrossed in theories, you’re wanting to talk to DI Donnelly about the staff profiling and see if anything has come up in the way of a suspect. You’re so engrossed that you don’t think to look behind you before moving. 

The very moment you step out you collide with the hardness of a human body much bigger than yours. You stumble from the surprise of it, and large hands catch your waist to stop you tripping. It’s a very intimate way to touch someone and you gasp from the suddenness.

“Ay watch it, lady cop.” The bloke says, when you turn to see who you’ve just accosted, you see an older man with perhaps the most handsome crooked grin you’ve ever seen. 

Choosing to ignore the casual sexism of that you go for a, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” 

Cos you weren’t looking, he thinks to himself but doesn’t say anything aloud, you do look sorry and you’re cute. For a rozzer.  

“You’re alright.” He excuses you, raising his eyebrows. 

The only other thing exchanged was a mutual nod of regard before the man walked away towards the exit, leaving you to wonder what role he must play in all of this. 

~

William drives home without the radio, lost in a deep track of convoluted thought. He’ll reach out to Henry later, see if anything’s changed. He doesn't think it will, despite the taskforce on this case he thinks it’ll go cold pretty fast. Children capture the news interest every now and then but once the media has no evidence or case progress to get its hooks into, the case is dead in the water. Unless the parents have the money to keep pushing it.

He pulls outside his house, turning the engine off but not leaving immediately. He’s about to step into the circus here, no doubt his wife has been waiting in bated breath, anxious for any news. He sighs, he probably should have drove around a bit longer knowing she was holding her breath, maybe he’d have got lucky. 

He drags his feet on the mat before stepping inside, he hasn’t been outside today but it’s force of habit at this point, then he chucks his jacket towards the hook and closes the door. Sighing again, he sits on the second step to take his shoes off, already on edge at how quiet this fucking house is. She emerges as he reaches for the other shoe, arms folded over her chest like she’s already disapproving of something.��

“So? What happened?” Clara’s tone is brisk and strained thin. It sounds like she’s been crying, though he can’t imagine why when it’s him that has to face the bobbies. 

He scoffs, “They asked me some questions.” Everything about him is closed right now, and if she knew him at all she’d leave it for a while. 

“And?” She’s pissing him off, she’s too prickly to talk to like this. She’s worried, wants to know what’s going to happen, what is happening, but it’s not his responsibility to console her like some fretful little kid. 

“I answered them.” She scowls, how can he be like this, so indifferent? Like nothing’s happening, making her feel like she’s overreacting or going mad, maybe both. 

“For fuck’s sake, Will.” Her voice cracks with frustration and she pauses a second to regain herself. Immediately losing it once she begins speaking, “Do they know who did it? Do they have someone in custody? Will, when are they going to take the fucking body out of your restaurant?!”

He laughs a little then and stands from the stairs, “Why would I know that? The police will be taking care of that, or the coroners, I don’t fucking know.”

“Don’t know, or don’t care?” There’s tears streaming down his wife’s face and he can’t cope. 

“Does it matter?” He looks particularly harsh right now, a sharpness in his gaze and tone that’s like a razor and again her face twists in disgust. 

William rubs the bridge of his nose, allowing his eyes to close for a moment of respite from the headache only Clara can claw out of him. With a deep breath he bends down and picks up his shoes, moving then to pick up his coat from the floor where it landed. He’s not staying, not with her wound tight as a wire-trap and not in a good way. 

“What are you doing?” Her voice is quiet now, trying her hand at reasoning. He’s past that though. 

“Going out, I can’t deal with you now.” He doesn’t even put the shoes back on, just carries them out with him, shutting the door heavily behind him. Leaving her to her. 

~

It’s about to hit 8pm before you leave the station, it's been a long day but you hardly noticed what with how busy you’ve been. Your questioning didn't end with Josh, and even after talking to four other witnesses, you had your paperwork to do, then discussion with your colleagues. Everyone on the case has their own theories but at this point that’s all they are: theories. Nothing concrete and no real inclination into what to press next.

You change before leaving, knowing that you’re too restless to just go home, you need to be alone with your thoughts over a cold drink. So you get in your car picturing the hotel only a few minutes from your flat, the business-y one with the nice bar and the clientele that will leave you alone. That’s your ticket for that cold drink. 

Music plays as you drive there, a CD you’ve made compiling your favourite tunes, it should help take your mind off the horrors you’ve seen today but it doesn’t. You can pull yourself away from the crime scene, that poor child in the centre of it, nor the distant look in young Josh’s eyes. No matter how much you enjoy the song playing, it's just not enough to distract you. 

You park easy enough, a weekday night means that the car park isn’t completely full so you manage to get close to the entrance. Which you’re glad of when the moment your car door opens specks of rain tap your skin. Looks like the weather’s about as miserable as you feel. 

The hotel bar is all dark furniture and yellow lights, a soft, warm and dark oasis and you feel relief to step inside. It’s a swish bar, not the kind of place to get a pint, even if that’s what you’re craving, it’s a nice glass with a hefty price bar. And so as you approach the bartender you’re thinking of what you want.

There’s only a few stools at the bar, seven or eight at a glance, and they’re mostly full. A gap between two gentlemen both very focused on their drinks, but you don’t want to get chatted up right now, especially from either side. At the otherside there’s two empty ones but one has a jacket laid over it and a drink on the counter. But needs must. 

You sit, taking your coat off and laying it over your legs, smiling politely at the bartender. 

…

“There you are.” The barman reappears in front of you, setting your drink down on the counter, “That’ll be £3.30, please.” 

You scoff a little at that, mentally complaining about how the world’s gone mad with these prices, but you obediently reach into your bag for your wallet, a five pound note soon between your fingers. 

“Thank you.” Your hand is raised for your change, you’ll tip later, at this point you don’t know how many drinks you’ll be having. 

As the barman is digging around the till for your change the occupier of the seat beside you returns, neglecting to pick up his jacket in favour of sitting on it. You blank the man, receiving your change with a “Cheers,” for the bloke. 

You sip the drink through the little straw, it’s nice to be fair and just what you need after today. You’re ready to forget about it, but you’re becoming increasingly aware of the figure next to you looking at you, and any kind of scrutiny is too much right now. So you turn to it, and you recognise the man immediately. 

The man you’d bumped into earlier, who you’d since found out a lot about from his interviewer.

“Well, if it isn’t the lady copper. What are the chances of that?” There’s a casualness to his tone and posture that suggests he’s perhaps nearing the point of one drink too many. That’s what prevents your usual curt response of ‘just copper is fine’.

You don't smile, don't show any signs of the polite mannerisms he’d expect, just look at him objectively and he can tell you’re analysing the shit out of him. “Oh I remember you.” You start plainly, wanting to get back to the solitude you came here for. “By which I mean, I have since found out who you are.” It’s designed to be standoffish, encourage him to keep to himself, and play to what you learned about the man from his record: he shouldn’t like the police. 

It doesn’t work though, the glasses of whiskey he's had tonight make the very blunt and sober way you’re talking to him more than amusing. And it shows on his face, “Ah someone’s been through some files.” The ways he’s grinning irks you, but if this was any other day in any other place you’d be swivelling yourself around to talk properly to the attractive man beside you. “Bumped into me and had to find out more, I get it.” 

Your expression remains stern, he must be drunk as a lord or at least confident as one to say that. “I recognised your… photograph; the man who walked into me and called me ‘lady cop’.” He owns the restaurant the victim was murdered in, he’s a key figure in this case, you shouldn’t really be talking to him at all, let alone in a bar. But your drink was expensive and you’re not going to fucking leave it. “William Afton.” You say his name offhandedly, no feeling on it, but he still likes how pretty it sounds off your tongue. 

“You can say mugshot, darling, I’m aware I have one.” He snickers at the look on your face, you were trying to preserve him some dignity in your wording, so much for that. The bloke sticks out his hand for you, “Just William will do it.” 

You take his hand before your mind can overcome your manners, introducing yourself as, “DC L/n.” He has a firm handshake, much more respectable than the bitten down nails on his larger than most hands. Then again, he’s a larger than most fella, sat next to you now his feet are completely rested on the floor, whereas yours are tucked neatly on the bar of the stool. 

He chuckles at the formality, fucking Detective Constable, you really aren’t budging off your high horse, are you? Normally he’d give up on someone being this clearly closed off with him, but not tonight. He’s starved of the chatter and drink has alway made him want to make new friends, especially when they're as cute and grumpy as you. You need cheering up, and he needs the challenge.

“We’re not at the station now, love. What’s your name?” He watches the frown on your face grow that little bit stronger and has to hide the smirk on his face behind the rim of his drink. 

“It’s definitely not ‘love’.” Your voice is firm and you let the silence that follows it sit for a few seconds. But then you consider who you’re doing this for. It’s not yourself, you don’t want to be rude to anyone, let alone a tipsy person who probably doesn't know how annoying he’s being. You’re not doing it for work, there’s no boss here to remind you of your conduct, there’s been no suggestion of his involvement, even with the previous convictions. So why not take your mind off things with some meaningless conversation?

You sigh, then tell him your first name.  

“So… is this your regular?” You ask the cliche question in some effort to force yourself into normality, thinking about any other way to ask him if he comes here often, hoping he won't catch on to how his answer might impact if you come back here again. 

His eyes narrow at the change in your manner, but he goes along with it, “No. No, I’m just taking a break from domestic bliss.” The words are sarcastic enough that you gather their meaning easily, unhappy at home, coming out to get away from it, it’s fair enough. You nod, mentally clocking the silver band on his left hand and chiding yourself instantly. That’s not the kind of distraction you came here for. 

“And what has you here?” He can take a guess, a long, bloody day at work, sufficient to make most people thirsty, but curiosity nips at him, he wants to know how senior you are, what your role in the whole shitshow is. More than that he wants to know what’s come of the police’s incessant questioning, and what ammo they have.

An incredulous laugh leaves you, “Just the joy of work, you know. A lot of difficult things to think about- I already know I’ll never sleep tonight.” You’re only half joking, even with a few more g&ts you don’t see yourself getting any rest. 

You sip your drink, realising all of a sudden that you’re not far from needing another. And as you pull the glass away the man beside you says, “Oh, I could help you with that.” 

Turning to him straight away, you’re practically scowling. What a thing to fucking say. 

At your disdainful expression he adds, through a wicked smirk, “Night nurse- you know the little bottle? That usually sorts me out.” All his suggestiveness dropped, and now you look silly for overreacting. 

“Aren’t you funny.” Despite the palpable sarcasm on the words you are smiling, just a little, you can’t help it, your facade draining faster than your gin. You swirl the liquid around, thinking over your words before you say them, you know better than the harmlessness of this, even if you wish you didn’t. “You’re being awfully chummy with me and I’m not sure why. I can’t and won’t tell you about the case.” 

You try to hold back the sharp edge of those words but even said nicely they’re cutting. 

It doesn't faze him though, and he leans a little closer like he’s jokingly telling you a secret. “I’m half-cut, lovely. I’d be chummy with anyone sat here, especially if they need cheering up as much as you do.”

You let your expression soften a bit, there’s a relief from what he said that there shouldn’t be. “Based on your file, I’d have thought you’d sooner switch seats than sit next to me.” You smirk as you speak, teasing but it’s based in truth. 

“Oh calm down.” He’s shaking his head at you, “I’ve nowt against the police, it’s only a job. Until today I hadn’t seen the inside of a police station for going on 20 years. It sounds like you’re the one with prejudices.” He’s openly mocking you now, and you can see why, but he can say what he likes, it doesn’t change what you read. 

The officer’s scrawl was plain to see: ‘Fucking filth’ he said to PC Markham, right before headbutting him, adding assault of an officer to his other charges. 

“You don’t think people can change then?” He asks, more seriously than anything else he’s said tonight. 

You think about it, going over both sides of the argument in your head whilst he waits expectantly. You arrive at, “I think… If they want it enough, then yeah.”  

He shrugs then, back to wearing a striking grin, “Well, don’t worry then. I’m good at getting what I want.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you are, you think, trying to hide the thought from your face. Opting to only say, “You’re insufferable.” under your breath.

“No, just drunk. I think I need a water.” There’s a new self-deprecation to his tone and it amuses you. WIlliam glances at your empty glass and already knows you’ll be having another. He likes this back and forth, it’s good fun, much more entertaining than the chat he’d be having at home right now. 

He leans forward a bit to catch the bartender's attention, “Will you get us another one of these and a water, thanks mate.” He slides your glass forward for the man to see and he nods, going about the order. 

“Oh, you were serious.” You say, partially to yourself, it’s hard to tell with this man. That’s probably the trouble.

He sits back, “Yeah, I’ll have to keep myself sharp if you’re sitting with me, sweetheart.” 

You grin, yeah there’s the fucking trouble. 

~

You don’t know how another drink turned into three. And how three turned into you watching him get a hotel room, his elbows on the desk as he talks to the receptionist. And how that turned into keys in his pocket, the two of you getting in a lift. And then your hands pulling on his shirt to get him close enough you can kiss him, his tall frame pressing you against the wall of the lift. 

You don’t think about how stupid this is as you’re doing it, you’re too distracted by the heat of him and the all encompassing way his tongue is in your mouth. You moan into the kiss, knuckles taunt with his shirt fabric balled up in them. You’re not drunk, you know what you’re doing. The alcohol isn’t affecting your judgement, it’s only making your blood warm and helping stoke the heat flickering in your core.

He doesn’t hesitate in touching you, neither of you worried about discovery, hands on your hips soon sliding low and squeezing your arse. You gasp a little as his touch brings you to your tippy-toes. The kiss is broken and has your lips tracing down his jaw, on his neck then shamelessly sucking his earlobe. You can feel how much he likes that digging into your stomach and your body rings with want. 

His hands are under your shirt before the lift stops, doors opening to reveal a man waiting, a suitcase by his side. You push the man off you, struggling not to laugh, especially when a quick glance reveals that William is. Hot in the face, you right yourself as the man drags his case into the small space, your skirt pulled back down and shirt buttoned back up.

“Uh we’re still going up, mate.” William says, snickering. 

“Only one floor.” The man responds bluntly, clearly not wanting any interaction with the two degenerates he’s just uncovered. 

You share a look with William, that has you pressing your lips together to stifle laughter. He looks very dishevelled, you hand’t noticed quite how hard you’d been going at him, his shirt is creased and his hair is a fucking mess. God knows what you look like. 

It seems to take a long time to go up one floor, but the very second the doors open you and William are quick to leave. 

“What a nice chap.” He sniggers and you can finally laugh away some of that embarrassment, how stupid the both of you are, but nothing to be done now. The only compromise you can make now is to keep your hands to yourself until you’re in a more private setting, but that’s easier said than done when your core is tight with need. 

Following his form, you try to take mental note of how to get out of here, so many beige corridors to wind around before you’re standing in front of the room this near stranger has purchased. You watch him put the key in the lock and for just a moment you listen to your mind. It’s not a good idea, it’s unprofessional, inappropriate and a host of other things but you’re warm between your legs and the want to continue what was interrupted outweighs reason. 

He lets you inside before him and you turn to catch his eyes low on your body, making you grin unwillingly. It’s a nice room, as swanky as the bar downstairs, long flowy curtains shrouding huge windows and a load more pillows on the bed than necessary. 

William looks around the room more pragmatically, he wants another drink and there’s got to be something in here, a fancy place like this always has opportunity to spend more money. There’s an odd cabinet a good distance from the foot of the bed, and when he opens it lo and behold an incognito fridge. “You want another drink?” 

You look over to William on his knees looking at what you quickly realise is a minibar, curiosity brings you closer and the prices make you wince. You don’t know how this man has it in him to drink, you’re tipsy enough just standing there. “You trying to impress me or something?” You say laughing, “Surely the room was pricey enough.”

He shrugs and gets to his feet. A black labelled bottle placed on the counter, he can’t decide what he wants to indulge in first because you are looking very tempting.  You see a look of mischief pass over his face before he says, “Well, in for a penny, in for a pound… which you absolutely are, love.” He delivers that with the smarmiest smirk you’ve ever seen, and a disbelieving laugh escapes you, it’s needlessly full-on but embarrassingly it does work in making heat between your legs flicker back bright. 

Still somewhat taken aback you just say, “...You’re shameless.” 

It just makes him chuckle, as the evenings gone on you’ve only gotten easier to fluster. “Oh and you’re so prim and proper?” That’s clearly amused him because his tone is dripping with sarcasm. You maintain your eye contact with the man, trying to curb excitement in your blood, you’re aware he’s gotten much closer to you and the prospect is delicious. “I don’t think so, no with how you accosted me in that lift, there for anyone to see.” 

He doesn’t need to add ‘And someone did see,’ because that grimy feeling has again caught up with you, you look away then, trying not to think about how disgusted that man looked earlier. It sucks because your usual level-headedness has shagged off and you seem to be making a lot of questionable decisions. 

You’re speaking before the embarrassed thoughts are coherent, “Well, I- That’s not something I’d… normally…” You trail off because of the clear enjoyment on his face.

“Come on, are you a police officer or a fucking nun?” He teases, “Looking so ashamed. You do know what we’ve come up here to do, right?” 

The mockery gives you a hit of bravery, and you shrug, “Yeah. I’m just waiting for you to stop talking.” You give the last words heavy exasperation and watch that achingly handsome grin slowly spread on his face. 

He listens to you. 

It’s criminal how eagerly you’re pulling at his clothes, struggling with buttons as dexterity is lost in your fingers to the way your body is reacting to his. There’s little elegance, only your tongue back in his mouth as your shirt is taken off, then your body pulled away from the wall behind you to let him unhook your bra. It’s quick but you still resent how long it’s taking to get what you want. 

He’s playing with your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh before tugging your hardened nipple between his fingers, it pulls a gasp from you. You’re giggling a little as his action makes it harder to concentrate on what you’re doing. You finally manage to pull the shirt from him, leaving it to crumple on the floor. His body feels good against yours, firm and hot, hair on his chest that you rake your fingers through, leading all the way down to his belt. 

His touch is everywhere on you except where you want it most, taking in your curves and again grabbing a handful of your behind. You’re restless, rubbing your legs together for a fraction of the friction your core is demanding, all this fleeting touch is mounting into impatience. William notices and you feel the movement of his hands up to your waistband, where they skirt teasingly around. 

You moan some encouragement into his mouth, tilting your hips for better access. But he pulls away from you, smirking to himself. “Take your skirt off for me, love. I’ve tried but for the life of me I can’t find the zip.” 

Despite your impatience, you can’t help but laugh, clearly pride had kept him silent for a fair while. “Here then.” You say through your amusement, placing a hand flat on his chest and pushing him lightly, guiding him a pace and a half back until he gets the hint to sit on the bed. 

From there he watches you half dressed as far as your waist as you catch hold of the zip on the side of your pencil skirt and pull it down. You step out of it, leaving your shoes under the fabric, a smug expression on your face. He looks good sitting there and a guilty thought flickers through your head at how lucky his wife is. 

That thought is cut short when he says, “Come here.” Not giving you much choice when he catches your wrist and manoeuvres you himself, your panties still on but the wet patch on them somehow more revealing than you imagine being fully nude will be. 

“Damn.” He grins, leaving you standing before him, his hand tracing the waistband of your knickers before sliding between your legs. You let him, spreading your stance for his access. He follows the shape of your pussy over the material, watching how it clings to your heat. Soon after he slides under the fabric and toys with the abundance of slick waiting there.

You moan at the static sensation buzzing in your core, it’s exactly what you wanted but still a lot and you have to steady yourself on his shoulders. He finds your clit and begins to draw patterns over the nerves that soon have your legs weak. He brings your end into your sights before altering the movement, and the whiplash is near devastating. He snickers when a disapproving frown rests on your face, adjusting his position to press his fingers inside you, willing to give you what you want. Fucking his fingers in and out of you he keeps up with the stimulation on your clit, the pace only quickening when your grip tightens on his shoulders. Your peak rises fast and you fall over it, walls fluttering tight around his digits as your climax washes over you, pulling some desperate noise out of you. 

Before your legs are even steady again, you’re desperate for more. So you push him back on the bed, bending down to tackle his belt buckle. The bulge in his trousers is practically taunting you and you’re eager to feel more and think less. 

WIlliam’s voice pulls you from your inept action. “Demanding, aren’t we?” He mocks. 

You look at him as levelly as you can, your pupils big from your fading pleasure. You know the answer before you speak, “Do you want me to stop?” 

He doesn’t say anything, only reaches down to help you take off the belt, pulling the trousers down and holding you steady so he can lean and shove them off. You take hold of his hardness, now only hidden by his underwear, revelling in the soft grunt that leaves him. He’s deliciously thick in your hands and drunk on it you straddle him, now palming him between your legs. Only now do you think about the condoms in your handbag, knowing you should pull away from him and retrieve them. But that rationale is drowned out by your cunt drooling, begging for immediate stimulation. 

Your touch isn’t enough for him, he just wants to feel your warmth wrapped snug around him, so he acts, flicking your hands aside to free his dick. He sits against your stomach, thick and long and almost instantly you’re sliding your slick along him, pussy twitching in anticipation.

His hand on your hip moves you back so he can line himself up with your hole, no more play, no more teasing. He guides you down, a small gasp leaving you as he presses inside. It’s more than you thought and your walls burn with the stretch of taking him; you still yourself for a moment, thighs hovering just above his whilst you try to get used to the fullness of accommodating him. Your respite is cut short when he starts to thrust up into you, sniggering at the surprised moan that escapes you and how your body is almost trying to run away from him. He holds you still, lost in the perfect way your cunt is swallowing him. Soon you’re taking him properly, riding him deep with stuttering breath, pathetic noises leaving you when his cock pressed against the spot inside you that makes you crumble. You’re so focused on your imminent pleasure sparking into life sharpish, you nearly miss the change in the man below you. 

“Fuck- that’s it.” He groans, his hands roaming your body. You’re doing the majority of the work, bouncing on him so fucking perfectly and grinding your bundle of nerves against him. Your fluttering walls are telling but he’s hanging onto his edge by a thread, just enough sense about him to help speed up your climax. 

You jolt when he suddenly begins rubbing your clit, his hand splayed on your abdomen. It’s a lot and you’re holding on to him tighter and tighter, fingernails digging harder and harder into his shoulders until you’re falling into the waves of bliss. Your back arches as you come, each pulse of your climax making you shiver. Your cunt squeezes around him tight and just like that he’s gone. He thrusts into you a few more times, pushing his release deep inside you,  the pace inconsistent as he rides it out. 

Both of you still, and you listen to his quickened breath as your pussy still flutters around him, you’re all over goosebumps but you hardly notice, too focused on the warmth trickling around him and settling between your legs. 

~

You don’t stop there. You get next to no sleep, spending the rest of the night clutching the headboard, then with your face buried in the dishevelled sheets. Later with your leg hooked over the hips of this man, dirty words dripping from your lips pushing him to give you more. Hours spent having easily some of the best sex you’ve ever had. Until the two of you have no more to give. 

It’s still dark, but a look at your watch tells you the day’s not far from arriving and so, you move. Taking yourself from the disordered bed and into the cool of the room. Your clothes are strewn all over and you begin to gather them one by one, aware you’re under the scrutiny of the man you’re leaving behind. 

You’re halfway through putting them back on when William decides he should probably do the same. You watch from the corner of your eye as he stands up unashamedly naked and even after you’ve had your share you still appreciate the sight, which you then realise he was probably doing to you before getting up.  

He moves to pick up his underwear, wincing through his teeth at the action, making you turn towards him with pinched brows. You see him raise his arm up and run his hand along his shoulders, his expression difficult to read. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask with uncertainty, a part of you thinking that there’s no way he’s as sore as you are, you feel like you’ve spent hours on the bucking broncos. 

“Wait-” He sounds confused but when he turns to walk over to a mirror on the wall your eyes go wide with understanding. You’ve left your mark on him alright: long scratches on his shoulders and back, each bringing back a memory of the night’s activity. 

When he sees, his instant reaction is to laugh but fucking hell, it’s pretty bad. How the hell hadn’t he noticed? 

You have a hand over your mouth, partially in shock, partially to hide the incredulous laughter begging to be shown. “Oh god, I’m sorry.” You say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your giggling to yourself, “I didn’t-”

“That is…” He cuts you off unintentionally, chuckling in disbelief as he looks from the mirror to you, then back again, “unambiguous… What the fuck am I supposed to tell my wife?” 

You snort. “I don’t know. Shit. I didn’t think I… did that.” You hadn’t even thought about it, about how all traces of you on this man are liable to destroy a marriage, though to be fair, you’re not often a homewrecker. 

“Well, it was definitely you, sweetheart. Shit.” You’re lucky that he’s found this amusing and not gone the other way, but his marriage is dead on the rocks anyway, if Clara showed any interest in taking his shirt off he’d be looking around for a hidden camera.

…

You and William part ways soon after, part of you wanting to see him again, the rest knowing that that’s probably not a good idea. But the morning seems to be running away with itself and you don’t have time to think about it, it’s already nearly 7am and you've got to be at the station by 9. 

That doesn’t stop you from reliving the night over and over during your commute though.

As good a time as you’ve had you can’t shake the feeling that it was perhaps too good to be true.

If you made it to the end, thank you sm, you guys reading my stuff is my motivation to keep being excessively horny x

[demonicbaby666]

A Workplace Brawl

Kinktober 2023 | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 1k

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, just a light bit of fingering really...

A/n: Despite the title, this does not take place in the workplace. I apologise for I am a filthy liar. Also, I rushed this so don't come at me!

‘I fucking hate you’ are the exact four words continuously leaving Emily’s lips, that is, right before she crashes them down on yours. 

It was a rough one today. She’s been working for months to catch the man you’re defending, and all that work had been thrown down the drain due to some idiot filing a key piece of evidence wrong.

Safe to say she’s pissed, and you’re not surprised when a heavy hand pounds violently against your front door. It’s slightly alarming, what with it being close to midnight, but the moment you see that familiar fringe through the peephole, your stomach somewhat settles. 

“Hurry up and open the fucking door.” Emily barks out, hand still thudding on the door.

“Hold on!” You say, unlocking the door and removing the chain, “What brings you to my door in the middle of the night, other than trying to scare the living shit out of me?” 

As she always does, the ravenette doesn’t wait for an invitation. She barges past you before turning around and burning holes into you with her eyes. 

“What the hell was that?” she shouts, and you manage to close the door in time for her bellowed question to be trapped between the walls of your hallway.

“Emily, it’s late. Can we do this another night?” You sigh, “It’s been a long day.” 

“A long day of getting a killer off?” 

You smirk, raising an eyebrow, “As opposed to you?” 

In the blink of an eye, Emily has you pressed against the wall, one hand clasped around your throat and the other traipsing down your body, “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” 

It’s been this way for a while. She gets angry, you get angry, and then one of you ends up against a wall, writhing in pleasure and seething with hate. 

Emily steadies herself, placing a hand on the wall as you grab her hips and pull her further into you. At this point, it’s instinctual. You can’t help yourself from already feeling fired up and enticed by the opportunity presented. 

Her hands easily find the knot tying your robe closed and effortlessly untangle the barrier preventing her from laying her rough touch over your bare skin. Cold fingers brushed over your stomach, sending shivers through your spine. Involuntarily, your head hits the wall as svelte digits dive into your satin underwear to enter your cunt. 

“I’ve bested you numerous times. So yes, I do consider myself pretty smart,” you moan, looping your arms around the ravenette’s neck. 

The comment earns you a sneer and a violent thrust inside you that tempts the low groan lying dormant in your throat to come out of hiding. The agent quickly silences you with a heavy kiss that promises no mercy or leniency. Her deceitfully soft lips press harshly against your disgruntled scowl before a demanding tongue plunges in and shows off the dominance it holds. 

With two fingers pressing firmly against the ridged lining of your inner walls, you become pliant and submit to the swirling muscle venturing through your mouth. 

A smirk paints Emily’s lips, and you let her bathe in her momentary glory before using her inflated ego to your advantage. Flipping the both of you around, you slam the older woman against the wall and snigger at the discontented grunt that comes from the BAU chief, who is accustomed to always being in control.

She gingerly tries to redouble her efforts, fucking faster and harder into you, though you manage to resist in time to mirror her actions. A hand slides down the front of her slacks and meets a sea of arousal, and you can’t help but revel in the mess you single-handedly created. 

“You really must hate me,” you grin, “I can feel the hate dripping down my fingers.” 

“Shut up and fuck me already,” Emily growls, pressing down on your teasing digits and faltering in her efforts to pump into you continually. 

“The first part, I’m not so sure about. The second, however…” Without warning, you slam three fingers inside her and place your thumb over her clit, applying pressure so hard it must be teetering on the brink of painful. 

Emily cries out, and you dive down to tear into the porcelain skin of her neck, forcing her to scream out your name. Her pulse point thrums over your lips, and you pull the steady beat into your mouth. Feeling the older woman’s breathing hitch, you move around the open space, marking a messy array of red blotches into bitter-perfumed skin. 

The fingers inside you remain stagnant, struggling to provide any stimulation other than bursts of shudders that match the agent’s uneven breathing. 

Reaching down, you guide Emily out of you - ignoring the protested whine - and bring her wet fingers to your lips. “You looked so fucking angry when the judge announced the verdict today,” you tease, taking her fingers into your mouth and sucking your arousal clean, “I had to stop myself from fucking that scowl right off your face in front of everyone.”

“I fucking hate you,” she seethes with her teeth clamped tightly - likely trying to stop an impending moan from slipping free. 

Knowing you hold a modicum of power over her in this moment, you seek out the trapped moan by curling your fingers on the following thrusts and circling the engorged clit beneath your thumb. 

The veins in Emily’s neck look close to bursting as she fights her own body’s need for release. Her throat is bobbing despite her sorrowful attempts to level her breathing, and you decide to give her that last push to take her over the edge. 

“I fucking hate you too, but god, do I love fucking you.” You whisper hotly into her ear, slipping your fingers under her shirt and bra to wrap a possessive hand around her bare breast. 

With her hands gripping your hair so tight there’s a likelihood she’s going to pull it out, Emily finally falls apart.

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[cloudninetonine]

A Player's Aid: Chapter 13

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N: I'D LIKE TO THANK EVERYONE WHO GAVE ME MORAL SUPPORT ON OUR GROUP CALL AND A SPECIAL THANKS TO MY EDITORS, FANGS AND SHY, ALSO FOR LISTENING TO ME REREAD IT ALL Y'ALL GREAT

Warnings: Bad language, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, threatening language, descriptions of sick/vomit/throw up, disturbing imagery descriptions and descriptions of panic/anxiety attack, also slight implications of suicidal tendencies

The weight of the world felt heavy on your shoulders in this castle of darkness and silence. Your body weak, shaking under the pressure of any regret that ever did cross your mind as you sat there, curled into the tightest ball with a tear soaked face and fear blanketing your eyes.

It was true, what they said. Near death, your life would flash before your very eyes, letting you relive every last waking moment in a solemn look that only grew more agonising by the second. Your mother? Stranded. Alone. Never to be seen again. Your friends? Abandoned. Clueless. Left wondering what  happened to your being. Would you ever return to your home? Would Hyrule be your resting place? Whether from old age or the consequences of a risky move, resulting in a bloody pool beneath your cooling body-

How did you get here? When did you get here? Where were you? Was this real? Were you real? The suspense almost choked you, hands shaking with repressed emotion, clutching tightly to your cloak that hung from your shoulders. Home. You wanted home. You wanted your home. You wanted, wanted, wanted, wanted-

“(Name),” Wild called again, his hand coming to join yours balled tightly around the fabric of your mantle, “Please, I know you are scared but you must pull through.”

The Champion sounded so close yet so far. A mixture of nonsense and sense as your brain continued to stay muddled in the lone castle hallway.

Not a skulltula stalked the corners, nor did the Shadow’s darkness lurk, dragging against the walls and floor as it searched desperately for your petrified figure. Was he still reeling from your defiance? Had he simply taken the wrong turn at some point while desperately scrambling after you? Why wasn’t he here? Was he waiting? Watching?

A whimper broke past your lips.

Wild glanced around nervously.

What to do? What to do? The Wild Hero knew of your pain but yet didn’t know how to heal it. Time was ticking, he knew that danger was on the prowl and with only a lone holder of courage, the blonde knew that it would be a dangerous brawl indeed-

But then he remembered.

Wild remembered back, all those many moon cycles ago, when the Shadow had struck down the ranch-hand. Rivers of blood bloomed from the slash of the Iron Knuckle’s blow, spouting maroon sullying the area around Wolfie as he collapsed back onto the earth below, unmoving and quiet as time seemed to pause as all eyes fell onto him. He remembered the rage, he remembered the fear and the shouting and the pleas and he remembered it.

Standing. Watching. Waiting.

From anger sprouted seething hatred as he stared. It felt mocking, despite the apparent leaking wound under its bulking armour. Mocking of the hero before it, triumphant over its victory- Twilight had gotten cocky in his incessant hunt and now he had experienced its true power. 

Wild had snapped then, watching his friend bleed out between the bodies of his brothers protecting him even unknowingly. His newly forged sword drawn at the ready with his hand itching towards his slate as he bolted towards it. The hero did not care of its destructive power, he did not care of the consequences of his rage; others yelled around him but he would not yield, not even for them.

And he did what he did best- he swung.

The Chains of Stasis keeping it still, he hurled hit after hit of his blade. Every emotion that burned in the rivers of his veins poured into the strength of each and every blow. The dents in the armour only fed into his bloodlust, gripping his heart, almost choking but he kept at it, kept beating until the dinging finally stopped and his sword snapped from the strain, the armoured giant bubbling from the tension before exploding into a barrage of scrap, liquid darkness pooling around the remains.

The first attempt to break them. Put the fear into them all as Twilight had laid in that inn bed. The Shadow had tried to pull them apart from the seams, digging its  sharpened claws into the fabric to rip what held them together- their brotherhood, their bond. If one was to fall, what would become of the rest? Chaos would ensue and chaos did take  its toll, fights and venomous words breaking out between them.

But…but Twilight had made it. Miraculous and a miracle, the man of muscle had returned to his brothers with only regrets of secrecy to his name.

Wild would not let this happen again. He would not let the Shadow grin that mocking smirk as you laid cold on the floor below, blood pooling beneath you.

“(Name), I’m going to lift you, okay?” Words soft, the Wild Hero stroked your hands, testing his touch. “Don’t panic.”

When you didn’t respond negatively he moved his palms downward, slipping one under your knees and tightening another around your back, pushing his weight onto one leg to haul himself to his feet. It wasn’t ideal, not being able to fight, but this was all he could do while you were still stunned.

Bouncing you a little, he readjusted you in his arms and made quick work of returning to his brothers.

----------

Despite the Ache’s deceit and malicious intentions- it had not lied.

The skulltula herd had been quite the fight. The dodging of pincers while slashing their swords, snapping jaws with saliva dripping an ungodessly sight until the very end, Sky plunging the Master Sword straight into the archnid’s softened belly with monster blood spraying. The hero’s eyes were dark then, watching the creature writhe and squeal in pain until the very end, the dark purple ‘poof!’ of monster magic fading along with any remnants of the beast.

“We must still check the castle’s library- whether or not another hoard awaits us.”

They had to find those hostages.

And they did.

Builders, guards, mere travellers and others from the settlement were held up in the confines of the library- singing praises of the heroes appearance, handshakes and hugs of desperation shared all around as they cheered. 

“Our rations grew smaller, we were unsure if we would ever make it out alive!” Cried the head guard, Cillian was his name. “Thank you, good sirs, thank you so!”

“What led you into this mess?” The smithy had asked, “What happened?”

A builder’s moustache shook along with his wobbling lip, tears cornering his eyes. “Great big beasts with too many legs and eyes chased us! Attacked those who were unprepared! The library was the only place restored enough to keep back all of them!”

His friends comforted him as he wailed.

Cillian turned back to the heroes.

“Tell me, heroes- do these monsters still stalk those halls?” Cillain seemed almost afraid of his own words, let alone the answer. “Are we still in danger?”

The ranch-hand stepped forward. “We are all far from perfect safety but the hallways are no longer overgrown with webs or these creatures. We will escort you out, but any fighters who can still draw their sword should stay prepared to brawl.”

Hylians cried out in despair but the more battle prone called for their clarity- now wasn’t the time, they needed to escape.

The heroes did not forget of their other current affairs. Hyrule’s hand shaking around the hilt of his sword as he looked forward, dead eyed at the thoughts running through his mind.

Had the Wild Hero found you yet? Or did he still sprint through those halls? Once Twilight had tossed him with his shield, his bare strength throwing the smaller blonde over the crowd of monsters and a little further down the hallway, Wild had raced away. The skulltula couldn’t even keep up, left in the dust of the Hylian heroes brown polished boots. It was no surprise of course, the man had one goal on his mind and that was finding you- he had no time.

Were you okay? Were you dead? Hyrule’s pupils shook in boiling anger and fear. What if Wild hadn’t made it in time? What if he had just stepped into the scene to see the Shadow’s hands tear wildly at your skin, blood staining his claws as he tore out your own heart?

What-

A scream.

A scream so vile and horrid echoed through the stones, bouncing through the hallways and catching the ears of the masses. Others also screamed, horrified. Many covered their own ears and others ducked when the walls shook from this shriek’s power, dust  crumbling from newly built structures and books falling off their shelves as the shockwaves hit until finally relaxing.

The heroes all shared a look.

Warriors wasn’t fast enough to grab Hyrule’s tunic before he was scrambling.

“Traveller!”

The eldest had roared, worried but also frustrated, but it was too late. Hyrule had leapt three steps each of the staircase and bolted right back the way they had come, the others in a state of shock before the Captain had begun to chase after him.

“I’ll make sure he won’t kill himself!” 

And they, too, were gone.

Six remained.

Twilight’s hands twitched, glancing over to Time who could see the confliction in his eyes. Holding back for him.

He sighed, “Go.”

And now there were Five.

“We will escort you all, come.”

----------

Navigating the new paths of the castle was a little harder than Wild expected. It had been so long since he had trekked these halls, crumbling and blotched with Ganon’s malice as monsters of all kinds chased him. Bad memories, ones he would much prefer to forget, nevermind what this grand palace would have looked like before the chaos of the Calamity. Zelda hadn’t come to see the rebuilding yet either, despite the idea being raised, similar tainted dreams associated with her old home. It was why she stayed with him back in Hateno, making plans and working towards a goal in the confines of brick instead of the towering stone.

Anywho, Hyrule Castle was renewed and with renewal came new things- these were new hallways. Winding and detailed, new rooms had been carved from the remains of old- the webbing of the skulltula only added to the confusion, everything looking the same.

Damned beasts.

Sneaking by another one of those eight legged monstrosities, Wild dipped out of the room quietly and sped his walk to a silent jog, your arms tightening around him. More lucid now, you clung to the man in fear.

“Is he looking for us?” Your voice was a whisper, soft against his ear and making it twitch. “Or did he give up?”

He hated to quash that small spark of hope that dwindled. “I highly doubt it, not when it’s just the two of us.”

Your terrified whimper broke his heart. “He knows I’m the guide- he thinks I have some sort of magical power.”

It made sense, why else would he drag you here-

“He said he wanted it, he said he was going to tear out my heart-”

“Hey, hey, shhhh, shhhh.” The hero held you close, ducking into a corner away from prying eyes as you silently wept into his shoulder. “I won’t let that happen, do you hear me? He won’t touch a hair on your head.”

You’d cried like this only once before. Terrified, choked out, the hero could remember the weight on his chest and the feeling of fingers gently combing through his hair despite the lack of physical appearance with him. Wild could see the shading trees, leaves blowing in the wind as he laid in a pool of his own blood near the dead centre of Giant’s Forest- the Hinox remains laid just a little ways away.

“Please, Link, please you can’t die-” You choked, his heart hurting at the whimper. “You can’t leave me here alone-”

Wild hadn’t been gifted with Mipha’s grace yet. Too busy challenging himself to do more, beat more, he needed to be perfect when the time came to defeat the evil lurking within the cogs of the Divine Beasts. Better yet the malicious monster that resided in Hyrule Castle.

Yet there he laid, chilling and still in the once luscious green grass.

You had saved him somehow of course you had, someone just as amazing and brilliant as his guide would be the one to pull him from the brink of death. He would later wake from his unconscious slumber, laying somewhere different but bandaged and semi-functioning while you sobbed in relief. You never told him what you did, but he trusted you enough to never ask- after all, he always woke up alive, didn’t he?

Alive and remembering your shaking voice as you pleaded with him not to fall victim to his injuries.

Wild hated your frightened tears but at least this time he could do something about it.

Looking at him, broken and afraid, he moved his hand to gently brush away the wetness cornering your eyes. “I’m here for you, (Name).”

You searched his gaze for hesitation but found only sincerity.

“Do you think you can stand?”

“Y..yeah…”

The blonde helped you to your feet gently, his arm careful around you until finally you could stand on your own shaky legs, fighting back the mental exhaustion of it all. The hero pulled his sword from his sheath with his free hand coming to grab your own before tugging you to follow after him quickly, eyes scanning the area then quietly jogging towards another corner.

Another body slammed right into the both of you.

Winded, you could only manage a yelp, falling back along with the wild hero who portrayed a wide eyed protective rage only to gape at the familiar sight of shaggy brown hair and eyes of emerald green with dusted brown as you all crashed down to the floor below, the other form jumping back in surprise.

Hyrule’s sigh of relief held what could have been mistaken for his soul returning to his form.

“(Name).”

“Rulie-” You were tackled, body almost constricted by his tight hug. “Hyrule- Link-”

“I’m sorry.” He rushed out, his face settled in your hair. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry we couldn’t stop it-”

“‘S’okay-” You sniffled but Hyrule’s shaking breath stopped you.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“...I lost your dagger, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be silly, you’re more important than a measly blade.” You felt a tear drop into your hair, “So much more important.”

Your own hand came to gently brush his hair, brown curls engulfing your fingers as you worked to relax the tension out of his body. Your other hand still grasped Wild’s, squeezing gently at the digits to remind him that you hadn’t forgotten his presence, far from it. The reassurance was met with a grateful squeeze back.

“Come, we must go.” Once again you stood, the three of you a tight knit with the heroes still brandishing glinting swords. “Who knows where the Shadow could be-”

“There you are!” Hyrule flinched, turning back the way he came to see Warriors and Twilight jog down the hallway, only stopping once they had finally gotten closer- none looked please. “Traveller we’ll talk later about your selective hearing- Champion, (Name), are you alright?”

The Captain looked relieved but with an air of professionalism around him, standing tall with both his sword and shield pulled at the ready for combat. Twilight wasn’t quite sitting in the same boat- the anxiety blooming into relief at the sight of you but more so Wild, muttering a soft ‘thank the goddess’ under his breath before stalking closer to slap him upside the head.

“No more idiocy.”

Wild’s face showed understanding but his eyes sung a different chorus. “You and I have different definitions of what counts as idiotic.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“As I said, later,” Warriors insisted, turning back, “I saw an exit not much further back, we can meet the others outside and discuss any previous misgivings when we are whole-”

“There you are.”

Ice.

An icy chill filled the air around you as your stomach dropped right into a pit of despair, the hairs on the back of your neck standing with electrifying effort accompanied by the feeling of dread dragging a sharpened claw right up your spine.

You turned slowly in comparison to the heroes' snapping spins, swords and shields at the ready while staring with eyes of venom at the seeping shadows that curled round the corner of a following hallway at this crossroads of sorts. Darkness lurked, light from the hanging torches blown away by a haunting whispering wind as a murky blackness finally came into view with eyes of red and a mouth pulled to show rows of too many teeth.

How Nintendo had reduced Dink to something so puny was beyond you- he was fucking horrifying.

“Ah, and the heroes of Courage too- what a delight.” Too many voices, couldn’t he just choose one? You covered your ears like a frightened child. “Have you come to see the execution?”

“Shut your mouth, evil scum.” Hyrule hissed, “The only execution we’ll be witnessing is yours when I behead you-”

“Oh do quieten down, Hero of Hyrule, your words aren’t as impressive as you think.” Hyrule huffed in anger and the Shadow cackled, “Awh, have I upset you fairy boy?” 

A phantom red sword flew through the air and Dink dodged with only another laugh, rolling with the darkness beneath his form.

“Oh, almost- better luck- hm? Never.”

From behind you, you felt a shift. Just the tiniest bit of movement but still it had you glancing back quizzically to Twilight, his form stiff and slightly…shaking as panicked eyes stayed focused on the monster in front of you all. You weren’t the only one to notice, however, Wild glancing back in slight concern with Warriors stepping closer to his brother in spirit.

Dink noticed too.

And he smiled wider.

“Hero of Twilight.” He cooed, words dripping honey that hissed and bubbled with underlying poison. “Awh, what’s wrong- seems as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Twilight’s sword shook in a sweating grip. “Shut your mouth-”

“Or maybe you’re just…” The shadows shifted for a moment and you swore you saw the glinting metal of an Iron Knuckle’s helmet staring right back at you. “...scared.”

Twilight’s ears folded back along with his steps, skin paling.

Warriors looked pissed. “Ranch-hand, do not-”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you too, captain.”

Once again, Dink changed, yet this time a younger version of the Captain stared back. 

Warrior’s tensed.

No. No you wouldn’t let this happen. No matter your own heart crushing fear you were not about to let this bastard do this to them. Dink could scare you as much as he wanted, threaten you and nearly end your life but you drew the line at the others, you would not let him scare these heroes just like he scared you.

Fucking bastard, using the weakness of others against them.

“I’ll fucking show you…” A muttered growl did not catch his attention, nor did your movement as you leaned down to grab the convenient crumbled brick just a little ways away then stand once again.

You did this lightning fast, not allowing even a moment of hesitation from you or consideration from them as you ditched the slab right at his face.

Surprised chokes left all of them as Dink yelped in pain then cursed, that same demonic growling from earlier leaving him. Despite his body merged in the darkness you could see the blood curl around his fingers as his hands desperately tried to cover the damaged eye that still glared molten scorn right at your figure.

“You litTLE BRAT!” You flinched at the rage but tightened your resolve, standing just before Warriors and Twilight so he would focus on you. “When I get my hands on you again I’ll tear you limb from limb-”

“I don’t think you can.” You were talking nonsense but you didn’t care. “I think you’re too fucking stupid to- I mean I got away once already, whose to say I can’t just do it again?”

You just loved tempting fate, didn’t you? Tempting her and the devil that she tangoed with as Dink’s pupils shrunk in a frenzied rage while his shadows whipped around him angrily, searching for something to break- something to destroy. Hyrule and Wild stepped a little closer together, acting as a shield in case those tendrils of shade got too close.

“Watch your tongue before I cut it out-”

This time the phantom sword struck and it struck hard, impaling right into the Shadow’s shoulder with a gorey ‘schlink’ that pinned him to the wall behind him. The monster shrieked, gargling in pain with volumes that raised and dropped, tones that lightened and deepened while his hand, holding his bleeding eye moved instead to grasp at his punctured shoulder. 

There wasn’t much else of the scene to watch when you were thrown over someone’s shoulder and rushed away from it all. You tried turning to count heads and see who had grabbed you so quickly but when the sound of rushing footsteps caught your attention. You stared back at Dink who had sunken into the shadows that chased after you all, the light from the torches vanishing as the darkness caved in on the corridor and filled it with nothing but pitch black.

You could only see his eyes.

Haunting, raging eyes as they chased the five of you, stealing the solace of the light to take over with his gloom.

You were hypnotised by the morbid spectacle.

It was fast.

Really fast.

A quick turn almost gave you whiplash but you still watched him run, dementated as he slammed into the wall before shaking off his daze and crawling like a demon against the floor. Still no body, only shadow as you got closer and closer to a large brightness that hung behind you.

“Almost there!”

“Is it still chasing us!?”

“Dear Hylia in heaven-”

You felt its hatred. You felt its  wrath. You felt its bloodlust and you felt your own fear crawling back down your spine. You imagined those scenes in horror movies, the eldritch abomination scrambling over itself as it frantically chased the poor victim through those darkened scenes- this is what it felt like. This was the dread those innocent people experienced. 

You watched helplessly as claws reached out to grab you, infernal cursing catching your ears as its hand loosely missed your saviour’s shirt-

Light almost blinded you as you entered the outside world. The sun glaring down on your small group as they skidded to a stop just before falling right off a collapsing cliff side.

They turned instantly, swords still pulled and ready to fight, your body falling off the shoulder of Hyrule who looked murderous as he kept his sword pointed towards Dink.

The Shadow’s darkness took up the whole of the doorway, twitching and humming with a putrid magic as Dink just stood there. Watching you all with crimson eyes, with black ooze still dripping from one of his sockets along with the hole in his shoulder, he did nothing. Made no move, made no sound, the only thing he did was stare- right at you, centre of the group, burning and hate filled.

You didn’t understand why he didn’t move closer after all he did not burn in the sun. However, maybe the light still had an affect, the monster was a shadow after all and the two did not mix well- maybe this applied to Dink also?

Maybe four was too big of a crowd in the shine of the afternoon sun.

“Well!? What are you waiting for?!” Wild hissed, walking forward only to be grabbed by Twilight. “Fight us, monster!”

Dink’s glare moved to Wild, still just as sinister and vile before he turned back to the darkness and left you at that, standing there and viewing the ordeal with a growing confusion.

Was that…really it?

“Why did it just-”

“Doesn’t matter.” A soberness washed over Warriors, his eyebrows pinching. “If we are to fight him we need the Master Sword, let us return to the group-”

Hyrule’s face was plastered in disbelief. “And just leave that thing there!? It could get away-”

“What would you have us do, traveller!?” The captain looked frazzled, hair messy and eyes wild in contrast to his usual pristine presentation- Dink’s little trick must have gotten to him worse than you had expected. “The Shadow does not die by natural steel, the sword is our only hope!”

Wild looked just as desperate as Hyrule, spinning in Twilight’s grip “So we just leave the beast!? No, if one of us were to return to the others and bring them here-”

“If the beast is still watching us it would be sure to attack if we were alone.” Twilight tightened his hand, a reflex with the champion. “We return to the others whole and discuss a plan.”

“We need to attack while we still have him here!”

An argument bloomed with the men, voices raising along with hands waving but it slowly muffled out the longer that you stood there, eyes still focused on that shaded hallway of trickery and pain.

You had almost died.

The words echoed around your head like a siren in the foggy night, screeching, painful, and anxiety inducing as it clawed at the inner walls of your mind. Scratched in by bloodied fingers of a madman, his fingertips soaked with crimson as he muttered the words like a cruel mantra.

“Dead. Death,” He sung, with a jolly preen, his eyes bloodshot with a lust for pain. “Dying. Suffering. Murdered. Brutalised. Slain. Killed.”

Your breaths became pants. Your pants became chokes. Your chokes became hyperventilating as tears streamed down your face. Clutching desperately at your chest, you frantically heaved for air as your knees buckled beneath you and you fell to the earth below. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, only cry and shake as you tried forcing sound to leave you. A whimper. A moan. A word. Hell, a laugh. Yet nothing seemed to break free.

Digging your nails into the position where your  heart pounded, you twisted your hand in a motion, attempting to tear it out. It didn’t work, it wasn’t doing its damn job- better it laid in the dirt with the insects than inside you if it would only serve to be damaged goods.

Nonetheless, you finally managed something. Moments of struggling dragged into hours of torture finally minimalised when you sucked in a massive portion of air, body arching from the pain as you forced it into your lungs.

And you screamed.

Ears ringing as it progressed from a small yell to a blood-curdling wail, voice refusing to break as you tore your throat to let out everything you had bottled down in that last horrible hour.

It had only been an hour.

Your head slammed against the dirt, body curling into itself as you felt your throat grow raw from the excessive shriek. A violent reaction, a bubble ran up your throat and you gagged, pushing yourself higher and hurling your digested breakfast all over the ground, scrunching your watering eyes shut in an effort to avoid the scene of acid and chunks sullying the earth.

Hands reached you, your name being called but it didn’t stop the repeat of gags and sobs.

Your body finally gave out.

[poppy-metal]

insane. the collarbone the chain the cocky 'this is no longer my circus' look n walk away after starting a full out brawl. i need them in a way concerning to not only feminism but to the moral human code.

[jerseyshoresy]

Them’s Fightin’ Words

Shoresy stands up for the reader.

Shoresy x gn!reader

Warnings: cussing, harassment, physical fighting

“What the fuck did you just say to them?”

“I said—“

“Huh?”

You couldn’t believe this was happening to you. Just a few feet from where you were standing, you knew a brawl was going to begin. You didn’t imagine something like this going down when you and Shoresy decided to go out for some drinks. Settling in at the bar, you two were enjoying a relatively calm evening, laughing with a group of your boyfriend’s teammates and your friends. You relished the feeling of Shoresy’s arm resting over your shoulders as you nursed your drink. Being around him was always so comforting. You knew he had your back, as you did his. Loyalty was one of the many things you loved about Shoresy—that man would follow anyone he cared about to the ends of the earth, and even beyond that if possible.

You had just finished agreeing with something Laurence Leboeuf said when you felt someone come up next to you.

“Hey darlin’. What’s a fine person like you doing in a place like this? Better question—why don’t we take this somewhere more private and really get to know each other?”

Ew. This man was beyond sleazy. He had jet black hair that was slicked back with what you assumed was an entire bottle of gel or melted butter to achieve that look. You could tell by his roaming eyes he was up to no good and you weren’t in the mood for his antics.

“Look dude. I don’t know what you’re doing here without your glasses on but apparently you can’t see that I’m clearly here with someone. Aka the guy with his arm around me. I suggest you try your luck somewhere else.”

His arrogant smirk quickly left his face, replaced by furrowed brows and angry eyes.

“You’re seriously turning me down for that ugly idiot? No. No way. What I want, I get, and I want you. So you either choose to come with me or I’ll drag you out of here.”

At this point, Shoresy was tuned out of the conversation he was in with his friends and was now engrossed in what was going on next to him. He knew you could handle yourself so he didn’t shut this guy down immediately, but after he heard that last creepy and downright concerning remark, he knew he had to stop this guy fast.

“What the fuck did you just say to them?” asked Shoresy, getting out of his seat and standing between you and the creepy guy. God, he was the best protector.

“I said—“ the guy started, but Shoresy interrupted him.

“Huh?”

“You got it all wrong,” the greaseball continued, “we were having a good time, me and them. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

“A good time?” asked Shoresy, incredulously. “Nah dude, you’re a sick freak with no respect for people. And it is my business when you’re being a fuckin’ weirdo to my partner. Get the hell out of here before I throw you out.”

Creepy guy laughed. “Throw me out? That would require muscle and by the looks of it, you don’t have any. It’s all fat.”

You knew that as your cue to get the hell out of the way because punches were about to fly. Creepy guy’s friends were roaring in laughter at his remark but before anyone saw it coming, Shoresey’s fist was in the guy’s face, drawing blood and knocking him to the ground. The punch caused a chain reaction and a mini brawl began. From where you were standing, you saw creepy guy’s friends were all over Goody and Dolo, but they knocked them out with only a few punches each. The fight was over as quick as it began and bar patrons quickly returned back to their drinks after the ordeal. Shoresy threw the greaseball’s unconscious body out the bar’s back door and into the dumpster area (where he belonged).

“Fuckin’ trash,” he muttered, closing the door behind him. However, when Shoresy found you watching him from the narrow hallway, his whole demeanor changed. Putting his hands on your shoulders, he looked you up and down for injuries from the earlier commotion.

“(Y/n), are you okay? That guy was a fucking bozo, I’m sorry you had to deal with that. And deal with me punching him. I just couldn’t help myself, hearing him say those things, I just couldn’t let him get away with it under my watch.” He stopped himself and took a deep breath.

“Look. I understand if me getting into fights is a deal breaker for you. My last girlfriend thought I was a loser for throwing punches and it’s hard for me to break out of that fighting mindset off the rink. It doesn’t help that I want to protect from everything bad in this world because… well, because I love you.”

You were shocked. This was the first time Shoresy had ever said he loved you and he was afraid you were going to leave him! Your heart felt so fragile—full because he loved you, but broken because he thought you’d break up with him.

“Shoresy,” you noticed he wasn’t meeting your eyes so you gently grasped his chin to tilt his face towards you. “Shoresy, I love you too, so much. You stood up for me, protected me, today, and I can only thank you for that. I would never leave you for something like that. No, assault is never good, but some idiots deserve to get their asses kicked. I’m just glad to be the one to have you on my side, no matter the circumstances.” He leaned in and kissed you passionately. You were caught off guard and almost lost your balance but his strong grip kept you steady.

“Don’t worry, I always got you,” he mumbled against your lips, making you both smile into the kiss.

Maybe next time you’ll just go out for paninis.

[transingthoseformers]

Ratchet as CMO hearing about this is incensed. If on the principle if not for his friend/ex/mentee's sake. And this slag is happening while the war is still going on. So During Optimus' brawls with Megatron he's demanding "What the Frag?!"

Which is how Megatron in his unrepentant glory is finding out about this clusterfrag.

Cue Megatron calling Tarn. He sees a Heavy(?!) Tarn with a medic jet kneeling colared, gaged and chained at Tarn's pedes. Megs can read the abject missery in the jet's wings. He didn't expect the Jet to start blinking "Please kill me," in optical code at him.

This is the last thing Megatron expected to see. And IDW Megatron has Opinions.

Ohh of course Megatron knows jack shit about this and this IS while they're still on earth n all

Ratchet's pissed, rightfully so

Megatron: Tarn.

Tarn: my lord?

Megatron: Tarn, the fuck is this????

damn. Poor Pharma damn

Yeahhh considering what i know of idw megs he has So Many Opinions on this and none of them are in Tarn's favor

[yourlocaltoad]

Brawl n' Chain's Soul stone icon from Skylanders: Ring of Heroes (Skylanders: Ring of Heroes, 2018)

[pamsimmerstories]

Resources

This is the main (i won't post everything because it's a lot) CC's or Mods I use in my game

Defaults: vanilla by luumia, feet by necrodog , teeth by ice-creamforbreakfast

Skinblends: dathuil by buglaur , butterish by lamatisse , squish by squeamishsims , north skin by northen siberia winds , jelo skin by teael

Blushes: booboo by squeamishsims , mesmerized by plumbhead , torrada blush by simandy

Favorite Hair CC Creators:

Aladdin

Arethabee

ClumsyAlien

Dogsill

JohnnySims

Okruee

QICC

QRSims

Simcelebrity

Simstrouble

Simandy

Clothes/Shoes

AdrienPastel

Darte77

Jius

Kevinandthesims

KKs

Madlen

Miiko

Sentate

Serenity

Sifix

Windenbro

MODS

Basemental Drugs +18

Control Any Sim

Get Fit

Custom Food

First Impressions & RPO

More Kisses

Mc Command Center

Dance and Surprise Proposal mods

Custom Wants & Fears

No Fade Everything & Bloody Vampires

Steady Sit & Seat Any Sim

Childbirth Mod

Cake a Break , ISO love photos , Photographic Memory

Bed Cuddle , Cute Romance

Brawling, Kiss n Grind , Gifts

Wicked Whims +18

>> favorite animations creators: greynaya , e404p , kiki chain , mia , yummy-o-tummy ,

UI Cheats

More Students - HSY

LIGHTING MODS AND RESHADE/GSHADE PRESET

NoBlu

NoGlo

Sunblind

Sumahama (preset for reshade/gshade): i must say i tweaked a lot for the way i like, but this is the base preset i used

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Unholy Flesh

SFW | AO3 | Baldur’s Gate 3 Word Count: 4,381

Excerpt: It was the killing fate written in the blood of the creatures that sprung from Mercy’s sculpted flesh. The sorcerer flattened their foot against the ground, stilling the rock of the chair. Mercy leaned over in the chair, the nails on their right hand growing unnaturally long and sharp. They ignored the weight of the silver chain wrapped tightly around their wrist as they held their hand out. The tips of two nails pressed against the soft skin of one the throat of one of the sleeping twins. It would have been a mercy to kill them.  It would be a mercy to kill them. A/N: This is the next part of Never Love an Anchor. This chapter just establishes more of what's going on and explores the relationship my Durge has with Astarion while otw to leave the hellspawn pups on someone's doorstep. This is a totally self-indulgent au where I wanted to explore nontraditional family structures bc these two idiots are not raising these kids. CW: Accidental Pregnancy, Cryptic Pregnancy, Traumatic Birth, Gore, Blood, General Durge Shit, and they talk about infanticide but,,,,clearly these babies are making it

The evening was calm. The night air provided a cool comfort against Mercy’s warm cheeks as they waited on the cottage porch. The sorcerer was wrapped in their cloak. Dark, loose tendrils of black fabric on the front draped across their shoulders and around their neck, its warm lining soft against their freckled skin. Mercy was perched in a rocking chair, its wood creaking with each push of their dark boot against the ground. Beside the sorcerer, the twins were swaddled in soft blankets, each in a different color to differentiate the little shits. The wrapping was still messy, the blanket tails tucking out where the vampire spawn and the sorcerer gave up trying to figure out the art of swaddling an infant.

It had been two days since the birth, and Mercy was still struggling to comprehend everything that happened. They had no idea they were even pregnant when Mercy had arrived at the cottage with Astarion. It was meant to be a small break to recuperate from the adventuring that occupied a majority of their time together.

What was meant to be a reprieve quickly turned to shit. 

The sorcerer hadn’t felt well the day they went into labor. They were exhausted, bone tired, and their stomach churned uncomfortably, but Mercy initially brushed it off as one of the many symptoms plaguing them since their addled mind and broken body were toys the Gods played with, then discarded like trash.

Mercy could never forget the fear of having their body taken from their control, but the years put enough distance for the memory to lose some of its edge. Dulled by time and new memories filling the cracks in their addled mind, the birth of the beasts sharpened the echo of their powerlessness to a point and stabbed them deeply in the gut with a goading twist. As their heart ached with the betrayal of their own body’s failure to warn them, they were reminded that they were always meant to be simply a vassal, never quite in control of their own body, let alone their own future. 

The last few years were a taste of true autonomy. Mercy and Astarion had traveled across Faerun, both hungry to see the world once denied to them. They went where they wanted when they wanted, traveling in the cover of darkness without a plan, and without the threat of Bhaal punishing them for straying off his intended path. The couple tried to be heroic, two beasts unleashed, stalking the other monsters of the night who harnessed their own power against the innocent. 

However, Astarion and Mercy were also the chaos in the night, causing brawls in the bustling taverns, robbing unsuspecting patriars stumbling drunk through the streets, and generally lying their way into a free room to hide from the sun in. It was a life lived freely, a life the sorcerer was growing used to, putting distance between themself and their past. 

Mercy was stupid to think their life would ever be fully free of Bhaal’s influence.

The sorcerer’s blood was quiet, free of the compulsion of their blood whispers, but the same intrusive thoughts accompanied their hard won freedom, a reminder that they were sculpted from divine flesh. Mercy could feel Bhaal’s essence taunting them where it lay dormant in the twins. The sorcerer may have escaped his leash, but not the curse of their unholy flesh. Bhaal rescinded his blood inheritance, but it would seem he still had use for Mercy’s body.

The sorcerer watched the infants slumbering in their makeshift crib. Mercy’s eyes narrowed as they lifted a hand to touch the scar marring the right side of their face. They traced the line from the corner of their eye, dipping beneath the blue iris and curving down across their cheek. They couldn’t remember much from before, but they could remember their own twin sister’s face the night their own Urges first stirred. 

Their sister’s necklace - a silver chain holding a ruby the shape of a teardrop - felt heavy where it was wrapped around their right wrist. It was a souvenir from their duel with their sister destined by blood. It was a destiny doomed to repeat, trapping the Bhaalspawn in a vicious cycle of violence and death that would never garner them Bhaal’s favor. 

It was the killing fate written in the blood of the creatures that sprung from Mercy’s sculpted flesh.

The sorcerer flattened their foot against the ground, stilling the rock of the chair. Mercy leaned over in the chair, the nails on their right hand growing unnaturally long and sharp. They ignored the weight of the silver chain wrapped tightly around their wrist as they held their hand out. The tips of two nails pressed against the soft skin of one the throat of one of the sleeping twins. It would have been a mercy to kill them. 

It would be a mercy to kill them. 

Mercy’s jaw clenched as they pulled their hand away, hand returning to normal. They pulled it against their chest, then leaned back in the chair, putting distance between them and the Bhaalspawn.

The memories of the birth were laced with the aroma of life and death, permeating with the heavy scent of blood. Mercy could smell it, as though they were still on the makeshift bed of sheets, bleeding out in front of the dying fire, their wretched brain struggling to stay connected to their suffering body. They were alone. 

They were scared.

As they delivered the first child, the sorcerer screamed and sobbed, a choice with their body once more taken from them. It was an anguish momentarily stifled when they had been sure the little girl, a tiefling with a tail just like Mercy’s, had arrived stillborn. The relief was quickly devoured by the pain and surprise of the twin ready to claw her way into the world. The second girl - more Elf than Tiefling - had the sorcerer’s talons, nails distended into hard, unnatural points. 

There was so much blood.

A firm hand on their shoulder shook Mercy from the grip of their disconnected memories, forcing them back into the body that had failed them, and back into the moment. The sorcerer tensed, electricity sparking in their hand defensively. Their lips turned down into a snarl as they turned their gaze toward the man now standing beside them.

Astarion’s thick brow arched, but he kept the hand on Mercy’s shoulder. He rubbed it with his thumb, soothing out the tension with the familiarity. The sorcerer slowly lowered their raised hackles, relaxing into the comforting touch. They averted their gaze, the blue electricity around their hand discharging with the flashes of three motes of light.

“What are you doing?” Astarion’s voice was level, lacking any of his usual theatrics and laced with exhaustion. Dark circles darkened his tired, sunken eyes. His eyes were dull, lacking the usual light reflecting from his piercing gaze. His angular face was gaunt, the hard lines etched with equal parts concern and frustration that followed him since he found Mercy half dead on the floor of their home.

Worry knitted Mercy’s brows together, chest tightening with shame. They pursed their lips into a tight line, searching his eyes for any sign of judgment, but all they saw was the reflection of themself. The sorcerer quickly averted their gaze.

Astarion sighed as he ran his hand across their shoulder and down their arm, drawing out the contact before he finally pulled away. “I’m not judging you,” he assured them. “I just know you wouldn't be proud of that choice.” 

“Maybe, but we don’t have many other options.” The sorcerer sounded small, their voice deflated to a lower octave. 

It was a conversation they had before, one the two found themselves stuck in whenever Mercy found themself spiraling in their self-doubt. Too much innocent blood stained their tainted hands for them to be useful for anything but spilling more blood. Giving life and raising it was not something suitable for hands skilled and trained in the art of murder. Their Urges were gone, but a part of them still found satisfaction in a good hunt, in feeling the life of someone who deserved it fading beneath their hand. 

However, there weren’t many options for the newborn Bhaalspawn. Leaving them in the care of another would just spell disaster. The thought was accompanied by the image of their own unsuspecting adoptive parents, the young couple’s blood spilled, bodies savaged by Mercy’s adolescent hand, laid out in offering to a God that would never love them.

“There are options, though,” Astarion cut in, the heel of his boot clicked against the wood of the porch flooring as he circled around the sorcerer, then crouched down in front of them. He took their left hand in his own, holding Mercy tightly when the sorcerer refused to meet his gaze.

For a moment, Mercy let him hold their hand, the two sitting in silence as the sorcerer mulled over his words. “I don’t think you realize how slim our options are,” they finally spoke up, pulling their hand away to rest their arms on the rocking chair’s armrests. They kept their gaze lowered for a moment, then finally lifted their bright irises to meet Astarion’s.

“Please,” Astarion dragged out the word, eyes narrowing as his tone sharpened. “Don’t act like I’m being naive. I was picking through slimmer options before you even graced this planet with your presence, my love,” his voice softened, as did his gaze, as the pet name fell from his lips. “I think you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be right now.” 

The sorcerer shrunk beneath the jab. They balled their hands into tight fists and glanced at the sleeping beasties disguised by the innocence of infancy. They remained silent, struggling to put their worries into words. Instead, they turned their wide, uncertain gaze toward Astarion, searching his own for anything to quell the tide of emotions storming inside.

Astarion seemed to understand whatever Mercy left unsaid. He inclined his head, lips pursing as he thought for a moment, then placed his hands on their thighs. He gave the sorcerer a comforting squeeze. “We have a plan. It’s not ideal, but it is a plan.” He paused, eyes glossing over, clearly still distancing himself from whatever fears were making a home in his husk. “Besides. If it doesn’t work out, we can always circle back.”

Mercy watched him closely, still tense, but weighing his words. It was a difficult circumstance he clearly understood, but the hope he had for their flimsy plan had the sorcerer leaning into the comfort he offered. They tugged the sleeves of their cloak down, covering the silver hanging dangerously from their right wrist, before reaching out to cup Astarion's cheeks. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, his cheek cold against the palm of the sorcerer's hand. 

He turned his head to kiss the inside of their palm before pushing himself up onto his feet. "I was being honest when I said I think they deserve a chance. I'm not a monster." Astarion offered Mercy his hand. Once the sorcerer took it, he helped them up onto their feet. "I don't want the little beasts…but they're already here. It'd be different if we had some warning and could…nip it in the bud, so to speak." 

Mercy found reassurance in the admission. They gave his hand a grateful squeeze, communicating their gratitude silently as the sorcerer turned their gaze towards the infants. "Okay…" They nodded to themself, trying to find the resolve needed to move forward. "We should leave soon, then. I don't want to waste time finding you a place to stay before the sun rises."

Astarion twirled two fingers with a playful flourish over to where their bags were packed and waiting outside the entryway. "I'm ready when you are, my love."

Mercy smiled at that, though it faltered when they spoke. "Do you want to carry them?"

Astarion's own expression went cold. "Respectfully, my dear. No. For once, I would rather carry the bags." 

Mercy found themself snickering at him. They covered their mouth with their hand, hiding the smile behind their sleeve. Astarion's own expression seemed to relax as he watched them. The sorcerer found themself clearing their throat, suddenly self-conscious. "Fine. I’ll take…Tail and Talons."

"Tail and- Gods above. They're going to need names," Astarion groaned with annoyance. "Better names. Tail and Talons." He shook his head with faux haughty disapproval as he walked over to their bags and pulled out some fabric to make a wrap with.

"It works. I don't see you coming up with anything better." Mercy shrugged, brow arching with the exasperation seeping into their expression.

“Honestly, it's because I’d rather not,” Astarion cut in with an airy giggle meant to disguise his creeping discomfort. 

"Well, I'm not naming them." They crouched down by the basin the infants were in and collected both in their arms, not afraid to disturb the sleeping beasts. 

Astarion just chuckled, shaking his head as he held the fabric out and began to help the sorcerer secure the twins to their torso. They were a firm, cold weight against Mercy’s body. The sorcerer grimaced, shifting their weight around on their feet uncomfortably.

Astarion watched Mercy closely, focusing his keen perception on the wrap. Once he was satisfied with how secure the twins were, he folded his arms and turned his attention back to Mercy. A smug, half-smirk tugged at one corner of his lips when he met the sorcerer’s gaze. “Cute,” he quipped.

With a soft huff, Mercy rolled their eyes at him. A soft, rosy flush in their pale, blue cheeks betrayed the sorcerer’s feigned annoyance. Astarion snickered to himself as he moved to collect the two hastily packed bags. He slung one over his back before digging through one of the pouches of the other. He pulled out an amulet hanging from a gold chain. He shouldered the second bag, then offered the necklace to his partner.

The pendant was circular with a hinged cover plating the top. Mercy took the enchanted item and popped the top, revealing an interior mechanism shaped like the face of a clock. Instead of numbers, gems in different colors lined the edge of the exposed face of the mechanism. The sorcerer took a claw and gently nudged the hand at the center around, pointing it to the emerald.

“Ready?” Mercy flashed a small smile, flashing their sharp, predatory teeth. 

With a firm nod, Astarion moved closer, fitting himself to his partner’s side. An arm draped loosely around Mercy’s waist. The sorcerer leaned into the touch as they gently closed the cover on the necklace. Rays of a spectrum of green lights glistened playfully from within the mechanism. The light began to extend out in pulses. 

Mercy’s own magic manifested, blue electricity crackling around their body, static adding weight to the air, then discharged out in sparks that raced out and across the property, before eventually diving into the earth. Invisible lines etched beneath the property came to life, Mercy’s magic tracing the inscription until the magic circle was fully alive.

The transportation circle beneath them was bright, its blue light a beacon in the dead of the night. Astarion’s arm tightened around Mercy’s waist, pulling them tighter against him as the magic began to change the scenery around them. The dark forestline rippled, then faded away like water colors. The dark silhouette of the forest was replaced by dull brick buildings and stone walkways. The crisp, sharp scent of Autumn was replaced by the pungent aroma of city life. Baldur’s Gate sprawled out around them, filling the landscape where the forest had filled the endless expanse of the periphery of their world. 

Mercy slipped the necklace around their neck. Astarion moved in tandem, easily becoming an extension of the sorcerer’s body. He gently took Mercy’s braid and guided it over the chain, then let it hang loosely behind the sorcerer. Mercy glanced at him, appreciation apparent in the momentary softness of their expression. It was quick, a moment of comfort, before their eyes narrowed and they steeled themself once more.

The pendant - a gift from Gale shortly after the gathering at Withers’s request - had placed them in front of the Elfsong Tavern. The building stood in its familiarity, almost like it was frozen in time. Ivy still crept along the gutters and draped down the wood and stone. The lively noises of mortals relishing the joys of the night filled the night air.

“Ah. The smell of home,” Astarion commented with a displeased pout, nose wrinkled. His hand twisted in the fabric of Mercy’s cloak, betraying the way his body was tensing.

Mercy patted the hand awkwardly, then settled theirs on top of his own. Mercy interlocked their fingers with Astarion’s. The sorcerer's clawed digits curled, fingertips pressing into the palm of his hand. They gave him the grace of silence, allowing him to feel whatever was beginning to stir within him, and took the lead. With feigned confidence, the sorcerer guided Astarion towards the entrance of the tavern.

Mercy pulled their hand away as they pushed the door open, then slowly pried themself from the arm wrapped around them. When he released the robe, he followed at the sorcerer’s heel. Inside the tavern, the dirtier scents of the city were replaced with the fragrance of spilled mead and stewed meat. A fire roared in a nearby fireplace, chasing away the night air and blanketing the interior in a welcoming warmth. The two caught the stray glances of a few of the tavern patrons, their eyes never lingering long on the infant sleeping against Mercy’s chest once they caught the sorcerer’s expression: a cold glare and slight curl of their lip, baring dangerously sharp teeth.

The tip of Mercy’s tail flicked with frustration as they approached the bar near the back of the building. Behind the bar’s structure, the barkeep was filling a mug with mead from a large barrel behind them. He placed it down on the polished tabletop and slid it across to a large, hardy woman enjoying the evening in solitude. When his gaze met Mercy’s, his eyes lit with recognition and a little bit of fear despite the babies strapped to the sorcerer’s body.

A smirk played at the corner of Mercy’s lips at the thrill of being feared. They sauntered over to the bar, confidence in their gait. “Good. You remember me.” They placed one arm against the bartop and flashed a shark-like smile.

The barkeep stood straight, body tensing. His eyes narrowed until his fearful gaze became a defensive glare. “I thought we were rid of you two.”

Astarion laughed, full bodied and mocking, as he laid both forearms against the bartop and leaned over. “That’s on you for being so hopeful.” He smirked, his crimson eyes shining with vicious playfulness. 

Mercy glanced up at Astarion, locking their gaze with his to read whatever play it was he was about to make. They could see a playful confidence in his dangerous smile, like he was certain he knew what strings to play on the barkeep. They inclined their head, a subtle nod of understanding, before dragging their gaze, slow and deliberate, back to the barkeep. “We need a room,” they stated plainly. 

The barkeep glanced between the two, then down at the infant strapped to the front of Mercy’s torso. The sorcerer’s smile faltered, a scowl threatening to twist their features as they dared the barkeep to say anything. He clearly thought twice, eyes quickly rising to look at Astarion, too afraid to meet Mercy’s gaze. “Fine. T-Two-hundred a night,” he stammered.

Astarion was quick to cut in, ready to take over. Mercy happily obliged, content to sit back and watch as the rogue began to run his mouth. “Two hundred a night for your dear old friends?” 

The barkeep laughed at that, though his voice wavered, confidence only temporarily boosted before he caught sight of Mercy’s cutting glare. He cleared his throat. “Two-hundred a night or find another place to sleep.”

Astarion feigned a scandalized expression. His hand flew up to cover his heart. “You would kick the Hero of Baldur’s Gate to the street? With their newborns?” He was intentionally loud, drawing more attention than necessary, but he knew how to milk a situation for all it was worth. “Have you no heart?”

Mercy could feel Astarion’s smug satisfaction when the barkeep stammered, shrinking under stray glances from suddenly interested patrons. The barkeep glanced between the sorcerer and the rogue, then finally deflated entirely. “Fine. Gods, fine.” He turned to the keys hanging on the wall behind him. He grabbed one, then tossed it onto the counter, a little afraid to get too close to Mercy.

The sorcerer exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring with the force as they snatched up the key. “Next time, just give us the damn key,” they growled. They eyed him for a moment, delighting in the way the barkeep froze, breath caught in his throat. Mercy shook their head, snorting at the man’s pathetic display as they turned away from the bar.

Astarion waved a playful goodbye before turning on his heel and following after his partner. He reached out to grip onto the back of their cloak, keeping close as the two made their way up to the room. The weight of the beasts pressed on either side of Mercy’s being, holding them in the present when the familiar halls began to stir memories of longing, of memories of greatly missed friends and their ironclad bonds forged in the fires of circumstance.

Astarion took the key from Mercy’s hand. He glanced at the number engraved onto it, then moved ahead to guide the sorcerer. He paused outside the room with the matching number; the room that once belonged to Duke Stelmane. “Are you kidding me?” He frowned, glancing between the key and the door.

Mercy bumped his arm with their shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s a free room,” they reminded him. “A little death in the air will make us feel more at home. It’ll be fine.” 

A little laugh drifted past the smile parting his pretty lips. Astarion inclined his head as he unlocked the door. “You’re right. Silly me.” He pushed the door open, then moved to allow Mercy to enter first. “Just do me a favor and don’t drink anything you find in the room.” 

“Why? A little poison in my wine could be quite the treat.” The sorcerer passed the threshold quickly, then ventured further into the private room.

The room had been cleaned and mostly refurbished, but returned to what the sorcerer assumed was the room’s prior state. Before Stelmane’s untimely demise. The stench of death that once clung to the floorboards was gone. The bloodstained boards were ripped up, replaced with fresh wood to hide the horrors that happened within those four walls. Mercy stood in the center of the room, a little surprised by how little of Duke Stelmane’s death - and of the life she lived there - remained in the room. 

The click of the door’s lock sliding into place was an aberration in the silence that fell across the room. Mercy turned, attention honing in on Astarion. He was still in his own thoughts, his gaze cast down as he lifted a hand and carded his fingers through his loose curls. The strands straightened with the pull of his fingers, but immediately bounced back into their perfect coils, as though they had been untouched. 

The sorcerer watched in awe, momentarily stricken by his beauty. A moment that quickly faded when they felt Tail begin to stir. Mercy’s heart stopped, gaze falling down to the little girl resting against their chest. The twins had slept through the last two days, their bodies more like little corpses than newborns. Neither of the twins had opened their eyes once since they were born. It was creepy, but Mercy was appreciative of the peace that came with the beasts’ unnatural slumber.

The sorcerer exhaled their relief when Tail fell still. Mercy’s shoulders slumped under the weight of the children hanging from them. “Fuck…that was close.” They rolled their neck, then turned their attention back to Astarion.

Astarion was watching just as closely, only relaxing when Mercy caught his gaze. He dropped both bags to the ground. “Well, then…” He pursed his lips with a brief pause. “Would you like to get some rest before sunrise?”

“No. I can’t wait until sunrise.” Mercy’s brows furrowed, restlessness creeping under their skin as they looked down at the sleeping Tail. The sorcerer couldn’t wait any longer. Two days with their thoughts had been enough and they were ready to pounce into action.

Astarion blinked slowly, a little rattled by what he couldn’t decide was fearlessness or stupidity. “May I suggest not waking an owlbear while it's sleeping?”

“You may, but I’m not guaranteed to consider the input.” Mercy extended out a hand with their palm facing up. “The key.”

Stupidity, Astarion decided with a pause, then produced the key from his pocket. He curled his fingers around theiron, holding it against his palm as he set his closed knuckles against Mercy’s outstretched hand. 

“If you’re going to be impatient, I am coming along.” He released the key, then moved to press his palm flat against Mercy’s. He laced their fingers together. “Better odds for you if she has two targets of her ire.” 

“Fine.” Mercy sighed, but acquiesced. They leaned over, giving the back of his hand a quick, grateful kiss, then turned their hands over so the weight of the key fell into Astarion’s palm. The sorcerer withdrew their empty hand, arm falling to relax at their side. “If you’re joining me, make yourself useful and take Talons.”

“Ugh.” Astarion’s face scrunched dramatically with his visible discomfort. Despite the theatrics, he wasted no time circling around his partner. He carefully unwrapped the child anchored to Mercy’s back, lifting the small waist and cradling it awkwardly against his chest. He kept his mirthless gaze on the sorcerer. “Jaheira is not going to be happy about this.”

[lothricknightgirl]

Yo, Lancerblr

Figured I'd toss a few of these your way, grab some feedback. Haven't actually had a chance to play and stress test 'em yet, so I've got no clue how they'd fare in a combat situation, or if any of them are any good, really. Just threw together what I felt'd be neat in concept.

Even if this only gets one or two notes, I'm fine with that. Just felt like sharin'.

Personally, my favorite's split between Carrion Courier and Fog.

Beware, there are a LOT of words beneath the thing. Like, a-lot-a-lot-a-lot.

Here's Jane Doe, callsign Misnomer, with her mech Fog. She's a favorite, if you couldn't tell. Wanted for knowing a helluva lot more than she should and stealing a truly remarkable amount of prototype tech.

Mech Note:

"It's in the clouds! It's in the goddamn clouds!"

"Bank right, bank right, fuckfuckfuck FUCK-"

"I can't see, it's screaming, why is it so loud-"

"Sensors dead, I'm falling, shit, can't pull up!"

"Come into my parlor, said the crow to the spider to the fly."

» Jane Doe // MISNOMER « Spec Ops, LL9 [ SKILL TRIGGERS ] Act Unseen or Unheard (+6), Charm (+4), Get a Hold of Something (+2), Pull Rank (+2), Show Off (+2), Stay Cool (+6), Survive (+4) [ GEAR ] Light Hardsuit, Light Signature, Light A/C, Corrective, SSC Sylph Undersuit, Subjectivity-Enhancement Suite [ BOND ] THE BROKER Powers: SPIDER, CONTINGENCY PLANS, THE LEDGER

[ TALENTS ] Technophile 3, Hacker 2, Infiltrator 2, Ace 2, Skirmisher 2, Empath 1 [ LICENSES ] HORUS Goblin 2, HORUS Lich 1, IPS-N Caliban 3, SSC Dusk Wing 1, SSC Atlas 2 [ CORE BONUSES ] Kai Bioplating, Improved Armament, Mount Retrofitting [ MECH ] « FOG » IPS-N Caliban H:2 A:5 S:4 E:0 SIZE:0.5 STRUCTURE:4/4 HP:15/15 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4/4 HEAT:0/5 REPAIR:6/6 ATK BONUS:5 TECH ATK:2 LTD BONUS:0 SPD:5 EVA:13 EDEF:12 SENS:3 SAVE:16 [ WEAPONS ] INTEGRATED MOUNT: HHS-075 “Flayer” Shotgun FLEX MOUNT: Autopod / Thermal Pistol // Mount Retrofitting HEAVY MOUNT: HHS-155 CANNIBAL [ SYSTEMS ] Wandering Nightmare, Rapid Maneuver Jets, Neurospike, H0R_OS System Upgrade II, H0R_OS System Upgrade I

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And here we have Jane's former co-worker/war-buddy/mortal-enemy, John Blackacre, piloting the Carrion Courier. Spider-cowboy-mech. All the auxiliaries, all the close range brawl.

Mech Note:

"Okay, he's reloading, we can-"

SPANG-

"Okay, now he's reloading, get-"

SPANGSPANG-

"... Wait for it."

KERTHUNK, SCHERKERTHOOM-

"And he's reloaded. Fuck."

"How many of those things does he have?"

"... One, two, three-"

"Oh, christ."

» John Blackacre // SPUR « Spec Ops, LL9 [ SKILL TRIGGERS ] Act Unseen or Unheard (+4), Blow Something Up (+2), Charm (+2), Get Somewhere Quickly (+6), Read a Situation (+4), Stay Cool (+6), Word on the Street (+2) [ GEAR ] Assault Hardsuit, Archaic Melee, Light Signature, Smart Scope, Frag Grenades, Thermite Charge [ BOND ] THE WOLF Powers: GO FOR A WALK, BLOOD SCENT, POUNCE

[ TALENTS ] Gunslinger 3, Combined Arms 3, Exemplar 2, Tactician 2, Bonded 1, Grease Monkey 1 [ LICENSES ] IPS-N Raleigh 3, IPS-N Blackbeard 3, HA Iskander 1, HA Barbarossa 1, HA Genghis 1 [ CORE BONUSES ] Gyges Frame, Integrated Weapon, Mount Retrofitting [ MECH ] « CARRION COURIER » IPS-N Raleigh H:2 A:3 S:0 E:6 SIZE:1 STRUCTURE:4 HP:21 ARMOR:1 STRESS:4 HEAT:0 REPAIR:6 ATK BONUS:5 TECH ATK:-1 LTD BONUS:3 SPD:5 EVA:11 EDEF:7 SENS:10 SAVE:15 [ WEAPONS ] INTEGRATED MOUNT: M35 Mjolnir INTEGRATED WEAPON: Chain Axe / Hand Cannon // Mount Retrofitting AUX/AUX MOUNT: Hand Cannon / Stub Cannon FLEX MOUNT: Hand Cannon / Hand Cannon HEAVY MOUNT: Kinetic Hammer [ SYSTEMS ] “Roland” Chamber, Grounding Charges, “Roller” Directed Payload Charges, Reinforced Cabling, Personalizations

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And here we have Anne Queen, codename Wreken, former pirate warlord and currently freelance mercenary. Finds both Jane and John creepy as all get-out-of-fuck and yet enjoys scaring the shit out of grunts. Absolutely charming.

Mech Note:

Exerpt from training exercise no.55638, JUN-30, 0537, begin play::>>

"... Hey, where'd squad five go?"

The sergeant answers with another question. "Y'see that big red circle that just popped up on your map reticle, private?"

"...Yessir."

The old Tortuga's head nods and extends a hand, holding up five fingers, slowly putting them down one after the other.

On the final finger, thunder splits the skies in the distance, once, twice, thrice, and then with a final sundering THOOM, the circle disappears, along with the markers within it denoting the remains of squad 8.

"Oh."

The older mech crosses its arms. "Yes, private. Oh."

Out of the corner of his eye, his face lights up red, and he feels the color drain from it.

"We're in the circle, sergeant."

The sergeant nods, again. "Correct, private. Now, what we do in this situation?"

He doesn't even wait for the order. The circle was very, very, very big, and his Saladin's legs weren't the fastest.

» Anne Queen // WREKEN « Outlaw, LL9 [ SKILL TRIGGERS ] Act Unseen or Unheard (+2), Assault (+6), Blow Something Up (+6), Pull Rank (+2), Stay Cool (+4), Survive (+6) [ GEAR ] Light Hardsuit, Heavy Signature, Heavy A/C, Frag Grenades, Stims, Thermite Charge [ BOND ] THE TITAN Powers: TRUE GRIT, NOTHING TO FUCK WITH, ABSOLUTE MEAT

[ TALENTS ] House Guard 3, Siege Specialist 3, Heavy Gunner 3, Walking Armory 3 [ LICENSES ] HA Barbarossa 3, IPS-N Caliban 1, IPS-N Raleigh 2, IPS-N Drake 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Integrated Ammo Feeds, Briareos Frame, Reinforced Frame [ MECH ] « WARSPITE » HA Barbarossa H:5 A:1 S:0 E:5 SIZE:3 STRUCTURE:4 HP:30 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4 HEAT:0 REPAIR:6 ATK BONUS:5 TECH ATK:-2 LTD BONUS:4 SPD:2 EVA:7 EDEF:6 SENS:10 SAVE:15 [ WEAPONS ] INTEGRATED MOUNT: Apocalypse Rail MAIN MOUNT: Mortar MAIN MOUNT: Mortar HEAVY MOUNT: Howitzer [ SYSTEMS ] Ammo Case III, External Ammo Feed, Autoloader Drone, “Roland” Chamber, Siege Stabilizers, Armament Redundancy

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This is Cal Dera, callsign Crepescule. Nothing about her is reminiscent of faint rays of sunlight, more akin to its boiling surface. She specializes in punching straight through the frontline and making herself a very large fucking problem for everybody involved behind it. Walk into her zone? Melt. Attempt to go around or leave it? Get shotgunned to death.

Mech Note:

The 'tech stares. "What the fuck."

His co-shift nods. "Yeah, that tends to be what people say when they see her for the first time."

"I can feel the fucking heat from here, and we're behind triple reinforced walls in a vacuum. It's not even on yet?"

The co-shift shakes his head. "Nope. Reactor's not even burning yet."

"How the hell does this thing work near civilian centers?"

The co-shift paused in his preparations before eventually offering two words. "It doesn't."

He felt his mouth dry. "Ah."

» Cal Dera // CREPESCULE « Freelancer, LL9 [ SKILL TRIGGERS ] Assault (+6), Blow Something Up (+2), Spot (+4), Take Control (+6), Threaten (+6), Word on the Street (+2) [ GEAR ] Assault Hardsuit, Medium Signature, Heavy A/C, Thermite Charge, Personal Drone, Stims [ BOND ] THE PATHFINDER Powers: FREESOUL, LIGHTSPEED, MOMENTUM

[ TALENTS ] Ace 3, Vanguard 3, Nuclear Cavalier 2, Spaceborn 2, Pankrati 2 [ LICENSES ] HA Genghis 3, IPS-N Blackbeard 3, IPS-N Nelson 2, IPS-N Tortuga 1 [ CORE BONUSES ] Superior by Design, Reinforced Frame, Sloped Plating [ MECH ] « BEHEMOTH » HA “Worldkiller” Genghis Mk I H:3 A:0 S:2 E:6 SIZE:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:22 ARMOR:4 STRESS:4 HEAT:0 REPAIR:5 ATK BONUS:5 TECH ATK:0 LTD BONUS:3 SPD:3 EVA:6 EDEF:10 SENS:5 SAVE:15 [ WEAPONS ] MAIN MOUNT: SUPERHEAVY WEAPON BRACING MAIN MOUNT: Deck-Sweeper Automatic Shotgun HEAVY MOUNT: Plasma Thrower [ SYSTEMS ] Spaceborn EVA, Explosive Vents, Auto-Cooler, AGNI-Class NHP, Reinforced Cabling, Siege Ram

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And since this is already quite fucking long, I think I'm going to stop here and leave whoever's willing to read through this word-vomit-spaghetti to chew through it.

Ciao, all. Let me know if any of these sound feasible, if you want.

[foximator-blog]

do you find it odd that zap and thumpback are the only water skylanders who actually swim

slam bam and chill surf on ice

gill grunt flies over it with his jetpack

and wham shell just propels himself with the mace

Actually before you get the Jetpack upgrade, Gill Grunt also swims. It's weird but it makes sense.

Slam bam is usually scared of water and Chill is wearing heavy armor so it makes Sense they'd form Ice to float on.

And most crabs usually walk along the bottom of bodies of water, and the animation is silly for Wham-shell.

Personally if crossing bodies of water was still a thing in future games, these are my head canons for how the other water skylanders would traverse, without including OCs.

Swimmers: Punk shock, Wash buckler (anyone using his legs besides him has a bubble form over the top half to protect them), Echo, Snapshot, Lob-star, Gulper, Dive-Clops, Kingpen, Water Imaginators (with different swimming animations based on Battle class)

Ice: Freeze blade (but instead he's just freezing the water as he skates over it), Chill Bill

Other: Riptide (Summons a big fish to ride on), Flip wreck (has his weird flight ability with his shield), Slobber trap (makes a slobber bubble to float in), Brawl n Chain (summons swim floaties to help him float about), Threat pack (already flying), Cross Crow (Summons crows to carry him), Tide pool (Summons her mini whale to ride on), Grave Clobber (Just floats like a corpse).

Honorable mention to Nightfall, Splat, and Big Bubble Popfizz, who aren't water types but still use sea vehicles. Splat creates a bridge of oil paint beneath her (oil floats on water after all), Popfizz creates a bubble, and Nightfall just swims, cause she's a badass who dives deep down to fight sea monsters.