#it looks pretty good but there were a few problems

[beanarie]

of course 3/3

1/3

2/3

entire fic on ao3

in which tommy finally admits he should maybe see a therapist.

thanks again to @mooshkat for the original concept

(tw: heart problems, hospitalization, self loathing)

~

Bobby is the next to show up.

"Hi," he says, disconcertingly tall as he stands over Tommy's bed with a small tupperware. "I figured you can't have anything we would normally bring for someone stuck here, but there's this recipe I liked after my heart attack. It's just chickpeas tossed with olive oil and a bit of curry powder."

"That's very thoughtful," Tommy says, touched and confused. He starts tucking in immediately. The food here could be worse, but he never has much appetite when he's unwell. Maybe eating something will make the nurses frown less often. They're very frowny in this unit. Makes sense, as they probably have the highest proportion of deaths in the building, but it's shit for patient morale.

Bobby's still standing, so Tommy tilts his head at the chair and continues eating.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, once Tommy has left the now half-empty container on his tray table.

"Fine? Tired, mostly." Which is probably for the best when the only change of scenery he gets is the regular trips to imaging. All the napping doesn't leave time to develop cabin fever. "You?"

"I'm good. A little concerned."

Shit. So he's just jumping right in. Tommy works on his breathing. "Oh?"

Bobby nods. "Buck is getting released in the next few hours. He'll probably be up here as soon as they hand over the discharge summary."

Tommy doesn't eye the monitors, but he has a brief fantasy about ripping the leads out and smashing everything on the ground. It's been a long time since he's felt this exposed for this long. "That's good."

Bobby puts his hands on the armrests of the chair. "Hen seems to think you don't want to see him, which is interesting since Buck is behaving like you're pretty much back together."

Keep him away. Do it so I don't have to see his face. "I- I'm-"

Bobby looks at him like he's a spooked horse. "I'm not just here for him, okay? I wanna help you get clarity on what you're actually looking for before it blows up in both your faces again."

It's such a brazen offer Tommy can't help but laugh. "You're welcome to try?"

Bobby smiles a little. "Kid's got a heart the size of Alaska, but--or maybe because of it--he's like the La Brea tar pits. Once you're in, that's all she wrote. It's fine, though, great even. If that's your choice."

Tommy tilts his head, reconciling this man with the friendly, new in town captain who had a veil behind his eyes. In the last eight years, everyone at the 118 figured out how to open a vein for each other, and here's Tommy. Out, flying, and only able to meet his own eyes in the mirror half the time. "What if I'm a bomb," he asks. "Or... whatever destroys tar."

"Is that how you want it to be?" Bobby presses gently.

Tommy rubs at the side of his neck. "I'd be a monster and an idiot if I said yes, wouldn't I?"

Bobby spreads his hands. "There's no relationship jail, Tommy. Doesn't matter to me if you're either or both those things. All I ask is that you keep it away from people I care about."

"No. It's-" Tommy shifts his gaze, his vision blurring. "It's not- That's not what I want. But it's not that easy, Bobby."

"Didn't say easy. Didn't even imply it." Bobby moves a box of tissues from the nightstand to the tray table. "You're no stranger to tackling something hard because you thought it would be worth the effort. Maybe give yourself a little credit."

There are oval-shaped bruises in a roughly circular pattern on Evan's forearm, resembling a school of fish. Those weren't there after the crash. Tommy flexes his right hand, which has been stiff and sore for no apparent reason. "I did that," he says.

"Yeah?" Evan frowns in confusion. "You were suffocating. It wasn't on purpose."

It can be an omen if Tommy lets it.

"Tommy?" Evan says.

Omens are stupid. "Hm?"

Evan fidgets with his free hand, pulling at the edge of his sling. "You said of course you love me, like it was easy. Like it was a given. People don't- haven't said it like that."

"How did they say it?"

"Like they were surprised. Like it was the last thing they could've expected."

"I knew it was a possibility the first time I kissed you," Tommy says, tired of choosing between truths.

He looks up. "You did?"

"Evan," Tommy sighs, "you're the fucking sun."

His beautiful eyes widen and get wet at the corners. "I didn't want the first time I said it to be when- when you were dying in my arms." A shadow passes over his features and Tommy's fingers curl, gathering a handful of his blanket. "I wanted- needed to believe that I'd get another chance. I love you, too, Tommy."

Tommy is so grateful this conversation is taking place today, when he's recovered enough to not cause an international incident every time he does anything more stressful than looking at the color green. The specter of the alarm still looms, but he's done okay so far. "I might not have heard you, if you had said it then." Tommy gestures at his chest. "The wheezing, it was very loud."

"You heard some things, though? It felt like you- you were reacting."

"Yes, Evan. You kept me going."

Evan beams. Tommy aches from the inside like someone sprinkled salt in his IV bag.

"I need," he warns, "so much therapy."

Evan shifts forward in his seat, grunting softly in pain. "I can get you some recommendations."

"Of course you can." Tommy smiles.

Evan is inches away, practically falling out of the chair. "Can I touch you?"

"Do you have the slightest idea how many medications I'm on right now?"

He ducks his head and laughs. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh, well, show me what you m-"

Evan lays his free hand lightly, ever so lightly, over Tommy's battered heart before leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "I asked you not to run, and you stayed."

Right after the alarm goes off, Tommy pulls away just far enough to capture Evan's mouth with his own.

[kurosagi-h8r]

Hii love your little headcanons so I wanted to ask if you can do "what happens when mc asks the ghouls for dating advice"

I don't think mc would ever realistically ask them that but the reactions would be funny💀

WWWWWW SURE DO~~ But i'm gonna make this into parts because i don't think i'm strong enough i'm too frail to write for all of 'em in one go (no joke my shoulder pain has been killing me). so sorryyy ╯︿╰

Jin

Bold of you to assume he's gonna give you relationship advice when he can't fix his relationship with his papa

tbf he's probably gonna look at you weirdly and uhh remind you that you're his slave and nothing more and that any thought of being in a relationship with other people is forbidden

or ask you a bunch of question that will make you feel ashamed that you don't marry rich (with him as the standard) idk

Tohma

Will actually be a pretty decent guy to go for when it comes to dating advice... I think...

"blablablabla who's the guy? is it someone i know? blablabla I suggest you do this and that blablabla why not use me as an example? It won't do you any harm, no?"

"Will you update me on the progress? I don't want to be nosy, I'm simply looking out for you. Too many potential danger lurking in this place and I want nothing less than to sleep at night knowing that you're safe."

Very much biased but he can manipulate me all he wants and i will give in i won't even think twice about it

Kaito

This loser will start crying on the spot thinking that you found someone else already

"I-I never said I found someone..." and a lightbulb will come out of his head thinking that you were asking him SPECIFICALLY because HE is the one you're crushing on. "I've read somewhere that this is one of the things people do to find out more about their crush... THIS IS IT! THIS IS MY CHANCE!"

And all the advice he's giving you are the things that he wants you do to him

Not even gonna be ashamed about it go for it kaito

Luca

Most earnest in giving dating advice. He genuinely wants to help. He's even honored to be the one you go to for such important decision making.

Even if you do it to find out more about him, he's gonna be oblivious 😭 good luck

Honestly i don't have much words to back him up but personally, deep in my heart, i would go to this guy because i don't believe in myself when it comes to this kind of thing. i will trust you to set me in the right path luca ❤ i'll even trust you to beat up the shitty guy in my stead (lol)

Alan

Look me in the eye and tell me he has any dating experience

Not good with words but will stand behind you few steps away as you do what you want to do. Be it confessing your feelings or setting boundaries with your partner. For support 👍

Whether your partner finds it scary or not it's their problem

Surprisingly good at comforting maybe? If your partner breaks your heart and you don't feel like talking it out he will drive you around to clear your head.

Leo

"You're asking me? Oh my God you must be THAT desperate huh."

GIRL JUST ABORT MISSION ATP WHATEVER YOU'RE STRESSING OUT ABOUT IT'S GONNA GET WORSE IF YOU'RE SEEKING THIS GUY'S ADVI-- *got dragged away*

"Not gonna listen to all that. Why don't we just try making them jealous? You have me and I'm always down for a challenge~"

Ask yourself, which one is worse, making a deal with the devil or Leo?

Sho

Alright listen, depending on how dire the situation is i would want him to pretend to be my bf to make my partner jealous. HE'S PROBABLY GONNA HATE IT but i'm not one to pass up such opportunity /j

biker boyfriend to make your partner jealous??? why the hell not

I can feel him looking at me weirdly "you seriously coming to me for a relationship advice...?"

"How the hell would I know? Get them back with their favorite food? A way to someone's heart is to their stomach or whatever the saying goes." If it's cooking skill you're lacking maybe he can help a little.

[theresattrpgforthat]

So, I went to a game store, and I asked if there were any good beginner games for someone who tried the DnD Essentials Kit and found it too complicated, and you'll never guess what one singular game they suggested!

THEME: Simpler Games than DND.

My friend, I’m not a very good guesser, but I hope that I am able to present you with some games that will give you what you’re looking for.

24XX: Chaos Unit, by polyhedralmice

Deep under the busy streets of Sapien City is the headquarters of the Vermin Squad, the espionage wing of a secret organization of urban animals known as the CHAOS Unit. They capitalize on the fact that vermin are virtually invisible human inhabitants of the city and use they use their street smarts to run vital missions for the unit. Raccoons, opossums, pigeons and squirrels each play specific roles and together form teams that take on the most vital of missions. From intercepting life-saving pizza orders to rescuing their colleagues from the dastardly Animal Control, there is no task too daunting for the brave animals of the Vermin Squad. Every night teams are sent out on their missions, and this is the story of one of those teams. Nothing will stop these brave agents from successfully completing their tasks (except maybe a humane trap baited with peanut butter). 

CHAOS Unit is a spy themed hack based on Jason Tocci’s 24XX.

24XX games are great for groups that love different-sided dice. In general, you only have a few skills for your character that are outside the normal parameters (upgraded to d8 - d12), and the success threshold is the same for pretty much every roll. The challenges and situations of any given scenario are typically presented as roll tables, allowing the GM to come up with an adventure just by rolling a few dice.

CHAOS Unit has just a few character options, some simple gear options, and a comparatively light-hearted premise. It’s a great introduction to the system, and learning how to play one 24XX game makes every other 24XX game a piece of cake to learn, even if they include new rules.

Loot, by Gila RPGs.

LOOT is a fantasy TTRPG by Gila RPGs that combines looter shooter mechanics with west marches vibes. When a rebellion toppled a lich overlord and torn down his city, the people were left with a lot of loot, and a lot of problems. That's where you come in.

Get some friends together, fight some monsters, deck your characters out in cool loot. Do it all over again.

Even though LUMEN uses grid-based combat, your character’s stats are simplified, reduced to a few things: health, armour, and three action types: force, flow & focus. Your stats themselves come from the items that your carry - your loot.

Your loot is organized through slots on your character sheet: you can only carry so much, so you’ll have to think carefully about what kind of stat bonuses and abilities you want. I find that a visual inventory can make it easier to keep track of everything you have, and can help some players learn how to think strategically. If you like the fantasy and strategy that exists in D&D but don’t want to do nearly as much math, you might be interested in LOOT - although the lack of dice is certainly a big change.

Slugblaster, by Wilkie’s Candy Lab.

In the small town of Hillview, teenage hoverboarders sneak into other dimensions to explore, film tricks, go viral, and get away from the problems at home. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. It’s got parent groups in a panic. And it’s the coolest thing ever.

This is Slugblaster. A table-top rpg about teenagehood, giant bugs, circuit-bent rayguns, and trying to be cool.

Forged in the Dark games can be tricky to introduce to a new table, but Slugblaster is one of a few that I think can do the job. It’s a streamlined version of the system, that takes away a lot of the crunch that comes from Stats, Position, and Effect, and boils it all down to Kick and Boost. It also streamlines harm into 2 levels of slams, and keeps stress and downtime to a procedure that you can follow step-by-step when you finish a run. Finally character creation is very easy: you only make few choices in terms of abilities, and many of these choices are descriptive, rather than mechanical.

One thing I’ve noticed about games with “simpler” rules systems is that they typically do require a bunch of improv, which can be scary for new GMs. Slugblaster isn’t that different in this regard, but it does have a few things you as a GM can prepare beforehand if you want to make things easier for yourself. For example, you can set up your map of the different dimensions beforehand, including the doorways that the teens can get through. If you know that the teens get back to your home dimension without going through Operablum, then you can prepare a few location - specific threats to confound the teens as they try to get back in time for dinner.

Another strength of these games is that typically, if a player wants to do something, they just have to be able to describe how they’d do it - you can then work backwards using the gear & resources on your sheet to give you some dice to roll, as well as the logic of the game world, to figure out what happens next.

Lady Blackbird, by John Harper

Lady Blackbird is on the run from an arranged marriage to Count Carlowe. She hired a smuggler skyship, The Owl, to take her from her palace on the Imperial world of Ilysium to the far reaches of the Remnants, so she could be with her once secret lover: the pirate king Uriah Flint.

Lady Blackbird is the first game I ever played, and it’s a game I fell for - hard. It involves rolling pools of dice that you pull from descriptive collections of tags assigned to pre-generated characters. It simplifies game-play by taking away the step of character creation, and gives the group a pretty solid story to pick up and follow wherever your heart may lead.

While the rules of the game are fairly simple, I think that as a GM, you’re going to need to be comfortable with a fair bit of improv to make this work. The game has some excellent pieces of advice on how to come up with scenes for the characters, and even includes some example complications to throw at the party. I’m really glad this was my first game because from the beginning, it affirmed that roleplaying games are a communal experience, and even if the characters and the starting scenario are already written for the group, the players have a lot of freedom to decide who their characters are, and what they’re going to value.

Liminal Horror, by Goblin Archives.

There’s a strange comfort to ambiguity. To stand at the threshold between states of what was and what’s next, to inhabit the places of transition. But you’re never truly alone here. There are things that hunger within the dark places. Strange creatures and mysteries lie in wait and tumbling into the wrong place at the wrong time may put you on the path towards doom.

Grab your flashlights and blood splattered jackets as you try to make it through the night. Beware, snapping bone and rending flesh are often the simplest outcome. While there may be great power within these places… not all mysteries can be solved and not everyone can be saved. Above all, there are fates far worse than death.

LIMINAL HORROR is a rules-lite, adaptable Survival-Horror roleplaying game about normal characters and their struggles against the things that go bump in the night. The game focuses on surviving the weird and Investigating horrors while blending simple, old-school inspired rules with modern, narrative first principles. Survival is not guaranteed and those that do make it through the night are often forever changed.

In Liminal Horror, character creation is rather quick, often easily generated using a few dice rolls. For most tasks, your characters will roll a d20 and try to get a number lower than one of their three stats, so when you get started, teaching the game should be pretty simple. Of course, since it’s a horror game, there’s more than just trying to roll under a stat: characters will find themselves subject to the consequences of being exposed to horrors that are far beyond the limits of human experience. As a result, characters will find themselves dealing with two different kinds of harm: stress & fallout. These two harm systems will make the stakes feel real, and they’ll also inflict changes on your characters as you play.

Liminal Horror has a few things going for it. The basic rules are fairly straightforward, but they’re also free. The game is meant to be paired with pre-written adventures, which often include place descriptions, NPCs, and adventure-specific consequences to torture the characters with. A lot of the adventures available come with a price tag, but if you want to try out the system, there’s a couple of free ones out there - I recommend Messenger National Park, by capacityforwonder.

For the Ship And Its Crew, by Adeline Fowl Games.

We've crewed this Ship for years together. We've seen wondrous sights, gotten ourselves into seemingly insurmountable trouble, and have owed our fair share of creds to the wrong people. And yet, still, we fly. But after all these years, our past may be catching up with us. As the missiles tear across starlit space, we'll be forced to ask ourselves: What will we do, for the Ship and its Crew?

This is a hack of For the Queen, which mostly involves answering prompts, using something like a card deck, or in this case, a digital hosting service. Your group is telling a story by taking turns answering questions, which makes the game fairly easy to teach, even to people who don’t have a lot of roleplaying experience.

These kinds of games can also be played very quickly, which might also make it easier to introduce to folks who aren’t used to sitting around a grid and calculating resources for 2+ hours.

Other Recommendation Posts To Check Out…

Easy To Teach Recommendation Post

First Time GMs Recommendation Post

Little Reading or Writing Required Recommendation Post

[theoldsports]

| Irish Coffee |

summary: twenty four was the wrong age for everything, except maybe picking up girls in bars at the holidays. Rafe Cameron x Reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: bars, alcohol, passing mention of sexual assault, death of a parent mention.

Rafe Cameron hated karaoke. It was shitty ego-stroking from typically the very intoxicated or the very tone deaf. He didn’t think anyone ever felt good about their performances on that rinkydink stage anyway. It was unpleasant for everyone involved. Truth be told, Rafe thought karaoke was pointless entirely. If he wanted to hear a good version of a song, he would go on Spotify and find one. He thought karaoke was a selfish sport made fun only for the singer, and never for the listener.

In summation, it was fucking stupid.

When he got in Topper’s Jeep, Rafe had been too tipsy to fully comprehend that it was karaoke night at the Swordfish. Now, with another tumbler of b-list bourbon between Rafe’s knuckles, he moped on a stool at the bar.

He felt old when he went out with Kelce, Topper and their other friends. He had started college while some of the other boys he’d grown up with were in their junior year of high school. Rafe didn’t have friends. He wasn’t good at keeping them and didn’t like it when they complained about their problems that weren’t even really problems. The persona he had crafted for dealing with friends, though, had gotten elaborate enough to where Rafe thought they didn’t notice that his heart wasn’t in it.

He didn’t have friends, he had the people he drank with. That was better than drinking alone.

Being twenty-four sucked. Too old for ragers, too young for drinks at the country club. Too many big problems to solve, but everyone thinking he was too young to solve him. Rafe wondered, if he drank enough, could he blackout the whole of his twenties and then he wake up in his thirties locked and loaded?

Some drunk whore was finishing up a song Rafe had only heard in Sofia’s car. She’d played it often. He didn’t know what it was called. It was by one of those superstar white girls with the zillion dollar concert tickets. Rafe didn’t like it. He didn’t like Sofia either anymore. He didn’t like to think about her anymore.

His heartbeat raced. His could feel it beat in his neck when he drank too much. It didn’t used to be that way. The human body couldn’t fail from misuse before thirty, could it? Rafe took a sharp inhale through his nose to push the frantic thoughts away. Everyone leaves eventually, he reminded himself; a mantra. Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

Topper was on Ruthie leaning up on the wall near a booth. They were out of commission til she got pissy at him for breathing wrong, or something, and they all had to make excuses to leave. Normal Friday night.

Rafe wished he’d stayed home.

A DJ mumbled that the next person was taking the stage, singing Hard Candy Christmas by Dolly Parton. Arguably, this was Rafe’s favorite Christmas song because it had been his mother’s favorite Christmas song.

It was also the week before Thanksgiving and Rafe didn’t think he could stomach Christmas yet.

“Shit…” Rafe muttered into his glass of bourbon.

The girl supposed to sing was being pushed up into the tiny stage by a group of drunk girls. Presumably a bachelorette party by the looks of it. The girl onstage had a frown of surprise on her lips. It was clear to Rafe that she didn’t know this was going to happen. A girl in her party, wearing a veil headband, called out: “Please! This is our song. Please do it for me? You sound so pretty, [Y/N].”

All of her friends were calling and chanting for her to sing. The girl, [Y/N], looked embarrassed. She was very put on the spot.

Eventually, with all the cheering, pleading and encouragement, [Y/N] walked to the center of the stage where the microphone stood.

“Forgive me if this is dogshit, my friends signed me up,” The girl said over the karaoke track’s intro. A few of the girls she was with cheered. “I didn’t come to butcher Dolly in front of y’all.”

This yielded a chuckle from her audience. Rafe rolled his eyes. He was less interested in her humble act, and more interested in where he knew from. Rafe knew a lot of people, and he was starting to cling to the barstool to do what his legs were struggling to do. [Y/N] was a common enough name, but this girl looked so fucking familiar to him. His drunk mind leafed through the catalog of women in his brain. [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], where did he know her from?

Her clothes weren’t anything special. Standard bachelorette party fare. A little too short, but not quite slutty. She was a bridesmaid, maybe the maid of honor. Rafe wrinkled his nose in thought. His contacts stung dry against his eyes. He had stared at a screen too long in the office and now he was sitting under a vent in November. Who the hell left the A/C on in November?

[Y/N]. Rafe hadn’t hooked up with her before. He didn’t think he had, anyway. She didn’t appear to have botox in her face or filler in her top lip with the way she expressed so freely. That meant she couldn’t have been the kid of one of his dad’s business contacts.

He looked at her friends for clues. Immediately, Rafe recognized the bride. Wendy. Rafe had hooked up with Wendy a few times in high school. He was surprised to see she was still on the island; Wendy had been smarter than that. So Rafe probably knew [Y/N] from school, then. What classes had they shared? He tried to place her.

[Y/N] was working through the slow first verse. She didn’t have a perfect, trained voice. Her voice was the kind of voice that sang in the kitchen on Saturday mornings to the radio. A smirk pulled at Rafe’s lip. She wasn’t forcing it, and she wasn’t so drunk that it was pathetic to listen to. “I hate singing in front of people…” she said.

[Y/N] knelt and set down what appeared to be an Irish coffee, and put her left hand over eyes. No ring, Rafe thought. He almost puked at the thought that looking at babes in bars now came with seeing if they were married or engaged, before giving them the once over. Being twenty-four sucked. The girl swayed from side to side on her feet as she moved from the second half of the first verse to the chorus.

…Maybe I'll just get drunk on apple wine.

Me, I'll be just fine and dandy.

Lord, it's like a hard candy Christmas.

I'm barely getting through tomorrow,

But still I won't let sorrow bring me way down…

The girl took some liberties with how she improvised the line endings or creating a harmony line instead of the melody during the way too repetitive chorus. It wasn’t like she was doing something revolutionary, but she also wasn’t just up there doing a cheesy impression of Dolly.

It was a welcome change of pace from the guy’s attempt at some Jimmy Buffet number a few songs ago. Rafe loved music. He loved it. That’s part of why karaoke was such an affront. Rafe played the piano; he was okay. His mom had put him in lessons right after kindergarten and it was the only thing he had stuck with until the end of high school. That was how he honored her memory.

Wait, kindergarten.

[Y/N] sat next to Rafe in kindergarten and early elementary. Holy fucking shit.

Rafe was a walking ad for Ritalin until he was about ten. Arguably, after that too. No one ever helped him out. He was also spoiled, he knew that. The kid talked out of turn, couldn’t follow the classroom expectations, never sat still, and ended up with his green light getting downgraded to a yellow light by the end of everyday. The tantrums he would throw over it where earthshaking. It was exhausting. [Y/N] sat next to him because she was not disruptive. Miss Lisa, their kindergarten teacher had loved [Y/N]. She loved her not only because she was good kid, but because she talked back to Rafe. [Y/N] used her position as calm-girl-forced-to-sit-next-to-shitty-boy to her advantage. She tattled on him daily. Debatably, that made his behavior worse, but the pair had fun sometimes. Rafe hadn’t thought about her in years.

[Y/N] wrapped up the song, trilling fine and dandy… I’ll be fine… over and over with the tinny backing track. He wished she could sing this song along with a guitar the way she deserved. Unexpectedly, Rafe found his hands applauding and his glass on the counter.

Quick as a flash, Rafe stood on unsteady feet and rushed towards the stage. [Y/N] rounded up her Irish coffee and pivoted towards her friends that clapped delightedly at her. Her hands were peeled away from her face now. Rafe almost smiled. Almost.

���Hey ladies, can I steal [Y/N] here for a second?” Rafe hollered over the music as he slumped towards their party.

Wendy’s eyes lit up in immediate recognition. “Rafe Cameron…”

“Hi Wendy,” Rafe said effortlessly. “Congratulations, by the way. You look great.” Rafe’s hookups were getting married now, and he was going to wake up tomorrow single and hungover.

“Thank you, hon. You look pretty good yourself… Please take her. Buy her another drink before we go. We need her loosened up a little.” Wendy giggled.

“Hey!” [Y/N] protested. She was eying Rafe uncertainly. She was trying to place him the same way that he had her.

“Please, ladies, next round on my tab. Congrats, seriously, Wendy,” Rafe said with a sleazy, false grin as a few of the women cheered. “I’ll bring [Y/N] back in one piece.” Gently, Rafe placed a hand on her elbow and angled her away towards the bar. The two walked in relative quiet.

All [Y/N]’s friends giggled. Rafe’s force dimples dropped when they were out of the ladies’ eyeline.

“Excuse me,” [Y/N] started. “Not tryin’ to be rude. Have we… Do I know you? I didn’t catch your name and…” She asked, staring intensely at Rafe. “Is this a setup, because Wendy’s always trying to—“

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Rafe cut in, stopping. He was drunk and forgot his manners. Great impression. Rafe cleared his throat and tried not to slur. “Rafe Cameron. You probably don’t remember me… I… You’re [Y/N] [L/N], yeah? You sat beside me in, like, fucking kindergarten and stuff.”

[Y/N] eyes widened in recognition. “Oh my god!” She gasped. “Rafe! How are you? Oh my god, you’re so tall!” [Y/N] laughed happily. Her faced buzzed warmly from the alcohol.

Rafe nodded at her amused comment. “Yeah, I’ve been busy since I was, y’know, nine.” He snorted.

“You transferred, right?”

“Yeah, Saint Mary’s.” Rafe replied. His mother’s trust had paid for catholic school after she died. He transferred out around the time he was ten.

“I can’t believe we never crossed paths again. You know Wendy from Saint Mary’s then?”

“Yep, that’s right,” Rafe paused. “Come on, lemme get you another drink. You’re the reason I didn’t fail first grade.”

[Y/N] smirked. “That’s probably true. You were an awful student.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe smirked. “Way to treat a guy buying you a drink,” he started his walk towards the bar, prompting [Y/N] to follow him. “You got Bailey’s or Jameson in that thing?”

The girl looked down into her nearly empty mug. “Jameson.”

“Smart girl.“ Rafe said easily. [Y/N] blushed. Even drunk, Rafe didn’t miss that expression on her face at those words. Almost too easy.

“Well, if you’re paying then tell the man to make it a double Irish too.”

“Very smart girl. I like the way you think.”

[Y/N] easily followed Rafe to the bar. The man’s broad shoulders slumped drunkenly as he cut through the crowd. When one was as large, imposing and beautiful as Rafe Cameron, crowds parted like the Red Sea. “So, uh, how are you? Did you do the whole college thing, or…?” [Y/N] asked broadly. She next to nothing about him. He wasn’t even the kind of childhood friend to get added on Instagram.

College. That was the default question at their age. Rafe hated this question, but he couldn’t let [Y/N] feel rejected for that question. “I mean, yeah. For a while. I was at Wofford for a year, but I never finished. I like what I do now, though.”

[Y/N] nodded. “And what exactly do you do?”

“Real estate development. I took over for my dad l when he passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, we get by,” Rafe turned to the bartender, waving a hand for his attention. “Another Maker’s Mark, neat, and a coffee with double Jameson. Put the anything else the bachelorette party orders on my tab.” Rafe said. He certainly didn’t need another drink, but he really liked having something to do with his hands. Rafe would probably have less substance abuse-related issues if he knew how to conduct his body in public in some way that wasn’t a poor impression of his father.

“Very good, Mr. Cameron.”

[Y/N] narrowed her eyes at Rafe. “Big spender… You that much of a regular that they know your name at the bar?” In her world, guys [Y/N]’s age didn’t get called ‘Mr.’ anything anywhere by anyone. The guys she knew still drank shitty PBRs in punk clubs and had girlfriends they had nothing in common with. Rafe’s polish and pedigree didn’t rub off even in such a state of intoxication.

Rafe didn’t have a good excuse. The implication of [Y/N]’s statement was accurate. “Sure,” he replied. He moved through the rest of his sentence like a gunshot to prevent an awkward conversation. “Hey, why’d you pick Hard Candy Christmas?”

“I didn’t pick it. Wendy did.”

Rafe nodded slowly. “Right. Why did she pick it for you, then?”

“Because it’s my favorite Christmas song.”

“It’s my favorite. It’s probably half of the Smoky Mountains’ favorite too. But why?”

“I didn’t realize this was hardball—“

“Please... I asked you a question about Dolly Parton. You sounded good.” Rafe responded. His drink was passed over the counter. He held it close to his chest and leaned his right elbow down to press it into the bar.

“Um, thanks. It’s… I had shitty couple years. I sang that song everyday for months at a time, I think. Wendy and I would go for these drives with the top down and just… Belt that shit out. Makes the bad days better.”

Rafe half-smiled. “So, year-round?” He said accusingly.

“The song? Like, not at Christmas?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, yeah. She says it’s like a Hard Candy Christmas, not that it is one. That’s grounds for year-round. It’s so much more than a Christmas song.” [Y/N] bit back with a smirk. The bartender returned and placed another white coffee cup and saucer in front of [Y/N] with a nod. The girl slurped a sip down without cream or sugar. She barely made a pinched expression at what was obviously a strong drink. Rafe was moderately impressed. He liked that [Y/N] was drinking brown liquor in black coffee this late on a Friday while all of her friends held White Claws and Daiquiris,

“My head hurts. This is the opposite of the Die Hard’s a Christmas movie thing.” Rafe jabbed.

“Anything can be a Christmas movie.”

“Then, so can a song.”

[Y/N] paused. “Damn.” she sighed. She wasn’t sober enough to get her arguments straight.

Rafe didn’t want to conversation to end. [Y/N] was the most intelligent person he’d spoken to all day. It wasn’t saying much, but was noticeable. He asked another question. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie, if you think that’s true?”

“American Psycho.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s not a—“

“Rewatch it. Not having this argument,” [Y/N] chided. The girl glanced over her shoulder at her friends. They were all staring at her and pretending they weren’t. “Listen Rafe, I appreciate the drink. It was really great to see you tonight. I gotta head back to Wendy now. Bachelorette party only happens once. If you’re lucky… But, hey, thank you again—“

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” [Y/N] asked. She had no idea where Rafe was taking this. Rafe pushed up the left sleeve of his brown sweater.

“What my favorite Christmas movie is.”

[Y/N] looked at him funny. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

“Eyes Wide Shut.” Rafe replied coyly.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” [Y/N] smiled fully, finally. Rafe damn near smiled back. She took a small step away, gesturing to where her friends stood.

“Can I give you my card? Maybe we catch up sometime.” Rafe asked plainly.

“Yeah, maybe!”

Rafe pulled his business card out of his wallet and extended it to [Y/N]. She looked down at it, cheekily saying: “Let’s see Paul Allen’s business card…” her eyes widened at the writing on the card. “CEO? Of a development company? THE development company on the island.”

“I told you I took over my dad’s business.”

“Rafe, I… I’m barely a grant writer at a 501-c3. How are you a CEO… You’re… twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four two weeks ago.”

“Happy birthday,” [Y/N] said flatly. “What’s happening? Why are you talking to me?”

“Because you helped me pass first grade. I thought I already said that.” Rafe’s eyes never left hers. They were so blue. Too blue. Too blue to be real. Rich people were too pretty.

[Y/N] took a very long sip of her coffee. “That’s wild. I’m sorry, but that’s wild. You made me feel vastly inferior and I’m the friend with my shit the most together.” [Y/N] told Rafe, with a smile on her face.

“I know you gotta get back. I’m not gonna the asshole that kept the girls waiting, but call me. Listen, you’re pretty, so is your voice. We should catch up.” Rafe said. Was he asking her out? That was weird. That was weird, right?

Hesitantly, [Y/N] looked back at her friends again. They were too invested in her conversation with Rafe. Hopefully, they would all drink so much that they forgot it happened.

“Do you like karaoke, Rafe?” [Y/N] changed the subject.

“I hate it.” He replied instantly.

“Why are you here?”

Rafe gestured with his glass to where Topper and Ruthie were making out. “They gave me a ride. And you don’t seem too keen about it either.” He said with a shrug.

[Y/N] couldn’t figure out what Rafe’s game was. He had turned from an unsettling child to a freakish adult. He was blunt and brisk, and either frustratingly honest or an alarmingly good liar. Maybe both. She stared up at him.

“What?”

“What?” Rafe raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. It was good to see you. Thanks for the drinks,” [Y/N] took a step back. She started to walk away slightly, still facing Rafe. A looked of what could be interrupted as self-loathing crossed Rafe’s face. He didn’t bullshit enough with her during the conversation to be perceived as likable, and she was leaving. Of course. Nobody liked Rafe when they actually knew Rafe. [Y/N] stopped, thinking. “Rafe?”

“Yeah?” His eyes slid back to her.

“Can you do something for me?”

“Maybe?”

He was going to say no, but it would serve as a litmus test for what kind of man Rafe was. It would help [Y/N] sleep easier to know what kind of bullet she dodged by losing Rafe’s business card after tonight. “Okay, we have a scavenger hunt thing for the party. It’s stupid. One of those… Do X number of shots, get someone to give you a BLANK, take a picture of three of you doing… whatever. Y’know?”

“Sure, yeah. What are you asking?”

“One of the items on the list is Maid of Honor and a stranger accomplish a task she’ll regret tomorrow. Like I said, it’s a trashy fuckin’ list.”

“Are you asking me to hookup with you, or…”

“Worse. Do you know the song Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by—“

“Absolutely not—“

“Let me finish. I said do you know the song Don’t Go—“

“I don’t do karaoke.” Rafe said forcefully.

“Do you want to go out on a date with me, or not?”

Rafe was stunned silent. His mind worked overtime. He suddenly felt extremely sober, in spite of his drunkenness. He sucked his teeth.

“I don’t do Elton John. Sorry.” He muttered finally.

[Y/N] nodded, knowingly. It was a setup anyway. She couldn’t be disappointed. She knew he’d refuse and she could leave knowing she had made the right choice ditching him. “That’s a’right. Maybe some other—“

“But, if you really want me to do this, let’s at least stick to the Christmas thing you’ve got going here.”

“You don’t look very… holly jolly.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” he deadpanned. Rafe was the strangest combination. “Stop givin’ me grief here. Your favorite Christmas movie is American Psycho. Let’s do Baby, It’s Cold Outside—“

“Whoa, waaaay too rapey.” [Y/N] protested.

“American. Psycho. How is that song—“

“Wait, do you know Fa—“

“Fairytale of New York?” Rafe finished.

“You know it?”

“My family’s Irish Catholic.”

They both stood still and looked at each other. Well, Rafe stood as still as he could, but swayed a little on his feet. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Why was he agreeing to this?

For as manipulative as Rafe Cameron could be, he was effortless to play for validation and a pretty pair of eyes looking back at him.

Everyone leaves eventually, Rafe reminded himself. His mouth and his brain were not in agreement. Rafe had lost control of his body as he blindly followed [Y/N] to sign up for the next karaoke slot.

They passed Topper and Rafe held onto his glass like an anchor. He should have switched to beer. Why did he have another bourbon? Topper pulled his face away from Ruthie long enough to look at Rafe as if to say what the fuck are you doing? without any words. Rafe grimaced at Topper, barring his teeth slightly in response.

Rafe leaned in to [Y/N]’s ear and clumsily pushed her hair back. “I’m not a singer… This isn’t gonna be good.” He whispered. Chills crept up [Y/N]’s spine at the sensation of his breath. He knew his way around rhythm and music theory. Rafe was an asshole about music, actually. Jazz, classical, whatever. It was his secret no one else got to have. It’s not his fault that most of the motherfuckers he hung out with only listened to guys with the word ‘yung’ in front of their names. Still, all of that musicality couldn’t make him a singer.

“It’s karaoke.” [Y/N] said like it was obvious. She dragged Rafe towards the stage. “You’re so serious… Stop frowning; you’re gonna get lines on your face. We’re both gonna suck. I wouldn’t make you do this if it wasn’t for Wendy anyway. Promise.”

“This is so dumb; this better be some fucking date…”

[Y/N] pried, with difficulty, the rocks glass out of Rafe’s fingers and set it with her mug on a tabletop by the stage. As she pulled him up to a microphone, she said: “You know the words. Sing the damn song.”

And as the track started to play, and [Y/N] stupid friends all cheered, Rafe slurred the words he knew from every drunken family Christmas party he’d ever had. And he smiled. Just a little.

[jayaury]

Marked for Love

Another short story from the archive. Plenty more on you know where! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

Cynthia Spellman bit her lower lip as she looked in the cracked mirror, her robe hiked up, baring her slim stomach, her lacy panties and, more importantly, the red mark like an elaborate heart tattooed on her mons. Throbbing.

Pulsing.

Beating with an insidious heat that wormed its way through her and to her core.

She groaned aloud. Ohhhh dammit. Dammit dammit dammit! She knew they should have recruited a priest into the party when delving into the Demon’s Dungeon. If only she’d been able to torch that imp to ash before the bitch got off that spell. Because Cynthia knew the curse mark she was looking at. Any mage would.

A breeding rune.

She swore again. An insidious mark, and one with only a 2% chance of landing. Honestly, she hadn’t thought any demons would be stupid enough to cast it. But that imp had looked awfully pleased with herself, right before Cynthia blasted the little harlot back to the pit that spawned her.

But the damage had been done.

And she was stuck with it.

Cynthia chewed on her lip worriedly. What she needed to do was get it dispelled, asap. Because a breeding rune was one of the more sinister magics. It enchanted a woman to desire a man to cum in her by any means. To be filled with seed and quicken with child. Which was bad enough, but the real danger was the longer she held out, the more the curse would change her in order to get what she needed. Corrupting her body and soul until she was just a demonic trollop begging for a good dicking. Not a problem if she got the curse banished. But if she ended up giving in, she’d be locked into whatever state she was in when she finally got that much needed fucking.

And how in the hells was she supposed to explain that?

A knock sounded at the door. “Cynthia? You okay?”

Cynthia squeaked, dropping her skirt hastily. “F-fine Roland!” she called. “Just fine! Just… just making sure this new hood fits! That’s all.”

“Alright. But be careful. We’re not out of this dungeon yet.”

Gods, and didn’t she know it. She felt again a flush. They’d delved pretty deep into the dungeon today, and the way out was quite far. But she felt sure she could manage it. The curse would take time to take effect. Honestly, she could last a few hours without jumping Roland’s bones. Fine bones that they were. Making the knight so big and strong and tanky. Always ready to take a hit for her. Let her do her stuff. So protective and sweet and…

She felt the heat within her stir and grow and she quickly shook her head. Get it together, girl! All she had to do was last a few hours and she could get out of the dungeon and head straight to the nearest temple to get the curse removed. For brief moment she considered telling Roland, but instantly dismissed the idea. The thought of admitting such an embarrassing thing appalled her. She couldn’t tell him she’d done something as silly as getting cursed by some low-level imp. Not to mention he’d ask to see it. Ask if he could do anything for her, because he was such a good man. A kind man. A sweet, lovable, hunk of man who would be such a gentle lover and…

She groaned and slapped her cheeks again. Focus, girl. Focus! Turning on her heel, she marched to the door and opened it abruptly.

Roland waited on the other side, and just the sight of his handsome, worried face almost melted her legs out from under her with a sudden needy heat that shot from her core. Blonde hair curled about his face. A broad build confined by his heavy armour, a large shield and sword sheathed on his back, and an expression of genuine concern, he was what every mage dreamed their tank would be.

“Did you try on the hood?” he asked.

“Hm? Hood? O-oh! Yes. Mhmm. Yes, absolutely. It ah, it didn’t boost my stats quite as much as I’d hoped. Haha!”

“That’s a shame,” he said, his eyes wandering down to her chest. “But uh, why are you leaving your robe a bit open like that?”

Cynthia looked down in surprise, realizing her collar was a bit undone, revealing a hint of her bust. “Oh, yes, that. Just… been feeling a bit hot in here. Thought I might get more air circulating. Cool myself a bit. Not a big deal.”

“If you say so,” Roland said, though she couldn’t help but notice that his eyes lingered on the teasing hint of her breasts. A sensation of amused triumph thrilled through her, but she quickly tamped it down.

“Let’s get going!” she declared, quickly passing him. “Gotta get above ground soon. Can’t delay!”

“Oh, yes. Um, right. Of course,” she heard Roland say, then the reassuring clank of his armour as he followed her. Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief, focusing on the present and what she needed to do. Just keep moving. Just keep going.

And try to ignore how comfortable it felt to put a bit of wiggle into her walk.

#

Gods, why was it so hot!

Cynthia groaned as she sat on a rock, feeling the heat like her clothes were stuffed with burning coals. With every step she’d been feeling the curse mark pulse on her mons, threading more of its feverish warmth through her. Roland had gone to scout ahead for a bit, giving her a blessed opportunity to take a break. Gods, but she just needed a bit of relief. Just a little bit to get further.

She hesitated, reaching for the enchanted bell on the collar of her robe. She knew she shouldn’t adjust her clothes. But if she did nothing, she’d pass out from heatstroke before reaching the surface. And if she did, then Roland would surely check on her. Maybe undress her. Then he’d see that mark and think she was a dumb bimbo and… and…

She grimaced and tightened her lips. Reluctantly, she touched the bell on her collar, gripped it, and willed a bit of relief.

Almost at once the fabric around her chest loosened, stretching and exposing more of her cleavage. She sighed with satisfaction, sagging a bit. Gods, that was so much better! But she still felt warm. Blushing a bit, she willed the sides of her robe to open, creating long slits that left only a strap of cloth covering her mons and ass. Somewhat scandalous, true, but there was no denying it was far more comfortable.

And… dare she say, cute?

She looked down at her chest and a worried frown marred her face. Was it just her, or was she… bigger? She cupped her chest, and had to bite her lip to suppress a sudden moan from escaping her. Oh… oh gosh, that… that felt good. So… so sensitive.

In fact, it was kind of hard to stop.

Stop feeling her big, soft chest. Giving it a bounce. A squeeze. Ohhhh, that felt gooood. She squirmed, legs rubbing together. But… but what would feel even better would be getting a big, studly, strong man to fill his loving hands with her big breasts. A man like…

”Roland,” she breathed.

“C-Cynthia?”

She squeaked, snatching her hands back and looking up in shock to find the knight standing at the end of the tunnel, staring at her in amazement.

“Roland!” Cynthia exclaimed, bounding quickly to her feet, and as she did, she caught his eyes riveting to her chest as her breasts bounced in her top. A feeling of satisfaction filled her, but she dutifully ignored it. “What um, what did you find?” she asked.

Roland seemed to shake himself, blinking as he looked back up at her. “Find? Oh, yes. It seems clear ahead. Looks like the ah, monsters haven’t respawned yet.”

“Wonderful!” Cynthia said, snatching up her staff. “Then we should get going, shouldn’t we?”

“Er, yes. We should. But uh, Cynthia, your clothes. They look…”

“Oh! That,” she giggled, giving a quick twirl. “Do you like it?”

“I um…”

“Just getting a bit of cooler air. So hot down here, right?”

“It is?”

“Absolutely!” she said, smiling encouragingly. “So hot. Gets me all sweaty and warm. Just needed to, you know, get a bit of airflow going. Right? Anyway! No time to waste. Better get back on the move.”

“I… guess,” Roland said uncertainly.

“Exactly! Let’s go,” Cynthia exclaimed, bounding past him, trying to suppress the knowledge of how good it felt to have that strip of cloth swishing between her thighs. The way the silk stroked her panties and slick mound.

But she also noticed the way Roland watched her breasts bounce in her tight top as she went by.

And maybe she enjoyed that gaze a bit more than was proper…

#

Hells but her migraine was just killing her.

Cynthia groaned, rubbing her temples.

“You sure you’re okay?” Roland asked her.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Just fine. Have a little headache, that’s all.”

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked.

Bend me over this fucking rock and rail me until I’m begging you to stuff me with your fucking stud baby batter!

Through an incredible force of will, Cynthia managed to not scream that out. But she needed some relief. The heat in her was coiling its insidious tentacles all through her, and she needed SOMETHING to take the fucking pressure off.

Her eyes slid back to Roland.

“Actually,” she said slowly, rolling her shoulders with a pained expression. “I’m feeling so… stiff at the moment. And you have those wonderfully talented hands. I was thinking maybe you could give me a quick massage.”

“A massage?” he said uncertainly.

“Yeah,” she said, already warming to the idea. Well, her body was anyway. Just the thought of getting those strong hands on her made the tension coiling in her ease just a bit. “Just a bit. Help me relax.”

“Of course,” the knight said, beaming that lovable smile of his as he took off his gauntlets. Cynthia bit her lip. Gods, just the sight of that goofy smile made her want to cram his head between her thighs and ride his tongue to a dozen screaming orgasms.

But she’d take what she could get. And as he moved around and sat down behind her, she tried not to shiver at the smell of him. That sweet medley of leather and sweat and manliness.

And that was before she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“Ohhhhh,” she groaned, arching.

He paused. “You okay?”

“Better than ever,” she sighed.

“I haven’t even started.”

“Then don’t wait,” she fairly growled. “Get those strong fingers in there.”

“Sorry?”

“Just… please, start.”

She stifled a moan as his fingers began to gently knead her shoulders, soon growing more confident at the familiar motions. Cynthia exhaled heavily, her eyes drifting half-shut as she enjoyed his touch. His wonderful, gentle yet firm touch. Gods, those fingers were incredible. She could actually feel herself start to drift away, even the headache easing.

“Is that good?” Roland asked.

“Wonderful,” she breathed, sinking back against his touch. Oh gods it was so good. “Lower.”

She felt his touch slide over her shoulders. “Like that?”

“Oh yessss,” she groaned, shivering in ecstasy, her toes curling in her shoes. “Just… mnnn… like that. Maybe… maybe a bit lower.”

She felt him hesitate, then obey. She was breathing deeper. Heavier. That was good. That was nice…

“You smell good,” Roland murmured.

A smile stole across her lips at his dreamy voice. “Thank you. Perfume… perfume is new. And lower, Roland.”

“L-lower?”

“Please,” she panted, wriggling.

Again that moment of hesitation. Then his hands slid down. Slid over the gentle curves of her chest.

Oh gods yes.

A soft moan escaped her as she arched, pushing her breasts into his uncertain hands. Hands that began to grow more confident. Slow. Gentle. Pumping and squeezing her breasts in ways that made her whimper and gasp in helpless pleasure.

Oh gods.

Oh gods that was so good.

She could feel the heat that had been torturing her dull to a pleasant throb. Swelling up into her head, filling it with a hazy warmth. Her headache easing into clouds of euphoric pleasure as her hips lazily rocked.

“Just like that,” she breathed, her free hand stealing between her thighs, a jolt of delight racing through her as she touched herself, the silky strip between her legs offering no protection to her hyper-sensitive pussy. “Oh Roland…”

“So soft,” he breathed, his face nearly buried in her luxurious hair, his hands still massaging and adoring her breasts. His warm breath panting against the back of her neck.

Oh gods yes.

“Roland,” she moaned, her finger pressing against her pussy, stroking herself through her dress and panties. Higher. Higher.

“Cynthia,” she heard him gasp behind her, his hands skilled and adoring as they bounced and massaged her soft breasts. She squirmed in delight, hot pants escaping her in rushes, her ass grinding back against him, feeling the bulge in his pants.

“Roland. Roland,” she whimpered, her finger strumming herself harder. Pleasure sparking through her in bursts, the cloudiness in her head concentrating. The pressure throbbing. Feeling so good. So wonderful. So… so…

“Mnnnnnn!” she cried out, quivering as she came, her juices staining her filmy panties and the strip of her robe, her muscles tightening in shameful ecstasy, the pressure in her head releasing in a sudden burst of euphoria that washed her in a wave of bliss.

She sighed happily, leaning back against Roland, who merely moaned softly, still gently massaging her plump teats. A sensation that ached through her wonderfully. Gods but it felt good. Gods it all felt so… so fucking good…

Why hadn’t she done this before?

As that idle thought swam through her mind, she felt another urgent throb from the place above her mons. She lifted her head numbly, and felt a strange weight on her brow. Vaguely, she reached up, touching her forehead.

Feeling a pair of bumps.

Her eyes snapped open in horror. Horns. Oh fuck, she had horns! Her formerly wonderful pleasure vanished like a flash of pink steam.

“Cynthia?”

She looked down in shock at the hands on her breasts and bolted suddenly to her feat, then slapped her palm to her forehead, turning away so Roland couldn’t see her front. “Er, yes! Thank you, Roland. Wonderful job. Very um, good. I’m just gonna go, er, freshen up a bit real quick. Be right back!”

“Wha-”

Before he could object she hurried back around the corridor’s corner and covered her face with her hands. Oh gods. Oh gods, did she really do that? Did she really just get Roland to play with her fat cow tits while she masturbated on his lap?

Yes.

Yes she did.

And it had been amazing.

She felt her blush warm herself anew, even as she berated her response. Gods, the curse’s heat was already back! It was like she hadn’t even gotten a moment of relief from it. But it was fine. It was fine. She could fix this. Just… just get out of the dungeon and find a priest who could dispel the curse. Then she’d be back to normal.

Yes.

Just normal.

So normal she’d never have done anything like that. Let Roland massage her sensitive breasts. Rub her ass against his bulge as she stroked herself to one of the best orgasms she’d ever had.

Totally.

Utterly.

Normal.

Cynthia bit her lip at the thought. She… she did want to be normal again. She was pretty sure of that. No, no. She was absolutely sure of it. Even if it had felt amazing. Even if she’d relished the thrill and the sound of Roland’s voice becoming dim and hazy. As if drunk on her presence. Her beauty. Even if she now had horns which she really needed to cover up. Yes, a hood. That’s what she needed.

And… maybe let the chest out a bit more. All of Roland’s pumping had made her even bustier.

Again she touched the bell on her neck and willed the changes. She sighed in relief as a hood formed from her top, looping over her hair, while an even larger boob window opened in her robe. As she looked herself down, she frowned at a sight below. The strip of fabric between her legs now sported a very apparent stain.

“Gods dammit,” she groaned. Look at that mess. She was NOT wandering through the dungeon with a big stain on the front of her robe. But how to hide it?

A sudden vision entered her mind, and well, it was a bit out of character for her, but why not? She’d be out of the dungeon soon anyway. Another press on the bell folded the strips of cloth between her legs, her robe shrinking even more, hugging her curves in a form-fitting leotard that showed off her every incredible curve. Cynthia smirked and turned this way and that, admiring her bared thighs and curves of her breasts. A perfect hourglass. Gods she was hot. That wasn’t the curse talking. Just… confidence.

Yeah.

Just confidence at being so gorgeous.

Smiling, she turned and went back into the chamber. Roland was still sitting on the rock, bent forward, his head in his hand like he had a headache.

“Ready, Roland?” Cynthia asked.

He looked up, and Cynthia had to bite her lip to keep from smirking at his expression. His jaw positively dropped at the sight of her, the awe in his eyes sending another shot of pure heat into her pussy and tingling through her veins.

“Cynthia,” he gasped. “You…”

“Just needed to let my body breathe a bit more,” Cynthia said coyly, turning this way and that to let him admire her further. “Do you like?”

“You… you look amazing,” he admitted.

Cynthia giggled. “So glad you think so. Now, come on, Roland,” she said, crooking a finger and beckoning. “Let’s get going.”

He rose instantly, and Cynthia felt another thrill at how quickly he obeyed. How his eyes grew dim as he breathed in deeply, as if just the sight and scent of her threatened to drown him in her presence. Arrogant of her to think so, perhaps, but as she turned, leading the way forward, she was hit with the delightful feeling like she was leading a puppy through the black stone halls.

And enjoying every moment of it.

#

The heat was back.

And strong.

So fucking strong.

It had been okay for a bit, but now the coiling warmth of desire was consuming her like an inferno. Cynthia was blushing, feeling her pulse throb and mons ache as if begging her to bathe her womb in the seed of a man. And it really didn’t help having such a handsome, willing man right behind her. Gods, she just wanted to push him down, kiss him, smother him under her fat tits and grind herself to a dozen orgasms before she even got his fucking pants off.

“Look! The exit.”

The words snapped her from her fantasies. Cynthia raised her head and through the blur of her vision she saw the white glow of the way out. The shining end of the tunnel beckoning her on.

Out.

Out of the dungeon.

Excitement surged within her. Bloomed with euphoria. “Yes!” she gasped. “Yes!”

So overcome, she whirled around and wrapped her arms around a startled Roland, leaned forward, and kissed him adoringly on the lips.

She felt him stiffen reflexively, but then he moaned, his eyes lidding, growing hazy as his lips moved against hers, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her tight against him. Cynthia whimpered in delight as she felt her mound press against his front. Grind against his bulge. Her sensitive breasts rubbing against the steel of his chest.

The kiss deepened. Her tongue pushed into his mouth. Her hands slid up his neck and to his head, her fingers running through his hair as his own arms moved over her back as if tracing every inch of her winsome figure.

More.

She needed more.

The compulsion radiated from her mons. From the mark. She pushed him back and Roland hit the cavern wall. She broke the kiss, panting. Hot. Needy.

“We… we shouldn’t,” she breathed, her hands already moving, finding catches and buckles of armour and stripping them away with uncanny precision.

“Y-yeah. Shouldn’t,” Roland said dimly, offering no resistance as his hands continued to stroke her, tracing the curve of her ass, pressing himself against the tight fabric of her leotard.

“Gotta… gotta resist,” Cynthia panted as she tugged his pants down, her fingers grasping his stiffened cock.

“Nnnn,” Roland groaned.

“Can’t give in,” Cynthia breathed as she sank to her knees, Roland’s cock finally in her hand. Before her eyes. Thick. Throbbing. Begging for her attention. The scent stuffing her nose. Her head. Her tongue teased over her lips. Her mouth opened, and she swallowed him deep.

“Ohhhh!” Roland groaned, head falling back, body jolting with a gasp.

“Mmmm,” Cynthia agreed, her lashes fluttering in ecstasy as she began to bob, her tongue swirling over his tip and length. Gods. Gods above, he tasted so good. So thick and powerful and virile. Her free hand slipped beneath him, cradling his balls, and she could fairly feel his seed churn within them. Stirring from her ministrations. Begging for release.

She’d release him.

Gods she would.

She’d suck him dry. Swallow without missing a drop. Gods, what had taken her so long to do this? How could she have kept herself from pushing him down and just fucking choking herself on his fat cock!? Her throat seemed to accommodate his every inch with uncanny ease. Moaning, bobbing, she sucked him deep, going down to the root, her tongue lathing and wrapping around his manhood with utterly shameless need.

“F-fuck!” Roland gasped, his eyes misty. Foggy. His hands groping down to her head. Cynthia bucked as his fingers pushed aside her hood and wrapped around her horns, the sensation throbbing into her like a bolt of lightning. For a brief moment she felt panic, but glancing up at his face showed Roland didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were fogged, his mouth open, panting in needy gasps as he pumped into her waiting mouth.

Pheromones. A demon’s trait, now hers from the curse.

And he was utterly drunk on them.

She knew she should feel bad about that, but she didn’t care. She wanted him too much. Too badly. She needed his cum. Needed him. The heat from her mound pulsed in a throbbing beat like drums urging her on. Urging her to suck harder. Massage his balls. Tease and pump him until his face was flushed and desperate gasps were escaping him. Until he was feverishly pumping his cock into her mouth, fucking her face until… until…

“F-fuuuuuuck!” Roland cried out, head thrown back, groaning as he came.

And Cynthia was in heaven.

She moaned, her eyes lidding as the hot heaviness of his load pumped into her mouth, eagerly swallowed down into her stomach. She sucked him gently, relishing every spurt, feeling the swirling delight ache through her.

Gods.

Gods, it was… it was so fucking perfect…

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

Cynthia pulled her lips off his cock, her whole body feeling like it was on fire. Her head throbbing. Thoughts swirling with a single need that she had to satisfy. “More,” she gasped.

“C-Cynthia?” Roland panted, looking down at her blankly, his jaw slack.

She knew he’d do anything she wanted him to. She could tell. He wanted her as bad as she wanted him. And she’d have him. She rose, no longer hesitant. No longer caring of consequences or doubt. Her hand rose, rang the bell on her collar.

Every stitch of clothing seemed to burst from her, baring her glorious figure in all its glory, her skin so flushed it seemed red, her breasts so huge and full they seemed to float upon her chest. Her hips were wide and her legs parted, the curse mark blazing proudly on her body.

Roland stared at her, mouth agape. “What…”

“Don’t question,” she commanded, and he fell silent. Another thrill surged through her as she turned around, bent forward, planting her hands against the far wall, her ass thrust out. “Fuck me, Roland,” she growled, glancing over her shoulder. “Fuck me like you’ve wanted to ever since we met. Fuck me. Mate me. Breed my fucking pussy! I need your cock, Roland. I need it in me. Now!”

Roland stared at her, and oh how her curse mark rewarded her for that stare. That look of helpless lust. Of frantic desire. He came towards her, his hands reaching out, grasping the soft swell of her ample hips. She cried out, cooed as the rewarding heat of her curse mark surged through her again, tingling in her tailbone and back.

“That’s it,” she breathed, waving her rear, smirking as she saw his cock rise, hardening once again at the sight of her needy figure. “Fuck me, Roland. Fuck me hard. Mate me like the slut I am. Just a bitch in heat. Needing your cock. Now fuck me. Fuck me!”

“Yes,” Roland gasped, squeezing her soft rump, aligning his cock with the steamy gash of her pussy. “Yes… mistress…”

For a brief moment that word shocked Cynthia. Raised a doubt in her. She opened her mouth to order him back.

Then he pushed forward.

Filled her.

And hesitation was burned away by the fire of pleasure as she got what she so desperately needed.

“Ohhhhh!” Cynthia cried out, arching, tightening deliciously around the thick cock impaling her. Heat bloomed in her, but no longer tortuous. No. Now it surged in her in a euphoric blast. “Yesss!” she cried out. “Fuck me, Roland. Mate me! Fuck me haaaard!”

“Yes,” Roland panted, not hesitating a beat, beginning to thrust, pumping his cock feverishly into her hot pussy. Driving into her with a desperate urgency, every smack of his hips off her ass sending another throb of pure pleasure rocking her to the core. “Yes! Mistress. Fuck mistress. Fuck her!”

“Yes!” Cynthia cried out, uncaring, lost, relishing the feeling of him finally inside her. Finally giving her what she needed! “Yes! Fuck me. Mate me! Breed me, Roland. Breed your mistress! Mistress ah! Mistress needs your c-cum! Give it to her. Give it to me! Fuck me! Fuck me n-nooooooow!”

Pleasure pounded through her. Throbbed behind her eyes. In her back. In her ass. As she wailed her ecstasy, she felt the pressure burst. Felt a dark tail twist from her rear. Black wings sprout from her back.

“Breed your demon mistress noooooow!” Cynthia howled in triumph.

“Nnnnn!” Roland moaned, filling her a final time, his cock sinking deep inside her as he gave in. Cumming in a sudden rush of his hot seed.

The feeling surged into Cynthia. She wailed in pleasure, her orgasm flowing through her after his. Her pussy tightening, quivering, urging the hot gush of his cum into her womb. Feeling it fill her.

Wake her.

Consume her in bliss.

She moaned, her eyes rolling back, her arms shaking as she felt the curse mark burn itself into her skin. Marking her forever. Glowing like a brand.

And she couldn’t have been happier.

With a shaky breath she stepped forward, unsheathing Roland’s cock from her. The knight fell back onto the ground, his strong chest heaving, his eyes staring at her in worship and hazy love.

Cynthia smirked down at him, her hands lazily stroking her figure, her dark wings fluttering, her tail lashing.

Beautiful, she thought to herself. Utterly beautiful.

“Am I lovely, Roland?” she asked.

“So… so lovely,” he gasped, worshipping her with his eyes.

Cynthia giggled, her hands cupping her breasts, stroking them and sending them bouncing, her fingers tracing down onto her hips. “Mmm. And you’ll love me forever, won’t you? Be my obedient stud forever and ever? Pumping me full of children whenever I want?”

“Yes,” Roland panted. “Yes!”

“Adore me?”

“Yes!”

“Worship me?”

“Yes!”

“Do anything for me?”

“Gods yes!”

Cynthia purred, the desperation in his words filling her with intoxicating power. “Good boy,” she cooed, crooking a finger. “Then get up, lover. It’s time for you to get dressed and head out. There’s a whole wide world out there for us, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Roland breathed, dragging himself to his feet. “Yes, msitress.”

“Good boy,” she laughed, strutting towards the exit of the dungeon, her obedient love slave stumbling after her, still pulling his boots on as he did. Maybe she would visit the temple after all, Cynthia mused. After all, the sisters there would surely love to examine her curse mark. In intimate detail…

[afreakingdork]

Writing Request: Reader x Donnie College Meet-Cute 💜

We got an anonymous request callers! Inspired by Stress Test, I got a request to do the college edition of a reader x Donnie meeting! Since the meeting in Stress Test is pretty indistinct as they're practically strangers, I'm going to write an original college meet-up!

From now until the poll closes, if you can prove to me that you voted Hassan/Mikey in this poll then I will write any short 100-400 word request like below or draw you a doodle of your choosing!

ᴰᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ: ᴵ ᵃᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵃⁿʸʷᵃʸ ᵃˢˢᵒᶜᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᵉⁿᵈᵒʳˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵉᵗᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒʳ ᶦᵗˢ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ.

All ages fluff below the cut!

New semester, new classes.

You weren't, however, new to the college so you knew where to go. There was no freshman fumbling around as you cruised down the hallway. Your class was in this wing and you had the number. You just had to locate it and there were vague enough signs on the walls. You followed the arrows and, after counting down, found your door.

You were just early enough that you had a nice selection of seats to choose from.

The front you would skip as it was too close to the roving eyes of the teacher. You weren't sure of their style just yet, but you weren't particularly interested in hiding in the back. Thus you were left with the cent which seemed like the safest choice.

As you gazed over those choices, a dead center seat jumped out at you. The seating was broken up into two sections with a complimentary center row. One such aisle seat was plump for picking and you headed toward it. It would mean sitting right down next to a student in the adjacent seat.

Usual courtesy dictated you would leave a buffer seat for them, but you had seen the roster when you were checking your class schedule. This class was full and you'd soon be packing in anyway. The person seemed alright enough as they were buried in their hoodie and poured over a book. That read to you that they wanted to keep to themselves and you had no problem allowing it.

You took your seat and were careful not to jostle the table. Your seat mate continued to read on as if you were never there and that satisfied you. You took your time in getting your notebook ready for first day notes and settling in. You hadn't been too early, so soon students were filing in. You watched them come in with a tilt of your head toward the door and in your periphery you saw the book the student next to you was reading.

You recognized it instantly; it was the graphic novel version of a movie you had just watched.

The one none of your friends particularly cared for, but you loved.

You lit up.

"Is it good!?" The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. "I was thinking of reading that!"

For a second, you were caught in stasis.

The silence went on just long enough that it seemed like your table mate hadn't heard you.

They could have had headphones in, you realized then.

They could just be ignoring you.

They could be enraptured in reading.

They eventually did move.

It was with a creak and just enough of a glance out of the depths of their hoodie.

They seemed to check if you were talking to them before looking down. "Yes. I've been enjoying it."

The response was cold, but something about it didn't completely deter you. "Sorry... I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine." They put a bookmark that was another property you recognized, but you kept quiet about it.

Your professor walked in and class commenced. You took your notes, got your copy of the syllabus, and as these things usually went, your first day of class was over just as it started. You were dismissed and in the time it took you to close your notebook, you found the student next to you had disappeared.

On your schedule, you were back in class a day later, but you were running late. Experience taught you that while there were no assigned seats in college, there were stakes claimed. These were rocking in the first few classes as everyone adjusted to their needs which meant you perfect, middle-of-the-road seat, was in danger.

It had been a great vantage point and its proximity to the aisle meant you could leave without disturbing others.

It was the perfect seat and you were going to lose it.

Until you shot through the door and your professor glanced up at you with a snide comment.

There was a messenger back on the desk you used two days ago.

A black and purple one that matched a particular hoodie.

One that reached up and removed the bag as soon they noticed you looking.

They saved your seat.

Your heart shot straight into your throat and that was it. You spent the rest of your semester prioritizing getting to class early enough. No matter how much room you made in your schedule, he was somehow already there. Within the first few classes you found out her was a mutant and you equated that with his stoic attitude. You assumed he was nervous about judgment though you had none of your own.

What you really wanted from him was someone to talk to. It seemed like every time you brought up an interest, he had some opinion on it. It meant you could lob yours at him and he'd, in his limited capacity, would reciprocate. It pegged you has strange because his eyes betrayed everything else about him. By sitting right next to him, you'd see fires lit if you ever disagreed with one of his takes, but out of his mouth came lines that seemed per-recorded.

It only furthered your interest to the point where you could no longer tell if he actually care for your companionship or not. He was more of a fixture. A dimly lit lamp to read by as there was always a book in front of him. You were the one who came in stubbornly everyday and tried to change the switch.

All until he didn't show up one day.

The moment you walked through the door, his empty seat felt like a beacon.

There was a withdrawal deadline about to pass.

One that kept a class from impacting GPA.

Was that it?

Had he not been learning.

You sort of remembered him taking notes.

Really you had been looking at his hands.

How his two fingers twisted his pen between his thumb.

it was an agility you couldn't comprehend matching.

Remembering helped as class wore on. The presence beside you was one you hadn't realized you relied to heavily on. You rarely talked during class, but just knowing he was there felt like something you could count on. Even when time was up and he scurried off as he did, you day didn't feel complete until he gave that little bob of his head to acknowledge he would see you again.

You only realized then how bad your crush was.

It wasn't petty interest or a like mind for media.

You liked him.

You liked the way he smiled to himself during lectures.

You liked that you could chart his progress through how far his bookmark moved.

You liked how you had fallen for the old hoodie trick when in reality it was painfully obvious that he was a lovely shade of green.

"He's out sick."

You blinked up to find most of your class had already left.

"Donatello." The teacher spoke as he adjusted something at the podium. "Got an email, though it doesn't seem like he's going to get any notes from you."

You had a retort.

"You're quite the pair."

You swear you did.

"Do not separate." He chuckled. "Print that and slap it on your seats."

All you did was mumble a a thank you before finally packing up.

Perspective was now beating you down.

All those weeks.

All those classes.

Could you have been anymore obvious?

Was Donnie saving your feelings?

You called him Donnie without even asking if that nickname was alright.

it just popped out one day and he didn't correct you.

You were going down a hallway.

You need a break.

A diversion.

All these little cupid Donnie's were flying around your head.

When?

When?

The question pounded your ears as you ran toward the library.

Other students were moving at a similar speed.

Everything was moving faster.

There was running.

There was yelling.

You stopped for no particular reason.

Your shoes etched the ground and it was as if you landed on the activation point of a land mine.

The wall in front of you exploded out and you watched several students who had been in front of you get blasted away.

Not you.

You had perfectly and accidentally stopped just shy of the damage.

"There! You know the maneuver!"

You knew that voice.

Rubble moved and pulled your eye to where the debris had gone.

Out of the wrecked reeled the squishy body of a frog mutant who looked up with a paralyzing amount of spite from where he had come from.

You were slow to look back.

In the hole, perfectly arranged were four brightly colored turtles.

The purple of which you zeroed in on and, again, on your command he spoke.

"You all have the maps. I told you enrolling to scout was a good idea!" His head tipped nothing, but cocky.

It was Donatello.

You knew despite everything oozing from this person was not your person.

"Nerd alert!" Another turtle chirped.

"Just admit you wanted to break into school again!"

"Gasp!" Donnie swung a hand up to his chest. "I would never! I applied and got in, clearly."

"He tried to jar the science lab air."

"The science lab was where this mutant and the three others were being forcefully mutated by that student!!" Donnie hissed.

A rock then rocketed at the group and took the orange one back through the hole.

"Enough gabbing!" The red turtle readied his fist. "We got the campus layout! They can't hide so let's smash 'em!"

You stood deathly still as they attacked the frog.

A white mouse soon joined the fray.

The orange turtle returned.

A starfish disrupted the turtles victory and its chopped limbs regenerated more suckered creatures.

You heard phrases tossed around like silverfish and several students tried to coax you away.

You couldn't.

Donnie was there.

Donnie was unlike anything you'd ever seen.

Images of his meek existence were obliterated one by one.

You didn't know this man.

You knew some guy in your class and idealized a book he probably kept as cover.

You still swore the bookmark moved with steady progress.

Wasn't that enough proof that at least something was real?

If that was, what else was?

Caught between that and the literal battle going on around you, you were stuck.

Until a brick whizzed by your face, but the pain came on a delay afterward.

You reached up like something out of a show and touched your cheek.

It came away with blood.

It darkened on your fingertips way faster than it should have oxidized.

You looked up in time and saw an entire slab bench was heading towards you and casting a shadow.

So this was it, you allowed your final thought to be just as anticlimactic.

Something else struck you from the side first.

It had the force of a rocket and your air was sucked from you at the speed.

It also hadn't hurt.

It was warm, if anything.

Momentum slowed and you were soon sat on your feet, though arms securely had your waist.

"Are you okay?! Your cheek! I have skin adhesive that I was using to lift key cards. Long story, but..." Donnie held you with one arm and searched his person with the other.

You stared.

He had the same face, but this was the first time you had seen all of it.

Or part of it with his purple bandana and what looked like a shoddy pair of modified welding goggles on his head.

His hand shot up with a pinched bandage slip "A-one dressing that is both repositionable and inhibits bacterial growth! Perfect for..."

He took great care in applying it to your cheek.

His hand lingered there and its warmth seeped through your skin.

"Who are you...?" You found yourself asking.

His expression shifted from something tender to something tinged with sorrow. "I'm still me..."

Your brows came together with knit distress.

"The Donatello that attended your classes was but a cover, but our interactions-!"

You watched him cut himself off.

"-are ones that evidentially appear... as part of said ruse."

You nodded.

His lips parted for a few false starts.

There was a distant crash and some cackling that could have come from either side.

Donnie glanced in that direction.

"You should go..." You told him.

Duty or whatever he was up to caught him and he straightened up.

You stepped out of his arms.

He said your name with clear intention.

For your time, you offered him what you thought would be a last look.

"I could really use your notes today."

You blinked a single time.

"I'm not... Well, I should say I have no intention of dropping out. Imagine the blemish on my academic record! They say it's not counted, but we all know that's not true. Besides, the material is child's play compared to my doctorates, however..."

You felt your mouth gape.

He only smiled. "Now that we, and I mean my dumb-dumb brothers who I am going to have woefully blind faith in that they've taken care of this mess, caught the rogue mutator I can finally take my studies seriously."

You stunted a hopeful breath.

"As in a study group, of course! Multiple students and not just us! Ah! Alone! Can you imagine!?" He quacked with flushed flesh.

Your heart shot straight into your throat.

"And I can trade you for the notes. My graphic novel. The first one that you wanted to read. We can call it collateral... until I show you that I can be trusted... If you were..."

"I didn't take any notes!"

It was his turn to stare.

"I... I was too distracted that you were gone."

"You...?" He pointed to himself.

You nodded.

"Me...?" He pointed to you.

Your head bobbed at a faster pace.

"Then we must catch up!"

"For class!" You added.

"Donnie!!" A voice called. "Gonna need that sticky stuff you got!!"

"You should-"

"I should-"

You both gave bashful grins.

"Wednesday."

"Wednesday. After class?"

"Consider my calendar cleared!" He lifted into the air before you like a vision and you thought you could get used to that as he rocketed back toward where one of his brothers was waving.

[localboobsenjoyer]

Everything was going well in your relationship at the moment. Your boyfriend was nice with you, good-looking, and pretty rich. He always treats you as a princess. You deserved this treatment, of course. You had both a nice personality and a nice "personality." Despite being in your late 20s, your H cup boobs were still steadily growing, and you BF loved that. You were quite attractive in many other ways, but your breasts were definitely your best feature. It finally arrived the day that you dreaded, however. The meeting with your mother. "I must warn you, honey," you said to your boyfriend. "Many of my previously relationships ended after this encounter. She can be a lot to handle." He reassured you that he loved you and that he found you growing boobs super hot so he wouldn't leave you for anything in the world. You were not reassured by these words, but nevertheless, you left your home to go meet her. "Come on, I will join you shortly," she said, letting you enter her home. In just a few minutes, she arrived, and, unfortunately, your worries were justified.

She arrived topless, her massive colossal breast on full display, easily dwarfing your everywhere else impressive bosom. They were even bigger than the last time and somehow even perkier. Your boyfriend was completely lost in them; it was painfully obvious that he had eyes just for them. You were invisible to him. You could see a massive boner beginning to form in his pants. "Sorry for my state; I just had a pretty intense growth spurt and nothing fit. I hope it won't be a problem. But it was. Your boyfriend was completely mesmerized by them. Completely lost. Soon after, he broke up with you to be with your mother. She of course toyed with him for a few weeks, then threw him away as soon as she got bored. As you thought, the only way for you to finally find a husband is to grow bigger than her. You knew you could do it. You are bigger than your mom was at your age. You just need to put everything you have into growing your boobs.

[fackeraccount]

hi I’m not sure if I’m doing this right because I did read your request rules thingy and I hope I’m not crossing any boundaries but I was wondering if you could write for zayne a miscommunication troupe,you could have the creative freedom of choosing whatever but I’m a sucker for angst where they have to fight to get us back type of stuff lol ! if you see this I hope you’re having a good day and if you write this then thank you so much !!

Yes ofc I can! I'm not really an angst girlie but I'll try my best!!

Pairing: Zayne x Gn reader

Tw: Miscommunication, angst, fighting, blood, wounds, concussion, hospital, will they stay together?, break up?, mentions of y/n

There was a constant beeping noise ringing in your ears. The noise was loud but familiar and you realized it was a heart monitor meaning you were in the hospital.

You opened your eyes, squinting through the harsh light. You brought your hand up to block out the light only the feel something in your arm. Looking down, you saw a small tube which lead to an IV bag to your side.

Looking back up, you saw a nurse moving around. She was checking your vitals when she looked up, seeing you awake.

She smiled and said, "Oh, your awake. I'll go call Dr. Zayne for you,"

She left pretty quickly and you sighed. Getting injured is normal but the real problem was Zayne wasn't informed about the mission and now you come to the hospital with a large wound on your side and a concussion.

Zayne stepped through the door, and you could immediately tell there was something wrong. His eyes held no warmth in them anymore and you could tell that this was the inevitable consequences of your actions.

"Are you feeling any pain on your left side or your head?" Zayne spoke, his tone professional, as if you were a mere patient.

"No," You answered, "I can tell it's there but I can't feel it."

"Mhm, that's good. The pain killers are still in effect," He replied while changing you IV bag.

"Alright, you're all good. I'll come check on you later."

Before you could reply, he left, not speaking to you at all.

For the next few days, it continued like this. Zayne would come check on you twice a day but always acted like he didn't know you besides being a patient.

The week after, you were discharged and put on house rest by the doctors so you sat at home, doing absolutely nothing. You just said at home for that week, cleaning up everything you left while on your mission.

You thought about why Zayne would ignore you, I mean, you understood that you forgot to tell him about your mission but he wouldn't ignore you for weeks because of that.

That mission of yours really was dangerous to do on your own but you did.

It was a three day long mission to kill wanderers on the outskirts of Linkon city.

You had fought until one had snuck up on you from behind and slashed you side. You quickly finish them off before the blood loss made you sluggish. Soon after though, you fainted and hit you head on a rock, leaving you with a concussion.

You heard your phone ring from your room while you were cleaning up, bringing you out of your thoughts. You stood up and walked towards your phone and answered without looking at the call ID.

"Hello?"

"Y/n"

"Oh, Zayne! How are you?"

"I'm fine, I just need to tell you something"

"And that is?"

"Well, I think you and I should take a break"

"Wait what? Why?"

"Clearly, I'm not trustworthy enough for you to tell me about you missions but Xavier is"

"Xavier? I just needed someone to take care of my house so I just asked him before I left"

"See that's the thing. You don't tell me about a mission and I find you in the hospital. I realized that you were gone so I came to your house to check on you. Come to find out, he was holding it and knew about your mission."

"Zayne-"

"Let me finish. I know that he's your partner but what if you never came back? What if you'd d-died on that mission? Would I ever know? Think"

"Oh" He was crying, you could hear the small sniffles and the hitch in his voice.

"Yea, so I need to step down and maybe once you've fixed your issues we can try to fix this but you've broken my trust in you. If this continues like this, one day, I'll find out your... dead by someone else without even knowing you left"

As soon as he said that he ended the call. You stood there, frozen, tears streaming down your face without you realizing it.

Zayne had broken up with you and it was all your fault. Your knees buckled and you fell to the ground crying. The tears flooded down your face and you couldn't do anything to stop them.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid! It's all your fault! You have no one to blame but yourself!"

You insulted yourself all day crying, and screaming, but that wouldn't bring Zayne back.

The rest of the week, you spent crying, curled in your bed, barely standing up to eat. Soon enough, you heard a knock on your door.

Standing up sluggishly, you walked towards your door and opened it to see Zayne. He walked in and closed the door behind him.

"Oh. Why are you here?" You asked.

"I came to apologize, I blamed you without even letting you explain and I'm sorry. I jumped to conclusions," he answered.

You sighed and spoke, "No, you were right, I broke your trust, but you also broke mine. I forgot to tell you and I understand that, but you can't just jump to conclusions. So, no we won't get back together until you can trust me again, and I can trust you. Right now, we're just friends again."

He nodded, "I understand that. I just came to apologize first."

He left and you closed the door, sighing.

The next few weeks, Zayne kept doing anything to fix that broken trust. He first took you out twice a week, sent coffee to your office every morning, and even sent you flowers.

You knew he was trying and honestly, it was working. Even though you were still hurt, he was trying and that's all that mattered to you.

Part 2?? Maybe, maybe not 😝

[kiko---random-stuff-probably]

Infection

How Kallamar got his scar on his left eye.

For context: Kallamar is seveteen and got recruited by Shamura (who is around 30).

Kallamar did not expect, after being recruited by War themselves as a poisoner, to be in any way met with open arms by the other soldiers, for several reasons.

First of all, he was not a warrior. He only stepped foot on the battlefield after everything was done, and some of the soldiers considered him way too fragile and weak to actually help.

Second, he was a foreigner, and had some problems with the language barrier, even if luckily he came from a place where Silk Cradle's language was pretty used and he even read it on some medical tomes. Still, he had a certain accent (that he was actively trying to lose) and some words were still unknown to him. He was pretty sure thatsome soldiers referred to him with a slur, bbut he was not sure. He wasn't the only foreigner in Shamura's army, but this was not going to stop it.

Also, the fact that he poisoned his ex village was considered by a lot of soldiers as a clear sign that he was, and he could quote the exact words a soldier used behind his back, "a psychotic piece of shit who will not hesitate to stab the Spider's back". Which, obviously, was not true: he had no reason to hurt Shamura! After all, they gave him a home, a role, hot food and sometimes they even talked to him! Way mroe than anything he could had ever wish for!

So, he knew he was not in any way welcome there.

Still, slashing his left eye was a little too much.

Right now, Kallamar was sitting on a brand bed in the medical bay, holding an hand over his now bandaged face.

The doctor was reassuring, once again, that his wound was not going to get infected and that he was going to have a quick recovery, before excusing herself and leaving when Shamura entered.

War glanced at the squid, their expression indecifrable and cold. Disappointed, maybe.

Kallamar looked at the ground, as his mind started to race.

- I was informed of what happened. I still want to hear your side.-

- I didn't... I was not the one to start it.-

- I have no doubt in that, but I still want to hear your version.-

Kallamar was shaking, as he tried to find the words.

- I didn't... I was just... they attacked me out of nowhere, and said i had to "earn my right to live" and things like that, and others were inciting them, and... and... and they had a knife, and...- he was more than omce interrupted by a few sobs - I was scared... I couldn't...-

- You managed to take their knife away and then stabbed your opponent, right?-

- They putted it down, saying something about "a fair fight", and I knew they could had easily snapped my back, I just...-

- You stabbed them in the neck. Precisely in the carotids.-

Kallamar still didn't loook at them.

- And than you stabbed them other fifteen times. Some of the soldiers even report that you started laughing during your rampage.-

Kallamar holded back a sob. As they needed another reason to hate him. He was going to be executed, or thrown in the prison at best. All for a stupid fight.

- I really can't see why you were scared. Honestly, I'm impressed.-

Kallamar looked at the spider, trying to catch an underlying sarcasm. Instead, he found something akin to pride - Do not worry, I am not mad about their death, it was self defense after all.-

- I killed them.-

- They attacked first with the intention to kill you. I can forgive your reasonable outburst of adrenaline. We will have to work on your emotion management and teach you how to incapacitate an opponent without killing them, even if I doubt someone else will decide to try something similar to this.-

Kallamar was sure he must had misheard them.

-... Why aren't you mad? You should be mad that I was the one who survived. You should...- towards the end, he slipped in a swear word in his language.

Shamura's expression was filled with genuine confusion.

- Why would I be mad about that...? You are an important asset in my army and also a good kid with a promising future. I would had been really upset if you actually died.-

Bullshit. They must be lying. He was just a stupid weakling who could not do anything right and who's only role in life was to die and-

- Regardless of whatever your old village made you believe, you matter as much as anyone else. I'm happy you're alive, kid.- the spider gently patted his head, and that was it.

The squid bursted into tears, overwhelmed.

War let him cry, fully knowing how much he needed it.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 7.1 - You Can’t Go Home

AKIRA

"Fuckin' bullshit ass dreams."

The coffee helps with Akira's tension headache, but not his biggest problem: Why the hell can't Miko be glamoured?

For all the magic that the fae had, glamour was the most powerful. It was the only space where they could lie, crafting a story or circumstance that felt so real a creature could be lost to it.

Miko wasn't fae, which was the only way she'd be able to see through it—though most fae didn't bother to peek beneath the hood of a glamour unless it was a threat. It was considered rude, like walking in on someone undressing.

And yet, if Akira was being honest with himself, when it came to solving the mystery of Miko Ojo he could give a shit. Jacques was right, he was distracted. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Vladislaus, and Alice was— 

—in his side yard?

Son of a bitch. 

Akira makes his way outside, hoping to confirm that she is a figment of his imagination and not actually in his garden, leaning over a poisonous plant on the verge of getting herself killed. 

Tossing his coffee cup, he runs towards her, skidding to a halt a few feet away. "Uh, hey," he calls out, keeping his voice deceptively casual and trying desperately not to envision her with the tongue of the plant wrapped around her arm, pumping poison into her system. "You might wanna watch yourself. Those mosquito traps are deadly."

"Yeah," she stands and turns around, a smirk on her face. "To mosquitos."

Gods above. Amusement looks good on her. But he can't encourage this. 

"They are poisonous to you," Akira corrects, hating how suddenly anxious he sounds. He can feign disinterest with the best of the fae, but those skills abandon him now. “Can you please get the fuck away from that thing?” 

"Why?” She laughs like she can't hear his desperation. Or she can hear it, and she's trying to fuckin' torture him.

“I have salt," she holds up a hand, flipping it back and forth so he can see that one side is covered in fine crystals. "But you look pretty salt-free my dude, so maybe you should back up."

“Me back up? I’m like ten feet away! And how do you know about using salt for a mosquito trap?”

"Sixam Mosquito Traps are related to cowplants, and cowplants hate salt," she shrugs, "They talked about it on this podcast I listen to.” Instead of taking a step away from the plant, like she has a care in the world for his godsdamned blood pressure, Alice moves closer. “Anyways, appreciate the concern, but I need this shot for class, and I already waited until the last minute."

Akira bites his tongue, willing himself not to completely lose his shit. Jacques is already aware of his interest and the worst thing you could do was have the Devil know what you wanted.

And yet, he can't seem to back up. Instead he finds himself demanding to know what her plan is while he glares so hard his headache returns.

"Just watch." Alice pulls out her camera and drops into a crouch. Gingerly, she holds out her hand. The tongue of the mosquito trap flicks out, speeding toward her. At the very last minute, she flips her hand over, snapping a picture before the tongue recoils and twists back into the plant. 

It's a masterful move. Akira has aged a thousand years just from watching it.

"Look!" she cries, finally leaving the plant alone so she can hold out her camera and show him the image in the viewfinder. "Got the shot. Tell me that was not completely badass!"

It's a good picture. Begrudgingly, Akira admits it. "What podcast did you hear all these plant tips on?"

"The 7 Wild Dates Recap show. They were in Selvadorada for an elimination challenge. Honestly, I wasn't even sure it would work."

She wasn’t even sure if it would work!?!?!??!?!

He can't do this.

Alice is certifiable.

She's the heroine in a novel who wanders into the dark forest even though everyone said: "don't go in the fucking forest."

If he pursues this, he will end up in a constant state of worry that she'll endure some bodily harm because mortals have laughably brittle bones. Keeping her alive in his world would be a nightmare.

And yet, when he opens his mouth, what comes out is: "Tell me you do not watch that dumbass show."

"I do," she cackles, "And you should too. Stick with me, kid, and you'll be drowning in scripted confessions from the most beautiful, selfish sims on the planet. I'm Alice, by the way."

She is smiling expectantly, but he knows his rules. He has them for a reason.

No real names.

"I'm Akira."

No unnecessary details.

"I'm also into plants. You're kind of standing near my garden."

And for the love of the gods, no fucking promises.

"And if this show is as good as you say, then I'll have to watch it."

PREV | NEXT

(Part 1 of 4)

If you prefer long-form, you can read the full chapter on my WordPress.

[aplaceinthedark]

chapter three: ONE TASTE of the LIFE

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm.

Word Count: 2,945

CW: Supernatural themes, Star Wars spoilers, Hand Jobs (male receiving)

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. For the past several months, I've been dealing with job issues and major burnout depression. Whereas that's still hanging around, I think I might be in a better place to write more. If you're still hanging on despite my hiatus, thank you very muchness.

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

“Taylor? Are you listening to a word I said?”

I jumped, nearly knocking my water bottle over. “N-No. I’m sorry. What were you saying?” I asked sheepishly.

Rachel smiled sympathetically. ��Still worried about the break-in?” she asked. I nodded, as I had told everyone that that was the reason why I was so jumpy.

I liked Rachel. Despite being almost twenty years older than me, she was sort of my only friend outside the circle of misfits and monsters I had embedded myself in. She also didn’t live in New Hope, thankfully. She was a transfer from a bigger town, since our library desperately needed one after one of our librarians “mysteriously disappeared” last August.

Said librarian’s assistant had also “mysteriously vanished” as well, leaving a job wide open for me to fill. I didn’t mind it, being Rachel’s assistant. I might have to do grunt work a lot of the time, but at least she helped instead of just dumping it all on me.

“Anyways, as I was saying, I’m pretty sure no one has gone through the donation bin this decade, if you want to make a dent in it.”

Sitting on my ass while I sort for the next two hours? “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I said, earning a chuckle from her as I stood up and left the front desk.

There were several boxes. She wasn’t kidding. This was going to take longer than I thought. Setting my phone off to the side, I pressed play on one of my safe-for-work playlists and started humming along to some Chappell Roan.

It had been a few days since the incident with the pale creature that had come onto my porch. There had been no repeat occurrences at our place, but someone had said something about seeing a sick-looking coyote at the edge of their yard. I hadn’t mentioned that to Nick, since I wasn’t even sure that it was the same thing that I had seen. 

And Nick was… I couldn’t burden him with any more problems. Between his time at the new tattoo place, townspeople coming to him for remedies to their ailments, and not being able to sleep very well, he was exhausted. I had woken up to him passed out on his couch this morning, Lydia loafing on his back. If I could make him sleep for an entire day, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I pulled the next box towards me and dug through the dusty contents. I was sure now that most of these donations were just from older ladies dumping the contents of their attics off on us just to free up some space. Several of these books so far were the same cookbook in different states of decay. 

I was just about to ask Rachel for a mask since I was tired of sneezing out dust when my hand pulled out a book that was different from all the others. A quick flip through revealed it was a journal. Either their handwriting was terrible or it was written in a different language, because I couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was saying. But some of the drawings in it intrigued me, so I set it in the Keep Pile, with the intention to ask Rachel what to do with it. If someone donated it without knowing, they might want it back.

By the end of my shift, my back and lungs didn’t appreciate what work I had gotten done. “Being in your thirties must be rough,” Rachel laughed as I tried popping my back several times. “Maybe you could get that cute boyfriend of yours to help you out later tonight.”

I felt a brief flush rise to the surface of my skin as I thought about Nick’s skilled fingers. “Quit it,” I mumbled, earning a cackle from her that would normally get someone in a library in trouble.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the journal in my hands.

“Oh, I found it in one of the boxes. It looks like somebody might’ve accidentally put it in the donation box. Should we ask if they want it back?” I said.

Rachel shook her head. “Sorry buttercup,” she said, using her nickname for me. “Those were anonymous, and who knows how long ago it was donated. There’s no way we’d be able to trace it back to its owner. Unless it has historic value, we’re supposed to throw it out.”

Something in my face must’ve changed her mind. “Well, if you don’t want to, I could conveniently look the other way when you leave,” she said. 

I was about to say that no, that it was fine, that I didn’t need another written book in my house when Nick was still combing through Granny’s hex books, but the words caught in my throat and I thanked her instead. Maybe if I could find its owner, that would be one good deed I’d done for this town, since they were still wary of me several months after I had moved in.

The library closed at seven, but I didn’t get to go to my car until half an hour later. Late April still meant that it was dark out when I left work, but the building was in the middle of New Hope, the forest a ways off. I dashed to my car through the rain, the water from the puddles splashing up as my feet crashed down in them. 

My fingers were wrapped around the car’s door handle when  a cold rush of air blew through my denim jacket, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I froze as the door automatically unlocked, the sound as loud as a gunshot despite the sound of the rain. Something in the reflection of the car window caught my eye.

Someone was behind me.

I slowly turned around, trying not to startle it. Meanwhile, my mind was racing in confusion and fear. Nothing came out of the woods. The town was safe.

The boys couldn’t help me if something were to happen to me out here.

So what was the shadowy figure doing in the middle of a parking lot?

It didn’t move as I stared at it. It was almost formless; I could just make out the thin, vaguely humanoid shape of it. Even if I wanted to say something, my throat had closed shut. The chill of the night increased, the wind picking up and sending some bits of trash skittering across the asphalt. But it didn’t disturb the shadow. 

I opened my mouth to say… something? Shout at it to scare it away? But another voice startled me into screaming. I whipped around. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Taylor!” Rachel swore, hand on her heart. She was standing a few feet away under her umbrella. “What’re you still doing here? Are you okay?”

“Uhh… yeah. Just thought I saw something,” I said. I turned back around.

Other than us, the parking lot was empty.

The smell of food coming through a cracked window greeted me as I stepped onto the front porch. My knees felt weak at the thought of Nick cooking after the heart attack I had had. I took a moment to compose myself, exhaling as I turned the doorknob and stepped into our home.

It was indeed Nick cooking, as he stood in front of the stove. His long black hair was tied up in a bun, and he was wearing his thick-rimmed glasses. “Hiya,” he said, not even turning around. 

I dropped my backpack onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table, immediately walking over and hugging him from behind. “Woah, hey. Everything alright?” He asked. His hand moved down to cover both of mine.

I should tell him; I need to tell him. Instead, I nodded into the space between his shoulders. Even though a part of me knew that the creepiness of the town's legends were true, I still couldn't believe that something would come out of the woods and into the safeness of the streets.

So what I said instead was, “I missed you,” into his shirt. 

“Missed you more,” he said in return, despite seeing each other this morning. 

“What are you making?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. 

“Just some hamburger pasta. Thought it would be good for an easy night, since it's just the two of us until later tonight.”

“Really? Not even Folio?” I asked. 

Without looking up, Nick pointed over at the kitchen calendar with the spoon in his free hand. A little black circle was drawn on today's date and the next two days. The New Moons meant that Folio was stuck in his Grim form until the first sliver of the moon shined. Kind of like a werewolf but opposite. 

“It'll be done in a few. Go get comfortable and I'll put on a movie,” he said, his own way of shooing me out of the kitchen. As I parted with him, I saw that he hadn't done the same with Lydia, who was watching from the floor with her hungry eyes. 

As I changed into some lounge pants and an old sweater of Nick's, I tried to think of a way to bring up the encounter with the shadow person. There was no way that he wouldn't get upset about it, that was a fact. Maybe after we ate.

When I came back out into the front room, Nick had helped himself to making my plate and putting it on the coffee table. I sat down next to him, I pulled my plate onto my lap. He had pulled up Rise of Skywalker for us to watch.

“So who’s coming later?” I asked as he started the movie.

“Noah,” Nick mumbled. There was an undercurrent of something in his voice, so I guess Noah had transferred something to his mind that annoyed him. 

“That's fine,” I said, squeezing his thigh. 

After eating, I curled up into Nick, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “We should dress up as Kylo and Rey for Halloween again,” he said.

“Your hair’s getting too long for you to be Kylo,” I said, poking the side of his head.

“Yeah, because Rey is totally a blonde.”

“It was last minute!”

We kept up the light commentary for most of the film. I was fine up until the part when Rey sacrificed herself to kill the Emperor. As Ben Solo sacrificed himself to resurrect her, I threaded my fingers through his. A moment passed, and then Nick squeezed my hand. 

When the credits rolled, I tried to get up to take our dishes back to the kitchen sink. Nick pulled me back down. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, pulling me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me.

“Was gonna do the dishes, since you made dinner,” I said.

He pulled my head gently to rest on his shoulder. “Just stay here. With me,” he said, quietly. He would do this if he thought I was about to have one of my moments. 

He started playing with my hair, making my eyes flutter shut. “Okay,” I said. 

He kissed my forehead, but as he was pulling away, I reached up to cup his face and direct him further down. His lips brushed mine before pressing down once, soft and tender, but then he tried pulling away again. “Are you su–”

“Nick,” I pleaded, his name coming out in a rush. If he had any resolve before, it came crumbling down within milliseconds.

He was still a bit hesitant, flicking his tongue against my lips. But I wasn’t made of glass, so I pushed his chest until his back was pressed onto the couch cushions. I crawled up him until I was straddling his hips, my knees pressing into the sides of his waist. The kiss never broke.

It didn’t take long for him to harden beneath me, and I couldn’t help the small, satisfactory grin that rose to my lips. I ran my hand down his chest, down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. When I finally parted with Nick, his hand shot up to curl around the back of my head. “Bun–”

“Can I touch you?” I asked.

“Oh, fuck yes. Please,” he pleaded.

I lifted myself a little bit, just enough to give me some room to slip my hand underneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs. The angle might’ve been a little bit awkward, but it didn’t really matter when I wrapped my fingers around the considerable size of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back against the pillows. The movement caused him to bare the pretty tan skin over his throat, and I practically descended upon it. The minute I mouthed over his pulse point, his hips rolled up, rutting into my hand. On the upstroke I rubbed my thumb over the tip, and he made my favorite sound of–

Click.

We both froze, my hand down his pants. I quickly raised my head and our eyes locked on each other at the sound of the door unlocking. As the front door opened, I quickly rose up to stand on my knees. Noah stopped dead in his tracks, confusion written on his face. 

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said immediately, Nick echoing my words from below me.

Noah’s eyes roamed over me for a second, and his face hardened. “Please, continue. I don’t want to interrupt you guys making out in–”

Nick sat up, crawling out from underneath me. If he stood up, Noah could easily see that we were doing more than making out. “When we agreed on later, I mean late.” 

“It’s after eleven. I think that’s late enough,” Noah said, striding across the kitchen to the fridge, where he took out a beer. 

As Nick straightened himself, I caught the look on his face that said he was communicating with Noah through the bond that he had with everyone. Was there something agreed upon that didn’t require me knowing about? 

My thought was all but confirmed when Nick put his hand on my waist. “You wanna go to bed, Bun?” he asked, looking up at me with big green eyes. In this lighting, they were dark as the evergreens outside.

“No, I’m not tired,” I said. I fixed him with a look that said that I wasn’t going to be kept in the dark. Again.

He sighed. “Hang on, I gotta get the hex book,” he said, standing up. He then walked to the spare bedroom.

I looked over at Noah, who was leaning back against the fridge. He perked an eyebrow. “How was work?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I was gonna tell him.”

“But you got distracted, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off, Bambi.”

“Oh, I’m about to do worse than that.”

I tilted my head. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Nick came back with a small, leatherbound notebook. He tossed it onto the kitchen table, as if it personally offended him. “We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he said. He practically collapsed into one of the chairs. 

“Doing what wrong? What is ‘this’?” I asked.

“There’s a reason why the Valley has been getting worse these past few years. More things showing up, resurfacing, growing bolder enough to where people can catch glimpses of them. Pale Things showing up shouldn’t be a surprise, really.” He was babbling, practically. But then he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Those sacrifices weren’t just for Vessels. They were also to keep the Woods from getting worse.”

Noah’s lips thinned. “I told you, I’m not killing any more innocent people.”

“Yeah, I know, and I think I found a way around that, but…” Nick trailed off. He then silently opened the hex book and flipped to a page he had marked. He then held it out towards me.

“Why me?” I asked.

“I’ve already seen it,” Noah said. 

I took the book and glanced at the pages. It wasn’t in any readable context: Granny wrote in some kind of “language” that had been passed down through her family as to keep their practice a secret from others. Nick had been slowly translating them over the past few months into his own notebooks.

“What is this?” I finally asked. 

“It's a… Fertility Ritual.” Nick swallowed thickly. “My ancestors would send someone into the forest so the Forest would be… sated.”

“A sacrifice. Like what happened with you guys.” I waved a hand over Noah. 

“No! Well… sort of,” Nick said. He bit his lip. 

“That was more the Black Stag's version. Though it wanted sacrifices so it could take a mortal form.” Noah folded his arms over his chest. “This is a… less bloody version.”

I skimmed over the page again, and it finally clicked. “When you say ‘fertility’, you mean… Noah's got to knock someone up?”

“No!” The two shouted at the same time. “God, fuck no,” Nick sighed. “But the baby making process is the main part.”

“He has to have sex with someone?” I asked incredulously. 

“Not just someone…” Nick lowered his voice to a mumble. “Someone with a… someone of the opposite sex.”

“Well how the fuck is he gonna do that?” I asked. “Everyone around here will recognize him, and then you got the antlers to deal with.”

The two were quiet suddenly. Nick put his head in his hands. “Bun…”

“What?”

“He's talking about you,” Noah put bluntly.

tysm for reading! If you enjoyed this, please reblog to share the word of the Revered Father. Next chapter coming soon.

Featured Creatures

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@roley-poley-foley @hedonists @philomenie @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness @sitkowski

@screamsinsilver @darksigns-exe @nojoyontheburn @baddestomens

[britishchick09]

this is as far as i was able to get in my zoho jrose site!

[yardsards]

clint mcelroy creating a dnd character: oh yeah, this bad boy can fit so much simple zest for life in him

[redhotarsenic]

It’s so fucked that the main source of unease I felt building up over the past several months was me feeling pressured to perform femininity to be seen as desirable to other people. It was never ever said said out loud in that space but I could FEEL it and I never knew until it was pointed out to me.

[artemismatchalatte]

Wow. Sometimes I'm very lucky and my bipolar doesn't always affect me much. But no such luck lately. I'm worried that I might have to retake my modern lit course because I was so late with many of my assignments. I've been mentally messed up more or less with a mixed mood episode since last September. I'm currently on the line of passing and not passing the class (granted there are a few ungraded assignments, including my final so it's still possible that I'm overreacting). I'm usually a good student too so it's a point of pride for me. I went from the honor roll to this all due to me fighting with an illness... :/ (It is my fault for not managing things better so I'm not looking for pity here- just talking).

I cannot imagine how horrible this disorder is for people who didn't have the option of medication (I am medicated, believe it or not). I think about that about that a lot since I study history and look into many writer's and artist's biographies in my spare time. I feel very bad for them since they basically had to live with this disorder without the fixes I have simply because I was born late enough for treatments to exist.

Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath both haunt me. Other people too. Yes, Lord Byron was extremely shocking but consider- we don't actually know what he would have been like if he could have been treated. He wouldn't have died at 36, I'm almost certain of that. I am highly aware of what this disorder has done to people before me. It doesn't make it better. But I keep looking back any way, to see that many of them did incredible things, in spite of it all.

I just keep thinking that if they could do so much without any treatment- that I should be able to function with treatment??? I know: don't compare yourself to other people but I'm desperate to know that I can be successful even with this illness. That it's not going to force me to leave school (the one thing I have been historically good at) and waste my life toiling away for nothing.

So if it seems as if I have been hitting my head against something lately, you aren't wrong. The fall is not generally my friend, pretty as the leaves are. I have not been having a good time of it but we must go on any way because what other option is there? None, I tell you.

[the-physicality]

.