#farmers agitation

[buzzofnews234]

Farmers’ Agitation in Delhi Intensifies Amid Agitation Fast

Delhi’s current state underscores the deep-seated challenges facing India’s agricultural sector. The farmers’ agitation and Dallewal’s fast are stark reminders of the urgent need for comprehensive reforms and empathetic governance. As the nation watches, the onus is on both the government and the farmers to find common ground and ensure a peaceful, sustainable resolution to this crisis.

[motomamita]

farmer!könig × female!reader

warnings: +18, smut, arranged marriage, breeding kink!

könig never thought that the love of his life would take so long to arrive, much less in such a small town where he lived and where everyone knew everyone. but yes, he just turned 30 he found himself totally alone, without a wife, girlfriend or even someone to fuck with without commitments.

being an only child, his parents rushed to find the right woman for him. they had to ensure that their legacy would continue and their lands would be passed down to their future grandchildren.

that's where you come in, also the only daughter of a couple of lumberjacks and with a long list of suitors. although you could choose any boy in the town, your parents quickly paired you with könig, who was the son of the wealthiest family in the place.

you didn't know könig personally but you had seen him from time to time on the streets driving his truck carrying fruits and vegetables to supply the businesses. you knew that he was older than you, not only in age but also in body. he always had a serious face and a look that forced you to lower your head because of how intimidating he was.

your families introduced you one day where they had lunch and talked about how beneficial it would be for both of you to get married. könig didn't contribute much, as he spent all that time looking at your breasts through your dress and biting his lip every time you dared to look into his eyes. neither you nor he spoke to each other.

after that, they organized a small wedding in the garden of könig's family and formalized the union between the two of you. you were now his wife and lived with him in a small house built by könig on his family land. however, the most important thing was missing, an heir.

you both knew that your families would not be calm until they saw you carrying his baby in your womb. that's why you and könig had to get closer to each other, both emotionally and physically. every time he came back from a long day of work, you would wait for him with a jug of fresh orange juice or even a beer. then you would prepare the shower for him, where könig would end up dragging you with him and you would shower together. he caressed your skin with excitement and you did the same but with a certain shyness. however, it never went any further, until now.

one afternoon you were harvesting vegetables from the garden until the presence of könig behind you caught your attention.

"it's time... for us to have a son."

könig was wearing his work shirt with a few buttons open and his blue jeans. he looked agitated, as if he needed you at that moment.

"könig... i, i don't know. i've never done it and i'm a little scared..."

you couldn't finish because könig knelt in front of you and grabbed your hips with his hands.

"please, please, let me fuck you. i can't wait any longer, my love, i need you.."

he begged with some pain in his voice, resting his head on your stomach and almost sobbing. his cock was throbbing inside his jeans and dripping with precum. your heart sank at seeing him so needy, so you accepted.

without wasting time, könig fucked you right there in his garden and on the ground, in a primitive way. your pussy took a while to get used to its size but soon the pain turned into pleasure. könig was on top of you, with your legs over his shoulders and his balls hitting your delicate skin.

"i knew this pussy was worth the wait... fuck, you're so tight."

könig kissed your legs, leaving a trace of his saliva and even lightly biting your skin, lost in pleasure. his grunts accompanied your moans and pleas for him to finish inside you as soon as possible, you were afraid that you would be discovered.

"these juicy tits, they're going to look even better when they're big and dripping with milk... are you going to carry my babies, huh? are you going to be a good mom?"

you nodded your head because your mouth couldn't let out anything but moans. könig increased his thrusts, fucking deep inside you until he filled you with his thick semen.

he gently lay down on top of you, careful not to crush you until his orgasm passed. he carefully pulled out of you, caressing your legs and putting the cum that came out back in with his fingers.

"i have to make sure it catch, mommy."

[suguboos]

SYMBIOSIS.ᐟ

absorbing curses was simple enough, right? until your boyfriend absorbs something that isn’t quite a curse.

FEATURING: venom! geto suguru x journalist! female reader

CONTENTS: 18+ content, mdni. has SOME canon qualities/otherwise just an au, mentions of blood, monsterfucking, tentacles as bondage, mentions of dead chickens (ref to the first venom movie lol), unprotected p in v (monster or not, wrap it 🫵🏼), (consensual) recording during sex, male masturbation, cunnilingus, oral (m receiving), riding, missionary, pet names, some aftercare

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: 19inchesofvenom 19inchesofvenom 19inchesofven- (i’m gonna go sit in a corner n think about what i wrote sorry chat)

You were going to strangle your boss.

Or, you would've entertained the idea had it not been for the hefty stack of ALMOST DUE bills cluttered around your kitchen table in bright red ink (and the very real possibility of ending up in jail, whoops).

Maybe you'd just stick with your original idea of writing a heavily worded word document. One that you'd never send, of course. But one that would explain the absurdity of this situation, nonetheless. Using your journalistic degree—and the many years of debt that it'd set you back, to come to an abandoned barn house in the middle of nowhere.

Unsolved mysteries and speculation led you to explore some complaints farmers had about missing chickens. On some hunch that Venom as the city dubbed him had been responsible.

Brown, dried out leaves crunched underneath your feet with each step as you slowly began to approach the abandoned barn. A coyote howled in the distance, the sound of cicadas buzzing around only adding to the animal symphony. You wouldn't be surprised if a chainsaw popped out from the back of the barn and began chasing you down.

"Can't be that bad, right?" You muttered to yourself, standing in front of the tightly shut doors. Trying (and failing) to convince yourself to go through with this investigation instead of tailgating it straight out of this horror scene. You managed to get the heavy door open, its hinges creaking obnoxiously. No chainsaw in sight—okay.

Holding the small candle in front of you, the area around you began to illuminate while you made your way further inside. Nothing out of the ordinary. A couple horses sleeping in their stables, buckets and rakes in almost every corner. Until you approached the chicken coops. Flies buzzed around a couple of the spaces, bunching up in the masses.

Shooing them away, you peered your head inside. And you almost immediately wished that you hadn't. Instead of getting an angry chicken looking back at you, you only got to see a chicken's body laying there. With no sight of the head anywhere. And while you were just a journalist for a mid tier newspaper.. even you could tell that it wasn't normal behavior.

SWISH.

A sudden burst of air hit your face, the hinges of the barn door creaking even further. The culprit had been just a couple meters away and you'd missed it. You jogged outside to try to see if you could catch a glimpse, looking up and down. Only to receive nothing but the buzzing cicadas from earlier.

In the short amount of time it'd taken you to come out, whatever—or whoever was out there, disappeared in the blink of an eye. You were left standing there with your mouth agape, camera weighing heavily in your hand. And now, a missed call from your boss.

"Hello?" You decided to answer the second call, pacing around the barn. Trying to think of just how you were supposed to begin to explain this. How every fiber in your being felt Venom's presence.. without actually facing him. Without actually having any proof that he was even here in the first place.

"I'd appreciate it if you answered my calls the first time around," her voice snapped out from the other line, an agitated groan leaving her lips. "I called to ask how the investigation was going. I'm assuming you have what you need to have the paper by tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" All the blood in your body ran cold, even more than the near death experience. The woman's working you into an early grave.

And all you received in response to your question was another groan. You could practically picture her pinching the bridge of her nose by now. "Yes, tomorrow. I plan on having it released a couple days from now, you know how the process is."

"Right, right, yeah. I'll get the paper to you by tomorrow," You assured her, your steps starting to get faster. It wouldn't be that hard, right? You just had to do what a couple journalists hadn't achieved in months by tomorrow morning. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm screwed," you muttered to yourself, pushing your phone into the depths of your pocket.

The animals woke up from their nap, looking over at you with an unamused expression. "Don't look at me like that," you hissed out, catching a glimpse of them before letting out a groan, "And now I'm arguing with a bunch of animals." A slow breath left your lungs, forcing yourself to calm down. You'd just work with what you had in front of you.

Only drops of blood staining the tan floor in front of you served to prove that you weren't seeing things. You set the candle aside and pulled your camera out of your bag, starting to take pictures from whatever angle you could muster up. Whatever angle would look the most inconspicuous and mysterious to the newspaper editors.

You couldn't help but feel like something was staring at you—gauging every single one of your movements when you stepped out of the barn. The creature wouldn't have been stupid enough to stick around, would it? You looked up at the barn roof, almost expecting to see something ready to attack. But once again, a whole load bucket of absolutely nothing.

You truly didn't get paid enough to deal with this.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

An unquenchable thirst consumed Suguru's being inside and out, the urge completely taking over any last sense of rationale that he had remaining. Taking over every single last one of his thoughts. Even with the warm, iron taste of blood coating every single one of his tastebuds—the need wasn't satisfied. It wasn't nearly enough.

It almost felt like it would never be enough.

Dried crimson smudges smeared across elongated canines, pieces of raw flesh sticking to the ends. A mix of his own drool and blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin and bare body. A body that wasn't really quite his own. Or more accurately, a body that wasn't just his anymore.

Suguru wasn't completely sure what the thing was, originally thinking of it as curse when he'd been sent out by Yaga to 'handle' the issue. Ironically enough, for the same thing that you were investigating just now. Except that he went to absorb it, the black glob in the ground didn't behave anything like a cursed spirit.

The taste of vomit and shit was one that Suguru was used to by now. The taste of every single one of humanity's evil doings—from lust to greed—sticking to the back of his throat while his body absorbed that very same evil. It was a taste that he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard

The little glob didn't taste like anything going down, which probably should've served as the first red flag. One of the other things was that the little thing didn't exactly appear on his command—much like the others in his repertoire, but rather when the thing wanted to make itself known. Like it had rational thinking.

It'd somehow bonded with Suguru's DNA, latching onto him for survival. Even with every method that he'd tried to take it off—prying it off with a metal bar, burning it off, freezing, it was all pointless. The little thing would just stick its gooey tongue out at him before retreating back to the safety of his own body. Going so far as to claim that they were the 'perfect match.'

Dead chicken heads cluttered around his feet, the sound of bones crunching against each other and the last desperate clucks in vain still echoed throughout his skull. Even a couple pieces of flesh remained on the tips of his teeth, the creature inside of him savoring each last bit of the pieces. Better than it being a human, at the very least.

He'd become too sloppy. That much was clear after you'd almost caught him in the barn earlier. If you'd been even just a second faster, you would've noticed him sticking to the side of the roof with no problem. Despite every sense in his body being enhanced, he'd almost gotten caught. All for his blood thirsty to have chickens before going back home for dinner.

How'd this even become a problem? Suguru had made it a point to take just a few chickens—just enough to satiate the thirst that seemed to run deep within his veins. Taking a few from a different farms scattered across the countryside shouldn't have been suspicious.. and yet here he was. Being investigated.

The smart thing to do would just to leave the chickens alone for now, right?

Just leave the whole thing alone. That would be easy...

Until he had the stupid idea to swing by your apartment. Just to make sure that you'd gotten home safe after driving in the snow. And maybe think of some lie of how he got stuck out with Gojo on a mission again, anything that would ease the suspicions you had.

After spending what seemed to be an eternity waiting for some kind of sign to show up, for the culprit to make themselves known—you decided to call it a night. With just a couple photographs and a new conversation topic for your therapist in the following days. And now you were stuck writing a multi page article with nothing but good vibes and a couple dead chickens.

Can after can of unfinished energy drinks cluttered the expanse of your desk, serving as a paperweight for the several papers that laid in front of you. The laptop screen in front of you illuminated your face, nearly blinding as every tab you could find in regard to Venom was opened up. Which was a complete grand total of three articles.

All built up on pure speculation. Exactly what the farmers had told you during their interview—rambling about it being a two headed monster, a soul snatcher, a demon. The eerie presence that hung around the farm was too strong to be ignored.. and yet, no one had actually found the source behind it. No source, no reliable clues, nothing. Just a whole load of absolutely nothing.

The simple fact remained that no one had managed to catch a glimpse of it. Or probably, no one had managed to catch a glimpse of it and live to tell the story. The photos didn't offer much either—they were all either blurred, heavily edited, or just outright AI generated. Each failed result just made the pounding headache thumping against your head all the much worse.

Just what were you supposed to tell your boss and the multitudes of readers?

A loud thump against your window distracted you from looking at your computer screen for different job offers. A thump too heavy to just be a result of the snowfall outside. To open it or not to open it? You stayed still in your spot, gulping down more of the battery acid to keep yourself for a couple more hours. Until another thump. And the third thump came.

You reluctantly got off the chair, padding over towards the window. Nothing. The night sky was completely empty, albeit for a couple snow flakes that were starting to coat the streets in a thin white sheet. Your gaze went down to the three pebbles lying on the floor, matching the number of thuds you'd heard earlier.

"What the fuck?" You muttered to yourself, looking up from the pebbles. The words died in your throat when you looked up to see big, white eyes boring into your own. Not exactly what you were expecting to see living in the second floor. You scrambled away from the window, your heart beating against your chest as you heard the creature scratching against the glass.

The same creature that you were trying to write an article about was scratching against your window, each one grating against your eardrums. Had it been tracking your movements down since you'd left the barn..? Before you had the chance to begin questioning it further, it slid through the crack in the window like slime. Reaching up and up until it reached the lock.

Slipping inside of your apartment in a span of seconds, Venom stood in front of you. Its head pressed against the ceiling, taking over the space it had available with ease. Chills ran down your back when the creature met your gaze—his stare unsettling. The way a predator would look at its prey. It didn't help that you could practically see it salivating as it took you in.

The chickens were the appetizer and you were about to be the full course meal.

"You're the one writing those articles," not a question, just a simple statement. Its voice came out like something out of an alien movie. You rubbed the back of your neck, awkwardly looking up at the goo-like creature. Trying to figure out what lie you could pull out of your ass.

"I mean, not exactly. There's a lot of people writing those articles, mine don't really get as much traction," you were babbling the first thing that came to mind, trying to buy yourself enough time. Enough time to figure out if jumping out of the second window in just your pajamas was too stupid of an idea. Except... that Venom wasn't even paying attention to you anymore.

It busied itself with picking up one of the various news articles, an indignant scoff leaving its mouth. Holding up the offensive piece of paper up to his face, its eyes narrowing down at you. "If you answer this wrong, I'll be eating your brains. If you answer it right, I'll be eating your arm. Do you think this is the most flattering picture of me?"

You looked over at the picture, trying to discern what was so wrong with it. Seeing Venom face to face, this was the closest thing that resembled it. "It's red but it still looks like you somewhat," you shrugged. Though your eyes quickly widened seeing Venom lick their lips, almost hungrily. Like it'd been waiting for you to say the wrong answer.

"But no, I don't think it's the most flattering. Doesn't look like you at all," you quickly backtracked with a nervous laugh, stepping back just the slightest bit. Just to where the creature wouldn't notice you were slowly slipping away. The creature seemed satisfied with that answer, slamming the photo down onto the wooden desk.

"So unfair that I'm still getting compared to that thing."

"That thing?"

"Carnage."

Venom picked up the camera that laid next to the disorganized stack of papers—holding it up to his face. "Not bad, could've done with some better lighting," he tsked, looking through the pictures you'd taken earlier at the farm. "There wasn't any better lighting," you grumbled, folding your arms across your chest. The subtle click of the camera filled up the room as the creature continued to look through the photographs.

Until even it got tired of multiple copies of the same photos. Venom held up the camera lens to face its slimy face, having the nerve to smile just as the flash came on. "There. A much better picture for your references," the creature spoke almost proudly.. holding up your camera to take another photo of itself. Taking on a more serious expression. "Replace those ugly ones on Google."

Venom moved across your room curiously, exploring it like something out a museum. Picking up the articles you had scattered throughout your desk, holding it up underneath his scrutinizing gaze. And then.. the first change started to happen. Its mask began to disintegrate, human flesh starting to show underneath its cover.

You were delirious. That was the only possible explanation. The fumes from the filthy manure finally infiltrated your brain. The sight of the dead chickens was starting to mess up your cognitive function. "Suguru?"

"Surprise," now he sounded nervous, looking everywhere in the room except at your face.

All the little signs that Suguru had been displaying throughout the past couple weeks slowly started to make sense. From being insistent to be the one to wash his uniform (not that you'd minded at the time) to coming back home at the ass crack of dawn. Claiming that a mission held him up. And still, you found yourself wanting to believe that maybe you were just hallucinating.

"I didn't scare you too badly, right?" he approached you slowly, like he was the one that had to be cautious. You stayed frozen in spot, your mouth agape even as he came to hold your hips.

"Wait, so you're the murderer? How long has it been going on for? A-And why'd you show up here as Venom?" The questions spilled out of you, struggling to even begin to wrap your head around this.

Choosing to ignore your other questions, he simply answered, "You wanted to write your article, didn't you? What better way to do that than to keep track of our exclusive interview." Your phone looked ridiculously tiny held in between two digits, one of his fingertips tapping at the screen. To get the camera app set up?

Suguru placed the camera against one of the perfume bottles on the desk, capturing your bed in the frame. "What's that for?" you questioned, looking over at him as he moved around your room. No longer with that curious gaze, but the usual comfortability instead. "It'll be easier for you to remember if you have it digitized."

Your bed squeaked underneath his weight as Suguru went to lie down, resting his hands behind his head. "Come on, princess. The interview's more comfortable this way," he patted down on the spot next to him, a couple of your stuffed animals flying to the floor from the sheer force of his hand.

"So, what do you want to know?" Suguru questioned, running one of his fingers down the sheer material of your sleep shirt. Bunching up the thin material underneath his hands before slowly raising it up to your stomach. Abnormally cold hands slid up your torso, goosebumps forming instinctively at the touch.

"Why'd you murder the chickens? Not like we're missing any food at home," You looked over at the camera, making sure it was recording. And trying to avoid looking at Suguru. Was he still the person that you fell in love with? Well, clearly not.. but maybe, just maybe, the symbiote hadn't changed him?

You weren't sure how to deal with the possibility that the thing inside him had changed him completely. But Suguru was still gentle, his fingertips lightly caressing your body while he let out a small hum. Considering his answer.

"The thing inside me craves blood. Morning, day, and night. It's like an urge. An itch that I can't really control," Suguru moved his hand up your shirt, letting out a small hum. "I know that doesn't answer your question. Give me a bit."

Suguru grasped one of your breasts in his hand, rubbing his thumb against your areola. Feeling your nipples getting harder and harder underneath his fingertip, both from the cold seeping in through the slightly ajar window and his actions. He did the same to your right breast, slowly taking his time to move down your body. Eliciting all the goosebumps he could muster within you.

Suguru's fingers rubbed slightly against your clothed cunt, tracing the outline of your folds through the flimsy material. "Or better yet. Why do you think I murdered the chickens?" the deflection was smooth, even you had to admit that much. His fingers were just as smooth, sliding your panties to the side to reveal your already glistening cunt.

The two digits began moving in a scissoring motion, slowly starting to spread you open. It was hard to focus on the damn chickens when all you wanted was for him to keep going. Your hips bucked up to meet his hand, getting the slightest bit of friction against his palm. Just as soon as that sense of relief came over you, it was quickly ripped away.

Suguru pulled his fingers out of your pussy, bringing them up to his lips. Wrapping his lips around them and sucking on them like a decadent dish, rolling his eyes back. "I'll be nice, even though you didn't answer. Want a little taste?" You simply nodded at his question, leaning up to meet his lips. Suguru closed the gap in between you two, pressing his lips against your own.

The first thing you could taste was yourself, the taste clinging onto his lips for dear life. Your tongue ran over his bottom lip, picking up the remnants.

“If I knew why'd you murdered the chickens, I wouldn't be asking," you pointed out, a small gasp leaving your lips. His thumb teased your clit yet again, teasing you to that crescendo before letting it drop again.

"But you're so smart, baby. I wanted to hear your thoughts on why chickens. Why not dogs? Why not cats?" Suguru spoke in puzzles, only serving to confuse you even further. "Come on, put that big brain to use and let me hear your thoughts."

"Because.. it's easier to overlook?" You blurted out the first thing that came to mind, trying to put your 'big brain' to use without blanking out completely.

Suguru clicked his tongue, nodding his head from his spot in between your legs. "Something like that, yeah. I thought no one would really notice if a couple chickens went missing," he looked up at you, amethyst eyes almost seeming to sparkle underneath the moon.

The only time where Suguru didn't feel like the hunger was all consuming was when he was in between your legs, eating you out to his heart's content (or until you had to pull him off you after the nth orgasm, either or). "Could smell you all the way outside the window. Such a good scent," he all but purred into your skin, completely removing your panties off.

Just how enhanced were his senses now? Maybe that should be your next question. If you remembered, that is.

Sharp canines grazed upon your inner thighs, the movement surprisingly gentle. For someone who'd just bit off a chicken's head with those same teeth, anyways. His long tongue licked a stripe up your inner thigh, sucking on the supple skin and savoring the taste all the while. Your hips bucked up in need of something more, only to quickly being pinned down by his hands.

"Let me take my time, princess. Savor this," He looked over at you, a firm grip on your thighs. "I'll give you what you want, I promise," Suguru hadn't even done anything—and he was already starting to get delirious. He could practically taste you from here, could feel the scent of you completely invading his senses. All he could think about was you, you, and you.

The stretch of the symbiote's long, pink tongue as he pushed it in deeper into your cunt had you gripping the sheets beneath you all that much tighter. The silken sheets bunching up underneath your vice grip. Just the tongue was enough to reach up where your boyfriend's cock normally did.

You writhed against the silk bedsheets, your eyes struggling to stay open as the tongue pushed further inside of you. Filling you up with so much ease. It slowly retracted, pushing back inside of you with one swift motion. "D-Don't stop," you let out a gasp, your back arched while the tongue reached deep within you.

"So tasty," a low gravelly voice that didn't quite belong to Suguru sounded from the back of his throat. The different entity living within his body. "Don't get used to it," Suguru's voice came out muffled, tongue-deep inside of your cunt. His tongue eagerly lapped up and every drop of your slick, coating his mouth and chin.

He pulled away for the slightest bit, letting his spit dribble down on to your pussy. Watching intently at the way your walls clenched at just that, the way you twitched with just the lightest of movements. "F-Fuck, Sugu!" A whine left your lips, feeling his fingers push into you again. Curling them just right, hitting that sweet spot inside of you with each thrust.

"So good," he babbled against your cunt, the tip of his tongue swirling against your clit. "T-Taste so fucking good, I love you," Suguru rutted his hips pathetically onto the edge of the bed, leaving his precum onto the sheets. The hand that wasn't essentially knuckle-deep inside you wrapped around his cock, thrusting himself in time with your own.

The symbiote's tongue was quick, precise in the way that it flicked around your clit. Suguru swirled it around the nub, letting out mindless groans and babbles as he leaked further into his hand. Your cunt gushed around his fingers—squelching with every thrust of his fingers he gave. You tightened up around them, your fingers digging in further into the bedsheets.

"G-Gonna cum, gonna cum," you babbled out, your toes curling. It was just so deep, so good, so much of everything. "Cum all over my fingers, pretty. Wanna taste you so bad," Suguru managed to get out through his own whines and babbles. You felt that pressure inside of you build up before finally releasing—covering his fingers in your release when you came.

Suguru took his fingers out, replacing them with his tongue to lap up every last drop that started to leak down your thighs. With one final kiss against your folds, he pulled away to clean away his fingers. You sat up, coming face to face with his cock now that he was standing up.

And to call it a beast was short of an understatement.

Your swollen lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, struggling to completely get him inside of your mouth. It was just so.. thick. You looked up at him, your eyes starting to water up from the way your jaw was starting to slack. "You don't have to, princess," Suguru cooed down at you, wiping away your tears with his thumb. Though, even he would be a fool to deny this sight was anything short of perfect.

You looked absolutely sinful on your knees, your cheeks hollowing out in some attempt to ease the way down. You ignored the warning, slowly starting to bob your head down his shaft. Becoming complacent with the fact you wouldn't dare to try to take all of him in—not unless you wanted a quick trip to the hospital and an awkward explanation to the ER doctors.

With the spit pooled up in your mouth, you blew bubbles on the tip of Suguru's cock before letting it dribble down his shaft. One of your hands wrapped around the base, slowly starting to twist your wrist and start to jerk off what you couldn't reach. "F-Fuck, that's it, princess. So good," Suguru moaned out, one of his own hands resting on the back of your head.

"If you want me to keep going—answer me this. Have you hurt any civilians?" You pulled your mouth away, a string of saliva connecting you to the tip of his leaking cock. Suguru let out an exasperated groan, "No. I haven't. I don't want to hurt any people."

Even from this awkward angle on the floor, you could tell that he was telling the truth. Finally. You continued to drool on his cock, the filthy sounds of you gagging on it when the tip hit the back of your throat echoing through the thin walls. Your tongue traced through the thick veins on the sides, feeling Suguru's thighs twitch beside you.

"O-Oh f-fuck," Suguru bit on his fist, his head lolling back the more you tried to push his cock inside your mouth. Your tongue licked down the underside of his cock, going all the way to his heavy balls. You looked up to see Suguru struggling to meet your gaze, his chest heaving and strangled breaths leaving his lips.

Your tongue drew small circles on the sac before you took it in your mouth, sucking on them. "Wait, wait," Suguru started off, gently pulling you off, "Need to come inside you." He grabbed your hand, helping you off the floor.

Though the camera was still running on the nightstand, you decided to make mental notes of everything he was saying. Just in case. You weren't even completely sure if you'd remember by the end of the night. Suguru made himself comfortable just like at the start of the night—and the pieces started to click together. No way the man wanted you to ride him now.

"S-Suguru, I can't," the words escaped your lips in a hiss, slowly impaling yourself onto the first two inches of the large cock underneath you. Not even enough to completely get the tip in. Each inch felt like it was splitting you apart all over again.

"Yes you can, you're taking it so well baby," Suguru cooed, watching as you slowly sunk yourself down on his cock. Squeezing the life out of him while you tried to find your momentum.

You could already imagine the words on your tombstone— death by monster dick.

Suguru placed his hands on your hips, gently squeezing the flesh to ease your movements. "There you go, that's it. That's it, take it for me," he encouraged your movements with each bounce you were giving on his—the symbiote's(?)—cock.

Suguru looked over to see his cock nudging a bulge in your tummy when he thrusted up into you, the sight nearly having him close to an orgasm again. He thrusted in deeper, watching how the tip protruded with each one. "S-Sugu, you're in too deep," you moaned out, practically feeling the man in your guts. And he wasn't even fully in. You wouldn't be surprised if he could reach your guts.

Your hips gyrated, trying to keep up some sense of rhythm. You pressed your hands firmly against their chest for some semblance of balance, feeling the goon underneath your fingertips sticking to your fingers. "Take it, take it," Suguru let out a moan of his own, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. His feet pressed against the mattress, using you like a toy as he thrust himself in and out of your cunt.

"S-Sugu, too much, too much," you babbled out, struggling to keep up with the pace you'd set for yourself. That, and the absurdly big dick jackhammering you.

"You tired, baby?" His tone was sickly sweet as he spoke, pulling you off his cock and setting you down on the bed. "It's okay, I'll take care of you now. Just lay there and look pretty."

Suguru's body began to change back into its original form, the symbiote retreating back into his body. Thick, extensive tentacles protruded out of Suguru's back, each one wrapping around one of your limbs. Suguru slowly rubbed his cock across your folds, covering his length with your slick until it glistened against the moonlight peeking in through the windows.

Suguru slowly pushed the tip inside, feeling your walls tighten up against his shaft. "Is that better?" He looked down to watch for any signs of discomfort, and upon not finding any, he placed your legs up on his shoulders. Using the angle as leverage, hips snapping deeper inside of you.

"Taking everything I give you so well," his finger lightly caressed your cheek, the sharp thrust of his hips completely contradicting the gentleness he was trying to give. Your cunt covered his shaft with your slick, squelching as he slid it in and out of you. "Rub my clit, please, please," you let out a mewl, keeping your gaze directly on his own.

"Can't say no when you beg so pretty," His thumb slowly began to rub your clit, building up your orgasm for the second time tonight. Your walls clenched around him tightly, milking his cock in the process. Everything started to get too much, too little, you weren't really sure what you wanted. The only thing that you did know was, well, you wanted to cum.

“So. Fucking. Tight," each of his words was pronounced with a thrust, sweat dripping down from his forehead and covering his skin. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, a moan leaving your lips as you came. It was both a sight and a sound that Suguru couldn't find himself getting tired of even if he tried. His own hips began to grow sloppy, his thrusts losing all sense of rhythm while his balls continued to grow heavier.

A groan erupted from the back of Suguru's throat, his head thrown back while his eyes barely managed to stay open. "Take it baby, it's all yours," Suguru let out a groan, his hips growing more erratic. Your messy pussy was pushing him closer and closer to his own orgasm. You simply nodded your head against the pillow, your nails digging into his forearm.

"Y-Yeah, all mine," your moan came out so sweetly, being the last thing to push Suguru over the edge. Ropes of cum spurted deep inside of your cunt, filling you up almost immediately. He didn't bother to move just yet, remaining buried deep inside of your cunt. The only thing that he did do was start to press slow, sloppy kisses on your calves before setting your legs down on the bed.

A soft whine left your lips when Suguru pulled out his twitching cock, the tentacles retreating back inside of him. Globs of cum dripped down out of you, streaming down your thighs and ass. "I never harmed anyone in what I've been doing, by the way. I don't want to harm anyone, I promise. I'm still your Suguru," he whispered, low enough to where your phone wouldn't pick it up.

"Still your Suguru. Your Suguru," Entrusting those words to you and you only. His thick fingers pushed inside of your dripping cunt, pushing his cum back inside of you. Filling you completely yet again. Suguru pulled out of you once again, wiping his hand off with a rag on the bed stand.

"You okay?" Suguru whispered, using the rag to gently wipe away the sweat that dribbled down your forehead. One of his hands reached down, fingertips gently rubbing against your thighs in a bleak attempt to soothe the ache.

"No, think you and that cock earlier might've broken me," you mumbled, your voice coming out hoarse. At this rate, you'd have a noise complaint taped to your front door first thing in the morning. Suguru reached over for the nightstand next to you, opening up a water bottle. "Sit up for me just a little."

Your body ached even further, pushing yourself so at least your head would be straight. "I know, I know it hurts," Did he really? Suguru took a hold of your chin, lightly tipping it up before giving you slow gulps of water. Your throat cleared up with each sip, but you could practically feel your body crying out underneath you with each second you stayed up.

"You're okay, pretty girl. I'll take care of you, did so good for me," Suguru murmured praises against your back, wrapping his arms around your stomach and keeping you close. Keeping you far warmer than any blanket you've bought as of yet.

Silence clung onto the room, but it was a comfortable silence this time around. All of the previous tension had disappeared, leaving the two of you spent. "I know you're still my Suguru, but thank you for answering the questions. You scared the shit out of me when you popped up in the suit."

"I know. Wouldn't hurt you or another person, though. Please trust me," Suguru peppered a kiss onto your upper back, continuing with his gentle motions. After nearly splitting your body in half, he was being delicate. Keeping you safe and assured.

Suguru looked over at the drawer where your phone rested, remembering all about the 'interview' he'd signed up for. "I'm gonna go see how photogenic we were, I'll be right back," He spoke quietly, pressing a small kiss onto your forehead before getting up from the squeaky mattress. It'd been a miracle that the old thing hadn't given out just from tonight.

"Yeah, okay," you spoke through ragged breaths, watching him stand up and move through the shadows of your room. Suguru took his time in picking your phone up and looking through it, watching every second of the 'film.'

"Think we're gonna have to do re-do the interview," Suguru noted, watching through the footage recorded. The phone had toppled over around 1/3 into the video, completely coming to a stop shortly after with a 'storage full' pop-up. Your chest heaved, barely registering any of the words he was saying. Interview..?

Oh, right. The Venom article you still had to finish writing. By tomorrow. Very important.

"You don't mind that right, baby?"

(a/n: this is like the first time i’ve tried writing monsterfucking so if it’s buns, don’t let me know ❤️)

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Feral Twilight—it's just his instincts, okay?

ּ ֶָ֢. It wasn't until after his adventure that he began to lose his sanity. The loss was gradual. No one noticed until it was too late. After all, no being from the light world should ever cross into the Twili realm.

It has this habit of sentience. Twilight could always feel himself being watched. It wasn't just Midna or any of Zant's minions. It was this territorial force that was angered anytime someone from above came into its land.

Even after defeating Ganondorf, the essence of that anger still lingered. It was calmer but seemed more possessive. It began to want to possess a part of Twilight: his mind.

So after the mirror was shattered, that was a part of him he was never going to get back.

That's where you came in. Just an adventurer from another timeline.

ּ ֶָ֢. He meets you, and it's an instant attachment. Something about you appeases the broken, primal part of him. Wolfie needed to come out and play. All he wants to do is stay near you and listen. Even without his tail on him, you can practically hear the elated wagging of it.

That sealed your fate.

ּ ֶָ֢. He travels with you all throughout different versions of Hyrule. He helps you collect various weapons and treasures. He surprises you with gifts. He is just absolutely addicted to your face lighting up. He is able to smell the happy hormones wafting off of you.

That line within his mind between proper and animalistic grows thinner every day that you travel with him.

ּ ֶָ֢. When stumbling upon the other Links, he is immediately agitated. He is not willing to share your attention or love with any other version of himself. He's standoffish with the others when it comes to matters that concern you. He's quick to become riled up and then dismissive. Some of the others, especially Wind and Legend, enjoy teasing him about his 'little' crush on you.

In the earliest stages of meeting other Links, no one realizes how twisted Twilight's obsession is. He doesn't realize it either. It's just this nagging sensation in the back of his head that tells him he needs to keep you around. It's a variation of the same sensation he felt in the Twili realm.

ּ ֶָ֢. As the months go by, Time recognizes that there is something unhealthy about Twilight's relationship with you. Twilight refuses to leave you alone with another Link. The farmer always rooms with you. Twilight is the only one that helps you take care of chores. No one else is allowed to.

You end up with bruises that he suspects are from Twilight. You brush the worries off as Twilight just being playful. You assure Time that it is nothing serious. Time is still incredibly concerned.

"If Twilight does anything you don't consent to, tell me. Understand?"

Time is a safe place for you. Twilight sees that as a threat.

ּ ֶָ֢. In the dead of night, he ushers you away from The Chain. He tells you that there is something he must show you. You trust him, obviously. You follow him, and suddenly you are pinned under him. It's the first time you feel fear being around him. Your fear because of him is arousing. He doesn't do anything violent. He simply wraps his arms around you and nuzzles into your body.

"Twilight. Twilight?"

He didn't respond. He would simply have a pleased growl escape his throat.

ּ ֶָ֢. The night turned into the day, and suddenly you weren't anywhere near the other Links. You were in the forest with Twilight, and now you're back at his farm. He kept you there. He only allowed you into the village. You are not allowed to go farther than that. 

He marks you up and is barely able to form words. He nestles into you any time either of you has nothing to do.

It's strange and a bit unconventional at times. You have thought about running away. You have spent your entire life adventuring, and suddenly you were kidnapped by your closest traveling companion.

You are too afraid to try to escape. You are convinced that Twilight would be able to find you anywhere in the multitude of lines that thread together the intricacies of time.

ּ ֶָ֢. That line no longer exists in his mind. He will always keep you with him. His tongue may not work, but his desires do. He listens to your protests and never crosses that line, even if he has to take care of himself in the privacy of the back of the barn.

You didn't need to know what he did for you. You only know that the rest of The Chain won't be coming to save you.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

and another list of "troublesome" words

tumult, turmoil

Both describe confusion and agitation.

The difference is that tumult - applies only to people but

turmoil - applies to both people and things.

Tumultuous, however, can describe things as well as people (“tumultuous applause,” “tumultuous seas”).

use, usage

Usage - normally appears only in the context of formal practices, particularly in regard to linguistics (“modern English usage”),

and use - does duty for all other senses,

but most dictionaries recognize the words as interchangeable in nearly all contexts.

utilize

In its strictest sense, utilize means to make the best use of something that wasn’t intended for the job (“He utilized a coat hanger to repair his automobile”).

It can be legitimately extended to mean making the most practical use of something (“Although the hills were steep, the rice farmers utilized every square inch of the land”),

but in all other senses use is better.

venal, venial

Venial - from the Latin venialis (“forgivable”), means excusable; a venial sin is a minor one.

Venal - corruptible. It comes from the Latin venalis (“for sale”) and describes someone who is capable of being bought.

venerate, worship

Although in figurative senses the words are interchangeable,

in religious contexts worship should apply only to God.

Roman Catholics, for instance, worship God but venerate saints.

very

should be made to pay its way in sentences.

Too often it is used where it adds nothing to sense (“It was a very tragic death”)

or is inserted in a futile effort to prop up a weak word that should be replaced by something with more punch (“The play was very good”).

vitreous, vitriform

Vitreous - describes something made, or that has the quality, of glass

Vitriform - to have the appearance of glass

vocal cords

Not to be confused with chords (groups of musical notes), as happens all too often:

“Understudy Nancy Ringham will play opposite Rex Harrison because Miss Kennedy has problems with her vocal chords” (Evening Standard).

Vocal cords - are so called because of their shape and structure, not because of their tonal qualities.

Source ⚜ More: On Vocabulary ⚜ Writing Basics ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[missterious-figure]

Jungle Beast Moon! (Yep, he's a planty boy!)

Moon is not as trusting as Sun, and is more likely to becoming aggressive with little to no agitation. He's a spiteful gremlin towards humans, like y/n, and loves to cause as much trouble as he can for them. But after you get to know him better and he warms up to you, he becomes much more mellow. He still likes to tease, though. He has a wound on the side of his face from a bullet glazing it. Moon had attacked a farmer who shot Sun so his companion could get away to safety.

Moon can actually get energy from photosynthesis, but he uses moon light instead. This is because he needs special UV radiation that comes from the moon. But he can't sustain himself only on light. He is also carnivorous, and eats meat as well. The powder that comes from his tail and head tendrils makes anything that breathes it in sleepy. If he was ever in true danger and needed to get away, he'd shake off so much powder it would create a smoke screen big enough to envelop a football field. (Oh yeah, he's both venomous and poisonous. So don't try to eat him or let him try to eat you)

[chilling-seavey]

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —EIGHT

↳ A/N So apparently I really can't keep to a word count goal. But this is one of my favourite chapters thus far!!

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 7.1k

↳ Chapter Warnings: 18+, nsfw, exhibitionism, fingering, slight dirty talk.

“This project is bullshit.”

Max’s notebook paper looked about ready to tear in half with how aggressively he was erasing yet another incorrect formula. He tossed his mutilated eraser onto the wood table and raked both hands through his already tousled blonde hair, fingers clutching onto the roots as if to figuratively and literally pull his hair out. The warm light of the lamps dotted along the library table reflected in his blue eyes that were narrowed towards his page under furrowed brows and a steadfast expression of distaste. 

Rosaline and Tabitha glanced at him from their spot on the opposite side of the table but before they could say anything, he was off on a tangent, “The other engineering class gets to study and design a part of a Formula 1 car of their choosing which is fucking cool. What does our class get? An assignment to create something that will help farmers be more efficient in their harvesting techniques.” 

Max scoffed and tossed his pencil down as he slouched back in his chair with a huff.

“This idiot professor is so old he probably has never seen a car in his life.” Max continued, his tone full of seething disgust, “Still wouldn’t even have a clue even if the fucking RB19 hit him going full throttle down the Monza straights.”

From his right, Charles snickered from behind his phone screen, his eyes darting over to his agitated boyfriend. Anyone else might have been a little put off by Max’s very aggressive delivery of a borderline threat of life to an elderly professor, but their little group could only smile fondly at his frustration. 

Charles spoke up, “Do you think a person would just…explode if they were hit by the RB19 going full throttle?”

“Yes.” Max answered without hesitation, his gaze still focused on his wrinkled notebook paper and open textbook. 

Charles stared at his profile for a moment as if in thought, debating the validity, and then looked back to his phone with a satisfied and simple “hm”.

On the other side of the table, Rosaline and Tabitha looked at each other and then shared amused chuckles before turning back to their own work. 

Around them, the aged dark wood shelves of the Bodleian Old Library housed a few dozen students spending their Thursday night with their noses in dusty books and reliable laptops. Rosaline and her friends were among them, luckily having snagged a spot at one of the long centralized tables in the heart of the main hall, surrounded by well stocked shelves that stretched up two storeys to the intricately carved wood paneled ceiling.

Voices carried easily in those ancient buildings of Oxford so they spoke in hushed tones while the rustle of students pulling literary texts from the shelves sounded magnified and shiver-worthy. The sounds of knowledge, of a desire to learn, to imagine and to dream. Rosaline felt so at peace in the Oxford libraries. It felt as though the history was only heightened in those spaces; something about the lingering coating of dust on the covers of centuries old books making the past feel more alive. 

As if on cue, Tabitha turned away and sneezed as quietly as she could manage into her elbow. The sound echoed. A few students glanced over. 

Charles sighed dramatically and dropped his phone onto the table with a loud thud, his head lolling back to look up towards the ceiling. Being a music student, there wasn’t much work for Charles to complete in a library but he always came along to keep the rest of their group company. It always panned out the same way - he was quiet and busied himself at first but then quickly got restless.

He sighed again to the ceiling and then lolled his head to the side to look at Max who had since hunched over his books again, announcing, “I’m bored.”

Max barely offered a grunt in response, biting at the end of his pencil as his mind worked a mile a minute to try and solve whatever problem was currently vexing him.

Charles sighed again. Tabitha shushed him from across the table. 

Heaving himself from where he was draped back in his chair, Charles leaned his arms on the table towards Rosaline, asking her in a loud whisper, “So when do we get to know of your secret lover?”

Rosaline met his gaze over her laptop and she broke into a small smirk at his nosy question before replying, “I don’t know.”

“C’mon,” Charles pleaded, “I can keep good secrets.”

“No, you can’t.” Max piped up without tearing his eyes away from his books. 

“Chut.” Charles playfully shot at his boyfriend. 

Despite her hand furiously writing out notes, Tabitha smiled at their bickering. 

Charles continued to press Rosaline, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Rosaline shrugged, “Not really. We’re just…keeping it casual.”

“What is “keeping casual”?” Charles asked with air quotes, “Kissing? Or more?”

Rosaline licked away her smile, folding her hands together under her chin as she humoured him with a little detail, “Well, I made him come in his pants last week.”

Charles let out a surprised squeak so loud it could almost have passed as a scream and he smacked his hand over his mouth as a few nearby students glared at him. Max’s pencil was suddenly dropped at her statement, his attention taken from his work to be entirely focused on her instead.

“You made him what?” he asked as firmly and seriously as he could. 

Rosaline smiled almost proudly, “You heard me.”

“Putain, Rose.” Charles breathed, “I need to know now!”

“No, you don’t.” she chuckled.

“Uh, yes, we do.” Max backed his boyfriend up, pointing a finger at her, “Start talking.”

Tabitha sighed and set her pencil down too, “Will you guys stop gossiping in the library? I’m sure everyone can hear you.”

Charles and Max both held up a hand to her to silence her. She rolled her eyes. 

“Where did you say you met this guy again?” Max asked.

Rosaline shrugged, twisting the truth only slightly, “In one of my lectures.”

Max nodded slowly, staring at her as if trying to catch her out in a lie, “Uh huh…”

“What? You don’t believe I can find myself a man without your futile attempt at wingmaning?” Rosaline countered. 

“Frankly, no.” Max replied, deadpanned. 

Rosaline shot him a pointed glare.

“What’s his name? What’s his birthday? What’s his GPA?” Max asked, trying to catch her out in a lie.

“Not telling, I don’t know, higher than yours.” she answered easily, looking back at her laptop. 

Charles’ eyebrows raised, “You don’t know his birthday?”

Tabitha chuckled from her spot across from him, “That’s what you’re concerned about? Do you even remember my birthday?”

Charles opened his mouth defensively but when he honestly couldn’t think of the answer, he shut it into a firm line. 

“Wow!” Tabitha gaped. 

Max simply narrowed his eyes at Rosaline, his voice calm and serious, “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I hope you will be honest with us - your best friends - eventually.” 

Rosaline shrugged without looking up from her laptop, “Eventually.”

As the hour wore on, the group continued working on their independent assignments. It wasn’t long before Charles’ restlessness was driving Max far more crazy than any impossible engineering task could so they said their goodbyes and left. Charles carried Max’s bag for him over one shoulder, smiling his dimpled grin as they walked hand in hand down the main hall of the library together. 

About thirty minutes after Charles and Max left, Tabitha checked her watch, announcing that she better head back to her dorm too. Rosaline watched her pack up and, upon her friend’s concern, assured her she would be able to make it back to her dorm on her own later once the library closed and she was inevitably kicked out. The two shared their good nights and soon Rosaline was left alone at the table with only the click of her laptop keys as company. 

Most of the students had gone by then, leaving only a straggling few at the far end of the spacious hall. Rosaline wasn’t a stranger to making herself comfortable in the libraries of Oxford until the librarians had to kick her out to close up. So, she felt perfectly at home with the company of the books and the warm light of the lamps on the worn wood table tops, the rest of the campus fading into darkness behind the large paned lancet windows of the library. 

“Rosaline?”

The gentle call of her name had her looking up from her laptop, turning over her shoulder to see George walking in her direction with a modest stack of books in his arm. The sight of him in the warm moody lighting that bathed the dark wood library made him look effortlessly more handsome than normal and one glance at him and her heart skipped a beat. 

“George…” she breathed at her notice of him, a small calm smile coming to her lips, “What are you doing here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” he countered smoothly, coming to a stop at the head of the long table that had once been taken up by students and her group of friends. Now empty, it was only the two of them left. 

Rosaline answered first, gesturing to her laptop, “I’m just finishing up some work for some of my lectures. I have a comparative essay due next week for my Greek and Roman Mythology course.”

“I see,” George glanced down at the various texts she had opened on the table around her, colour coded sticky notes with scribbled ideas dotting the various pages, “The ancient classic literature; not my cup of tea but an important foundation to all that we know and love nevertheless.”

Rosaline leaned back in her chair to look up at him, returning to her initial question she had asked him, “And your excuse?”

George smiled a symmetrical modest smile to the stack of books in his arm, his free hand gently patting the top one, “Ah, just returning some of these. Some for lecture preparation, some for pleasure.”

“Of course, the lush libraries of Oxford could never keep a literature professor away.” Rosaline replied playfully. 

“You caught me there.” he chuckled warmly. 

They were quiet for just a moment. The awareness of how empty the library hall was suddenly settled around them. 

Then, George asked calmly, “Would you like to accompany me in returning these to their shelves? I can tell you a bit about them if you’re interested.”

Rosaline’s hand was shutting her laptop before she could even reply, “Yes.”

The well-stocked shelves of the library guided them through centuries of lives and stories tucked away in worn dust jackets and creased paperbacks. The lingering scent of dust was a familiar presence in the heart of Oxford’s many libraries and it was a generally off-putting smell that Rosaline was very quite fond of. It simply added to the ambiance of the gorgeously hand carved wooden book shelves and the glimmering stained glass lancet windows that were now dimmed with the nightfall. 

Rosaline had left her packed bag behind at the table at which she had sat, wanting to have her hands free for this little journey with George to return the precious books to their rightful homes. She followed behind him closely, her eyes soaking up his broad shoulders and back in his ironed button up shirt and, shamelessly, the curve of his ass in his slacks. It was their first time alone and away from their responsibilities as mentor/mentee since their little agreement and the concept of this had Rosaline’s heart racing. She wondered if he could hear it through the silence of the library. 

George guided her through the organized shelves with practiced ease as if he had been navigating them for his entire life. He knew exactly where every book he held belonged and barely needed to give the stocked shelf a skim before he knew which two he needed to nestle the chosen one between. He spoke to her about each one as they strolled through the library together, hidden amongst the books and ornately carved wood trim and edging. Some were more philosophical, some were more fiction, there were one or two books of poetry.

It seemed that with every book he returned to its place, he could recite at least one line, one passage, one poem from its pages. He spoke in a whisper with his voice as enticing as steaming morning coffee, rich and sensual and delicious. She wanted to taste his words; the way he spoke every beautiful constructed line of literature. Wanted to lick her way into his mouth and taste his verses until his sonnets were hers.

When he was down to the final book, he led her down the final row to its destination, “And the descriptions truly had me right in the main character’s shoes, feeling exactly what she was feeling at any moment in time. I find so many students think excess adjectives and lengthy blocks of text is what makes for successful descriptions but in reality, if done well, even a single sentence can take the place of an entire paragraph.”

They fell to a stop and George crouched down to skim one of the lower shelves, his loafers creased slightly across the toes from how he was balanced on the balls of his feet. 

While he looked for where the book belonged, Rosaline continued their conversation, “I once read this novel in which the author compared the light from a police flashlight being shone in a dark room like ‘spilt milk’ and it stuck with me. The simplest simile but it did a shiver-worthy job of putting you in the scene.”

“Bel Canto, wasn’t it?” George asked as he slid the paperback book between two hardcovers, leaving it with a pat to its spine. He glanced up at Rosaline from his spot, a knowing smile on his face, “By Ann Patchett?” 

Rosaline’s face lit up, “Yes, that’s the one.” 

He stood up again, adjusting the wrinkled fabric of his slacks around his thighs, “That’s a good one. Not too well known.”

“I’m surprised you knew it from just my brief mention of that line.” Rosaline agreed with an impressed smile, resting her hip against the bookshelf they stood beside, her arms casually crossing across her chest. 

“It must have stuck with me just as strongly.” he smiled in return. 

“It was that line that made me really want to write that one line that sticks with my readers for the rest of their lives.”

There was a beat of pause between them and then George took a step closer, “Close your eyes for me.”

Rosaline let out a breathy chuckle, “Why?”

“We’re going to practice your descriptions.” 

Rosaline wanted to argue why closing her eyes was going to help them with practicing her descriptions but his handsome, princely face in the warm light of the library lamps had her entirely entrusting him. She let her eyes flutter closed. She felt him step a little closer. 

“Pretend you are your main character and this library is your setting,” George instructed softly, voice low and coaxing, “We often depend too heavily on sight in our writing, merely showing the reader what the character sees. But the most compelling descriptions go beyond the visual—they pull the reader in by engaging every sense. So, with your eyes closed, I want you to immerse yourself fully. What would the main character be feeling right now? Let your other senses guide your words.”

Rosaline thought for a moment, taking a second to take in everything around her in the darkness of her eyelids. She uncrossed her arms and set a cautious hand on the shelf she was leaning against, shifting as she spoke slowly, softly, “Well, I feel the worn wood of the bookshelves…the uneven hardwood floors under my feet.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Rosaline, with her eyes closed, and George just watching her, studying her. The library, almost entirely void of other students or faculty rested in near silence. 

Rosaline spoke again in a whisper, “I don’t hear much…it’s quiet. Calm.” 

She thought for a moment, really trying to focus to pull anything out of her setting. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the faint tick, tick, tick of the analog clock over the librarian’s desk near the entrance, the sound echoing through the high ceilings. 

“I hear the clock ticking in the distance.” she whispered. Her attention drew back to the man in front of her, trying not to find herself a little ridiculous standing there with her eyes closed in front of him, all too aware that he was watching her, “I hear you breathing.”

George let out a small encouraging, “Mhm.”

Rosaline took a deep inhale, breathing in the scents of the library she loved so dearly, pouring out her findings in an exhale, “I smell the books, the ink, the parchment. The floor polish. The dust. I smell…your cologne.”

She could hear his soft smile at her last addition. 

Then, he spoke, “What comparisons can you make between these findings-”

Rosaline opened her eyes under a furrowed brow, interrupting him with, “Wait, I didn’t do taste yet.”

George blinked, caught off guard by her sudden reply, “Well, I don’t know how you’d-”

She didn’t know what overcame her; maybe it was the dim, moody lighting of the historic library or the simmering impatience she’d been battling since they formed their agreement. Whatever it was, it sent her hand shooting out, fingers curling around the back of his neck as she pulled him into a kiss.

He tensed under her touch at first, the shock of it surging between them. The feeling of his hesitation sent a rush of pride through her veins—he was reacting to her, thrown off his careful control. But it only lasted a moment; soon, his hands were framing her face, large and warm, as he surrendered to the kiss, meeting her urgency with a sudden shared and undeniable hunger.

George stepped towards her a little more and Rosaline stumbled slightly before her back hit the cool wood of the bookshelf. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, a soft moan escaping her lips as his mouth moved against hers with a familiarity that felt effortless, as if they’d been doing this for years. He was only a few inches taller than her, barely enough to matter, yet she found herself rising onto her tiptoes, instinctively seeking every inch of closeness between them.

Pinned between his broad body and the sturdy shelves, Rosaline felt utterly consumed by him. Shivers raced down her spine, and warmth pooled low in her belly—a heat that was impossible to ignore. It was almost embarrassing how quickly she found herself growing aroused by only the slightest of his touches, each sensation magnified by her inexperience and the thrilling realization that this was no longer a fantasy. Oh, and it was just as good as people had always told it would be. 

In the back of her mind, she was aware that they were in a very dangerous position by doing this in the open library. They were risking getting caught by any of the handful of students still working across the spacious hall or by the librarian who would be closing up shortly. Despite this, she had no desire to stop. Every atom in her body burned for more. She already had her first taste of him, a hint of the pleasure that he could bring her without even using his hands, and now, like that, she wanted to push the limits just a little bit farther. 

Rosaline’s hands cascaded over his broad shoulders and down his chest, feeling the arches and valleys of his muscle through the thin linen fabric of his button up shirt. He was so real. She offered up another small moan into his mouth. That only urged his hands to move on her face, one of his thumbs dropping from her cheek to slide over her jaw and to her chin, gently guiding her mouth to open a little wider into their kisses so he could brush his tongue against hers. 

Her fingers grasped onto his shirt, her tongue eagerly pushing back against his between hungry kisses, their steamy moment hidden away between the towering shelves of books. She wondered if this had ever happened before in the centuries since this library had been founded; some pair of literaries making out in the shadows of the books that surrounded them. Maybe this was far too salacious for the figures of the past to even dream. Maybe the authors of the Classics that overlooked them from their pages were rolling in their graves at this sight. 

Rosaline’s fingers tugged at the front of his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, their bodies naturally moulding together until his leg was nudged between hers. His closeness was dizzying and she felt the heat of desire throbbing through her body. She tossed one arm around his shoulders with her other still grasping at the fabric at the side of his shirt, keeping his chest against hers. 

George moved with her, taking his hands from her face to slide down her waist and to her hips, gently pushing her fully back against the bookshelf, pinning her entirely there with his body. Her arm tightened around his shoulders, licking her way into his mouth at a rhythmic pace of lips and tongues and the slightest rock of her hips against his thigh. She felt dizzy. So pathetically needy and dizzy and overwhelmed as the world fell away around them. No more library, no more books, no more risk; just them floating in a cloud of promises. 

Every move George made was skilled and hesitant; it was if he was afraid to push her too far or to do something she didn’t like. His hands stayed firmly on her hips but his fingers itched to move and she could feel his hesitation as they twitched against her sides. With another roll of her hips, he followed the movement of her body to trail the shape of her curves until his hands rested on her bum. 

Rosaline shivered at his touch, the way his large hands gently kneaded her flesh over her jeans and slid down the back pockets to grab another handful. His insistence had her body pulled closer to him, the heat pouring through her at the way he rubbed her body in slow tantalizing circles over the shape of her figure. 

She knew they didn’t have long. If she wanted anything more than just kissing, she was going to have to take the jump and ask for it before the librarian came wandering the aisles to close up. 

Rosaline tilted her head back to break their steamy kiss, gasping softly to the high wood ceilings of the historic library. George didn’t hesitate before moving down her neck, his plush lips trailing soft open mouthed kisses over her flushed skin. 

“It aches,” she breathed, barely a whisper, with her hands grasping onto his biceps, “Please touch me.”

George let out a small groan against her neck at her words and then pulled away just enough to look at her, their noses almost touching from how close they stood. His hands gave her hips a squeeze, his voice coming out low and warm and laced with a balance of hesitation and lust, “This is supposed to be going slowly, darling. I don’t…”

She blinked at him, her eyes pleading with him, wearing on his hesitation with her flushed cheeks and kissed-swollen lips.

“I don’t want to do something you’ll regret.” George finished softly, rubbing his hands over her waist. 

“Please, George,” she nearly begged, “I really need you to touch me.”

He looked left down the aisle they were in, and then right, and then over his shoulder as if someone could have been peeking through the shelves at them. When he deemed the coast was clear, he looked back at her and swallowed up her lips in another hungry kiss. 

Rosaline gasped faintly into his mouth, clutching onto his biceps, letting him lead them into another tongue-led kiss. His fingers moved from her hips to the front of her jeans, and he blindly undid the button and tugged at the zipper. The hurried movements had her body jolting against his, every pull and shift sending her rocking back against the bookshelf, unsteady and breathless as she clung to him for balance.

Her heart was racing in her ears, her breath falling in anticipatory pants as his lips parted from hers for a moment in his concentration. They breathed into each other’s mouths in steady time, chests rising and falling as one. Her eyes met his as his hand toyed with the waistband of her panties and the lacy hem that was found there. 

“Tell me to stop if you need.” he reminded her sternly, his voice still barely a whisper. 

Rosaline nodded in agreement. 

Then, George’s slender fingers slipped down the front of her jeans and over the thin fabric of her underwear, his eyes locked on hers as he did so. She tightened her grasp on the sleeves of his shirt, her breath halting in her chest as his warm fingertips ghosted over her clothed swollen clit. 

“Spread your legs a little wider.” he instructed against her cheek. 

She shuffled her feet farther apart ever so slightly, staring into his eyes as she followed his instruction. 

“That’s it.” he praised.

She couldn’t help but let out a little gasp at the faint friction of his touch, watching the way he studied her in their impossibly close proximity. His breath fell against the apple of her cheek as his fingers touched the damp fabric of her underwear hidden down her jeans, his touch testing and exploratory. 

Rosaline’s face turned towards his, ghosting her lips over his as their breaths mingled together, her hand grasping at his shirt around his back to keep him close. His nose bumped hers, melting into her, his fingers starting to move slowly in firm back and forth motions over her clothed clit, giving her just a little bit of friction that had her biting her lip. 

Rosaline clutched onto him, staring into his eyes like she couldn’t look away even if she tried. That hazy dreamlike feeling was clouding her senses again, where the whole world fell away and it was just them in this secluded corner surrounded by nothing but the scent of his cologne and the aged books, bathed in the warmth of the lamplight. 

His arm pulled back a little, lifting his hand from her pants, and she let out a small whimper in protest. George simply hushed her softly against her cheek as he lifted his fingers to his mouth to suck on two for just a second before he was guiding them back down her jeans and, this time, slipping inside her panties too. 

Her eyes widened in realization, watching the way his lips pricked up in an almost cocky smirk at her expression. George rubbed his fingers between her legs, gliding the length of two of them between her slick folds, letting her arousal mix filthily with his spit before he was lazily rubbing his fingertips over her clit. 

Rosaline’s eyelashes fluttered and her whole body twitched for a second at the unfamiliar sensations. It never felt like this with her own hand; her own touch was so boring and expected. Now, under the control of someone else, his every action was unpredictable and electric and the anticipation which coursed through her veins was pure heat. 

No one had touched her like this before, never before had she thought herself to be brave enough to so easily let someone in to touch the most sacred parts of her. In all twenty-two years of her life, after years of failed attempts at love, the voice in the back of her mind that nagged at her innermost self-consciousness had her wondering if her pussy was even attractive. Now, hidden in the shadows of her favourite room on campus, with the first man to ever give her a second glance, she was so easily offering herself up to him and he was so glady taking it. 

George spoke in a hushed whisper, his lips dusting over hers with the formation of his syllables, “This okay?”

Rosaline nodded almost eagerly, creasing the fabric of his shirt in her white-knuckled grip. She raised up on her tiptoes a little more as she pushed her hips towards his hand, not quite sure what she wanted but knowing she just wanted more. Her little whimper fell against his cheek, her arm tossing around his shoulders before they so easily fell into another passionate kiss. She let out a small hum into his mouth, her eyebrows furrowed as she succumbed to the feeling of his hand moving a little stronger down the front of her pants. 

They shared a few sloppy kisses in the secrecy of the library aisles, hidden in the shadows of the shelves and walls of stocked books. Her soft moan was muffled by his lips as his fingers moved a little harder against her swollen clit, his tongue easily tasting the pleasure of her sounds. He fell into her a little, taking a half step forward, pressing her back against the shelves by his body. 

George’s fingers drifted lower, caressing strongly over her warm cunt and gathering more of that wetness that pooled almost uncontrollably from her. He groaned softly into her mouth before pulling away from their kiss long enough to praise her with a purr, “You’re soaking my fingers.”

“Can’t help it.” she mumbled in reply, her words dizzy and slurred with lust. 

“Mm, yeah? Does it feel good?” he whispered against her cheek. 

Rosaline nodded again with a small, “Yeah.”

Her mind was short circuiting to the point where she didn’t have the capacity to worry about if he liked what he was feeling—if he thought it was weird that she wasn’t entirely waxed and bare down there. But the moment she caught a glimpse of George’s handsome face close to hers, saw the way his eyes were blown wide with lust as he looked at her, all those insecurities evaporated, dissolving into nothingness in the heat of his gaze. His breath was hot against hers, swallowing her lips up in another steamy kiss that had her eyes fluttering shut and her body surrendering to him with ease. 

His whole hand was nestled between her legs to the point where every caress of his fingers over her cunt had the heel of his palm rubbing against her clit. A little faster, a little faster, she broke away from his kiss with a choked cry.

“Shhh,” George hushed her against her cheek, his lips peppering slow open mouthed kisses along her jaw. His other hand rested on the edge of one of the shelves beside her head, keeping his focus on her body and the way he moved down the front of her jeans. 

Rosaline bit her lip hard, trying to keep herself quiet in the midst of their salacious rendezvous. When his hand started to move just a little bit faster, she clutched harder at his shirt, tugging him closer so she could bury her face in his neck, her body arching up against his. 

George’s large hand moved from the shelf to cradle the back of her neck, holding her, hushing her sweetly against her ear as she whimpered against his collar, and he breathed out a reassuring, “Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah-” she stumbled out in a trembling exhale. 

“Yeah, you’re such a good girl.” he praised against the shell of her ear, keeping his pace down the front of her pants. 

Rosaline’s hips jumped against his hand at the way his fingertips caressed her clit in fluid motions, exploring her in gentle strokes. Little by little, she found herself loosening, unraveling from the tight grip she’d kept on him, surrendering to the unfamiliar pleasure that was slowly consuming her.

Soon, her eyes were finding his again as she leaned back against the shelf but with a possessive arm still around his shoulders. Her breaths were falling laboured as he moved his fingers a little faster, burning tingling pleasure up her spine that had her toes curling in her sneakers. 

“Fuck-” she squeaked softly, struggling to keep her eyes open and on his. 

“That’s a good girl.” George praised lowly as his hand let go of the back of her head to rest on the shelf again, steadying himself while his other hand worked strongly down her jeans. 

She was lost in the rhythm of his fingers, surprised how much she could feel from his touch when her fingers herself never offered her much sustenance of anything. There was something about George that was entrancing and spellbinding, like he knew just how to touch her to get her exactly what she craved. 

Rosaline was so out of her mind that she could barely hear her own voice as she breathed out a pleading and pathetic, “Put your hand around my throat.”

George’s eyes flickered with a moment of hesitation, a play of lust hazing the momentary uncertainty, although his hand down her jeans didn’t stop even as he asked, “You sure you’d like that?”

She nodded almost eagerly. 

He took his hand from the shelf beside her head and gently wrapped his fingers around her throat, his thumb and fingers nestled under her jaw. When he squeezed ever so slightly, her eyes fluttered and her swollen lips let out an angelic breathy, “Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”

Rosaline had written far more salacious scenes before, but experiencing it for the first time herself was a revelation that left her mind spinning. George’s grip was light, almost tentative, as if he was afraid of pushing too far or crossing a boundary. Yet even that gentle pressure around her throat was enough to amplify every other sensation in her body, making her nerve endings tingle with an intensity she had never imagined.

“Naughty little contradiction, aren’t you?” George tutted with a prideful smirk to his tone, his voice hushed and his breath falling against her cheek as he pinned her against the shelves, hand still moving down the front of her jeans, “Just full of surprises.”

Rosaline parted her lips as if to respond, but all that escaped was a soft, quivering moan. A blush crept across her cheeks, warmth flooding her face as her self-control crumbled. She could feel her steady composure slipping away, unraveling under the mounting pleasure that drowned out any coherent thought.

“Cover your mouth if you need to.” George reminded her quietly, his velvet voice echoing in her ears, “Stay so quiet for me.”

Rosaline needed no convincing as if she were moving robotically by instructions, taking her hand from her white-knuckled grip on the side of his shirt to press her palm over her mouth. She couldn’t stop staring at him despite how her cheeks burned, her attention captivated by him and the way he looked at her, the way he clenched his jaw in concentration, his handsome face slightly shadowed as he towered in front of her and hid her away from the warm lamps of the historic library. 

A few more whimpers and moans fell uncontrollably from her lips, smothered by her hand over her mouth and the gentle squeeze of his around her throat. Her body writhed against his ever so slightly, rising up a little more onto her toes as the pleasure built up stronger and stronger through her veins, coiling that unmissable warmth in the pit of her stomach, everything suddenly feeling like too much. Oh, but she wanted it so badly, she needed him to rid that ache from her body, to give her what she craved. The bookshelves pressed into her back. 

“That’s it,” George purred, undoubtedly feeling the way her pussy started to throb against his slick fingertips, keeping his pace going, right at that angle that got the best reaction out of her, “Feel all of that pleasure and let it all out for me. Nice and quiet now, like a good girl, come all over my hand. That’s it, darling. Come on.”

Rosaline’s thighs were trembling, barely keeping her upright if not for the sturdiness of George’s body keeping her pinned snugly against the bookshelf. Her breaths were coming out in strong uneven pants through her nose with her mouth still clamped shut, her heart racing with desperate need to cum. She was so close, right there, the heat pouring through her and burning her skin under the faint pressure of his fingertips against her throat. 

His encouraging whispered words faded into a murmur as she reached that precipice, feeling her entire body tense right up, her arm around his shoulders digging her nails into his back through the fabric of his linen shirt. George grunted faintly against her cheek as she toppled into her orgasm, her clit throbbing against his fingers as he kept her going through it. Her head fell back against the bookshelf with a dull thud, her hand still clamped tightly over her mouth to smother the whimper of pleasure that threatened to spill over and give them away.

The moment the peak of her orgasm tapered off and her body buzzed with sensitivity, she dropped her hand from her mouth to grab his wrist between them instead, halting his hand down her jeans. She was panting, her swollen lips glistening and red, her wonderfilled eyes staring at him, sparkling behind the thin lenses of her glasses in the dim library lighting. 

“Jesus Christ.” George breathed, his forehead resting against hers as he slowed his hand to a stop down the front of her pants and slowly retreated. His hands rested on her waist and rubbed the curve of her lean body for a moment, disconcerted by the glistening wetness on his middle finger that smeared faintly against the fabric of her shirt and left a damp, telling trace, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Rosaline exhaled, reaching between them to button up her pants again.

“That wasn’t too much?” he asked, staring into her eyes as if trying to pull the truth out of her with only a glance. 

“Promise.” she assured him, resting her hands on his chest, “I would have told you otherwise.”

“Okay,” George exhaled as if in relief, a tame smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his large hands gave her hips a squeeze, “good.”

Rosaline slid her hands up to the sides of his neck and timidly pulled him in to meet him halfway for a breathless kiss. Her heart was racing, mind whirling, in disbelief that they had just done that. It was no mind-numbing, earth-shattering orgasm as often expressed in books or movies; instead it had fallen over her in warm waves of pleasure, calm and satisfying, and filled her with a buzz of euphoric relief. She hadn’t expected to be able to come so easily from just his fingers—hell, using her own fingers did next to nothing—but there was something about the way George touched her, knew just where the most sensitive spots were, that had her entirely satisfied. 

Seconds later, when Rosaline broke away from his lips for a breath, she rested her forehead against his with a sighing, “That was…so incredible.” 

“Mm,” George let a faint smile dust across his lips in his agreement, “Can’t say I mind helping you with your research anytime.”

Just then, approaching footsteps had them breaking apart, George taking two steps away to stand casually at the opposite shelves. The librarian appeared at the end of their row.

“The library is closed now,” she told them kindly, “If you can make your way out, that’d be great.”

George offered her a polite smile, “Of course. Thank you.”

She disappeared again. 

Rosaline looked back at George, the two of them facing each other across the narrow aisle of shelves. Their expressions broke into small amused smiles and Rosaline pushed herself away from the bookshelf with a bashful bow of her head as they got ready to leave. They walked side by side back towards the table at which Rosaline and her friends had once sat and studied. The library was completely empty apart from them by then, all students disappeared back to their dorm rooms and homes. She picked up her bag from the chair where she had left it and tucked it over her shoulder. 

“This was risky,” George whispered to her, his voice quiet and gentle yet firm, “we cannot do this again. Not in a place like this.”

Rosaline replied softly as she turned back to him, “Well it’s not like I can take you back to my dorm.”

There was a moment of hesitation on his face before he finally spoke a gentle offer, “Come to my house. Tomorrow night.”

Rosaline’s heart did a little somersault in her chest and her momentary shock at the invitation and the weight it might have carried must have spread itself across her face. 

Almost right away, George was assuring her, “Just for drinks. Nothing more. Just to be away from prying eyes.” 

Rosaline couldn’t deny that the concept of going over to his house held a sense of excitement and curiosity. She pulled a timid smile and nodded in agreement, reaching into her bag to pass him her notebook and a pencil so he could scribble down his address for her. 

She stared at his profile in the dim light of the library, the shadows across his face and the crisp line of his jaw, the way his fingers cradled her pencil as he dragged the graphite across the lined page. Those same fingers that had been down her jeans only moments ago. How was this real? How was he real?

George handed her notebook back to her with a handsome smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah,” Rosaline exhaled, taking her notebook back from him, “See you.”

She watched him walk off towards the exit of the library and, before she too made her way out, she looked down at the page of her notebook again. In his precise curling cursive, he had written; 

30 Richmond Road — 4pm x

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Watchers Anonymous 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker, skinny!Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Thor, Loki, Curtis Everett, Jake Jensen, Cole Turner, Captain Syverson, Nick Fowler(so far)

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for each of the above. This is our introduction to the group.

Summary: men with illicit infatuations come together to share and plot their perfect fantasies.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Sy walks in with a stack of pizza boxes in hand. He put them on the table between the home-baked brownies and layered bean dip. Curtis shakes his head as Peter avoids his derisive gaze.

"Wasn't aware this was a buffet situation," Curtis mutters.

"I'm starving. Didn't wanna be rude," Sy steps back. "Some of us work hard."

"I worked hard," Curtis retorts.

"You're so pale, I bet you ain't seen the sun in years," Sy scoffs.

"Hey, guys," Jensen cuts in, "come on. You don't gotta be jerks. We're here for support, right?"

Both of them shrug and turn away. Peter sighs.

"How's boss lady?" Peter sneers.

"Whatever, dude. Don't start."

"When's the dick measuring contest?" Bucky approaches the table to take a slice after Sy claims three.

"You can claim last place right now," Peter snips.

Bucky snorts, "oh, we're going smallest to biggest. Congrats, Pete, you earned that gold medal."

"Buck," Steve sniffs as he approaches, opting for a brown, or half as he breaks one in two.

Jensen sighs. There's a tension in the air and he knows what it is. Now that they're there, in person, it's real, and they're all growing impatient. He can't say he isn't.

He looks at Cole, glued to his phone as he slouches in a chair. A figure strides through the door, almost missed as he moves as smoothly as a shadow. Peter looks over as Loki stops and looks around. His hands go to his hips as his eyes narrow. He shakes his head and marches over to the table.

"No wine?" He muses sharply.

"Not you too," Peter warns.

"My brother, you've not seen him?" He asks.

"Would ask you the same thing..." Jensen intones.

"Yes, he is typically very bothersome and yet I find myself entirely without agitation," Loki crosses his arms. "It's been some days since last I've heard from him."

"He hasn't been in the discord." Peter says.

"Well, you can catch him up," Jensen says, "hey, look, guys, I wanted to go over something."

"Who put you in charge?" Bucky challenges and takes a bite of pizza.

"I'm not trying--" he pauses and looks at the door. He huffs and goes to close it.

He marches back to the center of the circle of chairs. Some sit, others hover behind the seats, Loki glides like a restless cat along the wall.

"Look, we came together because we want to help each other, right? Because we all have someone... in mind. A goal. And well, I don't know about you, but I'm tired of watching. Of waiting." He turns to look at each man. "What are we waiting for?"

"Well, what should we do?" Steve asks as crumbs litter the floor around his leather shoes.

Jensen pokes his tongue in his cheek. He looks at Curtis who tilts his head. Then he glances at Cole as he frowns at his phone.

"Cole," he says and the sandy-haired farmer jerks up in his seat. "You have land."

"Sure, lots of it," his blue eyes round.

"Thanks for the maps, by the way," Jensen adds. "Anyway, er, I did ask for a reason."

"You ask a lot," Bucky huffs and Steve pokes him.

"Look, we all have our talents, our skills. And we can bring them together."

"How so?" Peter sits and taps his fingers on his jeans.

"Sy, you're have a background in construction. Curt, you too. I'm sure the rest of us can learn. Or help." He pauses and looks at Steve then Loki, "some of us are good at planning and others..." he once more looks at Sy, noting Thor's absence, "will be good for muscle."

"Alright, get on with it," Bucky snipes.

"Cole, it's just you and your parents, right? You do all the work. You need help too."

Cole grimaces and shrugs in confusion.

"Tell me what your plan is. All of you. Tell me. What's the plan? You gonna sit on your hands and hope and pray that they fall into your arms?"

Curtis shifts. They didn't discuss this part. Jensen's hear pounds.

"We build a place. For all of them."

"What?" Several babble from the chairs.

Loki marches closer and brings his thumb to his chin, "a prison?"

"No! No. A home. A..."

"Compound," Bucky adds. "Let's be honest. What he's proposing is that we cut the shit. Make our moves."

"And if they're not into it?" Peter asks.

"It might take time..." Jensen says.

"But they'll see. We only care about them," Steve pipes up.

"Holy shit," Bucky chortles, "you're not serious?"

"It could work," Sy says.

Loki twitches and reaches under his jacket. He pulls out his phone and scowls, "Ah, there he is." He puts it to his ear and turns his back.

"It's illegal," Steve says. "What you're saying."

"Who else is going to take care of them? They can't take care of themselves." Jensen argues.

"He's right," Sy says.

"And... they could be friends," Steve suggests.

Bucky snorts again. Jensen is getting annoyed.

"Well," Jensen throws his hands up, "anyone got a better idea?"

The room goes silent. The men exchange looks. No one speaks.

Loki's spine goes rigid then he pulls the speaker away with a tweak of his head. He faces the men again and exhales. "Well, it would seem my brother is well ahead of us."

[mittensit]

how the Bishops handled revival

while originally they could handle their injuries as Bishops, the same cannot be said when they're "mortal" and without their crowns.

Shamura: initially unconscious upon arrival and heavily bleeding. It’s only thanks to the quick work of Kallamar (who was on his feet by then) and the healers that prevented them from dying again. Upon coming out of a fragile state they're agitated, confused and aggressive; lashing out and hurting anyone who came near them, even their own siblings. Only Witness Allocer and Kallamar handled them. Eventually they settled, which happened much quicker with Narinder by their side. On bad days they tend to lash out or have episodes similar to dementia. That's thankfully happening less and less as time goes on. Sewing and knitting calms them so that's their job.

Kallamar: woke up and was unable to stand up straight and walk properly due to the damage to his ears. Eventually he succumbed to illness due to having a weakened immune system (he always had a weak one before the Blue Crown chose him.) Saleos mostly took care of him with Narinder helping. He had to be taught sign language for days when there's a lot of noise (think festivals). [Sign language is taught to many of the cultists. they may be a cult but they ARE inclusive!] Mostly avoids Narinder and tries not to catch Lamb's eye. Lives with Saleos (he was the youngest of Kallamar's disciples so he out lived Haborym and Baalzebub.) Will fall sick easily when there's sickness around, so as a healer he focuses his expertise on common colds (which he has an easier time shaking off) and physical injuries.

Heket: was choking on her blood when she awoke, would have died from blood loss had the healers not stepped in quick enough. Because of her ripped throat Heket was unable to eat food for several days, which was agony for her. All she could 'eat' was the water and thin broth the healers dripped into her mouth. Narinder and Leshy stayed by her side as she slowly recovered. Struggles to talk due to physical trauma so she had to be taught sign language to speak. She's a decent cook.

Leshy: was bleeding from his eyes but wasn't in any danger of dying. Was a pain in the ass for the healers however, he didn't make things easier with his wriggling and cursing. Once the pain eased, however, he calmed down and took his current situation well. It helped that Narinder kept him company. Occasionally uses a cane when there's crowds, more structures built, etc. Other than that he can get around just fine using the vibrations in the earth to help guide him. Is a farmer but does bartend on occasion.

TL;DR-

Shamura: where am I? i'm scared i'm angry i'm going to rip someone's arm off if they come near me where is my cat

Kallamar: oh my god i've been puking for five days straight and my head feels like it's spinning

Heket: (sad dying frog noises as her stomach growls)

Leshy: y'know I kinda like it here.

[bullet-prooflove]

6000 Follower Celebration Event: Lake Garda - Wes Mitchell x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mckinleysbones @district447 @witchygagirl @cosmosnkaz

Companion piece to:

Catch 22 - Wes is stuck in a Catch 22 when he sees you again for the first time after you spend the night together.

One Night - Wes asks if he can stay the night while he finds a place in Budapest.

Think About It - Wes asks you to think about his offer.

Push - Wes realises he's pushed you too hard.

Broken - Wes doesn't think you're broken.

Demons - Wes has his own demons.

Night Calls - Wes always calls you at night.

Sincerity (NSFW) - Wes finally tells you how he feels.

Lake Garda is Wes’s first trip away for pleasure. His friend Justin has a small villa perched on a hill overlooking the water, one close enough to a golf club where he can get his swings in and ten minutes away from a beach so that you can spend your mornings surfing.

The best part though is the pool, the evenings the two of you spend without a stitch of clothing, playing, swimming, making love.

“Forget the bed. Let’s fuck right here.” You had said that first night as he held you in his arms, the warm water lapping over his skin. He’d made you come underneath the stars, the moonlight illuminating your bare skin before the two of you fell asleep curled up in front of a firepit.

Your days after that involve exploring castles, roaming farmer’s markets and trips across the lake in the speedboat that Wes may or may not have liberated the keys for, from Justin’s study. You eat at restaurants that overlook the twinkling lights of the harbour and drink wine older than the both of you. You take evening strolls along pristine beaches before falling asleep in sheets that cost more than your monthly rent.

Wes has never been as contented as he is in Italy which is why the fall comes a few days before you have to leave, why he starts to withdraw into himself, become more subdued.

“Are you ok?” You ask him that evening as you sit down on the bed, watching him begin to pack his suitcase for a flight that isn’t for another two days. “You’ve been a little distant today.”

“It’s stupid shit.” He tells you, focusing on jamming the stuff he doesn’t need into the bottom of the case. “Foster kid shit.”

There are certain things that no one else can ever understand about Wes, not unless they’ve been a kid in care. You learn that nothing is permanent, that everything is temporary. You become mistrustful of good things, always waiting for the other shoe to drop because it will drop, it always drops, always when you least expect it.

Logically he knows he’s control, that he’s an adult that can make his own choices, that there’s no higher power that can snatch away the life he’s made for himself but that anxiety, it lodges in his chest sometimes, it still eats at him in his weakest moments.

“Wes.” You say quietly, your hand coming to rest on his, stilling his motions. “You know you can tell me what’s going on in your head.”

He swallows hard against the ache in his throat, the one that seems to radiate through his ribcage. Before you, he used to keep this shit locked down tight. He’d work himself into the ground, drink, pull away until the whole thing blew up in his face. He doesn’t do that with you because you’re his safe space, his person and you don’t hide things like that, not when they have the potential to poison all the good in your life.

“What if I’m never this happy again?” He finds himself saying as he sits down on the bed alongside of you. “What if as soon as we leave Italy everything falls apart?”

“Wes what do you think is going to happen when we get back to Budapest?” You ask him, your palm lightly rubbing over that space between his shoulders, the one where he carries all his tension. “That I’ll suddenly decide I don’t want to be with you, that the FBI will send you back to the US?”

He looks away, his palms rubbing together in agitation and you know you’ve hit the nail right on the head.

“I have never been as happy as I am with you.” You tell him, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. “My life was grey before you came back into my life, I was just existing, I wasn’t really living. You brought all this colour into my world, all this fun and I wouldn’t give that up for anything. I won’t give you up for anything.”

“Toni…” He says softly, his hands running through his hair. “You can’t mean that…”

“But I do.” You say fiercely, your fingertips chasing along his jaw, guiding his gaze back to yours. “I love you Wes and that doesn’t change because we are or aren’t in Budapest. You could be anywhere in this world and I would still feel the same way I do now.”

“You love me?” He repeats, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “Because that’s the first time you’ve said it. You need to be sure-”

“I am sure.” You promise him, your lips brushing over his. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so sure about anything in my entire life.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[visinox]

IT'S MINECRAFT TIME AGAIN I said I might cook more minecraft stuff and I hath done it. A friend of mine asked if I would be designing the other default skins in minecraft as well, and the answer was YES

Summary of each of them is under the cut. If you don't want to be hit with a text wall then I'll see you in the next post when it comes out approximately 1,000 years from now!

Sunny:

Found by villagers, he was given to and raised by the village nitwit. He grew up into a kind, helpful, gentle young man, though despite his happy and carefree disposition, he is also quite wise and gives good advice to those who need it. He works as a fisherman, farmer, and general handyman for the iron golems in his village.

Efe:

A skilled swordswoman born in the Nether, and raised by wither skeletons. Witty, sarcastic, loyal, and a little dramatic are all words that describe her. There is an air of mystery about her though, given her strange immunity to wither an her occasional admissions of hearing whispers of the fallen Wither itself.

Noor:

Raised by pillagers, specifically an Evoker, Noor was raised a soldier. Serious, quiet, blunt and commanding, she has an intimidating presence even without considering her ability to use fangs.

Ari:

Ari was found and raised by a colony of monsters below ground. She grew up very self sufficient, kind, loving, and a little temperamental. Intelligent with her survival skills and friendly with her ability to make buddies wherever she goes, she adapts well to whatever situations she ends up in.

Makena:

Raised by a nomadic tribe of piglins. Known to be kind, quiet, reliable, gentle and slightly stern when she needs to be, she is loved by all who meet her. She has a special fondness for striders, given they were her tribe's mount of choice. She also loves traveling and seeing what all the dimensions have to offer.

Kai:

Stern and slightly grumpy since the day they spawned, they were a rare case of a builder appearing in the End, which they were found and raised by endermen. Kai's serious demeanor stuck with them as they grew up, but they also seemed quite frustrated and agitated sometimes given they didn't have the same capabilities as their enderman family members.

Zuri:

A funny, carefree and curious guy raised by a caravan of wandering traders. Zuri is truly the comic relief of the group, he doesn't have as good of survival skills or niche knowledge like the others do, but he sure is good at walking and he knows a wide array of items and their usage. He's also very good at haggling.

[alienpossession]

My stepson is a rather troublesome kid, especially after his mother's passing. He soon dropped out of college, losing the sense of direction he had and just straight out spiralled into a mess. Not to mention that his coping mechanism involved him to hung out with the wrong crowd and start smoking too despite his mother in the past clearly forbid him since he was a prospective star athlete. He also started to grow agitated to the world and overall just disrespect authorities, which included me as the last person that is bold enough to reprimand him while on his way to do his antics

After one of our early morning argument as he arrived back home from clearly a long night he did doing God knows what, he just stormed into his room after giving me a middle finger and cursed under his breath. I decided that enough is enough and I did what I knew best to handle reckless and wild human like that

You see....I was not from this planet. I arrived around 20 years ago into this farmland where I stumbled with this young studly farmer that just about to start his days. I slid into him and never left his body as I decided that I would be safe and undetected as long as I did not slid out of him while the search for me was still active. I was paranoid that if I ever left this body, suddenly the detection system spotted me so I resisted the temptation to leave and remained hidden inside while controlling this human that I cultivated into the best version it could be. But this little punk really pushed me to my limit. I'm just so desperate trying to prove my humanity and ability to disciplined the smaller and younger human I supposedly have authority over, I pushed myself out and slid into the sleeping body of my stepson. Once I slid in, I went straight to his brain and started to work it while he's sleeping soundly with zero awareness that a far more intelligent being is currently rewiring his organ responsible for free thinking into one filled with obedience and submissiveness. I was not necessarily the expert on brain's anatomy but I know which part I should and should not touch. Once I felt like my job has been precisely executed, I slid out of his brain and entered back to my original vessel.

Now, imagine my surprise that not only I made that punk into a more docile and submissive version of himself, I somehow made him gay too as I checked on him after the rework I did to his brain. And I guess I graced the part where he can pick up aroma even more strongly this time and that caused him to be a musk-whore for everything's sweaty and pungent. His obsession to his own pits clearly were a sight to behold as it was a far cry from his womanizer self I have to witness for the past few years he brought home girls to his bedroom.

Aside from his own self, he also loved me. Not the usual familial love, this boy is clearly fucked in the head as he viewed me as some sort of authority to please. It's like him calling me daddy is laced with sexual innuendo rather than the usual way a kid called up his parents. So, like the good father I am and to avoid getting him jumped on me while I sleep as I didn't satisfy his needs, I decided to change our family time where I asked him to have dinner with me to him sniffing my feet and servicing my needs. It's not as cool (and normal human looking) as having him seated next to me watching the TV together or having warm dinners, but that's the way we live nowadays and not like he's complaining anyway.

I guess I really need to do better with all this brain rewiring

[thedovesaredying]

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Part 4

The long awaited part 4 of the Cowboy!Nikto series, set within the cowboy AU originally created by @ghouljams Sorry this took so long to get out, I've been really hecking busy these last few weeks with exams and assignments for uni.

A/N: Fun fact, during lectures, tutorials and even in the middle of exams we occasionally have students who have kangeroo joeys chilling in little joey bags at the end of the room since the babies need to be taken everywhere so they can be fed on time. It's just a normal, everyday occurance to have a baby marsupial hanging out in your bag or stuffed down your shirt, idk what to tell y'all, that's just how vet school be lmao.

Warnings: None.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

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Murphy’s store, from what little you’ve managed to gather of it during your few months living in the area, is often a rather busy place. It’s the nearest feed store for miles around, frequented daily by the masses of farmers seeking to keep their stock well maintained with only the best produce on offer. Not only is the feed, grain and harvest on offer top of the line, but everything can be purchased for a bargain deal if one knows how to barter. Even if the prices weren’t so good, it would be impossible to travel the long distance to the next town over, the price of the gas alone enough to send most bankrupt.  

You don’t need to go there often, just to pick up supplies for the animals being cared for by the clinic or collect orders for your coworkers while you’re passing through. However, since it’s such a hub of activity, the feed store is one of the best places in town to interact with the locals. It’s the center of gossip and the ideal way to gather new information on what’s happening.  

You’re almost done with collecting the items you need, several bags shoved under one of your arms and a bottle of pest spray in the other. The somewhat peaceful surrounds are disturbed by what sounds like a familiar voice. Curious, you head toward the front counter, poking your head around the corner of one of the aisles.  

Much to your surprise, it’s exactly who you thought it was, and you can only watch as Nikto continues to loudly argue with another man standing close to the front counter. On further observation, however, it seems less like an actual argument and more like a one-sided shouting match. The poor store owner, Murphy, is trying to separate the two agitated men to very little success.  

Partially wanting to save whatever poor soul is currently being torn to pieces, and partially wanting to find out what has the normally stoic Russian raising his voice, you quickly make your way to the front of the store. After depositing your purchases onto the counter, you cautiously approach the two men. 

“Nikto?” you call, almost jumping when his head snaps toward you with such speed that you briefly worry he’s given himself whiplash. His frigid eyes pin you in place, somehow seeming to burn with rage while also remaining ice cold. Yet, you can see the recognition as it passes through his gaze, his hard stare suddenly becoming calm between one blink and the next.  

“Are you okay?” you ask, ignoring Murphy as he starts dragging the other man away by the arm while Nikto is momentarily distracted. You don’t get a response other than Nikto blinking owlishly at you and try calling his name again. That seems to finally snap him out of his confused stupor, and he gives you a firm nod.  

“We are fine,” Nikto scoffs, sudden enough that you almost jump, “we can handle ourselves against a civilian.” He hefts up the bag of feed sitting at his feet, resting it over his good shoulder.  

“What happened?” you ask, frowning as you glance over to where the other man appears to be getting quite the chewing out from Murphy. Nikto just waves off your concern and places down a small handful of notes on the front counter. You quickly grab out your own wallet to start counting out your own cash, putting down a rather generous amount given you don’t think Murphy will be free to discuss anything for a while.  

You trot along after Nikto’s retreating form, only just managing to keep up with his lengthy stride while juggling your purchases. His body is rigid and you can tell something is bothering him, but he hasn’t complained about your presence yet, so you continue to follow him through the carpark.  

When he finally reaches his truck, he easily tosses the bag of feed into the tray with a small huff. He brushes the dust off his hand and onto the side of his jeans, giving them a firm slap to try and get rid of the excess. The sound causes movement from the inside of the truck and a moment later a black snout pokes through the small opening, wet nose rapidly sniffing away.  

Through the heavily tinted windows you can see Sputnik’s whole body excitedly wiggling at the sight of both you and her owner, doing her best to try and shove as much of her massive head through the tiny air gap as physically possible. Seemingly realising that she can’t get much more out of the crack, she starts whining rather loudly with a few sad little cackles. It pulls at your heartstrings just enough to make you lift your hand up for her to sniff at, only to earn some slobbery kisses from her eager tongue.  

Your giggle draws Nikto’s attention back from wherever it’s wandered and he blinks at the scene before him. “Спутник!” he grunts, trying to shoo her head away, but only ends up getting a lick of his own in return. His grumbling just has you snickering slightly, especially when the hyena starts trying to bite his gloves off.  

The laugher, however, disturbs something else, and a moment later there’s wriggling against your chest. The movement immediately draws Nikto’s attention to the space between your breasts and he seems to frantically switch between averting his gaze from your chest and blatantly starting at the weird motion occurring under the fabric of your shirt.  

You quickly toss the items you were carrying into your bag before shoving a hand down the inside of your shirt. “Sorry, I think he’s a little hungry, he’s due a feeding soon,” you explain, retrieving a tiny baby opossum from the inside of your shirt. It squeaks and tries to wrap its tiny paws around your thumb, yawning so widely that its tiny eyes squeeze closed.  

Nikto blinks at the baby opossum. The baby opossum blanks back.  

He looks at you and then back at the opossum again, looking to be searching for a single question that encompasses everything he wants to know. You decide to save him from the obvious confusion and offer him an explanation, “he was orphaned when his mother got hit by a truck the other day. The rest of his siblings didn’t survive the night, but this little fella seems to be quite determined to hold on.” 

Nikto just slowly nods, “and it is in the shirt because...?” His head tilts a little too the side when the opossum decides to nuzzle its tiny face into your hand and drift back off to sleep again.  

You feel a little stupid for not answering the obvious and snort to yourself before launching into an explanation, “well, normally I’d have my daytime joey bag for looking after marsupial babies since they like dark, warm places to sleep, but it’s in the wash currently and he’s too tiny to be put in any of my other bags so...” you trail off with a half-shrug, “seemed as good a place as any.”  

“This is a regular occurrence?” he asks, and even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you can practically hear the raised eyebrow.  

“No, I just have one in case something like this happens,” you gesture at the sleeping joey with a raised eyebrow of your own, “I’m taking him to a wildlife carer the next town over, tonight.”  

Nikto hums, thoughtful, but is yet to appear convinced. He tries to pet the head of the little opossum but gets only an angry hiss from the animal in return. He looks a little put out by that and squints at the little ball of fluff, “we are certain it is not rabid, да?”  

You just scoff at him, gently placing the animal back into your shirt, “I wouldn’t be holding him if he was rabid, besides, opossums don’t normally carry rabies, their body temperature is too low for it to survive.” The joey briefly pokes its head out of your shirt, squinting back at Nikto almost as fiercely, “he can probably just smell Sputnik on you, that’s all.”  

At the mention of her name, Sputnik starts yowling rather pathetically, whining and trying to gnaw at the window’s edge in an attempt to get through to you. Her eyes are round and wet, and her bottom lip is quivering like a toddler about to burst into tears. You’d love to give her a pet and a smooch on the top of her head, but you get the feeling she’d try to take a chunk out of your little friend.  

“How long will you be gone?” Nikto eventually asks, waving at Sputnik in a futile attempt at calming her distressed cries.  

You briefly pull out your phone, glancing at the time, “it’s a little late now, so I might end up staying there overnight, but I’ll be back sometime around midday,” you hum, tucking the mobile away again, “why, gonna miss me?” You grin at your companion, doing your best not to laugh at his rather dramatic eyeroll.  

“нет, but our спутник will cry,” he pokes at her nose, ignoring how she tries to lick his finger in return.  

You give in to the urge to coo at the heartbroken hyena, squeezing your fingers inside the truck to tickle at her chin, “well then, we can’t have this poor girl being sad, can we?” She has no idea what you’re saying, but that doesn’t stop her from fogging up the glass with her happily little huffs. “You’ll owe me for all the snuggles I’m going to have to give this little sweetheart when I get back.”  

“We will offer you a drink, for the suffering you must endure,” he nods sagely, and you laugh at his solemn response.  

You point a finger at him, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll be holding you to that, it’s impossible to get a good drink out here.” Heaving your bag up onto your shoulder and checking that your little opossum friend is still accounted for, you offer Sputnik a little pet on the top of her snout.  

“I’ll see you two around,” you chirp, offering Nikto a polite little wave, delighted when he gives you a stiff nod in return. He’s certainly far from the warmest of individuals, but he’s grown a little less frigid toward you in recent weeks and that only makes you more eager to break through his frosty exterior.  

You hope into your own truck and toss everything into the passenger side seat. You’ve got a long day ahead, and a tiny baby hankering for some food. With luck, your drive to the next town over won’t take too long and you’ll be able to enjoy some downtime without constantly being on call for what feels like every farmer for a hundred miles.  

You were only half serious with your demands for a drink, but for some reason you can’t quite stomp down the giddy feeling deep in your belly at the thought.

[not-today-flah]

How you meet

Vilkas

You walked into Jorrvaskr with hope of joining the Companions. You had already met Aela and Farkas while fighting a giant outside Whiterun. Aela greeted you and told you Kodlaks whereabouts. You were a little nervous about meeting him but you brushed aside your feelings and stepped into the room. You where met by two faces, one curious and the other agitated. You suspected that the older of the two was Kodlak but you had to be sure. “Hi…are you Kodlak?” You ask shyly the younger man rolled his eyes, you shot back a disapproving look. “Of course he’s Kodlak.” The younger scoffs. “And who are you?” You ask, a tinge of sass in your voice. “Vilkas.” He states coolly. You glare at him and he glares back. “What brings a stranger to Jorrvaskr?” Kodlak butts in. “My names Y/N and I’m here to join the companions.“

Ralof

When you met Ralof on the way to Helgen, it was only brief, but you liked him. He had great spirit, and tried to make dark times a little lighter by adding some humour to the situation. There was no time exchanging names properly, there can’t be when there’s a DRAGON attacking. You went with Ralof you wouldn’t go with those damn Imperials. When you both made it out of the keep you followed Ralof to Riverwood where he introduced you to Gerdur his sister. She was very welcoming, she gave you some supplies and access to her home. You were walking to Gerdurs house with Ralof, “You know you should join the fight to free Skyrim, we need people like you.“ Ralof mentioned as you walked, “You really think I should, thanks.” You smile and he beamed back. “I’ll consider it.”

Farkas

You walk on the cobblestone path, making your way to Whitrun. Gurdur sent you to tell the Jarl that Riverwood was in danger of a dragon attack. You walk by a couple buildings, paying no mind to your surroundings until you heard a battle cry coming from one of the farmers fields. Three people were fighting a giant, you race over and draw your bow, hitting it straight in the eye. The giant falls over with a thud and the three people look over at you, ones a woman with long red hair, green war paint, and a bow. She comes up to you, “You handle yourself well, you’d make for a decent shield-sister.” She says. “What’s a shield-sister?” You ask curiously. You feel a gaze on your back and take a quick glance over your shoulder, you catch a very handsome man staring. He looks down and scratches the back of his neck with a light blush dusting his cheeks, you give him a small smile which makes him blush more. After Aela explains what a shield sister is and tells you about the companions, you say your goodbyes and hastily walk to the city. As you walk you smile at you feet at the man named Farkas.

Argis the Bulwark

You step out of the Understone Keep in Markarth as the new Thane of the Reach and as the new Thane you have a knew housecarl. You walk up the stone stairs until you reach your secluded home at the top of a hill. You walk through the doors and instantly feel the comforts of a home. Walking farther into the house you hear a man clear his throat making you jump a little. You had never had a man as a housecarl before, this was going to be interesting. You step into the living room area and are greeted by very muscular man who has a tattoo on the side of his face, his left eye was completely white and had a scar across it. Blind, battle wound probably. He gave a small smile and bowed his head, “Pleasure to meet you my Thane.” He says. “The pleasure is all mine,” I grinned, “and you can just call me (Y/N).” I say. His smile grows, “Okay, (Y/N). My name’s Argis.”

Brynjolf

You needed to buy some supplies from the market in Riften. You knew that Riften wasn't the best place to buy things but it was the closest city. When you got to the market square someone approached you from behind making you jump, you turn around and look up. "Haven't done an honest days work for all that coin you're carrying, eh lass." The red haired man in front of you said. "I'm sorry what?" You blink and dumbly look at your pockets. He chuckles a bit which snaps you out of your confused state. Your gaze turns suspicious when you look at him again. “My wealth is none of your business.” He gave another small laugh at that. He looks pretty ordinary, he’s a Nord with long red hair and a beard. He’s actually quite handsome, and he’s dressed proper so you assume he is of high status in Riften. “Actually it is my business, and, you see, I’m searching for someone to do a certain job.”

[correlance]

Remember that one fan theory I wrote about Alastor having a rivalry with Thomas Edison in the 1920s? Well, I decided to do a bit more research; it turns out that, not only was I right, but Edison really hated radio. He loathed it so much that he wrote not one, but several articles railing against the "radio fad" in 1926, to the point where an anonymous person wrote "letters to the editor" to argue with Edison.

Gee, I wonder who it could be doing that in the Hazbin-verse? /s

GIF and art originally by karumkin on Twitter/X (2019).

There was also a slew of increasingly aggressive telegrams sent back-and-forth between Edison and radio proponents, with Edison penning thinly-veiled insults that offended even mild critics of the "Wizard":

"The radio is a commercial failure, and its popularity with the public is waning. Radio is impractical commercially, and ethically distorted, and is is losing its grip rapidly in the market and in the home. There is not 10% of the interest in the radio that there was last year.

Radio is a highly-complicated machine in the hands of people who know nothing about it. No dealers have made any money out of it. It is not a commercial machine, because it is too complicated. Reports from 4,000 Edison dealers who have handled radio sets show that they are rapidly abandoning it; and, as for its music, it is awful.

I don't see how they can listen to it. Thousands of people have signed a petition asking that sopranos be kept off the air. Of course, most of them don't know that the soprano voice distorts the radio. The phonograph is coming into its own because people want good music. The fact is that the radio never had a high peak of popularity.

In towns where 25 or 30 dealers were handling radio sets, only one or two are now handling them. A farmer 5 miles from town buys a radio, perhaps on the installment plan. A wire becomes loose. The dealer has to arrange to fix it. This happens time and time again. The business becomes unprofitable for the dealer to engage in. He does not make any money out of it. None of them has. They are giving it up as fast as they can. It is not a commercially successful machine, because it is too complicated.

Static is awful, and the difficulties of tuning out--and now, they're stealing each other's wavelengths! It is too bad that the radio has to be too complicated. It was a big and interesting thing, and the people responded to it, but they want good music, and they found it is not to be had on the radio. That is why the phonograph is reclaiming its own."

Quote from "Edison and Radio", Radio News, December 1926, "in which the Editor takes issue with Mr. Edison's claim that radio is a failure; yet it is pointed out that the radio industry owes Edison a great debt; wherein facts are figures are given to show that radio is on a steady increase; granting that neither radio, nor the phonograph, is yet perfect; how the interest in radio is steadily increasing, and radio dealers are now making good money":

"Since the publication of the famous interview with Mr. Edison, the press, and particularly the radio press across the entire country, has been more or less agitated...I do believe that Mr. Edison has not been recently in-touch with radio sufficiently to appreciate fully the tremendous advances that have been made. Mr. Edison is a busy man, and a tremendously busy inventor. It would be well-nigh impossible for him to be in-touch with all of the various commercial phases of radio all over the country; and, like other executives, he obtains his reports from his subordinates, and such reports often as not may be highly colorful, and even wrong...[thus, the radio industry is unwilling to accord Mr. Edison anything]...as to Mr. Edison's remarks, the statements that follow are facts, which can be checked up by anyone who is unbiased."

Imagine Alastor and Vox with "Stayed Gone" in Episode 2, and Alastor and Lucifer with "Hell's Greatest Dad" in Episode 5, but happening entirely over letters and telegrams, because mass media and television didn't exist yet. The closest musical numbers would likely be "Farmer Refuted" and "Your Obedient Servant" from Hamilton.

Per the book The Wizard of Menlo Park: How Thomas Alva Edison Invented the Modern World by Randall E. Stross:

Page 276: "[Edison's] phonograph business faced a challenge in the 1920s unlike any that had come before: the advent of commercial radio stations, and the wide availability of free music broadcasts and other entertainment. By the end of 1921, an estimated 1 million listeners had access to radios, and listened to programs broadcast from the Eastern seaboard. A single station in Roselle, New Jersey, which offered the voices of operatic stars among its musical programs, had a broadcast range of a thousand miles, covering New England and the mid-Atlantic states, and reaching as far west as Missouri. A contemporary newspaper account explained to readers not yet acquainted with the phenomenon that those who owned radio sets could enjoy entertainment that was 'literally as free as the air'. Charles and Theodore Edison [proposed a combination phonograph-radio]...their father need not feel slighted because the vacuum tube, a key component of the radio set, was a modern descendant of Edison's experimental work on the incandescent lightbulb. Edison did feel slighted, however; such, at least, was the opinion of Thomas Cowan, a former Westinghouse employee...[who conducted experiments in radio broadcasts with the aid of a phonograph Edison was willing to loan him in 1921]. Cowan had several conversations about radio with Edison, who became upset and recalled the loaner when he heard the Westinghouse broadcasts...[Edison's sons were embarrassed, humiliated]."

"Edison calls radio a 'failure for music', thinks phonograph will regain its own": The New York Times, 23 September 1926. Underlining the usefulness of radio for purposes other than musical programs, Edison did tune in to a radio broadcast of the Dempsey-Tunney fight in 1926, which he was too deaf to hear. He had to rely on family members [usually his wife, Mina] to summarize what had transpired at the end of each round.

"Radio satisfactory on bout, Edison says": The New York Times, 24 September 1926. Defending the quality of musical broadcasts, the radio industry offered expert testimony to rebut Edison's claims [in the next week's newspaper]. See: "Broadcasters disagree with electrical wizard", The New York Times, 3 October 1926.

The "radio fad": A few months later, [after much outcry from the radio industry], Edison was willing to grant that radio might not disappear, but he had a new criticism: listeners' aesthetic sense would be damaged. "Undistorted music, in time, will sound strange to those brought up on radio music," he predicted, "and they will not like the real thing." See: "Thomas A. Edison sees a menace for music in the radio", Musician, January 1927.

"Edison's fears [about the Edison Company not succeeding in the radio business] were realized, though it had been Edison's intransigence (refusal to change one's views) that put the company at such a great disadvantage as a late entrant...on 9 October 1929, Charles Edison prepared a report for his father that showed a loss of $1.3 million due to start-up costs for the [Edison] radio...he could not know that, two weeks later, the stock sell-off would begin with Black Thursday, on 24 October, followed by Black Monday and Black Tuesday...a few days later, Thomas A. Edison, Inc., announced that it would cease producing [music] records [altogether], and refit the factory for the production of radios. The announcement was accompanied by a mention of regret, as the phonograph was 'one of Mr. Edison's favorite inventions'."

"An employee reported observing Harvey Firestone tearfully explaining to Edison that the collapse of business due to the stock market crash of 1929, and the Great Depression, meant that he could no longer continue to financially support Edison's laboratory. Edison was heard, sneering, 'He's a Goddamned lightweight.'" ("I saw your fiasco on the picture show, and I just couldn't resist. What a performance! Why, I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929, hahaha! ...so many orphans.")

Edison's death at the age of 84 on 18 October 1931 was also, ironically, commemorated through radio broadcasts: "[The next] night, two radio networks, the National Broadcasting Company (NBC) and the Columbia Broadcasting Company (CBC), jointly broadcast an 8-minute tribute that ended on the hour, when listeners were asked to turn out the lights. The White House did so, and much of the nation followed, more or less together, some a minute before the hour, others on the hour. On Broadway, 75% of the electrified signs were turned off briefly. Movie theaters went dark for a moment. Everything seemed connected to Edison: the indoor lights, the traffic lights, the electric advertising, everyone connected via radio, which Edison now received credit for helping to 'perfect'. In the simple narrative that provided inspiration for posterity, one man had done it all..."

Some numbers provided for how much radio was making:

1922: $46.5 million (~$860 million in 2024)

1923: $120 million (~$2.2 billion in 2024) (156% increase)

1924: $350 million (~$6.3 billion in 2024) (186% increase)

1925: $449 million (~$8 billion in 2024) (27% increase)

1926: $520 million (~$9.1 billion in 2024) (14% increase)

Overall, per another source:

1922: $60 million (a little more than the previous statistic)

1929: $842.6 million

From here, we can tell the biggest gain was in 1923-1924. Per another source: "Total cost was about $120.00 to buy a new radio in 1926; in today's money, that is about $1,500 to own a radio." That would mean that 7.6 million radios were sold by 1926; an impressive feat, considering that the United States only had a population of a little over 117 million people at the time.

Percentages of United States households with radios:

1925: 19% (5 million households)

1929: 35-40% (200% increase)

1930: 12 million households

1939: 28 million households

The number of licensed broadcast stations surged from just 5 in 1921 to 500 by 1924, per yet another source. In the early years, household radio ownership was highest in the Northeast and on the West Coast. In large sections of the South, Midwest and Great Plains, stations and radio sets were scarce. However, there were notable exceptions.

There were 732 radio stations total across the country by 1927, and the average radio was on 2 hours and 25 minutes per day. People who couldn't afford radios purchased them on installment loans, through which the full price of a new radio could be paid over time. Radios had even more advertisements for washers, dryers, and refrigerators, causing people to use even more merchant credit and installment loans to purchase these shiny, new technological devices.

However, radio sales also took a hit with the Great Depression, as average income levels fell from $3,270 per year in 1920 ($53,300 in 2024), to $2,300 per year by 1929 ($41,500 in 2024), then to $1,500 per year by 1932 ($35,500 in 2024). However, buying a radio also became cheaper, dropping from a costly $200 ($3,200 in 2024) in the early 1920s, to just $35 ($630 in 2024) by 1929-1930.

By the time Alastor died in 1933, 3.6 million radio sets were sold that year alone. By the mid-1930s, 67% of American households had radio sets, and by 1939, about 80% of Americans—over 100 million people—owned radios. Radios were in almost every house, and some Americans even had radios in their cars. The Golden Age of Radio lasted from the 1930s to the 1940s, before being eclipsed by television in the 1950s. Radio hosts went from being paid $10 per broadcast in 1921 ($180-200, 1-2 hours per night, 3-4 nights a week, for a weekly salary of $720-800; monthly salary, $2,900-$3,200; annual salary, $34,800-$38,400; modern-day annual salary range for a radio show host is $30,000-100,000, depending) to making triple-figure salaries in the later 1930s.

Another source lists the following salary ranges for radio hosts:

$2,500-2,700 a year to be an announcer in 1927* (~$45,000-$48,000 range in 2024)

$2,400 a year to be a dramatic director (~$43,000 in 2024)

$4,000 a year to be a program director (~$72,000 in 2024)

New Orleans' first radio broadcast was on 31 March 1922, with WWL. The station wasn't started as a commercial one; but rather, "more of an experiment, started as an interest in wireless communication picked up nationally". The station did not go commercial until 1929, meaning that Alastor also probably had at least one other side job.

Also see:

"Early Radio Announcers Invented Their Profession in the 1920s"

"The History of the Radio Industry in the United States to 1940"

"'A Godlike Presence': The Impact of Radio on the 1920s and 1930s" by Tom Lewis

American Babel: Rogue Radio Broadcasters of the Jazz Age by Clifford John Doerksen (see excerpt here)

Race and Radio: Pioneering Black Broadcasters in New Orleans by Bala James Baptiste (Note: The earliest Black broadcast in New Orleans was in 1945, meaning Alastor was white-passing.)

"Golden Age of Black Radio - Part 1: The Early Years" (Note: The first Black radio announcer, Jack L. Cooper, hosted in 1929.)

"How African Americans Entered Mainstream Radio" by Bala James Baptiste, the author of Race and Radio: Pioneering...

[yourcarnevoreuspal]

I decided to put all the parts of the Farmer pred story together so it's easier to read. Enjoy~

Hm, something odd about that farmer boy who just moved to town. I swear it seems like his appearance changes sometimes. Like he's bigger, sharper, he's always... off.

I happened to see him from my window - certainly not spying or anything - he was fishing, and he'd just caught one of some kind, not something I would be able to identify. It was one of those times where he looked different, I can never place what it is exactly. With his other catches, he dropped them into a cooler, but this one he hesitated, eyeing his surroundings. I don't know what he was looking for, but no one else was outside - only I would witness what he did next.

With an urgent swiftness, he had that fish halfway past his lips, and mind you, this was no mere mackerel, but some other large aquatic inhabitant. I could only stare in shock, with some other unknowable emotions brewing in my chest, while I watched that fish disappear into the farmer.

Since then, I can't help but notice his odd glances towards my fellow villagers. He doesn't know I saw him that day, but I'm not sure there's reason to fear if he did. The farmer is strange but kind - I have hope that he won't harm anyone despite his growing agitation. His efforts in the town speak not of a monster.

Growing closer to the farmer wouldn't cloud my judgment - surely I began this friendship in order to investigate his oddness, but he reciprocated in turn. There's no harm in befriending this creature that the farmer is, often I find myself drinking into the night with him as company, surely there is nothing to fear from him.

Right?

________

Drunkenly, I push myself up from the bar, stupidly grinning as I watch my friend take his leave. Stumbling to take a look around, I'm surprised to see only one other patron left in the bar, he who's been standing in the corner all night. A tipsy blush paints his face as he looks up to the tender, who informs him it's late. My drunken mind manages to agree with this, and I head out the door into the chilled night.

The cold is sobering, and something in the night brings my instincts to attention. They’re reminding me of my hunger. My attempts to ease my appetite have been thwarted, no tuna nor slime seems to quell that ache anymore. No, it craves something more.

Stepping behind a tree, I watch the dark river pass and listen to the soft trickle of water... Until I hear a gradual sound of shuffling steps come following up the stone path. A sound I've grown familiar with. Peaking around the tree, I see the lone patron from the bar, stumbling towards his home- a sight I see practically every night.

My hunger always brings me here, watching the potential prey who would be oh so easy to snatch. So far, I've been resistant, but I feel it will soon be inevitable. Flexing my claws, my hunger begs me to stalk, to pounce from behind. It's all I can do but to keep myself back, only watching as he slowly disappears up the path.

One of these days, I'm not going to be able to stop myself…

________

Hauling the cooler up over my shoulder, I start a slow jog headed off the beach. It's late, the cold night air telling of autumn. The cooler sloshes with It's contents- today's catch swimming around the meager water within.

Crossing the bridge and rounding the corner, my jog slows to a halt. There he is again, taking his sweet, drunken time with his night walk home. Lowering the cooler from my shoulder, a clawed hand comes to grasp my aching middle. It's been months now since I've had a taste, moving here from the city, that was the main motivator. Less prey to agitate my hunger. It seems I can't hold it off forever, though.

The cooler slips from my hand, falling to the dirt path with a thud. My prey is alerted to the sound, turning to see only the cooler lying in the road. My body moves on its own accord, sick of the hunger plaguing it. Before the cooler had reached the ground, I was slinking behind the bushes, hidden in their shadows. My prey, too drunk to realize the danger of his situation, continues towards his home while I stalk him from the brush.

It isn't until reaching the edge of his land that I make my move. Sneaking from the shadows, my visage now that of a monster's, I crawl towards him, closing the gap between us until…

The front door opens, light washing the landscape in its pale yellowness. At the first click of the door, I had already slunk back into the shadows, watching as my prey's relative scolds him for being so late. With the scene unfolding in front of me, my sense gradually return, and I sink back into the shadows to retrieve my forgotten cooler…

________

I've been finding myself here, nearly every night since I followed him. Staring into the dark room, so close to the glass, I can feel it's chill. He's clueless, the drunk, sleeping away in his messy bed. I doubt he'd notice my shadow darkening the moonlight if I were to stand, and if I were to open his window, would he notice the wind flying into his room?

My cravings have only gotten worse, yet I've managed to keep myself contained thus far. I don't know how much longer I can hold out. Desperately, I've been trying to come up with an alternative- slime nor fish have helped, so I thought to try my hand at hunting a larger animal, but unfortunately my instincts are less interested in helping me catch such prey. No, they only hunger for that which lies sleeping inside the room, the creature I can't tear my eyes from: a human.

The only option I've turned up is to simply eat. But I dare not bring harm to anyone in my new home; not only would such a disappearance be devastatingly obvious, I care for my fellows who live here. I don't know if it's the hunger plaguing my mind, but the idea that I can 'just have a taste' and not actually hurt him seems to have wormed into my skull. Even if I eat him, then release him later, would that do anything to ease my cravings?

Unsure if I'm in control anymore, my claws reach towards the window…

______

With ease, the latch lifts, and the breeze blows open the window, sending the autumnal air into the room. Testing my earlier questions, I stand to full height, my deformed shadow darkening the room like a storm. No change comes from the room's owner, his snores still quiet and steady. Squeezing in through the opening isn't easy, I doubt it would be simple even if I weren't in this monstrous form. Despite my desperate struggles to enter the room, my movements are near silent, hardly a disturbance as I pull myself from the narrow opening.

Staring down at the sleeping drunkard, looming over his bed, my hunger draws me nearer with every moment, mouth watering at the promise of flesh. I only stop once I'm hovering just above his face, so close his gentle breaths cause sway to my bangs. The scent of prey surrounds me, drool trails from my lip, and my tongue caresses a fang. My claws demanding action spring onto his shoulders, maw widening over his head as he's jolted from slumber.

He's left with no time to process as I clamp jaws around his neck, his head engulfed by flesh. Delight courses through me, urging me to continue my meal, telling me how foolish I was to think I'd get away with only a taste.

I've clambered onto the bed to sit over my prey, with height advantage I grasp hold of his arms to swallow more of him down, greedily consuming as much as I can at once. Hardly stopping to adjust, I hoist him from his covers, his boozy flavors hazing my mind. Swallowing around his middle, his light, rotund, pudge melting on my tongue, some part of me manages to acknowledge the curious lack of struggle from my prey, yet it is swept away by the need to devour.

Lifting him high as I can, I push more of him into my throat, gulping down his meatier parts and leaving the thinner part of his legs still outside. By now, he has begun to enter my stomach, simultaneously quelling and fueling my hunger as the weight of being prey-filled grows. The last few swallows are bliss as my mouth clears, prey traveling down my throat to my bulging center.

Left kneeling on the bed, stomach distended and warm, mind fuzzy from fullness, my attention focuses to the orb in my lap. Running a hand over it incites a few small movements from within, yet nothing like the struggles of fear ridden prey I've had before. Something about it greatly disappoints my predatory side. Still, I huff with pleasure, the growing ache that's been in my center for months finally at an end…