#unfortunately i took an edible so this is way too long . rest in pieces

[shoceted]

have you ever made a ranking for each of the kamen rider seasons you've watched? which one is best for newbies, which one is your secret favourite, which one made you cry etc

i have made a ranking actually! i have a tier list that i very rarely share publicly because there's some spicy takes on there. but here's some thoughts on each season i've completed at this time because you gave me the excuse anon >:]

ryuki: i... really wish i liked ryuki more. i respect it immensely for what it did for the franchise and i think it's got themes, which is more than i can say of some seasons. but for the most part i ahhhhh... didn't love it? it's not my least favorite season i don't think but it isn't one that i'm going to revisit any time soon. i do love ren and shinji though; as a known sucker for a grumpy/sunshine primary/secondary red/blue pair they got me and they got me hard. i definitely am going to write some renshinji someday. and those last two episodes are some good fucking television. but overall ehhhh. i really do wish i liked it more though if only to fit in with everyone else :( (and it's not just the fact that it's heisei phase 1 that's the issue bc i'm loving decade and blade so far! and kiva also is there!). but yeah at this time my favorite ryuki is the one from japanese boy band mazzel stream carnival

double: DUB E X CRIME N THE CITY! i fucking loved w. it's just straight up damn good toku. and it literally took a single episode preview for terui ryu in all his stupid wet cat angstiness to captivate me forever. a single episode preview. like i will always remember finishing the 1st arc, seeing the episode preview for ryu's first episode right after, and being like "fuck" even though i intended to leave off there for the day and watched his first two episodes. DAMN U SECONDARY RIDER SYNDROME. i do think w would be a great place to start getting into rider tbh because it's just so good!!!!!!! i don't even have a lot to say about it but not in a bad way. it's just really really good. watch w. and make it soon. if you have not already. love is strong girls go on

ooo: so one thing you should understand is that i am literally watching ooo right now. like i'm sitting on my couch typing this and also watching episode 19 of kamen rider ooo. i legit watch through the entire second arc all the time. i think it's a very close second or third for my favorite season ever. eiji at the very least is tied for my favorite primary ever and that's saying a lot considering how much i love my other favorite primary ever. (which we'll get into.) ankh is just like me fr and i am going to eat his gender and HINA. BEST GIRL. 10/10. the very first ooo fic i started working on after watching this show (which i might fuck around and try to finish at some point even) is from her pov!!!!!! because i love her. AND DATE AKIRA IS THE MAN EVER (AND THE LEAST REPRESSED SECONDARY CONGRATION YOU DONE IT). the story the comedy the action the epic highs and lows of a hippie and his underwear and of a bird and his ice pops and of a girl and her brother and GAHHHHH. i love this show so so so much. i would absolutely start with ooo if i could go back in time. and i did not secretly cry, i cried a lot. openly. i want to make my boss watch it. i love ooo. i've been trying to design a hawktigergrasshopper shirt for months. i am literally watching kamen rider ooo right now and i will until i go to bed. you count the medals one two and three life goes on anything goes coming up ooo [i start crying]

fourze: my first exposure to kisaragi gentaro was when i watched heisei generations final for the first time, where i promptly freaked the fuck out because holy shit it's fuckin fukushi sota jesus christ jesse eisenberg moment. i actually watched one fourze movie (the winter one, bc i'm a h!p fan and manoeri is there. nadeshiko my beloved) long before i'd seen the series and forgot this. anyway i watched fourze in... like february-march i think? and i ADORED IT. kengo/gentaro is a top tier rider ship and i also have a wip of them that someday i will finish. the kamen rider club is SO GOOD (tomoko and jk are both just like me fr and miu!!! aka tomoyo sepakoi!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm the only person who liked that show!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and meteor's suit is so pretty and fuck man the power of fucking friendship. i cried at fourze too. it took me like two hours to watch the two-parter where gentaro gets his final form. i love this show man. it makes me look up at the moon and think about happy things. my space kids. FOURZE YEAH!

wizard: so unfortunately i have the popular opinion that wizard is really long and poorly paced, especially towards the end. but that's straight up my only criticism of it. like that's it. i put wizard in the "free therapy" tier of my list initially but then moved it to "free therapy but you're a little bit high." haruto is a fucking excellent primary rider who i adore he's so my type i hate it here and like it makes me want to rewatch good morning call bc shiraishi shunya pretty and nitou... is definitely the character ever. to quote my own joke it's like one of the writers watched indiana jones on shrooms and had the idea to create the secondary of all time. (it's been like 10 years since the end of wizard do u think he's figured out that he's into haruto yet.) and RINKO MY GOD and koyomi... koyomi/haruto is proof het rider ships can also dissolve your bones... but most importantly. NARA SHUNPEI. HE IS JUST LIKE ME FR. lowkey highkey kinning him from his very first episode. i love that man. he just wants 2 be useful and you know what me too. but yeah so WAY too long but definitely good idc what anyone says; i ain't gonna hate a show that has the same moral as no pressure by novel core.

gaim: HEY SO DON'T START WITH GAIM. DON'T DO IT. DO NOT START WITH KAMEN RIDER GAIM. I AM SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE. GET LIKE A FEW MORE SEASONS UNDER YOUR BELT AND THEN WATCH GAIM. i am speaking from experience. okay. now i feel like gaim has a negative reputation nowadays. BUT. despite popular belief gaim is not peak sexism in kamen rider (like dude... kiva. what the fuck.) so that is that myth busted; also the ending is so beautiful and tragic but overall good if you dedicate some thought to it! and the characters are fucking wonderful! like in any other show i wouldn't care about zack and he's like in the eternally rotating top 3 gaim characters for me. i fucking adore kamen rider gaim. it's about growing up and it's about fighting against your oppressors and it's about pokemon go and dance crews, what could possibly go wrong. like as much as i hate micchy (which is a lot bc he reminds me of my toxic ex rip <3) i can't deny that he's an incredibly well-written character. kouta is an excellent primary and his journey throughout the series breaks your heart, but isn't that what growing up does? takatora is such a well-executed character that it's fun to watch other people react to how the show makes your opinion on him change. and god, kumon kaito has been giving me brain worms since 2015-2018. crimson lotus of misfortune, tragic banana boy, would-be tyrant, gay ass. no matter what anyone says, he's a great character. bananaorange is one of my favorite rider ships ever; it's either tied for first or a close second depending on the moment. and MAI. mai!!!! ray of light. if she was a tarot card she'd be the star. i love that girl. but DON'T START HERE JUST LIVE MORE

drive: so my plan for this year is all of heisei phase 2 + decade and i watched drive pretty early because i knew i would have complicated feelings on it, because i'm black and i'm never comfortable with positive portrayals of cops in fiction. and i was... kind of right. like there are things i loved about drive (heart. namely. fucking adore heart. had me from the moment he said "that roidmude might have been a monster to you but to me he was my friend." i love love love heart so much. he was my lockscreen for MONTHS this year.). i think that everything after episode 40 or so is great. and i relate to gou as much as i relate to shunpei, except in the opposite direction, so him suffering and breaking down and dying of flowers and stuff is really easy, and also fun. and CHASE. he is the fictional character that i think of when i read the word babygirl. but it's also... like... a show where cops are out to kill an entire species... and that makes me uncomfortable. and i abhor that fucking belt. like spoilers but you see a man getting tortured and you just LEAVE???????? THIS IS YOUR FAULT AND ALSO WHY DO YOU NEVER TELL KIRIKO ANYTHING. AND ALSO, SHE SHOULD HAVE BEEN DRIVE. seriously drive would have been p e a k if they weren't cops and kiriko was drive. i also wish heart and shin had more homoerotic tension with each other cause idk i would have liked to see it? anyway. drive. fwiw i think the way it ends is way worse than the way gaim ends, so :) spicy take for the day i suppose. so relationship status it's complicated. also i think shin is boring .

ghost: MY FRIENDS BORN IN THE SAME ERA AS ME WE THINK THEREFORE WE ARE!!!!! I LOVED GHOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! like seriously if wizard is no pressure ghost is jenga and to complete the trio of novel core therapy songs ooo is thanks all my tears and i'm always a sucker for media where the moral is that life is short and sometimes painful, but it's beautiful, and it's yours, and that's why you should see it through to the end. ghost genuinely makes me want to keep living. I LOVED GHOST. the pacing problems aren't a problem at all if you're not watching week to week i swear. takeruuuuuu my sweet baby my son who i raised myself. also nishime shun is super cute and only like a year older than me,,, i'm fine takeru is such a good boy and if you hate him you will die and go to hell. makoala my boys. they sure are gay aren't they. anyway i'm always a slut for older brothers so i love makoto and if alan was red instead of green i would want to eat his gender. and kanon is so precious but AKARI GOD DAMN IT I LOVE HER SO MUCH. PRETTY SCIENCE LADY IS ALWAYS MY TYPE. but i cannot pursue her because takeru/akari is one of my favorite rider ships ever and fuck you toei they're so fucking married by now. they have to be!!!!!! i refuse to live in a world where they're not! so they're married. thank you. they're also criminally underrated and i think i'm gonna publish my first het rider fic about them because they are so fuckign cute. goodnight. ghost is great. episode 6, my god, one of my favorites in all of rider. AND THE BELT NOISES. COCAINE IN THEM.

ex-aid: so my best friend in the whole world jack (hiiiiiii jack if you read this i love you) had been telling me to watch ex-aid for about two years before i watched it and now i know why: ex-aid has a disease in it and i don't just mean the bugster virus. ex-aid gives you a disease called ex-aid disease where you can't stop thinking about ex-aid. it infects you from the moment you watch it for the first time. symptoms include telling other people to watch ex-aid. watch ex-aid. i listen to excite at least once a day from monday to thursday on my way to work. i have one (1) gashat (tokimeki crisis for my wife who i am married to and is my wife, poppy pipopapo) and it is one of my greatest treasures. i. love. ex-aid. I LOVE EX-AID. kagami fucking hiiro god damn it, i should've known that the scene in sepakoi where kaneda cries would've had a lasting impact on my psyche because wow that boy can cry and be repressed about shit LIKE HIS GIANT CRUSH ON EMU WHICH HE SO HAS, MR. BL ASS SETO TOSHIKI GLOOMY GAY SADBOI. cough. i truly love all the characters though. it's just that kagami hiiro permanently altered my brain chemistry. the adhd lets me write gou and the autism lets me write hiiro. he's like my fucking muse. just god ex-aid is great the belt noises are great the suits are great the villains are great the soundtrack is great my wife is there (poppy) taddle legacy is my favorite final form ever and god it's such a beautiful fucking show. i miss takahashi shit like this because it's genuinely hard to believe geats was written by the same guy. i adore ex-aid. now would i start with ex-aid. no. do i know people who started with ex-aid. yes. but maybe once you've got a little early heisei phase 2 under your belt dive into the god damn gamer doctors. i'm on a mission right now. EX-AID. STREAM PEOPLE GAME

build: so build was my second season of rider, which i watched in late 2020-early 2021... aka when cherry magic was airing. i fucking loved cherry magic and i'll always be grateful for it because lmfttf was a really important fic in my personal fic writing history. but this is not about magic virgins this is about build which... really is another ryuki to me, but it's above ryuki for now because it really is enjoyable and akaso eiji is there and everything, but i don't feel very passionately about it. now when i first watched it i was ~*depressed*~ so that might be part of it, but it didn't have the power to bring me out of that depression that the season i'm going to talk about next does. it just was something i watched and then had watched. be the one's a great song though and the story is really good objectively. i'm also... about to commit sacrilege but it's fine here goes i'm not really into best match as a pairing??????? it doesn't feel as organic as some other rider ships and that sours me on it. while meanwhile you have shit like renshinji where it was 2002 or whatever and that changes my brain chemistry because oh! you genuinely were supposed to read this as friendship! while best match is like. explicitly bait for fujos. like advertised about being about heated drama between men, as opposed to naturally produced heated drama between men. but i did like it and i even have one of the best match rings (with the other with jack). no complaints about the story. but it's not something i'm super into. but they say it's a good place to start for a reason.

revice: so tl;dr at the end of 2020 and the beginning of 2021 i was super depressed for a whole bunch of reasons. and then one summer day i found out that japanese pop singer and member of girl group beyooooonds maeda kokoro's older brother was the guy who was gonna star in the next season of kamen rider. so i decided to give it a shot. i genuinely just decided to give it a shot because of that. and it saved my fucking life. at first it was just that it was miles away from the aforementioned bunch of reasons i was depressed, something to look forward to every week that just didn't have anything to do with it. i'm a sucker for any tokusatsu show that's family-themed, so 8-10 did insane things to my brain chemistry. but really it had me from episode one. because ikki. igarashi fucking ikki my beloved. a fictional character has genuinely never gripped me like this. i literally buy merch of him every time i get paid. he is so special to me because his story was exactly what i needed to hear, and also because he's the prettiest guy on earth, my god. he's so my type that it's like he was created in a lab. i love igarashi ikki so much that actually we're married. like yeah does revice has problems? is the theme song not good? does the behind the scenes stuff & presence of kimura subaru (and again i'm black) make me uncomfortable? YES!!! BUT I ALSO LOVE THIS SHOW! it is a reason that i am alive and typing this right now! kamen rider revice is extremely special to me and my favorite season of rider ever. i don't know what could ever take its place. i love it so much. i collect vistamps of past seasons i've watched (eagle and jackal are next and i already have kamakiri and kong). the music aside from livedevil is fucking wonderful, the spinoffs are wonderful, heated drama between WOMEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BETWEEN WOMEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! a show that means so much to me and is so close to my heart. i love it so much and it's unmatched and it probably always will be. i'm so glad i watched it. thank you, past me.

#asks #unfortunately i took an edible so this is way too long . rest in pieces

[cursestothemoon]

Imagine sucking on a lollipop all day to tease Fred but you act like you don’t know what you’re doing and he eventually gets too worked up and ends up fucking you real hard. Maybe you also put on your old school uniform and tease him. Basically some light ddlg with daddy Freddie

JEALOUS POSSESSIVE SEX WITH FRED!!!!

It could be a headcannon or blurb- whatever you want- but can it be with a fem!reader please 💕

I combined these two requests :)

a/n: i jUST REALIZED I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO MAKE IT DDLG WITH DADDY FRED OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY. I’ll write a separate ddlg, daddy kink piece for you, i am so sorry ☹️

Cherry Lollipops and Pleated Skirts

F.W. X FEM!READER

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

warnings: NSFW, vaginal sex, oral (male receiving), fingering, spanking, slight exhibitionism, humiliation, degradation, slight praise, dom!Fred, sub!reader, UNEDITED

No one expected the show to be so busy on a random Friday, but it was busting at the seams. Since the doors were opened at eight o'clock this morning, people had been piling into the shop and stealing your boyfriend's attention along with his twins.

At first, you understood the shop was important and you'd rather business be booming than have their dreams fall apart... but six hours of Fred not even having the time to spare you glance has catalyzed a faint change of heart.

You need him.

The flat above the shop- where you live with Fred and George- was incredibly boring without the boys. You had half a mind to throw caution to the wind, Fred's rules be damned, and use your own hand to get yourself to cum.

Fred had been beyond cruel with his early morning teasing, both of you assuming it would be a light work day and he'd find time to sneak off so you two could go at. At this point you were sure Fred was so busy he forgot about the predicament he left you in, you couldn't blame him- you wanted to- but you couldn't so you decided it would be best to subtly remind him.

You pulled out your old Hogwarts skirt and white button up shirt, with the skirt barely fitting as an appropriate garment to wear out in public. Your hips, thighs, and ass had all filled out as you blossomed into mid adulthood much to your-and Fred’s- pleasant surprise. The dark grey pleated skirt went just below the curve of your ass and brushed the tops of your thighs. The shirt still fit roughly the same, you tucked it into the skirt and left the top few buttons open revealing the soft skin of your chest along with a dark purple love bite peaking out from just under the limp collar.

You made your way down to the shop, a skip in your step as you thought out a plan. The hard candy and lollipop section was just a few feet away from the stairs leading to the upstairs flat, the stairs you were descending, and they were exactly what you were looking for. Picking up a cherry lollipop- you had convinced the twins to bring in a few muggle sweets to the shop- you unwrapped it as you walked over to the till and delicately placed it in your mouth.

"Should I even ask?" George laughed as he took the seven sickles you held out to him.

You shrugged, "You really wanna know?"

He shuddered making you smirk, "You're right. Last I saw him he was by the pepper imps."

The butterflies of anticipation multiplied as you gave George a beaming smile before turning to walk toward the pepper imps.

"And I'd like to keep my shop up and running, so please no funny business in the store."

You shot him a wink over your shoulder before sauntering over to where Fred was. The pepper imps were towards the front of the store but still tucked away in a corner, and as you neared them you could see a crouched Fred looking through the shelves and writing down on his clip board. You took a minute to look him up and down, his hands holding the pen and board making the items look ridiculously toy like, and his bent knees crouching position immediately drew your eyes to the curve of his butt. Averting your eyes from his backside, your gaze followed the lines of his forearms. He had his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows and the writing caused his arm to flex every so often making you almost drop the cherry flavored sucker from your mouth.

Gently shaking your head and moving the lollipop from one side of your mouth to the other, you brought yourself back to reality and took slow steps to stand next to Fred. You pretended to browse through the shelves as he remained focused on his task.

Fred could sense someone standing next to him, and it took him a mere few seconds to realize it was you. He could be blind folded in a room full of people and he would be able to pick you out in a second from your perfume alone. It was his favorite smell, the way it mixed and mingled with your natural scent was intoxicating. His eyes fluttered shut as he took in your scent, before he turned his head assuming to meet your eyes- only it was your bare thigh that his nose was just about touching when he turned his head.

You watched as his eyes slowly travelled up the expanse of your leg, stopping for a moment when he reached the hem of your skirt, before continuing up until he met your eyes. They were big, bright, and teasingly innocent as your beautiful lips were wrapped around the top half of a big, round, cherry red lolly.

"Seems I've missed an imp." He smirked, extending his legs and raising to his full height.

"Maybe you should get back down there and count again." You suggested sweetly, pulling the lollipop out of your mouth with a pop.

Fred's eyes followed the sucker as you put it back into your mouth and started sucking on it, a faint hitch of his breath could be heard as you pushed it further back into your mouth. He looked around to see if anyone else was seeing the act you were putting on, luckily the corner seemed to be the only deserted spot in the packed shop.

"I'm busy, love, don't be a bad girl." His voice was low and soft as he spoke.

"But Freddie," You whined, drawing out his name before lifting yourself onto your tiptoes to whisper into his ear. "I need you."

Fred plucked the lollipop from between your thumb and forefinger before sticking it into his mouth with a smile.

"Good girls wait, you wanna be a good girl don't you?"

You nodded eagerly.

His eyes racked down your body one more time, his lips slightly parted and tongue prodding at the lollipop hanging out of his mouth as he smirked.

"Good, now go changed before someone sees what's mine."

It was clear this wasn't just a suggestion. He placed the lollipop back into your mouth and gently pushed your chin up to close your lips around the sucker before bending down to place a kiss on your forehead and nudge you in the direction you came from.

With a huff you walked back to the till with slumped shoulders and a sour impression making George giggle at your expression.

"Has he rejected your womanly charm and seduction?" The younger twin joked, earning himself a shove to the shoulder as you joined him behind the till.

You kept George company as he helped customers check out, your lollipop helping keep you occupied as time dragged on. Your elbows rested on the counter, your body bent over the surface while you watched the people in the shop.

Unbeknownst to you, Fred couldn't seem to get his eyes off of your form. The way you were resting against the counter had the hem of your skirt kissing the underside of your ass and he was sure if he could stand behind you he'd see your underwear peaking out from under the garment. The thought of throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you up to the flat was a tempting one, but he had enough willpower- or so he hoped- to resist the urge.

His willpower seems to be running thin, though, when he caught sight of some short bloke eyeing you up. The man wasn’t someone Fred was familiar with, and the way he was practically eye fucking you while you joked with George at the counter didn’t have Fred begging to get to know him. 

The guy continued to openly ogle at you, making Fred start to lose his temper as he restocked the edible death marks. He couldn’t tell if you had noticed or not, but you continued to swirl your tongue around that damned lollipop that not only made his pants far too tight but was probably affecting the man whore in aisle three the same way. 

With one final flick of your tongue against the sucker, Fred noticed the man start to make his way over to you, a sleazy smirk stretched across his lips. He tossed the rest of the edible dark marks onto the table with no regards to organization and took long strides to get to your side. 

You were mid conversation with George about the new girl he was seeing when you felt Fred wrap a firm, calloused hand around your wrist and tug you into his chest. 

“Everything al-” Fred cut you off with a large hand spread over your jaw, forcing your head to angle up, and pulling you into a heated kiss after plucking the lollipop from your lips. 

He held you to his chest as your body practically went limp in his arms, anything to just keep your lips locked with his. Fred kept his hand on your neck, moving it just slightly back to keep your head tilted back so he could deepen the kiss while his hand around your waist pulled your hips as close to his as possible- also trying not to get the sticky sweet sucker stuck on your skirt. 

The kiss left you breathless, your chest heaving as his lips moved to the underside of your jaw with heavy kisses. You almost forgot where you were with the way Fred was firmly holding your jaw and moving it himself so he could better access to the skin. Unfortunately, it was George who brought you back to reality making a soft blush paint your cheeks. Fred hung his head, nose prodding at your neck as he smirked before pulling away and standing straight. He popped your sucker into his mouth, a clinking against his teeth sounded as his tongue moved the sugary sweet hard-candy around in his mouth. His eyes were creased into a mocking squint as he stared down the now incredibly uncomfortable looking man. 

Fred didn’t wait for him to walk away, instead focusing his attention back on you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, nudging you in the direction of the stairs that led upstairs to the flat. 

“Oi! Where are you going?” George shouted just as you let out a loud giggle, Fred had smacked the underside of your butt as you climbed up the steps ahead of him. 

Fred turned to look at his brother, eye dropping into a wink, “I’m taking my lunch break.”

You giggled all the way through the flat and into your shared bedroom, Fred walking next to you with long strides and an arm wrapped around your shoulders, his hand holding the column of your neck. 

Fred closed the door to your bedroom before turning to you, he gave you an appraising look as he toyed with the lollipop still in his mouth. 

“You think this is cute?” 

His tone made your eyes shift and bottom lip jut, you were in trouble. 

“Walking into the shop dressed like a fucking whore...You just want attention, huh?”

“I wasn’t even paying attention to him! I was just waiting for you like you told me.”

Fred stopped for a moment, “...I never mentioned that bloke looking at you.”

Your eyes went wide realizing you gave away more than you should of.

“On your fucking knees.”

In record time your knees hit the hardwood floor, slowly crawling over to Fred. Your eyes were trained on the lollipop moving around his mouth and you think you understood just how agonizing it must’ve been for Fred all day to watch you sucking on it.

Upon reaching his legs, you worked quickly to unbutton his trousers and pull them down along with his boxers. You wrapped a hand around his semi hard cock, the weight of him in your hands made arousal start to pool in your panties. Your tongue replaced your hand, licking a broad stripe up from the base of his cock to the tip before placing a kiss on the spongy head while making eye contact with Fred through your lashes. The act made him shudder, his hand moving to grab the side of your head and fingers carding through your hair. Taking him into your mouth, you could feel each ridge and vein with your tongue making you moan around his shaft. 

“Bunny’s mouth was made for my cock, yeah?” Fred asked with a grunt as you slowly started to bob your head. 

You nodded as best you could but focused back on hollowing your cheeks and taking him to the back of your throat. His head hit the back of your throat making you let out a small gag before adjusting to breathing through your nose. Once adjusted you started to bob your head faster, your hands gripping his thighs hard enough to leave marks. 

Fred groaned around the lollipop still in his mouth- though now significantly smaller- his hips starting to thrust in sync with your mouth moving up and down his shaft. His breathe hitched when your hand started to massage his balls, tugging and rolling to get him to his release. 

The louder he got the closer you knew he was, so you started to suck harder and move faster. His fist closed around a makeshift ponytail in his palm, using it to tug you off of his cock. Your mouth made a pop sound as you were pulled off his prick, and you let out a whine at the loss of his taste. 

“Gonna cum in your- no...in my pussy.” Fred smirked, bringing you to stand on your feet and pulling your head back so you were forced to look up at him. 

He brought up his other hand to grasp the thin, white, stick of the sucker hanging from his lips and pulled the lollipop from his mouth. He used the red sugary bead that was left on the stick to gesture up and down your body as he spoke.

“Clothes off...save for the skirt.” He demanded, pointing at the pleated grey skirt with the lollipop. 

You were quick to do as you were told, shirt dropping to the floor along with your bra and panties all while Fred watched with dark eyes and an aura of possessiveness. 

Silently, Fred pointed the white stick toward the bed- the lollipop finally had reached its end- never taking his eyes off of your now nearly naked form. You practically skipped over to the bed, climbing up onto it slowly as to make sure Fred got a good glimpse of your bare cunt under your skirt. It was clear that you had succeeded when he let out low, barely audible, groan. 

Before you could real get a grip on what was happening, Fred had his fingers running up your slick folds, your skirt flipped up, drawing out a gasp from you. Moans fluttered past your parted lips as Fred started to rub small, tight circles on your aching clit. With the little white stick abandoned on the nightstand, his other hand was free to run up the inside of your thigh before his fingers moved to tease your entrance causing you to clench desperately around nothing. 

Fred gave you little time to adjust as he slipped his fingers into your entrance, thrusting in his middle and ring fingers roughly while his other hand still worked to stimulate your clit. Transitioning from tight circles to a flat hand rubbing back and forth harshly with more pressure had your back arching and eyes screwing shut. Fred continued to move his digits in a wave with each thrust, the pads of his fingers massaging the spongey area inside your pussy that had your toes curling. 

“F-Fuck, Freddie-” You gasped, hand gripping onto his wrist not knowing whether or not to pull his hand closer to your clit or push it away. 

Fred leaned over your body, his mouth attaching to any skin he could reach to roughly bite and suck before he pulled away to huskily whisper into your ear, “Louder. Say it louder.” 

You were more than willing to abide, not having the will power to try and keep yourself quiet either way. Fred’s fingers continued to thrust into your cunt as your orgasm hit you, a vulgar squelching coming from the vigorous action that had your hips twitching and lifting off of the bed. His large hand came down onto your abdomen, pushing you back onto the bed as you rode through your climax. 

“That’s it. Made a mess all over your pretty little skirt.” Fred tutted, removing his hands from your body to start taking the rest of his clothes off. 

“M’ sorry.” You muttered quietly.

Fred shook his head before going you a teasing smile, “It’s alright, kitten, you’re forgiven this time.”

Your chest heaved as you watched Fred undress which was always a breathtaking sight. His cock was already painfully hard, the tip red and leaking precum making your over sensitive cunt ache. 

“On your knees, hands holding the headboard.” Fred instructed, smacking your thigh gently to get you to move quicker. 

With shaky knees you crawled over to the headboard and gripped the wooden edge, making sure to wiggle your butt in Fred’s direction as you did so. The bed dipped with Fred’s weight as he climbed up and positioned himself behind you, his right hand trailing up and down the line of your spine before grabbing a handful of your ass with a grip sure to leave a few faint bruises. 

Fred lined himself up with your entrance, slowly pushing into your tight walls. The way your pussy gripped him had his eyes rolling back and jaw going slack, it was a feeling he’d never get tired of no matter how many times he felt it. Adding the breathy moans and whimpers that left your mouth into the mix and he could barely keep himself from fucking into you roughly. 

You bit your lip at the slight discomfort that came with the stretch of Fred bottoming out, the fronts of his thighs flush against the backsides of your own as you both took a moment to adjust. You let out a choked gasp as Fred pulled almost completely out of your pulsing cunt, his prick slick with your juices. He had his hands on your hips, using this as an opportunity to pull you back to meet his thrusts. His pace quickly sped up, soon the sound of smacking skin, loud groans, and cried out moans filled the room as Fred fucked you hard. 

“Tell them who makes you feel good. Want the whole fucking shop to hear you.” Fred growled from behind you. 

And who were you to disobey him?

“Harder, F-Freddie. Fuck-”

Both of you were sure George could hear not only the animalistic growls and pornographic moans but also the bed frame ramming into the wall and the sound of skin smacking almost painfully.

Fred reach around to start massaging your clit, making you almost drop your hands from the headboard as your hips twitched toward him. 

“Whose cunt is this, huh? Whose fucking cunt?” 

Your vision was blurring and words slipping your mind as he continued to pound into you and stimulate your clit. 

“Say it.” 

“Yours-” You sobbed, second orgasm approaching. “All yours, Freddie.”

Fred smacked your clit making you jolt, “That’s fucking right.”

Your body started to shake as you started to release around Fred, the intense pulsing of your cunt had Fred spilling his load into with a stutter of his hips. He held you close, cock completely sheathed inside of your weeping pussy as you both came. 

Coming down from your highs, Fred pulled out of you and promptly left to grab a washcloth to clean you up. You collapsed onto the bed, skin balmy and limbs shaky as you waited for Fred to come back. When he did, reworked quickly to clean you up and dispose of the wash cloth before climbing back into the bed where you had found yourself. He got comfortable on his side before pulling you into his chest and having your limbs entangle with his own. You weren't sure where you ended and Fred started, just how you two liked it. 

Fred pressed a soft kiss to your forehead while his hand delicately run up and down your back and curve of your waist. 

“You should get back to the shop.” You muttered quietly, not really wanting to let him go. 

Fred hummed before moving his hand to cradle the back of your head and nuzzle you further into his neck and chest.

“I think Georgie will be just fine.”

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989​

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinblack003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

#Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut

[sir-elyan]

Heyyy suggestions to write for Jack's birthday: all 3 of his dads try to bake him a cake separatedly (maybe they're bickering about who would make the best cake maybe they just have communication issues as usual and no one knows who was in charge of the cake maybe they just think he deserves all the cakes maybe) and obviously the cakes turn out to be three completely chaotic catastrophes, but Jack loves them anyway😊💞

It started, as most competitions do between Sam and Dean, with a dare.

Because Jack’s last birthday cake had gone...”not the Best,” Dean declared the evening before Jack’s fourth birthday that this year’s cake would be better. Sam had scoffed, lightheartedly claimed he could have Dean beat with his eyes closed, and so the fun began after Dean took the jab a little too seriously. They’d both make a cake, and Jack could decide whose “won” after they were done.

What they didn’t know, however, was that Cas was making one too.

Sam had headed to Eileen’s place (which Dean claimed was cheating, since she would help), and Dean took to the Bunker’s kitchen. Which left Cas with no oven or materials, so he picks up his phone and dials Claire to get assistance.

“Uh...hi?” she asks, “What’s up, something happen?”

“No, I just...wanted to...um. Jody has a kitchen, yes?”

There’s a pause, but then Claire says, “Yeah, like most houses do. Why?”

“Can I come over?” 

He hears Claire mumble a, “Can Cas come visit?” over her shoulder, and then into the speaker, “Jody says yeah, but—”

“Great.” The line disconnects, and then Cas appears outside Jody’s front door, pushing his finger on the pad to ring the doorbell.

Claire still has her phone up to her ear when she lets him in, rolling her eyes to mask her smile. “Jesus. Could’ve at least told me you were gonna do that.”

“I apologize,” Cas says, and then urgently, “Where’s the kitchen?”

Claire points and closes the door behind him. “That way.”

He follows her directions and finds Jody leaning against the counter, arms crossed. Donna sits behind her at the kitchen table, sporting a playful smile.

“Well! Cas, long time no see,” Jody says, coming towards him to envelop him in a hug. “Claire mentioned you visiting, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

Claire brushes past them, muttering, “Neither did I,” before taking a seat at the table next to Donna. 

“Sorry for bursting in on you like this,” Cas says once Jody lets go. “I just need to use your kitchen.”

Jody and Donna exchange a look. 

“Someone in trouble?” Donna asks, suddenly serious, “We have some spell ingredients, but not many. What’s—"

“No, nothing like that,” Cas hurries to say, “It’s Jack’s birthday today. I need to bake him a cake.”

There’s another stretch of silence, and then Claire’s laughter covered up by a hand to her mouth. Donna gently smacks her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she says, “but you? Eldritch terror...baking a cake? Why can’t Sam and Dean do it? Oh god, that thought might actually be funnier.”

Cas sighs as Donna mumbles to reprimand Claire, and takes a seat beside Jody on the island. 

“You’re right, it’s just...Sam and Dean are both competing to make Jack a cake for his birthday today, and I felt I should do the same, but I...I’ve never done this before. I need help.”

Jody smiles, despite Claire’s fading laugh, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Well, Cas. You came to the right place. Come on.” 

She grabs the keys from a hook next to one of the kitchen cabinets, and swipes her coat from the chair next to Cas. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, standing and following nonetheless. Claire flicks his shoulder as she passes to head for the front door. 

“Grocery store, genius,” she says, and before he knows it, the four of them are cramped in Donna’s much too small car, with Cas wondering how they manage it with Patience and Alex and Kaia as well.

“Where are they, anyway?” he asks once they make it to the store parking lot. 

“Alex is working, Patience is out with friends, and Kaia’s home sleeping,” Claire explains. “What about Jack?”

“With Garth until the cakes are done,” Cas says easily. He’d been their first choice for babysitter, not wanting to bother Jody and Donna when they had all the girls on their hands, but... “Maybe next time, he can hang out with you? I’d like for him to get to know you better,” Cas tries, pushing around the shopping cart as Jody points out ingredients and Donna sets them in the cart, “he really looks up to you.”

Claire scoffs. “He barely knows me. Besides, there’s nothing to look up to. Except height-wise, I guees.”

Cas smiles fondly at her, reminded of Dean telling him something similar plenty of times. “Sure there is, but I won’t push it. You’re welcome at the Bunker always, just...incase you were wondering.”

She grins, but hides it well. “Thanks.”

The trip goes by quickly, after they decide on how Cas wants to decorate the cake, and they all make it back to Jody’s in one piece. 

The actual mixing of ingredients if easy enough (though Claire ends up brushing flour out of Cas’ hair), but the waiting periods are atrocious. Cas spends them by catching up with Claire and Kaia, when she eventually wakes, and it seems like no time at all once the timer beeps. 

They pull it out of the oven, wait impatiently again for it to cool, and by that time Patience is home from visiting friends. The six of them work on the frosting and decorations (although Cas insists on doing the lettering himself), and Alex’s steady hand arrives just in time to slide the cake into a box so that it’s safe and preserved for Jack’s birthday tomorrow. 

By the time it’s all done, Cas is thoroughly enjoying himself, and the company the girls all provided him with. He bids them goodbye, each with a powerful hug that makes him smile, but Claire stops him just before he’s out the door.

“You’re forgetting this,” she says, handing him a yellow envelope. It has ‘Jack’ written across the front in boxy blue lettering that he knows to be Claire’s. Cas takes it, and Claire pushes her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

“Snagged it while we were at the store...we uh, we all signed it,” she says. “I’m...looking forward to coming over, if the offer still stands.”

Cas nods, a grateful smile spreading across his lips. “Always.” 

Claire rolls her eyes, but nudges Cas’ shoulder in good humor. “Good. Now go win that contest, you goober.”

Of the three, Cas’ cake is the most put together, but that isn’t saying much. Dean’s at least stands up by itself (unlike last year’s), but he’d tried for three different flavors and way too many sprinkles, so it’d tasted a little like mush. Sam’s was decorated beautifully with blue and yellow, but caved in a bit in the middle. He’d tried a “healthy” recipe that unfortunately was flavorless, but Jack ate them both with a toothy grin on his face. 

Cas’ was a labor of love, a product of multiple hands with perhaps too much decoration going on and way too many colors, but it was edible at least, and they end up eating that one more so than the others.

“So who wins?” Dean asks Jack, shoveling Cas’ cake in his mouth with only a slightly annoyed look on his face.

Jack spreads his arms wide and says, “Everyone! I love them all!” before loudly blowing his party popper.

The three of them hug their kid, press kisses to the top of his head and say, “We love you too, buddy.” 

And they all truly do. 

#roc original #prompt fill #my post #rambleoncas writing #bookshelf #b*gen #i hope this came out okay!! ended up being more about cas but ehhh you get the pointlmfao sdjcjhds #nougatparty #usershey #scottstiles #userdainty #holmesemrys #happy birthday jack !! #creativecaviar #spnclownpals #b*winchesters #*claire #+jody #+donna #pov:cas #b*fluff

[drewstarkeys]

"Paper" Rings : Toni Shalifoe

Summary: Very loosely based around Paper Rings from Miss Taylor Swift! In which the reader and Toni have feelings for each other but are too afraid and too oblivious to truly admit them to each other. It gets pretty fluffy at the end!!

Word Count: 2.2K

Request(s): “Hi! Can I request Toni (the wilds) crushing on a dense reader when they are stuck on the island? 👉🏼👈🏼” and “Can I request some the wilds/toni fluff? Im fine with anything as long as it ends somewhat happily,.....”

Warnings: mentions of edibles, drunk reader/girls/Toni.

A/N: I finally got out of writer’s block so I am back! I also tried to combine two requests as I thought they went together nicely! Hope you all enjoy :)

The moon is high.

Like your friends were the night that we first met

You didn’t know it yet but that day on the island when you and the rest of the girls got high off of edibles, Toni realized just how much she liked you. Maybe it was the way your smile only seemed to grow bigger as the day went on, or maybe it was the way you couldn’t help but say the worst possible pick up lines to Toni, but something you were doing that day had her whipped. She hated it and loved it at the same time because she was so scared of how you would react to her strong feelings towards you.

The two of you were a “thing” but the term was loosely used in replacement of girlfriends. It was hard to decide exactly what you two should be when survival wasn’t even promised. On the other hand, if it was promised, what would happen when you went back to your ordinary lives? Would you forget each other and slowly go back to your old regular lives or would you try and make the distance work. Those questions had been left unanswered, which tormented the both of you.

Some of the other girls on the island had tried to trap you into confessing just how much Toni meant to you or vice versa, but you and Toni knew better, you were on an island and admitting your strong feelings would only complicate whatever was going on between the two of you. The nights spent alone in different corners of the island and empty promises shared between the two of you were nice, but it was more wishful thinking than anything realistic for the time being. That didn’t stop the two of you allowing yourselves to get close and let down your walls, even sharing your deepest secrets and fears with each other- something that almost seemed easier if you two never saw each other again.

You knew the way she felt like she was too hard to love and that she thought that her anger scared everyone away, but you didn’t agree with her. Maybe it was your own temper, which wasn’t nearly as bad as hers, but you weren’t worried by it. You had told her that you didn’t care that she got out of control, citing your reasons as being that control was difficult for everyone and you would be a hypocrite to judge her control issues when you knew how hard control was.

She knew about how you worried about running from your feelings again and completely shutting everyone out. You had done it more than once and in the back of your mind, you were convinced you would do it again. It was your defense mechanism to keep yourself from getting hurt- but it negatively affected those around you- which you couldn’t bear to hate yourself for. She told you that she wouldn’t let you leave her, that she was too stubborn to let you leave her, especially if the two of you were stuck on the island for however long. It provided you comfort for the time being, but just like her fears, yours weren’t fully dissipated either.

The wine is cold

Like the shoulder that I gave you in the street

Cat and mouse for a month or two or three

Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe

That’s just how the two of you worked- you would have deep conversations in the woods of the island and hold onto each other when the woods got cold as the sun went down, but that was the most of it. Neither of you could deny that something was going on between you two, but you couldn’t quite bring yourselves to admit your real feelings for the other one. It was embarrassing almost, the high school type cat and mouse game in which you both chased the other one but would never fully give in- it felt like every shitty romcom ever- well maybe without the happy ending.

That cat and mouse game continued for the following weeks of you all being on the island, which frustrated the others to no end. They could see the way you two looked at the other one when they weren’t looking and they could see the kisses in the woods that you thought you were being secretive about. Fortunately for them, and the two of you, the girls had devised a plan to further the relationship between you and Toni. A plan that only needed one thing, copious amounts of alcohol.

Thankfully for them, you were already pouring alcohol into your mouth by the time the sun set. All it took for your actions was a simple suggestion from Martha, she had asked you to get drunk with her and a few of the other girls and you had eagerly agreed, excited to finally have a reason to let loose on the island. The liquid stung the back of your throat as you shared the bottle with Martha and Fatin, but you could care less- you didn’t need chasers in school so why would you need them now?

Despite your lack of need for a chaser, your tolerance was embarrassingly low- or perhaps you just always drank too much. Unfortunately for you, that led to you sitting next to Toni and offering her a drink from the bottle in your hand, insisting that she wasn’t nearly as drunk as you were, in Toni’s defense, no one was as drunk as you were. However, your puppy eyes were too good for Toni to say no to, so of course, she was drinking to get caught up to your level, hoping it would help her relax just as much as you were.

The night carried on quickly with different dance battles, a little bit of night swimming- to which Dot had freaked over the idea of you or Shelby getting eaten by a shark, and even sand castle competitions. All of these ideas came from you who happened to be letting every single idea slip past your lips with a lack of any filter at all.

You suddenly jumped up off of the sand you had been resting on and looked around the group, a big smile covering your face, “I need to pee!” You announced, earning  a few giggles from the girls that had ended up nearly as drunk as you were. You then looked down to Toni, pulling at her hand to get her to stand up with you, “and you’re going to come with me!” You added, not noticing the way Toni gulped nervously or the way the other girls seemed to be watching the two of you as if you were their favorite movie. Instead of responding, Toni just nodded, an uneasy smile on her face as you dragged her towards a darker corner of the island.

You walked a few feet in front of Toni, painfully oblivious to the way she seemed to be deep in thought. Toni was busy trying to keep her lips sealed tight despite the alcohol in her body begging them to part and let out her feelings for you. Her speech she had practiced a few days ago was dangerously close to falling out past her lips and thus, she would reveal how she felt. The one problem was that she didn't want to say it drunk, especially when she didn’t know how you felt. Despite your relationship between the two of you, Toni couldn’t help but think about how you called yourself a player, telling Toni how you wished you weren’t one- but you just couldn’t quite seem to keep feelings for anyone.

Toni was so deep in thought that she hadn’t realized when you stopped moving to stare at her. “I don’t have to pee,” you suddenly mumbled, catching Toni’s attention with your words. Her eyes crinkled in confusion but you just smiled in response, “I just wanted to spend time with you alone. “ You admitted, something you wouldn’t have said so easily if you had been sober.

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

You could almost see the slight blush on Toni’s face in the dark, a mix of alcohol and you creating that reaction on her face. “You did?” She asked, her voice coming out a lot weaker than she intended for. She hated how weak you made her, like she could be ruined by the wrong set of words coming from your mouth.

You nodded your head quickly and pulled her down onto a rock, “sit here. I wanted to show you something.” You mumbled, holding onto her shoulders as you spoke to her, your glassy eyes meeting her own. While your nerves were completely gone, Toni’s heart was still racing, something you had yet to notice.

You walked, or skipped, off towards a bush, not caring about anything except for your current plan for what you were going to do. It was honestly quite bold but you couldn’t stop thinking about it and if you didn’t do it, you would be upset with yourself. So, without a second thought, you plucked a long piece of grass from the ground and brought it back to her, nearly letting out a laugh at how confused she looked.

Before she could question what you were doing, you spoke up, “wait, don’t say anything just yet. I need to say something.” You said, watching her for her agreement before you carried on. “You know that Taylor Swift song that is like ‘I like shiny things but I’d marry you with paper rings’? Well I was thinking about that song and you make me feel like that. Like not marriage obviously, I’m not even eighteen yet, but like we’re here. On an island. And despite all the scary things and bad ideas- you’re the only thing that matters. Like I could care less about if we never get off this island, I’m just happy I met you.” You rambled, nerves and alcohol leading to the slurred and messy speech you had just told to her. “I like you, Toni, a lot.” You paused, looking down at the piece of grass in your hands, “I guess this is like, I don’t know, a promise almost? That I actually like you and that I’m not gonna run away from my feelings anymore.”

You paused, your heart rate finally becoming noticeable to yourself and you suddenly felt insanely sober from your actions. You felt as if you had just let her break down all of your walls and you were quite frankly terrified of how she would react. “Can I stand up now?” She asked, a smile on her face, which drove you crazy.

“That’s it? I say all that and you ask if you can stand up?” You asked, not even knowing how to feel, you hadn’t even noticed your arms were flailing as you questioned her until she grabbed both of your wrists and pulled them down, using them to pull you a little bit closer to her.

She still hadn’t said anything yet but the two of you were inches apart and you wanted to throw up. Or maybe it was just a feeling of panic settling in your chest, what if you had gone too far with what you said? You had been known to jump into feelings too quickly but you felt as if she could be there too.

Before you could speak up again and question her once more, she let go of one of your wrists and planted her hand softly on the side of your face, her eyes scanning your own before she leaned in and gently pressed her lips to yours. The two of you had kissed before but this was different, you were finally allowed to feel everything you were feeling, you could finally show her how much you liked her. Your free wrist dropped to her waist as you pulled her closer, not letting her pull away just yet. The two of you stayed like that for a second, just taking each other in and enjoying the moment of peace.

She pulled away with a soft smile on her face and a mysterious glint in her eyes as she backed off and went over to the spot where you had once been. You could see her pick up her own piece of grass and walk back over to you and smiled again, “then I promise to actually stop worrying and just let myself like you. Because I do like you,” she paused, “like I like you a lot.” And with that, she took the piece of grass and tied it around your ring finger, “so instead of getting married with paper rings, we’re uh- dating? With grassy rings.” She said, finishing the knot around your finger and looked up to you expectantly, “well if you want.”

You grabbed her other hand and worked on tying the grass around her finger, looking back at her and nodding, “yeah, I’d like that.” You answered, feeling heat rush to your cheeks at how intimate the moment had become.

#toni #toni imagine #toni shalifoe imagine #toni x reader #Toni the wilds #toni shalifoe #toni shalifoe x reader #the wilds #the wilds on amazon prime #the wilds imagine #the wilds imagines #wlw imagine #fluff #toni fluff

[stydiaeverafter]

Can’t help falling in love with you ❥

Summary: Ray tried with all his might not to fall in love with Heather Nill, but the girl had flown right into his heart, and the will to fight it had disappeared into the night.

Rated: T

A/N: One day I just happened to watch this random show and ended up loving it! I really enjoyed the concept and the characters, especially the story of Heather and Ray. I knew I'd have to write them sooner than later.So I hope you enjoy this fic of NillHall. ♡ (I might be adding more chapters)

Read on ao3

She flew into my heart 

“We don't have to fall in love, Ray."

Those words. Those beautiful words Heather had spoken to him were constantly a shadow within his heart and mind.

Ray tried with all his might not to fall in love with Heather Nill, but the girl had flown right into his heart, and the will to fight it had disappeared into the night.

Truth be told, he had been falling in love with her not after they had kissed, but ever since he had gazed up at her on Devil's Drop spreading those brave wings and jumping with wide arms.

Heather was different from all the rest. He thought at first it was the chase...cat and mouse. Most girls would flock to him. It was easy. Predictable. But this hadn't been. This was revealed in the cornfield and the ball. She wasn't biting his bait—instead, she was pushing back with everything she had. "I'd rather fucking die," she had once affirmed to him. Heather had meant every word, and it nonplussed him. With every step he took getting further away from her in the cornfield, he wondered why he even gave a shit. Everything that had worked in the past had blown up in his face, so why bother?

Ray was a fool apparently because he had wanted to fluff her feathers more and more as time went by. There was a need of wanting to be around her at any chance he could find, and unfortunately, Ray thought about her even when he didn't want to.

It was as if Heather Nill had crawled her way into his existence—whether she wanted to or not. It bothered the hell out of him, yet, he couldn't help but get enough.

Ray had retaliated a bit at the Player's Ball, even though Heather had looked damn-near edible in that dress. No other girl at the party had held a candle in comparison. When he was feeding her lines that he had dressed up pretty, Ray unintentionally expressed the desires he had imagined late at night when she wasn't around.

His feelings were apparent again when Ray got more turned on by who was observing him kissing the random rather than who Ray was actually kissing. He had wanted to forget whatever crush this was on Heather Nill; instead, her mesmerizing eyes pulled him in to the point that he trembled nice and slow. Even though Ray had stated that the whole situation was bullshit, it felt real, denying it had been the bullshit.  

At the end of the day, Ray's attention should've been on Panic, but it was the panic Heather left inside that stirred him upside down.

The more time he spent around her, the more Ray craved it. It wasn't just their kisses they had shared, though, even though they were the sweetest type of torture, but the fact that she was honest to God good. Sarah had even warned him about it. Everyone could see it. Heather was too good for the likes of him, and he had known it from the first moment Heather gazed deeply into his eyes when he tugged her close on the plank. It was as if she saw something that he couldn't, and it unnerved him in a way no Panic challenge could.  

When Heather had accepted his invitation and had joined the group on his boat, it had been a good one, one of the best days he had had in a long time. Heather had a way of bringing his smile out to the surface like it was the easiest thing in the world. He felt as though he had been floating the entire time. She made him laugh effortlessly and also made him face demons of his past like he had the night of the Player's Ball. Always with her.

It unnerved him yet pulled him in as the current did. Ray had lost control and reached out to her as a blind man did, pulling her towards him without even meaning. When her lips had grazed his own on the boat, Ray knew he was forever lost in this beautiful, yet too good for him, girl.

Sarah was right—he would become broken from these feelings. Feeling vulnerable was clearly already on the table.

They had gone further that day, and it was like the first time being with someone, even though he had done that to countless other girls. With Heather, it was different. Everything was.

Ray had openly searched the manor to discover her at the Graybill house, creaking the floorboards as he took each step. When she jumped around, he had forgotten all about the game and wanted nothing more than to have her back into his arms. She was clearly his Kryptonite.

He had been surprised by the hunger he felt as they kissed, not for the first time. Ray was being drawn in by this girl, and it had been obvious that she didn't even realize she had that type of control over him.

Ray, himself, hadn't realized how deeply his feeling ran until Heather had stated, "You do this all the time. What's the big deal?" The words pierced him painfully, and his brain had short-circuited. Ray had wanted to scream at her, yelling, "It is a big deal to me. It is. Is it not to you?" But that wasn't fair, so Ray held it on the tip of his tongue, angrily leaving the room but not before calling it a mistake, which was a lie. That was not how he felt—she was anything but a mistake. But Heather had been right, though, and that's what pissed him off the most. All she had done was to hold up the mirror reflecting the type of person she had grown up knowing.

He had been that guy before spending time with her. He was a playboy, moving from one woman to the next, without so much as a care in his pointless world. He drank. He smoked. He had sex. He took his boat out. That was the story of his life.

But being around Heather had changed that. See, it wasn't just a random hookup—it was the conversation. From the moment Heather spoke to him, she challenged him. Heather recognized things no one else had, and she was honest with him from the very beginning. It was so real that Heather had asked him to return the favor.

That had scared him for the first time, and Ray hadn't liked it one bit. He couldn't even open up to himself, let alone the beautiful girl who flew. So Ray had hidden behind his cowardly mask, turning into the asshole she knew all too well. Even though it had pained Ray in a way, he hadn't entirely understood when she sadly and disappointedly walked away at the Player's Ball.

Bits and pieces of bravery had presented itself as Ray did start, in fact, opening up to Heather Nill. Each syllable had scared him shitless, but he found the more he opened up to her, the more it felt like breathing for the first time in his 18 years of life.

So even though he had walked away angrily, knowing what was happening between them wasn't a mistake, Ray knew she deserved better than the likes of him. The Hall men were deadweight and always would be. How could he pull down a woman with wings ready to take flight? There was a whole wide world waiting to embrace someone like her. What could he possibly be to her in comparison?

But those thoughts had no longer mattered when the house had burned in flames. His heart had burned with anxiety as he searched for the woman he was falling for. With every step he took, Ray was haunted by the last words he had said to her, "Just a mistake." Letting someone like that die before spreading her wings was a sin, and the thought of never gazing into those beautiful blue eyes felt like his own personal hell on earth.

Thank God above, Heather Nill had kicked her way out of that house like the fighter she was. Ray admired that this small girl didn't need saving, even though secretly he wanted to protect her. Seeing her lifeless on the ground edged away at his cold stone heart. Ray acknowledged that as he witnessed and felt a sudden wave of relief when Heather finally gasped for breath, he had truly fallen in love.

She had been living rent-free in Ray's mind since the moment she took flight off the cliff, and with every passing day, it had escalated to every breath and step he took.

Heather being stuck in the hospital had been a torture he'd never known. Ray had visited wanting to selfishly make sure she was okay but had seen Bishop entering her room. It had been a good reminder he did not belong in Heather's world; he'd never have a place in it, even though it killed him to admit it.

He had been surprised beyond belief that she had shown up at his house, but Ray knew it had been too good to be true as she couldn't get away from him fast enough. As she sped away, the word mistake haunted and swirled around his curls like a fucked up hangover.

Through the game's final stages, they found their way back to each other, even to the point of Ray admitting to others how he truly felt on the bridge. Diggins had blabbed that he hadn't answered the question of being in love with her, but in terms only she would understand, he had. He did love her, every part of her, but he knew he had to be selfless with Heather.

Ray had to let her go. She didn't belong in Carp. She didn't belong to him. Heather deserved what was still good in this messed-up world.

For him, though, his heart would always belong to her as he rotted away in the shithole of his hometown.

Once, he had remarked to Heather, "I don't think good things are gonna happen to me anymore," but he was so very wrong.

Heather Nill was something good that happened to him. Something amazing. Loving her came easily, like drifting down the stream with the current. It terrified him, but he was grateful. The girl that flew into his heart forever changed him for the better.

At the hospital where Luke was, Heather had all but expressed that she cared for him, too. That someone else actually gave a shit about him. It had knocked him speechless, to the point where he thought he'd join his brother on the neighboring hospital bed.

Then the thought of losing her once more at the Joust ran him ragged, but nothing would ever stop her. When he saw her standing there all but glowing on that dirt road, Ray once again saw the girl who had jumped from the drop. She took his breath away with her returning kind, brave smile, and the fear of saying goodbye felt closer than ever before.

However, it had seemed by the stream as if she had chosen him. It was a blessing and a curse that she had seen his video. He didn't want her to feel chained to Carp, but Ray couldn't deny the joy and the sense of peace he felt inside as she moved closer to him.

"We don't have to fall in love, Ray," Heather had said against his lips with a hint of a smile, a secret between the two of them.

Smiling, he had taken her into his arms, which felt so right as if it were meant to be. However, with every kiss, the words were left unspoken. Oh darlin', I've already fallen helplessly in love with you—the girl with the beautiful wings.

Losing her was what he feared now because sooner rather than later, Heather would fly away.

Perhaps the game wasn't through with Ray after all.

#nillhall #nillhall fic #heather x ray #heather nill #ray hall #panic amazon #panic tv series #panic fic #*my fic

[drxwsyni]

Petrified (pt. 8)

Yandere Erasermic x f!Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: OOOOH THINGS ARE STARTING TO GET INTERESTING. Now that we’ve set this up, expect each chapter to be VERY yandere. I know it’s been pretty chill for like half of the series, but not anymore! I’m really excited to write the later chapters, cause I think the twists are gonna be pretty good lol. Anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy the new part!

A huge thanks to @yanderart for beta reading this part <3. Also, ty to @reinawritesbnha, @yanderart (again lol), @shorkbrian and @sawamooora for helping me brainstorm. I suck at writing smut big time and you guys rlly helped me flesh everything out. Love y’all <3

*Sidenote*: Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist!

5.6k words

Warnings: Dubcon, threesome, dumbification, recreational use of drugs and alcohol, coercion, gaslighting, implied stalking, ambiguous implied themes

“I think this calls for some drinks, whaddya say princess?”

Hizashi was already rising from his spot on the couch before you could answer. Making his way into the kitchen, he quickly disappeared from your line of sight to fix up whatever concoction of alcohol he sought fit.

Much to your appreciation, neither of the two heroes had pressured you just yet into discussing your agreement from a mere few days ago. Thursday morning had passed by in a blur, and to nobody’s surprise, you continued with business as usual.

And what seemed to be a recurring factor in your life as of late―luck was never quite on your side.

You made it out of the work week by the skin of your teeth. Between a surplus of particularly unruly customers, and the burden of your own conscience, catching a break was an unobtainable reprieve. Anyone in their right mind would’ve looked at you and told you to stay home. To cancel your dinner date with Shouta and Hizashi, and promptly treat yourself to some much needed slumber. But you were everything but in your right mind as of late.

Not a moment went by where you didn’t question yourself. Part of you alarmed in the need for rest, the other wanting to keep going. Unsure of whether you were just overreacting, or if the voice in the back of your head telling you to run and never look back from the two actually had some sense to it.

You went with the former. Which was why you were back in their quaint little home, nestled amongst the bustling city. And in the observant nature you’d been subjected to time and time again, they both immediately picked up on the fact that you were worse for wear. After a dinner that was as appetizing as any other meal they’d made for you, the three of you holed up in the living room.

It turns out they had a pretty long week too. With hero work, teaching, and―what they just had to bring up―making sure you were doing alright, they were thoroughly beat. Almost as much as you.

Hizashi returned, towing three drinks in his hands. What looked like two beers, one for him and one for Shouta―and a colourful, bright looking mixture of god knows what for yourself.

The glass was cold in your hands, a chill offsetting the warmth brought on by both the fireplace and the heat in your cheeks, quickly rising after Hizashi handed off your drink to you with a wink.

The blond was about to retake his seat, until he paused, setting his beer on the coffee table. “Hold on―I actually brought a lil’ somethin’ extra.” The chipper man dug into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small ziplock baggie. The package was a gunmetal grey, with some indiscernible label on the front. Letters too small, and you too far away to see what they read.

“Now, somethin’ tells me you’re probably a newbie to this kinda stuff, but don’t worry ‘bout it!” Hizashi strided closer to you as he spoke, opening up the package with nimble fingers.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, ‘Zashi.” Shouta sounded unamused, but the small smirk forming on his face told a different story.

“Nah, this’ll be good for her! Take the edge off and all that shit, yeah?”

You looked at the baggie curiously, eyebrows knitted as he fished around inside of it. “...What is it, exactly?”

The blond revealed a small gummy between his fingers, holding it out to you. “Edibles. Go on.”

He gestured for you to take the candy from him, and not really knowing what else to do with his insistence, you did. Hizashi retrieved another from the bag, popping it into his mouth. He held the grey package out to Shouta, but he shook his head, a dismissive sigh escaping his lips.

Hesitantly, you stared at the gummy in your hand. “I, uh...I’m not really sure about this. It’s just that―”

“You’ll be fine.” This time it was Shouta to push you, despite having just been more unfavouring of the topic.

You regarded the man worriedly. However, much unlike before, something new had overtaken his expression. Anticipation, expectancy―it was hard to place. But it told you one thing.

Something had changed his mind, and whatever it was, it was enticing enough for him to disregard the possibility of you reacting badly to the edible, and your concerns over the substance in general.

Clearly, he caught on to your apprehension. And, unfortunately for you, his demands were always so much harder to defy than his partner’s. Not that you did much of defying either these days. Still, as of now it was easier to comply than face the consequences of their incessant convincing.

“Think of it as making up for lying to us. You get to relax a little, and we’ll put you back in our good books.”

“Not that you ever left! But ya did hurt us with that, so it’s the least you could do. Right, sweetheart?” Hizashi grabbed his beer from the coffee table, before taking a seat next to you on the couch. Lazily, he threw an arm across the back of it, you tensing slightly at how it was close enough to be resting on your shoulders.

You knew it wasn’t the best idea. But maybe, just maybe, this small piece of laced candy would be what got you through the night. You should still be able to keep your wits about you, but if this meant getting them off your case? Then so be it. Frankly, being trapped in your mind of stressed thoughts was something you sought to escape all the time. This was a decent opportunity to do just that.

Copying Hizashi, perhaps just a little less enthusiastically, you indulged them in seeing you down the gummy. It left a strange aftertaste, so you washed it down with the brightly coloured drink you’d been neglecting this whole time.

Much to your dismay, that didn’t taste any better.

You resolved to leave the drink be, not wanting to deal with the issues that might come out of mixing  the two inhibitors. The two of them didn’t really care, as soon enough you all fell back into line, talking about whatever first came to mind.

Times like these honestly made you resentful. How you wished that the two heroes weren’t so suffocatingly bothered about your wellbeing. If they weren’t, maybe you could have nights like these more often. They took up so much time policing your actions―checking up on you, hammering in their agenda, hovering. It was time that could be spent just being your friend.

A normal, no obligations relationship was what you wanted with them. Not the reality of you being their little pet project. Trying to change your long standing ways for the ‘better.’ Genuinely, you enjoyed these moments of reprieve. Where for even just a short while, you could all just look past the reasons as to why you were in their home. Just mindless conversation. Entertaining, engaging―normal.

It wasn’t your fault that they had to go ahead and ruin it.

...

Or maybe it was. You could’ve said no. Tonight, or when they first roped you into their lives.

It didn’t really matter now.

_____

The concept of time was...difficult to grasp.

You didn’t know when Shouta had taken up residence right next to you, so close the two of you were touching. Whatever they were saying, you liked it. You were giggling, almost spilling your mostly untouched drink. The condensation on the glass was dripping down your hand, a chill that you didn’t even notice. After a particularly amusing jab at who knows what, you nearly let the contents of the liquid slush out over the rim.

Hizashi laughed at your sedated carelessness, “Woah there, songbird. Lemme take that from you before ya stain the couch, yeah?”

“Clumsy little thing, isn’t she?” The deep baritone of Shouta’s voice next to you sends automatic shivers up and down your spine, muscles tightening for a split second.

By now, you had no clue how much either of them had to drink. Or if they even drank at all. Combing your hazy memory, you couldn’t quite place a moment where you caught them doing anything other than chatting away. Shouta’s beer was still on the side table next to where he was sitting. As for Hizashi’s, well―it was too much effort to crane your neck to see where it lay.

The blond faced you again, “She’s such a cutie like this―all buzzed out. You feelin good there?”

A crooked, goofy looking smile was spread across your lips. “Mhmm…” The drifting response matched your expression, light and pleased.

“What are we gonna do with her?” Shouta, speaking through his actions, and very uncharacteristically, wrapped sturdy arms around your waist. Blissfully dazed, you only let out light and bashful laughs as the man pulled you into his lap. Your legs hung off the side of his toned thighs, while he kept an arm around your waist, the other squeezing your plush hip.

Inhibitions having left you about five minutes ago, you failed to see the predatory glint in Hizashi’s eyes. He moved closer to the both of you, “Oh, I can think of plenty of things we can do…” His hand ran up the length of your thigh―exposed, given how you chose to wear a dress this Saturday.

Lazily, your gaze trailed his movements. Slow, teasingly, letting you feel with anticipation as it crept higher, and higher.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

Another hand―Shouta’s―lightly gripped your chin. Turning your head, or more like him turning your head, your focus met his darkened one. “...Such little tease, you are.”

Something distant, uncompleted, clicked in the back of your mind. You tried grasping at it, straining to get a hold on whatever that thought was trying to tell you. “I...what do you m―”

So much for that thought.

Shouta’s lips collided with yours, ending any coherent understanding that was developing in that swift movement. His hand, once cupping your face, switched to firmly cradle the back of your head.

Whatever remained of your common sense had you weakly attempting to pull away. But it was no use, when Shouta held you in place, the force of your feeble resistance not bothering him in the slightest. If anything, he found it cute.

How hard you tried to fight them, even now.

His lips moved against yours, the day old scruff tickling your skin. That small sensation pierced your fogged thoughts, intaking a sharp breath of air through your nose. While you focused on that, you barely noticed the blond’s wandering hands.

At least, not until they found their destination. You let out a drawn out moan as Hizashi pressed two fingers against your clothed mound. Your legs would’ve shut, but he had already settled in between them, kneeling over you with a satisfied look.

An amused grin spread across his face as you unconsciously ground yourself into his fingers while he rubbed you through the soft material of your thin panties. “Ohhh, yeah. She’s feeling good all right.”

You should’ve stayed home.

Shouta detached himself from your lips, and Hizashi was quick to take his place. With his free hand, he’d done like his partner and turned you to face him.

While he wasn’t as graceful, you didn’t really have a mind to care. Not when it was overwhelmed with the suffocating closeness of the two men.

You should’ve left once they offered you a drink, or the edible.

The erasure hero peppered small kisses down your neck, stopping only to speak. “Bet we could make her feel even better…” The seductive tone of his voice, spoken low into your ear shot straight to your core, feeling butterflies at his words.

You shouldn't have let your guard down.

Gasping in response, Shouta nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking and working to leave a mark in his wake. His partner took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. Even in your disoriented state, the sensation of a piercing was a stark contrast in comparison to everything else Hizashi was making you feel.

Too fixated on that, you once again failed to keep track of what was going on around you. It was more like you simply felt it, absorbed the way it was making your body react, without much of a care for the circumstances.

A common occurrence, nowadays.

And it didn’t matter what you should’ve done anymore. It wasn’t going to stop the inevitable.

Shouta’s calloused hands squeezed your hips, kneading them and relishing in your softness. Always the direct one, he grasped the hem of your dress. The hero smiled against your neck, pleased with how compliant Hizashi’s little treat had made you.

If only you could be like this all the time.

As his partner’s fingers continued their ministrations, not being nearly enough to help you seek release, Shouta lifted up your dress.

Catching on soon enough, Hizashi parted from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

“Let’s get you outta this, huh pretty girl?”

The dots didn’t connect. You didn’t know why things felt just the slightest bit off, only that the familiar and nagging hint of doubt was currently fighting tooth and nail to keep its place at the back of your mind.

You didn’t respond. But they didn’t really care.

Hizashi held your arms up as Shouta peeled your dress off. The flimsy article was quickly discarded on the floor, landing somewhere out of sight. Not really comprehending whether you regretted the actions that led you here now, you let yourself get caught up in their movements, the air of room hitting your exposed breasts.

The blond noted with a low whistle at the fact that you’d neglected to wear a bra, too transfixed at the moment to deduce why.

You knew why, distantly―everything felt distant right now.

While Shouta resumed littering your neck with open mouthed kisses, his partner got to work on making a mess of your front. You couldn’t tell which hands belonged to whom, only that they were on your body. Groping, kneading, taking in how much more delicate you were compared to them.

A fragile little thing.

...How did they hold out this long?

A small yelp escaped you as one of them pinched your hardening nipple, making you squirm fruitlessly in their grasp.

Shouta chuckled at your reaction, “That was a cute noise, kitten. Why don’t you make some more for us?”

The voice hero was slowly leaving marks down your chest, along the curves of your breasts. “Yeah, you can do that for us, right?”

Punctuating his words, his mouth enveloped your pebbled nipple, swirling his piercing tongue around it. His other hand was still steadily rubbing circles into your clothed pussy. You mewled at the sensation, mind still trying to make right from wrong.

“I...I don’t…don’t think this....”

Small tears of frustration threatened to well. You wanted so bad to know where this incessant feeling was coming from. Why it was lingering.

Shouta was quick to shut those worried thoughts down though. “Shhh...just let us take care of you.”

Hizashi’s voice sounded strained―needy. “Fuck, Shou’. I can’t hold back any longer…”

His partner, being the only person in the room with a clear mind, paused before replying. Ever the hard-headed one, now technically shouldn’t be any different. But, with the way you were moving on his lap, unconsciously grinding against him...maybe his head wasn’t as clear as he thought.

...

“I’m not stopping you.”

The look of pure relief at the erasure hero’s words was instant. Because really, the only reason he hadn’t fucked you senseless yet was because Shouta was doing everything in his power to control him. They needed to wait until you were ready, even if it meant giving you something to make you a bit more open to the idea.

Deft fingers looped under the hem of your panties, Hizashi’s eyes glistening at the thin string of arousal on the fabric as he pulled them away from your core. He quickly dragged them down your legs and discarding them in a similar fashion as your dress.

Maneuvering you so that your back was to Shouta’s chest, the erasure hero spread your legs, holding them apart by draping them off either sides of his own. The blond dropped to his knees on the floor in front of you both, taking in the way your folds glistened with the flickering light of the fireplace.

But before he could make a move, Shouta spoke up.

“Wait, maybe we should take this to the bedr―”

“Fuck that.”

Without uttering another word on the subject, Hizashi buried his face in between your legs. Unable to restrain yourself, you cried out as his tongue slid up your heat, the piercing deliciously adding pressure to your clit.

Shouta laughed a bit at your reaction, letting you mindlessly throw your head back on his shoulder. His hands came to grope your breasts, sighing in satisfaction at their soft give against his fingers. “You’ve been holding out on us, kitten. You’re lucky we’re going easy on you right now.”

His counterpart hummed in agreement, sending pleasurable waves of warmth throughout you. His tongue continued circling your clit, noting all the things that made you squirm and whine in response, using them to work you over even more.

Unable to recognize the true meaning to his words, you simply let your body succumb to their ministrations. Your mouth hung open, small noises leaving you in your blissed out state, body completely bare while they were still fully clothed.

You were under a lethal combination of sedating exhaustion from the week, coupled with the ingredients in the gummy Hizashi was ever so quick to offer. It left you pliant, melting into their hold.

You felt good. Really good.

Hizashi’s right hand drifted up, fingers coating themselves in your dripping essence. You writhed as they dipped into your folds, toying with your puffy clit. He replaced them with his tongue once again, letting them tease at your entrance.

The lust filled side of you bucked your hips against him, urging the voice hero to fill you up with his slender fingers.

“Someone’s a little needy.” You ignored the condescending tone coating Shouta’s words, distracted with the way the blond’s fingers refused your insistence.

“I...please…” You didn’t really know what it was you were begging for. Just that you needed him to do something, anything. If it meant he’d stop teasing you.

“I got ya, pretty girl. Just relax now.” Putting you out of your misery, a long and nimble finger pushed past your entrance. The digit skilfully curled inside of you, repeating the action with each thrust.

Desperate for something to hold on to, you gripped the arm that Shouta had wrapped around your waist, keeping you pinned firmly against him. A precaution, of course. They weren’t going to have you backing out of this now. Not after you’d let yourself go so much, and they finally had the chance to prove how good they could be to you.

The stretch of Hizashi adding a second finger felt incredible, but even more so was when they hit that sensitive bundle of nerves with pinpointed accuracy. You jolted from the sensation, toes curling as he targeted the spot while simultaneously keeping his mouth busy in ways that sent your mind reeling.

He pulled away for a moment, enjoying the sight above him as you squirmed in Shouta’s hold. “That your sweet spot, baby?” Putting emphasis on his words, he began delivering even harder thrusts, going back to repeatedly flick at your clit with his tongue.

“You take his fingers so well, don’t you kitten?”

You could feel the coil beginning to tighten, a sedating warmth spreading across your body. If you were facing Shouta, you would be able to see the devious smirk stretched across his lips.

The man was growing impatient―for once in his life when it came to you. But, could you really blame him? Here you were, splayed out across his lap and oh so vulnerable. So cute, so fucked out of your mind.

It was time to move things along, if only so he could get a taste.

His free hand weaved itself into the long and loose blond locks cascading down Hizashi’s shoulders. The man in question gave an inquisitive look, before quickly being cut off. Shouta yanked the man forward by his hair, causing him to press even harder into your sensitive cunt. He groaned as the pain shot through his scalp, the vibrations of his voice, semi-quirk activated, shooting through your core.

That was enough for you. The buildup of heat, how your body felt like it was melting under their touch―in an instant it was amplified tenfold. Your eyebrows furrowed, muscles tensing as you came around Hizashi’s fingers, and on his tongue―both of which were still relentlessly stimulating you through your high. Even when you finally calmed down, the blond continued to greedily lap at your juices, causing you to shake and whine as you were still far too sensitive.

Shouta, a hand still gripping his partner's hair, pulled Hizashi away from you since he realized that clearly he would just keep going if he didn’t intervene.

Your whole being feeling more ragdoll like now, if that was even possible, gave way easily to their hurried repositioning. Having nearly passed out from that alone, the scene unfolding around you went right over your head. Clothes being torn off, belts hastily undone, two very painfully hard men trapping you in between them.

At some point, one of them had put you on your hands and knees on the couch. Well, it was more like you had your ass raised in the air, while you tiredly slumped against the soft cushions. However, the feeling of something running up and down your folds managed to stave off that threatening exhaustion.

“Don’t go passing out on us just yet, kitten.” The gravelly voice came from behind you, letting you know that it was Shouta who was gripping your hip with one hand, the other guiding his cock to your sopping entrance.

Which meant, the pretty and pierced cock in front of you must belong to Hizashi.

“Open up for me, songbird.”

Through semi-wet lashes, you peered up at the voice hero who was towering over you. The hand that wasn’t pumping his length gripped your jaw. And, with a little pressure, he forced your mouth open.

You just needed a little encouragement, is all.

He let out a strangled moan as he pushed his way past your wetted lips, nearly cumming right then and there at how warm you felt around him.

Shouta wasn’t doing much better in the area of self restraint, using his partner’s distraction to sheath himself inside your pussy. His want for control wore thin as your walls fluttered around him, deliciously sucking him in inch by inch.

Both of the men were on cloud nine, finally getting a taste of how you really felt. Those moments of consoling weren’t always innocent, touches yearning to go further. And now that they’d gone to those lengths, now that they were going through those long desired motions, the two realized you were so much better than they could’ve ever imagined.

You moaned around Hizashi’s cock as his partner bottomed out inside of you. His length filled you up in ways neither yours or the blond’s fingers could. Even when he pulled out and thrusted back into your heat, he’d already managed to hit that perfect angle.

Both going at their own pace, your body rocked back and forth as the men took advantage of your delirious state. You couldn’t exactly call it abusing your holes―they weren’t being that rough. But Shouta’s cock was stretching your walls just a bit more than you were prepared for. And Hizashi was slowly forgetting with each passing second that he couldn’t just force his whole length down your throat.

Actually, maybe they were overestimating your limits.

Could you blame them, though? Seeing you day after day, doing their best to not scare you away as they held back the near uncontrollable urge to just take what they wanted. Having to watch you let yourself get run down, when they could’ve been taking care of you.

Why did you have to put up such a fight?

Shouta didn’t think he'd agree with Hizashi when he suggested offering you the edible. Oh, how glad he was for letting him do so now. Because he had to admit, seeing you bent over, deepthroating the blond while he got a nice view of you from behind―it was worth the wait, and the hint of shame that came from inducing you to accept them in such a way.

His tired eyes were lost on the way you took the both of them, shamelessly moaning against Hizashi, hips unconsciously rocking back against him to garner some more stimulation. It was only when the voice hero pulled you off of his pierced cock, the sounds of you gasping for breath meeting his ears, did Shouta break out of that trance.

“Hey...ya think I’d fit in there too?”

The blond was referring to your already decently stuffed cunt, dripping with arousal that was running down your thighs.

Shouta’s lips quirked into a slight smirk.

“...We can make it fit.”

You didn’t quite know what to think. Your mind felt...strange. Weighed down―by exhaustion, some indiscernible veil, but also the need to feel more.

The two helped you sit up, Shouta’s length still fully inside of you. Hizashi eagerly positioned himself in front of you, hands wandering across your body, searching for purchase to ground him.

You did the same to him, mindlessly throwing your arms around his neck, nails digging into his back as the tip of his cock teasingly nudged your clit.

Hizashi laughed a little at your fucked out face, drool seeping from your mouth and running down your chin. His thumb wiped away some stray falling tears, before giving your cheeks a few gentle pats. He found your blissed expression, albeit a lot more intense than he’d seen before, a familiar and amusing thing. “I’ll never get sick of seein’ ya like this, songbird.”

The meaning to his words went directly over your head. Must not have been that important, right?

Unable to really register what was going on, just that suddenly, you felt much more full than you had been a second ago, your brows scrunched in...discomfort?

It didn’t really feel bad, it was just a lot to handle.

Hizashi’s head fell onto your shoulder as he slowly let you sink down on his cock. He let out a hiss, feeling your walls clamp down around him, impossibly and deliciously tight. The small noises that escaped your lips as his piercings dragged against your sensitive spot nearly made them both abandon caution that second.

But they would never hurt you, not unless it was necessary. They wanted to take care of you―even if you were too out of it to realize.

The seconds ticking by as you adjusted to them felt like hours in their book. Finally, after what could’ve been an eternity, Hizashi bottomed out inside of you. The blond relished in the way your nails threatened to break the skin of his shoulders and back as they began thrusting in and out of you, your cunt welcoming them in.

No coherent words could form in your mind, reduced to nothing more than a dumbed down puddle of pleasure. You couldn’t care less about the lewd wet and slapping noises, or how you were quite literally a ragdoll in their arms. Not when the only constant on your mind was how you felt good. Better than you had in a long time. It wasn’t a feeling of safeness, but still, it wasn’t something you wanted to get away from. For now, at least.

Both of the heroes could tell how well your body was reacting to them―by the way your head lolled back against Shouta’s broad frame, or how whimpers and cries of ecstasy spilled from your parted lips.

“...Is our kitten enjoying herself?”

You didn’t respond. Not with words, at least.

Hizashi responded properly for you. “Look at her pretty little face, ‘course she is. Y’know...I could get used to this―what about you, Shou’?”

Arms tangled amongst each other, the two held you upright as they rutted against you. Much like yourself, the pleasure they felt was greatly dulcifying their inhibitions.

You probably wouldn’t remember anything they had to say, though.

The erasure hero grinned at that thought―having you like this for them all the time. Something to look forward to after a long day. The sight of you, safe in their home, waiting for their return. Ready for them to spoil you in every which way possible. Just like you deserved.

“...You saying we should speed things up?”

Now that idea, it gave Hizashi purpose. He was aching to swoop you up―had been for a long time. His hips pistoned in and out of you faster, harder than before.

The blond grasped your jaw in one hand, forcing you to look at him. “Bet you would like that, pretty girl.” With a particularly sharp thrust of his hips, you cried out as he thoughtlessly spoke to you. “Bet you want us doting on ya all day...fucking you ‘till ya can’t walk―that’s what you want, right?”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, the task of forming a response, one that held your truth, being absolutely impossible. You didn’t know what they wanted, and all you craved was to give them a reply to keep them doing whatever it was they were.

“...I..y-yes?”

Wrong answer.

The both of them moved with a new sense of vigour, leaving you clawing at anything you could get your hands on in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“Hear that, Shou’? Our baby’s askin’ for us to take care of her.”

The erasure hero gripped your hips in an iron like hold, sure to leave tender bruises the next day. “Can’t say no to that, now can we?”

The warmth pooling in your belly was growing more intense with each passing second, leaving you to writhe in their grasp, not really knowing how to handle yourself. Every little thing they said, whether to you, or just about you didn’t exactly register. As their speed picked up, the heroes nearing their release just as fast as you, Shouta weaved a hand in between yours and the blond’s body.

You jolted at the feeling of two of his fingers pressing tight circles into your puffy clit, still being jostled as their movements quickened. The two men groaned as your walls clamped down around them, the sounds that met your ears going straight to your core.

“You gonna cum for us, baby?”

Hizashi’s hand, still on your jaw, moved to the back of your head. He held it so that you didn’t merely lay limp against Shouta’s shoulder, propped in his grasp so that he could see your dazed and lust filled expression. You could only nod in response, his question somehow permeating through the thick fog settled over your rational thoughts.

Picking up on the small acknowledgement to Hizashi’s words, Shouta’s ministrations focused on bringing you to release. His fingers never ceased in aimedly toying with your clit, spurred on by the way you reacted so well to them.

The white hot pressure building inside of you was reaching its crescendo. Where one of them left your heat, the other was there to fill you right back up, constantly crashing against your bundle of nerves. That familiar and intense sensation washed over your body as you reached your second peak of the night, convulsing in their arms, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Your walls fluttering around their lengths, somehow making it even tighter, a reaction deliciously consuming to the two. Truly better than their imaginations could’ve conceived, the feeling of you coming undone caused them to tumble over the edge of their release as well.

Shouta’s head dipped, face buried in the junction between your neck and collarbones. He grunted into the skin covered in a sheen of sweat, painting your walls white while you continued to tremble in their embrace. Hizashi’s grip on the back of your head tightened, pulling on your hair and making you wince as a sharp pain shot across your scalp. Ropes of cum coated your insides, mixing with the already existing seed, now spilling down your thighs and dripping onto the couch.

All three of you were heaving with acute exhaustion, you maybe slightly more. Coming down from your high, the adrenaline that had just spiked was leaving your body, taking nearly all of your energy with it.

You slumped against their bodies, falling against Shouta while Hizashi still cradled the back of your head. It felt as if lead was weighing down your whole being, threatening to pull you into a deep slumber. And, seeing as you couldn’t find the reason to fight it given your mentally reduced state, you let it.

Your eyelids fluttered, shutting with relief as fatigue enveloped you, drowning you in its sedation.

But someone’s voice, you couldn’t place who’s, ripped you from the respite of sleep. The message igniting that strange, unidentifiable nagging of worry. Yet, it faded as soon as it came, overshadowed by the insatiable movements returning in the two men.

“...We’re not done with you yet.”

(End of part 8)

_____

Taglist: @roseloverofpastels @shinsous-eye-bags @tjhonoluluprezstitch626 @pekusofixus @riathearora @glitterypinkkitty @elektraeriseros @hadesnewpersephone @axolotleyeliner @idratherliveinbooks @silver-stardrop @niko-su993 @olivia-grace26 @shigsteranddabstersimp @hawks96@pink-dodo-writes @amishahosein24 @keilemlucent @stargazingaloneatnight @thelilmisskaydesi @morganseeksindependence-blog @teabutnerdy @patchworkpiper

If you’re name was crossed out it’s because I couldn’t tag you!

#yandere bnha #yandere erasermic #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #yandere aizawa #yandere hizashi #yandere eraserhead #yandere present mic #yandere writing #yandere fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #tw dubcon #tw gaslighting #tw coercion #tw dumbification #tw drugs #tw alcohol

[killemwithkawaii]

You'll all be happy to know that Mitch will never have to eat the knock-offs shitty food again, because the real-deal will be cooking for them for the rest of their life (however long or short that ends up being is up to them ;))

I thought I'd start by making them breakfast- a nice, big stack of pancakes, one of their favorites, and the same thing I first cooked them last October.

Mitch is still very adamant about keeping their toy around, so I humored them and let them bring it to the table. I had been cooking all morning. The sweet smell was thick in the air, and it had the honeymooners drooling like dogs. I told them that, once they finished the plate and were nice and full, I would let them both in on another piece of good news.

Of course, they put up a fuss, but I set them both up at the table, tied up tight, side by side, and looped a heart-shaped lock through both of their stretched earlobes, joining their together like two links in a chain. I told them that to get free, they would have to finish what I put in front of them. I set down the huge stack of pancakes I'd been slaving over in front of them, and drenched it in syrup and butter. I even cut out a few random bites at their request, and ate them myself.

L.S.S: ....

What are you playing at...

D.S.: Hm? Oh. Well, I know neither of you finished your pancakes the other day, and the ones you left for me were all soggy and gross and fucking sucked, so I thought I'd show you how it's done... And we wouldn't want you two starving before the fun in over, right? :) 💙

They both still seemed hesitant, but I could hear their stomachs growling from the living room last night, and my cooking IS irresistible~ The temptation was too much, and the chewtoy took the first nibble, volunteering to be the guinea pig, as chewtoys tend to do. It concluded the food was edible, but told Mitchie to still be very, very, very careful.

They both were... for a while. They started to get comfortable after nibbling down the first half-dozen cakes like a couple of rabbits. Their bites gradually got bigger and bigger until they were wolfing it down. I thought I'd glitched into the audience of a kinky pie eating contest, when K.E.W.K. found the needle in the stack.

They flinched backwards in pain when they bit down, dragging 'L.S.S.' with them by their locked-together earlobes. All the tugs made by each others movement during the meal had caused another tiny tear to form in the flesh, and this was the yank that finally made the tears gave way enough to draw blood.

D.S.: Heyyy, looks like we have a winner: You found the needle in the stack! Congrats Mitchie! [Whispering] That's really good luck, you know~ ;) 💙💙💙

K.E.W.K.: [whimpering] ah...ah ...takhet ouh- ah- AH!! ....

L.S.S.: You Fucking DUMBSHIT ASSHOLE MOTHERFUCKER-

D.S.: Hey, hey, you watch your language at the table, young man. :/

L.S.S.: Fuck you!! Take that out of their mouth NOW-

D.S.: You'll have to finish your breakfast first! There's still almost half left, and you know how pancakes get when they sit~ :)

L.S.S.: ....

You sadistic shit bag...

D.S.: [laughing] I expect you to join the clean-plate club, Chatty-Cathy. Start eating :) 💙

L.S.S.: Your pancakes are garbage, by the way. Dry as hell, no flavor. I feel like we might as well be eating the mix straight out of the box.

D.S.: Hm? Whats that? 'More syrup, please'? Oh, you greedy little bitch, I'll get another bottle... :) 💙

It finished eventually. By the time it was done licking the plate, it was green around the gills, and looked like its stomach might pop at any moment. Unfortunately, it didn't (and it would have made such a great goretober prompts too...). I gently fished the needle out of Mitchies mouth, which they if course thanked me graciously for, and I opened the lock to let both of their bloodied earlobes free.

D.S.: Okay, now that you're done making a little piggy out of yourself, it's time for the Good News! Thanks for lending an ear for a while, you two ;)

K.E.W.K.: Booooo....

L.S.S.: God, is this guy going for the world record of 'most methods of torture used in a kidnapping'...?

D.S.: :(

Aww, don't be like that... this is gonna make you BOTH happy! It's a win for all of us, really. Especially you, chew toy.

L.S.S.: Just spit it out already, prick.

D.S.: [laughing] Alright. The good news is: You're going to die :) 💙

K.E.W.K. and L.S.S.: .... are you fucking kidding me?

D.S.: No, really! You're going to die really soon, just like you wanted! Isn't that such a relief to hear?

K.E.W.K.: Um, no?

D.S.: Not you, Mitchie. You might get to live for another a few weeks yet, and I promise I'll make it super fun if you choose to~

What I mean is that the knock-off is going to die for real. As in, this is the end of the road for you. At the end of the month, you'll fade to black, and poof! Nothing. Gone forever~ Won't that be nice?

L.S.S.: Yeah, that's how it usually goes, asshole.

D.S.: I don't think you're quite getting it, my glorified little screensaver.... let me spell it out out you:

You've already jumped from this universe, and I'm the you that came out the other side and kept on truckin for another eternity and then some. You, on the other hand, are an old save file that kept running on autopilot to keep up appearances- its what always happens when we jump. It would be weird if the Sallys in all the other universes suddenly lost all their memories from when we were possessing the body, or just straight-up disappeared or something, right?

L.S.S.: ........

D.S.: Right. :) I don't blame you for not figuring it out, since you're brainless and everything. I mean, it was just a theory for me, too, until I was finally able to re-enter this door and found Mitchie playing house with my stand-in. It was kind of sweet, actually- they love me so much, they were willing to settle for a thing like you... but, they don't have to settle anymore. You should be happy! You've fulfilled your purpose, Mitch has the real thing again, and now your consciousness will fade away into nothing. You don't have to worry about turning into me, because you're never gonna get the chance! Understand?

K.E.W.K. and L.S.S.: .....

D.S.: [Sighs] It really is funny, though. You were so worried about what you might become, I don't think you ever considered how you would feel when it happened.... Yeah, I'll admit, the growing pains kind of sucked, buuut once I came to terms with my own superiority, all the worry and guilt and shame I'd been carrying around all that time just faded away, and now, it's a lot of fun being me! It's kind of a shame you'll never be able to experience it... oh well! I guess be careful what you wish for, huh knock-off? :) 💙

----

Mitchie was very insistent about trying to console their toy all night, so they proposed a two-for-one deal for their goretober prompts today. That's fine by me! We'll be spending a lot of quality time together now, and Mitchie will have plenty of time to draw, since that the chew toy has gone catatonic and won't be such a distraction anymore.

Now, we just need to get Mitchie in the mood to play with it properly again, and the fun can really start! ;) 💙💙💙

#the do-over #goretober #goretober 2021 #tw torture #tw unreality #tw death #tw degradation #tw blood #tw injury #tw unsanitary #tw delusion #tw gaslighting #(ooc: sorry guys work sucks some very vinegary balls and I needed some sleep last night skdbxxj) #meet the fishers

[blue-bird-kny]

Day 9: Peppermint Smooches

This was purely indulgent, I love peppermint flavored things and I love cooking/baking so enjoy this as you please~Amanda

P.S: For those who don’t know flan is a delicious dessert made of milk and caramel, my family is cuban and that is a staple dessert at parties.

Reblogs are always appreciated~

Warning: N/a unless you aren’t a fan of sweets, 

( 1.2k+ words)

↳{In which you spoil your boyfriend with various of your favorite holiday treats for almost an entire month}

The house smelled of candy and sweets, the overwhelming scent of baked goods pouring out of every crevice and window. You hummed happily in the kitchen wearing a matching mittens and apron set, both adorned with cheesy gingerbread men over white cloth complete with satin red ribbons to tie around your neck and waist.  You mixed together a sticky batter of cinnamon and sugar, tablespoons of spiced rums and vanilla’s all combined together to create a decadent toffee cake smothered in a bitter brandy sauce; your mouth watered and taste buds buzzed in anticipation of eating this dessert.

The holiday season was your playing field; starting December 1st all the way to the new year, you stuffed your friends with delectable sweets, everyday a different flavor and style, and this year you had another special someone to fatten up. Just as you set the pan on the counter to cool, faint footsteps could be heard waddling their way into your kitchen, “Why does it smell like Santa threw up” Giyuu’s nose crinkled as he appeared in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame. “Well Sir, you’ve just entered a battle zone of my own creation. Pick your weapon, flour or milk?” you joked, setting the red mittens aside in favor of resting against your boyfriend, your arms wrapping around his waist. “Carrots” he randomly picks in an attempt to be funny, “What are you..? Never mind, come taste my cake” you ushered him in to the kitchen, carefully slicing the browned food, blowing on the piece before shoving it into Giyuu awaiting hole.

He chewed slowly as you anxiously awaited his reaction, “Too sweet or too bitter? I did go a little heavy on the liquor” you spireled nit-picking your own desert. Finally, Giyuu’s cool voice spoke “Nothing’s wrong with it, it's perfect. Could I have another piece?” he asked, mouth agape as a low ‘ahh’ sound traveled out. You giggled scooping another slice for him to try; Giyuu savored every bite you pushed his way, but oh how unaware he was of the tooth-rotting month he was about to partake in.

You made dishes of all sorts: gingerbread, strawberry, all sorts of chocolate and nutty arrangements, but nothing compared to the minty sweet that was peppermint. While children wait for gifts in December, you waited year-round to exploit the festive flavor, creating all sorts of pairings to try. You incorporate it into practically anything; topping your whipped creams with crushed bits or mixing them into batter and frosting, using larger pieces for brittle or to freeze with white chocolate, and not a morning passed when you didn’t melt the striped candy to add the extract to your coffee. It was an unhealthy holiday obsession you were far from ashamed of and, unfortunately for him, your Hashira boyfriend had to endure every bit of it.

You were well into three weeks of your cavity-ridden adventures when you found yourself putting together packages of sweets for your friends, each filled with tarts and truffles all wrapped in a hand-tied bow- and of course, this meant you had to include some peppermint treat as well. You browsed through dozens of cookbooks and tested numerous flavor profiles, until you settled with a classic chocolate-peppermint cookie- simple,sweet, and irresistible.

You got to work mixing the dry and wet ingredients, popping them into the fire quickly so as to keep the dark cookie dough at a proper temperature. You melted semi-sweet chocolate chips, mixing in cups of heavy cream to help keep the chocolate smooth and rich to create spread, finally crushing whole sticks of candy canes to garnish the treat. “All done” you sighed, pulling the final ribbon together in a taught knot, a line of baskets ready to be dropped off with your friends the next morning. Your face scrunched together in a loud yawn, the sun already setting outside, “guess I got a little carried away” you chuckled nervously, “You think? You were in there for five hours” a deep disembodied voice answered from behind you.

“Aww so are you saying you missed me, Yuu’” you teased, turning to face the man whose black hair tumbled around his shoulders in the perfect bedhead. He grunted as a response, effortlessly peering over your shorter stature into the kitchen. He was always amazed at your impressive cleanliness because no matter what you baked it always appeared as though a one-man baking championship had not just gone down in there. “What’s with all this?” he asked referring to your gifts, “Just some holiday cheer for our friends, I’ve barely given them any goods this year” you exaggerated as if you hadn’t made Giyuu deliver a plate of pecan pie and flan you’d learned from a foreign cook book to his last Hashira meeting like it was an office christmas party. He noticed the tags hanging on each bow, reading the first one he saw, “Sanemi-san” he grimaced, “Everyone gets one?” “Yes everyone gets one” you started, “and he happens to appreciate my cooking” you added already knowing that there was only one person who could warrant such response from the pillar.

A twinge of jealousy struck Giyuu as he imagine your bubbly self dropping of your hard work into the hands of that brute when you called for him rolling your eyes, “I saved the best one for you though” you held the cookie up to his lips, the oh-so familiar red and white sprinkled across the top. Without a moment's hesitation Giyuu took the desert into his mouth, the silky smooth cocoa cookie coating his taste buds. You watched in delight as the one you loved most enjoyed your favorite hobby when suddenly you noticed the smallest twitch in his eye, so miniscule you almost missed it. “What wrong? Yuu’, if you don’t like it, it's okay” you comforted, eyes softening as you peered up into his crystal orbs.

“This is it” Giyuu thought defeated and slightly upset that he slipped up, “I’m going to have to tell her” he took a deep breath, his confession coming out firm as he said “I hate peppermint”. You blinked in confusion, trying to piece together how he stomached practically every edible thing you pushed his way for the last month. “Wait, you mean the whole time you hated peppermint” you asked with furrowed brows, “yet still ate everything I made...why? I wouldn’t have been upset” Giyuu spoke as if his reasoning was the most obvious in the world, “It makes you happy and I didn’t want to take that away from you”

Butterflies fluttered in your chest at his words, so simple and genuine yet they made you feel like the luckiest person with the best boyfriend. “Giyuu you make me happy, with or without the peppermint” you jumped onto your tiptoes, leaning forward to press a long, passionate kiss on Giyuu surprised lips. He recovered quickly though, his arms slithered around your waist and into your hair, “You taste like peppermint” he stated after pulling away. “Sorry” you laughed embarrassingly, the pads of his finger brushing against the plush skin “From your lips, peppermint is my favorite flavor” he whispered, delving in to get another taste.

Holiday Event Masterlist

#fluffy feelings holiday event #demon slayer x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka #giyuu fluff #Giyuu x reader fluff

[erazonpo3]

(This is a written collaboration between myself and Hemlock/pathygen in the ‘Cassandra’s Tangled Adventure’ AU verse, featuring our characters Alphecca and Violante. This was just a fun little back-and-forth with our two villains set in the period in which Violante has possession of Alphecca’s phylactery.  

The formatting is based on our replies, it was really fun to get to write together and watch Violante flex on Alphecca. I’d recommend reading it on my blog’s desktop page for the formatting) 

The Eagle and The Mole

Ever since her rebirth in flame and ash, Alphecca hasn’t known the icy grip of cold; yet Countess Violante’s chateau inspires it in her bones. It’s a monument of stone, glass, and drapery, and at this time of night the torchlight in the hallways are extinguished; malingerers are unwelcome. Even the ever-present ache in her chest takes its leave here, something she would have been thankful for if it weren’t Violante’s doing. Her soul burned like a dying star, but since her phylactery fell into Violante’s hands all she has known is its absence— numb apathy— the closest thing she knows to cold. 

She’s sure to school her features before entering Violante’s parlour, smoothing out the notch between her eyebrows and the curl of her lips that may as well have been sculpted into her flesh these days. Trinket shrieks at her as she walks past, aggrieved that her delicious bones are today wrapped in the illusion of skin and, on top of that, a stupid uniform. It’s stiff and it pinches in ways she can’t feel but is nonetheless frustrated by, and whenever she catches her reflection in the silverware she can’t help but grimace at the militant emblems and pageantry she advertises. All that’s missing from her marionette costume is the strings. 

The Countess is waiting for her as expected, perched perfectly poised on the gaudy piece of furniture she likes to pretend is a throne. She resists the urge to sneer at the pretentious display, if only because Violante would find it so amusing. 

“I’m back,” she announces flatly, absently picking at the cuff of her jacket. 

“Yes, I noticed.” Violante replies, crystal and calm as a winter morning. 

The countess has a quill pinched between her fingers; sharp motions carry the crimson plume across the page laid out in front of her, scratching. The chamber swallows sound and bounces it back. Dim moonlight ekes through tall, arched windows of blue stained glass, and casts a watery pattern against the polished floor. 

Violante does not look up at the dead woman. 

A minute and a half passes before she finally caps the tiny, neat scrawl on the parchment with a looping signature, rolls it into a neat cylinder, and sets it aside. The feathered end of the quill finds its way between her lips, ponderously. She tilts her head up and her smile is delicate. There’s something of a spider in it. 

“That certainly took you long enough. One little village could hardly have been all the effort.” The Countess of Solanales stands with a fluid motion, and folds her arms loosely across her chest. A cigarette smolders in it’s holder on the edge of the desk, filling the room with an oily, herbal smell. She inspects Alpchecca like one might a mannequin stuck in a display, lips pursed.

“Well, at least you kept everything in order this time. See? You can look nice. I knew the collar would be a nice touch. The color accents your eyes, now that you have them in.” 

Trinket croaks from her perch. The monochrome vulture returns to preening, bored now that the arguably edible bits of the lich aren’t on display. Violante leans back against the edge of her gilded seat. “So how did it go? Did you make any friends?”

This time Alphecca doesn’t withhold the grimace that curls back her lip to expose a yellowed canine. She’s aware of the way the moonlight makes her pale skin seem especially waxy and sallow, which typically serves to unnerve humans- all save the Countess. Violante’s  eyes glitter like a cut diamond as she appraises her, and Alphecca forces her gaze away in a show of deliberate disregard. She stares through the blue washed windowpane to speak to the waxing moon, but keeps an eye on Violante’s figure in her periphery. 

“I was just being thorough, I’m sure you can appreciate that. No stone left unturned, no building left standing, everything razed just right, just for you,” she says, flashing Violante a quick, sardonic smirk before returning her gaze to the window. “I don’t imagine you’ll have much of a problem marching your people down there and claiming a new pile of dirt, or whatever it is you do with the ashes. There’s nothing left.” 

The moon’s bright glow begins to burn a spot into her vision, but facing the window makes it easier for her to keep her face blank. Her excursion today would be considered a success by Violante’s standards, but she had been sure to cause enough of a racket as she tore through the streets that most villagers had ample time to flee before she tore into the place. If they couldn’t escape even after all the time she gave them, well, Cassandra can’t say she didn’t try. 

Under the scrutiny she can’t help but scratch at the briarthorn collar, and she chances another glance back at Violante. 

“Thoughtful. I can’t say I have much use for more dirt than I already seem to own, but,” Violante gestures and Trinket stretches her neck. The vulture flaps off the stand and onto the desk with a crooked hop, and remains still while the countess fastens the scroll to her leg. “I’m sure whoever is left will be happy to accept all the aid Solanales is willing to provide, in the wake of their unfortunate devastation.” 

Eyes glittering, she crooks a gloved finger under the large bird’s beak and hums. “The world is lousy with monsters, after all.”

And in the end, it was only a barrier town. But every little bit counts, every scrap of seizure. Scraps still. But these were things that couldn’t be rushed. Or shouldn’t have been, if she had been able to stick to her original schedule. Plans were important, but the ability to adapt to a situation was worth even more. Put attention in the right places, stress on the right joints, poison in the right tea. 

Or get creative, and toss a skeleton into a henhouse. Ho hum. 

“Go on.” Violante says to the bird. Trinket makes a clicking noise low in her throat, and takes off without a backwards glance at Alphecca, winging towards some high and hidden exit. Violante watches her go in silence. She doesn’t expect it will take long for a response, in some capacity, but she doesn’t really plan to wait for one either. Aldara is out in the field somewhere, hopefully stalking her other quarry, but there’s a decent chance both situations will muddle together eventually. 

“Now, what to do with you?” Violante turns back to face the dead woman, who looks hilariously unsure. It’s already late, and she needs to keep some space between the raids, as she creeps them closer to the borders of the Iron Kingdom. 

Alphecca scowls at the vulture’s retreating form, however glad she’d normally be to see it leave. With Trinket gone, only the two of them remain. It didn’t exactly make for a good buffer, yet in the leering bird’s absence the room tightens with intimacy. Violante and intimacy are her two least favourite things, and combined they manifest as the bane of her existence. The only thing that can make it worse is Violante’s voyeuristic shadow who is thankfully out on her master’s orders tonight, likely committing her own fill of atrocities. 

The Countess’ icy veneer betrays nothing of her intentions. In a game where information is everything, Alphecca knows she’s at a woeful disadvantage. If she tries fishing, Violante will know what she’s doing the minute she speaks, no matter how vague or disinterested she comes across— but she might be indulged. It begs the question of whether it’s better to stumble around blindly or sniff out a trail she can’t trust. Either way, she needs to say something- the longer she concedes to silence, the further the scales tip in Violante’s favour. 

“How about giving these old bones a rest? You’ll find a siesta does wonderful things for the constitution,” she quips. “I’m assuming you don’t want to cause too much of a stir, anyhow,” she adds, unable to deny the temptation of the gamble. Now she forces herself to keep her eyes trained on the Countess, and settles into a smirk. 

“You’re dead, you don’t have a constitution,” Violante drawls.

She glances away towards the window, the picture of disinterest, thinking. Ghostly evening light blankets the room, and flows over the silent collection of statues and armor bordering the walls, the curtained archways. Rooting out the location of the lich’s phylactery had been more of an effort of time and money than anything else. She had a number of contacts stretched over the continent, from tomb takers to Morcant to disgruntled former servants who had once swept the halls of the Spire. The crumbling little ruin of a shrine had seemed like a forgotten afterthought, nestled on the edge of an icy valley north of Ingvarr. The pendant had been wrapped in hay and rue. The plain little goat skull carved into the stone that boxed it had worn smooth with time. It was imagery that had become much more frequent among the information she lately received. So many old stories seemed to be pulling themselves up out of the grave these days. Even keeping the new ones in the ground was proving to be a challenge.

 No one died like they used to. The lich had certainly been involved in that most recent of frustrations.

Although, maybe, her decision to poison Cassandra had been a little hasty. She had maybe been a little angry. A little perturbed. Corpses and memories were generally less useful than breathing attendants, even if they were less trouble. People were so stubborn. Still, even there the lich might prove..useful. If that was the way things shook out in the end.

“Besides, we both know rest isn’t really in your cards.” The countess says, stepping down away from the desk, towards Alphecca. Reaching up, she adjusts the collar the lich keeps fiddling with, smooths down the epaulettes on her shoulders. The illusion of flesh truly was impressive. Almost as much as the facade of confidence. “You know, I once heard that a long life eventually deprives you of optimism. They also say that time heals all wounds. People never seem to be able to make up their minds about just how sad they think they’re supposed to be.”

Alphecca wraps her grimace up into a wry grin, though the fury in her eyes burns a palpable heat in the gelid room. Violante ignores said look as she smooths out the creases in her uniform, abusing all sentiment of personal space. The woman isn’t physically intimidating in the slightest; even wearing stilettos Alphecca has to look down her nose at her. But the proximity is unnerving. If her physical body is merely an extension of her soul, then Violante owns both, and she isn’t shy about making it known— so Alphecca does her best to ignore it, training her eyes on the wall in front of her instead of the head of perfectly coiffed curls only a breath away and the nails that cross her clavicle to smooth over her shoulders. 

“In my experience, more time is just an avenue for more procrastination,” she admits. It’s the truth, or at least it’s her truth, and there’s no harm in admitting it- the information has no value to Violante. If the Countess got her claws on immortality, the last thing anyone should be concerned with is if she were happy or sad. 

“People also say that destroying people’s lives and livelihoods won’t make you happy, but we both know that’s not true,” she adds. She hasn’t actually heard anyone say that, but it’s one of those unspoken things- and it’s wrong. Schadenfreude and victory are one hell of a cocktail. 

“A common adage, is that?” Violante hums, stepping back. “Stagnation is hideous. And regret is a waste of energy. If you’ve really wasted all this time waiting for a death that’s never going to come, then it’s fortunate I came along to make better use of your… afterlife.” She tilts her head. “Especially considering that I found you rooting around in a cave, talking to bones. I can’t imagine skeletons make for very good conversation.”

For once, Alphecca isn’t bothered by the barb. She wastes her time however she pleases, spending her years harassing new villages until she gets bored and moves on, or searching for new fossils to reanimate, playing in the dirt. She knows she’s a disappointment but that’s how she’s come to like it— fuelled by the spite of those more ambitious than her who have to watch her gnaw on the unending life they can’t have. That is, until Violante took it from her. 

With more distance between them now, Alphecca releases a breath; it’s unnecessary, but calming all the same. 

“They make better company than your pets, at least,” she says. They don’t talk back, for one thing, but she’ll keep that part to herself. All the bones she finds have very interesting stories to tell, but unfortunately Violante’s dreadful companions only find them useful for teething. 

“Tsk. Oh, kettle.” Violante says, sotto voce. She has very little interest in making any argument about the quality of company Aldara or anyone else brings to her circle. She doesn’t keep them around for their people skills. Mostly. The countess reaches out to tap the bottom of her jaw. “You’re so uncertain for a corpse. You chatter so much for a tool. But if that’s the way you feel…” A thoughtful pause, wintry silence. Violante steps past her, the dark pool of her gown trailing on the floor. “Come.” 

“What, you’re not a fan of our stimulating discussions?” Alphecca jeers, cocking her head. Blunt as they are, words are the last weapons she has in this fight, but she turns to follow her nonetheless. She kicks her feet up off the ground to hang a foot in the air to let the click of Violante’s heels echo down the hollow hallways alone, creeping behind her like a spectre. 

She’s hesitates, trailing behind at a healthy distance, but she can’t deny her curiosity is piqued. 

“I think your talents lie elsewhere.” Violante answers without turning around, wry. The castle is large and cold and strikingly empty of people. There are servants, courtiers, of course, but this late at night the work has gone to ground. Most of them, having been around this long, have learned to work out of sight, or in silence. Violante lifts a low burning candelabra from a table in the tapestried hall, wax dripping into the filagree crevices that tomorrow will be picked clean again before she wakes. The halls stretch on, half covered portraits lining the walls, tall arched windows that continue to leak in cool evening light. Violante takes them down, towards the ground floor, and eventually comes to rest in front of a heavy, ornate door set back far from the main vestibule. 

“Wait here.” she commands, and without stopping, the countess takes off down another hall and vanishes around the corner. She returns about ten minutes later, unchanged and smiling. In her hand is a small pouch, dangling with a loop of cord that she drapes around her neck. She nods at the door. “Shall we?”

Alphecca lingers back as she follows Violante through the chateau. She’s no stranger to silence, and she can even appreciate the servants’ scarce presence; humans can be such annoying creatures. However, there’s a hostility that comes with the quiet— an unspoken threat that has butlers and maids scurrying away like rats in the corner of her eye, only daring to move when the Countess strides past.  

She halts when instructed, taking the time to inspect the portraits of Violante’s ancestors while she waits. The dim light is no obstacle as she takes in the details, sneering at the pompous Lords and Ladies that line the walls. The different fashion styles over the centuries blend together in her mind, but she recognises the distinct ruffles that predate the Shampanier Era crossing over to the more modern style of headdress, evolving across the row of portraits. They have matching brutal, patrician features and cold eyes, and their arrogance is palpable even through the oils. She wonders if Violante sees them as an inspiration or an embarrassment. 

Alphecca drops to her feet when Violante arrives, eyeing the new fashion accessory. 

“Ladies first,” she gestures in a parody of an usher, trying to avoid the sense of dread that accompanies the sight of the heavy wooden door. 

“True.” Violante says agreeably, placing her gloved hand on the door. In the other she still clutches the flickering candelabra, and the light plays shadows against its surface. The front of it is carved with vines and flowers, mountains and snowflakes. It opens with a heavy grinding sound when she tries the handles, with some effort. Cobwebs stick and pull between the gap, and Violante sneers a little at the dust that collects on her fingertips. A staircase leads down into darkness. It reeks of earth, dry and undisturbed. 

Violante’s face remains impassive as she starts down the steps, the click of her heels ringing against the stone. The walls are featureless rock, and roots start to press through the gaps the farther down they travel. Eventually the stairs level out onto a narrow, dark, landing. Violante moves with a caution in the dark that relaxes when she finds the torches set into thick pillars that frame the entrance, and she lights them with the candle flame. Orange light fills the cavern.

“Homey, I imagine.” she says. “But still better than what you were used to.”

It is a tomb, of course. More a mausoleum, seemingly built into the naturally limestone cavern underneath the castle. The roof of the crypt rises up high above the chamber, arched ribs and all angles like the inside of a cathedral. Violante doesn’t pause in her intrusion, gliding down the center aisle with a curious fervor, idly stroking the covered parcel around her neck. She finally stops as they near the back of the chamber, in front of a stone dais that elevates two, long, solid coffins. Side by side, in their lofty place of honor. Violante sets the candles down. She looks back at the lich. 

She says, “You’re going to wake them up.”

Violante isn’t wrong to assume that the cavernous underbelly of the castle is more comforting to Alphecca than the bleak architecture and furnishing upstairs, but it’s still far from homely. The crypt is stale and azoic, lacking the warm smell of rot and soil that accompanies her usual hovels. Nonetheless she does feel more at ease here, and it takes the tension out of her shoulders.

“Is this mum and dad? I didn’t really take you for the mournful orphan type,” Alphecca says, her smirk eking into her voice. She approaches the left coffin and slides a hand over the lacquered wood, which is stained with black and ornately carved. The golden filigree is finely engraved and the craftsmanship of the coffin itself is masterful. A thrill runs through her bones; as disinterested as she is in the coffin’s inhabitants, she’s eager to see what bijous and tchotchkes she’ll find inside. 

It takes her mind off of Violante’s request. Resurrecting one body, one soul, takes more effort than she is usually willing to expend. Two isn’t out of the question, but it’s going to take time. There are shortcuts she could take- 

No. She’ll take all the time she needs. 

“I can do it for you, but it’s not going to be quick or easy. I’m assuming you want more than just a couple of braindead puppets, after all,” Alphecca states, glancing carefully at Violante. 

Violante watches the dead mingle, the old and the ancient. There’s a stone bench opposite the dais, maybe long ago a place meant for prayer or meeting. The back of it curves up into a chiseled swan’s head, with the beak broken off. She sits, and crosses her legs, eyes lidded, observing Alphecca as she circles the caskets. The lich’s interest is evident, undisguised. She’s being so nice.

“Mmm.” she confirms, very calm. “Lady Fiore and Count Viator. I poisoned them when I was seventeen.”

She draws a finger across the jagged beak of the swan and rubs the grit between her thumb and forefinger. The black fabric of her gloves are already powdered with dust. Idly, she pinches one finger and slips it the long glove off, stretching her hand in the cool, dry air of the crypt. The tips of her fingers are stained purplish-black, even deep under her nails. 

“They need to be able to speak, and answer questions truthfully. I’m not especially worried about mobility, but memory is important.” She tilts her head, dark eyes focused on the bone witch. “How long? Describe the process for me.”

Alphecca’s lips twist as Violante confesses to her parents’ murder, but continues to investigate the coffins. 

“Well, the process involves bartering with Death, binding the soul to an anchor and then binding said anchor to your will- it’s something that can take months, depending on how long it takes to get the reagents, and that’s just for one soul. Doubling up will save time, but even you don’t have infinite resources,” she explains.

Without asking Alphecca lifts the nearest coffin lid, and lets out an involuntary whoop at the burst of pungent aroma. There’s not much left of the carcass itself, despite what she’s sure was a vigorous embalming. Corpses are meant to return to the earth, and the ones buried above ground have a messier time of trying to find it. Lady Fiore’s robes are completely soiled with corpse juice, but she’s surrounded by a few glinting baubles that could still be disinfected- although she’s sure Violante won’t let her play with them. 

“A fresh corpse is always easier to work with, but it’s just as well you kept the remains at all- souls will anchor to their own bodies with less of a fuss,” she says, disregarding all the loopholes that come to mind. With a snap of her fingers Fiore’s bones glow a pale blue, battling the orange torchlight for a moment before it subsides. It’s a basic preservation spell that she uses on all her creatures to protect their bones from the elements, which she hopes Violante will take as a sign of her veracity. 

“You’ll find my resources will more than suffice.” Violanate says. “Considering the state of your previous arrangement, and what you’re used to.” Scrounging around in the shadows and the muck couldn’t have been all that profitable for the lich. Procuring things, especially things of an elusive nature, is not usually a problem for her.

The stench that emanates from her mother’s coffin is certainly vile enough. Violante’s nose wrinkles, and she nearly rolls her eyes at the bone witch’s obvious enthusiasm for it. For a moment she has to tilt her head to the side, and she brings the pouch around her neck closer to her face. There’s baby’s breath and rosemary inside: a good dampener, or so she’s been told. The Countess is not unfamiliar with corpses, but they’re usually less decayed, and less in her face. She could have used a stronger perfume. 

“Useful little spell.” She says, turning back to face the dais. 

And then, “..bartering with death.” Violante drawls, stretching the words out slowly. That has her curiosity piqued. Something about it, a string to tug. “Like it’s a person.”

Alphecca hums absently, neither in agreement or disagreement. 

“I suppose we’ll see,” she says. She swipes a thumb over Lady Fiore’s cheekbone, imagining how the muscle would have wrapped across it and how the skin might have sat on top. Her sharp jawline mirrors Violante’s, and she’s willing to bet they shared the same nose. She was no doubt a very attractive woman in her prime, and Alphecca finds herself almost frustrated that she’ll be deliberately prolonging the reconstruction process. 

She crosses over to the coffin on the left but her fingers tapdance across the lid, and her head perks up at the mention of Death. 

“Well, yeah- okay, she’s not really a person, but she’s the shepherd between this realm and the realm where lost souls are... supposed to go, and you’re not going to get a soul back from the realm of the dead without her noticing,” she explains, smiling at the memory of the spectre. Absently she traces shapes in the dust of the coffin lid as she continues. 

“It’s far simpler to make a trade with her than to try and steal one, but that’s still easier said than done.” 

Having to watch the lich inspect and handle her parents' remains doesn’t seem to phase the Countess very much. Legs crossed, she sits back on the mourning bench, and rests her chin on the back of her fingers. 

“‘She’. You make a trade with death.” Violante repeats, not a question. “What could..death-the-entity possibly want in exchange for a soul?”

There’s a visible sneer on her face at the word soul. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in spectres or spirits: she’s essentially speaking to one, even if it’s trapped in a bone. The concept of anything trying to tell her what to do, even after death, dissatisfies. Even at a young age, playing with her first herbs and poisons and staining her skin, Violante knew that she wasn’t going to go until she was good and ready. 

She can guess what the lich might think of her. The many things, every terrible notion. Most she’s probably right about. But Violante has no interest in living forever. Cavorting around for centuries as a moldering corpse isn’t an appealing notion, and it obviously hasn’t done the witch any favours. No. She is going to build something great. Something right, something hers.

In the end, if it is really worthy, it will outlast her. 

And if it’s not...well. 

Violante hums, “Longing for death is a bit of a cliche, even for you.”

“Depends,” Alphecca shrugs. “Sometimes she asks for help wrangling the ghosts that refuse to let go, or she has a specific soul in mind, or sometimes she just wants a favour to keep in her pocket. There’s always some kind of catch though, because she’s hardly going to ask for something she can get herself.” 

Even if she weren’t already planning on delaying the process, she anticipates bargaining for two souls will be the most difficult part. Bartering with Death isn’t exactly something she makes a habit of; she can count on one hand the amount of times she’s made the deal, and every time had brought its own headache. Just the memory of it is enough to make her head hurt, so she turns her attention back to Violante.

“Yeah, well. Even you’d be begging her to come take you after long enough. You and I both know Death can be a mercy,” she says with a smirk, and cracks open dear father’s casket.  

Help, promises, wayward souls. “That’s a lot out of death’s reach.” More than one would think, for such a definite force. Violante listens to the dead woman without looking up, thinking, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the velvet pouch dangling from her neck. There is another wave of foul scent, all earth and rot. The sound of heavy stone dragging on stone. Her father had been a count of some notable prowess. He had been good at getting people to listen, and always spoke with confidence. Curt at times, but he shared a warmth with her mother that would have seemed anathema to the traditional Solanales chill, to anyone outside of their family. They were a private people. Violante had loved her parents. She had loved them even when she was putting them in the ground. 

 “Who said anything about mercy?” The countess murmurs, tilting her head, a silver-dark curl of hair sliding over one side of her face. Wintry, she says, “How long is this going to take you? Approximately, for one body?”

Alphecca rakes a finger down Count Viator’s sternum, making a mental note of his measurements. She’s sure there’s a portrait somewhere in the castle she can look to as a reference for their bodies, which are clearly tall but perhaps wider than their frames let on. Violante’s voice echoes in the cavernous room, yet the words themselves float around in the air. There’s a few trinkets scattered in the coffin, rings and jewels and heirlooms; they’re gaudy and expensive, but far from valuable to the dead. The sudden change in the intonation of Violante’s voice catches her attention, and she only catches the tail end of her question. 

“Hm? Oh- well, for one? It’d normally take around a month or so to source all the reagents- meat, ivory, rare herbs and spices and whathaveyou- then somewhere between one to two weeks to build the body itself. After that it really depends on what I need to do to recover the soul,” Alphecca explains, finally dragging her eyes away from the remains. 

“And of course, I wouldn’t want to rush perfection.” 

“How thoughtful,” Violante drawls. “But they don’t need to be perfect, just functional. Enough to answer what I want to ask of them. You fare well enough without lungs. Or gray matter.” The countess tilts her head again. “They’re going right back in the ground after I’m finished with them.”

Pushing away from the bench, Violante stands with fluid, gossamer grace. Holding one arm loosely tucked around her waist, she climbs the steps and despite the reek, peers slowly into each of the caskets, expression unreadable. Swipes one stained fingers against the dust collected on the stone lip, rubbing. 

Almost conversationally, she looks back and says, “Tell me what you need, and you’ll have it within a week. If not sooner. We have the merits of civilization here.” With a surprising amount of ease, Violante leans back against her mother’s grave and lifts herself into a sitting position on the skewed cover, ankles crossed. She smiles, her mouth a sharp, dark slash. “Three weeks, I think, is more than enough time for you to finish the work.” 

Very slowly, she lifts the velvet pouch and threads it open. The amulet is heavy, and Violante curls it’s chain delicately around her fingers, thumb hooked under one of the horns. Scarlet light suffuses her from below. 

Coy, Violante hums, “If you put your mind to it.”

Alphecca scowls at Count Viator, cursing him for ever procreating. 

“If you want a botched job, then fine,” she sneers, bristling at the intrusion on her oasis. The presence of the phylactery is like a sneeze sitting at the back of her nose, painless and yet impossible to ignore. However, the Countess has extended her a favour in the same token, providing her the irritation necessary to redirect her attention elsewhere. 

“The souls of the dead don’t tend to like being torn from their peace and shoved back inside their corpses, and the further the vessel is from their actual flesh and blood, the harder it is to attach them. And if a soul doesn’t attach properly, then you’re going to have a very uncooperative, likely half-braindead, pale imitation of your dearly departed loved one. So it’s your call,” Alphecca explains, drumming her fingers on the coffin lid. 

It’s a gambit for more time, but the phenomenon of corrupted souls isn’t unheard of. And it’s not exactly something she’s keen on dealing with. 

And then there was silence. It was followed by the shrill whistle of a lofty wind, swiftly swallowed by the cavern, sucked down. Above, a jagged crack in the apex of the cave opened up to mountain air and evening sky. Snow-melt had formed thin icicles which dripped with languid precision onto the old stone. There were some places within the cavern where if you listened close enough you could hear the sounds of running water; more runoff that was kept flowing by the warm channels that ran all underneath Solanales. The recessed thermal rivers: mineral rich, were responsible for the health and diversity of the medicinal herbs the county was able to cultivate. Her father had shown her maps, long ago.

Violante regards the lich cooly. The sneer; the constant flow of excuses, the obstinance. There is a moment before she speaks, where the slick consideration in her dark eyes slides towards bored. Just as quickly, the flat stare is replaced with a knifelike flash of malice, penetrative and acute—then a return to hawkish study.

“You’re right,” The countess says smoothly, examining the blemished fingers of her free hand, “it is my call.” She tilts her head, and wrly continues, “..and if I cared about what they liked, I wouldn’t have killed them in the first place.”

The glow from the amulet gives her skin a rosy tincture it doesn’t usually possess. Violante places her empty hand back on the coffin lid behind her, relaxing back into a lounge.

“Alphecca…” her voice is deadly soft. She rarely uses the corpse’s name. She’s never seen much point. The countess peers down at the phylactery, slim fingers curled under the horns and through the chains.

“You know, this really was remarkably easy to find. Time; a few simple exchanges of gold, a barter with a like-minded contact—who will no doubt realise, eventually, the true cost of that information, and likewise, the great loss she would accrue attempting to take it back.”

Calm, easy, her posture is that of a woman relaxing in a parlor; not an arm's reach away from her mother’s seeping skeleton. Violante runs her thumb up the side of the crystal. It’s warm, with a steady, pulse-like thrum. 

“That is a part of what it means to have dominion—to have dominance. Laying the foundation. Control over people and their emotions, so that they don’t go spinning them out into actions they haven’t thought over properly. Something always there, in the back of their minds.” 

With a sly smile, Violante tilts the amulet. “Like this.” Her fingers tighten, squeeze around the pulse. 

“Come here.” she commands.

The Countess’ silence brings the familiar weight of dread, the coils of her contemplation winding and tensing before their inevitable release. The use of her name, soft as it is, is like the snap of a twig; the arrow is coming next, but she has nowhere to run. When Violante speaks, her words are dripping with nightshade, and Alphecca pays less attention to the words as she does those eyes and the way they peel back the illusion of her flesh. How long ago was it that Zhan Tiri had stood in her place, holding the phylactery that they’d created together, swinging it before her like an aberrant hypnotist? The image lingers in her mind, branded into her being, and it burns again now. Violante holds her ransom with equal avarice and even more capriciousness. 

She doesn’t fight the command.

One foot drags after the other, pulling her away from Viator’s putrid remains towards his fetid offspring. The ends of her hair dance in the waves of heat that surge from her body, casting her pallid skin in the same glow mirrored in her bottled soul, and her sclera seeps with augural ink. She looks down her nose at the Countess, but stays mute; her glare speaks for itself. 

“Oh, that face again,” Violante smiles slyly as the lich draws near. “You looked at me like that the last time you tried to get me to break this. For all that trite dribble about souls, they pack rather nicely into tight spots, hm?” She lifts the phylactery and lets it dangle from her fingers again. The carved crystal twists, shedding ruby light. 

Tilting her head, the countess adds, “..though honestly the sheep-theme is a little provincial for my taste.” 

From her perch on the coffin lid, she and the lich are almost at eye level. Idly, she taps the curled horns of the amulet against her lips, and  takes a moment to inspect the flickering hair, warmed by the unnatural heat in the cold center of the crypt. She’s seen the witch dressed in bone before, skeletal, human then very much not. She hasn’t yet been able to divine whether the flesh is an illusion, or a simulacrum. 

“...you know, it’s almost funny,” she says after another moment, musing. Gently, Violante reaches up to take Alphecca’s chin between her fingers, feeling for bone or for the presence of a seam. Without much force, she tilts her face left, then right. “The creature that made you this way got to die before you, didn’t it? Whether it wanted to or not. And even though it’s gone, you’re still here. That’s an impressive act of malice I’m not even sure I could aspire to.”

She brushes a strand of winding hair behind the dead woman’s ear, the fingers of her other hand wrapped around the amulet. They rest there, lingering.

 “Mercy,” she hums, “Death. Do you really think that force regards you as anything more than a vague afterthought? Do you know why?”

Close, her eyes are dark and flat. When she smirks, her lips part, and there’s something of a serpent in it. The fingers set behind the corpse's ear hook suddenly, sharply. “It’s because you’re a commodity.” Softly, “A body. It was a waste having you be as you were before: running loose, childish and deranged. Whatever worth you had was decided on ages ago by something greater, and then discarded in one instant, only to be defined again, now, by me. That’s the only thing that matters here.”

Drawing her hand back, Violante twines another piece of fiery hair around her stained, lacy fingers. The amulet beats a rhythm against her palm. “Like that little village you destroyed. Garbage, right? But now, it’ll be built up again into something useful—desirable. Not only as a consequence of my birthright, but because I have the power to make that happen, and the will to speak through it. Because that’s the zeal the world recognizes. In the end, it doesn’t matter who you are or who you’re trying to be. Whether you’re a shambling monster… or a wayward sword, I’ll use the power I have; my proof of conquest, to assert my will—” a rough tug on the strand of hair, closer “—and change the meaning of value.”

Silence, and the drip of distant water. Violante lets the strand slide free from her hair, and inspects her hand with distant disinterest.

“Three weeks,” she says cooly. The phylactery thrums in her grip. “Don’t ever try to argue with me again.”

Alphecca’s phantom heart thumps in her hollow chest. Words intended to cut to the quick come close to their mark, but nothing Violante says can slice deeper than the futility of her situation. She can’t remember needing to gasp for air like this, not for a long time. And yet for all her vast networks of contacts and flies on the walls, Violante doesn’t know everything. She clutches that thought like a final matchstick in the dark, for all its limited warmth. The Countess doesn’t know Death; not like she does. And she’ll get those souls that she wants, and she’ll do her finest job— but Violante’s not the only one that has strings worth pulling. 

For as tainted as Violante’s hands are, they’re still warm. Blood pulses right to the tips of her fingers and beats against her false skin, and she feels its absence when her hand draws away. Alphecca responds with a cock of the head, and a sneer.

“I’d better get going, then.”

#cta au #alphecca #violante #my art #my writing #and also hemlock's but that's just my fic tag

[firewoodfigs]

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #young royai #yesss I'm back with my young royai corniness... sorry not sorry... #what about it!!! uwu #also Roy Mustang vs carrots L O L

[bang-and-a-blintz]

Caught in the Web

This one is for our wonderful @hiphop-gir​! I sort of got a little carried away with this lol I’m sorry, it’s just that when I think of this delicious blonde serial killer version of Claes - my mind can’t help but to automatically lean towards more...twisted things. 😇

An interrogation goes...wrong in all the right ways?

Cheers!

Fandom: The Girl in the Spider’s Web

Relationship: Jan Holster//Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warning: Um very smutty and sort of dark. Some kidnapping, a bit of choking, and light threatening. 

Word Count: 2,651

~Caught in the Web~

A loud bang made you jump as the door burst open, bouncing off of the wall behind it. You couldn't see anything through the darkness of the sack covering your head, but you knew you were no longer alone in the musty room that your captors had placed you in.

Your wrists burned from the zip ties wrapped tightly around them and your shoulders were beginning to ache due to the awkward angle of having your hands tied behind your back. 

"Well, what do we have here?" A cold, deep voice cut across the room like a knife. You could hear the thumping of footfalls coming closer. "Relieve our…guest of those restraints."

Someone dashed over and you were temporarily blinded from the sudden brightness as the hood was ripped from your face. While you blinked, trying to quickly focus on your surroundings, the same person made work of the ties around your wrists and cut them free.

When your eyes finally adjusted and you rubbed the circulation back into your limbs, the first thing you saw made your throat go dry.

It was him. 

The spider who takes those unfortunate enough to fall into his trap and then makes them disappear.

Jan Holster.

You had only heard stories about the terrifying assassin that stood in front of you. Whispers in the wind of a man turned death machine for the Soviet's special ops before going rogue. Not many lived to tell the tales...but you had certainly heard stories, so it wasn't an entirely impossible feat.

Only no one spoke of how damnably attractive he was and you weren't sure how you felt about that.

"Leave us."

The man who cut you loose quickly scurried away. 

What remained was a nearly unbearable silence. You cautiously looked up to see the infamous killer staring at you with furious intent.

Jan was statuesque. His towering form seemed to take up the entirety of the cramped, dilapidated room. He was shrouded in a pitch-black long leather coat and endless dark layers of clothing. Protection from the bitter sting of the arctic temperatures. The shock of blond hair and icy blue eyes were stark in contrast. 

What really caught your attention was how his face was littered with several scrapes and bruises, as though he had just gotten out of a fight. You had the sneaking suspicion that he had won.

He looked scary as hell, intimidating, rugged, and downright feral. By all accounts, you should be very afraid, but the blasphemous heat pooling in the pit of your stomach spoke otherwise.

The severity of his stare pinned you in your seat. He placed his gloved hands flat on the table and leaned down, slowly and deliberately licking his lips. 

The predator eyeing his prey.

"Tell me," His voice was guttural, "Why were you running, kroshka?"

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, "I wasn't running, I swear I don't kno-"

"Shh," He cut you off, holding a finger up in warning, "No, no, no, ptichka. Do not lie to me. You saw their faces and you know where they are."

His words were clipped, barely concealing his frustration. The use of those sweet little pet names was like poison dripping from his mouth.

"I told you, I - I don't know."

"TELL ME THE FUCKING TRUTH!" Jan roared, his hands grasping the withering chair before him and threw it with all his might against the opposite wall. You flinched as it broke upon impact, scattering pieces of splintered wood across the floor.

"Please, I swear! I don't know anything!" Holding your hands up, you tried to plea with him to see reason, that you really were innocent in this whole ordeal. You were just someone who was at the wrong place and at the very wrong time. "Look, when that apartment exploded, those people disappeared before I knew what was even happening. There was so much smoke and the fire was taking over the entire building, it was all I could do to run before it took me too! Then your asshole goon squad threw me into the back of their van and brought me here. I don't know what the hell happened!"

He walked around the table slowly, coming to a stop directly behind you.

"Forgive me,” He sighed, “My temper sometimes gets carried away."

Finger by finger, he pulled off his leather gloves with precision and dropped them on the table in front of you. Then his cold hands were resting on your shoulders, though they were surprisingly gentle as he held you still.

His breath was suddenly against your ear and you fought to control your racing heart. It felt like it was going to jump right out of your chest and it nearly stopped when those large hands gave you a sharp squeeze.

A warning.

"I do not enjoy being lied to." He tutted as you tried to speak, "It makes me feel as if I am being treated like a fool. Do you think that I am a fool, kroshka?"

"N-no."

"I could not hear you."

Those freezing hands gripped you tightly now, the contrast of his cold fingers against your burning skin was regretfully delicious. You chided yourself for being so affected by this man.

"No!" You ground out with a hiss, squirming in the seat and pressing your thighs together. A weak attempt to alleviate the sudden ache you felt.

"Good." He hummed, tapping his digits slightly against your collarbone. 

Before you knew what was happening, Jan pulled you out of the chair and slammed you against the wall. The moment your back connected with the plaster, one of his hands wrapped around your throat to hold you still while his handsome face loomed over you with a dark expression.

You had never been so turned on in your life. 

The taste of danger made you insatiable; your morality and finite self-concern were now long gone.

"Let's try this again, hm?"

"Please, I -" You weakly tried to bite back a moan as he tightened his hold on your neck. To your embarrassment, Jan heard it.

He froze, blue eyes widening for a moment before sliding down to observe this new position. Almost as if he wasn't aware that he was the one who put the two of you there in the first place.

Your bodies were flush, his broad chest was completely encompassing as he pinned you to the wall. You couldn’t help but to arch towards him, thrumming with anticipation.

Now he was curious.

Testing the uncertain waters, Jan tensed his fingers again and you knew he could feel your pulse beating erratically beneath his hand. You sucked in a breath and shut your eyes firmly, trying so very hard to fight the blush rising on your cheeks.

When you finally opened them again, you were almost frightened to see his reaction, but to your surprise, his brows just rose. A small, devious smirk quirked his lips.

"Ah, I see." His voice dropped an octave and you felt goosebumps rise along your flesh. With a quick movement, he slid his own leg between yours and pressed it hard against your center. "You like this?"

The delicious tease of friction made you bite down on your lip, but you refused to respond.

"Answer me." He bounced his leg and you felt shocks shoot up your spine. The hand around your neck gave another squeeze, forcing you to meet his gaze.

His pupils were blown wide with lust and you could do nothing but groan, breaking down and grinding your hips slowly along his thick thigh. 

Desperate for anything he could give.

"Yes," You gasped, finding courage in the way his eyes fluttered shut when your knee lightly brushed against his crotch, "And it seems that you do too, Spider."

Growling, he snapped his eyes open and sent you a look of warning. He then pushed you harder into the wall, halting your movements entirely. "Where did they go?"

Was he still on about that? You fought an eye roll.

"I. Don't. Know." You hissed, snatching a fistful of his shirt and dragging him closer till you were just a breath apart. "And, to be honest, I don't fucking care."

His jaw ticked, but you stared at him defiantly, not backing down in the slightest. He didn't move. He didn't say a word. Jan just studied your face silently, searching.

Releasing his shirt, you brought your hand down, keeping your eyes locked on his, and gripped him through his pants. He was thick and big and undeniably hard.

"Is this really what you want?" Jan said, rather gruffly. His jaw clenched tightly as he fought control. 

This time you actually did roll your eyes. "Are you done interrogating me?"

You gave his cock another squeeze and he bucked, lips suddenly crashing onto yours to steal a searing kiss. It was a rough, demanding, teeth-gnashing, biting mess and when he pulled back you were completely breathless and absolutely wrecked.

It took a moment to understand why he stopped, as you tried to chase his venomous lips but he kept pulling back, just out of your reach. When you looked up in irritation at the deadly man, you realized what he was truly waiting for. Your consent.

"You want this?" Jan asked lowly, his chest heaved with his ragged breath and his bright eyes were wild. 

A man never looked more edible.

"Yes, I do. I want you to fuck me. Right now." You spoke, gazing up at him through hooded eyes, barely comprehending the unadulterated sultry tone of your own voice, "Now shut the fuck up and get to it, kozyol."

He needed no more convincing as he swung into action, latching onto your lips again and tugging you back over to the table. You jumped up to sit on it while he maneuvered himself in between your legs, not for a second breaking the consuming kiss.

The man was everywhere, his hands grabbing and pawing with a desperate vigor, his mouth was wet and sloppy and delectable; you took everything you could get. The tension that dominated his body gave you the hint that this sort of release was long overdue. You were happy to help with this investigation in any way you could.

With a rough tug, you ripped out his belt and made quick work of unbuttoning his pants. He was heavy, hot, and positively swollen underneath your palm. The pad of your thumb swiped the precum pooling from the tip and he groaned deeply, snapping his hips into nothing, desperate for some sort of friction.

The next thing you knew, one of his cold hands were down your pants, and without warning, two of his impossibly large fingers slipped inside you.

"Holy fuck!" You gasped, breaking away from his lips to suck in a deep breath. A third quickly followed, opening you up even further. You moaned loudly, body pliant to his attentions as he curled up against that spot that made you see stars.

Then they were gone just as quickly, but before you could whine in protest, he lifted you up further onto the table and ripped your pants off entirely. You could hardly take another shuddering breath as the cold air hit your bare cunt before he was back on you and teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock, gently sliding back and forth along your slick folds.

He paused, looking you dead in the eyes while his free hand came up to stroke the line of where your neck met your shoulder. Shooting you a villainous smirk, Jan yanked down the collar of your shirt, bit down hard on the sensitive flesh of your neck, and sank into your warmth. Your body curved up into his embrace and you cried out, the shock of both primal pleasure and scorching pain sent your nerves into overdrive.

Immediately, Jan set a bruising pace, the brutal intrusion was exactly what you wanted, what you fucking craved. You matched his thrusts and gripped his jacket, just to hold on to something, anything to keep you upright.

It was viceral. It was vicious. It was deliciously punishing as you both fucked each other as if your very lives depended on it.

He replaced his teeth with his hand once more and squeezed down on your windpipe, his mouth edging over until he was panting into the shell of your ear, "This is what you needed, hm? You needed a good fuck."

Changing the angle, he delivered a sharp thrust that stole your voice.

"You wanted someone to take control, to use your body, to possess your very soul." He growled lowly, "Glaza boyatsya, a ruki, hm? You fear it and that drives you fucking wild."

You moaned loudly, too far gone to care about his biting words. With every pleasurable sting, you felt yourself drawing closer and closer to the precipice. The pit deep in your gut burned and boiled and was surely going to explode if he kept up with that filthy mouth of his.

“Yes, that’s it.” Jan grunted, a bead of perspiration trailed down his face from his efforts, “You desire someone who would wreck you from the inside out and make you beg for more."

"Fuck, yes, bistreye! Faster, please, I - oh, fuck!"

The man's hips were like pistons; relentlessly slamming into you, filling you to the brim before pulling back out just to bury himself inside again, deeper and deeper. You nails tore at his shirt as you shattered around him, coming almost violently and nearly choking yourself as you writhed against his hand.

He let go of your throat and stole what little breath you still had away with his lips, blocking your cries and moans from traveling too far outside the small room. Your body was wracked with trembles as you rode your high, letting wave after wave of sinful delight roll over you.

The Spider doubled his efforts, his hips stuttering in a punishing rhythm and his hands were gripping your flesh so hard, you were certain there would be an endless amount bruises waiting for you later. 

With a roar, he came, chomping back down on the sensitive and abused spot of your neck, gripping you tightly against his shaking body. He pumped once, twice more before exhaling a deep breath and falling to his elbows around you.

The tension seeped from your bones as you collapsed back onto the table. Blissfully sated. Nothing but the sounds of your gasping breaths filled the room as the both of you struggled to maintain normal oxygen levels.

That might have been the best sex of your life. 

It was worth it to come undone beneath the brutality of this devilish man, despite the lingering fear of your own impermanence. You supposed the thrill of temporality was a wonderful aphrodisiac.

Suddenly his lips were on yours. This time the kiss was soft, gentle, deep, and full of strangely unfamiliar feelings. Jan delicately plied your lips open, his velvet tongue circled yours, and he groaned as you lapped back cautiously. The hand that threatened to squeeze the life from you was now stroking a calming pattern against the swell of your cheek.

He pulled away after a moment, tucking himself back into his pants and slicking any errant blond hairs back in their place. 

Once satisfied, he looked at you with a cunning little smirk. "This information will suffice. Thank you for your…assistance."

Before you could even blink, he was gone.

The door slammed shut behind him and you sat there, stunned. Rather than rushing to dress and flee back to your home, which would be the logical course of action; all you truly wanted now was more time caught up in the Spider's web.

Welp there it is! Inspired by that sexy scene where he’s all bloodied up and looks tasty. Someone stop me.

*my attempt at writing with the Russian language - if I got anything wrong, I apologize*

kroshka - little one

ptichka - little bird

kozyol - bastard

Glaza boyatsya, a ruki - The eyes are afraid, but the body still commands. (You feel the fear, but do it anyways)(Russian proverb)

bistreye -  faster

Tagging:

@vissidarte213 @hyacinth-meadow @gabesprincess​ @festering-queen​ @thebeautyofdisorder​ @hoefordarkness​ @allis143​ @torntaltos​ @guardianbelle​ @greenisms​ @cam-bang​ @feralstare​ @profiler-in-courage​ @enchantedfleur​

(just in case anyone else was interested - feel free to message me if you’d like to be removed or added)

#request #claes bang x reader #jan holster x reader #the girl in the spider's web #jan holster #n/sfw #idk how to tag anymore honestly #they end up having a great time during an interrogation?? #sure why tf not #claes bang thirst squad

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Tide Pools (1/6/2021)

Click here if you’re like “What the heck is this about?”

Alastor and Angel Dust @sluttyspiderpolkacock (and the same adorable baby featured here) hang out around a tide pool. Angel shares (with some coaxing) some of his worries re: Valentino following this little incident, and Alastor brainstorms with Angel possible ways to keep him safe—from adjusting his contract with Valentino to fleeing Pentagram City to getting an effective weapon that could take Valentino down a peg.

And the baby eats a crab.

(This is also where Angel gets access to the holy water that he uses here.)

Alastor

At long last, Alastor had finally gotten antsy enough to pull out his bathing suit and meander down to the beach to explore it properly. He’d found a little path right next to the ocean in the shade of the estate, and it had some tide pools he’d been examining with interest.

Unfortunately, being in the shade like this and having his arms and legs exposed to the breeze for the first time in decades meant he was chillier than he’d planned on. Detached from Hell as he currently was, he didn’t want to waste his energy warming himself. He wished he’d foregone the bathing suit and kept his coat...

Something billowy covered him up from above.

He jumped up and flipped it off with a startled trumpet sound effect, identified it as a coat, looked around, looked up, and looked back at the coat. Sure, that’d do.

He pulled it on, folded up the cuffs so they didn’t dangle over his hands, tied the two spare sleeves around his waist like a sash, and crouched down to study the tide pool again.

Angel

As the damned thing flew out of his sight, Angel gradually felt the ability to breathe return to his control. Deep breaths now. He could stay with Seapup a little longer. Gently, he threaded those chubby limbs through his spindly claws and pulled him to his fluff to warm him. Happy thoughts now... little sleepy Veci burbles... waves crashing against the rocks - - -

**And a loud, sudden TRUMPET.**

Pelagios started to stir. Then, mouth scrunched up before all four eyes popped open, he began to cry.

" _OHNONONOOO!_ " Angel cooed with a gather of the orange ball into his arms, " It's ok! I'm here! I'm SORRY, MIO BAM_BINO!_ Back ta sleep? Can ya sleep? Fa me? C'mon, let's go back to sleep. " He then rolled to his side and got up to pace the room, lightly bouncing and swaying the baby Veci to try and get him to calm. " Water? Ya wanna see the water, Baby? Yeah? Ok, let's go see what the jazz band's all about, ok? "

Smiling and making faces, Angel made his way to the balcony and perched himself over the edge to give Pelagios a taste of the sea air. With a little swaying and some light humming, it seemed to work long enough for Angel to let himself peruse the view. Sea... sands... sunlight like glitter over the waves... tidepools...

" ... Alastor? " Catching sight of a figure wearing Valentino's coat almost gave him a HEART ATTACK, but piecing together the features of his local Radio Demon pulled the biggest sigh of relief from deepest recesses of his lungs. " What'cha doin' down there in... that? "

Alastor

Alastor looked up. "Oh, hello! I thought I remembered this coat! I think the better is question is what is *this* doing down here with *me*?" He straightened up. Check out that snazzy 1920s swimsuit. Complete with skirt. "I appreciate that it didn't have *you* in it this time, but how many times do you plan to assault me with this coat?"

Angel

" _As many times as it takes fa ya t' learn ya lesson,_ " he teased darkly before laughing and shaking his head, " They were both accidents! Like this one! _Say ' hi ' to Uncle Alastor ~_ " Angel then tilted little Pelagios towards him. Too sleepy to do much more than yawn, Angel wagged a finger beneath his paw to mimic a wave. " I was just, uh, swingin' around. Practicin' m'coat flingin'. Y'know, job stuff! And got a lil' carried away! "

His ability to lie was getting worse and worse. He couldn't even look him in the eye and instead smiled off into the sky.

" Suits ya, though! Just ya color an' e'rythin'. Go ahead an' keep an eye on it so it doesn't get the better a ya again, yeah? "

Alastor

"Unfortunately for us all, I'm utterly incorrigible! You'll have to spent the whole trip pelting me with clothing."

*Uncle Alastor.* He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that when it was in reference to some stranger's baby. But he endured it with grace and dignity.

"Coat flinging. Really." Do you hear his skepticism. "I suppose there's a precise technique to it, is it. Minute differences in the wrist flick that communicate different forms of sexual desirability."

Angel

" Yeah! Totally! Look. " Perfectly balanced upon the railing, Angel extended a limp wrist and an immaculately straight leg in a striking pose. " _Queer..._ " He then shifted into bent arms and legs. Reek that raw masculinity. " _Drinks nothin' but beer!_ "

In a fit of laughter, he drew his knees back together and tossed his chin to the sky. Pelagios didn't seem to find it worth acknowledging, but Angel thought he was hilarious and doing an _exceptional_ job.

" Dunno what I was goin' for, but it did _somethin'_, didn' it? Look at'cha, all cozy ~ " He then leaned over his knees with the sincerest espression since the start of the conversation. " So ya just out explorin' ? "

Alastor

Uh-huh. Alastor kept giving Angel a skeptical look. "And I suppose you do many shows where you're called upon to strip while acting as aggressively heterosexual as possible."

He perked up at the question. "Yes! I found crabs!" He pointed at the tide pool. "They look *exactly* like Earth crabs."

Angel

" I used t' be a HIT at bachelorette parties, MIND YA! " he insisted snarkily before swiveling his hips off the balcony and dropping down, a slumbering Seapup still in tow. He then walked up to the pools and copped a curious squat.

" Oh shit, y'ain't kiddin'... " Angel mused with a lean almost too far. Perhaps the scent of fresh food riled him, as Pelagios _immediately_ bounded off his chest and dove straight for a crab. Eyes blew wide and multiple sets of arms flailed in a panic to keep him from falling in and dampening his fluff.

Alastor

An announcer’s recorded voice rang out, “*And they’re off!*” Ding ding ding! A crowd roared in excitement! Alastor leaned in to watch the seapup go after the crabs. Angel can look after himself, this is way more interesting.

Angel

Angel scanned the contents of the pool with hawk - like precision. Nothing seemed too nefarious, especially not up against Pelagios happily burbling on fresh crab guts, triumphantly circling the pool on his back like an otter. He exhaled his held breath and fell back.

" Jesus fucking christ... " he wheezed, " He was OUT COLD all but TWO SECONDS AGO! " Oh he is _BEAT._

Alastor

“Look at him taking his victory lap! What a champion!” Alastor leaned forward to grin down at the seapup. “You’re a vicious little killer, aren’t you? Well done!” If he had been worried for Pelagios’s safety, he sure wasn’t showing it.

Angel

A big, grinning face! The little veci copied it as best as his his little jaws could and propelled his tail towards Alastor's perch. He knew praise when he heard it and was beginning to learn that sharing was caring. So he offered a couple legs, waving them both in his chubby paws like flags.

Alastor

"Is that for me!" He plucked the legs out of seapup's hands. "Why, thank you very much! Quite hospitable of you." He offered one to Angel and crunched down straight on the other, like some kind of freak who eats crab shells, Alastor what's wrong with you. "I hope these aren't toxic! Want one?"

Angel

Angel peered over his fluff and sat up just as Pelagios turned tail to playfully harass another crustacean of some sort. " The fuck're you - ? " He rose a brow but nonetheless took the crab leg and started taking it apart. " Ya... supposed t' eat the fuckin' SHELL? It'd be a lil easier to think you can chomp on, uh, GRASS, but crab shells?? Ya can TAKE THAT?  "

Alastor

“You’re not *supposed* to, no. But it’s very satisfying!” Crunch, crunch, crunch. Enrichment. “... I probably shouldn’t swallow it, though.” Don’t mind him as he spits the pieces back out. Never take this man to a fancy restaurant.

Angel

He laughed out loud. " Yeah? Ya THINK? " he responded through giggles, half teasing, half validating. He then pulled the meat and returned the shell so Alastor could have his fun, " Don't choke, ok? Wouldn't wanna be givin' ya ribs another poundin' so soon. "

Alastor

“Don’t lie, you’re just waiting for another excuse!” Crunch. ... Crunch. All right, it stopped being satisfying. Once the novelty and shock value wore off, it didn’t really have much to offer. He tossed the rest of the leg into the tide pool.

Angel

" Now ya just bein' ridiculous ~ " he said dramatically with a fish through the tidepool, " I can deal a beatin' whenever I want, AND get paid t' do it. I don't NEED to be settin' anythin' up fa YOU. "

He then pulled something out. A sponge. A big one. _Definitely wider than Alastor's throat._ And a big, mischievous grin to go with it. " Bet'cha can't swallow this whole ~ " he joked with a crack of his neck as if to ready himself for the pounce.

Alastor

“Sure, but it wouldn’t be a beating for *me,* would it? It wouldn’t be half as satisfying for you!”

He eyed the sponge critically. “Hm... No, probably not!” Bait not taken. That thing didn’t look the *least* bit edible.

Angel

" Kiddin'! I was KIDDIN'! " he assured with a toss of the sponge back into the pool, " Ya really thought I was gonna shove this salty thin' down ya - ? "

And Pelagios volleyed it back, saturated with sea water. It deflated flatly against the side of his head and emptied enough water to drench him with. Hello, karma.

Alastor

The studio audience laughed obnoxiously.

Smiling politely and totally ignoring Angel's plight, he said, "No, I didn't—but I'm not putting it past you to hope I'd shove it down my *own* throat."

Angel

Angel raked his wet bangs off his face and rolled his eyes. It probably wasn't very noticible, but all eight went. " Tsk, even if ya DID call my bluff, I wouldn't 'ave LET YA. I wouldn't do ya like THAT! I wouldn' even let ya SELF, _do ya like that._ "

Alastor

“I’d like to see you try to stop me!” As a reward for misbehavior, Alastor plucked another tiny crab out of the pool and offered it to the seapup. Here, kid, you earned it.

“So! I’ve been just *dying* to find out—why the delayed arrival? Didn’t you have work?”

Angel

" That was the whole joke! " Angel exclaimed with a wringing of his hair as Pelagios happily crunched the crab and started playing with the legs.

A rich, sea breeze coursed over the pools and followed the shiver down his spine. " I did, " he said simply, " Then changed my mind. Big V didn' stop me. " Basically the truth, omitting the fact that he'd _tried_ to stop him.

Alastor

“Really? The kind of taskmaster who has his employees working on Christmas?” Alastor quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t stop you, or didn’t have an opportunity to stop you?”

Angel

He leaned back on his hands and crossed his legs, eyes narrow and subtly flickering in his direction from the sides. " ... _Yeah - !_ " The reply came in a curt exhale. " He could'a stopped me if he wan'ed to. Ya really think I could ever get the better of a brass like 'im if he 'ad anythin' t' say about it? "

Alastor

“Now, that’s a careful question. Do I think you could get the better of him if he had something to say about it? No. Do I think you could get the better of him *without* giving him a chance to say something about it and then decide what to do when you get back? Possibly.” Alastor had been wondering about the abruptness of Angel’s arrival. And he didn’t know a lot about Valentino—had never *cared* to learn much about him—but he suspected Valentino kept a tight leash on Angel’s diet, even more strongly suspected Valentino took more than his fair share of Angel’s earnings, and didn’t-even-have-to-suspect at least a couple of the gross indignities Valentino put his own business partner/lover through.

Maybe aside from a little obsession over nutrition and garden-variety unjust wages, everything was aboveboard; but it was enough to make Alastor suspicious of the idea that Valentino would willingly let his star employee go at the last minute during an extermination.

Angel

" WELL! Ain't YOU a SMA'T COOKIE! " he growled, " If ya think ya got me all figured out already, what's the poin' a askin', huh? Like hearin' yaself TALK? Get some sorta, OFF from makin' me out t' be some BITCH? " He'd twisted in Alastor's direction and raked a claw through the natural rock they were perched upon. A deep snarl twitched over the precious metal in his mouth. It was the most direct he'd been with him since arriving. And sudden, as if Alastor had abruptly shown in a secret, sacred place of his and made him scream.

" Well I ain't - ! " And he SNEEZED over his shoulder. Cold breeze, wet fur, and his high body temperature started giving him the shakes, making his beligerence anything but threatening. Brows scrunching in annoyance, he held up a finger in pause, sneezed a couple more times, and stared blankly. " ... Fuck was I? " Train of thought? _Derailed._

Alastor

Oh, hit a nerve, had he? Very sweetly, Alastor said, “I believe you were in the process of lambasting me for implying you were someone’s b[*BEEP*].” Isn’t he helpful. “Which isn’t what I meant to imply at all! Only that the fact that you *took* a liberty doesn’t necessarily imply he willingly *gave* it!”

Alastor stood, untied his sleeve-sash, and shrugged off the coat so he could offer it back to Angel. He was wet and sneezing, he needed it more than Alastor. “I don’t think I’ve figured out anything! All I know is that you plummeted out of the ceiling and that three out of the scant four facts I know about your boss are synonyms for ‘he’s a control freak.’ The rest, I can only learn from you. I didn’t want to be so *direct* with my insinuations, but I was starting to worry that if we got much more *in*direct, I’d never solve this mystery.”

Angel

Eyes glued to the rock, Angel took the coat and threw it over his entire person like a tent. " Fine. I left wit'out permission. Ok? " he muffled from beneath the thick velvet mass, " I couldn' do another night, 'specially not that one. 'Aight? Ya satisfied wit' 'at? Ya mystery solved, Prancy Drew? "

The bump started to shrink as he drew in his knees and curled into himself. He wasn't lying when he said he thought Alastor was smart, but it started to _worry_ him how _transparent_ he really was while he strived to draw an iron curtain around his occupational ( personal ) life.

Alastor

“Really? Prancy Drew? I would have gone for Sherlock Hooves, personally!” A light laugh. Ahhh, he shoulda been a comedian.

“That covers act one!” He crouched down again. “What worries me more is act two. What happens when we go back?”

Angel

" Not buppidy enough, " he replied monotonously before falling silent a few beats, " ... ... ... I dunno. I... didn' plan it. I don't even... " ~~Know if I CAN go back.~~ " I dunno. I'll... figure it out later - "

The mass grew a couple inches. " The fuck are _you_ worried about? This ain' got nothin' t' be doin' wit' you. "

Alastor

“You dare accuse *me* of being *worried*?” He planted a hand on his chest, scandalized. “Anyway, I could have asked you the same after you hauled me from the bar to your room! You owe me this one! Or I owe you one, whichever direction this thing goes.”

And Alastor was worried it *might* have something to do with him. If Valentino decided he needed to come confront his wayward worker—and if Charlie expected Alastor to be the one blocking the front door.

Angel

" They was ya exact words! " the bump exclaimed comically with a visible lean towards him, " I told ya, it didn' FEEL RIGHT t' leave ya in the middle a the hotel like a bump on a log, yeah? That's just _decency_ where I'm from. You don't gotta... "

Angel swallowed thickly as he tried to wrap his head around _whichever direction._ Was he looking to pay it forward? Simply get even in the transactional sense? The latter sounded more like him. The notion that he wanted the satisfaction in turn for doing someone a favor felt like it was _completely_ off the table, so they likely weren't going _there..._

_And his head started to spin._ " ... Ya don't gotta worry about m'boss... or my job... Ya already bought me some hours... That's... good... " _**SNIFFLE.**_

Alastor

A pause. “You’re right! *I* accused me of being worried! I don’t know how I’ll recover from this betrayal.”

Oh, no, was Angel about to get emotional? Alastor hoped that sniffle was from the damp. “Oh... don’t give me the credit, you bought yourself these hours.” He attempted an awkward shoulder pat. “Unless you mean back on Christmas, sure, although I don’t think that has much to do with this situation—” His eyes brightened. “Say now, how’s that for an idea? Go back and claim that at the last minute you got paid better to be somewhere else, give him his cut, do you think that would make all this blow over? You’d have to tell me, I don’t know him.”

Angel

Angel gasped with a violent flinch upon contact, frantically drawing the coat from over him as if he were drowning. Not being able to see Alastor coming was a mistake, but through a shot of wide eyes, Angel insisted nothing untoward happened. He clenched the bundled material in his lap and anchored his sights to it, shaking his head solemnly.

" His call tops e'rythin'. He wants me somewhere, I don't get t' tell 'im I got a better idea. It don't - ... it doesn't work like that. N - ... _no amoun' a cash's gonna fix what I did._ "

Alastor

Alastor pulled his hand back and raised them both up, palms out. Okay, no touching.

So he was more power-hungry than money-hungry. Pity. But something about Angel's reply rubbed Alastor wrong. *Fix what I did.* That sounded less like a fear caused by what Valentino was like and more like a fear cause by what Angel had done—and that made Alastor wonder whether what he'd done was something worse than simply skipping out on a shift. "And... what *is* it that you did, exactly?"

Angel

He didn't know why, but seeing both Alastor's hands up made him deal a double high - five. _See? Touch is fine! I can TOTALLY do it JUST FINE! HUZZAH!_

But his eyes stayed low, corners of his mouth twitching. It was hard to tell if he was about to burst out laughing or crying. Claws closed over his cheek and he turned his head towards the sea, as if the words he were about to say were the ashes of his soul to be put to rest.

He mumbled, " I broke outta the top story window, let the angels in, crashed 'ere. 'Splains the glass. "

Alastor

Alastor actually laughed at the double high-five. Okay! Unexpected, but entertainingly so!

And then let out another sharp bark of a laugh at the confession, less out of amusement and more out of surprise. “Well! You know how to make an exit, don’t you! Maybe you’ll get lucky and the angels will take care of the problem for you, eh? But I wouldn’t bet money on it.”

Angel

His cheeks rose in a weak smile that reached his eyes and not much else. " No... the angels wouldn' get 'im... He'd throw all of us to 'em first. Bet all our lives b'fore we even get a chance t' take a count. " ~~_Basically what *I* did..._~~ Angel winced at the realization.

Alastor

“Oh, keep your fingers crossed—who knows, maybe he had fifty meat shields and the exterminator that gets in will have a quota of fifty-one sinners to meet!” But there are no lucky breaks in Hell.

“Do you know what you’re going to do when you get back?”

Angel

" Don't matter i got _six_ to cross... he's still gonna be there, for sure... Waitin' fa me... " He pawed at the mass of hearts in his lap, raking through them, attempting to disrupt their pattern but they remained.

" ... Lookin' fa me. I don't - ... I don't KNOW. I _can't_ go back, but... What 'appens to a Sinner outta Hell too long? You're a magic man. Ya can pick up shit runnin' through Heaven, yeah?? What's it look like? " By this point, he'd crawled over the coat and put a tentative hand on the rock beside his hoof, pleading at him for an answer that'd lead to his least painful existence.

Alastor

His smile turned sad, without his noticing. “I can detect signals from Heaven. I’ve never been able to figure out how to understand them.” He sighed. “But, I do know what happens to sinners outside of Hell: same thing that happens to any soul in the mortal realm. You’d be a ghost. For now, you’ve got enough energy from Hell to sustain a visible, physical form—but over time, it will run low. Once you’re out, you’ll be another intangible spirit, detectable by the average human only as a shadow or an eerie feeling unless you find a source of energy to leech off of and study how to channel it. Maybe it would be different here instead of Earth, with so much more magic around that’s easier to absorb, but that remains to be seen.”

A vague shrug. He could ask Alexander, once he got the hang of drawing power through his radio, whether he collected power more easily here than Earth; and when Sir Pentious started living here for longer periods of time, if he ever got up to weeks, months away from Hell, Alastor could ask about his energy and whether he had to do anything to sustain it; but right now there was too much unknown.

“But visitors to Earth, angelic and demonic alike, are always on the lookout for fugitives. Usually, they’re just souls who didn’t pass over. They’re hauled in to their respective afterlives and that’s the end of it. I don’t know what they’d do with escapees.”

Angel

Angel swallowed thickly. " _I couldn' do that..._ " he whispered lowly, " _I'm too fuckin'... STUPID t' read through all that technical... spiritual... SHIT...!_ " Surely that wasn't the reason, despite how unintuitive it'd be for him. It was moreso his own frustration talking. His lack of tact. His inability to fully consider the consequences of his actions. Not to mention, REALIZE what he was doing until he'd already DONE IT. His instincts had protected his immediate future, but DOOMED him in the long haul.

" So I'd just... go back... no matter what... I can't just be ghostin' fo'ever... "

He melted into the ground, two sets of claws masking his face and wrenching through his hair. If he couldn't escape any kind of persecution, he'd take his chances with the angels... " No one... who's rumbled with the angels ever came back, huh...? " If Extermination Day was going to be his LAST, there's so MUCH he would've done ( most of which included hunting down all the people he already wanted to KILL, but nonetheLESS... )

" So that's it. Hide out 'ere until the angels find me. Take me back. Do whatever they're gonna do t' me. That's all I can do not to 'ave ta... _face 'im._ "

Alastor

“If it helps, I don’t think ghosts are given a how-to manual, and most of them get the hang of it.” But what did he know, he’d never been a ghost.

Alastor grimaced at that. “Well. No one who’s ever been executed by an angel has ever been *un*-executed. But people have survived close calls.”

He settled himself more comfortably, they were going to be here a while. “The way I see it, you have several options. One—“ ding, “—hide on Earth as a ghost. Some ghosts get away with it for centuries. Again, I don’t know if escapees are given higher priority than souls that have never left the mortal realm—but I’ve never met an imp who was *enthusiastic* about hauling in wayward souls.

“Two—“ ding, “—hide *here* as a ghost. Unless the powers that be *try* to hunt escapees on Okkylk—and if they were going to, we probably would have found out when Sir Pentious started spending nights here instead of Hell—angels and demons might never visit this planet. Why would they? It’s possible you could hide here indefinitely.

“Three—“ ding, “—hide in another ring of Hell. I have connections that can sneak sinners out of Pride. But being a sinner on the lam in another ring has its own perils, as you could imagine. I’ve turned back mid-trip if going forward meant putting myself in a position where I couldn’t walk back to Pride on my own two feet if I had to—I doubt you’d have that luxury.

“Four—“ ding, “—throw yourself on the mercy of somebody stronger than Valentino. If you happen to know any dukes who like to blow thousands on you and would be moved to tears by your terrible plight, now’s the time to dial them.

“Five—“ ding, “dye your fur, learn a new accent, change your identity, and go under cover.

“*Six—*” ding, “erase him before he can get his hands on you.

“And any of those could be combined to *great* effect with faking your own extermination. If you have any limbs you’re not fond of, all you’d have to do is toss one in a little pile of gore near where you were last seen!”

Angel

" I ain't gonna be taken by no fuckin' _IMP,_ " he grumbled, but seemed to relax some beneath the comforts of someone thinking for him when he had such shortened foresight. Slowly but surely, he started to remember who he was. " I ain't gonna _hide_ fo'ever either. I worked too fuckin' hard makin' m'name. If it'd all be fa nothin', I'd rather fuck off into extermination. "

Yet, the sternness of his words contradicted the shuddering, the fading pink of his bodily markings into the faintest grey.

" I know... some demons... but they're all either frien's a Big V's , or ain't gonna wanna make beef wit' 'im fa anythin'. Or care to if it's gonna mean they're losin' all the rest a his business. An' I'd be... in the same spot... caterin' to their e'erythin' an' if I don't - "

He stopped himself and curled up on his side.

" Madame... could... an' would, but she's got a deal wit' 'im I can't fuck with. I got a lot goin', but wit'out 'im I ain't got much t' bargain. He owns... ALL I got under contract. Everythin' but m'soul. "

Alastor

Everything but his soul. Alastor was silent a moment as he contemplated that, staring out over the ocean. Finally, he said, “Greedy. You wanted to have everything and you wanted it as fast as possible, didn’t you?” His tone wasn’t scolding.

“What are the terms of your contract? Any buy-back provisions, any terms under which it would immediately become void?”

Angel

" No... it was... slow... " he responded with an evasive weakness, " Yeah, I've always wanted t' be a star. Since I was human. But when I first dropped 'ere, I was... _fine._ Doin' what I was doin'. Workin' bars, streets, weapons. Until he showed me I could be more. An' I believed 'im when he said we was gonna be a _team._ "

He trailed off.

" I trusted 'im. Wit' everythin'. _And he wrung me the FUCK OUT fa E'ERYTHIN' I got._ There's... no way out. He 'ad me agreein' t' shit I shouldn't've. The way he talks an' the things he does... It's what he does. He can get ya agreein' t' anythin' he wants wit' just, a flick of his DAMN WRIST until he's covered all 'is bases. An' ya can't fight 'im anymore. Ya _belong_ to 'im, whether ya want to or not. 'Cause at the time he had ya noddin', everythin' just sounded... good. No fine print. It's ya whole _ass_ in bold. "

Alastor

“And who could pass up such a temptation.” It was damn foolish to trust anyone like that in Hell. But everyone had a bit of a damn fool somewhere deep inside of them, and the cleverest manipulators only needed to find the right angle from which to pry that fool into the light. “Do you have a written copy of your contract? Or was it all verbal?”

Angel

" Not me... " He picked himself up just enough to be eye - level with him. " Not... you, " he dared with an implicit confession before sitting back. " He has it. " Of _course_ he does. " I haven't even seen the damn thing in decades. "

Alastor

He didn’t react to the implicit accusation—but he didn’t deny it.

A sigh. “And I’m sure so much as *asking* to see it will raise suspicions. Not, of course, that you could ask even if you wanted to, if you can’t go back.” Damn. Alastor was sure the thing must have loopholes—*everything* had loopholes—but he wasn’t going to figure out what if he couldn’t see the thing. “What about your soul? Why *haven’t* you sold it? Does your contract stipulate anything about what happens if you do?”

Angel

" I... I don't... r'member... I don't think he thinks I got the guts. It was the one thin' he let me keep t' keep me thinkin' I stood a chance. I don't even fuckin'... know what HAPPENS or what it feels like t' not 'ave ya soul. He got me this twisted up wit'out it. Givin' it away would do me worse, wouldn' it? "

Alastor

"It would depend entirely on who you give it away *to!* And, say, whether they might let you buy it back. Mind, most 'sell your soul now, buy it back later' deals are designed to make getting out of debt practically impossible, *but.* Infernal law favors dealmakers who work in souls. In most cases, selling one's soul trumps any prior ownership claims over any other part of one's person. But you'd know better than I whether Valentino drafted your contract with a clause ensuring he'd maintain his holdings even if you sold your soul."

Every word of it was the truth—but consider the source when considering whether this was actually good advice.

Angel

He almost zoned out. It made much more intuitive sense to just KILL the bastard in place of reading between any lines. Which was what he was working UP TO before he blew it.

A grimace. " I doubt it, but then again, I don't know. Guess I'd... gotta get it from 'im if I really wanna fin' out. " He was nearly stark white. He had to keep going no matter how much harder he ended up making it on himself. Hiding would only be prolonging the inevitable. If he was going to end up going down, at the very least he had to take Valentino with him, or strongarm _some_ sort of upper hand... somehow.

Alastor

"Which brings us right back to the problem of your having to face him, doesn't it?" And even if he could get out of his contract that way, that wasn't going to do a thing to stop Valentino from coming after Angel if he was mad his prisoner was getting away. It addressed a long-term problem but not the immediate one.

Angel

He couldn't speak, only shudder. Angel had _nothing_ over Valentino. He was near certain he carried his contract on his person at all times. It was really seeming like there _was_ no way around it. Just a nod. A bitten lip and raking claws over his forearms.

" Can ya... hear what they're broadcastin' about? "

Alastor

Alastor hesitated, then shook his head. "Not without somebody opening a portal to Hell. I picked up a little trick recently that might be able to boost my power enough to listen across planes like that, but I'm reluctant to test it out in the middle of an extermination and risk broadcasting our location."

Angel

" ... Ok, wouldn' want that... " Angel replied meekly before staggering a shaky reach into the pool to pluck Pelagios from a pile of coral he was rearranging. " Later... could ya tell me? " He then sank his face into the seapup's head, clutching him dearly as he replied with vaguely confused burbles.

Alastor

"As soon as I can." He smiled wanly. "You're not the only one eager for news out of Hell."

He was cold again. He summoned up a big beach towel from indoors, and offered a second one to Angel.

Angel

" Thanks... " First things first, he could stand to feel more like himself. Angel let Pelagios down into his crossed legs and started drying his hair. So long as he was stuck, getting his mind off the situation was the best he could do, for now. Diligently he dried and out of his line of sight, Pelagios had escaped him to chew on a corner of Alastor's towel.

Alastor

He could restrain the urge to chatter for a moment. Let Angel have a second to recover.

He looked at the seapup gnawing on the towel Alastor had draped over his shoulders. And then, slowly, without looking away from seapup, Alastor stuck the opposite corner in his mouth and started chewing it.

Angel

" If I could get my hands on my contract, would ya help me figure out a way t' - " Angel slipped the towel off his head, hair a weird, frizzy mess and snorted at the sight. " Sorry, Schnookums! Took ya outta the water before you were ready, huh? " he said as he reached for Pelagios and attempted to gently ease the towel from his mouth.

To no avail. It seemed he made his choice. A tidepool rich with toys and potential snacks was second to gnawing on cotton and staring down the Radio Demon with the biggest, most impish smile he could muster.

Alastor

Ah, so it was to be a battle, was it? Alastor leaned away from Pelagios, tugging lightly on the towel as he did.

"If you get it, I can look it over." Somehow, chomping on a towel did nothing to hamper his ability to speak clearly. "I can't guarantee that I'll find a way to help—it depends on just how airtight Valentino's made his contract—but I know a thing or two about Infernal law and I have fiends in high places."

Angel

The little orange veci hopped forward, easily tugged but no less determined to win... whatever the object of this battle was to be. He was rested from his food coma and had a wake - up snack. All that was left was energy to burn. A nefarious glint in his eye, Pelagios dug in on all fours and started crab - walking to the side to tighten the towel around Alastor's neck. _Ruthless._

Angel clamped a claw to his mouth to stifle a laugh. " Thanks, I... I 'ave no idea how I'm gonna pull it off, but... " He thought a little bit as Pelagios playfully death - rolled like an alligator. " I'll get it, and uh - " A loud pulse echoed in his eardrums. He was running on sheer force of will at this point. " - worse comes to worse. Which AIN'T gonna happen. But if it DOES, er... "

Nifty and Husk didn't seem to have it all that bad. Of course, they were vastly different demons and if anyone knew how severely false pretenses could be it'd be him, but he still couldn't finish the sentence. Angel still wasn't sure if bartering his soul would be something worth resorting to.

" ... I double die. End of story. Fat Nuggets is gonna be goin' to Kyxs. "

Alastor

Alastor patiently allowed seapup to strangle him—goodness, what an inventive tike. He was going to be dangerous if he ever faced anybody who actually needed to breathe.

But his gaze remained on Angel, waiting for him to finish that sentence—*knowing* what it would be. They'd danced around the topic of strategic soul-selling already, after all.

When Angel chickened out before he could offer his soul up, Alastor was relieved. Alastor couldn't save face if he turned down the offer—but accepting it would be tantamount to directly challenging Valentino for ownership of Angel. Even if Alastor could legally finagle the transfer, there would be nothing stopping Valentino—and his allies—from going after Alastor.

There were friends he would risk his existence for. Angel *was* a friend, Alastor would concede that, but he wasn't yet on the VIP list. Alastor didn't want to have to tell him *no, I can't go that far for you.*

He placed his hand to his heart. "You have my solemn word that Fat Nuggets will not be made into bacon." His hand was immediately bound against his chest by the towel. "Oh, clever boy."

Angel

" Thanks. 'Cause if ya don't... " Angel, visage all but a void, crawled forward and gently swept Pelagios before he could make a full predatory circle around Alastor. It was clear enough to him that he didn't _mind_ being wrapped and was... perhaps a bit _entertained._ But he needed something to do with his hands. And he had to make some preparations. " ... It ain't like there'd be anythin' I COULD DO ABOUT IT. "

A knead - like rub between the fins of his head, and the Seapup started up a series of contented burbling followed by a slack jaw. " I gotta... go talk to 'em, " he said with a swipe of his things as he stood, " Ya... want any company, or should I take the lil' fella with me? " With a spare pair of arms, he dusted out Valentino's coat and wrapped the towel around his waist. " I could... leave ya with this, too... if ya liked wearin' it. It's pretty cold back 'ere and would be better to have that towel to sit on instead of the rocks, ah? "

Alastor

“Very true! The best guarantee you could get is sticking around to keep me on the straight and narrow! But that’s never entirely in our control, is it?” A wink. “Still! You should do the best you can.” The closest Alastor is going to get to saying *I’d like you not to get erased.*

“Take him, you’d get far more out of his company than I would. But I’d appreciate the coat! I was starting to get attached to it!” He stood as well, it didn’t seem appropriate to keep talking while seated. Especially since he had something a little more serious to share. “Before you go, I’ve got something else you might find useful.”

Angel

Angel rose a brow, not the least bit in the mood for some empty pep talk. Nonetheless, he gave a small smile and floated the coat over Alastor's shoulders. " Knock y'self out. Nevermindin' the extra arms, it suits ya better than me. _Nice 'n red -_ "

He cut his sing - song and canted his head. " Yeah? Ontop a some contract literacy? " His upper arms dropped to his hips as Pelagios cradled into his stomach. " What'cha got? "

Alastor

“They make for a lovely sash!” He tugged the coat back on and wrapped the extra arms around his waist again.

Once he tied them on, he turned his full attention on Angel. In what for him passed as a low voice, he said, “Now, I’m trusting you to keep this information to yourself. I’m not a dealer in contraband and I’m not looking for customers, I just happen to have a private collection. *But*, I happen to have in my possession two barrels’ worth of holy water—and I can increase that amount exponentially at a moment’s notice. If adding that to your arsenal would help you solve any of your problems... consider it at your disposal.”

Angel

He matched his drop in volume. " _Ya shittin' me._ " Though Angel knew he wasn't kidding in the slightest. Rejecting any semblence of good news was simply just a hard habit to break. " Angel weapons ain't exactly standard issue. How the _fuck_ did'ja get ya han's on _**holy** water?_ It really work like that? It really...? " A dark glint circled his eyes. " _Burn_ like acid? _Permanently?_ "

Alastor

"Would you believe *Valera?* They passed me a little kit of magical ingredients they happened to have been given but didn't have any use for. All the usual little herbs and spices, but *guess* what I found in the back and have been multiplying ever since!"

He leaned closer with a malicious grin. "I can't speak *directly* to its efficacy on sinners, because I morally object to experimenting with torture methods on humans test subjects—unless I happen to have someone on hand who deserves it, of course." Hand over heart. What a saint. "But every once in a while I'll scoop out a glass of the stuff and dunk a small demonic critter in to make sure it's still potent! And oh, yes, it burns like acid. It burns like napalm. Exactly as advertised. A little different for each creature, but never pretty."

Angel

Of _course_ he believed Valera. He believed Alastor, too. Who would've _thought_ that holy water was such a common commodity outside of Hell? ~~On second thought, that probably made a LOT of sense.~~

Angel bent an equal amount backwards. ( _The grin, the coat, the stature... a VAST difference compared to the image that flashed his mind and nearly sent him COWERING again, but nonetheless one he wasn't quite ready for._ ) A stiff exhale of his held breath and he quickly straightened up. ( _He could get used to this. He DESERVED to get used to this._ )

" Morally object t' torture experimen's on people? Never would've thought the big bad _Radio Demon_ cleaner than the _Outfit,_ " he teased with a matching lean forward, arms crossed and Pelagios thinking he's about to be handed off. _Look at those chubby little orange paws reaching for Alastor._ Angel's voice then dropped into a demonic growl. " So, ya think a couple gallons could fit a ten foot moth overlord's head? An' ya just gonna... give it t' me? "

Alastor

Oh, no getting in Angel's personal space today, all right. "The Outfit is evil for profit! I'm evil for fun! I think that puts me on slightly higher moral ground, don't you?" Studio laughter.

Baby reaching for him. Alastor automatically offered Pelagios a couple of claws to grasp on to. "Let's see, a couple of gallons is..." He conjured up two spectral red outlines of spooky floating milk jugs to hover next to Angel's head. "Should be plenty!" The milk jugs vanished. "Why shouldn't I? Once you know how to replicate it, the stuff's basically infinite!"

Angel

" _Touché ~ !_ No wonder I didn' fit in! " Pelagios let out a small SQUEAL of delight before grabbing both claws. Those four eyes sure are HUGE and soul - consumingly CUTE, but Angel playfully pouted at the comparison between his head, Valentino's, and milk jugs. " Buh - BUH! " He waved his arms through the projections and failed to stifle a snicker. " Not MY head! More like YOUR head! "

Angel then extended a hand to playfully ruffle Alastor's hair before drawing back. " Sorry, I mean, KIDDIN'! Thanks fa... the help... " he said sheepishly before drawing all four arms around Pelagios instead, just to find him very much attached. He gave him a little wiggle, but the seapup just took it as a means to wiggle Alastor's fingers. _So helpful._

Alastor

Seapup grabbed on. Alastor had a dull little burst of happiness that was quickly rolled over by a wave of old longing for a whole generation of young cousins who had once automatically latched onto Alastor’s fingers just like this and who by now were probably all dead of old age.

“It’s close enough! Most heads are about the same size!” And Angel’s was the only one available to hold phantom milk jugs next to.

Alastor automatically jerked his head back from the touch—before Angel aborted the effort himself. Alastor considered Angel’s withdrawn posture, and then the fact that they were probably going to be stuck with each other courtesy of Pelagios for at least a few moments longer; and then sighed melodramatically, tilted his head permissively, and said, “Oh, all right, go on. Just don’t spread the news or everyone will think they can get away with it.” He’d distract himself by wiggling his fingers right back, puppeting Pelagios’s arms in a little dance.

Angel

" N-no... I wouldn' wanna be doin' THAT to ya. I know how t' keep ya shit under wraps... " he said meekly before hesitantly reaching out. His hand didn't fall heavily, but light as a feather as he gingerly pushed his claws through the strands and reassured himself. _See?_ Sure was _Alastor's_ head, alright. Solid. With hair. Red hair with fading brown dye. A certain other Overlord - level demon wouldn't be caught dead with that level of inattention to his appearance. Antlers, not antennae. Ears. _Ya can stop bein' STUPID, now!_ With a ragged exhale, the last of his nerves ceased his shivering as he combed Alastor' s bangs back into place with the drop of his hand. A single, efficient movement.

Angel then stayed silent for a moment before being startled by Pelagios's jubilant squealing and animated dancing. " Ya _sure_ you don' wanna keep 'im fa a little bit? " he asked again with a gentle rub between the seapup's head fins. _Usually,_ that eased him up enough to release whatever death grip or lockjaw he had going on. " I'll come back an' get 'im from ya after I go talk to Kyxs, or ya can hand 'im off t' Valera if you see 'em. Whatever happens first. "

Alastor

His ears automatically flicked under Angel’s touch, but aside from that and his wiggling fingers he held perfectly still beneath the examination. There. Not so bad, was it? And maybe it would help Angel to relax a little.

“No no, that’s quite alright! I enjoy gently harassing small children, but I’m not terribly interested in babysitting one. You keep the kid and I’ll keep the coat.”

Angel

" Ok, say _bye - bye,_ Pelagios ~ " The seapup relaxed in Angel's hands and relented to being cupped over his shoulder with a turn towards the estate.

" _Blu - blu !!_ " he burbled with a double wave of his chubby citrine claws, lightly bouncing along with Angel's gait.

Alastor

"And a blu-blu to you, too!" He wiggled his fingers in a farewell wave at Pelagios.

Alastor made a mental note to make some discreet inquiries about how Valentino wrote up his contracts; and then he crouched down again to continue studying his tide pool.

#sluttyspiderpolkacock #chat log

[youtuberswithalex]

I’m Not Alone (Part Two)

Part One

Summary: Joan receives a text from Thomas asking them to come over.

Warnings: food, system switches, fear of abandonment (let me know if I missed any!)

Word Count: 1,697

A/N: I am,,, super aware how rushed this chapter seems. Apologies!! I just wanted to get it out before the New Year!!! Thank you all so, so much for reading part one and being so interested!!! It means a lot!!!

-----

New Message from: Tommy Salommy -Joan?

Reply sent: -sup

New Message from: Tommy Salommy -I need to speak with you on a matter regarding my OSDD system. Would you like to meet up for lunch?

Reply sent: -Yeah of course, is everything ok???

New Message from: Tommy Salommy -Everything is fine. I just want to properly explain what we weren’t able to the other day, if you would be comfortable with that.

Reply sent: -thats fine. ill be over in a few

New Message from: Tommy Salommy -Excellent. Drive safe.

-----

The second Thomas opened the door, he held out his hand. “I believe it’s time we had a proper introduction. My name is Logan.”

Joan stumbled and blinked for a moment, but they did their best to recover quickly and shook his hand. “Uh, Joan. Nice to meet you,” they replied.

“Well, technically speaking, we’ve met several times before. However, I do appreciate the pleasantry.” Logan adjusted his glasses and lead them inside.

Wait.

“What’s with the glasses?”

Joan turned the corner in time to watch Logan pull the glasses off of his face and glance them over. “Well, plural dissociative disorders affect more than just… ‘the mind,’ so to speak. It also impacts certain physical aspects of the body,” he explained, “such as our vision. Patton and I, though we do not share the same prescription, share this pair of glasses.”

“Patton?” Joan asked.

“Our Memory Holder. He is also the one to most often take care of Virgil, whom you met the other day,” Logan continued. He put his glasses back on and gestured to the stove. “Would you like some Pesto Gnocchi? I admit that I am not the best cook, but I attempted as well as I could.”

They nodded and came forward, grabbing a plate out of the cabinet as they did. “Is this the Hello Fresh stuff from this week?”

“Indeed.”

The two got their food and moved to the table, and they ate in silence for a moment. Logan had been right about not being the best at cooking—the pasta was a little underdone, and the mushrooms definitely burnt –but at least it was edible. Joan wondered if the wrong prescription glasses had anything to do with it.

“So… What’s your role in the system, again?” they asked.

Logan set his fork down. “I take on the role of Gatekeeper, meaning that I am in control of who is fronting, or controlling the body, and who is allowed into certain areas inside our Inner World. Thomas and I had agreed that I was supposed to be the one to explain everything to you, as I have done the most research out of us all.”

“Oh,” they said, “So you’re the one who let Anxiety be in control the other day?”

His face turned a brilliant shade of red before he shot them a glare. “Well, I did leave someone else in control,” he snapped, “But it seemed he chose to ignore his orders and allow Virgil to be forced into the front. I can’t be there all the time when there are more issues to be addressed.”

Laughing, Joan held up their hands. “Alright, alright! An honest mistake, I get it!”

“It was. Alters are in no way perfect; we’re all just as prone to error as anyone else.” He stabbed a piece of pasta. “Also, it was not my mistake. It was our Protector’s.”

“Okay,” Joan giggled, “I understand.”

“Since we are on the topic, however, I suppose we should discuss what I invited you over for.”

“And that is?”

“Our OSDD.” Logan set his fork down again and adjusted his posture, folding his hands in front of him. “Joan, I—we—Thomas has Otherwise Specified Dissociative Disorder, Type 1b. There are multiple people living inside of our head. I understand this might come as a disturbance to you, but I can assure you that it is nothing like the movies and media you may have consumed about systems. There is nothing dangerous about us, nor hardly any other system that exists.”

“Media portrayals can be a real bitch,” Joan replied, leaning back in their seat.

Logan raised his eyebrows. “You certainly aren’t wrong about that. If you are… freaked out, so to speak, about this new information, it is… completely understandable, if you do not wish to remain friends.” His voice and shoulders lowered, and his eyes flicked away. “We will not hold it against you.”

That sent a wave of shock and sadness rippling through their stomach.

Joan furrowed their brow, frowning deeply as they looked Logan over. His lips were pressed tight together, and his head tilted down and away. All of his muscles were tensed as if waiting for the worst. Fingernails dug into his hands; breaths were short, yet calculatedly quiet.

It seemed to them that Logan was expecting rejection, but for the life of them, they couldn’t figure out why. They thought they’d always been supportive and clear that they were going to stick by his side no matter what; hell, especially the other day, they’d been extra careful to prove to Anxiety—Virgil? –that they weren’t going to be upset. Had they done something wrong?

Or… Or maybe Thomas had done this song and dance before, and whoever was in their current place had been less than kind. Maybe he’d just gone through some things that caused some trust issues, or—

Oh. Oh.

It was in that moment that they remembered what caused DID and OSDD in the first place.

Severe, persistent childhood trauma.

Trust issues suddenly didn’t seem too wild an idea anymore.

“Logan…”

Joan leaned forward and tilted their head to catch his eye; when he looked up, they reached out and put their hand on his.

“I am not going anywhere,” they firmly stated. “I said it the other day, and I’ll say it again: I’m always here for you. And I mean always. So what if there are more of you than I’d thought? That’s not going to change how much I love you. I’m happy that you trusted me with this information, but I never want you to feel like I’m going to leave any of you behind over this.”

Logan’s lip wobbled, and he quickly bit down on it. They rubbed a circle into his hand and offered a soft smile.

“I love you. All of you. Okay?” they said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, soft smiles lingering on each of their faces as they soaked in the moment.

And then, a huge grin nearly split Logan’s face in half.

He yanked his hands away and jumped to his feet, slamming his palms on the table. “Can I give you a hug?!”

Joan flinched a bit, but they recovered as quick as they could. “Uh… Sure?”

Letting out a squeal, he practically flew around the table before flinging his arms around their shoulders the second they stood up. They stumbled from the impact, but wrapped their arms around his waist anyway.

He hummed and buried his face in their shoulder, glasses nearly falling off his face. “We love you, too,” he muttered. “So, so, so much.”

“You’d better,” they teased.

He giggled, and then he sucked in a small gasp. “Oh, yeah! I’m Patton, by the way!”

Joan’s eyes flew wide open. “Oh! Uh… Nice to meet you.”

The two pulled apart, but Patton left his hands on their shoulders, beaming at them for a long moment. Joan couldn’t help but smile back.

Then, he winced and hissed, eyes squeezing shut. He lifted his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?” Joan asked.

He groaned and slowly nodded. “Ah… headache… Patton, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that…?”

They frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Patton has the atrocious habit of figuratively ripping control out of the hands of whomever is in the front when he feels any extreme emotions,” he explained. “It always leaves us with a terrible Switch Headache, and yet, he never learns.”

“Do you need Advil or something?” they asked, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder.

Shaking his head, he put his glasses back on, eyes remaining shut. “Pain relievers don’t affect these type of headaches, unfortunately. But I do appreciate the offer,” he replied. “Um… I believe I am still Logan, if there was any confusion.”

He took a slow, deep breath before carefully opening his eyes. Swallowing thickly, Logan glanced at the food and pressed his lips together.

“I suppose we need to finish eating,” he said.

The taste of burnt mushrooms hovered over Joan’s tongue. They shrugged. “I mean… if you’re not up for it, with that headache and all, we can always save it for later,” they suggested. “Wanna watch some Steven Universe?”

“Would you be alright with Jacques Cousteau, instead? I personally am not quite a fan of bright cartoons in general, and especially not when I have a headache.”

Joan nodded. “That makes sense. What’s Jacques Cousteau?”

Logan’s eyes lit up—they weren’t quite as bubbly as Patton’s, or as giddy as Thomas’s, but they sparkled in their own, unique manner. “Oh, it’s this wonderful documentary series from the 1970’s about marine biodiversity. Jacques Cousteau, the host, was a French film maker and marine explorer that had an extreme determination to teach…”

As Logan began to ramble on, he moved to lead them to the couch. Joan couldn’t help a fondness seep through their veins. He wasn’t Thomas. He wasn’t Patton. He wasn’t Virgil. He was his own person, one that Joan was going to get to know and learn about all over again.

Thomas and his system had to have gone through a lot to get to where they were now. Joan could only imagine what kind of pain, and shattering, and growth that he’d lived through. Their heart broke at the thought, but they couldn’t stop themselves from feeling proud of how far they’d come.

And they were going to be there for the rest of the journey.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #patton sanders #character joan #alex writes #ina

[recurring-polynya]

I have joked in a couple of my longer fics (Call Me Back When the War is Over and There is No Bankai in Football) about Rose and Kira co-writing a restaurant review column in the Seireitei Bulletin. AO3 user Borntobewilde dropped me the comment:

 “Okay now, I'm crying EXTRA hard that I missed your drabble request on tumblr because this is what I would have requested for sure! I love the new 3rd division so much!!!”

How could I say no?!

I started working on this earlier in the week, spent three days trying to puzzle out what deep and interesting observation I wanted to make on the Izuru - Rose relationship and then gave up and made them review the awful waffle place Rukia and Renji like to go to when they’re hungover. Enjoy.

PS: Berry’s is some sort of Denny’s rip-off where the Karakura kids hung out in The New Captain Shuusuke Amagai Arc, obviously it imprinted deeply on my brain. I could never make something like that up.

You can read this and my collected drabbles on AO3 or ff.net

Gourmands Abroad! Romantic Tales of Flavor and Adventure

By Outoribashi “Rose” Roujuurou

With Kira Izuru

I would take a moment to remind my readers that I, your devoted restaurant critic, lived for many years in the Living World, and have, unfortunately, actually dined at “Berry’s”, the horrific excuse for an eatery from which the Seireitei Waffle Hut draws its inspiration. It fulfills a very specific niche in dining culture, namely providing cheap, Western-style mostly breakfast-specific sustenance for teenagers in the wee hours of the morning. The kindest thing I can say for it is that it is always open.

The Seireitei Waffle Hut makes a concerted effort to duplicate this experience to the greatest degree possible, from the formica tables to the affordable pricing to the possibility of adding whipped cream to literally any of the menu items. My co-reviewer, in his usual mischievous way, tried to coax me into ordering a bowl of chili with whipped cream. I declined.

Let me take a moment to discuss the titular waffles. I will not prevaricate. They are excellent. They are large, fluffy and crisp. They are the dimensions and texture to adequately be pressed into service as a futon. One should absolutely not order anything at this restaurant that is not the waffles. They are available with a wide variety of fresh fruits, nuts and flavored syrups. There is a special wall of the restaurant honoring the patron who has consumed the most waffles in one sitting, and her record was seventeen, a number as awe-inspiring as it is disturbing. (For various reasons, I was discouraged from printing the name of the person who holds this dubious distinction, but my long-suffering co-reviewer-- whom I had been led to believe had not previously patronized the Seireitei Waffle Hut-- revealed to me that he actually witnessed this gastronomic feat and that it was, in his words, “absolutely horrifying.”)

Speaking of my dear companion, I encouraged him to order a hamburger, as he had never had one before, and I wished to experience the reaction of a man eating a hamburger for the first time. As hamburgers go, it did not appear to be anything special, although perhaps this was merely authenticity, as Berry’s is also not known for their gourmet beef. His reaction, dear reader, was exquisite. He picked it up. He hefted it. “I do not like holding this,” he noted. He took a bite. He put it down again. “I have eaten a hamburger,” he declared. “It was excessive.” He did not take any further bites. As if all of this were not enough, he then ate a single soggy French fry and made the saddest face I have ever seen a person make. I wish that all of you could have been there to witness this with me.

Confidential to MK: The “Roundup Burger” appears to have exactly the same hideous sauce as its Living World counterpart, you may dine in satisfaction. Tell your lieutenant that the “Birthday Cake Pancakes” are also a menu option, although I could not bring myself to verify their authenticity. Which of your lieutenants you tell this to, I leave to your own discretion.

Alas, for myself, I ordered the unfortunately named “Up ‘n At ‘Em Combo”. I ordered this, not because I have ever in my entire life awoken into a state that I would describe as “Up ‘n At ‘Em”, but because it contained a large sampling of most of the menu items: rubbery eggs, limp bacon, hash browns that had spent far too long in the freezer before being reconstituted. The pancakes were not a total affront, but they seemed lackluster while we still had waffles on the table, available for consumption. Exclusive tip! The “syrup” provided at the table is artificial sugar water, foul and beneath our dignity as epicures. Real maple syrup can be had by beseeching the waitstaff. Kira tells me we have Lt. Anonymous-Waffle-Eating-Champion to thank for this key piece of information, apparently, so thank you, my dear, on behalf of my readership. Slathering my entire plate in this miracle goo did not make it good, but it did make it edible.

I cannot leave the topic of the Seireitei Waffle Hut without addressing the availability of that currently trendy Living World beverage, coffee. It is available. There are free refills. It is not coffee. I can only assume they obtain it by murdering coffee in the Living World, performing konsou, and serving the ghost of coffee here in Soul Society. I did enjoy watching my brave co-reviewer consume five cups of this vile brew over the course of his meal and vibrating his way through the rest of his workday.

The Seireitei Waffle Hut also offers acceptable milkshakes, which one can order to-go. In exchange for being, once again, the best of sports, I treated my co-author to a strawberry one, mostly because I enjoy watching him fail to use straws. Reader, it was adorable. Kira reports that it was worth it.

Seireitei Waffle Hut

Block 57, Building 4

Slackwater Lock Ward

Seireitei

Price: $

Rating: 1 star out of 5

#my writing #bleach fanfiction #izuru kira #rose otoribashi #seireitei bulletin #i agree with absolutely nothing in this #i love a shitty diner #if the mysterious waffle eating champion is a mystery you have simply not read enough of my work #I WROTE SOMETHING!!!

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

“ how the hell did this happen? ” - starker

Fire, Burning Me Up

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Mature (M) Notes: For some reason, my brain went to this - hope you don’t mind!  Word Count: ~2k Summary:

Peter is transfixed by the man at the bar - a firefighter with a trimmed goatee and the most gorgeous eyes. What he expects to be something fun turns into something that could easily turn into forever. 

do the thing, send in all the prompts

The first time Peter saw him, he was out for drinks with Ned and MJ – they’d been balls deep in thesis research for the last ten days, getting out of the dimly lit lab and behind the wood of a bar absolutely needed to happen. He just didn’t expect that night to change the rest of his life like it did.

Peter liked to let the image of the man he’d come to know as Tony sit in the front of his mind, like a picture in a wallet or sitting on his desk in a frame. The NYFD on the back of his shirt was the first thing to draw him in. In all of his adult life, Peter hadn’t encountered a firefighter before. May’s cooking was dismal, and the local Queens department knew her by name, but he hadn’t had any unfortunate accidents like that since moving out and starting his schooling at TISCH; and that was 6 years ago.

He was sitting next to a beefy blonde man who was in the same shirt – the firehouse numbers on the side of their sleeves matched, too. There were a couple of empty stools next to them, but drinks rested in front of them waiting for their owners to return. Peter watched the two men closely, the obvious familiarity between them much like him and the two goons getting sloppy at their table. His breath caught when Tony turned to look at him. He could’ve gotten lost in the cognac color of his eyes; they were warm and staring at him intently.

Already too deep into the staring contest to look away, Peter flashed him a smile. In the times they’d talked about it since then, Tony told him it looked shy on his end, but he remembered feeling confident, happy to have caught his attention. Tony didn’t hesitate to smile back, either. The side of his mouth crinkled when he did, the well taken care of goatee framing the look on his face spectacularly. He mouthed ‘hi’ at Peter and shook his own beer bottle, his eyebrows raising.

Looking down at the last sip of his beer, Peter picked it up and downed it. He watched Tony chuckle and turn to flag down the bartender. For a few seconds, Peter forgot he was with his friends – MJ’s voice stopped him as he got out of his chair with the clear determination to head across the bar. “Where you off to, Petey?” He caught her eye and saw the sarcasm swimming there – in all the time he’d known her, MJ lived to give him shit.

“There’s a firefighter at the bar that’s making eyes at me. I’m going to go see what all the fuss is about.” Nodding his head at her, Peter turned back around, his long legs carrying him over to the bar dizzyingly quick. The seat next to Tony was vacant, the tall blonde now hovering over by the pool tables across the room.

It probably should’ve felt weird, sitting down next to a total stranger – but it didn’t. Tony turned towards him with a smile, his eyes gleaming in the fluorescent light. “Hey – I’m Tony.” It was simple and wholesome and the hand that Peter grasped a second later was rough and fit so nicely against his palm.

Peter switched to something a little lighter so he could absorb everything about Tony – they spent the rest of the night talking about his Interactive Telecommunications degree and where he wanted to take it after graduation in a couple of months. Tony told him about the fire station that he manned as the acting chief – he kept a smile on his face the entire time he recalled the men that worked with him and the adventures they’d been on. 

Some of them made Peter cringe with a terrible sort of discomfort – but, they were interesting and made Tony even more badass than he initially thought.

The biggest shocker of the night came when Tony mentioned a 5-year-old daughter. He’d been married briefly before deciding that hiding in the closest wasn’t worth all the heartache he’d caused. His ex-wife kept Amelia during Tony’s nights on shift, and the rest of the time was spent with Tony, learning and getting into as much trouble as possible. 

A piece of his mind was jumping up and down, trying to signal the need to get out while he still could. Peter wasn’t keen on that, though – Tony caught his attention; that was so much more than anyone else in his life over the last few years.

Over another 3 drinks, Peter got to know more and more about the fire engine driver turned team lead – he had a degree in Mechanical Engineering and originally got into firefighting just to work on the trucks. Every new piece of him made Peter wanted to know more, so when Tony asked him for his number a couple of hours later, he didn’t hesitate to give it to him.

They had a date planned before Peter walked back to his apartment with the friends he eventually caught up to. The smile on his face gave him away – he spent the rest of the early morning telling MJ about Tony; she grinned at him the entire time he talked.

“You’ve got it bad, Cupcake,” MJ stated plainly, her arm wrapping around his shoulder when he didn’t deny it. The blush on his face was answer enough, anyway.

Actually dating Tony Stark was even more interesting the man himself. He kept the weirdest hours, because of the many chaotic days he was used to at the station. It took a while for Peter to adjust to the requests to meet Tony in the weirdest places, but he did for the sake of the precious human who wanted his attention. The very first time he met Amelia, Tony texted him to meet him at the grocery store – he had a few hours to spare and wanted to have Peter there for them.

The little girl didn’t bat and eye – she held out her hand the same way her father did when Peter first sat down next to him. “I’m Amelia,” she said simply, the 5-year-old way more articulate than Peter was at that age.

“Hey Amelia, I’m Peter.” He gave her small hand the briefest of squeezes before letting go, a beaming smile slipping across his face. She looked so much like Tony; it was kind of eerie.

She nodded her head at him, her own lips tilting up into a grin. “I know. Daddy spent the last half an hour telling me all about you. You do cool things with art, right?” Tony looked at her with narrowed eyes when she threw him under the bus – she laughed and shrugged; the man’s own gesture being used against him. “Well, it’s true.”

Peter wanted to throw his arms around the two of them – he didn’t know that he could like Tony any more than he already did, but he was constantly being proven wrong. He looked between them before answering, his arms seriously itching for a group hug. “I’m not mad about that. It’s kind of cute,” he said, looking up at Tony with a quick wink. “That is me, though. I’m currently doing research with Virtual Reality creation and usage.”

How quickly he bonded with Amelia amazed him – it was even more seamless than his connection with Tony. The girl was smart and curious; she asked why constantly and wanted to know how everything worked. Sometimes, Peter would head over to the Stark household just to hang out with Amelia; Tony’s schedule was perfect for random drop-ins that turned into hours watching the girl while his boyfriend ran into work because of some crisis or another.

During one of the many times that happened, Amelia had the idea to make cupcakes. She talked him into downloading the Pintrest app and searching for the most complex ones that she could find. The smile that passed across her lips when she realized he would be helping her making rainbow unicorn cupcakes made it worth it – no matter how much he would wholeheartedly deny it.

Tony didn’t do a lot of cooking, so they had to wait for a grocery delivery to get to the house. While they did, Amelia told him about all of the unicorns they would be making and the names she picked out for each of them. Peter sincerely hoped they’d be able to make something at least edible – the thought of her crippling disappointment almost enough to make him back out at the last minute.

Always one to keep his promise, Peter shook his head and found some resolve – they were cupcakes, how bad could it really be? When the doorbell rang, Peter set Amelia up with some crayons at the table and went to grab the bags from the delivery guy. He gave him a good tip for all of the help and carried their loot back to the kitchen.

Luckily, Amelia was still young enough to not know the difference between from scratch and out of the box – Peter poured the white cake mix into the bowl before she could even question it. They cracked a couple of eggs and added the oil and water – she used both hands on the whisk to combine the mixture. Peter might’ve got a video of it, but he knew better than to tell her that. When she deemed it mixed enough, they separated it into a couple of Ziploc bags and added the different shades of food coloring to try and mimic the colors from the recipe.

They weren’t quite the same, but she didn’t seem to mind to much.

Distracted by the need to get the frosting out and into a bowl so they could get it ready to get it on the cupcakes, Peter set the oven way hotter than necessary. It didn’t even occur to him to check – Amelia was demanding that they get the colors spot on this time around.

By the time that Peter noticed the fire, the oven was steaming black smoke and the detectors in the house whirred with loud pitched sounds. Amelia covered her ears and ran to the pantry. She threw open the door and started gesturing wildly. 

Knowing that’s where they kept the fire extinguisher, Peter ran over and grabbed it. “Get out of the kitchen, Ames. Go call your dad and tell him I’m an idiot.” She quirked a brow at him but was quick to comply. Being the child of a fire chief meant that she knew how to get ahold of her father and 911.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as he figured by the billowing smoke flying out of the oven as he sprayed the foam over it. All of the cupcakes were totally charred, but the entire oven wasn’t up in flames – so he counted that as a win. When he could think clearly, he called out to Amelia – her feet on the tile floor sounding immediately, the little girl flying into his arms before he knew it. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, her arms around his neck. “I’m fine – Dad sounded a little grumpy on the phone. He’s on his way, though.” Her lips grazed his cheek, like the consolation of her affection would be enough to smooth the entire situation over. He kept her in his arms until Tony walked in the back door, a panicked look on his face.

Amelia got down and ran over to Tony – he leaned over to grab her without a second thought. “How the hell did this happen?” Tony questioned; his eyes wide as he took in the mess of the oven. “If you were trying to burn the cupcakes, you totally succeeded.” The words were meant to soothe the blow, his attempt at a smile making Peter laugh.

“We were trying to make rainbow unicorn cupcakes. I got so caught up on making the icing perfect that I… forgot them. The smoke was black, so they were really burnt. I’m sorry,” Peter muttered, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. He’d been pretty stupid, putting someone else’s daughter in danger the way he did.

Yet, when Tony and Amelia’s arms came around him, he was enveloped in the sort of hug that suggested relief for his sake as well. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Tony whispered, his lips pressing against Peter’s ear.

The gagging sound Amelia made had Peter pressing in, giving her a sloppy kiss right in the middle of her forehead.

Peter didn’t expect a family to come out of chatting with a cute guy at a bar, but now that he had it, he sure as fuck wasn’t letting it go.

#starker #ironspider #ask prompts #au prompts #firefighter #bobbie writes #fire burning me up #nonnie #anonymous

[nelllraiser]

mori | montgomery & nell

LOCATION: Deep in the Woods

TIME:  7:19 PM

PARTIES: Montgomery de Ville and Nell Vural

It was just a regular evening for Nell. The sun was just beginning to set, and it was the start of her prowl for the night. Not yet having a particular target in mind, she’d lingered close to the house, not drifting all that far into the Outskirts just yet. But maybe tonight’s hunt for something to bring into the Ring would be short, and she’d be able to turn in for the night sooner rather than later. It’d been something like thirty-six hours since she slept, having been on the trail of a monster that’d bring in big cash the day before, and being unwilling to lose out on such a victory. So tonight would be quiet, and easy. Or at least she hoped as much. Ever since Morgan had mentioned the Tenome that has chased her and Blanche, Nell had been hoping to find it. She walked on through the forest, aimless at the moment as she readied herself to cast a tracking spell. Not for a moment did she think that the hunter might become the hunted. After all, these were her woods, her home territory. These dense branches and enormous trees were practically a second home by now. 

Montgomery hadn’t forgotten everything that they had been meticulously learning about their target. The hunt was something they relished, but when you were hunting for money and a human at that, the pleasure was somewhat diminished. At least in the build up. The pleasure of the kill was intricate and more importantly absolute. The one thing in the universe that Montgomery could always keep faith in. She was collecting creatures again, her skill was undeniable and she moved like an expert. Montgomery would’ve enjoyed hunting alongside her but clearly that wasn’t an option. Creeping forward, they moved parallel to their prey, keeping down wind from her and out of sight. Their opportunity would come soon enough, patience was a virtue for a reason after all.

For a moment, Nell stilled, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. It was the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Honestly, she should be used to it in woods such as these, with all sorts of creatures roaming the undergrowth, and even the trees above. Maybe tonight would be over sooner than she’d thought if something blood-thirsty was already nearby, making her hunt much shorter and less tiring than it needed to be. Already she could envision the smell of the freshly baked bread Bea had been making when she’d left the house, and Nell was all too eager to get home and chomp into it with little regard for manners or anything of that like. And then...sweet sweet release and she’d lay her head down to rest. Another night passed, finally able to close her eyes to rest and recharge.

Pausing for a moment, Montgomery sniffed the air cautiously. He wasn’t sure why he did it, it didn’t achieve anything. But it had become a habit and he was too stubborn to change it now. Creeping forward through the undergrowth on all fours, he stayed as low as he could. Moving with an athletic ease that had come from years of hunting game. This was just a different kind of hunt. Pulling the tranquiliser rifle from his shoulder he slid it through the grass alongside him. Positioning himself with a clear line of sight, Montgomery was pleased with the altitude they’d gained and took a second more to really settle in. There would only be one shot needed. Settling the rifle into his shoulder, Montgomery popped the cap off of the lense and peered through the telescopic view. Taking account of distance, wind, and of course natural projectile drop, Montgomery took his time, calmly taking a breath, his index finger slipped the safety off and curled around the trigger, pausing once more to make sure everything was perfect- he fired.

The longer this creeping sensation gripped Nell...the more foreign it felt. Rather than simply being watched, she almost felt...like prey. Like a vampire was going to jump out at any moment in an attempt to chomp down on— her neck. At the same moment the thought passed her mind, something else hit her, as if the universe had set her inner thoughts into motion. A sting in her neck, and a hand was automatically darting towards whatever had struck. What the fuck? Instinctively, she pulled the projectile from her neck, looking down at what appeared to be a tranquilizer nestled in her hand. Shit. Fuck. Adrenaline began to race through her veins, magic already sprouting to her fingertips. Her time was limited now. The chamber in the dart had been empty, and who knew what might have been in it. Anger, pure and hot shot through her as she yelled out. “Show your fucking self, coward!” Stomping her foot into the ground, the spell went out from there, designed to detect any living creature within a thirty foot radius. There, not too far from her in the tall grass. Without holding back, she sent an instinctual blast of magic in the direction of the body, summoning it towards her whether they wanted to face her or not. Her other hand had already drawn a dagger from its hiding spot, slicing a sizeable cut along her arm in preparation for her next move.

Would’ve been nice if Montgomery had been able to work out that was an option for Penelope Vural. Having literal magic at your fingertips must be convenient. Montgomery was sure that it would make his job much easier. “It wouldn’t be called hunting if I just showed myself now would it,” he protested in his Afrikaneers drawl as her magic dragged him towards her, but they knew that it wouldn’t be long now until the tranquiliser really started to take affect and then it would be all that much harder for her to really do anything. Then it would just be a matter of doing his due diligence, taking a trophy and confirming the kill for that little shit of a man August Thompson. Honestly Montgomery was almost tempted to let her live, almost. The money on this job was too good and this really wasn’t an inconvenience. Montgomery struggled against her magic, pulling their revolver out alongside the large hunting knife that he had strapped to his upper right thigh. “Are you sure you want to play this game little girl?” he asked smugly as he waited for the sedatives to take effect.

A sneer marred Nell’s features as the voice reached her. It would be impossible not to recognize that accent and tone. It only made the fight in her rear its head more passionately, knowing it was Montgomery that had come after her. What the fuck was his problem, anyway? Who the hell just hunted for sport? At least, that’s what she’d assumed. Why else would he be after her? Though...it was true she’d made plenty of enemies in her past. But surely he wouldn’t know any of them, right? Already she could feel herself becoming sluggish, her reactions taking longer to manifest than they usually did. Vainly, she pushed a bloodied thumb to the summoning tattoo on her arm in an effort to bring forth her three favorite hellhounds. Nothing happened. Looking down, she realized that with the world beginning to spin, she’d missed the tattoo, a finger’s swipe of blood now running just below the ink she’d been aiming for. “I’ll kill you first,” she spat out, trying her best to figure out which of the fuzzy Montgomery’s she was seeing was the real one. She threw her first knife, magic behind it’s throw to help it hit its intended target, both supplying assisted aiming in a time like this, and putting more force behind the dagger.

The irony in Penelope Vural’s logic was one of the most ironic parts of all of this. Normally Montgomery hunted for sport. They did it for the pleasure of the kill, they did it to make their blood rush and to feel the visceral pleasure of hauling a carcass back. He was an expert now, he’d clean it themselves and make trophies, sell what they could and he would eat what he couldn’t. His dogs got the rest. If it was edible of course. Montgomery was cruel but he wasn’t a cannibal. Not yet anyway. But today he had been forced into this position by a large sum of money. Perhaps forced was a bit of a stretch, perhaps he should simply accept that he could’ve walked away. But that was no fun. The dart was one of his own special creations. Years of studying medicine had made it easy to mix natural and supernatural sedatives and if Penelope died from the weird cocktail of magic and sleeping drug that was rushing round her system then who was Montgomery to complain? She seemed to be realising the predicament that she was in and as she pulled a knife and hurled it in his direction Montgomery side stepped it easily. His right hand snapped out and caught the handle of the blade as it sailed roughly near where his face had been. “Naughty, naughty,” Montgomery said wagging his finger and loudly tutting like a concerned nurse as he looked at the bright and shiny blade sighed, “such a beautiful creation, such a shame it’s user is so … unfortunate.”

A nearly animalistic snarl rang out from Nell as her knife was caught, wasting no time as she drew another knife as quickly as she could, though it was much slower than she normally moved, the tranquilizer still doing its work well. Pure spite was what was keeping her going, and her simple refusal to go quietly. She’d take a part of Montgomery with her or die trying. That was her only thought as she let the next knife fly, fueled by magic in the same way the first had been. As it grew nearer, it duplicated, spurred on by her magic to create an illusion that was meant to keep the intended target guessing as to which was the real knife. But to Nell it wasn’t all that different from her current vision, the world still taking strange shapes as her awareness ever so slightly began to flicker in and out. “Piece of shit!” she gasped with as much anger as she could muster, trying to remind her lungs how to draw air normally. “You fucking cunty-ass sad excuse for a human!” When was the last time she’d felt anything this strongly? Did it make sense that in her possible last moments, those would be the ones she felt the most emotion? “Shut your fucking mouth!” Each word was punctuated with effort as her magic burst forth once more, closer to the lines of instinctual now that things were getting down to the wire. She wanted him hurt. She wanted him maimed. She wanted him dead. To bring him to his knees.

Montgomery ducked beneath the shower of daggers that went flying in his direction. She was creative, he would give her that much, after all who would’ve thought that this is the way that she would choose to do things. He had always imagined that if he had been fortunate enough to have magic that he would be much flashier and creative with it. But each to their own. “If it makes you feel better to call me all of those things th- th- the-” Montgomery couldn’t finish his own sentence, looking down at his arms he found his veins bulging as the blood seemed to stop flowing around his veins and arteries. Suddenly his entire body was on fire as agony lanced through him. He couldn’t move. At least, not without it being agonisingly painful. His eyes raced around, what the fuck was going on? It took less then a second for them to train on Nell, she was doing something, it had to be a trick. Magic. Something that was stopping him from being able to move, being able to truly fight this. With a visceral, primal grunt of pain, Montgomery took the final three steps that spanned between him and Penelope Vural. The agony was almost too much. They cursed themselves for not using a higher dosage of the tranquiliser as his entire body screamed in pain. Grunting once more, Montgomery drew all their effort into one strike and with the butt of their pistol he clattered into Penelope’s temple. There was a sickening crunch as the metal contacted the bone and cartilage of her skull. 

Nell watched as Montgomery paused, sleepy brain unable to truly process what exactly was going on. All she knew was that she’d done something, expended some magical energy and suddenly he'd stopped. As the magic left her, Nell fell to her knees, a combination of the effort she’d exerted and the tranquilizer finally finishing it’s job pushing her to the ground paying no mind to her fighting tooth and claw against it. No. No. This would not be how she went. This would not be how she died. All those times she’d escaped by the skin of her teeth, all the near misses who’s tales she’d lived to tell. Being shot in the neck by a tranquilizer via a coward who hid in the bushes wouldn’t be her last stand. Her last stand. In truth, part of her had believed she’d never had one, the invincibility of youth and confidence lending her their strength when it came to the endless path that had seemed to unfold in front of her. Even though she’d seen so much more in her life than most did, there was still so much more she’d wanted to see, to touch, to feel.  She looked up as Montgomery readied the kill, biting down on any part of him she could manage to find hold of. Would this really be her last sight? She met his eyes, glaring at him even now as something glinted in the moonlight. Whatever he was meaning to kill her with, no doubt. She wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of watching her eyes close, anger and defiance still burning in their depths.

Montgomery had to admit that as they watched her collapse, as he observed, the tranquiliser really begin to enter her blood stream and start impacting her organs and functions. Montgomery could’ve given a whole lecture just on how it all worked. He was Doctor Montgomery de Ville for a reason after all, but now wasn’t the time. He had to admit that her magic had been something new. He had never felt that sensation or anything like it. It was like his very blood was boiling. Stepping forward, Montgomery reached down and drew their hunting knife once more. A wicked blade with a razor sharp edge and even serated towards the base of the hilt. Perfect for decapitation. Oh how it shone in the light, the reflection glinting off of the sheen of the blade. 

Luce. Bea. Winston. Jared. Blanche. Countless others Nell had met and loved since coming back to White Crest. It wasn’t her life flashing before her, but the faces of those that had made it all the better in the past months and years, even those she wouldn’t have expected to etch a place in her soul. Nic. Morgan. Adam. Remmy. Her father. Her mom. God, her mom. She was going to die without so much as ever being a point of pride to her own mother. What would her legacy be? Did she even have one? Did it fucking matter? The dead were dead. Even now she still struggled, as if somehow her weak attempts to break free would find some way to be successful, that she’d find a way out of this like she always did, always had. Nell had never once stopped fighting in her entire life, and she wasn’t going to start now simply because it was coming to a close. She was going to leave this world the way she came into it, yelling, kicking, screaming as much as she could. Montgomery tensed behind her, that silver flashing once again and suddenly all she could see was—

#wickedswriting #ch:montgomery #chatzy #mori #miss beasha