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someone1348 · 3 years

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This duo request was fromm @blobblobbloblob

People in this: Switch!Tommy, Switch!Ranboo

(PLATONIC ONLYYYYY!!)

Tw: cursing

With all that being said enjoyyyy!! :]

___________~☆°♡°☆°♡°☆~______________

Ender Tricks

Ranboo had been feeling confident, sassy, to say the least, mischievous! He wanted to poke fun at people and cause a bit of chaos

So he went out on the hunt to find people to mess around with. He talked to Phil, Laughed with Techno, and that was great but it wasn't fulfilling his mood, the more he thought about what was going on with him the more the feeling grew

A ler mood, he smirked to himself, this was a rare kind of feeling but oh boy did he love these days when he could feel ler. No wonder talking to Phil and Tech didn't help he needed a lee or at least a lee lean.

Normally he would just go tickle the crap out of Tubbo but his body disagreed, no he needed to wreck someone else, he could wreck Tubbo later if this mood sticks throughout the day

He pondered the thought his smirk growing, Tommy!

The two had gotten closer as of recently and unknown to the blonde Ranboo had learned all of his tickle spots already from his platonic husband Tubbo, they share a death spot which really helped in times like this.

He searched for the disc lover spotting him by prime path

"Target acquired!" The enderman hybrid whispered to himself teleporting behind the said blonde squeezing his sides before teleporting away.

"AH- w-What the fuhuck?!" Tommy covered his mouth in embarrassment looking around for the known culprit

Ranboo smirked behind a tree and when the cost was clear he did it again this time skitering quickly under his arms

"AHAH- raha- ranboo!!!!" Tommy rang out in a fit of giggly rage almost dropping his axe

Ranboo covered his mouth behind the tree waiting again to strike. Tommy sighed and kept walking as lingering lee mood took over his senses with every strike

Ranboo smirked striking his ribs before going back, Tommy shrieked before falling down to the grass

Clutching his ribs giggling as the feeling of a lee mood took over everything he completely forgot why he was out here in the first place.

A shadow blocked the sun sending some shade to Tommy's figure, looking up at the smirking ender hybrid Tommy waved

"Hello Ranboo"

"Hey Tommy"

There was a bit of scilence as Tommy looked away, Ranboo laughed looming more over him

"You want to tell me what mood you're in buddy?"

Tommy squinted up at the figure crossing his arms "now Ranboo i don't know what you're talking about"

Ranboo lowly chuckled sitting down by Tommy smirking as he spoke "i can see it all over your face if you want tickles all you gotta do is ask" he poked Tommy's side to indicate his intentions

"Oh you're evilll"

Ranboo just kept smirking, whistling while he wiggled his fingers at the youngest acting like he wasn’t doing anything

"Ranbooo!" Tommy whined as Ranboo laughed stopping and looking at him, "Three words Tommy its eassyyy"

Tommy refused, he's a big man! He doesn't ever want to give into anyone's games esspesssily! Not Ranboo's,

Ranboo used that to his advantage as he teased the kid a bit more "Alright i guess you don't want to be tickled i guess I'll be offf" Ranboo teleported away as Tommy whined sitting up

"Ranboo wait!" He waited but there was no response, he was gone, Sitting alone in the grass he sighed before two tickly hands gripped his sides from behind tickling up and down from his sides to his ribs and back down

"Gotcha!!!" The taller of the two said the smirk clear in his voice as Tommy bursted out into a ball full of giggles falling backwards onto Ranboo's chest

"NAHAhahAHA! RANBOO!" Tommy squirmed his face dusted with a light pink from the surprise and embarrassment

"Hehe thought I'd leave my second favorite lee in the dust like that without tickling him to peices yeah i don't think so!" Ranboo smiled going up to his underarms,

"AYEHEHEHE! Sehehecond?!" Tommy questioned in giggles as Ranboo laughed a bit

"Yeah, Tubbo's number one, sorry pal, get Ranboozled!" He blew a raspberry onto the blondes neck as Tommy pushed at his split dyed head,

"AhAhaWahay!! From thehehere!!" Tommy fell limp to the tickles not fighting it anymore as Ranboo teasingly whispered

"Oh? Not there?~ so should i go for my favorite spot then" he wiggled his fingers teasingly above Tommy's stomach

"Nonononono!" Tommy's protests were nothing in Ranboo's ears as he smirked wiggling all ten fingers into his stomach taking a deep breath going close to Tommy's ear "Tickletickletickletickle Tktktktktktktk~"

"NAHAHAHAHA FUHUHUCK RAHAHAHANBOHOHOO!!"

Ranboo giggled evily "what's this button doo~" he tickled his bellybutton as Tommy went into hysteria not even making coherent sentences anymore

"RAHAHAHANBOHOHOO PLEA- HAHAHAHA SHHEJEHEGHS HAHAHAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHA TIHIHICKLES IHIHIHIHIT!!-"

Ranboo laughed loudly, stopping before rubbing away the ghost tickles

"Oh whahat you think that was funny?!"

"W-well yeah"

Tommy smirked tackling the ender hybrid to the ground tickling his stomach immediately

"TOHOHOHOMYYY!!" Ranboo laughed out squirming from side to side

"Ticklish there aye Ranboo?~" Tommy smirked teasing him a bit

"PLEAHAHAHASE"

"Okahay okay!" Tommy giggled moving to his sides,

"EEP! wAIhihiAT i-Ee!!" Ranboo covered his face in his hands the ticklish sensations sending tickly Shockwaves all over his body

"WhAHat was that!!" Tommy said stopping

Ranboo blushed harder from the embarrassment "m-my white side is more ticklish then my black side so tickling my s-sides is well, an experience to say the least"

Tommy smirked "thanks for the info big man!" He immediately went to squeezing and tickling alll up and down his white side as the taller yelled

"AHJHA! TOMMYY!" the giggles were pouring out of his mouth as he pushed lightly at his tickly fingers

"Karma ender boy! Haha!!" Tommy tickled from his underarms to his ribs and back around to his sides

Ranboo made a bunch of enderman sounds mixed in with his laughter and squeals

"Okay okay oneee more thing!" Tommy took a deep breath before blowing a raspberry directly in the center of his stomach above his bellybutton

"TOHOHOHOMYYY!!!"

Tommy giggled stopping, helping ranboo up and rubbing the ghost tickles away.

"It seems we all share a death spot" Tommy said smirking a bit

"It seems we do"

Tommy smirked at ranboo before running off in the direction of were Tubbo would be

"He's MINE! HA HA!!!"

"HE'S MY PLATONIC HUSBAND!?!" Ranboo said chasing after him both on their way to wreck their favorite bee boy

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I hope you all enjoyedd!!! :]

#k writes tk things #mcyt tickle #dream smp tickle #dreamsmp tickle fic #switch!tommyinit #switch!ranboo #allium duo #allium duo tickle fic

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comrade-kenobi · 3 years

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All You Ever Wanted- Din Djarin x Reader

Dear @hellcaster901

Happy Holidays, love! Here’s your gift, I hope you like it! You get Din a little Life Day present and he doesn’t know what to say. Also for narrative purposes Grogu is chillin with his Aunt Peli.

The title is Pedro’s favorite Black Keys song...

Tags: Mostly fluff, with allusions to some spice.

Word Count: 1,582

Din held you close to his chest; close enough to feel the rapid thrum of his heart as he came down from the high of love making. Absolutely mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of your breaths. With blissed out eyes he watched as his rough fingers ghosted up and down the soft skin of your spine, leaving delicate goosebumps in their wake.

“I love you,” he breathed, as he drank in the tender warmth of your skin against his.

“And I love you,” you smiled, then nudged his crooked nose with your own.

He replied by kissing you, soft and deep. It was easy for him to get lost in your kisses. The softness of your lips, and the way they moved against his, like that's what they were made to do. Sometimes he got so lost, he could swear he was dreaming. Before you came along he had convinced himself he was destined for a life of solitude. Wandering from planet to planet, bounty to bounty with no real place to call his own. But when he held you like this; tight to his chest-- he knew he was home.

You nipped playfully at his bottom lip and broke him out of his reverie. The smile you’d given him when he pulled away sent a flow of warmth through his entire body. Radiating out from his heart, to the tips of his fingers, and down to his toes.

“OH!” you exclaimed, as you pulled away from him abruptly. Taking the bedsheets, and all of the warmth with you. “I almost forgot!”

Din’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he watched you dart across the floor of The Crest to your duffle bag. The stolen sheet flowed behind you, like a ladies elegant cape, as you went. You rummaged through the sack for a moment or two. Exclaiming “AH-HA!” when you finally found whatever it was you’d been searching for.

“Happy Life Day!” you yelled, as you held a small package out for Din to see. Your eyes gleamed in the dim lights of the hull as you ran towards the nest of blankets the two of you had started calling a bed.

“Life Day?” Din asked, his eyebrows had shot so high they nearly disappeared under the shaggy brown curls plastered to his sweaty forehead.

“It’s a Wookie tradition. Like a holiday.” You explained as you gestured wildly, the gift still held tightly in your hands. It’s contents clanged around in the small box.

“Since when are you a Wookie, riduur?” Din chuckled, he had been with you for a while now, and even a year into marriage you still managed to surprise him. “You’re not nearly hairy enough.”

“Shut up,” you replied; and swatted at his chest with the ghost of a smirk threatening to spread across your face. “My best friend in the rebellion was a Wookie. Now do you want the present, or not?”

“Of course I do.” He replied as tried, in vain, to still the laugh in his chest, and force a serious expression.

“That’s what I thought.” You sassed as you crawled into his waiting lap. With your chest puffed out with pride, you waved the small box in Din’s face. Tempting him to grab it. But when he reached for it you pulled it away with a frown.

“Kiss me first.” You insisted, as your lips pulled into a childish pout. Din rolled his eyes but happily obliged.

“Thank you” you beamed, appreciatively running your thumb over his plush lips when he pulled away.

“What is it?” Din asked with a frown. He ran his fingers over the paper covering the box and admired it for a moment. The paper was plain and brown, but you’d taken the time to decorate it with tiny, hand drawn, trees. On the top it read, “For my riduur.” In what Din assumed was your fanciest script.

He went to rip off the paper and felt, almost, dirty doing it. You had clearly put a lot of effort into making it look nice, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin that. So he carefully went along the seams, and peeled the paper off without making a single tear.

When he opened the box, he found a fancy looking vibroblade inside and what looked like some spare parts.

“What are these?” Din asked, holding up some of the cold metal pieces.

“They’re for the vibroblade,” you explained, reaching into the box that was settled between the two of you to pick the blade up. “I can mod your vambraces with them, so the vibroblade pops out of the bottom.”

“I-I, uh, don’t know what to say…” Din stuttered, not quite sure what to make of the whole thing. He’d never celebrated a holiday before, or gotten a gift. When it came to things like this, he had to admit, he was always more than a little lost.

“Look at the blade, love.” You encouraged, taking his hand in yours and carefully placing the sharp blade on his rough palm.

His calloused fingers traced over the smooth, cool, metal before he turned it over. On the other side he found his signet, a Mudhorn, carved perfectly into the side.

“Did you…?” He started, but trailed off. Utterly distracted by the pure beauty of what he held in his hand.

“I engraved it,” you finished for him, “it’s why I was so twitchy whenever you dropped into the hull this week. I wanted it to be a surprise…”

The words you spoke barely registered on Din’s radar. He was far too busy admiring his gift. No one had ever gotten him a gift before, let alone one with this much thought put into it. The blade was shined to absolute perfection, and the signet was carved in deep. Adding it to his armor was the icing on the cake. Now he could carry a part of you within his armor forever. The thought of it brought a tear to his eye.

“Do you like it?” your timid voice broke back into his thoughts. But he still couldn’t speak. How was he supposed to put how he felt about this, about you into words. So instead he dropped the vibroblade and took you into his arms. Pouring all of his unspoken feelings into a kiss.

It was fiery and sweet. His tongue hungrily swept over your bottom lip, begging you to let him in. And let him in you did, opening for him with a pleased groan, the kind that got his blood pumping, and sent shockwaves down his spine.

He tangled his hands into your hair in an effort to bring you closer to him as his tongue danced over yours. No matter how close he brought you to him it would never be enough, he always wanted to feel you closer.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You panted, pulling away so you could catch your breath. Din nodded fervently, and chased after you for another kiss. You laughed at his enthusiasm and suddenly he felt a twinge of guilt in his chest. You’d gone through all this trouble for him, and he had nothing for you.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, as if sensing the sudden change in his mood.

“I- you, you got me this perfect thing and…” he trailed off, leaning back from you and rubbing the back of his neck, “and I didn’t get you anything.”

“Din,” you took his face in your hands and forced him to meet your eye line. Instinctively he leaned into your touch, sighing at how gently you touched his face. The feel of your fingers on his cheeks easing his worries to almost nothing.

“It’s okay, I have you, and that’s enough.” You assured him, the certainty in your voice made his heart skip a beat in the best possible way. As you spoke your fingers played absently at the beskar mythosaur skull hanging from his neck, and he got an idea. If he could carry a part of you with him, he wanted you to be able to do the same.

“Here,” he began, lifting the worn leather cord from his neck, and placing it around yours. “I want you to have it.”

“Din,” you started, emotions welling up in your throat, “you don’t have too…”

“I know.” Din cut you off, running the rough pad of his finger along your chest, admiring the way the necklace looked on you. “I want to. I want you to have a piece of me, just as I have a piece of you.”

“Mhi solus tome, Mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You whispered, in near perfect Mando’a and Din’s heart soared.

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.” Din repeated in basic as the tears that rimmed his eyes threatened to fall.

“Happy Life Day, Riduur.” You said, pressing your forehead to his in a keldabe kiss, just as you would before you were married.

“Happy Life Day, Cyar’ika.” Din replied, closing his eyes as he soaked in the moment; your wedding vows still buzzing around in his head. If there was one thing in his life he was absolutely certain of, it was you. And he was never letting you go. This would be the first of many Life Day’s together, and next year he would make sure he bought you a gift.

#pedros12daysofchristmas #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #Pedro Pascal #din djarin x you #din djarin fic

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vrishchikawrites · 3 years

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Had a idea you might like, I'm aware prompts are closed but I think you'll like it and I needed to write it down as it came to me before I forgot.

JGS winds up in the past just as the Sunshot Campaign is beginning and take a different tactic, avoiding WWX like the plague, little does he expect for WWX to willingly hand everything he wants over to him on a silver platter.

JGS acts like a model Sect Leader his second life(still a manwhore though). JGS strangles any ill rumours about WWX in the cradle instead ordering the Jins collectively to support WWX wholeheartedly as long as he used Demonic Cultivation for good. JGS points out to JZX than JYL is a wallflower who would wither in Jin politics and encourages him to marry anyone else.

JGS intends to buy WWXs good will by letting the Dafan Wen go to Yunmeng from the start he did not expect WWX to show up later at koi tower with 50 ill treated Wens behind him asking for sanctuary(he grants it.)

WWX and the Wen Remnants move to Lanlin where properly utilised and supplied under WWXs command they turn out to be a boon providing the Jin with revolutionary talismans and medical marvels. One such medical marvel the new streamlined and perfected Golden Core Transfer Surgery that sends shockwaves through the cultivation world with its mere existence.

JZX marries WQ, JGY(now Jin Ziyao) is having the time of his life manipulating in the name of good and WWX and LWJ try to elope and get caught and then forced into a extravagant double wedding with JZX and WQ.

The Jiangs on the other hand are having a hard time, JCs mistreatment of the Wen Remnants has alienated him from WWX furthermore the publication of the Golden Core Transfer Surgery with WWX and JC as proof has robbed JC of his high ground and rumors old and new of the Jiangs ill treatment (and JCs ungratefulness) of WWX(Hero of the Sunshot Campaign) are spreading like wildfire. To add insult to injury JYL can't find a husband because the men back from war want competent spouses.

Such a prompt involves too much JGS (the absolute chamberpot) and too little WWX imo. Weren't Jins the instigators of the 'hunt the wens down' campaign? If Jins don't act, I'd say the Wen remnants thing will never happen.

I sorta wanna ask where I ever gave the indication that I'll write JGS in some material way. If there's someone I dislike more than JC, JGY, and XY combined it is him. I'll probably write a fic where he attempts to travel back to the past and spontaneously combusts in the process.

Ah, sorry nonny, just having a bit of fun. What I mean to say is that I probably won't write fics like these. If it were someone like LQR or even NMJ, I'd be ok. But JGS is disgusting and I don't wanna be inside his head.

Putting it out there in case anyone else wants to fill this one.

#reader asks #re: prompts

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keigoslovebird · 4 years

Text

Three’s Company

Pairing: Sakusa x Atsumu x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers and aged up characters, but that’s it. It’s very soft

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2.5k

Author’s note: This is just something short and sweet that I wrote for a friend who wanted some fluffy Sakatsu. I realized there’s not much on this blog, so I wanted to upload a little something. A much longer Ushijima fic will be coming soon, so enjoy this little taste for now~

It’s nearing the end of the volleyball season and the Black Jackals are finishing up one of their final practices. This season has been one of the best in the team’s history, so they’ve decided to go out for dinner to celebrate.

Bokuto is still sweaty and out of breath when he claps a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder. “Hey Tsum-Tsum, is your girlfriend still coming to dinner tonight?”

“Sure is!” Atsumu confirms, smiling and giving him a thumbs up.

He shouts across the court to the man who’s quickly retreating to the showers. “You have a girlfriend too right, Sakusa?” Sakusa stops and turns to nod to him. “Will she be there?”

“Yes, she will.”

Their teammates don’t notice the knowing look he exchanges with Atsumu.

“Great! We all get to meet both of your girlfriends tonight!” Hinata exclaims, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Yeah. Both.”

You’re standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment, questioning your boyfriends with your hands on your hips. “You still haven’t told them?”

The taller of the two speaks first. “Why should we? Our personal lives aren’t any of their business.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Omi, you know how some people react to relationships like ours.”

Atsumu reaches his arms out, a wordless gesture for you to come to him. You do, of course. “Babe what they think doesn’t matter,” he says, nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek. “The only people’s opinions who matter are standing right here.”

You nestle deeper into his broad chest. “I know, but… What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t like me with you, with both of you?” When you look up, both of your partners are looking at you with soft, reassuring eyes.

“They will love you, we know they will. You’re so smart and beautiful and funny and you keep the both of us grounded.”

Sakusa brings your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. “Not that their opinion matters anyway. We love you and nothing they have to say will change how we feel.” It’s rare for him to speak so openly and poetically but when he does, it’s just what you need to hear.

Atsumu drives you to the restaurant, you in the passenger seat and Sakusa in the backseat. He initially protested when he was told he’d have to sit in the back, insisting that he’d drive by himself and meet everyone there. He eventually caved when the blonde told him how funny it will be when you all arrive together.

Atsumu had also stolen his keys so he was forced to ride with you anyway.

When you pull up to the fancy restaurant your heart is in your throat and you’re nervously bouncing your leg. The man sitting next to you places his hand on your knee, stilling your anxious movements.

“Babe, don’t be nervous,” Atsumu reassures you, “They’re not nearly as intimidating as they seem.”

That’s when you spot a man, who you recognize is Bokuto, walking down the sidewalk. You assume it’s him based on all the times Sakusa has calls him a dumb owl with stupid hair. The rest of the team is following right behind him, each of the members looking more massive and daunting than the last. Each of them towers over the crowd of people, with the exception of the slightly smaller man with orange hair. Seeing them all in the flesh for the very first time causes insecurity to brew in your chest, feeling small and inadequate compared to the men who seem so much larger than life. They're so strong and talented and accomplished and successful and—.

Sakusa reaches for your hand from the backseat, lacing his long fingers with yours. “Everything will be fine. Don’t worry so much, alright?” You nod sheepishly and take a deep breath to steady your nerves and your racing heart.

The three of you step out of the car, making your way towards the restaurant together. When you enter, you aren’t looking where you’re going and end up smacking straight into a broad, muscular back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” You squeak, bowing and sputtering apologies as fast as you can.

The massive wall of a man turns, giving you a reassuring smile. “That’s quite alright. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

Atsumu comes up from behind you and offers his hand to the man, grinning. He takes it, giving your boyfriend a firm handshake. “Captain, fancy seeing you here.” He wraps a long arm around your waist, pulling you toward him. “I see you’ve already acquainted yourself with my lovely girlfriend,” he says, rubbing your shoulder affectionately. He turns to you, “Babe, this is Meian, the captain of the team.”

Meian bows at you and you return his gesture of acknowledgement. “It’s nice to meet you, Meian. Sorry for bumping into you again,” you say, rubbing the back of your head sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a flurry of activity and an outburst of shouts that makes you jump. Bokuto elbows his way through his team members, his spiky hair coming into view before his face.

“Hey hey hey! No fair Captain, I wanted to be the first one to meet Tsum-Tsum’s girlfriend!” He whines, pouting at his senior.

Atsumu pats him on the shoulder to try to calm him down. “Now, now Bokkun. Everyone on the team gets to meet her so it doesn’t matter who meets her first.”

You nod, bowing in his direction to introduce yourself. “Hello Bokuto, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You look over at your boyfriend, smiling. “Atsumu has told me so much about you.”

Bokuto puts Atsumu in a one-armed headlock, giving him a noogie. “All good things I hope!”

You giggle as your boyfriend wrestles out of Bokuto’s grip, grumbling about his hair as he fixes it. “Of course!” you insist cheerily.

Hinata, Inunaki, and the rest of the Black Jackals introduce themselves, names and respectful bows passed among your group.

All eyes snap to Sakusa as he makes his way through the mass of bodies, face twisted in disgust at how densely packed the restaurant is. “Sorry, I left something in the car.” He thrusts his hand at you, offering you your purse. “You forgot this in there too.” You gingerly take it from his outstretched hand, bracing yourself from the flurry of questions that are sure to erupt.

“Oh Omi-san, you drove here with them?” Hinata asks and Sakusa makes a noise of agreement. He suddenly gasps, “Did you make your girlfriend drive here alone!?”

Sakusa sighs and shakes his head. “Not quite,” he replies, bending down to give you a kiss on the cheek. You go ramrod straight, a furious blush spreading across your cheeks.

You can feel the shockwave that ripples through the whole team, each member trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Omi-omi you finally made it! You really like to make us wait, don’t you?” Atsumu teases, planting a smooch on Sakusa’s cheek. He sighs, patting the blonde’s hand.

“I just had to get something from the car. I wasn’t trying to make anyone wait on me.”

You’re holding your breath, anticipating some sort of disgusted reaction from at least one of their friends at your unorthodox relationship. Your heart is thudding in your ears and you can feel how sweaty your palms are.

“Ohh I see what’s going on. Sakusa, Atsumu, and this fine little lady here are what’s called a manager of trost!” Bokuto exclaims, a confident look on his face.

Sakusa clears his throat. “I think the word you’re looking for is a ménage à trois.” He pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, exhaling loudly. “It’s a crude way of putting it but I suppose that’s one way of explaining it.”

Hinata’s eyes are bulging so hard you’re afraid they’ll pop out of his head. “Wait, hold on. Wait a minute. Hold up. Wait. I need a minute.” The three of you watch as the gears in his head slowly turn, trying to process this new information. “So you’re—” he starts.

Sakusa quickly cuts him off, simply giving a curt, “Yes.” He’s used to these types of reactions by now.

Pointing at Atsumu, Hinata attempts to connect another dot. “And he’s—”

“Yup,” Atsumu replies, dramatically popping the ‘p.’

He gestures in your direction, waving his arms around haphazardly, almost smacking Bokuto in the face. “And you three are—”

Atsumu grins and wraps an arm around each of your shoulders, hugging you and Sakusa to him. “That’s right! We're polygamists.”

Sakusa corrects him, rolling his eyes. “You mean polyamorus, Atsumu.”

Atsumu releases him and waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, same thing.”

“They are most definitely not the same thing,” he grumbles under his breath.

Hinata turns to you, a serious look on his face. “So when you three cuddle at night, who’s the little spoon and who’s the big spoon?”

You nearly burst out laughing at how earnest he looks, eagerly awaiting your response so he can learn the logistics of three-way cuddling. You internally let out a breath of relief, thankful the team’s reaction seems so positive. “Ah, well, it changes. Sometimes I sleep between them, sometimes Omi spoons Tsumu and I spoon Omi. It depends on how we’re all feeling.”

For the next several minutes Hinata bombards you with question after question about the arrangements in a polyamorus relationship, including, but not limited to, who wears the pants, who cooks and who does the dishes, and who chooses what to watch on Netflix. His seemingly endless interrogation begins to exhaust you, but you do your best to answer all of his questions. Sakusa can sense you’re getting overwhelmed and puts his hand out in front of you, shielding you slightly with his body.

“That’s quite enough, Hinata,” he cautions, “If you have any more questions you can ask me.” The warning look in his eye says otherwise and Hinata visibly bristles, sensing Sakusa’s silent threat if he keeps bothering you.

Hinata repeatedly bows in apology, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture. “I-I’m really sorry if I was rude! I didn’t mean to offend y-you,” he stammers.

You’re flustered by his sudden change in demeanor, waving your hands emphatically and trying to get him to stand back up. “It’s okay! I know you don’t mean any harm, don’t worry. You can stop bowing now.”

You silently thank the forces above when the hostess calls your party to be seated, saving you from having to endure more the interaction that was quickly going south. Everyone takes a seat at a large table, all engaged in lively conversation as menus are passed around. You’re seated between your boyfriends, Sakusa to your left and Atsumu to your right. Bokuto is directly in front of you and Hinata is right next to him, both involved in a slightly too loud debate about whether or not ketchup is soup.

The waiter comes around and takes everyone’s food and drink orders and you’re appreciative that the attention has shifted from you to old stories from some of the team’s high school days.

Hinata reveals that Bokuto almost kidnapped him from their training camp one year by convincing him the Fukurodani bus was actually the Karasuno bus. He had been so tired and exhausted that he listened, not questioning why the entire Fukurodani team would be on the bus headed back to Miyagi. They had made it a couple miles down the road before Suzumeda noticed the redhead sleeping in the back of the bus, immediately notifying the bus driver so he could turn back around before the Karasuno team left. He made it back just in time, narrowly avoiding being stranded in Tokyo but unable to avoid Sugawara’s lecture about being more aware of his surroundings.

Bokuto pouts, insisting he didn’t mean to steal Hinata away from his team, he just wanted to borrow him for a bit.

The spiky-haired man eventually sets his eyes on you, propping his head up on his hands. “So whose dick is the biggest? My money is on ‘ol mask face over there but I’ve never been able to confirm because he’s such a stickler that he showers and gets dressed before we even get to the locker room!”

Stunned by such a bold question, you stay silent for a moment, a slightly horrified expression on your face. Once you recover, you dodge his question by asking about how he styles his hair every morning and he takes the bait with enthusiasm, immediately sharing the various products he uses and stresses how it’s so important to deep condition.

As Bokuto goes off on a tangent about scalp health you nudge Sakusa with your elbow, leaning over and whispering, “Are they always like this?”

Sakusa gives you a pained look. “Yes, they are.”

A few hours go by, dinner filled with laughs, more stories, and even a few tears when the men recall some of the tough times they had. Soon yawns and the rubbing of tired eyes becomes contagious, signaling everyone’s desire to go home and sleep. Once checks and cards are exchanged and each tab is paid, each person at the table looks ready to take their leave.

Sakusa stands and clears his throat. “I think it’s about time we headed home. Are you both ready?” he asks, looking at you and Atsumu. You both nod and get up to join him, others following your lead and heading toward the exit. Everybody lingers in the parking lot for a few minutes to exchange goodbyes, patting each other on the back and saying they’ll see them at practice on Monday.

Your boyfriends lead you to the car, each of their hands on your waist. Atsumu opens your door for you and gives you a kiss on the cheek before you get in, a dreamy look on his face. Once all three of your doors close you let out a tired sigh and lean your head on the headrest.

“I know babe, but you did so well tonight. I could tell they all really loved you, especially Hinata!” Atsumu smiles from the driver’s seat, patting your thigh lovingly.

Sakusa huffs from behind you, “A little too much if you ask me.”

You turn to look at him, giggling. “Omi are you jealous?”

He crosses his arms, sulkily looking out the window. “I’m not jealous, he was just too enthusiastic.”

The drive home is peaceful, all of you too tired to carry on any sort of conversation.

When you get to your apartment, you and Atsumu simply strip out of your clothes and flop into bed, Sakusa joining you after he brushes his teeth and takes a shower.

“You had nothing to worry about. You definitely charmed them,” Atsumu murmurs, dangling on the precipice of sleep. You cuddle further into his side so you’re firmly sandwiched between your boyfriends.

“For once Atsumu is right, you really had no reason to worry they wouldn’t like you,” Sakusa adds, wrapping his arm around your middle.

You hum contentedly, hugging the both of them tightly. “I love you both so much, you know that right?”

Sakusa kisses your shoulder. “I love you too, sweetness.”

You wait a few seconds before realizing Atsumu is asleep, snoring softly. Giggling, you close your eyes and fall asleep quickly, comforted by the two solid, reassuring bodies next to you.

#sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #fluff #haikyuu #hq writing #hq fanfic #reader insert #hq reader insert #bunny scribbles

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snappedsky · 3 years

Text

Fanatics 81.4

Round One: Pepito vs Zoli

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

Reawakening Part 4

Squee lies on the couch, his eyes closed as he gently strokes Nugget’s back, enjoying the peace and quiet. But that’s all quickly shattered by one annoying voice.

“You’re kind of selfish, huh.” Squee’s eyes crack open to briefly glare at Squishy Pete, who is sitting on the coffee table, before he closes them again.

“I mean, just look at you,” Pete continues, “enjoying this alone time while your friends are out there, worrying about you. Are you even thinking about them? Do you even care what they’re doing?”

Squee’s face scrunches up with irritation as he tries to ignore the stress toy.

“Johnny’s been gone a long time, huh?”

His eyes fly open and he looks over at Pete.

“What, you’re just noticing now?” he scoffs, “wow, you really are selfish. Something terrible could’ve happened to him and you’re not even worried about it. He could’ve gotten into a car accident. He could be hurt somewhere. Or worse.”

Squee sits up, his eyes darting around nervously as he contemplates those words. Then he grabs his cellphone and calls Devi.

“Hello?” she answers.

“H-Hey, Devi,” Squee replies, trying to keep his voice steady. “Is Nny with you?”

“No, he just dropped us off about twenty minutes ago. Why? Is he not home yet?”

“N-not yet. B-but I’m sure it’s fine,” he insists, “he probably just stopped at the store to get a BrainFreezy or something.”

“Right…” Devi grunts, “well, if he’s not home in an hour, call me, okay?” “Okay.” Squee hangs up and leans forward. He stares at the floor, a million terrible thoughts running through his head. Then Nugget meows at him. He sighs and gently scratches her head.

“Everything’s okay, Nugget,” he says.

“Even lying to a cat,” Pete tuts, “so selfish. And so truly alone.” Meanwhile, across the city, Zim, Dib, Gaz, Tak, and Pepito prepare to fight Zoli. She grins with amusement as she leisurely approaches them, scythe resting on her shoulder.

“Let’s see,” she purrs as she waves her finger before pointing it at Tak. “Tak, the failed Irken. Abandoned by your leaders and people, forced to join up with your previous enemy just to avoid a lifetime of loneliness.”

“What?” Tak gasps.

“Gaz,” Zoli continues, “the seemingly unfeeling gamer. Not a care in the world. But the future is approaching quickly. What are you going to do when the world comes crashing down on you and you can’t just escape into video games anymore?”

Gaz flinches, taken aback.

“Dib: the paranormal investigator. But you can’t even accomplish that, can you? Deep down you know you’re nothing but a failure and a disappointment, even to yourself.” “Tha-that’s not…” Dib stammers.

“Hey!” Zim barks, “who do you think you are, talking like you know us?” “And speaking of failures, here’s the King of Failures himself,” Zoli laughs, “Zim, the defective invader. Hated so much by his own kind he was sent to the farthest corner of the universe. And still so hated that they try to destroy him every chance they get.”

Zim scoffs, “whatever. Zim doesn’t care what they think anymore.”

“Maybe not. But you care what you think. I wonder how you feel about the fact that all you want is to rule this miserable planet, but after years of living here, you’ve never gotten close.”

Zim freezes, unable to reply.

“Enough,” Pepito snaps as he steps forward. “Don’t listen to her, guys. This is what they do. They wear your down with your own dark thoughts and feelings.”

“Ah, the Antichrist,” Zoli smiles, “oops, I mean rock star. Sorry, I forgot you’re a little sensitive about your previous title.”

“Your words have no effect on me, witch,” he snarls as he brandishes his spear. “I know all about your tricks. You can’t break me.”

“Hm,” she purrs and lifts her scythe. “Sounds like a challenge. Come on then. Show me what you got, little monster.”

Pepito charges forward and his spear clashes against Zoli’s scythe. She grins as he glares at her. Then Nightmare tendrils burst from her back and lash at him. But before they can connect, Pepito’s wings tear through his shirt and he takes off into the air.

Zoli watches him as he flies overhead. Then he swings his spear, releasing a wave of black energy. Her tendrils block it and lunge towards him. Pepito slices their tips off, but they quickly regenerate into mouths full of little fangs. They bite into Pepito, his legs, arms, and chest. He grits his fangs in pain and growls with exertion before releasing a swell of black energy from his whole body that blasts the tendrils apart.

“Impressive,” Zoli comments.

Pepito glares at her, his red eye glowing aggressively. He dive bombs towards her and swings his spear, releasing another wave of energy. A fresh crowd of tendrils burst from her back to block it and charge Pepito. He swings his spear, slicing through them like sushi, until he’s face to face with Zoli. He swings his spear; she swings her scythe. When they clash, the shockwave nearly knocks back Zim and the others.

Pepito and Zoli hold each other in a parry, glaring over their blades. Then Zoli grins.

“You have potential,” she says.

Pepito’s eyes widen with surprise as he feels Zoli’s strength growing. He cries out as she knocks him back and he skids across the ground.

“Pepito!” his friends exclaim and rush to his side. He struggles to sit up and glares at Zoli as she approaches.

“But it’s not enough,” she says, “you’re not a monster. You’re just a baby held back by your own fear.” Pepito’s glare weakens and he looks away. Zoli’s grin widens.

---

“Nny. Wake up, Nny.”

Johnny’s eyes blink open to pure whiteness. He rubs his head as he sits up, looking around. He’s in some kind of endless white space.

“Where…am I…” he mutters.

“Hello, Nny.”

“That voice,” he gasps and turns around. “It couldn’t be…” Floating in front of him is a bunny corpse, a nail puncturing his chest.

“Nailbunny,” he breathes.

“It’s good to see you again, Nny,” the bunny says without moving his mouth.

“It’s uh good to see you too,” Johnny replies, “where are we? I remember fighting Zoli and…oh. Am I dead? Like for real this time.”

“Not exactly,” Nailbunny replies, “although you’re not really alive either. What happens next is up to you.”

“What do you mean?” “What I’m about to explain to you might be confusing, so bear with me. Every once in a while, a person with extraordinary abilities is born. Squee is one such person. With his magnificent imagination he is able to change and manipulate reality to a certain degree. This also makes his body slightly stronger than most humans, manifesting as incredible speed and agility.”

“Nny. You are also such a person.”

“Me?” Johnny questions, “but I haven’t been able to use my imagination for years.”

“Yes,” Nailbunny sighs sadly, “unfortunately, because of your prolonged exposure to the Nightmare, your imagination is damaged beyond repair. Nevertheless, your body still retains the benefits. I’m sure you’ve noticed your heightened durability and strength.”

“Well, yeah, I have often wondered about that,” Johnny agrees.

“Your body’s capacity has only arisen when under extreme duress, but you can change that,” Nailbunny explains, “all you need to do is take control.”

“I am in control,” Johnny states as he stands up. “It’s my body. I should be the one to decide when it uses its power, not my anger. I’m the one in control!”

Nailbunny stares at him warmly. “I’m proud of you, Nny.” Johnny freezes, looking at him with surprise. “R-really?”

“Yes,” he nods, “you’ve grown. Now, wake up. For real this time.”

Johnny smiles at his old rabbit before closing his eyes.

---

Two construction workers hop out of their truck and approach the recently collapsed building.

“Ugh, what a pain in the ass,” one grunts.

“Yeah,” the other sighs, “why do so many buildings keep collapsing?”

“Monsters.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs and they both laugh.

“Anyway,” the first groans, “let’s get to work.”

They start surrounding the rubble with ‘Do Not Cross’ tape. As the second man rounds the corner, he spots something on the ground and cries out in disgust.

“Dude, check this out,” he exclaims. His partner joins him to find a human hand sticking out from under the rubble.

“Eeewww,” the first worker cringes. “I am not looking forward to digging that up.”

They start to walk away when the second worker notices a finger twitch.

“GAh!” he exclaims, jumping back.

“What?” his partner questions.

“It just moved!”

“What? Shut up, man. Don’t try to scare me.”

“I’m serious!” the second worker insists. “The finger moved!”

“It’s just twitching,” the first worker argues, “no big deal.”

The hand suddenly digs into the ground, its fingers tearing into the asphalt. Both workers shriek and fall backwards.

The hand cracks the ground beneath it as the pile of rubble over top of it shifts and lifts up. The workers watch, aghast as it raises higher, staring at the person lifting it up.

He steps out from beneath the wreckage, letting it crash back down behind him, exhaling with relief. His black trench coat is torn up around the hem and sleeves, his black hair is a mess, and his face is smeared with blood and dirt. But the workers are more focused on his eyes; his horrifying, murderous eyes.

“Zoli,” he snarls. He steps forward and the workers soil themselves. And then in an instant, he’s gone.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny the homicidal maniac fanfiction #iz jthm crossover #myart #myocs

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ilcuoreardendo-fic · 4 years

Text

Joy and Solace (QuiObi)

If you’re looking for smut, here be smut, faint hints of plot and character development and deeper connections. But mostly just smut. Because it’s QuiObi Kink Week and that’s how I’m rolling with my (probably) one and only entry.

Enjoy. (And now I go back to my Vaderwan fic that won’t come to a conclusion without a lot of blood, sweat and tears. From me. Not the characters.) This is for Day 1: Forced orgasm/over stimulation | prostate milking

_______________________________________

Obi-Wan stood outside the nondescript hotel door, not fidgeting. Jedi Masters didn’t fidget. He could feel Qui-Gon moving around inside and knew Qui-Gon could feel him, even though the new bond between them lay soft and muted, by mutual agreement. (New bonds, out in the field, could be distracting. And a distraction could be a death sentence.) But his former master wouldn’t open the door until Obi-Wan knocked.

He licked his dry lips. Whatever this was between them, it was the culmination of numerous juvenile dreams and masturbatory fantasies that Obi-Wan had never thought would be realized.

This thing between them had started months ago, while Obi-Wan convalesced at the Temple after a particularly hard fall (caused by a blaster shot he hadn’t been quick enough to block) had brought him in from the front lines.

Qui-Gon’s anger had been palpable. It was only Obi-Wan’s elevated leg and a well-practiced pair of Tooka eyes that had Qui-Gon backing down from yet another rant about the Council’s management (or mismanagement) of the entire war effort. Obi-Wan secretly thought much of his temper came from the fact that Qui-Gon could not join him on the battlefield; his injuries on Naboo had permanently changed his professional track within the Jedi Order.

A well-timed push of calm and comfort along the remnants of their training bond had Qui-Gon calming further. A stiff drink relaxed them both enough that when the kiss came, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure who initiated it. Though there had been no doubt about who had pinned whose wrists to the mattress. His wrists still tingled when Obi-Wan thought about it.

Obi-Wan knocked. A moment later, the door opened and he stepped inside.

“Good evening, Obi-Wan.”

“Hello, Qui-Gon.”

“Tea?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. Already he could feel that sense of calm that he’d come to know during his last few rendezvous with Qui-Gon. It made his tongue heavy and stole his words. But he didn’t need them. Not here. Not in this space.

Qui-Gon smiled gently. His hair was pulled back in a tight braid and he wore what must have been a hotel provided bathrobe. “You’re here. So you must have received my package.”

Obi-Wan nodded again. He hadn’t spent much time behind Temple walls in the last few months and the war had often kept them well apart. When they did end up in the same sector, or when Qui-Gon had leave from his ambassadorial duties, Obi-Wan would inevitably come back to his quarters and find a note with a time and a place.

This time, the note had been accompanied by a small box, containing some contraption he’d never seen before but which had come with a helpful manual.

“Are you wearing it?” Qui-Gon asked, arching his brow.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan licked his lips, “Master.”

“Show me.” Qui-Gon guided Obi-Wan into the center of the room where light from the overhead lamps pooled around a rug and a couple of pillows. Obi-Wan handed his cloak to Qui-Gon who tucked it away. Underneath, he wore only his under tunic and trousers and he hooked the waistband and drew them down his hips, just enough to show off the cage.

When he’d pulled the metal contraption out of the box, it had taken him a moment to figure it all out, even with the instructions, but eventually he’d managed to slip his testicles and his cock through the ring before taking that second piece—a shining carapace of woven metal with a strategically placed hole at the tip—and fitting it over his soft cock. It had fit almost as if it were molded for him. He’d attached it to the ring and, with a brief bout of nerves, snapped the tiny padlock that would keep him from removing the ring or the cage into place. He remembered the postscript on the note: I have the key.

Qui-Gon’s soft draw of breath was loud in the hush of the room. He leaned forward to run his finger along Obi-Wan’s tight scrotum. “Beautiful. Now, when was the last time you orgasmed?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “A week before I received your note, Master.”

“Eight days ago, then,” Qui-Gon said, cupping Obi-Wan’s chin, fingers stroking over his beard.

“Why does that matter?”

Qui-Gon smiled guilelessly, gave an eloquent shrug. “You know what I plan to do to you. What if I told you that what you give to me was the only lubricant I’d be using to fuck you tonight?”

A flare of heat shot from the pit of Obi-Wan’s stomach to the tip of his cock and he groaned as the cage did its job, preventing him from becoming erect. The bond between them shivered with Obi-Wan’s arousal.

“Oh my.” Qui-Gon brushed his mouth along Obi-Wan’s temple. “I think you like that idea.”

“Master, please.”

“You washed up like I asked?”

Flushing at the memory of pulling the enema bulb from package, Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“Good boy.” Qui-Gon said and kissed him. “Now, take off your clothes and kneel.” He indicated the two pillows, spread just enough apart on the rug that Obi-Wan knew he would be in a position of full display. The thought excited him.

Once he was naked and settled on his heels, his knees spread open on the pillows, caged cock bobbing obscenely between his legs, Qui-Gon knelt just behind him and held something up for Obi-Wan’s inspection. It was a long, slim wand of sleek plasteel with a bulbous, angled head.

“Remember,” Qui-Gon said, “we can stop at any time.” He pressed a warm kiss to Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“I know. I’m ready.” Even as he spoke, Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s fingers slide along the crease of his ass, dip into the furl of his anus and press one finger gently against him, into him.

“Oh,” Qui-Gon murmured, “already slick and open. Did I ask you to prepare yourself?”

“No, Master,” Obi-Wan murmured, momentarily chastised. It had seemed like the thing to do at the time.

“Next time, leave that privilege for me,” Qui-Gon breathed into his ear, stroking gently inside him, the penetration slow and teasing. Then he very intentionally pressed his finger against a spot—prostate, Obi-Wan’s mind helpfully supplied—that sent a shockwave through Obi-Wan, raising the hair on his body. There had been shadows of this sensation during their previous sex but nothing quite like this.

“Did you like that?”

Had he? It had been strange, but not unpleasant. A thrill of pleasure that toed the line of too strong. “I’m not sure, Master.”

“Hm. Well, you’ll have time to decide,” Qui-Gon said as he withdrew his finger.

Obi-Wan heard him tear open what must have been a sachet of lubricant. Then—

“Oh. I almost forgot,” Qui-Gon said as he leaned around Obi-Wan and plucked a shallow, wide mouthed cup from the floor just in front of them, placing it beneath Obi-Wan’s caged cock.

Obi-Wan licked his lips and Qui-Gon shot him a sly smile before disappearing over his shoulder again.

A moment later, something slick and unyielding prodded at the center of him. Obi-Wan breathed out slowly. As he let himself relax, the wand slid inside him with little resistance. It wasn’t the same feeling as his Master’s fingers or cock but there was something about it, something about kneeling here, caged, at Qui-Gon’s mercy, that made him hyper aware of the slow glide of the wand and, in turn, made arousal pool warm and thick in his belly.

Qui-Gon gave a few teasing strokes deep inside him and then pulled most of the wand out and slid it lightly over his prostate, shooting off that strange, almosttoomuch spark of pleasure from before. And then he did it again and again, settling into a rhythm that soon had Obi-Wan groaning beneath his breath and grasping his thighs to keep his hands away from his cage.

Something like the sensation of orgasm—but weaker, muted—crawled down his spine and through his pelvis, ending at the tip of his soft cock, which tried valiantly to harden.

“Ah. Good boy,” Qui-Gon whispered in his ear. “Lean against me a little. Yes, just like that. Now, look at your cock.” Qui-Gon stroked the wand a little more firmly over his prostate, drawing a strangled cry from him. “Look, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan looked. A steady stream of ejaculate flowed from him into the shallow cup.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Qui-Gon said, never stopping the movements of the wand. “How does it feel, Obi-Wan?”

“Like…like a wave that never crests,” Obi-Wan stuttered.

Qui-Gon snorted. “If you’re capable of being poetic, I’m not doing my job. Hm.”

At Qui-Gon’s contemplative hum, Obi-Wan felt the phantom touch of the Force around him and suddenly inside him. Pushing into him like a lover’s cock, spreading around the wand and swelling to fill him in much the same way Qui-Gon did, setting his nerve endings alight.

Obi-Wan felt his body flush. The skin along his back and shoulders and at his temples prickled with itchy-heat and he tried to thrust his hips back, only to find himself held immobile by the same Force that penetrated him, his body denied the pinnacle of pleasure it sought.

And that’s what tonight was about. He could do nothing. He wasn’t in control. If Qui-Gon wanted him to have pleasure, he would give it. If Qui-Gon wanted him to come, he would make him. All Obi-Wan needed to do was…just this: give up his control, leave it in Qui-Gon’s hands.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he let himself go. Let himself sink into his body, into the nerves deep inside his ass that sang in tune with the nerves in his cock. It felt as if he’d been riding the edge of orgasm for hours. His entire consciousness narrowed down to where Qui-Gon stroked him with the wand and where Qui-Gon’s other hand wrapped around his hip and how the Force held him and flowed into him. He was a creature of flesh and blood and raw sensation to be shaped and molded by his Master’s hands.

At that thought, he let Qui-Gon take more of his weight, butting his head up under his Master’s chin.

Qui-Gon made a noise deep in his chest, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. He felt his Master further open the bond between them, felt Qui-Gon’s pleasure through it: his joy at holding Obi-Wan in his arms, his arousal at being allowed to explore these new sensations and push boundaries, his awe and humility at Obi-Wan’s willingness to trust him.

“Your surrender is a gift, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon made one last teasing pass over Obi-Wan’s prostate, pressing in a way that left Obi-Wan gasping, and withdrew the wand. “Now…” he said, and reached around Obi-Wan, plucking the half full cup from between his legs.

Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder, warm and languid, his body aching for orgasm and his mind aching for Qui-Gon to fuck him.

Qui-Gon stripped off his robe with one hand. He wore nothing underneath. His erection, flushed and dewy, stood up against his belly. He poured Obi-Wan’s ejaculate into his palm and ran his cupped hand over his cock, slicking himself with Obi-Wan’s own fluids. The site itself took Obi-Wan’s breath away. And on top of it, through the bond, Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon touching himself and his cock gave a twitch inside its cage. Qui-Gon’s own arousal flamed like a banked fire.

Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan’s eyes and gestured for him to face front. “Down,” he said.

Obi-Wan turned his head and, keeping his knees spread, bent forward, as if in supplication, elbows coming to rest on the rug, head hanging between his shoulders and ass lifted in the air.

A moment later, Qui-Gon gripped his hips and drove into him with one long, steady push. The stretch was sweet torment, making every muscle in his body clench in anticipation. Through the bond he could feel Qui-Gon feeling him, hot and tight and just slick enough to allow Qui-Gon to move without fear of hurting Obi-Wan.

It’s like you were made for me.

Obi-Wan caught the errant thought as Qui-Gon set a pace that was just this side of punishing. Again, his whole world narrowed down to a series of focal points. Qui-Gon’s hands in a bruising grip on his hips (and oh, he’d be touching himself to the memory of how he got those bruises for as long as they lasted). Qui-Gon’s thick cock inside him, filling him in a way that nothing and no one else did, dragging against his walls and over his sensitized prostate. It was just this side of painful and he never wanted it to stop.

When Qui-Gon finally came, Obi-Wan, surprisingly, did too. The orgasm seemed to start deep inside his belly; radiated outward, soaring through every muscle. The rest of it came from inside his mind, through the bond: Qui-Gon’s orgasm melding with his own. Even though Obi-Wan’s cock was soft, and even though he felt like he’d already been milked dry, he spent himself inside the cage with a hoarse cry and collapsed forward onto the rug.

Obi-Wan sensed surprise and delight through the bond.

Qui-Gon draped over him, kissed the back of his head, his temple, his ear. “Looks like I don’t need to offer you a hand.”

“Oh Force,” Obi-Wan whimpered. “Don’t even think of it.” His body was so strung out he might cry if Qui-Gon so much as imagined touching him.

Chuckling, Qui-Gon managed to turn them, while staying inside him, until they rested on their sides. He curved his body around Obi-Wan’s, long and lean and warm. Obi-Wan settled back against him, body exhausted, mind quiet, sated. The Force hummed around them and through their bond. It was the most content Obi-Wan could remember being since before the war started.

Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “I can’t be out there with you,” he said and Obi-Wan knew he’d caught that last thought. “Can’t fight next to you or watch your back. But I’m glad I can offer you somewhere to seek solace.”

Obi-Wan tucked his head against Qui-Gon’s chin. “I’m glad you’re here to do so.”

#quiobi #qui gon jinn #obi wan kenobi #quiobi kink week #qui gon #obi wan #quixobi #sw fic #sw kink fic #star wars #star wars prequels #queued post

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thanksjro · 4 years

Text

Spotlight: Orion Pax - Because Hasbro was Getting Antsy About Their Golden Boy Having Faffed Off into Space

Oho, you thought we were done with Optimus Prime, did you?

You fools.

This is Transformers- we’re legally obligated to have Optimus Prime in some form or fashion running around at all times. This is just Hasbro catching up.

Fun fact: this was published on December 12th, 2012!

Our issue opens up with Orion Pax strapped to the top of a shuttle that’s careening towards a city.

But that’s the hook, so we won’t get to see what that’s all about just yet. No, first we’ve got to see just what all led to this point.

Earlier in the day, Orion Pax got refitted with a hot new bod, courtesy of Wheeljack, and now he’s showing off his new look to historical constant Rung and Kaput, who are here to assist in acclimation.

This is Kaput’s first appearance in the comics, but it’s not his first entry into the IDW continuity. He was introduced in the Last Stand of the Wreckers prose story Bullets, where he diagnosed Ironfist with dead, in so many words. Kaput’s here currently because he specializes in sparks, and he’s going to make sure that Orion’s doesn’t explode in his chest thanks to the frame change. No word on whether the wheel was something he came into the world with or a modification.

But enough medical nonsense, let’s see the star of the show.

That’s not how reflections work!

Orion’s first point of contention is the fact that his lucky faceplate is missing. Wheeljack replaced it with a proper face, because that’s the new hotness right now. I guess when you’re a race of space robots who can change their bodies the way humans change their clothes, fashion is a lot more work. I wonder if faces out out of vogue in the present- there’s a lot of guys without one on the Lost Light.

Rung offers Orion some reading materials to help him cope with the sudden change, but it isn’t necessary. Orion fully intends to switch back to his old bod after his mission is over.

If you couldn’t tell by this point, this whole “frame change” thing is a plot contrivance to explain away some of the design clashing between comics set during this time period.

This is Zeta.

Yes, really, they’re the same guy. I don’t think Senator Shockwave would have had him modified for Matrix carrying if he’d known how tacky he was going to be about it.

Zeta Prime seems to think that haute couture is exploding a Galapagos turtle and then strapping the smoking remains to your back.

Zeta leads Orion over to where Nightbeat’s waiting with a slideshow he spent hours on. Nightbeat, at the time of this story, is a hostage negotiator, and today his mission, as well as Orion’s, is to retrieve our beloved Ratchet from a Decepticon terrorist cell hiding somewhere in the Rust Spot. The Rust Spot’s some heavy duty danger, hence the reformat for Orion.

They’ll also be bringing on Alpha Trion, #1 Rust Spot navigator, philosopher, polymath, polyglot, historian, and all-around grandpa.

His beard gets a D+, however.

Note the quotation marks on “he” here; it looks like even Roberts was sick of the Furmanism that is “genderless robots that all appear to be male”. We’ll get more into that sticky situation later on. What I want to focus on right now is our artist for the issue, Steve Kurth.

Kurth is from Wisconsin, and doesn’t have a ton of pencil credits to his name in the Transformers franchise. He mostly does work for Marvel, and while it appears his art blog hasn’t been updated in a few years, the publishing company still has a tag for him. He’s done the Avengers, if that’s your thing.

Anyway, so nobody knows who’s in the back.

I gotta say, Alpha Trion, you got some brass fucking balls to insinuate that the cops forgot to put the hostage tradeoff in the trailer, in front of said cops.

The fellas transform and roll out, Orion pulling the trailer because anything else would be blasphemy, as Alpha Trion guides them to the meet up point. As they drive, the old man regales the young whippersnappers with his tales of friendship and adventure alongside Metroplex the Titan. They were, like, best friends. Seriously.

Storytime gets interrupted however, as our heroes are attacked from beyond the mists.

You know, when I was a kid, my mom had a car that looked exactly like Nightbeat here, paint job and all.

Alpha Trion got so wrapped up in blathering away, he forgot to mention that they were in Slicer territory, and might want to be on the lookout. Thanks, Alpha, way to be a pal.

Nightbeat refers to the creatures as “throwbacks”, something that’s never elaborated on, but I’m going to guess it means something along the lines of being primitive, or perhaps animalistic.

Holy fucking shit, that’s terrifying.

These awful things start swarming Orion, Nightbeat, and Alpha Trion, who all start punching and shooting with wild abandon, making short work of the mass. Orion gets a few paper cuts for his troubles, but they’re all more or less alright.

The trailer can’t say quite the same though; the door’s popped off, and the contents have either escaped or never existed in the first place.

Schrodinger wept.

Alpha Trion pulls the prisoner out of the fog… and then so does Nightbeat.

It’s a two-for-one sale at the Hostage Emporium.

Rack and Ruin haven’t really done anything to warrant being worth a whole entire Ratchet, so Orion decides to have a little chat and see what’s up.

Oh, that’s what Nightbeat meant by Ruin being the ugly one.

Orion’s chat reveals these two chumps to be even bigger losers than they first appeared to be- their only talent seems to be instantaneous conversion, which involves shutting off all the safety protocols for one’s transformation cog for a faster switch.

Orion switches trains of thought, asking about the Decepticon cause and its whole deal. This is a bit after the events of the heist, so the rhetoric has become a bit more violent by this time, and he wants to know what the hell happened.

But there’s no time for philosophic musing, because that’s when the Decepticons show up. Thundercracker escorts our group to the hideout to meet Bludgeon, and the exchange is made, albeit with a pro bono thrown in.

Well, shit.

This was why the Decepticons wanted to meet in the Rust Spot; because they knew only Alpha Trion would be able to guide the cops to the tradeoff point. But what are they going to do with robot grandpa? Why, use him to find Metroplex, of course!

There’s a rumor that Titans have the capabilities to create space bridges inside them- we as the reader know this to be true thanks to the 2012 MTMTE Annual, but let’s not tell Bludgeon about all that, yes?

Orion, please, this is hardly the time.

Luckily for Alpha Trion, Orion stuffed some guns into the bottom of the trailer, as is made apparent when he starts throwing them to his buddies. Why he and Nightbeat weren’t carrying any weapons on their person isn’t addressed, but at least the idea here is kind of cool.

Alpha Trion easily escapes his bonds, because a noose isn’t really worth much to a species that doesn’t breathe and can literally survive not having a head.

We are just laying it on THICK today, aren’t we?

Rack and Ruin lead the other not-Decepticons into the tunnels towards safety- not sure how exactly, considering they’ve got their sensory deprivation helmets back on- as Orion Pax is dogpiled into submission.

Bludgeon might need a hobby. Might I suggest jigsaw puzzles?

Orion’s about to hit the loop that was created by the first page of this issue, so he tries to stall for time to think of a way out of all this. He halfway succeeds, in that he gets a little more time, but doesn’t come up with anything. Down on the ground, all his friends watch the shuttle shoot into the sky, probably wondering what all that’s about.

Bludgeon was aiming for this shuttle to hit a populated area, but it would appear that he’s an idiot and overshot by a wide margin. Cool beans.

Ah wait, we still have another three pages of story to this.

Hey, y’all remember Hoist’s tragic backstory, where he wandered the Rust Spot alone until he almost died of exhaustion?

Yeah, that was Orion’s fault.

The Fault of Our Star, if you will.

(I’ve never read anything written by John Green, what the hell am I doing?)

Because he just bounced off the underside of Hoist’s shuttlecraft, Orion’s hurtling towards the downtown section of Iacon, which is absolutely a populated area and exactly what Bludgeon was going for. Orion’s going to have to think fast if he’s going to get out of this one. Good thing Rack and Ruin told him their super secret transformation technique.

Thinking quickly, Orion transforms into a truck, breaks his bonds, somehow manages to not fly off the side of the shuttle due to wind pressure, transforms back to root mode, shuts off the autopilot, slams into a wide open field just outside of town, and survives well enough to be more concerned about Wheeljack being mad he scuffed up his new body than his own safety. Good on you, Orion! You saved the day!

To celebrate, he takes an old hubcap or something and shoves it over his face, because I guess only he gets to know how he’s feeling.

Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault the story just kind of ends here.

#transformers #jro #spotlight #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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coldtomyflash · 5 years

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What do you think of Dick's portrayal in the various tv and movie adaptations? I first saw him in Batman TAS and loved him from the start. But the reboot came around and Tim replaced him as deuteragonist. Also the fallout with his relationship with Barbara (which I once loved) got even worse in Batman Beyond (in which he never appeared on screen) and the comic with the Bruce/Barbara/baby storyline. In the end it was like the writers hated him and in recent movies he takes a back seat to Damian.

“various TV and movie adaptations”

... movie adaptations?

We haven’t seen Dick in a movie in like 20 years. Unless you mean DC’s animated films, like Justice League: War, and similar?

But okay, what an awesome question.

If you check out my previous post (here), you’ll discover quickly that pretty much one of my favourite portrayals of him is Young Justice. I thought they did an amazing job in Season 1 with showing the depth of him (and of most of the main characters honestly) and all the different layers he has in terms of identity, including with his friends, with the league, with leadership, and with Bruce. The time-skip from him being Robin to him being an adult, self-assured Nightwing was a bit of a letdown because that transition is messy, but the characterization was still great.

I also loved him in Batman TAS but I haven’t watched that in so long. Definitely what go me originally into superhero media (well okay I remember being 4 years old and watching the old live action Adam West Batman but like, does that count? I guess it has to, because Dick is straight up hilarious in that, but like, characterization wise idk what to even say about that version). Anyway in TAS we get that whole tension of Dick’s role and identity vis a vis being Batman’s sidekick and I’m really into that. That portrayal is probably like the foundation, stone number one, when it comes to understanding Dick Grayson.

As for Batman Beyond - okay I love Batman Beyond, really and truly, but tbh I kind of think of it like... an alt-universe, almost like a... fic. I think of it like someone’s Batman AU in which they created an OC as a protagonist. And I’m into it! But I don’t really connect it with the rest of the Batman or DC canon if I’m being honest. Terry is great, I adore him, he actually reminds me a lot of Dick, but yeah wtf is going on with the implied fallout between Bruce and Dick and Dick not even being in the show. Idk. Doesn’t count. Side-step that weird non-canon.

(I mean, fucking tell me they’re not basically writing Dick with a different name here.)

Don’t touch Bruce/Barbara. Stick your fingers in your ears and sing la la la la la la at the top of your lungs until it goes away. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Do not let DC continue until that storyline is wiped from the face of the earth.

As for the recent animated films, typically they’re not focused on Dick but they do a half-decent job with him. I do like the Son of Batman (or whatever it’s called) animated film where they introduce Damian to the plot; Dick is pretty good in that even though his role is more minor. I haven’t watched the one with Harley Quinn yet where she’s helping Bruce and Dick but I really want to, it looks like it has some potentially entertaining Dick content in there.

(except that hair. What did they do to my handsome boi?)

What I tend to like about the modern animated films is that they get the snark right? They have these people make fun of each other and themselves, they get to be deadpan, they take the comics storylines and bring them to life in bite-sized chunks that are easier to digest. They also tend to have awesome voice-acting. They’re very much designed for pre-existing comics fans and are light on exposition as well, which makes me a good target audience. So I don’t tend to get too annoyed with the characterization in any of them, in part because they’re often pulling directly from pretty good comics arcs.

So the comics - (whoo boy this is getting long!)

I am in the small and Unpopular camp of people who kind of liked the entire goddamn mess that had Dick’s identity revealed to the world in... was that New 52 Forever Evil? i think it was; I have it on my shelf. I mean - we got some of Bruce and Dick’s dynamic and how much Bruce cares for Dick, and I’m all about that, but it was also like a shockwave in the Batfam because holy shit.

That being said, I’m not sure how much I like the direction taken, with the spiral agents and all that. I mean - Dick is Nightwing. And while him going undercover or being a spiral agent is kind of fun, the inherent problem with the identity reveal that they can’t really take back is that he can’t be allowed to be Nightwing anymore. So in that sense I also really fucking hate it.

And then Dick being Batman for a while when Bruce is off being Not Quite Dead? I like Dick and Damian’s dynamic (kind of) but again it seems like backtracking to me. The way I interpret Dick is so much as his own person that for him to put on the cowl feels... wrong. Like he specifically doesn’t want to be Batman? And it feels like this authorial obsession with Batman, and with their always being a Batman. Like - Gotham needs the Bat fam, not just the Bat man. Y’know?

I don’t mind the recent focus on Damian, though I think my biggest issue with it is that it kind of felt for a while like “ah yes, Bruce has a true son now, time to give him all the narrative weight, who cares about the rest of these former Robins” and I wasn’t in to that. Which is nothing against Damian.

(I want more batfam hugs! not just Damian! but also yes this is cute)

But the Batfam is only as interesting and their connections to each other, y’know? I’d love to see more focus on Tim, tbh, on Tim and Jason, on that whole mess and its resolution, on Jason and Dick, on Dick coming to terms with his family colours being passed down, on what it meant for him when Jason died, on what it meant for him when he met Tim. Let’s explore more of that in the movies and animated series, please!!

(I guess we get some of that in DC’s Titans? I hope so. I need to catch up. Dick so far seems complex and angry, which I’m into, but also like... Dick Grayson is a beacon of hope, okay. That’s who he is. A version of Dick that isn’t inherently trying to help and save everyone is kind of hard to wrap my head around. I’m not fully sure how I feel about him yet, but I do like the series).

Oh I totally forgot to talk about Teen Titans. I haven’t watched Teen Titans Go, but boy howdy did I love the original Teen Titans. I was just the right age when it came out to be the target audience and I very much enjoyed Robin in that series, at least as well as I can remember. And Lego Batman which is hilarious.

Okay that’s all for me now. I’ll go back to pretending I’m a Flash blog or something.

#oh god did i become a dick grayson stan blog #i think i did #whoops #sorry not sorry #dick grayson #dc #bat family #i have no tagging convention for this shit uh oh #uhhh #Not Flash #Not DC CWTV #off topic #nightwing #robin #characterization #Anonymous

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disdelusion · 4 years

Text

@mzone + starter call ♥

it’s friday afternoon which means no more classes at johnny mutant’s school of taking pity on david haller. he locks up the staff room and stares at the keys in his palm. there are two of them. the number of doors he locked is one. so, there’s something else he still needs to do. ( look at our resident genius go ). he looks around. ( storage room ). ah, he almost forgot.

david makes his way to the storage room while squeezing the keys in his sweaty palm. he doesn’t like weekends. they leave him with too much freedom and too much freedom makes the mind wander. maybe he should talk to the principal ( or maybe you should leave already ) about more classes. between his fingers, david can sense that strange metallic scent of overheating keys. he jams one of them into the keyhole of the storage room. it doesn’t fit. he scrambles to change it to the right one. he drops both keys.

sometimes it’s the littlest things that can set someone off.

david slams his forehead into the doors before him and a shockwave follows. this is his right ( you decide what is real ) and this is what happens around him. he makes the walls tremble and the shelves shake with pressure. an avalanche of dull thuds behind the doors follows the impact. david can guess that every single ball in the storage room just tumbled down and started bouncing off the floors and each other. he bangs his fist on the doors and they start to vibrate, building up to some sort of spectacular explosion.

but before that, a gasp makes it past the percussion. david gasps too and everything stops moving. he pushes the doors open and sees ziggy, trapped between various pieces of sport equipment that were now frozen in the air.

“ziggy!” he yells even though everything is quiet again and there’s no reason to raise his voice. ( what did we tell her about trying to help? ) anger swells. “what did i tell you about--” no, wrong. wrong. ( try again ). he shakes his head, tries again.

“i’m, i’m sorry, are you okay?”

#i think we were getting too cozy w/ mx david not being a Danger to people around himher #also dont match i just wanted to.... paint the PICTURE #SET SHIT UP #( v: johnny mutant's school of etc. ).#mzone

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lilhemmo · 5 years

Text

the forbidden fruit pt. seven

the forbidden fruit part seven: the warning

ao3 | wattpad | masterlist | askbox | moodboards

new parts every friday evening!

t h e w a r n i n g

Sweet Pea knows the route to Ares’ familiar hideaway all too well.

The cove is only a few hours away from the Twins’ temples, and they take the ride in silence. Still, he can tell that she is on the edge of her seat with words boiling at the tip of her tongue. He is merely waiting for the pin to drop.

And so it does when they are moments away from their destination.

“It irritates me that you would let them speak to you like that.”

Sweet Pea takes a breath, as he often does before speaking to Lilith. “If I were to go around slashing at everyone who angered me, there would be none left.”

“And?”

He wants to chuckle because of course Lilith wouldn’t understand nor care as to the consequences of those actions. Sweet Pea holds the reigns tighter around his knuckles, chewing on his lip as he formulates his answer.

“I do not wish to be the ruler of all godkind, my little mortal. I did not want my domain in from the beginning, but I took it with my brothers’ blessings and have ruled it as well as one can.” Sweet Pea squints as the sun sets in the distance, a golden hue washing over the valley, “I would love to raise a sword against each of the gods or men who have angered me even in the slightest. It is my basic nature, but I do have to fight it often, or else I would be as seedy as Ares.”

“If I were a god,” Lilith starts, her hands balling into fists in her lap, “I would be sure the others respected me enough to fear me, and-”

“Lili, you cannot go around just swinging a sword and-”

“-I would be kind enough to those who deserved it.”

“Oh.”

Somehow, Sweet Pea knew this. He has seen her with Cerberus and Charon. He has watched her with the Serpents and the Souls. He knows she has kindness in her heart, but there is a chain of ruthlessness that binds around it.

The stench of bodily musk and blood wafts into Sweet Pea’s nose and he knows that they are near enough for Ares to sense them.

“Please, Lilith,” Sweet Pea grabs her by the shoulders and she swears she sees concern in his eyes, “let me handle this.”

A spear whizzes past the chariot, lodging into the tree trunk behind them.

“Ares!” Sweet Pea roars, yanking the spear from the wood of the tree and positioning it in the opposite direction. “Be still, nephew!”

Sweet Pea launches the spear and it lodges in the middle of a tree trunk about one hundred yards away. Lilith feels the hair on her body prickle at the sight and she fights a smile, remembering that they’re still at odds with one another.

When the pair walk over the crest of a hill, they are met with a burly, muscular figure dressed from head to toe in Ancient Greek battle gear. He has a spear strapped to his back and two swords strapped against his hips. There are long, bronze plates covering his extremities, only making his muscles look bulkier.

As soon as Lilith steps within a few hundred feet of the soldier, she feels a burning in the pit of her stomach and a fire light behind her eyes. She bares her teeth and her jaw quivers under the stress of the bite of her mouth.

“Ah, Sweets,” Ares curls his upper lip in semi-disgust, semi-admiration. “What a pleasure it is to see you in the mortal realm. What brings you to my resting place?”

Sweet Pea steps in front of Lilith, disregarding her, “I see you’ve taken a younger form, nephew. It suits you.”

It is true, Lilith notices. Even though he has a figure full of muscles, strapping around thick, dense bones, he looks young in the face. There is a shadow of stubble across his cheeks and down his jawline, paired with youthful, murderous eyes. If she were to look close enough, Lilith believes she would find literal fire glowing in his irises.

“Well, I need to appeal to the other young men who are running into battle,” Ares smirks, crossing his arms over his breastplate. It looks rather uncomfortable, but Lilith would argue that just spurs on his anger and hate. “They are more agreeable when they see me fighting alongside them, spurring on the heels of war.”

It is as if the word war sent a new shockwave of ferocity and pain down Lilith’s spine. She was in such awe of the god that she forgot his war was what took her brother’s life.

“Ares, you muttonhead,” Lilith points her finger in the air, her other hand hovering dangerously close to the dagger at her waist. “Your heels of war takes away the precious gift of life, and-”

“I like this one,” Ares grins, tilting his head as if to consider the mortal. He turns his eyes to Hades, “She has much anger in her soul, much fight still left in her. A darkness settled on her soul, though. It taints her spirit.”

Lilith grabs for her knife and Ares laughs, snapping his finger and the dagger returns to her hilt, “Young maiden, are you sure of your lineage?”

“Why do you all keep asking me this?!” Lilith spits, grabbing for her knife again. Every time she gets it out of her hilt and into her fist, it returns when she blinks. “Why does it matter who my family is?”

Ares’ eyes glint like firelight and a smirk crooks his lips upward, “If you’re a demigod, child, it is important to know which of the gods claims you. What powers do you possess?”

“Powers?” Lilith blanches. She rolls her eyes and tries to snatch the dagger again, but just as she raises it to Ares’ throat, it vanishes back into the hilt. She groans in frustration, “Listen – we came here for a reason, god of war, and it was not to discuss my lineage.”

“I really like this one.”

Sweet Pea gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach at the god’s comments, so he takes a step in front of Lilith and uses his fingertips to brush her hip and guide her behind his taller frame. The god of war notices this and the gleam in his eye grows brighter.

“Uncle,” he begins to saunter towards the god and the mortal, “what exactly is it that you’ve come to me for?”

Hades clears his throat, “Ares, we were told that the Oracle would be traveling to you for a prophecy. We need to consult with her, and you know she cannot travel to my realm.”

“Oh, so you need the Truth Teller.”

“Yes,” Sweet Pea answers. He chews on the inside corner of his lip, “I know the Oracle travels fast. Has she already spent time here?”

Ares walks around Hades like he’s stalking prey. Every time he circles closer to Lilith, she feels her hair on her neck stand vertical and her heart starts beating quicker. She wonders if she balled her fists, if they might burst into flames. What was it Ares had said about powers? She might find if she dug deep enough, tapped into enough rage, that she possessed some sort of power. As long as it brought Ares to his knees, Lilith did not mind.

“You know information comes at a price, Uncle. I cannot just give you the information regarding the Oracle. Apollo would have my head.” Ares’ armor clanks as he paces around, hand brushing over the harsh line of his jaw.

Sweet Pea’s jaw locks under the pressure of his own teeth, “Ares, you know those rules only apply to mortals.”

“The girl is at least half-mortal, is she not?”

Lilith balls her fists up so tight that her fingernails cut half-moons into her palms. She surges forward, “I am no half of anything, you brute.”

The god of the dead snatches her by the elbow, pulling her back so she stumbles into his chest. Ares watches as he murmurs something into her ear and her posture relaxes. He licks his lips, careening around her like she were his meal, “You would be wise to heed your place, child.”

“I am no child, Ares,” Lilith speaks and it sounds like a warning. If he were being honest, the god of war did feel wary at her threat. Still, he pushes his chest out and presses the heels of his palms to both swords at his waist, “You are a child to me, mortal. Does Hades allow you to talk to him this way?”

Sweet Pea falters and Ares has all the information he needs.

“Ah, he does.”

Ares now stalks Hades as if he were prey. He curls his upper lip as he considers the god, tilting his head to take him all in. After a moment of silence, he speaks, “I knew you were a weakling, Uncle, but I did not take you for a fool. Ever since Aphr-”

“Do not speak her name to me, nephew,” Hades glowers, his hands turning to fists. He knows that his kin is goading him into a fight, but now it does not matter. He is the elder god, must more seasoned than Ares. But the god of war has his own ruthlessness and anger fueling him.

“Oh, so even the name of a lost lover makes you cower?” Ares taunts. He chuckles sinisterly and Lilith catches a flash of fire ignite in his eyes. “How else do you allow this mortal to affect you? Does she crawl into your bed at night, replacing all the other true gods who might satisfy you? None of them have come to visit, have they? Too busy enjoying the spoils of Olympus, I’d think.”

Lilith roars and charges forward, the flicker in her irises reflecting that of the god across from her. Finally, she is able to rip her knife out from her belt and slam it into whatever part of Ares she can find. The grass underneath her feet becomes more solid, it would seem, evening out her foothold and keeping her steady.

The god raises his shield and her sword clangs against it, bronze glinting against Olympian gold. She bares her teeth and holds onto the weapon so tight, her knuckles pale.

Ares laughs, the sound coming from his belly, “You petty mortal. You’re full of fire, but you are unwise.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Sweet Pea jabs from where he now stands a mere foot away from Ares. He grabs the god by the throat and hoists him in the air, pushing Lilith away with the wave of his hand. She stumbles, but does not fall.

Ares’ nostrils flare, eyes wide with ire, “You are a sad blur in the Olympian story, Hades. Your life brings our family nothing but shame. Zeus should have killed you when he had the chance.”

“A god can kill another god, my nephew,” Sweet Pea’s hair turns into bright orange flame, licking at his neck and burning Ares’ face. Welts begin to appear on the god’s skin, bubbling and searing red. Sweet Pea brings the god closer, so close that their noses might brush, “Should we show the mortal how I send a soul to Tartarus?”

Ares goes for his swords, but Hades has rammed his knee into the god’s gut before he can get a good enough grip on the weapons. Ares totters back, “Does she not know of your lover, Sweets? Or of how she abandoned you when you were sent to that rotting stink hole?”

“Is this how low you must stoop, nephew? This is a centuries old story,” Sweet Pea shakes his head and takes a deep breath, collecting some sort of shadowy substance in his hands. “It always angered you how she loved me. Pretending as if she ever cared for you will not change the outcome. You were never enough.”

Sweet Pea throws the shadow to Ares and it immediately morphs into a set of slithering chains, dragging the god to the ground. Ares is able to slash through them, sending little worms writhing into the dirt.

“I am stronger than you!” Ares bellows, slashing his sword. Hades steps out of the way of the blade, turning his body with every blow. “You know you cannot best me, Uncle, and so you cower away like a mortal.”

“I did not come here for a fight, my nephew. I only came for information.” Sweet Pea materializes a glittering obsidian sword from thin air, brandishing it with a confidence that shakes even Lilith to her core.

“I am the god of death,” Sweet Pea boasts. “If you do not think I can kill you, then come forward.”

Ares smirks as if he’s already won, “I will tell you where the Oracle is gone to if you can pin me in battle.”

“And suddenly there is a line drawn before death?” Hades taunts, grinning like an animal. He licks his lips and waits for Ares to charge first.

Lilith watches as the two fight with their swords, gold glinting against blackened steel. Her fists shake with every blow that lands too closely to Sweet Pea’s body, knowing full-well that Ares could kill him if he strikes in just the right spot.

Her fingers twist in the air and she’s not sure what happens, but when she opens her eyes, Ares is pinned to the soil with Sweet Pea’s blade at his throat. Around his legs are vines, dragging him down under the earth so only his upper body is aboveground.

“The little demon intervened,” Ares cries, stabbing his swords in the ground. He tries to pull himself up, but the earth does not waver.

Hades shakes his head, “She is but a mortal, nephew. Lilith cannot intervene.”

“Lilith,” Ares temper flares, his eyes ablaze with molten fire. He snarls up at his kin, “I will remember that name.”

“I should think this encounter would be one that’s hard to forget, Ares. Now, the next location of the Oracle, please.”

The memory of why they came to him in the first place jars the god of war and his scowl turns into a frightful smirk, eyes cooling from a bright red to a warm orange. He chuffs out a laugh, breathing heavy through his nose, “You’re going to enjoy this, Uncle.”

Sweet Pea raises a brow, not speaking but silently waiting for his answer.

“The beautiful Aphrodite has requested the Oracle for a prophecy. That is where you will find the Truth Teller next.”

The ground swallows up the god of war, and Hades turns back to the chariot without another word.

---

Sweet Pea’s hair does not ever stop burning, but Lilith notices that the color changes. As soon as they are far away from the place where they met Ares, it turns from a bright red flickering into a soft blue. Lilith admires it as it burns from the tips upward to his scalp, engulfing his dark hair in the beautiful colors.

She turns in on herself when Sweets catches her looking. Instead of spending her energy on him, she turns and watches the sun set off in the distance. The sky bleeds oranges and purples and pinks and blues. Stars blink off in the sky, forming constellations as day turns to night. She sighs and rests her head against the edge of the chariot, wondering what it must be like to hold the power of the universe in the palm of your hands.

It takes another two days to get to Aphrodite’s temple.

The temple is centered in a meadow, statues made of marble dancing around the fields, all in different positions, all mostly naked.

There are beautiful flowers with fresh petal scents wafting in the air, bushels of them all of different colors. Fruit trees are ripe with specimens, aching to be plucked and eaten. The air smells of honey and roses.

Lilith swears she notices a nostalgic look cross Sweet Pea’s face. The flames on his neck burn pink, blending in with the blush on his skin.

Girls with pink skin and silver hair approach the chariot, seeming to know exactly who Sweet Pea by their winks and giggles. They take him by the arms and guide him up the marble steps towards the temple, leaving Lilith behind to fend for herself.

She ravels her skirt in her hands and marches up the steps, trying not to feel bitter at being forgotten. There are many stairs, but along the way there is a river running on both sides, pomegranate trees sprouting from the shoreline and big, beautiful shells shimmering in the riverbed. Lilith swears it smells like salt water.

“Darling,” she hears a voice coo as she reaches the top of the stairs.

As soon as she sees the dark-skinned beauty, she feels a warmth rush over her skin. Her stomach starts to do flips and her heart beats faster. Suddenly, Lilith is conscious about how bare her face is and how her body is not precisely how it should be. Her shoulders are too broad, she thinks, and she has too many freckles. Did she ever notice before how strange her eyes were?

“Aphrodite,” Sweet Pea greets, but his voice sounds sour.

Lilith is preoccupied with a set of rose bushes varying in color. She touches the petals and they burst with perfume, forcing a haze over her mind and so she dumbly walks to the next bush and does the same.

“You know you don’t have to call me that, baby,” she muses, her voice smooth like molasses, eyes wandering over his body while she speaks. She stands to her full height, a gauzy pink dress billowing down to her toes. It shimmers in the sunlight, glittering like gold has been spun into the fabric.

Aphrodite steps toward him and runs her fingertips over his muscled arms, feeling him all the way down to his wrists, “Might I say, the Underworld has done you a service. You look,” she eyes him while biting her lower lip, “handsome.”

Lilith turns her head in just enough time to see the way the goddess plucks at his body as if he were some sort of specimen. With a shaking of her head, she comes to her senses and stands by his side.

Sweet Pea notices the look that Aphrodite sends her way, and so he does what he always seems to do whenever Lilith is in trouble; he steps in front of her body to shield her with his own.

“Josie,” it sounds like the word pains him, “I need to speak with the Oracle. I was told she would be visiting you sometime soon.”

Josie-Aphrodite?-waves her hand as if the matter were unimportant entirely, “Oh, she’s already passed on to her next victim. You just missed her.”

Hades curses in Ancient Greek and Lilith pushes herself onto her tip-toes to peer over his shoulder. She thinks she should smile at the goddess, and a dopey grin tugs on her lips, “You’re pretty.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aphrodite smiles, showing off a perfect set of pearly white teeth. She walks past the pair toward the balcony, her dress whipping around in the wind behind her.

“Lilith,” Sweet Pea cups her elbow, “the Oracle has already been through here. We should probably get going.”

“But it’s so nice here,” Lilith whines, dropping her head to his chest. “Can’t we eat the nice fruit and talk with the nice ladies? They remind me of Topaz. I miss her.”

Sweet Pea stifles a laugh and does not notice Aphrodite’s bristling at the two talking. He squeezes the mortal’s arm and nods his head, “I know, little mortal. She will have missed you as well. I will ask-”

“Sweet Pea!” Josie calls, beckoning him over with a bite in her voice. She tilts her head, “What is it you need the Oracle for again, honey?”

The god licks his lips, considering if he should divulge his secret. He could trust her, couldn’t he?

“Listen, Jos, I don’t think it’s safe for me to tell you yet. It’s a big prophecy and you know how those go.” He shrugs and puts his hand on her shoulder, brushing his thumb over her collarbone. “It’s just something I have to do.”

Aphrodite gives him that startling smile that always brought him back to her and she runs her fingernail over the vein on his forearm, “Is it the prophecy your brother told me about all those years ago?”

The blood in Sweet Pea’s veins turns to ice.

“Something about a child of the dark or something like that?”

It seems that her words have brought about the reaction she was seeking. Josie smirks as she circles the god of the dead, her hands traipsing over his body as she does so. She pinches his thigh to break him from his trance.

Lilith appears beside him and notices the tension in the air. Her hand hovers over her weapon, fingers itching to grab it by the hilt.

“Now, now, little mortal,” Aphrodite coos, but Lilith decides she doesn’t like the way the words come out of her mouth. “Sweet Pea and I go way back, there’s nothing to fear.”

Sweet Pea blinks hard, “Josie, which of my brothers spoke to you about this prophecy? And what did they say?”

“To be honest with you,” she starts in a flippant voice, eyebrows raised as if it were hard for her to recall, “I don’t remember much about the prophecy, just that he was always worried about it. Terrible pillow talk if you ask me, honey.”

Lilith can sense the way this conversation is making Sweet Pea feel and she narrows her eyes at the goddess, curling a hand around the hilt of her weapon.

“Pillow talk?” Sweet Pea echoes.

Aphrodite waves her hand in midair, shrugging at the topic, “Yes, yes, Zeus always had to prattle on about it before he was willing to hold me. It made him too nervous otherwise.”

“Zeus?” Hades repeats.

“Why, yes. Oh dear, you didn’t expect me to get with that sea slug of a brother you have, did you?” Josie giggles, her hand over her mouth as the smile reaches her eyes. She shakes her head in disapproval, “No, no, love, I know better.”

“Do you?”

Josie turns her head, glaring with glittering purple eyes at the mortal who had spoken.

Lilith has her arms crossed over her chest, a judgmental look in her eyes. She purses her lips and takes a step towards the goddess, “All you are doing is toying with his emotions, just like you do to everyone else. You poison them with the idea of love, only to rip it away in the end.”

“Excuse me?” Aphrodite balks, her hand wavering in the air.

“I did not stutter, goddess,” Lilith speaks clearly. “You torture mortals with the idea of true love and then break their hearts when they finally fall. And those who do succumb to the natural pull leave all that they know behind for a man or woman they’ve just met. You attach the name true love onto it and suddenly they believe it’s a quest they must embark on to prove themselves.”

“So you’ve been burned by love, have you my dear?” Aphrodite coos like a dove. She raises a brow and tilts her head, “Because surely you’re not insulting me without reason.”

Lilith’s facial features harden and Sweet Pea is too stunned to move. She bares her teeth and plants her feet, “I do not need to have been burned by love to know that it is a fire you do not play with.”

“Ah,” Aphrodite speaks as if she knows the answer to the universe. “So you have been ignored by love.”

This seems to strike a nerve. Lilith surges forward with her white blade drawn, the crystal blade glimmering in the filtered sunlight. Aphrodite does not move, but it is Sweet Pea who stands in the way of the girl.

“I need to know about the prophecy, Josie. It’s important.”

“Zeus knew you would be a joy-killer after spending all that time alone,” she muses, running her dainty dark fingers over her cheeks and through her hair. Josie licks her lips, “I do not know the prophecy, Sweet Pea. I only barely know lines from it.”

“Anything can help,” he argues, his voice keening on the edge of desperation. He reaches out and takes her by the hand from habit alone, “Any of the words, phrases. Or at least tell me where the Oracle is going.”

Aphrodite brushes her fingers along the skin of his cheeks, “Oh, Sweet Pea. Unfortunately, I do not owe you a thing.”

She walks away from him, down the marble stairs out to her meadow. Sweet Pea follows, the ends of his hair flickering a dark purple color. He grits his teeth, “Josie, you owe me plenty. Now tell me of the prophecy. Or does the time we spent together mean nothing to you?”

“That was eons ago, Sweet Pea!” she shouts, turning and throwing her hands in the air. She giggles as she turns to look up at him as he comes down the stairs. “And it was a good time, don’t mistake my words. But that’s all it was.”

“If it was such a good time, why didn’t you visit?” Lilith barks from atop the hill. She has her arms crossed over her chest, a look of disgust curling her upper lip.

Aphrodite’s face morphs into one of repulsion, “Visit that nasty place? It’s full of death and decay, nowhere for the goddess of love.”

“Careful, Aphrodite,” Hades warns. “You speak of my home.”

“Your home was Olympus, until that stupid prophecy came about.” Josie shakes her head and runs a fingertip along a pomegranate hanging in the air. She plucks it and peels the skin back, taking a few of the jeweled beads between her lips.

“Listen, Pea, we had what we had and then we didn’t.” She licks the red juice off her lips and tosses the fruit into the meadow, where another tree sprouts up in the blink of an eye. “You didn’t think I could be tempted into that dark hole you call a domain, did you? It just wasn’t worth it.”

Before Hades can open his mouth to give some sort of sad reply, Lilith is baring her teeth in front of the goddess, knife in hand. The crystal glints in the light of the afternoon sun.

“He was a means to an end for you,” Lilith gathers, her nostrils flaring.

The goddess shrugs, “Sometimes, love just isn’t in the cards, my dear.”

Lilith narrows her eyes, pushing the blade closer to the woman’s throat, “Maybe I should cut out your heart and see how much love you can feel then, hm?”

“And what if I place a curse so horrible on you that even Hades himself cannot hold your soul in the Underworld?” Aphrodite counters, confidence ringing true in her tone. She smirks, “You do not mess with the goddess of love, my dear. I have too many forces on my side.”

Lilith shakes her head, “I don’t care about your forces, temptress. And it appears that all you care about is putting something between your legs. He meant nothing to you, in the end. So much of nothing that you were willing to land in his brother’s bed.”

Aphrodite’s eyes turn a brighter color and incantations begin to fall from her lips.

Lilith tries to turn the blade of celestial bronze in disguise against the goddess’ neck, but she finds herself wilting to the ground before then.

“Josie, stop!” Sweet Pea runs forward, covering Lilith’s body in his own.

The goddess turns her eyes to him, “She is a pest, Hades. She needs to be dealt with. And if you will not deal with her, I will. She will not taint my ideology of love.”

When he realizes that Aphrodite will not stop, he repeats an incantation of his own in Ancient Greek, then bursts forward, “Aphrodite, she is under my protection!”

Josie’s eyes stop glowing and her hands fall to her sides, a surprised look on her face. She wilts back against the staircase railing, her body weak from the incantation and the interruption. Her jaw drops as she realizes what he has done.

“No wonder they threw you out into an exile,” she mutters, watching as he picks up the limp mortal from the ground. He holds her too gently for it to mean nothing. “You are foolish, Hades.”

“At least I am not so easily intimidated by a mortal swinging a knife.”

Aphrodite shakes her head and lets one last giggle fall from her lips, “Oh, Pea. You’re only not intimidated because you are something much worse.”

Sweet Pea cradles Lilith’s body against his chest, her head lolling dangerously limp. He looks up at Aphrodite one last time, “Is there not any information you can give me regarding the Oracle? I need to find her.”

“What the Hera,” Aphrodite waves her arm. She takes a breath and looks off into the sunset, “‘Should the child of darkness grow in strength; Zeus’ reign will have reached its length.’”

He nods, turning to walk back to the chariot. Aphrodite calls to him one last time, “You can find the Oracle in the woods near the mouth of the river. She is visiting the spirits there.”

Aphrodite forces a smile onto her face as he walks away with the mortal in his arms. She murmurs just loud enough for him to hear, “Heed my warning, Pea: you may not like what you hear.”

Sweet Pea sends a smile over his shoulder and he swears he sees a flash of sadness cross over the goddess’ face.

As soon as he sets Lilith down on the bench of the chariot, her skin turns green and she starts to foam at the mouth. And when he calls to her, she does not answer.

----

a/n: i really hope you guys liked this part!!! ares = hal - i couldn’t find a way to work in his riverdale name, but i’ll make a picspam of him eventually. once summer classes and finals aren’t eating my life away!!

SO HOW DID YOU LIKE IT?!?!?! tell me about it here in my ask

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kes-au · 4 years

Text

Cult Unawares

You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. Problems? You’re immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours and the entire cult was the result of a prank you forgot you pulled centuries ago.

Jared returned to consciousness with an irritated snarl, he did not have time for this bullshit. Things were finally moving, pieces falling into place and he wanted to watch while that tepid little man who thought he could take a dragon’s hoard without consequence realised his horrible mistake.

He sat up, assessing himself, yep, still in human form, and then his surroundings, small, square room, single basic bed, single basic window with bars, at least they’d had the courtesy to draw the curtains. Now should he sneak, or blast his way out of here?

Then he noticed the insignia above the door. He looked around again. Shit, the damn thing was everywhere. That was one of the problems with the type of human attracted to cults, they tended to go overboard on everything.And now he was going to have to deal with the consequences of what, at the time had been an epically good prank.

Dragons, now as always, were few and far between and with any small society, they all knew, or knew of each other. Of the dragons he knew, his closest friend was Daemon and they had whiled away many tedious decades by constructing huge and elaborate pranks to confound, then amuse, the other.

It was generally agreed that Jared’s creation of a new religion, with Daemon as its unwitting god, was the best of the lot. The icing on the cake was the incorporation of the one magic suppressing rune that actually worked on dragons into the main motif of the cult’s key symbol.

Whenever a Daemon-cultist caught sight of his friend, they would start chasing after him in some sort of religious fervour, brandishing this magic-blocking rune. It had gotten slightly out of hand for a little while, but a nicely staged defeat and death of Daemon at the hands of a rather glorious angel who owed him a favour had put an end to the worship.

Jared had razed the temples a few years after they’d all been abandoned and thought no more of it.

That had been well over two hundred years ago, maybe more like three, or even five. It was a bit hard to keep track. He’d forgotten all about it but it appeared those idiot humans hadn’t. Or some new group of twits had discovered it and wanted another go.

The upshot was that he was stuck. His magic was useless until he could get away from these damn runes. He couldn’t even transform back into his real body.

He wondered why the group had decided to kidnap him. Movement outside the door made him hope he was about to get answers.

The door was flung open and three wild-eyed, bearded men rushed the room, stopping just inside the door when they realised he was sitting on the bed, blinking at them in confusion.

A fourth man waited until they’d all looked at each other for a bit, then strolled in. Jared groaned internally. If this guy was in any way in charge, this was going to get very tedious, very quickly. Anyone who thought heavy robes, stinking dirt and a deranged grin was a good look, tended to also like things like torture, sacrifice and lots of screaming. Provided they weren’t the ones being tortured or sacrificed. Jared had done some research into this in the past.

“Rejoice, miserable boy, for you have been chosen!”

Boy? Jared couldn’t decide between a snort of disbelief and an eye-roll of disdain, so he did both. They didn’t work as well together as he’d hoped.

One of the guards glared, “I don’t see why the honour should go to an unbeliever. Only the most holy should be sacrificed to the great Demon.”

Jared facepalmed, they couldn’t even get their own god’s name right! This was not going to go well.

The old fanatic started to shriek, "You are being brought before the greatest and most powerful being in the universe, you will be awed and overwhelmed before his magnificence."

"He's going to be seriously underwhelmed by you if you don't get his name right."

Another of the guards looked at him blankly, "What?"

Jared eye rolled again, "His name is Daemon, not Demon. A demon is a little red guy with a pointy tail and horns, hangs out in hell and pokes people with a pitchfork. Daemon isn't red, or small and he finds hell tedious."

Old guy was close to frothing at the mouth, "Silence! How dare you blaspheme in the temple of our Most Mighty."

"Just trying to keep you out of trouble."

The curious guard asked, "So how do you know all this?"

Jared considered the 'old friend' explanation but decided it might be pushing things, "I'm an archaeologist who specialises in lost religions and cults. The Daemonist one was quite interesting, although short-lived."

The guard opened his mouth again but was cut off by the priest (at least Jared assumed that's what he was), "Enough! Bring the unbeliever to the main altar."

Jared pouted, he was rather warming to the topic and thought the guard showed a glimmer of intelligence that was most unusual for someone who'd chosen to not wash for a month and run around with dangerous weapons and no training while screaming unintelligibly.

One of the other guards grabbed Jared's upper arm and pulled him off the bed, then hustled him out of the door in the wake of the old man. The other two took up the rear.

Jared looked around the corridor, very few lights, more damn symbols. This lot needed to find better things to do with their time.

He was taken down several more corridors. The lighting system was rudimentary to say the least, a bunch of what looked to be camping lanterns, hung at irregular intervals, with cables hanging from the ceiling or wall in between each. So, he could wipe out pretty much all the lights in this area from a single point. They really had no idea what they were doing.

He was led through a door and stopped, blinking, trying to adjust to the bright light. He rolled his eyes again. Looked like he didn't do a good enough job of flattening one of Daemon's minor temples.

The roof of the main hall was completely gone and he was standing in the full glare of the mid afternoon sun. Other than the missing lid, the whole thing looked irritatingly whole and undamaged. He must have been distracted that day.

He frowned, trying to remember. Ah, that's right, his angel had dropped by and convinced him to go exploring in a nearby catacomb. He'd added some very nice pieces to his hoard in that trip.

HOARD! He growled. All this messing about was keeping him from getting revenge on that smug little worm who'd made off with his treasures. It was time to focus.

Of course he was still completely surrounded by that cursed rune. He wondered what form the sacrifice was going to take. It was likely to get a bit embarrassing rather quickly. Immortal beings had a nasty habit of not dying, even if they were cut off from their magic. The immortal part was a feature, not an accessory.

He looked around at the row of silent, robed and hooded figures lining the walls of the room as he was herded towards the central altar and Jared wondered what would happen next. Sacrifice had played no part in the original religion. It was a prank, hurting anyone, even silly humans, was completely against the rules.

He’d made sure every temple built to Daemon had included a throne for their god to sit on to receive their worship. Daemon, of course, had never gone near a single one.

This throne, however, was occupied.

He surprised his captors by shaking off their hold and striding forward, stopping on the near side of the altar, frowning at the figure perched on the great stone chair behind it.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Um, I’m Demon.”

“The god this temple was built to worship was Daemon and I can assure you, you’re not him.”

The figure’s eyes widened and they glanced from side to side, then lowered their voice to a whisper that carried every bit as far as their normal voice had.

“Can you maybe not let on? I’m trying to get hold of him, or Jared, and I hoped upending one of their old jokes would catch their attention.”

“Why?”

“Why should you not give me away?”

“You’ve already done that yourself you twit. Why do you want to get in touch with Jared or Daemon? And why the hell didn’t you just email?”

“You can do that?”

“Well I can. I’m waiting to hear why you can’t.”

“BLASPHEMER!”

Jared looked around, ah yes, the old idiot and his guards. His questioner from earlier was now hanging on to the goggle-eyed priest, holding him back, while pretending to hold him up. Jared made a mental note to do something nice for him at some point.

He grinned and hopped up to sit cross-legged on the altar, “So which of us is blaspheming? Me, or the impostor on the throne?”

He wasn’t sure if it was his words, or his actions that sent the shockwave across his audience, it was fun either way.

The person behind him ignored the humans, "But you know how to get hold of them?"

Jared spun to face him, he'd hear if any of those twits tried to sneak up on him, "Of course I do, but I'm not going to until you tell me who you are and why I should."

The answer came from behind him, "He wants to meet his father."

Jared turned slowly, to a new figure, standing in what had been the grand entrance, and was now a grand couple of pillars. She had her back to the sun but he knew that voice.

"And who might his father be, angel?"

She walked forward, and the hooded congregation started to scramble for any exit they could find. No one in their right mind stayed around when an angel looked angry.

Jared, on the other hand, leaned back and watched her approach with a grin. That rune blocked her magic too.

She stopped when she stood right before him at the altar, "He's yours Jared."

Jared speared upright, grin gone, "And you didn't tell me? What the hell angel? That's low."

She looked down, shamefaced, "I made the mistake of telling management I was pregnant. They scooped me off duty and away from all contact so fast I never had a chance and once he was born, well it just got harder and harder."

There was a scramble on the throne behind them, "Wait a minute, HE'S my dad?"

Jared looked at the slender young man jumping onto the altar to join them, the resemblance was striking, "Apparently so, and you have a lot of explaining to do. I refuse to believe your mother brought you up thinking that starting cults and organising human sacrifices was acceptable behaviour."

#wordsnstuff #story prompt #words n stuff

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rendiggitydog · 5 years

Text

Blast From the Past

The start of a mini-series!

-Chapter 1/7-

The blast from town center sent a shockwave across the whole world, sending the hermits into a frenzy. Almost instantly, the group chat was flooded with messages, and hermits flew from all corners to the scene.

A large crater had appeared in the shopping district, in front of the statues of Tango and Cub. The smoke was still clearing as everyone peered over the edges of the hole.

Xisuma, feeling confident his armor could protect him from possible foreign substances, slid down the sides of the pit, hopping over rocks as he made his way to the center. The smoke began clearing, and a figure could be seen lying in the rubble.

"Hello?" X called cautiously. "Are you alive?"

"I'm real knackered..." The figure sat up slowly, revealing himself to the onlooking group. He sported a big black moustache, with messy back hair that brushed the tops of his ears. His shirt evidently used to be blue, but wasn't anymore, and his jeans weren't much better. His shoes looked nearly worn through on the soles. With wide eyes, he observed the large group watching, and then turned to X. "Where did- how- who are you?"

"My name is Xisuma, what's yours? Where do you hail from?"

"Name's MJ. I think I got too buzzed, this is a wild fever dream..." He glanced at the group peering over the side of the hole, and examined X's armor with skepticism. "You'd think I was a swigger, the things I'm imagining..."

"You aren't imagining anything. This is Hermitcraft! We all live together and have fun. Shall we climb out of this hole, then?"

The pair made their way out of the crater, where Joe met them with a glint in his eye, but a worried expression. "Howdy MJ. It sounds like you're from the 1950's, am I right?"

"Yeah, '51. Ya make it sound like it isn't '51?" MJ wrung his hands.

"No, it's 2019. How bizarre..." X mused.

MJ ran jittery fingers through his hair. "Man, this blows. I don't- and there's- colors everywhere, and- and you're all just like me-"

"I mean, I don't exactly look like you," Doc chuckled.

"Nah, you don't get it. Where I'm from, I'm it. Sometimes ya run into a pig- a creeper if you're unlucky, but that's it. The whole world is grass and trees, as far as the Farlands. It's quiet, being the only one... aware." MJ went quiet, rubbing his arm.

"So you live in a Classic world... How interesting..." X began pacing unconsciously.

"Are you sure it's Classic? He knows creepers, weren't they added in Indev?" Joe quizzed.

"Nope, Classic. Depends on the version, but he probably knows pigs, sheep, zombies, skeletons, spiders and creepers."

MJ nodded at the only words he understood in their conversation. He was still fairly certain he was dreaming.

"Also, he's using 1950's American slang in a British accent- that error was removed in early Indev."

X nodded quickly. "You're right, I forgot about that."

"Can we all get to bed? We don't want phantoms killing MJ, who knows where he would respawn." Scar pulled out a couple beds, which hermits promptly hopped into.

"Phantoms? Why we gotta sleep? Are The Phantoms a gang?" MJ asked quickly as the rest of the hermits led him to the Stax-4-Stax Tavern.

"The longer you go without sleep, the more phantoms spawn, and they're deadly." Grian explained. "When was the last time you slept?"

"....never?" MJ watched the dark sky anxiously.

"Oh yeah... Let's get inside, quick!" Grian shoved him inside. The phantoms screeched, making Grian chuckle and MJ shudder.

—

The next morning, MJ was full of chaos and concern. Now fully rested for the first time in his life, he began to realize his situation. He anxiously danced around the small room of sleeping hermits for a few minutes, before he mustered enough courage to creep out the front door.

There was so much color in this strange world- even the grass looked different from what he knew. His head spun on a swivel as he took in everything he possibly could.

He started low, running his fingers through the long grass and smelling the colorful flowers scattered across the ground in front of the building. A chicken wandered across his path, so he decided to follow it wherever it went.

The chicken, followed by an intent MJ, meandered to the shore by the ocean, which MJ noted, was filled with seaweed and assorted swimming creatures.

As they wandered further inland, MJ drifted away from his chicken guide, stunned by the variety of blocks in the buildings towering around him. He poked his head into a red striped building, but ducked out just as quickly when he couldn't name the shiny blue rocks or cylinders in the wooden boxes.

As he stepped out, however, something shot over his head with a loud explosion, sending him to the floor in a panic. The creepers were in the air, too?

"Heya! Enjoying my store?" A man fell out of the sky holding one of the striped cylinders. His hair was golden and shimmered in the light, along with his bright red eyes. His ears and teeth were pointy, and his combat boots completed the intimidating look. "What are you doing on the ground?"

MJ glanced around carefully, motioning the man to crouch down next to him. "There are creepers flying around here!"

The man gave him a blank stare, then laughed, standing up again. "Oh man, that's priceless! You mean me? Using a rocket to fly?" He pulled out a so-called rocket, and it exploded in his face, sending MJ into another fit of shakes. "It's okay, they're harmless!"

"You can fly?" MJ asked cautiously, afraid the answer might include more explosions.

"Let me show you!" The man crouched down, preparing another rocket, but stopped when he saw MJ's petrified expression. "Well, maybe we should start smaller. How about the Cherry Store?"

The man, who MJ learned was named Tango, lead him patiently to another store, this one made of wood. Wood was more familiar to MJ, although this wood looked entirely different to what he was used to.

"Look, this stuff is called redstone," Tango explained, displaying a nicely packaged bag of redstone, ready to be purchased. "You can make lots of hardware with it, which you can use to make machines!"

MJ opened the bag, running his finger through the red dust. Some of it sparked, glowing slightly. "What can you make with the parts?"

"Well, you can start small with an automatic fish farm, or you can build an iron titan, or you can make something like Sahara! Let me show you, it's super cool!"

Excited again, Tango led the way to Sahara, a large building in the side of the hill. After showing MJ the interface, they staircased up to the second level to get a look at the modules.

"Iskall made all of these himself- crazy, right? Grian tried to help, but he's definitely the builder of the Architechs," Tango laughed.

MJ walked down an aisle, marveling at the large machines. They were made of small parts MJ couldn't name, but he knew they were made of redstone. It was all incredible, but MJ didn't understand a bit of it- he considered himself more of a builder anyway.

"Oi! Trespassers!" Grian, as MJ remembered from yesterday, soared through a broken window. He smoothed his wild sandy-blond hair, a wide grin across his face.

"Don't mind us! I'm just showing MJ around!" Tango waved.

"Oh! You should come see my base, MJ! It's super cool!" Grian bounced excitedly. He had a lot of energy, MJ gave him that. Not usually his cup of tea in friendships, but beggars can't be choosers.

"I'll leave you two to it then! Xisuma wanted me to work on some code with him today anyway. See ya!" Tango flew away with another explosion, causing MJ to jump.

"Hm, I suppose you're not much of a flyer, huh?" Grian observed. MJ simply shook his head. "Guess we'll boat over!"

MJ carefully stepped into the boat Grian made, with Grian clambering in after him. They rowed out into the bay, MJ watching as the shore faded into a shimmer at the horizon. "Here we are!"

MJ turned around and was stunned by the white building towering over them. Grian hopped out of the boat onto a glass bridge, motioning MJ to follow. He carefully did so, being sure his shoes were dry enough that he wouldn't slip.

"This is my base! Sorry it's kind of a mess, I have a chest monster problem," Grian giggled and soared down into the center of the tower. He rifled through a couple of the chests (as MJ had just learned they were called) and flew back to MJ with arms full of mysterious items. "Here's a starter kit!"

Grian tossed the items on the floor and sorted through them, giving MJ a run-down. "So that's full iron tools and armor, a stack of golden carrots, a stack of torches, and an elytra with rockets to get you started! Does that look alright to you?"

MJ nodded, entranced by the items- especially the strange golden carrots.

"...You don't talk much, do you?" Grian stared into his eyes. Despite his brown eyes being almost black, they sparkled with love and innocence.

MJ cleared his throat. "Ah, I guess I'm still feeling a lil buzzed from... however I got here." He shrugged, carefully picking up the gifted items.

Grian opened and closed his mouth several times, and then settled with a confused smile. It looked strange on his usually-energetic face. "Feel free to set up your base anywhere that's open. If you have any questions, don't be afraid to text anyone." He handed a small black box to MJ, which he held with reverence. "It's a phone- just press the name of who ever you wanna talk to."

"Thanks," MJ hesitated. "By chance are you a greaser? You don't have any beef, do ya?"

Grian cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe? You won't need any beef though, the golden carrots are way better for your health."

"...are you booted, dog?"

Grian blinked. "I think you have different slang in Classic, because I don't know what that means..."

"My bad. Just, nevermind. I'll leave ya to it. Thanks for the setup!" MJ, embarrassed, hopped in his boat and paddled off, avoiding eye contact with Grian. The guy was weird to say the least- MJ wondered if that was why he lived in the ocean alone. Hopefully he hadn't killed his reputation by talking to Grian, and he could find a more helpful person tomorrow...

#rae writes #blast from the past #grian #xisuma #hermitcraft #joe hills #docm #goodtimeswithscar #tangotek #mumbo jumbo #dont worry the 50's slang eases up a couple chapters in #lol

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rose-of-gabriel · 5 years

Text

Reprieve (3/4)

Dick had suggested that they get a taxi, but Kory wanted to walk. She said the club wasn’t too far and the fresh air would be good for them. That’s easy to say when you’re a Tamaranean who runs hotter than the sun, but Dick isn’t really complaining. How can he? They’re walking arm-in-arm and Kory still has that dazzling smile on her face. He takes in the city with wide, innocent eyes, almost like a tourist, his blinders coming down for the first time in weeks. Kory’s right, as usual. They needed this.

They come up on one of their favorite restaurants, El Toro, while two waiters take their breaks on the front steps. They’re having a heated debate that Dick can barely follow, but Kory throws in some remark that has them both laughing. Spanish is the most recent conquest in her master plan to learn all Earthen languages. When she looks back at him her eyes narrow, probably because of the stupid grin on his face.

“Can I help you, Richard?”

He shrugs. “Just glad we did this.”

The smile she gives him is just as brilliant, but it’s softer, somehow. She pulls him tighter against her side as they continue down the street.

0o0o0o0

The club’s atmosphere is potent, burning in Kory’s lungs like hard liquor. Reflective panels in the floor bounce neon light all over the room, flitting across the mass of dancing bodies. Dick turns, probably to comment on how it’s all a bit extra for his taste, but totally freezes when Kory removes her coat. She tries not to look too pleased with herself. She’s wearing a high-waisted skirt with a racy slit up the side and a purple bandeau. Dick’s eyes devour every inch of her, and it’s a solid thirty seconds before he actually meets her gaze. She raises an eyebrow, daring him to voice whatever devious thoughts are whirling through his head. He doesn’t take the bait, though, and instead tugs at her hand, bringing it to his lips.

“You look beautiful.” He murmurs, barely audible over the music.

Kory’s not blushing, and if she is, the neon lights will keep her secret. They drop off their coats and weave through the swarm of dancers. By some stroke of luck, they actually get seats at the bar. Kory considers it a good omen, a sign that they really deserved this. The stress of the last few weeks slowly loosens it grip, and Kory actually shivers from the release.

She orders a round of tequila shots, to which Dick fondly rolls his eyes as if to say of course you would. Once that’s over with, Kory gets a whiskey sour. The bartender asks Dick what he wants, but Dick doesn’t answer, just looks at Kory expectantly. She’s not sure how exactly this became a thing: ordering the weirdest, most random drinks for him when they go out. Good or bad, Dick always plays up his reaction just to make her laugh.

“Can I please get a…” her eyes quickly dance over the specialty mixes, “Blue Monkey for the gentleman?”

Dick snorts. The bartender nods and leaves to fix their drinks. Kory scoots to the edge of her barstool so that her legs are wedged between Dick’s. He quirks an eyebrow, leaning enticingly close, challenge and mirth shining in his eyes. Kory’s grinning like an idiot, the tequila singing in her veins. Her hand snakes up his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s quick – they try to keep their PDA pretty tame– but there’s heat to it, a fire reignited after weeks of tension smothering it.

Dick’s laughter breaks the moment, his shoulders shaking in an effort to suppress it. Kory finds herself laughing with him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I just…” He shakes his head. “I’m glad this is what you had in mind. Much better than getting groceries.”

“Hm, making out at the supermarket. Not on my to-do list, but if you wanna give it a shot…“

0o0o0o0

“Let’s dance.”

Kory’s surprised. Usually, if they do go clubbing, she has to drag Dick’s ass onto the dancefloor. He allegedlyprefers more civilized events, like that Wayne Co. gala Alfred had dragged them to a few months ago, where the dancing was more like applied calculus than feeling the music. Kory’s told him he just needs the right partner.

She can tell by the way his hands immediately find her hips that he enjoys this more than he lets on. His fingers are firm but not possessive, letting her move freely to the beat. Her own hands flirt with his biceps and chest before resting at the base of his neck, keeping him where she wants him. All stimuli that is not his body against hers falls out of focus.

The minutes pass by in a blur of sound and color. They laugh for seemingly no reason and dance until they can’t breathe. Dick calls for a time out and Kory obliges, never admitting that she could use a break, too. They lost their seats at the bar, but there’s enough space to stand and order another round of drinks.

They clink shot glasses and slam them back with reverie. Dick licks his lips and Kory unabashedly stares. He smirks, ducking in to peck her cheek. Alright, so their usual rules about PDA have gone out the window, but it’s one night. One night after weeks of tense patrols and worrying themselves sick over the kids. Who can blame them?

Dick pulls back, shouting over the music. “Bathroom. Be right back.”

Watching him try and weave through the crowd without knocking someone over is amusing. Kory turns back to the bar, catching the eyes of a tall blonde nursing a drink in the opposite corner. Kory smiles automatically, and the woman smiles back, prying herself away from the bar-top and coming over.

“Hey.” She says in a raspy voice.

Kory presses her lips together, trying not to laugh at the slur in her words. “Hi.”

“I’m Anya.”

“Kory.”

“What brings you here tonight, Kory?”

The opportunity presents itself, and Kory takes it gladly. “Well, I left the kids at home to spend a night out with my boyfriend.”

Her words register slowly, but when they do, Anya’s face is priceless. “You have kids?”

“Yep, boy and a girl. You’re surprised right? Believe me, they were both unexpected.” Anya’s jaw unhinges and now Kory does laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Kory traces the rim of her glass while Anya composes herself. Running a hand through her hair, she sets her elbow on the bar and leans in.

“Not disappointed. Honestly, I’m impressed.”

“Impressed?”

“Yeah. Hot-as-hell single mother who can kill it on a dancefloor? Impressive.”

Kory wags her finger. “Uh-uh. Someone wasn’t listening.” She’d know his presence anywhere, feels his fingers on her spine and grins. “Not single.”

“Hey ladies.” Dick drawls beside her. Anya probably won’t pick up on the edge in his voice, but Kory doesn’t miss it.

“Ah.” Anya mumbles after a moment. “I forgot. The boyfriend.”

“Present and accounted for.” Dick gibes.

Anya glances between them, her lips pressed in a thin line. She offers a terse nod before returning to the other side of the bar. Kory rolls her eyes, turning in Dick’s arms so they’re facing one another.

“Glad to see you’re not the jealous type.”

“One of my lesser flaws.” His kiss swiftly silences any argument to that statement.

Kory is definitely feeling the alcohol, now. Her whole body sways when his lips meet hers and she has to push against the bar to keep steady. The friction between them drags a moan from Dick’s throat that sends shockwaves down Kory’s spine.

“Wish the blonde had stuck around.” She teases, “The three of us could have had a good time.”

Dick’s expression morphs from scandalized to considering to downright mischievous. His one hand drifts over the exposed skin at her midriff, the other snaking up her thigh.

“Maybe I don’t want to share you.” He purrs, kissing just below her ear. “Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Kory bites her lip, trying and probably failing to control her breathing. “Well, there are a lot of people in here, Mr. Grayson. If you want me, I suggest we go somewhere more private.

Dick pulls back, his face millimeters from hers, eyes searching. For what, Kory’s not sure. He can’t doubt she’s serious, can’t doubt that she wants him, yet here he stands, waiting for her to do… something. To sign off on whatever idea is taking shape in his head. Her lips pull up in a smirk and she raises an eyebrow as if to say I’m waiting, Boy Wonder.

That seems to settle it. Dick squeezes her arm then pushes back into the crowd without a word. Kory drums her fingers against the bar, deciding that it’s probably a good time to close their tab. When she turns back, she spots Dick talking to a surly man wearing a staff t-shirt. They’re positioned next to a black metal staircase that leads to a doorway blocked by velvet curtains; some sort of VIP lounge, Kory assumes.

It looks like Dick is trying to convince the guard of something, but he isn’t having much luck. Then he slips something into the man’s hand, and the guard nods. When Dick makes it back to her, Kory’s eyebrows are at her hairline.

“Um…. what was that?”

Dick blushes, tugging her away from the bar. “Follow me.”

They head toward the metal staircase, the guard shooting Dick a knowing look as they pass. Dick stops at the top of the stairs, pulling back one of the curtains and ushering her inside. They must be sound absorbing, because as soon as she steps inside, the blaring music disappears. There’s a smaller dancefloor at the end of the lounge, a few velvet couches and floor tables, and a massive jukebox.

Kory nods approvingly. Dick hovers by the doorway, making sure she’s satisfied before taking in the space, himself. When he’s close enough, Kory grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him to her.

“Nicely done, Mr. Grayson.” Her palm slides down his chest, around his side to rest on the small of his back.

Dick doesn’t waste another second, cupping her face and consuming her with a kiss. An unbidden sigh escapes her lips, her body melting against his. It’s relief and lust and love pouring out of her in waves so powerful she nearly collapses under the pressure. Dick’s hands begin a slow trek down her body, slipping under her bandeau and making her gasp.

“Dick,” she breathes, “anyone could come in.”

His hand stills and he blushes again. “That won’t be a problem.”

She blinks at him for a moment, then it clicks. “Did you rent out the lounge?” His silence answers her. “How the hell did you pay for that?”

He ducks his head. “I may have… used some of the money Bruce left us.”

Kory’s stunned. Normally Dick wouldn’t touch that money under any circumstances. The more she ruminates on it, the harder it is to keep a straight face.

“You used some of the limited cash supply your estranged adoptive father left you so we could have sex in a club lounge?”

Dick cringes. “You know, it seemed kind of romantic in my head but now that you say it out loud…”

She’s laughing when she kisses him.

#titans #titans 2018 #dickkory #robin #starfire #fanficiton #reprieve #dick grayson #koriand'r

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