#drawing water is one problem. but drawing glowing water?? fuck.

[kayzean]

@somerandomdudelmao this panel wouldn’t leave me alone and I just had to draw it!

(Original panel belongs to the amazing @somerandomdudelmao dude and the comic that has a vice grip on my life)

[ladykailitha]

The Hellfire Exotic Club Part 1

September was way too far away for the release of this story. It was just becoming too fun not let you see it. So here's a sneaky peek before my hiatus on the 18th.

Rated M This story is not for the under 18 set. Like this whole story deals with sex and nudity. Might even make it a hard E to be on the safe side.

Summary: The Hellfire Exotic Club was the hottest ticket around. The best male and female exotic dancers in the whole god damn state with each night a deadly sin. When owner, Eddie loses his Envy because the guy fucked the wrong person, he has a week to find a replacement. But when Steve auditions with Julia Michael's Heaven, it turns the entire club on its head.

Now Eddie must deal with the usual nut jobs trying to close him down, dancers not liking the new changes, and his former Envy causing trouble, all this on top of having budding feelings for Steve.

But if Eddie is anything, he's resilient and stubborn. Come hell or high water, him and his club is going to come out of this just fine.

~

The Hellfire Erotic Club was the hottest ticket in town. Known for two things. It’s hellish theme and its eccentric owner and lead dancer Eddie Munson. It was mainly a burlesque club with some stripping involved. But that’s not why people came in droves. Eddie was Lucifer, king of hell and his dancers all had demon names: Lilith, Astraroth, Mephistopheles, Beelzebub, Leviathan just to name a few.

There were women dancers, but the main draw was men in shapes and sizes, dancing. Each night was a deadly sin. With Lucifer on Saturday night as Pride. The only colors allowed seemed to be red or black with little variation, but what they lacked in originality they made up for in style.

Their outfits were always the titillation of the crowd even before they came off. Not that they always did. It was entirely up to the dancer. One of everyone’s favorite nights was Mammon the demon of gluttony. He was a heavy set man who could out spin anyone on the pole and always stayed dressed for the whole show. Except on his nights when he was bathed in an glittering yellow glow, he would get as far as just his pants on. Regardless of what did or didn’t take off, Mammon attracted quite the crowd every Tuesday night.

Eddie loved what he did. His demons were the talk of the town and everyone who was anyone came through his doors. But he had a problem. His demon of Envy Billy Hargrove got caught with the daughter of the mayor. The very married daughter of the mayor. By her husband on what was supposed to be their wedding anniversary.

And while Eddie liked to court controversy, not that kind. It was bad for business if people thought they could get into the g-strings of his dancers. It set a far too dangerous precedent that he really didn’t want to set.

Billy got nasty when Eddie decided to let him go, which only further cemented his decision to do so.

So now he was down a deadly sin and only three days to fill it. To say that he was sweating bullets would be an understatement. He was on his thirteenth audition in as many days and his head was pounding. This was the last one of the day and then he could go home and wallow in his misery.

Then the first notes of Heaven by Julia Michaels filled the air and Eddie looked up. The dancer was gorgeous. He was fit in a way that reminded him of classical ballet dancers. Thin and yet strength showing in every step.The way he moved was like wind on the water. Each move, each step was sensual and sexy as hell.

Eddie scrambled to find the guy’s application. Steve Harrington. And yep, three years of classical ballet at the local dance company, two years on the pole at strip club. And...oh that was interesting. A year teaching pole dancing at a local fitness club to rich bitches.

The song ended and the guy cracked a wide grin at him, nearly ending Eddie’s life. He was elbowed in the ribs by his choreographer and partner in crime, Chrissy Cunningham.

“What made you decide to try out for this position?” Eddie asked, still looking at the application.

“You’ll probably laugh,” Steve said with a disarming smile, “but me and my best friend have always worked together and she recently got a job here as a waitress, so I thought why the hell not, and decided to audition after I saw the flier when I dropped her for her first day of work last night.”

“Robin Buckley is your best friend?” Chrissy asked, her eyes wide.

This time it was Eddie’s turn to elbow his best friend. She already had a crush on the new waitress.

“I have to say,” Chrissy said, leaning on the table with her elbows, “the size of your balls of bringing a song titled ‘Heaven’ to club known for its Satan iconography must be really off the charts.”

Steve threw his head back and laughed. “Did it work?”

Chrissy and Eddie shared a glance. And then Eddie leaned forward next to her, mirroring her pose.

“Yes,” he said with a matching grin, “You’re hired.”

~

To say Eddie was impressed with Steve’s dancing would have been an understatement. The guy had moves that he had created himself. Hell he had an entire routine on a chair that made the “Flashdance” one look tame in comparison.

Fuck, even Chrissy was super close in asking him to teach her some things, because on top of dancing like a sex god, he had the patience of a saint when it came to teaching.

Eddie had fifteen dancers, well technically fourteen because he was one of the dancers. But he had seven principle dancers (again including himself) and eight backup dancers. All named after demons and evil gods. Beings that belonged to hell.

But they were having a hard time figuring out what to name Steve. Billy had gone by Asmodeus even though he had been Envy and not Lust. Envy because he wanted the job of Lust soooo badly.

Steve was okay with taking up the position of Envy. He was the new guy after all and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

But there was something about Steve that made it hard to pick a name for him. So he went hunting down demon and devil names. He already had quite the roster of best Hell had to offer with his backup dancers.

Like his Seven Deadly Sins they were all shapes and sizes, not being able to get work anywhere else because they weren’t the ‘ideal’ body type for dancers.

Fuck, three of his Sins weren’t even ‘thin’ or ‘built’ by any stretch of the imagination. Mammon, Lamia, and Rosier all had body types that would have made other erotic clubs balk.

Mammon, his Greed was more like the comic book character The Kingpin. He was built like a tank and was fucking sexy for it. His curly hair was styled 1920s chic and it made for a rare week day being popular.

Lamia, his Wrath was voluptuous and curvy. She wasn’t ‘fat’ or whatever, but she wasn’t dancer sleek either. Her dusky skin tone and long black hair made her exotic and interesting. On the nights it wasn’t her Sin, she did belly dancing and she was enchanting.

And finally Rosier, his Lust. This is where Eddie courted controversy in the best ways. People could get behind Wrath or Greed not being conventionally attractive, but Lust? That was different. Rosier was a black man who was built, but not in a Chippin’ Dales or Magic Mike kind of way, more in a boxer kind of way. He was barrel-chested with thick thighs. But there was no doubt Rosier was the it guy for all the bachelorette and even a couple of bachelor parties.

Yeah, sure, Gluttony, Sloth, and now Envy were all dancer builds, but the fact that the other half wasn’t? That’s what made The Hellfire Exotic Club so special. That’s what got people through the door every night.

While Hellfire was open every night, Eddie was the only dancer who was there all week. He was the owner and had to be there, but he always made sure each dancer had one night if not two a week they had off.

That was another thing that they were having trouble finding for Steve, what he could do on the nights he wasn’t Envy. Because everyone had something. Stella, his Lamia belly danced; Jeff, his Lust, sang; and even his Sloth, Gareth, played piano.

It wasn’t until Chrissy suggested that the two of them, her and Steve, dancing together as angels on their off days, did it all click.

Steve would dance Monday through Saturday as Samael and then “fall” during his final dance with Chrissy on Saturday to dance Sunday as the envious Satan.

Plus it gave the club a chance to shake up the program in a way that Eddie would have never thought of before hiring Steve.

“And five, six, seven, eight!” Chrissy called out time as Steve hurried to learn a new a dance in three days.

He stumbled and the whole dance crew gasped.

“Hey, Dingus!” Robin called from behind the bar were she was learning the different drinks for Wrath Thursday. “Don’t break a leg, this isn’t theater and they really don’t want to have to hire someone else. Plus, I’d kill you.”

Eddie and Chrissy gave each other concerned glances before Steve burst out laughing.

“If you think this is so easy, bitch,” Steve sassed back, “you get up here and shake your ass and I’ll do the waiting table bit!”

Robin gasped in outrage. “How dare you presume that I couldn’t!”

“Robs,” he said with a sneer, “you have all the coordination of a three hour old baby giraffe and the spots to match!”

She threw down her towel and chased him around the stage, both of them giggling like children.

“Cher,” Eddie said to Chrissy, “how’s that crush coming now?”

Chrissy hit his arm. “Oh yeah, it was bad enough when she was just a cute waiter, but now she’s got this weird sibling relationship with the hottest dancer you’ve ever hired, this is way worse.”

“Glad you made the distinction about hired dancer,” he huffed. “If I‘m not the fairest of them all, I start throwing apples.”

Chrissy’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, we should have a fairy tale night where everyone dances to different fairy tales. With your looks you’d be perfect for Snow White. The pale skin, the dark hair, just add the red lips and it would be perfect.”

Eddie rubbed his chin. “We could even do it on a Sunday, because most of the fairy tales are about envy right? Snow White, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, even Hansel and Gretel. Start coming up with fairy tales you’d want to do and we start practicing for it.”

“You’ve got it, babe!” Chrissy said with a kiss on his cheek. She turned back to the stage. “Hey Robin! You can’t murder the talent.”

Robin stopped in her tracks and turned slowly toward the front where Eddie, Chrissy and the rest of the dancers were watching their antics with varying degrees of amusement and shock.

“Shit.” She turned back to Steve. “You live today, dingus. But I’m watching you.”

Steve laughed out loud, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkled, his nose scrunched up, and his mouth wide open as his body just shook with the mirth. “You love me!”

Robin put one hand on her hip and tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose.” She went over and kissed his cheek before hopping off the stage and trotting back to the bar to finish being trained.

Chrissy blinked at Steve for a moment before shaking herself off. “Starting at the top?”

“Sure thing!” he chirped happily and got back into starting position.

“Hey, Chris,” one of the backup dancers said shyly.

“Oh hey, Stolas,” she greeted him by his demon name. “What’s up?”

Stolas chewed on his lip and twisted his fingers together. “This might be out of line, but I think I know why he keeps flubbing up at the turn on the second chorus.”

The whole place went dead silent. Eddie opened his mouth to tell him to keep to his place when Steve spoke up.

“Why’s that?” he asked jutting his chin up.

“He’s trying to do the turn as he would in ballet and pirouette,” Stolas said meekly. “But it’s coming off too weak for the move, so he keeps falling.”

Chrissy and Eddie’s jaws dropped. They weren’t the type to see a ballet much less having danced it. Chrissy had a background in cheer and gymnastics, while Eddie had always done burlesque. Eddie knew what to look for when interviewing dancers, of course. There was a certain style and strength that came from doing ballet. Hell, Steve wasn’t his only former ballet dancer. Stolas was one. Leviathan was another. He even had a couple others that started in ballet but moved to other styles of dance.

But Eddie wouldn’t have known why Steve kept fumbling that part.

“Can you show him how to do the turn?” he asked.

Stolas nodded. Eddie waved his arm in the direction of the stage and Stolas hopped up to the stage.

“All right, Stolas,” Steve said with a grin. “Show me what you’ve got.”

And fucking hell, the instant Stolas got into position Eddie could immediately tell the difference between Steve’s and Stolas’ stances. Stolas planted his feet differently.

Eddie watched as Stolas and Chrissy worked together to help Steve get the dance down.

God, he loved his people.

On nowhere else could he have found such a great combination of dancers and good people. Yeah, he got to dance with his best friends, play his guitar, operate a club that was world renown, but knowing that he attracted good people, too? Yeah, that was what made Hellfire so special.

And Steve was going to fit right in.

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: ONE SLOT REMAINING

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[macfrog]

soaked

started replaying tlou1. can't get qz joel out of my head. inspired by this work of art by the insanely talented @thefriendlypigeon !!!

summary: boston qz. the days are slow, the nights are long. joel wakes up alone with a problem that needs fixing. enter: his shower (literally)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) joel jacks off in the shower. that's p much it

word count: 1.5k

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His fist locks tight around it; gives one long, slow jerk. The sensitive skin moves with his fingers. His hips shift forward, body asking him for more – and he obliges. He glides through his curved hand, halting when his fingers reach the dark hair at his hilt, slowly soaking under the messy spray from overhead.

He hasn’t slept all night. Not a wink.

It isn’t anything new. He rarely sleeps anymore; prefers to let himself drift in and out, teetering against the edge of slumber and then pulling himself back again. Staying in this life, instead of being dragged into a past one. Stops the nightmares. Stops the memories.

Usually, he can let himself rest, though. Let his eyes close over, let his ears deafen to the sounds of the world around him. Heavy footsteps fade into a numb knocking on the walls, the steady heartbeat sound of the QZ. Roars and yells from the street below are the blood twisting violently through the veins of the place.

But tonight – fucking hell, tonight. Tonight, he lies and stares at the distorted rectangle of amber light on the wall opposite his bed. When he closes his eyes, it’s still there. He can still see the peels of torn wallpaper, the way the harsh glow from the streetlight outside licks at the faded pattern like a flame, dousing his apartment in some ugly shade of nauseating orange. Like he’s living inside a fucking pill bottle.

Tonight, he teeters nowhere. He looks up at the pale ceiling – rotten paint slowly succumbing to the claim of the brown stain of damp. He looks at the apartment door – considers how easy it would be to kick down, how little effort it’d take against the rusted lock and molded wood. And he looks out of the window – to the inky black sky canvasing a jungle of buildings and power lines, lit by the moonlight of watchtowers.

Eventually, morning comes. The first break of day replaces that harsh, dirty glow with something softer, fresher. He runs his palms down his face, digs the heels into his eye sockets until he sees stars. His fingers swipe through his beard. His lashes flutter open.

It can’t be later than six. The sun’s only just clawing herself over the horizon. Peering over the ledge of his window, shooting like a bullet through the bottle he left on the table last night, rays refracting all over his kitchen.

When he pulls the mottled white sheets from his body and shifts to the side of the bed, there’s a tightness between his legs. A stiffness. It beckons his chin lower, draws his puffy eyes to the swelling in his boxers. The outline of himself, rock solid through the worn cotton. He curses under his breath and pushes from the mattress, groaning at the ache of his back and the throb of his cock.

The water only runs warm when no one in the surrounding apartments is using it. His only neighbor spends every night on the streets – Joel doesn’t bother to question why. He would’ve heard, though, if the guy had already hammered back into his own apartment; if he’d slammed the door shut, hinges rattling; if he’d sank into squealing bed springs. Joel would know.

So he hauls the curtain back, cranks the metal knob in a white-knuckle fist. The shower coughs up some pathetic spatter of freezing cold water, soaking the ends of his graying hair; and then, right before he yanks if off again with a sigh of contempt, it surrenders a burst of stronger, warmer water.

He holds an open palm under it for a few seconds. Turns his hand over, lets the water break across his wide knuckles. He feels a strain beneath his underwear. He tugs the fabric down and steps beneath the stream.

His cock slaps against the trail of rough, dark hair dappling his groin as he moves. He growls as the water cascades down his chest, running over the curve of his stomach and teasing tiny, pattering kisses along the wide base.

He glances down at himself. Spits into the palm of his hand, then uses it to cup his heavy shaft, running the pad of his thumb up the vein pulling at the surface of his skin. He shivers when he reaches the head, red and raw and angry, and swipes at the precome beaded there. He drags it back down, spreading it gently around, the skin glistening with saliva and sweat and arousal.

His fist locks tight around it; gives one long, slow jerk. The sensitive skin moves with his fingers. His hips shift forward, body asking him for more – and he obliges. He glides through his curved hand, halting when his fingers reach the dark hair at his hilt, slowly soaking under the messy spray from overhead.

The direct stream of water is broken by the arch of his shoulders, splashing against the nape of his neck. The droplets of water race down his spine, sinking between the valleys on his back where his body slopes and swells with muscle. As he tightens his grip with his right hand, his left jumps up, palm smacking heavily against the grimy tiled wall.

His head dips, eyes full with the sight of his cock fucking his hand. At fifty, living in a wasteland with little companions outside of those he nudges past in the hallway on his way to the ration line, he forgot how it felt to fucking do this. He feels like a damn teenager – all hormones and chasing. Chasing a high, chasing a release. He doesn’t even remember the last time he felt himself this hard in his own hand.

It feels fucking good. Feels sweet. He smirks, letting his eyes slowly close, and imagines it isn’t his own hand wrapped around himself. Imagines the gentler, nimbler grip of someone else. The touch of another person, the warmth. The intimate feel of them around him, giving him what he needs, listening to the sounds he lets fall from his lips, responding to them. Doing what he asks for. Doing what he begs for.

He thinks of the last woman he had wrapped around him. Her pussy – warm, wet, velvet soft – squeezing him until he came. He was careful then – pulled out in time to coat her belly and the inside of her thigh with his come.

Right now, in the shower, with his eyes closed and his fist beating furiously up and down his length – he doesn’t pull out. He fills her deep with his seed. Fucks her so good until she draws in around him, pulling the orgasm from his body, taking everything he gives her. Every last fucking drop.

His wrist jacks. He whimpers, breathless and weak. It’s drowned by the time it hits the flow of water. She’s such a good girl. Takin’ it so good. Lettin’ me fill her up so nice. Prettiest pussy I ever felt, sweetest sounds I ever heard.

He’s close. His hips start to falter. Belly sucks in, tightening around the coil he’s desperate to let snap. Harder, faster, tighter. His finger curls around the top of his shaft, squeezing with his thumb to tug just below his tip. Harder. Faster. Fuckin’ – tighter.

“Fuck,” Joel breathes, and he realizes his entire body weight is being held up by his one hand, splayed out on the slippery wall in front of him. “Fuck, darlin’…”

His left hand drops to cup his balls, kneading slowly as his right focuses hard on nailing the arrow in the center of the target. The bullseye. He thrusts into his fist. His head falls back as it approaches. Mouth agape, filthy moans scratching from the bottom of his throat to the ceiling. The shower pours onto his chest, water trickles down his hairy torso. It’s following the rush, fleeing southward. Thundering through his body as his lungs start to freeze up, breath solidifies in his throat. His back begins to arch. Knees bend a little. And then –

His head snaps back down with a grunt to watch his release; thick, white ropes spurting from the tip of his cock and coating the tile, running down the wall towards the drain. The moans and curses which slip from his tongue follow at its heels, the water rushing them off to the shower floor and ushering them down the steel pipe. He groans, the noise reverberating against the shower walls, the echo of his own depraved sounds relaying in his ears only spurring him on more.

He's panting, hand slowing as he works his way through his climax. White heat floods over his body, crashing like tidal waves on his shoulders. His breath slowly returns, chest rising and falling again as his lungs restart, regain function. He feels dizzy. He feels shaky. His hand pulls up to the tile again, and his arm tenses as he leans forward, cock still dripping with come.

When he feels empty, satisfied, his hand stops. Holds his soft dick steady at the base, fingers gently massaging his balls. He’s still regaining composure, breath still finding a rhythm again. His entire body feels alive, thrumming and pulsating with energy and blood and the aftermath of his orgasm.

The water chokes in the shower head. The flow disappears, and then returns a second later, weaker and colder. The neighbor.

When he can feel his knees again, when his head feels like it’s back on his neck, body whole again – his weak fist twists the valve off.

----------

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[thelampisaflashlight]

A Lack of Engagement Pt. 4: To Have and to Hold

[Previous Entry: Here.] Below the cut.

Rain is sleeping on the couch.

More accurately, he's laying on it, very much awake and contemplating his life and the decisions that have lead him to this point.

But, physically, mentally, emotionally... He's sleeping on the couch.

Swiss taunts him about it.

Asks him how he managed to get in trouble with Dew this time.

Truth is, Rain put himself out here.

He'd given Dew the bed, knowing even if he could sleep anywhere, HE was the one that deserved to be ousted from their bedroom, even if it had been Rain's to begin with.

Dew's allowed to be upset.

Just as much as Rain's allowed to... do this.

Avoid the situation.

Avoid Dew.

Swiss tries to get him to open up about what happened during their date after getting his fill of tormenting him, but Rain rolls onto his side, facing the back of the cushions instead.

"That bad, huh?" Swiss remarks, sitting down by Rain's feet, "Dew not like your surprise?"

"...I'm just..." Rain sighs, looking over his shoulder at his friend, "I don't know why Dew... Swiss, why does Dew like me?"

"What?"

Rain sits up.

"What about me-" he pokes himself in the chest, "-made Dew fall for someone like me?"

"I... You expect me to know something like that?" Swiss asks, looking terribly confused, then sits back, thinking, "You two must have had a pretty serious fight if you're wondering about stuff like that..."

"...He doesn't want to talk to me." Rain confesses, drawing his knees up to his chest, "I said something hurtful and... Honestly, I don't think I can walk it back, even though I feel like... I don't know."

His mouth wobbles a bit.

"I dunno, I don't want to lose my best friend..." he sniffs, and Swiss pulls him into a hug.

"Aw, buddy, I'm sure Dew will forgive you, but just in case, what did you say so I can know if I need to be stopping Dew from hitting you or helping him?"

Rain stiffens.

"Uh..."

Swiss slides his arm up slightly, around his neck.

"Awfully quiet there, Raincloud."

"Uhhhhh..." Rain laughs nervously, "...I plead the fifth?"

Swiss pulls him into a headlock.

"Sorry, man, I know that's code for 'I fucked up and I know it', so I have to do it."

"Do wha-HAH!" Rain squirms trying to escape Swiss' hold as he gives him a noogie, "HEY!"

After a minute or so, Swiss releases him, and Rain holds his head in his hands, groaning.

"Go talk to your husband already." he says, patting the water ghoul on the shoulder, "Exiling yourself to the couch is just gonna cause more problems. C'mon, up, up!"

Swiss pulls him to his feet, brushing him off.

"Now march off to that bedroom, get into bed, and tell your husband you're sorry for being a major ass!"

"I'm going, I'm going-" Rain grumbles, wandering off down the hallway, pausing to look back at Swiss, who salutes him, then does an inverted cross on his chest and then a prayer gesture, "-You stop that!"

"Not on your life!"

Rain rolls his eyes and continues down the hallway.

Worst case scenario, he enters the bedroom and Dew kills him on the spot, best case scenario, he's asleep... lukewarm scenario, he's awake and not so murderous that he won't let Rain climb into bed.

Reaching his bedroom door, Rain pops it open just a crack to see if he can locate Dew, but finds the room dark, save for the glow of the power cable on his laptop, which he usually nudges a book in front of at night to keep it from shining in his face when he sleeps.

In the dull glow, he can make out the vaguest silhouette of something people shaped on the bed; Dew is tucked into the farthest corner of the mattress, his body curled around something, either fast asleep or close to it.

Stepping inside, Rain shuts the door behind him and makes his way over to the bed.

He lingers there, watching Dew shift in his sleep, he's wrapped around Rain's pillow, holding it close.

Rain feels guilty.

Without turning on the lights, Rain rummages through his dresser for his pajamas, and slides into the on suite to get changed, before climbing into the bed beside him.

He starts off on the very edge, not wanting to disturb his sleep, but at some point, after laying there for what feels like an eternity, Rain rolls over closer to where Dew is, and reaches out, tugging at his midsection and pulling him into the curve of his body.

Dew makes a little noise of discontent, but settles shortly thereafter.

Pressed against him like this, Rain feels... strangely soothed.

He breathes out and allows his eyes to drift shut, chin resting on top of Dew's head.

"'m sorry..." he mumbles.

"...I'm sorry, too."

Rain blinks.

"...You're awake?"

"Couldn't sleep... felt lonely."

Rain frowns.

"I'm... Dew, I'm sorry I said what I said earlier." he admits, "This is all just... a lot. Not you, but, going from friends to this... It all feels like it's going a bit too fast, like I don't have time to process what's happened, or how I feel about it all... and I know it's my fault."

"Kind of, yeah." Dew replies with a yawn.

"Yeah? Aren't you supposed to comfort me and say it's not my fault and that you forgive me?" Rain jokes, but when Dew begins to move in his hold, he thinks he's messed up again, "I-"

Dew rotates so that he's facing Rain, coming practically nose to nose with him due to how close they are.

"I can forgive you for getting us into this mess, but I'm not gonna say it's not your fault. Both of us tested the rumor, and you may have heard about it first, but I went along with it. Fuckin'... it takes two to tango." Dew says, "And, yeah, I'm upset about what you said, but, I dunno... laying here, thinking about things on my own, I'd rather have my heartbroken then lose my friend... even if it's my friend who's breaking my heart."

"You... really like me that much?" Rain asks, and Dew headbutts him slightly, "Ow..."

"I do, have for a long time now... Sorry if that's weird."

"It's not weird... I have..." Rain pinches his eyes shut, "I have feelings for you, but I know they're not the same. It's... Fuck, this is awkward."

"You don't have to force yourself to tell me..."

"No, it's... Dew, you make me feel..." he clears his throat, "...Physically speaking..."

"You don't feel attracted to me?" Dew offers, and Rain panics.

"No! No, I think you're fucking hot as Hell!" he shouts, and they can both hear the chorus of annoyed hisses through their door.

"Quiet down!" someone groans, "We don't wanna hear it!"

"Satanas, you two need to get a room in your fucking room..." someone else mutters, muffled by the walls around them.

"...So, you ARE attracted to me, just not... emotionally then?" Dew concludes, "...Okay."

"Okay?"

"I mean... I like you, and I'm pretty sure if we fucked right now it'd really mess me up, because feelings and shit, but... uh... good to know." he says, clicking his tongue, "...You would fuck me though, right?"

"In a heartbeat."

"...That's too slow."

.

.

.

Rain lies awake, a surprisingly chill Dewdrop snuggled into his chest, tail lazily slapping against the blankets now and then.

As long as it's stuff like this, being with Dew... it's manageable.

He can do this.

They already did this before they wound up in this situation, so it's not a big deal.

Except is absolutely is.

If Dew didn't have feelings for him, would they have gone further than this by now?

Was it a mercy that Dew loved him enough to keep them from ruining their friendship?

That Rain has the common sense and decency to realize faking it just to get into Dew's would be wrong, and that even the idea of trying something like that -no matter how much he wants to explore their bodies together- disgusts him beyond all belief?

Rain huffs.

He'd never do that to Dew.

Especially if Rain knows he needs it to mean something.

That if it's HIM, Dew wouldn't be able to get over the hurt of being used like that.

He's more worried about losing his friend than getting his dick wet quite frankly.

But...

Rain bites his lip.

...Someone really needs to tell his junk this is not happening.

Lying here pressed against Dew's body is making it hard to keep his body from reacting, the stimulation is... it's not a lot, but, come to think of it, Rain hadn't gotten laid in a while now, and that dry spell is really making asses of pillows, if that makes any sense at all.

He could seek out someone to sleep with, but, he's also not sure what their -the versions of themselves in this world or whatever it is- boundaries are in terms of cavorting outside of their relationship.

He's not sure if it would raise any red flags to his packmates if he approached one of them for sex, or if their bond was more like that of Cirrus and Cumulus, who explicitly stated the openness of their relationship -save for being emotionally exclusive- before beginning to date.

The uncertainty is enough to keep him cozy in their bed, but another part of him, a small, odd little facet of himself he didn't know existed, wants nothing else but to be with Dew, even if it's cuddling just like this.

Weird.

[lewmagoo]

swathed in the purple glow | bob floyd

description: in which he desperately seeks a way to relieve the tension he carries

warnings: 18+ only, mentions of a plane crash (aftermath of the bird strike), dom/sub dynamic, sub!bob, spanking, pegging, bob has a thing for sucking on titties, crying, subspace, aftercare

pairing: bob floyd x wife!reader (i tried to keep it gn but there's a possibility that i slipped up)

wanna be added to my taglist? go here

He’d never been so fucking tense before.

His entire body was as rigid as a board, and he feared that he might snap at any moment, like a rubberband biting at exposed skin. 

He supposed that hurtling toward the ground at full speed might do that to a person. He remembered so clearly the way his body had locked up, bracing for the impact. Amazingly, he seemed to be sore from his head down to his feet. 

He was bruised in odd places. There was a cut on his arm from where a jagged rock had sliced into his flight suit when he landed. But those things weren’t nearly as uncomfortable as the tension he couldn’t seem to alleviate.

He’d considered going for a massage. But he really didn’t have time within the day to schedule such a thing, certainly not with the most high-profile mission of his career on the horizon. There was, however, one solution that could potentially ease that unbearable tension.

That solution just so happened to also share his last name. And what was that solution? Why, his wife, of course.

He knew that all he had to do was say the word and you would take care of him. The only problem was, he didn’t have much time. Between leaving early in the morning, and coming home exhausted in the evenings, he could hardly muster up the energy to ask for it. 

However, one afternoon he was released from work a little earlier than normal. Likely from Captain Mitchell feeling benevolent and giving his pilots a few extra minutes to breathe before it really got down to the nitty-gritty.

Bob knew you’d be home. He’d texted you to make sure of it. You weren’t sure why he’d asked, but you had a feeling. And sure enough, that feeling was confirmed when he practically burst through the door of your rental, eyes slightly wild, normally perfect hair mussed and curling against his sweat-glimmering forehead. 

You knew. He didn’t even have to say anything. 

“Oh, Bobby,” you cooed, and he quite literally whimpered. His knees almost buckled. You had to usher him to the nearest chair so he wouldn’t collapse. “What do you need, honeybun?”

“I-I need…I can’t…oh, I’m so sore and tense and I…”

You took his face in your hand, reaching up to lovingly brush his hair back, fully revealing his handsome face. “You need to be fucked. Is that it?”

His bottom lip quivered. The cobalt in his eyes went dark, almost navy blue in color. “Yes.”

That was all he had to say for you to know exactly what to do. You nodded, standing upright. “Okay. I’ll go get set up. Wait for me to call you upstairs, alright?”

When he nodded, you turned and made your way upstairs. The first thing you did was head into your bedroom and draw the blackout curtains, swathing the room in darkness. It was necessary to set the tone for what was about to follow.

Then, you went about lighting a few candles and setting the mood lighting, turning the room a comforting purple. Once you were satisfied, you continued on to gather everything you would need. The chest you kept under the bed, full of different types of toys. The bag you kept in the closet, containing things you would need during aftercare, such as snacks, wet wipes, water bottles, soothing lotions, and the like.

You finished by stripping down to just your bra and underwear before you finally made your way to the top of the steps and called for Bob. Once you heard the creak of the floor signifying that he was on his way up, you went back to the bedroom and perched on the edge of the bed. 

Moments later, Bob stepped into the room. He stood in the doorway, taking in the sight. You had the lowlights on, keeping the atmosphere calming, free of harsh light. He could already feel himself relaxing, a certain calmness washing over him, even more so when you beckoned him forth.

He knelt before you, and you ran your fingers through his honeyed tresses. "Do you want to talk about it, precious boy?" you asked, but Bob shook his head.

"I just want to forget about the last few days for a little while," he confessed.

You hummed in understanding, and then leaned in close, fingers resting on his jaw as you turned his face toward yours. "Undress for me then.”

You released him, and Bob made quick work of stripping from his uniform, his belly alight with anticipation. He neatly placed his uniform over the chair that sat in the corner. Then, he moved toward the bed, but he didn't sit upon it. Instead, he lowered himself, entirely naked, to his knees before you for a second time.

"Good boy," you praised, reaching down to stroke his cheek. He nuzzled into your hand, realizing how desperate for your touch he was.

All too soon, you stood, slipping away toward the chest of toys. Bob watched intently as you began rummaging through it and gathering items. He saw you get the harness for your strapon out, and he shivered at the thought of what you were going to do to him. His cock had already begun to harden.

"Get on the bed," you instructed, and he obeyed immediately, rising to take a seat on its plush surface. You joined him, carrying a black paddle in your hand along with your harness. He knew what came next, so he quickly turned over onto his stomach, without prompting.

You trailed your hand over his round ass, admiring how it looked in the dim mood lighting. "I'm going to ruin this cute little bottom tonight," you promised. Bob moaned at your words. He hoped you would.

"Now, instead of laying on your stomach, I want you on your hands and knees," you commanded further.

He complied, immediately righting himself and waiting for your next move. You brushed the paddle over his ass, dipping it down between his legs and gently trailing it over his balls, at which he took in a whimpered gasp. It made you smile.

“Before I start, what do you say if you need a break, or you can’t handle it?”

He took in a breath and said, “Palomino,” with confidence.

“We can take as many breaks as you want if you need them.”

“Yes ma’am.”

That response sent a shudder through you.

"Stay still," you commanded, and he braced himself, knowing what was coming. He gritted his teeth as the paddle came in contact with his bare skin. The swat wasn't that hard, but the smack still sent a jolt through him. He knew you were starting out easy, and it would soon grow more intense. But that was what he needed. He wanted to be rendered to tears by the end of it. It was the only way to release the tension he held.

Another whack! landed across his ass. Then another, and another. Bob counted them in his head, wondering when you'd decide to stop. He hoped you wouldn't anytime soon.

You watched him as you administered his punishment, noting the way he responded to it. He was desperate for this, you could tell.

You couldn't help but admire his skin as it began to flush pink from the welts left by the wooden paddle. However, the sounds he was making were even prettier. He gasped and whimpered each time the paddle came in contact with him, body jolting.

"What do you say for your punishment?" You asked, offering another harsh swat.

"Th-thank you, ma’am," he moaned.

"Good boy." You rested a gentle hand against his lower back as you continued, watching as he came unraveled beneath you. “What’s your color?”

“Green,” he sighed blissfully.

He was beginning to melt already. He let himself slip into a state of vulnerability that only you were given the privilege to see. Right there, before you, he'd already begun to succumb to his brewing emotions. The pain rippled through him, heating his skin like a flame. He clutched at the bed covers, writhing against them. You coaxed it all out of him, wringing him out like a damp cloth.

It happened faster than you were anticipating. Halfway through the spanking, the tears began to spill forth, and Bob collapsed against the bed, wracked with sobs. You ceased the punishment then, setting the paddle aside. Quickly, you climbed onto the bed beside him, pulling him into your arms. He buried his face against your chest, crying openly.

You ran your fingers through his soft hair, quietly soothing him. "My precious boy," you cooed, "you took that so well. I'm so proud of you."

You lay there for a long while, as Bob let it all out. He didn't have to feel ashamed of his emotions here. There was no judgment from you, none in the least. You were there to comfort him when he fell apart, and you somehow put him back together again in the process.

After a while, he slowly lifted his head, teary eyes gazing into your own. You smiled, stroking his cheek with your fingertips. "Feel better?" You asked.

He nodded. "Y-yeah," he whispered, lowering his head again, and resting it upon your soft breast. "Thank you."

"Of course, honeybun."

Again, you settled, with your hand in his hair and his head against your chest. But Bob was growing antsy, shifting in your arms. You knew why, and you could soon feel the evidence of it against your thigh. You glanced down, humming softly.

"Oh, sweet boy. That spanking made you so hard, didn't it?" You taunted, and Bob whined deep in his throat.

"Yes ma’am."

You brought your hand down between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock. He gasped at the feeling, hips jolting against you. "Poor thing, I bet you're just aching to come." You began to stroke him slowly, and he watched through hazy eyes.

But he soon grew preoccupied with something else. His hands came up to tug at your bra, and before you knew it, he'd pulled it down, exposing your breasts. He nuzzled his face against the soft flesh, searching for a form of pacification.

You pushed your chest towards him so he could have better access, and soon, his lips were wrapped around a hardened bud, suckling softly. You hummed in pleasure, pressing your body closer to his own.

You remained like that for a while, as you languidly stroked his cock, and he nursed your breast. The heat of arousal warmed you both, deepening your need for each other. Bob whimpered softly when you applied more pressure, stroking him with purpose, and he pulled his mouth away from you to speak.

"If you keep doing that 'm gonna come," he whispered.

"Oh, we can't have that now, can we? When you come tonight, it's going to be with my cock buried inside you, and only then. Do you understand me?" You spoke. Bob nodded, his eyes still glassy from the tears he'd shed.

But you weren't satisfied with just a nod. You gave a warning squeeze to his balls, and he gasped. "What do you say?"

"Yes ma’am," he hissed, and you loosened your grip.

You kissed him, and he melted into it, clearly in need of tenderness tonight. "Don't worry, sweet boy. I'll take good care of you."

You slipped away then, much to his dismay, but you soothed him, informing him that you were just getting things ready. You stood, pulling on the strapon you'd laid out. Bob watched through heavy-lidded eyes as you fastened it in place, and your eyes locked with his as you reached down, stroking the toy as if it were part of your body.

"Get into position. I want you on your back."

Bob obeyed without hesitation while you retrieved a bottle of lube. As you approached, he spread his legs for you, and your gaze fell to his cock resting heavy on his lower abdomen, swollen and pink, dribbling precum onto his skin, aching for attention. You'd give it to him, all in due time.

He seemed to have a pavlovian response to the bottle of lube being opened, and he moaned softly, watching you slick it all over the strapon before you proceeded to prepare his entrance. He shivered at the feeling of your fingers swirling around the sensitive spot before you slipped them inside, prepping him to take you.

Bob sighed softly, and he gazed at you with pleading eyes. "May I please touch myself?" He softly asked.

You considered it for a moment, and nodded. "Go ahead."

He wrapped a large, elegant hand around his cock and began to stroke, never taking his eyes off you as he watched you situate yourself between his legs. Soft hands slid up his sensitive thighs before you pushed them a little further apart. Then you began to slowly inch into him, and Bob gritted his teeth at the feeling of being stretched.

You didn't stop until you were fully seated inside him, and he hissed softly. "Good boy," you praised, "I can tell you've been keeping this cute little ass prepped for me with the plug I told you to wear."

His cheeks tinged pink. "Y-yes. I, uh…I slipped one inside to wear on the drive home. I-I took it out before I came up. Left it in the sink downstairs."

You smiled, ducking down to kiss him. "Such an obedient boy."

Bob moaned at the praise, arching his body into yours. You began slowly working your hips into him, building a steady rhythm that soon had him writhing against the bed. His body was gorgeous in the low, purple-tinged light. You admired the rise and fall of his chest as he gasped, the roll of his sharp pelvis as you pushed into him. There was something almost ethereal about him.

Through it all, he continued to touch himself, palming his hard, leaking cock as his you fucked him. In that very moment, as you offered a particularly deep thrust, you brushed against that deliciously pleasurable spot within him, and he let out a strangled cry.

"Oh! Right there!" he gasped in a high-pitched whine, shivering beneath you.

His encouragement had you quickening your movements, and soon, you'd pushed his hand out of the way, taking over pleasuring him. You reached over, grabbing the bottle of lube and pouring some into your hand before you resumed your stimulation, massaging that big, beautiful cock of his.

Bob gripped the sheets, needing something to hold on to. He didn't care how needy and desperate he got. With other sexual partners, he would have cared. But with you, he could let that submissive part of himself shine through.

He'd never been able to do that with anyone before. No one understood him enough to be able to take care of him in the way only you could. Not that he’d had many sexual partners before you. His first had been his high school girlfriend, when they were young and dumb. His second had been another girl before you. He’d never been able to relax and fully enjoy sex with her. It felt so…impersonal. 

But then, he'd met you. You were everything he’d ever dreamed of. You didn’t treat him like he was a fragile, shy wallflower. You knew that he was capable of greatness. That he was incredibly skilled, wickedly smart, and sharp as a tack.

You also knew what he needed. Knew how to bring him to his knees and make him submit. He found himself melting into a puddle at your feet, submitting to you in a way he'd never done with anyone before.

It had blossomed into so much more. You'd introduced him to the world of the dominant and submissive dynamic. Bob knew of such dynamics. He was a reader, and he read up on many things he was curious about. Including BDSM and the word surrounding it. But he’d never fully delved into it. It was so much more to it than simply being called mommy or daddy.

There was a special level of trust involved. And what Bob hadn't been expecting was the intimate bond that came with it. He had a connection with you he'd never experienced before in his life. He experienced safety and security and a fulfilling emotional intimacy that changed everything for him.

He willingly gave himself to you, and you cherished his submission. Just as you were now.

From above, you smiled down at him, softness showing in your eyes. "You're taking my cock so well, darling boy," you cooed, and he whimpered softly.

"F-feels so good." Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes again. 

Your hand around his cock stroked him with purpose, syncing with your thrusts, and you could tell that he was beginning to lose himself. He bit his lip to hold back a squeal as you went deeper, but that just wouldn't do. "You let those pretty sounds out," you commanded.

He threw his head back, wailing loudly. It was useless to mask his pleasure. He was in ecstasy, and he let it show. You were in awe, watching as he let himself succumb to it all. You pulled your hand away from his cock then, wanting to watch as it twitched with each brush against his prostate.

Bob looked at you, desperation in his eyes. "Please touch me again," he pleaded.

But you wanted him to feel a different form of pleasure. "No, I want you to squirt for me. No hands, my cock is all you need."

At that, his eyes widened, and he nearly sobbed, because he could feel the intensity creeping up on him. You leaned closer then, taking his face in your hands and kissing him deeply, breaking the kiss only to place your forehead against his own so you could watch him fall apart.

His eyes glimmered with tears of pleasure, and they soon began to trail down his cheeks. You encouraged him to let it all out, to feel the emotions, the pleasure, every sensation in that very moment.

He began to grow overwhelmed, breath quickening, chest heaving. "You're okay, Bobby," you assured him. You slipped two fingers into his mouth, and that soothed him instantly, his oral fixation satiated.

You let him suck on your fingers for a while, and he pulled back only to let out moans and whimpers. You could tell that he was nearing his end, just by the way his body responded.

He shuddered and arched off the bed to meet your thrusts, and suddenly, he pulled his mouth from your fingers, letting out a broken cry. "Oh! I-I'm gonna come!"

"It's okay, baby. Go ahead, make a mess for me."

A few more thrusts and he was done for, careening up off the mattress as he was overwhelmed by an orgasm that spread from his toes to the top of his head. Just as you'd said, he made a mess, seed spilling thick and white all over his abdomen in seemingly copious amounts.

Finally, he fell limp against the mattress, completely breathless and trembling from the aftershocks. "Good boy," you praised, "such a good boy."

Oh so slowly, you began to ease out of him, and he whined at the empty feeling once you'd pulled away completely. He was knocked out of his afterglow for a brief moment, glancing down and realizing how much of a mess he had made.

"It's all over," he whined, "s’ messy. G-gotta clean it up."

"Hush. I’ll take care of it." You kissed him gently, soothing him before you slipped away briefly to grab a towel and a pack of wipes from your aftercare bag. You warmed a couple of wipes in your hands before you gently wiped his release from his skin. You moved away only to throw the wipes in the trash.

You were with him again in an instant, and he immediately reached for you, wrapping two long arms around your waist as you settled beside him.

He rested his head against your chest again, and you placed one hand on his head, fingers threading through his hair. The other rested on his shoulder. He moved to look into your face, and you noticed his bottom lip was quivering. "Was I a good boy for you?" He asked.

"Of course you were, Bobby. You took that so well, I'm so proud of you." You kissed his forehead, and he melted into you. He'd clearly slipped into a gloriously small headspace, and you wanted to encourage it for as long as he would remain that way. 

His brow furrowed with worry for a moment, and he attempted to pull away. "I have to make you feel good," he said, but you placed a hand on his chest.

"No, what I want you to do is lay here for a little while with me. Don't worry about a thing."

Then he relaxed against you, letting out a soft sigh. You knew he wasn't in the right headspace to pleasure you. He needed to be taken care of, and would likely get overwhelmed if he tried to make you feel good.

Again, he sought out your breast, and you allowed him to have it, stroking his hair as he wrapped his lips around a hardened bud. Your chest warmed with love for him in that moment. Here was this beautiful man, so used to working a dangerous, intense job, putting his life on the line every day, reduced to a state of gentleness and docility. He needed to be taken care of, and you were there to provide that care.

It seemed that the horrible tension he’d been holding had finally melted away from his tired body. He let out a sigh of contentment, and his eyes fluttered shut, long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.

As Bob drifted to sleep in your arms, his mouth still at your chest, you cradled him close, humming a soothing tune. He was safe here, body pressed close to yours. The harshness of the world couldn't touch him. And if it tried, you would protect him from it, because that was what you had promised him you'd do.

You thought you heard him murmur a soft “thank you,” into your chest.

"I'll always take care of you, sweet boy. Always,” you pledged. 

He’d never doubted you would.

-

taglist:

@percysaidnever @cherrycola27 @talktomegooseman @milesmillergf @damrlova @thedroneranger @canarysposts @bobfloydsbabe @lovingrobertfloyd @bradshawseresinbabe @roosterbruiser @bradshawsbitch @doxsomexofthatpilotxshit @rhettabbotts @rosesvioletshardy @sebsxphia @withahappyrefrain @endofdays56 @up-thereinthesky @chicomonks @marchingicenotes7 @thesluttyarchivist @roosters-girl @wkndwlff @xoxabs88xox @acatwriteshere @backupcasmitchell

[florencemtrash]

The Wisp Between Worlds

CHAPTER ONE: BLACK WATERS

Acotar fanfic/rewrite. Inner Circle x OC. Eventual Azriel x OC.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Warnings: None for this chapter that I can think of, but expect angst, death, and sadness in the future.

Masterlist

________________

She needed to get outside. Callahan Barge was too tall, too sweaty, and too business casual for the kind of night she wanted to be having. Makeup swam down her skin cutting brilliant blue rivers down the tan of her cheeks. When she’d last caught a look at herself in the dusty bathroom mirror she’d been shocked and intrigued at the wide, kohl-lined eyes that stared out from beneath the glitter and paint. Lauren had decked her out in a skimpy, shimmering black dress, fish-net stockings, and the accompanying makeup to “let her live out her party fairy fantasies.” After all, she deserved to dress the part for her first Halloween as a 21-year-old. But that well-deserved fantasy took a hit when Callahan, cosplaying as an aspiring accountant (as per usual), started flirting with her at the bar.  

“Why don’t I buy you a drink?” his perfect white teeth gleamed in the UV light of the club glowing almost as brightly as the white button-down shirt he wore.

“I’ve got one already.” She stared directly in his eyes, taking a sip of the fruity mocktail the bartender had shaken up for her. He eyed the drink in her hands and she raised her eyebrow, daring him to make a comment. She was the designated driver for the night and the strongest liquid currently sloshing around in her cup was lemonade, but he didn’t need to know that.

“A second drink then?”

“No.”

He fiddled with his wrist watch, visibly flustered. “So about your thesis-” He began, desperately trying to spark a conversation.

“I have to go find my friends.”

“Oh right,” he pushed back his golden waves, “well hey, if you’re free after-”

Nora ducked behind the body of a passing security guard who’d been alerted to the sound of retching towards the right of the bar. Slipping nimbly through the crowd she tried to ignore the prodding of elbows and the occasional misplaced grinding of hips. Callahan was a nice guy, the kind that would have a position at Goldman Sachs by January and a 401k set up by May. The problem was he didn’t seem to understand why being randomly partnered with Nora for a creative writing assignment was enough grounds for a relationship. 

Fuck this. Nora thought to herself after five minutes of circling the lower and upper levels of the club. It would be impossible to find Lauren and Garett in this crowd and calling was pointless. The music raged from the speakers so loudly she could feel the bass rattling her bones.

She made her way towards the back doors, pressing against the sticky handle and sighing when the rush of cold, autumn air whisked the moisture from her skin. The wind carried the scent of the sea across the boardwalk. She breathed it in, having forgotten what air smelled like when it hadn’t been circulated through hundreds of drunken, jerking bodies. 

I’ll be outside for a bit. Let me know when you guys are ready to leave. 

With a whoosh the message was sent and she tucked the phone back into her pocket, wrapped her arms around herself, and made her way down to the pier. 

Aside from the handful of people smoking around the lamp post’s pool of light and the couple grappling at one another on a bench, the pier was empty. Nora kept her head down to give them all their privacy and walked to the edge, staring out at the inky black waters. She couldn’t see three feet past where the last lamp post feebly flickered, but she heard the licking of waves against the rocks, growling and slurping like some hungry creature.

Salt opened up her airways, leaving its distinct taste in her mouth and a faint burn in her lungs. It was in moments like this where she let herself wonder, truly wonder, about what would happen if she simply stepped over the edge and let herself get swallowed up.

You’d probably break your legs against the rocks you idiot. 

The thought of flailing about in the cold waters waiting for someone like Callahan to fish her out like a wet rat made her cringe.

I’d never actually do it. Stupid Freudian death drive.

It was just something she wondered about. What if there was something that was waiting for her? What if she was just wasting time waiting for the big thing to come along?

And what would that big thing be? 

Who knows.

And if it never comes?

Shut it.

Nora scolded her midnight thoughts. This was supposed to be a night of mindless fun and dancing and here she was standing alone in the cold being philosophical. But just as she turned away from the water a gust of wind brushed up against her back. No, not the wind… something else. A presence hovered over her shoulder, calming but unfamiliar as it traced down her spine. 

She froze, too scared to scream and too curious to move. Squinting her eyes she couldn’t make out any figures on the boardwalk or along the pier. She was alone.

Before she could make the executive decision to start sprinting back to the club, she heard it. Faint whispers curled around her ears, wrapping her in phantom arms until she could no longer feel the chill. Through the dozens of voices that called out to her in a mess of sounds and unintelligible words, one stood out. 

Low and silky and sensitive it asked, Where are you? Tell me where you are. Please.

Nora blinked.

The boardwalk faded away from her. She could still catch the faint outlines of the lamp post and railings, but more concretely she saw a room. Thick black curtains drifted along some invisible wind framing a brilliant city beyond that glowed like a thousand candles. The night sky was so crisp and clear she could make out every star.

She blinked again, readjusted her contacts, and it was gone. She was still on the pier alone and her vulnerability sent a shiver down her spine. 

The presence remained with her, breathing down her neck. She still couldn’t decide if she was afraid or not.

Wait… Run. RUN! The voice commanded her, barely a whisper in her ear despite the urgency of its words. 

Somewhere in the water far beyond where the light could reach, she felt a stirring, like the earth was rolling onto its side beneath her feet. A loud, low moan pulsed through the air and the pier’s wooden beams groaned in turn, protesting whatever force had begun to bend and snap them like toothpicks. 

Nora turned on her heels and started to run.

Fifty meters later and she was cursing her body, feeling the warmth in her legs build as she forced them to go faster. Breathe along to your favorite song, Nora. Dad had said that to her before every cross country race in high school. She was a shit runner then and she was a shit runner now. 

God I wish I kept running in college.

Another beam closer to her broke with a scream and Nora was thrown to the ground, landing awkwardly on stinging hands and knees as the water split open and began swallowing the pier. Like a beast it chomped at the wood, slurping the contents down into its throat. She dared a glance behind her and gasped as cracks formed along the surface of the ocean, blue-white light spilling outward. 

Scrambling to her feet she continued to run feeling the ground beneath her tilt further and further backward. The cracks deepened, crashing against wood. With a final sigh the last of the beams beneath her feet gave away, sinking into the mouth of the blue chasm below.

Nora screamed, lunging to the side to avoid the spear of wood that erupted by her legs. Cold water drenched her clothes, weighing her down as she was plunged into the frothy, glowing water. 

The pier had snapped in two. 

What are you doing you fucking idiot? Scream. She thought to herself. But even though she screamed, first in fear and then in frustration, no one heard her.

Nora gasped as the blue light finally reached her, wrapping around her body. She wished she had the mind to appreciate its beauty, but all she could think about was the terror that fueled her muscles to keep swimming, even as the current dragged her further down.

“HELP!�� 

She begged anyone who might still be on the pier. She prayed to God, pleaded with the voice that had tried to warn her. 

No one’s coming to help. No one could help even if they wanted to.

Nora looked back, helpless as the water consumed her.

When her body had sunk beneath the depths - deeper than anyone could fathom - the portal sealed itself and there was nothing left but the ruined pier and the silent lamp posts as witnesses.

________________

Author’s Note: Hi! As the summary already mentions, this is going to be an acotar rewrite with an OC that’s really just a cooler, more competent version of myself that I like to insert into every book I read. It’s been over a year since I finished reading the main trilogy so apologies if I don’t get the plot/plot elements exactly right (but also I might change the plot to better suit the story). I don’t know how many chapters this will be yet, but I have a small chunk of it already written and am hoping to get some regular posting schedule worked out. Thanks for reading this little blurb and I hope you enjoy! 

[seven-oomen]

It's alright, I got all I need | Huskerdust | Trans Husk au snippet

The way Angel’s smile widens brightens his world like a little slice of heaven. Not even Nifty running past them with the decapitated corpses of those roaches in her hands, can dull the glow of that smile.

The minute they step into Angel’s room Fat Nuggets greets them at the door with happy little oinks and squeaks. Angel scoops the little guy into his arms and cuddles him close for a minute before throwing him gently back on the bed. “Love you, little buddy, but I got a bath that’s calling my name.”

“Hey buddy,” He takes a few seconds to scratch the little hell hog behind the ears and under his chin. “He’s just had a rough day, we’ll be right with ya.”

He looks up and Angel’s smiling in the doorway to the bathroom, that soft smile that turns his insides to mush and heats up his cheeks. He’s blushing like a school girl around her first crush. He’s better than that. He knows that. But when it comes to Angel, things feel… different.

“Bath?” He offers.

“Bath.” Angel agrees, grinning as he walks past him. He’s almost sure Angel’s letting his eyes roam over his form, though when he turns to look at him, his eyes meet his own. “Thanks, whiskers.”

He doesn’t answer and just draws the water to the right temperature, picking one of those chemically strawberry scented soaps Angel likes so much. His nose twitches at the sickly sweet scent, his tail flicks out and the feathers brush over the tiled floor with soft rustling. It’s not his thing, but Angel likes it and that’s enough for him. Sides, by the time Angel’s dry the scent will have faded to a degree that he can actually stand it.

“Wanna join me, handsome?” Angel’s fingers trace over the top of his left wing, running from his shoulder to the bend as he leans in.

The sudden change in demeanor ruffles his feathers and raises his hackles instinctively.

“Angel…” He warns. Things were going relatively well. But he also knows that after a day like this, Angel’s instincts to please and seduce are still strongly ingrained in him. He fucking hates it when it’s directed at him. It makes him feel like- like before. He grumbles under his breath and shakes his head as if to shake the thought out of his mind physically.

Angel gets the hint, thankfully, and steps back with his hands raised. “Alright, alright. I hear ya. Can’t fault a guy for trying.”

He meets his gaze for a few seconds. The tips of his ears tickle the top of his wings where they’re flattened against his head. “I’ll wait for you in the other room. Just… call me when you need something.”

He doesn’t wait for the response, though he’s sure he picks up a very soft “sure” before he closes the door behind him. It’s not that he doesn’t- He sighs. He likes Angel, as Anthony. He likes him a lot more than he lets on. The problem is that he absolutely hates the persona that Angel has to put on with everyone else. People don’t do that unless they’ve had bad experiences with being themselves. He knows that all too well. Many people did that around him during his time as an overlord. And back then he reveled in it. Now? He fucking hates it, with every fiber of his being.

[welcometololaland]

Ten Random Lines

I was tagged by @rmd-writes (thank you!)

Rules: pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

(10 is so bold and i cheated by re-tagging people RMD already did. so i'm not enforcing that on anyone else lmao)

ONE: Speak for Yourself (Firstprince)

Henry runs a hand through his hair and his mouth twitches in the corners slightly. "What on earth would I need a speedboat for, Alex?" "Boating quickly?" Alex replies, shrugging. "Never know when you might need to go over fifty knots." "I would have absolutely no business going over fifty knots," Henry says, as the shadow of a grin plays on his lips. "It makes me wonder if you know anything about boating."

TWO: The Morning (Part 2) (Tarlos)

“Perfect,” TK sighs absentmindedly, as he crawls up the bed trying to commit all of Carlos’ lines to memory on his way. The soft skin on his cheeks that TK loves; the firm, muscular planes of his chest; the dip next to his hip bone that fits TK’s hand so precisely. There’s a part of TK that looks at Carlos and wonders whether he’s enough to be able to hold something so precious in his hands; as if something that looks as beautiful and enticing and ethereal as Carlos Reyes shouldn’t belong to this world.

THREE: Love Game (Tarlos)

“I like being here,” TK agrees softly, pushing an errant curl off Carlos’ forehead as he wonders how on earth this man knew what he needed before he did. “I like being with you.” “I love being with you,” Carlos murmurs, sleepy and sated, and with those words and that face, TK wonders how on earth he’s supposed to keep himself a heart's length away.

FOUR: Route 11 (Firstprince)

Alex sighs theatrically and thunks his head back on the plexiglass bus window. “Ah yes,” he says, “my dream. Make sure it goes on my tombstone as well, won’t you? Here lies Alex Claremont-Diaz. Loving son, brother and incurable reprobate.”

FIVE: get it right, to get around me (Tarlos)

He’s supposed to be alone. He’s supposed to be emotionally destroyed by his failed marriage proposal. He’s not supposed to find someone who wants to be his boyfriend, and listens to all his problems without judgement, and knows too much about him, and still looks at him like he hangs the moon. He’s supposed to drown in an ocean of his unhappiness. He’s not supposed to find someone who wants to haul him out.

SIX: Luck of the Draw (Firstprince)

Alex: A dangerous assumption, Henry. I played lacrosse for years so I’m kind of talented with a stick. Henry: Fencing is rather technical. Why don’t we go with polo? I take your point that you can use a stick, but do you know how to ride?

SEVEN: Still Waters Run Deep (Tarlos)

There’s a difference in the way Carlos touches TK that afternoon - less caution and hesitation and with a flicker of unbridled yearning in the way he works his lips into their kisses - bathed in the beams of sunlight that cover the sheets. It’s as if they’ve stripped back a protective, careful layer of his façade and let loose a glow that settles all around them, full of future promises and strong feelings that TK doesn’t know how to name.

EIGHT: Baby, Make Your Move (Tarlos)

"Abuelo! Abuelita!" Isa cries, allowing herself to be scooped up in Andrea's arms. "Look! Hugo bit me!" “You’re letting the kids bite each other?” Gabriel asks, arching an eyebrow in a way that is scarily reminiscent of Carlos’ own expression. “That’s a novel tactic.”

NINE: (Not) A Cinderella Story (Firstprince)

"I like stupid answers," Henry replies softly, brushing the apples of Alex's cheekbones with his thumb. The man has ridiculously long fingers. Alex tries not to think about their potential other uses, although classical piano is probably one. "Clearly," Alex says, trying to hold onto the shred of sanity he has left. This all feels way too nice, considering they barely know each other. "You told someone your favourite food was fucking mutton pie. That's the stupidest answer I've ever heard."

TEN: Love, Communicated (Tarlos)

“But that’s the risk of love, right?” Carlos argues, frowning. “We both take that risk, TK. You could just as easily fall out of love with me.”

I tag @strandnreyes @clottedcreamfudge @indomitable-love @iboatedhere @goodwaysihope @beautifulhigh @cinnaluminum @reyesstrand @reyescarlos @liminalmemories21

this took fucking forever so i don't blame you for not wanting to do it, but i'd love to read yours if you do!

[seafavoured]

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓. love, even, were he quite so brave and bold to call it such. what else could it be, when the delicate little thing he was carving held such meaning? made from a fine river stone that silver themself had given him, made smooth by the waters currents, and white as snow. he had begun whittling it down, shaping it fully round into a proper pendant's shape. its surface held the beginnings of intricate carvings, symbols of the air peoples.

one glance over to jack revealed no similar success. no comparable level of skill. the barest hint of a twitch to his mouth as he stifled a grin. not wholly smug nor condescending as once it might have been. no, there was endearment there, the sort which had wormed its way into his heart and made a home there.

he huffed a sigh. ❛ what the fuck is that supposed to be? ❜ for a man of boundless eloquence, well read and charismatic, adept at rousing troops with stirring poetics ... he could certainly be a blunt prick sometimes. eyes cast down to the misshapen lump held resolute in the younger man's hands. the fire cast its flickering glow 'cross them both and threw flint's smirk into shadow. ❛ whatever it is, i'm afraid it needs to be put out of its misery. ❜

a beat of silence, and a roll of his eyes at no one but himself. he snatched the knife from jack's hands in a fluid motion ; his strength would brook no resistance, even from a master earthbender. ❛ your blade's too dull, for one. that's likely half the problem. ❜ half was being generous. a surefire way of recognizing his softness in this. he pulled a small whetstone from his pocket and began to draw the very edge across it in long, sweeping strokes.

❛ you have to picture your end result while you work, not just the next step in the process. what is it meant to be? it's for edward, yes? ❜ that much was obvious. if only for his own bit of art and its intended recipient one day.

@pyratezlife / jack.

[who-is-shades]

raz dnd 23 beach episode!

wheatley is out of eeby deeby! space core does donuts around them and says "i spy dad!" happy whirring noises. he doesnt sense the awkward air lol. zen is looking at his map. long straight path ahead of us for the next several hours. after a day well find a town with a big lake!

teya hopes the towns in better shape than the last one lol. dododo walking for hours. ope somethings coming. long ass neck comes out of the woods?! brontisaurous?! its pissed or something making a beeline for us! a great shadow is cast. a giant fucking bronze dragon grabs it and flies off! nice.

parsley asks if senna knows that guy sksksk. 'maybe my great uncle randy.' teya is dying from laughter. time skip! bedtime i miss the dragon. parsley goes to stargaze. senna does more dragon rug stuff. wheatley offers his book to teya since hers got burned. teya is bothering parsley lol. she flies up to bug him.

now shes bugging him about his familys pet human fun! 'for what its worth i did listen.' she has her reasons for going to the feywilds but shes gonna be careful. she just likes pissing him off lol. shes looking for answers and if he knows something to please tell her. hes just quiet. "so. did you recognize something in the book?" he grips his arms tighter but stays quiet. so thats a yes. 'you know who my mother made a pact with?' 'do you know what the pact was for?' nope she only knows after the blew up the town they had to go to the feywilds and tori and sunnie said no.

he sighs and asks if sunnie would know. 'you wanna ask him?' 'well i might fucking need too!' she thinks it might be in the book but she doesnt know. parsley goes to wheatley and gets the book. he cant seem to find it hes just skimming oops hes gonna have to read it. wheatley is trying to read over his shoulder lol.

he gets near the end before finding the passage. he sighs and holds his head in his hands.

she thinks its not a good sign how invested parsley is in this lol. 'take it you found something?' 'you fucking think?' theres a chance if she goes to the feywilds she might be able to leave cool. deals still need to be fulfilled, so shes fucked. doesnt matter if her moms dead. a deals a deal. wheatley comments that fey live a long time, a decade is nothing. android says to not go to the feywilds jingles crust. teya is so pissed she wants to look for family. android says any family left is probably enslaved. teya would be a goddamn pet lol. of course we know shes going to go, cause she doesnt listen. a problem for another day, or preferably never!

long rest! senna finishes the dragon stuff, eats, then back to regular meditating. in the morning wheatley tells senna what happaned lol. senna comments that maybe the pact is trying to draw her in. teya tosses parsley the sending stone. he missed lol. SP gives teya a tiny flower aww. time to go!

as we travel we can see the town! huge ass lake and a big tower in the lake. beachy sand and waves and shit. the tower is glowing. every pulse makes the waves cool. people are surfing! the town is hot lol. an artificial vacation town. an old wizard man in swimtrunks and sunglasses fucking surfs on the land by us lol. surfer bro beach billy oh god. broski. wheatley says hes making a fake accent too lol.

he brought the beach here since theres no ocean lol. not salt water its fine lol. wheatley cant float lol. he asks zen to tell us whats in the lake lol. senna says they were just passing through and the town seemed interesting. he tells us to relax but its fine and points out the exit. off he goes surfing lol.

time to buy swimsuits! wheatley wants a bikini nice. we ring the counter bell and billy pops up lol hes wearing a different hat. wheatley wants a frilly one pog. senna messages everyone asking if dorf would wear a speedo. wheatley smacks her in the head lol. yay frilly suit for wheatley he wants it in blue! frilly blue bikini pog. and its free cool. and a sunhat!

senna gets a drapy blue swimsuit with a big bottom cape nice. teya normally doesnt use a swimsuit lol. parsley threatens the guy to not call him fairy bro again lol. parsley says something blue for teya, then smirks and makes it a bikini lol. senna comments it looks a bit plain so parsley starts rummaging but there was nothing there wtf. he just grabs one on a rack and shoves it at her. zen asks for an extra large one lol. senna sees a suit and hands it to teya and asks her to try it on, something skimpy. wheatley whispers to parsley that senna is flirting with teya. android said no swimsuit lol.

senna goes in the other changing room and changes. wheatley says this guy is better than spingledorf while looking for a suit for parsley. 'did you say spingledorf?' hes a friend he helped him set up the tower lol. senna steps out and asks teya if she needs help lol. it covers nothing lol. wheatley says thats the point. teya doesnt like the beaded skimpy one lol its stuck in her hair senna has to help lol.

zens wearing trunks nice. parsley is helping wheatley adjust his suit. senna finally freed teya and steps back out. parsley tossed her another one lol. parsley tells android they gotta kill the wizard lol. 'why are you planning to cause problems?' why does he even bother lol he doesnt do jokes. senna squeals and says wheatley looks great! teya steps out and yells at parsley to get a blue swimsuit! senna calls teya cute lol. senna yeets blue swimsuits at him. billy comments that he IS blue and he might look naked lol. wheatley finds a suit the same color lol.

they DO have a nude beach on the otherside. parsley is excited lol. and zen oh no. android would go but other people would be there lol. wheatley hands android a black towel lol. no. lol. theres another shop with beach supplies nice so thats where senna goes. teya heads right to the beach lol. senna peruses the racks first lol. wheatley keeps bringing android ugly swimsuits.

the water is nice and cool with some waves. wheatley sticks his hand in the water. nothing happens. nice. wheatley asks zen if he can fix him if he shorts out. it SHOULD be fine lol. senna presses the shop bell! its billy lol. senna heads to the beach and sets up an area and lays down nice.

wheatley cannonballs from a pier. he just sinks lol. hes dead. parsley cannonballs from the air. teya says theres no light on down there so zen goes to get him. he walks out holding his limp body yep hes not waterproof. he takes wheatley back to robot god. after 10 minutes wheatley wakes up. robotgod is tinkering with him. he fixes him up and makes him water proof lol. back to the beach!

teya yells at wheatley for scaring her lol. parsley tells him to do it again lol. wheatley asks parsley to bury him in the sand sksksksk. sp grabs a toy bucket and shovel and follows lol. senna is just soaking up the rays. teya calls her to come swim and she just waves her off lol. zen is flexing to beachgoers that come to flirt lol.

some big waves come in for teya lol. it comes up to where wheatley is buried! SP puts sand on wheatleys head xD SP points at teya and wants to bury her too lol. wheatley gets splashed a bit. billy is surfing nice. senna goes to unbury wheatley its gonna take a minute. some of the water flows in and senna tries to calm him. zen speaks up and is going to the nude beach with some people lol. wheatley asks if thats normal and senna says it varies from person to person.

wheatley still cant get out so senna widens the hole. parsley tells teya to come to the beach cause they totally dont wanna bury her. senna loosens wheatley a bit but hes still stuck. teya blinks and ducks under the water. some fish pass her legs lol. parsley puts SP back down and asks senna what shes doing. shes trying to help him cause hes freaking out and fails again. but wheatley gets his hands free! he gets splashed again and starts screaming. billy hears and comes over. parsley pulls wheatley out lol. senna calls parsley out and billy says its unrighteous lol. wheatley says he asked for it.

billy goes back into the ocean! senna turns around and heads back to her towel. parsley fucking grabs senna! 'guess where your going?!' parsley no. shes flailing. shes gonna bite him in the arm! he drops her in the water! big old splash. she does not come up. the bubbles are slowly disappearing. parsley dives in and sees her sinking and flailing. shes terrified. he catches up and grabs her. he cant drag her up. oh no. billy summons a whirlpool and it throws us out of the water. thanks billy.

senna is too busy coughing up buckets of water to respond. she looks like a wet cat. she wobbly stands up and tells parsley to come here. hes too afraid to come over lol but he does. she flips him upside down and sticks him in wheatleys hole. she takes him out after a minute and tells him not to do that again. then she does and collapses on the towel. SP rolls over and sits with her.

wheatley is building a sand castle. parsley gets messaged back from sunnie. senna messages teya she needs her. teya sees senna looks like a wet cat. she coughs hard and asks her to help fix her hair. teya asks wtf happaned. parsley left and wheatley is sand castling. SP speaks up and says parsley flew. billy fucking comes up and asks senna if she wants floaties xD she says no. teya is connecting the dots. she wails that parsley threw her in the lake shes so upset. shes crying the poor girl thank you teya.

parsley sees this and is just so awkward cause he has to talk to teya. SP sees him and rolls over and smacks him with the tiny shovel. parsley asks if hes ok. SP says no and hits him again and keeps hitting him lol. senna is blubbering about how rude he was like why would he toss her in the lake. she says shes afraid of the water shes never learned how but teya wants to teach her one of these days. thats how her brother died. SP rolls over and shakes his bucket at them. then turns around and goes to hit parsley again.

they see parsley just standing there. teya messages parsley like you good? sunnie responded he was crying. he told parsley to tell teya to message him its important. senna is giving parsley a miffed look lol. hope its not about smierc. senna goes and hangs out with wheatley and make sandcastles. SP gathers beach stuff to decorate the castles with. parsley goes to look for seashells but this is a landlocked lake lol. some people pass by and compliment wheatleys bikini <3

teya has gotten a bad message and has stopped pacing. senna asks if shes ok. she looks in shock. senna picks her up and carries her over to the towels. zen finally comes back lol. wheatley says senna almost drowned lol. senna messages parsley and says somethings wrong with teya. all teya can say is 'hes gone.' senna hugs and holds her tightly. Smierc was found in the library. Hes Gone. zen kneels down and puts a hand on her shoulder. senna messages parsley again what happaned.

teya stands up quickly and says she needs to go home. she starts heading away and senna follows. she stops and asks zen if his god will teleport them. god will allow it. teya shrugs her dress on over the swimsuit lol. zen makes the portal. teya just goes in. android is so lost lol. its raining in town lol. teya is trying to find sunnie. hes sobbing in the library. parsley realizes hes banned in this town so he transforms.

sunnie is reading some pieces of paper. they hug the poor guys. they dont know what happaned they just found him on the ground with a gentle smile and flowers around him. but the last person he saw was cirmes. wheatley tries to comfort him. he left sunnie a note. how much he cared. he left sunnie the library deed. teya is devastated. their prepping to bury him soon and he wants teya to stay for the funeral.

parsley and android fucking leave their so awkward he looks like an elf woman. senna got dressed quick while shes thinking. sunnie and teya have too many happy memories about this place. timeskip to the funeral! wheatley had wrapped the black towel around himself like funeral attire lol. burying smierc in a coffin its open casket. priest asks if anyone has something to say and teya says a poem.

they bury him. teya and sunnie are the only ones left but the stupids are in the back. senna seems deep in thought.

[the-slasher-files]

SLASHER FILES' BLOOD FEST: WEEK FOUR

DRAGON'S LAIR

DOMINIK KULOKOV

Prompts: MASK(S), VEMON, KNIFE/KNIVES, WAR

Keywords: ENLIVEN. RAW

Hazy and glossy eyes opened. Head swimming as the industrial machines around screamed. It was a warehouse, something hot and gritty with coal lingering heavily within the air. Sweat slowly mixed with the blood dripping down the man's temple, curled hair sticky against the wound when his consciousness regained. Squinting, trying to make out the exact scene around him. It had to be a dream. A gruesome and unspeakable nightmare, only possible in a dream world. But it was all too real.

Bodies shook like a fish out of water on their last breath, in pools of bodily fluids, grasping and heaving on the floor. Some were unmoving in paralysis mirroring the dead that laid beside them.

And a man sat in the center of horrific brutalism. Veiled in black with a hood up, he gazed down upon some kind of a homemade weapon—metal with interlocking blades to move as if it were a dragon's tail naturally hanging down to mean the floor.

"Guess you did not want me to ... enliven your night, so to speak," the man spoke, almost unimpressed by the whole situation and the gore he caused as if it was not his problem nor his doing.

With disgust, he pulled away his boot from one of the victims that began to claw at him, begging with slurred words. Turning his head with intrigue, a gloved hand reached into a compartment on his vest, fishing out a vile and a small hook blade. The metal glinted in dim glow from a furnace to the left that radiated a hellish heat.

"You fucking dealers whine more than your animals ever do, fuck," His Russian accent was heavier with ire as he drew his combat boot to the man's neck.

With precise and easy action, the hooded man cut his victims tongue in two, mimicking that of a snake's. And before he was done, the vile was screwed open, and a thick, sticky liquid was poured out into a pryed open blood-filled mouth. Kicking the man easily away as he screamed and writhed, the killer sighed, rising from his chair and pocketing the blade.

"Most of your "friends" won't die here today," Keen eyes that were once ice blue looked black, eating the chained up man whole. "Most of the poisons and vemons will just leave them with nightmares... most, at least. Komodo dragon saliva will cause him a pretty nasty infection," he motioned over to the man that just had his tongue cut "hopefully he just finds a hospital fast enough for that to be all."

The details of his person were revealed as he stridded forward, dragon tail whip in hand. Sharp eyes hardened, he was young, merely in his twenties. A black half face mask lined the bottom of his face, and white hair cascaded down the pale skin of his forehead. The chained man began to twist, kick fight against the restraints, he recognized him. A trade gone wrong they called it, a man injured all the people involved and the animals were stolen. This one only had a broken leg and a scorpion stinger in his ear, an easy warning compared to the others.

"Ahh, so you do remember me... I was hoping so," He smirked behind the mask, observing the way his prey rubbed his wrists raw in pinching metal chains.

With a grunt, the masked man lured back, strength whipping the homemade weapon around his victims neck. Sharp blades twisting and drawing hot blood, cartilage tearing with every squirm.

Closing in, only inches from each others face, the Russian man growled through gritted teeth. "A greedy bastard never learns, huh?!"

His anger was seething, a boy ripping apart as he tried to control it, and he pushed back, dragging the whip with him and watching the flesh part. He breathed deeply, blue eyes focused on the pouring crimson breaking in even streams —lost in it, he forced himself to look away with hunger in his stomach.

"This will help..." The masked man took another vile from his pocket and poured it into one of the man's wounds. "A few moments with Banded Krait vemon and I will meet you in hell" He promised, observing every last moment of this man's life.

[kevindaydayiseveryday]

“Oh hell yeah! A fucking fire sword. Woomwooom swish!”

“Nice sound effects, dumbass.” Adrianna calls over her shoulder to Mike, our ever heroic and mature paladin, her hand shuffling through a draw full of clothes. The Druid’s hands pull out a silvery piece of cloth that shimmers with a low white glow. She smiles and pulls it out, draping it over her shoulders.

The liches’ dead bodies still smolder from Eric’s eldritch blast that finally did them in. The warlock himself circles the dead bodies, tuttering at their defeat and looking for objects immediately visible on their person. Our wizard, Baxter, sits in a corner of the large cavern, looking through dusty tombs, searching for spells and other possible places where treasure can be found. Crystal, the singing bard, searches through scrolls on the opposite side of the cave.

None of them seem to notice the slight crack in the wall that indicates a door to another room. I lean against the wall, and breath in the slight breeze coming from the crack. It smells of roses, wax and pine. Candles and soap.

My fingers itch to know what’s back there, past the lair part of the liches’ hideout and into the area they actually lived in. Getting this deep into the cave system was difficult, full of traps and dead ends, a lot of magical illusions to turn us around, undead creatures to fight and, honestly, just a lot of natural problems you’d expect from a cave system. Gaps in the path way, pressure, hearing water but not ‘being able to find it, and a lot of other issues.

I come up with a lie. “Guys, there’s a slight crack here. I’m going to look and see if it’s an exit. It’s possible they wouldn’t have even been able to fit through it, though.”

I get a general dismissal of approval from my companions, and a, “There might’ve been a faster way to get here? Oh, fuck me!” From Mike, as he raises the flaming sword, getting dangerously close to the very flammable scroll case in the corner. Crystal yelps and jumps about five feet away. I don’t stay to watch the rest of the petty fight, shimmering instead through the doorway, hands brushing against the hidden hinges. I’m careful to keep the door from moving as I climb, but the others are focused on their magical artifacts.

It’s one room, the cavern walls peaking out behind wooden paneling, decorated with curtain drapes and floral wallpaper. I check over the walls before going through the two desks, the bed or the kitchen area. There’s no way to get behind the wall without blowing it up. I take a knife and slam through the wood, sneak through between and find a glowing red gem of some sort. I pocket it and go back to the desks, searching for the property title, their wills and testimonies. It takes a few minutes, but under desk pressed close to the bed is a secret draw, containing the papers I need.

We’ll be burning the skeleton bodies and tossing what’s left of them in the pit, inform the neighboring village that they don’t have to worry anymore about being terrorized by the undead. No bodies, though, means no way of proving they’re dead. We could’ve just as easily chased them out. The sheriff won’t bat an eye at my claims.

Anything to avoid conflict with high ranking heroes. An easy property scam. Who doesn’t want to rent in a place known for housing villains and being owned by a hero? The moment I get back to town, I’ll completely forge the papers to my name, make it look like they gave it to me. A legit ownership.

I find their IDs, death certificates and birth certificates in a small chest under the bed.

I slip back out through the doorway and drop dramatically, papers shoved on the inside of my coat. I grab a few benign knives and clap my hands, walking to the middle of the room. “That was a dead end. I was hoping for more, but all I could find was this gem.” I toss the red one over to Baxter. His face lights up immediately and he starts muttering about powers and whatever the fuck else.

While your colleagues are fixated on magical items and artifacts, you’ve been quietly collecting all the deeds of ownership for the ruins and dungeons you clear.

[finsterhund]

movie magic black hole with a swirling ring of glowing particulates resembling a galaxy is a visual depiction of an illuminated accretion disk, typically as the black hole is "caught in the act" of destabilizing a nearby star, generally to give them a bit more visual definition on screen.

the thing about a black hole is it's… well… a hole. the "bullshit" visible is specifically what the black hole is ingesting. We like to depict this as visual light considering our species can only see on the visual light spectrum and movies are a largely visual medium made entirely possible by our manipulation of that visible light spectrum.

Cameras operate pretty similar to how our eyes do.

Worth noting is that black holes or similar gravity wells are almost always at the heart of these galaxies controlling the entire structure of them so you could argue the whole reason galaxies look like that is because of their black hole. making it a bit poetic that artistic depictions of black holes look like spiral galaxies at times.

the recent photo of 2019 looks a lot more like the glowing ring art than the physics simulation because it was captured using cameras. Aka the visible light spectrum.

we have this problem with many other things in space. A lot of the iconic colors one might associate with our solar system's gas giants are the result of the cameras used and not necessarily reflective of how we would see them in-person.

Nebulae are especially prone to this, as different wavelengths of light will show up refracted through the dust clouds differently. So xray and infrared photos will be different despite being taken at the same exact distance and angle.

Not even our own eyes are exempt from this, as viewing objects from earth we will be dealing with the refraction from the atmosphere which tints everything more blue/shorter wavelengths than anything else.

okay I need to stop and wait to continue this, my pain meds kicked in and i just sat here laughing after saying "black holes suck off stars" instead of the safer "siphon the plasma from stars" and idk if you know this but stars are a light source and we are able to see and visibly observe things because light goes into our eyeballs and a black hole is called that because it is a its a fucking hole so artistic depictions are like when you draw water going down the drain you draw the current of the water and art of black holes you are seeing the plasma from the stars that got sucked off.

help

[toa-arania]

Val made drugs and it went predictably

Welcome back to more Valposting, where stupid insane bullshit happens and it is entirely our own fault. Last session we beat one of our biggest problems and today we decided to celebrate by going to an abandoned church and getting drunk. Val, in her infinite wisdom, decided to mix together some of her plants to make Some Kind Of Drug, with the intention of producing a mild psychedelic. "Mild" was not what we got.

This started off similar to the last time we all got drunk together, with an attempt at a game of Truth or Dare. It did not last very long, because upon realising she didn't know what the drug would actually do, Val tried some. It didn't take effect immediately so she capitalised on the others not knowing much about drugs to get them to take some too. Then things started to occur.

It was obvious that something had taken effect when Val started changing the colours of things with her mind, first turning Aluber into neon colours and then turning Levi's hair blue. Other effects that people experienced include: Levi sprouts dog ears and a tail; Aluber becomes tiny; Mei starts fucking glowing; Darcy gets magic depression. We spent a little while fucking around and just getting a bit drunker, during which Aluber learnt what a buttplug is, and it was at this time that the GM told me that Val's deductive reasoning had been switched off, and she is incapable of drawing conclusions from the information she is taking in. So while I had above table worked out what this was, Val had no fucking clue why Levi was now barking at squirrels out of the window and Mei was turning into materials like water and string.

As things often do, it got Worse. All things considered, Val actually handled the situation better than the others did in terms of the things that happened to her, second to perhaps Aluber. Darcy and Mei got Bad first. I haven't talked about these two as much, but they're an interesting pair of cases. Darcy, in short, is a body without a soul who acts mostly on impulse. Mei is a ghost, a soul without a body. This drug made them each yearn for what they were missing, and they fucking fused together into a single person. We called her Marcy. Marcy proceeded to grab Aluber and go on a quest to run around and frolick because the soul piloting her (Mei, now as drunk as two people) missed having a physical form so much. In their frolicking, they went down into a certain basement.

I don't think I've had cause to bring this basement up yet, because this is not the Murder Basement. One of the characters that used to be part of the friend group, Seraph (who has since been kidnapped by his uncle and taken to boot camp) was a Nephilim, a half-angel. This basement is where his dad is locked up. He likes to read. Marcy went to go and visit him and show off being a whole complete person, and to her dismay he ripped them back into Mei and Darcy before sending them on their way. Also Darcy gave him a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey and I genuinely have no way to work that neatly into the flow of the post. Suffer.

Back in Old Church, Levi caught a scent in the wind. The scent of a deer in his territory. Levi is a werewolf with Khorne hanging out in his brain (complicated) and therefore did what werewolves are wont to do. He went on a hunt, bringing back the whole corpse of a deer and getting very possessive over it. This was the point where we really should have started to be worried, but our characters were all drunk off their asses and didn't think it was a problem. Val, who at this point was fucking around with magic that wasn't obeying her properly and writing absolutely incomprehensible things in chalk, accidentally turned an entire wall into blood when trying to remove blood that she had put there.

Things got worse from there. Levi now had the scent of blood. Levi, who has a telepathic connection with the rest of his wolf pack.

Mei and Darcy got back and were understandably rather depressed. Val had the galaxy-brain idea to use magic to make Darcy less sad and it just completely did not work. Instead, Darcy's filter was completely removed.

Aluber for reasons I genuinely don't remember was covered in blood at this point and, seeing that Levi had got its scent, washed it off with vodka.

Val tried to un-blood the wall, succeeded, and then realised it had pissed off Levi. She did not succeed at turning it back into blood.

Levi and the rest of the wolf pack were starting to frenzy.

The girls were a drunk pile on the floor, chatting about bullshit.

Aluber and Levi went outside, and there was a really fucking intense fight that unfortunately I was not especially tuned into because at this point the girls were absolutely in their drunk pile (we, the players, all got into a pile on one of the sofas for realism) and ended up talking about how we were embodying gender stereotypes by just chatting while the boys had an intense brawl outside, and were remarkably casual about it under the circumstances.

Once again, the slippy boy came out on top and did manage to beat Levi, but not without Levi allowing some of Khorne's influence to get a further hold on him, which for those of you who aren't already aware of Khorne is Very Fucking Bad. The drug wore off on both of them, and they realised Oh God Oh Fuck This Is Very Bad before each going home to sleep off the alcohol and rest. The girls were still drunk off their asses. Then Mei fully vanished.

Darcy and Val understandably panicked for about two minutes before Mei came back, the drug now having worn off on her too. With Val and Darcy still out of it, she took them back to her house so they could sleep, and needed things to tell their families. Mei already knew Darcy's mum and sent her a message to say Darcy was ok. Mei does not know Val's family, however. None of the gang do. She opened Val's phone to a message from her cousin entirely in emoji. If I'm remembering right this is actually the second time one of the gang has had to attempt to decipher the Westers' emoji code and for some fucking reason, Mei decided that the best thing to say was that Val was staying over with Levi. This might seem innocuous, but because the gang had recently finished faking a falling out, Val decided that the best excuse for why she was suddenly friends with Levi again was make-up sex. This resulted in a rumour going around the school that Val pegged Levi, which Mei decided to capitalise on here, impersonating Val to tell her cousin (using emoji code) that she was spending the night with Levi for sex reasons. As much as Val is an agent of chaos, I really have to hand this one to Mei and her player because god damn.

[chvnnie]

for case 2.5 minho or chan (or both??) numbers 5 and 89 pls and thank

hey. hey. guess what song i couldn't get out of my head while writing this?

champagne problems

minho x reader

genre: smut - MINORS DNI

wc: 1k

warnings: multiple mentions of alcohol/addiction, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, infidelity

prompts: 5 & 89 - bold and italicized

case 2.5 masterlist/rules

Minho tastes like chilled champagne. Notes of lemon and honey spill over your tastebuds, the refreshing yet spicy taste drawing you in for more after every breath. It bubbles down your throat, drifting lower and lower until it reaches your middle and floats you away into a sea of sparkling gold.

In the small room, his hands canvas your body, gently untying the laces of your dress without even a glance at your back. The fire crackles behind you, the light making his handsome features glow. Lips pulling away, the chocolate brown eyes you can never shake from your head sparkle with affection. Traces of your nude lipstick stain his jaw, drawing a perfect line to the swollen lips that you’re addicted to.

“Lift your arms.” His voice is as smooth as the drink you shared, hints of darkness in the bright sweetness. Eyes locked with his, you do as he says, letting his fingers brush against and hook onto the bust of your wedding dress. 

The delicate white fabric slides off you with ease, pooling at your ankles. Minho wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you off your feet with ease to spin you around and place you safely away from the expensive dress. Once it’s safely laying on the couch, he lowers to his knees in front of you.

Slender fingers intertwine with his own, bringing your hands to his lips. The little bit of lipstick still lingering on him rubs off on you, hands marked with the evidence of his untamable addiction. Nothing gets him quite as drunk as you do.

“I never stop thinking about you.” Kisses move up to your wrists, each one more gentle than the last. “When I wake up, during the day, when I rest my head at night; there’s not a second of the day that you don’t cloud my mind.”

Hands as soft as the frosting on the cake you shared earlier, they move to your thighs. The fire crackles as Minho’s fingertips savor the feeling of you. Savor the feeling of your warmth that wraps its hands around him, submerging him in the sweet embrace of intoxication.

“The fog never clears.” He whispers, slender fingers now melting on the hem of your satin underwear. Slightly tucking underneath it, he peels them off, slowly dragging them down your legs. “Not until I get to touch you. When I feel you, I can think clearly again. When you’re near me, the ache in my chest disappears. You heal me, and I can’t get enough of you.”

He’s drawn to you — moving in on your center like he’s on an invisible leash. Instead of diving in immediately, Minho’s eyes flutter shut, nose resting right on your clit. He takes a breath. Two. Three. Inhaling the scent that makes his mouth water more than any alcohol could. Nose nudging the hood, the soft feeling drags a barely audible whimper from your throat.

“I fucking crave you.”

Four words. Four words that make your knees so weak, almost as much as the feeling of his tongue sliding between your silky folds. He devors you like an expensive meal; slow and steady, taking small bites to extend the amount of time spent digging in. 

Minho can’t find it in him to stop, not even when his jaw is aching and his tongue is throbbing from overuse. Not even when his scalp is burning from the hold you have on his hair to keep yourself upright. Nothing can stop him, not until he’s drunk beyond repair on you.

Or until you whimper out his name, pulling him away from where he seemed to be drowning. 

“I need you.” You breath out, voice shaky as you drop to your knees in front of him. “Please. Please Minho.”

Don’t you understand? You never have to beg for anything from him. He’s the one who drives to dark parking lots, knocking on the window of your car and begging you for just one more time. Just one more sip of the toxin that gives him a reason to live. 

That clears his mind. That brings him peace for the first time in his life.

The hints of lemon and honey are now laced with the sweetest champagne Minho’s ever had, the taste of you hitting your tongue and making you groan as you begin to unbutton his suit. The drunken haze has him oblivious to how quickly, or slowly, he’s stripped to nothing. He’s easing you onto your back before he knows it, right in front of the roaring fire. 

“Do you love me?” You ask as your hands stroke up and down his muscular arms. 

In the warm glow on the fire, with your hair splayed around your head like flames, Minho swears that you’re a goddess. That’s why he can’t stay away, ready to spend an eternity paying debts to the entity that makes him feel whole.

“More than anyone ever could.”

He enters you swiftly, the need to be consumed by you overwhelming his senses. Easily, his cock slides in all the way, fitting inside you like a perfect puzzle. Made for you, made for him. No other pieces work the way you do for each other.

Minho has always thought you were stunning, the most breathtaking sight in the entire universe. But there’s something about the way your lips part, moans heavenly addictive as they twist around his name.

That's his hook. That’s what brings him back for more. That’s the high he’ll never stop chasing, the need for more more more all consuming. 

“Oh, angel.” Cupping your cheek, he softly thumbs your cheekbone as he smiles down at you. “I need to hear more of you.” 

To make his point, Minho picks up the pace of his thrusts — gently, yet relentlessly slamming into you. Each hit lands against your sweet spot, his name echoing off the walls of the small dressing room. “That’s it.” He moans sweetly, cock twitching as your walls squeeze tightly around him. “Louder. Let everyone here for the wedding know whose bride you should be.”

[vastayan--vigilante]

“...Nobody wants that.”

A strange thing to hear, from the likes of Jinx. Then again, seeing her this teary-eyed and pathetic, like she was just another scared sickly kid, was a whole tier of bizarre in itself.

The vastayan's eyes flicked up to her face for a brief, assessing moment. Was that a shred of self-awareness, or just the fever talking?

In any case, she was wrong. One person, at the very least, wanted her to live very much - Scar could feel the fretful presence hovering at his back, could hear the telltale hitch of breath in response to her words.

For fuck's sake.

With an irritable twitch of his ear, Scar wordlessly shifted to the side, making room - the space was, as he anticipated, immediately filled. It was deeply weird and uncomfortable to see the raw worry on his friend's face as he crouched by Jinx and reached for one of her clammy hands, trying to comfort her as if they hadn't been enemies trying to kill each other mere days ago. As if she was one of their own.

"Hey, hey - look at me. It's okay. You're gonna be okay. Scar's just here to help; you're very sick, he's gonna fix you up, all right?"

Typical.

Scar merely grunted and shrugged one shoulder by way of retort to that particularly optimistic remark - yeah, yeah, we'll see what happens. No pressure, huh? Easy peasy fix, huh? Shit, sometimes it felt like Ekko believed he could make miracles a reality through sheer force of optimistic will. Whatever. He'd agreed to try. With someone else at her head to pull her attention away from what his hands were doing, hopefully she wouldn't start freaking out and flailing around.

Curtly matter-of-fact, Scar began to wash his enemy's rancid leg with warm water. Ekko had been pretty insistant that the wound had been getting cleaneed regularly, but that obviously hadn't tackled the root of the problem. Bullet wounds tended to fester. It was significantly harder to prevent infection when the damning dirt and bacteria on your skin and clothes had already been buried deep inside with the bullet. Harder to flush out, too.

He didn't miss the tentative gentleness in how Ekko reached up to brush sweat-drenched strands of hair back off Jinx's face (or the furtive way in which his friend glanced at him before doing so.)

Yeah, there was no time to unpack whatever the fuck that was.

Scar pointedly pretended he'd seen nothing. At this point, he didn't even want to know. He just wanted to get this shit over with. Dropping the dirtied sponge back into the bucket and rinsing off his hands with a dollup of Zee's soap solution, he took hold of Jinx's oozing leg once more.

"Stay still," He reiterated, a terse growl through gritted teeth as he tried to focus on drawing those elusive threads of magic to his palms.

It didn't come easily, especially not for someone he knew he didn't really want to help. But he pushed for it anyway, for Ekko.

There was a flicker, a sputtering spark of energy; after several seconds of internal wrestling, his palms began to take on a sluggish glow, warming up as he trickled heal you piece of shit intentions into the wound.

@f1shbonez

"How long have you been sitting there?" (@vastayan--vigilante)

It was impossible to sleep. 

Not a problem that was unfamiliar to Jinx, but in these circumstances, it was. Bouts of sleeplessness usually came with a racing mind, great productivity and energy. This wasn’t like that at all. She’d abandoned her bunk hours ago, trembling and flushed from a raging fever. Walking around hurt too much. Pushing through the pain to pace and search the faces through the window had sapped every hint of colour from her cheeks, leaving nothing but ashen, clammy skin behind. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d spent hunched over herself on the rough wooden floorboards, fingers restlessly picking at the dried blood in her bandages. The occasional throb of pain that came with disturbing the wound was the only thing easing the rigid edges of her shoulders. Rip, hold, breathe. Rip, hold, breathe. Rip. Hold. Breathe. Steady breaths fell in line with the stinging sensation. The pain offered a morbid kind of comfort. With pain, came the reminder that she was here. Still alive. It was the one grounding constant in her blurry reality. 

Intermittent memories of Silco bled into Jinx’s thoughts, swelling like the ebb and flow of an unkempt tide. The absence of him was so sudden. So painful. It felt as though all of the years spent by his side- the years of growing into something more than the weak, snivelling child he’d found her as- were entirely gone with him. Was that what had happened? Had Silco died and taken Jinx with him? Right now, it kinda felt like it. 

Just like the day they’d met, she was left crying like a small child in the dirt. Weak. 

Ŵ̴̗͍̓͜é̵͇á̷̢̘ḳ̴͠.̵͈̈̏ ̵̝̦̑͝͠w̶͙̼̯̾̌̈́E̶͔͖̱͆â̵͍̮͉͠K̵̟̃̀.̶̦͂͐ ̷̠̀̓W̷̰̪̐͌͜Ẽ̶̫̎A̵͇̕͝K̸͇̳̂̄̕!̸̯̚  Mylo’s voice hissed and jeered in the dark, earning a hiccup of a sob as Jinx folded in on herself to shut him out. 

Another ugly wave of nausea mingled with the tightness in her throat, needling at the shaky remnants of her composure until Jinx crumbled into a series of hitched breaths and moans. This felt really bad. Had she ever been hurt like this before? Hurt….sick…upset…there had always been someone. Vi and Silco always knew how to bring comfort when she felt like this. Had she ever had no one before? 

G̴͉̀̓e̸̝̚t̶͉͔́ ̶̪̄a̸̞͋̕ ̸̳͘g̷̟̔̈́r̶̛̫͘i̴̡͚̐̕p̵̧̐̌.̸͙̉ ̴̤͛̊Ḯ̶̩t̵͖͈͛̚'̴̼̯̂s̶͙̒͊ ̷͕̏n̶̥̱̑͠o̴͉̐͝t̴̗̱̔ ̸̩͝l̸͚̅i̸̢͗͘k̵̝̗̐́é̶̥͐ ̴͖͂y̴̘̑ȯ̷͚͕u̵̞̚ͅ ̵͕̗̀͘d̵̞̥̽̈́ó̵͜n̴̛̫̘͆'̶͕͇͋t̷̳̆ ̷̧̬̎d̷̻̃̓ẹ̷͋s̵̼̱̄̄e̶͎͊̄r̶͖̖̓v̶̬̓̔e̵̜͖͂̍ ̴̪͊i̸̳̒t̶̞̑̔.̷̘͙͑̆

The shadows and ghosts were louder now. Louder than ever. Laughing and roaring and babbling, all of them, clustering around her misery like a swarm of hungry leeches. From amongst them, another shadow lurched into the frame of her vision. C’mon…didn’t her demons know it was already a full house? Slowly, Jinx squinted in the direction of the intrusion, before realising the blinding frame of light surrounding it. 

Oh. 

…How long had the door been open?

The big hulking mute of a vastayan filled the entryway, assessing her with a stare that made Jinx desperately miss her pistol. Moving hurt terribly, but Jinx fought the discomfort just enough to crane her head to one side, searching for the familiar shape of Ekko. What was this supposed to be? Sending in the big guns when she felt so bad was kinda overkill. Did she do something wrong? Had they all made up their minds already? 

The unsteady, hitched breaths of lingering upset continued, but the emotion no longer reached Jinx’s eyes from where she sat, hunched over herself. 

“How long have you been sitting there?” A deep rumble spoke over the monsters, silencing them. 

There was a long pause as the words sank in, permeating the room along with the light before Jinx’s gaze trailed into the space between them in a vague acknowledgment of the new presence.

Did you…say that? 

Big guy never said anything. She'd almost started to believe he couldn't talk. What a stupid time for him to start, Jinx thought. She didn’t feel like speaking. 

The smallest shrug came as a response, and with it, Jinx gingerly drew her knees closer to her chest, gritting her teeth against the discomfort for the reward of appearing just a little smaller. The hot sweats had subsided, but the tell-tale ache of approaching shivers was already making the hair on the back of Jinx’s neck prickle uncomfortably. 

Had Ekko sent him? Or was his second in command coming in to do the dirty work when his back was turned? Either way, the vastayan wasn’t a welcome sight. 

As the shadow filled a greater deal of the space between them, Jinx cringed away, tucking her chin into the crook of her arm. He was holding something. She couldn’t quite make out what it was. It didn’t look like a weapon. What was that? An ointment? A vial of medicine? Yeah right. Did they think she’d let them poison her all neat and easy? That stuff could stay away, and far. 

He’s gonna h̶u̷r̷t̸ ̴y̸o̵u̷.̷ ̵

You r̴̳̩̽ë̸̝́m̶̛̹e̶̳̠̎͋m̶̥̜͂͆b̷̡̗͐e̷̠͛̂r̵͓͂ him.

That’s why they sent him.

That’s why E̴̡̓k̸̖͐k̴͚̣̃̃o̷̡͒͠’̶̡̲̃͌s̸͉͗ not here.

This guy’s about to do him a ̷̤͖͓̉̀̎f̵̼̯̑a̸͕͕͉͐v̷͙̍̓õ̴͖̦ů̵̡̮̥́́r̶̭̱̅.̵̦͐ͅ

“...No.”The word was entirely detached, barely audible through the dissociative haze clouding her mind. 

He is. You k̴͚͛̀ṅ̷̮̩o̵͕̖͘w̴̹̓ it. 

“Stop.” A hint of desperation bled into Jinx’s tone.

What’s wrong? S̵̠̩̽c̷̼̆̀a̶̧̗̎r̴̾͜ë̵̼d̴̜͑?̸̘̇

“...You’re not helping.”