#horse worm paste

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

What about horse worm paste did republicans think would keep them safe?

This is old hat, we're nearly 3 years into the pandemic, but I'll still never get over the fact that a sizeable (or at the very least, disproportionately vocal) chunk of the population decided that injecting themselves with barnyard medicine like a Roald Dahl story was the best way not to catch super pneumonia. Is there some ridiculous adventure game logic that I'm missing? Is horse worm paste so much as tangentially related to lung diseases? Is there any reason whatsoever that an erratic train of thought might connect far flung dots in a way that could potentially make some form of logical sense? What reason did they think horse worm paste would protect them?

To me, this sounds like, "If you don't want to catch chickenpox, give yourself an enema with tick/flea repellent," or "the best way to avoid salmonella is to squirt fish tank water conditioner into your ears."

Make it make sense.

[petanimalcare123]

Understanding Horse Worming Paste

Horse worming paste is an essential part of equine health care, designed to control and eliminate internal parasites that can affect horses. These parasites, which include various types of worms such as roundworms, tapeworms, and strongyles, can lead to significant health problems if left untreated. Worm infestations can cause weight loss, colic, poor coat condition, and general unthriftiness in horses. Using a worming paste is an effective method to ensure your horse remains healthy and parasite-free.

Importance of Regular Worming

Maintaining the health and wellbeing of your horse requires routine worming. Natural pasture grasing exposes horses to the eggs and larvae of parasitic organisms. These parasites have the ability to proliferate and cause serious health problems if not regularly wormed. You can stop the life cycle of these parasites and stop them from doing damage by implementing a worming plan.

Worming horses should be done every 6 to 12 weeks, depending on their age, health, and pasture management. Particularly young horses are more prone to parasites and can need more regular treatment. Frequent counts of faecal eggs can be used to gauge the extent of the infestation and provide guidance on when and what kind of worming product to use.

Choosing the Right Worming Paste

Choosing the right worming paste is essential to keeping parasites under control in your horse. Different active components are used in the formulation of worming pastes, each of which targets a particular kind of parasite. Fenbendazole, pyrantel, moxidectin, and ivermectin are examples of common active compounds. It is imperative that you use a paste that targets the particular parasites that are in your horse's surroundings.

Rotating worming products is a recommended practice to prevent resistance. Parasites can develop resistance to a particular wormer if it is used repeatedly over time. By alternating between different active ingredients, you can reduce the risk of resistance and ensure more effective parasite control.

Think about your horse's age, known allergies, and the particular parasites you want to kill when selecting a worming paste. A veterinarian's advice can assist you in making an informed choice that is specific to your horse's requirements.

How to Administer Horse Worming Paste

Correctly administering horse worming paste guarantees that your equine gets the entire dosage and optimises the medication's efficacy. The actions to take are as follows:

Preparation: Read the instructions on the worming paste packaging carefully. Ensure you know your horse's weight to administer the correct dose.

Restraint: Safely restrain your horse to prevent movement during administration. Having someone assist you can be helpful.

Administration: Insert the syringe into the corner of the horse’s mouth, aiming for the back of the tongue. Depress the plunger to release the paste, ensuring the horse swallows it.

Aftercare: Observe your horse for a few minutes to ensure they do not spit out the paste. Offer a treat or a handful of feed to encourage swallowing if necessary.

Regularly clean the syringe after each use and store the worming paste according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Conclusion

An essential part of keeping your horse healthy and vibrant is horse worming paste. You may effectively treat and prevent parasitic infections by choosing the appropriate product, administering it correctly, and realising the significance of regular worming. A healthy, contented horse can be attained with routine veterinary consultations and strict adherence to a worming regimen customised for your horse's unique requirements. Adhering to appropriate worming procedures not only shields your horse from possible health problems but also enhances its general health and lifespan.

[hxney-lemcn]

Ancient Love — deity! Malleus Draconia x gn! reader

summery: you find yourself blessed by the God of magic, don't worry dear reader, he'll take care of you.

tw: mentions of death (he speculates about you growing old). Power dynamics once again (he is a literal god so...yeah).

a/n: another deity au fic. Idk why it's got me in its grasp at the moment. Once again, props to @ceruleancattail for the au. also ik in Greek myths gods 'loving' humans was a reoccurring thing but still, for the sake of this fic its taboo.

wc: 0.8k

Master List

This was wrong. Taboo. So why did it feel so right? Why did you long for him to run his fingers through your hair, or to caress your skin? Why did he give in to your wishes? Malleus, the long forgotten deity of magic and creatures of the night has graced your being time and time again. You had stumbled upon his shrine, the old temple crumbling from centuries of decay and erosion. The gargoyles had stared down on you as you entered, depictions of dragons, reptiles and bats laid upon a mural with the paint cracking. Unlike most ancient temples that are uprooted, this one held no statue, only an altar with melted candles, bones, and decaying papers that you could barely make out. 

Malleus showed himself after your third visit. You hadn’t come to worship him, but instead to document the crumbling temple and what his old followers had come to him for. So what better than to speak to the God himself? At first he didn’t tell you who he was, not wanting you to look at him differently or to scare you off. You always had an inkling of doubt about the mysterious man. He had come from seemingly nowhere and his attire was outdated, not to mention he talked more regal than what you were used to, but you didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Malleus on the other hand found you quite amusing. You were unknowingly speaking to one of the most powerful ancient gods yet you spoke to him like any other mortal. He had always been a lonely God, even when he was in his prime he wasn’t as popular as the others. He didn’t offer prosperity, love, or good harvest. People feared him and his ability, humans weren’t too fond of magic and came to him for protection from curses or evil spirits. So you, a mortal who didn’t cower in front of him had his heart melting. Your curiosity about him, his temple, his powers, and his past had him rambling for as long as you’d let him. 

Don’t question why you feel safer at night, or how bats and reptiles are more fond of you. Don’t question why people who wrong you never treat you terribly again or how you always feel watched when the moonlight shines down upon you. Unlike how Malleus was portrayed, he was a deity who cared about his people, and you had wormed your way into his heart. Yet he found himself loving you on a level he’s never had before. Your smile warmed his chilled bones, your laughter was better than any prayer he’d received before, your love greater than any worship he’d ever had.  

A deity falling for a mortal was taboo. It was wrong. It goes against all boundaries. Gods were better than mortals, they were stronger, more powerful. A God's only purpose was to be worshiped, they were not the ones to worship. So why, why did Malleus find himself wanting to bow before you, wanting to pray for your love and care, for you to never leave his side. When you found out his true identity at first you were flabbergasted, you had been speaking to a deity this entire time…but that soon fizzled when you realized he was still the same person you had been talking to. 

You found yourself in the ancient shrine more and more with Malleus’ fingers tangled in your hair as he explained why gargoyles stood post throughout his temple. Or the nights that you both shared under the stars as he explained the meanings of old constellations that had shifted over time. Or when he wrapped you in his embrace when you found yourself with troubles, wishing he could fix everything for you so you never had to shed a tear again. Yet he found himself enjoying the moments you brought him gifts, not out of worship, but out of care. Or when you’d be the one to caress his face, or how your hands always seemed to wander towards his horns but stopped an inch short. Or the moments your eyes would take him in and you’d murmur his praises that he always managed to hear. 

Over time, Malleus started to think of your future. Even though you were nothing like his past followers, you would meet the same fate. Your hair will turn either gray or white, your skin will start to sag and droop, your mind will deteriorate, and one day you’ll return to the Earth. A fate that tore his heart apart. He knew he was thinking selfishly, but he wanted to keep you by his side. He wanted to be with you until time ended, and even then, he’d find a way to be with you. And as a deity, there was a way to turn you immortal, to raise your title of mere mortal to deity. You both could rule the empty temple together, taking care of the geckos and bats that resided there. 

What do you say, dear? Won’t you rule by his side for eternity?

[the-californicationist]

Through a Glass, Darkly

A new priest is assigned to your remote abbey, but when you go to him for confession, you realize you are kneeling before the Devil himself.

Anonymous asked: Hiya Cali, crazy thought but happy october 🎃 brain worm, think about mirror sex with vampire!Price / 141 and the absolute flith that would pour from his mouth as he watches you stretch around seemingly nothing…

———

TW: vampirism, blood play, priest abuse of power, heavy religious imagery, fem!reader, rape/noncon, virginity loss, corruption, mind breaking, historical fantasy au, father/my child/sister religious titles, fully adult characters

You’ve been warned, and I don’t wanna hear it. Your click, your fault.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. — 1 Corinthians 13:12

—x—x—x—

When Mr. Hawthorne arrived that morning with fresh milk, eggs, and a cart full of potatoes and turnips, you thought you would forget yourself and fling your hands around his fat neck. It had been weeks since supplies had been delivered, and although you lived in what was probably the smallest abbey in the world, you were just thankful that you had not been completely forgotten.

“Oh, thank you, Mister Hawthorne! We are so grateful for your service. The Lord rewards the generous,” you praised him.

The plump man’s face flushed red and he took off his sweaty cap, holding it limply in his hands,

“Tha’s alright, Sister. I had a good yield this season. You send a letter over to us if you need anything more. Hopefully that new priest will be arriving soon. Margie said she spotted him at the inn yesterday afternoon.”

“New priest?” You asked, wholly unaware of your abbey receiving an actual man of the cloth.

“Yes, Sister. He looks a little rugged for a holy man, but she said he was wearin’ the collar, clear as day.”

“Oh,” you mused, unsure of what to say.

“I’ll take my leave of you, Sister. Hope he’s a good one. It’ll be nice to have services back in the old church.”

“Yes, it will. Take care, and safe travels, sir. May God bless your next harvest.”

You watched as his rickety cart, pulled by an equally rotund mule, delivered the farmer away from you and your tiny sanctuary. As soon as he was out of sight, you rushed back through the wooden doors of the abbey to find Sister Ruth and Sister Sarah to tell them of the news.

They were both as shocked as you were. You had all three been convinced that the good Pope had completely forgotten about your little sect, and no letters had come for months. But, a new priest in this parish would bring much needed governance to the provincial people of your small village, and you needed to prepare.

You and your fellow nuns cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more. By nightfall, the abbey gleamed anew.

As you were preparing for bed, you heard the whinny of a horse outside of the abbey doors. You looked out into the corridor, and Sister Ruth was peeking out as well. Arming yourselves with long, steel fire pokers, you made your way to the entrance. Ruth nudged you with her elbow, encouraging you to call out. So, you said,

“It is past hours. Please come back tomorrow!”

“I’m Father John Price, and unless I’m mistaken, this is my abbey,” a deep, gravelly voice called out to you, seeming to flow and roll through the door with a convincing ease.

You cracked the wooden portal and looked out.

There, holding onto a frothy, exhausted steed was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He wore an all-black capello romano on his head, towering above you by at least a full cubit. His face was pale, protected from labors under the sun, but his hands looked like they had certainly known the true meaning of work. His body was well-muscled and immense. Even in the midst of his flowing black robes, you could see the bulging form of his shoulders stretching the fine fabric. Around his thick neck, his white clergy collar sat dutifully under a jutting Adam’s apple and a proud chin, shaven although the rest of his beard was trimmed to full length.

But it was his eyes that unnerved you. For all of his brutish form, the look in his gaze made your blood run cold. There was something hypnotizing about the pale blue irises. It made him seem almost inhuman.

That deep, purring voice returned, and he stepped closer to you, threatening your threshold with white, sharp teeth pulled in a tight smile,

“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

“Forgive me, Father. Please, come in. Sister Ruth will take your horse to the stables. Allow me to take your bags and show you to your chamber.”

He followed behind you at a close distance, studying the abbey’s courtyard and walls, judging its worthiness. You were proud of the work you had done to keep it in good working order, but you knew it was in desperate need of repairs.

As you walked, you tried to make small talk to ease the tension,

“I have been in prayer thanking God for your arrival, Father. It has been many years since we have been blessed to house a priest within our abbey walls. Our parishioners will be filled with joy to return to their pews.”

“Mm.” His hum was polite but noncommittal, so you gave up on the niceties.

Finally, you reached his cell, you pried open the door and allowed him to enter before you. He studied the spartan room with the expected amount of enthusiasm, and watched you lay his bag down on the small chair at his desk. You straightened out the Bible that lay on the table, making sure the corner matched up with the edge of the table, placing it just so.

“Will you take supper, Father Price?”

“No, I am not hungry. You will find that I eat very little, in fact,” he said, taking off his cloak and laying it on the freshly-made bed. He hung his hat on its hook and tried to straighten his hair.

“Should I have a mirror brought in for your cell?” You asked, thinking that he may need to look presentable. As a nun, you never used a mirror as a rule, but you were willing to accommodate your new steward as best you could.

“Do you use a mirror, my child?” Price’s voice deepened and smoldered like a bundle of kindling, threatening to burn. He stepped toward you, using his size to impose himself upon you in the small space.

“N-n-no,” you stammered, “Of course not, Father. But I am not in a position to be perceived such as yourself.”

“Recite Proverbs 31:30, my child,” he commanded, stepping closer to you, slowly creeping into your personal space, close enough that you could smell the scent of the sun and the grass on his robes, mixing with the sweat of his skin.

You swallowed, clearing your throat, and obeyed,

“Yes, Father. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”

“Good,” Price smiled, using his finger to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “We must not succumb to vanity, my child. A dutiful disciple is one who serves others, yes?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, stepping backwards, away from his touch, hanging your head in reverence.

“In fact,” he purred, “It is James 1:23 which reminds us that those who look into the glass will be blinded by their own desires, only seeing themselves, incapable of suffering God’s divinity. It is the good works done that are worthy of praise, my child, although…”

He stepped forward again, grabbing your chin in his huge hand roughly, clutching the very bone of your jaw, making you gasp,

“Our Lord has taken special care to display his almighty talent in your face, has he not? Such delicate features. Like an angel.”

His mouth was so close to yours that you could smell the heady scent of iron and musk on his breath. His piercing eyes never left yours, pinning you in place.

Then, he released you, and you left the room without being dismissed, closing the cell door behind you and rushing back to your own cloister. You rushed into your room, locking the door fast, and knelt at your altar to pray for forgiveness.

Except… you were not asking to be forgiven for suggesting vanity to your new priest. No. You were asking to be forgiven for the warm, wet lust that was smearing across the crease of your thighs. Father Price had awakened strong feelings in you not of enlightenment, but of lurid desire, and you begged to be cleansed.

The next morning, Father Price called the abbey together. Yourself, Sister Ruth, and Sister Sarah reported to the small courtyard, along with two young pilgrims who had lived there since the past summer, Timothy and David. You and the nuns had suspected them as runaways, but they pledged themselves to the cloth and took care of the manual labor around the premises since you lacked any monks to speak of. They were well into their young adulthood now, and they would become apprentices to Father Price, if he saw fit.

You tried to put what had transpired between you and the good Father out of your mind, but seeing him in the cold light of day did nothing to quell the sinful desire you felt towards him. The way he had grabbed you…

“Good morrow, everyone. I ask that you will join me in our Biblical studies every morning. I find that the word of God helps me put the rest of my day right. I want to begin at the beginning, yes?”

He looked around at all of your faces, as if anyone would protest against his power, and then he continued,

“What does Genesis 4:7 tell us, Sister Ruth?”

“Speaking to Cain, the Lord said: If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.”

“Sin lieth at the door,” Father Price mused, then, as if shaking himself from his thought, he said, “Please continue, Sister.”

“And Cain talked with Abel, his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel, his brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?”

“You are,” the priest’s voice rose in his chest, startling Sister Ruth and silencing her words. He began to pace back and forth, slowly stalking through your small ranks, “You are your brother’s keeper. You are more than that. You are keepers of this entire parish, are you not?”

“Yes, Father,” you all said in unison.

“There will be a reckoning in this parish,” Price snarled, “I will not lead a flock of demons disguised as sheep. If any of you hear witness or see evidence of sin, deliver it to me at once. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” you repeated.

“I will now take your confessions. I understand that it has been a number of years since you were cleansed, so be prepared to repent lest you allow the Devil into your soul.”

“Yes, Father.”

The day dragged on through the gray clouds, and Father Price had taken his time with the confessions of the members of your abbey. Sister Sarah had gone into his cell after the boys, and she had emerged with red eyes full of tears. You had comforted her in hushed whispers in the corner of her cloister, asking her what he had done, thinking it was something even more awful that how he had accosted you last night.

“He…” Sarah sobbed, “He made me kneel on sharp stones while I recited my prayers. It hurts so much, Sister.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Although sharp stones were not a gentle punishment, they were at least devoid of physical contact. He had not taken a hand to her. But, Sister Sarah was young. She had avoided some of the harsher training practices of the more traditional members of the church. You knew that there were a bevvy of punishments that would make kneeling in discomfort feel like a blessing.

Sister Ruth also came out sniffling, reporting that she had fifty lashes across her palms for the sin of plucking figs off of a nearby tree owned by the neighboring farm.

Again, you sighed and thanked God that he had a little mercy within him.

His cell door opened, and Father Price locked eyes with you and demanded,

“Come, my child. It is time for your confession.”

“Yes, Father Price,” you complied, taking your leave of the other nuns and following him into his cell.

Inside of his room, a shaft of sunlight cut across his face, illuminating his eyes and stunning you, keeping you from moving forward.

“Shut the door, my child,” his timbre was ominous, and you tried to hold yourself together.

“So far,” he rose from his seat and walked over to you, “I have cleansed the souls of a nun who is a thief, another who is a sloth, a young man who is a liar, and another who is filled with pride. It seems, Sister, that you have allowed the Devil through the door, indeed.”

“Forgive me, Father. I knew not of their wicked ways, nor have I your wisdom to correct them.” You stared at the stone floor. It was easier than looking at him.

“I do not believe that the wickedness was borne within them,” Father Price mused, tapping his finger on his lips as if deep in thought, “Because I discovered this beneath your mattress, and so I know the evil is inside of you.”

In his hands, Father Price held up a square, familiar, looking glass. You trembled, watching as your own reflection met you back. You could see the fear spread across your face, and you were disgusted by it.

“Tell me, my child. How did you use this mirror?” He asked sweetly, but as he watched you think about how best to answer the question, his voice became hot with fury and he snarled into your ear, “And don’t you dare lie to me. I will know your deceit.”

Your heart was banging in your chest, and so, beyond your better judgment, you told him the truth.

“I used it to… examine myself, Father.”

“Show me,” he commanded.

It was as if his whole cell bent and bowed under the weight of his authority. Your body began to move against your own will, relenting to his instead. Without thinking, you pulled back your habit and let your hair fall down your back. Then, you began to peel away your robes. Underneath, you untied your shift, and you allowed the fabric to pool on the floor at your feet, staring at yourself naked in the glass.

He watched you in silent awe, his pupils darkening, his mouth parted at his full lips, his chest heaving as he watched you make yourself bare before him.

“Go on,” he said, knowing that you were not finished with your demonstration.

You felt yourself obeying him helplessly, and you performed the same inspection that you did in private in front of him.

“I wanted to see how God hath made me, Father. So, I looked.”

“Where did you look, my child?”

“Here,” you raised your hands to squeeze the supple flesh of your breasts, showing him how your nipples were bouncy and puffy until they turned stiff and tight.

“And here,” you allowed your hand to fit itself between your thighs, spreading your labia, covered in dense hair, until your pliant lips revealed a shining, smooth center, wet and ready for pleasure.

“Now that you have examined the Lord’s fine works, what did you do with this knowledge?” Price asked.

“I would touch this part of me, Father, and I would let it bring me to Heaven.”

“I would like to know Heaven, my child. Turn around.”

You tried to stop yourself, but he was using his power to bind you. You were nothing more than a toy, helpless to his every whim. You turned, your back facing him, and he set the mirror on his desk so that you could see yourself within it. Then, he moved in front of you and his body blocked your view, reaching down to grab your chin like he had the first night he arrived, raising your mouth up to his.

You thought he would kiss you. His lips were just within reach, but he commanded you darkly,

“Confess.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you recited dumbly, “It has been three years since my last confession. In that time, I have…”

His mouth covered yours, kissing you deeply, feeding you his long tongue and eating up your words before you could say them. Then, you felt his hands on your breasts, squeezing them cruelly, pinching your nipples to make them ache and sting. You couldn’t help the lewd sounds that escaped your throat, but he didn’t seem to care to stop you. Finally, he pulled away, and when you looked into his eyes again, the bright blue had been replaced with a Hellish red.

You gasped, and he grabbed you tighter, pulling you towards him by the soft meat of your breasts, making you cry out in agony. That noise seemed to please him because he smiled down at you, and you could see that his teeth had grown into long, wolf-like fangs. He chuckled,

“My pretty little sinner.”

“D-d-demon!” You cried breathlessly, shaking from fear as he held you to his body.

Price bared his fangs at your assessment, hissing from the title,

“Yes, and you have invited me in, so eager to be corrupted.”

Releasing you from his grip, he held you around your waist with one arm, and he used his free hand to dip between your legs, discovering your wetness there and sighing from it.

“Mmm… Let me taste your sweet, little Heaven, Sister.”

He knelt on the floor in front of you and held onto your wide ass cheeks in each hand, forcing your hips to tilt toward his face. You looked down and watched as his impossibly long tongue flicked against your swollen bud. His wide tongue parted your lips to drag wetly between them. You tried to hold back your cries, but you’d never known such pleasure, so you could barely keep it in. You prayed for forgiveness as you came apart against this demon’s mouth, succumbing to his vileness.

Then, you glanced into the mirror, and you noticed that you couldn’t see his head. Only the collar and robes were visible in the glass. All you could see is how your lips were being spread apart, seemingly on their own.

He had no reflection.

“You… you’re…” You couldn’t say the words, but Price knew what you meant to call him.

He looked over his shoulder, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide apart, gazing at them in the glass and smiling even though he didn’t have a reflection to smile at. Then, he looked back up at you, a sick grin spread across his lips,

“Cain, yes. The immortal wanderer, cursed from the earth which hath opened her mouth to receive my brother’s blood. And I have not tasted food, for it becomes ash in my mouth, just like He promised. But, blood… I can taste blood just fine.”

He planted the softest kisses between your shivering thighs, sucking on the thin skin, and then, after slaking his thirst with your sticky center once more, he sank his fangs right in the inside of your thigh, making you howl with pain.

His eyes were locked on yours, watching you writhe in agony, your nerves sensing his venom coursing through you as he sucked the life from your veins. You watched yourself in the mirror, seeing the puncture wounds, watching as blood spilled out across your skin, smearing and being licked away by his greedy tongue. Finally, he released you, and the poison of his mouth took effect. You became deeply fatigued, and you could barely stand on your own. He had to hold you in his arms to keep you in position.

He stood, smiling down at you, his mouth caked with your dark blood, his teeth stained red,

“What a blessing you are, my child. Such perfect innocence tastes so fine, so… pure. I almost hate to sour your ripe little fruit, but that will be sweet in its own way, yes?”

You watched as your demonic priest yanked at his collar, popping it from his neck. Then, he pulled off his robes, tearing away at his layers until he was as bare as you, both of you fully naked and pressed together, joined in a crash of skin and heat, his mouth painting your body with your own blood as he kissed and licked your breasts and belly, teasing you with his tongue as he explored you.

Then, he stepped around to your back, and you caught sight of his heavy cock as it swung between his legs like that of a rutting beast. You tried to fight the black spell you were under, but it was no use. You were trapped in his thrall.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, my child,” Father Price commanded you, grinning as you immediately obeyed, “Come and behold the marvelous works of God.”

You couldn’t turn your eyes away. You were alone in the mirror, and yet, your breasts were being crushed by invisible fists, your nipples tormented between unseen fingers. Then, you felt Price fit his phallus against the entrance of your sex and press it into you, stretching you wide across his prodding cockhead. You saw how your body was being invaded by him, pulling itself apart to allow him inside. The dark hole of your quim opened like a toothless maw, drooling and starving, hungry to take him deep within you, welcoming him up to your womb.

You sobbed at the strain, and then you felt something give way sharply inside you, and he had a much easier time of filling you with his engorged length. As he fucked himself up into you, he was grunting like an animal, praising you in your ear, telling you his own confession,

“Forgive me, my child, for I am sinning. Right now… I am sinning with you, and it is so sweet. God has made you for me. What a gift you are. See?”

He used his hand to swipe at your gaping hole, bringing his hand in front of your face so you could see the bright blood that coated his fingertips,

“You have broken so easily for me. The Lord knew you needed me to come and serve you. He brought me to you, my child. You welcomed me inside, didn’t you? Spread these lips for me, invited me in… Didn’t you? Say it.”

“Y-y-yes, F-father…” You whimpered, tears dripping down your chin and onto your bare chest.

The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the cell, and you watched as your hole spread wider and wider, taking more of him with each punishing thrust.

“Louder, my child,” he hissed in your ear.

“Yes, Father!”

His hand was playing in your slippery folds, massaging your hidden bud and forcing you to clench hard around him from the pleasure. In the glass, you could see your hole trying in vain to twist itself shut, pumping him in a steady beat.

“Didn’t you pray to God for a prick like mine when you touched your filthy quim in your mirror?”

“Yes, Father!”

It was true. You had touched yourself, hoping that you might one day know the pleasure of being taken by a man. You had watched the mating of cattle in the field next to the abbey many a summer past, hanging clothes and sheets on the line, and yet all the while looking into the grassy glade, staring at the bull who would mount his cow and thrust his turgid rod into her to breed her deeply. And she would croon for him, and when he left her, the spent seed would hang in long, thick strings from the head of his phallus, making him wet and ready to sink his sword through its next sheath.

“And the Lord answered your prayers, did he not? Begging him for someone to breed you like this, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Father!”

Price was the bull, and you would be bred by him, and you would be cast out of God’s mercy forever. Ruined. Steeped in sin and tainted by lust.

“You smell like a ripe plum, my sweet child, and you’re just as soft in my mouth,” Price began to lick your neck from your sloping shoulder all the way to your earlobe, over and over, letting his spit cover your flesh. Then, he sank his fangs into your vein and began to drink from you in long, slurping sucks, swallowing your blood into his throat in audible gulps, moaning with each mouthful of your essence.

The venom of his demonic bite made your head cloudy and your will compliant.

“Touch yourself, my child,” he mumbled, quickly returning to his feast on your flesh.

You had no choice but to obey. You felt him increase his pace, his long cock bottoming out inside of you with each thrust, flinging his weight into you like a hammer. You began touching your breasts, pinching yourself gently as you watched your ruination unfold in the looking glass, helpless to stop it.

Then, you began to touch your rigid nub, taking over for him as he continued to drink from you. You made achingly slow circles around your most sensitive spot, and because you were so wet, you were able to go faster without any discomfort. You made yourself come quickly, jerking your hips against him as he fucked you, listening to him groan from the feeling of your tight hole trying to squeeze the come out of his body.

“Beg me for my seed, Sister. Beg me to spill it in you,” Price murmured, licking your neck in the spot where he had bitten to rub the taste of your blood across his tongue.

“Father, please… Please come in me. Spill in me… oh!”

You felt him jerk inside of you, and then you heard his growling orgasm rip through his body, his cock pulsing wildly, shooting ropes of creamy seed all over your walls, bursting through your tight, virginal core.

“So perfect for me, so perfect…”

Price caught his breath while he was still inside of you, panting and smiling against your neck before he pulled out of you, watching his invisible shaft slip through your cunt in the mirror, the gaping hole slowly shrinking before your eyes. As he retreated, you saw large strings of come drip out of you, white and endless, flowing out of you and onto the floor of the cell.

Father Price dressed himself in front of you, leaving you standing where he had last commanded you to be, admiring your ruined body. Once he clipped his collar back under his shirt and cloak, he stepped in front of you to pinch lightly at the tips of your nipples again, making you whimper like a hungry mutt.

“For all your virtues, Sister, you are prone to sin. An innocent such as yourself must be trained to resist the Devil. Come to my cell for confession every morning and every night. I promise,” he stroked your cheek and then your neck, right where he’d bitten you, “I will put my goodness deep inside of you, my child. Right here.”

His other hand came to touch your bare belly, gently caressing the skin and flesh that protected your womb.

“Yes, Father,” you said, trying to avoid his furious gaze, shaking with pure, gut-wrenching terror, understanding that for you, there was no escape. You were under his vampiric command, and if he wanted you, your body was going to obey. You’d taken the Mark of Cain on your neck, and the only hope for you now was to beg for his mercy.

“Take this mirror with you, my child. I want you to kneel in prayer over it, spread those plump legs wide, and I want you to watch my seed drip out of you. With every drop, you will thank God for me and my prick. When the Lord answers our prayers, it is our duty to be grateful.”

“Yes, Father,” you said, pulling your robes back on and adjusting your habit.

He handed you the mirror, and you took it with a crushing amount of shame, feeling his come still seeping in a steady stream out of your well-used hole.

As you left his cell, he smiled down at you, carefully petting your cheek,

“Don’t worry, my child. Your next confession is in only a few hours. You will feel the warmth of the Lord’s forgiveness again very soon.”

—x—x—x—

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[ohnohelpitsagain]

imogen messaging relvin made me SICK to my stomach oh my god. the way she tells him she loves him no matter what, and she thanks him for doing his best. an acknowledgement that this may be the last time she speaks to him and an acknowledgement that he was not perfect, in fact he may not have even been good, but he gave what he could.

it is SO brutal because it’s that realization that you get when you grow up that you deserved so much better, and you were a child, but maybe what they gave you was all they could. it’s that brutal feeling of wanting to change the unchangeable. it’s being thousands of miles away and an adult and crying for a comfort you’ve never received because you miss the idea of what your parents could have been. it’s having to war with the hurt child inside you and the adult who knows that you didn’t do anything wrong but that they didn’t do what they did in malice.

and relvin just reaffirms exactly what imogen implies in her message. he doesn’t say i love you, he doesn’t even directly say he misses her. it’s like he can’t. it’s all “i think about you a lot” and “the horses miss you just as much as i do.” it’s clear that her last visitation left an impact on him. he does hope she’s happy but it’s the mental block of a man who never developed the tools to love his daughter, a girl with the face of her mother and her powers to boot, the way she needed. she’s his baby. she’s his more than she was ever liliana’s but he couldn’t ever be what she needed. it’s a tragedy and it’s something he will have to contend with every time he walks past her empty room, or sees a flower in a field from the corner of his eye and turns, expecting to see a tiny head of lavender hair trailing him like a little shadow, and realizes that it was just a trick of the light.

LIKE WHATEVERRRRR the temults are literally WORMS IN MY BRAINS LIKE I NEED TO PUT THEM IN A JAR GOD

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 2 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 7k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: i can't tell you all how i excited i am to get this fic going! thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter, i promise there is a lot of cool stuff to come!

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 2 - The Patrol

‘Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.’  - Richard Silken, The Worm King’s Lullaby

There is a thin sheet of ice covering the streams that are heading downwards. It crunches under the hooves of their horses that dutifully carry them up the hill and past the gas station. Joel is glad that it's Tommy next to him. He's more tense than he's felt in ages, a gnawing feeling in his stomach that has little to do with the skipped breakfast and a lot with the worry that is etched into the frown between his brows. He wouldn't want anyone to see him like this, much less try and calm him down, something he knows is a lost battle.

“They might be fine, Joel,” his younger brother says gently, just loud enough for him to hear. Tommy thinks there will be no response until one comes, a little too late for it to not be premeditated.

“She talked about leaving, sometimes. They would be stupid enough to run off-”

“And leave Jackson?” Tommy raises a brow. “Maria said their house looked normal, all their things still in place. They wouldn't be stupid enough to leave all that behind.”

Joel doesn't want to hear it. He knows, better than anyone. Knows that you wouldn't just leave, not without saying goodbye to the children you'd come to care about so much. Would you leave him without a goodbye?

He almost hopes you would. Because if you didn't leave willingly, what was the alternative? It would've been nearly impossible for someone to take you from inside Jackson with no one noticing. But he can't shake the feeling that something is off.

It’s Tommy who has to keep reminding him to ride slow, to keep an eye on the ground for possible tracks. Joel just wants to go, to spur Old Beardy on until they're galloping up the hill, despite not knowing where it is he needs to go. He just wants to find you. Preferably in one piece, happy and healthy. 

He would’ve missed it.

The small footprints leading off the road and onto a smaller path, one that's twisting through pines and further into the woods. 

Tommy nods. “Pretty sure ‘tis the one that leads to the hunting cabin.”

It only takes a few minutes for them to be sure. The wooden cabin is hidden away behind a few trees, difficult to spot if you don't know where to look. It doesn't really serve any purpose, at least not anymore. The roof at the back caved in years ago, allowing rain and plants alike to enter the dimly lit room. It’s less than five miles from the gate of Jackson, tucked away from the main road.

He can’t help but think that this would be the perfect place to run off to. Or to hide a body.

Joel is off his horse in a second, not even bothering to tie the stallion's halter to the wooden posts in front of the cabin. Without thinking, he tugs his revolver out of his waistband, using his foot to nudge the door open.

He smells it before his eyes even have a chance to adjust to the dim light. The unmistakable stench of blood. And mixed with it, creating an odor that immediately makes him sick to his stomach, the smell of gunpowder in the air.

***

The sun has been slowly rising while you’ve been flipping through the pages, trying to find the volumes you’re looking for. The library of Jackson, though rather small, has been frequented more and more, especially in the winter months when the weather doesn’t always allow activities outside and people resort to what they’ve always known: Books.

The entire place is supposed to be relocated soon, to a small store on main street. But compared to the greenhouses needing repairs and the stables being expanded, books don't seem to be a priority for most of the townsfolk.

“Books can’t feed us or keep us safe,” Maria pointed out when you brought the slow progress up to her. You politely disagree. You feel like you could live off books for the rest of your life.

Still, packing up everything means the old place, a shed tucked away behind the church, is currently a mess. Sagging bookshelves, a leaky roof and too many books for too little space means chaos. One that only few bother to navigate in its current state. You among them.

It was the crack of dawn when you slipped out of the house, deciding to let Lane sleep in while you walked through the still empty streets to the far end of the town, hoping to get the library work out of the way before the first lesson of the day.

Maria is the one that finds you, making your head peek up from between two shelves with a frown. “You changed your mind on those books?”

She gives a small laugh, one that sounds oddly like relief. Then her face becomes stern again, the look she carries much more often. “You two have some explaining to do, do you realize that?”

Now it's your turn to frown. “We two?” She pauses at that, looking around the small room. But there is no one here but you and her and the characters bleeding from the pages.

“Is Lane not with you?”

You shake your head, turning your attention back to the book in your hands. “She has the 8AM class today.” 

“She's not there,” Maria curtly responds. You can tell she's trying to keep her voice steady but there is a hint of anxiety regardless. 

“Then she overslept again,” you half guess-half ask, closing the book again.

“She's not at home either.”

An odd feeling crawls over your body. You can't remember what was in your hands a moment ago, but the question is forgotten in an instant. Maria carefully watches as you step out from between the shelves, her tone still gentle. “I've sent Tommy and Joel out to search. We thought you two snuck out.”

You feel numb as you shake your head. “No, I- I didn't see her this morning. I thought she was still asleep.” You rack your brain for the memories of this morning, of last night, of the last week even. But nothing comes to mind, nothing out of the ordinary.

“I was out late last night, finishing up some paperwork,” you mutter, more to yourself than the woman in front of you, retracing your steps in your mind. “Lane got home before me, I had dinner, we talked about blueberries-”

“Blueberries?” Maria asks, her hand already back on the doorknob. She seems restless and it's that fleeting detail that worries you more than anything. Maria stays in control. Always. 

“Yeah, we- It doesn't matter. I don't know where she is,” you finish lamely, getting up and joining her at the door. But she hasn't moved yet.

“You should stay at home. I'm sure she'll show up again soon and if she comes back to your place, someone should be there.” You nod but your mind is already drifting again. Lane’s been doing fine, good. So have you, really. Maria gently reaches for your shoulder, steering you out of the shed and towards the church, down the street that leads to the center of Jackson. 

You're passing the small graveyard that's protected by brick walls, the stones already withered, pale in contrast to the dark metal fence running along on top. The gate is ajar, but you barely pay it any attention as the information settles in your brain. It takes a few seconds for it to reach your mouth and leave your lips.

“She went out a few times.” 

“Out?” Maria enquires, raising an eyebrow as her attention shifts back to you.

“I thought she'd met someone. Cat and her were pretty close and I figured-” You give a small shrug. It's more than uncomfortable, suddenly, and absurd, that you're discussing Lane's private life so openly, with Maria of all people.

“Don't tell her I said that,” you add quickly. 

Maria nods as you reach the end of the brick wall. “I won't. I'll get back to the city hall and see if there’s any news yet. You go home.”

Your head nods as if on its own accord. Maria has already turned her back towards you when you pipe up. “Maria?” 

She pauses, her back straightening a bit. “Yes?”

“You don't think anything happened to Lane, do you?” 

The older woman shakes her head softly. “No. I'm sure she's fine. Now get home. Maybe she's already there.”

And she hurries off, leaving you at the corner of the street with a trembling body and a heavy feeling in your stomach. For a fleeting moment, you allow your thoughts to wander past the point you've been dreading to consider. What if something has happened? If Lane did sneak out, maybe with Cat, maybe alone, and got into some sort of situation? What if she's hurt?

The sky has turned from pink to a light blue, only a few clouds piling around the mountains on the horizon. You glance down at your hands, shaking ever so slightly. You decide to blame it on the cold. The cold that may be getting to your head as well. Because after a few moments, you turn on your heels, heading for the stables. It's only a few rows of houses until the large wooden wall looms in front of you, blocking out the little sunlight you could get in the morning. The wall that protects you from what lies beyond. Infected and Raiders and maybe, you think, as you slip into the stables, maybe answers.

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing and commenting, every single notif on this fic makes my heart swell with love <3

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Whistle while you work

Synopsis - sometimes all a little lass needs is to just holler the lyrics of an angry female-empowering country music, but a certain beloved Scot just can’t help but be worried he screwed up

cw: swearing, medical and military workplace inaccuracies, playful language, suggestive content, heavy flirting, slight miscommunication trope(this hurts me more than this hurts you believe me), nicknames, use of Scottish and southern(Georgia/texas) accent that some readers may find corny or displeasurable

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x southern!medic!reader

Author’s note: I know I said I was busy but I heard “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood come on the radio and it’s been an ear worm that sticking to my brain like flies on a horse. But once again I’m here to remind you that I’m taking southern notes from Georgia and Texas because I was raised in one and I visit family quite often in the other. I am completely open to constructive criticism but if you have nothing nice to say then you just scroll past it costs you absolutely nothing to mind your business. Italicized is singing btw.

©️moonriseoverkyoto 2023. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

Soap had begun to have a routine with you. He could often come visit you after shift hours or you would come along on missions and be his first pit stop at base. It was a beautiful little arrangement that the F1F begun to adore. You were the warm fire to warm their cold hearts or the blazing hearth to whip them into shape if they got rowdy. So it was a little jarring to him when he strolled into your clinic and heard an angry drawl.

“Right now, he's probably slow dancin' with a bleach-blonde tramp. And she’s probably gettin’ frisky.”

Your voice had him weak at the knees but there was something off in your pitch. A grit, an anger, a frustration. He suddenly began retracing his steps, trying to find a failure placed upon his behalf.

“Right now, he's probably buyin' her some fruity little drink 'Cause she can't shoot whiskey.”

“Bonnie?” the man called out to you, his reaction was controlled but his heart thumped against his chest trying to break out. When you didn’t respond he decided to stay by the doors out of your vision to figure out what was the issue, studying you.

“Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick. Showin' her how to shoot a combo. And he don't know”

Your hips began to sway against the rising tune and even in your scrubs, there was a clear muscle memory when it came to the rhythm of the song. Soap quickly exited and left to go to the common room to find the rest of the F1F playing poker

“There’s loverboy, we were wondering how long it would take for you and-“

“Firstly, she’s my friend Capt’n you know that. Secondly, Somethin’s a mattah with Bonnie.” Soap cut Price off quickly not caring for niceties.

“why because she’s running a little late?” Gaz spoke while checking his turn. It was comical how they knew you by your nicknames from Soap rather than your god given name.

“Aye ‘nd she’s singin’ this song of ‘ers and it’s got me all worried. I mean I know that I’ve been a wee bit busy lately but I’ve made sure to make me rounds and when I came to her place she was swinging hips and I ken to know when somethin’s a mattah with me Bonnie-“ Simon’s head turned to his friend with interest as Gaz cut the rambling man short.

“Calm down mate. We cannot understand you when you go back to the ancestral plane with that tongue of yours” Gaz spoke. Price waved him off to let the Scott breathe.

“She’s up tae high doh.” Soap rushed out, his brows knit together trying to piece together what could’ve happened.

“In English, lad” Price spoke up. However somebody came to his rescue.

“The phrase is meant to be used to describe when somebody is pent up, flustered. It’s a Scottish saying.” Ghost answered with a deep baritone. Everyone was surprised but secretly noted the phrase for whenever they had to go solo with the Mohawk man.

“So go talk to her” Price responded to Soap with a look that said he was ordering, then he offered a small gift of liquid courage

Soap refused the drink and made his way back over to the infirmary. His brain scrambling to find an answer.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats”

Your belted notes rung through the doors and hit his ears. He vowed he would find out the issue and fix it just so he wouldn’t have to hear the pain in your voice. He came around the corner as you stood in front of a table, organizing your different surgery and procedural tools. He spotted the AirPod beneath your trucker hat (since wearing a traditional cowboy hat was too distracting in the work place even during the quiet shifts. )

“I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights. Slashed a hole in all four tires-“

Soap swallowed all his worry as he grabbed an AirPod out and spoke but you beat him to the punch.

“Who in all of god givens creation just ordered a free fuckin’- Oh sweetheart Johnny it’s you.” Your fire calmed just as quick as it kindled.

“hey lassie I was getting worried about you” Soap said. His heart and maybe something else throbbed at your honey tone. One day he’d finally act upon those feelings but today he needed to worry about something else. “What’s got you all worked up?”

“Are you saying I’m throwin’ a hissy fit?”

“Noo jist haud on there Lassie. I jist was-“

“Heavens to Betsy! You do think I’m havin’ a hissy fit, why you oughta know that I was the best little-“

As you two went on back and forth, the distance between your bodies got smaller and smaller. Two wide eyed grins plastered across your face. He cut you off with a smirk

“Oh I’m sure you were the.. how do you say it again? Oh right” Johnny leaned in closer and his voice dropped, “the best little girl this side of the Mississippi. Ain’t that right, hen?”

“I know damn well you did not just call me a hen from a damn barn house-“ you went to speak again but got cut off as your throat hitched, soap’s mouth just by your ear and his tone got unrealistically deeper and more dominant. A careful hand grazing your hip.

“Shut yer pus for a moment, hen. Tell me what’s a matter. What’s got you so up tae high doh.” The male spoke.

You were silent for once. All the cogs in your brain just stopped. Everything was quiet, if you had perfect hearing you could hear Johnny’s poor heart banging to get out of his chest in anxiety from him boldly caressing your waist.

“Aww come on lassie, need me to buy a wrench for that brain of yours”

“I misplaced my sewing needle. Well I did or one of the stupid nurses did but I can’t find it and I won’t find it till the cows come home” you huffed.

“The one from your nana?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“No need for the ‘tude. May I look?”

“Sure. It’s no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond” you said softly as he gently moved you aside to look at the table below. His trained eye spotting a glint on the ground. He reached over to pick it up and show it to you.

“Bless your heart! Good god Johnny, oh my sweet I could kiss you!” You cried out with the biggest grin. You leaned forward and kissed him softly on his cheek. His stubble gently scratching your soft, plump lips. His cheeks barely flushed as his smirk transformed into a smile and a small chuckle left his throat. He took a moment to memorize the feeling of your lips for later.

If that’s all it took to make his little Bonnie proud. He’d search every haystack for your needle in a heartbeat. You were his everything, he’d wait until the right moment to tell you. Especially when he was pretty sure the rest of the team was right around the corner listening to them. He’ll confront them later, for now he wants to stay in this moment with you. Watching his sweet hen, praising him. Grinning as she danced around with the needle he found, and even maybe hid.

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Slang translations

Noo jist haud on - Now just hold on there

Heavens to Betsy - southern expression of surprise

Hen- a woman (Scottish term of endearment)

Bonnie - a beautiful woman, Scottish term of endearment typically paired with Bonnie lass

Lass/Lassie- beautiful woman, term of endearment

Shut yer pus - Scottish way of saying hush up, not literally referring to genitalia

Does a bear shit in the woods - kinda like a sarcastic response of “duh.” Whenever you’re asked a question. Hard concept to explain but I hope it’s not just me who got this from their southern mama

no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond - comparison of size

Author’s note: AAAAAAAA I DID IT. I wrote my first fic. Oh my god. I’m so tired but I hope everyone loves this as much as I did. Please go listen to the song as well. It’s “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood

General Taglist (comment to be added) : @glossythor @banana-beans-police

also thank you for the support for the series: @fruitsa1ad

[digitulworld]

DHMIS teachers answers if you asked them the interview questions

Where do you live?

Sketchbook: In the dark, sometimes.

Tony: Midwest.

Shrignold: Far away from you.

Colin: Indoors, outdoors, sideways, vertical, and horizontal.

Spinach Can: Ping-pong galleria with my friend Schmuck.

Steak Guy: In your house!

Lamp: A magic barn.

What do you like to eat?

Sketchbook: I’m on a liquid diet.

Tony: It’s in the attic somewhere.

Shrignold: Something very warm.

Colin: Extra large cereal.

Spinach Can: Cardboard

Steak Guy: I can’t believe you would ask me that.

Lamp: Pink bones, red fibers, and a spinning wheel.

What is your favorite color?

Sketchbook: Green. Is this a trick question? It’s green.

Tony: Tan.

Shrignold: Lots and lots of purple.

Colin: The one with five letters.

Spinach Can: What color is grass?

Steak Guy: Grey horses.

Lamp: You're being too silly right now, you have to stop.

Do you like cows or goats?

Sketchbook: Anything yellow.

Tony: It doesn't matter to me. Nothing matters to me.

Shrignold: A baby sheep, is that like a goat?

Colin: Lizards.

Spinach Can: I made a cow mad once, and then got Cow Mad Syndrome.

Steak Guy: Big ones. Just the big ones.

Lamp: It jumps over the moon!

Do you have brown hair?

Sketchbook: Only on Tuesdays.

Tony: Are you stupid?

Shrignold: Lime green, like my mothers.

Colin: I asked you first!

Spinach Can: You should stop asking me that, I'll give it back later.

Steak Guy: It just gets stuck like this sometimes.

Lamp: Yesterday I saw a dog, but it was an evil dog. Don't ask me how I know.

What is your blood type?

Sketchbook: I had to glue some on myself so they'd stop bothering me.

Tony: Just a big clump.

Shrignold: I don't know, they all look the same.

Colin: I can't remember what it looks like! It’s very shy.

Spinach Can: What the *beep* is blood?

Steak Guy: Blood? Is that what they call it nowadays?

Lamp: Theres worms in me.

What are you allergic to?

Sketchbook: Having a nose.

Tony: It changes every day, and has been for the past 977 days.

Shrignold: Absolutely positively everything.

Colin: Fish paste.

Spinach Can: Eggshells, all of them. They pushed me down the stairs once.

Steak Guy: I don't need one!

Lamp: The Boogeyman. We’re on bad terms.

Whats your favorite idea?

Sketchbook: Anything but this question.

Tony: The giant bird that appears in my dreams sometimes.

Shrignold: My favorite pair of shoes.

Colin: My idea website. It generates ideas, like fun ways to hold a spoon.

Spinach Can: Hammers! Lots of hammers! And a nickel!

Steak Guy: Throwing my keys into a hole.

Lamp: TV shows about Alaska.

What do you find exciting?

Sketchbook: Big balloons, the alphabet, kites, gas planets, carpentry, a sock. The rest is personal.

Tony: Basements with creaky stairs.

Shrignold: Moths in small amounts.

Colin: Every 14th day of the month.

Spinach Can: A really really really small traffic cone, that tells you when you're going to die.

Steak Guy: Mold.

Lamp: Four trampolines.

What happened after the olden days?

Sketchbook: TVs started using colors, and now people are ungrateful.

Tony: I’m not playing your little game.

Shrignold: Everyone got sad, so I had to help them.

Colin: There were three wars, four explosions, and two train crashes, all in 1958.

Spinach Can: The world got mucky and ate dirt and beans.

Steak Guy: A rude mouse flipped the bird at me.

Lamp: They had bigger and bigger dreams, and then everyone got so big, they had to stop eating foods that made them dream big. The moral of this story is that you should wash your hands twice a day.

What are you scared of?

Sketchbook: Medium-sized rodents.

Tony: 7:00pm.

Shrignold: Whatever you're scared of.

Colin: A pound of sand.

Spinach Can: Mud crunching.

Steak Guy: Holes in pudding.

Lamp: The big night sky we’ll all get lost in one day.

What are your hobbies?

Sketchbook: Throwing vegetables at paintings, you should try it one day.

Tony: Watching people blink.

Shrignold: I sew clothes for my friends, but their first question is always, “How do you know my exact measurements? I never told you them.” You just can’t please everyone.

Colin: Data analyzation, accounting, coding, excessive security measurements.

Spinach Can: It’s beach ball related, if you know what I mean.

Steak Guy: Meat hobbies.

Lamp: Finding used cigarettes on the ground and taping them together to make a big cigarette, I call it The Ultimate.

What is your favorite song?

Sketchbook: Banging plastic together, if thats a song.

Tony: The Screaming Album, 1938.

Shrignold: I made all of them up.

Colin: Trapezoid Angles by Super Henry 3

Spinach Can: Four of them and they’re bad.

Steak Guy: Just noises?

Lamp: Mr. Bungle

Where do you go on holiday?

Sketchbook: My imaginary imagination place.

Tony: I just walk around.

Colin: If I leave my house, I die instantly.

Shrignold: Every day is a holiday if you know what you're doing.

Spinach Can: Mister Loopy’s Pizza Restaurant that I keep getting kicked out of.

Steak Guy: Where all the pigs are.

Lamp: Nightmare Land.

Who do you love?

Sketchbook: The letter B

Tony: Boys? Girls?

Shrignold: Please don't.

Colin: My toothpaste bottle cap.

Spinach Can: Cheese thrown against the window.

Steak Guy: Finger soup! Teeth! Orphans!

Lamp: The giraffe I met once, that I went on adventures with.

What is love?

Sketchbook: Anything that smiles.

Tony: Something not very important.

Shrignold: Do you want me to tell you? I’m a little busy.

Colin: One of the twelve main Brain Viruses.

Spinach Can: Endless sink drains.

Steak Guy: A string of hair. A lot of hair.

Lamp: It grows two legs, and then one day it’ll kill you.

What do you dream of?

Sketchbook: Pools and pools of blood tubes.

Tony: It all became a blur to me, I had to stop before I went mad.

Shrignold: So many little squirrels eating me.

Colin: Untied shoelaces.

Spinach Can: Peanuts, but they keep spelling their name wrong.

Steak Guy: Markets that only sell one type of vinegar oil.

Lamp: I can’t dream, I have a condition.

[mtkay13]

(and way more TYK designs below!)

Here it is! My personal designs of the (mostly) full TYK cast! What I mainly learned from this: TYK has a lot more characters than expected, haha.

My idea was mainly to get a clearer image, for myself, of all the people appearing or being mentioned in the book (and btw, a big chunk of the characters above died before the story even started and don't even get a line, but, you know...). One of my guidelines was, everyone has to look interesting, has to look like the main character of their own story. TYK is pretty much a story about side characters... so if noone is a main character, everyone is, no? (...does that even work? lol) Some of these designs were inspired by SHL, because it being the first one I saw, it of course left an impression in my mind. The rest is essentially taken from the few descriptions we get in the book, and my own imagination (plus some help from pinterest for the clothing). Rong Changqing is 100% inspired from @tbgkaru-woh depiction of him.

One noteworthy thing: the giant dog is too big. I thought it was supposed to be the size of a big horse, but it's actually the size of a pony... woops. Now, additionally:

The protags families! Wen Ruyu and Gu Miaomiao had to look heroic because that's pretty much what their characters are about. The traditional Wuxia story heroes that marked the legend. Conversely, the Zhou family has to be as plain and normal as possible, haha. ZZS says, in QY, that he's often called "Zhou San" (=Zhou three), which means he's the third child in his family. Since I like the idea of him being the youngest, I only gave him an older brother (who will inherit the position of head of the family and thus justify ZZS being able to leave for a shady remote sect) and an older sister. And as another bonus:

Hehehe. So these are... let's say, the men in ZZS' life, before WKX.

- Jiuxiao, of course, because I'm convinced ZZS had feelings for him

- Huang Xu, an OC developed with Bichen (son of a HLZ supporter, whose family ZZS infiltrated for a while --as Su Yan-- to try and sway them towards HLY's cause ((Su Yan's "Yan" is the same "Yan" as in Zhen Yan, just as a little nod to SHL))) - Zhu Ai, a magistrate OC, developed with Moose and Bichen, who's deeply infatuated with ZZS --only knowing him as that one guy who handles imperial guard watch tours and trains guards--

-and one guard I just like to imagine having a crush on him too. I started working on some guy from WKX's childhood too, but I feel like WKX's past is such a huge can of worms, I'll save all of that for later, haha.

[t4t4tclethian]

The moment Joel realizes he has a crush on xB is, objectively, quite a funny one. He’d almost certainly be laughing about it if it had been anyone else. As it is, though, he’s hopping mad, extremely indignant, and deeply embarrassed about the whole thing. Who ever heard of a hitman falling for their mark? (Well, a lot of people have- it’s a whole romance cliche for a reason. But it wasn’t supposed to actually happen!)

(ao3 link)

————————————————

It had all started a few days earlier, when Joel had been hanging out with the other Magical Mountaineers in the breakroom. Gem and Impulse were poring over some papers together, Skizz was on a phone call in the corner, Mumbo was politely watching as Scar fumbled through some magic tricks, and Grian was sitting on the couch with Joel, listening to him rant about his failures at killing xB (he’d drawn the short straw). Everything was normal.

And then, when Joel paused his tirade to take a breath, Grian said those fatal words. “From the way you talk about this guy, Joel, it’s almost like you’ve got a crush on the mark!”

Which was ridiculous, of course! He does blummin’ not, thank you! His relationship with xB was a perfectly platonic contract killing, and Joel is a professional! He knows better than to fall for his target, and he indignantly tells Grian as much.

But, of course, Grian is Grian, and the second he senses he’s touched a nerve he doubles down. And so he did.

“Contract killing? Give me a break, Joel! Your contract on this guy expired ages ago, and you’re not the type to work for free.” Grian’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he continued to needle at Joel. “Admit it, there’s something else going on here, isn’t there?”

Joel spluttered, and took a deep breath as he glanced around the room. Fuck. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen in on him and Grian now. He had to say something to throw them off or he would never be able to live this conversation down.

“My contract might be done, but unlike some people I finish the things I start, thank you very much!”

Grian squawked in indignation, and as he did so the others chuckled and turned back to their own conversations, unfounded accusations of romance forgotten. Grian’s tendency to leave things unfinished was well-known, and something that every assassin at Magic Mountain had teased him over many times.

But that thought refused to leave his brain. It had wiggled its way in like a worm. Did he have a crush on xB? Is that why he kept coming back when any sane person would’ve just given it up already? And the answer, of course, is no. All of Joel’s actions here have perfectly reasonable and professional explanations.

————————————————————

Joel waits patiently on the rooftop across from Horse Head Farmer’s Market (which, despite the name, is actually a grocery store/money laundering scheme, not a farmer’s market), rifle at the ready, just as he has been for the past three and a half hours. You can’t rush a good sniping, after all, and xB’s schedule varies enough that Joel’s never quite sure when he’ll head out for lunch. (He’s pretty sure xB has done this specifically to spite Joel- the guy’s obsessed with him.)

Yes! Finally! xB steps out of the store, starts walking down the street, and- turns to look at Joel’s rooftop, makes direct eye contact with him, and gives him a friendly little wave, the infuriatingly sincere kind that makes Joel want to kill him even more. Dammit. He’s been caught. Also, wow, even from here Joel is a little wowed by how blue xB’s eyes are. Or maybe he’s just remembering how they look, because there’s no way Joel can actually see his eyes from here. They are definitely a very nice blue, though, and oh, huh, Joel realizes that Lizzie has blue eyes, too. Maybe he’s got a thing for blue-eyed people, and- OH SHIT RIGHT HE’S KILLING THIS GUY.

Joel fires, because even if he’s been discovered a vantage point is still a vantage point. Of course, xB somehow manages to not be in the bullet’s path, just like he always does, and then he gives Joel a disapproving look, like he’s actually disappointed Joel didn’t do a better job at trying to kill him.

God, he’s so cute, Joel’s brain has the audacity to think, like it’s trying to add insult to insult to injury. To Joel’s horror, he realizes in this moment that he’s had dozens, maybe even hundreds of thoughts like this, that just slipped through the cracks and went unnoticed.

Then, xB smiles at him again before heading on his way, and Joel falls off of the rooftop. He has time to think, Oh, I’m gonna kill Grian, as he plummets towards the ground. And then, everything goes dark, and he dies.

[campbell-rose]

Helluva Rewrite: Blitzø

ft Loona doodles :) Alright first off sorry this took so long i got a job lol

A large part of his character is the fact that he used to be a clown, so I took a bit of two face in this design and accentuated the scarring on the left side of his face. I decided to give him the circular cheek bits to allude to the clown as well as ruffling his collar under the clothes. He’s the most complex design of the IMP so far, aside from Loona’s multiple spots, so i tried to keep the colors simple but distinct from M&M. I took the spikes and put them on his clothes – as in he puts on thorns to keep people away. I think a pink tone suits his more lusty character. 

Now as for his character... I'll be honest I struggled with him for a bit. I wasn’t entirely sure where I wanted his character to go or how serious this rewrite would take the drama Viv wants to write. I adore writing deep characters, so I suppose I’m going to have to take The Office’s approach of being a comedy with moving parts. There are overarching plot lines in this version, that being Moxxie’s mafia ties coming back to haunt him, Blitzo’s past coming back to fuck him over in the form of everything about him, and Millie’s insecurities fucking her over when it counts. Maybe the series underlying theme is how running from your problems doesn’t work. Idk, because I also like the whole monster of the week type assassin gigs they do. I’ll make it work. 

So now, introducing the new and improved Blitzø! 

Blitzø is a mixed imp, his father being from Greed and his mother being from Lust. As such he’s a very poor mix of bad traits. He’s hypersexual (to the point of disturbing others), greedy as fuck (as he underpays Millie and Moxxie), is greatly attached to and possessive of those he likes (hence his smothering of Loona and stalking of M&M), and tends to think with his dick in most situations which get him into quite a few pickles (hehe pickle) 

Alright, so personality wise he is just about the same. He shits on others, is generally an ass and not very shy about it, but one thing I want to change is his delivery. This Blitzø is much more jovial about what he’s doing, putting on an act of being very charming and playful, even when he insults people. Ex, the line in the pilot when he mentions Moxxie crushing his dreams would include a very childish pout and a chuckle after. He plays the things he says off as jokes so it gives him an air of... idk like you don’t know when he’s ever being serious. 

He grew up in a circus in Greed along with his twin sister Barbie Wire (side note if Blitzo was my og creation he would have a pun/type name like Barbie does. Too tired to come up with one now, but mainly just because Barbie Wire is a much more creative name than fucking Blitzo) and his mother, who was dying day by day. His father was the ring leader and used his children as props to make money. Blitzo was a double act with Barbie Wire where they would do tricks on trained horses before Barbie started wanting to do trapeze and Blitzo was paired with Fizz instead to do acrobatics and tell jokes. 

Now since we don’t know what the fuck happened in Blitzo’s past (despite being on fucking season 2) I’m going to leave this bit open ended until Viv plays her cards then rewrite it into my story.  

So overall I’m not tweaking too much with Blitzo. Maybe instead of being a woobie who is like oh woe is me I suck he is just an overt asshole who sort of wants to be better but that’s too much work.  

His relationship with Stolas is a can of worms and I fucking hate worms. Alright, so we’re scrapping the childhood buddies thing, and going full force into what we all were shown in the pilot – this powerful demon is banging Blitzo in exchange for the Grimoire. Now real quick, why doesn’t Blitzo use Asmodean crystals? In this I'm making it so only lust demons can bond with crystals (bonding meaning only that demon can use them) and unbound crystals can’t leave Lust. So Blitzo would have to go to Lust and buy one, which is expensive as fuck and he was too broke at the time he struck the deal with Stolas. He’s planning on ditching Stolas as soon as he has enough cash to buy a crystal for IMP to use. 

So Stolas and Blitzo are both using each other, neither of them are like “omg I think he likes me”. Stolas wants sex to fuel his imp fetish and Blitzo wants the book. Blitzo has every intention of cutting this off as soon as he gets the crystal, and in his mind is only really indulging some rich brat demon. The issue comes when Blitzo finds himself actually liking Stolas – he likes the owl’s stupid spiels about literature and space and herbs, he likes that Stolas tells him helpful things with no prompting (like how certain herbs can treat injuries and things like that), and he finds himself liking Stolas’s company. Which is a big problem if he wants to cut the demon off, so he starts trying to get that in gear. This is also while being constantly reminded how unlovable he is and how he ruins everything he touches, but he’s conflicted because Stolas has started to treat him kindly and refer to him like an acquaintance rather than a sex toy. 

Any I'm tired af, going to bed. 

Oh, but before I go I just want to say that now that I’ve finished the IMP gang, I’m taking a minor break from reworking Helluva and will be posting some RWBY redesigns I’ve made because I fucking hate RWBY but at the same time it’s like my childhood. I’ll tag anything Rwby I'm doing as Rwby Rework if you’re interested, but don’t worry I’ll continue to do more viv/helluva/hazbin later this month! 

Thanks for reading <3

[artydonsgf]

please enjoy enemies to lovers with patrick! no one asked but i’m very into the idea of patrick being an annoying cocky shit because i want to fuck him<3

enjoy my sweets~

Enemies to Lovers with Patrick Zweig

- you guys met at age 12 when you started at the same tennis academy that patrick went to

- your dislike for one another wasn’t immediate, in fact you thought patrick was really cute at first

- sure he was a bit cocky and he had no clue what personal space meant but he made your heart flutter regardless

- your beef with him only developed when he randomly decided you were his enemy of the week cause you got a ball past him

- he went from shooting you little smiles to giving you cocky looks

- as you grew older, you really started to dislike him

- you became friends with his best friend art and that irked him real bad

- told you one day to step off his court and leave his best friend alone

- you’re a competitive piece of shit so you start training even more and your friendship with art deepens

- this was the turning point for both of you to really dislike one another

- art is fighting for his life listening to you both shit talk each other

- one day, art asks you if your hatred is actually just lust

- he basically suggests fucking patrick n seeing if your emotions cool off

- you choke on your water and glare at him n he never mentions it again

- sure patrick is extremely hot and you catch yourself watching his arms whenever he plays

- but thats only because despite hating him, you can’t deny he’s a phenomenal player

- art’s suggestion worms its way into your brain though

- everything comes to a head when you two get into an argument over if the ball was in or out

- patrick claims it was in but you say that since you’re literally closer, you can see that it’s out

- he storms over to your side of the court and you guys are yelling at each other

- he briefly glances at your lips and that’s all it takes

- yall end up making out for the rest of practice

- you go back to his place and despite wanting to have sex, you both just cuddle in bed completely silently

- when you both cool off, patrick tells you that you drive him mad but he wants to kiss you all the time

- from that point on, you guys are dating even though no one formally asked

- you still bicker like an old married couple but it’s a lot more loving now

- art is celebrating except now he needs to pry you guys off each other if he wants to hang out

- patrick tells you that he knew that he was gonna get with you one day

- he only really argued with you because he found it hot whenever you got worked up

- once you guys are dating, he’s locked in all the way

- your enemies become his enemies, no matter how petty

- hates your mean third grade teacher, the girl who laughed at you in high school, the ta who took points off your exam

- shit talker to the max

- you guys had a sleepover in your dorm once and you pulled out all your yearbooks to explain 10+ year drama and he is ENTHRALLED

- despite how fiery he is, he cools down with you

- loud cocky fuck boy patrick is gone to the world as long as you’re with him

NSFW

- who said patrick zweig MUNCH!!

- not really submissive or dominant, he likes to fight for control with you

- on dominant days he’s a hair puller and very into dirty talk

- on more submissive days, he wants praise and biting

- wild in bed

- loves angry sex, it’s a lot better than both of you yelling at each other

- extremely gentle with aftercare when yall have angry sex

- has the stamina of a fucking horse, you’ll be recovering from a round and he’s ready to go at it again

- likes to sext, he’ll randomly send you texts to inform you that he’s hard and he misses you

- hates going on tour in general but hates it even more because you have to stay behind and he gets extremely lonely

- that’s the only reason he still jerks off, otherwise youll take care of it for him

- good at aftercare but is quick to fall asleep when he’s done cleaning you up

- loves when you’re sore but also hates it cause he doesn’t wanna throw you off your game

- make out king, he knows how to use his tongue

- can genuinely stay up the entire night if it means you’re in bed with him

- loves kissing and biting you to leave hickies

- loves it when you leave hickies in visible places, it’s his way of telling the people who ogle at him that he’s happy n taken care of at home

[dumplingsjinson]

I LOVED your new years one thank youuuuu may I request some royalty prompts/dialogue? Like maybe a royal x a royal OR royal x servant if possible please~

(happy new years btw hope you have a decent 2023). 🥂

(A late ass happy new year and I hope 2023 has been decent to you so far!)

List of “royal x royal” prompts 

“This castle’s ground is all that I ever knew, until I met you — you, who brought me a whole new perspective of the world beyond these walls. And God, is it fucking beautiful when I’m experiencing it beside you.” 

“My father hates you.” “Trust me, I know. My father hates me too, but I’m the only child who can inherit the throne so… You know. It’s rough out here.” 

“You’re indebted to me for life, love.” “…Fuck you.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this. We might run the risk of getting caught,” Character A murmurs as Character B’s hand settles on the small of their back. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” Character B says, staring into Character A’s eyes. Character A doesn’t say anything in response, and Character B smiles, hand straying further down. “Thought so.” 

“I promise you I’ll do whatever it takes to take you down.” “And so will I.” 

“I don’t want to take the throne. I don’t want any of this. I never asked for this.” “…Neither do I. Let’s… Let’s run away together? To somewhere else, where no one can find us. Where we don’t have to hide; where we don’t have to be under the control of our own parents.” 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” “I came to see you, what do you think?”

“How did you get into my room?!” “Might have sneaked past the guards and bribed some of the weaker ones who saw me and injured the ones who tried to fight me?” 

Throwing cursory glances at each other whenever their families are in the same room as each other.

“We’re destined to be enemies, not lovers. At least not in this life. We’re not meant to be.” “I don’t care. Fuck destiny, we’ll make our own destiny if it means I get to be with you.” 

List of “royal x servant” prompts 

“You’ve been there for me since we were kids. You’re my best friend. You’ve been through the good and the bad with me. You’ve never left my side, and maybe you didn’t have a choice in the matter, but you never gave me any indicators that you wanted to abandon me. You’re everything I could ever want. I’m not letting them you send you away like this.” 

“The thing is, you can give me anything in the world but yourself. You’ve given the world yourself, but you can’t give the same to me. And I don’t want anything but you.”

“Let’s elope.” “I can’t make you throw away everything just to—” “I don’t want any of those things anyways. I never asked for them. I want you, and only you.” 

“Can you come into my room for a second?” “But—” “Do as I say before I make you.” 

“What’s all of this?” “I bought all of this for you.” “You know you can’t just worm your way into someone’s heart with money, right?” 

“Me or the throne?” “God, don’t fucking do this—” “Did I stutter? Me? Or the Throne?”

“Sir/Madam—” “I told you to use my name.”

“Did you ever think that maybe this isn’t going to work out? If you truly loved me, then you’d let me go and find someone I can actually be with.” “…But do you really want me to let you go?” 

“You need to get off your high horse; you’re not better than anyone else just because you have your whole life planned out for you. Destined to sit and die on that throne, or have someone murder you in cold blood to take your place, and then being remembered as the one who died to some backstabbing asshole; a little sad, don’t you think?” “…No one else other than you speaks to me like this. It’s hot. Keep talking.” 

“Status? That doesn’t mean shit if you’re not by my side.” Character A sighs, running their fingers through their hair, their head drooping. “Just— I’m sorry, I know it’s selfish for me to say, but please don’t leave. I’ve only ever had you. You’re the only one who can look me in the eyes and tell me how it is; the only one who understands what I really want. The only one who understands the real me.” 

[lokisgoodgirl]

Bow to Me: Quivering [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (16) Loki's archery lesson unlocks an ominous promise. (w/c 3.8k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Wankst. Language. "Friends" w/ benefits. Jealousy.

It was a short, hellish trip to the archery field with Loki riding the black stallion. Trees whirred past as you clung on for dear life, the medieval veil plastered to the side of your face. “Do we really need to go this fast-fuckkk Loki…” you yelled, covering your eyes before Loki’s seidr melted a thick tree branch hanging in your path. You could hear him chuckling infuriatingly beside you, enjoying every second of your torment as the force of motion whipped his wild hair. “Always!” he shouted against the wind.

He pulled you tighter against his chest. Long strands of wolf hide tickled the delicate skin beneath your eyes as you braced against him; turned away from seemingly imminent death. You winced as the string of the bow slung over his shoulders pressed into your lip, cursing the god who refused to make anything fucking easy. Mercifully, the horse began to slow. Loki’s fingers tugged the leather reigns, soothing noises from his lips making his chest vibrate. The horse slowed to a light trot. “It seems as though you will be spared my tutelage at present, Agent.” he cooed mockingly, nudging his nose against the curve of your cheekbone. You looked around, dazed as your blurred vision settled on the line of targets set up at the edge of the field. And standing in front of them – Amanda. The shareholder woman? What the fuck is she doing here? You thought, as Loki brought the ebony steed to a stop. His fingers wrapped around your waist, decamping you in an unceremonious slide down the flank. You landed with a shaky thud, vaguely aware of the god swinging a leg over and gracefully dismounting with a devilish smile. “My Lady.” he purred, sinking to one knee as she approached. She extended a hand with a giggle, draped sleeves of a medieval gown similar to yours accentuating the flourish. You grimaced as he gently pulled it towards him, placing his lips lightly on her skin. His eyes flickered up to meet hers. You knew how hypnotic that look could be. Although granted, you’d usually experienced the view from between your legs. “I heard you were taking the archery, and well...I couldn’t resist the chance to be taught by a real life god.” she twittered, saccharine tone making you want to punch her in the face. “The early bird gets the worm and all that…” she cackled shrilly, making you wince again. Loki beamed. “Good Lady, it would be my pleasure.” he enunciated, ensuring that every syllable was loaded with the weight his innuendo commanded. “Oh my god…” you muttered scathingly under your breath, taking the opportunity to straighten out the fold of your skirts. You turned towards the horse, patting his head as Loki rose to his full height out the corner of your eye. The horse stamped twice, batting it's long lashes. “Wait by the white line over there. Take the ash bow, please.” he instructed softly to Amanda. You heard her hum thoughtfully. “The light coloured one.” Loki purred to her, before turning towards you. You could almost hear the shit-eating smirk spreading across his face. You watched Amanda sashay further into the field, the unmistakable swing of her hips making it obvious she was still nursing her infatuation with Loki. I can’t blame her, you thought; sucking in your cheeks. But still.

“How fortunate for you not to have the arduous task of breaking me in for the guests.” Loki smarmed to your side, giving the ebony steed two short claps on the neck. The position meant he loomed behind you, curls of his tousled hair falling over your temple. “Although I’m sure you were looking forward to me teaching you a thing or two. Perhaps afterwards. Amanda comes first, I’m afraid.”

Loki snapped his fingers, making a small stool appear to his side. The wood was smooth, a beautifully rich mahogany glowing in the sun like freshly melted chocolate. “You couldn’t conjur something with a back?” you huffed, making him laugh softly. Without another word, he began to stride towards the woman shuffling fifty paces away, her hand falling and re-attaching to her hip nervously as she tried to look unphased. You knew the feeling. Although you hoped you were better at hiding it.

You watched as Loki charmed the VIP through the basics of placement, loading arrows and the like. The chime of their flirtatious laughter made you wince. He was being sweet. Urgh, it made you feel ill.

She’s one of Stark’s biggest shareholders, he’s just giving her special treatment it’s not..it’s fine. Who cares, not me. You realised the force of your teeth grinding together was making your head hurt.

Amanda wasn’t a natural, that much was clear. Either that or she isn’t paying attention, you noted; as another arrow tumbled to the ground. “Oops.” you heard her giggle, as Loki descended in a low squat. His thick thighs made an inverted V, bursting against the tight leather as he gazed sluttishly up to her above the collar of that ridiculous fur jacket. Even from this distance, you could feel the heat of her desperate stare lingering on his cock through the aged material. It would be bulging at that angle, the soft weight straining against every centimetre of available space. She probably thinks he’s got a semi, but he won’t. It’s just big, you thought. Or hell, maybe he does.

What was it that irked you? Seeing the flat of his palm sinking into the curve of her waist? Fingertips creasing against the fabric gathered at her hip as he pulled her closer into position? The gravitation of his lips towards her ear, whispering praise as she pulled back the string past her cheek? The realisation that quite possibly, he had never cared at all. Just like you had wanted.

The thud of an arrow hitting the target made you jump. Amanda squealed, throwing an arm around Loki’s neck with the other holding the bow outstretched. A broad smile was plastered on his face, his eyes running to her lips and back to her eyes. You grimaced. See? It’s not a you-thing. If the bosses wouldn’t flip their shit, he’d probably be shagging her on the grass right now. The intrusive thought made a flood of nausea roll in your belly. Shit.

“Agent, you’re up.” Loki called firmly, tinged with amusement. Amanda’s display. He couldn’t have planned it better himself. The walk towards him seemed to take forever, a secretive smile from your unwitting rival as you passed her making your stomach flip. Loki stood with his arms resting on the bow, anchored on the ground. He looked so fucking smug in that ridiculously erotic jacket. Arsehole, you thought; cursing yourself.

“I don’t need your help.” you scoffed, as he handed you the bow. “Don’t you?” he replied with mock innocence, reaching behind him to produce a finely crafted arrow. The end was a feather you had never seen before, a lush deep green which seemed to shimmer in the light. You hadn’t noticed the quiver slung across his back, a thick leather strap tight against the wolf’s pelt. You sighed, taking it and slotting it into the hold. You drew the arrow back and let it fly; hoping to god you weren’t rusty.

With a pathetic tap, it pierced the wicker edge of the target board. Fuck. “Mmm.” Loki hummed smugly, fastening his hands behind his back.

“I was distracted. You’re putting too much pressure on me.” you muttered, flustered. Loki chuckled. “Too much pressure? I hardly think so, considering your occupation.” he drawled, brows slanted in expectation as he lowered his chin. “Perhaps it is my presence that is making you uneasy. Do you have an unfortunate build up of tension, Agent? As I recall, you didn’t climax on our last encounter.” “Yeah that was pretty rude, actually.” you said, lining up another shot. “I was rude?” Loki snarled incredulously. “You have a very selective memory.” There was silence as you adjusted your aim with an empty bow, squeezing one eye shut. “No, no no-” Loki huffed, pressing the hand holding the bow down. “Clearly you need a firm hand to deliver the only kind of motivation you seem to respond to.”

Loki’s tunic was suddenly flush to your back, the spikes of wolf hide poking through the satin of your dress. His large hand covered yours, gripping the bow; fingers clasping around your own. The other slid over your hip, feeling down the muscle of your forearm taut with tension. “Your aim runs high, Agent.” he smouldered. “You need to lower yourself.” Loki’s hand left your waist, and you felt your heart drop. He reached behind him to the battered leather quiver slung across his back, pulling out another arrow with unbearable slowness. You could hear the scrape of metal on dried skin as it slid from the holster. He guided the point of your bow down several inches, his sharp cheekbone snug against the back of your head. “The arrow will find its way to the target if you simply give in to the chaos, and trust me.” You exhaled sharply through gritted teeth. “I was aiming in the right-” “-Trust me, Agent” Loki repeated calmly, cutting you off. “You were not.” You pursed your lips, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of further debate. “Now...pull your arm back” he murmured, “and set your thumb against that pretty jaw.” His hand guided yours, feeling the base of your thumb slot against your cheekbone. “Harder. Nice and tight.” he murmured. You complied, reluctantly. “That’s it.” Loki praised darkly, letting his fingers graze up your bicep and up to the point of your elbow. You could feel him tense forward, the flat expanse of harsh muscle exposed at the neckline of his tunic pressing between your shoulder-blades. Loki shifted his stance, legs widening behind you. At the new angle, you could feel his cock hardening furiously against the curve of your ass; pressing tightly into the soft flesh through the leather pants. Instinctively, you pushed your rear against him; desperate to feel it. Pathetic, you thought; as your eyelids fluttered shut.

He growled, lips brushing the shallow of your cheekbone as he observed your refreshed aim; not acknowledging the pillar of furiously hard cock between you. Loki’s words were scratching, like sandpaper scraped over tarmac. “I know that you are in love with me, Agent.” he purred, “and I will have you admit it.” He sucked your earlobe between his teeth as your tensed arm began to quiver. “Come on, you got this!” Amanda cheered loudly beside the horse across the field. The horse stamped, shaking its head. You’d forgotten she was even there. Loki smirked against your cheek, the scratch of his fur lapel making the exposed skin on the nape of your neck tingle. “I will have you swallow your pride and concede that your heart belongs to me. I would hear you beg for me, on your knees – if the moment takes you.” A violent shiver rolled down your spine. “I’m bored of your games, Loki.” you murmured shakily, closing one eye as you tried to regain concentration from the groan of utter desire building in your throat. His breath was hot against your neck, crashing against your goose-fleshed skin like waves at a seawall. You began to raise the bow, but the god pushed your wrist down. “Nonsense.” he purred casually, retreating his fingers over the sliver of your exposed collarbone, brushing a strand of hair back as he went. Your shoulder-blades squeezed together. “I would have you bow to me. I would have you beg me...” he murmured, thrusting his hips gently against your ass. “for...release.” On command, you let the arrow fly. It soared through the air in a perfect, lethal line - piercing the target with a loud thwack. “Better.” Loki whispered huskily, his smirk audible. Frantic, muted claps from Amanda peppered the air. She was really laying it on thick.

Loki backed away from you as you lowered the bow. He beckoned Amanda with a wave. “I must take care of something.” he muttered. “Watch the civilian, would you?” You gaped, as he waved his hand; making the flap of a small tent to the side of the field fly open on his approach. 'I would have you beg me'. You frowned, seeing him disappear behind the garish fabric. “Just us girls then?” Amanda quipped with an air of disappointment, coming up beside you. “Just us girls, for now.” you repeated with a strained smile, loading another arrow. “He’ll be back. He always is, unfortunately.”

Loki braced a hand against the pole at the centre of the tent. Red and white striped fabric rustled, the walls billowing slightly against a gust. The colours gave a soft hue to the air as he steadied his breathing. Steadied the thump of his heart. She isn’t breaking, he thought. He slid his forearm down the pole, wolf-fur catching against the grain. With a sigh, he rested his back against it. Of all the creatures in all the realms that he could become infatuated with, by the Norns why was it one so insufferably irritating? He closed his eyes, hearing the thump of an arrow hitting the target followed by a low rumble of disapproval. Loki frowned.

You hadn’t followed his advice. But you would. Resting his head back against the hard wood, he felt the pulse of hot blood tight in his leathers. Fuck, he was so fucking hard. Always, with her. Like a dog. Or a wolf. He smirked. He ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it behind his ears as he heard the light chatter of your stilted conversation. Five minutes. They wouldn’t miss him for five minutes. She loves me, he thought. That much was obvious. And it wasn’t just her thoughts. All his senses were heightened when it came to her. He could feel the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, the rush of desire which throbbed between her legs. The twisting in her stomach as she fought against her desires. Her scent, by the gods. When he was near, every pore on that radiant skin oozed a pheromone designed to drive him to base insanity. Tentatively, he unbuckled the thick leather belt cinched around his waist; letting it fall quietly to the grass. He untied the laces at the crotch of his trousers, each grating slide of the strings seeming louder than anything else in the world. A shaky breath shuddered the air as he slid the tight leather trousers past his hipbones before squeezing a hand inside. It caught on his public hair, making him wince. Loki gripped his straining cock, letting it bounce free with a sigh of relief. Fuck. His back arched against the pole as he began to stroke, a jolt of his knees making him widen his legs. The crotch of his lowered trousers stretched ominously at the top of his thighs, leather creaking against the force of his brace. The wolf-fur sleeve brushed against his skin with every slide of his palm, reminding him of your hair as you sucked him off with your talented mouth. Fuckkk, he thought; tightening his grip. Loki’s velvet skin relented easily beneath a practised touch, the beads of pre-cum forming at his thick tip the only lubrication he wanted today. He wanted it rough. To imagine fucking you on the ground outside, skirts splayed around your hips as you groaned your filthy, undying love for him. Yes, today – he wanted to burn. Another juddering sigh snaked past his lips as his thumb slid against the ridges of his shaft. Every vein, every bulge of tissue, every tug of his foreskin setting him further alight. He gritted his teeth, chin pointed to the high centre of the tent as his fist pumped in punishing rhythm. Behind his eyelids, the memory of the crease in your forehead as his manhood inched inside you filled his mind. Gods, how he loved filling you to breaking point. With his cock. With his seed. With his raw, animalistic power reserved only for you. The moans you made, the utter sexual devastation he caused you. Loki’s thighs quivered, the pop of muscle as they strained making him growl. Quiet you fool, he chided; reluctantly slowing his strokes. He thrust in waves against his hand, each clench of his fingers on the upswing making his brow furrow deeper. His thumb rolled his thin foreskin over the wet glans in time with his hips, a low groan of pleasure building in his chest as the scent of your perfume grew stronger in his nostrils. It clung there, like the rest of you clung in his thoughts; dark and moreish overtones of violet wafting in tendrils. Loki grit his teeth, stifling a cry as he slid his fist down to the base; squeezing the hard girth. His free hand gripped a quivering thigh, digging his nails in to stifle his moans. How he wanted you. All of you. How he wanted you to want him. Truly want him.

The spasms in his legs were closer together now, electric flinches of pleasure jolting beneath taut skin. The leather around his hips hung open sluttishly, the proud rise of his cock punctuated by the messy slip of his hand with every shallow breath. Yes, yes… ”Yes…” he groaned quietly, feeling his balls tighten. A hundred memories of your hostile fucks filled his mind, overloading the space behind his eyelids in quick succession. The way you moaned his name in frustration as he edged you, the hatred and longing in every spit of derision when he was buried to the hilt inside your perfect cunt. All the ways he could deliver you from your binds of propriety and professionalism, making the very earth you called home quake beneath your feet. How he rendered you incoherent when he came undone inside your slippery pussy. How he ascended to another plane which your climax tightened around him. Slick and warm and wet and perfect. It was he who owned your heart. So why would you not relent? His frantic mind settled on the motel room, months ago. He had seen how your eyes smouldered as he appeared in his biker clothes from dalliances decades before on this ridiculous planet – he knew they would come in useful again some day. Loki sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as his pace quickened, chasing release. The way you had pulled his ragged t-shirt towards you in a violent kiss. The way your eyes widened as you saw his newly pierced cock bounce free in your grip, how you groaned like a virgin when the metal pushed past your little pretty slit to Valhalla beyond.

“Gods…” Loki growled quietly, fucking himself to oblivion; the lurid thrill of the clandestine wank heightening every sensation. Strands of hair fell across his brow from the punishment, moist with a thin sheen of sweat. The wolf fur hung splayed open at his chest, the clench of his stomach muscles tightening with every licentiously slippery pump of his hand. His knees began to buckle, feeling himself slide down the pole beneath quivering thighs. Whitened knuckles clenched around his cock, a silent scream rumbling in his chest as he barely registered your polite laugh beyond the tent. Why must she be this way, he mused somewhere inside the dark haze of lust. Why must she resist herself? Resist me? His head fell back, hair tugging painfully as strands stuck to the rough wood sliding behind his head. Loki’s knees hit the ground with a soft thump. He fell forwards, the touch of grass beneath his free palm doing nothing to dampen the feral need to fuck. The image that flashed through your wandering mind earlier of Loki mounting you from behind against an oak tree. Norns it was all he could do to restrain himself from ripping the bodice from your curves and taking you against the nearest food cart. In your head, his cheekbones were set in smouldering malice as he brought the leather belt down on your supple ass between messy thrusts. Fuck, yes; he groaned internally; jaw clenching. He would be gentle. At first. He would mould himself against your body, skirts pushed to the side as he rutted into you to the hilt; deep and firm and slow. Just the way you liked it. One hand would wield the belt, the other would hold your wrists together above your head. He would press the delicate skin to the rough bark; dirty grunts falling heavily into the foliage beneath your feet as you moaned his name.

Dirty girl. What a filthy whore she is for me. Loki’s lips parted, shallow pants peppering the close air in the tent. It was warmer now, drops of condensation forming on the roof. Such a good girl for everyone else. But such a hateful slut for her god.

The sides of his open jacket hung past his ribs as he swayed on his hands and knees, wolf fur feeling damp against the hot skin beneath. Like a dog, he thought again. A rabid hound. Loki’s fingers had never left his cock, the punishing pace making his toes curl inside his thick boots as he knelt with knees spread on the ground. What is she feeling now, I wonder; he mused while rolling a slick thumb over the aching head, pulling his foreskin forward and back with brutish force. Pearls of his seed were following in quick succession from the plump tip pointed to the ground, gathered by every swipe of his hand with a singular focus. Cum. He could hear your voice strained with the effort of being Amanda’s companion just outside. How close were you? Ten? Fifteen meters? What would you think if you saw him like this? On his hands and knees like a submissive waiting for the lash of a paddle. Mercilessly fucking himself to the thought of you, teeth bared like an animal. He tried to focus. Jolts of overwhelming pleasure rolled in his loins as he began to come undone; sinking into the veil of your currently bubbling emotions like a warm bath. My chest against her back. Biting her earlobe, she liked that. She can’t stop herself. She misses my tongue between her legs, eating her out like a feral, starving wol- Loki whimpered, biting his lip to stifle the coming storm. He was going to cum so hard. The perfect spurt to decorate the mounds of infuriatingly sensual cleavage rising from your bodice which had taunted him since he walked in on you and Thor together. Would you run a finger along the curve of your breast after he came over you with a roar, gathering him? Would you look him dead in the eye with that irritatingly smug stare while you sucked it clean, a condescending moan mocking his unquenchable desire for you? Of course she fucking would, Loki thought with a silent snarl. The god’s mouth hung open, his tongue curling as dark brows knitted together. The coil inside him was wound tight, relief unbearably close as he tried desperately not to thunder your name. Messy tendrils swung by his cheekbones, the heat of sex and desperation making his thighs tremble. There would be deep dents in the grass beneath his knees. Loki was sure of that. The arm steadied to the ground began to twitch, fingers grasping at the lush blades beneath. Muscles in his forearms strained beneath the jacket, the flinch making him wobble against the hot friction of his hand. His need for you was unbearable. Loki’s hips thrust forward with every smooth pump of his fist, edging himself closer to release. In his mind he could see you spread beneath him, hair fanned around you head with your back arched as you tried to swallow more of his girth inside your little cunt. Despite your protestations, you couldn’t get enough. You loved it. And he loved it. And he loved y- He raised his head, seeing your shadow dance on the other side of the bright fabric. Eyebrows slanted, he suddenly wondered if you would come if he called; if you would respond to a strangled cry of help bleating from his lips.

Weak; you would think him weak. And that was something Loki could not abide. And why he would not break first, not after all the times before. He lowered his head again, cheeks puffing with every pregnant shallow pant that threatened to betray his base desires. Long strands of wolf fur stuck to his wet lips. The strain was unbearable. A crushing weight of utter, feral lust charging through his very core like wildfire. He could feel hot, heavy cum beginning to build; his palm tightly curled to the traitorous column of flesh between his legs. How he craved you. And how he loathed it. ‘I hate you, Loki Laufeyson’ your husky voice echoed in his memory, as he tumbled over the edge. He knew what you had meant. He had always known. And it was driving him to the brink. How long he could hold it back, protect himself, resist you...he knew not. But this would be his final attempt, it had to be. Loki’s forehead furrowed in a silent scream of pained bliss, jaw slack as his eyelids squeezed uncomfortably tight. He could feel his throat widen; teeth bared, back arching upwards as the bicep holding his weight shook. The god’s fingers dug into the dirt beneath the grass, raking deep beneath it like butter. With three ferocious strokes, he stilled at the thick root on the fourth. Hot cum exploded over his curled fist, splattering on the fresh grass below his naval from his angry cock. He let out a dying, staggered sigh, strangled against the need for secrecy. Fuck. Oh, fuck. His neck flopped forwards as he opened his eyes. They ran down the flat of his chest, over the pockets of exposed abdominal muscle still spasming. Loki’s grip on his manhood loosened, groaning lightly as the pressure lifted. He shifted his knees on the grass, a soft hiss escaping as the tightened muscles in his thighs reset. Thick strands of cum webbed from his fingers, bowing to gravity in elegant curved strands. Instinctively he raised the coated fingers to his lips, eyes closing as he sucked the warm delicacy from his skin.

“Hey! Hey! Wait…stop!” The god's blood ran cold as he heard your frantic voice, moving in strange directions just outside the flimsy flap of cover. He was still spread on his hands and knees, leathers untied, hair mussed and cock dripping. Suddenly the curtained door shuffled, a low snort muffled against the fabric before a familiar black snout poked through the gap. The magnificent horse’s head poked inside, long face sliding through the panel and regarding him suspiciously from bottomless eyes. Loki cleared his throat, hoping he sounded casual. “I’ll be back presently. Carry on.” he called, firmly. “People are starting to arrive from the Faire...” Amanda cooed loudly in response. Loki couldn’t be bothered to reply. The steed stamped twice, snorting. There was a pause, before the thud of arrows against the target resumed. The horse looked directly at Loki, and Loki looked directly at the horse. It lowered its head and shook it back with a short huff. Silently, Loki tucked his slick, softening cock beneath the rise of his tight leathers. He settled back on his haunches, beginning to lace the ties at his groin with a sigh. “If you ever breath a word of this...” he murmured ominously, the threat abundantly clear in the calmness of his voice. “I shall not be so generous in my choice of transfiguration for my vengeance, Barton.” Loki could have sworn he saw the horse’s eyes widen as it withdrew from the sliver of space, the moist flat of its nose disappearing with a final, derisive snort. Norns, he thought, settling back on his haunches and inspecting the lapel of his furs. Ropes of white seed were already drying into the rough hairs. Predictably, he had made a mess. He always did.

To be continued in Holy Orders Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @alt-littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @michelleleewise @astridstark13 @coldnique @arch-venus25 @skymoonandstardust @nine-leafclover @springdandelixn @glitchquake

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 23 thoughts:

So much happened in so few chapters, how do I even break this down?!?

First off, Colin had better stop fucking bonding with my daughter! And apologizing and making amends for past wrongs! I'm a huge fan of redemption arcs and second chances and that is being used against me! JUST LET ME HATE THIS MAN!!!!!!

My bug daughter is in prison but that's almost like, a minor side thing? It barely matters right now except that it gives some background structure. Compared to everything else the prison bit is just . . . a thing.

I'm in tears over bug horse. I'm bawling. I may never recover. RIP Atlas, you were the best of us.

TAYLOR GOES TO THERAPY!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT IS EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED!!!!!!

I love Jessica so much! She does such a good job. I want to bake her cookies as thanks but I'm not sure if that would trigger some type of conflict of interest.

Fucking Glenn. I want to hate him and love him all at the same time.

Is he an artist? Absolutely! He has a vision and it is beautiful.

But also if it comes down to "letting the world end or compromising said vision" he might be the kind of person who would watch the world burn with a tear running down his cheek, because at least it was beautiful.

Look I get it. My daughter is terrifying. But that isn't because bugs are scary. It's cause my daughter is terrifying. Making her use butterflies just means a bunch of people are gonna start having butterfly phobias.

Like come on, Clockblocker gets to break fundamental forces of the universe and cause people to question their very existence!

Do not try to tell me that someone getting time frozen and just . . . skipping a chunk of time because their mind is not part of the time stream for a few minutes would not provoke some deep thoughts of existential dread! Sure not in everyone, but not everyone is scared of bugs either! I just think it's very unfair.

The Adepts are fun. Sure powers aren't "magic" but might as well have fun with the idea! Besides it seems to be working and if I had powers I'd absolutely love to lean into a magical focus idea.

I am quite upset about the fact that during the whole Thirteenth Hour thing Weaver didn't get to shove bugs down Clockblocker's throat to save him. It would have been so poetic. Saving the day by shoving bugs down throats was still super amazing, I just wanted it to be Clockblocker.

It was the most extreme level of active awareness and minor "control" while being disabled that we've seen from Taylor so far though! Really curious to get more into that, the nature of passengers/shards, and all those things. I have so many thoughts, but they're all just speculation right now (I don't think writing 75 pages of theories that all end up being wrong is really gonna be very helpful).

“If anyone asks, you kicked their asses with butterflies.” Clockblocker gets it!

It was really cool to get more into different vibes of the world with the Vegas section! I love me some thinkers and strangers.

I'm very glad The Number Man used a sniper rifle. I would have been a little disappointed if he didn't after getting into his head in his interlude - it is just the perfect weapon for him. Motherfucker over here just bouncing bullets.

Finally got to see more Bambina after the little bit in arc 8. Her power is wild, I love it! Also Bambina's mom just shot right into the top contenders for "worst parent in Worm". Like, WTF lady.

August Prince is wild. Sucks when the most effective use of your power is "human shield" though.

Considering she had an interaction with The Number Man and Contessa, Taylor actually came out of it pretty good! Sure they lost the target they were trying to bring in, but I don't know that they really had a chance of keeping Pretender. Contessa isn't easy to stop.

The only problem I have with the Las Vegas Wards actions is hiring Bambina to break Pretender free. Otherwise ya, fucking ditch the Protectorate. Given the information they have it makes sense.

TAYLOR HAS FAN MAIL!!!!!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Grue's letter was way to heartfelt. Tattletale clearly wrote most of it.

Like come on: "I could hit you, hug you, yell at you and hold onto you for hours all at the same time. It’s fitting that I want to kiss you and throttle you at the same time because that’s what you were to me for a long time. You drive me crazy and I can never understand what’s going through your head." This is totally Tattletale! She couldn't flirt with Taylor in her own letter, she had to be sneaky about it!

"You’re an idiot. I want you to know that. You’re an idiot, Skitter. You’re brilliant and reckless and I’m betting it makes sense to you to do this but you’re an idiot." - also Tattletale.

LOOK I'M GONNA MAKE THIS SHIT GAY AND THERE ISN'T ANYTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME!!!!!!!

Imp's letter might be my favorite.

Tattletale's actual letter ends with "See you there, hun?" Just. So fucking gay. Sorry I don't make the rules.

Speaking of gay, Rachel's letter!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wolfspider wolfspider wolfspider!

Like I mean come on

"Being around you wasn’t simple or quiet but things made more sense.  Your minion with dark hair said we need to be around people but I’m around people and still feel somethings missing." GAY

"Going to take puppies to your place again soon. Show the kids to them. Might help." SO GAY

"You have plan, okay. But if your plan means you’re thinking about fighting us you should know I am getting very good at hunting and skinning things." HOLY SHIT IT'S THE MOST LESBIAN THING EVER

"We both stay alive. Try hard." TOP-TIER GAY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!

GGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY

AND THE SCENE WITH THE CHILDREN!!! AND THE BUTTERFLIES! AND THE DICE!!!!!!!!!!!

dies of joy

Seriously, 23.4 is the most beautiful chapter in Worm so far and it'll be very hard for it to be outdone.

I could talk about just that chapter for pages. It was perfect in every way. Even if I knew it had to end with Behemoth pretty early on. There was too much hope in that chapter for it to end any other way.

But in the middle of all that downward "oh fuck it's Behemoth" stuff we got an Undersiders reunion! With so much gay!

Like - “But you guys mean a lot to me.  I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, but I couldn’t without letting on that something was going on.  You’re my family, in a way.  As lame as it might be, I love you guys.” My head turned from Grue to Rachel to Tattletale as I said it.

SO FUCKING GAY

She starts at Grue sure but ends with Rachel and Lisa when saying "I love you". Certified gay.

So gay that even Imp agrees! Though I've been doing the long drawn out “Gaaaaaaayyyyyyy” since like arc 2. So Imp is a bit behind the curve here.

TAYLOR WANTS TO GO ON A DOG PARK DATE WITH RACHEL! IT'S THE MOST LESBIAN DATE POSSIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

Weaver's new flight suit is pretty neat. Dragon is a pretty good big sister.

Cody Interlude thoughts:

THIS motherfucker! I was waiting for him to show up again.

I am so mad. I'm so fucking mad.

Cody is the worst. He's pathetic and dumb.

And Accord just has to go and get killed by him in the dumbest way! GOD DAMMIT ACCORD I SIMPED FOR YOU SO HARD!!! AND THEN YOU DIE TO CODY! OF ALL PEOPLE! YOU CAN'T BE COOL IF YOU DIE TO CODY!

Chevy too! I thought he was cool and all, but he had to die to Cody. God. The worst.

ALSO MY BABY GIRL HE TRIED TO HURT MY BABY! THE ONE WHO ISN'T MY DAUGHTER!

SOMEBODY HELP TATTLETALE!

I did like seeing more of the mechanics of the Yàngbǎn after getting hints about how they work in the Lung interlude.

The power sharing plus the power amplification is a pretty broken combo tbh. Feels like there is some pretty neat stuff that could be accomplished with that.

Fuck this man though. Simmy just had to whisper to him and just dove right in. Cody can't even conceptualize what fighting back means, that would require him to grow as a person in literally any way.

Sucks for the Behemoth fight though. I guess my daughters are going to have to save the day. Again.

[sp0o0kylights]

“Oh god it’s covered in hearts.” Gareth says, staring horrified at the stage that’s been set up in the cafeteria. Grant and Jeff stand next to him, eyeing the abomination of glitter, paper, and tinsel that’s been shaped into pink and red hearts with a microphone standing proud in the middle.

Several of Hawkin’s jocks are standing to the side, talking amongst themselves, but worse is the crowd of students accumulating in front of the stage.

“You don’t think they’re gonna serenade us for Valentine's Day, do you?” Jeff asks in a similar tone of horror.

Grant makes a disgusted face at the very thought.

“It’s about time they gave me my own mic!” Eddie cackles, slamming his hands down on Gareth and Jeff’s shoulders for leverage, jumping up for a better look (Grant smartly ducked away before his friend can crawl all over him too), “I’ve only been going on about the capitalistic horrors of Valentine's Day since middle school!”

They groan in unison..

Eddie’s got a look on his face that says he’s about to vault up on stage and do this year's rant in style; Gareth will be damned if he lets Eddie get detention on a Hellfire campaign night.

“Eddie, no.” Gareth warns, as his best friend tries to worm his way past them.

“Eddie, yes.” He grins, bolting forward even as multiple hands reach out to yank him back.

“Whatever they’re doing we do not want to get in the middle!” Jeff hisses in his ear as Grant reaches for his middle (already once tricked by grabbing Eddie’s jacket, which he simply shrugged out of). Gareth does his part, holding firmly onto one of Eddie’s hands. Eddie bravely tries to stagger forward, despite the efforts of what looks like some kind of mutant tangle of human limbs.

“Come here microphone, my beloved!” He pants, comically reaching his arms out towards the stage, before Grant promptly stops fooling around and hefts him into the air.

“Nooo--the people need to hear me!” Eddie wails, thrashing.

Gareth rolls his eyes and spots three familiar faces in doing so. Freezes so abruptly that the arm he was holding onto slips out of his grip, allowing Eddie to deploy a tickle attack.

The result is Grant almost throwing him to the floor, with Jeff forced to let go or fall.

Free to cause chaos, Eddie throws his hands in the air, grinning widely.

“Is that…the freshman, up there?” Gareth asks before his best friend can crow victory.

“I’m sure there’s many freshmen up there, buddy.” Grant says with false sincerity as he regains his breath.

“No, not--I mean our freshmen! Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair!” He points, and sure enough, on the side of the crowd opposite the jocks, there stood Hellfire’s youngest with their heads put together.

“Now just what are they up to, I wonder?” Eddie ponders aloud, before shrugging his jacket back in place and strutting forward.

Trading uneasy looks with each other, his friends follow.

xXx

“The auction isn’t kicking off until 6 pm.” Henderson says, as he carefully counts the individual bills in his hand. “We know that besides the basketball team and the cheerleading team, they’ve got like, the Mayor involved, and the fire department, which means--”

“A lot of people are going to be there.” Mike interrupts, arms crossed over his arms. “That’s what it means, Dustin. What’s the point if every girl there is going to be bidding on him?”

“Were you even listening, Mike? I just said there’s a bunch of other people they’re auctioning off!”

Wheeler Jr. pulls a face that nearly makes Eddie laugh (and thus give up the fact he was slowly sneaking up on them) before the kid shoots back, “We have five dollars total Dustin. I don’t think that’s going to be enough.”

“Not to buy a whole person.” Eddie says, voice dropping to imitate the current big bad in their D&D campaign, “But five dollars is a fair price for a body part I’d say…”

He trails off with a cackle as the three freshmen startle away from him like spooked horses. “Now what--or who--are you buying?”

“They’re gonna explain it here in a minute,” Dustin says after he recovers, waving at the girls in front of the stage with a hand. “But there’s some big charity fundraiser happening tonight. Right now they’re voting one guy from the basketball team and one girl from the cheerleading squad to represent the school, but they’re auctioning off a bunch of people.” Dustin explains, holding up his fistful of dollars with a wild grin.

“If you’re the highest bidder, you get to spend the day with the person you bid on.” Lucas adds, because Dustin skipped right over that part. “Since it’s Valentine's Day themed, they’re referring to them as “winning a date”.

Well that explained all the giggling cheerleaders.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “I’d ask if this is Sinclair’s bail money, but as my last two years remind me, it’s only for juniors and seniors. Not--” He playfully slings an arm around Lucas’s shoulders, “--for the darkside’s newest recruits.”

The uncomfortable look Lucas gives him is almost enough to make Eddie feel bad, but it’s not his fault Lucas was tempted by the evils of highschool sportsball. He figures the kid will come to his senses soon enough, and considering how awful the jocks are, it won’t be too long before Sinclair is 100% a Hellfire club member again.

“Which begs the question.” Eddie continues, slinging an arm over Mike’s shoulder as well. “What are you scheming? I’d ask if you’re buying me a date, but,'' He gives an over-dramatic sigh,” alas, no one can survive the charms of Eddie the Banished.”

“Charm is one word for it.” Jeff says, as the rest of Hellfire finally catches up. Gareth and Grant roll their eyes as Mike and Lucas chuckle weakly at Eddie’s exaggerated pout.

He drops his arms from his little lamb’s shoulders, taking a step back and looking around at the growing crowd.

“Hush Jeff. Let’s see if ol’ Eddie can guess who our brethren here have their eyes on. I wonder if…” He trails off, dragging out the last word as he does so before a bright, teasing smile lights up his face. “Aha! I see one Miss Cunningham. Are we bidding on her for Sir Gareth?”

A sputtering noise erupts behind him, as Eddie turns with glee to watch Gareth practically choke on soda he’d just taken a sip of, Grant thumping him on the back.

“Eddie.” Gareth hisses, and somehow it sounds like a warning even if his voice has a slight wheeze to it.

“What?” Eddie says, full of faux innocence. “We all know the lengths you’ve gone to get her attention recently.”

Gareth’s gone bright red, a testament to the fact that he’s been mooning over Chrissy Cunningham since the day she complimented one of his drawings.

His over-the-top moaning of how to woo her away from Jason is a prospect Eddie tolerates only because he himself has gone through great lengths to impress men that will never once look his way, let alone consider him as a romantic option.

(And also because Gareth, as Eddie’s best friend and confidant, was well aware of Eddie’s own crush on one Steve Harrington.

Apparently, Hellfire’s members were just cursed to fall for jocks.)

“They want to bet on Steve.” Mike says with an eye roll, apparently done with this entire charade.

For two seconds Eddie thinks that he’s somehow spoken the part about Steve aloud and that Mike is somehow echoing his deepest, innermost thoughts but is saved from panicking further by Dustin adding;

“We’re gonna make him play a campaign with us.”

The kid’s grin makes his eyes sparkle, which is completely at odds with the way Eddie’s stomach plummets.

“He played D&D with my sister, Eddie.” Lucas says, feigning a hurt look. “My kid sister, but not me?”

“Harrington played D&D?” Gareth’s voice implies he doesn’t believe it, and honestly? Had it not been for the freshmen, he wouldn’t have believed anything that was said about Harrington. He was on the verge of tears with laughter when they told him that the almighty King Steve was their chauffeur. They had to be lying about how often they hung out with Steve to begin with, right? Because there was just no way.

Except they weren’t. They really, really, weren’t.

It only took a handful of times of watching Steve pick them up from Hellfire, and then seeing the entire extended group (including Sinclair’s on-again-off-again girlfriend and Robin Buckley of all people) bouncing around Harrington like over excited puppies all over town.

The arcade. Downtown Hawkins. The local milkshake diner and the stupid movie theater.

Literally.

Everywhere.

“You guys are going to bid on Steve Harrington and make him play D&D.” Jeff clarifies, and Eddie doesn’t blame him for doing that either.

It’s the stupidest thing he’s heard all day, and he spent the last hour and a half listening to Mr. Rulf yawn on about parallelograms.

“Yeah! You guys wanna pitch in and help?”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie sneers. He can’t help himself--this is against everything he’s ever stood for.

Stupid thoughts of stupid Steve going on a stupid date with him, aside.

“Yeah guys, I think we’re gonna eat outside today. If you wanna listen to…whatever,” Jeff casts his eyes towards the cheerleader that’s bounding up the steps of the stage, ponytail bouncing, “ then go right ahead.”

“Oh we don’t need to listen to this.” Dustin dismisses the entire thing with a wave of his hand, making Mike roll his eyes again.

Somewhere in his campaign notes there’s a joke written about Wheeler Jr’s eyes getting stuck like that. Eddie hadn’t planned on bringing it out tonight, but a part of him really wants to.

Maybe if he can talk the freshman out of their idiotic idea, he’ll reward himself and do it tonight anyways.

….Or he could still steal that microphone.

xXx Steve xXx

Steve has no idea how he got talked into this.

Actually, that’s a lie, he knows how it started: a phone call, his mother, and a sudden way for her to be in the spotlight for her yearly fifteen minutes of Hawkins fame. He just can’t recall why he agreed to it.

“It's an opportunity, Steven." She says, heels clicking against the department store tile.

An embarrassment is what it was, but Steve knew better than to tell his mother that.

"You should be honored that Wendy--that’s the head chair of the charity board, you remember her don't you? She used to attend your piano recitals--she asked for you personally." His mother expertly plucked a shirt from the rack, holding it up to the light.

"Those were your parties mom, not my piano recitals." Steve reminds her as she holds the shirt out to him. He took it, adding it to the stack he had in his hands.

The parties were the exact same kind of shit this as this “Valentine's Day Fundraiser” a way for rich people to celebrate themselves by making others uncomfortable.

Only instead of being forced to play piano so his mothers friends could wine and dine with the famous Harrington's, he was being hauled up in front of the entire town (or whoever was attending this stupid event) and auctioned off as a “date” to the highest bidder.

(“It’s for one day, Steven, don’t be so dramatic. Why is your generation entirely incapable of taking a joke and having fun?” His mother had said, when he tried to tell her he wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

Of course there was no answer that would please her; soon enough, Steve found himself dragged about town as his mother played dress up.)

"You'll be standing alongside the Mayor, the fire department, even that idiot, Mary Marie--"

She stops for a moment, eyeing a jacket with a critical eye.

Just as quickly she dismisses it with a hum, prowling on to the next section.

"--the point is that there will be plenty of candidates for the children to pick from, but you’ll be the only hero up there."

That same critical eye turns on him, appraising him like he was no more than a horse in her stable, adding up imperfections and dividing amongst his best qualities.

(Despite a lifetime of training, it still takes everything in him not to squirm.)

"Not to mention a Harrington.” She purrs, taking a step closer to run a manicured hand down the front of his shirt, smoothing away a stray crease. “Women will be throwing money to win a day with you."

Steve has to fight not to outright shudder.

"Which means you have to look your best. Now stop whining, we’re almost done.”

Steve doubts that, but it doesn’t matter; he never had a choice to begin with.

xXx

Four hours, one shower, and several rounds of his mother’s nagging and meticulous styling, ,Steve finds himself back in Hawkin’s High, staring at the gym.

His mother had long swept past him, having spotted some high school friends and gone over to lord her lifestyle and general wealth over them.

For a fundraiser, the charity board in charge had spared no expense in dressing the gym up. Red, pink and white balloons decorated the doorways and a large stage hauled to one end.

Tables with thick, white table cloth are artfully arranged about the floor, caterers swiftly moving between them.

This is probably the fanciest this gym has ever looked, and Steve wants to be anywhere but inside it.

“Oh--Steve.” A gentle voice says next to him, and Steve turns his head in surprise to see Chrissy Cunningham look nervously up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Me neither honestly.” He tells her, watching the way that makes the younger woman smile. “But I’ve been volun-told to be auctioned off. What about yourself?”

Chrissy runs her hands down her dress, a modest if not beautiful blue halter dress , wincing as she snags a nail on it. “The school held a vote at lunch about who would represent the school tonight. All of the varsity cheerleaders and basketball players were involved.”

“I see.” Steve says, keeping his voice gentle and playful. There had always been a part of Chrissy that had reminded him of El. Someone who needed kind words in their life. “You got voted as tonight’s sacrifice, huh?”

Chrissy laughs at that, hand flying to cover her mouth. “I guess you could say that.” She says, and seems surprised at herself for it.

“Did Jason get picked too?” Steve asks. It would make sense if he was, the guy was the basketball Captain after all.

Chrissy nods, then chews on her lip. “Yes but--he’s not happy about it,”

Steve snorts and tries to cover it with a cough. “None of us are.”

“It’s more that I’m being auctioned off.”

Chrissy must catch the look on his face because she rushes to add; “You know, like any boyfriend would be! I know it’s just supposed to be a fun silly thing and they’re not really dates but…” She trails off, voice growing quieter at the end. “He worries.”

The word “worry” sounds like it means something else entirely.

Steve feels for her.

“Hey, if Jason’s an ass about it, let me know.” Steve says after a moment of shared silence. “You don’t deserve to deal with him being a kid about this shit.”

Chrissy blinks up at him at that, hand almost to her mouth as though she’d subconsciously raised them up to chew on her nails. “Thanks Steve. That’s nice of you.” She whispers it, and Steve nods and smiles at her.

“There you two are!” A woman says, rushing over with a clipboard. “Steve Harrington and Chrissy Cunningham, right? We’re gathering all the dates behind those doors.” She turns and points to the opposite end of the gym. “If you both would follow me please?”

Steve motions for Chrissy to go first, and moves to follow her when a flash of curls crushed down by a blur of white, blue and electric yellow catches his eye.

He turns automatically, seeking it out and sure enough, ducking down the hall is Henderson, Sinclair hot on his heels.

A familiar mixture of emotions lights up Steve’s spine, and he knows immediately he won’t be able to rest until he figures out what the gremlins are up to--because their Hellfire Club was supposedly canceled today on grounds that Munson had stolen a microphone, or some other crap.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll join you in a second!” Steve calls, before darting down the hall, after them.