#but they were offering MONEY and I am a simple creature

[gothams-fave-weirdo]

Hey guys if you suddenly see some rumors that the Wayne’s are the Gotham vigilantes it wasn’t me, nor did I have anything to do with it. Nope. Nothing at all.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: Toys w/ Roommate!Spencer Reid (ft. Camgirl!Reader)

a/n: I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEDDDDD writing for this concept like you have no idea like - i am genuinely thinking about making these two their own couple because i feel like they have so much potential.

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

Spencer knew exactly what the package that he held in his shaky hands was. The packaging was anything but discreet, and there was also the fact that he knew what you did for a living.

Though your camming brought in a hefty amount of money, you didn't really buy a lot of things online unless they were special requests from your highest payers, or your paypigs — but those were a whole other can of worms.

You weren't secretive about your job nor did you ever shy away from it if it ever got brought up in a conversation. Maybe that's why Spencer liked living with you, because you were so carefree, either that be with your body or your sexuality. You were just so… confident. 

There was also because he had the fattest crush on you, and sometimes you'd exit your room with an apology already on the tip of your tongue just in case you were too loud. You always delivered these apologies with a knowing smirk though, especially after giving your flustered roommate a once-over.

You knew how men worked, they were simple creatures, really. No matter how different Spencer was, personality or intelligence wise, he had one thing in common with every other male on the planet: he has a dick, and most of the time — or in Spencer's case on some occasions — they think with them. 

You knew exactly what you were doing by leaving the package that contained your newest vibrating wand out for Spencer to see. You wanted him to bring it to you, and when he did — which you know he will — you'll give him an offer that you knew he wouldn't refuse.

"Hey, uh, ______?" Spencer called out as his knuckles knocked against the wood of your bedroom door. You smirked in excitement, loosening your robe around your chest so that your cleavage showed.

You opened the door with a faux innocent smile, "Yes, Spencie?" You asked sweetly. His eyes fell to the soft skin of your breasts, then allowing his gaze to travel behind you where his eyes settled on your phone raised on a tripod and the large lights pointed at your bed. 

The gulp that he swallowed could almost be considered cartoonish, and he prayed to whatever was out there that you didn't hear it; but you did, of course, and it only fueled the fire that raged in your gut for your genius roommate.

"This was um— was on the front porch and I figured you might need… it." His voice trailed off as he rambled nervously, his gaze not quite meeting your eyes. You pretended to be shocked. "Oh my goodness, It came in! I was worried there for a sec!" You reached out to grab it, allowing your fingers to skim the skin of his hand.

Your touch left a scorching burn behind, the man almost snatching his hand away from yours.

"I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to keep my promise to my followers." You said with a fake pout. "Well— I-I'm glad you're able to." He said heavily, his cock stirring awake in his pants at the idea. 

You gave him a once over before finally locking eyes with him. 

"I think you deserve a reward for bringing this to me…" You let the tips of your digits skim his chest teasingly. "A- a reward?" He all but squeaked. "Mhm." You nodded. "How about you come and try this out with me, hm? Put on a show for my fans." You offered with a bat of your eyelashes.

He found himself nodding like a lunatic, "Yeah! Yeah, okay." 

This was such a bad idea and Spencer knew it. He was a federal agent for God sake! And he was about to have his naked body — his dick! On the internet; but if he was doing it with you… it didn't seem all that bad.

And all that bad it definitely was not.

You were laid on your back, Spencer hovering over your upper body with the wand settled on your clit. Your loud moans and whines were swallowed by his lips, though the loud wet squelching from between your legs was emphasized by the heavy vibrations stimulating it.

Today, you were doing a faceless cam for Spencer's comfort, and most of your subscribers were turned on by the anonymity, even some female and male viewers gawking and commenting about how hot Spencer and you were together.

"You— you see that baby?" You manage to stutter through the pleasure that coursed through your veins. You forced him to turn his head and look at what the viewers were saying about him.

"They think you're so pretty, honey." You cooed, your fingers running themselves through his hair. He whimpered at your praise and the others, his face turning an adorable rosy pink.

"Aw! You're making him shy, you guys!" You whimpered out, hips jumping off the mattress as Spencer pressed the toy harder against your bundle of nerves. "Ah— fuck!" You cried out, your back arching.

"'M not shy." He said with a pout. 

He took vengeance on you by running the toy up and down your cunt, occasionally hovering over your entrance before solely focusing on your clit once again. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" There were tears streaming down your face as you attempted to ride the toy, your plush thighs quivering and clenching around Spencer's arm. 

Whenever you attempted to close your legs, he would only spread them open again.

"Don't wanna disappoint your fans now do we, Angel? Not when they've been so nice to you." Nice meaning the fuck-load of money that's been getting repeatedly transfered to your bank account. 

"No… no! 'Don't wanna…" You mewled.

"Good girl." He whispered and placed a deep kiss on your lips.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— just for tonight, i don’t hate you + katsuki bakugou.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — when there’s a bounty over your head and a reward for your safe return to your soon-to-be husband and future king, touya todoroki… you should be mindful of who you fall for. you should pretend to hate the man who seeks the prize money you’d bring. and the dragon prince, katsuki bakugou, should probably do the same.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, smut, angst, arguments, one-bed trope, enemies to lovers, love confessions, arranged marriages, fingering, marking, biting, scratching creampies, hair pulling, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, slight!infidelity, fantasy!au, fem!reader, dragon prince!bakugou.

⭑ words — 2.8K.

⭑ notes — happy valentine’s day my sweets!! here’s a precious little fic for you, a commission from the darling @peonies-and-teacakes and beta read by @yuki-no-akumu !! i hope you guys enjoy and remember that ily <3 mwah mwah !! - m.list ✩

“s-sir…i am so sorry.”

don’t. 

“t-there’s been some kind of mistake!”

don’t you say it.

“unfortunately the room at our inn you’d requested for tonight has been double booked…”

don’t you dare say it.

“we can only offer you the alternative which is a single bed, again sir, i-i’m so sorry.” 

it’s not the clerk’s fault, it’s a simple mistake that anyone could make at an inn located in one of the busiest travelling towns in all of Aethopia— but it shouldn’t have happened to katsuki bakugou. it’s the worst thing that could have ever happened to katsuki bakugou. “you gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” the dragon prince snarls, almost resembling the mystical creature acting as his tribe’s crest— teeth white, sharp and menacingly on display. “all this fuckin’ coin spent on a useless, shitty inn ‘nd you can’t even book the right room?”

the clerk shrinks back, visibly shaken as they hand over a set of room keys to the blonde. “s-so sorry! s-sir!” they add timidly, flinching as they clatter into bakugou’s palm and he snatches the metal away from them.

“sorry ain’t gonna cut it, what a waste of my coin! i ain’t ever comin’ back to this shithole.” he continues to snap, and with a swish of his red woven cape, bakugou’s gone— storming away and outside of the reception, filled with enough rage to fan the flames of a dragon’s fire. you’re waiting for him with his horse, tending to it as he steps into the cool outside. the forest trees sway with the prince’s arrival but don’t do anything to distract you from running your fingers to the snow-white coloured steed. 

you’re beautiful and that angers katsuki. you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen in all of the moons he’s existed— you shine under the light of the silver crescent, as if glitter is speckled all over your skin or you’re covered in a layer of diamonds.

your smile as his horse chuffs and nudges you with its head is precious, more valuable than any gem found in this world’s greatest mines. your dress isn’t made out of the finest materials, but it fits perfectly around your sweet dips and curves— it’s pretty. you’re pretty. there’s something about you that makes a mess of katsuki’s pulse, that steals his breath away and he hates you for it. 

you’re supposed to be an ordinary girl, you’re supposed to be just a pile of coin to him— a reward for returning you, prince touya of Ignis’ runaway bride. there was a hefty bounty hanging over your head for your safe return to his royal highness’ side, for you were to be the tool that helped to clean up prince touya’s act and get him prepared for kingship. again, you weren’t meant to be anything more to katsuki, in fact, if he had to he would force himself to despise you— you make him miserable, he has to remind himself that you’re just a prize. nothing more, nothing less. 

despite the blonde’s plan to have you back in the hands of the todoroki family— he’s had his doubts. rumour has it that touya todoroki, better known to lesser folk as dabi, is an evil brute. one with little regard to the women he’s kept or invited up to his royal chambers. other whispers on the street have mentioned that you were a spoiled little village girl from within their kingdom, refusing the life the todoroki’s were to offer you. 

that was another reason for bakugou to hate you— you were a brat that ran away because touya wouldn’t feed you with a silver spoon, because he was the first man in your existence to be unkind and you couldn’t find it in yourself to put up with it despite being set for the rest of your life. 

katsuki bakugou of the dragon tribe had found you just outside of his territory— half dead, your clothes torn and a second away from being hunted by the mythical monsters that prowled them. you resented him, for what he did next. you had the audacity to be mad at the dragon prince for saving your life and nursing you back to health. you blame him for the miserable outcomes of your life and for having his heart set on returning you back to touya todoroki, blaming him for it all.

at the time, the pair of you had argued. bakugou had called you a stupids and naive little girl— who wouldn’t want to be married to a future king? you wouldn’t have a single thing to worry about if you did, your every need would be taken care of without you even asking. you wouldn’t have to kill for your next meal, worry about when or where you could sleep next, spend every day fighting for survival. clearly you both had different views on the world, and what should have been gratefulness turned into hatred.

bakugou had tied your wrists, dragged you kicking and screaming back on the route straight to the todoroki castle— reuniting you with your Prince Charming. so far, you’d made this journey hell, almost cost him fights and got him in trouble with clients or employers. you were embarrassing.

and in your eyes? katsuki was your fairytale villain. he was a selfish, ugly bastard who wouldn’t let you steal your freedom, all for some money. you hated bakugou with every fibre of your being and every ounce of your heart and he knew. he knew this, but that didn’t make it any easier to handle when you look at him like his every step scorches the earth.

scowl at him like you do now.

like he was the most awful man in the world. like he was touya. who he had heard from stories didn’t handle women in the best of ways.

“what, ya still mad at me, princess?” bakugou asks as he approaches you, the twigs snapping under his boots grabbing your attention. 

before arriving at the inn, the dragon wielder had told you that you were a useless airhead— one that couldn’t survive on her own and needed a man to save her. you’d slapped him hard without hesitation and neither of you’d spoken until now. “of course i am, don’t ask stupid questions, you barbarian,” you spit harshly, turning back to the horse at hand. “did you get the room? i’m tired and sick of looking at your face.” 

he almost flinches back to avoid being hit by your venomous words but instead retaliates. “i did ‘n yer stuck with me, sweetheart, there’s only one bed.” 

“you’re kidding, right?” your eye twitches as you spin on your heel to face katsuki once more and the blonde braces himself for an onslaught of your slander. “oh! bakugou. you’re such an incompetent fool. you can’t even book an inn on your own, so you need a woman to do that for you?” you throw his words from earlier back into his face like an acid burn that’s been waiting underneath your tongue.

“i didn’t wanna be stuck with your ass anyways! quit complainin’!” 

“well, if you insist on not being stuck with me, perhaps releasing me before we reach the todoroki’s is a good idea—“ 

“— fat chance, princess.” bakugou scoffs back. “not with the bounty over your head. puttin’ up with your shitty attitude will be fuckin’ worth dealin’ with until you’re back with ‘em.”

he doesn’t give you a chance to retort, heading back into the inn whether you follow him or not. 

katsuki is glad that you don’t, at least not straight away— wanting to calm down the ache you’ve inflicted upon his hatred-blackened heart.

though he might hate you, katsuki can always tell when you’re crying.

around the same time every night and throughout your travels, your shoulders shake as sobs rack your body while you think he’s fast asleep. of course, the dragon prince feels bad— he’s practically handing you off to the devil in exchange for a lump of cash. you’ve been down on your luck and the blonde feels partially responsible for that. 

rolling over to face you, bakugou watches with a deep frown as you keep your eyes on the wall opposite you— not daring to acknowledge him. “‘m sorry… about what i said,” he feels guilty but only just, unsure of his next words. “‘bout this touya thing… and all the men that have hurt you. i’m—” he takes a breath. “sorry about everything. i only treat you that way ‘cause i don’t want ya to end up lost like me…” he doesn’t want you to fall for him, to stay with him.

silence echoes between you both but katsuki can tell that you’ve calmed down from the way your body stops shaking and your hiccups quieten down. “you care about me, bakugou?” rolling over, the blonde finds himself lost in the sparkle of your galaxy eyes yet again— hating you for it, fighting down his love for you.

you’re close, way too close and everything beneath the sheets is hot. “shut up, princess.” bakugou whispers, not realising that the warmth of his breath is coasting over your lips wetly. before either of you know it, you’re kissing— mouths slotting against one another, tongues rolling over each other sloppily as you swap spit and pour undisclosed feelings into one another. his hands slip under your flimsy excuse for a night-gown, trailing up the good meat of your thighs, the soft curves of your waist and hips. you have him in shambles, with the way you gasp quietly at his thumbs swiping at the swell of your breasts— just brushing over your pebbling nipples. you coo and cry and he takes more from you, tugging on your lower lip with shining rows of pearly whites and licking into your mouth to swallow your whistle-tone moans.

“quiet, princess,” bakugou’s mouth is hot, blisteringly slow— his tongue leaving trails of clear, thick saliva along the planes of your skin. “gotta be quiet, baby, can’t wake anyone up, yeah?” the sharp edges of his teeth just graze your salt-licked flesh, barely nipping it. katsuki knows better, he can’t leave marks. he can’t return damaged goods to the soon-to-be king. to the touya todoroki. “so good, such a good girl.”

“o-oh! k-katsuki!” you stutter out, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and locking away the stars as the dragon prince’s hand fumbles between your hot and heavy bodies. he finds your clit, swollen and sticky— pulsating beneath rough fingertips. “p-please, i need you. please, katsuki. n-need–!” you sing your praises to the high heaves, the letters of his name rubbed into your pretty pussy as he plays with it between your slick, doughy thighs.

a single finger slips past your fluttering entrance, but he doesn’t dare let up on your pleasure nub— circling it diligently. “shut up, yeah?” the man slurs into your neck, spreading your pussy lips apart to finger you deeper, faster— losing his sanity listening to the sound of you squelch. “i hate you…r’member that. h-hate you— fuck…” 

“hate you, s’much. o-oh, right there!” your own set of fingers curl in sandy blonde locks tightly pulling him back up to your face for a kiss. but his eyes, your eyes, they both speak forbidden and unspoken love. your other hand grasps at his throbbing cock, arousal spilling over your knuckles and straight from the tip. his chest rumbles in pleasure, hips rutting into your closed fist languidly before he swoops down to lure you into the forest of temptation, the haze of another uncoordinated, messy kiss.

you mewl into one another’s open mouths, swollen and cherry lips meshing together— this? whatever you’re doing together, a pile of sweaty limbs moving in sync with one another…it’s everything either of you have ever wanted. playing pretend, hating one another face to face and loving one another in secret. katsuki curls his fingers, pressing down on your g-spot and you run your thumb through the seedy slit of his cockhead…eager to please one another. to love one another.

“put it in, katsuki.” gasping but demanding, you call to him— hungry for more, to have his everything. he wants to, god he wants to. but what if he hurts you? what if you fall apart like fragile glass? what if touya—? you grab at the blonde’s chin, guiding his gaze up to yours and his thick girth to your clenching, unfilled hole. “just for tonight, one night. show me how you truly feel about me katsuki…make love to me.”

you’re giving him a chance, giving him this one last night to deflower the prettiest, most beautiful thing katsuki bakugou has ever held in his bare, monstrous hands. wrapping your legs around the slenderness of his waist, you lock your ankles at the small of his back and squeeze to draw him closer. his milky shaft pushes through your arousal soaked folds, clear strings of it clinging to every vein that decorates the length of him.

both of you shudder once he’s bottomed out inside the warmth of your velvety, silken walls. he’s as deep as he can go, stretching you over him with slow rolls of his hips and his balls heavy with cum, seated at the curve of your ass. “f-fuck, you’re tight, princess,” katsuki whines, wrapping his arms around your head to pin you to the bed beneath him. he fills you to the brim, brings tears to your eyes as he splits you apart and pieces you back together with every single thrust. your g-spot is a victim to endless ectasy given to you by his mushroomed tip as it rams against you, desperately. 

rolling your hips up to match his pace, you swallow the saliva pooling on the palette of your tongue— skin buzzing with lust while you mark up the blonde’s back. you leave tiger-claw patterns across his tanned back, red and raw before mussing up his hair pulling him closer until either of you have room to breathe. his breath is ragged against the shell of your ear, thrusts rampant each time he plunges into your souse, salacious pussy.

katsuki drowns himself in you, and like an alcoholic reaching for another drink— he’s addicted. he groans pathetically when you bite him, kiss him and spit into his mouth until he’s babbling and brainless. you bite his shoulder to keep quiet but the bed creaks loudly enough to cover your harmonised moans and the sound of skin slapping on skin harshly. 

“i love you,” you breathe weakly, body wracked with shakes when bakugou slips out of your cunt from how fast he's pounding you into the sheets, tied to you only by strings of slick.

he says it back, instantaneously while forcing himself back into your addictive heat, desperate to get you both to your highs. “i love you.” next he finds your clit again, using three fingers to tap at it so that you tremble cutely beneath him. “hold it, princess. hold your orgasm. p-promise it’ll feel good, kay?” the dragon prince pulls back only just, dragging his seedy tip along your insides and you whine at the loss of being so full. “promise me that when he’s fucking you, when touya makes you his bride a-and weds you, his pretty virgin bride…that you’ll think of me ‘n me alone.”

“i-i promise,” you murmur, playing with the baby hairs on the base of katsuki’s neck, looking up at him lovingly as you clench down on him at his claim— dripping sweet nectar down his balls.

only then does katsuki put his entire weight on you, jutting into you all at once, nearly breaking the bed as it hits the wall behind you over and over. his cock swells inside of you, close to bursting and cumming inside of you. with one, two, three more calculated thrusts you’re thrown over the edge— the dopamine high of your orgasm crashing over your brain while you squirt clear streams over his lower tummy and cock.

he’s right behind you, following the stream of your sweet essence that nearly forces him out of you. thick, hot ropes of cum paint your insides belonging to the man that you love, filling you up to the brim. katsuki collapses on top of you with one last kiss, your foreheads pressed together and the crude mix of your arousal leaking from your tiny hole, onto your shared sheets.

“i don’t…i don’t hate you,” you stutter once both of your breathing has evened out, teary eyed because you can’t say that you love him again. it’ll make it too real, neither of you can have that if you’re promised to touya and bakugou has promised to take you back to the ruthless future king.

“niether do i,” katsuki breathes back, wiping your eyes with the pad of his thumb, using a delicate touch. 

he couldn’t help it, loving you but at least he got to…just for tonight.

[klbwriting]

Who Am I Really?

Chapter 1

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: violence and attack in this chapter

Summary: Orm is traipsing around the surface when he decides to visit an animal shelter. While there Atlanteans soldiers attack. Orm is able to fight them off before they can report him back to Atlantis, but in the process he loses his memory

Notes: Hello! This is one of 2 fics that I will be posting! This one will be posted daily in the morning. I hope you enjoy! Comments/critiques are appreciated!

Orm Marius was many things. He was a disgraced king, a mighty warrior, a proud Atlantean, but a good surface dweller he was not. He couldn't figure out why they did so many stupid things. Why did they throw out perfectly good food? Why didn't more of them know how to grow things, how to make things? He had grown up with servants yet he knew how to grow his own food, mend his own armor and clothes, make sure there was not unnecessary waste. He couldn't understand why surface dwellers weren't taught these simple things. He wandered the land, learning more about the corruption and hatred they held also. Arthur liked this place? His own mother loved someone from this hell hole? How? Then he started noticing something else. He noticed community gardens that were flourishing, with volunteers helping to harvest and give the food to those in need. Atlantis could learn from that. For all their merits about being environmentally conscious and able to take care of themselves they didn't do as well taking care of each other. He saw a news story on one of those TV's about a house fire and neighbors coming together to raise money to make sure the family affected could build a new house quickly, offering their own homes to stay in while they waited. And finally, he found a person who did something he could not even imagine. This person saved animals. Marine life seemed never ending to Atlanteans. They would eat every part of the creature but they weren't pets. When his first animal companion, a sea turtle, had died, his father had found him mourning and had made sure he understood that animals were nothing to mourn. The scars on his back were enough that he never mourned another creature again. This woman fascinated him.

He entered her shelter, a small compound by a lake he had been camping around, just to watch her and how she interacted with the small creatures. She smiled happily at him, introducing herself.

"I'm Y/N, can I have your name and reason for your visit? Are you just looking or adopting?" she asked, bringing up a clipboard. Orm frowned a moment.

"I'm Orm," he said finally, knowing this surface dweller wouldn't know who he was from anyone else coming in. "I was just looking, never had a pet before, wondering what all the fuss is about." Y/N nodded, writing his name down and pulling a sticker off the clipboard. She put the nametag on his chest. "What is that for?"

"In case you need help, I just met you, I'm not going to remember your name after one meeting," she said. That was a lie. She had seen Orm's blue eyes and knew she wasn't going to forget him, but she still needed to be professional. Orm nodded slowly and she blushed a little, making him smile. She was pretty and by the blush he figured she might find him pretty as well.

"What is the purpose of this place?" he asked. She smiled a friendly smile now, it lit up her face. She waved him through to a door towards barking.

"I started this shelter slash adoption center around five years ago. I've always wanted to help animals but wasn't really smart enough to be a vet, not steady-handed enough to be a groomer, so here I am, trying to save strays and get them into forever-homes," she said, walking them through a hallway with what looked like dog apartments in it. "This is the inside sleeping area, it links to the outside through that little door. In the summer we keep it open all the time, the outside area is contained and they can sleep or just sit out there as long as they want." Orm stooped down by a few of the dogs, looking into their eyes. They looked well fed, even happy. They had some toys, blankets, beds, everything you needed to be comfortable. Just no home. Orm understood that right now. He followed Y/N as she moved to the next area. She finished the tour of the dog wing before standing by another door. "Would you like to see the lakeside play area? I'm really proud of that."

"Ya, let's take a look," he said. He didn't know why he was so pulled to this place, to this person, but it felt like home here, among these other strays. He felt welcomed and like he could be happy here. They stepped outside and he stared. The lake was shimmering in the early sunset, glittering. It was clean, not like other lakes he had seen, and there was a large fenced in area that had dog play equipment and even went so far that the dogs could run into the shallow water if they wanted. "This is nice."

"Ya, I love animals, but I love the water too. There's something so freeing about floating, letting the waves carry all your worries away with them," Y/N said. She frowned, squinting her eyes as she looked over the water. "Is someone swimming?" she muttered. Orm frowned, looking closer. Atlanteans. Three of them. Soldiers if the gear they were wearing was any indication.

"Go inside, lock the doors," he said. If his tone wasn't so commanding she might have argued but Y/N did as told, going inside and locking the doors. She started even getting the dogs inside and locking the doggy doors to that side of the compound. She then sat in a corner and waited, listening to the sounds of a fight, something beyond a human brawl, going on outside.

Orm surveyed the three soldiers around him. He had a chance against 3, anymore he might have had real trouble, but 3 he could handle. They all pounced at once, but even without a weapon, he was ready. He bent, building the strength in his legs, and when he felt hands from the first attacker he twisted, bringing his fist up, sending the first soldier flying back several feet, knocking him into a tree, forcing his sword out of his hands. Orm would need to get that before the soldier fully recovered. He turned his focus to the other two, kicking one backward as he moved to grab him, then punching the other in the stomach to double him over before bring his elbow down on the back of the neck, disabling the water apparatus to suffocate him. That was one who was completely down now. He turned, seeing the first soldier scrambling to get to his weapon. Orm ran faster, grabbing it and slicing. Two soldiers were taken care of. Now just the last one. He turned, seeing the other one with a pulsar of some type. Orm looked around, grabbing the body of the Atlantean he had slain, throwing it towards the other one. He caught the body and fell back, rolling into the lake. The body drifted off on its own while the still living attacker recovered. Orm moved to the other body he had created, throwing it as well. Y/N didn't need a mess when she came back out. The attacker dodged this one, moving to climb out of the water again. Orm repositioned the sword, getting ready to throw it. Just as he launched it at the final attacker, the attacker fired the energy weapon, hitting Orm in the chest and knocking him back into the solid wall of the shelter. The last thing Orm saw was the attacked falling, sword impaled in him, into the water and sinking. Then Orm himself sinks into darkness.

[maelstroms-blog]

This is just a silly thought i had, it took me ages to put it into words. [I forgot how to grammar],.then of course.it dissolved into hurt/comfort. Oh well.

Dream had seen many times, always in dreams. Birthday parties. How he detested the noise, the shouting, the lights, bright and flashing, and the vivid colours that all blended into one.

It was an irritable sight, but one that had to be tolerated. To be the embodiment of the unconscious mind, unfortunately, involved birthday dreams.

Dream never saw rhe point, humans celebrating their march towards his sister, only to balk and fight against her embrace.

Truly, confusing creatures.

No, Dream never paid the ritual much attention, not since his poor Orpheus was alive. Then, he met a certain immortal, who was turning 667.

It was through an overheard conversation, between Hob and Mervyn of all people, or creatures, having a cigarette break. Through the thick plumes of smoke, he watched his Hob smile,

'Do you know what I miss? Birthday cakes,'

'What are you talking about?' Mervyn grunted,

'Birthday cakes!' He repeated, gesturing wildly, 'To make a cake from scratch and gift it to your loved one, there's just something so wonderfully human about it, don't you think?'

His brown eyes sparkled, the same way they did when Dream first met Hob. That mischievous gleam. Dream had to physically restrain himself from pouncing on him.

Mervyn sighed, 'I guess,'

Hob sighed, 'It's been centuries since I received a birthday cake. A big one with icing and cream and all sugary nonsense.'

Dream could see the appeal, before their centennial meetings, cakes would have been akin to gold. Only for the upper class. Hob would have been lucky to see one, let alone taste one.

'Victoria sponge was my favourite, simple, sweet.' The noise he made shouldn't have sent a shiver up Dream's spine, but it did.

Mervyn grunted, 'Don't have a taste for sugary things,'

'You're missing out,'

'Can't you just go to a shop and buy one?- he blew smoke out of his eye holes,

'You got cake money, don't you?'

'I do, but it's not as good as homemade, especially getting one as a gift.'

Dream didn't hear the rest, he retreated into the shadows, a plan already forming in his mind.

It was another week before Dream could find the time. He waited until Hob left his flat, locking the door behind him. Dream waited then appeared in his kitchen. It was clean, modern, with a few antique appliances, ones that Dream had only seen in dreams. He glanced at the oven, eyeing it the way you would a wild animal.

Dream turned, opening his book to the correct page. There were plenty of baking books in the library and Lucienne was quick to find an adequate one. She offered it with a knowing smile. He said nothing, focusing instead on the task at hand.

He preheated the oven, although he didn't see the point. Why would an oven need warning to do its job?

The first step was easy, finding a bowl, pouring in flour. The flour did end up being tricky, a powdery cloud shot into the air, settling in Dream's hair. His nose twitched, he sneezed. He shook his head, sending a flurry of powder to the ground.

Engrossed, he didn't look up when he heard familiar flapping, Hob left the window open for a reason.

'Hey boss,' Matthew greeted, 'What're you-,'

He stopped, head tilting as he took in Dream's appearance. His usual dark demeanor, dyed white with flour, whilst a rainbow apron was tied around his tiny waist. He supposed it was an odd sight for a king. He didn't care, it was for Hob.

'What is it, Matthew?' Dream asked, voice as regal as ever, 'I am busy,'

'I can see that, just checking up.'

Dream looked at his raven,

'Lucienne sent you, didn't she?'

Matthew ducked his head, 'What? No.'

Dream sighed, 'Well, since you are here, you can offer some assistance,'

'Oh, good...'

Dream didn't notice his tone, he was pulling out eggs and scanning the recipe.

'Fold in two eggs,'

Dream looked at the bowl, he looked at the eggs. With one quick motion, Dream pulled the mixture back and tucked the eggs inside, like the eggs were his sleeping subjects.

Matthew cawed, 'Uh, boss, what're you doing?'

'Baking a cake,' Dream answered, simply,

'Yeah, but the eggs?'

'The recipe states to fold in the eggs,' he picked up a whisk,

'Are you saying it's wrong?'

'No, you're meant to crack the eggs, to make it all liquid-y.'

As if on cue, there was an ungodly crunch when Dream plunged his whisk into the bowl.

Matthew hid his face under his wing. He hoped Hob liked his cake crunchy.

'Did you add sugar?'

Dream's mixing paused, 'Was I supposed to?'

'...yes,'

'Cakes are inherently sweet, are they not?'

'No!' Matthew spread his wings, 'You need sugar,' he flapped around Hob's kitchen, 'Where does he keep the sugar?'

'I do not know,' he reached for a blue bottle and upended it. The stench of vanilla was overpowering, even Dream was wrinkling his nose.

'Too much!' Matthew then raised his beak, sniffing at the air,

'Uh, boss, did you turn the oven on?'

At his question, Dream actually looked smug,

'Indeed, it was the first step,'

Matthew shifted nervously from claw to claw,

'How high though?'

In leiu of an answer, a burst of black smoke billowed out of the oven. Matthew screamed, in a surpringly human-like way.

******************

Hob had lived a long life, a very long life, and there are some things you never forget. It was in London when he first became acquainted with it. That horrible, burning smell. It permeated the air until you could taste the ash on your tongue. It had been weeks until Hob's skin healed, even longer for him to stop coughing.

He never forgot that smell, though. And now, as he entered his flat, his nostrils burning. He immediately grabbed his extinguisher and burst through the door, he was met with a very strange sight.

His oven, on fire, a screaming, squaking raven, frantically trying to put out said fire by splashing in the sink, and at the counter, his lover, the king of dreams and Nightmares, waving Hob's own rainbow apron, trying to quell the flames.

Icy blue eyes, normally so calm, shimmered with galaxies as he panicked. Matthew let out another shriek, his wing lit up like a candle.

Wasting no more time, Hob pulled the pun and sprayed the entire kitchen.

Once everything was doused, and Matthew was calmed down, Hob led the way out of the ruined kitchen to the couch for first aid.

'What, pray tell?' Hob began, rubbing cream on Dream's hand,

'Possesed you to ignite my kitchen?'

He wasn't angry, and for that, Dream was grateful. Despite the other man's weak attempt at levity, Dream didn't miss the flicker in his brown eyes, especially at his hands. His usual, pale skin was blistered red. It would heal when Dream thought about it, but he didn't. He kept the burns.

Matthew, unusually quiet, was grounded, his left wing hidden under a bag of ice and curled up.in Dream's lap, his little body shivering from leftover adrenaline. Every so often, Dream would place a hand on his raven, soothing him, hoping his touch would convey his apology.

Dream looked away, 'I...wanted to surprise you,'

'Well, you succeeded,' Hob smiled, it vanished when Dream bowed his head,

'I am...sorry,' he muttered, 'Believe me, this was not my intention.'

'Course, duck, I know that,' he gently patted his shoulder, Dream continued, or tried to,

'I-I wanted...I-I heard-,'

'He wanted to make you a birthday cake,' Matthew piped up, then promptly went back to silently shivering. Dream hugged him closer, more grateful than ever for his outspoken raven.

Hob blinked, 'A cake?' Why would you-,' then he realised,

'Oh, you heard me talking with Mervyn,' he sighed. At the sound, Dream stiffened and turned away. This was the worst possible outcome, and he couldn't even reach for his sand. He flexed his sensitive fingers. A beat passed, Hob silently looked at his lover, then, wrapped his arms around the Dream king.

Dream could only blink in surprise,

'Why? Why are you?' His voice was thick, he couldn't move his head to look at Hob but could feel him nuzzling into his messy, wet hair.

'Oh, my love, thank you,' Hob breathed, near tears,

'Why are you thanking me? I failed to create your birthday cake, and in doing so, I ruined your kitchen,' his eyes misted over,

'I don't deserve your gratitude.'

Hob gently shushed him,

'You're wrong, you do deserve my gratitude. You went out of your way to make me something, something you had no clue how to make, all that you did know was that you wanted to make me happy,' Hob gently raised Dream's head, until he could look into dark, watery eyes,

'No one has done that for me in centuries.'

'But your kitchen-,'

'I can have it fixed, what matters is that you're OK,' he lifted Dream's bandaged hand to his lips, carefully, as if a kiss could heal the skin.

'And me,' Matthew piped up, he was rewarded with a head scratch.

'I truly am sorry, Hob,'

'I know, duck,' he rubbed his thumb along Dream's cheek, wiping away a stray, sparkling tear.

'But, hey, isn't it the thought that counts?'

Dream couldn't help himself, he let out a small laugh. At the sound, Hob hugged him tighter, kissing him all over.

'Hey, come on you guys,' Matthew cawed, 'I'm traumatised enough already.'

Based off that scene from Sleeping beauty

[bearmemesreviews]

FotW: SDMI - The Grasp of the Gnome

Today's Freak of the Week is a more serious take on a creature type seldom seen outside of Children's Fantasy, Gnomes!

Yep, for years the fair folk and their kin have been delegated to just tiny humans with magic - ignoring years of folklore and cautionary tales that describe these creatures as actual monsters born from the earth with all sorts of nasty plots in their minds.

We have since turned around once again, around the same time superheroes started to scoff at tights in their shows and movies to an annoying degree, and as we get more public domain horror movies expect ANOTHER switch back to sincere fairy tale fodder.

But until then, let's talk about this parkour elf and his blue cheese touch.

Backstory: Crystal Cove has a Reneissance Faire! Which the gang attends, displaying all their personalities in the costumes they chose to dress in. Notice how Shaggy and Scoob are dressed like pirates? Well that's plot relevant!

An Evil Gnome has been terrorizing the faire, attacking those who come as pirates despite the medieval themed dress code. I don't know why, I'm pretty sure by 2010 pirates as a fandom were already petrified by a certain Disney Franchise's later films.

Yep, Petrification! A really cool power that's seldom used, but when it is doesn't it look cool? I love the iridescent glowing blue veins that grow on the victims as they freeze in place. Neither freezing them in ice nor encasing them in stone, but still immobilizing them in a way that would be indistinguishable from "real" magic.

As for the rest of the plot, you may have started to notice that almost every gang member has been getting kidnapped at some point to give the gang something to act irrational over - Velma and Scooby fighting over the parrot from Shaggy's pirate costume when he's taken for example, giving Daphne some reprieve.

Mr. E offers his two cents on Shelma at the end of the episode, for reasons that'll become apparent later.

As the day goes on and the suspects, all dwarves or otherwise very short people, are dismissed, the gang finally trap the athletic Gnome with a good old pit. But not before Daphne actually gets to one up the gnome, using the one thing all fairies and other anklebiters fear - steel!

Design: The Gnome is a classic fairy tale creature, and I love how MI's version has been redesigned to keep all the goofy, fantastical elements in place without straying too far to make it scary. It wears tattered clothing barely held together by some stitches where the sleeves connect, consisting of a simple tunic with red pants. It has boots, though it could also just be black wrappings around its feet. It also wears black gloves, metal arm bracelets with large bolts attached to them, a buckled sash, and a large, stitched-up red gnome cap.

Its face is where it gets really good, with regular humanoid features exaggerated as they would be for a regular gnome - mostly a large nose and ears that stick out - but made extra freaky with beady yellow eyes with no irises, only red pupils. Its skin is also warty and a decrepit, green-tinged blue. Its eyes are even sunken in, making it look more like a corpse that's begun to mold.

Its powers include the ability to run and hop like a trained athlete, leaping around so fast he can't be captured or evaded, alongside a touch that paralyzes. This actually makes him one of the more physically threatening foes the gang's faced. And I like that the applies to a goofy man with a cowboy mustache and long beard tied into pigtails.

Reveal: Daphne evades the paralysis touch by hiding steel gauntlets under her dress, catching the gnome off guard. He then tries to escape but only ends up trapping himself in a previously failed spike pit. Once captured it's revealed that of the three main employees of the ren faire, it was actually the pirate-supporting jester Gill Littlefoot all along. He tried to frame his wife, the pirate-hating queen, in order to get control of her money.

I am not qualified to discuss any protentional ableism displayed by Patrick Warburton in Scooby-Doo Mystery Incorporated.

5/5 Really cool take on a classic archetype seldom used for Horror, and so well executed that I think it'd actually work well for its own folk horror movie like The VVitch. I am genuinely surprised by how much I like The Evil Gnome.

P.S. I love the explanation that the petrification was caused by the toxin of a made-up species of Jellyfish. I love when shows tries to explain away gimmicks by using an exaggeration of real-life biology, like how Pufferfish toxin can be used to create "zombies".

[the-fire-eyes]

Chapter Twenty One- Abdul

Walking into the consultation room, I was first struck by how simple it was. There was no evidence of wealth, no plush cushions for seating. No bowing servants offering fruit and wine.

Had I been wrong about the wealth of the Striker? The chamber was large but bare, almost empty. 

Then I looked closely at the few things in the room, and realised that I had been correct. 

The torches lining the room weren’t burned down much, meaning they were replaced often. The few objects in the room were well tended, and the floor was kept cleaned and polished. Not an easy accomplishment in this city of dirt and sand.

The manservant led us across the room, and I turned my attention to the chair- no, the throne, that was the centerpiece of the room. It was huge, and made of iron. It wasn’t bad quality, but roughly forged in the manner of most things made by the commoners in Harotume. The edges were jagged, giving the impression that the metal throne was frozen, made of ice. It was huge, and striking against the sheer emptiness of the room.

But even more imposing than the ominous throne was the being that sat upon it.

The individual on top of the throne was tall, but slender. They wore armour made from several different plates of metal, instead of a solid sheet. It was obviously made for mobility. But the worst part was the mask. It was blank, a solid piece of iron. It had been forged in the same way as the throne, ragged around the edges. As if it were made of ice, a face frozen beyond recognition. 

How stupid. The people of Harotume probably didn’t know what ice was, here in this godforsaken desert. 

The Striker barely moved as they turned their head towards us, as if they were made of stone, or iron.

As if they weren’t fully human.

Suspicion flared through me. What if the Striker was a rebel? There had to be a reason they covered their face. 

Could it be to hide eyes full of fire?

But before I could ponder it further, the Striker stood and descended from the throne. Although they weren’t thickly built, their steps seemed to shake the ground. I swallowed, bracing myself to face this creature, this inexorable thing.

What had I gotten myself into?

I barely stopped myself from running, only just managing to hold my ground.

I looked the Striker in the eyes- or where the eyes should be. That frozen mask was unnerving, to say the least.

Perhaps they were a noble, to have so much money. I glanced at their hands, hoping to see the shade of their skin and determine whether they were a local or one of my people.

There wasn’t a single bit of skin exposed, anywhere. There were absolutely no clues to who or what the Striker was.

They raised their hands, and it took all the courage I had not to flinch back. But all they did was sign something I couldn’t understand in sharp gestures, turning their head towards the servant, who translated.

“The master is willing to teach you to fight, but not for free.”

I had expected that. It was only reasonable.

“I am willing to supply your… organization with high quality weapons-”

The Striker cut me off, starting to sign again. And again, the servant translated.

“The master is more than capable of providing weapons for their fighters.”

I swallowed. “Perhaps I could tell the guard to turn a blind eye to your dealings?...”

The servant glanced at the Striker, who nodded once, and then began to sign again.

I stared at that frozen mask as the servant translated. It didn’t matter. I knew what the Striker had said.

“Very well. Your lessons will start tomorrow.”

Previous || Next || First

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks���if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

��No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[random-meme-bot]

Special Halloween Post (AKA "I talk about one of my favorite games that just so happened to be slightly Halloween related")

Sorry for the wait, I'm ready to take you now.

Where? On the Four year journey of the soul, of course.

Im Random-Meme-Bot and tonight I will be your travel agent, so, prepare yourself and please, relax because tonight we won't be dancing a "Cheerfull Tango", but more of a:

[I will try to keep this as Spoiler free as posible, but since it's imposible to talk about a piece of media without spoiling some of it, the only part's I will be covering are the ones that the Manual tells you about (These come in the form of locations and plot points that I will try to make as subtle as posible to keep the surprise)]

Wellcome to "The land of the Dead".

Im sure you have many questions right now, like "Where am I?" "Wasn't I supused to go to heven/hell?" and of course the always classic "Journey‽" & "Travel agent‽".

Well...

You see, death isn't as simple as TV shows try to make it look, there is no "Heaven" nor "Hell", once someone dies (AKA: You) their soul it's brought to the "Land of the Death" by a Reaper of the Departmen Of Death [D.O.D] (AKA: Me), here you will have to embark on a 4 year journey to the 9th underworld, the land of eternal rest, I can't lie to you, it will be hard and dangerous.

Unless...

There is a way to make your journey easier, you only have to buy a travel packet from us with the money you were buried with, or if you were really a good person on life, you coud even get a ticket to the number 9, our deluxe express train, "To the land of the eternal rest in 4 minutes instead of 4 years".

Let me check your archive...

Hmm... it seems that your only avaliable option is our cheepest one, "The Excelsior Line"

What's this you say? That you were a saint in life and you deserve something better than a cane with a compass?

Don't be silly, if that were the case it woud apear in our records, or are you perhaps implying that the D.O.D steals their clients packages for profit?

I will let that slide for now, and continue as It seems I'll have to show you the locations that you will be traveling through.

A Dead aesthetic for a Dead World.

On your journey you'll experience the many wonders that this land has to offer, all of them presented on a beautyfull "Art Deco" arquitecture mixed with the Aztec roots of this world.

Your first stop is the Capital of the Land of The Dead, "El Marrow" were the D.O.D offices are located, full of souls that have abandoned their journey or just work in hopes of some day being able to afford a better travel package, today is "Dia de Muertos" so, why don't stop and enjoy the festivities?

The Main Entrance of the D.O.D [It was so expensive that the year it was build we didn't get any bonuses, so you better enjoy it]

The Carnival of the "Dia de Muertos" on the main street [Go on and get some "Bread of the Death" I think you deserve it]

When I said the compass on the Excelsior cane™ was gonna come in handy I wasn't liying, you will be needing it if you plan on entering our next destination, "The Petrified Forest", the most Dangerous part of your Jorney* a labyrinth of caves and branching paths full of creatures so deadly it woud scare even the toughest Australian fauna.

*Due to the worring rise of "sprouted" souls this may not stand true, the D.O.D is not held responsible for any close to 2º Death encounters you may have.

Say Goodbye to "El Marrow" [Because you might never see it again]

Don't worry if you lose the compast, there are signs to guide you [Please stop stealing the Sign Posts, It's the third one this week]

Our Final location on the tour is Rubacava, "The City that never Dies". You better get accustomed to it, because here is were you will have to board a ship to the other Edge of the World, and there's only one a year so chances are you will have to prolong your stay here.

"The Blue Casket", a night club were a lot of ""diferent"" poets hang out and pass the time [If the "Dead Poets Society" isn't your thing, I've heard a new Café is opening soon...]

"The Feline Meadows", the biggest gambling establishment in all land of the death [Just don't gamble your death away, ok?]

Let's customize your package to your liking.

Are you by any chance a native speaker of any of these languajes?

English, Français, Italiano, Español, Português, Deutsch.

Then you my friend are in luck because, you will be able to experience your journey entirely in your native tonge, and at no extra cost too!

Our original version of the "Grim Fandango" travel package was starting to show it's age so we "Remastered" it. Giving it better textures and lightning as well as better controls, and the ability to not randomly corrupt your safe file [We only want the best for our clients] and if you're the nostalgic type you can change to the OG graphics with only the press of a button, want to know more about the creation of "Grim Fandango" then you might be interested on the Concept art gallery and Directors commentary.

Enjoy the trip, & who knows maybe you'll be back next year...

So now you are ready to experince "Grim Fandango". "An Epic tale of Crime and Corruption in The Land of The Dead", as our marketing team calls it.

Why didn't I brought up the narative earlier?

Well, because "Dead men tell no tales".

Grim Fandango remastered is avaliable on:

PC/PS4/PSVita/XBoxOne/IOS Android (Is not longer avaliable on the Play Store so only as APK)

[alastorswifee]

Her Sweet Melody

Donnie x Reader

Pronouns being used: she/her

This takes please during TMNT Fast Forward!!

~

I walked into the bar holding my guitar case, I always come here to sing in exchange for money since I'm in need of it at the moment.

I walked up to the stage, the lights weren't on thankfully so no one would've seen me as I took my guitar out of its casing. I sat on the stool infront the microphone and looked at Jason, the manager, he offered me to be the live act every Friday night so I'm close to him.

Jason turned the lights for the stage on and every creature looked at me, they either whistled, raised an eyebrow or made quiet commentary. I shook my head and strummed my guitar, I started singing and everyone went silent.

Donnie’s POV

My brothers and I walked into the bar, I don't see the point of celebrating at a bar but I went along with it so I won't 'kill their vibe'

As soon as we walked in I heard a woman’s voice singing. I didn't think someone would sound so good but here I am hearing soothing vocals, I looked ahead to see a girl. She was beautiful, from her head to her feet.

I listened to her and it seemed as if we came when the song was ending cause it sounded as if she was finishing up.

"Come on and feel without me.....tell me how's it feel..sitting up there.." she sings softly, my heart started beating faster, I didn't know what this feeling was..was it admiration?

"Thank you guys so much.." she smiles and everyone started cheering and clapping for her, I smiled wide, that voice was so soothing.

Raph nudged me and I looked at him confused "what is it?" I asked, Raph grinned wide "you were starin at that girl for a long time" he said with a cheeky grin. "Yes I was, and?" I asked confused, "you liiiikkkeeee herrrrr" Mikey wiggles his eyebrows. I shook my head "Mikey please, just because I stared at her doesn't mean I'm attracted to her”

I said and crossed my arms. "Dude we've never seen you stare at a girl like that before" Mikey pointed out, "that is probably because I'm fascinated by her singing" I added. Raph shook his head "admit it Don, I think ya like her" he said and walked to the others.

Like her? I cant do that..She lives in the future and I’m from the past. Even if we become close, it won’t last forever..

Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own but I didn’t try to stop myself in any way.

I started walking towards the stage, hearing Mikey and the others yelling things like 'go get her!' And much more but I am not going to bother. I walked up onto the stage and smiled at her. She was tuning her guitar, "hello ma’am" I kindly smiled. She looked up at me and smiled shyly...my heart started beating quickly "Hello.." she greeted and turned her full attention onto me. "M-my name is Donatello" I stuttered, "Y/N" she replied with a cute grin, I guess she noticed my stutter.

"I just came up to tell you that your voice was quite lovely and soothing" I smiled at her, I saw her face slowly turn red and she grinned wide "thank you, no one has ever said that to me.." she said, I was shocked, how can someone not tell her that?

"No problem, are you going to perform another song or is that all?" I asked, "that's all, I guess you came in late cause I performed a few songs before" she said, I nodded. "So if you don't mind me asking, would you like to have a drink with me?" I asked kindly and put my hand out for her to take, she smiled wide and took my hand, standing up.

I held her hand gently as we walked off stage and towards the bar, I sat on a stool and she did as well. The bartender walked up to us "what would you two like?" He asked "I'll just have a beer" she said, I didn't know exactly what there is to drink at a bar so I just decided to go simple "id like some water" I said.

The guy nodded and went off to grab the stuff for us, Y/N looked at me confused "you don't drink?" She asked, "I didn't exactly drink before, this is my first time in a bar" I replied as the bartender gave Y/N her beer and gave me my water. She looked at me shocked "wow that's so interesting, normally every guy I know had already been to a bar" she commented and sipped the beer.

"Well I'm not every guy now am I?" I chuckled and she grinned "exactly that" she replied and I smiled wide.

~a week later~

I was walking down an isle in the grocery store, it was my turn to cook and the penthouse had no food (thanks Mikey) so I decided to go grocery shopping.

As I continued down the isle, grabbing the things I needed, I heard a familiar voice, soothing and soft. I quickly walked to the end of my isle and walked into the direction of the voice, I peaked into an isle and saw Y/N. She was holding a basket and looking for some items while singing, she sounded so comforting.

I walked towards her, tapping her shoulder. She jumped and turned around "Donnie!" She squealed, hugging me tight, I felt this feeling and I think it's the term April told me, something to do with butterflies in your stomach or something similar to that.

I tend to get curious and ask about certain things when it came to relationships, even tho I knew I wouldn’t experience it I still wanted to know.

I hugged back and smiled wide "hey!" I greeted, I felt her smile against my plastron and pull away "I didn't expect to see you here" she said, I chuckled "I didn't expect to see you either" she grinned in response "what's up?" She asked "Oh I’m buying ingredients to make me and my family dinner" she nodded and smiled "I forgot to ask you something last time" I added, she gave me a confused look.

"I never got to keep in contact with you" I smiled, "Oh" she giggled "would you like my number?" She asked, I nodded and grabbed my phone, handing it to her. She put her number in and handed me my phone, "Text me ok?" She asked, I nodded. "It was nice to see you Donnie" she said, I nodded once more "it was nice to see you too". "I'll see you around or you can text me" she smiled and started walking away, "bye" I waved and walked away.

I cant be falling for her..can I?

[bubblegumbi0tch]

The Deal

Succubus Suna x Witch reader

Casting the spell was simpler than You'd first imagined. The ingredients weren't terribly difficult to come by, and the spell had already been in your grimoire. You lived alone, so privacy was no issue, and the price for this spell didn't scare you as it probably should have. I wasn't 100 percent sure You'd actually expected it to work. You'd achieved simple feats of magic in the past, but something like this? Conjuring? You never even attempted it. But now, in front of you, stood the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. Though factually speaking, he wasn't a man at all. His hair was brown as roasted chestnuts eyes the brightest grey greenish. You've ever seen - unnatural but beautiful nonetheless. His skin was smooth, and his muscles looked as if they'd been sculpted by the gods - though gods certainly had nothing to do with his creation.

And he was naked. Perfectly naked. "Why did you call me human?" Goddess, even his voice was sinful. Deep and soft like honey, yet carried an air of importance that was impossible to miss. "I..." Suddenly your mouth felt dry. It was one thing to read about his kind and another entirely to actually be in the presence of one. Demon. Succubus. "Do you wish for higher social standing?" he asked, stepping out of the circle I'd conjured him from. "Or perhaps a bigger house?" You glanced around at your sparsely decorated one-bedroom ranch, suddenly curious about where he lived.

Indeed not all demons lived in hell? You shook my head, swallowing around the lump in my throat as You continued to watch him. "Money, then?" he asked, but quickly shook his head, "No...a boyfriend, perchance?" You felt my cheeks heat, but You managed to shake my head. You wouldn't make a deal with a demon for any of those reasons. He walked forward until he was directly in front of you, your breath catching in your throat as his warm fingers tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. He smelled like fire and brimstone and something uniquely masculine that made my stomach clench with want. You've read about that too. Succubi were created to be irresistible to humans - and he was certainly no exception. "Then what do you request of me?" You were slightly shocked to find a forked tail swaying back and forth behind his head, and though I'd known that all succubi had them, it was still a strange sight to see. He smirked, seemingly amused, as he asked, "Does my tail intrigue you, human?"

"(Y/n)." I whispered softly, "My name is (y/n) ." He nodded slowly as if surprised that You offered the information. "I am called "Suna." You felt yourself nodding, but You were still staring at his tail. Looking at his face was too complicated, and you were painfully aware of how close his hard cock was to you. The tail was an oddly welcomed distraction. Suddenly his tail was between the two of us as he said, "You are very distracted by it." Up close, it was easy to tell that the points were sharp - lethal even - and it made me wonder why he needed it - how he used it - how many had fallen at the hands of it.

He reached out, his warm fingers encircling your wrist as he brought your fingers up to lightly trail against his tail, and somehow the act was erotic. His wrist guided your hand for a moment more before he let me go to explore on my own. You gently trailed my fingers up, lightly exploring the sharp, forked end, when suddenly his tail wrapped around my forearm and tugged you forward into him, one hand on your waist and the other under your chin, so You were forced to look at him. "What is it you request, (y/n)?" he asked, his voice more profound than it had been, pupils were blown wide, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was as turned on as You were. Surely not. "I need someone...taken care of." He arched an eyebrow as he asked, "You would like someone killed?" "Yes," You whispered, barely able to force the word out around the lump in your throat. Even though You've come to a decision - firmly and honestly - actually voicing it was proving more difficult than I'd anticipated.

The demon Suna seemed slightly impressed, his fingers sliding from your chin to lightly trail against your cheek. "You're very young to have acquired an enemy that requires a demon." "It's not for me." "Do you offer your soul for someone else?" He seemed genuinely perplexed by the idea, but You nodded nonetheless. "For my little brother." "Humans are strange creatures," he murmured, his thumb sliding across my bottom lip. "Who?" "My father." You breathed out, trying to keep my heartbeat controlled as his simple touches seemed to light a fire in your belly. "Interesting," he murmured. "I assume you know of my terms?" I nodded, "My soul in exchange for you to do my bidding." He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his eyes studying mine intently as he was silent for a moment.

When You thought he would deny your request, laugh in your face, and leave, he finally spoke up. "And you're aware of how my deals are signed?" The heat that was racing across your skin seemed to burn twice as hot at his words. Of course, You knew how he signed his deals. "Sex." You said, your voice more confident than I indeed was - but You're sure he knew that already. The lazy smile that stretched across his face was sinful, and the sight of two sharp fangs only made me want him more. "I see the little witch has done her research," he murmured approvingly, softly pressing his thumb between your lips. It was all the prompting I needed to swirl my tongue around the digit, your teeth lightly grazing the pad of his thumb as his eyes darkened. "Say the words, (y/n)," he growled, the hand on my hip tightening. "I, (y/n) (y/ln), request the services of the demon Suna." You whispered, breath hitching as his fingers trailed down your neck and between the valley of your breasts. "In return for the murder of my father, Offer my soul to him to do with as he pleases." You watched in slight awe as a rune appeared on his chest. A matching one burned into the exact spot on your chest as well, though it felt incomplete.

"The rune will solidify after the deal is signed," he said, answering your unspoken question. I simply nodded, your eyes flicking between his eyes and lips. You've read countless stories of what to expect - deals this big always required more than a kiss to be sealed - and all of them spoke of the wild nature of succubi. Though they also spoke of carnal pleasure. "You are a very beautiful human." he mused, seemingly speaking more to himself than to you. I cleared my throat and shook my head, "I assure you there are prettier." "Perhaps," he said with a shrug, "Though in all my centuries, I've yet to encounter one." His words wrapped around me like silk, and in the back of my mind, I knew that he had to say these things to everyone - though I certainly didn't understand why. "Nobody bids me do anything." he said with a growl, the hand not on my waist sliding into my hair, "I am far too old to have to do anything." Was he reading my mind? How? Indeed he hadn't been able to the entire time. "I can read the thoughts of all the souls in my possession," he answered easily, his lips brushing against my ear with each heated, damning word he spoke. His lips trailed a series of kisses along your neck, moving down one side and up the other, gentle breaths against my skin before his lips hovered above your own. I couldn't control the racing of your heart at this point, the effort entirely futile with his proximity.

Your body craved him. Ached for his touch and wanted nothing more than to be claimed by him - thoroughly owned. And your brother is finally safe. "This is your last chance, little witch." he murmured, "There's no going back after this." In a burst of boldness, You hadn't experienced before, You laced your fingers into his soft hair and pulled him forward to close the gap between your lips. And goddess, he felt divine - and when his tongue effortlessly invaded your mouth, his taste wasn't of this earth. He was made of smoke and darkness and sin. And You wanted more. His growl was animalistic as he controlled the pace of our kiss, his hands seemingly everywhere your ass, your hips, your hair, and then suddenly his hands were unbuttoning the oversized shirt you were wearing a remnant from an old boyfriend, and though your heart was in your throat, You were powerless to tell him to stop. You wanted this. Once the thin fabric was pushed to the floor, You were left in nothing but your underwear, and the thought was exhilarating. His lips broke away to press heated kisses to your neck, his tail coiling around my wrist much like his hand had previously, only this time he was guiding you to his cock. You couldn't help the choked gasp that left my throat at the feeling of him hot and harrowing and smooth under your hand, and the groan that escaped him at the contact made you delirious with power. I had pulled that pleasured sound from this powerful demon. You.

And You wanted to hear it again and again. You gripped him firmer, his tail uncoiling to let you continue on your own as You brushed your thumb over the head, spreading precum along his shaft as You pumped faster. His hands had tangled themselves in your hair as he pulled you in for a rough, dominating kiss that had your knees shaking once he'd finally pulled away, his lips and teeth and tongue turning their torture upon my breasts. Indeed this was heaven. The dark chuckle that left him at your thoughts had my thighs clenching as he said, "I assure you this is not heaven." "It's surely as close as I'll get," I whispered, your free hand tangling into my hair as he focused all his attention on your nipples. His hips were bucking forward into your hand, his grunts against your skin more frequent as he nipped your breast, fangs scraping across the delicate skin just hard enough to sting - just hard enough to add fuel to the fire already raging inside you. "Where do you sleep?" he asked, quickly lifting you into his arms. You pointed to the door at the end of the hall, and in seconds he was kicking the door closed with his foot and depositing you on the bed. You knew that the flush that covered my skin was fierce, and as his calculating eyes took you in, You couldn't help but wonder what he really thought of me. As a demon - a succubus - he had slept with countless women when making deals like these, and you were sure they were only a foggy memory in his mind. "I've already said what I think of you." he said, quickly crawling his way onto the bed, his tail swaying between his shoulder blades, "You are gorgeous."

"Do you make deals with women you don't find attractive?" You asked, the question past your lips before You could stop yourself. His chuckle was amused as he hovered over you, "Attraction is not often something I'm aware of when making deals. It is not in my nature." His words only brought up more questions, but after tonight none of them would matter anyway. You'd live out the remainder of your life - however long that ended up being - and when You died, your soul would forever be bound to Suna. Your questions weren't necessary. You threaded one hand into his hair, lightly tugging him into another kiss as his delicious bodyweight settled over you fully. Too soon for your liking, he pulled away, tracing a path with his mouth over your neck, across your breasts, and down your stomach, coming to settle between your thighs. Without preamble, he slipped your panties from your legs, pushing your thighs open as he pressed soft kisses to your skin. "You smell divine," he murmured, his eyes closed as his fingers dug into your inner thighs. You had no idea what to say, though it was apparent response wasn't required as his tongue snaked out to brush against your clit. He smirked at my gasp of pleasure, sliding his tongue to the already dripping slit to slowly fuck you with it before returning to your clit. You had no idea how long he alternated this maddening pattern. Still, sooner than later, you were a writhing, moaning, panting mess above him, my hands tangled in the sheets at my head. "You're very responsive," he murmured, first one. Two fingers sliding into your cunt and arching come here before his tongue found your clit again. The constant pressure that had been building, building, building finally broke, and You shattered, thighs shaking as your orgasm raced through your body. He growled, his tongue hungrily lapping at your essence as I continued shaking above him, body wracked with pleasure as he refused to let me come down. "Fuck," You gasped, one hand shooting to his hair and pulling probably harder than You should have though it didn't seem to bother him at all.

He was relentless, claiming another orgasm as his before finally kissing his way back up your body and claiming my lips. Without warning, he slid into you, capturing my strangled gasp with his lips as his hips were flush with mine. And goddess, I was so full. He pulled back slowly, rocking his hips forward again, and the hiss that fell past his lips made your walls flutter around him. Never had a man sounded so sexy. He quickly hooked your legs over his arms, opening you further and changing the angle so that he slid even deeper, impossibly deeper. You knew that your nails were digging into his back, but the pressure felt so good that You couldn't help it. You were clawing onto him for dear life as he began to pick up his pace. "This is perhaps close to heaven," he murmured, a slight smirk on his face before he began peppering your breasts with kisses, his hips rocking steadily, pushing you closer and closer to the edge yet again. On a particularly harsh thrust, I came undone again, your arms and legs tightly wrapped around him as white light exploded behind your eyelids and stole your breath. His deep moan was the only thing that anchored you to the moment. Before I realized it, he'd flipped our positions, his hands on your waist as he guided your movements. "Ride me, (y/n)." How could I deny him anything when he spoke like that? You rocked your hips back and forth before slowly beginning to bounce up and down. He was so deep in this position, and it took your breath away. His eyes were intense as he watched you, his hands sliding to your ass to squeeze and slap as your pace sped up. He just felt so perfect. "Please," You begged, not quite sure what it was you were asking for. He knew, though. Suna's fingers slid to your clit, rubbing in tight circles that quickly had you clenching around his cock again.

He growled, sitting up to wrap his arms around you as he began thrusting up into you, his fangs scraping against your neck. You couldn't breathe. It wasn't necessarily experienced, but You'd definitely never felt anything like this in your life. Your arms were thrown around his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair as he continued hitting that perfect spot that already had your legs shaking around him. "Oh fuck," You gasped, biting into the corded muscle of his shoulder, "Fuck, I'm going to come again. Fuck Suna!" At your near-shriek of his name, beautiful black wings exploded from his back, a guttural groan leaving his throat as his fangs sunk into your neck and  the pleasure just wouldn't stop. He pulled away from your neck, flipping our positions. Hence, he hovered above you again and began pounding into me without restraint. His wings were spread out behind him, blanketing us in a cocoon of darkness as his mouth and fingers exploring our body. Your breathing was coming in gasps as You clung to whatever bit of his skin was in reach, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Cum with me, little witch," he growled, fingers pinching and teasing your clit. And of course, it didn't take long - only this time he came with me. His entire body went rigid as he pressed himself as deep as he could go, his growl shaking the walls as You shattered around him. I felt him press a kiss to your chest directly over the rune, and you knew the deal was done. You managed to force my eyes open, noticing the slight difference in the mark on his chest. Your fate was effectively sealed.

[oumaheroes]

Stargazing

Word Count: 2030

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘If you could go back to any era, which would you choose?’ There is a stone in-between France’s shoulder blades, something that finally tips the scales from being comfortable into not, so France rolls onto his side, cradling his head in his hand.

From his spot in the grass next to him, England turns his head lazily, the movement long and slow. His eyes are the last to move, fixed on the stars, and they find France’s with a sharp flick, ‘What?’

‘Are you too drunk to listen?’ France lifts a heavy arm and reaches across the small distance between them to brush some errant hair away from England’s forehead and lets it stay there, tangled in his roots. France himself is wine soft and slow, warm in his stomach and chest from both the day and the drink which settles within him.

England huffs, ‘More like drunk enough that I can stop pretending you’re worth listening to.’

France hums indulgently, far too jovial at the moment to search for any unintended offense, ‘oh, the lies you tell yourself. They do amuse me.’

England frowns, head still facing France and cheek pillowed in the grass.  Wine is not enough to soften him entirely, it seems, ‘that is rich, coming from you.’

France brings his hand down from England’s hair to lay it across his mouth, ‘I’m not starting anything with you this evening, I’m too full.’

England opens his mouth and, very gently, bites the meat of the pad of France’s hand. Just to show that he could and to be difficult, showing that he won’t go down without a fight. France’s small input in the ridiculous battle is to leave it there, refusing to give in. Eventually, England lets go and moves his head away, although not before pressing his teeth down just that bit harder. France reclaims his hand and allows him escape without protest.

‘What drivel did you ask me?’ England looks back up at the sky again, high and cloudless above them.

‘If you could be in any era again, any that we have lived through,’ France repeats, ‘which would you pick to go back to?’ He has caught England in a good mood, one where he has allowed himself to be seen, for a time, without anything sharp covering him. Drink has made him pliant and loose tongued and France, in a similar mood, is keen to make the most of it.

England rolls his head slightly back, considering the question, ‘How long do I get in the era?’

‘No, don’t do that, don’t make it technical. It’s not a difficult question.’

‘It most certainly is, running water always influences things,’ England’s mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile, ‘and it’s one thing to pop back to the Tudor times for one of the court parties and quite another to have to spend more than a week there. I do not lament the loss of hose and codpiece.’

‘I do, they made my legs look fabulous.’

England snorted and rolled his eyes, ‘Why am I not surprised.’

‘You’re avoiding the question,’ France twists away from him briefly to feel for the wine bottle they’d been drinking from. It had rolled away slightly, the slight incline of France’s garden causing it to move easily as they shuffled about and he takes a long swing of it before laying it between them, neck resting on England’s stomach. He’s past beyond the point of using glasses now.

‘I’m not avoiding the question, I was trying to-‘

‘No stop, you’re ruining it; I’ll go first,’ after brushing the grass underneath to clear it of stones, France returns to lying on his back, arms behind his head, and ignores England’s tut of annoyance, ‘I think I’d actually want to go back to the days under Rome, just for a visit.’

England sits up on his elbows and takes a sip from the bottle himself, ‘I hadn’t expected that of you.’

‘No?’

‘God no. I would have thought you’d want to go back to one of your King Luis. You know, peak opulence, decadence- all that faff. You still love the fancy balls and the clothes, and the needless tat that came with it,’ England takes another sip of wine and runs his tongue over his teeth, ‘the dances and the jewels, the silly little court rules of behaviour. The gossip.’

France chuckles, ‘you were so funny every time you were dragged along- so out of place! You couldn’t go more than an hour before letting your true colours slip free.’ England was never truly refined for very long, especially when it came to the Versailles’ court standards.

‘Anyone with a lick of sense was immediately out of place,’ England quips drily and lays down again, placing the cork back in the wine as he goes.

It sounds nearly empty- shame. It was a nice year and the last of the bottles that they’d brought out to the garden. Dinner had been a late, informal affair in France’s kitchen- homemade bread and creamy, locally made cheese with chicken. Simple and filling, comfort food for the both of them. The summer heat made them both unwilling for anything too excessive and the entire day had been spent doing lots of nothing much at all; England lounging about in shorts that France refrained from teasing him about lest he stop wearing them.

‘Yes well,’ France lifts his head and clumsily bats him in the stomach with the top of his hand, ‘despite that indeed being extremely enjoyable, I do mean it. My choice of era, I mean.’

England makes a soft noise that gently demands elaboration, a low rumble in the back of his throat but France needs no prompting. He presses a knuckle into the softness of England’s stomach and feels him breathe in deep and slow.

‘I’d love to have nothing to be responsible for again. Everything was done for me, as a colony- the way my cities were built, the improvements made to my industries, the negotiations for trade and commerce, everything. I’d like to revisit being a child, in the closest sense of childhood our kind has,’ France pauses, mulling that over, ‘Imagine that again, being small but without fear of being so. No politics, no money driven economy, no push for growth. We have spent so much of our lives racing to get somewhere, striving to be more that I can hardly remember what it was like to be nothing more than an idea, existing just to speak for the lives that called themselves mine.’

France turns and catches England watching him, eyes searching and heavy, ‘Does that make sense?’ he asks him.

‘No,’ England’s answer is immediate, ‘no, and yes. The desire to be I understand, but I detested that age.’

France smiles at him, understanding masked by the dark. England does not, and never did, like being anything other than in perfect control of himself. Relinquishing that to someone else, even for his own benefit, has never been anything more than a horror.

‘Well,’ France says, ‘that is my choice. I liked being looked after and I have so much to do nowadays that it would be nice to have nothing to do once again. Nothing more than wander about my fields and see my people, or visit a northern barbarian across the sea.’

‘Don’t talk about Scotland that way, you’ll hurt his feelings.’

France laughs and reaches down to find England’s hand, open palmed and curled fingers by his side. He intertwines his own with it and brings them upwards, watching as together they cut across to block the light from his house and silhouette into a tangle of them both.

‘So,’ he says, running a thumb across the skin of England’s knuckle, ‘what era would you choose?’

England sighs, a light thing but France can hear a yearning there, ‘Any of the years I was at sea. The 1500’s when I was first starting out and even up to the 1700’s when things became more regimented- any of them. To be able to just get in a boat and go, no one knowing when I would come back or even where I was going.’

France shudders, the idea of being out in ocean that deep and so alone chilling him. For creatures that revive after death, who can wake again and again and again as long as there is a body to return to, the ocean is a lonely, painful place to die. To sink lifeless into murky depths, only to reawaken there in the dark press of salty sea; most nations avoided it as much as they could, wishing to avoid the long, drawn out death choked by waves and forgotten on the seafloor.

England never had such a healthy fear of the oceans. He went out into thunderous storms and monstrous waves as if enchanted, unable to resist the pull of something untamed. England sailed off as soon as he was able, going out for further and longer than anyone else dared and losing himself in the harsh life of the brine. He was a different creature far out at sea, something so strangely alive and perfectly at home for a man made from the soul of the mountains and land.

‘You always were a strange one for the macabre,’ France drops their hands back down and finds England once more looking at the sky, the reflection of stars glinting in his eyes.

‘The seas never change,’ his voice is quiet and distant, ‘some things do change, of course- the boats we sail on, how we do so. Things shift on the sea, the lands we travel to and from are washed away and changed with time but the sea itself is always the same. I appreciate it for that, it is predictably unpredictable. Constantly refusing the press of mankind by being the one thing we can never truly understand, for all of mankind’s new fancy gadgets.’

England gives a sudden, dry laugh, ‘I used to navigate the world by constellations, now I have to travel just to find some stars. To the highest peaks I have, or deep in my countryside to avoid as much light pollution as I can. But out at sea they are as they have always been, the same things I have watched and tracked for thousands of years. That is when I can just be as I have always been.’

The sky hangs overhead, speckled and bright and now, France notices, startlingly empty, ‘I often forget that they’re there,’ France speaks to the sky, ‘Funny, isn’t it? How something so fundamental can disappear and mankind not even notice. How odd to forget that stars are there, then to not notice they’re gone.’

‘We are cursed or blessed to remember what’s past,’ England offers, ‘which one depends on who we remember for.’

They lay in silence for a moment. France feels the collected years sit with him openly, laying on his chest and heart like tiny weights. The ground pushes against his back, firm and unmoving, and he breathes in deeply, smelling the heat of the summer in the air. He is here. He is now. He is. Still, after all this time. He watches.

To exist is to change, to live is to evolve and move with the flow of time, but France understands the want for something constant in the flood, something that stays recognisable and the same throughout the years. The older he gets, the more he yearns for it keenly.

‘You’ve gone and made things serious,’ he lifts himself back up on an elbow, England looking at him without moving his head, ‘just like you to take a light conversation and ruin it.’

England raises an eyebrow, “Oh the lies you tell yourself; they do amuse me.”

His French is accented with a Norman dialect, a gentle dig and refusal to fully let France have what he wants and France laughs at it, at this one unchanging constant he is stuck with. He leans down to kiss him, hair curling into England’s face and hiding what remains of the night sky.

----

AN: Every time I try writing one of these small drabbles, I start out with a particular idea and tone in mind but gosh darn it they never go where I intend for them to.

Today we have ended up with this, two old men talking themselves in circles in the summer grass.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 13

Hannibal and cult girl make an executive decision about their family and their future.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: threats of violence

"What do you think, pumpkin?" You whispered to your bump, hoping that the jaunty music coming from your 3DS would make your one-sided conversion harder to hear. "Which starter should I choose?"

You put your hand on your belly. "Should I choose Treeko?"

A strong, enthusiastic kick followed.

"Wow! Treeko it is, then." You laughed, selecting the lizard Pokémon. "With kicks that strong, you're gonna grow up to be an MMA fighter."

Hannibal entered the room, trying to soothe his temper but failing. He was tasked with cleaning up the mess on the porch, and his sinuses were singed.

"My hero!" You cooed, trying to make him feel better about having to deal with what you dubbed the Bitch Petroleum Oil Spill.

"If she comes back on our property, she's dinner." Hannibal paced back and forth across the room, seething with rage. You didn't know if it was the threat against your life or the h-bomb of concentrated essential oils that got him so steamed. Probably both.

"Hannibal-" You said in a soothing voice.

"-if she runs into you at the grocery store, she's dinner. If I smell a whiff of that hideous Marc Jacobs concoction she bathes in, she's dinner."

"I don't think anything is going to happen, Hanni." You said, more for your sake than for his. If there was even a possibility that you or your baby were in danger, he'd do everything in his power to keep you safe. And he had quite a bit of power.

Hannibal released a tense breath and sat down on the bed. "How do you know?"

You shut your 3DS and put it to the side. "I just do."

"With logical reasoning like that, you'd make quite a lawyer, Mrs. Lecter." Hannibal teased, in that stiff, half-amused way he did when he was partially done working through tension.

"If it were Theresa, I'd be worried." You rationalized. "Theresa is an executor. Anna is a follower. She doesn't have the individual drive to actually, y'know, hurt someone."

"You did end her career and her marriage, not to mention her prospects of winning an obscene amount of money, in one ten-minute conversation." He recounted. "That is some serious motive. I wouldn't put much past her."

"Please." You rolled your eyes. "All she's gonna do is beg Liam to let her in, take a bath and drink an entire bottle of chardonnay while watching Riverdale."

Hannibal took off his shoes and lied down next to you. He propped his head up on his arm and fixed his gaze on you.

"What?" You laughed.

"You're so delectably round." He commented, licking his lips.

"Hey!" You protested. "You can't make those jokes when you actually eat people, y'know?"

"Is that so?" He smirked, propping himself up over you on his elbows. He lowered his face down to your ear. "Am I scaring you?"

"No." You giggled. "But you might be scaring her!"

"Her?" He repeated.

"The baby, who else?"

His face turned from playfully mischievous to genuine wonder and awe. He stroked your hair and looked into your eyes.

"What?" You laughed. "Are you mad that I assumed the baby's pronouns? Cause I will read her Gender Trouble when the time is right-"

"You want to be a mother." He said, his voice in an optimistic upturn.

Your face turned hot. "I've been... considering it."

"You do." Hannibal corrected. "I hear you talking to her, teaching her all about Pokémon. Telling her all the things you want to do when she arrives."

You looked down at your belly and narrowed your eyes. "You snitch. I told you not to tell anyone."

Hannibal chuckled, his hand lifting your shirt to reveal your large belly. "You would be the most incredible mother."

"Not to harsh the buzz or anything," You said, breaking eye contact. "But it's not like I have a very strong foundation to build off of."

"That just means we have to build our own foundation." He said, his buzz not harshed in the slightest. "One based on love, education, compassion."

"Hannibal..." you sighed. "What happens when I go back to school?"

"You'll study. Hard, of course." He said as if it were that simple. "You'll focus on your career and I will be the primary caregiver until you've established yourself."

"You said it yourself, though." You shrugged. "Parenting isn't supposed to be some blissful retirement plan. It's stressful."

"I've come to the realization that if I want this child I need to do everything in my power to minimize the burden on you." Hannibal said. "My career is secured. Yours is just getting started. I couldn't live with myself if I denied you that."

"I mean..." your voice trailed off. "We killed two couples and turned them into tex-mex together. Is there anything we can't do?"

"That's my girl." He said, running his fingers through your hair.

"Of course, now we have a lot of planning to do." You tried not to sound too excited. "We need to buy a stroller, a carseat, a changing table-"

"Pick a name." Hannibal finished.

Your mouth hung open. "Oh, shit, you're right!"

"You haven't thought of it at all?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

You shook your head. "Once you name it, you start getting attached to it. I guess I wanted to avoid that."

"So you're telling me you don't have a singular notion of what you'd want to name our little girl?" He pressed.

You caved. "Something not basic."

Hannibal was a professional at keeping his emotions under wraps: and that included body language and vocal intonation. You learned to pick up on his reactions through the most minute of tells. For example, the tiny exhale out of his nose and the slight tightening of his lips roughly translated to "oh thank god".

"Something that would be befitting for the title of countess." Hannibal said, taking the opportunity to remind you of his royal lineage.

"Will she be privy to the title if she's born out of wedlock?" You joked.

"She will be. Because I say so." Hannibal's curled upper lip turned into a self-confident smile. "And so will you, my countess."

"Well, in that case," You said, staring dreamily off into space. "I've always liked the quiet majesty of Gaelic and Celtic names."

His eyes lit up. "Deidre, Isolde, Saoirse, Rowena?"

"Boudicca." You offered. "Countess Boudicca Lecter."

"The warrior queen." He placed his hand over your belly. "Just like her mother."

"Or what about Cordelia?" You posed. "It's elegant, but simple."

"Imogen?" Hannibal said, as if he were asking the baby for her opinion.

Another sharp kick followed. He would never get used to feeling her kick. It made him melt every time.

He lowered himself to bring his lips to your belly. "You like the name Imogen?"

"Imogen Lecter." You said. "I like the sound of that."

Hannibal kissed your bump and then looked up at you. "Now then, my love. You are to teach me everything you know about Pokémon."

Your eyes widened. You never thought anyone would ever ask that. "...I'd love to, but, why?"

Hannibal returned to your side and pulled you into his arms. "How am I supposed to keep up with you and sweet Imogen if I don't know how the game works?"

You laughed. "You really want to know?"

"It makes you happy." He nodded, holding you a little closer. "Why wouldn't I want to know?"

A smile spread across your face. "It's a turn-based roleplaying game. You catch and train magical creatures and the end goal is to assemble a diverse team that covers as many areas as possible."

"That sounds, admittedly, quite fun." He said, reaching for your 3DS. "Show me?"

You spent the rest of the evening together in a cuddle pile, walking him through how the game worked. For an evening, you forgot about your sore breasts, your aching back and your sadistic cousin. You just enjoyed being with Hannibal and with Imogen in the dim glow of a decade-old 3DS.

[princessofguineapigs]

How Can I Refuse Part 1 | Tom Holland

rated: PG-13 for suggestive language, abuse

a/n: slight inspiration from Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper, namely, the pauper part.

words: 1.1 k

“The girl will service all your needs,” Mr. Latreille told the stranger. “And I do mean all of them.” You didn’t dare to look at either man as you made up the bed in the guest chambers. Catching the eye of Mr. Latreille often meant trouble. He considered it disrespectful for servants to make eye-contact. This out of town guest had asked for an extended stay, but you didn’t know much beyond that.

You flipped up the duvet as the young man gave his thanks to your owner. Your arrangement was temporary. You had agreed to eight years of indentured servitude to save your family. Currently, you were a little over three years into your contract.

“Do you need help?” the guest asked you.

You turned. “Oh, no, sir. I’ll get out of your way.” You fluffed the last pillow and dipped out of the room. Your tasks were hard, but today they were made easier as you daydreamed about the handsome stranger. You kept playing over the simple question he’d asked. Do you need help? He would never know how much those words cheered you up, even if you couldn’t accept his help. You rushed through your normal duties, polishing the cabinets, scrubbing the floors, doing the wash. 

With a little bit of time to spare before you needed to prepare supper for Mr. Latreille, you decided to fix a meal for the new guest.

*

You scurried up the servants’ stairs with a tray of beet soup and biscuits for the kind man staying in the guest suite. 

Strangely, you found yourself hoping that the gentleman would enjoy the food you prepared. You couldn’t explain why you suddenly felt the need to impress him. It’s not like he would ever look twice at a mousy thing like you. Balancing the tray in one hand, you rapped on his door lightly.

“Come in,” the man called.

“Excuse me, sir. I thought you might be hungry.” You curtsied lightly, mindful of the tray.

“Please, call me Tom,” the man said as you set the tray down on the nightstand. “What’s your name?”

As you parted your lips to answer, Mr. Latreille stomped through the door you had forgotten to close.

“Mr. Holland, how are your accommodations?” he asked.

“They’re good. Your waitstaff is taking excellent care of me,” Tom said.

At that, Mr. Latreille noticed you. “Don’t you have chores to do, girl? You’re not needed here.”

“Actually, I’d like you to stay,” Tom said.

“Of course, Tom,” you replied.

CRACK

The blow delivered to your face was from the hand of Mr. Latreille and the force of it knocked you to the ground. “Insolent slut! Never address your betters as anything other than ‘sir’!” he screamed at you. He made to strike you again.

“STOP!” Tom shouted. 

Mr. Latreille gave him a withering look, smoke coming from his ears, his face was the same shade as the beets you’d prepared for Tom’s soup.

“I want to use her later,” Tom lied. “I don’t want her face marked up.”

“Very well,” Mr. Latreille said. He exited the room abruptly and slammed the door behind him.

“I won’t hurt you,” Tom said after Mr. Latreille left. “Please, tell me your name, angel.”

“It’s Y/N, sir,” you said.

“Y/N, a fitting name for a beautiful creature like you. And you don’t have to call me sir. Tom is still fine when we’re alone, but we’ll keep up appearances in front of your boss, hmm?”

You nodded and dared to meet his gaze for only an instant. It was a mistake. Tom’s warm, inviting eyes drew you in and held you there. An instant became a second and a second became a moment as you stared deeper into his walnut brown eyes.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Tom asked, patting the spot beside him on the bed.

You joined him and he reached out a hand toward your face. You flinched automatically. “I’m sorry. Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Stings a little,” you said. Tom caressed your face gently, ghosting over the red mark.

“Sister Kalina, at the Abbey, says that when we are wronged we should turn the other cheek, but I am always too afraid to offer the other cheek,” you said.

“No one should ever harm you, Y/N. Least of all, men. Why do you work for that awful man?”

“I have to. I have no choice. He owns me, at least for the next five years,” you said.

Tom looked at you in horror. “Owns you? What do you mean? How can he own another person?”

You folded your hands in your lap. “In the beginning, when my family first moved here, we were very poor,” you started to explain. “And Mr. Latreille let us live here while my parents worked for him. They worked hard, but soon they racked up debts. They never had enough to provide for me and my brother, so they kept borrowing money from Mr. Latreille.”

Tom reached for your left hand and held it in his own.

“If it hadn’t been for his generosity, we would have been on the streets. The debts piled higher and higher. Mr. Latreille grew angry and threatened to have my parents thrown in jail if they didn’t pay what they owed in full.”

Tom wasn’t sure how to comfort you, but he knew he wanted to, so he lightly rubbed circles on your hand with his thumb.

“Because they didn’t have the money, Mr. Latreille said if they could trade something of equal value, he would consider their debt paid. My parents said they didn’t have anything. That if they had anything like that they would sell it and give him the money. That’s when he suggested they give him me. He told them that if they left me here to work for him for eight years, he would call it even and let me go. He turned them out then because he was no longer willing to house them and forced them to leave the city. If they return before my indentured servitude is complete, he will have them jailed.”

Tom squeezed your hand in his. “I’m sorry about your misfortune. How do you deal with such an awful situation?”

You smiled sadly. “My heart escapes when I can’t.”

Tom’s gaze on your face was forlorn. “I’m going to help you, Y/N. However I can.”

Before you could thank him, a bellowing voice jolted you. “GIRL! MY FIRE NEEDS TENDING!”

You glanced at Tom apologetically. “The help is summoned,” you said. “Ring or holler if you need anything.” In a rustle of petticoat and apron, you were out the door and down the servants’ stairs. As you scampered off to your chores, your thoughts dwelled on the handsome kind stranger, and his promise of aid.

Meanwhile,  Tom vowed to himself that he would find a way to break your bonds of servitude.

Part 2

[thegeneralguy]

The Champion of Olympus - Poseidon´s Passion

Out of all the three realms connected to the earth, the sea was by far the most extensive one. An entire underwater universe lurked beneath the surface, with more diversity in its inhabitants than both heaven and earth. Poseidon was the ruler of that realm, with the responsibility of maintaining the planet itself in balance. Oceanic currents and tectonic movement were crucial for the mortals´ survival. The god of the sea had inherited the realm after the Titanomachy, given to him by the true embodiment of the sea, Oceanus. He and his titan spouse had given birth to many of the phenomena Poseidon had to keep in check.

But the normally boisterous god was unusually quiet, sitting down in his chariot heading back to the cold depths of his kingdom. The words of his brothers resonated within him. Could it really be possible for Typhon to escape? And more importantly, would he be able to protect all the creatures under his rule? Keeping balance was Poseidon´s primary priority, which made the whole situation even more alarming for him. He took the reins tying the hippocampi pulling his chariot and pressured them to move faster. He had to reach the Oceanic Retreat, also known as the sunken city of Atlantis, to consult with the court about his next course of action.

The palace was located in the center of the underwater capital, adorned with bright gems and bright colorful coral. The city was so deep under the sea, it was unreachable by Apollo´s power. But despite the lack of sunlight, luminescent beings shone brightly to light the streets and buildings. Poseidon´s chariot floated over the gates of the palace and parked on one of the numerous sea gardens, which were filled with creatures and coral normally found on superficial reefs. Triton, Poseidon´s heir, and most trusted advisor greeted him from the gates of the palace.

"That bad huh?"

He asked as soon as he caught a glimpse of the god´s grim visage. The muscular deity approached his son carrying his massive trident with ease, the muscles in his arm pulsing with supernatural strength. The strength to make the earth shake and the ocean rise. Both gods rushed inside the palace to his throne room, while Poseidon put Triton up to date. The young deity was eager to learn the ways of Olympus, for when it was his turn to rise to the throne, so he listened carefully every time his father complained about their extended family.

"How fitting of uncle Zeus to find a way to try to compete with all of you. But if what he and Hades said is right, then we have no time to waste."

"It won´t be so easy son. Our job is to keep balance, and granting divinity to a mortal can very much upset the natural equilibrium of the planet. Just remember where we´re standing right now."

The city of Atlantis, once a thriving metropolis of the ancient world, had fallen victim to the whims of a fallen hero´s delirium and a heavenly dispute. After being defeated by the patron city of Poseidon´s niece, the Atlanteans fell into despair. They managed to get the favor of the god of the sea, who granted power beyond belief to their heroic leader. But this human wasn´t meant to rise as a new god, so the rest of Olympus rejected him, and punished the city by sinking it to the depths of the ocean.

While Triton pondered on his father´s worries, they reached the throne room. A glowing golden throne adorned with all kinds of underwater flora and fauna was in the center of the room, surrounded by a half-circle of different chairs more modest, but still ornamental to symbolize the sea´s royalty. Poseidon stood in front of his throne and slammed the enormous trident on the ground, producing an explosive sound that resonated within the entire ocean.

After a couple of seconds, the god of the sea´s call was answered by the most prominent figures in the oceanic realm. A representative for both the Oceanids, sea nymphs and the Potamoi, the rivers of the world, were the first to appear. Poseidon´s spouse Amphitrite also arrived fast and took her place right next to her husband. Polyphemus came next, the representative for the cyclops who were all devoted to the god of the sea. The old man of the sea, Nereus himself, showed up next. His relationship with Poseidon was more like a truce than a hierarchy, but Nereus´ connection to the ocean realm´s mortal creatures, including his daughters, was a good reason to keep him as an ally. The last one to show up was Styx, the embodiment of the river of the same name coursing through Hades´ realm.

As the court of the sea assembled, Triton took his seat on the right of his father and watched as the gigantic god paraded his muscular physique floating across the room.

"As some of you may know, I was summoned by Zeus for an emergency meeting. It seems the original monster is trying to break free from Tartarus. Is that true Styx?"

Automatically all eyes turned to the river´s seat expectantly. After Hades and the chthonic gods, the underworld river was supposed to know all the happenings of the realm.

"I have heard some rumors, but Lord Hades hasn´t told me anything. Things feel pretty normal in the underworld though. I haven´t sensed any fluctuations within my currents, which are pretty sensitive for any changes in the realm."

"That's very strange, but the fates wouldn´t lie. There is no way they would fall victims of a simple rumor."

Answered Poseidon meditating on the river´s answer. Styx was known to be direct and efficient, seeking to form a bridge between the realms so mortal souls reached their resting space safely. It wouldn´t bother to try and deceive the rest of the deities, especially on such a delicate matter. But then, who was lying? Triton raised from his seat and continued talking, trying to explain the situation his father was telling him about a couple of minutes ago.

"It seems the king of the gods has called for a new Champion to be chosen."

"Is that true Poseidon?"

Asked Amphitrite looking at her husband with worry in her eyes. Poseidon´s days of violence ended eons ago, and she was worried a heavenly competition like the trial of the Champion was going to get the worst out of her husband again.

"Zeus commanded each of the twelve Olympians to choose a champion. As you can imagine, I´m very reluctant to do so again."

Answered Poseidon with a serious tone. The last thing he wanted was to put his subjects through another catastrophe, but something smelled fishy in the whole situation. He wasn´t keen on trusting his family, but the odds were too high. He had to assume the worst in order to prepare. Nereus rose from his seat, his long white beard filled with barnacles floating around him, and talked in a raspy voice that sounded like a shipwreck crashing in the bottom of the sea.

"You have to make a choice Poseidon. We cannot risk Typhon getting out, it would mean extinction for our kind. Your newfound love for balance will have to wait until this situation is resolved."

"How dare you tell me how I should act old man. Remember I am the god of the sea, one of the twelve Olympians, and your ruler. I know what is best for my kingdom."

Growled Poseidon angrily, as his trident caused the floor to shake with fury. Nereus smirked slightly, knowing he reached the god´s weakest spot: his authoritarian nature. No matter how he tried to hide it, Poseidon was infatuated by battle and carnage. And he was going to demonstrate to all the sea that the king still had the will of expanding the realm. A Champion of the sea on earth would create the perfect opportunity to take over the terrestrial plane.

"Leave the sentimentalism aside Poseidon. You have to make a choice. Will you risk the present´s balance to secure the future?"

Everyone looked at the silent god of the sea. Poseidon hated Nereus, but he was right. Balance is not worth it if the future is put in doubt. He had made his choice. As hard as it was, he had to gift a mortal again with divinity. Triton stared worriedly at his father. The advisor knew what his king was capable of, and it scared him. But in the end, the risk had to be worth the benefits. He reached to touch his father´s giant shoulder.

"Father…"

Poseidon then raised his trident, as a powerful twisting current propelled him upwards, going through the open roof and heading for the surface. If his brothers wanted a Champion, they were going to have one. For the sake of the ocean, and the balance of the future.

  It was a peculiarly cold day on top of the St. Helena frigate. Ltjg. Gabo Ramirez was making his usual rounds on the top deck, making sure everyone was doing their respective tasks. The young man had joined the navy in hopes of finding some stability in his chaotic life. He had always felt attracted to the sea, its vast expanse offering the peace of mind that a problematic orphaned child needed. Growing up on the coast let him escape very often to meet his secret lover. He got infatuated when he was very young, and his mother was still alive. She took him to the beach every day to collect different treasures like seashells or pieces of broken coral in order to make jewelry out of them. Young Gabo felt proud he was helping support his widowed mother.

His father was a fisherman, but he barely had any memory of him, because he died when Gabo was barely a toddler. His mother told him his fishing ship sank during one of the common hurricanes predating on the beautiful Caribbean coast. But even though the sea had taken one of his progenitors away, Gabo couldn´t help but fall deeper in love with it. As he grew up, money grew tight. His mother tried desperately to provide for her son, so he could go to school and do something with his life. Life pushed her to more desperate means, selling herself so her son could have a future. In the end, things turned out grim for the poor boy.

He still remembered the stormy night when someone knocked on the door of their little apartment. A tall police officer told him the bad news. They found her on a bench close to the harbor. His mother died trying to protect her son. His childhood ended on that instant, and he was thrown down an administrative rabbit hole that turned his life into a living nightmare. He jumped from orphanages to foster homes over and over again. He felt like the world had betrayed him, taking his greatest love away from him. The sweet child turned into a sour teenager, who caused trouble and mischief wherever he went. His only refuge was still the sea. After all that had happened, it was the only place where Gabo felt grounded and alive. After his mother passed away it became his greatest love.

After he miraculously made his way through school, he decided to leave Puerto Rico and enlist in the U.S. navy. He was conscious his life needed to take a turn for the better, so he was mentally prepared for whichever challenge the tough military system was going to throw at him. The problem was, he was not physically ready for them, struggling through the first years of training. A life of chaos had left him with a scrawny underfed body, which was agile enough to get him swiftly out of trouble, but not strong enough to face it.

He remained adamant on his decision, and he endured the painful years of training, swallowing his deep survival instinct of fleeing before he was entirely committed. Gabo was used to swiftly getting out of trouble, thanks to his more cowardly nature. But he studied hard, put his life on track, and was rewarded for it. Now he got to spend a life together with his love, the sea, watching its waves flow into the horizon. A blue paradise extended before him.

Ltjg. Ramirez diverted his gaze from the ocean and went back to realizing his tasks to their full extent. The frigate was on standby close to the arctic sea, between Greenland and Europe, so there wasn´t a lot to do. The wind outside was pretty cold, nothing but dark water and a few small icebergs in the surroundings. He went back into the ship to finish his active shift and get something to eat in the cafeteria.

"Hey, Ramirez! Come here, we´re playing poker. This asshole has been running his mouth about beating you all afternoon!"

Said Lt. March calling him to one of the tables, where some of his crewmates were gathered. The person running his mouth was Lt. Krass. He and March were Ramirez´s superiors, but they had grown to like the mousy kid. His skills in gambling were known on the whole ship and made his crewmates and some of his superiors very interested in testing his skills. Life on the streets had taught him everything he needed to know to be a good gambler, and he had a good poker face to finish his killer combination.

"I can gladly take all your money off of you sir."

Said Ramirez laughing as he sat on the table to play with the cards. Sailors had to enjoy every second of interaction, or else they started suffering some mental issues that came with the constant isolation and lack of new stimuli.

"I´m telling you kid if you didn´t look like a toothpick I would´ve beaten your ass for taking a week´s worth of salary."

Said the much bigger Lt. March in an intimidating way, but just with the right amount of joyfulness to let Gabo know he was joking. He could probably pick the small junior lieutenant and throw him overboard if he felt like it.

"Give him a break March. It´s not his fault you´re a dumb player. Besides, I´ll get that money and will take you to a nice bar with it when we touch land again."

Laughed the equally big Krass punching his mate on the shoulder. In fact, Ramirez was probably the smallest man on board. The 24-year-old barely made the height cut on the recruiting process, and although he had gained some muscle mass from the rigorous training, it wasn´t enough to get close to his crewmate´s giant sizes. But his appearance was what caused his crewmates and superiors to gain a certain fondness for the young recruit. He was the runt of the litter.

After a while of laughing at Krass´s dumbfound expression as Ramirez managed to beat him and take all his money as well, the boys called off the night and everyone was in their chambers by curfew. Ramirez laid on his bed feeling the soft movement of the waves rocking his bed, enjoying the sensation. He thought about his mother and the beach in his childhood, as his memories carried him to deep sleep, completely ignorant of the approaching menace on the cold waters of the ocean.

 All sailors woke up at five in the morning, swiftly getting out of bed and lining up to clean themselves. Gabo woke up agitated. He had a strange feeling, but he couldn´t exactly distinguish what was going on. He also had strange dreams that night, about a giant black whale stalking the tumbling frigate, whilst he watched powerlessly from the deck of the ship.

"Not a very good night kid? It must be that guilty conscience for stealing from your favorite superior."

Said Lt. March, who was directly in line in front of him. Ramirez managed to get a nervous laugh out.

"It´s nothing, sir. Just a bad dream."

March looked at him with concern. He really cared for the well being of his subordinates, and he was worried being on the sea for so long was starting to take its toll on the novice sailor. He knew the young junior lieutenant was very passionate about his work, but he was still inexperienced to recognize the effects of long-term isolation.

"Listen Ramirez. I´m your superior, but we´re a team. There´s not a lot to do today, so why don't you take it easy just for a day."

The young recruit smiled broadly at the big man in front of him.

"Thanks, sir, but I can handle work. I know what I signed up for."

Lt. March smiled back, impressed at the discipline of his subordinate. This kid was going to go far he thought, as both made their way into the small shower cabin. While they were undressing, Krass approached March and whispered something to him quietly. Ramirez couldn´t hear a word, but judging by March´s expression it wasn´t good news. Krass then left the bathroom, and March turned around to face Ramirez. His big chest was inches away from Gabo´s face, and his lower part was tightly covered by a small towel.

It wasn´t a secret Ramirez was into both men and women. All his crewmates respected his orientation and felt comfortable around him. So much they didn´t mind parading themselves naked from time to time, testing the young recruit´s self-control. It was harder in the beginning, but now Gabo was used to it, casually having conversations with his fellow naked sailors. He still enjoyed the show, only silently and respectfully. He has had few sexual experiences in the past, but nothing to boast about. Still, his crew was untouchable for him, the comradery far outweighing the lust.

March was another story though. The man sported an impressive physique build through years and years of discipline and hard training. His chest was very prominent, followed by a big muscular gut that was still a couple of inches behind. Powerful arms capable of pulling even the heaviest anchor hung to his side, and tree trunk legs supported the almost 300 pounds man. He was also a good head taller than Ramirez, making the younger sailor a dwarf in comparison. Even though Ramirez tried his best, he couldn´t help but feel a certain level of attraction for the muscular man. After gawking at his superior´s body for enough time, Gabo looked up to hear what he was about to say.

"It seems there is a storm heading our way. It´s gonna be a full day of work after all Ramirez. You´ll get your chance to shine."

Ltjg. Ramirez never faced an open sea storm on his few months on board, so he didn´t know what to expect. A feeling in his gut was telling him to pretend he was sick to stay under the deck, but Gabo was no coward. He was going to do his work and prove why he was there among those big burly men. He finished showering and looked at himself in the mirror.

His dark brown hair was neatly cut in a conscription cut, perfectly square and short. His young face had a scar on his chin product of a street brawl a couple of years ago, but his features still retained the innocent look that came with youth. His beautiful light brown skin was free of any blemishes. His smooth body had slight muscle definition, but more because of little body fat than actual lean mass. He quickly glanced inside the towel to look at his manhood. He couldn´t be disappointed because there were smaller dicks around, but he was nowhere near to someone endowed. He was more like on the average to the low part of the scale. He was feeling good and confident about himself today. Gabo quickly put on his uniform and rushed outside to start his tasks for the day.

He headed up the deck to quickly brush the floors, check the analog temperature measurements and check that the lifeboats were in a good state. People quickly mobilized after news of the storm spread around. The captain made a formal announcement during lunch, telling the crew they should brace for the storm in the early hours of the night. No one seemed to be too scared about it, making their usual jokes and talking loudly lie every day. Still, the feeling in the pit of his stomach was starting to bother Ramirez. He had a bad feeling about today. And as a kid from the street, Gabo knew trusting his feelings was crucial for survival. The nerves were causing him to barely touch his food.

Lt. March noticed the kid staring quietly at his tray. It was unusual for the lively Latin kid to go dead silent, so he approached and sat down next to him.

"Don´t worry kid, it´s just a storm. Occupational hazards. It will be gone sooner than you think."

Even though Ramirez loved the sea, storms were always a cause of anxiety for him. He was reminded that a storm killed his father. And worse of all, a storm was raging the night he found out about his mother. Storms were a bad omen for him. He turned around to face the rugged, but the concerned face of his superior.

"I trust you, sir. It´s just I have a bad history with storms."

"I assure you kid, it´s gonna be a better night than one with you taking all my money."

The light-hearted joke made both men laugh, as the tense aura around Gabo dissipated. He trusted his lieutenant. He saw in him the father figure he never had. They finished eating their meal and dispersed around the ship to finish the preparations for the bad forecast. When the sun started setting down is when the dark clouds started gathering over the frigate. Strong winds pushed everything exposed to the surface, and increasingly agitated waves crashed against the ship, making the most remote corners of the shell creak under the water´s pressure. Ramirez finished his tasks on deck and looked to the horizon for the last time of the day. An ominous dark mass was approaching the ship. Little droplets started falling from the sky. They were the last preface of what was about to come. The junior lieutenant went back under deck quickly as the slow rain turned into a tempestuous downpour.

He found his crewmates in the cafeteria as usual, but there were no games this time. Everyone was eating quietly, expectant of the first order barked through the loudspeakers. March wasn´t there, nor Krass. Ramirez assumed that command was having a meeting about the current situation. He sat down on a corner with his tray, unable to take a bite. All his instincts were telling him to run, to get out of there swiftly, so he could survive. Ramirez was fighting his innate fleeing nature. He kept reassuring himself why he got enlisted, why he was doing everything he was told to. He wanted stability, he craved it. But a part of him didn´t want to leave his past self behind. It was what kept him alive for so long after all. But he couldn´t go back to fleeing from his problem. And most important of all he couldn´t let his crew know he was so scared. Bravery in the face of adversity was a virtue after all. This little sacrifice was for his future self, and no one else.

The sailors left the cafeteria quietly. One by one they retired to their chambers. Ramirez followed his crewmates and was able to go to bed early as he didn´t have any guard shift that night. He zoned out for a while, unable to reach deep sleep. After a few hours, around midnight, the alarm made him jump out of bed and get dressed. He got out of his chambers to see all his crewmates heading for the upper doors. The hallway was lit red, and a reverberating sound echoed through the passages of the frigate. Ramirez tried his best not to fall due to what he assumed was disorientation until the entire crew including him were thrown to the side. He wasn´t dizzy, it was the waves crashing against the ship that caused it to rock back and forth intensively.

When he made it to the upper deck, his fellow sailors were all running to their stations. Many went to prepare the lifeboats, while others reinforced the previously tied up materials so the storm couldn´t blow them again. Ramirez went to his emergency station next to the edge to secure the supplies he was supposed to. The sky was completely painted black, like the furious sea bellow him. Rain poured down intensively, and an icy wind blew with all force against the ship and its crew. Ramirez was freezing, his frail body more exposed thanks to its lack of body mass, and the tempestuous currents kept throwing him around like a little leaf during an autumn breeze.

A big wave crashed against the frigate, making the vessel lean completely to the opposite side. One of the crates on the opposite side of Ramirez got untied and came sliding fast towards the terrified recruit, who was holding on to the rails on the edge for his life. He turned around just on time to see the giant box charging against him, and closed his eyes preparing for the inevitable. He immediately heard his name echo in the distance and felt a powerful pair of hands push him from the back out of the crate´s trajectory. Ramirez looked back just in time to see his protector Lt. March flies off the board into the raging waters below.

"Lt. March!"

Screamed the tearful junior lieutenant. His fear was completely erased in an instant, triggering his quick reaction speed. He grabbed a safety rope next to him and without thinking he threw himself into the mouth of the beast. The black waters of the sea swallowed him whole. The only thing he felt was a bone-chilling sensation taking over his entire body, as he swam in the direction of his superior.

"Kid what are you doing here?! You crazy son of a bitch!"

Said March in a mixture of awe, anger, and gratefulness.

"It´s my duty to protect my crew lieutenant! Quick, grab the rope!"

He handed over the rope to the more experienced March, who started tying a strong knot so the crew could pull them out. Their brief moment of relief ended in an instant, as another giant wave stroke from their side this time, separating the young Ramirez from his lieutenant. The crew started pulling the rope, just to get only March back on board. The big man immediately perched on the edge and frantically searched with his eyes for the young subordinate.

"Ramirez! Ramirez!"

But only darkness remained, with no sight of the young recruit. Meanwhile, Ramirez struggled to swim against a powerful current. He considered himself a good swimmer, having grown close to the water. But no matter how hard he kicked and flailed, the underwater stream kept pulling him downwards. The cold was starting to numb his senses, as he let out a last bubble of breath and his unconscious body was dragged into the infinite abyss.

 Ramirez then woke up surrounded by complete darkness. He was laying on a rocky wet floor, dripping wet and feeling breathless. He coughed a couple of times, expelling a good amount of water out of his lungs. He stood up, but couldn't see anything around him. There was no breeze, no sound, absolutely nothing. He was about to take a step when a strong voice made him freeze in his tracks.

"Lt. Ramirez. I´ve been looking for someone like you."

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"Those questions don´t matter anymore child. You´re under my protection, that´s all that matters."

He then heard a resounding metallic sound against the rocky floor and was completely shocked by what he saw. The trident of the god of the sea emitted a powerful glow, which then seeped into the cracks on the bedrock bellow to illuminate Ramirez´s surroundings. He was inside a big air compartment under what it seemed to be the ocean, and in front of him was an extremely muscular man holding a giant trident. Poseidon then approached the young lieutenant, holding up his chin with his strong hand.

"You will do just fine. Your potential is unmeasurable, and you know the meaning of suffering and the price of balance. A noble soul like you will be of great use to me and my realm."

"I have to get back to my ship sir. Please help me, my crew is in danger."

Said Ramirez nervously while he scanned the god in front of him with his eyes. The prominent chest was probably as wide as Ramirez holding both of his arms to his sides, with strong protruding abdominal muscles supporting it. He had the biggest arms he had ever seen, even among the famous bodybuilders he always liked to watch on the internet. His lower body was even more powerful. He was only wearing the lower part of a short white robe, with gold accessories adorning his wrists and belt. Two penetrating blue eyes glowed like the deepest of oceans, set as the highlight of a rugged but beautiful face. The cherry on top was a luscious chestnut-colored beard falling right on top of his upper chest. Poseidon noticed the way this kid was looking at him and smiled broadly. He liked his ego stroked like all the gods.

"The ship was spared. But that passion is what I´m looking for. A loving protector, who is strong enough to crush anything on his way."

He pointed his trident towards the young lieutenant and smiled.

"Meet me on the base of Mount Olympus in Greece by the next full moon. I will grant you the true love of my kingdom, in exchange for your loyalty and strength. I´m counting on you."

A blue light came out of the trident, completely enveloping Ramirez. The cold sensation was gone, together with the exhaustion he felt before regaining consciousness. When the light faded, Poseidon was gone. The air bubble around him started popping, letting water in again. Ramirez was quickly swallowed by the ocean, having only time to briefly hold his breath. Once he could not hold it any longer, he coughed only to find out he was able to breathe normally underwater. He also thought about how he practically was immune to the pressure of the sea above him, not feeling any strain on his body.

He took off his uniform so he could swim better, leaving him only wearing the pair of black boxer shorts he had on, and started exploring his surroundings. The light the trident had infused on the ground remained there and formed a path leading the young sailor forward into the darkness. After swimming for a while, he found the strangest creature he had ever seen. A beautiful horse with the tail of a fish was waiting at the end of the illuminated road. The animal looked at Ramirez, and he immediately knew what he had to do. He floated towards the hippocampus, and rode on its back, grabbing its neck as the animal swiftly swam towards the surface.

He must have been pretty deep thought Ramirez because it took a long time until he saw the weak rays of sunlight replace the absolute darkness he was in before. He could feel the water caressing his body, but it opposed little resistance to the fast creature and the young sailor on top. It also wasn´t cold like before, but getting warmer the more the sea horse carried him through the vastness of the ocean. He was fascinated by its massive expanse and could feel its sheer power pulsating through the water.

They passed all kinds of sea creatures like schools of fishes, dolphins and even a few whales. Ramirez´s connection with the sea grew stronger, together with his love for it. He was so enthralled by the fascinating view in front of him that he missed the sensation the stronger current was causing on his body. The swirling water quickly surrounded him, tying him to the back of the hippocampus and constraining his limbs. Ramirez felt a dull pain product of the waters slowly pulling his limbs and spine further away from each other, rapidly adding inches to his height until the formerly short sailor reached a towering 7 feet height. The pulling didn´t stop there though, as each bone grew to form the canvas for the muscle that was coming in next.

The warm water caressed and massaged each individual muscle, transferring the titanic strength of the ocean to them. The legs holding on to the hippocampus started growing first. It looked like water was being pumped directly into his skin. Quadriceps strong enough to crush rocks between them formed on his upper legs, with edges carving themselves out of the gigantic muscles. His calves were pulled apart and rearranged by the current until two diamond-shaped calves replaced the former toothpick lower legs. His feet grew even bigger for a man his size, necessary for the swift propulsion underwater. The growth moved to his butt cheeks, the sensation finally making Ramirez aware of what was happening to him. He felt a strong cramp in his ass, as both glutei raised further and further from the back of the sea horse. His underwear strained to the maximum under the pressure of the new watermelon-sized ass cheeks.

Ramirez watched his lower body turn into the one of a card-carrying professional bodybuilder. The sensations invading his body were too intense for him to remain calm. He felt incredible awe for the creatures that were crossing through his sight. He felt the warm and pleasurable caress of the water on his body. He felt the strong rocking of the hippocampus´ swimming. And he felt a crushing pain as the pressure in the water reformed his body. He let go of the creature to grab his stomach in pain. He felt like the water was suctioning each individual brick in his abdomen out, and he was quickly left with a powerful eight pack cut into his midsection. His Adonis belt protruded out of his sides, and his serratus muscles carved themselves so deep it looked like the man had developed gills.

Ramirez then felt the current push him from the back of the sea horse, and the sailor fell to the back watching the creature swim away from him. He immediately began swimming trying to reach it, but his newly developed lower body still moved clumsily lacking the coordination needed to move such a heavy mass. Ramirez focused all of his strength on reaching the hippocampus when suddenly a strong water current propelled him forward and he was able to reach the creature. He then realized he was practically flying underwater, enjoying the freedom of moving like a torpedo through the ocean. He swam graciously together with the hippocampus, both dancing synchronized to the rhythm of the waters.

Small whirlpools formed around his brown nipples, sending waves of pleasure through the man and increasing their size to fit into the new gigantic chest that was about to come. His pectoral muscles squared on the lower end, and then pushed further out inflating like two water mattresses. The water was putting so much pressure on his upper body the sailor felt his bones were going to get crushed. Ramirez was left with a herculean chest powerful enough to fight the roaring waves of a tsunami. His shoulders were next, as each deltoid inflated bigger than cannonballs with enough strength to lift an anchor above his head.

He then felt the current pull his arms so hard he thought they were going to be ripped apart. The pressure in his muscles made him wince in pain, while his triceps dripped and grew like marlin´s dorsal fin, pushing the former noodles to the sides of his body, and his biceps inflated like water balloons about to pop due to their sheer size. Massive sinews formed on his upper arms, and his hands grew massively muscular, wide enough to push large amounts of water on a single stroke.

He examined both of his new arms when a cramp in his back made him bend forward and scream in pain. He felt the water vibrating on his spine, spreading the sensation to every muscle like a flare. The upper back started extending and rounding up like a turtle shell, and the lats on each side protruded so far, he looked more like a giant T instead of a V. His back was by far the strongest muscle on his body, designed to propel the new man through the chaotic waters with ease.

The current then swirled around his neck, starting to choke him. The traps raised to connect to his ears and complete the growth of the monstrous back. He could hear his grumble grow lower as his neck expanded with muscle, leaving his head looking like a tiny pin on a godly body. The pain was overwhelming the young sailor. He opened his mouth to let out a painful scream when suddenly water flowed into his body with intensity. Veins started popping out of his limbs, improving the oxygen saturation, and therefore endurance for the giant.

Large veins popped on his lower abdomen, and then he felt an excruciating pressure pushing behind his manhood. His penis then started inflating, far surpassing the limits of the already strained underpants, which were ripped off by the strong currents. His newly improved appendage kept growing and pulsing so much, Ramirez thought it was going to explode. It stopped growing at almost a foot in length, and a jaw-breaking girth. It looked like a glass bottle that was hanging from his legs. His balls were next, inflating to an equine size and falling heavy between his monstrous legs.

Male hormones combined with divine power started flowing through his body, boosted by the invading water current inside of him. He felt a cracking pressure on his head, which grew proportional to the new body size. His angular face grew more masculine, his jaw broadening into a thick square, and his brow pushing further over his eyes giving him a menacing look. His nose then cracked and widened, while his lips plumped a bit more. His already short dark brown hair retreated into his scalp, leaving him with a short buzz cut. The amount of testosterone in his body was so high, his hairline receded a little bit. His face was then invaded by a permanent shadow with the potential of growing a thick beard. The rest of his body sucked in his body hair, leaving his smooth. His beautiful brown skin darkened a bit more. His pores then started producing a small amount of oil, that gave him a shiny look and helped him oppose little resistance to the forces of the sea, making underwater travel far easier.

The current then stopped forcing its way into his body and released his limbs from their invisible shackles. Ramirez started touching his body incredulously, incapable of dimensioning the change he just went through. He felt the raw power of the sea pulse within him. He touched his face and felt his young skin under his fingers. His scar was gone too. The sight of the new man might have been bizarre, due to him still looking young despite his overwhelming masculinity. Ramirez was so distracted by his new body, that he missed the waters getting slowly more superficial and the hippocampus turning around and leaving back into the abyss.

The sailor propelled himself further into the shallowing waters when he was suddenly greeted by the figure of a beautiful young man sitting on an underwater rock. He couldn´t be older than the junior lieutenant, although his presence and demeanor felt older than civilization itself. His long hair flowed along with the current, glistening with silver light. He had the carved body of an Olympic swimmer, with defined and strong limbs made to love underwater and a very wide back developed from physical activity in the sea. He was also completely smooth, the only hair on his body remaining on his head, eyebrows, and long eyelashes. He beamed a white smile as radiant as the sun at the stranger.

Ramirez approached the young Adonis with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Even though his sexual experience was limited, he was very familiar with the feelings of lust invading his body. Only this time, they were overwhelmingly strong, almost clouding his entire conscience. The man got up from the rock and touched Gabo´s muscular chest.

"Father was right, you turned out better than expected."

He had a melodious hypnotic voice almost too beautiful to be coming out of a hunk like him. Ramirez looked down at the man caressing his body. His knees shook nervously, while he let himself be seduced by the apparition before him. But something in his mind suddenly snapped. He felt the pressure from before again, only this time inside his thoughts as if the water was rinsing the old cowardly nature of the sailor. For some reason, the situation didn´t feel right. He was the one supposed to be doing the seduction, not the other way around.

He took the young man from his legs and pulled him close to his body raising him to his same height. He then proceeded to passionately make out with the stud, both their tongues dancing in each other's mouth. Ramirez felt like sea spume was filling his head, making it harder and harder to focus. He started losing his grip on reality. Like waves carving and molding the strong rocks underneath, the magical power carved out a new man out of the young sailor. More and more dominance asserted itself into his persona, replacing the old more submissive nature. His body language was a dead giveaway of what was happening in his mind.

The sea hunk noticed how his lover´s kiss started to grow more aggressive, invading his mouth with a strong tongue. His big hands started squeezing the young man´s ass, ways of pleasuring a person during sex being engraved in his memory. Years of experience pushed their way into the new man, his face growing more rugged with lines of age and his body gaining more thickness that comes with years of labor. His giant manhood was already grown at full mast, stroking the cheeks of his prey like a sea serpent just before attacking and spreading his self-produced oil on his skin. The young man then guided the hard rod to the entrance of his body, pushing down ever so slightly to get the head in.

The hunk had been with many lovers before, but this was still considered to be a very big phallus. He carefully slid down in order to accommodate the muscular man´s size inside of him. Ramirez kept fighting the tide inside his head. He was scared of changing, of letting go of who he was. A part of him still wanted to flee and pretend none of this had happened. But remembering his hometown beach stopped his train of thought. He remembered the beautiful waters shining in the sunlight, of all the creatures dependent on them, from little crabs on the beach to the big metropolis of the world. The ocean´s ecosystem was the most important one in the world, and it had to be protected. The love he felt for the sea turned into a massive tidal wave inside of him that finally broke down all his mental barriers and completely dragged his old personality out of existence. He didn´t have to flee anymore, he possessed the strength to break the earth and part the ocean. He could destroy anything that got in his way of protecting what he loved.

Ltjg. Gabo Ramirez was reborn in the form of Gabriel, the name his mother had originally given him, and the new protector of the sea. The last bits of his personality evaporating like the sea breeze under the scorching sun. His young lover watched in awe as the eyes of the titan started to glow, and a deep blue color washed his former brown irises away. Once his manhood had entered the hunk completely, he started thrusting back and forth with the strength to shake the earth. He was a god among men, and he had the right to be pleased. Still, he liked to share the pleasure with his lovers, and care for them. He liked feeling like the strong protector he was born to be. The young sea hunk smiled broadly knowing the transformation was complete, and let himself be completely dominated and pleased by the titan inside of him.

 The sun was already setting when Gabriel came out of the warm waters. He wasn´t in the frosty northern sea anymore but the warm coasts of southern Greece. He was only wearing the bikini strap the young hunk had given him once they parted ways, along with a kiss and the promise of meeting him again. Gabriel looked at the vast sea before him and smiled. He was going to do whatever it took to protect his new home. He was going to honor his Lord´s will by conquering and crushing anything in his way. He still had a couple of days before the full moon, which should be enough to get to Mount Olympus. He then thought about all the life and all the pleasure he could have on his way. He was going to bless a lot of mortals with his sexual prowess. He took one last deep breath before heading inland, his nostrils filling with the salty smell of the sea breeze along with his own radiating masculine scent, his skin shimmering under the setting sun. The giant then disappeared into the prairie, ready for whatever challenge the world may throw at him.

In the distance sitting next to a cliff was Nereus, watching the newly chosen one walk towards his destiny. He found the Olympians obnoxious, but he had to admit they did a pretty fine handiwork. The new man looked like he jumped out of a perverted fever dream, with enough power to shatter the earth with each step.

"He really does feel like he looks, father."

A joyful voice said on the back. Nereus turned around to see his own son Nerites staring playfully at him. The young god loved to play around but was filled with respect for his father. The beautiful merman smiled broadly at the old man, who gave him an approving nod.

"Well done son. I knew Poseidon needed a little push. I´m glad to see his opus got your sign of approval."

"It´s going to be an interesting time after all. Life is just fun."

Said Nerites enthusiastically as both gods stared into the distance wondering about the Olympian´s intricate rivalries and plots in the sky.

[yandere-sins]

18 with sea monster Levi from the supernatural prompts list (if your still doing it)

I am really glad you guys enjoy these prompts so much :3 And I get to regularly write for Obey Me too, that makes me quite happy ^.^ Please enjoy!

“Don’t worry, the water is much less scary once you dive in.”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««  

No one could blame you for the fear you felt as you woke up from your uncomfortable slumber. Coldness and wetness only added to your discomfort, as did the pounding in your head and the dry throat you were experiencing. You remembered the last thing you did before passing out, sitting at home, drinking the new herbal tea you bought from a fisher offering it to you.

You weren’t usually someone who gave money away easily, but the man looked so poor and shabby, you thought he must have done everything he could to collect the herbs and make his wares that he offered next to the even less appetizing fish that he sold. You quickly exchanged money for a bag for his tea, but when you arrived home, you didn’t feel right with throwing it away. After all, it was only a herbal tea and just one bag at that. It might not have been your usual go-to, but you prepared it for yourself and sipped away happily on it as you read your book.

After that... was only darkness.

Like a hole in your brain, the memory slipped from you of what happened, but there were other dire matters to attend to now. Wherever you were now, it wasn’t your cozy home, nor any place in the village which you knew like the back of your hand. It was awfully dark here too, the only company you had was the faint sound of dripping of water.

With your hands outstretched, you guided yourself through the darkness by keeping to the wall closest to you. Even though it made you shiver, you tried to ignore the things you were touching. It could have been moss or similar things, you just hoped it wasn’t anything like mold, considering how damp the place was. Occasionally, you’d hit your head by a low hanging ceiling, and it made an impression on you that this wasn’t any kind of housing, but instead a dark cave. But what were you doing in a cave?

For a long time, there were no answers to be found. You weren’t sure if you were doing yourself a favor following the only path you could find and pursue, but when a crack in the wall in the distance came into view, you were never happier to see it was illuminated. If only darkness had continued to be on your way, it might have driven you mad the longer you stayed in it.

The squeeze was tight, but not impossible. Taking a deep breath, you reveled in some wind that came through an opening in the ceiling, together with what seemed to be rays of the sun. They reflected in multiple spots in the cavern, especially the water surface of a pond, which took up almost half of the grotto.

Though you approached with hesitation, once you stood in front of the water, you were eager to kneel down and wash your hands. The feeling alone, of being clean again, made a tremendous amount for your mental health. With a splash in your face, you finally felt like you could take rational thoughts again, not just being driven by your feelings and survival instincts like when you woke up.

You stood up, ready to think about a way to get out of wherever you were when your eyes fell back into the water again. Strange, you thought to yourself. Isn’t it supposed to be calm?

Before you could even approach it again, you were greeted by scales breaking through the surface, a body like a tail winding in and out of it. It was so big, you couldn’t think of a creature that would explain its mass, despite thinking to yourself it almost looked like a sea serpent. Those were, of course, only myth, but you were clueless about what else would be an option.

Gasping in shock, you stumbled back, unfortunately tripping over a stone on the ground that brought you to a tumble. Falling to the ground, you felt the shock of hitting the cold ground, your body complaining about your clumsiness, as a loud sound caught your attention.

A head that you could only describe as one of a moray, but as big as a dragon's finally broke out of the water. Its orange eyes must have had your size, and they focused on you eerily. Before you knew it, you had stumbled to your feet, ready to bolt back to the darkness, which now seemed much more welcoming than ever before.

But before you reached the gap, a strangely familiar voice echoed through the whole cave, and you turned your head to the only possible thing that could have used it — the sea monster.

“You are finally awake,” it noted the obvious, and you were so sure that you knew the voice from somewhere, despite the distortion that laid over it. When the monster talked, it showed a couple of terrifying sharp teeth, and it scared you even more, despite feeling intrigued to find out the mystery.

Lucky for you, your body was wiser than to stay, slipping you through the crack that would bring some space between you and the giant monster, even though you could still watch it from behind there. “Aw, that’s no fun,” it complained, and you watched in awe as its body began to glow in a bright, purple light. It was so flashing, you had to look away for a moment as it illuminated even the dark corridor behind you.

But when you finally managed to look back again, the monster was gone, and your curiosity was picked by its sudden disappearance. Sticking your head back out into the cave, you slipped halfway through the crack in the hope of finding out where it was. Perhaps it had lost interest and just gone somewhere else? Had it been real or just your imagination? What the hell kind of herbs had you consumed to even think this thing up--

“Boo!”

The way your body was stuck in the gap still made it very painful as you jumped in surprise, a wet hand gripping for your wrist as you tried to get back into the dark safety. “What?! W-Who?!” you tried to ask the face you were looking at as a man jumped out in front of you. “Come on out, I’ve been so eager to have you over.”

“Have me- woah?!”

Surprised by how strong a simple tug coming from the man was, you got torn out of your hiding spot, landing ungently on your knees before him. “Where is this even? Who are you?!” your voice grew louder and louder as he pulled you up and to your horror, towards the water, which was a place you absolutely did not want to follow him.

“What do you mean ‘where is this’?! Home, of course, you Idiot!”

“That...” your brain needed a second to register his words before you could properly answer him, your head shaking quickly as you tried to pry him off. “T-That’s not my home at all! And who are you?!”

Finally, he stopped, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun at all. Do you know how long I have been watching over you and your little village? Shouldn’t you be a bit more grateful towards your super awesome deity?”

At least, you finally felt able to hold a conversation with him, though you shivered under his cold touch and strange words. “I... I don’t understand...” you admitted, and you could see his shoulders sink in disappointment.

“Ah, how unfair... All my brothers always get recognition for their doings, but I am always stuck with the ungrateful little fisher villages...” You were relieved when he finally let go of you, in between his mumbles. It wasn’t even as if he was talking to you anymore, much more so to himself. “They don’t even know how lucky they are that I bring the fish to them... I do everything...”

Slowly, you began to back up, ready to make a run for it again and hide in the shadows, when his head suddenly snapped up again, eyes piercing through you coldly. Only now you realized they were as sharp and orange as that of the sea monster, and a bad thought came up in the back of your mind, but you banished it quickly.

“Hey, you,” he called out to you, and you gave him a nervous glance and bit your lip. “You’re the child of the major, right?”

At this, you stopped, looking at him with confusion in your expression. “How would you know?” you asked him with almost naive curiosity.

“Listen to me, I told you I’ve been watching you for a long time. You were promised to me by your father if I kept the fish coming and your boats safe.”

“That’s... That’s impossible!” you managed to gasp. “I never heard anything about that.”

“It doesn’t matter, you are here now.” He turned sideways to point at the water behind him. “It’s not like your tiny, human lungs can get you out of here. You are mine now.”

Though you felt a sting in your heart, doubting your own family over a stranger’s words. Could you have been set up? Were you really promised to this... person... creature... whatever he was? But even so, shouldn’t you have a say in this?

“I will find another way... I definitely won’t stay here, and I absolutely don’t belong to you!”

His mouth opened in surprise about your refusal, watching you as you darted back to the gap, disappearing in the shadows. You heard him shout after you, his voice carried by the hollow cave, “There’s no other way out.”

There had to be. There must be.

You sprinted the way back that you had come from, earing a few more bumps in the head from not seeing the ceiling. But when the smaller cave opened up again, you couldn’t find any wind telling you about another way out, nor did you anticipate to only find another body of water, this time, in a pool maybe as big as your body was. It was so pitch black, you couldn’t make out if this was only a hole in the ground or another way to get out, but you began to panic when you heard tapping steps behind you.

“Come on, don’t be such a killjoy. I am sure we can have fun together once we get used to each other! It’s not like I want to hang out with you, but it’s better than watching fish all day. Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

You didn’t see him, but it was almost as if you felt his presence as he reached your cave. And after an initial blink he made, you knew he could see you too, judging by how his eyes glowed in the dark as the only thing there was. “Found you!” he chuckled, clearly happy about his victory as if you were two children playing.

It was only then that you were ready to throw hands if you had to. Perhaps you’d just chase him back and forth, but you did not want to stay in his proximity like a trapped mouse. But when you decided to storm forward, you felt something eerily, slimy and wet around your right ankle, gaining your attention. A long tentacle - or perhaps, the end of a tail, it was hard to make out - wrapped around your leg tightly, glowing purple, but not enough to actually illuminate the room.

It did one tug to try, before you were swept off your feet with a scream, pulled towards the man-big hole filled with water. “New game,” he announced. “You want to get out here so badly, we will see how long you can hold your breath first, okay? If you win, you get to swim away. But if I win, you stay.”

“N-No!” you disagreed, but you were already soaked up to your chest in the water, clawing at the unforgiving stone ground as the man approached, leaning down to you. “Don’t worry, the water is much less scary once you dive in.” 

He watched you disappear, leaving only bubbles behind as he simply pulled you back to the main area with his tail coming from his back. This water path was merely a connection to the main pool, his home, but it would be enough for your human lungs to not want to get back into the wet yet again.

Going back to the grotto slowly, knowing you were occupied below the water at the moment anyway, he thought how terrible tiresome and unnecessary your struggles were. So what if he had turned himself into an old fisher, giving you herbs that would knock you out for a while? And so what he did all of it just for his own pleasure? Being a sea monster was hard. He deserved a human of his own for a change since he did so much for them in return.

“Hey, let's play something different now, okay?” he demanded, poking you with the tip of his big toe, as you held on to the edge, panting. You were shivering, terrified both by your deep-sea dive, as well as all that happened around you and the sea monster, clad in a man's skin, as you coughed up water while climbing back onto solid ground slowly.

“I’ll teach you to say my name in all languages I know, alright? Listen well, I don’t want to repeat myself!”

All you could do was watch as he began to say his name over and over in languages you shouldn’t be able to understand even. Tears formed in your eyes as you looked down to your ankle, still wrapped by the tentacle, and you imagined what would happen when you couldn’t keep up with his definition of fun.

At the same time, only his voice kept ringing in your head, over and over.

Leviathan, Leviathan, Leviathan.

You were already his.