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oepionie · 1 year

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—"PRINCE CHARMING'S KISS" dormleaders

💭masterlist | 💬ao3 link

synopsis: a potionology accident involving the adeuce duo leads to the prefect falling into a deep sleep. only an act of true love's kiss can save them and it seems that ace and deuce picked a certain boy to play prince charming.

⊹ [ cw ] — none◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFF.GN! READER | papa crewel doesn't seem too happy, cauldrons, tomato riddle, azul tries to get engaged, kalim bawling his eyes out, soft vil, idia is about to pop a vein, malleus throws a lamp at lilia and it's deserved◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 4k+◞

"I SUMMON THEE, CAULDRON!"

"Deuce! No! I asked you to grab one not-" Before you could stop him, the cauldron already smashed against the pot atop your desk, flinging all the contents of the pink bubbling potion all over you.

"You dumbass! They said grab one, not summon one!" Ace hissed, throwing a towel over your soaked form. "Shit. We need to get them to Professor Crewel and — Oi, Prefect!?"

You fell forward, falling limp in Ace's arms as you both tumbled to the floor. Panicked, Ace was quick to push you onto your back, slapping your cheek and shaking you furiously. "Wake up!"

"W-What happened?" Deuce ran towards you two, guilt pooling in his stomach. His blood ran cold with fear once he saw just how pale and cold your face had turned. "Are they dead?!"

"No. It's not that strong of a potion." Crewel sighed, striding towards the two morons with a venomous scowl on his lips.

Leaning down, your adoptive-father gingerly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. All previous ire he exhibited seemingly melting away. "Oh darling, I have no idea why you chose these two strays as friends…"

"Once again, you've brought my pup to harm with your incompetence." The professor stood up straight once again, his stern gaze fixed on the two youngsters.

"Nonetheless, I think this will be a valuable learning experience for the two of you." Crewel said, grabbing a thick aged book from a nearby shelf and thrusting it into Ace's arms.

"That book there contains the instructions to brew the cure."

"D-Do we have to make the- uff-" Deuce coughed, unintentionally breathing in a cloud of dust released by the old book. "-cure ourselves?"

Crewel drew his eyebrows up to his hairline, jaw dropped in disbelief. "Seven's no! I'll be making the cure myself; I have zero faith in you two."

"You two are to write a 10,000 word long report about the potion and I expect it on my desk by tomorrow." The professor pressed a boney finger against the cover, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, and I trust that you'll keep my pup safe. You know the consequences if I find even a single hair missing from their head." The two watched helplessly as Crewel walked away, his sharp heels clicking against the floor.

"Man. What's with him." Ace grumbled, flinging the book at Deuce who easily caught it with one hand.

"Deuce, what'cha say we just head to Ramshackle?" Ace hummed, nudging your unconscious form with his foot. He hadn't even bothered with picking you up. Opting to just leave you sprawled out on the cold tiles.

Ace was truly the most friend ever.

"Interesting…" Deuce muttered, clasping a hand around his chin. Ace raised his brow, peeking over his friend's shoulder to read the text on the yellowed pages.

"One of the cures listed here is…"

✩—RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS:

"A True Love's Kiss…?" Riddle trailed off before scowling at his two dorm members. Just what sort of shenanigans were they pulling now?

He lowered his teacup slowly while frowning and blinking incoherently. "Could this be another one of your pitiful attempts at a joke?"

"Why the hell would we joke about his?" Ace whined.

Riddle shook his head, walking over to your unconscious form draped over Deuce's shoulder like a stack of potatoes. Checking your temperature, he pressed his hand against your forehead and tsk'd at the heat.

For a split second, his eyes briefly wandered over to your lips.

What if…

Snapping out of it, Riddle stepped back with his burning pink cheeks.

"What utter nonsense. Hand me that book, I can brew the potion myself." Riddle said, pulling his gloves off before he then motioned for Deuce to pass him the book.

"Ah yeah…about that-" Ace chuckled, folding his arms behind his head. "Crewel didn't allow any of us to make the cure…so you're kinda our only hope."

The part where Crewel promised to produce the cure was purposefully left out by Ace. In truth, there really was no reason for Riddle to kiss you other than to serve as Ace's entertainment but hush now Riddle didn't have to know that.

"Well them, pray tell, what makes you think I should take the role of Prince Charming? "

"You get that disgusting dopey look on your face when you see them." Ace smirked.

"I-I do not!" Riddle shouted, face turning a deep cherry-red. Ace laughed, pointing at Riddle's flushed cheeks. "See?! You're turning into a tomato!"

"How are we certain that they even like me back?!"

"Ugh! Stop being a coward! You'll never know if you don't try!"

They began arguing anew, flinging insult after insult at one other. Deuce sighs and places you down on the couch in the lounge. He knew that if they continued their screaming, nothing would be done. It's was time he took things into his own hands.

Deuce grabs Riddle by the arm, dragging him towards you. The redhead turns to him, demanding the first-year to let go but Deuce only shakes his head. "I'm sorry house warden, I'll bear the brunt of your punishment later but I need to fix what I did."

"No-! W-Wait-" Riddle sputters, digging his feet into the ground. "I-I can't possibly-How unconsensual!-"

"Whoops!" Ace seizes the opportunity to shove the redhead forward, causing his lips to meet with yours.

"?!" Riddle stills for a few seconds, his calloused palms resting on your cheeks. Peering at you through shaky lashes, Riddle snaps out of his lovesick stupor and jolts back. His face blooming into an even deeper red than thought possible.

"R..iddle…?" His heart hammers against his ribcage as you flutter your eyes open, blinking up at him. The press and warmth of your lips still remained and a million of thoughts raced through his head. One of them seemed to echo louder than the rest.

At his lips’ touch you blossomed like a rose and the cure was complete, bringing the enchantment to an end. He was your 'True Love'?

Riddle hesitantly cradled your body, assisting you in sitting up. He coughed, averting his eyes to the ground, unable to meet yours.

"I apologize for the unsolicited kiss however, seeing as how my feelings are returned." He turned to you, clasping your hand tight in his. "I would like to court you properly. H-How does lunch tomorrow at noon sound?"

✩— LEONA KINGSCHOLAR:

"…so that's why I dumped them onto ya' bed." Ruggie yawned, extending his arms over his head.

There you were, curled up against Leona's king-sized bed, clutching one of his pillows tight in your arms. Blissfully oblivious to the fact that your friends abandoned you, placing you in the clutches of a hyena and at the mercy of a lion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"So, since Leona's a prince and all, that 'True Love Kiss' stuff could totally work with him, right?" Ace grinned, placing his hands on his hips. "I've read 'bout it in fairy tales all the time! The prince kisses the girl and boom!"

"How'd desperate are ya' to go running to Leona for help?" Ruggie sniggered, grabbing a handful of dry clothes off of the clothesline.

Really, it was both pitiful and humorous at the same time. The two chose to cast the irritable, hot-headed lion as the Prince Charming in their decrepit fairy tale.

Let's be honest, when you hear the term "charming," the first thing that came to mind was not Leona Kingscholar.

Adjusting the laundry basket, he propped it against his hip, Ruggie tapped his chin and pondered. "I can help but it'll come with a price…"

Deuce rushed forward, shoving a box of donuts into Ruggie's free hand. "Will this cover it?!"

Whistling, Ruggie flicked the box open. His eyes gleamed seeing all the tooth-rotting pastries heaped atop each other.

A sly grin stretched across his face.

"Deal."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After Ace and Deuce handed you over to Ruggie, the hyena unceremoniously barged into Leona's room and all but threw you onto the bed.

"True Love's Kiss? Do those things even exist?" Leona scoffed, tossing a blanket over your form. Ruggie shrugged, heading out of Leona's room. "Dunno but since you two like each other, I figured you would wanna help."

Leona rolled his eyes, glancing at you. Your face was shoved against the pillow, a leg hooked over it. Well, by the looks of it, you seemed pretty comfortable. There was no harm in letting you stay for a bit.

"Shihshishi good luck on your love life." Ruggie grinned, sending Leona a thumbs up before slamming the door close.

"Damn hyena…" Leona grumbled, plopping down next to your sleeping body. His gaze poured over your skin, gliding across the contour of your jawline before settling on your lips. Leona softly pushed down on your lips with his thumb, parting them ever so slightly.

"So, you need a True Love's Kiss…" Leona whispered, leaning in, eyes fluttering close. "I better be the only one, herbivore."

His lips pressed firmly against yours, a hand propped under your chin to keep your head up. The kiss was unusually delicate and tender for someone of his nature, such a stark contrast to his gruff personality. Leona moved closer and his hair fell over his shoulders, chestnut locks draping across your chest. Within a few minutes, Leona drew back to see if you had awakened.

You stirred, bleary eyes blinking open and he smirked. Pride swelled in his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again, his tail curling around your waist.

"You're all mine, huh?"

✩— AZUL ASHENGROTTO:

"Man, just how strong are you eels?!" Ace growled, banging his fists against Floyd's back. Both of the Heartslabyul boys were slung over Floyd's shoulder, his grip on them tight and unfaltering.

Beside him, Deuce was kicking around, trying (and failing) to get the merman's grip on him to loosen. Suddenly, one of Deuce's kicks hit Floyd square in the jaw and the eel growled.

"Neh~ Squirm around some more and I'll snap both of your legs off." Floyd grinned, his bright sharp teeth on full display. Although hesitant, the threat seemed to work as the two boys stilled, not wishing to lose their ability to walk any time soon.

"Now, Floyd, there's no need for such aggression." Jade chuckled as he approached the group with you in his arms. Unlike Floyd's manhandling, you were carried in a firm bridal carry, treated as if you were a precious piece of china or rather…an offering.

"We just got word on the prefect's condition." Jade shut his eyes, placing a hand against his chest in faux sympathy. "How unfortunate that they've succumbed to such a fate. However, lucky for you we found a solution."

"Ya need a Prince Charming right~? Well, let's have Azul do it!" Floyd cheered, slamming the two boys down onto the ground. Ace groaned, cradling his back and squinting at the tweels. "You think you can drag me into another one of those contracts?! I'm not stupid!"

"Oh, you're mistaken. This one is free of charge, no strings attached." Jade chuckled.

"Yeah…I don't really believe that." Deuce muttered.

"Why're you so damn stubborn?! Can't we just hand shrimpy to Azul? I'm sick of seeing him makin' those dumb goo goo eyes." Floyd whined.

The eel yanked you from Jade's arms and stomped up to Azul's office. He kicked the door down, nearly knocking it off its hinges.

Jolting, Azul accidentally spilled ink all over his papers. The delicate fine print he spent hours painstakingy writing by hand dissolved into large blots of ink. His eye twitched as he grit his teeth, snapping his head up to meet Floyd's gaze.

"Floyd. What in the great seven's are you—?!" Azul was cut off when the eel plopped your dozing body onto his lap. It took the octo-mer a few seconds before he registered just what happened, cheeks burning a bright crimson when he realized you were pressed up snug against his chest.

"It's your lucky day, Azul~! You get to play Prince Charming!" Floyd sang as he made his way to the door. "Shrimpy here got cursed because of Mackerel and Crab so now you have to kiss them!"

Kiss…? Azul's mind went haywire but before he could speak any further, Floyd slithered out of the room and slammed the door shut.

It's not that he doesn't believe in the cure; love is a strong thing, and he's read that it can break even the most powerful curses. Even so, how could he promise that you'd wake up?

Azul pressed a hand behind your head, trying to calm his beating heart. Did you even acknowledge his feelings?

"True Love's kiss…Well, it wouldn't hurt to try." He murmurs, raising a trembling hand to rest against your cheek. He leans down and lightly presses his lips against yours, ever so clumsy, before checking for any reactions.

Azul stares down on your drowsy body as your eyes flicker open. He stares at you owlishly before breaking into a giddy grin.

"Prefect, s-seeing as how I'm your True Love-" Azul hastily unlocked his top desk drawer, pulling out a fancy piece of paper and handing it to you. "Let's make it official with a contract."

"..."

Blinking, you looked down and read the text on the paper. Azul smiled at you expectantly, nudging a pen towards your direction.

"Azul, this is an engagement contract…?"

"Precisely."

✩— KALIM AL ASIM:

Jamil peered at Kalim through a crack in the slightly-ajar door. Seeing the poster boy for the golden-retriever personality sulking was truly a rare sight. Kalim had his head buried in his hands, kneeling by his bed which had your sleeping form atop it.

"What did you tell him?!" Jamil hissed, whipping his head around to glare at both Ace and Deuce.

"W-We just told him how we needed a Prince Charming's kiss to break the spell…" Deuce trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "…we figured since he was related to royalty, he could break it."

"He must have misunderstood it then." Jamil sighed, slipping into the dark room. So dark in fact that he could barely make out the silhouette of his dorm leader. Kalim had shut the drapes so tightly that not a single ray of sunshine could strike through his bedroom. How…dramatic.

"Kalim, what's the matter…?" Jamil approached the young boy, placing his hand atop Kalim's shoulder. He didn't miss the sight of the pure gold jewelry hastily draped across your neck or the iris bouquet in your hands. Well…it was evident who all those were from. You looked like you came straight out of a Scarabian version of Snow White.

"J-Jamil!" Kalim wailed, screwing his eyes shut as thick globs of tears ran down his flushed puffy face. The vice dorm leader sighed and reached for a tissue box, which he handed to the distraught boy. Kalim snatched a fistful of tissues and blew his nose loudly.

"The prefect is cursed to sleep forever-! A-And I couldn't find the cure!" He cried out in anguish. Jamil squinted his eyes. "Kalim, in case you forgot, the cure is-"

"I know! Prince Charming's kiss!" Kalim interrupted, wiping away his tears with the back of his arm making Jamil grimace. "I sent out hundreds of search parties but he hasn't been found!"

Jamil paused.

Ah. In foresight, he really should have seen this coming…

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath to get his irritation under control. He reached for the hood of Kalim's shirt and yanked him back. Hissing into his ear, the snake spat. "Kalim, the Prince Charming is you."

"Wh-Whgat?" Kalim sniffed, his voice muffled and hoarse from his crying.

"You. You're the prince charming." Jamil groaned, running a hand over his face.

Kalim started at Jamil for a minute or two, processing what his friend just said. Eventually, he broke out into a wide smile and happy laughter.

Wasting no time, he was quick to swoop you into his arms, drawing you into a clumsy yet endearing kiss. It only took a few seconds before your eyes blinked open. He pulled away but not before pressing another quick peck on your cheek.

"So, I'm your prince charming, huh?" Kalim beamed, sending a you a silly toothy grin. He leaned down and peppered your flushed face with kisses once more, making you feel like your head was about to explode.

"Y-Yeah-" You shot him a bashful yet thankful smile.

Filled with happiness, the teen jumped to his feet and drew you into his arms. He lifted you up by the waist and spun you around, his loud laughter echoing out through the room.

"I'm so glad! Ah! But I still have to cancel all those search parties though…"

✩—VIL SCHOENHEIT:

"Tsk. This is what I said about hanging out with those hooligans potato." Vil scowled, seething in rage and looking as if he was just about to hex both Ace and Deuce for this accident. "It'll only bring you trouble."

After he was informed of the incident by Rook, he wasted no time in whisking you away from your two incompetent friends and claiming he would care for you himself. Like hell he was letting you stay in that shabby dorm of yours.

Vil eased you into a luxurious bed in one of Pomefiore's spare rooms, draping a delicate lilac blanket around your torso. His palms brushed up against your brow, softly smoothing out the creases along your brow line.

Dspite the color vanishing from your cheeks and the once bright visage that made you look so vibrant losing it's glow, Vil believed you to be ethereal.

"True Love's Kiss can wake her from the spell." Vil murmured, reading off of a page in the book Deuce handed to him.

"Hmph, if I had a Madol for everytime that was listed as a cure." This wasn't the first time he'd heard of such a thing. Vil has spend hours pouring over potionology books and you'd be surprised at just how many spells and curses have it mentioned. A tad bit overrated if you asked him.

"Though there will be no need for a Prince Charming, potato." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small vial filled with a glimmering silver liquid.

The liquid swished around in the bottle, sparkling brightly. As you've probably guessed, this was the cure. Vil wasn't appointed Pomefiore's dorm leader for nothing. If he could make one of the most potent poisons this campus has ever seen then he surely knew how to make a cure as simple as this. It was mere child's play.

"The potion will suffice. Even a single drop is enough to wake you." He twisted the bottle open, gently grabbing a hold of your jaw to part your lips. He leaned down, holding the bottle over your face before pausing.

"As if I'd need True Love's Kiss to prove myself." Vil scoffed, eyes latching onto your face, his gaze intense yet warm. He tipped the bottle down, allowing a single drop to fall into your mouth before capturing your lips with his in a tender yet feverish kiss.

Vil eventually pulled away and hummed seeing the color and flush return to your skin. His fingers combed through your disheveled hair, undoing any knots. Your eyes fluttered open and Vil huffed, gliding his fingers along your flushed cheeks.

"Your skin is far too puffy, an unfortunate side effect of the cure. Worry not, I'll go grab a facemask for you." Vil pushed himself off of the bed, heels clicking against the floor as he marched out of the room. "A spa day is just what you need after another incident, potato."

It was all thanks to his potion that were you able to wake, he tells himself. Vil Schoenheit was not one for fairytales or wishing. He knew that he didn't need some magical curse or wish to win you over. No, he was confident he could accomplish it on his own.

As Vil eases the translucent mask onto your face, you smile brightly at him and his chest blooms in a sudden warmth.

Yes, it was definitely the potion.

✩—IDIA SHROUD:

"S-seriously, w-wh-hy me? Do I look like a Prince Charming to y-you?" Idia groaned, trying to shut the door but Ace stuck his foot through the opening. "Knock it off with the grin, geez… Weirdo…"

"We know you both have romantic feelings for each other!" Deuce shouted, holding you in his arms. "We really need your help!"

Idia shrieked, hair burning up slightly. He could barely hold eye contact with you for 3 seconds, what makes these two think that he could even survive kissing you? The poor boy would end up melting into a puddle of sad gooey awkwardness.

"J-Just wait until C-Crewel finishes the potion!" Idia shouted, shoving Ace away and slamming the door shut. His chest heaved up and down as he pressed his back against the door, arms awkwardly splayed to his sides, scrambling to keep the door shut.

His eyes ripped wide in panic when Ace continued to pound at the door, calling his name. "C'mon, Idia! Most people would take this as a great opportunity to win their crush over you know!"

"NOPE, NOPE, NOPE. COUNT ME OUT. I'M NOT GOING DOWN THE ROMANCE ROUTE." Idia vehemently shook his head, burying his face into the fabric of his shirt.

Ortho laughed silently, heading over to his distressed brother who looked like he was about to pop a vein. Scratch that, he probably already has.

"Big brother, didn't you and the prefect already go on a date?" Orthro said, tilting his head up to meet Idia's shaky gaze. "Why the big deal? It's just a small kiss."

"Th-That was different! I-I-It was a gaming session through a screen!" Idia sinked to the floor, curling up into a ball. He sobbed pathetically. "I could barely even keep my composure-No way am I surviving IRL."

"Yeah but they need you right now. You may not be Prince Charming but I'm sure the prefect would prefer you over any other." Ortho whispered, placing a hand atop Idia's own. The dorm leader's lip quivered, newfound courage blooming in his chest. He shakily stood up, knees wobbling from his nerves.

"…They need me."

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"I'm telling you Deuce, this guy's hopeless." Ace sighed, lips drawn into a thin line as he casually leaned against the door. Deuce frowned, lightly kicking Ace's shin. "Don't say such things about our senior!"

"Oh yeah? But he's-Argh! " Ace yelped falling backwards as the door abruptly opened. With a grunt, he landed on his back and found himself staring up at Idia's flushed face.

"Alright, n-normies. I-I-I'll d-d-do it."

Idia stepped aside and let Deuce enter his room. Anxiously fiddling with his hands, Idia watched the first-year carefully set you on his bed before stepping out of the room.

"We'll leave everything to you!" The two scurried away and Ortho also excused himself, leaving to give you two privacy. Idia stood in the middle of his room, a great distance away from you.

Alright, he could do this. It was just a simple little kiss, no biggie.

Hovering his shaky hands over your cheeks, Idia leaned over your form. His breath fanning across your face as he moved in, delicately brushing his lips against yours.

Your hands snaked around his neck, drawing him in deeper making the boy squeak. Pulling away, Idia averted his gaze, voice small and meek.

"H-Hey you. You're finally awake…"

✩—MALLEUS DRACONIA:

In a tall tower atop Diasomnia, an ominious green glow was emanating from an open window. Thick towering brambles, thorns, and vines wrapped itself around the brooding dorm. In the sky, claps of lightning and thunder flashed amongst the darkening clouds.

"Ah…we lost the prefect." Deuce deadpanned, his gaze fixed on the overgrown thick shrubs in front of them. Ace reached for a thorn, hissing as the tip of his finger was cut.

"Yeah..it's best if we leave them to Malleus, I don't think we can even get past all of…this."

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Lilia stood in the corner watching as Malleus tenderly placed you onto the bed, the dragon fae handling you as if you were a delicate piece of glass that could break at any second.

"Ah~ Are you going to be their Prince Charming? Khee hee, how ador—"

"Lillia, we need more pillows. There's hardly enough here." Malleus abruptly cut in, a stern look on his face.

Lilia blinked, gaze drawn over to the bed already filled to the brim with pillows of all shapes and sizes, so much so that some of them began pooling around the floor. All evidence of Malleus' nesting instinct.

"What a tragedy. There is to be a pillow scarcity in Diasomnia because of the devastation lay upon the prefect." Lilia replied, a dramatic theatrical sigh leaving his lips. He hurried out the door to meet Malleus' requests before the storm outside worsened. The dragon fae was already aggrevated, there was no need to make things worse.

Malleus' gaze was drawn to your serene expression, his aching heart plummeting to his stomach. Bending down, he softly cradled you in his arms. "Oh, my treasure, if only I could have prevented this."

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses amongst your skin before trailing them up to your lips. Fluttering his eyes shut, Malleus wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the bed as he pressed his lips firmly against yours.

Malleus drew back to see you ogle at him with with wide eyes, your fingers having immediately shot up touch your tingling lips. Chuckling, he bent down once more to press his lips against yours. You two exchanged kisses for what seemed like hours, the press of his lips against yours leaving your lungs burning and heaving for air. At some point he slipped into bed with you, holding himself above your body with his elbows.

"Khee hee, You two know it's supposed to be a 'True Love's Kiss' not 'Kisses', right?" Lilia barged into the room, a comically large pile of pillows in his arms. Malleus growled and tossed a lamp his way, one which Lillia dodged easily. The lamp shattered against the wall behind him, scattering into fragments across the floor.

"Ah ah, there's no need to be so furious. Let me just drop these off and I'll be on my merry way." Lilia cheered, dropping the pillows by the foot of the bed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old bulky camera. "Might as well take pictures!"

Snarling, Malleus drew his hand back to reach for the large painting sitting above the bed. You snaked a hand around his wrist, silently begging him to not hurl another object at his bat-dad.

"My baby boy is in love-OW!"

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✩— EXTRA:

"What did I say about keeping them out of harms way." Crewel snarled through clenched teeth, sitting in the detention room with both Ace and Deuce. Ace chuckled awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well if you look on the bright side, your kid finally has a love life, so there's that!"

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

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movidita · 3 months

Text

18+ mdni

You were a total tease. Those thigh highs and shorts skirts, revealing soft plush thighs Professor Grimes was more than eager to touch.

Long locks cascade down your back, almost reaching your bum. Tits practically spilling out of the tiny tops you strategically picked out. Plump lips begging to be kissed— to be bruised and swollen around his cock.

Every day in class, he’d put you on the spot, so he could watch you squirm in embarrassment, something that made his slacks tighten. And didn’t you know it? You knew the effect you had on him, you knew exactly what he did the second class was dismissed— the curtains pulled shut, you also never failed to miss the tent in his pants.

It wasn’t like you were any better, hand in your panties the second you got to the bathroom stall.

You needed him so bad. Your fingers were nothing compared to his, you thought. Whenever he’d hand out papers, his hand would linger on your desk a few seconds longer than everyone else’s. Your fingers would be nothing compared to his cock, you knew that. The unmistakable hard-on he constantly had around you didn’t fall on blind eyes— yours were wide open, practically drooling at the sight of your professor.

The next day in class, you’d been tasked with essay upon essay. You’d barely gotten a sentence down on the page before he’d dismissed the class, far too busy daydreaming about him and his fingers and his mouth and his dick.

Everyone had risen from their desks, leaving papers on his table on their way out. You were the last to stand up, hesitantly walking forward with your empty page.

You dropped it on his desk, turning away in a second and heading for the door, interrupted by the call of your name. Spinning around to face him, he was now stood up. You took cautious steps towards your professors desk, fidgeting around on your feet as you awaited your scolding.

“This is it? Two words?” Professor Grimes turned the paper over, inspecting it.

“I’m sorry— I just uh— I didn’t—” You were at a loss for words. What could you say? Sorry Professor I was too busy thinking about you fucking me? No, you couldn’t say that.

“Sit back down. You can start again, maybe then I won’t fail you.”

You huffed but ultimately complied, snatching back your paper and sitting at the desk.

Almost fifteen minutes had passed, and now you had two sentences, the only thought running through your mind being about your professor, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy your teacher.

“Sir, I really cant do this. I know nothing of the topic.”

He stood from his desk, walking over to stand by yours and tower over you. “Alright, I guess we’ll just have to think of something else you can do to earn your grade.”

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

He smirked, going over to the door and pulling the small curtain that covered the window shut.

Professor Grimes was back at your side in a second, pulling you up onto your feet and smashing your lips onto his.

You had no complaints, more than happy you were finally getting something more. Your hands eagerly roamed his body, just as his did yours, cupping the backs of your thighs and moving you to sit on the desk, his hard-on pressing right up against your covered cunt.

You moan into his mouth, eagerly unbuttoning his slacks just as he reaches underneath your small skirt to pull your panties to the side.

The man let out a breathless groan before pulling away from your lips and staring down at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes— Yes, please.”

He chuckled, “Alright, greedy girl.” In a second his tip was poking at your entrance, precum from his cock smearing over your soaked cunt.

When he finally entered you, you let out a harsh moan, fingernails digging into his shoulder whilst your head rolled back.

“Fuck!”

Your professor continued to pump in and out of you, only driving you further and further to your release. “Mmgh, Sir!” You whine, orgasm impending already.

“Thaaats it. Good girl.” He praised, hip’s stuttering as he came inside of you, “Shit.”

Your own orgasm came quickly after his, juices mixing together and moans filling the air. Your own hips shake as you struggle to maintain closure.

He gently pulls out, pulling his slacks back up and smirking down at your still trembling form. “I guess you’ve earned yourself an A.”

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #the walking dead #twd x reader #rickgrimes #rick grimes smut #rick x reader #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes x fem!reader #rick imagine #professor grimes

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ceruleancattail · 11 months

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may I ask for rook, Floyd, silver, and cater with an s/o who’s insecure and hypercritical about their appearance? Like they laugh off compliments and hate looking at mirrors and/or photos because the first thing they see is everything they hate

Rook, Floyd, Silver and Cater with a s/o who’s insecure about their appearance

A hunter’s eye hardly misses anything.

Rook’s seen the way you shy from mirrors, fixing every reflective surface with a glare. The way you fix your hair a hundred times before class, sighing at the reflection. Even when Rook compliments your appearance, you always answer with a self depreciating joke, laughing away his words.

Ah, as stubborn as ever, are you not?

It’s good that you’re not vain, but being too critical of yourself stifles growth. Rook spends hours with you in his dorm room, arms stretched around your torso. He’ll pull you onto his lap, holding you against his chest. A steady heartbeat thumps against your back, his warmth sinking into your very soul.

Chin resting on your shoulder, he whispers fluttery prose after prose into your ear. Praising your eyes, your hair, every single little thing about your appearance. Waxing poetry about your entire being. Even if you try to deny whatever he says, Rook will continue, whispering those sweet words to you. In a sultry purr that leaves your toes curling, face ablaze with red.

Rook truly thinks you’re beautiful. Don’t break his heart like this, Cherie.

Off handed comments are Floyd’s speciality.

He just doesn’t see the point of flattery. Why beat around the bush? Just say what you want to say, never mind the others. You’re the subject of most of his comments. Weirdly sweet compliments, like how soft you look, or perhaps how small your hands are against his.

When you look good, he’ll say so. He doesn’t really appreciate when you laugh off his comments. Y’know, he’s not saying it to flatter you, shrimpy.

He means it.

Taking matters into his own hands, he’ll lean in for a kiss whenever you make a self deprecating comment. His lips smash against yours, a passionate sort of dance between lovers. His hands find your hips, fingers squeezing as tightly as they can. Floyd doesn’t let you move away until you’re breathless, cheeks flushed a scarlet red.

Can’t deny your beauty when you’re panting, chest heaving up and down.

You don’t love yourself? That’s fine.

Floyd will bombard you with so much love, that you’ll forget what hating yourself felt like.

When he’s not sleeping, he’s gazing at you.

Silver will gladly listen to you for hours, leaning onto your shoulder. However, he doesn’t really approve of the way you seem so insistent of putting yourself down. Self deprecating jokes coming out of those soft lips, a scowl on that enchanting face of yours. You’re beautiful, straight out the pages of a fairy tale.

Why would you put yourself down like this?

Musing to himself, Silver lets his hands wander. Slowly caressing your cheeks, grazing your forehead. A light tap on your nose, he chuckles as you scrunch your eyes shut. Palms pressing against your cheeks, he’ll hold you gently, carefully.

Leaning into the crook of your neck, his fingers trace the curves of your arms, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. Guiding your arms around him, Silver lies there in your embrace. His eyelids fluttering, barely awake. You are truly comforting, love.

Silver sincerely hopes one day you’ll feel at home with your own body as he is.

Cater learns early on that you’re not too comfortable with selfies.

You shy away from the camera, avoiding his gaze like the plague. Covering your face with your hands, creeping to the very back in every group shot. Whenever Cater nudges you closer to him, you’ll edge away, joking about your appearance.

It hurts, the things you say about yourself. Sometimes, he wishes to give you his eyes. A little peek into his vision, how you simply shine in his eyes.

Brighter then any flash, a radiant smile. Heck, Cater will gladly go blind, if it meant he could look at you for just a moment longer.

Cater can’t give you his eyes, but he has his phone. A million pictures of you, all captured on the spur of the moment. The way you laugh, mouth wide open with your hair flying in the wind. Spontaneous moments make the best photos, no?

He’ll pull you closer to him, going through albums of photos, pointing out all the parts he likes. You have a wonderful smile in this one, and this shirt really makes your eyes shine out, doesn’t it?

He’ll pepper you with compliments until you admit you’re lovely, alright?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #cater #cater x reader #silver #silver x reader #twst silver #Floyd x reader #Floyd leech #Floyd leech x reader #Floyd #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook #lucky charm🔹

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beomiesz · 1 year

Text

distraction – choi yeonjun.

pairing: boyfriend!yeonjun x g/n!reader

disclaimer: reader has a pussy but no pronouns were defined!

warnings: oral (reader receiving), fingering, pet/endearing names (baby, angel), orgasm denial, yeonjun is a messy pussy eater <3

word count: 3k

a/n: so... it was a request and i took so long to get this done </3 i'm so sorry anon, honestly i don't like sooo much how this came out but hope you do!!

permanent taglist: @wolfgurl2600-blog

the groove between your eyebrows is deep when you hear your doorbell ringing throughout your apartment, your legs lazily moving out of your bed to get you standing, the book still in your hands as you head to your living room, your fingers marking the page you were reading to make sure you won't get lost in the reading.

when you open your front door, surprise is an understatement to how you feel at the moment, a confused expression on your face as you stare at your boyfriend standing there, right in front of you, with the cutest smile you've ever seen.

"baby, hi!" he takes a step forward, entering your place excitedly and automatically looping your waist with his arms, hugging you tightly and resting his face on your neck, his lips planting a chaste kiss to your collarbone. "i've missed you so much…" his voice is muffled against your skin but you can recognize his whiny tone, your heart squeezes in your chest when the thought comes to your mind but you can't help it, wondering if he couldn't have chosen any other hour to visit you.

"hi, jun… i– i've missed you too." you reach his nape with your hand which is not holding your book, caressing his hair affectionately while waiting for him to pull away from you. however, he doesn't, he keeps his head leaned on your shoulder and his arms tight around your waist, you have no choice but slightly push him off as giggling to mask how you just denied his embrace.

you feel like there's an arrow crossing your chest when yeonjun steps back and looks at you, his pursed lips along with the sad gaze he gives you making the fact that he's upset way too obvious, and this is too much for you to deal with. in a matter of seconds, you leave your book on the living room table and cup yeonjun's cheeks, pecking his face several times and inevitably getting a smile out of him, he places his hands on the sides of your neck and presses a lingering kiss to your lips.

"you don't want to be in my front door forever, do you?" you move away minimally, teasing and earning a chuckle from him as he nods, closing your door with his foot and smashing his lips on yours again, leading you to your bedroom, you're almost on your hallway when you remember your book.

reluctantly, you pull away from yeonjun's lips once again, his confused look making you smile and tell him to go ahead, saying that you just have to get a thing you left in the other room. he quickly agrees, continuing his way as you go back to your living room and retrieve your book, quickly searching for the chapter you were reading and trying to not get a spoiler as you flip through the pages, not taking too long to find it. analyzing the amount of pages left, you ponder if you should finish the story before giving yeonjun the attention he craves, there are only a few more chapters and he can wait a little, right?

with this in mind, you throw yourself onto the couch, craving for the words in the book as you finally can read it again and know how the story unfolds. when you were interrupted, you weren't too far away from finishing the antepenultimate chapter, and with the way you read every sentence as if you needed it to live, you don't take too long to be about to turn the page, and this is when the book is taken off your hands.

"what the fuck?!" as an automatic response, you yell at the black-haired boy holding your source of joy, the outraged expression on your face causing yeonjun to arch his eyebrows.

"now, what's that behavior?" he switches his weight from one leg to the other, arms crossed across his chest as he stares at you.

you stare back, petrified on your place and not daring to move even a muscle, you never swore at yeonjun seriously since when you two met for the first time and his reaction to it now is pretty scary, you can't remember if you have ever seen him furrowing the way he's doing now.

he watches your face, raised eyebrows giving away your surprise just as much as your hanging open mouth, you look so adorable like this. thinking about it causes his expression to soften, the small smile that blossom on his lips makes your stomach churn, your own lips press against each other into a thin line, suddenly shy, you avoid eye contact with your boyfriend, glancing at anything in the room that's not him, fingers fidgeting on your lap.

"how much time do you think you need?" you look at him confused, but he doesn't let you ask him what he means before continuing. "to finish your book, i mean."

"i don't know…" you bite down your lip, thinking for a bit. "less than an hour probably, i'd say just a few minutes. there are only three chapters left to be finished, actually two to be honest."

he sighs, a pout on his lips as he hands you the book, his reaction getting you more than confused, isn't he mad?

"just, please…" he says when you grab your book, not letting go of it yet. you glance at him, waiting for him to continue the phrase, his lips pursed in an adorable way. "i miss you, i came here because i thought we could hang out for a bit… so finish it already, i wanna cuddle with you."

you feel the heat reaching your cheeks, suddenly very aware of your boyfriend’s cuteness. the way yeonjun speaks, the pout still there as his plump lips move, the puppy look he throws at you, silently begging you to hug and kiss him and give him all your attention, makes you almost surrender – key word: almost.

it's been one month already since you got the book you are reading, and in the last week you haven't found the time to finish it until now, you are finally just about to know how the story ends and you can not waste this chance.

yeonjun is willing to wait for you, so why not? after all, it's just a few pages, right?

"don't worry, darling. i'm gonna be done before you know."

and just like that, you take the book off his hand and eagerly open it in the exact page, excitement running through your veins as you resume your reading.

yeonjun shuffles to the couch, sitting down and pulling out his phone of his pocket, he scrolls through his screen clearly upset, a frown on his face that goes unnoticed by you, your eyes 100% focused on the words in front of them.

you don't know how long you take, so immersed in the story and the final moments that you don't even notice how many pages you have been through – but there's someone who does. yeonjun's patience gets smaller and smaller by the minute, it's been a few minutes since he got bored of his phone and put it away, his eyes busy analyzing you minutely, going up and down your body several times as he watches the position you decided to be in.

with your feet on the couch, your legs are bent as you use your knees as a support to the book, the top of your thighs almost touching your belly and your inner thighs on display for yeonjun's hungry eyes, your tiny short is riding up your flesh and showing more than they're supposed to, seeing you like this causes a bunch of thoughts to come to your boyfriend's mind and most of them are unholy ones, he can't help but imagine how his head would fit perfectly between your spread legs.

he wonders whether you are wearing panties or not. he knows you long enough to know your very minimal habits, and this includes not wearing underwear when at home. he has fucked you so many times because of it.

yeonjun's mind goes wild, remembering all the times he pulled off your shorts just to find your arousal dripping down your thighs, no briefs to stop it. he remembers the feeling of your warm cunt squeezing around him, how your walls spasm when you're about to orgasm and how they milk his dick, swallowing it back whenever he threatens to pull out…

no, he can't think about it or he will pop a boner right there.

he glances at your serene figure, reading with a smile on the lips and looking so entertained, he can't help but feel a bit jealous. it should be him, all the attention you are giving the book should be his. he wants to be close to you, feel your skin against his, your arms around his body hugging him so tightly as if you are afraid that if you release him he is going to disappear, he wants to turn into a tangle of limbs with you and never let you go.

and so he does. he moves closer to you, getting between your spread legs and poking your belly, earning your attention. you have a hard time to take your eyes off your book, making sure you finish the sentence you are reading before looking down at your boyfriend, meeting his puppy gaze.

"cuddles…" he speaks with a pout, sounding – and looking – like a kitty. you stare at him, blinking, a bit confused. "just let me hug you, you can keep reading."

at his words, a smile makes its way to adorn your face, you open your arms and wait for him to lay on you, and he does promptly. resting his cheek on your chest, yeonjun loops his arms around your waist, a satisfied smile on his lips and his closed eyes make him look so adorable, you feel like his teddy bear.

you place your book on top of his back and wrap your legs around his torso, easily going back to your reading as yeonjun feels your warmth, nuzzling onto your body further and further as if he wants to be under your skin, and in a matter of a few minutes hugging you isn't enough anymore. he needs more.

he tries to ignore how his lips are glued to one of your breasts, and how you slightly push it against his face whenever you move, but this is a hard task. even harder when the thoughts he was having moments ago come back, running through his head fiercely, he can feel the front of his pants getting tighter, his hands numb, throat dry and suddenly, he is pretty aware of how long he hasn't tasted you, it's been so many weeks that it feels like an abstinence. he glances at the clock placed on your wall, sweat running down his neck as he watches the seconds going by so slowly, he wants to be patient, he needs to, but he can't anymore.

he has waited long enough. he came to your place to have you, and this is what he is going to do.

reaching up for you neck, yeonjun starts to trail kisses slowly on your skin, his plump lips grazing your sensitive spot and sending shivers down your spine, arousal directly to your core. one of his arms leaves your side, hand traveling up to cup your boob, fingers rubbing and pinching your nipple through your shirt and you can't help but let out a shy moan.

"yeonjun… what're you doing?" you ask in a whimper, unable to focus on the words you were so interested in before. your fingers weaken and you let the book fall slightly onto yeonjun's back, sighing when he nips your skin and kneads your breast. "jun…"

"shh… don't worry, angel. just keep reading your book." he whispers, his raspy voice destabilizes you more than you want to admit, his soft, plump lips kissing your collarbone as he drags them down your body, you can feel your shorts dampening and sticking to you.

yeonjun crawls and gets lower on the couch, placing your thighs on his shoulders. a sly grin blossoming on his face when the glimpse of your perked up nipples against your shirt catches his eyes, he wants to lick and suck and bite them but he doesn't, instead he looks up at you. your intoxicated gaze pierces through his body, you are astonished, staring and waiting for his next move, you don't miss it when your boyfriend sink his teeth on his lower lip, a shaky whimper bubbling up your throat at the sight, you are taken by surprise when his thumb presses down your clothed clit, rubbing it slowly.

you buck up your hips, mewling your boyfriend's name and pouting at his teasing, the now forgotten book pressed to your chest as you stare at the boy between your legs, impatient.

"what's the matter, doll? you seemed to be enjoying your book so much just a few minutes ago..." you whine, how can he be like this? you are literally soaking your shorts because of him and he dares to pretend it is not his fault.

whimpering and complaining, you move your hips up and down his hand, the feeling of his finger rubbing perfectly against your aching clit making you throw your head back at the pleasure, a squeal leaving your lips when you receive a sudden harsh slap on your pussy, yeonjun's fingers sinking in your hip flesh forcing you to stop your movements, grumbling.

the boy holds your book, pushing it towards your face before saying something that catches you off guard, you can't help but frown in confusion.

"keep reading or i'll stop." he sounds serious, doesn't seem to be kidding, but you refuse to believe he is for real. what kind of order is it? doesn't even make sense, why would he ask you to keep your eyes on a stupid book instead of on his own? he loves to make eye contact when he is pleasing you.

you keep staring at him, astonished, blinking several times to try and process his order, lip between your teeth. you barely open your mouth to ask him what he means when a yelp interrupts your phrase, the stinging pain on your inner thigh due to how hard yeonjun pinches your skin.

"didn't you hear me? i said eyes on the book, not on my face." his harsh voice makes a pout appear on your lips, you snort and grab the book, begrudgingly going back to your reading, the story you were so excited about just a few minutes ago is not being so interesting now.

you get to read only one sentence before closing your eyes, teeth sinking in your lower lip as you suffocate a moan in your throat, head thrown back when yeonjun pushes your shorts aside and spread your folds, lingering a kiss to your clit. he teases your entrance, circling it with his forefinger, threatening to go in but never doing so before thrusting in at once, earning a gasp from you.

wrapping his plump lips around your tiny nub, he give it a harsh suck, flicking his tongue and sending waves of pleasure down your spine. his hair tickles your belly when he tilts his head, swallowing you further as his fingers work faster in your soaking cunt, going in and out at a fast pace and the tips brushing just right against your sweet spot.

it doesn't take too long for him to replace his fingers with his tongue, savoring your taste as dragging the wet muscle along your velvety walls, a muffled groan escaping him as he practically makes out with your cunt.

you try, you really do. you try your best to focus on the book before your eyes, but yeonjun just needs to be too good with his tongue. he barely started and you are already falling apart, gripping the book cover so tightly that you could rip it, but you won't. the object is a good way to hide your face from your boyfriend so he doesn't see that your eyes are actually closed, your lip almost bleeding between your teeth.

the way his tongue works so eagerly, fucking your hole just at the right pace, your arousal covering his chin and joining his spit, making a mess on your couch. you can't help the loud moan that leaves your lips when he starts to rub loosen circles on your clit, adding to your pleasure and you unconsciously buck your hips towards his face, shamelessly humping his mouth.

you feel the coil in your stomach growing bigger and bigger, your foggy mind unable to think about anything but how good yeonjun makes you feel, your book now being nothing but a vague memory in the back of your mind. your boyfriend increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing it harshly and causing your legs to tremble around his head, the knot feeling like it's gonna snap at anytime as he eats you out like a starved man, making you see stars, taking you to the sky and back, your toes curling in the air. and suddenly, it's all gone, just when you are about to hit the edge, yeonjun moves his fingers and face away from you as he looks up to watch your reaction, a smirk on his swollen, glistening lips.

you cry out his name, eyes wide open as you press the book onto your chest, staring at him with puppy eyes, he almost feels bad for doing what he's doing to you, keyword: almost.

"n–no, jun, please let me cum…" you whine, tears pooling at the corner of your eyes as you feel the frustration of having your orgasm denied taking over you.

"cum? aw, angel…” he cooes, ghosting his thumb over your clit. “what about you tell me how the book ends first?"

reblogs are appreciated !!

my permanent taglist is open, just ask and you'll be added <3

#txt smut #txt hard hours #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun smut #yeonjun hard hours #txt scenarios #txt imagines #yeonjun imagines #dom!idol #dom!yeonjun #sub!reader #gender neutral reader

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makeste · 7 months

Text

BnHA Chapter 403: (But Just That One Part, Because I'm Not Caught Up)

Previously on BnHA: Truly no idea, but it kind of looks like Katsuki is riding some sort of spaceship, and everyone has gotten really, really sparkly. I see you all have been busy these past 22 months. Great job, keep it up.

Today on BnHA: “So it’s come to my attention that a truly shocking number of you are only reading this manga for a single character.” – Horikoshi Kouhei, October 2023.

so. where to start, lol

I guess I should open with an apology, because I am about to make a fairly selfish decision! what I am about to do, is post a reaction to Bakugou’s Return To The Manga. however, because I’m not caught up, I’m going to be reading this one scene completely out of context without knowing anything about what is going on. which means that I’m going to be missing out on god knows how many nuances and details, which means this reaction post will be short on those things as well. so basically I’m prioritizing my own personal gratification as a fan here even though it is 100% going to affect the quality of my reaction blog, and for that I genuinely am sorry. eventually I will finish catching up, and when that happens I will post a proper reaction with all the trimmings. that’s just how it is for now though

anyway so with that said, basically what I’ve done now is I have gone to the scanlation website, and clicked on chapter 403, and then scrolled down through most of the chapter while sort of half-looking away from my screen with my eyes squinted so that everything is mostly blurry, until I finally reached the big double-page spread with you-know-who doing his thing. namely, standing around on this giant glowy cereal bowl from the future, which appears to be either hovering up in the air, or slowly crashing onto the ground

and this right here, is exactly what I was rambling on about a moment ago. you guys I really am sorry to be doing this, because even I can tell this should be solemn and sincere moment of awe and excitement and relief. but because I completely lack any context whatsoever for wtf is happening, most of the dramatic impact is lost on me, and to tell the truth right now this page is a hell of a lot funnier than it has any right to be

like, so Deku. this boy is crying all the tears. I recklessly scrolled back up one page to see why, and it appears the answer is Because All Might Is About To Fucking Die (which, !??!?), so that’s actually VERY fucked up, and I’m sure I will have PAGES AND PAGES OF WORDS to say about all of that once I finally catch up properly. that is very traumatic and emotional and I will probably cry a lot about it

BUT, that being said, I just need you guys to know that without that context, Deku standing here with his giant head all >:O in the foreground, while Kacchan appears out of nowhere glowing with the power of a thousand suns and standing on top of this giant floating Smash Bros level that Nezu maybe probably built with his nine million dollars, is one of the wildest fucking things I’ve seen in my life. I feel like an accidental time traveler. you know when a character has one of those crazy prophetic dreams showing them chaotic glimpses of the future, and they’re just standing there all “???” because they have absolutely no clue what the fuck is going on? that is what it’s like right now

heh but there he is

“did you miss me, Izuku. back by popular demand after being on IR for 14 goddamn months. rebuilt better and stronger than ever thanks to the heroic spaghetti man wrapped tightly around my heart keeping me alive. just BnHA things. just a flesh wound. by the way, it’s me, Kacchan, just in case you didn’t recognize me on account of my still being really far away and completely covered by smoke, and also you thinking I was dead. here let me give you a close up to make this easier”

“fuck yeah. it really is me, btw. just in case you still couldn’t tell on account of me also being like 100x prettier than you remembered. guess it’s just that blindingly handsome character development”

also, “the end of an era” um hello, yes, what?? just what exactly have I missed here with all this All Might stuff?? because apparently All Might just prior to this was in some sort of mortal danger, is what I’ve been hearing, because everyone keeps posting excitedly about Kacchan showing up in the nick of time to save him? which incidentally makes my heart so incredibly fucking warm omg. it’s what both of them need AND deserve

why is everything so goddamn sparkly right now. this is like a Sailor Moon battle over here

love that look of instant recognition and shock and overpowering relief in Deku’s eyes though. also has he really been fighting in this cracked out OFA-overflowing mode this entire time?? he looks just like he did on the cover of volume 37. I still haven’t seen his actual canon reaction to the “death”, and I haven’t been keeping tabs on his fight with AFO??/Tomura?? at all, but I’m glad it looks to have been as emotional as I could have hoped

aw fuck yeah

his precious card. I’m now almost as invested in the saga of the All Might card as I am in all the rest of this. it’s all beat to hell, but somehow still made it through in the end. just like him

oh. my. g

protect them.

protect them all.

so is the reason this fight is so sparkly just because of OFA symbolism, then?? or is there something else happening here?? goddammit, okay, I‘m gonna very carefully scroll back to the beginning of the chapter, because I’m 100% positive there is some sort of deeply meaningful symbolic thing going on here and I’ll be damned if I miss out on it, spoilers or no

-- oh my goD??!

1. BABY ALL MIGHT WHAAAAAAT

IS THAT HIS MOM???? OH MY GOD DID WE GET ALL MIGHT BACKSTORY. oh my god. oh god. no actually don’t tell me, ahhhh I cannot fucking wait to read this properly, holy shit

so did something wind up happening to Mighty Mom later on then?? feels like it must have, since he wound up getting so attached to Nana? man I don’t want to think about any of that stuff after seeing this panel though :( just, damn it, why is this man’s whole entire life so goddamn fucking tragic

“the one thing I’ve done most is looking back to the path I took” my god I cannot wait to read this. only two short pages and I’m already buried miles deep into my All Might feels. came here for the triumphant Kacchan return and now I’m sitting here tearing up about All Might, god damn you Horikoshi YOU’VE STILL GOT IT. and I am STILL A SUCKER FOR ALL OF IT

anyway, so now back we go to the last couple of pages with this additional context, aaaaand...

...and apparently I’m now full-on crying about All Might! (: well how about that. turns out when you read the manual and follow the instructions properly this series still works exactly as advertised. don’t mind me I’m just sitting here sobbing because everything is exactly what I wanted and I apparently don’t know how to deal with that!!

THEIR FEELINGS BECOME WHAT?!?!?!

EVERYTHING IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED AND I’M GONNA BE A MESS ABOUT IT FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME BECAUSE LIFE IS GRAND!!

ARE ALL OF THESE WATERY SPARKLES LIKE. DEKU’S FUCKING TEARS LMAO OR WHAT. HOW IS KACCHAN IN THE SPLASH ZONE. HOW ARE HIS TEARS HOLDING UP THE SPACESHIP. I DON’T UNDERSTAND A GODDAMN THING BUT THIS IS NOW OFFICIALLY A SHOUJOU MANGA, I DON’T MAKE THE RULES

the urge to ruffle baby Deku and baby Kacchan’s hair is so goddamn powerful you don’t understand. this is PRIMAL. they are SO happy and SO good and perfect. I’m gonna fucking die

there’s not even any dialogue. what the fuck are they even gonna say. their expressions say it all and more. also they are being kind to me because they know I’m not caught up so they don’t want to spoil me any further, thank you my sons

lastly, I guess, because I don’t really have anything else to add now that my brain has fully turned to sappy mush: so uh. I truly have not the slightest clue how or why, but. does Kacchan have OFA though. and why is the answer, “yes he definitely does.” ???

like, I don’t understand it, but I confess that by now I have spoiled myself on the last few pages of chapter 362 for reasons (those reasons being “I finally gave in and looked at them on purpose, because I’d already seen most of them out of context here and there, and my willpower is only so strong”), and so I know that this boy was talking to vestige!Might, and as far as I’m aware that is 100% not possible unless he has some sort of connection to OFA in some way so yeah

and now here he on this last page being all Profoundly Connected with Deku while they gaze into each other’s eyes, and I can’t help but notice that said eyes are all explodey and they look a LOT like Deku’s actually. and on top of that we have all of this All Might symbolism that I’m still crying about, so like? ???

anyway so I’m not going crazy here right? like this is definitely a thing? for whatever reason?? unless you guys know something here that I don’t. in which case I actually am asking to be spoiled fully just this once, because at this point I just need to know one way or the other and I don’t care lol

anyway so that concludes my thoughts I guess! so now my absurdly ambitious goal is to speed read the manga this next week and hopefully at least catch up to Kacchan’s “death”, so that I can better understand what’s happening when I inevitably wind up spoiling myself for chapter 404 as well. the plan right now is to still type up my liveblog notes as I go, but to not worry about posting or editing anything in between chapters. so I’ll have a big backlog of chapter recaps which I’ll eventually get to uploading whenever I can, but in the meantime I can participate more in the fandom side of things. since I really want to share all of my endgame theories and so forth, but in order to do that I really need to find out just what the fuck is actually going on lol, so yeah

#bnha 403 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #all might #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #I see your bakugou katsuki: rising #and raise you one bakugou katsuki: risen #he comes back to us now at the turn of the tide

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itsohh · 9 months

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Same Page

A/N: Thought this went without saying but, this is an act of fiction. Minors are never welcome on this blog, this is for entertainment purposes only and god wtf is wrong with you that I have to say this but this is not for sex education? If you're not mature enough to know a work of fiction is simply a work of fiction and not 'miss information' you're not mature enough to read smut.

Summary: After months of being unable to properly be together, you have worked up quite an appetite for your lover. It's a shame he's not really in the mood. However, states aren't always permanent and he never could resist you when you sounded like that.

Word count: 3226

Warnings: Smut

AO3 Masterlist

There was only so much you could do, there was only so much you could handle. The pair of you hadn't had any time together for what must have been months, mission after mission, constantly separated, so intimacy was out of the picture.

So when the pair of you finally had time off together, you knew exactly what you wanted. It seemed he knew exactly what he wanted as well. The pair of you had only been home for about ten minutes and he was already in the bedroom. It always made you smile, how in sync the pair of you were. Or so you thought, until you opened the door.

Gaz had turned his switch on and Stardew Valley lit up on the tv. Your smile dropped, only for a second. His gaze shifted to you and he smiled kindly at you.

"Hey wanna come play?"

Your feet were slow on the carpet as you slowly slid onto the bed next to him.

"Mmm, I had a different idea of what we could play." Your voice purred out and his eyes went back to the TV.

"Oh we could play Animal Crossing if you like, or maybe Mario Party but I'm not sure how fun it's going to be just the pair of us."

"I'm thinking more along the lines of Smashing." Your fingers hovered over the centre of his button-up for a moment.

"You hate Smash though- oh." His eyes shifted towards you and he swallowed when your fingers popped open his button and slid your hand on his chest.

Kyle cleared his throat and caught your hand before he pulled it away. "Not tonight, just wanna play. Maybe tomorrow?" The rejection hurt, just a little. But what really snapped was the burning desire that had slowly built up over the months. You pulled your hand back as if he burnt you, the reaction didn't go unnoticed and he let out a small sound.

"Babe, you know it's not like that. I'm just not in the mood and pretty tired I still love you-"

"Kyle, it's fine." Your head lifted and you gave him a reassuring look "You do your thing and I'll do mine." Gaz's eyes looked away from yours but he nodded. A deep breath exhaled out from your lips and your eyes snapped to your side table.

Gaz tried not to stare at you the entire time your hands fumbled with the drawer. Shaking from pure desire, it wasn't easy for you to find the vibrator hidden away in the storage. Eventually, your finger made contact with the soft touch of its velvet bag and you yanked it out. A moment of silence ran between the pair of you when you sat down at the edge of the bed. When you looked up you saw that Gaz's eyes were on yours. Then they went down to the bag in your hand.

You couldn't help the heat that formed over your cheeks. Now that he was watching you with a complete lack of desire or arousal, you couldn't help but feel a little shamed at the fact. He had seen it many times before, walked in on you, even joined you time and time before but this was different, this time you were dirty and he wasn't.

"I'll- I'll head to the living room." You pointed with your thumb and abruptly got up and practically ran out of the shared room. The door behind you was slapped closed and your back made contact as your heart raced. His blank expression raced in your head, mixed with the sting of rejection, both had you let out a small groan that turned into a whimper.

That shame couldn't control you for long, slowly you looked down and the vibrator slid from the small bag and reminded you of that crushing core that demanded attention. Vibrator in your right hand, your left hand slowly drifted down to your clothed cunt. Your eyes closed and you bit your left pointer finger.

Tension left your shoulders and they dropped when your hand slipped the waistband of your pants. Just that little touch gave you so much. Your eyes snapped open towards the open curtains and you ripped your hands away from yourself.

You needed relief and you needed it right there and then. The curtains were promptly snapped closed and you threw the toy on the couch so you had free hands to remove your clothing. First, you removed the t-shirt from your body and then the sports bra that had you let out a little sigh of relief. Next came your pants which were dumped on the ground.

Almost completely bare, you flopped down on the couch and grabbed the vibrator. A quiet him started from the toy and you placed it against your clit with only your thin underwear as a barrier. Your eyes shut and your mind wandered to the way that Gaz would touch you. He would start off slow, his gentle hands on the outside of your thighs. They would run up and down, feeling you up as his tongue would dance over his teeth.

He'd plant his hands firmly against you, indenting your flesh with his fingers. With his nice grip on you, he would pull you into his lap slightly. Kyle would be slotted between your thighs while your back would remain on the cushions. The thought of his clothed cock grinding against your cunt had you mew out. An admittedly rather loud moan as one of your hands went to grace your hard nipple.

The pair of you would stay like that, grinding against each other. Kyle would have that pent-up look on his face, mixed pleasure due to the friction between the pair of you. The grip on your thighs would tighten and he'd curse out before doubling down and grinding even harder.

You arch your back and continue your breathy moans while the vibrator works on your clit. The grip on the vibrator becomes a little tighter as you feel a wave of pleasure spread throughout your core, it's not there for very long but it has you relaxing deep into the couch.

The vibrator slips under your underwear and you slowly start to tease your entrance with it, your clits far too sensitive to continue. It would only need a couple of moments before you could return to it.

Lost completely in your imagination, you didn't notice the bedroom door open.

The dip in the couch had you gasp out and your eyes flung open. Kyle stared into your eyes as he mounted you slightly. Your legs were between his knees while he supported himself with the couch using one hand. Gaz leaned over your body and his face was directly above yours.

"Kyle?" You were still a little hazy, confusion written across your face.

"Hey." He paused and his eyes flashed down for a moment. "You were being a little loud there."

"S-sorry I'll uh try to be quieter." True to your word, your voice practically vanished at the end of your sentence.

There was a playful look on his face and he leaned a little closer. Then his lips made contact with yours. The kiss wasn't gentle by any means. It was rough and wet, sloppy and full of desire, Gaz taking the lead. You moaned into his touch and clenched your fist to prevent yourself from latching onto him like a bear trap.

"I thought you wanted to play on the Switch." The words mumble from your lips the second he pulls back and you hear him laugh slightly and his free hand ran through his hair.

"Fuck, with you over here moaning my name like that?" Your brows raised, you hadn't even realised you had been doing so. "I'm only human, babe."

"Kyle you don't have to-" He shuts you up with the taste of his lips and you feel his hand wrap around yours -specifically the hand with your vibrator in it.

"Don't need this anymore huh? Ready for the real thing?" His brow wiggled and you bit your lip. At his assurance, you couldn't help but feel the joy bloom in your chest. That earlier pain of rejection washed away.

A playful smile broke out on your face as Gaz continued to hover just millimetres above your head. "I dunno Gaz, I think I might continue with this." Your grip on the toy tightened and you smirked at him.

"Cheek."

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?" Gaz pulled back slightly and cocked a brow at your challenge. His strong arms wrapped around your waist and suddenly picked you up. Your hand dropped the toy in preference to stable yourself in his grasp. Gaz pulled back with you and got off the couch where your legs wrapped around his hips.

"Thought you were happy with your toy, seems like you just threw it to the side now eh?"

"Cause you picked me up you-" Your voice was cut off when Gaz's lips found your throat and messily kissed it, wetly kissing it as your head rolled back to give him better access.

"You said something?" He managed to muffle into your throat. A moan extracted from your lips was the only response he received and you could feel the way he smiled into your skin.

"You’re a bastard." The words left your mouth before he grabbed you and threw you onto the bed. You bounced a little and couldn't help the little laugh that escaped your mouth. Kyle had a rather predominant smile on his face before he kneeled down at the end of the bed.

Propped up on the bed with your elbows, you stare down at the man. He grabbed your ankles and grinned. A yank of your ankles had you surge forward where his hands kept your legs apart. Kyle's slender long fingers were stretched out over the inside of your thighs. Yet he didn't do much, he only rest his head on your right thigh where he took in the sight of you.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?" The devious smile on his face had softened and became one almost innocent. "Please don't take what I said earlier the wrong way." He clicked his tongue and glanced away for a second. "You're always super hot. I was just tired, you know? Felt like we never got a real break."

"Kyle…"

He pressed a small kiss on the inside of your thigh. "It's like a tiredness in my bones. I mean I got a second wind when I heard yah going at it-" He gave you a wink with his smirk. "-But it's still lingering there. Think it's gonna be good to have some time off."

"We don't have to if you're too tired darling. It's okay Kyle."

"Oh no, you're not getting out of this that easily." Gaz gave you little time to process his words before he turned his head slightly and bit down on the inside of your thigh. It wasn't very hard of a bite but the light pain on your soft tender flesh had you yelp regardless.

"You bitch!" You squeezed out and tore your legs from his grasp. Gaz's warm laughter filled the air as he climbed onto the bed after you.

"Oi get back here." He crawled up over the top of you and as his eyes made contact with yours, your movements slowed down until the pair of you were completely still. The smile on your face flattened and your lips parted slightly.

Gaz leaned in close to you, his skin brushed against your own. "Got you." At his whisper, his lips crashed against yours. Like a bear trap, you sprung and wrapped your arms around his neck. His hand found your waist and wrapped his arm around it while he ground down against you.

Kyle hummed against your lips, his moans muffled against you and he rolled the pair of you until he was on his back. He manoeuvred your body until he had your thighs split apart over his legs. Seated on his lap, the pair of you parted for a second so he could remove his shirt.

It was flung to the edge of the room and you pressed your hands against his chest. You leaned down and pressed your lips against his. Nose brushed against yours and your forehead rolled forward to rest against his. Kyle's lips were always so impossibly soft, somehow he could kiss so rough and messy but always feel so gentle.

An intoxicating taste that was so unique to him, his lips on yours was something that you could never get tired of. Every touch always felt like seconds no matter how long of a moment you shared.

You rolled your hips down on him and he tore his face away from you. Gaz elected a hiss as his head tilted up and his eyes squeezed shut harder. "Fuck you sure know how to rile me up huh?" His voice was breathy and you felt his hand on you tighten.

His free hand tapped twice on the outside side of your thigh and you knew exactly what he was asking. You pushed up in your shins and disconnected your upper body from his. Kyle's eyes shamelessly explored your chest while he snapped out his belt from his pants and undid his pants. A groan of relief left his lips when he finally allowed his rock-hard cock freedom from its imprisonment.

A smug smile that suited his face well graced your sight while he tapped the end of his dick against your cunt. "I would ask if you're ready for me but look at you, your dripping."

With a roll of your eyes, you couldn't help the smile that curled your lips at his teasing tone. You steadied yourself with your hands still on his chest and he aligned himself at your entrance. Gaz opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, you lowered your body and slid down around his cock.

"Fuck." He drew the word out and his hand flew to the side of your hip where he gripped tightly. "God, it's been too long."

"Uh-huh." You tried to make your voice light and humorous like his teasing but the strain in your voice just had it come out as a needy moan.

You went to move rather quickly but his hand gripped you tight. "Need a second?" You blinked down and he let out a breath.

"Feel like I'm a teen again getting my first hard-on, damn."

“Oh yeah? What was teen Kyle like huh?”

“Surprisingly naive.” He gave you a weak smile. “I don’t think I really started understanding how the world worked until I was, what like twenty-four?” His eyes trailed off. The back of your fingers brushed against his face and his attention was drawn from whatever troubled matter his mind set to.

“I bet teen you was a cute one.” With that sentence alone he let out a laugh and his hand let go of your waist. “Oh sure I was but something tells me that you prefer the way that I am today. You opened your mouth to speak but he made a small thrust up into you to emphasise his statement. It had you let out a groan and you took matters into your own hands. Settled in place you started to roll your hips on his cock, pleasure shared between the pair of you.

Gaz always somehow managed to fit you so well. He took up every inch inside of you. A deep sensation that you swore you could feel in your chest. That cock, too thick and long managed to push against that perfect sweet spot inside of you because how could it not? No space untouched, he filled you to your very core. With every bounce, the tip caressed your cervix. Not in any way painful but a deep pleasure that had you whimpering out his name.

The pace wasn't fast but wasn't incredibly slow either. Every touch was as intense as the last and had you practically trembling on his cock. "Made for me weren't you? That's it, baby." With both of his hands on the outside side of your thighs where he rubbed your skin up and down, coaxing you to continue riding him.

"Not gonna lie though, not sure how long I can last tonight." He admitted.

"Too much?"

"Been too long." He groaned and swallowed. "You’re insane if you think that we are only going one round though."

"Oh?"

"You wanted my dick, baby, now your gonna get it. Fuck." His hands gripped on purchase and he started to thrust himself up into you. Taking charge, you stilled your actions and allowed him to fuck up into you. He didn't push it in as deeply as you had under your control, that extra inch and a half being too much for you to take at such a hard and punishing pace.

He throbbed inside of you, pulsated inside of you. "God I really should slow down but, fuck, you feel so good." A determined look crossed his face but mixed with desperation. So close but so unsure if he should go over that edge.

"Cum for me Kyle." That purr of your voice had him groan out and lift you from his cock. Seconds later his wet dick smacked against your cunt and his seed burst.

It roped out over your stomach and chest. It wasn't just a little either. He painted your body white as his voice deepened in moans. Gaz never was the quiet type. Slowly, you wrapped your hand around his cock and gently pumped it, encouraging it to continue. Kyle cursed out your name and thrust into your hand a little, a mix of his cum and your slick coating the inside of your hand.

His dick stopped jerking and his body relaxed onto your shared bed. "Damn." He breathed out a laugh and ran his hand through his hair. "That's a lot huh?"

"You think?" You smiled back at him and brushed your thumb over the top of his member. He let out a shiver that ran across his entire body.

"Ah- too much give me a minute." His hand flinched towards your wrist and you let go of him. Kyle's eyes flickered down your painted body, fondness adorned his eyes and he couldn't help but grin at you. He was almost proud of himself in a way. He enjoyed the sight of you, that much was obvious but he enjoyed the sight of you so deliciously covered in his seed.

One of his hands reached up, his pointer finger extended out. With the flick of that finger, he smeared his cum over your nipple. A devilish look formed on your face and you grabbed the hand. You brought it up to your mouth where you sucked his finger clean.

Gaz's jaw parted and he let out a groan while his cock twitched with interest. "You're gonna be the death of me."

#gaz x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #kyle garrick #alas the new text editor is forced on me so copying/pasting is a pain #means I have to use the html version from ao3 instead of just the raw text so formating is sllliiiggghhhhtly scuffed

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once-upon-helluvaboss · 2 months

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Rewrite of the end of 'The Harvest Moon Festival'

Stella sat in an office, presumably her’s, breathing heavily, her glowing pink eyes staring down at her electronic phone. She stared at Stolas’s name typed in the search bar; she repeatedly refreshed the page before scrolling and then refreshing again.

She scrolled to bottom the page ready to refresh it again before she saw it, an article from the wrath ring. Her eyes widened with excitement seeing Stolas’s name, until she read the rest of it. ‘Goetia Prince Stolas professes love for imp dick?!?!’ in big bold letters. She clicked the headline quickly, skimming through the article, the website was terribly made, so many misspellings she assumed whatever imp had pulled it together favourite colour was red.

“I expect nothing more from those imps…” Stella hissed gripping the phone tighter, however considering it was an imp she doubted anyone would believe a word they said. “If they could even read it!” She cackled, ready to disregard the article I mean who would even take it seriously? Even with Stolas’s recent behaviour she doubted he would do something that outlandish. He was a cheater not an idiot, right?

She chuckled ready to exit out of the page until she saw a video attached, her eyes widened in horror as she clicked it. The video was clearly recorded on a shotty camera but it was still easy to tell it was Stolas, her breathing became unsteady as he listened to her husband talk about some imps dick. And more importantly he wasn't dead.

She replayed the video over and over as she felt herself becoming overtaken with rage, the tips of her fingers covered in a pink flame as she scratched at her desk. She slammed the phone down, surely breaking the screen as an imp Butler peeked his head in the door.

“I’m sorry but, didn't your mother teach you how to knock!?” She seethed, snapping her head toward the imp.

The imp gave a comically loud gulp, as he entered the room walking over to Stella her rotary phone on a platter in his hand, “Apologies miss,” the imp started readjusting his collar averting his eyes from Stella’s rage filled gaze. “But it's an urgent call for you, so I came as soon as I heard it-” The phone rang before he could finish.

Stella’s eyes softened a bit at his explanation, silently beckoning him over, the imp did just that walking until he was right next to her.

Stella grabbed the phone bringing it to her ear, the disgruntled voice of Striker the assassin she had hired came on, “Listen ma’am there's been a complication…” Striker started,

“You failed.” Stella said in a tone a lot calmer than Striker expected.

“I-i know ma’am I-”

“I had to pay you extra because of your ‘spouse fee' and this is the service I get?!” Stella screeched over the phone.

Striker pulled the phone away from his ear as he yelled, “I know I know, I’ll discount you on tha’ final payment. But don't worry ma'am… it won’t happen again.” Striker assured

Stella drummed her fingers on the already charred table, “It better not! I want that cheating prick dead!” Stella growled, her hand engulfed in flames again. “I don’t care who or what you have to go through, MAKE IT HAPPEN!” Stella yelled, practically incinerating a large chunk of her desk, as Striker pulled the phone away from his ear once again.

“Am I clear?” Stella said her voice shaking with rage as she smashed her fist into the table, falling back into her chair.

“Very,” Striker responds, Stella huffs in satisfaction, as she drops the phone onto the receiver.

“I’ll get next him time” Striker grins as he sits on the bed in the crappy motel he is stationed at. He chuckles, shutting off the light in the room hissing to himself as he plots his next move.

The imp next to Stella gulped again as she seethed , “Um also, miss dinner is ready and your hus-” He faked a cough as Stella’s eyes shifted towards him, “Your daughter requested you join them,” The imp butler said softly.

Stella grumbled to herself ready to decline Octavia’s request not wanting to see Stolas that evening, “She was also hoping to show you an outfit she had gotten after word!” The butler added

Stella sighed, “I suppose I have nothing better to do…" She replied, rising from her seat, the butler gave a small smile setting down the rotary phone into Stella’s desk. He rushed to the door holding it open while he held the platter under his arm, as Stella silently excited without uttering another word.

_______________________________________________

And another one finished! Again this is a short one, while I guess I didn't mind the original episode I had issues.

For one I feel like revealing that Stolas was just sitting there while she was saying all this and not reacting took away from the fear factor. Any real fear for Stolas's safety was taken away from the audience which makes it difficult to take both Stella and Striker seriously. So here I changed that, meaning at this point in the story while Stolas has his suspicions, he doesn't know for sure it was Stella who called the hit.

I also added the thing with Octavia because these two have had zero interaction in the show, so I wanted to characterize their relationship a bit more.

Also yes, I will eventually get around to fixing the formatting on the circus rewrite, I actually did a few days ago but it didn't save :').

#anti stolas #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss rewrite #helluva boss critique

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saingirl101 · 1 year

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NeverAfter Ep 20 As Brian David Gilbert Gifs (FINALE SPOILERS!!!!)

i'm not ready for the series to be over Mr. Mulligan. God i cant believe how far i fell into this series so fast. I missed out on the previous D20 adventures because I just got hook only last November or Dec. I truly love every one of the PCs and many of these NPCs and i am terrified for their fates.

Should note physically I am unwell i somehow pinched a nerve so I am in great pain but trying to manage so apologies if I am late to posting this or miss something.

In any case without further ado enjoy my dramatic liveblog and as always:

Gerard getting Scheherazade up with a good berry:

Timothy starting concentration and hearing the arthurs in the ink and repelling their intent to turn them into paper:

TIMOTHY USING CUTTING WORDS TO HELP BABA YAGA KEEP CINDERELLA RESTRAINED:

Ylfa risking jumping up onto Baba Yaga, making it, and TAKING SHEHERZADE'S BOOK BACK, AND THROWS IT BACK TO SHEHERAZADE:

Rosamund summoning a bird to be PIBs mount:

Rosamund criting on the blue fairy and going into a new special form:

Pinocchio using strands of fate to give all the bookholders total cover:

THE INK BECOMING MASTER HAND FROM SUPER SMASH BROS:

PIB using the bird to send a firework at the fairies and pib attacking the green fairy:

brennan losing his godamn mind with that move by Zac:

Tom Thumb giving Mira a goodberry:

Pinocchio managing to convince the fairy with the turquoise hair to join destiny's children and then fucking diving into the ocean of pages:

GERARD BLEPPING OUT HIS TONGUE TO PUT THE FAIRY GODMOTHER IN ROSAMUND'S BOOK CONTINUING HIS REVENGE TOUR + the evil fairy i guess:

THE STEPMOTHER COMING IN WITH THE STEEL CHAIR AND BEING A PAPER MONSTROSITY:

BEAKY GOING DOWN ON A NAT 1 CON SAVE AND RIPPING THE HAND A NEW ONE:

Lou and Emily desperately trying to convince the orange top hat fairy and having to cobble together the stupidest pc creep to get her to leave the fight and she moonwalks straight into the sea of pages AND NOW YLFA HAS AN ORANGE HAT:

ROSAMUND CRITTING ON THE STEPMOTHER AND HAVING HER BURN A LEGENDARY RESISTANCE TO NOT IMMEDIATELY DIE:

THE STEPMOTHER BANISHING THE BABA YAGA:

PINOCCHIO GIVING THE STEPMOTHER MEGA DISAVANTAGE AFTER CALLING HER NAME "MINERVA":

ZAC CALLING HIS CRIT AGAINST THE HAND AND INSTA KILLING IT AS IT ROLLS A 7, FAILLING TO SAVE:

GERARD AND MIRA DYING and so many of the characters going down:

ZAC ROLLING AN 18 TO ALLOW THE SPELL TO TAKE EFFECT:

PIB STEALING BACK THE THINGS THE BABA YAGA TOOK:

EVERYONE'S FINAL MOMENTS OF THE LINES BETWEEN MAKING ME BAWL WITH THE BITTERSWEET SACRIFICES (ESPECIALLY GERELODY):

Everyone getting to write their stories down in the village of happily and find their own peace in their stories:

Brennan lee Mulligan as he sends us off to the next D20 campaign as the journeys of our cast continues:

SEE YOU IN THE STARS LOVELY NEVERAFTER FANS. AND LIVE HAPPILY YOURSELVES.

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noodyl-blasstal · 5 months

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Sick Trick Fic

It's @taznovembercelebration day 19 and today's card pull for the prompt was "sick"

TW for blood, injury, and allusion to death, but injuries are minor and everyone's okay.

Read below or on Ao3. Missed yesterday? Catch up here.

Kravitz hates Sloane more than he’s ever hated Sloane before.

He hates her more than the time she dared him to lick the snail, more than the water balloon sneak attack, even more than the time she convinced him to jump off the roof onto the trampoline - that last one was probably going to hurt less than this.

“Krav! Stop!” Sloane yells.

As if that’s a thing he can just do, as if he hasn’t thought of that excellent and really difficult to conceive of plan already. He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s fairly sure it’s just yelling coming out. He’s going so fast and he doesn’t know if words can mean anything at this speed.

“Kravitz! The rail!” Sloane sounds about as panicked as Kravitz feels. Which is many. Much of panic. A wealth of panic! Here’s the field where he harvests his panic crops and they’re positively overflowing.

At least ‘skateboard accident’ means he’ll sound cool when people ask how he died. Better than ‘died alone and not brave enough to ask out the guy he was probably in love with.’ In fact, maybe Taako’ll be impressed by it! Not that it’ll do Kravitz much good once he’s been violently thrown from this mortal coil, but it’s nice to think that Taako might briefly consider what could have been. Shit. Maybe he can try to throw himself clear?

Kravitz’s body finally comes back online and starts responding to his brain’s panicky instructions to do literally anything to try and stop this happening. Terrible timing as he’s about to smash into the fucking railing, but better than nothing. It’s too late to try and turn, he’s going to have to try and jump. Kravitz forces his back leg down to try and get some leverage, it’s going to hurt, but he’s had road rash before, he’ll get over it, maybe he’ll even get a day off work?

For a glorious second he’s convinced he managed to jump free, he’s in the air, he’s not smashing into the railing! He’s not being smashed in the balls by unforgiving steel! What he wasn’t expecting though, was that the board might come with him, or his inability to move as far sideways as he planned... Fine. So maybe he just delayed the inevitable and he’s just going to smash into the railing from a fun new angle instead because he’s plummeting down down down towards it and there’s nothing else he can do.

The board catches the railing sideways and jolts his back heel, this is definitely going to fuck up his plantar fascitis, if he survives his physio’s going to be disappointed and shake their head solemnly and ask if he really thought that skateboarding was <i>helpful to his recovery?</i>. But even bitter disappointment and a bad grade in being a patient from a healthcare provider is preferable to death. Probably.

Someone’s yelling behind him, but he’s too busy trying not to fall to process the shape their words are making.

When Sloane decided that skateboarding was going to become her entire life (because she was gay for Hurley) he did some reading. He got her a helmet and knee pads and read some WikiHow pages, he just needs to remember literally anything from them.

“Balance!” Screams what’s almost definitely Sloane.

Yeah, that’s fair. That’s a thing he can try to do.

He fights the urge to windmill his arms desperately, and instead focuses on leaning in a way which doesn’t feel terrible, and he’s doing it? He’s doing it! He’s sliding down the rail and he isn’t dead and he might even look cool maybe? Hopefully Sloane gets a picture so he can show Taako… or she can show Taako? That was a normal and natural thing to come up in conversation.

The high was good, great even, but he didn’t consider that he couldn’t just hang out here. What grinds up must grind down? Fuck, no, that sounds like a double entendre he doesn’t have time to laugh at. There’s open sky ahead of him and a whole lot of ground waiting to meet him and beat him up in exchange for the looking cool hubris . He doesn’t remember anything that the WikiHow said about this bit and the ground’s approach rudely isn’t slowing down to give him a moment to think about how to not die. Maybe if he just jumps again? Double jump? It works on Mario kind of probably?

The ground doesn’t agree.

“Hurg.” Says Kravitz. He opens his eyes tentatively, one at a time, just to be safe, just to make sure they hadn’t been jangled right out of their bone houses.

There’s a familiar pair of beaten up trainers in front of him. Maybe he <i>was</i> dead.

“Akko?”

“Sick grind, hot stuff. Taako didn’t know you could skate.” Kravitz didn’t either, but he can take praise from Taako any day of the week. Twice on Tuesdays. It wasn’t Tuesday he didn’t think, unless it was?

Maybe if he just leans up on his arm he can look alluring and Taako will want to lie down on top of him.

“Ow.” He says, and collapses back down onto his side.

Or maybe he could lie very still and not think too loudly because even that made his brain feel spiky.

“You’re really pretty.” He says instead. Because when you’re dead you can say whatever you want.

“Uh huh.” Taako says.

“Your hair’s really nice and you’re clever and funny and you smell good and you’re so handsome.” His teeth are going to fall out of his face because he can feel every single one of them and that’s probably bad, but Taako deserves to know how good he is.

“Are you okay, Krav?” Taako’s much closer than he was before. It’s wonderful, Kravitz can see his freckles and his tooth gap and maybe he can count all the freckles there’s at least seven… nine… eight… maybe he should start over. One… one… five…

“Did you hit your head?” Taako’s voice is higher than usual. Kravitz doesn’t mind.

“Krav, answer me. Are you okay?” Taako’s face is right next to his, if Kravitz just leans forward slightly…

“KRAV!” Sloane yells just as his lips connect with Taako’s.

Taako’s face gets further away and is replaced by Sloane’s.

“Are you dead too?”

“Kravitz?

“Did you die?”

Sloane just looks down at him, brow crinkled.

Okay, so she wasn’t going to answer him. Fine. He looks around for Taako, maybe they can kiss more instead?

“I’ll call an ambulance.” Says someone in the distance.

Kravitz hopes whoever it’s for is okay.

–

“Well well well, look who the cat dragged back to consciousness.” Says Sloane, as if she doesn’t know he’s been pretending to be asleep since the doctors left and said she was on her way to visit him.

“It was a dream, right?”

“Nope.” Sloane sounds positively delighted.

“I didn’t?”

“You did.” She nods. “Right on the mouth.”

“Did he…?”

“I mean, you were bleeding quite heavily at the time.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, probably not quite how you were planning to seduce him?”

“No.” Says Kravitz stiffly.

“But he did give me his number to pass on.”

“What?” Kravitz tries to sit up again and swiftly flops back down when it feels like everything is tipping slowly sideways.

“He said it was pretty metal.”

“I’m pretty metal?”

“You sure are, bud.” Sloane pets him reassuringly on the arm. “You sure are.”

I hope you enjoyed! Want to see more? Find the next prompt here.

#TAZNC #taz november celebration #Taakitz #TW blood #TW injury #Noodyl Writes

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middleearthpixie · 2 years

Text

After the Fire ~ Chapter Twenty-One

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a grievously wounded Thorin is brought back to the kingdom of Erebor, which is still mostly in ruins. Although he’s survived the wounds he received at the end of Azog’s blade, his recovery is far from complete. Grief, regret, anger, all are making his journey that much more difficult and the physical recovery isn’t quite the most difficult challenge he faces.

Jasna Stoneham is no stranger to loss, as she is a survivor of Smaug’s wrath upon Esgaroth. When she is asked to help the dwarves healers of Erebor, her instinct is to say no, but she needs the job, and so agrees to it. However, no one told her that of all the patients, she would be responsible for the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield.

Unfortunately, the road to recovery isn’t necessary a smooth one, but if there’s one thing Thorin will learn, it’s that Jasna is just as stubborn as he is and for every step back he takes, she is there to push him three steps forward. And Jasna will soon find out that there is a gentle, softer side to the dwarf king, one that very few people have ever seen and one he fights to keep hidden from her as well. But like his recovery, that is also easier said than done.

Jasna comes to a decision regarding her training and remaining in Erebor

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Óin, Fíli, Narnerra

Warnings: none

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,693

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @quiall321 @@dianakc

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Try as she might, Jasna could not concentrate on anything. She stared down at the pages before her, but all she could see was Thorin and Miss Whitbow, looking so perfectly perfect together. And each time the image sprang to her mind, Narnerra’s words accompanied it.

“She’s from Ered Luin, Jasna. She’s Thorin’s intended.”

Thorin’s intended. The woman he’d marry. The woman with whom he’d have children. And it would be as if his night with Jasna never happened.

She winced and her breath hitched. That hurt. Oh, that hurt more than anything had ever hurt her before, even more than the time she’d fallen down the stairs in their ramshackle house in Esgaroth and had broken her fibula. And the jagged edges of her shattered heart were still slicing into her. No matter how she sat, how she breathed, how she thought, those shards sliced away at her until all she wanted to do was sit and cry until not a drop of water remained in her body.

What a fool she’d been to let herself fall under his spell. She knew better than to be swayed by beautiful eyes and a handsome face. Knew better than to be wooed by teasingly tender words and soulful kisses.

She knew better, period.

Now he’d marry another. And she wouldn’t be able to marry at all. Not now.

It was just as well, really. This way she could focus on her studies. That was the important thing. That was all that mattered. Everything else was merely a distraction and one she did not need.

At least, that was what she told herself.

When she finished studying, she rose from the desk and moved to the door to open it just enough to see out onto the floor. If Thorin was there to see his nephews, or to meet with Óin about something, she’d remain where she was. She simply wasn't strong enough to see him now. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps in time, when she’d forgotten all about caring for him, she’d be able to, but not now.

That was a lie. She’d never forget him or caring about him. Nor would she forget how much caring about him hurt. How it shattered her heart and smashed her dreams and rendered her a total and complete fool.

But thankfully, he was nowhere to be found. Probably off with his perfect Miss Whitbow. Probably strolling out in the snow, in the moonlight (she had no idea if the moon was even out, but it seemed to her it would be in this scenario) and he’d turn to her and then smile. His eyes would glitter in that silvery moonlight. He’d bend toward her. Their lips would meet.

She winced and swallowed hard as she opened the door all the way and stepped out onto the floor.

Kíli’s bed was now empty as well, leaving Fíli the lone patient in the infirmary. She crossed over to find him awake and just gazing up at the ceiling. “Am I interrupting?”

He started, then winced and guilt flashed through her. “I’m so s-s-s-sorry I st-st-startled you.”

“Oh, no… it’s all right,” he told her with a hint of a smile. “As mad as it sounds, I don’t mind the pain all the time.”

“I know. It lets you know you st-still live.”

He nodded. “I don’t mind it, but I’d be lying if I said it didn't grow old after a while.”

She drew over the chair. “Do you need something for p-p-pain?”

“No, not yet, thank you.” He smiled up at her. “It is so very quiet in here.”

“You are the last man standing, Mr. Durin.”

“I’m not so certain I like that. When will I be allowed to leave?”

“Not for a while yet, I’m af-afraid.”

A low sigh bubbled to his lips. “How unfair.”

“I know, it seems that way now, but you were so v-v-very lucky, you know.”

“I know I’m supposed to believe that, Miss Stoneham, but right now, I’m not so certain I do at all.”

She reached over to cover his hand with hers. “It’s perfectly normal, you know, feeling that way. Your frustration, your impatience, they are all perfectly normal as well. It’s difficult, when your mind wants something so badly and your body just won’t quite respond yet.”

To her surprise, his thumb came up to graze her hand. “This is the only part of the day I’m not angry or down over. In fact, this might be my favorite part of any day, when you come to check on me."

As he spoke, his thumb moved slowly along her hand. A shiver ran up her spine, but it wasn't like the ones Thorin sent through her. This was far more uncomfortable, far more unsettling. And worse still, she didn't know how to respond.

“Your Highness,” she began, gently easing her hand from his, “this… I could g-g-get into trouble if Óin sh-sh-sh-should see me.”

“I’d hate to see that happen,” he told her, “but, I have to be honest with you, Miss Stoneham… perhaps when I’m out of here, we might—er—that is, perhaps you and I could see if there isn’t something here—”

She bit back a sigh. How she wished she could just tell Fíli that of course they could possibly see if something was there between them. He was sweet and kind and handsome and everything a woman could want in a man.

Except that for her, not only was it impossible because of her having slept with Thorin, but it was also impossible because Fíli was not Thorin. Thorin had her heart, and she had the feeling it wouldn’t be coming back to her any time soon. In fact, she had the feeling it would never come back to her.

“Your Highness, I—”

“Please, as my uncle has said, it’s quite all right if you use my given name, Miss Stoneham. I don’t mind.”

She smiled, folding her hands to let them come to rest in her lap. “I wish I c-c-could say yes, but the tr-tr-truth is—”

“There’s someone else, isn’t there.”

It wasn't a question and as he said it, he looked over toward the bed that had held his uncle. Her cheeks grew warm, but she nodded. “There is, I’m afraid.”

“I hope he’s good to you. You deserve that, Miss Stoneham.”

“Thank you.” She rose from the chair. “Is there anything—”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll just rest for a bit.” He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh as if instantly falling to sleep.

She turned away from him with another sigh. When she’d first come to Erebor, she’d feared everyone taking an instant dislike to her, that they would act toward her the way Ormir did. She never once contemplated falling in love with one Durin, and having another one confess feelings for her. Things had gotten far too complicated for her liking. Not to mention, things like this simply never happened to her. They happened to other women, but never her.

Her heart grew heavy as she crossed back to her room and paused in the doorway to peer back out over the quiet infirmary floor. Óin no longer needed her. She could return to Dale and finish her education under Mr. Templeton, as she’d originally planned to do. He’d been her teacher in Esgaroth and offered to continue to train her in exchange for her service and so while she’d not earn any pay for her toiling, she would walk away having finished the education she wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford to obtain.

With that, she turned and made her way to Óin’s office, where he and Narnerra sat at his desk, heads bent in discussion. “Excuse me?”

They both jumped and looked up at the same time. Narnerra’s forehead creased as she said, “Is something wrong, Jasna? You look troubled.”

“I…” She drew in a deep breath, trying to will her stammer into submission. “I think it would be b-best if I took my leave. His Highness is the only one l-left and y-y-you no longer need me underfoot.”

“What?” Óin sat upright. “Ye wish to leave?”

She nodded slowly. “I think it would be best if I d-d-did. I’m only in the way.”

Narnerra shook her head. “You aren’t, either, Jasna. We would be more than willing to keep you on, to continue your training.”

“I thank you, b-b-but, I should g-g-go. My mother is in Dale alone and I can resume my training there.”

“With Templeton?” Óin grimaced. “Yer better off here than with that curmudgeon.”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes stinging and her chest growing tight, “but it’s b-best if I just take my leave.”

“Well, I canna keep ye here again yer will,” Óin said as he rose from his chair. “But, know this, Jasna, yer one o’ the finest students I’ve ever worked with and yer always welcome here if ye change yer mind.”

“I hate to see you leave,” Narnerra said, her expression softening as she met Jasna’s eyes. “But I absolutely understand.”

Jasna’s spine stiffened as she realized Narnerra did understand. She knew, even if Jasna never spoke a word of her budding feelings for Thorin, or the night she’d spent with him. Somehow, Narnerra knew exactly why Jasna wanted to leave. And Jasna wasn’t sure if that made matters better or worse.

“I thank you both so very m-much. I’ve learned more these past weeks than I had in all the time I spent studying in Esgaroth and Dale.”

Narnerra rose. “I’ll see you out.”

Óin came around and to her surprise, embraced her warmly. “I’ve enjoyed being yer teacher, Miss Stoneham. You’ll make a fine healer when yer training is done and again, my door is always open.”

“Thank you. Y-you’ve no idea wh-wh-what that m-m-me—how much I appreciate that.” She blinked back tears as he stepped away from her. “How much I appreciate what y-y-y-you’ve b-b-b-both done for me. And I can n-n-n-never repay you for it.”

“Ye’ve no need to.”

Narnerra slid an arm about her shoulders and steered her back toward her chambers. As she watched Jasna pack up the few things she’d brought, she said, “I wish things could be different for you.”

“As do I,” Jasna said softly, slipping the satchel’s strap over her head. “I’ve enjoyed being here, despite the horrors that brought me here. And I w-w-w-will miss you both so much. What I’ve l-l-l-learned from you one these last w-w-weeks is f-f-far more than I learned under Mr. Templeton the entire t-t-t-time I’d b-b-been with him.”

“Give him time. He may come around, you know.”

Jasna’s belly kinked, even as she shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t kn-kn-know what you m-m-mean.”

Narnerra didn't elaborate, but embraced her warmly and said, “I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Stoneham. I truly do.”

And with that, she took her leave. A short while later, Jasna did the same, thankfully avoiding everyone she might have otherwise wished to bid a farewell to, her head ducked and tears stinging her eyes as she left Erebor for the last time.

Dusk was just creeping in across the plains, the winds kicking up to send her cloak swirling about her and to set her shivering, which served to help her quicken her pace. Lights were just coming on along the houses and businesses in Dale and she was never so happy and so unhappy to see the faded red door of her family’s flat.

“Jasna?” Mama hurried out of the kitchen at the first sound of the front door opening. “Is everything all right?”

“No, Mama,” Jasna managed to grit out as she collapsed into her mother’s arms and burst into tears.

“Jasna? Come, have a cup of tea.”

“I don’t w-want any tea, Mama.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

The door opened softly and Jasna squinted at the light blazing in from the sitting room. Her own room had been dark and quiet, while her thoughts were dark and thunderous. Mama came into the room bearing a teak tray bearing the small silver tea service that had been handed down through her side of the family for generations. It was one of the few possession they’d been able to save when Smaug roared through Esgaroth.

She set the tray on the desk in the corner. “What happened, love? Why are you home?”

“I’ve no wish to speak of it.” Jasna put her head back down. Her throat was too tight to speak. Her heart ached to much to confess. She just wanted it to all go away. She wanted to forget Thorin Durin had ever existed.

She wanted to forget what it felt like to love him, because loving him just hurt so badly now.

The bed dipped and Jasna’s eyes stung as Mama stroked her hair lightly. “I wish you’d talk to me, love. You were so happy and now you aren’t.”

“I don’t belong there,” she managed to mutter, her voice muffled by the pillow, “and it’s for the best that I come back here. I’ve learned so much, I can work with Mr. Templeton, if he’ll have me again.”

“Jasna…” Mama’s hand went still for a moment and Jasna stiffened, waiting for her to ask again what happened. But to her relief, all she said was, “Very well. I am certain Mr. Bard will put in a good word if need be.”

“I think he will. But I’ll use th-that as a last resort.”

“I do wish you’d tell me, love. You look very sad.”

“I’ll be fine, Mama.”

“I will not pry, but if you need to talk about it—”

Jasna sat up and wrapped her arms about Mama’s neck. “I know, and I will.”

“I hope he is worth it.”

“He? He who?”

“The one behind your sadness.” Mama pulled back, cupping Jasna’s chin in her hand. “For I’ve no doubt a man is behind it, and I do hope he is worth it.”

“Actually, he wasn’t. I learned a painful lesson and will move on and that is all I will say about that.”

“You will find the one who is in time.” Mama smiled. “And he will remind you every day how lucky he is. He will never let you forget how special you are.”

Jasna managed a smile as she nodded. “I know. And I won’t let him forget, either.”

“That’s my girl.” Mama kissed her forehead, then pulled back to stand. “And I’ll let you get back to your studying.”

“Thank you.”

Mama smiled, and as she left, closed the door behind her, leaving Jasna to her thoughts, which kept her from looking at anything on the parchment before her.

She couldn’t believe how her heart hurt. She hadn’t known it even possible to hurt this way before. She’d known loss, but this was different because Thorin still walked amongst the living. Someday, he would venture into Dale, and she would see him, most likely with his beautiful wife Shael with him. Perhaps he’d have a child or two as well. And she would see him, and she would remember that all-too-brief moment in time, when he was hers and she knew true happiness.

Her eyes blurred with unshed tears that she blinked back before they could fall and make the ink on the parchment run. She didn't want to think about him any longer. The pain was just too great to bear. She wished more than anything that Bard had never come to her to suggest she finish her training in Erebor. She’d be so much happier if that had never happened at all.

#Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Everybody Lives AU #The Hobbit BOTFA

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doskorogorpg · 7 months

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ACT ONE: THE PRISON

chapter one: the captain

“ Волка ноги кормят. ”

“ The wolf is fed by the legs. ”

MIKHAIL’S INSIGHT REPORT: A shadow who ripples like sails in the wind. The fist that does not smash skulls, but clenches it behind their back and bites their tongue where a snake would strike. The Captain. Infamous, yet mysterious. An unknown figure that is only known well by their crew who keep their mouths shut aside from minor details – dark brown, almost black locks, bronzed skin, a crooked nose that looks like it has taken a punch, and a voice that always carries a bite despite its foreigner sound. There isn’t much left to go by. We’ve only been able to glean a slight pattern in their ship routes, and all signs seem to point to the source material from Svetlana being correct that they would make an appearance around this time in The King’s Hoard. Going to send the entire crew to cover all possible sightings. Can’t miss this opportunity. They could be the key to [report ends here].

War never begins how you imagine it. It doesn’t start with the glint of steel; the screech of swords colliding and the splattering of crimson on ice. It starts with a whisper, and with reality biting them all as a piffling spy of Svetlana’s network whispers salient information. Minute intel that wouldn’t raise concern to most, but does to her. It isn’t every day a wolf is fed an opportunity, after all, and here she is presented a feast arriving shortly from the sea. So, she is quick to dismiss the spy with an impertinent wave but slow to give breath to this newfound knowledge. She isn’t one to leap at the first sound of a gunshot. She takes it all in measured strides. She tasks a myriad of spies with affirming this new tidbit of information and finding out more instead. Because if this meant they would be averting their gaze from the south, she needed more – a location, timeframe, documentation, details, and, more importantly, a name.

It isn’t until the fourth day that she hears anything, and by the fifth day, she finds herself heaping several documents into her arms and heading towards The Shattered Cup, towards Mikhail, to dump the contents of her arms onto his desk where she knew he would be at still. He was, and he is not even mildly taken aback by the sudden clutter on his desk. He instead riffles through the mess with a puzzled look not entirely sure what he is looking at. It just looks like a convoluted mess of ship schematics, trade routes, lodgers, cargo lists, and scribbles of her thoughts everywhere. Scribbles that become less of a puzzle, and more of repeating words and phrases.

The Captain. The King’s Hoard. Stowaways.

Not all their treasure is gold…

The scribbles are enough to begin piecing it together; to see what she sees. To understand her days of work in mere seconds, and flipping through pages with more diligence, and more attention to detail, before placing the documents down except for the cargo lists and lodgers. One list detailing the shipment of vegetables from the King’s Hoard to Tahelka as well as a name being added to the lodger in the midst of travel – a Kingsley. The name isn’t familiar to him, nor to Svetlana when he asks, but it does give him momentary pause as to why its sudden appearance and oddity when the ship normally harbors only its crew. He doesn’t linger on it long, however, when he comes across the final report. A letter written by the captain addressed to a merchant by the name of Ruslan Lyktin.

‘ When the rising tide settles. On the fifth night. I will be on the horizon. I have something aboard that might pique your interest. ’

“When did you receive this.” He asks, his response almost immediate upon reading the brief letter. He doesn’t bother to ask if it was coded. The letter was stated plainly enough to know it wasn’t. “This morning,” she says, her response just as fast before she circles the desk and comes to rest at his right, pulling out a sheet of the ship's most recent cargo list. He doesn’t hesitate, taking the sheet and quickly reading through it. Another long list of food, vegetables, and plants from the South. Again. With hardly mentions of anything notably gold or meant for those with elevated taste. His thoughts race – a million different thoughts circumnavigating: what could be aboard that would pique the interest of a Lyktin, and why now? There aren’t moments to spare now for his reflection. Instead, he stacks the sheets, carefully, almost organized, before glancing back towards her, “we need to go.”

There wasn’t time to spare for second thoughts nor hesitations. The letter dictated their timeline, and it was a very narrow window. So, he slips the sheets of paper into an envelope with care, before rising to meet her gaze, almost toe to toe with the briefest of touches to her shoulder. “How quick can you gather everyone?”

The answer to his question: an hour, unsurprisingly. Some being easier to locate than others. But, when they are all accounted for, he does not spare a second for pleasantries. He is cursory, focused, and remarkably snippy towards any interruptions where before he might have considered their opinions with high regard. But not now. This morning is the time for them to listen, without snark, and reserve concerns for a later moment; perhaps in the days to come when they are traveling.

“ We’re leaving for King’s Hoard. Now. Pack light, and efficiently, with the intent of reconnaissance that leads to capturing a target – a captain. Based on a letter received this morning by Svetlana, they will be arriving in three days with something aboard for a Lyktin. As well as possible other information to be gained.” He doesn’t divulge. He keeps further knowledge close to his chest, to Svetlana’s, as it might be nothing. Or it might be something major. An indeterminable factor, for now, until they know more. “We don’t have too many specifics to track this person down, so it won’t be an easy feat. But if we are to have a chance, we have to go now. So, stop lingering and go gather what you can. There will be carriages ready within the hour.” And when there isn’t immediate movement, he motions towards the door with louder emphasis. “Go, now.”

When they do start to file out, however, he is quick to turn to another figure. “Varyis, stay back,” he says, gesturing for them to come closer and holding his tongue for the second the door clicks shut leaving him with only them and Svetlana. “You're leaving now. With Svetlana. A pack travels slower and I need both your eyes and ears there as soon as possible. Nobody can sniff out a very cold trail better.” He looks to Svetlana then, a tense nod, before continuing. “Your carriage is ready. Get there tonight. Svetlana will fill you in on the way on what to look for, and I want to know everything as soon as the rest of us arrive. Got it?” When he receives Varyis' nod in return, he lets them go without another word. He returns to his desk, waiting until the door clicks shut once more before retrieving a key from his pocket to unlock an unnoticeable compartment in his desk.

One day passes, and another bleeds well into the afternoon before they draw near. There wasn’t much discussion from the Volki on the way here aside from a brief discussion on how they would arrive. One that had a simple answer: they would divide. The carriages were to be left in the woods when they were two hours away from arriving at Svel, and they would then split into groups of two to make their way towards the city. A tactic they often used to be more inconspicuous in their arrival to a new city. And while it wouldn’t be an easy journey by any means, they all knew they would be capable of making it to their rendezvous point – an inn located nearest to the markets; the king’s hoard. They would all arrive at different intervals until they all convened, Varyis and Svetlana included, to discuss their next plan of action.

There isn’t time spared for goodbyes either. When they abandon the carriages, they all simply disappear like ghosts carried by the bitter wind.

“There are three possible meet-up points,” Varyis informs them, their voice hushed in the corner booth of the inn bathed in more shadows than candlelight. “We know the ship the captain will be on will arrive in the Harbor on the east side of the city. We also know the King’s Hoard is a wide open space where plenty could be traded near unsuspecting eyes. But,” They pause, moving their finger to a tavern on the map sprawled out before all of them. “We found out Lyktin has been frequenting the Seven Heads tavern in the South side of the city.” Mikhail looks at each point, at the distance of all of them from each other. “So we have to spread out then.” He says, speaking what everyone was thinking. “We have to divide into three groups or more to cover more ground. So, if one area fails, there is still opportunity in another.” Mikhail has his obvious thoughts on groups, but he doesn’t voice them. He would allow them to decide, knowing they knew each other's strengths and weaknesses.

“We have one day left before the captain arrives,” he focuses on instead. “Pick your area to cover and learn it tomorrow. As well as any additional intel that might be helpful.” His tone grows more serious, less light, then as he eyes each of them for a fleeting moment. “Expect little sleep tomorrow because the captain can arrive at any moment the following day. It could be before the sun rises, in the middle of the day, or at night. We don’t have the luxury of specifics, but you’ve spent long enough training to know to keep your head on a swivel. This is a needle in the haystack,” his fingers curl ever so slightly on the edges of the map. “Find it.”

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION:

THE HARBOR: This location is heavily occupied by ships that are docked for trade and will be littered with crew members as well as those who take care of the docks. None of them are fond of strangers, or curious eyes who wander into places they shouldn’t. Those who choose to explore here have been told to look for a ship with the symbol of a skull that has an octopus’ arm going through an eye and out the mouth. This is ‘The Captain’s’ ship.

THE KING’S HOARD: This location is a popular space for everyday trade and selling of wares. It is known to have guards always nearby, but it doesn’t stop the ever-wandering hands from pilfering what does not belong to them. So, people are alert here, but they don’t always see everything. Especially the more shady kind of dealings that occur in broad daylight. It is common for Lyktin, or his men, to make deals here.

THE SEVEN HEADS TAVERN: This location isn’t for the brazen. It isn’t for those who draw the eye. It is meant for the meek; for those only looking for a drink, no trouble, and to share information without worry of who might hear. There is a strict no-fighting policy, and secrets shared here are to go to the grave. They don’t trust outsiders here and they won’t be keen to grant any newcomers entrance.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION:

This is a two-part plot drop. We will release the second half and conclusion of this plot drop when we feel we’ve spent an adequate amount of time exploring it with threads, tasks, self-para’s, etc. There could possibly be a reward for having the most replies for this plot drop.

Starters should be kept within the timeframe of this plot drop. We ask that you try not to make any starters for the previous event. However, threads from the previous event are encouraged for you to continue or finish up.

Characters in this plot drop are limited to exploring the moments prior to leaving Rysk, the journey from Rysk to Svel, and searching for the Captain as well as exploring Svel.

In-game, Svetlana is made aware of the captain on SEPTEMBER 28TH. She brings the attention of her discoveries to Mikhail on the morning of OCTOBER 3RD. Svetlana and Varyis arrive in Svel that same night. The Volki travel for a day and well into the next before arriving in Svel on OCTOBER 4TH. The 5TH DAY OF OCTOBER is a free day to be spent exploring Svel to grow familiar with the buildings and people Finally, the 6TH DAY OF OCTOBER should be spent trying to track down the captain.

#doskorogoplotdrop #lsrp #lsrpg #grisha rp #fantasy rp

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fatale-distraction · 2 years

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WIP WEDNESDAY

Nobody asked for this but I’m posting it anyway. Here’s an excerpt from the upcoming third chapter of my Y2K AU! You can read Chapters 1 & 2 here

"Aw, chin up, Violet." The dwarven teacher approached her cubicle, with an impish expression and too much ginger chest-hair on display. He dressed like he was stuck perpetually in the late 70s, open shirts with pointed collars, bell-bottoms in bright colors or obnoxious prints, gold medallion necklaces and thick gold hoops piercing his ears. Ellana absolutely adored him. He dropped a piece of honest-to-gods parchment on her keyboard and chuckled. "Fan-mail for you."

The gleeful grin on his face didn't bode well, and Ellana reached for the page with trepidation. "Really? For what? My last article wasn't exactly exciting or controversial. Just that piece on the ruins they dug up in Arlathan Forest."

Varric simply shrugged.

Ellana frowned at the letter as she unfolded it, the crinkle of the parchment giving her a little thrill. "Who the hell actually uses parchment these days?" she asked, brushing a frizzed curl away from her sweaty forehead. This late-summer heat and thick cloud-cover was wreaking absolute havoc on her hair, so the whole long mess of it had been wrangled into a large, messy bun with a floral scrunchie. She glared at the impeccable calligraphy. A seal bearing the profile of a wolf with three eyes circled by stylized elfroot sprigs was embossed in the top right corner.

"Miss Lavellan,

You spelled Ghilan'nain incorrectly in the seventh line, and the comma at the end of the fifteenth would be more appropriate as a semi-colon.

Yours most sincerely,

The Dread Wool"

The young writer crumpled the page in her hands and took a deep, calming breath, in and out. She counted to ten, eyes closed. Then she slammed her hands on the table and screamed. Several of the younger students jumped or cried out in surprise while Varric just laughed. Those who had been working at the paper longer simply went about their business. Unexpected outbursts were common enough in general, but particularly from Ellana and Sera's corner.

The outraged young woman jumped up from her chair, sending it skidding across the floor to crash into the wall behind her, and bolted for the door, wrenching it open and bellowing, "Move!" at a befuddled Sera, who was about to enter, and shoving past her.

The blonde elf stared as her friend tore off down the hall in a fury. "Who shat in her tea?" she asked with an offended huff.

Varric shrugged, a devilish grin on his rugged face. "Who knows? Pretty sure the phrase is 'who spit in her tea,' though."

Sera flopped into her chair and put her feet up on Ellana's desk. "I said what I said,'' she informed him.

The enraged Ellana screeched to a halt in front of a door with a frosted window on the farthest end of the arts building, panting and drenched in sweat from her mad dash across campus. Etched onto the window were the pretentious words "Solas Fenesvir, P.h.D." Anger flushed all the way up to her ears and she hammered on the door with a violent fist until a startled voice called out a hesitant "Come in?"

The door slammed open so hard it bounced against the wall. Ellana advanced toward the large, darkwood desk dominating the small room and slammed the paper clenched in her hand down onto the paper-strewn surface. Solas watched this with no small amount of shock and amusement from a plush green wingback chair behind the desk, wearing a new tweed jacket and a bemused smile.

"Miss Lavellan," he started smoothly, as though she hadn't just burst into his office like a train wreck. "To what do I owe the--"

"What the fuck is this?" demanded Ellana.

"...Pleasure," Solas finished. He examined the note smashed under her hand with a bland expression. "It would appear to be a very poorly abused piece of paper, da'len. Beyond that, I couldn't rightly say unless you were to move your hand."

She bit back the urge to mock him outwardly, which would have been childish, and settled for mocking him inwardly. "Don't play cute with me," she hissed, ripping her hand away and leaving the crushed page for him to examine. He raised his eyebrows at her as he reached forward to draw it closer. "Is this what you call 'being an adult?'"

He flicked his eyes up to hers over the page, a mischievous twinkle shining in the grey depths. He set it to the side and folded his hands in front of himself, elbows propped up on the table. "And how do you know it was me?"

Ellana came very close to stomping her feet and tearing at her hair. "It's on your pretentious-ass stationary, Professor Dread Wool!" she snapped.

#solavellan #y2k au #y2k dragon age #professor solas #ellanasha lavellan #writing down fatalities #wip wednesday

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cartoonsbyandie · 2 years

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Ask WIP- 2 Nakamourific?

WIP Challenge 2. Nakamourific

AKA Witness Statement! I got really busy over the summer with conventions and work, so I'm finally making real progress on the last chapter. It's already the longest by a wide margin and I still have a couple more scenes to write out.

Here's an excerpt!

Ginzo’s heart could’ve leapt right out of his throat at the sound of his phone ringing, and seeing his own number on the caller ID just added a second level of bone-quaking terror on top of it.

“Who is this!?” He shouted, voice echoing around the metal walls of the warehouse he was currently standing in. Only about twenty minutes had passed and he’d already worked himself into a frenzy, searching every unlocked shed he could find along the docks, as it was appearing more and more like Richard had vanished into thin goddamn air--!

“Heeeey there sugarbear! It’s meeee!” Richard’s sing-song voice greeted on the other line like a slap in the face. “Didja miss me? Because I miss you!”

His brain sputtered. “I-- Wh-- Whatit--!? RICHARD!” He all but screamed. “Where the fuck are you!? I’ve been looking everywhere for you, and you couldn’t be assed to tell me you found my stuff!?”

Ginzo’s mind raced with homicide options like it was a game of Clue, crumpling the witness statement pages in his fist. He’d found it. All the stress and conflicting feelings and time wasted had lead up to the moment he ran back to the docks to look for Richard, finding the papers sitting on the ground in front of the boat rental stand. Just sitting there. It should’ve been a moment of triumph, karma finally throwing him a bone for his patience! But he didn’t feel triumphant. Richard had managed to steal that away from him at the last second with whatever dumbassery he was pulling now. If this was another of his fucking deduction shows that Meguire mentioned, because Richard couldn’t handle not having all the attention of himself for two damn seconds--

“W-woah there, hey, easy,” Richard sputtered, distinctly less sing-songy, not that any tone would’ve pissed Ginzo off less. “I-I was just going to tell you about that! After I showed you this hot lead I’m chasing! It’s about the case, I think I’m onto something big.”

“I don’t give a shit! Papers and phone! That’s it! Are you trying to drag this nightmare out!?”

“N-no! I mean-- not on purpose--” Richard sounded scared. He should be. “Listen, this goes big, okay? Bigger than either of us thought! The papers were just one part of a big conspiracy, if you just listen to me it’ll be huge! Okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer, which was probably for the best, because Ginzo was on the verge of hanging up or smashing the phone in his grip. “Do you remember ten years ago? You were, oh, I dunno. Thirty-three? Back when there weren’t so many warehouses--”

“Shut up! Just shut up! I’m done with you, do you understand me!? You’re driving your ass back here, you’re not saying another damn word until-- un-- until…”

You can’t do something for over a decade without it leaving a permanent mark on every part of you. Sometimes chasing the Phantom Thief KID felt like another night at work, and other times it was so much more. The rivalry of a lifetime, a comfort, an addiction, a genuine desire to beat the thief at his own game, or even (if he was honest with himself) a game he never truly wanted to end. He’d always been good at cracking codes, that’s how he wound up on the KID task force in the first place, and after all these years, he didn’t even have to actively look for them. Maybe he’d trained himself to listen for codes during heist times, but the lines between Ginzo and Inspector Nakamori were blurry, near-nonexistent things anyway. Easily dashed by out-of-place numbers.

Listen to me. Ten years. Ten. Thirty-three. 10-33. Emergency.

Shit.

#This bit makes slightly more sense in context but it's fun to post without it #nakamouri #mouri kogoro #ginzo nakamori #kogoro mouri #nakamori ginzo #dcmk

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squatsteader · 2 years

Text

SQUATSTEADER NEWS: My novel THE REVELATOR is DONE!

And, on to lesser reportage...

WE WON!

And almost as importantly, there's still a chance we seize control of the senate. 2 Georgia seats are going into runoff phase, so YET ANOTHER election gears up almost immediately. Make calls for these 2 dems!

We deserve a day f celebration. But the election didnt go the way most expected. All pollsters are hereby FIRED. They get a pass for last election, which was razpr thin, but missing half a dozen senate and congressional seats, no excuse. From now on there should be a big red warning whenever news outlets show us polls, WARNING TOTAL BULLSHIT.

BUT HAY, WE GOT AMERICA'S FAVORITE PSYCHOPATH out of office, (secret service will have to drag him out of the oval office, where for decades tour guides will point to scratches on the burnished oakwood floors and say, "that's Disaster Don Trumps fingernail trail"

GOOD. FUCKING. RIDDANCE. Lets all hope he ends up in a super max.

What to do with the 405 OF THE VOTING REPUBLIC that put him in office and almost did a repeat? Hope they fall into a sinkhole, or something. There's really no excuse voting for someone who vilifies Muslims, tares refugee kids away from moms, then lies about it. And lies and lies and lies.

I NEVER WANT TO HEAR HIS NASALLY WHINEY VOICE. AGAIN.

On to other world changing and amazing news:

My latest novel, THE REVELATOR, at 250000 words, (thats a lot of friggn words believe me, my personal record) IS DONE.

HERES THE QUERY. Anyone who needs help writing a query, dont ask me, I fucking hate queries. they suck. How do you jam 580 pages into one and a half? How how how...

I tagged on the 1st ten pages as well.

Greetings Ms X.

I truly appreciate the time and investment you are making in considering representing me and most especially the Novel in question, The Revelator, a literary work at 250 k. That you represent Mr Cantu', and was successful in publishing The Line Becomes a River, makes me feel that I'd be at home with you as my agent. I value Cantu's work, as well as the excellent Midnight on the Line, as the two most important modern works on the border. Ive worked and lived in the region for years, and based a novella trilogy and novel on the region, and into Chihuahua and the Sierra Madre.

My novel The Revelator, a literary work at 250 k pages, is also founded upon a rich cultural legacy, that of the Caribbean and southern Colonies of 18th century America.

The heart of this tale begins with the boy Garret, press ganged onto an English slaving ship, the Dolphin. During a vicious storm off the coast of Guinea, he crouches above the padlocked hatch to the hold below, where several hundred Africans await their fate; death by drowning, or a chance to survive, if the boy smashes that lock, with the ball peen hammer clutched in his fist.

Directing and acting in the performance art theatre group Los Angeles Poverty Dept enabled me to develop a unique voice,The LAPD is a rough and ready troupe of homeless folks (including myself for a time), actors, artists and students. We were NEA supported, and received the Tony Award.

My travels along the Caribbean rim through Honduras and a bit of Guatemala also added a cultural honesty to The Revelator. Allow me like to thank Fito, a Garifuna elder, for providing me hammock space in his sea side bar, just outside La Ceiba, Honduras. I like to think the Garifuna and other Native American groups live and breathe in the pages of The Revelator.

A rich cast of escaped African slaves also find voice in this novel. A native American confederacy under the leadership of the enigmatic prophet Ghost Eye, committed to retake their lands, form an alliance with, among others, absconded indentured servants, pirates and revolutionaries. All combine to fight under the banner of Tierra Libre, or, the Freelanders who set aflame a revolution throughout North America.

The Revelator is, in part, an exploration of American violence brought about by slavery. Our protagonist, Garret, is split into two timelines, one of today, one of yesteryear. After an assault, resulting in a concussion, today’s Garret embarks on a rampage of killing centering on young black men and boys. Hunted and eventually arrested by African American detective Det. Grimes, Garret is found guilty and sentenced to death in Texas. Housed on death row beside the one time urban guerrilla Cochise Teages, who was convicted (possibly erroneously) for killing an FBI agent during a no knock raid, the two begin an unlikely friendship. Garret mumbles and speaks in odd accents late at night. Teages hears, and soon is recording multiple voices emanating from Garrets cell.

I have published in the online Poetry Journal The Nervous Breakdown, and have won numerous Awards for fiction and poetry in the online workshop Zootrope. I also blog at Tumblr under the handle Squatsteader. This blog is a primarily for urban homesteading and gardening, though post fiction and poetry as well.

Again, much thanks for your time and energy. Included below is 10 pages from The Revelator

Yours, D Halenda

cell 415. 200 8551

[email protected]

The Revelator

chap 1

The victims. 2018, United States of America

The concrete owns a stain outside Lupe’s Liquors. A blackened, oily shadow in repose. The death chalk not yet traced about that place where his soul was last earthbound, before vacating, diffusing, upwards into the sky. Desmond ‘Luciano’ Stiggs. Born 1989. Kill # 3. South side Tucson Arizona. Mother, Bertha. Father unknown.

Mario Williams. Age 17. The outline of yellow chalk reveals a babe curled about its own form, not in his mothers belly, but the concrete, the tomb of his most sudden death. Austin Texas kill # 1. 2616 S Congress st., on the property of The Comanche Hills apartments.

Darl Mose. Age 16. slumped against the brick wall of Mobis Cafe, Phoenix Az. Mouth gapes as if his jaw has been unhinged. Beneath, his throat laid open, gouts of blood soaking his hoodie, his jeans, the pavement beneath. Kill # 14.

His girlfriend, Mariposa Marquez, weeps beside him, his son in her belly, listening, not yet fathoming the world in which he will soon emerge. Yet surely sensing by his carriers frantic heartbeat, not is all well.

Lavon ‘lil Detroit’ Boyd. Age 14. Emergency room, st Theresa the Martyr Hospital, room number 16 E. Houston, Texas. A metal object having been shoved into the back of his skull, into the cerebellum. he survives solely by life support. Within three days, his step mother and sister will agree by signature to allow ‘nature to take its course’. As the victim's brain damage is massive, and would otherwise remain in a vegetative state for the remainder of his time, here, on this planet.

The Stepmother weeps squatting beside the coffee machine, alone. The janitor mopping the floor ignores her, swivels his bucket to another quadrant of his workplace. Her son if not by flesh then by love. Something caves inside her chest. She freezes, silently, enduring. It is a physical thing , grief. It catches you, in the neck, in the throat. It squeezes you in the dark of night, refusing to release its grip. Othertimes grief itself is a ghost, hidden, yet drowning one in a listless, thoughtless blank.

The shit eating grin of Demetrius Green, trumpet in hand, behind polished glass and framed by plastic blooms of every genus, all white. The white of death in India, his mother says to the heated air before her, the crowds of distant relatives shoving food into their mouths, mumbling lowly, to her they were wooden machines, maniquins, jerked here and there by dangled strings, dictates of funeral formality. Her voice was every bit as dead as her son lying in the coffin five feet away from her.

That aint him, that aint Dem, that aint my son. That a thing.

Just a ...thing.

She closes her eyes as if under her lids some respite might be found of this horror. But stamped upon those lids another border shone as if lit from within, the yellow border of chalk, in a zig zag down the steps of their apartment house, where he’d been stabbed. The ritual of funerals and murder scene investigations became a blur to her.

Her only son. D didn’t hang out with the neighborhood click, he’d kept himself clean, was set to graduate with honors, from the LA County School of The Arts. His crime had been to hang out with a cousin, who’d just been upped in the hood as its major shot caller, at the age of nineteen.

Towns, you motha fucka. I told you to keep clear. Keep clear of my boy.

Towns had something to do with it, she was certain. Maybe whoever killed her baby mistook him for Towns. Because her boy D had shot up like a weed after a summer rain, from the goofy 11 year old in the school picture, to a long, lean and unbearably clumsy six feet something. Where as Towns had gone into sports, then crime, D had gone to music, taking to it ironically, like Towns’ daddy, who played with the biggest jazz men in the city. Before dropping to the H and finally a slab in the morgue.

Just like where you should be Towns! She screams loudly. Not my boy, not my D….not Demetrie

The parlor freezes. An unknown mannequin sits beside her, its wooden hand clasping her own. My boy. His music, the tone as pure as a dream of heaven itself, clean as a Mississippi sky after a thunderstorm. From where her kin came, after Africa...My boy.

She’d taken extra work, cleaning houses, doing accounting for neighborhood shops, to buy him the horn, a used pawn shop relic, its bell dented, rusted. A valve that stuck. But even with that old thing of tin and rusted brass his sound was golden.

Golden. Until the school president himself gifted him a Bach Stradevarious, with its bell of solid silver. And his tone ranged so high, into heaven, like honey. My honey. I know I embarrass you no end. My baby. How you used to flee from my hugs, cause you didnt want to be the moma’s boy. But you were. You were my boy. And now you are nothing. No...thing. Or just a thing. No more music, no more runnen off from me. A stiff piece of bad work from the cheap assed mortician what charged her an arm and a leg...for this. This aint my child. No. No sir.

chap 1

1752 off the coast of Benin, Africa

In a screaming wind rent with sheets of rain slamming into the the ships and sailors bodies, our gang-pressed boy of Scottish blood stands sprawl legged, right hand gripping the hemp rope rigging, left clutching a pall-peen hammer, trying to fathom what the 2nd mate, at his side, is screaming at him. Through the howl of wind and a rain driving down upon them verily like a waterspout tilted upside down, he cannot even hear the man’s voice, much less discern any meaning at all. But between bouts of the rain he sees the man clutching a massive padlock hung from the hasps screwed into the porthole’s frame, the one which imprisons nearly two hundred sweating sickness and dying Africans, in the hold below. He studies the mans face, mouth agape, teeth a yellowed and blackened nightmare. He raises the hammer, sweeps the rain from his eyes, and freezes. A swell takes the ship, tosses it aside like an enraged toddler might fling his toy boat out from his tub, and the water drives across young Garret, up to his waist. He steadies himself against the ripping force of the water, hammer gripped, hammer raised, frozen in the moment of falling upon that very padlock. Having considered through an entire night this very act , the two sides of the coin, whether to free a hold of chained Africans that would surely kill he and the rest of the crew, or doom them to their own deaths.

***************************************

Roll the dice, toss the bones. The old spanish peseta. Ones and zeroes. Does he strike the lock, unleashing a series of events whipping through the future like a lightning clad snake, or will the next swell take him, washing him from the ship, tearing away the grip of the hammer, never then, to find purchase for his own survival? While those men women and children below will sink to the blacklands at sea’s bottom. Food for crabs, groupers, eels.

The particle flashes forward at lightspeed, separates, into two particles, identical twins, yet still twinned by what mystery of gravitational force, invisible, undetectable...

Toss the bones 'pon the hide over the clay ground, old skin stiff as an oak shingle left in the sun. Birthing sack which once carried a like-twined soul in its momma's belly. Let the bones fall ‘pon that old placenta, gaming board of what may come to pass, and let the speaking spirits have their say, by knuckle or toe, coccyx, molar or fang. By common gambling dice. By cards whose faces were born from the dreams of soothsayers, then painted on their blank pigs hide rectangles by an old deaf mute, so now let them rain down like old time orations torn from the good book, and the sayings from the grannies n aunties goin all the way back to Africa, the gold coast, from the highlands of Scotland and the old Celtic clans of Ireland, of the high plains and deserts and eastern woodlands of America, and we'll see as to your future. As to your seed as well, and what blood may survive into the abyss ahead, to the next epoch and the next, sewn into the realms of time as recorded by those long passed to clay, to the underworld.

Chap 2

Ash to Huntsville Deathrow 2017

Her drive was fraught with rain and sleet, sheets of Atlantic weather unending, surging, retreating to drizzle at times, then heaving back with still greater ferocity.

She cherished such road adventures generally, even when they involved her work, though the Knoxville city traffic’s quagmire leading into interstate 75 aggravated her, so that she took to the back roads. And now she was lost. Somewhere in the swamps and pine barrens of east Texas, or was it still Arkansas? The rain had followed her all the way down, along the eastern range of the Appalachians, her family’s home for generations, and into the deep south, the Carolinas, Georgia, Alabama, Arkansas.

And though she was born and raised in the south she was still struck by the differences between her ‘neck of the woods’ and that of the Dixie states in general. Her folks, tho maybe a bit more restrained, had never held to the glory days of the gentry, the planters and their culture, and the ugly twin that shadowed them always, slavery. Certainly there was racism round her neighborhood. She grew up with the spooky tales of blacks in ghettos rampaging through those big cities outside the mountains. But truth be told, her family’s history, and of those hill-folk in general, was a good deal different from the south through which those mountains ran. For the most part, geography dictated that large plantation operations weren’t feasible in the roil of sandstone and slate and granite that broke up from the flats how many millions of years ago. True enough, tobacco was a cash crop which grew in profusion in the mountain valleys, but not on the scale of tidewater Virginia or the rice, indigo and cotton of the lowlands of the Carolinas. So that, slavery was never really operational in the environs round about Knoxville and other mountain towns. Most folk, Scotch Irish generally, that settled the mountains were in fact indentured servants ‘on the lam’ from brutal labor of their own on the plantations of the south or the early factories , weaving and furniture making, gun smithing and such, of the north. Many, including herself up to the age of 13, had never so much a laid eyes on a black man.

Garret Francis McComas, clearly an avowed racist with a deep and destructive hatred of black folk, was born not an hours drive from her, in the Town of Wise, Va. Claims were made, that had begun as rumors among the prison guard, that strange voices were emanating from Garrets cell. And that such reports of the voices, heard by the guards on shift, evidently issued from this single pale, frail and pale skinned killer, had percolated out to state psychologists and therapists. Those tasked both with determining the felons mental state thus culpability in Capital offense crimes, especially inmates condemned to death by the state….. it was in short, all in all quite troubling. And did not fit into the escape proof steel alloy parameters of their governmental mission specifications.

Rumor had it mongst the inmates that visions came to him as he lay on the metal bedframe in cell #544 in the Texas state penitentiary, Polunsky Unit, death row, thirteen miles north of Huntsville. Waiting patiently and most would say utterly resignedly, for his end by means of lethal injection. And tho Dr Ash didn’t hold to state sanctioned murder, if anyone short of say, Mengele or Pol Pot deserved it, then Garrett Clark McComas was your man. Sixteen dead, all young men, some still yet juveniles,every single victim black, the last three, and still counting some claimed, had been burned after succumbing to multiple stab wounds. Evidently he’d soaked them with a flammable agent, then tossed a lit napkin upon their supine forms. And more perplexing even, many claims were made by several inmates regarding his magic powers, and healing hands, without even touching as no contact was allowed, and the ability to predict a number of the inmates futures. But Mr McComas denied emphatically any such gifts. Indeed, it is said that he himself questions his own sanity regarding these ‘hallucinations’, as he deems them.

It would be her task, under the exegesis of the state sponsored defense team of said inmate, to determine his mental capacity, among other, more troubling, more haunting questions, in which she and a very select few specialized. Not including those experts hired at top dollar to track down ghosts and vampires in what reality show of the moment which plagued the television airwaves.

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bigtiddymuradin · 9 months

Text

The room is spinning, and I can’t sleep until it stops. I write here for you, beautiful. Yes, you! God I hope you see it.

What is it the poem said — the days you wake up and don’t want to kill yourself, there should be a word for that. Being back the bass, strike up the band. Hallelujah. Halle-fucking-lujah. Not today, not now. So alive I could kiss a stranger. Blood in my veins, blood in my fucking veins. Hallelujah.

I can’t believe after all this time there’s ways to be loved that make me think I’ve never been loved before. Deeper, harder, more truthful and intimate. Hallelujah. How does it get better from here? I can’t imagine, but god, if it does I’m going to be fucking here for it. God damn.

Can’t believe it all exists at once. Lemon pie and chocolate cake. Can you imagine? A world so full it tears itself apart at the seams. This teddy bear can’t survive it’s so full of life. Stuffed to the gills. What a fucking life. What a fucking life.

I’ll dance with the sand wasps and I’ll see by the moonlight and — and if you take a big wrench you can turn off the breaker on a streetlight, they all have ‘em, and you can see the stars — I mean really fucking see the stars — and breathe three times like it’s never coming back. Who’s to say I’ll see another night? Not me. But fuck, if they smash me to pieces tomorrow, whether I’m nothing or something afterwards I’ll tell everyone who can still listen — what a fucking way to go. What a fucking life I had. And the tears roll down my face, not because I miss it but because I can’t believe I ever had it in my hands, melting like butter dripping onto the table and so real and so fresh they’d try to make it in a factory but they can’t get the colour right because colour belongs to people who fucking live.

I’ll trade it all for one last good song. Cmon, DJ, I know you want to queue it up as bad as i want to hear it. Let me break every bone in my body, let my skin warp and my eardrums crack open like macadamias. One last good song.

I hold on tight because I don’t know if I’ll remember in the morning. Because I know in the morning these thoughts will be foreign as katakana. Or they won’t be, but who am I to say? Throw them up like red wine. It’s now or it’s not, but Fuck, now is beautiful like kissing a girl against a wall. Because thank god for the girl — but thank god for the wall, too. No wall broke my heart, but it drew me a square to have a broken heart in, like a tennis ball split in two and picked up by the dog, nothing to use anymore but no less real for it, existing but not thriving because thriving is a judgment and existing is a truth.

I can’t stop. I can’t stop. The second I stop it’ll be gone and I want to be here with you so badly.

What’s there to wait for? I’ll never do anything that couldn’t be hashed out before 12:30 today. All of my life and my love could fit in the next 18 minutes. The whole rest of the thing will be a remix. But not hollow, not empty — these minutes could fill pages until the universe reverts to whatever it was before. Who’s to say? Nobody could write my life. What’s a biography? How can you take a person and fit them on the page — a beautiful page, 400 years of presses coming to bear, coming to print, coming to know, and the pulp is so smooth and so clean you can’t tell it’s trees anymore, but god, I tell you that the trees remember, and the ink does too. Fuck. Nothing to wait for. 15 minutes now. I’m waiting for it, I don’t know what, but it’s coming because I’m still alive and I’m laughing all the way, I can’t stop talking to you, I can’t even let you talk back because I see your face in my head and I know what you’d say — you’re laughing too, but you stop all of a sudden because you listen more than you laugh, and I can’t believe my eyes, because you see the truths between the things and not just inside the things, and Christ, nobody sees those. Not your dad or Gordon Ramsey or the dead fucking queen. Who are you, to see them? Fourteen minutes and I never figured it out. Thirteen minutes and Christ, I don’t know when I will it but I’d love to try.

I can’t wait to drink a coke with you. Fuck, I tell you now, I can’t wait to drink a coke with you. I see you every day, the spaces between the lines between the texts, but Christ I can’t wait to see you stand up when I walk into the room, Christ I can’t wait to see you open a door, Christ I can’t wait to see you eat a chip. I want to ask: do you understand? Fucking stupid of me. I couldn’t imagine you don’t, of course you understand. I want to cook you an egg, just one, so you’ve seen the shape of it, you take a little bit of me when you see an egg. I want to put my fingers in as many fucking places as I can. I want to ruin things for you — normal things but you laugh when you see them — and it’s all my fault — and you send me a picture — and it’s all my fault — and you’ll never get rid of me — and it’s all my fault because god, I was alive and so were you, and don’t you dare fucking forget it or I’ll have to come right back and cook an egg at you again.

Five minutes to go. What’s left to say? I’ll never run dry. Don’t be afraid, unless you’re afraid of melting under it all, in which case be terrified for me. If you don’t love it I hope you hate it. I can’t deal with being nothing ever again. Watch me chop garlic, watch me fold clothes, watch me walk down the street and for fucks sake, I’ll have a thought on it if you have one first. I want to live in your brain — because I swear to god you live in mine — because I swear to god I’ll clean the place up, you could use it — because I swear to god by the time I’m finished in here you’ll be someone quite fucking different, and god, I won’t be the same either will I, because renting changes tenant and rental both and nobody makes it through unscathed. I’m — what did I say? Rolling into bed in a cloud of dust. Same time tomorrow. 12:29 I’m seeing it I’m waiting, my last hurrah, the trumpets sound and I’ve a life ahead of me and fuck, I’ll see you there beautiful, know I’m looking forward to it, know I can’t wait, I want to sleep just to fast forward through time because I can’t imagine waiting a second, I’ve got clothes to wear and wine to drink and food to cook and conversation — oh god the conversation, and 12:30. We made it, another millstone at the side of the road, and we FUCKING made it

Oh it’s so late. If I had a smart watch now — but we already did that. And the room has stopped spinning. And I go to sleep, not because I want to stop talking but because I want to start, because it fucking means something to me that someone cares if I wake up, because the world is made up of people who give a shit about anything, even if it’s stupid, and that’s good news for me, and because I’m so full of love if I woke up in full flight all those little red blood cells would burst out of me with the sheer pressure of it and I’d die, so god wakes me up slowly like a lover who touches the meat of your arm in the thickest place, and whispers so softly because they don’t know if they’d rather you’re awake or asleep

Fucking bless. I will be soooo embarrassed about this in the morning but for now I am wine drunk and alive and going to sleep but god I am so alive it’s like being on fire.

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