#fiercest bitch in town

[bellveela]

Luna slapped her again, leaving a burning red mark on her cheek.

"Who is this, bitch?"

"M-Master," Padma's voice turned into a whimpering whisper. "D-Daddy. Daddy has control over my pussy. I w-want him. I want his control. Please."

Luna held her tightly by the face, mocking her cheek and ear. "Do you feel clever now, bitch?"

"No. No. I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid."

From this display, this dominance of one beautiful slave over another, Harry found it harder than he knew how to handle.

Right in the middle was a bed. He tore the door off its hinges and tossed Padma into the cabin and onto the bed. Luna circled around them both, tauntingly holding Padma's arms.

"Please, Daddy," Padma pleaded, spreading her legs wide for him. "I'll do anything you say. Please, make me regret being so stupid."

He would do it.

Harry decided to do what was necessary.

Beneath him, an eighteen-year-old freshly baked Hogwarts student and his fiercest rival intimately competed with their mouths for the thick, heavy space of his constantly hard cock. Luna and Padma, respectively, did everything to please their Master.

"It's so big," Padma murmured in delight, probably for the hundredth time. Her plump lips were engaged at the tip of his cock. "I can't believe how big it is."

"That's because you're a stupid bitch." Luna pushed her aside and slurped Harry down, showing Padma how it's done.

Both girls were naked. Their clothes were in tatters. One thing they seemed to agree on was the regret of not being in sexy outfits for their Master; both were extremely distraught that they didn't have high heels to wear for him. Everything else, however, seemed to be an excuse for Luna to find fault in Padma, and Harry only fueled it.

It was the morning after the day he woke up to find that nearly every woman he encountered in his town wanted to sexually serve him. The day started with his much younger sister-in-law giving him a blowjob, directed by his wife. At work, his secretary served up her barely legal stepdaughter on a sexual platter, strongly encouraging the girl she raised to be a "good girl" and receive skullfucking from an aroused Harry. When he sought help from his closest friend, Hermione, she seduced him into fucking her brains out.

That was the first piece of the puzzle. Up until this point, it felt like he had been transported into some bizarre pornographic film with an obsession with training barely legal teenagers to serve his cock. But Hermione clearly dominated the men who came to her office, even going so far as to legally consider them women's slaves, divorcing them in completely frivolous arrangements. Strangest of all, she had a special tattoo just above her pussy.

He wouldn't think much of it. Too much to think otherwise, when every woman - apart from becoming his seductive playthings - transformed into a true superheroine bombshell with magazine cover-worthy wardrobes. But then, through a turn of events, trying to escape the madness to clear his mind, Harry managed to end up in this cabin in the middle of the mountains with two other girls - his worst enemy and a random teenage hitchhiker they picked up - both begging, whimpering, and working to please his cock.

And both, just like Hermione - and he could only imagine, just like Narcissa, Fleur, and the rest of the women he had seen - had the same tattoo just above their pussies.

Luna was a jealous plaything, even though his cock had significantly grown in girth and length over the past thirty-six hours. She often pushed Padma to the side. When Padma managed to kiss, lick, and bob to take over the plaything duties, Luna choked her - stroking Harry's head, gripping the bulge he made in Padma's throat - until Padma turned purple and had to yield to Luna. Padma, surprisingly submissive, only whined and begged, kissed and licked in return for her own turn.

Much of the venom had disappeared from Luna's attitude towards Padma, but it was no less toxic. She still incessantly judged her for ever being against Harry; he suspected it was for the same reason both girls constantly called him Master, especially Daddy. Luna called Padma a stupid bitch because it really, really turned him on.

Continue reading this chapter

[dragonswithjetpacks]

. F e r e l i t h  M o o n s h a d e .

[hecatemoon87]

Blood Moon : The Curse of the Loup-garou (A Forrest Bondurant Story)

Chapter One - The Bondurant Bloodline

Hound of God

An Original Hecatemoon87 Poem

Let golden eyes replace his blue

And turn his flesh to fur at full moon hue

Transcend to wolf by divine decree

Vanquish evil, warrior be

Protect the weak from evil hands

And thus to you, God demands

The Bondurant Bloodline originally hailed in Avalon, France. They were regarded as some of the fiercest warriors during the crusades. It would pass down in legend that they had fought like wolves. And this was because the Bondurant Bloodline swore an oath to God in the 12th century, binding their generation to the wolf and therefore becoming, Hounds of God.

Their mission was to protect the innocent, to uphold the law, and to destroy evil. Their name had been well established in France, until they were forced to flee in the late 17th century after they had converted to the Protestant faith and had become Huguenots. In order to evade the wrath of the Catholic Church for their conversion, they fled to the New World. The Church claimed they were nothing but Loup-garou, werewolves, and should be drawn, quartered, and burned.

Their first residency in the New World was in Manakin Town, based in what is now Virginia. Over the next two hundred and thirty one years, the Bondurant Bloodline transitioned from warriors to merchants and farmers. But their calling from God, the wolf blood that flowed in their veins, never left their family bloodline.

Franklin Country, 1931

Forrest Bondurant always knew he was invincible and by God, him and his brothers certainly were. The Bondurant Boys were the toughest sons of bitches that Franklin Country had ever seen. Now, for the people of Franklin County, these boys protected the weak and the innocent and did their community good. But if you were a man of evil repute, so help you, the Bondurant Boys might just send you to an early grave.

It was rumored that those boys turned into wolves and ran from hell to high water all night long. Then during the day, they took care of their daddy’s shop. After their Ma and Pa died, the boys did well by keeping open the small convenience station and of course selling a little moonshine off to the side. You stayed off their bad side, they stayed off you.

Around the week of the full moon, those boys got antsy. Never being able to settle into one spot for long. If any of the young women in the town ever wanted to sneak a peek at a grown man naked, they’d just need to wander around the Bondurant place late at night on a full moon. They’d catch Forrest, Howard and Jack bare naked going out into the forest to run themselves stupid.

They were having the time of their lives. They enjoyed protecting their community and making their moonshine. None of them would have expected that they would soon be hunted by an ancient warrior bloodline, seeking out revenge for sins committed generations ago in France.

[jinxedpanda4life]

She was named after a bird

May 13th 20--, age 17

My father once told me that my mother was an angel. My brother said she was the embodiment of a rainy day. My sister said that she could wage the fiercest storm and still be calm. I was told she was named after a bird.

I never knew my mother. I wish I had, for all I have are stories. My uncle told me to write. So here I am writing. My mother loved stories. All the books in our library have her name in them, her reviews of them, when she finished them. There is only one book she did not finish. We aren’t allowed to touch that book. I know, I tried. Father was upset with me. I was only eleven when I happened upon it.

I had read all the other books in the library that summer. It was easy since I had no friends and my family was busy with other things. It is easy to be a ghost within these halls. I slept in the library and read until my eyes shed tears and my head swam with words. The last book I came across after my journey through our library was small, not very well worn and it’s spine showed lack of use. ‘Perfect,’ I thought, ‘a fresh book.’ My father made sure to visit me twice a day, at noon and at supper time. When he found me to call me to supper he was flown in a rage.

I was halfway to mother’s point in the book, I was enjoying it immensely. The language was fun and the characters were fleshed. All the makings of a good book. Father saw me, asked what I was reading and when I folded the book to reveal the cover I swear he looked as if a casket was awaiting him. He did not yell, he did not scream, but in a strained voice full of so much emotion he told me to put it back where it came from. Of course I questioned him, I had no reason not to, especially since I enjoyed the book. He said nothing but his face said everything.

I never finished that book. Even when I saw it at shops I never have finished it.

-----------------

May 30th 20--, age 17

My Uncle says I look the most like my mother. Sure both of my siblings and I have dark hair, but it would be impossible not to the punnet squares agree. I don’t just have my mothers eyes he said, I have her posture, her coloring, even the same bone structure. He swears we could be twins. 

I know father sees it. It is why he has grown sad as I have aged. Brother says he can see it as well, especially my eyes. Sister does not care. 

I refuse to tell my father of my powers. I fear he will shatter. I have been able to feel others emotions all my life. The first emotion I truly remember was sorrow. It filled every open space, clung to walls and skin, suffocated me for years. I was told I would cry a lot as a little one. It was the sorrow, I drowned in it, suffocated in it. There was nothing else I could do.

I have been able to move things since I was a tot. Small things like blocks or plush animals. Though now I can move much greater things; cars, small cottages, animals, people. I know I have tried. Not with my hands, for I do not have the physical strength for such things, but with my mind. 

I started flying when I was 3. I know because my Uncle was so afraid. Uncle Jason had been babysitting me for the first time, he is my favorite. Suddenly after staring at the television I started to fly, giggling and upside down is how he found me. He immediately called Uncle Richard. Father was never informed of my flying. I do fly from time to time, not as often as I would like, but enough to keep it well versed.

I figured I was able to teleport when I was six. Sister was mad at me for one thing or another and I created a portal and shoved her in it. She was not amused. She didn’t tell father though, I believe she knew it would kill him. The first time I teleported myself was when I wished to escape a party my family was hosting, I wanted to go to my room and read, so I created a portal in a dark corner and walked myself through. I ended up in the back part of the gardens.

 The first time I astral projected myself was to eavesdrop. It was a couple of years ago, I knew I could do it before then but never needed to. Father and my uncles were arguing over something, actually about me, and I wanted to know what was happening.

Yes, I was 12-13 years old at the time. I had just started puberty and was struggling to keep control of my emotions so that my powers would not explode. Neither of my siblings inherited my mother’s powers, lucky fools. They also were quite a bit older than me at the time. I believe brother was finishing college and sister was just starting.

Uncle Richard had asked me if I wished to join the family business so to speak. I declined. I have no interest in those things. I want to read, write, draw and play my instruments. Being a hero is dangerous. Look at what happened to my mother. Uncle was convinced father planted those seeds in my head. He did not. 

Father did not wish me to be a hero (I agree it seems tedious, especially when one could just kill the enemy). Uncle Richard wanted to try and train me. Uncle Jason asked what I wanted and said what I wanted should be what happened. Uncle Tim said that if I had inherited mother’s powers that I would be useful.

It seemed like the family was at war.

I was with Uncle Jason later when I told him that I knew of their, well, battle. He said that if I did not wish to join I would not have to. He bought me ten books that day. Three were in French, two in German, two in Spanish and three in Arabic. He also started gifting me my mother’s old tomes. Her spell books, journals, everything to do with her powers and magic. He truly is the best uncle.

-----------------

June 5th 20--, age 17

It seems that someone has snitched. I truly hate my cousins. I never have liked them. The majority of them are loud and annoying. 90% of them are also at least a decade older than I am too. 

My least favorite cousin (she does not deserve her name to be used, that bitch), has informed my father of my powers. That did not go over well. He asked how long I knew I had them and all the usual questions. I answered honestly, no use in lying. He was upset, which is an understatement, that I had not informed him sooner. I told him exactly;

“Father, I knew that if I told you your emotions would sour and that look you have whenever you think I am not looking would appear more and more. I do not wish sorrow on you father, and if I told you, you would look at me as if I am her.”

So tonight while father is being ‘The Dark Knight’ or whatever, I am cutting my hair. Shaving more like. I am shaving half of it off and dying the tips of the remaining hair red. I never rebel, but I am sure as soon as everyone knows, in the hero community, of my powers that I will be faced with many many annoying, pompous, supers trying to direct me. Father may even let them

I would get a piercing but my sister said that once she was in town she would go with me. I am not my mother. She may have been named after a bird and I may also be named after a bird, and we may possess the same features in many ways, but I am not her. Father will see. The supers will see. I will not be forced to become a hero. I will not succumb to anyone.

My name is Ibis and I will not be my mother.

--------------------------------

Does this count as fan fiction? I had an itch to write something of this nature. Maybe I will write more, maybe not.

ANYWAY, hope anyone reading this enjoyed! Tell me how you feel about it, if I should continue, etc. Anything is appreciated.

[kichimiangra]

Idea: Post calamity ganon fight the champions are reincarnated. Where have they been? Elsewhere.

With ganon gone Hyrule is less isolated and other countries start having people immigrate in. Link and Zelda go on their own pilgrimage to locate the now reincarnated champions who get to have their own "I don't remember my past life" story arc like Link had with his amnesia.

Zelda and Link go to Gerudo town for something and Link has to stay outside because their luggage got mismatched at the inn and his vai suit got left behind so Zelda has to get him a new one inside.

While Link is waiting in the hot sun he takes a nap and awakens to hear someone arguing with one of the gerudo guards. It's Revali. He was reincarnated as the bestest rito merchant to ever sell anything ever.

He's bitching at the guard cuz he wants in to sell his wares. She tells him to fuck off, no boys allowed, he can go sell his stuff at the oasis bazaar but he don't wanna. He could sell so much more directly to the Gerudo. He's just being a little bitch.

Link recognizes him as Revali and is so happy to see him, but Revali is just like

"....Did I sell you something? Because apparently you really really liked it if you're getting all buddy buddy with me??"

And then Link and Zelda bribe him to go with them on their search for the other champions migrating into hyrule so he joins the quest with funny moments like

Revali: *Sees Vah medoh in the distance* 😐🤨😧!!!!

Link: "That's the face I make when I remember something!"

Zelda: "What do you remember Revali?!"

Revali: *get's a memory but is also still an asshole* "I... could move so much merchandise with that thing!!"

Link: "Fuck you Revali."

So like Revali is 100% not cooperating and he thinks these random memories are fucked up and that his proficiency with a bow is pretty awesome for someone who has never held a bow before, but he's also not telling Link or Zelda about them cuz he's his own man and not some reincarnated hero. Even Link and Zelda start to wonder if he really isn't Revali reincarnated once they start finding the other champions and they're a lot more honest with memories, wierd dreams, feelings of familiarity etc. While Revali's just all

"Nope. Don't remember shit. You got the wrong guy."

But also funny merchant joke moments like

Revali: "And then I will outdo my fiercest rival!"

Link: "Me?"

Revali: "...No! Beedle!"

Or a battle happening and Revali refusing to leave his wares behind and needing to be physically dragged away from his stuff.

Maybe a sequel to that scene where they need item X and Revali is like "Oh I had one of those in my bag. The bag that got left with the Hinox. And all my other wares. LINK."

But then also shippy reaffirming moments like Revali asking Link to teach him how to shoot a bow

Revali: *lying* "Hyrule is a dangerous place it seems. I could probably make plenty of rupees selling weapons for self defense to locals. The bow seems easy enough to learn considering I shot a moblin right between the eyes my first time holding one yesterday. If I'm going to sell them I should know all about using them, wouldn't you think? Would you... teach me?"

[blushing-starker]

Listen. I know it's been done before. But @starkermoodboards and I were sighing dreamily at starker when I had a miniature epiphany. A lot of content revolves around Peter being mafia boss Tony's lover and not taking part in the illegal business, and I am here for it. It's an amazing concept that I appreciate wholeheartedly. I just decided to shift the dynamic and see how it played out.

The man who runs the sandwich shop can't pay up because his daughter had a rollerblading accident? No problem, Peter will leave her flowers, fill the hospital room with teddy bears and extend the due date. You missed the meeting because pay day came in from the day job and you blew it on beer and cocaine? The kid, usually seen smiling and laughing with nearly everyone, doesn't appear all that threatening. Barnes does. But then this beanpole from Queens decks you so hard two teeth go flying. Consider the due date changed. There are now twelve hours on the clock before Peter comes by to collect. Hiding makes it worse. Tony's enforcers, particularly Peter, Clint, Wade and Pietro, love when people run for cover. It helps keep them in shape and breaks the routine.

But then a new boss rolls into town, a so called Killian (Iron Man 3, I can't remember the name) that tries to steal Pepper and his customers. None leave Tony, of course. Those with small businesses, the little guys, appreciate how compassionate Iron Man is. Even the people that often see Peter's knuckles up close don't turn on him; the prices are  extremely fair and the Starks' always go through with the deals. So this peacock decides to challenge Tony for the throne. It's a political suicide, a new comer daring to impose upon such an honorable house. Not only that, Tony's been in Queens for decades and he's never once betrayed those that were loyal to him. The man had helped the city become a thriving community, often offering assistance to the people while the government's hands were tied. To challenge Tony was to challenge the principles of the entire system. Thing is, it was technically allowed.

The laws state that any person who believes they have fair reason to challenge another member may do so only if the ensuing fight is overseen by the council. There is no room for competitors to initiate wars based on faux insults. Tony couldn't take out Killian's safe house as retaliation for the challenge. Killian was unable to bomb the Stark headquarters to establish dominance. It was the mafia, not an anarchic society. There was order to these types of things.

Peter arrives early with the team, sweeping the area and making sure the ring hides no lethal secrets. He's been to plenty of these fights, but Tony hasn't been challenged in nearly two decades and the man almost never has to fight someone when there are bodyguards to be found everywhere. Nonetheless, the older enforcers can easily recall the last time Anthony Stark was in the ring and they assure the young man Killian will be out like a light after the boss steps in. They wait, silent and solemn, eyeing the competition for any threats or tricks. The men on the other side are from neighboring cities, names hazy but reputations sparkling. There will be no illusions today. Except from the jester with slicked back hair and a haughty attitude.

The insults rain down and they don't flinch. This behavior is inappropriate, for there is honor among thieves and devils. If one is to seriously fight, one keeps quiet and stays with their own. Most fights that occur between opposing families are mere squabbles, friendly rivalries that keep the atmosphere thrumming during boring weekends or holidays. Barnes has a hobby of coaching Steve in the ring after work and Natasha tends to employ her knife throwing skills against Clint's bow and arrow. They would fight members of the same family for fun, for fuck's sake. But no matter the cause or how drunk people were, insults were looked down upon.

It starts with their abilities as enforcers. Peter stares straight ahead at the wall, they all do. The Stark members were considered some of the fiercest fighters by the community, matched only by the legendary Black Panthers. The little boy criticising their skills does not know how in the wrong he is. But he's a quick learner. The tone shifts slowly, and shift it does. Ten minutes before Tony arrives, his rival begins claiming how incompetent and worthless he is. That makes every person grind their teeth simultaneously.

Whether or not you were a member of the Starks did not matter. It was clear Iron Man was an efficient leader ready to help the entire city evolve into something better. So when Killian leans towards Peter, boasting how he'd do a much better job of ruling, him, a nobody that can't even follow the protocols, the kid very nearly rips him a new one. But that is not allowed and a Stark enforcer does not break a law unless absolutely necessary. He would not bring dishonor upon his job, his fellow coworkers, his family; he would not tarnish the Stark name, let alone allow this weakling to get the better of him. Peter loves Tony and he'd let Bucky put a bullet in him if he ever harmed his boyfriend in any way. Not only had Tony saved his life, he'd shown Peter a better reality that let him thrive. He'd shown the young man how to love himself. Taught him he could be loved by another without anguish souring the relationship.

He was Tony Stark's right hand man, one of the best bodyguards in the mafia. Not just a powerful enforcer either. Peter was more than a Stark; he was the goddamn Spider and that meant something here. Before Stark dropped into his life like a fallen angel, Peter Parker ruled the ring. They considered Ben Parker's nephew a legend years ago, a warrior that could go head to head with the best without dying. Fighting against people like Black Widow and the Winter Soldier had earned him his reputation. Every knocked out tooth, jagged scar and black eye made it clear to all: he was a menace unwilling to break for anyone. Becoming Tony's lover and enforcer only resulted in more respect, but the community hadn't viewed Peter as strong for the first time when he exchanged kisses with the Iron Man. They realized the kid was strong the second he looked Bucky in the eye and grinned at the challenge.

(Peter guessed that's why they get along so great. Buck was a puppy. A lethal one that could rip your arm out, but still a puppy to him. The older of the two appreciated being seen as more than just a good fighter.)

Peter vows not to break. And then Killian is claiming he could breed Tony's bitch, show Peter how a real man fucks. The man gets so close he tastes the spit that comes flying two seconds later.

"Tony Stark is unworthy of his seat. And he sure as hell doesn't deserve such a pretty little thing like you."

It's sneered at him, Killian smirking at him wildly. The whole place changes, white tiles morphing into shades of red and Peter wants.

Barnes snarls at Tony's rival with eyes gone dark, Natasha lets out a hiss reminding him of rattlesnakes and the two russian speakers pounce at the same time. If Clint and Steve weren't so attuned to their family and strong as hell, Killian would be sliced ribbons decorating the floor. All in all, a fairly restrained reaction. Peter's proud of Nat and Bucky for not killing the man on the spot. Makes a mental note to get them new punching bags and cover Clint and Steve's shifts should they need the extra hours.

Killian doesn't move from his spot when the room becomes alive with furious shouts of indignation and Peter has to admit it's impressive. But this is a child, and children respond best to the monsters hiding in the closet, not the ones standing in the light. So Peter thinks about the audacity this creature has, insulting his lover, criticising decades of hard work and dedication, diminishing their relationship and in the process implying that his fellow enforcers were just pieces of meat to satisfy lust, inadequate at their jobs. For to attempt to dishonor or belittle one enforcer meant questioning everyone's competency. Not only that, this scum thought Peter was nothing but a whore. He hadn't fought enhanced assassins just so an arrogant dick would take one look at him and dismiss him as a threat.

Peter doesn't raise a hand or growl or yell or shoot him. He could, the council would see it as fair. After all, Killian had insulted all aspects of Peter's life. Doing any of that wouldn't lead to Killian being beaten, though. And Peter wants him to submit. So Peter smiles and the Spider comes out to play.

By the time Tony arrives, his baby has two buttons undone and a single strand of hair out of place from where he stands in the ring. He knows an enraged Peter when he sees it.

The crowd parts for him, bowing slightly and falling quiet. Only the bosses held in high esteem get such a treatment and it's been years since the community behaved in such a way towards him. The Stark heir was arrogant, but he'd always preferred that the people's respect be shown in a different way, one more subtle.

The bowing reminded him too much of his father's reign, the silence that would engulf him as a child and choke the air out of his lungs with the pressure of Howard Stark's legacy. No matter where they went, the roar of nothing followed. Besides, he was always trying to remind the community that they were all equals. Tony was only in his position because of the people that chose him, the people with the actual power.

So for them to actually bow as low as possible and simply cease conversing, knowing how much Tony abhors the sight, it tells him just how deeply Killian fucked up.

By the hate found in Barnes' face and Nat's curled fist, his rival must have hit a little too close to home. But the man was still alive, leaning against a marble column. Which meant Peter, his genius lover, had somehow initiated a course of action that would lead to satisfaction for all those here. The mafia was made up of untamed creatures. For a hundred people to agree not to rip an intruder's throat when the man had so obviously comitted a heinous act, Peter must have pulled out the big guns.

He settles next to Steve, but all his enforcers surround him anyway. In fact, every person in their side of the room shifts closer. It warms his heart. He'll let them break Killian when this is done, show his appreciation for their care and protection.

Well. If Peter actually leaves something to break.

A body slides out of the ring, ends up at his feet. It's a man the size of Thor, someone living two cities over. The tattoos on his right hand are what clue Tony in. Peter's played fair. The guy will need all his teeth replaced and that scar will definitely make a lovely crisscross pattern on his face. Bruce and Strange are already there, dragging him to a corner filled with more groaning bodies and hard working nurses disinfecting wounds. Each man will showcase those scars proudly. They went against the Spider and lived to tell the tale with proof right on their bodies.

He counts ten. Turns to find Peter staring at him, expressionless face morphing into the one he's most familiar again. A grin confirms his suspicion; his darling isn't even sporting a bloody lip. The grin he gives in return appears instinctively, pride overflowing and resulting in Tony Stark beaming at the Spider. It's both unsettling and a relief. The community was used to a happy Peter so the interaction helped remind them who the Spider was. That familiar sense of comfort vanished because Jesus, Tony Stark was beaming.

"Feeling merciful, sweetheart? Giving them a minute is twenty times longer than usual." His tone is light, not wanting to imply Peter has gotten slow or rusty. Sure, it's been a while since his boyfriend was in the ring, but you don't offend the Spider when he's already in a bad mood.

Steve and Bucky tense up, eyeing Peter in case they need to fight him out of the ring. If he gets even more pissed, Killian's men don't stand a chance. Tony could stomach murder. Peter couldn't. The enhanced soldiers prefer the possibility of bruised ribs to Peter with a heavy conscience.

His boyfriend doesn't twitch and Tony thanks whatever entity exists for giving Peter some self control.

"Figured it'd be best I don't get the suit too dirty. May is always complaining about getting the blood stains out. It hurts her hands so I'm trying to help out. If I take the jacket off, the shirt will stain faster."

God, Peter could really pull at his heartstrings without meaning to. He falls in love with him a little more.

The eleventh man tries to catch Peter and tackle him to the ground. The kid just slides to the right, drops down, sweeps the guy off his feet and knocks him out with two punches. It's the loveliest thing Tony's fucking seen and he's thankful Jarvis is taking pictures. He settles the sunglasses onto his lapel, happy to let the A.I immortalize this moment from that vantage point.

"I'm gonna guess what's going on and you'll stop me if I'm wrong, right?" Peter nods and Tony is ridiculously happy for the chance to do this in front of Killian.

He glances at Nat, sizes up Barnes, reads Peter's posture and Steve's facial cues and just knows.

His father used to hate when his only child pointed at things before analysing them. Found it too mundane, or some shit like that. Tony makes sure to point at Killian with both index fingers.

"You were disrespectful to my people. That's common with you. They shouldn't take anyone's insults, but they can and they did. The council probably thinks they were exemplary, hell, Fury probably thinks they were the textbook definition of good. But you kept pushing. Just poking at their buttons. Because it's Peter in the ring, you're little stunt turned personal. You insulted him, his family, me. If it had been one of the others members, Peter would have cut you a nice scar. But tradition is tradition. Even if he could have challenged you, which he could have, Peter would have stepped aside in that case. The recipient of the insult should have a role in the fight. You pissed him off before I got here. Thought he was weak. The last person to be that naive learned how ridiculous that assumption was when Peter beat their ass."

Peter had knocked Tony flat on his back when he'd made a comment about frail sheltered boys not knowing how to fight. He hadn't seen the kid fight before that; hadn't processed the fact that soft looking Peter Parker was the menacing Spider. That was two years ago. Not a single soul has thought Peter weak since then. Until now.

"The law states your men can take your place against your rival. Which is honorable if you're at a disadvantage. Broken bones, flu, life handing you shit right before the day of the fight. It isn't really put in practice, though, because the council knows how hard it is for everyone to synchronize their schedules for a second round if there are problems. They plan weeks ahead of time to ensure participants are in perfect condition. You seem to be just fine. Putting your men in danger by having them take your place against Peter just for the hell of it, just so you survive, sounds like what an idiot boss would do. If you had courage, you'd fight Peter. You'd fight me, but I doubt you're man enough."

The taunting does its work. Tony knows Peter can just knock him out before Killian even gets close. He could switch with his lover, but Peter needed to establish his reputation once again, make it impossible for any to doubt his abilities. By saying Killian is a coward, the Stark heir challenges his claim of being good enough for the throne. No mafia member would accept his reign if they knew Killian lacked bravery. Well. They already knew this, it just needed to be finalized so the council could have it all in record.

The man has just witnessed what happened when Peter wished for destruction and justice. He could get in the ring, be knocked out and none would laugh. The community would talk about it, but they never mocked the loser. Killian would be seen as an incompetent asshole that at least had courage. If he refused…

Every Stark enforcer/member grinned when the peacock snarled and entered the ring. Until a butterfly knife gleamed and slashed through wool, cotton and flesh.

It feels odd, being stabbed. You'd think the cold blade would send goosebumps everywhere, but Peter doesn't register the cold. Would he be cold if the blade was bigger? Or if Killian hadn't been holding the knife for an hour? He knows his reaction is ridiculous. Who the fuck was wondering about the temperature when they had a knife piercing their abdomen?

Although, it could be the shock. Yeah, he remembers Bruce's lessons on the effects of stabbing. Natasha had also reminded him of the shock, so at least that's a normal symptom. What isn't normal are his other ... responses to being stabbed.

"Are you gonna need this back?" is asked sweetly, nearly sickly so. The Spider has a thing for contrasting aesthetics . Being a little shit while a knife is rearranging his intestines does not sound common, but Peter takes pleasure in behaving oddly.

Killian gapes at him, mouth wide and eyes wider. He shakes his head, careful not to jostle Peter too much. Not like it matters much. There's a metal arm dragging him to safety, sliding over the ring's edge and onto a stretcher. Bucky is being as gentle as possible, he knows. It still feels horrible to move and have the knife shift in time with his breathing. Nat is there to rip open the suit, nails clearing the area around the intrusion and Doctor Strange appearing with antiseptic and everything Peter needs. He loves the Doctor.

And yes, definitely in shock. As he's being wheeled away to the med corner, there's a roar similar to that of a lion and Peter catches sight of Tony leaping at Killian. His clothes, jacket, vest, shirt and wife beater lay in a heap by Steve. Tony's expensive shoes are guarded by Sam. The shoemaker was a nice woman. She bought him a churro once. After that, his boyfriend would always buy his shoes at her store. Peter appreciated Tony helping out the little people. It was nice being what society thought was a bad guy while not actually being a bad guy. Like capitalist loving jerks like Brad. The room's spinning a bit and oh look, sparkly lights.

Afterwards, Jarvis shows him pictures of Killian, explains how the man landed in prison five days after the fight. The council had convened with their counterparts from five different cities. All had tales of Killian's horrible behavior. It wasn't hard to call in a few favors and dump him in jail. It was a bit hard to recognize him, though. Tony had gone berserk and no self respecting person was going into the ring to drag him off his rival.

Killian played dirty, so his boyfriend had first claim to fight while Peter was being treated. Steve and Bucky only hauled him away when five minutes had passed, not wanting their boss to have more blood on his hands.

Peter himself only remembers the dull sting of a needle meant to calm him, Nat's gentle cooing and Sam wiping away the sweat near a disheveled curl. Bruce and Strange had murmured assurances during all of it, careful to work on Peter away from Tony's eyes. If Iron Man thought he'd lose his lover, Killian would've been dead in two minutes.

He'd woken up a few hours later, Tony sitting by his side and sobbing. His boyfriend was sniffling as he wrapped Peter's hand in bandages. Apart from the new scar on his stomach, only his knuckles were slightly bruised. Even so, the mafia's most efficient leader was tenderly applying antibiotic cream to the tiny nicks, letting enough space between bandage and skin for the area to breathe. Tony had never once been violent with him, but Peter thinks this is the first time he's seen his boyfriend be so gentle.

The angle was odd and uncomfortable with him being unable to bend much at the waist. That didn't stop the legendary Spider from kissing Iron Man softly, barely there whispers filling the centimetres between them.

"I love you, Tony. And I'd do it all over again for you. I love you, I love you, I love you 3000.

Alright, here we go! My mind associated Killian's body with Yinsen's name and I've no idea why, but here's the correct version.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

request: jaskier x reader enemies to lovers in which the reader is not a jealous asshole lmao

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 3,273Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan @mycat-is-mylove @amirahiddleston a/n: Hey! I am a sucker for an academic rivalry and that’s the way I approached this. It’s really long but I hope you enjoy!

You took a deep breath before entering the classroom, plastering on a serene, professional smile. There were more students present than usual which only rankled further, knowing they had come here to see him instead of your usual classes. He wasn’t there yet (typical) but you were grateful. Walking in to see so-called Professor Pankratz beating you to your own class would have been more than you could bear. Then again, he was never on time for class when you were students so luck had been on your side.

“Good morning class, so nice to see that so many of you have recovered for your many ailments and just in time for a presentation for our guest lecturer,” you said. The students chuckled sheepishly and you fixed them with an accusatory look that melted into a smile and a head shake. They were just kids. It hadn’t been terribly long ago you were in their shoes and there were many times you wished you could have jut run off and avoided your responsibilities like others you’d known. Right on cue, the door opened and in strode Julian Pankratz or – as he was known now – Jaskier.

He looked practically the same as he had back then. Chestnut hair shorter and roguishly swept to the side but the same hue, golden highlights catching in the sun that streamed through the large windows. Smile quirked into the exact same cocky little grin, sky blue eyes sparkling with amusement, always on the lookout for a good time. His clothing choices had become more ornate but the same good quality they’d always been, him and all the other nobility thinking nothing of the clothes they wore or the fact that a single doublet would pay for a semester of classes. As he caught your eye a familiar look of smugness came over his features and you bristled. You’d always been academic rivals. You didn’t usually care about someone being smarter than you, most were anyway, but someone who swanned into Oxenfurt Academy, resting on his family’s laurels and roving around missing classes yet still somehow managing to give you a run for your title as Valedictorian was another matter. On the rare occasions he did deign to show up to class he’d usually be half-hungover, lacking all supplies, and yet teacher’s stopped calling on him to make an example because he’d always know the answer. Good answers, too. So no, you didn’t hate Julian because he was smart or handsome or well-liked or even because he was your fiercest competition in school. You hated him because he was all of these things and didn’t work for any of it and didn’t seem to appreciate its value. This position you held as a professor at a university that had been an impossible sounding dream for a child who grew up in poverty meant everything to you. But for Julian, it was just another honor bestowed on him. Hell, he was invited to teach today.

“Ah, Julian, right off time,” you said dryly.

“Professor Pankratz I think it is, Y/N,” he replied. You bristled and bit back a litany of oaths.

“As I was telling the students, Julian, you are here today to provide a guest lecture and if anyone has questions-” two dozen arms shot up in the sky eagerly, “They will wait under after the lesson.”

The arms retracted glumly but the students lit up as you stepped aside, giving the bard a space at the podium.

“Thank you, Y/N. You know, your professor and I go way back. We were school chums just like you. She’s always been incredibly smart. I mean, the record may show that she never could quite top me but she still gave me a good run,” he winked at you as he said the words and then gave you a wicked smile, like a child who knew they were being bad in public and didn’t care what would happen when they got home. You kept the same serene smile on your face like a mask and you spent the next hour and a half of his talk imagining the different ways you would use the historical tools of torture display in the history wing to wipe that smug smile off of his face.

—–

After the lecture (which was exceptional, damn it) Julian suggested the question and answer portion be done outside because it was “such a lovely day” and you “probably wanted to review your notes over his lecture to include in the class’s curricula” and they poured out of your class leaving you in blessed silence. You had to admit you appreciated the extra time to prepare for tomorrow’s class. You finished grading and even had time to clean the chalkboard thoroughly. You were gazing at it in admiration of a job well done when a voice popped up by the open door.

“Admit it, that was brilliant.”

Suddenly your good mood vanished. You cut Jaskier a sharp glance from the corner of your eye.

“The students aren’t here anymore Julian you don’t need to stick around,” you said coolly.

“Oh I know,” he replied, moving into the room further, “I thought I’d ask an old friend for a drink. Catch up properly since I’m in town.”

You scoffed and shook your head, turning to face him.

“We’re not friends, Julian. We never were and I don’t see why we would be now,” you said bluntly. He smiled at your words, not an unpleasant or false one, a genuine, nostalgic smile.

“Gods I’ve missed the way you never put up with my shit,” he said. You blinked at him in surprise.

“What?”

“Everyone else was impressed by the Pankratz name and my other, admittedly many, charms but you always saw through it. I think that’s why I tried to impress you so much. Hell, maybe it’s why I’m still trying,” he said.

“I thought you hated me, you were always a prick. And don’t try that stupid ‘boys torment girls they like’ bullshit with me because that’s bollocks at best and dangerous at worst,” you argued. He smirked.

“Oh no, you were a bitch. You kind of still are. But I’ve grown to develop an affection for bitches.”

“Get fucked, Pankratz.”

“Ooh not as eloquent as you were back in the day. What was it you called me that one time? As stupid as an ox and half as useful?” he quoted. You smiled in appreciation of your younger self’s burn.

“Come have a drink with me,” he offered again. Despite yourself, you were curious about what Julian had been up to. Sure you heard the rumors and the songs and knew he was a celebrity. But you also knew that the stories you heard about people rarely matched the truth and perhaps with enough ale and the right questions you’d get somewhere close to that.

“You’re paying,” you said, taking up your purse and getting out the key to lock the classroom.

“But of course,” Jaskier said in faux surprise, “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat the lady to drinks?”

For the sake of peace, you bit your tongue.

—–

“Alright,” Jaskier said once you’d both ordered your drinks, “Let’s get this out of the way. Ask me about Geralt.”

“The witcher?” you asked. Jaskier nodded, a weary nod that suggested he’d had this talk many, many times before. “I don’t really have any questions.”

Jaskier eyed you suspiciously, disbelief plain on his face but you weren’t kidding. You knew about witchers, had read many different accounts from believe who head varying levels of respect and fear towards them, but you didn’t really concern yourself with them. As far as you could tell their primary trade was killing monsters and you weren’t one so you doubted you’d have any dealings with them.

“People usually want to know what he’s like, if he has horns, does he eat babies, etc.,” Jaskier explained.

“Well those people sound… ill-informed,” you said tactfully, “I do have questions though. Not about Geralt, about you.”

“Me?” Jaskier sounded surprised.

“Of course. A classmate goes off and becomes a renowned bard and you don’t think I’m going to have questions?” you asked.

“You never showed much interest in my life or affairs before.”

“I didn’t have to hear about some new rumor about you every day from students before. Well, actually I guess I did. But there were fewer rumors of immortality and frankly based on how you look I’m starting to think those might be right,” you said, taking a sip of your mead and giving him an assessing look. He laughed and took a drink from his ale.

“Not as far as I know, no,” he said.

“But the rest is true, then? Touring the country, the bard with his pet witcher, wooing and rutting around the countryside with great aplomb?”

Jaskier smiled ruefully as he looked down into his drink, thinking about the portrait you painted of him, that had been painted while he was off. He could lie and tell you it was true but he had a feeling you’d know. As he’d said, you always saw through his bullshit.

“Quite the opposite, really. True my songs are well loved and I have successfully reformed many opinions about Geralt, if not witchers on the whole, but I am more often treated as the “pet” of Geralt. The human that follows him around. It’s… not entirely wrong but it’s also horseshit, you know?”

You were surprised by the vulnerability. This wasn’t the proud, blustering Julian of a decade ago. He was still there but there was also a maturity to him. It was deeply unsettling.

“That must be hard for you. You never did like standing in another’s shadow,” you said.

“I have little experience doing so. You understand,” he volleyed. You glowered at him as you took another drink. Yes, some things were still the same.

“And adventuring? How is that suiting you? You a natural at that as you were everything else?” you asked, a bit of bitterness slipping into your tone.

“Gods no,” he said laughing, “No I am… well, I’m better than I was, but I’ve also nearly died more times than I can count so that doesn’t speak to a great amount of skill.”

You felt a little guilty about how validating it was to hear Jaskier state that there was finally something even he couldn’t fake his way through.

“That must be very difficult,” you said, working to keep the satisfaction out of your voice, “Finding the one thing is this world you aren’t naturally adept at without any effort or work.”

“I worked, Y/N,” Jaskier replied, frowning at the implication, “I wrote the same papers you did.”

“Yes, but yours were written 15 minutes before class or turned into an improvised ballad performed on the spot and mine were toiled over for hours in the library and edited mercilessly. We are not the same,” you argued.

“Do you want me to apologize for being naturally talented?” he asked. You scoffed and shook your head, fighting the urge to throw the remaining contents of your cup in his smug face.

“No, Julian, I want you to appreciate that you’re talented. I want you to stop acting like you’re somehow superior and I want you to stop getting everything you want handed to you because you’re from a titled family and famous and never had to really worry about taking care of yourself,” you snapped.

“You think people took care of me?” he replied incredulously, “Y/N my family didn’t give a shit about me. Hell, I don’t know if they even realized I was gone when I went to school. Even the people around me at the university, I knew they didn’t give a shit, they wouldn’t have my back or stick around if I wasn’t constantly making myself useful to them. And you think that’s somehow different now? The witcher barely tolerates my presence some days and I have to work hard to find ways to be useful because I know that if I stop, even for a moment, he will be gone too.”

After he finished he kicked himself for saying it, waiting for a look of pity from you as you listened to him complain. Or contempt because even he knew that it could be worse. But you just nodded slightly, a look of understanding dawning on your face.

“Well. You’re still an ass,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. A wide smile broke out over Jaskier’s face and you couldn’t help but return it. He had that effect on people. For once it didn’t seem self-serving, though, just genuine happiness.

“So is that what you’re doing with me?” you asked, serious again, “Trying to find a way to be useful or charm me so you’ll have a contact back in Oxenfurt?”

“When you put it that way I sound so self-serving,” he scoffed, “No, Y/N. Frankly I don’t need you as a contact. I was invited to lecture here and I seriously doubt you were the one did that.”

You didn’t say anything, glancing awkwardly down at your glass.

“Wait… no… surely not,” Jaskier squinted at you suspiciously and you heaved a great sigh.

“Fine, alright I did. But only because very begrudgingly I have to admit you know what you’re talking about and this segment is hard for students if they don’t care about what they’re studying and nothing makes students care like hearing it from someone new and exciting and oh for the gods’ sake if you don’t stop grinning at me like that I will kick you,” you snapped. Jaskier didn’t heed your warnings, the grin overtaking his face and this time you could resist the pull to smile back. You crossed your arms in front of you in a huff, waiting for him to throw it back in your face, to make some snide remark about proof that he’s smarter than you after all.

“Thank you,” he said after a beat of silence. There was sincerity in his eyes, also unsettling, but also not a bad look on him. “I enjoyed it. I’ve missed the school, really.”

“I suppose it wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened in my classroom. Granted, someone was murdered there a few hundred years ago so the bar is pretty high for that honor,” you sighed. The rest of your evening passed quickly as you shared anecdotes and laughter. Before you knew it the tavern was closing and you were told to get a room or get out. Jaskier had shot you a suggestive smile but you’d rolled your eyes and told him he could walk you home.

“You know this is going to sound silly but I think… Well, I wish maybe we’d been friends in school,” you admitted, lips loosened by the mead and the newfound sense of comradery with the man walking at your side. He laughed, the sound turning to mist in the cool night air, and grinned at you.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. Your face fell and you began to feel embarrassed.

“No, not because of you!” he explained quickly, “But I wasn’t really the sort of person I think you’d have liked back then. I mean, clearly, because you’ve harbored such a long hatred of me.”

“Hatred is a strong word,” you lied, “But you’re probably right. I could be a bit stuck up myself.”

“I’m glad that we’ve reconnected, though. Or I suppose, connected for the first time,” Jaskier said. You arrived at home sooner than you’d expected and you lingered at the door.

“How long are you in town?” you asked.

“I leave tomorrow.”

“Oh… with, uh, what’s his name?”

Jaskier beamed at you as though you’d just given him the finest compliment in his life. And in a way, you had. For once he wasn’t the one whose name was ignored and forgotten.

“Geralt. And yes, I told him I’d meet up with him. Onto the next adventure,” he explained. He was excited by the disappointment in your eyes, almost as excited as the fact that you weren’t yet going inside, perhaps even considering offering him an invite.

“If you want to come back sometime, to lecture and maybe get another drink with an old…” your voice trailed off as you tried to decide what to call what you were now.

“Colleague?”

“Friend?”

“Yes, alright, friend,” you assented, earning yet another wide, beaming smile from Jaskier, “I’d like that. If you have time. I know you’re very busy and important.”

You said the words sarcastically and Jaskier nodded and sighed heavily.

“It’s true, the world needs its songs. But I would be happy to come back again. And see you. And do my part to enlighten the youths of the world. And see you.”

“You said that twice.”

“I meant it doubly much.”

“Doubly much? That can’t be good grammar.”

“Gods, do you ever turn off?” he huffed in amused exasperation.

“Never, it’s one of my charms,” you replied, smirking. Jaskier moved closer and you were reminded of how tall he was. And broad. And handsome.

“I have half a mind to kiss that smirk right off your face,” he murmured, the pale blue eyes caressing them with his gaze.

“You have a half a mind period,” you sassed, a defensive reaction that struck when you were nervous. Most men were turned away by it, and you couldn’t blame them. But sparring was an old game for the two of you and Jaskier smiled, chuckling darkly before saying,

“Alright now you’re gonna get it.”

His lips brushed against yours, featherlight and teasing, and then swept back, a little firmer, capturing your mouth and pressing in closer, one arm wrapping around your waist and pressing you against the door as he slid his tongue through your slightly parted mouth. You sighed into the kiss and he gave a soft moan in return as your tongue found his, entangling and learning the warmth of each other’s mouths, the brush of teeth against lip, the taste of mead and ale blending in a heady mixture. By the time Jaskier pulled back you were both panting slightly. You swallowed hard and looked up into his eyes.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, peppering your jawline with kisses. Your eyes squeezed shut and you licked your lips, summoning your will to be sensible.

“No,” you replied. His kisses stop and he pulled back to look at you, unabashedly surprised.

“No?”

“No,” you answered, “Go on your journeys, Julian Pankratz or Jaskier de Lettenhove or whoever you are or shall be. Go and then return to me. If you can do that, well… Perhaps.”

“I may die,” he intoned dramatically, though he made no move to continue his seduction, taking your words to heart.

“Then there shall be two great tragedies that day,” you answered in a tone that was just as dramatic, “That you have died, and that you never knew the pleasures of my body.”

He laughed, throwing his head back and then leaning in to plant another kiss on your lips.

“You’re a minx. But alright, it’s a date,” he said. You bit your bottom lip, fighting back an argument that it could only really be a date if they both declared it to be and really they had just agreed to meet up as friends but sometimes even you had to admit there was a time and place for being pedantic.

“It’s a date.”

[artificialqueens]

New Testament, Chapter One (Branjie) - VoskaVixen

Read on Ao3 | Tumblr: VoskaVixen | Word Count: 3,483

A/N: Hi there! This is my first fanfiction, I hope you all like it! ♡

Summary: Brooke Lynn is your average church-going christian, with a few secrets. Vanjie, well, Vanjie is a secret. Based on the song “Scotty Doesn’t Know” by Lustra, it was on repeat while I was writing!

“Hey Brooke, slow down girl!” Nina shouted as she sped through the crowded hall, squeezing past the hovering groups of students and ignoring the glares they were shooting her. Sighing, Brooke turns around to watch as Nina approaches with Plastique following closely behind.

“Thought we lost you there, is there somewhere you need to be?” Nina continued, slowing to a walk beside her with Plastique at her shoulder.

“Just the usual, Youth Group, you know?” Brooke replies as she throws the pair an apologetic smile. It’s the same excuse she’s been using for the past few weeks now and honestly she’s surprised they haven’t questioned her about her sudden weekly routine, but it seems to satisfy the girls.

“Ah damn! I forgot you were volunteering…” Plastique mused as she piped in, scrunching up her face in thought. “What about Saturday, are you free to come to my party? My parents won’t be home!”

“Oh gosh, I completely forgot… is it okay if I let you know later? It’s just that I’d have to get a lift sorted, I’ll have to get up early for church and all.” She answers, shrugging.

Usually she would love an opportunity to spend some quality time with her friends, but she suspected something else would require her attention, which was currently sounding much more appealing to the tall blonde.

Plastique nodded enthusiastically, happy that Brooke hadn’t completely dismissed the idea. “Of course.” She stated, before glancing menacingly over at Nina. “Just let me know as soon as you can though, yeah? I know a certain guy who would love to see you there!” She continued before dissolving into a fit of giggles as Nina joined in.

Rolling her eyes, Brooke was about to reply with a very sarcastic “if he really knew her, he wouldn’t be interested.” but the words died in her throat as she heard yelling from outside the building. The trio turned and shared a look before heading for the doors, walking through the entrance and being greeted with a small crowd forming around their fellow classmates, Silky Ganache and Yvie Oddly as the two shouted obscene profanities at each other.

The pair faced off for several minutes, and Brooke was about to continue on as she was unable to make out most of what they were saying from where she was standing when a loud booming voice halted any movement that was going on.

“HOLD UP.” A deep throaty voice shouted above the crowd as it’s owner made their way through the growing crowd. Brooke watched as a small brunette elbows her way into the circle, whipping people with her long hair as she passes them.

“I left y’all hoes for two minutes. Two frickin’ minutes.” Vanjie groaned as she stared at the pair of loud mouths. The surrounding crowd began to fan away, disappointed that their show was now over, however, Brooke was even more intrigued as the small firecracker took control.

Just as the last of the group thinned out, Vanjie shot her hand out to grab another girl who had been attempting to silently escape.

“Hold up there Mary, I left you in charge of them, I told y’all they can’t be left alone and now look what’s happened!” Vanjie scolded, still holding on to A’Keria’s jacket as she, along with the other two girls, hung her head in shame.

“Those girls are nothing but trouble, I tell you.” Nina stated as she shook her head, effectively snapping Brooke’s attention away from the group. Realising that both Plastique and Nina were watching her, she quickly wiped the smile from her face and let out a small cough in an attempt to drag their attention away from the awe stricken expression she had been exhibiting.

“Aren’t they?” She agrees as a buzzing from her phone is heard, causing her to glance down at the notification she just received. Illy disguising a smile playing on her lips, she looked up at her friends. “Listen, I’ll text you girls later, but I really need to get going.”

“Oh of course! Would you like a lift?” Plastique offered as she jiggled her car keys in her direction, a wide grin on her face. Smiling at her friend’s thoughtfulness, Brooke thanked her graciously before pulling them both into a hug.

“I’m fine, I don’t mind the walk.”

Glancing over Nina’s shoulder, she could see that Vanjie had finished scolding the rest of her friend group and was waving goodbye to them as she walked towards the car park around the corner.  

“Okay… if you’re sure…” said Plastique as she moved back out of the embrace, earning a nod from Brooke in return.

The group waved goodbye as they headed in opposite directions, with Plastique and Nina both heading towards the car park and Brooke heading for the nearest campus exit.

As she neared the exit, Brooke quickly glanced around for anyone she recognised to ensure that she wasn’t being watched, or worse, followed before she continued on, walking briskly for several minutes down the bare path. The Canadian had purposefully chosen that exit as it wasn’t used often.

Continuing down the path at a slower pace, Brooke heard a car approaching and turned around, watching as a beat up economy car jolted to a stop on the road beside her.

“You gettin’ in, mama?” a distinctive voice boomed from inside the car before the window was even a quarter of the way down, causing a wide smile to grace the blonde’s lips.

Opening the passenger door, Brooke lowered herself into the seat, before turning to look at her companion who was grinning back at her. She let her eyes run appreciatively across the small woman’s face as she took in her painted red lips and fluttering eyelashes.

“You look really goo-” She began but lost all train of thought as Vanjie pushed herself across the car’s control console and her lips are on hers before she can finish her breath, a hand snaking up around the back of her head and tangling in her hair as she pulls her closer.

The kiss was over far too soon in Brooke’s opinion, as Vanessa pulled back to grin wildly, her eyes shining brightly from beneath her thick lashes.

“I missed you.” Vanessa whispered as if she was admitting it for the first time and they hadn’t been secretly dating for several months now, causing Brooke to let out a breathy laugh.

“We’ve been in the same classes all day, how could you possibly have missed me?” she questions as she rolls her eyes, simultaneously reaching over to place her hand over Vanessa’s and unconsciously draw shapes along her palm.

“It’s not the same…” Vanessa responds as she frowns and looks away from Brooke.

Using the hand that’s already on Vanessa’s, she interlaces their fingers and uses her other arm to tilt her head back towards Brooke.

“I know Nessa, but we’re together now and we have the whole weekend, yeah?”

The brunette’s lips quirk up in a small smile at the use of the nickname Brooke gave her and she nods briefly.

“You’re right, as usual.” She says in response before gesturing to Brooke to put her seat belt on. “Now, where you wanna go mama?”

|| - X - ||

Finally, the paired decided on a small local diner on the other side of town, partially due to it not being very well known to their friends but mostly because Vanessa swore by their milkshakes and Brooke knew that if Vanessa, the biggest sweet tooth in existence, thought highly enough of them to call them her favourite then they must be good.

As usual, Vanessa chatters away on the drive to the diner, describing in great detail what happened throughout the day, as if Brooke hadn’t been sitting across the room for the most part, competing the story with hand gestures as her voice grows increasingly louder throughout the story.

Brooke is happy to just sit back and watch, drinking her in, as she muses about how enthusiastic Vanessa is about everything. She’s convinced that she could listen to Vanessa talk forever and never grow tired of it, but watching her is even more fun. The facial expressions she pulls without realising she’s doing so are Brooke’s favourite, as Vanessa is known to wear her emotions on her sleeve and Brooke loves watching as her nose crinkles and her eyes flutter close when she giggles.

She’s the warmest and softest person that Brooke knows, and the most fiercest and unapologetically brutal due to how straight forward she could be. Brooke loved how she refuses to sugar-coat anything, yet she still maintains an aura of innocence and elegance.

She is herself; and she is proud.

And Brooke is unworthy.

By the time Brooke snaps out of her thinking, they have arrived at the diner and Vanessa has already unbuckled her seat belt and is looking over at her with a quirked eyebrow.

“Bitch, you gotta stop oferani-, overanu-, overthinking.” Vanessa states as she shakes her head, causing Brooke to inwardly cringe at her unnecessary use of profanity.

“You’re right, sorry.” Brooke quickly apologises and then curses herself silently under her breath. Vanessa is always telling her off for over-apologising and she already knows she is going to do it again, almost hearing the words before Vanessa has the chance to voice them.

“You don’t gotta apologise, baby. Just relax, it’s just us.” Vanessa sweetly replies without realising that, that was half of the problem.

Brooke attempted to suppress her anxious thoughts and let a small smile build on her lips as she met Vanessa’s eyes. Quickly removing her seat belt, she attempts to lighten the mood.

“Come on then, let’s go.”

“Yes! Let’s get those cookies mama!” Vanessa excitedly replies as she jumps out of the car and albeit skips towards the diner’s entrance, only just remembering to stop at the door to wait for Brooke, who simply shakes her head in disbelief at her girlfriend’s response.

The two manage to find a booth in the far corner of the brightly lit diner and Brooke quickly takes note of how quiet it is. It’s small but cheery, a little old-fashioned - just like the rest of the town.

A sweet-looking waitress came over and presented the girls with a menu each, asking if they would like anything to drink before she left them alone again. As much as Brooke tried not to, she couldn’t help but wonder what the woman was thinking.

Did she know? Were they being obvious?

Biting her lip, Brooke attempts to focus on the laminated menu in front of her, the words blurring together into a pile. Just when she thought she was going to pass out from the stress and anxiety, a hand stretched across the table and reached out, grabbing a hold of her wrist and moving to  intertwine their fingers.

Vanessa carried on reading the menu, seemingly oblivious despite her actions, and without glancing up she begins to speak. “I’mma get the cookies and cream milkshake… do you think it comes with a cookie? Oh, I hope so!” she mused, as she continued pretending to read the menu. “What about you?”

Sighing in relief, Brooke knew that with Vanessa by her side, she could conquer anything.

“I…” She began, quickly glancing down at her menu. “I think I’ll get the same.” she replies, scanning the menu with not much thought.

“Oh!” Vanessa exclaims excitedly. “Why don’ we get one a them sharing ones? Yanno, with the two straws?” She says, or shouts as she gets more excited. “Sounds real romantic.” She finishes, as she looks up at Brooke while wiggling her eyebrows, earning a giggle from the blonde.

“Sounds perfect.”

It didn’t take long for the two to order and receive their shared milkshake.

The two sipped in comfortable silence for a few moments, before Brooke pulled back to smile at Vanessa.

“This is really good!” She says as she leans forward to take another sip, continuing to keep eye contact with Vanessa as she realises how close they are, their foreheads almost touching.

“Really?” Vanessa questions excitedly. “I’m glad you like it!”

“Yeah. We should come here again, for another date.” She replies as the two continue to work their way through their milkshake.

Vanessa agrees.

“What excuse did you use this time?” Vanessa questions, as she wiggles her eyebrows and before Brooke can reply, she’s already listing scenarios.

“I need to wash my pet goldfish-”

Brooke scowls playfully as Vanessa erupts into a mass of foghorn-esque giggles.

“I don’t have a goldfish, that would hardly work.” She replies as she rolls her eyes.

“Hmmm.” Vanessa pouts. “You should get one.” she replies, causing Brooke to join in on her laughter.

“Wait! Was it the good ol’ I need to reorganise my closet?”

“Nessa! I told you not to ever bring that up again!”

“I can’t believe they fell for that, you surely are something else mama.”

The couple are so lost in their discussion that they do not acknowledge it when the diner’s door opens and a familiar face walks in.

“Brooke?” A voice sounded from the front of the diner, causing the pair’s conversation to come to a halt as they look around.

“Plastique!” Brooke exclaims, almost choking in shock at the sight of her friend; who had already started walking towards their table.

“What are you doing here? I  thought you were at that youth club thing!” Plastique questioned, before taking notice of Vanessa sitting across from Brooke and Brooke watches as she observes the singular milkshake, her eyes widening at the two straws.

Brooke’s head spins as she tries to think of an excuse, her eyes fleeting between Vanessa and Plastique.

“We were, we left early.” Vanessa lied as she turns away from Brooke, giving Plastique her full attention.

“Oh right! I didn’t know you went Vanjie, Brooke’s never mentioned it.”

Brooke quickly snapped into action, joining in on the conversation.

“She doesn’t, today was her first day. We came here to discuss it.” She explained, hoping that her expressions were neutral and she wasn’t giving anything away.

“Oh! Well, I hope you don’t mind if I join you, do you?” Plastique questioned, as she began to slide in beside Brooke, not even waiting for an answer as she continues on with small talk about the menu.

Out of the corner of her eye, Brooke can see that Vanjie is feeling uncomfortable and wishes she could do something about it.

“Hey Plastique, how long have you been coming here?” Brooke enquiries, in an attempt to free Vanjie but it only made the situation worse.

“I haven’t been before, actually, one of my cousins got a part time job across the road and comes in for lunch with the rest of the workers - he says it’s good so I had to try it out.” Plastique explains before glancing between her companions. “What about you two? Who’s idea was it to come here?”

“Mine.” Vanessa replied dryly before putting on a fake smile. “My mum used to work here and the girls and I would stop in for a free meal.”

Brooke tried not to look surprised, as she hadn’t known that about her girlfriend. She had just assumed that it was something to do with her friend group.

“Awk isn’t that lovely Brooke?” Plastique questioned as she bumped her shoulder against Brooke’s, earning a nod in response. “We should bring Nina here sometime, for a girls date.” she muses, before looking over at Vanessa.

“Maybe you and the others would like to join us too?” She questions eagerly, oblivious to the look shared between Vanessa and Brooke.

“Yeah! I’m sure they would love that!” Vanessa exclaims, and Plastique is back to making small talk and asking questions.

It doesn’t take long for Plastique to get her order and she eats while she talks to the pair, discussing school projects and hobbies.

“Hey! You’re coming to my party this weekend, right?” Plastique questions as she stares intensely at Vanessa.

“Um, well… I’ll need to see if the girls are goin’.”

Plastique nods in response, satisfied with the smaller girl’s answer.

The trio sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before Plastique bounces back into action with another question directed at Vanessa.

“Oh Vanjie! Did Brooke tell you about what happened to her car?”

Brooke tries not to roll her eyes as Vanessa replies. Although Plastique didn’t know, Vanessa had been with Brooke when she’d gotten the flat tire and had helped her arrange to get it fixed.

As Plastique continues to speak, Vanessa catches Brooke’s eye from across the table and discreetly attempts to signal that she has had enough and wants to leave. As Brooke attempts to check her watch, Plastique catches her.

“Oh gosh, i’m sorry. I must be keeping you both back, especially you Brooke. I know how your parents can get.” As she speaks, Plastique smiles apologetically before rising out of her chair and grabbing her abandoned coat and bag which she had placed down earlier.

“Yes, you’re right. It’s getting pretty late isn’t it?” Brooke replied, as she copied Plastique’s movements and began to get up.

“It was good talkin’ to you.” Vanessa said to Plastique before turning to Brooke. “You ready?”

“You too!” Plastique responded, and just as Brooke was finishing nodding back at Vanessa and started to approach her, Plastique raised a hand and placed it on her shoulder quickly.

“Wait! Would it not be easier for you to come with me? After all, Vanjie lives on the other side of town…” Plastique reasoned, and while Brooke knew her logic was correct - She also knew that Vanessa wasn’t going to be pleased at not only getting interrupted and lying during their date, but also because they would now be unable to say goodbye properly.

“Ahh, yeah- yeah. That’s a great idea… I’ll see you later Ne-Vanjie?” Brooke responded, hoping that Plastique didn’t catch note of the accidental tongue slip, as she attempted to catch her girlfriend’s eyes.

“Yeah… I guess.” Was Vanessa’s cold response, as she quickly turned around and walked out of the diner without a second glance.

“You know, I’ve never actually had a proper conversation with her before. She isn’t anywhere near as loud or obnoxious as she’s made out to be.” Plastique mused as they walked to the car together, after leaving the diner.

“Hmm? Yeah, she’s pretty nice.” Brooke quietly responded, hoping that the conversation would shift to another topic.

Much to Brooke’s chagrin, Vanessa had seemed to be imprinted into Plastique’s brain, as if there wasn’t an uncomfortable silence filling the car, then the constant praising of Vanessa ‘Vanjie’ Mateo was.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like talking about her girlfriend, but she was scared of saying too much and causing Plastique to become suspicious, especially when Plastique was already trying to think of guys to pair her up with at the party.

Brooke could just see the shocked expression on Plastique’s face if she knew that Vanessa wasn’t into guys…

Fortunately for Brooke, she lived relatively close by and it only took several minutes before she was able to escape the metal hell that was Plastique’s car, especially with her driving.

After a quick thank you and a wave goodbye, Brooke sped into her house, fumbling with the key in the lock several times in her haste to escape to her room. With a quick check of the living room, Brooke sighed in relief as her parents were nowhere to be seen.

‘They must have already headed up to bed.’ She thinks to herself, as she makes her way up the stairs and into her room. Plugging her phone in to be charged, Brooke quickly sends Vanessa a text message.

Brooke [23:43]

Hey Nessa, sorry about Plastique… I’ll make it up you tomorrow, yeah? Xo

    - Message Delivered.

She watches, momentarily, as the message is delivered before letting out a sigh. Hopefully Vanessa wouldn’t be too annoyed at her, it wasn’t exactly her fault that Plastique had unexpectedly ruined their date - yet she knew that on some level, it was.

While she waited for Vanessa’s reply, she busied herself around her room, completing her nightly routines and getting changed into her pajamas before settling into bed and picking up the phone to check, once more, for a notification.

When Brooke was only met with her lock screen reading ‘00:12’, she quickly unlocked her phone and opened up the chat logs.

Brooke [23:43]

Hey Nessa, sorry about Plastique… I’ll make it up you tomorrow, yeah? Xo

    - Read [23:45]

Frowning, she types out a good night message, before reconsidering and backspacing repeatedly to delete the message. Maybe it would be best if she left it until the morning to text Vanessa again.

[bellveela]

Luna slapped her again, leaving a burning red mark on her cheek.

"Who is this, bitch?"

"M-Master," Padma's voice turned into a whimpering whisper. "D-Daddy. Daddy has control over my pussy. I w-want him. I want his control. Please."

Luna held her tightly by the face, mocking her cheek and ear. "Do you feel clever now, bitch?"

"No. No. I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid."

From this display, this dominance of one beautiful slave over another, Harry found it harder than he knew how to handle.

Right in the middle was a bed. He tore the door off its hinges and tossed Padma into the cabin and onto the bed. Luna circled around them both, tauntingly holding Padma's arms.

"Please, Daddy," Padma pleaded, spreading her legs wide for him. "I'll do anything you say. Please, make me regret being so stupid."

He would do it.

Harry decided to do what was necessary.

Beneath him, an eighteen-year-old freshly baked Hogwarts student and his fiercest rival intimately competed with their mouths for the thick, heavy space of his constantly hard cock. Luna and Padma, respectively, did everything to please their Master.

"It's so big," Padma murmured in delight, probably for the hundredth time. Her plump lips were engaged at the tip of his cock. "I can't believe how big it is."

"That's because you're a stupid bitch." Luna pushed her aside and slurped Harry down, showing Padma how it's done.

Both girls were naked. Their clothes were in tatters. One thing they seemed to agree on was the regret of not being in sexy outfits for their Master; both were extremely distraught that they didn't have high heels to wear for him. Everything else, however, seemed to be an excuse for Luna to find fault in Padma, and Harry only fueled it.

It was the morning after the day he woke up to find that nearly every woman he encountered in his town wanted to sexually serve him. The day started with his much younger sister-in-law giving him a blowjob, directed by his wife. At work, his secretary served up her barely legal stepdaughter on a sexual platter, strongly encouraging the girl she raised to be a "good girl" and receive skullfucking from an aroused Harry. When he sought help from his closest friend, Hermione, she seduced him into fucking her brains out.

That was the first piece of the puzzle. Up until this point, it felt like he had been transported into some bizarre pornographic film with an obsession with training barely legal teenagers to serve his cock. But Hermione clearly dominated the men who came to her office, even going so far as to legally consider them women's slaves, divorcing them in completely frivolous arrangements. Strangest of all, she had a special tattoo just above her pussy.

Continue reading this chapter

[polowac]

@horrormaestro ; modern starter !!

MONSTROSITIES HAVE ALWAYS PLAYED BY strict rules, the kinds written into bestiaries some long centuries ago without need for change.  where there is death, things that eat abandoned corpses creep from the earth.  if jealousy, wrath or envy swallow a home then spirits will coalesce around the very bones of every wall.  and that bitch, misery -- well she festers some of the fiercest, cruelest creatures into horrifying reality.  dancing in the pathways of serial killers and mad men to keep darkness around the trail they walked for many decades after.  it clings to the skin and soaks into geralt’s lungs without needing to focus his senses.  an ethereal stench from a spiteful presence.  

a goddamn oil slick every traveler must wade through when entering or leaving this tiny town in colorado, and geralt always finds himself doubting that he’ll ever wash the sensation away.  not, at least, when it leaks into his car and even the small bed and breakfast that he’s come to stop at.  half for rest.  half for information.  and that’s the real prickling in geralt’s spine, the lack of signage or contract to bring him here, wherever here is.  just tedium and instinct pulling on the direction he drove for hour after hour.  

he can’t remember when the path started to feel as nerve wracking as it does right.  never used to have geralt holding tight onto the strap of his bag or checking that roach is still curled around his shoulders, never mind the constant flick of her tail against a cheek.  he exhales hard as he rings the bell on the b&b’s front desk.  tiny thing, probably empty nesters looking to keep themselves busy.  the entire parlor turned lobby stinks to him of lavender and over processed vanilla.  

geralt’s teeth grit.  the urge to hit that bell again growing.  nerves don’t suit a witcher, and it’s that thought alone which keeps him from the desk, turning heel instead to take in every attached room.  dining.  kitchen, no doubt locked behind that windowed door.  and living room with a woman in it, made of hair so dark and skin so pale that he could have almost mistaken her for yennefer.  enough still to bring geralt pause, taking in the careful way everything about floral wallpaper and ancient couches seemed to rebel against her very presence.  or perhaps it was the presence itself that caught him in the first place.  

he leans in the doorway, arms crossing loosely.  small talk doesn’t belong to witchers either, and yet -- “don’t suppose you’re the owner here.”

[cerneala]

For the writing prompt, a Meliodas and Zeldris bonding oneshot :)

I don’t know if this is what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy it!

“Fuck!”

Zeldris whirls around, sword already in hand, ready to show whatever creatures are attacking that they are fools for thinking that the sons of the Demon King could ever be caught off guard. What he sees freezes him in place. Meliodas, leader of the Ten Commandments, fiercest warrior in their army, the one who sends goddesses fleeing and makes even the strongest cower in fear, is currently knee deep in the mud. As Zeldris watches, still thunderstruck, Meliodas lifts one boot out with a loud squelch; or he tries to, but apparently the mud is thick enough that it clings to his shoe, and the leather remains firmly planted in the puddle, leaving Meliodas’s foot bare and Meliodas himself glowering at it as though he’s been betrayed.

The mark on his forehead pulses with his anger, and, when he leans down to fish his shoe out of the muck, it flares wildly. Zeldris, in spite of himself, feels laughter bubbling in his chest at the sight of his elder brother laid low by something as common as wet dirt, and he has to bite his cheek to keep it at bay when Meliodas, finally victorious in retrieving his boot, makes a face of utter contempt as he flips it over so mud drains out of it in large chunks. There is something to the sight of him, lips pursed and shoulders tense and grip of his boot tight enough to crinkle that leather that finally sets Zeldris off, and he presses a hand to his mouth as his lips curl into a wide grin.

“What the fuck,” Meliodas says slowly, fixing him with a cold glare, “are you laughing at?”

If it weren’t for the hilarity of the situation, Zeldris might have been afraid. This is the one he idolizes, the golden son, and he is covered in mud and still sinking slowly. “Do you need some help, brother?” he asks in response, and his mirth only grows when Meliodas’s brows furrow.

“No,” he replies shortly. Zeldris watches as he frees his other foot — more successfully this time, as the boot stays on — before climbing clear of the muck and surveying the damage. His pants below the knees are caked with filth, and it’s splattered onto his hands and shirt from where he had grabbed his lost boot, and he’s missing a shoe.

Meliodas studies himself critically before sighing. “Fuck,” he says again, though less vehemently this time.

“What I want to know,” Zeldris drawls, eyebrow quirking, “is how you managed to get into that situation in the first place. Were you planning to take a mud bath?”

The only response he gets is a glare, then a slow smirk as Meliodas tilts his head. Zeldris barely has time to shout as darkness whips around his brother’s body, flinging the most of the muck, rather conveniently, in his direction. He gapes at his own clothing, now filthy, before jerking his head up, intending to ask what the hell Meliodas was thinking, only to pause mid-breath, his shout trailing off into a harsh exhale. Meliodas is, for the first time that Zeldris can truly remember, laughing. Not a chuckle or a sneer of cold amusement, a true, deep laugh that rings of joy and mirth and all of the things Meliodas isn’t supposed to feel. His brother’s head is thrown back and his shoulders shake as peal after peal of laughter rings from his throat, and all Zeldris can do is stare.

“This isn’t funny,” he mutters, sounding more petulant than he should. “We’re supposed to be hunting that band of goddesses, not acting like children.” Meliodas only laughs harder, leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees, and Zeldris snaps, “Are you quite finished?”

“No,” Meliodas chortles. “No, hang on. Let me …” When he straightens up, he is grinning widely, and Zeldris’s hearts twist uncomfortably. This is the brother he had always wanted, one he could both look up to and spend time not dedicated to battle with, the one that sometimes peeks out from behind the hard mask Meliodas wears as if to taunt him with what could have been. Meliodas shakes his head. “You should have seen your face.”

“The goddesses —” Zeldris begins, but Meliodas cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Aren’t going anywhere. I ordered the Commandments to form a line at the edge of the forest, so those feathered bastards won’t get far.” Meliodas resumes walking, at a much more leisurely pace than before, and Zeldris, after a moment’s internal debate, follows him. “They’re either very brave or very stupid to be caught so close to our territory after what they did.”

At this, Zeldris perks up. He’d heard second-hand accounts of the slaughter of what used to be the outpost of Asmora, yet he himself had been on another front when the goddesses had laid siege to the town, wiping out their defenses before spiriting the civilians away for execution. And the Demon King had kept him so busy with treating with the vampires and hunting down dissenters that he’d had little time to speak to anyone at court about it. Despite his curiosity, however, he wisely says nothing. It’s rare for Meliodas to be forthcoming with information, and any questions are liable to end the conversation before it begins.

“Gowther is still furious. He’s started working on a new doll to take the old one’s place. From what I’ve heard, it’s supposed to look like his lover.” Meliodas’s lips twitch into a frown. “Kalmadios thinks that she was the target, a way to draw out the Ten Commandments so the Angel of Death,” he says the title with so much scorn that Zeldris winces internally, “could get rid of them.”

Unable to help himself, Zeldris asks, “What do you think?”

Meliodas turns his head to fix him with a cool stare, one that Zeldris does his best to hold. Then he shrugs. “They were too cowardly to fight us properly and went after civilians since they make easy targets. Having that Archangel do the dirty work after was probably their bitch queen’s idea.” Meliodas pauses, a cruel smirk on his face. “Or maybe he gets off on it.”

Zeldris nods slowly. The animosity between Meliodas and the Archangel named Mael is well-known throughout the Clans due to the fact that the two of them are nearly equal in power and Meliodas can never seem to kill him, no matter how often they meet on the battlefield. Part of him has always wondered if there is an unspoken agreement between the two, something to do with Meliodas’s odd, unexplained absences during his downtime, but he’s never found a reason to ask. Still, he has no doubt that soon Meliodas will rid the world of Mael, and the Demon Clan will finally be able to bring an end to the Goddess Clan. And then … The memory of blonde hair and garnet eyes flashes in his mind, and he forces himself to shove it to the side.

“How are the vampires?” Meliodas asks abruptly, and Zeldris’s stride falters for a moment as he turns his head to stare at him. Meliodas returns his stare with a look of amusement. “I heard that the king assigned you to keep an eye on them.”

The knowing gleam in Meliodas’s eye brings the realization that he knows about Gelda, and Zeldris, mind racing and wondering what he will do, says, “Uncivilized. Izraf is a fool and his court is no better. His council, if it could even be called such, speaks only of the glory and power they once had, and they bicker so incessantly that even minor details can take days to be solved.”

“They’re parasites,” Meliodas says with the same tone he might use to discuss the weather. “They act as parasites do, scrabbling for scraps.” Zeldris bristles, but Meliodas continues blithely, “Is that why you’ve started wearing perfume? To keep their stench off of you?”

His hearts hammer as he tries, and fails, to come up with a response that will explain that. Meliodas studies the forest in front of them, his black eyes cool and assessing as they continue to track the goddesses — the blood mingled in the dirt explains why beings who prefer the open sky have limited themselves to the tedious trek through the trees — yet underneath his aloof demeanor is a palpable tension that has the hair on Zeldris’s neck standing on end. Is this why Meliodas had ordered him to come on the hunt? To interrogate him and, should his loyalties prove to be elsewhere, execute him? He rests his hand on the pommel of his sword, wary of his brother’s motives.

Meliodas glances at him, lips quirking faintly. “Don’t start what you can’t finish, little brother.”

“I could say the same to you,” Zeldris replies, voice remarkably steady given the circumstances.

“I’m not the one holding my sword,” Meliodas says dryly. Zeldris studies him for a long moment before slowly dropping his hand, and Meliodas nods approvingly. “Smart. If you must know, I don’t give a damn who you sleep with. And if someone has caught your eye, they must be either a really good fuck or extraordinary.”

“They are.” Zeldris turns his attention to the sky. “Remarkable. Not a ‘good fuck,’ not that it matters.”

Meliodas nods. The next words out his mouth startle Zeldris so severely that he stops moving entirely, left only to stare at his brother’s retreating back until his brain processes what he’s heard. “I’m happy for you.”

[eerythingisshaka]

Wakanda Got Y’all Pt. 2

[Black Panther x Insecure Mashup]

Word Count: 2.7K

Part 1

Issa stands in front of the mirror.  Her hair still fresh and moisturized, skin glowing, outfit popping (as much as it can for business).  She takes a deep breath to commence her final touches.

Listen here, sweetie, ain’t nobody got time for this.

You either gonna be down, or you can walk, sis.

Bald head, bad ass bitches don’t phase me.

They don’t know nothin bout this Westside, we brazy!

Don’t be expecting no rose petals for ya feet.

Soothe your sole with this heat and hard ass concrete.

But once this meeting done, don’t run off, thinkin we through.

I’m tryna see, daddy, what the fuck up with you?

Call me Hogwarts Express, cuz I need 9 ¾

Your cousin too, my pussy been on Hoarders.

“Issa!!  If you don’t bring your ass on!”  Molly calls out from the living room.  Issa snaps out of her rap, cursing under her breath.

“Shit, why you so damn loud!”  Issa takes out her lippie stick, applying a subtle nude color to her lips.

“Bitch, I heard your whole damn concert in there.  Quit wastin’ time.   This baddie turns back into a potato with a quickness.”  Molly polishes off her pregame drink and digs through her purse for her compact.

“Aight, granny.   How I look?”  Issa does a spin.  Navy blazer, hip hugging pencil skirt, with a white crop top that covers her midsection just enough.

Molly leans back, giving a look of surprised approval.  “Mk!  I see you!  Perfect business to play outfit.  Cuz that blazer can come off, roll that crop top up a little, and pull that skirt down a touch, and you clubbin!”

Issa sticks her hip out, pointing to Molly, “You know it, bitch!  Aight, let me pour a drink and we can be out.”

Molly looks at her phone, waving Issa down, “Uh uh, we ain’t got the time, come on.  Kellie waiting for us.”

“Wait, what?  Why is Kellie there?”  Issa asks.

“She down there for happy hour with her co-workers, so she glad we can water down the whiteness around her.”  Molly says as she opens the front door.

Making their way to the bar, Issa gets a text from Frieda.  “Ok, Molly, I’ll see you in a bit.  Frieda already has a table with the guys.”

Molly nods, “Ok.  I’ll hang with Kellie then you just give me the cue for me to stumble on y’all with the ‘Oh my God!  I didn’t know you’d be here!’ shit.”  She says with the emphasis of a hair flip.

Issa sucks her teeth, “Girl calm yourself down.  I got you.”  

Issa sees Frieda with T’Challa and Erik, waving excitedly, “Hey Issa!  You made it!”  

T’Challa stands up, still wearing his trademark long coats with embellishments.  “Thank you for coming.  You look lovely.”

Issa smiles a little too goofily, “No, you look really great.  They have a coat check, you know where we came in at?”

Erik laughs into his drink, “I told yo ass you overdressed.  Wassup Is?”  He leans back, flashing his golds, chain gleaming.

Issa sits down.  “I didn’t mean it like that, I just-”

T’Challa waves his hands, “You don’t have to apologize.  I know you meant well.  I have not caught up with American fashion outside of jeans and hoodies yet.”

Erik chimes in, “And you just askin for a stop and frisk with that one, cuz.”

“We actually had a talk on police involvement with minorities in the community.”  Frieda says smiling.

Erik turns to her glaring, “And how’d that work out for ya?”

Frieda smirks tucking a hair behind her ear, “I say it went pretty good.  The dialogue got a little rowdy but I feel like the police chief really heard our concerns and-”

“‘Our’?  Oh, they your concerns too, Farrah?”  Erik asks.  T’Challa places a hand on Erik’s shoulder to signal him to ease up.

Issa continues to clean up Frieda’s words, “She means the concerns of We Got Y’all as a program that helps minorities in a majority of the time.  And though the talk was thought provoking and engaging, it still has yet to be seen where police reform has begun.  A kid just got arrested last week.  A guy got shot before that and was charged for assaulting the officer when his camera so happened to be off; and the cop was never charged.  So…”

Erik nods, waving down a bartender.  “That’s real.  Whatchu drinkin, need to lighten your mood up.”

T’Challa looks at Erik sideways, “Issa is talking about things that you never stop talking about.  What is the problem with that?”

“Listen, are we trying to promote police reform or teach these kids to read and give em some food?  Like, we hella left right now.”  Erik says tossing his toothpick.

Frieda nods, “Erik is right.  That is why I brought some samples of our programs brochures listing our services to keep us on track and you all can add or ask about what is there!”  The waiter comes over to get a drink orders for the table.

Over at the bar Molly is sipping, waiting for Kellie to break from her crowd and join her.

“Can I get beer please, whatever is on tap is fine.”  A deep voice orders beside her.

Molly looks up and sees a tall, thick, chocolate shake towering at the bar.   She looks away, eyes bucking with excitement as she smooths her hair and sits up a little straighter and turning her body towards him a little and accidentally bumping his leg.

“Oh, sorry about that.”  Molly looks at him expectantly.

He looks down at his leg and back at Molly, “It’s alright.  No harm done.”

Molly twists in her seat smirking, “None at all.  No harm in hearing that voice speak again either.”

He nods looking smug, “Ahh, you are good, I see you.”

Molly offers a hand, “Good to be seen.  I’m Molly.”

“I am M’Baku.”  His hand envelopes hers completely.  

She shivers at the thought of them gripping her up but keeps it cute.  “Ohhh, you are M’Baku!  My friend Issa is supposed to be meeting two guys here for work.  They mentioned you.”

M’Baku’s beer arrives and he sits down.  “Right.  I was drug along to just experience some of the town more than for business.  Though I support T’Challa’s cause.”

Molly nods to seem intrigued, “Yeah, of course.  And Issa is lucky to be working with an international monarch such as himself to help the community here.  It’s crazy.”

M’Baku chuckles to himself.  “A monarch, like he is the only one.”

Molly furrows her brow.  “Well, he is King of, what is it, Wakanda right?”

M’Baku sips his drink breathing deeply in thought.  “Technically yes.  It just takes some getting used to since he is so new to it.  He has a lot to learn, and I think I have something to do with that.”

“Are you one of his secondhand men?  I don’t know what you would call it, but you help him?”  Molly plays with her drink.

M’Baku clears his throat, putting more bass in his tone, “Second to no one,I lead my own people and represent them in order for Wakanda to keep some humanity within itself for its diverse tribal set.  It can get lost on them that we are not all the same, thinking the same.”

Molly warms up to M’Baku’s critical thinking, “That is a good point.  Wow, you are so-”

“GIRL!  Those white folks would NOT let me GO!  Being the only Black always makes you the life of the party and shit I’m tired.”

Molly looks to her other side to see Kellie ordering from the bartender.  “They wear you out, Kels?”

“Somehow I am more tired from boredom than I ever been having fun.  What gives with that?” Kellie’s drink comes through and she downs it.  M’Baku sits up, leaning to look over at Kellie.  “How are you this evening, Miss?”

Molly clears her throat, “Oh, Kellie, this is M’Baku.  He is one of Issa’s work associates colleagues.”

Kellie pauses giving M’Baku the once over, “Where you from, sounding like the leader of a free world I want to move to?”

M’Baku flashes a smile bigger than Molly has seen yet. “I am from Wakanda.  Have you heard of it?”

Kellie screws her face up shaking her head, “Mm-mm.  I ain’t ready for the Motherland yet.  I can’t handle them many marriage proposals at once.  I know y’all like ya women plump to pump.”

Molly’s eyes widen as she turns to Kellie embarrassed.  “Kellie??  What the fuck.  Stop throwing around stereotypes like that!”  Molly turns to apologize to MBaku but he is gone.  Looking back to Kellie, she sees he is next to her now.

“Stereotypes aside, you are not far from the truth with me, umhle.”  M’Baku takes Kellie’s hand, eyes smoldering as he kisses it.

Kellie clutches her pearls turning to Molly, “See what the hell I’m talking about?  These curves are catnip!  Ugh, my curse, but oh well!  M’Baku, was it?  Do you have a social standing where you are from?”

M’Baku stands a little taller with pride, “I am leader of the Jabari tribe.  Wakanda’s fiercest warrior, unmatched.”

Kellie grabs her purse, “Ok, Baku, come on.  Let’s walk and talk about this a little bit.  Molly, it’s been fun.  This cat bout to try and get stuck up a tree.”

Molly sits there. Mouth agape, “Kellie!  You not really-”

Kellie looks back at her, arm hooked with M’Baku’s who is looking down at her with admiration, “I can, and I will until this trunk is demolished.  M’Baku, you don’t mind a little forestry on your women, right?”

As they walk out, Molly is at the bar alone yet again as she orders another drink.  This broken pussy phase just won’t leave her.

Issa looks back at the bar to see Molly chilling by herself and gets concerned.  The meeting with everyone is looking like it’s about done.

Frieda collects her brochures satisfied.  “We covered quite a bit today.  Thanks T’Challa for the budgeting advice and Erik we will consider some of your program ideas.  I’ll try my best for the gun range trip but I can’t make any promises.”

Erik shrugs, “As long as it’s you talking to another you, I can’t see how it’ll fail.  Just don’t say it was my idea and you got this Felicity.”

Frieda smiles, “It’s Frieda but thank you for the vote of confidence.  Issa I’m going to call it a night, are you all sticking around or….”

Issa looks to them and to Molly, “Yeah, we probably won’t be long but I think we’ll be here.”

Frieda says her goodbyes leaving Issa with T’Challa and Erik.  T’Challa looks at her with warmth, stirred by the alcohol, whereas Erik is sitting back wide legged just waiting for an opportunity.

“Hey um, Erik, can you get order me something from the bar?  I haven’t seen a waiter in forever.”  Issa asks trying to get alone time with T’Challa.

Erik plays with another toothpick in his mouth, “You got legs don’t you?”

Seeing his smirk, Issa busts an eye roll.  T’Challa says, “And people think I am the heathen for where I am from.   I could get it for you, if you would like?”  As T’Challa goes to stand, Issa puts a hand on T’Challa’s, shook by her own actions, “No!  Uhhh.  It’s fine.”  As T’Challa sits back Issa texts Molly the SOS to come through.  Molly comes over and sits with a depressed plop.  “Hey, y’all.”

Erik takes notice of Molly.  “Who are you?  This ya girl, Is?  Steppin out on me?”

Issa clicks her tongue, “I’m not gay, Erik.  This is Molly, my best friend.  What’s wrong with you, girl?”

Molly shrugs, “I thought I had something to lockdown with one of they little friends.”  Molly waves her hand lazily toward T’Challa and Erik.  “But Kellie swooped in on him.”

T’Challa looked at Molly incredulously.  “M’Baku came out of his shell that fast, eh?”

Molly snaps her fingers, “Soon as she sat down he was enraptured.”

Erik looks at Molly, leaning back and to the side to check her out under the table. “I understand the feelin.  I never introduced myself, I’m Erik.”  

Molly takes his hand hesitantly, “Nice to meet you.  So, y’all cousins but don’t sound like you all from the same area.”

Erik shakes his head slowly, “Nah we ain’t, princess.”

Molly leans over to Issa, “Princess?  He forget my name already?”

T’Challa cuts in, “That is just his signature name for girls he is interested in.  It usually just annoys them at first mention.”  He says while side-eyeing Erik.  “Whereas I can actually make someone a Princess, so it is much more appealing.”  T’Challa takes his drink looking at Issa, who looks away nervously at the implication.

Erik sucks his teeth, “Aight, enough with that royal bullshit.  I just know what a future Queen looks like when I see one.  Respectable and shit, what you do for a living?”

Molly wags a finger, “Nah nigga, list your credentials first.”

Erik sits up chin pointed toward Molly, “Aight then.  Naval Academy grad, double majoring in Physics and Mechanical Engineering. Special Ops in the Navy, taking a break from that though now.”

All Molly heard was ‘engineer’ and benefits.  “You know what, as a lawyer, it couldn’t hurt for you to have my number in case of anything.”  She digs out her business card, writing her cell on the back of it.

Erik takes it, kissing it. “Got you.  Never know.”

T’Challa turns to Issa, “Can I walk you out?  Unless you were staying, I’m about to head out.”

Issa shakes her head emphatically, “No!  Not at all.  Molly’s my ride though so….”  Issa looks to Molly.  Molly give Issa a look pointing her head at Erik.  Issa looks at the card she gave Erik and a stern look.  Molly  rolls her eyes getting up.  “Uhhh yeah, long day at the office tomorrow so…”

Erik comes around to her side of the table as she stands up.  “Ain’t nothin wrong with work hard.  Builds character...and a sweat.”

Molly gets a full view of Eriks physique and height and has to fight back a Joker smile.  “You know that’s what I am known for; my stamina.  No matter how big the job, I don’t give up until it is done!”

T’Challa looks between Erik and Molly confused.  Issa takes notice.  “All right!  Hard workers in the house, woooo!  Let’s go!”

Walking outside, the group makes it to the car; Erik and Molly on the driver’s side, Issa and T’Challa on the other.

“So, let me thank you once again for taking on this task with me.  I feel less like a fish out of water with you here.”  T’Challa says sincerely.

Issa looks at her feet, “No problem!  You guys are giving me fresh ideas and of course the funding is mad important so it couldn’t grow without input!”

T’Challa smiles, the apples of his cheeks pooping out so definitively.  Issa can’t help but smile back.  “Until next time Miss Issa.”  T’Challa holds out his hand shaking hers and holding it firmly.  Issa feels electric with his hand in hers as they look at each other, not sure how to move on.

“Aye!  Y’all done, let’s go!”  Erik is walking down the parking lot as he yells for T’Challa.  

Breaking the trance T’Challa waves goodbye to Issa and Molly.

Issa gets in the car, where Molly airs out her thoughts.  “Now you never said, they were that damn fine.”

Issa shrugs trying to sound cool.  “What am I supposed to say?  I don’t need a workplace harassment claim on my hands.”

Molly smiles shaking her head as she peels out the lot, “I still can’t believe Kellie swooped in on guy like that.  I thought we were connecting!  But Erik cool too.  He seem a little headstrong but-”

“Long as that HEAD strong, you good, right?  That’s what you were gonna say?”

Molly looks at her stone faced.  “And I did just start a new vitamin regimen to boost my levels.  I’m just missing one…”

“HE WANNA GIVE ME THAT VITAMIN D!”  they say in unison.

Part 3

RagTag

@hbicprettyprincess @kimianostalgia @afraiddreamingandloving @chaneajoyyy @myfavemarvelfanfics

Other Works

King Kil’mawalls  

T’akia

Some Weeks Are Better Than Others

Commencement Day

Song of Stevens

The Coffee Prince

N’Jadaka’s Helpful Hands

If I Could Do It All Again

#SundaySweat

[lipsyncforyourlife]

LOGO’S “NEWNOWNEXT AWARDS” FIRED UP THE FIERCE IN LOS ANGELES

Facebook Share

Tweet

Paula Abdul Received the Honorary “Always Next, Forever Now Icon” Award

 Niecy Nash and Cheyenne Jackson Co-Hosted Logo’s Third Annual

“NewNowNext Awards 2010” Premiering Thursday, June 17, 2010 at 10/9c

  LOS ANGELES, CA June 9, 2010 – Logo’s third annual “NewNowNext Awards” made its mark for the first time in Los Angeles last night with high caliber celebrities and breakthrough stars-in-the-making, proving Logo is at the forefront of pop culture. Co-hosted by Niecy Nash and Cheyenne Jackson, the show premieres Thursday, June 17 at 10/9C on Logo. The show featured appearances including Paula Abdul, Mena Suvari, Kylie Minogue, Carmen Electra, Kelly Osbourne, Johnny Weir, DJ Jesus Luz and musical performances by Little Boots, Shontelle, Dan Black and Agnes.

The “NewNowNext Awards 2010” rocked hot spot the Edison in downtown Los Angeles last night. Cheyenne Jackson kicked off the evening with a jazzy crooner parodying award show openings as co-host Nash crashed the stage declaring, “Take it all in, bitches!”

In-house DJ Jesus Luz kept the audience moving to the beats of tomorrow as RuPaul, the world’s most famous drag queen and host of the hit series “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” announced the evening’s first award: the “OMFG Internet Award,” honoring what’s sure to be the next, online viral hit.

The evening’s momentum continued as actress Aisha Tyler introduced the “Most Addictive Reality Star” award followed by actress Carmen Electra introducing Little Boots, the evening’s first musical act. Little Boots proved her talent was far from “little” with her larger-than-life performance of the groundbreaking hits “Remedy” and “New in Town.”

Actor/Comedian Alec Mapa brought the laughs as he landed a giant smooch on Cheyenne Jackson during his introduction of the “Brink of Fame: Comic” award. Up next, actress Candis Cayne revealed the “Best Future Feature,” honoring the most anticipated film blockbuster of the season.

The music performances continued as soulful Shontelle took to the stage for her network television debut with the passionate ballad, “Impossible.” The awards got “friggin’ awesome” as New Jersey’s most infamous pair, Snooki and Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino, joined Ross Matthews to introduce the “Cause You’re Hot” award.

A trio of awards was up next as Actress Erin Cummings of the steamy series “Spartacus: Blood and Sand” presented the “Brink of Fame: Actor,” honoring the red carpet darlings of tomorrow. Janice Dickinson served her fiercest runway walk as she introduced the most delicious award of the evening: “Best New Indulgence.”  Nominees ranging from the “splits” from “RuPaul’s Drag Race” to the infamous cast of “Jersey Shore” made this award a morsel of guilty pleasure. Finally, actor Ryan McPartlin and actress Kristin Cavallari presented “Best Show You’re Not Watching” award.

Dan Black’s U.S. television debut of his hit “Symphony” was up next, offering a genre-blurring and melodic performance that proved to be revolutionary.

The “queen of all pop culture media,” Perez Hilton, introduced the penultimate award of the evening, “Always Next, Forever Now Icon” award, to award-winning dancer/choreographer, dynamic performer, multi-platinum recording artist and popular entertainment personality, Paula Abdul. Paula offered the inspirational advice to her gay fans, “There are no losers…just winners who give up a little too soon. Keep it going.”

The evening wrapped with singer Kelly Osbourne and Johnny Weir presenting the final honor: “Brink of Fame: Music Artist” award, followed by an electrifying performance of “Release Me” by songstress Agnes in her network television debut.

The results will be revealed Thursday, June 17, 2010 during the airing of the “NewNowNext Awards” 2010.

About Logo:

Logo is the world’s leading ad-supported cable, satellite, online, mobile and digital entertainment network from MTV Networks, a unit of Viacom (NYSE: VIA, VIA.B) for gays and lesbians, their families and friends. Launched in 2005, Logo’s cable channel is in more than 46 million homes across the United States and is complemented by a federation of online properties, including LogoTV.com, TripOutGayTravel.com, AfterEllen.com, AfterElton.com, 365Gay.com, DowneLink.com and NewNowNext.com. Logo’s content is distributed across all leading download-to-own, streaming and mobile services. The most influential brand for the most influential audience, Logo provides a mix of original and acquired entertainment as well as news, social networking and community building that are authentic, smart, fun, entertaining, and inclusive. Logo joins MTV Networks’ roster of popular and highly targeted brands which include MTV, Comedy Central, VH1 and Spike TV.

[hopeishappinessff]

Chapter 64

**A/N: I’m not a fan of this chapter... just thought ya’ll should know that. But, enjoy!**

He explained everything to me. Everything that I wasn’t sure about and even everything that I was already well aware of… he clarified it all and I was extremely thankful for that.  There was a story behind this story, is what he told me… and it was more complicated than I could have ever imagined. It all started with his childhood, more specifically with his father, Clinton… the man that he absolutely loathed more than any one thing or person in this world. The man who abused his mother, attempted to abuse his one and only son, and even went as far as attempting to molest him. And that man harbored a secret that no one knew of and no one would have even guessed existed. He put on a façade for them… an act to prove that he was a feared man. He portrayed himself to be a man who allowed no one and nothing to stop him from getting what and where he wanted. Apparently, he wanted it all and he painted a picture of his perfect life that excluded one of his families… the family that included a son who struggled through life and barely made it to the age of nineteen with only the divine strength of his mother. Clinton was a selfish bastard, Chris explained, and it was surprising that he even took time from his precious schedule to care for at least one of his offspring… Trey. Trey was the son that existed about a year before Chris was even conceived. He was the son that Clinton consciously chose to bond with more than he ever would with little ole’ Chris. Because of his blatant love for one son and not the other, Clinton quickly began to neglect Chris’s entire existence and his boyhood.  He would come in late in the evenings, wreak havoc on the Brown household then make his way back to his beloved family on the other side of town. Ms. Joyce was well aware of his doing’s… she’d put two and two together and figured out that he was living an entirely different life outside of their home. She stayed complacent in that relationship though. She knew better than to act on her emotions after the discovery of his infidelities and feared triggering his deadly alter ego, Eze. As horrid as it sounds, I didn’t blame her for unwillingly allowing the abuse to continue… she did what she felt best to keep her kids protected and at that time, that was perhaps the smartest thing she could have done. She knew if she would have left abruptly and without a plan, Eze would have hunted her down and done more damage than just the abuse she endured behind the closed doors of their home. I asked Chris why he thought his dad resented him so much and he said it was simple… Eze couldn’t cope with the fact that at the tender age of eleven, Chris used the intelligence that he was blessed with to turn down the opportunity to become a pawn in his game. Sure, he was obviously young and naive at the time, but if he didn’t know anything else he knew that daddy’s job required scary weapons, lots of blood, drugs, and death and that all terrified him.  When he denied his dad’s offer, Eze became infuriated by the thought of his own son ‘disrespecting his command.’ And that was the night, Chris explained, that his dad got extremely inebriated and nearly took his innocence while they were alone in the house together. He never told me exactly how he managed to get himself out of that situation and I didn’t push for him to elaborate… I figured it was a sensitive topic for him and I didn’t want to pressure him into divulging more details than necessary.  He said that once Ms. Joyce uprooted them from Tappahannock and moved them all to Richmond, he was left tainted with the memories from his hometown. I’d always wondered why the very first time I met him, he seemed so… weird. He was far from a typical nine-year-old boy in my eyes and that was all thanks to what they’d left behind in Tappahannock.  It didn’t even feel like we’d been lying in my hospital bed for more than three hours, but we’d done just that and I was quite surprised none of the nurses came in to remind Chris that visitors hours were over. He was currently laid up under me, revealing some of his deepest memories just to satisfy my curiosity. I told him that he didn’t have to bring up anymore of those painful topics, but he insisted he was tired of keeping the truth from me and that I needed to know everything there was to know about him… whether it hurt him to tell me or not.  “I never thought that nigga would show face again and I was completely content with that,” He explained, “I ain’t want him around my mama or my sister, so when he decided to commit all his fucking time to that bitch ass nigga Trey and his mom, I really couldn’t have been happier. Then one day, he randomly popped the fuck up in my life. He somehow managed to get ahold of my contact information and he called me, asking if I was ready to commit to the life I was destined to live. I told him to fuck off, but I never told him that I was already knee deep in it… doing shit my way without his guidance. I mean, he was never there for me… ever. I knew what he wanted more than anything was the bank I was bringing in.”  “I’d made a name for myself at a young age. I was the up and coming young’in in the game and I knew what the fuck I was doing and I was doing it all on my own. I was most notorious for my temper and everybody in the city knew not to fuck with me ‘cause I ain’t tolerate shit, even at the age of sixteen. I kept my shit in order, I was never big headed about it and I always took my job very serious. I guess Eze realized Trey wasn't making moves as quick as me and that’s why he showed up smack in the middle of my prime.”  “So, the day he popped up at mama’s house, I was beyond fucking furious. He’d already tried to get at me the night we went out for New Year’s Eve, but I wasn’t having it then and I let him know quick that he needed to back the fuck off and leave me to mines. He wouldn’t listen though… the nigga was adamant as fuck. He wanted an in with me and that was that. He got bold then and that’s why I was so pissed that day. I specifically told him to stay the fuck away from my family and to have him defy me as a man and step foot on my mother’s property… that was disrespectful beyond reason.”  “After that day, I guess Eze has just had it out for me. He couldn’t cope with the fact that his youngest son was living a life he could only dream of and because I’d gained so much more respect from some of the most notorious niggas out here, oh… Eze wasn’t having that. Now, I’m not tryna jump the gun here, but I’m almost positive that old ass nigga and his dumb ass son had a whole lot to do with my accident. They knew if they could take me out, they could claim my territory and they would be set.”  Closing my eyes and resting the palm of my right hand against his chest, I noted that the pace of his heartbeat was much quicker than usual. I rubbed my hand in a circular motion against his chest to soothe him and tilted my head back, opening my eyes to look up at him.  “Chris,” I whispered, prompting him to snap out of his sudden daze and glance down at me, “Can I ask you something?” “Anything babe.” He murmured. “Kin… where did that come from?” With a sigh, he slithered the hand he had resting against my side down and clutched tightly at my waist “It came about because of my temper. When I was like fourteen or fifteen, this black ass African guy I was working for at the time told me I was the fiercest seller he’d ever had. I remember him having a strong ass accent and he told me he was from Durban, South Africa. He said that in the part of the country he was from, the men were all known to be strong and brave warriors who feared no one and nothing, so that’s where Akin, or Kin, came from. It means warrior, hero, brave man… everything that he said I was.”  I snuggled my face as close to his hardened chest as I could and smiled… whoever that man was, he was definitely a smart man. Chris was every bit of the warrior that man said he was, plus more. Besides his charm, personality, and handsomely good looks… his protective and masculine nature was what drew me to him. He was such a strong young man who took nothing from no one and always knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it.  I honestly believed Chris and I were the epitome of ‘opposites attract.’. He’d always been such a tough guy, never afraid to face whatever daunting tasks were thrown at him no matter how difficult, and he was always willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. I, on the other hand, was a timid and reserved girl throughout my childhood and early teenage years. I was always so afraid to live life to the fullest like Chris and I never really held myself to high standards. I’d always been calm by nature, while Chris was like a raging tornado… he was a bottle of anger who, when triggered just the right way, could easily be your worst nightmare.  So many people have told me that I seem to be the only person who has the ability to gain any sort of control over Chris when his temper flares, but I would always relate it back to our contradicting attitudes… if you take a person who’s as bold, angry, and tough as Chris and mesh them together with someone as quiet, reserved, and gentle as I… the outcome is exactly what Chris and I have created. I’ve come to realize that we have a love-hate relationship. Some days, I will honestly despise the very ground that he walks on, but at the end of the day I still, and will always, love him unconditionally.  With a sudden thought flashing through my mind, my face immediately contorted into a frown and I pushed away from Chris’s chest, groaning softly as I did. He turned his head to look at me and before he could reach out and stop me from moving away from him, I gripped the side rail of my bed and maneuvered myself into a comfortable upright position on my knees beside him.  Licking my dry lips and tilting my head to one side, I stared at him with a frown that only continued to deepen the longer I stared “I want you to be honest…” “About what?” He asked as he too sat up in an upright position.  “All the stuff Trey said… about you not loving me or caring about me… is it true?” I asked calmly, though my heart raced a mile a minute. He almost immediately froze in place and stared at me, which worried me because I hadn’t expected him to react that way. He sighed deeply and dropped his head with a chuckle, running a hand over his tired face “No, it’s not true. Nothing he said was true… never has been and never will be. Lemme explain something to you…” He said, leaning forward with his feet flat against the surface of the bed and his knees bent, allowing his elbows to rest against them “I love you Sy’Diyah… more than life itself. Before you, I’m confident I ain’t know nothing about love. It goes so deep with you that I almost don’t know how I was surviving before I met you. It’s hard to explain… and it don’t really even make much sense, but I just know I can’t live without you. I know I can’t. That nigga Trey may have been interested in you, liked you, whatever… but from the moment I met you, it’s like you were it and I knew you were it. Almost like how those wolves found love in that Twilight movie. I felt like I imprinted on you and I just can’t be with anyone else. Like I told you before, even when you weren’t mine… you were mine and I wasn’t gonna let anyone else have you.”  “But why would he say all those things Chris? Why would he lie about something like that?” I could feel my throat and chest tightening and I knew it was only a matter of time before the waterworks began.  “Because he knew that this was exactly what would happen… you would doubt me. He found some type of twisted humor in coming between me and you because he knew you meant the world to me. Everything he said to you was like a last-ditch effort to keep you away from me. I had already made it loud and clear who you were and how much you meant to me… I even made it clear to Gabby.” I shut my eyes for a moment and released a deep sigh. Though he’d explained to me before that he’d made it known to Gabby how he felt about me, it was still weird to hear.  “Listen Hope,” He started, swiping his tongue out over his plump pink lips as his eyes penetrated me, “I know we young and I know there are people who think we just naive and caught up in some type of puppy love and we just lusting over each other. People think we don’t know what love is and that we just infatuated with the thought of a relationship or whatever. But if I don’t know nothing else, I know how I feel about you. I knew from the moment I met you and I know right now, in this very moment, that I love you and care about you more than the air that I breathe. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life… ever. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you were gonna be mine, no questions asked.” My focus remained on my twiddling thumbs as he professed his feelings for me and I couldn't control the smirk itching at my lips. Eventually I raised my gaze to meet his hazel eyed one in and I giggled softly. “You were just that confident that I would want to be with you, huh?” I muttered. He nodded quickly and returned the smile “Yep. I knew from the moment you damn near tripped over the steps on your aunt’s porch the very first time we met, when you caught me staring at you.” I couldn’t help but full out laugh as I thought back to the day we first met and the moment that I had indeed nearly fell flat on my face trying to stare right back at his handsome little face.  “But what I’m tryna say is, all that shit that nigga was talking… the bullshit lies he was throwing at you about me not caring about you… that was all his last attempt to salvage anything with you.” He explained with a sudden stone expression.  “His last attempt?” I repeated, searching for clarification. He cast his gaze off past my head and nodded with that same hard expression “Yeah… that jealous muhfucka almost took me out, but what shocked me was when I realized the bullet that hit me wasn’t even his. I almost went down without looking up to see who fired off at me, but I caught a glimpse… and it was Eze.” I held my breath and stared at him, waiting patiently for him to continue “I don’t know where he came from or how he even knew we were there, but he showed up and he was the last person I saw before I completely blacked out. I remember seeing him standing back behind Daynah in the shadows, but for some reason I guess I just thought I was imagining shit and didn’t even bother moving out the way when he raised his gun to me,” He paused for a moment and shook his head at the memory, “I was wearing my vest though, so I wasn’t concerned with him shooting me. He wasn’t aiming at me though… I swear it didn’t look like it. That nigga Trey was over by you and Jaylen ‘cause he tried to hop out the way after the shot was fired. The only thing I remember after that was everything going black, but I remember that I could still hear. I heard another gunshot, loud and clear… then a body hit the floor. When I finally opened my eyes, Trey was down and he wasn’t moving.” My gaze remained locked on my hands… I was too shocked to say anything. Chris didn’t bother to finish that half of the story and I didn’t wanna just assume he was saying that Eze shot Trey, but there was no other way around it and I didn't want to push him to tell me.  “But all that don’t even matter though. Wherever he is, dead, paralyzed, whatever… he’s not gonna fuck with you anymore, okay.” He assured me. I nodded as I took in the confidence lacing his words and crawled back over to him. He still had his feet planted flat on the surface of the bed with his legs parted, so I took the opportunity to move his arms away from his knees and I climbed right between his legs. I could see him smirking down at me as I gently pressed a hand against his chest, forcing him to lay back against the pillows so I could cuddle against him.  “And last but not least… please, please, please for the love of me… do not ever break up with me, whether it be because somebody threatened you to do it or just because you want to… just don’t. You would never understand what it felt like the day you walked in my house, told me that it was over, then walked out. You left with my heart in the palm of your hand that day and my soul floated right out the door behind you. I’ve never felt that type of pain in my life and I never, ever wanna feel it again.” He muttered as he slipped a hand through my wild hair and caressed my scalp. I smiled, snuggling my face as close as I could to his chest and tucked my hands beneath his shirt, resting them against his warm skin.  “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I massaged the tips of my fingers into his sides, “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.” I could feel him puffing his chest out, pushing me forward a bit to get my attention. I tilted my head back and peered up at him as he gazed down at me lovingly “You know what I would call us?”  He continued to ease his fingers through my hair and I stared up at his perfectly chiseled face as I awaited his next statement “The black Romeo and Juliet. Only we gotta worry about everyone but our families tryna break us up.”  I stared at the handsome smirk on his face for a while then burst into a fit of giggles. I continued to laugh as I readjusted myself so that I was on my side, still lying on his chest with one hand beneath his shirt clutching at his side and the other directly over his heart.  “Well I love you, my Romeo.” I said. He chuckled softly and leaned forward to press his lips against my forehead “I love you too, Juliet.” 

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Hello, Angels

Title: Hello, Angels (Halloween Special)

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Reader

Word Count: 1386

Warnings: Extremely brief mention of BDSM (nothing explicit), and leather clothing.

A/N: This literally came to me out of nowhere. It may or may not be funny, but I hope you like in none the less :) Happy Halloween everyone!!

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

--

It was Halloween and pure luck seemed to be on your side as you beat all three members of “Team Free Will” at a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors! Beating Dean was taking candy from a baby, Cass was an idiot when it came to the game (and most games,) and Sam… Sam was one cocky son of a bitch, that you were enjoying shoving all his arrogant words down his throat.

“A deal is a deal, boys. We’re dressing up for Halloween and we’re going out to that block party in town!” You sang. “And I’ve already got our costumes ready!” You cheered, hopping around merrily.  

“You suck!” Dean spat at Sam. “How could you lose to her? I thought you were the ‘King’ of Rock, Paper, Scissors?”

“Shut up Dean, you ALWAYS lose at Rock, Paper, Scissors!” Sam retorted.

“I don’t understand what the problem is here,” Cass interrupted, completely oblivious to anything that was happening.

“Cass, shut up would you?” Dean hissed in frustration.

“You don’t have to be mean,” Cass retorted, sending Dean a sassy glance.

Dean was about to make a response when you came out with bags for each of them. Cass gladly accepted the bag given to him, Sam rolled his eyes before snatching the bag away from your hands, and Dean gave you his fiercest bitch face as you chucked the bag at his chest, shoving him back a step.

“Change up boys! You can thank me later!” You beamed before skipping off to your room to get ready.

You quickly got changed, excited to see the guys in the matching costumes you got them. You thought it was a clever and funny idea. This may be the best or the worst group costume you’ve come up with yet, but either way, you thought it was awesome.

A grin spread across your fiery red lips as you looked yourself in the mirror. Your chest was tightly wrapped up in a leather bralette that showed off your cleavage perfectly and skin-tight leather skinny jeans, which left no room for imagination. You finished your outfit with healed black boots. You made your way back towards the war room with another huge bag in hand. As you neared the common room, you could hear grumbling and yelling from your favorite boys.

“What is this S&M crap?!” You heard Dean yell. “What are we, Chippendale dancers?!”

“I don’t know Dean; this is all Y/N’s idea!” Sam retorted. “And at least you have a jacket!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean rolled his eyes, having them land on Castiel. “Cass, why do you get to dress normal?” Dean whined.

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” Sam agreed with his brother.

Dean spotted you as you entered the room. His eyes widened at the sight of you, drinking in the view. His eyes roamed your leather clad body for longer than he had intended to before he cleared his throat.  

“Y/N, what the h-hell is th-this?!” Dean stuttered, pointing to his outfit. “A-and what the hell you got Sammy wearing?” He shifted his eye over to Sam and then Cass. “And how come Cass gets to dress like that?! Is he even in a costume?” Dean continued his game of 20 questions, attempting to ignore the fact that he very much loved your costume.

Dean was clothed in fitted leather pants that showed off his ass, a black blazer that didn’t button up, exposing his chest and delicious torso, and black combat boots. Sam wore loose leather pants, and a simple leather choker – his upper half exposed for all the world to admire. He also wore black combat boots. Cass on the other hand was in a white dress shirt, tucked into black slacks, with brown tinted aviators, and black dress shoes.

“Wow, Y/N, you look rather provocative, but none the less, very appealing.” You took Cass’s words as a compliment.

Sam just gawked at you, his eyes shamelessly scanning over your curves and bare skin. You couldn’t help but giggle at their reactions. It was flattering that three of the best looking men you have ever known were actually affected by you.

“Thanks Cass,” you grinned. “But I’ve got one more prop for us,” you mentioned, wiggling your eyebrows at the Winchester sibling.

“Is it a chain,” the words couldn’t slip out of Dean’s lips fast enough; his downstairs brain thinking quicker than his upstairs brain.

You, Sam, and Cass turned your attentions towards Dean who flinched slightly in embarrassment. He cleared his throat before nodding his head at the bag in your hands, while everyone continued to give Dean both amused and confused looks.

“What is wrong with you?” Sam questioned, shaking his head.

“What’s in the bag?” He demanded to know, his body fidgety in annoyance.

“OH! It’s what’s going make this entire costume come together,” you chirped, digging your hands into the back and pulling out white, feathery, wings with clear elastic bands to put your arms through.

“Bird wings?” Dean growled in aggravation.

“I think they’re angel wings, Dean,” Sam clarified.

“Correct!” You beamed.

“Those are rather small to be angel wings,” Cass announced.

“I know Cass, it’s just a costume,” you told him.

“Okay, so we’re wearing leather and angel wings, what the hell are we supposed to be, strippers?” Dean questioned with frustration.

“Charlie’s Angels!” You shouted in disbelief. If anyone was going to understand right away, you thought it would have been Dean, but you were clearly mistaken.

“Angel’s don’t wear leather, and there is no angel in heaven named Charlie, although there are a lot of souls who have similar n–” Cass was cut off.

“Cass I know! Stop being so literal!” You whined at the angel. “Charlie’s Angels is a movie,” you tried to clarify. “We’re going as Charlie’s Angels, or Castiel’s Angel as I like to call it,” you chuckled at your own joke. You weren’t surprised when the guys didn’t find it funny, but you did and that was all that mattered.

“That isn’t funny, nor it it clever,” Sam grumbled.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad,” you pouted, flashing your best puppy dog eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean cried. “Let’s just get this over with,” he growled, slipping on the angel wings even if he hated the idea.

“This is so lame,” Sam complained, struggling to get the wings on. “No one is going to get it.”

“I find this quite interesting,” Cass inputted. “I have never dressed up for Halloween, although this doesn’t seem any different than what I usually wear.”

“Lucky you,” Dean groaned.

You slipped on your wings and headed out the door and into the Impala with the guys. You were excited to show off your group costume to everyone at the party.

When you arrived, the celebration was in full swing. Music filled the air, people were dancing, drinking, playing games. It was more that what you were expecting. The guys also seemed to be impressed.

“Hey! Charlie’s Angels! Very sexy,” a tall blonde, with long legs, dressed in a slutty nurse’s outfit came by, obviously checking the guys out, including Cass.

You pouted as you took note of the guy’s drooling over her. “Maybe this was a lame idea,” you mumbled out loud.

“What are you talking about, these are awesome costumes,” Dean grinned, winking at the blonde.

“Yeah, awesome,” Sam echoed.

“I agree,” Cass added.

As they were ogling over the slutty nurse, you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you whipped around, you were met with a tall, and attractive guy dressed up as the sexiest pirate you’ve ever seen.

“Charlie’s Angels, nice,” he started. “Does this angel want to dance with a lowlife pirate?” He asked. You giggled.

“I’d love t–”

“Whoa buddy, what do you think you’re doing?” Dean interrupted. You jumped in surprised when Dean popped out of no where.

“Yeah, who do you think you are?” Sam barged in.

“I do not approve,” Cass joined.

“Easy, I was just asking her if she wanted to dance,” the cute pirate defended.

“She doesn’t want to dance with you. She’s already got us for that,” Dean barked.

Once again, you couldn’t help the laugh that spilled passed your lips. “Sorry, Mr. Cute Pirate.” This was going to be an interesting night.

Feedback Is Appreciated!

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by BBC News (@bbcnews) on Jun 18, 2020 at 6:02am PDT

Love her... She wears a casa around town in Cuba to remind others to stay home and go out when only necessary, make as few trips as possible and combine all your needs into one trip out.

It says "I'm at home .... "

It also says to me... "Im as safe outside as I am inside my home" it remains not to be in terror of the pandemic. Be comfortable about what the COVID and dangers of racism is out and about. Shit is gonna hit the fan. Be comfortable with it. Its gonna happen and there's no stopping it.

Idk who she is or that she expects her messages to go that far but for me they do.

Cops nervous to go to work. Be as comfortable out as you are in. No one is in those police cars they burn. Take out your personal belongings, be prepared to leave your car if necessary to be burnt.

If you are police all you have to do is Surrender.

You. We.

Its about equality.

The message is: you expect us to surrender to you. So surrender to Me. Give me your name and number. Tell me that you will cooperate and care about me.

Tell me you won't plant drugs on me. Tell me i killed someone of another race that i didn't simply because of the color i am

Treat me fair and with equality to truth and justice.

That is all a police needs to do. Surrender the truth. You ask. You demand. You punish until you find the truth. Make sure it is truth.

Surrender. Feel as we feel. Feel as hundreds of thousands of millions black men near a nervous white woman. But give us just the truth and we will obey your demands 0f "step back" and "move back"

Outside. In the public street. It is our home. Civilians and professionals. Treat us as you would in your home. Because we are all in our home we all share when we are in public.

Love.

That is what this blessed Cuban Woman says to me.

The police merely need to surrender.

The Atlanta PD. I ordered the CIA to inflict terror upon you. Go outside and your police car is in flames. Feet from your unwet down house. I asked them, i told them i demanded. Go fuck them up. They want to tell the public they don't care? Tell them NO ONE CARES ABOUT THEM.

3 have been set on fire. And 17 have been stolen. They decided as a team. On their own. To protect the town's assets in Zone 5. And to steal the police cars. You're not using them you're not qualified. You're unwilling. So they stole them instead. They arent afraid. They will fuck you up and kick your fucking asses. But they respect the Mayor. They're not afraid of her. They aren't afraid of anyone. They know in 15 minutes I'll have them on their way to a private island that is protected by the fiercest military in the world And they will lay around in paradise and no one will ever touch them for legal abuse. But they do respect her.

So they will repair the damage done by hotwiring the police cars and make a key via a locksmith skill for the patrol cars. And they will wait for her to fill them with a qualified officer. Because they respect her. They love Her.

I didn't not love nor respect her But my anger was very very high. And i thought fuck them, I'll buy her whatever police fleets she wants. Cause i want them to suffer.

But they're all "Sabrina, we get you baby but we know something else that's just a bit better for you and we're gonna do that. Its gonna fuck them all up real good and send the message you're saying. But we're gonna be a little bit more chill."

That's love. That's family. They confiscated evidence of these police officers possible wrong doing. A federal judge could and would sign off on the "theft" of those police cars. But we escalated and bypassed.

According to Tree. There's only 5 willing to go back to work. But they're also arrogant fools that tree doesn't even like. But he said leave them be. Let them work.

Leave them be. Bees sting once then die

Leave them alone is another story.

I get it. It was a justified homocide. I feel the same. They talked for over 40 minutes then the cop said i think you're still wasted. Take a breathalyzer. He was still too drunk.

At the same time he was just saying he would just walk. His sister lived down the road. He lied about being lost so he could say mistaken identity. Because he was there to check out for his kidnapping.

Because he knew, the cop, he was a kidnapper -- he felt it unsafe to let him free in the streets.

Watch the video, the entire 40 plus minutes. You will see exactly why I do not allow my CIA to engage in verbal communication.

This is exactly why I tell them "just kill at the first moment you can"

I protect my men and women of "Enforced Protection"

Now add to the knowledge of who he is and look at his necklace. It's designed to look like an undercover police badge in a leather case "to protect it from scratches"

You're on the street. He's drunk and angry. He kidnapps you with chloroform and ties you up, bound and gagged. He's a big man. He can do 23 (it's been proven Bec he's done it) people off the street in less than an hour. Call a van for pick up.

It was a justified homocide.

So you're a cop. And you know this. And You refuse to go to work. You know who and what he was and why he wasn't allowed to be free in the streets.

Then you refuse to continue protecting innocent citizens.

That makes me mad. You're no better than Rayshard Brooks. You're fucking letting it happen. Id fucking punch you dead in the face. All 25 of you.

Why don't you just start going out and kidnapping yourself?!? Huh?!?! You ain't doing shit But letting it happen!!!!

Prove it is justified if you're so fucking angry you wanna quit. Fucking prove it was justified and help them two arrested by doing it yourself.

Prove the justice by killing those human traffickers you know are. Kill them all in your uniform.

Instead you decide to be a civilian and serve war from your couch. Except youre not. You're nothing but a COWARD.

Just sitting on the couch. You're too scared to stand up to the District Attorney or make a meeting with the Mayor. You cower and you hide and you become what you're supposed to protect zone 5 from.

Because you refuse to protect. Every single domestic violence act. Every fire. Every lost child. Every single crime. You put that shit in your heart not that you couldn't get there in time. Not that you couldn't protect them because lies. BUT THAT YOU YOURSELF DID IT. You put that in your heart the moment you called in sick.

You yourself did it. Because people will start doing more bull shit. Because they know THERE IS NO COPS IN ZONE 5. THE PURGE IS ON.

Every single mother fuckera calling in coward crybaby committed those crimes.

It wasn't encouragement. You're guilty because it occurred. Its all on you. Its all your fault.

Next girl slapped by her husband. Or raped by her brother. That's the fault of Zone 5. They did it. May as well pulled out their own dick and got the pleasure. Too.

Its not a gimmick. Its the truth.

When APD of Albuquerque, New Mexico walked out with wooden batons. They too did every bearing by a police officer in a riot. That is who i saw. That is who i know.

I was beat as a little girl. 5 years old. And 7. For going and asking for help. "Sir could you help me..." I never got to finish because i was beat down.

Left bloody in the streets. Even raped and no one did anything. The cops did both..

So yeah FUCK YOU SURRENDER TO OUR DEMANDS OR YOU WILL SUFFER.

Im suing the City of Albuquerque in 6 different law suits. Including trauma i received when viewing a video of the APD in their riot gear with batons.

Not even protecting the statue!!!! But attacking innocent people in the streets while CRIMES AGIANST PUBLIC PROPERTY WITH VIOLENT STRENGTH was being committed feet away.

Personal trauma and suffering.

I still suffering.

I won't sue APD of Atlanta. Because I took away their police cars which will be returned to the city's mayor. She seems to have common sense and decency.

We already have plans for those two fired. To help them. Don't think I'm stupid because I get relaxed.

But the rest of that shit? You work for 911? 911 been calling. Over and over.

CIA does NOT ANSWER 911. That's not their job. We don't work for you. You dont call in sick and get paid to be a little bitch and order us around to do your job while you're being paid doing nothing and my CIA don't get money from the police. That's what APD expected.

THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT HUMAN TRAFFICKING IS.

Mi Casa. Su Casa. Treat it as it is.