#need to motorboat those things

[milkbath69]

i dreamed about mark hoffman and his massive tits last night

a lot of saw characters were there like just eating in a school cafeteria and the only topic of conversation between me and them were his massive fucking tits

[twstjam]

Unforeseen

HAHA it's not a Matcha fic if it isn't edited and posted at 2-3 AM amirite I don't know what this is I was just brainrotting about Malleyuu + Yuu and Sebek friendship + my take on post-NRC and this is what came out of it. I INITIALLY planned to only write the first and last parts but then my brain decided that it would be a good idea to come up with all the other shit in between and now this mess exists 👍 This also features a few theories and hcs based on Book 7 Chapter 4 lore, like how Malleus hatched and how Draconia babies are made. Summary: Sebek goes missing and with Malleus's first child with you on the way the prince is anxious about the affects of unexpected events on his family and the future.

----

There aren't many things that can scare a dragon.

But then correspondence from Sebek's party stops, and Malleus swears his blood freezes.

He's sure he wears out the floor with his pacing, blood humming with restless surges of magic and throat hot with the urge to release fire as he waits with patience that wears thinner by the hour. Silver stands in the doorway, the disapproving gaze he'd imagine on his father reflected exactly on the guard's face as he tells Malleus to go to bed.

Malleus would laugh at the irony if he didn't instead begin to worry about the emptiness he'd leave next to his spouse if he remains awake until dawn again. Well, not that you'd be entirely alone.

Your arms are encircled around a massive black egg, held close to your chest like you used to do with the monster cat curled up against it. Grim rumbles like a motorboat, the only sound that remains when Malleus enters the bedroom and all conversation is halted.

You sit up, not without keeping some part of you touching the egg in some way, eyes alight with hope. Malleus's heart sinks at the way your expression falls at the frown he wears.

Referring to you and Sebek as "close" would be an understatement. Since your first day at the castle, the both of you have practically been attached at the hip, falling back into the familiar roles of your years together as students at Night Raven College. Malleus would call it an imitation of Sebek's excessive devotion to him back in those years if it weren't more personal; the two of you are often whispering secrets or nonsense, laughing, bantering, and smiling with each other despite your roles as guard and master. It's nothing like how Malleus is guarded and he sometimes finds himself feeling the ugly curl of envy at the thought.

Malleus can't fault Sebek for keeping his distance. He knows that his role as the future king forms a boundary between them that cannot and should not be crossed, but that doesn't mean that Malleus is any less upset about it.

Sebek isn't with you now though, and neither is he with Malleus, nor Silver. Malleus remembers a time like yesterday (at least to him) when Sebek would sob upon being torn from Malleus's side, but he recalls that on the day of the guard's departure, he had been insistent. Dedicated, as always, to anything and everything that would keep his lord and friend safe. You'd hugged him goodbye and waved him off cheerily, grin wide as you shouted at him to "Don't forget the souvenirs!"

"I'm doing reconnaissance, not going on a vacation," Sebek had groaned when you'd told him the same thing prior, shooting Silver a glare when the other man had muttered under his breath, "Seven knows you need one." He had redirected it, tired and pleading at Malleus when the prince had laughed.

(Malleus tries to remember what it was like; laughing. When he had lamented this aloud, you had called him a Drama Queen, but that doesn't mean you're any less worn with worry even if you don't share his admittedly exaggerated sentiment.)

"We should just go look for 'im!" Grim grouches, disguising his own worry behind drained patience at everyone's trepidation. He's practically your other half, (and more in tune with your feelings than Malleus is, he'd begrudgingly admit.) so he's as tied to Sebek as you are.

""We"?" Malleus questions sharply at your nod of agreement.

"The longer we go without a word from him the less I think I can wait, Tsuno," you plead. Malleus looks down at you understandingly, but his eyes are sad as he places a careful hand on the egg nestled in your arms. Guilt crosses your face, but the determination remains in your eyes.

"Stay with the egg," you tell him with finality, but if anyone can fight you on this it's Malleus.

"I care for Sebek, truly." Malleus cuts you off when you open your mouth to argue that I didn't say you don't— "But I will not risk the chance of our child growing without either of us by their side."

It's something that he has a firm stance on and you know that you can't ever argue with it, even if you're not willing to give up the vision in your mind of both Silver and Sebek also being by their side when they hatch. You curl up around the egg further, resigned, even as you murmur, "What do we do, then?"

"We wait," Malleus says, apologetic as he gathers his child, the love of his life, and their cherished animal companion in his arms. He curls his tail around them protectively despite his family being in the safety of his arms and his nest. He can feel Grim vibrating with unrelenting purrs against his chest, the furry little beast squishing his face against the egg as he kneads little biscuits over its curved surface. You settle with your head against Malleus's chest, dissatisfied but resigned.

----

Malleus watches you shriek when you lay your eyes on Ace and Deuce right before you bowl them over to the floor in excitement and he knows he made the right call inviting them to the castle.

Few humans ever set foot on the castle floors, not many fae keen on just the idea of it, but Malleus is the future king and he can do whatever the Hell he wants and that includes letting your friends come over for a few days to cheer you up, traditions be damned.

With Ace and Deuce around, the castle is alive in a way it hasn't been in weeks. It's not just a product of their making but yours as well, the three of you along with Grim at your heels always up to something in the castle when you're all together. Malleus is more than happy to watch over the egg as you catch up with your friends, but that doesn't mean he's free from your attention any less.

"How much longer is it gonna take for it to hatch?" Ace says in both amazement and curiosity while Deuce tries to wrap his head around the concept of a magically conceived and hatched egg (It's not really that complicated. Malleus can't understand what might be so confusing about it.). They're both standing around the egg at a distance but still closer than anyone else you and Malleus have allowed in the unborn heir's presence.

(That is, if he doesn't count Silver and Sebek.)

"Like, half a year, or something like that." You tilt your head up at him for confirmation. "Right?"

"Indeed," Malleus crows proudly, hand smoothing over the egg's shell. Grim hops up onto Malleus's lap and rubs up against the egg, butting up into Malleus's palm when he raises it to pet him. You smile with excitement, lips pulled between your teeth as you hop in your seat across from them.

"I can't wait," you chirp, linking your arms with your friends' and bouncing them along with you. "You guys have to be there when it happens, so make sure you've got nothing going on."

"Oh, you bet," Ace laughs, eyes shining with mirroring eagerness.

"Are you kidding? Like we'd miss your kid being born! Uh.... hatched?" Deuce muses.

Malleus hums, pleased at their assent, hands cradling the egg's sides lovingly. Along with Ace and Deuce, you were also planning to invite your other old friends from NRC to witness the hatching, which Malleus had agreed to without missing a beat.

Though he hadn't even been a minute old, Malleus remembers his own hatching. He doesn't think he can ever forget it; the overbearing loneliness as he broke the shell and gazed into tearful red eyes. Despite the waves of love that had urged him to come out, the room had been so empty except for the fae that had coaxed him out of his eggshell.

Malleus doesn't wish for such an experience to ever be known to his children.

He knows the image you see in your head of your child's hatchday, can see you proudly presenting his heir to the eager eyes of your friends. He can see them all now, gathered around you with the privilege to lay eyes on the future ruler of Briar Valley before anyone else; Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Ortho... and Sebek.

Malleus's fingers curl, claws lightly scraping against the shell of his child's egg.

Sebek will be there. He knows that you haven't given that up in your mind, and neither will he.

----

Malleus still remembers the day, a year or so ago, when the two of you had finally announced that an egg had been successfully conceived.

His grandmother was the first to come see it, of course. She had manifested, eyes wild and frantic, in a burst of green flames. She at least had had the decency to appear outside of his and your chambers instead of coming right in, but the moment Malleus opened the door to greet her she was brushing right past him.

It was the first time you and Malleus (and possibly anyone really) had seen Briar Queen Maleficia so emotional. You had awkwardly patted her back in an attempt to soothe her surging emotions, but it had instead gotten you pulled into a stifling hug that had you breathless. Malleus had watched with both amusement and tears in his eyes as his grandmother murmured "thank you"s to you over and over on repeat while you reached for him with your arms, silently begging for assistance.

After that, it was time to introduce the egg to the rest of his family.

Though it wasn't her egg, Maleficia had to be convinced to allow other people close to it, relenting with a pout. She remained in the room though, so when you had returned with Silver and Sebek in tow, her presence was the first thing that they registered. Sebek had gotten so caught up with stuttering formalities that he didn't even notice the egg for a full five minutes.

Everybody else in the room were already prepared for when he finally did, hands held over ears round and pointed alike as he screeched in surprise.

"An egg! You have an egg?!" he'd screamed in disbelief. You'd laughed as he grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you. "I'm not dreaming, am I?! Please tell me I'm not—!"

"You're not—!!!" you'd shouted, and the two of you had both shrieked with glee as Sebek picked you up and spun you around the air. He had chanted his congratulations while you vigorously repeated "Thank you!"s.

He had put you down awkwardly when he remembered again that Maleficia was in the room, clearing his throat and recollecting his composure while you continued to giggle. His joy was so infectious though that it even had Maleficia cracking a smile despite being in the face of some of her subjects.

"Do I not get a hug also?" Malleus had tried to be lighthearted but he couldn't help the pout on his face. Though he was reluctant and still alert to presence of the queen, Sebek had relented and given him the privilege. It wasn't anything like the hug he had given you, but it was meaningful and personal nonetheless. Silver had joined at Malleus's beckoning and the prince had held them both close, so many words of relief and gratitude going unspoken but communicated between the three of them nonetheless through one shared gesture.

Malleus had looked up at the quiet shuttering of a ghost camera and saw you show a polaroid to his grandmother with a proud grin.

"Could you perhaps make a duplicate of that for me?" she had mused.

----

Malleus is unsure if Ortho's surprise visit to the castle could be considered a pleasant one. Perhaps, if it were under different circumstances. Perhaps, if he had returned with Sebek and he wasn't practically painted with injuries.

Malleus was in the middle of his duties when he had found out. He had been discussing with the council the search itself for Sebek and his party when a member of the castle staff burst through the door and unceremoniously interrupted the meeting. They were quickly forgiven when they'd frantically informed him that Sir Zigvolt had finally returned.

Malleus had torn through the halls in a billow of black robes, legs carrying him thoughtlessly to his destination, eyes like green spotlights in the dimly-lit halls. The servants parted and made way for him wordlessly.

When he finally arrives, both you and Grim are already there, sitting by Sebek's bedside and on his lap respectively while Ortho hovers at his other side. Malleus is momentarily relieved that you'd been informed first, but then he sees the state Sebek is in and he's next to you in an instant.

Sebek's slit pupils dart to him for the briefest second before looking away with a grimace. He seems to sink further into the pillows cushioning his back at his sitting position, shame evident in his eyes and the way his lips are twisted in a way that morphs the cuts and bruises on his face.

"My liege—" he rasps, and the fire in Malleus's chest roars and pulls.

"Silence," he commands, a little too sharply and it aches how Sebek shrinks further into himself. Malleus sucks in a breath and forces himself to calm down. He sits down on the bed, holds out his hand, and speaks, softer this time, "Be still."

Sebek opens his mouth to retort but you shoot him a reprimanding look that has him going quiet again. Malleus notices how Sebek doesn't retreat from you and he feels that familiar pang of jealousy again.

Now is not the time for such trivial matters, boy. Your family is hurt. a voice chides him in his head. He holds his hand over Sebek's face, and though the halfling twitches slightly in discomfort, he closes his eyes to the warmth of Malleus's magic as his injuries begin to heal.

As Sebek relaxes, the tension easing further out of him as his pain fades away, Ortho begins to explain what had happened, how he had found Sebek, and why.

As it turns out, the treacherous group that Sebek's party was sent to observe was also being investigated by S.T.Y.X.. Sebek and his group had gotten ambsuhed and captured— At this, your hand tightens further around Sebek's much larger one. It draws Malleus's attention, and a low growl escapes him at the redness of iron burns peeking ever-so-slightly from beneath Sebek's sleeve.— and when Ortho had discovered this, he had gone in and rescued them as fast as he could. Sebek's injuries had been worse, apparently, and there was only so much Ortho could do with his built-in medical procedures in such a short amount of time.

The young humanoid seems to sag defeatedly at this, but you're quick to reassure him that "No, you did great. I mean it, Orr. Thank you."

Even Sebek had opened his eyes to shoot Ortho a reprimanding yet grateful look.

"I can confirm. I might not be here currently if it were not for your action, Ortho."

Ortho's eyes go wide at this and he scrubs at them with the heel of his palm as dribbles of liquid stain his cheeks.

"Y-You're going to activate my crying simulation again, Sebek!" he chokes out. He suddenly looks up, teary eyes meeting Malleus's, and Sebek looks like he wants to stop him from speaking but he's too late as Ortho blurts out, "I hope you are not disappointed in him, Malleus Draconia, though I don't think that you are! Regardless, you should know that Sebek was really cool, even though he was the one being rescued! He was suffering from severe iron burns and yet he stood up to the enemy captain anyway and bit his arm off when he tried to grab me! It was like he was the hero!"

An embarrassed blush spreads over Sebek's cheeks at Ortho's retelling, his flustered gaze suddenly finding interest in Grim's silky fur beneath his fingers. Despite his demeanor, his voice is as sure as ever as he says, "Well, of course I couldn't just stand there and let you be hurt after all the trouble you went through because of my blunder!"

At this statement, Malleus turns to him questioningly. "Sebek—"

"It was due to my shortcomings that we were captured, Lord Malleus," Sebek admits, shamefully and yet boldly as he looks up to finally meet his master's eyes. "It was my fault. The solution was so simple. If only I had...." Sebek's brow furrows in frustration, his fists clenching, the one holding your hand wrapping around your fingers fiercely. "If only I was—"

"Sebek," Malleus says, gently yet firmly, a mere mimicry of your reassuring tone, but it works to cut Sebek off before he begins his tangent. "That does not matter."

His hands draw downwards, brushing against yours before carefully wrapping around Sebek's wrists. Sebek inhales sharply at the sting of contact but eases again at the warmth of healing magic.

"What matters now is that everyone is safe. Is that you are safe. That you have returned to us."

He knows it's selfish. As prince, he knows it's unfair and unwise to be so forgiving of one of his guards' failures— A single wrong move could mean the downfall of the entire kingdom, after all— but Malleus finds that he doesn't care. He finds that, with Sebek back in the safety of the castle, with his family— All of his family— back in the safety of his arms, he doesn't care.

After weeks of worry and weariness and heavy thoughts of paranoia and doubt, Malleus for the first time feels a weight lift off his shoulders and it's like he can breathe again. He remembers again the feeling of relief.

Your hand that's not holding Sebek's reach for one of Malleus's. He accepts it gratefully, looking down to return your equally relieved smile, but when he meets your eyes, the expression on your face is not what he expects.

Instead of warmth, instead of anxiety flooding out of you and tears gathering in your eyes, your expression is cold and detached; eyes distant, lips pulled firmly into a thin line, and brows fighting to not draw down in what he knows would be the most fearsome glare he's ever seen in his years of living.

There aren't many things that can scare a dragon, but right now, as he watches you, the barely-restrained fury on your face  and the chilling desire for damnation in your eyes, Malleus feels the fire in his chest snuff out, retreating to make way for the real beast.

[plaindangan]

Junko put something in the food… again.

I don’t think Kaede mind the effects tho~

Disclaimer: R18 material! If not to your liking then please do not view!

Why would Kaede mind? All this does is gives her even softer, jigglier tits to fondle to her heart's content or allow her to up her own titjob game that can surpass Miu and her boobs (which were now totally inferior to Kaede's~). She doesn't really see this as much of a downside as one might think.

Okay, sure, Shuichi was now Shuiko, with an impressive (yet still smaller) bust size, but Kaede didn't see it as a loss at all. If anything having a pair of emo-ish boobs to motorboat and squeeze from her favorite person just made Kaede even more attracted to the detective!! Hell, and when she moaned? God, Kaede just NEEDED to rip their clothes off and give those pale things a big ol' smooch of appreciation....while her fingers get to sliding in to a very slick, very appreciative, bonus~

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

Half-Life | Chapter One

Leon was alone.

Pairing: Plaga!Leon S. Kennedy/F!Chubby!Paranormal Investigator!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Body Horror, Suicidal Thoughts

Notes: This fic came to me in a fugue state after pulling an all-nighter. I was just really thinking about the potential for Plaga!Leon angst and what it would be like for him to live as one of the monsters he used to put down. I also think it's dismal how little Leon/Chubby!Reader content there is right now, so I made it myself. I'm not sure if I want to leave this as a one-shot or make it a short chapter fic, so let me know what you guys think!

Masterlist | Next

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Leon succumbed to the parasite.

He managed to defeat Saddler and his monstrous puppets, being able to somewhat retain his mental state without a master to control him.

He got Ashley to safety, but he told her he was staying behind, knowing what might happen if the government got its hands on him. He figured it could go a few different ways: they’d either kill him immediately because he would be deemed a threat, they’d experiment on him, or they’d use him as a bioweapon—the thing he’d been fighting against this whole time.

Ashley tried to convince him that she and her father would do what they could to prevent those outcomes after all he’d done to save and protect her, believing (as a young girl would) that he could be fixed and live a normal life.

Leon knew better than that. And so he asked her to tell the world he died when she made it out. Despite her protests and her tears, she did just that.

He then met with the merchant after saying his goodbye to Ashley. The strange man let Leon trade his weapons and equipment—things he’d never need to use again—for basic supplies to ease his transition into living in the wilderness.

Leon had always preferred civilization to the great outdoors. The irony that he'd spend the rest of his life in the middle of nowhere after lamenting this fact was not lost on him.

With a cheerful adieu, the merchant packed up his things and left, never to return.

Leon was alone.

At first, it was almost peaceful.

He lived off hunting the animals in the woods and spearing the fish in the lake with his new scorpion-like tail. He even maintained a friendship with the dog he helped (that helped him in return), aptly naming him “Wolfie” because Leon had never been the creative type.

Even with his animal companion, though, Leon felt… lonely. He had lost everything; his friends thought he was dead, he no longer had a purpose to fulfill beyond survival, and his humanity had been ripped away from him—one of the few things left he ever really held onto while fighting monsters for so long.

He craved human connection more than anything but knew he had to settle for what he had.

And so, when the occasional curious hiker appeared nearby, he did what he could to scare them off. He rarely had to do much to ensure that they wouldn’t come back, using the decomposing bodies of the Ganados and the carcasses of his prey as “decorations” around the entrance of the village.

Of course, there was the occasional brave soul who ventured into his new home. Leon had to take matters into his own hands by either darting between trees and buildings to feed their paranoia or simply showing himself from a distance, standing to his full height and glaring them down.

They always ran screaming after that.

The longer he lived alone, the less human he felt he was, giving in to baser instincts to survive and provide for himself and Wolfie.

But he tried to maintain the human side of him that somehow still persisted, in any way he could. 

He’d talk out loud to himself and his furry friend. He holed up in the village chief’s house and took care of it to the best of his ability. He would set traps for rabbits and birds. He even used the old motorboat to go fishing in the lake, though it eventually ran out of fuel, forcing him to rely on the four appendages that sprouted from his spine as makeshift paddles.

He did his best.

The years slipped by and his loneliness only grew.

Wolfie was old now and Leon worried what would happen to the little sanity he had left when his only companion died. He did what he could to keep the wolf-dog comfortable, ruffling his clawed hands through his fur as he’d done a million times. But now gray tinged the animal’s coat, and Leon wondered how he never noticed it before.

What about Leon, then? Was he aging, too?

In a fit of rage, during the early days of his transformation, he had broken all the mirrors in the house, not wanting to look at himself and what he’d become.

So now he traveled to the well outside, staring at his rippling reflection in the dark water.

The skin of his face was still smooth—or what was left of it after his mouth ripped apart to make room for the rows of deadly sharp teeth that burst from his gums.

His once blue eyes were now a vibrant, glowing red, his vision having been improved vastly by becoming the ultimate apex predator. Just another step further from his humanity, he thought.

He kept his hair the way he always liked it, though learning to use the rusty scissors he found while out rummaging in the village had been a challenge with his new needle-like fingers.

His body had been slowly… growing… over the years. Elongating. His arms and legs, once thick and corded with muscle, were thinning into gangling limbs.

God, it was like a second puberty. But infinitely worse.

He barely fit into any of the clothes he’d collected, the articles simultaneously too loose on his form but far too short to cover his lower abdomen and calves. He didn’t bother with shoes anymore, none able to be pulled onto his taloned feet.

It was fine, however, as the ground wasn’t painful to traverse now (even on the roughest of terrain), and he no longer experienced the cold or the heat in a way that could affect him. That was one of the few “improvements” he welcomed over time, after facing the sweltering summers and winters blanketed in snow.

Despite these changes, though, Leon realized while studying his mirror image that there wasn’t a single indication of aging to be seen. Not a gray hair or wrinkle in sight.

Internally, he began to panic.

If he didn’t age, would that mean he’d be stuck living like this forever? That once Wolfie passed, he’d be alone for eternity?

He wished he had just gone with Ashley and hoped whoever greeted them would have gunned him down on the spot. At least then he wouldn’t have had to live this half-life, practically a ghost already haunting these woods.

He wondered if even the cruelty of experimentation or being used as a weapon would be worth no longer facing this suffocating isolation.

He chided his younger self for his optimism that being left behind was the best option.

It was set, then. After he buried his dog, he would finally pluck up the courage to kill himself. It wouldn’t be easy for him. Leon had always been a fighter, never wanting to give up. But he was tired, and there was nothing besides his animal companion that was keeping him tethered to the world. He was listless.

And yet, there was still a part of him that hoped something might change. He of all people—if he even had the right to call himself a person anymore—knew better than to let hope lead him.

It had been a decade of the same, hadn’t it?

The monotony of his days was almost too much to bear. He thought years ago, before he was infected, that he would enjoy a life like this. It was peaceful in a way, wasn’t it? He realized now he missed the chaos.

A far-off noise suddenly jarred him from his thoughts.

Another “improvement” had been his enhanced hearing. He could pick something up nearly a mile away.

He tilted his head to better decipher the sound.

Footsteps.

Well, that wasn’t unusual, given the area. It was full of wildlife, after all.

But then he heard something else, something that made his whole body freeze up.

Something so distinctly human, there was nothing else it could possibly be.

He heard singing.

+++

Your family and friends had called you ridiculous when you told them you wanted to hunt the supernatural for a living.

Perhaps they were right, but it was a passion of yours to seek out the weird and wild. Maybe that was why you were so compelled by what went bump in the night.

You weren’t sure you truly believed in ghosts and cryptids and the like, but you had an open mind and the ambition to seek out answers. Given the state of the world and the B.O.W.s that terrorized it, you supposed the supernatural might not be far removed from reality, anyway.

You had always been deemed “strange” by others. Had always been on the outside looking in, wondering why being normal never came easy to you.

It didn’t help that your body type—short and plump—made you feel further removed from everyone else. You never thought you were ugly or unattractive, but that didn’t stop others from deciding you were, based solely on something so trivial.

But you weren’t completely alone. Your family loved you, you made good friends, and you even had your fair share of relationships over the years.

You learned that normalcy was bullshit, and so you embraced your strangeness.

And that’s what led you to this abandoned village, hidden deep in the Spanish woodlands.

The locals of a nearby town had told you of the horrors that occurred here. Stories of missing hikers and a cult seeking to take over the world through a parasitic bioweapon; of the daughter of the former United States president being rescued by a young agent who died tragically while saving her life.

You knew all of this already, of course. You had done your research on this place and what had happened to it.

You knew that Ashley Graham made it home safe—traumatized but mostly unharmed. You knew the cult and its monsters had been completely wiped out. You knew the place was practically a ghost town, the forest beginning to reclaim the ruins.

None of that, though interesting, was what brought you to this village, however.

What caught your attention was what came after.

Many were curious about the place when the news broke, but only a rare few dared to visit it. Fewer still ever made it past the gate.

But those who did spoke of a creature who lurked in the shadows. They claimed it was tall—nearly seven feet—and its eyes glowed red. No one had managed to snap a photo of it in their state of panic, but the descriptions were all consistent.

El Escorpion, they called it.

It seemed like a solid lead, and even if you never found this recently discovered cryptid, the tragic and insane history—not to mention the creepiness factor—of the location would be enough material to write a compelling post for your paranormal blog.

Despite your family and friends’ initial concerns about your career of choice, you were doing well for yourself.

You still had to work on the side to pay for your rent and all the expenses that came with your investigations, often cranking out clickbait articles for a quick buck. But your blog had only recently popped off, your posts receiving a ton of new followers after an emotional visit to the ruins of Raccoon City (and likely a dangerous one, considering the radiation).

People liked your methods. They liked that you explained the story behind every location you visited with great detail and respect, but managed to keep it fun while still building up a spooky atmosphere.

If you were honest, the popularity of your blog wasn’t something you really cared about. Although it was nice to see the numbers rise and people engage with your hard work, the content was controversial and you were often belittled for your passion. The only thing you wanted was to get as many followers as it would take to receive sponsorships in hopes of making enough money to take your investigations to new heights.

It definitely wasn’t easy trying to live your dream, but so far it had been rewarding. You hoped this trip would be, too.

You had just exited the vehicle of the friendly (and very, very chatty) local who was kind enough to offer you a ride to your destination. They were a fan of your blog, they told you, and warned you to be careful.

Once they drove off, nothing could have prepared you for the horrifying sight that greeted you when you began your journey.

Bones and rot littered the ground—were even strung up on the surrounding trees like party streamers. Several of the carcasses seemed awfully fresh, and you weren’t sure, but some of the older remains looked… almost human?

No, you had to be imagining it.

But if the visuals didn’t make your stomach turn, the smell definitely did.

Ignoring your watering eyes and the gag reflex threatening to trigger, you pulled the collar of your shirt over your nose and snapped a few promising pictures before moving forward.

It was a bit of a walk, having to travel through an old hunting lodge that had seen better days in order to finally reach the village gate.

You balked at the human skulls that lined the top, a chill lurching up your spine at the realization. Instead of allowing the sinking feeling in your gut to control you, you took some more photos instead, determined to see this through.

You drew in a deep, calming breath and opened the gate, having to use most of your strength to push through the rust that coated its hinges.

You practically vibrated with a mix of excitement and anxiety as you looked at the village before you.

It was terrifying to do this alone, but you had grown used to the solitude during your investigations. You reminded yourself that the most you had dealt with in the past were other people pulling pranks on you and wild animals going about their business.

So, you continued on, not wanting to feed the needling fear that someone or something could have been left behind by the cult.

You spent some time in the village, singing to yourself to help settle your nerves, before leaving out of another gate. You didn’t have a map of the area, no one having been much further than the village in the ten years since its abandonment, so you simply had to explore on your own and hope you didn’t get lost.

You were walking down a wooded path, taking in every detail as you meandered forward, when you heard a rustle in the trees beside you. 

Whatever it was, it must have been huge. You prayed it was a deer.

Gathering your courage, you faced the direction of the noise and drifted closer to the edge of the forest, your movements careful and deliberate in hopes of not scaring whatever it was off or goading it to attack you.

It was broad daylight, but you were struggling to see into the shade cast by the densely packed foliage.

“I won’t hurt you,” you whispered gently as another movement from whatever it was jostled the bush in front of you.

It was stupid, but you felt inclined to reach out your hand, hoping it wouldn’t get bitten.

That’s when you saw the pair of glowing eyes staring at you through the leaves, roughly waist-height to you.

You felt some sense of relief at that, believing it to be a woodland animal.

That is, until the eyes started to move up. 

You froze in place, hand still outstretched, as a massive creature stood upright before you, their features obscured by shadow. 

Your mind screamed at you to run but your legs remained locked in place.

This is it, you thought. I’m going to die.

Well, at least it was a good run.

The creature stepped forward into the light and you were met with possibly the most horrifying beast you had ever seen.

It was over a foot taller than you, its form similar to that of a human, if not for the four long, spidery appendages that unfolded from its back, a scorpion tail whipping behind it.

It had talons on its feet and long claws instead of fingers, the tips of them dangerously sharp, its worn clothes hanging off of it awkwardly. 

Your eyes eventually climbed back up to its face, its mouth split nearly to its ears as it bared its fangs at you, glinting wickedly in the midday sun.

Your gaze met those glowing red orbs once more, the creature’s expression akin to a glare.

Something about its face seemed so familiar to you for some reason, the mix of confusion and terror only further cementing you to the ground. 

You still didn’t move when it took another step closer, its leg nearly brushing your still outstretched hand.

“You should’ve been running by now.”

You were startled by its voice, the sound deep and masculine. And pleasantly human despite the obvious threat.

You knew you had heard it before.

He leaned forward, his head level with yours as he searched your face, looking clearly befuddled by your refusal to escape.

“You’re practically begging me to eat you, little rabbit. But I prefer a chase.” He sounded serious, but he made no move to touch you.

Your hand finally fell to your side and you swallowed, hard.

“You’re lying.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, barely visible behind a curtain of choppy blond hair, before replying, “Excuse me?”

You took a shaky breath. “You’re lying. You’re not going to eat me. You’re not going to hurt me at all. There hasn’t been a disappearance in the area for ten years and everyone who’s come here since has lived to tell the tale.”

He laughed in surprise, running a claw through his hair. It was so uncanny how human it was. And how familiar. “Maybe I’m just a bad hunter.”

“Well, if those animal remains at the front of the village path are anything to go by, I highly doubt it.”

“Not all of them were animals, you know.” 

“The ones that weren’t are too old, though, aren’t they?”

“You’re observant, I’ll give you that.” He folded his long arms over his chest, red eyes looking out across your surroundings, sounding almost sheepish as he added, “You know, this might be the most I’ve talked to someone I should be eating instead.”

He shook his head and chuckled to himself before meeting your gaze.

And then it clicked.

“You’re… You’re Leon Kennedy, aren’t you?” you breathed.

He stiffened at the name. “How do you know who I am? Did someone tell you? Did someone send you here?”

He took another step during his inquisition, your noses nearly touching, his hot breath fanning across your face as you glanced at his sharp, sharp teeth.

“I’ve seen pictures of you. Interviews, too. You were all over the news when you survived Raccoon City. And again when President Graham claimed you died in action.” You paused for a moment in thought before you asked, “Did Ashley Graham know you survived?”

He scoffed, pulling back and stepping around you to add some distance. “I asked her to tell the world I was dead so I could live the rest of my days in peace as this… monster.”

“Ah, and all these curious visitors are like annoying kids in your front lawn?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Something like that. Why are you here, anyway? You seem kinda far from home.”

“Well…” It was your turn to look sheepish as you tried to explain, “I’m a paranormal investigator, and I came here because there were cryptid sightings in the area. Guess you’re the cryptid. Mystery solved.” 

He rushed back over to you, grabbing your arm. The movement jostled you and made you flinch, but it didn't hurt. He winced at your reaction, though, and loosened his grip. “Listen, please don’t tell anyone I’m here. I don’t need this place becoming a tourist hotspot. Not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet..? What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it, just… Please just promise me you won’t tell anyone about this.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “The problem is that I spent a lot of money on this trip, and if I don’t have something to show for it, my career could flop.”

He sighed deeply, releasing his hold. “Look, I can make it up to you, okay? If you’re strapped for cash, I have a bunch of gemstones, jewelry, and expensive little knick-knacks. Take what you can carry, got it?”

You thought on it for a moment, considering your options. You wanted to respect his privacy, but it was difficult to let something this big go. However, if he was willing to pay for your silence, you supposed you couldn’t complain. Maybe you could even buy better equipment when this was all said and done.

“Okay. Deal.”

He moved to shake your hand in his clawed one but pulled back when he noticed you eyeing it nervously. “Great. We’ll get you your stuff and send you on your way before it gets dark.”

“About that… My ride isn’t coming to get me until tomorrow morning. I was planning to camp out here tonight,” you revealed.

He gave you an incredulous look. “You’re telling me you heard rumors about a monster living in the area and you decide you’re going to spend the night here? No backup plan?”

“What can I say, I like to live on the edge. Besides, I didn’t really believe there was a monster out here, anyway. Egg on my face, I guess.” 

He rubbed his eyes with his palms as he let out an exasperated breath. “Right, well I guess you could spend the night, then. There aren’t any B.O.W.s left in the area except me, obviously. But some of the wildlife isn’t exactly friendly. Would be safer for you to stick with me.”

Your lips parted in surprise at his generosity before you offered him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Kennedy. I appreciate it.”

“Please, just… Just call me Leon.”

“Well, thank you, Leon,” you said, proceeding to give him your own name. 

His lips peeled up in what could almost be described as a bashful smile before he pointed further down the path. “C’mon, then. I can make us dinner.” 

You shocked him by hooking an arm through his, beaming up at him.

“We better get to it, then.”

+++

We.

Leon hadn’t heard someone say that in a long time.

Maybe things could be different.

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

Masterlist | Next

[ronearoundblindly]

for shut up jensen hehe

11. How do they feel about nicknames/pet names? If they like them, what pet names do they use? If they hate them, why do they feel that way?

17. How well do they communicate? Are they open with their feelings/thoughts or more reserved? Why?

32. Do either of them drink? If so, who’s the lightweight, and how does their partner care for them?

Questions from this ask game and for this Valentine's fic with awkward date!Jake Jensen.

Whoopsy, this got a bit spicy...

11

In typical dude fashion, Jake prefers more masculine nicknames or terms of endearment, specifically, 'handsome' and 'big guy.' He's not opposed to softer ones, but you'll have to only use those in private unless you want to upset him.

To be fair, he already gets relentlessly teased by his colleagues. Just let him have this, yeah?

As far as nicknames for you, he's waited so long to have his own girl and sweetheart that he sticks with the classics, too. 'Sweets' or 'sweetheart' are the most common. 'My girl' is mostly private and frequently sexual. 'M'lady' is because he's a fucking dork.

🙄🤣

17

Ehhh, Jake is not articulate with the more complicated feelings. He can deal in certainties--how much he wants you or what is attractive about you for him, saying 'I love you' actually ends up being pretty easy, etc.--but when it comes to things that Jake thinks he should feel a certain way about but doesn't, he struggles to say.

Like for whatever reason (because at first he doesn't know the reason), he can't share space very well. He hesitates to spend the whole night. He hesitates to use your bathroom or shower even. He definitely hesitates to move in.

This takes many coaxing conversations to comprehend until finally he confesses that he has so little space to himself when working that his own apartment is a haven in every way. He has complete control of that space. The eventual middle ground is moving into a place big enough for his own office/tech room and his own bathroom. Jake needs a retreat from everything. You are allowed in there, of course. It isn't a part of your home that's off-limits to you, but he's responsible for those areas. Nothing ever moves unless he moves it.

32

Oh yeah, y'all drink. Nobody gets blind-drunk for the most part, but you have drinks out with friends, with dinner, and most notably, play drinking games.

Jake loves drinking games--as well as strip poker, as discussed here--but gets overzealous and can get very drunk, very quickly sometimes. He's not a lightweight, but it can escalate when he doesn't pay attention to the volume of alcohol he consumes.

Drunk Jake gets handsy and has no tact. He will face-plant into your pussy or motorboat your breasts. This is just a thing you have to live with or preemptively stop him from doing/get him home quickly. There have been incidents of quickies in bar bathrooms because he will not stop grabbing at you or talking about how fucking hard you make him.

Spoiler alert: this is not a quiet man when he 'whispers' dirty things to you OR when he comes while tipsy. You absolutely have to cover his mouth and pray nobody overhears if you're still out and about.

The key thing about Jake is that you feel very safe with him, and that translates to a comfort where you trust you'll be okay even if you go a little overboard yourself. He's attentive. He notices changes in your mood easily. He can sober up super fast if he senses you need help or want to leave.

Ok and this barely has to do with alcohol but Jake has this thing about how romantic it is to be super close on your nights in. If you two are watching a movie together or even playing a video game, your body is against his, either by way of snuggling into his side or sitting between his legs. It's half the fun to hold his controller in his hands right above yours and try to distract you by kissing your neck (or you by wiggling your ass against his lap). I mention this because if you two are gonna sit that close and kiss and share everything, you usually share a drink, too. There's only one beer, or one glass of wine, or one cocktail on the table for both of you. Almost always your choice of drink, he doesn't have a preference usually, but it also creates fewer dishes.

Jake Jensen hates doing dishes. It's just...a thing...

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Jake Jensen Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[whoiwanttoday]

I have been watching Olympic Aquatics all day and when I started this I tried to think of a word for the pool based sports that aren't hugely related and started to type out water sports until I thought better of it. I am definitely getting older because that's something someone's grandma would do and wonder why all the grand kids are snickering, "Your grandfather and I used to love water sports. We watched some Chinese girls and some British girls engage in water sports just the other day. Do you children like water sports?" So I guess glad I caught myself there, I am still young and vibrant and cool.

Anyway, among the standouts were Kate Ledecky and the Chinese Divers, all of whom smacked the rest of the field so badly it's like they were in a completely different sport. I couldn't have caught Katie Ledecky with a motorboat guys. And yes, I know what I just typed, get your mind out of the gutter. Your grandfather and i love a good motorboat and we don't know what you kids have against going down to the lake to enjoy a nice motorboat and some water sports with our friends. Anyway, it had me thinking about the inherent advantages some countries have. If you don't know, China dominates diving because they decided to dominate diving. They looked at sports they deemed non competitive, that is ones Americans didn't focus on, and focused on them. They sank money in but also looked at their massive population and actively started recruiting for those sports, because these are two key factors to a country's success in the Olympics. One, people need to play the sports. America has more than enough athletes of a high quality to do better in Rugby than we do but people don't play Rugby here. They play football and then if they bomb out in football they might go to Rugby as adults. Our best Rugby 7s player was cut by the Philadelphia Eagles. And he's amazing. But he's squaring up against people who have been playing their entire lives because this is their sport, this was the dream. On top of that, there is money. US Swimmers dominate in part because the US really cares about swimming. Katie Ledecky is a tremendous athlete and had she been born in say Hungry she would probably still be the best in the world. But she'd also probably be a little slower because essentially no other country can match the money we throw at the sport and things like access to pools and training and dietary science might all suffer that little bit. And if she was born in Mongolia it's very likely we would never have heard of her. None of this is about anything greater but it does make me think about athletes from other places. I guess in the end there is never really a level playing field if you dig deep enough. Not to take anything away from the greats or anything, just something I keep in mind when I watch. All this brings me around to Chiara Pellacani who I saw dive the other day but I didn't post because other people won out, a constant problem with the Olympics. But then there was other diving today and it made me think of her. Plus, she's Italian and my Grandma was born in Italy so really there's a deep cosmic connection there. Also, she's a diver and one time at the pool I tricked some older kids who were being shitty into believing there was a dive called the bald eagle which caused the ultimate splash, a thing they were very into. I told them you have to jump really high off the board, stick your hands under your knees and tuck. The result was a lot like a belly flop but instead of belly first and getting a red belly that stung they went genitals first. So you know, we have a history of dive related activities in common. Today I want to fuck Chiara Pellacani.

[afictionalwhor3]

Could you please do a NSFW alphabet for Jace if possible 🤞😜🙏🏻

Ask and you shall receive....

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Various sexual interactions described

NSFW Alphabet: Jacerys Velaryon

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Incredibly gentle and sweet with you. Speaking softly and cleaning you tenderly. He'd ask a hundred times over if you were okay before he truly believed you. Holding you and rubbing his hands over you comfortingly until you fell asleep in his arms.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of his body has become his hands, simply because he knows how much they drive you wild. For most of his life, he’d never given them much thought. But ever since you confessed how attractive you find them, he’s come to see them differently. Whether they’re holding you close or resting casually on his sword during a meeting, they never fail to capture your attention. Over time, your admiration has made them one of his favorite features.

Jace gives me insane boob man vibes. I am unsure what it is about him, but I see him being infatuated with them. He loves to play with them when you two are laying in bed. He also loves being the little spoon and laying his head on top of them. Jace swears those nights are when he sleeps best. Sometimes when you are angry with him he motorboats you because he enjoys it and he knows it makes you laugh every time.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Love, Love, LOVESSSS to cum on you. He thinks it is so beyond hot cumming everywhere on your body. Your face, down your throat, on your stomach. You covered in his cum is better than any painting or mural he has ever seen. He also is obsessed with the taste of you, stating he could miss meals on end and live entirely off your cum.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This may have been said before, but he wants to fuck you on the Iron Throne. It is the most powerful seat in the realm. People have fought wars over this, and it is his by birthright. Everytime he is in the throne room it is so easy to allow his mind to wander and imagine having his way with you on that throne.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Virgin. Virgin. Virgin. He has fought so hard to maintain his image as a prince worthy enough to inherit the mantle of king one day. The last thing he would do is get caught in a pleasure house, or with a woman that wasn't his betrothed. To add, he's seen sex be treated transactional his entire life. Boiling it down to its raw form, people just seeking pleasure. So, I'd like to think it would be something very sacred to him. He would only want to do it with the person he planned to spend the rest of his life with. Souls united forever mentally, physically, and sexually.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Jace is a big fan of cowgirl. He gets to watch you pleasure yourself on him and the image is so erotic. Especially when you get lost in it, almost forgetting he is there and chasing your own high. That is his favorite, you are out of control, hands on his chest for leverage, and desperate for an orgasm. And if you need him to he is more than happy to hold your hips tight and pound up into you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

In the stolen moments between you two, I think he would be more goofy, but traditionally in the bedroom a more serious manner. After you have done it a few times he throws out a sexual joke here and there, but other than that, it's pretty much straight to business.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is a prince, and obsessed with making sure his appearance is always perfect. Not one hair is ever out of place, and that is of course because all the discourse about him being a bastard. He couldn't control the color of his hair, but he could control the way it looked and that was perfect. This leads to my point that he definitely keeps things neat and tidy down there. I don't think he would care how you kept yourself, but for him he is constantly keeping an eye on it and trimming as he sees necessary.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jace is a huge romantic, to the brink of almost hopelessness. After hearing your fears about the bedding ceremony he called it off immediately. He didn't care what the Lords had to say about the perverted tradition, he knew it made you uncomfortable and it was over like that. He had the servants light candles around the room, place flowers everywhere, and draw a hot bath for you both. It was the most romantic gesture you had ever seen in your life. While every time after that was not always that grand, he did make sure that was an intimate aspect every time he touched your body.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Really never. When he was younger a few times as he was learning his body, but once you came into his life and you were married he never saw the need for it. There have been a couple desperate moments when maybe you aren't feeling good, or are on your moon blood but other than that he saves himself for you always.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Pain kink down. In all forms of it. When your nails go a little too deep in his back, when you bite his skin a little too hard, and when you tug a little too much at his hair drives him inside. While he doesn't go too extreme on you he likes to spank you until the skin on your backside is sore and your pussy is drenched. Also, I'm not exactly sure what this would fall under, but watching you gag on his cock, tears running down your face and spit dribbling from your mouth. Gets him going truly like nothing else, he could go rounds with you after seeing that.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your chambers, it is the safest place. Doing it anywhere else puts both of you at risk of being caught and that is never a situation he'd want to be in. But just because it is your chambers, doesn't mean he's only fucking you in the bed. Your shared chambers give you all the privacy you need and that man fucks you on every surface he can find. The bed, in front of the fireplace, his desk, the window. He wishes he could extend the room to have more places to take you on.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You could tell him pretty much whenever that you wanted him, and he would try to make time for you. But really what gets him going is when you dress up for large events or parties. It could be at Dragonstone or the Red Keep, but every time you look more gorgeous than the last. Not that you don't always look gorgeous all the time, there is something about you in a finely tailored dress with the colors of his that starts his engine. It makes him want to ruin all the work that went into making you look so pretty. Additionally, when you tease him in situations he can't get out of. A kiss that lasts a little too long before one of the small council meetings, a touch that lingers longer than it needs to before he hears petitions. Knowing he can't have you right at that moment makes him only want you more.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Having a threesome would definitely be a hard no. Not only would he hate sharing you, but also he knows people aren't too be trusted. There is no one he would trust enough to do that and have confidence they wouldn't tell every soul they knew as soon as it was done. Besides his Iron Throne fantasy, anything in public. Jace has worked too hard and for too long on his image, for it to be washed down the drain because he couldn't keep it in his pants.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think neutral but leans towards receiving. He loves seeing you on your knees and taking as much of him as you can. As previously said, watching you gag and try because it's too much is a movie he could watch over and over again. But, he also does love to eat you out, and damn is he good at it. Skillfully and expertly he uses his tongue and fingers to give you orgasms that have you seeing absolute stars.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Crescendo? Starts off slow and sensually. Stretching you and savoring how your warm walls welcome him, yet struggle to accommodate his size. As time goes on you both get desperate and begin to rapidly chase your highs which results in a rough and fast pace. You are fucking like rabbits trying to achieve euphoria.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Loves a good quickie. He prefers to have time with you, and be able to properly hold you after. But if he's really frustrated, or you need him really bad he loves sneaking to your chambers, lifting your skirts, and getting you both off quickly. Or if you are really desperate and don't have enough time to fuck he is pressing you against the door, going underneath your dress and eating you until you cum.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Experiment, yes. Risk, no. Your shared position as prince and princess of Westeros are too high to be caught doing something stupid. But, he loves to experiment with you. Try new positions, techniques, anything really you could come up with. He never wants you to get bored of him or your sex life, and he loves figuring out new ways for both of you to receive pleasure.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

If he is high-strung from his day, frustrated, or restless, he can give it to you all night. Using you as a place to relax and get all those emotions out. Other than that, he is going typically a couple rounds. However, he makes sure to suck as much pleasure as possible out of your body.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Once again, I don't think there are sex shops suddenly popping up in King's Landing with toys in them. But Modern!Jace would absolutely be down to using toys. This goes along with the experimentation. He loves learning about the ones for both of you and how you two can incorporate them into your sex life. Modern!Jace is a lot more willing to take risks, and buying you that remote-controlled vibrator was the best purchase of his life. You two are out with friends maybe at dinner, or just hanging out, and he is on his phone driving you absolutely insane with that thing. You two have to leave early because you can't compose yourself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Huge tease. Loves to tease you and when you tease him. It is all apart of the game to him. His favorite ways to tease you are whispering in your ear when you two are at public affairs and describe all the filthy things he is going to do to you. You have become a master at keeping your face expresionless meanwhile your small clothes are getting soaked.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

At first, Jace would be more reserved as he tries to learn what he is doing. All you have to do is ask one time that you want to hear his moans and it is on. Not afraid to let it go and sing for you. His moans, combined with the dirty talk and hot breaths in your ear have you cumming in half the time.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

"I'm sorry Jace but I really need you. I could not focus on anything anyone was saying," You say looking at Jace as he closes the door to your chamber. His face initially reads as annoyed which is reasonable because he has a meeting in a few minutes time. Despite this he preses his lips to yours bruisingly as you begin to quickly reach for his trousers to take them off. He moves your hands away resting his forehead on yours.

"No time for that I have to go soon," He says and you sigh sadly but nod your head in understanding. You close your eyes trying to calm yourself down and that is when Jace smirks and gets down on his knees. You look down at him confused as he winks at you before disappearing under your skirts. You remain confused until you feel Jace hiking your leg over your should, moving your small clothes and attaching his mouth to your womanhood. Your eyes immediately roll back as you hold onto the door behind you for dear life.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Not particularly girthy, but definitely got it going on in the length department. It takes all of you to fit in down your throat, and everytime he bottoms out in you, you feel like he is almost in your chest.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I think it would be equal to whatever yours is. If your drive was high then his would be too. But if you fell more towards the average end of the scale he'd be okay with that too and match you. He would never want you to feel like he was forcing you to or he didn't want you. So, whatever you brought to the table is what he would equal.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Never until after you fall asleep. He has to make sure you are okay, especially after longer rougher sessions. But even then most days his mind is still very active as he recounts the day. Or simply enjoys the beautiful woman in his arms he will forever feel is too good for him.

[aperrywilliams]

I've been thinking a lot about season 1-3 Spencer with sweaty palms and a handful of books trying to ask out the girl at his local bookstore 💕 for your blurbs!

Season 1-3 Spencer: babyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy <3

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

"I can do this. I can do this." Spencer reassured himself. But all Morgan's pep talks about women and Penelope's bizarre dating ideas weren't helping Spencer overcome his anxiety right now.

All the confidence he could build for an entire week vanished every Saturday as soon as he stepped foot in the bookstore and saw her behind the counter.

Like a good scientist, Spencer had analyzed all the options to address the issue, but none gave him the certainty he needed. On the contrary, he could only think about the rejection he would receive and that the girl would laugh in his face.

Maybe this wasn't the time, and he thought it was better to try the following Saturday. But when he was about to make that choice, the girl at the counter looked at him with a warm smile on her lips.

Shit. Spencer hadn't realized he was standing in the center of the bookstore, in full view of everyone, with a stack of books in his arms. When did he take all those books?

He'd been caught, and now he'd have to go through with the plan—which wasn't a plan because he didn't have one in the first place.

Walking to the counter, Spencer could feel his palms sweating and his knees shaking as he got closer to her.

"Hello. I see this Saturday you got carried away," the girl pointed out, seeing the stack of books.

Wait, what? Has she been noticing him? Oh, shit. 

Spencer felt like he could faint then and there. He couldn't say anything, just nodded, leaving the pile over the counter.

How would he ask her out if he couldn't say a word?

There was no way this was going to work.

The girl began to inspect the books and pass them through the reader. Spencer just stared at her dumbfounded.

"I didn't know your taste was so varied," the girl commented, smiling and looking back at him.

Say something, Spencer. Just say something.

"Yeah. I - I am comfortable with - with all types of writings," Spencer stuttered.

"I see that. Mechanics' business and erotica seem quite broad."

What?! Spencer certainly hadn't paid attention to the books he pulled from the shelves.

Spencer's face flushed red. Now he did just want to run and disappear.

"I - uhm -"

"Don't worry. I like to read that kind of thing too. I mean, the mechanics ones," she spoke, winking at him.

Spencer clearly didn't get the hint.

"Oh! Did you know there are nearly as many different types of mechanics as there are different types of vehicles and motors? Farm equipment mechanics who deal with tractors, harvesters, and other farm machinery. Motorboat mechanics who handle inboard or outboard boat engines. The Mobile heavy equipment mechanics work on construction machinery such as cranes, bulldozers, and conveyors. And, of course, Motorcycle mechanics who maintain and repair motorcycles, scooters, and mopeds," Spencer ranted. The girl seemed impressed and equally amused.

"I didn't know, actually," the girl answered truthfully.

"I can give you book recommendations related to that if you'd like," Spencer offered enthusiastically and less overwhelmed than he had been three minutes ago.

The girl returned a genuine smile. The boy was rather shy and oblivious but adorable by all accounts.

"Or maybe you could tell me more about that over a coffee?" she said.

Spencer's mouth went agape. A coffee? With her? 

Almost speechless, he nodded. The girl nodded as well.

"Great! my shift ends at noon. Can we go to the coffee shop down the street if you're free?"

Spencer nodded again.

Say something, you idiot! He chastised himself.

"It would be great. Sure. I - I'll come back by noon. Sure. I'll be here." Spencer assured, a big smile forming on his lips.

Of all the options Spencer considered, this was the least likely. But without a doubt, the best one.

[praetorqueenreyna]

butcher, tamlin, and armand!

OOOOOH YOU FIEND!!!! MY BEST MOST PROBLEMATIC BOYS!!!!!

Fuck: Tamlin. He literally leads a magic sex party every year. HE KNOWS WHAT HE'S DOING! Also I need to motorboat those tiddies WHAT WHO SAID THAT

Marry: Armand, I could fix him. And I think some psychological torture could keep things interesting.

Kill: SORRY BUTCHER I AM PUTTING YOU DOWN LIKE A RABID DOG IT'S FOR THE GOOD OF EVERYONE

[gaygodlywriting]

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«not-so picasso» l.minho

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«genre: fluff + slight angst?

«pairing: lee minho x m! reader (M as in MALE, fem readers DNI)

«warnings: self doubt??, mild swearing

«relationship status: lovers

«summary/prompt: A draws B super well, but B draws A “poorly” but A still loves it just as much.

«word count: 2108

«type: full fic

«writer: maddox

«a/n: i think i managed to self insert a bit i’m sorry.. (not proofread and there has been many late night add ons which means many late night mistakes)

«requests: open (pls request im begging)

«masterlist

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minho was someone you admired dearly. he was so pretty, he is so perfect and you couldn’t help but allow your eyes to wander his features on a daily basis. his structure, his body type, his smile, his emotions, all of it was engraved into your head at some point. From the big things to the little things: the way his mouth curved so beautifully, just like his mother, when he smiles. the small scar on his stomach that he doesn’t like showing, the stars in his eyes when he has his cats with him.

his beautiful laugh that makes you smile each and every time. his need to be noisy and loud brings comfort to you in the weirdest ways. his cute obsession with his fur babies. his work ethic, his dancing skills, his pretty singing. the way he loves his members so much, the way he shows love to everyone he knows in his own way. his teasing, oh you adore his teasing. it’s so cute to you. sketching was a way you could appreciate him more.

so that’s what you did, you have a sketchbook dedicated to the lee minho. drawings of different emotions, feelings. some emotions that he might not like the best: sadness, anger, guilt, etc. all drawn in a sketchbook, you don’t see any emotion in a negative way. emotions are such a baffling thing to you, but it’s also so artistic to feel things.

you want all his emotions on your paper, you want to understand them, feel them. art was something that came naturally to you, you most definitely got better overtime but it wasn’t necessarily hard. art was a way of expression for you, and also a way of figuring out people. if that makes sense; using art to study feelings was your way of learning and developing an understanding for those emotions.

emotions are so complex, there's no true understanding for them. but art somehow just makes it seem like those emotions are something more than just feelings. it turns them into what they deserve to be recognized for, beauty. to feel is so wonderful, though it may not always seem that way.

you were at your desk in the corner of the room you shared with your partner, it was around 19:34. the natural light that had been previously flowing in through the window was no longer as bright. it had started to dim and you couldn’t see the marks you were making on your paper anymore. so you reached over to the desk light and flipped the switch on at the base of the lamp.

it wasn’t positioned to your liking so you swiftly adjusted it so you could see your work. you glanced up to the dimmed computer screen in front of you to see what song was about to play. it was the theme song from one of your favorite bl dramas, tharntype.

just as you were about to return to your work a little furry creature jumped in your lap. it was one of three of your boyfriend’s kids, soonie, he had wiggled his way under the desk and climbed onto your lap. he sat right on your thighs and had laid his paws and head on your forearm. you couldn’t tell if you were frustrated or in awe at the sight. he started purring like a motorboat in your lap, so you stopped to pet him for a bit before attempting to draw with one arm.

drawing brought you happiness, for the most part. this piece was stressing you out, soonie noticed too. pieces, such as this one, tend to stress you out as you just want it to look perfect but something always seems off. you just wanted it to be perfect, the idea in your head had been. but your execution hasn’t been very much to your liking. it was so frustrating, beyond imaginable.

you kept playing around with it, and many crumpled pieces of paper on the floor later, you couldn’t seem to figure it out. you let out a frustrated groan, then a click sound was made and the door was swung open. minho had finally arrived home.

“minho.” you spoke extending the ‘o’ sound with a little whine to your voice. he looked around and let out a small sigh at the mess. he walked over to you and pulled you off the chair that was giving you a backache after so long. he wrapped his arms around your neck giving you access to slither your arms around his waist. you slightly pulled him closer and buried your head in his neck.

“troubles?” he spoke softly, you nodded your head into his shoulder and tried to sink deeper into the hug. he smiled at his boyfriends’ actions and hugged you tighter. you guys stood like that for a few minutes in silence, “can i see it?”

you pulled away and turned around grabbed the best one off the table. you hesitantly gave him the sheet of paper. he took it out of your hand and examined the detailed sketch. you couldn’t read his face at that moment, `does he like it?`, thoughts coursed through your head. you kept a straight face even though you were nervous, `was it really that bad? why isn’t he saying anything?`.

why is it so damn hard to just feel proud of yourself? you just want it to be relieving, not stressful. when it came to art, you were very naturally talented and had a ton of practice. but as a kid, you got harsh criticism from your family for your art, you wanted nothing more for them to feel proud of you. somehow, even though you knew your boyfriend loved your creations, you couldn’t help but think he was lying to you or think he didn’t mean anything he said.

for whatever reason seconds felt like hours, you started to feel yourself tear up at the thought of someone not liking your art again. especially when that certain ‘someone’ was the love of your life. part of you knew he would love it and he would never lie to you, but that part had succumbed to the part that doubted him. that part of you brought you so much guilt, how could you think your boyfriend was lying to you when he’s done nothing but love you with his everything.

your head dropped as you subconsciously stared holes into the floor, minho had noticed something was off. he knew exactly what it was too. he set the piece of paper back on the table and put his hand to your cheek trying to lift your head to look at him.

“hey, y/n baby, what’s going through your head?” he spoke, trying to get you to look him in the eye but you refused. you slightly shook your head in response, you didn’t want to admit to him what you were thinking. “i can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” he said a little stern, but in an endearing way. he needed communication, although he had a sense he couldn’t help you with just an urge.

“do you..” you trailed off slightly, rethinking the decision to speak. he stared at you, waiting for you to finish, he raises his eyebrows slightly to indicate that you can continue when your ready. you paused and took a small deep breath. “do you hate it? the drawing i mean.”

It was silent for a second before lino lost his cool, he burst out laughing at you. you looked straight at him, almost stunned.

“what the fuck minho” you said with a whine undertone, you knew why he was laughing so you tried to keep your cool. but ultimately you failed and laughed with him. “don’t laugh at me, i have very valid thoughts.” you rolled your eyes at him, trying to joke around getting yourself in a better mood.

“yeah y/n, i hate it so much.” he extended the ‘so’ and rolled his eyes at you. you added to the theatrics by gasping loudly and gripping your chest falling back onto the bed. you guys laughed for a minute before minho looked you dead in the eye and spoke once more, “y/n, how could i hate it? have you seen the way i draw?”

“yeah of course i have, what does that have to do with anything.” you looked at him with confusion.

“one minute.” he quickly pushed himself off you, and crawled off the bed to the art desk. he sat down and opened your sketchbook dedicated to him. he found the newest unused page and gripped the pencil hurriedly sketching something in the book.

“babe, what are you doing?” you went to get up but he cut you off,

“don’t, i’ll show you in a minute,” he said turning towards you, once was finished talking, and you had sat back down and gotten comfy, he turned back around.

a few minutes went by with only the sound of the led scraping against paper in the background. “okay, i’m finished.” he grabbed both the sketchbook and the drawing you showed him a little bit ago. He crawled back on the bed, “look alright, this is yours.” he handed you your drawing letting you soak it in for a minute.

“okay, and?” you spoke looking up and him. he opened the sketchbook and maneuvered it so it was facing you. he looked down and pointed to his drawing,

“this is mine, that’s the best i can do.” he looked up at you, as you examined his drawing. “clearly theres a difference. last time i checked i wasn’t dating someone who was that incompetent.” he jokingly said, but with seriousness laced throughout the sentence.

“hey, i’m not that stupid.” you spoke defensively, he laughed slightly.

“okay if you say so,” he said with a smirk plastered on his lips, “if you don’t like this drawing so much, i’m stealing it.”

“it’s not even finished though.” you looked at the drawing once more.

he rolled his eyes, “you act like i care, i want it just how it is now.” you went to grab it but he swiped it first. “mine. you can have this one,” he handed you the sketchbook.

it was a really shitty, but cute, attempt at drawing you with his name signed in the corner. you loved it though, and you were going to keep it.

he made his signature loud ‘ahh’ noise, “it was a long day and drawing wore me out, can’t we just watch a movie with soonie, doongie, and dori now?” he whined at you. you quickly jumped off the bed and picked minho up swinging his legs around your waist. you pushed open the bedroom door and walked to the livingroom where you set minho down. you quickly scavenged around for the kids, and food because food was necessary. once you collected your children and some food you headed back to your lover who impatiently sat on the couch with a movie pulled up. the movie was ‘wish you’, the first bl drama that minho had ever watched. ever since lino had watched it, he continuously watches it with you and you comply because how could you not?

you set his babies down on his lap, then set the food on the coffee table just in front of the couch. you quickly climbed up on the couch and placed yourself right behind minho, your chest compressed against his back and your arms locked around his waist. he got comfy and then pressed play on the tv remote, the ���emotion studio’ intro began to play.

you were a little ways into the movie before you got bored and started kissing minho all over his shoulders, neck, and head. pretty much wherever you could reach, he started squirming around.

“cut it out, pay attention to the movie” he whined trying not to laugh. you got one more kiss in just on the middle of his forehead, when he spoke he turned to look at you so you took your chance. it was a bit longer, you just wanted to the last one to be a good one.

“okay, okay fine.” you said getting comfy again. you felt so loved and comfortable when you shared these moments with your partner. you never wanted them to end. your breath slowed, and you began falling into a comfortable rest with the only person you could ever want to spend the rest of your life with (and of course, his three loveable kids).

[user211201]

Chet

--- Originally posted on 2023-05-24 by shapedbydesire ---

--- Images have been removed since they are too explicit ---

--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

When openly gay, neat freak charles wished he could “know what goes on in that brain” of his older brother, chet, he had never thought that someone would be listening to him — let alone that they’d be willing to grant his ill-fated wish.

he awoke from his midday nap in a rush of heat, pale cheeks flushed, bleached hair wet with sweat against his forehead, curls of armpit hair poking out from beneath his sore, swelling arms and starting to reek. wait… but he shaves daily? doesn’t he?

he blinks, a little disoriented, eyes trying to focus on the dim light in the room. the last thing he remembers is saying those words, and feeing tired out of nowhere, but now he just feels a little nauseous. it only becomes more worse as he looks around his private space to see everything has changed around him.

his gaming setup has become a workout bench littered with dirty socks and compression shorts, his bookshelf replaced with a cheap xbox and a stack of fifa & madden games. he sneers at this, wondering for a moment if he somehow crashed inside chet’s room by accident, but no. as familiar as it all feels, this is his first time ever being inside this particular room. he sits up, eyes glancing to the wall and noticing a woman in a tight bikini squeezing her large breasts on a poster. he wants to think that it’s degrading and awfully toxic, but he’s alarmed when the only voice that speaks inside his head is chet’s. or at least it sounds just like him, low and bovine and with a hint of stupidity. “shittt, i wanna motorboat those puppies.”

never in his life had charles ever thought something so disrespectful about a woman, and yet hard as he tried, he couldn’t conjure any other comment inside his head. he saw boobs and his brain wanted him to stick his face into right them, and that was it. no “i wonder what her personality is like,” not even a “she has kind eyes.” he looks again at the poster and tries to ignore the throbbing in his dick, the pulse like a heartbeat. “fuck,” he gasps, not sure what has caused him to become so aroused. no girl had ever made his sick erect before. his wet dream was to end up with a beefy bear.

“shit, bro. imagine that tight cunt on your rod, milking the seed out of you. fuckkk, imagine that slim belly swollen with your future son inside. breed that fuckin’ pussy!”

charles places his hands over his ears, trying and failing to block out the new narrator inside his mind. He thinks about getting up, running to the shower and taking a long, cold one, but he can only gaze down at his engorged cock bobbing up and down beneath his cheap boxers, an athletic pair not at all close to the designer jockstrap he had fallen asleep in. He can smell the stale scent of sweat in the room, and then it’s only intensified the longer he holds up his arms, looking to see more curls of damp, sweaty hair peeking out. Just like his brother, never bothering to groom or practice good hygiene, he opens his lips to whimper and make a frightened sound, but all that comes out is a deep and gruff moan.

The hand that grips his thick cock through the boxer fabric is rough and calloused, as if he had spent his childhood tossing around footballs just like his jock older brother. “I love football. Football and tits and cunt are the only three things a man needs in life,” his inner monologue continues, his head arching back and his Adam’s apple thickening, protruding from his widening neck. “And a nice cold beer. A bimbo with lip fillers choking on your cock.” His eyes are alight with panic and confusion, his biceps swelling up with every stroke of his hand against his shaft, his hair darkening from its dyed shade to a more natural, casual, lazy style.

He falls back against the bed, hips buckling against the air, watching as tendrils of wiry, dark, sweaty hair erupts across his chest and down to his toning stomach, abdominal muscles popping into existence. “Holy shit,” he grunts, working himself to climax, all the while all the traces of the old Charles have collected inside a swollen pair of bull nuts. Churning with his inferior, wimpy genes, being consumed and replaced by that of an alpha just like his best bro. All Charles wants to do is scream, ask for help, beg for a take back on his wish, but his jaw cracks into a sharp, defined chin, his smirk cocky and handsome and stupid.

“Fuck yeah, I’m the alpha.” The last thing Charles sees before the new man inside him takes over is a barrage of vaginas squirting, boobs bouncing, bubble butts twerking in tight little stripper uniforms. There’s drool trickling down his chin, an ape-like dumbness in his eyes. “I’m fuckin’ bustin’ a nut, bro!!”

Chad expels his former self all over his hairy, firm muscle tits. He thinks about how he and his bro need to get ready for the gym, and how he needs to find a bimbo to face fuck before he has to jack himself off again. He’s still so damn horny!

“Haha, good for you, little bro!” Chet calls from the next room over. His voice no longer lives inside Chad’s head — but it’s not like they don’t think the same shit, anyway.

[duck-in-a-thrift-store]

Look I know you guys all know me as duck but the thing is... I am so fucking dog-coded

constant urge to chew on things I shouldn't (I literally looked up at a tree the other night and thought "damn I wanna chew those branches so bad" and I have actually chewed on sticks before)

that thing dogs do where they stick their head out the window of a moving car? I get that 100% I like to go out when it's windy and just feel the breeze rushing past my face (going out in a motorboat on the lake is fantastic and almost meditative for me I hear nothing but the wind and the water and the motor and I'm surrounded by the cool gentle force of the wind's embrace and I lowkey disassociate from the rest of the world and just vibe)

wary around strangers but dedicated to the point of self destruction to those I love

randomly get the zoomies or energy/mood spikes

laying on the floor

desire to receive pets and head scritches (being touch starved and fond of forms of physical affection that are mildly unconventional when shared between humans)

unexpectedly seeing who was then my favorite person had me so bright and excited the mental image of me standing there wagging a tail I don't have popped into my head

again the urge to bite and chew

the sort of low growl I tend to do when smthn makes me mad

the fact that I pretty regularly whine/whimper when upset if I'm alone, as well as that one time a whimper slipped out when my gf at the time was kissing me

being socially needy, wanting attention, wanting to be around people, feeling rejected when I can't be

having no goddamn sense of time lol

the need to be given direct, simple orders, to be bossed around in order to function, difficulty understanding complex instructions

showing care through aggression, desperate to fight for those I care about because love is complicated but violence is simple

being one of the least picky eaters in my family, willing to try just about anything

the innate desire for a "pack," a group of individuals that I share closeness with and can rely on for safety and support, intrinsically drawn together by instinct and bound by a loyalty and familial fondness more intense than I've actually had the pleasure of experiencing

multiple accounts of begging my friends to go to the park with me

sensitive ears, the pain of high sharp noises, hearing things others don't

fascination with scent

(A lot of this is just me being autistic lmao but my point still stands)

[ozymoron]

i need to motorboat his boobies i get carpet burn on my face from his chest hair yeowch biting those things and grabbing his belly and can i go on is this a safe space

[somethingclevermahogony]

Happy STS! I might’ve asked you this one before, but if you could give your characters any object from modern times, what would you give them?

Happy STS! You have asked this before, I'm going to go ahead and post those answers again (red) but I'll also post a couple of new ones (blue).

I'm presuming in this case that things like internet service and battery life isn't a concern. I will not be doing every character cuz uh, that would be a lot.

Narul: An iPod (an old sturdy one) and some wireless earbuds. I have a bad tendency of breaking corded earbuds and I feel like he would have a similar issue. But I feel like being able to listen to some music every once in a while would help with his nerves.

Ninma: A Lego set, maybe a couple. I think that Ninma would love that sort of tactile and creative toy. She would probably try to make a miniature palace for the unfortunate lizards that she catches.

Otilia and Shela: Two cell phones, I feel like they would appreciate being able to communicate with each from afar and if need be, in private.

The Throuple: A motorboat, I feel like Istek particularly would be initially hesitant but would ultimately love being able to zoom around without a sail or oars.

Akard: Painkillers, I feel like with his condition (Asherdul's Bane) modern painkillers are something that he would greatly appreciate.

Penetinos: The entire Encyclopaedia Britannica. He would pour over them obsessively, he would be particularly fascinated by scientific concepts. The idea of bacteria, atoms, the water cycle, among other things would blow his mind.

Zatar: An edible (probably a couple actually), some snacks, and a laptop to watch some cheesy 80s action flicks. Guy needs to relax for a bit.

Bop: One of those octopus plushies that you can flip inside out to show your mood. Narul could just carry it around on his shoulder to let people know how Bop was feeling at that moment without having to verbally tell them.

[marshmallowprotection]

What do you think of Saeyoung's MC giving SE Saeran a kitten 😺

SE Saeran is the last person in the world that you’d expect to have a pet. He is already a vulnerable person and he has a hard time taking care of himself. So, it would stand to reason to think that he wouldn't be able to feel confident in taking care of another life.

At least, it would be easy to assume that on the surface. There's something funny about cats, though.

They often say that if you are struggling with your mental health, one of the things you can do to make things easier is to get a pet for yourself. Sometimes the only motivation you can find is taking care of them. The best way to take care of your animal is to take care of yourself, as well. This would be a gentle way of getting him to focus on his needs as well as the needs of the small life that sits with him.

The funny thing about him is that animals love him. He is indifferent to them because he never grew up understanding why people liked them in the first place. He doesn't hate animals, he just doesn't get the hype. However, he doesn't turn away the kitten that is given to him. He can be pretty stiff, though. He doesn't know what you're supposed to do with a cat.

What exactly do cats do?

Are you supposed to play with them or are you supposed to leave them alone? What does a cat want from you? Why do people enjoy having them around? They are needy... they need your help to be fed and taken care of. What makes them different than a toddler? They're just like kids! They need help and attention from the people around them that have to see to their needs.

Most of the time, he would be staring at this cat without knowing what it wanted. Sure, there's food and water and any other thing a cat could need, but it doesn't feel like it's enough for him. It sort of makes him feel like when he was a child. It didn't matter that he was getting the bare minimum, there wasn't anything for his emotional needs to back it up. A bowl of rice... maybe bread... water... that was it. Just a whole lot of nothing in the darkness.

This cat would make him reflect in a way that he doesn't like to. It's not a bad thing, it's just one of those things that he didn't intend to think too hard about after the fact. He has enough trouble dealing with the present, he doesn't like dipping into the past. It is what it is, he suffered what he suffered, but seeing someone in a similar spot as he was... well, it's hard to not do anything.

It would take a while for him to warm up to the cat since he would be bouncing between feelings of his past and feelings of a confusing present, but that all would change when he winds up having a panic attack on a bad day and the cat decides to plant itself on top of him. Saeran would feel lost at first, staring at this cat as if it's lost any sort of semblance of its brain when it decided to crawl on top of him.

Yet, the weight of its body against his chest is nice. The cat is nice. It's warm... it purrs like a motorboat. It stares at him as if it knows a world he knows. Sure, that sounds wild, but the more he thinks about that, the less he thinks about his panic. It doesn't take long for him to think that this cat... cares about him for some reason. As hard as it is for him to love something, he thinks he likes this cat.

It's strange.

But, who is he but strange?

Once he begins to understand that they have a mind of their own, he begins to empathize with them. This kitten likes to have its space but also wants to be in his business when it's determined to do so. Cats prefer to have personal space. He can understand that. He doesn't like people bothering him or pushing him around. It's easy for him to sympathize with the plight of cats.

In fact, now that he has a cat in his arms when he feels anxious, it makes him want to smack his big brother on the shoulder more for terrorizing Elizabeth the 3rd. He sees his struggle in this cat and he wants to protect it since... he knows what it feels like to not have a person in your corner.

That cat would go everywhere with Saeran. If you want to know where to find them, just step outside the bunker where you'll see Saeran and his cat curled up on the grass, enjoying the sun and the breeze of summertime.

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @keltii-tea​

Chapter 7: An Escape starts with E

They were on a fucking boat. Heisenberg figured it out eventually. It wasn't like he had an excess of experience with boats. He'd made a few prototypes to navigate the waterways and rivers that twined through and around the valley, of course, and during a long, cold winter of famine in the village he'd been driven to retrofit an old motorboat into a automatic fishing machine to strip the reservoir of any scabby old trout Moreau had left swimming.

It was that, or starve. He couldn't exactly eat metal.

And, of course, he'd spent a miserable couple weeks crossing the Atlantic onboard a cargo ship with Rose, smuggling them both from Europe to the sunny shores of the USA. That had been the second time they'd gone on the run from the BSAA, after Chris and company had tracked them down in Glasgow.

Whatever kind of ship he was on was significantly more high-tech than anything he'd been on before, but the slight, queasy pitch and sway of the room around him was the same, and that, plus a certain industrial quality to the architecture of the room, the handwheels that opened and closed the doors, the rumble that emanated from somewhere deep underfoot, told him everything he needed to know.

Mia came in a couple more times to grill him about the village. She would drag up a chair and sit down by the glass, picking away at that stupid tablet. Always, always, Regan and Cal accompanied her, rarely saying more than a few words at a time to Mia, like she wasn't even there.

"Best route of entry?" she asked him.

"Through the northeast pass. Doesn't get so snowed-in and all that."

"Will the lycans congregate there?"

"Lycans congregate wherever there's prey, buttercup. When they catch a whiff of us coming in they'll congregate wherever we are, too."

"Anything in particular that kills them quickly?"

"Lots and lots of bullets."

She'd lifted an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

"Slice off the head, blow a hole through the Cadou in the torso-" He'd awkwardly lifted a harnessed hand to tap the old suture scar running down his sternum, where his own Cadou had been implanted. "-Or the stomach."

He slid his fingers down. Mia followed the movement with her eyes, a slight crease between her dark brows.

"Or you could set 'em on fire," Heisenberg went on, with a shrug. "Or throw some acid on 'em. Or rip 'em to pieces. Whatever cranks your lever."

"You became something of an expert in Cadou implantation. You saw first-hand how a human body reacts to the parasite, didn't you? Studied it during your experiments with mechanizing those corpses?"

"That's right. Glad I have someone who'll acknowledge my fine and scholarly work."

"Do you anticipate the lycans will have developed mutations beyond those which have already been observed?"

"Fuck, Mia, you have all that written down or something?"

"Answer the question."

"Will the lycans have gotten scarier in the past fifteen years, grown more claws and fangs?" Heisenberg translated. "Probably."

Once, when he was a teenager- sort of, anyway; his growth had slowed and sped up in strange, unpredictable spurts- he thought he'd been about thirty at the time- Miranda had taken him down a long, torchlit corkscrew of stairs within the ancient stronghold to the southwest of the village, a Medieval ruin that had been the site of the last stand of a group of boyars against the local 'heretic' population.

He was still her favorite then. He hadn't yet outed himself as a disappointment like pitiful, power-tortured Moreau, or Alcina, with her constant hunger for human flesh. Miranda had realized how interested Heisenberg was in the way things worked, and liked to show off her various experiments to him, hoping, maybe, he might be cowed by her godlike command over the world around her.

At the bottom of the steps, ringed by their leaping shadows, Miranda showed him the pit full of lycans. They were different, though, to the ones she loosed in the woods, that kept the more intrepid villagers from wandering too far from the valley. These were a lot bigger. They'd begun to grow spikes of crystalline armor, extra toes, extra limbs, in some cases. Twisted and misshapen and deadly.

Heisenberg had lifted his eyebrows, impressed, when two began to fight, grappling and snarling until the larger of the two grabbed the other's head and shoulder and simply tore it in half like a wet paper towel. The rest of the pack had descended, ripping hungrily into the dead lycan, eating their fill before the meat began to crystallize.

"Miranda liked to control her monsters," he went on. "Liked to know what she was getting. She suppressed the lycans' mutation so her army wouldn't do anything too...unexpected."

There were exceptions, like Urias, like the varcolac, but they had a part to play in Miranda's army. "Left to their own devices..." He couldn't resist a feral smile. "Who knows what they'll have gotten up to."

Mia had nodded. Heisenberg sensed she wanted to ask more, but she didn't. He guessed she'd gotten to the end of her Ouroboros-sanctioned list.

"Very well," she said at last, finishing her notes. She rose from her chair.

"Mia," Heisenberg had said.

She paused.

"How much longer on the boat?"

"Not long," she'd told him, and then she was gone again.

So they were shipping him to the village. Romania was landlocked except for a pinky finger stuck out into the Black Sea, so they'd have to transfer him to something else to get them all into town. He supposed putting him onboard a ship was lower-risk than transporting him by plane. If he regained even a slight amount of control of his powers while in flight-

Well. Depressurization for everyone, and he'd be sitting pretty in the cockpit, levitating the whole thing down to wherever he wanted. A ship was less easy to take total control over, and if it sank, he drowned just as easy as anyone else.

Heisenberg had had a long time to think about the possibilities. Would he rather drown than lead Ouroboros to the village? To Ethan's remains? To strip-mine the place and the dead man and unleash horrors, all to make a fistful of lei?

At one time or another, he'd have said yes without hesitation. Fuck these fuckers; killing them and himself in a go would be a perfect middle finger to anyone who thought they could meddle with monsters and come out on top.

Now?

He thought of Rose. Her eyes blue-white, reflecting his lightning. The tears streaking silver down her face as she made herself be brave. He remembered her last embrace, monster smashing up everything around them, her hugging him so tight he couldn't breathe and all he could think, over his ingrained bloodlust, over his need to go murder that monster bitch so hard it turned to soup, was that he didn't want her to let go.

Damn you, Karl, he told himself. You're going softer than a corpse in a well.

Guess he was gonna have to get out of this alive or something.

***

The downside, of course, to not flying him to Romania, to keeping him awake so that Mia could interrogate him about the village, was that he could do a lot of thinking. Ouroboros was confident, and for good reason; this harness he was trapped in was a nightmare, a masochist's dream of needles and aching spine, his body forced to stand for days on end.

But he'd spent most of his life in mental captivity. Compared to Miranda controlling his mind, Ouroboros controlling his body was nothing.

He just needed an opportunity.

Now, Mia had been gone for a couple days- by his estimate, anyway. He counted the shift rotations of  researchers in the room, counted his own heartbeats. Every so often the twins, Regan and Cal, entered the room. They never spoke to him, never did more than stand before the enclosure, whispering to one another as they looked him over.

And, of course, there was dinnertime.

He needed his mouth and throat unobscured so he could do his talking. That precluded a feeding tube or some shit. A silent scientist came in twice a day to shove protein supplement, tasteless and textured like spam, down his throat. He'd had worse, and the whole maneuver meant that the enclosure had to unseal. It meant it had to open fairly easily, a panel in the glass sliding down into the dais to allow access.

Don't want to make things too complicated, after all. That wasn't good business.

He'd already had his breakfast spam, so when the unlucky bitch assigned to feed him tonight unlocked the cage with a palm pressed to a scanner on the glass and stepped into the flooding brightness of the enclosure, Heisenberg grinned.

"What's for dinner, sweetheart?" he asked her.

She gave him a flat look from under the visor of her protective headgear, a rebreather situation with the Ouroboros serpent emblazoned on the big, cylindrical filters. A tray in her hands held cakes of the pinkish stuff.

"What do you say you sit down with me, have a nice candlelit chat? Make for a good change of pace. Then I can string you up and gut you and turn you into a soldat. You know what a soldat is, right, sweetheart? Surely you've heard of my little home ec projects from once upon a time..."

"This will all be over a lot faster if you stop talking," the scientist said.

"Yeah, but I'm enjoying getting to know you."

"Do not-"

"Come to think of it, I have a lot I want to say."

"What?" She paused with a spongy little cake of protein supplement in hand, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Where's Mia Winters, anyway? I want to talk to her."

"...Why?"

"I have some information about the village. It's important." He grinned. "Very important."

"And why didn't you relay this before?"

"It's been fifteen years. Mind like a steel trap, but..." He shrugged. "Some of the finer details slip through the teeth."

The researcher dropped the protein supplement back to the tray with a meaty smack. She turned and left the enclosure, sealing the panel back up on her way out.

"Tell her to hurry it up!" Heisenberg yelled after her. "I might forget again!" He half-expected she would never show up. He closed his eyes, trying to slip into a half-doze, trying to get away, for a second, from the ache of the lights in his unprotected eyes.

But then there came the tap of footsteps, and Heisenberg jerked his head up and opened his eyes in time to see Mia hurry up the steps, onto the dais.

"Aw, I didn't wake you up, did I?" he said.

"Cut the bullshit, Heisenberg." Her usually-sleek hair was mussed, her face clean of makeup, exposing the bruised circles under her eyes. Little chance he'd actually woken her. She looked like she hadn't gotten any proper sleep for years. "What is it?"

"I have information. About the village? You're gonna want to know this."

She edged closer to the glass. "So tell me."

Heisenberg lowered his voice, tilting his head toward her. "It's about Ethan."

Her mouth trembled. Her fingers curled to her palms.

"So tell me," she said again.

"Do you ever wonder, late at night, exactly how he died?"

Her eyes went cold. She pushed back from the glass. "I climbed all the way up here from ops for this?" she muttered.

"No, no, you'll want to hear what I have to say." He leaned in. "Listen, Mia. I was there. I saw it.   The moment the light left...well, it didn't really leave his eyes, did it, if they turned to crystal- look, you get what I mean."

She did. She'd stopped, and now stood rigid, unblinking.

"Looked like it hurt," Heisenberg went on. "Guess you know that, though, don't you? Why you cracked after I took Rose right from under your nose and you couldn't do a thing to stop me? I could've  eaten that kid for all you could do. They sang that about me back in the village, y'know. Hunter, flesh-eater, blood in the snow. Real gory stuff. When Ethan died- ooh, that wasn't pretty, either. He was already beat-up by Miranda. Soon got worse."

"Wait." She faced the glass again. "Already beat-up by...you mean...he survived fighting against Miranda? He was...he was alive after..."

"Sure." He lowered his voice so it was just him and Mia. "But not for long."

"You killed him," Mia whispered.

She rounded on him, rounded on the glass. Her whole body shook. "You killed him," she repeated. "Didn't you?"

"I don't like loose ends." All he needed was to get her inside the glass. Come on, Winters. Work with me, here. "And Ethan...well. Freak like him, figured it would be best to put him out of his misery-"

Her fist cracked onto the glass. Now the mask was gone, crumbled away. Her face was radiant with rage. The others in the room had stopped; Heisenberg saw a few of them whispering worriedly to one another. One of the doctors hurried from the room, speaking into one of those wrist-mounted control devices.

Shit. He didn't have long.

"You say another word and I'll fry what's left of your brain with necrotoxin," Mia snarled.

"Ah-ah, sweetheart, you do that and those two babysitters of yours won't be happy."

"You're...you're lying about-" Her words got all tangled. He saw her take a breath, try again. "Ethan- he would see right through someone like you- he was good, he was truly good, he would never- he was too smart, too-"

"He was stupid enough to trust me and my bargain. Stupid enough to trust I didn't want little Rose's power all to myself. In the end, he couldn't protect her. And if he couldn't, what makes you think you possibly could?"

He saw her snap. Saw the moment her eyes went blank. She slid her hand over the scanner and shouldered her way through the doorway before it was fully open. An alarm went off; "Winters!" yelled a voice from somewhere in the observation room.

Mia didn't slow; she marched up to Heisenberg, pulling a sleek black pistol from her waistband and jamming it hard into his eye.

Heisenberg laughed. Mia's breath hissed through her teeth; damn, she really did smell amazing. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back, his spine crackling painfully at his head's special new angle.

"I don't care what they do," Mia snarled. "I don't care- I'll find him myself if it means I can watch the back of your head burst open-"

"Sorry, sweetheart," Heisenberg said. "That'll have to wait."

With a sickening pop, he cracked his thumb free of the joint. Mia's head jerked down at the sound. Too slow. Heisenberg grabbed the necrotoxin injector at his neck and ripped it free, the three-inch needle glistening in the fluorescent light as it exited his jugular vein.

In the same movement he flipped Mia, crushing her back against him and slipping the needle up to her neck. Her gun scraped off his eyeball and went wide before she could so much as fire, leaving what felt like a big 'ol gash in his eye socket on its way out.

With his power, he pulled the weapon from her hand and into his back pocket. Just in case. Could always use some scrap metal in a pinch.

Blood pulsed from the puncture wound on his throat, but the necrotoxin injector was gone, it was fucking gone; his power surged back, wild and heady, crackling through his nerves like it had missed him.

"Nobody fucking move!" he roared at the room, the chaos that had erupted beyond. "Who wants to see what happens when I inject a shitload of necrotoxin into a non-mutated body? I sure as fuck do!"

Mia gave a violent twitch in his arms at the words non-mutated body. Interesting. Heisenberg tightened his grip on her.

"I wouldn't, sweetheart," he told her. With his other hand he tore loose the rest of the harness, ripping the sensors that led under his skin and to his electric organs out with a grimace. "Ugh...my hand might slip, and...oops."

He pushed her from the cell. The darkness of the room beyond fell over him, thick and welcoming as a blanket. The ache in his eyes eased as he strode through the room, researchers scrambling out of the way.

"We have a breach, I repeat, we have a breach," a woman in a lab coat was stammering into a radio. "Iron Horse is out of containment-"

"Iron Horse?" Heisenberg scoffed. "Really?" The radio burst in a spray of plastic and metal. He shoved Mia on.

Outside, the shipboard corridor was alive with the blare of alarms, the white walls floodlit red. The usual. From down one corridor, Heisenberg heard the tromp of heavy boots. With a slash of his hand, pipes tore themselves free from the walls and snaked into a tangle over the corridor, forming a barrier against the oncoming meatheads.

"This place have a helipad?" he asked Mia.

"Fuck- you-"

"Later, sweetheart! That's why we need a helicopter." He yanked her on as bullets rattled against the pipe barrier. The sound they made, the echo of it in the backs of his teeth, the song of metal that was the rhythm of his entire being- it was different, somehow, strange.

Huh.

His inquisitive mind longed to stick around, see what Ouroboros had cooked up for its soldiers, but his rational mind won out.

"Up it is!" he yelled. He scrambled up a narrow ladder toward a hatch-like door above as orders rang down the oncoming hallway. The hatch burst open, its locking mechanism breaking with a twang and spray of lightning; electricity crackled as wind blasted through the narrow doorway, icy and flecked with snow, stinging against Heisenberg's face.

He muscled him and Mia through the door and onto the deck of a ship beyond.

He was right. It was a weighty science vessel, like something polar researchers might bust out to go look at bears in the Arctic or some shit. Rain and snow coursed down in frigid gusts, soaking Heisenberg and Mia; the deck rolled beneath Heisenberg's feet, the entire ship thrown on massive swells, the entire sea storm-gray and seamed with whitecaps. He couldn't even make out the sky; the mist swirled, low and opaque.

Bullets rattled. Mia gave a short scream as Heisenberg ducked and twisted, sheltering her with his body, bringing an arm up to slash the bullets from the air. White slashed across his calf; shit, he'd missed one. He searched the deck amidst the shouts of the approaching Ouroboros commandos. There.

Beautiful.

A small, sleek helicopter was lashed to the upper deck, its blades shedding streams of rain.

You're mine, baby.

Mia gave a sudden, violent twist in his arms, a move he thought for a moment was a desperate, last-ditch hail-Mary effort to get free. Then her leg hooked around his calf, and she threw all her weight down. His boot skidded from the deck; he was off-balance even before she brought her knee up and slammed it hard below the belt.

Heisenberg's vision went white. He doubled over, coughing, eyes streaming. Mia stood over him, her hands in fists.

One blurred; he barely jerked out of the way before it took his jaw off.

"Shit," he panted. "You've got moves-"

"Want to see more?" She lashed out with one foot, a devastating kick that should have knocked him down and let her pummel him bloody. Heisenberg shoved backward. The strike whipped past him. Mia was on her feet and ready to spring again without a second of lost momentum.

"I said I'd kill you," Heisenberg yelled, before she could strike. "And I'll kill you, sure as I'm Karl M Heisenberg."

Mia's look of rage could have sparked a forest fire. "What the fuck," she yelled, her hand already closing into a fist, "does the M stand for?"

"Misdirection!" Heisenberg said.

He flicked his hand as Mia made a scathing sound and geared up to punch his lights out. The gun intercepted her first, a blur of dark metal. It smashed into the side of her head with such force she snapped backward, going down hard to the soaked deck.

"See ya, Mia," Heisenberg said.

He stepped over her body and hurried toward the helicopter. His pace slowed as he neared it.  Those two babysitters of yours won't be happy, he'd said, and meant it.

What would Ouroboros do to Mia if he left her here, with them?

This was her last chance, he understood. She'd fucked up the Embryo project on purpose to give Ouroboros a reason to go after Ethan.

Would they lock her up?

Would they do to her what Miranda had done?

"Fuck," Heisenberg growled.

He turned around and jogged back as a squad of black-suited commandos rushed toward them. Heisenberg glanced up as he ran, then sent a slash of his power skyward.

The radio tower atop the ship's bridge snapped with a screech of breaking metal and came crashing down, felled like a tree.

Shouts filled the air, men scattering like haulers before an explosion. It crashed to the deck with a cataclysmic clangor and broke apart, shards of metal spinning in all directions. Electricity arced over the remains as Heisenberg bent down and heaved Mia over his shoulders in an ungainly fireman's carry. His bullet wound seared; blood spattered the deck, swirling in the rainwater.

"Guess that's not goodbye, after all," he told Mia, then broke out again in a flat-out run toward the helicopter. She jounced against his back. Was she dead? He sort of hoped not, if only to prove his newest hypothesis correct.

He ducked into the helicopter's shadow, flicking the doors open with a jerk of his head. Looked simple enough inside. He'd figure it out on the way.

A gunshot rang through the rain.

Heisenberg stumbled. It had kicked him right in the center back. Right through the Cadou. That meant he had about forty seconds before he started to die.

Well, he thought. Sorry, Rosie.

He blinked; there was no pain.

Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He swung Mia into his arms. A bullet wound gaped in her chest, spurting dark blood. Her eyelids fluttered, her lips parted, her wet hair stuck in mats to her rapidly-paling skin. Heisenberg looked up. Through the rain stood a massive figure, a wisp of smoke curling from his rifle barrel. The light gleamed off his wet blond hair.

Regan.

"Did I get her?" he called. "Sorry about that, Winters. No hard feelings."

He lifted the rifle for another shot.

Heisenberg heaved Mia into the helicopter, then clambered in after her, sliding the doors shut; the rifle shot cratered the door, leaving a massive inverse dent from Heisenberg's perspective. Heisenberg powered up the machine, then sliced his hand down. The cables lashing the chopper onto the deck snapped with a twang as the rotors began to whine.

"Now it's your turn," Heisenberg growled.

The remains of the radio tower rose into the air; he clenched his teeth at the effort, at the pain in his leg blurring his concentration. The helicopter lifted off with a lurch as the metal fragments churned in midair, faster and faster, men diving for cover, Regan a solitary calm figure in the chaos.

The fragments exploded outward, bolts of lightning crackling to meet the surface of the sea. The mist swirled over the ship's deck.

Heisenberg didn't wait around to see what happened. As long as they were all dead, he didn't particularly care.

***

There were some clothes in the back of the helicopter- emergency gear, Heisenberg guessed. Amongst them was a new shirt and, miraculously, a trench coat. Heisenberg pulled it on, then, maintaining a grip on the controls with his power, went to have a look at Mia.

She lay sprawled in the tight seating area at the back of the helicopter. The blood had made a decent-sized pool under her. Regan's bullet hadn't gone all the way through her- no exit wound. Heisenberg crouched by her side and gripped her head by the jaw, lolling it back toward him.

"Are ya dead, Mia?" he made her say, working her jaw like a puppet.

He let her go and straightened.

If she wasn't dead already, she should be soon. That was a lot of blood. Heisenberg sniffed, then got out her gun and ejected the magazine. He gave one of the bullets a little tap. Bigger and heavier than usual, and on each one was engraved a tiny Ouroboros serpent. There seemed to be some kind of liquid inside; he sloshed it next to his ear, listening to the sound.

So Ouroboros had been developing anti-BOW weaponry. Smart, considering where their mission had taken them. Whatever was in these bullets- necrotoxin, silver nitrate, holy water- Heisenberg didn't want them anywhere near him.

He settled back into the pilot's seat, kicking one tanker boot up onto the control panel. Misty clouds whipped at the cockpit window, leaving trails of ice on the thick glass. The temperature in here was glacial; below, Heisenberg glimpsed snowy mountains, great tracts of forest, huge dark lakes.

He was well on his way home. A few War-era charts and maps he'd dug up from the graves of dead soldiers around the junkyard had allowed him to figure out the location of the village, geographically speaking, and he thought he'd managed to steer the helicopter right so far.

Miranda would have punished him if she'd found them, but luckily she didn't seem to have a taste for the War dead, and Heisenberg had been the only ones since their funerals to disturb their graves. He remembered the pre-hauler days when he'd done all his dirty work himself, dowsing for the dead by sending his awareness down into the soil, hunting for fillings or dog tags like a human metal detector.

Like a swine, Alcina had said, languorously exhaling a cloud of blue smoke from her perfect red lips as he trudged back toward the factory. She'd been sitting on her veranda, smoking, sucking on cordials filled not with cherry syrup, but human blood. Rooting in the dirt.

He'd grinned up at her. Looking for truffles. He opened his carrying-sack, showing her the mass of mummified limbs and bones within. Want some?

He ached as much now as he had after long nights of digging, hacking at the frozen earth with shovel and pickax until, like an archaeologist spotting the gleam of gold within the black loam, he'd uncovered the shape of a curled form, sometimes skeletal, sometimes leather-fleshed, preserved by the cold for untold decades.

Such excitement, such a windfall. Until, of course, he'd cottoned on that the more recent dead, enclosed in their village graves, might prove easier pickings and better subjects.

Subjects. Apt. He winced as he prodded at his healing bullet-gash on his leg, then settled back, staring out the windows at the clouds.

Back to the village, huh.

Back to where it all started.

He thought he'd never return. Fuck that place, fuck it into the dirt. And it had gone up in smoke, and in flames, and he'd walked out of there on frozen feet with Rose in tow and now-

Gotta stop 'em, he thought. Get Winters before Ouroboros. Can't let them at him. Maybe murder them all. Yeah, that would show them.

Then-

Go get Rose, and start running again.

It sounded so easy. And it would be easy, he told himself. It was the same thing he'd told himself all the long years of work that ended in Miranda's death. And he'd succeeded then, right? He'd done what he promised. He'd avenged himself, avenged everyone Miranda had hurt. His life had become his own.

But he still couldn't rest.

Rose won't run with you this time, a small voice said. A child's voice, a boy scared of the dark. She'll leave you all alone. Whatever peace you thought you'd buy with Rose, little Karl, died a long, long time ago.

"Fuck that," Heisenberg growled, but nothing answered him.

That is, until a scream split the air, and Mia Winters launched herself from the floor and onto him like a rabid animal.

Metal flashed; something jabbed into Heisenberg's arm. He smacked his elbow into Mia's sternum, flinging her back.

With a groan, Heisenberg rose; an empty needle dangled from his arm.

"What..." he said.

"Misdirection," Mia hissed.

Heisenberg's vision flashed. The world rolled. Necrotoxin? Ah, shit-

"Wha' you do-"

The helicopter lurched under them as his control over it slipped. Mia's eyes sprang wide; she scrambled for the controls as the ground swooped upward.

The last Heisenberg saw before the darkness closed over his vision was her grabbing at the joysticks, her hand slipping off them, torn away by the g-forces of the helicopter beginning its final descent.

***

A small silver helicopter plunged from the clouds, skidded off a mountainside in a spray of gravel and snow, bounced, then plunged again. It hit the treeline hard, rotors screaming through wood and rocks, bent and twisted by the time the helicopter slewed and slowed and came at last to a halt.

A final judder-

Then nothing. The world went still again.

There was a beat.

Then Heisenberg kicked out the windshield. He stared at his surroundings: the snowy mountainside, the trees. Taking a deep breath, he said, with feeling-

"Fuck."