#them getting they dicks out in the urinals together energy

[realbeefman]

some of y’all clearly don't understand what it's like to avert your eyes when your friend starts changing in front of you and your heart starts pounding in your chest and you could say something, SHOULD say something, tell her to change her clothes in a different room and admit to this freakish attraction that you know she doesn't feel, ruin the friendship by coloring every moment of casual intimacy with the knowledge that you are a pervert who wants more, that you are a threat. you don’t say anything. and you look up and watch the pale expanse of her lower back from the corner of your eye as she pulls on a white blouse, and something lurches in your stomach and you laugh at the joke she just told even though you weren’t really listening to the set-up. later on you will feel sick and guilty and cry alone in a bed that feels empty, but for just a moment, you are laughing with a beautiful girl who loves you, and it doesn’t matter if it’s wrong

[extra-v1rgin]

Idk if this is very sexy bc I was focuses less on that >_<

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

Douma was practically never left alone. Most of his day was spent appeasing his followers, breaking up fights or hearing their moans of sadness. Each day a row of people would come in and weep about their relationships or money or whatever idiotic thing had bothered them that day. It seemed never-ending and even after seeing fifty people, fifty more would show up the next day.

Even beyond the lectures there are business meetings and meals. At night there is someone by his side, sometimes two or three. Everything blurs together until decades pass. Douma spends most of his life as a demon horribly bored.

It’s hard to make things exciting. Overtime he’s tasted every flavor of human and tried every sex position. There’s only one activity that gets him eager to approach his followers.

Douma’s pants are loose. It allows him to get away with quite a lot underneath. Though now all he hides is a bit of chub.

There are only a few things a demon can drink, blood being the main one of course. Overtime the demon has grown fond of sake tinted pink with a woman’s innards. He drinks it by the bottle. The alcohol doesn’t make him drunk at all, though sometimes Douma swears he feels fuzzy at the back of his mind.

In the morning he’ll drink his fill. The taste is sharp but the liquid slides down his throat easily. Afterwards a morning routine follows. A handful of attractive men and women bathe and then dress him. Some older uglier woman reads him a schedule for the day. Its meetings and worship and food (though not Douma’s type) and then more meetings.

The blonde easily gets through the first few hours of the day. He even drinks some more alcohol, through a flask in between a mourning mother and cheating businessman.

Only when Douma stands and is ushered to the dining room does he feel the effects. He can feel exactly where his innards are, what’s affecting him. His bladder sits low in his stomach. When it’s full it pushes down on his prostate from the inside. It’s a unique feeling, one Douma can’t experience in any other way. Once he carefully sliced open his stomach to try but it wasn’t quite the same.

If the demon wanted he could will his blood away from his cock, or simply soak up the urine. Instead he lets his plump dick sway beneath his pants. It fills his fundoshi but is only barely visible through his pants. You’d have to look closely to notice. It’s likely some do. He can feel the eyes sliding over his body carefully. Nobody says anything to him but whispers are surely being exchanged.

Douma ignores any distractions. He watches over lunch while rocking slowly. At some point the feeling in his bladder goes from an arousing fullness to a push. The blonde has to stop his rocking. Every movement draws attention to it.

By the time lunch has ended Douma sucks in a hard breath with each step. Each time he forgets how much energy it takes to do something as simple as hold in his bladder.

Blessedly he has less people to see than usual. The long line that stretched out his doors before is down to only a handful of people.

Sitting down on a throne of plush cushions relieves some of the pressure. It continues to slowly build but the feeling is dampened.

Douma forgets just how long his followers can drone on for. There’s only eleven people to get through but each one takes at least five minutes. Many try to speak longer but his aides are quick to usher them out of the room.

Five people pass through before the cracks start to show. When Douma shifts, just slightly, his dick twitches. The hold on his muscles slip and piss spurts into his fundoshi. It’s not wet enough to soak through his pants but with his underwear dampened it clings to the head of his dick. If he could sweat there’d be drops running down his forehead.

Even once the last visitor is gone his aides linger for a moment. They wait for Douma to stand and disappear into his private chambers. With a wide smile he tries to wave them off. Each movement leads to a slip on his grasp.

His followers are almost too devoted. The most faithful offer heaps of assistance. Someone brushes their fingers against his elbow. It takes some coaxing for the group to leave.

Alone the demon finds no reprieve. He should make it to his room before someone comes wandering back inside. However he cannot make himself move. The moment he stands any semblance of control will be lost. Anticipation builds as fear grips him.

Finally he finds the will to lift himself. Douma’s hands dart between his legs as if he can hold back the inevitable. When he rises it begins. A few spurts at first but by the time he manages to escape the greeting room it’s soaking through his pants. Within his room he falls into the bed where the sheets get wet as well. Douma pants like he’s tired, exhausted.

As soon as the stream ends his fist wraps around his cock. Everything’s slick and it allows his hand to glide easily. It takes only a moment for his cock to get hard and the demon gets ready for another kind of release.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 10: crying

slightly more straightforward h/c this time!

summary: set after the ric grayson/joker war arc in nightwing. 

dick’s been missing for two months. jason finds him first, but it’s just the first step in finding how very, very lost dick really is.

warnings: SPOILERS for the aforementioned nightwing arcs. plentiful cursing. moderately graphic descriptions of injuries.

crying

The last time Jason received a family-wide SOS to help them rescue Dick, the guy was a twice-brainwashed mess whose brain was being pulled in opposite directions by the Court of Owls and the fucking Joker, and that was after said brain had been shattered by a fucking sniper’s bullet. (And a period of being left to fend for himself with a broken brain in between, but Jason doesn’t really like to think about that.) This time, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. He can’t imagine things have gotten even worse than the last go-around, but then again, Jason knows from personal experience that there’s no end to the list of ‘things that are worse than dying’.

Besides, the alert came from Babs. And, in quick succession, Tim, Bruce, Duke, and Cass. If nothing else, Jason is curious.

Dick disappeared from Bludhaven about two months ago. The reason the oh-so-precise Bats have the word ‘about’ in that statement is because nobody can really pinpoint the exact date it happened. Donna can recall dropping by his place ten weeks ago. Tim maybe exchanged a few emails or text messages a few weeks ago but didn’t really get alarmed about Dick not responding to his messages until the radio silence stretched for over a month. Bruce had his trackers on (that bastard) but Dick hates them and is known to destroy the ones he finds. And they can’t even really depend on reports of Nightwing sightings in the city because having his brain knocked around and pulled apart like taffy means Dick takes regular holidays from patrols if he’s not feeling particularly steady that day. (Look what being sensible and having a smidgeon of a sense of self-preservation got him.) And the CCTV in his apartment complex was shit, so. 

It’s almost like it was a planned thing, like he was kidnapped, but honestly it’s how things go and how they’ve gone for a very long time: they drift in their own worlds for long periods until an event brings them together, and then it’s back to being scattered across the country again (or sometimes the world, or sometimes the galaxy). Dick is more prone to this than most; he’s probably gone undercover more than any of them, and he’s lived the longest on his own as well. 

Even after the clusterfuck that was the last year and change, it’s nothing new. And if that isn’t the most fucking depressing thing that Jason’s had to think about today, it turns out that not only have the Family figured out where Dick is, but that Jason is the one that’s closest to his location. 

So here he is, shivering, on a particularly icy night on the Gotham docks, scoping out the warehouse where Dick’s supposed to be. It’s not very well-guarded, which either means there’s nothing in there and this is a massive waste of his time, or that it’s a trap and what’s waiting on the other side is a fucking bomb or something even worse. It’s not a great situation to be in either way, and Jason’s got half a mind to have Tim or even Bruce take over--but it’d take too long for them to get there and Jason’s never been fond of the idea of handing over to someone else anything that he could potentially do by himself.

Besides, like he said, he’s curious.

He crouches down at his vantage point overlooking the warehouse and presses the communicator in his ear. “Two guards in front but nothing else; the place is practically abandoned. Infrared picking up three people inside.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, bracing, ready to spring. “I’m about to go in.”

Tim grunts. “I’ll be there in fifteen, give or take a couple.”

“Twenty,” Bruce says. Then: “Hood, you--” An uncharacteristic pause, and Jason can feel the sudden, uneasy chill across the entire comm channel. Bruce clears his throat. “Be careful. Assess the situation first. Don’t engage alone unless it’s an emergency.”

There’s a thanks for stating the obvious on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but something about the gravity of the situation, the mildest quaver in Bruce’s voice (he’s been missing for two months, god, two months) has him say, instead: “Roger that.”

Jason makes quick work of the guards in the front, leaving them in unconscious heaps on the ground before he creeps in. They’d hardly put up a fight, which just makes Jason’s stomach twist in anxious knots. The anxiety is made worse by the complete lack of resistance when he’s actually inside: there are only two huge, cavernous rooms, and one of them has two of the three people that he’d detected. They scatter as soon as they see him and Jason considers chasing, but now his nerves are stretched so taut that he thinks he’s going to vomit if he doesn’t see Dick now--

The night-vision on Jason’s helmet catches a figure sitting, slumped, in the corner of the room. A chain connects a manacle around its ankle to the wall, and another between the same wall and… a collar around its neck. Jason’s blood is already boiling before he steps closer and recognises the figure as Dick. His hair is long and shabby, having grown past his chin, curtaining his face. He’s shirtless but wearing ripped, stained jeans. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the thin metal biting into his wrists enough to leave his hands puffy and slightly purple from the lack of effective circulation. He looks considerably thinner--Jason can just about count the ribs under his skin--and every visible part of his torso is painted in bruises in various stages of healing. And--

--and he’s breathing.

Well, thank fuck. That’s a start.

Jason crouches in front of Dick and presses his comm again. “Found N. Little worse for wear, but alive and safe.”

He ignores the immediate clamour of questions from the others to focus on trying to get Dick awake. He brushes Dick’s hair aside and gently lifts his chin to have a look at his eyes. 

Dick smiles at him. “Hey.”

Jason is beset by an onslaught of emotion that’s part relief, part incredulity and part anger, so much so that he thinks he’s going to fucking burst with the pressure of it. Of course that would be the first thing out of Dick’s mouth--hey--like he’s meeting Jason for cocktails after work instead of being rescued after two months of captivity and torture! Well he can take that hey and shove it right up his fucking--

“Is there anything else here we need to worry about,” Jason says, busying himself with picking the locks on Dick’s manacles so that he doesn’t snap and say something he’ll regret.

Dick shakes his head. He’s got a shaggy beard going and he stinks of sweat and urine and filth, but there’s a sense of… togetherness to him, like he’d always known that Jason was going to show up at this exact minute and that had always been part of his plan. “They scattered as soon as they got word that you guys were coming,” he says, voice thin and raspy. “I guess not enough of them were curious to stick around to find out why so many capes would be coming for me.”

Jason pops the manacles and collar loose and goes to work on the cuffs. “So you weren’t taken as Nightwing.”

Dick sighs, then winces as the motion pulls on the gigantic bruise around his neck. “I wasn’t taken as Dick Grayson, either.”

The cuffs come off with a click. Jason stares at him. “So… what, you were just some poor mug they picked up off the streets to… torture for shits and giggles?”

Dick is silent for a moment. His eyes flick to a point behind Jason and back again. “They knew me as Ric.”

It takes a moment for the name to click in Jason’s brain, but he finally remembers that it was what Dick called himself during his brain-injured year in Bludhaven. “Why would Ric have enemies?” he says, without thinking.

There’s that smile on Dick’s face again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ric did have a life, Jason. And friends. And… enemies.” He begins to move, bare feet shifting against the floor and shifting his weight onto his hands as if he’s trying to figure out a way to stand up, but barely manages an inch of elevation before he runs out of energy, breathing heavily. “Ric--I used to fight. Street fights. Involved a lot more money and people than I remembered, and… apparently a lot of people felt betrayed when I just up and left the city one day. I’ve been fighting matches here almost every day.” A sudden, sharp grin. “I haven’t lost yet.”

Jason--stops. Utterly freezes, hands midway to helping Dick sit upright, because there’s something terribly, terribly wrong here. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape? And how--I mean, in the first place--”

How did you even get caught?

To Jason’s horror, tears start rolling down Dick’s face. His expression doesn’t really change, so Jason’s not sure that Dick’s even aware that he’s crying, but right now Jason is already halfway to being mortified. “I was on my way back from the gym,” Dick says finally, “and I think I--I blacked out. It happens sometimes.” Dick gives a wet laugh. “Talk about bad timing.”

“And--and what, you blacked out for two months?”

At this Dick’s face crumples, and suddenly Jason gets it: this is a man pushed and pushed to the end of his rope and beyond, utterly exhausted, past the point of caring who knows about it or why. “I guess…” Dick swallows. “I didn’t really see the difference. Between--between here and out there.”

Jason wants to scream, shake his shoulders--a shameful part of him even wants to hit Dick--and tell him that of course it was different outside of this stupid, dank warehouse: he has friends and family and a lifetime of experience to support him while he flies free. It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, and Jason is ready to put these words down to the effects of too much pain and too little food.

Except--

(plucked you right out of one life and stuffed you into another, didn’t they? treated you like a puppet without a past and a future, didn’t they? didn’t let you entertain the idea of a different life even for a minute, did they? punished you for straying, reminded you there was just too much at stake, and that those stakes were always, always bigger than you or your health or your happiness or your future--)

“Dick, I--” Jason really doesn’t know what to say. Tim says, “ETA five” in his ear while Bruce says, “Right behind you, Robin” and Jason knows, just knows, that this isn’t how they would want to see Dick, and more importantly, this isn’t how Dick would want them to see him.

He gathers Dick in his arms and presses him to his chest. Dick freezes for a second, surprised, then melts into his embrace. His shoulders shake, hands coming up to weakly grasp at Jason’s jacket. The sobs reach a crescendo quickly, a pathetic keening muffled into Jason’s chest, before tapering away and Dick is still, just… breathing. 

Jason breathes with him.

That’s how Tim and Bruce find them a couple of minutes later. Dick peels away and somehow musters the energy to reassure them. Bruce helps him up and carries him to the car while Jason follows; just as Dick’s lowered into the backseat his hand shoots out, grasping Jason’s arm in a silent plea. 

Jason gets in with him. Neither he nor Bruce say anything through the whole drive at the tears that continue to pour down Dick’s face, but Jason doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride.

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 17 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Chapter 15; Chapter 16)

Emily - September - October 1944 Emily’s mind was with Nixon as she quietly crept down towards the kitchen. He had looked so disheveled wandering the halls like a madman. Emily worried that he was struggling to sleep again. She flicked on a small lamp just inside the kitchen. It provided enough light to guide the kettle. Within a moment Emily stood beside the stove waiting for the water to boil. She wanted to be careful to pull it off the burner just before it whistled. The last thing she wanted was to wake the entire house of officers before they left England for good.

A slight draft blew through the window panes just above the sink and Emily was glad she had thought to bring the tartan blanket from the foot of her bed. As she waited, she peered out the window expecting to see nothing but black. Emily imagined all the creatures that may be roaming about in the night. She had seen plenty of deer, rabbits, and even a few foxes since coming to Aldbourne. Instead of woodland animals, Emily made out the faint silhouette of someone sitting on the bench only a few yards from the manor. She squinted through the pane wondering if it was one of the officers. A speck of orange illuminated the raven night and Emily recognized the posture of the man smoking. She knew that figure, she had sat beside him for hours. Emily pulled the kettle off of the stove and filled two mugs. Clutching her blanket with one hand, Emily balanced the steaming mugs against her chest. The ceramics weren’t hot through the wool blanket but she walked quickly outside anyways, afraid the tea would cool once it hit the night air. “Hey Joe,” Emily approached Joe Toye, adjusting her grip on the mugs. It was chilly outside, but not so cold that the blanket wouldn’t suffice for warmth. The bench Joe sat on was perfect for over looking the low swooping valley below. Emily could smell the smoke from his cigarette who’s tip glowed each time he sucked at it. “Am I disturbing you?” She asked. “Emily, hey,” Joe hardly turned to look over her shoulder, “nah, take a seat.” Emily circled the bench and sat down beside him gazing off into the darkness. She held out one of the hot mugs, “tea?” she asked. Joe grimaced, but accepted the cup, “I don’t know why the tom’s are so moony over this stuff,” he said taking a tentative drink. Emily chuckled, “you don’t have to drink it.” “Eh it’s okay, thanks,” Joe flicked his cigarette to the ground. “So what’re you doing out here?” Emily asked. “I don’t know, just couldn’t sleep.” “Feeling anxious about tomorrow?” Emily kept her voice gentle. Something about Joe allowed her to immediately let her guard down. She felt totally comfortable around him but that didn’t mean he was comfortable around her. “A little bit, I don’t know.” “That’s reasonable to feel that way,” Emily said. She didn’t want to push him. Joe exhaled deeply. They sat in companionable silence for a while. A breeze rattled the leaves in the trees as if warning them of their fate. Emily much preferred the cold to the heat. She was perfectly content cocooned in her blanket with the cool air turning her cheeks red. “Would you call me a coward if I told you I was scared?” Joe’s voice was husky. Emily looked at him in surprise. “Not at all Joe! Not one bit.” Even in the dark Emily could see Joe’s Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Is there something specific you’re worried about?” Emily asked gently. “I don’t wanna let anyone down,” Joe confessed into the night. “Joe, why would you say that? You’re not going to let anyone down. You’re one of the best soldiers in Easy Company.” Joe chuckled humorlessly, “I have a hard time believing that.” “It’s true,” Emily kept her voice low, “ask any guy here. You’re the one they want in their corner. You’re the one I want in my corner.” Emily wasn’t just saying that to make him feel better. She had gotten to know Joe well since Normandy and there were few people in the world she trusted more. Joe was the kind of guy who would be there for you without question. “Ugh,” Joe groaned. He ran a thick hand across his face. “Fuck. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing here, why I deserve to be with the best of the best.” Emily’s heart ached for him. She knew exactly how he was feeling. There were few feelings worse than doubting your own place. It was incredibly lonely. “Because you’re one of the best,” she said firmly. Joe laughed bitterly but otherwise accepted her compliment. “I honestly wonder what I’m doing here sometimes too,” Emily admitted. “Yeah?” Joe looked at her properly for the first time all night. “Yeah. I came over here a completely different person and now,” she shrugged, “now sometimes I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing.” “You’re the map girl,” Joe said matter-of-factly. Emily laughed, “oh is that what I am?” Joe allowed himself a little smile, “I mean that’s what we call you. That’s one of your nicknames at least.” Emily’s mouth dropped in mock shock, she was curious, “What? How did I not know I had nicknames! What else am I known by?” “You really wanna know?” “Yes!” “Mrs. Nixon.” A shiver ran through Emily’s body and her face grew hot. “Sorry if that embarrasses ya,” Joe said. “Why Mrs. Nixon?” Emily tried to keep her voice light. “You know there’s a real Mrs. Nixon right?” Joe shrugged, “yeah, but you’re like Captain Nixon’s work wife. You guys are always together workin’ on somethin’,” he said innocently. Emily’s muscles relaxed slightly at his explanation. “I prefer map girl,” she said. “Yeah me too, you got me all set up for Normandy.” “I’m glad you made it back,” Emily said sincerely. They exchanged a look that only two people who had been to hell and back could interpret. “Yeah,” he said. Emily inhaled deeply, pulling as much of the outside air into her lungs as she could. “I’m going to go back to bed. You should probably think about getting some sleep too.” “Yeah,” Joe said morosely. His thousand-yard stare was back, “yeah.” “Okay Joe,” Emily patted him tenderly on the shoulder, “good luck tomorrow.” “‘Night.” Emily made her way back to her bedroom where she fell into a restless sleep. The journey to Holland was much more grueling than the trip to France had been. The action was less concentrated and it took weeks for Emily to be reunited with her paratroopers. Operation Market Garden had gone poorly and her route was diverted towards Arnhem rather than the over-ambitious point across the Rhine. The 101st had managed to secure a few bridges and roadways but the initial encounter near Eindhoven had resulted in Easy Company’s retreat. When Emily finally reconnected with the 101st in Schoonderlogt she sought Nixon out for instructions. He and Winters were standing outside of the building where Easy’s second platoon was bunked up. She noticed the spot of raw red flesh on Nixon’s forehead as soon as she saw him. “What’s that?” she demanded, “wait and why do you smell like urine?” 
Nixon shot Winters a dirty look but didn’t offer any explanation. Winters retold a rather jarring close call Nixon had outside Eindhoven. As Easy Company moved to retreat a bullet ricocheted off his helmet, leaving behind a burn at the top of his forehead. For all intents and purposes, Nixon was fine. He had only been left with the small red scar which was expected to fade away. Nixon thought so little of his brush with death that he had the gall to be annoyed with Winters for informing Emily about the incident. Winters, cool as ever, was uninhibited by Nixon’s attitude and explained matter of factly how shaken both he and Nixon had been in the moment. “I’m fine, it’s fine. It’s not some dramatic war story!” Nixon protested. “No,” Winters conceded, “I’m just telling her how it happened.” Emily tried to match the candid energy of the men but deep down something stirred in her: panic. She wanted to scold Nixon for not retreating quicker. She wanted to ask him so many questions like if the burn had caused him any pain. What would she have done if the bullet had penetrated the metal? She would’ve lost him. It was in that moment she realized she would not be able to cope if he had been killed. “I’m fine,” Nixon repeated firmly, looking directly in her eyes. Emily cleared her throat, “I know. You’re standing here aren’t you?” “Exactly. Plus, you’re lucky you didn’t make it here earlier. 2nd and 3rd Battalions’ C.P.s were hit in force. Major Horton was killed.” “What?” Emily asked in shock, her stomach rolled with fear. “Yeah, glad you weren’t working when the Germans hit,” Winters added. Emily had missed out on so much. Obviously, the army had gotten her over as quickly as they could but she wasn’t priority personnel and the roads were difficult to travel. She cursed her femininity. If she had been a soldier she would have been able to slip back to 2nd Battalion with greater ease. Every day throughout her journey she had encountered men who were AWOL from the hospital, trekking back to their companies, and it didn’t take them nearly a month. “By the way, Em, I think we’re gonna need you later. Dick and I have got to go meet Strayer and I’m sure he’ll have a project for me,” Nixon said. “I’ll be at HQ anyways,” Emily said, “I have some things to set up anyways.” Nixon nodded at her, “thanks.” He and Winters jumped in a jeep and drove off. Emily took the chance to take in her surroundings. Everywhere around her soldiers were bustling about unloading trucks and dodging jeeps. The dirt roads were sodden with mud. Emily looked down at her boots. This wasn’t the first time she was grateful that they were part of her uniform. She began to make her way down the road past thatched grooves and stone buildings. As she walked she made various plans in her mind for what she wanted to get done once she made it the Battalion HQ. It was difficult reconnecting with her team after so much time apart. There was no saying what they had started working on, and Emily had little clue as to the recent developments in their corner of the war. The first couple of hours would inevitably be spent playing catch up. It was an extra hurdle for her to overcome, all because she would never be authorized for jump training. Let’s keep the bitter thoughts to a minimum, she chided herself. There was no place for negative thinking in a war zone. She made it to the command post to find it bustling with officers. Colonel Sink was barking orders in the background. Emily slipped in as inconspicuously as possible and found her way to a side room where other intelligence staff members were working. “Hi Larkin,” she said to a young S-1 working over an open chest. He was pulling out stacks of papers and re-arranging them on a nearby desk. “Hi Miss Rooney,” he briefly looked up to greet her. “What’s the most recent status on things?” she asked him. “Um, we’ll be in this area for a while. Patrols are being sent out to monitor the area while we get situated. A few have already successfully taken some key crossroad points.” Emily nodded, “thanks.” Larkin was concise. It was enough information for Emily to begin to work off of. She located a map of the area and began to review the intersections surrounding Schoonderlogt and outside of Arnhem. “Has anyone been tracking what’s been secured?” Emily asked. Larkin handed her another version of the map she was looking at with few places marked in red ink. “Thanks!” Emily accepted the map. “Okay,” Nixon clapped his hands together sharply, announcing his entrance, “we’ve got some work to do. We’re assisting the British Lt. Colonel Dobie here with rescuing a bunch of his men.” Lt. Colonel Dobie stepped in behind Nixon. “Where are they?” Emily asked looking up from her map. “15 miles north of the river.” Emily tracked the map as he spoke, “Easy company will meet them on the riverbank with boats.” “What do you need from us?” Emily asked Nixon. “We need to pinpoint where exactly to place the boats. Also, we need to take a look at the enemy dispositions and area maps.” Larkin directed Nixon and Dobie to the dispositions as Emily sat by feeling somewhat useless. She hadn’t yet familiarized herself with this intelligence room and she couldn’t help but feel somewhat embarrassed that she wasn’t the one confidently assisting Nixon. She could not afford to slip, not now. The rescue mission, known as Operation Pegasus, was more than successful. It took three trips but Easy Company was able to get all of the Brits across the Rhine without incident. That night Emily could hear the men cheering from the long thatched building down the road. The allied men were celebrating another day of life in their godforsaken world and it made Emily smile to think of their joy, no matter how fleeting. But tragedy struck soon after. A jumpy private shot Moose Heyliger while on guard. Welsh had arrived at the scene. The day after the event Emily could tell Welsh was shaken. His face was gaunt with exhaustion and worry. Emily’s first instinct was to comfort him, at least in the way she would have before Normandy. But Nixon’s words from months ago rang in her head. Since then, Emily had become self-conscious of her friendship with Harry. Heading Nixon’s words she had distanced herself somewhat from the engaged man; not that he really seemed to notice. And to her surprise, she hadn’t really missed him. He was still a happy face to see around and she felt an obligation to be there for him in moments he was hurting. But she had realized that she didn’t crave his company, no more than she craved George’s or any of her other friends. Welsh was nice to have around but Emily didn’t pine for him like she thought she should’ve if she were truly in love. The weeks passed and the weather grew colder in Holland. One day Emily was reviewing the allies' advance deeper into Belgium when a quick question came up. She decided to seek out Nixon to see if he could help direct her. He wasn’t in his office so she walked down the hallway to Winters’ office which was her best guess as to where Nixon might be. The glass-paned door was open but she could hear voices conversing inside so she hung back. The office was occupied by more than just Nixon and Winters. A moment later, Bill Guarnere exited the office and Winters assistant closed the office door. 

“Hiya sweetheart,” Bill said as he passed her. Emily smiled warmly at him then moved to approach the door. As she drew closer she could hear Nixon and Welsh conversing with Winters. “I’m outta here, I’m going to Rheims.” She heard Welsh’s voice through the thin door. “Strayer will be in London for at least another week for Lt. Colonel Dobie’s wedding.” Nixon was speaking now, “I personally am heading back to Aldbourne to look up a certain young lady.” Emily’s stomach sunk with Nixon’s words. She hadn’t realized he was still in touch with the woman he had been seeing in Aldbourne. There was no explanation for her feeling but the idea of Nixon traveling so far back to see his lover filled Emily with rage. What was he doing wasting his time on that woman? He was married for christ’s sake, why was this woman worth compromising that? “May I help you?” Winter’s assistant asked. Emily looked at him blankly, “uh, no, actually, never mind.” Clutching her pad folio closer to her chest she turned on her heel and marched back down the hallway.

[shutupandshipit]

Little Life - Ch.13

Summary:  A baby could ruin his career before it had even started. If anyone found out, he would be kicked out of the Hero Course at the very least and UA at the very worst. Even then, how was he supposed to care for a baby once it arrived? He was a fucking seventeen-year-old boy, not a twenty-nine-year-old omega with their shit at least somewhat together.

…..

Or where Katsuki get pregnant, but is determined to make it to graduation. No matter what it takes.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for language mostly)

Chapter: 13/16

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Master Post

Chapter 13: Class

Katsumi snuffled, making noise for the first time since the class period had started. Without looking up from his notes, Katsuki started to purr low in his chest. He reached between his body and the sling he kept her in to open his shirt enough to tuck her head against his chest.

Immediately, she latched on. He only stiffened for a moment at the sharp pain that reawakened from his abused nipples before settling into the familiar rush of endorphins. Katsumi didn't always want to eat when she woke up, but they'd gotten her on a pretty good schedule. Katsuki also seemed to possess a preternatural understanding of what she wanted before she started to cry, which helped because he could barely stand the crying. He knew that before getting pregnant, and it had not changed. If she was fussy, Izuku usually took her without comment to find a place to soothe her.

Katsuki studiously ignored the way Jirou was stared across the short space between them in fascination.

Katsumi had started growing quickly after her birth. Already, she was six pounds and had sprouted long limbs. She looked like a fucking muppet, but Izuku refused to let him dress her as Kermit the Frog. Not that he still didn't when he got together with Kirishima and Ochako. Mina had been exiled from baby time after she couldn't control her quirk in the baby's presence the first time.

She was still a far cry from how big most pups were even born at, but she was growing. That was the biggest thing. Her small size and uncooperative limbs seemed to be the bane of her existence and the predominant reason for her fussy crying. When she fussed and cried. So far, she'd been a pretty quiet baby, and Katsuki couldn't have been more thankful.

All of her extra energy that didn't go to crying or growing limbs twice her size seemingly went into mass producing hair just like her damn father. While her eyes were still the vibrant red of Katsuki's, her hair had become a bushel of green curls that he just knew he'd be fighting for the rest of his natural life.

Ten minutes later, Aizawa snapped his book closed at the front of the class. "Take fifteen. Midnight will be here soon." Without preamble, he strode from the room to leave his rowdy students to their chaos.

Katsuki groaned, stretching one arm over his head and then the other to keep Katsumi still. In her sling, Katsumi's mouth pulled away. She started to whine against his skin. Fishing her out to wiggle his fingers in her face, he said without looking, "Deku, can you take Katsumi? I need to piss."

Izuku swooped in beside him, pressing a kiss to Katsuki's temple as he scooped up the baby. She was dressed in an All Might onesie that was still a little big on her, but Katsuki had modified it in the important places. "Of course I can. How's my beautiful baby girl doing?" he cooed, pressing kisses all over her face and stomach as she giggled.

Katsuki stood, stretching again before returning the kiss. "She probably needs a change before Midnight gets here. I didn't change her before this period. She might be dry, but you should check." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep from reaching for her again. He trusted Izuku implicitly with Katsumi, but there was always a bit of anxiety when he let her go. Izuku wasn't the problem in this equation, it was the rest of the idiots who got up to coo at the little green haired baby. If he didn't have to pee, he wouldn't leave their sides for an instant, but if he were actually being honest, he needed a moment to himself. "You know, before she starts screaming. She needs to be burped too. Give her five more minutes, and then check if she needs a change."

Before he left, he turned to Kirishima. "Don't let Mineta anywhere near them. If I find him within ten feet of her again, I will string him up by his ankles at the front gate."

Looking aggrieved, but in complete agreement, Kirishima nodded.

Izuku didn't look up at he nodded as well, spending the time blowing a raspberry against her cheek to make her giggle again. "I can do that," he said before exclaiming, "You've been eating so much, but it's all going to your hair!"

Turning, Katsuki quickly left the room, ignoring the urge to snap the necks of everyone that crowded around Izuku in his wake. He'd just have to trust Kirishima -which he also did- to keep them mostly at bay.

Instead of taking a urinal, Katsuki locked himself in a stall. When he was done, he just pressed his back to the door. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrists. He was tired, so fucking tired.

Between class, homework, training and the baby, it felt like he never slept. Which was a lie. Katsumi never cried at night. Both his and Izuku's bodies were set on a timer now, and rarely did they not wake up before she even began to murmur. So, they never got the jerk of surprise from being woken by a cry. Waking up every couple of hours was still waking up every couple of hours though.

So far, Katsuki had only woken up three times to find Katsumi nursing while Izuku dosed with the two of them pulled to his chest, the baby cradled between them. And there had only been four times when Izuku didn't even twitch a muscle when Katsuki rose to get her from her crib.

Still, he was tired. He knew he would be. That was at least something that had been consistent in his research. He had been tired for ten straight months, and he was likely to be until Katsumi could at least make a sandwich on her own.

With a heavy sigh, he moved to push himself away from the door, but stopped when he heard the bathroom door open again.

"Yo, like what the fuck is up with that?" a voice asked, unfamiliar, but most voices were. He didn't usually pay enough attention to other students enough to recognize people he didn't see as frequently as his classmates.

"What's up with what?" Another unfamiliar voice.

"That prick from 3-A carrying around a baby. What the fuck is his name again? Bakugou or something?"

"Dude, didn't you see the news. That's the baby he rescued during that huge battle a month ago."

The first voice scoffed. "That's a load of crap, and you know it. Did you know he's an omega?"

"Yes? He's part of the big three and he's one of the only male omegas in the hero course? Do you even go to this school? What are you on about? Are you jealous that he's a better hero than you or just mad that he's not your omega?"

"Me? Jealous of that asshole? As if," the first voice laughed, "That baby is his for sure. He probably fucked his way to the top, and got pregnant doing it. Bet if I asked nicely, he'd get on his knees like the slut he is. I'd show him what a real alpha is supposed to be. He'd never get enough-"

Having heard enough, Katsuki kicked open the stall door, breaking the lock and the hinges in one fell swoop.

"Oh shit," the holder of the second voice whispered, eyes widening as he stood up straight from where he'd been leaning against a skin.

Darkly, Katsuki traced his eyes over the alpha standing still in front of a urinal, lingering on his dick in his hands. He smirked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Like you could ever hope to be enough of an alpha to handle me. I would wreck you," he growled, stepping passed the broken stall door to stand next to him, "Like you'd be enough of an alpha to handle my mate." His eyes dropped to the alpha's dick again as he sneered. "Pathetic. Omega or not, baby or not, I'm still going to be the top in the end."

With that very specific, very pointed double entendre, he headed for the door. He stopped by the other student who was cowering by the sink. The boy stunk of the other alpha, but the scent was forced, not mixed like it was with him and Izuku. Their coupling clearly wasn't a happy one. He clapped the student on the shoulder, and the boy flinched. "Listen omega, I'm only going to say this once. Don't settle for an alpha just because you think you need to to make it at this school as a hero. You're better than the likes of him. There are way better people out there to be your mate and friend. You can stand on your own two feet just fine."

He left before either student could get their faculties about them.

.....

Katsuki and Izuku were on the couch watching Ochako float a giggling Katsumi in her lap when Katsuki's phone rang. Picking it up, he immediately yelled, "Kirishima, catch!" before chucking it across the common room.

"Ah man, not again," Kirishima whined as he caught the phone to answer it brightly. "Mrs. Bakugou, hi! No, he's not available right now. He's at training with All Might. Right. Yes, I know. Yeah, I'll tell him. No, I don't think he's avoiding you." He shot Katsuki a heated look before returning to the call. "He's just really busy right now with practicals and finals coming up. Yeah, I'll tell him. Okay. Bye."

Kirishima walked back to him, phone in hand. "Man, stop avoiding your mom. You're going to have to talk to her at some point."

Katsuki sneered. "Like hell I do."

"Kacchan, you still haven't talked to your parents?" Izuku asked, pinning him with an admonishing glare.

"You can't say shit to me. You haven't told your mom about Katsumi either," Katsuki spat back, standing to sit on the floor beside Ochako. He wiggled his fingers in Katsumi's face and she grabbed for them, face scrunching when she couldn't quite catch them. When he stilled long enough for her to grip his fingers, she immediately stuffed them in her mouth.

Izuku's face reddened, and he stuttered, "W-well, I'm just... waiting for the perfect moment. I don't want to tell her over the phone."

"And I don't want to wake up with a knife to my throat. I'm saving your ass too. She'll kill me, but she'll hang you outside the front door like a flag, and you know it."

Izuku groaned, but didn't protest as he dropped his face into his hands. "She's just going to be more angry the longer we wait."

Ochako sighed. "I know that Mr. Aizawa said it was your jobs to tell your parents about this since you're 'adults' -loosely defined- but this is honestly a childish way to go about it. You can't hide this from her forever. She already knows you're hiding something. You need to stop hiding, and get this over with."

"Give me back my baby," Katsuki growled without much heat.

"No, she's having fun," Ochako retorted, smacking away his other hand as it reached for Katsumi, "Anyway, just meet them at the mall or something. Take All Might with you to run interference or explain or something. Just get it over with. We have some time coming up, and you should tell them before we're completely swamped."

"We're already swamped."

"Bakugou-" Ochako started.

Izuku cut in before she could say something that would actually make Katsuki take Katsumi upstairs. "That's a good point and a good idea. I'll talk to All Might."

Katsuki groaned loudly, but didn't protest. Silently, he just started to plan his and Izuku's joint funeral.

[always-against-the-grain]

the hangover

Summary: Negan punishes you for being hungover during a run.

Pairing: Negan x reader (female, named Eddie)

Tags: Negan smut, Negan x reader, rough smut

You lay flat on your stomach, one arm and leg hanging off the edge of the bed. In your slumber you could vaguely feel your symptoms of a migraine, dizziness, and nausea creeping up - they were instantly catalyzed by the sound of your alarm. You instinctively hit the snooze button and lifted your head to read the time:

5:00am

“fuckkkkk,” you groaned to yourself bringing your pillow over your head.

You told yourself you had to get up, you could not miss an assignment. Negan would have your ass, and not the way you would like him too.

You mustered your energy and literally rolled yourself onto your feet. You stumbled through your room, sporadically dressing. The fast movements amplified your symptoms, you occasionally had to stand still with a fist over your mouth to control your urge to puke. Your insane headache didn’t help either, it felt like someone stuffed cotton into your skull through your nostrils.

You’ve always had poor impulse control. Saying yes to another drink, another line or bump, yes to a stranger at the club. And last night yes to tequila with the rugby folks.

The semi and two other trucks were set to take off at 5:30. You were on track to be out there early but your bathroom break took longer than usual considering you urinated for what could have been 2 minutes,  took extra time to pep talk yourself and debated with your stomach over the sink. Which led to you getting (in your opinion) the worst seat in the house. The semi, sandwiched between the driver and Negan. 

_______

“Well good morning doll!” He said trough the rolled down window.

Jesus fucking christ wanna lower voice, you thought to yourself

“Good morning” you responded, your voice cracking as you scooted making more room for him.

Negan opened the door, got in, and you braced yourself.

Slam

Oh fuck, you felt like you skull was gonna burst with the pressure.

Negan observed you, noticing the subtle eye-roll under the skin of your eyelids, and your deep swallow - again holding down whatever you last drink and meal was. He knew.

The beginning of the ride was fine but after a half hour, your nausea was exacerbated. You tried to counteract the effects by taking deep breaths and small sips of water. Luckily you didn’t blow chunks in Negan.

The group scavenged some homes, and stores in a nearby plaza. Your last location was a pharmacy. You didn’t believe in god but at that moment there was a fraction of a possibility for you. Your first thought was to get your hands on some aspirin and some not-so-expired Gatorade. But first the job - supplies. You all cleared the place and began loading non-perishables and first aid items into your bags.

Negan walked down the hygiene aisle towards you.

“This is for you, Eddie.” His long arm stretched out to hand you a small white bottle.

You turned it around to read the label: 800mg ibuprofen

You played dumb, “what’s this for?”

“Com’n doll, I know a hungover kid when I see one”

You smiled down at the bottle in disbelief, “Guess I didn’t hide it very well”

“You most certainly did not,” he teased, “I mean, you were boring as shit on the way up, kept drinking water - probably cause you didn’t wanna throw up, and you’ve had that same sheen of sweat on your face all day.”

“Plus” you leaned down towards your ear, you got a whiff of his cologne and felt the heat of his breath on your neck, “you’re a walking distillery.”

You looked up at him confused, you’re brain not having the best cognitive function at the moment to breakdown his metaphor.

“You reek of alcohol, hon”

“Shit, really?”

“Oh yeah, shits oozing outta you!”

“Fuck, alright, thanks for these,” you said gesturing at the bottle.

“No problem doll,” he walked behind you, putting a light hand on your hip, and whispered in your other ear,  “Oh, and we’ll discuss this event further”

What the fuck does that mean?

The ride back was much better. You were tired and almost caught yourself falling asleep on Negan’s shoulder. 

When you arrived the other group was already in the garage ready to unload. Negan stepped out of the semi and held the door open as you followed. You took three steps before Negan hooked his hand under your arm pulling you back. He turned you around.

“Listen, as cute as I found your little attempt to hide your hangover, you could’ve seriously compromised the run. And I can’t let that go unpunished.”

Those words, his voice, instantly turning you on. You wanted to rub one out right there in front of him.

“So eat, get cleaned up, whatever but meet me in my room immediately after”

You nodded in understanding, he released you with a slight push. _______

You made your way through the hallways, nervous and a little scared but mostly hoping it’d end up like last time.

You knocked on Negan’s door.

“Come in!”

You opened the door slowly and stepped inside.

“Have a seat doll” he gestured with his pen toward the couch across the coffee table from where he was sitting.

Negan was on a long coach, ankle on his knee, jotting things down in a notebook, probably taking inventory from today. He was wearing a cotton white tee and his usual black pants.

You sat down. Waiting for him to say something. But there was nothing.

“So, you wanted to talk?” You broke the silence.

“Damn straight I do.” He said not looking up from his notes. “What you pulled today, was unacceptable, so we’re gonna come up with an appropriate sanction. And I’ll let you make the first offer” he finished his final markings and drew his eyes to you.

“I am personally am not a fan of consequences so I couldn’t tell you”

“Com’n, you’re smart, well, most of the time, what do you think I should do with you?”

There was another streak of quiet.

“Well I’m thinking you can have 2 weeks of fence duty, or considering our history, we can come up with a private punishment that serves both parties” he suggested. “I think you’ll enjoy the latter, but no pressure doll, it’s your choice. I won’t force anything on ya, just thought we’d have a little fun.”

“Like a sexual punishment?” You wanted clarification

“That’s a safe assumption to make, Eddie” he laughed, knowing you weren’t so innocent but still managed to ask the question.  

“Well, I don’t want fence duty cause it’s been hotter than the devil's dick lately.”

Negan laughed, “you got some colorful language there doll”

“So what do you have in mind?” You asked, adjusting yourself in your seat, stuffing your foot under your knee.

He set his notepad off to the side and rubbed the stubble on his chin, “What are you into?”

“Well, I, uh, never -“

“You haven’t had this sort of sexual experience have you?” He tried to put the pieces together

“...um, no,” you said shyly

“Oh okay. I want you to know that with me, you just gotta let me know what you like and what you don’t and I’ll adjust. You know I don’t disappoint. So, Is there anything you want to try?”

“Well, you’ve probably noticed, I like being roughed up, manhandled if you will. So...”

“Have you ever tried spanking?”

“I mean it’s happened a during sex, hell you did it last week, but not as an isolated thing”

“How do feel about me bending you over my bed and giving you your punishment?”

You looked over to his bed, and back at him, “yeah, I’m open to that”

Negan pushed off his knees and stood up. You looked up at him from your seat, his predatory eyes making your core tingle. You got up to meet him.

He began attacking your neck, sucking hard at your skin here and there, drawing out moans from you. His hands wandered at your back, made their way under the crewneck sweater you were wearing.

“No bra?”

“Thought I’d make this go quicker”

“Is your mind always in the dirty gutter?”

“Not as much as yours” you whispered in half moans

His hands made their way to your chest, pinching your erect buds.

“Fuck” you groaned

He pulled the hoodie off, revealing your upper half. His hands hooked under both sides of your jaw and began kissing your lips, slipping his tongue in your mouth.

Both of you staggered towards the bed.

“Bend over. Hands behind your back”

You did as you were told. You heard the clicking of his belt. You were worried he was gonna use that on you. You turned her head back, trying to get a better look.

“Relax doll, this is for something else.”

He grabbed your wrists and wrapped his belt around them. He then slipped your loose fitting running shorts down mid-thigh, eyes locking with your womanhood.

“Do I turn you on this much doll?” He asked, taking a thumb and spreading your juices around, swirling it around your clit.

You wiggled your hips trying to get more friction. 

Negan removed his finger, “not yet”

“So you want 10 hard ones or 20 moderate ones? Before I fuck into next week” he asked and he roughly caressed your buttocks.

“10”

“Alright. I want you to count them out, you miss one doll and we’re starting from the top”

“Yes, sir”

Negan groaned at your words, squeezing your cheeks one last time. There was a pause before you felt the first one.

Smack

Ah fuck

“One” you moaned, eyes glued shut. It hurt but you were oddly into it.  

Smack

“Two”

Smack

“T-three” you began breathing heavy

Smack

It took a little longer to answer

“Four,” you said softer

“What was that sweetheart?” He asked menacingly

You didn’t answer, you knew he heard you and you hated repeating yourself, the situation didn’t change that.

“You know the rules. You don’t answer we start over” He reminded you

“You won’t” you challenged him

His clothed body leaned over you, feeling his semi-hard bulge over your ass. He tangled his hand in your hair and pulled your head back.

“From the top” he ordered and carelessly let you head fall

Smack

“One” your voice at a slightly higher pitch

Smack

“Two”

Smack

“Three”

Smack. That one a little extra hard on the next one, your wrists wrestling against the belt around them.

“Four,” you said it clearly this time.

After he got to the fourth one for the second time he gave he gently rubbed his markings, giving you some relief, and switched cheeks.

Smack

“Five” you gritted through your teeth

“Halfway there doll. And damn baby, you are soaking” he brought his fingers to your center again, feeling your slickness. He brought two fingers inside you and you bit down on the sheets hoping he’d give you release.

You slowly pumped his fingers in and out of you, his thumb playing with your bundle. When he felt your walls quiver he pulled them out, causeing a frustrated sigh to exit you.

“Patience, doll”

Fuck you

Without warning, he brought the next blow

“Agh! - Six!”

“You alright doll?” He wanted to make sure you were okay with everything.

You nodded, your cheek rubbing against his sheets.

Smack

“S-Seven”

Smack

Smack

“Eight! Nine!”

You were heaving, your face buried into the mattress, your torso rising and sinking, your back glistening with sweat.

He stepped back and pulled your shorts all the way down through your ankles. He roughly spread your legs out more.

The next blow went where you didn’t expect it to.

Smack right on your center

You moaned loudly and he entered you in one swift motion, you didn’t have time to fully register the sting or count it. He grabbed onto the belt, bringing your upper body slightly off the mattress. He jackhammered into you. Wet, slapping sounds filling the room.

He felt you getting close, your center squeezing his member tighter and your moans getting louder. He let his grip on the belt relax and you flopped back onto the mattress.

He shimmed his hand to your front, causing his body to press against you tightly. His penetration was slower, but he took his time to go extra deep, while his fingers worked your clit.

“I’m close” you barely got out.

He kept himself buried deep, his girth keeping you stretched out, he focused on stimulation.

“Com’n, Eddie, come for me” he practically ordered.

God his fingers

You tensed up and immediately came undone. Sighing in relief.

“There she is” Negan praised

Negan pulled out of you. And began caressing your vulva. You jolted forward at the oversensitivity.  

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet” he gripped your hips and pulled you back into place.

He utilized your secretions and brought his fingers to your puckered hole. Spreading your juices around it.

“This okay doll?”

Fuck it

“Yes da-, yes sir”

“Daddy huh? You can call me that, dirty girl”

His fingers continuing the swirling motions

“So is this okay doll?” he leaned over and nibbled at your muscular shoulder.

“Yes, daddy”

He straightened up and worked one finger in and felt you tense up.

“Shh, shh, relax doll. I got you” He soothed you, and began pumping that single finger in and out.

You felt more liquid land on your hole, you were certain he used his spit, but it helped his finger enter and exit much easier.

After serval minutes he asked, “ready for another one?”

You nodded

Smack

“Answer me!”

“Yes”

Smack

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy”

He slid a second finger inside you. It was tight and stung a little but it was also pleasurable. You started to back your hips into his fingers.

“That’s it” he encouraged

He pulled his fingers out and rubbed the tip of his dick at your hole. He pushed his half his head in and pulled out, he performed that movement several times.

“I’m going to go inside you now, sweetheart”

“Okay,” you said nervously

“If it’s too much you can tell me to stop, and I’ll stop” he reassured you

He pushed his entire head in. It was wider than his two fingers but not unbearable. He stilled for a moment.

“Relax”

You took semi-deep breathes. Negan pushed half-way on your exhale.

“That’s it, keep breathing”

Negan timed his movements. Every time you breathed in he exited and when you breathed out he pushed back in. Eventually hiding his whole member inside you.

“Harder” you muttered at him

“Your a fucking bad girl, Eddie. Wanting me to fuck your ass harder”

He dug his fingers into your hips and pumped violently into you.

“I’m gonna come in your ass” telling you, not asking.

His groans and movements became frantic, and with one final grunt, Negan blew his load into you. Giving you lazy pumps as he softened.

He pulled out of you, and you heard his zipper close. But he wasn’t done yet.

He brought his hand back to your recently used entrance and used his dripping cum as a lubricant. He scissored your anus while using his other hand to flick your clit. You began bucking against him, faster and faster, feeling the coil tighten in your gut, eventually convulsing around his digits.

“Ah fuck!”

He pulled off his shirt and wiped your back dry, making his way to your center to clean both of your fluids.

He tossed his shirt to the side, untied you, and gave you a playful, light smack, “try to handle your liquor better next time”

You sat at the edge of his bed feeling the ache on your backside and rubbed your wrists. Negan was washing his hands in his small kitchen.

“I can handle my liquor, Negan” you told him

Negan laughed, turning off the faucet, flicking the excess water off his hands. He reached for the overhead counters and pulled out a bottle of alcohol and set on the counter.

“Let’s see” he turned to you, daring you.  

[nightlovechild]

Graveyard pranks - Anxceit

Summary: Dimitri and Virgil both know that in the dark side of the mindscape everything is twisted. Graveyards are a place of comfort. Tormenting your friends means fun. Falling in love...well, that's difficult anywhere.

Warnings: Dark themes, Panic attack, Remus, Arguing with strong language, possible character death, buried alive, character growth

Notes: Deceit’s name is Dimitri

Ominously, The full moon hangs overhead. Accomplishing the opposite of its intended purpose by making the shadows deeper among the headstones and gnarled trees, instead of lighter. But it's all par for the course on this side of the mind.

The wind whistles through the night making the cold creep in under Dimitri's jacket and cape. But the chill doesn't feel perfect for his frame of mind tonight. Nope not one bit.

Dimitri let's his bare hand skim over the curved tops of rough stone headstones. He barely reads the names and dates anymore knowing the landscape all too well. Besides, it's not the occupants that frighten him. It's the events, the laughter, and smiles that are never to occur here again that truly haunt him. 

The graveyard had been a team effort on all of their parts. As Thomas was introduced to spooky Disney graveyards with dancing skeletons and moved onto sinister cinematic cemeteries the place grew more intense and comforting for the dark sides. Remus would keep his creatures here letting them hunt on the fringes of the subconscious. Virgil would stoically sit on every piece of stone that wasn't meant to be sat on while he softly sang along to his music. Dimitri had a much more functional use for the grave plots. He buried the truth here. For every powerful lie to go well, the truth ended up six feet under.

They would play… okay, more like torment each other here in the permeating darkness. Dimitri chuckled to himself as his foot crunched an old mangled pink bow. Bending over, he took his bowler hat off, as he inspected it closer. 

~☆~

"I can't believe you were right. It got all of them to sit there the whole time!" Anxiety laughed for the first time in a long time. Throwing the empty peanut butter jar over top of the iron gate.

"What like it's hard?" Dimitri scoffed as he brushed the excess wolf man fur off of his outfit.  

"Come on! If you weren't scared of them then you've got to be scared of what Rem is going to do?" Anxiety playfully shoved Dee away. Dee's hands flashed out and held the newest dark trait closer. 

"Remus could kill us, burn us alive but my lust for you will never be extinguished." Dee joked as he dipped Anxiety back. Pressing kisses to his exposed neck. Before bringing him back up, a small smirk on his face. The shadows under Anxiety's eyes grew more pronounced with the blush on his cheeks. 

Dimitri sauntered past him playing hard to get. Waiting for the moment his crush ran after him wanting another kiss. 

"Do you really that could happen? Do you think Rem is going to kill us?" Anxiety asked as his footsteps grew shorter, hugging his black on black plaid jacket around his middle. "But like actually kill us? We hurt his babies and then he'll make me watch as he axes you to sashimi bites. Making me eat you then burying me alive with you inside me…" his words rushing together as he escalated. 

"Yes, because Remus is the perfect chef and the world's leading matchmaker. Plus, There's…" Dee was cut off as the night swells with roars and the ground starts to shake. Dee turned back around when he heard plastic sneakers scrambling up stone. Virgil was up and gone before he could finish his sentence out loud "...easier ways of getting me inside of you." 

Dimitri sighed knowing Anxiety wouldn't come back out of hiding for awhile. Might as well enjoy the show. Stepping over to the closest tree, slithering up to find a sturdy branch. 

Alone, He watched from up on high as sixty nine wolf-men stampeded past. Bright pink bows everywhere there was fur still attached. The delicate ribbons matching their fresh poodle style haircuts. Holding his gloved hand over his mouth to muffle his snickering as Remus ran past screaming. 

"Get back here, you non mangy mutts. Daddy must make you filthy and terrible again." 

~☆~

His grin shattered into a grimace. Throwing the old bow down, the silly prank faded to white noise as Dimitri realized where his feet had stopped. His yearning and hatred had lead the snake to their darkest joke yet.

Intricate designs around those fateful words, were starting to fade from constantly being touched. His nails, hard as diamonds, made the head stone's letters turn to gravel as he raked his nails into the grooves. 

~☆~

Dee's throat felt raw from calling Anxiety's name. His feet hurt from walking. His levels of exhaustion had reached new heights. Dimitri had spent all day looking for their little gargoyle. With no luck so far Dimitri gave up as he spotted the graveyard.

'If Anx doesn't want to be found, then I'll never find him.' He thought as he opened the wrought iron gate.

"This has to be the greatest prank ever." Remus called out to Dimitri, waving him closer as the music started to build. 

The beat and lyrics only adding to the maddening glee on Remus' face. Pulling him in close Dimitri became infected with the beat and electric vibe. His feet kicking up the fresh dirt in the air with each move. But as the spinning continued his nausea clears his head.

"Wait. Prank? What prank?" Dimitri shook his head as he questioned Remus' motives for the dance party. 

"Well for this bitch! What did you think I was talking about?" Remus danced off to the side as he started to grind and hump the grave marker. 

"Here lies my beloved: Virgil "Anxiety" Sanders."

Dimitri's vision swam. His stomach rolled. As he read the words and learned his lover's name for the first time. Then he spotted the small metal bell shaking furiously. 

"No!" Dimitri cried clicking his fingers to bring Anx… No, Virgil to the surface. Nothing, the death bell continues to wail and shake. Trying to drop down to him or bring Virgil up yields no results. 

The clang of two shovels falling over grabs his attention. Seizing both of the tools, Dimitri find his second wave of energy. Throwing one Remus' way and starts moving huge piles of loose dirt. But as the creative side starts to do drill team twirls with it instead of digging, Dimitri screams at him.

"Just fucking help! He is our friend! Being dark and being cruel are two different fucking things."

Remus sticks the shovel into the dirt. To lean against as he watches Dimitri dig himself down to his boy-toy. 

"I don't understand why you're freaking out so bad when he is just going to end up back down there anyway." Remus yawns.

"Screw you! Fuck you! How could you?" Dimitri spat out between slinging shovel fulls of dirt over his shoulders and out of the hole. He kept praying to whoever would listen that the bell would keep ringing. The ringing meant Anx...Virgil was still alive down there pulling on the tiny string that lead to the surface. That lead back to life. 

The hollow thud of metal hitting wood greets his ears. Throwing the shovel down, ignoring how the blisters that formed have started bleeding. Dimitri strikes his nails against the cheap plywood as it splinters and breaks apart. Pulling the broken pieces away. 

A gasping sound and Virgil's tear stained face comes into view as the ringing fades like ripples across the mindscape. Virgil aides in his own escape by kicking and punching from the inside as Dimitri tears the pieces away until the terrified side pulls himself up out of his own casket. 

The air is knocked out of Dee as Virgil clutches to him. Arms wrapped around his neck while Virgil's legs are trying and failing to wrap around Dee's body. So he relents and sits on the side of the coffin. Letting Virgil get as close as he needs.

"It's okay. I got you. Never going to let you out of my sight. That demented shit head is never going to touch you again." Dimitri promises as he is rocking Virge and ignoring the strong smell of urine or how fast his shirt is being soaked with tears. 

"Why are making me the bad guy? See my hands are clean." Remus retorts as green slime slides off of his hands and splatters against the ground. "Well except for that. But I had nothing to do with Mayor McAngst ending up in the hole."

"If it wasn't you, then who was it Remus?" 

"You."

"Fuck you! I would never. I've been looking for him all day!" Dimitri screamed back. 

"I don't care. I just want to go home. Take me home, Dee." Virgil whimpers out. 

"Hey, Dimitri tell me do you think of your dilapidated fuck shack as home too? Can you love him like he deserves to be loved?"

"Yes, I love..." Before he can get the lie out Dimitri is pristine, above ground, as the bell is frantically ringing again. 

 Remus starts cackling anew. Rolling on the ground, red in the face as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

Picking up the shovel again, Dimitri finally accepts the truth he was trying to bury. Virgil deserves more. More love and security than what he is capable of. Dimitri wasn't created to love, but to deceive. What true love comes from lying? 

Digging his love free again; Dimitri doesn't answer a single question that Remus hurls his way between giggles. Hauling Virgil and then himself out of the hole. He holds Virgil's passed out body close as he walks him to the other side of the mindscape. Giving into his biggest lie yet. 

"He isn't one of us." 

Burying his heart as the light side takes Virgil away.

~☆~

Deep howls roll through the cemetery marking the time; the witching hour. Stretching his tired bones Dimitri shakes off all of the new memories of Virgil from his mind. Like how well he was thriving and how beautiful he looks in purple. Trying to ignore all of the hate in Virgil's words as he stands with his new family. Trying to repress how he himself was forced by his very nature to respond like a dick. Instead of expressing his truth. Dimitri shook with the injustice of it all with one hand on the head marker of the only empty grave. 

"It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt, isn't that right, my love?"

Lightning cracks over head as the world turns bright in a flash, then is hurled into nothingness. The break of thunder makes the ground shake. Suddenly the wind whips up and surges around him. Dee holds onto his hat with one hand while the other is covering his mouth so he can still breathe. 

Through the roaring wind, a noise was building. Dimitri could hear faint voices like a muffled conversation. Cupping his hand to his ear straining to listen. Dimitri's bowler hat takes flight off of his head. Hair whipping in his eyes, leafs and sticks being carried on the updraft are scraping at his face. Covering his face with both arms he protects himself. The voices turn from chatter then into soul wrenching declarations. 

"I am Veritas, the daemon of truth. Your mouth is blasphemous. Your being an abomination. My scales must be balanced with your scaly head! I have come for my sacrifice!" The voices screeched together as one.

The daemon lorded over him from a top of the mausoleum. Lightning cracked over head again, as it bounded with ease all the way to the top of his beloved's tombstone. 

"Don't even think of running. You can't save yourself. You're carcass will be drug off into the subconscious left to become a lowly function again and only your fleas will mourn you." The daemon brandished a dagger high in the air. 

Dimitri's day of reckoning was here. Screaming from the depths of his essence he turned and fled. His whole body shaking but picking up speed with every foot fall. That is until he could hear laughter as the wind halted. Which made Dimitri wheel around, teeth bared, snake eye glowing bright yellow as his human eye glowed red with murderous intent.. This was the final straw Remus was going to…

"I got you so good!" Virgil laughed as he carefully dabbed at the stage makeup. Trying not to smear it with his happy tears. "You should have seen the look on your face. Fuck, I see why you always stuck around for the aftermath." 

Then the air was knocked out of Virgil's body as Dee's fist connected squarely with his chest. As Virgil's world started to spin, Dimitri's seized the front of his costume, and crushed him to his chest in an embrace. Tugging the half face mask off, Dimitri touched the clean part of his face. Virgil could tell from that look that Dee was making sure it was the surly anxious side himself. Dimitri smiled when Virgil blushed and leaned into his touch. Dee let out an exhilarated sound that he couldn't hold back as the anger drowned in joy. His arms constricting around his former lover's body

"You shouldn't be here." Dee whispered against the side of Virge's neck as he laid the human side of his face against his costume. 

"And you should stop lying to me." Virgil had to lean back to look the deceitful side in the face. Since he was not able to move any other part of his body due to all six arms holding him in place.

The flame of what they were caught in Dimitri's chest as Virgil licked his lips. His pink tongue such a stark contrast to the black lipstick. Dimitri pressed his lips against Virgil's before either of them could think. Lips moving with familiarity, a bite here and a tongue caress there. But the fire was snuffed out as fast as it was built. They couldn't go back. It defeated the purpose of their actions and choices. So Dimitri just enjoyed the smeared lipstick they were probably both sporting now. 

"They're being good to you?" 

"Yeah, it was hard in the beginning. But it's easier, in some ways now." Virgil hugged Dee back then pulled away. Working his way to standing back on his own two feet. 

"Why? How are you here? The barriers have never faulted before." Dimitri asked as his mind recalled many nights were he tried to cross over to the light side without Thomas' permission. It never worked. 

"The truth can't be buried or barred if everyone knows." 

"You told him? Are you...were you cast you out and sent back here?" The anger in Dimitri flared for a whole different reason. 

"No. It's okay. Well, I mean it'll be okay. But for now I can pass through the vale." Virgil threw the hood of his costume over his head and wiggled his fingers.

The snake side of Dee's face smirked as he sat down on a granite slab. The weight of the moment feeling like quicksand. Dimitri didn't have to lie on this side, or speak in riddles. He couldn't waste another minute.

"I'm really sorry. For how I act on the other side,  the lies are as easy as breathing standing in front of Thomas. I'm sorry for how we ended it. I know it's not enough. I should have a speech made up…" Dimitri started to lament as a punch connected to his arm. 

"I figured that out, Pat helped me. You can't build a life off of lies and panic." Virgil pulled the hood back down and started digging through hidden pockets 

"Then will this be the last time you...that you pull a prank in the graveyard?" Dimitri's heart couldn't go to that finite place.

"Not as long as you still have those shavers." Virgil smirked as he pulled out a jar of wolf-man biscuits and a baggie of purple and yellow bows.

[prongsno]

It’s the Unmistakable (1/2)

Lily finds that being stuck in a bathroom at a party isn't always a bad thing. Read on AO3, 6581 words

There’s someone puking when Lily runs into the toilets. She’s desperately trying not to cry, her hands are shaking as she kicks open one of the stalls. The toilet lid is already down, and she wills herself not to think about what’s most likely underneath the seat as she plops onto it and rests her head in her hands.

The doors open again, supposedly a friend of the girl whose face is currently in one of the sinks. There’s a rather sympathetic sigh, followed shortly by a ‘ oh Miranda ’. A retch, giggles, the sound of them taking a selfie and then there’s the scuffle of high heels against the marble flooring.

The two of them leave, the doors open and the deafening sound of the bass, mixed with drunken screams and shouts, set Lily’s teeth on edge. The doors close and there’s silence once more, apart from the heavy buzz of the broken air conditioning and the dull echo of the party from behind the toilet’s thin walls.

Lily hates crying. But she can’t help it at a time like this, all she wants is to get out of this hell-hole.

She picks out her phone from her bag and calls her number one on speed dial, but it’s not Mary MacDonald who answers.

“Mary’s phone. James speaking.”

“You’re not Mary,” is the first thing Lily says with a sniffle. She lifts her legs to her chest, leans back against the wall and closes her eyes.

“Nope, thank God. She’s currently um… er, occupied - shall we say - with my flatmate. Did you need her?”

Lily hiccups and that seems to release an avalanche of emotions all at once. She lets out a laugh, and after five seconds there are tears running down her cheeks.

“Wait are you - are you crying?” The poor stranger named James sounds very shocked and concerned.

She breaks off some toilet paper and blows her nose. “No.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

 She can hear the smile in his voice, the soft like honey kind of tone that makes you feel all warm, happy and fuzzy inside. She even smiles herself, forgetting her huge mess even if it’s only for a few seconds. His voice is the nicest voice she’s heard all day.

He shuffles, maybe moves the phone closer to his ear because there’s a rustling sound, and when he breathes out it sounds like he’s right next to her.

She can’t help the little goosebumps that appear on her arms, the shiver that goes up her spine and the little butterflies that annoyingly flutter about all the way from her toes to her fingertips.

“Are you okay?”

What an odd question, especially after the night she’s had. She’s about to answer, the words and what on earth she’s going to say still jumbling about in her head, when he curses and speaks again.

“I’m sorry, that was really-” Another curse word, then silence. “Of course you’re not.” He lets out a sigh. “Er, Mary and Sirius have been gone for - God knows how long. But if you just give me a sec I’ll hand you over right now to her. I’ll bloody break down Sirius’ door if I have to.”

That’s what he seems to do, a few minutes later. There’s a knock, then his voice shouting ‘I’m coming in’ before a door kicks open. A shriek, two shrieks. Three shrieks, James screaming about ‘INDECENCY’ and ‘YOU DIDN’T EVEN LOCK THE DOOR’ and, lastly, ‘I’M LITERALLY A DOOR AWAY AND YOU’RE DOING THAT ’.

“Is that my phone?” Lily hears Mary ask, after the whole commotion has died down. Mary’s still laughing slightly as she takes the phone.

“It said ‘Flower’ as the caller ID.” James says. His voice rings out, still soft, still special and getting under her skin. “She’s crying.” She can’t help but smile at the tone of his voice, it’s remarkable how soothing it is listening to him.

“Lils, are you okay? What happened?”

At the sound of her friend’s voice, Lily can’t help but start crying again. “Er, can you - can you come and pick me up? Please.”

“Of course- ”

“Martin and I broke up.”

She’s seeing stars, her head hurts and her tongue is burning in her throat. She closes her eyes again and tries to count calmly to ten.

“Oh Lily, I’m sorry… but were you two even going out properly?”

“Well we definitely aren’t now, I saw him making out with Stacey.”

“He didn’t-”

“Yeah and so I mean - he was the one who brought me to this damned party and I thought he really liked me-”

“God, what a dick-”

“And I was kind of spying on them and twisted my ankle and fell into the pool-”

She feels so… stupid , crying about it. But it was really embarrassing and the entire party witnessed her humiliating ordeal. All she wants right now is her best friend.

“Say no more,” Mary says, slamming her free hand onto what must be a table because there’s a big SMACK sound. “We’re coming, right now - okay?”

“I’ll get a spare jacket-” There’s a scrape of a chair, someone running and a door closing with a bang.

Lily sniffs again and pulls at more tissue, now dabbing at her eyes and nose. “We?”

Mary lets out a shaky breath, and Lily can almost see the little hand-movement her best friend does when she’s nervous, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers and biting on her bottom lip.

“I’m so sorry Lils... but I’m at Sirius’s, and he only has that motorbike. James is the only one with a car right now-”

“Oh,” She blows her nose and dabs at her eyes again.

Mascara drips onto the tissue and, from what she can gather by squinting at the small reflection of herself in the toilet dispenser, she has mascara-coloured tear streaks running all down her face. “They don’t mind coming?”

“On the contrary, Lily- ” Sirius’s voice shouts down the phone. “ James and I would love to give that Martin guy a piece of our mind.”

“He’s already left.”

“Then we’ll happily hunt him down and-” Sirius begins.

“Or - we’ll be so quiet you won’t even notice we’re there,” James cuts in. The butterflies are back. “We’ll give you and Mary time to talk and we won’t be in your way - at all.”

His entire being is like sunshine; sunshine that breaks out from the clouds just after it’s been dull and rainy. The sky gets that little bit brighter, you feel your heart being uplifted and you want to just stare and wait for the sun to come back because it feels like home.

“I don’t mind at all-”

“Lily,” Mary says. There’s a symphony of car doors slamming together in unison, the rustle of engine and then the crackle of the radio tuning in. “We’re in the car, okay? I’ll stay on the whole time and let you know when we’re there.”

“Okay,”

“It’s like a twenty minute drive, but James says he doesn’t mind getting a speeding ticket. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes, ish.”

“Good, because I really need to get out of these clothes. I stink of wee.”

There’s a few seconds pause, and then Mary whispers, as politely as she can. “You have urine on you?”

Lily regrets it instantly. “It’s not mine!”

“Oh my God - Lily, that doesn’t make it sound any better.” Mary lets out a sigh , then laughs.

“Don’t laugh-”

“I’m sorry, Lils but that’s both hilarious and gross. Is it okay if I give James your address too? Or do you want to come back with us.”

All she can think about is getting away. But, for some reason, James’s voice echoes back into her mind. The softness, the homely, happy feeling. “I really don’t want to be alone right now. Can you ask if it’s okay if I-”

Lily can hear the smile in Mary’s voice. “James says you’re most welcome to stay. And that he was going to kick Sirius and I out if we left you alone.”

The door opens, and the roar of the party sinks into the room. There’s small footsteps, and the door shuts.

“Lily?” Mary calls out a little hesitantly.

She attempts to kick at her door, but her legs are too short and so she ends up falling off the toilet, smashing onto the floor on her bottom and practically inhaling a dirty piece of used tissue.

“Here,” she grumbles, waving her hand under the half open door. She doesn’t even have the energy to stand right now.

“James and Sirius are outside,” Mary says with a small sigh as she helps Lily stand to her feet. “Can you manage?”

“If I walk really, really slowly.”

Mary’s slightly smaller than her, but manages to wrap her arms around Lily’s shoulders and assists her to the mirror.

“I look horrific.” Lily says with a grimace, patting her cheeks in horror when she sees her reflection.

“You look like you’ve had fifty shots, Lils.” For a second Mary looks like one of those teachers who have just marked your homework and have that disappointed look on their face. Then her expression softens, the hand on her hip falls and she just looks heartbroken at the state of her best friend.

“Come here.” Mary pulls Lily onto the side cabinet, hoisting her up and shuffles in between her legs. She grabs tissues and wets them slightly under the hot tap before grabbing Lily’s face with her spare hand.

“You’re really pretty Mary,”

“I know. Now be still.”

“That kinda hurts, y’know.”

Mary’s scrunches up her face in concentration. “Do you want to look like a panda? Hold still, I’m almost done.”

Two minutes later Lily wobbles out of the toilets, hanging onto Mary like a monkey. Sirius is waiting outside, leaning on the wall all modelesque in his timberland boots and double denim attire. He looks up, gives Lily a once over and then grins.

“Will you be alright to the car?” he asks.

“Crystal clear,” she says with a nod. “But I’m just going to-” She leans onto the wall, kicks off her shoes and then, sighing happily, mutters out “that’s better”.

Sirius lets out a laugh, and wafts the air around him slightly with his hand. “Evans,” he says with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite so drunk.”

“Neither have I,” Mary says with a slight roll of her eyes. “You just had to go and get absolutely wasted at the party I wasn’t going to, didn’t you?”

Lily’s too busy nodding to notice when they finally set off walking, but she soon realises when she’s tripping over Mary’s feet and tumbling to the floor like jelly.

“I mean - who has their party at an event hall? We’re not in high school anymore!”

Mary and Sirius try their hardest not to laugh, but when Lily starts snorting the three of them are a giddy mess. It takes an awful amount of effort before they eventually exit the front door and walk down the entrance gardens.

She can hear the car before she sees it; the roar of a very, very old engine and Don’t Worry Baby by The Beach Boys practically oozing out of old, worn speakers.

She’s lost in the music of the song, her mind fuzzy and heavy. She hears the sound of car doors opening, a hand on her shoulder guiding her into the car, the fastening of seat belts, car doors closing.

“We ready to go?” asks the voice of someone.

A soft voice. Kind, sweet and delicate, like honey she has on toast in the mornings. She’s heard it before, she’s sure of it. She can’t remember where, but it’s a nice voice.

It’s his voice. Despite the fuzziness in her eyes, she turns straight to it like a moth to a flame. Like trying to find light in a room of darkness. But then she sees it. He’s staring at her from the rear-view mirror.

Bright hazel eyes glance her way, hair that sticks up like candy floss gone wrong, like a cloud that’s turned inside out. It’s wild - and yet it’s so, so unequivocally him . It’s him, it’s what makes him him . And Lily wouldn’t have it any other way.

He gives her a small smile and then the car sets off.

“Do you want some water?” Mary asks, she reaches over to turn down Lily’s window and is already passing her a bottle of water before even getting an answer.

The water’s gone in half a second. “I’m never drinking again,” she says after glugging it down.

“Not without me, anyhow.” Sirius laughs, turning slightly from his seat in the front to give her a wink. Then he gives her a salute and tosses her a small bundle that falls into her lap.

“Crackers,” Mary says, helping her unfold the beeswax wraps (that Sirius was most adamant about buying, claiming that if he wanted to save the world he might as well start somewhere) to produce three delicious Jacob’s crackers.

Once the crackers are finished, and now she’s got a bit of food and non alcoholic drink in her system, the events of the night slowly begin to sink in.

“I’m never dating again,” her voice is barely a whisper, face covered with her fingers as she tries to hide from view.

Mary lets out a scoff. “Not everyone is like that jerk. You never know, maybe the right one was in front of you all along.”

A generic saying, full of cliche.

And yet, as she reaches out her hand to itch the top of her head, her eyes stray forward.

Those hazel eyes meet hers once more, and James must have not expected it to happen in the least, because his beautiful, bright eyes widen, his luscious cheeks redden and he mutters out a swear word as he swerves the car, running through a red light.

“Nice one, mate.”

She can still see his red cheeks from the mirror, the way his jaw clenches as he gives Sirius a glare. “Shut up, I didn’t even notice it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Who am I? Your driving instructor?”

“The backseat driver.”

“Very funny.”

She must have dozed off at some point, no doubt drooling on Mary’s shoulder, because someone starts shaking her shoulder, calling out her name.  She wakes instantly, eyes opening to find James’s face directly in front of her.

“Crap, sorry.” He pulls back, left hand shooting up to mess with his hair. “You’re a really deep sleeper.”

He’s got a jacket in his right hand, and he awkwardly shoves it towards her. When she takes it, mumbling a timid and sleepy thank you, his hands goes straight into his jean pockets and he looks incredibly unsure of what on earth he’s supposed to do now.

He rocks up and down on his toes for a second before speaking. “Mary’s just gone to get you some clothes,” he says, jerking his hand to the set of small but smart looking apartments in front of them. “She’s been here so much lately she’s practically moved in.”

“She’s really happy with Sirius.”

Her seat belt is already unbuckled, so she swings her legs and wobbles out of the car as smoothly as she can. James has to reach out and balance her, hands holding onto her elbows like she’s a grandma and he’s her walking stick (which, to be honest, she wouldn’t mind him being).

“I’m fine,” she says, refusing to meet his eyes.

All he does is smile as he locks the car, and then they walk side by side towards the flat. His keys jingle in his hand and when he opens the door they find Mary and Sirius acting very suspicious near the front door.

Sirius’s neck is tinged pink, and Mary shoves his hand away from hers.

Their backs straighten and Mary pulls an arm behind her back. She’s speaking in an instant, like she’s been practicing the line for years.

“I don’t have anything you could wear for bed, Lils,” she says, looking incredibly sad. “Sorry. Maybe, um, James has something? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

At this, Sirius and Mary turn instantaneously to James. “Right, James?”

“Uh, I probably do?” He says with a slight shrug as he kicks off his shoes, the scruffiest pair of converse she’s ever seen.

“Oh,” Lily clears her throat, and puts down her shoes right next to his. They’re a little crooked, not straight enough, so she bends down to straighten them properly. “It’s okay,” she says to the linen carpeted floor.

“No it’s okay. It’s fine. I think I have something,” she hears him say, he’s already speeding off through one of the doors down the hallway.

When he’s gone Lily lets out a huff and gives Mary a glare. “I can just sleep in this,” she hisses, and tries to stand up, but in the end tumbles back to the floor and has to pull herself up with the help of the wall and shoe rack.

Mary tuts as she watches, and folds her arms against her chest. “Didn’t you say you got urine all over you?” she asks rather smugly, giving Lily a glare that is eagerly returned.

Sirius watches them both with a grin and, after a few seconds, places his hands on Mary’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear. There’s a hint of a grin on her face, that disappears almost as quickly as it comes. She shoots Sirius a nod and he places the softest of kisses on her hand before dropping it.

“We can put your clothes in the wash, Lils.” Sirius raises his voice, just as James emerges from his room with an old football shirt.

“This is the only thing I could find,” he says with a blush, passing it to her with shaky hands. “Sorry.”

The shirt is soft in her hands and there’s a sweet, clean and fresh scent of lemons and peony blossom that swirls around the air, making her dizzy.

“That’s your lucky number,” Sirius raises an eyebrow, eyes drawn in amazement and shock at the number seven on the red and gold shirt.

“It wasn’t that lucky,” James makes a shrug.

“You got scouted-”

James lets out a wild laugh, and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “That was just luck-” He gives Sirius a glare, a ‘ shut up and stop talking or so help me ’ glare.

“Didn’t you just say there wasn’t any luck?” Sirius grins, giving his now deeply blushing friend a little wink.

“Shut up,” James says with a scowl.

And, just like that, an awkward silence fills the air. Lily can’t look up, because every time she does her eyes are drawn to James like they’re both magnets and he’s pulling her in.

Mary drums her fingers against the wall and bounces on her tiptoes for a few moments. “Tea?”

Everyone murmurs out a hasty ‘yes’ and Mary pushes Lily towards the bathroom.

“I love you and all,” she says as she pushes, “but you stink like a rat’s arse right now.”

James clears his throat, his cough sounding an awful lot like a laugh. “I’ll just go and pop the kettle on.”

“And I’ll just go and,” Sirius points towards the kitchen, twirls his fingers around in the air and scrunches up his lips. “And, uh, clean some cups.”

He runs out of the room and shuts the kitchen door behind him with a click.

“Do I really stink that much?” Lily’s face is still hot, and she places her hands on her cheeks and bangs her head against the wall once then another two times.

James thinks she smells like a rat’s arse, isn’t that great?

All Mary does is watch, looking very amused and happy with herself from the opposite side of the wall. “You know,” she says with a drawl, pretending to suddenly look at her nails in fascination, “this all could have happened weeks ago.”

“What?”

Mary grins and points towards the kitchen. “You know, James Potter staring at you with loving eyes. You getting butterflies from his dashing smile.” She even has the cheek to flutter her eyes, bringing one hand to fan at her face whilst the other rests against her heart.

“There are no butterflies. And definitely no lovey eyes.”

Mary’s smile is so wide, it looks like her face is going to erupt. “You are such a bad liar, you do know that right?” She laughs and opens the door to the bathroom, turns on the light and leans against the wall.

“There’s clean towels in the cupboard, and you can use my stuff if you want.” Then, she lowers her voice to a whisper. “And, just so you know, remember that time I said Sirius had a friend who was obsessed with Doctor Who?”

“Yeah?”

Mary stares at her, rolls her eyes and then makes an exaggerated circle in the air and shoves her arms towards the closed kitchen door.

“Wait - that was James?” Lily blinks.

“Yes . You moron.”

“But you said he was a nerd-”

“He knows morse code ,” Mary says. “Fluently, might I add. He learnt it for fun. ”

“No, I distinctly remember you saying that if he were cake he would be the victoria sponge because you said, and I quote, he had the sweetness of strawberries but not enough tart and cream. What the hell does that even mean?”

“I stand by that-”

Lily lets out a groan. “What did you expect me to say? I thought you were trying to pair me up with a greasy, pokemon collecting nerd who thinks he’s a vampire.”

“But I knew victoria sponge is your favourite,” Mary gasps, appalled. “I also said he did as many sports as he has fingers.” As she says this she thrusts her two hands in Lily’s face, wiggling her fingers frantically. “I said he was nerd, a sports nerd who knows all the lines of Doctor Who. I also said you two would really hit it off. I said that he would be good for you.”

“I thought you were joking.”

Mary throws her hands in the air. “Why would I do that? You were both too darn stubborn to ever meet. Sirius and I have been trying to get you both to meet for freaking ages. Idiots, the pair of you.”

There’s a ginger cat sat in front of the bathroom door once she’s finished. She opens the door and then boom, there it is, staring at her with these giant eyes, its tail swishing about on the carpet and watching her like a hawk.

Her hair is dripping wet, so she’s draped one of Mary’s towels around her shoulders to try and catch some of the droplets. All she’s wearing is James’s flipping football shirt, he’s so tall that the shirt finishes around her mid-thigh and she desperately tries to not make her mind wander. You know - when was the last time he wore it? How long for? What he did after wearing it, or before?

The cat cocks its head slightly to the side and swishes its tail once more, slowly. It’s like it knows exactly what she’s thinking.

“Hello?” she says. “And who might you be?”

The cat looks at her, and then lets out a meow.

Instantly there’s the sound of a chair scraping in the kitchen, frantic footsteps and the door banging open to reveal James holding what looks a cat’s bowl in his hands.

The cat stands up at once, trots up to him and begins purring and twirling around his legs. James crouches down to tickle the cat between its ears, and then must realise he can still hear the sound of the bathroom fan churning away, because he glances sideways towards her and jumps.

“Um,” he stares at her for a quick second and then reverts back to the cat who’s impatiently pushing its head under his left hand. “Sorry, I - uh - didn’t realise you were... finished.”

The cat bumps its head against his hand, clearly perturbed by the lack of attention it’s suddenly getting. James clears his throat, coughs and cracks his knuckles before petting the cat again.

“Thanks for the shirt,” she can’t think of anything else to say, and she is thankful (in more ways than he can surely imagine), so she just gives him a smile as she turns off the light and shuts the door.

Damn this awkwardness; he must think she’s some crazy, weird drunk who can’t make normal conversation. She’s actually quite charismatic - just, for some reason her tongue is tied and she can’t think straight for the life of her.

“Oh - no problem.” James stands and picks up the cat, cradling it in his arms like a baby. It doesn’t look happy in the slightest, but sits grumpily and content as James gives it a kiss on the head.

“This is Algernon,” James says once Lily decides to bite the bullet, takes a step forward and gives the cat in his arms a little pet.

“He’s adorable,” she says as she gives him another tickle, right behind the ears and under his chin. Algernon purrs loudly and closes his eyes - clearly enjoying the pampering session. “How old is he?” she asks, and then makes the mistake of turning her head and looking up at James.

Their eyes meet, and she didn’t realise they were this close; so close they’re almost shoulder to shoulder.

James gives her a small smile as he answers, “He’s almost five now. His birthday is on Bonfire Night.”

She can hear him swallow, and can hear the little intake of breath he takes as he clears his throat. He’s everywhere but it’s not a claustrophobic kind of feeling, it’s more overwhelming and exhilarating. Happy.

She can feel goosebumps creeping up her arms, and lets her gaze fall back to Algernon. She gives him another tickle. “Nice, he gets a party every year huh?”

“Most of the time he’s hidden under my or Sirius’s bed because he hates all the fireworks,” he laughs. “But he gets special birthday food which he greatly enjoys.”

Algernon decides he’s had enough now, he jerks a bit and drops to the floor gracefully. The six foot odd fall doesn’t seem to shock him at all, he runs towards the kitchen door and sits there for a moment before opening it by swatting his paw at the door madly until it pushes open.

“Are you having tea or what?” Comes the questioning voice of Mary MacDonald through the crack of the kitchen door.

James lets out a laugh and he follows after Algernon without delay, but all Lily can do is stare after him, perplexed.

Her day hasn’t exactly been the greatest, and meeting this strange and alluring James has only made everything even more confusing. Lily can feel the little wheels in her mind, turning and frantically moving to try and figure everything out.

James seems to have a hold of her already, somehow.

There’s a storm going on outside. The wind rattles against the windows, the trees sway violently, looking skeletal lit up by the dim street lights.

The walls of the flat are thin, so every crash of thunder sounds like what Lily imagines Gordon Ramsay does when he sees raw food being served. It’s loud, the floor and walls seem to shake and Algernon clearly doesn’t seem to like it either. The poor cat’s tail shoots up at the next batch of lightning and rumbling thunder and lets out a wild yowl before scattering off, no doubt to hide underneath Sirius’s bed which seems to be the best hiding place in the flat (much to Sirius’s annoyance).

The four of them, still sat at the table, still holding onto their now cold and empty mugs of nothingness, don’t say anything for a while until Sirius stands up from his chair (Mary follows his every move, not even trying to hide the fact that she takes a good, long and hard stare at her boyfriend’s bottom, which Lily supposes is quite nice, if she has to admit it) and picks up the remote from the coffee table.

“How about that rematch, Mary?” he asks, giving the girl in a question a teasing smirk as he flips the remote in his hand. “I bet you a hundred quid that I beat you this time.”

Mary lets out a laugh as she swings her legs off her chair. “Do you even have a hundred quid, Sirius?” she asks.

The boy in questions shrugs. “Maybe?” he grins as he turns on the Xbox One and takes out a pristine looking Soulcalibur V.

“Mary’s the unbeatable champion at that,” Lily says, pointing at the disk. She remembers the endless rematches all too well, Mary was merciless and violent at that game and became quite the formidable challenger.

“He knows,” Mary smiles. “It was a bit of a shock, right?”

“I was only being a gentleman.”

“She completely floored you, mate.” James laughs, he scrapes back his chair and starts loading the dirty crockery into the dishwasher. Lily slides a glance over to him and, when she realises his bottom is in the air, perfectly rounded, grabbable and hench, she chokes and moves her gaze back to the TV as quickly and as casually as she can manage.

Sirius has already spotted her and gives her a knowing look, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning at her maniacally. It’s only when he realises that the game has already started, and that Mary is already ripping him a new one, that he stops.

He lets out a gasp and starts frantically pressing buttons. “I thought you loved me!”

“Raphael loves no one!” Mary shoots up to her feet, gazing at the screen in so much intent that her tongue sticks out and she swerves her body this way and that as she punches, stabs, strangles and punctures Sirius.

Sirius is a fumbling mess, cusses and swears fly out every single time he’s hit (which is a lot) and every now and then he lets out a frustrated groan and throws back his head.

It’s not really surprising when Mary wins all three battles.

“My swordplay is peerless!” she says, mimicking her character without a second delay. Sirius groans in defeat, all the while muttering out “Kinky,” and “That’s what she said.”

“Lily?” he asks after five seconds of silence. He raises his head, and leans over onto Mary’s shoulder to shoot Lily an inquisitive glance. “Are you up for a battle?”

“I think I’m worse than you,”

“Ouch. Do you need some ointment for that burn, Sirius?”

She’s almost forgotten that James is there, radiating and oozing out sexiness and all things lush and wonderful, teasing and tantalising her with everything and anything that he does. She lets out a little jump when he speaks, and turns her head slightly to see what he’s doing.

He’s leaning on the counter, holding what has to be his fourth mug of steaming, hot tea in his hands.

“Har bloody har.” Comes Sirius’s deadpan voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she exclaims, cheeks flushed as James gives her a wink.

“Well,” Sirius says as he clears his throat and holds out the controller for her. “Shall we put you to the test?”

“I told you,” Lily says five minutes later, when Sirius is shocked and elated to see he has finally won a battle.

“You weren’t wrong,” Sirius tells her, falling back onto the sofa in surprise. “You really are terrible.”

“I wasn’t expecting to you be so shockingly bad,” James adds with a nod. “Here I thought you’d be some secret and talented gaming champion.”

“Lily’s talents lie elsewhere,” Mary says, nose deep in her phone and scrolling through Instagram. “I think we can add shockingly bad at Soulcalibur to the list, though. That was definitely an achievement.”

James grins, and runs a hand through his hair, spiking up the edges and ruffling the soft little curls. “Shall we see what’s on TV?”

There’s hardly any space for the four of them on the small, cat hair covered sofa, but somehow they manage. Lily eventually finds herself squished in the middle by a James and Mary sandwich, which isn’t too bad since it means she can accidentally touch James and pretty much get away with it.

Their elbows knock, arms touch and legs bump on more than one occasion, and each time they touch (even it’s just a little, tiny thing) she gets excited, and jumpy butterflies that make her stomach do somersault after somersault are in every crevice of her entire being.

Algernon eventually comes running into the room, and makes himself comfortable on James’s lap. It’s not long before the cat is snoring away, and the room slowly falls silent.

The TV is playing a marathon of Friends episodes, and the only inclination that the four of them are awake is the slow motion of Sirius’s hand softly running through Mary’s hair, Mary snuggling closer to Sirius, and James’s slight rotation of his feet and wiggle of his toes.

The thunderstorm finally passes over, and all that remains is a gentle pattering of rain against the windows. Lily actually feels safe, comfortable, happy.

She sneaks a quick glance at James, whose arm has gradually dropped throughout the hour and is now dangling dangerously close to her own. His eyes are tiredly blinking as he stares, transfixed, at the TV screen and his other hand, that is so close to hers she could just reach out and hold it, is absently stroking Algernon’s head.

He must feel her gaze, because he moves his head to look at her and gives her a tired, sweet smile.

“You okay?” he asks, already half asleep. His words are soft and hazy, full of drowsiness and soft, sweet breaths. She looks at him, and can feel her heart erupting inside of her chest.

“Yeah,” she says, and rests her head onto his shoulder. He lets out a happy kind of sigh, and there’s no mistaking the small movement of his head so he’s resting against her too.

It’s difficult not to smile, it’s so hard. And so she smiles the biggest smile her small mouth can manage, her cheeks positively ache but who the heck cares? Cloud nine isn’t high enough - she feels like she’s on cloud infinity , right here with him.

“I’m okay.”

And for once, she’s not lying.

She falls asleep with her head next to his, to the sound of Phoebe singing Smelly Cat, accompanied by the slight rainfall from outdoors. She can’t wait to wake up, for a new day to begin because she finally feels like she belongs.

Here, next to him.

She dreams of kisses, and candy canes and, for some strange reason, the world’s highest slide that is so tall it reaches up into the skies, to the very gates of Heaven.

But then she wakes up, groggy and bleary eyed and has to yawn for two minutes straight before she can think clearly and sit up.

She remembers last night, all the bad things but the good too. James’s face can’t escape her mind, and so she turns, wanting to see a sleepy James who’s painted golden from the morning sun.

But he’s gone, and all that’s left is his blanket that he covered their legs with when they said it was getting cold. The blanket’s now around her shoulders, and she brushes it off her and places it neatly onto the empty space where James should be.

Mary’s up and making coffee. She’s yawning endlessly as she hums out a tune and turns around to say morning.

“Where’s…” Lily holds her breath. It’s not possible that she dreamed up James - is it? He was perfect, exactly what her mind would create just to torment her into thinking he was real. She itches her nose and scratches her head, and tries to not sound too obvious. “Where’s uh, everyone?” she asks finally.

“Sirius is showering. And everyone else has, I think, gone to work.”

“Oh.”

Some toast pops up, and Mary shuffles towards the plate cabinet slowly. She’s wearing slippers that are far too big for her, they look like boats on her small size four feet, and, based from the image of a sausage dog that’s wearing sunglasses and the words ‘HOT DOG’ underneath, Lily assumes they’re Sirius’s.

“Apparently you two were snuggling like two lovebirds when his boss rang him up. He was supposed to start at nine and it was, like, twenty past.”

“Oh.”

“I think he really likes you, Lils.”

“Yeah?”

Mary gives her that look, and passes her a plate with buttered toast and a cup of coffee. “Of course he does Lily, come on.”

“He’s just left! Without even saying anything, or like leaving a message. He’s basically just done the walk of shame, sneaking out of the flat regretting everything.”

“Leaving for work is a little different-”

“I thought we had a, God - I don’t know,” Lily sighs, staring miserably at her toast before giving it a big bite. “A connection. I could feel something-”

“Like a kind of hot, pleasant feeling down in your-”

“No.” She picks up the closest thing to her, a fork, and throws it at Mary. “But he just felt - felt different. I guess.”

“I’m sorry, Lils. I really am. But I also don’t think you have a reason to be worried. I mean, James isn’t that kind of guy. He’s probably counting down the hours until he can see you again.” Then Mary lets out a gasp and clicks her fingers. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who’s probably written you some soppy love letter with his number on it. I bet you a toffee crisp.”

The two girls stare at each other for a long moment, and then jump up and run out of the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asks, giving them both an amused stare. He’s just sorting out the post, and chucks a few of the useless pamphlets into the paper bin before standing up.

“We’re checking to see if James left Lily a love note before leaving for work,” Mary says with a giggle.

“One hundred percent. I can guarantee it.” Sirius gives Lily a wink. “He put it right…” He looks around the small hallway, and scratches his head. “Oh crap.”

“You’ve lost it?!” Mary gasps, appalled.

“Well, Mary my dear, define lost-”

“You can’t find it.” Mary says sharply, and crosses her arms against her chest.

“I never actually saw where he put it. I just know he did it. Because he gave me this love struck smile and wouldn’t stop crooning on about eyes as fresh as pickles and something about your hair,” he gives Lily a half shrug, and scratches his hair as he thinks deeply.

“So you’ve lost it.”

This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be fate. Waking up next to each other and starting the first day of their whole lives together. Not this. Not a maybe love letter, and a maybe phone number, and the absence of James.

She didn’t want mess. She was tired of mess.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, simple as that.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

AU where Bucky is serial killer of bad guys. After he rescues his steady bf Tony (who already knows about his night job, no idenity porn please) from a straight-up serial killer, he's worried about Tony's reaction to actually witnessing him kill someone. And lbr he slaughtered the guy. But Tony has always felt safe and loved with him and proves to him that he's not afraid or disgusted. If you wanna take it as far as NSFW, blood kink with go great with it. ;) Not necessary at all though. Thank.

A/N: Warnings for extreme explicit violence, gore, and blood play/blood kink. Dark!Bucky, Morally gray/Dark!Tony, and Obie being a dick. Also, apologies to anon for modifying the prompt - Tony isn’t kidnapped by a serial killer, though he is kidnapped.

Tony groans as he realizes that his alarm is going off and that he’s now awake.

“Off, J,” he signals, and then the sounds of seagulls and of waves crashing against the shore cuts off. He still misses living in Malibu, but he definitely doesn’t miss actual seagulls.

Tony throws back the covers and slides out of bed. Or, he tries, but then arms wrap around his waist and pull him back into the warm cocoon of blankets, pillows, and a muscled human.

“Mmmm, stay,” Bucky nuzzles into the back of Tony’s neck.

Tony smiles, a soft warm one that Bucky can’t see. There are perks to living full-time in New York, and waking up with Bucky in his bed is by far the most attractive one.

“Don’t tempt me,” Tony warns. “I have to work today… and I need to show up on time so we can pretend I’m capable of running the company when I have that meeting with Obie today.” Still, Tony turns in Bucky’s embrace and snuggles into Bucky’s chest. Five more minutes couldn’t hurt…

“Right, that’s today,” Bucky hums, the sound vibrating against Tony’s hands where they rest on Bucky’s pecs. Bucky’s hands drift, up and down Tony’s spine, fondling Tony’s ass, squeezing Tony’s thighs, back up to Tony’s neck. Tony plasters himself closer, the gentle warmth from the morning getting coaxed into sizzling sparks. Bucky grins. “All the better to start the day off right, wouldn’t you say?” he asks. Bucky rolls them so that Tony is on top. “Come on, tiger. Show me what you got.”

(Watch out for the break!)

Tony goes to work with a grin on his face. He still manages to get there on time even, thanks to Bucky setting a timer with JARVIS and challenging Tony to get them both off before time ran out.

And Tony always does well under pressure.

He has a bounce in his step all morning, one that lasts through  all the meetings and phone calls and emails. He can do this, he is doing this, and today is finally the day where he gets to sit down with Obie and negotiate for full reigns on the company. Tony has mapped out a five, ten, and twenty year plan. He has a vision - of what Stark Industries could be, should be - and it’s time that he has the power to make it happen.

Bucky had shown him, had inspired him. Wielding a knife with skill and ruthlessness - or weapons and bombs, in Tony’s case - in one hand doesn’t mean the other can’t reach out with a caress.

Stark Industries is a great weapons company. Howard, Obie, and even Tony had seen to that, but that isn’t all it has to be. So many new areas: energy first, where unreliable power abroad hinders the military, but then robotics, prosthetics. Areas that have untapped potential that will keep Stark Industries as a great company, full stop, for years to come, and Tony with the capabilities of dragging them all into the future.

Tony is still grinning when he ducks out of the building for his afternoon coffee break.

Tony isn’t grinning when he wakes up on a concrete floor, his head pounding and mouth duct taped shut. His hands are zip tied together, his ankles too. No one is in the room with him, but they left him in some type of basement.

Amateur kidnappers who don’t want to negotiate? What purpose could this serve?

His body aches. They must not have been careful when they brought him in here and tossed him on the floor. He remembers a gun pressed into his back and being told to get into a car, then nothing. The size of the basement leans more toward residential than industrial though - how far out of the city did they take him?

The door at the top of the steps opens, light filtering down, and Tony shuts his eyes and remains limp. The creak of the stairs - old wooden steps, those will be hard to get up quietly - and then a kick to the stomach that Tony has to absorb without a flinch. Fuck.

That’s it, though, one kick and his kidnapper goes back up the stairs. “He’s still out!” a voice calls out, a man’s voice, and to how many others? The door slams shut, and Tony is left in darkness.

How much time has that bought him? His throat is dry, mouth parched. But he isn’t hungry yet, so he can’t have been down here for too long.

Tony sits up and scooches his way toward a wall. His suit is definitely ruined, and Tony feels a pang of regret and anger. It had been one of his favorites, and the one he’d envisioned wearing while persuading Obie that Tony could handle taking the reigns of SI. No mercy, then.

Tony uses the wall to lever himself to his feet, carefully keeping his balance since his ankles are locked together. His hands are zip tied behind him, which is only marginally more difficult to break than if they’d done it in front. He bends over and raises his arms, and then swings his hands down until they smack his ass. His hands slide to the sides of his body, and the zip tipe breaks from the force.

Easy.

He leans down and undoes the zip tipe around his ankles, using his fingernail to lift the lock bar and sliding it out smoothly. Then, with only a momentary pause of regret, Tony rips the tape off his mouth and holds back the yelp. There are hairs from his beard still stuck to the tape, and Tony can’t tell how much his face is ruined by feel alone. No mercy.

The crack of gun shots has Tony ducking. Voices call out, raised in alarm, and then at least one ends in a scream.

Tony makes his way swiftly up the stairs, keeping to the edges that are better supported, though any creaks are covered by the noises above. He makes it to the top, and then the door is opening, threatening to knock him back down. The man is too focused on something else on the floor, though, isn’t looking at the steps and at Tony. Tony steps to the side and yanks the man down, letting the kidnapper tumble down the stairs in a clatter.

Tony creeps out and enters chaos.

Blood splatters the walls of a living room. There are at least two bodies where that blood used to be encased in, but it’s difficult for an exact count because the dismembered parts are scattered across the floor. The smell, oh God, the smell. The iron tang of blood clings to his nostrils, mixed with death and urine and vomit, and the smell makes the image real.This is not a dream, not a nightmare, not a hallucination - those were real, human intestines strung over the arm of the chair, dangling in the air, from where they popped out of the body cavity of what used to be a human being.

Standing in the middle of the carnage is Bucky, turning to Tony with long knives in hand that still drip blood and bits of tissue.

Tony stands frozen. Bucky is wearing a black mask that covers the bottom half of his face and goggles tinted so dark that Tony can’t see those familiar blue eyes. This is the image that all Bucky’s victims see, this imposing figure strutting towards them with murder clear in his walk since they can’t see it in his gaze.

Tony staggers, the twisting of his stomach that he’d thought to be nausea turning to liquid heat that ravages his body.

Tony had known about Bucky’s skills and penchant for killing in theory, Bucky having confessed his dark secrets before he could accept Tony’s offer to move in together. But Tony hadn’t ever seen, not with Bucky making sure to rinse everything away before stepping into their place and even storing his gear somewhere else to make sure that no evidence tracked back to Tony.

Tony feels light-headed, his knees weak. He needs to touch, he needs to touch Bucky so bad, and it isn’t until he raises his hands to reach out that he realizes his fingers are shaking with the urge.

Bucky lurches to a stop, still several feet away, and Tony strangles a cry in his throat. He needs to touch - he can barely breathe with the want coursing through him - but his feet are glued to the floor, knees shaking with the effort of standing.

“Bucky?” Tony pleads.

Bucky reaches up and tugs his goggles down until they’re hanging around his neck. Then he unclips the mask from one side of his face and lets it hang. He stares at Tony, eyes wide, his own plea written across his face that hurts Tony to see.

“I won’t hurt you,” Bucky rasps.

“I know,” Tony assures, reaching for Bucky. He knows, of course he knows. Bucky has never hurt him, not unless Tony begs and begs for it, pleading for a mark to remember. Even then Bucky is restrained, controlled. Tony has never seen Bucky so raw and uninhibited as he is right now, and another hot rush of want courses through him.  

Tony takes a step towards Bucky, but then is jerked back. The man who tumbled down the stairs survived, and now holds a knife to Tony’s throat while gagging at the living room.

“You sick fuck,” the kidnapper spits. “What the fuck? What the fuck?”

The knife at his throat wavers, and Tony stares at Bucky’s hardened face. Now he knows what happens beneath the mask, and Tony shivers.

The man drags Tony to the side and then back, headed for the door with Tony as insurance. Bucky follows, his pace steady and matching him stride for stride.

“Let me go and we can just forget about this,” the man tries to bargain as Bucky stalks forward. “We weren’t even supposed to kill him, just rough him up for a few days, you know? No harm, no foul. Let me go, oh God I want to forget, I won’t say nothin’ -” The man’s negotiations cut off with a grunt as a knife buries itself in his throat.

Bucky follows his throw, faster than Tony can track, tugging the knife away from Tony’s neck and using it to slit the kidnapper’s neck wide open.

Blood sprays, hot flecks landing on Tony’s face, his neck, his arm. He watches as Bucky follows the kidnapper’s body down to the ground and sinks the knife into the kidnapper’s chest. Bucky rips open the body cavity and reaches in to yank out the man’s still-beating heart.

Bucky crushes the heart in his fist, blood squirting through his fingers. He rises to his feet, chest heaving, and when he meets Tony’s gaze, Tony has never seen anyone so beautiful.

Tony lunges at Bucky, grabbing, clinging, as he pulls Bucky down for a desperate kiss. He attacks, tugging at Bucky’s bottom lip and then shoving his tongue in Bucky’s mouth until Tony owns every bit. He directs all of the fire rushing up his spine out of his mouth, into Bucky, and Tony growls when Bucky just takes it.

Bucky gently cup Tony’s face. Tony can feel the slick blood on his cheeks now, transferred from Bucky’s gloves. A hot fissure of desire and curiosity fizzles through him, and Tony turns from Bucky’s mouth to try to wrap his lips around Bucky’s thumb.

“Oh no, baby doll,” Bucky whispers as he slides his hand away. “You don’t know where that fucker’s been. It’s not safe.”

Tony whines but stops reaching. He leans his forehead on Bucky’s chest, the cold tacky blood that’s soaked into Bucky’s clothes doing little to cool him down. “I need to blow you,” Tony concludes, and sinks to his knees. He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin with sheer want, and looking up at Bucky, drenched in blood, makes his mouth flood with desire.

“I don’t deserve you,” Bucky breathes. He cases their surroundings for a moment before he smiles down at Tony and rubs his thumb under Tony’s eye, leaving a smear of blood. “Alright, baby. Whatever you need, you take in the next five minutes. Then we’ll need to move, okay?”

The time limit ratchets up the tension in Tony’s spine and he deftly opens Bucky’s belt.

“It was Obie,” Tony realizes as he stares at the screen JARVIS displays for him. Bucky’s arms, which haven’t stopped touching Tony since Bucky came for him in the farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere, lock around Tony tight.

Bucky snarls, which Tony appreciates because he’s still too shocked to be angry. Tracing the men who had kidnapped him hadn’t been easy given there were at least three middle men between Obie at the top and the grunts at the bottom to enact the orders.

Don’t kill Tony Stark, but rough him up. Make him scared, or at the least make other people think that Tony is scared, so that he doesn’t have the power needed to take over Stark Industries and change directions - but keep him alive because Tony Stark’s mind is still worth keeping.

Obie. Obie had ordered it, had planned that for Tony.

“He’s dead,” Bucky growls.

Tony reaches back to combs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. The longer locks took a surprising amount of time to clean the blood out of, and Tony made Bucky promise to let him help next time too.

“Let me find out why first,” Tony coaxes. “It doesn’t make sense. Even when I take over Stark Industries, I would still need him. Or at worst, he would’ve been paid millions to go run any other Fortune 500 company. There’s something not right.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Bucky vows.

“Yes, but give me some time to dig into it first. Then you can bring me his heart,” Tony promises, and then turns his head to accept Bucky’s hungry kiss.

[firegrilled]

I Need a Hero - Part III

Jearmin Week Day 3 Smut (Don’t read if you’re underage plz)

Summary: Jean’s band of adventurers come across royal bodyguards of a kidnapped princess. Seeing an opportunity to line his pockets and finally live the easy life, Jean and his friends get more than they bargained for when they discover their kingdom’s most well-guarded secret: they don’t have a princess but a meek prince.

Warning: Explicit!!!

Day 1 Day 2 Day 4

“Armin, my boy, you know there are other ways to extract one’s essence, correct?” Armin’s grandfather inquired while he dipped a quill into an inkwell. “Blood and sputum for example. Even one’s urine can-”

“Yes, grandfather,” Armin interrupted, his eyes facing the ground. Embarrassment burned his cheeks red.

“Say ‘Ah’ and stick out your tongue,” Armin’s grandpa requested, his wrinkled hand holding a quill and paper. Armin childishly shook his head. If it were just his grandpa in the room that’d be one thing, but the entire royal court’s wizards and doctors? Humiliation barely began to describe what Armin felt. “Grandson, there’s no reason to be ashamed. You saved that boy’s life… even if what you did was a bit unorthodox. I just need to know what you did.”

“Really?” Armin weakly spoke, finally meeting his grandfather’s gaze. To his relief he saw no judgement in his eyes.

“Really. And in the process you discovered something marvelous, which is why all these wise men and women are here. We simply wish to understand how you harnessed the goddess’ power,” Armin’s grandpa smiled.

Taking a deep breath, Armin opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. On its surface a symbol appeared tattooed to it: a pair of wings emblazoned on a shield.

The doors to the infirmary slammed open, causing Armin to almost bite his tongue. Through them marched a knight clad in an almost pearlescent armor. Trailing the knight was a tiny blonde girl, Princess Historia. The knight removed her helmet, revealing a freckled female face with the biggest grin.

“Armin, did you actually do it? Did you really suck a cursed dick?” Ymir asked loudly before breaking out into a fit of laughter.

---

In the days following his return to kingdom of Eldia, Armin found only restlessness and trepidation. His grandfather and the king’s personal doctor worked around the clock to try and save Jean, whose pained screams echoed around the castle’s stony walls. Armin dared to pass by his grandfather’s study when he knew no guards would be around. The two old men were either over Jean taking notes, over a cauldron taking notes, or pouring over books while taking notes. While having a patient with Maria’s curse was a rarity that had to be documented, it left Armin on edge.

His worst fears were confirmed when both caretakers fell ill.

“Bloody miasma,” Armin’s grandpa cursed, breaking down into a fit of coughs afterwards.

Armin rubbed a damp cloth against his grandfather’s sweaty forehead. “How long until you’re better?”

The old man sighed and took a deep breath. “No idea, my boy. Perhaps a few hours without exposure will flush the noxious gas out of my system. Poor Dr. Jaeger. He’ll need more time.”

A chill ran down Armin’s spine at that news.

“But what of Jean? Will he be alright without your attention for so long?”

“Mayhaps. He’s a strong one but without proper treatment he’ll succumb eventually,” Armin’s grandfather admitted. He shifted onto his side, his eyes fluttering shut. “I’ll attend to him… as soon as I feel better…”

On cue, another scream of agony echoed down the halls. Armin frowned, no longer able to sit idly by. He set the rag down and carefully tiptoed down the corridor. Much to his relief no one guarded the door. Perhaps the fear of death kept the guards away. Armin slipped in before anyone could catch him.

Lying on a wooden table with only a blanket over his naked body was Jean. All four limbs were strapped to the legs of the table. Whether due to the near-naked appearance or the look of anguish on Jean’s face, Armin averted his gaze and surveyed the room for his only real hint of what to do. Lying on the ground next to the cauldron Armin found his grandfather’s personal notebook. He retrieved it and opened it to the last page.

“…with Grisha’s analysis I postulate that a combination of containing the necromantic rot around the wound, a flame potion to sear the infected tissue, and perhaps a sealing spell can limit the damage and save the lad’s life. Such a sealing spell would be of the highest order and likely require the boy’s essence. Obtaining such an ingredient would be dangerous to say the least and will require the utmost cauti-”

Armin flipped through some of the previous pages to understand what his grandfather meant but they only provided a little context to the nature of the wound. He frowned, contemplating what he’d need to do in order to save Jean’s life.

Grabbing a spare cauldron from the corner of the room, Armin got to work preparing the potions he knew how to make. First he dug into his grandfather’s closet to remove the appropriate herbs and animal parts to create a lesser version of the flames Eren could conjure on a whim. Strong enough to sear skin but enough not burn a body to ash.

Next he searched for a certain book in his grandfather’s personal library. Necromancy was one of the few schools of magic forbidden to general practitioners but being the royal court mage gave Armin’s grandfather access to special tomes. Tomes that Armin eagerly read when his grandfather was away from the castle.

“Rather than contain the rot, let’s try amplifying and reversing the damage,” Armin muttered as he scoured the book for a passage he vaguely remembered. It took longer than he wished but ultimately he found a spell that was meant for more than just reanimating the dead, it was meant to regrow rotted flesh. Carefully researching the ingredients and the runes, Armin thanked Ymir that he had all he needed.

Within a few moments, Armin created the experimental potion. He left the bubbling purple liquid into in the cauldron.

For the final part he searched through his grandfather’s library until he found a high level book on sealing. Armin flipped through the pages until he found what he considered the strongest sealing spell he could find. Everything seemed normal until he reached the ingredients portion of the spell.

“Human Essence: trace energy of life. Obtained from a living creature by extracting either liquid or flesh from the body. The strongest source of essence is that which gives life…” Armin read aloud, his face flushing at the last sentence. He took a deep breath, glancing back at Jean. The hero grunted, writhing from pain.

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, Armin steeled his resolve. If Jean was willing to get eaten by an undead dragon in order to save his life, this was the very least Armin could do in order to return the favor. “Good thing I prepared extra potions.”

Armin walked to the door, locking the latch so he wouldn’t be interrupted. He grabbed an empty vial from the shelf, sparing a moment to grab one filled with a clear liquid. He set both items down on a table by the cauldron. Taking one last look at Jean, he inhaled deeply. “I must apologize but I’m doing this to save your life… and returning a favor.”

He pulled the blanket off with a mighty yank. Armin’s face flushed at the naked sight below. His eyes focused on the muscles at first, tracing Jean’s toned chest. Sure he knew that adventurers had to fit due to their lifestyle but seeing it in person left Armin’s legs feeling a little weak. His wandering gaze eventually settled on the happy trail right above Jean’s navel. He followed it all the way down and…

“Wow,” Armin mumbled, biting the inside of his cheek. The only dicks he ever saw were either in books or quick glimpses in the showers with Eren and the other boys at court. Not that Armin ever admitted to the occasional stray glance. Having one in full view without anyone to catch him left him a bit awed and excited. Ignoring his body’s natural responses, Armin ran a hand down Jean’s torso.

He closed his eyes, absorbing the details his eyes caught earlier. Despite a light sheen of sweat, Jean felt cool under his touch. Armin’s hand slid further south, passing over the happy trail before nervously settling on his dick. Even soft, Jean appeared bigger than most of the boys he saw.

Armin gave an experimental pump, half expecting the unconscious boy to respond. To his dismay no such reaction happened. He tried a few more times but nothing occurred besides a growing problem in Armin’s pants.

Using his other hand, Armin tried massaging Jean’s balls. Still, nothing happened.

“Damn it,” Armin cursed. He bit his lip as he contemplated next steps. His gaze turned to the vial with the clear liquid. “I’m sorry, Jean.”

Armin twisted the cap off the vial and poured a generous amount into his hand. He crawled onto the table by Jean’s side. Licking his lips, Armin placed his hands between Jean’s toned legs. He shut his eyes as he pushed his hands between Jean’s cheeks. After a few seconds he found Jean’s entrance. Slowly he made motions with his lubricated hand around Jean’s hole. Occasionally he slipped a finger inside Jean, coating what he could with the viscous liquid. After withdrawing his hand to pour the rest of the vial into his hand, he inserted a second finger into Jean.

Jean groaned at the sudden intrusion, not waking from his magical slumber.

Armin froze, all the color draining from his face. When he realized Jean wasn’t moving he continued to scissor his fingers inside him. He continued for a few moments until his arm started to get sore. “I promise this will feel good. I know from experience.”

Repositioning himself over Jean, Armin rubbed his hands together to get both slick. He slipped his two fingers back inside Jean, experiencing no resistance this time. While one hand probed deeper, the other wrapped around Jean’s dick. He pumped with one hand while the other explored Jean. Suddenly Jean bucked, scaring Armin into stopping.

“Found it,” Armin smiled.

Armin resumed the rhythmic motions, pumping as he pressed the spot that elicited a reaction. Jean moaned loudly, a much lewder sound than the pained screams from before. Armin’s face flushed red as his blood traveled to the tent in his pants. The fact Jean couldn’t see him like this made him feel so much better… though the thought of being caught only made him harder.

Jean’s cock slowly hardened under Armin’s touch. By the time Jean reached full mast, Armin’s muscles were sore. Still, the sight made Armin proud. He made this happen, though he needed to finish it off.

Frowning at the next idea, Armin quickly shook the fearful thoughts from his mind. He had to do this. For Jean.

He lowered his head towards Jean’s dick. Shallow breaths escaped him, barely cooling the heat emanating from Jean. With a tentative lick, Armin tasted the tip and some of Jean’s pre. Where he expected bitterness, he only found a tasteless warmth.

“Interesting,” Armin commented before going down on Jean.

He wrapped his lips around Jean’s cock, testing how far he could take. By the time Jean’s dick reach the back of his mouth, Armin realized he wasn’t even all the down on the hero. This would have to do though. He began bobbing his head up and down while his other hand pressed back into the hero. It took him a little before he regained his earlier rhythm.

Jean bucked into Armin’s mouth, almost gagging the boy but Armin withstood the urge. Moans escaped the unconscious hero. They grew louder and more frequent causing Armin’s lips to curl into a smile. Or at least as much of a smile as he could muster with Jean’s cock in his mouth.

When he felt Jean stiffen underneath him, Armin almost swallowed from surprise the sudden burst of cum in his mouth. There was the bitter taste he expected. Jean let out the loudest moan yet, unloading a week’s worth of pent up stress into Armin’s mouth.

Armin withdrew his hand but kept his lips locked around the dick until he felt it stop spasming. Blindly reaching for the table, Armin pawed around the surface until he found the empty bottle. He brought the bottle under his lips and opened his mouth, letting the cum slowly fill the container. The thought of someone watching this process brought a dark blush to Armin’s face. Once his mouth was empty and the embarrassment passed, Armin set the container down on the table and climbed down from the table.

He walked over to the cabinet to find another empty jar and set it on the ground.

Armin pulled his pants down to free his dick, taking a seat next to the empty jar. He rubbed a slick hand around his needy cock. The front of his pants already had a wet spot that he didn’t want to explain to anyone but he didn’t have the time to worry about that. The very act of blowing Jean already left him on edge.

“Fuck,” Armin muttered, feeling a coil forming in his belly. A few strokes from his hand, coated in a mixture of lubricant and Jean’s cum gave Armin the much needed stimulation. He grabbed the jar and brought it in front of his dick. His body stiffened from the pleasure, releasing a few white ropes into the glass.

An intense euphoria left Armin breathing heavily, leaning against the bookshelf. It wasn’t until his tongue started tingling that his senses returned to him. He quickly pushed himself up, struggling to not fall from his wobbly legs. Pulling his pants up he stumbled to the cauldron and poured the contents of the cauldron into the jar of his cum. He swirled the dark purple mixture for a few seconds before the burning in his mouth almost reached a painful peak. Throwing caution to the wind he chugged the potion.

Armin fell to his knees, gagging on the mixture. His taste buds barely registered the disgusting taste, instead focusing on the burning feeling going down his throat. He couldn’t let this pain cripple him. With an intense focus, Armin forced himself to reach the table and grabbed the container of Jean’s cum. He crawled back to the cauldron and poured the remainder into that jar. While he swirled that, the pain in his body faded. Now euphoria buzzed around his head.

Rising to his feet, Armin walked over to Jean. He hovered over the hero’s injured arm and poured the potion onto the wounds. The purple liquid bubbled and burned, causing Jean to howl out once more.

“Stay strong, just a little more,” Armin encouraged the unconscious hero. He rubbed the liquid into the wounds and ignored the burning sensation on his hands. Next, Armin lifted Jean’s head and poured the remainder of the liquid into Jean’s mouth. Doing his best to make sure the hero didn’t choke, he patiently waited for Jean to swallow the contents of the jar. Once he was done with that, Armin returned to the cauldron and stuck his hands in here. He washed his hands in the liquid and made sure to rub some on his dick. “There, sanitized.”

Armin smiled, proud of his work. He glanced back at Jean’s arm and already noticed the wounds closing. Content with that sign, he walked to the door and unlocked. Just as he opened the door, the euphoria in his head faded. A heavy weight hit his mind and everything went black. The last words he heard as fainted were the sounds of rushing footsteps.

When he came to, he found himself in front of his grandpa and the other educators of the castle in the infirmary.

---

“Y-Y-Yes…” Armin admitted, humiliation returning to his mind. “I wanted to use the most powerful sealing spell… and it said the strongest essence came from the one that gave life.”

A few hushed whispers around the room left Armin stewing in his embarrassment, and the howls of laughter from Ymir did little to temper that reaction.

“Ymir, stop it! He saved the guy who rescued him,” Historia elbowed the knight.

“I know… I know… It’s just- that’s hysterical. Oh my goodness, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in ages,” Ymir wiped tears from her eyes.

“Armin, my boy. What that tome referenced was blood. Blood is what gives life,” Armin’s grandpa rubbed his beard, further sending Armin into denial. “Though I must admit the properties of… semen aren’t well known. And now we have further cause for research.”

“But, Lord Arlert,” One of the wizards spoke. “He openly admitted to using a necromantic potion as well. Isn’t that a cause for alarm?”

More hushed voices echoed around the room, most sounding of disapproval.

“Quiet. One thing at a time,” Armin’s grandpa shook his head. “While frowned upon, using the fallen goddess’ own magic against itself was intuitive and probably what allowed for this miraculous event to take place. None of us would’ve thought of that.”

“For good reason-”

“I said hush. We’ll cross that bridge later,” Armin’s grandpa raised a wrinkled finger, silencing the room.

“What’s going on, grandpa?” Armin wondered, still unsure why so many people came to see him as he awoke.

“Well, it’s hard to say but Jean’s been awake for some time now. You’ve been asleep for almost a week. And it seems whatever ritual you performed has… what’s a good way to put this? You’ve unlocked a new unknown power within him. I suspect the same can be said of yourself since you ingested cursed semen.”

Armin shuddered at that phrasing. “Please don’t use those words.”

“But Armin, my boy-”

“Just… what do you mean by power?”

Armin’s grandpa scratched his head before shrugging. “I can’t quite say. Jean is stronger than ever, successfully dueling our strongest knights into submission in mere moves. As for yourself… well.”

The old man as well as the other wizards in the room looked upwards, causing Armin to glance in that direction. His eyes widened when he saw a hole in the stone ceiling, extending through several floors. “Wh-what happened?!”

“You, my boy. You seem to have inherited some new power and I suspect that seal on your tongue has something to do with it. For now we’ll let you rest as you’ve filled in the blanks. Please, just rest and recover.”

Armin nodded at those words, feeling a sudden tiredness wash over his body. Ymir and Historia ran to his side while the older men and women left the room.

Once the crowd was outside, one of the wizards closed the door.

“Archmage Arlert, you know the price of necromancy,” one of the wizards stated.

Taking a deep breath, Armin’s grandpa wiped a tear away from his eyes. “I know but let the boy rest. He’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”

To Be Continued on Jearmin Week Day 4: Hurt/Comfort

[woohooligancomics]

Laughtifesto

Are we laughing?

We should be. Laughter is a moral imperative: a proposition declaring a certain action necessary. Kant argued that not following a moral imperative would be self-defeating and therefore contrary to reason, like trying to improve your mood by reading unmoderated internet comments. You can't spell "encourage" without "enrage"! If we accept this definition, laughter may be the only moral imperative that's fun!

We all know the world is full of scary things: natural disasters, flesh-eating viruses, identity theft, fake news, real news, terrorism both foreign and domestic... clowns. With all those real dangers, it's kind of a miracle anyone makes horror movies. "Hey, I got this movie about an alien parasite that melts people's faces... I'm gonna stop you right there, you had me at 'alien parasite'. I need something to take my mind off the president implying nuclear holocaust on Twitter."

We could accept that fear. We could allow it to drive our decisions, build more walls, buy more locks and guns, stay in the house and avoid human contact. But what's the end game there? We'll be holed-up alone in our bomb-shelters, eating canned beans and Spam. We'll eke out our embattled existence in the post-apocalyptic hellscape, watching for roving bandits. As we play our thousandth game of solitaire, we'll say to ourselves, "I sure am glad I stopped going to parties so I could stock all these guns and canned food! Just think of all those suckers out at the clubs, laughing it up, not preparing for the apocalypse. Who's got the last laugh now?!"

Even if there is an apocalypse, preparing for one is a lose-lose strategy. Your bunker's got food and water, guns, medical supplies and a deck of cards to pass the time. You're set, right? Unless you develop a blood clot... or that Spam you're eating gives you cancer. Who forgot to buy the at-home oncology lab? I hear you can remove a colon tumor with a Bowie knife and a bottle of whiskey if you print out the right tutorials in advance.

The point is, no matter how much you prepare, there's no guarantee it will save you. In fact, when you consider that the odds of each individual danger are so small, the more you prepare, the more time you're wasting on threats you'll never personally face. In the first world, even if we spend all our time studying survival, we're no less likely to succumb to the five leading causes of death: heart attack, cancer, lung disease, household accidents and stroke. Better to just cover the basics like cell-phones, insurance, and fire-alarms, and let your neighbors to help if you have an emergency those things don't solve.

But will your neighbors help? That's a good question. Do you laugh with them? Laughter brings us together more than anything else we do. More than protesting, mourning, patriotism, Thanksgiving, even drinking! As the Great Dane (and fair comedian), Victor Borge said, "laughter is the shortest distance between two people."

Some people still give you all sorts of reasons not to laugh.

I'm not laughing because this is serious work, for serious face. Surely Albert Einstein never laughed while he was developing his theory of relativity that changed the world forever. The class clown isn't just better at their own job, the team is better because of them. They make working together easier and more fun!

I'm not laughing because we need real social and political change! Because that's what's really holding us back! I mean, robber barons like Carnegie and Rockefeller caused the Great Depression, but the real reason it took a decade to climb back out of it was because FDR heard too many dick jokes! "Damnit, Truman, that's it! I'm not fixing the economy until people stop making fun of my Johnson! Eleanor, fetch my Viagra!... and a ruler."

Lots of people are using comedy to create real social and political change. Adam Conover addresses lots of real issues on his show, Adam Ruins Everything. Jordan Klepper's show, Jordan Klepper Solves Guns came with a website with information and links to resources to help regular citizens in the US deal with our gun crisis. Will dick jokes alone create real change? No. But they don't stop Samantha Bee from giving you loads of useful information on Full Frontal to help you get involved in whatever issue is important to you. She's giving you the tip; what you do with it is up to you.

I'm not laughing because I'm angry! Sure, because George Carlin, Denis Leary, Sam Kinison, Bill Hicks, and Lewis Black couldn't possibly relate to that!

I'm not laughing because I'm sad... that's when you most need to laugh.

Carl Jung said, "you are what you do, not what you say you'll do". We become the things we practice, so if we practice being afraid, by watching local news and TV murder shows, we'll become more afraid. On the other hand, we can also practice being happy and productive by getting out of ourselves and not being afraid to be silly. If actions speak louder than words, then the things we laugh at are one of the best marks of our character. Do we laugh at the homeless or disabled? Or do we laugh at greedy politicians and corporate execs who push their agendas at our expense?

Of course, Laughter isn't always safe. Comedy is a tool, and it can be used to tear down as much as to build-up or to heal. That's why there's nothing evil people hate more than our laughter (except for those clowns). Tyrants and terrorists alike hate being laughed at, whether they're in government, private corporations, religious establishments, or loosely organized on the Internet. They hate it because they want power and control, and laughing at them tells them we don't accept their control.

It's that same hatred of our laughter that caused the Egyptian government to exile Bassem Youssef for his comedy, that also inspired the shooting of cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo. Tyrants often jail political cartoonists, and I'm sure the Inquisition or the Lord's Resistance Army would respond the same way.

While the threat of violence is a concern, we can't let evil people dictate how we live. We can't be so afraid of their retribution in the future that we make ourselves miserable today. Giving in, staying inside, banning travel, hoarding Spam, amounts to appeasing them. So when a terrorist asshat drove through a dozen New Yorkers on Halloween 2017, the rest of them went out, dressed up in their costumes, got drunk and urinated in the subway, like they do every year! You can't break New York! If you can make it there, you laugh in the face of fear!

Throughout 2016, Russian government hackers turned western civil discord up to eleven, in both the United States and Europe. These deep-dump operatives stoked online flame wars and organized several street protests AND their own counter-protests. They drove both sides of these "debates" because they didn't care about either side. Putin wanted us fighting, to make us believe we hate each other more than we do. That lets him claim that western democracy has failed (with bonus points if he could inject his political puppets into other governments). Laughing is the last thing Putin, or for that matter Trump, wants us doing.

Laughter is a moral imperative, because if we stop laughing, the tyrants and terrorists win.

We know finding reasons to laugh isn't always easy. It shouldn't be. Destruction is always easier than creation. Probably no arsonist ever said "oh man, that building just refused to light!" Building it on the other hand took a lot of people, time and cooperation, and we can be proud of our accomplishment. Just as no one person is responsible for the building, no one of us is the only jester. Laughter gets around, because it needs to be shared. Who keeps their jokes to themselves? I mean... what's so funny if you can't tell us? That's just creepy. Moreover sharing our laughs, even the little ones, is the best thing we can do for each other (after CPR -- perform the CPR first, then tell the joke). It might be one of many, or it might be the laugh someone needed on a really difficult day, or it might be the laugh that sparks a revolution.

You put your little laugh out onto the road, and there's no knowing where it might be swept off to.

So I'm going to stay right here, and keep laughing it forward. Thank you for sharing yourself and laughing with us!

- Samuel Isaac Dealey

p.s. Call me Sam

And if you'd like to be part of our laughtivist work, join the mailing list below, or on our site!

"It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped each time a man stands up for an ideal or acts to improve the lot of others or strikes out against injustice. He sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest wall of oppression and resistance."

- Robert F. Kennedy

"The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."

- Steve Jobs